Tattoo cheetah

Stats:
-Destructive power:
-Range:
-Defense:
-Speed:
-Precision:
-Potential:
1,Mass Hysteria: Hive mind tattoo.
2, Burnin’ God's Light: Makes user invincible by burning down anything that tries to hurt him
3,Never Gonna Give You Up: Handcuffs between the user and a target.
4,Skillet Scream of Butterflies: Bio-armor.
5,Karma Chameleon: Chameleon tattoo as a pet, who makes your skin color change.
6,Lonely Boy: Pajama with a pocket dimension.
7, Deadwood The Mantel: A forest grows from the user and she can freely control it.
8,Pumped Up Kicks: Infinite amount of guns with whistle controlled bullets.
9,Break Stuff: Bullies people and uploads videos about them.
10,Space Ritual: GODDES OF THE UNIVERSE
11,Californication: The cooler California
12,Shot in the Dark: Controls anything as a projectile and can make them to ignore gravity for a second.
13,Black Hole Sun: Reverse sun, makes people insane.
14,STFU: Makes people suicidal by bullying.
15,Sad Machine Emo Girl Ex Machina: A shareable stand bound to a glove, makes holograms which can interact with the real world.
16,Panic Room Unearth: By attaching to people, it shows them their greatest fears and horrors until they die or learn to live with their fear.
17,Monster Dunkelheit: The angrier the user, the stronger it gets, untill the stand takes over the users body.
18,Dare: Makes dares and tests the grammar knowledge of people.
19,Royals: Takes over stands.
20,Girl on Fire Sleeping Sun: A lighter which summons a female humanoid fire.
21,Balls in Yur Jaw Athoth a GO GO: Beatle stand which uses spin.
22,Oh Green World: A crow made out of wines sharing nutrients from the user to anything around it.
23,PSYCHONAUT: Swimming in air by compressing oxygen.
24,Breaking Bad Baby Blue: Re-writes chemical component of (almost) anything.
25,One: Death as a sniper and puts people into vegetative state, vie a rifle.
26,Fortunate Son: Napalm helicopter (wow so creative).
27,Sucker of Pain Cursed in Eternity: Can make the user invincible at the cost of someone taking the pain of it.
28,Gloomy Sunday: Either heals all your mental health problems or stops your happy hormone making processes.
29,House of Ill Repute Scatter and Napalm Brain: A twin pair with motorbike helmets which gives them psychic powers and it gets stronger the closer they are to each other
30,Freak Show Atrocity Exhibition: 3 headed cassowary.
31,Sylvester the Snowman: An imposter made out of snow.
32,Thunderstruck: Flies that take over your nerve system.
33,I am Rich: It makes everyone to believe that the user is the most important, richest and influential person in the world.
34,Nelly the Elephant: A black elephant, which if makes any injury, it will become un-healable.
35,The Nightmare Came Back: Makes a traumatic person to come back as the stand.
36,Little Pig: Makes senses either too sensitive or too numb.
37,Death to Liver: Emits pure ethanol to the air.
38,We Don’t Sleep at Night Sex Murder Party: Makes the user to control lights and her voice.
39,Black Dog: An extremely powerful hound which can only be summoned in dark (4 YEAR OLD SPOTTED PITBULL GO!)
40,Stressed Out Eventually: Converts peoples mind into childish. (Jesus Christ I had an extremely bad taste in music)
41,Who Shot Ya? Ready to Die: A backpack with a little humanoid inside it dual wielding Glocks.
42,Broken Empire of Ants: Breaks down (almost) anything to living ants.
43,BIGGEST MAN Quintessence: An eldritch god chained to the user.
44,Keep Holdin’ On: Aim bot on a sword. (Don't fuck with me! I have the power of God and anime on my side! autistic screech)
45,Purple Hat: A cheetah which makes people to dance till end.
46,My Mind Space Fold: Lead Poisoning: Takes over people after gambling with the user.
47,Casin0 Space Fold: Distortion Makes people to loose their sense of time, space and their short term memory. (I swear I only referenced this because the cool name)
48,B.O.B.: Carpet bombing with homemade bombs.
49,Hentai Scum With Boundaries: Octopus bro, who gives the user heat vision.
50,I Like Your Hat: Comedic death.
51,Be Gone THOT Merciless Onlsaught:Destroys anything that would make the user to learn about the existence of stands.
52,Quay: YOU DON’T RECOGNIZE THE BODIES IN THE WATER
53,Bad: Spits up flies made out of a liquid which makes your blood into acid.
54,Anarchist Rumble: Delete rules and make things glitchy.
55,Takyon: Using tachyons as a weapon. (Veronica my beloved)
56,Electric Avenue: Makes people to achieve their goals by brute force.
57,Holiday: Makes people to see not real wars.
58,Ten Little Reindeer: Ten users who will die because the users before them come back to kill them.
59,Dr. Frankenstein Dr. Octagon: Makes chimeras.
60,You Are An Idiot: A pen drive which infects people to see the You Are an Idiot “music video".
61,Guillotine: An almost indestructible stand with high power, but it can accidentally rip out things (including itself and the user) from the dimension it is inside.
62,Eh: Punches stuff and makes poles.
63,Red Bone: Put people into dreams were they are living their best life, doesn’t last forever though.
64,Death Grips: Tortures people without actually hurting them physically.
65,Gotye: Painting set which affects the things it is used on.
66,Right Behind You: Spy TF2 with Deathringer.
67,Rollin’: Makes things to hover around the user like planets around stars.
68,ULTIMATE: The ideal form.
69,Unknown Brain: The more people know it, the stronger it gets.
70,This is America: Makes guns to appear from nowhere and can make gunpowder explode.
71,Year of the Snitch: For a year it reveals everything about something.
72,The Fever: An extra chromosome which when activates instantly kills the cell it is in.
73,Teen Spirit: A low power punch ghost, but if it gets damage it releases a gas which kills your frontal lobe for a time period.
74, To Be This Way: An arm replacement for the user and 11 more fists.
75, Brand New Pillbox Hat: Vibration amplifier.
76, I've Seen Footage: Remakes shock/gore videos.
77, Money Store: The user can instantly switch places with her 10 meter tall semi dog humanoid stand.
78, No Love: Makes effect of drugs longer and be more effective.
79, Deep Web: Makes hallucinations manifest in a physical form.
80, No Love Deep Web: Can only be summoned if both No Love and Deep Web effects someone, has abilities that depend on the type of drug the target used.
81, Hustle Bones: Shark teeth that can work as crack cocaine.
82, The Carpathian Black Flag: A battle cruiser ship with a small crew.
83, Punk Weight: A giant jellyfish filled with nerve and muscle poison.
84, Birds: Making prophecies, but water can break them.
85, Hacker: Rewrites the source code of everything.
86, Vamos a La Playa!: Summons extreme winds.
87, Bottomless Pit: Tar which took over the user’s body.
88,Spread Eagle Cross the Block: Spread objects cross a large area without changing their volume.
89 and 90, Artificial Death & West East: One finds the one who should be dead, the other kills them.
91, Fashion Week: Teleporting catwalk with explosive grand finale.
92, Runaway: Super Mario 64 TAS.
93, Restraining Orders: Cool hat mixed with seizures.
94, Whatever I Want: Colony of hands that steal whatever the user wants.
95, Blood Creapin' Pagan Terrorism Tactics: Targets bleed uncontrollably, but they can't die from blood loss.
96, Pearly Haired Lady: Goddess giving away stands.
97, Powers That B: Multi dimensional DID with infinite amount of random abilities.
98, Up My Sleeves: A last resort under the user's sleeve.
99, Billy? Not Really: Makes targets to see others as an old friend called Billy.
100, Black Quarterback: The dynamic duo of 2 braindead American football players.
101, Say Hey Kid: Random people are the slaves of the user for no reason.
102, Have a Sad Cum BB: Harasses people when they do anything that grants them joy.
103, Voila: Living shadow making a shadow army.
104, Big Dipper: Bear making gravity weaker and makes pagan religious or superstitious objects work like they are said.
105, Break Mirrors: Shadow monster living in the mirror, and it can be released.
106, Inanimate Sensations: Weirdmageddon.
107, Turned Off: Brain ignores the user and the stand but the subconsciousness is scared from it.
108, Why Lie?: Sociopath makes you his bitch if you lie to him.
109, Beyond Alive: Old lady steals life force and reanimates dead matter in an area.
110, Centuries of Damn: Controlled weather mixed with depressing look.
111, On GP: Universal null point, which can be only accessed if you know the user personally.
112, Black Paint: Parasitic stand which fuses the soul of the user with the target.
113, Death Grips 2.0.: Death Grips but world wide range, can only "attack" stand users.
114, King Kunta: Steals your legs if you get out of its area.
115, Trash: Digs holes that leave into literal nowhere and objects get braked down to atoms if get inside.
116, Steroids: 22 meter long dragon hiding in dead animals, waiting to strike down enemies.
117, Rainbow Bridge: A stand that resurrects the dead and doesn't let the user die.
118, Big House: House maquette shrinks people but lets inside spiders without changing them.
119, C418: Minecraft blocks.

Hello World - So I wrote a letter to the person that led me into SCJ. Totally forgot the word they used for this and that is so exciting!!! I love forgetting them! Please don't tell me. Anyways, I had known her my whole life and a lot of shitty things went down when I left and lately I had just been getting a haunting sense of injustice towards the whole story and I needed to write out how I was feeling. Turns out, it was really cathartic. It helped me immensely. I know that there must be so many people out there who have been wronged by SCJ and have left the cult with their lives in tatters and so I wrote this for you too. You are treasure! You're worthy of new love and friendship. You’re a shining star too, damn it! Just thought someone should remind you.
Love,
Steorra
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
To Whom It May Concern,
For three years now, I’ve never felt the need to remember anything from the era of you. It surely wasn’t easy to move on from you, but I did it. You hadn’t crossed my mind in so long. Then recently, I’ve had these annoying splashes of bitter memories that turn up in my life after all this time. Stirring up, once again the desire for justice that I had to lay down a long time ago. I mean if we could put every moron who wasted our time in prison, mediocrity would cease to be, but ALAS (you always hated that word) you’re still out there. So, I moved on. I had to. That was winning in a way I never knew I needed to learn. Yet, this feeling scratches at the door anew in traumatic mystery. The only thing that’s really changed since rebuilding after you is that I started writing. However, I’ve never written about you.
At the beginning of this story, your words of eloquence secretly dripping with malice and ill-intent, entrapped me into a multi-year mental, physical, spiritual, and emotional jail sentence. Truly, if there was a tangible definition of “love-bombing” it wouldn’ be some romantic affair. It would be you. You preyed upon my fragile heart that was experiencing burn-out after years in ministry. You took that as the perfect opportunity to build up your empire from my ashes. Blaming the church for every hard thing I experienced along the way and providing the comfort and shoulder to cry on that I needed. You manipulated me into doubting my faith, my community, my family and you did it all with your fancy parable studies and promises of a heavenly future.
Well. Maybe if your words got me into this whole mess, maybe words can help me hammer the final nail into this coffin-like story once and for all. In all honesty, my words have been timid, scared, and shaken since you shattered me and left me to pick up the pieces all by myself. But I did it. I picked up every piece and rebuilt it. I rebuilt a life I can be proud of. I don’t have a life of luxury by any means, but I have a new sense of dignity and fight I never knew I could have. Dignity. Now there’s something you’ll never understand, so I’ll just move on.
Since you, everyone on the outside thinks I’m delayed in livelihood. They don’t always say it out loud, but it’s written all over their faces. Even someone like you could see it. They think I’m behind in life because I don’t have a list of things I can post on my facebook marking the monuments of a thriving christian life. But it’s because they don’t know. They are completely unaware that while they were living their lives with minor obstacles, my twenties were a full blown quiet war in constant brainwashing combat. A silent war; still bloody, deadly, filled with casualties and loss that even the strongest of men couldn’t withstand. It shattered the best of fiery faith and struck with deceptions full of the strongest poison earth could offer. And I fought like hell to thrive, then to survive, and then to flee when the walls of my life were burning down all around me. I dragged myself from their smoke, fire, and deception to the edge of the battlefield and overcame it. My flag was left standing, but none of my “friends” were left standing beside me. Not even my “best friend.”
But no war is really over when it’s over. Soldiers who return from combat deal with wounds, scars seen and unseen, trauma, fear, invisible enemies all around them and inside them triggered by the smallest of things in everyday life. If figuratively that was the war and I was the last soldier standing, I returned home to a world that was completely contaminated by your warfare. I can’t listen to my favorite song anymore, because it makes me think of you and the nights sitting on the floor of my kitchen bruising my arms and soaking the night with sorrow I didn’t know my body could hold. Wondering where my friend had gone.
Since you, victory wasn’t immediate. I lost everything in the war. Just as you intended. Family, community, romance, purpose, and childhood. I bet that doesn't even keep you up at night. You would need a conscience for that. You have known me since I was three. You had the trust that only a lifetime could grow. Looking back now, that was really the only way I was ever going to join your backyard cult. Following someone I loved. I’ve come to believe from this experience that childhood betrayal is the worst kind of betrayal. You see, you took all of my youth and you don’t even care. The thought that I could have had an upbringing without you and all the heartbreak you caused makes me so angry because I want that SO BADLY. Instead I live in the aftermath of the nightmare that was you. Haunting the nostalgia of my life with every detail that led up to being sacrificed on the altar you helped them construct. They turned me into a warning and a lesson against “rebellion.” But you basically authored the whole story until I was a lifetime of being the victim in a tragic tale I can’t rewind. You are my wild regret in life.
So that was a little taste, but here’s what I truly think of you after hurting me for all those years. I hope you make it to the top of this ladder you’re climbing. I hope you reach all the glory you wanted. You left every dream you had and everyone in your life behind to do it, so I hope you get it. I hope they praise your name, give you an office, a title, a class, a spouse, a child, all the fruit your heart could desire. At the top of your dream when you least expect it, I hope someone kicks that ladder out from underneath you and lets you dangle in an endless uncertainty until you finally plummet into the deepest darkest loss you’ve ever known. Just like you did to me.
I hope you get 10x as far as I did…. before they betray you and leave you out in the cold without an apology or a bit of credit in your direction. I hope no one helps you heal and you have to do it all alone. I hope you start hurting yourself because you have no where to place the blame but on your own head. I hope you question your own intelligence and wonder where it all went wrong. I hope you sob on your kitchen floor. I hope they come to your door and ask you “what’s wrong?” like they have no idea why you could have slipped into these wildly uncalled for emotions. I hope they blame it on your humanity and gas light every desire you have to be seen and heard. Just like you did to me.
…and I hope everyone forgets you. Just like you did me.
Long after you’ve healed and moved on. I hope a figurative Mt. Vesuvius blankets that backyard cult you loved in an unrecognizable layer of ash and poisonous gas and fades out from existence of this world. It’ll seep through bars of the earth into Hades forever condemned and forgotten. Just like you….and just like you did to me.
Anyways. *Takes deep breath.* I live by the water now. It’s really peaceful. There’s no running, no toiling, no drama, no noise. It’s the kind of quiet you said we’d never have until it all ended, but here it is. I like to write here. I have a dog. He’s a good friend. You could learn a lot from him. He’s really loyal and he never eats his own vomit.
I see God in every wave, tree, and animal here. A beautiful reminder that not everything we were reading was false. Just all the parts they made up and exploited vulnerable people with.
There is a part of me that knows there’s a truth underneath this story that I haven’t mentioned yet. A piece that would give you some credit. It’s true, I would not be as strong as I am today without you in my story. I would not be as thoughtful. Careful. Hard working. Discerning. Hell, I wouldn’t have started writing. I now write stories of hope. True friendship. Redemption. Gratefulness. Don’t worry, you’ll never be making a cameo in any of my work unless I need a back-stabbing-20-something-bitch who drives a janky Honda around the suburbs and can’t afford her $6 cup of trendy coffee. It’s funny to think you all think the great betrayer is Mr. Oh. Oh no, it’s you, you crusty bitch, and I wouldn’t be paranoid of people taking advantage of me without you. I would still be naive, innocent, childlike, and hopelessly good-hearted.
So while you were trying to tear down my life and steal my happiness, I’ve rebuilt parts of me that are now unshakable. I’ve found a purpose that brings me pure joy. I help people. I spend time with my family. So thank you. From the bottom of my heart. You gave me the fight inside of me to get here. I’m unstoppable now. I don’t laugh as much as I used to, but I’m working on that. I’ll get there. Don’t worry. You can’t have that either, sorry.
Let’s talk about your “group” for a minute. I played by their impossible rules because they promised endless paradise, but the gods of your backyard cult were so weak. They're all just narcissists that like to hear themselves talk, but the voices of basement dwellers and secret keepers aren’t noble. They’re scared of losing their precious power and they were just wrong. At the end of the day, they were just dumb kids who followed wolves into pastures to lose the uniqueness God created for them.
Foundationally, there’s no point to a heaven that isolates, shuns, and abandons. No one wants your mascot-serving gospel. The heaven they showed us was black and white. We were never supposed to be contained within perfect lines and marketed by race. We were supposed to walk with God in the Garden of Eden in the beautiful mystery of wild creation. I hope heaven is a kaleidoscope of color, people, and joy and absolutely nothing like the one you tried to film and show us all.
By the way, I only teach elementary math here, but I’m pretty sure your numbers are wrong, but hey! What do I know? I’m just a “star that fell from heaven!” Thank goodness too. After I “fell,” I learned to shine without you. I did it all by myself and I might not be in the sky anymore, but I’m pretty beautiful walking around all these earthlings if I do say so myself. A couple of scars here and there, but you don’t get any of the profits of this light, this strength, and this peace. I earned that and I protect it pretty “religiously.”
To your group, I was a lost cause to their superior cause. Too fucked in the head to be helped. My human anxiety was just too big for their god. Turns out that big anxiety saved my life. Also, it turns out their god was really small because my God met me with huge, sovereign arms and prodigal joy when I finally returned home. Truth is, Calvary says I’m not hard to love, but treasure just wasn't made for everybody.
Now, I’m about to turn 30 in a few days and I’ve been reminiscing about all the childhood memories tainted by your presence, so I decided to make new ones. I’m going to WASTE a whole day riding roller coasters for my birthday. Watch the movies and listen to the music you never approved of. Wear cheetah print converse. Get a tattoo?? Dye my hair an UNNATURAL color?? Wear earrings everywhere!! Drink my wine in public. You know. Go TOTALLY crazy. Try to be young again. For me. For kid me.
So thank you. I’m here because of you and I’m going to have so many more days and memories without you that I look forward to. I will never take that for granted. Like you did me. Cuz I'm a shining star, bitch!
Love,
Your Shining Star ✨

A close friend of mine wanted to publish under my name. Please give him the support he deserves!
A rainy day it was.
It was barely 2 pm yet the sky was unusually dark, the clouds poured out every last bit of rain they had on the wide football field surrounded by classes.
In the middle of the field stood a clock tower counting the seconds, the minutes and the hours not interfering with anything. Under the tall, large tower was a crowd, it had two different noises. One came from a girl, begging for help and screaming at the top of her lungs and the other was sounds of enjoyment, satisfaction and sadism.
Soon enough the crowd had spectators. A group of boys were crippling a girl and people watched on. They spectated it as mere audience. The crowd performed like the stage in a theater and the rest spectated it without interference and support almost as if they were the clock tower waiting counting every second, waiting for the girl to die. Soon the spectators gathered more and more like ants surrounding a candy.
Students from different classes viewed the situation as entertainment, teachers stared at them in awe, but why? What possible reason could make them freeze at the sight of a slaughter? Power.
The headmaster rushed through the crowd, pushed everyone away and screamed, “Why is no one helping the poor girl!? Someone call the medics!” As he saw the sight of the culprits, he yelled “Everyone involved in this will be-“ He stopped his speech, he shut his mouth, and all his confidence and rage went away at the sight of one symbol, just one symbol. He remained silent like everyone else, but they didn’t remain silent. They were silenced.
The tattoo of a viper’s fangs was enough to silence them, was it because the tattoo was scary? No. Was it because it was unethical? Nein. It was because it symbolized the gang under a single man, the man who put the school under his control in a mere 6 months, the man with the body of a bear, the strength of a tiger, the swiftness of a cheetah, the eyes of a hawk, the power and dominance as a Lion, XXX.
The gruesome scene went on without help, his members, 7 of them performed unsavoury acts on an innocent girl. The sky couldn’t cry any more to express its sadness, it was all for nought. The girl, barely alive coughed out blood. Her limbs were mutilated, her right eye carved out, her ears ripped off, her tongue tore out, and her body was ruined beyond repair.
One of the gang members noticed she had a ring on her left ring finger. “So this is the ring you have with ZZZ?” He chuckled and continued, “Let’s see how many times it would take me to throw it down your throat.” As he was preparing to toy with the girl, he heard footsteps, gentle yet loud footsteps. His left ring finger was shining in the midst of the gloominess.
He stared at the blood pouring out from the girl as it was getting washed away by the rain. He slowly but surely looked at the surroundings, countless people yet no support. He then switched his attention towards the girl. No, his girl. He stared at her destructed body full of scars and injuries, they were awful yet she remained gorgeous as she always has been.
His eyes finally turned towards the culprits, and he saw them sneering and grinning at him, he then noticed their tattoos and was reminded of a talk he had, “There’s this gang called VVV ruled by XXX, he approached me yesterday with his members to confess me.” She added, “They all had this weird fangs on their hands, almost as if they’re matching with each other!” She chuckled. “I rejected him of course! I have you after all but I remember him saying something along the lines of me facing the consequences or whatever. It was super cringe to me.” She ended with a giggle to which the boy added with a laugh “Yeah it really is cringe.”
The boy staring at the girl finally realized, the silence was cut off however by one of the members, “You’re late to the party boy, we had all the fun we wanted already. You can have the leftover tho, she still has an eyeball left to be carved out!” He spoke loudly, which was followed by hysteric laughs.
The boy paid no attention and stared at the girl’s face and noticed her lips were moving. No voice was heard, yet she talked. After some words, she smiled and her life went out. Her miserable life has ended at the sight of her beloved.
“This bitch died without our permission” someone yelled “Hey insert name! How does it feel to see the death of your girlfriend? Take her nasty corpse, fucking loser.” He mocked with waves of laughter followed by the others.
The boy sauntered towards them, as all the attention of everyone was placed on him. He walked step by step slowly but surely. He carefully picked up the corpse of his girlfriend while enduring the rocks being thrown by the killers and returned to his previous position. He then put down his girlfriend towards the ground, gazed at the sky and quietly recited,
“May heaven transfer your sins towards me.” “May heaven grant you peace and eternal happiness.”
Before finishing his final prayer, he slowly turned towards the group. He rolled up his black hoodie’s sleeves drenched by the endless rain, tousled his hair into a messy state to the point his face became fully visible towards everyone. His sweatpants matched the color of his eyes, the color known as “The sinned white”, the color rare enough for everyone to make everyone speechless.
His silvered eyes stared towards the culprits full of despair, regret and anguish. His dry lips started moving and he finally recited the last prayer,
“May heaven forgive me for the heinousness I’m about to commit."

This post is a character sheet of a Marvel Comics character that I wish to adapt into my own universe dubbed the Marvelous Universe following a fan-fiction I am currently building titled "The Marvelous Spider-Man".
Name: Sergei Nikolaevich Kravinoff
Origin: Sergei Nikolaevich Kravinoff was born from Russian aristocracy who lost his nobility at a young age. Traversing the world with his family in shame, Sergei was entrusted with the revival of his lineage's honor after the passing of his father. Honing his body and mind to obtain what he once lost, Kravinoff found his calling by becoming a world renowned hunter and tamer, earning the title of Kraven the Hunter.
Aliases-

• Animal Tamer
• Emperor of the Wild
• Furball
• Grand Duke Kravinoff
• Huntmaster
• King of the Jungle
• Kraven the Hunter
• Maneater
• Predator
• Safari Chic
• Savage Stalker
• The Beast
• Ukufuna Isikhova
• Unhuntable Sergei
• White Lion

Age: 84
Birthdate: May 12, 1943
Place of Birth: Volgograd, Russia
Gender: Male
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Brown
Height: 6'6" (198 cm)
Weight: 235 lbs (107 kg)
Citizenship-

• Ethiopia
• Russian
• Soviet (formerly)
• United Kingdom
• United States of America

Species: Human
Identity: Public
Marital Status: Married
Alignment: Neutral
Affiliation-

• Death Regiment (formerly)
• Intergalactic Empire of Wakanda (formerly)
• The Wild Hunt

Occupation-

• Aristocrat
• Professional Game Hunter

Relatives-

• Alexei Sergeievich Kravinoff (son)
• Anastasia Tatiana Kravinoff (daughter)
• Anna Makarova Kravinoff (mother)
• Dmitri Nikolayevich Smerdyakov (half-brother)
• Nedrocci Tannengarden Kravinoff (son)
• Nikolai Kravinoff (father)
• Vladimir Sergeievich Kravinoff (son)

Relationships-

• Aleksandra Kravinoff/nee Nikolaevna (wife)
• Calypso Kravinoff/nee Ezili (wife)
• Zelda Kravinoff/nee DuBois (wife)

Reality: Earth-171
Abilities-

• Gifted Intellect
  • Expert Tactician & Strategist:
    • Cunning Wit
    • Excellent Deductive Skills
    • Honed Memory
    • Leadership Skills
  • Honed Perception
  • Intuitive Aptitude:
    • Escapology Skills
    • Lock-Picking Skills
    • Medical Knowledge
    • Occult Knowledge
    • Prestidigitation Skills
  • Master Tracker & Hunter
  • Mental Resistance:
    • Meditation Techniques
    • Willpower
  • Multilingualism:
    • English
    • French
    • German
    • Latin
    • Russian
    • Spanish
    • Swahili
    • Wakandan
• Master Combatant
  • Expert Marksman:
    • Exceptional Accuracy
    • Exceptional Precision
  • Kung Fu:
    • Baoquan
    • Fu Jow Pai
  • Martial Arts Master:
    • Beast Fist/Hunters Art
    • Boxing
    • Judo
    • Karate
    • Krav Maga
    • Muay Thai
    • Professional Wrestling
    • Sambo
  • Weapon Proficiency:
    • Arnis
    • Escrima
    • Kali
    • Kyudo
    • Latigo y Daga
    • Sojutsu
    • Stick Fighting
    • Swordsmanship Skills
    • Tire Machet
• Peak Human Conditioning
  • Contaminant Resistance:
    • Poison Resistance
  • Exceptional Aesthetics:
    • Honed Charisma
    • Peak Human Handsomeness
  • High Potential
  • Honed Survivability
  • Peak Human Longevity:
    • Honed Recuperation
    • Peak Human Life-Force
  • Peak Human Senses:
    • Honed Hearing
    • Honed Sight
    • Honed Smell
    • Honed Taste
    • Honed Touch
  • Predator Instincts:
    • Inhuman Apathy
    • Weakness Detection
• Peak Human Physicality
  • Peak Human Agility:
    • Blood Rush Resistance
    • Exceptional Flexibility
    • Honed Coordination
    • Honed Equilibrium
    • Stealth Mastery
    • Vertigo Resistance
  • Peak Human Endurance:
    • Limited Hunger Suppression
    • Limited Pain Suppression
    • Limited Sleep Suppression
  • Peak Human Speed:
    • Peak Human Reflexes
  • Peak Human Stamina
  • Peak Human Strength:
    • Peak Human Durability

Equipment-

• Mystic Totems
  • Ceremonial Tattoo's
  • Fanged Necklace
• Suit
  • Hunter's Garb
  • White Lion Armor
• Technology
  • Advanced Chemical Compounds
  • Advanced Energy Based Technology
  • Advanced Stealth Technology
  • Advanced Surveillance Equipment
  • Enhanced Weaponry
• Vast Resources
  • Abundant Wealth
  • Carbonadium
  • Employed Assets
  • Heartwood
  • International Connections
  • Potions:
    • Cheetahs Potion
    • Drought Tonic
    • Eagles Potion
    • Elixer of Life
    • Lions Potion
    • Owls Potion
• Vehicles
  • Advanced Helicopters
  • Armored SUVs
  • Customized Jet Skis
  • Mobile Command Centers
  • Stealth Boats
  • Tactical Motorcycles
• Weaponry
  • Demolitions:
    • Handheld Explosives
  • Firearms:
    • Rifles
    • Shotguns
  • Gadgetry:
    • Bolas
    • Darts
    • Grappling Hooks
    • Nets
    • Smoke Bombs
    • Snares
    • Tracking Devices
    • Traps
    • Throwing Daggers
  • Mass Artillery
  • Melee:
    • Blades
    • Blunt Weapons
    • Ranged Weapons
  • Poisons
  • Projectiles:
    • Bow & Arrows
    • Crossbows

Part 64 To Shkegpewen (Part 1) (Part 63) (Part 65)
[This is my Ko-fi (kinda like Patreon) if you want to show some support]
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It was the morning of departure from Ten’txutcan and to Shkegpewen and Mik was currently his time introducing his faithful guard dog to the various people boarding the ship. With Terry’s impeccable training combined with her specifically bred instincts to protect anyone or anything she considered part of her pack, the man held no real fear of her lashing out or being too aggressive with anyone who would be on this ship, and thus part of her pack. However, what the Martian professor felt some concern over related purely to how the non-human people would react to the presence of a genuinely lethal apex predator, that was not fully sapient, living among them. Though the massive Cane Corso preferred to accompany her pack-father everywhere he went, Terry also enjoyed patrolling the territory she considered her own and demanding attention from those she felt particularly inclined towards. Considering this ship would be her home until the vessel NAN was working on could be completed, this was her brand new territory far larger than any she had reigned over before, Mik wanted to ensure that everyone aboard would be comfortable around her. With the crew and passenger manifest included dozens of names the man was unfamiliar with, he wanted to make sure that every single person knew that this nearly hundred kilo beast of a dog should be considered a friendly, if quite simple-minded, member of the security team.
​
To his pleasant surprise, Mik found that nearly every single one of the non-humans he had met seemed to be immediately enamored with the way Terry greeted them with a raised paw and enthusiastic whine which translated as ‘welcome’ through her special collar. While most of people he had introduced his canine companion to thus were Qui'ztars, and coming aboard to either serve as temporary crew members to train their human replacements or as guests aboard this rare flight heading towards Shkegpewen, there were a few members of other species as well. Particularly, a few of the Kyim’ayik, adorable little beaver-otters transferring over from the Nishnade’s drop cruise, the Kokoji-Wango, had at first seemed rather intimidated by the beast who was larger than they were. However, when Terry laid down, rolled over to expose her belly, and requested scratches with translated whines, they all were immediately won over by her charm. In fact, the only being who showed true apprehension towards the dog's presence was the largest Mik had met so far, a Hi-Koth who, after getting over the animal's intense stare, claimed to be one of Tens's long time friends. Despite the fact her lineage had been bred to guard livestock against the largest possible predators for countless generations, and it was simply part of Terry’s lineage to be wary of bear-shaped beings, the perfectly trained Cane Corso didn’t even raise her hackles, and it took a few more tense moments that normal for her to accept this new friend as part of her pack. However, after a brief lull where Terry had laid down and was seemingly dozing off, the massive guard dog suddenly sprang to its feet with its back raised and a slight snarl on its face.
​
“Aye! Wha's wrong, girl?” Mik immediately placed a firm grip on the handle of Terry's harness out of an abundance of caution. “What're yah smellin’?”
​
“Predator approaching.” The dog's slight growl translated through her collar with a clearly apprehensive tone.
​
“Predator?!?” As the bearded professor looked down the long and curving hallway, he saw Tensebwse and Atxika round the corner while holding the hands of a pair of blue children. “Damn it, girl! Those’re jus’ kids!”
​
“Predator behind babies.” Terry stomped one of her paws and squinted in the direction of the approaching group. “Hiding. Don't trust.”
​
“What’re yah…” Realizing this behavior was out of character, but Terry’s instincts were rarely wrong, Mik redirected his attention towards Tens, who was still several paces away. “Bozho, niji! Yah don’t got some kinda predator animal with yah, do yah?”
​
“Aho, niji!” Tens obviously hadn't yet noticed the way Terry was staring ang replied with his signature cheerful and sing songy tone. “And… Uh… I guess so. But it's just the jartygon I got for the kids a few years back. His name is Harji and he’s sweetheart. Trust me.”
​
Without even thinking about it, Tens reached back, gestured for the large blue woman following close behind to hand him the leash, and beckoned the animal he mentioned forward. However, much to the Nishnabe man’s surprise, the feline creature which resembled a cross between a striped hyena and a cheetah had completely frozen in place. For a brief moment, everyone, including the two animals, seemed to come to a total halt. Though Mik couldn’t yet see the full creature from this angle, he was able to spot a few features which immediately made him understand why Terry was acting the way she was.
​
“Hol’ up!” As the two children parted slightly to fully reveal the jartygon, the Martian professor spoke up with a half-chuckle in his voice. “What in the-! Tens, yah didn't tell me yah had a hyena! No wonder Terry's on edge. That thang righ’ there, I tell yah what!”
​
“What-?” Before Tens could even begin to question what his Martian friend was talking about, Minaria, the older and larger of the two children, started speaking in a way that immediately forced a smirk to form on both Tens and Mik’s faces.
​
“Harji is a jartygon, not a hi-ee-na!” The young girl being chaperoned by Atxika released her grip on her aunt’s hand and jumped to wrap both her arms around the large feline who had gotten into a staring contest with Terry. “And Uncle Tensebwse said your pet was nice but it’s scaring my Harji! Make it stop!”
​
“Yeah!” The young boy who was standing next to Tens followed his big sister's lead and likewise grabbed on to Harji, who was still far too fixated on Mik's dog to react. “Tell your big meanie to be nice to Harji!”
​
“Nadeli! Minaria!” The large blue woman standing at the back of the approaching group spoke with a tone that immediately informed Mik that she was the mother of these two lovely children. “You remember what Uncle Tensebwse told you! That canine is a well trained guard animal. It is likely just alarmed by the presence of another large animal it is unfamiliar with.”
​
“Yeah, tha’s pretty much right on the money. Sorry ‘bout that kids.” As Mik motioned for the family to approach, he redirected his attention to Terry, made a sharp snap with fingers to grab her attention, then sent a series of commands through their quantum-neuro link which roughly matched what he told her outloud. “Be nice, Terry. Sit. This big ol’ cat's a packmate not a predator.”
​
“Big stinky cat packmate?” Though Terry followed her commands and placed her butt firmly on the ground, she did so while shooting her pack-father a deeply incredulous look.
​
“Yes, an’ I'll make yah steak for dinner if yahr a good girl.” Mik retorted with a sotf chuckle, roll of his eyes, and shake of his head before turning to properly introduce himself to the kids and their mother. “By the way, my name’s Mikhail River, but yah can call me Mik ‘r Mountain. Whichever. An’ this here’s my loyal guard dog, Terry. She’s normally a sweetheart an’ only gets like this if she senses a real threat. She didn't even raise her hair at yahr mko-nikan, Tens.”
​
“Wait! Bani’s here?!?” Just as it seemed like the Nishnabe warrior was about to be distracted by the mention of his bear-friend, Atxika let out a sharp and obviously fake cough as a warning to her man. “Oh! Uh… Where are my manners? This is Tarzona, Atxika's cousin, her two adorable penojiyek, Minaria and Nadeli, and the jartygon I got for them a few years ago, Harji. I'm not sure of what Earth animal she reminds you of… I've never heard of a… hi-ee-na before, but his species is known for being fairly timid and anxious in the wild, so he really only likes Tarzona and the kids.”
​
“Harji tolerates me and the kids.” Tarzona chimed in with a smile and a soft giggle. “But he loves you, Tensebwse. You're the one always bringing home treats, afterall.”
​
“Speaking o’ treats…” Seeing as Terry had gone from a distrusting glare to curiously sniffing the air towards Harji, Mik finally felt comfortable releasing his grip from her harness so that he could reach that hand into one of the many pouches that lined it and his other into a cargo pants pocket. “I got some chocolates an’ somethin’ I think yahr big ol’ kitty's gonna like. Oh, an’ by the way, Tens… Did yah know there's a model kit with yah in it?”
​
“A what?!?”
​
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​
After the short process of taking UHDF Diplomatic Ship-1, as it had been temporarily designated, out of port and the slightly longer operation required to dock the brand new vessel to the Nishnabe Militia's Kokoji-Wango, the journey to Shkegpewen had unceremoniously begun with only a simple announcement of departure coming over the intercoms. While some of the people from Sol had been disappointed by their inability to physically watch as the hyperlane was formed and the pair of ships broke the light-speed barrier, they had all been repeatedly informed that no amount of transparent silicon-based material would properly protect them from the forms of faster-than-light radiation that the ships were currently being bombarded with. And while the more engineering minded individuals aboard were already trying to think of ways to make their dreams of seeing FTL travel first-hand possible, the vast majority had simply accepted their lives were far more important to them than being able to see what it looked like to be traveling faster than light with their own eyes.
​
With their first visit to a world outside of the Sol System proving to be a relaxing and enjoyable, if quite short, adventure, the newly Ascended humans from Sol were all deeply excited to see what Shkegpewen had to offer. The home planet of the Nishnabe, a world which sat at the very edge of Kyim’ayik-controlled space, had become quite the topic of fascination and discussion even before this leg of the journey had begun. Considering it had only been around a month and a half since the reunion of the people of Sol and their kin who had been abducted over a thousand years ago, speculation about the world the Nishnabe called home was running rampant on Earth, Mars, and the numerous space stations that floated around the Sol System. Even the members of the newly formed United Human Defense Fleet Council and their advisors, despite being given free and unfettered access to Nishnabe Web, weren’t exactly sure what they should be expecting. But now that it would be less than a week before they arrived, the conversations had slowly been shifting away from the more outlandish line of questions, most concerning things like basic infrastructure, development, and technologies, and more towards the personal areas of what life was really like. If even the entirely alien world of Ten’yoish felt familiar and comfortable, then the specifically-selected UHDF members had the wherewithal to know that their visit to Shkegpewen would likely leave them feeling just as displeased with the state of Sol.
​
Knowing that any of their lingering inquiries would soon be resolved once they docked into the massive space station sitting in a perfect geostationary orbit above Shkegpewen, the people from Sol wasted no time and had joined the Nishnabe and non-human people aboard DS-1 and the Wango in filling their time with the things they simply enjoyed doing. Each of the UHDF Council Members and their teams of consultants and advisors found that this luxury vessel provided by the Third Qui’ztar Matriarchy featured something that seemed almost intentionally designed for them. While a quite few of the Earthians and Martians lounged in nature area that integrated a complex aquaponics system with an immaculately recreated park, and several were enthralled by the many places, both real and imagined, they had instant access to via the top of the line simulation pods, it seemed everyone was already content only a few hours into their journey. Though they had only begun this leg of travel a few hours ago, every had already found a place for themselves while they killed time.
​
So when Mik made the announcement that a model building event was being held and open to anyone who wished to participate, he was pleasantly surprised to see just how many people had shown up. Though it was only the first day of this week long trip, and the man really didn't expect there to be much interest in this supposedly childish activity from the Qui’ztar guests and crew members, all five of the members of Tens's mech team who had joined in on this adventure and several of the off duty members of the crew had shown up with tools in hand and smiles on their excited faces. Even Sub-Admiral Marzima, a woman whose general appearance screamed hardened warrior, had her normally tightly braided hair down and was ecstatic as she opened a box that literally had her name written on it. The only thing that Mik could be disappointed about was the fact that none of the Nishnabe had arrived within the first hour of the event. But when Tensebwse, Atxika, and their niece and nephew went into the large lounge that had been repurposed as a massive hobby room, Mik was giddy with excitement. While Atxika was simply present to help the kids build their first models, something she fondly remembered from her youth, Tens was there for a very different reason.
​
“I don't know if I like this.” Tens commented while holding up a few centimeter tall model of himself. “It's kind of creepy how close this is to my armor.”
​
“Oh, come on, man!” Skol blurted out while looking up from the runner of detailed plastic bits he was in the process of snipping out with an almost angry look on his tattooed face. “I would kill to have my own official miniature! Take it as a compliment.”
​
“Not gonna lie, this is really awesome that they actually made these.” One of the members of the Order of Falling Angel's, the Qui’ztar mech team Tens trained and advised for, spoke up while rubbing shoulders with a slightly larger blue woman seated next to her. “Now I can keep a little Zika with me everywhere I go.”
​
“And you did agree to have your likeness recreated for the Order of Falling Angels merchandise line.” Atxika nonchalantly added while carefully watching over the two children who were fully enthralled by the brightly colored plastic parts. “You had me choose which charity the proceeds would go towards, and you should be happy to know you're helping fund the Freed Slaves and Refugees Assistance Program.”
​
“That's nice, I guess…” Tens had an incredulous look on his face as he spun the small plastic figure around in his hand. “But why am I holding my club like that? It seems kinda…”
​
“Gotta sell models, Tens!” Mik blurted out with a hearty chuckle. “I'm bettin’ that kit sells real well with teen an’ young adult women.”
​
“It is the best selling model kit in the eighteen to twenty-five demographic.” Atx added with a soft giggle and quick wink towards her lover. “You have been helping fund that program quite a bit, my love.”
​
“Oh, don't tell me that!” Tens scoffed, looked over the miniature version of himself one more time with a look of mild disgust on his face, then set it down on the table while continuing to stare at it. “But if it's helping freed slaves and refugees, I guess I can't really complain.”
​
“To be fair, it’s just the special edition pilot figures that have these… unique poses.” The larger of the pair of Qui'ztar women seated nearly on top of each other chimed in while holding up a similar miniaturized person that was modeled in such a way that it could be placed on top of the mech that came in the kit. “The standard editions aren't quite this… risque. But that just means more money for the charities. The real military models are all licensed so that fifty percent of all profits go towards a charity chosen by the individual or individuals being replicated. Chu and I chose a charity that assists single mothers and children who have been orphaned. Even though no one is really struggling, the better we make life for everyone, the better life is for everyone. At least that’s what my love here tells me.”
​
“Dang…” Mik couldn't help but let a massive smile form in his face as he delicately clipped pieces from the runner he was working on. “Good thing I refused the discount then. If the corps on Earth were doin’ stuff like that, us Martians probably woulda never rebelled!”
​
“Oh, y'all still would’ve fought for independence eventually!” General Ryan suddenly blurted out, his stoic silence while assembling a rather large kit with the aid of Admiral Tanaka a few meters away rendering him almost forgotten up until this point, and caught a few people's attention. “That's just the American way. And I'm pretty sure that's something we stole from y'all Natives, too.”
​
“Yah’re damn right! Y'all Europeans actually believed in that divine right o’ kings bullshit till yah saw how good we were livin’ without it. Y'all shoulda dumped that superstitious bullshit like we did.”
​
“Europeans were not the only people that held such irrational beliefs, Professor River.” The older Japanese man glanced up at Mik with a smirk. “Some link between divinity and royalty can be found in cultures throughout the world.”
​
“Yeah, Mountain!” Skol reached over to smack his far larger friend in the arm without looking up from the model he was working on. “Talking about superstitious bullshit, didn't your tribe used to believe in shapeshifters and little people? What were those fairies called? Gatneni?”
​
“Hey, gatneni are real!” Tens countered with a genuinely surprised inflection in his voice. “Those little bastards love to steal your shit and run away without ever being seen. And I guess you could say NAN is a shapeshifter too. So-”
​
“Wait, what do you mean gatneni are real?” Skol set down the tools in his hands and looked up at the Nishnabe with an almost distressed look in his face. “Like, there are little magical fairies that-”
​
“No, no, no! Little hairy people.” Tens tried to wave away the short, heavily-tattooed man's concerns. “They're a small primate species native to Shkegpewen's equator. They kinda look like us, but they're only fifty to eighty centimeters tall, covered in hair, and they run really fast. They also aren't anywhere near as smart as us. But they do love to steal food and shiny stuff any chance they get. Gotta leave something out for them otherwise they'll trash your house looking for something to steal.”
​
“What you are describing almost reminds me of the saru native to my people's country.” Admiral Tanaka seemed deeply excited by this revelation that there was a species of monkeys that lived in Nishnabe communities. “Will we have a chance to see these curious creatures?”
​
“Of course. They're everywhere in outlying cities and the more rural communities. But like I said, they're fast. You might not be able to actually catch sight of one unless they're being lazy. But you'll see what I mean when we get to Shkegpewen.”
(Next)

Hello!
I am planning on getting the scientific name for cheetah (Acinonyx jubatus). Any thoughts on what font it would look good in? Any other tips in general to give the tattoo artist to make sure I can make it as scientifically accurate / journal accurate as possible. I have seen horror stories of people tattooing things like this and a lack of care / foresight has ruined the tattoo.

Hi! I saw a lot of people asking for sources on scene fashion, and basically a deep dive into the subculture so I thought I’d make a master list of sorts for resources on fashion, culture, music, and phenomena that happened in the scene years.
So first off let’s start with the history: Scene started in the early 2000s as a breakaway from emo subculture and was also called “scenesters”, “scenies”, or “trendies”, the idea was that you were to be a “happy emo”.
That being said, let’s get into fashion.
Fashion consisted of skinny jeans, bright neon clothes, pop culture references such as Invader Zim or Batman, the emo straight hair and fringe bangs, and brightly colored hair dye with odd patterns like raccoon stripes or cheetah prints. Early Hot Topic was a critical need for this fashion due to the accessibility and accessories sold there. Gauged ears and tattoos were also a very common fashion accessory, most having been done at home stick and poke style (common was the smiley face from Nirvana).
Music: Here’s where it gets a little tricky. Music was a HUGE part of the subculture not just dressing the part. Bands like Metro Station, Suicide Silence, Cute is What We Aim For, Medic Droid, Mayday Parade, Escape the Fate, Paramore and Black Veil Brides were commonly associated with the scene subculture.
History of the subculture:
We owe our roots to people like Javier Van Huss, the bassist of Eighteen Visions who battled the idea of toxic masculinity in the metal and rock scene as well as Johnny Whitney, the lead singer of the band Blood Brothers for his notable contributions as well in his “sass metal” which challenged the ideals of masculinity and took inspiration from Harajuku and visual kei bands in Japan.
Gabe Saporta is also a notable founder of mainstream scene fashion.
Resources:
https://www.popmatters.com/scene-subculture-origins-hardcore-harajuku
https://thetab.com/uk/2017/07/05/cringe-things-youll-remember-scene-kid-mid-2000s-42342
https://web.archive.org/web/20191011194932/http://www.thekindland.com/culture/voices-on-being-scene-even-when-youre-not-a-kid-1576
https://www.smh.com.au/national/inside-the-clash-of-the-teen-subcultures-20080330-gds7cn.html
https://www.altpress.com/2009-scene-albums/
Feel free to ask any defining questions! This is a short deep dive.

54 BC
The sun burned white hot from its zenith in the sky, yet the cool wind brushing past Cleopatra provided refreshing opposition to its baking wrath, even if the wind did blow dust into her eyes. She flipped the reins that were tied around her waist to keep her two horses galloping at top speed even as they maneuvered between the boulders strewn over the barren plain. The strength of the animals pulling on the reins while she gripped them was all that kept her stable in her chariot despite its constant shaking and bouncing.
Her friend Amanirenas was fast closing the distance between them from behind. The way the Kushite princess’s horses, both of which she had brought with her from her homeland far up the Nile, were gaining ground, it would only be moments before she wrested the lead from her Kemetian counterpart. Already she had drawn close enough that, even through the billowing clouds of dust, Cleopatra could make out the details of her gold, carnelian, and ivory jewelry, including the twin cobras that reared on her gold skullcap crown. It had to be conceded, what they said about the Kushites’ horses was true. They really were among the fastest in the world.
Ahead of them, the land started to slope down, causing both chariots to pick up speed. The further they rode, the steeper the terrain fell, and the faster their horses ran.
“You still sure it was a good idea not to do this in the hippodrome?” Amanirenas shouted over their horses’ hoofbeats. “You know, like most civilized people?”
“Admit it, Amani, this is more fun!” Cleopatra called back. “Not to mention how the scenery changes more around you!”
Her chariot jolted. The slope had grown precipitous enough that her horses dug their hoofs into the crumbly earth, only to slide down even further. Cleopatra had to pull her reins taut to get them to stop before falling to their doom.
They had descended into a deep gulch that cut westward through the desert in a crooked line. Farther down the course of the ravine on its opposite side stood a tall wooden cross with something white dangling from its arms. The way it jangled in the wind, Cleopatra doubted it was a banner.
“We should turn back, Cleo,” Amanirenas said. “We’ve gone out far enough.”
"Hold on, I want to see what’s on that cross over there,” Cleopatra replied.
“All right, but whatever it is, it can’t be good.”
The two princesses unwound their reins and hopped out of their chariots. After tethering their horses to stakes they set in the ground, they walked down the floor of the gulch until they reached the cross. As Cleopatra had suspected, it was a bleached human skeleton that hung from it, the arms pinned to the limbs of the cross in the style of a Roman crucifixion. Some bones had fallen off, and many holes pocked the skull. Cleopatra’s palms and brow chilled beneath her perspiration despite the desert’s midday heat.
“Who could that have been?” Amanirenas asked. “Did someone get put to death out here?”
“I believe it’s a warning against trespassers,” Cleopatra answered. “There might be a tribe here marking their borders.”
“In which case, we should leave.”
“Honestly, Amani, I agree for once.”
Cleopatra had not even turned around when a yipping cackle cracked through the desert’s silence. Behind them swaggered ten men in dusty linen loincloths and goatskin capes, with ostrich feathers waving atop their short, braided black hair. Their skin, tattooed with zig-zagging black lines and triangles, ranged in color from a shade paler than Cleopatra’s honey-brown complexion to almost ebony like Amanirenas. All of them gripped iron stabbing swords that glinted under the sunlight, as did the yellowed teeth between their curling lips.
“You’re right about it marking our border, my lady,” the foremost and most broad-chested of the warriors growled in Kemetian with a guttural foreign accent. “Welcome to the land of the Libu. You two look to be of noble birth from Kemet or Kush.”
"Which means the Roman buyers in Cyrene will bid even more for them,” the warrior to his left said. “They’re such blossoming young beauties, aren’t they?”
Cleopatra grimaced at both his lechery and the prospect of being sold like chattel at a Roman slave auction in Cyrene to the far northwest. “For your information, Libyan, I am Cleopatra Philopator, daughter of Pharaoh Ptolemy the Twelfth of Kemet. And this is my friend Amanirenas. Her father is the Qore of Kush.”
A third Libyan sneered with a nod. “Oh, I’ve heard of you, Princess Cleopatra. They say your father is an inbred Macedonian cur and your mother a native whore!”
Cleopatra did not take kindly to insults against her father, and she took even less kindly to insults against her mother. She unsheathed her curved kopis sword and waved it at the advancing Libyans while baring her teeth like a cornered lioness.
“Also for your information, my mother is no mere ‘whore’,” she said while brandishing her weapon. “Her father was High Priest of Amun over in Waset to the south, and so is her brother now¹. Regardless of my lineage, you mess with royalty at your own peril!”
“Royalty, you say? Forget about just selling them into slavery, then,” a fourth warrior said. “Imagine the ransom their families will pay for them!”
Amanirenas placed both of her hands on Cleopatra’s shoulders. “Cleo, we should get back to the chariots. There’s ten of them and two of us.”
“I’m afraid we’ve already claimed your chariots,” the foremost Libyan replied. “As you can see for yourselves.”
He gestured toward the chariots far behind them, which already had men like him dragging them up from the ravine walls, with the horses neighing and stamping their hooves in resistance. The blood drained from Cleopatra’s face, leaving it cold.
“Let us make a deal here, princesses of Kemet and Kush,” the lead warrior continued. “You two come with us, and we’ll send you back to your families unharmed…for a handsome price, of course. Otherwise, we’ll have two new skeletons to mount on our cross.”
“No, wait, I see a better use for them if they refuse,” his partner to the left said as he licked his lips. “We’ll keep them alive, but they’ll be ours to do as we please. If you know what I mean…”
All the Libyans snickered and then guffawed among themselves like ravenous hyenas. Cleopatra’s stomach twisted with nausea. She did not want these unwashed barbarians keeping her and her friend captive to extort their families, but she wanted the Libyans to take advantage of their bodies even less. She would sooner die.
“If you want me and my best friend, you’ll have to fight for it,” Cleopatra snarled. “Come and get us!” She and Amanirenas stood put with both their swords drawn as the Libyans charged, roaring a battle cry in their native language. One lunged an arm to grab Cleopatra’s throat. She sidestepped and sank her sword to the hilt into his abdominals. A river of dark crimson spurted from the man’s mouth as he bent over and fell, with both his eyes glazed over as they stared back at her. Never had Cleopatra killed a man with her own blade before, and she could not deny the unease clenching her gut.
A second Libyan wrung his muscular arm around her neck and yanked her off the ground. She squirmed and kicked her legs while he squeezed the breath out of her. Cleopatra banged her heel into the barbarian’s shin, and he dropped her, after which Amanirenas finished him off by stabbing his spine.
Two more warriors grabbed the princess of Kush by her arms, with a third tearing the sword out of her hand. Cleopatra bolted toward her friend’s attackers until two of the remaining Libyans blocked her way and slashed at her. One of their blades sliced across her tunic, drawing blood from the skin underneath, and she collapsed on her knees from the sharp pain. One of the Libyans pulled on Cleopatra’s braided hair while the other grabbed her wrist and plucked her sword out from her grip, slipping it under his loincloth’s thong.
She punched the second warrior’s face with her left fist, breaking his nose with a crack of bone. The Libyan reared up with an anguished, nasal holler while his companion tugged harder on her hair. After throwing a hand overhead to pinch her captor’s forearm between her sharp fingernails, Cleopatra pulled herself free of his grasp, snatched her kopis from the other Libyan’s loincloth, and cut through them both while twirling around on her leg. They fell like trees before a woodcutter.
The six Libyans who were left had Amanirenas surrounded and buried beneath their burly bodies. Cleopatra could hear her voice cry out, “Go, Cleo! Don’t worry about me. Run back to your family—tell them to send soldiers after me!”
There were more warriors rushing down the gully, all brandishing swords as they converged on the captured Amanirenas. Even at her most determined, Cleopatra had no hope of fighting all of them.
“I can’t abandon you, Amani!” she screamed.
“Go!” Amanirenas yelled. “Go, go, go!”
And so Cleopatra went. She scrambled up from the gulch and sprinted across the desert, pausing only once to see the barbarians carry away her friend along with their chariots and horses. Tears flooded her eyes, turning the world around her into a watery blur, and streaked down her cheeks. Amanirenas may have told her to leave her behind, but doubtless the brutes would do unspeakable things to her friend while they held her, and then her family would have to pay out of their treasury to free her.
It was all Cleopatra’s fault. They should have stuck to the hippodrome back in Alexandria instead of venturing out into the desert. Her parents would be furious with her, and so would Amanirenas’s. Even worse, Cleopatra had put her best friend, one of the people she cared about most, in harm’s way. All because she thought racing chariots in the desert would be “more fun”.
No, Cleopatra could not let the Libyans ravish or abuse Amanirenas in any way. Not even while she awaited rescue. No, the princess of Kemet had to rescue her Kushite friend as soon as she could, even if she had to do so all alone. Then they could return home that night together, both safe and sound.
#
As hot as the desert could get during midday, its heat had all but burned out come sundown, leaving chill breezes to sweep across it under a scarlet sky. Cleopatra had spent the whole time following the Libyans’ tracks down the gulch, which eventually opened into a broader fan of earth that sloped down into a lower, sandy plain. Although the evening winds did blow sand and dust over the footprints, none of them had been strong enough to erase them all from sight. Besides, she could make out a black line of silhouetted palm and acacia trees in front of the setting sun, marking an ideal place for even the hardiest desert tribesmen to shelter for the night.
Sneaking toward the oasis, Cleopatra could make out islets of yellow light flickering in front of the palm trees, revealing the dome-like forms of hide tents huddled around them. She climbed a low dune near the encampment to get a better view, crouching behind its crest to stay out of sight of any sentries. Even from a distance, she could hear the rude banter of Libyan tribesmen around the campfires and smell the aroma of roasting goat meat. At the far end of the camp, two warriors with spears and cheetah-skin shields guarded a post that had bound to it a woman bedecked with glittering jewelry and a white linen gown. That had to be Amanirenas herself.
Behind the cage slept tethered goats and donkeys as well as the stolen horses with their chariots still attached. Both the princesses still would have had their hunting bows slung on those chariots’ sides, so what Cleopatra needed to do was sneak hers out and shoot an arrow into the darkness to distract the Libyans. Even so, she had to make sure not to wake up and spook the animals. One goat’s startled bleat might blow away her cover.
She glided down the dune, lowered herself to a half-crouch, and skirted the camp on tiptoes. Whenever one of the Libyans looked up from their campfires to gaze in her direction, Cleopatra would take cover behind a rock, bush, or one of the outlying trees until they turned their gaze away. Upon reaching the area where they kept their animals, she headed straight for her chariot from behind. Both her horses lay on their folded legs in deep sleep with the reins still on them.
As Cleopatra unslung her bow and quiver from her chariot, she rocked it by accident, causing a faint creak. One of the horses raised its head with a low nicker, and a goat bleated. She hurried to the spooked horse and stroked its muzzle with her hands, whispering into its ear to calm it down even while her own heart palpitated. In her mind, the princess of Kemet begged Sekhmet, the lion-faced goddess of war, to bless her with success.
Now that she had retrieved her bow, she tiptoed toward the post to which they had bound Amanirenas and drew an arrow along the bow until the string went taut, aiming for the emergent stars in the heavens. She shot, and sure enough, both the men guarding her friend abandoned their positions to get a closer look at where it had hit. Once both tribesmen had moved several paces away, Cleopatra sprang behind the post and sawed the rope off her friend’s hands with her sword.
“I told you to go get help first!” Amanirenas whispered. “You’re going to get us both killed!” Cleopatra held her finger over her lips. “We can argue later. Follow me.”
One of the two guards had turned his head to face both princesses and pointed his spear at them. “Hey, you! What are you doing without your bonds, princess of Kush?”
Both women sped to their chariots while both Libyan guards pursued them. A sentry’s horn blared from the camp as Cleopatra mounted her chariot and flipped her reins while yelling to wake her horses up. One of the guards’ spears flew at her, and she had to tilt her body back to dodge it. The second thrust his weapon at Amanirenas, but the Kushite princess evaded with a sidestep, tore her bow off her chariot and smacked it into his brow, knocking the Libyan out.
By the time both the princesses of Kemet and Kush were on their chariots and had awakened their horses, all the warriors in the camp surrounded them with murder ablaze in their eyes.
Cleopatra tied her reins around her waist and nocked another arrow to her bow. “This will be like how they hunted antelope in the old days, except more intense.”
Amanirenas followed Cleopatra’s example, grinning as she drew out an arrow of her own. “Now you’re talking, Cleo.”
The two women shouted for their horses to gallop, and so they did, running through the massed Libyan warriors as if they were nothing more than dense papyrus reeds along the Nile. Men screamed as they fell under the animals’ hooves, their bones and weapons crunching beneath, while Cleopatra and Amanirenas both tortured their ranks with arrows. Having trampled a path of carnage through the tribal horde, they rode out into the desert toward the northeast, with the surviving Libyans charging after them.
“I’m sorry I didn’t sound grateful when you cut my bonds,” Amanirenas said. “My family and I owe you everything.”
“You’re too kind,” Cleopatra replied. “It goes to show you, Amani, sometimes risks are worth taking.”
Something whooshed past her, and one of her horses tumbled off its footing with a shrill neigh, bringing the other one down with it and the chariot to a screeching halt. A Libyan javelin had hit the first horse in the shoulder, and the warriors were closing the distance between them and Cleopatra with tireless speed. She flipped her reins frantically to get her animals to move again, but they would not budge.
The Libyans had her entrapped in another ring of men. Like cruel demons from the underworld, they taunted her with bloodthirsty roars while thrashing their swords and spears and stamping their feet on the sand. One of them, whom Cleopatra recognized as the leader of the gang who had attacked her and Amanirenas in the gulch, stepped forth from the horde to approach her with outspread arms. Even his yipping cackle was the same as the one she had heard earlier that day.
“Give up, Princess Cleopatra,” the Libyan leader said. “Your horses have fallen, and we have you surrounded. Only if you surrender yourself will we spare you.”
Cleopatra drew out her sword, used it to cut the reins off her waist, and pointed it at him. “I’d sooner sink to the darkest depths of the underworld!”
“Very well, you’ve chosen to fight to your death. So, fight we shall!”
Cleopatra and the Libyan sprang at one another, their swords shooting sparks as they clashed and scraped against each other. As the rest of the barbarians watched, they hooted out one word which Cleopatra took to be her opponent’s name.
“Masgava! Masgava! Masgava!”
Their blades clanged together many more times in a swirling dance of iron until Cleopatra was able to slash Masgava’s chest, with blood trickling from the cut. The Libyan barbarian growled an unintelligible curse as he swiped back at her. She ducked beneath the blade’s path, but the sword’s pommel came back to crash into her forehead. Specks of bright light flashed in her vision as she fell to the desert floor. Pinning Cleopatra with his foot, Masgava chopped down at her. She parried him, but he had struck with enough force that he brought their blades dangerously close to her face. And he was pushing down on them harder, while her muscles bunched up in resistance.
An arrow pierced the Libyan’s eye, its tip poking out the back of his skull. He toppled over with a death rattle, and Cleopatra rose to her feet to see Amanirenas bursting through the horde on her chariot, mowing down men while shooting more arrows at the rest. Emboldened by her friend’s return, she hacked away at the remaining Libyans with her kopis, their blood spraying all over her.
The princess of Kush extended a hand to her Kemetian friend. “Get on, and we’ll dash out of here.”
Cleopatra jumped onto her friend’s chariot, and together they rode toward the rising moon, escaping a volley of barbarian javelins and leaving the horde far behind. To her surprise, the Libyans did not continue their pursuit, instead retreating in the direction of their camp until they vanished under the horizon. The tribesmen must have found themselves too worn out and battered to keep up the chase. Besides, what they said about Kushite horses was true. They really were among the fastest in the world. Certainly too fast for the Libyans to catch up.
“Sorry I didn’t come back sooner,” Amanirenas said. “I’d forgotten to look back and see if you were following me.”
“It doesn't matter,” Cleopatra said. “Like you said to me earlier, I owe you everything. But why come back to rescue me by yourself so soon? You could have gone back home to call for help.”
“It’s like what you told me a short while ago, Cleo. Sometimes risks are worth taking.”
“Well, that is the last time you and I will ever race into trouble like that, Amani.”
The princesses of Kemet and Kush laughed together as they rode back to Alexandria.
¹Author’s Note
Although Cleopatra VII Philopater’s dynasty, the Ptolemaic dynasty, undeniably descended from one of the Macedonian Alexander the Great’s generals, her mother’s identity remains unknown. My portrayal of her mother as being related to the Kemetian (Egyptian) priesthood of Amun is strictly authorial speculation.

Judge rolls in to work.
Some SWAT officer in the corner is rambling about the bible or something.
Two SWAT officers are poking at him while he stubbornly resists any attempt at human interaction.
A third SWAT officer comes over and zipties the bible SWAT officer.
They carry him out of the building and he falls silent.
Judge stares as they dump him into a bearcat and disappear.
Judge wonders what the fuck that was about.
The Captain comes in.
They’re clearing up the last of Amos Voll’s network.
Some talent agency that came up in the burnt out hard drives.
It’s in a part of town that’s seen better centuries.
It’s nice to have unambiguous villains to go kill again.
Judge left his captive bolt gun at home so he’ll have to settle for a SIG MCX.
ROLL SWAT!
Yup, the town’s definitely seen better centuries.
Judge walks into the 7-11
Judge takes a meat pie and some skittles.
Judge will eat like a king later.
Judge opens the door to the wider talent agency parking lot.
Judge is nearly cut in half by a burst of automatic fire.
Judge ducks back and mag dumps half a .300 magazine through the door.
Judge assumes from the loud screaming the man has been hit.
Judge exits to the parking lot and takes fire from three angles.
The Terminators quickly start dispatching additional guards with terrifying efficiency.
Judge calls in the deaths.
TOC acknowledges.
Judge faintly hears Katy Perry in the background.
Judge isn’t a firework.
Judge is upset.
Judge pushes to the side entry and prepares to breach.
The door bursts open and a guard mows down a Terminator while he zipties a homeless man not wearing pants.
Judge shoots him several times.
Judge looks at the body.
This dude also looks homeless, except he’s wearing a plate rig.
Judge wonders how much it’d cost for him to pay the homeless guy outside his home to act as armed security.
Whatever.
Judge breaches.
Judge sees a civilian staring at the corpse.
She starts taking pictures of the SWAT team following behind Judge.
She appears impervious to commands to resist.
Gotta get that perfect shot for the ‘Gram.
Judge whacks her with the muzzle of his rifle.
She finally complies.
She is scandalised that a man has struck her.
SHE’S INNOCENT! She claims.
Judge doubts that.
Nobody in this building is innocent.
Judge worked with a JTAC that would’ve leveled this building with a gigantic erection and one hand given half an opportunity.
Judge arrests her.
Judge gives her a Judgemental slap to the back of the head as he fastens the cuffs.
Judge doesn’t like pictures.
Judge doesn’t like people this stupid.
Judge will personally ensure this woman has the book thrown at her.
Any person this stupid has violated the social contract and lacks basic human decency.
Some things can’t be forgiven.
Judge rolls into the main lobby area.
Gunfire erupts from four angles.
Judge rolls out of the main lobby area.
Judge orders the Terminators to bang and clear it.
Judge steps back.
This is their problem now.
The Terminators breach the door.
BANG.
Five guards are miraculously taken alive.
Some dude in a snakeskin coat and cheetah print pants has a gun in one hand and a phone in the other.
He’s very belligerent.
Judge assumes anyone here is a hostile combatant.
Brixley was done for rape in the Army, Judge figures he’s not leaving alive.
He surrenders.
Judge wonders if this guy knows he’s not leaving alive.
This isn’t even Brixley.
Judge walks into a store room, there’s a woman hiding there.
She begs not to be shot.
Judge doesn’t shoot innocent women.
Judge shoots her.
Judge moves on and takes stock of the disgustingly bleak building they’re in.
Judge has fucked Bolivian hookers in burnt out bomb shelters that look better than this place.
Judge looks at the walls, the palm prints were obviously made by children trying to flee in drugged stupours.
The posters around the room scream ‘Will traffic your child 4 $$$”
Judge enters a hallway and is confronted by a terrifying star.
Judge will not wish upon this star.
Judge will burn this building down.
More guards confront them down the hallway.
Judge guns them down.
Anyone that works here has no right living in polite society.
Or whatever LS counts as.
One guard screams “SOMEONE MUST HAVE MADE A CALL!”
Judge wonders if these guys watch the news.
After Amos was killed Judge figured these people would scatter.
Not keep running a fucking talent agency.
Judge opens a toilet door and sees the creepiest altar he’s ever seen.
“Don’t forget to smile!”
The tree people wish they’d been as frightening as these scumbags.
Judge catches sight of a briefcase full of money and a bunch of green-screen children.
There’s also alcohol here too.
This is just disgusting.
Judge hears another woman scream from a different room “I’m not leaving without my child!”
Judge hasn’t seen a single child here yet.
Judge feels a pang of sympathy, might be too late for her kid.
Fuck man, that sucks.
The Terminators sort it out, securing these people with the clinical efficiency and empathy you’d expect of robotic monsters.
Judge walks forward to what looks like another green room.
More posters, more costumes, a gigantic teddy bear, a white trash mother and there he is.
Brixley.
Nothing is more cringe than a guy that gets kicked out of the military that keeps wearing camouflage.
Judge knew a guy that washed out of basic that got his military ID number tattooed on his chest.
Judge has no idea why he’d do that, it just seems like a permanent reminder of his failure.
Judge hates this guy.
Judge shoots him twice in the head.
Judge turns around and sees a sign for the “Vanilla Star Bar”
It’s not quite “Strippers R Us” but it’s close.
The Terminators say nothing.
Nobody comments at Judge executing this guy.
Maybe there was a hotfix which changed their behaviours.
Who knows.
Judge comes back out to the main lobby area.
He takes note of the girl on the tackboard
She looks depressed.
Why would a parent do this?
This is the most transparently awful thing Judge has ever seen.
Judge takes note of this being a former safe injection site.
Judge feels vindicated for his continued hatred of safe injection sites.
The only way this place could be worse is if they had actual child sacrifices here.
But even then, they’d at least put some effort in to have better decor.
Judge walks back out into the pouring rain.
It’s somehow even more depressing out here than in there.
A bunch of homeless people are nervously watching him.
Judge shakes his head.
Their crime is being nearby, not worth it.
Judge puts it on safe and lets it hang.
Judge doesn’t call it in, he just walks back to the Bearcat.
Area secure.
Plenty of CSAM stuff to be analysed by the boys in the lab.
More bodies for the morgue.
Some parents who should have their children taken away from them are secured.
The armoury at LSPD has a bunch of new kit courtesy of these guards.
Judge unclips his helmet and stares blankly ahead.
Just another day in Los Suenos.
The city of dreams.
Mission success?

I have 5 tattoos. Some are less professional than others. Some cost 25$ some cost 300$. Well in 2018 I decided while venturing into a sex work lifestyle to get something that would show my dedication to my hustle and my new found respect for it. Yes I did go the Pinterest route and yes I regret it but it was there I saw my next tattoo. It had roses, a pistol, cheetah print underneath.. yes it sounds horrible but to be fair Im not the best at detail telling and I was craving a tattoo and one that looked like a typical stripper would have. Found a random person on instagram, messaged her, and we talked prices. 200$ for the whole pic, I had some extra cash so I showed her another with a Leo sign next to it. She said I’ll do the small for the free and in the next hour she was on her way to my house. I was doing sex work and planned on massaging so I had a massage table and the tattoo was done. I’ve started to hate it and recently chatted with another tattoo artist to cover it up. He set the price at 300. He has more credible work and works in a shop. Well yesterday was our appointment. I wore a thong, boxer shorts, and tights because it’s cold. He asked me to show him the tattoo to which I strip down to the thong because the tattoo goes on my hip and downwards. Im of course a little uncomfortable with everything just because when he says something under his breath saying “hairy”. I playfully tried to play it off and tell him I’m not getting active to which he got mad and said it would not make good picture to have hair sticking out my thong, and that it’s unladylike, and that hairs trap odors and this was his first time dealing with this. He rescheduled me to next week so I could take care of myself. I never thought of it being disrespectful or unsanitary until our talk and I’m thinking about apologizing and moving forward with the tattoo. But first I wanted to ask aitah for not shaving ?

Duff McKagan (G’N’R, Velvet Revolver)
Chris Chaney (Janes Addiction, Alanis Morissette, The Coattail Riders and The Earthlings)
Mark Evans (True original AC/DC bassist, Rose Tattoo, Finch and Cheetah)
Or other
My guess would be Duff