jigokulogs | [OPEN] only god can see what i've become.

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[OPEN] only god can see what i've become.

⬤ Andy @ the CR Meme ⬤
⬤ Permissions Post ⬤

Who ⬤ Andromache of Scythia (now of Enma) & YOU!
What ⬤ The bastard woman drinks and brawls her way through May substories
When ⬤ Throughout the month of May
Where ⬤ A bar, a backlot, and a bloody arena
Content Warnings ⬤ Profanity, violence, substance use, sex, etc. To be updated as needed!

A | MOON MEDICINE / SUBSTORY #1

[ This might be the most alive she's felt since arriving in hell. Whatever the fuck was in that medicinal mochi — it's like being high on cocaine and bloodlust at the same time. It feeds into that part of her that has always loved a fight. That up-close and personal shit where you can practically smell your opponent's breath. That's what she was raised on, seven thousand years ago on the Eurasian steppe — heir of the warrior-queen, bare and bloody on the battlefield, her mother's axe in her right hand.

No axe now. No battlefield either. Just the dirty alley out behind some dive bar. But that look in her eye is the same now as it was back then, wild and bright as she slams her fist into the unrecognizable pulp that was formerly the face of the yokai who had gotten fresh with her inside. Her knuckles are split open, but she doesn't seem to notice. Tunnel vision, everything else utterly irrelevant while her opponent is still standing — and he is, just barely. Just enough to take another clumsy swing at her, a move so obvious and slow that, in her violent fervor, she barks out a mean laugh, teeth bared. Bracing herself, she lets gravity do most of the work as she catches her victim by the clothes and flings him out of the alley towards street —

Right into anyone unfortunate enough to be passing by. ]

B | VEND ME A DREAM / SUBSTORY #2

[ Normally, on a day like this, Andy would have found some way to drink herself into oblivion by now. But she's spent most of her time in hell hungover, and somewhere between the constant headaches and violent nausea, she figured her newly mortal body was probably begging her for a break from the bottle. But being both idle and sober lends itself too readily towards her tendency to wallow uselessly in her own misery, so when the shirime approaches her with its winking butthole and a request for item A5, well...

Fuck it. It's not as if she has anything better to do.

That's how she winds up in that backlot, leaning up against a porno vending machine with a dwindling cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth as she flips through Juicy Peaches. The look on her face is one of stoic apathy, but either she's bored or the asses within are just that compelling, because she's still turning pages. This page in particular has her head turning slightly one way, then the other as she considers it. Out loud, to nobody in particular: ]

...That's a fucking fish.

[ Given the context, she might mean that literally. Only one way to find out. ]

C | BRUISED & BLOODY / SHUTEN TERRITORY ARENA

[ She'd been beating up people for free in bars this whole time, so it seemed only practical to at least get paid for that shit. The booze and cigarettes don't pay for themselves — and gods forbid that Andy hold a regular nine-to-five. She'd rather have her bones broken. Besides, she makes for a good underdog bet. Compared to some of the monstrous yokai that have stood opposite her in the ring, Andy looks decidedly ordinary. A woman who is neither particularly tall or strong. Nothing to betray the centuries she's spent mastering different ways of using her body to cause others pain. Except maybe that certain look in her eye. Something sharp. Something a little mean.

On one of the nights that she fights, she might find herself facing off against another Lost Soul in her next match. Or maybe afterward, with her left arm hanging loosely from its socket, she might be looking for someone to lend her hand — hopefully someone who isn't too squeamish to shove a shoulder back in. Otherwise, after the fighting is done, she makes a habit of smoking a cigarette right outside the arena, usually more interested in indulging that bad habit than patching herself up. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Maybe she envies him. Some people might think of amnesia as a mercy. Ignorance is bliss and all. Knowing can be so very fucking painful. Sometimes the only thing that eased any of her pain was forgetting. It takes the ugliness of a gaping wound and leaves behind a hollow little ache — a rare pang that she'll feel sometimes without really knowing why. ]

Well. If you're getting by unburdened as you are, then you probably didn't need whatever you lost. [ Wryly, but not unkindly: ] Not everyone gets the chance to start over from scratch. Think I might be a little jealous of you, Harry.

[ With that, she drops her dwindling cigarette into the now empty beer can. Smoke rises up through the opening for a moment or two before dying. ]

[ EMPATHY - Jealously blooms from bitter longing, like the sad plume of smoke that rises from what you gave her.
INLAND EMPIRE - Your heart stops as her words strike lightning through it. Then it restarts with a painful ache. ]

You understand then.

[ He's seen the looks of pity given when he tells someone he's an amnesiac. They mean well, say they're sorry for him, and he doesn't pay it more mind than that. But he's never once felt really *sad* about it. Not when every small little indicator he has picked up on who he once was tells him it's better to stay away. When the voices in his head beg him not to stick his head in the darkness of the ocean because there is nothing good down there. He doesn't want to know. He doesn't want to be that animal anymore. ]

I try not to dwell on it. The man I was -- he was sad. Angry and sad, at the world and himself. I'm trying not to be him.

Maybe I do. A little bit.

[ Angry and sad. If that isn't the sum of what she is most days, then she doesn't know what is. It's a terrible way to be, but comforting in its familiarity. Sometimes she doesn't know if she has the courage to change that. Maybe she's afraid there's nothing good left inside her, and if she doesn't try, then she doesn't have to find out. ]

Trying is something. That makes you braver than me. Not sure if I have it left in me to become something else now.

[ There wasn't nearly enough alcohol left in that half-empty beer can to excuse this kind of honesty from her. But maybe she's a little too tired to bother with playing tough tonight. Or maybe seeing a glimpse of something kindred in him softens her enough to offer a little bit of the truth. ]

Edited 2022-05-23 05:54 (UTC)

Hey, don't say that.

[ Did he think that way too? Was trying so hard that he would rather die? The bitterest taste in the mouth is often the most true. He knows he's had those thoughts swirl in his mind. ]

I mean, look at it this way - we're in Hell. Allegedly. There's nowhere to go but up from here, right?

[ She huffs out another half-laugh. The sound is a little bit sad. Subdued. But not insincere. ]

Are you trying to comfort me right now, Harry? [ Wryly: ] That's sweet.

[ Reaching out, she gives his arm a light pat. ]

Not too convincing, but sweet.

[ EMPATHY - There is no comforting this woman. Pain has seeped into her bones and calcified within the marrow. It is part of her, with no hope of reprieve.
SUGGESTION - Nonsense. You can make her care, if only she'd let you. ]

What can I do to convince you? [ He glances to the spot on his arm she touched, the contact still lingering with sting. A man denied cannot ignore when even the smallest touch of comfort is given. Then he looks at the can, thinking of the dead cigarette within. ] Would another drink help?

[ Another drink always helps when you're an alcoholic. Especially when you've coped that way for the last couple millennia or so. Everything can become simple oblivion once you've hit the bottom of enough bottles. But then again, he's offering to comfort her, and she's got more maladaptive coping mechanisms than just the one.

Pushing off the wall, she turns to look at him more fully, less obscured by tired posture and the shadow of the building than before. As if to say, here I am, and here you are. It's half suggestion and at least a little of a dare when she asks mildly: ]

How about a motel room?

[ SUGGESTION - Oh, *hello*. That is absolutely a proposition.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Yeah she wants you, physically. No doubt about it.
VOLITION [FAILURE] - To the surprise of no one, you are incapable of resisting this now that she has planted the idea in your brain.
EMPATHY - You always have been attracted to pain. ]

[ Ok. Ok, well. This is definitely not expected? He wasn't actually trying to make a pass at her because that has historically went terribly for him. The last woman he made a pass at used it to her advantage and played him for a sucker. But this woman isn't a suspect in a murder investigation and so there is nothing unethical about them going to a motel together.

Although, there is *one* issue: ]

How about a name?

[ Returned as mildly, an eyebrow raise in challenge. He isn't saying no. ]

[ There's a muted look of surprise on her face, like maybe she'd thought he might have forgotten that she didn't introduce herself in return — or that he might not need her name just to follow her to a motel room. Names weren't a thing she ever considered necessary for that. But she appreciates the small challenge, that slight pushback — and honestly, they've commiserated enough in this dirty alley that her name is less intimate than the things they've already talked about. ]

...It's Andy.

[ A wry smile, faint and fleeting. ]

Good enough?

Good enough.

[ There's one last drag of his cigarette, quick and dirty to get the last bit of the sweet ziggy, and then he drops it to the ground and gives it a couple fast stomps. He's reminded of how Kim lifts up a boot to squash it against the heel and shoots her a smile with no teeth. ]

Lead the way, Andy.

[ It's one of the convenient things about being in hell — that there's any number of shady establishments that could easily suit their purposes within walking distance, and Andy doesn't have to try too hard to find one. What do they really need anyway? A bed? A single flat surface? She's made do with less, honestly, and all respect to the gentleman in her company, but she doesn't think Harry will care too much either.

Her winnings from the Arena that night pay for the keycard, and the last leg between the front desk and the motel room, she leads Harry along by the sleeve — just that small spot of contact until they're safely inside. ]

You remember how this goes?

[ It's a wry little question, a tiny dig at the amnesia, and truthfully, his answer must not matter much, because she's already started to undress, shrugging off her jacket, her pants, her shirt — leaving a trail from the door to the bed. ]

[ LOGIC - It occurs to you as she leads you through the street and to the shady little establishment that this is *actually* happening. You're going to have sex with this woman.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Oh no, here we go. Time for the boring nerds to bring the vibe down by making you overthink getting laid. This is what happens when you're sober. Is there any liquid courage you can down before this?
INLAND EMPIRE - There's a much bigger problem you have yet to account for. The furnace is empty and broken, cold for too many years. You can't even get it up to a third-page spread.
PAIN THRESHOLD - You are going to take a lot of damage if you're unable to perform. Mind your heart please. ]

Cock goes in cunt? Something, something, orgasm.

[ With all the brain damage and memory loss though... he gets the distinct impression that he was not getting much even long before his amnesia. He's shrugging off his jacket and loosening his tie, a few more articles of clothing on than her. Oh god, she's actually going to get naked in the next few seconds isn't she?

COMPOSURE [FAILURE] - Oh no, avert your eyes, quick!
HALF LIGHT - No you stupid fuck, how the hell do you think this works?
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - You're so fucking disgusting. A swollen gut and chicken legs that don't match up. Dinky boy, you really did not think this one through the whole way.

His throat erupts with a loud rumble, fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, morale taking a beating with every passing moment. Be brave, Harry. ]

I think you should, uh, be on top though. It'd be better that way.

[ Then, mangled and unable to comprehend which is which, a cascade of screams flood his brain and all with a different tone. ]

[ He's not wrong. That's the basics. And Andy must find this answer acceptable, because her response is a little hummed noise of acknowledgment and a light shrug of her now bare shoulders as if to say, Good enough. She doesn't even look back to see how he's coming along until he speaks up again, making her pause with her fingers hooked in the waistband of her panties. The expression on her face is something like skeptical amusement, the corner of her mouth quirking upward ever so slightly. ]

Yeah? You think so, huh?

[ She's not opposed. Been a long, long time since she was picky about any of the logistics. But something about him in that moment — the vulnerability, maybe, that uncertainty — begs to be bullied, just a little. ]

You'd rather I have my way with you? That's pretty fucking brave, after watching me fight.

[ SUGGESTION - Hell yes you're brave. A brave man about to get laid for the first time in who knows how long. Stop overthinking this. She's clearly into your pathetic charms.

(Wait, I'm not pathetic!)

AUTHORITY - You are submitting yourself willingly out of fear of not performing. You've made yourself her *bitch*. ]

I mean, are you going to throw me into a wall and smash my head in? Because I think the owner is going to charge you extra for that.

[ The more he talks, the more he prolongs, surely his heart will stop palpitating with anxiety. Please, body, please cooperate with him tonight. The buttons are finally undone and he's removing the shirt, chest covered in sweaty curled up fuzz and gut hanging out. Fuck, he needs to lose weight. His slips off the shoes, no socks on tonight, and goes for his fly. ]

[ They're similar creatures, the two of them. They've made similar mistakes. Suffered similar kinds of pain. Made habits of the same shitty coping mechanisms. But the long years of living in her unchanging flesh have stripped Andy of self-consciousness, and she doesn't worry about the physical details the way that he does. She's seen it all, in her time, and she no longer has much sense of how others perceive her — whether she's beautiful or frightening or totally unremarkable to behold. It's just the body she's lived with for centuries, same as it was nearly seven thousand years ago. And him — his body is merely lived in. A product of human genes and human experience.

Truthfully, the sight of him makes her feel a little twinge of tenderness. Makes her a bit more gentle than she might have been otherwise when she comes over to help, nudging his hands aside so she can deal with his fly herself, fingers deft as she tugs at the zipper. ]

I don't know. Are you into that?

[ She's known men that were into that. No judgement, even if the question is half-joking, though Harry's head should probably be spared the smashing, all things considered. ]

Edited 2022-05-31 05:04 (UTC)

Dunno. Amnesia and all.

[ What *was* he into? Sometimes his brain pings with clues. Little nuggets and kernels he is expected to follow, a bread crumb trail that surely leads to the origin of where it all began. Yet then the trail splits and splits further and it's hard to tell which came first. Was it the tie or the choking? The smell of nicotine or the cool factor of watching someone take a drag as the nightlights of the city reflect in their tired eyes.

He is definitely into pain. Which kind and how much is the variable.

He's quick to shimmy out of the pants and let them pool at his ankles. Now it's just his underwear like the day he woke up in the hostel room. But his dick is still not cooperating here. Fucks sake. He needs a new plan.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - No problem, buddy boy. I'm *full* of them. In fact, here's an easy freebie. She'll be into it.
VOLITION - Take a breath, steel your mind, and ask it. ]

How about you sit on my face?

[ If Andy's noticed their little logistical problem, she hasn't mentioned it. Or taken visible offense. That's the nice thing about casual sex with a seven thousand year old woman — there isn't much by the way of expectations, and it would be a statistical miracle for this to be the worst lay she's ever had. ]

Okay. [ Another small shrug, in response to his suggestion. She doesn't need that kind of foreplay, per se — low standards, low maintenance — but she's not going to say no. Easy freebie. She lets him have this one with only a little wry ribbing: ] Been a while since I've had muttonchops between my legs.

[ Her panties join the rest of the discarded clothes on the floor, then she steers him back towards the bed with both hands pressed to his chest, palms flat against all that fuzz. ]

Is that a plus or?

[ The thought crossed his mind to shave them once or twice in that little cabin by the sea. Yet the fear behind it kept his hand away. There was no turning back once he cut it. A sense of finality and dread. These muttonchops are like his friends. He can't chop them. Though he should really groom them better. He should learn *how* to groom them, more accurately.

This is all in mind as she leads, her calloused hands warm and easily inviting, until he's shimmying up the bed and lowering his head down on the pillow. God, she's really naked. Obviously he knew that but it really strikes him now that he's staring up at her, suddenly feeling small underneath a woman he saw wrestle men twice her size and win. She could really kill him.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - If this all works out and there's a next time, you should really consider asking her to choke you. Hmm... though if a next time is up in the air, maybe ask a little later?
SUGGESTION - You don't want to come off as *too* desperate here. Pathetic charms must be coordinated carefully for maximum effectiveness.
COMPOSURE- Psst. She's going to notice you zoning out in your head if you don't at least blink. ]

Guess we'll find out.

[ She could kill him. Lots of different ways — and at least an easy dozen that she can manage while naked. But, at least in the moment, she doesn't seem interested in outright murdering the man — though, to be fair, there's probably a nonzero chance of him suffocating, given the circumstances. Hopefully she pays more attention to his breathing than she does to whether or not he's blinked recently.

Her hands grasp his, drawing them towards her thighs as she settles in above him, knees planted on either side of his head. It's probably not all that reassuring when she asks dryly: ]

Any last words?

[ RHETORIC - Famous last words. Dazzle her.

1. Uhh... don't fake it? Like, y'know, pleasure wise.
2. This might have been a mistake, I have no idea what I'm doing.
3. So if you really do start suffocating me, should I just let you? Because I wouldn't mind...
4. THESE are my choices?

RHETORIC - You're always so judgmental. Just pick one. ]

Uhh... don't fake it? Like, y'know, pleasure wise.

[ He would really like a gun right now. It would vastly improve the situation at this moment if he had a gun and could just point it at his temple or put it in his mouth. Oh god why is he thinking about this right now what the fuck is wrong with him? ]

[ Mm. Considerate last words? Sure. Famous? Probably not. She gives him a wry little look that seems to commend him for effort without giving him too much credit for execution. Better get on with it before he tries to talk again. Somehow that feels like it'd be a mercy to the man.

It's unceremonious, the way she gets a generous handful of his hair, using her grasp to tilt his head at the angle she wants before widening the spread of her legs to grind her cunt down against his mouth. The muttonchops tickle a little. It's not altogether unpleasant. ]

[ ELECTROCHEMISTRY - The first thing that hits you is the smell. Carnal and warm, the mouth of a beautiful beast ready to suffocate you in flesh. She's grinding right into your mouth, your lips parted from the sudden tilt, a ravenous consumption. It's heaven, baby.
INTERFACING - No, it's hell. You have no idea what you're doing. You're so far out of your element here and just taking it.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Yet again, I have to do everything around here. Roll the dice. Hand over the reins.

His eyes, wide and in shock, gradually slip shut into darkness. Instinct can only take over when you give into it. For that, the world must be shut out. Tense fingers suddenly spark and grip her hips with intent, an anchor to keep him steady, and his legs shift up to plant on the worn out spring mattress. Then it's just a greedy push of his mouth in, parting his lips further to invite her in and have his tongue come out to play. It flattens into her, tasting her, letting her grind straight against it. A small pant of a moan slips out with no resistance. Andy is strong and he's shamelessly aroused by how she handles him. ]

[ If she were being perfectly honest, she would admit that she'd been more than willing to just take what she needed without much effort on his part. This man seems like he wouldn't be particularly opposed to being used that way regardless, and it isn't as if what's between her legs has ever been especially discerning. But then he's gripping her hips and pushing back with his mouth, and — yeah, okay, fuck. That'll do it. She's not complaining.

Her hand reflexively tightens in his hair, fingers twisting in a way that must border on painful now, threatening to reopen all those cuts scattered over her knuckles. She hardly notices, her eyes dark and heavy-lidded as she watches him, taking in the way he looks down there between her thighs as she rides his tongue. Leaning down, she murmurs with familiar wryness: ]

You sure you don't remember doing this before?

[ PAIN THRESHOLD - The body remembers. You made *her* feel good back then. Her fingers yanked your hair as if she would fall into the abyss if she didn't hold on.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY - You don't need to answer her with words. Put your money where your mouth is.

A muffled moan vibrates through his throat and it's the closest thing to a response Andy can expect. They're pushing against each other in a grind neither fast nor slow, taking their time together. His tongue laps with the fervor of a dog desperate for water, his nose sharply breathing in the thick musk of midnight sex between her thighs. Fuck, he's alive. They're alive together. Would she cum in his mouth if he kept her here? Then the thought that she might squirt involuntarily strikes a match on his brain matter.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Yeah, that's the good shit brother. You're obscene and hungry and you want it all. No shame about it. ]

[ She can feel that muffled moan between her legs, and yeah, that's answer enough — words seem beside the point now anyway. Words were for that dirty back alley with a half-empty can of beer shared between them. This is something else. This is communion. And his mouth brings her nerves to life just as well as beating men bloody in the arena did. Maybe a little better. She can't tell if it's skill or just earnest eagerness, but she's wet enough that the distinction really doesn't matter. Technique is a minor detail when she's grinding against his mouth like that anyway, each rock of her hips relentless and deliberate.

Maybe it's not what she intended when she first kneeled over him, but she might just ride his face all the fucking way home. ]

That's it, Harry. [ Praise, low and breathless — a counterpoint to her fingers still tightly twisted in his hair. ] Good boy.

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