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

[ 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.

[ INLAND EMPIRE - Those two words are the only fuel you need. The furnace is warming, coming back to life. The husk in her voice burns your drums and will leave wounds for days to come.

Praise is an easy way past his heart and to his vast soul, the ocean willing to take any drop big or small. Again he moans with abandon against her and if she hears a little sob along with it then that can only be good. His eyes are wet with the mix of her fluids and salty tears welling up in his eyes, chest heavy with emotions he can't put words to. His mind is blank except for the want, the *need*, to bring her to climax. To please her and give her reason to praise him. Faintly he feels a tightening hardness between his legs, but doesn't let it distract from eating her out with greedy mouth motions up and down, tongue catching her taste even as it begins to ache. ]

[ He gives, and she takes — she takes like it already belongs to her, as merciless with the motion of her hips as she was with her fists when he first laid eyes on her. Maybe another woman — one more kind or more whole — she might go a little easy, looking down at this man with tears in his eyes and a sob in his chest. But not Andy. This woman's instincts say that she can ride his mouth to catharsis for both of them, and she won't let up. No — she goes harder, muscles tight in her thighs with the effort of it.

Both hands meet in his hair, pulling to the point of pain. She sinks down more fully against him, leaving little room to breathe as she chases that building tension. The space between her legs must become claustrophobic as she tenses up reflexively, everything going taunt for one eternal moment before she's finally letting go, biting down on a wretched noise as she bows over him, shudders running the length of her body.

Everything between her cunt and his face is a warm, wet mess. She should probably move. Make sure he's still alive down there. Maybe she will, in a minute. ]

[ In the final moments, the painful pull that goes straight to his dick, the severity of her weight on his face beginning to shorten his breath, her grind relentless, his mind blanks. Well, almost blanks. There is the thought that she could accidentally kill him like this, forgetting he is a human and not a large man-shaped fuckdoll. The next thought is "what a way to go".

Then, she stops and he swears he can feel her whole body seize up above him. He follows suit, panting heavy into her folds and knowing what this means. A moment later comes her release, his gasp muffled underneath when he feels it smear against his face and coat his muttonchops.

LOGIC - That is going to take a vigorous scrubbing to clean off.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY- Bold of you to assume it should be cleaned, nerd.

He keeps holding onto her hips, fingers gradually loosening their grip without need to keep on for dear life, but doesn't so much as twitch otherwise. When's the next time a woman will let him rest his face between her thighs? There are worse places to be. He even likes the smell, suffocating as it may be. ]

[ Moving a man's dead body would be impossible for her now, limbs loose and warm as they are — so it's a good thing, really, that she deigns to roll herself off Harry's face before he actually suffocates. Face buried against the musty motel sheets, she huffs out a half-amused breath, reaching out with one hand to pat Harry amicably on the chest for his efforts. ]

Still with me?

[ There's another thing to check on. She hasn't forgotten, even if she's reluctant to move around too much just yet — so she lazily drapes one leg over his, nudging her thigh up between his legs to see if anything of interest has stirred. ]

[ A well-earned inhale is the first thing he does with the new found freedom from carnal warmth between her thighs. It's let out after a short hold, beating heart beginning to calm down from the rush. Good thing too, it can't weather much damage. He offers a hoarse sound from his throat in response to her question, not in the right state to form proper words.

His eyes are shut and he feels himself nodding off, only for an electric pulse to roll through his body when she nudges his crotch. It's still covered up by his underwear, but the bulge is undeniably there. ]

Damn woman, give me a moment.

[ The enthusiasm is appreciated, but the flesh is weak and spongy. He likes to think he had more stamina for this once upon a time, but he doesn't remember any of it. ]

[ A moment exactly is about how much she's apparently willing to give. This man, with his weak and spongy flesh, is simply too easy to torment, and she's never been especially good at resisting that impulse. No mercy, as a rule. No mercy unless they beg. And there he is, laying vulnerable, utterly defenseless for when her hand sneaks down to give his dick a rough squeeze.

The mean little smile on her face says she just knows his reaction won't disappoint. ]

*Fuck*--

[ A fast hiss and it comes free with his hand snatching her wrist to yank it away. His dick didn't *not* appreciate that, but he needs more than one moment before he can get revved up again. He keeps her wrist in an easy to pull from grip, head turning against the pillow to muster a glare at her. ]

Are you trying to kill me? Because there are people who would wonder where I am if I went missing for a day or so.

[ Well, *people* might be a stretch. There's a *person* at minimum though. ]

[ Her eyes are waiting for him when he turns to glare at her, faint crow's feet betraying her amusement — and that damnably smug smirk too. This woman is, without a doubt, a complete and utter bitch. And she is not sorry. Not even a little fucking bit. She lets him hold her wrist almost as a consolation prize, knowing full well they're both aware that she's humoring him — humoring the idea that such a half-hearted grip could ever protect him from her. ]

You did follow a strange and violent woman to a motel. Seems like the kind of situation where being killed might be possible. [ Dryly: ] Maybe I'm a serial killer who fucks men like you to death.

[ INLAND EMPIRE - A very specific and sexy designation for a serial killer. Perfectly plausible.
CONCEPTUALIZATION - You're fairly sure you read something like this out of a Man from Hjelmdall book. ]

[ To that, he gives a tiny shrug and a soft sputter of breath past his lips. He releases her wrist and occupies his fingers with pulling the skin on his neck. ]

Like a devil woman from some tasteless male fantasy book? I think you're a little more *nuanced* than that, Andy.

Do you? [ She seems a bit entertained by that assertion, amusement underlying her usual wryness. ] All you've seen me do is fight and fuck.

[ But now that she's been released, she can muster the effort it takes to sit up and scoot to the edge of the bed. Moving with the lazy grace of a woman who just got reasonably good head, she wanders off into the little adjoining bathroom, disappearing for a few seconds before returning to toss a hand towel over Harry's face — for the mess she made of his muttonchops, apparently. Then she goes to find her pants on the ground, just to dig out her cigarettes and her lighter before coming back to join him, sitting casually cross-legged on the mattress as she lights up.

She takes a slow, easy drag before holding the same cigarette out to Harry, offering to share. ]

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