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the-ashen-spectre · 10 months

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The trade off location was highly suspicious- a warehouse in the middle of nowhere. Even more unnerving was that the mysterious benefactor insisted only one person be allowed to escort the B.O.W.

Of course, as the leader of the B.S.A.A.'s Alpha Team of the Eastern Division, Yoshio Ando wouldn't let any of his men risk their lives. So he opted to be the one to go in.

With a gun to the creature's head, he forced it through the doors with a rough nudge of the barrel. The pathetically frail thing stumbled yet again. Its nearly severed foot flopped, clinging on to the leg by a few strands of tissue.

Not that the grievous injuries were any concern of his. If it kept the freak from causing trouble, all the better.

Yoshio tapped his earpiece, knowing he'd be patched directly to the requester. Hopefully whoever it was who slipped enough money into the higher ups' pockets actually intended to only research this new kind of B.O.W... But he had his doubts, with how sketchy everything was playing out.

While her captor tried to get in touch with his superiors, Patient Zero of Mold Series-Δ finally allowed herself to collapse to her hands and knees. She just couldn't remain standing on a severely sprained ankle and a ruined foot. She sensed Yoshio tense at her sudden movement, his gun steadily aimed at the back of her head. She half expected the man behind her to shoot her dead right then and there. But he stayed his hand and returned to his conversation.

Or, more accurately, lack of one.

"Why the hell won't they answer the damn phone?" The man growled, eyeing Zero as if it were somehow her fault.

She quickly shifted her gaze to the floor. She was too exhausted to try to run. Even if she did, the shackles that bound almost her entire arms and the muzzle on her mouth would make doing anything nigh impossible.

And just outside were at least a dozen heavily armed soldiers ready to slaughter her.

So she resigned herself to sitting on the cold cement. Her severed ankle was doing its best to weave new filaments despite the lack of available resources it had to actually heal.

She was so hungry that she felt constant waves of dizzying nausea. She was so parched that swallowing had become nothing more than the sensation of sand paper against her raw throat. She was so tired that even in such a situation she might just topple over where she sat.

And a small part of her hoped that perhaps... In this filthy warehouse in the middle of nowhere, cold and long forgotten... She would finally have her final rest.

But whatever humanity remained in her cowered in the face of death. It clawed onto its life with a rabid ferocity, desperate to stay alive against all odds and despite whatever misery would follow.

Suddenly Yoshio looked up from his ward, his attention drawn to a figure clad in business casual attire. The dark haired man offered an overly warm smile to the pair, having all the slimy charm of a door-to-door vacuum salesman. Shocking gray eyes twinkled as they fell on their purchase, clearly pleased.

"I was almost worried that I wasted my money." The man began, not even bothering to greet Yoshio. "But the B.S.A.A. really pulled through for me."

Yoshio remained silent, the feeling of disquiet growing in his gut. He knew something was off and this man was doing little to hide it. He was almost flaunting his ill intentions, mocking him with it.

"A man of few words? Fine enough. I'd prefer to keep this brief anyways." The man bent down and caressed Patient Zero's cheek, as if admiring a marble statue. It was as he got closer that the bioweapon realized that the glittering in his eyes weren't warmth... But a deep, unfeeling cold.

She felt her heart begin to beat in her eyes, her weak breaths becoming unsteady under the intensity of those silver eyes.

"Yes... Absolutely perfect. Though the product could be in better condition." The man stood up and shook his head. "I mean... The poor thing can't even walk now!"

Yet, in spite of his verbal concern, he pulled Zero to her feet and forced her to use him as a crutch. This whole time he had barely spared Yoshio a glance, even as the other man aimed his weapon at him.

"I suppose you get what you pay for. It was much cheaper to buy you from the B.S.A.A. than your previous owners, little B.O.W." The man chuckled. "Seeing that they weren't exactly selling..."

He turned, preparing to have Zero limp alongside him. The look of pure fear on her porcelain face, imperfect in its ghostly hue and its smoky stains around mismatched eyes, was angelic.

A sign of intelligence... Of awareness... Of humanity.

A bioweapon that retained its humanity would be far more valuable than the mad dogs they've been forced to work with before.

The man helped Zero along with as minimal effort as possible, almost dragging the bound creature more than providing support.

Yoshio tensed as he watched, bile burning the back of his throat. He wanted to scream, to shoot, to do something other than just stand there and watch two monsters slip right from his fingers.

Why did the higher-ups at the B.S.A.A. agree to this? Did they know what they agreed to? Should he act on his instincts and stop the pair before they made their escape?

Just as Yoshio was about to take aim once again, right for the man's back... He heard a buzz in his earpiece.

"Has the exchange gone through?" A cold, clipped voice of a woman chimed in his ear.

"Yes, but-"

"Excellent. Return to base."

"But-"

"That's an order, Ando."

The line cut, the operator's final words ringing in his ears. Such a brief, uninformative call had told him all he needed to know...

The B.S.A.A. was more than aware of what they had just done. And whatever would follow... The blood would be on his hands.

#resident evil #resident evil rp #resident evil oc #resident evil solo #resident evil fanfiction #re #re rp #re oc #re solo #re fanfic #horror #horror rp #horror writing #oc #oc rp #indie resident evil rp

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bluerosewritings · 4 years

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Every Rose Has Its Thorns | Overblot!Riddle x Reader

You charged through the rose maze, cursing how loud your footsteps were. You'd heard Heartslabyul students talk about how insanely hard it was to even get halfway through the maze, but you never thought it would be this bad. Why, out of everything you could have done, did you think it would be a good idea to run into here?

Everything had gone so wrong. All you'd wanted was to help Ace and Deuce get out of their punishment - and if solving that with a duel meant helping the other students, great! There's no way it could end up worse than what happened in the Dwarf Mines, right?

You envied your past self's innocence.

In a weird way, you blamed yourself. If you hadn't opened your mouth, Riddle wouldn't have retaliated, so Ace wouldn't have decked his dorm leader in the face, someone wouldn't have thrown that egg at Riddle, Riddle wouldn't have freaked out and started beheading everyone, and he wouldn't have turned into... that. With that... thing hovering behind him like some sort of cruel puppeteer, looking way too familiar to whatever had tried to hurt you and your friends in the Dwarf Mines. Had you always been this unlucky?

Crowley had barely been able to say a thing before Riddle had cast Off With Your Head on the headmaster, then on Trey, Cater, and whatever poor souls that hadn't yet escaped Heartslabyul, tying them up with rose bush roots. Once again, you'd been the only one without a collar - maybe it was because of your lack of magic, maybe it was because you were from another world, you didn't know. You didn't hang around to find out - once Grim's yells at you to hurry up and get out of there snapped you out of your horrified trance, you bolted. Unfortunately, Riddle had noticed your sudden departure and chased after you, screaming your name.

You'd ducked into the Rose Maze hoping to shake him off. You wished you hadn't - all that you'd accomplished was getting yourself lost. Riddle's voiced seemed to be getting closer and closer by the minute, too.

"(y/n)!" Speak of the devil. The sudden shock of his voice nearly made you trip. "Come out this instant! Do you want your punishment to be even more severe!?"

Shaking off his words (or were you literally shaking?), you turned the corner. There seemed to be more and more roses as you went on - maybe a sign you were nearing the exit? Hoping so, you followed the blood-red flowers.

"(y/n)! I'm saying this for your own benefit! Tell me where you are, now! (y/n)!"

The leaves seemed to be disappearing under the red petals. A war between the two pieces of nature, two things that should be living in harmony instead being tainted by greed and ruining their peace. You had to be nearly out.

"(y/n)!!"

There were barely any leaves left now.

One last turn. One last turn and you should be--

Stuck. The roses didn't lead to the end of the maze at all. They led to the center of it.

A statue of the Queen of Hearts, like the one in the school among the other Great Seven, seemed to mock you with her smug expression. Now that you got a good look at her, she looked eerily similar to the specter haunting Riddle. Of course she did.

"So this is where you've been."

You turned so fast you fell over. Your mind couldn't even register the pain from your new cuts as you stared up in terror at the twisted form of Riddle. The boy himself seemed to be conflicted on whether to look at you with sympathy or smirk.

He settled on disappointment. "If you'd have just answered me earlier, you wouldn't be in such a sad state now, would you? Good grief."

Though he approached you at a normal pace, even that was enough to send a shiver down your spine. Desperately you tried to push yourself off the ground. Only it didn't work - you looked down to see yourself literally rooted to the floor. Following the root's path, you saw they were coming from the two rose bushes levitating by Riddle's side. No surprise there.

Out of options, you looked up at this new version of Riddle looming over you. Trying not to let your fear show, you glared at him. The look only caused Riddle's eyebrow to twitch before his emotions exploded forth.

"Don't look at your Queen that way! Change your expression immediately!"

"W-Why should I?"

"You...!" Blood rushed to Riddle's face. "Ever since I met you, everything you've done...! Causing a disturbance at the entrance ceremony, encouraging Ace and Deuce's idiotic behaviour, even managing to turn Cater and Trey against me...! I should despise every single part of you! So why...!?"

Before you could ask what he meant, the rose roots shot their way up your back, repositioning themselves so they pushed you upwards. You had no time to react - not that you could do much, your hands were still restricted, now bound together - as Riddle tangled his fingers in your hair and forced his lips on yours.

It took you a second to process what he was doing. Once you realised, you begun trying to wriggle your way out of his grip. Unfortunately, this only annoyed Riddle further - he tugged at your hair, causing you to yelp. Riddle took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Any cries of protest went ignored.

You weren't sure how long the kiss lasted, but when Riddle finally pulled away you wasted no time gasping for air. There was a metallic taste invading your mouth. Your first thought was that it was blood but you couldn't raise your hand to check.

Riddle kept your foreheads touching, his hand still in your hair to keep you from moving away. You thought you were the only one that was dealing with a lack of air, but it seemed that Riddle's power up couldn't keep him from panting.

"Why...?" Riddle looked you in the eyes. The dark intensity scared you. It was a mix of anger, regret, confusion... and something else that somehow scared you even more.

"Why did I have to fall for someone like you...?"

Love.

Somehow the ferocity of the first kiss hadn't made it click for you. Now, however, the rush of fear gave you the strength to fling your head back and crash it onto Riddle's.

Only your foreheads were connected but it was enough. Riddle yelled in pain and let go of you. You fell on to the floor but were quick to get up as the pain was distracting Riddle from his control spell.

"(y/n)...! HOW DARE YOU!?"

You make it to the other side of the Queen of Hearts statue before roots burst out of the ground and latch on to your ankles. Caught mid-run, the sudden stop causes your to fall face-forward onto the floor. More roots appear to take advantage of the opportunity, latching themselves around you, binding you to the ground.

You couldn't turn your head, but you could feel Riddle approaching, glaring at your back. You weren't sure what was worse; the foreboding sense of darkness from Riddle's stares or the crushing feeling from the roots.

By the time Riddle was standing in front of you, black dots were decorating your vision. Tears were dripping out your eyes as you were unable to stop them. The unknown anxiety from what Riddle would do made breathing even harder. Riddle gritted his teeth, still nursing his head.

"Why do you insist on being so disobedient!?" Riddle growled. "Is it just because it's me!? You have no problem listening to those first-year ruler breakers! Is it them? Did they influence you? It has to be! It's their fault!"

"No...!" You croaked out.

Every word Riddle spoke caused the roots to become tighter. The tears fell even harder as you gasped for air like a fish out of water.

"No? Look at yourself!" Riddle scoffed. "This wouldn't have happened if you'd just followed my rules! I should have approached you from the start... I should've seen what leaving you alone would do. Damn it!"

"Pl...ease...!" You could barely make out Riddle's words. A dull ringing was going off in your ears, making it hard for you to focus.

"You had so much potential, right from the beginning, even if the mirror said you were magic-less, I saw it!" Riddle continued to scold himself, unaware of your desperation. "I should've told Crowley to place you in Heartslabyul, where I could've kept you on the right track... instead you had to become a rule-breaker! Why!?"

"I'm... sorry...!" You cried out.

The words caught Riddle's ears. He finally turned to you, realising what he'd caused. Gears turned in his head before he finally spoke.

"You're sorry, what?" He tried.

"I... I'm sorry, my Queen...! Riddle...!"

Instantly, the pressure was released. The sudden rush of oxygen to your lungs made you choke. Even though the roots were off you, you stayed laying on the ground, not wanting to push Riddle into doing that again.

"(y/n)." You looked up. "Come here."

Riddle stiffly opened his arms, as if embarrassed by the act. You hesitated, unsure if it was a trap. Riddle frowned.

"(y/n). Come here, now."

Out of options, you slowly pushed yourself off the floor. You still hadn't completely recovered, so you more stumbled than walked into Riddle's arms. It didn't seem to matter - the second you hit his chest, his arms wrapped around you, holding you tight against him. The similarity to what had happened not long ago earlier caused you to tremble. Riddle didn't seem to notice.

"Thank goodness." Riddle sighed in relief, burying his face into the crook of your neck. "You're not too far gone... you just need to properly learn the rules... that's a relief..."

The smile you felt caused your skin to crawl. Riddle began tracing kisses up your neck, across your jawline then connecting your lips again.

The kiss was softer this time, a chaste one that would've made your heart race if the situation wasn't so, so wrong. Even so, the fear of angering whatever you were kissing made you lightly press back. The monster in Riddle's form pulled back slowly, a child-like smile on its face.

One hand came away from your waist and ghosted against your neck. It sighed before you felt a wisp of magic circling your neck. While you couldn't see it, you felt the new accessory adorning your neck - a black choker with a red heart outlined with gold at the front; with no clasp to take it off.

Riddle hummed in approval, happy at the sight. He wasn't as pleased when he saw the look in your eyes - a poorly concealed fear at what he'd done. He sighed, giving you a quick kiss before leaning you into his neck now instead. He raked his fingers through your hair in a soothing manner.

"I'm doing this for your benefit." He explained. "It's my fault for letting you hang around bad influences, but it's okay now. I'll make things right for you. You'll be following the rules perfectly in no time."

Riddle placed a kiss on your forehead and leaned next to your ear. He pressed a finger against the heart of your choker.

"You will, or it's off with your head."

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle rosehearts x you #overblot

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katwritessometimes · 4 years

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Temptations

Reformed Hero!Dabi (Touya Todoroki) x Villain! Reader

A collab piece for @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten Citru s Dome Server

Read the other entries HERE

Warnings: it's pwp, lil bit of choking, lil bit of degradation little bit of anal play. Reader calls him Daddy like twice. Filth all around

5kish words (shout out to the lovely @teddieh who beta read it for me UwU)

Read it on Ao3

It was like an itch, Touya knew he shouldn’t walk over, knew he should be staying away from you until reinforcements arrived. He knew that if he stepped foot into that room everything he’d been working for, his redemption, it would all go down the drain. But reinforcements wouldn’t be reaching their location for at least another hour and he really couldn’t help himself.

It's how Touya Todoroki, Bright Burn, reformed cremation hero, ends up standing in front of his bound target. You were just as beautiful as Touya remembered. Despite the muzzle snug tight against your face, and the quirk canceling collar clasped around your neck. Touya admired the ever-present ferocity behind your stare. Your eyes were trained on him the second he walked into the room he was keeping you captive in. Shifting against your restraints, a sly smile creeps its way onto your lips as Touya ventures closer into the room.

“Awe, finally worthy of your presence, am I?” Your voice is deceivingly soft and steady, a deceptive sweetness to it that you always used to your advantage. Thanks to your quirk, you can hear how his heart speeds up at the sound of your voice, despite his ever-present poker face. You can’t help but smile happy to know you still had this effect on him.

“Backup should be here soon. Have you reconsidered my offer?” Touya’s voice is just how you remember it deep and steady, but you refuse to admit to yourself that you’d missed him.

“No, not really. Unlike someone my loyalties don't teter.” Your voice is teasing, a smile hiding behind the muzzle tight on your face. Touya clenches and unclenches his jaw, he knew you would give him a hard time. Even so, he couldn't resist coming over and trying to convince you, beg you to come with him.

“If you come willingly they'll let you go through the reform program. Call you a vigilante instead of a villain, I'll sponsor you, please.” Touya hadn’t intended for his words to sound as pleading as they did, regardless all he got back from you was a snort and an eye roll.

“I have a villainous quirk, a wild monster remember? You used to love that about me. I looked up to you for so long, you know that?” Toya comes a little closer at the sudden softness behind your words, he approaches slowly coming to a stop in front of you, peering down at your bound form.

“You were proud of the way you looked, proud of your scars, proud of calling yourself a freak. It was inspiring, you made me proud of being called a freak with a villainous quirk. It was one of the things I admired most about you, ya know.” Touya doesn't know what to say, he tries to remind himself that you weren't on his side anymore, that emotional manipulation was your favorite pastime.

You let out a sigh, vulnerability clearly wasn’t getting you the desired response. You shift against your restraints and with another dramatic sigh. A small grin takes over your face. You decide to take on a different approach. “You used to take pride in your appearance too. What happened? Too much of a freak? Does daddy make you wear makeup?” You wanted to rile him up, wanted him to react, to explode in your face. Anything to indicate the hot-headed man you used to know was still in there somewhere.

“A healer, we found a healer who was able to create new cells for me and restore my skin” Touya’s voice is still calm and it infuriates you to no end.

“Right. Let the hero’s hide the truth like they always do. They didn't even tell the public that you’re a reformed villain, right? Daddy didn’t want to look bad in front of everyone, right? Erased Dabi from existence because it was easier for Endeavor's son to magically reappear than to admit he was a villain for ten odd years.” Your eyes scanned his face. When the ‘hero’ Bright Burn first found you, it took several minutes to process exactly who he was. Touya had quite literally smoked you out of your hiding spot, flaming red hair, a lack of any piercings, and most noticeably, perfect porcelain skin. You’d much preferred his charred skin and staples over this superficial perfection, though he was handsome either way.

Touya’s jaw stayed clenched, annoyed with the words coming out of your mouth, knowing that what you were saying was all true. He’d said the same things to himself many times before, but he was reformed. He loved his new hero life… It's what he tells himself anyway. Every day that goes by gets harder and harder for him to continue convincing himself that he’s happy as a hero. Touya thought he was ready to face you, he didn’t want any other hero coming after you, hoping that if he was the one who captured you, he might be able to sway you to the right side of justice. Touya’s attention snaps back to you when you let out a dramatic sigh, shifting against your restraints and focusing your attention on him.

“We’ve got time to kill don’t we? Why don't you let me go and we can have some fun while we wait huh?” You look up at him, mustering the best puppy dog eyes you can with a mischievous smile hiding behind the muzzle. Those words give you an immediately satisfying reaction, Touya’s body shifting making himself just a little bit taller, shoulders stiffening at your words.

“Do you remember what it was like being tangled together? My nails scratching down your back, the sweet pain of my teeth digging into your neck? The way your fingers felt wrapped tight around my pretty little neck?” You hear him attempt to cover what you know is clearly a moan with a cough. His eyes are not so inconspicuously racking down your body as he clears his throat. “Awe come on, or maybe just take this ugly muzzle off yeah? Let me wrap my mouth around that perfect cock of yours.” You can’t help the chuckle that leaves you, once a dirty pervert always a dirty pervert. No amount of ‘hero reform’ could ever change the deviance you knew hid just under the red-haired hero’s skin.

“Don't.” Touya’s voice comes out in a familiar snarl that always sends a chill down your spine, the brilliant turquoise in his eyes darkening significantly. All you need to do is push him just a little bit further.

“Awe come on we’ve got time to kill. I promise I'll be good for you. Aren’t I always so good for you, Touya?” His real name had always been his weakness, you knew you’d won when he brought a bright flaming hand close to your face. A delicious shiver runs down your spine, heat rising to your face in excitement.

“You’re bound and all you can do is sit there and beg me for my cock huh? Still a needy little slut, aren't you, sweetie?” A tingle shoots straight to your core at his words, sitting up just a little bit straighter as he brings his flaming hand to your face, his eyes dark. The heat from his flames laps oh so closely to your face. A familiar welcomed warmth. You know he won't hurt you. All he does is burn off the muzzle, ever the drama queen.

There's a flash of hesitation as he removes the mangled remains of the muzzle from your face. A bruise blooming on your jaw where he’d punched you during your initial fight. Touya’s lips form a tight frown as he brushes his thumb over it. Shaking his head, the darkness in his eyes subsides. “I was too rough.” Touya’s voice is soft as he caresses the damaged skin along your jaw but you flash him a smile, a soft hum escaping you as you lean into his touch.

“You’ve given me worse” You tease and in an instant his soft caress turns into a hard grip on your cheeks. He doesn’t make another move, however, the flash of who you used to know disappeared again leaving behind an emotionally vulnerable hero once more. “How about you get me out of these restraints, hmm, pretty boy?” Touya hates that those words make him feel the way they do. He knows he shouldn't, he knows backup could get there early. He decides he doesn't care at that moment, all he wants is to feel you pressed up against him. So that's exactly what he does.

Touya’s sudden movements surprise you for a second, thinking that maybe he truly had changed and would knock you out so he wouldn’t be tempted any further. To your pleasant surprise and amusement, he undoes the binds on your arms instead, removing the quirk canceling cuffs but keeping the collar on. Not that it matters much, even without your quirk you were still significantly agile and strong. You stand up from your previous kneeling position, stretching your arms up over your head. A happy little moan coming from you, your muscles relax after being bound in the same position for so long. You come out of the stretch and bring your arms down and around Touya’s neck, he hasn't moved since unbinding you.

“Did you miss me, handsome?” A wicked smile spreads across your face as you pull him in close, threading your hands into his hair as you press your body firmly against his. Touya hums as you tug on his hair lightly, the way you know he likes. You humm, grinding up against him. He stifled a moan, large hands coming up to still your hips as he leans in for a kiss. With a giggle, you give a sharp tug pulling his head back just as he’s about to reach your lips. You feel the bulge quickly growing pressed tight against his hero suit and a pathetic excuse for a growl leaves him as you tilt his head back, exposing his neck.

“Awe, look at how excited you got.” You coo, smiling widely as you lean into his neck, sharp teeth nipping at the delicate flesh as Touya tries to pry his head from your grip. You let out a soft tut, pulling sharply at his hair and biting down harshly at his collar bone. It earns you a very satisfying moan, the first real moan he's allowed to slip through. You part his legs with your knee gently pressing against his erection as you pull away from him. Touya’s face is flushed red, soft pants passing through his lips as he looks down at you with glazed-over eyes.

“I bet no one’s fucked you the way you like since you went all-mighty hero. Can’t have all the filthy little things you enjoy slip out into the public, now can we?” Getting him like this was thrilling, you rarely ever got the upper hand on him like this. You push him back towards a comfy looking chair, Touya stumbling back into it, your hand never leaving his hair. You wiggle yourself onto his lap, your legs spread on either side of his waist. The hard length of his cock pressing deliciously against you as you grind down against it, earning yourself a deep moan from Touya.

Touya refuses to let you get to him, yes he’s hard, and yes, god he’d missed the way your body felt against his. He does his best to remain level headed but his resolve was crumbling with every thrust of your hips against his, composure crumbling with every sharp insult, every rock of your hips against his. You let go of his hair with a dramatic sigh, rolling your head before looking at Touya with disappointment on your face, maybe he really had changed. One last wicked thought crosses through your mind as you pull away from him, getting off his lap to stand in front of him instead, leaning into him so that your noses touch.

“You really have gone soft, haven’t you? Hmmm, maybe I should go find Endeavor. I'm pretty sure your daddy could fuck me better than you can at this point. Give me exactly what I want, since you don’t seem to fit the bill anymore, Touya.” You say it in the most bored tone you can muster his composure cracking as you wiggle your nose against his in an eskimo kiss.

It’s like a switch flipped, his eyes darkening and suddenly his hand is gripping your face tightly, no longer mindful of the bruise blooming across it. Dabi presses his fingers harshly against your cheeks, pressing your face down until you're kneeling between his legs. His grip stings beautifully as he shoves your face against his thigh.

“You’ve always had such a smart fucking mouth, ya know that?” He moves his grip from your face to the back of your head, pressing your face against the prominent bulge in his pants. “You want me to wreck you princess? Fine , I'm sick of your teasing. You know the drill. I'm sure that empty little head of yours can still remember what I like, can't it?” Dabi coos mockingly, excitement pooling in your belly. You loved teasing him, getting him flustered and being in control a little bit. But you much preferred it when he took charge of things. Of course, you still enjoy making things difficult for him.

When he lets go of your hair, you pull your face away from in between his legs. Looking up at him through your lashes, you trail your hands down your body slowly. You play with the hem of your shirt peeling it off painfully slow. Dabi snarls a sound that always goes straight to your core. “Too fucking slow, princess.” He shoves his foot in between your legs, harshly nudging them apart until your knees are spread before burning your shirt clean off. A surprised chirp slips from your lips, hot flames licking at your skin as the shirt dissolves in the flames, but the fire never burns you.

Dabi leans forward, ever warm fingers caressing your cheek gently before letting his fingers trail down your jaw. Gently tumbling down the side of your neck and over to your breasts, tweaking a nipple harshly between his fingers. Your breath hitches, chest pushing up against his touch as he moves to the other nipple, giving that one the same treatment. “You’ve always been so pretty like this, ya know that?” His eyes hold a softness that was only ever reserved for you, you preen under his gaze and attention sitting up just a little bit taller as he runs a hand through your hair.

“Now, let's put that annoying little mouth of yours to good use.” Dabi purrs, gripping your hair tight from the scalp and pressing your face into his lap. You let out a chuckle, happily letting him guide you, keeping you flush against his thigh. Dabi releases himself from his pants, a familiar Prince Albert piercing greeting you as well as your favorite, his Jacob's ladder piercing. You were pleasantly surprised that he still had them, but again, once a pervert always a pervert.

Dabi settles back into his chair, palming at himself with a steady grip still in your hair. “Go on princess. You know what to do.” With a smile on your face, you give the tip of his cock quick teasing peck before bringing your hand up to him, Thumbing at the bead of precum leaking from him before licking a strip up the underside of his shaft. Coming up, you take just the tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his head and sucking lightly at the sensitive skin there.

Dabi pushes at your head and you happily oblige, letting him guide you down, forcing all of him into your mouth. You humm, trying to relax as Dabi begins to rutt up into your mouth, keeping your head down flush against his pelvis, the hair decorating the base of his cock brushing against your nose. You cough a little as Dabi picks up speed, but he keeps a firm grasp on your hair. “Relax princess- fuck- just breathe through your nose darling. You know how.” You do your best to relax as Dabi continues to abuse your throat, bringing your hands up onto his thighs, digging your nails into his pants.

Dabi mutters a soft fuck, taking in a breath pulling you from his cock from your hair before letting go completely. He’s panting just as hard as you are and you smile looking up at him. Tears begin pooling in your eyes as drool dribbles down your lips and onto your chest. Dabi has the biggest smirk on his face, leaning over you, smudging the mix of saliva and precum from your lips to your cheek. He hums. “My messy little princess, did you miss choking on my cock?” You croak out a yes and Dabi chuckles leaning back into his chair again. “Up” he hums, you scramble to rise and Dabi pulls you in by your waist until you’re standing in between his legs.

“Are you ready for me princess? Let me see..” The soft coo of his voice has you flushing, hating and loving the way he always managed to get your riled up with just his words. You hear the distinct sound of clothes ripping and then you’re standing only in your panties in front of him. Dabi smirks, eyes taking in every inch of your body and brings one of his hands up to tweak at your nipples, the other tumbling at the softness of your belly then trailing down to where you wanted him most. His fingers brush against the damp material of your panties, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he presses against you.

“My my.. I've barely even touched you and you’re already soaked right through those pretty little panties. Filthy girl. Do you like it when I'm rough with you, princess?” The sound of Dabi ripping your panties sends a shiver down your spine. His fingers slide down your folds, teasing against your hole, barely pressing against you before pulling away to rub at your clit. You let out a whine, trying to press down against his fingers in an attempt to soothe some of the ache in your belly.

“Do you want my fingers in this slutty little pussy of yours darling?” You whine as Dabi pulls you onto his lap, spreading your legs wide with his own so that you're straddling him. His still hard cock rubbing against your exposed pussy as you settle against him whimpering. Dabi was still fully clothed and you lean forward to clutch at his shirt, hips humping desperately against his hard cock needing something to ease the heat pooling in your belly.

“No, don't want fingers, want you, need you.” You whimper, burying your head against his chest. He chuckles above you, pushing your hips away from him so that you can't rut against him. You snarl, teeth latching onto his neck in frustration. “Fuck me already.” You whine against his neck. Dabi laughs now, a deep happy sound, he smacks your ass and you jolt a little.

“Up. Turn around let me see that gorgeous ass of yours.” You huff, giving his neck another sharp nip before pulling away from him, pouting. Dabi chuckles, leaning in to kiss you soft and tender, hands coming up to cup your cheek. “On your knees. Ass up, princess.” He hums against you, nipping at your bottom lip before pulling away completely. You happily oblige, peeling yourself from his lap, legs trembling in excitement as you do what you're told, wiggling your ass in his face before bending down in front of him.

You hear the creak of the chair as Dabi stands up and then his hands are on you, fingers trailing over the curve of your ass before ghosting against your puckered hole. You chirp and Dabi chuckles, forcing you to spread your legs wider with his knee as he turns his attention to your dripping pussy.

“Look so delicious like this, princess. Absolutely soaked, just for me.” His mouth is on you then, hot warm tongue lapping up at the juices dripping from your core. Dabi chuckles against you as you cry out, dipping two fingers into the welcoming warmth of your doughy walls. His tongue following soon after, tracing your lips with his tongue before plunging the warm muscle in with his fingers. A loud moan passes through your lips as you press yourself against the floor, pushing your ass back desperately against Dabi. You want more, need more. Dabi brings a hand around your body to play with your clit and your mind goes blank, focusing only on the heat in your belly and the way his tongue feels dipping into your pussy.

“Come all over my mouth and I’ll fuck you silly. How does that sound, princess?” Dabi picks up the pace, relentlessly rubbing at your bundle of nerves. It crashes into you all at once, and you can't help cry out as your orgasm overtakes you. Panting like a bitch in heat, whimpering. Dabi doesn't let up as you cum around his tongue. He lets you ride your orgasm out as you press yourself against him. A happy buzz electrifying your body as you come down from your orgasm. The cool of the floor against your cheek helps to keep you grounded as Dabi pulls away from you, all you can manage is a whimper.

You don't get much of a chance to catch your breath, Dabi pushing into you all at once. The delicious stretch as his cock sheaths itself in your pussy, a stretch that only he’d ever been able to give you. You cry out overwhelmed as Dabi sets a merciless pace, the sound of his hips connecting flush against your ass filling the room. You can hear Dabi chuckle darkly behind you as he pressed a hand between your shoulder blades, pushing you further against the ground, your breasts brushing against the cold floor. Your breath hitches as you hear Dabi spit into his hand, followed by wet fingers gingerly circling around the puckered hole exposed to him. You choke out a moan as Dabi continues to fuck into you, one of his fingers dipping into your ass and you can't help but push back against him.

“Dirty girl, do you like it when I play with your ass like this? Pushing into me like the desperate little whore you are huh? Want me to fill up both your holes don’t you baby girl?” You’re a babbling mess beneath him, cheek digging uncomfortably against the cold floor. You loved the feel of Dabi’s body draped over yours, his weight keeping your upper half-pressed firmly against the ground. His other warm callus hand holding your hips up nice and high for him to hump into mindlessly, your juices running down your legs as his hips smack into yours. Dabi snarls against the side of your head, one of the hands holding your hips comes around to your neck as he pulls back on his haunches pulling your body up along with him.

“You feel so good around me princess. Did you miss me? Miss the way my cock stretches you? Pumps you nice and full?” You choke out a soft yes, leaning into him as best you can as he continues to rut into you wildly, the barbells of his jacob's ladder pressing deliciously against your sensitive walls. The heat pooling in your stomach is overwhelming and you can't help but trail your hand down your stomach until you reach the sweet little nub between your legs. Dabi growls behind you, his teeth clamping down around your shoulder. “Who the fuck said you could touch yourself hmm? Bold of you, don't you think doll?” He pulls out stilling completely with only the tip of his cock still buried snugly inside you, the smooth metal of his Prince Albert just barely giving you the stretch you desperately desire. A breathy laugh coming from him as you squirm.

“No, no, no—” You whine out, frustrated. “I’m sorry! Please don’t stop!” You cry out desperately, his fingers squeeze your neck just a little bit tighter as you try to push yourself down onto him. Soft whimpers and nonsense spilling from you as you try to bring your hips down onto him.

“Beg for me baby girl, tell me how badly you want my cock.” Dabi chuckles, moving both of his hands down to hold onto your hips stilling you. You let out a frustrated whine, desperately trying to sink back down onto his cock the tip of his prince albert piercing teasing at your entrance.

“Please—I need you to fill me up again!”

Dabi tuts, one hand trailing up your body until it reaches your face, stroking at your lips before sticking two of his fingers into your mouth, your warm saliva coating them as he presses down onto your tongue. “I dunno, you were quite the little brat earlier, bringing up my fucking father. Remind me who you belong to, go ahead. Beg the way I like little one.” You let out a frustrated huff, mind foggy still desperate to feel him in you again.

“Daddy please—please fill me with your cock! I'm so sorry about what I said earlier. I just want your cock, only yours Daddy, no one else’s!” You cry out as he pushes back into you, your doughy walls pulling him in greedily, his fingers now thurougly coated in your own spit come down to assault your clit as he bites into your neck again. Before you can think, the heat pooling in your belly overflows and you're crying, cumming around his cock as he pounds into you.

You’re a mess chest heaving nonsensical words tumbling from your lips, you don’t get much of a chance to register what is happening. One moment you’re on the floor whimpering as Touya’s warmth leaves you. The next, your back meets the cool hard texture of the wall and Touya is pressed up against your front. Warmth radiates from a still mostly clothed Touya as he hoists your legs around his waist pinning you up against the nearest wall. You roll your head back moaning weakly as he pushes into you again, the unique stretch of the piercings lining his cock overstimulating your already sensitive walls. Touya is more gentle this time, shifting his weight so he can bring a hand up to stroke your cheek. You’re a happy whimpering mess as Touya lazily fucks into you, tears streaming down your face but you missed him. Missed this overwhelming feeling only he could ever give you.

"You look so pretty fucked out like this, little one." Touya continues to hump into you lazily stroking your cheek as he fucks up into you. He kisses you gently forehead first, then your nose, right cheek, then left. You whimper leaning into his touch and puckering your lips for the kiss you really want. Touya chuckles before finally kissing you fully in the lips, a happy whimper leaving you as you get your kiss. Touya pulls away resting his forehead against yours, a new wave of emotions wash over you as brilliant blue eyes lock with yours. For a moment, everything is ok, there are no heroes, no villains, no wars being raged. Just two souls reconnecting after a long time.

"Missed you… Touya I missed you" You can't help the fresh tears pooling in your eyes. Throwing your arms around his neck, Touya chuckles as you bury your face into his neck.

"Fuck… I missed you too princess. It's ok, I'm here. Don't worry about that right now. Relax for me little one, do you think you can give Daddy one more orgasm?” you try to focus on his deep voice, take a breath and lean back allowing yourself to relax against the wall as Touya continues his gentle lazy strokes. Touya leans forward kissing at your throat, "Such a good girl for me. Go ahead, touch yourself for me, sweetheart. Rub that pretty little clit while Daddy fucks this sweet pussy of yours." he hums against your skin, picking up the pace.

You do as you’re told, eagerly reaching between your legs to diddle your clit while Touya begins fucking into you harder. Your other hand comes around to grip onto his arm as he bears your weight, nails digging into the taught muscle as heat pools in your stomach.

"That's it, sweetie. You're doing so good for me baby girl, feel so tight around my cock, fuck— Are you ready for me baby girl? That's it cum for me—” Your name leaves his lips in a soft whisper, it sends you over the edge with a choked cry, your orgasm washes over you leaving you trembling and whimpering as Touya fucks you through it.

“Ah—Touya..! It's too much—” You whimper, hands moving away from your clit pressing against his chest, nails digging into his shirt. Touya does not relent, however, pace erratic, hips pistoning against yours as he chases his own orgasm. He leans his head against your chest, spilling into you with a deep grunt, his breath ragged. The world stills, both of you breathing heavily against each other, Touya continuing to hold you for a few more breaths.

“Think you can get your footing, baby?” Touya pulls away from your chest, peppering your face in soft gentle kisses. You let out a soft yes and Touya helps settle you onto your own two feet, his warm hands finding perch on your bare hips to keep you steady. You look up at him, a feeling of vulnerability washing over you as you look up into familiar blue eyes, tears pooling, threatening to spill.

“Come home to me,” Touya mumbles, a calloused hand reaching up to your bruised face, gently swiping at your swollen lips. He leans down to kiss you, shy and hesitant, delaying what he knows will be rejection. Touya pulls away from you and your bottom lip comes out in a trembling pout.

“Promise me things will be okay..?” You whimper and Touya pulls you into a tight hug, choking back tears as he envelopes you in a warm embrace.

“Things will be okay.”

---------------------------------Epilogue---------------------------------------

In other news, pro hero Bright Burn and reformed hero (Y/H/N) welcome their firstborn child, a baby girl into the world today. The former vigilante turned pro hero Y/H/N came on the scene five years ago under the Todoroki hero agency as a sidekick for the eldest of Endeavor’s son, Bright Burn. The pair took the city by storm. Fans of the hero Bright Burn quickly fell in love with his new sidekick at the time, the fierce-looking but gentle Y/N, whose close combat quirk complements the long-range Bright Burns beautifully. From all of us at Tokyo News, we congratulate our favorite hero pair on their beautiful new child.

#dabi #dabi x you #dabi x reader #bnha touya #dabi is touya #dabi is a todoroki #my hero academia #my hero fanfic #mha dabi #touya todoroki #dabi todoroki #dabi touya #reader insert #touya x reader

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blacksunscorpio · 4 years

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Scorp you're a genius! So relatable and I love how you don't judge others or anyone who comes to you for help. Keep it up! I just had to ask since I see that you make pop culture references to make analogies with astrology. You've mentioned GoT a few times and im a huge fan! Can you do a quick post on Game of Thrones characters and their potential zodiac signs? I'd love to hear your input! Thank you so much!!

Game of Thrones Characters & Their Zodiac Signs

Aries

Khal Drogo- Impulsive. Warlike. Bloodthirsty. Alpha. Conqueror. Hardcore athlete [did you see him on that horse?] Extremely sexual. Forceful. When he first meets Daenerys, he forces himself on her. Afterward, however, he is the first to go to war if he feels the people around him have been disrespected.

Aerys Targaryen- Impulsive, sadistic. Boastful. imperial. He would be the Emperor [reversed] in Tarot, lol. Not as good with being a tactician as he ought to have been. Cruel. Rage problems. The need to be the first and the best. Fire and blood, anyone?

Taurus

Maergery Tyrell - Classy, wealthy, sexy, laid-back, frank but with an air of elegance. Highgardeners have a love for the finer things in life. A love of fine wines and foods. Beautiful clothing and aesthetics. RICH RICH. Get on their bad side and they will take their time finding a way to subvert your authority.

Robert Baratheon- Love of luxury, bullheaded, strong, takes no shit. Fixed in his opinions of others, highkey jealous. In his youth, he enjoyed the gifts of Venus: Charm, wealth coming from the noble house of Baratheon, widely considered handsome by almost all in the 7 kingdoms.

Gemini

Tyrion Lannister- Silver-tongued. HIGHKEY intelligent. Social. Charming. Great sense of humor. A freak [in the sheets]. Chatty. Always finds his way out of a sticky situation. Finds a way to use his intel to bolster diplomacy between his family and the families who hate them.

Little Finger- Cunning, quick-witted, works behind the scenes, manipulative, a snake, jack of all trades. Top dog in the social circles of the 7 Kingdoms. There wasn’t a person who didn’t know of him and his... reputation. He singlehandedly, through his Machiavellian tactics, caused the events of Game of Thrones to unfold.

Cancer

Cersei Lannister- Protective, moody, caring [to her kids], motherly, cantankerous, jealous. A savage. People don’t give Cancer’s the credit they deserve in terms of what they’re capable of. Cersei is a prime example of the type of person who can show unrivaled levels of devotion to the one’s they love. “No one matters but us.” She can be cruel because she lets her emotions rule her actions. When her safety is threatened, she makes sure no one else feels safe either. She loves with a ferocity only rivaled by...

Catelyn Stark- Another mother who would die [quite literally] for her children. Fierce, Protective. Doting. JEALOUS. Let’s not forget how she treated Jon all because she believed Ned’s lie about him being a bastard. Followed her son into battle. Damn near lost her hands fighting off Bran’s would-be assassin.

Leo

Jaime Lannister- Proud. Handsome. Princely. Funny. We seem him go from underdeveloped Leo [arrogant, selfish, bully, prideful, snob, loyal to no one but himself] to developed [Kind, helpful, warm, honest]. Fought bears for his friends. Skilled and proud fighter even without the use of both his hands. Unfortunately, his loyalty caused him to stay loyal to his twin towards the end, but such is the nature of a Leo. They’re hard-pressed to abandon those they truly care for.

Brienne of Tarth- LOYAL. Proud. Devoted. A bit of a flare for drama especially brandishing her sword. Brienne is the definition of Leonine traits. Hard to miss. Devoted to those who show her kindness, i.e Renly, Catelyn, Jaime, Sansa, etc. Always at the front lines in war screaming “STAND YOUR GROUND”. Unrivaled levels of bravery and courage. Not to be fucked with. A true Queen.

Virgo

Samwell Tarley- Intelligent. Scholarly. Methodical. Always with his nose in a book. Unproblematic king. Caught the things everyone else missed, especially when he was an apprentice in Old Towne. Figured out how to cure Jorah Mormont’s affliction on his OWN without any formal training. Genius.

Lord Varys- Remember, Virgo is also ruled by Mercury who is the most cunning of the planetary rulers. Varys always had a spy to collect intel on everyone. A tactician. Never lost his temper. Always had the scoop but didn’t partake in gossip for gossip's sake. Not afraid to be critical or tell those “in charge” his opinion. We can see this specifically when he critiques Aerys, Daenerys, and Robert.

Libra

Davos Seaworth- a skilled diplomat. Davos is always seen seeking balance and fairness in the situations he finds himself in. The minute you see this man in a scene you know he’s going to give a moving speech and get someone out fo a sticky situation. He convinced the Iron Bank to support Stannis. Convinced Daenerys to entertain Jon Snow when they traveled to Dragonstone. Always breaking up a fight. He is in full support of law and order, especially when he called for Melisandre’s head after discovering her part in Shireen’s death [RIP.]

Rhaegar Targaryen- Had a love of music. Harmony. Balance. He brought two families together [Stark and Targaryen]. He was also blessed by Venus in my opinion because he was said to be extremely handsome. A fabulous singer. A fighter yes, but a lover first. Very good with diplomacy but not the best with defending himself against his cousin sign, Taurus [Robert Baratheon].

Scorpio

Daenerys Targaryen- Many see her as an Aries but I have to respectfully disagree. Daenerys is a Scorpio in my opinion. Remember, Scorpio is honorary fire. She was literally “reborn from the ashes”. A Phoenix, Scorpio’s final form. She went from a silent and meek girl to a skilled and commanding Empress. Unlike Arians, she did not jump headfirst into battle. It took many arrows in her dragons, many slights to her ego, copious council from her advisors, dozens of her loved ones lost for her to go nuclear. Like her father, she hungered for power, a very Scorpionic trait. However she, unlike her father, listened to reason [Jorah, Tyrion, and Barristan Selmy]. She had a long fuse until she didn’t, and then that’s when she rained fire and blood on everyone in King’s Landing. She was skilled at retribution and was unapologetic with it *cough* the Tarleys *cough*.. Unlike Arians who pop off at the drop of a hat, she gave her enemies fair warning if/when they crossed her.

Arya Stark- You already know what it is with this one. Arya is pretty much death [Pluto], personified. Stealthy. A tactician. VENGEFUL. I think we all fist-pumped when she served Filch Walder Frey his sons in that pie. Never forgets a slight. Keeps a list of people who’ve wronged her [All Scorpios can probably relate]. You never see her coming. She is “no-one”. She is the assassin that slips through the back. She may seem calm at first but trust that she has been planning your downfall for a while. LOYAL. The definition of a Scorpio.

Melisandre- Dark. Mysterious. Unafraid of the occult. So much of her life is unknown and I’m sure that’s how she preferred it. Even her Lord of light was mysterious. Strong supernatural abilities and highkey psychic. Knew immediately how many “eyes” Arya would “close.” Had ties to the underworld which is demonstrated with her ability to resurrect the dead. Came through at the clutch in the last battle wielding fire [Mars] with her witchcraft. It’s no secret that Scorpios are some of the most skilled in sorcery.

Sagittarius

Missandei- Exotic. From Naath which is an island just above the mysterious continent of Sothoryos. A world traveler. Lucky enough to escape slavery [until the end]. Jupiter's influence is here in my opinion because she is so kind and friendly. Also a polyglot and gifted with the ability to speak 19 languages. Her fire is seen at the end of the series when she tells her best friend “Dracarys”-- meaning “fire” in High Valyrian. She isn’t afraid to call wrath down on others.

Olenna Tyrell- Loud, unapologetically blunt, zero-filter, feisty. Olenna to me is the definition of Sagittarius. Always speaks her mind. Clap back queen. Will call you out. Was also quite promiscuous in her younger years. Very charismatic and extremely likable despite her penchant for saying whatever was on her mind.

Capricorn

Tywin Lannister- I can’t see the patriarch of the most notorious family in Westeros being anything other than a Capricorn. Methodical. Structured. Business-minded. Karmic [A "Lannister always repays his debts"] Cold. Cruel. Unfeeling. Like Saturn, he is the father figure. Basically ran the 7 Kingdoms for Aerys, [which was probably why the latter was so salty towards him.] Always has a plan. The man you want in charge if we’re strictly talking about law and order. Vindictive [had the mountain kill Elia because Rhaegar rejected Cersei.] He’s the ultimate son-of-a-bitch.

Jon Snow- Brooding hero that he is, Bae Jon Snow is without a doubt a Capricorn in my eyes. Duty-bound. Serious. A leader in his own right. Could also be cold and unfeeling in terms of distributing karmic justice. Lest we forget the “fetch-me-a-block” situation with Janos Slynt. In addition, the moment he was resurrected he took vengeance against the black brothers who betrayed him. Saturn, Like Pluto, is all about karmic justice. The beating he put on Ramsey after The Battle of the Bastards was one thousand percent a karmic beating. A proper lover as well, according to Ygritte, Jon also knew how to handle himself in the bedroom, a trait very akin to Capricorns.

Aquarius

Bran Stark- I thought about making Bran a Pisces, but then I changed my mind. Remember Uranus rules sudden insights and hardcore psychic receptivity. It also rules sudden and unexpected catastrophes or surprises/ sudden breaks. Bran suffered a literal “tower” moment at the beginning of the series which resulted in his psychic powers developing. Once he became the three-eyed raven, he became very detached from the world.

Grey Worm- Aquarius is also androgynous. Grey Worm is a eunuch. He is always down to fight for a cause though, specifically his queen’s. Cares about others, specifically Missandei, and was seen towards the latter season speaking up for the Unsullied against the slavers. Fierce combatant but also very detached. His job is his job.

Pisces

Jaqen H’ghar- Much like Neptune, Pisces’ ruler Jaqen has a mysterious and illusive personality. He wears “many faces”. Skilled at illusion and very very intuitive. Has a soft side though which is clearly seen with how he treats Arya. Hardly ever flies off the handle. Calm. Cool. Collected.

Hodor- Sweet and gentle giant, Hodor is a Pisces to me. Affected by psychic trauma, it’s revealed why “Hodor” is the only thing he can say. Calm. A bit of a baby. Caring. Easily adaptable [think of all the terrain he carried Bran through]

Eddard Stark- I don't care what anyone says, Ned stark to me represents the most developed form of a Pisces. Like the Hanged-Man in Tarot that represents sacrifice and which Neptune Rules, he willingly sacrificed his reputation as honorable for his sister, Lyanna. He later sacrifices himself for his children when he died at Joffrey’s [little bitch] command. He is wise. Though appears cold, he is actually a well of feeling and caring. Unfortunately, he also suffered from the naivety of Neptunian influence which is why he wasn’t very skilled at the Game of Thrones, which calls for more tactical ruthlessness. Pisceans however also have the rage of Poseidon flowing through their veins [which people like to forget]. This was displayed when he pinned Petyr Baelish to the Wall in King’s Landing for daring to dishonor Cat by inviting her into a Brothel. RIP, King Stark.

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mia-salazar · 6 years

Text

Change and Redemption: Part 2

((For @ninjacat1515. Final part. I forgot to mention that this particular story takes place in the US. I feel like the gang would travel just to put an end to this for the sake of the continuing peace talks.))

Deep in the heart of the industrial section of the town, an unassuming warehouse housed the group of missing vampire children. All of which were huddled together in the middle of a locked room. Their captors had managed to ventilate in the scent of lavender and cinnamon mixed together to torment the little ones even further. They cried and called for their parents to no avail, only earning a frightening BANG as one of the slayers threw a piece of debris to the other side of the door.

“Quiet in there!! Stupid fucking brats.” Came the intimidating gruff voice of the one posted there to guard them. Peering into the peephole, he saw with a smug smirk as the children gripped each other tightly; a couple burying their faces into the shoulders of their slightly older siblings. Shaking his head, chuckling at his companions. “Damn things do what they can to trick you. Would almost call them human kids if I didn’t know any better. I still hate how I have to guard these things. We’ve already got the room rigged to blow sky high in case they try to get out, so why do I gotta stand here?!”

“I don’t see why we don’t just kill them outright. Those leeches aren’t going to know they’re worm food before they surrender themselves AND their cash.” A woman growled, sharpening her blade out of boredom. Another slayer turned to her with an annoyed tilt of his head.

“Because, Sarah, they CAN tell if their hell spawn have been killed. It’ll be ten times more of a pain in the ass if we can’t get them in a secure position.” “Why did we give them such a generous time limit, though? Gives them the advantage of plotting against us. I almost agree with Sarah. We’re getting restless here, Max!” The second in charge, Eric, glanced at his leader.

Max had situated himself at one of the huge windows overlooking the industrial park. “If you lull them into a false sense of security, they’ll make mistakes and be easy to track. We’re almost to the time limit anyway. Only five minutes left. For all they tote around about their so called ‘family bonds’, they don’t seem to care enough about their young at this moment.”

Sarah grinned darkly. “I say we kill one right now. Show them we mean business.”

Her leader waved a hand dismissively, “Fine, make sure the others don’t get out. We need as much leverage as we can get.”

“Keep your pants on, Maxie. I’ll keep it nice and clean.” She muttered, grabbing her pistol and heading towards the locked room. A minute later, she had one of the cubs by their wrist as they kicked and screeched out of terror. “Oh shut the hell up and sit still!”

Pointing the pistol at the child’s head, the sadistic woman grinned darkly. “Say goodnight, freak.”

Her finger never became taut on the trigger. Instead a bullet erupted out through her right eye in a mini fountain of gore, ending the miserable woman’s existence. As her body fell with a meaty thud, the rest of the slayers stared at their fallen comrade in shock. The cub scrambled away from the carcass and back toward the others, all clinging to each other for comfort.

“My sincerest apologies but this gathering ye lot have set up be not something the rest of us agree with.” A gruff voice with a foreign accent drawled over from the large double door serving as the warehouse’s entrance. In the doorway stood none other than Hector Barbossa himself with a still smoking gun primed for another shot and a triumphant smirk on his bearded face.

“Well if it ain’t the pussy-footed old pirate himself. Come all this way to give us a class on how to ‘tame’ these snot-nosed brats? I’ll be honest with you, I never expected a bunch of talented hunters, such as yourself and your group, to chicken out so hard that they think they have to achieve peace with these things. What a goddamn waste.” Max put his hands on hips, mockingly disappointed. “Sorry but I’m going to have to decline the offer since we’ve already got a buyer for their fangs. I suppose they make good jewelry.”

He waved his hand to the men stationed up in the catwalks. “Kill him.”

Just as the first man was about to take the shot at Barbossa’s head, the wind was abruptly knocked out of him. Dumbfounded, his eyes slowly left his target to stare at the blade that had pierced through his chest cavity. He gurgled, “Max...buddy…”

Henry didn’t let him finish. He yanked his sword out with such a ferocity that it was clear on what the normally more docile hunter thought of this group. The rest of Max’s men found themselves in near identical situations. Seems that the rest of Barbossa’s group had made their way up to the rafters before his grand entry. They needed the element of surprise and they certainly got it. None of the kidnappers had been expecting them. Any that had recovered from their initial shock had been ironically frozen in place the same way the vampire parents had been on the night of the kidnappings.

Carina, having just finished up a joint hex with Shansa, shot a proud smirk at her father from the far side of the room. The slayer’s own witch subdued at their feet. Unfortunately, victory is never assured without at least one last complication. Max remained mobile in the middle of the warehouse with a brightly glowing stone in right hand.

“You ain’t gettin’ me tonight! See this?! It’s a little something to keep me from getting hexed as long as I hold it. I’m WAY ahead of you idiots!” The irate slayer snarled, holding up the detonator switch in his other hand. “You think this is the end?! Ha! I still have the brats locked up. I can press this button at any time and blow the fuckers to hell myself! Hell if I care anymore, I’m having the last goddamn laugh!”

Fashionably late as always, Jack saunters up behind him. Picking up a metal rod from off the ground, raising it high above his head to swiftly bring it down on the slayer leader’s head. The man crumpled in an instant, detonator delicately swiped from his hand by the crafty man above him. Grimacing at the nasty device, he sauntered around the room as the two witches breaking the lock on the door to get the children out as soon as possible. Smirking as the last cub was carried out, Jack turned to the immobilized slayers with his arms spread out.

“Unfortunately lads and-” He glanced down and toed at Sarah’s corpse disgustedly. “Former...lasses, this little charade is coming to an end now. Wasn’t hard for us to hear about it, the whole world’s been on the hunt for a week. Lucky we found ya when we did. You’ve all caused enough trouble for the human race. Endangering peace talks, almost kick starting a war, taking a few perfectly innocent children in the process to use as black market fodder. Ye must be proud of yourselves for terrifying them within a inch of their very impressionable lives.”

Jack moseyed on back and squatted to lean into Max’s face with a grin, “Wonder how ye’ll fair against a vampire that’s grown proper. Let’s say we find out, savvy?”

It was almost like a tidal wave of relief had swept through the town as the kidnapped cubs scrambled out of the cars and leaping into the arms of their sobbing parents. Rumbling purrs soothed frayed nerves and in turn warming the hearts of even the most stoic of audience members. Each child was accounted for and not a single hair on their heads had been harmed. It was a miracle really, it could have ended so much worse. The joint efforts of both the gang as well as law enforcement were deeply appreciated by the supernatural community.

The peace talks would continue with gusto this time. It was now clear that while there were those who would seek to harm the delicate progress that had been made, there were far more who would seek to maintain it. News crews covered the ongoing story, broadcasting worldwide. The police chief took Hector to the side to question him.

“How did you manage to find their location? Nothing pointed towards them being in that warehouse.”

The older man smiled secretively. “Ye might be bound by the law but we have a slightly...different way of going about our business. That aside, we have a gift for our vampire friends. A token of our friendship.”

Murtogg and Mullroy grinned at each other as they opened the door to one of the blacked out vans and grabbing at the still frozen slayer leader. A few surviving group members were pulled out of the van by Jack and Pintel. Every single one was chained up, practically tied up like a bunch of presents. The only thing missing was a bow, Barbossa mused.

The gang dumped the slayers at the feet of the vampire parents; all of which growled and hissed menacingly, pulling their children to them protectively. Jack bowed to them, “All yours, mates!”

#vampire au #tw: child abuse #tw: violence #tw: gore

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talhaghafoor2019-blog · 5 years

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Prog Rock Is the Whitest Music Ever

“We are the most uncool people in Miami.” So begins, promisingly enough, David Weigel’s The Show That Never Ends: The Rise and Fall of Prog Rock. Weigel, along with 3,000 fellow Yes-heads, Rush-oids, Tull freaks, and votaries of King Crimson—cultural underdogs all, twitching and grimacing with revenge-of-the-nerds excitement—is at the port of Miami, about to embark on a five-day progressive-rock-themed cruise: a floating orgy of some of the most despised music ever produced by long-haired white men.

W. W. Norton

Do you like prog rock, the extravagantly conceptual and wildly technical post-psychedelic subgenre that ruled the world for about 30 seconds in the early 1970s before being torn to pieces by the starving street dogs of punk rock? Do you like the proggers, with their terrible pampered proficiency, their priestly robes, and their air—once they get behind their instruments—of an inverted, almost abscessed Englishness? I don’t. At least, I think I don’t. I like Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody,” which is a kind of wonderful satirical compression of prog rock, a fast-forward operetta with goofy existentialist trappings and a heavy-metal blowout in the middle; I like the bit of Mike Oldfield’s Tubular Bells that became the theme music for The Exorcist. And there are contemporary bands I adore that have been grazed by prog: the moody, alchemical Tool, the obtuse and crushing Meshuggah. But for naked prog, the thing itself, I seem to lack the mettle. The trapped, eunuch ferocity of Geddy Lee’s voice, squealing inside the nonsense clockwork of Rush, disturbs me. And Yes’s Tales From Topographic Oceans is an experience to me unintelligible and close to unbearable, like being read aloud a lengthy passage of prose with no verbs in it.

Hated, dated, sonically superannuated … One could enjoy prog ironically, I suppose—listen to it with a drooping and decadent ear, getting off on the fabulous obsolescence, etc. But that’s not what Weigel is about. He loves prog, and his argument, his prog polemic, is that the glory of this music has been obscured from us by sneering decades of hipster rock criticism and prejudice against 20-minute songs:

Teams of highly trained visionaries paced themselves against their influences and their peers to write songs they were confident no one else would think of writing. They took the music far, far away from the basics, so that some later groups of jerks could take it “back to basics” and be praised for their genius. Every new artistic movement rebels against whatever came right before it. But the progressives’ rebellion was the weirdest and the best.

Put like that, it does sound rather tasty. Prog as a wild chamber of experimentation, a sci-fi trespass across the limits of popular music, driving clear of fashion and orbiting the Earth forever. Awesome. The problem comes, for me, when I actually listen to the stuff. Is it not a form of aesthetic dissipation to praise something for its ambition and its bold idiosyncrasy when that something is, objectively speaking, crap? I think it might be. Gentle Giant, in 1972, took a poem from Knots, a book by the great heretic psychiatrist R. D. Laing, and turned it into an intricate, multivoice chant: It hurts him to think that she is / hurting her by him being hurt to think / that she thinks he is hurt by making her / feel guilty at hurting him by her thinking / she wants him to want her. The idea is great on paper. But listen to the song, to its scurrying, fidgety instrumentation, its fussy avoidance of anything like a melody. It is not enjoyable. At all. Magma, the French prog band, invented not only its own L. Ron Hubbard–style cosmic origin story but its own language (Kobaïan, which reads like a sequence of Gothic expletives: Nebëhr gudahtt, Köhntarkösz). Again, very creative. But run, oh run, from the music.

The relative crudity of punk rock was simply a biological corrective—a healing, if you like.

If Weigel were David Foster Wallace, he would have written his entire book from inside that cruise ship, possibly never leaving his cabin, eavesdropping on snatches of music and chitchat and sending out his imagination in heavy spirals of paranoia and insight. But Weigel is a political reporter for The Washington Post, so he climbs off that wiggy, proggy boat and treads onto the dry land of chronology. “We’re a European group,” declared the lead singer of proto-proggers The Nice in 1969, “so we’re improvising on European structures … We’re not American Negros, so we can’t really improvise and feel the way they can.” Indeed. Thus did prog divorce itself from the blues, take flight into the neoclassical, and become the whitest music ever.

Procol Harum fiddled around with Bach’s Air on a G String and came up with “A Whiter Shade of Pale.” More vandalistically, the super-keyboardist Keith Emerson, of The Nice and then Emerson, Lake & Palmer, unleashed himself upon the works of Modest Mussorgsky (Pictures at an Exhibition), Alberto Ginastera (“Toccata”), and Aaron Copland (“Fanfare for the Common Man”). You’ve got to love Emerson. He would wrench, upend, and literally stab his instrument—rather in the manner in which Hunter S. Thompson used to shoot his typewriter—jamming down keys with daggers, the better to produce his trademark squelching stun-chords. Fiending for technology, vivid with turbulence, he went from the Hammond organ to the freshly developed Moog synthesizer. (The proper pronunciation of Moog, I recently discovered, is “Mogue,” like “vogue.” Perhaps prog should be pronounced “progue.”)

Money rained down upon the proggers. Bands went on tour with orchestras in tow; Emerson, Lake & Palmer’s Greg Lake stood onstage on his own private patch of Persian rug. But prog’s doom was built in. It had to die. As a breed, the proggers were hook-averse, earworm-allergic; they disdained the tune, which is the infinitely precious sound of the universe rhyming with one’s own brain. What’s more, they showed no reverence before the sacred mystery of repetition, before its power as what the music critic Ben Ratliff called “the expansion of an idea.” Instead, like mad professors, they threw everything in there: the ideas, the complexity, the guitars with two necks, the groove-bedeviling tempo shifts. To all this, the relative crudity of punk rock was simply a biological corrective—a healing, if you like. Also, economics intervened. In 1979, as Weigel explains, record sales declined 20 percent in Britain and 11 percent in the United States, and there was a corresponding crash in the inclination of labels to indulge their progged-out artistes. No more disappearing into the countryside for two years to make an album. Now you had to compete in the singles market.

Some startling adaptations did occur. King Crimson’s Robert Fripp achieved a furious pop relevance by, as he described it, “spraying burning guitar all over David Bowie’s album”—the album in question being 1980’s Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps). Yes hit big in 1983 with the genderless cocaine-frost of “Owner of a Lonely Heart.” And Genesis, having lost ultra-arty front man Peter Gabriel, turned out to have been incubating behind the drum kit an enormous pop star: the keening everyman Phil Collins.

These, though, were the exceptions. The labels wanted punk, or punky pop, or new wave—anything but prog. “None of those genres,” grumbled Greg Lake, retrospectively, “had any musical or cultural or intellectual foundation … They were invented by music magazines and record companies talking together.” Fake news! But the change was irreversible: The proggers were, at a stroke, outmoded. Which is how, to a remarkable degree, their music still sounds—noodling and time-bound, a failed mutation, an evolutionary red herring. (Bebop doesn’t sound like that. Speed metal doesn’t sound like that.)

I feel you out there, prog-lovers, burning at my glibness. And who knows? If the great texts of prog had inscribed themselves, like The Lord of the Rings, upon my frontal lobes when they were teenage and putty-soft, I might be writing a different column altogether. But they didn’t, and I’m not. The proggers got away with murder, artistically speaking. And then, like justice, came the Ramones.

This content was originally published here.

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magical-awesome-kid · 7 years

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Voltron and Eevee Evolutions

So I saw some pictures floating around with the Paladins and various pokemon, and I wanted to point out who would have what evolutions of my faves - the eevees.

So IDEA: Voltron lands on a planet that’s not got intelligent life or whatever to get some supplies that are naturally occurring there (think like crystals or water or something) but OF COURSE Lance is like TIME TO EXPLORE and grabs Hunk and Pidge and runs off. Keith goes with because SOMEONE has to keep an eye on these nerds and Shiro’s busy being responsible.

So they are running around and Lance SWEARS these trees almost look like Earth but there’s something odd about the berries and food stuff there. Hunk says nothing is naturally occurring on Earth exactly but both Lance and Pidge SWEAR they look familiar.

Then a bushel shakes and the four FREAK OUT but Keith is the one who mans up with a sword and pushes it aside.

And Lance drops his gun and SHREIKS because HOLY SHIT THOSE ARE EEVEES FROM POKEMON.

Keith then gets #disapointedlooks from the gang when he says the only pokemon he knows is Pikachu but DOESN’T MATTER there’s EEVEES for them all! So the balls are very cute and friendly and bring them berries and they bond. When Shiro calls them back to the ship, they leave their friends behind and rocket off into space.

Or so they think.

Turns out, the Eevees stowed away and are found long after they left the planet and, of all things, start EVOLVING when they bond with various people on the ship.

Teams are as follows:

Lance has two because he’s just so friendly and needs hugs, named Enrique and Empress. Enrique evolves to Glaceon and Empress to Vaporeon

Keith has, of course, a Flameon named Max

Hunk has an energetic Jolteon by the name of Ulani

Pidge’s badass Leafeon is Ada

Shiro’s Akira is an Espeon

Allura has an Umbreon she just calls Umbreon

Coran has this ADORABLE Sylveon named Fala

(Reasons below)

So, as mentioned, they begin evolving with bonding time and under various situations with their “trainers.” The also got names that have a lot of meaning to each person (mostly names that remind the team of home or represent some aspect of their personality)

Lance has the first evolution because he spends the most time with his eevees. He’s got two that follow him everywhere named Enrique and Empress because they are FLY but eventually they sneak into the cockpit during a mission and drop out of Blue on an icy planet. Lance takes a hit for them and Blue ends up glowing and both evolve, Enrique to Glaceon and Empress to Vapoureon. Lance, once healed, is PROUD (and rubs it in Keith’s face)

Pidge is next. As it is, her little Eevee is a sweetie that just loves to follow her around and is always curious about everything. Ada, named after Ada Lovelace a pioneer in computer science, finds herself on Olkarion. As a joke, Pidge slips a headband over Ada, but not only is Ada able to summon and control a plant-based machine but she also evolves to Leafeon

Keith doesn’t really know what to do with the little creature that’s following him. At first, he tries to push his Eevee onto Lance or Hunk who have more skills at this but he keeps sneaking off into Keith’s bed and demands snuggles. Keith eventually relents when he realizes the creature is as stubborn as him. Eventually they DO bond and Keith names his Max as it’s the first vaguely normal name that pops in his head. Max ends up evolving very randomly. He sneaks off one day and just comes back a Flameon. They were on a desert planet at the time, and Lance jokes that “at least Max didn’t end up in a hut in the middle of the desert”

Hunk evolution! He’s not really sure what his eevee is going to turn into but he loves her all the same. She’s a ball of energy, always light on her feet and willing to help with whatever Hunk’s working on - whether that be engineering work, cooking, or hunting down good ingredients. Ulani (Polynesian meaning cheerful and lighthearted) is a spark of life, so when she grabs a loose wire trying to stop it from zapping Hunk, instead of getting injured it triggers the evolution to Jolteon.

Shiro isn’t all for the pet thing but he caves SO HARD when he realizes pokemon. Akira (”clear” like having a clear mind) follows him everywhere, always vigilant and a mother hen to all the other Eevees, even as some evolve and become larger/more powerful then him. He’s also a GODSEND when Shiro’s having panic attacks or flashbacks, always seeming to feel ways to help him out. Then, when Shiro disappears in S2 finale, Akira goes bounding for the chair and disappears. Twenty-four hours later, an Espeon bounds through the castle and drags all the others to the cockpit where an injured but alive Shiro is. Shiro later reveals that Zarkon and he were trapped in a psychic battle ground and, with the help of Akira who arrived evolved, they managed to take him down.

Coran even gets in on the fun! He LOVES these little creatures - they definitely didn’t exist back in the day - and Fala (Altean name of his mother meaning beautiful) is always up for fun. The two absolutely ADORE one another and Fala learns Fairy Wing somehow? Also, Fala is the only one who willingly eats Coran’s food and enjoys it. It’s no surprise, then, that Fala eventually evolves to Slyveon.

Allura is the last to evolve. Her Eevee, simply called Eevee because she calls her mice “the mice” and all, is the most docile of the bunch. He is often seen at the princess’ side with the mice at his back and ready for action. In the wee hours when Allura is unable to sleep, though, she can always find her Eevee awake and there for her. It is on one of these nights that they receive a frantic distress call and run to a nearby planet and Allura is forced onto the ground when a druid threatens the people. Eevee is with her and, when the moon shines on it’s back, it leaps into action in a burst of light. Umbreon attacks with ferocity, highly resistant to the psychic energy that Allura struggled to counter. The two together defeat the druid in a combination of untrained magic and Shadow Ball blast.

#Voltron Legendary Defender #Eevee #Eevee Evolutions #Pokemon

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duckbeater · 7 years

Link

My friend Emma is the lit editor for Third Coast Review, a website following Chicago-based culture. She solicited my response to a novel that I thought would be a joy to read! And sometimes it was. The below reproduces my notes and feints as I worked toward producing what became a fairly strident response for her section, which ultimately surprised me. I read what was published on the site to Daniel and he said, “Wow, it’s unmistakable that you hate the novel!” and while this didn’t perplex me, I thought, Oof, I don’t actually hate the novel, I just have opinions about its shortcomings. So the below is also, I guess, something of my softer, second consideration.

—

I read Browning's first novels, I'm Trying to Reach You (2012) and The Correspondence Artist (2011), a few winters back, at a rare juncture of poverty and exhibitionism. I had no money, no standards, and I was tired of staying indoors grousing over very cheap meals. I volunteered for a community dance project having never done anything like that before—that is, aside from drunkenly dancing my ass off in bars. I thought it would be constructive to turn a thing I loved to do, but that nevertheless filled me with deepest shame (trust me, I really broke it off at weddings), into a more mindful, more healthful and more regimented activity. It would get me out of the house, I thought, and it was free. I would be a part of making art, which is usually prohibitively expensive, as anyone with a fine arts degree can tell you. For dance, for this dance, the choreographer requested only that we show up on time. I'm a freak about punctuality. The stars had aligned.

Browning is herself a dancer (and an academic, and of course a novelist) and the narrators in her novels are same. The performing body and its capacities as a connecting medium (shamed and celebrated), this is the great inquiry of her work. If I felt, in that first month of reading her books while also dancing for the scrappy little corps, that I was conversing with her ideas—augmenting thesis with praxis—then I also responded to the novels’ meta-inquiry, the nagging suspicion that dancing for the company increased my sense of disconnection and isolation; that I had waded, in fact, into embarrassment. I might love to shake my body, I might even have the intensity and ferocity of a really expressive dancer—but that doesn’t mean I actually contributed in a meaningful way to a successful artistic enterprise. Being a part of an artistic failure, besides, is its own kind of experience, albeit one we try to avoid.

Browning’s latest novel The Gift probes the narrator’s compulsion to create “inappropriate intimacies,” while working to define what those intimacies could possibly be. Some of this work is done through dance—articulating intimacy by bringing us into proximity with a body, with the body’s hands, the body’s nakedness and movement—and a lot of this work is done through failure: failing to arrive, failing to tell the truth, failing to appear. Are we foremost bound up in bodies? When we extend ourselves across mediums—social, textual, televisual—and when we breach boundaries of cultural and creative divides, is the effect additive (increased sensorium, expanded presence) or subtractive (do we just spread ourselves too thin). How is intimacy sustained, enhanced, or encountered at all via absence?

Browning only half sustains her inquiry “novelistically” (with characters and situations), relying instead on a more academic mode of glosses, summaries, interpretations and applications of post-structural theorists and other en vogue critical discourses. A character is rarely in love without also examining that “love” through a lens of affect, queer, disability, and/or political theory. Sexual acts go through the Lacanian ringer. Emails, reproduced, irritatingly, seemingly unedited, are examined and replied back to at length. (Having a JSTOR account on hand isn’t necessarily a prerequisite, but it can really help.) On Browning’s website, she calls her works “fictocriticism,” an uglier version, I suppose, then Lance Olsen’s “critifiction,” though the fussiness of these designations could be swapped out with “auto-fiction” or “metafiction” with minimal loss in comprehension of the novel’s interest in formal innovation and authorial exposure.

I’m an advocate of Browning’s work but I want to be careful to express my unremitting frustration with this novel. Her avatar, Barbara Andersen, guides the reader through a series of low-heat, low-friction performance art encounters, recalled in (admittedly) hazy detail. The opulence of the narrator’s apologies on behalf of her faulty memory feels like the extension of a crude olive branch from the author herself, apologizing to the “real” people and their “real” projects the book describes. Some of these details are a bit off! It’s very much graduate student winking at the professor in the middle of a dissertation, or perhaps the dissertation’s acknowledgements section. I used to format edit those; that was my stipend work as a graduate student; the impulse is touching. Reproducing that impulse in fiction is, I think, meant to be a selfless corrective against critical overreach: the narrator doesn’t want to totalize or co-opt someone else’s experience or someone else’s performance: this “liminality” is ethically less suspect but makes for ponderous, slack descriptions of what would be better served by brute assertion of detail. (I just looked up “liminality” and it’s a term used in anthropology. Wikipedia says: “In anthropology, liminality (from the Latin word līmen, meaning "a threshold") is the quality of ambiguity or disorientation that occurs in the middle stage of rituals, when participants no longer hold their pre-ritual status but have not yet begun the transition to the status they will hold when the ritual is complete.” Browning would probably appreciate the idea that her sometimes fuzzy reenactments mean the readers must do the collaborative work of more fully imagining the novel’s happenings, the novel’s timeline, etc.)

Browning is adept at staging intellectuals in their milieus; she’s also acute in describing their off-hours, when they’re frustrated, alone, bouncing bad rent checks, and dithering away on deadlines. The Gift’s academic, in her off-hours, makes ukulele covers of sentimental pop songs, and begins a hiccupy romance with a musical savant in Germany. Whether you find yourself engaged by this part of the book may in part have to do with whether you’ve read Browning’s other novels, and whether you’re at all stimulated by a belated discussion of “the real” at a time when most any fourteen-year-old is versed on the personas we create online and the messy ways those personas betray our offline, “RL” bodies. It might also help if you love to dance or spend long hours avoiding your actual work (that is, the work your employer expects to compensate you for) (as I often do) watching YouTube videos of people dancing. Having a love for the mores of the academy and the scruples of graduate students and the particulars of cultural reportage also helps. Jennifer Doyles’ Hold It Against Me, a study of emotions and affect in in art (Ron Athey, Aliza Shvarts, James Luna), should figure but somehow does not.

Lauren Berlant crops up in Browning’s novels, and for this I read her essay “Affect Is the New Trauma” (wasn’t paywalled!), a discussion about “work” in the academy—a truly broad designation of activity that doesn’t necessarily look like “labor,” and that doesn’t necessarily describe a “career.” A painter sitting in his studio looking at a canvas is still “painting,” is my example. And professors, Berlant writes, describing her own procedures, “we are allowed to experiment and fail, to be wrong and revise, to get distracted, to not know what we’re doing while we’re doing it, to stop in the middle, to follow our instincts and hunches, not just building on established foundations. We are allowed to demand patience for the obscure, the experimental, the political, and the pedantic.” This is The Gift to a tee.

I would argue that the mediated self is a poor substitution for the living presence in all of Browning's works, not only especially this one. The German musician in The Gift, a mysterious figure who seems to drive the plot’s engine of desire, has a literal amputation—his leg above the knee—and a more figurative one, in his autism, which affects his ability to communicate and emote. He becomes a missed connection, and, if I’m reading the novel’s ending correctly, an ultimately abandoned one. Browning’s previous novel I’m Trying to Reach You said it right in the title: her characters are stymied by missed connection, by the shortcomings of most communiques, and then they’re heartbroken. You might send a stranger a quick ukulele cover, but it doesn’t mean that stranger will thank you.

#barbara browning #the gift

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lllllllllllines · 6 years

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my new draft

The cool summer breeze, the smell of the ocean, the setting was perfect for a vacation. As with most guys my age, all could think was about the sun, the surf and the girls, practically forgetting that we were heading to my aunt’s summer home in a couple days drive. My younger sister seemed to be having the time of her life, looking out the window and taking pictures. Looking around, the whole car was as excited and happy as ever. My sister coming from behind me and taking a selfie, knocking me out of my trance. “Ok, what even?” she smiled at my surprise, giggling. I calmed, giggling as well, everything seemed nice as she showed the final product. Then the rumbling began, starting off small then ending in a loud castrophonous quake. Above us, a dark, looming, wave charged forward, hitting everyone, and then everything went black. I jolted up with a loud gasp, finding myself in a tattered bed. I stood up dazed and with a massive headache. “Where am I?” I wonder, glancing around the room, the walls were torn and slightly mouldy. I tried to look outside, but the windows were clouded. “Hello, welcome to dread!” Startled, I blindly swatted at the unknown voice behind me. “Whoa! Watch where you’re swingin’ there.”

I look around frantically for where the voice is coming from. “Up here, buddy” I look up to see a reddish pink skull with a blue flame like aura around it. “Hiya!” it wobbled slightly like it was waving a non existing hand. I did my best to look calm but inside I was screaming. “What the hell..” It moved in closer to me, “ ok, I know this seems very out of control right now.” it sounded calm, as though it were trying to comfort me. “ so where am I at this moment?” I asked cautiously as this was not a situation I would ever be used to. “As I had just said, welcome to Dread, the smallest of the roaming branch cities, in the northern part of the vast desert.” as it said this you could feel the monotone in its voice. “And what are you?” It had lowered itself down to meet my eyes, “ I am a Heavy Artillery Body Evaluation unit, or H.A.B.E. for short, how about you?”

“Um, my name is Callum, wait.. heavy artillery?” I looked at it, concerned. “Did I stutter? It’s dangerous outside, so we need to be prepared.” I sat back on the bed taking it all in, where was this place? why was it dangerous? I had to see for myself. I readied myself to see what might be waiting for me outside, taking a deep breath as I took my first few steps towards the door. “ Hold up, what part of dangerous did you not understand?” I stopped in my tracks, sighing “I just woke up here to a floating skull telling me not to leave a room because of some so-called “dangers” outside. You don’t see how sketchy that sounds? Besides, I have people I need to find.” H.A.B.E closed its “eyes” and shook its “head” as though it were in the middle of a facepalm. “ if your going out there, you can at least take this.” a blade appeared in front of its face, falling and wedging itself into the rotting wooden floor in front of me. “My master, the one who brought you to this room, told me you give you this when you woke up.” I pulled it out, and studied it with a nervous fervor. The handle was long and made of darkened wood, curved on both ends. the longer, more outward curve housed the blade, it was large, starting off straight but curving at the end. It had four curves at the back of the blade tapering into three large spikes, the edge seemed to glow a neon cyan, and at the bottom of the hilt was a thicker hooked curve. looking at it, you could pretty much assume that creator really liked curves.

there was a strange insignia closest to the bottom of the blade, next to the hilt. I was wasting time with this though, as I could see the sunlight fading through the clouded windows. I took a deep, soul wrenching breath, as I opened the door and stepped into the unknown.

It was dark, even through the most noticeable sunlight, it was darker than the blackest night. Surrounding my ears was a deafening white noise, I held the blade to my chest as I slowly wandered those dark streets. The blue flame of H.A.B.E being my only light, the static was getting louder, in the distance I could hear a loud guttural howl. “shh, hide. There’s noise here.” I became rather confused as it shoved me behind a wall. “Noise? Of course there’s noise, I’ve been hearing it this whole-“ “NOT. THAT. KIND.” I felt a force cover my mouth, as it spoke in a voice that sounded like it was gritting its teeth. It pushed me in a direction opposite of the sound right next to us, although it in itself did not have facial features, It gave off a feeling that what ever was over there was not friendly. we were almost out of the clear, SNAP, a stick broke under my foot, causing the sound to echo through the the empty street. I heard a bloodcurdling screech in the distance. Sounding like metal grinding against itself, it cut through the static which was growing louder. In the distance, I saw a figure, it stood tall and in an almost broken backwards stance.

“We should run.” H.A.B.E had this urgency in its voice, the thing snapped its attention towards us. With that H.A.B.E pushed me forward until we were both moving at a quick pace. I running as fast I could and H.A.B.E quickly hovering along behind me. We weren’t even given that much of a head start as the figure started bounding towards us with soul-shattering speed and ferocity. The static was growing louder with each step it took, Looking behind me, its body seemed to twist and shamble as it got closer. Almost as though it was practically breaking itself just to get to us. I don’t know what it was, it might have been an instinct or what have you, but at that moment I turned around and raised the blade, closing my eyes. Everything seemed to freeze for a few seconds, I thought I was about to die, until I heard the crashing of a metal blade something sharp. Opening my eyes, I finally got a good look at the thing, large black claws which I had never seen on my first glance at it from that distance. Its skin was a ghostly pale, its eyes were large, almost like an owl’s, one looked completely black with dots of white forming a circle around what should have been the sclera, slowly expanding while turning clockwise, I was sure I heard ticking. While we were struggling, the static sound was growing even louder until it was all I could hear. The creature was just about to slash at me again until I pushed it away with all my force, Knocking it on its ass. A few seconds after, it attempted to stand up but it couldn’t as it seemed to be held down by some invisible force. Looking towards H.A.B.E, It seemed to be struggling almost as if it was holding the thing down. The creature, struggled to stand, with each movement you could hear what I assumed were bones, cracking and snapping under the weight. I was mortified, I couldn’t wrap my head around something— No, Someone being able to move like that under that much pressure and strain without so much as a flinch. It burst forward with a roar as a large shockwave hit us both, H.A.B.E’s flame was practically gone, the artificial pink bone tissue was covered in bright blue embers as it seemed to sickly float just above the asphalt. It lunged towards me again, afraid, I gripped the blade tightly and the longer I held it the lighter it became, the edge of the blade seemed to light up more, the cyan glow getting brighter and more intense. With all my might I swung at the creature ”NO! STOP!” H.A.B.E called out, but it was too late, I had already split its head open, a black fluid flowing out of the missing half. I heard screaming in the distance, coming from all sides, the static which had faded once I had killed that monster was getting even louder. “so, what was your name again?” H.A.B.E had turned to me, “uh… Callum, Callum Rose Kates.” The flame surrounding it grew larger, “Well then, Mr. Kates, it now seems that we are royally fucked.” The kind yet stern demeanor that it had exhibited had now turned to sorrow, the howling was getting closer now, “Wait? You said you were heavy artillery, can’t you just shoot them down?” It sighed, “well there is another problem.” It seemed to take a deep breath even though it had no lungs to speak of, “my master told me to stay with you cause there was no need me to be there for him anymore, because of that, all of my abilities have been reset and locked to accommodate a new user. So right now all I can do I move things and won’t help against a horde of noise.” It had said this in an annoyed tone of voice. I gripped the blade holding it in front of me, the static was Immense and the howling was extremely close, “I guess this is it then, I’m gonna die here in a hellhole I know nothing about.” I could see them now, just over the horizon, I was about to charge ahead, to go out swinging but then— I heard a sick splat coming up ahead.

In front of me, a man — or what I could assume was a man — in a white hooded cloak, blue sash over the shoulders was standing there. They were holding a weapon that any normal human would not be able to wield, It looked like a large pole arm, on one end it looked like there was a large rectangular blade, black center, silver edge. Held together by a golden guard, one bar along the width of the blade at the bottom, the other bar was slightly lower than the blade and seemed to make a cross shape. On the other end was a large bronze mace, the whole thing looked monstrously heavy and yet they were holding it with one hand. “Lets take this chance and run!” H.A.B.E said visible horror contorted in his sockets. “We do not, want to meet that person” H.A.B.E Dragged me along towards an opening in between two buildings, trying its hardest to make sure the man did not see us. I somehow yanked my self free from its invisible grasp and looked around the corner. “What are you doing!?” H.A.B.E was freaking out in hushed breaths, trying to call me back, but I was too curious. I crept forward trying my hardest not to be seen, hearing the chaos in the distance. They were a flurry, whirling around with moves I could not follow. Bodies were flying and for a second I caught a glimpse of what they looked like, a white humanoid mask with black eyes, a blue light floating an inch from their forehead and golden cube shaped prayer beads. As all of the creatures were taken care of, they turned around and even through dark eyes of the mask I could tell that this person was staring daggers at me. They began to step forward, slowly picking up speed, but unlike the the creature from before, they were a lot slower due to the fact that the weapon they were wielding did in fact have some weight to it. As they got closer, each step getting faster, I was about to run, until I heard a sound, like someone cracking their neck a thousand times at once. Looking back, I could see the beads forming a large black circle around their neck, absorbing the fluid from the bodies strewn along the ground until they were just dried out husks. The beads then snapped and contorted into large branch like spikes that frayed and warped. They almost looked like antlers hanging from the masked person’s neck. I did a heel turn and ran at breakneck speed, trying my best not to look back. I could hear beads whipping and snapping at us with each step, and in doing so, did my best to move out the way each time. Before long I was out of breath but could not stop moving, as I felt one of the spines graze my leg, the pain was horrible. I felt like crying, I felt like screaming. But I had no time, I needed to keep moving, I could hear the weapon in their hand raising above their head. They were about swing down on us when a gunshot fired in the distance. The masked one screamed, holding his hand which seemed to be bleeding a bright pink, in front of us a woman with bright orange hair in the shape of a pompadour and a black bandanna around her face called out. “Hey you! Get over here quickly!” The masked one rushed towards us, dropping their weapon as they ran at full speed.

the woman fired a few more times, the spines around the man’s neck deflecting each bullet, as they seemed to run in a more animalistic manner. “Hurry it up!” She took one last shot, striking him in the foot and he collapsed screaming in absolute pain and horror. Even through all that, we moved as quickly as we could until we caught up with her. “Oh thank god you’re alright, if I missed by even an inch you would have been ripped to sheds.” It was hard to breathe, running for so long the adrenaline finally wore off, and at that moment it felt like I was just kicked in the stomach. “thank… you…” I made a loud, out of breath groaning sound in an attempt to catch my breath. “So, tell me, what were you doing out there?” She came in, uncomfortably close to my face. “I..uhh…I-“ “Sargent Cross!” I was interrupted by a loud voice in the distance, as I looked to see where the voice was coming from, a red flash closed in on my sight as H.A.B.E pulled me back, causing me to hit the floor. I notice a tuft of silver hair land on my chest, “Danny! I just saved him, stop trying to kill every outsider you meet!”

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