#tw fighting

This became more of a fight than a battle... Isn't that kinda the same? Idk honestly, but maybe these guys should ACT more mature yk?

(jk we love seeing them fight)

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Fight!

Otherwise know as the world's most traumatizing game of spot the difference

Warnings: gore, killing, fighting, abuse, mentions of being a slave, mentions of being sold, Yandere stuff

I got the idea from Desmond ASMR on YouTube.

Yandere! Gladiator who you didn’t know until he was given to you as a slave for helping the noble counsel and the city with your knowledge of plants and helping them grow faster.

Yandere! Gladiator who hates you from the moment a guard brought him to your tiny apartment and he had to look at your face.

Yandere! Gladiator who pins you to the wall and tells you how easily he could kill you when the guard leaves and you don’t know what to do but you don’t want to use his collar on him.

Yandere! Gladiator who is shocked when you weakly take off the collar off and let you go in shock.

"Why would you do that?" He asked in a shocked voice as he let you go.

"It hurts you right?" You said while grabbing your throat.

"Yes," he said quietly as he tried to wrap his head around the situation. "B..but I don't understand why you would take it off?"

Yandere! Gladiator who thinks you’re weird but doesn’t complain as you let him do almost anything he wants as long as he helps you do some things.

Yandere! Gladiator who has nightmares about the gladiator pit and wakes you up in the night when he needs water after the nightmares he has.

Yandere! Gladiator who you let sleep with you after one night where it was bad for him.

Yandere! Gladiator who falls for you and makes you cuddle with him all the time and is happy to help you whenever you need it.

Yandere! Gladiator who feels heartbroken when you come home in tears and put his collar back on him.

“I don’t understand cupcake why?” He said in the most broken voice you have ever heard.

Yandere! Gladiator who feels angry and hurt when you don’t answer and only cry in response.

Yandere! Gladiator who goes out the next day and when a guard mocks him for wearing his collar he snaps and when the guard is alone he fights him.

Yandere! Gladiator who is pulled away from the guard by some other guards he ends up picking up a piece of wood in the alley and beats all of them to death with it.

Yandere! Gladiator who walks away from the scene before going back home and taking a shower.

Yandere! Gladiator who was relieved when you weren’t home but when the news of three guards getting killed spread it made him a little nervous but you didn’t notice or suspect it was him.

"The neurologist takes out a folder, a picture. He points at my brain with a finger, says here. It looks like a map of a city on fire, a snapshot of weather...He keeps saying damage...The breach, the rupture, the picture of it -- there are things we shouldn't have to see. Why would anyone want to see the inside of anything? I think about my brain. The metaphor of it. I think about my heart. The metaphor of it. I think about looking at the earth from space...Nauseating...I ruined myself with bad living. He isn't saying it but he's saying it...He is talking and I am nodding. I'm waiting for him to tell me that it isn't going to happen again. He isn't saying it. I stop listening." -- Heat Map by Richard Siken

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“We listen to the medical opinions on CTE, and I don’t believe there has been any documented study that suggests that elements of our game result in CTE,” Bettman said then. “There have been isolated cases of players who have played the game [who] have had CTE. But it doesn’t mean that it necessarily came from playing in the NHL.”

Initial findings in a study from Boston University’s Chobanian & Avedisian School of Medicine appear to contradict that assertion though. According to preliminary discoveries, each additional year of playing ice hockey may increase a person’s chance of developing CTE by about 23 percent."

CW: Fight, blood, threats of murder

Caine and him had been cornering one another all day, puffing their chests, sizing one another up, snarling as they wanted to keep the other away from you. 

Soon the two of them end up alone, isolated in whatever Caine could dream up as they argue back and forth, pressing closer and closer until there is no room for anything else. There was a flash, pain, and iron filling his senses after Caine seemingly threw the first punch. 

Jax drags his tongue over his lips and teeth. With wide, pinpoint eyes, he realized something. He tasted blood. Down his nose and in his mouth, smearing over his chin. And it set him off. Though dizzy, with his ears ringing, Jax  couldn’t stop his leg from kicking and colliding right with Caine’s chest. He instantly regretted the decision seeing as the psycho was hardly knocked back, but he didn’t care. He began to fight for his life, kicking and punching where he could as he let rage take over, but it wasn’t enough. He felt his blood turn to ice at the look Caine gave him, seemingly having to accept a death warrant for his outburst.

Caine rolled his neck a bit, cartoonishly showing that Jax hadn't done much damage at all. It was mocking in tone. Showing Jax that he was the puppet here. 

"Whiny baby done throwing his tantrum?" Caine reached out, grabbing the purple rabbit by the throat and lifting him as if he was only a stuffed animal. His thumbs popped as he squeezed and simply tossed Jax to the ground, making sure his head bounced off the digital flooring. He pressed his foot right into Jax’s sternum, threatening to grind down. “If you move, I will crush your ribs. Can I get a yes sir?" Jax feels his face drain of color. Caines never acted like this before. He’s always been annoyingly zany and out of touch. Refusing to listen to anyone for the sake of humor and entertainment. But this? This was terrifying. It was cold, calculated, utterly detatched from morality. Pain surged through his ribs as blood ran down his nose, making him cough as Caine only pressed down harder to prove his point, keeping Jax in line. 

Jax coughed, spitting blood on Caine's shoes as he wheezed and tried to keep his eyes from rolling back. “Couldn’t…make them love you…even with the power of a god.” He spits, trying to breathe as he hears himself gurgle and Caine’s dark laughter. He couldn’t even focus on the pain in his head as he heard ringing in the right of his ears, wishing he could just gut the AI and feast on his intestines.  

“Wouldn’t’ve made them… feel safe...even if they did everything you said…fuckin liar.”

There’s a pause, more weight added to the foot on Jax’s chest as Caine tutted softly. "So little faith in your ring leader, Jax. You're the one that acted out. You can't blame me for your own pathetic actions." Caine cocked his head for a moment, testing to see if Jax would try anything else useless. There’s a light that shattered above them, the room glitching and showing the way Caine's eyes glow in the dark. Wild, miscolored, and crazed. 

He rolled his shoulders and grabbed at Jax again, fingers pinching his chin. He made sure the little trouble maker couldn’t avert his eyes, forcing him to see the depths of his insanity with every twitch.

“I let you live because you entertain me. I let you make these friendships because I need the viewers to like what they see. The moment I think you’re acting out, or getting in my way…I’ll end you. Don’t you ever forget that."

Loud noises, bright lights, music pounding through your feet, a press of bodies around you. Every time you go out to a club, you need a good amount of recuperation time. You can only take so much. The sweat of other people rubbing onto your arms makes you want to take an hour-long shower. It’s just not your thing all the time, and that’s okay. But you still like to be invited.

You never ever make a scene when you’re feeling overwhelmed. You don’t want to ruin everyone’s mood. So, tonight, you’ve found one secluded corner near the end of the bar to hide yourself away for a bit, your group dancing in a circle near by. You never want to lose each other in the crush of people, so you stay close, of course.

But, that doesn’t stop a man from coming up behind you and putting his hand on the small of your back. He leans over you and you can smell vodka on his breath when he says, “You look so good, I bet your boyfriend gets super jealous when you’re out like this.”

You pull away from him and just look up at his face. His hand won’t detach from your skin though, it’s found its way to your hip and it refuses to budge. You manage to get out a “thank you,” to try to appease him before you turn away and attempt to ignore him. Maybe you could make a break back to your circle of friends, but the people around you would definitely hamper your chances. Bosco and Charlie’s heads above the crowd like a lighthouse in an unforgiving sea.

“You do have a boyfriend, right?” And you have no idea what to say because he’s standing there staring at you like he knows you don’t have a boyfriend, and his hand touching you is too much because you’ve already gotten tired of strangers brushing up against you all night, and he’s licking his lips like he wants to eat you. You open your mouth, and nothing comes out.

“Well?”

You feel another person walk up right behind you and throw an arm over your shoulder. “Well, what?”

You recognize his smell and you turn to look and see Bosco staring down the stranger. His curly hair wild, and his smirk in place. He pulls you into him but the sweaty hand on your hip stays where it is. He looks down at you very briefly and smirks out a “hey, babe,” before looking right back up at the creepy man.

“Why is your hand on my girlfriend? If you needed to get by her to pay or something, an ‘excuse me’ would have sufficed.” He looks pointedly down at the hand that’s holding onto your hip and it miraculously disengages. You shudder because you can still feel the residue from his handprint. Maybe a two hour shower would be better. Bosco tilts the both of you so you’re still in the same position but you’re subtly farther away from the creep. You let him. If you could cower behind him, right now, and not cause a scene, you would.

“Hey, man, the lady and I were just talking. Didn’t want anyone to bump into her, is all,” he holds his hands up and ducks his head in a mocking surrender. “She’s just so beautiful, I wanted to make myself of service.” He’s slurring a little, taking ‘service’ from two syllables to three, and it makes you duck your head closer to Bosco. Bosco gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, before asking the guy to get lost.

“I’m here now, so I’d like it if you left her alone,” his smirk becomes plastered on, but his eyes are no longer smiling.

And, then the guy makes a passing joke that you don’t even want to think about and it makes Bosco push you behind him to throw a punch straight at the guy’s nose. The guy stumbles back, holding onto his face. One of his buddies grabs him and drags him deeper into the bar, but he keeps looking back at you, his eyes livid.

However, that doesn’t stop the bartender from calling security and you and Bosco get escorted out the door. Once you’re outside, you start shivering, it’s cold and the adrenaline is finally leaving your body. The sidewalk is much quieter than the bar and the relative silence comes crashing around you. You clutch your coat tight around you and go to lean against the brick wall of the club. Bosco trails after you. Your teeth are chattering and your shoulders are practically by your ears.

He comes to stand right in front of you, your legs in between his. He holds his hands out toward your shoulders, “can I touch you? Is that okay?”

You nod and duck your head, wanting to avoid eye contact with the world. He places his hands on your shoulders and just keeps them there, trying to tilt his head down to see your face but you refuse to let him. Unknown to you, his arms have created a barrier to the outside world. A protective circle just for you. When he feels anyone look over at you, he shifts his body to block their line of sight.

After you’ve stopped shivering so much, he asks, “Do you want to talk about it? I’m gonna take you home. I’ll let June and Charlie know we’re leaving. But if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay too. I’m not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

His right hand makes its way up to the side of your neck, thumb under your chin, fingers hooked into your hair. His left hand snakes around to your back. His thumbs rub soothing circles where they lie. This position has pulled you closer to his chest and you feel warmth radiating from him. “We can stay here for a little bit if you need to before we start walking.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. You’re not sure if you could communicate or make any decisions right now anyway. Forget fight or flight. You freeze. And, you don’t know how to let Bosco know that you just need to be taken care of. You’re too soft for everything, and the moment you think that thought, you just feel worse about yourself. You’re not like the other Horsemen, you’re sensitive and you don’t like attention when you’re not on stage, and you’re not a fighter. Your breaths become deeper but more ragged, like you know what you need to do to calm down but you just can’t do it.

Your hand comes up to Bosco’s side and balls up the fabric of his shirt. You need to be rough with something right now, but you don’t know how to describe what you need. You want to split your knuckles open on the brick wall behind you but you won’t let yourself. Your other hand finds Bosco’s skin under his shirt, and your fingers press tightly to his hip. You distantly wonder if you’re hurting him. The truth is, Bosco would let you dig your fingers into him anywhere, no matter if it hurt him or not, without a moment’s hesitation. He knows all too well the need to grab something and just hold on for dear life. He’ll be your buoy in the ocean. He can do that.

“I feel dirty,” he leans down to hear you mumble. “I need a shower.”

“Alright, bub, let’s get you home.” He steps away to let you straighten up, but his hands linger. “Do you want to hold my hand or my jacket?” You step close to his side, wrap your arm around his, fingers intertwining, the opposite hand grabbing his bicep and bunching up the material of his jacket sleeve. Your hand is like a vice and it makes his chest hurt that you feel scared enough to hold him this way. Like you’re scared he’s gonna leave. The devil himself couldn’t pull him away from you, in this moment.

The walk home is uneventful but your hands slowly relax themselves so you’re not holding him quite so tightly. But, your eyes still dart down alleyways and your shoulders tense when you’re not under a street lamp.

When you finally get home, you just stand limp in the entry way, all of the energy sapped out of you. Bosco gets you out of your coat, then takes your hands in his, making an opening and blowing hot air into it, “Your hands are freezing, bub.”

He walks backward, pulling you down the hallway toward your bedroom, never taking his eyes off of you. Making sure you know that he’s not gonna leave. “Okay, sweet girl, let’s grab your pajamas.” You walk slowly over to your dresser and pull open one of the drawers and just stare inside. After a long deliberation, you’ve chosen the pajamas that will cover the most skin possible, and the top has a hood. If you could make a cocoon around yourself and hide, you would.

You turn toward the bathroom but suddenly you realize, you’ll have to shower alone and you freeze up. Bosco notices and waits to see if you’ll say anything.

“Will you sit in the bathroom while I shower? I don’t want to be alone.”

In that moment, Bosco swears his heart breaks. Feeling too vulnerable to shower in your own home is awful and he wants to find that guy again and kill him.

“Sometimes, when I’m washing my hands, I think about how if one of my hands is dirty, how can it get the other hand clean, and then I wonder how my hands will ever get clean, and then I think it must be an impossibility and that I can never be truly clean and then I sit on the floor and cry,” this being the most words you’ve said all together in the last hour and a half.

“Of course, I’ll sit with you.”

And he does. He sits with you while you take your makeup off and take your hair down. He turns away and closes his eyes when you get undressed and step into the shower.

“If you start to feel bad again, while you’re in there, tell me or reach out and grab my arm, and I’ll help you.” You hum out a quiet response and he lets himself relax a little bit knowing that you feel confident enough to answer him again.

The hot water burns your skin but you feel yourself scrubbing the club away. You try desperately not to feel the man’s hand linger on your back or your waist and you scrub extra in those places. You focus on your breathing and you make it through the shower okay. Bosco hands you a towel without looking and you step out and get dressed.

You can’t be bothered to dry or brush your hair. Tonight has been too much and you need to get in bed, expeditiously.

When Bosco opens the bathroom door for you, you see the empty bed and find yourself asking, “Will you stay with me tonight?”

“Of course,” is the only thing he can say.

So you pile up the pillows and the blankets and make a nest for yourself and Bosco. He changes into his pajamas and when you both lay down, you tuck yourself into his side, head ducked down in his chest. You feel safe like this, hidden away from the room outside your bed. His arms come up to circle you and he doesn’t go near your waist or the small of your back. His hands stay dutifully up at the top of your spine and on your arms. You press your face into his shirt and try to smother yourself in his smell so that you won’t smell the club or that man’s cologne anymore.