#light inspires a rage within me that is often dormant

[cruel-hiraeth]

if light yagami has no enemies then i’m dead!!!!!!!!

[ceruleanchillin]

Somersault (Kirishima x Reader)

Kirishima Eijiro x F!Reader

Part of my MHA AU established previously.

Synopsis: Glimpses into you and Kiri’s relationship.

Warnings: Implied drug use, Implied smut

A/N:  I don’t really do songfics, but I will tell you Somersault by Zero 7 inspired this chapter. Recommend listening to it, cuz it gives Kiri feels.

 Does anyone else think of Kiri when they talk to jock villagers on Animal Crossing?

|  Give Love To Me |

“I thought we talked about this hmm?” Kirishima gently dabbed at your nose, eyes trained to spot any more blood.

You focused on the taste of poison that congregated at the back of your throat, the pipes that hadn’t stopped protesting since Kirishima had forced them to draw water, and the cracked window letting in chilly night air around the towel stuffed in it. Anything other than your boyfriend’s disappointed sighs and poorly hidden worry.

“Sorry Eiji….I..” you weren’t used to apologizing, or being ashamed, but Kirishima could bring emotions out of you, you didn’t know existed.

“You just made a mistake.” he kissed your forehead, and cradled you to his chest. “That’s why you get tomorrow. So you can try again.”

You sunk lower into the luke-warm water, eyes roaming up to the water stained ceiling. At the time, doing a line had sounded like the only good idea you’d ever heard, and you’d indulged, going against the promise you’d made to your boyfriend. It got you through two sets and made the packed, dingy lounge so much prettier. So much glitter. So much laughter, and it was easier to give real smiles. Why had that seemed like enough in value to disappoint Kiri?

“Hey,” he gently tapped your collarbone. “You ok? You with me?”

“Yeah.” You said hoarsely. “I won’t do it again Eiji...I won’t.” You grasped the arm slung around your torso, dragging your thumbs across the skin as fast as the water and your come down would allow.

“I know you won’t. Not my best girl.” He kissed the back of your head for a long moment, and brought you closer to his chest, caging you in his arms.

And you wondered where he got that bottomless trust from. Why was he so good, and where had he learned to be? He lived in the same streets you did, how did you catch the eye of a saint? Your eyes burned with unshed tears. How could you ever hope to be the woman he deserved?

Kirishima shushed you, rocking you gently. “You wanna tell me who gave it to you?”

Somewhere in the fog of your thoughts, you knew no matter how gently Kiri was asking, it wasn’t simply out of curiosity. “Noooo Eiji.” you slurred. “Don’t worry about it.”

He laughed. “Ok, ok.”

He hid his burning questions behind one of his lopsided grins when you turned to look back at him, trying to see if he meant it. He pressed a purposely sloppy kiss to your forehead until you giggled and squirmed to turn back around. Only then did he let his grin drop.

| The Sticks and Stones |

You were achy, you were chilly, and your stomach kept threatening to make you vomit if you didn’t keep focused on not doing so. You were ready to consider it penance for breaking your promise to your boyfriend, but he’d said “no way!” and saddled you with your favorite warm drink. All-in-all, it wasn’t the best day to be a mover, even if that was the only price for four weeks free crashing.

“So you’re just going to sit there?” Robbie, a friend of Kirishima’s and fellow freelance bouncer, stood in front of you.

You gave him a look that said you thought he was worth less than the effort it took to do so, before pushing your shades up, and severing eye contact.

“Look Primadonna, you’re crashing with us. The least you could do is pitch in.”

You crossed your legs and continued to nurse your latte. Robbie didn’t know it, but the bigger fit he threw, the less likely you’d be to help. And you weren’t planning on it in the first place.

Robbie growled in frustration, and kicked the trunk you were sitting on.

“Hey,” Kirishima grabbed his shoulder and pulled him away, wearing his signature grin, though it was strained. “Lot of stuff still in the truck, let’s finish up.”

“That’s just what I was telling HRH over here.” Robbie jammed his thumb in your direction.

“Don’t worry about her.” Kirishima gave him another grin, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m doing the bulk of the work anyways. I’m working for both of us.”

Robbie threw his hands up in frustration and walked over to the moving truck. His girlfriend had been glaring at you, wanting you to wilt under her stare. You lowered your shades, made eye contact, and maintained it while you lit a cigarette.

“Hey, come on.” Kirishima kneeled in front of you. “We gotta be here for a while. Try to get along.”

You exhaled a white cloud into the cold air, aiming it at Robbie’s girlfriend who was in the process of whining about how “trash” you were.

“I like it when it’s just us Kiri.”

“I know.” he sighed, palms rubbing your chilled kneecaps attempting to bring them warmth. “But this is where we’re at for a while. Remember I told you Bakugo, Midoriya, and I are working on a place-”

“They hate me,” you cut him off, pushing your shades back up. “Especially their girlfriends.”

“They don’t hate you baby,” Kirishima nuzzled your cheek, using that tone he did when he thought you might be hurt. “They just don’t really know you that well.”

Kirishima gave you a grin, this one real, in an attempt to reassure you. He was beautiful, always using his energy to make sure you were secure. It made you feel selfish and ungrateful, and something ugly roared to life within you. It made you want to say something, someone’s name, you knew would hurt him.

“If you would’ve sold what I had left over we’d be better off, but you’re so fucking opposed and moral when it suits you. Pfft.” you took a long drag. “Take care of me my ass. I should’ve gone to Dabi or Hawks.”

Kirishima looked like a kicked puppy, and your entire being clenched in response. That ugly thing inside had gone dormant and left you in the grip of guilt and self-resentment.

You stubbed out your cigarette, and carelessly placed your latte aside. “Oh Kiri,” you gripped his cheeks. “I can be such a bitch...I didn’t mean any of it, I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say anything, and that twisted your insides more. Your desperation made you babble almost uncontrollably.

With shaky hands you shoved your shades onto your head, and pressed your lips to his. “I’m sorry. You’re doing great Kiri, you’re doing great for me. I need you to believe me..don’t listen to me when I’m..”

“I know that’s not really you (Y/N),” he kissed both of your knees, making you go quiet. “Not the real you. She’s still a work in progress, but she’s beautiful.”

You bit your lip hard to fight spouting another word stream. More apologies danced with words of self-criticism on your tongue, begging to be spoken. You wanted him to call you out. You wanted him to find something ugly in himself and take revenge. He would never though. That wasn’t your Kiri, and that revelation only made your hands ache to pull your shades back over your eyes.

“She’s a coffee addict, she takes her showers cold, and she always eats off my plate, even when hers is right there.”

A small smile surfaced at his words, but you could still feel anxiety and regret twisting your insides.

As always, Kiri was in tune with you, and took your hands. “But I love her, and I don’t let anyone call her a bitch. Not even herself.”

| The Unknown and Home |

Kirishima liked bouncing well enough. He’d always been able to take a punch, he was great in a fight, and he liked defending people. It didn’t pay the best in the world, and he saw ugly parts of the city he wished he hadn’t, but he liked it.

Then he met you, and he loved it. The nights where the two of you worked the same club or lounge were his favorite. He often got chewed out by his bosses for being distracted, but that was ok. Kirishima thought you had to be blind or deaf not to be when you took the stage.

Soft songs where you skillfully played your voice up to crack at certain parts, fast songs where Kirishima would have to continuously adjust himself because of your hip movements. He loved it all when it came to your singing.

His enthralled expression slowly changed to one of rage. You were skillfully dodging the hands of an admirer in the crowd, while continuing your song, and the roll of your hips. He wasn’t the only one to appreciate your musical talent and the person it came from. Some were more enthusiastic in their appreciation than others, and that’s when Kirishima took on a vastly different character.

You wore a shimmery gold slip dress like it was made for you, and not stolen from a store across town. Yes, he would admit, under the changing lights you looked ethereal. The problem was, like a porchlight, you were attracting pests, and he couldn’t have that.

The greasy hand that had been reaching for you hung at an awkward angle only seconds later. Kirishima only faintly heard the crunch and your distressed “Eiji!” as he assumed a fighting stance. He’d known creepy patrons to be able to fight through almost anything.

Somehow, the creep had friends, and they were loyal. He was in too deep by that point, and treated them all like they were their friend.

---

Two bouncers, three barflys, a bartender, and an angry interrupted singer swinging the mic stand made quite the mess. The kind of mess that gets the singer and her boyfriend fired without pay and banned from the establishment.

You huffed your exasperation as you accepted half of his adrenaline-drained weight on the walk home. You could feel how proud of himself Kirishima was, and it made you feel like starting another fight.

“That was so manly the way you decked that guy with the bottom of the mic stand babe.” he murmured.

You could hear Kiri falling in love with you all over again, and as endearing as you found it, you were missing a shoe and a job now.

“I swear only you could eat that many hits and stay up to deal them back. You must be made of rock or some shit.” you huffed again, and tightened your hold around his waist.

“Not quite.” he chuckled and it was then you noticed him grasping his side. What you thought had possibly been bruised ribs could be worse.

“Oh shit,” you stopped abruptly, catching more of his weight at the sudden stop, and almost falling. “Did you get stabbed?!”

“Nooo.” he waved you off, and sighed painfully at the action. “Just scratched, deeply.”

You hobbled in uneven height around him, mind racing to think of a street doctor that owed you a favor in case he was lying. Fortunately he wasn’t.

“I’ll be ok. I heal pretty great, remember?” he grinned a proud, boyish grin, and you felt like you might be falling in love with him all over again too. But you were still pissed.

“You better. I might feel like beating your ass too.” You let him lean into you again as you began your awkward walk back to a borrowed home.

“I’d let you.” he chirped, laying his head on your own.

---

Patching Kiri up always seemed so useless by the time you got around to it. He stopped feeling pain faster than anyone you’d ever seen, high or sober. By morning his bruises would be a memory he’d barely remember. The only thing to keep an eye on was the cut, which you would, even if it wouldn’t be obvious to anyone but Kiri. He brought out something nurturing in you that was so powerful and foreign, it frightened you, but you were powerless against it.

Kirishima had fought you the whole time, wanting to focus on your minor nicks and scrapes, but you won out like always. You wanted to be homebase to him for a change, whether he felt he deserved that or not.

He was too tired to efficiently put up a fight, and by the time you were done, he’d crashed heavily right there in the corner of the couch.

“I wanted to cuss at you some more.” you murmured mirthfully, brushing drooping red strands from his forehead.

Checking him once more, and realizing you’d done about as well as you could, you fell onto the other side of the couch. Kiri would find his way to you eventually after you both found sleep. For the moment you were going to try to find a comfortable spot on the lumpy nightmare couch, and mourn your lost income.

You spent the better part of thirty minutes trying to assure yourself the opposite of what you knew to be the truth. You were temporarily burned on the nightclub circuit for that evening’s antics. Several hushed phone calls were made, each ending when your pride forced it. You wouldn’t beg when that had never gotten you anywhere before.

Your higher mind cursed you now that you’d be relying primarily on Kiri’s other job for income. It didn’t matter how many times Kirishima said you could rely on him, you hadn’t raised yourself that way, and you couldn’t afford to slack.

No one would call Bakugou divine, except maybe his airhead girlfriend, but he turned out to be the answer to your prayers that evening. He arrived with a pound to the door that you swore sounded like an explosion, his signature knock, and you quickly tried to mitigate any chance of him waking Kirishima.

You slid across yellowed linoleum on socked feet, and cracked the door.

“Come back tomorrow, he’s sleeping and you’re not waking him up.”

You caught his brow twitching in irritation at being told what to do. “Where do you think I’m gonna store this shit?”

He shook a worn duffle bag full of what you knew to be stolen goods.

“I don’t car-”

“Stop being a bitch and get out of the way.” he shoved the door, and you had no hope of stopping him from coming in, but you still grasped his bicep defiantly.

“Don’t.Wake.Him.” you dug your nails into hard muscle and narrowed your eyes.

“He’s gotta move quickly on some of this. Kirishima may have told you the sun rises out of your ass, but it doesn’t, and the rest of us have to survive too.” he stalked over to your sleeping boyfriend, fully prepared to punch him awake.

“Wait don’t!” you barely contained your voice to a loud whisper. “He’s tired, leave him alone.”

He growled low in his throat. “I already told yo-”

“I’ll do it.”

“What?” he snorted, but his face was blank. “You don’t know what you’re doing. You’re liable to get us all burned or worse, go to that shitty patchwork quilt fuck you used to run with.”

“I’ve been on the streets long enough jackass, and I’ve seen Kiri do it a million times. I know what’s worth what and who wants it.” you bristled at him throwing your past connections back in your face. “And not that it’s any of your business, but I don’t deal with him anymore.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes, not interested, and you regretted even answering that. He studied you for a moment, and the flexing of his hand let you know he was mulling it over.

You decided not to wait, grabbing the bag and beginning to drag it into the kitchen. As expected, Bakugo rushed you for his ill-gotten goods.

You jutted your chin up at him. “I can do it. Just let him rest, it’s been a long night.”

He glared at you, judging you in a way that no longer made you want to punch him, before speaking. “Fine, but we’re staying to make sure you don’t fuck it up.”

“We’re?” your face crumpled in confusion, then realized he meant his girlfriend and grimaced. ‘For Kiri.’ you thought.

“Whatever.”

---

On any other day Bakugou would loudly and proudly admit he couldn’t stand you. You were convinced he and the gang hated you, that they thought you were cold and you were mostly correct. They loved Kirisihima and he’d made it clear you two were a package deal. He could remember the one and only time Kirishima got violent with him, and it was because he’d called you several nasty names in one fell swoop when he’d been drinking. He remembered laying in his car that night wondering what the fuck about you had his best friend so gone.

That night he thought he’d finally gotten a glimpse. Beaten up, and clearly tired yourself, you were forcing yourself to carefully build an inventory out of the stolen goods he and Midoriya had acquired the previous three nights. You told him what happened at the lounge, and he knew you probably wanted to crash right next to Kirishima, but you wouldn’t. You wanted to take care of him. Watching you squinting your tired eyes in the dim light of that shitty closet kitchen, he decided his friend may not be such a dumbass after all.

| Somersault In Sand With Me |

“Eiji…no, I’m still sore.” you murmured sleepily, curling into a ball under the thin quilt.

Kirishima poked your side again, muffling a laugh. “That’s not what I want babe. Well..yeah I always want that-”

“I know.” you gently kicked back at him, hiding a tiny grin in your pillow.

“I want you to come somewhere with me, it’s important.”

He sounded so uncharacteristically serious, that you allowed yourself to be fully pulled from sleep. You sat up, reaching for your phone charging on top of your bag by the couch.

Exactly 3 a.m.

“Eijiro I swear to god…”

“It’s important, fence’s honor. Now get your cute ass out of bed.” he tackled you in a warm embrace, spread kisses across your cheeks, and released you to get up from the couch bed.

You dropped your phone back into your bag with a groan. It was amazing how out of character this man could make you.

Kirishima helped you get dressed, smirking every time he noticed your slight limp. For every smirk you bit him, and he kissed you. It went against every independent bone in your body, but Kiri dressing you felt like heaven. His soft kisses on your thighs when he helped you slide into your leggings, the soft coos and admissions of love as he slipped you into one of his sweatshirts, and the gentle cradling of your feet as he slipped your feet into your shoes. You couldn’t even be grumpy, not when your personal sunbeam was looking at you like he received his life from you.

Kirishima led you out of the apartment, and before you knew it, he’d scooped you onto his back, threatening to drop you if you didn’t hold on. He took off at full speed with your surprised blend of laughter and shouts behind him.

You barely had any time to work out where he might be taking you that wasn’t planned at that hour before he arrived at the destination. An elementary school playground.

He stooped, allowing you to slide off his back, which you did with confusion. “What’s here Eiji?”

“Everything!” he chirped like it was so simple to see.

You blinked up at him trying to gauge whether he had the signs of having something in his system.

“Come on, we would’ve killed for this as kids. We get the whole place to ourselves, what do you wanna do first?”

“Crack your head open and examine the insides.” you scowled. “I was sleeping, and you want to do what exactly?”

“You’re so adorable when you’re cranky, you’re adorable anytime bu-”

“Kiri…” you narrowed your eyes, contemplating following through on your threat.

Kirishima’s face went blank, but his expression soon returned as a wide grin. “Oh I get it babe, that’s your pride talking. If you’re too afraid of looking uncool….”

“Pfft!” you shot him an incredulous look. “Nice try. Here’s where I try to prove you wrong, thus falling into the trap right?”

“No, my woman’s much too smart for that.” his grin curled into a smirk. “Here’s where I snatch your precious beret and make you chase me for it.”

Before you could register what he said, he followed through and yanked the hat from your head. He took off across the grass laughing almost manically with genuine joy. He was so adorable, it almost made you forget how long you saved for that beret. Almost.

You launched after him, shouting vulgar threats the whole way.

“Come on babe, we do kinkier stuff than that all time, really make me feel it!” he laughed, taking the steps to the pirate ship playhouse two at a time.

“Well, remember it fondly, because that’s over now hammerhead!” you leapt at him only to have him dodge you.

“Then what do I have to live for?” his face contorted into a mock pout. “I should just walk the plank now.”

Eiji doged another lunge from you and jumped from the toy plank that barely hung above the ground. You landed after him shortly and continued to chase him while he waxed poetic about his life being over if he could ‘never take you again’. Between laughter at his silly proclamations and failed lunge attempts, your lungs were on fire. That didn’t stop you from giving the chase your all. Around the merry-go-round, an almost win in the sandbox, an attempted cut off under the jungle gym. You eventually thought of a way to end it by fighting dirty.

Eijiro was headed for the animal-shaped spring riders, and right as he got close you shouted. “Time out Eiji my shirt tore off!”

“Wha-” he looked back at the right time to hit a pink seal and flip over it, landing on his back.

You jogged over, smirking at your win, no matter how ill-gotten.

“Not manly babe,” he groaned, sitting up to rub his back. “Not at all.”

“I caught you!” you laughed, straddling his waist to prevent any escape attempts.

“You did.” he said softly, gazing at you with a look that took your breath away.

It said everything he couldn’t say. Not because he was afraid to, never Eijiro, but because he couldn't always find the words to. That he couldn’t believe he found you, and would die if he lost you. That he was so yours, he felt like he always had been, even before he knew life. That you were his world and you were more than enough for him. You were everything to him.

“Always catch me...yeah?” he placed the beret on your head gently, before he placed a hand to your cheek.

“Always.” you got out around the lump in your throat. Instinct made you hold back your tears, Eijiro’s love made them fall.

-----

End Note:

If you want to let me know what you think should happen in the Midoriya chapter, my inbox is open (with anon on). The established AU is (here).

Dabi is next.

[kimber-elise-monroe]

BABYLON

Date Night

Friday--10:37 PM

Kimber Monroe stands casually outside an ominous warehouse in the heart of the Meatpacking District in New York. The warehouse, now a nightclub called Babylon, is exactly what one would expect in this part of the city and certainly lives up to its name with the general themes appealing to an alternative and unconventional subculture. Subtle vibrations of the loud music beyond the walls filter into the streets only to mix with the cat calls, yells, squealing tires, honking horns, and police sirens that make for a gritty New York soundtrack. People, mainly New York's undesirables, consisting of club goers, punks, metal heads, goths, dealers, addicts, hookers, and kinksters are coming and going along the avenue. All on the prowl for anything or anyone to make the night eventful. Shockingly, the raven haired minx blends in quite well with these so called undesirables and yet from the crowd she stands out in all her harlot glory.

Playing the part of said harlot well, she dons a slinky, form-fitting black leather mini-dress with a plunging V-shaped neckline down the front to reveal the valley between her ample, perky breasts and an open back with fishnet stockings, and shiny black fuck me pumps. All complementary to the rest of her appearance. Baby blues, offset by heavily smeared charcoal eyeliner and eye shadow, and her plush pout stained crimson with her lush and tousled, onyx locks trailing freely down the of her spine, reaching the small of her back--she is a sight to behold. Brass knuckles decorate one delicate hand and bulky, sterling silver rings the other. Both of which showcase her perfectly manicured fingers with oval shaped nails in a shade of dark pewter. On her wrists she wears thick leather bondage bands accompanied by a few silver bangle bracelets. The edgy ensemble, just her normal attire for a night out on the wrong side of the tracks.

It’s rare she ever comes to Babylon alone, and usually Carver is her escort, especially with this particular club being one of their personal favorites. Their own den of debauchery. Typically, Carver picks her up for these excursions out, but tonight circumstance has dictated otherwise and it was more convenient to simply meet up at the club. Leaning against the wall just a few feet from the entrance and the long line of people waiting to get inside, she casually keeps on the lookout for him, knowing he will be driving the hearse. Kimber didn’t feel the need to wait in the line because the bouncers, knowing Carver and Kimber well as regulars, are always quick to wave them inside. The wait, having been less than ten minutes, is finally over as she catches sight of the hearse creeping down the street. Cool cerulean hues follow its path even as it rounds the corner to find a parking spot. Eager anticipation builds and her whole body tingles with electricity. It’s been a few weeks since the two of them were able to get away and have the night all to themselves. Moments like this are often what she lives for.

Audaciously painted in ink stain and heresy, he has the aura of a fallen deity that sprang from the cracks of city street asphalt and crafted himself in the image of weathered, graffiti covered brick. It never fails, the moment Kimber sets her eyes on Carver or is in his presence, she comes ALIVE. https://youtu.be/VpdHMaccjw4 It is as if his very essence sparks a voltaic flame within her heart and soul, and the longer she courts him, it’s like gasoline being constantly thrown into an already raging fire. It is all consuming and undoubtedly dangerous, especially with such potential for destruction, but one of the things she craves most in this life. Being the glutton that she is, Kimber has no apprehension feeding into said cravings and binging on the passion elicited. Always a Sinner’s Feast, both Kimber and Carver ritualistically dine on the debauchery and are devoted when it comes to paying proper reverence to this hedonistic God.

As the Reaper rounds the corner, dressed ominously in slick black and donning a HEAVY mood, she can’t resist the urge to move in his direction. Desire and passion, two components similar in nature and essential to the human design, one not truly having meaning without the other, but neither completely dependent on the others existence. Most people find themselves slaves to both, no matter what form they come in. Kimber is NO different. Like a Lioness honing in on and stalking her prey, she glides smoothly in a determined stride just ready to pounce when the perfect moment presents itself. Carver, undoubtedly aware of the regal feline and her carnal intent, is not easy game by any means and it is as much as evident by the expression etching his eerie features. He would never be a casualty of her elegant savagery and primitive nature. Carver is simply not of that ILK.

A predator in his own right, feral and ravenous but no less Machiavellian, like one possessed of the spirit of a Hyena, he brazenly creeps her way. The languid migration is MAGNETIC. Eyeing her lover upon approach, they meet in the middle and just as he takes an artful drag from his cigarette, a plume of smoke pushing past his wry pout to follow, his inked duke fearlessly takes hold of her and in a forcible, eager collision their lips meet and engage in fevered combat. Whimpering softly into the kiss, she savors his unique taste. It is one entirely innate to him and him alone. A POTENT and addictive flavor, she is taken hostage by the sudden impact of a high only he can provide. Just like a junkie always susceptible to chosen vice, she is quick to dose and lose herself to the euphoria. He IS her drug of choice. As a wave of ecstasy washes over her, ravaging her coast, she welcomes the impending delirium.

For Kimber, it is like a thousand dormant Roman Candles that have been secretly nestled within her are suddenly ignited by a powerful, metaphysical force. It’s enough to steal the very breath from her lungs and make her weak from the intensity of the heat. Her fierce, headstrong and liberated temperament is subdued, making her malleable to his masterful authority. She welcomes him like a mistress, genuine in her desire to submit and eager to both appease and please equally. Lithe and nubile form, stacked and molded to perfection with all the soft dips and curves in the appropriate places, Kimber ripples slowly, seductively against his crudely designed, hardened musculature. Leisurely basking in the kiss, she is NOT inclined to peel back her greedy lips, but manages to do so. If she had not, it’s likely they wouldn’t make it past the ‘gates’ and into Babylon.

“Daddy,” she murmurs in low, wanton tone of voice. “I missed you,” Kimber adds affectionately with her voice a little less wanton. Alert with her mind open and her guard down, the empath can sense more than just his desire and hunger for her and all the iniquity awaiting them in Babylon. He emanates residual frustration and malcontent. “One of those days?” She can’t help ask with curiously quirked brow and flash of concern. Without giving him much of a window to answer, not like she needs him to validate what she knows he feels, Kimber takes reluctant step back whilst reaching for him. She slips her delicate paw into his hand and with a slight nod of her dark crown tipping toward the entrance door of the nightclub, she leads the way. Turning away from him, she moves catlike and just enough ahead to give him a stellar view of her backside.

Indigo hues meet the imposing gaze of the burly bouncer and they exchange a conspicuous glance of recognition as he greets her with a nod. Aware of her escort for the evening and his reputation, the bouncer knows better than to let his eyes linger too long on her and drift in Carver’s direction. From her peripheral as she moves past the bouncer and Carver slides next to him, she catches another greet being exchanged, but is quick to find herself distracted upon entering the underground metropolis by a cacophony of sound and motley of imagery as well as the overwhelming feeling of depravity. It’s almost as intoxicating as Carver’s kiss and Kimber can’t help embrace the onslaught. https://youtu.be/YbeBLvMFAcs With cadence and ease, seduced by the abrasive beat and provocative melody, she guides her lover through the dim glow veil of red light and smoke known as the outer sanctum of Babylon.

The ambiance of the parlor, one just as alluring as it is prognostic, offers faint glimpse of the lecherous and infernal marvels to come. The bodies decorating the room, all morbidly ornate despite the minimal packaging of leather, spandex, velvet and mesh. Flesh inscribed with ink and pierced by industrial metal add a lurid flare to these corporeal specters. The lovers float on, making their way through a large archway painted in tribal design. It’s into the mouth of darkness they arrive, accosted by ominous shadows and flashes of sharp, bright silver light and they find themselves standing at the edge of a large platform aligned with a thick steel railing overlooking a massive, open pit where a twisting, coalesce mass appears--enticed by the loud, pulsating rhythm.

The scene playing out before their eyes, depicted by modern philistines, brutes and jezebels is deliberately crude and so immorally suggestive that for many, the vulgarity would inspire instant offense. Good thing both Carver and Kimber have strong constitutions with progressive attitudes and mindsets. Truth? Kimber sometimes can’t help wondering what her religiously devout, Evangelical parents would say if they could see her now. They’d be both appalled and horrified. Taking it ALL in, Kimber scans the ‘plutonic’ landscape. She likes what she sees and has a hunch Carver is just as pleased by SIN permeating. It invokes certain proclivities, ones that rouse a spirit of rebellion compelling enough for an individual, especially one often constrained by societies rigid expectations and mores, to indulge in the moment and whatever wicked delights it bestows. Kimber has been here many times before with Carver, this being the preferred devil’s playground, their own special den of degradation.

At the center of the pit is a large yet cramped dance floor that is surrounded by various tables and random semi-private areas constructed in the fashion of open, concrete cubicles for a more intimate setting. Erect platforms varying in height are strategically placed across the pit where Goth Go-Go dancers bounce their pale, ample tits and shake their tight, round apple shaped asses with two platforms, one at each end of the club are grease burnished Fire Breathers spitting flames high above the crowd. To the far right, located at the back of the club, is a stage meant for the occasional show/performance or DJ with a screen in the backdrop playing a fast-paced montage of questionable acts currently transpiring within the walls of this proverbial Babel. Tonight, a grandiose Beast takes the spotlight on stage as he hangs from industrial strength chains with hooks digging into his meaty flesh. Even from where Kimber stands, she can see the look of orgasmic pleasure on his brusque, rugged face.

On the wall opposite the platform there is a long, narrow bar filled with warped mirror lined shelves of liquor, but it isn’t just spirits being offered or even the cornucopia of illicit substances being dealt and shared nightly. One can also enjoy the oxygen and nitrous bar available. Beyond the bar and wall, wide swinging metal doors manned by a bouncer at all times leads to a part of Babylon so few venture. Through the threshold are the private back rooms for more base and clandestine encounters and experiences. A smirk curls at the corner of her plush pout, twitching lightly as she turns to Carver, eyes mapping his face. In any light and/or shadow, she always admires him, but tonight she WORSHIPS him and it is at his corrupt altar she plans to pray. “What first, Daddy?” Kimber asks him, absolutely willing to do whatever his villainous, Wendigo heart desires.

[theburning-soul]

.:Falling Madness:. (AU2)

Characters: Hokusai Ashikaga (kitsune heritage/human)

Warning(s): Blood, abuse, spooky things. Alternate universe!

Origin Date: 20 March 2019

What had led to a rebellious young man’s descent into demonic cultivation after such a promising meeting in his life? It could only be the worst of things.

(Modern day with some cultivation ties inspired by Mo Dao Zu Shi. The continuation of short story swaps with @dancing-where-sunmeets-sea.)

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He laid low as he often did after a hunt. It was as much to savor the quiet that came after as it was to keep any rogue onmyouji off his tail. Hokusai spent that night in the crook of a large old tree that rose above its brethren on the mountain. Eyes turned to the large moon that seemed so close from such a height.

Had he heard a melody on a breeze? Something brushing through air and time. It was hard to tell if it was simply downwind or just rattling about his head. He knew that song. He’d often hid to listen to its player practice, unbeknownst to the budding cultivator’s knowledge.

It was how Hokusai had had such knowledge of music as a weapon in the Chinese-based arts. Even if had never been a student, the fox-blooded boy was sharp, clever, keen. He was a master of mimicry and quickly ate up anything he watched and witnessed. And he was always close to listen to He-Lin practice the guqin.

But Hokusai was no cultivator. He wasn’t an onmyouji, a priest, an exorcist. No one would train a cursed child like him. What use was there for music?

He would never cultivate a golden core, master his chi, learn the Japanese ways of onmyodo. But what lay dormant within him gave him an edge no mortal had. And it had awakened.

The rusted gold of dead eyes closed as he winced, resting a hand over his chest.

Damn that Takane...he’d woken a beast.

-----

That night was chaos. Fire. Screams. Sounds of battle. But Hokusai had been carried about like a sack of potatoes over a young priest’s shoulder. His hands had been bound, he’d been gagged and a bag put over his head as he’d been transported.

He-Lin...he was performing. The redhead had been about to pull off his best sneaking attempt ever to escape the temple grounds before he’d been seized from his room and dragged away.

What was happening?

He-Lin...how would he let him know where he was going...

It was hard to discern how long and where they traveled. An array had been used to move the group. There was a large gathering, he could hear many footsteps. A good number of voices. One among them made him bristle. That old bastard. His captor, supposed teacher, his torturer since he was a child. Words were hard to make out.

An attack?

The temple...how bad was it?

And then the real hell began. Without the temple’s oversight, light as it had been on his particular situation, Hokusai’s exorcisms turned into a living hell. Takane twisted the young man’s aether every which way. Lashed his flesh. Kicked his soul from his body for short amounts of time. Tortured him spiritually, mentally, physically.

Anything to get what was buried within his body, protected by a dormant spiritual energy. Something powerful that had been entrusted to him since birth.

Words that he wasn’t wanted mocked him.

That the temple couldn’t stop the attempts to ‘free his soul’ now.

That he was alone and was meant to be alone.

He’d screamed and cried when they brought him Chikao’s body. On Takane’s orders the older of the siblings had been seized from town and killed. Despite the fact that Chikao had not been blessed with the bounty of energy Hokusai had been, perhaps there was /something/ there that would trigger something in the other.

It had been rage. Locked in a cage surrounded by wards, he’d raged for three days. Takane had watched eagerly but there had been nothing. No amazing ‘awakening’ of energy.

On the third day the fox-cursed man collapsed against the bars, eyes dead.

How long had he been here in this box, in this small building... Little did he know it was an old derelict mountain shrine. And that it had been a year.

Skin and bones in dirty blooded clothes. Tears on a dust-covered face. Dry tracks of tears... he’d been out of tears now.

And the next time that cage door opened, the beast woke.

Takane was nowhere to be found. But there were plenty of his disciples about...about in pieces after the hour had passed.

The sessho-seki fragment had been awoken by the fury, the hate, the sorrow.

Hokusai had stood in the bloody aftermath of his rampage, nine auburn tails about his form. This was the power he’d always needed to tear that man to pieces. To wring his neck. To make him beg. Now he had it. Claws dug into his palm as he clenched his hands.

Any disciple of Hanakaze’s onmyouji would suffer for their complacency of the horrors enacted on him, his family, other innocents that likely had been at their hands.

Now he just had to find ways to make them suffer even more.

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

Rough fingers ran over Rakka-kyoki. An ancient artifact he’d unearthed and mastered over the last two years. The demonic energy about it sung with the kyuubi’s fragment within him. It had been an instant bond fostered by his younger years of spying on He-Lin’s practice.

The flute was red lacquered wood, black thread hanging from one end with an amber sphere hanging from it like some charm. However if one looked at its golden surface too long, they would witness the horrors of demonic cultivation that the instrument enabled.

Hokusai’s head fell to the side against the branch, hair loose and tangled atop the ears that still adorned the top of his head. His energy still ran high from the hunt, the vulpine features readily visible. Fortunately the tails made good padding for his bum as he was lounging in this convenient view.

He could still hear the song. Was he going mad? A sharp snort and a fanged grin at the thought. Of course he’d gone mad. He’d been mad for the last year he’d stalked all of Japan. And he was quite fine with the fact!

What was left...nothing. A thumb ran over the flute and then pressed against his pinky and the red thread about it, a ring of braided cord. He didn’t want this anymore. It was a reminder of loss. But he couldn’t take it off or burn it off.

At first it was consolation that He-Lin lived, that the attack on Hanakaze Temple had not taken his dear one’s life.

But...the cultivator never came to find him either.

And so Hokusai laughed, leaning back in the tall branches, red hair and tails and wondrous silk cloth draping from the tree as he simply laughed. A hand covered his face, the other arm falling over to the side with Rakka-kyoki  dangling from his fingers.

He was alone. As it was meant to be. He was cursed from birth to bring destruction. And if that was all he was good for, then so be it.

Below in the forest there was movement at the crazed cackles of the demonic cultivator. White-robed bodies with the flower of the Hanahara emblazoned up on them mulled about mindlessly. The gathering of his most recent kills. It was funny...they were sending onmyouji from other parts of the country and world now to dispose of him.

It only made his collection more impressive! At least twenty of the corpses ambled about the tree in a wandering pace, restless with the ambient energy of their master in the air. It proved how volatile he was in these moments that the bodies didn’t need the flute’s notes to enable them.

“Come and get me, Ta-ka-ne-donoooooo,” he sung, swinging his legs and arms over the branches. “I’m waitin for yaaaaaa.”