#girl who is fueled by rage and spite and violence

[noxianwilled]

i think katarina is only dressed Like That to show off the tattoo actually

#» out of character — ⌜main sup irl.⌟ #this is. semi serious #kjsdnfkjansdfkjn #i do enjoy a lot the hc that tattoos likely are frowned upon by nobility #and that she did it out of spite c: #girl who is fueled by rage and spite and violence #i love her

[silverzoomies]

Venti Iced White Mocha

kai anderson x reader smut

warnings: rivals with benefits, shameless smut, shower sex, rough sex, cunnilingus, ass to mouth (sorry), degredation (sorry), female reader (sorry lol), kai anderson is his own warning

word count: 5,177

a/n: i should preface this by apologizing. i'm not sure if the person who initially requested shower sex with kai wanted something quite like this. this is a goddamn shitshow !! i'm really sorry !! reader's kind of an overconfident bitch here, so apologies for that too. i wanted to make her as exaggerated as the girls were in the show, yk?

and apologies if none of this makes any sense. as usual, my writing's pretty clunky and all over the place. ksjhgkdsjhgkjdsg

taglist: @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @icannot3 @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz

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During every one of his speeches as a respected city councilman; Kai knew, inevitably, he’d see you there.

As he stood at the mic, singing divine words of a new-age revolution. You would always come parading by, ranting and raving your delusions of feminist grandeur. Waving your decorative, neon, picket signs (aesthetics inspired by your nightly pinterest browsing); you would protest Kai’s holy praises of liberation. Overshadowing his words with your fake news and sacrilegious falsehoods.

Kai despised you. And desperately, he wanted to see your head on a pike.

In truth, however, he admired your tenacity.

You were such a brave soul, to stand up and fight. To speak your naive, girlish truths with such passion. Even despite the horror you continuously witnessed at Kai’s rallies. So many of his speeches ended in violence and bloodshed. Still, you protested anyway. You did all you could to pull the people’s attention away from Kai. And instead, you directed them to your obscene, ignorant ramblings.

Even Kai himself couldn’t deny it. You had guts, you had heart, and most importantly, you had stubborn determination.

One day, Kai decided to be the better man. Because at his core, he was always the better man.

If you weren’t going to cease your protests, then he’d be the one to step in and make peace. In spite of your obvious, unwarranted hatred towards the opposite sex. Kai approached you at the end of another rally, offering politely to buy you a coffee.

He figured you liked coffee. At least, you were definitely the type who appreciated a girly, sugarbomb of a drink every once in a while.

Or every day, probably. Didn’t every basic, women's studies bitch live off that shit?

Kai took it upon himself to purchase for you a venti, iced, white chocolate mocha (shots of blonde espresso, two pumps white chocolate, cup lined with caramel, no whip, vanilla sweet cream cold foam, a little extra caramel drizzle). Just to mock you a little bit, maybe. Not like you were perceptive enough to catch on.

Surely, such a #slay-queen’s dream of a drink would satisfy you long enough, that Kai could engage you in civil conversation. And after a long, tension heavy, passive aggressive discussion about…he couldn’t remember what, really. Somehow, Kai’s meeting with you ended in sex.

The roughest and nastiest of hateful, rivalry sex. In the back of your 2013 Kia Sportage. The kind of car that screamed, 'I need protection from big, scary men.'

Kai barely took initiative. Because you were the one to grab the reins and lead him to victory. You forced him down with your palms to his broad chest. And spitting off insult after insult, criticizing his worth as a politician; you rode Kai’s dick to kingdom come. Euphemism implied.

Of course, he should’ve expected such an outcome. Especially from a depraved, rageful animal like you.

Kai could recall, in his hazy, adderall-fueled memory, two more instances wherein the both of you cracked. Engaging in sinful, filthy acts of sexual intimacy. Sweaty, unforgiving, and fueled with unbridled loathing for the opposite sex. Not his fault you wanted his dick so bad. Behind closed doors, you practically worshiped the musky, masculine power of his cock.

He couldn’t get you out of his mind. Only because you refused to see his side of things, obviously.

Whenever Kai met with you, he always tried to explain his perspective. He shared his ideas, and mentioned the changes he wished to see in the world. And you did nothing but laugh every time. Constantly, you insisted his obsession with the instinctive fears of humans would lead him nowhere.

“If you continue to play into civilian terror, you’ll never be an ideal leader, Anderson.” You said, sipping another, venti, iced, white chocolate mocha he bought for you. Out of the generosity of his heart.

Your lipstick left behind traces of color on the straw. And Kai thought vividly about what that same color would look like, wrapped in a vibrant ring around his cock. As he crammed his dick so far down your throat, you’d feel the imprint of his bulbous head for weeks.

“Oh, and b-t-dubs? Breeding more violence in this city is only gonna end in misery for you. Just so you know.” You added with a sassy, overconfident wave of your hand.

Sharp, finely manicured nails decorated your fingers, painted in one of your favorite colors. Kai wanted to feel you rake those nails sharply down his back. All while he drilled your sweet pussy so violently, you’d be fucked speechless.

You also mentioned that, if Kai managed to somehow, in some way succeed; the women of the world would continue to suffer in silence. Because they were your main concern. Always your number one concern. Never the liberation of every person, be they male, female, or attack helicopter. But women, and women only.

Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.

You needed a harsh reality check.

Naturally, Kai figured, if he scared the ever-loving shit out of you? You’d finally listen to reason.

If Kai broke into your apartment one night in an adderall-induced high, wearing his signature clown ensemble. And if he spray painted your walls with an emblematic symbol. A subtle, little warning to instill paranoia and fear. A warning that you’d been marked by the city’s most dangerous murderers. Maybe then, at long last, you’d see the light.

Kai could finally welcome you into the fold, as part of his movement. And he could use your strengths (your insufferable stubbornness) to his advantage. While he also fucked you brainless, turning you into his little breeding tool.

Maybe.

He’d have to think it over. Give it a few business days.

Once he broke into your apartment, Kai didn’t expect to find you in the shower. But of course, that’s where you were. The instant he overheard the faint sound of the water running, he was caught off guard. Underneath the thick rubber of his clown mask, Kai heaved hot breaths. Trudging through the hall of your apartment, he found the cracked door to your bathroom. Steam trickled out from inside, and Kai placed a gloved hand on the door. Carefully, he pushed it open, listening as you sang a womanly ballad to yourself.

Professing your raw power, as a single lady who had her heart broken one, too many times.

He almost felt sorry for you.

Kai thought you’d make for a good wife…if you weren’t such a fucking bitch all the time. But then again, maybe, he could be your saving grace. The one to teach you some proper discipline. Call it divine intervention.

Stepping over the damp, tiled floor in heavy boots, Kai carried a sharp knife in one hand. The serrated blade gleamed in the light, and a trickle of dried blood stained its edge. Kai stopped in his tracks to cast a glance over your bathroom sink. He peered through the obscuring eyes of his mask, analyzing every skin-care product and expensive cosmetic on the countertop.

Truly a shame, the way you felt the need to cake your face in heavy make-up. No doubt, you looked pretty enough without it. Who were you even trying to impress? 

Approaching the shower itself, Kai gazed upon the sparkly, pink curtains keeping you shrouded. He could see you then. Or rather, the curvaceous shadow of your womanly figure. You twirled and swayed, running your hands down your body. His eyes followed your movements, watching carefully as you soaped every inch of your soft skin.

Kai’s breath hitched under his mask. And to his own dismay, he realized, he was quickly falling victim to your voluptuous wiles. His girthy dick twitched to hardness, his balls hanging heavy between his legs. Ready to empty gushes of hot seed inside that fertile body.

He’d felt your angelic body before.

Kai had touched you in such lustful, degrading ways; he left you a shivering mess. He’d fucked you so brutally, you were reduced to nothing but an empty-headed bimbo afterwards. And knowing already what it was like to be inside you, he shouldn’t have reacted so strongly. Not after bearing witness to something as simple as your shadow. But he did. His cock was rock hard, aching desperately for the clench of your needy pussy again.

He couldn’t help but imagine what your alluring figure must look like right now. Sparkling with humid droplets of water, and clouded in a haze of hot steam. A subconscious part of him longed to hear the hateful, degrading things you’d say. If Kai, a raging chauvinist, dared to put his hands on you again.

Biting his tongue hard enough to draw blood, Kai found himself distracted. And for a humiliatingly long time, he remained frozen in place. He stood, staring ahead at the curtain through his mask. Perhaps he took more than his usual dosage of adderall (which was already ten thousand leagues beyond the recommended dose), leaving him zooted as all fucking hell. Because the moment you curiously pulled the sparkly curtain aside, Kai failed to react.

As expected, you screamed. Like a classic horror film’s final girl, you shrieked with ear-splitting power. Should you ever become a  member of his loyal crew, Kai decided then; he’d dub you ‘Scream Queen.’

You reared a hand back, and Kai dropped the blade he’d been holding. It fell to the wet floor with a sharp clatter, etching scratches into the tile below. Kai moved to defend himself, but you were too quick. A forceful slap landed hard against the rubber mask covering his face. Not strong enough to do any real harm, but quite the shock nonetheless.

Kai should’ve assumed you were going to fight back. You were always such a fighter.

Odd…he was really off his game tonight.

His guiding light, the great spirit Manson would probably be sorely disappointed in his carelessness. And Manson would be even more dissatisfied, that Kai let an indignant female throw him so far off course. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? Wing it?? He could barely think with a clear head!

Kai reached for your wrist, scrambling to grab it with a large, gloved hand. Seconds later, he somehow stumbled into your shower. And though you fought with all your might to shove him away, Kai held his ground. He proved far too strong for you, but you never gave in. You kicked and screamed in a fuming rampage. Such a stubborn, little fighter.

In a rather hasty, last minute decision; Kai reached up to pull his mask off. A mop of faded, blue hair dangled in his face. He stood under the trickling rain of the shower, in his all black outfit, thick coat, and heavy boots. For a split-second, you furrowed your brows. And you looked at Kai in a furious rage of confusion. He kept you pinned against the wall, with your wet, naked body vulnerable and completely open to him.

And Kai wanted nothing more than to claim your freshly showered pussy for himself.

“ANDERSON!?” You shrieked, your voice full of blinding, hot anger. And Kai winced at the sound, “The fuck do you think you’re-...OHMYGOD! You’re-...are you the fucking killer?? Of course you are! I should’ve known! You creep! You’re the mastermind behind it all! How the fuck could you-”

Rolling his eyes, Kai forcefully covered your mouth with a hand. He leaned in, paying no mind to the drizzle of scalding water soaking his blue locks. Droplets poured in thin, glistening streaks down his face. And he stared deep into your eyes with an unamused, soulless gaze.

“Shut the fuck up. Now.” He whispered in uncanny monotone, “I’m not the killer, and I’m not here to kill you, okay? Just stop fucking yelling.” Kai sighed, shaking his head, “And even if I was the killer? Don’t you think it’d be unwise to disrespect me like that?”

Showing you mercy, like the generous man he was, Kai lowered his hand from your mouth.

And instantly, he regretted such a gracious decision. Because apparently, you didn’t know when to shut the fuck up.

“Oh, bullshit!” You spat back, smacking a hand across his chest.

The defensive gesture sent a spark of hot rage flaring through Kai’s blood. But he swallowed down his anger, choosing to remain calm. He clenched a fist tightly at his side.

Be the better man. You're always the better man.

“Be honest! You’ve wanted me dead ever since I started protesting at your rallies! You just can’t fucking stand to see a woman steal your precious spotlight, can you?” You argued.

Fighting to free yourself from Kai’s hold, you pressed your damp, nude body against his. Ultimately, you failed to push him. Kai’s strength made him quite the immovable wall of muscle. But in your struggle, your bare thigh brushed against his crotch. Nudging the prominent bulge in his pants.

And Kai instinctively hissed. Fuck.

“Wait…” You breathed a snide laugh, “Oh my god…no fucking way! I get it now!” Taunting Kai, you angled your knee. And you gently applied pressure to his raging hard-on, “You men are all the fucking same! Goddamn incels! Every single one of you wants one thing! You only changed your mind about killing me because you wanna fuck me, is that it?”

Huffing an animalistic breath through his nose, Kai nearly lost himself in a wrathful frenzy. One of his big hands darted to your throat, wrapping a palm around it tightly. He squeezed it with a firm press of his thumb, keeping his other hand flat on the wet wall beside you. An endless spray of hot water showered over the two of you. And Kai stared daggers into your eyes, his inky, black gaze unblinking.

“Maybe I should fucking kill you, hmm?” He snarled, “You’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass since I became councilman. What do you think? If I choked you like this, and watched the light in your eyes fade to black? Do you think that’d finally fucking silence you?”

Gasping a deep, ragged breath, you shook your head wildly.

“You wouldn’t, though.” You choked. And when Kai showed you mercy once more, loosening his grasp by a touch; you had the gall to giggle, “So, what? Are you just humiliated? Awww…too bad your boner distracted you from cutting my thr-”

Livid and raving mad, Kai felt his blood boil to a scorching heat. He squeezed your throat in a more life-threatening grip. And instinctively, you brought your hands up to weakly claw at his glove. The thick, steamy heat of the shower stifled you. In Kai’s dangerously tight hold, you couldn’t catch your breath. Lightheadedness quickly swarmed your body, leaving you paralyzed.

“Better watch your fucking mouth, you little whore.” Kai spat, leaning in a bit too close, “As I’m sure you already know, there is nothing in this world more dangerous than a humiliated man.”

The tip of Kai’s nose brushed yours, and he found himself mesmerized by the fear in your eyes. Genuine terror overwhelmed your once confident gaze. And Kai’s angry frown slowly formed into a wicked, knowing smirk.

Finally, he unearthed it. The real, instinctive, human fear buried inside you. It radiated like an aura of pure panic, seeping through your every pore. In the face of death, you were just like everybody else. Confidence lost.

A vulnerable, helpless, little thing.

Kai wanted to keep you, to drag you kicking and screaming back home and into his basement. He imagined himself pulling you to the table under harsh, lamp light. There, he would lead you straight into a session of pinky power. Total honesty, an entirely different form of intimacy. Under the lock of his pinky, he’d knit and weave you to his heart’s content. Tempting you to confess every corrupt secret you kept contained. All for him.

Such a thought fueled him with buzzing anticipation. But if Kai was to tempt you into following his guidance, he needed to reel you in somehow. And he couldn’t do that, if he choked you to death in a rage of testosterone.

Standing under the shower’s humid downpower in his soaked clothes, Kai made another rash, reckless decision. Always thinking two steps behind, when everyone assumed he thought two steps ahead. He darted forward, kissing you hard against the wall. Releasing his hold on your throat, Kai let his gloved thumbs gently graze the skin of your neck. A wordless apology. Before he trailed his hands down your body, roughly squeezing your wet flesh.

If he was going to lure you into his trap and claim you as his own; he needed to find a balance. Equal justice, between showing you respect, and treating you like the lesser being you were. You seemed to appreciate a little of both, he noted.

When he parted his lips from yours for a second, you gasped for air. Choking on thick, humid steam, you braced your small hands on Kai’s shoulders.

"What the fuck?!" You breathed raggedly, digging your nails into the wet, ruined leather of his coat.

For a moment, he expected you to fight back again. Kai assumed you would lash out, and threaten him for nearly rendering you unconscious. But you merely inched your wet, naked body closer to his clothed one.

"Whatever. See what I mean? ...You're dangerous, but...I knew you wouldn't kill me..." You hummed.

No way you knew. You were only feigning confidence.

The momentary fear Kai once saw in your eyes dissipated, flooding over with carnal desire. And you proved once more, just how sick and twisted in the head you really were. With your lucious, damp body pressed against his, you dragged your nails over the lapels of Kai's coat.

"I'm not scared of you, mister big, bad councilman."

Yes. A perfect edition to his movement.

“Oh, and if you try something like that again, Anderson? I’ll make sure you end up rotting in a prison cell somewhere.” You mumbled with a bite in your tone, fearlessly kissing Kai once more. 

“Mhmmm…you know…” Kai groaned softly into your plush lips, his motions sloppy and careless. Careless because of the drugs, maybe. Good ol’ vitamin A, “You say we men are all the same…but what I find fascinating is that-”

Interrupting Kai, you kissed him with venomous, filthy movements of your tongue. And despite your earlier protests, Kai knew you wanted him. He could sense it through the tension in the air. 

Too eagerly, did you reach out. Only to help shed his soaked, wet coat. His black t-shirt was sticky against his body, highlighting his muscles. And you dragged your hands down his chest, brushing your fingertips over his nipples. Pulling the fabric of his wet shirt from over his abs, you assisted in removing the garment completely. All while Kai passionately kissed you.

“Mmmmm…I find it fascinating that all women, in their darkest fantasies, dream of this exact scenario…” Kai whispered with a swipe of his tongue against yours.

Under the rain of the shower, Kai stood before you, in nothing but his pants and boots. And as he raised his hands to remove his gloves, you quickly protested.

“Wait-” You threw a hand out to stop him. Just as Kai’s prominent, front teeth pulled at the fabric of his glove, you spoke, “Keep ‘em on…they feel soooooooo good on my body…” You added in a sultry tone, pressing your supple tits together with your hands.

Kai’s dark, beady gaze dropped to your breasts. He became entranced in the droplets of water streaming down your soft skin, running over your nipples. Bringing his gloved hands down to squeeze your tits in his palms, Kai continued on with his senseless observations.

“As I was saying…and please, stop interrupting me-” He pinched your nipples hard, the rough texture of his gloves providing a pleasant sensation around the perky buds. And you squeaked a precious sound, “You all dream of the same thing. A masculine stranger. A home invader…who breaks into your place of rest. One who finds you in a vulnerable position such as this…” He said, as he came forward to kiss his way down your tits.

Kai licked up a stream of water leaking down your breast, letting his tongue press flat against your nipple. Pulling away from your chest, he guided his fingers down your tummy.

“...Maybe he broke in to steal some money or jewelry. Or, maybe he did so to commit an act of violence. Whatever the reason, it’s not important. What is important…”

Kai’s fingers moved even further down, stopping only after reaching the awaiting lips of your pussy. And you grinned, nudging your hips into the leather of his gloved hand. So responsive.

“...is that he, in his desperation for female companionship, finds he can’t resist the allure of your womanly wiles. And once he sees you…so desirable and unguarded…he knows…he must claim you for himself. That is every woman’s dream. Whether she cares to admit it or not. You all thirst for domination.”

During Kai’s rambling, you focused on undoing his pants. You were a mere second away from pulling Kai’s weighty cock free from its confines. But before you could, he abruptly grabbed your hips in a rough hold. Kai forcefully flipped you around, pressing your dripping, wet body into the damp wall. And the heat permeating in the air made your skin feel sticky against it.

“Hey! You fucking pig! What are you-” You protested, though Kai could hear the undeniable thirst in your voice. He smirked impishly to himself, ignorning your insults.

Kai gave you no preparation, as he forced the entire length of his thick cock through your cunt. Feeling those smooth, wet walls made just for him. He buried his dick in deep, bottoming out with a bruising thrust of his hips. The motion rocked you hard into the wall, and your throat erupted in an onslaught of strangled moans. You felt your nipples slide along the slippery surface of the wall, and you squirmed in place.

“Oh fuCK~!” You cried in a squeal, bracing your hands on the wall, “Y-You’re so fucking sick, Kai! You know that? You think you know what I want? You think you know what women want??” You scoffed, and Kai reared his hips back.

Another, violent thrust drove his hot length deep inside you, ripping you open wide. And you nibbled your lip, swallowing down another moan.

“Y-You really don’t! No…I think this is everything you want.” You wiggled your hips, allowing your cunt to swallow Kai’s cock that much deeper, “You fucking love it, don’t you? You’re addicted to this kind of power. The power you have over me. Over everyone. You get so high off it. I-It’s like a drug…like your adderall…”

Angling your torso, you turned your head to look at Kai. And through a lidded, erotic gaze, you grinned. Kai’s eyes were wide open and wild, blazing with a wildfire of drug-induced delusion. You dared to chance another snide laugh at his expense, and it filled him with passionate wrath.

“You’re hopped up on that shit right now, aren’t you? I can tell…you-OH~!!”

Kai cut you off, shutting you up with another, vigorous thrust of his hips.

“Shut. The fuck. Up.” He growled, pounding his heavy length into your cunt. His pelvis met your ass at the end of each word. Just for emphasis, to really hammer it in.

He loathed you so much, but desired you so desperately it was infuriating.

Kai brought a strong hand down to smack you hard on the ass. And the rough feel of his glove sent sparks of hot, electric pleasure surging through your veins. You giggled and squeaked, as the soft plush of your ass cheeks bounced into Kai’s pelvis. Jiggling against the fabric of his pants. Kai smacked your ass in rapid succession, just a few more times for good measure. You had to know your place.

“Disobedient brat. You think you’re allowed to disrespect me? Me??” Kai angrily spat, all while worshiping the cheeks of your ass. He grabbed handfuls, palming them roughly as he fucked you, “You’re deluded in that empty-headed brain of yours. If you think I wanted to waste my precious time on a woman as irritating as you. No. This? What I'm doing now? This is a service. An act of justice.”

Kai’s cock drilled you into the wall with a force so strong, he thought he might shatter your precious body. One of his hands came up to brace your shoulder, as his other positioned itself at your hip. Kai’s thrusts became ruthless and nasty. 

“N-No, you fucking love me. You can’t get enough of me. I know you – fuck~! – I know you can’t, Kai!” You whined through a grin, “I’d be dead already otherwise and – ooooooooooo~! Don’t fucking stop!”

The thick veins of his cock pulsed at the sound of your lewd, obscene claims. And he grumbled incoherently under his breath. Kai brutally fucked you, watching with a wide-eyed gaze as his cock plunged its length into your cunt. Sinking in and out between the clench of your leaking walls. Obscene slapping noises erupted through the small space of the shower, overshadowed only by your pornagraphic moans. Absolutely fucking filthy.

“F-Fuck-” He groaned.

In a sudden, unexpected movement, Kai pulled his pulsating cock from your cunt. He pumped the thick length through the plush, plump cheeks of your ass. And with water showering down, raining wet and lukewarm over your ass and his cock; he came. A thick, hot load burst from his dick and coated your back like a pretty canvas.

Bent over, and with your hands still pressed to the wall, you snickered a condescending laugh. Kai’s cum leaked down your back, following the lead of every water droplet cascading across your skin.

Kai breathed heavily, his damp chest heaving quickly with every intake of air. Faded strands of blue hung over his face, almost shielding his eyes completely. He blinked, watching as the water washed away the evidence of his orgasmic release. Maybe he should've painted you from the inside instead.

“Why the hell are you laughing?” He mumbled lazily. And you giggled again, making a move to stand up straight.

“I didn’t cum, asshole. So…is that it? You break into my apartment to fulfill some sort of sick, twisted fantasy you think women have? And you don't even give me the courtesy of a nut?” You sarcastically clicked your tongue, “I really shouldn’t be surprised. Like I said, you men are all the fucking same.”

You were right. You didn’t get to cum.

Kai could so easily tell you hadn't. Because he'd memorized the perfect way your pussy clenched and squeezed around his dick when you did.

Be the better man. Be the better man. Be the better man.

Reaching out to shove you forcefully against the wall again, Kai used all of his remaining strength to keep you in place. You gasped, squeaking out another, high-pitched sound of surprise. And with your brows furrowed once more, you groaned with annoyed frustration.

“What the fuck are you doing now, Anderson?! Haven't you had enough??”

"What's it look like? I'm doing as you said. I'm pleasing you.” Kai muttered in monotone. He would have smirked, had his exhaustion not left him emotionally stunted. Kai leaned forward, whispering over your shoulder with his breath fanning your ear, "And for right now, just call me divine ruler."

"You're not serious…" You snickered again, making a mockery of Kai. Just as he expected you would. 

No matter, you'd be singing his praises any moment now.

With your body pressed against the wall once more, Kai sank down to his knees in the shower. By now, the water had long since run cold. Close to freezing, even. The wet tickle of it caused your smooth skin to erupt in a flurry of goosebumps. And Kai took the time to graze his gloved fingers across them. You hummed quietly in response, biting your lip. 

Kai leaned in, breathing hot breaths over your glistening cunt. Another second passed, and he began feasting on your delectable pussy from behind. As though doing so would bring him peace, prosperity, and good fortune. Holding your ass cheeks firmly with his palms, Kai explored every inch of your beautiful cunt with his tongue. The tip of his tongue teased between your lips, sinking its way through your walls.

And after tongue fucking you for a few, generous moments; he dragged the wet, drooling muscle to your clit. Kai sucked the small bud in between his chapped lips. Letting his tongue circle and bash the sensitive, little bundle of nerves.

"Ohhh...divine ruler..." You whined, and you giggled at yourself for using the name. Kai smirked around your clit, the tip of his nose greeting your folds.

"Mmmm...my angel..." He whispered, hushed and hot against your pussy, "...learning to see the light…"

Guiding his feast in a more filthy direction, Kai let his tongue swipe all the way up through your ass cheeks. He wiggled the tip of his tongue in fluttery circles around your hole, prodding at it while groaning low under his breath. Cool, crisp water showered his head and face as he dove in so deep. You squirmed in place again, letting breathless laughter interrupt your desperate moans. And once more, Kai returned his attention to your cunt.

"Pl-Please~! Ah! Divine ruler! Feels so good-" You cried, your needy voice bouncing off the walls of the shower. Glorious utterances of his true name.

Kai lapped at your clit, teasing you until you reached the gates of heaven. 

You came all over his tongue. Thick wetness weeped from your pussy like a liquid gift, and Kai gladly drank it all down. Your legs quivered quickly as you rocked your hips back, riding out the bliss of your euphoria. The cheeks of your ass collided with Kai's face in gentle, abrupt movements.

"N-Need you, Kai. Divine ruler. Need you so bad. Want you so bad-"

You whimpered forbidden words you only dared let slip in the heat of ecstasy. And Kai took a mental note of every single one.

Sometime later, Kai treated you to yet another venti, iced, white chocolate mocha. It was the least he could do, right? 

After breaking into your apartment, scaring you shitless, nearly choking you unconscious, and grabbing you by the pussy.

In this particular instance, when you sat across from him with your coffee and pulled the straw between your colored lips; you did so in Kai's basement. At the table, under the heat of lamp light. And with your unoccupied hand, you brought a pinky out. Only to lock it with Kai's own.

"Scream Queen." He quietly said, wearing a smile that could kill, "What's the most pleasure you've ever felt?"

#kai anderson x y/n #kai anderson x you #kai anderson x reader #txt #smut #sjgjdhgkjdshgkjdsgkjdsgsdg

[muchamusedaboutnothing]

Heart of a Hunter Act II - Ch. 6

Heart of a Hunter Act VII - Ch. 6

Characters: Dean x doctor!Reader, Sam Winchester

This story is Act 7 of a saga.

New to the story? Get caught up on the Heart of a Hunter Saga here.

All your favorite Winchesters are alive, in spite of the curse that nearly took them from you. After coming so close to losing the only family you have left in this world, you’re taking matters into your own hands. There’s a witch to hunt.

Series Warnings:

Character injuries/sickness - Take note that no one is excluded from this.

Canon-typical violence and language.

Lots of whump.

Lots of caring for hurt characters.

Smut (18 Only. NSFW. You were warned.)

Angst.

Fluff.

Medical talk. Is that even a warning

Image Credit: bing image search, google image search, @winchester-gospels , 

Wordcount: 1654

Chapter  6

Parked in a hospital parking lot in the row of spaces that lined the street, you had a relatively good view of the building that had caught your interest.

You squinted a little as you peered through the binoculars, grateful the street light on the corner gave off just enough of a glow to allow you to see. Your gaze was fixed on the two-story building the location spell had led you to. You watched from across the street and down a ways in the hospital parking lot with a relatively good view as a small group of men milled around the building's main entrance. You counted three of them, all clad in black suits.

There was obvious construction going on in the building - at least it looked like there would have been during daylight hours - but anyone involved in the remodel had long gone home for the day. That meant the men standing around outside were up to something else entirely.

Your gut was telling you these were no ordinary men, but rather demons in cahoots with the Borrower witch. Of course there was no real way of knowing from this distance, but your instincts were telling you these were demons. You were so engrossed in the scene before you that the feel of your phone buzzing on your lap startled you.

You glanced down long enough to see that it was Dean calling as you swiped to answer and hit the speakerphone button. “Hey there, Winchester.”

“You good?” Dean asked, as if your casual greeting hadn’t been confirmation enough.

“I’m good. Staking the place out,” you answered as you raised the binoculars up again and peered through them. 

“Hmmm…. What have you got so far?”

“Demons,” you answered, almost instantly regretting it. You didn’t want to lie to Dean, but you also didn’t want to fuel his already raging desire to come to your aid.

“How many?”

“Three so far,” you answered. “They can’t be all that powerful if it takes three of them to do whatever it is she wants done, right?”

“We don’t know what the hell she wants done,” Dean said. “Could be anything. Don't just go in there-"

"This is not me underestimating the woman who tried to take my entire family from me,” you interrupted, because apparently he needed the reminder. “Besides, you know I'm not typically a go-in-guns-blazing kind of girl."

There was a layer of practiced patience in his tone when he spoke again. "I know, but Mama Bear might have a whole new approach these days."

You smiled at his observation. “This mama wants to get back to her family in one piece. I need to formulate some sort of plan...."

"Dammit, sweetheart. You just say the word and I'll fly out of this bunker so fast and-"

"And put the whole operation at risk?" you cut in. "Dean, I know I'm asking the impossible of you, but you've gotta stay put and let me handle this."

Dean sighed into the phone. "I know…. Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"I think she's setting up shop here," you said, changing the subject.

"Hmm…. Okay. Well, I guess it makes sense that she'd need another front for the magic."

"I'm going to hang back and keep an eye on these demons. If any of them leave I'm going to tail them, see if I can get any sense of how they're connected to the town. Maybe there's a reason she chose this place."

"I'll do a little digging from here," Dean added. "See if anyone's gone missing or died mysteriously, you know, the usual signs of demon activity. Just because we know she just got to town doesn't mean she hasn't had her minions preparing the way."

"I just want to stop her before she can hurt anyone else," you said. "She won't have the shop as her cover until the construction is finished, so maybe she's lying low for a bit."

"Can't decide whether I think that makes her more or less dangerous," Dean said slowly. "Just be careful, sweetheart."

You were watching as two of the men separated and were heading across the street on foot now while the other disappeared into the new shop building. You set your binoculars down and said, "I'll be careful. Hey, I gotta go. Time to trail some demons."

Dean was silent for a beat. "Call me after," he urged.

"Will do." You hung up the phone and watched as the demons headed in your direction.

You had to push down the initial panic that clutched at your heart. These demons didn't know you. The witch didn't know you. For all anyone knew you were just parked there to visit someone in the hospital. 

In the evening.

When visiting hours would be ending soon.

Well hell. That wasn't a very good cover. You hoped you wouldn't need it.

Thankfully, the demons had no interest in you, but you had mixed feelings as you watched them walk through the front door of the hospital and disappear. On the one hand, you'd potentially have a relatively easy time following them into a medical facility, but knowing that two demons had just walked inside the hospital also meant everyone inside was at risk of being hurt.

You had to make a decision fast, so you quickly replaced the magazine in your .380 with rounds with devil’s traps carved into the slugs and tucked the pistol inside your jacket in the hidden pocket. 

You checked your appearance in the rear-view mirror to make sure you looked at least presentable, and got out of the truck, locking the door before you set off on foot across the hospital parking lot. 

Sam watched as Dean tucked his phone back into his pocket and stared blankly at the nearest bookcase. “Dean?”

Dean was completely tuned out, lost in his thoughts. 

“Dean?” Sam thumped the table in front of him with his hand twice to get his brother’s attention.

Dean’s head snapped up as he responded to the jarring sound. “Huh?”

“What’s the word?” Sam asked, brow furrowing in concern. “Is she okay?”

Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yeah. I think so.” Sam patiently waited for Dean to elaborate. Dean leaned his hands on the back of the nearest chair and said, “She’s staking out the location the spell zeroed in on. Seems our witch is setting up shop again.”

Sam leaned back in his chair a little, taking in this new information. “I thought I heard you mention something about demon activity? Is this witch up to her old tricks?”

“Seems that way. She’s got demons milling around outside the shop. At least three so far.”

Sam didn’t have to be told what needed to happen next. “Let’s see if we can find out what they’re up to.”

Dean nodded as he took a seat and opened up his laptop across from Sam. They’d been searching online for signs of anything suspicious in the area for half an hour when Addie brought Jonah in after having given him a bath.

“You guys look like you’re on a mission,” Addie said as she approached, Jonah lounging in her arms. She had a bottle made up and sat down next to Sam, pulling the blanket a little more snugly around the baby as she offered him the bottle and he began drinking. 

“We think there are demons working with the witch,” Sam said to answer Addie’s question.

“I guess that’s what she does,” Addie said slowly. “That’s what makes her a Borrower, right?”

“Right.” Sam reached over to brush his fingers over Jonah’s soft hair affectionately as the baby guzzled from the bottle. “Just trying to figure out exactly what she’s up to.”

“Find anything?” Addie’s voice lifted up at the end with hope as she glanced between Sam and Dean.

“Nada,” Dean said with finality. He glanced up at Sam. “You having any luck?”

“Nothing yet,” Sam said. “Nothing obvious anyway. Maybe they all just got to town.”

Dean chewed his bottom lip. “Yeah, maybe….”

He tore his eyes away from his computer screen and gazed at Jonah as he drank from his bottle in Addie’s arms. 

A smile tugged at the corner of Dean’s mouth as he gazed at his son. His heart still clenched with pangs of what almost was. Of the fear and fury that came with the entire ordeal you’d all been through with Jonah and almost losing him. The fact that you were out there on your own right now without him, trying to handle the witch he should have killed the first time around was enough to make his blood boil. 

He felt like a ticking time bomb. If the witch wasn’t eradicated off the surface of the planet soon, there would be hell to pay. And on Dean’s terms. He’d have already taken matters into his own hands if you hadn’t been so damn logical and level-headed. And God, he loved you for it. But his nerves were still raw and his heart had been pounding a little harder, a little faster ever since you’d started it back up again. Chalk it up to a father’s love and a hunter’s revenge. With Jonah out of immediate danger, it was all Dean could do not to throw himself right into the line of fire to make sure it never happened again. 

It was a testament to what your love had done for Dean - was still doing for him every day - that he hadn’t chased after you the moment you’d driven away from the bunker. For Dean, being left behind and letting you put yourself in danger to save your family was a kind of hell in itself. 

“She’s supposed to call me back,” Dean said, pulling out his phone to glance at the time. 

“It hasn’t been long,” Sam assured him. “She’ll call.”

Act VII Masterlist.

You can find the Masterlist for the Heart of a Hunter Saga here.

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*HOAH Text divider by the brilliant Talesmaniac89

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#Heart of a Hunter #dean x doctor!reader #dean x reader #spn series #spn reader insert

[divasdamselsandsmudgedmascara]

Revisiting The ‘Zone: Classic Female Performances in my Two Favorite Episodes, “Living Doll” & “The After Hours” & Life From the Inanimate

The surrealism of Twilight Zone has always been a quality of magic and artistry that has caused me to be passionate about the genius of this series. I've enjoyed pretty much every single episode ever made, some I absolutely adore, and several episodes that to me have highlighted some of the best writing, acting, direction of the entire series has been Living Doll and The After Hours.

Both episodes revolve around the "reanimation" of inanimate, human-like objects, explores unsettling undercurrents of human behavior with women/girls at the center of fear--with Living Doll, tumbling into a darkness, a terrifying question that to the story's credit, *refuses* to be answered! These favorite episodes of mine perfectly represent the haunting qualities that made "The Twilight Zone" something unique that lingers on our minds decade in, decade out, has us analyze, question, debate the meanings and messagery of the show that shot to the pinnacle of 20th century pop culture and helped fuel a country's imagination.

With Erich Streator, his wife Annabelle and his little step-daughter, Christie in the episode Living Doll, the background's set for what is at first glance, a wholly normal landscape which is to be twisted into a distorted nightmare. The all-American suburban home and family is turned into a place of shadow and fright. Things are said that are not meant to be said, from a thing that should not be talking, and it is all rooted in the emotional abuse of a man towards his family, especially a little girl who has no defender or protector except a somewhat weak-willed mother who has mistakenly clung to an embittered and toxic man. A doll called "Talky Tina"  brought home as a gift of comfort for a hurting child, suddenly transforms into a menace as she starts to insult Erich the minute he is alone with it, then swiftly begins to threaten his very life, terrorizing the angry and confused man over the course of only one night. 

What I've always loved about this episode was the "unreality" of it--it plays with the viewer's mind. Is the doll Tina somehow a supernatural friend and ally to the child, coming to her rescue in some strange, uncanny way? Or (and the ending of Living Doll REALLY makes you wonder about its intentions), is "Talky Tina" a conductor of energy, a vector of chaos, a strangely sentient object with the sole purpose of disturbance, chaos and even violence? The writing and performances in this episode are pitch-perfect, the mother Annabelle played by the actress Mary LaRoche and her daughter Christie by Tracy Stratford. Annabelle is a woman who represents a LOT of women throughout the years who've landed in marriages that have quickly turned sour because of the internalized rage of increasingly spiteful men. With Erich (Telly Savalas in a terrific performance), he's allowed his own personal angst on his inability to father a child, to turn him against the people he should be loving and protecting. Annabelle keeps up appearances of the domestic, playing house with a man who has repeatedly shown that he not only not knows how to be a father to the child he already has, his step-daughter, but does not know how to be a husband. 

Running through this episode is the retaliation Erich Streator receives from a pint-sized foe, a female fascimile--something that reverses the power dynamics for the mother and the child. BUT (a big but), the brilliant part of this episode is that appearances may be deceiving and the viewer's expectations just may be subverted. What happens at the end of this very scary episode to Annabelle, Erich's wife and the mother of the little girl this doll is supposedly trying to shield from harm begs the viewer's question as to exactly what the hell is the meaning of this madness?  Living Doll was a story that I thought was told with an edge that showed itself in the strongest, most haunting TZ episodes. It didn't shy away from diving head-first into the spooky pool and challenged the viewer as to what they thought was right vs. wrong. I've always wondered about whether Talky Tina was meant as an instrument of evil or whether it was some type of 'avenging spirit'. Even MORE creepily, could a regular little doll somehow have been picking up the angriest and most bitter parts of both the mother AND the daughter, channeling that into destruction? Could it have been a conductor of their subconscious cries? Wisely, we're left wondering and that is what gives this episode its power! The last scene involving Tina and Annabelle seems to unravel everything that's been happening in the house, re-adjusts what you think you've pretty much figured out. I also think this episode was a profound commentary on family dysfunction and bullying. What's really at the center is an innocent kid being emotionally tormented by a man she tries to reach out to in her own small way (calling this very un-fatherly man "Daddy" even though he does not necessarily welcome it and doesn't show her any real love and affection, in fact angrily yelling that he "is NOT her daddy" in one particularly nasty scene). A bullied girl, by some unknown energy of the universe, is prevented from being the victim in a time period and society where some of the most helpless victims were women and girls, caught in a trap of abuse and emotional neglect. I think Living Doll was very bold in how they approached this subject considering the constraints of the period and how a deeper message could be expressed to the audience. Rod Serling's magnificent series showed insight and sensitivity to an experience a LOT of women and children were going through. The episode managed to tell a freaked-out story but also shined some light on the cruelties of abusive husbands and fathers, how they could gradually rip apart the seams of a family until there was very little left.

Now in my second favorite episode, The After Hours, there's also a kind of a challenge to the existence of someone--a young woman locked into a dark and abandoned department store.  She's not a victim of abuse like the little girl Christie or mom Annabelle, or the target of retaliation for cruel actions like Erich, but a little like him, frightened and confused and overwhelmed by forces beyond her understanding coming outta the artificial, the uncanny valley human-like form.

She's Marsha Hunt (played by the EXCELLENT classic actress Anne Francis who had previously starred in the scifi epic Forbidden Planet), and she's simply there a few hours earlier in the afternoon to pick up a special gold thimble for her mom's birthday but she doesn't find anything normal on what's supposed to be an every-day shopping trip, only confusion, an enigmatic and mysterious saleswoman who takes an interest in her, asks her somewhat invasively about the "happiness" of her personal life and appears out of nowhere on what appears to be an empty floor (the clerk played by Elizabeth Allen, cool, imperious, glamorous and entirely unsettling). Later Marsha passes out from the shock of actually seeing this rather spooky employee on another floor as just another one of the store's countless mannequins and wakes to find her entire life in question, pursued by other mannequins who call out to her, their voices coming out of their eerie, frozen faces tormenting the young woman, shoving her into hysteria!

The first time I saw The After Hours, I felt that this was a very special episode and was bound to have a hell of a twist, something this series was always famous for, and it did not disappoint! Marsha's a character who we take for granted as the victim, a hunted figure whose escape from this store o'horrors we're rooting for. We look at the events through her eyes, but in the process, we miss little clues, signs, even body language and mannerisms that point to something far more bizarre and it is BRILLIANT how Francis was cast as a woman whose identity is *subtly* shown as a construction.

Marsha wanders into the store, frequently chatters about her mother and the thimble gift she's buying for her, in one scene getting upset, almost in an out of proportion way, about the inferior quality of the item and ranting about the weirdness of the mystery clerk to who is just supposed to be a random elevator man taking her to the floors. It could be easily dismissed as the chatter of an excitable girl, but looking at certain scenes more closely, it's almost as if there's a message being conveyed in these tiny little details. Marsha has a relentless INSISTENCE about her. From the moment she starts having interactions with the people in this store, she is letting everyone know about *exactly* who she is (a caring daughter), exactly what her purpose is (birthday present for mother), exactly what she will and will not accept (odd salesladies), exactly how willing she is to demand answers over what many would view as a relative triviality. Francis colored her character with dimensions that speak to the anxiety of Marsha yet she has no huge reason, not really, to be so anxious, almost to the point of desperation, in the first place. That feeling of misalignment, out of wackness, this subtle lack of emotional adjustment strikes you about Marsha as the story goes on this quick spiral into weirdness.

The ending is one of the BEST in the show's history, an episode from its first season that helped to cement its status as entertainment that packed a wallop and delivered that WOW! factor in a huge way. Marsha is stuck in that store. The mannequins have got her, her previous anxiety ultimately confirmed.

The chills running throughout The After Hours is something that has lingered in my mind since I saw it so many years ago as a child and revisiting the episode this New Year makes me wonder about the message it was trying to present. Is it just possible that the moral of the story is to not take your life and the entirety of your uniquely human experience for granted, that the definition of existence with all the little details that comprise our collective journey on earth, are meant to be savored instead of "dealt with"? That life is to be treasured, not just gotten through? That the gift we're given is not really the opportunity to get power, or have a lot of 'stuff', but to simply BE, savoring the sunlight on our heads and the breath in our nostrils? The ending of just what the mannequins want and what Marsha herself has cherished seems to give some strength to that theory. Also, if you wanna have even more fun with this episode, looking at it from a uniquely female perspective, the themes of a woman's independence being captured and suppressed, is very profound. It's pretty likely that Serling was not necessarily approaching the story from this angle, but as art is open for interpretation, it can always be exciting to analyze his work from multiple points of view! Marsha represents the young, modern independent. She is free to explore, challenge, demand, investigate! But this freedom is cut short in the end and she becomes another artifice, a female figure that has been shaped into stillness, forced into silence, and even the void. As a woman who always loves searching for real, potential and even the "who the hell knows?" hidden meanings of classic film and TV, especially about women's characterizations, it's pretty fascinating to think even for a moment that this could potentially be interpreted as an obscured commentary on the emerging freedoms of women of those times and how external forces could and would cut into them.

Or maybe, kind of like Living Doll, it was solely about the fictional exploration of an unknown energy slipping in and out of the world, connecting with humans’ reality through representations of their own human image--a quietly explosive collision of the real and substitution of the real.

Whichever theory you believe, it's undeniable that The Twilight Zone has reached out through the span of years, leaping into our hearts and minds. The inspiration we've received from this sublime corner of retro pop culture has been almost immeasurable and the performances from the entertainers, many of them fiercely talented, charismatic, and iconic actresses, have been emblazoned into the national consciousness! I can think of few other shows that's not only as THRILLING but emotionally and intellectually moving as The Twilight Zone. It's the gold-standard of horror, scifi and fantasy! The layers to these episodes seem in many cases, to go very deep. I can return to episodes I've grown up watching and see new dimensions, new aspects, other sides to the stories that I hadn't noticed or even understood before.

All I gotta say is...THANK YOU Rod Serling!

#Divas Damsels & Smudged Mascara #Twilight Zone #classic TV #women in television #classic actresses #Rod Serling #Anne Francis #Talky Tina #Black and White #spooky #creepy #Twilight Zone marathon #science fiction #scifi #thrillers #supernatural #unsettling #bizarre #strange #unexplainable #speculative fiction #Telly Savalas #vintage #retro #old TV #anthologies #series #entertainment #1950s #1960s

[snowpeawritings]

Hi, I would like to request a Ren/Akira story where the reader got caught up in the palace transfer thing with PT and unlocks her persona after being told she will never be able to be as strong or of use like the others. Thanks and I really love you work!

yessss always wanted to write an awakening scene!

Reader is female

CW (CONTENT WARNING): Swearing

You wanted to change this rotten world for the better but you were a pacifist.

Your parents raised you to never fight violence with violence, lest it would continue this toxic cycle that will never end. As much as you hated the fact that you can’t do anything to change things physically, just being there emotionally is enough for you. As such, you weren’t easily the most picked on. No one disliked you, but no one particularly liked you.

And you were fine with that.

With the coming of the transfer student, students and teachers were already giving him shit. You knew Kamoshida's… actions in order to become the school’s fan favorite. It honestly pissed you off to no end, having a scumbag like him walk like he owns the place, but you really couldn’t stand up to him and his adoring fans. All you could do whenever the transfer student (you believed his name was Kurusu?) is getting ostracised from the school is giving him your time and becoming his first friend.

And you were fine with that.

Turns out he wasn’t the delinquent everyone made him out to be. He just wanted to have his normal future back and a normal high school life. While you could never grant him that wish, you’ll be his support when people weigh him down. Even the threat of expulsion of him, Ryuji and Mishima would keep him up, you would always be there. Even if there’s nothing more you could do than offer half-empty words.

And you were fine with that.

When news of Kamoshida’s confession spread, you really didn’t know what to think. The calling card that was posted across the school bulletin made you believe these ‘thieves’ but it was a far stretch. You were still Akira’s friend whom he hangs out with from time to time but you never knew that he was friends with Ryuji and Ann. Then the circle grew to Mishima, to a student from Kosei High, to Makoto Niijima–

And you were fine with being outside of his circle.

He certainly looked happier when he was with them. While he rarely smiles, you could see that glint of life in his dark eyes whenever Ryuji makes a corny joke and Ann has to smack him upside the head or when he says something witty that just encompasses how much of a dork he is. He even went so far as to try to serenade his cat when the feline clearly did not want to be held[1] (who knew he had such a great voice?).

He did smile when you were hanging out with him, but you never seen him truly look happy with you. For some reason, you were fine with that.

Akira still tries to hang out with you. You could tell when his eyes winced at his own disappointment when he rejected you spending some time with him. His circle of friends were his top priority as he always goes out with them seemingly every day. As much as you wanted to respect his private life, you yourself had to guess just where the heck they kept going, especially when they were a fairly big group.

You didn’t want to follow them but to be fair, it was sheer coincidence that you were there when the entire world shifted. And no, it wasn’t because you wanted to follow Ryuji because he still hasn’t paid his debt to you to buy that entire pack of Black Thunder chocolate.

The dilapidated and destroyed train station is what you saw when you opened your eyes. You were sure this was the station that you wait for your train but never in complete chaos like this. Honestly, the place isn’t what made you scream. What you screamed was when the weird-looking cat in front of you transformed into a van in front of a group of equally weird-looking people.

When the fellow in the black coat whipped his head, you knew those dark eyes anywhere.

“It’s you!?” You screeched, your voice echoing across the tunnel endlessly. “Y-You mean… this entire time, the Phantom Thieves were you guys!?”

The girl in red who you were sure was Ann waved her hands rapidly. “No, _______! We’re not—”

Her eyes widened in surprise at her mistake before slapping her gloved hands over her mouth. “Wait, no! I mean—”

The blonde boy beside her, Ryuji, stomped his foot at Ann’s glaring mistake. “Great way to eff it up, Panther! Now she knows who we are now!”

The way that ‘Panther’ had smacked Ryuji upside the head proved your hunch right; the ragtag group of vigilante thieves that steal hearts were also your own classmates.

“I mean…” You said shakily, trying to diffuse the fight between Ryuji and Ann. “It’s pretty obvious from your voice and hair. But seriously, w-where are we? What is this place?”

The comment about them being obvious was ignored for now. Instead, the brunette you knew to be Makoto stepped in and explained everything to an extent: the Metaverse, them being the Phantom Thieves of Heart, and a magical cat.

“But please, please keep this a secret.” Makoto-or Queen- pleaded with you. “Our entire work would be gone if you tell anyone else what we do.”

You waved your hand to calm her down. “I’ll keep this a secret, don’t worry. Besides, no one talks to me so it’s all good.”

You looked over to Morgana, the cat bus that seemed to regard you with what you guessed was slight interest. “So… how do you guys normally get out of here?”

Akira-or Joker-answered you. “There’s this app on our phones that lets us go in and out of the Metaverse. And right now, I’m getting you out of here.”

As much as you wanted to stay and see how they do their job, you nodded in agreement with him. He stepped close to you, phone in his hand as his finger hovered over an eerily-looking red eye. 

“I promise,” He whispered to you, his breath fanning against your ear which made you shiver,  “I’ll explain everything to you once we’re done here.”

Him being so close has your heart churning. And you were fine with that.

But the fleeting moment ended when you heard the sound of metal clanging against each other before Joker had been sent flying from you. Just a second he was standing so close to you. Now, he was sprawled on the floor, Queen healing him as the rest of the Thieves huddled together to protect their leader.

The being that attacked Joker looked like someone from Buddhist lore; its fists crackled with lightning before hurling a large bolt of thunder towards the group. The resounding clap of thunder soon followed, electrocuting everyone who and especially the severely weakened Joker. It was only Skull who was still standing but even he looked like he was about to faint from how everyone couldn’t stand up.

“Th-The hell!?” Skull gasped out, shakily bringing out an iron bat before sizing up the figure. “Where the hell did you come from!?”

Mona groaned out from his spot. “Don’t bother fighting it, Skull! He landed a critical hit on us!”

“Get ______ out of here!” Joker gasped out, his hands inching for his mask. “I’ll hold him back for you two to escape!”

His voice brought you some clarity. The gravity of the situation had just sunk in and right now, you didn’t know whether you wanted to collapse, vomit or both. The rest of the thieves were still trying to stand up in the face of the enemy but with it raising its fists, you don’t think they could dodge it in time.

With Skull quivering, with Joker yelling, and with you panicking, you had to move. You had to move you had to move you had TO MOVE–

“And what is this?”

The next moment you blinked, you were standing in front of the large figure with the Phantom Thieves behind you. The blood pumping in your ears muffled your hearing, the sounds you could only make out were your rapidly beating heart and the booming voice of the Buddhist deity.

“Quite a brave one to stand up to me,” he said to you, “you’ll be the first to die.”

You swallowed in your bile. “I… I can still hurt you, you know!”

He slowly moved down his fists and crossed his arms below his chest. “And what good will come out of it? Your comrades are down–”

Your ears cleared for a bit, only to hear the group’s desperate shouts for you to move.

“This one is still shaking–”

Skull was already heaving at this point.

“And you can do nothing about it.”

You can do nothing about it.

That’s always been your entire schtick. You can do nothing about it. You said you wanted to change the world for the better but you were just a teenager who has some social problems. You were always the last choice when all of the good ones are used up. You were always the one in the sidelines–

“And are you fine with that?”

A sharp pain, resounding across your head before battering against your brain like a ram.

“Are you fine sticking to the sidelines, only watching others change while you stay frozen?”

Your hands grasped your head, your saliva mixed with some bile dripping down on the ground as your head pounded. Nothing could be heard except the voice in your head and it felt so goddamn right.

“Nothing will change if you yourself won’t follow through with it. You’re only continuing this tireless cycle that you wanted to desperately break. And you’re fine with that?”

“I’m not…” You growled out. The pain was unbearable but it only fueled your spite you kept hidden all this time. Within your rising rage, you barely registered getting Skull’s bat.

With a roar, you ran towards the beast, raising the bat before smashing the side of his face. “I’m not going to stand still anymore!”

The voice chuckled. “Good. That anger coupled with my power… no one can stop us.”

“I am thou, thou art I… become the winds of change that fuels the rebellion inside people’s hearts! Show them the anger that you swallowed all this time!”

A red mask lined with gold adorned your face, the feather on the left temple danced wildly with the winds blowing from you.

As your fingers gripped the mask, your lips quirked into a smirk. “Sing your heart out… De Beauvoir!”

Everything blew back; the beast, the rest of the thieves, and your self-loathing. The navy blue that adorned your body whipped around from the wind, the coattails behind you gave the appearance of wings ready to take flight. From your hip, you grabbed your sabre and flourished it before pointing the tip at the beast.

The thieves behind you stared in awe at you and the feminine figure appearing behind you. Her ball gown danced about, showing the white petticoat underneath as a pale red veil covered her flowing locks.

“What awesome power…!” Mona breathed out. “I knew there was something special about her!”

De Beauvoir’s face was covered with a masquerade ball mask, a golden band that stretched across the upper part of her face in order to highlight the rage that was building in her azure eyes. Her painted lips parted, and a single note rang out that slowly transitioned into a vibrato as a pale green light shined on the group.

“A healing spell?” Queen questioned, her strength slowly getting back as she stood up.

Yusuke-or Fox-who had been silent since your arrival, gasped at your transformation. “Such form… I never expected her to have this much power.”

“Sorry for blowing you all away.” You called out to the group, your eyes narrowing at the beast. “But with me and De Beauvoir, allow us to thank you for granting us this power!”

You felt movement beside as you turned your eyes to see Joker smirking at you. His dark eyes shone with that same glint of life when you realized that he finally gave that look to you.

“Don’t run away now.” He jested.

You scoffed but your smirk still stayed. “Same to you!”

—————————-

[1] OKOK this was hella inspired by Xander Mobus and Robbie Daymond singing together and im sO ATTACKED BY XANDER!!!! 

AND THE THING OF HIM SERENADING MORGANA IS FROM THIS 

#requests #scenario #persona #persona 5 imagines #persona 5 #akira kurusu #akira kurusu x reader #akira kurusu imagines #x f!reader #x female!reader #pastelblogsposts

[awesome-fandom-reference]

Partners

ReaderXaizawa

Warnings: violence, fighting, blood, cursing, sexual content.

Chapter 1

There you were on a nightly crime watch guard. You couldn’t sleep knowing you start your new teaching job the next day, so rather than toss & turn all night, you decided to gear up & put in practice what you’ll be teaching.

You preferred working at night, most of the civilians were asleep & a lot less pressure of having people who have nothing to do with a scene making it their business.

You sat on a fire escape keeping watch as you saw two people running through the alleyway carrying many electronics with them.

“A common robbery, no biggie” you thought to yourself.

You jumped into action to stop the thieves, & as they noticed you, one of them stretched out his hand at you, shooting bullets from his fingers.

You quickly activated your quirk turning your arm into a blade & deflecting the bullet.

The thief fired again but to his surprise nothing came out of his fingers.

“These were my criminals to catch.” A raspy voice said from the shadows.

A silhouette swung out of the darkness & tied up the two men.

“Well clearly you weren’t doing a good job. They were getting away.” You answered back.

“My stealth plan was working just fine until you intervened, letting the entire block know you were here with how unsubtle you were.” He said back seriously.

“Are they caught or not?” You snapped back annoyed.

The long haired hero made a growl as he bound the men with a special gadget & wrapped his scarf back around his neck again.

“Here take ‘em in. I don’t need the extra attention.” He said to you gesturing towards the bound criminals.

“& have to fill out all that paper work for you? I’ll pass.” You replied As you climbed onto to the ledge of a building & made your way back to your apartment. Leaving the long haired vigilant smirking at your response.

Chapter 2

You did everything you could to hide the fact that you didn’t get good sleep the night before, it was your first day & you wanted to make a good impression, unfortunately you have never been good at hiding your tired face.

You were at UA high, starting a new job as a teacher in offense & defense strategy’s.

You made your way to meet up with their principal. You didn’t know if it was your tiredness or the feeling of being a part of UA that distracted you, causing you to not watch were you were going & trip in the hall. You turned as you laid on the ground to see what caused you such a fall.

“Who the hell leaves a fucking ugly sleeping bag in the middle of the hall?” You said to yourself, at the sight of the bright yellow bag.

No time to waste with trivial things, you got up & went on your way, just glad that no one was around to witness your embarrassing moment.

You met up with the principal, an adorable little creature with a soft voice, who pointed you to the room in which you were to teach.

The day went on & you taught various classes, with a mix of theory & practical. All in all you had a good time & the first day jitters quickly subsided, & before you knew it the school day was over.

You began to pack up your things when you heard the door to your class open.

“Hello, I would like to hear a general report on how my class did with your subject.”

“oh, of course. Which class?” You said as you turned around to find the Jet black haired man with the scarf you had captured criminals with the night before, standing in front of you.

“Class 1A”

Chapter 3

Recognizing the man in front of you, you couldn’t help but point it out.

“Hey, you’re...”

“The fucking ugly sleeping bag.” He said, not letting you finish your sentence.

“Huh? You saw that?” You said confused.

“I was that.” He said monotone.

You could feel your cheeks flush red in embarrassment as you put together what had happened earlier.

“Sorry, I didn’t notice... I didn’t mean it like... wait, why were you laying in the hall?”

“A profession like ours doesn’t leave a lot of time for a nights sleep, as you know. Now please, I don’t have time for small talk; tell me the report on my class.”

“I don’t have time for small talk.”

You said & walked out of the class.

Chapter 4

“What an ass hole.” You thought you yourself as you stormed off.

“Entitled prick. Oh I’m too busy for small talk. We’re all pro heroes, we all got things to do. Tired ass looking motherfucker.”

You marched off to your apartment & let your anger out by practicing your knife throwing skills.

The next day you woke up not sure if you were slightly more rested or fueled by pure spite & rage. It felt like a good day to teach offense techniques in a practical way.

Your first class that day just so happened to be 1A.

“Of course it would be.” You thought to yourself.

The class walked into the practical training area, & you were shocked to notice the audacity of the tired looking teacher to show up behind them.

“I can see we have a surprise visitor joining the class.” You said in a low voice as he walked in.

“You didn’t have time to give me a general report, so I figured I would just see how my students are doing myself.”

“Oh I didn’t know I would be evaluated today.” You said sarcastically.

“Don’t be silly, I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of teaching, that’s why UA has you on their faculty. I’m here to evaluate my students.”

“Fair enough.”

You turned & proceeded to start the class.

“Okay kids, gather around. Today we are going to be learning offense moves. As you know, my name is (YN), also known as (Your hero name), & my quirk is blades; I can turn my appendages into blades on command. I also like to enhance that by practicing knife & sword training.”

You went on to explain & demonstrate different attacks & how they would be useful for fieldwork in battle.

“Any questions?”

A boy with dark green hair who had been intensely taking notes raised his hand.

“Is there anyway you could show us this in a realistic example? I just want to understand clearly how these moves could be used realistically when someone has a good defense up.”

“I’m sure you guys will get the hang of it once you practice one on one with each other.” You said.

“But we won’t really have a good idea on how to practice it with each other unless we see how it’s done with someone else.” Said a student with yellow hair with a black lightning bolt going through it.”

“You do have a point there. Iida, right? Why don’t you come up here and I can demonstrate.”

“But miss, we are just students. Surely our defense skills won’t be up to par with your offense, thus not giving a realistic expectation of what we are to face as pro hero’s.” He said with a knife hand motion.

“Oh I know! You can show us with MR. Aizawa!” Said a pink girl.

“Well, if it’s for the good of the students education.” Aizawa said with a grin.

“You’re on.” You said back.

Chapter 5

Aizawa walked up to you, he didn’t take his eyes off you & you didn’t take your eyes off him.

“Ready?” He asked smiling cockily & putting on his goggles.

“Been waiting for this.” You replied with a half smirk.

The alarm went off letting you know the fight had started.

You reached your arm forward in an attempt to strike him, but him jumped away & dogged it. He was now watching from a ledge he had pulled himself toward with his scarf.

You took a couples of knives out & threw it where he was posted. He jumped away again, but this time swinging toward you.

You waited for him, ready to strike when he came your way, but as soon as he did your baldes failed you, causing the impact of him kicking your arm to push you down.

You were on the floor & he managed to land on you, pinning you down & immobilizing you with his scarf.

Your blades were failing, you were stuck. You kept trying helplessly anyway, then suddenly the sharpness of your arm ripped you free. Your blades were back as you managed to not only rip your binds, but cut his right arm, making him unstable & allowing you to jump on top to begin your offense; but suddenly your blades were gone.

“His eyes, they’re glowing red.” You thought to yourself as you managed to notice up close.

In a split of a second you grabbed a knife and threw it at him. Your aim being compromised cause suddenly your blade was back.

“The red glow was gone. He blinked... I get it.” You thought.

You stopped trying to use your quirk. You threw three knives at him at different intervals as you jumped behind him.

Out of his line of vision you leaned in with a kick, turning your leg into a blade, cutting at his ankle & pushing him down. You were now keeping his limbs down with your legs & one arm at his wrists.

You took out of special pocket knife, & held it at his neck. The excitement of gore gleaming in your eyes, only to be dimmed out but the feeling of aizawa striking at your face with his head, & elbowing your neck. Before you landed against the ground, he threw many spikes to where you would fall.

As you fell back you managed fling your special pocket knife at him, giving you a blinking second to activate your quirk & turn all your limbs into blades.

You were cut up all over your torso & face but you managed to minimize the damage to your limbs by falling on their flat side.

You jumped up, blood dripping down you face. The one thing you could tell for sure, this guy sure isn’t going to go easy on you.

You chuckled cynically to yourself. “Finally, just like I’ve always wanted.” You growled as you wiped the blood steaming down your temple.

He came running towards you.

“Let’s get even.” You said.

You shattered some glass towards his directions He jumped away but still got a few cuts.

You jumped towards him engaging in hand to hand combat. He blinked, letting your blades come out, you cut away a chunk of his hair.

He tried to jump away but you pulled at his scarf, then you tugged at the ends, choking him.

He kicked you off, but you managed to keep your balance. Spitting blood you smiled. You hadn’t had competition this intense in a while, & you loved it; the trill of being on your toes, not being able to predict what comes next, the confrontation of blood running through your veins, & above all the challenge.

You smashed a piece of concrete, & threw it at him. He jumped out of the way, but turned around to find you next to him, you took you finger as a blade, cut his goggles off & sliced at his eyes.

“Try erasing my quirk now.”

Tears of blood coming down from his face, he fell to the ground. You felt a sense of victory.

You turned around to explain the lesson to class 1A, but to your surprise they were not there anymore.

You felt a tangling at your legs & then you fell to the ground.

Aizawa pounced on top of you & held a throwing star to your neck, blood shot eyes staring intensely at you.

“Never assume victory, & never ever turn your back!” He growled.

“You mean as you have now.” A booming voice said.

Aizawa was pulled off of you, & you were carried off the ground.

“I think this lesson has gone far enough.” The booming voice said as he carried you both.

“All might.” You said.

Chapter 6

All Might took you both to the nurses office where Recovery girl healed you up.

“Look at you too! What have you gotten into?! This is going to take a while.”

She kissed you both, yet you still had to be bandaged up & lie in bed for a couple of hours to rest up.

Luckily the being together after beating the shit out of each other wasn’t as awkward as it could’ve been, since aizawa fell asleep almost instantly. You on the other hand were worried.

This was your second day at UA & were caught having a petty fight. Surely this wouldn’t be without consequences. Finally your dream job & you blew it.

Eventually your resting time was up when all might came in to inform you that there would be a faculty meeting.

You were nervous out of your mind, but aizawa seem so calm. Maybe it was cause he had more years of teaching backing him up & a good history, YOU on the other hand were new & this is the impression you give?! You were screwed.

You walked in to a room full of teachers sitting around a table & principle nezu in the middle.

“Welcome in.” Said the soft voice of the principal.

You and aizawa walked in and sat next to each other. The room was quiet for a second, then the principal began to speak.

“As you all may know, we are gathered to discuss the incident between YN & mr. Aizawa. All might, if you could please inform everyone your involvement.” Nezu said.

“Right. Well I was on my lunch brake in the teachers lounge when Midoriya ran in & explained to me what was going on. As I went to see for myself, I saw the rest of the class outside the teachers lounge looking concerned. They told me that they were getting a demonstration that seemed to have gone too far & were worried for the well being of the teachers. By the time I went in you both seemed very beat up & frankly at each other’s throats.” Toshinori said, without sounding accusatory & careful to not step on anyone’s toes.

“As faculty members we should be leading examples of self control & responsibility when it comes to our quirks.” Said cementos.

“It does worry me what impression this situation is giving the students.” Nezu said calmly.

“It’s unacceptable that the students were acting more responsibly than the teachers who are in charge of the class!” Said Kan.

“If you’ll all excuse us, but there was nothing irresponsible about the events that happened.” Aizawa suddenly spoke up.

“Miss YN is an exemplary teacher who had the situation under control. Her subject is about teaching techniques in offense & defense that are required as basic for a pro hero in field work. As you all know, miss YN did not hold back as neither did I, & that just goes to show the quality education she will add to UA.”

You started wide eyed at Aizawa, in disbelief in the way he was talking about you in front of the staff. Could it just be to save his own skin? It couldn’t be, he could do that without saying how good you are for UA.

“Eraser head, what are you talking about?” Kan said upset.

“Miss YN gave a true demonstration of what is to be expected as pro hero’s & what they should train to live up to. If the students can’t handle what that looks like, then frankly they should rethink their career.

I plan to have a stern talk with my class, since they left class & were not dismissed. We apologize for any inconvenience this has caused.” Aizawa said sternly.

“Well that clears things up. I have full trust in Aizawa’s word as he has always proved to have things under control & never fails to educate exemplary students. Plus I too understand what it’s like to get carried away with a demonstration.” Nezu said giving a quick sip to his tea letting out a small cynical laugh.

“This meeting has been quite fruitful. Everyone can return to their activities.” The principal said.

Chapter 7

Everyone got up from their chairs & left to resume their activities. Aizawa seemed quite stoic as he got up & walked away with a stern posture. You were still in disbelief & taking in what had just happened. When you realized almost nobody was still there, you snapped yourself out of it & quickly got up from your chair & quickened your pace to catch up to shouta.

“Mr. Aizawa!” You say catching up to him.

He stopped his pace and turned around “hmm?” He mumbled.

“I just wanted to thank you, for what you said back there in the meeting.”

“It wasn’t any favor, any teacher who is willing to teach their students the reality of a situation no matter the cost, shouldn’t be punished.” He said, & then continued to walk.

“I know, but still thank you, I know you didn’t have to do that.” You said catching up to him.

“Like I said, it wasn’t any favor. You earned that yourself.” He said stopping briefly & then continued his way.

You were left there pensive. “Maybe this guy is actually okay? Or nice even?” You thought to yourself, puzzled.

That night in your apartment you sat on your window sill, looking at the glow of the city as you sharpened your blades.

You had mixed emotions you were trying to straighten out.

“He was such a jerk when we met; but maybe his just one of those stubborn people. He came to my class uninvited; but maybe he genuinely just wanted to see how his class was doing. He literally fought me in front of everyone; but he never underestameted me. Was it all for himself? The students? Me? All three?” You thought to yourself.

“Ughhh this is confusing.” You said our loud giving an extra strong sharpen to one of your knives.

“I guess I still have a lot to learn about him.” You thought.

You put the knife & looked at the view outside your window. Recovery girl had told you to avoid hero activity for a bit, so you stayed in that night.

“I’m glad there are other hero’s to keep this place safe.” You said as you heard sirens from a distance & saw the lights of vehicles in motion.

“Other pro hero’s...” You thought.

You quickly got out your phone & remembering Aizawa’s hero name, you searched him up.

“Huh, there’s not really a lot on him.” There went your attempt to try to learn more about him.

You browsed through only to find very limited official pictures of him, & a few of sightings of him in action at night. You read how he avoids the public eye, & different opinions on why; but in the end all those were just speculations & opinions, no better than your own at the moment.

“I guess the only way to truly understand him is to get to know him.” You thought.

You kept looking outside your window, wondering if he was resting as recovery girl said, or out somewhere in shadows of the city. You couldn’t help but feel a strange fascinating towards him.

For the next chapters click here:

#aizawa x reader #my hero academia aizawa #fanfiction #my hero academy fanfiction #boku no hero acadamia oc

[coneygoil]

Walking Wounded, part 3

Caryl AU. The waitress at a diner Daryl decides to start frequenting catches his eye, but things are complicated. Now, Daryl is the only thing standing between her and her abusive husband.

Part 1 | Part 2

A pot of grits and some links of deer sausage awaited Carol and her daughter as they emerged from the bedroom the next morning. Daryl gestured to the small, round kitchen table for them to sit and he served them breakfast. Carol sat planted there, wringing her hands in her lap and not knowing how to act. She’d never – not once – had been served breakfast by Ed. Not even on Mother’s Day or her birthday. It felt all kinds of wrong to be the one being served, and she almost couldn’t bare to watch.

“Ran out for a little while to pick up some milk from the Dollar General,” he told her as he pulled out the mix-matched chair across from her. “And some other things you and Sophia may need.” He gestured to the yellow bags on the kitchen counter. “Damn DGs are everywhere these days. Surprised there ain’t one in every yard.”

“Thank you,” Carol gazed at the food like she didn’t know what to do with it, “You didn’t have to. I mean, I don’t have any money to pay you back. Ed never lets me—”

Daryl held up a hand to stop her. “Don’t worry about it. I got enough cash squirreled away to spare some. You and your little girl need things and I’m gonna make sure you have them.”

Daryl switched his attention to Sophia sitting next to him. She hadn’t uttered a word in his presence. Not at the diner nor this morning. She watched him cautiously when he wasn’t looking, but as soon as Daryl turned his attention to her, she’d stiffen and avert her eyes to whatever was below her. Even at 5 years old, she’d learned to not make eye contact with her father, and in doing so, learned to not make contact with any man either. Ed would take it the wrong way – like he thought she was ignoring him -- and whip his belt out. Said she had to learn early how to act properly. All it was doing was training her to be a good whipping post for a man just like her daddy.

“How you this morning, Sophia?” Daryl tried. He was just as gentle with her as he was with Carol. “You sleep good?” When she didn’t respond or look at him, he nodded his head. “It’s okay if you don’t wanna talk. I ain’t gonna make you.” He pointed to the deer sausage on her plate. “You need to eat. That some good deer. I shot it a couple weeks back. Helps keep my belly full every morning.”

“You said your brother lives here too?” Carol asked. Daryl hummed in reply as he chewed up a piece of sausage. “What’s his name? I can’t remember it.”

“Merle,” Daryl sat back, hoping his brother’s sabbatical would be longer than usual. Merle was going to give him hell for bringing a married woman and her kid into their Dixon boys’ abode. “He’s my older brother. 8 years older. We’ve lived on and off with each other our whole lives. He’s really all I got.”

“He won’t mind us being here?” Carol’s concern was written all over her face. She’d met Merle three or four times, but judging by how he talked, Merle didn’t seem like the most pleasant person to be around.

“Whether he minds or not, he’s not gonna have a say. He’s the one always gone off doing his own thing while I’m here. I think I have more a say so than him. You and your little girl need a place to stay more than he does anyways.”

Carol bristled. “I don’t want to cause trouble.”

“You’re not. Don’t think you are.”

All the reassurance Daryl had given her in the last several hours hadn’t soaked in. Carol had been conditioned to think herself a burden and his words weren’t penetrating that steel wall. She still felt like bolting right out the door.

Sophia had finally begun to move in her spot. She sipped at her glass of milk before taking a merger spoonful of grits. Carol worried most for her daughter. The child had witnessed more violence in her short 5 years than one person did in a lifetime. Their sudden departure was only going to fuel Ed’s anger like gasoline on fire. How would they survive this?

***

After breakfast, Daryl drove them to pick up Carol’s car to bring back to the trailer. Carol was close to spilling tears when she heard her car had been towed away by Ed. He was a lazy son of gun, but when it came to spite, he had all the energy in the world. The loss of Carol’s car was a huge blow. As they made their way back to the trailer, Daryl could tell she was trying to hold back tears as she squashed Sophia to her side.

She didn’t have a vehicle. Not even a car seat for Sophia. No clothes. Possessions. Money. Nothing. It visibly crushed her like a 1000-pound weight.

When they arrived back at the trailer, Daryl quietly asked Carol to talk with him in the bedroom while Sophia watched tv in the living room. Sophia’s eyes widen as big as saucers in alarm, but Carol assured her that Daryl wasn’t like her daddy. Mommy is safe with him. Daryl had to take a deep breath at the very thought that this poor girl had to be told that.

Carol followed him into his bedroom after getting Sophia settled. Her skittishness had come back tenfold as he shut the door behind them.

“Have you thought about going to a women’s shelter?” Daryl regretted the question the moment the words tumbled from his mouth.

A deep frown line creased Carol’s brow. “I did. Several months back. They couldn’t do much more than give me housing. A few necessary items. Ed found us.” Her voice cracked, and Daryl could see a slew of memories playing out behind her eyes. “He caught us on the street. He brought us back home. He did this to me.” Carol pulled up her sleeve to reveal a burn mark just below the back of her left shoulder. “Made me swear I’d never leave like that again. I was his and had no right to go. I swore, because if I didn’t, I knew he would go after Sophia. He never threatened to, but I knew he would.”

Daryl’s chest tightened like a bow sting with every new horrifying reality that she shared. Behind his own eyes, memories of childhood played out. He shook himself free before he could dive too deep within them. This wasn’t about his past life. This was about the gentle, soft-spoken woman standing in front of him that didn’t have a damn person on her side in the entire world.

If he thought about it – really made himself think – he didn’t have anyone either. Merle was all he had, and Daryl didn’t even have him more than half the time. Carol and her daughter needed somebody on their side. Who the hell cared if he would make it his mission to save her? Maybe in the process, she’d somehow save him too. But, that wasn’t anything to think about right now. She was still married to a bastard that needed to be eliminated from her life.

“Then, it’s settled.” Daryl nodded his point. “You and Sophia are staying here.”

“Daryl—” she wanted to protest again. Claim she was a burden. He didn’t want to hear that bull from her.

“You’re staying and I’m gonna take care of you.”

Crossing arms across her chest like a shield, Carol could only nod in agreement. Daryl’s fight depleted somewhat at the sight of her, realizing what he may sound like to her, no matter how softly he spoke his words.

“But,” he feared for what his next statement would bring, “if you want to go, you can go. Not gonna keep you here.” Daryl’s eyes fixed upon hers. He shook his head. “Not like him.”

Carol offered him a small but genuine smile. “I know.”

***

There was a war raging in Carol’s head. Part of it was trying desperately to convince her to return to Ed. She’d take the beating he’d dish out. She’d end up with a busted face and a broken bone or two. Maybe another burn mark to decorate her shoulder. She’d promise to never leave him again. She’d sob and paw at his legs like the pathetic creature he claimed she was. If she begged enough, threw herself at his mercy, maybe he wouldn’t lay a hand on Sophia.

The other part of her was screaming to keep as far away as possible. Daryl was only a customer at a greasy spoon of a diner she worked at. To most, he was plainly a redneck with not much education behind him. Carol saw that he was remarkably so much more than his outward appearance. Every visit to the diner, he’d treated her with the utmost respect and kindness. He proved to her that there were good men out there. She craved more of that goodness.

When he told Carol she could go if she wanted to – back to Ed in her mind-- she fought with the overwhelming need of what she’d been conditioned to do for the last 10 years of her life. She kept her gaze steady on Daryl, fought the secret battle, and won. She would stay with him. She would accept the protection of his wings and care that he generously gave.

They spent most of the day in the trailer. Sophia seemed content to watch tv and color in her coloring book when she was tired of the screen. Carol couldn’t sit still for long. She felt awkward cleaning up another person’s home, but she had to do something to keep her hands busy and her mind off things. While Daryl was out on the small front porch smoking, she dove into cleaning the kitchen. She paused when he walked back in and questioned silently if it was okay when she made eye contact with him. Daryl shrugged a shoulder giving the okay and sat down at the kitchen table.

“I don’t think it’d be smart to stop by your old man’s house for your things right now,” Daryl voiced his concern.

Carol felt absolutely gross in the clothes she’d worn for 24 hours. She needed a good showering and fresh clothing. Thankfully, she had been able to wipe off the night before. Sophia needed to be clean as well. The girl would develop a yeast infection if she didn’t change her underwear soon.

“We can go to the thrift store up on Pearl St. Been there before. They got decent stuff. Nothin’ stained or torn. Stop by the DG on the way back. Get you and Sophia some underclothes.”

Carol paused from wiping the counter. She’d already scrubbed the stove, wiped down the outside of the refrigerator, and washed and tucked away the dishes and pots from breakfast and lunch. Daryl hadn’t commented about her tidying up his home. She had his unspoken blessing to do what she wanted to do, she guessed.

“Daryl—” She had to question it again. She had to hear his explanation once more to convince her. “Why are you doing this for us? Why do you care so much? I mean, you don’t even know me.”

Daryl fixed her with his narrow gaze. “I know you’re someone that needs help. Let me ask you this, Carol—”

A flutter climbed in her chest at the sound of her name across his lips.

“Has anybody helped you before? Has anybody bothered to ask you if you were okay when there was a shiner blinding like the sun on your face?”

She averted her eyes to the floor and swallowed before answering. “No.”

He pushed off the chair and stepped up to her. “That’s why I’m helping you.” He swallowed loudly, running a hand over the stubble on his chin. “That’s why I care. It’s up to you what you do with it. Take it or leave it.”

Carol mulled over his words. It was nearly impossible to believe someone could possibly care for her. She had to chip away the wall Ed erected so strongly inside her head. She had to start today if her and Sophia were to ever have a future. She drew in a deep breath and laid the dishrag over the sink to dry, hoping her words would be answer enough. “Whenever you’re ready to go to the thrift store.”

#caryl #twd: caryl #twd fanfiction #caryl fanfiction #daryl x carol #walking wounded

[rennarenofao3]

Psycho-Pass Week 2019

Day 1: Red/Strength

Warnings: Series Spoilers, Descriptions and Mentions of Violence and Canon Character Deaths

This story can also be read on AO3

Akane beamed as the teacher patted her head, smiling approvingly as Akane brought the pile of assignments she had collected from her fellow students up to her desk, complementing the red shade of Akane’s sweater before dismissing the class to recess. On the playground outside, while their teacher was otherwise occupied a group of boys, known for being troublemakers, surrounded Akane peppering her with spiteful remarks on her role as teacher’s pet.

 “How come you always wear red anyway?... Sybil says it’s not even a good color.” taunted a boy who normally sat several seats behind Akane in class, giving her a forceful shove. Next to him a boy laughed as Akane fell onto her rear with a grunt.

 “Stupid, it’s cause of her name.” he said as he elbowed his friend.

The first bully that stood over Akane looked down at her with a smirk. “…Is that it huh? …You have to wear it because it reminds you of your name? That’s dumb.”

 “N-no! …That’s not it!” shouted Akane, tears beginning to well in her eyes.

 Just then the teacher came over to break up the fight, soothing Akane’s tears briefly before sweeping away toward the principal’s office with the bullies in tow.

 Arriving at her Grandmother’s house after school for a planned weekend long stay, Akane took off her cardinal colored sweater, balling it up furiously before hiding it away out of sight in a corner of the guest room closet. Later when Akane and her Grandmother were heading out to get a special treat, her grandmother asked after the suddenly missing garment. At first Akane hesitated to answer, but after some gentle prodding the story of what had happened spilled out, Akane’s lips twisting in distress as she spoke.

With a sigh and a sympathetic smile Akane’s Grandmother pulled the girl into her lap, gently stroking her brown locks until she was calm once more.

“You shouldn’t pay attention to what they say A-chan. I think red is a beautiful color, it symbolizes strength.” said her Grandmother with a smile, as Akane tilted her head back to look up at her. “That’s why your parents chose it for your name.”

 “Really?...” asked Akane her eyes widening in childish wonder at the depth of her Grandmother’s knowledge and wisdom.

 “Mm-hm.” replied her Grandmother nodding, as she stroked Akane’s cheek. “It’s perfect for a kind, wonderful and strong girl like you.”

 Reassured Akane hopped off of her Grandmother’s lap, going to retrieve her sweater from where she had tucked it so that they could set out on their outing.

 Over time she learned to ignore the attempts at provocation and the taunting by children who afterwards became mysteriously absent. And then as she and those around her grew older such words became seldom heard, the admiration her perpetually powder blue hue won allowing her to wear the vivid shade without distress.

Now cloaked in coat of blue rather than red, her work at the MWPSB had proved challenging so far, but as the Sybil System had predicted, not beyond her abilities.

 Akane stood facing the large oval floor mirror, feeling sick to her stomach as her imagination filled in the appearance of the claret spray that should have covered the spotless room behind her. Following a hunch that Kogami had provided Shoko Sugawara, personified on the commufields as Spooky Boogie, had been found to be murdered, her remains dissolved and drained away down her bathtub’s plumbing. Regret and guilt filled Akane at the fate of the young woman who had only a day or so ago attempted to assist them in capturing the suspect in their case. Thinking back to her school days, Akane vaguely recalled the firey red hair and eyes of her former classmate, though she had not known her well.

 Akane.

Aka.

Red.

Such a small, simple word, carrying with it the meaning of her name.

Until now, it had seemed like such an innocent color, despite the childish teasing it had once provoked.

 Makishima’s blade flashed in the light, reflecting a momentary vermillion dyed view of the hollow room before it struck. Yuki’s muffled final cry, though reduced to a wet, bubbling gurgle in her throat, was still echoed by a scream of despair that reverberated shrilly off the red spattered surfaces. And while the evidence no longer remained on the coat that Kogami wore when she saw him later, in her mind’s eye Akane could still recall where each crimson stain of Yuki’s blood had been.

 After the disastrous riots that had rocked the city, Makishima’s capture and escape, and Kogami subsequent departure, it had been dark in the office when they had summoned her, their wishes made known via a dominator transportation drone. She had been led down into a brilliantly lit room in which dwelt the heart of the System which governed her country, its form unknown to all but a worthy few. As she stood before them struggling to come to terms with the truth that had been laid before her, the Sybil System coolly informed her that she was not the first in recent days to look upon their true form. Before his disappearance enforcer Kagari had made his way down to this chamber as well, prior to his subsequent death. Looking around the unmarred, blinding whiteness of the room Akane’s eyes stung and her chest ached sharply as she wondered how quickly the cleaning drones had been able to erase the scarlet proof of Kagari’s existence from the floor and pillars.

 Lifting her head from the concrete it had been resting on Akane turned toward the ruddy, sunset tinted field that stretched into the distance, having been brought back to sudden consciousness by the ear-splitting sound of a gunshot. Some vicious, vengeful part of her which also feared for the loss of yet another, who in spite of their difference in physical strength was also supposed to be under her protection, hoped that the blood-stained form that surely lay in the field beyond wore white rather than black. Rising up and returning to the building behind her, she closed her eyes against the large pool of red that covered a portion of the floor. Then reopening them Akane followed the scattered drops that led away from one edge of it until they led her to Ginoza, his left arm and shoulders covered in blood, with Masaoka’s unmoving form draped across them.

 Time passes, and the carmine colored specters in her mind fade slightly, but never fully vanish.

 As Akane and Ginoza arrive at the mental health center where one of the PSB’s inspectors and a group of hostages were being held, numerous bursts of cherry liquid swell and spatter the concrete below the forms that once contained them. Another cry, this time one of angry protest, reverberates off the stony buildings that surround her. Inside, Ginoza kneels beside one pool, his hand instinctively reaching for the shattered wrist link that lay within it before bowing his head as he voiced a murmured name.

 Cracking red engulfed the building that she and the other members of Division One stood in front of, as dancing flames consumed it. Akane felt the same blazing heat making its way into her veins, sparks of rage bursting from her eyes as he looked at the man who stood before her. Inside the cushioned box he held out lay an ear, adorned with an earring that was all too familiar, surrounded by a drying patch of maroon. Surging forward she screamed in fury, her strength in the moment nearly enough to overpower even Ginoza’s mechanical arm as he held her back. Later when she stood in Chief Kasei’s office, Akane wondered where that strength had gone as her knees trembled and threated to collapse at the sight of the gruesomely colored images laid before her. In spite of her grandmother’s words when she was young, Akane had never hated the color red so much.

 Murmured words of gratitude, which only she was close enough to be able to make out, were the last thing Akane had expected to hear as Kamui’s wounded body fell through the air already beginning to swell beyond the confines of his flesh as the Dominator’s destructive force overwhelmed it. A violent gush of blood momentarily obscured her vision as Kamui died staining the floor at her feet with its color. Red, human, and perhaps the truest form of answer to the question for which the young man had given his life.

 Another death.

More red.

More blood dyeing her hands.

 In SEAUn, a young servant girl falls to the ground mere inches from her uselessly numb fingertips, a thin trail of crimson running down her forehead.

 And another precious life, which she had failed to protect, was lost.

 In the same way that the ocean flowing toward the shore would lap at her slender feet and ankles, moving upward along her legs the longer she stayed in place. The rising flood of red coated her dreams, threatening to drown her in their depths if she stood still long enough.

In the end only two choices seemed apparent.

To surrender.

Give in and allow the weight of what the System failed to prevent, and had at times even deliberately allowed, to consume her.

Or to fight back.

To use her determination to prevent the red that had already been shed from spilling any further, as fuel to strengthen her resolve.

Like the color that was in her name, Akane decided she would accept the red that marked her past failures to protect, using it as the strength of purpose that continued to drive her forward.

#psycho-pass week #psycho pass #tsunemori akane #psycho pass week #psycho pass week 2019 #psychopassweek

[exordiumnoctis]

Retaliation

A trial is held to determine the fate of the man who took Mihr’s life, but things do not go as the Queen had planned, and afterwards Uldren must realize how things have changed. 

1,138 Words

Content Warnings: graphic description of rape, graphic violence, strained father/daughter relationship (not directly related to the first two warnings)

Featuring @scarletrebel‘s Avia and @consvlaris‘s Saiglemar Urr. 

“Restraints? How primitive.” The Queen didn’t offer a response, and Pilot inclined his head to where the Prince was circling the parameter of the hall like a hungry predator. He watched him, the fury behind his eyes and the decisive steel of his demeanor, and turned to face the Court. 

“Pashrin Dhmirsta, you are being tried for the abduction of Prince-Consort Mirridon Sov, as well as 96 missing Reef children. How do you plead?” 

Pilot snorted, half in derision. “Does it matter if I object to the charges? You’ve decided my guilt already.”

“Will you offer nothing in your own defense?” Procurator Saiglemar Urr, Mara’s pet and scribe, stood at the podium as if the weight of a thousand worlds burdened his shoulders. His hands were shaking where they pressed against the surface of his stand; a Prosecutor, he was not, but Pilot knew that everything within the Royal Halls was a test, and to fail meant certain death. He did not pity the man, and instead let his gaze sweep the rows of attendees, noting where Uldren had stilled next to a pale young woman; this, he realized, must have been their child.

“I will.” He turned again, boots squealing against the finely-polished floor, to face Uldren and the girl fully. “You going to attack me, Your Highness?” 

Uldren pursed his lips into a thin line, hand white-knuckled against the back of the chair his daughter was sitting in, and a flash of amusement coursed through Pilot as he registered just how angry the girl looked.

Without breaking eye contact with Uldren, he continued. “Earth. There’s these powerful creatures-- they’ve taken to calling themselves Risen, ‘cos they’ve come back from the dead. There’s one, a man named Citan. Said he’d pay a pretty penny for a little Awoken boy to throw around, have a good time with. I sold your plaything for more glimmer than I ever would have earned shuttling petty goods back and forth for your Queen. Miserable living, that.” He paused, took a moment to gauge their reactions and sneered. “He showered me in gifts, wine and rich foods. I sat at the head of an obsidian table and I watched him tear those fancy fabrics from the boy’s screaming body, and he begged for you--” He pointed a finger toward Uldren, spittle flying from his mouth, taunt and jest and accusation fueling his words, “--To save him while that beast fucked and fucked him until he stopped moving, like some morbid fucking dinner entertainment! But you couldn’t save him, could you Spymaster?” The girl rose but Uldren forced her back into her chair. “You couldn’t stop some tart from another fucking planet forcing himself on your poor baby bride until he was pissing and bleeding all over himself. All that class, all that divinity you claim to have? It ain’t *shit* in the face of a man like that, and there was nothing you could do.”

Silence fell over the hall, a collective breath held between every member in attendance until Uldren moved, the sharp impact of a dagger tearing it’s way through Pilot’s solar plexus. The man staggers back, the virulent sneer on his face contorted into something like surprise, and Uldren lunged. His fingers grip the handle of the knife and he stills long enough to match Pilot’s gaze before twisting the knife, the sickening crack of bone and sinew echoing throughout the chamber, and the Prince ripped the blade upward with a war-cry. The wet sound of Pilot’s guts spilling into the floor was dulled by the collective shock of the Court, Saiglemar leaping from his stand but Mara raised her hand, and silence fell over the room once more.

She watched Uldren, covered in blood and trembling with barely-bridled fury; she watched Avia, the way she kept just enough distance so that Uldren could not reach out to her, could not drag her into his spiraling rage or worse--

Mara noted the tell-tale gleam of unshed tears on his face, how his expression was more than nauseous in spite of his quaking anger, and rose from her throne to descend the stairs, moving to his side as her heels clicked in the still-warm puddle of Pilot’s blood and guts. She placed a benevolent hand feather-light on his shoulder. “Go from here. We will convene later to discuss the consequences of this.” Her eyes cut to Avia. “You as well, little bird.”

Uldren does not wait for her.

It isn’t until later, when they are in the chambers they once shared as a family, the ones now tainted with animosity and disappointment and regret (but not from him; he could not regret the choice that brought so much light to his life) that he finally addresses her.

“Avia.” She is statue-still on the small balcony, the sliding door open just enough for a thin body to squeeze through and his exhaustion finally hits him when he stands, when he forces the opening wider and stands in the threshold. “Avia, please.”

“What do you want me to say?” Her voice is harsh and he bristles. “Do you expect me to do as he did, to hush you into something other than self-loathing?” She stands and slams her palms into the railing of the balcony, making the whole length of it shake. “He was right. You couldn’t protect him, and you sure as hell can’t protect me.”

This time Uldren does not try to argue with her. He cannot muster the energy to yell, to defend himself, because in the depth of his soul he knows she is right, that Pilot was right-- This, all of this, falls on him.

He retreats to the sofa and lowers himself, presses his face into his hands and it is then, finally, that he lets himself collapse. The emotions threaten anger but he is too tired and instead he cries, shakes with the empty sobs until his voice has gone hoarse and his eyes burn from the tears. He knows he is alone, knows that this is the beginning of the end--

Avia’s weight shifts the couch, but he does not look at her, cannot face her knowing that he allowed their family to dissolve, that he is the reason her safety and comfort and love, the things Mihr so desperately wanted for her, have rotted into whatever the two of them have become. She does not speak, does not try to comfort him or offer the solace of accepted apologies unspoken but her presence alone is a balm against the aching hole in his heart.

When he wakes-- he hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep-- she is gone, only a mirage of her left in their chambers and the cruel reality of his new future creeps up on him over too-strong coffee.

Now, he is truly alone.

#prince uldren sov #mirridon sov #avia #destiny #drabbles #saiglemar urr #rape tw #violence tw #death tw #blood tw

[ofviictories]

trigger warnings : talk about attempted murder throughout, death threats, mentions of violence, choking & blood.

who are you? ... death?   /   sometimes. not today.

she expected a monster.

it was, she knew, childish to imagine a BEAST. but after spending so many hours at theo's side, burning into memory the bandages and casts... it had been hard to imagine the injuries draining his life being caused by anything human. as she clutched his hand and waited for him to wake in vain, she imagined long claws turning skin to ribbon and yellow teeth tearing flesh. a body covered in wiry hair saturated in her sons blood.

she expected a monster, trapped inside a cage. the only place for it.

she didn't expect a girl. not behind metal bars, but sitting quiet and still in the chaos of logan's home - there'd been a fight, she knew, but that didn't explain why this woman, this monster, whether she looked the part or not, being free to roam. she belonged locked up. she belonged dead.

romy let the door to her father's cabin close with a thud behind her, but she made no move to step away from the threshold. her wariness was understandable. victoria, hunched over on a wooden chair and clutching her shoulder with one hand, didn't even jump. she'd figured that she'd be difficult to surprise.

"you must be ramona."

head lolling to the side as if there was some sort of invisible weight attached, the younger lifted her gaze - and as their eyes met, a feeling pooled in the pit of romy's stomach that burned. she had to work extra hard to stay grounded in place, hands clenched and fingernails digging into the skin of her palms, words managing only barely to find their way through gritted teeth, "and you're the newest shame on this fucked up family. i'd finish this round of introductions with a 'it's lovely to meet you, victoria'-"

"don't." it was a cutting interruption, but it lacked any undertone that might have made it VICIOUS - a snappy retort from a woman who seemed to have lost all the fight she might have ever possessed. romy blinked, the obvious follow up coming as soon as she recovered from just how taken aback she was by the others too quick interjection: "what?"

the woman before her seemed to struggle. it was the first time since entering the room that romy could see a ghost of who she had been, before. there had been a PRIDE to the way in which she held herself - a way in which she spoke, and reacted, that stuck around even now, and made whatever she was going through internally even more obvious. her gaze darted away once more and she shuffled, uncomfortably, before settling upon a simple, strained, "don't...- don't call me that."

"why?... as a favor? one howlett to another?" she didn't mean to laugh. alas, it bubbled regardless - and when she managed to reign it in, her expression hardened like steel, "i don't care what blood is running through your veins - you're NOT a howlett. not to me. and you're never going to belong in this family."

too far, maybe? she didn't think that there was really such a thing... not when it came to victoria. she thought that the other understood this, too, given how little feeling there was to her response. "it's not that. it...- that name- i'm not HIS. i don't belong to him."

her fingers twitched.

victoria didn't see - gaze still averted, she was almost blind to the affect that those few words had on ramona. clearly, she didn't know how thin a line she was walking, here. how one wrong word could turn a conversation to a bloodbath. making a visible attempt to control the rage that was slowly building, burning in her fingertips and giving her words a tightened edge, the older woman took her time, but remained absolute. "you were a creed when you tore into my son like he was some sort of ANIMAL-"

"i'm sorry, about theo-"

wrong word found.

the dam broke.

whatever control romy had over herself went out of the window. in a single fluid motion, she was across the room and colliding with victoria, grabbing her around the throat and lifting, the others body SLAMMING against the wall behind as the chair she had been sat upon clattered to the floor. the younger didn't fight back. romy didn't imagine that she would have been able to hold her position, if she had - even fueled by such fury. if she'd chosen to, then victoria could have evaded and avoided this very situation, or she could have torn herself from her half-sisters grasp. to anyone else, the fact that she didn't and allowed herself to be held there ( like an animal ) would speak volumes about her mindset. to romy, it was an empty gesture. "you don't get to say his name," she hissed, face a mere inch from the others, body pressed completely against hers, "you don't get to be sorry. and just so we're clear, you don't get to wipe the slate clean by leaving behind the identity yu were ALL TOO HAPPY TO PLAY, a month ago."

"ramona-" her voice was a rasp, vocal chords compressed, "i'm...- i'm sorry-"

"sorry is what you say when you bump into someone. YOU tried to kill my son." and her sisters. in a better headspace, she would have remembered those additional crimes, too. it wasn't that ramona didn't care - it was that she could only spare so much feeling for them, when the first attack had been on theo. since the day she had gotten that call, she had been consumed by an all manner of feelings ; guilt, for giving him and helena away so many years before. regret, that she hadn't told him who he was or who she was long before. crushing sadness that she would never get the chance. rage that the person who had done that to him was still out there. now...- all of them came together, all of them formed this NEED for retribution, and she only had enough of that for theo. "you would have killed him, and he still might..." die. wasn't that the painful reality that kept all those feelings fresh? "that's ALL on you. so you can take your apologies, and you can choke on them, you psychopathic bitch."

if her words wounded the girl who's oxygen was becoming seriously compromised the more seconds ticked by, then she did a good job at hiding it. she remained, as was becoming quite predictable, now, unmoving and unemotive. romy felt the huge gulp she took beneath her grip, and was glad that for the time being, she was so close - if she hadn't been, she mightn't have been able to hear victoria's whisper. "are you here to kill me, then?"

so casual. like they were discussing the weather forecast. romy didn't know, of course, but to vicki, that was all this was. she knew her end was sealed, no matter which way she turned - it didn't matter at this point, where it came from.

and it would have been so easy. ramona might not have gotten all the howlett attributes - but she had NEVER been uneducated, when it came to situations such as these.

if she squeezed just a little bit tighter, then would have completely crushed the younger girls windpipe. her fight or flight instinct, the one she was ignoring, right now, would probably have kicked in - but with so little air already in her lungs, she wouldn't be too hard to hold onto until she finally fell completely still. and that was just the easiest way.

if she wanted her to suffer, then she was confident in at least a dozen other methods.

but she couldn't.

"the only reason that you're still breathing...- that i didn't tear you apart the minute that i stepped through that door- is because of logan," it was obvious that this was not something that romy was happy about. it took all of her willpower to stay talking, and not to give in to the thought at the back of her mind, of just ending it. all of it, here and now. "in spite of all his shortcomings, he's my father. i RESPECT him. i...- i love him. and he thinks that you deserve your shot at redemption."

victoria struggled a little less, this time around. her response, another whisper, came swiftly and matter-of-factly. "you don't think that i do."

another laugh escaped ramona's lips, her breath dancing across victoria's cheek. "i don't care. you can spend the next century trying to right your wrongs, if that's what you really want - i don't care about that, and i don't care about you. i have one more chance to save my son. a last ditch effort, before...- before there isn't anything else that can be done. and if i can't-... if he dies, because of what you did on this twisted path into my family, none of it will matter. i'll come back here, victoria, and i promise that you'll wish i'd killed you now." tears stung her eyes, but the resolve never left her face - and victoria would have never presumed that this meant SOFTNESS. it didn't. "do you understand?"

she nodded. or at least - she gave her best attempt at a nod, the smallest movement of her head being all that romy's grip allowed. not only did she understand, but she didn't doubt her, either.

"i said: do you understand?"

and even if she had, the way in which she tightened her hand around her throat in the same movement as she pushed her knee in beneath her ribs, pushing up and in until a pained gasp left her lips - it would have made her second guess.

"yes."

"good." her knee disappeared, and her hands loosened. "i understand that you were talking to my daughter, before."

it was false pretense. victoria knew it well. the lightened hold upon her neck was a lulling into false security that she wasn't about to fall for - but given her new look on life, she also wasn't about to avoid the question being posed, or try to lie. even if she did, she had a feeling the outcome would be the same. "i was."

she was right. it was false pretense. the reward for her honesty was a full release from romy's grasp - though the cost was, of course, her half-sister gripping her shoulders tight and forcing her body down, knee coming up to slam into her face, hard, before she tossed her to the floor. a groan left her lips, entirely out of her control, and on the floor, her hands went to her face - cradling her broken nose.

"if you ever do that again - if you're the reason that even one hair on her head is harmed, or you do anything, or say anything, to either of my children EVER again, victoria...-" her words came to a sudden stop. looking down at her half-sister, covered now in her own blood from her gushing faucet of a nose, romy was painfully aware that the only way she could leave here, happy, was knowing that she was DEAD. her threats were far from empty, promises that she wanted to keep, but... god, the idea of leaving her still breathing felt like a crime. it felt like she was letting theo down.

the struggle that romy was going through wasn't lost on victoria. she could see the gears turning in the others mind, and watched as each emotion played out acros her face. a broken nose would never satisfy the need for revenge that had been sowed inside of her, and she wasn't afraid to meet her maker, if that was what ramona so chose.

the two women stood for a very long moment simply staring back at each other, and then, with the decision seeming to add a hundred years onto romy's tired face, the older turned away. she picked her way around the chair, and victoria watched as she reached the door and yanked it wide - the only unsurprising thing being that, before she left, romy turned on her heel again to fix her with a frozen stare, and her words were well chosen.

"i just need one reason. just one - and when it comes, there isn't a single person in this world, not even logan, who'll be able to stop me. i can wait just as long as you can, victoria, but the moment that you step over that line again... victor creed has NOTHING on what i'll do to you."

the door slammed behind her, shaking in its frame, and though she had been through what anyone would have called hell at victors hands... victoria BELIEVED her half-sisters parting words, more than she had ever really believed anything.

#「 ･ﾟ × ･ * ― self para. 」 #me . shrugging my way thru life . it is what it is u know . its all it can b .

[fashionfarce]

2011-2012

**disclaimer: these stories are NOT simply based on real events. these chronicle real situations and the names used ARE REAL because I do not believe in ever silencing victims, even when it’s myself. There are NO innocent parties to protect here, y’all.**

**content warning: abuse, sex, sexual violence, language, drug use**

When I was 21, I met Chris.

He was a familiar face- we went to the same college, had the same friends, we partied together but we’ll say 21 because that is truly when I got to know him. He was well-read, intelligent, and had a level of charm I had never seen before. His idol was Hunter S. Thompson, and it showed. There was a level of magnetism and charisma around him that I had never seen before and it drew me in. I wanted to know more about this strangely beautiful boy.

It was autumn, and we were both going through breakups- nothing substantial, short flings- but in those days I truly needed someone else’s validation (no matter how insincere) to drown out the roaring self-loathing and insecurities that ruled my brain. A mutual friend gave me his number and suggested that we meet up.

It may have been the drugs, it may have been the charm, it may have been my raging insecurity, but I fell fast and hard. We slept together the first night, we said “I love you” in the first week, within a month we were discussing getting married and moving to Mexico. It was insanity, it was delusion, it was the exact release I needed to block out reality. My relationships with my family and longtime friends were near-severed; I was slowly retreating into this small, isolated little world. It didn’t matter, I was with him.

At the time I was not getting along with my roommate, and I moved in with him and six other roommates into a three-bedroom apartment. It was the same chaos I was learning to love in our energies. It was dirty, covered in beer cans and liquor bottles and paraphernalia. We slept on a filthy futon on the floor. We partied every night. Our roommate facilitated all kinds of criminal activities from the master bedroom. We had no money, but to me it didn’t matter- I was on so many drugs and so happy with this careless façade that I truly felt I had found paradise.

But the intense highs were met with equally dramatic lows.

The first time he hurt me was when we were in Houston visiting his parents for Thanksgiving. We went to a bar to visit with his high school friends. I always felt strangely alien in these scenarios, never really wanted, just there. We had our fill of gin and tonics before we got in my car to go back to his parents’ house. Being drunk, I don’t remember what exactly was said but we were arguing. The tenderness I had been shown disappeared instantly. He pulled the key from the ignition and threw it into the woods. When I ran to look for it, I angrily asked why he would do that.

He tackled me and showed no mercy. Fists, nails, fury on every part of my body. My screams brought the police (this would be the first of many times they were summoned).

We were told we weren’t arrested because they didn’t want to take us in on Thanksgiving. His mom picked me up and apologized for her son.

The next morning he woke up and cried, tenderly touching the scratches and bruises he caused.

We went back to the chaos. Back to partying every night. On sixth street one night he bought an eight ball of coke with my money only for us to discover it was flour. I yelled at him for the stupid decision. He showed his rage in public.

We went back to the house and in front of at least 4-5 people, he dragged me by my hair on the floor and hurt me again. The girl who lived with us tried to help; I learned later that I hit back and refused her help.

By New Years this was a common occurrence. I shared my insecurities; he used them as a weapon, his words biting and venomous. We moved into a different apartment. I was careful not to say or do anything that would set him off; I paid for the smallest word or gesture in bruises, scratches, and broken spirits. I tried to call for help; twice he threw my phone across the room, breaking it. I tried to run out the door; people would block the door and tell me I needed to listen what he had to say. I tried to climb down our third floor balcony; they would pull me back. I tried to drive away; he would put his foot under the tire and ask me why I would hurt him. I tried to throw myself out of my own moving car from the passenger seat to get away. I even tried to end my own life in the bathroom; he broke down the door to hurt me more.

For all the witnesses, very few tried to help. Many would justify his behavior. It was my fault.

When the police would come I would say nothing was wrong. I would cover my bruises and contusions with makeup. I was silenced.

Even in my broken state, I felt he was my only family. I desperately needed him to love me. He and his roommates would fuel this dangerous delusion by telling me he needed me. I was the only one with a job; they would siphon my money for drugs.

He started using other women to make me jealous. I had suspicions, which turned out to be the only non delusional thoughts I experienced.

He was a recovering heroin addict; by the end of our relationship he was using full speed yet again. At the time, this was the only drug I had never touched.

Near the end of our relationship, he had a phone call with his father that didn’t go well. I knew what would happen. I couldn’t run out the door, so I hid on the balcony. He found me, instigating, looking for a reason to hurt me. He knocked me to the ground, choking me. I could feel myself losing consciousness. I could see it in his eyes and hear his words. He wanted me dead.

I cannot describe that level of terror.

He said he had to go home to Mexico for two weeks. I moved back in with my parents.

He never logged out of his email. I saw all of the horrible things he said about me. I saw he was cheating on me. And in spite of it all, I desperately did not want to lose him.

This was around the time I was introduced to Rich. Rich was fun, had connections in the music industry, and he was nice to me. One day when Chris was in Mexico we met up. He supplied endless whiskey and Vicodin which I was taking in excess to get away from this hell my life had become.

We sang karaoke. We kissed. He suggested I stay over, I agreed. I was in no place to drive, and I fell asleep.

I woke up to him on top of me. Inside me.

“Stop,” I pleaded.

“Sorry,” he said, stopping momentarily, only to start again. I was powerless under his weight, only 5’2” and maybe 100 pounds at the time to his 6 foot and husky frame.

When he fell asleep I drove home in a blackout. To this day I cannot listen to “At Last” by Etta James. It was the song I sang at karaoke.

I went to school the next day, the first day of the new quarter, my body and brain now fully adjusted to the horrors they had endured.

He admitted what he did was wrong. He showed remorse. But for months after his friends would come up to me, describing my body parts. I wanted to crawl out of my skin. Apparently I had “the most beautiful pussy.”

I blamed myself yet again. Maybe I deserved it.

Chris and I broke up after that. I kept hanging out with Rich. Stockholm syndrome is very real. I didn’t want what happened to me but I needed a man validating me.

For months Chris would harass me, threaten me, venom hidden in honey.

I spent the next two years taking every drug and drink I could, sleeping with anyone who so much as looked at me. I did not know kindness. I didn’t even want to accept it.

It was a lonely and painful darkness. I was no longer in my body. I could not process.

I have seen things no one should ever see. I have endured pain I would not wish on my worst enemy. I have felt unimaginable despair and hopelessness. Even today, I still get night terrors and paralyzing flashbacks. Seven years and so much of a mention of Chris will send me into a panic attack. Moments of consensual intimacy with my partner can bring anxiety, crying, fear. If you have been through anything like this, I believe you. Keep fighting. Our voices will not be silenced.

[deadcactuswalking]

REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 22/05/2021 (Olivia Rodrigo, J. Cole’s ‘The Off-Season’, Nicki Minaj)

Yeah, it’s a big week, given the impact of J. Cole, Jorja Smith, Olivia Rodrigo (more on that next week) and the remaining impact of the BRIT Awards. There’s a lot of nonsense on this chart, a busy as hell one at that, but this surprisingly did not affect the #1, as the remix to “Body” by Russ Millions and Tion Wayne spends a third week at the top. Let’s just attack this head on. Welcome back to REVIEWING THE CHARTS.

Rundown

First of all, let’s get this nonsense out of the way: what happened to songs already on the UK Top 75 chart, which is what I cover? Well, a fair few of them dropped out. Any song that spent five or more weeks in the chart or peaked in the top 40 is considered a notable drop-out, and this week, they include “Wants and Needs” by Drake featuring Lil Baby off of the return last week, “Track Star” by Mooski, “Heat” by Paul Woolford and Amber Mark, “6 for 6” by Central Cee, “Patience” by KSI featuring YUNGBLUD and Polo G, “Hold On” by Justin Bieber, “We’re Good” by Dua Lipa, “Commitment Issues” by Central Cee (Gosh, didn’t think J. Cole would take a chunk out of this guy’s audience specifically), “Up” by Cardi B, “Streets” by Doja Cat and finally, “Get Out My Head” by Shane Codd, but also interestingly “i n t e r l u d e” by J. Cole dropping out off of the top 40 debut despite the album boost. This doesn’t mean it didn’t perform well but rather this is demonstrating this silly chart rule where in the top 100, one artist can only have three songs, preventing album bombs that you see on the US Billboard Hot 100. It makes the chart less accurate but arguably more diverse and hence fun for me to talk about.

There are also a few returning entries to add some fuel to this chart fire, one that has already combusted in the US this week, as “Slumber Party” by Ashnikko featuring Princess Nokia is back at #70 thanks to the video, “All You Ever Wanted” by Rag’n’Bone Man is back at #51 thanks to a delayed album boost, and the same can be said for “Addicted” by Jorja Smith at #49.

Then we have our notable losses, songs that fell at least five spots down the chart this week, including “WITHOUT YOU” by the Kid LAROI at #18, “Higher Power” by Coldplay falling big off of the debut at #25, “Your Power” by Billie Eilish at #26, “Didn’t Know” by Tom Zanetti at #28, “Heat Waves” by Glass Animals at #30, “Leave the Door Open” by Silk Sonic at #31, “Don’t You Worry About Me” by Bad Boy Chiller Crew at #39, “Latest Trends” by A1 x J1 at #46, “Last Time” by Becky Hill at #52, “All I Know So Far” by P!nk at #55 off of the debut, “My Head & My Heart” by Ava Max at #57, “Martin & Gina” by Polo G at #58, “Miss the Rage” by Trippie Redd featuring Playboi Carti dropping hard off of the debut at #60 (Really, what was expected here?), Travis Scott’s remix of HVME’s remix of Travis Scott’s “Goosebumps” at #61, “Cover Me in Sunshine” by P!nk and Willow Sage Heart at #63, “Don’t Play” by Anne-Marie, KSI and Digital Farm Animals at #65, “Sunshine (The Light)” by Fat Joe, DJ Khaled and Amorphous at #66, “Tonight” by Ghost Killer Track featuring D-Block Europe and Oboy at #71, and finally, “Calling My Phone” by Lil Tjay and 6LACK at #73.

That’s not to say there weren’t any notable gains however as we do have some interesting remnants of BRITs excitement and some other reasons for our gains this week, which include “One Day” by Lovejoy (more on them later) at #54, “It’s a sin” by Elton John and Years & Years at #47, “Way Too Long” by Nathan Dawe, Anne-Marie and MoStack at #43, “drivers license” by Olivia Rodrigo at #35 off of the success of “good 4 u” (again, more on that later), “Black Hole” by Griff at #23 thanks to the BRITs, and finally, “deja vu” by Olivia Rodrigo at #11. Really, all of this is just me stalling because this is a massive week – I’m writing this early – let’s just get through this... starting with—oh, for God’s sake.

NEW ARRIVALS

#75 – “Taunt” – Lovejoy

Produced by Cameron Nesbitt

Two weeks in a row, ladies and gentlemen: Minecraft YouTuber-core. How this happens I have no idea but regardless, the people of the UK seem to enjoy this Wilbur Soot guy’s new band. Is the new single better than the last one that charted from this EP, at least? Well, yeah, it is, mostly because at least this one’s an actual pop rock tune that, whilst derivative again, has more hooks than “One Day”, especially those stop-and-start-again verses that give me mathcore flashbacks, just with less of a catharsis to come from it other than that infectious, trumpet-laden chorus. The content is pretty gross if anything, seemingly focusing in on this past relationship from secondary school in which Wilbur tears into a girl for being insecure despite her privileges... for seemingly no reason. I mean, surely, you’ve moved on, right? Thankfully, Wilbur does get his comeuppance by the end of the song as the girl throws his drink at him, but it does leave the rest of the song with a pretty spiteful taste in my mouth that can’t be avoided by some pretty, 2000s indie rock-esque instrumentals. It doesn’t help that Wilbur Soot is such a non-presence as well, which I can see improving as the band goes on to record more material but the problem is with this early stage is that for now, it’s all rather primitive... yet it’s still charting. Oh, and if any people happen to find this that are fans of this guy, I am terrified of you so I’ll clarify that I don’t dislike this band at all, I’m just not a fan of what I’ve heard. I just wanted to put that out there because I value my personal information.

#74 – “Crocodile Teeth” – Skillibeng

Produced by Adde Instrumentals and Johnny Wonder

So last week, Nicki Minaj re-released her classic 2009 mixtape Beam Me Up Scotty onto official streaming services for the first time, with a remastered mix of some of her classic remixes as well as some new tracks or fan-favourite loosies sprinkled in. Why do I say this in reference to some random unrelated track, you ask? Well, we’ll get back to Nicki later but this song was actually remixed by Nicki and appears on that mixtape, despite baring no resemblance or relation to that mixtape at all, given this was released in 2020. The UK Singles Chart is particularly inconsistent is crediting remixes however, so we have the original here and, for what it’s worth, I quite like this. Skillibeng isn’t the most interesting presence but does his job in being vaguely menacing and violent over this cheap piano-led Afroswing instrumental with some questionable bass mastering. The song is in Patois but you can get the gist that it’s gunplay and flexing, typically stuff you’d hear in any UK drill track and it’s generic for sure but catchy enough to ignore. This version of the song is completely passable but I do think it is elevated by Nicki’s short introductory verse on the remix. I’d obviously have preferred there be more interplay but the remix was probably only known to Skillibeng when Nicki’s lawyers reached out anyway.

#72 – “Straightenin” – Migos

Produced by DJ Durel, Atake, Sluzyyy, OSIRIS, Nuki and Slime Castro

So Migos are finally preparing to release their highly-anticipated record Culture III as the boys are back together after some time apart, in which they have had varying levels of success, with Offset probably delivering the best solo material because he has both the best qualities of Takeoff and Quavo and always delivers on guest verses... I’m sorry, what about this needed six producers? This beat is not bad by any stretch with some vague flute loop eerily played under a rote trap beat, of which the bounced 808s are probably of most interest, but I do not understand how one person, let alone just an AI, couldn’t have made this alone. Regardless, the beat is good enough to make Quavo sound like he finally cares, even if he’s just going to talk about how he just saw Tenet – a bit late to the party – and how he turned a pandemic to a “band-emic”. Yeah, okay, so we’re going to ignore Mr. Quavious and move onto Takeoff and Offset who... at least have some good flows, albeit just the same triplet deliveries they’ve had for years. I think the most interesting part about this whole song is the slippery backing vocal that follows Quavo in the later choruses, which shows an attention to detail I missed from these guys. There’s only so much I can hear Quavo say “don’t nothin’ get straight ‘bout straightenin’” before I lose my mind, though, especially by the time we get to that awkward outro, so I can’t call myself a fan of this. If we’re speaking trap-rap from acts on hiatus, I really would have preferred “Lay wit Ya” by Isaiah Rashad and Duke Deuce to chart but I guess these guys will do.

#64 – “Independence Day Freestyle” – Fredo

Produced by Handz

By the end of this episode, I will never want to hear skittering hi-hats ever again. For now, however, we’ve got the same genre, different country as we go home to Fredo, a British rapper who’s pretty consistently good to be fair to him and did release an album I liked earlier this year. This is just a random freestyle he dropped last week because he felt like it, and here it is on the chart. Okay, well, it isn’t an actual freestyle because nothing that’s called a freestyle actually is in 2021, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be a trap banger in itself and it’s got the foundation for it. I love the eerie chipmunk vocal sample that adds a touch of soul to the menacing keys before they get drowned out by trap percussion and Fredo going through his typical rags-to-riches commentary and memories of gang violence in one massive verse that somehow keeps my interest throughout the entire three minutes. The flow is about as smooth as it gets with UK rap, typically a lot stiffer, especially in drill, and the mixing’s fine, so yeah, I can’t really complain. I’d have preferred a chorus, obviously, and there are extended freestyles we’ll talk about later that do this a lot better, but for now, I can dig this, especially considering it’s pretty damn quotable for what it is. “If I fell off, I must have fell off the stairs into some elevators” is a bar, as is when he says he’s got more foreign cars than an Asian wedding or when he calls himself “Lord of the Bling”... okay, maybe that one’s not as impressive.

#62 – “The Great Escape” – Blanco and Central Cee

Produced by LiTek and WhyJay

Central Cee is a more familiar name but you may not know Blanco who, despite the collaboration with Cee making it ripe for comparison and comedy, is not a French white rapper. Rather, he’s from pioneering drill group Harlem Spartans and this is actually his first solo charting song thanks to Cee’s appearance. As you’d expect, this has some loud drill production and vague acoustic guitar loop as well as some stuttering vocal production peppered with dark 808s (that do bang here in all honesty) and pointless alarm sounds. Whilst drill is so standardised now, I do actually like this beat because it’s what I want to hear Cee on; sure, it’s got the guitar and the flutes but it’s also got a sax riff, which is what made “Loading” so fun. Blanco himself is also a more charming presence than Cee and their two energies bounce off of each other pretty well, even if the most witty their punchlines get are just referencing Powerpuff Girls characters... and when they’re not basic, they’re borderline incoherent but whatever, this is a fun slice of misogyny and violence that you’d expect from the genre with at least some care put into it. Not bad at all.

#56 – “Bussdown” – Jorja Smith featuring Shaybo

Produced by Riccardo Damian, Jeff “Gitty” Gitelman and Kal Banx

This is the break-out single from the most recent “project” from Jorja Smith, going the Drake route of not bothering to name it an album, mixtape or EP, and this one features London rapper Shaybo in a track about materialism but not as much embracing it as becoming increasingly alienated by it as whilst wealth may bring you luxury and connections, it detaches you from reality, which is the point in Shaybo’s verses about being Miss Naive, someone who is increasingly aggressive as a result because, well, she always gets what she wants, right? This is not a project I listened to but the content is promising... until I actually hear the song, with its awkward, clattering percussion showered in overwhelming vocal mixing that fails in whatever intimacy it attempts to present, and that’s before the decidedly unsubtle air horns and guitar licks. The song is minimal enough for the content to kind of fall flat as well, as a song like this feels like it deserves more than a slick bass groove, rather some kind of maximalist yet subtlety eerie production. I’m thinking Shaybo would actually make more sense there than she would here as well as her awkward, pathetic-sounding flow is delivered in the most dead-pan cadence, so much so that it drifts off fully into background “vibe” music but even then, it feels too distracting in the mix to work as that. I did want to like this but it just ends up as a really disappointing track from Jorja Smith, once again.

#42 – “Seeing Green” – Nicki Minaj, Drake and Lil Wayne

Produced by GOVI and Kid Masterpiece

We’re half-way through our batch of new arrivals and what better way to celebrate than a posse cut by three rappers long past their prime by now without a chorus that pushes six minutes? Normally, that would be sarcastic, but in this case it is absolutely not as this is awesome. I love 2000s hip-hop and a chipmunk soul-inflected beat blended with early 2010s era proto-trap production is obviously going to appeal to me as that type of contrast is what I love about more lyrical hip-hop, hell, I wouldn’t have been surprised if it was said this was a Kanye beat or more accurately perhaps one by Harry Fraud. It helps that over that gorgeous soul sample we have all three rappers proving they still have it as performers, with some detailed verses from the classic Young Money crew that if nothing else provide a perfect nostalgia button for their era of dominance in hip-hop, not that it’s ever stopped since. I also just love hearing Lil Wayne hungry again, because I am a pretty big fan of his voice, delivery and even some of his wordplay and one-liners, all of which he expresses perfectly in his high-energy verse that switches through flaws as if it were all some off-the-top freestyle, and knowing Wayne, it might as well could have been. I love how he starts his verse off by shooting a guy and then saying it was his bad for doing it because he was a “good cat” and somehow it gets more off the rails afterwards, as he calls his girl a vacuum and says he’s peeing lean, before this self-proclaimed “badonkadonk bikini fiend” reminisces about his bisexual ex from Atlanta in a pretty clever use of repetition in rap. This is all with his sludged drawl of a delivery, which becomes especially important when he calls us all back to 2010 as when Wayne was in prison at his career peak, Drake always said “Free Weezy” and now 10 years later, Wayne’s saying “Free Drizzy” because Drake’s locked up in Canada because of the COVID-19 pandemic... because of course. I know it just seems like I’m itching out tiny little details in the verse but that’s what’s so great about repeated listens to detailed and great rap verses. That’s not to say Wayne is the only stand-out here either as Nicki Minaj impresses with that confident delivery she’s known for as she clarifies her beef with Cardi B being less about her “copying her homework” as it was about her up-hill battle with the industry, she recites how bitches are infamously her sons and delivers some pretty clever and quotable lines of her own, like “brand new Vanilla Maserati, I’ve been Haagen-Daszin’”... which again sounds like a bar straight out of 2010. I think the best verse here might actually be from Drake as much as I hate to say it, with bravado out of the gate that seems pretty deserved for someone with as immense success as he’s had. Not only is he referencing back to 2010 and even his Degrassi days, comparing it to the run-up to his upcoming album since he’s back on two crutches, but he’s also delivering some of his most interesting and quotable lines in years, and it all runs off so effortlessly and smoothly, but with a constant hunger and conviction reminding me of some of his deeper cuts like “Dreams Money Can Buy”. I won’t go further than I already have with this song – even though I could gladly quote practically the entirety of Drake’s verse, even when he aspires to be Vladimir Putin (I guess it’s better than accidentally comparing himself to Hitler) – but I’ve rambled on enough about this wonderful track. Triumphant lyrical rapping over soulful vocal loops will never be a thing I stop having a fondness for; these are some of my nostalgia biases creeping in – especially since these aren’t close to being the best verses any of the trio have delivered – but it’s so great hearing all three back on form together. Check this out if you haven’t as it’s absolutely a highlight off of the mixtape’s re-release.

#37 – “Build a Bitch” – Bella Poarch

Produced by Sub Urban and Elle Rizk

Bella Poarch is a name I had to search up and it turns out she is another one of these TikTok stars turned pop singers and all power to them for starting their career through such a useful and culturally important platform, honestly, and realistically, anyone regardless of their career background could make a song I enjoy, so there’s no use in dismissing them as a result, especially if I actually enjoy the concept of this song. The writing tends to be a bit childish as expected – again, more on that later – particularly when she sings lines like “Bob the Builder broke my heart and told me it needs fixing”, but the song’s theme of embracing young women for how they really are instead of Photoshopped, unrealistic beauty expectations is a message I like being expressed to her audience of teenage girls; I see it as necessary in the social media age. I do think that this message could be expressed with more tact than a Build-a-Bear parody but it never goes the slut-shaming route and is more critical of the men demanding or expecting perfection from their female partners, or on a wider scale the expectation for successful women to follow fashion and beauty trends, especially by men in their industries and fields. Poarch herself is a light-hearted vocalist kind of reminding me a bit too much of a self-serious Ashnikko but the melody in the chorus is infectious enough for me to ignore how void a personality she is. It’s harder however to ignore the stiff 808s that drown out clattering, awkward future-bass production and that drop just being really gross, kind of ruining the song in how it’s clearly a lean towards hyper-pop without fully drawing itself within that lane. Either way, this is fine, and at barely two minutes it struggles to find itself as a finished song let alone anything I can be offended by. This is remarkably okay, and that’s more than I expected.

#16 – “a m a r i” – J. Cole

Produced by T-Minus, J. Cole, Sucuki and Timbaland

These songs don’t even show up when you search them on Spotify and to be honest, I was hoping that would lead to limited success but of course, it didn’t. J. Cole’s latest album The Off-Season is yet another mediocre instalment in a dull catalogue full of rambling verses from a guy who thinks he has much more to say than he actually ends up saying, and it’s exhausting to listen let alone discuss the man’s art out of a sheer lack of personality or wit that follows his every move. His Dreamville label is filled to the brim with people more consistent, skilful and interesting than Cole has ever been so it’s just frustrating to see the label boss get all of the recognition. Regardless, I’ve never liked Cole as an artist – especially not a conscious one given the ableism, homophobia and tone-deaf exchange with Noname just last year – so I’m almost glad he’s stripped off half of the pretence of making a woke, important album. He’s just rapping on this record, which gives me the excuse to run through the rest of these consecutive bores from Cole as quickly as possible. First of all, we have “a m a r i”, a barely sufferable dud from the album scored by a blend of acoustic guitars and squelching trap percussion that fails to platform Cole’s Auto-Tuned moaning, oftentimes just aggravating and barely listenable, and sometimes disguising some pretty weak, topic-less verses for a man who claims to be focused. “Want smoke? I’m a whole nicotine company”  is not the silliest bar on the album, but I’m almost convinced the song ends as abruptly as it does because Timbaland’s embarrassed that he helped produce such an underwhelming beat and not even someone praised as a modern great can save it from being worthless.

#15 – “p r i d e . i s . t h e . d e v i l” – J. Cole and Lil Baby

Produced by T-Minus

One of my favourite hip-hop releases of last year was Aminé’s Limbo, a diverse selection of tracks that ranged from conscious hip-hop about his ambitions and fears about growing up and raising children in a modern world as well as typical trap-rap flexing and R&B crooners about girl problems. All of this is smoothly stirred into a pot of personality that actually attempts to bridge a gap between older and newer generations of rappers rather than just claiming to. “Can’t Decide” is not one of my favourite tracks from that record – “Compensating” with Young Thug executes its ideas just that little bit better for me – but it’s still a fun, R&B-adjacent tune with insanely catchy hooks about Aminé’s relationships. So why did we need a J. Cole remix? This guy sucks the fun out of beats like a vacuum in a bouncy castle, as he sloppily whines in an almost emo-rap cadence over a cheaper West Coast slide he just can’t convincingly sell. Lyrically, Cole focuses on the idea of pride and how it corrupts someone’s morals, criticising the flashing of money and social isolation from the family... both of which seem like Cole’s M.O. at this point, right? Success amidst independence? Platinum without features? This time around, there is a feature however from Lil Baby, who much like Cole claims to be focused in this very focused whilst pick-and-choosing between random trains of thought in his typical frog-throat delivery. Hey, at least Lil Baby flows with less strain and unwarranted, desperate effort that Cole does, and ends up out-shining the primary artist entirely, even if he’s going to “pay silly bands to have sex on the jet”. ..What?

#13 – “m y . l i f e” – J. Cole, 21 Savage and Morray

Produced by WU10, J. Cole and Jake One

The first lines of this song are “Spiralling up just like a rich person’s staircase; no fly zone, please stay out of my airspace”. Cole, I thought pride was the devil! I understand that one can still acknowledge the flaws in their worldview whilst embracing it and engaging themselves in it – that’s really a lot of the point of rags-to-riches rap – but some subtlety or at least some explanation from someone who wants you to see him as focused, woke, hungry and a master of his craft, would have been nice, right? This is Morray’s first charting hit in the UK and I’m glad he’s here as he’s basically what differentiates this from the duo’s prior collaboration “a lot”, a song that not only banged harder but felt smoother and Hell, just more coherent, especially with some soulful production that this new collaboration glaringly rips off. Morray’s biggest hit is “Quicksand” but his mixtape Street Sermons is full of soulful and honest trap-rap that I’d absolutely recommend for gospel flavour on the surface and the lyrical detail behind the bravado being extensive and confidently delivered, especially standing out on his own with no features to speak of. He has the chorus on here and I’m surprised DaBaby doesn’t have the second verse so this could be a North Carolina anthem but we do have 21 Savage, who delivers his typical brand of cold-hearted (or rather no-hearted), stoic paranoia bars but at least that’s a personality. 21 Savage delivers a slick flow over this sample and spits the pretty simple yet profound bar of “I pray that my past ain’t ahead of me”, leading to probably the most enjoyable verse on the whole album. If you couldn’t tell, the new guys outshine the old guard so obviously with so little effort it’s kind of impressive on Cole’s part even. I’m glad this is the biggest hit from this album so far as not only is this one of the best tracks out of a slim selection but it’s big for both 21 and especially Morray, who I’m really rooting for against, say, a Rod Wave or Kevin Gates in terms of southern rap with a lot more soul and grit. Oh, and Cole, “know it’s on sight when I see you like I’m working at Squarespace”? Really? Again, it’s not the dumbest bar on the album.

#2 – “good 4 u” – Olivia Rodrigo

Produced by Alexander 23 and Dan Nigro

It’s pretty fitting to book-end a batch of new arrivals mostly consisting of hardcore gritty trap with two up-beat alternative rock tracks, and I’ll say I prefer this to Lovejoy mostly because, well, like I said with “Seeing Green”, my biases will always be on full and honest display, and as someone who’s a sucker for pop-punk of all eras, especially if it’s a female-fronted band with some youthful, raspy vocals, this will obviously hit for me. Throughout Sour, I found it hard to buy into the teenage melodrama due to Dan Nigro’s production often sounding too clean for its own sake, never allowing the guitars to really crash into some lo-fi, distorted noise like they seem to want to do on tracks like this, “deja vu” and especially the opener, “traitor”. Sadly, that cuts the chances of radio airplay by a ton more than it should, so we end up with mixing that slides off Rodrigo’s reverb-drenched vocals too smoothly, creating a rather formulaic album, unfortunate for its sheer excess of promise. With that said, this is one of my favourite tracks off of the album, if only for that funky bassline and some of Nigro’s most interesting stylistic and production choices, particularly in the drumming, which sounds as organic as possible for something that was programmed by him and Alexander 23. The sarcasm-laced post-break-up kiss-off is already not unfamiliar territory for Olivia Rodrigo and neither was it for Avril Lavigne, which this track tends to sound almost like an imitation of, down to the inconsistently PG-13 image as “screw you” is delivered with as much conviction as the actual F-bomb in the same verse. Regardless of how much it wants to consistently kill its own momentum, this janky songwriting actually reminds me of early Paramore, much of which holds a special place in my heart, so whilst Hayley Williams has been off doing her solo work – and Paramore seem to have moved on from this kind of bitter, petty pop rock anyway – this quenches that thirst pretty effectively.

Conclusion

Olivia Rodrigo bags the Honourable Mention for “good 4 u” as well as it’s one of two songs debuting this week I think are pretty damn special, the other one being “Seeing Green” by Nicki Minaj, Lil Wayne and Drake as it grabs Best of the Week. For the worst, I mean, pick your J. Cole-flavoured poison but personally I’d say “a m a r i” can be crowned Worst of the Week with a Dishonourable Mention to... great, I don’t want to seem like I hate J. Cole but nothing else here is even as bad as his Lil Baby collaboration “p r i d e . i s . t h e . d e v i l”. Here’s this week’s top 10:

Expect two more of those spaces filled up by Olivia Rodrigo next week as whilst we may not get any new entries from her the album will have an impact regardless on the chart. Otherwise, I guess we’ll have to wait and see with how a Queen-sampling BTS song wrecks the chart – probably will give both Olivia and “Body” some #1 competition – as well as new songs from Little Mix, Lana Del Rey, Polo G and Lil Nas X popping up not too far behind it. It should be just as busy next week, folks, so strap in, I suppose. Thanks for reading and I’ll see you then!

[futzyou]

to the end || baclath & clint

summary: clint’s killed caden, but her protégé baclath won’t allow the fight to be over that easily

trigger warnings: death, violence

featuring: @hcwkguys

The war on the streets was not going well. Baclath was beyond irritated with Vorian. He wasn’t half the soldier that he thought he was, and not even a fraction of the warrior Caden had taught her to be. She had been taught well, and even amidst the chaos, had managed to hold onto her disguise. Caden would have done the same, she was sure of it.

The ship itself was under attack as well, and the prisoners were escaping. Baclath had to be cautious, and she had not been included in Maximoff’s plans, so she was unsure what tactics the ‘heroes’ would use. She needed to find Caden. They needed to regroup, and take this planet by force, find a way to use this chaos and confusion to their own advantage.

She slipped back onto the ship as silently as she could, dodging through the halls, ignoring Skrull and human alike. But as she made her way into the depths, she heard a familiar irritating voice -- Clint Barton. There was only one Skrull who could be facing him, and Baclath grinned to herself. Finally, the fool would meet his end, another tally on Caden’s list of victims.

But when she rounded the corner, she saw something that made her heart stop.

Caden was sprawled on the ground at Barton’s feet. Bleeding, and from her true form. Which could only mean -- but it couldn’t be. It simply couldn’t. Baclath refused to accept it, but the rage was building in her chest, the kind of fury that only came from vengeance.

“You will pay for this!” she screamed, lunging forward. She had Kate Bishop’s toys on her back, the bow and arrow, but Clint Barton did not deserve a clean death. She would rip him apart with her bare hands, wearing the face of the girl he so adored.

The fight with the Skrull seemed to go on forever, but when it was over, it ended all at once. The silence that followed the alien’s fall was almost overwhelming, and Clint took a moment to stare down at its body before picking his bow back up. He’d just retrieved the weapon when he heard someone else entering. Turning towards them, he sighed in relief at the familiar face. “Katie,” he breathed, taking a step towards her.

Before he  could get another word out, she was lunging for him, murder in her eyes, and screaming in a tone he’d never heard from his protege. Oh, he realized belatedly, fumbling with his quiver and attempting to nock an arrow. Not Kate. So he’d missed that, too. Natasha and Kate were arguably the two most important people in the world to Clint, and he’d failed them both spectacularly.

Scrambling backwards to avoid the Skrull’s outstretched arms, Clint swallowed thickly. “You guys don’t like playing fair, do you?” he muttered, trying not to trip over the body in the floor. He hadn’t even caught his breath from the last fight yet. “Can I have a time out? A pause?”

Baclath had murder in her eyes, on her mind, in her heart. Her hands were extended, ready to claw out the eyes of this sorry excuse of a human. She had a moment, to see the flash of sorrow cross his face, and it spurred her on. He stumbled back out of her grasp, but she was relentless. She would not be denied.

“Fair?” she hissed, rounding on him once more. She reached down, picked up Caden’s sword. There was blood already on the blade, but not Barton’s. Not yet. “Do not speak to me about fair!” she screamed, brandishing the blade. She pointed it towards him, held it with more confidence than the bow. She ripped both quiver and bow off her shoulders, threw them behind her. Caden would have been disgusted at how she abandoned her disguise, but she saw no other way to avenge her. “For weeks, I have suffered through every sniveling word from your lips. The inane drivel, the constant chatter. Did I get a ‘time out’ from you? No!” she screamed, slashing forward, aiming for his chest.

“And now, you’ve slain her!” she yelled, swinging wildly as she lunged forward again. “She was ten times the warrior you were! How, Barton? How does someone as stupid as you manage to kill her?”

Aw, shit. The Skrull was pissed, that much was clear. It was a stark contrast to the one who’d been disguising herself as Nat, a completely different ball game altogether. With her, every move had been calculated, planned. Every word she’d said had been with the intent to throw him off balance, every blow intended to kill. Clint had thought it’d be easier if she were more emotional, more likely to slip up.

He was starting to realize he’d been wrong about that.

This new Skrull, the one with Kate’s face, she was obviously emotional. Her words were angry, but beyond that, they were hurt. She wasn’t just furious he’d killed the alien who lay in the floor now, she was distraught. It was almost as if she were mourning. He’d been wrong before, he realized; he’d assumed Skrulls were incapable of love. Apparently, they were, at least on some level.

“You could’ve left,” he shot back, angry and heated. “I mean, a lot of good it did you, huh? You’re losing, you know that? The weeks you spent hanging out on my couch, listening to my ‘constant chatter,’ it was all for shit! You could’ve just left, and it wouldn’t have made any difference at all.” He stepped back, desperate to avoid her angry slashing with the sword. The blade opened his shirt, drawing a thin line of blood across his chest, but the damage was superficial. Hopefully, it’d stay that way. Dying here just after surviving the impossible odds he’d been thrown with the Skrull masquerading as Natasha, felt too cruel a development even for someone with Clint’s luck.

He took another step back as the Skrull lunged forward again, retrieving an arrow from his quiver as he moved and nocking it into his bow. He couldn’t allow himself to hesitate before firing it off, couldn’t allow himself a moment to breathe. This thing was pissed to hell, and she wouldn’t hesitate to kill him as revenge for protecting himself against her slain friend. “You’re goddamn right I killed her!” He spat the words out angrily, loosing his arrow in the Skrull’s direction. “That thing disguised itself as my wife for weeks. Manipulated me, fooled me into thinking everything was fine while the woman I loved was suffering. Wanna know something? Killin’ her was easy.” He was taunting the Skrull now, hoping to play on her emotional vulnerabilities the same way the last alien had preyed on his. It’d almost lead to his downfall, and if he played his cards right, it would lead to hers.

At least, that was what the logical part of his brain was insisting. On a more emotional level, the words felt good to say. Killing the Skrull had left him feeling vindicated, and taunting this one had a similar effect. Mostly, though, Clint was goddamn sick of being called stupid.

Baclath had lost her mother to the glories of war, and her father and brother had been nothing more than complete disgraces to their kind. Caden was all she truly had, all she needed. Every move she had made during this invasion, it had been to please her mentor, to prove herself worthy. There had been mistakes, too many to count, but in this final test, she would be victorious. She had to be. Clint Barton would not be allowed to walk away, not after what he had taken from her.

She scoffed at him. “I am not going to explain the nuances of Invasion and disguise to you,” she spat. Her eyes flicked down to Caden, narrowing in fury once more as she glared at him. “I endured it for her. She taught me how to fool you, but truly?” She let out a scathing, cold laugh, lacking humor but full of spite. “That part was easy. Even by human standards, you are pitiful!” she screamed again, eyes gleaming at the sight of blood on his chest. She would see every drop of his spilled on the floor. Her mentor’s body and blade would be bathed in it.

He shot at her, but she hardly felt the arrow graze her side. She was solely focused on him, swinging wildly, hungry for his death. His words fueled the fury in her, and if he hoped that it would make her stumble, he was sorely mistaken. She let go of the sword with one hand, and gripped his wrist, twisting it roughly until he would be forced to let go of the bow. “Killing you will be even easier,” she snarled, letting go and slashing the sword down again. “And anyone who might have mourned you will already be dead!”

The Skrull was fast, dodging his arrow like it was nothing, and for the first time, Clint considered the fact that this might not be fight he could win. He was usually all right when it came to optimism. After all, he’d endured a lot of shit in his life, from his father’s own cruelty to SHIELD’s impossible expectations to overcoming death itself. He’d made it through a lot, and he’d  gone into every situation, every impossible battle with that in mind. If he could survive Loki, if he could make it through Ultron and HYDRA and the tracksuits and the Swordsman and Trickshot and Harold goddamn Barton, he could manage on measly Skrull, right?

Wrong, he realized as she gripped his wrist and twisted harshly. Pain shot through him, radiating up his arm and forcing the bow from his hands. He cringed as it dropped to the ground. In close combat like this, it wouldn’t have done him much good to have it, but he felt strangely naked without it. He was entirely defenseless now, nothing but the arrows on his back. He’d gotten lucky with the first Skrull; she’d given him the window that allowed him to get an arrow loose, and her final lunge in his direction had given him the chance he’d needed to drive it into her chest. This Skrull, though, didn’t seem to be making the same blunder.

He might die here, he realized solemnly. He might really, honestly die here, so soon after he’d fought hard for one impossible victory. Clint could become just another victim of this invasion, could lose any chance he might’ve had to make things up to Natasha and Kate. The thought sent a rush of icy fear through his veins, and he kicked out desperately at the Skrull in an attempt to free his wrist from her grasp.

Yes, Baclath thought fiercely. There was fire in her veins and victory was so close she could taste it. She would avenge her mentor -- no, more than that. She would surpass Caden, killing the one that had bested her. When this was over, her blunder with Watson would be forgotten. She would have commendations bestowed upon her, she could become Veranke’s right hand woman. She would serve the Skrulls and she would bring glory enough to erase the mistakes of her family name. Baclath would be the only name that mattered from here on out.

She tightened her grip on Barton’s wrist, squeezing tightly and yanking him roughly, far out of reach of his pathetic weapon. She pulled him close, her face was inches from his, his breath hot and sticky and labored. He would not last much longer, and the thought was tantalizing. She brought Caden’s sword up, rested the blade against his cheek. “Any last words?” she hissed, sneering at him. His fear was palpable. She was moments away from ending this once and for all.

“I do!” came a voice from behind her. Baclath did not even have time to turn, before she felt the arrow pierce her back. It went deep, punctured something vital. She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that her grip slackened on both Barton and the sword. She heard it clatter to the ground, and she fell to her knees, gasping for breath. Now she turned her head, and her eyes widened. No, she thought. It couldn’t be.

But it was. Kate Bishop -- the real Kate Bishop -- was standing over her. Barton’s discarded bow in her hand, another arrow already nocked into place. The girl’s gaze was cold and furious, her lips pulled into a tight frown. “Futz you, bitch,” Kate said, and that was the last thing Baclath heard.

Kate was panting, her heart pounding, and sickly thin. But she looked a damn sight better than the Skrull, who slumped over, driving the arrow even further into her skull. Kate immediately threw her arms around Clint, held him tightly. “How are those for last words?” she asked, just before a choked off sob wracked her body.  “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” she whispered, clinging to him even tighter.

The pressure on his wrist was growing, and Clint could practically feel the bones grinding together painfully. It made sense, he guessed, dying here. He’d managed to outlast one alien invasion, managed to live through Loki and the Chitauri. He should’ve known he wouldn’t get lucky a second time. Clint was going to die here, the same way he should have died in New York or Sokovia, and he’d stay dead the way he should have after HYDRA.

Dimly, he was aware of the Skrull speaking to him, aware of her spitting venom in Kate’s voice, demanding last words from him the same way countless villains had before. Usually, he’d respond with a quip or a joke, all feigned confidence and absent of fear entirely, but this time, his mouth couldn’t seem to get anything out. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. He was going to die pathetically silent, and no one but this alien wearing his best friend’s face would ever even know.

The blade’s metal felt cool against his cheek, and Clint clenched his jaw and tilted his head, staring defiantly into her eyes. Maybe his death would be pathetic and unnoticed, but he’d be damned if he let her see how afraid he was.

And then, all at once, it was over. Not in the way Clint had expected, not in the way he’d been preparing himself for. For a moment, when the Skrull’s expression changed, he was sure her blade had pierced him, sure that he was going to die for real this time. Instead, the alien fell, sword clattering to the ground next to her body. The pressure on his wrist was gone, and Clint stumbled backwards.

Wildly, he looked around, drawing a sharp breath when he saw Kate holding his bow. It’s a trick, his mind warned him. It’s another Skrull, it’s an alien, it’s a trick. His eyes were wide, and he took a hesitant step back as she made her way towards him. She approached the Skrull on the ground and loosed another arrow, and Clint’s shoulders slumped in time with the bowstring’s snap, the tension bleeding from his body all at once.

“Can’t get rid of me that easy.” His voice expressed his shock as everything that had happened began to sink in. His arms wrapped loosely around her neck when she first approached, but when her shoulders shook with the sob his grip tightened. “Katie,” he muttered, leaning into her. “Fuck, Katie, I’m so sorry. I should’ve --- I should’ve known.”

It was over. At least, this part of it was. Kate wanted to be strong, wanted to be able to fire a joke at Clint, because he looked just as shaken as she felt. But she couldn’t. She was reeling from everything that had happened, the thirty-seven days she’d spent as a prisoner, the Skrull she’d just killed. It wasn’t like the Syndicate, even if the motions had been the same. That thing had kidnapped her, taken over her life, and tried to kill one of the most important people in the world. Kate could put up with a lot of crap. But if you threatened Clint, you were done.

“Good,” she muttered, hugging him even tighter. She wanted him to know she meant it, because she couldn’t bring herself to say how much she had missed him out loud. Her mind felt like it was full of static, but all that mattered was she was here, and he was here, and they were alive, and they were together. Hawkeye and Hawkeye. She buried her face in his shoulder, shaking her head. “Shh,” she said, voice muffled. “Don’t do that to yourself. It’s not your fault, it’s mine, I let them -- on New Years, I thought I could take one down on my own, but he beat me.” She picked her head up, looked at Clint desperately. “It was Peter. I mean, it wasn’t him, but it looked like him. Peter Quill.” The warning was probably way too late, but he needed to know.

For the first time since stepping foot on the Skrull ship, Clint felt almost at ease. The pounding in his chest steadied a little, his hands stopped shaking as he rubbed them comfortingly on Kate’s back. The battle wasn’t over, and the war was far from won, but Kate was safe and that went a long ways. Kate was safe, she was here, and they were together. For the moment, Clint had to let himself enjoy that. If he didn’t let himself enjoy the little things from time to time, there was no way he ever would have made it this far.

“It’s not your fault, Katie,” he assured her gruffly, shaking his head. “Those things… They’re strong.” He’d nearly been killed twice now by Skrulls wearing the faces of people he loved, so he knew exactly what she meant. At her revelation -- It was Peter -- he sucked in a breath, remembering the words the first Skrull had spat at him. Quill is dead, she’d told him, and it had seemed ridiculous at the time, but worry gnawed at his gut now. “We’ll find him,” he told her firmly. “The real him. And -- And all of them.” Peter, Natasha, Johnny Storm, everyone that they still didn’t know about… They’d find them all and bring them home. Clint just hoped that didn’t mean putting together dozens of funerals for them all.

There was a lot swirling around in Kate’s head right now. Amid all the static and the shock that she really was finally free -- the realization that she wouldn’t have to spend another second inside that haunting, horrible cell -- her thoughts turned to her friends. She’d asked MJ to join the Young Avengers right before she was taken. Clint had nearly been killed by her Skrull-self -- what about everyone else? What if the Skrull had already gotten to them?

She didn’t  have time to ask right now. Or to freak out, even though she desperately wanted to. “They’re also stupid,” she muttered, picking her head up. “They honestly thought they could take down Team Hawkeye? No way, bros. No futzing way.” She managed a weak smile, eyes still watery. “Let’s go find them, Clint. Let’s end this, once and for all.” She gave him one final squeeze, then pressed his bow into his hands before striding across the room and retrieving her own. Slipping the quiver over her back felt like coming home.

#chatzy #clint #clint: to the end #baclath

[radientwings]

A New Home (Elriel)

Written for this prompt: ‘would you consider writing a damsel in distress type of story for Elriel?’ (Fair warning, this one has some angst - but with a fluffy ending)

He should’ve expected this. Elain was a seer – a thing so rare that it had taken them months to figure out what she was. Azriel didn’t even know of any other seers alive today, that’s how few there were in Prythian and its surrounding realms. So he should’ve known this would happen, should’ve expected this. There were contingency plans he could have made, safety measures, something, anything. Anything that would have stopped this.

He shouldn’t be standing here, holding a bloody scrap of Elain’s dress.

Azriel’s insides were cold, his focus narrowed down to the pale pink cloth he held between his fingers, the edges stained a horrible shade of red that was all too familiar. 

They’d planned this, the people that took Elain. They must have been watching them for days. How else would they have known when Azriel would be gone? When Azriel was due to make his weekly report to Rhys? How else would they know when Elain liked to explore the wild forest that surrounded his cabin? A place that no one but he and Elain were supposed to know the location of?

(The cabin was the only property that Azriel kept secret from the others, hidden deep within the forests that separated Velaris from the Court of Nightmares. It was his own personal sanctuary – a place he went to when even the shadows became too much for him to bear. A place of quiet contemplation… well, until Elain had brightened its walls with her mere presence. Until Elain, lovely Elain, had made his sanctuary a home, even if only a temporary one. Until he could recall, with utter clarity, what Elain’s laughter sounded like in the sparse space of his cabin bedroom.)

This was supposed to a relaxing trip, a way for both he and Elain to spend some time in just each other’s company… to be at peace. This time of year was hard for them, after all, awash with bad memories of Hybern and stabbings and Kings who threw innocent human girls into the Cauldron for spite.

So this wasn’t supposed to happen, this wasn't supposed to happen, this wasn’t supposed to happen.

He was supposed to be the spymaster; how could he have let this happen? (He’d failed. Failed the person that mattered most to him. Failed the one person who had seen every inch of who he was and not recoiled… who’d embraced him instead.) The scent of blood overwhelmed him as he continued to stare at the scrap in his hands, which he had found impaled on the branch of a tree that had clearly seen better days. Bits of its bark had broken off, the trunk cracked from what he was sure was a hit with preternatural strength. The ground around it bore the signs of a hellish struggle.

One thing was clear; Elain had fought back with all her might. But being untrained can only get you so far, the pragmatic part of Azriel’s mind told him. Panic was threatening to claw through the ice-cold fury piercing his heart, but Azriel didn’t let it. He couldn’t. He needed clarity, the clarity of Azriel the legendary shadowsinger, not the confused desperation of Azriel the man in love. He examined the grounds for a moment longer with the same cold and ruthless practicality that had earned him his feared reputation.

And then he saw it – remnants of faebane amidst the broken branches. And he knew, he knew who had done this. Despite their victory in the war, a few Hybern’s more cunning troops had escaped into the mortal realms on the continent. Most of them had become brigands, outlaws, thieves-for-hire.

But some… some had become traffickers. And seers were a rare ‘commodity’. Elain’s kidnappers were likely to sell her to the highest bidder.

There were no words to describe the anger that hit Azriel at this realization; the sheer rage that settled in his very bones, in his blood… in the shadows that whispered to him. Find her, he thought to them, sending his power out into the world. His shadows would track down her familiar essence as he searched the forest from the skies.

Azriel was already running as the plans solidified in his mind, his wings spreading wide. In the next moment, he was flying, powering through the harsh wind. Normally, he would revel in the thrill of being able to use the wings he was born with, after that gift had been denied to him for so long… but now, now he was only focused on getting her back.

Perhaps he should go to Rhys… perhaps he should go to Feyre; they’d want to know, after all. Elain was their family, as much as she was his. The both of them, the entire Inner Circle, would do anything to get their seer, their friend, back. But Azriel couldn’t leave now. He was already on the hunt. (He wouldn’t let this go until he crushed the bones of those responsible, until he drove Truth-Teller through their skulls.) 

He was in the air for longest hour of his life, when he felt it, his shadows tugging at him, whispering to him. There, they told him in words that weren’t really words, there she is. Down by the river, there waits the lady of fortune for the master of shadows. There she is. Find her. Avenge her. Retrieve her.

There she is. There she is.

Azriel felt his lips pull back into something vicious when he finally spotted them from above. He was completely silent, a wraith in the darkening sky as he catalogued the exact layout of the clearing where he could see the barest hint of light pink stand out from a wash of greens and browns.

Elain.

The relief that flooded through him was short lived upon noticing the four figures surrounding her, herding her in like she was some kind of wild animal. (His insides roared at the mere thought of anyone treating Elain like an animal, like cattle.) But Elain, gentle Elain, blessedly alive Elain, she was standing strong despite the odds against her, despite the rope still around her wrists.

She’s escaped them, he thought with savage pride. Elain abhorred violence, this much was true, but she was also intuitive in a way that most couldn’t ever hope to be; not many understood that were was a natural strategist hiding under her innate gentleness. But Azriel did, and he had no doubt that she waited to escape until they reached this clearing very much on purpose, knowing it would make it easier for him to track her.

Clever, clever woman.

Azriel didn’t linger in the skies any longer; he tucked his wings in and dived. He went hurtling to the ground, unafraid as he snapped out his wings to catch him at the last possible second. A mighty boom echoed through the clearing as he landed right in front of Elain, keeping her behind him protectively. 

There was silence for a long moment, as Elain’s assailants all stared at him in shock and fear, eyes lingering on the sheer number of siphons he wore on his armor. And then he heard a shuddering gasp of relief from behind him, felt bound hands touch the center of his back for the briefest moment, as if needing reassurance that he was really there. 

“Azriel,” Elain whispered.

The sound of his name from her lips shattered the strange sense of peace that had settled over the clearing. One second all was silent, and the next there was a sudden burst of movement all around them as the four faeries charged for him. Azriel unsheathed Truth-Teller with utter, disarming calmness. There was a gleam in his eyes, though, that promised violent retribution. 

(Elain had no doubt seen what was about to happen, stepping back slightly to allow him some more room. Azriel felt her absence keenly, but used it to fuel his fighting rage.)

The first of the faeries reached him then – and it didn’t take much more than a second for him to be dead on the ground, a gaping hole where his eye had once been. Azriel smiled darkly, a grim thing without any joy in it, Truth-Teller already whirling into the next body. From there, the fight became a blur, his blade and his shadows easily overpowering the last three faeries. He didn’t even consider letting them live and interrogating them, as he should have. All he knew was the fury, the fear of having Elain ripped away from him. All he saw was that bloody scrap – the only thing they had left him.

So he was merciless in his slaughter, his shadows reveling in the bloodshed he wrought. Avenge her.

And when it was finally done, when their blood coated the blade of his legendary sword like a second skin, Azriel finally turned back to Elain. For a moment, he was afraid of what he would find in her eyes when they looked at him now. Would she be frightened of the lengths he would go to for her? Would she be revolted by his bloodlust?

(Would she turn away from him?)

He needn’t have worried, however; he realized that Elain was thinking none of things when their gazes finally, finally connected. There was no fear in those beautiful brown eyes of hers; only relief and love and concern for him. She darted to him without hesitation, throwing herself against his chest, her still-bound hands clutching desperately at his armor. A shudder went through her when she pressed her face into the bare skin of his neck; as if she finally let the fear she’d been keeping at bay in. It was the sound she made, that little half-sob that she couldn’t quite hide, that finally made him spring into action, his arms crashing around her. He tangled his fingers in her loose hair, holding her close, and just breathed her in. 

She’s here. She’s really here. The relief hurtled through his blood then, nearly sending his knees buckling.

“You came for me,” Elain said, voice thick with tears, the words the very same from so long ago. 

Azriel kissed her temple softly. “Always,” he said. “Always.”

Elain responded by leaning further into him, using the grip she hand on his armor to lever herself up so she put her lips to his ear. “Thank you.”

Everything in him, every lingering tense line in his body, softened at her gratitude. Lovely Elain, he thought. He ran his over the back of her head, holding her for a moment longer before he parted from her, but only enough so that he cut away the rope from her hands. Her wrists had been rubbed raw under their strain; the only injury she sustained other than the cut on her upper arm, the sleeve of her pink dress ripped around it (the scrap, he thought). Azriel was cautious as he examined the wound closer, relieved to find the bleeding had already slowed. He ran the tips of his fingers lightly from the tops of her arms back to her wrists.

Carefully, he took her hands in his, lifting them so he could place the softest of kisses on each injured wrist. (Elain often did the same for him, when she was feeling especially tender, kissing every inch of his scarred hands as if she could erase every bad memory he had by replacing them with good ones.)

Elain’s smile was tremulous but genuine, her eyes fill with quiet adoration. “Oh Azriel,” she let out.

He picked her up easily, letting her rest in his arms. “Let’s go home.” 

“Home,” she repeated, wrapping her arms around his neck. She nuzzled into his neck again, laying her head against his shoulder. It stayed there the entire flight.

Instead of going back to the cabin however, Azriel flew them to Velaris, to the house that was waiting for them in the City of Starlight, their family along with it.

(Even so, home wasn’t actually a place to Azriel anymore… no, his home was already in his arms. And he wasn’t planning on letting go any time soon.)

#this is a little more angsty than my usual but at least the ending is fluffy #elriel #elain archeron #azriel #acotar #acomaf #acowar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar drabble #myfanfiction #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #drabble #prompt #writing prompt #anonymous #elriel angst #elriel drabble

[fancymuffinparty]

Kill Your Darlings

Rating: T-M; for graphic violent content

Pairing: Platonic Levi and Mikasa

Summary:  X-Men/Mutant AU. Mutants Levi and Mikasa cross paths, both seeking to escape dark forces.  (wolverine!Levi, x-23!Mikasa)

Word Count: 1682

A/N:  (Also posted on Archive of Our Own!) Originally intended for this to be a drabble of less than 500 words but I just had to expand on it a little more! Got carried away with the violence, but *shrugs*, ain’t like we’re not used to this kind of stuff. If you’ve seen Logan, you won’t be shocked like at all lol. I’ve seen Logan too many times already and it inspired me to write this piece featuring my faves; Humanity’s Strongest Pair. Hope you enjoy this random-as-hell crossover/x-men fusion one-shot!

“She’s like you… very much like you…”

The first time he sees her, she has just ripped a man’s head off, dual claws protruding from her fists.

He’s amazed that so much rage is embodied deep within such a small girl, her stature appearing deceptively fragile yet far more powerful than what meets the eye.

Only a few feet away, Levi watches in awe as he’s held back, subdued by metal restraints. The girl hastily pries a few bullets from her torso. A few have strayed onto her forearm, which she sucks out of her regenerative skin, blood now smearing around the corners of her mouth.

She’s… healing…

Like he can.

Suddenly, another adversary charges straight for her, nearly tackling her to the dirt-laden ground. She narrowly escapes his attack by dashing out of his reach and retaliates by thrusting her arms forward, the blades at her knuckles piercing into the man’s chest.

Levi propels himself back into the fight. In fitful rage, he releases his own claws and liberates himself from the restraints. There’s three claws on each hand in contrast to the girl’s twin blades. He swings both fists diagonally at the opposing men on each side, slicing their arms clean off. Blood flies in all directions, spurting from the lacerations, splattering onto his clothes and on the ground.

An enemy behind him attempts to subjugate his erratic evasion with electrifying chains, only to be eviscerated seconds later when they fail to inflict any damage on the raging mutant. Levi instantly heals from its shocking mechanism and lands a few serrated blows into the enemy’s midsection, guts spilling out.

Finished taking down his captors, Levi heeds the high-pitched shrieking emerging from the young girl. The desperate cry for help bellows from deep inside her lungs as she’s abruptly caught in a choke-hold, struggling against two men.

She resorts to ejecting the blades in her feet to counter the attack. She bluntly kicks forward, stabbing the man in his abdomen. His grip on her loosens as he falls to his knees, clutching at the wound in agony.

The young girl sets her sights to the second man, executing an aerial kick aimed directly for the jugular. Deep hues of crimson paint the ground when the claw in her foot connects with its target. His attempted defense is no match for her electric speed and agility, as quickly evidenced by the severed artery of his neck.

They’re still in this fight. Levi leaves his blades drawn, knowing full-well it’s never this easy.

Just as he’s predicted, more men come to encircle them.

Levi finds himself back to back with the young mutant, small incoherent growls succeeding the heaves of her chest.

Surrounded, they brace themselves for what’s to come.

He hadn’t meant to form this rather unconventional alliance with her, but Levi knows that if he wants to make it out alive, he’ll need all the help he can get. He’s been in similar situations plenty of times before, where he’d been forced to rely on his mutant powers and abilities to defend himself, but this time he knows the roots of it are much darker.

He knows why these men are after them. These men were sent by a sinister corporation; operating as a genetic research project to create weapons through the experimentation of mutant DNA. They essentially want to recall their property, for purposes that are all but for the good of mankind.

He’s been nicknamed the “Kuzuri,” but his name is Levi.

“X-23” is what they call her, but her name is Mikasa.

The merciless sun overhead beats down on them, its blinding array and blistering heat burning into exposed skin. One of the men fidgets, startling a foolhardy Mikasa on high alert. She swiftly reacts by leaping forward, pouncing on the man in a barbaric act of hatred-fueled aggression; the way a predator moves on its prey. She catapults her small frame ahead to the next man, hacking away in rapid succession until all that’s left are entrails and the shredded remains of his corpse.

Levi advances in strategic motions, reading his opponent’s moves like an open book. Striking one man in the eye with his left claws, and disemboweling another man with the claws sheathed in his right hand, he rotates his body around to confront the remaining foes. He keeps at it, utilizing his heightened reflexes and combat skills to put an end to this, not wanting to drag this out any longer than it needs to be.

Piling body upon body, Levi and Mikasa recommence their teamwork, taking on hostiles simultaneously. As Levi becomes occupied with one particularly malicious assailant, Mikasa hurls herself from Levi’s back, using it as a means to launch herself directly onto an additional enemy sporting a mask and protective gear unique to the guards working at the facility she was raised in.

One man abruptly unloads a machine gun amid all the chaos, shooting wildly at the raven-haired duo. Horrified to discover the bullets are useless on the pair of now healing mutants, he stumbles back and hysterically shouts expletives in despair.

He continues to shoot anyway, the shrieks gutting out from Mikasa and the grunts of pain from Levi sending the crazed shooter into a world of terror.

After enduring an excruciating barrage of bullets, Levi eventually reaches the man, seizing him by the midsection with his blades. He relishes in the dying man’s groans before putting him out of his misery, decapitating the trigger-happy bastard with a heavy-fisted hook.

There’s still a few hostiles left over, and Levi is hell-bent on eliminating them all. He pursues the matter fiercely, initiating hand to hand combat with one particularly skilled assailant. Mikasa jolts forward, sent into berserk rage after taking damage from a flying knife.

She somersaults into the air, ultimately landing atop her opponent’s shoulders, coiling her legs around them roughly. After drilling both claws into his skull, she back-flips off his shoulders, watching as he falls into a pool of his own blood.

The number of foes has drastically reduced and Levi finally prepares to confront the last man standing, with Mikasa positioning herself at his side.

Staring menacingly at the ultimate rival, Levi doesn’t bother wiping the blood off his blades before tearing away, like scissors cutting into paper. Mikasa only stands by and watches, unfazed by all the gore and bloodshed that’s surely obliterated her innocence.

The man forges a defensive maneuver, seeking to evade Levi’s wrath and ward off his attacks through a series of hastily implemented punches and kicks. Levi rapidly executes an unexpected uppercut, ramming his claws up the man’s jaw, finishing him off with a merciless slash to his vulnerable cranium. Blood spurts sporadically like ribbons and flows out of the wound like an engorged fountain.

It’s over.

All is quiet… all is still for what feels like an eternity.

Severed limbs and pools of blood are all that remain, the silence in the air plagued with nothing more than death and freshly torn flesh. The gravity of the situation has yet to behoove either of them, both still trying to catch their breath, relieved that it’s all over. Levi knows that the facility will send more men after them. They won’t give up until the elusive pair of mutants have been captured; until their property has been retrieved.

But he refuses to worry about that… for now.

In the meantime, there are far more pressing matters he must attend to.

This… kid being one of them.

He’s unsure what to make of her initially. From outward appearances, if one were to dismiss the blood stains all over her clothes, she seems to be an ordinary girl. An unshakable feeling overwhelms him when he comes to realize he knows exactly what she is. Who she is. She’s an exact replica of him, except of the female sort.

What are they supposed to do now? Where can they go?

One could say it was fate that brought them together, as though destiny had intervened to bring forth the promise of an attainable freedom from the hellish nightmare they’ve endured since their conception.

They are the last of the Ackermans, rare mutants, remnants of a time when heroes with special abilities walked the earth. The last of a dying breed.

Levi prides himself in living by one basic principle; to only look out for himself. He could just leave her, walk away, and pretend they never met. The same happened to him when he was her age. His uncle, the only guardian he’s ever had his whole life, left him after teaching him how to utilize his powers and fend for himself.

Being a lone wolf and drifting from place to place is all he knows, something he’s grown accustomed to.

But in spite of himself, he stops and pauses.

He curses into the thick air, telling himself he should just go, that she’s not his problem, that he doesn’t give a fuck what happens to her.

Except, the look on her face mirrors that of the one he imagines was etched on his own all those years ago when he was abandoned.

Like a neglected cub, she’s looking for guidance and shelter; from her own kind.

He lets out a sharp breath, nodding at her.

“Come on then.”

The command prompts her to trail behind him, her claws retracting back into her swollen, bruised fists.

She follows him without question.

Levi is aware they’ll be on the run for a while. They’ll constantly be looking over their shoulder, sleeping with one eye open, fighting when backed into a corner.

But at least now he has… purpose.

Gone are his miserable days of wandering around aimlessly, as if waiting to die and finally meet an unceremonious end. He used to believe immortality was a curse, that death was a merciful escape from this cruel world.

Levi has a reason to fight on. If not for himself, then for her. To ensure the survival of his newfound next of kin.

The wolf must protect his cub.

#shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #rivamika #levimika #rivamika fanfiction #levimika fanfic #snk fanfiction #xmen au #levimika fanfiction #mywriting

[kaijawrites-blog]

Her Mangled Armor Prologue

Everything was on fire.

The homes, the market buildings, people...

Screams borne of agony and cries of children filled the air between the sound of shattering glass.  Men, women, and children alike littered the streets- both dead and alive.  The latter were a sea of swinging swords, axes, canes, tree-limbs, anything that could do damage.  The raging inferno cast shadows on faces, making every last one of them look like raging demons.

Two orphan bastards crept through the streets in those same shadows  and masked the sound of their pounding footsteps and labored breathing with those same shouts and cries that still haunt them to this day. For hours that night, the violence raged on, fueled by screams and cries for loved ones as arrows and blades ripped through skin and bones crunched under feet. The smell of fire and blood made it nearly impossible to breathe.

I am one of those bastard orphans.  I am a survivor of the Pernrith Rebellion.

Nobody else knows what actually happened that night.  Nobody knows this all started with a girl who wanted nothing but to die in one last moment of peace rather than to be tortured one more day by men who thought they ruled the continent.  Nobody knows that her death was the last straw for the kingdom.  Nobody knows that when she died, a piece of me did, too.

Nobody, that is, except for the two bastards and the Lord of Pernrith.  Nobody knows because he killed the rest of the village.

But nothing can make me forget what happened to her that night. Nothing can erase the image of streets flowing with blood and broken glass, the sounds of terror and pain, the smell of death, and the feeling of foreboding finality that settled upon the town just hours before.

There was once a girl who lived in Pernrith, a twisted kingdom in the northernmost province of Averill. I guess I couldn't call it living, exactly. Just like the rest of us, she was trapped there. Trapped by pure chance of being born in Pernrith and the insurmountable barrier of the Rytips Mountains. The girl- Katya- was what we all needed. Hope, beauty, joy... The day she was born, the village rejoiced.

Just like all good things, that spark was quickly extinguished.

Her crippling flaw was not something she could control. Katya was born to the Lord of Pernrith, a man whose spite and hatred was rivaled only by demons of the underworld. Everyone in the village stood by and watched as Katya was ruined by her own father.  They watched as her smooth, pale skin became a mess of burns, bruises, and scars. And then they all forgot about the joy she once brought when she suddenly disappeared, as she became a ghost, a whisper on the streets.

I'll never forget her story, though. I'll never be able to shut her out like so many others did. I'll remember the way she took it all and then some, yet still remained soft to the world around her. I'll remember that she took twice the abuse as anyone else, yet spent her free time healing others before herself.

She was once a friend- a sister even.

But a fire that bright could never last.

The night she died was the night that Pernrith fell.

That night, the thick tension that hung in the air became gunpowder and Katya's father lit a match by whipping her in the dead of the night for daring to step outside to view the stars that so rarely blessed the area.

That night, a fire hot and enduring began with that match.

At the sound of the her first cry of pain, the streets flooded with mother, father, daughter, and son alike. By the time the second lash landed on the child, the streets of Pernrith were ablaze with real fires.

The violence raged for hours before Leander and I made our move.

As ashes rose into the sky and fell onto our hoods, Leander and I ran.  We ran and didn't look back, never got a final look at Katya as she was swallowed by that inferno, lashes on her back gushing blood as red as the blood moon in the distance.

As we disappeared into the night, we plotted and planned how we could start over, lead new lives that were nothing like the excuse of an existence we had in Pernrith.  But nothing can make me forget what happened that night. Not time, not a new name, not a new life.

Pernrith is dead.

So is Katya.

Sometimes, I can't help but wish I was, too.

#myfic #HMA