#it's not the same as his normal vision

[karkitol]

So, I know in current canon there's not actually a confirmed reason for Anakin's scar (besides maybe shaving accident) but,

Assuming it was still made by a lightsaber, how well do you think he can see out of that eye? Even if it missed the eye itself, surely having a laser sword that close to your eye has to do some damage, right?

[batsplat]

Jerez 2006

[It] was certainly within the four walls of that gym, between rep after rep on different muscle groups, that the 'LorenShow' was born. There was a time when only Rossi used to put on a show, but even that has become a rare event. 'Now he only does it on certain occasions,' says Jorge. 'The World Championship was losing a bit of sparkle. Other riders were trying things but they weren't funny, especially in 125cc. There was a time when Melandri tried to imitate Rossi but he never managed to make it as funny.' Jorge had been thinking for a long time about how he could offer his fans something extra after a win. A lot of people saw him as too serious, but he wanted to show that he cared about them, that he enjoyed what he did and that he was affable and good humoured, as well as imaginative. He needed an ingenious plan because he had a clear objective: to celebrate the World Championship title in style. 'We wanted to do it in style, go mad,' recalls Dani Palau. That seemed a long way off, back in the summer of 2006, but once the crises of Turkey, Shanghai and Le Mans were behind him the dream of beating Andrea Dovizioso was alive again.

Strictly speaking, the first episode of the 'LorenShow' was at the Spanish GP in 2006. It was his first victory in the 250cc class and Jorge got off his bike, took off his helmet and started shouting at the fans. 'It was pretty spectacular and it was the first time we used the word "LorenShow",' he recalls. 'Palau and I used to put together a ten-page magazine of our own after each Grand Prix and on the front cover of that particular edition we put a photo of my celebrations and the headline [in English] "Welcome to the LorenShow!" That was awesome, really different. I have always been creative and I fancied doing something special after I won, so I decided to give it a try!' The design of the magazine, by the way, was similar to GQ. 'Well, not similar exactly. We kind of copied it! We were worried about getting into trouble for copying it but I hope they don't hit us with a lawsuit now ... it was only for us!' he laughs.

March 2007

After his victory at Losail Jorge pretended to skip like a boxer, as he'd done for so many hours in the gym with Marcos. It was a spontaneous, intuitive celebration and an early turning point for his season. After such a morale-boosting performance during and after the race, why not celebrate all his victories from now on? 'In Qatar I did the skipping-rope thing but I never thought that in the future I'd be using props to celebrate my victories!' The preparation that went into each episode of 'LorenShow' was a simple but elaborate process. Generally the original idea would come from Jorge and, often with the help of his computer, Palau would fill in the details. It became something of a team effort at Motorsport48, where almost everybody began to join in the fun. Everybody except the boss: Dani Amatriain kept his distance. He didn't like or dislike the celebrations but he preferred to leave them to Jorge as a bit of innocent fun. Out of the blue came another idea, this time from Marcos. Once again, it was an idea born in the gym. 'You are a warrior. You have to reclaim the championship, right? But what kind of a conqueror doesn't have a flag?' Jorge's eyes began to twinkle. 'It has to be something really visual,' Jorge told Palau, taking on the idea. 'Imagine that in each race I stick a flag into the ground, as if I have conquered that land. Like Christopher Columbus when he arrived in America!' The design process was short, with Jorge's X-fuera logo the obvious choice, set on a black background - the colour used by pirates. And written in English, so that it would be understood all over the world, not just in Spain, would be those now famous words: 'Lorenzo's Land'.

The day of its first unfurling soon arrived. It was the Spanish Grand Prix at Jerez, known as 'The Cathedral' by local fans. Dani Palau headed for partisan territory - the section of track that features the 'Angel Nieto' and 'Peluqui' corners, where he would meet his friend if he won the race. 'I had goosebumps. You should have heard the noise from the crowd when Jorge stopped!' he recalls. There were 140,000 people packed into the grandstands at Jerez that day and they had been treated to an outstanding 250cc race: 'la carrera de los cuarenta y dos adelantamientos' ['the race with forty two overtakes']. Jorge Lorenzo savoured the moment. As he had done in 2006, he removed his helmet, got off his bike and punched the air to celebrate his second victory at Jerez. Then the flag appeared by his side. He took it and drove it deep into the gravel. Jerez had been conquered, the first circuit to be claimed as 'Lorenzo's Land'. A few weeks later he won again, in China, and again he planted the flag. However, unlike Jerez, this victory was his first in Shanghai. Nobody was going to stop him now.

"Now what's happening with Lorenzo? Oh, he's going to plant the flag, I think. Here we go! Or he's going to throw the flag. He's going to do something, but, eh... All the script we have in front of us, all the timings, goes out of the window when Lorenzo wins a 250cc race... so you can just, rustle up your papers, any scripts you've got, what's coming up next, disappears, because he delays everything. There we are. Plants the flag..."

Le Mans 2007

Lorenzo, who designs his own logos and comes up with fun things like the pirate flag he sticks in the sand at the circuit where he wins to "announce to everyone" that he has conquered "that land" , says that preparing for these celebrations is just another way of coping with the hard training he does and, above all, having the best time possible. "Looking for ideas for the parties I have at the circuits encourages me to win ," he said yesterday after his excellent victory over Dovizioso.

The Mallorcan, who did not hesitate to admit his mistake on a line and apologize to Dovi for the push he had given him ( "I'm very sorry, I went out too wide on a curve, I wanted to regain verticality too soon, get back on the right line and I crashed into him" ), yesterday came up with nothing better than to dress up his soulmate, Dani Palau, as Jorge Lorenzo, with whom he shares the entertainment of festive designs and games. Palau appeared on the lap of glory and tried to get his two-and-a-half-litre Aprilia and, as they had agreed, Lorenzo told him to go away, that the bike was his and that he was the owner of the winning machine. "We wanted to make a joke, implying that the double, which was him, Dani, represented the Lorenzo who had fallen on Friday and that the real one, that is, myself, was the one who had won the race."

Mugello 2007

Jorge was coming up with more ideas for celebrations than he could use, and that was probably a good thing because some of them would have got him into more trouble than they were worth. Like the one that involved him wearing an Andrea Dovizioso mask. 'We've still got the mask but Andrea would have had to do something really bad to me to warrant getting it out ... though he'd better ‘watch it!' smiles Jorge. Another one that failed to get past the ideas stage was for Valencia, the final race of 2007. Jorge had already claimed the title and, after being criticised all year for using the 'Lorenzo's Land' flag instead of the Spanish one, planned to go completely over the top, using not only the Spanish flag but dressing up' as a bullfighter. Maybe it was a good thing he only managed seventh. The celebrations he did get to use became ever more elaborate and meticulously planned. He would scour the circuit for the best comer, with the best camera angle and the best view for the fans. Jorge had decided that each celebration should have something to do with the country he was in, and in Italy a friend, Jordi Ohva, who worked for Dorna [the commercial and television rights holders for MotoGP] gave him an idea. 'In Italy they've nicknamed you "Spaniard". The commentator on Italian television has started calling you that.''"Spaniard"? Why?''Because you are like a gladiator and that's what they call the main character played by Russell Crowe in the movie Gladiator.' Maximus Decimus Meridius was a Roman general born in Merida, Spain. He lived in the second century and since this was the second year of domination by a Spaniard in the 250cc class then what better way for Lorenzo to celebrate victory in the Italian GP than by dressing up as his namesake? 'In fact, the idea of doing something historical came after watching 300 with Marcos,' explains Jorge, 'We watched the film again with Palau, the three of us talked about it and we decided we wanted to do something related to the Battle of Thermopylae. It was while we were looking for a King Leonidas suit that we came across a Gladiator outfit. That coincided with me finding out what [Italian television commentator] Guido Meda was calling me.' The wheels were quickly put in motion. like any good media relations manager, Pere Gurt sourced an exact replica of the costume worn by Russell Crowe in the film, which was owned by an agency in Madrid. It cost 600 euros a week to rent and the sword was extra. It was kept in a corner of the garage at Mugello, where Dani Palau devoutly guarded it from the inquisitive eyes of journalists who were already wondering what Lorenzo had up his sleeve if he won this one. On race day Palau headed for the comer where they'd agreed to meet if a miracle should happen. Jorge was starting from 20th on the grid, but he still had his sights set on victory. Everybody knows what happened next. On the big screens around the circuit, Palau watched his friend slide into the gravel after colliding with Bautista. He jumped onto his scooter and raced to fetch him, sword, breastplate, helmet, 'Lorenzo's Land' flag and all. The Italian fans spotted the props and, despite Jorge's popularity there, Dani could hear them laughing and shouting insults. The mediocre can be unforgiving when a winner falls from his perch. 'The preparations were perfect, but unfortunately the race wasn't!'

Catalunya 2007

You have to be very confident in your abilities to appear on the starting grid, having previously asked two friends to dress like you, to wait for you at a strategic point during the lap of honour and to take out some guitars so you can emulate your favourite band in front of 112,600 spectators. That was how Jorge Lorenzo celebrated his fifth victory of the season at Montmeló, giving a concert on the track and another one off it, microphone in hand, as a tribute to the Red Hot Chili Peppers and to make up for his fall at Mugello a week ago. This time, the Mallorcan needed two stunt doubles at his side for his performance, and those who dressed as him were Dani Palau, his webmaster and the same one he used at Le Mans, and Ricard Cardús, a CEV driver and Carlos' nephew.

Looking back on his performance, it could be said that the most critical moment was the start, when Thomas Luthi had taken the lead on the first corner. 'Por Fuera' did not back down, he lived up to his nickname and made an epic outside turn. That was the only thing that really cost him, or so it seemed from the sidelines, because he later said that it had been a difficult race. Maybe he said that because he still had in mind the blunder in Italy, that fall on the last corner when Álvaro Bautista overtook him. Whatever the reason, he was exultant and at the end of the podium ceremony he dared to take the speaker's microphone to address the public. "Did you enjoy the show?" he asked from the top of the podium. And he continued: "I know that some of you liked me and others didn't, but I don't care. You are Spanish like me and I love you! Thank you."

The trio completed a recce of Montmelo on Thursday and Friday and performed a rehearsal at the corner of choice, in front of the stadium section. I told them, "When we're playing here, I want you to jump around like the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Go on YouTube, have a look at the videos and learn the dance moves," ' recalls Jorge. 'But the bastards ignored me!' For one magic moment Jorge, Dani and Ricky were no longer Lorenzo, Palau and Cardus. They weren't even three Lorenzos, dancing and singing like maniacs in front of 100,000 people. They were Anthony Kiedis, Flea and John Frusciante. Only Chad Smith was missing on drums, otherwise they would have been the real Chilis. 'I wanted there to be four of us, like the real Chilis, and I was going to ask Ricky's older brother Jordi to join in but there weren't any more leathers in my size. Also, getting a drum kit onto the track would have been a nightmare!'

Donington, Assen, Sachsenring 2007

After Catalunya came the British GP and before travelling there they went to dinner with a racing friend, Xavi Ledesma - the owner of the Fortuna Team hospitality unit and one of Jorge's closest friends in 2005, as well as being the organiser of the Copa Aprilia when he first started racing Xavi told them that the tradition in England was to drink tea in the afternoon. No sooner said than done. They went out and bought a tea tray, complete with teapot, cups and spoons. Palau planned to sit at a table at the Melbourne Loop, dressed as a waiter in a tuxedo and crash helmet. All Jorge had to do was turn up, rest his feet and have a drink. Oh, and win the race. Unfortunately, the final and most crucial part of the plan started to go wrong in the warm-up because, as is well known, rain is as traditional at Donington as tea. Despite the heavy downpour, Jorge produced a great performance - he was having the best wet race of his career. 'Shall I go out or not?' thought Dani halfway through the race. His buddy was running in second place behind Dovizioso. He had to have faith. 'If you have any doubt, something is bound to go wrong,' says Jorge. 'Whenever I have felt sure I would win I have won, but if there has been any kind of doubt I've lost, come second, or something has happened. That is what the brain is like.' And just as Palau made his mind up and went to load up the scooter with props, Jorge hit the deck. That was one cuppa that was hard to swallow. Jorge's next celebration was enjoyed by the Spanish fans, although it was on a Saturday rather than a Sunday. The Dutch are a bit different in everything, even their racing, and since 1949 the TT at Assen has always taken place on a Saturday. Jorge knew exactly what he was going to do if he won. He wanted to copy the thousands of locals by riding a pushbike. They rehearsed their routine at two or three different comers. 'This place is best. How far will you ride the bike? Will you be able to cycle in boots?' Every minute detail was taken care of. 'We'd practised in that area where Valentino sat when he won the MotoGP race, the bit that looks like a target. I was going to leave my Aprilia and the pushbike would be in the middle of the circle. We thought of it before Rossi!' Suddenly, he changed his mind. On his return to the pit garage he realised that there was a stage, all set up right next to the track, because just by the final chicane that leads into the start-finish straight there is a VIP terrace. It was the perfect place - and not only that, there was a television camera directly opposite.

'We could sit down and have a drink,' Jorge told Dani. The fact he'd missed out on his cup of tea at Donington a few days earlier still irked him, so it was all hands on deck. The owners of the terrace had to be consulted and asked for permission. Initially they weren't too keen because there are no fences there and it is easy for people to get out and access pit lane. For that reason, a huge deposit has to be paid to hire the area, which the circuit organisers retain if there are any problems. In the end they realised it was a Lorenzo celebration and they went along with it. This time Jorge backed up his plans with a dominant victory. However, having left his bike propped against the fence before climbing over the tyre wall and on to the terrace, he was swamped by punters taking photographs and the television cameras lost him in the melee. 'On top of that, the bar owner was a complete opportunist and he got a bunch of people to hold up an advertisement! It was a disaster.' Even though not much could be seen on the television, it was clear that Jorge's double had returned and that they'd gone to have a drink together. But why? Jorge was happy to provide the answer in pare ferme. 'After the crash at Donington, somebody [Dovizioso] had suggested I was getting nervous. So I sipped on a herbal tea.' Some time later Dani Palau insisted that the initial idea was to drink a glass of water but, as at Le Mans, Jorge was thinking on his feet and he was eager to hit back at Dovizioso. 'Sometimes that happens to me. I get really good ideas on the spur of the moment. Other times I really have to think things through for them to work out. But sometimes I get a flash of inspiration.'

Jorge finished fourth in Germany but there were no plans for a celebration even if he'd won. He was worried about the joke wearing thin. 'You have to keep people guessing. It is good to have an element of the unexpected. If we did it every time it wouldn't be funny any more. The truth is that I like things to be complete and maybe I would have continued the celebrations race after race but I let them convince me. It was good to have a break.' The summer holidays were approaching and they wanted to leave the fans gagging for more. To be fair, I have to say that I can't always put on a big celebration because I need helpers and Palau didn't come to every race. For the ones outside Europe we had a much smaller group.' There were no celebrations in the Czech Republic either, but this time for a different reason. Nobody at Motorsport48 was in the mood for a party. Dani Amatriain's assistant, Esther Serra, had just lost her brother, Marc. Jorge won but conducted a silent parade of his now obligatory 'Lorenzo's Land' flag in honour of the family. 'The problem with the celebrations is that it gets harder and harder to come up with something original, with meaning, that isn't just plain stupid,' says Jorge. 'Ideas are finite. We had something planned for Portugal but I'd prefer to keep it to myself - I might use it in the future. We also wanted to do something with animals but are they allowed on the track? We planned to get Datil, my mum's dog, a set of made-to-measure leathers but imagine if we brought him out and he had a shit on the track! That'd cause a scene!' Jorge fell about laughing as his imagination took over. 'It's a shame Marcos doesn't come to more races because we could dress him up as Shrek! Ha, ha!'

Misano 2007

From that moment on, Jorge defended his first place, riding alone and maintaining a calm margin over the second, who ended up being the Japanese Aoyama, after first catching his teammate Kallio, who fell next, and then Héctor Barberá, who added his third podium of the year. Lorenzo is now 50 points ahead and celebrated by doing a lap of honour dressed as a Roman gladiator. De Angelis is second after finishing a disappointing fifth in what was his Grand Prix.

Jorge toyed with the idea of wearing his new outfit [the gladiator costume he had been mocked for at Mugello] if he won at the GP of Catalunya but eventually decided that revenge is a dish best served cold and it was better to wait. The season would give him plenty of opportunities to settle the score and the Italian fans would have no choice but to bow down before him like a Roman general. Every great film has unforgettable lines that are often repeated by film buffs. This one from Gladiator suited Jorge down to the ground. My name is Maximus Decimus Meridius . . . commander of the armies of the north . . . general of the Felix Legions . . . loyal servant to the true emperor, Marcus Aurelius . . . father to a murdered son ... husband to a murdered wife ... and I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next. 'What a well-chosen phrase!' Lorenzo must have thought. Italy owed him one and he was going back to collect his dues. It wasn't to be in that first race on Italian soil, but he was determined to get his revenge in the second. He rented the outfit again, waving goodbye to another 600 euros, but this wasn't about the money. This was a question of honour. He didn't know the circuit, because there hadn't been a GP there since 1993, and although he had visited Misano once, when he'd signed for Derbi in 2002, he was only 15 then and not old enough to actually ride. None of that mattered now, because he went out and won. And on top of that, Dovizioso broke down. Jordi Perez and Cheni Martinez raced out onto the track to dress their man. They'd already discussed with Race Direction and the television directors where the best place would be for the celebration in terms of safety and maximum exposure. Jorge didn't want to take the outfit off - not when he stepped on to the podium, or when he sprayed the champagne. He even kept it on for the press conference. He clearly wanted to recoup his investment, but above all he wanted to enjoy the moment. He felt like the king of the world. ' "Now THAT was legendary," Guido Meda told me.' "

Sepang 2007

Dovizioso responded to remain in Lorenzo’s slipstream as the duo were caught by KTM team-mates Hiroshi Aoyama and Mika Kallio, plus Hector Barbera. The five battled until the penultimate lap when Dovizioso’s wafer-thin title hopes were ended as Mika Kallio took him out in an out-braking move. Hiroshi Aoyama inherited the lead and kept it to the flag from Barbera and Lorenzo. As Kallio remounted to finish fourth ahead of Tomas Luthi, Andrea Dovizioso remounted to cross the line eleventh. Meanwhile Jorge Lorenzo was celebrating keeping the 250cc world championship in a boxer’s gold-coloured gown and gloves, and picking up a fake championship belt in parc ferme.

Jorge won his second 250cc World Championship at the Malaysian Grand Prix with one race to spare, to top off an outstanding 2007 season. And what better way to celebrate in style than by looking way back to the very first race of the year in Qatar, when Jorge recovered the 'eye of the tiger'? His antics in 2007 had made him the leading contender for the title of paddock showman left vacant by Valentino Rossi in a season when the Italian had little to celebrate. It's clear by now that Jorge is up for a challenge and a second 250cc World Championship title was enough of an excuse for him to stake his claim, as the leading heavyweight in 'motorshowbusiness'. On this occasion it wasn't actually one of his own ideas, but he made it his own as soon as it left the lips of Marcos Hirsch. Having started the season training like Rocky Balboa and trying to recover the 'eye of the tiger', he took the title in Malaysia (coincidentally a country the famous Italian novelist Emilio Salgari referred to as the 'land of the tigers' ) and there was only one way to celebrate - as the new CHAMPION OF THE WOOOOOORLD! That box in the corner of the garage at Plulhp Island contained a story all of its own. Jorge and Marcos's initial idea was to set up a boxing match between the two of them, in which Jorge would knock Marcos out. The idea was that I had to beat a heavyweight. And boy is he heavy!' laughs Jorge. When I'd dressed as Jorge at Valencia the previous year, the message was that he had grown up,' explains Marcos. 'This time it was a case of demonstrating that he was capable of anything. Even knocking out somebody twice his height and weight, like me!' Another of Jorge's ideas was for Marcos to grow his hair like Don King, the world's most famous boxing promoter. In the end the celebration wasn't exactly as Jorge and Marcos had planned, partly because the Brazilian trainer was unable to make the trip to Malaysia.

The final idea came about after a conversation between Jorge and Marcos after which the 'celebration panel' of Jorge, Dani Palau and Pere Gurt set things in motion. They went on the Internet to download information about the Clint Eastwood film Million Dollar Baby and then researched other famous boxers like Mike Tyson, Evander Holyfield, Oscar De La Eioya and Julio Cesar Chavez. Once they had decided on a look they set about sourcing the outfit. Esther Serra was sent to a fabric shop in Barcelona, which is where they encountered their first setback. They didn't have any gold fabric for the hooded cloak - only black - and if that shop didn't have it, it was difficult to imagine anywhere else that would. But necessity is the mother of invention and somebody suddenly remembered that the covers used to unveil Jorge's Apiilia RSW250 at the start of the season had been gold. Problem solved! Now it was a case of putting the whole outfit together. They'd found a blue cloak in a Barcelona boxing shop, and picked up a gum shield at the same time. There were some fruitless trips to fancy dress shops. It was time to get the family involved... Pere Gurt called his mother, Rosa Casas, and her friend, Carme Armengol. After much protest, which fell on deaf ears, the pair reluctantly accepted the assignment and, as a result, MotoGP ended up with two more avid fans - to the point where they would get up at 5am to watch Jorge race in Australia.

A world championship belt needed to be found at the same time, so the team got in touch with the Spanish Boxing Federation (FEB), who recommended 'Charlie's', a specialist shop in Madrid. Bingo! Not only did they have a belt, they also had a pair of golden gloves. The only problem was that the belt featured the Dutch flag, but Esther wasted no time in having the red, white and blue colours replaced with a logo designed by Dani PalaWeb that read: 'Loren Show II'. In the end Jorge didn't use the gum shield, but there's a little story about that too. When Juan Llansa saw it he said there was no point: 'That is a shit gum shield. You need one made to measure!' Juanito knew what he was talking about - he'd not only seen plenty of riders use them over his 20 years in motorcycle racing, but also his daughter, Zaida Llansa, was the 2001 Kata [a form of martial arts] World Champion. As soon as he landed in Australia he looked on the Internet for a martial arts shop near Phillip Island. He bought the silicone, warmed it in boiling water and made Jorge bite it for a made-to-measure gum shield. Lorenzo still decided not to use it for the celebrations, but Juanito saved it just in case Jorge decided he needed one for MotoGP. 'He never wore one in 125cc and 250cc but I've saved it just in case he really needs to grit his teeth in MotoGP!' Llansa laughed. Everything was prepared as quickly as possible because there wasn't much time. Jorge quickly became impatient: 'Pere, how's the cloak coming along?' 'Don't worry about it.' 'If it's going to be shit just leave it and we'll think of something else.' 'Trust me. I don't doubt your work, so don't doubt mine.' It was almost time to leave and everything was ready. Cheni Martinez picked up the outfit and went to meet Jorge at the Hotel Barcelo-Sants gym in Barcelona for a dress rehearsal. He had to try everything on before leaving for Melbourne. In the car on the way to the airport Jorge received a call. It was Pere. 'How is it?' 'Pffff. It's not that bad.' Pere Gurt hung up with a smile. 'We've done it,' he thought.

The box remained unopened in Australia, of course, but in Malaysia the surprise was unleashed. The hardest-hitting World Champion in racing was about to be crowned and the character of Rocky Balboa represented the strength he'd displayed to overcome his own limitations and fears. Jorge Lorenzo had not only clinched his second world title, he'd proved to himself and to the world that he could do anything, as a rider and as a person. And then he and the clan treated the public to their most memorable celebration yet. His friends, headed by Juanito Llansa, waited for him with the boxer's outfit that Lorenzo wanted to wear to mirror his battling performances on the track that season — the cloak, gloves and belt of a World Champion, made out of gold fabric and with a logo on the back, hand sewn by Pere Gurt's mother and her neighbour. It simply read: Loren Show II. World Champion 2007. The 'Lorenzo's Land' flag had fluttered at seven different circuits during the year, but this time it was the Spanish flag that an emotional Lorenzo drove into Malaysian soil, in the final turn of the Sepang International Circuit. The whole act had been Jorge's tribute to 'the eye of the tiger', the winning attitude of Rocky Balboa that he'd adopted as his own. All the knock-out blows to his rivals during the season had given him just cause for celebration. Celebrations are often forgotten the following day, as soon as the outfits and props have been returned, but not this time. The World Championship gown and gloves will always remain part of Jorge's life.. 'One day I returned home to find that my mother had prepared a surprise. She had redecorated my bedroom and there it was, my gold outfit, hung on the wall, looking magical.' Some people think Jorge Lorenzo is simply copying Valentino Rossi, the originator of post-race victory celebrations, in order to enhance his own image. Others feel that perhaps he takes things too far, or they may view the Lorenzo antics rather more favourably. Jorge will continue to hope they're accepted for what they are: harmless, innocent fun but always with a moral to the 'story'. There's no doubt, though, that he will have something to say if other riders start copying him...

Jorge Lorenzo and 250cc celebrations

Lorenzo is authentic, reject imitations (2007); Shanghai race commentary (2007); A recital by Jorge Lorenzo to forget about Mugello (2007); Lorenzo 'Gladiator' conquers Misano and caresses the title (2007); Sepang MotoGP: Jorge Lorenzo is 2007 250cc GP champion, Hiroshi Aoyama wins race (2007); Jorge Lorenzo: My Story So Far (2010)

[godsfavoritescientist]

Building off of what I wrote in my fic "Sparks," I'm really compelled by the idea of Ford genuinely no longer being interested in sailing around in a boat with Stan by the time they were seniors in high school.

I like the idea of it not being just a symptom of the resentment that had been building between them, nor it being a dream of Ford's that only paled in comparison to west coast tech, but it being a genuine loss of interest on Ford's end. I think it complicates things even further in some really juicy ways.

Like, imagine going through high school slowly losing more and more interest in the dream you've shared with your twin and only friend ever since you were little kids. How do you break it to him? How do you explain it to him without making it sound like a rejection of him? Without it making him hate you?

How do you explain it without it feeling like a spit in the face to all the hard work he's put into a plan that started out as a way of him comforting you by telling you "it doesn't matter what people say about you, you're going to be an adventurer who sails away into the sunset and never has to hear their mockery ever again, and there will be babes and treasure and heroism, and then they'll all see how cool you really are!"

And all through high school you think to yourself, "he's going to move on to more realistic dreams any day now, and then I won't have to say anything about it!" But no matter how many times you mention something else he could do with his life that he seems interested in, or bring up the challenging logistics of traveling around long-term in a boat, he sounds just as committed to the childhood dream as ever, and completely oblivious to how apprehensive you sound.

So resentment grows, little by little. Because that's easier than confronting the soul-crushing levels of guilt that are building up inside of you, every time you don't take an opportunity to tell him you don't want to do the plan anymore. You don't have a single person in your life who modeled how to have difficult conversations for you. As far as you know, having this conversation with Stan would crush him into tiny little pieces and then he would hate you forever, and you can't stand the idea of losing the only friend you've ever had.

So tensions grow. A lack of interest turns into a bitter resentment that, if you were really being honest with yourself, is directed more at yourself than it is at Stan.

And then the falling-out happens, and it seems like you were proven right. Stan hates you now, and he's never going to forgive you for giving up on his dream. But two can play that game, so you try to hate him too. Because if you hate him too, then maybe it won't hurt as much that he never came back. That he never even turned up at school, or by the boat, or in through your bedroom window in the middle of the night. He knows what dad's like, and how he says impulsive exaggerated things when he's angry, and haven't you both dealt with his harsh words countless times before and been able to dust yourselves off and joke about it later? So why isn't he back at home, joking with you about how absurd your dad acted that night, being impossible and belligerent about ruining your dream, but at least now you're even, because you've ruined his dream too.

-

And now imagine you find out he risked the lives of everyone in existence to bring you back, right after you had accepted your fate was to die killing Bill. It would be terrifying and confusing and infuriating. If he cared so much, why didn't he do something to reconnect with you sooner? Why did he ignore you in favor of trying to make it big without you? Why didn't he take the infinitely safer and simpler action of reaching out to you without you having to track down his address and send a desperate plea for help? You were convinced that he didn't care enough to bother with you unless you had an important enough reason for him to come. But even then, he thought your plans were stupid. He didn't want anything to do with you, not even with the world at stake.

Did he save your life out of guilt? Does he pity you that much? It doesn't add up with what he did in the decade leading up to shoving you into the portal. And the dissonance between the version of him in your head that hates you, and the man who held out his arms to welcome you back to your home dimension, is so strong that you feel like you're being lied to again, like you're back in the depths of gaslighting and manipulation that Bill put you through, even though there's no way that's what Stan is trying to do... right? You can't figure it out, so you run away from it. You don't want to know the answer to whether or not Stan hates you, because you don't know which answer would hurt more, so you try to make him hate you more than ever, because at least then you would know for sure how he feels.

And in the end, after he sacrifices his memories for you, and for the world, things seem clearer. The layers upon layers of confusion and anger and hurt seem to have washed away like drawings in the sand, leaving behind the simple truth: that you two had an argument, and didn't move past it for forty years, and despite everything you put each other through, you both still want to re-connect.

So you sail away in a boat together.

And at first, it's wonderful. It's exactly what you want. It feels like an apology to Stan, and a thank-you for saving the world, and a once-in-a-lifetime chance to heal the rift between you two, and it's good to be back on earth, and you wonder why you ever doubted the dream you two once had.

But then, after the first long journey you spend on the sea together, when you get back home to dry land, Stan is already talking about planning your next adventure out on the open sea. He recaps every adventure you had on the first trip, over and over again, and he wants to chat with you all through the morning and long into the night, and you don't have the words to explain to yourself that you don't have enough social battery for this, and suddenly you're slipping back into the horrifyingly familiar feeling of Stan being overbearing and needing space from him and how could you think that? How could you think that about him after everything he's done for you and everything he's forgiven you for? But the longer this goes on, the more you realize that you still don't want to spend the rest of your life sailing around with Stan. It's great fun in moderation, but the idea of your whole life revolving around Stan and going on adventures with Stan and being in a boat with Stan with no time to be by yourself thinking about your own things and figuring out your own dreams makes your skin crawl with a claustrophobic kind of panic that you still don't know how to put into words forty years after the first time this feeling grabbed you by the throat and ruined your friendship with Stanley.

But the first time this happened, it nearly ruined his life forever. You can't let yourself feel this. You don't feel this. You're happy to spend the rest of your life fulfilling Stan's lifelong dream, and making up for the time you crushed his dream, and sure, maybe he crushed your dream once too, and maybe it would be nice for him to support your dreams like you're now doing for him, but you can't say that. He saved the universe, and it would be horrible and ungrateful and cruel for you to try to voice these feelings, especially when you don't know how to voice your feelings without it making other people feel like you twisted a knife into their gut. So you try to pretend the feeling isn't there.

You go out on a boat with Stan again. You planned out another incredible journey together, and this should be fun, and you should be happy about this, but the unspoken feeling you shoved as far down in yourself as it could possibly go is eating you alive. The worst part? Stan is starting to notice. You have never been good at hiding your emotions. The trick to it has always been to convince yourself you don't feel it at all, and not think about it, and that has always worked like a charm. But whenever the emotion claws its way back up to the forefront of your mind, you can tell Stan knows something is wrong. So you can't even give him the happy ending he deserves. You can't even convince him that you want to be here on the open seas forever with him, like he deserves. And you keep trying and trying to hide it, but Stan keeps asking in roundabout ways, like "You're being awfully quiet, sixer," and "whats that look on your face?" and eventually it comes exploding out of you like a shaken-up soda bottle dropped on its cap.

And then it's like you're back at home in New Jersey again, standing in the living room while dad grabs Stanley by the shirt. It all comes pouring out of you, in the worst possible way, with the worst possible phrasing, like a pandora's box of monstrousness, and Stan tries to fight back against the sting of your words, but you're made out of acid and you're burning through him and you can see it on his face, and there's never any coming back from this, not this time, you'll just have to either jump into the ocean or become a monster forever, so Stan can hate you more easily again, and-

-and at the end of the outburst, you're still on a boat in the middle of nowhere in the ocean with your brother, in dangerous waters, and you have things to do to keep the boat running smoothly.

You can't run away from him. He can't run away from you. You're stuck here for at least a couple more weeks, even if you turned around and sailed back towards shore right away.

-

And the thing that compels me so much here, despite how unbelievably angsty it all is, is that it sets up a situation wherein the Stans might end up forced to actually address the decades of resentment and confusion and wanting-to-reconnect-throughout-it-all that they thought they could gloss over and heal with enough time spent adventuring together on a boat. They might end up forced to actually address the crux of the issue that drove them apart in the first place: Ford wanting a little more space to feel like his own person, and to feel like he's able to have his own dreams, too.

It wouldn't happen easily, nor right away, but if they were stuck together on a little boat in the middle of nowhere surrounded by magical creatures they have to protect each other from in order to make it back home alive, then after they had one fight where they brought up all the things they silently agreed to never bring up again, it would probably happen many more times, and each time it would leave them both angrier at each other than ever, until eventually something honest slipped through amidst all the saying-anything-except-what-they-mean bickering. And once enough of these honest moments slipped through, then they would have a thread to tug on to start to unravel the gargantuan knot of their decades of unresolved conflicts.

And then, eventually, maybe Stan could learn that he can have a good friendship with his brother without needing to be glued to him at the hip, and Ford needing a certain amount of alone time doesn't mean he dislikes him or wants to abandon him, and Ford could learn that he can be honest and have a meaningful connection with someone without it driving them away and making them hate him.

[naughtcracker]

Hi dan(d-an?) Help lmao I love having a name for people pls

Anyway do you ship any Stardew villagers together?

Good luck on your con prep :)

-Lily

hey lily! yeah it's d-an but you can call me whatever really it's cool

the funny thing is that i actually haven't gotten around to play much of the game (i have 2 saves and both are only on year 2 🙃) like i'm at full hearts with everyone already but there might be moments between villagers that i haven't seen, so. no pair really comes to mind EXCEPT harvey & elliott. that one's on me i might be ill

at first it's just me liking the unabashed romantic/nervous wreck dynamic since it reminds me of my farmer with harvey but they grew on me i'm afraid i think they're neat

anyroad, thanks for the ask! have a nice day and may luck find you in your future endeavors too ✌️

[ponuchuu]

omg i am not thinking abt niko's delusion form.....

[roakkaliha]

Was it just a cool design choice for Goosefeather to have those funky double eyes in the one side or is that actually something cats can have? Either way I’m obsessed with it

well theres polycoria (more than one pupil in one eye) and cyclopia (two eyes stuck together in one socket), but neither of those are what i was going for in that pic ghbbh. my idea was more like.. two seperate eyes in the same socket, which im pretty sure isnt a thing that can happen irl, or not at least in the way i drew haha. i kinda wanna give some wc design polycoria, but idk if goosefeather would be the right call for that ya know.

[nonbinary-octopus]

how do you get contact lenses anyway

[stargazeraldroth]

I can't remember if I asked this before, so I'll ask now: What if Ink was colorblind? Or what if he perceived colors differently from everyone else, kinda like how certain animals can see colors that we fleshy mammals cannot?

Like, just imagine the possibilities for both of these options. I remember coming across a post on this hellsite that was about Adventure Time; the OP was colorblind and thought that one of the characters- Princess Doctor, I believe, or something like that- was a human because they perceived her green skin differently. I can see Ink talking about something like this while watching TV with the others.

Alternatively, this could make for some colorblind shenanigans when it comes to his vials, too, or even when just painting in general. Imagine he's running low on his active paints and he asks Dream to grab some colors, and Dream comes back with the wrong ones. When he's making a painting in his free time, he's explaining what the colors symbolize to his friends, and they're just nodding along because they don't have the heart to say that he used to "wrong" colors.

As for the forbidden color spectrum, there's so many possibilities with this one. Imagine Ink and the others are watching TV when all of a sudden he mentions a color that nobody has ever heard of before, so they all collectively give him confused looks but don't comment on it because. They assume it's just Ink being Ink. And while that's technically true in this scenario, it doesn't change the fact that he sees the forbidden colors.

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

sure fine WHATEVER . rocco related things 1927 -> 1932

[princeofcyberpunk]

why have the mighty autism gods decided to give me the second Justin Timberlake music hyperfix in the last month

ALSO CAN WE TALK ABOUT THIS GUY IN THE MIRRORS MUSIC VIDEO WHO APPEARS FOR LIKE A SINGLE FRAME THAT LOOKS EXACTLY LIKE ME OUTFIT AND ALL

justin timberlake predicted my transition holy shit also sir where did you get that jacket i want it please my varsity jacket i normally wear is falling apart

[tariah23]

Been crazy about this particular title page for years actually

[famousblueraincoatmp3]

idk still why everyone was so upset by dany its been hinted at since like day 1 shes going to go down the path of the mad king its so insane to me that people cannot read basic hints that are literally spoonfed to them anymore

[dutybcrne]

Kaeya’s lips and fingertips always have a slight bluish tint to them from how cold his body runs, send tweet-

[softgrungeprophet]

put too much time today into thinking about hormones and a bunch of other stuff including vocal pitch mostly to just reaffirm my gut instinct which is that windowverse Kaine probably sounds like Shohreh Agdashloo but w/ a Queens accent and that Peter, yeah, he has the same vocal pitch as Andrew Garfield—

this is not just because I like TASM (i mean it's related) but because specifically one of the notes I have in windowverse Peter's visual design is his long neck w/ prominent adam's apple and overall lanky build and height being pretty similar to AG's so like... yeah he has a similar vocal range... but also was just listening to an interview game to double-check that reference actually matches what I had decided, which is "Peter has a wide speaking vocal range which can go fairly low but also fairly high" and yup, bro speaks with a prominent vocal fry and can go into much higher pitches at the drop of a hat so that's exactly what I was looking for lol

anyway that for Peter and Ben, compared w/ Kaine more reffing Agdashloo who has a very restricted, very gravelly, very deep voice (which apparently is super polarizing on reddit) (huge shock (sarcasm) but haters can die mad about it, i love her voice)

I actually have other voice notes specifically wrt to accent as well as voice tone, which is that I noted for Peter, he probably shares some similarities with especially young Alan Arkin, but also Adrien Brody and... uh... Christopher Walken a little bit 😂 (more for uncle ben though, but uncle ben is also much more of a peter falk in my head for like, obvious reasons as far as "brain linking together similar-looking old jewish men with (in au) glasses" even though he was from the bronx rather than queens of course) (my main exposure to peter falk has been the princess bride, not columbo lol)

other characters include reed (who is, in the au, a butch woman, as some may already be aware of) being a kind of mix of lauren bacall, cary grant, sally kellerman, with a low and crisp semi-natural midatlantic pattern in general. also yes if you don't know, i'm here to say that when i imagine regular comic book reed richards speaking i do just imagine a mid-century mid-atlantic radio host voice 😂😂😂 it just feels right lmao especially when reading silver age fantastic four comics, so it stuck in my head (i do like ioan gruffudd a lot as a casting choice though)

norman more in the realm of jack cassidy, david rockefeller, alexander scourby, etc... esp jack cassidy a la... also columbo lol

that's all i have. i mean i have a very specific way flash sounds in my head but i don't know an actor to reference for that. one of the american male voices in XCOM 2 is shockingly close to it though.

[venuslut]

FANTASIZING ABOUT a needy Choso Kamo ♡︎.

He can’t help it. Ever since you first introduced him to sex, he just can’t get enough. It’s not his fault that your cunt is so addicting, so much so that he’s often begging you to let him fuck you on his cock. It’s not his fault that you moan so beautifully that he can’t help but thrust into you harder so you’ll make more of those pretty sounds for him. It’s not his fault that you taste so good and he has to have you on his tongue, drinking your juices until you’re shaking and crying. He doesn’t mean to be so needy, but you bring out this side of him he can’t control.

How is he supposed to control himself when you walk around in those skimpy clothes, showing off your plump ass and perfect tits? It’s impossible. He’ll try to resist, have some self-control. But it isn’t long before he’s hugging you from behind, dotting wet kisses along your neck and pushing his hard-on into your ass. All while he’s begging you let him feel your wet cunt. And of course you’ll let him, how could you say no to your cute desperate boyfriend.

The minute you agree he has you laid out under him as he fucks his big cock into your tight cunt. Moaning and whimpering about how good it feels to be inside you again, his face red as he pushes every last inch of himself into you. He uses his weight to thrust into you, which only made your head go dizzy. He has you in a lazy mating press and your plush thighs slap against his hips every time he comes down, the sound of Choso’s deep thrusts is so musical, his tip abusing your womb to the point your eyes roll back. His mouth is so filthy too, and the worst part is, is that he doesn’t even realize it. “Fuck, baby... you’re sucking me in... your pussy’s so tight.” He groans into your ear, sucking onto your skin and leaving purple marks behind, intent on marking you as his. Although there was no point since you still had the hickeys from your last encounter, but it was never enough for Choso.

The poor curse is so in love with your body that he’ll go on for hours and hours just playing with your body. If it was up to him, you both would never leave the bed. Who needs to eat when he can just eat your cunt and you can suck his cock? Who needs to sleep when there’s a new position he wants to try? This man will not stop because that’s how addicted he is to your cunt. You curse the curse’s stamina and sometimes wish you had a normal boyfriend, but he usually fucks those thoughts right out of your head before you can try and act on them. “Choso… ngh!— h-hold on, my body…” you mumbled, unable to fully say your sentence. He hits a particularly sensitive spot and you let out a strangled cry, bucking your hips wildly to try and get that same pleasure again. Choso eyed your reaction, angling his hips to continue hitting that spot over and over again til you’re seeing stars and screaming out his name. You had no thoughts about shame, or how you should lower your voice, not when your handsome boy was fucking you within an inch of your life.

“Right there? ‘s that the spot, dove?” He pants, voice hoarse from his overwhelming desire for you. You’ve lost track of time, to obsessed with the way Choso has you creaming around his cock for the nth time. Everything was too much, but you loved it, in an addictive way. The overstimulation was addicting. His words were addicting. The sound of the bed hitting the wall was addicting. His cock was addicting. He was addicting. You always tease Choso about his neediness when in reality, you’re just as needy and obsessed as he is. You can tell Choso is close by the way his cock twitched inside you and how he speeds up his movements, rutting into you with wild abandon and chasing his orgasm.

You throw your head back into a pillow, your vision almost going black as you were consumed with ecstasy. The air was knocked out of your lungs with every snap of his hips, your senses filled with just the pressure of Choso. It felt like you were gonna throw up, but not in a bad way. “Baby… babybabybabybaby! A-ah! Mgn…” you cried out in pleasure, clawing at the sheets below you. Choso’s hands tightened around your hips, his careful grip growing into a bruising hold as he was solely focused on reaching his climax. “Hah— you feel sososososo good, dove. I love you, I love you so much,” he whimpered. It was right there, he could feel it, just a couple more thrusts and he’ll finally have his release. He wants to cum so bad, he needs to cum.

“Hey dove? C-can I fill your pretty pussy with my cum? Wanna cum inside you,” he begged, his voice broken as he pleads with you. “Please, my love… I want to stuff your pussy with my cum, wanna fill you up…” he continues, kissing your ankle and calf to convince you further. You didn’t need much convincing though, you were already to dumb and out-of-it to deny the poor curse. Frantically, you nodded your head, just wanting to feel his hot semen inside you. And you finally got your wish after a few more sloppy thrusts, before Choso goes still and empties his balls into your awaiting cavern. He lets out a guttural moan as ropes of cum spurt out. Slowly, he pulls out, his cock coated in a translucent white, his thighs and pelvis sticky from a mix of sweat and cum.

You both lay there in silence, the sounds of your labored breathing being the only noise echoing through the room. While coming down from your high, you remember that the reason you even got dressed today was because you had work. Annoyed, you lightly smack the upside of Choso’s head, complaining about how he made you late while you go to get out of bed and put your clothes back on. Choso rubs the area where you hit him as he watched you struggle to move and get out of bed, he looks at you like a kicked puppy and he knows he should be sorry for making you late but he can’t find it in him to feel guilty. Instead, Choso reaches out and wraps his arms around you, pulling you back further onto the bed and flushed against his sweaty chest. He buries his face in the crook of your neck and he lines soft kisses to your nape.

“I’m sorry, dove… Why don’t you call out and let me eat your pussy as an apology?”

[sttoru]

[ 𝐈 𝐁𝐄𝐓 𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒 ]

⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. the king of curses cannot fight off his primal urges and thus you suffer the consequences.

tags. true form!sukuna x concubine!female reader. smut, angst (w/ comfort), p.orn with mostly plot. mäting press. choking. rough like.. condescendingly rough. objectification. toxic relationship? yes. small hint of creampiē. double cawks. reader gets called ‘slut, girl, woman’ wc: 3.9k

“look at that slutty cunt takin’ my cock. think i wanna try fitting both at once in that lil’ hole. keh,” sukuna grunts as he looks down at you from above. your legs are burning from being folded in half—matter of fact—your entire body is aching.

any normal person would call out their safeword in a situation like this. you’re overwhelmed to the point that your brain doesn’t know what to do. you’re experiencing euphoria, yet feel like your doom is right around the corner.

you’re playing with fire whenever you’re intimate with the king of curses.

it’s too addictive to stop. being his favorite concubine has given you enough motivation to push through any difficulties. any discomfort your body feels, is automatically discarded and replaced with drowning pleasure. it’s like sukuna has put a spell on you; one that’s unbreakable.

“fffnghh—my lord,” you gasp for air as one of his big hands wrap tightly around your throat. your airway is blocked, nearly crushed by sukuna’s immense force. you get a flashback to the last time he’s choked you, how sukuna nearly lost control of his own strength.

your eyes are watery as your insides follow each thrust. back and forth, in and out. it is a simple rhythm, but you cannot get enough. the harsh and sticky echoes of skin slapping against skin are nearly ear deafening. his heavy balls bounce against the plush flesh of your ass with every move, ready to unload everything they’ve stored.

“shut up,” sukuna spits, looking down at you like you’re but a mere insect. perhaps you were exactly that to him in the heat of the moment. his red eyes show that he’s losing himself. that cruel yet greedy look only intensifies with the second, “you only speak when y’re spoken to—or did y’ forget your damn place?”

you swallow your words and resort to simple moaning after you apologise, “i’m sorry, m’lord.” your blurry vision creates a trippy illusion, giving sukuna eight arms and eyes. not only are you seeing double, the feeling of ecstasy is twice as strong. you feel like you’re being ripped apart from the inside.

you can’t speak about it. you’re not allowed to open your mouth unless it’s to moan or breathe. perhaps even the latter is too much to ask. your fingers shake as they wrap around sukuna’s wrist. you try to tug at the hand that is wrapped around your throat, but your strength is gone.

your body is shaking violently with each thrust. you can’t keep up with anything that’s happening. you’re unable to process the feeling of sukuna’s second cock trying to prod its way into your cunt as well. you’re going to break — he’s going to break you.

you want to speak up and tell him you can’t take both in the same hole at once. it’s an impossible task; one can’t even fit that easily. he’s girthy and got an immense length, an inhuman one you’ve never seen before. you swear you can feel him in your tummy. the tip feeling like it's nestled right underneath your belly button.

sukuna scoffs as you tighten up around his lower cock. you’re weak; a weak human who he can’t seem to get out of his mind. he wants to exploit that obedience of yours today—to ruin you mentally and physically.

he can’t ignore those urges to ruin that what causes him weakness. he wishes to regain the power over himself again. that can only be done by consuming you, removing you from existence.

“i can’t fuckin’ stand you,” sukuna growls, his eyes darkening beyond imagination, “y’re always in the way.” you’re scared of the king of curses, which rarely happens. the last time you were afraid of his monstrous aura was during your first encounter in the woods. his manly hand squeezes your throat until you’re genuinely struggling to breathe.

there’s an unmistakable sense of danger boiling in your guts. this is the real nature of the curse named ryomen sukuna. the man above you, who’s drilling his cock into you while you’re suffering, is the real deal.

the true face of the man you thought you knew.

“i’m gonna get rid of you, y’hear? after this, y’re nothing,” sukuna pants, sweat droplets falling onto your cheeks from above. he looks like he’s internally fighting with himself. the expression on his face tells you enough. you want to reach a hand out towards his cheek and hold it.

he looks beautiful, even when he spews such serious threats at you. your cunt is burning and holding tightly onto his cock, even when you realise it may break you.

you’ve stayed for so long with him, even when you know you’ll one day die at his side or by his hands.

locks of his pink hair stick to his forehead. sweat rolls down those black tattoos. all four red eyes are burning with a carnal desire to claim you as his property—to destroy you like his property. as is his right. that’s the only way to satiate that overwhelming feeling inside of sukuna.

whenever you’re around him, he finds himself drawn by your presence. he wants you to stay by his side all day, and if you aren’t, it’s like gravity is pulling him towards you. sukuna despises it—he craves to possess you, yet also get rid of your entire being. that way he can return to his normal self. the monster he's known as.

“i’ll throw ya away—gonna get a new toy to spend more time with,” the king of curses digs his nails into the back of your knees. the tip of his upper cock glides back and forth over your clit, teasing the bundle of nerves until it’s burning. you’re losing yourself in both pleasure and pain.

the hurtful words don’t seem to affect you. you still look up at him like he’s your everything—like he’s the reason you exist. sukuna turns furious the moment he notices that his threats don’t seem to work. you’re impossible and he hates that which he cannot control.

he cuts off any air that may enter your lungs. your eyes widen and your fingers tug at his wrist so he’d let loose, but alas. you’re going to lose consciousness without a doubt. tears stream down your cheeks, though not because of the hopelessness you’re feeling.

“i do not need you anymore,” sukuna says gruffly, trying to convince himself of that statement as well. he never needed anyone else during his entire lifetime, so why would he need you? he can replace you with any another woman.

your body goes limp. sukuna’s voice is muffled as you enter a state of half consciousness. you’re at the bridge between life and death. your eyes catch a glimpse of the faint struggle in his eyes.

he looks like a monster through and through, visibly acting like one too. though you’re able to catch a glimpse of an underlying vulnerability. that part of him that always shows itself when you two are alone—making you feel special because you’re the only one allowed to witness it.

you crack a faint, weak smile. even if you perish right then and there, it’s going to be at the hands of the man you’ve learnt to love. the sorcerer who’s made you feel on top of the world, without him realising it. you’ll forever be thankful for the moments you’ve spent together.

you’ll never forget the times where sukuna has made you feel safe in those same arms that will now be your death.

a tear slides down your temple. you look sukuna in the eyes while you’re seconds away from meeting your end. you show no signs of struggle as he gives you your final command;

“die.”

you close your eyes. your fingers loosen their grip around sukuna’s wrist before you let your hand fall at your side. you’ve accepted your fate with a weary smile, honored to have sukuna be the last thing you see, “understood, my lord.”

you���ve lost feeling in all limbs and your eyelids droop. all you can do is await for death to come collect your soul. it’s dark and you can’t hear a thing anymore. you’re confused when the burning sensation in your lungs returns.

your eyes fly open the moment some oxygen is able to reach your airway again. the harsh fingers around your neck have disappeared, though not without leaving aching marks. you clutch your chest as it hurts to breathe after not being able to for the longest time.

you gasp and cough uncontrollably. you wince and blink the tears away from your eyes, refocusing your vision on the large stature detaching from your side. you’re bewildered to say the least—not realising the reason behind sukuna’s sudden change of heart. he’s sworn to get rid of you, didn’t he?

he told you to die and yet he let you live.

“fuck,” the king of curses groans after he snapped out of the dangerous state he was in. he’s panting snd staring at the hand that was once wrapped around your throat. he’s not looking at you at all.

you feel him pull out which makes you hiss. you sit up, the adrenaline helping your tired body move itself. sukuna is silent, with no emotions apparent on his face. however one thing you can conclude for sure is that he’s caught off guard by his own actions.

he can’t get it out of his head. the vision of you laying beneath him, accepting your doom as told. even on the brink of death, you oblige. you accept his every word. why? sukuna’s head is filled with unanswered questions.

you’re an enigma that he cannot solve.

“out of the way, girl,” sukuna easily shoves you to the side with one hand. he’s still not looking you in the eyes. he refuses to look in the eyes of the one woman whom he tried to kill. the sole woman who seems to accept him for who he is.

you’re the only one who’s able to understand him and yet he tried to get rid of you. perhaps he’s afraid of being understood and accepted. sukuna is fine on his own—there’s no need for anyone by his side.

you manage to get your breathing under control after a couple seconds. you’re still hyperventilating, but it’s getting better. your body shakes as you cover yourself with the sheets, your hair messily covering your vision. you reach a hand out to sukuna, curious about what’s gotten into him, “i’m, ngh- are you okay, m—”

“i said, get out,” the man raises his voice before harshly grabbing your wrist. sukuna pushes you towards the exit of his chambers. you stumble forward and manage to catch yourself by grabbing onto the nearest wall. everything is happening so fast.

you simply nod and grab your robes from the floor. you hurriedly cover yourself before stepping out of the room. you fall to your knees not two steps away into the hallway. your hand flies up to your neck, touching it as if making sure that you’re still alive.

you can’t believe sukuna spared you. if he changed his mind one second later than he originally had, you’d be a lost cause.

tears well up in your eyes as the gravity of the situation settles in. you may have accepted your fate in the heat of the moment, but now that it’s over, you’re left trembling on your own. you can’t shake off that intense look in sukuna’s eyes as he pounded you into the mattress.

he was hungry for your soul. to consume you and not leave any of your bones—to get rid of you so you’re out of his sight and mind.

you sniffle and can’t bring yourself to stand up. you’ve lost strength in your legs because the adrenaline levels in your body have dropped. you slowly crawl over the floor and hope that no one catches you in a pitiful state like this.

you manage to get a couple metres away, though soon find yourself staring at a pair of socks that come into view. you lift your head and the owner of the tabi eventually appears in sight.

“uraume,” your voice is hoarse. you make eye contact with sukuna’s personal chef as they stand before you, their expression unreadable.

the sigh they let out tells you that they’ve expected such an outcome since long ago. without a word, they reach a hand out and help you up.

. . .

it’s been a week since then. uraume has helped you recover from that unfortunate experience. the other concubines didn’t dare talk to you. they’ve noticed the change in sukuna’s behavior after that night he spent with you.

he’s gone on more rampages than he usually does. he’s been killing innocent servants who walked past him while on duty, and visiting nearby villages only to commit mass destruction. his emotions are uncontrollable at this point and no one has a clue on what to do.

the best option is to stay out of sukuna’s sight. and not to mess with you, just in case.

you’ve personally tried to approach him a couple times, but either chicken out or get totally ignored. you really want to talk it out, though it may seem impossible. you’ve evaded death once, you’re not sure if you can do that twice.

you’re currently sitting on a bench in the courtyard as uraume is applying an ointment to your throat. your neck still hurts with every move you make. the strength of sukuna’s hand is not to be underestimated, you know that.

you flinch as they rub the cold liquid over your achy skin. it helps numbing the pain, which is god sent for when you want to sleep. you can easily rest without having to suffer the unbearable discomfort in your neck muscles.

it’s a bit quiet in the garden. it isn’t unusual for uraume to be silent, but you’re aching to talk about what’s bothering you. of course, the oh-so-important subject includes no one other than the king of curses.

you sigh and start rambling about your failed attempts to reconcile your relationship with sukuna. you’re getting frustrated and sad at the situation. you want nothing more than to go back to how things were—with you receiving special treatment.

you miss his voice, his touches, his hair, his skin, his muscles, his eyes, his hugs. . . it’s all too much to bear with. you want the sukuna you know back. you don’t care if he tried to get rid of you. you’ve long understood that it was his primal, unspoken urges that had taken over his brain.

“i don’t know.. he doesn’t want to talk to me nor see me,” you shrug and pout. uraume nods and tilts your chin back gently to get the ointment in every little cranny. you stare up at the bright blue sky, the gentle breeze being comforting, both mentally and physically.

your ears pick up on footsteps behind you. heavy footsteps which you recognise as sukuna’s. you whip your head to the side, perhaps a bit too fast, causing the pain in your neck muscles to return. you hear uraume sigh as they see their hard work go to waste in under a split second.

your eyes are focused on sukuna’s large stature filling out the layout of the garden. uraume politely bows at their master after taking a few steps away from you. they don’t lift their head as sukuna walks past you both.

he doesn’t spare you a glance. it’s like you’re not there at all. you frown and pout, though know better than to make a fool out of yourself and speak up. you watch the man walk into the main building of the estate, his sharp eyes focused on the path ahead, his hands resting inside the sleeves of his black kimono.

once sukuna disappears from your vision, you sigh and slump back against the bench. you look at uraume as they move close to you again, taking a glance at your neck. you huff and cock your head to the entrance of the building, “see! that’s what i mean!”

you’re clearly fed up. you just want to make up. you don’t care about the fact that he nearly killed you in that moment. you simply desire to feel that connection between the two of you again. a complicated relationship with its many ups and downs. it may be toxic, but you crave it.

uraume hums at your worries. they radiate a sense of peace that inevitably calms you down as well. they take a quick glance at the direction where sukuna was last seen. they’ve been serving him ever since decennia back—way before you became his concubine.

they’ve never seen him this conflicted, but they don’t tell you that. uraume looks back at you with a simple nod, trusting that you’ll be fine. if your life has been spared when sukuna was in such an indescribable irrational state of mind, then there’s nothing to worry about.

you’re the only one who’s ever escaped death by his hands. that is an incredible feat by itself.

uraume rubs the oil over your neck again, getting the last spots as they reassure you with one simple sentence; “i’m sure lord sukuna simply requires some time alone.”

. . .

you take uraume’s comment seriously. if sukuna needed time, you’ll give him as much space as possible. and thus it’s been another week ever since then.

it’s a sunday night and you can’t sleep. you get up from your futon and wrap a simple blanket around your body. you can’t be bothered to brush your hair or look proper. no one will be up during this ungodly hour anyway.

you sneak out of your chambers and walk down the long hallways. you slide the door to the courtyard open and step out onto the pavement after putting on your geta. it’s a chilly night with a full moon, perfect weather to take a breather.

you walk around the familiar scenery and crouch down near a patch of flowers. they’re your favorites. sukuna had personally ordered his servants to plant them in the garden after he found out you like them. the memory brings a fond smile to your face.

such small yet meaningful actions never fail to melt your heart. it’s another reason why you want to make up with sukuna. you want to help with whatever he’s struggling with, however you know that man will never accept the aid.

you wish to support him at the very least. you want to show your devotion to him, if that already wasn’t clear to him.

you sigh and stand up. you’re caught up in your own thoughts to realise that someone’s been watching you the entire time. you walk straight forward until you reach the koi pond. you stare at the fish as they float in the clear water.

you wish you could be as carefree as them. you turn around to walk back to your room after it’s getting a bit too cold. you did not expect to bump your head against a hard surface. “ow,” you rub your forehead and look up.

there he stands; the man you’ve been dying to see and speak to. sukuna stares down at you without uttering a word, his sharp eyes finally looking into yours.

“ry— my lord,” you stammer, switching to a more polite stance. you’re thrilled, but the excitement quickly dies down as you remember uraume’s words; he needs time. you don’t want to disturb him, as much as you want to jump into his arms. you bow your head at him, “have a good night.”

your heart hurts as you force yourself away from sukuna. you step away from him and look at the ground as you walk. simply seeing him from up close again has been enough for now. though, your body yearns for more.

a simple touch will suffice. . .

you’re surprised when you feel a tug at the blanket around your shoulders. you stumble back and nearly fall on your bum if it wasn’t for sukuna holding you up. you feel an arm sneak around your waist from behind, surprisingly gentle. much gentle than ever before.

sukuna lowers his head to whisper in your ear. he lets his wet tongue slide over the shell, nibbling at the skin as if reminding himself of your taste, “stay.”

it’s an order, that you can tell. you’re weak for him and thus you obey without a single sign of protest. you feel a sudden sharp sting on the side of your neck which makes you remember what caused it. sukuna seems to notice the same thing.

it’s been getting better, but you still randomly get tingles near your neck area when you move it around too much. you silently push through the pain, which only lasts about a few seconds.

sukuna doesn’t comment on it, but takes a mental note of the sight. he’s recalling that time when you’ve nearly died at his hands. his eyes darken at the memory. he’s been trying to process the fact that he’s lost control over himself. those dark urges had taken over his mind and body, nearly consuming him whole.

they’re still hidden inside him—the desires to possess you, crush you, consume and devour your heart, body and soul. they intensify when you’re with him. it doesn’t happen with anyone else.

sukuna still cannot comprehend why you. what does that feeling in his stomach mean whenever he’s with you? it’s irritating, because it confuses him. confusing things which he doesn’t hold the answer over, annoy the king of curses.

an urge to claim someone as his forever, going as far as to want to consume them, is a new feeling to sukuna. it’s an unhealthy obsession that’s started because of you.

is that what humans call love?

he’s thought about it. perhaps, that is the case. but it must be a different type of love—one that’s so overwhelming that it’s dangerous. for both parties involved.

sukuna sighs. thinking about emotions and feelings isn’t his forte—it never really was. it’s stupid and foolish. and yet sukuna feels like a true king whenever you’re with him. your devotion to him sends shivers down his spine in a good way.

it showed two weeks ago. he saw how you accepted your position; your death. it turns him on to see you so submissive and obedient. maybe that’s also a reason why he nearly lost his mind that day.

lust is a scary thing.

sukuna’s lips avoid your neck. he rests his forehead on top of your shoulder, simply standing still against you from behind. the chilly breeze is long forgotten as his large stature protects you from the cold air. you don’t even need your blanket anymore.

you smile in content as you finally get what you want. you don’t even need an apology. hell—you don’t even need any words. this moment is more than enough to rebuild your relationship with the man behind you.

“y’re not going anywhere, yeah?” sukuna says in a low and possessive tone. it’s another command you follow without hesitation. he’s never going to tell you directly, but the lack of your presence has definitely been felt. now that he has you, his favorite concubine, he’s not going to lose you again. he won’t allow it.

you nod at sukuna’s words with a chuckle. you’re happy to be back in his warm embrace. you know that sukuna isn’t one to talk about his own inner turmoil, so you don’t push it.

those dark urges of his are to be discussed another day, if sukuna allows it. for now, this fleeting moment is more than enough. you reply to his order as you always do, to any command that leaves his lips;

“understood, my lord.”