#he���s kind of been stripped of everything that made him powerful and threatening

[keilemlucent]

if you are interested, i would like to present my dear salem with hero hawks and his little horny crush on his innocent assistant bc man’s corruption kink go brrrrrr😇

okay look LOOK i have... such a thing for hawks getting a h*rd on for his sweet, far-too kind PA.

(NSFW)

word count: 2.5k

warnings: dubcon, coersion, (a little bit of) yandere hawks, reader wears lingerie, reader is sorta oblivious,  sugar daddy hawks, scumbag hawks, power imbalance, hawks is a manipulative bastard but its hot so who cares <3

...

“Are you sure this is... appropriate, sir?” 

No, no, definitely not, not at all. Taking his sweet, desperately-in-need-of-a-break PA out on a little shopping spree was definitely crossing a lot of professional lines, but how could he care? He was far more focused on the wobbly way ‘sir’ had dripped off your tongue.

It wasn’t sin, but he’d get you there, he was quite persuasive. 

The little shopping trip (literally) landed you at a luxury mall across Fukuoka, many-floored and lavishing decorated with twinkling, bright bulbs and crystal on every fixture. The stores were expensive, too expensive for you to afford on your own but Keigo knew how hard you’d been working! All that extra paperwork (he’d been purposefully giving you because it kept you around the office later and more often) had been getting done beautifully, and you deserved a treat. Many of them. 

Consider it an early bonus.

You already had quite a few bags dangling off your arms, the cords and ribbons digging into your arms (god, he wished he could make some marks of his own--). And Keigo had decided to treat you to one, final stop. He guided you to the store entrance with a hand on your lower back.

God help you, a lingerie store.

Nothing cheap, only custom-made and designer pieces. It was more of a boutique, some places private where no one would bother the two of you. 

He watched your expression, the pull of your brows and the way your pupils dilated. It might’ve been from a bit of ill-placed stress, but he’s sure he can get your eyes just as inky other ways, if given the opportunity. 

“This is remarkably appropriate, dove,” He hummed and ushered you inside the store entrance, flashing a grin to the starry-eyed salesclerk. His hand drifted downward, just over the upper curves of your ass, just to watch you squirm. “Consider it a reward! You’ve been doing so much good for me and the agency, you deserve a treat or two, don’t you think?”

You shifted the bags on your arms and dared to meet his gaze with your own, meek and wide, “I-I think this is more than ‘a treat or two’--”

“Then shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, thanking me for my generosity then?” Keigo smirked as your expression faltered. You were way too easy and god, he fucking loved it.

Before you had a chance to fret anymore, he assured you quietly that everything was alright. A bit of praise to ice the pinpricks he left behind. He shooed you into the fitting rooms, pointing a beaming smile at a clerk and getting to work. 

He’d have you spoiled, whether you liked it or not.

...

You sat on the plush bench of the fitting room, hands in fist and lip tucked between your teeth. You chewed on it, swallowing around your dry throat. Hawks’ voice drifted back from the salesfloor, though you couldn’t tell what he was saying. You could pick up words like ‘sweet’ and ‘cute’ and you could only assume the words were about the bright-eyed, big-titted employee you saw when you walked in.

You squeeze the fabric of your skirt and tried to let some of the tension in your shoulders dissipate. 

“Oh, wow, dove, the selection they have here is amazing!” Hawks whistled as he returned to the fitting room, alone, carrying an armful of padded, velvet hangers. 

“I can imagine,” You wished you could have looked around a bit yourself, but Hawks had a much better eye for these things than you did. You were very fortunate to have him around. 

He arranged them on a gold railing nearby, wings tucked to his back as to not crowd the small space of the dressing room.

It was truly just a single room, though it was large enough. Six-sided, each wall complete with a well-padded, velvet bench seat to idle on. The middle of the room had a little raised platform, leading to three, angled mirrors. They were massive and felt a bit too revealing as Hawks hummed to himself nearby.

The only thing separating you from the rest of the store was a heavy, velvet draping. 

Hawks plopped onto the cushion next to you, letting out a deep sigh and leaning back. You watched him, gaze flickering from the garments on the rack and the exposed patch of his chest visible from the unpopped buttons of his shirt. 

His feathers brushed up against your arm and you shuddered.

“Now, sweet thing,” He clicked his tongue, jerking his gaze to the hangers. “I picked out some pretty sweet pieces for you. Why don’t you try them on and let me know what you think, hm?”

You nodded, though your stomach felt like there was suddenly lead in it. From the looks of the lace and silks, those pieces weren't going to cover much of anything. You mentally sparred with yourself.

It’s not... that bad. It’s not like he’s going to see anything more than he would if you were wearing a swimsuit. 

Besides, this a gift, right? You should at least show him what he’d paid for on an actual body. 

He had you so well-trained--

You stood, moving to the rack on shaking legs and examining the pieces.

They’re all... a bit whorish. None of those soft babydolls and teddies that folks wore in those softcore pornos that you definitely never watched. The pieces Hawks picked for you aren’t the least bit modest. They’re all lace, mesh, and ribbons. Stockings and garters that looked like they might be a tich too snug. You grab the least garish-looking piece. 

And Hawks was still in the room, body lax and slumped against the cushions.

His eyes lazily opened, a bushy brow-raising, “You good, dove?” 

“... Aren’t you gonna step out?” 

He chuckled and you knew you were fucked. Just not literally, not yet. 

“Why the hell would I do that?” Hawks laughed and righted himself. His vibrant gold eyes bore into yours, though they looked more black than topaz by that point. 

You swallowed. 

“I would prefer if you d-did.”

“And if I don’t?” His voice oozed something that made your knees weak. “What then? I know you don’t like disappointing me.”

You didn’t, but this was a bit far. ‘A bit’. 

“... s-sir, please,” You begged, albeit quietly. 

This was crossing lines. As much as Hawks gave you special treatment at the agency, literally and figuratively taking you under his wing and tending to your needs as he saw them and has he saw fit, stripping and playing dress-up in expensive lingerie definitely was too far.

As much as part of you adored the attention, you tried to keep that quiet. Stuffed down and hidden. Hawks was your boss, and you had to keep yourself occupied with his busy schedule and mountains of paperwork, lest you allow yourself to dissolve into thinking his attentions were anything other than favoritism. 

Oh my god, you really were that dense

“’Please’?” Hawks cocked his head to the side, the corners of his lips curling. “‘Please’ what, dovey? Tell me.”

You let out a shaking breath, “Hawks, this is remarkably inappropriate--” 

“Maybe,” He cuts you off swiftly, a flap of his wings pushing him to his feet and directly in front of you. “You just need some help? That’s it?”

Your mouth went dry. He wasn’t wrong, not really. 

“That’s all, huh?” Hawks ran a hand through his hair, his wings curling around the room, too-wide and fluffed for the small space. “Should’ve just said something. I imagine you don’t do this kind of thing often.”

“N-no, I don’t.”

Does anyone? 

“That’s alright, I know you try your best and just need that extra push, hm?” Hawks sighed, deep in his chest. 

With the scarlet swallowing your peripheral vision, you feel like you’re suffocating. Maybe in a good way. You nodded, pliant.

He always knows you. What you want, what you crave, what you need. 

Nimble fingers untucked your blouse from your waist, and you yipped at the chill of his fingers. He was undeterred, loosening the garment and immediately going for the buttons.

One by one, they came undone and you wrap your arms tighter around your middle. Hawks ogled, openly and without a care. It made something in you writhe, but you still wanted more of it. His attention, overt affections that supposedly mean nothing-- you want it.

He slid the blouse from your shoulder, letting it fall to the ground. You watched as his feather shuddered, rippling as he let out a few harsh breaths. You knew how you must look, hot and flushed to the touch. Bare on your upper half, sans a cheap bra that had seen better. 

“Are you sure--” You weren’t sure what you were going to ask, but Hawks didn’t let you say it besides.

“Yes, of course, obviously,’” He licked his goddamn lips. A taloned-finger caught the pilling strap of your bra, snapping it against your shoulder. “Besides, look at this! Can’t have you representing the agency, me, and my brand wearing shit like this.”

Something burned in your gut, some mix of shame and arousal that was threatening to spill from the wet corners of your eyes. 

Hawks dropped to his knees, so fast you hardly could register it. His hands hooked in your skirt by the first two knuckles and tugged and he went down. The sound of splitting fabric cracked in the air, and your skirt fell to the floor in tatters.

And Hawks, the fucker, hovered just inches away from your covered cunt. The cheap cotton of your panties did nothing to shield you from the hot breath that he fanned over you.

“H-Hawks!” You cried out, attempting to push at his shoulders with sweaty palms. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“Just taking a closer look,” He gave you no time to protest as those quick fingers of his pulled the elastic of your panties, tugging them down your thighs. He had the decency to tap your ankles, one at a time, so you could step out of the garment. “You don’t mind, do you?”

You let him. 

Perhaps you should’ve protested a bit more. Maybe. But it wasn’t like this wasn’t your wildest fantasy. Your sweet, too-kind boss, spoiling you. You weren’t sure if you’d thought about Hawks that way at first, but he had gotten to you at some point. The impromptu lunches, the late nights together, the walks and flights home. There was even that one he’d managed to wrestle a guy getting too handsy at a club with (how had he known you’d even been there?)

Hawks unclipped your bra, throwing the thing to the side with a  look akin to disgust. He snatched the hanger and garment from your hand and nodded toward the platform.

“Stand over there like a good girl for me, okay? Don’t take your eyes off yourself.”

You couldn’t disobey him, could you?

You’d seen what he did to people who crossed him, when it really mattered. He didn’t put his heart or energy into something unless he really, actually cared. And the handful of times you’d seen that go to shit had left memories of sharpened feathers and terror-filled eyes in their wake.

But you were good for him. His assistant who always made sure his meetings lined up with his patrols, and that everything was brief unless entirely necessary otherwise. You were the one who made sure he had caffeine nearby and a full belly, even on his most busy of days. 

He’d never do anything other than be kind, right?

You didn’t want to find out otherwise. 

He approached you from behind, the silk of the garment tucked over his arm. His eyes looked predatory, gleaming and inky. 

He only stopped when his chest is flush to your back, hands finding their home just above your hips with a squeeze. You shuddered at the feeling, new and raw and you couldn’t tell if you hated or loved it. 

“I want to see how this looks on you, god,” Hawks groaned, nails biting into your skin. “Hold still for me, dove.”

You did.

You didn’t dare move an inch as Hawks took his sweet time dressing you up. The garment is silken straps, the lace wrapping around the curves of your hips and chest, securely with expert bows that he pats into place after each one.

It was impossible to ignore the bulge pressing into your ass. Even as he pulled the pair of panties between your cheeks, stroking the lace and the fat with a wide palm, you were far more focused on the heat and hardness slowly grinding at the other cheek.

He tied you up expertly, and you watched in the mirrors, seeing each angle of it. The way his hands squeezed and pulled at your flesh along the way. The hungry glint in his eyes as he traced your figure. The way his wings seemed to shake and flutter in tandem with your short, quick breaths.

You were truly at his mercy. 

“Look at that,” He whistled low, grabbing your jaw and pulling your gaze just where he’d like. “Tied up like a pretty present I told you this would be good, didn’t I?”

“Y-You did.”

Hawks sighed, draping himself over your shoulders and nuzzling into your neck. You could feel the part of his plush lips, the way they drag over your skin. You swore you a nip or two.

His gaze met yours in the mirror. One of his hands trailed low, very low, sliding over top of the lace panties and cupping your sex. His index fingers lazily traced your lips through the fabric, idle. His other went to grope your chest, more insistent as he palmed at you, pinching a nipple as you began to sputter. 

A warbled moan cracked from your lips as Hawks fingers dipped below the seams of the pretty garment, rubbing at just the rights parts of you, tugging your body flush to his. 

“W-Wait, Hawks!” You wrapped a hand around on his wrist, begging your breath to stay somewhat even. “What if someone hears? Or one of the employees comes back? What if--”

“Do you think I care?” Hawks groaned, grunting as he ground into your ass. The unmistakable sound of fabric tearing cut through the room (again) and the fabric of his pants hit the ground. And suddenly you could feel how hard and hot he was. 

Something twisted in your gut and your legs rubbed together. Hawks caught your gaze, scarlet enveloping the room from the sides of your vision and the mirror in front of you.

Hawks shifted your face toward his, nosing along your cheek. The grip on your jaw was replaced by one on your throat; he was hardly exerting any pressure but the threat and meaning were clear.

Keigo has you right where he wants you. He always has, always will. You’re just a bit too... naive? No, maybe dumb... That’s a bit mean, isn’t it?”

“You need this just as I do,” He spoke low and rolling, touch burning like embers. “You know you do. I know you do. You trust me, don’t know?”

All you could do was nod before Keigo slotted his lips to yours, staking a claim that was only new to you. He nipped at your bottom lip, tugged until you were wincing into his mouth. He caught every sound, every little gesture of yours was his, just like you were. Keigo kicked himself for waiting for this so long, but he could be ginger, under the right circumstances. Ones that benefited him. He could only hope you were as good of a fuck as you were fun to toy with. 

You’d be sin yet, Keigo resolved as he pulled away. He just had to coax you there first, and he wasn’t against more... direct methods.

Maybe you’d finally get it then.

[necros-writing-stuff]

(Uuuuh, tw for a/b/o, inc*st, noncon, shitty writing, and implied somnophilia. May or may not be working on a version where Whitney actually likes his cousin. Also, no editing, I'm dying like the parasite babies I forgot existed before fucking off to Alex's farm)

The ride home from the airport is hell. Whitney's mother keeps asking you questions about your life, about the rest of the family. You babble on and on about how you're the top of your class, how everyone in the family is doing great, how you've already got a place at a university reserved for you when you're finished with your year of travel. Whitney's in the back seat of the car with you, but he can still see how it makes his father's hands tighten on the steering wheel each time you open your mouth, each time you remind him how his own son is nothing but a disappointment. 

Whitney stays quiet, using all his self control to not lash out. His parents always compared him to you, 'why can't you be more like your cousin' this and 'your cousin would never' that. 

Then there's the fact that you're a beta. Someone Whitney is supposed to naturally be better then. 

Sometimes it makes him want to scream. 

Whitney's mother ushers you into the house, leaving Whitney to help his father carry in the luggage. 

"Your mother's made plans to go out tomorrow," his father says, "as a family."

"I have plans."

"Cancel them."

His father doesn't give him a chance to argue, grabbing a bag and taking it into the house. 

Whitney grumbles to himself, dragging in the rest of your things. 

Oh, of course they put you in the guest room right next to his. Can't be free from you for one second, can he? 

"Just in case you need anything" he catches his mother telling you as he drops you things off, "Whitney is right next door."

Whitney's about to say something about not being a nanny when his father catches his eye, frowning. Fine, he'll be a fucking nanny.

You sound breathless as you thank his mom, your face flushed and eyes a bit too bright. Maybe you're getting sick? Fuck, would he be expected to take care of you if you got sick? Probably. 

Whitney ducks out of the room before his mother can try to get him to talk to you. There would be plenty of time for him to suffer on whatever "family outing" his mother had planned. 

Whitney locks his door, stripping to his underwear and getting into bed. He's got no reason to be awake. Normally he'd sneak out of the house, smoke a bit in the park with some friends. But no, he gets to be dragged around town, show you all the sights, or whatever. He knows he won't be able to get out of it, might as well not feel like shit from being sleep deprived.

-

It's 2 a.m. when Whitney wakes up, rock hard with the smell of omega in heat permeating the air. Whitney's initial reaction is shock. What shit for brains omega in this hell hole of a town isn't 

on suppressants? The wave of lust that rolls over him stops him from following that train of thought. 

It's not the first time Whitney has smelled an omega going into heat. There had been times at school, when someone screwed up, forgot to take their suppressants. Usually the signs of pre-heat would have the omega sprinting to the nurses office before anything really happened. 

There had been the time Whitney had seen an omega tackled in the park, whimpering as an alpha had dragged them off. Whitney had been curious enough to watch as the alpha claimed them, snapping at any passersby. He’d enjoyed the scent well enough, but hadn't tried to have a go. Sure, the omega had smelled good, but not good enough to fight over. 

This is different. Whitney's not sure if they could describe the scent even if they wanted to. Somehow familiar, but strange, different. 

Whitney's out of bed before he even registers what he's doing, following his nose until he's standing outside your room. 

Oh.

You? You're an omega? His shitty perfect cousin, who everyone compares him to? And you've gone into heat?

The nob turns easy in his hand. You've left it unlocked, in a town like this? But Whitney doesn't dwell on the question as he approaches your bed. 

You're curled up, already built a nest and everything, eyes squeezed shut and whimpering as you rub yourself through your pajama shorts. 

"Pathetic."

You jump at Whitney's voice, try to hide yourself in your nest but to no avail. The bed dips as Whitney climbs in. 

"D-don't," you try to say, but Whitney's amped up pheromones are making your brain go hazy. 

"Everyone thinks you're so perfect, but you can't even take care of yourself." Whitney pulls at your clothes as he speaks. You try to fight him but your attempts are weak. "Talking about how fucking smart you are, can't even remember to take your suppressants."

"D-didn't know," you manage to get out, losing the battle to keep your shirt. 

"What dumb fucking omega doesn't know when they're going into heat?" He's got your shorts down to your knees now, and you are more focused on covering your groin than trying to get them back. Slick is already coating the inside of your thighs, making your underwear cling to you. 

"Didn't know! P-presenting. Now. First t-time!" Your words are jumbled as Whitney pries your hands away from your crotch.  

The words make Whitney pause and for a moment you think the nightmare is over. That whatever had possessed Whitney to climb into your bed has left him. Your hope is crushed as Whitney gives you a wicked smile, wrenching your arms above your head and pinning you. 

First time! Whitney was going to take your first time! His stupid, perfect cousin! The one everyone fawned over, and he was going to ruin them!

He manages to gather your wrists in one hand, using the other to strip you of your underwear. Your scent is even more powerful now that you're fully exposed. Whitney's surprised no one else has come to investigate, but who is he to complain?

You're crying as Whitney frees himself from his own clothing, but you're no longer fighting him. You seem to have resigned yourself to your fate. 

Good, you've already started to learn your place. 

Whitney doesn't bother to give you any kind of preparation. You're leaking so much slick that there's already a wet patch forming on the bed.

Besides, he wants it to hurt. 

“You know, Everyone always talks about how you’re so perfect, how it's such a shame that you’re a beta.” Whitney hooks one of your legs round him, giving him better access to your hole. 

“Immagine what they’ll think when they learn you’re just an omega bitch.” Whitney's cock presses against you, your breath hitching as he nudges against you. "That all you're good for is spreading your legs for your betters." 

You go rigid under him, eyes wide, mouth agape, a he cock is forced into you. Even with your heat putting your body in the ideal state to take a cock, nothing could have prepared you for this. You start to writhe under him, whining as Whitney forces himself into you. 

"S-stop. Whit, please," your voice is a strained whimper, barely audible even in the relative quiet of the room.

"Shut up," he growls, leaning down to lick your neck, dangerously close to your scent gland, "or I'll do something you'll really regret."

His threat makes your blood run cold. He wouldn't really do that, would he? But he's already done so much, you don't doubt he would take it further. 

Whitney's hips meet yours as he finally settles fully inside you. 

"You're so fucking tight," he groans, starting to pull out. "Sure you're in heat? Not just some shitty beta begging for cock?" 

He doesn’t wait for an answer, slamming back into you, making you cry out. Whitney sets a bruising past, taking no regard for your comfort. The room soon filled with the lewd sounds of skin slapping skin and your cries. 

Fuck, you're too loud. At this rate the whole neighborhood was going to show up, thinking he was killing you, let alone his parents. Whitney wraps a hand around your throat, cutting off your air supply. 

You struggle on instinct, only stilling when Whtiney gives a low warning growl. 

Whitney keeps growling insults about how wet you are, how you obviously want his cock or you would be fighting harder. As if he isn’t keeping you from moving. As if he didn’t threaten to claim you if you didn’t let him do whatever he wanted. 

But your body doesn’t seem to care.

That's the worst part, the pleasure building in your gut, your body responding to Whitney’s in a way that leaves you disoriented. His movements in you become less painful as your body adjusts to him, his cock hitting a spot in you that makes your vision go funny, makes you glad you can’t make much noise with Whitney choking you. You don’t even realize that you’ve started to jerk your hips in half hearted attempts to meet his thrusts. 

The edges of your vision are starting to become fuzzy as Whitney's knot starts to catch in your hole. When Whitney pushes in and can no longer pull out, he lets go of your wrist, opting to force your legs open a little wider so he can grind against you easier. 

 You grab onto the hand around your neck, grip weak as you try to pry it off. It takes everything in you to keep trying when Whitney snaps at you, but you can’t breathe.

The hand on your neck disappears, only to be replaced by Whitney’s mouth. He bites at your scent gland, hard. It sends a wave of overwhelming pleasure though you, even as you're tears start anew. 

He’d claimed you. Whitney had claimed you, just like he’d threatened. And the worst part was you couldn’t even bring yourself to fight him, just crane your neck so he could have better access to scenting you. The attention he lavishes onto your neck driving you to orgasm. 

It’s the tightening on his cock that finally sends Whitney over the edge, his cum painting your insides as he continues to grind against you until fresh tears start to run down your face from overstimulation. 

“Can’t believe you got off during your first mating, fucking slut.”

His words feel like they are coming from far away as  You struggle to keep your eyes open. You groan low in your throat as Whitney shifts, his knot tugging at your hole as he makes himself comfortable.

"Marked….me..." its difficult to speak, toung feeling thick.

"I didn't use teeth, idiot. How the fuck would I explain that?"

You try to point out that you'll still smell like him. That you'll reek of his pharamones, but your words get stuck. 

You let yourself slip into unconsciousness as you feel Whitney start to grind against you again. 

You guys are spoiling me with this content. All those kinks in one?

This is very good, anon, thank you for sending it in!

[stardustdiaries]

Until we’re together once again

I'll be home for Christmas

DINCEMBER DAY 9 @dindjarindiaries ​

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: After Din gets injured, he pleads for you to stay and forget about the bounty hunt you had agreed to as Life Day is just around the corner.

Warning(s): Angst?? Fluff??  Very minor mention of injury aaaand I think that’s all, kids!

Word count: 3,105

°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“Riduur, you don't-"

You whipped around to look at Din, your heart shattering at his pleading eyes. The air was thick around you, almost as if it were trying to suffocate you. Steeling your resolve, you swing your bag over your shoulder as you holster your blaster by your side.

“Cyar’ika,” Din breathed, taking a timid step closer to you. His head tilted to the side slightly, causing for the bundle of curls that sat on top of his head to bounce softly. “please don’t go.”

You swallowed hard at the lump in your throat. Maker, your chest was so tight. Not finding a way to will yourself into speaking, you took a minute to take in his appearance.

His curls were a mess, though not in the unkempt, dirty way. It was cute. He fancied a red sweater you had gotten him as a gift during one of your supply runs.

You smiled at that.

The first signs of stubble decorated the surface of his skin and all you wanted to do was cup his face with your hands and stay there for the rest of time. His right arm sat in the clutches of the sling that hung from the opposite shoulder, rendered useless during his most recent hunt.

You dropped your head slightly, giving it a shake before willing yourself to look up at his eyes.

Stars, what you would give to take away all the concern and sadness that washed over his dark eyes.

Din took another step, now mere inches away from you. He gently pressed his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering close to keep you from seeing the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. “Stay, cyar’ika, please. The bounty can wait.” His words cracked as he spoke, tugging at your heart violently.

Now it was your turn to keep the stinging tears at bay. Shakily, you sucked in a sharp breath. “We need the credits, Din.”  

“Cyar’ika, what if something-"

“Din,” you cut him off as your hands reached out for that of his good arm. Tenderly, your fingers began tracing over every silver and faded scar that painted the canvas that was his skin. “everything will be okay.”

He remained silent, forehead still pressed against yours in a Keldabe kiss as he took a deep breath. Greedily, he basked in the warmth of your skin, his heart constricting at the knowledge that he’ll have to live without it for Maker knows how many days.

Din didn’t want you to go after the quarry. He hated the idea of it, not because he didn’t think that you could handle it- heck, you were one of the only bounty hunters who made him fight for his quarries. You two were the best of the best, always stealing targets from each other until you teamed up to protect the Child.

But he knew about the emotional toll this kind of work took on you. The price hanging over this quarry's head was nerve-wracking. You wouldn’t be the only hunter going after them, and for the amount of credits this job could earn you, other hunters would be out for blood. And Din wouldn’t be there with you if anything were to happen.

But that wasn’t the only thing haunting Din. Life Day was coming up and this would be your first time celebrating together ever since you both exchanged vows. He didn’t know what he would do if you weren’t to come home in time to celebrate- if you were able to make it home at all.

“Come back home, cyar’ika.” Din choked, the words heavy as they struggled to tumble out of his mouth. He finally dared to open his eyes and try to tattoo your image onto his memory. “Come back to me.”

You could feel his gaze on you, but you couldn’t let him see the tears that were still trying to push through your eyelids. So you squeezed your eyes as tightly as you could and clenched your jaw. You were still holding onto his hand like a lifeline, afraid to let go.

Slowly, you brought his hand up to your lips, letting them graze over his skin before planting a kiss onto his hand. Then another, and another.

You opened your eyes, letting them fall over his distraught features. With a clumsy, deep kiss to his lips, you pulled away as you tugged at the bag that hung from your shoulder.

“I’ll be back for Life Day, riduur.”

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

You’ve been gone for two weeks, stuck roaming a planet not too far from your own. The quarry was close by, you could feel it in your bones. You had to get this right. Day and night, you’ve been traveling all over the planet, the tracking fob that dangled from your belt being the only guide you had on this hunt.

You were now back at the Crest, putting your exhausted muscles to rest as you slumped into the pilot seat. The holotransceiver Din had gifted you twirled around your fingers, as if the action was your one and only method of relaxation. Messages between you and Din have been scarce and too spaced out from one another.

Life Day was only days away now; you didn’t know if you could uphold the promise you had whispered into Din's ears. You knew Din still had hope, that he’d been sending prayers to the Maker for you to come home. You could hear it the quiet cracks the resonated in his voice, how he struggled to stabilize his trembling words.

If you truly were as close to the quarry as you thought, you would need to go off grid. Radio silence. You had to make this last message count before you vanished for Maker knows how long.

With a heavy sigh, you placed the holotransceiver on the Crest's control panel in front of you. You rubbed the exhaustion off your eyes, straightened your posture and curled your lips into the best smile you could muster at the moment. There was no need to give him any reason to worry about you.

Steeling your resolve, you clicked the holotransceiver on and began to record your message.

“Hey, riduur,” you smiled, fiddling with the tips of your gloves. “I apologize for taking so long to respond to your messages, things have been…challenging.” You looked up, hoping that when he opened your message, your eyes would meet his. “I-I think I might be close to finishing the job,” you chuckled softly, already feeling tears welling in your eyes. “Riduur, it’ll get dangerous soon- I know I’m not the only one who’s close to finding out where the target is hiding. After this, I need to cut contact- for my safety and your own,” You paused.

Blinking away the tears before they dared to spill, you ran your hands over your face tiredly. Your heart was heavy, your throat tight and face hot.

“I…I don’t know if I’ll make it back in time, love.” You bit your lip, hard enough to draw a slip of blood. “I’m so sorry, riduur; I promise I’ll do everything in my power to come back to you and the Child.” The ghost of a smile danced over your lips and your figure relaxed against the pilot seat as you looked onto the holotransceiver. “I love you Din and miss you so much. Give the Child my love.”

You gave your famous two-fingered salute, tilting your head to the side. “Until we’re together once again,” you spoke your goodbye, charging it with as much love and longing possible before clicking off the holotransceiver.

You have to get this right.

 ---------------------------------

“Dank farrik!” You hissed through gritted teeth, clutching your side tightly where you received a nasty blaster shot.

That’s gonna scar nicely.

You bit down on your bottom lip, choking back a whimper as you disinfected your injured skin. Slowly, you swiped the disinfectant over your side, watching how the cloth you used turned crimson as it made contact with the wound.

You'd captured the quarry- it was nicely tucked away in the Crest’s backlog after being frozen in carbonite. The job hadn’t been easy, you received more hits than you would like to admit, but after all is said and all is done, you got the job done.  You’d have to report to Karga later, but that could wait; you had something more important to worry about today.

It’s Life Day.

The holotrasceiver had beeped a day or two ago, but you hadn’t dared to open the message. You longed to do it, to let Din’s voice slip into your ears, to capture every detail of his face and attach it to your memory. But you didn’t. Being away for so long did a nasty number on you; you couldn’t risk breaking down when you still had a job to do. You would’ve packed up your things and piloted the Crest back home in an instant if you dared open his message.

But the job was done; you were going home.

Cursing out as you realized that you’d forgotten to restock on bacta, you messily placed a strip of gauze over your bleeding wound before taping it down, praying to the Maker that it’ll hold until you got home. You tucked away the medpac into a corner in your compartment, huffing a puff of air as you limped to the ladder that led you to the cockpit. Once in your place on the pilot seat, you pulled out the holotransceiver and placed it in its usual place on the control center. Clicking the device on, you allowed yourself to finally listen to your riduur’s voice. You melted onto the pilot seat, your muscles exhausted after the day’s workload and lifted your eyes as your riduur’s image began to shine in front of you.

Din’s recording began to play and you smiled at the sight of him with the Child snuggled up by the crook of the elbow of his good arm. He looked down at his son before lifting his eyes, your chest tightening as they found yours. “Hi, cyar’ika,” he said softly, looking down at the Child to make sure he was asleep. “We’ve missed you so much- I have missed you so much, riduur.” As he spoke, he flashed you a smile, but you caught onto how tired and sad it was.

Your heart sank.

“The kid and I have been trying to keep busy around here- he’s been great helping out with small chores. We’ve also been getting the house ready for…” Hi voice faltered, almost as if he was struggling to push the words up his throat. Squeezing his eyes shut, his chest rose as he took in a deep breath. “…for Life Day.”

Catching your bottom lip between your teeth, you looked away, fully knowing he couldn’t see the tears that dangled from your lashes before racing down your cheeks.

Being away from each other was something you both struggled with  ever since Mando began taking less and less jobs. You both longed to be together, safe and warm in each other’s embrace as the world faded away. The cracks in Din's voice were a testament of the hope he still clung to- hope that the Maker would answer his prayers and bring you home.

“Come back to us, cyar’ika,”

Din’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts, only now making you realize that you had shed more fiery tears than you had originally thought. His dark eyes glossed over much like your own, though his tense shoulders gave away how he was forcing back the tears. His chest trembled with his breaths as he tried to compose himself. “Come back to me, please. I don’t know how many more nights without you I can handle, riduur. I need you here- with us.”

Shaking his head softly, he managed to curl the corners of his lips into a small, hopeful smile. “I love you, cyar’ika.” He then mimicked your previous parting gesture, tilting his head to the side in acknowledgement as he gave a sloppy two-fingered salute.

“Until we’re together once again,”

At that, his image vanished, leaving the weight of silence crush your ribcage. You heaved a breath, wiping away the stale tracks that were  left behind by your hot tears, hands flying over the control center as if nothing else in the world mattered.

Because nothing else did.

You punched in the coordinates of your next stop and got the ship airborne as if it were second nature. Once the Crest blew past the planet’s atmosphere and everything was in order, you pushed the ship into hyperspace and felt the weight of the galaxy drop onto your shoulders as the stars around you blurred into streaks of silver and blue.

You clicked on the holotransceiver and spoke the words you’ve been dreaming about ever since you left.

“I’m coming home, riduur,” you breathed. “I’ll be home for Life Day.”

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

When the holotransceiver beeped, Din almost set the kitchen on fire.

He had settled the Child in the livingroom, letting him play with the toys he had unwrapped and opened early in the morning before striding to the kitchen where he was now trying to make what he realized was one of your favorite recipes. Keyword ‘trying' as there is only so much he can do with one arm. After a few burns to his fingertips, quiet curses and one-too-many failed attempts at getting the right ingredients, the sound of the holotransceiver beeping from the dining room made his eyes double in size as his heart slammed itself against his ribcage.

In that instant, Din dropped everything with a loud clatter and raced to the dining room to recover the device that held your voice within it. He saw the Child perk up at this as a small coo left his mouth, tilting his head in questioning. Din joined his son in the living room and clicked the device on, watching the Child smile as your face came up before them.

Your message was short, but those words you breathed to life and- oh, Maker- your smile were enough to make Din’s heart beat at light speed. Din gasped softly, a shockwave of joy washing over his features almost in disbelief as he replayed your message over and over again, each time letting your words sink in a little deeper.

Din picked up the Child, bouncing him up and down in his arm, getting a mixture of coos and giggles to erupt from the little one. Sending a silent ‘thank you' to the Maker, Din rushed to get everything set- food, decorations, music; it all had to be perfect for your arrival. He spent hours upon hours making sure everything was as it should be, but his smile wouldn’t falter or slip even when he kept getting the recipe wrong.

You were finally coming home.

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

The sun had set faster than expected- a few hours ago, actually. And there was still no sign of you or the Crest.

Din had begun to pace around the living room, certain that he would end up losing it if he didn’t let up. He kept checking the time, slightly convincing himself that maybe he could will time to go a bit faster and bring you home. Running his hand through his curls for the umpteenth time in only a matter of minutes, he willed himself to take in a deep breath.

“Cyar’ika, where are you?” he muttered under his breath, concern choking his words as they tumbled out into the air. “I…I should’ve gone with her.” Din said with a sigh, clenching and unclenching his fist by his side as a way to release the stress that fell like a weight on his chest. Almost instantly, he shook his head vigorously, trying to get every worst-case scenario to evaporate just as quickly as they had materialized. “No, she’s fine,” he whispered to himself, squeezing his eyes shut. “she’s okay…just running late.” His words wavered slightly on that last beat and he couldn’t help but mentally kick himself for it.

Unbeknownst to him, you were already standing by the doorway, a look of amusement dancing over your exhaustion as you heard his anxious rants. Silently, you dropped your bag and stepped through the doorway, taking in a greedy breath of relief as the reality of being home flooded your senses. With a lazy smile, you continued to listen to your riduur's rants until you decided to speak up.

“Din, is everything okay? You asked innocently, biting back a laugh at how he froze in place and his eyes seemed to impossibly double in size.

Din’s head snapped in your direction and he stared at you for a few seconds, as if trying to convince himself that he wasn’t crazy. Slowly, his eyes softened and were flooded with every bit of love and joy that seemed to crash over him. With a breath of disbelief, he took a step closer to you, his smile growing as he took in the sight of you.

Maker, he couldn’t tell if his heart was racing or if it had stopped the moment his eyes fell on you.

“Cyar’ika, you’re home!” he laughed, cupping your face with his hand as he lost himself in your eyes for what felt like the first time in forever.

You giggled, looking up at him adoringly through heavy eyelids. Humming in delight as your forehead pressed against his, you let yourself melt at his touch, feeling every bit of your body ignite at his warmth. “Oh, how I’ve missed you,” you choked softly, taking his hand in your own and pressing your lips against his scarred skin.

Din smiled adoringly at the gesture, tightening his grip on your hand slightly as he declared it was his turn to shower you with kisses. Slowly, he planted a kiss on your forehead, moving down to your cheeks and finally your lips. The kiss started out slowly, but neither one of you hesitated on melting into each other as the kiss began to deepen itself. Your hands reached up to the back of his head, pulling him towards you, closing whatever gap stood between your figures. His hand travelled down to your waist, keeping you steady  until you finally broke away from each other, absolutely breathless and just as in love with each other as the first time you exchanged whispers of three little words.

After smiling into one last peck on his lips. Your foreheads were once again pressed together as you both caught the breaths your lungs begged for.

“Happy Life Day, riduur.”

Happy Life Day, cyar’ika.”

[crystalessenceswrites]

Shadows- Chapter Three

Shadows

A modern monster AU Pairings: Din Djarin x fem!reader Rating: T (at the moment- subject to change) Warnings: Dark themes, canon-typical violence, descriptions of a dead body, desecration and disposal of a dead body. Summary: Crypto- concealed; secret. You have always lived your life in the shadows; after all, you’re one of the creatures who go bump in the night. He has sworn his life to a creed that aims to protect the world from monsters like you.

[Masterlist] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] Cross-posted on AO3

Satisfaction was not the right word, but it was the closest you could put your finger on as you watched the Mandalorian walk away. You had escaped his clutches twice now. While that was two more times that you would ever want to have a run-in with one of his kind there was still a sense of pride in being able to outmaneuver him. He dedicated his life to killing your kind but here you were, alive, while he was leaving without his target. A victory for you and Kira, no matter how small a success. Though that victory came with a bit of a mess. You and Kira needed to get the hell out of dodge. The gunshots and shouting would have already drawn attention from folks in the pub or out on the street. Which is exactly why you did not carry firearms for most jobs. Too messy.

“Hold this tight.” You’d had a spare scarf in your bag which was coming in handy. It would help staunch Kira’s bleeding long enough to get her into the clinic, so long as you had it tight enough.

Kira waves you off, “stop hovering. Take care of the body.”

As much as you didn’t need your partner bleeding out, she had a point. You had a body to dispose of.

There’s a routine to it. Stripping the outer layers, shoes, valuables and identifiers. The office had people who properly disposed of identification and could make nearly anyone disappear from any record or database. One less hassle you had to deal with.

You spread out the man’s coat and roll the cooling body onto it before ripping off the bottom of his shirt. Next comes the hand. Every slayer seems to have a preferred limb of extremity for proof of death. Some liked ears, fingers and toes, a tongue or an eyeball. You never could find the will to get that up close and personal with a corpse. A whole hand or foot was your preferred token. Easy enough to sever at the joint and it left plenty to identify the bounty with, keeping confusion to a minimum when you handed it over. In comparison it was just a bit harder to carry around and hide.

The man is only a few minutes dead, so the chop-job at the wrist makes a mess all over the bounty’s jacket. How you wished you had your clean up kit with you. Or more time. This was too rushed to be a proper job. The only upside to your location was its convenience-one dumpster at the ready. You toss the body, jacket and shoes before wrapping the hand up in the torn shirt. The last place you want to put the limb is in your purse but you’re out of options. Gross. Normally you had a proper bag prepared for this.

At least the bounty money would pay for a new bag.

Destruction was the last step. Fire was not your preferred method, it left too much behind, but you kept a lighter on your person at all times. Just in case. Though just a little zippo wasn’t going to cut it for a dumpster fire. Alcohol made a pretty decent accelerant and you were standing just outside a bar.

“You done yet?”

“Shove off,” you roll your eyes at the blonde. “You’re not exactly being much help.”

“Uh, bullet wound?”

“Excuses, excuses…”

Rummaging around the loading dock doesn’t help much, there’s no booze left out, which was probably smart on the pubs account. Most of what they had stored in the back looked like kitchen supplies and extra gas canisters for the bar. Those would provide more fire power than you were looking for and draw more attention than was good for such a rushed job. They would have to be your last resort.

“Hey Kira, what’s the flash point of cooking oil?”

“Average to low, I think.”

“Perfect.” You feel a little bad stealing the barrel but you’re in too much of a rush to dwell on it. “Drape my coat over your shoulders and take my purse, head back in and wait for me by the entrance. I’ll be there in a sec’.”

Kira winces a bit as she situates herself. Your coat just covers the blood stain blossoming across her shirt. Hopefully, no one in the pub looks too closely. Or checks the bag. “Got it.”

It’s not as easy as you’d like to hoist the plastic barrel into the dumpster, but you manage, albeit with very little grace. Popping the seal quickly covers the corpse and the rest of the dumpster’s contents in oil. All it takes is you dropping you lit zippo in for it to all go up in flames. Works almost a little too well.

.

“Why am I not surprised it was you two to run into the Mandalorian.” Rosalyn clicks her tongue as she goes about fixing Kira’s arm up with ever steady hands.

“(Y/N)’s a Mandalorian magnet, apparently.”

“Please don’t say that,” you groan. That was the last thing you needed. Mando had cornered you twice now and you did not want to see if the third time was charm for him. You wanted nothing more to do with the mysterious dark-haired man.

“But also an escape artist!” Kira grins despite Rosalyn’s ministrations.

The healer frowns, “she shouldn’t have to be. None of you should have to be. You’ve all got enough to worry about.”

Rosalyn, ever the worrier. Her big heart was the reason she became a nurse instead of a slayer in the first place. You’re not sure where you and the others would be without her. Scratch that, you knew Kira would be dead in a ditch without Rosalyn. She’d patched her up more times than either of you could count.

“We choose this life, Ros. We know the risks- Mandalorians and hunters are part of that risk.”

“None of us chose to be born into this life, to live in hiding from humans who want to kill us because we’re different,” Rosalyn’s voice cracks at the end, her eyes downcast.

She’s not wrong. None of you asked to be half-bloods, to be stuck in the in-between. There were few paths in life for your kind, all full of their own risks. But that was how your cards had fallen. You tried not to dwell on it, but it was not always easy. Some of the things you saw brought your circumstances to the forefront, the cruel indiscriminate nature of hunters being one of them. That had always been the biggest thorn in Kira’s side. Why she was so abrasive and hostile towards them.

“ ’M sorry, Ros. I didn’t mean it like that.”

The nurse forces a smile, “I know…I guess we’re all a little on edge lately.”

“That’s an understatement.” Kira gestures to her now properly bandaged arm, “think I will be now too.”

Rosalyn rolls her eyes, “just pay more attention. Or I’m not fixing you up next time you get shot.”

.

The compound was nearly up and running at full capacity. Families were settling in, supply stores were filling up, the armory stocked and so on. Din allowed himself a moment of pride watching the foundlings training in the yard- the next generation of Mandalorian hunters. It felt like lifetimes ago that he was one of them, day after day of drilling and sparring next to his brothers and sisters. Now Paz leads the training, passing on the wisdom and skills that had been passed to them by the warriors that came before. Passing on the knowledge of the monsters that stalk the world around them.

Monsters like her.

(Y/N)

That was what the blonde had called her.

Slayers, they had called themselves. None of what they had been taught mentioned slayers. There was nothing about monsters killing other monsters. Yet they’d called it their job. Were they some sort of twisted police force?

She certainly did not appear the type. But that’s how they all were. Appearing like something they’re not. Walking around in human skin, the monster swimming just below the surface. Din just had yet to figure what monster was lurking behind her sharp eyes.

“Din Djarin.”

If there was one person in the compound who knew more then he did, more than Paz did, it was the Armorer. Their coverts alor.

“Another successful hunt.”

The words taste like acid on his tongue, “no… I was interrupted.”

“Interrupted?”

“The woman who aided in the escape of the club owner showed up again.”

Armorer pauses, her face pensive, an expression Din does not see her wear often. “Is she tracking you?”

“No.” There was no way (Y/N) had managed to follow him. She’d fled after their first encounter anyways. “She said she was not our enemy.”

“Oh? You’re sure she’s one of them?”

Din nods, “I’ve seen her magic. And she called herself a slayer.”

Armorer’s eyebrows shoot up, “slayer?”

“Is that familiar to you?”

“Only in very old stories,” she muses. “They mimic us in some ways. They rid their kind of nuisances, ones who threaten to expose them, if the old stories are to be believed. I have never seen or heard of their kind otherwise.”

Nuisances. That seems to be what (Y/N) had been doing last night. Attempting to remove a sick criminal whose actions threatened to expose humans to the truth. So why had he never run into one of them until now? He was not new to hunting monsters. Din had a number of years under his belt now -that’s why he was the best in the covert- and he’d never seen or heard of them until he collided with her. Where exactly had they come from and why?

There always seems to be more mysteries with her involved.

“We will need to be vigilant for her and any others on future hunts.”

Din agrees. There could be no more surprises and no more escaped targets. He would not allow it.

.

“It is rather concerning on both accounts.”

You almost felt as if you and Kira were sitting in the principal’s office, about to be scolded for some dumb prank you’d pulled. Not that you’d ever pulled any pranks in school, or gotten in trouble for that matter. The circumstances of your identity meant you did everything in your power to stay under the radar. Quiet, polite, kept your head down. Your principal probably would not have recognized you back then. Yet you still couldn’t shake the odd sense of déjà vu you felt sitting Boss’s office.

“We’ll pass on the information about the bartender to the knights but if he’s gone this long without detection, it won’t be long before he comes back to us on the bounty list.”

“He’ll have a harder time hiding without his partner around to help.” It’s not much but at least even Kira was trying to be optimistic.

“We can hope,” Boss nods. “As for this Mandalorian… it appears your original concerns have been realized, (Y/N). We may need to be more proactive in monitoring the hunter, lest we have another Fett situation on our hands.”

Boba Fett had been a thorn in your office’s side for years before he’d died. Some of his targets had been known criminals with outstanding bounties, much like this new Mando, but others had been innocents, cryptos just going about their lives alongside humans. The community had been up in arms but there was not anything the office was allowed to do. Fett was human. It was the unfortunate circumstances you all had to navigate in your line of work. Your job was to catch criminal bounties, slayers had no power to protect other cryptos. Despite knowing that, locals had become rather upset with the inaction. There was a number of gathering places slayers had been banned from at the time in retribution. Time had smoothed over relations but the new Mando threatened to dredge everything back up again.

“Any luck on tracking down his informant?” If you could take his contact out of the mix maybe the Mando would skip town. There were plenty of other communities for him to terrorize. Other slayer’s bounties for him to steal.

Boss’s frown deepens, “nothing yet. The knights have been notified and we’ve got a few local leaders keeping their ears open. Someone will hear something soon.”

It had been over a month, if no one had heard anything by now you did not have much hope of anything new coming to light. You didn’t have it in you to contradict the old man though. No one wanted to admit they had hit a dead end.

“Is that all we can do? Pass it over to the knights and wait until someone else gets hurt?” Kira’s frustrations mirror your own. You both had trained for years before being allowed your three-year apprentice ship. To put everything you had into protecting your kind and taking down criminals and then to not have the power to deal with a Mandalorian was maddening. Just waiting on someone else made you want to tear your hair out.

[readingismyoxygen]

Married to a stranger ch1

ch1 / ch2 / ch 3

Wally woke up groggy, his head feeling like he ran into a wall face-first at high speed. He looked around, still a bit disoriented, but quickly started to feel agitated and on edge because of the unfamiliar room he was in. He started panicking a bit, trying to remember what happened. He had been running around Central City at night, looking out for potential trouble, when something came at him out of nowhere, and- after that he woke up in this room, which looked a bit like someone had carved it out of a rock. There was a sturdy looking wooden door reinforced with iron strips, and it had to have some kind of dampening technology, because when he tried to phase through it, nothing happened. He started to worry more and more as he tried and failed to get out. His comms didn’t work either, and while he could try and get out through the walls, he had no idea how thick they were and wasn’t really willing to take the risk and get stuck in them. What the hell was going on?

~~

Marinette awoke, dazed and in pain. She had been patrolling the city, getting out her anxious energy that hadn’t left her since defeating Gabriel a month and a half ago.  How did she get here? She tried to remember what happened. While she was patrolling, explosions had suddenly gone off throughout the whole city, most of them in places with a lot of people. Horrified, she had casted her Cure to try and save them, but because it wasn’t caused by a Miraculous and there were so so many victims, the Cure had taken more out of her then usual. Everything was restored, but she was swaying on her legs. She just remembered seeing a shadowed person on the roof with her, before -nothing. She still felt weak, like ten akuma’s had decided to gang up on her, and while she could vaguely sense she was in some kind of cell, she felt her consciousness slowly slipping away again. I’m sorry, Tikki, I failed.

~~

He didn’t know how long he had been waiting in that chamber, pacing around and trying to lose some of that nervous energy without literally pacing a hole in the floor. Suddenly, he heard the lock of the door click, but before he could make a move to escape, he suddenly felt all his energy drain away. Dazed, he looked at the person who entered. There wasn’t a lot to see, just a figure hidden in a dark cloak. He was holding a device and pointing it at the speedster, the end glowing with a bluish light. 

“Why hello young speedster, glad to see you’re awake now”, a cold and heavy voice said from under the hood of the cloak. “You’re coming with me now, and don’t even try to run off, my power dampening gun will make sure you don’t get very far. Grab him boys.”

Two men came up to Wally from outside the cell, and though Wally tried to struggle, the gun made him feel weak and dizzy, and unable to shake off the two burly guards. They led him to another room, where he found an unconcious girl in a very curious outfit. She was wearing a black cheongsam with red lining that fell to her knees, and because she was lying on her side with her back turned to him, he could see an emblem of a ladybug surrounded by an intricate pattern of lines. Underneath that she was wearing black boots with the same red lining as the top. He couldn’t see her face, but he saw raven hair tied in a bun, with strands that had fallen out.

“Who is that? Why is she here? Better yet, why am I here? What in the world is going on? Just who do you think you are kidnapping me? You know you won’t get away with this, my teammates and I won’t let you!”

The person let out a short laugh.

“You can try. Now be a good boy and be still, or you will have the death of the people of Central City on your conscience. There are twenty bombs planted throughout your city, and if you don’t cooperate, we will set them off.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Sh-she’s not.” The girl! She woke up!

~~

Marinette heard voices around her, and tried to follow the conversation without giving any sign she was awake.

“-death of the people of Central City on your conscience. There are twenty bombs planted throughout your city, and if you don’t cooperate, we will set them off.”

So it wasn’t just with her that they had prepared that trick. She recognized the voice to be female, and that she was talking about Central City. If it was about saving people, did that mean she kidnapped someone from Flash's team as well to wherever they were?

“You’re bluffing.” The voice sounded young, so most likely Kid flash if her theory about the superheroes was correct. Still, she could at least warn them to be careful with this woman, she knew from experience they wouldn’t hesitate to kill innocents.

“Sh-she’s not.” She managed to get out. She still didn’t feel that well, but at least managed to sit up. She noticed her yo-yo was gone, but that was a problem for later. She  turned around to face the two and noticed that there were also two guards holding, as she suspected, Kid Flash. She tried to look as inconspicuous as possible to not give their kidnappers any sign of her formulating an escape plan. Her next words she spoke directly to the young hero.

“S-she attacked my home town, Paris, blowing up places like the Eiffel Tower and Arc De Triomphe. I managed to reverse it, but it took all my strength and made me end up in here. Please don’t do anything rash.”

~~

Wally had so many questions. She was from Paris, and now able to see her face and the mask she wore to conceal it, wondered if she was a hero as well. And  what did she mean by ‘reversing the damage’? 

“Ah, Ladybug, how kind of you to finally get up”, the cloaked figure said with a hint of amusement in her voice.

The girl -Ladybug, apparently- turned to the woman and glared. Hard. She looked honestly terrifying, a fire behind her eyes that silently made him glad he wasn’t the one she turned that expression on.

“I don’t know who you are or what you want, but you better start explaining where we are and why, or I’m going to make you regret bombing Paris and threatening someone else’s city.” Did he imagine it or did her hair really start floating up a bit around her face? She emanated some sort of aura, he wasn’t really sure how to describe it accurately, the only word that came to mind was magic. He knew it existed, had always believed in it (despite often  claiming not to just to agonize everyone around him), but never before had he felt the power rolling off of someone in such strong waves. Not even Doctor Fate had given him this kind of feeling. Her blue eyes, hidden behind a black mask with red lining to match the theme of her clothing, seemed to glow, and now he was even more glad he wasn’t on the receiving end of that frightening stare.

The cloaked figure set a step back for a bit, but regained composure quickly and tried to brush it off.

“Now, now, no need to be so aggressive, I will gladly answer your questions, but know, Miss Ladybug, that I will not tolerate being spoken to like that again. As you know, there is still a city full of explosives that could go off at any time.”

That threat seemed to have effect, because he saw her calm down slightly.

“That’s better. You can call me Crow, and though it might not seem like that, you are here for a joyous occasion.”

“And just what might that ‘joyous occasion’ be?” He blurted before he could stop himself.

“Why, your wedding of course!”

“WHAT?!”

[hazbinextgeneration]

Into The Casino Ch13

Disease wa quick to catch up with the pretty pony down the hall and she seemed just a little rattled from the intense asking. Lou seemed to be VERY against the idea, but..she did it. SHE DID IT!! The feeling brought a small proud feeling to her as she silently marveled at her small victory. She can't believe she actually did that! And it worked!...But she would slow down. She only got this far by sheer luck, best not to push it too far. Especially when Disease casually strode up to her with a raised brow.

"Ssso. You wanna go sssee the bird brain?," he questioned raising a brow to her. She paused. It took her a moment for her to gather her senses enough for her to reach into her dress pocket and pull out the small pink business card from it, Disease flicked his tongue at it and slowly took it from her once his senses registered it as harmless. His smile never leaving. "I-...Can you take me there?" Her finger reached out and pointed to the small address under the fancy club name written on it, and Disease chuckled. "Nah. You don't to worry that pretty little head off. Wouldn't be the first time I went down to sssteal a few secrets from there.~" He gestured for her to follow and she blinked before slowly trailing after him. Walking there instead of using the armored limo was a new feeling. It reminded her of the week she spent finally free of that horrible cage, only to wonder the streets for almost a whole week, homeless, hungry, and hoping she wouldn't get mugged when she took short naps in doorways. Everyone always looking at each other like they would suddenly snap and be at each other's throats, and she was always afraid that someone was going to be her. Again those feelings came back as she glanced around the red sky and run down looking buildings. Compared to Lou's casino, these looked much less taken cared of and she couldn't help but shiver at what was inside of them. Strangers? Drugs? Or maybe something much, much worse. Disease didn't at all fazed by what was going on around them though. Humming and flicking his tongue out every so often, like this was just another day on the job for him and for all she knew it probably was. After all he did say it wouldn't be his first time going down there to find out secrets, but she didn't know what secrets he could possibly want. Rita and him despite being on such ...tense terms seemed to get along alright. Or maybe not, what did she know. But her attention went back to the snake when he inched himself with a growl...and she leaned back instantly. Did he have....fleas?! A moment later he seemed back to normal and resumed whistling. ...She had no idea what this man could do. She had a couple ideas for Lou and Cyber with what power they had demonstrated. Lou's plants were a key part of him and he seemed very calculating by his eyes. So did Cyber but they seemed to be calculating in different way. Lou was like a gambling man, watching his every move carefully. Mentally rolling the dice as it was, looking at all the choices and trying each one before going for the one that seemed to work. Cyber's way of calculating was...well like this computer thing Lou told her about. Calculating the most likely outcomes and going straight for it. There was no denying she was as much of a powerhouse as she was smart. But she literally knew nothing about this serpent other that he was apparently married to Midnight and a father. He seemed to know exactly what she was thinking because he chuckled and gave her a quick side glance raising a brow. Similar to what Lou would do but coming from Disease it was much less threatening, maybe it was because she was taller than him? "Ssso, any specific reason you're going to a place like Bird Brains?" She blinked before looking down. "W-Well..I-It's not really to see Rita." Disease fully turned to her now, smiling widening a bit and senses all high for what she had to say now. Oh this was interesting. "I-....I w-was hoping to talk to one of her workers." His brow rose further and he hummed. "Which one? Dolly'ssss really nice. Just don't touch her or ol' Jaspy boy'sss bound bash ya sane...Not that Im speaking from experience." She chose to ignore that last bit, and what was the risk of telling? Would he tell Lou?...Most likely, Lou did NOT seem the slightest bit happy about her going at all. So with a breath she answered, "Someone who could possibly answer my questions. I can't not know the answers for m-my sake." Disease rose a brow and his sly mind revolved around that idea for a moment before shaking his head. Remembering Lou's orders to keep her away from people. Eh, the guy was always a spoil sport. "I wouldn't go too far if I were you. Clubs are hotspots for big bad people to come around and cause trouble. Better stick close in places like strip clubs if you don't wanna get caught.~" Her ears went back and she sighed. "Alright." Disease nodded. This job should be easy. "....Hey Disease. W-What's a strip club?" The snake stopped. Completely, utterly stopped. Just like someone paused a movie. His leg was still stuck out like he was about to take a step, tongue stuck out, and eyes wide with his frozen smile....And he slowly looked up to her. She stared down at him confused at his actions but he finally spoke. "...Heh. Well then. I guesss you'll be in for a shocking surprise, eh horn head?" To say she was shocked was an understantement. He was completely. Utterly. MORTIFED at what was presented before her. When they finally got to the Heaven in Hell Strip Club, Disease still hadn't said a word about anything and so when they slunk through a side way he 'just happened to know' instead of using the main entrance where a long line was, her ears were almost immediately blasted with loud obnoxious sounds, and when asked Disease simply told her it was the clubs music.....THAT WAS MUSIC???? The next thing was multicolored bright light that made her go blind for a second. But she wished she was still blinded as the sight that finally hit her was almost like a literally punch to the face. And her jaw dropped in horror at the scene before her. What she could only describe as ....VERY, very exotic dancers were entertaining many guests sipping multicolored drinks and at another part of the entire thing was a whole bunch of demons close together partying and....Was that dancing?! That could not have been dancing! Where was the jazz band and the fancy dresses and the tap dancing??...She wished she was still blinded and not staring at the horror in front of her. Disease didn't seem to mind one bit as his tongue flicked more as he oogled some of the women in the area. He could feel Midnight slapping him and the cute self concious and jealous pout on her face and he snickered. She was so cute like that. He turned back to the frozen look of horror on the women and grabbed her arm to start tugging her away, but she yanked her arm away from him in instinct. The contact finally bringing her back to her senses as she took one last look at the horror show in front of her and looked at him in question. He snickered and gestured around them. "What did ya expect?! Welcome to hell, Horn Head!!" ..Well, he had a point. She really shouldn't have expected anything less by now. But when he started moving from the upper level he was at, she followed closely behind. They were passed by other demons who wore clothes she wouldn't be caught dead in. Maybe a couple making out, the smell of alcohol and smoke attacking her senses to where she coughed and reached a hand to cover her mouth and nose from everything. Everything burnt and hurt her watering eyes and the spinning sights were starting to make her head hurt. How could anyone like this kind of place?! Disease however ever oblivious continued to lead her down the steps and his tongue flicked towards the bar and slitted eyes glancing over all the drinks being served by the bartender. Her eyes rolled, men. Typical- Her shoulder bumped against someone and for a moment she made eye contact with another demon. Red cherry skin and snow white hair staring back at her. "OMG! S-Sorry! I-I'm so sorry!!" She tucked her head down and quickly stepped down the stairs after the still walking away snake. Catching up to him just as he reached the bottom of the stairs and started making his way towards the bar counter. " I-Isn't it too early to be drinking anything?" He blew her off and still headed to the counter. "You kidding me? Cyber interrupted my drinking sssession so Im taking the time to finish it here. Relax your fuzzy face...And speakin' of fuzzy." His smile became sly as he leaned against the counter and rose a brow. " 'Ey, Dolly. How'sss it been, Sweetcheeks?" She blinked her purple eyes as one women standing by the bar turned around and immediately smiled seeing the snake man. "OMG!! Hello, Disease! I wasn't expecting to see you here tonight!" The gal looked...pretty cute. Her eyes big and giggles at seeing the snake like he was an old friend. Guess he really did sneak in here more than once. "You want the usually tonight?" He nodded. "Yeah. And maybe a burger or somethin'. Im starvin'." The lady giggled and nodded her head before bouncing off with a hum. Leaving her standing there with the snake who crawled into one of the barstools and ran his long tongue over his fangs as a bottle was placed in front of him. "HEL-LO beautiful.~" Amalfia rose a brow as Disease began chugging the bottle down like it was his last decent drink, before directing her eyes back to the giant mess of a laughing and rowdy crowd. "Uh...S-Shouldn't we be finding someone here? I-I still want to know something." He again blew her off and went back to looking into the inside of the bottle. "Even if you did ask nobody would care enough to listen anyways. Now stick close will ya? Placesss like this would eat your weak little heart out, Sugar." She scowled at his response. He didn't even look at her, and she wasn't about to even drink that toxic stuff. With a sigh, she coughed a few more times from smells and smokes, turning her eyes to the side. Her eyes almost didn't catch the flash of white within the tall crowd and she paused. She could barely see it, but there was a small flash of white making it's way across the very crowd and those purple eyes followed it until it vanished....Quickly he unleaned against the wall and gave a nervous look to Disease, who was still downing the bottle and not even looking anywhere in her direction. She hesitated. Should she go for it? What if she was wrong and she just got in a heap in trouble for nothing. ....But if she was right- It was decided then, with a hiss intake of air, she sucked it u[ and began pushing her way into the crowd. ...GOD!! It was worse than she thought!! Everyone kept shoving and pushing her, screams and laughs were thrown into her ears so much they retreated against her head and she groaned. Her mind partially blurred as her eyes looked everywhere for a flash of white. But it was hopeless, she couldn't see anything past the flashy lights and moving demons- Until she finally broke through the other side, almost colliding with the wall. Her body gasped as if she had burst from water instead of a small crowd and groaned. Coughing her lungs out once her eyes reopened...And wouldn't you know it, she saw white. Literally. From across from her was a giant white head with a purple strap and purple hat on it. And when the head turned around- She almost smiled from the relief and excitement she felt from seeing the grumpy face of the white skeleton. Charles was standing right across the room from her! Said skeleton was tapping his foot and looking at a clipboard in his hand with a scrutening look, it reminded her of the faces Midnight gave the few times she walked in on the woman looking through her spell books. But her excitement was short lived when he turned and began walking away, which made her body shift into gear and hurry after him. She almost lost him again too, hurrying through another small crowd and trying to keep her eyes on that flash on white. Luckily she glimpsed a small purple hat ducking through a small door in the back. Well of course she followed him right up to the door, and there wasn't anything stopping her from going in...Except for the Staff Only sign right above the door. That's what made her pause and stare dead at the white door in front of herself. Well this was just great! Now she had to wait around for him to come back out! Which could be bad. Someone could wonder why she was standing in front of the door for so long, or Disease could notice she was missing. He would probably make her leave and she wasn't leaving without having those darn answers!...Her sanity as she knew it was on the line, and the mere thought of being a prisoner again was starting become overwhelming and her stomach did a flip flop. That was NOT happening!! With one determined shove, the swinging door was pushed open and in she went without a second thought. The inside was...different from what she expected. It looked quite a lot like the staff's lounge back at the casino only much smaller and less fancy. A few couches, a mini fridge, other kitchen things, a television, and a few other relaxing things meant for the ones who worked the place. But her purple eyes laser focused onto the figure in the middle who was currently pouring himself a cup of coffee while grumbling that sounded like 'stupid creature', being sighing and bringing the piping hot liquid to his lips. She again hesitated. Here he was. Right in front of her, no one around to stop them. But considering she's basically trespassing and the fact he was clearly annoyed....This might not be the best time..She almost wussed out, until that thought of being trapped again crossed her mind..she was not going to back down and become someone's pet or plaything again! With a sharp intake- "C-Charles?" The skeleton jumped, and snapped his head to her. One eye widened in surprise. Clearly he wasn't expecting her to be there, some of the coffee spilling out of his cup and dripping down the sides of the mug he was holding. Both stared at each other for a few tense seconds before his surprised face turned into a scowl, "What are you doing back here?! Can't you read!!" "Y-Yes! But you don't understand. Im here because I need your h-help-" "Then you can wait outside just like everyone else!" The coffee mug was placed back onto the counter and he bagan marching towards her, making shooing motions with his hands. "Go on. Out, out, out!! You can make a complaint with me after my break!" "No, it's not about that!" "Then it can still wait u-" "IT'S ABOUT LOU!!" Her eyes slammed shut. Silence. She was expecting him to still kick her out. For hands to start shoving her back to the door...but nothing but silence greeted her ears. Ever so slowly, she reopened her eyes and blinked down to him. Charles was in a similar pose Disease was in when he froze. Only this time he wasn't all the way frozen and just blinking up at her. His arms still in that shooing position, but soon a scowl formed on his face and his arms were quick to go back to his sides. She could now tell this guy was suspicious by the way he was looking her over. "...And why would you want to ask me about him?," he asked crossing his arms. Well, that wasn't a no. But she had to word her next few words very carefully. "I-I..it's me." His brow rose. "W-W-We met a-at the dress shop? You were with...R-Rubix?" It was like a switch was flipped in his head turning on a lightbulb and his scowl became even more annoyed. He looked her over and finally seemed to recognize her from those months ago. ".....Yeah? Rita told me about how you're his...'lover' now" He made quotation movements with his hand and spat it out like it disgusted him. "What?! N-No! Nothing like that! W-We're not-...H-He's just courting me!" It didn't seem that made him even less impressed as he still scowled. "Well? Whatddya want? If you haven't notice I have a job to do and I don't wanna spend my break playing nursemaid to someone like you! Did he put you up to this?" "W-Wha- N-No! I came here be-because-..." She sighed and looked down, reaching up to rub her arm. SHould she really tell him her reasoning? Would he even tell her if she did tell him? He looked already suspicious and not willing to speak yet..well, she definately had nothing to lose. "I-...Need to know more about him. And you are the only one who knows about him enough to tell me what I want to know?...Please." A small silence followed...and she heard footsteps walking away from her. Those purple eyes blinked up and watched as Charles made his way back to the counter. Grabbing his coffee mug, before taking a giant swig of it. An almost calm look on his face as he sighed and looked up from it. The two stood there staring for a few moments. "You want to hear why I hate Lou to no end?" She nodded and he hummed, almost not beleiving her. "Im happy to tell but what do you get out of it?" ".....Im hoping to not get hurt. That's the most honest way I can word it." There was another pause before he huffed what sounded like a chuckle before looking at her. "You really serious about this?" She nodded and he hummed. "Alright. Since you're so willing to listen I will allow it." A huge wave of releif came over her and she let out a breath, watching as he walked over to a couch and sat down in it. Placing the mug back down and looking up to her with a serious face. "How much DO you know?" ....Shr shrugged. "Not much. Just vague details about his death, but Rita t-told me you two knew each other for a long time." He huffed again and she flinched. Placing the mug onto the coffee table rather roughly and staring at her. "Yes. Unfortunately we did. But beleive me if I had it my way, I would go back and time and strangle him until he wilted sooner." She blinked and remained silent so he continued. "You want to know who he was? To put it simply he was and always will be a slimey, rotten, manipulative b*st*rd who uses others for his own gain and never thinks twice about anyone but himself!..Maybe that metalheaded body guard being a slight acception, but that's besides the point." He pointed at her and her ears went back. "Even if he's telling the truth, I wouldn't trust ANYTHING that comes out of his cabbage patch mouth. He's the whole reason for what happened to me!!" "W-What happened? I don-" The coffee table shook when the smaller man slammed his hands down onto it. His one eye glowing with hatred and when he opened his mouth fangs appeared. "HE FUCKING KILLED ME!! YOU WANT TO REALLY KNOW WHY I HATE HIM SO MUCH!? IT'S BECAUSE THAT OVER GROWN F*CKING LEAF WAS THE DEATH OF ME AND NOW I GET TO SPEND THE REST OF ETERNITY KNOWING HE'S JUST UP THE ROAD AND I HAVE THE PLEASURE OF RUNNING INTO HIM TOO UNLESS ONE OF US ARE KILLED OFF AGAIN!! AND THIS TIME!! IT WON'T BE ME GOING UNDER FIRST!!" His chest heaved and it took a couple blinks for him to look back to her. The unicorn's body was like that of a scared hellhound. Leaning back with scared wide doe-eyes and looking like she'd bolt any second. His heaving slowly went down and he sighed, slowly letting his body drift back down into the comfy cushions of the couch and relaxing back. The embers of hate slowly burning out and his teeth going back to their normal state. He slowly lifted a hand to grab the cup and again brought it back to his mouth. "....That is what he was and that is what he WILL always be! Life, death, and in between." He took a sip and gave her a glance she couldn't quite understand. ".....Not to mention a womanizer. Men and women have been heartbroken by him but it comes at no surprise to me. That's how he is." She didn't answer right away. Just staring at him in absolutely horror at what she had said and her mind rushing trying to process this new information. She new he must've done something bad to end up here, but...he actually killed Charles. The skeleton demon looked too passionate about that to have been lying and so Lou.....But he hadn't even lifted a hand to anyone as far as she's been there. To her he was WAY more interested in collecting money(or whatever was counted as money down there) and playing his games. ..Or occupying his plants, she had no idea what his garden looked like. But the way she was staring at Charles...Well it certainly wasn't like the scowl he was giving her back, until he sighed again. "There you have it. All laid out. Whether you beleive me or not, I don't care, but don't blame me when something happens." ".....Im s-s-sorry." It came out just above a whisper, but it was still enough to get him to stop and snap his eye back up to her, blinking rapidly. "...What did you say?" She stood there staring at him with a blank but wide eyed face. "I-I...*inhale* I s-said. Im sorry. I don't think you deserved what happened to you...I r-really don't." He just stared at her. She was...apologizing? To him?! For something Lou did that she didn't even do?! ...He stared at her for a moment, but a little voice whispered: But Lou doesn't pick just any sideliner to just make googoo eyes over. Something must be horrific about her to earn her a spot on leafboy's arm. So he looked away with a scoff. "....You came and you got what you wanted. But I suggest if you don't want to end up like this-" He pointed a hand to the eye patch he wore."- I would advise you to get as far from him as possible...while you still can that is." She stood there but looked down again. "O-Oh. I see." An awkward silence filled the air and she took a shaky breath. She guessed it was time for her to go now. So she took a step to the door. "T-Thank you for your time. I-Im sorry to have bothered you, Charles." He still didn't look at her when she opened the door. "Just...don't say I didn't warn you. Good luck. Hell knows you'll need it." She didn't say anything else when she stumbled out the door, regaining her balance and taking a deep breath- Coughing from the smoke and alcohol smell. Well....She couldn't be too upset. That's what she told herself when she began making her way back to where she hoped Disease would still be, not pushing very hard or fast anymore since she wasn't in a hurry, but the sounds and lights didn't bug her much this time. She still coughed though. Her mind was almost a blank and everything was a blur around her as her mind still revolved around what just happened and mixed feelings were still revolving around her head...No wonder the two hated each other, but...She didn't know. Her head still couldn't make heads or tails of one thing. Lou...hadn't hurt anyone as far as she knew? Yes there WAS something definately behind those red eyes she should be worried about...But there WAS something else. She didn't know what but when he spoke she always felt like, he was telling the truth. Maybe not the whole truth all the time, but if there was one thing he always was it was honest. Since when was anyone honest with her? It was more than she could say for everyone else. And it's not like he could've wanted anything from her. What could she have had that made her even worth his time?...Which was a good question she still needed to answer. But for now, she had gotten most of what she needed to decide- Something grabbed and on instinct she whirled around and brought a hand up-....Only to stop when a hair of slitted snakes eyes and a frown stared up at her. "Didn't I tell you to ssstay with me?! Do you know how much trouble we both could've been in?" Her fear quickly went away and she sighed. "I-...Im sorry. I just...wanted to look around f-for..." "For Rita or someone." He narrowed his eyes flicking his tongue. "And DID you find someone?" "Yes." He blinked. Mildly surprised she wasn't trying to deny it like most people, but she frowned. "But I didn't find out anything I wanted to know." She wasn't lying. She wanted to hear good news. Maybe he got sent to hell for merely gambling or maybe something like that. She wanted to find that out. Not what she was told. Disease stared at her for a few more seconds. Tongue flicking out then back in...before he smiled in satisfaction. She wasn't lying. "That's the ssstuff I wanna here. Now you're coming back with me. And try not to wonder off like a lost sheep this time."

All characters except Amalfia belongs to @palettepainter

[whirlybirbs]

;   ---   SHATTERED HILT   /   01

summary: ru’kali survives order 66. cal kestis does, too. while cal spends his days on bracca, stripping starships for parts, ru spends her days earning her protection from the empire in the fighting pits on ordo eris; both do what it takes to survive. but, when a wayward quest and a plethora of owed debts lead cal kestis straight back to his fellow padawan -- a once shy girl turned raging fire -- the pit fighter is left with a choice: leave, or spend the rest of her life a pawn in a game much bigger than her. pairing: cal kestis / original female character, ru’kali lof word count: 2k a/n: i cannot remember the last time i wrote something that wasn’t a reader-insert, and i’m not sure how this will do -- feedback is genuinely appreciated on this, since i know i’m mostly a reader writer! everyone loved ru from her intro to my clone trooper squad, which you can read here! 

Ru’kali Lof startles awake to the sound of three loud, rough bangs on the door to her quarters. 

She wonders bitterly, as she blinks up at the ceiling, if she can just ignore the sound. With any luck, they’ll leave her alone and Ru can go back to bed --

Then, the knocks come again. Louder and faster. 

“Rise ‘n’ shine, sweetheart!”

Ru snarls.

Beneath the durasteel door, she can see the long shadow of someone shifting back and forth in their boots -- immediately, the Mirialan, as she stands and throws herself to the door, knows it’s Atticus. The sheer bombastic chaos that follows the bounty hunter swims through the force to greet her before she even opens the door.

When she does, he’s got an arm on the doorframe and he’s leering. 

Atticus Rex isn’t much to look at, nor is he kind nor smart, but he’s muscle -- his head is shaved in a tight buzz, littered with scars, and his muzzled grin is picked clean with a toothpick that hangs from his lips. 

He smells like day-old ale and sweat.

“Where y’ been, Ru?”

It leaks out of him like a jab. She has to restrain the snarl that threatens to leap across her face. Her attitude is sharp and wants to go straight for the Haxion Brood Lieutenant’s throat. 

“Asleep,” she bites, crossing her arms and cocking a hip as she goes to hit the switch and shut the door, “Do you mind?”

Atticus snorts, hand planted on the frame and forcing the door to stay open. 

Ru leans back, peering into her room, to eye the chronometer hanging on the wall. The digits read 1038 -- it’s late, and she’d finally fallen asleep after she’d managed to quiet down the usual roaring river in her mind. Not an easy task. 

"Get dressed,” the Bounty Hunter chirps, “S’ fight night, sunshine.”

--

Fight nights were common.

But, fight nights were Ru fought? Those were rare -- and though she’s sure Sorc Tormo would put her in the ring every night if he could, she’s also aware that to the Umbaran crime-lord she’s an asset. A big asset. A big, money-making asset that draws a big crowd and big bets.

Huge bets.

(The exact kind of bets that got Greez Dritus into this mess in the first place, and by proxy his new-found friend.)

Ordo Eris, on fight nights, becomes more like a city than the cold, lonely, terrible astroid colony it really is. The space station fills with scoundrels and thugs from all across the galaxy who traverse the rocky space around the arena’s hub to get a spot around the ring -- Ru eyes the growing crowd, nearly every attendee with credits in hand, as the lift carries her upwards to the top level of the arena’s loge.

Beside her Atticus flicks the smoldering bud of his deathstick down the shaft.

Speaking of Sorc Tormo, the sleaze ball greets Ru’kali with wide open arms and a devious grin. 

“Ah! My prized warrior princess!”

Ru cross her arms and swaggers forward -- the small rope of lucky beads tied to her sash tinkers as she does, knocking against the chromium smelted hilt of one of her two sabers. One is hers from when she was a Padawan. The other is a recent build and it’s temperamental. Using a stolen, mined kyber crystal is to blame, no doubt.

Master Yoda was right -- the crystals are supposed to pick the Jedi. 

Atticus meanders along behind you. Skulking as per usual.

Ru looks out past the arena to the screens bolted up along the pit. Pale blue eyes narrow tightly, the deep scar over her right eye warping slightly as she does. The broadcast is in the lower levels. Some idiot running around on the walls. Plugging wires in. 

A show, for sure.

Ru raise a brow.

“What’s all this about?” she asks, turning to eye Sorc Tormo.

The Umbaran man is eccentric, to say the least. His facial hair runs right down his chin in one fine line, green in color. That same green, punchy and vomit-reminiscent, echoes in his Canto Bight-esque outfit. Large, pompous sleeves and pants that are three sizes too tight. All green. 

He looks like seventy kliks of bad road, honestly. 

Hell, everyone on Ordo Eris does. 

Ru’kali is no exception -- she’s rougher than she was when she first arrived here. Littered in scars and bitter. The years of pit fighting have settled in her stance and though she’s athletic, she’s a rogue brawler with enough crackling, dangerous rage to power an entire Star Destroyer.

Fighting takes the edge off. Makes her feel less afraid. 

“Well,” the lone, pale fingers of the Umbaran curl around Ru’kali’s pale pink shoulders, nails drumming against the diamond shaped markings there, “I am glad you asked, my dear. We have a special contender for you --”

“Cut to the chase, Tormo.”

The egg shaped head of the Umbaran rolls as he steps away, waving off Ru’s evident irritation; the crime-lord gestures to the screen. “He’s friends with someone who owes me a lotta money. He was carrying this around --”

His fingers snap twice.

“Atticus --”

Ru’kali was not expecting Atticus Rex to procure, from the back of his belt, a lightsaber.

And she certainly wasn’t expecting him to hand it to Tormo and for the Umbaran to ignite it, presenting a glimmering yellow blade. 

The Mirialan’s face falls -- anger bubbles up there, warping the navy tattooed features of her face as she steps forward and yanks the hilt from the hands of the crime-lord.

Her lips twitches.

“What?” she sneers vengefully, “Did he pull this from a corpse, then?”

She has seen another Jedi’s saber three times now in this station. Once on the belt of a traveler who’d laughed in her face and waved the blue thing around, proudly proclaiming they’d bought it off clone trooper for drinking money. The second time, on a bounty hunter -- he’d murdered a Jedi Knight for Imperial credits, kept the blade though. The third, was now. 

Ru could only assume the weapon to be another stolen relic, a ground-in-the-dirt memory of her life before Ordo Eris. This contender probably had no idea how to use it, let alone the life this saber had before now.

A laxidasical wave. “Maybe. Don’t care. But! My sweet, sweet, Jedi -- I want you to kill him. Seeing two saber swordsmen dueling... Goodness, me oh my, that will certainly bring in the money, won’t it, Atticus?”

“Sure will.”

And it does.

--

Cal Kestis is having a pretty shit day.

Not that he’d ever say so -- no, because, sure, it might be terrible and he might be navigating some wild underground dungeon maze, but Cal has BD-1 back on his shoulder and that’s all that matters. 

He’s got a mission, he’s got BD-1, and despite being a little sore, he’s good. All good. Everything’s good. Totally good. 

As he rides the lift to the upper levels of this... place... Cal wonders if he’s gonna eat that sentiment.

The first thing he hears is the chants -- raucous roars of a large crowd. Before him lays a large square space, illuminated by stark spotlights and swarmed with drone droids, each with blinking red lights on their helms to show their recording status. 

It becomes abundantly clear to Cal that he’s suddenly in the spotlight. And, that the itching feeling that he was being watched was correct. 

The redheaded Jedi steps out from under the bay, suddenly exposed to the bright light of the arena. 

Around him on the upper decks are hundreds of people, all clamoring to get a view of him -- the large screens on the sides of the loge show him squinting, raising a hand and grimacing into the light. 

BD-1 gives a worried boowoop. 

“I got a bad feeling about this too, lil’ buddy.”

Suddenly, a holo-projection fizzles in before Cal -- large and tall and to the excitement of the crowd. The man’s appearance is met with a rise in cheers, rolling off the voices of the spectators with thirst for action. 

Sorc Tormo laughs.

“Ah, finally he arrives!” 

The projection waves wildly, spinning about, and Cal watches carefully as this eccentric ego-maniac waves his hand with a grandiose flourishes as he speaks. 

“We had action on how long it would take for you to get here!”

Yeah, well, BD-1 was kinda his priority.

Irritation bites at Cal’s features. The Jedi scowls. His stance is tense.

“And who are you?” Cal calls out, voice rising over the roar of the crowd.

“Ha ha ha! Who am I? I’m Sorc Tormo, baby! I’m the boss of this operation!”

The crowd goes wild at that, whoops and hollers serenading the arena to the tune of the crimelord’s name. A television drone swoops close to Cal’s head and the Jedi side-steps it with a disgusted look on his face. 

“Right,” Cal snarks, “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“Maybe not you, but to your friend Greezy Four-arms it does! You’ve got him to thank for gettin’ you into this pickle!”

Of course. 

Cere had made a comment off-hand about the pilot’s penchant for gambling -- not that Cal was any stranger to the concept. Back on Bracca, Prauf had muscled Cal into tagging along to a few card games here and there. And though the redhead never partook in wagering his entire week’s pay on precious metals, Prauf had once or twice. On those nights that Prauf lost -- because he always lost -- there was nothing that could lift the Abednedo’s mood. 

Not even a signature Cal Kestis smile 'n’ pat on the back. 

Cal could use one of those right about now. 

“Yeah, well, once I’m finished with you, I will thank Greez,” it comes out just as cocky as it feels -- and maybe Cal shouldn’t had tried the attitude. 

Either way, when this Sorc Tormo guy laughs and waves his hand, proclaiming, “No, no, my friend, you won’t be fighting me...”

Suddenly, the air becomes electric.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the crime-lord turns on a heel, gesturing to the crowd with the all the practiced cool of an entertainer, “Our lovely little guest will be going head to head with our favorite...”

There’s a crescendo of excitement. Cal notices an uptick on the counter on the broadcast screens -- he realize, quickly, that they’re bets and currently, someone named Fropolo’f is betting the most money against him. Real confidence booster that is. 

“Someone get baby his toy! He’s gonna need it!”

His lightsaber is launched from the loge, and the Jedi catches it quickly, igniting it on instinct as his skin crawls in anticipation. The redhead looks around, eyes cast on the crowds of smugglers and thugs lining the balcony.

The wide angle shot of fear on his face is painted across the rumbling arena’s screens.

Before Cal can bite in a retort, the echo of boots on durasteel begins -- coordinated and rhythmic. Boom... boom... boom... boom, boom, boom.

“You know her well -- a pure whirlwind of rage! She’s pink, she’s tatted, she’s daaaaaaaangerous!” 

Boom-boom-boom. Boom-boom-boom.

BD makes a nervous boo-weeeeeeeep as the pace picks up. Cal swallows, gloved fist tightening nervously around the hilt of his glowing, golden blade. Green eyes dart around the square expanse of the arena, trying to get a gauge on where this opponent might appear from --

“Give it up for our girl...”

Boomboomboom, boomboomboom. 

“RUUUUUUUU’KALLLLI!”

The roar is deafening. 

Suddenly, the paneling in the floor separates, and from it emerges --

“...Ru?”

Ru’kali Lof is suddenly staring face-to-face with a ghost.

Her stance, wide-set with double blades humming in a hot white, seems to crack when she finally sees the face of her opponent.

She’s a handful of meters away but she’d know that flash of red hair anywhere.

Cal Kestis.

Cal fucking Kestis.

Oh, this is bad. 

This is really bad. 

[ohokimdumb]

Carlos Oliveira Headcanon (shy plus size s/o) SMUT 🌷😝💜

Request: Ooo I'm not the same person who requested carlos plus size s/o headcanons, but to expand on that, could I request plus size shy s/o nsfw headcanons? Or a fic where he just loves your body so much you finally get super confident and you love yourself more because of him? but like also, make it sinful I just- the duality of this man, he's so soft and all about hyping women up but he gets my mind truly in the gutter. I've never requested stuff so sorry if this doesn't make sense!

A/N: I understand what you're getting at anon. ♥ please enjoy.

When you and Carlos first became intimate with each other, you were very uncomfortable in your skin. He quickly boosted your confidence when he was constantly hypnotized by your figure. Whenever you were stripped in front of him, he could never take his eyes off you. You could almost feel his inner lust-filled demon radiate from under his skin.

Occasionally you tried to cover yourself with your hands, but Carlos would not tolerate being neglected of such beautiful visual stimulation. He’d shake his head and force you to uncover yourself.

“Don’t hide yourself from me.” Carlos begged with such desperate eyes. It wasn’t desperation made from his desire to eventually take you as his for the night, but because you don’t deserve to feel ashamed of your body. Especially when it was so magnificent in his eyes.

Your shyness is your most adorable trait to Carlos. Seeing your cheeks flush a bright red as he undressed you made him feel a different sense of power and control over you; a kind of sense that didn’t require such aggression. He refused to be forceful, even if his inner beast wanted to come out and play, it’s just not who he is.

He keeps a sharp eyes on your facial expressions while he thrusts his cock in and out of your center, waiting for your cheeks to flush an even deeper red. He WILL play with your breasts while he thrusts deep inside; practically digging himself into your core.

Every time you try to cover your face out of embarrassment, Carlos will threaten to tie your wrists together against the bed frame; usually you obey and keep your face uncovered so you aren’t deprived of a luxury like touching Carlos while he fucks your brains out.

Carlos will admire your curves and big bust while you ride his cock. For some reason riding Carlos is the most shameful position to you, but Carlos makes sure you feel like a goddess. All the control he allows you to feel while on top of him has boosted your confidence over the months you two have been together.

All the sensual, positive praise he gives you as you suck his cock also boosts your confidence in pleasuring him. He deserves everything the world has to offer...everything you have to offer.

“Fuck, you’re so good at sucking daddy’s cock.” Carlos growls as he takes a fistful of your hair, tugging gently. The saltiness of his cock tastes delicious in your mouth.

“You’re getting better every time you ride me.” Carlos praises you as he runs his finger tips down your body, between your breasts, all the way down to your clit, rubbing slowly with his thumb. You bounce up and down on top of Carlos, your breasts jiggling from your fast pace.

You feel shameful from being so easily turned on by Carlos. By the time Carlos undresses you completely, your panties are already soaked...showing how he affects you.

You’ve learned to wear what you love, no matter what people think of you. The intense way Carlos affects your self-esteem in such a positive manner taught you to love yourself, even though no one will love you as much as he does. No one else mattered; only him.

[stylesvolume94]

Safeword

Same shit, different fucking day. 

Upon entering his apartment, Harry muttered this with an eye roll and huff. He drops his worn leather satchel and keys next to the small entry table, shoes and jacket following. He can smell the roast that Brayley prepared and tells himself to lighten up a bit, but his brows and full lips seem to be set in a permanent frown. 

After a long day at the office, Harry came home physically and mentally drained. He was a financial analyst since he graduated from college and was doing very well for himself, having only been there for four years. His job was demanding, and he often found himself coming back to his apartment in a foul mood. 

He'd walk through his creaky apartment door, shrug off his jacket, kick off his too-expensive work shoes, and stalk to the bedroom. He rarely stops to say hello to his girlfriend, Brayley, any more or asks how her day was, even when she prepares Harry's favorite meals and runs him a warm bath or shower. 

Today was one of those days, where Harry comes home already dreading his next workday and going over scenarios in his head about what he would say to his jackass coworkers (which makes him even angrier as the made-up storyline continues).

Harry continues through the small corridor, untucking his dress shirt with his right hand and tugging at his all too restricting tie with the left before tousling his newly cut hair with both hands to rid of his anger. Noted, he was entirely opposed to cutting his shoulder-length locks, but his boss deemed it "a bit unprofessional for the workspace, don't you think, kid?" He didn't.

Turning the corner, Harry spots Brayley setting the table, and, for some reason, he feels something deep within him that he can only guess is desire. As his gaze falls on his woman, now wiping the counters, he realizes how sexually frustrated he's been for so long, too long. He immediately starts daydreaming about how it would be should he take her right there in the kitchen; holding her up against the counter as he sucks on the delicate skin of her neck, taking her furiously from behind as she leans over the placed table, or spreading her out on the floor while she pulls his hair as viciously as she knows how. 

His visions come to an end when he hears Brayley's calm voice fill the small space. "H? Are you okay?" 

Harry could only stare at her blankly, attempting to rid the images in his worked up mind. She smiles at him. "You scared me; I didn't hear you come in. I made one of your favorites if you're hungry, and then mayb-"

"No." It came out as a grumble. A growl? He wasn't sure, and he hadn't meant to speak. Harry didn't even know he wanted to; it's as if the word just appeared. His next words, though, he thought of very carefully and with as much authority as he could gather. 

"I'm not hungry, and I know you were going to say 'maybe I could run you a bath,' but I'm not in the mood for that now. What I want,"

At this point, Harry was making his way to stand at his now-confused girlfriend's toes, leaning down so his warm breath ghosted her ear. 

"What I want is for you to get into the bedroom, strip down to nothing, and spread yourself out for me. I've had a seriously shit day, and I just really want to get inside of you tonight."

------

Any other night Brayley would find her boyfriend's dominance extremely arousing and somewhat dangerous but in the way they both like. The way that makes their relationship exciting and adventurous. Dangerous in a way that has led them to confess their desires and fantasies early on and act on them in various manners, each time going a bit further to explore their limits. 

Tonight wasn't like that. Their connection was dangerous, yes, but not in the explorative way Brayley had hoped. Tonight was seeming to turn legitimately dangerous, a kind of situation that she hadn't been in before with Harry but one that she wondered if she should stop. 

After her lover's instruction passed his lips, Brayley knew Harry was in a foul mood. His authority usually took over when he was upset or jealous, and she knew it was the former, but she couldn't get out a questioning before Harry put his hand over her mouth to silence her. I don't want to hear your fucking voice tonight unless it's screaming my name. Now go. 

Though his words were harsh, Brayley knew he was only trying to show his dominance and figured her boyfriend of three years would take care of his needs while also caring for hers. But, as the minutes progressed, she could her warning sounds going off in her head. She took note of every move Harry made that seemed just off enough for her to question his true intentions of the night. 

------

It began with his words in the kitchen, then continued when he forced her to strip in front of him, his stance threatening and features hard, arms crossed over his naked chest and feet firmly planted. She was a bit hesitant then but not enough to stop. If she were honest, she was rather wound up herself, initially. She understood his slightly exaggerated control resulted from another bad workday, thought that tonight would be a dip into pushing their limits. 

As Harry gripped her throat just tight enough for her to audibly gasp, Brayley wondered if he would take care of her needs alongside his. When he proceeded to drag her to her knees, take a rough fistful of her hair, and practically spit the single demand of Suck, she thought the answer was maybe. Thought he wanted to be more authoritative than usual, and who was she to deny his needs when he always allowed the experimenting of hers. 

It wasn't until Harry threw her onto the bed, held her hands above her head with one of his own, and roughly thrust inside that Brayley knew the 'maybe' was a definite 'no.' 

When the pair first began exploring one another's sexual desires, Harry had three rules. He would always take his time to prep her and ask if she was okay and ready before starting, and when they finished, no matter how rough the two were, Harry wouldn't let either of them fall asleep until he heard her say she was satisfied and loved him. And he was rough most of the time, yes, but he knew when care was necessary. He needed the reassurance that he hadn't gone too far. 

His third rule, Brayley feared, was about to come into play; their safeword. "No matter what we're doing or how far either of us wants to go, we use it if there's even the slightest bit of uncertainty or fear to continue. Promise me you'll use it if it ever gets to that point, and I'll promise the same. But I also promise to do everything in my power not to lose control enough for you to have to."

Harry kept his promise for two years, but when his right hand rubbing her over-stimulated nerves came up to wrap around her throat a second time, Brayley knew she had to use it. 

They both knew it had to be something utterly random so as to interrupt the mood entirely. The pair decided on 'blue.' Brayley didn't think it was very unusual, but Harry argued that 'I can't think of a single reason you would shout a color at me while I fuck you, but if you have a reason, you can change it.' She didn't have a valid reason on the spot, so they agreed on 'blue.' 

A particularly sharp thrust sent an unusual shock through her body that made Brayley grasp Harry's right forearm with both of her shaking hands after he'd released them to take hold of the headboard's thick metal bar with his left. She began panicking because not only was he not letting up after a very audible whimper of pain left her lips, but she couldn't catch her breath to tell him to stop. It took a few painful minutes for her to summon the strength to talk. 

"Hurts...s-stop...stop." Her words came out pathetically. Tears began to fall down the sides of her face, mixing with the sweat that'd formed. "Stop...blue...blue Har-"

"What'd I say 'bout talking, huh? What did I fucking say?" Harry tightened his grip on the girl underneath him as well as on the bar. His pupils blown and hair a mess as it began matting to his forehead; Harry didn't comprehend the words that he heard. He knew she spoke, but he didn't hear his name, so he figured he'd get a bit rougher. She's taking me so well right now. Maybe the limit is further than I thought. 

He choked on his next words, eyes tightly shut, and teeth bared. "I told you I don't - fuck - wanna hear you unless it's my name." He could feel the build-up at the bottom of his spine for a second time that night, could feel his girl tighten around him. 

Brayley tried desperately to calm herself, and when she felt air enter her lungs after yet another deep gasp, she shouted as loudly as she could, which wasn't very loud at all considering it was quite tearful.

"Blue, Harry! Blue!" 

------

Harry is a fragile man, a romantic one, but only towards certain people and only occasionally. To anyone else, he would come off as a hard-ass, mysterious, and somewhat intimidating person. Brayley loved that about him, though, how he was smart in choosing who to trust and when to let his guard down. 

Harry has always been affectionate towards his woman. When they became friends, he knew he could immediately trust her, and by the time they started dating, he had become a full-on softie. So when he hears her cry or finds her upset in any way, Harry instantly turns to mush. To listen to his baby in pain, of the heart or body, physically hurts him, and he turns into someone nobody but her sees. 

When his mind registered that his girlfriend, his Brayley, used their safeword for the very first time, he wasn't sure what to do. Harry stilled and stared at his lover's pain-stricken face while his right hand remained limp on her neck, and his left slid down by her head to hold himself up. 

When his eyes caught sight of faint purple prints, he felt he was going to be sick. How could you do this? How could you hurt her? Harry only looked at her as he took deep full breaths. Brayley's own hand slipped from his forearm and came to rest by her sides. 

Fisting the sheets weakly, she tried to get a sense of where she was, trying to bring herself back from what had occurred. Her eyes shut peacefully, and she was able to calm her breathing, but too often was interrupted by throbs of pain pulsing throughout her whole body. 

Admittedly, she was afraid to open her eyes and have to face the unmoving man above her. She knew he felt terrible and would apologize profusely, but she didn't want to hear any of that then, she only wanted to try and relax. Her growing tranquillity was interrupted by a shaky whimper and sudden cold on her neck from an absent hand.  

"Bray," The courage it took for Harry to open his mouth was immense, and as soon as his voice reached his ears, tears clouded his vision. 

"Bray, m'so sorry. So sorry, baby, please look at me." He was panicking, they both knew it, but this wasn't about him. 

His voice dropped to a feeble whisper. "Please open your eyes. Have to know you're okay, have to make it better, please." 

When a thick tear dropped on her face, Brayley slowly peeled her eyes open. They had met a very sad, very bright green staring at her with the utmost concern. It was her turn to whisper. 

"Haz..."

"Baby, m'sorry."

"I know...s'okay." Her voice was gentle. 

Harry began shaking his head, curls swaying, and tears still falling. 

"No! No, s'not okay, it's not. I hurt you; I hurt my girl, I-"

"Harry. I'm all right. J-just sore and...cold."

Brayley knew it wasn't all right, what he'd done, but she wouldn't admit that until later when they both had calmed entirely. If she freaked then, Harry would only become more anxious, and what she needed was someone to help her off the bed and into the bath. She was undeniably cold as sweat began to settling on her reddened skin, and she felt incredibly dirty. 

After a moment, Harry understood what Brayley needed. He had hurt and scared her, but what she needed were attention and care. He needed to make things right. 

----- 

That's how Harry found himself on the floor next to the tub, holding his woman's hand limply as he leaned his left cheek on the side. Brayley assured him he could step in with her, but he felt so guilty and was glad he was even allowed in their washroom. 

After carefully getting off the bed and into his boxers, Harry had taken Brayley to the bathroom, bridal style. She found it quite awkward, being completely naked and clammy, but Harry didn't seem phased in the slightest. He'd put her in the tub and turned on the warm water, allowing himself time to change the bedsheets, and gather up clean clothes and a towel for later. 

Upon reentry, Harry found Brayley half-submerged and resting her head on the side of the tub. When their eyes met, he immediately looked to the floor. He didn't know how he'd let himself get so angry at the outside world that he took it out on his whole world at home. She trusted him, but he was afraid she never would again.    

Harry was brought out of his head when he heard the sloshing of water and Brayley's hands come up to take hold of his face. 

"H, I know you're upset, I am too. I also know we need to talk about this, but m'too tired to have that conversation tonight." Harry's breath picked up at this, fearing she wanted to leave. 

"So," she continued, "m'gonna step out and get dressed, and I want us to sleep in our bed together, wake up together, and figure out why tonight happened, together. Because Harry, what happened happened, we can't take it back. But we can try to get through it, yeah?" 

Harry could only nod at the idea. He was so grateful in that moment, and the fear that coursed through him at the notion of discussing the night's events dissipated upon hearing her say 'together.' She spoke to him almost child-like, but he didn't care. Harry lifted his hands to lay them atop of Brayley's. 

"M'so sorry, Brayley. Truly. Never meant to harm you, swear it. I love you so much." His voice cracked, and fresh tears spilled. "You are everything to me, my whole world. Can't lose you. I promise what happened tonight won't ever happen again. I promise. I promise, Brayley. I love you. I love you." 

The last three words came out as a breath before Harry cautiously pressed his lips to his girlfriend's. Harry had a lot of apologizing ahead of him, but he respected his woman's wishes and took her to bed. Cuddling her to his chest, he thanked the heavens that Brayley was by his side, even after what he'd done. Harry had never meant for the night to turn out the way it did, and he would be damned if it ever happened again. 

[aleatoryalarmalligator]

What My Thoughts On Morrissey Today

In response to my writing idea someone gave me I picked this.

So basically, Morrissey’s nationalism in recent years has gotten in the way of me being able to appreciate much that he comes out with. This is wild because a few short years ago, I stood up for Morrissey and actually still feel very moved by a portion of his music. It got me through some really rough patches in my twenties.

I realize he’s human and has faults and I don’t know him completely but just eh, living in Portland and having seen the stuff going on I’m kind of not in the place in my life right now where I want to even try to dissect him. It’s not just a fact that he’s wrong, but that it seems altogether very much in rejection of the things that made his music so special. It was difficult for me to come to terms with it or fully make sense of why someone who’s unashamed expression of witty despair in the 80’s and 90’s, someone who was outcasted from the overall closed mindedness lower working class post ww2 world of northern England, unafraid to be gay and completely the antithesis of some Tory ideal could be bought by some tired nationalist agenda. It’s even more difficult to realize where his alegianced lie in a world that is starting to reject democracy, embrace anti intellectualism in the guise of some form of selective politically motivated skeptism, and I see the world move farther and farther into fascism.

Margaret Thatcher attacked The Smiths. Morrissey was taken in for questioning more than once out of fear for what he represented. Morrissey and The Smiths has some subversive element that really did threaten the establishment and cultural norms, in a way that I feel was a little more multidimensional than even a lot of bands in the English punk scene. I guess for me, even though I grew up in the Inland northwest of the US, I felt there was a lot of parallels in common. I too detest a culture based around animal consumption, was really not a part of the world I grew up in and didn’t want to work in the factories, I liked art and music and nobody around me was really into that stuff.

I still like the Smiths and most of Morrisseys old music. I read his autobiography. I know he is a dramatic self involved individual but I did feel that up till somewhat recently his heart was in the right place and he just liked to be controversial, which is somewhat true still, but now I think there was more to it, some nationalistic self preservation instinct kicking in. Its actually more prevelant than I even realized and I honestly think it’s getting the best of anyone with money or power, even those who once stood for something counter culture. It’s hard to think of him as racist in the traditional sense with his adoration for Latin America, but he might just be so self involved that his popularity in those regions gave him a bias. He probably separates the racism from the nationalism, blindly not wanting to see how the two concepts are quite inseparable. Falling right into it.

Him saying “everyone prefers their own race”, is kind of wild to me. I genuinely even try to entertain this as a possibility like a philosophical thought experiment or a deep dive of some kind into my own subconscious part of me I am avoiding somehow, and it’s not true for me or a lot of people. Who the fuck is he to say who prefers who, and how backwards and dehumanizing. It’s pretty repulsive, and being he is bisexual and felt the discrimination of homophobia growing up, I’m inclined to think he’s not able to see that he’s become the enemy he once represented the antithesis of.

The guy I’ve kinda been with is Mexican. I totally love him. I look into people’s eyes and I talk to and open up to people and if I connect with them I connect with them. Not like I’m trying to play the I gotta friend who is this or that as some kind of example of much, or that I don’t see color or some faulty implication, but I have been in situations where I’m the only white person at a party and I prefer them because they are my friends and I love them, and the idea of classifying who I prefer is to imply that the white race should be my main concern as they are the same as me and therefore superior and they aren’t. There is nothing inherently special to me or a kinship felt with other white people for either their appearance or cultural background. It’s nice to compare notes of pop culture but a lot of stuff people go through is universal. I don’t take too much issue with multiculturalism. My white skin is meaningless to me. I can’t imagine being so inept as a person that the color of my skin actually defines my identity rather than my autonomy or ideas or relationships and what I stand for and my ability to appreciate and connect with other people.

What gets me is that in his support of the far right is not even in line with his hatred of police, or the hatred he had a few years ago. I mean, he has always gone on and on about police brutality, he’s been harassed by them on multiple occasions. He shows them on giant projectors at his shows. Police are a very important staple for fascism and nationalism, and he is now on their side after all this time? What changed? The lost young man he once was in 1981 feels very very different from who he has become and piecing together that transformation has been something I’ve been trying to do for awhile. I try to embrace both but they seem like similar but different people at odds with one another, like an uncle and nephew.

Here is what I imagine happened, and I could be wrong about that but I was a Morrissey fangirl for quite awhile. I literally had his signed autograph above my bed with dried flowers around it like a shrine for a few years, and got a grasp of Morrisseys personality in some ways.

To start off, Morrissey is a very poetic and sharp guy but he’s very miopic about his interests and has always had the tendency to see the world in a black and white framework. This in and of itself is not necessarily bad, but it’s the core framework of who he is as a person. When he was young it was very much more a reflection of his hatred for authoritarianism and deceitful people and phony artists. It’s not bad and it contributed to his music and lyrics and became the thing he was loved/hated for. The way he goes about it really has always been the double edged sword of his charm and vileness all in one and something people have mocked time and time again. He likes to be the guy in the corner that looks fine and smug and believes he sees the virtues/dispicable attributes of everyone in the room and there have been times in his life where he was, and though he won’t ever attack anyone face to face he’s quick to speak his mind about it.

Morrissey is also a very vain person. It’s subtle but he is very singular on certain aesthetics. At times it made him brilliant and poetic and a visionary. The Smiths album covers are beautiful. His look is both elegant and absurd in its grasp for purity. It also makes him seem like a twat and a pretentious prince. The fact that he seems to be these two things at once is what gave him that kind of controversial star quality at times.

Those are just two natural traits he has always been obvious with. And he struggled with it and focused on his passions and dealt with depression in the 80’s. Then fame happened and the smiths ended. He kept to himself more or less in the 80’s and 90’s aside from his disdain for Margaret Thatcher, but he kinda lost his mind a bit when his drummer took him to court in the nineties. Right or wrong he fought for two years and lost a good chunk of his money from The Smiths and when that happened he kind of was forced to start again. He lost his home. He developed that early personalized sense of self preservation and victimhood. I think he lost faith in many of his more naive ideals when he was younger. When you read his autobiography and know what happened it’s like he had to step out of his old life and into something else.

Then, he’s always been a vegetarian superiority type. I liked that he calls it as he sees it but because of his need to black and white think everything he came off as deluded and smug. I mean, to be fair you can’t seem to win with people who want to eat meat and I agreed with a portion of his message, but he never questioned himself. He’s not good at that, or doesn’t appear to be. My personal interpretation of him was to agree with part of it and give him the cred for being not afraid to be a dick and say it, but to see also that he was so dramatic and self absorbed about it to also laugh at him and the way he said it.

Now to go into fascism and why it grew on Morrissey. I see the world as kind of falling into polarization and flux because of the failures of neoliberalism. It’s a long political explanation, but essentially the systems that are in place do not provide answers to a lot of catestrophic issues. Democracy, though the best thing we have, is flawed. I really like philosophy and have studied this and the various arguments that are made, and I don’t have the answer either but fuck if I will ever side with nazis.

People are seaking solace in new ideas that are actually quite old, namely socialism and fascism that provide answers that democracy fails to. Capitalism eats itself and created monopolies and unfair wealth distribution, technology is making human labor obsolete and therefore not a stable means to base our economic system on, those with wealth are hoarding it and trying to separate themselves from the world they helped ruin. We are destroying the planet, running out of natural resources, many of our leaders in the last three or for decades have been flawed, there isn’t a universal safety net for things like natural disasters and pandemics and there are still places stripped of their natural resources where human slavery is prevalent and children starve to death. Neoliberalism has promised some great answer but has actually been the contributor to this entire mess.

We are seeing the beginning of the end now, and I am sure Morrissey isn’t going to waste that without putting himself in the victim shoes, the white traditional quintessentially Englishman of wit, who sees his beautiful world he grew up in disappearing in multiculturalism and seeing himself and the culture of old England as a dying breed, that needs to be preserved at any cost. He probably was on the fence about it for some time, weighing out his disdain for authoritarianism, having a bougouis experience with the seemingly left leaning media that he never managed to win over and called him out for his every misstep. I bet he had a friend who opened him up to the idea that we don’t know about who changed his mind. I bet cuts in taxes for the rich helped him preserve his wealth that he definitely feels entitled to after losing the first portion of it in the court case. He’s rich, famous and old and often times that leads to being quite out of touch, even to the best intellectuals. He lost his mother who was dear to him and I can imagine, even though it’s not political, it created a deep sense of emptiness and dis ease. Nationalism often times gives people a sense of security and identity and purpose. And the idea of having an unpopular opinion excited him just as it always has, gave him the opportunity to be the smug poet in the corner of the party, and he sold out. Hard. And he’s probably proud of it.

He’s irrelevant now. Honestly his latest album wasn’t good, and I like later Morrissey. He doesn’t have the same energy. I just feel like he’s grasping at something that he never fully ever had. What’s weird to me is that I’m writing about him like this when honestly, I could also easily write about how beautiful and meaningful the Smiths and Morrissey has been to me. I can’t explain how it cut through the extreme isolation I’ve been in, not to mention how the Smiths really changed music for the better. There’s always going to be a part of me that wants to defend him. I’m not saying we cancel him. I kinda think he canceled himself. I’m not going to try to not enjoy the smiths or morrissey when I hear him, and I will still hear it and enjoy it but I’m not ever going to spend my own money on filling his pockets. I still nostalgically enjoy the person he was a very long time ago and what he used to represent. I realize at the end of the day he’s just a flawed person. But also fuck fascism, and fuck Morrissey for caving into it.

I mean, at the end of the day the hardest part is that I made him a part of my identity and I just had to stop doing that in a simplistic way. I tossed out a morrissey shirt I had (it’s was a cheesy shirt anyway), and I found new genres of music and while I still love the smiths it’s not like I can’t do without them every day. I break down and listen to them sometimes. I know the songs so well. I listen to Xiu Xiu which is a modern day similar equivalent in some ways but is absolutely better and the singer Jamie Stewart is fucking gold.

[aion-rsa]

Dennis ‘Des’ Nilsen is Far From David Tennant’s First Psychopath Role

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David Tennant’s transformation into serial killer Dennis Nilsen for ITV’s Des was unsettlingly convincing. It wasn’t just the physical resemblance, though under that hairstyle and behind those 1980s glasses frames, the similarity was remarkable. It was also the posture, the unwavering eye contact, and the voice; mumbling and unconcerned, listing the terrible details of Nilsen’s crimes as if reciting a recipe instead of multiple brutal murders. 

As Nilsen, Tennant pulled off what every actor hopes to in a real-life role – a disappearing trick. He slid clean inside the role, leaving no trace of The Doctor, or Simon from There She Goes, or the demon Crowley, or Alec Hardy, or his funny, self-deprecating public persona. For those three hours on screen, he was nothing but Nilsen.   

The role is one in a long line of on-screen psychopaths for Tennant. He might be best loved around these parts as excitable, convivial romantic hero the Tenth Doctor (who, as noted below, also had his villainous moments), but David Tennant has been playing bad guys for decades, starting with a 1995 episode of ITV police procedural The Bill…

Steven Clemens in The Bill, ‘Deadline’ (1995)

In his early 20s, David Tennant went through a rite of passage for the UK acting profession: he landed a part in The Bill.  And not just any old part on The Bill, this one was a peach. Tennant wasn’t cast as some kid DC Carver caught snatching a granny’s handbag – he played psychopathic kidnapper and murderer Steven Clemens.

When 15-year-old schoolgirl Lucy Dean (an early role for Honeysuckle Weeks) was abducted after receiving threatening phone calls, the caretaker from her school was brought in for questioning. What followed was a high-stakes game of Blink between Tennant’s character and Sun Hill Station’s finest. Clemens toyed with the police, first denying responsibility and then refusing to tell them where he’d stashed Lucy. It’s a big performance, as suits the soap-like context, but even then Tennant made a good villain, revelling in his evildoing. Clemens came a cropper eventually when Lucy was found alive and the investigation linked him to the kidnap and murder of another schoolgirl. Watch the whole episode here. 

Barty Crouch Jr. in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (2005)

Skipping forward a decade, Tennant’s most mainstream cinematic baddie to date is Death Eater Barty Crouch Jr. in the fourth Harry Potter film. Crouch Jr. was the Voldemort supporter who engineered Harry’s entry into the Triwizard Tournament, and turned the winning trophy into a portkey that delivered Potter straight into Voldemort’s waiting arms (well, Voldemort was sort of soup at that point, but bit of magic and voila – arms!).

Crouch Jr. did all this while magically disguised as Brendan Gleeson’s character Mad-Eye Moody, so Tennant’s actual screen time in the film is pretty limited. In his few short appearances though – in a flashback to his Ministry of Magic trial and after his disguise is rumbled – Tennant makes a real impression as the unhinged, tongue-flicking baddie.

The Time Lord Victorious in Doctor Who ‘Waters of Mars’ (2009)

The majority of the time, the Tenth Doctor was a sweetie – big grin, lots of enthusiasm, two hearts full of frivolity and love. Every so often though, Ten’s genocidal, survivor-guilt past rose to the surface. Never cruel, never cowardly, no, but sometimes a bit… murdery and drunk on power. 

One such occasion was his brutal extermination of the Racnoss children in Christmas special ‘The Runaway Bride’, and another was his Time Lord Victorious trip at the end of ‘Waters of Mars’. In the special, Ten changes the events of a fixed point in time to save the lives of Captain Adelaide Brooke (Lindsay Duncan) and her surviving crew, bringing them back to Earth in the TARDIS instead of leaving them to die. Realising the serious ramifications of his timeline meddling, Brooke confronts the Doctor about his arrogance, and puts the mistake right. It doesn’t take Ten long to come back to his senses, drop the god act, and realise he’s gone too far, and it’s David Tennant’s ability to convincingly play both the power-crazed god and the devastated man that makes him one of the best in the business. 

Kilgrave in Jessica Jones (2015)

David Tennant played a bonafide demon from actual hell in Good Omens, the TV adaptation of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman’s 1990 novel, but Crowley still had nothing on his Jessica Jones character.

The first series of Marvel’s Jessica Jones on Netflix won acclaim for its depiction of a coercive, abusive relationship through a comic book fantasy lens. David Tennant was Kilgrave, a villain with the power of mind control following experiments conducted during his childhood. Instead of using his power for good (convincing people to pick up litter, be kind to animals, etc.), Kilgrave exerted his will on the world at large, bending those around him to his sick desires. When he stumbled upon super-powered private investigator Jones, he didn’t stop at using her super-strength for his own ends. Kilgrave also used his powers to keep Jones hostage and manipulate her into coerced sex. Jones’ battle to escape Kilgrave was powerfully acted by Krysten Ritter and David Tennant, who had the range to show Kilgrave’s ‘charm’ as well as his chilling megalomania. 

Read more

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Doctor Who: David Tennant reflects on his final line

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Cale Erendreich in Bad Samaritan (2018)

Director Dean Devlin followed up weather-disaster flick Geostorm with Bad Samaritan, a dark psychological thriller about a small-time crook who gets into the bad books of a wealthy sicko when he stumbles upon his dark secrets while burgling his house. Misfits’ Robert Sheehan plays the burglar, and David Tennant plays the loaded psycho whose obsession with technology earned him the nickname ‘Evil Bruce Wayne’. Cale Erendreich is a Patrick Bateman-like moneybags psycho with a sick taste in torture. Overall, the film itself isn’t a huge amount of cop, but boy, does Tennant commit.

Dr Edgar Fallon in Criminal ‘Edgar’ (2019)

Netflix’s multi-lingual European series Criminal takes the best bit of Line of Duty – the police interview scenes – and strips away everything else. Every episode has a new case, a new interviewee, a new lead actor, and a team of cops trying to break them within a limited time frame. 

Kicking it all off with the first UK episode of series one (a second run is available to stream now) was David Tennant as Dr Edgar Fallon. You’ll have to watch the 42-minute episode to know whether or not Fallon is guilty of the crime about which he’s being interviewed (the rape and murder of his 14-year-old step-daughter), but Tennant is chilling and magnetic enough as the well-spoken English doctor to keep you guessing.

Dr Tom Kendrick in Deadwater Fell (2020)

When a tragedy occurs in a Scottish village, suspicion falls on those closest to the victims. David Tennant plays local GP Tom in Channel 4 drama Deadwater Fell, a four-part series available to stream on All 4, about how a small community responds to a terrible event. Is Tom really the perfect family man he appears to be, or is there something else under the surface? Without giving anything away in terms of plot, Tennant moves fluently between the roles of victim and villain in the audience’s mind as this empathetic, clever miniseries twists and turns. 

Dennis Nilsen in Des (2020)

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This starring role is the culmination of years spent clocking up experience on how to unsettle on screen. As real-life Scottish serial killer Dennis Nilsen, David Tennant is chillingly perfect. It’s both an on-point impersonation and a disquieting performance that conjures up this peculiarly banal killer. Tennant is ably aided by co-stars Daniel Mays and Jason Watkins as, respectively, Nilsen’s arresting officer DCI Peter Jay and biographer Brian Masters. It’s a triangle of excellent actors at their best, making for a compelling three-parter. 

The post Dennis ‘Des’ Nilsen is Far From David Tennant’s First Psychopath Role appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[megalony]

You’re next

This is a new murderer! Ben Hardy imagine that is based upon the request for my previous imagine Broken Rules. I hope you all like it.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @rogahs-drowse @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls

Murderer! Ben masterlist

Warning: Mentions of cheating, abuse, violence.

Enjoy.

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

(Y/n) rested her head in her hands as she let the tears fall from her eyes that she had been holding back for what felt like forever. Her fingers knotted in her hair to the point the strands caught between them were almost torn from her scalp with the force she used.

This wasn't fair.

This wasn't right and she knew it wasn't okay anymore.

But Ben couldn't see that she wasn't able to cope with this anymore, his mindset made him assume she would be fine and that it wasn't a problem.

Ben had always told her that she could tell him anything and she could confide in him and he would do anything to help her. And he would, that was not a lie, but telling him this was something he wouldn't be able to help with because he wasn't going to change.

(Y/n) had been with Ben for two years and those years had been exciting, scary and different but they came with a lot of low points. Ben was a hitman, he killed people for a living and from what (Y/n) could gather, he was one of the best at the worst kind of jobs. He was skilled at what he did and he took pride in his job. But it wasn't simple and it wasn't easy for either of them.

Ben had a lot of people who worked for and with him and a lot of them only worked for him because they were afraid of him. Ben had rules that he made sure everyone followed and (Y/n) wasn't excluded from that. She had to follow the rules he set out because if she didn't their relationship wouldn't last very long. That was one of the reasons it was so hard to be with Ben. Remembering that she needed to tell him where she was going so he could make sure she was okay, knowing that she couldn't do anything that would anger him or anything that went against him.

The worst was knowing that Ben had a system. If people broke his rules, they got punished and Ben applied that system to (Y/n). If she stepped out of the lines he had drawn around her she would get a punishment and there was no strict punishment either, it would be whatever he deemed appropriate.

She hated having to abide by the rules he set out because it made her panic like nothing else in her life ever did. And it was worrying to have to know what would set Ben's anger off and come up with ways to calm him down.

But Ben's love for her had always been enough... until now.

Ben was controlling but he was like that because he felt he had to be. He was always in charge and he was used to having the power, giving that over to (Y/n) was not something he felt he could do.

(Y/n) wasn't blind, she knew that what she had with Ben was over the line of unhealthy. She both loved and feared Ben and being with him was so intoxicating but it was unhealthy because it was based on dependance. She depended on Ben and he liked the control that gave him. He loved her but he felt he had to always be in charge and the fire that being with Ben created always seemed to equal out the bad sides of being with him. But she didn't know if she could do this for much longer.

"If this is so bad for you, why have you never said anything? Two years, (Y/n). You've been with me for two years and you've never said something was wrong."

(Y/n) didn't dare lift her head to lock eyes with him because he was intimidating, and part of her wondered if he was doing that on purpose. To make her cower and back down or take back what she had said and try to carry on as normal.

Ben was stood in front of her as she was sat on the sofa, his height and his demeanour made him seem like a tower looming over her and his tone of voice was both intimidating but like he was trying to be gentle.

"Because I've tried to ignore it, but I don't like this, Ben. I don't like having your people following me around if I leave the house, I don't like having the police always hanging around and knocking on the door. You make me afraid when someone breaks a rule because I see what you do to them and it makes me so fucking scared of what you'll do to me if I do something wrong." (Y/n) tried to be okay with everything in the beginning. She tried not to think about the people following her to make sure she was safe.

Ben told her he had his men watching her either from a distance or sometimes walking with her because he had to make sure she was safe and it was sweet and showed he cared more than he let on. But it was hard to go anywhere or do something when she knew eyes were always watching and sometimes judging. And they always reported back to Ben, it was as if he was doing this to make sure she didn't step out of line or go against him or cheat on him.

It was unnerving.

And (Y/n) had seen how Ben treated people. If they worked for him and they didn't do anything wrong he was a good friend. Like with her, he was an amazing boyfriend if the hitman and the anger was stripped away. Ben was intimate with (Y/n), he hugged her, he kissed her, he was kind and sweet and protective.

But when people went against him he turned ruthless and he was someone she no longer recognised. Ben had killed people if they did something very bad, he shot others or threatened to hurt their families. (Y/n) had watched him beat up a lot of his workers because he was skilled at boxing and it gave him a big advantage. He seemed to enjoy when people went against him because he could put them back in line and show others what would happen if they did the same.

(Y/n) had had sleepless nights wondering what would happen to her if she did something that went against Ben.

"It's not healthy to live like this, wondering if I'm going to upset you or get hurt or go to prison for being involved with you." When (Y/n) finally lifted her head to look up at Ben, he had a look in his eyes that she had never seen before and an expression that made a spark of worry ignite in her stomach.

"Is this you telling me you want to leave me?" Ben's head leaned to the side as he suddenly loomed over her. He pressed his hands to the back of the sofa either side of her head as he hovered his face inches from her own. His normally emerald green eyes were almost fully black as he looked like he was going to snarl at her.

Ben had always seemed to have his own rules for himself. He hadn't hit (Y/n) once, he always tried his best not to intimidate or scare her and he tried to be calmer around her. He said if she ever felt like it was too much she could walk away, but that seemed more like a threat to make her stay and ignore what he did. (Y/n) had no idea what Ben would do if she turned around and said she was leaving him. She didn't know if he would hurt her to make her stay or if he would just let her leave but something told her he would put up a fight for her, and not in a good way.

But (Y/n) didn't want to leave him. The relationship may not be as good or healthy as it could be but Ben truly did love her and she loved him more than anyone else in her life. She would do anything for him and leaving him was a nightmare she couldn't live. But she didn't know what to do if she was always going to be feeling this way when she was with him.

"I don't want to leave you... but I don't want to live in fear like this."

(Y/n)'s eyes snapped closed as she felt herself shaking when Ben suddenly took her jaw in his hand, gripping very tightly as he turned her head so she was looking at him properly.

"I love you far too much to let you leave me, sweetheart. But you don't have to be afraid. The rules are just like societies rules, don't drink and drive, don't drink 'til your eighteen. You follow those rules without being afraid, mine are just the same." He spoke so calmly as if he was simply telling her he loved her when he was really trying to keep her in line.

Ben did love (Y/n) far too much for her own good, he felt unnerved by how much love he felt for her. But he had rules for everybody and they may give worse punishments than society does but its the same logic. People know they will get reprimanded for drinking and driving or for taking drugs or killing people or doing something that goes against the rules set up around them. Ben's world was just the same, follow the rules and you'll be perfectly fine.

"If I drink and drive I go to prison, I don't have to worry that my boyfriend will punch me or abuse me or leave me if I break one of his rules. It's the same system but the punishments are worse Ben, you impose fear and it scares me." Ben kept people in line by the punishments he gave and they weren't simply putting people in prison which to some, did look like a very easy option.

Ben would beat people up or kill them or just abuse them for a punishment. He toyed with people and he played on their fear to get them to stay in line and (Y/n) didn't know if she could keep doing this.

"Darlin' you walked into my world and you wanted to play this game. You've never done anything wrong, so therefore you don't have to worry. Fear keeps people in line, I don't do this for the fun of it." (Y/n) had never done anything that went against Ben so he felt she didn't have to feel so afraid, he didn't scare her half as much as he scared others because he played on their fear. He didn't try to do that with her.

Pulling her chin from his hold, (Y/n) took a deep breath before she weaved herself under his arm so she could stand up. She didn't know how to get through to him because Ben didn't see this from her eyes and he didn't seem to want to.

"I'm going out. Don't follow me, don't get your guys to trail after me, don't even call me. Just let me breathe." (Y/n) didn't dare look at him as she spoke, she simply grabbed her bag and hurried out of the living room to try and get to the front door quicker than Ben could reach her. She wanted to be on her own and do whatever she wanted without worrying what time to get back, what Ben was doing, if the police were coming round or if this was the day she would get a punishment.

"You're either going to do something you know I won't like or take the risk of something happening to you. Either way, I don't think it's a good idea." Ben spoke with such ease that it made (Y/n) shake in her boots as he grabbed her arm and spun her around so she was facing him.

Within a split second, Ben had pushed (Y/n) so she was trapped between him and the wall, only a few paces from the front door. Her breath got caught in her throat as she wondered if he was going to trap her in their own home and not let her out or demand that she had someone with her.

"And you're scaring me... let me go Ben, I don't need you to protect me every second of every day." (Y/n) didn't know where the sudden burst of courage had come from because she would usually never dare speak to him like this because it would anger him and she wanted to stay in his good books.

More tears fell from her eyes as she gasped when his hand found its way to her throat. He only applied a very small amount of pressure to make sure her breathing wasn't affected but he could see the fear in her eyes which was why he was doing this. Fear kept people in their place and (Y/n) was no different, he had to make sure she wasn't going to try and go against him or that she wasn't going to walk out and not come back.

"Alright, you can disappear on your own, but you listen to me carefully. If you do anything that breaks my rules, regardless of what you do, I will not let you get away with it easily."

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

"Which one was it?"

Ben swirled the gun around his index finger rather slowly before stopping and taking the safety off the gun. He pointed the barrel at Adam before slowly moving it to point at Joe, then Gwilym, then lastly James. They were the only four men who Ben couldn't account for yesterday so it had to be one of them who had been with (Y/n) last night.

His dark green eyes slowly shifted to look at (Y/n) who was standing beside him, his expression clearly showing he was becoming impatient as he waited for her answer.

Someone had seen (Y/n) leaving a bar last night with someone who worked for Ben but they didn't know who it was. They saw her go home with him and she hadn't been home last night or this morning either so Ben knew what had happened. He had a funny feeling that (Y/n) was going to do something to get back at him but he never thought she would go straight for the worst punishment. But she had and Ben had to know which one of his men was the one who had willingly gone against him so they could be dealt with.

Then he would have to deal with (Y/n).

All four men looked between one another, willing the guilty one to step forward because Ben would shoot all of them and he would proceed to hurt them all until he found out who had slept with (Y/n). Ben didn't care that three of them were innocent, they would all pay the price if no one owned up to the crime.

"You slept with one of these fuckers last night because they had one of my ID badges on them! You were seen (Y/n) so which one was it? If you don't tell me I won't hesitate to kill them all." Ben pointed the barrel of his gun at Joe without turning his head to look at him.

Ben's men all had ID badges to get into the club and someone had seen (Y/n) going home with a man with one of those badges clipped onto his belt. Ben didn't hand them out to just anyone and (Y/n) had clearly gone back with one of them so Ben wanted to know which one needed a punishment for sleeping with her. They all had rules to follow and sleeping with the bosses girlfriend was a rule that no one should have broken at any cost.

(Y/n) cowered back a few paces from Ben as her eyes darted around the four men stood on her left. She only knew two of them and one of them was definitely the person she had slept with last night. But she couldn't tell Ben who it was despite what threats he made because he would kill him. Ben killed people for a living and he had a good reason to be angry this time, he wasn't going to take it easy on anyone. But (Y/n) would rather get hurt than have Ben make her watch him hurt the one she had slept with.

She didn't love the guy she was with last night, she loved Ben but she had been so mad at him and she had been blackout drunk. She remembered walking home with the guy and brief moments came to mind but the next thing she knew she was waking up and hurriedly trying to getaway. But it was no use, Ben had men everywhere and something like this was never going to stay under wraps.

"I didn't sleep with any of them last night, I had a drink with someone-"

(Y/n) couldn't finish the lie she was trying to spin that she knew deep down wasn't going to work. Her head snapped to the right when the barrel of the gun was forced into her temple with such speed (Y/n) could see stars in front of her eyes. She didn't know which was worse, the gun or if it had been Ben's fist since he was the best boxer around. She didn't want to fight with Ben because she was no match for him physically or skillfully.

Ben didn't take well to being lied to.

"Let's try this again. Either one of you fuckers own up to sleeping with (Y/n) last night or you yourself can own up to it. Don't even try lying to me again."

No one moved. No one spoke a word, they weren't lying if they weren't saying anything and they all knew it. But they also knew this wasn't going to go away, Ben wasn't going to give in and let them all walk away without some form of punishment and he would have no problem punishing the innocent if it allowed him to find out who the guilty party was.

"Was it Adam?" Ben turned his body so he was facing (Y/n) but his right arm was outstretched in the direction of the four men standing in a line-up. When he received no answer, Ben unleashed a bullet which hit Adam directly in his kneecap. The ginger groaned and buckled down from the agony he was feeling as (Y/n) let out a sob, clamping her hands over her mouth at how cruel Ben was becoming. "Get up!" Ben almost roared, his head turning in Adam's direction, his eyes burning into his frame until the wounded man hobbled to his feet and kept his weight on his good leg.

"Ben stop-"

"Joe?" Another bullet split through the air and this time landed in Joe's shoulder who let out a torn grunt through gritted teeth as his body jolted but didn't fall down.

The worst thing was that Ben didn't even have to look to know exactly where he was aiming and he simply knew he wasn't going to miss. His eyes stayed focused on (Y/n) the whole time so she knew that she was the cause of the problem because every time she stayed quiet, there was going to end up being three innocent people getting hurt.

"Gwil?" The bullet stabbed down into Gwilym's ankle and caused his foot to lift from the floor like he had stood on a piece of lego or had just realised he had missed a beat in a dance routine. His head tipped back as he growled but stayed relatively still and silent.

"Ben stop it! This isn't fair-"

"Or James?"

"Ben!" (Y/n) screamed when Ben shot the last bullet into James' elbow which tore right through the joint which was most likely shattered now. (Y/n) lunged forward, unsure if she was going to try and tackle Ben or reach for the gun but her efforts quickly stopped when the round blunt barrel of the gun was suddenly pushing against her temple. She could feel it making a circular indent in her skin as her body shivered at the thought of a bullet ripping through her skin and shattering her skull to reach her brain. At close range, it would take less than a second to kill her, that at least meant she would feel no pain.

"Who did you fuck last night?" Ben spoke so calmly but it was clear that there was a storm raging behind his eyes.

His head ticked to the side as his upper lip curled up into a snarl and the muscles around his cheekbones and jaw were pushing up against the skin from how tightly his jaw was grinding the bones together.

In that moment, (Y/n) knew Ben had it in him to kill her, despite how much he said he loved her.

"Do it. Kill me because you're jealous that I found someone else who can fuck me without having to cage me like an animal." (Y/n) spat the words with venom at Ben whose eyes ignited with a sparkle that resembled the first spark of a flame. She had a lot of courage and nerve to say something like that to the man who had a gun pressed against her head. His index finger was already twitching in anticipation to pull away from the trigger and let his arm jolt with the force of unloading a bullet into her head.

It was very clear that (Y/n) wasn't going to tell Ben who she had slept with because she simply couldn't condemn someone else like that. She already regretted sleeping with someone else because despite feeling the tiniest bit empowered that she broke a rule, (Y/n) didn't want to be with someone else. She wanted to be with the Ben she knew and had fallen in love with, not this volatile, unhinged version who wanted to kill her.

A shuddering breath escaped (Y/n)'s lips when the gun was suddenly taken away from her temple. She watched with blurring eyes as Ben tucked the gun into the waistband of his trousers before he suddenly reached out for her.

He grabbed her quicker than she could comprehend like her mind was short-circuiting. Ben grabbed (Y/n) by her hair and lurched her forward before he yanked her backwards until her back hit his chest. He wrapped his left arm very tightly around her throat, leaving just enough room so that she could breathe as he dug his other hand into his back pocket, clearly searching for something which she guessed was a weapon of some kind. She couldn't see why he didn't just shoot her when he had the chance because she wasn't going to speak up or break no matter what he did.

"You might not tell me who you fucked, but the guilty one is gonna own up."

"What makes you so sure?" (Y/n) managed to scrape the words past her teeth with the little oxygen she was able to take in due to the pressure being applied to her throat. If all the men had taken a bullet in their joint, (Y/n) didn't know what would make that one specific guy crack and reveal his dirty secret.

"They're not like me, dove. My men are weak... they won't allow themselves to watch you die." (Y/n) shivered as her body started to writhe against Ben's when she felt something pressing against the shell of her ear. It was very thin, cold and slightly jagged but it wasn't something she could properly work out. It could be metal or even plastic, but it also could be made of glass, it could be small or long, it could be some kind of electric device. She didn't know.

All (Y/n) did know was that Ben's words made her cringe because he was right. Ben had a mean streak and a heart of coal like no one else (Y/n) had ever seen before and it scared everyone. She had seen his face when he killed someone and he held no guilt or remorse or fear, unlike his men who always looked saddened when they were forced to take a life.

"Now, whoever fucked (Y/n) last night needs to speak up because if you don't, the punishment for her is going to be to die."

It was metal, it was thin, it was long and it had a sharp jagged edge.

The loudest, most frightened, shrill scream (Y/n) had ever heard passed through her lips the moment the metal pushed agonisingly slowly into her ear canal. As her ear canal grew narrower, the metal seemed to enlarge the further into her ear it went. The jagged edges cut against the soft nerve tissue in her ear and her body caved when she felt Ben twisting the item that resembled a thin carving knife.

(Y/n) scraped her heels against the polished floor as she scratched her nails against Ben's arm that was around her neck but it did nothing to stop him. He held her weight up by the arm around her neck which stopped her from wriggling in his grip as he drove the instrument through her ear.

A broken scream clawed its way out of (Y/n)'s mouth as her eyes snapped shut so tightly she thought her eyes were going to bleed when she felt the instrument go through her eardrum. She could physically hear her eardrum popping like a balloon before all of the sounds around her became distorted and blurred. Her head turned to the left but the instrument continued to blunder through her right ear, cutting through her tissue and the nerves that helped her listen as she felt a trail of blood slowly pouring out of her ear. Each molecule of blood started to dribble from her ear and fall down her cheek and neck as she couldn't writhe anymore due to the agonising pain.

Broken sounds left (Y/n)'s chapped lips as she choked and moaned at the scrutinising agony that was pushing her close to blacking out.

How could Ben do this to her?

"There there, sweetheart." He cooed cruelly in her good ear when he finally stopped driving the instrument through her ear into her head.

(Y/n) couldn't hear anything else over the sound of her heartbeat that was going manic inside her chest and every single blood vessel that felt like it was going to burst. She felt like she was going to be sick as her body was coming over in a cold sweat even though she was beginning to burn up.

"If I move this one more inch, it will go through her brain and she will die. But if someone owns up, she can go to hospital and she'll live. Which one of you can deal with her death on your conscience?" Ben had pushed the blade to within an inch of her brain and if he pushed it just a little more, (Y/n) wouldn't live through it. She was barely managing to pull through this but if someone owned up then she could go to hospital and her eardrum would heal on its own.

But Ben wasn't going to wait forever, he was silently counting down in his mind because he would have no problem pushing the metal right through her ear and letting her body fall limp in his arms. But he knew none of his men would be able to cope with that. They had all felt wary for (Y/n) because she was with Ben and the one who had slept with her wouldn't be able to live knowing that he had let her die.

When Ben placed his hand back around the handle of the instrument lodged into (Y/n)'s ear, he pushed it upwards to move it in her ear which earned a tortured sound to pass through her lips that were losing their blushing red colour. He wriggled the instrument around for a few seconds before gripping the handle tightly, showing them all that it was going to dive through her brain in a few seconds if no one spoke.

"It was me, I- I slept with her." Gwilym tipped his head down as he let the tears fall from his eyes.

He couldn't let Ben kill (Y/n) when she didn't deserve it. Ben had pushed her away to the point she went to someone else for comfort and to break free from his constraints he shackled her in. She deserved to do whatever she wanted and to be with someone who wasn't going to draw lines around her or treat her like this or abuse her. Gwilym didn't want her to die for a mistake that hundreds of people made every day, for a simple mistake that didn't warrant the loss of her life.

Ben's eyes narrowed but when he saw Gwilym mouth 'I'm sorry' to (Y/n), he knew that he wasn't simply saying that to spare her life. He was owning up because he had committed the crime. (Y/n) shivered in Ben's arms when he pressed his lips to her temple like he was trying to soothe her and calm her down. But when he moved his lips to the shell of her ear, the words he whispered to her made her breathing stop as her eyes bulged from their sockets.

All four men looked panicked when they saw how Ben looked displeased that he couldn't end (Y/n)'s life as if Gwilym had just stopped him from completing the last level in a game.

"No!!"

Gwilym's eyes flooded with horror as a scream left his lips when Ben's hand moved to the instrument, but instead of tearing it out of (Y/n)'s eardrum, he simply gave the handle a whack with the base of his hand. Everyone choked as they watched the instrument bludgeon through (Y/n)'s ear and the moment her body dropped like a ragdoll, they knew it had hit through her brain.

No one could comprehend Ben's actions when he simply let (Y/n) fall from his arms, allowing her body to crumple to the floor before his gaze set upon Gwilym. A fire lit up his pupils as his lips bent into a sinister, broken grin that showed he was enjoying this far too much.

"You're next."

[the-master-cylinder]

Empire Pictures/Tycin Films (1986-1987) “At the time everyone was talking high concept so I said let’s do RAPISTS FROM OUTERSPACE.” Charles Band bought the film released as Breeders as well as Mutant Hunt, which Kincaid shot back-to-back. Director Tim Kincaid was rewarded with a long term, ten picture deal with Empire in which some of the films will be made under his Tycin Films banner and others under Millennium Pictures. The latter will include some bigger budget items. Make them for under $1 million each on 10-day shooting schedules, back to back. Kincaid explained that most of the Tycin features will be produced for direct-to video sales probably through Empire’s own Wizard Video. The remaining films will see a theatrical release.

Although filmed after Mutant Hunt, Breeders (1986) was the first to land on video store shelves aided by a stylish pulp-influenced poster. Though no censors could get at his script Kincaid did have a domestic overseer. “My wife is very much into making sure that women aren’t being ripped-off in these films,” he said. “We had a lot of nudity but we weren’t brutalizing women on screen. Everything is implied. Variety speculated that BREEDERS went out on video because of problems with the rating board, but we had always planned to make it an R-rated film. Nothing has been cut for the video release.”

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The climactic scenes of BREEDERS take place in the monster’s underground lair, where it has created a nest for its victims. Kincaid filmed in a series of catacombs under the Brooklyn Bridge, used by workers who built the structure. There are vast rooms with brick and stone archways, the largest of which is a prayer room used by the men before they went into the depths to work. Kincaid learned of the location from BREEDER’s makeup effects man Ed French.

The monster’s victims were to be seen immersed in a pit of translucent slime actually gelatin. But with the actresses disrobed and immersed, the jello failed to gel. Kincaid was wary of adding the chemicals necessary for fear of harming the girls.

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“The art director jumped in a van and headed for the nearest supermarket,” said Kincaid. “He brought back ten pounds of flour and we poured it into the pit. It worked, but unfortunately it turned it white and gave the scene these sexual undertones that we never meant for it to have. The girls ended up working in the stuff for four or five hours-until 4 a.m.”

Necropolis (1986) Reincarnated “Satanic Witch” from New Amsterdam, circa 1600’s comes back to revive her cult members by sucking the life force out of people.

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Robot Holocaust (1986) Just outside New Terra (whats left of New York City), Neo, a drifter from the atomic-blasted wastelands, and his klutzy robot sidekick arrive at a factory where slaves labor to fuel the Dark One’s Power Station. He meets Deeja, a woman (Nadine Hart) who convinces him to help rescue her father. The father is a scientist (Michael Dowend) who has invented a device that can break the Dark One’s control over the factory slaves. Gathering a motley crew of allies on the way, Neo goes to the Power Station to confront the Dark One’s evil servants.

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Mutant Hunt (1987), which Kincaid calls an adventure film with a science fiction background” finds Manhattan in a state of terror as Z, a mad industrialist, alters a squad of cyborgs with a drug known as Euphoron, turning them into crazed killers. The cyborg’s original creator is imprisoned by Z, but his sister escapes and seeks the help of Matt Riker, a private operative.

Kincaid directed MUTANT HUNT in 15 days, stretching the budget to give it more value and making up the difference by cutting corners on BREEDERS, putting that film in the can in only eight days. Empire is easily the most prolific distributor of genre films and their tactic of using both theatrical and video markets to release their product should enable them to keep a constant supply of films flowing to the fans. This is fine with Tim Kincaid, who seems to get a genuine joy out of making films, even on restricted budgets.

The location is a large industrial type complex, eight stories high and several blocks long. The Army abandoned the terminal more than a decade ago. Today, it is the home of a noisy spice factory, hundreds of dilapidated city buses, and a small, but eager film crew. “There’s nothing like a set that doesn’t move,” says Rick Gianasi. The beefcake actor plays the film’s macho hero, Matt Riker. “This place is fabulous,” he observes.

The same location, with its scores of broken windows and rusty train tracks, conjures up a nice post apocalypse scenario on this windy and cloudy morning. Despite the atmosphere, Kincaid explains that his movie is not set in the next century. “Matt Riker: Mutant Hunt is not Road Warrior or Star Wars,” he notes, but it is in the future, only about six years from now.”

Matt Riker: Mutant Hunt certainly has its share of Fango moments, so don’t get the idea that this flick is simply another science-fiction yarn. The movie’s mutants are actually diseased cyborgs, exploited by an evil genius called Z, who eventually run amuck throughout the Big Apple. Kincaid, while looking around the set and mapping out the morning’s schedule, adds that his film will not take itself too seriously, either.

“It’s sort of-I don’t want to say tongue-in-cheek because that term’s overused-a contemporary adventure,” he explains. “There’s not much hardware, just some lasers and effects. It isn’t knockdown, fall about-funny, but Matt Riker: Mutant Hunt has a sense of humor. The heroes are a happy-go-lucky trio of mercenaries, adventurers for hire who share a kidding camaraderie with each other. It’s a comic strip.”

The first shot of the day, which Kincaid is now planning, will take place on a concrete walkway inside a spectacular atrium that bisects the terminal. Grey buttresses jut out from both sides of the enormous hangar-like structure. Sunshine streams in from a huge skylight above, reducing the need for artificial lighting. To the left of the walkway, New York-based special effects man Matt Vogel peers over the charred remnants of Z’s dummy corpse, the victim of a Vogel pyrotechnic effect from the previous night’s lensing.

Vogel, who honed his incendiary skills on the pyromaniac horror flick Don’t Go in the House, is also contributing cyborg sparks, various fireballs and assorted gunshots. And included in his makeshift FX lab–actually his very own spot on the floor are boxes of ornaments, Christmas balls. Christmas balls?

“We have this chemical called titanium tetrochloride, ” Vogel elaborates. “When you open it up, slivers of smoke come out. It was once used for skywriting. The smoke is nice, but you can’t contain it. If I put it in a Christmas ball and seal it up, I have a titanium tetrochloride bomb. With a small explosive charge, the ball breaks and tendrils of smoke emerge. The hardest part of my job is finding Christmas balls in September!”

A few feet from Vogel’s effects “shop” is makeup man Ed French’s cluttered work area where he and his assistants John Bisson and James Chai leisurely paint some cyborg appendages. Later, French will supply an immobile six-foot cyborg “stretcho” arm, plus the diseased facial features for a cyborg duo. French took on a multiple challenge on these dual productions. Not only is he providing the special makeup effects, but Kincaid is letting him direct most of the FX sequences as well. “In terms of directing the special effects,” French reveals, “much of it is up to me. I don’t have any designs on becoming a director, but it is something I’ll have a lot to do with on these films. My storyboards are followed very closely by the editor. They’re very practical in terms of our shooting time. We can’t compete with An American Werewolf in London, but if it’s planned intelligently, we can have a lot of fun.”

French is particularly excited about a mechanical cyborg puppet that both he and Tom Lauten built for Matt Riker: Mutant Hunt. Its enticing features include a blown-away face with missing jaw, but French resists displaying this trophy, explaining that it is so fragile that he prefers to bring it out only when the cameras are rolling. Instead, visitors to the set get to see his chicken-wire-and-foam dummy, an unfortunate body that many crew members delight in kicking.

“This is our generic, all-purpose cyborg-dummy,”French announces, pointing to the abused double. “We took him apart yesterday, and pulled his arm off and had sparking as it came out of the joint. We divide him in half for an operating table scene. He also does some falling. This is body part city. We have an action scene where a cyborg knocks another’s head off, a combination dummy-puppet. We even have industrial strength cyborg blood squirting all over. It looks like anti-freeze.”

Nearby, two of the actor-cyborgs sit patiently while their bizarre crew cut hairstyles are neatly trimmed by the set’s conventional makeup artist Laurie Aiello. With their threatening height and muscular builds, these guys seem perfect for the cloneesque cyborgs, but their haircuts make them look like demented sailor boys. “We knew what we were getting into when we were offered the roles,” jokes Beta Cyborg Mark Legan, one of this production’s chiefly unknown cast. Alpha Cyborg Warren Ulaner doesn’t mind his appearance. “I was in the East Village the other night and my haircut was, more or less, conservative.” Adds French, “The makeups and designs are very stylized and give them a punk-heavy metal look.”

“I was looking forward to playing this kind of role,” says Legan, “because these guys are as villainous as you can get. Warren does a number of nasty things to people and gets a lamp stuck in his eye. Yesterday, I got to tear somebody’s arm off. That’s more fun than saving the girl. For me, the film’s highlight will be when I attack a couple in an alley, tear the girl’s head off and roll it down the street.”

For a production that is supposed to wrap in only 10 days, things are going very slowly on this Wednesday morning. Most of the crew point to the reason: they’re recovering from late night shooting of some extra action stuff to impress Charles Band. Band flew in earlier this morning to get an advance peek at the dailies and, according to French, liked what he saw. Today’s first shot involves a short dialogue scene with the intense Z (Bill Peterson) holding a fellow scientist (Marc Umile) at laser point. Kincaid is an atypical, laidback director who stresses the “please” when he calls, “Quiet, please” as things finally get moving.

“Maybe the pace will pick up suddenly, and it will be rat-a-tat-tat, scene after scene,” predicts the hopeful Ron (New York Ninja) Reynaldi. He plays Johnny Felix, a martial arts master and electronics expert to Riker. He also doubles as Matt Riker: Mutant Hunt’s comic relief and stunt coordinator.

Following the short dialogue scenes, Kincaid readies the next few shots in which the heroine (Mary Fahey, sister of Jeff Fahey), is chased down a dark tunnel. The crew pauses for the sun to hide behind some clouds (day for night). Despite the brief delay, the director remains confident that Matt Riker: Mutant Hunt will come in on schedule.

“I plan my films like any other feature,” he notes during a lunch break. “It’s like a jigsaw puzzle. What you have to realize is that a Magnum P.I. even though it’s 52 minutes long and they have a bigger crew and bigger budget-goes out in seven days. Everything is carefully planned out in advance and really set up so that we know where we are going. We know how long it’s going to take to shoot each thing and how much time to allow for it. That’s why we’re shooting so radically out of sequence.”

After Matt Riker: Mutant Hunt wrapped principal photography a week later-inserts will be shot soon and Band’s California-based technicians are doing the post-production opticals. Kincaid and company immediately began Breeders, a tale of lustful aliens invading Fun City with sex, sex, sex on their otherworldly minds. Some new crew members have joined this film, along with another batch of unknown performers, including makeup man Ed French. Breeders is shooting in the same underground tunnels.

“I think Breeders is going faster, but I don’t know why,” observes French, while preparing a shot with a grotesque half-alien/half-human baby. “Maybe it’s the script. Breeders is more elementary and straightforward. The style, which is very ’50s sci-fi monsters on the loose, almost dictates what you should do. On Matt Riker: Mutant Hunt, the script kept getting rewritten and getting bigger and more complicated. It’s an action movie with a lot of special effects. We knew Matt Riker would go over schedule a bit since it’s so ambitious.”

French steps aside to talk with his assistant, James Chai, who is lying on the dusty concrete floor for his part in bringing the monstrous puppet to life. The baby alien is appropriately disgusting, with an immense, gaping mouth running vertically down its face. A big, bulging bug eye blinks blindly. French applies some gooey methyl cellulose to its row of razor sharp teeth. Meanwhile, gun toting actor Lance Lewman and stake-wielding Teresa Farley wait for French to call action so that they can battle the crippled beastie. As on Matt Riker, Kincaid lets French direct his own special FX sequences.

Acting is another experience French is enjoying on Breeders. The occasional actor plays a doctor possessed by the aliens. Eventually, he even turns into one. “It’s really kind of exciting,” French laughs. “There was an eerie moment yesterday. I’m supposed to be hiding this little creature and then let him loose on these people. I was in the shot, so I just couldn’t step out of the scene and check out the creature. I had to stay in character and let my assistant take care of it.”

In a connecting tunnel next door, a couple of production assistants place the finishing touches on the aliens’ “nest,” a squat six-foot-square box made of foam, goo, plastic and some broken glass. The “Gigeresque” nest is where the captive women are taken. Attractive actress Francis Raines, last featured as the first victim of The Mutilator, does not mind wallowing naked in the nest for her upcoming scene as alien breeding stock.

“This stuff is like food preservative,” explains Raines referring to the buckets of methyl cellulose ooze. “It’s not like they hired 40 Ukrainian elephants to spit in there. I go through the pit and transform to become another Breeder. I can’t wait! At least, I keep away from the dirt.

“My biggest scene is where it does its transformation and chases me around this photography studio while I’m modeling swimsuits. He gets me, attacks me, and uses me. The biggest effect occurs when this stomach cord shoots out and grabs me. Its tentacles drag me away.’

French insists that Breeders is not as lewd as it sounds, while Kincaid obviously believes that sex and violence sell flicks. “I’ve always liked the lurid exploitation movies of the ’50s when I was growing up,” Kincaid remarks. “I think the time is right for them to come back, since we’re coming to the end of the wholesome-family-type science fiction that appeals to a wide range audience. Now, we have a big video market for these low-budget pictures. There hasn’t been an audience for these movies in the last 10 to 15 years… until now.”

In addition to “tactfully” filming the alien rapes, Kincaid and French wanted an abstract look for the invaders. French based his designs on a book of insect microphotography. Most of the black-painted Breeders suit lies in sections around his ad-libbed workshop. A separate Breeders insert head is used for close-ups, and includes waving antennae. An alien hand snaps out a line like a frog’s tongue as well.

“The most challenging bit about the whole thing, and what I’m learning the most about, is integrating the monster suits into the film so that it doesn’t look like a monster suit,” explains French during a 4 p.m. lunch break. “I hate monster suits. Everytime you see this thing, we show a little more of it, like in The Elephant Man. First, you see its hand, then its shadow, a partial transformation, etc. It’s all judiciously shot and generally nightmarish. You’re not going to see a guy running around in a rubber suit.”

Monster suits or not, everyone at Entertainment Concepts is banking that Breeders and Matt Riker: Mutant Hunt serve as the first of a succession of independent New York productions all to be released by Empire… if all goes right.

“Empire has approached us about working with them as an East Coast off-shoot of their production suppliers,” Tim Kincaid reveals. “Their films are shot all over the world, Spain, Rome, California, but they don’t have a group of people to supply them from the East Coast. They like the feel and scenic look of what they’ve seen. We’re hoping it’s the beginning of a series.”

Waldo Warren Private Dick Without Brain (1988) (The Occultist, MAXIMUM THRUST) A cyborg private eye is hired to protect a Caribbean president visiting New York City. Unknown to him, the president’s daughter is in league with his country’s rebels who are trying to assassinate him.

The History of Empire Films Part Four Empire Pictures/Tycin Films (1986-1987) “At the time everyone was talking high concept so I said let's do RAPISTS FROM OUTERSPACE." Charles Band bought the film released as Breeders as well as Mutant Hunt, which Kincaid shot back-to-back.

[rapuvdayear]

2000: “Ghetto Qu’ran (Forgive Me)” 50 Cent (Trackmaster Ent./Columbia)

It’s been over a year since I teased the idea of doing a post about my favorite 50 Cent tracks, so I guess now is as good a time as ever to get around to it! 

With the exception of maybe Kanye, I can’t think of another rapper with more raw talent whose career has been more disappointing. Obviously both Ye and Fiddy have been monstrously successful, but IMO they either burned brightly before descending into white supremacy apologia (Kanye) or never achieved their best possible trajectory (50). It’s not an accident to put them together in this way, either; just 12 years ago next month they faced off in what turned out to be a very underwhelming battle over whose album would sell better (this was back when album sales, not streaming numbers, still meant something). In many ways, it was a crossroads for each artist: Kanye dropped what I believe was his magnum opus, then followed it up with his fourth-best album, third-best album, and second-best album, before dropping off a cliff, while 50′s release basically removed him from the conversation about who was relevant in rap (“My Gun Go Off” and “I Get Money” are honorable mentions for the list below, but otherwise Curtis is entirely forgettable). 

These days, 50 has gone the Ice Cube route and is probably more recognizable as an actor than as a rapper. So, it’s hard to remember that once upon a time he was the savior of gangsta rap and (co-)author of one of the 25 greatest albums of all time. He beat the odds to survive a shooting, link up with the two heaviest hitters (at the time) in the rap game, and even be included on some GOAT lists. He also essentially established the “flood the streets with mixtapes before your album drops” strategy of self-promotion that Gucci, Weezy, and even Drake would follow in the days before Soundcloud was the go-to resource for building a rep. He singlehandedly destroyed a rival’s career, launched a clothing line, video game, and music label, and made a halfway-decent biopic. And then... he just sort of petered out. 

But! 50 is also responsible for some of my all-time favorite raps, which is why it’s so frustrating to me that he never lived up to the buzz surrounding him back in 2003. These are my five favorites, listed chronologically, with some commentary:

1) “Ghetto Qu’ran (Forgive Me)” (2000) Before the G-Unit days and before Eminem and Dre helped launch him to superstardom, Curtis Jackson was an up and coming rapper from Queens who had attracted the attention of another rap legend, Run-DMC’s Jam Master Jay. A mutual friend introduced 19 year-old 50 to Jay back in 1996, and the veteran producer/DJ gave him a crash course in how to write songs and signed him to his fledgling label. The business relationship didn’t work out, but it helped lead 50 to Columbia Records’ Trackmasters imprint where he recorded Power of the Dollar in 1999. However, this debut album would never see the light of day after 50 was shot nine times while sitting in a friend’s car and subsequently dropped by Columbia. In the wake of the shooting--and then later, after 50 blew the fuck up in 2003--it became a sort of “lost cult classic” among rap fans. “How To Rob” got the most attention at the time, a funny-yet-vicious song demonstrating 50′s hunger through fantasies about sticking up famous rappers and R&B stars (the song was also clearly an homage to Biggie’s unreleased “Dreams,” and provoked an oblique diss from Ghostface). But “Ghetto Qu’ran” has had a more lasting impact, primarily because of how it was rumored to be the source of 50′s shooting, Jam Master Jay’s murder, and the Ja Rule/Murder Inc. beef. While all of that intrigue is important to rap lore, it distracts from the fact that it’s a near perfect rap song from a technical perspective: a catchy hook, a fantastic beat and sample, an effortless flow, and a well-crafted story that is equal parts celebration of the Queens underworld and subtle shots at street legends. Seriously, this is akin to what traveling bards used to do in medieval Europe, what poets in Ancient Greece wrote, what west African griots did/do, and what narcocorrido artists do now. If you want to learn about the Supreme Team, Pappy Mason, the Corley Family, and the Rich Porter/Alpo crew in Harlem, then this is a good place to start; as 50 puts it, “consider this the first chapter of the ghetto’s Qu’ran.” The secondary title to this track--“Forgive Me”--has a double meaning now. It was initially a plea to forgive 50 for the pain he caused in his criminal life but in retrospect an appeal to the figures whose names he drops. Also, it’s interesting to listen to this first and then compare 50′s voice with the next four tracks: this was recorded before the shooting, which left a bullet fragment lodged in his tongue that affected his speech and gave him his now-distinctive flow.    

2) “Heat” (2003) There are several standouts on Get Rich or Die Tryin’ (“Many Men,” “Back Down,” “What Up Gangsta,” “Patiently Waiting,” and “Poor Lil’ Rich” spring to mind, and I will always love “21 Questions” for the “I love you like a fat kid loves cake” line alone) but this one has always been my fave. It’s a perfect distillation of the image that 50 was trying to project when he burst onto the scene: a hood-hardened gangster who wouldn’t hesitate to do his enemies harm. And given his recent history, you could believe him, too! There’s really nothing about this song that should be praised in any way, but I’ve been thinking about the gravity of the following line a lot in the past month or so: “The summertime is a killing season/ It’s hot out this bitch, that’s a good enough reason.” Also, 50′s boast “the DA can play this motherfucking tape in court” *has* to be one of the inspirations behind this great Key & Peele sketch, right? 

3) “A Baltimore Love Thing” (2005) The Massacre was incredibly disappointing on the whole. I can remember clearly sitting around with my friends in a dorm room at the Shoreland listening to it all the way through the day that it dropped, wanting to love it but slowly realizing that it wasn’t going to live up to our expectations. “Ski Mask Way” could be an honorable mention on this list, and “Piggy Bank” is kind of funny, but otherwise it’s a steaming pile of shit. “Baltimore Love Thing,” though, is a masterpiece. It’s incredibly dark, rapped from the perspective of heroin itself (sort of like what Nas’s “I Gave You Power” does for guns) in order to detail the destruction that addiction--and, by extension, drug trafficking--leaves in its wake. Even more fucked up, 50-as-heroin voices an abusive partner addressing a woman, threatening her should she ever try to leave him. For my money, “You broke my heart, you dirty bitch, I won’t forget what you did/ If you give birth, I’ll already be in love with your kids” is one of the coldest lines in the annals of rap, full stop. In the second verse, he switches to the flip side of an abuser’s mindset: “I never steer you wrong, if you hyper I make you calm/ I’ll be your incentive, your reason for you to move forward.” All in all, it’s a great concept song that shows off 50′s range as a rapper... and is a testament to what he could have been.

4) “Hustler’s Ambition” (2005) Goddamn, I fucking love everything about this song! The beat is fantastic (great sample, btw), prefiguring the sound on a future great mixtape from the G-Unit crew. 50′s flow here is flawless, arguably the best, smoothest he’s ever been. This was basically the “theme” for 2005′s Get Rich or Die Tryin’ film, and tells the story of his come up in the drug game (or, at least, 50′s version of his carefully constructed hagiography). The lyrics are the true gems here, so I’ll just let a few of the standouts speak for themselves:

“Check my logic: fiends don’t like seeds in they weed, shit/ Send me them seeds, I’ll grow ‘em what they need”

“I sell anything, I’m a hustler, I know how to grind/ Step on grapes, put it in water, and tell you it’s wine”

“I made plans to make it, a prisoner of the state/ Now I can invite your ass out to my estate”

“Pour Cristal in the blender, make a protein shake”

and finally

“The feds watch me, icy, they can’t stop me/ Racists pointing at me, ‘Look at *****race’: Hello!”   

5) “Ghetto Like A Motherfucker” (2011) I remember first encountering this track on a Tumblr compilation (I think?) called Don’t Fuck This Up, Curtis! and allowing myself to get excited that the old 50 was back! As the compilation’s name implies, around that time 50 had been releasing a string of online-only singles that were better than anything he’d put out in five or so years, and so there was some hope that he’d soon be making a triumphant return to the rap game. Sadly, this was not to be. But I still bang this track every month or so. The idea here was that 50 had written something, set it to a very sparse, stripped-down beat, and posted it online as an invitation for DIY rap producers to play with it and layer their own compositions on top of it. In that sense, it represented a melange of rap’s earliest roots--dudes spitting over vinyl cuts in basements and parks, just fucking around and having fun--and the possibilities afforded by the digital age and rap’s embrace of online platforms for mixing and remixing material (on a side note, I like to think of this as part of 21st century rap’s “punk rock” aesthetic, and would argue that this genre has done it better than any other). As with “Hustler’s Ambition,” “Baltimore Love Thing,” and “Ghetto Qu’ran,” this track gives 50 a chance to really showcase his talents as a writer and a rapper. The lyrics are as grimy as the beat, painting a picture of urban poverty and pre-fame 50, and 50 switches up his flow at multiple points throughout. Here are some of my favorite lines:

“Slim chance I’ma go back to killing roaches/ Be quiet, you can hear the rats in the wall/ Make you wanna pump crack ‘til you stack racks”

“Dice game, shake ‘em up, praying’ for a 6/ The wolves out there hungry, they lookin’ for a lick”

“****** pissed on the staircase, in the elevator/ Now I’m pissed cuz I’m starting to smell like piss, player”

and

“All a ***** need is a block and a connect/ And a box of 9 MMs to load in the TEC.”

50′s last two studio albums--Before I Self Destruct and Animal Ambition--honestly weren’t half-bad; I would venture so far as to say that they were both better than The Massacre and Curtis. But for 50 it was too little, too late, really. Too many rappers had come along since then doing what he did, only better and fresher. This is a Migos world now; we’re just living in it. And so, I’m left to ponder what could have been. 

[floral-and-fine]

Worth the Wait

Sirius Black x female reader

A/n: so funny enough I have a shit ton of wips that I've started weeks (months) ago, but this I started writing last night and finished this morning.

Summary: After escaping Azkaban, Sirius recalls an old promise to a close friend.

Warnings: SMUT!!! Some Fluff and some angst!

Sirius was dead tired. He was tired of running, tired of hiding, tired of being a fugitive.

Right now, he was trying to find a place to take refuge. Not only was the wizarding world hunting him down, but muggles too were keeping an eye out for him.

Every headline read the same ’Dangerous Sirius Black’, ‘Notorious Sirius Black’... He doubted there was a person left who would believe him, believe the truth.

At that moment, Sirius thought of you. He tried not to in Azkaban, those happy thoughts would have only drawn the dementors straight to him. In fact, his memories of you were his happiest ones.

He could picture your smiling face so clearly, the sun shining on you, your hair shimmering. He should've told you back then how he felt.

Why was he so damn scared to tell you? You were one of his closest friends, but he wanted you to be so much more.

Now after spending 12 years Azkaban, there wasn't much he could lose now except for maybe his sanity.

He had plenty of chances to tell you before. James and Remus were constantly on his case about it. God, even Lily got involved eventually. But, in fact, he had tried! Yet, it resulted in a ridiculous promise instead.

If there was one thing Sirius knew for sure, he was over 30 and single. ...

“Heard you broke up with that Prefect, babe,” Sirius snickered joining you on the bench.

You shrugged closing your book and setting it aside, “He got boring.”

Sirius laughed, “Got boring?... He's a Prefect, that's guaranteed boredom! Bad choice if you were looking for excitement.”

“Heard you dumped that girl from potions,” you pointed out.

“How'd you hear about that, already?” he narrowed his eyes. “It just happened this morning at breakfast.”

“Oh I know, she was crying and bitching about you in the girl's lavatory to all her friends,” you added in a playful tone.

Sirius rolled his eyes, “It wasn't like we were anything serious.”

“Got your eyes set on someone else, hm?”

“Not necessarily, but-”

“She wanted a commitment, something more meaningful than getting to second base in the common room?”

Sirius smiled, “Something like that.”

“In fact, Padfoot darling,” you mused. “I believe I'm the only girl left in Hogwarts whose heart you haven't broken.”

“Asking me out, sweetheart?” Sirius leaned closer to you.

Honestly, the thought of dating Sirius scared you, because you did love him. You were head over heels in love with him, but all that meant was that he had the power to completely crush you.

You scoffed, “Please, Sirius, if you ever broke my heart, I would have to hex you so bad no girl or boy would look at you the same way!”

“Who says I would break your heart!?” Sirius shot up from his seat. “You are just as notorious as I am. If anything you'd break mine.”

“Alright, then, we agree,” You swallowed thickly.

“Agree to what?” he asked lifting his eyebrow.

“Agree not to date, ever.”

“Ever?” he repeated slack-jawed.

You nodded.

“But-” Sirius's eyes darted back and forth. “That seems pretty extreme.”

“So what? You want to risk our friendship for just a few chances to snog?” you groaned.

“It just seems like a waste to not even try, y/n,” Sirius argued. “What if you're the one for me?”

You sighed loudly, trying to play it cool, but he was not letting up and you were running out of excuses. It was tempting to say yes, but both of you were notorious players. It seemed so unlikely that it would work out.

“How about a promise?” you finally proposed.

“A promise?”

“Yep,” you nodded looking him straight in the eye. “Let's say, if both of us are still single at 30 we get married?”

“Married!” Sirius shouted clearly startled. “That's quite different from dating.”

“I just mean, like a pact,” you quickly explained. “Just think of all the hearts we'll break between now to then?... Maybe you are the one for me, Sirius.”

Sirius smirked, “So what you're saying is that once we've exhausted all other options that we might as well just be with each other?”

“I suppose that's the gist of it.”

“You're lucky you're worth the wait,” Sirius winked. . . . “So how'd it go, Padfoot?” James asked slinging an arm around Sirius's shoulders, as he hopped into the seat next to him.

The Great Hall was bustling as students made their way in and out for lunch.

“It went…” Sirius drawled.

“It went?” Remus questioned sitting across from Sirius and pouring himself a cup of pumpkin juice.

“Don't tell us you didn't tell her!” James whined. “Who knows the next time she'll be available?”

“Listen,” Sirius started to explain. “I tried! I did! But it led elsewhere…”

“Elsewhere? How could “Y/n I love you!” go elsewhere?” James argued, taking a bite out of a roll.

“I didn't tell her that!” Sirius huffed. “I tested the waters… and well, in 14 or so years we'll be married.”

“What?” they said simultaneously.

The look on James and Remus's faces when he told them about the pact was priceless.

“Well, that definitely is elsewhere,”  Remus chuckled.

Sirius groaned, burying his head in his hands, “Why couldn't I just tell her?”

“Honestly, it's not that hard, mate. Watch,” James instructed. He stood up and spotted Lily at the opposite end of the long table.

“Hey, Evans!” he shouted drawing her attention to him. “I love you!”

She rolled her eyes and tried to ignore him.

James, as usual, was persistent, as quick as he could he headed over to where Lily was sitting.

Remus shook his head and sighed, “Perhaps, that's what you're so afraid of.”

….

Sirius took a deep breath. This was a longshot. He was aware of that. But he had no one he could turn to. And this, this was the one thing he wanted to do before hunting that rat bastard down.

He couldn't believe his eyes as he peered into the window. There you were, somehow even more beautiful than he remembered.

You were busy cooking dinner. He watched a while longer just to make sure that you were alone.

This could be his last chance after all. Throwing caution to the wind, Sirius transformed from being a dog back to a man.

He tried your doorknob and to his surprise, it was unlocked. Quietly, he walked into your home.

“Y/n?”

Immediately, the bowl you were holding slipped from your grasp and shattered on the floor. You couldn't believe your eyes.

“Please don't scream, y/n, please,” Sirius begged.

You clutched your chest, tears threatening to fall. He looked so different, so thin.

“Sirius?” Carefully, you tiptoed towards him. Your fingertips brushed against his cheek, his face was pale and gaunt.

He seemed slightly startled by the physical contact but relaxed noting how long it had it been since he's felt this kind of gentleness.

He smiled, but you could tell underneath that he wanted to cry with you.

“Y/n, I…” Sirius didn't know where to start. Should he try to convince you of his innocence? Explain why he escaped? Tell you how he feels?

His eyes searched yours, but he couldn't get himself to speak. This was wrong, he shouldn't be getting you involved.

“So whose heart have you broken, now?” you teased, wiping away a few stray tears.

“What?” Sirius blinked in surprise.

“Sirius Black showing up out of nowhere…” you explained placing a hand on your hip. “You're a few years late.”

“Sorry about that, love,” he murmured, catching on to your game. A clever way for you to let him know that you're still single, that you still remembered.

“Does a summer wedding sound good to you?” you joked.

“Best time of the year for a wedding, in my opinion,” he played along.

God how he missed this, the banter, the flirting… just being able to be himself with you. You understood him in a way, very few people did.

“I think a small guest list would be best, practical you know?” you continued. You waved your wand and pieces of shattered glass reassembled themselves.

“Really? I always figured you'd want to invite everyone, really rub it in their faces that you're officially off the market.”

“That sounds more like you, dear,” you smirked.

Sirius froze for a moment, spotting his reflection in a mirror. He barely recognized himself. He was an absolute mess covered in God knows what. He probably didn't smell too great either.

He gulped, feeling his confidence slip away, “I'm quite a sight.”

“You just need to wash up!” You showed Sirius to your bathroom, “Help yourself to anything.”

“Anything?” Sirius purred.

“Sirius,” you stated in a stern voice, but you smiled. “Let's save the flirting until after your shower.”

He laughed, already starting to strip before even closing the bathroom door.

The warm water felt so pleasant as Sirius stepped into the shower.

He couldn't believe how it felt to be with you again. For the first time in a decade, Sirius felt human, not just an empty shell. He could feel all the muscles in his body relax, as he started to get comfortable.

He was so worried, that everything would feel awkward and different, that maybe you wouldn't even give him a chance. But you did, you welcomed him with open arms.

He took his time scrubbing every inch of himself. It only makes sense, when someone spends most of their time as a dog, the dirt and grime really start to build up.

Finally, feeling clean Sirius stepped out of the shower. His face looked a little bit better already.

“Y/n sweetheart, that smells fantastic,” Sirius complimented walking into the kitchen.

You laughed, “It's just soup-”

You almost choked seeing Sirius. He was practically naked, just a towel loosely hanging around his hips.

“Are you hungry, too?” he wiggled his brow. “Cause you're drooling.”

“Well, I'm sure if I were topless, you'd also be drooling too.”

“Actually, just the thought alone is pretty tempting.”

You shook your head, “Did you come here for refuge and to reconnect or just to get laid?”

“Can't it be both?” he shrugged.

“Sirius,” you sighed. You had so many questions. Why was he here? What exactly happened that night? What was he planning on doing now?

“I know, y/n,” he muttered, he knew what you were thinking and you had every right to be wary, but he wasn't ready to bring all that up. Not when he was just starting to remember what happy felt like.

“There are so many things for us to discuss but…” he pleaded. “But for right now, for tonight, let me have this.”

You cupped both sides of his face and looked into those gray eyes you loved so much.

“Alright, we'll pretend everything is fine,” you murmured.

You tilted your head and pressed your lips to his. At first, Sirius didn't react, until he recovered from the shock of what was happening.

Cautiously, he held your waist and pulled you closer to him. The kiss began to heat up as your lips parted and his tongue slipped into your mouth.

You moaned at the sensation of his tongue rolling against yours.

Sirius smirked against your lips. He then breaks the kiss and latches onto your neck. His kisses are desperate and hungry. His tongue explores your tender skin and his teeth nibble on the nape of your neck.

You threw your head back, giving him better access to explore your other sweet spots, “More.”

“I'm happy to oblige,” Sirius helped you out of your shirt and bra, dropping both onto the floor.

You shuffled out of your shorts and kicked them aside. You touched across his chest and over his shoulders. Studying the symbols tattooed on his pale skin. You ran your fingers through his damp hair. This time you peppered him with kisses all over his collarbone.

You kissed along his jawline feeling his stubble and beard tickling your cheek. Your breasts pushed against his chest.

The skin to skin contact felt amazing.

Feeling your hands and body pressed against his skin healed him in a way nothing else ever could. All those years spent numb and alone immediately erased by your warm and loving touch.

“Don't stop touching me,” he mewled. “I don't think I've needed anything more.”

All he wanted was to be with you like this forever. To remain forever in your warmth, to not ever have to feel that coldness again.

You noticed the towel he was wearing was starting to pitch a tent. Carefully you palmed his erection and watched as Sirius closed his eyes and bit his lip.

You could feel how long and thick his cock was through the fabric. It didn't take much for you to undo it, letting the towel fall to his feet.

His moans were music to your ears as you stroked the shaft of his cock. He grabbed your hand, tugging it away from his dick.

“Sorry,” he chuckled lightly. “But I won't last long if you continue.”

Sirius guided you onto your back on the floor. He positioned himself between your legs, rubbing the tip of cock between your folds. He used your wetness to lubricate his shaft.

Typically, he would've done so much more before fucking like rubbing your clit, edging you to the near brink of an orgasm, fingering your tight cunt. But he couldn't hold out much longer, his self-control wearing thin.

He grunted and huffed as he pressed his cock inside of you. Your slick walls squeezed deliciously around his shaft.

“Sirius,” you gasped as his cock stretched your little hole.

He paused for a minute, allowing you time to adjust and giving himself a moment to admire your lovely face as it contorts.

He began to rock in and out of you. His cock reaching deeper and deeper into your cunt. Your back arched as he hit your g-spot.

You reached out, feeling his shoulder blades move and his muscles tighten.

You head started to spin as you became overwhelmed by pleasure. The only sounds you could hear were Sirius's panting and the wet slapping sounds of your flesh and his making contact.

You can feel your climax building. Soon your toes curl and you tremble as your body drifts into a euphoric state.

Sirius's nails dug into your thighs as he shudders against you. Your own orgasm causing him to cum. He grunts and growls loudly as he fills your pussy with his sperm.

His cock stayed buried in your cunt as he collapsed on top of you. That was probably the most intimate and emotional sex you've ever had.

The kitchen floor felt so cold against your hot skin. Needily, Sirius's arms were wrapped tightly around your waist and his head nestled between your breasts.

“I love you, y/n. I wish I had told you sooner.”

You felt his tears run down onto your chest.

“I love you too,” you cooed playing with his hair.

“I want to stay but I can't…you deserve-”

“Shut it,” you reprimanded him. “I don't want to hear that. You're mine now, Sirius.”

“Y/n, I have to clear my name, I have to avenge James and Lily…” he explained, he nuzzled against you, needing more of your warmth. “I need to explain it all to my godson… to Harry.”

“Of course,” you swallowed, trying to hold back tears.

“We agreed on a summer wedding, right?” he mused quietly.

You nodded.

“I'll have this all sorted out by then, I promise,” he assured. Sirius raised his head, his hand gently caressing the side of your face. “Think you can wait a little longer for me?”

“You're worth the wait,” you whispered, placing your hand on top of his.

taglist: @princess-sweatpants @xfeathered-serpent @edendescending @letskillthefuhrer

[olivia-crains]

Sharp Objects

Episodes: Vanish, Dirt, Fix, Ripe

Content below may be triggering for some, please read with discretion.

Examining tiny hairs became my daily hobby. I would always attempt to remove the tiny white bulb from each eyebrow or eyelash I pulled.

I had two groups of friends in middle school, one set who did nothing but make fun of me and really appealed to my critic voice, and the other group who were kind and loving and adored me. I am sure you can guess which group I hung out with more often. Christ, you’d think I would have learned by now. These girls would write notes to me in class threatening to kill my cat, they would go into gruesome detail about how they would do it and where they would bury him. My boy was only about a year old and he was my world, this ‘friend’ befriended me because I was the new kid at this school and had a photo of my cat in the front pocket of my binder. She used the very thing I loved so much to hurt me. This would grow to be a frequent occurrence with all the toxic individuals who have entered my life. The picking began that year, while taking our end of grade tests, the note passing session fell around the same time as well. I hate seeming like I was an easy target and like a pitiful little baby, I had no problem sticking up for myself and becoming defensive, but it is as if they and everyone else knew I would take their insults and words to heart and lash out at myself in the process, it is as if no one took me seriously. My vulnerability has always been used against me though it is my favorite attribute that I embody. So, following the threatening cat letter, I told my Mom and she in turn told my teacher, though I told her not to. The girls were obviously scolded and were told to apologize to me and they did and I forgave them and all was dandy! Me teacher took a liking to me after that happened, she stopped me in the hallway and said to me one afternoon “You know that saying, sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me? Well, words are worse.” I have never forgotten that, and thinking back on that now, I would much rather someone shatter my skull than harm my heart with words; the most powerful weapon of all.

My palm is still pulsating from my grip on my favorite pair of scissors. I used to use them to cut out photos of the cast of LOST and carefully pin them on my wall, they are children’s scissors, a rather hideous blue color, I once was detained at the Colorado airport for having them in my backpack. These scissors have traveled with me for well over a decade now, always handy, for whatever need may arise.

Is there anything more vulnerable and heartbreaking than hearing an adult refer to their Mom as ‘Mama’? It is the southern staple, it is what I call my own Mama, a spark of my inner child latching on to this tiny, yet, oh so powerful word.

Everything is a sharp object, a person who self harms spends time scanning rooms. When you vow to not keep the ‘normal’ tools in your home, you sometimes have to get creative when you are desperate. Using the end of a tube of lotion, safety pins, knives, caps from various household items (toothpaste, prescription bottles, etc), the blades of your blender screaming your name, end of a lightbulb, end of an iPhone charger, etc. Anything can work as long as you press hard enough. The thoughts and perceptions are the ammunition; the cutting itself is the therapy.

I chipped my front tooth on a glass bottle a few months ago, it is sharp and jagged, but barely noticeable. As an anxious habit, I tend to rub my thumb nail against the sharp part of the tooth and drag my thumb up and down repeatedly throughout the day, my cuticles are worn and bruised, my nail has white lines, jagged and uneven all over. I wish I picked up skills as quickly as I pick up gross habits. I always must be doing something, whether it is biting my nails, digging my car key into my stomach while socializing, cutting words like ‘fat’ and ‘never’ on the inside of my thighs, purging until my throat is stinging and raw, picking and picking, punishing me for being me.

I am always particularly drawn to destructive characters, not their behaviors or habits, but their strength. It takes a brave person to keep living when everything inside of them is frothing with hate. The damage is outside of ourselves, though we take it out on ourselves, no matter the issue, no matter the severity, we take it out on ourselves. Amy Adams perfectly conveys what it is like to have destructive thoughts and painful memories rumbling inside of your skull at all times, instead of taking it out on other people, which tends to be the more common practice, she takes it out on herself. Why is it that I can care for such characters so deeply but cannot care about myself? I think it is because my issues are weak comparatively, that is what the message on the jumbotron flashing across my insides reads.

I recently turned in my apartment key to my former leasing agent, my first thought when I left the building was about that key; a sense of mourning trailing behind me. It is dull and smells of nickel, but I have always preferred it due to its specific ridges. I trace my finger across the grooves, it is ritualistic in nature, that’s always how it begins, I feel the object, allow guilt over past issues/what people think of me take hold of me, and carve. It is an instant euphoria, it’s hard to describe it, it feels like my guilt or my self-loathing is silenced for the night. My thoughts quiet, bleeding through, I always promise this will be the last time, only issue is my guilt and self-loathing are like rabbits; rapidly procreating.

Camille hides her indulgences like a child, her stunted adolescence is showcased through the candy bars and tiny alcohol bottles she continues to sneak into her Mother’s home. Addicts and individuals who partake in harmful activities tend to minimize everything and/or make excuses for themselves. Camille buys small bottles of vodka instead of a full handle. Camille softens experiences, her rape, cutting, alcoholism, she is never the victim, ever, she thinks she deserves all of this. Placing the sewing needles against the pad of a finger, no blood, no incision, just a press. It isn’t real if the dose of the destruction is untraceable.

Camille is so real, so dark, familiar. Unlovable. The only way to stop ones destructive habit(s) is to graduate to a new one. For Camille, that is alcohol. There is almost a self destructive meter that each person has. For me, alcoholism and sex addiction are the 10s, I made a promise to myself years ago that I will never get there, ever. I tend to teeter on the line at a 5/6. 1-Pulling (trichotillomania) 2- weak cuts, no depth 3-anorexia 4-heavier cutting 5-bulimia 6-bulimia and cutting. I know this makes no sense and seems appalling, but these are examples of my own personal excuses. “Well, ill never make it to a ten, well I never use razors, well ill never be a sex addict because no one will have sex with me, etc.” I am trying my hardest to level down, the only issue is there is so much darkness I have yet to punish myself for, so many memories living at the forefront, things I will never forget. Our ability to remember everything is our everlasting curse, no prince will ever break it, in a way, our worst memories are what keep our destruction alive. A buffet for the critic living inside of us.

Adora’s words slither. Whispers coated with poison, suffocating all those around her, yet her love and approval feel like antidotes. Camille will never fully heal.

Amma wraps her lollipop around Camille’s waves in her hair, the ultimate childish act. Teens are just so freaking scary, that scene is just deeply troubling and it is tough to see a grown woman sucked into a gaslighting reality. Its all about power dynamics in that toxic town. Camille seems fearful, her tone shifts to defensive, but it never works, not even on her sister who is more than a decade younger than her, people can just sense that she is an adult child. The empath. The watcher. The ultimate reactor.

Camille is timid, but she asserts such dominance when her secret is threatened to be exposed.

There is an acid stain on my porcelain tub, it sits two inches from the drain and features a light orange tint, I remember that specific night that stain was born. Its the spot I always aim for when purging; a home, a landing strip for my innards, you’re not alone here; no one is alone here. I shave sitting down in the shower because I am a weak individual who just prefers to sit or lay at all times, I notice the stain, I stick only one finger in my throat to gag, but stop myself from taking it further than that, it isn’t good, but I have to do something. Usually I will stare in the general direction of the stain and blindly shave while staring at it, my eyes shift to the drain and memories shoot out and I wish to turn the small top off of the drain and cut myself again, I ignore that and continue to shave, if only I had shorter legs.

I bet you’re sensitive, writers are sensitive. You can make people understand.

Camille is a person of senses, she is so easily triggered by her environment. She feeds off of energies; clocking everyone.

There is a moment in Vanish where Camille is driving in Wind Gap, she sees one of the town’s many murals and says quietly, but with a shake of comfort, “Hi Betty.” She later greets the mural outside of the tire store and says with a sarcastic (she finds the funny and its one of so many things I so deeply love about her, her wit is incredibly strong) tone, “What do ya know, Joe?” I have this ritual to ease my anxiety that I have been doing since I was a teenager, whenever I am feeling overwhelmed or like I wish to purge or cut, I say hello to every object in the room I am in. Hello sink, hello rug, hello shampoo, hello conditioner. I have never really given much thought to this little coping mechanism of mine, but Camille saying hello to these little pieces of her town, it made me feel less like a freak.

The yellow innards of the lemons printed on my sheets stared back at me. A perfect set of sheets for the summer, lemons have always made me happy, I tend to give fruits and other inanimate objects personalities, and lemons are just so very kind and nurturing. Mother fruit. As a child, I would constantly take the lemons from my parent’s waters at restaurants and suck on them until my tongue was numb. The blood is traceable, not much, a familiar yet distant sight to behold. The warmth of the blood slowly dripping down my inner thigh landing on one of the many lemons printed on my sheets; silencing its kindness.

There is always a sting of pain hidden beneath the shadow of empathy in the eyes of the damaged. Weighted looks, like magnets, that draw you in.

In the words of the masterful Gillian Flynn,

Camille is a ballerina with a steel spine.