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romerona · 1 month ago

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The Swan Princess; Westeros Version.

The Targaryen Princess is the younger sister of Rhaenyra and the second daughter of King Viserys and the late Queen Aemma x Lord Cregan Stark in a dynamic inspired by The Swan Princess.

Viserys and Rickon Stark arrange for the princess and Cregan to be wed once she comes of age. To build familiarity, they reunite them every few years (a rare moment of decency among men in House of the Dragon, but let's roll with it).

However, from a young age, they absolutely despise each other, setting the stage for a classic love-hate relationship.

Young fem Targ reader x young Cregan Stark.

Warnings: kids being kids.

The second encounter.

Cregan Stark lingered by the sweets spread, trying his best to fade into the carved wooden panels that lined Dragonstone’s grand banquet hall. The lavish celebration for Prince Aemond’s second name day was in full swing, the chamber brimming with lords and ladies draped in silks and velvets. Overhead, crystal chandeliers cast dancing lights across the polished floors, while the mingling scents of spiced meats, honey cakes, and salt-laced sea air reminded Cregan just how far he was from the North.

He would not have chosen to be here of his own accord—his father, Lord Rickon, had insisted upon it. The North had to show deference to the crown, and so here he was, a wolf trapped among gaudy southern birds. The swirl of vibrant fabrics and the swirl of conversation grated on him, making him feel more foreign with each passing moment.

He absently picked at an apple tart, gaze drifting around the hall. Laughter rolled in waves, bright silks shimmered, and voices overlapped like waves against a rocky shore. Then he saw you.

You, just eight summers old, stood on the dance floor, your silver hair braided and held in place by glittering dragon clips. A genial lord—perhaps one of your father’s many courtiers—guided you through a stately dance, each step practised and careful. Your gown of pale red silk, shot through with gold thread, flared as you twirled, catching the light as if it were spun from Dragonfire. Beside you, Princess Rhaenyra clapped politely, regal and composed, yet it was you who drew every eye, all luminous joy and childlike grace.

You seemed taller than he recalled—though still slight in that dainty, southern way. Everyone knew that you and your elder sister were the King’s favorites, and your presence commanded a sort of reverence. Lords angled for a moment of your attention, ladies curtsied and cooed with honeyed compliments. It was as though the court revolved around you.

From her seat by the King, Queen Alicent watched you dance and laugh. Her mouth curved in a careful smile, but even at ten, Cregan could sense it was a mask. The queen, he suspected, did not relish sharing Viserys’s affections with the daughters who stole so much of his warmth.

He glowered at the thought, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Honestly, what made you so remarkable? You were willful, well-pampered, prone to speak your mind, and insufferable too, if anyone were to ask him. You weren’t that special. Plenty of other children had those traits, too. And yet—no matter how he tried to turn his attention elsewhere, his gaze kept straying back to you, spinning in the lord’s gentle arms, your soft laughter rising above the music as if it had a life all its own.

Cregan stiffened the moment you approached, his posture snapping to an almost militant straightness as though he were preparing for a lecture rather than a conversation. The mischievous gleam in your lilac eyes immediately set his jaw tight—it was the same infuriating spark that had earned him countless reprimands from his father for failing to act with proper decorum around you. You sank into a delicate curtsy, the motion practised and graceful, yet the teasing quirk of your lips betrayed any semblance of genuine respect.

“Princess,” he greeted you with a curt bow, voice clipped. “What an unexpected honour.”

Your tone dripped with feigned gravity as you replied, “The honour is all mine, my lord. Stumbling upon the northern wolf lurking beside the sweetmeats… One might almost think you’ve been tamed.”

Cregan’s brow furrowed in irritation, a flash of defiance sparking in his grey eyes.

“A wolf doesn’t require taming, Your Highness,” he countered. “I stand exactly where I choose.”

You tilted your head toward the table piled high with sweetmeats and pastries, your voice light with false innocence. “And this is where you choose to linger, Lord Stark? Tell me, do the pastries in Winterfell rival these in quality?”

His retort was clipped. “They’re simpler, yes—but far more to my taste than this… southern absurdity.”

You drew a theatrical gasp, hand pressing over your heart. “How you wound me, my lord. Are you implying that life in the North eclipses all else?”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “I do not imply. I state fact.”

Your eyes sparkled with mischief, your voice carrying an air of mock civility. “Well, I ought not to take this as an offence. After all, it’s remarkable that you manage the common tongue so gracefully, considering your… brutish northern customs. Tell me, Lord Stark, do you and your kin still howl to your old gods beneath trees, hoping for a reply?”

Cregan’s hand tightened around the tart, the edges of the crust crumbling under the force of his grip. His jaw locked, and his stormy gaze fixed on you with a warning glare. “Since we’re trading such pleasant observations, Princess, perhaps we should turn our attention to dragons—or rather, your conspicuous lack of one.”

The teasing light that danced in your lilac eyes extinguished instantly. Your expression sharpened, the flush of indignation colouring your cheeks.

“What did you say?” you demanded, your voice like the edge of a blade.

Cregan didn’t flinch, folding his arms as he leaned slightly forward, his tone steady and deliberate.

“I said,” he repeated, drawing out each word with an almost casual air, “that a Targaryen princess without a dragon… is painfully ordinary.”

Your entire body stiffened at his words, and your hands curled into tight fists at your sides. Your face burned, the flush deepening as you glared up at him with fiery intensity.

“You will take that back,” you hissed, your voice trembling with barely restrained fury.

“I will not,” he replied simply, meeting your gaze without so much as a blink. It was a standoff, the air between you crackling like kindling set alight, neither willing to back down.

Before he could utter another syllable, you thrust both hands against his chest. The force of the shove made him stagger backwards, one heel catching on the table’s wooden frame. In a desperate bid for balance, he reached out, only for his fingers to catch the trailing hem of your fine silk gown.

The sound of ripping fabric tore through the air, followed by a cacophony of disaster as you both tumbled backwards onto the table. The grand centrepiece—a towering, intricately decorated cake—collapsed under your combined weight, sending frosting, crumbs, and sugar flowers flying in every direction.

For a moment, the hall was silent, the music grinding to a halt as every pair of eyes turned toward the spectacle. The only sound was the slow, steady drip of frosting onto the polished floor.

Cregan blinked up at the chaos, realizing he was sprawled awkwardly amid a sea of ruined confections. Beside him, you were similarly dishevelled, your silver hair streaked with frosting, your gown torn and stained with layers of cream and crumbs.

“You… absolute… oaf!” you hissed through clenched teeth, scrambling to sit up, your lilac eyes blazing with fury. With surprising agility, you scrambled onto him, flailing your small fists in a chaotic flurry.

“You shoved me!” Cregan barked, raising his arms to fend off your flurry of tiny fists. Your attempts to pummel him were more chaotic than effective, but you were determined.

“You insulted me!” you countered, your voice sharp with indignation.

“And you called me a brute!” Cregan retorted, his voice rising in frustration as he seized your wrists, halting your frantic blows.

“That’s because you are a brute!” you snapped, wrenching your arms free with a sharp tug. Your small frame trembled with indignation as you raised a tiny fist, ready to land what you clearly thought would be a devastating blow—but before you could make contact, a broad-shouldered knight, Ser Harwin Strong, intervened.

In one swift motion, he scooped you up and hoisted you over his shoulder like a sack of grain, preventing any further skirmish while you continued to struggle, your fury undiminished. His expression was caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

“Unhand me, Ser Harwin!” you demanded, still reaching out in an attempt to land your blow, your face aflame with indignation. But Ser Harwin only tightened his hold, keeping you securely aloft as your small fists flailed at empty air.

“Cregan.”

He froze the moment that familiar voice reached his ears—low, firm, and unmistakably displeased. Heart thudding, Cregan scrambled upright, hastily brushing crumbs and frosting from his tunic in a futile attempt to salvage some semblance of dignity, feeling heat rise to his cheeks as he prepared to face his father, Lord Rickon Stark, whose stern grey eyes were now fixed on his son’s every move.

And then, beyond the circle of onlookers, came the voice of King Viserys. The instant he called your name, your thrashing ceased as if a spell had been broken. One fist remained clenched mid-swing, but the sound of your father’s stern summons froze you in place. You wriggled once more on Ser Harwin Strong’s shoulder before going limp with a huff of frustration, clearly aware that further resistance would only make matters worse.

The great hall seemed to hold its breath as King Viserys stepped forward, his frown deepening at the sight of the battered dessert table and his frosting-smeared daughter. Guards and courtiers parted to let him pass, and in the stillness that followed, every eye was fixed on you and the young Stark lord who stood before you, equally dishevelled.

The King’s gaze swept over the scene: the shattered remnants of the centrepiece cake, frosting streaked across the floor, and two children—one caked in sugar and silk, the other in crumbs and frayed northern dignity—standing stiffly before him. His expression shifted from confusion to thinly veiled disappointment as the whispers around the hall grew.

When he finally spoke, his voice was calm but carried the commanding weight of the crown. “What in the Seven Hells is the meaning of this?”

Ser Harwin carefully lowered you to the ground as though handling a volatile brew. You straightened your spine as best you could, brushing futilely at the frosting streaked across your gown. Despite your bedraggled appearance, you jutted your chin up stubbornly, attempting to smudge away stray frosting with all the dignity you could muster—though you succeeded only in spreading more crumbs along your sleeve. You shot a fiery glare at Cregan, who still looked like he wished the floor would swallow him whole.

Lord Rickon Stark chose that moment to step forward, clearing his throat. “Your Grace, my son—”

Viserys raised a hand, silencing him without a word. All eyes were on the King, and he, in turn, focused on the two of you with a mix of bewilderment and annoyance.

“Princess,” he said, meeting your gaze. “You will speak first.”

You gave an indignant huff, shooting another scornful glance at Cregan before reluctantly turning to face your father.

“He insulted me grievously, Father—told me I was ordinary because I do not yet ride a dragon!” Her lilac eyes flashed, and she swiped another glob of cake from her hair with a wrinkled nose. “So I merely defended my honour.”

“Aye, by launching yourself at me,” Cregan muttered, though he tried to appear calm, there was no hiding the stiff set of his shoulders—or a dollop of frosting sliding down his cheek. “And need I remind you, Princess, that you provoked me first by comparing my prayers to… howling at the moon?”

A chorus of hushed snickers rippled around them. Viserys’s brow lifted, and for a brief moment, it seemed he fought off a faint smirk.

“I see,” he said, folding his arms. “So, if I follow correctly, you have reduced a royal banquet to a frosted battlefield… because of a few sharp words?”

At that, you set your jaw stubbornly. “Words are not so harmless, Father. They carry weight, and his were particularly unkind.”

“And what of your words?” Cregan interjected, his chin lifting in quiet defiance. “They were none too gentle either, Your Grace.”

You flicked your gaze back to him, a sharp retort already on your tongue. “Oh, do hush, northern brute. I’d not have wasted my breath if you hadn’t been so—”

“Enough.” Viserys’s voice rang out, firm and commanding, cutting through the rising tension like a blade. The authority in his tone stilled you both, silencing further outbursts.

“You are both of noble blood,” he said, his gaze hard as it swept between the two of you. “This—” he gestured at the ruins of the cake, the scattered fruit, and the stunned courtiers “—is not how nobility ought to conduct itself. Especially not before half the realm’s finest lords and ladies.”

Your cheeks burned hotter than dragonfire, but your pride refused to crumble entirely. “Father, I—”

Viserys’s gaze hardened, silencing your protest before it fully formed. “You will each apologize. Properly.”

Your mouth opened to argue, but his iron stare left no room for negotiation. Your teeth clenched, but with a long-suffering sigh, you turned to Cregan, your lips pressed into a thin line.

“It seems,” you began, each word forced through your stubborn pride, “I owe you an apology.” Your gaze flicked to your father, then back to the northern boy. “By the King’s command, of course.”

Cregan’s jaw tightened as he met your glare. He gave a shallow bow, his voice measured and formal.

“And I apologize for my words, Princess. However,” he added, unable to stop himself, “they were not spoken without reason.”

Your eyes narrowed, and for a moment, it seemed as though you might lunge at him again. But instead, you stood straighter, fixing him with a withering look. The silence stretched between you, heavy and sharp, until your father cleared his throat pointedly.

Both of you turned away at last, but the exchange between your gazes spoke louder than any words: I despise you.

And his? The feeling is mutual.

Helloooo, I hope you all enjoyed this one mess lol. But Oh, do I love making this. Also, thank you so much for the support, the likes, comments and reblogs, you all really make me have so much motivation.

<3 Thank you so muchhhh.

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beardedjoel · 4 months ago

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indebted

dark!joel x f!reader. one shot.

main masterlist | ao3 | kofi

summary: you're having a bad day. one you think is getting better once a rough around the edges man comes to your rescue. you didn't expect it would takes such a sharp turn for the worse. first person pov reader. 9.2k words.

warnings: 18+ MDNI! DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT! NON CONSENUAL SEXUAL ACTS, READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION, pervy, sleazy, and foul mouthed joel. degradation, sexual favors, forced oral and piv, virgin reader, corruption, innocence, and daddy kinks featured. biiig ol' age gap (reader's age not mentioned other than "young" but i imagine her as 18-20 as she has a relatively immature attitude, imagining joel 50-55), this is not for everyone and that's okay. i'm not responsible for the content you consume.

a/n: i had some hormonal induced insanity and came up with this. i had a great time trying out a new pov for writing fic! enjoy him as much as i did, friends 🖤 and thanks @joelstummy for the amazing freaky beta work!

I’ll be the first person to admit now that what I’ve been doing is stupid. Dangerous. Idiotic. The list goes on. I can hear my father’s stern, militant voice in the back of my head, telling me as much. Except now he likely won’t get the chance to relish in it because I’m going to die here. Way out here where nobody will find my body, and I’ll be just another person that went missing in the QZ, never to be seen again. But this time, it’s not some sleazy FEDRA scheme and coverup or a smuggling deal gone wrong.

It’s utterly and completely my fault.

Sneaking out wasn’t meant to become a habit, but after the first few times, I lost the fear and adrenaline that had burned hot through my veins at those first steps of freedom. I craved it again, so I kept going further. And further. Away from civilization as I knew it, until the cluster of buildings known as the Quarantine Zone became a tiny speck in the distance. Out here was desolation, nothingness, only abandoned buildings to explore. The infected were another story, but I started to learn routes that helped me avoid encounters with them.

It helped clear my mind after a while, this newly found sense of adventure. All I’d ever known was a cage, a walled city that had become so mundane I felt my insides starting to rot from the listlessness of it all. My father was important - top in the rankings - I knew that, and it was all the more reason to keep me safely locked away while the city stirred with chatter of an uprising against FEDRA.

He never bothered to check on me much, anyways, making my little forays quite easy. Once I’d persuaded enough people with ration cards, they’d shown me the tunnel leading to freedom. Well, that tunnel, then another, a ladder to climb back up to the surface, and only then could I go through a precarious hole in a chain link fence. That was the smuggler’s route, they said, an easy ticket to getting in and out without being noticed.

I’d been abusing it, staying out for days at a time, never able to drink in enough of this quiet solitude that was of my own choosing, not my father’s. I couldn’t quite figure out what hole inside of me I was trying to fill, but I’d be damned if I stopped trying.

However, today seemed to be my last chance to try at all. His footsteps had been quiet - so quiet - approaching behind me. An old store, full of half decayed plushies, molded candies, and other adorable things from lives long put in the past, had called to me, distracted me. The arm around my throat, constricting, the other coming up to put a hand over my mouth. A dirty, putrid smell encompassing everything as I sputtered against him. This is it, I’d thought. What a waste.

I scream and fight against the strong hold he has on me, a nasty sneer right against my skin. “What’s some fresh meat like you doing waaaay out here, huh?” a dark voice rattles into my ear.

I scream behind his dirty palm in response, kicking my legs back at him. I should have learned more self defense, but who needs it when you’ve spent most of your life safely tucked away with your family name as your biggest protector?

“You smell good… real good…” The creep’s voice buzzes by me as he takes a deep breath in, making me shudder. One swift kick and I’m sure this is it, the one to knock him senseless and let me escape. He’s smart for how distracted he seems to be by my scent, and he’s one step ahead of me. My legs are kicked out from underneath me as I rear one back, and I fall to the ground, the man coming down with me to sit on my back, straddling my body in a fluid motion. He grips my hands behind my back, leaving me helpless in my fight, kicking and screaming. I’m ice and heat all at once, my body burning in a frozen blaze, my fight or flight quickly turning to fawn as his weight presses down on me.

“You can have anything in my backpack, anything! Please, let me go! I - I don’t want any trouble,” I choke out pathetically, hating how my voice comes out in shaky waves. This isn’t how to appeal to people like this, people who have lost their sense of humanity, evident by the way he’s now grinding himself down onto my jean clad asscheeks.

A laugh comes out of him that would haunt me as evil incarnate for the rest of my days if I wasn’t so sure that I was going to die at the hands of this man after he was done with me. “We both know I don’t give a fuck about any damn backpack of yours. I don’t want any trouble either, sweet cheeks, I just think you’d have a lot of fun with me and my friends. But mostly me,” he replies with the hint of a wink in his voice.

My stomach clenches, sickness rolling in that is only furthered as the man leans down, cloaking me with his large form. I can’t turn enough to see him, to even know what this violation of a man looks like, but his energy is beyond hideous as I catch a glimpse of his yellowing teeth in a grin before he pushes my head down to the cracked linoleum tiles. My hair tangled in his fingers, he holds me down hard, and I struggle to breathe as he crushes me beneath him.

“Now, are you gonna come easily, or do I need to do things the hard way? Either way is fine with me, for a fine piece of ass like this. In fact, I might prefer it the hard way, but we’d hate to ruin this pretty skin of yours, wouldn’t we?” He says slowly, pressing the cold blade of a knife to my throat.

“O-okay, okay,” I acquiesce, stopping my squirming, just needing a bit of room to breathe, my lungs heavy inside my chest. My panic only makes my chest tighter, even when the man leans back the tiniest bit. I had hoped that my sudden compliance would get that knife off my throat, but it hasn’t. “Just don’t hurt me… please…” I whimper.

He lets out a long, ragged sigh. “Afraid I can’t promise that.”

I’ve never felt fear like this, such certainty that I was about to be ruined, my life as I know it changing without a chance to even look back. I squeeze my eyes shut and brace for it, for anything he’s about to do next, finally accepting that there isn’t any appealing to scummy men in a scummy world. But nothing comes except for a muffled crack ringing through the air, and then a thud as the entire weight of my adversary falls on top of me, crushing. Something warm has splattered on my skin, my face, then starts to coat my jacket, seeping through. I shake violently, begging my body to catch a full breath under the weight of him.

Then as suddenly as it happened, it stops, the body yanked off of me and tossed to the side with ease. The deafening thud of his entire weight onto the ground is stark. I flip over and scramble backwards, grabbing the knife that had fallen from the man’s hand in his swift, final moment. Holding up a shaky hand, I grip the knife tightly, looking up to face a brutish, tall man with overgrown hair of chestnut and gray. A trim beard with the same coloring wraps around his tightly set jaw. He’s all wide shoulders, thick arms, broad chest, and my senses go on high alert again. His gun is practically still smoking as it hangs at his side, an active threat.

“Y’alright?” he drawls, thick and deep, echoing through the abandoned shop. One step closer to me has the knife practically flailing as I struggle to calm my hands, a strained hum alongside my shaky breathing the only sound I seem capable of making.

“Put that thing down,” he says calmly, almost exasperated. His stance slackens, one knee pushed out as he sizes me up. I’m likely the most miserable looking thing he’s seen in a while, I’m sure. “You’re harmless.”

“H-how do I know you’re not with him?” I blurt out.

My gruff savior lifts his brows incredulously. “That guy?” he asks, motioning impatiently to the dead body only a foot away. “Think I’d be puttin’ a bullet right in his skull if he was my best buddy?”

My eyes dance over him as I think. He has a point, and he did just save me from whatever debauched things that stranger’s mind had been conjuring up.

“Y-yeah, you have a point,” I finally say. He steps closer, and this time, I let him, putting the knife down. He motions with an authoritarian air for me to push it away, and I obey immediately, flinging it across the room.

“Poor fucker died with a hard on, didn’t he?” The man muses as his boots thud on the way over to the body, kicking it slightly as if to check, letting it roll back before turning his attention on me. “Now, are you usually this stupid, comin’ into hunter territory, or what?” he asks, reaching a hand down to me, presumably to help me up.

“I didn’t know…” I mumble, letting his hand hang there. He doesn’t snatch it back right away, although I can tell he wants to, that he’s already beyond exasperated by his day and the last thing he’d wanted was a damsel in distress like me. I hate that he’s proving all the things I’d been trying to disprove about myself by coming out on these solo trips into the great, big outside. I’m weak. Dependent. Needy. It makes my skin crawl with self loathing and frustration.

“Didn’t know, huh? So just clueless, then?” the man spits out, staring down at me with darkened eyes that make me turn my head away in shame. At my sullen silence, he seems to soften a little. “I’m Joel,” he says, an offering to go along with his outstretched hand.

I sigh, taking it and telling him my own name. I’m up on my feet, dusting myself off and looking at him shyly now. I don’t know what people are supposed to say when someone saves their life, so I just mumble, “Thank you.”

Joel snorts, nodding in acknowledgment as he crouches to pat down the body, seeming to come up short of anything interesting. “Don’t thank me yet,” he says, standing back to his full, towering height, glancing around with sharp eyes. “We should move.”

I might be as stupid as he says, because I wordlessly start to follow him towards the door. His hand stretches out behind him, open and inviting me in as he checks outside the door with a careful peek, his gun held tightly in the other. I stare down at it in disbelief. “C’mon, I don’t bite,” he sighs, that perpetual vexation in his tone again as he twitches his brows at me. “Need you close by. An’ it seems you have a tendency to go where you shouldn’t.”

My cheeks grow hot at the harsh truth of it, and I grasp his hand without any further objections, marveling for a moment at the way it envelops mine. All calloused and hard, mine soft and unused for labor of any kind.

“I’ve got a safehouse not too far from here.”

“A safehouse?”

“It’s already gettin’ dark. There ain’t no way we’re making it back to the QZ today, princess,” he retorts quickly, the pet name mocking on his tongue.

“How’d you know?” I ask softly, disappointment pressing in on my shoulders.

He chuckles out more of a snort, pulling me around a bend, slowly leaving behind the dangerous territory that I’d unknowingly encroached on. “You’re a FEDRA princess if I’ve ever seen one,” he tells me, and my heart sinks that I was so easy to read. I’d seen how capable this man Joel was, but damn was he was astute, more than I’d given him credit for.

I chew at my lip. “Fair enough,” I mumble under my breath, letting him take his well earned win. The longer I hang onto Joel’s hand, letting him expertly weave me through the barren streets, the safer I start to feel. He knows where he’s going, a practiced route he’s taken countless times, and it hits me then that this man is a smuggler. He has to be.

“Are you a smuggler?” I ask pointedly. “I’ve heard that people like that come in and out of the QZ.”

Joel falters for just a brief second, giving me a wily grin. “Look who’s readin’ who now,” he says with a dry chuckle. “Ain’t gonna run and tell your daddy, are you?”

I shake my head, pressing my lips together in a smile. “I can keep a secret.” In fact, I like keeping secrets from my father, hence the sneaking out, so Joel can count on me to never rat him out.

His amused grin in response lights a little flame akin to friendship inside of me. This grumpy old bastard could smile after all. “Just through here,” he says, letting the smile drop, taking a sharp left down a street just as a sprinkle of rain starts to fall on us. It’s a less urban area - more like a neighborhood - sprouted with apartment buildings and abandoned, vine covered cars. It’s my favorite thing about all the exploration I’ve been doing, seeing the way nature can reclaim anything and make it her own.

The cracked street below us makes me tread carefully, lagging behind as Joel’s hand tugs me along urgently. We turn down an alley, Joel whipping his head left to right before dragging me behind him, finally dropping my hand to open a door that leads right into a tiny lobby and a stairwell. He runs a hand through his damp hair, slicking it back some - a rather handsome look for him, now that I’m thinking about it. I try to ignore that thought as his voice booms through the empty room.

“Up,” he commands, gripping my hand again and leading us up the stairs.

My stomach sinks a little when he takes out a key, unlocking a padlock on one of the apartments numbered 405 and pushing the old, chipped door inwards. I have no reason not to trust Joel, he saved my life afterall, but I can’t shake the nerves I feel from being in an unfamiliar place with an unfamiliar man. It’s quiet here, likely nobody in the vicinity but the two of us.

“Home sweet home,” he grunts out, dropping his backpack and gun holster near the door and shrugging off his damp jacket, leaving him in a plain tee shirt that hugs his muscular frame. It’s a small, cramped apartment with a living room and kitchen directly next to it, a little window cut into the wall, peering in on the living room from above the stove. It looks as if it’s left exactly as it was years ago, full of furniture and clutter, only a vessel for Joel to use without making it his own at all. I peer past to see a small hallway I can only assume leads to a bedroom and bathroom.

“Know it ain’t the palace you’re probably used to, but we’ll be safe an’ dry here,” he say, and I roll my eyes behind his back. If Joel thinks that I live in a palace, he’s clearly misunderstood the state that the QZ is in. My father’s house is spacious, sure, but it’s just as dilapidated as the rest of the city. The only difference is the level of protection afforded to our homes.

He ambles into the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets with a clatter, then comes back moments later with an open can of beans and two forks. I’m still standing in the entryway, unsure of what to do with myself.

“Hungry?” he asks gruffly, and I shake my head, wide eyed. I’d lost my appetite the minute that man had grabbed me earlier, and I couldn’t seem to get it back. Joel shrugs, digging in with a messy forkful of from the can. “Your funeral,” he says, chewing.

Joel sinks down onto the couch with a tiny groan, setting down the can on the side table next to his armrest, giving the other cushion an expectant look. “Well, you gonna sit your ass on down an’ tell me why the hell I had to save it today, or what? Why the hell you’re wanderin’ around like it’s a free for all out there?”

I flinch slightly at his harsh tone, but gingerly step my way into the room, unzipping my jacket and shedding it. For the chill outside, the temperature inside the apartment is more comfortable than I’d expect, my skin welcoming the change. Joel eyes my thin tee shirt, and I feel a flash of heat sweep my skin before I feel the prickle of goosebumps, knowing my nipples are poking through the fabric. His eyes catch there before he promptly averts them.

I sit precariously next to Joel on the loveseat, pressed as far away as I can from him, not wanting to cramp his personal space. But he seems to have no problem with that anyways, his legs spread wide open in a comfortable stance, leaned back against the cushions. He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes shut for a moment as he awaits my answer.

“I was… exploring,” I say simply, cringing at how ridiculous it sounds coming out of my mouth. Who leaves perfect safety to wander around in a dangerous world on purpose? For no other reason than curiosity and a sudden, rebellious sense of defiance?

His eyes snap open, head pulling up from the couch, turning my way. “Explorin’…” He mulls on the word, slowly licking his lips before pursing them. “You’re tellin’ me I had to save a FEDRA brat today ‘cause she was explorin’? You really are stupid. ‘Course you are, look how young y’are. Look how fuckin’... sheltered.” Joel throws his hands up, landing them on his thighs with a soft thud, sighing. “Can’t even blame ya.”

I pluck up every bit of courage I have, glaring at him with narrowed eyes. “Look, it was really nice of you to save me and everything, and I do thank you for it. I’m sorry if I messed up whatever… smuggling stuff you had going on today, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me… stupid.” The last word is quiet, mousy, and I turn my head down, eyes shining with unshed tears that I silently curse myself for. My father’s voice rings through my head - you stupid girl! - making me shudder.

Joel sucks at his teeth. “Hit a nerve, I see,” he says passively. “Alright, I’m sorry kiddo. I just mean, you’re puttin’ yourself at risk doin’ what you’re doin’, and it ain’t a smart idea. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I sigh out, relaxing a little. “I just needed to get away.”

“From your dear old daddy?” he teases, picking up the can, shoveling several more bites into his mouth. I go silent, picking at a thread on the couch rather than answer him. “Ah, another nerve, I see. Daddy issues. Could’ve guessed that one.”

“I don’t have -”

“Sweetheart…” Joel interrupts, looking at me from under his brows, pulling his lip between his teeth, seeming to look at me in a fresh light. It sends my skin tingling, the way he eyes me, a glint in his stare. It seems to prove his point, the way a pet name from a middle aged man seems to immobilize me against my will. I want to slap the smug look off his face, but I have no grounds to do so, only grumbling quietly with my cheeks blazing in embarrassment. A prickle of something else works its way deep into my belly, something warm at how his scrutinizing eyes flick over my body, the lines in his face set, showing his age, his experience.

“Take a piece of advice from a man probably as old as your daddy, then. Trust me when I say that outside those walls ain’t the place to find what you’re lookin’ for. The sooner you let go of that notion, the better off you’ll be.”

Frustration blooms hot in my chest, overpowering whatever the hell that sudden, unwanted feeling was. I’m tired of people dictating what I can and can’t do, what I’m capable of. “People do it all the time - smugglers - you would know,” I retort. “I’ve been doing it for months. Never had a problem until today. It was just some bad luck.”

“Bad luck? Really? You’d be that man’s newest little cock sleeve if it weren’t for me savin’ your ass,” Joel growls, standing up off the couch. I wince at his vulgar language, the picture it paints in my mind of what life might have been like if Joel hadn’t happened to be in the right place at the right time.

“I - I know - I’m sorry,” I blurt out, feeling my hands start to go shaky. “Thank you, Joel, I really - I really do owe you. Everything.”

“Like I said, don’t thank me yet.” He steps over so that he’s in front of me, using his boot to part my legs, scooting them apart and standing between them. “Think I did all this out of the kindness of my heart, did you? Didn’t think that maybe I was after the same damn thing as buddy boy earlier?”

I’m like a fish out of water, the way my lips move with no sound coming out. “Joel…” I breathe out in warning, in questioning. I see his arms strain in his t-shirt, hands flexing open and closed.

“I can’t say the thought ain’t crossin’ my mind now. You are mighty pretty. And you do owe me a favor. One big ol’ gigantic favor, for savin’ your backside.” He brushes his fingers along his jeans, palming his crotch for a brief second before leaning forward, caging me in on the couch with hands on either side of me, pressing into the cushions. My heart hammers in my chest so loud I expect Joel can hear it, can feel the fear taking hold of me. He bares his teeth above me like a wild animal, and now I’m certain he can smell my fear too, that he thrives on it.

“You know what? Maybe you were bound to find what you were lookin’ for outside those walls. Maybe that’s what you needed, is it? Couldn’t find any love from daddy back home, so you wanted to find someone to turn you into their own personal little play thing. Poor baby just needed some attention, did she? Sad, really.”

My hands tremble, my words lost as I can only breathe in shaky little breaths, shaking my head violently. How can this god forsaken day keep getting worse?

“Please -” I mumble out, bringing a jittery hand up to my mouth. Joel slaps it away, gripping my chin harshly at first, inspecting me before his thumb brushes over my bottom lip. I’d think it was gentle, caring, even, if not for the nasty look spreading across his face, the grin that darkens it along with his eyes.

“Time to put this pretty thing to better use and show how grateful you are to ol’ daddy Joel,” he says, using his free hand to deftly unbuckle his belt, the jangling sound like a death knell, making my throat go dry. “Promise I’ll be much better than he would’ve been earlier. People say I’m… a generous lover.” His drawl is slow and calculated, voice deep with lust, the sly smirk turning to a triumphant grin as he chuckles, amusing himself.

He grips the top of my head, pushing me to slide down the couch cushions into a slump as I struggle, powerless against a man of his strength. He positions himself higher up to bring the giant denim bulge right in my view. I wince, trying to turn my head away as his zipper comes undone, his hand grasping deep into the fly of his jeans, yanking his cock out. When it springs free, I gasp as he lets it slap me in the face. Hot, throbbing, and massive, leaking a shiny bead of precum that had ended up somewhere on my cheek. I sit stunned and held in place by his rough hand.

The cold hard fact hits me that this is the first time I’m ever going to experience intimacy of any kind. Hell, I’ve only had one kiss before, and it was when I was ten years old, with a boy belonging to one of my father’s friends, a name I can’t even remember now. The first penis I’m ever seeing is right here, right now, in a context I have had zero control over. It’s thicker than I’d imagined one could be, softer too as I look at the skin of it. Veins run along the sides and bottom, all leading up to an imposing, angry pink head at the tip, practically bursting as it awaits me. It’s magnificent and terrifying at the same time, nothing like what I’d expected based on the half-assed health classes provided by schooling in the QZ. Sex has always had a shroud of mystery for me, and I never imagined that all those secrets, long awaited, would be uncovered like this. A dingy bedroom, a man likely almost three times my age, and me as an unwilling participant. Desperation swiftly grips my chest as I realize I actually have no clue what goes on behind closed doors between two people, and I have a feeling I’m about to find out in the crudest of ways.

The fearful innocence I know is about to be stolen from me causes tears to sting at my eyes, fat little droplets that instantly start to roll down my cheeks, leaking onto Joel’s large fingers still gripped around my chin. I start to struggle, my body seeming to catch up with my mind, loud warning sirens of DANGER! DANGER! finally blaring out in a panic. When I squirm, Joel plants one of his knees into my body, keeping himself balanced while still being able to hold me down.

“Don’t cry now, honey, it’ll only make him harder.” He sneers as he strokes his cock, slapping the head against my closed lips a few times. He wrenches my jaw down, forcing it open. “Nice ‘n wide for this big boy, there we go,” he says, not waiting a moment longer to barge his cock past the opening while he has it.

He groans loudly as he shoves several inches in right from the get go, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head. The hand that had been holding my jaw presses in on my shoulder, holding me in place. I’d have nowhere to go, anyways, with his knee on my thighs, his entire body caging me in, the cushions giving me no leeway to the way his cock is forcefully intruding, inch by inch down my throat. The taste is all consuming - a little salty, a little ripe, tasting like days of Joel’s old sweat, but it’s not completely bad, not what I’d have expected. It’s heady in a strange way, clouding my mind as I try to cope with the fullness in my mouth.

The next moment I sputter, my eyes popping open wide, flooded with tears as he hits the back of my throat. I try to gasp for air and I find that I can’t. This is torture of some form, it must be. Full panic follows, where I try to move, but every avenue is pinned down in some way by Joel’s massive body. I weakly flap at him with my hands but it barely even deters him from rocking his hips in and out, choking me again on the thrust inwards as the back of my throat tightens, gagging around his thick girth.

“Open up, relax your goddamn throat,” Joel hisses at me, keeping his cock pressed fully to the back of my throat, constricting any airflow I was hoping to have. I finally breathe shakily out of my nose when he pulls back just enough, only to slide it in slowly, his eyes carefully watching me. I glance up for the first time at him from below, hoping to find any shred of humanity he might have for me, but I’m met with an icy, dark gaze clouded with lust, power.

“Gonna fuck your face now, like the dumb little slut you are. This is what stupid girls get for wanderin’ around by themselves. This is what they ask for.” He punctuates the last words with a sharp thrust inwards, my entire body convulsing with the gag I sputter out around him, drool pooling around my stretched lips. I would whimper if I could, if I even had the air to do so.

Joel is relentless for the next few moments, rapid thrusts in and out of my mouth, my head held conveniently in place against the couch cushions for him. He groans deeply, his pleasure evident while I’m just trying to get my next breath in. I time them expertly, learning as I go, letting him continue to take from me to gain his own pleasure.

“That’s it, that’s right, you’re turnin’ into quite the good girl,” Joel mutters above me, rolling his hips with vigor and making me gag again. I can feel drool dribbling down my chin, my neck, landing on my chest, and it makes me feel ashamed, embarrassed, and a twinge of something else. I can’t tell as Joel grunts, pumping himself in and out of my gruesomely contorted jaw, if the fact that it’s something even remotely sexual has me feeling things I shouldn’t. My cheeks burn hot as my eyes continue to water - how much of it is crying and how much of it is just my body’s response to him hitting the back of my throat, I don’t know.

Then he surprises me by slowing down, languid strokes of his cock in and out with sloppy sounds, a soft hand landing on my head, stroking before bundling my hair in his fist tightly. “Knew you’d have such a filthy little mouth for daddy,” he coos, rolling his hips forward a little further, touching the back of my throat with his cock.

My body spasms a little when he keeps pushing, grumbling quiet groans of approval. My eyes squeeze shut, leaking out an onslaught of tears. I don’t want to see the aftermath if it ends up that it’s one gag too many and the inevitable happens. But to my surprise, he keeps slipping down, intruding on my throat. I try to keep my trembling body still, wanting to keep my throat relaxed, terrified of what might happen if I fight this. Can a person die this way? Could I really choke to death on this man’s dick?

“Jesus fuck. Lord have fuckin’ mercy…” Joel breathes out as he pushes even further. “Swallowin’ him down, aren’t ya? Feel me right in here, I bet.” I flinch when he touches his hand to the column of my throat, wrapping his fingers softly around the flesh. When he starts to retreat, the choking is back in a second, but Joel holds me by the throat, keeping my neck craned back, returning to the brutal way he’d been abusing my mouth. I groan and sputter and try to cough through all of it, my mouth stuffed full over and over again before I can get a breath in.

He’s relentless, and then it stops all at once, his cock popping out from between my lips with a wet, lewd sound. A stream of drool follows, a gush that dribbles down onto my already soaked shirt, and I cough violently, my hands flailing to clutch at my chest.

As soon as the pressure of Joel’s body lifts off of me, I’m scrambling to somewhere, anywhere else, my limbs stiff and achy, my jaw panging with a soreness I’ve never felt before. He stands in front of me, one hand shooting out to grab the collar of my shirt before I can even get fully off the couch, pulling me close.

“Does it look like you’re done showin’ your gratitude yet?” he growls out, gripping the back of my head and forcing me to look down at his cock, still standing at full attention, shiny and dripping with saliva. I swallow hard, the lump painful on the way down. Joel shakes my head for me, the burn at my scalp making me wince. He presses his hips flush with mine, forcing his erection against my thigh before slipping it between them. He leans in close, hot breath ghosting over my face before his lips brush mine.

“You do make a pretty cocksleeve, y’know. Suckin’ cock like a cheap whore, wonder if you take it the same way in your cunt.”

I whimper, shaking my head, the tears non-stop as they roll down my cheeks. “Please… don’t. You don’t have to do this…”

Joel scoffs. “If I put my hand down your pants to that pretty little snatch, tell me I wouldn’t find you wet right now.” He punctuates the words with a sharp pull on my scalp. I cry out, lip quivering, trying to shake my head. “Don’t lie t’me after I’ve been so, so generous t’you today.”

I’m spinning around, a dizzying sensation, Joel’s strong bicep brought across my chest as his other hand delves below my waistline, plunging deep, right to my cotton panties, bypassing the waistband of those, too. Without care, without any sense of boundaries, his fingers explore, slipping through my sensitive slit with ease. I yelp, squirming at the intrusion, and Joel’s deep chuckle behind me confirms what I already knew, what I was beyond confused by.

“Thought so,” he says gruffly, then he cups my entire mound, giving an almost comforting sensation, holding his hand tightly pressed to it. “Nothin’ to be upset about, we’re just havin’ a little fun, payin’ off your debt to dear ol’ Joel, okay?”

I shake my head. “I - I shouldn't be here… it shouldn’t be like this,” I whisper in a cracking voice, hanging my head low as the tears just keep coming, damn them.

Joel’s fingers start to move slowly, just starting with one, stroking gently up my lips, spreading my slickness around. I’m surprised that it feels good, a pleasant little tingle zipping right to my core that I quickly lament, hating myself for it. “What shouldn’t be like this, hm? That you shouldn’t like my cock down your throat? It’s perfectly natural, doll,” he says, somehow soft and condescending in the same breath.

“A-all of this,” I whimper, “Please, j-just let me go. I w-won’t say anything, I won’t do anything. I just…”

Joel quietly shushes me, letting his finger do the talking for a moment. It drags up to my clit, rubbing tiny, enticing little circles. I bite my lip hard, enough to taste copper, trying to suppress the moan climbing its way up from my chest.

“It’s okay, it’s okay that it feels good. It’s ‘sposed to. Good little sluts like you don’t know any better, don’t care what it is that’s gettin’ their panties wet. Desperate,” he growls, fingers sliding through the slick mess that’s now drooling onto the cotton. “Just relax, let it happen…” I feel his breath, hot on my ear, before he nibbles, biting down hard on the earlobe, tugging it with his teeth. It bursts out, the whimpering moan I’d been holding back, just as he pinches my clit at the same time as the bite.

He laughs. He has the nerve to laugh and it sends a shiver down my spine, my brain muddled and confused and turned on by the eroticism at play here. He soothes me by nuzzling my neck, taking a long, deep breath in. I squirm as Joel’s hand retreats, and I wonder for just a moment, a brief, all consuming moment, if maybe he’s seen reason. When his fingers find the buttons of my jeans, my heart plummets to depths previously unknown as he unbuttons them, pulling the zipper down slowly, the only sound in the room his harsh breathing right on my neck.

“Please, I gave you what you want already,” I beg once more, feeling it fall on deaf ears as Joel tugs my jeans down, revealing my pink cotton panties. They’re my favorite pair - were my favorite pair - a rare find in a world like this. Pretty pale pink with a nice lacy trim and a little bow at the front. Only now, they’d belong to Joel.

Joel clicks his tongue in approval of the sight, pulling his head back to peer at my underwear from the back before his hand grips my ass, jiggling it roughly. “Oh, you’re jus’not getting it, are you? You feel this?” he asks angrily, letting me feel the hard length of his cock pressed to my ass cheeks, threatening to slip between my thighs. “This means you didn’t give me nearly half of what I want yet. He’s still achin’ for ya, princess.”

I grit my teeth, hating the pet name, the way he’s using who I am to mock me. It’s a low blow. I hated everything to do with being associated with my father - I knew he wasn’t a good man - and I hated most that it was so obvious to a stranger which echelon of society I belonged to. If I was so important, where were they now, huh? I want to scream those words at him, but instead I just feel my legs tremble underneath me, my knees feeling like jelly as they almost give out on me.

“Please!” I struggle against his hold, but it only makes him grip my ass tighter, hard enough to bruise. “I-I’m a virgin,” I suddenly squeak out, unsure of why I say it other than some last ditch effort to deter him. My heart pounds as he stills, dead silent with his hand grasping my ass like it’s his next meal, like he owns it.

“Well ain’t it my lucky day. Shit, that’s why you were sputterin’ all over my damn cock, ain’t it?” he says as the epiphany dawns on him, laughing. My cheeks blaze hotter and hotter, hating that I’m even embarrassed at my lack of experience and skills, like I have some sick need to impress him. He notices my tension, my head hanging low as I cry new tears, and says, “Hey, hey, nothin’ to be ashamed for. In fact…” His hand fists in my underwear, tight and unrelenting. I feel his cock press against my ass again, harder than ever before it slips between my thighs. “Makes me awful excited,” he purrs, bringing his mouth to my ear again.

I only give him a timid whimper in reply, squeezing my eyes shut as I realize there is nothing I can do to stop this man. He thinks I’m a cheap whore, and he loves it. I’m a pure virgin, and he loves it even more.

He squeezes me tighter to his chest, my back starting to sweat through my thin tee shirt. “The hell were you savin’ yourself for anyways? Marriage? A sweet pussy like this?” At my silence, he cups my pussy hard, letting the dampness of my underwear soak into his palm. “Answer me!” he barks out.

“I - I wasn’t! I don’t know!” I cry out, trembling.

“Well,” he says, fisting my panties again, starting to pull them down. “M’honored you’d let me be your first, sweetheart,” he drawls, and I nearly scream at the insinuation. I’m not letting him do anything.

I start to put up more of a fight, useless against his thick arms holding me so tightly. Cool air touches my ass and the space between my thighs as he manages to shimmy my panties further down even in my struggle. I clamp my legs shut in defiance, roaring out a strained grunt as I keep trying to squirm out of his grasp. He huffs in anger, trying to subdue my writhing body before he pushes it towards the couch. I land hard, banging my knee on the hard edge that supports the cushion, wincing and trying to catch my breath. I’m practically in position for him already, ass pressed out towards him, on my hands and knees.

“Gonna make me do things the hard way, are you?” He scowls, his free hand fisting in my hair again, pulling me close. His breath is hot over my shoulder, the sensation vile against the skin of my cheek, stained with tears. “Been too long since I found a pretty virgin like you. An’ ruinin’ this perfect, pure little cunt is jus’ the cherry on top of a perfect day f’me.”

I feel his hard cock twitch against me, a reminder of what’s to come. The movements are quick for how bulky Joel’s body is, let alone his age, as he exchanges the hold across my chest for my wrists, bundling them behind my back. I cry out at the strain, the awkward angle he’d twisted them to, fighting him again until a hard smack lands on my ass. I scream through gritted teeth, not giving up the fight, but another thwap! rings out through the apartment, making me falter. My tender flesh screams at me in agony when he lands another spank, even harder this time, then another, until I’m crying unrelenting, fat tears.

With me rendered motionless, Joel presses down, bending me over, my balance tricky with my hands behind my back. My face nearly touches the couch, but I’m precariously held up by the wrists, the strain already making them ache. The warmth dripping between my thighs betrays me as my ass stings in residual little pulses, so raw and sore but spreading a pleasure through me that I’ve never known before.

I don’t have time to dwell on it before Joel is grasping one hand on my hip, notching himself at my entrance. “Promise you’re gonna like this, that you’ll never be able to think of anyone else’s cock but daddy Joel’s,” he spews gruffly in my ear before he thrusts hard, one swift motion to bury himself inside of me. I scream out, the searing pain between my thighs making me wonder if I’m being split open for good, if it’s possible that some things are just too big to fit in certain places of the body.

“Fuuuuuuck,” Joel hisses through his teeth, making the tiniest thrusting motions to ensure he’s buried deep. Every movement pierces me with a new sting as my body desperately tries to adjust, to accommodate the horrible, overwhelming intrusion. “You were not kiddin’, sweetheart. Tightest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever been in.”

I sob, unable to speak, unable to move as Joel thrusts brutally from the get go, his hips snapping with force, crashing into mine hard enough to bruise. The lewd sounds we make disgust me, because I know I’m part of those sounds, my body enjoying the filthy things he’s saying, the way he’s taking me without remorse. He pulls himself out, clicking his tongue as he peers down between our bodies. “Christ, you are one sexy little bird. Poor little virgin bleedin’ on daddy’s cock.”

The thought horrifies me, making my stomach turn. “Please,” I cry out, my body rocking with the motions as he starts to fuck me again, the strain on my wrists as Joel uses them to help thrust himself inside of me starting to gnaw deeper into them. I’m like a ragdoll with the way he’s jerking me by my wrists, my body having no choice but to flail in time with the movements so that he can press himself deep on each cruel thrust inwards.

“You want more? You beggin’ already?” Joel grunts between his heavy breaths, sounding so cocky it makes me want to spin around and punch him. I settle for gritting my teeth instead, feeling my body slowly but surely melding into his. When Joel presses me down further, forcing an arch in my back, I whimper when his cock hits something sensitive, deep, primal. Fuck, is it something.

“Oh, that’s it. We got her now, don’t we?” he says from above, continuing to stroke his cock along that spot repeatedly. I feel myself losing my will to fight, hating the pleasure but feeling myself lean into it slightly, my hips pressing back to meet his nearly against my will. “You ever come before, sweetheart?” He leans in a little closer to ask the question, the pistoning of his hips slowing the slightest bit.

I refuse to answer, tears pooling in my eyes. I don’t want him to take this from me, I don’t want him to know anything about me. He jerks my wrists at the same time he slams his hips into me, and I whimper loudly, feeling the way he’s surely bruising my insides.

“If you ain’t figured it out yet, the rules are that you answer me when I’m askin’ you a question if you know what’s good for ya,” he spits out, and I shake my head, letting it hang limply.

“Use your words. Say ‘no, daddy’,” he says with sinister condescension, stroking his own ego.

“N-no… daddy…” I say, my tongue revolting against the words, bile climbing up my throat.

He moves his hand to my head, stroking carefully and softly. “Oh, that’s a shame. That’s a daaaamn shame. All pent up, y’are. But daddy will make it all better.” He sounds deranged, sick, like he truly believes that I’m thankful to him for what he’s doing to me. I can’t answer, my mouth gaping open just as he releases my wrists, letting me fall to the couch with a thud. My open mouth gets a mouthful of the cushions, making me sick over the fact that it’s probably full of god knows what due to its age and whatever things Joel seems to get up to in this apartment of his.

I blink as Joel grips tightly at my hips, wondering why he suddenly trusts my hands to be free, when it happens. He thrusts into that spot again, harsh and unforgiving, and I nearly see stars behind my eyes as the head of his cock punches against things I didn’t even know were there. That’s why. I’m incapacitated at this angle, brutally forced to enjoy the pleasure washing over my body as Joel takes from me, actually giving in return this time.

I bite my tongue hard, not wanting to give him any satisfaction for the tiny moans that are growing louder in my throat, desperate to be let out.

“Let me hear you, princess. Daddy doesn’t do with quiet girls. I can feel you clampin’ down on my cock, know you’re lovin’ how I use you up like you were meant for it.”

I shake my head in protest, but a strangled sound escapes past my tight lips when Joel slams into me harder than he has yet, puffing hard as he fucks me like a greedy animal. He chuckles through heavy breaths, little whispers of that’s it, come on, take it, flow freely from his nasty mouth.

I feel myself slip away, further gone from reality as the warmth spreads from my pelvis into my belly, coiling tight. Everything tingles, set on fire, the spot where Joel handles my hips with his fat fingers practically burning with a constant mix of pleasure and pain. I cry out when Joel’s cock pulls that feeling out from deep inside of me again, half a sob and half a moan as it crescendos, waves of pleasure crashing over me.

Joel’s grunts of approval, so brutish and debauched, sends a new wave of arousal through me. I tremble, eyes squeezed shut with my body completely out of my control, taken over by this boundless bliss. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before: heavenly warmth worlds above any of the pleasures I’ve known. This had to be what Joel was referring to, urging me towards, telling me he wanted to make me come. This had to be what I was missing out on all these years, hiding myself away. Was this the reason sex was so coveted, so sought after? Was this feeling… the reason he’s doing what he is to me right now?

It feels like it’s never ending, my body so rigid as it spasms yet pliant as he fucks into me harder and harder. I loathe the noises I’m making that intermingle with his as I squeeze my eyes shut, enjoying it.

“Fuck, fuck - that’s it - f-fuck knew you’d love it. Come on my cock, baby, that’s right.” Joel’s string of praises reach my ears as I come down from my high, limp and yielding to whatever it is he wants to do to me now. I have no fight - my bones turned to jelly, my body sore all over, my throat scratchy from the way he’d assaulted it earlier. I only have it in me to give the rest of myself over, whether I like it or not.

“S-so fuckin’ tight, lettin’ me take your virginity like a good little whore,” he punches out, pounding into my sensitive cunt like it’s saving his soul, like it’s the only thing he could ever care about. I’m on the precipice of coming again, my nerves still frayed and on edge from the last one. A smaller but still powerful climax takes over, my body shuddering and tight, milking every last second of the pleasure.

“Gonna blow my load into this pure little pussy, make it mine - fuck - gonna fill you up like the cocksleeve you are. P-probably never want to be without my fuckin’ load drippin’ out of you again. I-I’m close, fuck -” Joel rambles as he ruts his hips deep, one final thrust and a grunt, and I feel him stall, pulsing into me.

It’s all suddenly very still, an eerie quiet settling over the room. My entire body burns hot, the only thing keeping me from collapsing is Joel’s hands still anchored on my hips as he leaves his cock inside of me, plugging me up. I want to cry again at the sudden, overwhelming shame I feel, but I can’t give him the satisfaction. I can’t.

Joel pats my ass a few times, pulling out. I tremble hard, falling forward onto the couch without his hold, instantly curling in on myself. I resent the way I’d noticed how empty I felt the second he was gone, how cold my body was without his warmth pressed into it. I dare to peer up at the sick man who stands above me, catching his breath, watching just as the last bit of his softening cock gets tucked back into his jeans. He swipes a hand across his forehead, gathering sweat, staring down at me with a darkened expression, grinning cockily.

When he plops down on the couch next to me, picking up the can of beans he’d been eating before, my mouth hangs open in surprise at how casual he’s acting. I watch his face shine with sweat, his breathing still labored, but everything else about his attitude would indicate he didn’t just force himself on me.

I try to keep my expression neutral for my own safety as I feel something leak out of me, not even wanting to give him the smug satisfaction of having to confirm my suspicions about what it is. I do my best to position my body so he can’t see between my legs as I try to pull my underwear up from where they sit near my knees, my jeans following. Joel only gives me a knowing glance as he takes a bite, conscious of the fact that a part of him sits inside my now soiled underwear, and a part of me now sits inside of his soul.

He shoves the can my way and I shrink back at his sudden motion, not taking it from him. “Eat. I ain’t havin’ you all weak and despondent for the next time.”

I feel my heart sink down past my ass, my stomach plummeting along with it as nausea overtakes me, a dizzying sensation clouding my vision. He couldn’t have said what I think he did. I - I’d paid my debt, whatever it was he thought I owed him for saving me when I didn’t even ask him to. For saving me and then doing exactly what that man had planned to do anyways under the guise of a caring, noble rescuer.

“N-next time…?” I manage to make my mouth move, my throat to produce a sound, pushing the question out in a voice that doesn’t sound like my own.

“Know you said not to call you stupid but my house, my rules, an’ sweetheart…” He looks at me under his raised, expectant brows. “My stupid, stupid girl. Did you really think that would be enough? That I’d get an opportunity every man dreams of - an untouched, perfect pussy like yours, to keep all for m’self, and throw it all away?” He’s creeping closer as he speaks, shrouding me on the couch with his huge frame, caging in where I lay, my body wound as tightly as it can to itself to block whatever he’s thinking of doing next. “Now you don’t think daddy is that dumb to let you go knowin’ all that, do you?”

I sit stunned silent underneath him, wide eyes fixed in a tortured gaze on his rugged face, but his hand squeezing my thigh is warning enough for me to shake my head, stuttering out an answer. “N-no. No…” I whisper.

Two approving pats on my cheek send Joel slinking back slightly, his dark, unhinged eyes staring holes into me as they roam over my body. Despite nothing even visible - my chest hidden underneath my arms and legs clamped tightly - I feel violated, objectified.

Terror rips through my chest as reality settles in slowly but surely. I look at the man I’d trusted once, who’d shown himself to be a friend, or at the least an ally, currently feasting his eyes on me like I’m a product. Which now, I suppose I am. A whore. His whore.

“Now,” he says, licking his lips, that hungry gaze already returning, a bulge appearing in his jeans and stretching the fabric. “All I’ve got to do is decide just how long I’ll keep ya for.”

dividers by @/saradika-graphics!

#fic: indebted #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #dark!joel miller fanfiction #dark!joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #x reader #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #dddne joel miller #dead dove joel miller

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marzipanandminutiae · 4 months ago

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I hate how doing any kind of yarn craft basically means you can only produce plastic clothes or it's going to be 300$ in yarn minimum. Every yarn has some acrylic and the natural stuff is so wildly expensive. I would love to use 100% natural fibers but the options are limited

God, yeah. The price of natural-fiber materials is insane.

My average budget for like a full silk gown, trim and notions included, is around $200- and that's ONLY because I live near a discount fabric store that gets bolt-ends from big fashion houses and sells silk for like $10/yard. Wool is insane, for some reason- that place only has coating (heavyweight) and suiting (lighter but feels like plastic even though it's not), so making a dress or anything not outerwear from wool involves shopping online and some painful spending.

I just bought 6 yards of wool to make my Dream Dressing-Gown. It was $210 for JUST the wool- I still have to get lining fabric, possibly an embroidery machine pattern, embroidery thread (because my friend who's generously letting me use her machine only has polyester and rayon). Part of that was shipping from freaking Poland because finding a website that has non-stretch, dark green wool at any weight below "snow gear" in the States is nigh impossible.

(Or that actually discloses the weight in a meaningful way; that's another problem I've encountered. "Brushed wool!" Great, but how heavy is it? "It's wool!" Not helpful. It's like they can't fathom wanting to use wool for anything besides heavy outerwear. Which they probably can't, because that's all we're accustomed to seeing it as nowadays.)

Like I'm tempted to blame militant v*gans for the inaccessibility of silk and wool, but honestly, capitalism was probably just waiting for the excuse to turn all our clothes to crap. I doubt there's been enough outcry about them to push those fabrics out of reach, the way there has been for fur and leather (to clarify: pro-treating animals humanely, anti-plastic clothing, not opposed to the use of aforesaid materials if those animals are properly cared-for and humanely killed).

At least you can still find cotton and some linen things in stores- for now. They're still more expensive, though, and limited in what weaves are often seen. Cotton velvet, for example? Forget it.

It's so disturbing and frustrating.

#ask #anon #sewing #'Marzi how do you have the money to do that?' four housemates and I don't really have a social life besides like. day trips to Salem #and historical dances #so I spend Booze Money on fabric and such instead

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mesetacadre · 23 days ago

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what are your thoughts on the importance of theory to being a militant communist or activist vs things like survival skills (?) ? incredibly broad generalizations but it seems like stuff like that is shared around/emphasized more in anarchist circles. are there any non theory topics that you think is pertinent for burgeoning communists to learn? like, if youre serious about organizing you should learn first aid or this and that. very sorry if this is incoherent, english is a pain @~@

Well, survival skills for what? survival where? if you're in the imperial core, communist praxis does not look like grabbing a rifle and heading to the nearest mountains in a 5 person cell. And for what reason? First aid is useful, of course, for in the daily activity of a militant you can encounter situations that can cause physical harm, whether it's the police or trespassing. You need to ask yourself these questions and you need to realize that if you're organized in a party, you're not simply an individual in a group of other individuals like anarchists believe, you're part of the collective class effort to achieve the short and long term goals that are in our interests as a class. Survival skills are only useful it your activity in the framework of your collective, class objectives call for acting in an environment where that's necessary. Similarly, first aid is most useful when it's part of the strategy of your organization, though I would consider it useful to know regardless.

And most importantly, you can only properly figure out if you need these supplementary skills if you have a developed praxis. Praxis is not just the fancy marxist word for practice, here I'm referring to the actual meaning of praxis, which is the dialectical synthesis of theory and practice, facing their contradictions and arriving at a new conception of your work that integrates both elements. It is not a sum, synthesis is a transformative process that arrives at something new, which may or may not share component parts with the previous elements. Praxis, what cyclically informs and corrects itself through that constant dialectical synthesis is what will allow you, as an organized communist first and foremost, to take decisions as to what skills x amount of people in the organization need to learn. Theory, just like practice, is required for that.

Theory is not a dead thing, it's not the old books and the texts themselves. When you read theory you don't do it to think "wow these people 120 years ago were so smart I need to to exactly like them", you do it to learn how they went about anylizing their concrete reality, and how that allowed or disallowed their success. For example, Lenin in What is to be Done talks about how important the newspaper is to bring the party's full fledged analysis of the questions of the time to a lot of workers efficiently. This is 1905 Russia, in which modes of communication was the printed word and if you're lucky having an educated cadre or two in the territory who understand the positions or can come to their own, and communicate them correctly.

The reason trotskyists still to this day put so much emphasis on the newspaper, at least like I've always seen justified, is because they take this passage and apply it acritically to modern concrete conditions. Newspapers are not inherently the best way to communicate revolutionary positions, but instead of using that theory to better understand their tasks and come to a good concrete conclusion for their concrete reality, they read the book and do what the book says. Beyond a historiographical interest, who cares what Lenin said bolsheviks should use to deliver their message! what's interesting is learning how the bolshevik party, the first successful revolutionary marxist party, came to their conclusions and took the decisions that allowed them to have that victory. This is the value theory has, it's a necessary component part of praxis, the dialectical synthesis of practice and theory, which is the base of everything communists en pos de their political goals.

About what I think people should learn, I don't think there's a good general answer. there are many types of work to be done, and in non-extraordinary cases you, as a new member, will encounter those necessities gradually, to the point I don't really see the necessity of telling people to pre-emptively learn anything. If you can do it, no matter how little you've read or how shy or how unprepared you feel, get organized. Most of the questions you have about what organizing requires have answers and the only people that hold those are the people you'll organize with.

#ask #anon #seriousposting

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syatbs · 1 month ago

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MORE NAMGYU SMUT PLEASE

Killer of the Heart

summary: Where Nam-gyu has a sick obsession with you and doesn't want to let you go, at least not until he achieves what he wants… Or not?

જ⁀➴genre/au: Nam-gyu x reader [she/her, female anatomy}, smut, 18+, explicit content, mention of murder, stalking, obsession, mention of drugs.

જ⁀➴ Word Count: 2.923k

Find me on Ao3 for more frequent updates.

[Recommended Song: High Enough by K.Flay]

Obsession.

A term where I had never imagined myself crossing paths before. A disease that inflames my insides and ascends from my sternum up to my mind, where the wisdom lies within.

Such a disease that decays the brain and leaves the human flesh guided by nothingness. However, that is not quite my case. In fact, it is far from that. I’m being beckoned by feelings. Feelings that revolve around you and only you.

“Can you slow down?”

The hackles at the back of my neck rose at the sweet sound of your voice, a thrill blazing down my spine as from my periphery I could see you clutching the cushion of the passenger seat — a pathetic attempt to prevent yourself from the damage in case I swivel the wheel and crash into one of the thick trees’ trunk.

You are scared, I can tell with eyes closed. The flash of your cheeks, your gaze flicking every so often at me and trapping the bottom lip between your front teeth, gives the spot sans using any effort to call you out. Though, your mettle and the faith you have in me, elicit a smirk to curve at the corners of my mouth.

Despite knowing what a man I tend to be, you still chose me as your driver to return you home safe and sound. Call it stupid, but to my belief, it seems the wisest choice you ever made.

I’m high as fuck and a stinging pain throbs at the upper side of my face every time my eyelids flatter shut for a blink. The drugs I previously consumed vibrate in my bones, my system, and of course, my cock that twitches in my pants, begging for relief. I am going to lay my cards on the table and profess that the third sensation is due to your presence. Just having you here, right beside me where your warmth radiates and floods in me, has me mentally groaning at the fantasy of fucking you raw until you’re a breaking mess. To scream my name and your nails to scratch my skin until blood oozes out… To squirm around me and fight to escape me.

“I’m sorry love, but I’m afraid that I can’t.”

You scoff at the lack of verity in my tone. “Why?”

“Because you are a fucking cunt who doesn’t stop spreading open her legs for every dick she finds in her wake.”

Obviously, I don’t tell you that aloud, yet the spur to sing it out has me in a painful chokehold. Because of you, the lifeless body of a guy you allowed to slip his fingers beneath your panties and inside you, a few weeks ago, is now at the back of my car with ten lost fingers and a throat slit open. In a few words, I have a corpse in my vehicle and I have no interest in encountering any of the police who lurk in such late hours.

Again, I don’t say that aloud either.

In lieu, I press a few buttons, and music fills the suffocating atmosphere. It drowns for a short period my sick fantasies and a sigh falls past my lips.

Before you called me to pick you over from a party that one of your girlfriends hosted, I was out there hidden in the bushes as I stalked you from the windows of her apartment. I took plenty of your pictures and jerked off when you danced or did karaoke. I was so addicted to your sight that when I saw you almost getting hooked up with a stranger, it militated me from stalking you, to await the right moment to savage him.

It won’t be a difficult challenge.

Like the dead guy, he will soon follow the same tragic fate. Either I will feign that I’m a fellow student in his university and pose that I want to become his friend until I gain his trust so I can deliver the blade readily on his throat or go the easiest way and invade his apartment to catch him off guard.

I have connections at the Pentagon club where I work and in case things go south, they will have my back to erase any trail I leave behind. Every proof and evidence that gives away that it was me who committed the murder.

Notwithstanding that, I have the impression that you sensed my lingering thoughts back at the party. You didn’t fuck him and satisfaction licked my limbs like ravenous flames. Yet, that didn’t suppress the longing to torture him for the audacity to touch you, let alone speak to you.

You are mine.

The canopy of trees hedged us in at all sides of the empty road and far afield where the prying eyes could see what I was about to do. Perhaps you noticed that I missed a turn and now I was driving at the pits of the dark forest.

The night was still young and will be too bad if I stop directly outside the building you live. Let alone, wait for the precise moment when you will call me once again to help you out since no one is there for you. I grew bored playing the role of your best friend and it is finally time to make a statement… A message that signifies that I own you and nobody else.

“That is not the right way. You clearly missed a turn.” You said through gritted teeth. You tried to steel your spine to show me that you are undaunted but failed miserably.

We will work on that. Soon enough, come to that, because after I’m finished with you, there is no exit for you to skitter off. And if you dare to test it out and escape from my claws, I will chain you up on my bed or break your ankles so you cannot outrun me… Ever.

“Did I?” I mused, playing with your waters.

“You ask the obvious asshole. Don’t fucking mess around, I’m tired.”

“My sincere apologies, love.”

And I pressed the speed pedal harder.

As your back sank abruptly at the seat, you whipped your head to throw me one of your lethal pointed looks. You were seething, baby, and all my bloodstream gathered on my already swollen cock.

My voice dropped an octave. “Do me a favor first. And I promise after that, within ten minutes, you will be home.”

“Hardly to believe that.”

“Where is the trust, I’m your friend.”

Arguably it was the drugs that compelled me to act cocky because the way you pinched your freckled nose had me hot all over and not the terror of the possibility of losing you by my deviant demeanor. Your reaction made me goad you on.

Finally, you huffed and rolled your exposed shoulders back, to slacken off the stiffens that gathered on your muscles. “Fine. What is it?”

Darting my tongue to lick my lips, I tossed you a dark yet lustful glance. “Play with yourself.”

At that, you burst out laughing, your enchanting girlish sound a specter on my eardrums. However, when you saw me more earnest than ever, you sobered up, and a pink hue flashed on your cheeks. “Shit. You are actually serious.”

Unzipping my trousers, I fisted my erected dick. “Was I ever a liar, love?”

You cocked a brow at my falsehood, though it dissipated when your eyes dropped to my erection — something different licking your bright orbs. You watched me as I wiped with my thumb the precum that was leaking from the veiny tip, before giving a light pump with my fist.

My other free hand grasped tight the steering wheel and giving a jerk of my chin to your direction, I drawled. “Fuck your cunt, before I pull over and do it myself.”

I’m deeply aware of what personality I have created to become your trustworthy companion. Lying about being in a relationship, feigning that I’m gentle and caring was enough to waltz in your personal bubble and make you spit out your secrets in exchange for my comfort. Conversely, my eyes first spotted you at the club where I work and since then my obsession for you has only grown.

First, I followed you home. Then I broke into your apartment when you were at the university and set hidden cameras at every corner. Two weeks later, I spiked your water bottles that were stored on your fridge and fuck-fisted my manhood while lying beside your drugged form. Sometimes I undressed you and came undone at your bare pussy and before I wished you a goodnight, I slipped my fingers that were coated with my cum inside your tight walls.

I’m not proud of what I did, yet it was the only thing I could draw myself close to you.

Nevertheless, my whole point is that you never encountered me so blunt and crazy about you. To speak to you in a rigorous manner that forces you to press tight your thighs, desperate for some friction.

Reluctantly, you push apart your long skinny legs, forgetting immediately at what speed the vehicle runs. Your mini skirt rises at the stretch and dipping your hand, I see the sight of your drenched panties.

“Bloody hell… Already wet for me.”

Maybe it was the alcohol you imbibed at the party or the exhaustion that dances on your features because the furry that a moment ago festered you like a hurricane, now ebbed.

A moan of yours blooms inside the car and at that moment I regret having you in a small space and not somewhere where I could admire you and not the fucking road. To gather with my tongue the moisture in your folds and swallow. To be drown on you and only you.

Sensing your heating gaze down on my dick, your hand disappeared to your panties before pushing a finger into your tight pleading hole. Curling it inside you, you whine and I nearly lose control of the steering.

It was utterly different, hearing and watching you from up close and not behind the computer that is connected to the cameras.

“Nam-gyu…”

“You’re doing so well baby, fuck.”

My fist tightens its hold around my cock as I pick up pace. It throbs painfully and your hidden pussy makes it worse.

My tongue clicks at the roof of my mouth. “Take them off.”

There is a slight pause in your actions but quickly fades as your hips rise and do as I commanded. The thin layer slides down to your luscious curves and on your ankles before getting an angle that allows me to see your beautiful cunt.

The regret churns harder in the pit of my stomach.

You add a second digit, thrusting now both of them on your opening while your gaze remains either on my profile or at my hard erection. You observe as I fuck my fist with the sounds you let out and my eyes narrow at the envisions that loom before me. The kind of envisions where I’m shoving my dick past your lips until it hits the back of your throat. To degrade you until tears well up on your trembling orbs and your pussy to pulsate in need.

Your neck cranes as your back arches from the jolts of delight that jump on your nerves, and my frustration only festers.

I can’t refrain anymore.

Putting on the brakes, the wheels screeched at a sudden halt.

“Where are you going?”

Taking out the keys, the roaring engine switched off. Only the bright headlights remained on, to enlighten our surroundings, and kicking open the door, I rounded the vehicle. I stopped in front of yours and a flick of wariness gleamed on your tired eyes.

Without being willing to give you a reply, my hand hovered over the door handle, and slipping my other one under your bicep, I dragged you out.

I liked the way you writhed on my iron grip, but unfortunately, I had no passion to tease you. Pinning your torso on the hood, and your back to collide with my hard chest, my hips thrusted in the curve of your ass and growled.

When you tried to kick me, my fingers dug at the soft skin of your hips as I pushed one knee between your legs to mitigate the chances of kicking me on the shin or any other body part that I’m damn sure will hurt as hell.

“Quite feral, aren’t you kitty?”

You gasp offendedly at my comment and squirm once again. “Stop messing around, Nam-gyu. You play dirty!”

There was no disturbance or fear in you by the fact my bare cock is twitching in your rear. I’m your best friend, hypothetically, and you don’t even confront me for treating you so nastily. Baby, I start to think that you actually want this and what you display in front of me is only one of your woeful fake attempts to stop me. What you are doing, is simply an act.

“Dirty is my second name, if you haven’t guessed. And I played dirty games since the night I first met you.” Kissing the back of your ear, you sighed. “Tell me, did you ever feel like someone was watching you?”

It was too late to seal my lips as I had already fallen into the burning depths of hell.

You stiffened underneath me, yet before you demanded a better explanation, with a lift of your skirt I thrusted all my length to your heat. My eyes rolled at the back of my head as you screamed at the sudden stretch.

You were so fucking tight and tensing over my words doesn’t help the euphoric experience at all.

Finding your clit, I growled. “Focus on my finger. Feel what it is doing to you.”

“Stop…” You cried. Pulling out, I drove another thrust of my hips making you obtrude at the hard push. “Ah!”

Once your tight walls coated us both with your wetness, I picked up the pace, slapping my hips harder against you. Your cries and my groans joined alongside the night's crickets, stealing their performance with our sinful one.

My hand snaked around your throat and pulled you against my chest. You lolled your head towards me seeing now the devious glint that filled my expanding pupils. You were hazy, yet you still had the energy to shiver at the madness that flooded every apex of my body.

“Can you feel how your sweet pussy grips my cock?” I rasped.

You nodded as tears streamed down your face. My panting breath skimmed over your lips, before dipping my head and claiming them. My tongue fought entrance, your nails clutching at my leather jacket as I was showing no mercy at the assault of my hips and mouth. Our make-out session was brimful of lust, and a lecherous frisson ran down my spine.

You were battling for a breath and I, to savor you. To ravage your sweaty flesh and my teeth marks to remain on your skin like favorable tattoos.

You are meant for me.

“Good. Because no one will have that but me.”

In a flash of movement, my hand forced your head back to the hood, and focusing on the thrust of my hips, my balls tightened as I ejaculated inside you. Letting my high linger for a while, I finally withdrew to fix my trousers.

Then I bend down to your entrance and sucking my cum from your red cunt, I grab a fistful of your hair, craning your neck to the side. As if you knew what I was planning, you opened your mouth like a good girl and I spit my seed for you to swallow.

I slapped your cheek with a mischievous smirk stretching across my lips.

“You did drugs, didn’t you?” You finally fess up once we are back in the car and ready to head back to the destination of my apartment. You might think I abide by the promise of returning you back to your house, though I won’t. After that experience, I don’t think I will be able to let you out of my sticky webs.

“Like someone wise said, don’t ask the obvious.”

You smiled at my tease, thus I noticed at the corner of my eye that there was sadness on your exterior. You weren’t fond of, since we first crossed paths, about me caning to such substances but it is easier to resume rather than quitting.

Soon your brows knitted into a deep line, losing yourself in your dreaming bubble. “You said about someone watching me when… You know…”

“Bending you over and fucking you?”

Blush crept through your cheeks and I repressed a laugh. “Yes. What was that about?”

Oh, how much I wanted to confess my sins of watching you on the restless night were exhaustion couldn’t reach me due to being far gone with your image invading my brain like obnoxious wasps. Therefore, when I glanced at your way and saw you skeptical, I just couldn’t.

In the end, I lied that it was simply a razz and there was no truth in my statement — thanking the destiny when you seemed convinced by my falsehood.

However, when you opened the sun visor to fix your smeared makeup, a photo slipped, before falling on your lap. And that photo was from nowhere else but you at the party I picked you up from.

#squid game x reader #dark #stalker kink #stalker bf #stalker yandere #player 124 #nam gyu x you #namgyu x reader #namgyu fanfic #squid game season 2 #squid game #namgyu smut #nam gyu

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blackstarlineage · 27 days ago

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African Resistance Movements Against Colonialism: A Garveyite Perspective

“Rise Up, Ye Mighty Race!”—The Spirit of Resistance and Liberation

Introduction: The Garveyite Lens on African Resistance

Marcus Garvey, the great Pan-Africanist and leader of the Universal Negro Improvement Association (UNIA), championed African self-determination, unity, and economic independence. His teachings emphasized that colonial rule was not merely a political imposition but a spiritual and economic stranglehold that sought to erase African sovereignty and dignity.

From a Garveyite perspective, African resistance to colonialism was not just about territorial control—it was about reclaiming African identity, self-sufficiency, and the destiny of the Black race. The heroes of these movements were not just warriors but visionaries who embodied Garvey’s call: “Africa for the Africans, those at home and those abroad!”

1. Early Resistance: Fighting for Ancestral Lands and Autonomy

Before European colonization took full control, African kingdoms and societies fiercely resisted foreign domination. Many of these struggles were aligned with Garvey’s ideals of self-reliance and strong leadership.

The Ashanti Wars (1823–1900, Ghana): The Ashanti Empire, led by rulers such as Asantehene Prempeh I and Queen Yaa Asantewaa, waged multiple wars against the British. Yaa Asantewaa’s leadership in the 1900 War of the Golden Stool exemplified the defiant spirit Garvey championed: African women and men leading their own struggles, refusing foreign rule.

The Zulu Resistance (1879, South Africa): Under King Cetshwayo, the Zulu military defeated British forces at the Battle of Isandlwana, a powerful example of African strategic brilliance. Garvey would have seen this as proof that African people, when united, could stand against European imperial forces.

The Maji Maji Rebellion (1905–1907, Tanzania): A widespread uprising against German rule, where different ethnic groups united under spiritual leadership. It echoed Garvey’s belief in unity as the key to liberation.

These wars proved that Africa was never passively colonized. The struggle for sovereignty was present from the beginning.

2. Pan-Africanism and the Rise of Organized Resistance

As colonial rule tightened, African resistance evolved into more structured political movements. This shift aligned with Garvey’s vision of a global African awakening.

The Ethiopian Resistance (1935–1941): Emperor Haile Selassie’s defiance against Mussolini’s invasion of Ethiopia was a monumental moment for Pan-Africanists worldwide. Garvey saw Ethiopia as a symbol of unbroken African sovereignty, and Selassie’s resistance was a rallying cry for Black liberation worldwide.

The Mau Mau Uprising (1952–1960, Kenya): The Kikuyu-led Mau Mau rebellion against British rule was one of the most militant anti-colonial struggles. It embodied Garvey’s call for Africans to seize their freedom by any means necessary.

The Liberation of Ghana (1957): Kwame Nkrumah’s leadership in achieving Ghanaian independence was a direct continuation of Garvey’s ideals. Nkrumah, deeply influenced by Garveyism, declared: “The independence of Ghana is meaningless unless it is linked up with the total liberation of the African continent.”

These movements reflected Garvey’s belief that African unity and self-determination were inevitable forces that colonial powers could not suppress forever.

3. The Role of African Diaspora and Garvey’s Influence

Garveyism was not just a philosophy—it was a movement that connected the struggles of Africans on the continent with those in the diaspora.

Caribbean and American Influence on African Liberation: Many African revolutionaries were inspired by Pan-Africanist movements in the Caribbean and the U.S. Leaders like Jomo Kenyatta (Kenya), Julius Nyerere (Tanzania), and Nkrumah (Ghana) studied abroad, where they encountered Garvey’s teachings and applied them to their home struggles.

UNIA’s Impact on Black Consciousness: Garvey’s UNIA spread ideas of African nationalism, economic self-reliance, and military resistance. His vision of a self-sufficient Africa influenced independence leaders and fueled anti-colonial activism.

The Back-to-Africa Movement: While most Africans did not physically return to Africa, Garvey’s message inspired a psychological return—one that led to a reconnection with African identity, history, and the fight for sovereignty.

The African resistance movements were never isolated struggles. They were part of a global Black awakening, demanding not just freedom from colonial rule but also a reclamation of dignity and economic power.

4. Lessons from Garvey for Today’s Africa

Garvey’s vision remains as relevant today as it was during colonial rule. As Africa continues to navigate neocolonialism—economic exploitation, foreign influence, and internal divisions—the core Garveyite principles remain essential:

Economic Self-Reliance: True liberation means controlling resources, industries, and trade. Modern African nations must prioritize building strong, independent economies rather than relying on foreign aid.

Pan-African Unity: Colonial borders divided Africa, but unity remains the key to true independence. Regional alliances like the African Union must embrace Garvey’s radical call for continental solidarity.

Cultural Reclamation: Garvey understood that mental liberation was as crucial as political liberation. Africa must continue reclaiming its history, languages, and cultural pride to fully escape the psychological chains of colonialism.

Conclusion: The Struggle Continues

Garvey’s cry—"Up, you mighty race, accomplish what you will!"—remains a guiding light. The resistance against colonialism was never just about defeating European powers; it was about the restoration of African sovereignty, pride, and unity. The struggle continues today in economic policies, cultural narratives, and the fight against neo-colonial forces.

Garveyite thought reminds us that true liberation is not just about removing the colonizer’s physical presence—it’s about ensuring that Africa stands tall, self-sufficient, and united in its destiny.

Africa for the Africans—Yesterday, Today, and Forever!

#african resistance #black resistance #black history #black people #blacktumblr #black #black tumblr #pan africanism #black conscious #africa #black empowering #black power #blog #marcus garvey #Garveyism #Garveyite #decolonization #black liberation #african history

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collapsedsquid · 3 months ago

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The way J6 failed is also instructive, and helps us understand the reason far-rightist streetfighters declined in relevance as of January 7. Yes, many people brought guns to the Capitol. Yes, many hoped their victory would result in the invocation of the Insurrection Act or some other signal to begin massive retribution against traitors and subversives. But nobody shot at the cops, and exactly one person was willing to stare into a cop’s loaded handgun and step forward. The kitted-up tactical team that emerged from a stairwell in the wake of Ashli Babbit’s death encountered a crowd shocked and demoralized, not energized, by the presence of death and the blood of martyrs. The J6 insurrectionists largely returned to their hotel rooms - some full of firearms - and then their homes, to be later arrested by the FBI. There was no need to shoot or shell holdouts at the legislature, no attempts by sympathetic actors to seize control of other government or media institutions, no militia revolts in the countryside, no effort to sustain or capture the momentum. The J6 prosecutions knocked these organizations back to actions of primarily local relevance as the far-right almost immediately began making gains on more favorable institutional terrains, efforts to mobilize on a national scale, and in DC especially, elicited paranoid theories of false flags and FBI machinations. Neither did hardcore subsets of these groups successfully build violent underground organizations - there were no cagoulards carrying on the leagues’ struggles against the victorious left wing government. Street-fighters became liabilities to classic fascist movements because they became too powerful, and arguably, too fascist. The fascist squads became their own bases of power within the classic fascist movements, capable of threatening party officials and even the leadership cult. There is no Trumpian equivalent to the Pact of Pacification or Stennes Revolt because streetfighters wielded no similar political power within the Trump coalition and advanced no coherent agenda with which to discipline Trump. Nor did the public square - largely demobilized after January 6 - offer much of an opportunity for streetfighters to demonstrate their relevance to the Trump coalition outside of localized demonstrations and confrontations. While the Proud Boys (more so than the Oath Keepers) may have sought to build a kind of neofascist élan, with their vague gestures towards uniform, hazing rituals, and the relative centrality of physical force confrontation to their identity, these efforts largely failed. Contrast with the streetfighters of the interwar era: the old fascist squads, especially the most militant ones, were useful organizational cages for younger members whose belief in force, revolution, and disillusionment with the system left them uninterested in conventional politics and who in many cases saw more to admire, or at least imitate, in revolutionary Communist structures than bourgeois right-wing parties. While the Proud Boys and Oath Keepers certainly attracted a cast of characters ill-suited for conventional politics, they were (and are) more likely to be relatively older men with families, truck payments, and decent jobs; the kind of people you would expect to react to a defeat in the streets and government repression by spending more time harassing people at school board meetings, rather than uncompromising radicals willing to give their lives for a doomed cause (and let alone radicals willing to find a new cause if the old one proves too inclined to compromise).

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kimskashmir · 8 months ago

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Brief exchanges of fire between security forces, militants in Doda

JAMMU — Security forces and militants exchanged fire twice briefly within a span of four hours in a forest area in Jammu and Kashmir’s Doda district, officials said on Wednesday. They said the firing was first reported at Kalaan Bhata at 10.45 pm on Tuesday and then near Panchan Bhata at 2 am during the ongoing anti-militancy operation in the Desa forest area, where four Army personnel were…

#Doda #Doda Encounter #Jammu #Militants #Security Forces

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user947468 · 14 days ago

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The Game Within | Chishiya Shuntarou Fanfiction

Originally posted on ao3! @user951250

Chapter 4/20

Prompt ; You get trapped in a TV show, dedicated to stick by the rules of the game you hid in the shadows, watching from a distance, acting clueless. But what happens when you’re also being watched?

Note- Not my best writing but I hope you enjoy! Also very sorry for the wait😓 Also just reiterating if a text is bold that means you’re speaking english!

Chishiya can't put together a perception of you that doesn't lack incognizance.

If it weren't for his compromised plan; The entry of Arisu and Usagi- he wouldn't have bothered with you at all- until your keenness of the couple and the ease of conversation between you caused a slight disturbance to his plan. If your relation with them was as friendly as he judged off your exchange's, what was the probability Arisu would want to include you in the plan? Save you from the corrupt ways of the beach? Arisu was smart enough, and Chishiya knew he would accompany his plan despite that- so why wouldn't you? He had no doubt in himself that he could coax anyone into his plan- you were certainly no exception, more over he knew everyone needed to be inspired from a different approach. In retrospect it sounded like a simple fix; If Arisu did propose you to the plan, he would encourage you too his scheme. If Arisu neglected to inform you, well, that would make playing his part a lot simpler.

Chishiya didn't know you, but he was aware of you. Relatively because of you being the only foreigner to enter the Beach, mainly because of your staring problem.

Despite his initial standpoint of your eyeing- seeing it as a vague threat of some sort, keeping your presence in the back of his mind when going about the Beach at the small risk you proposed.. nonexistent risk, if he was being sincere- he noticed your gaze wasn't limited to just him, but to practically everyone that you came across. By-chance individuals, exclusive's, higher ranks, militants when their backs were turned- it would have been considered ill-mannered in any other context, built up on walls of social curtsy- but it didn't matter here.

With that he's grown used to being observed after his brief accusation, after all you're not the first person he's encountered that stares especially within the Beach's crowd- although you do seem to a significant amount more than a normal person. Chishiya's been able to disregard you entirely- your stares and individually- so much to the point he almost forgets you are ever there at all. Despite not wanting to entertain your glowering- even if ignoring it didn't seem to be doing much either- he grew curious of your hobby. You didn't seem to care if anyone noticed, only looking a bit sheepish if they looked back- but what drew him in the most was the pressure you did it with. You weren't watching them simply to do with boredom- No, your cause was heavier than that. It was like you were dissecting them, taking apart their words, actions, reactions, just to build back up their conscious. It was as abnormal as it was engaging.

Your invasion to his plan- intentional or not- was what pushed him to come up to you in the first place. It was a weak attempt, really- too not only gauge your reaction but too see the engraved number that etched across your bracelet. He's not entirely sure what he was expecting, but when he turned around he wasn't expecting to be meet with you abandoning the kitchen entirely. He couldn't help but wonder what conscious you made for him then. One that made him that disagreeable to be around, that distrustful to refuse to pick up an enclosed item, simply because he offered it. Your rank was lower than he anticipated.

Chishiya prized himself as hard to read- with incognito facades and vacant expressions- it often came in handy, especially during this portion of his life. The issue lied with you- a potential add on to his plan- seemed to be wary of him entirely, not to frighten to stray away but knowing better than to get anymore than near. Despite it being ever so slightly intriguing, it was faulty to his plan.

Whenever he made a point to watch you, you seemed as comprehensive as the average pleasure-seeker that stepped foot in the Beach- laying out by the pool, engaging in social queues and babbling to whoever you were with at the time. It was only ever when he seen you by chance did he notice your wavering sense of character. Strolling the beach behind pillars- head down and pace fast- trailing eye's, wandering behind closed doors, swift notes on paper, glances at security camera's in every room- too hidden to even be seen from most angles- a detail he only noticed when he himself was scouting out the camera's visibility. It was thought provoking- you seemed to be ordinary enough, and it'll be easy to write your behavior off as simply a combination of weird quirks but there was no way to confirm or deny your behavioral changes.

Did you know more than you were letting on, or was it an ill-fated coincidence?

Chishiya had a plan.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This had to be some sort of a sick joke.

The days following your club game you couldn't shake the feeling of being observed, actually present- something infrequent in your conscious. It clouded around you and to the center of your core; Physically, mentally, spiritually- like the thunder before a storm all you could do was wait for the uproar. What the uproar was you weren't sure- when or how it would happen was beyond you- but it felt personal enough. Maybe that's why you've been timid to leave your room- cautious to limiting your interactions with anybody, restricting booze and time spent out of your room.

It could have been because of the forthcoming of the games, inevitability of the downfall of the beach and lack of control over that fact- but you refused to believe it to be because of the exchange you had with Chishiya. Although you couldn't deny his new found enjoyment of eating in the kitchen, or sitting out by the pool and waiting hours after sundown by the bar- which, you've never seen him actually drink anything during those nights- made you slightly worried you weren't going to wake up the next morning. Rationally you knew Arisu and Usagi were the cause of his heightening appearances but it was also hard to not notice how whenever you so much as looked in his general direction- like he had fucking eye's in the back of his head- he would find your gaze almost immediately. It was so intolerable you thought maybe he did have two set's of eye's, hell what did you know?

Regardless of your new found apprehension of spacial awareness around the beach, it came with more time for you to descend into you mind. Grasping and searching for not only the details of the world before you but trying to rationalize what you proposed to Chishiya- you doubted him speaking to you was by chance or spontaneously. If you knew anything about Chishiya, not only from your time in the Borderlands but outside it too, he was never one to do without reason.

And what reason did he calculate talking to you would accomplish?

On the second day of you caged in your room you wrote down a list of three;

A) Get your staring under control ! B) Place a chair under your door knob as a short-term lock at night (just encase..) C) Join game BEFORE 10 of hearts.

A and B were obvious pro-cations- one more paranoid than the other, but who's to say?- and C was something you only gave thought to recently after you caught a glimpse of Mira and Kuzuryu together- something not absurd to see but rare enough to cause some question's to float around in your brain- consulting with each other with rigid postures and hyper aware stares at each individual that passed by them. Conveniently in one of the security cameras blind spots.

It came to you then that despite your knowledge of the game- how to solve it, how to play and what to do- even the game master's of it all- the chance of you surviving was lower than what was comfortable. You would get killed if you tried to reason with burning Momoka first, you would get killed if you tried to hid away or run, you would get killed if you tried to team up- it only made sense to leave the game behind with just enough visa days to save before the face cards.

More eager than should've been, you were almost happy to be leaving for a game. Three day's of being in your head with little to no vices didn't sound that bad aloud, and it would have been if the bar wasn't off limits for most hours of the day, but you were left futile... It also gave you time to think about if you had a drinking problem or not.

The burden of keeping a facade became more tolerable while being organized into a group, dodging through crowds and the walk to the car- the farther from the Beach the better you felt- and maybe it was uncivil to prefer a death trial to the Beach. But in the end of the day the Beach held just as much blood on their hands as the game's, so really which was worse? The silence was helpful to the fog swirling in your head, it was as close enough to feeling at ease than you've felt all week- the moon was bright, lighting up the night in just the right way. You felt concealed from the world around you, this was one of the reason you tended to game's at night. It was until your harmony was crushed that the weight was back, but 10 times worse than before. The air seemed more shallow than it was just a second ago and you slowed your pace so much you were practically standing still.

Maybe it was by bad odds, or maybe you were thinking about it too much, or maybe he was trying to kill you.

Chishiya was already sat in the passenger seat, hood down for once and as expressionless as ever. Just as you thought maybe you could get away with jumping into the nearest vehicle that didn't have Chishiya in it, your weight shifted down on a branch and crack!

You felt sick.

Chishiya hoisted his head just enough to see where that sound came from, he didn't falter when he seen you- instead taking a second scanning you. It felt a lot longer than a second and more invading than it should have been. You almost felt like you shouldn't be seen - your arms twitched to cover yourself. He didn't looked shocked to see you, or like he even cared- you're not sure which is worse. He stared for a moment longer and you felt stupid standing still, and when you expected him to lose interest and look away- he waved instead.

Was it too late to switch group's?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ride to the arena was quiet.

Despite the low rumble of the engine running and the obnoxious chewing from the girl beside you- which prompted you scooting as far as the jeep would let you away from the brunette and trying your hardest to zone out the continuous wet smacks. If this was any other time you probably would've sent her a gross look, plugging one ear and hugging the side of the door - but you couldn't be bothered too. Not when your own mind was keeping you distracted. You're not even sure you've shifted or looked up from the window sense you've sat down. The leather seat's were too starchy to comfortably move around anyways.

There were three in the car- four, including you- and you were almost certain one of them was going to kill you tonight.

You've been in a game with an exclusive only twice- one with Ann, one with Last Boss, both were spades and thankfully both team orientated. You remember feeling how you felt now, catering into death with no way to stop it except faith. It was pitiful how easy you fall into sheer hope in life or death situations, you knew it had no capability in helping you yet its always what you lay back on. To your own revaluation, you've gotten this far on it- and now all you could do was hope you have yet to run luckless and join a Diamonds game.

Chishiya presence was loud and yet he didn't have to say anything, every second of the ride you were alert of his presence. Each gesture he made, small shuffle of his jacket or slight movement of his hair reminded you that this was the first time you've ever been close to the man for an extended period of time. It also prompted the weight of which Chishiya could hold over your life- he was clever, quick-witted, more experienced in the games- what's the likely hood he killed you out of pure malice of your staring? A quick fix to the annoyance you caused? Maybe he planned this game with you all along. If his attentiveness didn't make you skittish before, him waving to you certainly did. Now your not sure if you disregarding his greeting entirely was the right move or not.

What's the likely hood of you over-analyzing the situation?

The overpowering smell of leather and the dull ache of the headrest smacking against your forehead made it painfully obvious you arrived at the game. Thankfully you were saved of the embarrassment of being the only one physically abused by the man's parking job.

"Ow, you fucker! Couldn't have pressed on the break's any harder could you?"

It would have been funny if you weren't also glaring at the man, although her tone almost made you crack a smile despite it. She seemed to have had it worse than you, smashing her face against her door's window- if the small circle of condensation that fogged the glass hinted to anything. Rubbing out your forehead you silently hoped it didn't bruise.

"Are you kidding me? Maybe if you weren't so coked up you would've have the strength to stay up-right."

Thinking about it, it did make sense. Her constant ticking and blown pupils- the frantic gum chewing must have been an outsource of energy. Your not sure how the Beach sourced certain things, but you wouldn't put cocaine behind them. Although your sure it's limited to the few that would get close to Hatter, the ones that would join his 'private party's' in his suite- something you personally strayed away from. They went back and forth for a while- It was slightly entertaining at first and it brought some humor into your dejected mindset- although it got tiresome quick when it felt like their quarrel sounded more like a deranged dirty talk than an actual argument. You left after the first, and surely not the last- "dirty bitch" came out of his mouth.

The arena was just a few feet into a woodland- it slightly exited you, most game's were located out in the main area's of the city and you've personally never participated in one away that wasn't downtown. Despite the slight eeriness of the woods, the moon did good to light the forest, giving you a clear view of the trail through the tree's- it was cracked and muddy and hard to balance on but it gave off the innocents of a pathway to a tree house.

It made sense now why you couldn't have driven any further to the game's entrance, branches overgrown the path left and right. All along the tree's trunks there were subtle signs pointing to an abandon building, arrows hallowing out of the bark. It led to a cabin with trashed windows, rotting wood, and protruding beams- how it was still standing was a miracle and you began speculating that it would be coming down after tonight. You not sure it wouldn't collapse on the first foot that stepped inside.

It was no surprise to see Chishiya waiting at the entrance, having heard the low click of his door closing, but nonetheless the sight of him still made you steady your grounding and straighten your posture. For one thing, you were nervous to enter a game with the man at all out of fear of not coming back out of it- but for some reason you almost wanted to prove something to Chishiya. To prove what you weren't sure, and you shook the childish thought out of your head before you could figure it out. Getting a closer look at the house- despite its decaying frame it had a good build to it. It might of even been a structure to praise about before the rot got to it.

Laying out six phone's, a glass caged map of the woods stood before the door- probably the only sturdy structure you would be seeing for this game. You sighed and grabbed the fourth, there was no doubt you would have to wait until they were done to start the game- leaving you alone with Chishiya. He moved like a ghost through the vandalized house, the gloominess really wasn't helping his case- moving away from the door frame for you to enter, keeping quiet as you examined the interior- stained Persian rug's, cracked resin paintings, shattered grandfather clock- you even tried to turn of the light to no avail, having to use your phone light to roam around- he didn't seem to mind silence.

Until he did.

"What suit do you think we'll be playing? Surely space is to limited to be spade's," He commented, eye's scattered across the room. It was the first time you've ever seen him up close, it was almost like it was the first time he was allowing you to see. Although the lack of light made it hard to tell where he was looking. Would it be rude to shine your light in his face?

You cleared your throat, "It's possible…"

You didn't know how to answer, what answer was he looking for? Turning away from the man seemed to give you a clear head. "But unlikely," It was true, there was no room for any sort of physical action, especially not with the pans and planks of wood that were thrown around the floor. You really hoped there were no mice in here.

"Club's are our best bet."

Diamonds or Hearts if I'm unlucky, is what you don't say.

Fiddling with deserted coins you found, you wait for him to respond- You think he was to respond, based on his quick inhale but instead a loud shriek echos through the door- for a moment you felt your face drain of color. They wouldn't have transported wolves here too, would they? With furrowed eyebrows glancing from the door back to Chishiya expecting some form of a reaction- but he doesn't even look a bit curious and you don't know why he's looking at you like that- with raised eyebrow's and an expectant look like your supposed to just understand until you hear a string of laughter after and.. Oh. The color comes back to your face rather quickly.

"Interesting how people jump at any chance of pleasure while being in the face of death," Chishiya added and you couldn't help but wonder why he was speaking to you at all. Peering at you from where he stood- which was closer than he was before, he continued when he realized you had nothing to say.

'It's no different from out world, death creeping behind you wherever you are, so why aren't people just as reckless as they are here?"

The words 'our world' shivered underneath your skin in a way you weren't expecting. What reply would be the safest one? And had he always has that mole on his face?

The coins never left your palm.

You hated how he phrased his words- like he was specifically asking you why you used the pleasure's that the Beach offered at its expensive, and what the difference in surroundings made to you. If only he knew the difference between your normal world and his.

Despite you knowing his question's were to gauge an underlined knowledge about whatever it was he was trying to understand from you- still you felt a slight bit of embarrassment mixed with irritation- it grew when you heard how calculated each word he said was and how casual he threw it around, he made himself sound above it all, like he was some groundbreaking philosopher- it teased a nerve in your brain.

“Speak for yourself," you replied, "Some people enjoy the small pleasure's the world offers. Doesn't matter where or when."

"Fair enough."

The loud slam of a car door silenced your conversation- a "Let's get this thing started!" entirely too cheerfully made you worried they would go for a second round until you heard the patter of footsteps down the track. By the time they got to door they were both sniffling and reeked of sex, sweaty and crumpled clothed- in unison both you and Chishiya took a few steps away from the couple. You slid the coins into your jacket pocket.

Registration is now closed.

The game is about to commence. Difficulty, Six of Diamonds. ♦️

There are a total of four participants.

Game, "Echo Code."

Rule- Groups of two will be made. Match the flashing color of your phones to a door handle, and enter the room.

Clear conditions- Locate the code that will unlock your door within the time limit and before the other teams.

The game will now commence.

45 minutes remaining.

You were fucked in every sense of the word.

Not only were you fated to die, you were left confused- Your phone flashed a deep blue, Chishiya's a low white, the brunettes a gold, and the militants a blood red- the teams were completely randomized and they didn't even give you a clue to who it was with. There was a 33.3% chance you survive the game, 66.7% chance you'll die- you've played games with a lower survival risk but somehow this seemed more intimidating. At least with those games you can have hope throughout the process, to push you forwards to survival, but if you get teamed up with anyone but Chishiya, well.. your not entirely sure what will happen to you. You're not sure you want to find out, either- although it was something you've given thought to before and it was nothing less than brutal.

You felt sick all over again.

"What the hell? I thought we were getting grouped?" The dark-haired girl grunted out-loud with flailing arms. For someone facing death she seemed rather relaxed- slumped shoulders and slow movements- it must of been the drugs. Maybe you should take some- she obviously has them on her- and this is very likely your last game and what better way to go than to be barley coherent how or when it was happening at all?

"We are." Chishiya stated, walking around the three of you and making his way to the left side of the cabin- you have yet to wander there from the sheer fact that there were no windows to help you see- and because of, well.. mice. Chishiya used his phone to light up the hall- six doors side by side.

You decided against your pre-matured death, seeing Chishiya open a door right besides a dark blue doorknob. He seemed to notice this too, glancing your way before opening the door- or least you think he did- it was really to dark to tell. He left into his designated space, closing it with beaming light shining from the room.

You could've kissed him on the mouth right then.

The conformation eased you immensely, finding it a lot easier to gravitate towards your door than before. With a tolerable wringing in your brain you followed around the couple. The man said something this time, but they feel on deaf ears when you opened the door- the contrast of the splitting wood and chipped painted door knob to the room was utterly deranged.

Before you could properly discern the place the luminosity of the room left you momentarily blind, your shielded hand did little to help you but the short sting was worth the view of the room. Tall, freshly painted blue walls with grout work on the bottom, framed vintage artworks, black threaded carpet with gold embroidered symbols and walls filled with stacked bookshelf- the whole size of the room defied logic to the size of the house. The room itself looked like royalty, or at least a replica made for a museum of sorts. It was breathtaking- and maybe you wouldn't have minded dying here after all.

You wondered if Chishiya's room was something like yours.

And why you room was twenty times colder rather than room temperature.

After shutting the door- which looked oddly like a ship's door on the inside- you made your way to the pedestal in the middle of the room, it looked like one of those Greek pillars outside a gallery- the one's made with clay-cement and are hand chipped to perfection. It laid out a black cord phone. You hesitated to touch it.

The biggest frame was one of a painting- entirely erotic and naked, mounted in the center of the room. First thing you see when you walk in, last to see when you walk out. It was of a girl in a position so obscene you had to tilt your head at a 45 degree angle to understand its perspective, all though see seemed to be enjoying herself despite the contorted points of her back.

“Huh, never tried that one."

"Tried what?"

You jumped back instinctively, hitting your back against the door with a thud. You felt like a kid caught with their hand in a cookie jar. Furiously you whipped your head around trying to find the source of sound, "Chishiya?"

A low grunt of conformation answered your question. You finally eyed a gold platted vent, it was well hidden in a clump of smaller paintings with cold frames and you had to go on your tip-toes to see through it. Chishiya was on the other side.

"Have any idea of what we're supposed to do yet?"

"No. Do you?"

Liar.

"Give me a second."

Making you way back to pedestal you fumbled with the keys but they were all jammed shut, and the entire phone seemed to be bolted to the cement. As a last resort you exhaled shakily and lifted the receiver to your ear, far enough away encase it was a decoy and was made to burst your eardrum and...

Nothing.

Fuck, maybe there was a button- swoosh!

You heard it before you seen it. The etching grumble sound of an old pipe, running water and a loud splash. How you didn't notice the large pipe you weren't sure but it was very apparent now- it was overly rusted and, was that black mold in there?

The room was big but the way the water was rapidly flowing made you believe your time limit was shortened by at least 10 minutes. The pipe was attached too the left wall, high enough to touch the ceiling and located behind a book shelf- it was already making a wet mess of the dense carpet. The door made sense now.

Deep blue.

Those cheeky bastards.

You dropped the phone when you first seen the water rushing in the room, leaving it dangling from the cord while you jumped on the nearest chair- your slippery shoes on the velvet almost made you fall back off- but despite the echoing of the rushing sounds around you, beeps from the speaker of the phone could still be heard. That wasn't there before.

You had to lay on your stomach and stretch you arm way past its limit to reach the phone, after re-stabilizing yourself you listened intently while idly shaking out your arm- at first it sounded like a dead line, until the deeps would go longer and shorter at certain times and there was an odd few pauses of long silence-Ring beep beep, short silence, ring ring ring, short silence, beep ring ring, long silence, beep ring ring-

"Are you dead?"

"Shut up!"

Maybe it was a little rude on your part, but you couldn't find yourself to care at the moment. The sounds were too precise to not mean anything, and you figured it out early on that it was mores code but your recollection was frail under pressure despite you having memorized almost the entirety of the alphabet last year when you wanted a somewhat niche talent- although you never thought it would actually come in handy. Beep ring ring- short silence- beep beep, short silence, ring beep, short silence, ring beep beep, short silence, ring ring ring, short silence, beep ring ring-

"The phone- It's mores code."

You've felt you've left Chishiya hanging for long enough, but you doubted he needed your help. You wouldn't be surprised if he already found his key. You vocalized your thoughts purely for the small chance he would give you a clue of some sort- or backup your suspicion of the signals. The water reached the chairs legs now, your entire body shivered when a lone splash entered your shoe, successfully soaking your whole sock.

The water was ice cold.

From the vent you heard a soft stagger from the room besides you, then a small sound of clashing metal- the same sound your phone made when you picked it up- "It does sound like mores code, doesn't it?"

Was he serious?

Despite having no way to see you, you still took a second to stare idiotically at the wall behind you- maybe if you stared hard enough it would crumble down and kill Chishiya with it. However that was wistful thinking, and it wasn't going to stop the water from flooding the room.

With your finger you had to draw out the sequence code on your thigh, using pictorial recollection to try and decipher the term- W I D- widow? The water was just shy of the top of the seat cushion- you had to shuffle to the backrest to avoid getting your shoes wet. W I N D O W - Window? With frantic eye's you searched the wall's, side to side, up and down; pictures, maps, wallpaper- but no window, no curtains to hide a window, either.

"Well? What now?"

Sense the room started to fill you felt the apprehension of the game weighing you down- the water was crowding you; on the walls, the floor, soon to the roof- you never knew you could feel so claustrophobic from a body of water, and the worst part was you didn't know what to do now.

"I don't know."

You could hear it in your own voice, too.

The cushion was soaking with water now, floating around the soles of your shoes and all you could was watch it vacantly with a blank mind. The phone never stopped repeating the same sequence. You would've been self-conscious of the anxiety seeping through your voice if you could think properly.

"You don't know mores code."

Displeased at how sure he sounded at his comment you felt the need to correct his statement.

"I do, but it doesn't make sense. I don't have a window in my room."

“But you have paintings in there don't you?" You don't even want to know how he knew that, "Is there a painting of a window? Maybe even a book about paintings with windows?"

There were no pictures of window's that were hung, or blatantly obvious books that held the knowledge of every painting with windows- but it did make you think about the dresser you eye'd upon first arrival, it looked a lot like the secret passage from 'The lion, the witch, and the wardrobe' but you also recalled the the stacked paintings that peaked out from the door- too bulky to fully lock the closet shut. The only down side about his proposition was the fact it laid across the other side of the room- the room that was now four feet deep in water.

You hated that his assumption made sense. Maybe you were being petty, but you neglected answering him.

Slowly you lowered your foot down- as soon as it reached your ankle you jolted back- you knew how cold the water was going to be from the tease it gave your foot but you were still left shocked at just how freezing the water was- somehow it was worse than before and the chill of the air was making your foot relieve it's experience of being dunked. Going slowly was surely not helping, neither would procrastinating, nor did the 30 minutes renaming of the clock- you plunged your whole body in at once.

You swear your vision went white- goosebumps ran throughout every pore of your body into every crevice of your brain and it was the closest thing you've ever experienced to an electric shock- it felt like you've just jumped from a Jacuzzi to the pacific ocean. You wouldn't be surprised if they did correlate the temperatures at your expense. Each step through the water felt like you getting shocked over and over and over again and you felt like you were moving a centimeter at a time but you continued across the room. You had to use your body as a stopper so the closet door would slam shut from the water pressure.

There were five painting laid out; The first three portraits, two of laddies one of a man- no sign of a window. The last two were water damaged and harder to make out- using your shirt to dry them did little to help the wilting paper- each were different designee's and sizes and still no sign of a window. If you felt stupid with you half-walk, half-swim across the room you felt like an utter idiot now. You scanned the book shelf's- the thousands of book laid across eight foot walls- most of which were submerged under water and physically unable to be read. Couldn't even one painter have been inspired to paint a window during their art guise? Weren't they supposed be be symbolic or something?

"I don't think anything in here has anything to do with windows!"

"Keep looking."

Think outside the box, is what he meant.

“Chishiya- I'm telling you there's nothing in this room. And if there is, it's already waterlogged."

"Water, huh? That's what you got?"

So preoccupied with your own threatening vice- you forgot Chishiya got one too.

"What'd you get?"

"Carbon monoxide."

Low white.

You missed when his voice turned muffled-likely the result of breathing through some sort of cloth- and the mockery of the aggressive string of coughs he let out after the fact was almost cinematic. You both went silent for a moment. 19 minutes remaining.

"I have a window in my room."

The game's rules of teams and groups ran around your head. You failed to remember how self-willed Chishiya was. You were going to kill him.

“Fuck you.”

A muffled, "Huh?"

"Nothing."

The last 20 minutes of the game went quicker than the first, maybe Chishiya could have let you try and play it out until the last few minutes but the gas seemed to be filling up his room quicker than expected- and the other team really held no competition considering their aimless train of thought. You were really glad you haven't stubbed the girl for whatever she was taking. As bothersome as Chishiya was- coaxing you into searching your body numbing room the reflection that you held just as much over Chishiya as he did you made it slightly more bearable- you refused to give his next code before he gave you yours- he didn't argue.

It was a hunt for numbers, each place hiding a numeral- and Chishiya was a lot quicker with his translation, because of course he knew mores code by heart- but they were getting vigorous harder too find. On your part the water reached you chin, half-paralyzing your body and the slight wave of the liquid made the water sting worse than before- it slowed your movements down, having to thrash around floating paintings and uneven tides to venture off every corner of your room. Chishiya's words got more slurred, making him harder to hear on top of the already muffled syllable's- funnily enough he almost sounded drunk- but the rapidity of his words only ever ceased slightly. The mores code of the phone changed after Chishiya found his first integer.

The last round was by far the worst- the water reached your height and you had to float above water to move, this time actually swimming, and your phone cord was losing length, just shy of brisking the water. Although you already dropped it once when you had to go into the right corner of your room from the lack of extend it gave you, the speaker spat water into your ear each time after that. Your body felt like it was convulsing, teeth forcefully chattering and your body wouldn't stop fucking shaking- it was making you more and more angry at the lack of control you had over your body, as stupid as it sounded. At the last number it was almost impossible to get out behind your shaky voice- maybe you made a sound or gave some indication of discouragement because Chishiya gave you your last code first, despite it being his turn.

Somehow it worked to place your mentality a little higher than your situation- you gave him his code before going to search for your own- you already had to shatter and rip up a painting, break off a lamp, tear apart a cushion, tug off wallpaper, and locate a hidden city on the map- and somehow the ending of your game was worse than finding them. You had to dial the number into the engulfed phone. You didn't think about it before you dove number water, the last thing you heard was Chishiya's door opening before your ears were packed with white noise. It felt like an ice bath, pricking your eye's like little needles and burning your nose- it was challenge in it's self to locate what numbers were which in the water, the cavitation and air bubbles distorted the numbers and clouded your vision, the cold only made it worse. Even after you jammed your stiff fingers into the according numbers (9-2-5-6-9-0) you didn't have the luxury of an already opened door and an emptying space, no, you had to open it yourself.

You were not made to be a pirate, and it was proved by how tedious it was to get the door open. The pressure was working against you and you couldn't open it purely by arm strength, buoyancy wouldn't allow you too use your body weight either so you had to forcefully slam yourself into it, grabbing onto the porthole for more force. It blazed through your left side, leaving it aching and irritated after only one try but it only fueled the demand of your actions- you felt like a psycho tying to break down the door and surely you looked like one- it made your actions stutter when you remembered that your game was being watched- they were going to have a field day with this one- but it didn't put a stop to your actions.

Only when you staggered forwards from the demand of the water, and the loud screech of the door opening did the water stop.

You remember little from how you ended up outside, sitting on a fallen log exhausted and bitterly cold- what you do remember was how odd it felt to walk with your normal weight again, you discarding your sopping wet pants, not missing the irony of the swim ware underneath and the sight of Chishiya placing the card in his jacket- you didn't even mind if he took it for himself, accusing you later on to Hatter and saying you stole the card- and what was up with you and losing your clothes in games?

It was warmer outside and Chishiya didn't rush you back to the Beach- although you didn't miss his few not-so-subtle stares between you and the car to which you only glared at him- he looked better off than you did, more reasoned in the head and physically- but you didn't doubt he needed fresh air as well, not sure you would trust being in a car with him after he inhaled toxins for 30 minutes no matter how hard he tried to play it off. You wonder if he did it subconsciously or not.

Your jacket was thin and therefore held less water, but it still clung to your skin no matter how many times you pulled it off and your hair kept wringing droplets onto your shoulder but you were too lazy to wring it out, your entire body was still covered in goosebumps - you heard a mew sound - and you hoped you didn't get frostbite - a meow followed after.

You heard Chishiya grunt in disapproval.

Wait, what?

A dark frizzy blob clung onto Chishiya's leg and he didn't look particularity happy about it. A dark frizz that had white fur, and pitch black eyes, and a tail-

"What the hell?"

When you spoke your voice was coarse and still slightly uneven but the cat looked at you with some recognition- it didn't seem to care though, instead rubbing it's face onto Chishiya's leg, leaving a trail of fur in it's awake. Its only when Chishiya lightly shook the cat off and toed it away from his direction did it slowly start walking to you as a last resort- although not with a few pauses and giving looks back at Chishiya like he would change his mind, it was properly acting like a dejected dog. Unlike it's keenness to Chishiya it sat a few inches in front of you, staring at you expectantly. Why did it act like it wanted to kill you?

It's dark eye's squinted at you.

"You're fatter than before. Eating good?"

It meowed back.

After a minute of staring and another minute of sniffing your shoe it finally let you course its back lightly, but if you got too close to it's tail or face it would hiss and quickly advert your hand- you had to roll up your sleeves to avoid getting water droplets on its fur. Apparently it hatted water and made it very clear after trying to attack your jacket. The cat was a girl, you found out, and after a few minutes of debating you mentally named it Alice. You thought it was fitting enough.

The roar of the engine rudely brought you back to your circumstance; your game, the frost of your skin, the fact Chishiya was going to drive off without you if you took to long- with a final pat on Alice's head you made your way back down the path.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ride back to the Beach was as quiet as it was from the Beach.

It was daunting how quiet Chishiya was compared to the start of the game- how quickly he was able to switch his act's now that he had an opinion on you- you could only guess what it was but you couldn't imagine anything more than lackluster. It almost made you feel dispirited- keyword almost- but you really hadn't had anything to show from the game. Nothing worth praising anyways, except the fact that you made it out alive- and even then Chishiya had more of the backbone during it. Although pouting in the same area he was in- especially over something so pointless- wasn't going to do you any good.

The coins surprisingly still laid in your jacket pocket.

The lowered window's helped the air flow in the car- it did wonders for drying your hair and jacket, yet it still made you uncomfortable at the way it nipped at your skin. Not as cold as the water- well, definitely not as cold as the water but still chilly enough to make your huddle into yourself, legs to your torso and jacket stretched over your knees. If Chishiya thought anything low about your actions he didn't voice them.

By the time you got back the Beach was still as lively as ever, loud crowds and booming music- it made you wish the water did irreversible damage to your hearing after all. You made your way up the gate in silence, you walking a few feet in-front of Chishiya- he gave you a indecipherable look when you muttered a sarcastic 'Girls first!' when he walked through the gate door you opened for yourself. The first thing on your mind was a warm shower (if you did get frost bite, was it safe to go into hot water right after?) and your bed, your layered, not drenched with water, bed. Surprisingly you were not as sore as you thought you would be, but maybe that was because you were still numb from your waist down, and you really shouldn't be jinxing yourself. It would be worse tomorrow.

Half way up the drive way Chishiya spoke up to your astonishment, it was the first thing he said to you at all after the game. He was fully turned to you and had his palm open, curiously you peaked down and saw the keys laid in his hand, trailing your eyes back to his face you gazed at him questionably. The Beach light's were definitely doing him justice- or maybe he always looked like that and you were just too far or it was too dark to tell. He looked exactly how he did on TV; Dead hair, pricing eye's, smooth pale skin- and he was definitely wearing eyeliner.

He looked good.

"Put the key's away would you?"

It made sense, the car slot and Hatters suite was on opposite end's of the beach- you were more surprised that he wasn't holding the key's out by it's chain so you wouldn't have to touch him. Trying not to be as weird as you felt- you hummed in agreement and took the keys into your own hands- he was significantly warmer than you, you wouldn't have guessed he ran hot- the asshole wiped his hand on his jacket after, you had to bite your tongue not to smile.

You're not sure what possessed you, or what type of sickness the game gave you but before he could walk away you asked, "So, Chishiya? What's my verdict?"

For the first time he did look a little surprised, it wasn't really an accomplishment but it sure felt like one, and he took a second to respond.

"I never told you my name."

Maybe you were better off not asking. You stayed put even after he walked away, through the crowds and into the building- you only moved when you heard a distinct meow behind you.

Looking back, you never realized how much Alice looked liked a cat version of Chishiya.

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Tag- @mypsychoticlove

#aib chishiya #chishiya alice in borderland #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya shuntaro x reader #chishiya x fem!reader #chishiya x reader #chishiya x you #fem reader #reader insert #x reader #chishiya shuntaro x you #alice in borderland

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