#inner-city riots

[filosofablogger]

♫ Dancing In The Street ♫ (Redux)

♫ Dancing In The Street ♫ (Redux)

When rawgod mentioned this one tonight, it immediately began playing in my head and, since I was pondering what to do for a music post, I seized upon it!  Hope you guys like it! I hope you’re in the mood for a bit of something upbeat tonight, for I am greatly in need of what I think of as ‘happy music’, which often leads me to Motown, and tonight is no exception. This song was written by Motown…

[emptymasks]

i got to see hadestown on the west end and all i have to say is AAAA. i liked the original broadway cast so much i didn't think anything else could compare to me, but omg they were all amazing and maybe it's a bias from seeing it live vs seeing broadway through recordings, but i actually enjoyed them so much more. i think what helped is i felt a lot more for donal's orpheus, whereas reeve's never managed to really put at my heartstrings.

okayokay what i have to list out loved (going to try and go through the show chronologically):

la barrie's hermes using no titles and they/them pronouns. the lyrics were changed to reflect this eg "excuse me, hermes" instead of "mister hermes" at the beginning of 'wait for me', and "feathers on their feet" instead of "feathers on his feet" in 'road to hell'.

the cast keeping their own accents. it's not often in uk theatre to hear british regional accents, even if the actor has or had that accent. so hearing a nothern accent from eurydice was aaaa. as a northerner it made me really happy. i'm not sure if that's grace's real accent or not but aa it just made .

donál keeping his irish accent too. and the chemistry between his orpheus and grace's eurydice was adorable.

hermes slowly kissing persephone hand during 'our lady of the underground'.

PERSEPHONE didn't think I could love anyone more than grey but omg. i've never loved "our lady of the underground" but I do now, the way gloria performed it and this one long belting note she did while bending over crazy far backwards aaa. and at one point while dancing she acted like she'd gone too hard and pulled her back and got stuck, but then very smoothly went into leaning down towards the audience and singing directly at people in the front rows.

wasn't 100% sold on hades at first since his voice isn't as deep as what I'm used too (used to listening to page as hades), but after "i conduct the electric city" and the lights went out and when they came back on there was a single silly spotlight on hades was stood leaning against the door checking his nails all sultry like. his acting was so different from what I'm used too, more energetic and more... playful? i'm not sure if that's the right word but i can't think of anything else. and less cold and stern than page but I ended up really enjoying him. i've got two very different versions of hades i love now.

new lyrics in epic three, "what has become of the heart of that man" has been replaced with new lyrics. i think "man with his arms outreached" has reverted back to pre-broadway "man with his hat in his hands" but i'll be honest me memory of what the new lyrics are is not great.

i cried when hades and persephone danced. both of them were crying. and when they finished dancing he sobbed and crumpled into her arms and she stroked his head and back and held him the whole time orpheus and eurydice sang "promises"

hades breaking it down during the dance, doing silly dance moves and making persphone laugh, and then she joins in and does his silly dance moves with him 10/10 people supporting their partners silly dance moves.

hades "i don't know" answer to if orpheus and eurydice can go... i'm used to patrick page's grave, defeated "i don't know" and here instead you could really see the inner conflict and he was holding hands with persephone and when he said it she angrily let go of his hand and he had his little "his kiss the riot" freak out.

orpheus and hades handshake during the wait for me reprise aaaa

[kingkatsuki]

— sleazy

Everyone thinks Red Riot is such a nice hero, but really he just loves fucking his cute, unsuspecting fangirls.

Pairing: Kirishima Eijirou x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, not proofread, non-con/dub-con, implied!drugging but could just be seen as intoxication, unprotected sex, teeny tiny bit of assplay, Kirishima promises to wear a condom but doesn’t, creampie, public sex.

Word Count: 2.5k.

“You’re so lucky!” You heard the voices around the table when the Red Riot had offered to buy you a drink.

Suddenly finding it difficult to speak when you gave him a nod in response, grateful that he’d looked down at your glass of wine as an indication of what to order you because you weren’t sure you would’ve been able to answer if he’d asked.

You felt hot as it seemed as though every set of eyes in the vicinity were on you now— from the women who wished that he’d picked them, to the men that he’d come in with standing around the bar. The angry blond more formerly known as Dynamight seemed to be glaring at you from across the room, shaking his head slightly before downing the rest of his whisky.

“Don’t worry about him,” Kirishima grinned softly at you as he handed you a glass, “He always looks like that.”

Kirishima had this perfect way of making you feel at ease, the friendly tone to his voice paired with kind eyes made it easy for you to melt into him. Silencing any objections you’d usually have if a guy leaned down to tug your chair closer to him, or wrapped their arm around your waist during a first date. It was different when it was Red Riot— you felt like you already knew him. From your television screen to the huge billboards that were up all over the city to promote his latest collaboration. The man that you followed on social media and religiously liked his posts, not that you’d told him that— although with another few drinks inside you, you might.

“You look gorgeous tonight, you know,” His warm lips brush the shell of your ear as he leans closer to talk to you over the loud bass of music in the club, “I just had to come and talk to you.”

You don’t even question it when he lays a huge palm on your bare thigh, his thumb disappearing beneath the hem of your dress. Ghosting against the lace of your panties as you give another glance around the bar to see if anyone is looking— the only set of eyes that match your gaze are the same crimson ones from earlier, Dynamight still watching intently as he nurses his drink.

The fact that the Red Riot has asked for your number, bought you countless drinks and given you his undivided attention has you bursting with glee. Certain that none of your friends will believe you, instead wishing they’d come to the bar tonight to see for themselves when you tell them that you’re courting the number twelve hero.

“It’s so loud here,” His palm squeezes your inner thigh and you can’t stop your heart from pounding against your ribcage, making it difficult to breathe as his warm breath fans your skin, “Do you want to go somewhere quieter?”

“Yeah, sure.” You find yourself nodding as he helps you stand, certain you weren’t this drunk before.

“Whoops—” He grins as he grabs your hips, his fingers brushing the curve of your ass as he keeps you upright, “I’ve got you.”

And it’s that moment you feel his hard bulge pressed against the small of your back. Even in heels he dominates your size, towering over you as a pure wall of strength and muscle as he guides you through the crowds. Stepping down a quieter hall that leads towards the bathrooms as he presses you against a wall, large palms still planted firm on your hips.

“I’ve wanted you all night,” He sighs, pressing wet open-mouthed kisses against your neck, “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

“This is too fast,” You mumble, already feeling his fingers dipping beneath your skirt to grab your ass.

“Aw, sweetheart. I’m sorry,” He seems so sincere when he looks down at you with worried eyes, “Shall I call you a cab home? I just thought you wanted to have some fun.”

“I do, but—”

“But you’d prefer Dynamight or someone, huh?” His eyes droop, “I get it, that always fucking happens when it’s someone I really like—”

“No! I like you too,” You panic when he takes a step back, trying to step forward as you stumble into his arms.

“You do?” He coos, holding you tight, “I’m so lucky I found you.”

It’s embarrassing when he tugs you into the men’s bathroom, sets of eyes watching you with knowing looks from the urinals as he opts for a stall. Locking the door as he presses you against the sink, allowing you to look at him through the reflection in the mirror as he pulls your top over your breasts.

“You’re fucking stunning,” He groans, cupping your breasts as you grind yourself back against him. Alcohol inebriating your senses as he strokes your body, wondering whether you should just tell him to slow down now.

“It’s too much,” You mumble, unsure whether he put something in your drink as your head pounds.

But this is Red Riot, he wouldn’t do that, would he? He’s a Pro-Hero tasked to protect you from sleazy people like that, to make sure you’re safe.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” He coos, “I’ll take good care of you.”

“We shouldn’t,” You slur, “Not here.”

“Oh? But I bought you all those drinks,” He mumbles against your neck, “I thought you liked me.”

“I do!” You panic, catching the forlorn look on his face.

“You do?” His eyes immediately brighten, “I’m glad because I like you too, sweetheart. A lot—”

He has you feeling like a giddy, lovesick schoolgirl as he reaches under your skirt to pull down your panties. Letting the fabric settle around your knees as he works on unbuckling his jeans. A large palm splayed on your back to push you over the sink as he guides the leaky tip towards your slit.

“Wait,” You mumble, trying not to slur your words, “Condom.”

You miss the look of annoyance that flashes through Kirishima’s eyes in his reflection in the mirror as you turn to look back at him before that same smile spreads on his face.

“Of course, sweetheart. What do you take me for?” He’s cooing at you as he reaches into his wallet to retrieve a large foil packet, ripping it with his teeth as he leans down to put it on, “Safety first, yeah?”

And the tip of his cock nudges against your ass, feeling the slickness of lube from the latex smear against your bare ass as you cling to the porcelain. Holding on as you watch him in the mirror as he slides the condom onto his cock.

“There,” His hand smooths along your ass, rubbing the lube against your skin to get it off his hand as he pushes his hips forward.

He’s big. The swollen tip enough to have a lump in your throat as you forget to breathe, wiggling your hips in a feeble attempt to reduce the ache.

“Shh, baby. I know, I know.” He coos, pulling back to fist his cock, “Let’s try again, yeah?”

But you don’t notice the devious smirk on his face, or the way his eyes glint with intent as he slides the annoying latex off his thick cock. Discarding it to the floor like trash as he wraps his cock in a large fist again, tapping the leaking tip on your slit before sliding it through your folds. Letting it catch against your tight entrance again as he can finally feel you without a latex barrier.

“Is this okay?” He hums, keeping his tip pressed against your quivering hole.

You nod in response as you try to remember to breathe, taking in large gulps of air as you feel him slowly push his hips forward.

“I’m gonna need to hear you say it, sweetheart.” He pushes.

“Yeah, I want it.” You groan as he immediately pushes forward, feeling the tightness between your thighs.

“Oh, shit.” His eyes roll back as he groans at the feeling of your walls sucking him in. He’s far less kind now he can truly feel you as he cants his hips forward without a moment for you to adjust, the pain comes sharp and fast as he stretches you out on his cock.

“Ow,” You choke, your head lolling forward as you try to breathe, the ache between your thighs throbs sharply as Kirishima feigns sympathy.

Telling you what a good girl you are for him, what a good job you’re doing, that you’re his favourite. Clever lines he’s rehearsed time and time again, and it just so happens that they’re working on you just like they have a hundred times before on other girls.

You think you’re special, and in this moment you are. He’s picked you.

“God, your pussy feels so fucking good.” He grunts, warm palms heavy on your ass as he spreads you apart to see his cock buried deep inside your walls. The messy tuft of hair at the base tickles your skin as he pulls his hips back to give an experimental thrusr, “Taking me so well.”

You’re a mess as he fucks into you, your tits bounce with every rough buck of his hips as he presses you into the porcelain sink, your cheek leaves a messy streak of foundation against the mirror as he sets a brutal pace. Telling you it’s because he’s worried someone could come in and see you like this, that he wishes he could have you for longer to really take care of you.

And you believe every line.

“God, sweetheart. Your pussy feels amazing,” Kirishima groans, his thumb brushing the tight rim of your ass as your body jolts in surprise. Embarrassed and terrified at the same time.

“Not there, please—”

“Oh god, baby. I would never.” He shakes his head, but presses down harder against your tight hole, “Relax, Red Riot’s got you, yeah?”

His words are soothing as you try to focus on the pleasure, trying to block out the sound of footsteps outside and the way your cunt clenches around him every time someone rattles the door handle.

“Fuck, you’re clamping down on me, sweets,” He slurs, drunk on pleasure, “You’re tryin’ to milk me.”

He sucks air sharply through his teeth as he bends his back to watch his cock disappearing inside you, the slap of his balls against the swell of your thighs sounds inside the dingy bathroom as your legs shake. Balancing yourself in heels as you try to stop the sink from digging into your hips uncomfortably, certain you’ll have bruises in the morning.

“Gonna cum, shit— gonna fill this little pussy up.” He groans, and you’re certain it’s just words. Dirty talk to help get himself off as he prepares to cum inside the condom, “You want that, baby? Want me to fill you up?”

“Yes,” You find yourself playing into it, your walls throb around him as he works you towards your own release.

“That’s my girl,” He grins, reaching around to press messy circles against your puffy clit, “Gonna stuff you full of my cum.”

“Oh my god,” You repeat, clinging to the sink to keep yourself upright as you feel yourself on the edge of your release. The familiar pleasure building between your thighs as Kirishima leads you into bliss, “Kiri—”

“Red Riot, call me Red Riot—” His fingertips dig into you bruisingly as your cunt begins to convulse.

“Red Riot!” You mewl, “I’m cumming, Red Riot—”

“Oh shit, you want the entire bar to hear you, don’t you?” He grins, spanking your ass as your cunt spasms around him.

Kirishima fucks you through your climax, roughly thrusting into you as you feel the tip of him as deep as he can go. Kissing your cervix with each forward motion as he focuses on his own pleasure, his own desire.

“Hurts,” You choke out as you try to ignore the throb between your thighs or the way your skin digs uncomfortably into the porcelain.

“I’m almost there, sweetheart. Almost there—” He groans, ignoring your pleas, “Gonna fill you up.”

It doesn’t take him much longer to find his own release, his balls tightening as they begin to empty warm, hot spurts of cum into your pulsing walls. His hands smoothing down your back before reaching around to palm your naked breasts before pulling back.

“Fuck, that’s hot.” He groans when he pulls out to see strings of your slick connecting his softening cock to your folds.

And that’s when you feel it.

Warm globs of his cum slowly seeping out of your quivering walls, dribbling down your inner thighs and dropping onto the dirty floor.

“Did you— the condom?” You ask in confusion as you turn your head to face him, noticing the shiny gleam of his cock in the fluorescent lights of the bathroom as he gives you a cheeky grin.

“Oh, it must’ve ripped,” He shrugs, sticking himself back into his boxers with no care about how messy he is, “Sorry about that, sweetheart. You’ll be okay, I’m clean.”

Kirishima has just enough manners to pull your panties back up, even though you don’t have a chance to clean yourself up. Feeling his warm cum continue to drool out of you and collect in the lace of the crotch as you shuffle uncomfortably. Tugging your skirt back down as you fix your top, hearing Kirishima buckle his belt again as he checks himself out in the mirror.

“I’ll call you yeah, sweetheart?” He presses a lingering kiss to your cheek before unlocking the door to the men’s bathroom stall and stepping outside. Leaving you standing alone in the room as you stare back at your disheveled reflection.

It’s only when you look down at the ground where you notice the drops of his cum that had fallen to the floor, and beside them the discarded condom still in the perfect roll from the pack.

That he hadn’t even bothered to put on.

[easternmind]

The weird and wonderful history of Kowloon as a digital interactive space - Part I

The Kowloon Walled City was one of the most emblematic locations in Hong Kong due to its irregular, fast-paced and largely ungoverned growth within a minute parcel of land. During the occupation of Hong Kong Island by the British in the mid 18th century, the Qing authorities surrounded the area with walls, turning it into a strategic position from where to closely inspect the foreign nation's covert activities. Almost a century later, during World War II, the area was seized by the Japanese, who tore down the walls and repurposed the stone for the construction of a nearby airport.

After the war, China would eventually regain possession of the city, though the disinterest of local authorities in addressing its increasing social disturbances placed it in a downward path to a state of utter degradation. By the 1970s, Kowloon had become the epicentre of Hong Kong's criminal underworld, dominated by a handful of its most vicious Triads.

Towards the last years of its existence, the ancient settlement was as a precarious heap of concrete, sheltering nearly half a million people within less than seven acres of land. Cultural and political changes in China made it increasingly difficult for this urban anomaly to remain unaddressed. In the late 1980s, an action plan was put together aiming to relocate its inhabitants and reconvert the real estate into an inner-city park. Stories about residents refusing to leave their unsafe and unsanitary homes were featured prominently in newspapers, baffling readers all over the world. Once the single most densely populated area in the world, this enclave was an architectural aberration whose disconcerting aesthetic influenced numerous works of art in different fields of creation; including a small yet consequential number of video games that briefly reference or prominently feature this abominably transfixing space.

九龍島 (Kyu-Ryu-Tou) - Starcraft - 1986

The year is 2025. An arms dealer escalates the tensions between East and West by developing a genetic weapon in a secret base at Kowloon Island. The United Nations react by sending in their best man, Jamie Starr. Unrelated to the Walled City itself, the first game to be located in the Kowloon peninsula - and indeed include the name as a part of its title - is this obscure turn-based RPG, Kyu-Ryu-Tou for the NEC PC88 and FM-77 machines. The game is a sequel to Shangai, released the year before, featuring the same protagonist. Starcraft would also go on to produce a third instalment in 1987 named TO.KY.O. Clearly there wasn't much regard here from the developers part for geographic accuracy, as Kowloon is depicted here as being an island. While Hong Kong's southern territory is composed of an actual island, all the different areas named Kowloon are located in the mainland.

Riot City - Westone - 1991

One of the most shameless specimens among a relatively long list of Final Fight clones, Riot City contains subtle references to Kowloon, though never referring to it by name. Two narcotics detectives are assigned with the mission of dismantling a cartel running a crime-ridden located in fictional Riot Island. This recurring yet geographically nonsensical notion of Kowloon as an island comes up here, yet again. The final moment of the introduction sequence for this minor Sega arcade success shows both protagonists approaching a tight cluster of buildings whose source inspiration is quite unmistakable. Because Westone maintained ownership of most of this production's intellectual property, a later port to the PC Engine entitled Riot Zone was made possible with the help of Hudson soft. Kowloon's Gate - Zeque - 1997

Reviving the Walled City through the lens of cybermystic surrealism, Kowloon's Gate is a dense, daunting adventure masterfully capturing the slum's dark and narrow recesses. This 1997 Japanese Playstation exclusive spans across four discs of unparalleled full motion 3D CGI spectacle, alternating with real-time 3D dungeons brimming with outlandish characters and concepts deeply inspired by Chinese history, geography and cultural traditions.

Ironically, Zeque managed to embed the theme of Feng-Shui, the ancient geomantic art seeking harmony between the individual and their surrounding space, into a story set in the world's most historically untidy district.

SaGa Frontier - Square - 1997

SaGa Frontier takes place in a solar system named The Regions, composed of multiple inhabited worlds for the player to explore, each with its different degree of civilizational development and culture. One of these planets goes by the suggestive name Kūron. Its pervasive neon light signs, food stalls, makeshift cabins and rooftop scaffolding instantly evoke the memory of China’s so-called city of darkness.

Shadow Hearts - Sacnoth - 2001

Shortly after the release of Koudelka, Sacnoth's initiated the development of Shadow Hearts, the first episode from a cult RPG trilogy exclusively designed for the Playstation 2. In good Japanese fashion, the game proposes an anachronistic yet visually suggestive depiction of Kowloon, portraying its architectural style and degree of decay as it existed in the late twentieth century, despite the fact that the game's events take place during the nineteen twenties.

Just as noteworthy is the almost complete absence of any inhabitants, which inadvertently make this portrayal of the quarter eerily reminiscent of the state in which it was found circa 1993 or 1994, as local authorities brought the long, arduous eviction project to a close.

Shenmue II - SEGA AM2 - 2001

Shenmue II exhibits the most complete and period-accurate video game representation of Kowloon to date. While more recent games featuring this area may represent a number of its aspects with the aid of improved visual fidelity, none features it with such depth as this masterpiece of masterpieces. More than mere background decoration, Kowloon exists in the Shenmue series as a crucial, climacteric element of its modern epic narrative.

It is a well known fact that Yu Suzuki and his team conducted extensive research of the region so as to achieve a result that impresses even to this day. It must be noted, however, that they have similarly taken a fair share of creative liberty when converting the area to best align with the themes they wished to explore. Further reading is required for a more complete context in this regard, namely how this area ties with an early Dreamcast tech demo design which fans lovingly named Tower of Babel. Ostensively, technical limitations did curtail the degree of precision in which the surrounding area could be replicated. The aerial view from the cutscene in which Ryo Hazuki arrives on location places Kowloon at an imaginary degree of elevation over surrounding vegetation. In the year of 1987, during which the game is set, the actual enclave stood perfectly levelled with a myriad of other modern buildings, undoubtedly more than could be reproduced under the circumstances. These trifling considerations aside, Shenmue II entirely succeeds in capturing the vibrant life and mesmerizing beauty of the destitute and decayed urban agglomeration, in a way that it was deemed entirely impossible at the time of its release.

For reasons entirely related to per post content limitations imposed by Tumblr, this article will be continued in PART II.

[fatehbaz]

They’ve built a “Great Wheel” on the Seattle waterfront [...].

The small timber village became a military outpost in the Puget Sound War [...], [and] soon evolved into a trade gateway, with timber tailings and other industrial trash from Henry Yesler’s mill used to fill in the marshlands [...], atop which migrant laborers raised tents and shanties [...] now working to feed raw materials into the furnaces of the Second Industrial Revolution burning in the East. [...] The first nationwide strike ripped across the country’s railways in 1877, but in Seattle the unrest took on a grim character, as thousands of unemployed white workers rioted against their Chinese counterparts [...]. Meanwhile, [...] local elites rebuilt [...] downtown [...] from scratch, hosting the tallest building on the West Coast alongside other new constructs [fueled] with money gleaned from the supply chains linking eastern capital to Alaskan gold. [...] Military investment in the region during the First World War [...] expanded Boeing from a small lakeside hangar into a massive war contractor. [...] Today the city - again rebuilt [...] - is seen as one of the primary beneficiaries of the “Fifth” Industrial Revolution in information technology, outshone only by California’s Silicon Valley. [...] The digital was increasingly thought of as somehow "immaterial," sustained by intellectual labor more than physical toil [...].

Silicon Valley myths of [...] "immaterial" labor disguise a more gruesome dynamic in which growing segments of the global labor force are being deprived even of the basic brutality of the wage, instead forced out into growing rings of slums, prisons, and global wastelands. [...]

---

Perched alongside a downtown business corridor [...], Seattle's Great Wheel seems to peer out over [...] [the] prophesied “cooperative commons,” an infotech metropolis abutting the beauty of an evergreen arcadia. But travel below Seattle’s cluster of infotech industries and the image appears much the same as that of a hundred years prior - a trade gateway, squeezing value from supply chains by selling transport and logistical support. The southern stretch of the metropolis bears little resemblance to the revitalized urban core of the city proper. Instead of the “cognitive labor” of Microsoft, it is defined instead by the cold calculation of companies like UPS, founded in Seattle when the city was one link in a colonial supply chain built first for timber, then Alaskan gold, then World War. [...]

In south Seattle, this logistics empire takes the form of faceless warehouses, food processing facilities, container trucks, rail yards, and industrial parks concentrated between two seaports, an international airport, three major interstates, and railroads traveling in all directions. Meanwhile, the poor have been priced out of the old inner city, moving southward [...]. [T]hey can be found staffing the airport and the rail yards, hauling cargo in and out of two the major seaports, loading boxes in warehouses [...]. And, beyond them, the shadow stretches out to Washington’s rural hinterlands where migrant laborers staff a new boom in agriculture and raw materials [...] - and further still into America’s long-depressed interior, where the Great Wheel meets its opposite: Memphis, the FedEx logistics city, watched over by a great black pyramid [the infamous Bass Pro Shop pyramid]. [...]

Every Seattle is capable of creating an eco-friendly, “cooperative commonwealth” tended by apps and algorithms only insofar as there is a Memphis that can provide human workers to sort the packages, a Shanghai to build the containers that carry them, and a Shenzhen to solder together the circuits of the machines that govern it all.

---

All text above by: Phil A. Neel. "The Great Wheel". Brooklyn Rail. April 2015. Published online at: brooklynrail.org/2015/04/field-notes/the-great-wheel. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Text within brackets added by me for clarity. Presented here for commentary, teaching, personal use, criticism purposes.]

[sidthedollface2]

A Crown fit for a God

(Part 2)

(Part 1 here)

Pairing: Azriel x Fem Reader

Summary: An enemy threatens Velaris leaving Azriel to choose between his found family and a long lost friend. Can he juggle the two or will he fall for the enemy?

Ch Summary: After you threaten Velaris with war. Azriel is tasked to find you and bring you to the prison above the mountain. He shadows have other plans when they confront you.

word count: 2.6k

Series warnings: 18+ MDNI, angst, hurt/comfort,light smut, war, including injuries, fighting, sign language, no use of y/n, nicknames, magic, greek mythology, pining, jealousy, azriel with other women (sorry), reader with another man (get it friend ; )

A/n: I hope this Ch sheds a little light as to what reader is and about her powers. I'm a daydreamer not a writer so if you see any mistakes that's how I dreamt it. Lol

In the beginning there was Khaos. The first God in existence to precede creation. Khaos filled the space between, invoking darkness and shadow. Unable to witness her work, her intense desire to see flickered before her. Discovering her own spark, she flew towards it, the force of her wings igniting, leaving a trail of stardust; giving birth to the vast universe. From her own will khaos had created the primordial deities that would reign over the elements of the universe. And thus terra, sky, darkness, light, night and day were created.  

 From the very desires of the first primordial gods, Demi Gods emerged, living among mortals and immortals. Soon enough these half gods no longer wanted the responsibility of mortals. Thanatos and his sisters, the Gods of Death grew tired of being witness to so much violence and bloodshed. Leaving their duties caused a riot. No other God would carry the burden of their responsibilities on top of their own. Those loyal to the Divine fought in the war of Gods, neither side backing down regardless of how much blood had been spilled. Khaos wept as she witnessed her slain children. Fighting against her kin, tears streamed down her face as she slaughtered her very own. Devastated, she fell to her knees in defeat, between her sobs she whispered in the ancient tongue, “I bind myself to the darkness of death, overpowering my light within so long as my spark prevails through the moonless journey.” All fighting ceased as every God witnessed khaos, bringer of life, descend to the lands in the form of a falling star. The fates of two entwined. 

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

The house of wind was anxious, each door closed with a slam, rattling the photos that hung along the walls. The foundation, made from the mountain rock, shook and with it pieces of rubble and dust would float to the floors. Often the roaring would come back, leaving its inhabitants wide eyed and on edge. 

every member of the inner circle sat in Rhys office. The air thick with tension as Azriel explained his actions, why he blocked Cassian from hurting you, why he needed to be the one to search for you. Many questions left unanswered. How did you find Velaris? And what kind of ancient magic would allow you to pass through his wards so easily?

“Rhys, I know her! We were childhood friends!” Azriel pleads, “let me find her.” 

Elain’s eyes darted to Azriel, questioning his reason for his blatant lies. She knew he saw you once and never again. Yet she remained silent, a question for another day. 

Rhys sighed, leaning back in his chair. All eyes were on him as he stared at the map of Prythian that lay across his desk. He took a sip of his whiskey, considering his next move. One by one he informed them of their duties, sending every member away as soon as they received their mission.

Cassian was sent to Windhaven to ready the warriors and ensure their weapons were up to par for battle. Amren and Nesta were to stay in Velaris to survey and defend the city in case you returned. Mor was to revisit the courts that had scorched farmlands and buildings, to see if there were any more details that they overlooked. Elain wished to stay in Velaris and investigate the reason the house was slowly deteriorating. Rhys agreed. Finally he ordered Feyre to accompany Azriel in his search for you. 

Azriel ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, “No Rhys it has to be me alone. You can trust me.”

“After what I saw today, I’m not so sure where your mind is. I trust that you ‘ll do the right thing, but I don't agree with your current judgment so I’m sending Feyre with you.” 

Azriels shoulders slumped as he nodded in defeat. Feyre placed a gentle hand on his back, attempting to soothe his disappointment.

~~~~~~~~~~

Feyre walked Azriel back to his room but before he entered she grabbed his arm moving him to face her. “ I have a friend I need to visit and he doesn't like when others tag along,” she whispered, hoping no one else would hear her. Azriel narrowed his eyes. “ So I hope you understand that I won't be joining you on your mission,” she winked, releasing her hold on him. Azriel just smirked, mouthing her a ‘thank you.’

Back in his room, Azriel cleared his desk of all the healer books he had meticulously studied.  All these years he’d been searching for a healer when in fact you were a God, at least according to Amren. He spent hours searching Death Gods and tracing back their lineage and none had the powers you possessed, the power in which made him search for you. The power to heal. “You've been at it for hours, come to bed honey,” Elains sweet voice brought him out of his thoughts. “None of this makes sense,” he said mostly to himself as he shook his head, ignoring Elains request.

She stood behind him, gently kneading his tense shoulders with her slim fingers. His back tensed at her touch, purely focused on his work. Determined to get him to bed, Elain rested her chin on his shoulder, angling her head towards his ear as she whispered seductively her desires. His eyes fluttered closed in frustration, as she placed wet kisses to the curve of his neck, humming at the taste of him. “Not tonight.” Coldly he shrugged her off, hating the pain she held in her eyes. Without a word Elain stepped away, leaving Azriel to drown in his work, drown in his thoughts of you. 

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

“And then I pushed through, you should have seen their faces,” you chuckled, recounting the events from Velaris to your dearest friend.  “No matter the job you always try to make it fun.” He replied, petting the hen that sat in his lap; a gift you had brought him for the delicious tea leaves he had acquired. 

You smile, enjoying his company that you often missed. Out of the corner of your eye, a wisp of shadow scurries into the darkness of the night, earning your full undivided attention. Nothing but silence is heard. “What was that?” you ask, turning back to the Suriel. “An invisible thread that weaves and winds, binding hearts two of a kind.” you gape at him, blinking your eyes rapidly, “I don't even want to know.” A chuckle rattles in his throat, “go before he finds you.” Without another word shimmer and darkness envelope you, winnowing you far from the Night Court.

Azriels shadows darted through the low grounds of the woods, swerving through a dense thicket of birch trees and rock formations, scouring each bush and body of water in search of you. Once they spotted you, they quickly returned to their master, curling around his ear ,whispering ‘Suriel.’  

Just as you winnowed away a blade launched itself toward the Suriel; flying through the air from a shroud of darkness, pinning his cloak to a tree. “Where is she?” he asks, tone impatient and demanding.

“Here, there, everywhere.”

Azriel pinches the space between his brows in annoyance. Shaking his head he asks another question, hoping for a straight answer.

“How do I find her?” 

“Evoke emotions without a single touch, no wings yet able to fly. To catch this God let her hear the cords of the night.” 

“I don’t…..these riddles. I don't understand.” Azriel paced in front of the Suriel, wracking his brain for any clues. 

“The touch of a memory will carry her to you.”

“Stop with the riddles!” Azriel fumed, teeth clenched tight as he stared the Suriel down. 

“Are you not a shadowsinger?” he replied, pulling out the blade that held his cloak to the tree. “I've answered your questions, whether you can decipher the meaning is no business of mine.” Finished with Azriels questioning, the Suriel made his way through the woods, hen in hand for a fresh slaughter. 

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

It had taken Azriel a few days to figure out the riddle. Repeating the words over and over, analyzing each term and its meaning. The line ‘hear the cords of the night’ was what led him to realize it was a song, but what song was what stumped him. He felt like a fool singing his favorite songs in the middle of the forest, belting it out with his whole chest.

He sang songs that made him teary eyed and even sang songs in the ancient tongue, but none of those had lured you to him. The Suriel mentioned ‘the touch of a memory,’  “oh Gods, I’m an idiot,” he said to himself. He only had one encounter with you, so it was easy to remember the events of that night, all these years he could never forget. He would never forget the song, the song he thinks is about you. His mother sang this song to him as a child and he wonders if she knew the dark power you possessed, was she singing to a God in hopes to answer her prayers, to lift her from the chains that held her down. 

The house of wind kindly provided warm tea and honey. It's eagerness to assist him piqued his curiosity. He would ask Elain about her findings another day. Soothing his vocal cords, a plan was formed to capture you and send you to the prison on top of the mountain.

You're the chaos of the night, 

A little girl lost in the woods

You're a folktale, the unexplainable

You're a bedtime story

The one that keeps the curtains closed

And I hope you're waiting for me

'Cause I can't make it on my own

I can't make it on my own. 

Azriel sang the words from his childhood, voice harmonious with a smooth baritone that held the memories from the past. He sang from the depths of his heart in hopes that the meaning behind his words would grace your ears and become a light in the dark. Guiding you towards his waiting arms.

Weathered leaves crunch under the weight of your relaxed body, grass floor cold and damp from the night. But the view of the stars in the Night Court were your favorite, they called to you as if saying 'stay.' Stars glitter like rare diamonds, and the crescent moon smiled brighter than the sun. The evening scent of mist and night felt familiar in the way that reminded you of home. It had been so long since you’ve been home, the thought of never returning grew closer and closer.

The midnight breeze caresses your skin, its gentle touch has your eyes closing, focusing on  the chirping of crickets and running water. A mellow voice sings the harmonious music of the night, its soft whisper tickles your ear like a past lover, luring you to follow the rich sound.

I hope you're waiting for me

Across your carpet of stars

You're the chaos of the night,

You're everything that we can't see

Chaos, you're the possibility.

Azriel ceases to sing once he spots you round a thick tree, his shadows excitedly rush towards you and Azriel curses under his breath at their eagerness. He observes as they affectionately coil around your neck, fluffing about in your hair before they trail down your arms. You giggle at their curiosity as they loop around your fingers, “you wanna play?” you ask, as you slowly move your fingers in awe at their closeness. They playfully bounce from one hand to the other, and you take that as a yes. Azriel is dumbfounded as he admires his shadows from afar. He has his arms crossed over his chest as he leans against a tree, his gaze slowly trails up the delicious curves of your body and he imagines what it would be like to lay with a God. He sees you smile and nod at whatever they’ve whispered in your ear and he fears you both are up to no good. As the shadows dance in a circle just a few feet in front of you, they rapidly circle around and around creating a whirlwind of darkness. Cautiously you near the edge of their tornado and zap one of the shadows, creating an orb of light within the vortex. You're mesmerized by the display in front of you. Your power bounces off the shadowed wisps like an elegant dance, the wisps gently stroke the flame of your power, careful to not get scorched.

With the blink of your eye the orb bursts, spraying the ground and trees with thousands of specs of glittering starlight. Azriel feels a jolt of electricity zip up his body, shaking him so hard he loses balance off the tree, quickly righting himself before you notice. His effort is too late, you've already spotted him.

“You're not a stalker are you?” you ask, voice playful and curious as you near him.

If you only knew, Azriel thinks with a smirk.

“No, but I can be. Nice party trick by the way.” Azriel pushes off the tree to meet you. The first thing you notice is his eyes, hazel and dreamy framed by long thick lashes. His nose is straight and a little too perfect for a warrior, you wonder if he’s ever been punched in the face before, or maybe he's just that good at fighting. His high cheekbones and strong jaw remind you of the many demi gods that have been sculpted throughout the years. You eye him up and down, taking in his stature and broad shoulders. He’s a little too handsome and in your experience these types of males are conceited snobs who only enjoy their own reflection and company. Meanwhile Azriel does the same, completely entranced by the sway of your hips and how your hair flows over the swell of your breasts. 

“They seemed friendly.” you respond, tipping your head to the shadows that have swirled around the both of you, appearing to close the distance between you.

Azriel shakes his head, “I meant in Velaris. You threaten my home, my friends and my High Lord and expect to get away with it? How did you get past the wards? And how did you find Velaris?” 

Before you could respond the ground shakes as a blast erupts creating a cloud of dust and forest debris. Instinctually Azriel pulls your body flush to his, shielding you from injury. Dark membranous wings curl around your body, cocooning you safely in his arms. Your hands find the planes of his toned chest as you peer up at him through your full lashes. You know what the blast was but the feeling of his body pressed against yours had your knees weak, and you couldn't break away. 

Azriels heart is ramming against his chest at the proximity, his gaze is locked on your brilliant eyes as he dares to cup the side of your cheek. Angling your face to meet his, your exposed collarbone catches his attention when a bargain tattoo vanishes before his eyes; breaking the trance you had him in.

“What did you bargain?” he urges, hands now tightly gripping your upper arms.

“Your worst nightmare.”

Azriel staggered back, paling in horror as he registered your words.

Only one creature carried that name.

Bryaxis.

Part 3

Taglist: @blackgirlmagicforever @going-through-shit

[figofswords]

Normal Clown kills the joker. Normal Clown is a really ordinary guy with nothing on his record aside from a handful of parking tickets. Normal Clown is beloved by his nieces and nephews. Normal Clown went to clown school and trained in commedia dell’arte and now he teaches improv and clowning classes at a community theatre. Normal Clown joined a short-lived clown troupe in gotham city. Normal Clown volunteers at soup kitchens on weekends. Normal Clown is sick of kids being afraid of him. Normal Clown is sick of having police show up at the theatre because the shipment of commedia masks has joker gas in it. Normal Clown is sick of this asshole ruining clowns for everyone. Normal Clown gets fed up and during a joker breakout he sees his chance. Normal Clown runs the joker over with his car. Normal Clown has never killed before and never will again. Normal Clown does not want to be a superhero. Normal Clown does not want to be a supervillain. Normal Clown is a normal guy and this was a one time deal. the bats don’t know what they should do about this. the gcpd arrests him but like...reluctantly. other rogues start sending him flowers because frankly nobody liked the joker. the red hood pays his bail. gotham citizens riot until the city decides not to press charges. after about a week of inner turmoil, bruce wayne pays off his college loans. Normal Clown goes back to teaching commedia at the community theatre. 

[polyacotarweek]

Day 7 Masterlist: Free Day

Fanfic

"Return to the Hewn City, Ch 1: Know Your Place" by @acourtofladydeath (Azris X Nessian)

"you come back with gravity, Ch 1" by @iftheshoef1tz (BOE Lucien X Jurian X Vassa, Elucien, Morlain)

"Rhys's death scene but if Rhys lost his powers, Part 5" by @lorcandidlucienwill (Feytamsand)

"Wicked Games" by @fieldofdaisiies (Nessriel)

"I Know What You Need" by @born-to-riot (Vamren X Nesta)

"Schedule Conflicts" by @readychilledwine (OC X Azriel X Feysand, OC X Azriel X Nessian)

"Lighthouse In The Woods" fic and playlist by @chunkypossum (OC X Eris X Azriel)

"The Ruining of Seraphina" by @readychilledwine (OC X Inner Circle)

"Pregnancy Roulette" by @littlestw01f (OC X Rhysand X Eris)

"Baby of Mine, A Spring Time Affairs Fic" by @nocasdatsgay (OC X Tamlin X Elucien)

"For the High Lady" by @readychilledwine (Reader X Bat Boys

"Ours to Keep" by @danikamariewrites (Reader X Neris)

"Omega, Ours Part 2" by @mrs-illyrian-baby (Reader X Nessian)

Fanart

"Acoship Throuples" by @copypastus (Multiple Ships)

"Sellyn Drake good time" by @dustjacketdraws (Nessriel)

If your creation is missing or you see an issue with the masterlist, please reach out to the blog so we can rectify it!

[omg-whathaveidone]

*I'm re-sharing this in the wake of another horrific tragedy. We must learn from past pain...we must never forget.

"The jury’s verdict will never blind the world to what we saw on the videotape" April 29, 1992

I recently had a bit of a reality check when I was asked who Rodney King was by a grown adult, who was literally a year old when Los Angeles rose up. I don't want to describe what happened in 1992 as "rioting" because to me it was an awakening. I wasn't much older than an infant at the time...I was a tween. And I grew up in Ohio...so far removed from life in a huge California city. But the impact of being a child and witness to the chaos and racism will live with me forever.

As a tween, I was still sensitive enough to understand the pain I saw on television and the fear mixed with absolute righteous anger. The violent assault of Rodney King by police footage is so ingrained in my mind that I can still almost hear the ABC news reporters dissecting each awful baton swing caught on a grainy video. It still gives me chills and that's probably why I am still having difficulty understanding the experience of someone who would never have an emotional connection to that horrible day or the days following the verdict in Los Angeles.

During our discussion, my acquaintance asked a seemingly innocent question after I reviewed what happened in April 1992.

"And what was the jury's reason for acquittal?"

His question rang in my head because I had to explain that we had no internet. No one could question the jurors or the media to push for more information. The decision was just....done.

I've been thinking about that moment when he asked this question for days. Our society had absolutely no way to push for accountability in 1992. Voices were ignored by entire systems. People were dehumanized as props. Rodney King's despair and heartbreaking plea for us all to just "get along" was mocked for years. There was no "calling out", there was no organizing of young voices nationwide for mass protest, there was only an infinite void of injustice. And that is why Los Angeles was at a breaking point.

The context of this crucial learning point has been so misconstrued since the nineties. It makes me wonder if folks, specifically well meaning activists, who are the same age and younger than my acquaintance really see the political connections. Those who have mostly lived outside of systemic racism or who have benefitted from it may not see the similarities. The racist mantras of "inner-city violence" that are used against the current movements to protect black and brown lives were the same ones back in the nineties. Unfortunately, the rising of LA was used as "proof" in support of more racist stereotypes and are currently used in rhetoric by the right wing. There is no legitimacy to any such mantras yet I see social justice movements still being thwarted by these old tropes.

So...I guess the reason this whole conversation sticks with me is because of how quickly the real lessons of history are lost. And this is by design. Critical race theory isn't taught in a book. It is learned by sharing experiences and remembering the lessons of our pain and triumph. And I say this as a woman of color with a Master's degree in Humanities. I could never teach someone straight facts of something like April 1992. It had to be felt. And I hope that we all remember to share those feelings so we never really forget.

[filosofablogger]

♫ Dancing In The Street ♫ (Redux)

I was in the mood for something really upbeat, something that would get the old arthritic toes tapping and bring a smile to the wrinkled old face!  And while several filled that bill, I liked this one best for the moment!  Yes, I’ve played it a few times before, as recently as last year, in fact, but … it still fills the bill tonight!  So, sit back, listen, and enjoy!  Maybe even let your toes…

[arsnof]

Robert Evans as the Riddler.

It is 2019 and riots are breaking out all over Gotham. What started as peaceful protests over police violence, accountability, and the death of Joe Chill quickly escalate when the GCPD GCPDed. People are angry that the police managed to solve the Wayne family murder in under a week while thousands of existing cases are ignored.

Moreover, just as quick as elderly black man Joe Chill was implicated in the murder, he was also shot dead by police. The cops said they exchanged gunfire with Chill and he was struck while running away. The autopsy showed that he was beaten before being shot point blank in the back of the head. The cops were never even put on leave. Gotham exploded.

Enter journalist Ed Nigma. Nigma, a brash, 30 something thinkpiece writer has covered conflicts across the globe and even he has never seen violence on this level. He jumps into the streets, covering the inner-city war zone.

Police tanks parade down the street. Rows of armored police shoot tear gas and beanbags into teenagers with gas masks and cardboard signs.

Ed is interviewing first aid teams carrying milk jugs when he is caught in a kettle. Despite wearing a vest and helmet loudly declaring him as PRESS, he is beaten into a coma.

Six months later, the riots have been suppressed. A handful of cops have been suspended as a concession to the people. Tanks still roll in the streets. Ed disappears from his hospital bed.

Another year and the security theater has only grown. The police coffers swell and they are spending as quick as they receive. New transfer Jim Gordon doesn't get it. Drones and acoustic deterrents and crowd suppressants andAI facial recognition.. Jim's too old for that.

A beat cop from Chicago, Gordon keeps it clean. Descendant of militant abolitionists, Jim will do what's right, no matter the cost. His sense of justice led him to police work. His sense of morals led him into the path of his superiors, who punished him by sending him to the dirtiest precinct in the country.

His first assignment is reports of a strange podcast (what is that even? You have to what? What's an app?) that seems to be threatening local industrialist Derek Powers. Jim listens through the three available episodes. They cover Powers; his early life in South Africa and Venezuela. Inheriting his fortune. Claims of slavery and rape and murder. Each episode ends with a promise to kill Derek.

The episodes are listed as a four parter, with the last one streaming tonight. Jim tunes in with the help of his daughter, Barbara (that girl is smart!). Jim makes her leave as the host has a rather filthy mouth and is quite raunchy.

It starts normally enough. A list of social connections that reads like a terrorist watch list. Flights to isolated islands. Associations with the police. This last part catches Jim off guard, as it details Powers' involvement in the Joe Chill protests. The host alleges that Powers paid off commissioner Loeb to get extra protection around his building and giving them permission to get extra hands on if necessary.

"And that's it for ol' international pervert and expert trout seducer Derek Powers. Hey, Sophie, you know what- what really.. really.. uh, explodes? My office building? Aw, fuck, I fucked up that transition. Anywho, join us next week on the podcast whose name is literally just a question mark when we start a three parter on Ace Chemicals and the incredible world of crowd control!"

Gordon sits in silence for a minute. If what this.. 'Riddler' says is true.. Powers is a monster. A sick Bastard. A.. a.. His phone rings. It's Bullock. Jim thinks Harvey Bullock is only putting on the airs of a dirty cop. Somewhere under that trench coat and cigar is a decent guy trying to do good in a place that actively tries to beat you down. Bullock says to turn on the news. Powers Plaza has been bombed. Derek and six shareholders are dead.

His eyes move from the burning tower on the TV to the podcast app on his computer. The question mark logo purple on green. What the hell is going on in Gotham City?

[a-really-mediocre-writer]

Hi I love your writing and I’ve noticed you write for Chris Manawa, who I feel is under appreciated. There’s not a lot of writing on him so I was wondering if you could write something with him and reader on the boat and having a sweet moment together, like maybe messing around and play fighting? Just some fluff maybe some suggestive flirting. Thank you!

Sorry if my writing is a little messy English is not my main language.

Chris Manawa

GIF not mine, credit to @yanxidarlings

AUTHORS NOTE: hi guys so i havent written a fanfic or anything in like 3 years and my writing style may have change, lmk though if you would like me to write any other stories! requests are always open, and i have a few ideas for stories in the future as well. also after revisiting my only other chris oneshot i have realised that these are both set after his mom gets to walk the plank whoopsie

ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU ENJOY <3

---

Although the boat saving our lives from being snuffed out by the apocalypse was a luxury that it seemed no one else could afford, it had its downsides…such as the constant close quarters with everyone on board, as well as the boredom. It feels like such a selfish thing to admit whilst knowing about the fates of those we knew and loved that we couldn’t save, but at the same time I didn’t ask to be thrown into this hellscape, surely I should be allowed a pass on my lack of gratitude.

One of those who were not able to survive long enough to see life on the boat was Liza, Chris’s mother- the boy would not let us forget his grief and her loss, with it being written across his face as if it was stuck in a permanent frown. Most of us if not everyone aboard tried to avoid him and his snaps and cold tone, however as one of the only other teenagers on the sea with him I felt it was my duty to at least try to connect with him, especially after he had saved my life during the city riots at the start after I had lost my own parents in the chaos and the dead.

Chris was sat looking up at the stars on the outer deck of the boat alone. The day had been a rough one, with Liza’s sea burial not going so smoothly, tensions were high between him and his father Travis.

“Hey stranger” I said warmly as I emerged from the inner boat wrapped in a blanket, making my way over to the troubled boy.

“Hey..” He replied solemnly glancing over to me, his eyes following me until I was sat cross legged next to him. I held a spare small blanket out to the boy who declined the gesture by pushing it gently back towards me. Rolling my eyes playfully, I sat up on my knees and wrapped it around his shoulders, making him blush and stiffen for a moment, only to relax once I had sat back down again. The silence between us was deafeningly awkward.

“Soo.. Whatcha doing out here?”

“The stars are so peaceful tonight..” He quietly replied as he gazed up into the moonlit sky.

“Yeah, that’s one good thing about life nowadays.. you can see all of the stars you wouldn’t be able to with all the big city lights back at home.” I smiled gently at him and he glanced down at me before going back to star gazing. He was in deep thought and holding back tears as he kept his head held high trying to stop them from spilling out, eventually failing as I watched one stray tear roll down his cheek.

“Chris, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I am here for you and can be a shoulder to cry on if you need it…I really care about you…” After a few moments he lowered his head to look at me and his eyes were bloodshot and glossy. He stared into my eyes as if searching for something lost, and eventually raised the corners of his mouth into a weak smile to tell me,

“Thank you.”

After a few moments of silence and us smiling at each other he looks to the side out to the water, “I feel like… no one understands what I feel here… my dad doesn’t care that she is gone, he didn’t care about her he’s too busy with his new family… you are the only person that I think cared that she died.”

We sat in silence for a while, thinking about what he had said, before Chris broke it again.

“Sorry…That was pretty heavy…”

I let out a soft chuckle and reassured him, “Hey, I can handle anything you know… I’m superwoman but for like…listening to people I care about” attempting to lighten the mood a bit and nudging him on the shoulder, which seemed to work as I caught him smiling to himself and playfully nudging me back.

“Yeah yeah don’t get cocky…” He smirks at me and I mock offence, dramatically putting a hand on my chest and joking back to him, “Me? Cocky? I could never- How dare you even THINK that…” I giggled watching him roll his eyes at my dramatic outburst.

“You are so immature,” he starts, “Sometimes I wonder why we are friends…” He stares at me for a moment as if he were analysing my every movement, before his eyes land on the blanket wrapped around me like a burrito and he decides to quickly snatch it from me, laughing and saying “Maybe it’s because you’re so generous for giving me your blanket”

“HEY!!” I shout as I sit in shock for a split second before lunging at him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders in an attempt to get the blanket back around myself. We are both wriggling around at this point trying to reclaim the blanket, as we forgot that the couch had a limited space, so when he eventually tried to get me off of him we both rolled down the steel drop from the couch to the deck, landing with a thud onto my back and physically wincing at the sudden pains shooting through my back. I was more shocked however to feel Chris landing on top of me, and when I opened my eyes he was there leaning over me, his hands either side of my head. We both just stare into each other’s eyes for a few seconds too long, getting lost in his dark coffee coloured eyes; this then led to me scanning his face and admiring his undeniably handsome features and plump lips that he had begun to nibble into nervously. Feeling the blood start to rush to my face I decided to break the silence.

“Okay okay I didn’t realise that it was that serious to you…keep the blanket Manawa!” I giggled and poked his sides to shock him, which worked and his cheeks began to flush. He picked me up and I gasped, grasping onto his shirt incase he dropped me, but instead he put me onto the couch and sat next to me, opening up the blanket inviting me to sit wrapped up with him, which I accepted and crawled into his side, getting comfortable next to him as he settled the blanket over us both.

We sat awkwardly close to each other in silence for a few minutes, neither one of us wanting to scare the other away, but then Chris grabbed my hand underneath the blanket and without looking at me he said, “Thank you, Y/N… I needed this distraction from..everything…” he glances over at me “…you mean a lot to me…even if we have only just met, I feel like I have known you a lifetime, but it’s only been a month.”

I smile warmly at his words and glance at him before engulfing him into a tight hug, which he takes a few seconds to return.

“Chris, you mean a lot to me too. I would risk anything and everything for you, you are all I have left…” I feel the tears start to well up as i pull out of the hug and look him in the eyes, “…so you better not do anything stupid” I laugh and wipe my tears off of my face. He sits with an arm over my shoulders and laughs quietly about what I said.

“Maybe you aren’t ALWAYS immature and crazy… At least you aren’t boring.”

[amywritesthings]

ownership of mine (4/4)

pairing: kino loy x f!reader ( andor ) word count: 2.2k summary: The Empire has integrated their prison systems, with you as one of the few women now incarcerated at Narkina 5. The unit manager takes you under his wing – but for reasons you didn’t anticipate.

tags: 18+ MINORS DNI! post-narkina arc, peril, presumed character death (he ain't dead gtfo of here), alcohol, angst with a happy ending a/n: this epilogue-ish chapter is dedicated to the wonderful people of next big franchise. without you all, this fic wouldn't have been possible. my many thanks for your laughs and friendship over the last year.

           PART ONE / PART TWO / PART THREE / PART FOUR

welcome to the tenth day of the twelve days of amymas !!

Seven-hundred days.

It would have been seven-hundred entire days since you last stepped foot on solid earth;

Since your last real meal;

Since you made a vow to keep your head low, to serve, so that you could finally see the sun again.

And you were going to see the sun again.

Your sentence was drawing to a close with little incident.

Kino Loy would leave first, and you would follow.

Your new life was right there.

—but then the prison riots happened, and everything went to shit.

.

.

.

.

.

The day Cassian Andor arrived at Narkina 5 is still a hazy one. 

You recognized the fire in his eyes right away; a death wish walking on two legs.

Cassian wanted out of here the minute he stepped foot in this place. 

(Didn’t he know he had to serve his time, keep his head low, and do what he must?)

He became Kino's new problem and, naturally, yours.

Every day after became a blur.

Kino continued to keep order, to remind everyone of the common goal, even with Andor's poison of fighting their way out.

The floor manager still met you with secret touches, longing stares, and whispered promises to meet you at the showers when the unit was busy feeding...

But then something changed.

Veemoss dies. One hundred men on Level Two get fried.

The final domino was the passing of Ulaf.

Something snapped, and that something — that someone — was Kino.

Because Kino Loy wasn't busy keeping order, no.

The opposite:

Kino Loy was readily agreeing to chaos.

Order was an illusion. 

The other floors were frying.

No one was getting out of the bottom of this pit.

One way out.

So your Unit banded together and pushed up.

Up, up, until you took the prison for yourselves.

Up, up, until you saw the expanse of a tumultuous sea.

Then down — off the platform, pushed by the other desperate prisoners.

Into the freezing water, where you fought for your lungs to propel you to shore.

Away from Narkina 5.

All without Kino.

You’d lost the fearless leader of Five-Two-D somewhere in the mayhem.

Kino!

The constant of sweaty hands and bustling bare feet made it hard standing still as you shouted his name.

Kino!

A brief moment of relief passes through your body when you see that familiar head of salt and pepper hair.

Your eyes connect. He looks just as worried as you — until he sees that you're safe.

I can’t swim.

You swear you heard it — Kino’s voice, but it's too late.

One burly prisoner knocks straight into you to dive off the platform, knocking you backwards with him.

You lose your footing.

The world is weightless as you fall to the ocean.

Your back collides with the water, leaving you with little choice:

Either you live or you die.

You can't go back for him.

Too many bodies are falling to the depths, and if you don't move, then you may get crushed.

So you choose:

You swim.

You swim and never look back.

.

.

.

.

.

SIX MONTHS LATER

It’s freezing at this outpost.

However, it’s better to be freezing in the Outer Rim than living in fear within the inner cities. That would be a surefire way of getting caught by the Empire.

Besides, you don't hate it here. The people are nice. Everyone mostly keeps to themselves.

You've finally seen the sun, eaten hot meals.

You've built a life.

As you enter your favorite dive of a cantina, you’re met with a swirl of artificial warmth. The bar curls at the center of the tiny establishment. A lone singer, a wanted criminal of the Empire herself, croons gently on the makeshift stage at the far right corner. The air reeks of the seasonal ale.

Scharzi, the Iktochi bartender, gives you a sage nod.

You’re welcomed here, even if you don’t usually speak much.

For the longest time, you spoke with no one.

(Paranoia seeped into your very bones.)

After a few weeks, however, you choose to chat with the locals.

It seems like everyone's on the run from the Empire in one way or another. Fugitives with a past and a present, not looking towards much of a future.

Maybe life is simple, dull, in the Outer Rim, but you all agree on one thing:

At least it’s free.

When you sit and shrug off your coat, you give a bland smile to the bartender and hold up a finger: the usual.

They’ve decorated this hole in the wall better than most.

An assortment of winter decorations, lights and strings, line the low ceilings of this place.

It’s cozier with the added lights. Less bleak and depressing.

Scharzi glances at you briefly as his assistant, a small twi’lek — Phia — earning her keep, smiles at you.

Phia is peppy despite her grave interactions with the Empire, scorned and orphaned, but Scharzi has done the best he can to give her shelter and a place to hide.

To be a ghost, like the rest of you.

“Doing anything for the holiday this weekend?” she asks after pushing a goblet of your usual ale to you.

Glancing up at the eager young woman, you shake your head. “Not particularly.”

“Well, we’ll be open our usual hours. I’m sure Charlie and a few others will be coming around,” Phia cheerfully informs.

She cleans up a sticky circle on the counter as a body takes a seat on the stool beside you.

“Then I guess I’ll be here tomorrow, too,” you tell her, scooting on your bar stool to give the stranger some room. 

“You better bring your best holiday wish, then.”

“A wish?”

“Yeah, we always do them here.” Phia glances to the man beside you. “What can I get you?”

He waves her off without a word.

(Not uncommon around these parts.)

“Just tell me when you do want something, alright?” she pleasantly tells him, before turning her back to the wall of liquor bottles to rearrange them. “So? What’s your wish?”

You snort, taking another long gulp of your drink.

"My wish?"

"Yeah! Lay it on me. I promise telling doesn't make it not come true."

“It won’t ever come true, so." You sip again, shaking your head. "I don't particularly feel worried about it not happening.”

“Now that I doubt,” Phia counters, sing-song and light. “C'mon. Try me. Hypothetically, what would you make your wish?”

This is stupid.

Then again, so is trying to survive as hard as you have.

There isn’t a point to it, to any of it, yet you live freely out of spite and spite alone.

(The Empire will not win.)

“My wish. I guess I’d wish for… ha, well, I lost someone.”

You trail off before becoming resolute. Certain. 

You see him in your mind’s eyes — the way he ducked his chin while sitting on his knees, staring you in the eye with the promise of a better tomorrow.

You earned this.

Your heart clenches.

“He, uh… I think he passed away a few months back. I don’t really know what happened to him. I hope it didn't come to that, but it was unlikely he survived. I think my wish would be getting to see him again, some day.”

The awkwardness of Phia’s stare makes you down the rest of your ale before giving it back.

“Mind topping me off?”

The twi’lek nods solemnly, taking the ale and disappearing around the semi-circle bar to bring you a fresh pint.

His words linger on your tongue, sticking to the roof of your mouth.

You earned this.

Living.

Breathing.

Being.

“Bloody awful wish if you ask me.”

The stranger beside you speaks up.

Their voice is baritone, low with an unmistakable growl.

You almost drop your drink from the shock.

In a flash, you whip your attention to an older man staring back at you: white curls with a growing salt and pepper beard, shorter in height yet twice as intense in the eyes.

His cheeks and nose are reddened by the cold outside.

Maybe Phia laced the ale with something, because you know you’re not drunk.

Maybe you’re tired. Hallucinating.

Or maybe—

“Should spend a wish on something that’s not so easy to come true,” Kino Loy grunts, setting his hands on the bar top as he regards you.

You can’t speak.

Won’t.

You’re too afraid to blink the illusion away.

The older man stares you down, waiting in silence until Phia brings back your second ale.

“Mind giving me what she’s having?” he asks the young barkeep, knowingly making her take a second trip around the other end of the bar to give you space.

"Sure thing! She likes 'em strong, hope that's alright," Phia chirps.

Kino thumbs at his nose. "I'll do my best to handle it."

You haven't stopped staring. You're sure Phia notices your wide-eye gaze.

It doesn't matter, because no matter how much you blink, Kino is still there.

He keeps his chin ducked while he waits to be alone again, before his voice smooths out the edges.

(Just like he always did, when it was only the two of you.)

“Didn’t bring a bloody bouquet of Queen’s Hearts with me, but—”

“How?”

You hate how much of a bark the question is, but the blurt must come before you’re rendered mute.

Kino’s mouth presses to a thin line of regret.

“Is this real?” you whisper, voice dropping to a whisper of uncertainty. “Because I heard—”

“I know.”

“And I saw—”

“I know,” he repeats with a heavy sigh. “It’s more complicated then what we have time for tonight. I’m not here to relive the past, kid. Maybe another night, but not this one.”

Your brain reels with memories you once swallowed so far down they stuck to the pit of your stomach, now threatening to spill here:

Kino Loy, alive and well, at the very Outer Rim city you’ve been hiding in all this time.

“How the hell did you find me?” you quietly reply, absently tightening your grip on the handle of your ale as you process the scent of him.

Faint cologne lingers, new, but it’s still him.

It’s still him.

Kino mumbles a thank you to the twi’lek bartender who then disappears once she hands him the ale, allowing you the illusion of privacy in this cantina.

“...you’re not easy to find, I'll give you that,” he explains, taking a sip of the ale.

His eyes slip close, relishing in its taste, before taking a second, much bigger gulp.

“Had to ask around, but I remember you mentioning this place. Remember you mentioning a couple of places, figured maybe you chose to hide out on one of 'em."

"And you..."

"Went to every single one? Yeah," he supplies. "I’m not one to waste time. Not when we’re living on a borrowed case of it, so I hit up as many places as I could. Finally found you on this one.”

Kino allows a moment to pass, settling his ale back on the bar top, before he leans in.

You don’t move, mesmerized by the way his chest rises and falls under his gray tunic.

Alive.

Alive, alive, alive—

“I told you once that we’d get the hell out of that shitehole, once and for all, and I’d buy you whatever drink fits your fancy at the nearest cantina.”

The man reaches a slow, cautious hand from the table.

Magnetism draws you in, desperate to feel something stable, something warm.

Eventually his palm connected with your cheek and you’re threatened with a surge of emotion.

Same calluses. Same stroke of his thumb.

Simultaneously, you both suck in a sharp breath — two octaves of the same relief.

It’s as though an electric spark flows between you, and you find yourself nuzzling his palm with a longing that’s propelled you for six straight months.

Kino chuckles under his breath at this, only to move in closer. 

His other hand cups your face, cradling your head in his reach.

“Sorry I couldn’t find the bloody flowers,” he exhales. “Not exactly welcome at the pearly gates of Naboo, if you could imagine that.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the flowers, Kino,” you inhale, earning another rumbling laugh from the older man.

“No, didn’t think you would.”

When you slip your eyes open, you see him shake his head as if mesmerized by what’s before him.

You stare right back, raising your hands to gently rest against his.

Kino studies your face in the dim lights of the cantina, Adam’s apple bobbing from a thick swallow.

He frowns briefly, as if plagued by a morose thought, before his shoulders droop.

There’s so much to say.

So many doors have closed…

Yet reuniting with the man who taught you to fight to live feels like a fresh start, all the same. 

“I’ll take that drink, though,” you murmur, forcing a tired smile to play on your lips.

The former unit manager’s eyes instantly drop to your mouth.

“Whatever you want, love, so long as you’ll have me.”

The smile on your face grows.

He mirrors, huffing and smiling back — only to drag you in for a searing, devastated kiss.

For the first time in years, hope is within the confines of your galaxy.

.

[crowleybigbang]

And so, our first week is already gone. Time flies when one's having fun, doesn't it?

We opened strong with @petrichoravellichor piece, Inner Demons, about Crowley and Dean. You can read it here. Don't say we don't spoil you.

Then came @hectatess with two pieces, back to back.

In To Reclaim A Throne, Crowley has his fair share of work to do to get back to his own rightful position. You can cheer for him here, of course!

And in the other piece, A Hell Of A Birthday, embellished by the tailored art of @hobbitual-psychick-art-stuff we see Crowley finally enjoying a quiet, happy retirement... did you think it could last? Find out more here and feast your eyes upon the art here!

Then came our friend SilasBaran to spin tales about rumours and whispers one could hear in the streets of the eternal city. Head over here and let yourself be enchanted by When In Rome.

And, chronologically last, @punk-is-notdead wrote us a wonderful little tale, aptly titled Demon Trumps Politicians about a few of Hell's favourites: demons, deals, politics, bit of aggression and riots... intrigued enough yet? Go, check it out!

And now that you all have the links in the same place, and you know you can even navigate our collection on AO3... what are you waiting for? Hellhounds clawing at your door? Cause that could be arranged...

[ria-writes-stories]

Ship: Nuzi

Title: Cherry bright cheeks

Genre: Cotton Romance

Description: Wouldn't you like to know weather boy?/ref

for: (forgive me for the ping)

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

(No one's pov)

The cold harsh wind of the atomic winter waste planet waltzed through the empty hollow streets and cities. Nothing moved, nothing made a sound, everything was in a harmonic silence, or so that should be the case...

Uzi and N were on the roof of a tall building, with a stack of magazines and manga next to them. Uzi was showing N some of her favourite manga and magazines, which varied from absolute chaos and riot to simple heavenly illustrations. N being completely new to all of this, he always had questions 'Hey Uzi what's this?' 'What about this?' 'Why did everything get so dark all of a sudden?' 'Wow! so many details!' N was pretty joyful to be able to see all of this as Uzi simply smiled looing at N's uncontained happiness as she explained to him every single little thing, in the most Uzi way possible of course 'It's an alien' 'It's a mutant zombie' Because it is the scene where the protagonist proceeds to unlock their inner anger to destroy, tear and break everything within their path' 'Yes, there are many details, that's why I like it so much'.

Uzi's head was filled with all sorts of thoughts. Her short purple hair was gently being brushed by the hair, like a soft caress of an old friend that hasn't seen her in so long, while her mesmerizing deep purple eyes subtly darted between the pages of the manga to the eyes of her 'friend'. Friend. What a liar she is. A terrible one at that.

Her heart beat a thousand kilometers per hour whenever she saw his smile. His bright shiny star smile, with those yellow eyes of his like two orbs made from the core of the sun itself, so warm, gentle and soft yet capable of cruel, merciless heats of wave enough to kill one. 'You lead a murder drone here?!' the first day they met. The first day they saw one another for the very first time, back when she still believed that disassembly drones were nothing more or less than savage ruthless beasts and monsters, helpless puppets in the hands of the cruel humans.

And now she couldn't imagine a more gentle beast that ever walked upon this planet. He was so pure, how could anyone wish him anything but well? Always putting other before himself, always looking out for her, always being there for her, no matter what, no matter their fights even. She was hollow and empty the day after they defeated eldrtich J, and then when she saw him again at prom night... she felt like all of her beggs, prayers and wishes were answered. All she has ever yearned for was right there in front of her.

His eyes were looking at everything with such great curiosity, but not necessarily because he found it as intriguing as she did, not, he looked with so much entertain because he knew how much all of these things meant to her, and he knew how much more it meant that she was sharing all of this with him. It made him feel warm. It made his heart have a strange and unsettled calamity. One that soothe his soul and yet made it feel as if his chest was on the verge of bursting at any given moment.

He analysed every single detail and message in all of these white and black pages. He couldn't help but wonder what she felt when she first read these pages by herself. Was she nervouse? Was she excited? Was she thrilled? How did she feel when she first read them all on her own? How does she feel now sharing them with him? He wanted to know what's in her mind, what's in her heart. It simply felt like that was his duty, that it was what he had to do to feel fulfilled and not once before has he felt better than being by her side. Fear wasn't something he felt anymore, it was simply...gone, as if it was never there... perhaps he even forgot what it felt like.

She acted rough all of the time but he knew it wasn't intentional, at least not with him. It was simply what she was used to, walls built around her heart due to so many unfortunate events happening in her life, and he couldn't dread anything more than everything that has hurt her and caused this.

Yet he admired her for it. She was all on her own and she didn't let anyone walk all over her, yet he didn't have that many coming for him and he was stepped all over. How was she so strong? Was it her soul? Her mind? Her heart? Her spirit? Whatever it was he admired her, he looked up at her and...maybe loved her.

In a moment of weakness his eyes trailed off from the pages of the manga open in front of him, and slowly but surely made their way towards her face. What was there not to admire? Those deep purple eyes like the vast wide galaxy, filled with so many wonders, adventures and fascination. Her short hair that looked as if it was hand made by the stars themselves as a humble gift to compliment her as a person.

Their eyes met. Shock, fear, anxiety, both startled and caught off guard by the other one. Her eyes looked into his gentle docile sunshine orbs as he looked into her strong and determined, galaxy orbs. Their hearts shyly asked each of them to not look away as their brains told them to immediately break eye contact, but neither seemed to listen, they were stuck as if immortalised in an eternal painting that will last for centuries and beyond.

"So... uhm... do you like the manga?" Uzi was the first to break the silence as she looked at N with an unsure look. "O-oh!" N said as he looked away. "Y-yeah! It's nice." "Cool." Uzi said with a sheepish smile as she looked away shyly with a slight blush on her, as N did the same, rubbing his neck from nervousness.

"Oh- also, I was going to ask, what is this? I see it a lot through your mangas." "Oh, these? They are Cherry Blossoms!" Uzi replied calmly as N looked at her face with purely curious eyes. "Are they purple?" "No. Why?" Uzi asked as she looked up at N puzzled with his question. "Oh, no reason. I just read somewhere here that a boy told a girl she has Cherry Blossoms on her cheeks." N said with a dorky smile.

Uzi's face lit up immediately as her blush only spread from the comment.

"N!!!" She said in revolt as she lightly frowned crossing her arms to her chest as she looked away. "You can't just say that to people!" "Ah-!!! I'm sorry Uzi!" N said immediately as anxiety and nervousness filled his voice. Was it a bad thing? Did he screw up? He was so nervous he didn't know what to do other than stand there and look at Uzi.

Uzi on the other hand felt her cheeks warm up as she lightly looked over her shoulder and she couldn't help but smile slightly at his worry.

'Like the cherry blossom of your cheeks'

Uzi remembers the line very clearly, from her favourite romance manga, and she couldn't help but wonder, how much of a coincidence N's words were.

The end

[dailyanarchistposts]

Bring the noise

As we made our way to the hastily chosen alternative meeting up point for the ‘Bring the Noise’ march it was clear, despite our worst fears, that a sense of momentum and excitement had built up over the previous week and the day was going to be a success. All along Dublin’s main street the cops were guarding the banks and the crappy fast-food outlets but in the middle there was a crowd of thousands. People continued to flock towards the march, including people from the ‘Another Europe is Possible’ rally that had finished some time earlier. Impromptu speeches began. As the crowd of about 3,000 moved off the chants and shouts grew to a crescendo and as we passed through the inner city the protest swelled to about 4,000 people. The sense of resolve, spontaneous revolt and joy was infectious and to music, foghorns, whistles and roars we marched for over an hour towards the banquet centre.

Many of us were surprised that the march got as far as it did but as we came within half a kilometre of Farmleigh house at the Ashtown roundabout we saw the police lines. We came to a halt eighty metres in front of the cops and water cannons. The end of the march was announced and the largely masked up ‘pushing bloc’ came forward with arms linked and approached the police lines accompanied by a sizeable number of protestors from the DGN march and the odd pisshead. After some pushing and the throwing of a few fairly ineffective missiles like half empty cans and plastic bottles, the riot police replaced the uniformed Gardai and there were a number of baton charges. At this point one uniformed policewoman was taken to hospital with a superficial head injury. The ‘pushing bloc’ was broken up and there were a number of scuffles.

Then came the moment the hacks, the senior cops and perhaps even a few of protestors had been waiting for — the water cannon were deployed. After spraying the protestors there were some more scuffles. This prompted an ill-advised sit down protest by a handful of people and some wonderfully surreal antics involving dancing protestors and a large bearded man scooping up some of the water being sprayed by the water cannon and throwing it back at the tender. The police, not known for enjoying gentle mockery, moved forward at this point and they began to aggressively push the protestors back down the Navan Road. After the fracas at Ashtown Gate the police had broken an arm, sprained an ankle, cracked several heads and inflicted numerous other minor injuries on marchers and arrested 28 of them. This was the ‘May Day riot’ that was on all the front pages the next day and although we had spent four days on Dublin’s streets engaged in various forms of protest none of this existed as far as the media were concerned. There had been a ‘riot’ in which the only serious injuries were sustained by demonstrators.