#akathehellcat

[cruelonlytobekindarchived]

@akathehellcat

there’s a bowl of ice cream in your lap. you’re max bloom, after all, and max bloom sometimes likes blue ribbon caramel swirl plus sprinkles for breakfast. at least on days when your face twinges a little bit and when you’ve had a few rough nights before. (you love working as a consultant, you really do. you do good work. you help. you make things better. but it’s exhausting, isn’t it?)

emotionally diminishing beyond reason.

netflix queue’s glowing on the huge tv. spoon’s standing in the middle of the ice cream. it’s melting slowly around chilly metal.

“do you think the ted bundy tapes is too much?”

as in, is this decent? no, probably not, max, it’s 9 am.

[thedestrcyer]

“   do  you  like  space?   ”      has  she  ever  asked  that  question  before?      has  ripley  even  ever  made  it  clear  ,  even  with  her  trauma  ,  that  she’ll  always  love  space  ,  that  stardust  made  her  bones?     probably  not.    ripley’s  only  sitting  out  on  the  porch  because  she’s  about  to  light  up  a  cigarette.    dark  eyes  staring  out  at  the  city  ,  cigarette  and  lighter  in  each  hand.    jawline  set.

❯     starter call!   /     @akathehellcat  ,

[sacredjustice]

@akathehellcat

❛ YOU SMELL NICE. ❜ Diana delivers the compliment with the slyest of smiles –– cheeks ache from it, blood lingering in the pockets of dimples. Raven curls are twisted into knots that would render a bird’s nest envious, and limbs are scabbed red and raw, faintest specks of dirt lingering despite her best efforts at scrubbing clean. She looks as if she’s just emerged from battle, and of course, that is indeed the truth. The adrenaline still pumps in her veins, washing out all traces of blood and reason, until she’s operating with the primal urges of an animal. Urges that come with a single purpose. One that inspires her palm to glide against Trish’s thigh, calloused digits squeezing tight. A remarkably unsubtle plea for an invitation to worship them properly. 

Suddenly, Diana’s quite grateful she had the mind to discard gaudy armor, to reach for her robe instead. It’s silk fabric is tied loosely around her curvy waist; miles and miles of flesh waiting to be touched. To be kissed. ❛ You feel nice, too. Perhaps even more so. ❜ 

[godbloodednope]

@akathehellcat (x)

She tells her always. Constantly. Leave it to her. Is she not the one who cannot die? Is she not the one who may take danger without consequence? It is not she who is fearless, is it not she who is without weakness? It is, it is. And she tried. Let that never be said she did not.

In fact, she took the brunt of the trying. She was the one who managed to force Trish just enough out of the way to be hit by immediate impact. But a god’s body is far more resistant to pain than a human’s. And while by no means has she been unharmed, Kitty Valentine can suffer the pains beneath the impact with little complaint. All the damages done to her person can be quietly magicked away, though she cannot heal them.

While she has that kind of talent, she does not in such terrible, grand weakness. Beneath the guise of seeming without blemish, she is, in fact, all bruises and cuts. Burns and eviscerations that will fade with time.

The doctors ask her questions. She answers them as well as she can, scared, her eyes wide, her words thick, her accent stuck in her mouth. How did this happen. Who are you. Where does she live. Do you know if she has any prior medical history.

Kitty fumbles her way through a series of lies until she can feel her chest caving with the fearful force of interrogation. Jessica shows up just in time to cut in, smoother of voice than she, and Kitty’s grateful for it because she feels like she’s going to faint but she’s been nervously speaking from point a to point b.

But now it’s just her and Trish again, and a gloved hand touches a palm gently.

“‘T’s ‘kay. Trish. Ya name’s Trish,” it’s short for something Kitty would remember if she thought hard enough, “y’okay. ‘M’heyuh. Ya not— by y’self.”

Is that enough? Is it? She appears human enough. Teeth normal— a faked thing, but they look it— an eye that sees, pupils standard rounded, as a human’s is, not the more feline or lizard slit it generally is. Normal. She passes for normal. (Even if she maintains muscle— this is purposeful.)

“Y’okay.”

She will not be afraid, she tells herself, because Trish needs her, and Trish needs her to not be afraid.

Jessica’s gaze says so whenever she’s in here. It’s not quite unkind but it is, as she says so often, get your shit together.

So she’s got her shit together.

[horrorempathya]

❣ for kristen~

OF  COURSE,  would  you  just  look  at  kristen.    sitting  across  the  room  with  one  ankle  crossed  over  one  knee.   her  jeans  ripped  in  all  the  right  places.    heels  just  the  perfect  amount  of  SPLICE,  this  black  button-up  shirt  clinging  perfectly  to  her  athletic  form.    she’s  smiling,  almost  as  if  she  knew  trish  was  coming  without  trish  ever  EVEN  SAYING  A  WORD. 

the  city  skyline  is  behind  kristen’s  head.   not  quite  her  own  territory,  but  she’s  come  to  visit  trish  FAR  MORE  OFTEN.    arms  are  outstretched  on  the  couch,  she  moves  just  one  to  press  her  fingertips  against  her  own  mouth,  then  stretch  them  out  towards  trish.   KISS  BLOWN.

don’t  stay  over  there,  she  has  a  story  to  tell.

*   kisses  y’all.   //   @akathehellcat.

[samenkomen]

there    was    no    chance           in    hell    that    jessica    was    going    to    let    dorothy    pick    trish   up    from    rehab.           if    anything    her    presence    would    only    present    memories    that    the    the    blond    was    in    no    shape    to    deal    with    at    a    time    like    this.         &        there    was    even     less    chance    in    hell    that    she’d    let    her    slide    back    into    whatever        pills         she’d    been    strung    out    on    for    the   likes    of    a    goddamn    waste    of    space    like    her.          because    now    that    sterling    was    gone        ──         trish    was    truly    the    only    family    she    had    left.         which     made    her    well    worth    protecting. so    a    few    threats    were    uttered          &            here    she    was.           standing    outside    the    facility  with    nerves    that    would    usually    have    her    begging   for    a    bottle    of    cheap    ass    whiskey.       for    there    was    a    chance    that    this    wouldn’t    help.          that   this    would    turn    out    to    be   just    like    last   time.            chances    heightened    depending     on    if    she    wanted    to    keep    up     with    the        ‘pop    star’          gig.            but    somehow    jessica    had    to    remain    hopeful    this    time.          as    trish   had    only    checked    in    thanks    to    her    belligerent   nagging. “trish  !”          hand    waves    at   the    sight    of    her    exiting    the    heavy    doors.           heart    skipping    a  beat    once    assessing    how    much   healthier    she    looked.  

@akathehellcat    !                   /   /                  PLOTTED    STARTER  

[withdiiamonds]

akathehellcat replied to your post

trish: like mother like daughter~

they had to endure years of harmful exposure to the media + abusive parents they Better have a buttload of money as a result tbh

[raidstombs]

that’s it. that’s the ship. 

[whiskcyneat-blog]

"i’m your friend. of course i care."

therapy / talking about trauma / post - trauma starters. | @akathehellcat | accepting !

her hand moves to lift the glass to her mouth again - a lazy motion that’s almost second nature at this point - only for it to slip and shatter against the tiled floor. “shit,” she hisses. “i know you care, trish, but what the fuck can you do? what can i do?” she picks up the bottle of jack on the counter and takes a long swig. who needs glasses anyway? “it doesn’t fucking matter, let’s just not talk about it.”

[itsnotpatsy]

❝ is this you being convincing now ? because you suck at it. ❞ for jessica

AMERICAN GODS STARTERS.

STATUS: PLEASE

She’s not ready to look at you.  To talk to you. To breathe the same air as you. You know that old anger problem? The one she’d been tossing a fucking bouncy ball at for weeks? Yeah, it crops up with a vengeance every time she looks at your face. Jessica’s not ready for it. Typical Trish: shoving into all my space even when it’s unintentional. Goddamn serendipity or whatever. She doesn’t say it, but she thinks it. Lets go of the guy with the knife trying to steal this girl’s purse-- college student, Jess bets, standing between what the poor kid likely didn’t ask to get between tonight.

“Yeah, paragon of honesty, do me a favor and pass judgment somewhere somebody needs to hear it,” The guy scurries off before Jessica grasps the back of his jacket-- WHOOF, back to his ass, “Not so fast, there, rebel without a cause.”

She yanks the wallet out of his pocket where his hand’s pressed into it, like he’s trying desperately to hide that he’s still hiding it.

“Much better. Now pull this shit again and I’m gonna jam my foot so far up your ass your mouth’ll know my shoe size.” Now the rat goes running, and Jessica watches it, turning her attention back to Trish. Mostly completely ignoring the girl who takes her wallet from a hand, thanking her breathlessly. Jess’s eyes only narrow in awkward, flighty response as she clicks away on shaky heels.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Out here. In the middle of the night. In very dangerous territory. Probably gunning to get your ass kicked by somebody who isn’t me.

Not that she’s worried, but that pang, even under the anger? Hard to shake.

[cruelonlytobekindarchived]

@akathehellcat

“i can’t read at noon,” you wave it off like you don’t give a shit. because you don’t. “my eyes don’t do that. not at noon. give me two hours.” a groan. “unless it’s somehow. important.”

[thedestrcyer]

‘ You’re fun. ’

THERE’S  THIS  SMALL,  SMALL LAUGH  that  escapes  ripley’s  mouth,  sounds  much  like  surprise  more  than  anything  else.    fun  has  never  been  a  word  used  to  describe  her;   more  like  ADVENTUROUS.   that  seems  more  like  trish’s  little  world  than  her  own.   not  that  she’s  going  to  ruin  the  moment  &  disagree  with  it  verbally,  no  there’s  just  a  SMALL  TWINKLE  in  her  nearly  black  eyes,  actually  they  look  more  brown  in  this  current  lighting.   ripley’s  hand  moves  from  the  bed,  reaches  out  without  looking,  finds  the  closes  BIT  OF  SKIN.   wraps  her  fingers  around  trish’s  wrist.   does  this  little  shake.  

❛   YOU  CAN’T  BE  AN  ASTRONAUT  without  being  a  little  fun.  ❜     said  so  matter-of-factly,  in  ripley’s  quiet,  nearly  raspy  voice,  all  while  sitting  up.

 ❛   I’M  GOING  TO  GO  smoke  a  cigarette…   and  i’m  using  your  robe.   ❜

*  meme  //  @akathehellcat.

[sacredjustice]

“you’re beautiful.”

Meme: two word starters

Status: Accepting, please !!  | @akathehellcat

      HOW CRUEL YOU ARE, TRISH WALKER. Diana cannot resist smiling widely, ivory teeth displayed proudly, when Trish croons such honey-flavored praises, as if no one else has ever complimented her appearance before this very moment. It’s different, of course, because the words belong to Trish. They sound like a secret language of romance, new to this exhausted world where most novelty has expired. Perhaps they shall craft their own little sentiments, with connotations known only to them. So vibrant is her love for this woman that everything seems to take upon a deeper meaning. Trish hung the moon up in the sky and inspired the stars to sparkle too, of that Diana is certain. 

    ❝ My love, I’m afraid Aphrodite would despair at my appearance. She does not deem bruises and lacerations as decorations for beauty.  ❞ Indeed, Diana’s face is a token of war, bloodied and purpled, right eye nearly swollen closed. And so, it is very cruel when Trish showers her with those sweet words that leave even sweeter lips, for she must smile that great big smile that causes every muscle in her disfigured face to wince. Worth it; she minds pain very little. 

    Brown eyes blacken until they are darker than the midnight sky. She’s perfumed in the stench of victory, opponent lifeless on the battlefield, another day saved. That rush, the one that has a pulse and life of its own, a brand known only to warriors, dances in her veins. The fight is over, but adrenaline has just begun to stir, desire curling over all other instincts. 

   She loops a finger into the waist of Trish’s pants, then the other, until she pulls her lover close with pathetically little effort at all. It’s not enough, she could be closer still. A palm curves along the swell of her bottom, pushing until the truest beauty Diana has ever known tumbles into her lap. ❝ Your face is all I ever wish to return home to. ❞ Sing-song whispers are swallowed as she presses rosy lips to Trish’s mouth, forgetting her bloodied features, or perhaps not caring at all. The kiss is not gentle nor sweet, and truly, nor is it loving. She wants to consume you. 

[godbloodednope]

Kitty, when you think about Trish, what stands out the most to you?

She finds it complicated to understand that she is still permitted to think this way. To be freely and honestly IN LOVE with another person of her own accord. And this is very difficult for her to verbalize. Her gloved hands pause in the air as they go on to try and speak-- yes, speak, her hands talk more than her mouth does-- but her mind is running, hard and beating, beating, BEATING through possibilities. What can she say about it? That Trish’s laugh is a prominent thing in her memory, because it has so many colors and feelings to it, so many shades of thought! It is sometimes YELLOW when it’s HAPPY and sometimes BLUE when it’s BITTER and sometimes RED when it’s MIRTHFUL, which is happiness, but larger. That her smile, too, is many-colored and changes, changes, changes so often-- that it can be sad and happy and warm and cold sometimes, because Kitty watches, she watches so carefully.

But it is possible it is her unending KINDNESS and the way in which she is gentle toward all others and how, in spite of an innate coil of harshness, some soft, small, petty thing deep down inside her, Trish tries her best to put THAT BEST out into the world. Kitty Valentine thinks kindness is the most ADMIRABLE STRENGTH a person may keep and hold onto. How much it means and how strange it is-- pain has made her cruel, made her grow like a tree struck in half by lightning, gnarled and ugly and backwards. Her body’s marked with that cruelty, her voice roughened sandpaper with it, her blood awful red with it. But Trish?

Trish tries to be someone GOOD so much. And she knows things about Trish when she was younger-- she had a bad mother, too. She had a mother who hurt her, like Felicia hurt Kitty. (Like Kitty hurt her own children, but is trying not to hurt them ever again.) And Felicia made her ugly. Was the first piece that created the awful puzzle that Kitty has become. But Dorothy? Dorothy has taught Trish how to be gentle. How to be loving. She has taken all that unkindness, all that anger, and she has made it KIND. And that? That matters. But she cannot say those words to anyone-- but Trish, maybe, who would listen to her stutter through them, flushed and shy and embarrassed, hands moving, eyes stuck to the floor, humiliated with every clumsy word. To Trish, she would say all of it. Knows she would listen. Instead, she says.

“Way she says g’mornin’,” And it sounds SIMPLE, but it is not, in fact, the intent of those words are so FULL with warmth that’s what matters, and for Kitty, and one who knows her, it is easy to hear the importance of HOW they’re said. Warm smile there on her face.

[horrorempathya]

she’s  being  nice  today,  trish.     which  really  just  makes  her  look  awkward.    kristen,  in  a  rare  human  form?    different.

also --    your  fault,  trish.    you  tell  her  harder,    she  goes  harder. really,  she’s  prone  to  do  just  about  anything  you  ask  under  the  guise  of  behind  difficult  &  abrasive.   she  still isn’t  all  that  mentally  stable.  ❛   for  some  odd  reason,  i’m  prone  to  liking  valentine’s  day  over  any  other  holiday. i don’t  have  the  answer  to  why,  but  i  definitely  should  have.    did  you  forget  who  you’re  dating?   i’m  the  definition  of  dangerous.   ❜ or,  at  least  her  lifestyle.   says  the  ‘dangerous’  woman  who  definitely  thought  of  trish  walker  on  the  day  to  commemorate  love  &  bought  a  stuffed  bear  &   a  knife  in  tribute.   head  turns  just  the  slightest,  smile  on  kristen’s  lips.

❛   are  you  free  tonight?   ❜

*  continued  \\  @akathehellcat.

[daxambcrn]

♗ if this is still being accepted plsss~

Send me a ♗ and I’ll use my icon style to make an icon of your muse.

Trish scenes are so bright! They are truly a gift!