#the peasant maybe but that class is being slowly hollowed out

[anarchotolkienist]

The core insight of Marxism - that capitalism creates the industrial worker, and concentrates them in specific places, thus creating the necessities for an organised working class movement that eventually overcome it - proved to be false, at least in those places he identified (France, Germany, Britain). The workers movement failed to overcome capitalism. Successful marxist revolutions almost universally had a lot more in coming with the Jacobin revolutions of a century before them than they were produced by the organised mass of industrial workers. In the meantime, Marxist progressivism and belief in the inherent progress of industry as a path to socialism was socially, ecologically, and politically massively destructive. Let's not revive that teleology now.

[queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm]

Daminette December Day 4: Gaming

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Everyone on twitch knew, Marinette Dupain-Cheng was a beast at every game she played. From multiplayer ones like Ultimate Mecha Strike III to indie ones such as “Hollow Knight” she was a goddess. Her KD ratio on “Call of Duty Modern Warfare” was 100:0.

She played under an alias, Ladybug. Not once did she show her face. All of her viewers told her to go pro, make some real money playing the games that she loved so much. But everytime she saw someone suggest that, she’d wave it off saying, “Gaming is a hobby for me. If you really want to support me, buy merch or commission me for some clothes. For those who don’t know, I run a website called ‘Miss Fortune’ and it would greatly support me and my dreams if you would check it out!”

It was true Marinette loved gaming, but her passion would always be fashion. Once her website was announced, Marinette received so many commissions from her followers, that she no longer had the time to do the free labor her class would always ask if her. She was busy and was making her dream come true they should be happy for her... right?

Wrong.

“Mariiii,” Alya elongated her nickname, “Could you babysit my sisters and Chris, please?”

Marinette sighed, “I’m sorry Alya, I just have too much on my plate right now. I’m working on a comission that will pay me a lot! It needs to be done by Monday, or I won’t be able to get it to the buyer in time for their party. Maybe next time?”

Alya would have said that it was fine, if Lila didn’t open her mouth right when Marinette finished, “Wow! Marinette would place money over her supposed ‘Best Friend?’ As Alya’s second best friend, I’ll take over the duty,” Lila then whispered lowly to Marinette, “because that’s what friends do.”

“Yeah, Girl! Why are you being so selfish?” Alya asked a little annoyed.

“W-what?” Marinette physically took a step back, “S-selfish? But I’ve done nothing but do whatever it is you ask of me?!? The one time I decline a demand from you I’M the selfish one? I have a job, a client, and my pride as a designer on the line. This is much deeper then money, but you,” she pointed an accusing finger at Lila, “wouldn’t know anything about that would you?”

Neither Lila or Alya expected, soft, timid, Marinette to explode the way she did. As the class excluded Marinette from things, she dove farther into her twitch personality. Ladybug, one of the best gamers in the word (according to some), was confident, collected, and focused. Marinette embraced that side of her and slowly grew into her own skin. Lila broke into the fakest crocodile tears she could conjure, “W-why are you so m-mean? I-I just wanted Alya to k-know she could l-lean on me!”

“Bullshit,” Marinette cursed and rolled her eyes, “You know exactly what you were trying to do. And Lila next time, take some acting lessons. Maybe then I’ll even pretend to be sorry. You cry wolf so often that I’ve become desensitized by yours and everyone else’s treatment of me. So if you want to play ball, I just want you to know: I play to win. And I never lose, especially to noobs who don’t even know the mechanics yet.”

After saying that, Marinette left the classroom stunned to slience. Lila tried to call after her, but she was already long gone. Classes had ended right before the confrontation, so Marinette couldn’t be bothered to deal with peasants that lost at games of manipulation. She had much better and productive things she could be doing with her life.

As Marinette made her way home, she had wanted to stream a bit before working on the commission. ‘What to do,’ Marinette had thought to herself, ‘A vlog? Maybe?’

20 minutes of an internal debate later, she had decided to do a vlog (in silhouette of course). The light on the camera signaled it was recording, “What is up my Macaroons? How is everybody doing today?” She stops to read the chat, “Good? I’m glad! Um.... how am I doing? I didn’t have a good day, but now that I’m talking to all of you I’m feeling much better!”

Marinette winked at the camera. She wanted to keep her mind off of the event of earlier, “I got into a fight with one of my ‘best friends’” her fingers curled into quotes, “Turns out she wasn’t worth my time.”

She continued to stream for another 45 minutes before signing off. The second it ended, Marinette began to work on her commission. The piece was for a Tim Drake. When she had first received the request, Marinette assumed the person was asking under a pseudonym. There ways no way THE Tim Drake would want her work... right?

Wrong... again.

Two for two times Marinette wa wrong lately. Unbeknownst to her the Wayne boys had grown a fondness for the goddess behind the screen on Twitch. Tim being the fan boy of the four, commissioned her for the next gala. He wouldn’t shut up about it to the rest, “I’m getting a ‘Miss Fortune’ original!” He would announce loudly to the manor, “She actually took my request!”

“And here I though Ladybug would ignore you, I thought she would’ve thought it to be a prank. Timmy boy lucked out,” Jason released a long breath.

“Can things one and two, shut up while I place an order?” Dick huffed in annoyance. He would try to commission Ladybug for business causal.

None of the boys were into fashion, (besides Damian but they don’t know that) but if it was to support their favorite streamer they would sell their kidney. No one knew the face of Ladybug, however, everyone knew of their skill.

Damian felt an eyebrow twitch at his brothers antics. Damian had been commissioning Ladybug since before she had mentioned it in that video. Admittedly he had no idea who the designer was, Damian always preferred practicality over looks and Miss Fortune had just what he was looking for. Eventually he’d learn just who Ladybug was, after months of commissioning her work she had enough trust in him to allow him the privilege of her name. Marinette. That was what he got. No last name, just Marinette.

Ladybug trusted him enough with a first name, but handing your last name to a stranger on the internet isn’t the best idea. But Damian was on a war path to sniff out just who exactly is Ladybug.

Her twitch channel was pretty popular, she was confident, and always stayed talking to her followers whenever they were sad or upset. Her last stream left him unsettled. Damian didn’t think such an angel could ever be upset at anyone, but guess there was a first time for everything.

A fire was lit under Damian and it would rage until he remedied whatever would distress his angel. This would become a game of “Clue” and Damian never lost anything. To the challenge of finding Marinette he’d say, “Game on!”

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A/N: I plan on continuing this into tomorrow’s prompt of fire. I hope that’s okay with you guys. Thank you for all the sweet comments, likes and reblogs. All of those things make me motivated to continue, thank you all so much!

@daminette-december2019 @persephonebutkore

[ootori-sibs]

Kyoya's second shot

Chapter seven: Big brother to the rescue!

It's unlikely that two days are just perfect as each other, you cannot simply have the best day of your life, then have the same day tomorrow. And unfortunately common occurrence is for one day to be wonderful, simply the best, then the next day to be empty and hollow- even if nothing bad happens; the lack of the joy makes a normal day seem even worse. That was how Sunday went for Kyoya; he couldn't even talk to Tamaki over text, as he was spending the day with Haruhi.

He had woken up in Tamaki's bed, alone. Tamaki had already left to go and spend time with Haruhi, having left a note and some of Kyoya's favourite foods for breakfast. Kyoya had barely picked at it, not feeling all too hungry, but he didn't want to upset Tamaki, so he finished the food before leaving. The ride home was silent, Kyoya simply read through Arai's report of the day spent with Haruhi. Apparently they'd spent the day reading and sitting in the local park, nothing really romantic in the slightest- Kyoya had to wonder if Arai had even tried.

The moment he'd gotten home, he stumbled upstairs, completely ignoring his brother who was visiting for the day, he made a b-line for his bedroom, crawling under the covers and just hiding. He had lain like this for the entire summer holiday, so what was one day more? He wasn't being selfish, he was just tired, a whole day outside had taken a lot out of him. He barely glanced up to read the shadow council group chat, oh… they were calling him slurs again. Maybe he should just sleep.

But Eclair reminded him that he'd scheduled a meeting with the council today, so he took about an hour to compose himself enough to at least sit up, the many blankets still wrapped around his head and body- if they wanted to judge him he couldn't care less, he felt as if he could cry without the soft pressure from his blankets. His maids had brought him lunch, along with a note from his brother, asking if he wanted to talk or hang out… Kyoya sighed at that, Yuuichi was always trying to bond with him, it was strange; why would he want to spend time with Kyoya when he could spend that time working? If Kyoya had a job he'd do absolutely nothing else, how dare his brother spend so much time doing nothing at all yet still be the favourite.

Kyoya had turned his laptop on, setting up the meeting before inviting all his council, they did have work to do after all. "Good afternoon everyone."

Eclair was simply sat on a chaise lounge, drinking wine and smoking, clearly just showing off that she could do that kind of thing. Nekozawa was sat in a dark room, lit only by candles, he was missing both his wig and cloak, and sat there with his regal features- if he wasn't such a creepy guy, maybe Kyoya would be attracted to him. Akira was hunched over his desk, looking incredibly stressed to be in this call, good. Seika was laying on her bed, legs in the air like she was in an American movie about teens, it was uncanny. Chika was sitting in a quiet corner of a garden, there were a couple of baby ducks in the background, just chirping about. Arai, ever the lovely commoner, was simply in his kitchen, making his lunch as they spoke.

Kyoya sighed, adjusting his glasses, "first thing I have to address; Arai, how did yesterday go?"

The commoner boy barely glanced at him, busy making food, "well it was alright I suppose, I sent a message about it didn't I?"

"You did, but I'd like you to make a formal report for the rest of the council."

"Alright then," Arai nods, chopping some tomatoes, "we went to the park and read books together, I bought her a milkshake with ice-cream. She complained about school, I let her-" he clearly pause, putting the knife down for a moment, "she complained about you at one point actually."

Kyoya froze, Haruhi was complaining about him? What did he do? Did she know? If she was complaining to Arai, imagine what she could be saying to Tamaki at that very moment… Kyoya's hands were already shaking as he wrapped his blankets around himself even more, "what did she say?"

"Oh she just said some stuff about how you've been really pushy and snappy lately, also like- totally going through someone but kind of being a dick about it." Like all commoners, Arai spoke bluntly, but there was something in his tone, in the way he paused when he saw Kyoya's expression, his gaze softening… "hey, those aren't her exact words, just a bit of paraphrasing. Don't worry about it, she doesn't suspect a thing, also I mean; she's not wrong, you're clearly going through someone, and you're clearly lashing out- forgive me for getting too personal." He had smiled, before turning to continue making his lunch.

Kyoya didn't know how to respond to that, how dare that commoner see straight through him- but he wasn't cruel about it… like anyone else in existence would be, Kyoya felt himself bristle nonetheless, his pride forbidding him from accepting any care. "Oh look, the basket case is about to start crying and we've barely started the meeting." Ayanokoji had made a cruel comment, one that people laughed at, Arai was ignoring the meeting now, clearly he was only going to speak when asked to. Kyoya's fists clenched, he felt like he was about to put a hole through his laptop… he'd done that before, he remembered his father's reaction, he'd been grounded for two weeks after that. He hated to imagine what would happen the second time. So he took a deep breath, glaring down the camera.

"I'm sorry, Ayanokoji, why don't you tell us any new ideas you've had?" His tone was clear; she'd already been reprimanded for the graffiti, so any inappropriate idea would be criticised heavily- especially by a shadow king in a foul mood. Her eyes had gone wide, and she lay flat, glancing about a little nervously.

"Oh, well…" it was clear she hadn't thought of a single thing, "well I was thinking… oh! Maybe I could drug her coffee? Or ruin her work for classes? Or spread a nasty rumour..?" Kyoya thought about these options, letting the other council members speak first however, as he already knew his opinion.

Chika was the first to speak, "you're gonna poison the crossdresser??" His words got the attention of the other people in the call who weren't paying attention, such as Arai and Eclair; one of whom seemed a lot less onboard than the other.

Kyoya shook his head, "we will not be drugging her, as easy as it would be for me to get my hands on a harmless dose of something, we are better than that- we are smarter than that. Your other two ideas however, are fine. However; only ruin her schoolwork once, as we don't want to get her expelled."

"I thought we were trying to ruin her life?" Akira spoke up, why was he even still allowed to speak? Kyoya respected the commoner more than he could ever respect this newsboy.

So he rolls his eyes, adjusting how he's sat, "don't be foolish, we're just trying to drive her away from Tamaki, I harbour no real ill will towards the commoner- she is simply in the way. Now," he looks down at where Akira was on the screen, before his eyes filter back up to the webcam, staring straight into the lense, "I suggest you bite your tongue, Komatsuzawa, you're on thin ice here as it is." It seemed to work, the boy glanced away from the screen, biting his thumb and going silent.

Seika laughed, "god, what a baby. Sucking his thumb cause he got told off, how absolutely pathetic." Her words clearly annoyed Akira, but he was notably silent and the call was quiet for a second until Tonnerre spoke up.

"Ootori isn't much better," she addressed Seika, ignoring the other folks in the call as she lifted a glass of red to her lips, "he's all bundled in blankets like a baby, you can see his lunch behind him; there's even milk." She doesn't laugh, she doesn't even smile, but there's an airy huff that tells Kyoya she finds herself quite amusing, Seika's chuckling doesn't make it feel any better.

But she's not the only one laughing, Chika, the little brat, seems to find this oh so funny. "He's more of a baby then some of the people in my class! No wonder my brother hangs out with him!" Such childish laughter, and yet Kyoya feels more obliged to defend Honey with that insult then to defend himself… though he knew how it felt to be a younger brother, he found himself unable to sympathise with Chika at all in this regard.

He just stayed silent, not wanting to speak and incriminate himself for anything, he knew he could move his blankets but he felt if he did so he might just cry. So he stayed completely still, staring at the screen. Luckily the sound of cruel laughter was silenced by Nekozawa speaking up, "Ootori-san may have some clear issues, but it's not as if he embarrassed himself to the degree you did Ayanokoji-chan," he was smiling at her, expression and words completely harmless, though of course dear Seika took great offence, gasping at the very idea of her being worse than Kyoya.

The meeting delved into insults and jokes, slurs being thrown around as if it were middleschool again… Kyoya just sat there, hands shaking, as he watched Arai's screen. Arai wasn't partaking in the jokes of the rest of the council, he had finished making his lunch and had just sat down to eat it, watching the show with concern. Kyoya watched him take out his phone, typing something slowly, then… oh, Kyoya's own phone had pinged. He picked it up from his bedside table, reading the text.

Peasant: hey, are you doing ok?

you can talk to me if you want

I'm always willing to listen if you need it

even if we aren't friends

Kyoya had saved them all on his phone with the same nicknames they had in the group chat, with Nekozawa as an exception obviously. So he instantly realised that the text he'd just saw Arai type was this one he was reading now… or four texts he supposed, one after the other. He was caught off guard by them, the idea of someone he's barely spoken to, caring about him, seeking him out to make sure he's alright, offering to be a willing ear, using a gentle tone with him… it was all entirely new to Kyoya- and he didn't trust it one bit.

Kyoya Ootori: Don't take me for a fool, there is no viable reason for me to trust you.

He watched Arai receive the text, and noticed how he sighed lightly- Kyoya was right! Arai had been planning to dig into Kyoya's secrets! And pry at his weaknesses! Kyoya had won, he had been so smart to not open up to the common boy! He had to congratulate himself on that at least, he had one talent, if nothing else. He sighed slightly at that, realising his conclusion meant that no one on the council was even genuinely nice. So he sat there, eyes just focusing on whoever was speaking at the time, whoever was calling him a slur at any given moment… oh, his door had opened.

He glanced over to the entrance to his room, noticing Yuuichi standing there, looking entirely concerned. His brother glanced at his laptop, his frown deepening, "who just called you that?" Uh oh.

Everyone in the meeting had heard it, and most knew Yuuichi by his voice, and knew to be afraid- even the few that didn't, had enough sense to stay silent. Yuuichi walked over, taking the laptop from Kyoya's bed, looking at the screen. Kyoya silently watched in horror as his brother slowly looked at the members of his council, recognising them one by one- he looked extremely surprised to see… Eclair, Kyoya had to assume. Then Yuuichi's eyes landed on Arai, and he spoke his first words since entering the room, "what the… is that a commoner?" Kyoya nodded when Yuuichi glanced at him, staying completely silent as he processed this fact.

"What kind of strange gathering is happening here?" Yuuichi didn't seem to understand what was going on in the slightest, Kyoya was glad of that. But as Yuuichi sat down on the bed next to Kyoya, the laptop on his lap, the council began to speak.

Eclair spoke first, with a polite but clearly forced chuckle, "bonjour monsieur Ootori, I don't believe we've spoken properly yet?"

"Please," Yuuichi's smile was also faked, "call me Yuuichi."

She nodded, "Yuuichi, I don't believe you need to worry about this little meeting, your baby brother is awfully good at arranging things isn't he?" God, she was hiding her insults in complements now, as if Kyoya couldn't hate this woman anymore then she already did.

Yuuichi's face lit up at that, pulling Kyoya close to him, "oh you're right! He is so good at planning and organising, you should've seen the rigorous routines he used to map out when he was younger, he had a schedule for playtime!" He laughed, not realising how humiliating this would be for Kyoya, "he'll always be my sweet little baby brother, even if he's grown up a lot since then."

Chika let out a snort at that, causing Yuuichi to frown again, "why is there a toddler in this call?" It was incredibly rewarding to watch Chika splutter and explain that he's a middle schooler, as if Yuuichi wasn't fully aware exactly who he was. But the boy's laughter had reminded Yuuichi of what he'd heard, "so, which one of you did I hear call my brother a slur?" There was complete silence on the other end of the line.

Kyoya looked up at Yuuichi, frowning, he gently pinched his brother's arm, not wanting to draw attention to himself but also really wanting Yuuichi to stop it. Yuuichi glanced at him the moment he felt the pinch, smiling softly, he let Kyoya take the laptop from him, though frowned at that. "Alright everyone," Kyoya made sure to keep his voice level, smiling politely to the council, "I apologize for the interruption and I'm afraid we'll have to cut our meeting a little short, please ruminate on what we've discussed today and I hope to speak with you again soon, that will be all," and without letting anyone else get a word in edgeways, he ended the call, slamming his laptop shut and headbutting his brother in the chest fairly hard, just resting their for a moment.

"Kyoya…" Yuuichi had uttered softly, placing a gentle hand on Kyoya's head, playing with his hair, "why did you do that? You know I'd have stood up for you."

"Humiliate me is what you did." Kyoya's words were spat out, quite aggressively, but Kyoya only got so aggressive when he was close to tears, and Yuuichi knew this, and Kyoya knew that he knew, "you always fucking show me up, I don't need you to come to my rescue…"

These words must hurt his brother deeply, Kyoya knew that, but frankly, he didn't care, not right now at least. He had his own feelings, ones that were hurt a hell of a lot more than his silly little words could ever harm his brother, tears filled his eyes, already dangerously close to spilling over. Yuuichi didn't respond, at least not verbally- he gently picked Kyoya up, still swaddled in all those blankets, and he cradled him on his knee, just like he did when Kyoya was a baby…

Kyoya hated to admit it, but this did genuinely make him feel better- he felt so, so stupid for it, but being held by his older brother like that was actually so comforting, and Kyoya wasn't exactly sure why. Yuuichi gently shushed him, even though Kyoya hadn't made any noise, and just began to rock him gently. It wasn't as effective as when Kyoya was tiny, but it was still oddly comforting… like laying on a pool floaty and taking a nap.

After a while, Yuuichi gently put Kyoya down, frowning slightly, "can you tell me why you were talking with those people? I know you've been more social in highschool, but you actively hate some of those people."

Kyoya had sighed, really not wanting to have to admit to anything, so he attempted to lie his way through it. "Well I… it's a mutually beneficial alliance, personal opinions aren't a part of the equation. You of all people should know not to involve emotions in business."

"Kyoya, you're seventeen, you don't have any business to attend to," Yuuichi sighed, before reaching out and ruffling Kyoya's hair, "you should be paying attention to your feelings, you're at the age where you need to be fighting for your happiness." He smiled a little, that friendly, overly soft smile, that Kyoya knew meant he was about to get nosey, "I heard you had a day out yesterday, did you have fun?"

Now, Kyoya usually hated it when his siblings tried to pry into his private life, but Yuuichi was giving him a chance to talk about the wonderful day he'd had yesterday, and Kyoya couldn't help but to smile. "Well myself and Tamaki went to a little commoner-ran store to order custom food platter, because Tamaki wanted to do a theme based on commoner foods, and then-"

"Do you enjoy regular food then?"

"Huh?" Kyoya paused, looking up at Yuuichi in confusion, "what do you mean? We aren't talking about regular food, we're talking about commoner food?"

His brother had laughed at him, and Kyoya didn't quite understand why, "come on Kyoya, you're smarter than that- think about it for like, two seconds." But Kyoya still didn't understand, why would regular food be- oh.

"Oh. Oh dear, it seems I spend too much time around the others." He glances down in shame, having just embarrassed himself in front of his brother like that, he was just glad it was Yuuichi and not Akito- Akito would have just laughed.

Yuuichi, however, only chuckled a little, pulling Kyoya in and ruffling his hair even further, "Nothing wrong with having friends, even if you do pick up strange habits from them. Either way, do you like regular food then?"

Kyoya just hesitantly nodded, remembering yesterday's lunch, and that one time Haruhi bought him a burger. He wasn't sure why Yuuichi had asked him that, what use could that information be to him? His brother had smiled at him, clearly liking that reacting, then he glanced down at the untouched tray of food.

"How about we go grab some fast food for dinner? You don't seem too keen on lunch so we'll go early, how about five?" Kyoya was caught off guard by this- Yuuichi actively wanted to spend time with him? He hadn't just written the note to be nice? He was silent, just staring up at Yuuichi in silence. "What'd you say, Kyo? Wanna hang out with your big bro?"

Kyoya just quietly nodded, not smiling or even speaking, he was just- he didn't even know why Yuuichi wanted to hang out with him, didn't his brother have more important things to do? It seemed that Yuuichi had noticed his confusion, putting a gentle hand on Kyoya's shoulder.

"Kyoya, you're my baby brother and you're clearly going through something right now… Fiyumi told me there are fresh scars, please understand that I care about you, people care about you."

Oh. He'd been told about the scars, of course he had, why else would he be here? Kyoya had genuinely felt hope, that- for just a second, he thought his big brother actually wanted to hang out with him… he felt even worse then he had before. He hated being pitied, more than anything. But he couldn't tell Yuuichi how he felt, he knew his brother would never admit the pity. So he just smiled, nodding, making sure to appear to be the innocent child he knew his brother saw him as. Yuuichi seemed satisfied by this, smiling back and ruffling Kyoya's hair one last time before leaving the room, leaving Kyoya in an uncomfortable silence.

His phone was buzzing, he didn't need to check it to know it was the council, likely mocking him further. He just grabbed his blankets, wrapping them around himself again and flopping down on the bed, face in his pillow for a moment before he sighed and rested the side of his head on the pillow, looking over across the room and out the window. Kyoya hated the silence, he used silence to study, he used silence to cry, he only sat in silence when he was in pain- so he hated it. So he reached over to his phone, planning to just put some quiet music on- but he saw the notification sitting on his lockscreen, and he froze.

Woman: Yes of course, and he needs to hide behind his family all the time, he's barely a person without his name.

They were still talking about him, it hurt more that they were right; he did hide behind his surname too much, but it was all he had. He thought about how Fiyumi had helped him yesterday, how, even today, Yuuichi had come to his defence even without being asked, and had proceeded to promise to spend time with him… even Akito had been calling and texting him lately. It all felt so wrong, it was like he was a toddler again, he felt so babies, so protected. Eclair was right, he didn't exist without them right behind him- he certainly wouldn't be alive… if Fiyumi hadn't helped him with all those scars, even finding him after the first time it happened… he assumed he'd have gotten much worse, much sooner.

When he spent time with his siblings, it often made the bad thought disappear- so was that all he was without them? Was that who Kyoya was? Just an unstable bundle of bad thoughts? His fingers found his scars again, and he slowly traced over them, not daring to look… he was going to spend time with Yuuichi soon, he couldn't do that… but he wanted to, oh he was so tempted. He opened up the group chat, he could hurt himself in easier, less evident ways.

Child: He's a fucking wierdo, all those idiots my brother hangs out with are.

Woman#2: It's like, the only reason anyone even listens to, or pretends to care about him is because of who his father is.

Woman: Oh you don't know the half of it, he literally shows off his father's police force at any chance he gets.

He thinks being powerful is a personality trait.

Woman#2: I don't even know why they let him stay in the club, he doesn't even do any actual hosting.

Sorcerer: It's because Souh-san can't do maths.

Child: Lmao the guy he loves is using him, fucking ironic

Peasant: i think its sad…

Woman: Sad? It's fucking pathetic is what it is.

Kyoya promptly closed the group chat, feeling tears biting his eyes. He really, truly, desperately wanted to text Tamaki- to just ask if that was true. He knew it wasn't, he knew it, made no sense for it to be true… but that didn't stop it from hurting. His phone buzzed again, and Kyoya reacted with rage, tossing the thing across his bedroom, and curling up into a ball. Sure, he hated himself, and reason didn't really come into the equation at this point- but logic was Kyoya's best… and only quality, so he had to reason that bothering Tamaki, or anyone for that matter, would only serve to make himself look stupid, or crazy, or something to that degree.

He was still sitting in silence, and he didn't really want to get up in order to grab his phone. He wished he had one of those smart home things like the twins had, but his father considered them spyware- even if the house was already covered in cameras and microphones. Kyoya just lay there, maybe it wouldn't be silent if he was crying, but he couldn't cry… at least not like normal people. He was always silent in his sadness, tears running down his cheeks, he hated crying… it just reminded him how he wasn't normal, how he was broken- unemotional. He used to be proud of his silence when he was younger, he wasn't loud nor a bother like other children, he didn't scream or throw tantrums, he just sat quietly, getting on with his studies.

He had trained himself to be silent, thinking he'd be loved more, if he was quieter, more productive. Now that was all he was worth, it seemed he'd dug his own grave… he wasn't sure if he wanted to lay in it- death sounded wonderful, but he was terrified of leaving the people he cares about. He just lay there, he lay there… he stayed there for hours, just quietly crying- but then he got too tired to cry, and he felt quite thirsty, but he didn't want to move, so he lay there uncomfortably, staring into the middle distance.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Goretober Day 16: One To The Dirt One To The Pyre

Prompt: Burn Fandom: BBC Robin Hood Summary: Isabella is executed for witchcraft. Warnings: Physical abuse and implied sexual abuse.

They aren’t particularly unjustified when they bind her hands with rope. They aren’t exactly in the wrong about their accusations. But they don’t know the full story. They don’t know what he has put her through. They just took his word for it. They just followed his pointed finger.

Isabella supposes that she hadn’t gone about it in the most intelligent way. The curse was a success, God, it was a success. But she hadn’t covered her tracks well enough this time. She has cast spells before but never one so potent.

She might be on her way to the pyre, but he is on his way to the dirt. With any luck they will mistake him for dead and bury him several days too soon. He will wake to pitch darkness and the smell of damp dirt and worm. The taste of nature herself.

Isabella smiles. It deserves a slow and agonizing death. She looks at the scars and bruises on her arms. The same brand that decorate her neck and collar and her torso. The ones that pair so well with the welts on her back and thin lines that match his whip. She doesn’t regret what she has done. She only regrets that she has left traces of it in such plain sight.

Her hands were her own downfall. They smelled of herbs and spices. The witch’s scent is accompanied by dirt and residue beneath her fingernails. They might have taken it for days spent toiling in a garden had she not been the bride of a lord. If not that then it would have been the smear of rat’s blood. And if not the rat’s blood then it would have been the black stain on her fingers.

Normally she wears gloves but she had been careless and they have seen the permeate discoloration from years of spellwork and potion making. And now, just as her dreadful husband is beginning to decay alive, she is being walked to the stake.

It is deeply autumn, he favorite time of the year. The trees are vibrant and rustling, shaking off their leaves with each sway. There is a tinge of warm cider in the air and a fragrance of cinnamon. Of dried straw and crops teeming for harvest. It is a shame that she won’t live to celebrate the harvest. It is the one time of the year that she feels fully alive, fully free. When the moon flares full and golden-orange and the beer kegs flow more freely. When the feast is magnificent even to the peasant class. When Robin shows his face for only a good time and some ale.

They will likely build the bonfire up from the same wood that she is to be burned upon. She doesn’t resist as they bind her to it. Maybe if she truly had the power they accuse her of having, she’d put up a fight. But she is admittedly too dumere. Something of a sheep that has finally had enough. She finds that even sheep are quite aggressive brutalized regularly.

But Isabella has gone passive again. She has thrown all of her seething and spite into the poison she’d be dying for and as no fight left in her. It is a shame that she won’t know a life without the beatings and beratings.

Though she hasn’t any fight, she holds her head high. And higher still as Prince John addresses her. “It’s such a shame that such an elegant lady would…” he twirls his hand. “Get acquainted with such nasty things.”

She would like to pretend that the nasty thing she has gotten acquainted with is Thornton.  

“A witch…” a declares with an exaggerated sweeping of his arms. It is more for the crowd than for her. “Black magic. She has poisoned her own husband.”

The crowd leers.

“Do you deny this?”

“I savor it.” She snarls.

“And unrepentant!” Prince John flinches. His theatrics are growing tiresome. She almost yearns for them to just light her up so she doesn’t have to hear it anymore. “An evil creature with no remorse.”

Really she has only done one thing. Mostly she uses her herb work and potions to care for migraines, stomach pains, and other aches and illnesses. And mostly she uses her magik and rituals to promote luck and prosperity and sometimes, if she is feeling daring, clairvoyance. Really nothing noteworthy nor harmful. It is just this one thing, this one dark deed. She doesn’t think that, that makes her evil. And is it really so evil, so unjustified, to rid herself of an abuser?

According to all of Nottingham, her practices and rituals are far more foul than Thornotn’s own practices. It is a ritual of its own the way he tears her clothes from her and throws her into bed and… Yes, he is getting what he deserves.  

Prince John is still prattling as while she scans the crowd. She finds Robin and she wonders if he will save her. They have ended things on such a sour note and they are left with little fondness for one another. But he does seem like the sort who would try to help her regardless, unless that is dashed by a hatred of her heathenism.

She finds Thornton front and center and he looks horrible. His eyes pierce into her, but they lack their ferocity. They are tired and have bags that span acres. His cheeks are hollow and his complexion is corpse-like, shot with raven feather-black veins.

She flashes him a smirk. She might be a dead woman but soon his veins will burst and his flesh will rot away and he will still breathe. At least her suffering will be over within the day. His own returned smirk is her only warning.

The match has been thrown. It takes a moment, one long and horrible moment. But the flames burst up. She hadn’t expected it to get so hot, so soon. The fire is still only a small blaze; perhaps she is just imaging the heat before it truly rises. Albeit, it doesn’t take long for that blaze to reach her toes. When it gets there it is torment. Her nerve endings flare as the fire eats away her feet.

Isabella holds back a scream, her lips twitch into a snarl and she makes a point of holding Thornton’s stare. Part of her still hopes that Robin will come to her aid. That hope is squandered and that part of her burns away when the fire makes it to her knees.

She still suppresses her screams, has bitten her cheeks and a chunk of her tongue off in the effort. She lets the blood drain from her mouth and drizzle onto her chin. A mistake. The crowd takes a uniformed step back and one voice calls out, “it’s more witchcraft!”

She never guessed that Nottingham had such a surplus of fools. When the fire reaches her hips she finally cries out. Her legs have already blackened, there is no skin left to melt, there is only equally blacked bone. Blackened bone and the smell of burning meat and muscle tissue.

The less sadistic of the towns folks slip away. The more respectful of them, simply turn their heads. The smell has pushed several people to heave. She would think that they are the ones on the pyre.

By the time the fire reaches her stomach, Isabella wishes that she were dead. Not that it is her first time itching with such a desire. Still she holds her glare. Unwavering. Hateful. Thornton turns away, but she knows that he can still feel her hatred burning and simmering perhaps hotter than even the fire.

She roars with it when it reaches her chest. It quite literally boils her blood. It runs down her skeleton with skin that slowly sloughs away to meet the wood below. It is just as well, she knows that the relentlessly searing pain will be over soon. The fire only needs to lick and strip the flesh and muscles above her heart and then burn that away. But the fire climbs to her face before that happens.

This is the worst part. This is when her eyes finally leave Thornton. In an instant her vision flashes a vivid yellow-white and then it goes black and she feels jelly running down her cheeks. She is spasming now, reflexively thrashing and jerking against the chains that hold her in place.

And then it is over, her charred body still, her last breath wafts up to the sky with the smoke. She didn’t use it to curse them all. She didn’t have to. They had damned themselves in killing her, because she is the one who knew how to put him down…

The full moon rises on festival night and in the midst of their bonfire, Thornton bites into the neck of Prince John.  

[hennessystevens-udaku]

My Bloody Valentine

A little twisted Love Day fic for my favorite rebel @thereturnofbadazz!

“I wonder how many lovers are gonna die today,” Aly’Sha said with sneer as she watched the news.

“What yo lil psycho ass talking about, Sha Sha,” Erik asked with a smirk.

“Yeah, it’s Valentine’s Day. Why you talking about folks dying?” Kimora chirped from the other side of the living room.

“It’s also Purge Day,” Aly’Sha responds casually.

“You mean poor man elimination day,” Angel says, cradling the twins closer. Now that she was older, she didn’t see the point of violence as a means of “cleansing” the country of its sins.

“Yeah that shit’s stupid,” Erik agreed, flipping the station. “Just another tactic white folks use to eradicate black folks. Alright ladies, if y’all don’t mind, me and Mama got a date,” Erik says with a sly grin in Hennessy’s direction.

“Actually baby, I was thinking maybe you could spend the day with another wife. You��ve spent the last 16 Valentine’s Days with me, spoil someone else,” she says not looking up from her MacBook. She was in the process of scouting out new locations for her dispensary and wasn’t exactly in the mood to break concentration. Before Erik could ask which of his wives would be the lucky lady this year, Ryley stormed into the house, chest rising and falling quickly with anger.

“What’s the matter, Princess?” he asked from his relaxed position on the couch.

“Them white bitches down the street keep fuckin with me. I’m trying to be nice and keep it cute since I’m a princess now and shit, but they about to make Ryley Badazz come out of retirement!” Erik chuckled at her, loving how sexy she got when she was angry.

“Calm down, Ry Ry. Tell Daddy what happened.” He listened intently, blood boiling as she explained how the Becky’s with the stringy hair had egged her car, slashed her tires, and had been overall mocking her for the past week.

“Calm down baby. You’re a princess, don’t lower your standards for peasants.”

“That’s cute and all, but look at what they spray painted on the house.” Erik’s smirk quickly faded to a menacing mug when he saw the words ‘Killmonger’s a bitch’ spray painted in bright red paint on the northern wall of The Kompound. Without another word, he made his way downstairs to his arsenal with Ryley hot on his heels.

“How about we show them white bitches who run shit,” he called over his shoulder.

“What you mean, Daka?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Well it’s Valentine’s Day and it’s also Purge Day, so how about for our date we show them why they shouldn’t fuck with the Stevens-Udaku household?” Ryley’s face twisted into a devilish grin as she gazed upon the various weapons.

Wanna play, Candy Girl?” he asked as he handed her the Swarovski studded M-16.

“Let’s play, Daddy.”

--

“Y’all sure y’all don’t wanna get in on the action?” Erik asked the remaining wives as he prepared for the night’s festivities.

“This is Ryley’s night, why you inviting other people?” Henny scolded from her relaxed position between Charlie’s plush thighs. They had all agreed to watch the events from the body cameras Shuri had installed on his and Ryley’s protective armor, Angel not wanting to engage in the sport because she didn’t see the point of senseless violence.

“You right, Mama,” Erik replied solemnly, looking over at Ryley. “My bad, Princess.”

“It’s cool, Fathead. Now let’s go murder some white bitches,” she says with a laugh. She was all dolled up in a pink and black bejeweled bodysuit with a pink tutu and thigh high Louboutin Frenchissima boots. On her head, she donned a pink headdress that matched her bodysuit, each piece made out of vibranium to keep her safe. Not like anyone would dare try to harm a Princess of Wakanda.

“Damn you look good enough to eat, Ry Ry,” Erik said as he admired her attire.

“Later, Daka. We got business to handle first.” The announcement sounded as the pair finished adjusting their masks.

This is not a test. This is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of the Annual Purge sanctioned by the U.S. Government. Weapons of class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the Purge. All other weapons are restricted. Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity from the Purge and shall not be harmed. Commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours. Police, fire, and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning at 7 a.m., when The Purge concludes. Blessed be our New Founding Fathers and America, a nation reborn. May God be with you all.

At the sound of the alarm, Erik and Ryley made their way outside to his blacked out Lamborghini Aventador with butterfly doors. For aesthetic effect, he blasted the psycho version of I Got 5 On It as he maneuvered the car down the street.

“Which house baby?”

“That one, that last one on the right.”

“Sha Sha, do your thing, baby.”

In an instant, the target house went completely dark and all of their protective armor was disabled, leaving them completely exposed to the outside world.

“How did you even do that?” Kimora asked Aly’Sha, whose face was buried in her iPhone.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t really want the answer to,” Hennessy answered for her.

“You ready, Ry Ry?”

“Let’s go.”

The pair exited the vehicle and slowly crept to the bay window that displayed the living room. The owners of the dwelling could be seen crowded around one another, a desperate attempt to protect themselves. Idiots.

“Sha Sha, do the thing.”

With another press of a button, the living room began to fill with tear gas, forcing the occupants of the house to run off in different directions, unintentionally aiding the pair in their sadistic plan.

“Time to go hunting,” Erik says as he kicked the door in.

--

“Aye, Vita,” Bast called out quizzically to Big Sis meandering in her lab. “Why you not upstairs watching Erik and Ry Ry turn up on the Beckys?”

Vita had a theatrical setup with a projector and surround sound. It was as if she converted her space into a miniature IMAX theater.

“Because, I have some unfinished business that's about to play out on this computer screen,” she explained leaning back in her seat, gathering her snacks, getting comfortable.

“What unfinished business?”

“Did I ever tell you the story of how I came to own Amazon?”

“Since when did you own Amazo-”

“See, what had happened was…”

He bowed before me, kneeling with great shame and humility. Once a proud, vain man now driven to begging. It's his own fault you know, this present state of duress. Often times when you wish to destroy your enemy you don't have to pull the trigger yourself, you only have to had them the gun and watch them blow their own brains out.

What made him a target, you ask? They were the vices he frequently indulged himself in; greed, lust, hubris, all of which led him to being an easy mark.

What were the bullets I used? His disgruntled employees, his gullible mistress, his betrayed wife, his disloyal business associates. Each pawn having been strategically used for my benefit and mine alone.

What pulled the trigger? He dared to insult me as if I were anything less than greatness. He'd the nerve to belittle my life's work as if I weren't a force to be reckoned with. I had just finished a masterful presentation of my future plans for my then budding tech company and as everyone else showered me with my well deserved praise he thought it humorous to describe my exemplary business model as “cute”. I could not let such a slight get away with impunity, a lesson needed to be taught.

Shortly after his billion dollar divorce when his liaisons with another woman were “mysteriously” leaked he tried to push his already exhausted workers even further which led to an international strike, that lasted for several months due to strikers being funded by an “anonymous” donor that helped them pay their bills at home and even finance ad campaigns to expose the heinous labor practices of the company, causing a severe decline in business. With sales and online traffic on the decline stocks careened further into the economic abyss leaving investors dissatisfied. Receiving inside information from an “unknown” source, they collectively decided to relocate their interests into another expedition… Mine.

That's right, my “cute” little business became a worldwide conglomerate seemingly overnight. And he could have shared in that wealth had he not crossed me. Now I, Davita Roberson, tower over him as he's become a hollow shell of his former self, selling what remains of his share in his dying company for pennies of what it used to be. Both his ex wife and former flame have found new loves that I helped introduced them to, his former workers are living more fulfilled lives under my employ, and I've blackballed all of those crooked investors because they couldn't be trusted.

Jeff will have to live out the remainder of his life buried in debt and regret, but who cares. The moment he affronted me was the instant he sealed his fate…

“And that's what happened,” Vita concluded.

With a roll of her eyes Bast couldn't help but ask,“You righteously decided to pull a massive company takeover because he called your business cute?”

“He was being passive aggressive. By calling my business plan “cute” he was downplaying it as if I were some child. He was belittling me and underestimated my capabilities. So bitch had it comin!”

“Aight aight, so what does that have to do with this little personal movie night you got going?”

“Well, Bezos couldn't stand being broke so he sold his body for a Purge Feast. He was right back to living his old lifestyle only on someone else's dime.”

“OK? That sounds amazing, what's the catch and what is a Purge Feast? Is he about to be gangbanged, what?”

“He's about to be eaten.”

“WHAT?”

“When a person donates their body to a Purge Feast they are provided a lavish lifestyle, they have to be disease free, drug free, given massages to ensure their tenderness and are put on a supremely exquisite diet of delicacies so that they're meat is undeniably sweet. Jeff has been fattened, and now is the time for the slaughter.”

“Ooooooh shit scoot over, bitch!”

The two women watched as Bezos was guided onto a giant chopping block placed on a stage. He was stripped bare naked then instructed to lay face down on the human sized cutting board. The executioner came into view wielding a great axe with a long blade, sharp enough to split hairs. The massive weapon was hoisted into the air then brought down upon the back of the former CEO’s neck. A clean cut, in only one swipe the head was severed and the blood gushed forth like the intense orgasm of a woman. The executioner continued to dissect the body as a flock of chef's assistants scurried to pick up the pieces while avoiding the swings. Once completed, the good was quickly prepared and presented to a dinner party that catered to the adventurous elites of society. As the soiree carried on, Davita took a bite of her own snacks, inhaling deeply, savoring the moment.

“Mmmm, delicious.”

--

“My bloody valentine, sweet comic Valentine. You make me smile with my heart,” Erik’s deep voice sang from the body cam. Charlie, Kimora, Hennessy, and Aly’Sha watched with glee as their husband dismembered one of the sisters, impaling her on the banister of the grand staircase of the foyer. So far, the pair had murdered three of the six members of the family and were searching for the patriarchs of the family. They passed the young boy’s severed head and the second sister’s torso on the way upstairs. They found the mother and father huddled in their shared bedroom, the mother clutching a bible to her chest.

“Why white people always turn to God when they about to die?” Erik inquired, more rhetorically than anything.

“P-Please don’t hurt us. We’ll give you anything you want,” the woman attempted to bargain.

“Bitch I’m a Prince, I don’t need ya money. I’m just here to give your family a lesson in respect. Now, I’ll only ask this once, where’s Penelope?”

“What do you want with my daughter?” the father asked with a little too much bass in his voice. Erik fired a warning shot to his right thigh before answering.

“I ask the questions here, Bob, but if you must know, the little bitch vandalized my property and harassed my wife. She just wants an apology, right Ry Ry?”

“Yes Daddy,” Ryley said with mock sincerity.

“She’s downstairs, under the staircase.”

“Say less,” Ryley said, skipping downstairs to the girl’s hiding place. She growled with anger when she discovered the spot was empty.

“That bitch lying, Daddy!” Another set warning shots went off upstairs, this time striking the mother in the ribs and the father in the shoulder.

“See, I was tryna be nice about this. I’m already gone kill y’all, don’t expedite the process. Where the fuck is she?”

“I’m right here you black bastard!” Suddenly the entire room exploded in flames as Penelope appeared with a flamethrower. When the flames dispersed, Erik stood completely unharmed with a twisted grin on his face.

“You really though you did some shit, huh?” Penelope’s face twisted in horror as she watched Ryley appear behind her with a metal baseball bat, a weapon she’d gotten from the younger boy’s room. With one hard hit to the head, Penelope was out. Erik and Ryley the drug the bodies downstairs, tying them up in the center of the living room.

“We are gonna purge today, purge today, purge today. We are gonna purge today and burn this bitch down,” Ryley sang gleefully as they exited the house.

“Sha Sha, cue the fireworks.”

In an instant the entire house exploded, lighting up the entire neighborhood like the 4th of July. As a means to commemorate the night, the couple made love on the hood of the Lamborghini, the screams of the dying family serving as their background music.

“Wow. That was hot,” Charlie said as Erik emptied himself onto Ryley’s bloodsoaked face.

“Literally,” Hennessy said in agreement. Suddenly, Ryley’s voice could be heard from the cam.

“Happy Purge Day, sluts!”

***************************

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