#The Elder from Bullet Train

[simpingforclaudette]

they should make a japanese retelling of dracula and cast hiroyuki sanada as dracula himself.

[argmonster]

walkable infrastructure!!! Trains should connect everywhere!!! more accessible bus routes! more accessible public transportation!!! bike-specific paths! End automobile lobbying! bullet trains that connect rural areas to larger metropolitan areas!!! third places! community centers!! Human connection between age groups!

ya heard?!?!

[maeedrg]

What are we ?

part 2

fake dating trope Gojo X fem reader

ᯓ★

MASTERLIST of the series

part 1 part 2 part 3

Synopsis : Now everyone thinks you are dating the great Gojo Satoru. You are sent on a mission with him in the mountains, and realize that it’s actually a sweet honey trap made by the elders to hope you will come back with a ring on your finger, or a possible heir. What is wrong with them ?! And what is wrong with this sexual tension ? He is your best friend, for fuck’s sake !

Words count : 7.6k.

Warnings : fluff, romantic comedy, blood, sexual tension, slight smut, some dry humping (kinda), slight angst.

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ Autor’s note : I’m back with part 2 !!! I wrote it in less than a week after the part 1, I hope the part 3 will be out soon as well. Enjoy <3

｡⋆˚⋆✩₊⋆˚｡⋆♡⋆｡⋆ ˚｡⋆⊹⋆ ˚⋆｡⋆✧⋆˚｡｡⋆˚⋆✩₊⋆˚｡⋆♡⋆｡⋆ ˚｡⋆⊹⋆ ˚⋆｡

Against your will, Satoru and you were stuck playing pretend. Being his fake girlfriend for one night, became for another day, and then a week, and then already two weeks. Since the gathering, the gossip went faster than you thought, and quickly EVERYONE in the jujutsu society knew that The Strongest had a partner, to the point that even your own students were curious about it. Hearing Nobara saying she couldn’t believe that someone would ever want to date her obnoxious professor was somewhat funny, and embarrassing at the same time.

Because now, you have to lie to their face, and the worst is that Satoru was amused, and actually took pleasure in these shenanigans. He claps his hand with yours, kissing it in front of a disgusted Megumi, a shocked Nobara and an impressed Yuji.

“Is he even treating you well, L/n ? Blink twice if you are dating Gojo against your will !” exclaims Megumi, stepping closer, meanwhile Yuji tries to muffle his laughter.

You look at the teenager, and intend to not smile at his panicked expression. If the poor boy knew… You agreed, but didn't expect that dating Gojo would last more than a night. He wasn’t even your real boyfriend. So, deciding to tease the white haired professor, you blink. One, twice, and Megumi gasps loudly.

“I knew it !” he says glaring at your supposed abuser, but Gojo puts his hand over your eyes to stop you from blinking again, bringing you against him.

“Hey, she’s lying ! Y/n, don’t be mean like that…” whines the so-called Strongest, and you squirm, laughing.

“Professor, I believe you ! You both look very much in love !” insists Yuji innocently, and you can’t help but flutter at him saying that. You couldn’t see the facial expression Satoru did, his hand still covering your eyes. But you wondered if the pink haired student said that because you both acted well in front of everyone, or if because your real feelings were slowly showing a bit too much. Fuck, you thought you weren’t obvious. You hoped Satoru only saw it as you being good at pretending, and nothing more.

“Well, I know she is head over heels. I mean, who wouldn’t ?” Gojo scoffs playfully, being fakely arrogant in his tone of voice.

“You say that, but you are the one that admitted you had a crush on y/n since you were 15,” adds Nobara, but the moment she started her sentence, the hands of Satoru left your eyes to instead cover your ears. Unfortunately, you didn’t have the chance to hear what the brown haired one said.

“Uh ?” you mutter, confused, and Satoru looks down at you with rosy cheeks, shaking his head.

“Your amazing professors need to go now, kiddos. We have a train to take, so get up, go study or something !” exclaims Satoru, freeing your audition and sliding his arm around your shoulders to make you follow him. They all grumble before saying goodbye, and you wave at them as well. Indeed, you had an unexpected mission with Satoru to attend to. One that was located 3 hours away by bullet train from Tokyo. The higher ups were sudden when ordering the two of you to go there, resulting in having to stay sleeping at the location in a hotel. Not that it bothered you, just that it strangely was… out of nowhere. 

“Kids these days…” he sighs, and you glare at Satoru, side-eying him. He looks back at you, raising an eyebrow.

“Ok, you grandpa. And why did you stop me from hearing what Nobara said ? If she said something embarrassing about you that I don’t know, then well… I want to know !” you protest, and he looks away sheepishly, which makes you frown at his unexpected behavior.

“Ahahahah��. nahhhh. Nothing, don’t worry about that,” he replies, acting nonchalant and shrugging off what happened as if it was nothing special or interesting. 

“Satoru, don’t bullshit me,” you sigh, getting even more curious now as you lean closer to him. But he keeps a poker face, before sliding his sleeve and looking at his expensive watch.

“Oh my god, look at the time ! Quick, we’ll be late at the train station !” he says panicked, but you knew better than to believe him, because last time you checked, you still had 2 hours before you. Yet, he doesn’t let you really protest as he grabs you again, and makes you dash with him in the corridor of the campus.

“Hey, we aren’t even late !”

“Time is just an illusionnnn !” he answers with what looks like a mysterious voice.

“This doesn’t even make any sense !” you retort, exasperated.

Satoru dragged you with him, forcing you to run, get your bag and rush towards the car of Ijichi, the poor black haired man startled to see the two of you dash in his direction. It didn’t take longer than two minutes for the car to rumble and then it engaged in the road. 

Once you arrive at the station, finding where your train was located and then entering it, sitting down after putting both of your bags with your necessities for the night in the right compartment, you can finally breathe. Satoru and you were alone in the wagon of the bullet train, but too shaken from this supposed race against time, you don’t question it more. You sigh deeply, looking at the sun setting and then at the person sitting next to you. His long legs were kind of cramped, so you somewhat feel bad for him.

“So it’s some upper grades in the mountains ? Maybe once we arrive at the hotel, even if it will be already late, we should go see around the forest to do some scouting,” you propose, breaking the silence as Satoru turns his face to look down at yours.

“Agreed, but believe me, this mission will go quicker than you think,” he affirms confidently, shrugging before taking off some candies from his bag and opening it, munching on one.

“Why are you so sure about it ?” you ask as he gives you some candies as well that you gladly accept and eat. Oh, way too sweet… Satoru looks at you and even if his blindfold is covering his eyes, you see how his facial expression changes.

“Y/n, be for real. The higher ups are sending us together to this mission on purpose. Now that they think we are dating, they have a new goal in mind,” he explains as if it was logical, and you swallow before dusting your hands from the sugar.

“Which is ?” you pressure him to elaborate more on the matter, not sure about what he was implying. 

“Probably making us have babies as fast as possible, since they think I’m some kind of dog ready to breed,” he spats, rolling his eyes and munching more aggressively on the candy. You almost choke on your saliva.

“What the hell- and how can they even plot this when sending us to fight some curses ?” you answer, not believing it. After what happened at the gathering two weeks ago, you quickly understood the expectations the elders had for Gojo. Some of them are marriage and heirs. But here it was backfiring on you. At first, you thought they would stop pestering him with questions of arranged marriage. They did stop, nonetheless it’s a matter of you now ! You just were supposed to act like his girlfriend for one night, not to be questioned about becoming his wife and starting a family !

“Did you even check the location of the hotel ?” he asks, turning more on his seat to face you better.

“I did, so what ?”

“There is an onsen, many places to sightsee, and overall, it’s a touristic place that a lot of newlyweds go to for their honeymoon. Very romantic, if you know what I mean. So they basically send us on a date to hope for something to happen,” he explains, looking at you before trailing his gaze on the window.

“Are they serious right now ?” you question deadpan. 

“Yep. I mean, it’s nothing cute. They don’t care if we enjoy it or not, they just hope that you either come back with a ring on your finger, or pregnant,” he sighs, shrugging. You don’t answer, your eyes not leaving him as you assimilate what he just said.

No way, no fucking way… Do they really want this ? First of all, Satoru is not even your boyfriend, so this situation was way more embarrassing. But even if he was, that still was wrong. 

“Hey, don’t look at me like that ! I didn’t choose it either,” he whines, defending himself as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“God… why is their mindset so old fashioned ?!” you groan, taking your face in your hands, exasperated.

“Y/n, don’t worry. We deal with the curses and just enjoy the place like some free weekend, or some break from their annoying faces, yeah ?” he proposes, his hand gently ruffling your hair to sooth you down and lighten the mood.

“Alright, I wanted to relax anyway, so this is good, I guess,” you finish to answer, trying to stay positive. Satoru smiles at you, and like that, the train starts to move.

You were stuck here for three hours. Either you were listening to the yap of Satoru, or you were laughing with him. Yet, you grew tired. Today was a long day, and the night was already up in the sky. You lay more comfortably against your seat, and plug on your earphones. You decide to listen to some music, and Satoru notices that. He doesn’t even need to ask, you already are offering him one of your earphones. He grins and puts it on his ear. As the song starts, you look at the scenery.

Your eyelids grow heavy, and Gojo looks at you, before softly pressing your head against his shoulder. You relax, feeling more at ease in this position, and close your eyes. The movement of the train lulls you to sleep, and Satoru takes your phone, knowing the password, and changes the playlist to something more calm.

He stares at you as you soon fall asleep, and gently, the back of his fingers caress your cheek. He smiles to himself, taking his own phone carefully to not wake you up, and then he snaps a picture. Here it goes in his gallery and folder of pics he has with you for years. Something he valued to keep, and enjoyed looking at whenever he was feeling lonely, far away on a mission overseas.

It would be a lie to say that Satoru wasn’t excited at the idea of this mission, curious to see how it will unfold. Yeah, curious, that’s what he told himself.

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ

As you arrived, the first thing you both did was to register in the hotel. A reservation was already made, and you look around the luxurious place while walking inside the elevator. Satoru leans against the wall, looking down at you.

“What do you think the room will look like ? There is only one bed, you know,” he starts to ask, taping his finger against his bicep when crossing his arms.

“We sleep in the same bed everytime we hangout, don’t make a big deal out of it,” you shake your head, too tired to indulge his weird antics for the rest of the evening. After all, last time, you both ended up sleeping in a hotel room, and Satoru even had to give you his shirt so you wouldn’t be butt naked. The aftermath of the hangover was special… but you were used to chaos with him. 

“You’re no fun, come on, I’m sure the room will be decorated with roses and shit,” he taunts you, getting closer as he balances himself on his other leg. You look at him through the mirror.

“No, they will not go that far,” you chuckle nervously, and now, he stands behind you, looking at you too through the mirror. 

“Well, if the reservation is made under the idea of us being newlyweds…” he muses playfully.

“We don’t even have rings on our fingers !” you reply, and the doors of the elevator open. Satoru steps back, you follow suit and roam through the corridor.

“You think they care ?” he scoffs, taking the keys they gave you earlier, and he slowly opens the door of your assigned room. You enter first, searching for the light.

“Well, it’s just some logic- oh lord,” you cut yourself the moment you manage to illuminate the room. Eyes wide open, you stare at a big king sized bed with flowers creating a heart on the sheets, and some romantic decorations in the spacious place, on the walls, the floor, etc.

“Told ya, sweetheart,” whispers Satoru smugly in your ear. You shiver head to toe and enter quickly, looking around dumbfounded. He takes off his blindfold to look around better. 

“What the fuck ?” you say, narrowing your eyes and not believing what you were seeing. You laugh, taking some of the flowers in your hands. You feel bad that they took the time to arrange a romantic room, all that to not be used in the end. You would lie too if you didn’t feel flustered at the idea of actually doing something with Satoru. No, you should snap out of it.

“Fuck is the right word to say,” jokes your best friend, walking around and then stepping in the corridor of the room to see where it leads.

“I’m not having sex with you on this bed, Satoru,” you correct, looking at him entering somewhere and turning on the lights.

“Why not in the bathroom ? Check it out !” his face pops and then he disappears again in the so-called bathroom. You follow him and open wide your mouth when seeing again flowers scattered on the floor, with a whole jacuzzi next to the shower, and bottles of alcohol in a bucket beside it, with many candles ready to be lit.

“A jacuzzi ? Wine ?!” you almost scream of surprise.

“So, maybe we should fuck. I mean, the atmosphere is perfect,” he trails, lifting his blindfold to give you a seductive glance, even winking at you. And oh, the butterflies in your stomach start to move again, moving quite a lot actually. You roll your eyes, ignoring this growing feeling inside your gut, and he steps closer.

“What ? We already made out, this is the natural next step-,” he starts, before you slap the back of his head, “ouch ! I’m just joking with you ! Can’t even recognize the teasing of your own best friend !” he whines, pouting, and massaging his nape. Of course, it didn’t hurt, he just wanted to make you feel bad.

“I can’t know if you are really joking because you tend to sometimes be serious, like last time at the gathering,” you say as you step out of the bathroom, continuing to inspect the place. You wouldn’t be surprised if you saw sextoys somewhere in the drawers. At this rate, nothing could surprise you anymore.

“You accepted to make out with me,” he justifies, behind you.

“But at first you were joking about it, and it came true. So just in case, I’m not letting you joke about fucking. Annnd, I will not let you touch one drop of wine. You lightweight ass will not handle it,” you warn as you sit down on the bed, and notice how comfy it was just by taking a seat on it. At least, you will sleep well.

“Fine, fine, geez ! Then you don’t drink any drop of wine too,” he retorts, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Why ? I hold well my liquor,” you defend yourself, frowning.

“And what if you end up drunk and jump on me trying to take off my clothes ? I’m innocent, you know ?” he scoffs, putting his hands in front of his torso as if he was shy, and you can’t help but laugh. His smile grows wider when he sees you enjoying his joke.

“Ah yes, very innocent… Alright, I won’t touch it too. But I will be bringing it home, it looks expensive and it would be a waste to not open the bottle,” you shrug, grinning slightly. Maybe you’ll share it with Shoko.

“You do as you please. Come on, let's check the forest before it’s too late, I’m starving and I don’t want to take too long,” he ends up saying as he grabs your hand to make you stand up, impatient, as he puts back his blindfold on.

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ

You roam through the big trees, in alert, trying to sense any type of curses that could be lurking around the forest. Each time you breathe, some fog is created because of the cold weather, in contrast with your warm mouth. Satoru was some meters behind, using his Six Eyes to spot any danger, and even levitating above the mountains to have a better vision of the environment. You reach the top of the hill, the wind caressing your skin. You stop walking, the sound of the snow cracking under your feet dying in the silence.

It was oddly calm, and as you raise your head to see where Gojo was, you end up impressed by the galaxy above your head embracing the sky. Your gaze lightens, staring at the infinity of the stars, murmuring a tiny ‘woaw’ to yourself. It truly was a sight to see, a beautiful piece of nature. You understood better why some people had their honeymoon taking place here.

“We can see the sky perfectly clear, here,” says Satoru, suddenly appearing next to you, hands in his pocket and his blindfold down his collar to allow his eyes to be out. You gaze at him, his hair slowly moving from the wind. He stares at the emptiness of the sky and the horizon, and you can’t help but feel some melancholia and loneliness emanating from him.

“You’re here… yeah, it’s amazing,” you answer softly, still bewitched by the stars.

“Did you sense anything ?” he asks, stepping now in front of you, the moon illuminating his white hair. It should be illegal how ethereal he is. 

“Nope, only animals. And you ?” You shrug.

“It was faint, so hard to know exactly where,” he explains vaguely.

“Are the curses hiding from us ?” you joke, turning slightly to look behind, but there is nothing in the darkness of the night. Only the moon reflects on the snow, illuminating the area.

“They should be. I would be scared too, if I was them,” he teases arrogantly, and you turn back towards him wiggling your eyebrows.

“They should shake in front of us !” you exclaim, intimidating, and he explodes of laughter, you too. After some seconds, your laughs die down slowly, and you take a deep breath, smiling. It wasn’t going so bad for now, you thought. Satoru quietly stares at you, his eyes twinkling with something intimate and what seems like vulnerability.

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it ?” he murmurs oh so gently, his gaze never leaving your face as if he simply couldn’t look away. You look into his irises, not answering for a second as you are caught back by his saying. You then lift your head, and look at the moon above the two of you. Your lips stretch in a soft smile, and your eyes fall back on Satoru.

“Very beautiful,” you insist in a sweet voice.

But then, a strong presence makes itself known, and two curses appear from the sky, rushing towards the two of you. You directly step back, in a fighting stance, your back pressed against the one of Satoru to have a peripheral view of the new opponents. You groan, ready to strike.

“Oh, we have some company. Interrupting our date like that, man… read the room, damn !” whines Satoru, a cocky smile stretching his lips, before easily avoiding an attack. You don’t wait any second longer and rush towards the curse in front of you and activate your cursed energy.

It dashes on the side but you follow suit. In the background, you hear Satoru fighting as well, and from what you can understand, he’s toying with his enemy, surely bored even though it was a grade 1 curse. You rolled your eyes, used of his antics during battles, and threw a cursed punch to the jaw of your own opponent. It screams and falls back on the ground, blood splashed everywhere on the once white snow -now an ugly green- as it struggles to stand back up. You decide to achieve it in one last blow, panting. Suddenly, it’s gone. You turn around, catching back your breath to see if Satoru was alright. But then you notice the curse attacking him from behind. As a reflex for his safety, you scream :  

“Look out !” Satoru grins and before you can even blink, the curse just exploded from the technique of your best friend. You step back, the blow creating a strong wind than then dies down as quickly as it came.

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart,” he chuckles, saying it as if it was even stupid of you to dare worry for him in a battle. You don’t mention his arrogant tone, dusting your hands as he steps towards you.

“Well, that was way too quick…” you whisper. He stands in front of you, using his thumb to wipe some blood from your cheek. You look intently at him, the softness of his gesture in duality with the gruesome liquid he just took off.

“Don’t say that too fast,” he taunts, his smile growing wider.

“What do you mea-” you get interrupted by his arm swinging around you, and suddenly pressing your body against his. His hand is quickly on the back of your head to protect it. At the same moment, he raises his other fingers, and you can only sense the presence of a third curse jumping towards you from behind, soon getting annihilated by the red of Gojo.

Once it’s gone, you feel your heart beating fast in your throat, staying like that against the white haired male. You didn’t dare to move, still surprised from what happened, and surely because you didn’t want to step away from him.

“Thank you,” you end up whispering, before feeling his fingers caressing the sides of your face tenderly.

“Be more careful next time, y/n,” he says, more serious than usual. A facial expression that you weren’t used to see on him.

“You’re right,” you sigh, looking up at his eyes. His seriousness disappeared, now a fat grin is plastered on his handsome face.

“Our mission is done. Let’s go enjoy this arranged date, what do you think ?” he proposes, his thumb sliding down your neck, a lingering trail of fire on your skin, before he steps back.

“Dinner would be nice,” you accept, following him as he walks back down the hill. 

“You read my mind. I could eat for ten !” he exclaims hungrily, and as if the world heard him, his stomach growls of hunger. You chuckle at the sound, thinking it was cute.

“The restaurant of the hotel looked good,” you shrug, and he swings his arm around your shoulder to bring you centimeters closer so he could share some warmth with you in this snowy forest.

“As long as I can eat, I’ll go anywhere,” he comments, winking at you.

“Then let’s go, I’m starving too” you finish.

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ

Eating at the restaurant felt like a blessing to your starved bodies. Least to say, Satoru did eat for ten. Not to add the desserts he ordered. Long used to his appetite of an ogre, you didn’t comment and enjoyed watching him eat easily pounds of food. Obviously, Satoru being Satoru, he insisted on acting like boyfriend and girlfriend even though the two of you were far away from the elders. His reason why : who knows, maybe they are secretly watching ? Yeah, right. You didn’t buy any of that, and ended up having to spoon feed him his dessert, and let him spoon feed yours, or else he’ll throw a tantrum. A damn tantrum at his old age.

Exhausted, the two of you came back to the hotel room. Nothing changed since you left : the romantic atmosphere was still present. As you both wash your hands in the sink of the bathroom, you look at the jacuzzi. You already were picturing yourself relaxing in it, surrounded by hot water and warm bubbles. Some wine in your hand would be good too. No, wait. No wine. The both of you agreed on that earlier. Seeing you eying down the tube, Satoru leans on the sink once his hands are dried.

“Should we try the jacuzzi ?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest and glancing at it, doing a motion with his chin to show the tube.

“We ?” you ask, drying your hands on a towel, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, you and me. Who else ? Santa ?” he mocks, rolling his eyes. You huff at his teasing.

“I got it the first time. I mean, we’ll enjoy the jacuzzi, but not at the same time,” you explain yourself, more slowly, to emphasize what you mean as you look at Satoru to make sure it’s what you were thinking about. But the grin on his face says otherwise.

“No, at the same time,” he corrects.

“I don’t have a swimsuit,” you retort.

“Me neither,” he adds, shrugging, not caring about this issue.

“I will not go naked with you in the jacuzzi, Satoru,” you shake your head, warning him. Your best friend could be bold with his requests sometimes.

“Why not ?” he asks as if it was a genuine logical question.

“Seriously ? I don’t want to see your dick !” you exclaim, getting flustered. I mean, you did want to see his dick. But, not like that, in this situation. It would be too embarrassing. It was better if it only stayed as a fantasie of yours, anyway.

“Hey, you just hurt it’s ego !” He points, faking hurt as he puts his hand over his chest like he got damaged.

“Poor guy. Well, I’m not flashing you my coochie,” you laugh nervously when answering.

“I won’t mind-” you cut him off by giving him a warning glare. He flashes you a fake apologetic smile.

“Sorry. I mean, if you want I can put on my blindfold. I only can see cursed energy with it, no flesh or bones. Like that I would respect your privacy,” he suggests, stepping closer towards you, leaving the sink. You look at him approaching you.

“But on the contrary I would be seeing you naked,” you add, narrowing your eyes and staying straight on your feet when he looms over you. Why did he have to be so tall ? Damn.

“I don’t mind, you can look. I have nothing to hide from you.” He flashes you his playful smirk, showing his white teeth.

“You are shameless,” you sigh, shaking your head. 

“Ok, so what about our underwear ? No, wait, it’s gross, they are dirty… hum, then.. We are naked, buuuuut, we wrap a clean towel around our bodies, and go inside the jacuzzi with it. It will not be very comfortable, but better than nothing. What do you think ?” he ends up asking, tilting his head to the side. You bite the inside of your cheek, thinking about it, hard. You would lie if you said that you didn’t want to try the jacuzzi with Satoru. And this idea of the towel wasn’t so bad. You take a deep breath before nodding slowly.

“That’s actually not a bad idea…”

“Perfect ! Then let’s go,” he muses happily, beaming at the idea as he suddenly throws over his shoulders his shirt, revealing his toned torso. Quickly, his hands are on his belt that he swiftly takes it off, and you turn away as you grab a random white towel and rush out of the bathroom.

“Wait, don’t change in front of me ! Geez !” you exclaim, flustered. This man had no shame ! You only hear his laugh, as he seemed proud of himself. You sigh and sit on the bed, taking off your clothes, thoughtful. You fold them, before wrapping the towel around your body. Ok, that shit was tiny… It barely reached under your ass, and you couldn’t move too much or else it would fall. Alright, you had to work with that.

You try to be brave, feeling oddly nervous at the idea of being like that with Satoru, before stepping towards the bathroom. The door was still open from earlier, and as you carefully look inside, you see him already inside the jacuzzi. He was sitting lazily, head tilted back, his Adam apple to your seeing. The bubbles reached his middle, and you saw the tiny towel around his waist, hiding any private areas. His arms were spread out on each side of the tube, and he slowly moved his gaze towards you when sensing your approach. Holy fuck, he looked temptingly hot. Way too hot. No, that was bad. This whole atmosphere was bad. Since you started this fake dating thing with him, your fantasies grew wilder, and it got harder each time to hide your feelings and desires for your best friend.

“Don’t tell me you’re shy,” he teases, smiling cheekily. And God, that infuriated you so much. You glare at him as you carefully enter the jacuzzi, being awfully aware that the towel was way too small for you.

“Shut up,” you say, scouting away from him once you are completely inside the water. You sigh of comfort and pleasure, enjoying the bubbles against your body. It felt relaxing, your muscles needed that. 

“Why are you sitting so far away ?” asks your best friend, suspicious. You gaze at his half naked figure, his wet hair being slicked back, some drops falling down his face, neck, arms, chest. Ok, you should stop staring. And clearly, you felt like a dog. Why were you so tempted to just pounce on him ?! 

“Because you stink,” you reply, trying to hide your smile as you turn your head away and cover your nose. That obviously was a lie, Satoru always smelled something sweet, just like he got out of a bakery or a candy store. 

“Me ? Stinky ? I beg to differ ! Come here,” he scoffs, frowning, obviously offended, before suddenly grabbing you. He brings you towards him at light speed, making some of the water move around and splash. His arms wrap around your waist and squeeze you against his torso. You are now sitting in between his legs, your skin rubbing his. Holy shit, you swallow your saliva, looking up at him as you shift awkwardly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he whispers, his blue eyes boring into yours, and you bat your lashes nervously. You wished you could act like everything was ok, back to normal, but it was almost impossible.

“Like what ?” you mutter back. Suddenly, your throat is dry. You were thirsty, and not only for water. Ok, the romantic atmosphere wasn’t helping at all, not to add the proximity. You move a bit, but Satoru doesn’t let you squirm away, resulting in your face getting closer to his.

“Like you want to kiss me,” he murmurs, and your stomach drops. You look away, at his shoulder instead. 

“You’re just projecting,” you end up answering, like you were just joking around. But the wavering in your voice betrays you instantly. Satoru narrows his eyes, and his thumb starts to softly caress your thigh, right below the towel. Your heart starts to beat incredibly faster.

“So you say I’m the one that wants to kiss you ?” he muses, smug. His eyes search yours for any truth, but you continue to look away.

“Kinda,” you simply say, and try to gather your courage to look back at his face. It would be weird if you stared away for too long, right ? Wrong, the moment you turn around, your lips are only a few inches from his. Shit, shit, shit. 

“Don’t tempt me,” he ends up saying, his breath caressing your lips. You look at his, pink and moisturized. Tempting, and you knew from the gathering that they tasted sweet.

“I didn’t,” you simply answer, and his thumb draws a circle on your thigh.

“You are.”

“You’re dumb,” you chuckle nervously, not knowing what to say. He smiles, like an idiot that just won the lottery.

“Love makes you dumb,” he says, kissing your cheek. You open your eyes wider, not sure if what you heard was correct. Did you ? Is he serious or just joking around like usual ? No, Satoru is your best friend. FRIEND. Get that in your head. You both loved to tease each other, so it was nothing new. Yeah, just the usual joking around, exactly. You take a deep breath and inhale a laugh, trying to not sound too nervous.

“You take your role of pretending to be my boyfriend very seriously,” you say, and his arm loosen a bit, allowing you to get more comfortable. You back away, leaving slightly his warmth, getting on the opposite side of the tub to face him. Even if the jacuzzi wasn’t very large, your legs tangling together, you at least could breathe better. Hoping to clear your clouded horny mind.

“I’m serious,” he says, looking straight into your eyes. You stare back, not answering, because at first you didn’t know how to react to his words. Some seconds pass, the tension still present as ever. You bite your lower lip, and then play with the hem of your towel, before sighing.

“Satoru…,” you start to say, in a soft voice.

“Hmmm ?”

“Do you think it would be that weird if we really started dating ?” you ask, looking into his eyes. He holds your gaze. Wait, why did you ask that ? You actually blurted this question out of your mouth without realizing. But you were dying to know his answer. It was vital.

“No,” he says, as simple as ever.

“Why ?”

“We’re basically acting like an old married couple all the time,” he explains, flashing you a teasing smile, chuckling. You chuckle back too, and then gently look away at the candles.

“True. But you don’t do commitment,” you say, more bitterly than you wanted. You hated yourself for saying the words Naoya said back at the gathering. It made you feel nauseous. Yet, you couldn’t help but know a part of what he said was true. Satoru didn’t give his heart like that. The risk of doing that was too high. Walls were all around him, making it almost impossible to reach his heart. 

“I… do,” he answers awkwardly. Oh no, did you make him uncomfortable ? But it was too late now, you couldn’t stop from speaking your mind. It was weighing heavy on you, after all. Could he really blame you for that ? Maybe. Or maybe not. It was too complicated.

“I know, you don’t have time for real relationships,” you say vaguely.

“Y/n, being The Strongest means…” sighs Satoru, frustrated.

“A lot of responsibilities, and you aren’t allowed to be vulnerable. So committing to someone is a no for you,” you cut him in his sentence. There is a pause where he stares at you longly, silent, frowning.

“I guess…”

“But I’ll always be here for you, you know that, right ?” you whisper, looking back at him, feeling bad for this change of mood. His lips stretch in a small smile, and you feel like you can breathe again. 

“I know.”

A second passes. You don’t talk, him either.

“Me too. I’ll always be here for you.” You smile at his words. You melted a little as well.

“I know,” you whisper. He looks at you like he wants to devour you.

Before you can understand what is happening, he suddenly looms over you, grabs your face, and kisses you. Tenderly. Oh, you think you just died and came back to life in a matter of a heart beat. Talking about heart, it’s hammering widely now. You shiver, as his hot and heavy breath is heard, mixed with the feeling of his hands cradling you with care and softness. You can’t resist, and answer the kiss. What was happening ? Why was he kissing you ? It wasn’t like at the gathering. No. It felt different. His lips move against yours, tilting his head to the side as he leans closer, impossibly closer.

“Don’t mind me,” he whispers in between a new kiss, his left hand sliding behind your head to hold you. “I’m just…” he continues, his lips more passionate, needier at each breath he takes, “... practicing,” he ends up saying, his knee sliding in between your thighs. Holy fuck, your towel suddenly feels suffocating, making you want to take it off. No, rip it off.

“Practicing for what ?” you ask in a short whisper as he cuts your breath by claiming your lips all over again. It was fierce, impatient. His right hand slides under your towel, reaching your thigh, inching towards your butt.

“If we need to put on a show in front of the elders, again,” he explains, before smashing his lips against yours, not allowing you to answer or utter a word aside from a moan. Your body feels like jelly, his knee dangerously close to your heat, his tongue caressing yours.

He sucks on your lip before devouring your mouth with so much want, like you were the last meal of this poor starved man. His fingers grips your hair, his other hand squeezing the fat of your inner thigh now. He opens more of your legs to slide them around his waist, as he stands up. You gasp, but he drinks it, his arm supporting you and grabbing your ass to keep you steady. Your body feels like it’s on fire, the water rushing down your two bodies as the kiss gets more intense. 

Not only the water got you wet, and you moaned against his tongue. Your breast is about to spill out of the towel, pressed on his torso, your nipples getting hard. He feels it. It’s making him crazy.

Satoru steps out of the jacuzzi without any difficulty, carrying you in his arms, and puts you down on the sink to continue kissing you. Even if the air around felt colder as you left the warmth of the water, your bodies are simply heated to the bone. He grabs your waist, bringing you closer, and you swear you just felt something hard. You glance down, and open your eyes wider when you notice that under his towel, Satoru is hard. Hard like a rock.

Lord have mercy. 

It grinds against your clothed cunt, and you can’t help but moan. It twitches, and his hands dig dipper in your fat. His tongue caresses you sensually, and you hear him groan. He then suddenly parted his lips away from yours, breathing heavy, panting like a dog, forehead falling on your shoulder.

“Y/n, push me away,” he suddenly says, catching back his breath.

“What ?” you ask, confused, still shaken from what happened.

“Or slap me, if you prefer,” he adds, his wet hair sticking to your skin as his hands roam up your back. You shudder, his touch feeling electric.

“Slap you ? Satoru you’re talking nonsen-” you start to answer.

“Please,” he cuts you, tilting his face to the side so you could look into his eyes. You gulp.

“Why ?” you whisper.

“Because I need to get away from you before we cross a line, and I don’t have the will to stop. So please, make me stop,” he begs. Satoru is begging you, looking weak, about to snap, about to crumble completely.

“And what if I don’t want to stop ?” you dare answer. 

“Y/n, please,” he insists. You stare into his eyes, and see all the self restraint in his gaze. You take a deep breath. You wanted more, but Satoru was right, it would be crossing a line. A line that maybe you weren’t ready to cross yet. Not now. So, reluctant, you push him away. Satoru steps back, putting his hand in his wet hair. You fluster, crossing your legs. He grabs a dry towel, and throws it at you. You catch it as he takes one too, wrapping it around his waist to take off the wet one and put it to dry as well.

“Let’s dry ourselves and go to sleep, yeah ? I’ll bring your pajamas so you can change in the bathroom,” he announces without waiting for an answer. You stay like that, unmoving, not knowing how to react, and he is already back, giving them to you. You barely notice him kissing your forehead, like an apology, before he turns around and closes the door to leave you the intimacy you needed to get changed.

… Ok. What just happened ?! 

Like a robot, you take off the wet towel and dry yourself with the other one. You don’t know how long you took, but once you are finished, you are stepping in the bedroom. You see him already under the covers, the flowers that formed the heart on the sheets are now down on the floor. His arms are crossed behind his head, and he glances at you when you arrive. Only the light of the moon outside was illuminating his face. You felt shy after what happened. There wasn’t the excuse of alcohol or annoying the elders to explain this steamy hot kisses session. The two of you knew that “practice” was a terrible lie. You sigh as you slide under the covers, and turn your back to Satoru as you try to calm down.

“Good night,” you end up saying.

“Good night, y/n,” he says, and God, it was awkward. You felt him shift slightly, his body brushing against yours. Some minutes passed in silence, only the sounds of your breathings in the quietness of the night.

“Do you hate me now ?” he suddenly asks out of nowhere, and you turn around, looking at him surprised.

“What ? Why would I ?”

“For kissing you like that,” he explains, and you look away, recalling his lips on yours. You fluster and sigh before answering “no, Satoru. I don’t.”  He smiles and then scoots even closer before wrapping his arm around your body, snuggling your back against his chest.

“I thought you were mad,” he whispers in the crook of your neck as he inhales your scent.

“I’m not, I promise,” you say gently.

“So… if I did it again, you wouldn't be mad, right ?” he teases.

“Don’t push your luck,” you chuckle softly.

“At least I asked,” he hums.

“Sleep, Satoru,” you order him. God, it felt good to talk back normally with him. The tension slowly died down. Because if it stayed like that, you wouldn’t have been able to sleep.

“Yes ma’am,” he ends up answering before kissing your cheek in a giggle.

It took you longer to fall asleep than usual, but at least, you managed to.

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ  

The next day, the two of you didn’t talk about what happened, not even once. The rest of the day was full of the two of you being busy strolling around the city and the mountains, before having to go back to Tokyo. Later in the afternoon, after eating at a small local restaurant, you went to take your bullet train. Again, you had three hours to kill. Satoru decided to pester you, which ended in you wanting to kill him, but that only amused him more. He eventually calmed down when you both shared your earphones to listen to music, slowly falling back asleep against his shoulder.

It’s in a sigh that you stretch, done with the report you just had to do to the elders about the mission. Satoru grins, crossing his arms against his chest.

“Their faces were hilarious ! They were so mad that their little plan didn’t work !” exclaims Satoru, laughing, proud of this outcome. The plan did kind of work, actually. But not like the elders expected. You decide to not mention it.

“If they want new sorcerers so bad, why don’t they try to have kids themselves ?!” you sigh, walking next to him in the corridor, and Satoru glances at you.

“I think their sperm is like ashes, so probably it won’t work even if they tried,” he jokes, even though what he said had a big part of truth. You choke on your saliva, your face distorting with disgust.

“Ewwww, I just imagined it !” you cry out, Satoru explodes with laughter, and you soon do too. When he was laughing, it was impossible to not follow. It was way too contagious.

“Ahhhh… Sometimes I just wish I could annihilate all the elders without the consequences,” he suddenly says, looking at the sky.

“What ?” you ask surprised, not sure of what you heard.

“What ?” he repeats innocently, as if he didn’t say anything. You chuckle, shaking your head.

Everything was just fun and giggles (and hot make out sessions) for now. But going against the wish of the elders meant business. They didn’t care about your happiness as a couple with Gojo, -even if it was fake-, nor even cared about him as a person in the slightest. All they wanted was for him to work himself to the bone as The Strongest, and carry his duty as the head of the Gojo Clan, meaning marriage and heirs. If you weren’t able to give him that, then they would soon need to… get rid of you. And find a better suitor for their goals.

Fake dating Satoru brought you more problems than you originally thought. 

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ

Part 3 !

[sambhavami]

yk one woman I will always feel bad for is Kripi.

Unserious reason: I'd feel sorrry for any person who has ashwatthama as a son because im an Ashwatthama hater.

Serious reason: She was probably raised very comfortably and lovingly with Shantanu, doted upon by Kripa, idk if she saw Shantanus other kids as her siblings but maybe them too, very cute, right? And then got married to drona. This makes me wonder what the circumstances of their marriage were, what did the royal family think about it? I like to think Drona liked her at least at first. And. And the first few days are fine, right? Like hey maybe shes not living in a palace but its a quaint little house and shes happy. But slowly Drona begins changing. Or rather showing his true colours. Becomes a stingy but power hungry guy and Kripi had to manage the household with those few resources... he disappears to go learn from Parshuram, when they they have ashwatthama, he's crying for milk and Drona will sit there dreaming about power and money and not even try to do anything... (taking this next part from BR Chopra idk if its in the official editions) When the Drupad thing happens he sacrifices all practicality for pride and even after he gets a job in Hastinapur he's still staying in a small hut because he wants DRUPADS money/cows... like be fr dude. And its all so messed up. And she sees her son grow up. He carries the same ambition as his father did. The cycle is repeating and all she can do is watch. It's so sad... and what did she get at the end of the war. A dead husband and a son who would be known for all eternity as the most cowardly man ever. Her son is alive but at what cost. He will outlive her like he is supposed to but at what cost. It's so sad. I'm sure I can come up with more but this is my Ted talk for now thank you for listening.

Hey, thank you so much for putting all this into words! I agree with you about 90% 😂, so, I am going to put some bullet points 😂

Shantanu all but adopts the twins yes, but he still keeps them in separate lodging (because, caste). We see Bheeshma too later speaking to Kripa with the respect of an elder, even though Bheeshma is the oldest person in the room (again, caste). Seeing that like his father, Kripa is also interested in archery, Shantanu arranges for training in that field alongside your normal theory stuff, and Kripi gets home science lessons (and some of the theory part too).

Now, when they grow up, Dr. Bhaduri's baseline assessment of Kripa is- lazy. He has grown up with the respect of a brahmin and the luxury of a kshatriya, and has never really experienced the 'hardships' of either side, which has made him extremely complacent. I mean, it takes Drona all but one month to take over his sarkari naukri! Throughout the epic [at least till Drona's death] Kripa's maximum contribution is: "Uh, what he said." He follows his muh-bola brother and brother-in-law in whatever decision the latters take. He loves his sister, but I doubt he had anything to do with her marriage this way or that way.

Kripi's marriage to Drona is fixed via a three-way agreement between Shantanu, Sharadvana and Bharadvaja. The reason for this alliance, is speculatively twofold: (1) Both Kripi and Drona's mothers come from a 'lower' caste, and they would find it difficult to marry within full-brahmin families, so this arrangement was b/w equals that way, (2) the Maudgalya brahmins, the Bharadvajas and the Kurus are all cousin lineages, and they did like to keep it within the not-immediate family.

Now, Drona does NOT want to marry her. He only agrees when Bharadvaja sort of blackmails him with a 'this is my dying wish' argument. The marriage happens, I think, shortly before/after Bharadvaja's death, at a time when Drona is too much in shock to protest. We see the ripple effects of this throughout Kripi's life [most of it behind the scenes though].

Bharadvaja was solidly upper-middle-class however. He was after all the dean of a very, very successful gurukul. He might've kept Drona in a pseudo-austere situation, but they weren't by any means hurting for cash. Drona might not have clocked it, and Bharadvaja probably did not think it very appropriate to flash money before his very impressionable kid but Drupada did that job, and the damage was done.

Throughout his childhood and youth Drona loudly complains, to anyone who would listen, that he hates his father's job, and does NOT want to become the next Bharadvaja and keep the gurukul running. He does teach at the school under his father when he's a bit older, but kicking and screaming all the way.

Hence, it's no surprise that once the old Bharadvaja dies, the parents start to withdraw their kids from his school, because why would they allow their children to toil in vain under a guy who very vocally hates the job? Bharadvaja's usp was political science, which isn't Drona's strong suit anyway, so that was the official reason for the students to leave. It is around this time that Kripi marries into the mess. She is comfortable at first yes, but she can see the future too, just is unable to stop it because Drona never listens.

Drona, however does nothing to stop the leak because baap ka maal dariya mein daal, right? He only wises up once all the savings and the students are gone, and he is well and truly penniless. It's now that he sets aside his ego, and asks his neighbours for tuition contracts, and they just say heck no! They rather suggest, "You wanted to be a kshatriya so bad, then go be a soldier under some king instead." And Drona even tries that, and all the local kings go, "I won't sin by employing a brahmin to do a kshatriya's work! Have you considered teaching?"

Now, Drona is well and truly out of options, since no one would even donate a single cow, and he was running out of ways to feed his family. Ashwatthama, he loves dearly, and it pains him immensely to see him suffer and be bullied by kids and adults alike on top of that, but he would still not accept his wife's family's help.

The milk-incident is the straw that breaks the camel's back, and Drona packs up and drags his little family all the way to Kampilya, gets insulted and then finally, to avoid being homeless with a wife and kid, he finally, reluctantly goes to stay with Kripa.

There, once he has enticed the princes, Bheeshma is finally informed that his sister and brother-in-law are here [that much of a low profile he was keeping out of shame]. Bheeshma obviously treats him with respect regardless taking him to his own quarters to have a chat mano-a-mano, and then we get this golden(?) exchange:

Bheeshma: "So Drona, how is my little sister then?"

Drona: "She's got less hair on her head, but she's kinda smart so I tolerate it."

I mean I would still like to know, what was going on in his brain for him to first think of, and then say aloud these words, to her BROTHER no less! YOU starved her for the better part of a decade, your son's voice never changed and he's got a bump on his head as a direct consequence of that, and you were expecting your wife to be what, Hema Malini?!

Bheeshma kinda glosses over that comment, because I guess ladkiwale and all that nonsense, plus I think he realized giving Drona the teaching job was the only way to ensure his sister and nephew would have something to eat the next day, because Drona would still not accept any charity, much less from him.

Bheeshma actually gives Drona an entire apartment complex's worth of four-to-five-storey buildings under the guise of arranging student hostels, and Drona, with his family actually live in a penthouse type flat in one of those buildings itself, with an army of servants and a hefty allowance that he doesn't have to touch since food and lodging are paid for already [gurudakshinas on top of that]. They are comfortable, but Drona would never admit that this turn of fate happened thanks to Kripi and her family [and also he hates teaching unless it is Ashwatthama or later, Arjuna].

Ashwatthama actually grows up relatively well-adjusted considering how most of his childhood went. He is also a better friend of the Pandavas [Arjuna in particular, and there's a bit of jealousy too, and some healthy competition] that the Kauravas. He fights on the Kauravas' side only because Drona doesn't want to be on the same side as Drupada, and Kripa will follow Drona to the earth's end [mostly because he can't bothered to make his own choice]. Ashwatthama mostly sticks around to keep his father and uncle safe, despite the fact that he HATES and is nearly coming to blows every night with Karna.

Karna too, a tactless, filterless idiot, decides that the best time to air all his grievances with Drona [all fair points which I agree with wholeheartedly], to Ashwathhama no less, is one freaking hour after his father's been brutally murdered. Time and a place, man! [Ashwathhama cuts off his janeu, declared himself not-a-brahmin and challenges Karna to a death match, but Duryodhana gets in them iddle and stops it].

Also, this is where something in Ashwatthama cracks. Due to the previous circumstances, he has a kind of an unhealthy attachment to Drona, to the point that he never even goes to rule the part of Panchala that his father crowned him for. His death unleashes something feral in the man, that we see get compounded when he sees Duryodhana dying [this, imo, meshes in his mind with the manner of his father's death, and in a way he goes to avenge Drona when he massacres the remaining Pandavas and Panchalas].

And yes, Kripi is left all alone [except for her twin], to deal with the emotional as well as physical fallout from the war. The only solace was probably that she was great-grandma to Parikshit, and we can only hope that she found some solace there.

[whereserpentswalk]

Every ten years, some of the most powerful beings in the multiverse bet on the life of an average human.

They've been doing it since humans evolved sentience, it's become tradition at this point. Azarath angel of war and fire. Opheria high lady of the autumn fae. Eoauiioaie old one of dreams and eater of planets. Drehn the dragon at the edge of time. Kalhesh demon of the unbreakable chain. Haramare the parasite that eats the bodies of dead universes. And many others, some of whom I can't even describe here, all gather to make their bets.

They pick a human by rolling millions of dice until they find someone who matches the DNA sequence generated. Then they'll begin to watch them, watch their little moves, their daily tasks, their relationships, everything about them. And they'll start making bets, on little things at the start of the year, on what they'll have for breakfast. On if they'll make the train on time. On what dreams they'll have when they sleep. But as time extends they start getting more and more invested, and they'll bet on the big things, if they'll ask out their crush, if they'll get that promotion, in some dark circumstances if they'll die.

There are only two rules. Nobody can use their powers to effect the person's life. And the human in question cannot be aware of extra dimensional being. The person is just living their normal life, and they're observing, seeing with baited breath what will happen, not knowing.

It's 2022, they're betting on a university student living in Tokyo. She's been burnt out for days, everyone is waiting intently to see if she finishes her papers in time. The multiverse cheers when she does. She passes all of her classes, does well, though feels the pain of a few sleepless nights. Despite her worst fears and insecurities she's quite intelligent, and all her paranoias prove to be illusions of the mind.

It's 2012, they're betting on a teenager living in the Midwestern US. They're considering coming out to their parents but they don't at the last momment. Some cheer because they remained safe and weren't hurt by their father. Some weep because they've waited even longer to come out now. They're still in the closest when they stop being followed on New Years Eve, their parents never accept them, they end up moving to Chicago for college and cutting off contact years after the contest ends.

It's 2002, they're better on a hunter living in the forests on South America, one of the few people left on the earth not to know of the colonizers and the empires of the west, though he's still felt their effects. He's almost ambushed by a python, everyone waits with baited breath hoping he survives. By all luck he does and the multiverse cheers. He'll die a few days after the contest ends, meeting a westerner for the first time, and meeting a western bullet for the first time, as he was considered to be "trespassing" on a private farm.

It's 1992, they're betting on an elderly man living in the suburbs of St. Petersburg, he comes home one night to find out that his beloved cat has died. He weeps and the multiverse weeps with him. Nobody could have known the cat was in danger, so no bets were made on her, but everyone weeps anyway, it is November, and the multiverse knew her well. Throughout halls of civilizations the old man will never know the cat is mourned, entities from countless worlds wishing things could have gone differently.

The contest is always broadcast to the entire multiverse. The faeries, and the old ones, and the demons and the angels, and all other manner of creature, always know. The ones making the bets always root for their predictions to come true, but those who are always watching tend to hope for the best outcome. They become so invested in everyone's lives, hoping everything is ok for them, loving the people they watch in a way those being watched will never truly know.

They say it's to keep them humble. So that the faeries, and the angels, and the dragons, and the elder horrors will all know in a way what it's like to be human, and know to care for those so much less powerful then them.

[mythos-night]

Forest Green Eyes

Part 1

I ended up write a lot more than I expected and so I'm gonna split part 2 of Icy Blue eyes cause I wrote like 1000+ words. So sorry! But here is part 2, which is basically Hero and Supervillain's backstory. Part 3 will be set in the present time, about 2 months after Part 1. Pls lmk if anyone has any confusion!

Note: Supervillain's powers are the ability to manipulate and detect human emotion. I tried to portray that a lot cause well...it's his superpower. But he sees emotions as colors.

Losing his wife was one of the hardest things Supervillain ever went through.

Not when his powers first came. Not when his parents beat him on a daily basis. Not when he lost his best friend in a freak accident. 

His wife was someone who kept him grounded. Who was always there for him, even in his darkest moments. She was his staple, his rock. The one who brought happiness until it almost clouded everything he saw. He looked crazy, waving his hand around, trying to clear away the happiness that fogged around his wedding day. 

In a sense, she was also his second-in-command. Somehow, seeing every little detail he had missed in reports, taking overtime to help train new recruits in his uprising against the Hero Agency, something that’s always been corrupt from the start. Figuring out who had been siphoning money off of the company they created as a storefront. 

She was his everything. 

They had two kids together. The elder looked like him, with dark brown hair and icy blue eyes. The younger looked like his mother, with lighter hair and forest-green eyes. Two boys they promised to give a better world. To provide them with a world without corruption or hurting or anything that would make them suffer the way they did. 

Supervillain had been a fool then. 

He had gotten too careless, letting his guard down when he really should’ve noticed the Hero Agency being far too quiet, noticed the heroes following him around like vultures. 

Coming back from a father-son outing with his eldest to see him home ransacked was surprisingly not the hardest thing Supervillain ever went through. 

It was bursting through the door wrecked with bullet holes to find his youngest crying over his wife’s dead body.

Her neck had been snapped, and from what he could find through the surveillance, his son had survived by hiding under one of the secret floorboards.  It was terrifying, usually seeing the bright happiness cloud everything and only being left with black death and pain in the air. 

They were wearing masks, the killers, but Supervillain knew. It was the hero Agency.

But he never told his boys who the actual murderers was. As far as his youngest knew, it was a bad case with robbers. But his eldest was smarter. He knew immediately. And he harbored that hate for the so-called heroes just as much as Supervillain did, even though it broke his heart to see his son grow up so quickly. 

His oldest son matured with his age, was tactical, and was a keen leader. Powerless but strong. He quickly climbed the ranks of his father’s mafia, landing a spot as Henchman. 

His younger grew up bright, intelligent, kind, blissfully unaware of how dirty his father’s hands were. It still made Supervillain’s heart ache when a new Hero arose with the same generational fire powers his late wife had. Of course, it was his son, a walking memory of her, who inherited her powers. But it hurt to see Hero fight for a corrupt agency. 

But somehow, Hero managed to steer clear of all of the corruption. Hero would take the stage, and Supervillain would watch the TV, knowing that behind the mask, Hero’s eyes would remain bright. 

They weren’t as bright anymore.

Constructive Criticism is also welcome! Hope y'all have a good day/night! :D

[iron-strangers]

we will raise warriors

Pairing: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin) x Female Jedi!Reader

Tags: Established Relationship, Mand’alor Din Djarin, PWP, Vaginal sex, Creampie

CW: Breeding Kink, No use of Y/N, Smut (MINORS DNI)

Length: 2.036 words

Read this on AO3: we will raise warriors

Link to the series on ao3, tumblr

-

“Happy love day!” You greet Din at the front door of your home by tackling him with a bear hug, armors and all, presenting a small gift, wrapped rather messily, with a huge, silly red bow on top. “Got you a little something, cyare!”

Din just walked into your home, a grand three-bedroom apartment-style room in the eastern wing of Keldabe Palace. I want to see the sunrise every morning, cyare, you had said when Din asked you to pick your family wing upon moving to the ancient, though newly renovated palace. Din had no preference. No actually, he’d prefer not to live in the old castle. He’d rather live in a house in the countryside, somewhere near a body of water, where he can enjoy nature with his family, away from the responsibility of being The Mand’alor. But anywhere is just as good if he has his beautiful riduur and their foundling with him, Din claimed.

You help your riduur to pull off his cape, hanging the long fabric on its stand near the door. Gone is the old and tattered one, replaced by a floor-length, crimson, soft fabric that more often than not got folded into a birikad for Grogu. You excitedly rush him towards the karyai, sitting him down on a couch and placing the gift in his hand. Not used to getting presents, Din eagerly removes his helmet before pulling the red ribbon off, revealing a small T-shaped metal in a transparent box. He stares at it with a puzzled look on his face before looking back up at you with his head tilted sideways.

“Is this, uh, a new bullet?”

”It is not a bullet, don't you dare to load it into your blaster,” You scold, snatching the box from your riduur's hand. “You remember how we’ve talked about trying for a baby? We’ve been planning it for a while, and then there was that time when we kinda, you know, get excited about it in the throne room?” Oh yeah, Din can’t forget that one, nuh-uh, top ten moment of his life. “So, here it is. This is an IUD, mine. It’s my birth control. I went to the healer this morning to take it out.”

Din stutters, his eyes wide open, looking back and forth at you and the IUD, so expressive behind his helmet, trying to process what he just heard. You smile at him patiently, your hands steady on his shoulder, rubbing tight circles with your thumbs, giving him some time to process the news. A few seconds later, the frown morphs into a smile, a huge grin now adorning his handsome face as he then pulls you to his lap and claims your lips in a flurry of hungry kisses. His hands come up to your jaw to cup your face, holding you ever-so-gently as he peppers your face with kisses, stealing giggles out of you.

“How soon can we start?” Din asks eagerly, beaming to you like a verd’ika who just got his first set of beskar’gam, holding you by your ass and lifting you both from the couch, ignoring your protests, holding tightly around his neck.

“Well, my healer said it might take a few weeks to purge the hormones outta my system, but she also said that anything can happen,” You shrug, absently playing with the tuft of hair reaching his neck, he needs a haircut, you duly noted. “Anyways, the elders are begging for us to start training heirs already, so how about you give us what we all want and fuck a baby into me, ner Mand'alor ?” You lean in to whisper playfully, lightly nibbling on his earlobe.

You watch with a smirk when Din is, once again, completely at a loss for words. His pupils are dark with desire and you can feel him starting to harden in his pants against the swell of your ass. Smirking, you grind down on his growing erection, earning a groan from him, always so easy to tease. “Dont start something you can't finish, Rid'ika,” He warns you, pressing your back against the bedroom wall.

“But we all know how much you want to,” you tease, trailing your hand down his beskar-covered chest all the way to the tenting length straining his flightsuit pants. “Want me all soft and pregnant, looking absolutely yours . Your riduur, your baby- Oh !”

Din throws you on the bed, ignoring your squeals. He immediately crawls on top of you and pins you down with a kiss. His hand sneaks down to pull your armors off one by one. He studies you thoroughly, bringing your hand to his lips and kissing his left vambrace that you have worn since your riduurok. He brushes your robes aside, sliding his hand down your belly, admiring your body for a moment. You take his gloves off, wanting to feel your riduur's blaster-calloused fingers on your skin. Your breath catches and the feeling of his hands on you makes you shudder. His middle finger slips beneath the panties and between your slick folds.

“So fucking wet for me, cyar’ika.” Din's lips are back on yours, swallowing your gasps as he circles your sensitive nub. You break the kiss with a sob when you feel Din gathering up your slick on his fingers and he nudges his thick fingers into your heat. You gasp as he slides his fingers deep, crooking his fingers into your sweet spot.

“Right there, Din,” you whine, throwing your head back onto the bed. Your riduur’s hand travels up, cupping your breast and rubbing the pad of his thumb over your pebbled nipple, pulling and pinching. He watches as you chew on your lower lip, trying to stave off your moans. 

“Fuck mesh’la , I can’t wait until these are filled with milk. Aching and leaking all day long until I can milk you dry.” Din leans closer to you, rolling your nipple with his tongue. His mouth closes around you and he sucks hard while his other fingers are still leisurely pumping in and out of you, ignoring your pleas.

“Please what, cyar'ika? Where's that smart mouth now, hmm?”

“Please fuck me! Need you to come inside, fill me up with our verd’ika, please, ner alor- ah!” 

Din swears hearing your needy whines, eager to give whatever his riduur's wants. He pulls his fingers out of you and taps your drenched folds with the tip of his cock. Din growls, he has denied himself for way too long, tucking his face in the crook of your neck he buries himself all the way into you in one thrust, knocking the breath out of you. 

“Force, you fill me up so fucking good .” You moan, letting your head fall down the pillow and grabbing a fistful of the sheet as Din immediately pounds into you. Your walls flutter around his girth, struggling to take him. 

Din burns with desire and his primal need to breed takes over. One rough snap of his hips makes you scream as the head of his cock nudges your sweet spot just right, severing the connection to your brain for a moment.

“You like that, cyar’ika?” He leans down, kissing your sweaty temples. You nod, trapped underneath your riduur, wailing and begging and taking everything Din is giving you. He claims your lips and kisses every plea from your mouth before he pulls back, indulging himself by staring down where his cock is buried inside of you. His length is wet and sticky with your arousal and his pre-cum, making him growl and pace himself harder, faster, rougher.

“I know how much you want it, rid'ika- fuck , look at you, made such a mess on my cock, mesh’la. You don’t want me to stop fucking this pussy until you’re all round and swollen with my ad’ika, huh?” 

“Yes, please, Mand'alor, please fuck a baby into me, wanna make you a buir.”

“Manda - Soak my cock, mesh'la, c'mon, gonna get you all wet and pregnant.” he snarls, spitting filthy promises as he thrust harder. “That’s it, cyar’ika. Keep on squeezing me like that, sweet girl. Not gonna stop fucking this tight pussy until you're all nice and full with our verd'ika.”

“Yes, yes, fuck yes, Din, cyare,” you moan, rolling your hips greedily. “Wanna give you a baby, Din. Come inside me, please. Please give me your cum, oh, Force-”

Din can’t control himself any longer, he growls gutturally, his fingers digging into your hips as his pace grows sloppier and he shoots the first of his hot, heavy load deep inside of you, holding you hard against his front and rutting his hips as he pumps his seeds into your willing womb. The feeling of Din's seeds flooding your insides is overwhelming, your mind is whiting out, legs trembling and you’re cumming hard, milking the thick shaft, enticing him to pump more loads into you until it leaks down your thigh. 

“Don't waste any drop now, cyar’ika.” Din hums, grinning and kissing on your jaw. Slowly he eases himself out of you and watches his cum dripping out of you. He tuts with dismay, gently fingering it back into your puffy cunt, then he gives you his fingers to suck clean. 

You settle in his arms, making out with him lazily when he pulls away and smiles, his hand a comforting weight on your tummy. His smile gives you butterflies. Running your fingers up and down his forearm, you beam to him and he almost tips over with the weight of his love and adoration for you. 

“I'm so excited,” you whisper softly, admiring the blissful look on your riduur’s face as he sounds his agreement and presses a tickling kiss on your nose. Din plays with your hair, brushing the strands sticking on your sweaty forehead back. “Mesh’la? I like the name Aranar,” Din thinks, and you beam at him, nodding and testing the name on your tongue.

The sun is setting, painting a beautiful glow on both his and your mismatched vambraces. There's a peaceful silence between you, the sound of his breathing evening out lulls you to sleep, almost swallowing you into a slumber when you remember something-

“Oh, I have another present for you, an actual present!”

Din tries to protest, claiming you’ve already given him the best present in the galaxy when you shush him, levitating an equally small box from the side table. You open the box, revealing two identical keys on a plush velvet. Din eyes you curiously, picking one key up.

“Remember that one house we saw near your covert?”

“The one with the big yard near the pond? Did you- No, cyar’ika!”

“It’s ours! No, listen to me,” you huff when your riduur tries to protest again. “We can’t live in the palace forever, Din. I won’t let you to. You don’t like it here, and therefore, neither do I. I figured we’d stay here until Mandalore is stable enough, or until we’ve reached about seventy percent of our rebuilding goal, then we’ll move out. We’ll get speeders to get here every morning, show our adi’ke around, then we’ll come home when the day is done, to a place where the Council of Alor can't steal you away from me. We can make it work, my love.” 

Din stares at you adoringly with his big brown eyes, too overwhelmed with the weight of your love to honestly do or say anything other than holding you close and kissing you, caressing your jaw lovingly with each kisses, murmuring a soft thank you over and over again against your lips. “I’ve never- No one’s ever do this much for me,” he mumbles, holding your hand to his heart. “You don’t like it here too? Why don’t you tell me?”

“Oh cyare, you deserve the world and you gave so much for me and our foundling, so of couse I will try to give you a place we both can call home, where we can watch our aliit grows,” You lean into his touch, nuzzling his hand with your jaw, offering him a smile. “And no, I don’t like this place, the force ghosts of previous Mand’alors are creeping me the fuck out!”

“THE WHAT NOW?”

-

Mando'a translations

Karyai: main living room of a traditional mandalorian house

Riduur: Spouse

Birikad: Baby harness

Mand’alor: Ruler of mandalorians

Alor: Leader

Cyare / cyar’ika: beloved

Riduurok: Love bond / Marriage agreement

Mesh’la: Beautiful

Verd’ika: Little warrior

Aranar: Defend

[soulbrothershow]

Nia Brown

Five years after the return of Foxy Brown

The city was on fire. Not just with flames—but with fury, frustration, and fear. The police cruisers that once patrolled the neighborhoods with the illusion of order were now the steel chariots of a syndicate gone rogue. They weren’t protecting. They were poisoning. Not with bullets alone, but with synthetic drugs—lethal, untraceable, and flooding the streets faster than hope could escape.

Nia Brown had seen it all. And five years after her godmother, the legendary Foxy Brown, rescued her from the clutches of a sex trafficking ring, Nia had grown into her own.

Now in her late twenties, she was a striking blend of grace and grit. Her hair coiled in a proud halo, her voice was velvet with a razor’s edge, and her fists—well, let’s just say they spoke fluent truth to power.

And tonight, power was about to get its ass whooped.

It began with blood.

Benny Jacobs, a beloved community activist known as “Uncle Benny,” was left for dead behind the Martin Luther King Jr. Community Center. His crime? Speaking out at a city council meeting about police corruption and overdoses in the projects.

When Nia saw him in the hospital—his face swollen, ribs shattered, and eyes full of hurt—something in her snapped.

“They beat him like a dog, Nia,” said Sister Carla, one of the elders. “And the mayor ain’t said a damn word. Not even a tweet.”

Nia clenched her jaw. “They think we soft. Think we gon’ beg for mercy that ain’t never comin’.” She looked out the window, her reflection merging with the city’s glow. “Well, it’s time they learn. We ain’t beggin’—we takin’ it.”

Back at her loft, Nia lit a stick of sage and dialed the one person who always knew what to do.

“Talk to me, baby girl,” came the smooth, steady voice of Foxy Brown over the speaker.

“They done crossed the line, Auntie,” Nia said. “They beat Uncle Benny within an inch of his life. And now kids droppin’ from this new dope they got out—call it ‘Blue Fire.’ Real sinister shit.”

Foxy was quiet for a moment. “You ready to step into that heat for real, Nia? This ain’t just survival. This is war.”

“I was born in the fire, Auntie,” Nia said. “Now I’m burnin’ back.”

“Then don’t go in half-cocked. You need people. You need eyes, muscle, brains. You build your circle. And when it’s time, you strike where it hurts the most.”

And so she did.

She rallied a crew the system forgot:

Tank – Ex-military, built like a freight train, had a grudge after his brother OD’d on Blue Fire.

Rico – A tech wiz who could hack the mayor’s email while eating Hot Cheetos.

Nikki Blaze – A former EMT turned street soldier, deadly with a Glock and a gospel hymn.

Preach – A spoken word poet who’d seen too many of his students fall victim to the drug wave.

They met in backrooms and barbershops, plotted in bodegas, and prayed in basements.

And when Nia showed them the blueprint—the stash houses, the dirty cops on payroll, the armored transport trucks—they all nodded.

“It’s time,” Tank said, cocking his shotgun.

The first hit was poetic.

A squad car known for extorting teens in South Central pulled up outside a corner store. Nia and Nikki were waiting. When the cops swaggered inside, the sisters went to work. They slashed the tires, planted a USB in the dash to steal bodycam data, and spray-painted “WE WATCHIN’ NOW” across the hood.

By the time the cops ran out, confused and enraged, Nia and Nikki were gone—ghosts in leather and attitude.

“Let the city feel our presence,” Nia said later. “We the new shadow they can’t outrun.”

But it wasn’t long before the shadow fought back.

Lt. Debbie Murdock—steel-eyed, cold-hearted, and the architect behind the entire police-drug operation—put a hit out on Nia’s crew. She was ex-SWAT and built like a blade in a holster. If the LAPD had a devil, her badge number was burned into its flesh.

She tapped her radio. “Bring me the Brown girl. Alive. I wanna see the fire die in her eyes myself.”

The war escalated fast.

An explosion rocked a narcotics depot Nia and Tank torched. A city hall rally turned into a firefight when plainclothes officers tried to snatch Preach offstage and found themselves overwhelmed by a sea of fists and fury.

Videos spread like wildfire. The people rose.

“THEY’RE TAKING OUR STREETS BACK!” screamed the headlines.

Then came the ambush.

A late-night meeting in a warehouse turned trap. Murdock’s men surrounded the place, guns drawn.

“COME OUT, BROWN! OR WE TURN THIS WHOLE BUILDING INTO ASH!”

Nia peeked from behind cover, breathing hard. “Y’all ready to make ‘em remember?”

Rico grinned, clutching his detonator. “Say the word, sis.”

Nia stepped out, bold and defiant.

“I’m right here, Murdock! And I’m still breathin’!”

Murdock emerged from the shadows. “Not for long.”

She charged. The crowd cleared.

It was Nia vs. Murdock—no guns, just fists and fire.

The fight was brutal. Murdock swung like a brute, but Nia moved with rhythm. She ducked, struck, elbowed, spun. Blood flew. Teeth cracked.

“You think this city belongs to you?” Nia growled, wiping blood from her mouth.

“It does,” Murdock hissed, lunging again.

Nia caught her fist, twisted it, and delivered a knee to the gut. Murdock doubled over.

“This city belongs to the people. And we done bein’ afraid.”

With a final roar, Nia flipped Murdock onto a stack of crates. The woman didn’t rise.

The police arrived. But not to arrest Nia. Something had changed.

The community had surrounded the warehouse. Hundreds deep. Cameras rolling. Ministers, students, grandmothers—all bearing witness.

The Chief of Police stepped forward.

“This ends tonight,” he said. “Lt. Murdock has been relieved. An investigation begins immediately.”

But Nia knew better. “Words mean nothing without action,” she said. “We’ll be watchin’. And if y’all fall short again—we comin’ back.”

Later, as dawn broke over the city, Nia stood on a rooftop, her team around her.

“You did it,” Nikki whispered.

“No,” Nia said, eyes scanning the skyline. “We did it. And this ain’t the end. This is just the beginning.”

Her phone buzzed. A text from Foxy:

Now that’s how you raise hell, baby girl. Welcome to the legacy.

THE END (for now)

“Sister Justice” rides again…

[deliciousspecimen]

Please may I have The Walking Dead platonic headcanons of what if Carl Grimes had a older sister who is maybe 3 years older than him and had a 6th Sense when it comes to safe houses and places that is unlikely raided for supplies and what to avoid...e.g. if a certain place seemed overrun with walkers being one of them and when someone offering a safe haven being too good to be true and they seemed 'off'..which had saved her group on numerous occasions. She's a good one and always had been..even after her mother's passing, she promised to look out for Carl and for Judith. She learnt how to use a gun under her father's guidance at the start from the age of 12 before handling it on her own when it comes to having to shoot walkers..or use daggers. She is mostly the person who looked after and raised Judith since infancy and was willing to die to protect her when she was in harm's way.

Rick Grimes relationship with his daughter

Carl Grimes relationship with his elder sister

Lori Grimes relationship with her daughter too.

The Group's relationship with her..(with the same ones who knew Carl for a long time too)

Shane's relationship with her..and how he felt that she didn't see him as a father very much..she saw right through him but she didn't say anything because he was her Dad's colleague and friend.

A/N: Absolutely! I might make a longer fic based on this request! Already got permision from the requester :} I'm either gonna base it off this one, or make one new walking dead fic all together. Eighter way, ill credit you for the request, @the-letter-horror-lover!

Raised by the End of the World

Older-Sister!Reader x The Walking Dead Headcanons

Warnings: Violence/Death, Parental Loss, Trauma, Existential Despair/Sacrifice

Word Count: 1798

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

- (Y/N) has an uncanny gut instinct that rarely fails her: While not supernatural, her "sixth sense" is more of a hyper-awareness built from trauma, observation, and cold survival logic. She knows the difference between quiet and too quiet. She’s the type who will stop everyone mid-step because something “feels off,” even if there are no walkers or sounds- and more often than not, she’s right.

- She can “read” people frighteningly well: One look, and she can tell if someone is lying, desperate, dangerous, or putting on an act. Rick has learned to trust her instincts even over his own at times. In abandoned houses, she can glance at the dust, placement of things, and smell of the air and tell if someone’s been there recently. She’s especially good at finding caches of supplies overlooked by others. She's the one who always checks under floorboards, between false walls, and above ceiling tiles. It’s almost become a running joke- until she finds a forgotten stash of canned goods or ammo.

- Rick started training her in basic gun safety and handling when she was 9, back before the world fell apart: It began with weekends at the range- slow, careful lessons on how to respect the weapon. Mostly so he could eventually go hunting with him, and actually know how to aim.

- She took to it quickly, surprising even Rick with her precision: She never flinched. When she asked to learn how to use a knife next, Rick hesitated, but taught her anyway- something he later thanked himself for.

- After everything went to hell, she became one of the best shots in the group: Not just accurate, but calm. She doesn’t waste bullets. Every shot counts. She's also quick with a dagger or makeshift blade. She's not the strongest, but she’s fast and precise- throat, eye, skull. She's had to learn how to end things cleanly, especially when Judith was with her.

- Lori loved (Y/N), but often didn’t understand her: While Carl was more emotionally reactive, (Y/N) was quiet, steady, and internalized everything. They had friction- especially as the world began to collapse- with Lori sometimes chastising her for “acting like an adult” or “trying to be in charge.” (Y/N) never argued back. She just kept doing what needed to be done… But deep down, Lori was proud. She told Rick, before her death, that (Y/N) was stronger than both of them- that she had something in her that would keep them all alive.

- Their last real moment together was quiet: Lori cupped her daughter’s face, said “Take care of your brother. Take care of Judith.” And (Y/N) nodded once, already promising without needing to say it aloud. After Lori’s death, (Y/N) was the only one who stayed with Carl that whole night. She didn’t say a word. Just let him lean on her until he slept… 

- Now (Y/N) often acts more like Carl’s second parent than just a sister: She's firm when she needs to be, but she's never condescending. Carl listens to her more than most, even when he pretends not to. They argue like siblings, but when the world goes to hell (again), Carl always looks for her first. If she’s nearby, he knows things will be okay.

- From the moment Judith was born, (Y/N) took over almost all of her care: She was the one waking in the middle of the night, rocking her, warming formula, changing diapers even during the hardest of times.

- Judith’s first word wasn’t “mama” or “dada.” It was “Sissy,”: The whole group melted when they heard it. She braided Judith’s hair when it got long enough, wrapped her in scraps of blankets when they were on the road, and told her made-up fairy tales when the real world was too ugly to explain. If Judith ever cried or screamed when walkers were near, (Y/N) would press her forehead to hers and whisper calming things until she went quiet- even if her own heart was pounding out of her chest. She once hid with Judith in a broken-down car overnight, clutching her tightly while walkers passed within feet of them She didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn’t breathe until the moans were gone.

- Rick sees (Y/N) as both his daughter and his second-in-command: After Lori’s death, she became the emotional pillar of the family, even when Rick wasn’t in a place to be the father she needed. He regrets that he put too much responsibility on her shoulders too early- relying on her to help raise Judith, to keep Carl in line, to read the room when he couldn’t. But deep down, he trusts her instincts more than almost anyone.

- Their bond is strong but often unspoken: Built on quiet glances, half-nods, and wordless understanding. When something goes wrong, she’s usually the first person he looks to. He’s told her, more than once, “You shouldn’t have to be this strong.” And each time, she just gave him a tired smile and said, “I know.” He worries about the cost of the apocalypse on her soul, even more than Carl’s. She carries so much, and rarely lets anyone see her fall apart.

- Carl both idolizes and resents her, in that complex sibling way: She’s his protector, his compass- but also a reminder of everything they lost. She was the one who taught him how to bandage his first walker scratch, who stayed up with him after nightmares when Rick was spiraling. When Carl went through phases of trying to be hard or emotionless, it was her disappointment- not Rick’s- that stung the most. She didn't yell, just gave him that look that said, "You know better."

- He never wanted to admit how scared he was of losing her: But when she once got clipped during a raid and bled out onto the concrete, Carl didn’t leave her side all night. She always made him feel like he didn’t have to be strong all the time. He could crumble, and she would carry the weight for both of them.

- Everyone knows not to second-guess her gut feelings: Even Daryl has said, “If (Y/N) says we don’t go in there, we don’t go in there.” She's quiet but respected- the kind of person people turn to when things get tense because she doesn’t panic, and she always has a plan. Carol shares a soft, maternal bond with her- the two often look after Judith together. Carol sees how much of herself is reflected in (Y/N)’s sacrifices. Glenn was always amazed by her resourcefulness; he once told Maggie he thought (Y/N) could find a full grocery store in a burnt-out gas station.

- At an abandoned hotel just outside of Atlanta, the group thought they’d struck gold: Clean water, canned goods, beds. (Y/N) took one step in and froze. Said the smell was wrong. Turned out it was a trap set by scavengers waiting on the roof with rifles.

- During a harsh winter, she led them to an abandoned church no one wanted to check: “too obvious,” they said. But she felt it in her bones. Not only was it untouched, it had a hidden root cellar stocked with old food from a prepper priest.

- Once, they were approached by a smiling man offering food and shelter at his supposed “community.”: Everyone wanted to hear him out. She stared him down, her voice flat: “He’s not hungry. Look at his boots- clean. He’s hunting, not surviving.” The man ran when she exposed him.

- When walkers broke into a safehouse and (Y/N) was upstairs with Judith: She shoved the dresser in front of the door, locked herself and the baby in the closet, and readied her knife. She didn’t expect to survive- only to keep the door shut long enough for someone else to get to Judith. In a moment where bullets ran out and Judith was in direct danger, she used herself as a human shield without thinking. Daryl pulled her out at the last second, but she was ready to die without hesitation.

- Once, she and Carl were separated from the group during a supply run: She kept Carl behind her the entire time, even when they were ambushed by a lone hostile survivor. She was the one who fired first- Carl never forgot the look on her face after. Calm. Empty. Controlled.

- Daryl Dixon: Daryl sees a kindred spirit in her. Not loud, not flashy, but lethal when it counts. He’s seen her gut a walker with one arm while holding Judith with the other. They often patrol together in silence, both appreciating the lack of small talk.

- Carol Peletier: Carol is maybe the only person who understands what it means to be both warrior and mother in one body. She once told (Y/N), “We do what we have to, and we carry it forever. That’s just how it is for people like us.”

- Michonne: She respects (Y/N) fiercely. They’ve fought side-by-side more than once, and Michonne once admitted she thinks (Y/N) has the best instincts in the entire group. When things feel “off,” Michonne always checks her face first.

- Glenn Rhee: Glenn used to tease her gently, trying to get her to laugh or loosen up. He told Maggie that she reminded him of a cat- quiet, deadly, and always watching.

- Maggie Greene: Maggie bonded with (Y/N) over motherhood. Though their circumstances were wildly different, they shared a resilience born from loving someone so small in a world so cruel.

- Hershel: Before his death, Hershel treated (Y/N) with warmth and fatherly affection. He once told Rick, “That girl’s got an old soul. Like she’s lived through this before.”

- Shane never knew quite how to handle (Y/N): She was polite, respectful, but distant. She didn’t laugh at his jokes the way Carl did, didn’t trust him the way Lori sometimes did. He could tell she saw through him. Through the bravado, the barking orders, the possessiveness over the Grimes family. And that infuriated him- because she never said anything. Never called him out. Just looked at him.

- That silence was worse than yelling: It was judgment without words. Shane knew she didn’t see him as a father figure- not even close- and that burned. He tried, once, to bond with her. Brought her a box of supplies and said, “Thought you’d like first pick. You earned it.” She just nodded and said, “Thanks,” but her eyes didn’t soften.

- After Shane’s death, she didn’t speak of him often: But once, years later, when Judith asked about “Uncle Shane,” (Y/N) just said, “He tried to love us. But he lost himself before he ever really could.”

[partycatty]

you write for mk11 gramps johnny? have serious brain rot for him

if so could you write a fic of him dicking us down for being a brat? u can make up a plot or not i just need it and need him. love ur writing either way!!

- 💙

alright, im using this ask but i have a very specific image for this rn. this is gonna be a meaty post so hear me out

older!johnny cage > waste ur time

this is based off of the song WasteUrTime by Kevin Walkman with some lyrics (in pink) sprinkled in. you and johnny have a clear age gap, trying to avoid giving into desires, but 3am rolls around and you consider the idea of having a late night visitor.

warnings: smutty, age gap, ur both horny demons, virgin reader, i dont know how military ranks work, affair, sonya never gets Rocked

notes: this is going to be a little more artsy that what i usually do, so apologies if the format change is not ideal. this is more of an actual fic than bullet points. also the lyrics are out of order and not all included, so you don't need the song to enjoy this!

word count: 2.6k

[ masterlist ]

give me a glass of your innocence.

training was hard, your skin glistening with sweat and your face flushed from overexertion. the task was relatively simple; to climb up a deeply sloped wooden platform using nothing but your grip and momentum. your comrades were cheering you on, including briggs, commander cage, her mother, and her father. straining yourself to grip the ledge of the platform, you finally hoist yourself up and stand upright, not before doubling over to pant.

the others applaud and surround you with cheers. a firm hand finds its place square on your back, rubbing in circles.

"atta girl," the voice leans into your ear with an audible grin. "knew you had it in you."

your head turns to thank the disconnected voice, but out of your fuzzy mind, the realization pulls through that none other than your superior, johnny cage was the one congratulating you so intimately. his praise makes your cheeks flush even darker and your gaze averts, too afraid of such direct appreciation which johnny notes. you weren't used to compliments.

this is my creation, here's your invitation.

you knew something intense was brewing with each lingering stare or gentle squeeze to your shoulder. how intense exactly, you couldn't pick out. with minimal experience with others lusting for you, it didn't register in your head at first just how hungrily he gazed at you. not that you were complaining necessarily, he was part-time action star, part-time military leader. he was built, charismatic, and a family man. it felt impossible to not feel weak in the knees around him.

johnny knew he had an effect on you, as he did most others. despite watering down his hollywood charisma, he couldn't bring himself to deny how sexy he was at his older age. something about a buff salt and pepper man telling you what to do had you following commands like a dog, doing anything it takes to have him praise you more.

even still, you couldn't do anything about it. johnny was a married man. his family was your coworkers, hell, it was their job to command you! the guilty thoughts would creep up on you no matter how badly you wanted to avoid them. couldn't you have chosen a more... single man?

you seem so damn nervous.

"how can i be of service?" johnny asks, leaning his front half forward ever so slightly to show you he was interested in every word that dripped from your lips. your vision was too blurred from anxiety to properly articulate what you needed from him, so you nervously swirled your drink. damn the special forces and their free alcohol parties.

"how do you do it?" you ask with a stammer. "earthrealm, netherrealm, tarkatans, ninjas, thunder gods. it all feels so unreal. how do you stay so calm?"

"mm," he hums, lowering his own glass after a brief sip. "well, you get used to it. turns out i was born to a mediterranean war cult's gene pool. watched my daughter kick an elder god's ass while i got maggots down my throat. went face-to-face with younger me. there are just some things that are too damn ridiculous to ever fully understand, so i accept it for what it is. when you're my age, fighting for all of these otherworldly things, most of the little things feel like a walk in the park."

"don't get me wrong, sir, i'll fight for earthrealm, but this is all so... dizzying."

johnny visibly tenses up at 'sir.' "tell you what," he grabs his drink napkin and opens a sharpie with his teeth. "you ever wanna talk about it with someone that's seen everything, you come to me." he writes his personal phone number on the napkin and places it in your palm with a smile.

you fidget with the paper before pocketing it, worried you'd pick at it too much and rip it to shreds before you could save the digits. the most you could bring yourself to do was half-bow, half-nod before scurrying away to the bathroom to cool your hot face. johnny could only chuckle to himself with a shake of his head.

long walks of shame look so good on you.

a long time was spent staring at the new conversation on your phone. despite your inexperience, there was a simmering feeling that johnny didn't just give you his number to let you vent. he wanted to talk to you outside of work. the thought makes you sweat.

why would he want to talk to you? if he wanted conversation, he would reach out to his wife and kid. he had it all, and yet he still wanted to put everything on the line for you.

you're moving fast, and i'm into it.

"lieutenant. it's reader," you shoot a simple text out, lying to yourself when you justify texting him for the sake of him saving your number. it was late, too late to be texting your superior. another lie you told yourself: i'll just send the message now so he sees it in the morning! your shameful justifications are ripped from you when you receive a reply, almost immediately.

"couldn't it have waited until the morning?" he replies bluntly, and you're ready to type out a spew of apologies before a second text comes through. "i'm teasing. johnny, by the way. no need for titles."

"sorry." you try to remain professional with your response, fingers dancing wildly across your keyboard. your eyes flicker up to the clock in the top corner, realizing it's well into the night. "didn't expect a response so late. have a good night, lieutenant."

you're ready to throw your phone out of the nearest window out of sheer embarrassment, but you stop when you feel another buzz come through. your stomach flips.

"johnny. you usually stay up late?" he texts, drawing the conversation out much to your surprise. "it's 3:30 in the morning."

"my day's been so boring," you decide to lean into the more casual chat, hoping to find a softer side to your boss. you should feel disgusted, repulsed, put off. he was double your age and then some. but dear god, his attention on you was hypnotizing even if it was just words on a screen. "hoping to waste some time before tomorrow comes. lots of training."

johnny's reply takes a suspiciously long time to come through, his bubble appearing and disappearing. just before you thought you lost the conversation, a photo comes through. johnny's laying in bed, hair ruffled and shirtless. his eyes have a soft, pleading look to them and his lips are curled into a pretty smile. the tiniest glimpse of his chest tattoo pokes through the bottom of the image, and you had to make a conscious effort to swallow your drool and close your jaw. you almost don't notice the text attached.

"maybe i could waste your time?"

you choke on your saliva, glancing off to the corner of your room as if an invisible camera was perched there. this man held zero shame, that much was true. you suppose it's from his age. there's only so much time in one life, so he's seizing every moment. it terrified you, to the depths of your core.

"i don't follow," you text back, playing dumb. this was genuinely unbelievable to you, you needed to hear more from his perspective to make sure you weren't actually dreaming or reading too far into his offer.

"come on, girl," he teasingly responds. "don't play dumb. i may be old, but i'm still sharp." another photo slides into the chat, the same idea s his previous one but now fully displaying his torso. his broad chest with his name painted on it was now boldly on display. his hand laid flirtatiously on his abs, fingers spread out. at the very bottom, you could make out the beginning of a thick tent in his pajama pants. it was like every inch of this man was maximized. you'd seen his shirtless form in his old movies, but seeing it now... it was personal. that photo was for you. "i know you're still fucking with me. i see how you look at me." you bite your lip, wondering if maybe sonya was sharing the other side of the bed. your stomach churns.

"i mean..." you leave the text at that, rapidly typing and deleting. you're not quite sure what to say, how to carry this now heated conversation. you'd never... had to before. "if i may state the obvious, you're... older. and my boss. and married."

his replies stop for a good couple minutes. you wonder if maybe he was regretting his advance. you hoped not.

"is it something that you'd mind?" johnny asks, hesitation in his words as he breaks away from his flirty comments. his question makes you ponder. you were a virgin at your age, holding onto this trait longer than almost everyone at a similar age to you. work was your priority, never giving yourself enough time for a serious commitment. but here you were. johnny was throwing something onto the table that you never expected to happen. were you going to pass this up and stay a virgin forever? hell, no!

"sent you my location. let's try something new, lieutenant."

"johnny." he corrects you one final time before falling completely silent on his end. your stomach twists and churns wildly, realizing you have opened the flood gates to a hookup with your boss. you throw your pajamas off and replace them with a cuter, coordinating pair. you brush your teeth again and try to fix your hair into a neater updo, not impacted by the friction of your pillowcase. shoes and various discarded belongings are shoved under the bed and into the closet. you hadn't had male company, well, ever. you had to come off as somewhat decent for him.

jesus christ, your mind grows dizzy. you were going to lose your virginity, now, or in however long it takes for him to arrive at you apartment. you're not far from work, and even still the time it took for you to hear footsteps in the hallway must have been a century at the minimum. you were seriously going through with this because it was about damn time you enjoyed yourself and spiced shit up.

the heavy footsteps come to a halt, the shadow overtaking the faint hallway light glowing. a part of you wants to hide, maybe jump out of your fire exit. your nerves were blinding, and taking the steps to the entrance felt like an olympic sport. that is, until a new text appears.

"let me inside."

do you open the door? leaning against it, you can smell his musk just through the crack alone. damn his hypnotic... everything. if you open the door, his entire career, marriage, and life could be over. that is, if you spill. you wouldn't.

keeping shit a secret fits you like a glove.

you slowly open the door, hand frozen on the doorknob as you're met with your boss towering over you with a heavy look in his eyes. it's hard to avoid his own hesitation too, but his hard breathing betrays his morals. he looks ready to pounce at any given moment. johnny's mouth opens first, but you beat him to it.

"i'm a virgin," you blurt, mind too empty to feel embarrassed at the fact. you felt the need to tell him now, before he was on top of you and you laid there like a fool.

johnny's brows raise up ever so slightly. "what?"

the heat of the admittance catches up to you, and you twiddle with the hem of your shorts. you repeat yourself meekly, letting the predicament set in between the two of you.

"that's..." he trails off, glancing into your room. "um."

"i'm sorry-" your face heats up, your eyes pricking with tears at the awkward air. "i just... i didn't want you to be surprised, because i don't know what i'm doing."

something new stirs in johnny's core as he understands the weight of the situation. his fists clench and he takes a lumbering step toward you. you back up on instinct.

"that's alright," he purrs, voice hitting a new low, one that's far away from his professional volume. "'cause i'll take care of you. i've got you."

he stands up straight, scratching the back of his neck.

"if you'll have me... i guess that speaks for itself. i'm here, aren't i?"

you nod with a nervous chuckle. your bodies move in sync as you figure out where to put your hands. they settle on his neck, wrapping your arms around him to pull him in. his hands hold your waist. jesus, his hands are big. you'd kissed before, so this is familiar territory.

"i'll take that as a yes," his eyes flick to your lips, visibly restraining himself from fully taking advantage of you. he leans in for a tender kiss, your lips and his moving together. it turns heated quick, with his tongue darting out to get a taste of your mouth which you accept gratefully.

johnny's hands trail down to your ass, cupping the underside as if his hands were destined to fit there. he tugs upward, and you understand what he's trying to do. you jump up and break the kiss momentarily so your legs trap his waist. in between make out sessions, you guide him through your apartment to the bedroom. his lips taste bitter like alcohol but cleanly sweet. exactly how you imagined.

your mind is hazy with lust, your pussy clenching around nothing as you envision taking a monster like him for the first time. a part of you wonders if it's even possible. instead of throwing you onto the mattress, he lowers you like a princess, supporting your head and back with each hand which does nothing to help your aching wetness pooling between your legs.

johnny's lips dive to your jaw, sucking and biting tenderly. you wince, but replace the noise with a lustful gasp as he soothes the pain with his hot tongue. you want to clench your thighs together to relieve the throbbing pressure, but johnny's hands pry your legs open as his hips fit perfectly between them. like a forbidden puzzle piece. you feel his cock rub through your pajamas, and your mouth gathers drool.

johnny finds any possible plush flesh of your neck to take in, kissing wetly as he gently ruts into you, not even realizing he's doing it. he needed to explore every inch of this new body, this new lover... his mistress.

if you were to start praying for forgiveness, it'd be now. you internally cursed sonya for getting her hands on him before you could. your chest burned with jealousy and desire. he was so evilly delicious, and every inch of him needed to be inside before you'd start sobbing. your hands fly forward and tug him forward by his waistband.

"need you," is the most you can coherently ask for, blinded by your horniness. johnny pulls away from your collar, panting in your face. he can't bring himself to look directly in your eyes, your wet, pleading eyes.

"you..." he swallows thickly, brows knitting together. he frowns. "you can't tell anyone. you know that, right?''

you nod with a small whine. you wanted him to just shut up and fuck you.

"hhh - won't say anything," you huff back, gliding your dampened bottoms across his dick with need. he groans, and buries his head in your neck, a deep sigh sending goosebumps across you skin.

"atta girl..."

so hit me up when you feel down i'll make your ass stay 'til sundown i understand what you've been through 'cause I'm a sorry sucker too i know you're scared and that's alright just let me love you for the night

[noturlondonboy]

Your fellow elder ready to prompt you with some Bishova Touching 35

thank you~ 💖

Touching #35- kissing their bruises and scars

——

Kate Bishop was no stranger to bruises. She always had one somewhere, one way or another- her tendency to jump headfirst into danger and challenge every random criminal she met made injury inevitable. If her knuckles weren’t red and swollen, that just meant she hadn’t been training enough. If her cheeks weren’t aching from getting thrown on her face then she wasn’t working hard enough. Pain was a distraction. Pain was constant. Pain was good.

Until she met Yelena.

The woman was a mystery to her- one she wanted to completely uncover. She was mesmerizing, and insane, and stronger than anyone Kate had ever known. It drove her crazy, to see the assassin so close to her and still feel like she knew so little. But they got close, faster than Kate expected. Before she knows it they’re somehow dating, and she’s the luckiest girl in the world. If you asked Yelena, she would say the same.

Kate’s addiction to pain was never unnoticed. Yelena knew how hard she pushed herself, how much she loved the ache in her muscles and the blood on her lip. And it bothered her, but she understood. The want, the need. The pleasure it brought to be so beaten, even in victory. She understood, so she said nothing; just silently patched them both up whenever it was needed.

But she decided that staying silent may have been a mistake the day Kate comes home inches from death.

The archer is barely conscious, bleeding from her head and mouth and cradling a broken wrist to her chest. Her shoulder looks dislocated. There’s a bullet wound in her thigh. Yelena can see gashes and rips in her suit and skin, dark, painful bruises blooming over her taut stomach.

She wants to scream and cry and kill whoever did this to her Hawkeye.

Kate is different after that. Quieter. Timid. Reluctant to go on patrol, hesitant to accept missions. Yelena sees it all, and it breaks her heart in two. She starts taking whatever position Kate was supposed to have, willingly going out with Barton to take down street level crime. Kate isn’t well. She can be good for her. She can DO good for her.

The first time they get close to having sex after Kate heals up, the archer stops her, tears in her eyes and heart beating with anxiety.

“My darling, what is it?” Yelena says gently, cradling her lover close.

Kate can only cry for several minutes, but eventually she curls into Yelena’s warmth. She mumbles something, and Yelena leans closer, asking her to repeat it. “I don’t feel… pretty- anymore,” Kate chokes out, her face pressed into Yelena’s neck.

Something hot flares in the assassin’s gut, and she pulls away to cradle Kate’s cheeks. “Malen’kiy yastreb…” she whispers, waiting for Kate to meet her eyes. “You are the most beautiful creature I have ever been given the honor to lay eyes on.”

Kate stares at her for a moment, lips trembling. “But I’m… I’m broken. My body is… disgusting. The scars, the- the bruises that never go away.”

Yelena shakes her head so hard it nearly makes her dizzy, and she kisses Kate insistently. “Those scars are proof of your strength, your loyalty, your fight, your power.” She's moving back down Kate’s body, marveling at the marred skin underneath her lips as she kisses and nips softly at the scars that her Artemis hates so much. “These are beautiful. You are so beautiful. You are my everything.”

Kate is sobbing quietly, watching Yelena with so much love swelling in her chest she swears she could burst. The blonde explores her body softly, carefully, as if it’s the first time she’s ever seen it. Her fingers trace over the map of pain on Kate’s skin, turning it into love and adoration.

“Kate Bishop, you are perfection,” Yelena murmurs, her lips so warm and so soft as they worship the long, jagged lines over her ribs. “You are nothing but ethereal.”

And Kate thinks that if that’s how Yelena sees her, maybe she can try to look at herself that way too.

[praxcrown5]

Unhinged Cars or Planes Headcanon Wednesday: Angels

Angels are factory servants differentiated from normal vehicles by their wings, purple eyes, and lack of reproductive hardware. They hold a unique position in the history of the WOC, being the builders, shepherds and...reapers of mechanical life.

Some of this information is stuff I've already posted elsewhere, but most of it is new. Enjoy!

-An angel's lifespan is limited to 500 years, no matter their form or function. They also age differently than normal vehicles, having growth spurts at their 10th, 25th, and 50th birthdays. Angels who leave the factory rarely live longer than 90 years

-Instead of going to school, angels spend their formative years moving through different departments within their home factory, meeting their elders, developing skills, and thinking about what they'd like to do as a career. When they reach adulthood at 50, they start training in the field of their choosing, and will usually spend 20-40 years gaining the necessary experience to become an expert in their line of work

-All angels are manufactured to be genderless, though it is common practice to use gendered pronouns, especially if an individual chooses a career working with the public. Despite lacking an auxiliary array, they are capable of physical intimacy with other angels, civilians AND carrier/military class vehicles

-During the training phase of their career, angels are given the option to undergo a period of "community service" whereby they serve as ambassadors to the civilian world. This may involve establishing contracts with scrappers or miners, serving on various advisory boards, or even something as "mundane" as helping rebuild communities affected by natural disasters

-If an angel wishes to leave their factory, they choose a gender and are allowed to undergo surgery that will provide them with the necessary reproductive hardware to make this a reality (*note* starting a family and having children is one of the main motivators to leave in the first place). In exchange, the angel is required to leave part of themselves behind. Most opt to have their wings and/or weapons removed...others may choose to have their memories selectively modified so that they forget all of the knowledge that they've accrued. Still others alter their bodies, removing their vocal processors, disabling their eye screens, and/or replacing their titanium laced chassis with civilian grade metals

-Purple eyes are unique to angels, tho this is not widely known

-Angels are not sired through normal means, instead their soul is recycled from the souls of dying vehicles and their bodies crafted from the reforged remains of the dead. Harvester units, like the Speed Demon in CotR, camp out near dying vehicles so that they might collect their souls in the moments before death. These units have more advanced telepathic abilities and cloaking tech to keep their presence hidden

-All of an angel's body metals are reinforced with titanium. They can deflect bullets and can shake off impacts that would kill a normal person

-Each angel packs an arsenal of highly advanced laser, plasma, and/or sonic weaponry. And while factories usually stay out of civilian wars, they may involve themselves in a conflict should it escalate to the point that it begins to threaten their home or business interests. A single angel is capable of leveling a town

Angels as depicted in artwork. The metal work on the Arc de Triomphe is especially interesting as it depicts an angel standing on top of a group of civilians, as if it has defeated them in battle. And on Notre Dame, there are grotesque angel gargoyles.

Random thing: Ive been looking into eye color and commonality, so far brown eyes are the most common with blue in second place and green in third. I'll post percentages once I get that data compiled.

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

The Pull Of You - Part 7

Marvel

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader x Bucky Barnes

Soulmates - Feeling the pull between each other indicates a bond. A kiss confirms it.

Summary: You meet Steve and Bucky on a Tuesday. Steve ignores the soulmate pull, Bucky can't. There's something about you that neither can shake, even when you're wearing one of Clint's t-shirts and your unicorn slippers. After weeks of slipping into your bed Bucky decides he can't hold back anymore. He's telling you after the mission, whether Steve is all in or not. When you don't come back from the mission, they are both ready to burn the world down and the team have the matches to help. But is everything as it seems and have they been betrayed by someone on the inside.

Chapter Summary: It's been 48 hours and the cracks are starting to show.

Chapter Warning: Mentions of injuries and being held captive.

“Look I know you don’t want me to say it but I think we should head back to the compound and regroup.” Rhodey advised cautiously.

It was at that moment that Bucky lost it. He’d done his court mandated therapy and he’d committed weekly sessions ever since. The elders in Wakanda had taught various relaxation techniques. He’d been keeping his emotions in check or so he thought. With you gone they had bubbled to the surface and now spilled over into what Sam had nicknamed the murder strut and he was headed in Rhodey’s direction. Clint and Pietro blocked his path.

“Move.” He growled.

“Not happening.” Clint replied.

“Move or I’ll move you.”

“Touch him and I’ll put a bullet in your head.” Snapped Natasha.

“Yeah, well I’ll spit it out.”

“Why didn’t you have her six?”

“Watch your damn mouth Romanoff!” Steve snapped “You know damn well how he feels about her! You saw her body cam footage. He went to her. She pushed him away.”

“And here we are. My best friend gone!”

“Rhodey might have a point. It’s been over twenty-four hours, nearly forty-eight. We’re going round in circles here. We’re the best there is. We haven’t missed anything. There are no leads, even within two miles of here. We already know they’ve removed her trackers and ditched her camera. We need to discuss other options, maybe call in some help.” Sam told them.

“We don’t need help.” Steve snapped “We, we need, we need.”

Steve stuttered over his words, a lump forming in his throat and tears in his eyes. Bucky’s shoulders slumped and he turned towards Steve pulling him in for a fierce hug.

Vision and Wanda stood quietly watching the back and forth between the team.

“I can feel their pain. All of them, as well as my own. This could tear us apart again.” Wanda whispered to her soulmate. She glanced up at vision to see his head tilt slightly.

“Vis? What is it?”

“I have a theory.”

Meanwhile………..

Pain is the first thing you’re aware of. Everything hurts. Your head probably hurts the most. You can’t open your eyes. You try but realise your eyelids are being held down. A weighted eye mask or tape perhaps?

A wave of panic spread over you and you soon knew that the breathing that came with panicking was not a good idea. A shooting pain went up your side. Broken ribs.

For fucks sake, you thought to yourself. You decided to get your shit together and allowed your training to takeover.

Smell. Damp. Musty. Sound. Tripping. Water. Voices and a radio but far away. Sight. Stuck. Feel. Pain. Body check. Toes not broke. Ankles. Damaged sprain or low level breaks. Also bound to each and whatever I’m on. Legs bruised. Broken cocsic. Ribs broken. One shoulder dislocated. Arms bruised. Left possibly broken. Hands. Bruised and bound. Right possibly broken. Fingers. Two on left hand broken. Neck pain. Eyes still stuck. Head injury. Possible concussion.

You sighed. Fuck my life.

You tried to separate your ankles but met resistance. The same came again with your wrists. You tried to lean forward but couldn’t move. You’d been tied repeatedly. Excessively and well too. You’d extracted agents that had been captured before and, although you couldn’t see yourself, you knew you’d been tied up more than they had. Clearly your reputation proceeded you. You could get in and out of anywhere and you taught others how to do the same.

Being good at breaking and entering, you’d become an escape expert in various ways and you could also slip out of knots, cuffs and traps but that wasn't common knowledge, and yet here you were.

How did they know to tie you up so well? Think.

They knew your skill set. They knew you. Realisation washed over you. They KNEW you.

Next part - Part 8

Enjoy this fic? Fancy a cuppa? My Ko-Fi.

TAGLIST

@mcira @imdoingbetternow @mrsevans90 @blackhawkfanatic

[ross-hollander]

Concepts for...

...special agents of the Trench Crusade:

Tactical Vampire (heretic): encased in heavy shrouds of fabric and armor plates, the vampires are the most despised and feared of night raiders. Their vision in the dark is beyond perfect, and if a trench's wards and blessings are not properly set- or, worse yet, if they are and some foolish sentry permits a staggering, weary soldier permission to enter the trench -no amount of mere bullets will suffice to kill the thing. By daylight, if they remove but one of their veils, they become an erupting blast of shrapnel and adhesive, blazing vampire entrails.

Judaean Exilarch (pilgrim): there is mere reality, and then there is truth. The children of Judah deal in the latter. In armored carriers lined wall-to-wall within with holy texts, a trio of elders are granted authority to deliver judgements such as machine guns being incapable of harming an infantry advance or an artillery barrage simply not occurring. A heretic berserker once dropped down the hatch of an Exilarch tank only to be very briefly surprised at being legally classified as non-existent.

Mars-bound Fiend (heretic): the ghastly soldiers of Legio IX Dis, dragged whole into Hell on campaign. These pagans despise Christendom more than any Nero ever could. They pepper defenders with frag javelins and then storm through trenches behind their shields. The Legion scutum is adorned with leering faces that mock enemies in obscene blasphemies with their ancient tongue; the Legion gladius and spiked sandals are completely mute but manage to convey their hatred just as well.

Condemnation Hammerer (pilgrim): hunters of simonists, spies and double-agents. They bear quivers of stakes inscribed with specific judgement for sins; though heretical preachers and cultists may wear as much armor as they like, when their particular damnation is hammered into their flesh, it cuts through all protection like a bullet through a communion wafer. On the battlefield, more modern Hammerers bear the hammer more as a token and opt to carve their accusations on shotgun slugs instead.

Order of the Orchard (heretic): the snake hid a seed from the eyes of the Almighty. From the seed grew a tree, from the tree grew an orchard, and from the orchard do initiates of the Order eat. Able to discriminate with nigh-Divine sense between good and evil- though siding firmly with the latter -these acolytes make perfect scouts and watchdogs, with keener noses for the holy than even some demons have. This, combined with training in combat mathematics and a grenade launcher, makes them pinpoint precise one-warrior artillery batteries.

Cleanser Communicant (pilgrim): equipped with heavy, barb-laden armor and an everflowing chalice of living waters, these Communicants are ideal against swarming attacks. They forcibly baptize enemies, the reek of redemption driving their former allies to rip them asunder. Just one Cleanser can turn a horrifying, well-coordinated advance into a brutal free-for-all as it bodily drags enemies out of the fray to convert them.

[naxalbari1967]

If This Is What They Do on Camera, Imagine What Happens in the Dark

The police in the United States routinely murder, brutalize, and humiliate civilians in broad daylight while being recorded. These acts are not isolated. They are frequent. They are systemic. They are the visible portion of a much larger structure. They are committed with the full knowledge that there may be phones watching. Officers slam unarmed teenagers to the pavement and strangle men who beg for their lives. They pepper spray children and elderly people. They kneel on necks until bodies go limp. They fire rubber bullets at people’s eyes and shoot tear gas canisters directly at heads. And they do all of it while wearing body cameras that they often mute or cover without consequence. If this is what they do when watched, what happens in places without cameras? If this is how police behave on American streets, in front of hundreds of people, how does the United States military behave in countries where it controls the electricity, the media, and the lives of millions?

In Vietnam, the United States military did not simply fight soldiers. It raped civilians, burned villages, and dropped chemical weapons on farmland. The most well-known example is the My Lai massacre. On March 16, 1968, a group of American soldiers from Charlie Company entered the Vietnamese hamlet of My Lai and murdered between 347 and 504 unarmed civilians. Women were gang raped. Children were mutilated. Elders were executed. Babies were shot in the head. Pregnant women were stabbed with bayonets. Soldiers threw bodies into ditches. The massacre lasted for four hours. It only ended because one American helicopter pilot, Hugh Thompson Jr, landed his chopper between the soldiers and the remaining civilians, ordering his door gunners to shoot any American soldier who continued the slaughter. The military tried to cover up the incident. Only one officer, Lieutenant William Calley, was convicted. He served three and a half years under house arrest. That is how the system works. It absorbs atrocity and punishes only the leakiest perpetrators.

In Iraq, torture was not the exception. It was policy. At Abu Ghraib prison, detainees were stripped naked, beaten, stacked on top of one another, and forced to masturbate in front of cameras. Guards placed hoods on their heads, attached wires to their genitals, and threatened to electrocute them. Men were raped with chemical lights. Women were forced to parade naked while being videotaped. Prisoners were sodomized with broomsticks and guns. Dogs were unleashed to maul shackled men. The soldiers took photos. They posed smiling. They made thumbs-up gestures beside piles of human bodies. When the story broke, the military claimed these were bad apples. They were not. These methods were authorized by military intelligence. They were designed at Guantanamo. They were taught at the School of the Americas. They were approved in legal memos from the White House and the Justice Department. This was not a breakdown of discipline. This was doctrine.

In Afghanistan, entire villages were destroyed without warning. Airstrikes wiped out wedding parties. Drones fired missiles at children carrying water buckets. Night raids involved American soldiers breaking into homes, zip-tying men and boys, shooting anyone who resisted, and sometimes disappearing suspects into black sites where they were never heard from again. The most infamous example was the 2010 video released by WikiLeaks, titled Collateral Murder. It showed a US Apache helicopter gunning down civilians in Baghdad, including two Reuters journalists. When a van arrived to rescue the wounded, the helicopter opened fire again. Children inside the van were injured. The pilots laughed. They said “Nice” and “Look at those dead bastards.” The video was classified until Chelsea Manning leaked it. She was imprisoned for revealing war crimes. The killers were never punished.

In Latin America, the United States trained and funded death squads. In El Salvador, the Atlacatl Battalion, trained at Fort Bragg, massacred 800 civilians in the village of El Mozote in 1981. They raped girls, burned people alive, and decapitated infants. In Guatemala, the United States supported the regime of Efraín Ríos Montt, who launched a scorched-earth campaign against indigenous Mayans. Villages were burned, women were raped, children were thrown into wells, entire communities were erased. In Nicaragua, the US-backed Contras murdered peasants, bombed schools, and executed nurses. The CIA taught them how to use terror as a tactic. They gave them manuals on psychological warfare. In Chile, the United States helped orchestrate a coup that replaced a democratically elected government with the dictatorship of Augusto Pinochet. Thousands were tortured in stadiums. Women had rats placed inside their vaginas. Men had their testicles electrocuted. Bodies were dumped in the sea. Washington knew and approved.

In Africa, the United States propped up Mobutu Sese Seko in Congo, a man who looted his country and tortured dissidents. In Somalia, American helicopters fired on fleeing crowds during the Battle of Mogadishu. In Libya, the United States bombed the country into chaos, assassinated Muammar Gaddafi by proxy, and left behind a failed state where open-air slave markets returned. In the Sahel, drone bases operate in secret. Villages are bombed and classified as “terrorist hideouts” after the fact. In the Horn of Africa, secret CIA black sites exist inside Djibouti. Torture is carried out with the cooperation of local governments.

The pattern is simple. When the US military intervenes, atrocities follow. The public is told the military is protecting freedom. In reality, it protects empire. It trains torturers. It funds paramilitaries. It bombs hospitals and wedding tents. It kidnaps and rapes. It disappears people into basements where they are beaten, waterboarded, and left to rot. It arms regimes that use child soldiers. It sells weapons to dictators who behead dissidents. It kills journalists and labels them terrorists. And when its soldiers get caught, the punishment is mild or nonexistent. The person who leaks the crimes is treated more harshly than the person who commits them.

At home, the police kill people in traffic stops and lie on their reports. They murder people who reach for their wallets. They break into the wrong homes and shoot sleeping women. They shoot people in the back and plant tasers on their bodies. They kick handcuffed men in the face. They torture suspects in interrogation rooms. In Chicago, the police ran a black site at Homan Square where suspects were held without charge and beaten. In New York, the NYPD carried out stop-and-frisk on hundreds of thousands of Black and Latino men, many of them teens. In Los Angeles, police gangs operate out of precincts, trading tattoos for kills. These cops are trained in militarized tactics. They receive surplus equipment from the Pentagon. They call neighborhoods “war zones.” They treat the people they patrol as insurgents.

If this is what American state violence looks like in front of cameras, on bodycams, on Facebook Live, in front of courts, in cities with news coverage and legal teams, imagine what it looks like in places without lawyers. Without phones. Without electricity. In deserts. In jungles. In prisons. In interrogation rooms. In the backs of helicopters. In the cells of cargo ships. In secret bunkers. In remote provinces where foreign troops speak no local language and answer to no one. The full scale of what the American military has done will never be known because many of its victims have no names in any official database. Their bones lie in mass graves. Their faces exist only in the memories of grieving families. And their killers wear medals. They are celebrated. They are called heroes. The empire survives on this mythology.

There is no good soldier in a criminal war. There is no clean cop in a dirty system. These institutions are not broken. They are functioning exactly as intended. To protect capital. To suppress the poor. To discipline the world. And to do it all while telling everyone they are free.

[sonicanvas]

I'm back for more updates on the Josie outfit

Huge thanks to my fellas on Discord to help me guide through the Filipino cultures. I have almost lose all hopes for this design because of how little information I can get on my research.

I would like to yap more in regards of these design decisions, but for a little context of my approach for this:

"Josie have successfully enlisted as a Tekken Force soldier. She was not only known as the Lakambini(Filipino beauty pageant queen) of her people, but also an exceptional martial artist that excels her military training, allowing her to raise her ranks faster than her peers.

Until one day, Mishima Zaibatsu have taken over the world in an endless war and Kazuya started another King of Iron Fist Tournament. She often wondered how these companies held tournaments so often despite of the wars that is likely wasting many of their resources, until a public announcement of a new rule:

"Whoever participates in the tournament will be representatives of their home countries, and for each that lost the competition will have their home country destroyed—along with the people in it."

Josie's duty at the time, was to lead her forces at the heart of Maktan Island and held her own people as hostages. She was aware of Maktan's powerful warriors, but none could outsmart a rain of bullets. The higher-ups demanded their strongest warrior in the country to join the tournament or everyone will die with no participants left. Outraged and teary-eyed, she couldn't bear the thought of killing her own friends and families in the hands of people that saved them once—a sure sign that proceeding the effort will make her no different than those who colonized their country in the past. She stood before Nina, moved the muzzle to her forehead, tears streaming down her face—begging to be killed so everyone could live. Nina spared her life and dismissed her ranks, and Josie declared herself to volunteer as The Philippines' representative for the King of Iron Fist Tournament in retaliation. Her bravery earned many respects from Nina and the Maktan elders, and therefore earning herself a set of Tatak(Filipino traditional tattoos) on her body, both as an achievement and a bigger responsibility to her people upon her shoulders. Reclaiming herself and her country's freedom through rebellion."

Here is a Twitter thread of me yapping

Note:

Get this to hit 100 likes, and I will draw a Jollibee-inspired outfit and call it "Josie-bee"