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antoine-roquentin · 10 months

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This is a miniseries about the 1965 American invasion of the Dominican Republic, the fifth by that nation, in the midst of a much larger series about the CIA in the 1960s and god knows what else. The above clip is from a primetime CBS news broadcast on March 13, 1967, a few weeks after the Ramparts revelations, called In the Pay of the CIA. Take note of the foundations mentioned. You can watch it here, and I would recommend doing so, because it shows which allegations the CIA was hoping to get ahead of and which ones they were hoping to bury with a counternarrative. William Small at CBS News had asked the CIA to provide a list of who at the station was in their employ, and unlike with other news organizations, the CIA refused to confirm or deny. Given the testimony of former CBS men like Sam Jaffe, foreign correspondent, as to the pushiness of the agency, it's likely that at least some were compromised. The previous part in this series, Part 6, can be read here.

In the aftermath of the Russian Revolution, the American socialist movement was deeply split. Jewish Americans tended to see the Bolsheviks as the liberators of their people still held captive by Tsarist anti-Semitism and joined the Communist Party USA. Protestants, held captive as they were by a tendency towards paternalistic politics, were horrified by the atrocities committed against Orthodox priests and of state atheism and tended towards the Socialist Party USA. Jay Lovestone, as the former, became a rising CPUSA star, working to support the party through labour union entryism in the American Federation of Labour. Politics in the party mirrored those in the Soviet Union: Lovestone supported Bukharin, James Cannon supported Trotsky, and William Foster supported Stalin. Foster and Lovestone booted Cannon from the party, then Foster booted Lovestone. Lovestone went to the Soviet Union to argue his case in front of Stalin himself, and as he tells it, he criticized the man to his face, was jailed, and had to escape. This fostered a lifelong hatred for Stalinism in his eyes, although for a number of years after he defended him opportunistically even on the outside of the Party. He brought along with him a number of loyalists, most notably Irving Brown, his best friend and muscle man (Part 3). Lovestone fell under the influence of David Dubinsky, leader of the International Ladies' Garment Workers' Union, member of SPUSA, and a vehement anti-communist. Dubinsky, the head of an all-male leadership of a 3/4 female union, prided himself on turning down wage increases when he felt they would threaten the stability of the industry, and once said "workers need capitalism like a fish needs water". He used his intelligence chief, Gus Tyler (Part 3), who had experience breaking Trotskyite groups, to suppress any local taken over by communists. He used Lovestone as his outside man, sending him to the UAW to prevent them from joining the CIO over the AFL. Victor Reuther, brother of the UAW president, described Lovestone as "one of the most Machiavellian union-splitters ever to prey on the American labor movement".

During the war, both Lovestone and Brown applied to work at the OSS. The spy agency wanted people who could provide information about the Soviet Union and communist trade unionists in Europe, who had become some of the few resisters against the Nazis. Brown was accepted, but Lovestone was felt to be too compromised. Instead, he was appointed by Dubinsky's close friend Irish Catholic George Meany, AFL treasurer and future AFL-CIO leader as well as a close CIA collaborator, to head up a new project. Meany was a schmoozer who prided himself on his conversational skills and his ability to be arrogant without seeming it, like keeping the American president waiting on the line. Lovestone was a classic intelligence man, obsessed with gleaning information and putting it to use. An underling reported that he read "twenty newspapers a day". Lovestone noted that the AFL was at the height of its power, and Dubinsky and Meany should use that to prevent the Soviets from taking over Europe. He saw that communist, socialist, and Catholic trade unions were the only ones who had survived the war, typically through extreme resistance in the case of the former and collaboration for the latter. Lovestone was appointed to create an international intelligence network to crusade against communism. By 1946, the FBI noted that Lovestone had a man in the majority of America's European embassies, largely thanks to Dubinsky's influence in the White House. The network was called the Free Trade Union Committee.

Prior to WW2, an attempt had been made at a global trade union conference. The International Federation of Trade Unions refused to take a hard line on colonialism, feminism, socialism, or any other prominent political questions of the day and so fell apart. The English Trade Union Congress attempted to create a new post-war version, the World Federation of Trade Unions, and invited Soviet and communist trade unions to participate. The AFL refused, complaining of communist subversion, but the CIO attended. Lovestone devoted hundreds of thousands of dollars, much of it from the women, largely Jewish, of the ILGWU sewing repetitively for 44 hours a week, to breaking the WFTU apart. For the AFL triumvirate, any organization that had communists was a front group. In Germany, Italy, France, and Greece, Lovestone worked hard at creating a merger between pre-war socialists and Catholics that would shut out communists who had massive sway among new membership for their part in the resistance. He used the same tactics he had at the UAW, while Brown brought his OSS experience. In large part, he succeeded because he was the only one with money in these war-torn countries. In large part, this was the same debate club tactics. People were brought together and prepared with pre-canned lines for the big debates both on the shop floor and at the general meetings. Both sides dropped phony measures with friendly, unobjectionable language to see which side independents would support. In the background, money was exchanged and positions were promised. If big wins weren't found at the conventions, plans were made for open splits with expensive press conferences and advertising. In the streets, blood had to be spilled to keep the rank and file in line and to take over a local from the outside. Money went a long way there too, as did contacts with mafia members. Wherever possible, locals that had fled to America to escape were brought in to replace the local leadership.

Ultimately, this was the same way the National Student Association got started, to torpedo an international effort feared converted by the Soviets. Like them, the AFL would soon have CIA backing to do it. The money would come from the Marshall Plan. Reconstruction was important and would require the acquiescence of labour. The point of the plan was to get people paid higher wages so they could buy more and fuel growth. American agents on the ground would distribute money to worthy projects, gaining local contacts and bettering the American brand. Countries that chose not to participate would face lower living standards. This was the perfect way for the newly formed CIA to gain intelligence on the ground. Many of the CIA's operatives were former OSS who had gone to work in the State Department and were now in charge of the Plan. Most important of these employees was Frank Wisner, who was not officially CIA but often dined with their leadership as part of the Georgetown Set, which included Ben Bradlee, Cord Meyer, and Dick Bissell. He and a more famous employee, George Kennan, writer of one of the most famous documents of the Cold War, went to work using Marshall Plan money for covert projects. These included bringing fascists from Eastern Europe to America where they could be protected, trained, and sent out to conduct guerilla warfare, and helping to sway the 1948 Italian elections with the help of anti-communist trade unions. Soon, Lovestone's FTUC was being funded with more CIA money than union money.

These men hated each other. The CIA boys were WASPs and the union men were Catholics and Jews with little in the way of formal education. They shared objectives and funding but felt that they were acting independently of each other and claimed so in their autobiographies. Thomas Braden (part 5), Lovestone's handler in the early 50s, complained of never getting any accounting books, while Lovestone derided Braden and his comrades as "fizzkids". Nevertheless, the historical record betrays a close cooperation. In a top level meeting, Wisner was described in CIA memorandum as "Mr. Lawyer", Meany as "Mr. Plumber", Dubinsky as "Mr. Garment Worker", and Lovestone as "Mr. Intellectual". They shared an odd political affiliation, a liberalism that was moderate supportive of working class demands but against any radical changes to the overall system and most definitely against the Soviet Union. They didn't just want fascists from Eastern Europe, they also wanted independent trade unionists. One of these men was Sacha Volman. In Romania, Volman had worked for the social democratic party, fighting in the resistance against the Nazis before being forced out of the country by the Soviets. Like his patrons, he was well educated and spoke many languages. They set him to work on a joint project between the AFL and the CIA, a radio station known as Radio Free Europe, translating propaganda broadcasts. Volman knew who was paying him, but like Lovestone and Brown felt like an independent, calling himself a "half-virgin".

The CIA's attention soon turned to Latin America. They brought together the remnants of the Caribbean Legion, who had contacts on the ground and in some cases had become local leaders, with Eastern European trade unionist exiles, who had backgrounds in organizing workers and could testify to the brutality of the Soviet system. Volman became personally attached to the Dominican Juan Bosch, who in exile in Figueres' Costa Rica had become attached to a training program for democratic activists sponsored by the AFL and SPUSA. Now, you may be asking yourself, why would America train people opposed to the allied regime of Trujillo? The benign explanation would be that the political attachment of American government employees to liberalism made them wish to do whatever they could to improve the character of foreign governments while working within the system. The more sinister one would be that nobody in politics trusts anyone to stay attached to them for any longer than the present moment. If your ally betrays you or even just isn't performing that the level you'd prefer, you'd better have someone you can replace him with on short notice. Better yet if the new guy has more local legitimacy than the old guy. Juan Bosch certainly did, having worked underground to organize workers as part of his banned opposition party, the Dominican Revolutionary Party (PRD).

Betrayal wasn't what Trujillo was doing, but he certainly pissed off the wrong people. He knew how to pay people off to his benefit, and American politicians were no exception. One of the first men he bribed was congressman Hamilton Fish III. Fish was a progressive anti-Soviet isolationist in favour of civil rights who objected openly to the massacre of Haitians. Trujillo gave him $25,000, his standard fee, and two years later he welcomed the Dominican leader to New York with a speech proclaiming he'd created a "golden age for his country". In that case Trujillo's investment was devalued, however, by Fish' 1938 speech at a pro-Nazi conference, leading to his isolation and ultimate election loss in 1944. Others were primarily from the Senate Agricultural Committee. They held control over how much raw sugar could be imported to America for refinement, ensuring that the price remained stable and high. In turn, Trujillo owned about two thirds of the country's sugar plantations and American investors 30%. Most were staunch anti-communists, southerners, and pro-segregation. They helped determine who got foreign aid, both money and weapons, in the fight against Soviet influence in the region. Most notable of these was James Eastland, perhaps the most right wing senator in the 50s and 60s and a good personal friend of J. Edgar Hoover. Hoover was so committed to the man that when he informed Eisenhower about the bribes from Trujillo, he kept Eastland's name off the list (note: wiretapping had been ruled illegal, so Hoover simply spied on everybody in Congress and told the president the most salacious gossip so that he wouldn't object. Only Truman and JFK were uncomfortable with it). If you've seen the recent Elvis biopic, you might recognize Eastland for his bit role in the film. Of course, it wasn't just money that changed hands. The Dominican's tourism industry went from bust to boom during the 50s, and Trujillo maintained a controlling interest in all the brothels as well as many ritzy properties where members of Congress could enjoy themselves. All, of course, were bugged and had two way mirrors to expedite filming.

Despite his best efforts, in the long run these policies alienated America. Dominican dissident Jesus Galindez, a Spanish civil war vet, FBI informant, and Columbia University professor, disappeared from New York City and was never found. A man arrested in the Dominican Republic, Octavio de la Maza, was found dead in his cell with a confession that the FBI considered to be forged. Trujillo hired a high priced American PR firm that did work for the Mafia and Tammany Hall to defend the nation. Hoover got a former agent of his, Joseph Farland, appointed ambassador. Farland quickly confirmed that much of the embassy was compromised. Farland's second at the embassy even openly bragged about spending time in one of Trujillo's mansions, leading to his replacement. In 1957, members of the Chicago, Philadelphia, and Tampa Mafias, including Meyer Lansky and Santos Trafficante (large investors in Cuba, also see part 1), were flown in to discuss opening casinos on the island. The investments were minor, mostly slot machines in hotels, but led to Trujillo hiring mafia-linked men for the Galindez job as well as an attempt to kill Jose Figueres. Hoover, Eisenhower, and the brothers Dulles began prepping for an orderly transition of power. The CIA initiated funding for Juan Bosch through the charity of businessman J.M. Kaplan, owner of Welch's Grape Juice and an investor in Dominican sugar plantations, a project managed by Sacha Volman. Together, they trained 200 Latin American students in 10 week courses in politics and social change, including a heavy dose of liberal anti-communism. Some of the Kaplan money made its way to Carlos Prio, who in turn handed some of it to Castro at a meeting in 1956. Arms sales, meanwhile, were quietly suspended in early 1958 to both Trujillo and Batista, although ongoing deliveries continued and both simply bought from Nicaragua.

1959 was the key year. In the decade since the Caribbean Legion, Castro had gone from using his elected position to try and pass a law against Batista's coup to fighting in guerilla warfare. One of the men he fought with was a former OSS man named Frank Sturgis. He used his links to pick up weapons wherever he could, likely including from the CIA's Samuel Cummings, who also sold to Batista, and from Rafael Trujillo, who had wanted to bribe Batista, then tried to kill him, then begged America to resume arms sales to him. This was not strange for the lower level CIA men, who rationally assessed Castro's claims to be an liberal nationalist. Their opinions turned when the men they'd trained to staff the anti-communist secret police began to be executed. Early New Year's Day, Batista touched down in Ciudad Trujillo, the renamed capital of the Dominican Republic. "Trujillo next", Castro shouted on the day he arrived in Havana. He only intended for rhetorical support, but Che had acted quickly to set up camps to train Haitians and Dominicans in promoting revolutions. Eisenhower's advisors recommended cautious engagement to draw Castro away from Che. The president's own paranoia, not to mention Vice President Nixon's, told them otherwise. Moreover, so did the Wall Streeters who owned Cuban plantations that were now being redistributed to peasants. In March, Frank Sturgis, who'd been helping clear the gangsters from the casinos but ended up going to work for them, reached out to the FBI and let them know his own negative assessment. Castro reached out to the Soviets for aid, hoping like any small national leader to play against American intransigence in providing their's. Cuba and the Dominican Republic sent rival adventurers to overthrow each others' governments, the former backed by Romulo Betancourt, president of newly democratic Venezuela. Those in the Cuban group were armed with AR-10s that Cummings had continued selling to Castro, who had liked the feel of captured ones, after Batista had been overthrown. (Cummings was in the Dominican when it happened trying to sell more guns, and Trujillo had demanded answers, as I found out reading the CIA's files.) Eisenhower read into these actions his own worst fears. What scared him more was when Trujillo did the same thing, reaching out to the Czechs to buy arms.

In the summer, Hollywood star and socialist Ava Gardner (just saw her in the great The Killers), who'd thrown down with Rubirosa as well as JFK, decided to visit Cuba and ended up seeing Fidel. She'd wanted to bang him but was blocked by a nineteen-year-old woman named Marita Lorenz, who prevented Gardner's private notes from reaching Castro. Ultimately, the two had a physical fight that had to be broken up by a Cuban security guard. Lorenz would later float around Cuban exile circles and claimed at one point, unconvincingly, that she'd been recruited to the CIA by Sturgis and the two had met Lee Harvey Oswald to look at maps of Dallas in 1963. In an odd coincidence, Jack Ruby testified to the Warren Commission that he'd seen Gardner while in Havana on business for Santo Trafficante (Another coincidence, Juan Peron was living in exile in the Dominican Republic at the time and was quite friendly with Trujillo, but ended up getting kicked out and fled to Madrid instead where he became Gardner's neighbour). On 11 December, Dick Bissell of the CIA (his name is on the ZR/RIFLE file in part 1) put out the first written recommendation for the "elimination of Fidel Castro", although by the time this memo hit the president's desk it was toned down. On the 20th, Dick Rubottom (there's a guy who was born to be in porn) at the State Department signed off on an order to remove Trujillo from office. This was likewise written on paper to be a charm offensive to convince the man to step down. However, as we saw with ZR/RIFLE, on paper there was a burglary operation, and in real life there was something more sinister.

#this post and the last one end abruptly because they were once one long post and then i realized i had to cut things up

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northisnotup · 1 year

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Damen's phone chimes just as he's narrowed down his choices between Galdiator, Spartan and some kind of demon costume that leaves his chest bare instead of his legs. Maybe they're not the smartest choices, given how chilly October nights tend to get - but it's not like the house party one of their lot will absolutely put together day-of is going to be cold, so.

The text so lovingly from his sweetheart is just 'come here.' No capital, with period.

'You first.'

'you usually make sure of that.'

Snorting, he types out 'Say the magic word.' Not because he expects any niceties, but because it's fun.

'now.'

Rolling his eyes, Damen winds his way back through the store, putting away his choices as he goes because despite appearances, he isn't actually stupid.

He finds Laurent in the fantasy and folklore section, surprisingly, looking at their couples costumes. He expected something more gruesome and tasteless, like a serial killer and victim. Or, killer and the crazed fan - last week Laurent was obsessed with the archived letters of a woman who devotedly wrote to and married a man on death row.

"Staking your claim?"

"I don't want you wandering off covered in scraps," Laurent says, sounding bored.

That he's looking at couples costumes at all says something, but Damen isn't confident as to what just yet. He looks at the actual packages instead, and scoffs. "Of course."

Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf.

With resignation, he reaches for the one with furry ears when Little Red hits him in the chest.

"You didn’t think you were the hunter in this relationship, did you?"

"Thought you'd take any opportunity to put me on a leash, actually," Damen says, distracted as he takes the details in. It's not bad -

"It's not any less skin then you usually show." Laurent says, echoing Damen's own thoughts in addition to subtly implying Damen is a slut. Classy. He usually just says it outright.

"You like it," Damen says.

Laurent doesn’t deny it, just sighs, a sound echoed by the woman who's showed up at the end of the isle, a jaunty pumpkin headband nestled in her redish curls and a nametag that identifies her as Trix.

"Would you like me to hold that for you at the til?" Trix' tone is reasonable enough but the supressed rage in her eyes tells Damen all he needs to know about how little time she has for them being where she needs to be.

"No thank you," Laurent smiles, and then cocks his head. "Although what is the return policy?"

"No refunds on opened products, exchange for 30 days or store credit," She replies promptly, and then gives them both an assessing glance. "You're going to want to go up another size, that line runs small."

"Thank you. Commission?"

She grimaces a little. "Staff recognition."

"Condolences."

Trix shrugs, "If Minnie at the front tries to upsell you with the sales, you can tell her I already told you about them. Puts me up for a raise."

"Done."

Damen, having been largely superfluous to this exchange and ignorant to its meaning, doesn't bother to ask for clarification, he just herds Laurent out the other end of the isle with a hand on his lower back, unblocking it ans letting the worker back to her sorting and restocking. Slender his sweetheart might look, but it's an illusion. Damen's been used to often being the biggest person in a room for years. Laurent only looks small next to Damen, something he uses to full advantage whenever he can.

Noting the Manager tag on their cashier, Laurent puts on his most effusive Happy Customer voice to tell Damen how satisfied he was with the help, describing her so that Trix' manager has to supply the name herself. It would be a neat trick if Damen hadn't seen it done a hundred times. He wouldn’t say he's used to Laurent’s abrupt turns of face when they're out, but he understands them, and that might be as close as he's going to get.

Good deed done, they take their bag and exit the corpse of what used to be a furniture supply store and was rebirthed in August as a Halloween supply store.

#ficlet #halloween ficlet #lamen #captive prince #cameo appearance #my fic #theres a follow up but i'm waiting til i'm home to write it

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bloggingproject · 3 months

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The Art of Story Telling: An Insight to Kendrick Lamar

By Nahla White

When I think of some of the greatest concept albums to come out of the 21st century, it’s impossible to neglect mentioning the works of the great Kendrick Lamar. Across all five of his studio releases, Kendrick has been able to craft a reputation for himself of being a masterful storyteller and an even more masterful musician, and nothing displays this more than his 2015 magnum opus: To Pimp a Butterfly (TPAD).

Following three years after the release and massive success of Good Kid, M.A.A.D City, TPAD serves as another book in Kendricks life, with each chapter (song) recounting his personal experiences, inner thoughts, and opinions about the world he lives in. And while Kendrick's album does contain much insight and commentary about issues relating to capitalism, the exploitation of Black music and culture, and the mistreatment of Black people in America, his personal testimony is often overshadowed by the previously listed qualities and is sometimes outright ignored by people who tend to want to search for deeper meaning within the album. Today, I want to look into why this happens and shed more light on the deeper, more personal aspects of the album that are often obscured in interpretations of the work. Rather than going through the entire album, I’ll be focusing on four of my favorite songs and their place in the overall story.

“I’ll Wesley Snipe Your Ass Before Thirty Five.”

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Starting with what I believe to be the best song on the album, “Wesley’s Theory” provides a rather deep and introspective outlook on the effects of becoming a mainstream rapper. Within the story of the album, Kendrick recounts the aftermath of Good Kid, M.A.A.D City's success, with the first verse of the track expressing the excitement he felt upon making it big in the industry. Through lines such as “When I get signed, homie, I’ma act a fool,” and “Uneducated, but I got a million-dollar check like that,” we hear the narrator of the song flaunt his success by indulging in things that he once saw as unobtainable.

The following hook that goes “We should never gave you niggas money” describes the sentiment most White people (and even many Black folks) have towards this generation of "new money". Similar to the topic of reparations, many people retain ideas of African Americans being undeserving of such wealth because they believe we’d spend it on unimportant things. There is this overarching theme of reflection throughout the album, with Kendrick reflecting on the poorer decisions of his past, and he admits that his eagerness to spend money is one of them.

Another impressive storytelling device that I feel Kendrick doesn’t get credited with enough is his ability to rap from different perspectives, especially through the use of voice modulators and vocal impressions. The last section of the song is told through the perspective of Uncle Sam; an allegory for America’s capitalism. A particular section in the verse, I think, perfectly summarizes the entire point Kendrick was trying to convey with this opening track:

“Christmas, tell ‘em what's on your wishlist

Get it all, you deserve it Kendrick

And when you hit the White House, do you

But remember, you aint pass economics in school.

And everything you buy, taxes will deny.

I’ll Wesley Snipe your ass before thirty-five.”

Uncle Sam sort of acts like the devil on Kendrick's shoulder, coaxing him to indulge in his desires despite the financial repercussions that come with it. While the commentary on capitalism in this song is worth talking about, I think it's just as crucial to focus on the ways it personally impacted Kendrick’s life.

Which leads me to my next song…

“King Kunta, Black Man Taking No Losses.”

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King Kunta is the third track on the album, and it is here where Kendrick reveals his intentions behind the title of the album.

Kunta Kinte was a character featured and popularized in Alex Haley’s novel Roots. With the accounts of Kinte’s life supposedly being passed down through Haley’s family via oral tradition, one of the most memorable events in his life is his refusal to accept the slave name that was forced onto him. Due to his defiance, Kinte’s foot was cut off, hence Kendrick’s reference of: “Now I run the game, got the whole world talkin’. King Kunta, everybody wanna cut the legs off him.”

The juxtaposition between the word king and the name Kunta is supposed to portray the way in which Kendrick feels like a slave to the system. Despite having the fame, money, and likability that he had always desired, he ultimately recognizes that he’s fallen victim to the game all the same. He feels like he’s being pimped out by the rap industry as a whole, hence the name To Pimp a Butterfly.

However, despite this knowledge of his exploitation, this doesn’t stop Kendrick from continuing to indulge in his lifestyle, and that also doesn’t stop him from using his own power and influence to exploit others.

“Killed my Homeboy and God Spared Your Life.”

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“These Walls” is the fifth track on TPAB and acts as the bridge that connects this album to Good Kid, M.A.A.D City.

Upfront, These Walls is a funk inspired, upbeat track where Kendrick utilizes numerous metaphors and allegories to talk about sex. Even the use of the words “these walls” is supposed to represent the walls of the female genitalia, but peeling back the surface reveals so much more that the song has to offer.

This is where we, as the audience, start to see aspects of Kendrick’s depression and survivor’s guilt begin to manifest. Along with being an allegory for sex, the “walls” Kendrick raps about also represent the mental barriers that he finds himself trapped in as a result of his fame and the expectations he has to live up to. Feeling isolated from his community and within his own mind, he turns to sex as a means of distracting himself from his depression; a coping that doesn’t seem to be working very well.

The song takes a rather interesting and dark turn during the last verse. For context: The ending to Good Kid, M.A.A.D City’s “Swimming Pools” is about one of Kendrick’s childhood friends being gunned down seemingly out of nowhere. This happens when Kendrick is 15 years old. Fast forward to the events of “These Walls”, and while Kendrick is back visiting his home city of Compton, he ends up sleeping with the girlfriend of the man who killed his friend as retaliation.

“Killed my homeboy and God spared your life

Dumb criminal got indicted same night

So when you play this song, rewind the first verse

About me abusing my power so you can hurt

About me and her in the shower whenever she horny

About me and her in the after hours of the morning”

While feeling like he’s been cheated by the system, Kendrick uses his own power and influence to manipulate and exploit others, ultimately allowing the cycle of exploitation to continue.

“A Friend Never Leave Compton for Profit.”

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What I consider to be the first of two climaxes and the emotional peak of the album, “U” (the sixth track on the album) acts as a hate letter from Kendrick to himself. During his downward spiral, Kendrick finds himself in a hotel room drinking away his sorrows while contemplating on the least admirable qualities about himself. His feelings of survivor's remorse and self hatred start to manifest in the repetition of the lines “Loving you is complicated.”

In this, he raps about all that happened during his tour of Good Kid M.A.A.D City, reminiscing on the numerous friends that he had lost due to violence in Compton. He expresses guilt for seemingly leaving his friends and family behind to die while he was living a life most people could only dream of.

"You ain’t no brother, you ain’t no disciple, you ain’t no friend.

A friend never leave Compton for profit,

or leave his best friend, little brother

You promised you’d watch him before they shot him."

I feel like this is the song most people seem to overlook in terms of their interpretations of the album. Black art is constantly politicized regardless of the artist's true intention for the piece, and while there is much political commentary to be found throughout the album, “U” holds the key to understanding that this truly is a story about Kendrick’s personal journey.

“I Remember You Was Conflicted…”

It's difficult for many folks to conceptualize that Black people are allowed to live lives that don’t revolve around our struggle, even though our struggle plays a huge role in how we live our lives. Despite TPAB walking this fence almost perfectly, the credit is almost never given where it’s due.

I personally believe that this, in part, has to do with society's obsession of finding “value” in Black art and music. With Rap making its way into the mainstream and becoming the new Pop music, most people detest the mainstream Trap sound that the genre is often reduced to. It further affirms the numerous negative stereotypes people have about Rap and thus rids the genre of any nuance or diversity. As a result, critics typically gravitate towards music that they deem as “introspective” or “valuable”, completely disregarding stuff that would be considered “stereotypical” Hip-Hop.

While looking into why this is, I also stumbled across another theory as to why people can’t seem to divide the personal from the political. John Lawrie’s article “I Remember You Was Conflicted”: Reinterpreting Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp A Butterfly points towards the works of Henry Louis Gates Jr., and his theory of how much Black art during the duration of 20th century (and even now) was created as a form of retaliation:

“This broad methodological practice, however, forces one to examine all African American music as fundamentally political, regardless of its intent.” (Lawrie, 2016)

At its roots, Hip-Hop was originally created as an alternative subculture, serving as a means of finding joy, community, and happiness despite the many socioeconomic disparities most Black people were subjected to. In a time and era where simply being Black was frowned upon, any sort of triumph was seen as an act of defiance towards the norm of White culture and supremacy, which is why Hip-Hop was immediately rejected by the masses at the time of its emergence.

Despite Hip-Hop being mainstream, many people still hold onto this concept. It's the same reason why non-Black people compare me to the Black Panther’s whenever I wear my afro on the street; the Blackness and the Black experience has historically been politicized, and TPAB has been subjected to the same treatment.

Works Cited:

Bassil, Ryan. “The Narrative Guide to Kendrick Lamar’s ‘to Pimp a Butterfly.’” VICE, 24 Mar. 2015, www.vice.com/en/article/rzvbwe/the-narrative-guide-to-kendrick-lamars-to-pimp-a-butterfly-2015. Accessed 11 Feb. 2024.

Eastaugh, Sophie. “‘Don’t Call Me Toby:’ the Story of the Slave Who Fought Back.” CNN, Cable News Network, 4 Aug. 2015, www.cnn.com/2015/08/03/africa/the-story-of-kunta-kinte-the-slave-who-fought-back/index.html. Accessed 11 Feb. 2024.

“Hip-Hop.” Encyclopædia Britannica, Encyclopædia Britannica, inc., www.britannica.com/art/hip-hop. Accessed 11 Feb. 2024.

Lamar, Kendrick. “Swimming Pools (Drank) - Extended Version.” good kid m.A.A.d city, Spotify, 1 Jan. 2012, open.spotify.com/track/5ujh1I7NZH5agbwf7Hp8Hc.

Lamar, Kendrick. “To Pimp a Butterfly.” Spotify, 16 Mar. 2015, open.spotify.com/album/7ycBtnsMtyVbbwTfJwRjSP. Accessed 11 Feb. 2024.

Lawrie, John. “‘I Remember You Was Conflicted’: Reinterpreting Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp a Butterfly .” Sydney Undergraduate Journal of Musicology , vol. 6, Dec. 2016, pp. 40–54, https://openjournals.library.sydney.edu.au/SCM/article/view/11550.

#Youtube

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incotheghost · 9 months

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Have Faith in The Rot

Chapter 1, part 2

“Sir.” Fariss responded, sounding yet more unsure. A thousand thoughts were racing through his head, as the two went out to the courtyard.

The air bit at their ears, as they walked through the outpost. The nights were getting colder and colder, Even with winter far away. A sign of the dark times the world was witnessing.

“So, Fariss, tell me,” Captain Hollander began, in an unusually informal tone, “You grew up in Aremdil, far out in the countryside to the north. What was it like there?”

Fariss stumbled over the captain’s now-friendly attitude, but a sparkle grew in his eyes.

“Well, sir, I..,” Fariss began, taking a moment to collect his thoughts, “..it was incredible, captain. Absolutely beautiful!”

Not noticing the captain cracking a smile, Fariss continued.

“I lived in a small wooden cottage, with my ma and pa and siblings. in the reaches of the forest. And this forest, captain, the greenes, lushest trees. We had a small farm, with our own livestock. And crops too!”

Fariss was beaming as he spoke of his home life. All the wonders of the north. Captain Hollander listened to every single word and took them in. Fariss went on, about hunting with his father, sparring with his brother and sister. Living the hard, but perfect life.

“Tell me, then,” Captain Hollander laid a hand on Fariss’ shoulder, “If life at home was so good, why did you decide to leave and join the order?”

Fariss’ expression sank a little, his posture breaking slightly. “Well, sir, you see… We lived very secluded, and tended to ourselves. So we had very little money. So when pa got sick, we had to find a way to afford his treatment.”

He looked up at the captain. The stinging cold wind forced him to narrow his eyes.

“I went into town to see if I could be of help anywhere, and I saw one of your men. I thought to myself ‘I know how to use a sword,’” Fariss quipped, in a mocking tone, “And I went to ask for a recruitment officer. One thing led to another, and now I am here.”

“A noble cause,” Captain Hollander answered, in his most orderly tone, “And speaking of here, we’re at the armory, see?”

Fariss looked up with awe at the giant building in front of him. Misshapen and battered, like it was carved from a piece of a mountain. More exhaust pipes littered on the sides, than there were trees by Fariss’ home. Even through the meter-thick walls, the two could hear the banging of metal inside. Was this all really just for an encampment? How does the forge look in the capital? Fariss wondered.

Entering the forge, the change from the cold wind to the heat of the furnace, almost knocked the two off their feet. Both taking a step back and cursing at the sudden change. They could almost see the redness in the air itself, from the heat. The sizzling of hot metal and banging of hammers filled the room. Fariss struggled to keep his bearings, but followed close by as the captain approached the counter. Leaning on what could only be described as a battered and rusted iron block, the captain hailed the forge master to the counter.

Forge master Jones was up in his years, nobody could deny that, but he was yet revered for his smithing skills. Having seen his part of life, and being left scarred and with just one eye remaining, Jones always brought an attitude to the table, yet he was loyal as long as the sun shined.

“Jones! Can we borrow you for a moment?” the captain bellowed. Within moments the forge master had put the entire forge on pause. It was only him at work, after all.

The forge master looked at Captain Hollander, adjusting his clearly custom made goggles and apron, “Evening captain! What can I do for you sir?”

“Evening Jones! Good to see you in your ever shining mood.” Captain Hollander responded, sharing a salute with the forge master. “We are here to pick up some equipment for our new recruit here.”

“A new recruit? You look no more than a page to me, kid. What’s your name?” Jones said with a sharp tone.

“Uhh… recruit Fariss Jute, sir.” Fariss responded, shrinking under the forge master’s gaze.

“Jute? An odd name, where’d you get that? You the wound-up type?” Jones cocked an eyebrow above his missing eye.

“Both of uh… my grandmothers were famous local seamstresses. And had a shared love for the coarseness of jute. When my ma and pa took the oath of entwinement, they took the last name Jute, in their parents’ honor.” Realizing that the forge master was already tired of the story, Fariss paced a few steps backwards, slowly.

Jones turned to Captain Hollander, scoffing that Fariss did not catch his joke: “Does he always talk this much?”

“I would not know, he only just arrived today, but he tells great stories. Reminds me of home.” the captain responded with a low hearty laugh.

“Only just arrived… Ohh, he’s that recruit. Oh poor boy,” the forge master shook his head as he turned again to Fariss, “I have your equipment right here. Sword… scabbard… shield with strap… oh and special issue for you, an engraved shortbow.”

“Tha-” Fariss got interrupted by the forge master, rummaging in a new box.

“Shut it, I’m not done yet.” The forgemaster held his hand up, “Let’s see here… Oh by the light, I know this armor. Take it off my hands please.”

Jones placed a grand cuirass of golden and blue colours on the counter, and a matching pair of pauldrons. Each shoulder in the shape of an eagle’s head. A flurry of blue feathers crowning the eagle.

Fariss took a closer look at the cuirass. There was an indentation on the right side of the chest, with two pierced holes in the middle. Fitting to where the medal had been on the recruiter’s armor. “Do all paladins get a medal with a designated sigil?” Fariss thought.

Fariss snapped out of his head and began picking each piece up carefully, stashing where he was taught. Sword on the side. Shield on the back. Bow over the right shoulder.

“Why was he issued a bow?” Captain Hollander asked with confusion.

“I don’t know, sir, bows are usually exclusive to the front line paladins.” Jones shrugged.

“Interesting,” the captain grumbled, holding his chin, “Well, that is of little concern now. Thank you Jones, good evening!”

“You too, sir!” Jones shouted as he returned to the blazing forge.

Captain Hollander ushered Fariss outside, and directed him towards the library. Fariss looked dumbfounded by all that just happened as they walked along.

#Book #OC #Original #Original Content #Story #Fantasy #Dark fantasy #Paladin #Writing #Have Faith in The Rot #HFITR Chapter 1 #HFITR Chapter 1-2 #HFITR #original work #First draft

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whoslaurapalmer · 2 years

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lulu watches doctor who; the rebel flesh/the almost people 💀

well there was A LOT GOING ON IN HERE; big consideration about doppelgangers and general manipulation by the doctor and also how eleven’s just living a horror movie

-alright!! back at it again at krispy kreme

-i don't know how i went like. these few months rereading the episode description before watching it and NOT realizing what a horror movie these two were gonna be. like. WOW -i LOVE identity horror. i love doppelgangers i love doubles i love confronting the self the flaws the anger the hatred i love fracturing of the self i love it soooooooooooooo much -and it's at its best in visual horror -is this you? this can't be you. but it is! this other you is just as much you as you are! to deny this other you would be to ultimately deny you and your experiences! they come in twos! you come in twos! you and you! kill your double EMBRACE YOUR DOUBLE

-i'm DEFINITELY maintaining that eleven's overall tone for his seasons is a horror movie. i'm standing by that thought -or. one of the overall tones. but a leading one -so much of what eleven goes through is a long-form horror movie!!! over and over!!! i talked about this a little already but like. goddddd -the identity horror here; amy's choice already having peak horror movie vibes with changing reality/the scary old people/the dream lord; time being forgotten/erased/rewritten/changed and only the doctor remembering; amy's life experiences being almost CONSTANTLY rewritten by outside forces; the body horror of her pregnancy; rory being alive and practically alone for two thousand years and remembering it; moffat's most iconic villains (weeping angels, the silence, and also the vashta nerada) being born out of the mundane, the average, the unknown, the forgettable, the too-alien-too-frightening to remember at all; kazran's memory being rewritten in real time and him conscious of it happening in the christmas special; the doctor's wife, written by neil 'fairytale horror' man -even clara's repeated unavoidable deaths -there's a case to be made i think about eleven's role (is it active or passive?) in these horror movie shenanigans but idk just yet

-this is also very much about capitalism though, isn't it. the disposability of the worker (the pile!!!! of!!!! gangers!!!!!), the way the worker gets used to it (the lack of care from the original ones about the gangers), the desire for uprising and revolution even though that one uhhh. goes awry -jen turning into a cannibalistic monster at the end in her quest for identity and belonging (and that quest being twisted beyond uprising and revolution) was a choice that got made -WELL AT LEAST THEY'RE GONNA TRY AND CONVINCE CORPORATE TO NOT USE GANGERS ANYMORE. THERE'S THAT (-the off-hand mention of there being gangers everywhere, though!! that's a lot to deal with)

-how some of the originals wind up sacrificing themselves for their gangers..... -the thought of 'there IS still another me, because that other me is just as me as i am' -- the original ones experiencing the same sort of deaths they put their gangers through only this time it being permanent for them -the blood clot being curable with the vial eleven had was also a choice that got made -it's not like it's. terrible. but it's just easy -idk y'all -there's definitely a lot to be talked about too in the way that like doctor who as a whole handles and talks about death, i think, especially re: fixed points all being death points; what it means when even a death that isn't a fixed point is averted; especially the way moffat era handles death -i mean it’s not necessarily BAD that it’s EASY but it’s like. weird??????

-eleven using not only the gangers in general but also HIS OWN GANGER to manipulate the humans but!! also!! amy!!!! -on the classic who marathon channel i tend to catch the ark in space pretty often right now and that scene of four manipulating sarah jane to get through the vent by insulting her and i've been thinking a lot about the way the different incarnations of the doctor really do frequently manipulate their companions, regardless of personality, and like. why each one does it. how -like specifically the gangers has me thinking about pete's world and the way ten firstly INSISTS that the parallel universe versions are NOT the versions rose knows and she shouldn't treat them as such. but then the second time they're all there, wholeheartedly manipulates jackie and pete together, and treats this pete as rose's father (-and i had considered at the time in my doomsday notes that that could maybe be read as ten Knows This Ain't Gonna End Well and is trying to protect rose (in the way he also initially does not give her a choice on staying or leaving) but again, eh) (-not to mention, ten's 3d glasses there vs eleven's little snowglobe here) -so like. part of eleven's insistence on the gangers having inherent value and worth just by existing, that they aren't simply copies, there's -god there's so much in it!!!! -part of it is he needs to 1) save everybody the unspoken usual first rule but also 2) he needs to manipulate them to get the information he needs about them once he realizes amy is a copy -- and manipulates amy at the same time to, help, amy -and it's like. heartbreaking in a lot of ways. but ultimately in the sense that amy is what matters most to eleven -- over saving people, over other humans, over rory, over literally anything else, eleven is flat-out going to let people die if it means he can save amy, and when amy is hurt or threatened eleven becomes even MORE callous and quietly threatening than usual, and how those emotions always get taken out on someone

-so i was thinking it maybe doesn't even matter, the stress eleven puts on the gangers being real and just as meaningful as the original people -- because at the heart of that is eleven being really, really angry, like as........kind as he is to ganger!amy i think there's still something very cold about his treatment of her right before he disintegrates her -BUT -YOU CAN'T PRESENT ME WITH ELEVEN FACING ELEVEN AND THINK I WON'T THINK ABOUT TENTOO AND THE VALIDITY OF TENTOO'S EXISTENCE

-so at the very same time you have eleven presented with a doppelganger of himself. and you have eleven insisting it does matter!! these gangers matter!! even with his own ganger!! that his ganger is him!!! that the gangers have inherent value and worth just by existing!! they are not simply just copies!! -was i upset that i was robbed of more doctor on doctor hate, because i Live for the doctor confronted with the doctor, and regularly fantasize about my dream fic of ten and tentoo in a very twin peaks-style doppelganger confrontation????? yes. but it WAS also nice to see eleven so thrilled to. well. feed his ego, for sure, being clever with someone just as clever as him -but also see himself -- himself himself!! the last time this happened (excluding the dream lord) was tentoo, who was committed genocide within an hour of existence!! -- and for the most part be so welcoming of his ganger (-even with that brief moment of "i'd like more proof that you're me" which is very you can say it's fine and then YOU get a doppelganger and it's less fine!!) (-BY THE WAY!!! speaking of four actually -FOUR'S VOICE COMING OUT OF ELEVEN) -and then amy's VEHEMENT INSISTENCE that this is just A Copy and Not The Doctor, that eleven's ganger can't possibly under any circumstances be the doctor and she doesn't even want him near her, what a callout of tentoo -of course eleven is insisting that this is him!! tentoo was him, too!!!!! -i don't deny that tentoo's entire existence is a big Yikes, RTD!!!! Yikes, Dude!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!, but again, i LOVE the CONCEPT of tentoo. so so so much. and tentoo is just as much the doctor as ten was!! with bonus donna!!!! tentoo matters!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! -and eleven needs his ganger to matter to amy, too, because if he can see his double matters to amy then he can think tentoo and rose are happy for sure -i mean that's MY reading -there is quite frankly a lot to unpack here. -NOT TO MENTION god i am torn between 'eleven knows his ganger just won't survive.' and 'BUT he's taking that risk?? he's allowing the prospect, the idea, the thought, of a ganger of the doctor surviving and being out there in the world!!!!!!!!!! he wants him to survive!!!!’ -because that matters too!!!!!!!!!!! -you know as much as i want want want it to be a ten+tentoo confrontation. i would take tentoo and eleven. -i've read some Eh fics of tentoo and eleven interacting (NOT THAT THERE ARE EVEN A LOT TO BEGIN WITH) bc for me to be satisfied i want hard identity consideration and nobody ever goes that far. go there dammit

-when was amy supposed to be yoinked?? during that three month or whatever gap between impossible astronaut and day of the moon?

-oh!! i loved the gang (eleven amy and rory) chilling in the tardis listening to MUSE -supermassive black hole is in fact. i regret to admit. a jam. -oh i love this note -- DO I NEED TO START MAKING A LIST OF THE TIMES THE DOCTOR HAS INADVISABLY CLIMBED AN ELECTRICAL TOWER????????? -okay perhaps not 'inadvisably' there were REASONS however the OUTCOME of the doctor climbing these tall electrical-adjacent towers range from 'mild to no injury' to 'regeneration' and i'm like. -i already keep a list of who dies per episode. do i need to do this, too. -i will content myself by thinking clara has a mental list of the times the doctor has climbed an electrical tower.

-the solar tsunami at the beginning was GORGEOUS. nice gold -many times in the almost people did i forget that rory was even here. sorry, rory. -i 100% expected ganger!eleven to happen bc what fucking else would happen when a touch telepath touches a giant vat of sentient gunk. -oh one of my phone notes says 'these clones vs sontaran clones' i don't have anything like. pithy to say about that but it did remind me that martha was so kind to her clone when she was dying, even if her clone was very much not like these clones

#lulu talks about doctor who

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goddammitstacey · 3 years

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Here have a queer retelling of Little Red Riding Hood

The forest is magnificent. Giant yew trees reach for the sky, their leaves sending dappled sunlight down toward the moss-covered floor like a parting gift. Even Shiloh can’t deny the majesty of the place, as much as she might have preferred the wood around her a little more dead, with four legs, and holding up a tankard of beer.

But alas, good things apparently come to those who wait. And wait. Shiloh sighs, pulling her pelt more securely around her as she shifts into a warmer patch of sunlight.

“Are you almost finished?” she asks. “It’s nearing dusk, my love.”

The nearest tree is a monster. As thick around as three broad men standing in a circle, arms outstretched, fingertip to fingertip. It hides Shiloh’s wife from view. Just.

When Kae rounds the trunk of the tree, she makes it look a fraction of its years just by virtue of the contrast.

“Almost,” Kae says, broad hands smoothing over the bark like she’s soothing a spooked horse. “The bairn is sick with heart rot, the poor thing. I need to shore her up before it gets worse.”

Shiloh can’t find it in herself to be annoyed. Kae’s described heart rot enough for her to have some sympathy for the poor tree. And it doesn’t hurt that seeing her wife full of care makes a puddle out of her.

“It’s a good thing I enjoy watching you work,” Shiloh says, unable to help her soft smile. “Because it’s all you do.”

Kae looks to her, sharing the smile for a moment before her eyes snap suddenly back to her charge.

Shiloh tenses on instinct. “What?”

Kae’s alert, but not reaching for her axe. Shiloh relaxes her hold on her pelt but keeps it in hand for swift action anyway.

“There’s a girl in the forest,” Kae says. “Small. Alone. The… the trees are agitated.”

“Over a girl?” Shiloh says, confusion reflected in the look Kae sends her. “That’s a new one.”

Kae turns her attention back to her patient. “I’m almost finished here, then we can-”

“I’ll go on ahead,” Shiloh says, stretching her back out as she stands. “I’ve been sitting too long anyway, I’m going to grow moss.”

Kae doesn’t pick up the thread of the joke, looking as agitated as the trees around her must be. “I don’t…”

“I’ll be okay,” Shiloh says, stepping forward to clasp her wife’s hand between hers. “I have my pelt. I’ll even take my wrap-”

“No,” Kae says quickly, stopping Shiloh with a hand on her wrist as she reaches for their pack. “Don’t wear red.”

Shiloh raises an eyebrow. “That’s not what you said the other night, my love.”

And oh yes, now who’s wearing red? Shiloh grins as she uses her grip to pull Kae within reach, pecking her on one rosey cheek.

“It’s the trees,” Kae says, brushing a strand of Shiloh’s dark hair from her face. “They’re saying, don’t wear red.”

“How judgemental of them,” Shiloh says, but leaves her red wrap safely in their pack anyway.

Tracking the girl isn’t difficult. She smells of hay and woodsmoke, a combination that is as much out of place as her humanity this far into the woods. Shiloh hangs back, employing more caution than she would have otherwise, her wife’s worried frown at the fore of her mind.

The girl is indeed alone. Shiloh closes the distance between them until she can spy the girl’s back through the trees. Her hooded cloak is flapping around her ankles as she walks.

Her hooded red cloak.

Shiloh frowns and ups her pace, circling around the girl on soft feet until she finds a clearing up ahead with a downed tree to serve as a casual perch. The girl comes upon her bare minutes later, startling to a stop despite Shiloh’s deliberate, friendly smile and unassuming posture. Unfortunately there’s little she can do about her state of dress.

The girl can’t be older than seven summers, blonde hair tufting out of her hood as curious eyes look Shiloh over. Shiloh doesn’t blame her. She’s an unusual sight at the best of times.

Finally the girl breaks the silence. “Why are you naked?”

The bluntness of the question stirs a real smile to Shiloh’s features. “I’m not naked,” she says. “I’ve this pelt.”

The girl frowns at Shiloh’s wolf pelt, twisted about her in an approximation of a tunic. “It’s not very big.”

She’s not wrong. But then… Shiloh rises to her feet – carefully, so as not to spook the girl further. “It doesn’t have to be.”

The little girl watches her like one might watch a particularly interesting snake on one’s path. Cautious. Cautious but curious. Shiloh knows the sort. She sees it in the mirror those mornings Kae lets them hire a real room.

“What are you doing in the woods alone, child?” Shiloh says.

The girl rises to her full height, like she’s being inspected by someone with a badge. “I’m visiting The Grandmother,” she says, practically pronouncing the capital ‘T’.

Strange. Usually the trees warn Kae of any human settlements in the woods they travel. Kae’s parentage and Shiloh’s proclivity for travelling skyclad make chance meetings with humans something to be avoided.

“And where does she live?” Shiloh asks.

The little girl points along the direction she’s been travelling, deeper into the woods. “I’m to follow the sun to her cottage,” she says.

Right. Shiloh hums as she thinks. Kae isn’t far off and almost finished her tree-doctoring by her own admittance. She will catch up when she can. “May I walk with you, child?” Shiloh asks. “I’d feel much better knowing you got there safe, is all.”

After a lengthy pause, the girl nods, which is for the best really. It’s much easier to walk by her side than track her from behind.

The girl’s name is Scarlett.

“That’s an interesting name,” Shiloh says, the red of Scarlett’s cloak growing more vivid in Shiloh’s peripheral vision.

Scarlett shrugs. “Not really. There are lots of girls named Scarlett in the village.”

“Is that right?” Shiloh says, feeling more and more like she has a handful of puzzle pieces but no interlocking edges to fit them together.

They come upon the cottage as the sun kisses the distant mountains, sending the woods into an early dusk. Shiloh’s mildly put out when she notices how perfectly normal the place looks. The gardens are well-tended and the stoop swept. There’s even a cheerful glow warming the windows.

“This looks like the place,” Shiloh says, sweeping the clearing for something to explain the slow drip of dread down her spine.

Scarlett huffs a sigh next to her. She’d taken Shiloh’s hand not long into their walk and her little palm is warm and soft in Shiloh’s own.

“I guess so,” Scarlett says.

“You guess so?” Shiloh says, eye catching on a large shadow moving within the cottage. “You’ve never visited your grandmother before?”

“The Grandmother,” Scarlett corrects her. “And no.”

She says it like it’s the most normal thing in the world, but as Shiloh looks down at her, the red of her cloak seeming to glow in the darkness, she can’t help but think the situation is the very furthest from normal they can get.

“Is that visitors I hear?” Comes a voice from within the cottage. Shiloh looks up as the shadow in the cottage window moves toward the door. It gets smaller as it goes which is a funny thing, because Shiloh could swear it’s moving toward the light source…

The shadow is bare steps from the door when Shiloh gives an exaggerated shiver.

“Are you cold?” Scarlett asks.

“Yes,” Shiloh says quickly. “I’m afraid I didn’t think ahead. Might I borrow your cloak, child?”

Scarlett looks torn. “I was told not to-”

“Only for a minute or two,” Shiloh says, over the creak of the door. “I promise.”

“Okay…”

Shiloh whips the cloak from Scarlett’s shoulders and about her own just in time to face the figure in the doorway who-

Is a little, old woman.

Shiloh balks at the sight, eyes warring with every other instinct telling her to run, fight, hide. Shift.

The Grandmother smiles. Her face is like a weathered peach and her hands look frail as spider’s silk. They clasp and unclasp in front of her, the only tell that she too feels the tension that’s fallen on the clearing like a woollen blanket.

“Where are you, my child?” The Grandmother asks, peering across the clearing. “Come closer, I’m afraid my eyes aren’t what they used to be.”

Scarlett is stepping forward before Shiloh can move to stop her, small hand leaving only a warm imprint on Shiloh’s palm as she lets go.

“Ah, there you are,” The Grandmother says, with a smile warm like home. “I see you now.”

Only she doesn’t. As Scarlett walks toward The Grandmother, the old woman’s eyes, suddenly sharp and shrewd, remain fixed on Shiloh. No, she thinks as she steps forward and the cloak flares out. Her eyes are on the cloak.

Don’t wear red.

“Scarlett,” Shiloh calls, pulling the cloak from her shoulders. The Grandmother’s eyes follow it’s rustle like a hawk as the fabric hits the grass.

Scarlett stops and turns back. And The Grandmother’s shadow starts to grow.

“Scarlett, run!”

Shiloh doesn’t wait for the girl to obey, simply grabs for her pelt, reaches down deep and pulls. Scarlett screams and tumbles backward as Shiloh flies at her which makes leaping the girl an easy feat. She’s only half shifted when she hits The Grandmother’s charge but it’ll do. She’s got her teeth at least.

The Grandmother is easily the breadth of Kae’s yew patient and growing, but her skin, turning green and sickly by the minute, is easy enough to tear through. She bleeds. That’s the important thing.

Anything that bleeds can die, in Shiloh’s experience.

She’s fully shifted by the time The Grandmother hauls her back by her scruff and rakes jagged claws across her furred ribs. Lucky, Shiloh thinks as she hits the ground. She doesn’t think she’d have survived it in her human form.

Shiloh rolls to her feet and snarls. Her mouth tastes of copper and she can feel something sticky on her flank but the fight is a singing, beautiful thing in her blood. She might go down but she’ll give Scarlett enough time to put distance between herself and this… whatever this is.

The Grandmother’s skin seems to boil, lending her silhouette against the rising moon an air of gut-churning horror. Which is nothing to the sight of Scarlett behind the monster, branch raised like a club. Like she’s going to fell the beast with a stick.

Scarlett lets out a warrior’s roar as she brings the branch down and-

Nothing. It breaks on The Grandmother’s writhing back like so much driftwood. Scarlett goes from heroic to trembling in a bare moment and then The Grandmother is turning. Shiloh’s paws dig large grooves in the earth as she launches herself forward – she’s never moved so fast.

The axe moves faster.

Likely because it was hurled by a half-giantess.

The Grandmother’s skull cleaves like a ripe melon and Shiloh uses her forward momentum to barrel Scarlett out of the path of the monster’s falling carcass.

And then, silence.

Shiloh uncurls with a wince to find Scarlett unhurt if a bit squished under her bulk. She wasn’t kidding when she said her pelt needn’t be big. She’s a hulking wolf no matter the size of her talisman.

“Damn you, wife! You’d best not be dead!”

Scarlett’s eyes are round as the moon rising over them, flicking panicked from Shiloh’s less-than-reassuring countenance to the giantess bearing down on them. Shiloh can’t help but snort a laugh as she shifts back to her human form, pulling herself off the child as she goes.

“It’s okay, Scarlett,” she says. “This is my wife, Kae.”

“This is your widow more like!” Kae says, picking Shiloh up with one big hand to set about inspecting her wounds. “Because I’m going to kill you for that fright you just gave me!”

Shiloh endures the inspection, mostly because she’s had a lot of practice. “My love, you’re frightening the child.”

Scarlett seems to take that as a challenge, climbing rapidly to her feet. “I ain’t frightened!”

Shiloh kisses Kae’s palm on its way to pawing at her scalp to check for head wounds and sighs. “Yes, I could see that. What part of ‘run’ didn’t you understand?”

“The part where you were in trouble,” Scarlett says, chin jutting out stubbornly.

“Oh I like her,” Kae says, seemingly having satisfied herself that Shiloh isn’t going to keel over dead any time soon.

Shiloh rolls her eyes. “Of course you do.”

Silence falls on the three of them once more as their attention turns to the hulking corpse of The Grandmother.

Scarlett breaks it. “They sent me here to get et, didn’t they?”

Shiloh, who was behind the door when the Gods handed out artifice, says, “Yes, my girl, I think they did.”

Scarlett takes this news with the sort of stoicism that’s likely going to require a lot of crying at some point later. “I’d like to not go back,” she says, finally.

Shiloh doesn’t say anything, simply exchanges a long look with her wife. And then she holds out her hand.

One year later, the village drapes another little girl named Scarlett in red and sends her into the woods. Four hours later, she comes back.

FIN

Patreon | Goddammitstacey.com

#queer #lgbtq #fiction #twisted fairy tales #little red riding hood #my stuff

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chidoroki · 3 years

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In Defense of TPN S2

Okay, so before y’all start throwing your salt shakers at me, let me explain. Yes, I’m just as upset and annoyed with how the second season decided to cut out so much content that us manga readers were finally hoping to see: no Yuugo, Goldy Pond arc or GP Resistance, Lucas or Glory Bell escapees, Adam, poachers, or Cuvitidala Search. Since this season also (sort of) reached the 2047 time skip, we were also denied of the Paradise Hideout, Jin, Hayato, Ayshe, the Seven Walls & Imperial Capital Battle arcs and Alex due to the anime’s so-called “original story” idea. While some manga events still took place (B06-32 getting blown up, the trio’s reunion, Norman’s time at Lambda, the cursed blood and the Grace Field raid), they were all significantly changed and barely held the same emotional impact, as we see very little to no build up to these moments. Several volumes were skipped completely and despite others being touched lightly, we unfortunately missed out on major character development for everyone, most notably for Emma, but also the lighter side of things such as chef Ray, medic Anna, Rossi learning morse code, Minerva!Norman, etc. There’s honestly so much of the main story to talk about and I totally understand why we’re all so ticked off, especially since that darn slideshow did absolutely nothing to calm our hearts at the end of ep11.

However.. I’m not gonna stand by and say this season was worthless. Highly disappointing given everything I just mentioned of course, I get it, so don’t curse me out just yet. People can trash talk it all they want and I’ll sympathize 110%, but I personally won’t do so. I love this series too much and that’s a huge reason as to why I didn’t drop this season. Usually whenever I start a new series, it’s because I become interested in a character or two. I find that no matter what happens in that series, whether the story intrigues me or not, I’ll continue it if only to see more of that character. If the story is good, it’s just another plus for me to stay addicted, so while this season totally missed their chance to adapt the wonderful source material of my favorite series, I stayed to watch Emma, Ray and all the other children I’ve grown to love over the past two years. Another reason why I stayed on this train wreck was because of how thought provoking it became as turned into yet another guessing game for me. After first watching the OP and even more after ep3 aired, I kept wondering what would they include or leave out. How would they handle this scene if this and that were already changed? How would they fix this problem if so and so isn’t here? It felt like I was watching season one blind all over again; seeing all these little clues sprinkled everywhere and yet not having any idea on how the story was going to continue or end got me excited. That’s why I came to love this story in the first place, so having the chance to feel that again alongside characters I love so dearly.. it was fun for me (until the slideshow punched me in the face). While many people will look at this season and declare the manga and first season are both superior (which they are, I agree), I’m still sitting over here like “oh look, more content!”

With all that nonsense out of the way, I thought I would go ahead and ramble about everything I believe the second season did well enough, because if I can take any heat off this adaptation then you’re damn right I’m gonna try. So if you’re wondering why on earth a manga reader even mildly enjoyed this season, it’s honestly just the little things such as a decently adapted or improved panel/scene, any new, interesting elements the anime may have included, or other personal favorite moments of mine.. which there were a lot of.

So no negativity past here kiddos, we’re gonna be as optimistic and lively as an orange antenna.

(mild manga spoiler warning, I guess? but I’m sure it’s nothing y’all haven’t heard us readers mention/complain about already)

- If you’ve read any of my reactions to this season, you would know how much love I have for “Identity.” Not only is the song still an absolute banger, but the opening sequence itself is fantastic. From the contrast between human vs demon, the cameos, the symbolism, the match cuts, the build up to the chorus.. just everything. I could talk about it endlessly and watch it several times over and still be impressed.

- Lani’s stupid fall.

- How clearly it shows Emma’s condition becoming progressively worse.

- Her scream.

- Ray’s apology, especially how soft his voice was when saying “sorry, Emma,” and the smile he gives after she tells him not to worry about it.

- And his entire promise to keep everyone in their family safe. Oh I was so happy to finally hear him say that.

- This exchange between Don and Gilda.

- Rossi and those darn faces he gives us. This boy is such a mood.

- How involved the younger kids were so they don’t feel like they were just.. there, which served as a reminder that everyone from Grace Field is smart, not just Emma and Ray.

- How pretty the demon forest looked at night when all those odd creatures started glowing (even those darn goowee).

- So happy with how this panel was adapted. That smirk of his is everything.

- The fact they remembered a small detail such as the bell.

- Knowing now that they cut so much out of the manga, I’m glad we at least got the hug.

- The ending sequence gave us a small look at Sonja and Mujika’s travels by themselves. “Magic” is also so very calming to listen to.

- How the children hug both Emma and Ray, as manga only had our girl receiving the hugs.

- Sonju & Mujika’s voice actors fit them perfectly.

- How impressed Ray was when he first tried their cooking. No wonder he was so eager to learn how to cook.

- Sonju’s story about the demon world from ch46-47 practically adapted word for word.

- While the manga also shows us how frighted the duo is upon learning they’re living in the worst case scenario, it’s seeing them and their hands physically shake that help push this scene a little bit more (not that you can tell this by a still frame but trust me).

- Their synchronized smirks and how well their excitement was not only animated but how genuine and real it sounds too. Emma’s laugh and the fact they made Ray of all people sound hopeful is fantastic.

- They kept the small Ray from this panel and made him better.

- I just love seeing him be optimistic.

- The entire scene when Emma & Ray are both scolded by the younger kids for acting so recklessly is perfect.

- They kept this tiny comment of Nat’s.

- Finally getting chef Ray and hearing how confident he is with his cooking skills already.

- Seeing other children like Dominic pick up archery and be surprisingly good at it.

- Anime pushed Emma’s quick learning ability further with archery by showing us how easily she could land a bullseye even after hitting something midair.

- How well they animated Emma’s first kill, from following the arrow as she pulls it back to when she releases it as it flies towards the bird’s eye.

- The fact that this scene and the next both used a water droplet to symbolize death just like we saw during season one with Conny and Norman’s shipments are so satisfying.

- The gupna scene and how well it emphasized Emma’s reaction to taking a life and how upset/bothered she was in doing so. The addition of a butterfly helps as well, as it’s another way this series tends to convey the idea of death. (you remember how many the OP had, right? tons.)

- I only just noticed that Ray is seen looking at a similar butterfly in the following scene as well.

- The anime doing this panel justice. Ep2 is probably the episode that follows the manga the closest and did real well in regards to that.

- Ray beating Sonju at chess.

- Chris knowing exactly which way to go without using the compass, which makes sense as he was seen mapping out the surrounding area in the previous episode.

- The kid’s adorable little freak out.-

- Giving us a better idea on how large the reference room of the B06-32 shelter truly is.

- Finally being able to hear our boy Nat play the piano. The fact that his first song is named “Nat King Cool” as a possible reference to Nat King Cole is also great.

- Rossi being an accurate representation of the manga readers while watching this episode.

- Chris being his cute self.

- Seeing Ray’s sleeping face after the manga denied us so many times by hiding it.

- It’s.. close enough. We love our chef.

- I love the idea that Nat plays a couple songs before everyone goes to sleep. That’s so precious.

- SHE!! With her hair down!

- Rossi teasing Don and the fact that just mentioning Gilda is enough to scare him.

- It remembered that Gilda has a tendency to count all the children.

- The level of confidence Isabella has in her kids.

- Ray being oh so close to shooting a human with an arrow.

- This hug.

- Chris leading the group through the underground tunnels, which he also does in manga but we learn earlier in this ep it’s due to all the time he’s played down here.

- Because of his extensive knowledge of the shelter’s layout, Chris also guides everyone to one of the secret entrances to escape after he realizes the intruders are only stationed at the main two.

- Ray’s first demon kill is smooth as hell.

- Curse this scene for being so dark because that damn smile Isabella gives us is amazing.

- Since Andrew was cut, Chris and Dominic survive the aftermath of the shelter’s destruction without any injuries.

- Although we weren’t expecting to see their older 2047 selves this soon, they look good okay?

- The emotion in her voice throughout this entire scene (probably the closest we were ever gonna get to Emma doubting herself in ch109/114 too).

- Please just let me enjoy this moment when Ray noticed her negative thoughts and stepped in to help just as I expected.

- Vylk and that goofy smile of his.

- Watching the duo communicate without words during the chase through the demon town.

- Our girl clearing this jump effortlessly.

- Norman’s squishy cheeks.

- Ray’s slap could’ve been better, I know, but at this point I’m happy they still included it.

- The fact we can see Ray’s face during the reunion hug this time.

- And this hug.

- Remembering the small panel of Ray noticing Emma’s bluff.

- Finally hearing this conversation because both voice actors do a wonderful job with it and thankfully the dialogue is on par with the manga as well. Also that one moment when the shadow falls across Emma’s face like that.

- Gilda comforting Alicia after her nightmare.

- The scene is very dear to me so of course I appreciate every little panel we can get.

- How carefree Ray sounded with his “Nopes.”

- How I only realized just now that this panel was also adapted.

- Okay so who’s brilliant idea was it to have the sun rise towards the end of this conversation as Ray helps Emma regain her confidence? I just wanna personally thank them because it was a genius move and I’ll treasure it forever.

- They kept Barbara’s slip-up.

- Like our demon friends, I think the Lambda crew’s voices fit them rather well, although Zazie’s was totally unexpected, like dude you’re 5, why is your voice so low?

- Another “it could’ve been better but at least they included it” moment.

- Vincent’s smile here cracks me up and I don’t know why.

- Barbara’s anger.

- The short snippet we get of the ch126 conversation when the duo was visiting Chris.

- The table from Barbara’s outrage was never magically fixed like it was in manga, so we get this nice shot of Norman reflected in the broken surface.

- The trio’s conversation about the royals and cursed blood follows manga relatively well.

- Anime did this panel better, I’m sorry. Thank you for showing my girl getting angry.

- This frame of Ray.

- This comment of Norman’s that made me wanna slap him.

- How Norman’s face is constantly in the shadows during this scene, which is something his office at the Paradise hideout probably wouldn’t have given us, so hurray for this location instead.

- How he and Emma bicker over how many days their deal should last.

- When the camera shifts in and out of focus during Barbara’s seizure.

- How this scene hid Norman’s face until they revealed the demon the crew killed.

- It really is the small details that make me happy.

- This smile of Don’s.

- I’ll take all the hugs I can get.

- Emma and Gilda’s little headbutt.

- Why does my boy look so grown up and handsome here? Hello??

- I suppose I have to give credit for Peter’s voice actor too hm?

- Actually making Smee a bit more relevant.

- Since the fight against Legravalima was cut, this shot of Zazie is the closest we’re gonna get to seeing him without his paper bag, but it does improve on that one panel of him at the start of ch153.

- Seeing more of Norman’s time at Lambda as well as the aftermath of the explosion.

- While this scene pales in comparison to its manga counterpart, having the sun set behind him while Norman delivers his famous line was still a decent touch. It’s a nice contrast to the sunrise in ep6 and I enjoy it very much.

- Wild demons managing to somehow successful jump scare me not once, not twice, but three times in a single episode.

- Emma getting back up to protect her family despite her injury. (i mean, it’s no ch93 comeback but oh well)

- Ray getting in another decent shot at a demon.

- This face of his.

- Seeing just how quickly the drug causes the demons to degenerate and all the chaos it causes.

- Actually showing Norman attacking a demon rather than just saying he killed Yverk off panel in ch153.

- Hate me all you want but the anime did this panel better too.

- The ch153 discussion is more or less the same but the fact they added in Norman looking to Ray for help and just having him snap back instead was priceless.

- Sonju’s grin.

- The scene when Norman stops Zazie’s attack may only last like five seconds but it’s wonderfully animated and I find myself replaying it countless times.

- How to make the manga readers and anime-onlys panic with just one sentence:

- Isabella being clever as ever by leaking false info into the radio the escapees have to lure them back to Grace Field.

- I just think Emma looks so mature and pretty here?

- Had Norman actually apologize to the demons.. or was just about to anyways.

- Demon Emma is precious and must be protected.

- The adorable mixup between both Emmas.

- I haven’t a clue on where or how the kids managed to gather all the supplies to create several hot air balloons and explosives.. but they did, somehow, and I’m impressed because I’m assuming that all happened within a day.

- Ma’am, could you be any more smug?

- Simon! And he ends up surviving!

- Having Sonju fight alongside the Lambda crew.

- Which reminds me that this is possible since the Imperial Capital battle didn’t happen (yet, in this timeline), so the three of them never received their injuries from Legravalima either.

- The smoke bombs, only because I remembered how Sonju used them back in ep1 while rescuing Ray so it’s nice to see them being used again.

- Showing Norman actually use a bow and arrow this time. He also hits his target on the first try through a smokescreen.

- Ray having enough strength to knock out two demons with a simple metal pipe. In ch169 he’s seen holding down a grown man so yeah, I can believe this as well.

- Having Jemima, Yvette, Rossi & Mark disguises themselves as shipments in order to rally up the other Grace Field kids. Mark’s face and the noise he makes upon seeing Naila again is also precious.

- Peter actually falling for Vincent’s trap.

- Getting one young child to listen to you is hard enough, but Emma manages to get about 183 of them (yes I counted, give or take the four who also disguised themselves) to follow her orders in no time flat.

- Phil helping with the plan to lead all the children to the elevator.

- It made me nervous upon seeing it but they made the Day & Night ceiling real pretty.

- I knew the reunion was coming and still cried.

- Take all my hell yeahs.

- I could listen to her say this on repeat and be overjoyed every single time.

- She’s beauty, she’s grace, she’ll point at gun in your face.

- Getting to witness someone shoot at Peter since no one did so in the manga? Wonderful. Having that person be Isabella who literally lands a perfect shot not even a full second after he pulls out that disc? Perfection.

- Mujika and Vylk bringing in hundreds of civilian demons as reinforcements.

- James!

- Those real quick shots of the ancestors because I had given up on thinking we would’ve seen them at all since the Seven Walls arc was skipped.

- I’m actually surprised they kept his death in and it’s as harsh as the manga.

- Ray confronting Isabella with the addition of this line.

- This panel being animated along with Emma’s thoughts from ch177 towards Isabella even though that chapter’s major event didn’t happen.

- I certainly can not forget about this hug.

- At least anime!Emma told the boys her plan before reaching the door, or didn’t keep it a total secret? If not then I’ll praise the boys for accepting her crazy idea regardless.

- Boy, do you know how much I love you and your smirks?

- SHE. STAYS. ALIVE!!!

- Vincent and Norman’s little fist bump.

- Different but close enough. Still cute though.

- The amount of emotions this one shot makes me feel is limitless. Catch me crying tears of joy over it for the rest of my life.

- Having Phil not only getting the chance to see a train but to ride one as well.

- This pretty shot of Gilda.

- As well as this beautiful one with Emma and Mujika.

- They gave us older Phil. Not sure how much older but he’s still adorable.

- Lastly, the goddamn soundtrack! Of course we heard a bunch of the songs from season one, but the new ones such as “The Evil-Blooded Girl” and the Arabic version of “Isabella’s Lullaby” are absolutely fantastic. I still have to listen to full soundtrack but from what little bit I heard of such songs such as “Nat King Ballade,” “Crisis,” “Norman’s Lament,” and “The Temple Ruins,” I’m sure every track is an absolute joy. I’m so happy we had Obata back for this season.

And that’s the end of it, I guess? Of course it’s not a perfect list, as the majority of it was just personal favorites of mine but oh well. (this is just as long as ray’s birthday post too, oh lord)

I’m not gonna be one of those manga readers who continuously nag people to go read the original source material, because that’s annoying and I understand that some people just might not be up for it. They might watch a series, take it all in and then move on to the next one. Others might want to find out about every little detail and invest more time into the story. It’s totally fine to enjoy a series your own way and you shouldn’t feel pressured to continue something you’re only mildly interested in or feel bad that you love something others might despise. Just do whatever makes you happy. If you wanna check out the manga and see why us readers love it to pieces, then I promise it’s worth it, especially if you enjoyed the anime or wish to see more of any character.. or the entire story. If the manga ain’t for you, then I hope the anime did something for you. It definitely could have been better though, I can’t argue with that.

Whether you’re anime-only or manga reader, can we all still hope for a remake? This season had more flaws than any amount of praise I could give, but if years down the line we get the FMA: Brotherhood or Hellsing: Ultimate treatment where the next anime adaptation follows the manga perfectly, you know I’ll be all for it. I’m too deep in this TPN hole and I’ll probably never leave.

#the promised neverland #tpn anime #chidoroki used chatter #dont worry.. im still sad as hell about this adaptation.. this season just gave me a little excitement.. thats all #hey i re-watched this season so you wouldnt have to #..not like that says much considering ill probably go ahead and watch the dub too.. ah something is seriously wrong with me

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defensefilms · 3 years

Text

Defense Films Names His Top 5 Favorite Rappers

In All It’s Infinite Glory And Magnanimity, Defense Gives You His Top 5 Favorite Rappers.

5. 50 Cent

To this day, when you need a playlist for a MMA class and the group is hella diverse, you’re not really sure which way to go with it, pop in that 50. Can’t go wrong with Get Rich Or Die Trying (the original), or even that G-Unit Beg For Mercy.

That run from late 2002-2005/06 was unlike anything you’ll ever see again. That was a perfect situation where there was organic support from fans and there were people at a business level, mainly 50, that knew how to turn it into the wave that it became and industry has been trying to replicate this ever since.

While most people remember is the numerous scandals, beefs and controversies of that time but it was the music that moved the audience. For all the ways 50 Cent’s success mirrors ruthless American capitalism, his debut album is low key one of the most inspiring albums you’ll ever listen to.

It’s a foxhole mentality on wax. It’s me-versus-you type thinking. It’s someone has to lose and I’ll be damned. It’s who ever has to get hit, is gonna get hit.

See the first time I listened to it, it was about “In Da Club”, “Wanksta”, you know the more palatable records that got on radio and all that but the more I listened the more I realized, it was actually built on the backs of songs like “Patiently Waiting”, “Many Men”, “Back Down”, “Don’t Push Me” and “Gotta Make It To Heaven”. On one side it’s as motivational as you can think of but it’s not the wacky kind of naivé motivational talk because it’s willing to get it’s hands dirty and go in to much grittier ideas.

Like his predecessors, 50 pulls off the trick of balancing easy-to-listen-to records on a foundation of graphic and aggressive songs.

Recommended Songs: Maybe We Crazy, When It Rains It Pours

4. Jedi Mind Tricks

I’ll give you props if you know who these man are but they are legends. Point blank. Violent By Design will forever rank as one of the great group albums in hip-hop history. Vinny Paz, Jus Allah and producer/DJ Stoupe The Enemy of Mankind, gave hip-hop a shockwave they weren’t ready for, especially back in 1999.

Hip-hop as a business wasn’t ready to market a group, whose themes were rooted in topics like government control, military warfare, covert control tactics, religion and psychological warfare. To have all that in one bundle wasn’t something that big time A&R’s were ready for.

Had they started this group in 2010, they would have walked in to a business landscape that was far more suitable to who they were as an act and as MC’s.

Even with that JMT still enjoyed a lot of notoriety and they definitely succeeded in establishing their following, despite the odds.

While Violent By Design may serve as the magnum opus of their body of work, their run really starts in 1997 with the Psycho-Social, Biological & Electro-Magnetic Manipulation Of Human Kind.

Yes guy, that’s an album title. You gotta think now, I was in high school the first time I heard this and I was very into conspiracy theories and nonsense, so this album hit me right between the eyes. The idea that someone could use the medium of hip-hop in this way was crazy and the album would have been more than 10 years old when I first heard it.

No, the hip-hop historians among us will argue that Wu-Tang were a better and more influential group and I’d tend to agree, I can also bust back and say, “these dudes took Wu-Tang’s formula and gave it a whole different edge.”

I’ll break it to you like this, Wu-Tang gave the world swordsmanship and the first projectile weapons like bow and arrows, spears and the likes. Jedi Mind Tricks gave the world gun powder, advanced modern explosives and semi-automatics. You see what I mean?

Recommended Songs: Untitled, Retaliation Remix

3. Jay-Z

No top rappers list is complete without my man. The only reason he ain’t higher is because, I rate a rapper more highly if they’re in the prime of their musical abilities. If this were an all-time list he’d be way way higher.

Beginning with Reasonable Doubt is really the only place to start when it comes to Jay. The production, the skits, the way every sentence was so tightly wound together, the word selection and sentence construction. It’s remembered as an album of hits because of tracks like “Cant Knock The Hustle”, ”Feelin It” and “Brooklyn’s Finest” but Reasonable Doubt was really defined by “Dead Presidents”, “D’evils”, “Politics As Usual” and “Can I Live”.

The first batch of songs gave the album some relatability, as far as depicting club vibes and nightlife glamour because that second batch of songs were all built on darker themes like betrayal, jealousy, greed, blind ambition and deception. That combination of themes as well as the production to match each one is why that album will always rank high among a certain listenership.

With that being said, never make the mistake of thinking Jay or any man is perfect. There’s like a 3 album run where there’s moments of dope-ness but not a truly complete album.

Still with that, songs like “Imaginary Player” and “Where I’m From” will rank among his best songs.

It’s only when you get to The Blueprint can you start to see Jay perfecting the art of crafting, whole, complete albums that bump from start to finish. The Blueprint was near perfection in this regard. “U Don’t Know”, “Heart Of The City” and “Momma Loves Me” will rank as his best efforts and yeah, I skipped a few.

The Black Album replicated the Blueprint’s listenability, while also dealing in topics that created an album that sounded very personal to Jay.

All told, the best parts of his catalogue are so strong that there is no denying his place on my list.

Recommended Songs: Dead Presidents, I Love The Dough

2. Action Bronson

I cannot for the life of me fathom how this man doesn’t get the love but the real ones know.

The mixtape download era (2010-2017 give or take), had many unlikely success stories. An overweight white guy, who grew up cooking in his parents deli/eatery, turned pro-chef then turned rapper, is beyond unlikely. Only the internet could allow this man to succeed and thank the hip-hop gods it did.

From 2012 to about 2018, Action was one of the only constants in my playlist. I still remember where I was the first time I heard “Brunch”. His catalogue starting with the Tommy Mas produced, Dr Lecter and boasting full collaborations albums along side Statik Selektah and the Alchemist, and of course the classic Blue Chips series. This man’s prime will be underrated.

If you’re going to take one chapter of Bronson’s art and study it, it’s going to be Blue Chips 1 and 2. Both are thematically perfect without ever trying to be. Which is what allowed Party Supplies to make production choices that grabbed you from the jump. From the first time you hit play on the opening of Blue Chips 1, you’re hit with the sound of falling shards of glass and a violin sound that makes the opening song un-skippable. The songs themes are also a perfect introduction to the man himself. Debauchery, expensive taste, hedonism, revelry, unabashed pleasure-seeking, drug use and just enough self-depreciation that you felt you were along for the ride rather than just a fly on the wall, turning your nose in disgust. It was a perfect mixtape, at a time when mixtapes were at a crazy dumb high standard.

It’s not so much that a rapper made punchlines about food, that would be an over-simplification and really missing the trick. It’s that he made everything he said sound like the dopest thing ever and the most underrated trick about his music is that he made grown man rap without needing to be thuggin’. A rare feat.

Bronson has since gone on to establish himself as a content creator/producer/food review guy but man, what he accomplished as a complete body of work is nothing short of astonishing.

Recommended Songs: Midget Cough, Bonzai

1. Headie One

So it’s late last year. I’m hanging with my boy Phil and Brown, we had just finished some content and Phil says “yo listen to this”. He proceeds to play Golden Boot and it hasn’t stopped bumping since.

A UK rapper with a lyrical nous and wit that rivals even legends like Jay-Z, but rapping over trap and drill beats. What Headie One is doing is not the norm and I’m talking in terms of his lyrics, sentence construction, word selection, metaphors, he does it all and like all the greats, he makes it look easy.

His collaboration with RV definitely helped mold him, with both the “Sticks and Stones” and “Drillers and Trappers” mixtapes giving you an idea of what Headie offers as a lyricist. He compliments RV’s brash, aggressive boasts with slightly less obvious but incredibly witty boasts of his own.

His discography though really starts to peak with 2018′s “The One”. That’s where Headie begins find a sweet spot between his lyrics, production and the themes of his songs. A mixtape like this can only exist via independent release because outside of the aforementioned “Golden Boot”, ain’t none of those songs getting any radio play especially in a country as “conservative” as England. Even in a genre saturated with gangsta/trap, “The One” stands out for what he accomplishes lyrically.

Headie would follow that by releasing “The One Two” in June of 2018 and he ascends even more in what he’s able to accomplish with the words.

The track “Banter On Me” should be in an all-time list somewhere for being the wittiest track of all time. The song is literally just Headie finding new and innovative ways to boast, call out and bait his foes. Hip-hop/Rap has plenty of beef songs that weren’t really direct call outs to any known public figure but were still definitely taking shots at someone. 50 cent’s “Wanksta” and “Officer Down” are some examples of such songs I can think of. Those did not really have the kind of wit Headie displays here. The constant streams of alliterations, double meanings, puns, metaphors, inferences and innuendos is just astonishing. There’s a real mastery of language at play here. The song is a lesson in language, no textbooks.

Headie has since released his debut album along with additional tracks for the delux version of the album. His debut studio release “Edna” does what studio releases are supposed to do. “Parle-Vouz Anglais” and “Aint It Different” will standout and are difinitely the most palatable songs as far as radio play. Those are the 2 songs I’d play for first time listeners.

Recommended Songs: Hard To Believe, Dues, Zodiac

#music #hip-hop #rap #50 cent #jedi mind tricks #jay z #action bronson #headie #headie one

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iturbide · 3 years

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(CheeseAndCake here) It is done. More CC!Edelgard in Heroes has been sent! I tried to make it clear that, while Edelgard has changed a lot, and is showing the dragonkin propper respect, her mind is still jumping to the thoughts she used to have before she gets a hold of her thought process. It’s still there, but she doesn’t let it show or let those thoughts dictate her actions and is doing her best to change it. I’m so proud of her.

You and me both her development as a character is absolutely fantastic, especially in the way that she still jumps to certain thoughts and then forcibly grapples with those very thoughts because she’s conscious of the fact that she needs to work on that. I especially liked how she reminded herself that it’s the second thought that’s important rather than the first, because that’s really important for people who are trying to change: if we tell ourselves that the first thought is the only thing that matters, then we just feel ashamed and guilty for reacting in ways we’ve been conditioned to, and it stymies progress. She really is working hard on changing, and that is absolutely something to take pride in.

You know who else would be proud of her? The Bad End AU folks.

In the interests of keeping this at least kind of contained, I’ll just stick to the core group: Claude, Hilda, Ashe, Annette, and Nika.

Claude

After getting summoned, would take pains at first to avoid any Edelgard, in part because at the time he was summoned the Edelgard of his world probably doesn’t know he survived; he might even be going by his given Almyran name rather than his adopted Fodlani one, both to safeguard his identity and because he’s spent years back home where they use his true name...though the resemblance between him and the other Claudes would still give him away to some extent, even if he is older and wiser than they are.

CC!Edelgard would probably be the only one to actively seek him out, since the others tend to be very focused on their tasks and don’t care to make small talk with those who aren’t in their immediate circle of confidantes (Hubert, Byleth, etc; occasionally they would chat with Lysithea, but part of it would be trying to coax her to the Imperial side). The first time she does, he would spend a solid ten seconds trying to size up the situation (because he’s pretty sure that’s Edelgard, but she’s not in the Imperial reds, but is she just trying to get him to lower his guard, or is there something else going on here?); having known someone very much like him for quite a while, it would be all the proof she needs to say with certainty that this is, in fact, Claude, because she doesn’t know anyone else that will just stare so intently at something (or someone) they’re trying to figure out.

She might try for the same Almyran icebreaker that she used with Legendary Claude, and for a split second he would get chills because fuck did Edelgard conquer Almyra too -- wait, no, if she did she’d probably make Fodlani the standard language, huh. The only sign of those internal thoughts would be a slight sharpening of his gaze as he looks at her, which would soften again once he comes to his far less dire conclusion and actually processes the words she said -- though at that point he’d laugh because him? Ruler of Almyra? He’s an advisor, she clearly has him mistaken for someone else.

Of course then she tags him as ‘heir’ instead (using the Almyran term), and his smile gets a little sharper, because if he’s guessing she only figured that out recently -- if she knew he was a prince at Derdriu, he suspects that she wouldn’t have tried to kill him.

CC!Edelgard let him go, of course. But this is about as close to a direct admission as Claude’s ever come, and despite the maelstrom of thoughts and feelings swirling through her she pushes herself to ask if he’d like to talk about it over a game.

Claude isn’t one to pass up a game, honestly. So the board is set, and they talk about their worlds over several matches; they don’t realize how time passes, engrossed as they are in the games and conversation. Someone quietly brings them a meal once it gets late enough, and they each offer a distracted word of thanks, eating without ever putting the match on hold.

They discuss his world, and how the Edelgard he knew ordered his death, only for their professor to land a non-fatal (but convincingly mortal-looking) blow; how the situation in Fodlan made his dream as good as impossible, so he took an advisory position under his father when he returned to Almyra while establishing an information network stretching beyond its borders that he hoped would do Judith proud; how news of a Blaiddyd brought him secretly back to Fodlan to evacuate Dimitri’s half-brother Nikita, and how he’s tried to give Nika a life of his own choosing rather than molding him into a leader for Faerghus; and most of all, about the dire situation in Fodlan, and how Claude is willing to take the fight back across the border if that’s Nika’s choice once he comes of age so that the people there can live by their own choosing again.

They discuss her world, and how she saw her conquest through, only to realize too late that she’d been deceived and manipulated from the start by Those Who Slither; how she was taken captive again, subjected to worse than she’d suffered as a child, until Claude and Dimitri’s cousin Ivanna created enough chaos for her to break free; how she joined them in the fight to put an end to what she had forged, casting aside the title of Emperor and seeking only to atone for her past evils in whatever way she could -- beginning with changing herself, expanding her view of the world and her understanding of its people along with it.

Claude never imagined that Edelgard von Hresvelg, Emperor of Adrestia and Conqueror of Fodlan, would tell him that he’s right to try and stop her. But then, this particular Edelgard has seen where her ambitions end up. It’s heartening, in a way -- and while he doesn’t think she deserved what happened to her (no one deserves to suffer the way she did), he’s still glad that she’s managed to realize how narrow her previous worldview was, and he’s proud that she’s trying to broaden her horizons. They might not become friends, necessarily, but he would be willing to help her work on that in much the same way that the Claude she knew did, which she would appreciate.

He’d also teach her more Almyran just because he can. She’s going to go back able to hold basic conversations and just wait until her Claude hears that.

Hilda

Much like Claude, she might also be going by another name -- though in her case, it would be an assumed Almyran alias, since using her own name would be dangerous with her supposedly dying at Derdriu along with Claude. She’s gotten used to it, for sure, but she also can’t wave off suspicion anywhere near as well as Claude does, since she has the classic Goneril Pink palette going on (and, as Claude’s mom pointed out when they first met, she’s too old to be Holst’s kid, so sister makes more sense -- and Holst only has one sister, officially).

Also like Claude, she would do her utmost to avoid any and all Edelgards, and for much the same reason: she was supposed to have died at Derdriu, so Edelgard realizing she didn’t could put her and Claude both in danger. Lucky for her, most of the Edelgards don’t have much interest in cross-House socialization; however, CC!Edelgard takes an interest in Claude, and if there’s one thing Hilda absolutely will not allow, it’s someone threatening Claude, so when she sees the two of them in conversation, the second she recognizes that this is an Edelgard -- something that wouldn’t be immediately obvious to her, given the outfit change -- she’d be putting herself bodily between them with her axe at the ready.

Claude is far more amused by this than Edelgard is. She’s not big on having weapons pulled on her, understandably, and there’s a momentary face-off between Hilda with her axe and Edelgard with her dagger before Claude inserts himself between the two women and suggests they just talk this out like reasonable people.

“Since when has Edelgard ever been reasonable?” Hilda scoffs.

“Since I was robbed of my freedom and nearly my life at the hands of foes I’d underestimated too long, and Claude offered me a chance to atone for my past.”

That’s enough to make Hilda take a step back. Claude has no interest in speaking for or over Edelgard, but he acts as a mediator between them as they talk, calming arguments before they can get out of hand and generally guiding the flow of conversation. Hilda isn’t as quick to trust Edelgard as he is, but even she can’t deny that what the former Emperor went through was something no one should have to face; she’s at least willing to give Edelgard a chance to change, and show proof of it -- and even she has to admit that the former Emperor’s progress is stark, in comparison to their last meeting.

Ashe

Unlike Claude and Hilda, Ashe doesn’t have a reason to hide his identity. He wasn’t part of the final battle at Fhirdiad, having been charged with Nika’s evacuation before the Imperial Army arrived at the Kingdom capital, so there’s no illusion that would be broken by discovering that he’s alive. His goal is to safeguard Nika’s life, and that’s what he intends to do.

Of course, this means that he has absolutely no love whatsoever for Edelgard or Hubert, since he believes (and Claude agrees) that it was the Emperor’s right hand man who’s been sending assassins after the young Blaiddyd. Claude might have a fair-minded perspective when it comes to Edelgard (though he still condemns her actions, make no mistake, he just recognizes that she’s still human and has potentially deeply flawed motivations that drive her), but Ashe still harbors some intense hatred and resentment toward her.

Hilda might be willing to listen to CC!Edelgard (with Claude’s mediation), but Ashe has no interest in hearing what any Edelgard has to say. He’s not openly aggressive with them, but he prefers to avoid them when possible -- and when he has to work with them, he’s terse at best, following orders to the letter so that he can distance himself from them as soon as possible. CC!Edelgard would have to put in a concerted effort just to talk with him, and even then he’d be unimpressed. She murdered his friend, her own step-brother -- something Claude’s secured proof of -- destroyed countless lives in the Kingdom (not to mention the Alliance and Empire), robbed nations of their independence and forced obedience on them...he might have done things he’s not proud of in the past, but he never committed atrocities the way she did.

He wouldn’t condemn her attempts to change. He knows the importance of getting another chance, of making amends and atoning for past crimes -- but at the same time, she took so much from him that he wouldn’t be able to forgive her. The pain she caused him is too deep and too personal, so while he would certainly acknowledge her growth and progress, he wouldn’t forgive her for what she did to him and his.

She would acknowledge that he doesn’t have to forgive her, though. She’s not going to try to win him over or change his mind -- but the apology is still important, because she recognizes the harm she caused him. She’s going to keep striving to better herself whether he accepts her apology or not -- and when she leaves, promising that she’ll let him choose when and if they speak again, Ashe would know that she really means what she says.

Annette

Similar to Ashe, Annette doesn’t have a reason to hide her identity. She wasn’t there for the fall of Fhirdiad, since Dimitri sent her off with Nika to keep him safe; the Empire has no reason to think she’s dead, so her being alive doesn’t need to be a secret. All she’s trying to do is keep Nika safe, and that’s exactly what she intends to do.

Unlike Ashe, though, she doesn’t go out of her way to avoid the Edelgards, and generally only leaves shared spaces with them when she has something to do. She knows how dangerous the Adrestian Emperor can be and generally is, so she prefers to stick closer to her friends in order to help keep them safe, specifically placing herself between Edelgard and her companion. Ashe removing himself from places where Edelgard is present generally ends up removing Annette, too, since she’d much rather stay with him than linger around Imperials.

CC!Edelgard would likely be the first and only one who actually bothers approaching Annette -- and the moment she does, Annette would be on her guard. If she’s with someone, she would try to send them away so they’re not in danger; if she’s alone, she would just be wary but open to at least trying to listen, since Claude has made some good points about Edelgard being human and therefore having very human motivations, however flawed the execution might have been...but at the same time, she’s still nursing raw wounds of her own. Not only is Edelgard responsible for the death of her closest friends, she also saw to the death of her father -- and estranged or not, she wanted to give him a chance and try to rebuild their family. None of that even gets into the fact that she can’t go home because of what Edelgard did to the Kingdom, or the fact that she ordered the murder of a child -- Blaiddyd or not that’s unconscionable to her.

Compared to Ashe’s icy loathing, Annette is much more passionate and emotional when it comes to her rebukes. Nothing Edelgard could ever do will bring back Annette’s family or friends, and after all the harm she caused...Annette can’t forgive her. Even if she understands what this Edelgard is doing, she just can’t bring herself to forgive that hurt.

But Edelgard would certainly understand that, by now. And she would explain that she’s not trying to make Annette forgive her: the apology was necessary as an acknowledgement of her own wrongdoing, and so that Annette could know that she recognizes the pain she caused. She’ll keep moving forward, striving to change and atone and avoid committing the same mistakes again. And that would be what finally cements in her head that Claude was really right about her: she really is a person, someone driven and flawed...but also someone who can change, if she wants to.

Nikita

Nika, unlike the others, has never had a personal encounter with Edelgard at the time he was summoned. He knows of her, primarily through accounts from Claude, Hilda, Ashe, and Annette, but he’s never seen her in person: he would only know to avoid her because the second they see her, Ashe and Annette would point Edelgard out to him and tell him to avoid her at all costs.

He would try, too. Since he would spend a lot of time with his Kingdom guardians, he’d either end up leaving places with Ashe when Edelgard arrives or going elsewhere on Annette’s advice. Hilda would be similarly defensive of him, though she would be confident in her ability to cover for him should Edelgard make a move and therefore wouldn’t encourage him to leave when they cross paths with the Emperor; Claude, meanwhile, would be the only person willing to engage with them, even if they don’t usually approach him.

Which is where CC!Edelgard comes in. After they’ve started interacting on a somewhat routine basis, if she approaches Claude while Nika is with him, Claude would go out of his way to introduce them -- and since he would have discussed Nika before, CC!Edelgard would know exactly who he is.

Nika’s heard a lot about Edelgard over the years. Depending on where it comes from, it can be either scathing or even-handed but still critical. And he would do his best to keep the latter in mind as he agrees to talk with her (with Claude mediating, because Nika would clearly want him there, judging by how he surreptitiously grips Claude’s hand when Edelgard makes the request). He wouldn’t know what to expect from her, really...but the story she tells of her torture and manipulation at the hands of a shadowy force would be unlike anything he could have predicted. There might be no real affection between the two, under the circumstances, but he would certainly be sympathetic to the suffering she endured, even if that doesn’t excuse her actions.

Given who Nika is, and what he intends to do, Edelgard might even try to help ensure his success as best he can: giving him what information she has about Those Who Slither, providing details on the Imperial Army’s structure and workings from her own world before everything went wrong -- anything and everything she can think of to ensure that when he goes back, he’ll be able to make Fodlan a better place than she did in her own world. He would accept it with respect and gratitude and promise to do his all...but he would still feel very strange about interacting with the woman that killed his half-brother. Even if he didn’t know Dimitri well, part of that is because she robbed him of the chance.

Ultimately he would be courteous and respectful, but he wouldn’t go out of his way to interact with her: he wouldn’t shy away from conversation when they happen to cross paths, but otherwise he would leave her to her own devices -- which, generally, would probably suit her, since she probably wouldn’t know what else to say to him. Ultimately, though, Nika would admit that Edelgard isn’t the person that he thought she would be -- which, he supposes, goes to show how much effort she’s put into becoming a different person.

#answered #cheeseandcake #fire emblem: three houses #fire emblem: heroes #crest control #bad end au #this took me quite literally all day #i was trying to keep it reasonable and failed utterly haha #but i think i got the broad strokes down pretty well #i love how everyone has different takes on cc!edelgard and her growth

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come-on-shitty-boys · 4 years

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//the fugitive. kuroo tetsurou//

Request: Not really?? But spawned from @janellion and I obsessing over royal kuroo like three weeks ago, so uhhh requested by me?? Peep the new TRT series ig ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.7K

Notes: i have come to the awful realization that i have ruined any and all of my dating expectations by writing so much fanfiction.

Everything about his current situation was far from ideal. The heavy downpour as the sky let loose all of its unshed tears flattened his hair against his forehead, his jacket with all of the intricate embroidery jacket and the silver crown that had adorned his raven hair had long since been cast away to better disguise the fleeing prince. It had been long expected, but a storm had unleashed itself upon the castle, bringing the day of impending doom upon them sooner rather than later. The people of the kingdom have finally had enough of the tyranny, of the constant feuds, the never ending debts and taxes and now, filled with rage, they had made their way to the castle, hungry for blood and refusing to yield until the king’s head was on a stake.

His feet sloshed through the puddles, soaking his socks as the rain continued to pour down all around him. The young prince only stopped long enough to catch his breath under the shelter of a tree before he was once again running through the night in the darkness of the woods. The last few moments he had with his family kept echoing in his head, eyes pricking with tears to match those of the clouds above him.

“My son, leave before they kill you too. Get out of the kingdom, please.”

“But, father-”

“Tetsurou, please. This is my final request. Head south until you reach Effingfil River. Once you get to the otherside, you’ll be safe. Quick! Make haste and don’t ever look back.”

Who was he to deny his father’s final wish before his end? He had set out into the night, a dark cloak adorning his figure to shield his identity. Although he knew better, Kuroo carried his silver circlet in his hands, a final memento of his royal life. If worse came to worst, it would fetch a good price at the market, enough to make ends meet until he could find some sort of safe haven in the neighboring kingdom.

But, the cloak, the crown, and every other royal thing about him had been tossed into a stream that had carried the articles away. There was no time to be sentimental when you were running for your life. Even so, now he secretly wished he had kept the woolen cloak. The icy rain had soaked through his clothes, chilling him to the bone as a steady wind picked up, pelting the droplets harder against him. His entire body shook in a mixture of cold and fear. Never in his life did he expect to wander through the woods all alone; hungry, freezing, tears mixing with the rain as the water ran down his cheeks.

Kuroo had no idea how close he was to the border. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure that he was going the right way anymore. He couldn’t see the stars through the thick branches above him and in the off chance that there was a break, the dark storm clouds hid his only compass from view. He did know one thing, though.

He knew the flicker of candlelight in a window in the dead of night. People. Someone. A broken sob of relief fell from his lips as he picked up his pace all over again. If they turned him in, so be it. He just wanted to be away from this nightmare, even if only for a moment.

Your life has always been relatively quiet. A small cabin on the edge of the woods didn’t boast many visitors, so the sudden pounding on your door that pulled you from your embroidery had made your entire body jolt in shock. Setting your needle and thread to the side, you took up your candle, only for the steady knock on your door to come again. “I’m coming. Hold on!”

You had been expecting a lot of things, really. Royal tax collectors coming to steal more money from you, the merchant from the other kingdom who smuggled the better quality threads from the other side of the border in the dead of night, maybe even a witch who had come to cast a vicious spell on you. A dashing young man barely older than yourself, eyes tinged red with sorrow, clothes muddied from trekking through the rain, a hand clutching his chest as if to hold onto his aching heart, however, was nowhere on your list of expectations. Before you could even stop yourself, you were ushering him inside without a word being passed between the two of you. A second and a third log were added to the fire, the temperature in your small home quickly rising as you tended to the flames. The strange boy at your door stood stiffly in the middle of your living room, the orange blaze casting dancing shadows across his features, amber eyes seemingly glowing in the low light.

“Sit, please. Let me see if I have anything for you to put on, so you don’t have to sit there in soaked clothes,” you say, pulling up a chair for him to be able to rest his weary feet, but when he took a seat, rather than sinking, taking pleasure in the opportunity to finally relax, even if it was only for the night, he sat with his back straight, slender hands folded elegantly in his lap. Every so often he would reach towards the fire to warm his chilled fingers, but they were quickly returned to his lap as if he had done something incredibly inappropriate. The soft rustle of your nightgown as you padded across the wooden floors shifted his attention away from the fire and over to you and the set of clothes that you held in your hands.

“I hope these fit you. They belonged to my brother before he passed in the war, so feel free to keep them. I have no use for them,” you say.

Kuroo gingerly takes the clothes from you, trying to hide the look of distaste on his face at the feeling of the material. It was cheap and stiff, nothing like he was used to, but they were dry and that’s what was more important. “May I ask for your name?” He asks, peeling his shirt from his body to replace it with the one you had given him.

“Y/N, sir. And who might you be and what in God’s name are you doing out in the woods at this hour? There’s all sorts of animals out there that don’t take kindly to people in their territory. You should consider yourself lucky.”

His eyes shifted to the window, peering through the night as if to check that there was no one who had seen him during his escape. “I- I really don’t think I should tell you that. At least, not yet. My apologies if that seems rude, but, you see, I’m in a bit of trouble, and well, I don’t exactly know who to trust right now.”

You nod simply and give a short chortle. “What’d you do? Commit tax evasion? Lord knows the king would have your head if that ever happened. The man is greedier than anyone I’ve ever met. You would think that he has enough money coming in, honestly. With the amount of citizens that he hounds for his outrageous taxes, you’d think he wouldn’t need to raise them again, but he has to pay for his wars somehow, I suppose. Sending innocent men off to die isn’t cheap, that’s for sure.”

You were so busy carrying on with your train of thought that you hadn’t noticed the way Kuroo’s body suddenly stilled as you continued to discuss his father so freely. Annoyance and bitterness dripped from every syllable as you spoke. The Kuroo family hadn’t been popular in the eyes of the people for many generations. They thrived off of starting unnecessary conflicts that would drag on for years. Even now, there were troops sitting off the shore of a small kingdom, blocking their trade routes, suffocating them slowly as they had been for the past seven years.

“I’m afraid that the monarchy has likely died today,” he says shortly, rolling up his pant legs. They had obviously been made for someone much shorter than himself as the ends rested just below the middle of his calves.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m from the capital city. Some of the citizens staged a coup. Before I left, I heard them say that they wished the king and his whole family dead. I don’t know what will be left of them by tomorrow.”

“Well, then let’s hope that this will finally turn things around in this country. It’s difficult to make a living and pay a ridiculous amount of taxes when you’re out here by yourself. My customers have been sparse since the recent increase. They can’t afford to mend their clothes, but I can’t afford to live without their business. Thankfully, with the border as close as it is, I get some business from the other kingdom, but it can also be a pain. The hassle of trying to make the trip across the river isn’t worth it for most.”

Kuroo’s ears perked up slightly at the mention of a river. “Which river is it?”

“Effingfil. Why?”

“How close am I to the border?”

“Only a few miles, sir. Is everything alright? You seem a bit frantic.”

“I need to get out of the country. Please, will you help me?”

“Sir, right now you need to rest. You’re lucky that you didn’t get hypothermia or something like that out in the rain.”

“Then tomorrow? First thing in the morning. Will you take me to the border?”

“Why are you so keen on leaving, may I ask?”

“Because if I don’t, they’ll kill me too. Please, I’m not ready to die,” he whispered, desperation creeping into his voice. And in another odd twist of things you weren’t expecting, the stranger who had stumbled across your house in the darkness clutched onto your clothes as he hid his face against your shoulder. You could feel his body shaking against your form as you took him into your arms, soothing circles being rubbed against his lower back, the silence only being broken by his choked sobs and the gentle crackling of the fire.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #kuroo #kuroo tetsurou #kurootetsurou #tetsurou #kuroo imagine #kuroo x reader #trt #throne room thursdays #imagines #x reader #royalty au #damn kuroo pleading not to die kinda makes my heart ache no cap

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lostinfantasies38 · 3 years

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Ten Favorite Dialogues from 2020

I picked 10 dialogue exchanges that I loved from the stories I posted this year. A few of them are from the same stories, since I spent a good chunk of the year working on long fics instead of one shots or shorter stories. Under the cut bc they are lengthy.

I also realized that most of my zingers tend to be in my descriptions and don’t always make it into my character’s dialogue. I might have to change that.

In no particular order:

Dorian chuckled. “Honestly, you two are disgraceful. You can’t come to a club looking like sex on legs when you aren’t single. You’re going to give people a heart attack.”

“Jealous, Dorian?” Alistair needled.

“Insanely,” he replied smoothly. “Aside from myself and Zevran,”—he saluted the elf who shot him a saucy wink—“you’re the most attractive men here. And to add insult to injury, you’re together,” he sighed dramatically.

Accidental Alliance, a oneshot modern Cullistair AU

“Step two of the pie liberation was to avoid suspicion of the adults.” Evan giggled at Connor’s phrasing and thought he heard Alex snort in amusement, too. “Zoe’s job was to act as a distraction, which wasn’t hard to accomplish because Cynthia decked her out in this frilly monstrosity that every woman within a five-mile radius oohed and aahed over. She fucking hated it, of course, but it worked in our favor for The Plan. And yes, those are honest to God capitals, babe. Think Mission Impossible: Thanksgiving 2010.”

“Alternate title: Pie Larceny,” Evan quipped, overjoyed by Connor’s rich laughter. Alex definitely chuckled at that.

“Yes! Oh my God, that’s amazing. I’m totally renaming it Pie Larceny.”

Save Me From Myself - part 3 of my DEH series, Connor Murphy/Evan Hansen

“It makes me want to wrap you in blankets and bubble wrap and smother you with attention until you’re sick of looking at me, though.”

A broken laugh tumbled out of Evan’s mouth. “Well, there’s a mental picture. What are you gonna do? Roll me down the street?”

“I’m working out the logistics, but rolling you around does sound kinda fun,” Connor teased.

Snorting, Evan retorted, “I mean, you do have practice rolling joints. Guess a bundled up boyfriend isn’t much difference.”

Connor’s borderline hysterical laughter almost drowned out Evan’s airy chuckles. “Jesus Christ, Evan,” he wheezed, shakily wiping away tears.

Save Me From Myself - part 3 of my DEH series, Connor Murphy/Evan Hansen

Returning his head to the shadows, he hissed, “Sister Agnes is milling around. I need a distraction so I can reach our room.”

Kai grinned and pulled a dehydrated pepper from his pocket. “Down the hatch.”

Gavin stopped him with a concern expression. “Are you sure about this?”

He snorted softly. “Please, I grew up eating these. My mum sends them because she knows I love them. They’re like candy. I’ll be shitting fire for a week, but they don’t hurt my mouth. I’ll burn hot and sweat like crazy though. Trust me, it’ll work.”

The redhead arched an eyebrow. “So you carry them in your pocket at all times?”

“No,” Kai answered irritably. “That’s why I needed Easton earlier. To act as a distraction for me so I could get it out of my room.”

Gavin sighed. “If you’re sure. I mean, we could brawl in the hallway, that would work, too.”

Alistair glanced around the corner. “Hurry up and choose. I’m not waiting forever.” Kai smirked and popped the pepper in his mouth.

“Well, that decides it,” Gavin groaned. Alistair tried not to laugh as over the course of a few minutes, Kai’s face visibly flushed in response to the spicy heat and sweat pooled under his hair, running in rivulets across his face.

“How do I look?” he asked.

“Like you’ve got the sweat,” Gavin replied sardonically.

“Perfect,” he retorted. “Right, good luck, Alistair. If I fail to distract everyone, Gavin’s got you covered.”

Find Me Well Within Your Grace - young Cullistair prequel fic - excerpt from Ch 11 featuring a few of my OCs and Alistair

Wrapping his arms around her as she hummed at the stove, he said, “Sirra and Alistair either just left my apartment or she only now deigned to tell me they’re gone.”

Eowyn grinned wickedly at him, checking the clock on the dining room wall. “My, my! Four hours later! Scandalous.”

“I wish you could have seen them. The magnetism! It was instant.”

She giggled. “I saw the photos. That’s more of Alistair’s almost-O face than I ever want to see again, thanks very much.”

He snorted. “Fair enough.” After a pause, Zevran chuckled, “I give them a month.”

Rounding on him in horror, Eowyn stared at him with wide mossy eyes. “You just said they were perfect together! Do you think we made a mistake?”

“No, amore mio. I mean, I give them a month before they elope. I might have been party to their engagement shoot today.”

She blinked slowly as the giggles built until she was clutching the kitchen counter in a fit of uncontrolled mirth. “Okay, that may be accurate knowing Alistair!”

“I’m thinking of changing my business cards. Should I add ‘Matchmaker Extraordinaire’ or ‘Signor Soulmate’?” he asked cheekily.

Shot In The Dark - Sirra Brosca/Alistair modern AU oneshot [dialogue shown is between Zevran/OC]

Cullen grinned with him. “Me either. Maybe we can improve your chess skills enough for you to graduate from mediocre.”

“Oh, ha ha. You and the others can have fun with that, thanks very much. Here I was hoping we could spend more time in bed,” he teased, sliding a hand into his curls.

Rolling his eyes playfully, the blonde retorted, “Of course, count on you to think how often we can sleep together instead of improving our skills.”

“That is how we improve our skills.”

“Training skills, you fiend.”

Heaving a melodramatic sigh, Alistair quipped, “Well, one of us has to be the boring one in the relationship. Glad it’s not me.” Cullen elbowed him gently in the ribs, chuckling along with his lover’s bright laughter.

Find Me Well Within Your Grace - young Cullistair prequel fic, excerpt from Ch 12

“You’re not worthless,” Alistair whispered. The breath she’d been holding passed her lips with a tiny mewl of surprise. Still unable to look at one other, Alistair kept his hand on her wrist and she resisted the urge to scoot further away.

Sirra murmured, “You don’t know me, Alistair. You can’t say that.”

“I can,” he insisted firmly, his fingers pressing just a bit harder on her flesh. “It doesn’t matter who you were. When you join the Grey Wardens, all that matters is who you are. I may not know who you used to be in Orzammar, but I have a pretty good idea who you are in the sun.”

Sun Touched - excerpt from Ch 4

“I’m sorry, Alistair, I wanted to surprise you. Most dwarves in Orzammar, caste and casteless alike, have genital piercings. It’s cultural and unrelated to murder.”

His eyebrows climbed into his hair. “Even the men? How in the Maker’s name does that work?” Sirra opened her mouth to explain, but he hastily held up a hand and shivered. “Rhetorical question. Please do not answer that.”

Sun Touched - excerpt from Ch 14

“I love you, too,” she murmured, gracing him with a watery smile. “If I had known you were up here, I would have left Orzammar years ago and tracked you down,” Sirra mused, only half joking.

“Oh, really?” he quirked an eyebrow in amusement. “I can just imagine you sneaking into the droll monastery and breaking me out. I would have assumed you were a figment of my imagination, a desire demon, or Maker-sent. Regardless, I doubt I could have resisted the mischievous glint in your eyes as you crept in to find me in my smalls, surrounded by thirty other recruits, and told me to run away with you.”

Laughing, Sirra raked her short nails down his toned chest. “A naked teenage version of you? I would have taken you on the spot, letting the recruits feast their eyes on us, before dashing out the front door with your bare ass in tow.”

He closed his eyes with a lusty moan, and swallowed hard, his voice strained when he replied. “Definitely Maker-sent then. To think, we could have been on the lam for the last few years, making mad love wherever we went.”

Sighing melodramatically, Alistair smirked and playfully bopped the tip of her nose with his. “Ah, well, at least I have you now and that’s all that matters.”

Sun Touched - excerpt from Ch 17

10.

“Stop it,” Morrigan mumbled irritably.

Alistair feigned innocence. “Stop what? I’m sitting here like a good patient. I wasn’t even talking until right now.”

Yellow eyes bored into hazel as the subtle light faded around them, his shoulder apparently healed. “You know very well what. Stop staring at my hands. ‘Tis most distracting.”

“And here I thought it was my hands distracting you during the fight,” he smirked. “Not where my eyes happened to land. How could you have known that I might have been paying attention, if you weren’t observing me, too, hmm?”

Scoffing, Morrigan took a large step back and crossed her arms haughtily over her chest. “You are insufferable.”

Sheathing his sword, Alistair shrugged with affected boredom. “I may be insufferable, Morrigan, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. Deny it all you want, but we both know the truth.”

Snagging his shield from where it fell on the ground, he slung it over his back and murmured for her ears alone. “Besides, for a cranky witch who grew up in a swamp, they’re surprisingly soft and gentle… when they want to be, that is.”

You Give Me That Lovin’ Feelin’ - ch 2. Part 1 of 3 of Morristair written for @scharoux 14 Days of DA Lovers

#tag game #fave dialogues #my ocs #my writing #lostinfantasies38 #Sun Touched #FMWWYG #find me well #14 days of DA lovers #deh #dear evan hansen #dragon age #cullistair #sirrastair #morristair #evan x connor

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nurseofren · 4 years

Text

Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 22

Read on AO3

Read chapter twenty-one

Title: CONNECTION LOST

Words: 5800

Warnings: Rape (bow out if you need to, I will include a brief summary in the end notes), graphic descriptions of violence, graphic descriptions of trauma.

Summary: When it rains, it pours. And then the world starts to explode. So it's all just a giant mess.

ST Rambles: Did not upload yesterday because I wanted to take my time instead of rush this thing out. I truly hope you all have enjoyed the story thus far.

Okay, so. My ADN classes and clinical start again on Thursday. What this means: I'm taking a 2-3 week break from writing so I can get into a good rhythm for school and just find my bearings. I think this is a perfect place to take a break. It'll act as an intermission in a way. Jeez, I think you all have earned one by now.

[MASTERLIST]

Excess saline dripped in crimson creaks toward the floor, a bog forming beneath a shaking foot onto a towel. Two empty flushes laid in their respective positions, remaining diagonal to each other as they’d landed earlier. Another towel was set below your thigh as you propped it onto the bathroom counter with your knee bent over the edge, choosing to remain standing rather than chance losing the ability to crawl up from the floor if you’d sat. With every thumb-push of the syringe plunger new streaks of liquid agony soaked into the red, throbbing, raging wounds; each lick of searing solution reminding you of their harbinger, your tongue stained in acrid remembrance of the words which had fallen from it.

I hate you. The phrase you’d feared most had turned out to be the least insidious, its existence light-hearted in relation to the ones that came quickly after. The simple statement had catalyzed the catastrophe, its memory burning what remained of your heart, ashes now dormant and gray within your chest, each beat superficial in the way it sustained a life you no longer wanted. It was difficult to name what you were feeling, the uncertainty rooted in the fact that you were twisted in the clutch of grief and guilt while also floating in a nebula of numbness, the contradiction dissonant and dizzying.

With each haunting phrase, each sharp with a venomous bite, new collections of misery scathed into the scarring tissue, each tear acidic in its salty existence. A recoil was earned whenever recalling the wrath that inhabited Kylo Ren’s tone when he called you a liar, its mental presence ricocheting between your ears and setting your skin aflame with goosebumps, each wave of heated chills revitalizing the blistering burns as they settled into their intentional permanence.

Upon your left thigh, bright and belligerent and baleful, sitting just above the hem of your uniform, stung the evidence of Kylo Ren’s indignation. Staring down at the welts – two pointed, laser-sharp letters – shame accompanied the initial longing regard you held for the brand. You now bore the undeniable truth of your time with Kylo Ren, a raised K set in finality next to a partnering R, the pain-inked initials tied to a turmoil laden conflict you didn’t want to acknowledge. It was too pitiful, too pathetic and disgusting even in the infancy of its consideration.

At the fringes of your mind, the dark corners of consciousness you rarely visited, sprung an aching truth that thrashed against every belief you thought you’d once held. Yet, with each shiv of shaky air, every dagger of dread pitted in pain, you came closer to accepting it. Barely below the surface now, even as the injury pulsated with piercing torment, smarted in sync with the blatant beat of your heart, you could not deny the fact that you felt deserving of its detriment and relieved by its reality. As you tended to the wounds, using whatever scrapped supplies you’d accidentally brought home from the med bay, you fought to react in a way that would be appropriate to this situation.

The malice-born mark should have tinged your blood with fury. In its wake, the aura of red which bled outward from each initial should have filled your lungs with an indisputable hostility towards their maker. Right now, suffering in solitude, you were supposed to be cursing Kylo Ren, spitting his name and screaming hellfire over him as he’d singed into you. There was an overwhelming presence of heavy self-set expectation to sink into an unrivaled hatred for the creature you’d left in that room, the same who’d left less permanent proof in the past. Though, while the targeted tissue throbbed below your trembling hands as you attempted to apply an antibacterial protectant, you found it impossible to feel anything but misery for him.

The haunting image of Kylo Ren’s fleeting soul tore talons into your chest, a coughed sob echoing in your empty residence as you replayed the tangible change in his demeanor. Had light been scarce you swore you could’ve seen the shroud of darkness fog into his sclera, set his jaw flat and firm as he’d backed away from you. Swiping the salve over your wound you shuddered into yourself, time barely hindering the void tone with which he’d rescinded his trust, the abandonment in his voice contradicting the promise you’d made him the night he’d spoken protection over you.

Time ticked on, each second one of slow suffering. As you healed the outward wounds, inward ones formed fresh and raw, head pounding with pain and regret. Even that made wrought you with guilt. The whole reason you’d gone through with Snoke’s plan was to save Mason; his life had been equated to a trading card and it had been your doing. The least you could do was free him from the hell only intended for you. But, similar to the way regarded your new scars, shame took root in the acceptance that you didn’t deem the deal a fair wager.

Maybe it was just the immediacy of the situation, or maybe you were crueler than you’d once believed, but as you’d watched Kylo rip away from you, there was a silent moment where you wished you could allow yourself to embrace the selfishness that would keep him in your life. If you’d had the time to think on it, or if the ultimatum had been less dire, less fatal, in that moment you were swallowed by the fact that your choice would have been Kylo. Completely, entirely, wholly, undoubtedly, instantaneously. Mason had been a comfort for years, someone to rely on, the boy you’d founded a fictional future with. But you’d never wanted him the way you did Kylo. It was the most foreign, mortifying thought you’d ever held, but, however small, there was a part of you that would always choose Kylo. Over Mason. Over anyone.

“Fuck!” Anger swelled as a flare of pain lashed under your touch while applying a saline saturated gauze. “I hate this!” No one was around to hear you, but that was always when the harshest truths hit.

Steadying yourself with the counter and the door, you hobbled away from your working position, affected leg just barely grazing the ground while you made your way into the kitchen. “How did this even fucking happen? Why did it have to be me?” You stood away from a drawer, activating it and digging around until you found a roll of paper tape. “I left here this morning hating him. Why can’t I just go back? I-,” a strangle of tears came, fingers prying uselessly to find the start. “I want to go back.” Thick and faltered, the words fell from devastated lips.

Giving up on your hands you ripped your teeth into the waxy material, spitting the torn tape from your mouth once you finally found the start tab. A rush of hysterics hit, lungs stuttering in defensive laughter. “You can probably fucking hear me, I bet! What, you saw me then, why not now? Why wouldn’t you see me like this, you fucked, disgusting, wretched, voyeuristic scum!”

Pressing down on the damp gauze, keeping it in place, you reached into the drawer once more to grab a roll of left over Kerlix. Tearing it open – again, with your teeth – you pressed it against your upper thigh and held it in place, regarding your scars covered the surface area that spanned the length of your pinky, both horizontally and vertically. Wrapping the rolled gauze continuously around your upper thigh, you couldn’t help but appreciate how precise and clean the letters were. Even brandishing a pen of pain Kylo Ren’s handwriting was beautiful, the thought bringing you a hesitant warmth with a short burst of guilt. The uproar of conflict currently battling in your soul would surely be the death of you.

Taking the last strip of tape, you secured the dressing, smoothing your left hand over it to make sure friction was minimal. While doing so, you caught sight of a flashing message scrawling across in bright red capital letters. The radar had disappeared altogether, not only vacant of the red dot indicative of Kylo’s location, but even of the faint red lines it had moved across. Waiting until the message cycled through until the beginning, you felt your lungs empty as the last letter solidified the severance from your Master.

CONNECTION LOST

“No. No. No no no. Why?” Frenzied fingers tread through sweat sodden roots, pain shooting up your leg as it bore new weight. “I didn’t ever want this! Why? Why? Why?” Sinking to the floor, willfully basking in the pain, you crumpled onto the tile until ice bit the backs of your calves.

Heaves of air collected and left in rushed lungfuls, choked cries reverberating through the room while the heels of your hands dammed the influx of tears. A frantic effort was made to think of anything else, a distraction sought in the face of your now official loss. Cycling through this morning you recalled conversations held by stormtroopers on the Command Shuttle, sharing news and celebrating in the fact that the Republic had been destroyed just prior to landing on Takodana. Mason had gone out of his way all those weeks ago to tell you of the mandatory rally, only for neither of you to be on Starkiller to attend it. It had to have been at least two hours since it occurred, its contents and importance still a mystery to you. A shawl of shivers fell onto heavy shoulders, that feeling of dread you’d felt this morning reminding you of how this day had begun on an off note, like it was destined for doom.

A click and a hiss came from behind, your heart stalling and nose sniffling. The only other person who could have access to your residence was-

“Kylo?” It was a quiet plead.

There was no response, no movement. Unease struck the hairs on the back of your neck. Looking back to your watch, the same message still running across the screen, you didn’t know what to think. The first thing that came to mind was to grovel, to take his sudden presence in stride and fulfill your wishes of selfishness. This was your opportunity to tell him everything, already knowing the excruciating truth of not doing so earlier. Him coming back gave you the chance to right all the wrong done today.

Sloppy, careless movements brought you to your knees. Seething, you remained here while the stinging diminished. “Kylo, none of it was true! You were right. I don’t hate you. I don’t. I promise, I don’t. I can’t.” Confessions were abundant while he evaded your senses. “Snoke. It was all Snoke. He threatened Mason, and, and I had to. Please, you have to understand!”

There was still no answer, but a hiss; it was similar to the mask’s muzzle, but not exact. The difference was strange, like your ears were playing tricks. The sound was closer than the door, still out of sight.

“Kylo, I’m so sorry! I’ll do any- ah!” No matter how tender you tried to be, attempting to stand without pain proved impossible. “I’ll do anything. But please know that I didn’t mean any of that! You aren’t irredeemable. You’re not a bastard. I never… I never want to forget you.”

“And you won’t, I promise. Though, I’d prefer you call me by my name.”

Just as soon as you’d regained an upright posture, you nearly lost it. It was Robbie. He was in your residence. He was here. Robbie was here, talking, with you. At you.

“You know the one.” He came into view, armor intact other than his helmet. “Miss me?”

“How are you- how did you get-,”

“Mm, you really should be more careful, especially with belongings like this.” Robbie, wicked eyes slithering down your stature, held a black rectangle between two fingers. “You never know who might get a hold of them.”

As light glinted over the object your chest sunk in instant realization. It had been so long ago, such a minute occurrence that you hadn’t thought anything of it. All those weeks ago, only a few days after Kylo had barred your practice, you had lost the keycard he’d given you. The one that had been folded into his note was lost in an accidental run-in with a stormtrooper. Its absence had only been noticed a few hours after losing it in the cafeteria, when leaving Mason’s and having to get an emergency replacement that day.

“Don’t do this. You don’t have to do this.” A hobbled step neared you towards the counter.

“I told you the last time we spoke—” the card hit the floor with a booming clip, its sound lost in your pulse “—this isn’t over.” A slow step carried him forward, sending you back further. “Almost, but not just yet.”

His presence was mutilating, every muscle tensing even as your leg throbbed in rejection. The edge of the counter bit at the small of your back, hands gripping into the edges.

“Why are you doing this? Why now? Why me?” It seemed that was the question of the day. Two quivering lips took turns quieting pain and hiding fear.

“Why am I doing this?” He was a madman, visage void of sanity. Another calculated step forward, your pulse peaking. “I knew you were stupid, but this? Come on, you don’t actually think you’re completely innocent here, do you?”

One final step and he was smothering you, fury sweltering as it drifted from his skin to yours. His jugular vein was throbbing to match one prominent on his forehead. Kylo’s eyes may have resembled the emptiness of death, but Robbie’s were swimming with a vengeful desire to deliver it. Vomit rose when you smelled his breath, felt it hot over your nose in his proximity.

“Maybe you can learn, though.” He brushed a piece of your hair behind your ear, clammy hands slick over burning skin, scanning eyes set in thought. “Maybe you’re not completely helpless after all.”

Two hands strangled your own, tightened them to the counter as he pressed his chest against you, leaning down until he could bury his nose in the collar of your uniform. A complete breath hadn’t come since seeing him, head dizzying with thoughts of blame, rejection, and emergency.

“Why are you apologizing to Ren, huh?” Violating lips pressed into your neck, a whimper leaving as you fought to escape him, searching for the fasted route to safety while he couldn’t see you. “Say sorry to me, baby. It’s that simple.”

Self defense was useless against his armor. His lips pulled at your lobe, a gag forming at the touch. Twisting away from him, you peered down to the drawer and found a pair of scissors, their red handle bright in your periphery. The crushing weight over your hands became bruising, your throat thirsty for escape. The only way to evade him was to indulge him, to distract him with the very thing he sought most.

Repulsion clawed at your stomach. “You want me to apologize, correct?” Sultry words hid the sickness they brought.

Robbie hummed into your neck, nose now buried in your hair while he bucked his hips into you, fire sprouting from your wounds under the pressure. “That’s all I’ve wanted this whole time,” just as Snoke had claimed your last name, Robbie clutched your first, rolling it off in a purr.

“I bet you want me to say your name, too, right? You’d like that a lot?” Today had tested your ability to hide your true intentions. Brushing your thumbs along his hold, as much as you could under their restriction, you eyed the scissors. “The name I gave you?”

A grunt left him, another thrust into your brand fuzzing your vision. “Yes. Say my name. Apologize to me.”

Eyes shut tight while Robbie continued in his unwanted nearness, you swallowed hard. “Kiss me, then.” He stopped moving, shoulders still as air stalled in his lungs. “Kiss me and I’ll apologize. I’ll say your name.” It was a desperate hope to hold that he wouldn’t hear the shakiness of the offer.

“Dammit,” he breathed, “you can’t be taught.” Rage grated against his throat, grip leaving your hands and wrapping around your neck. He leaned you back over the counter, the stance awkward and agonizing. “What a stupid bitch! You think this is a trade? You ruined my life! You gave me an identity and ripped it away like it was nothing! Like I was nothing!”

Black pulsed at the corners of your vision, his face doubling and dizzying as you reached for the drawer, fingers inching over nondescript items. “Apologize! And maybe, maybe! I will let you leave here. How does that sound?”

Grappling your free hand over his clutch, you gagged for words, none escaping his compression while you collected saliva at the back of your mouth. You mouthed his name, eyes full of feigned pleads while your fingers found the scissors’ handle.

Robbie’s jaw quivered more while he watched you struggle. Your manipulation was working. That seemed to be a theme today. Though, this one was much easier to endure. Two murderous eyes flickered between yours, quicker and quicker with each movement until he released your throat just enough for you to form words.

Fist locked onto your weapon, adrenaline readying, you stared directly at him and hocked a gob of hot spit into his eyes. He went to shake it free, but your hand came up and slashed down through his brow and over his left cheek. Robbie’s hands flooded towards his face as you pushed him out of the way, scissors still in hand while you rushed for the door. But your leg was a hindrance, dragging behind you, eventually only hopping on the one when the pain began to cut deeper with each stride.

The door activated per your touch and basked you in the light of freedom, only for your head to fly backward as a fist dragged you away from safety. A string of winces left in line with a pouted scream. It barely registered but the exit hissed shut again, your forehead cracking against it with the same force that’d just been around your throat.

“This is what I’ve been waiting for—” a harsh inhale came at your nape “—you knew it all along. Away for months only to get new fucking security the moment you return?”

He had you pinned, legs splayed and arms flung out. Your forearms framed your head, his hands flat over your wrists and stealing every bit of opportunity. The scissors hung loosely under your hand, teetering closer to the floor with each second.

“You left me! I woke up and you were gone. Such a fucking cunt, and for no reason.”

“You are psychotic you sick, vile creature!” Pain seethed into your tone, bandage rubbing into the raised skin.

Robbie trembled with anger, his body vibrating at your back as he pressed further into your right hand so the scissors finally fell. “Maybe that voice was never beautiful.” His right arm bent your elbow behind your back so his abdomen could trap it there; when he was satisfied, he reached it around you so it lay flat in front of your mouth, grip wrapping around your left forearm. His head pushed into yours so your mouth went flush with his arm and your nose could barely attempt at breathing. “Maybe it was only ever annoying. Useless.”

You couldn’t escape him. There were no defenses left to attempt, the only one now bloodied at your feet. All you could do was endure. There was nothing left. No time. No saviors. All that remained was an overwhelming sense of guilt and a pestering question: did you deserve this? After all you’d done, all you’d been forced to do and go through with? In some way, was this karma? In turn for hurting the one you loved, you would be hurt by one who you’d wanted to love? Was this the restoration of balance?

A stifling hand rushed under your skirt, taking time to grope at the flesh over your underwear. Every effort to flex away from him was wasted, and there was so little left to fight for. The message that flashed over your left wrist taunted you, held you just as captive as the monster behind you; in saving two lives, doing what you thought was right, you had given up every aspect of your own. Robbie had snaked his touch beneath the thin fabric, now moving it aside and preparing his own clothing, and the only thing you could focus on was the patterned scrawl on your watch.

It was mocking you, emphasizing its point in the darkest moment of your life, your body stiff and scared with no lasting dignity. There was less than a person, less than a shell now. Each organ working to keep you alive was doing so in vain, purpose fleeting from your foggy thoughts; you’d returned to heal wounds you’d grown to want, and now you wouldn’t live to see them scab over.

You wretched onto his arm, biting down onto the flexed muscle, when you felt the head of his penis swipe over the back of your injured leg. Vomit threatened when his hips circled and he moaned, breath thick and satisfied.

“No, you’ll never forget me,” he huffed, “You won’t have the time.”

Robbie readied himself for penetration, your tears hot and obstructed at his arm, your eyes peering over at the watch as you tried to die at your own will first. Furious, unrefined disgust and shame stabbed your soul when you felt him proceed, felt him buck into you. Your brain couldn’t decide whether to catch fire or burn out, didn’t want to accept this as one of the last things you’d feel.

His breath shuddered at your neck, your cries silent and shattered beneath him. He attempted to speak, but something happened. Something sudden and fleeting and rapturous. A miracle born in the absence of hope.

The lights went out. Pitch blackness swallowed you, enveloped him and in tow distracted him. His restraints weakened and you slammed your head back against his, adrenaline softening the blow.

“Fuck!” Robbie tripped backwards, leaving you completely.

Stunned at the event, you stalled, not knowing what to do. You couldn’t move quick enough, Robbie catching your knee in his bent over position. It was nearly impossible to see him, but the red cast of your watch threw crimson shadows just far enough to glint off his bloodied features. He wasn’t going to give up until one of you was dead.

“Get off of me!” Of course he’d attached himself to the leg currently rippling pain through your body.

“We’re not finished!” A rough tug brought you down next to him where he attempted to climb on top of you, your fingers digging into his eyes and sending him to his back.

“No—” scrambling fingers searched the dark for your earlier weapon, drying blood sticking when you found it “—we’re not.”

Red. Everything was red. Robbie’s face. The blood which dripped from it. Your hands, the same blood streaking and drying in place. He couldn’t see you’d gained the upper hand. In a final glance over the animal beside you, searching him for humanity and drawing a blank, you felt your heart stutter with a decision that would mark you for life. A mark you’d make yourself.

Interlocking your fingers over the red handle, two steady hands pulsating over the hard object, you brought your arms up and slammed them down with insurgence, hitting the break in his uniform over his right inner thigh. Robbie roared in response, his howls echoing into the nothingness which surrounded him. The red haze of your radar glinted off the pool of blood forming beneath him. With each second, each flashing moment, it grew wider and fuller.

With a hard swallow, relief barely recognizable, you looked into his wide eyes just as the ground began to shake. “Now we’re done.”

Without dropping his stare, your hand slammed to activate the door and you backed out of your residence, watching him fade from view when it locked in front of you. It had to be done. He would’ve done the same. It was him or you. In searching for a reason why, you saw a change in the light coming from your watch. The flashing was different, and it started vibrating. Lifting it to your face, you found the message missing and the radar returned. It was fading in and out, though.

No matter, you were rushed back into the reality of people running past and into the floor lobby. A crowd surrounded the elevator, anger being pushed into the button when it wouldn’t respond. You and your floormates were exiles, the floor continuing its violent shaking. A cloud of rushed and flustered conversation plumed down the hall before every face turned towards you.

“Stairs,” said a quiet collection. “Stairs!”

A group of two dozen people stormed in your direction, their speed scaring you past your pain and into the stairwell. The group moved over each other, the leader switching between you and two men. It was a hushed chaos of stomping feet and fast breath. Nobody would make any noise other than the occasional grunt. On the fourth flight of stairs, more and more people piling out from the doors of their respective floors, your leg began to ache again. Though every step burned into you, you knew you had to escape this. You’d escaped much worse just a minute ago, and, for whatever reason, you were still living. Unknown to you, only revealing itself when it was entirely too necessary, there was a fight in you, and whether it be for yourself or someone or something else, you indulged in it with each step.

When the now stampede of officers of all backgrounds pushed past the doors into the Elite docking bay an alarming new mayhem ripped into realization. Hoards of people were fumbling and climbing over each other while screams tore through the room from all directions. TIEs were being crowded with as many bodies that could fit, and then some. The group you’d arrived with all flailed out, each person on their own journey towards safety.

Right where you’d left it earlier, before every horrible thing had gone on, sat the Command Shuttle. Even this far you could hear the engines stirring. Your legs took over and carried you as fast as they could, no matter the injury or barricades of people. The hell that had been born on this forsaken base would die with it, but you refused to do the same.

Each stride brought you closer the now ascending ramp, watching it close as you caught a glimpse of the future you wanted and were going to fight like hell to protect. One, two, three sloppy paces and your foot caught on the elevated ramp, your body sliding into the ship as it closed completely under you.

Desperate breaths stifled a groan as you slid across the floor. A white boot stomped in front of your face as you remained splayed and heaving beside it.

“Clearance?” It was a command, however useless as you felt the ship lift from the ground.

A dark thought crossed your mind – well, do you want my watch, or my keycard, or my uniform, or my leg? Rolling over you found General Hux standing on your opposite side. A thick gulp came as you patted your left arm to your chest, tracing over R – E – N to point towards your position.

“I’m his nurse.” Each word was separate and gasped. “His. I’m his. Commander Ren, I’m his nurse.”

The stormtrooper looked to Hux for approval, only for Hux to look at you with grim, stunned eyes and nod his head. “She’s authorized,” he said. He turned toward the bow of the ship. “Proceed to Ren’s location.”

Remaining on the floor, you felt the ship vibrate into your tired chest, felt the adrenaline course through you in violent pulsations. A veil was cast over your mind, everything close yet distant, present yet past. The only thing you registered was when the ship descended once more and sent your body towards the hatch again. Gripping onto the edge of a seat you strained your arms to keep still, not knowing what was going on, just aware you were still breathing.

Six pairs of boots crowded and fled the now open hatch, frigid air stinging over heated skin. “We’ll get his right, you three get his left!”

Ren’s location? Get his left? “What’s going on? Where is Ren?”

Your questions fell on absent ears, Hux now standing and staring out at the threshold until turning his body to allow the men more room.

“He’s breathing, General, but-,”

“But what?” It was the loudest you’d been since screaming in the halls.

Forcing yourself onto your knees, relying on the adrenaline keeping your own pain at bay, you stood to see your Commander being lowered onto the ground, three men at either of his sides seemingly struggling under his weight.

It was an automatic response to rush to him, to begin searching for injuries and checking for airway, breathing, and circulation hindrances. There wasn’t much hiding the emergency residing over his right side, splitting the skin and muscle apart in a broken, bloody stripe. It flayed his face, red streaks spilling from it and glinting in the low light of the ship.

“Stars! Someone get me some light!” you screamed, command taking over. This was your patient. This was your future. You were going to protect him. No matter what, that’s what you were going to do.

Two soldiers jumped at your voice, flooding away and falling into the wall when the ship catapulted upward once more. One grappled for the back wall and pulled a black box with a red medic symbol engraved on top. He threw it to the second and the three next to you scattered so he could open it for you and shine an overhead light.

“Hey! You three—” you barely glanced at the men before gesturing them down “—take these and apply heavy pressure when I say, understand?”

None of them moved when you threw three dense collection pads toward them. “DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?” They all quickly grabbed one and waited for your go ahead.

Angling yourself so you could finally find Kylo’s eyes, you leaned over him and watched as he seethed away; you didn’t know if this was a reaction aimed towards you or due to the very obvious pain he was in.

“Kylo,” you whispered, knowing it was too loud and chaotic for anyone else to hear or care, “you’re going to feel pressure and then it’s going to be really painful, but I need to make sure the bleeding stops. Just be prepared.”

He looked up at you like he’d never met you, like you were a perfect stranger. It wasn’t the nothingness from before, but instead something more alive. Wonderment, almost. Or shock. That was a more reasonable emotion at this moment.

Keeping his stare, you gestured the three waiting men with your hand. “Now.”

The men plunged the sponges into his wound and watched as the material expanded and filled with blood. Kylo’s jaw set firm and fluttered by his ear. A quiet grunt left him while your own breath caught. Watching him so pained and wounded was an impossible act. The only thought you’d allow yourself to have was of the relief you’d have once he was being cared for by a team from wherever the ship was heading.

Something warm washed over your right knee. Looking away from him you found it was more blood, another wound on the side of his abdomen dripping through his uniform.

“Fuck, I swear!” You threw your hands over it, pushing deep into his tissue. “How much longer till-,”

The ship answered your question before you could finish it, slightly angling to the side as it went into a rough, screeching landing. Kylo grimaced at this just slightly, lip trembling only a second before he returned to that same shock, staring up at you in silence.

Light seared into the ship when the ramp fell without effort, hitting the floor with two loud bangs. Before you could register, a team of medical professionals slid a transfer board below him and went to move. You grabbed one of the handles on the side, remaining at his waist while you watched him, keeping steady pressure over his abdomen. Blood sopping onto your hands and burying Robbie’s.

“How long has he been like this?” came an indiscriminate voice from behind you. A man, again. The same one who’d helped you with Talia. The physician you’d worked with to save your patient.

“We collected him probably five minutes ago. Initially I only noticed the one gash but found another two minutes ago. There has been constant pressure applied since discovery. The patient is semi-alert, not responding verbally, but appears to be awake.” There was no time for stuttering, the group closing in on the entrance to the Elite med bay.

“Another one right over his shoulder, sir.” Another voice, female this time, came from behind.

“I’m ordering stat fluids and blood replacement therapy. Along with that I will instruct the pharmacy to have antibiotics ready and for the arrival team to gain the appropriate IV access first thing.” The team pushed into the assessment room you’d come to know all too well, your feet stopping as the physician’s did next to you.

“Do you approve of those orders?” He snaked his head to get your attention.

Stunned, shell-shocked eyes peered up at him, head dizzy and ears rushing with blood. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You’re his nurse. You got him this far. Do you think anything else needs to be added to the immediate care plan?”

You’d meant to say no, to agree that the physician was appropriate and logical in his treatment. Instead, your eyes fluttered shut as sound began to fade. The ceiling grew in distance while you felt your knees give out.

“Get her head!”

The last thing you registered was a hand at the back of your neck and the sound of urgent feet rushing toward you. There was a faint set of three beeps which accompanied your fall, monitors running beyond the threshold where Kylo was receiving care. A team was caring for him. He was safe. You could rest now. You could heal now.

And so you did.

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren imagine #ao3 #st kyp

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syntheticsoulmates · 4 years

Text

Day 19: Finch

Today is a Trip, bbs! Tom has a really horrible, no good, bad day!

***

When Tom woke up, Harry’s side of the bed was cold. His hand shot out immediately anyway, reaching for his husband, not curled up to his chest where he was supposed to be.

Then he smiled. Harry must be doing what he called ‘being spontaneous, Tom, you should try it’, and trying to be romantic. Perhaps he was making Tom breakfast in bed. Tom resettled in the sheets, and stretched out his legs to his toes. He loved when Harry got in this kind of mood. Harry was so affectionate, his heart so big, and Tom wanted to suck up as much of it for himself as he possibly could, Harry’s attention entirely on him.

Then Tom paused, disconcerted. Harry still liked to make things the Muggle way, despite how Tom teased him for it. And the Muggle way was loud, pans clanging, grease popping, faucet running, and above all, Harry singing, terribly and off-tune. The flat was silent.

Tom got up. It took a half minute to case the flat, despite its size, but Tom knew as soon as he focused that Harry wasn’t here. They’d been married so long that Tom could feel Harry’s magic like a little warm buzz against his skin when he focused and they were in close proximity. Tom was cold. Tom checked the usual places that Harry would leave a note if he was called away. Harry taught DADA at Hogwarts, but he often consulted with the Aurors when they needed an expert opinion. Or had Hermione asked him for help? Harry was a magical powerhouse, but he rarely used it for himself in his own day to day spellcasting. Hermione would borrow him from time to time, a huge mystical battery for some of the more complex spells she was working in the Unspeakable department.

Either way, Harry would have left him a note, even as he rolled his eyes over it. Tom had worked Harry into it through the years. Harry was impulsive and he would get excited and be raring off to go, but Harry also was exceptionally empathetic. He knew just how much Tom liked to know where he was, that he was safe, when he would be back.

There was nothing. Tom was beginning to get pissed, working himself up into the strop he would set on Harry for not leaving a note, and greedily considering how he would capitalize on Harry’s guilt; maybe get Harry to rub his feet or go to a terribly boring state dinner in robes that Tom hand-picked.

Then Tom came to a crashing halt in the middle of their living room. Their wedding pictures were gone from the mantle. Tom suddenly burst into white hot rage. Had someone stolen Harry, stolen their wedding photos too?

Except the other photos were wrong too. There was Tom at graduation, but Harry wasn’t under his arm, pressing a kiss to his cheek and knocking his graduation tassel askew in his fervor. There was Tom getting his dual Mastery, and Harry wasn’t there, whistling obnoxiously and clapping fit to burst. His first address as Minister was there, but Harry wasn’t standing behind him, looking like the most awkward and adorable but incredibly proud First Lord.

The photo of Harry receiving his Order of Merlin was gone too. Harry’s stag party with a drunk Ron and Hermione was nowhere to be seen. First anniversary with Harry’s adorably flushed cheeks and swollen lips had Vanished. Most damning, was the lack of his own wedding ring, glaring at him from his bare finger.

Had Harry...left him? Taken his ring? And pulled himself from all their shared photo frames?

Tom shook that thought off. Harry would never be so petty. Harry would have never been so stealthy and sly. Tom would have had some inkling. Harry couldn’t lie to save his life, much less pretend everything was wonderful and then slip away without a trace in the night.

Tom looked around. None of Harry’s jumpers were discarded over the back of their sofas. Harry’s huge cast iron skillet was gone from the kitchen. Harry’s mauled (squeezed from the center) tube of toothpaste and muggle vibrating toothbrush (Hermione’s influence) were gone from the bathroom. Harry’s separate closet Tom had folded into the wall with an Extendable Charm was gone without even a tingle of residual magic. His drawers in the armoire were filled with Tom’s own clothes.

Tom did a quick spell, to summon anything of Harry’s, trying to catch a forgotten sock or a fallen follicle of hair. Nothing came.

Harry was gone from his life, like he’d never been.

***

Tom’s admin was the same, which he found out when a panicking Draco came through the Floo, without even a by your leave. He never did that, normally, after the first time he’d spotted Tom fucking Harry over their kitchen table. Just another mark against this terrible, terrible world.

Draco did a double take when he saw him, then blurted. “Minister Riddle! You’ve a meeting in ten minutes with the Budgetary Committee! You’re not even dressed!”

Tom didn’t even look over where he was carefully measuring exactly ten drops of rose oil into the solid gold cauldron in front of him. True enough. He was still wearing his pajamas and his silk dressing gown (embroidered TMR, no trailing P), but he’d transfigured a pair of his own respectable slippers into the fluffy monstrosities that Harry preferred to cover his feet for potion’s safety. Really.

“Draco, I find I am terribly unwell and I won’t be able to make it into the office this morning. I wouldn’t expect me in for the rest of the day, and perhaps the remainder of the week.” He put the rose oil dropper down, stirred the potion three times widdershins, then crumbled in some powdered bicorn horn. At least his potions laboratory was exactly the same and he could find what he needed.

“Minister!” Draco protested. “The meeting discussing Dragon Pox vaccination distribution is at three--.”

Tom finally looked away from the potion with a snarl. “Draco. You will tend to my affairs today. I will not be in, even if the Minister for France shows up on our doorstep and wishes to officially declare Magical Britain’s complete and utter superiority. For all intents and purposes I am grievously ill and will be completely unreachable for today. I will give you three seconds to get through my Floo before I ensure you will never be able to Floo anywhere ever again. Am. I. Perfectly. Clear?”

Draco bolted for the Floo. At least that was the same. Tom turned back to his potion and raised his wand. He carefully bent over and pulled a short but beautiful silver glimmer of memory with his wand. He had nothing of Harry’s hair, of his blood or skin or nails, no object he had ever touched, no object he had ever owned. All he had was this, his memory, Harry imprinted into Tom’s mind. The breathy sound of Harry’s giggle hit Tom’s ears like a cuff as he laid the memory in the cauldron. As soon as it hit, the potion turned to beautiful white smoke.

Tom took a deep breath, and tipped the cauldron over, spilling the mass on the ground. Out bounded the familiar silvery sight of Harry’s Patronus, lighting the room with it’s ethereal glow. The magnificent creature pranced for a brief moment, before it caught sight of Tom and stilled, head cocked and absolutely stationary. Tom paused. Was he to be denied this too?

Then the great creature jumped forward and knocked him with its massive head. Tom rocked back on his feet, let loose a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His hands reached out to its muzzle.

“Prongs,” he breathed out, and stroked the great beast down its beautiful silver snout.

***

Prongs was as good as a bloodhound, gamboling beside Tom as he led Tom and his stolen broomstick (really, the neighbors should really lock their shed) all the way to Hogsmeade. He hated flying, as much as he could and still be Harry’s husband, but it wasn’t like he could just Apparate.

The great beast was almost as soothing to his nerves as Harry. He couldn’t even mind when it paused ever so often to lip at Tom’s hair.

Prongs led him to a bright and cheery cottage on the edge of the town. Tom made a sigh of relief when he noticed Harry’s special brand of pruning on the roses in the window box.

Prongs melted into nothing at the cottage’s bright red door, that same breathy giggle as before tingling down his spine and pulling up the hairs all the way down his arms.

Tom straightened his robes, ran a hand through his hair. Harry always liked it a little disheveled, so Tom didn’t draw his wand on it. He took a deep breath, stepped up to the warm little door, and knocked.

The door swung open after a minute that lasted an entire eternity, and there, finally was Harry. Tousle headed, eyes dancing with happiness and still laughing back at something somebody had said inside the house, his attention caught inside. Harry turned with his happy smile to Tom. Tom sucked down the sight of Harry like he was the last three drops of moisture in a great salt desert.

Harry sobered and straightened up immediately at the sight of him. “Er, hullo. Minister Riddle? Er,” he scratched his nose, looking surprised. He glanced behind Tom on both sides. “Can I help you? Or, er, are you here for Justin?”

“Harry, who is it?” called a male voice from inside. Footsteps. Then a man--Tom vaguely remembered him from their year at Hogwarts, Justin Finch Fletchley or something--came down the cottage’s narrow hallway and wrapped his arms around the waist of Tom’s husband.

Harry let him, leaning back into the weight of Justin, tilting his neck just so that the man could slide his face to the side of Harry’s neck and reveal the bright purple bruising of suck-marks just barely peeking out from underneath the over-stretched neckline of his jumper.

“Well, er, it’s the Minister of Magic,” Harry said, sounding confused. His left hand came up to pat Justin’s arm around the waist, metal glinting on his ring finger. “He came to give us a house call?” The ring was a terrible plain thing, some dim low carat gold, nothing Tom would ever choose. It absolutely was not the ring that Tom had already chosen.

Tom saw red.

***

Tom shot up, as best he could from his hospital bed, absolutely filled with rage. The phantom feel of his wand was still heavy and hot in his hand. He could feel black magic roiling in his blood, see the slumped figure of Justin Fucking Finch-Fletchley hitting the floor in the corridor of the cottage burned like the sun’s after image on his retinas.

“Whoa! Tom!” Harry shouted from the chair beside him. “You’re okay! We’re at St. Mungos! You’re safe! Breathe!”

Tom’s gaze snapped to Harry. Harry looked sleep-deprived and worried, the left side of his face still sporting a crease where he’d fallen asleep on his crumpled up jumper tucked to the arm of the chair.

Harry’s hands were splayed open, and Tom spotted the gleam of his ring winking at him from Harry’s finger. Tom shuddered. He couldn’t breathe properly until Harry reached out, running his small hands down Tom’s back, and then his breath came in juddering gasps. He could feel the slight tug on his nightclothes as the calluses on Harry’s hands caught on every stroke. “Where’s my wand?” Tom clipped. He couldn’t look away from Harry, his face.

“Right here,” Harry offered, drawing the length of yew out of the wand holster on his own arm, beside his own. He pressed it into Tom’s hand with steady fingers. “You’re alright. The Aurors got there after you wiped the floor with the arseholes responsible, scraped them up and took them to Azkaban for you.”

Tom gripped his wand with white-knuckled fingers, and then he reached out with a rough hand and seized Harry’s hand just as tight. He could tell it hurt Harry a little, but he couldn’t bear to loosen the grip even a bit. He brought Harry’s hand to his mouth. He took deep breaths through the scent of Harry’s skin, savored the buzz of Harry’s magic against his skin. He still felt volcanic, seething. He knew Harry could tell. He ran his thumb over Harry’s ring to reassure himself, reveled in the comforting weight of his own.

“If you ever even touch Justin Finch-Fletchley again I will kill him.” Tom said, pretty evenly, considering the circumstances.

Harry blinked at him, looking adorably worried and confused. “Wot? The new Muggle Studies professor? Why would I even...” Harry looked at Tom’s face, trailed off.

Tom nodded, ultimatum laid down, and finally fell back into the sheets. He kept Harry’s hand captive to his face and just breathed in the scent of his husband.

#day 19: Finch #tomarry d&d-athon #whoa Tom #dial it down a bit

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