#((ooc) tw violence?)

[gingerbread-qwq]

Sooo…. I finally watched the movie..

[tokintormin]

suggestive cw, physical violence, beating

[doublejango]

I am already seeing virtue signaling posts from people saying "I don't care what you believe or how you voted..."

That's great. I care. I care a lot. The outcome of this election effects me, but so much more than me. I care. It matters. And if it really doesn't matter to you? Good for you. If you are privileged enough, safe enough, and entitled enough to truly not care about how the election will impact other people... I can't even imagine what that must be like. Nice, I guess?

I spent most of last night and this morning crying.

I'm done with tears now, and have moved on to rage.

And you know what? I promise not to let it burn out. Because smiles and positivity may work for many of us, and I'm not going to lose mine either, I promise not to lose my queer joy--they can rip it from my cold dead hands, not to get too damn dramatic here--but I'm also not in the mood to start forgiving and smiling and welcoming Nazis into the bar.

So. I will hold onto anger. I've been tolerant and accepting long enough in life... and have learned something important about what causes the worst harm.

I have been gay bashed before. Violently. Blood. Broken bones. Lost teeth. And you know what the worst part of the recovery of all of that was, the part that did the most psychological and emotional damage? It wasn't the actual bashing itself. It wasn't even the memory of exactly what it felt like to have something swung full force into my face with extremely violent intent. It was the denial from my "friends" and family afterwards. The people who wanted to deny that it was a hate crime. The people who wanted me to shrug it off and not be upset about it. The people who loved to say oh well it wasn't that bad. You know what helped? Letting myself feel fury. Letting myself name the attack as hate. "It wasn't that bad," though, they said, asif it was their judgment to make--endless hours of dental procedures, pain, wounds that never fully healed, the trauma, the lost work, the new experience of vomiting blood with broken jaws and knocked out teeth. Because it wasn't that bad. And there was so much self-reproach, because I could have avoided it. I wasn't the intended target. He was swinging for a lesbian with me. When the attacker burst out of hiding he was swinging for the side of her head, her temple. I jumped in between them. Didn't think. It was an impulse. Protect the people you care about. So I took it to the face. And I grabbed him. I threw him, and fell doing it. I remember being on my knees in the mud. Seeing my teeth in the mud. Seeing my blood just. Everywhere. And knowing I needed to push back to my feet immediately because it might not be over.

We were lucky. It was over. He hadn't expected anyone to fight back. He ran.

But the people who claimed to love me didn't want to deal with the idea that it was a hate crime. They wanted it to be random and meaningless. That made their world a little safer, I guess. And their denial made my world colder. And my recovery lonelier. Harder. They put me down for "bringing it on myself." As if it would have been more virtuous to let this woman take that attack to her temple, as if I would have been more valid for standing by and watching it happen.

There are so many more stories I can tell you, but the lesson is almost invariably the same: the ugliest hurt is often the one caused by the people who just turn away when you identify what happened to you. The hurts that cut the deepest and last the longest often come from the people we thought we could trust, because they want you to just get over it, don't talk about it, admit it could have been worse, don't call it That.

The betrayal from people who are supposed to have your back? That deepens wounds, deepens trauma.

I won't be that person. I won't tell you to smile and turn the other cheek when someone shows you they hate you. Do whatever you need to do to survive--physically, emotionally, psychologically. Just don't give up, and don't let the cowards force you into feeling shame for not giving up and letting the world break you.

Never be ashamed to refuse to break.

Never let someone shame you for choosing strength. For drawing your line in the sand.

I wanted the "exciting" times of my life to be behind me. But they're not--so be it. I'm not going to tone myself down to be safer. I don't care about my own safety anymore. Any self-preservation drive broke a long time ago when it comes to homophobia. I promise to always be ready to fight. To be a queer menace to "polite" society. I promise to be out and loud and gay, to be a shield however I can for those who can't be out, who can't fight back, who can't even speak up because it wouldn't be safe for them to do so. They are valid, too. And I love them. And I will have their fucking backs. I promise to, in my real off-the-internet life, be someone who will always jump in and speak up if I see queer people being harassed or shamed--especially if they're young. I am older. I will fight for my baby gays. I will love them.

And I will never, never put anyone down for refusing to welcome Nazis into the bar. We don't look the other way and quietly tolerate them. Not here.

I may not be around much for the next few days. I need to handle my own shit. My own fury. My own grief. Because right now, there is so much grief.

But I won't be going anywhere.

I will fight to stay.

Whatever it takes.

I'm not giving up.

If I end up on my knees in the mud again, staring at my own blood and teeth, metaphorically or in fucking reality, so be it. I will get back up. And I will keep getting back up. I won't let go of the anger. The spite. And I definitely won't let go of my love for every queer person, the ones I know and the ones I don't, because that love is what will give me strength to get through this. Whatever comes next.

I may not have much sense of self-preservation. But goddamn, I will fight for you.

[glow-worms-are-believers]

Make off (dp x dc)

The important thing here was not to panic, Jazz thought to herself as she strained against her restraints fruitlessly. She tried to take a deep breath but the dirty gag that had been shoved into her mouth made it hard to do. In fact, with the way the left side of her face was swelling due to that punch she'd gotten earlier, breathing was hard in general right now. Jazz was in bad shape and she knew it.

She'd known Gotham was a dangerous choice, but she'd thought if she took precautions, if she stayed out of everything, she would be fine. She was a psych major in a city with lots of insane psychopaths, sure, but she was angling for family therapy, which was very much not going to put her anywhere near the infamous Arkham. And yet.

Jazz closed her eyes. It was useless to dwell on the past when she needed all her capacities to escape her current situation. She consciously did not look over to the misshapen pile she could see in a corner of the room, and very carefully did not take note of how she could distinguish the shape of something that looked like a cut off arm. Instead, she looked to the side, towards a slumped, tied up figure. He looked to be in his early twenties. Jazz managed to nudge at him with her foot in an attempt to wake him up.

It took a few tries before the guy started moving. It had taken the guy a second to come to, and when he did it was with a muffled shout. Jazz looked around, alarmed that someone had heard. She desperately tried to catch his eye as she vigorously shook her head in an attempt to signal him to shut up. He seemed to understand the message, but it was unfortunately too late.

"Oh, good. The new shipment is awake." It was a man in a white lab coat that had come out of a door off to the side. He was wearing surgical gloves and had rolled in a gurney. Jazz backed away from the man which simultaneously pressed herself into the wall, behind the other victim. As she did she felt a sharp pain in her arm as something sharp pressed into it. Could it be?

"I usually have more in stock but harvest has been poor lately."

Jazz made a show of pressing herself closer to the wall in fear to disguise her tracing the outline of the sharp thing. It felt like a piece of metal that was sticking out of the broken down, rusty walls.

The man in white looked over at her before he turned his attention towards the other victim. He strode over, crouched next to the bound man before grabbing his chin to tilt it upwards. The guy struggled against the grip but their kidnapper held firm.

Jazz took the opportunity to position her bound hands against the sharp thing and start sawing her restraint on the sharp edge experimentally. Back and forth.

"Hm," the scientist mused as he turned the guy's face to the sides, before letting go and brushing his hand against his pristine pants. Jazz stopped moving. "You'll do," he concluded before turning towards the gurney and taking a few things out of the side pockets.

Jazz started on the sawing again, this time more vigorously, grateful her partner in adversity was partially hiding her by the way he was positioned. She looked up to make sure her abductor was busy and caught him inserting the needle of a syringe into a bottle of unknown substance. She stifled a hiss as she cut the skin of her wrist on accident, and carried on her repetitive motion. She could feel the zip-tie starting to give way when the creep turned back towards them with a full syringe.

"Here we go," he said as he turned towards the younger man who just glared at him. The creep paid it no mind as he plunged the syringe into the younger guy's neck and pushed the plunger all the way down. Her fellow captive tried to headbutt the creep but he evaded it.

The creep turned back towards the gurney and Jazz took the chance. She gave a big heave and was rewarded by the snap of the zip-ties. After that it all happened very fast.

The creep started to turn around, only to be met with Jazz's roundhouse kick to the head. She immediately turned to the gurney, betting on there being a scalpel and was rewarded with the sight of a surgical knife instead. She grabbed it and made short work of her fellow captive's restraint.

As she was helping his up, a voice came from the corridor the creep had come out. "Boss?"

Jazz froze.

"You ok, Boss?" came a second voice.

Jazz looked to the now-freed man who looked back intently, though she could see how hard he was trying not to lose focus. Whatever was in the syringe was starting to take hold. She didn't know how many guys where there and her companion was clearly in no condition to help her fight. Their best chance was to run away and regroup later.

Jazz didn't have time to hesitate, she grabbed the guy's arm and started running down one of the tunnels leading away from the approaching voices.

Hopefully a head-start would be enough to make up for her flagging companion.

[cringefaecompilation]

mfw orym, guy with a missing dad who fucking despises him to the point he refuses to remember his first name and notably cares deeply or is overprotective for the vast swath of his surviving all-female family members starts talking about how "important the relationships between fathers and sons" are

[its-target-official]

the next time someone says “womp womp” I’m gonna kill everyone in the room

[espers-n-espurrs]

OFFSCREEN POST

Olive Branch

TWs // CWs : Hospitals, Discussions of Child Death, Discussions of Kidnapping / Child Abduction, Panic Attacks, Violence, Injury, Gore, Blood

Connected to Connecting Roots and Uprooted.

No one liked being in the hospital. 

It was mind-numbing and draining, having to stay in one little room for days on end all the while doctors and nurses poked and prodded at you. It wasn’t just the medical staff that had been bothering Esper though. Police and other official looking people came and went, asking her questions that made her uncomfortable and forced her to reevaluate so much about what she knew. She didn’t like it. She didn’t like being told she was “safe now”, she didn’t like being told she was “in good hands”, she didn’t like how they talked about her da and mum, she didn’t like any of it. 

Esper stared up at the ceiling with an unfocused gaze, listening to the ticking of the clock. Her face almost seemed ghostly pale if not for her reddened cheeks and nose from hours of crying accompanied by the deep bags beneath her eyes from lack of sleep. Her hair was out of its braid, white threads spooled around her in messy strands like the roots of a tree, branching off into different paths. She looked like a mess.

Everything was out of her hands. She didn’t get a choice in any of this. Her entire life had changed in a matter of days and she wasn’t sure how she was meant to feel. Her da and mum had lied to her. They had been lying to her for so long. And yet she couldn’t even begin to understand how she felt about it all. Was she angry? Sad? Happy?

A small knock on the door cut through her thoughts.

Esper’s head slowly turned toward the door, her brows furrowing slightly in aggravation. It was probably more pushy cops coming to ask her about her da. Fucking wonderful.

With a roll of her eyes she called out to them, “Come in.”

The door creaked open slightly to reveal an exhausted-looking Victoria. Despite her attempts to appear composed, the stress lines and dark circles beneath her eyes betrayed any semblance of imperturbability. Clearly, the recent revelations had been taking as much of an emotional toll on her as they had on Esper.

Esper gasped as she snapped into a sitting position, “Tor–!” She was swiftly cut off as a sharp pain shot through her chest, causing her to double over in the bed, her arms wrapping tightly around her torso as she let out a hiss of pain. “I… I shouldn’t have done that…”

Victoria instinctively lunged forwards and reached a hand out to her, but slowed herself the moment she realized Esper was not immediately dying in front of her. “Are…” She began to ask something, but trailed off with a pause before saying, “I was going to ask if you were alright, but I suppose that would be a bit redundant of me, now would it?”

The white haired girl slowly sat back up, wincing as she let out a small laugh, “Just– Just a bit, I think.” Esper looked at Victoria with a small smile, “Though I’m not the most happy about people seeing me in such a state… with my hair being down and all.”

“Oh. I can leave if you—”

“I’m joking, Tori.”

To Esper’s surprise, Victoria chuckled with a slight smile. “I thought you were—” She instantly shut her mouth right before the punchline, her face falling into a frown. She looked at her friend with an unsure tilt of her head.

“Esper.” The girl stated without hesitation, “I want to be called Esper. Or, as you have been calling me, Esp.”

“Right.” The young heiress drew in a quiet breath and nodded. “Then… Esp it shall be.”

Esper smiled in turn. She wasn’t ready to be Estelle, she didn’t know if she ever could be. It was strange really, finding out that your name isn’t your name, at least not in the way you thought it was. But she could understand why her da did it, at least from his point of view, it would’ve made everything easier for him if she didn’t have her legal name. 

Though that did make her wonder…

“Why the hells didn’t my da change my brother's first name?” Esper suddenly asked aloud, tilting her head to the ceiling in thought, “Why’d he keep his first name?”

Victoria shifted uncomfortably on her feet, uncertain of how to respond. 

Esper continued, “And it’s not like I can fuckin’ ask him since he fuckin’ vanished after the second Darkest Day…”

“Vanished…?”

Esper blinked in response, turning her attention back to Victoria before glancing away with an awkward chuckle as if it was funny, “Ah– Yeah. I was the last one to see him that day, he found me during the chaos and promised to go get help. He… uh… never did. No one’s found him so we don’t know what happened to him.”

The other girl’s brows furrowed. “Forgive me for asking, but how are you so certain that he never sought help?”

“Oh, I didn’t mean like he didn’t try–” Esper vaguely gestured with her hand, “It’s just that my da and authorities were the ones to find me and Juno. And they hadn’t been told by Flynn that we were there, so they tried to interview anyone they could and no one stepped forward about having been spoken to by Flynn during the disaster. So, he may have tried, though he never actually managed to get help.”

She tilted her head. “Juno?”

“I– I should just give the rundown.” Esper responded, shifting in her bed to get more comfortable before continuing on, “So. Juno was my closest friend in Spikemuth and we spent a lot of time together. On the day of the big championship match, he was over at my old flat. It was just him, me, his Nickit named Polaris, and my da’s Obstagoon named Maverick. We were having a good time until, well, the second Darkest Day started in which Maverick… was one of the Pokemon to dynamax.”

Victoria winced slightly. “In… the house?”

“In the flat building… yeah.” The girl nodded as she began to fidget with her gown, “With both me, Juno, and his Nickit in the flat with him. And so many others in their neighboring flats…” 

She thought back to that day. Roars and calls of Pokemon shook the earth around her, echoing throughout Spikemuth and the surrounding area. The weight of concrete and brick crushed her body so tightly that she could barely fill her lungs with the dust-filled air. Metal debris pricked at her skin, jabbing at her sides and mudding her hair with crimson. She couldn’t move, she could barely cry out as all her energy was dedicated to keeping her alive and awake.

If only Juno could’ve been as lucky. 

He was alive for a while, whispering promises of life and safety to Esper in the darkness of their prison, though his body laid frighteningly still as crimson slowly pooled around him. His mind and body grew weaker by the second. He had been impaled when the building collapsed on top of them— a large, jagged piece of rusted metal had been lodged straight through his shoulder and into the debris below. Polaris was curled up to his side, beaten and battered as much as the two children, chirping and crying to his trainer. 

She remembered the way Juno’s eyes grew duller by the hour. Until they were cloudy and lifeless.

Victoria looked past the girl before her with a thousand-yard stare. The ticking second hand on the clock came to a stop, filling the room with a discomforting silence.

“We were trapped for nearly the whole day– But Flynn found us early on. He promised to go get help and… well… he never came back.” Esper let out a shaky breath, her face feeling hot, “And by the time help did arrive… Juno had been dead for several hours.”

The other girl shut her eyes and turned her head away, reaching a trembling hand to her chest. “Excuse me for a moment, Esper.” She took several deep breaths until her hands stopped shaking and the stress lifted from her face. The clock resumed its ticking, returning the familiar ambiance to the once silent room. 

After a moment, Victoria cleared her throat with a wince and gestured to her head. “Um— Mind-reading.”

Esper blinked before flushing red, waving her hands frantically, “Ah– I’m sorry– I forgot– I’m sorry I’ll just stop now I’m sorry–” The girl promptly tried to fill her mind with other things such as memories of Fauna and Deerling.

“No, no, it is through no fault of your own,” Victoria tried to reason with her. “It simply caught me off-guard is all.”

“Are you sure…?” Esper looked up at her with big eyes.

“Positive. You needn’t apologize, Esp.”

“Okay…” The girl nodded in return, “I was done anyways though. That’s about everything… Well not… everything… but all the really important things.”

“I see,” she said, finally turning to look back at her friend. “If I may be so bold to ask, do you… think Flynn is…?”

“Alive? Dead?” Esper hesitantly shrugged, “I don’t know. I don’t know which I would rather, which would hurt less… If Flynn is dead then… he’s gone. But if he’s alive… then he left me to die.”

Before Victoria had time to respond, there was a knock at the door.

The girl raised an eyebrow, then looked to Esper. “Are you expecting company?”

Esper huffed in response, grimacing at the door, “No. It’s probably another officer or doctor or something. Let me just–” She raised her chin to the door and called out, “Come in!”

The door slowly opened to reveal a lanky man in a black and green jacket, his hood pulled tightly over his head and casting his face in shadow. His attire was worn and dirty and his demeanor seemed akin to a kicked dog with how he hunched in on himself and how his hands trembled at his sides. He hesitantly stepped into the room, closing the door behind him before turning in the direction of the two girls in an awkward fashion. 

Esper and Victoria exchanged glances for a moment, then eyed the man wearily.

The man stood there silently for a minute, staring at Esper specifically for an agonizingly long before clearing his throat, “So– Um–”

At that moment, a flash of recognition and utter hatred crossed Victoria’s face. An invisible force suddenly yanked the man towards the girl while she winded up her fist and connected it directly into the center of his face. The force of her punch snapped his glasses in half and knocked the hood off of his head.

Flynn Wyrmwood was knocked to the ground, clutching his nose in pain.

With a snarl, Victoria looked down at the man and hissed, “Hablando del rey de Roma, por la puerta asoma.” She raised her leg to stomp—

“VICTORIA–” Esper shouted. “DO NOT… stomp… on….” Her voice trailed off as she looked down at the older boy. A boy with darker skin than hers and yet had the same pure white hair and lavender eyes with white pupils shining brightly. Esper repeated, her heart leaping into her throat as she took in the sight of the boy, “Victoria. Stop.”

The young heiress looked back towards her friend, then to the coward at her feet. She narrowed her eyes at him, but gently lowered her foot to the floor and stepped away. “Get up,” she spat at him. A sudden force lifted him off the ground and flipped him onto his feet— not too kindly, however. The momentum from the flip threw him forwards and he bashed his face into the side of the hospital bed. 

Flynn grunted in pain, barely managing to catch his footing before slowly dragging himself into a standing position, blood dripping from his nose. “Yeah– Yeah no– I deserved that–”

“Indeed you do,” Victoria cut him off.

“Victoria. Stop harming him.” Esper scolded before turning her attention to the bloodied boy infront of her, her eyes scanning his face. It was him. It was actually him. He was alive. He… he was alive. 

That hurt.

“Esper…” Flynn stared back at her, seemingly also studying her. A ragged breath left him as he spoke, “You’re alive.”

“You left me.”

“I know. I’m sorry–”

Esper cut him off, her chest tightening, “You left me to die. You left Juno and I to die.”

“I’m sor–”

“Juno is dead!” Esper spat. Tears had begun to well up in her eyes, “And you’re alive.”

Victoria glared silent daggers at Flynn. If looks could kill, he’d have perished where he stood.

He paused, opening his mouth to speak before closing it again and looking down in shame, “I’m sorry…”

The white-haired girl stared at her brother in silence for a while. The ticking of the clock was the only indication that time hadn’t stopped. 

“Why now?”

Her brother looked up at her, blinking.

“You had plenty of chances to come back. And yet you didn’t.” Esper asked, her body aching as emotions welled up inside her.

Flynn glanced away, “I… I was scared. I am scared. Father scared me, I was scared if I came back or told anyone then…”

“You knew.”

“I…” He winced, “I did. Yes.”

“You knew the entire time.” Esper’s gaze was hundreds of miles away, “That’s why he didn’t change your name.”

Flynn only nodded in response.

The white-haired girl gripped her blanket between her hands. Her thoughts became foggy with all the questions she wanted to ask him, but one stayed at the forefront of her mind.

“Why are you here?” She asked. “Da is gone now, you could no longer be a missing person.”

Flynn took a deep breath and looked his sister in the eye, “I… I wanted to give you the choice on if I did or not…”

“What?”

“I hurt you, Esper,” her older brother swallowed, “I hurt you a lot. I didn’t want to suddenly come stomping all over it again. So I wanted to give you that choice.” He wiped the blood from his nose as he knelt down by her bedside, “Do I come back home or do I go back to whatever hole I crawled out of?”

Victoria furrowed her brows and wrinkled her nose at him.

“I…” Esper trailed off, staring down at her brother with teary eyes. Why was she being asked to choose? Why did she have to make that choice? Why was this the only choice she’s been allowed during this whole fiasco? Why this of all things? She hadn’t seen her brother in nearly two years, she had thought he was dead somewhere, possibly eaten by some Pokemon or the like. But… here he was. Asking her to make a life-altering choice for him.

She felt sick.

“I…” The girl blinked, tears running down her face before she sharply turned away from her brother. As she spoke her voice seemed almost devoid of emotion. Almost. “Stop being missing... Come out of hiding… You…” She glared at him from the corner of her eye, “You don’t get to run from this.”

Her brother gave a small smile. Tears began to run down his face, dripping onto his now bloodstained jacket. “I won’t. I promise.”

Scene End.

---------------

Victoria belongs to @victoria-vd

[morganinez]

ÓNEIRA GLYKÁ / όνειρα γλυκά

(sweet dreams) — warning: violence.

Everyone dreams.

And Morgan Drew wasn’t an exception to this.

She could never be an exception to this. Morgan doesn’t just dream, she gets nightmares. Every Time her eyes closed, darkness would engulf her briefly but then her vision would contort into her fears, her past, her possible future.

It’s either she wakes up with a gasp or she wakes up crying, sitting upright on her bed, limbs tangled up in her sheets.

No matter who she’s with as she sleeps— her boyfriend, her mothers, Lucy, even her baby hyena— Morgan’s could never be peaceful.

In those dreams, she sees him. The man in the purple suit and bright green hair. His laughter rang in her ears alongside the whispers of her audience even if she was unconscious.

She hated his smile. It was too wide. Too red. And in her dreams, he was smiling as the knife plunged down and pierced through her parents’ skin. And Morgan felt like she was 13 again. It was gruesome but she couldn’t look away in the dream. Just like when she couldn’t look away when it happened to her.

She didn’t look away so he thought it would be funny if he pierced the knife through her eye.

But before the blade hits, Morgan was in his place.

She hated this part.

Morgan was in his place.

She was holding the knife. Her knife. It was blue and diamond shaped. Made just for her by the audience. It was blue until it wasn’t. It was red.

Like the blood on her hands.

Her hands were twitching as she stared down at her victims. They deserved it— you’re a killer just like him!— eh, they were annoying— I am hungry— they deserved it, they work for him— but maybe they needed the money; for their family?— that’s so sad— guys, I really am hungry— shut up! shut up! the audience chanted. Morgan could no longer figure out which thoughts were hers. Was she guilty? Did she like it?

She doesn’t hate it anymore.

She couldn’t control what happened next. Her grip on her knife would always tighten in the dream. She’d raise her hands, she’ll hear his laughters, her parents, Harley—

Before the knife hits, Morgan would always wake. Either with a gasp or screaming and crying. Depending on how visual it was.

But what was always constant was her thinking if she was still human after waking up.

[fatale-distraction]

Kar’niss x Tav... Tav helps Kar'niss clean himself up after taking him in?

Not sure if this turned out how you were expecting, dearest Anon, but here’s a thing!

~~~

"Hold still, now," Qilue murmured, dabbing carefully at the drider's temple with a damp cloth. Kar'niss had settled himself near the fire pit, legs folded beneath him obediently while his newest mistress scrubbed at his face with a gentility he had become so unaccustomed to, his shattered mind couldn't recall the last time someone had treated him with such tender care. He had thought The Absolute had been good to him, rewarded his devotion with such generosity. It was nothing compared to this new mistress, her touch feather light and full of love. Even as the drider peered with mixed suspicion and curiousity around the camp, a purr began to rumble in his chest, accompanied by the occasional anxious chitter over his new surroundings. Water sloshed in the bucket at Qilue's side as she rinsed the rag and squeezed it out. Kar'niss winced away when she swept it around his primary eyes and moved on to the secondary ones dotting the left side of his face. Her touch remained gentle while she murmured comforting words in a low voice and continued scrubbing the filth from his mottled skin. She moved to the jagged scarring that split his face, blood boiling as she tried not to remember the circumstances behind it, the vicious snake-headed whip that had flayed skin and muscle to the bone.

"How long do you think it's going to take you with that little scrap?"

"Shut up, Astarion."

"Excuse me, I am asking a genuine question," the vampire scoffed. "Wouldn't it be easier to just have Gale soak him?"

Gale glanced up from his book. "I'm sorry," he quipped. "You may be curious about what an angry, soaking wet, mentally unstable drider tearing through our camp would look like, but I am not."

Kar'niss hissed and both men snapped their mouths shut. Qilue barely restrained a smirk as she washed behind his ears. "Behave yourself, my love," she instructed fondly.

The drider shrank. "Forgive us, mistress," he babbled. "We are loyal, and she is kind, we will behave."

The drow woman pet his lank white hair and whispered to him in a soothing tone. "Ssh, Kar'niss. I'm not your mistress," she reminded him. "Don't be afraid, you won't be punished. Just be nice."

His trembling eased as he stared with trepidation at the curious woman. "No punishment?"

"No punishment," she assured him, wiping down his neck. Dirt and grime flaked away from the chitin, and it began to take on a dull shine as she scrubbed. Kar'niss let his eyes drift shut. It felt so good; the abrasive cloth and her gentle touch cleaning away months of misery and leaving behind raw skin and gleaming carapace. The purr returned and tentatively he bowed his forehead to hers.

"Thank you, mistress," he said in an awed whisper. "We do not deserve your kindness, your mercy."

"I'm not your mistress," Qilue reminded him again, smiling as she attempted to continue her scrubbing with his forehead pressed to hers. "And kindness is always deserved. It is not something that needs to be earned."

"Yes, my queen."

"No."

"Savior?”

"Try again."

His eyes flickered open and considered her with confusion. "But then, what shall we call you, my lady?"

"My name," she insisted. "Qilue."

A shudder ran through his body. Moonlight. Yes. It had frightened him at first, that bright orb floating in the sky, surrounded by knife-points of glittering stars, but he had quickly grown to love it. The moon was good to him, it was kind. It lit the way in the dark and scattered the shadows. "My light," he gasped in a hoarse, pained whine.

The rag dropped from Qilue's fingers to land on the ground with a wet slap. Hope shone in her eyes and she clutched his clawed hands to her chest.

"Yes!" she cried, tears stinging her eyes. "Yes, Kar'niss, that's what you used to call me! Do you remember?"

"No!" he wailed, clutching his head with sharp claws and staggering back, his body quaking. "No, there was no one. NO ONE. There was only the Absolute, only the Spider Bitch before her. No one else. No light, no light..."

The companions' hands went to their weapons, but they held their positions at a panicked signal from their leader.

"Ssh, darling, it's alright," she murmured, approaching the shaking drider with a soft step. "Come back to me. You're safe."

"We are NEVER safe," he snarled, lips peeling back to reveal his glinting fangs. "The things in the darkness are always there, watching, waiting, HUNGERING."

A pale, bluish light flickered to life in Qilue's palm. The bard murmured a simple, soothing song for his ears alone. The tune was one she had written for him, long ago, to fit the words of his favorite poem. The effect was startingly instantaneous. His breathing slowed, all of his eyes swivelling toward her with an intent, watery gaze. He lowered his hands from his face, pin-pricks of blood left behind from his claws. The companions relaxed slightly as he quieted, lowering his body back toward the ground, entranced by the song and the light.

"Moonlight," he murmured again, broken voice choked with tears. "That was her name, Moonlight...she was my light--MY light, and she was good and she was kind...and they took her away and they broke her and they HURT her--"

Qilue shushed him again, gently gathering him into her arms. "She's okay, Kar'niss. She's alright now. Try to remember her face," she urged, taking his face in her hands and focusing his frantically wandering attention on her face. "Remember my face, my love."

It took several minutes of coaxing to calm the drider enough to resume his bath, her attempts to trigger his memories of her fruitless. Qilue's companions awkwardly relaxed their grips on their weapons and resumed their rest, each trying to pretend they hadn't heard Kar'niss' words. Astarion stormed away from the camp after a few moments, snatching up the moon lantern and muttering in a dark rage that he needed to feed. If anyone heard an agonized scream in the dark, cut off with a sudden, wet squelch, they pretended not to hear that as well. Qilue continued her work, intentionally oblivious, humming her little song every time Kar'niss began to tremble and fret again.

~

Before long, Minthara emerged from the tent she had kicked Halsin out of, bleary-eyed from a deep trance and crunching on a burnt meat-kabob of uncertain origin. She came to an abrupt halt as she came upon the drider-bath-time, eyes shot wide open, half-eaten kabob partially raised to her mouth. She swallowed and lowered the meat.

"There is a drider in our camp,” she rasped.

"Yes," confirmed Qilue, not looking up from her intent polishing of a chitinous shoulder-plate.

"Why is there a drider in our camp."

"His name is Kar'niss."

"WHY is there a DRIDER in our CAMP," enunciated Minthara raggedly.

"He's Qilue's ex-boyfriend," Astarion snapped, stepping back into camp, dragging a badly mangled body behind him and wiping his bloodied mouth with the back of his hand. He dropped the blood in front of Kar'niss. "For you, darling. If I'm not allowed to snack on our friends in the middle of the night, neither are you."

All seven of Kar'niss' eyes widened hungrily at the sight and smell of the half-drained corpse, breath quickening. Qilue put her hands on her hips. "I JUST finished washing his face, Astarion!" she complained. "He's going to get blood everywhere all over again!"

"Let the drider eat!" several strangled voices chorused. The young drow sighed and dropped her rag in the bucket.

"Very well. Try not to make a mess, my love..."

Licking his lips, Kar'niss pounced on the body, sinking his teeth in and gulping down the cooling blood with a moan of ecstasy, babbling his gracious thanks until Qilue scolded him for eating with his mouth full. Her friends averted their eyes and tried not to feel sick as he tore into his meal, with the exception of Lae'zel and Minthara who looked on with interest, and Astarion, who remained disinterested.

"I am going to need a better explanation than that," Minthara said at last, turning back to her fellow countrywoman. "How in the hells did you end up with a drider for a mate?"

"He's not my ex-boyfriend," sighed Qilue, massaging her temple and flopping down in front of the fire. "Or my mate. He's...I don't know what we were. But he wasn't a drider then."

Minthara's eyebrows lifted, a nearly sympathetic expression that fit strangely on her face. "I...see. My condolences. That is not a fate I would wish on my second-worst enemy, but any who would willingly take on a trial of Lolth--"

"It was not willingly," bit out Qilue, holding back tears. The warden's eyebrows climbed higher. "It was a punishment. The Matron Bitch offered him choice between life or death, and he chose ME."

"You surname," the Nightwarden suddenly demanded. "You hail from Menzoberanzan, do you not? What house are you from?"

"Valtaya," Qilue spat.

"House Valtaya..." Minthara mused. "Yes, I recall. Your mother was an idiot."

"I know."

The pair were silent for a moment as Qilue continued to stare into the flames.

"Would it comfort you to know that your eldest sister now leads your house?"

"Oh?" hummed Qilue lightly, eyes unfocused. Kar'niss had slowed his feasting and listened intently, his attention fixed on the drow women as blood dripped down his chin.

Minthara nodded. "The rumor was that she grew tired of your Matron's wasteful, fruitless ambitions and stabbed her ninety-five times in her sleep. The deed was praised quite highly by those who dared mention it.”

Qilue laughed under her breath. "It was ninety-seven. And my sister didn't do it. I did."

"I see." The warden didn't seem surprised. "Why ninety-seven?"

"One for every year of my life," she replied too easily. "And the poison coating the blade was for Kar'niss."

"The stories didn't mention the poison. What kind?"

"Drider vemon, ironically. I didn't even know of his fate then. They told me he was dead."

Minthara hummed. "It would have been better if he was."

"I know."

"And what of the Patron?" asked Qilue after a moment, dragging the water bucket closer, giving it a casual inspection. The water needed changing, murky and black with dirt, dried blood, and gods knew what else. "Did the rumors mention his fate?"

"He is no longer the Patron, but from my understanding still leads your family's guard."

Qilue scowled. "He was supposed to kill himself. I even gave him a clean knife, which was more than he deserved. Fucker."

A snort burst from the other drow. "If you trusted a male to do the proper thing unsupervised, you're a fool."

"Apparently." Qilue tipped the bucket, spilling water downhill. Gale, listening and watching the exchange with interest, refilled it with a wave of his hand.

"How's that for supervision?" he muttered, mocking the warden's distainful tone.

"Your males are useful," Minthara, having overheard his disrespectful grumbling, pitched her voice to carry. "But poorly trained."

Qilue stifled a laugh as Gale bristled and opened his mouth to retort just as Kar'niss licked the blood from his chin with a tongue much longer than it should have been, half of his eyes squinting in concentration. Gale gagged instead, Astarion chortling as he examined his nails and leaned back against a pillow in front of his tent, one leg propped up on the other.

"I can't speak for Gale, but I'll have you know," the vampire drawled. "That I am in fact MOSTLY house-trained, thank you very much."

"Shut up, Astarion," the drow women and Gale ordered in unison.

[asb-draws]

Are you still taking requests? If so, may I have a doodle of Anya beating up Jimmy from Mouthwashing

i hate him censored for. implied violence i think

[confusedwriter404]

"I want them dead and gone... I will not stop until I find atleast one of them and watch as their blood drips from my hands..."

Blogs mentioned in the vid (for some context): @doppelcoworker and @c0worker-bryce

[thecowboykatsuki-anon]

𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗

TW: mentions of abuse/domestic violence, fighting

𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗𓃗

Cowboy! Bakugou watches your ex corner you on the way to the bathroom, your face pinched in annoyance that quickly morphs into anger as he looms over you.

He can’t tell exactly what you’re saying, but he knows it can’t be productive. You refused to talk about what exactly went down between the two of you, but he knows it’s nothing good.

He watches carefully, a beer halfway to his lips when your ex’s hand closes over the top of your arm. Even from here, he can see it’s rough, jolts your entire body as his fingers curl into the soft fat of your arm, and Bakugou’s already prepared to stand when your fist rocks out and slams into your ex’s jaw.

Everything after that happens too quick, you’re shoved back hard enough that he watches your head slam back on the wood floor of the bar as his stool clatters behind him.

Over the blood rushing in his ears, clouding his vision red, he can faintly hear someone call out to him. “Bakugou, wait!”

He’s between the two of you in a second flat, teeth bared as he fists your ex’s shirt in one hand, the other already slamming into his cheek. There are shouts all around him, people calling for security, scrambling out of the way of the hurricane he’s become. All he can focus on is the man beneath him as they tumble backwards, his knees hitting the floor painfully as a fist buries itself in his ribs, his chest.

Everything moves slow as his fists rain down again and again, only pausing when a hit lands on his cheek so hard he thinks he might pass out, black warring with the red on the edge of his vision.

But then theres a flash of you hitting the wood through his mind, the way your mouth had parted in a silent cry, and he’s grounded again, fury keeping him conscious enough to finish the job.

The man beneath him is a bloody, wheezing mess when they finally yank him off after what feels like hours, security shoving him up against the wall.

People rush into the space he once was, some calling for an ambulance, and it’s only then that he realizes he doesn’t know where you are, head whipping to the other side. The feeling of brick against his bruised cheek has him sucking in a sharp breath, but his panicked searching only stops when his gaze lands on you.

Kiri’s got you pulled into his lap, shielding you from the fight and checking your head, but your gaze never once wavers from Bakugou’s when he meets it, eyes shining with tears.

There’s a silent exchange between the two of you then, a realization that just beneath the surface of your friendship, something else has been looming, waiting for a chance to show itself. He thinks you should be angry, should be getting ready to slap him for losing his temper like that. But you don’t.

You look at him like you’ve never seen him before, never really seen him. You look relieved, even, and then your gaze flicks to the broken man on the floor for half a second and everything clicks for him. All the times you dodged his questions about your relationship, all the times you snapped at him to let it go when he asked why you broke up, all the canceled plans and the sudden rift in your friendship that had left him hurt and aching.

And in that moment, something new roars to life in his chest. Something heavy and hot that makes him want to rip Kiri’s hands off you and make sure you’re okay himself. Makes him want to cradle your face in his hands and wipe away your tears.

Because whether either of you knew it or not yet, he was yours, and nothing would happen to you while he was around.

[foxxism]

malice.

[ariadosanon]

[TW: POKÉMON DEATH, POKÉMON ABUSE, VIOLENCE. HEED THE TWS]

[A video is attached. Rotom looks nervous again. Its eyes dart from side to side as, once again, something has deeply bothered the mischievous Pokémon. Despite its visible anxiety, the video keeps rolling. Judging by the date in the corner, this was taken right after the Verdanturf Bug Expo.]

It was the dead of night, Nictoria was on her way home from the Verdanturf Bug Expo. She smiled down at her phone as she messaged whomever she was talking to. As Victoria stashed it in her right pocket, a large Joltik crawled from her shirt sleeve. She was about the size of Nic’s open hand. It chittered curiously up at its trainer, who she let gently take hold of her with both hands like a hamburger.

“You liked showing off there, didn’t you, little fatso.” Nictoria teased the bug. The Pokémon wiggled its legs, happily chirping in confirmation. In a rare display of affection, Nictoria gently nuzzled the fuzzy creature with a playful grin on her face. “I bet you’re dying to get home and have a snack, huh?”

“Tik-tik?” The Pokémon reached out for her trainer’s left pocket and wiggled her little blue feelers.

“Ah— no, you can’t have my taser tonight.” Nic replied. She self consciously checked her pocket to make sure the device was still there.

The mention of a taser was new. The last incident where Nictoria was attacked must have had a more profound impact on her than she let on. She gripped the taser in her pocket tightly as she stared ahead into the darkness without a word.

Her Joltik blinked slowly and turned to where her trainer was looking, then back to her trainer.

“Tik-Tik-tik…?”

Nictoria shook her head and lightly slapped her cheek, which brought herself back into reality.

“Sorry. Having a moment.” She murmured to her Pokémon. The white haired woman pulled out a custom Pokéball, yellow decorated with blue spots. She pointed it at the Joltik with her free hand. “Joltik, return.”

The yellow bug did so happily. She accepted the red light that sucked it back into its capsule home. Nic pocketed the ball and continued her walk. The former poacher put her hands on her pockets and let out a soft sigh as she approached Rusturf Tunnel. A strange humming sound could be heard from deeper in the cave. Rotom shivered and shook his head anxiously. Some kind of electrical interference perhaps? Nictoria didn’t seem to notice at all. She kept her stride even as she entered the tunnel and looked around.

A shrill sound suddenly cut through the air and startled the white haired woman. Nic knew that sound. It was an explosive! She immediately charged away from the noise, her eyes wild with horror.

An explosion went off behind Nictoria, sending rockfall hurtling down the sides of the cave and blocking her exit. She dove away from boulders and stones to save her life, lucky to only land on her ass. As she scooted away from the debris, her feet kicked desperately to ensure she wasn’t caught in the rockslide.

“What the fuck!?” She shouted, clearly not aware that loud noise wasn’t the best thing to do after an immediate rock slide, artificial or not.

The sound of footsteps slowly approached Nictoria from behind. She stood up, turning to face the direction of her unseen assailant. “I have my Pokémon on me and they’re not friendly!” She shouted, ready to use the Pokéballs on her belt. “Go on and mug somebody else before you regret this!”

A Rocket grunt stepped out from behind the rocky outcropping in front of Nic. She had short, pink hair, completely buzzed on one side. Her eyes were a deep, emerald green. A long Gyarados tattoo was just barely visible on her neck, mostly covered by her uniform.

On the left side of her belt, instead of the traditional three Pokéballs, a coin counter-like apparatus held three in each chamber. The total came closer to 15. By any legal battle standards, that would never fly. On the right side, a radio transceiver of some kind was humming away. A red light was blinking on it, implying that whatever it did— it was currently doing it.

Nictoria’s expression fell. She seemed to immediately recognize this grunt. “Akane…?”

“Hey, Vic.” The grunt replied calmly and took two steps forward towards Nictoria. Her expression was flat, no emotion in her voice to speak of.

Nictoria swallowed hard and her scraggly brow furrowed. “The Kimono girls didn’t take you back.” She stated obviously.

“We both know that was a pipe dream, girlie.” She sighed and adjusted her gloves as she spoke. “I don’t have a brother with fingers in every government pie like you do. My family just wants my money.”

They both halfheartedly laughed at that, but neither woman seemed to drop their guard.

Nictoria once again reached for a Pokéball, but Akane shook her head. She tsked and gestured to the radio box at her side. “I already locked your Pokéballs the second you walked in the cave.”

“Of fucking course you did.” Nictoria grunted. “Nevermind the fact I helped you make that damn thing.”

Akane glared at Nic and shook her head. “Are you serious? You can’t actually be surprised that I’m here.” She reached to her side and quickly ejected three Pokéballs into her hand.

“You know that I’ve been up for promotion for ages. Arianna personally came to me for this job, Vic.” She said seriously. “She said if I bring you back to her, I’m finally leaving for the Alola branch. I can change my name.”

The two women stared at each other silently, both shared the same glare. Dust and silence hung in the cave air.

“It’s you or me, Victoria, and I gotta choose me.” Akane announced.

“You have no Pokémon to fight. Let me cuff you, and I’ll have Espeon teleport us out of here. I’ll make sure somebody covers your tracks. You can just vanish, I promise no harm to anybody in your circle.” Akane offered.

“I’m honored that you’d do all that for little old me!” Nic replied sarcastically with a hand to her heart. “Fat chance,” She spat. “And besides, who says I have no Pokémon to fight with?” The white haired woman turned her attention to a nearby misshapen mudbank and stared at it intensely.

The Rocket raised an eyebrow in question at Nic. “Your Pokéballs are locked. You have no Pokémon to fight for you. Unless you’re going to try and break them open by hand again.” Akane replied sarcastically.

“Overconfidence doesn’t suit you, Akane.” Victoria’s mask melted from her face, a sickening grin spread across her jet black lips.

Akane’s eyes widened, she recognized that sadistic look. “What’re you talking about?” She asked urgently. Her eyes searched the cave for some sort of hidden ambush.

“There are a few things I never told you about being a Chosen,” She admitted to her old friend. “I told you about everything that was absolute shite— sure. The nightmares, the pain, all that, but there’s a few bonuses.” She explained.

The ground rumbled as the formerly calm mud face beside them began to seep with dark black ooze.

“… You’re kidding…!” Akane hissed and readied all three of her Pokéballs.

“Oh, I’m deathly serious.” Victoria spread her arms out and cackled. “ALL Shadow Pokémon have to listen to me, Akane, and ever since the Shadow Sky?”

The huge wave of corrosive shadow slime burst from the mud wall, the ooze swam with bones and half dissolved Pokémon parts. It twisted and molded itself into the shape of what could almost be called a Muk. The sludgy Pokémon was at least six feet tall with an overabundance of groaning mouths and beady red eyes. It contorted and twisted inorganically, so all of its eyes could take in Akane.

“They’re EVERYWHERE~”

“Oooobluuuucccckk…?” All three of the Natural Shadows’ mouths spoke in a deep, baritone.

Akane swallowed hard and took three more steps back from the unidentified Pokémon. She tossed her three Pokéballs into the air, three identical Raticate appearing before her.

“RA-DICAAATE!” The three Pokémon snarled and gnashed their huge fangs in the air, snapping at the Shadowy Muk with vigor.

“That thing’s huge…” Akane murmured. She whipped out an old Pokédex and scanned it. No exact results came to her device. A small paperclip mascot hopped to vision in the corner, suggesting it may be Muk, but to ask a professional.

“He is,” Vic marveled at the Pokémon in front of her as its many jaws idly opened and closed. Toxic, noxious fumes filled the air around it. “I’ve never seen one before either… he’s fuckin’ gorgeous, isn’t he?” Victoria said in awe.

“You’ve always had a weird opinion of what’s ’gorgeous.’” Akane murmured. “Raticates! Hyper Fang that thing!” She pointed to the horrific mass in front of them.

The three Pokémon attacked without question and lunged at the Oobluck.

The Shadow Pokémon swiftly curled in on itself, a thin layer of dark energy shielded his now compressed body. The three rodents bounced off the Protect and skittered back on the hard rock floor. They regrouped with their trainer, hissing and snapping in the direction of Victoria still.

“Nicely done, Muk!” Vic praised the creature and smugly grinned at her opponent. It regathered its body as its heads smiled with all mouths at its temporary trainer. Victoria crossed her arms, the same smug look on her face.

“Pretty cheap to force a three on one,” She said. “Why not a five on one? Maybe you could actually win!”

The Rocket Grunt chuckled. “Beginning to think I understocked my team,” She admitted. “I should have known you’d have something crazy up your sleeve, as usual.”

Akane’s expression became serious. She pointed at Oobluck and ordered her Pokémon, “Hyper Fang, again!”

The Raticate screamed as they viciously hopped forward, their fangs glowed with latent energy.

Victoria reacted instantly. “Split Gunk Shot three ways!” She ordered and held up three fingers to the sentient sludge pile.

“Bluhhhhhh…” The Pokémon’s three heads bobbed up and down. It followed the movements of the Raticate as it aimed.

“HAH! You’re an idiot! There’s no way a high velocity move like Gunk Shot hits three times in different directions!” Akane boasted.

“FIRE already!” Vic snapped.

Oobluck violently spewed three streams of poisonous slime forward as the sheer force pushed its body back.

The two Raticate on the right and left side of the charge entered evasive maneuvers in a desperate bid to dodge. They managed to scuttle away in time by clawing their way up the muddy cave wall to safety. The middle Raticate didn’t stop, however. Instead, he continued to mindlessly charge and ended up colliding with the concentrated power of all three blasts.

An ear piercing screech exploded from the Raticate. It echoed off the cave walls and into Rotom’s speaker.

The Pokémon was blasted backwards. It only barely missed Akane as it hit the upper cave wall with a wet ‘crack.’ Fur and blood spilled from its body like dirty confetti. Raticate’s dead body slumped to the floor, its insides exposed. Blood and gunk seeped from its open maw and torn tissue minged with shards of freshly shattered bones.

Akane shielded herself from the debris with both arms, helpless to stop Raticate’s demise. Victoria roared with laughter and began to smack the side of her head repeatedly in a violent stim.

“One out of the way, anyhow!” She commented as her eyes darted to the other two Pokémon up the wall.

“Fuckin’ dime a dozen— these things…” she muttered, shaking her left hand out as if it were wet. Vic grinned at her opponent, her laughing fit over.

Her lavender eyes tracked the surviving Raticate as they continued their charge along the wall towards Oobluck.

“Left!” She shouted suddenly. The sludge Pokémon obeyed and launched its entire body to the left. It collided directly with the left Raticate, where it groaned and took hold of it with one arm.

The Raticate angrily screeched and bit down into the slime with its Hyper Fang. Oobluck hissed out in pain, but didn’t let up. It dragged the Raticate into its body where it slowly suffocated the poor Pokémon. Raticate struggled helplessly. It clawed at the gunk as it sank like a rat in a grain silo. Raticate was pulled almost completely under, its tail the only visible evidence left of its life.

The last Raticate launched itself off of the wall and snapped at the air as it sailed forward. Oobluck ducked its heads, only narrowly able to dodge the attack. Raticate hopped off the wall and landed back in front of its trainer.

“Ti-cay?…” The Pokémon looked over its shoulder at Akane as his whiskers twitched in worry. Seems he had come to the realization that he was now the only Pokémon left on that side of the field.

Akane cursed under her breath and quickly ejected two more Pokéballs from the coin counter on her side.

She tossed the Pokéballs in the air. They released two Growlithe, who both immediately set up a Howl, calling in unison.

“Come on, *matching Growlithe?* Where’d you get those? Rob a breeder?”

Akane grinned, a sinister glint in her eye. “Kennel club!” She replied, “They’ll just leave any old thing laying around the yard over there when they think you can’t unlock the gate.”

“And here I thought you liked dogs.” Victoria cackled, “I’m gonna tear those feckin’ things to shreds.”

The video stream suddenly warbled. Something was wrong with the recording. Rotom’s eyes had turned to X’s, the Pokémon seemingly unable to keep recording under the interference of Akane’s signal jamming device.

Solid, black and white static sat on the screen. The silence was deafening. Was Rotom alright?...

After another horrific fifteen minutes, the video feed began to restore itself. Slowly, the outlines of the two women became visible again. Rotom was clearly focusing hard, digital sweat drops beading down his face.

Victoria was chest down on the ground, and Akane had dug her knee into her back. Upon quick observation, the pink haired woman had only two Pokéballs left in her possession. They had been battling this whole time, and it seemed that quantity had finally won over Victoria’s quality.

An Espeon stood guard, the move Aura Sphere ready and charged at the gem on its forehead.

Akane had her handcuffs out. She was clearly trying to cuff Vic while she was down.

Victoria herself was now slightly singed and had visible Pokémon bite marks up her arms. It looked like when Oobleck couldn’t keep fighting, she had stepped in herself.

The Rocket grunt let out an incoherent scream of frustration as she forced Vic down again.

“You aren’t meant to BE here, Victoria!” She shouted, her jaw clenched. “You know where you belong! Let me CUFF you!”

Vic’s eyes were wild as she struggled like an animal under the pressure of the other woman. She screamed in defiance and rocked back and forth in attempts to throw the Rocket off of her.

“I’LL FUCKING KILL YOUR ESPEON! I’LL FUCKING MAKE YOU REGRET EVER BEING BORN! BACKSTABBING BITCH!” She bellowed. Her unbridled rage echoed throughout the cave. “TEAR THOSE PRECIOUS LITTLE EYES OUT ITS STUPID HEAD AND MAKE YOU FECKIN’ EAT THEM!”

A brief look of worry crossed Akane’s face. She knew Victoria, and she damn well knew that she wasn’t bluffing. Espeon’s ears flattened anxiously. She looked at her trainer. It looked like she was requesting permission to fire the Aura Sphere.

She mewled to get Akane’s attention, “Espe?”

“What?”

Akane looked away for only a second, but that was long enough to lose her footing. Victoria reached into her left pocket and yanked out her taser. She flipped over and jammed the taser into the Pokéball locking device and fired it off. Akane screamed in pain as the device short circuited on her hip. The electricity singed her uniform badly and sent scores of volts through her.

Espeon immediately attacked, and Victoria was blasted with the Aura Sphere. She cried out in pain, but didn’t stop her charge. She pushed herself up off the ground, the force of the blowback from Aura Sphere to assist her only seemed to assist her. She lunged for Espeon and slammed the steel toe of her boot directly into its collarbone. The Pokémon yelped in agony and flew into the stone cave wall.

“ESPEON!” Akane screamed and reached out to her Pokémon from her spot on the cave floor. Victoria turned her attention back to the Rocket grunt, her eyes full of hatred.

Akane immediately pushed herself back up and bounced backwards as if she could run.

“N-no, no Vic, you know I just wanted— You know I—!“

Victoria punched Akane and sent the other woman back down to the ground. She spat on her before kneeling down and wrenching the handcuffs from her grasp. Victoria angrily cuffed her former friend as her eye twitched.

“Don’t— Oh fuck— By Mew’s tail please don’t—“

Victoria stood up and the glare on her face darkened as she stomped over to the incapacitated Espeon.

“VICTORIA PLEASE!” Akane screeched and scooted across the ground towards her Pokémon. Victoria grabbed the purple cat and dangled it by its tail above Akane. The Espeon groaned in pain, unable to act with a broken collarbone.

Akane began to cry, only able to watch as her partner Pokémon swung above her like a pendulum, fresh blood pattering to the floor.

“Please don’t— please not her.” She sobbed and pressed her head to the floor.

In a rare moment of mercy, Victoria dropped the Espeon. She stared down at Akane with nothing but malice in her expression.

“Turn yourself in.” She snarled.

Akane nodded vigorously in agreement and scooted over to her Espeon best she could. The Rocket grunt shielded her body with her own.

“I still need something.” The white haired woman murmured and smacked her hand against her head idly.

Vic’s scowl began to twist into a grin. Her fingers twitched in anticipation. She knelt down again and dug into Akane’s coin counter. She pulled out the other two Pokéballs.

“Which one of these is Crobat?”

[The video ends here.]

[poisonedspider]

youre interp of angel is horrible and condones abuse. if you were to write angel good, youd know that he hates valentino and would never hold love for him. its gross that you represent him that way.

At first I wasn't going to reply to this originally. Because I have no time for anonymous hate. If someone doesn't like my interpretation, they can just move along and not read my stuff or not follow me. And then I was going to reply back really snarky, but that isn't me. So, I'm just going to post this video below, that covers this all really well. Honestly, I have my biases because I'm a therapist and I feel like everyone should know this shit, but not everyone does. The cycle of abuse is not easy to get out of, and it's offensive to gaslight and victim blame for them continuing to go back or have feelings for the abuser. I had a client once that I worked with for three years, who was in an incredibly abusive relationship. I do telehealth, and I would see him completely berate her even when we were in session. It got physical at several points, and he had threatened to kill her. She got out a few times, I got her into DV shelters and whatnot, but she kept going back. Because she was scared that she was broken, and no one else would love her again. It took them both being thrown in jail for DV for her to finally open her eyes, and I worked with victim's advocates to get her out of the state, which is why I no longer work with her (licensure rules). Still. Three years. With someone who absolutely made her feel like shit. Who hurt her. But our sessions would be, "What if no one else wants me? No one else understands my trauma like he does. No one will get it. The sex might not be as great with anyone else. He's so handsome, and he's trying." It happens. I'm not going to sugar coat it for the sake of a roleplay blog. The reason I love Angel, more than any of the other characters, is he has so many LAYERS. He has been through so much. He is resilient and strong, while also being soft and just needing someone to love him. He's a brilliant character, and I'm not going to take away some of the things that make him so wonderfully raw, vulnerable, and flawed.

[vulgrados-best]

Offscreen Post

Revenge is an Art

// TW Violence

It goes like this:

Miguel's alarm goes off at 6:00 AM sharp. Today's the day.

It goes like this:

Nick and Miguel meet up in the quarry, exactly where they hid the equipment the night before. They greet Dulce, the midnight watchman, guardian of their tools of revenge. With her job done she heads back home, but not before wishing the two of them luck.

It goes like this:

The 3 teams of this operation slowly pour into the quarry. The total headcount is 22 people, most are Rolycoly Racers, some are friends of Racers.

It goes like this:

From what Miguel heard, the head of the Battle team was decided by who had the most gym badges. Marty had all 8, seems the average of the group was 2-4 badges in comparison.

Miguel instructs Marty to have his team watch out for the riders' other Pokemon: "They can be pretty nasty."

The Disruption team is headed by Disruption Specialist, Rez. Miguel hopes xey are as efficient with xer pokemon as xey are with xer mouth. Man do xey talk a lot.

Miguel instructs Rez to make sure that the riders absolutely don't want to stick around: "Annoy, overstimulate, overwhelm."

The Paintball team is headed by Nicolas himself, turns out he is a damn good shot.

Miguel doesn't need to instruct Nick, after all, they constructed this plan together: "Good luck, I know you've got this covered."

It goes like this:

Miguel rides Celcity directly into the lair of the beast, the junkyard.

It goes like this:

They take the bait. At first they assume Miguel has come crawling back to them... but as the sounds of Pokeballs opening surrounds them they realize they've been betrayed.

It goes like this:

A cacophony of noise fills the junkyard soon after the fighting begins. Miguel smirks at them, earplugs hidden behind their helmet. The riders see red.

It goes like this:

Celcity and Miguel turn tail and run, chased by 3 of the riders. It seems Edwardo is smart enough to try to protect his kingdom. He'll be ousted soon enough.

It goes like this:

Lightscreen, Barrier, Reflect, Protect. Defensive moves form a wall between Miguel and the 3 who followed.

It goes like this:

A hail of paintballs splatter the riders from behind and from sniper points. Each shot is carefully aimed to not hit their Cyclizars. But the noise enough to startle Checkerboard, which is enough to startle Truth. Both Cyclizars run wild in their enclosure before darting through the opening behind them. Quickly the paintballers in the way cleared a path so the startled Cyclizars could bolt.

All the while Nick takes his place near Miguel, a safer place to be... or at least it was meant to be.

It goe s like THIS:

Crescendo shared the rage of his rider, Rafael. It's amazing what a pokemon can do when it's determined enough.

Miguel and Nick watch as Crescendo begins to push apart two light screens with sheer force of will.

IT GO e s 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 tHIs:

Crescendo tears through the walls stopping him and charges Nick.

Miguel doesn't even think, they urge Celcity into the side of Crescendo. Celcity bites down on Crescendo's tail before he can get up to speed, stopping the hybrid in his tracks.

ＩＴ ＧＯＥＳ ＬＩＫＥ ＴＨＩＳ:

Miguel leaps off the back of Celcity onto Rafael, sending them both tumbling to the ground. A crack rings out as Miguel manages to hit Rafael in the jaw.

It goes... like this...:

Miguel isn't quite sure as to how the rest of the fight went, one minute they were on top of Rafael the next they were being dragged off him by a Jenny.

Their knuckles hurt like hell and their nose and leg were bleeding all over again. But that didn't account for all of the blood on their shirt.

It goes. like this:

Miguel was in so much fucking trouble.