#damion lowe

[cryingforcrocodiles]

Damion Lowe's goal versus USA – CONCACAF Golf Cup Grp. A – Round 1 – June 24, 2023

[admincendekiawanjudi]

Pada tanggal 22 Maret 2024, sebuah pertandingan yang menegangkan dalam Liga Concacaf terjadi antara Amerika Serikat dan Jamaika. Pertandingan yang berlangsung sengit ini berakhir dengan skor 3 - 1, mengukuhkan dominasi Amerika Serikat dalam kompetisi ini.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

imagine Dame and gf being in an argument that was getting more and more heated by the second. gf finally had enough and dismisses him. “you know what? fuck you, Damian. i’m going to the balcony.”

she goes exactly where she said she was gonna go, she stood right in front of the barrier, taking in the cool night air. out of no where, she feels Dames large, intimidating body pressing up against her.

lifting his large hand, he moves her long braids to the side and leans down to whisper in her ear. “don’t make me bend you over it, sweetheart.”

She glanced back at Damion with an arched brow. Damion challenged her with his own piercing stare. She smacked her glossy lips and turned her eyes back onto the LA cityscape.

“What? You think I won’t?”

She ignored him, eyes taking in the starry sky. It was a beautiful sight to witness. She wasn’t coming down off her high any time soon and the stars and the moon almost brought tears to her eyes.

“Ma?” Damion wrapped a single hand around her waist length bohemian knotless braids to force her to look at him, “you just gonna keep ignoring me and shit?”

“Yeah. I ain’t got shit else to say to you.”

“Why not? You had a lot to say back in the room.”

“Ain’t nothing getting through to you, Dame.”

She moved her braids over her shoulder and adjusted her feet so she was more comfortable standing in her heels. Damion grunted frustratingly behind her before his imposing frame was flesh against her back. She spread her hands apart on the railing of the balcony, continuing to stare forward.

“Ain’t nothing getting through to you either, ma. I’m tired of your attitude…”

“What the fuck you gon’ do? Huh, Diamond Dame?”

She didn’t catch his mischievous smirk or the way he was unbuttoning his jeans behind her.

“I’m gon’ fuck the shit out of you.”

She laughs, eyes low and hazy.

“With that bullshit dick? Please—”

She was taking in a new sight now, the pool below her. She took in a sharp breath and gripped the railing for dear life. Her braids dangled over the balcony and in her line of vision. Damion lifted her dress with so much force it caused friction against her skin that burned. She wasn’t wearing any panties.

Damion bent his knees and with his shaft in one hand and a handful of her cheek in the other, Dame rubbed his tip along her spread open folds and when he found her opening he thrust forward in one motion. She bites down on her bottom lip and her eyes widened with disbelief when he drew his hips all the way back to the tip before plunging forward again with a snap of his hips. She felt as if the wind was being knocked out of her.

“Unhhhnnnn,” she couldn’t hold back.

Damion didn’t need to say a word. He knew she was all talk. He reached around and gathered her braids in his hands and didn’t let up. The flesh of her ass colliding with his sculpted thighs echoed. She squeezed the railing with a death grip and her eyes began to water. He was hitting her spot. So good. So perfect. It was too much. This is what she gets for talking shit. This is what she always gets for talking shit.

[thegoofyfanaticus]

(( Commission from the incredibly talented ArtReplicant )) "AAAAHHHHHHRRRRGGGGUUUHHhhhh......!" came the howl of pain that quickly turned into a muffled moan as Damion forced William into a camel clutch that bent William back far more than anyone typically had scene while at the same time muffling the cowboy with a dragon sleeper that put William's face directly into Damion armpit. Cameras snapped as the cowboy's neck was tightly stretched showing off the muscle of that the cowboy had as well as his adam's apple that moved up and down as he gasped for air. Damion squatted low and compressed himself together in order to increase the pressure on the cowboy and lock in both holds. William could feel the powerful hard pecs of Damion press against his shoulder blade and triceps. Damion could feel William's left triceps flex as he tried to find a way out of this hold. Sweat glistened off William's neck, shoulders, and pecs as they were stretched and forcefully put on display by his opponent. William's abs stretched and strained as the worked to help support William and bring in as much air as they could.  Damion smiled as he finished locking in both holds on the cowboy. He felt William squirm under his armpit and reveled in the indignity of the hold. "Tap," Damion taunted to William. William said something in a muffled sound but no one, not even Damion could really hear him. No tap came. William was thankfully surprised at how dry Damion was even under his arms. His foe hadn't really broken out in a sweat. While William was thankful at this particular moment, it also pissed him off because it meant that Damion was even exerting himself that much. It meant that Damion was dominating and humiliating him while at the same time taking it easy. That realization almost made William tap to end the fight. However, he was the champion. For 10 years he had seen challengers come and go. While he had lost some fights, he had always come back to claim what was his. He would not let some wanderer take his title away. He would not tap, he would force Damion to knock him out. 

[gamesception]

Sception Reads Cass Cain #41

Batgirl (2000) #20 - November 2001 writer: Chuck Dixon...............pencils: Damion Scott inks: Robert Campanella......colors: Jason Wright

That month long hiatus turned into two months & change. Whoops. And I'm not really back on a regular schedule yet either, am super busy with real life stuff through the end of June at least, so this project won't be back onto a reliable weekly schedule till then at the earliest. But it's been too long since I posted one of these. so here we go.

We've got a pretty interesting issue from a couple angles here, in that it's sort of an echo of Cass's early appearances with Tim, where Cass first appeared together with him in his book, an appearances that imo didn't work very well or build an interesting dynamic or present Cass in a good light, but then Tim appears in Cass's book and is handled much better than she was in his, and they do take the time to start building a dynamic while acknowledging that the previous teamups were more strained than they needed to be.

Well we sort of have that again here, where Cass's first interaction with Steph over in Robin 88 was brief and gruff and had Cass acting kind of uncharacteristically rude and dismissive, but then Steph appears here in Cass's book and the interaction is a bit more substantial, with more of an effective dynamic built up, and with Steph handled imo better here than Cass was there. One ~could~ start to frame a pattern of Cass's creative team treating guests from other gotham books better than those teams treat Cass, an impression I admit to having back in the day.

However, that framing isn't (and wasn't) well founded, especially in this case. Mostly because, while this is Cass's book, Chuck Dixon, Robin's usual writer, is guest writing this issue. There's also far less of a disconnect between the depiction of Cass and her interactions with Stephanie going from Robin 88 to Batgirl 20 than there was for Cass and Tim going from Robin 73 to Batgirl 18. Which I suppose isn't too surprising given that Dixon wrote both Robin 88 and Batgirl 20, but it's also worth pointing out that there was far less time separating those issues than the other two. Cass was still brand new when Robin 73 released, and those writers not directly responsible for inventing her can maybe be forgiven for not quite understanding her back then.

I do think Dixon does a much better job with Cass here than he has when writing her previously, and while Scott's art certainly factors into it, it's not just that. Like, seriously, I've complained about Dixon in the past, but this is a good fun book worth reading if you haven't yet before I go spoiling it. It's also a proper Cass story - 'street level' story with no super powers or costumed villains, somewhat downbeat tone - despite Steph livening things up a good bit. Emotional/interpersonal focus, with themes of family connection, obligation, and strife - which keeps Cass's core motivations and relationships in mind even though they aren't brought up explicitly in this issue.

Honestly, I remember liking this one even way back when it first came out, and at the time I hadn't even noticed that there was a guest writer at all - though looking back there are a few tell tale signs.

Cass's attitude towards Steph still feels kind of uncharacteristically rude & aggressive, very much in line with her portrayal in Robin 88. While you can kind of feel them building a bit of a rapport over the course of the issue, you don't get the feeling of a fundamental shift the way we did with Tim's comments towards the end of Batgirl 18.

Then again, Tim is a self reflective and verbally expressive character, and Cass isn't, so a similar "I realize I've treated you unfairly in the past and I'll try to be better in the future" would have been even more out of character for Cass. Especially at this point in Cass's development where she's still more or less at a low point - living on her own, not really having any life or connections outside of Batgirl, 100% believing that Shiva's going to kill her in a few months. Which I guess is a fair enough in-character explanation for her attitude towards Stephanie, so there we go

That's a lot of rambling without even getting into the actual issue? I kind of don't feel up to the whole panel by panel playback, but it is a solid issue and worth going back to look at for fans of Cass and Steph - particularly as a pair - through the years. This isn't their first meeting, but it is their first adventure together, their first real interaction, and the start of an interpersonal connection that would come to be particularly important for both characters, a connection for Cass outside of her foundational dynamics with Bruce, Babs, and her father. Something they tried to do with Conner though it didn't quite take.

The set up plays naturally. Cass accidentally interrupts a money exchange situation for a kidnapping, ends up with a ransom note and a bunch of goons too dead and/or unconscious to interrogate over the kidnappee's location. Cass can't read the note, and she doesn't want to ask Bruce because she doesn't want to disappoint him by not being able to take care of the situation on her own, and she doesn't want to ask Babs because she doesn't want to disappoint her by demonstrating how little progress she's made on learning her letters. So she turns to Steph, someone she isn't worried about disappointing because, to put it bluntly, she doesn't respect Stephanie and so doesn't care about her opinion.

so a few things to point out from these panels alone - once again we see the most immediately identifiable difference between Puckett writing Cass and anybody else writing her - that reliance on narration blocks to convey Cass's interior thought process instead of letting the art do that work. Not that narration blocks are inherently bad, or used poorly here. They're kept short and sparing, they authentically feel like Cass's voice, and they don't clutter the panel art. As we've discussed several times, working with another artist they might even be necessary, especially with Cass's full face mask. Though with how Scott draws Cass I think they could have been pared back even further.

Speaking of Scott's art, I love these panels. The close up panels on isolated bits of text conveying how meaningless and arbitrary the markings feel to Cass. Her 'ugh' facial expression as she realizes all she's got to go on is this written note that she can't read, meaning she's going to have to ask for help. That panel with Cass and Steph sitting on the bed, lit by the window behind them is also amazing. I'm sure a lot of the credit there goes to Campanella's inks and Wrights colors as well, so yeah, once again the whole team for Cass's initial run really was great.

It's not just Cass, either. Stephanie's expressions are also fantastic here - in the bits where her face is visible. In costume, Scott doesn't do the drawn-through / shrinkwrapped face thing like with Cass, you can't see steph's expressions in the costume as that would mess with the look of her mask & hood, though I think Scott could maybe have pushed the expressiveness of her costumes eye shapes a bit more, spiderman style.

Some other just random bits I like in this issue:

Take out the speech bubbles and the target retinue and I'd love to have a poster of this panel of these two just sitting on a street light.

Though I'm not sure what the point of the target is here? I don't think anybody has a gun pulled on them?

Fighting as a team. Real dynamic duo stuff.

Oh, yeah, turns out the kidnapping was faked, with one guy pretending to kidnap himself to get money his brother had refused to just give him for his latest scheme. A fun little twist.

And we end on this nice bit which potentially sets up more of an ongoing relationship between Cassandra and Stephanie. And she does appear again periodically, more so than Conner did, including in the very next issue.

Adly, though, she didn't really become a regular supporting Character on par with Bruce or even Barbara. Which is too bad. As I said with Conner, the addition of a voice in Cassandra's life outside of Bruce & Babs, more of an emotional peer rather than mentor/parent/older sibling type, someone who could provide a more effective counterpoint to Bruce's emotional influence, would have done Cass good as a character, and might also have provided some appreciated levity to Cass's book, which, yeah, the sombre tone is intentional, but sometimes it can be a bit excessively downbeat.

And while Conner could have done that, Stephanie is a much more natural choice for it - fitting into Cass's street-level focus, plus all the natural character parallels with them both having villainous fathers - an obvious connection that somehow doesn't come up here.

Then again, the regular presence of someone as chatty as Conner or Steph might have been overbearing - overshadowing the less verbal Cass in her own book and working against that foundational principle of letting the art carry more of the burden of conveying the narrative and characterization. So maybe its better that Steph was used as sparingly as she was.

Still, there's a reason why a duo book pairing Cass and Steph was #1 on my comic book wish list for the longest time - pretty much right up until the new 52 reboot that removed the version of those characters that I was invested with from continuity. And the strength of the pairing can already be seen here in their first real outing.

[hayleylovesjessica]

After all the bother that I went to in order to find my copy of Thomas Mann's Death in Venice and Seven Other Stories a couple days ago, I decided to use some of my reward points on Amazon and buy the cheap Bantam Classics book Death in Venice and Other Stories. The translations in the book that I already owned, by H. T. Lowe-Porter, are ancient, dating back to the 1930s. I compared a couple moments in the text of Damion Searls' very recent translation of "Chaotic World and Childhood Sorrow" with their counterparts in Lowe-Porter's translation (titled more literally but less poetically as "Disorder and Early Sorrow"), and the inadequacy of the older translation stood out in stark relief. Alex Ross had a column online about Mann translations and recommended the Bantam Classics collection, with translations from the late 1980s by David Luke. So, when I get around to reading the novella Tonio Kröger and any other works of short fiction not included in Searls' New Selected Stories Mann collection, I'll use the Luke translations.

[majestativa]

I saw the image of my dream lover before my eyes, clearer than life—much more clearly than I could see my own hand. I talked to it, cried before it, cursed it; I called it [...] Beloved and foresaw its ripe, all-fulfilling kiss, called it devil and whore, vampire and murderer. It lured me into the most tender and beautiful dreams, and into vile shamelessness; nothing was too good and precious for it, nothing too low and bad.

— Hermann Hesse, Demian: The Story of Emil Sinclair’s Youth, transl by Damion Searls, (2013)

[crybabysocker]

Damion Sanderson

(Yes, this is just a mild oc introduction.. so don't bother it much, please.)

“Reject that ability all you want, but don't forget that the more you deny it, the more you'll suffer until you learn how to truly accept not only your ability, but too with yourself!”

Damion is an user of a Quantum Manipulation type ability, he is able to channel abilities and allow its user to use the ability's full potential for 3 minutes, he can copy abilities through channeling, but he cannot copy abilities that aren't visual or physical, much like how John's Aura Manipulation couldn't copy abilities like Clairvoyance and Flash Forward.

Ability Master -

Ability Trivia

Low tier users of this ability are rare, extremely rare due to the fact that the ability can be evolved through not only knowledge but development too.

The only known user of this ability is Damion; due to being the first to actually display the ability, making him also the only God Tier user of the ability.

Damion's version of Ability Master was formerly called “Ability Mimicry” (which was the original name Damion gave it) but was later renamed by one of his childhood friends.

Damion developed the ability two days after his fifth birthday, he is considered an early bloomer because of that.

Originally the ability didn't even exist, since Damion was planned to be an user of Channel Master, an ability used by Jane.

The idea of "Ability Master" was proposed in my head during one of my searches for ideas in the Superpower Wiki, until I came across the “Power Replication” article and that's when the idea of Damion's ability emerged.

Sibling-hood users of this ability are also quite rare since Damion doesn't have an exact sharing-hood of the ability with any siblings, since he also doesn't have any.

There are no other users of the ability besides Damion, that is, users that are known.

Damion is not capable of copying time-related abilities or even copying Aura Manipulation, the reason of why is because:

Aura Manipulation is a complicated aspect to copy, not to mention it doesn't even have a physical manifestation, because of that, Damion is incapable of copying it.

Time Manipulation is self-explanatory, Damion can't copy it because it has not only too much power for a user not fit for the power to copy it, not only is that it doesn't have an exact manifestation, but because Damion isn't capable of detecting it.

Abilities that can see into the future like Flash Forward and Clairvoyance are uncopiable even to John.

Damion's stats were shaped like a mini star when he was younger, his current stats are shaped like a crappy and distorted star.

Damion is socially anxious and finds disgust in socializing with people, including other God Tiers.

Damion can copy abilities and use their full potential even by unbalanced abilities.

[luckyluan]

The Acceptance Letter.

JAN 29, 2024 - 10:34PM 

“I’ve never said that out loud.” De’von whispered. “I’m a witch.” 

De’von Damion leapt to his feet as he shouted his proclamation and the air in his chest came easier. The sun felt brighter. The sprawling ocean reached for him—leaned into him—as if it wanted a piece of his magic for itself. 

“Easy, dipshit.” Carey Blanchard said. 

He tugged De’Von back down onto the fuzzy blanket and De’Von fell quiet. 

“It’s not something we scream. This is still America and we’re Black AND witches.” Carey finished. 

“Right...my bad.” 

“Yeah, and there’s a fuck ton of rules and instructions—never wear leather pants but that’s neither here nor there—just take it one day at a time.” 

Carey propped himself up on his elbows. The warm breeze bounced his loose bronze coils off his forehead. His thick eyebrows were low over his green eyes as he searched the skyline. 

“Just promise me you’ll hear all the colleges before you choose one.” 

“What’s that mean?” De’Von asked. 

“It means the school you’re going to has different areas you can study like: light or sound or mind reading stuff like that. No matter what you’re good at, hear them all.” Carey finished. 

"I get to choose?" De'Von asked.

"In most cases, yeah." Carey said. "All my brothers got to choose their college even though they had other gifts."

De’Von only nodded. His hands shook so violently he clenched his fists. His envelope had arrived on his phone that morning and he’d rushed down to Carey’s beach house to tell him.  

“Which did you choose?” De’Von asked eagerly. 

Carey cast his gaze toward the mass of sand outstretched behind him as a low cloud passed over head. Its shadow drowned Carey in mystery. 

“Eh...my kind of magic isn’t really studied.” He said. “Nobody knows how or what to call what I can do. All they know is technology—even wifi—responds well to me. I can make my own universe. Disappear if i want. All the answers I need just pop into my head like I pressed search on Google half a second ago. It just is. So, there’s no place for me at such a traditional school.” 

Carey's gaze was low as he focused on the grains of sand stuck to his toned chest. He used a single thin finger to scratch them into the air as he sulked. 

“I’ll convince them.” De’Von said. “I’ll convince them to find someone who can teach you.” 

Carey shook his mane of dark, curly hair until his face disappeared. 

“Don’t go stirrin’ that pot, my guy. It is what it is. I’m here for you. You go and have enough fun for the both of us. Promise me.” 

Carey held out a closed fist and looked, expectantly, into De’Von’s eyes and without a second thought, De’Von responded. 

“Of course. I promise.” 

[darknessawaits28]

[The Love of the Beast]

((Hello, my lovies, I hope you are having a wonderful weekend! Wanted to give you a girl and beast love story. I was going to do a sexy scene, but I wasn't sure, so let me know if yall want a pt2, and I'll give you a good smut scene if you want, of course! Thank you for all your support and for being awesome! Love you all!! Don't forget to like, follow, and obey ;3 :P ))

Sounds of roars and groans echoed along the brick walls. The flutter of beautiful toasty brown eyes opening could be heard ringing against the ears of the little mice that scurried around.

"Ah, where am I," a girl moaned as she slowly sat up from the frigid cold ground.

"Who dares interrupt my slumber?" A low growl came from behind the girl.

The girl jumped violently, quickly turning her back to face the darkness behind her. "Um..I'm sorry....I-I didn't mean to interrupt your slumber...I just appeared here?"

The voice growled once again, making an appearance in the little light that gleamed through the glass pane on the ceiling. "So they sent you as an offering to me huh?"

The girl's heart sunk at the sight of the beastly man. His body was twice her size; his hands had claws of a ravenous wolf; fangs were already peering out of the the sides of his mouth; and his eyes....were the shape of the crescent moon. "W-What do you mean o-offering?"

The monstrous man's lips curled into a hungry smile, his enormous form approaching the girl and using his brutish hands to pin her to the ground. "Every year, on the first of October, the people of your village send me a human offering." "In return, I don't destroy their homes or ravish on their virgin women." "As you can clearly deduce, your people sold you out and sent me such a delicatable virgin" he groaned, his long wet tongue running across the girls neck, causing her to shiver in fear.

"Please, don't hurt me..." the girl begged for her life, tears dripping down the sides of her cheeks.

The man chuckled at her pleas, licking his chops to prepare himself for the feast until he caught a glimpse of the marking on her shoulder. "Where did you get that tattoo?" He growled, ripping her dress off her shoulder to get a better look at it.

"This silly thing...my best friend.... gave it to me....before he....died....at the hands of trion......". "I never got the chance to proclaim my love for him...he was quite funny and....kind.....too bad huh," she sadly chuckled.

"Beth?" The beast gasped, his enormous clawed hand grasping onto her cheek to see her face.

"Damion?" Beth gasped as well, staring deep into his eyes, more tears forming in her eyes.

"Yes, my beautiful water Lily" Damion smiled, his eyes softening as he embraced her.

"I-I thought I lost you!" She cried with joy and sadness, snuggling close to him, finding his furry form to be warm and endearing.

"You didn't, my love," he cooed, pulling her away slightly and leaning down to press his snout against her nose. "I promised long ago that I would never leave you, remember" he smiled, using his tongue to lick her lips.

"Oh, you lug head," she chuckled, pressing a kiss to his snout. "Are you going to tell me what happened, or am I going to have to twist your tail?" she giggled, playing with his perched ears as she waited for him to explain his predicament.

[cryingforcrocodiles]

🇯🇲 ★

[judas-langley]

Harbinger of Death || Self-Para

“Out of the box poured disease and poverty. Out came misery, out came death, out came sadness - all shaped like tiny buzzing moths. All that remained in the box was Hope.”

Seven low-level Vincent thugs. Thugs ranked so low on the totem pole that their deaths would be nothing but expected, a breath of fresh air in disguise. They caused issues and were uncontrollable. Really, Judas was doing the Vincent’s a favor by getting rid of them; with the factions in disarray, no one was really paying attention to their own past their inner circles which lead to the filth coming up from the undercroft and taking over. No one paid attention to the pests except for him.

He thought he would’ve needed more time to observe his targets, but they were all so predictable that he only needed two days of observation from the rooftops to really understand their routines. Aaron and Brandon ate breakfast at the same restaurant every morning, met up with Damion after the latter had finished his workout. The three hassled and catcalled women as if they were paid for it.

Gus, a closeted homosexual, would fuck random men in an alley before meeting up with the others; claiming his ‘boss’ kept him later than usual. His favorite drink of choice was tequila straight up with a heroine chaser, possibly to drown out the fact that if he was ever outed to his friends, he’d surely be shunned. The close-minded fucks that they were.

Kurt was the run of the mill tough, burly, meathead with a hubris larger than his muscles, nothing special.

Now, Maverick and Reuben weren’t on Pandora’s list, brought into the fold by Jason after they had broken up. Maverick was the drug supplier for the group, somehow having ties to the Ainsworth’s drug running, which was interesting but not interesting enough to keep him alive; only interesting for what he had planned for the group’s deaths.

Reuben, being the greenest of the group, was the easiest to sway if it were in exchange for his life—not that he would have known that Judas planned to kill him all along; not until it was too late. The last to join… the first to die.

The seven of them always met at their hangout at ten o’clock at night, sharp. No exceptions.

Their ‘hangout’ was a rundown warehouse that they fashioned into an above-average deplorable space where they would start their nightly ritual of drugs and booze. Sometimes they would fuck random women that they managed to bring back there with them. All in all, nothing changed and they always poured one out for their fallen friend while they cursed Pandora’s name; plotting against her.

Pandora was right to fear them, their retaliation; in some way or another, they were all vile. Lowest of the low and not important enough to even be considered pawns. How Pandora had gotten wrapped up in them was beyond him, but Judas was never one that could judge; he’d also run with people that were low filth, but he forged his own story. With this… he’ll help Pan forge her own and all it took was a death. Not a huge price to pay when it came to him, not when he courted Death daily since he was young enough to understand what it meant.

Judas’ eyes focused on the ticking second hand of his watch as it made its final journey to mark ten o’clock. He sat in the shadows on one of their rickety chairs, waiting for the other six of his targets to visit their shitty excuse of a hangout. His posture seemed nothing of what one would expect of a seasoned killer, chin in hand seeming bored. However, anyone that knew Judas would know the front he put on, the way every one of his nerves sang underneath his skin; fingers itching to reach for the hilt of his knives and gun – ready to pounce like the lethal being he is.

Ever since founding the little group that consisted of the city’s greatest assassins, he’d barely had the time to do field work himself, being the face of the family and cultivating connections so that they’d survive against the tides of change in St. Cascadia. Judas knew that there was a screw loose or two to have his blood sing in excitement at this job. Adrenaline pumping at the prospect of killing, envisioning painting the walls of the dingy warehouse red and coating his hands in the deaths of those after Pandora. He wished the feeling of elation was because he was protecting her and doing what he needed to, but he would be lying. Judas stopped thinking he was made to be anything other than what Sullivan forged him into years ago, it only bred resentment when Sullivan was right. He was meant to be a killer in this life.

He heard the footsteps before the light turned on – the men walking like lemmings to their death. One by one they entered the door, attempting to flick on the lights, conversing among themselves attempting to figure out what was wrong with the electricity; finding that only one light worked. His lips ticked up on one side at hearing their exclaimed shouts. The light illuminated only one thing, Reuben.

The greenest member, the weakest link, the traitor that gave Judas access to everything. He never did promise the kid that he wouldn’t kill him, Reuben just happened to watch too many movies and forgot how the world worked. He didn’t forget, however, in the last few seconds left of his life as Judas held his head back and cut through the cartilage of his throat to sever his head completely. As the life dimmed in Reuben’s eyes, he knew that the city they occupied had no forgiveness for anyone, especially not the lowlifes.

What his friends saw under the dimly lit bulb that seemed to swing on a single string of electrical wire was Reuben’s severed head on one of the only side tables that littered the warehouse. Crimson pooling and dripping off the sides, splattering and cooling on the concrete ground. He took that time then, between the other’s chaos and panicked movements, to make himself known; the figure of his body bleeding out from the shadows he stayed in as if he were himself a shadow.

“Hello, boys,” Judas spoke with a crooked smile as he sauntered to a stop behind the side-table, his eyes moving – assessing. He had to give them credit, the older ones who had been in the group the longest paled – they knew who he was. They knew what he meant; their death and most likely no survivors. He knew they thought they’d never see him in person, Judas Langley was an assassin of a certain caliber – likely to go after the Vincent’s than the common ilk, and the fact that he was standing before them meant someone sent him there.

“Where is the bitch,” the meathead said, Kurt– the one that Judas could have figured would have stepped up as leader, pretending that he’s ‘alpha’ material, when he’s nothing but a wannabe. He had some braincells though, apparently, since he managed to piece together who had contracted the assassin. Judas cocked his head, the movement almost robotic, the crooked smile never leaving his lips as he spoke, “Pandora sends her regards.”

Being as seasoned as he was, with so many deaths under his belt, he could almost see the fight playing out in his mind– knew their moves before they knew it. Even with the minimum information on the lot from Pandora and what recon he did, they were so fucking predictable. He could have yawned if the prospect of killing all the assholes didn’t make him giddy. Some would be rooted in terror, not able to act for the first couple seconds of the fight, while others would have their fight or flight activate in the face of a superior threat that he was.

Unsheathing daggers stowed in their holders on his thighs in each hand, he threw them with startingly accurate ferocity– embedding into the calves of the two who attempted to run. He promised slow and painful deaths. Their screams filled the space, bouncing off of the rickety walls and greeting his ears like a song as he readied himself for Kurt running towards him. Two others joined the fray with Kurt. He underestimated the hierarchy, the little lemmings following Kurt into certain death– he was more of a leader to the ragtag group than he anticipated, but the additional bodies in the initial fight against someone like him was still inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

He watched Kurt’s movements and attack in slow motion, dodging out of the way of a punch he wasn’t so sure would have even hurt him in the first place before thrusting an open palm up to meet his elbow, the resounding snap cracking through the air and Kurt’s attempt to stifle the screech of pain making him grin devilishly. Blood was rushing in his ears as he watched Kurt bend slowly, taking a running jump before kicking the burly kid over– using the momentum to propel himself towards the two that were rushing him side by side like Kurt was a driving board.

They’d obviously never heard that one should never run in a straight line towards an attacker, it only made them an easier target as he reached out with his arms, close lining the two in the throats and taking them down to the ground. While they were winded, he tucked and rolled. It was utter child’s play, but he wasn’t expecting any different from people that thought so highly of themselves when, in reality, a speck of dust counted would be appreciated more.

The one that was left standing, the one frozen as he expected was the other green member. Maverick, the final nail in the coffin of his plan, and he was smart. He supposed the kid would have to have some street smarts to be involved with some sort of drug run in the Vincent territory, drawing a gun against Judas. He was the smartest one to face the assassin, though he was still leagues below Judas fucking Langley. A shot rang out, the ear-piercing sound making Judas’ ears ring but otherwise unfazed as he maneuvered to the side so that the bullet missed him, skidding to a halt just before the kid.

With one thrust upwards with his hand at the kid’s wrist, the handgun flew through upwards. Judas kicked the kid in the sternum, pushing him backwards and away from the weapon, grabbing it in his own hands before aiming and pulling the trigger twice. Another set of wails as the kid fell to the ground with fresh bullet wounds to his kneecaps, Judas turned as he saw Aaron and Brandon charging him, the two numbskulls that he had close lined having regained themselves enough for another joint assault. Absolute morons.

He raised the gun to the two advancing on him, pulling the trigger to be met with an audible click. Judas sighed, turning to Maverick, holding the empty gun up, “three bullets, really?” The kid garbled out some curse at him, but he turned away; knowing that the kid wasn’t going anywhere quickly. Facing the two again, they had the audacity to grin at him at hearing the empty gun– thinking that every inch of him wasn’t a weapon. Judas chucked the empty gun at Brandon, smacking the guy in the forehead, before wheeling on his heels and using his momentum to swing his leg around in a roundhouse kick– meeting the other in the temple. They crumpled like wet tissues onto the ground, he grunted at the disappointment of the fight.

Dealing with the different men was like playing a game of chess– calculating and dealing with certain pieces at certain times. Stalking over to the two he’d thrown his knives into first, the coward runners, he followed the blood trails. They’d managed to get pretty far through the warehouse, using each other’s bodies to push themselves standing and wobbled like a three-legged race since each one were sporting wounds in opposite legs. Judas purposefully made noises with his movements, wanted them to realize he was coming for them and it only made them hobble faster towards the exit. “Uh-uh,” Judas tutted towards the duo, “there’s no escaping your fate.”

Taking a couple more daggers from their sheaths he threw them at the duo again, their unwounded legs. This time, however, it wasn’t merely in their calves. Calf wounds they were able to still walk on, though excruciating. This time, he didn’t want them to move at all. The streak of silver imbedded themselves into the Achilles tendons of the two, cutting the fragile string of tissue as if it were merely warm butter. The two collapsing to the ground with agonizing screams as their feet lolled– no longer connected in a way to be useful.

He gripped the two’s legs, fingers digging into the flesh of their legs above their fresh wounds, the crimson of their blood leaking through and around his grip, dragging them back towards the others in the center of the warehouse. Most of them were where Judas had left them, however he noticed that Kurt was now up and moving– hiding in the shadows attempting a surprise attack. Judas didn’t think Kurt really had it in him– but at least he knew that he wasn’t going to be completely bored. Fighting someone who fights back is more entertaining than fighting cowards.

He kept walking towards the center of the warehouse, pretending he didn’t clock where Kurt was right away. Over-confident people tend to overstep their means, which was exactly what he did. Coming from the shadows, similarly to how Judas did, he swung with his undamaged arm– attempting to target Judas with a tire-iron that only God knows where the fuck he got it, but it didn’t matter. Using the leg of one of the two he’d lamed, he blocked the blow, a sickening crunch and subsequent cries only pointed to a broken tibia.

Pushing the two he’d been dragging to the ground, Judas grappled with Kurt; twisting the tire-iron out of his grasp, maneuvering his arm just so there were no obstacles in the way as he delivered a swift hit to the guy’s nose with his forehead. Slight pain buzzed in his head, but nothing he wasn’t used to– blood spurt from Kurt’s nose, splashing down his own clothes and Judas’. Not that you could really tell, wearing all black was purposeful. He kicked out Kurt’s legs, pinning him down with a foot to the chest; pulling out his own gun, knowing he wouldn’t face the same problem as before with an empty gun. “You should stop moving, it’s less painful that way.” His words punctuated with two shots into the abdomen– not lethal right away, but easily enough to down someone for the time being.

Slowly he gathered those wounded enough to not move anymore to the center, piling them into a groaning pile with Kurt laying at the top. Fitting for an acting leader. From the bottom of the group, the two that had merely been unconscious struggled to free themselves, the clawing noises of their fingernails on concrete sounding like skittering mice. The heel of Judas’ boot came down on the forearm of one, holding it still as his had gripped the offending hand, wrenching it to the side quickly and snapping the bones easily. The other guy, seeing what happened to his friend tried to retract himself, play unconscious game even though he was an atrocious actor– Judas was so tired of cowardice, taking his gun again and putting holes into the guy’s hands like he was crucifying him.

Holstering his gun, he walked to the corner where he’d stashed all of his things for the last part of his plan, dragging it back in the center near the pile of soon to be dead bodies. “How many times did she suck your cock to get you to come here and do her dirty work?” a voice rang out from the pile, wheezing and pained. Judas gave an exasperated sigh. There was nothing he hated more than cowards than someone who uses the last of their words to try and get under his skin. He didn’t reply, which only made the other man brazen. “Oh, I see, she’s a real good fuck then? You know, Jason never would share but I bet if he did, she’d’ve slept with every one of us to get what she wanted. The fucking whore.”

The things he held in his hand clattered to the ground save one of the many jars of clear liquid, just before he whirled around on his heels, prowling towards Kurt. He was the one he figured that had spoken such words like the small minded fuck that he was, Judas figured; Judas’ face a solid mask of no emotion as he knelt on front of the offender, his knee pressing into his chest and arms, forcing him still. “I’m not going to waste my breath on you more than to tell you that you don’t deserve to speak of her,” Judas hissed, his hand shooting out to grasp Kurt’s jaw with a bone crushing intensity, pushing his fingers into the skin of his cheeks forcing his mouth open.

With one easy movement, Judas unsheathed one of his knives, pressing it into Kurt’s mouth. Nicking gums, teeth, and cheek, he forced the blade down into the muscle of Kurt’s tongue. The movement was awkward even for him since he would have rather grabbed the man’s tongue and cut it off cleanly, but this was more painful. More deserving of a piece of trash that Kurt was. He didn’t care that blood was pouring out, he didn’t care if it was splattering against him and even marring his emotionless face. Cared even less for the choked screaming. Judas kept plunging and cutting into the tissue until he was able to flick out a mutilated resemblance of a tongue; a wet plop sounding from it hitting the concrete flooring. “That’s better,” Judas released Kurt’s face, though he was sure the other didn’t hear his words over the garbled and strangled weeping.

Judas retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping the crimson from his face and hands before opening the jar that he’d placed on the floor; dipping the cloth into the liquid and plopping it on the ground. Carefully and meticulously, he analyzed the warehouse and catalogued all of the weak spots; advantageous for the finale, before wandering back to the group. Upending the liquid from the jar he’d carried, Judas moved it in a circle, coating each one of them with the chemical. Soon the warehouse began to smell of pungent chemicals, his own nose turning up at the fumes. After making sure that each of the boys were coated, he threw the rest of the jars shattering into areas that were well populated with debris, which was easy since the warehouse was so run down. Their idiocy was only his gain.

After he’d sufficiently emptied all of the turpentine that he’d brought save for a small amount he held in his hands, he walked back to Kurt who’s wailing still didn’t cease– grasping his jaw once more and upended the contents into his mouth; the blood mixing with the acrid chemical. “See you in hell,” Judas said, lighting a match and placing it near Kurt’s face– the fumes catching fire and rapidly combusting. All he could hear as he backed away quickly, tamping out the own fire that had started on his fingertips, were the screams of those he’d come to end. Their final breathes reaching a maddening screech of victory. Of course that wasn’t all he needed to do.

Leaving out the door the men had come through initially, fire licking at his heels, he barred the door shut; matching all of the other doors that he’d closed shut before he even went in. This was always the final play, the end game; the slowest death he could ever provide. An agonized death of fire sloughing off skin, putrid smell of burning flesh hanging in the air. If they somehow managed to move they’d find that there was no escape. Unearthing a bag Judas had stashed in the bushes outside of the warehouse, he reached in and retrieved on of the many bags of drugs that Maverick had stashed in the warehouse and shoved his knife through one in into the door and dumping the rest around; leaving it for all to see before spray painting the door in large bold letters in red.

Thieves.

Now Judas didn’t mind if he was linked to this crime if he had left evidence behind, though from the black billowing smoke that came from the shattered windows at the very top of the warehouse, he knew that no one would find anything. However, he didn’t want this coming back to Pandora in any way; a simple red herring to point any officials into thinking that this was related to the drugs that the kid was running into Newford. Not necessarily a plot from Ainsworth himself, but lower thug versus lower thug.

Grabbing his bag, Judas disappeared into the darkness; watching from afar while he waited for the officials to arrive. First firefighters attempting to put out the flames and police officers closing off the area, then ambulances when the firefighters realized that there were bodies amid the flames. Chin in hand, much like how he waited for his targets to arrive, he waited for his targets to leave in black bags that held their charred remains. The fire dwindled down after blazing for several hours, around the same time they pulled the last of the heathens out, storing their remains in another body bag.

That was it, the last of his targets confirmed dead. The contract was closed. He blew a sigh through his lips as he stood, encapsulated by the darkness that still hung heavy now that the light of the fire died in front of him. News vans shot down the streets, the area becoming a clusterfuck of media. He didn’t need to tell Pan that he had the job completed. She’d surely see it. Knowing that, he retreated– ending his time as the harbinger of Death.

At least for today.

[johnbrownnn]

FOXBOROUGH, Mass. (AP) — Gustavo Bou scored twice in the first half to lead the New England Revolution to a 2-1 victory over the Philadelphia Union on Saturday night, closing out the regular season for two clubs bound for the postseason.Julián Carranza put Philadelphia (15-9-10) on top in the 16th minute when he used an assist from Mikael Uhre to score his 14th goal of the season.Bou scored the equalizer for New England (15-9-10) on a penalty kick in the 25th minute, following a hand-ball foul on the Union’s Damion Lowe. Bou notched the winner in the 42nd minute when he took a pass from Carles Gil and scored for the seventh time this season.The Union had an eight-match unbeaten streak end. Uhre fell one goal shy of joining Carranza and Dániel Gazdag and giving Philadelphia three players with at least 10 goals in two straight seasons. The 1996-97 San Jose Earthquakes are the only club in history to accomplish the feat. (Copyright (c) 2023 The Associated Press. All Rights Reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.) Join our Newsletter for the latest news right to your inbox Source link

[magichcuse]

Comparing/contrasting Patrick and Sylvain is interesting to me because they play similar roles, but are drastically different in terms of personality and effectiveness.

Sylvain isn't as social or outgoing as Patrick, but is a lot more needy. While Sylvain would try to give Damion the occasional awkward compliment (usually towards his power as a dueler because he doesn't know what else Damion would want to be complimented on), he doesn't have the energy or social skills to be a well of overwhelming support. To make matters worse, Damion would have to be more protective of Sylvain because Sylvain can't defend himself very well. (I mean, I guess Damion could be an ass and not protect Sylvain, but the Aubépines would start looking elsewhere for their next dueling professor.)

The Aubépines also wouldn't dote on Damion the way the Egglestons dote on Theo. It's essentially just "we can't be bothered to take care of Sylvain's emotional needs, so you're doing that or else you can't work at this school". Sylvain, low on energy and being soft-spoken, can't advocate for Damion the way Patrick advocates for Theo.

At least Sylvain doesn't have a massive crush on Damion, I guess.

[tensaiproductionz]

MK OC Redone

Reposted from my DA

Originally tied to a friend’s character to theme the idea of making powerful weapons, I’m changing it up to have her be an Oni spawn that had been taken from Netherrealm (possibly as another result of Red Dragon experimenting, or from another group trying their hands). Though she was rescued, and adopted by another OC of mine, it quickly became clear that the child had something off to them. They acted violent around another OC of mine, threatening and spitting curses (all while talking backwards since apparently Oni in the Netherrealm can do this.) Stealing certain objects, being reckless, lying, manipulating, not knowing right from wrong, lacking guilt, it became apparent that she harbored no sympathy and struggled to emotionally open up with others - however, Damion wasn’t deterred by all this, and went about helping the girl as best he could. He gave her therapy and teachings to understand empathy, being slow and consistent, with them realizing that her torture from others - of abuse and lack of human emotion and witnessing cruelty - and slowly it helped her socialize better with others. Of course she was still a cruel person that liked to brutally tease people while keeping up her charisma, but when she wanted to fully hurt someone she would use strength and brutality, having a sick sense of pleasure from crushing the weak before her feet. She still steals and lies and manipulates others where she finds it favorable. Yet despite her evil, she was still part human and subconsciously wished for platonic love, and did care for those that she was close to especially her adopted father Damion. She knew when to throw her punches and insults and knows when to give her attempts at empathy to other humans (she’ll say its to gain allies and use them later when she needs a favor) and realizing a little better the difference between moral right or wrong. She also learned to be more self aware of social cues, as she was intelligently smart to quickly learn certain things when talking to others. However, remember she is still a lying, scheming emotionally stunted individual that prefers to use people to her liking, and has a low empathy for others, and will take what she deems as hers or interesting.

She suffers from vitiligo, a skin condition that has patches of skin and hair to be without pigment, and sometimes its a slow process that slowly grows as the person gets older. When she shifts into her more Oni form, her hair completely goes white and her skin seems to pale, so its not fully sure if the condition is tied to the Oni heritage in her.

She’s apparently half human (Earthrealmer, Outworlder, many aren’t sure) and half Oni of Netherrealmer

Thinking of the nickname of Obsidian, Oni, Ma (shortened from the word Akuma)

Atm she still sides with Earthrealm

[untitledtheunknown]

Are you still doing asks for would your OCs date our Vs? I want to try for the new guy (or anyone else)

Adrian DuMont is 24 years old with curly brown hair and green eyes. He's been on the road by himself for most of his life and is wanted for small crimes in most cities. He is generally looking for a little companionship and somewhere that he can lay low for a while. He's caring to a fault and most of what he has gets given to kids he finds living on the street.

Always lol I don't mind them :3

If for actual dating, probably go better with Ghost. They're a lot better for company and more of the laid back type, go at your own pace. As well he is very caring and naturally wants to help people however he can. Think they would get along well :)

Damion is very fast paced. His bragging point is always "a motherfucker ain't killed me yet" before he does something stupid. He lives in the rockerboy scene, always getting into shit and making noise. He likes to be seen and is damn loud when he does it. If just looking for a fix and quick tip of eddies, he'd be your guy.