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plthroughlegallense · 21 days

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[WHY IS A CHARGE IMPORTANT]

In today’s post, we will explain to the public why a charge is important and remind those “practising law” in Israel on their blatant abuse of the law.

Before a person can be detained, they must be charged to :

1) To notify the detainee/accused

All accused/detainee has a right to know “why” they are being detained and on “what” offences or grounds the Police/IDF are arresting them

2) To allow the detainee/accused to prepare his/her defence

A charge allows the detainee/accused to prepare their defence as the Courts MUST hear from both sides.

This brings a lot of questions to us in the legal field,

Is the findings of Israeli Courts even credible without hearing their defence?

Can Israeli Court be sure that the evidence presented by IDF/IOF credible?

Can Israeli Court be certain that the evidence corroborates with any offence?

As we have stated in previous posts,

Israel has no jurisdiction to even detain the Palestinians as the West Bank/Gaza does not form part of Israel

ALL ARRESTS, ORDERS, HOME DEMOLISHMENT WAS VOID FROM THE START

We urge the release of ALL PALESTINIANS DETAINED WITHOUT DUE LEGAL PROCESS AND ADMINISTRATIVE DETENTION in Israeli Prisons.

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palipunk · 5 months

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Israeli Caterpillar bulldozers are so symbolic of settler violence and brutality towards Palestinians; they are literal death machines. D9 bulldozers are sold by Caterpillar Inc., based in the US, and are equipped with armor and can be fitted with machine guns and grenade launchers. The nickname for these machines in Israel is "Doobi" - meaning teddy bear.

In 2004, Human Rights Watch called on Caterpillar to suspend bulldozer sales to Israel because of their use in the demolition of Palestinian property and infrastructure. Caterpillar makes military specifications for the D9 and sells them to Israel as weapons under the U.S Foreign Military Sales program, upon arrival, they are armored by Israel Industries Ltd. Before Israel pulled out of the Gaza Strip in 2005, D9s were used to demolish over 2,500 Palestinian homes in Gaza, most being in Rafah where the Israeli Government tried to expand a "buffer zone" along the border with Egypt. This was almost 20 years ago.

During these demolitions within Gaza, Rachel Corrie, an American activist who had been protesting against these home demolitions across the occupied territories, was buried with dirt by an Israeli bulldozer and repeatedly run over. Israeli military sources blamed her and the other activists who were protesting the demolitions, the IDF investigations found themselves not to blame, and no charges were brought for her murder (In the aftermath of her death, Israeli soldiers made fun of her through Facebook communities called "Rachel Corrie Pancakes and Fun", so no justice, the IOF murdered her and then laughed about it).

A federal lawsuit was filed against (which was later dismissed) Caterpillar on behalf of Rachel Corrie's parents and four Palestinian families that had members who were either killed or injured by these bulldozers trying to demolish their homes (including children). The CCR's lawsuit was "on behalf of these families charges Caterpillar, Inc. with aiding and abetting war crimes and other serious human rights violations on the grounds that the company provided bulldozers to the Israeli military knowing they would be used unlawfully to demolish homes and endanger civilians in Palestine. "

And again in 2018, more human rights groups condemned international construction firms (Caterpillar, JCB, and Liugong) for their roles in the destruction of Palestinian villages - Khan al-Ahmar was a small bedouin village in the West Bank that was planned to be razed and bulldozed for a new road for Israeli settlements, but due to international outcry, postponed the eviction. However, in Sur Baher, several Palestinian homes were demolished by bulldozers after a long legal battle that ruled in favor of the IOF. Israel often uses the guise of 'security' as a justification for these demolitions, but ultimately they are used to make way for settlements.

Massafer Yatta is another Palestinian village that has been under threat of Israeli demolitions for years now and was greenlit for destruction. Bulldozers crushed the village's school and destroyed the homes of 121 families in the area. The Palestinians who had their homes crushed by the bulldozers were forced to live in caves (which they were forbidden to even renovate), it is a decision between leaving their land and community or trying to build a new home that will be demolished by Israelis.

Palestinians throughout the West Bank know that the arrival of a bulldozer means the same thing time and time again: "You have 24 hours to flee, or we will shoot you." There are countless towns/villages/communities that have faced demolitions by the IOF throughout the decades of Israel's existence, I couldn't even begin to name all of them here.

In cases of public infrastructure, bulldozers were used to crush the main water pipelines of Al-Auja. The iof forced their way into the village and welded-shut the sole pipeline which supplies water to more than 1,200 people and used a bulldozer to crush it beneath the land. This is part of a larger history of Israeli oppression, specifically in regard to stolen water, which is supplied to Israeli settlements (it also forces Palestinians to buy water directly from Israel).

Outside of home and public infrastructure demolitions, the military bulldozers are also used in Israeli raids. In August this year (2023), the IOF raided Nablus in the Balata refugee camp, accompanied by a military bulldozer that destroyed several homes. I can't even pick a date for raids in Jenin refugee camp, which has been raided continuously this year and years before, but Israeli bulldozers have been filmed tearing up streets in Jenin and leaving them in rubble, making the roads unusable.

The Armenian quarter is not safe from settler encroachment either, as demolitions in the West Bank continue, real estate companies have sent in settlers and bulldozers to steal land belonging to Armenian Church property and Several Armenian families. Settler attacks have continued on the Armenian community and Palestinian Armenians have been getting arrested for defending themselves from these mobs.

And now, we have not only gotten the confirmation that these D9s will be used in Gaza but images, testimonies, and videos of them being used on Gazan homes and infrastructure. They are also being used to crush Palestinians to death just as Rachel Corrie had been in 2004, just as those Palestinian families had been in 2002-2004, and (extreme trigger warning for mutilation of a corpse) videos are circulating of Israelis flattening already deceased Palestinians with bulldozers out of pure contempt for us. Almost 20 years since Israel demolished thousands of homes in Gaza (not even including the genocidal bombings campaigns and the blockade Israel has placed on Gaza for years), now they're back destroying anything in their path.

I will repeat: these bulldozers are death machines and are designed to be so. Caterpillar is complicit, the US is complicit, and both are actively benefiting from the mass murder and displacement of Palestinians. Keep your eyes on Gaza but also remember the Armenian Quarter and the West Bank, all of Palestine is under threat of demolitions.

#palestine #free palestine #if this is jumbled im sorry i should been asleep five hours ago

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shehzadi · 4 months

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so far, nearly 3 weeks on from the inauguration of ram mandir, indian authorities have demolished as many masjids and/or madrasas.

30.01.24 - akhoonji masjid & madrasa in delhi, also destroying a cemetery, shrine and all the students’ belongings in the process.

01.02.24 - a madrasa in maharashtra despite facing opposition from local muslims and one day before its scheduled court appeal.

08.02.24 - a masjid & madrasa in uttarakhand. this comes one day after uttarakhand became the first state to pass the uniform civil code (x, x) which aims to apply a ‘hindu code’ to all indians, infringing on the rights of dalits, adivasis, sikhs, christians, buddhists and muslims (i.e. anybody non-hindu) to practice their religion/lifestyle. muslim women protesting the demolition were lathi-charged (beaten with sticks) by police, a shoot-on-sight order was given resulting in 6 muslims killed and 300+ injured in the riots that followed, a curfew was put in place during which hindutva mobs burned down muslim homes and businesses while shouting abuse at muslims.

as always, no prior notice was given and bjp used it’s gold-standard excuse for each demolition, citing ‘illegal encroachment’.

in addition to these masjid demolitions, indian authorities bulldozed 2 neighbourhoods (ghettos, really) in the same timeframe and also without prior notice:

01.02.24 - jasola slum, which, having been around for at least 16 years, should not have been demolished without providing alternative housing, as the delhi slum policy states for slums which came up before 2015. obviously, housing hasn’t been provided.

06.02.24 - panchsheel nagar in mumbai which, having been around since 2011, entitled residents to paid rehabilitation, which has also not been given. this has left over 110 families homeless.

the demographic of both neighbourhoods, surprise surprise, is overwhelmingly muslim, buddhist and dalit.

bjp is enjoying the cover it is receiving from israel’s genocide in palestine to do whatever it wants and is getting bolder by the day. this ‘bulldozer justice’ has been happening for years, but not at such a rapid rate as it is now.

#and bjp’s crimes are always underreported or not reported at all in mainstream news anyway #india #m #!

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odinsblog · 4 months

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Game of Thrones stars and other actors read South Africa's case file charging Israel with genocide at the International Court of Justice.

Transcript:

It was already known that repeated exposure to conflict and violence, including witnessing and experiencing housing demolition, combined with Israel'siege of Gaza since 2007, is associated with high levels of psychological distress amongst Palestinians.

Indeed, the United Nations Security Council Resolution 2712 expressed its deep concern that the disruption of access to education has a dramatic impact on children and that conflict has a lifelong effect on their physical and mental health.

This disruption and its dramatic impact on children must be considered in particular and in the context of the number of Palestinian students and educators who have been killed, 4,037 and 209 respectively, and wounded, estimated at 7,259 and the number of Palestinian schools having been damaged or destroyed 352 or 74% of the schools in the whole of Gaza.

Medical professionals assess that the health effects on all Palestinian children, women, men, older people, people with disabilities and people marginalized identities are immense.

An emergency coordinator for Médecins Sans Frontières interviewed on her return from five weeks in Gaza, describes: It's even worse in reality than it looks. The amount of suffering is just something incomparable. It's really unbearable. I'm speechless when I try and think of the future of these children. Generations of children who will be handicapped, who will be traumatized.

The very children in our mental health program are telling us that they would rather die than continue living in Gaza now.

The extreme levels of bombardment and lack of any safe areas are also causing severe mental trauma in the Palestinian population in Gaza.

Even before the latest onslaught, Palestinians in Gaza suffered severe trauma from prior attacks. 80% of Palestinian children experienced higher levels of emotional distress, demonstrating bed wetting, 79% and reactive mutism, 59% and engaging in self harm, 59% and suicidal thoughts, 55%.

Eleven weeks of relentless bombardment, displacement and loss will necessarily have led to a further increase in those figures, particularly for the estimated tens of thousands of Palestinian children who have lost at least one parent and those who are the sole surviving members of their families.

For the families who remain intact or partially intact, quote, “It's about doing everything you can so your child doesn't realize that you've lost control.”

There are reports of Israeli forces using white phosphorus in densely populated areas in Gaza.

As the World Health Organization describes, even small amounts of white phosphorus can cause deep and severe burns, penetrating even through bone and capable of reigniting after initial treatment.

There are no functioning hospitals in the north of Gaza in particular, such that injured persons are reduced to waiting to die, unable to seek surgery or medical treatment beyond first aid, dying slow, agonizing deaths from their injuries or from resultant infections.

Large numbers of Palestinian civilians, including children, have reportedly been arrested, blindfolded, forced to undress and remain outside in cold weather before being forced onto trucks and taken to unknown locations.

Medics and first responders in particular have been repeatedly detained by Israeli forces, with many being detained in communicado at unknown locations.

Videos published by Israeli media on Christmas Day appeared to show hundreds of Palestinians rounded up inside al-Yarmouk football stadium in Gaza City, including children, older people and persons with disabilities, being forced to strip to their underwear in degrading conditions. United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian affairs, or UN OCHA, reports video footage showing bruises and burns on the bodies of detainees.

Images of mutilated and burned corpses, alongside videos of armed attacks by Israeli soldiers are reportedly circulated in Israel via a Telegram channel called, 72 Virgins Uncensored, billed as exclusive content from the Gaza Strip.

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

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Navigation || AU Masterlist || All images & fictional characters go to their respective owners. All bios barring Keegan and Hesh are taken directly from in-game. They are not mine.

CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE MASTERLIST || Total Works : 22

╰┈➤❝ [Captain in the 22nd SAS and commander of Task Force 141. Peerless combat tracker. Elite seek-and-strike expert. Specializing in unconventional warfare, Price is a target-focused war fighter who deploys a cut to the chase lethality.] ❞

— In-Game Biography

LIEUTENANT SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY MASTERLIST || Total Works : 12

╰┈➤❝ [An expert in clandestine tradecraft, sabotage and infiltration. He lives with a redacted past and an undercover present, marked by a concealed appearance to hide his identity and maintain anonymity in the field.] ❞

— In-Game Biography

SERGEANT KYLE 'GAZ' GARRICK MASTERLIST || Total Works : 4

╰┈➤❝ [Sergeant in the SAS. Recruited by Captain Price to Task Force 141 after operations in Urzikstan and Borjomi. Expertise in prime target elimination, demolitions, weapons tactics, covert surveillance, and VIP protection.] ❞

— In-Game Biography

SERGEANT JOHN 'SOAP' MACTAVISH MASTERLIST || Total Works : 5

╰┈➤❝ [The youngest recruit to pass SAS selection, Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish is known as a perpetual FNG, a label he wears as a badge of honor. A confident, instinctive CQB expert, Soap was handpicked by Price for TF-141.] ❞

— In-Game Biography

ALEX KELLER MASTERLIST || (COD: MW 2019) || Total Works : 3

╰┈➤❝ [Former CIA SAD turned Warcom ground branch asset. Specialized training to infiltrate enemy lines and survive in inhospitable conditions. Charged with desertion after joining Farah to topple Barkov's regime in Urzikstan.] ❞

— In-Game Biography

SERGEANT KEEGAN P. RUSS MASTERLIST || (COD: GHOSTS) || Total Works : 5

╰┈➤❝ [Former member of the USMC and one of the original fifteen to survive Operation Sand Viper in 2005. Currently a Scout Sniper for Task Force: STALKER, also known as Ghosts.] ❞

LIEUTENANT DAVID 'HESH' WALKER MASTERLIST || (COD: GHOSTS) || Total Works : 3

╰┈➤❝ [Son of Elias 'Scarecrow' Walker and brother to Logan Walker. Joined the U.S. Special Forces after the ODIN strikes in 2017. Fought in the Federation War. Handler to his MWD, Riley.] ❞

KÖNIG MASTERLIST || Total Works : 3

╰┈➤❝ [König suffered from severe social anxiety throughout his life, often being bullied during his childhood. At the age of 17, he volunteered for the military.] ❞

— In-Game Biography

NIKTO MASTERLIST || Total Works : 3

╰┈➤❝ [Nikto is a former undercover agent of the FSB. At one point he was captured and tortured by Victor Zakhaev, leading to his face becoming disfigured. He constantly wears a mask to hide his injuries.] ❞

— In-Game Biography

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barefoothighlander · 1 year

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I looove all the works you've been giving us, sincelery thank you for keeping us fed. So I had this idea lingering in my mind and basically : it's ghost with a reader that's only nice to him. Like they're not the most cheerful person but they're always giving him little snacks or giving him compliments and all that. So ghost think they're kind and like that all the time with everyone, but after one (or many) convos with 141 he realizes that no, they aren't very nice with people and it's just him.......... Anyway I hope this isn't too much, I wish you a good day/night!!!

epiphany

love this, thank you!!! Ghost needs a cute lil significant other that only likes him. Hope this little one-shot fits what you were thinking of.

warnings: mentions of violence, fluff, gn pronouns, reader has codename 'phantom', insinuation of smut?

"LT, please control them," Soap says pointing toward you, you raise your hands in defence

"I didn't do anything"

"You're joking, you almost shot my head off"

"You were in the way"

"Oh really" Soap crosses towards you and Ghost steps between, arm extended in front of you keeping you from clawing at Soap, giving him a glare. Soap huffs a breath and walks away shaking his head, Ghost turns to you, head tilted in question and you smile back at him.

"How was your day?" You ask

"Did you try to kill him"

"If I was trying to he'd be dead"

He quirks his head, "That's true"

"Oh here," You say reaching into your pocket, pulling out a small pack of biscuits. "Found these earlier, remembered you loved them so"

He grabs the package from your hands eyeing them over before the two of you walk off.

A few hours later Ghost hears yelling from the mess, poking his head around the door to see you almost face to face with Soap, finger pointed at his chest, your focus shifting when you see him, anger suddenly dissipating.

"What the fuck's going on"

"Your little pet is saying the mission failure is my fault"

"Yeah, and it fucking is Johnny, you're in charge of demolitions, who else do I blame when the door doesn't blow open"

"Alright both of you stop," Ghost says, "Johnny go cool off"

"Me? They're the one that's always walking around with a sour face"

You huff at him.

"Johnny, go"

You smirk as he walks away, face dropping as Ghost grabs your arm dragging you into the hallway.

"Why is he so mad at you?"

"I don't know, Scottish temper" You smirk

He stares at you trying to read your face, he'd never seen this side of you, truth be told he kinda loved it, but usually you were skipping around your shared flat, dancing to music or nuzzling into him as you cuddled. You were always so kind and soft towards him, making sure he ate when he was home, gently cleaning his cuts, dropping him off books you thought he'd like.

The two of you go your own way after your outburst and Ghost decided to investigate. Knocking on Price's door,

"Oi Captain"

"Whaddu need son"

"Just a question, Phantom, are they ever, I dunno, mean to you?"

"Are you joking, why do you think that's their codename, they scare the shit out of everyone"

"You're joking"

"I wish, I steer clear of them when I can, almost got my head chewed off when I took them off a mission"

"Huh, thanks sir," Simon says as he leaves the room, rubbing the back of his neck before his eyes land on Gaz,

"Hey mate"

"Lieutenant"

"Phantom, thoughts?"

Gaz looks around the halls like you'd be waiting around the corner to strangle him, "Great fighter"

"I mean their personality"

Gaz is hesitant, scared you'd somehow hear him talking about you, "Saw them almost break a rookie's shoulder for talking back, never bugged them after that"

"So you're scared of them too"

Gaz simply nods.

Ghost continues asking people around the base about you, most of them simply tried to stay out of your way others had horror stories and the rest just believed that you hated them. When he left base to go home he was utterly confused, your opposing actions a mystery to him, his confusion increasing when he walked in and saw you moving around the flat half-naked, hips swaying to some old song.

A large smile plastered on your face when you saw him, practically leaping into his arms to welcome him home, planting soft kisses over his face once he removed his mask.

"Did you want a tea?"

He shakes his head and you move from him, continuing whatever task you were up to, he scans the flat, brightly coloured decor on the shelves, blankets all over the place, you had made it so cozy.

"People on base are terrified of you"

His statement makes you stop in your tracks, "What are you talking about"

"Well apparently you've threatened quite a few people"

"Huh" You simply shrug your shoulders and Ghost smiles

"Why are you so nice to me and so mean to them"

"I'm mean?"

"They certainly think so"

You move towards him wrapping your arms around his neck, standing on your toes to kiss him, "Maybe I only like you"

"Mm I like the sound of that," He says kissing you back, "But you can't yell at rookies, that's my job"

"Fine, you can be the scary one"

"Very generous of you"

"I can be generous"

"How generous" His eyebrow quirks as he lifts your legs to wrap around him,

"Very"

He carries you, leading you to the bedroom and shutting the door with his leg as a fit of giggles overtake you.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley fluff #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost fluff #ghost x reader #cod mw x reader #cod x reader #cod mw2 #ghost x gn reader #simon riley x gn reader #cod x gn!reader #reqs💌

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bunnyreaper · 7 months

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guy fawkes/bonfire night with the 141

(mild nsfw/18+, mostly fluffy though)

as the resident demolitions expert, you best believe johnny has that shit on lock. he refuses to go to an organised display because he just knows he can do way better. his job gives him the expertise and access to anything he might need (and ghost secretly helps him assemble anything else if they need to skirt the law just a lil)

he ends up with a massive cache of intricately rigged up fireworks all perfectly timed--johnny had been planning it on and off for half the year, working on preparing for all of october and pulling late nights leading up to november 5th.

he bonds/flirts with you by begging you to help him a little with the set up. of course you don't really know enough to help, but you hold things for him, give him encouragement and listen to his excited rambles after you make sure to ask questions to get him going.

when the big night finally comes, he's setting off remote detonators with glee, pulling you into his body as the two of you watch the display. you get lost watching the sparkle in his eyes--both his passion and the flurry of sparkling explosions.

the sex that night is even more frantic than usual, johnny filled with excitable energy after watching all the blasts.

simon is in charge of the bonfire and is very territorial about it. starts collecting huge amounts of wood early on and setting it all up in the field behind the barracks. the whole thing is stacked PERFECTLY, structurally sound as fuck and to go up in a barrage of flames.

he'd love to make "guys" to set up on the bonfire, leaning into his goofy side. some of them have masks just like him, some of them have printed out faces as your enemies, one of them has hastily sewn in features that look a LOT like soap... but simon swears it's just coincidence when the scot loses his mind looking at it.

he's happy you have to quietly tag along as he sets up, and occasionally indulges you in chat as the two of you carry piles of wood back and forth. of course he keeps jokes for the occasion in his back pocket.

on the night he lights the fire, steps back and admires his work as he hugs you from behind, cradling you as he rests his head on the top of yours and the two of you listen to the crackle of flames as they lick up the sides of the structure. as the night goes on, his hands start to wander over your body and his lips find their way to your neck, making you burn hotter than the fire did.

john is on general dad duty ensuring safety, but more importantly he's pn hot chocolate duty. his recipe is a special one (and yes there's a bit of whiskey in there of course) passed on from his mother and his grandmother.

he's insistent on everyone having a thermos filled with it, to keep you warm and to enjoy the start of winter properly. of course while handing out the flasks he tells stories of bonfires he saw as a kid.

he invited you along with him while he worked in the kitchen, allowing you to be the only one to know about his secret addition to the drink (you'd giggled and encouraged him to add more, as well as making him do a shot as he prepared the other drinks).

the two of you had a blast shoving the whipped cream can into the thermos to fill it up with the topping--and price had definitely squirted some on your face.

he also put you in one if his oversized jackets, wrapped a scarf around you and made sure you were covered in layers of clothes and hats and gloves. he didnt want you getting cold even for a split second. the coat smells just like him as he leads you out into the field hand in hand, his other holding a bag with your hot chocolate filled thermos' in.

when you make it back to your room after all the festivities, he makes sure to warm you up properly, pinning you to the bed making you feel drunker than the whiskey-filled beverage did.

kyle takes point on setting up a cozy space for you all, but especially for you. he knows exactly what he has in mind to make the night just perfect for you. he sets up a little lean-to or two, lays down a picnic spread and fills it with all the warmest and comfiest blankets and cushions for you to lounge on. he strings dimmed fairy lights across the top, lays some lanterns around the outside and creates the most enchanting little set up imaginable.

he does it all because he knows it'll make your night, your month, your year. yes the guys will be there two but this is all for you, because he knows something so pretty and aesthetic and cozy will make your heart so happy.

he makes sure to help you snap photos of the comfy space, making sure the memory is never forgotten, but mentions that he has one final thing before you all get comfortable and wrapped up in the blankets.

he has a stack of sparklers waiting for you, as he knows they're one of your favourite parts of the occasion. two two of you take cute photos with the sparklers, with kyle showing you how to make the trail show up by giving the shot a long exposure time, of course the two of you draw hearts together.

later on when you're cuddled up, maybe his hand sneaks under the blanket and finds your clit, making sure you really see sparks.

#john soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #tf 141 x reader #bunny writes

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ghostkennedy · 9 months

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I HAVE A REQUEST PLEASEE MAKE ONE WHERE LEON AND READER ARE ENEMIES TO LOVERS AND HAVE A SIMILAR SCENE WHERE LEON AND MARIA ARE FIGHTING IN DEATH ISLAND. I HOPE IT MAKES SENSE.

PLEASE YOU CAN IGNORE THIS IF YOU DONT WANT TO DO IT BUT PLEASEE IM BEGGING YOUUU

Demolition Lovers

~DI! Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader~

Leon and beloved Reader are our demolition lovers. Make sure you give that song by MCR a listen. I was worried about this one, but I fucking looooved writing it.

Word count: 2138

Content warnings: the girlies are fighting-physically and vocally, traumatized reader, villain reader, talk of death, attempted murder, knives, blood, strangling, choking, crying, screaming, angst, smut, sexual content, kissing, p in v sex, reader is riding, creampie, unprotected sex

!!!!!!MINORS DNI! GHOSTKENNEDY IS STRICTLY 18+!!!!!!

“Do you always have to get in the fucking way of everything, Kennedy?”

Leon scoffs at your remark. “What am I supposed to do? Let you end the world for some personal vendetta? Is that it?”

You laugh as you step further into the giant lab, having caught Leon meddling in your plans again. The man never fucking stops, does he? He’s been in your business, getting his hands dirty with your mess for years now.

It’s funny how much he still tries to protect you, keeping your treacherous actions a secret, regardless of how many times you come back to attempt the same thing. Somehow still believing there’s a good person inside of you, perhaps a person who could still empathize with him. Maybe if you coped with the trauma, your need for revenge would subside. You’re tired of his wishy-washy bullshit.

You’ll never be satisfied until the whole world knows your pain. Knows what it feels like to lose control of yourself no matter how hard you try to fight it. To watch the world from your own fucking eyes and being locked away somewhere inside your own head. A mere spectator as your hands are controlled by something else entirely.

Every last person left on the planet after everything is said and done will know what it feels like to watch your own hands kill the people you love while there’s absolutely nothing you can do to stop it.

You shake your head at him. “I’m sorry I have to kill you. It’s nothing personal, I promise.”

“I wish you’d been more creative. You guys always try to end the world. It’s getting repetitive if I’m being honest.”

You laugh loudly, your hand quickly grabbing the knife strapped to your leg and tossing it at the man’s forehead.

Your distraction is not nearly enough to stop Leon from dodging the hit.

He throws himself out of the way of your flying knife and you charge him, unsheathing another knife strapped to your chest.

You’re in front of him in an instant. You kick your leg up in an attempt to knock him off his balance again, but he grabs your ankle and pushes you around.

You recover quickly, spinning around until you’re back face to face with him. Your hand swings the knife towards his neck, but he grabs your wrist.

He goes to kick your feet out from under you, but you quickly jump, kneeing him hard in the abdomen.

You both recover before either of you can even blink, both back in stable stances instantly.

You fake out a hit to his face. When he reaches up to stop the blow, your other hand is jolting the knife towards his stomach.

His forearm stops your punch from connecting, while his free hand bashes down into your wrist brandishing the knife, forcing it to fall to the ground with a loud clang.

You pull your now knifeless fist back and go to connect with his jaw, but he arches his back, moving his face back from harm’s way.

In your frustration, you get sloppy, giving Leon the perfect opportunity to pounce.

He straightens his back as you lean down to grab your knife. When your back is curved down, he kicks his leg straight out, swinging it over top of you. His thigh connects with the back of your neck and sends your body crashing to the floor.

Before he can pin you to the floor, you quickly flip onto your back. You dig your nails into his thigh, allowing yourself to slide out from under him as his leg goes stiff.

As you slide out, you pull his calf roughly, causing his leg to straighten out and him to lose his balance.

Before his chest can even make contact with the floor, you’re on his back. Your hands grab a fistfull of his hair and yank it back as he hits the floor.

You wrap your legs around his neck, locking your legs together as they cross at the front of his neck.

You bring one of your forearms below his chin, pulling him up at an uncomfortable angle.

“It didn’t have to be like this, Leon.” You say in a fake empathetic voice.

He grunts and his voice comes out strained, “You’re a fucking puppet!”

“So are you!” You yell out. You can’t help but shake your head, “I guess we do have something in common after all.”

Leon flings his body, flipping you over.

Your back crashes into the ground as he straddles your abdomen, trapping your hands at your hips.

“I’m trying to fucking help you.” He gets out through gritted teeth.

Leon feels his irritation growing impossibly larger as you laugh, once again, “I didn’t ask for your help. You put yourself into this shit, that isn’t my fault.”

He stares into your eyes with a death glare and you send one of your own right back at him.

You can feel one of your knives beneath your thigh. If you can just strain your arm enough, you could pull it closer with the tips of your fingers until you can get a proper grip on it. He’ll just think you’re trying to wiggle out, if you just stretch your fingers enough… there it is!

In the blink of an eye, you wrap your hand around the weapon tightly and bring it up to Leon’s leg, slicing into his thigh.

He grunts out and flinches at the sudden sting, and of course, you utilize the opportunity.

You push yourself out from underneath him, rising to your feet and he does the same, ignoring the pain in the back of his leg.

He surges forward, reaching out to grab you. You jump up and grab a low hanging pipe swinging your legs over his shoulders. Your ankles lock behind his head, but he keeps moving forward, forcing you to let go of the pipe.

His arms reach out to try and push you off of him, but you grab onto his forearms to keep yourself from falling.

He continues forward until his hips make contact with a metal table, throwing your back against the cold surface. He wraps his hands around your throat and you pull your leg against your chest, pushing the bottom of your shoe against his face.

This doesn’t help at all, so you come up with another idea.

You wrap your legs around his waist, gripping him tightly between your thighs. His eyes widen in response and his grip on your throat loosens.

You’re able to gain the upperhand, changing positions and pushing Leon back onto the table. His feet leave the floor as you push him further down the cold metal, climbing up after him.

It’s your turn to straddle him and wrap your hands around his throat.

His hands shoot up, gripping tightly around your wrists in an attempt to pull them away from him. Your wrists feel like they’ll break between his hands, but you only allow that to fuel yourself, gripping his throat tighter.

“Why couldn’t you just stay out of my fucking way?” You yell out, frustrated and somehow devastated that it had to end up this way.

His voice is scratchy as he forces words out of his mouth despite his lack of air, “How–could I–do that? This is–just–too much–fun.”

“Just shut the fuck up!” You grit out through your clenched teeth, “I have to do this, Leon. I have to see this through.”

Leon continues to gasp for air, his face growing red and his mouth forced open. His eyelids flutter as he keeps trying to suck in a breath, but you just squeeze tighter. His hands are shaking around your wrists, his grip slowly loosening.

His eyes roll into the back of his head and a desperate, pathetic noise leaves his lips as the lack of oxygen to his brain takes over.

You don’t know what happens. You don’t know what comes over you, but you let him go. You pull your hands away from his throat and he sputters and coughs as he desperately sucks the air into his dry throat.

His eyes focus back on yours and you don’t realize you’re crying until you lick your lips and taste the salty tears on your tongue.

You’re overcome with so many emotions and for some reason, your frustration turns to pure rage. You ball your hands up into tight fists and start pounding them against his chest, hard. Over and over you punch him and he just lets you.

You scream at the top of your lungs a banshee-like sound that you didn’t know you were capable of making.

You don’t see him as your fists connect with his chest again and again. You see the people you lost while being controlled by a parasite. The people you loved dying from your finger on the trigger, your hand wrapped around the handle of the knife, your hands wrapped around their throats.

You’re pulled back to the present as Leon wraps his hands around your wrists and stills them. You’re panting, chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath.

His eyes meet yours and you squeeze yours closed, unable to meet him head on.

“They don’t know the pain. No one knows how I fucking feel.”

Maybe you did lose your humanity to that parasite. Maybe it was too late and you’ll always be this fucked up.

You feel Leon’s warm hands cup your cheeks, “Look at me.”

You slowly open your eyes and see a concerned look in Leon’s eyes. You can’t bare it, can’t bare his worry to be about you. You can’t handle anyone worrying about you anymore. It makes them vulnerable, puts them in danger. Anyone who cares about you is immediately worse off because of the fact.

You just sit there, your face in his hands and your body straddling his hips, lost somewhere deep in your own head.

Your eyes widen when you register what he’s done.

He’s kissing you. Leon Kennedy is fucking kissing you.

Why is he doing this? Why does it feel so fucking good? Why are you closing your eyes and leaning into the kiss? Why are you bringing your hands up to his hair and tangling your fingers in the strands?

You don’t know what possesses you to reach down between the two of you and palm his hardening cock through his pants. You don’t know what possesses him to reach down between you two as well and hastily undo his belt. You don’t know what possesses either of you and the actions you continue to take, furthering a situation that doesn’t make any fucking sense, but neither of you make any effort to stop. Quite the opposite really.

He pushes his pants down his hips and you undo the button and zipper on yours and your fingers are shaking so much, fumbling with every move you make and all you know is that you can’t stop.

Not when you’re pushing your own pants and panties down your hips and off of your legs. Not when you grab his underwear and nearly rip them off of his body.

And especially not when you sink your wet heat down onto his hard cock and start bouncing up and down desperately as his fingers dig into your hips and make you go faster.

No. All you can think about is chasing your pleasure and his. It’s the first time in years that your mind has thought of anything besides revenge and forcing others to endure the same pain you feel every single fucking day.

You don’t feel the pain. All you can feel is the way your walls clench around his cock, trying to pull him closer, pull him deeper, until there’s not one single bit of your pussy left that hasn’t been speared on his cock.

And as you throw your head back, screaming out as your climax crashes through you, your mind goes completely foggy. You can’t think at all. All you can do is feel the tingling relief coursing through your body from your powerful release.

You feel his come flood your pussy and it feels so fucking good. Everything feels so good right now. And after nothing feeling good, not even close, for years, you know you’re addicted.

You don’t have to give your pain to others to somehow release yourself from it. No. You’ve found a way to release it from yourself over and over and fucking over again.

God fucking dammit, Leon Kennedy. Always so determined to find a way to help you and by the grace of God or some other holy intervention, the prick has found it. He’s found it and you’re going to keep giving it to him willingly.

~masterlist~

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cluelessrebel1988 · 8 months

Text

A not fully formed Fall of the House of Usher thought

I just binged the whole series yesterday, and I have a number of thoughts about things, but this is one that kind of just came to me, so it's not fully fleshed out.

But I found it interesting that Verna was largely hands off with Perry, Camille and Frederick, mostly leaving them to their own devices to play out the circumstances of their deaths which ultimately look to the outside world like tragic accidents. Perry's death was entirely of his own making, all she did with Camille was (maybe) open the cage to let the chimp out, and of the three, she was most hands-on with Frederick, pushing him to put the paralytic in his cocaine to trap him in the warehouse and then sending in the call to start the demolition. She even offered Perry and Camille the chance to stop what they were doing and not go forward, and I suspect she would have done the same with Frederick were it not for what he did to Morelle.

But for Vic, Leo, and Tamerlane...Verna gives them a push. She inserts herself in their lives in ways that are, on the surface, fairly innocuous (a substitute prostitute, a woman working at an animal shelter, a patient with a heart condition), but all of those things set in motion a torment that leads to their deaths. Deaths that appear to be suicides to the outside world (and in Vic's case, literally was). Verna doesn't actively take their lives like she does with Lenore, but she steers them to their deaths sooner than they likely would have otherwise gotten there.

And my thinking is that this is meant to be representative of Madeline and Roderick's approach to life. Roderick charges in headfirst and doesn't care about the consequences, or at least doesn't think about them in the moment, while Madeline plays the long game, manipulating the situation from within and not revealing herself as the threat until after she's already struck the fatal blow.

The part that's not fully formed for me is which set of Usher children is meant to represent which, or if they're each meant to be a combination of both. My initial thought is Perry, Camille, and Frederick are meant to be representative of Roderick's approach to a problem, while Vic, Leo, and Tamerlane are representative of Madeline's. And that's the one that makes sense on the surface, at least in the actions of the children themselves. But at the same time, it could be argued that Verna not really actively doing anything to Perry, Camille, and Frederick, only showing up to them in their final moments when its too late is like Madeline, while the more hands-on approach with Vic, Leo, and Tamerlane is more like Roderick.

So I don't know, maybe it's both, or maybe I'm overthinking it. But if anyone else has any thoughts on this, I'd love to hear them.

#the fall of the house of usher #the fall of the house of usher spoilers #tfothou #tfothou spoilers #fall of the house of usher #fall of the house of usher spoilers #Verna #Roderick Usher #Madeline Usher #Frederick Usher #Tamerlane Usher #Napoleon Usher #Prospero Usher #Camille L'Espanaye #victorine lafourcade

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reveuse-de-minuit-writer · 7 months

Text

Knockout (Toji x Sukuna x AFAB Reader)

Summary:

Reader is invited to an underground fighting ring and manages to catch the attention of the two most dangerous men there. Theirs is a world of brutality and carnage, and all the reader wants is to explore how deep the darkness goes.

CW: 18+, Violence, blood and gore, explicit rough sex, m/m/f, breath play, overstimulation, BDSM elements, edging, face-fucking, double penetration, squirting, alcohol, weed.

Full tags and complete work on AO3 here: x

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CH. 1

Two fighters dance in the makeshift ring. The big one, a veritable mountain of a man with a curling top-knot and vicious scar slashing through his left eye, is the first to break their stalemate.

Instead of rushing his opponent, or doing literally anything that would have made sense in an underground fighting ring, the mountain man begins dancing to the music. His opponent hesitates as they watch him in confusion, before narrowing his eyes in contempt. It’s clear the smaller fighter takes his opponent's interpretive dancing as an insult to his capabilities.

The smaller fighter charges forward, rushing in close to cut off the mountain man’s odd thrusting and grinding as he dances to a beat in his head. As the smaller fighter raises his fist to swing, the mountainous fighter twirls into a powerful roundhouse kick that sends the other man flying across the ring.

The collision is impactful enough that it leaves a crater in the cement where the smaller fighter's body makes contact. He flops against the cement, and his head bounces with a splattering thud.

His body goes still.

The countdown to ten begins, but the only thing that moves is the pool of blood as it grows around the impact zone from the fighter’s head.

Before the countdown even hits zero, the mountainous fighter is doing a victory dance. He wildly thrusts his hips and twirls around with a genuinely surprising grace given his sheer size. The announcer interrupts the fighter’s dance by grabbing around his thick wrist, and hoists his hand high in the air.

“And the winner is AOIII TODOOO!” The announcer declares into the microphone.

The roar of the crowd is deafening in my ears as they cheer at the mountain-man’s victory.

“Well that was quite the spectacle,” I say to my friend Shogo to my right.

He snickers, “Well I can’t say I wasn’t entertained. Twinkle-toes certainly knows how to put on a show.”

“Is he dead?” I ask with a grimace.

Shogo polishes off the last of his drink before exhaling obnoxiously, “Nah, he’s just out cold. Todo doesn’t fight like that. Dude’s a monster, but he’s too soft to straight up fight someone to the death.”

“Ah, that's good then.”

I take a sip of my cold margarita, and it’s the cooling balm I need against the heat of the arena. The space is small but densely packed, and I can feel the humidity clinging atop my body like a second skin.

The music that plays is the winner’s choice, and I can’t stop myself from smirking as idol music pours from the speakers into the underground arena.

To call the space an arena at all is generous. It’s really just a basement warehouse, but it serves its purpose well enough. The seats are a mix of metal folding chairs and benches stolen from abandoned stadiums that somehow managed to avoid demolition. There are shipping containers surrounding the walls which people use to sit and watch the fight. Shogo and I have done the same, sprawling out on top of a picnic blanket to cushion us from the cold, corrugated metal. The ring itself is just an empty expanse of concrete indicated only by the ropes outlining its circumference.

Despite how ramshackle everything looks, two projectors display a live feed of the ring on the wall. They function like the screens in a legitimate arena, and I’ve found myself grateful for them many times already, since the tighter grapples and quick jabs can sometimes be hard to see. The instant replays and fight tracking from the dedicated staff are genuinely very well done for what they have to work with.

Overall, the arena is not much, but it’s also more than good enough.

Considering the cash that’s pulled in from each fight, I had expected more. But this is a place people pay to watch fighters get brutalized, not sip their overpriced drinks from their box seats. There are a couple hundred people watching, but the livestreams online rack up views in the tens of thousands easily. That’s where the real money is.

As my eyes scan the arena, I can't help but notice the contrast between Shogo and I and the rest of the spectators. The two six-packs of canned margaritas we share atop our bright pastel blanket stand out amongst the beer cans and cigarette butts. Shogo’s dedication to maximalist street fashion paints a vivid pink contrast to the black cargo pants and combat boots of the male-dominated crowd.

I’m not much better in my own tight white crop top and black tennis skirt, both of which seem like they would better suit a frat bar than an underground fight club. I brought an oversized leather jacket with me to help me blend in more, but I took it off shortly after the second fight from the sheer heat of the arena. Even without it, humidity clings to my skin like a film.

“Having fun so far?” Shogo turns to me and asks.

I nod my head while taking another sip of my margarita. The alcohol has me pleasantly buzzed. I’m just floating on a happy cloud, as I sit back and wait for the next fight.

“Yeah, a lot of fun. You’re right, this is way better than the pay-per-view,” I answer.

“Right? Like you’d never get to see a guy kick someone so hard they fucked up the concrete. That was crazy,” Shogo says.

I hum in agreement.

“That was pretty gnarly. I didn’t even think it was physically possible to do that. The Todo guy must be like one of the strongest men alive,” I say.

Shogo snorts. He opens up his phone and opens up the arena’s private discord. His feed is a frenzy of jokes and commentary, most of which are memeing on Todo’s eccentric dance moves.

“Nah, you ain’t seen nothing yet. Just you wait,” he says.

“Who’s up next?”

“Toji Fushiguro versus Mahito. That’s the fight I wanted you to come here to see,” Shogo says.

I recall how he even sold the experience to me in the first place. I had just started taking up boxing classes, and it exposed me to martial arts and fighting in a light I’d never considered before. I had fallen down into the rabbit hole of a new obsession, watching videos of fights, both professional and amateur, until it took up most of my free time.

I knew Shogo shared the interest. When he offered to take me to see a fight in person, I couldn’t turn him down. He had warned me that this would be different. That it would be more violent, and more ruthless than any legal fight I’d watched. If anything, that warning just made me more intrigued.

So far, the fights were intense, but not any more so than what I can find on YouTube. While Todo possesses a strength unlike anything I’ve ever seen before or thought possible, he didn’t do anything with it that would have broken the rules of a UFC fight.

Still, I find myself wondering just what kind of monstrous power the next two fighters must have, in order to make a mountain like Todo seem like fodder. Shogo doesn’t make claims like that for the sake of it, and my mind races with the intrigue of it all.

“Anything I should keep an eye out for, or know ahead of time about their fight?” I ask Shogo.

“Oh my god yeah, where do I even begin?” He says animatedly.

“Give me a quick rundown from the start. Go,” I snap my fingers into a finger gun, and take an expectant sip of my margarita.

“Okay so basically, Toji is one of the most powerful fighters in the game right now. Like I’m talking top three easy. He’s been fighting professionally for like fifteen years and has been undefeated for all those years except for once. Like I’m talking thousands of wins against one singular loss. Which is an insane feat in of itself, right? The dude is basically a legend around here. Everyone either wants to fight him, or wants to fight like him.

“But Mahito is new to the scene. He just kinda popped up outta nowhere about a year ago, but he’s been making big waves ever since. Like, the dude is certifiably crazy. On some real psycho shit. But he’s also insanely creative when it comes to his fighting style, which makes him unpredictable to fight and fun to watch. While his record isn’t as impressive as Toji’s, he’s still stupid powerful. He’s risen up the rank of fighters faster than anyone has ever seen before. He fought Todo, the guy who just won, about six months ago, and wrecked him so bad that Todo had to take four months off to recover.”

I process all of the information Shogo gives me. The thought of someone not just winning against Todo, but forcing him to take that much time off to recover, is nearly unthinkable to me.

“So basically it’s the veteran versus the newcomer, huh?”

“Yeah exactly,” Shogo affirms, “but that’s not all. About two weeks ago a video got leaked on twitter of Mahito essentially talking mad shit about Toji, calling him washed up, a has been, too predictable, shit like that, you know? Basically said that everything Toji can do has already been seen and done before, and that he can take him no problem.”

“How did Toji take that?”

“Toji doesn’t normally do the petty drama thing. He just shows up, fights, gets paid, and leaves. So after a week went by and he didn’t say anything, everyone assumed he was just gonna ignore it. But then, outta nowhere, a video pops up on twitter like three days ago, and it’s Toji at a shooting range with a picture of Mahito’s face on the target. He said some cold shit like ‘a bad dog is better off dead’ or something like that.”

Shogo’s excitement as he explains the drama is infectious, and I’m already invested. I also appreciate how closely he’s followed everything, since it makes the anticipation for the upcoming fight that much sweeter.

“Well shit. So this fight is going to be intense, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s gonna be crazy.”

“Who do you think will win?”

“I put three hundred on Toji, so he better win. He’s got 7:3 odds right now, so I’m not that worried.”

Shogo slurps messily on his drink as he drains it dry. His thumbs idly scroll through the discord, before he tilts his phone towards me.

“Here’s the video if you wanna see it. The guy with the silver hair is Mahito. The rest are all members of his team. The dude with the dark hair, Geto, is his manager. There’s a shit ton of drama involving him too, but I can tell you all that after the video.”

Mahito surprises me. He doesn’t look how I imagined the man who won against Todo would look. He’s lanky, despite his obvious musculature, and has an almost childishness about him. Though the arena is loud, I can just barely hear the sounds of the video. Mahito’s crass remarks are intercut with sadistic giggles, and it makes my stomach turn sour. Scars lacerate his body in a patchwork fashion, making his skin look like it’s been sewn onto him. He looks like he belongs in a Tim Burton movie more than a fighting ring.

But there’s also something decidedly off about Mahito. His cheeks spread wide in a child-like grin as he talks about how he’s going to kill Toji. His mis-matched eyes glitter in excitement as he shares his murderous fantasies of dismembering him and studying the inner workings of his organs. I can’t help but wrinkle my nose in disgust.

The video ends abruptly, and Shogo takes his phone back.

“I was debating rooting for him because I love a good underdog story, but after watching that, I think I’m team Toji,” I say.

Shogo snickers, and continues to scroll with his thumb through his feed.

“Yeah, no kidding. The guy has a super punchable face.”

“Maybe that’s why he got into fighting in the first place,” I quip, before my curiosity gets the better of me, “What was the drama with the other guy?”

“Okay so the full backstory begins with Toji and this guy named Gojo. Gojo is, without a doubt, the strongest fighter in the world, no cap. Like legit or otherwise, professional or amateur, it doesn’t matter. If you put him in the ring, he will win every single time. Only one other guy is on his level, Sukuna. He’s not called the King of Fighters for no reason. But he’s not relevant to the story, so put a pin in that for now.

“So about ten years ago, Toji challenged Gojo. At the time, Gojo was just a teenager, and had only been on the scene for a year, but he was sweeping everyone he came across, kinda like Mahito. Even still, everyone bet on Toji to win, since at the time he was about five years deep and undefeated. And the first time they fought, Toji did win. He beat Gojo so bad the kid nearly died. But like a week later, Gojo pops up out of nowhere and challenges Toji to a rematch. Everyone thought he was insane, since he hadn’t fully recovered from his injuries yet, but Toji agreed to it. In the rematch Gojo clapped his ass so hard it was devastating. Like Toji got beat so bad he was declared legally dead before they were able to revive him. To this day, it’s still the only time Toji has ever suffered a loss.

“So obviously he didn’t take it well. He lost out on millions in bets, and nearly lost his life. He’s had a grudge against Gojo and anything even remotely related to him ever since.

“The reason why this is all relevant, is because Geto, Mahito’s manager, was best friends with Gojo at the time. So because the two were besties, Toji fucking hates him. Even though the two aren’t friends anymore, it doesn’t matter. Since Mahito is being represented by Geto, and the circumstances are kinda similar, it’s safe to say that Toji was out for blood before the video of Mahito talking shit ever leaked in the first place.”

My head buzzes with this rush of new information. There’s so much lore to process, and it gives me a deeper appreciation for what will certainly be a monumental fight. The tension and electricity in the air suddenly makes a lot more sense.

“Wow, who knew there was so much drama in the fighting community?” I say.

Shogo slurps on his drink and nods.

“Tell me about it.”

“So have Toji and Gojo ever talked about a rematch?” I ask.

“Honestly I don’t know. It’s just kind of low-key understood that a match between Toji and Gojo would just end up in Toji losing again, since Gojo became an absolute monster after that. That fight is where he got the nickname the ‘Strongest Fighter’ from. Also, Gojo doesn’t fight much anymore, since there’s no one on his level good enough to challenge him and keep him interested.”

“What about Sukuna? Didn’t you say they were equals?”

“Yeah. Sukuna and Gojo have been talking about fighting each other forever, but no one knows if or when it’ll actually happen. Sukuna still fights occasionally, if he thinks it’ll be worth his time, but he’s good friends with Toji so it’s unlikely a fight between them will ever happen.”

I sip on my drink and think everything over. I had no idea there could be so much history in the scene like this.

“Next up, Toji Fushiguro versus Mahito! The fight will begin in five minutes!” The announcer calls.

His voice booms around the empty warehouse, and not for the first time I find myself wishing I had brought some earplugs.

Shogo mutters a brief ‘aha’ before tilting his phone towards me.

“Here, this is Toji’s response video that I mentioned earlier,” Shogo says, before handing his phone to me entirely.

I press play. Toji’s back is towards the camera, and the immense sprawl of his muscles which strain through the clingy black t-shirt he wears makes my pulse pound. He might as well not be wearing it at all, for how little it hides. It wraps and contorts around every single well-defined muscle in the man’s torso.

He’s enormous, with impossibly broad shoulders made to look wider by the narrowness of his waist. His sweatpants are baggy and sling low on his slim hips, but they still can’t hide the firm swell of his ass.

His shaggy black hair covers his face from view. His stance is casual. He leans forward into his hip, which draws attention to the dramatic s-curve of his spine. One thick arm relaxes behind his back, with his fingers splayed wide. His hands are enormous, and serve to make the glock he’s holding look like little more than a child’s toy.

The man had a body made for sin. Holy shit. Even without seeing his face, I’d let that man rail me into next Tuesday if he so much as asked.

“What d’you do to a rabid dog?” Toji asks over his shoulder to the camera man.

His voice is low and resonant. Even despite the low volume, the sound of it sends a shiver down my spine.

Six shots fire off in rapid succession, and Toji doesn’t even budge from the recoil. His gun smokes as the clip goes empty. The camera pans from Toji to his target at the end of the range, before zooming in.

A picture of Mahito’s face covers the target’s head. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t seeing the bullet holes carve out a perfectly punctured ’T’ into the picture.

The camera pans back to Toji, who keeps his back to the camera. He raises the gun to his mouth, and blows out the smoke still coiling from the barrel of the gun. I can just barely see the sharp cut of his jaw and the scar that bisects the side of his mouth.

“You put it down,” he smirks. His voice is deep and husky, and the sound makes my skin shiver.

Just as Toji starts to turn towards the camera, the video cuts off.

“Holy shit,” I say.

It’s all I can say. Because my pulse is racing, and my head is spinning, and my face flushes hot when I realize I’m dripping wet.

“What’d you think of that?” Shogo asks, and plucks his phone from my hands.

My fingers tremble slightly now that I no longer have anything to hold onto, so I reach for a new can of my margarita to still them.

“I think he’s so hot it’s stupid,” I say shamelessly.

Shogo laughs hard enough that a few of the other spectators turn towards us in mild interest. My face flushes hotter at the attention, and I gulp down a few sips of my drink.

“I figured you’d be into him. Bad boys with more muscles than sense have always been your type,” Shogo giggles.

I open my mouth to defend myself, but a string of my previous partners comes to mind, and I close it once more. I really can’t argue with that.

“Like you’re one to talk,” I sneer at him instead.

I cross my arms across my chest and pout.

“Yeah, but I also like the good girls, so it all balances out to neutral. You’re just a freak,” Shogo laughs.

My glare at him is venomous, but it just makes him laugh all the more. Eventually he raises his hand in a sign of surrender.

“Simmer down, girl. There’s nothing wrong with bein’ a lil freaky,” he snickers.

I throw an empty margarita can at his head, which he slaps away with a snicker. It falls to the ground beneath the shipping container we sit on.

I think nothing of it, until I hear a loud, angry “What the fuck!” cry out from beneath us.

I freeze, and my eyes go wide with panic. Swallowing past the lump of nerves in my throat, I tentatively crawl forwards to peer over the side of the shipping container.

Right below us is the makeshift VIP section, with couches, bottles, powders, and more strewn about everywhere. There’s about ten people sitting around in total, all watching as a person with a short blonde bob angrily wipes down their shoulder.

The can must not have been as empty as I thought.

Mortification burns through me alongside an immediate pulsing fear.

I’m so never getting invited back.

If there’s any kind of crowd I don’t want to piss off, it’s this one.

“Sorry,” I meekly call out to them down below.

A few heads look up in my direction at the sound of my voice, and my face flushes hot under their scrutiny.

But I can feel the weight of a gaze settle heavy over my skin, prickling it into goosebumps. My eyes sweep over everyone, trying to find the source of it.

“Fuck you, asshole!” The person shouts back.

I ignore them.

One figure in particular, a large man with his hood pulled low, stares upwards at me. Him. I can feel him watching me, and I shiver where I kneel, and my hands grip tight onto the edge of the shipping container below me.

I can just barely make out the sharp cut of his jaw, and the strange tattoos that frame it. He says something to the crowd around him. Everyone else laughs, except for the unfortunate victim of my drink who stomps their foot in frustration. I can see just enough of his jaw to watch the cruel smirk that forms on his lips.

Despite his joke to the crowd, I feel that his eyes never leave me.

The sounds of the arena seem to go quiet as all of my focus narrows down to the stranger below.

My instincts scream at me that I need to run, and I need to hide, because I’ve caught the attention of a predator, and I don’t want to give him the chance to pounce. My blood rushes in my ears, and sweat beads atop my body.

But the weight of his stare holds me captive. I’m helpless to do anything other than watch as his tongue traces along the lush swell of his bottom lip, before he flashes his sharp canines in a menacing grin.

I flush red hot, and a corresponding throb pulses deep in my core.

The arousal I felt watching Toji’s video is a catalyst for my body now getting overtaken with lust. Molten heat liquifies my veins, and the headiness of the alcohol buzzes through me in a lethal combination.

Mortified by my body’s reaction, I crawl quickly back to the blanket next to Shogo, breaking the stalemate between the stranger and I. As I collapse beside him, I shiver at the adrenaline that courses through me. The primal, instinctual part of my brain screams that I’ve just barely managed to escape, and that I’m not safe yet.

Shogo, oblivious to my inner turmoil, just snickers at me as I flop onto my back next to him and bury my face in my hands. Without opening my eyes to look, I lash out and smack him on the arm.

“Nice one,” he snickers.

“Fuck you,” I grumble.

My threat is muffled by my hands over my face, but I don’t care. I’m too busy focusing on breathing like a normal person and commanding my body to calm down from the sudden, roaring height of its arousal.

Any response Shogo says is lost on me as all of the lights in the arena go dark. Loud bass pumps through the speakers, and I can feel it vibrate and rattle in my chest.

Pushing aside my feelings, I allow myself to get caught up in the mania. The crowd around us roars in anticipation, and I join in, cupping my hands around my mouth and shouting into the blackened air. An electric tingle of anticipation starts to brew in my blood. I feel breathless, and I smile into the darkness.

This is so much fun.

The music cuts out. A singular beat of silence, suspended in the darkness, rings out across the arena.

The music blares back in with the full power and sound of the song. The lights turn on, and the ring is illuminated in bright, harsh spotlights. A man towers tall in the center of the ring, with his identity obscured by the black hood pulled low over his head.The crowd goes absolutely feral, but I freeze.

Oh fuck me sideways.

It’s him. The same guy from below who made my pussy drip from the force of his stare alone.

The microphone he holds in his hand looks tiny, and I am surprised to see that his nails are painted black. He just stands there, basking in the attention and suspense of the crowd.

My eyes trail up and down his body. Now that I can see him more clearly, my walls clench fruitlessly around nothing. The black hoodie he wears is strained tight against his broad torso. His dark jeans cling to his muscular thighs like a second skin. He must be another fighter, with a physique like that.

After a beat, he raises a painted hand to his hood. Instead of pulling it back like I assumed he would, his hand continues to rise until it grabs ahold of the fabric on the back of his neck. In a singular fluid motion, he yanks the hoodie off entirely.

“Holy fucking shit!” Shogo yells next to me.

Holy shit indeed.

The man that stands in the center of the ring exudes power and confidence. He looks lethal, with his tight, rippled abdomen, full pecs, and broad shoulders corded with thick, deadly muscles. The tattoos that decorate his skin are thick, black, tribal lines that seem to carve out a path that accentuates the lines of his body. His messy hair is a bright pink, with a dark brown undercut. He smoothes his hair back with a painted hand and a sharp grin.

The tattoos continue to outline his face, curving along the harsh cut of his jaw, slashing across the bridge of his nose, and inking his forehead between his dark brows. His eyes glint with a dark promise, and the smile that broadens the man’s mouth is nothing short of sadistic.

The guys in the arena are obviously not good men. It takes a certain kind of person to want to fight so extremely, and to be so entertained by it. But as I watch this man raise his thick arms high into the air around him, basking in the feral cry of the crowd as it screams for him, it is obvious that he’s different.

He’s even worse.

After a minute of taking it all in, he raises the microphone to his sharp mouth. The dark chuckle that fills the air makes me shiver and my nipples tighten. I feel a throb deep in my core, and I squirm atop the firm ridges of the shipping container below.

At the sound of his dark laughter, and before he even gets the chance to speak, the crowd is roaring again, showering him with even more praise and adoration. The man’s grin grows wider, and his sharp teeth glint malevolently beneath the harsh spotlights.

“Alright, shut up you brats,” he growls into the microphone.

I’ll be damned if the dark sound of his voice doesn’t make me quiver. The crowd dies down, obeying the command of the dark god before them.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” He jokes.

The crowd goes wild again, and this time a masculine chant booms in the air.

Su-ku-na! Su-ku-na! Su-ku-na!

So this is Sukuna.

The King of Fighters himself.

He raises one hand high, effectively calling for silence. Immediately, everyone goes quiet. The man’s command over the room is absolute.

“I was worried that it’s been so long that I might have to introduce myself, but I see now that’s no longer a problem,” Sukuna smirks.

There’s a cold mockery in his tone that betrays just how much he revels in the crowd’s adoration. His dark eyes scan across the crowd as he basks in the wild roars that fall around him.

“I have a surprise for you brats,” he taunts in a sing-song voice.

I can feel the exact moment that his eyes make contact with mine.

I’m flung from my body. The air freezes in my lungs. The sounds of the crowd go quiet except for the ringing in my ears. My vision narrows down to just the outline of his body. That same force keeps me still, and my instincts are once again screaming at me to hide. His gaze is unwavering, and I am exposed before him.

“Are you ready for me?” Sukuna purrs into the microphone.

Shivers sweep down my spine, and I flash hot. I bite my lip hard, genuinely afraid that if I don’t, I might moan.

Holy shit.

The crowd roars around him, but it's lost on me entirely. I can’t see or hear anything outside of the tension that sizzles between us like a live wire.

“Tut, tut, tut. I asked you a question, brats,” Sukuna snarls, and his eyes darken as they glare at mine.

While I know he says it for the crowd’s benefit, my arousal drips out of me at the sound of his scolding. His piercing eyes flash with a dark promise, and the look he levels towards me is nothing short of commanding.

His threat is clear.

“Let’s try this again,” he purrs, before pulling the microphone in closer to his mouth than before.

“Are you ready for me?” Sukuna roars.

The sound of his voice is monstrous, and tinged with something entirely animalistic. If I thought the roar of the crowd was loud before, then it is absolutely nothing compared to the fervor of it now.

Those same prey instincts are going haywire in my blood, and I can scarcely breathe for how tight of a grip my adrenaline has over my body.

I lick my suddenly dry lips, and burn in the heat of his stare, as I whisper, “Yes.”

Sukuna’s eyes grow dark with heat and triumph.

My core throbs low, and the persistent ache of emptiness sweeps through me.

“That’s what I fucking thought,” he snarls.

His dark eyes finally leave mine, and it’s like I collide back into my body with a visceral force. Sensations flood in from all around me at once, from the sheer volume of the crowd, the stifling heat of the room, and the absolutely drenched state of my underwear.

Immediately, heat flushes my cheeks. I’ve never reacted like this before. Though I don’t smoke anymore, I find myself itching for a cigarette. And another margarita.

“The lovely event organizers and I decided we wanted to make things a bit interesting,” he begins, a sadistic enjoyment sugaring his dark tone, “so to shake things up a bit, whoever wins this next fight, either Toji Fushiguro or Mahito, will get the honor of fighting me in two months.”

“Oh my fucking god!” Shogo cries out.

Based on what Shogo had told me earlier, I now know that this is a big fucking deal. The crowd absolutely loses it.

“So with that out of the way, let’s get this thing fucking started, yeah?” Sukuna says, rallying the cry of the crowd once more. “May the best fighter win.”

With that, Sukuna passes off the microphone to the announcer, and prowls back out of the ring. My eyes are glued to him as he ducks beneath the rope of the VIP section. He stands a clear two heads taller than the crowd of people parading around him and clapping him on the back. Even surrounded by other fighters, he finds a way to make them look small. He takes a seat back on the couch, and reclines back like a king in his throne.

The announcer picks up Sukuna’s hoodie, and tosses it over to him. Sukuna catches it with a one-handed grip, and my eyes dance over every ripple of muscle that flexes and pulls from the simple display of athleticism.

Good fucking god, I need to get a grip.

“Let’s give it up one more time for the King of Fighters himself, Ryomen Sukuna!” The announcer cheers.

The crowd roars again, and my eyes remained fixed on the man as he flashes yet another sharp grin at the never-ending adoration.

He doesn’t demure from the praise, he basks in it.

“This headlining match is sure to be exciting folks. But first, what does every good fight need? The fighters themselves!

“First up, we have a prodigy in the making. Standing at five feet and ten inches tall, and weighing one-hundred-and-forty-five pounds, we have the scrappy underdog from hell itself, MAHITOOOOOO!”

The crowd cheers as Mahito appears from the right-hand side of the ring. He all but skips to the ring itself, and the camera man tracking him stumbles after him.

His team is standing just off to the side of the ring, and I recognize them from the video that Shogo showed to me. Mahito is as energetic as a kid with a sugar rush, as he bounces restlessly on the balls of his feet.

Once more I’m surprised by what Shogo said earlier. Looking down at him, it’s hard to imagine him beating Todo so easily. His body is long and lean, and while muscular, he’s nothing compared to the solid mountain of the other fighter. But clearly his looks are deceiving.

“Next we have the legend himself, undefeated to all but one over the span of his decade-and-a-half long career. Standing at six feet and three inches, and weighing two-hundred-and-eighteen pounds, we have the fighter killer himself, TOJIIII FUSHIIGUUROO!”

Whatever adoration rained down on Mahito, it pales in comparison to the roar of the crowd for Toji. I have half a mind to cover my ears to spare them from taking further damage. It’s clear who is the crowd’s favorite.

Toji Fushiguro stalks towards the ring from the left with a predatory grace. He looks even more monstrous than in the video, and it’s clear that it didn’t do him justice. He wears a white hoodie that’s unzipped down the middle, baring his taut, cut abdomen for all to see. His white athletic shorts strain tight against his thick thighs, and curve along the swell of his ass. The tension in his muscles is coiled tight. With his unwavering focus narrowing down to Mahito across the ring, I can all but taste his lethal hostility in the air.

When he reaches the ring, he pulls off his hoodie with short, aggressive pulls. He is every bit as impressive as his stats make him out to be. The breadth of his shoulders and narrowness of his waist are nothing less than superhuman in their proportions. His arms pull and flex as he balls his hoodie up and tosses it carelessly to the side. There’s a massive scar that carves a jagged arc into his left side, and it spans nearly the entirety his torso. It’s a gruesome scar, and I wonder what gave it to him.

His messy ink-stained hair falls sharply into his eyes, but I can see the animosity burn in them all the same. His sharp jaw is clenched tight with tension, and the veins in his throat pulse visibly. His own team is speaking to him, but I can tell he’s not listening. His glare hasn’t moved once from Mahito, not even as the other fighter begins to prance around his side of the ring, hyping up the crowd even more.

The projectors display closeups of the fighters faces, and the contrast couldn’t be more clear. While Mahito performs, Toji waits. There’s something about the dynamic that makes my blood race. Blown up large against the wall, the burning hatred glinting savagely in Toji’s dark green eyes is blistering.

My instincts scream that Toji is lethal and dangerous and absolutely terrifying. I almost feel sorry for Mahito, for having incurred the wrath of this god amongst men so completely.

My pussy is screaming too, but for a different reason entirely.

The two fighters are called to meet together in the middle of the ring. Seeing them stand opposite one another makes the fight seem simply unfair. Toji glares down at Mahito like a lion staring down an ant. Mahito remains unintimidated, and smiles up at Toji with a wicked gleam in his mis-matched eyes. I try to remind myself that despite appearances, the fight is more evenly matched than it seems.

The hatred that flows between the two sparks and crackles in the air. The tension is thick enough to make my breath catch. Almost absently, I crawl to the edge of the shipping container and sit there instead. I hear Shogo shuffle to copy me, equally as entranced by the anticipatory hostility brewing between the two fighters as I am.

I can’t fucking wait to see it snap.

The announcer claps both men on the shoulder, before stepping back to the edge of the ring.

“No rules, no limits. First fighter to score a knockout wins!” The announcer declares.

The two fighters step back and slip into their fighting stances.

Mahito stands unusually, with one arm ahead of him like he’s reaching out towards Toji, while his other hand balls into a fist low by his hip. His legs are bent low and spread wide, and he looks very much like a coil, ready to spring.

Toji’s stance is also unusual. His legs spread wide, but he doesn’t squat as low as Mahito. His torso curls forward, with his arms wide around him, fists ready for the fight. There’s a confidence in the way that he stands that borders on arrogance, and the sight of it makes me fucking leak.

“Begin!”

The two fighters are a blur of movement as they dash towards one another with tremendous speed. Mahito is the first to swing, but Toji is faster, and counters the swing with one of his own. His fist lands solidly in the center of Mahito’s chest, and the fighter goes flying backwards from the force of his punch. Mahito lands hard into the concrete below, and blood sputters from his mouth, drooling onto his chin.

Mahito is only down for half a second, before he staggers to his feet. A grin splits his cheeks, and the sight of his blood-stained teeth is chilling. He giggles, and bounces on his feet, before springing towards Toji.

Toji lets Mahito dash in close. As soon as Mahito goes to throw a punch, Toji moves in a dizzying blur of speed around the other fighter, pivots quick on his heel, and sends a powerful kick to the back of Mahito’s skull.

Mahito stumbles forward onto his hands and knees, and blood immediately begins to darken his silver hair. Still, Mahito giggles at the impact, and shakes his head back and forth. Blood splatter flies everywhere around them. Toji interrupts by rushing up behind Mahito’s exposed back, wraps a thick arm around his neck, and pulls Mahito back into a tight headlock.

Mahito’s face turns red, as his hands claw and scrape at the thick muscle of Toji’s arm. Toji’s other hand curls into a tight fist and pummels blow after blow into Mahito’s ribs and kidneys.

Blood sprays from Mahito’s mouth, but he keeps grinning, regardless. The pain he’s in must be tremendous, but he takes all of Toji’s blows with a smile.

Mahito drops his body, deadening his weight against Toji’s chokehold. Toji leans down lower to compensate for the sudden increase in weight. Mahito uses this to his advantage, and springs backwards, sending both Toji and Mahito falling hard to the floor. Toji ducks his head inwards to prevent his skull from being shattered in the cement, and pulls Mahito in tight by the hold he has on his neck.

With a sly smile, Mahito reaches into the pocket of his shorts.

My blood runs cold.

In a flash, he pulls out a pocket knife, flips it open, and thrusts it upwards, stabbing into the arm wrapped around his neck.

Toji’s eyes widen, and he reflexively releases his hold just enough for Mahito to squirm free. Toji’s hand grabs ahold of the handle of the knife and pulls it out of his arm, while Mahito flips over and moves to straddle Toji, pinning him to the ground.

Toji just laughs, and dexterously twirls the knife in his hand. Mahito swings down hard at Toji, who manages to duck his head out of the way by a millimeter.

A sickening crack echoes though the arena. I wait for Mahito’s bloodied hand to emerge, destroyed by the impact of his fist on the concrete floor. But Toji rolls the two of them over fast.

My jaw drops.

A fist-sized crater shatters the concrete at the site of the impact.

What the fuck?

Did Mahito just punch a hole into the concrete?

I don’t have the time to process the tremendous power I just saw. Instead, my eyes are glued to Toji straddling a squirming Mahito, with the knife trapped between his teeth. He storms down a rain of powerful blows directly into Mahito’s face. The first punch shatters bone, and blood spurts all over his knuckles. Toji’s smile at the sight is carnal. The second impact is more devastating than the first, and teeth fly from Mahito’s mouth.

It goes on like this. Hit after savage hit. Blood paints Toji’s hands crimson. His inky hair clumps down over his manic eyes. There is no thought behind them except for the predatory gleam of bloodlust. A sharp grin twists his scarred lips around the blade of the knife, and there is not a single doubt for how much Toji is enjoying himself.

Mahito has finally stopped laughing. His head lolls back into the concrete, and his body goes limp. Toji grabs ahold of Mahito’s hair, and yanks his head up, continuing his assault on the unconscious man’s head.

“Time!”

Toji’s fist crashes down into Mahito’s face one last time before he leans back. His large chest heaves from a mixture of exertion and bloodlust. Sweat shines on his skin, and the blood splatter trickles in rivers down the contours of his body. He shakes his wet hair like a dog, and the sweat and blood fly around them.

My thighs clench, and I want to lick it off of his skin.

Toji spits the knife out onto the floor beside him. He leans his head back, and his triumphant smile into the air above is nothing short of beastly.

With Toji’s head leaned back, he doesn’t see as Mahito’s fingers twitch towards the knife beside them. Once his fingers wrap around the handle, he flies forward in a sudden vicious arc that slashes upwards at Toji’s torso.

“Gotcha!” Mahito giggles.

Toji reacts quickly, to the sudden motion of Mahito below him, but still manages to get caught along the top of his right pec. He wraps a thick hand around Mahito’s wrist, stopping the knife from doing any further damage. With his other hand, he fixes a firm grip around mahito’s shoulder, and with a savage twist and brutal cry, he tears his arm back.

Blood spurts like a fountain, painting everything in a sea of red.

In Toji’s hand, he holds the severed remains of Mahito’s arm, torn completely free from his body.

Mahito’s screams echo in the cavernous room. He squirms from beneath the bulk of Toji’s body, flailing his remaining arm against Toji’s thick thighs in an effort to get free.

It reminds me of the dying throes a rabbit caught between the teeth of a lion. It’s a last, desperate attempt at life when he knows it’s coming to an end.

Toji grabs the knife from Mahito’s severed hand, then tosses the limb carelessly to the side. He twirls it around once more, before viciously plunging it down into Mahito’s torso. With a ferocious smile, he licks his lips, then starts carving into Mahito’s chest.

Mahito’s screams cut off abruptly. The absence of it echoes just as loudly.

When he’s done, Toji leans back onto his hips, and appraises his work with a sadistic grin. He raises the knife to his mouth, and his tongue licks along the side of the blade. He smiles at the taste, before plunging it down into Mahito’s head, right between his brows.

Toji rises to his feet. He towers over Mahito’s dead body. Power and aggression pour off of him in waves. His grin is absolutely feral, and his eyes gleam with satisfaction. He wears the other man’s blood like war paint.

He picks up Mahito’s head, and with one hand, he dangles his body upwards for all to see.

What remains of Mahito’s torso is mutilated by a crudely carved letter ’T’. The roar of the crowd is animalistic. Men holler and cry out into the air, pounding their fists to their chest and stomping their feet on the ground. Toji holds the body aloft for a few more moments, before throwing it carelessly back to the ground.

He steps back to the center of the ring. The announcer trembles forward. He stares at Toji with wide fearful eyes, before gingerly grabbing ahold of the fighter’s thick wrist. After a moment’s hesitation, he raises Toji’s arm high in the air.

“And the winner is TOJIII FUSHIGUROO!”

My blood rushes in my ears, and my lungs constrict. Any alcohol in my system has all but evaporated, and I’m stone-cold sober. The primal energy storms around me, and my body tingles with the electricity and the adrenaline. My instincts are quiet, and I fear its silence more than I feared when it was screaming at me earlier. My mind is blank, but my body burns.

I just watched a man die.

I just watched Toji Fushiguro kill a man.

And yet. For reasons that defy logic. For reasons that make me want the earth to split open beneath me and swallow me whole.

I am undeniably, irrrefutably, achingly aroused.

I’m trembling from the force of the heat that burns inside of me. Absently, I grab my drink and chug it all down in one go. It dribbles down my chin and into my shirt, but I don’t care. I wipe carelessly at my mouth with the back of my hand and take in deep, greedy gulps of air when it’s done.

Toji’s team wipes him down, cleaning off the other man’s blood. I can’t process it. Mahito’s team walks away, with Geto yawning as he exits the ring. I watch as some of the event staff approach Mahito’s body, pick him up, and carry him out. Two others immediately start wiping down the area, scouring the concrete for every drop of blood.

After a moment or two, it’s like there was never any blood at all.

I watch as Sukuna saunters up to Toji and claps him on the back. The two men standing together look like giants surrounded by ants. I watch idly as they converse, and my heart stutters at the wide, sharp grin on Toji’s scarred lips.

I need to calm down. Now.

My skin prickles, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. My breathing stops, and my blood sings.

I can feel them looking at me.

I know it like I know my own name.

I drag my unfocused eyes from the fist-sized crater in the ring, over to where the two men stand speaking.

Heat burns in my veins, as my eyes lock on to Sukuna’s.

Adrenaline pumps my blood fast, and all at once my instincts are screaming at me again.

Run. Hide. Escape.

But I’m frozen. I can do nothing more than return his stare. Sukuna nods his chin in my direction while he says something to Toji. The fighter turns to look over his shoulder, and his sharp green eyes seek out mine.

Oh fuck me. Fuck me sideways to hell and back.

The combined weight of their stares makes me tremble. Toji’s eyes light a path of fire as they dip to my legs and trail upwards along my body. His look is like a physical touch along my skin and it makes me shiver. My arousal drips out of me, and I press my thighs together tight. Sweat tickles my spine as it runs down my back. Toji turns back to Sukuna. He says something which makes Sukuna laugh, and my cheeks flush with heat and shame.

They’re laughing at me. I’m certain of it.

What pricks.

My anger breaks me out of my trance, and I jolt back to life atop the shipping container. Shogo has begun packing up our things and stuffing it into his backpack, all while feverishly scrolling through the discord.

I’m sure the live chat was going crazy after watching Toji Fushiguro brutally murder a man.

I spring into action in a dull haze, helping Shogo pack the last of our things, before scaling down the ladder to the ground below. My body moves on autopilot.

“That was fucking insane,” Shogo says.

His thumbs are furiously flying across his keyboard, and I know his attention will be preoccupied for a while.

“Yeah, that was crazy,” I agree.

I’m surprised I can even speak, and that my voice sounds this strong.

“That wasn’t even a fight, that was a massacre,” Shogo continues, his voice filled with awe.

I hum in agreement.

I was wrong before. Very wrong. Toji and Mahito were never evenly matched to begin with.

“I don’t know about you, but I think I need a drink. Actually, scratch that. I know I need a drink. Several. You game?”

I let out a hollow laugh.

“Yeah, lead the way.”

“Yo, Shogo!” A voice calls out.

We both turn towards a man jogging towards us. He has a shaved head and ink covering every visible inch of his dark skin. The piercings in his lip shine as he smiles at my friend.

“Oh shit, Rocco! Good to see you, man. I didn’t know you were gonna be here,” Shogo smiles back.

The two embrace, before Shogo turns back towards me.

“This is my best friend y/n,” he introduces.

Rocco nods his head in greeting, and his smile is warm and inviting.

“Nice to meet you,” I say, while extending my hand out for him to shake.

He takes it with a grip as warm as his smile.

“Rocco. It’s a pleasure. Any friend of Shogo’s is a friend of mine,” he says before he turns back to Shogo. “Say, we’re all gonna go over to The Alley Cat. It’s a bar about two doors down that way. You tryin’ to grab drinks?”

Shogo looks at me for approval, and I shrug.

We were planning on getting drinks either way, and it didn’t matter to me who or where we got them from as long as they were strong.

“Yeah, sure, why not. We’re were just talking about it anyway,” Shogo agrees for the both of us.

“Cool. If you wanna give me a second to grab my stuff, we can walk over there together,” Rocco says.

We follow Rocco as he leads us to his things, and I can’t help but watch as the two boys animatedly talk over the details of the fight. I don’t mind stepping back from their conversation, as my brain still feels like it’s only operating at half-speed.

I blame that for the reason why I don’t realize he’s leading us back over to the VIP section until he’s stepping over the ropes.

My heart pounds as the realization sets in, and my eyes frantically scan the crowd inside to look for that signature pink hair.

I try everything in my power to ignore the sting of disappointment I feel when I realize he isn’t there.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #toji smut #toji x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #sukuna x reader #toji x sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #toji fushiguro #jjk smut #1st person #jjk fanfic

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collapsedsquid · 13 days

Text

The Dali - a 948ft (289m) container ship - was at the start of a 27-day journey from Baltimore to Sri Lanka when it struck the Francis Scott Key Bridge, sending thousands of tonnes of steel and cement into the Patapsco. It left the ship stranded under a massive expanse of shredded metal. [...] The crew, made up of 20 Indians and a Sri Lankan national, has been unable to disembark because of visa restrictions, a lack of required shore passes and parallel ongoing investigations by the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) and FBI. On Monday, the crew remained on board even as authorities used small explosive charges to deliberately "cut" an expanse of the bridge lying on the ship's bow. Ahead of the controlled demolition, US Coast Guard Admiral Shannon Gilreath said that the crew would remain below deck with a fire crew at the ready. "They're part of the ship. They are necessary to keep the ship staffed and operational," Adm Gilreath said. "They're the best responders on board the ship themselves."

[...] According to Mr Messick, the crew has been left largely without communication with the outside world for "a couple of weeks" after their mobile phones were confiscated by the FBI as part of the investigation. "They can't do any online banking. They can't pay their bills at home. They don't have any of their data or anyone's contact information, so they're really isolated right now," Mr Messick said. "They just can't reach out to the folks they need to, or even look at pictures of their children before they go to sleep. It's really a sad situation."

The Beached Dutchman, stuck forever at a foreign port but never able to step off

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theworldatwar · 3 months

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US troops board their landing craft as the preparations for D-day finally get underway - June 1944. Note the soldier carrying a Bangalore demolition charge for clearing obstacles or use against concrete structures

#world war two #ww2 #worldwar2photos #history #1940s #ww2 history #wwii #world war 2 #ww2history #wwii era #normandy landings #Normandy #normandie #1944 #june1944 #England #bangalore

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