#why stand -literally- idly by the blood of their neighbor?

[unbidden-yidden-deactivated20240]

Honestly the detail that gets me the most about Paul Kessler's death is that they just left the blood on the pavement, and it took someone in the community to actually deal with it in any way:

Earlier this in the day, Elena Colomba — a recent convert to Judaism — spent hours marking the bloodstained spot where Kessler lay waiting for the ambulance with a Star of David drawn in blue chalk, reporter Jacob Gurvia wrote on X.

[Source] — please also be aware that there are pictures in that article of the chalk art, the blood, and the victim

[cartoonfuel]

Mind Games Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Hana

See Chapter 1 for synopsis, trigger warnings, rating, etc.

Chapter 13: The Complete Set

A/N: This chapter is a little shorter than usual. I felt I needed to end it where I did. See you next chappie! - Cartoon ✨

~~~~~

“Who is Kotaro Shimura?”

Shigaraki groaned, his fingernails digging into the skin on his neck once again. “This again?”

You swallowed nervously. “Well?”

“Tell me about All Might’s power first, then we’ll talk.”

“He’s your father, isn’t he?” Much to your surprise, Shigaraki turned his back to you. You had thoughts of running your knife through him right then and there, but more emotional matters left you paralyzed. “Which is also why you aren’t outright killing me.”

Shigaraki just stood idly, dawn’s red sunlight bleeding into the surrounding scenery. Out of the blue, you remembered the name of the little neighbor you knew so long ago.

“…Tenko?”

You hoped you hadn't made a mistake by calling him that.

“He is,” Shigaraki finally spoke up, clenching his fists.

The villain looked back at you, long hair draping over his vermillion eyes. Your palms began to sweat, a feeling of dread washing over you as he pulled a literal hand out of his pocket and shrugged. You knew of his regular attire, in which he was usually decked out in multiple severed hands, but ever since you'd met him all he dressed in was a black trenchcoat and red sneakers.

“It seems my Master isn’t the only family I have left.”

You stumbled backwards, your quirk suddenly behind you. Kindly enough, the clone helped steady you.

"What's wrong, Aya? Am I really so repulsive that you can't even stand on your own two feet? Father's to blame here, not me."

You stayed silent.

“Whatever,” Shigaraki shoved the extra hand back inside his coat, “And you’re absolutely right. I’m not at all sure what to do with you.”

He stepped towards you, Mindscape now holding you in place.

“To be completely honest, this explains a lot. Every time I look at you, I see her… Hana.” His hand moved to cup your cheek, but you pulled away in fear of Decay. He snapped back into reality, remembering the power he wielded. You had no idea who Hana was, but she must've meant a lot to him. “If it weren’t for her, my life may have looked very different,” Shigaraki grimaced. Oh. Maybe not. “I’m curious, Aya,” he whispered to you. “Knowing all this, would you still side with the Heroes? Or would you join me in becoming their savior…?”

“I don’t think you’d like my answer,” you whispered back, locking eyes with Tomura. “You’ve chosen your family and I’ve chosen mine.” Immediately after, you stabbed your quirk in the thigh, causing it to release you. It gasped and took a few steps back, blood spurting from the wound you inflicted. Mildly annoyed, Shigaraki lunged at you and took ahold of your wrists, the middle finger of each hand lifted so he wouldn’t reduce you to dust.

“You’re so damn dramatic. It reminds me a little bit of him,” he growled, causing you to scowl. “And I’ve had enough drama for one day.”

Your frowning turned to shuddering the moment you recognized severe pain shooting up and down your right arm. You heard the thud of your knife plummeting to the ground, all five of Shigaraki’s fingertips squeezing the life out of your wrist.

“Why must you string the Heroes along if you don’t plan on becoming one?”

Feeling like your hand was about to fall off, you couldn’t even bring yourself to answer.

“Wouldn’t joining your brother make more sense?”

“H-half-f-f,” you winced in agony.

‘‘This can stop if you just agree to ditch the Heroes.”

All of a sudden, Midoriya practically teleported into view, freeing you from your attacker by violently kicking him into a brick wall. Immediately after, he relentlessly threw your quirk into a tree.

“Ouch!” your doppelgänger exclaimed. “Izuku, that hurt! If you wanted to dance, all you had to do was ask.”

Midoriya protectively placed himself between you and Tomura, who was slowly standing back up again.

“You again,” Shigaraki sighed as he rolled his shoulders. “Midoriya, was it?”

Uh-oh. Shigaraki is…a very talkative villain. Could this be one of Muttering Midoriya’s greatest weaknesses? No, he gets too anxious. Besides, being quippy isn’t exactly a trait of Izuku’s.

“Aya, are you hurt?” Deku asked instinctively, completely ignoring Tomura, much to your surprise.

“A little,” you replied, heart pounding as you gathered your bearings. You bent down to pick up Doppelgänger’s knife with your non-dominant hand, hesitantly examining the eerie discoloration of your rotting wrist. “My arm feels weird more than anything.”

“Holy crap! That’s not ‘a little’, Aya—I, uh, I mean—I’m sorry! Don’t worry, more help is on the way.”

“Tomura,” your doppelgänger coughed, attempting to get up. “That was quite the beating I took just now.”

“That attack should’ve killed your quirk… The copies aren’t the most durable…” Deku murmured to you. “Which has me wondering. How is it still alive?”

Your doppelgänger continued on. “How much longer do I need to keep this up? I don’t think…I can…”

“We have what we need, Toga,” Shigaraki replied, staring the One For All user down as he spoke. You and Deku stood back-to-back between both villains. “Stand down.”

“I can barely stand up.” Your copy melted away to reveal Himiko Toga once again. “Thanks for the disguise, Aya-chan,” she commented, managing to creepily smile despite her injuries. Her next statement made you shiver. “Your blood was soooo tasty!”

All Might stirred for a moment, catching Midoriya’s attention. “What’s up with All Might?”

“Aya-chan attacked him,” Toga snickered evilly, pointing a shaky finger directly at you.

“She’s got it all wrong,” you said defensively, your face turning pale. “It’s a long story but he’ll be okay, promise!”

Izuku glanced over his shoulder, piercing green eyes meeting your wide ones. “I think I saw your real quirk a minute ago,” he stated, suddenly changing the subject. “I’d assume it’s been sneaking around collecting peoples’ thoughts and information—go look for it, please. I’ll deal with Shigaraki.”

“What about Doppelgänger…?”

“Mr. Aizawa’s got that part covered. His quirk basically cancels out Doppelgänger’s. If you can imagine, Doppelgänger wasn’t very happy.”

You nodded. “Please be careful.”

“Of course.”

Before going to search for your legitimate doppelgänger, you unexpectedly veered towards Toga, your feet moving on their own. Seeing how off balance she was, you forced her onto the ground again by poking her in the chest with a single finger.

“Don’t make me regret this,” you sneered as you untucked your white shirt and cut some of the fabric, handing it to Toga. You were practically in a crop top now. “Make sure to wrap it tight.”

“Why are you helping me…?” Toga asked curiously, her back leaning against the tree she was hurled into. “And you better not give me some ‘Heroes are supposed to save people!’ mantra.”

“It’s actually pretty simple. I didn’t intend to stab you in the first place.”

“I find that very intriguing, Aya. Are you sure about turning down Shiggy’s offer? Things are about to get very messy around here.”

“I’m not.”

With that, you spun around and jogged away, your eye immediately catching movement behind a nearby bush. You dashed towards the noise, leaping through the brush and attacking — “Aoyama?!” you shouted, your knife pressed against the student’s neck.

“Calm down, please!” Yuga squealed underneath you wearing nothing but pajamas. “Your quirk went that way! I was following it!”

You looked to your left to see a silhouetted figure trotting away. As much as you wanted to stay and interrogate Aoyama, you pried yourself off of him and pursued what you assumed was your quirk. It didn’t take long for you to cut a few corners and catch up, quickly identifying your clone and pinning it to a tree trunk. It just stared at you, your head oddly beginning to throb and ache.

“You’re afraid,” the doppelgänger murmured to you, perfectly mimicking your voice.

To tell the truth, you were. Thanks to your quirk’s big mouth, you knew exactly how to proceed.

“And so…unsure. You know, you don’t have to do this. Don’t you want to be free of me?”

“That’s enough,” you declared as you ran your knife through the clone’s chest, its body disintegrating into dust. “Things are different now. We have people counting on us.”

The next thing you knew, your decaying hand had fallen clean off.

~~~~~

Chapter 13: The Complete Set

[robininthelabyrinth]

This one's gonna take two asks, I'm incapable of making it more succinct. In Accurate description NHS said "I’m taking you back with me to the Nie sect when all this is over. If your parents want you back, they can come ask nicely.” Could we get that AU? And the Jiangs HAVE to ask nicely, because with the war on the horizon they can't risk alienating the Nies, but they are so bad at it? NHS's half assed plan to poach JC gets more and more solid the longer he has to watch this train wreck.(1/2)

How hard can it be to love your own flesh and blood? Even NMJ has stopped admonishing him for wanting to poach another sect's heir. What a political nightmare that would be. But JC is so relaxed with NHS's birds? And keeping up longer and longer when training with da-ge? And smiling more? And JYL said, she's never seen him so loose in the shoulders? NHS can make this work. JFM and YZY never valued JC anyway 

Part 2 of Accurate Description (necessary to read that first)

-

“Absolutely not,” was the first thing Nie Huaisang’s brother said when Nie Huaisang first raised the idea of kidnapping Jiang Cheng for his own good. “Absolutely fucking not.”

“Nie sect principle three,” Nie Huaisang said.

“Well, shit,” his brother said.

This was because Nie Huaisang’s brother is the best.

“I’ve gotten other people involved in this,” Nie Huaisang added helpfully.

“You’d better have,” his brother said. “I am not dealing with the fallout from this on my own.”

Nie Huaisang nodded happily. That was about what he’d expected.

A few moments later, his brother asked, “Why are we kidnapping him, anyway?”

-

“This is temporary,” Nie Mingjue said gruffly.

“Very temporary,” Jiang Cheng agreed, sounding stiff and awkward. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“You know exactly why you’re here,” Nie Huaisang objected. “I told you why!”

Jiang Cheng gave him a dirty look.

“Also I have no idea how da-ge got you here, but you’re staying,” Nie Huaisang said firmly. “For as long as it takes for your parents to show that they deserve you returning to them. You’re not getting a choice.”

Jiang Cheng’s face was turning red.

“That’s not the deal, Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue interjected. “Jiang Wanyin can return home at any time he wishes.”

Nie Huaisang glared, but his brother ignored him.

“He can also stay as long as he wishes,” he said, and this time it was Jiang Cheng’s turn to stare. “If you want others to respect him, you must first pay him the respect he deserves yourself. Now, I have to go, but Jiang Wanyin – know that our home is always open to you.”

He put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it, then ruffled Nie Huaisang’s hair, and left.

Jiang Cheng looked dazed.

Nie Huaisang smirked.

“…you said something about him giving out hugs?”

“Oh yeah,” Nie Huaisang said. “Great hugs.”

-

“I can’t believe you would betray me like this,” Nie Huaisang whined. “And after all I’ve done for you!”

“A little training’s not going to kill you,” Jiang Cheng said. “Come on already.”

“My brother put you up to this, didn’t he? You sold me out for a hug.”

“I sold you out for the opportunity to go on a proper night-hunt,” Jiang Cheng said. “Also, he said he was proud of the progress I’ve been making on my cultivation and sword training since I got here. And gave me a hug.”

Nie Huaisang grumbled but conceded that his brother was especially difficult to resist when he was in full big brother mode. If he wasn’t, Nie Huaisang wouldn’t have been nearly so willing to give up the neat new sword he’d found in the Xuanwu’s cave and store it down in their saber halls until his brother and Baxia could figure out how to suppress it - he hadn’t even realized it was full of resentful energy at first, and he still thought it was especially aesthetic.

“Besides, if you don’t practice something soon, he’ll come after you himself,” Jiang Cheng said. “Wouldn’t you rather train with me?”

“No. You’re just as crazy as he is.”

Jiang Cheng looked disturbingly complimented.

“I’ll come look at your birds later,” he offered.

“You’d do that anyway,” Nie Huaisang said. “You love my birds.”

Jiang Cheng did, too. Nearly as much as he loved all the feral cats that roamed the walls of the Unclean Realm, every single one of which seemed to have immediately pegged him as a soft touch and come nosing around for treats – Nie Huaisang had never seen Jiang Cheng look so calm and peaceful as when he had a cat under his palm.

It really put into perspective how stressed he looked the rest of the time.

“Oh, all right,” he groaned, and Jiang Cheng beamed. “Just know that I hate you.”

“Same to you, Nie-gongzi,” Jiang Cheng said, completely insincere. “Same to you.”

-

“You know, I’m surprised my parents haven’t shown up to demand me back yet,” Jiang Cheng said over lunch one day. “It’s not – it’s not a problem. It’s only – I thought – Mother at least –”

“Oh, they’re demanding all right,” Nie Huaisang sniggered.

“…Nie Huaisang, what have you done,” Jiang Cheng said.

“Conspired, that’s what,” Nie Mingjue said. “I don’t know if I should thank you for discovering my brother’s sole talent, namely for scheming and conspiracies, or to blame you for it, Wanyin – but you do have very loyal friends.”

Jiang Cheng blinked.

“Well, first your parents went to Lanling,” Nie Huaisang explained. “On account of Jin Zixuan and Mianmian very obviously sneaking food around and buying all sorts of things that you would like before smuggling them – very poorly and obviously, mind you – into Jinlin Tower, and of course they were also overheard talking about something that sounded an awful lot like ‘Wanyin’; everyone assumed they were hiding you. Turns out they weren’t, of course; it was just a stray dog they’d named something with similar tones. Not their fault everyone got the wrong idea!”

Jiang Cheng’s eye twitched.

“And then, of course, they went to Gusu, on account of Lan Wangji telling everyone you were his sworn brother –”

“His what?!”

“Well, close enough. On account of how you saved his life.”

“I did not!”

“I thought I heard something about how you carried him on your back as you fled from the Xuanwu’s cave and the Wen sect’s ambushes, when he was exhausted and could not walk,” Nie Mingjue said mildly, and Jiang Cheng spluttered. “Had I heard wrongly?”

“…well, no…but...”

“Of course, you weren’t at Gusu,” Nie Huaisang continued, ignoring them both. “Though there were some heavy implications for a little while that you’d gone off with Lan-gongzi –”

“Isn’t he missing?”

Nie Mingjue coughed and looked down at his plate.

“And none of you said anything?” Jiang Cheng asked, looking between them. “At any point? Did you just, what, not talk to them?”

“I have spoken with your parents several times since they have started looking for you,” Nie Mingjue said, and his voice was suddenly hot with roiling anger. “I have concluded that Huaisang had a point regarding the necessity of their learning how to ask for your return.”

Jiang Cheng blinked.

“Your parents are jerks,” Nie Huaisang volunteered. “And you deserve better.”

“Yes, thank you,” Jiang Cheng said, a little strangled. “I think I – got that.”

“Good.”

-

“It’s just, my jiejie –”

“Supports you being here. She sent you a care package. It’s in your room.”

“…Wei Wuxian –”

“Sent a note along with the package. Says to keep up the good work.”

“How did you even get something like that?!”

“I have my ways.”

-

Nie Huaisang was staring blankly at the wall when Jiang Cheng walked in and did a double take.

“Okay,” he said to Nie Mingjue, sitting patiently nearby with a letter in his hands. “You broke him. How?”

“He just discovered that he inadvertently saved a great deal of lives,” Nie Mingjue said. “As did you, by agreeing to come here.”

“I only agreed to come here because you lied and told me it was necessary to help defend my sect,” Jiang Cheng grumbled, clearly not meaning it.

Nie Huaisang let out a high-pitched and somewhat hysterical giggle.

“It was,” Nie MIngjue said solemnly, offering him the letter. “It appears that Wen Chao was given permission to attack and crush the Jiang sect, but has been delaying in anticipation of your return on account of wanting to deal with all of you at once. The delay allowed our spies time to discover his plans, and to carry warnings to your parents. They were thus able to fortify the Lotus Pier’s defenses against invasion, and to hold it off until aid could arrive – which they wouldn’t have managed if he’d attacked at once, as he would have if you’d been there.”

Jiang Cheng stared.

“Would you like to sit down and stare at the wall?” Nie Mingjue offered kindly.

“…yes please.”

-

“How’d you convince him to let me come here, anyway?” Jiang Cheng asked Nie Huaisang as he packed up his things. He was finally heading back to the Lotus Pier, albeit only long enough to collect soldiers and come back to join what they’d started calling the Sunshot Campaign – his parents had finally figured out where he was and sent word that had, in the view of the Nie, just barely qualified as sufficient to get some leeway.

Lan Wangji was waiting in the hallway to escort him there, and he’d sworn to Nie Huaisang that he would not allow either of Jiang Cheng’s parents to say anything untoward while they were there. He’d looked very serious while he said it, too, which pleased Nie Huaisang to no end and made Jiang Cheng look more than a bit nervous.

“You’re only asking that now?” Nie Huaisang asked, amused.

Jiang Cheng shrugged. “You going to tell me or not?”

“It was easy,” he said. “I just invoked Nie sect principle three.”

“…what’s that?”

“‘A fire burns all the same’,” Nie Huaisang said. “Variously interpreted as: ‘Treat your neighbor’s harm as your own’, ‘Do not stand idly by as your neighbor bleeds’, or ‘Indifference to evil is equivalent to evil’.”

Jiang Cheng stared.

“How about ‘if you see someone who needs you, you have an obligation to act’?”

Jiang Cheng blinked. “Okay,” he said. “And?”

“And what?”

“And what else did you say? You convinced him to literally kidnap the heir of another Great Sect; I can’t believe that you accomplished that simply by saying ‘hey principle three applies here, let’s do this’.”

“Maybe I did,” Nie Huaisang sniffed.

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “Fine, keep your secrets. I’ll get them out of you one day.”

“Maybe you will,” Nie Huaisang said.

-

“Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang said. “If I wanted to keep Jiang Cheng permanently, what principle would I have to invoke for that?”

“Nineteen.”

“Nineteen?” Nie Huaisang frowned. “But, da-ge, principle nineteen is the one about marriage – oooooooh.”

[mypoisonedvine]

Home for the Holidays | Robert Pronge (aka Mr. Freezy) x reader

summary: robert is tired of pretending to be normal, he’s tired of the shitty holiday known as christmas and he’s really fucking tired of watching his adorable, innocent next door neighbor without getting a real taste.  luckily, he has a plan to solve all three of these things.

word count: a bit over 5k

warnings: smut (noncon, vaginal and anal), gunplay, bondage, stalking, kidnapping, slight-to-medium breeding kink, innocent!reader, lots of degradation, blood mention, pain kink, spitting, implied age gap (??? kinda), cringy and disturbing dirty talk, maaaaybe the darkest thing I’ve ever written… proceed with extreme caution

Robert hated the holidays.  The fact that it was too cold to sell ice cream was a factor, sure, but he didn’t like anything else about them either— the cheesy music, the stupid advertisements on TV, the gaudy decorations everywhere… he wasn’t sure if there was anything he liked about this time of year.  Getting gifts would be nice if he actually had any friends or family to do that with.  Giving gifts sounded like too much fucking work anyway.  He was sick and tired of this stupid holiday and the way it started sooner every year, too.  

This year, when he heard Jingle Bell Rock on the radio for the first time of the season, something snapped.  He wasn’t going to just sit idly by and let the holidays come and go.  He wasn’t going to avoid and half-tolerate all the dreaded ‘cheer’ and ‘spirit’ like he had for the past few years.  No no, this year was going to be different.

This year, he was going to get a Christmas present for himself: you.

He’d been watching you for a long time, since the day you moved in next door.  It wasn’t often that a young woman lived alone around here, and for good reason.  Still, you had this air of blissful ignorance about you— you never caught him spying on you, for one, and when he was spying you were always off in your own little world, listening to your records, daydreaming about god-knows-what.  He wished he could know, because he figured it was something innocent and wholesome.  

You weren’t all innocent and wholesome, though.  He’d seen you doing the things you did when you were totally alone (or at least, you thought you were), late at night, cuddled up under the covers…

He wanted to see more, though.  He wanted to see everything.  And he was tired of waiting.

He was on his porch when you came home, and he waved; you waved back, your hands obscured by big fuzzy mittens.  Damn did he miss the summers, when you would wear tank tops and short shorts and wash your car in the sunlight.  Now you were all bundled up in coats and scarves, and even though you looked sort of adorable like this, he missed that perfect body he knew you were hiding under there.  

You were bringing groceries in from the car, and he could see you had a few bags in the backseat.  “That’s a lot to carry, lemme help you,” he offered as he jumped up from his seat and walked towards you.

“Oh, it’s fine, I’ve got it,” you dismissed, but you started to stumble and he had to catch you so you wouldn’t fall and drop your stuff.  “Thanks,” you mumbled awkwardly as you caught your footing— you felt so good in his arms he could barely stand it.  

“What is all this?” he asked as he glanced into the bags.

“Oh, uh, just Christmas stuff,” you explained.  He furrowed his brow as he saw you had bought enough food to feed a whole family.  

“Your folks comin’ into town or something?” he pressed, pulling one of the paper bags open to see inside.  “Or are you hosting a party I didn’t get invited to?”

“Uh, neither,” you laughed, “my family doesn’t… no, they’re not coming.  And there’s no party.  I just love cooking Christmas food and I thought, why not?  I mean, I’ll freeze whatever I can’t finish and have meals for the next month…”

“So you’re gonna make this whole ham just for yourself?” he clarified, admiring your ambition.

“Yep!” you grinned.  “I know it’s stupid, but I just love Christmas and I don’t think I need to justify celebrating it to a grinch like you.”

“A grinch?  Says who?”

“Freezy, you’re the only house on the block that hasn’t put up lights yet,” you smirked.  “It’s sort of obvious you don’t like this time of year.”

“Are you kidding?  I love Christmas!  I’m just subtle about it, that’s all,” he decided sternly.

“Really?  Are you going to see anyone for the holidays then?” you pressed.

“Uh, no, I’m sort of an… orphan, I guess you could say.  No parents or siblings or anything like that.”

“No girlfriend?” you grinned, elbowing him playfully.  

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he laughed, “I just know a few women who would be really mad if they heard me say that.”

“You’re such a dog,” you rolled your eyes.  “Will you help me carry these in or not?”

He sighed as he picked up two bags and carried them up to your porch, pushing the door open with his back to set them on your counters.  He’d been inside your place a few times— mostly with you there, a few times when you weren’t— and he noticed how much you’d changed in the spirit of the season: an enormous, real pine covered in lights and ribbons; decorative ceramic figures all over the place including Santa, elves, reindeer, and even a nativity on the dining table; stockings on the mantle, god knows who those were even for. 

You had literally decked your halls with boughs of holly.  

“Damn, woman, you went all out!” he observed with wide eyes.

“Well, I thought it would be nice,” you smiled, although it was a somber smile, “you know, Christmas like it used to be…” you trailed off as your gaze became distant.  You snapped back to reality with a little sigh, shaking it off and heading back to the car for another load of bags.  He understood that emptiness he saw in your eyes, it was all he felt anymore.  Maybe you could change that for him; maybe he could change that for you.

Aw, who was he kidding?  He didn’t care about that.  He just wanted to figure out what you were hiding underneath those puffy winter clothes.  If the smell of your stolen panties was anything to go by, it was going to be worth the wait.

//

Christmas Eve was just as boring and cold as any other day, except that it was filled with a riveting anticipation.  That was probably true for most people, but for Robert it was for something much more exciting than presents under the tree.  

Nightfall came early, it being winter and all, so it was already pitch dark outside when it was just about time for him to go over for dinner.  He considered smashing a window to get in, but then you might call the cops before he had time to explain, so he decided the easier method was just to knock on the front door.  He didn’t really care who saw at this point— besides, who’d be staring out their window to spy on their neighbors the night before Christmas?  Aside from Robert, that is.

“Oh!” you gasped when you answered the door.  The dark red turtleneck looked even better on you up close, like you’d jumped right out of a Norman Rockwell postcard— or a festive pin-up.  He didn’t wait for your approval before stepping in and shutting the door behind him, relishing the adorable look you wore as you stared up at him with the perfect mix of confusion and concern.

“I know you didn’t invite me,” he smirked, “but I figure two people alone on Christmas ought to be together, don’t you think?”

“Robert, I—”

He pulled his gun out from his belt, watching you freeze as he pointed it at you.

“I think you should start making dinner, sweetheart,” he instructed darkly.  You nodded quickly, walking to the kitchen as he followed you closely.  “What are you making?”

“H-ham,” you stuttered nervously as you turned on the stove before slipping on a cute little apron with white lace around the edges.  “With green bean casserole, and some gingerbread for dessert.”

“Sounds delicious,” he grinned, taking a seat at the bar and keeping his gun pointed towards you.  

Your hands were shaking as you tried to chop the ingredients, and he tutted a little in sympathy.  “Don’t be scared, honey, ‘m not gonna hurt ya.  It’s gonna be a great Christmas— just like the way it used to be, huh?”

“Y-yeah,” you shivered, lip quivering, “I… I wish you just would’ve asked if you could have some dinner, Robert, I would’ve happily had you.”

“Oh, you’re gonna have me either way.  Up to you if you wanna be happy about it.”

He laughed as he watched your eyes start to water, a meek little sniffle 

“Aw, don’t cry, pretty baby,” he cooed, “it’ll make me wanna skip right to the good stuff.  But, let’s just have dinner first.”

You stayed quiet after that, cooking in silence as he unabashedly undressed you with his eyes.  You looked like a perfect little housewife in that apron; he wanted to see you wearing just that, so he could bend you over the counter and— 

Damn, he was already hard, just like that.  You’d always had such an effect on him.

He went ahead and took a seat at the table once you were nearly done with the meal, leaning back to let you drape the fancy napkin over his lap (and smirking when you gasped a bit, obviously noticing the bulge in his jeans).

“I hope you like it,” you offered weakly as you set his plate in front of him.

“I’m sure you do,” he grinned, picking up his fork.  “You won’t like what’s gonna happen if I don’t.”

You just stood beside him for a moment as he took the first bite, smiling weakly when he hummed in content at the taste.  “Aren’t ya gonna eat?” he asked, looking you up and down.

“I’m not hungry,” you explained quickly.

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged, “it’s good.  You’re quite the little chef, aren’t ya?”

“Um, I suppose…” you deflected awkwardly.

“Learn to take a compliment,” he hissed, “say ‘thank you.’”

“Thank you,” you replied dutifully.  

“That’s better,” he announced firmly, shovelling the last bite of casserole into his mouth before working on the slices of ham.  Your ability to follow instructions was a good sign for how tonight was going to go— apparently for all your naivete, you still had a self-preservation instinct.  He couldn’t wait to exploit it.

He continued his meal in silence, delighting in the way your eyes watered and your lip quivered.  “Alright, sweetie, dinner’s over,” he announced when he was finished.  “Time for dessert.”

You shivered slightly as he stood up and approached you.  “You want gingerbread?” you asked innocently.  He frowned and shook his head, watching you start to cry again as he roughly grabbed your arm and pulled you closer.  

“I had something even sweeter in mind,” he informed you with a low growl, taking a big whiff of your scent— that same shampoo smell he was used to by now, mixed in with the new perfume you’d gotten a few weeks ago along with the warm, spicy smells of Christmas.  “Been waitin’ so long for this,” he groaned lowly as he leaned down to stare right into your fear-widened eyes.

“N-no, please,” you whimpered, weakly attempting to twist out of his grip, “you wouldn’t—”

“I would,” he disagreed as he turned his gun backwards, whipping you across the head with the handle.  He caught you before you collapsed, and hoped you wouldn’t be hurting too much when you woke up.  But he would deal with that then.  Right now, he had a present to wrap.

//

There was a radiating ache in your skull.  You felt that first as you groggily opened your eyes.  The next thing you noticed was that you weren’t in your bed.  Looking around, you couldn’t see well because the only light was from your Christmas tree, but you could see that you were naked and bound with ropes.  Oddly enough, on top of the ropes was thick red ribbon, gathered in a big bow right at your chest.

What the fuck is going on? you were about to ask yourself, but then it all became clear.

The shadows shifted, and your neighbor emerged from them.  You struggled against the ropes as you remembered everything, realizing what was happening.  Of course you had always thought he was a bit creepy (who didn’t?) but you were nice to him and he was nice to you.  How could you have known he was this disturbed?  

“That’s my favorite part,” he purred as he stooped down to be eye-level with you.  “The moment when they realize what’s going to happen.  You were so peaceful just a moment ago, knocked out and without a care in the world, and now you’re fighting for your life.”

You whimpered into the gag as he smiled at you, running his hands over your skin.

“I mean, not fighting very well, but fighting.”

You tried to kick him as he stepped closer but the ropes made it impossible.

“I think it’s time to open my present, hm?” he grinned.  You shook your head but he ignored you, slowly pushing your legs apart and growling a little when he saw your exposed pussy, ripe for the taking.  “Look at that, you’re wet,” he laughed.  You wrenched your eyes shut, refusing to believe this was happening.  “Don’t be embarrassed, that happens a lot.  Although I’ll admit, I don’t think any of them were ever this wet before…”

You jumped when his thumb started to rub your clit, the pressure much too intense and unexpected.  He laughed at your struggle, and you could feel your walls throbbing in response to the stimulation.

“I know I didn’t need to do all this to get you in bed,” he continued his taunting rant.  “I know you wanted me already— don’t think I didn’t notice you makin’ googly eyes at me like a dumb little schoolgirl.  If I’d’ve asked you out, I could’ve had you under me after a few drinks… but it’s better this way.  You probably would’ve made me wear a condom, would’ve made me be all gentle with ya, some wholesome missionary shit,” he laughed.  “I don’t have time for that crap.  It’s so much better with your body at my disposal, and you cryin’ those pretty tears.”

The shocks that shot up your spine from the way he was touching you made you feel like your body was betraying you.  How could this actually feel good?  How was it that the fear burning in your gut was actually adding to your pleasure and not nullifying it?

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he groaned as if he were reading your mind.  “I know you love it, little girl, don’t act so innocent.  I know you’re not the good girl everybody thinks you are.  You’ve been naughty this year, haven’t you?”

Even though logic told you not to play into his twisted game, you felt compelled to shake your head ‘no.’

“Don’t lie,” he warned, “I’ve seen you.  I’ve watched you play with this pretty pussy every fucking night.”

You couldn’t watch this any more, you couldn’t look at him while he did this to you.  Forcing your eyes shut, you tried to find a place in your mind to run away to.  Instead, he slapped you right on your clit and your eyes shot open as you whined.

“Keep looking,” he instructed.  “I want you to see it.  I want you to know that it’s me.  I want you to see what I’m about to put in you.”

He stepped back and hastily discarded his shirt, making quick work of his boots and trousers, too.  Then it was just his boxers, and you could see the outline of his erection already.  You hoped it wasn’t as big as it looked, but then he grinned as he pulled the fabric down and yep, it was— you tried to squirm away, uselessly.

“Aw, don’t be scared, baby,” he pouted, “I know it’s big, but with how wet you are I bet it’ll fit like a glove.  A really, really tight glove…”

He leaned down and pressed his lips right against your ear, rubbing his swollen head through your slick folds as you whined.  

“Gloves can tear,” he chuckled.  “Gloves can rip.”

Tears stained the ribbon of your gag as you tried to beg him not to, but it was too late— he was pushing forward and spearing you onto him.

“Fuck!” he groaned as he pushed all the way to the hilt, and your eyes rolled back as the stinging, burning pain shot up your spine.  “So fuckin’ tight, fuck, can’t believe I waited this long to get my hands on you.”

He pulled the gag down, smiling at you tenderly when you coughed out a cry of pain.  “Please,” you sobbed, “please stop…”

“No no, babygirl, I’m not gonna stop.  I wanna fill this slutty little cunt with my come.”

Renewed sobs shook your chest as your nails dug into your own palms, each thrust somehow going even deeper than the last, somehow hurting even more.

“Want my come, pretty girl?” he pressed, refusing to let you ignore him.  “Want me to shoot my load into this sweet pussy a’yours?”

“No,” you sobbed weakly, shaking your head, “no, no…” you trailed off, chanting it like a mantra as you felt like you might pass out.

“Aw, you’re not on the pill, are you?” he realized with a toothy grin.  “Never saw any empty packs in your trash.  Are you worried I’ll knock you up?”

“Please, please don’t,” you shivered.  There was nothing quite as demeaning as having no recourse but to beg even when you knew it would do nothing.  The only thing that came close was the knowledge that your orgasm wasn’t so far off— his cock was slamming right into your spot with every movement, his hips rubbing your swollen clit, and it was impossible to avoid the pleasure that was making your walls tighten around him.

“How could I not?” he countered.  “Fuck, you feel so good, how could I not breed this dripping, desperate cunt, hm?  There’s no way I’m pulling out now when you’re squeezin’ my dick so good like this.”

“Please,” you repeated, so quiet you couldn’t be sure he heard it at all.  You could hardly breathe with his weight on your chest, black static dancing at the edges of your peripheral vision.

“I’ll be honest— I hate kids,” he growled, “never wanted ‘em, but it does sound like a lot of fun to get you pregnant.  Would you like that, pretty baby?  Bein’ full of my kid?  I’d be so nice to watch you get big and know it was all my fault.  Think of it like a Christmas gift, from one neighbor to another.”

“Robert, please!” you cried, although it sounded a lot like you were begging him for more as opposed to begging him for mercy.  You weren’t sure how that happened, except that you could feel the coil in your gut tightening and tightening and tightening until it finally fucking snapped and you choked on nothing, your walls fluttering as a gush of wetness seeped out between your bodies.

“That’s it,” he groaned, “fuck, what a nasty little skank you are, Jesus… coming so hard from being tied up and abused by your neighbor, who knew you were a total freak?”

You couldn’t say anything, you couldn’t even think as hazy pleasure flooded your brain and you went limp in his oppressive grasp.  Exhaustedly, you slumped down and let him use you— all you could do now was hope he would finish soon.

“I mean, I knew,” he laughed, “but damn… you’re somethin’ else.”

He said it with pride in his voice, as your entire body burned with shame.  How had you already given in so quickly, accepted your fate and come harder than you ever had before?  It sort of made sense that this would be more intense than what you got from getting yourself off at night (and the thought that he’d been watching you made your stomach churn), but why was this so much better than the sweet, loving sex you’d had with your boyfriend way back when, before he’d run out on you?  Why was Robert, as disturbed as he was, the best you’d ever had?

“God, you’re so wet, I can fucking smell you,” he grunted through his teeth.  “You made such a pretty mess on my cock, babygirl.”

You could hear that he was right, you could feel the wetness that had dripped down to cover both of you— the wet slapping of his balls against your ass was disgusting, yet arousing, and you hated yourself for it.

“Shit, I’m close,” he moaned, “fuck yeah, just like that.”

You weren’t sure what he was referring to until you realized you were arching your back, forcing his cock to hit your overstimulated spot directly.  It made jolts of electricity course through your veins, pleasure sizzling just beneath your skin.  

“Kiss me,” he instructed, and you were too far gone to disobey as you turned and captured his lips in a kiss, instantly accepting his tongue into your mouth.  It was sloppy and forceful and kinda gross and he tasted like Christmas dinner and cigarettes, but it made your walls tighten around him again anyways.  Something about his beard against your face made you moan a little, the sound lost into his mouth but unfortunately not unnoticed.  “Fuck, I know you love my cock so much,” he purred, pulling back only as much as he needed to to speak— he was so close that his lips brushed yours with every word, those dark eyes staring right into yours until you felt entirely helpless to his gaze.

“Please,” you whimpered, not even sure what you were asking for.

“Best pussy I’ve ever had, you know that?” he praised, grinning as you bit down on your lip.  “Yeah, you love being my good girl, you love pleasin’ me, don’tcha?”

“I— I don’t—”

“Just nod your head, dumb baby,” he grunted coldly.  After a moment of hesitation, you nodded ever so slightly and he moaned above you.

“Fuck— gonna come,” he informed you breathlessly, “gonna fill up your wet fuckin’ hole, ‘m so close, ah fuck—”

The first pump of his cock painted your insides and you cringed as you tried not to moan at the feeling.  His come was hot and thick as it filled you, the faltering thrusts of his hips making your swollen walls flutter weakly.  It felt like it would go on forever— his weak groans in your ear, his thick cock pulsing inside you, your breathing quick and fast until it felt like you weren’t getting any air in your lungs at all.  It stopped, finally, as he sighed and relaxed a little bit.

“Goddamn,” he breathed as he pulled out of you, making you both wince.  Already you felt soreness radiating from your opening, and your face burned as he looked down between your legs.  “Look at that, what a perfect little pussy I just ruined.  It’s all stretched out and red and covered in my come,” he announced proudly.  “There’s a little blood, too, but you’ll be better in no time,” he assured with a smirk.  “Red and white— it’s sort of festive, don’t you think?”

You swallowed down the acid threatening to come up your throat— of course he was disturbed, but did he have to be so disgusting?

Again, it was like he read your mind as he grabbed your jaw and forced you to open your mouth, spitting onto your tongue before commanding you to swallow it.  Just when you thought you’d reached the limits of his depravity, he found some new way to up the ante.  What worried you most, though, was the fact that he’d already come and hadn’t left yet.  Deep down, you knew it wasn’t over yet, but you hadn’t accepted it consciously.

“Such a good slut for me,” he praised through his teeth, “I bet I can go again, fuck, you turn me on so much.”  Pulling back a bit and gripping his cock at the base, you squirmed a little as you looked at it.  “You see this?  I’m still hard.  You make me feel like a fuckin’ teenager again, I swear.”

“I can’t…” you sighed weakly, your voice sounding all cracked and whiny as it moved through your sore throat.  “I can’t take it again…”

“Don’t worry,” he soothed, “I’m gonna give your poor cunt a break… so I can rape this cute little ass.”

“No!” you yelped.  “Please!  Not there!”

He slapped you quickly before maneuvering two fingers to your other hole, teasing it as he laughed at your pre-emptive wince.

“It’s not gonna be so bad, baby, I’m gonna get you ready for it first, see?  I bet you’ll love it, nasty little thing like you.”

The first finger slipped in with a little pop as the tight ring of muscle shifted to accommodate him.  You’d never had anything go up that way before, and it was nothing like you could’ve imagined.  Hissing in a breath through your teeth, you whimpered as he added a second finger already.

“Just relax,” he instructed.  “Not that I don’t love you gripping my fingers with your tight little hole, but it’ll hurt less if you just let it happen.”

You willed your muscles not to tighten even as he twisted his fingers inside you, moving slowly until he was buried all the way to the knuckle and then finally pulling back.  The third was a bit more of a challenge as he opened you wider, your fists clenching at the sting of pain.  He let his come drip down from your pussy to use as lube, which was undoubtedly the filthiest thing you’d ever experienced.  You tried to keep quiet and relax as he told you to, but your fight was renewed slightly as he pulled his fingers out and lined up his cock with your hole.  

“Please,” you shivered, “don’t do this…”

“When are you gonna stop fucking fighting it, huh?  How stupid are you?  You’re tied up on the floor, I already made this pussy mine and you fucking loved it, how much more obvious could it be that I’m gonna do this?  You’re fucked.  It’s over.  Just accept it and I’ll make it good for you.”

“This can’t be good for me,” you hissed through your teeth.

“Well, in that case,” he groaned, interrupting himself as he roughly shoved his cock into your ass.  The air was punched from your lungs as pain burned white-hot through your body— it didn’t feel like his fingers had done much to prepare you at all, with the way this hurt.  As soon as you had the oxygen needed to do so, you were crying again, loud sobs echoing around your dark, empty living room.  “I was gonna be gentle,” he taunted you darkly, “but you had to run that mouth of yours.”

You tried to choke out an apology, but it was useless as he shoved his fingers into your mouth. 

“Suck on ‘em, show me what your mouth is good for,” he demanded as you closed your lips and swirled your tongue around his fingers.  “Fuck, that’s better.  See how good it is when you know your place?”

You couldn’t really process his words, though, as you spent all your energy on trying not to think about how his cock felt in your ass.  It was like being full in a completely different way than before, like being opened wider than you knew was possible.  He pulled his fingers from your mouth and you hated the moan that spilled out after them.

“Your cunt is getting wet,” he sing-songed mockingly as he leaned back and looked down at it.  “You love it up the ass, huh?  Dirty bitch.”

You shook your head in denial (even though you could feel that he was right, at least about the first part), but he grabbed your jaw and forced you to look at him.

“Say it,” he grunted.  “Admit it, slut.  Admit you love getting fucked up the ass.”

“I…” you whimpered, barely able to get the words out even though you knew you needed to if you wanted to prevent him from hurting you worse.  “I love… getting fucked—” you stopped to swallow the lump in your throat— “up the ass.”

He backhanded you, hard, right across the face.  You cried and gasped all at once, choking on air from the force of the hit.  “WHORE!” he yelled right in your face.

You sobbed uncontrollably as he fucked you with more brutality than you’d known was possible.  “Please,” you tried to beg, even if you knew it was useless, but it was totally incomprehensible as you shook with the force of your cries, hissing in breaths through your teeth to try to cope with the pain.

“Thought it would take me a while to come again, but your ass feels so goddamn good— fuck, I’m close already.  Want me to fill up that tight little ass?”

You shook your head as you sobbed, shaking violently against the confines of the ropes.  Distantly, you heard the chimes of your clock in the other room.

“You hear that?” he whispered.  “That means it’s midnight— it’s Christmas.”

He leaned in until his hot breath tickled your ear and neck, making you wish you could turn your head away more than just a few centimeters.

“Merry fucking Christmas,” he purred, just as you felt his cock swell and pulse inside you.  Your eyes rolled back as you wondered if you’d ever been so full before.

It was a haze after that as he gently untied you, getting his gun out again and keeping it trained on you as he followed you to the bathroom and forced you to shower.  Force was a bit of an overstatement, though, considering your desire to clean him off of you as much as possible.  “I’m not gonna tell anyone, Robert,” you tried to calm him down as you shivered under the stream of water that hadn’t quite warmed up yet.

“Yeah, well, just in case,” he insisted as he waved the gun pointed in your direction.  “Wash between your legs real good, push my come out.”

“Not gonna matter if you knocked me up like you said,” you reminded him.  “A paternity test will be evidence enough.”

“Shut up,” he grimaced.  “Can’t prove you didn’t want it, anyway.  We both know you did.”

You didn’t respond to that, opting to shower silently instead and wincing every time you tried to clean between your legs.  You were going to be sore for days, if not weeks.

“We both know I’m gonna be back for more real soon,” he added darkly.  “Too good for just one night.” 

[keichanz]

it’s been over a year since i’ve worked on this last and for some fucking reason i got the random inspiration to dig it out of my wip folder and finish it up and well *shrug* have some drama, i guess.

majorly unedited. literally haven’t touched this in over a year so who the hell knows what you’re gonna find rofl 

“Wait—what?” Kagome blinked as she set her giant yellow bag on the floor and eyed her friend dubiously, almost positive she had heard that wrong. “Say again?”

She settled down by the fire and accepted the cup of tea Kaede handed her with a smile of thanks, not at all surprised when a warm weight reclined against her side and she used her free hand to run her fingers through Shippou’s hair in an absentminded gesture of motherly affection.

Sango smiled in understanding at the girl’s reaction because she had had a similar one upon hearing the news as well.

“No, your ears aren’t deceiving you, Kagome,” she said with a hint of amusement, idly stroking Kirara’s fur where the cat demon snoozed contentedly in her lap.

“It’s completely true; Inuyasha really did accompany Miroku to the neighboring village to slay a low level demon, even though Miroku could have easily handled it himself.”

A puzzled frown wrinkled Kagome’s brow, but before she could question the hanyou’s uncharacteristic behavior, someone else beat her to it.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Shippou piped up, unwrapping a lollipop he’d pilfered from Kagome’s bag. “Inuyasha misses you, Kagome, so he went with Miroku to distract himself from thinking about you.”

He paused to take a few licks of his treat. “He knew you would be back in this world by the time he and Miroku returned so it was a good excuse as any to think about something else and let off some steam at the same time.”

The fox tyke shrugged his tiny shoulders and stuck the sweet into his mouth, closing his eyes and putting his hands behind his head, nodding to himself.

Kagome and Sango blinked and as the former blushed and ducked her head, Sango’s brows rose and she grinned at the kitsune.

“You know, I think you may be right, Shippou,” she said and glanced at the girl in question, who was trying unsuccessfully to hide her red face behind her yunomi.*

Kaede chuckled as Shippou puffed out his chest in obvious pride, a wide grin spreading across his young features, and Sango smothered her giggles behind a hand. Without her permission, Kagome’s lips twitched up into a small half-smile and a quiet laugh escaped her too as her embarrassment faded. Truthfully, in all likelihood, the young fox demon probably hit the nail right on the head with his observation, and Kagome would be lying if she said that didn’t please her at all because she missed him, too.

The three adults lapsed into idle conversation then about shard rumors, the demon the two males of their group had gone to destroy and what have you as Shippou contentedly lapped at his lollipop, leaning against the closest thing he’d ever had to a mother and more or less tuning out the grown up talk. It was a good thing he was around to explain to his human friends the stubborn half-demon’s thought patterns, otherwise they would all be lost and Kagome and Inuyasha would never get around to telling each other how they feel.

Someday they’ll realize what I do for them, he mused and popped the cherry-flavored sweet into his mouth again with a happy sigh.

Another half an hour went by with no sign of the monk or half-demon and Kagome was just about to suggest a game of cards to pass the time when suddenly a scream of absolute terror pierced the air and the three adults exchanged startled glances before hurriedly getting to their feet and rushing outside.

The sight that met their eyes elicited twin gasps of horror from the two younger women while Kaede pressed a hand to her chest, her good eye going wide in disbelief.

“Oh…my,” she breathed, stumbling back, and had it not been for Sango wrapping a supporting arm around her shoulders, she would have fallen to the ground in her shock.

Kagome felt the color drain from her face and she threw out a hand to grasp Sango’s shoulder to steady her suddenly wobbly knees. The village was in utter chaos. Buildings and homes had been set aflame, the villagers were screaming, running for their lives from the ruthless bandits that invaded their home. They were everywhere, some on horses, laughing mercilessly as they struck down men and woman alike. Others ransacked homes wielding swords, striking down anyone who got in their way. Some of the braver village men attempted to fight back, grabbing anything they could get their hands on for a weapon and providing a distraction for their wives and children to escape.

It was the terrified screaming of a child that jolted Kagome into action and jumped started her heart to beating in her chest again. Why was she just standing there?!

“Sango!” she yelled, spinning around to her friend only to have her bow and arrows suddenly being thrust into her arms.

“Help Kaede round up anyone not fighting and lead them to safety,” she demanded, clutching her rarely used sword in one hand and Hiraikotsu slung over her shoulder, ready to be released if necessary. “I’ll try and divert their attention for as long as I can.”

Sango’s face was grim and Kagome knew, though she’d do her best to avoid it, some of those bandits were not going to survive the evening.

Clutching her bow, Kagome nodded once and simultaneously the two women reached out and clasped hands, squeezing once; a silent bidding to stay safe. Then Kagome spun around and headed into the smoky fray while Sango charged forward, sword raised and the sound of steel clashing together pierced the air.

Gritting her teeth and trying very hard to ignore the bodies already littering the ground at an alarming rate, Kagome dove into the massacre, dodging swords, pitchforks, and flaming wood alike as she did as he was bade, tracking down those too old, young, or frightened to fight back. Through the smoke she could see Kaede, her own bow in her hands, urging a group of women and children toward the forest and Kagome ran after them, arrow knocked, ready to fire and protect from behind.

The smell of blood and smoke was making her simultaneously lightheaded and nauseous but she forced herself to ignore it, her breathing labored as she hollered for the villagers to keep moving, don’t look back! They were terrified, children sobbing, women screaming for their husbands and she tried hard not to think about how some of those screams were abruptly cut off with harsh, maniacal laughter.

Hoof beats thundering towards them had Kagome whirling around and raising her bow toward the bandit on horseback charging toward them, sword raised, face bloody and the most twisted smile on a scarred face. She braced herself but a familiar bone boomerang knocked him clean off the horse and Kagome didn’t stay to thank the slayer, turning back around and hurrying after those she needed to protect.

Kaede was at the forest’s edge, ushering everybody within the safety of the trees and their eyes connected for a split second before Kagome’s vision was abruptly obscured by a snarling face and bloody battle-axe. She cried out in alarm and instinctively thrust out her bow, hoping to catch him off guard, but the bandit thwarted her attempt with a vicious backhand across the face.

Kagome hit the ground hard, her bow landed some five feet away from her and pain throbbed her through head as her vision went blurry. She tasted blood, her stomach heaved, and before she could even think to scamper away, something tangled in her hair and roughly jerked her head up, eliciting a pained cry from her mouth and she opened her eyes to find the bandit inches form her face, his rancid breath making her gag and the sight of his rotted teeth as he smiled nastily something Kagome was sure she’d see in her nightmares if she survived.

Screwing her face up in the nastiest scowl she could manage, Kagome spit in his face and tried to escape by any means possible kicking, punching, squirming and even trying to bite, but to no avail. The bandit growled and tightened his hold on her hair before slamming her head into the ground and Kagome’s cry of pain was drowned out by the sudden agonized screaming of the bandit who’d been about to kill her. The hold on her hair vanished as he stumbled back, swatting at the blue fames that had engulfed him, and in his haste to extinguish the illusion, he tripped over a dead body, fell back, and impaled himself on his own weapon.

Kagome groaned, her stomach heaved, and with a mighty shove that caused pain to ricochet throughout her skull, she managed to turn over onto her side before emptying the contents of her stomach on the ground. She sputtered, grimacing as she spit and wiped her mouth with a dirty hand.

“Kagome!”

“Shippou,” Kagome rasped, gritting her teeth as she leveraged herself onto her hands and knees, shaking, sore, head spinning. “Are you—”

“I’m fine!” the kitsune hollered, his pale, dirt-smudged face desperate as he grabbed her hand and tugged. “You gotta get up, Kagome! C’mon, we need to get to Kae—”

Shippou was cut off by a booted foot landing roughly into his small body and Kagome watched in horror as the fox tyke flew through the air from the harsh kick, landing in a pile of burning rubble. Kagome screamed and scrambled to her feet, dizziness making her sway as another bout of nausea assaulted her, but before she could take even a single step an armor clad arm snagged her around the waist and hauled her back against the sweaty, bloody body. She shrieked, kicking against the hold, clawing at the hand but the sharp blade of a sword pressed against her neck stalled any further movement.

“One more move and I’ll slit your throat, whore,” a hoarse voice growled in her ear and Kagome shivered, closing her eyes as her captor started dragging her backward, through the smoke and remains of what once was Kaede’s village. She tripped and stumbled but the bandit didn’t seem to care, his breathing harsh as she swiftly turned around and led her away, keeping the blade pressed to her throat.

Inuyasha, Kagome mentally called for her hanyou, tears pricking the back of her eyes as the noise of the destruction and pillaging grew distant. Where are you?

Inuyasha...!

“Aaaarrgghh...!”

With a mighty heave, Sango let Hiraikotsu fly, successfully knocking the trio of bandits on horseback off their mounts and landing on the blood-soaked ground with a chorus of curses and groans. She wasted no time, unsheathing her katana in one smooth movement and darting forward to end their miserable, murdering lives with a flick of her wrist. Hiraikotsu curved back toward her and without missing a beat she caught her weapon just in time to swing it behind her and do some major brain damage to the bandit that had been sneaking up behind her.

He fell to the ground, either dead or unconscious but she didn’t care enough to check, hardly taking the time to catch her breath before she was running again. She was glad to see that most of the villagers had escaped with their lives and the majority of the bodies littering the ground were the bandits that had stormed the village. That didn’t mean there were no casualties, however; as she darted through the destruction, she came upon bodies she recognized, both women and men, and Sango had to fight against the urge to weep for their loss.

Now wasn’t the time for that; she had to find Kagome and Shippou and make sure Kaede had managed to make it to the first safely with the women and children.

“Dammit, Inuyasha, Miroku, where are you?” she hissed, grunting as she ducked and swerved through the burning remains. The fires were nearly out and while some of the huts had been spared, most of them lie in ruins, smoking rising into the air, a home lost.

Swallowing thickly, hoping her dear friends were alright and trying not to panic, Sango forced down the hysteria that rose, tightening her throat and making her stomach roll. Frantically she searched the ground, praying to anyone that would listen that she wouldn’t find them amongst the dead, looking for a flash of green or orange amid the rubble and blood.

A noise to her right had to her skidding to a stop and Sango braced herself, whipping her head around and tensing in preparation to throw her weapon, but she paused when nothing jumped at her. Breathing hard, heart racing in her chest, Sango frowned and listened carefully, filtering out the sounds of crackling flames, pained groans of survivors, the wind—

There! Eyes zeroing in on a pile of burning rubble, Sango narrowed her eyes and cautiously edged forward, hand tightening on both of her weapons, prepared to launch into another attack. Her gaze narrowed as she surveyed the scorched earth; nothing moved and the noise had stopped.

Sango paused and tensed. She waited; tightened her grip on her katana. Braced her knees.

With a cry, she whirled around, ready to decapitate the bandit that sought to surprise her with a blow to her back, but before she could deliver her own attack, another blade entered the fray and blood splattered as the bandit was suddenly skewered right through the stomach.

Dead before he hit the ground, Sango didn’t spare him a glance and instead focused on her savior, the relief the swamped her so strong she had to jam Hiraikotsu into the ground to remain standing.

Furious amber eyes regarded her steadily and he didn’t bother with pleasantries.

“Where is she?” he growled and it was obvious he was trying very hard to leash his fury. 

Covered in a grotesque combination of mud and blood, both his firerat and kosode had been ripped to reveal the deep slashes across his chest, suggesting he’d ran into a bit of trouble on his way here, but he hardly seemed aware of his current state, the growl thundering in his chest steadily increasing in volume the longer she didn’t answer him.

Sango had to swallow several times before she could answer. “Don’t know,” she rasped, her eyes holding her regret, the deep-seeded worry that reflected in his own eyes. “I—haven’t seen—”

The snarl that erupted from his throat was low, dark, positively lethal, and had Sango been anything less than what she was – or had she not known him as well as she did – she probably would have fled in terror. She remained where she was, however, her weary body screaming at her to rest, but she forced herself to remain standing.

The fury in those golden eyes faded somewhat as he took her in and a lurid cruse fell from his lips.

“Miroku’s with Kaede,” he said and jerked his head toward the forest. “Go. I’ll take care of the rest.”

There were a few stragglers rifling through the remains, but they wouldn’t be standing for long; Tetsusaiga would make sure of that.

Sango hesitated, but knew she wouldn’t be able to stay on her feet for much longer, so in the end she didn’t argue and gave a curt nod.

“Find her, Inuyasha,” she rasped and watched his stare harden, jaw clenching in determination before the half-demon returned her nod with a jerk of his head.

Despite himself, Inuyasha waited until he knew she would make it to the others before turning around but before he leapt off, his ear flicked and he whipped his head around to the right. He stared hard at the same pile of rubble Sango had been advancing on early before some of the murdering fuckers had crept up on her and he strained his ears, listening, golden eyes narrowing—

The sound came again and with a fervent curse Inuyasha leapt into action, hastily dropping the fang into its scabbard so he could heave and shove and toss away scorched wood. His hands burned form the flames but he ignored it, his breathing hard as he kept an eye out for a flash of orange amid the burned wood and—

“Shippou,” Inuyasha hissed and with a grunt, he lifted the last of the heavy wood that was pinning the kit in place and carefully scooped him up into his arms. Pale and bloody, the fox demon’s breath rattled in his lungs and his small body was limp.

Cursing again, Inuyasha hopped out of the hut’s ruins and cradled him in his arm, knowing he had to take him to Kaede, but before he could move his name uttered on a groan had him freeze in his tracks and he snapped his gaze down to the child in his arms.

Shippou’s green eyes were cracked open and his mouth was parted as he dragged in stuttered breaths of air, but his grip as he clutched the firerat in his small hand was surprisingly strong.

Shippou winced and his little face screwed up in pain as he wheezed, “Kagome...taken...”

He coughed weakly but his eyes remained open, his emerald stare zeroed in on the half-demon’s face and Inuyasha was surprised at the amount of clarity in them.

“Where was she taken, Shippou?” Inuyasha growled, resisting the urge to shake the kitsune as a savage sense of urgency rocked through him. “Dammit, runt, tell me!”

“Forest,” he croaked, recalling the glimpse he’d caught through a crack in the rubble before falling unconscious. “G-Goshin—”

A coughing fit prevented the rest of the word from passing his lips and he gave a pained whimper, but Inuyasha knew what he’d been trying to say.

Ears flattening against his head, Inuyasha swore as indecision tore at him, his desire to heed the kit’s request to leave him and find Kagome warring with his need to make sure Shippou was safe with the others before he didn’t anything else. Kagome would never forgive him if something happened to her kit, and Inuyasha would never forgive himself if he left him here by himself in such bad shape and something happened to him.

Dammit—“ I can’t leave you here,” Inuyasha gritted out and turned towards the forest where he’d left Miroku and Kaede, his body screaming at him to turn in the other direction toward the God Tree that loomed above everything else.

Wood snapping to his left had Inuyasha whirling around with a snarl on his face, claws raised to protect himself at the kit, but the snarl abruptly died at the sight of the pale and limping village woman that approached him, arms out.

“I’ll take him,” she said and Inuyasha didn’t think twice.

With a nod, Inuyasha carefully deposited the now unconscious kit into her arms, murmuring a quiet “thank you” before turning and sprinting toward the woods, pushing himself harder, faster than ever before. He was a crimson blur as he leapt over the carnage of Kaede’s village, not even daring to spare the few seconds it would take to dispatch the few bandits still standing despite what he’d told Sango. Every second counted; he had no idea what sort of condition his Kagome was in, what he would find when he found her – and he would– and with every instant that prevented him from getting to her, the more danger she could be in.

There was no way in hell Inuyasha was risking that and with a savage growl borne from his desperation, the urgency racing through his veins and his frantic desire to destroy anything that dared harm his woman, he increased his pace, hardly caring when his lungs protested and his legs grew tired. He couldn’t stop, refused to stop; Kagome needed him and he would not fail her.

Hang on, Kagome, Inuyasha thought, features twisted into fearsome scowl as he launched himself through the trees even faster, I’m coming for you. Just hang on!

With a careless shove, Kagome’s back hit the unyielding force of the God Tree behind her and she didn’t even have the time to cry out or attempt to scramble away before he was on her, hands grabbing her wrists and pinning them above her head with freakish strength. Hot, rancid breath fanned over her mouth seconds before it was taken in a hard, punishing kiss and Kagome’s stomach churned.

Already weakened from numerous blows to the head and a hard punch to the stomach, Kagome struggled to escape but the bandit laughed at her attempts, easily pinning her legs between his own and shoving his pelvis into hers. With one hand caging her wrists the other used a knife to slice clean through her dirtied shirt, revealing soft breasts encased in some weird fabric but that hardly deterred him. With a dark chuckle and malicious grin he roughly grabbed her, squeezing and relishing in her cry of pain.

“You can’t fool me, slut,” the bandit laughed as she squirmed and tired to jerk away from his greedy hand, “your nipples hard, I know you like—fuck!”

Stumbling back and releasing his hold, the bandit groaned as he cupped himself, lifting his head to glare murderously at the bitch that had just fucking kneed him in the balls. She glared right back at him as she shrunk back against the tree, body tensing as she prepared to dart off into the trees, and her attacked reacted swiftly before she could escape.

“Fucking whore,” he spat and drove forward, cranking back his fist and punching her hard in the jaw. Her head smacked against the tree and her sound of pain was sweet as she slumped down, her body losing what little strength she had left.

Head swimming, black dots dancing in her vision as pain exploded throughout her skull and down her neck, Kagome could do nothing but whimper and feebly try to push him off her as a heavy weight settled on her thighs and yanked at her skirt, trying to tear it off. A sob caught in her throat and tears leaked from her eyes when she realized what was happening, what was going to happen if she didn’t do something.

“No-o-o-o,” she moaned, trying to buck him off of her, but her body wouldn’t obey, her mind hazy. Rough hands jerked and clawed at her clothes and she tried to shove them away, heart pounding, fear and pain making her movements slow and uncoordinated. Every move she made hurt, head throbbing, every breath like pins and needles stabbing into her chest and stomach.

Another sob welled in her throat. She couldn’t let this happen, she couldn’t— “I-Inu—”

“Shut up,” her attacker hissed, easily evading her hands and managing to shove her bra down enough to reveal her breasts. His prey released a sweet sound of torture and his excitement throbbed in response.

He eyed her perfect breasts greedily, licking his lips as saliva pooled on his tongue and dribbled down his chin. He cackled and while one hand continued to pull at her skirt, the other reached for her chest, fingers inches away form the delectable soft flesh just begging for his touch—

The bandit suddenly froze and the change was abrupt enough to grab Kagome’s attention. Sucking in a stuttering breath, she managed to crack her eyes open enough to catch the look of wide-eyed shock on his face. She blinked in confusion but before she could even think to escape during his strange and sudden distraction, her salivation came in the form of a deadly threat that had Kagome releasing a sob of pure and utter relief.

“If you value your pathetic, sorry excuse for a life at all,” a deep, pissed-off growl reverberated behind him and the positively lethal edge to it had her attacker paling slightly even as Kagome went limp beneath him, “then I suggest you get the fuck outta my sight. Quickly.”

There was a pause as the fool deliberated on what to do. And unfortunately, instead of her tormenter hastily scrambling away as he was strongly bid to do, the bandit seemed to scoff in the face of the threat, regathering some of his lost bravado and not even bothering to look behind him at what was probably just some village man playing hero, unwilling to tear his greedy gaze from the delectable sight before him for even a second.

“Oh yeah, and what’ll happen if I don’t?” He snorted dismissively, resuming his earlier task of ridding the bitch of her wonderfully short kimono. She’d gone completely limp, apparently accepting her fate, and he grinned. Good, this would make it easier. Dumb bitch actually had da brain in that pretty head of hers. Too bad, really; he liked them stupid and weak.

She tried to stop him again, apparently still having some fight left in her, and he roughly swatted away her hands with an annoyed scowl. A subsonic growl filled with lethal warning rumbled behind him again the bandit rolled his eyes. What, did he think he was scared of some mutt? He’d slain demons that sounded ten times more lethal, not to mention bigger!

Impatient and annoyed at the interruption, he waved a hand, dismissing the villager like a common pest.

“Get lost, boy,” he grunted and grinned in victory when the green fabric finally tore under his hands; the girl’s whimper was music to his ears. His black eyes leered at the smooth flesh revealed to him. “I’m busy and I don’t share my playthi—guurrkk.”

Kagome didn’t even flinch as flecks of crimson landed on her pale face, could only watch with wide chocolate eyes as blood welled in the bandit’s mouth and thickly dribbled down his chin, coating the already blood-soaked tip of Tetsusaiga protruding from his throat. Then her would-be rapist was abruptly flung to the side like so much rubbish and the tears spilled from her eyes, blurring her vision, streaking down her bruised cheeks, his name falling from her abused lips in so soft a whisper he almost didn’t hear it.

Covered in copious amounts of both mud and blood, silver hair streaked with red and suikan torn asunder to reveal the muddy and bloody mess that was his chest, Inuyasha looked every bit the warrior to her right then.

He’d found her. Inuyasha had found her, saved her as she knew he would, and as he gazed down at her with intense amber eyes, chest heaving as he dragged in ragged breaths of air, Kagome released a choked sound that sounded suspiciously like his name and reached for him.

Not even bothering to spare a glance at the piece of shit he’d just skewered for daring to touch his Kagome, Inuyasha was still breathing heavily from a combination of his mad dash from the village to get to her in time and the cold panic that had seized his lungs. His golden eyes frantically assessed her form, growling at the dirtied and torn state of her clothes, and though the bruises darkening the perfect skin of her face pissed him the fuck off and made him want to stab the fucker responsible a couple hundred times despite his deceased status, he was glad that that seemed to be the worst of the damage from what his eyes and nose were telling him.

His heart stuttered in his chest when he finally looked into those wide, liquid brown eyes and suddenly overcome with an overwhelming urge that he didn’t even want to resist, Inuyasha let his sword fall unceremoniously to the ground before surging forward, dropping to his knees and taking her hand to haul her into his arms.

Kagome sobbed and clung to him tightly, her body shaking from relief or pain he couldn’t tell but he only held her tighter, crushing her to him as her name fell from his lips in a rough whisper. She curled into him and Inuyasha fell back, cradling her in his lap and letting her cry into his chest, gritting his teeth as emotion welled in his throat and pricked at his eyes.

His hold was desperate, his limbs shaking as he buried his nose in her hair and inhaled her sweet scent, tinged with blood, dirt, and the acrid stench of the fucker who dared lay a hand on her. The odor elicited a thunderous growl to reverberate in his chest, but it vanished just as quickly when Kagome whispered his name again, leaning back to catch his gaze.

“I knew you’d come,��� she breathed, lifting a shaking hand to touch his dirty cheek, chocolate eyes bright and glistening with unshed tears.

Inuyasha wordlessly shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut tight as he cupped the back of her head and pressed he face back into his healing chest, burying his nose into her hair. Kagome sighed and slipped her arms around his waist, finally allowing herself to relax, safe in the arms of her protector, her beloved half-demon.

Allowing himself another selfish moment of relishing in her nearness, the relief that she was okay, a little banged up and shaken but alive, swamping his entire body and it making hard to concentrate on anything else, Inuyasha sucked a shaky breath and released it slowly before dropping a reverent kiss to her forehead, lingering, reluctant to pull away. Kagome squeezed him around the waist, a wordless reassurance, and finally he was able to relax.

He removed his arms from her briefly to shrug out of his already repairing suikan and wrap it around her before taking a moment to drop his sword back into the scabbard and getting to his feet with a soft grunt.

“Shippou,” Kagome murmured, her worry for her kit apparent even through her exhaustion and Inuyasha put her mind at ease.

“He’s fine,” he assured her, pausing to kiss her forehead one more time. “I found him before I went to look for you. Villager took him to the others. He’s a little banged up, but safe.”

She sighed. “Mir...San...” It was a struggle, but she managed to lift her head and gaze up at him, brow wrinkled with her concern even as she struggled to keep her eyes open.

She was starting to drift off, and Inuyasha had to smile. Even as exhausted as she was, it as no surprise that his Kagome was fighting it in order to make sure her friends were all right.

Swallowing thickly, Inuyasha gently cradled the back of her head and leaned down to press his forehead against her own and his sigh was shaky as it ghosted over her lips.

“Safe,” he said thickly, closing his eyes and hearing her soft sigh of relief. “Everyone’s safe. You’re safe, Kagome. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Kagome smiled, closed her eyes, and resting her head on his shoulder, she finally let herself drift off, knowing she was safe in the arms of her beloved as he carried her back to their friends.

*Yunomi: those little clay tea cups they drink out of. 

does kagome have a concussion from all those blows to her head? lakdfklafd let’s pretend she doesn’t lel 

[will-you-are-not]

Years

So the last couple years have knocked me down. Very hard. ROOMMATES To summarize the apartment living scenario: I was hurt, badly, by both people I lived with at separate times. First was like getting a divorce, second a possible brotherly betrayal. No need to go on, it would just be more whining than this is already. I may have deserved it...karma is quiiiite the bitch. ROBBERY Coming up on three years ago I was robbed midday in my apartment of nearly three years, dumb enough to chase them downstairs to where their vehicle was apparently waiting...I couldn't walk for about 5 months without some kind of crutch or brace. For the first two I didn't walk at all. HOSPITALIZATION The hospital? Meh. Had to have the first ER doctor dismissed. He said I was fine and should leave by days' end. Got angry and very physical with my crippled ass to the point that I (with parts of my feet dangling and skin just gone) got calm. I don't remember what I said, but it terrified the man and he left. Nurses? ASTOUNDING. Administration? Eh, the next guy I'm about to talk about was really nice after I made clear to them his actions. Though, they still kept me much longer than necessary. Pain doctor? Wouldn't prescribe me pain meds out of the hospital because I tested positive for Marijuana. Right wing religious type. I came to know this by two nurses whom were actively trying to get me better care. He yelled at me that he wouldn't give me anything unless I took some other pill he prescribed along with whatever. Legitimately, called me an addict, threw a fit, bursting into the room. To which I responded along the lines of: "Doctor, do I distribute the medication? Do I even know how to properly read that board? Tell the nurses or pharmaceutical staff. Not me." I do remember vividly saying for him to do his job and listen or fuck off. Now this...this changed me a bit as a human. He even refused medication after my back hadn't been treated in 5 days. It was just left, forgotten, until the smell was overbearing. Thought the picture they took would be a reminder...somehow that was left out of the file. I had to be skinned to prevent infection. Dad crying, nurses crying, blood everywhere. No shit y'all, no meds. From my shoulder blade to half my ass in a thick strip. Then I was questioned by detectives. ...it was a Thursday... TAKING IT FOR GRANTED Then I heal, enjoy life, get back in my swing. A year of fuck-all after those 6 months of pills, pain, confusion, and anger. I get lazy and desperate, honestly. Desperate for the freedom of living away from home, but too lazy to work hard enough to go at it alone. Looking to work at a distance to eventually move near wherever due to love interests...duumb. Never thought of the fact that there was no way I could break even with such a drive, tore my reliability apart for future jobs, lost my motivation, blah blah. Skipskipskip Then I finally get focused, even through a rough period for me emotionally. I see the goals, can taste it, after so long, I fuckin got this! HARVEY I told everyone it was gonna be terrible. Seriously. I had an emergency plan for us to go under completely. That's why I'm sitting on this mattress that I was asleep on when the water rushed in. Car? Insurance. House and things? Well... We were woken by the rabbit, well, I, by my father; rabbit by proxy. Desperately thumping the ground in hopes that someone would do something about the water lightly lapping over the lip of our front door. I moved everything onto a table I had ready. Bed boosted onto chairs. The water kept rising. I demanded my parents get a bag and pack 3 days worth of clothing. I had already packed the medical supplies. My mother refused, my father was stunned. I yelled, cursed, demanded reason. The water kept rising. Lightning strikes and the rain gets heavier. We don't know the status of the surrounding area but I try to make crystal that it doesn't matter. High ground. Now. Arguments ensue. The water kept rising. Daybreak. Organization. Elderly and children first. Screams. Electrified water. Fires. Floating colonies. Sudden militia. The water stops. The rain pauses. Everyone moves fast to the highway to family and friends able to assist. My uncle had a clear route and decided to brave the uncertainty to rescue us. I rounded my parents together, though reluctant, and tried to drive home the fact that this was our one chance. We used the sanctioned canoe for the center of Marlin; my father had just used it to save our neighbor from eventually burning to death in the attic... Rain falls again. We pack up, cover electronics, stop the dog's panic seizure, and I race. I pull the canoe far ahead, leaving my mother, then father behind. My uncle had been texting us impatiently before we had to go dark to tread. I knew there wasn't much time, though I didn't want to even pass the thought he'd leave us... The water is rising. I get to the front. No familiar car. My father runs from our civilian staging ground to the now empty military one on the other side of our sinking ship of a neighborhood. Only a few first responders remain to help in case of immediate emergency. No family. No national guard. Just us: Citizens, trying to save each other. It begins to pour. My mother cries. The dog whimpers. The eyes of the rabbit dilate. My father attempts to console... I. I am livid. I left my parents behind to stop an invisible train! I yelled at them! Me! Their son! They trusted me directing them, but I put my trust in a mirage. It never existed. I found, after digging for my phone, that the coward had left 30 minutes prior. Sent, "look for the national guard." that's it. Left us in rising waters, devastated neighborhood, roads disappearing, because he was afraid to get stuck...for even a moment. The water kept rising Complete strangers offer to take us down the highway to where we were headed in the first place. My father stays behind. He has to return the canoe and make sure no one else is trapped. I go with my mother and what remains of our possessions. I make sure no one sees it, but as I'm holding my large German shepherd/lab mix and shielding the rabbit from the torrent, I cry. I sob from my soul. It hurts. Gone. So much. So many. We were left behind. I had looked up to him for so long... then realized at that moment, thinking of the bigger picture... It was never action. All talk. Even helping me through my issues, he'd pass it off "above my pay grade" "I'll see what I can do" he'd say. I told him my darkest secrets, confided in him over my father. I was truly appalled. Crossing the bell tower, a coast guard chopper blazes by us. Low, toward the Bayridge that was. The water kept rising ... BUT NOT NEARLY ENOUGH. The route my uncle took to us, then ran from us by, was still completely passable. We get to the compound safe...but my father... Lightning causes the sky to rumble with anger. We wait. I download walkies that newly formed militias are coordinating with. There's no clear paths. I sit, frozen, as the scale of the situation finally settles in. My uncle, father's brother this time, braves currents, weather, and all odds to retrieve my father from the disaster zone. I can't stand idly. My friends, whom were deeper in the waterlogged zones and in a sedan, came to get me. We went through all of southeast Houston, and I broadcasted through public social media posts the roads passable. I cried once more, but not after, when I saw the Central Business District (one of 5 downtown districts of Houston proper) of my city DARK while radio chatter pleaded in the background... The sky began to darken Both of my friends risking their lives and possessions, I, simply navigating; it seemed so miniscule...but only after did I hear how much we helped. Curfew initiated Martial law in effect... Though... We took care of ourselves down here. It rained for three more days. AFTERMATH Bish, it's Houston, we good. BUT Personally, I just want to give up. Every time I get motivated, something literally cataclysmic happens on a personal level or otherwise. Now I've been caught in limbo, reconnecting with the other side of the family I distanced myself from due to religious and, in my view, character complications. But they took me in. No question, just love. Now we help each other in so many ways and speak philosophy and art. The side of the family I was always close to now pushes me away simply because I'm not letting it go. The man hasn't even apologized yet. Hell no. Y'all gonna cut me off, someone who's been through it, started walkin the walk, just cuz you think my current dreams make me a deadbeat? You know that man lives off ya daughter's paycheck and has for decades, right? Like fuck. Wanna utilize those certificates your wife got ya, pal? I see that car, that jewelry, cigars, his whole fucking lifestyle is a sham. Maybe if he actually closed on sales instead of bitching about them...UGH like...and politics. You know nothing. His politik is all politik. RAWR!!! Sorry y'all. Heated still. I JUST WANT "I'M SORRY". NO REASONS, NOTHIN. Then I'll legit be fine. ANYWAY I'm catching this semester at school, but after nearly having it down before and failing to launch over and over... It all seems so far away. Now, once again, it storms as I reminisce. Scarred and damp

[robertcrokerstories]

Party in Athens, GA

I usually throw a party (which I call a “mixer,” just to be quaint) each school term. (UGA is on a quarter system, so this means four a year.) The Fall Mixer is on or about St. Crispin’s Day (“He who lives this day and comes safe home…”), the winter one on my birthday, which is also Jim Herbert’s (which shoots astrology squarely in the head), the spring version springs (as it were) unplanned from the brow of Zeus, and the summer one is on the anniversary of 1969’s Great Big Gasoline Tank Explosion and Fire (which event accounts for the slightly off-square configuration of my ‘68 Dodge van) on the site of what has since become T.K. Harty’s Saloon.

I start by inviting everybody I know. Sometimes I make hand-drawn invitations and maps and post them around the Art Department. Then everybody I know invites everybody they know, and they, in turn, invite everybody they know. (Some restrictions may apply.)

Then, on the day of, I bribe (with some combination of beer and food – heavy on one, light on the other) a few impecunious (hence easily-bribed) undergraduates to come out and help me square the place away and a couple more to drive the Dudge around to a beer distributor and the seafood joint for oysters, while someone else (no names, no pack drill) goes with me in Das Ding an Sich (my Volkswagen Thing – I’m a two-car family) to the grocery store to help me figure out which one’s the eggplant and which one’s the zucchini, and another person takes charge of the music and maybe the bottle-rockets, depending. 

As people start to show up, we mill around for a little while until somebody taps the keg or thinks up something else to do, like fill a wading pool or set up a DJ station, and I wander idly about, loosing off a few bottle-rockets just to get things stirred up until Karen’s rumbustious, promiscuously affectionate dog Zak arrives (slightly in advance of his putative owner) and begins to impose social order according to his genetic code of conduct. The electronic musicians set up in the studio, the DJ in the living room, and the acoustic contingent forms up on the lawn. Then whatever happens, happens until evening falls, when throwing cooked spaghetti at the kitchen wall becomes an artform, an ever-growing performance piece, title to be determined. About midnight or so, I take a little time out from my host duties (or perform them) to disarm Joe Capshaw and dissuade him and Robert Rivers from stomping Legs McNeil to death, by which act I conceivably (I won’t push this too far) save Punk Magazine – and possibly the whole genre -- from collapse, then go back to watching for the cops….

Things start to get murky right about the time the ‘possum family looks in on the meatsauce and Rivers takes a break from the football game in the living room (it fails to occur to me to ask why the game isn’t on the lawn…) to escort them out to the garden, where they seem pretty happy sniffing about in the vegetables – oh – jeez, I hope they’re vegetables – that my tenant farmers (aka my independent study group) have planted, and that my pet goat, Vincent, has studiously ignored in pursuit of my neighbor’s peach trees – Oley’s diagramming Cézanne compositions on the window shades and there are a coupla’ places I don’t dare look, and I’m by this time praying for the cops to come, praying for them, and there’s some guy from the math department wandering around looking for his daughter, who (thankfully) isn’t there, and the telephone rings and thank god it’s the sheriff; maybe he’ll take me to a nice, safe, friendly jail cell, but all he sez is “Ah, ‘fesser Croker, probly yore neighbors’d ‘preciate it ‘f y’all’d desist shootin’ off far’works? ‘N’ maybe switch th’ music over to Bluegrayiss? Shorly do thank’ee…. Y’all have a good time, now, y’heah? Be safe…” By this time the bars have closed, and fresh reinforcements arrive….

I go out in the yard, sit in the (miraculously unoccupied) swing, take a few deep breaths. The football game having collapsed under its own weight, the living room has now become a mosh-pit. The house is literally rocking. This is not a chemically induced hallucination: the walls are actually shaking, the roof pulsating….

The roof. There. Are. People. On. The roof. How in blue-eyed, ever-lovin’ cotton-pickin' hayull did they get there, forget why? What are they doing!? How, for the luvva mike, will they get down…? Well, there are more people inside the house than the laws of physics would seem to admit; maybe Werner Heisenberg could explain it…. I’ll hafta ask next time I see him -- I could swear he was here a few minutes ago, but I’m not certain -- he and Oley were discussing the existential implications of the Split-T Formation…. A shadowy figure in the pecan tree – is he naked? – could it possibly be… nonononono, certainly not – awww, it is! -- delivers an absolutely cogent lecture, worthy of a Columbia PhD., to an audience he can see and I can’t, illustrated with slides that they can see and I can’t, but which nearly convinces me that Pieter Bruegel and Hieronymus Bosch were the same person, but I know for sure that if either of them (or him) were here right now, he (or they) would be hard at work in familiar territory….

By three, everybody’s starting to fade: so they’re receptive to my patented public reading of “The Miller’s Tale.” The audience, most of whom may safely be supposed not to understand Middle English, somehow knows to laugh at the all the right places. Alternatively, sometimes I read the Disgusting British Candy Drill from Gravity’s Rainbow.

By dawn's early light, only Janice, Bob, Sean, Suzy, KatzenDebbie and Joe, along with a person I’ve never seen before and will never see again, are left standing. (Joe isn’t actually standing – it’s a figure of speech--) Rivers is peacefully asleep under the bathroom sink. There are two or three others scattered around the proppity in places I haven't looked yet, like the culvert under Cherokee Road and the back seat of the abandoned ‘65 Chevy haphazardly parked more-or-less in the driveway, keys (whew!) in the ignition. The living-room floor is strewn with peanut and oyster shells and some other stuff that eludes identification. There is blood on my shirt.

I gently implore the kittens, Celui-ci and Celui-lá, to please for the love of God quit stamping their feet. Somebody, I think Janice or Suzy, could be Sean -- hard to tell (I think he's the one with the beard) -- starts some coffee (ah!) and eggs that had some-miraculously-how avoided being used as projectiles or mural elements. Bob, God bless him, in an act of stone (or stoned) courage, begins to scrape the revolting oleaginous glutinate mess of reeking oyster residue from the kitchen sink. (“Does anybody want any more of this before I throw it out?”)

It's raining: a slow, grey drizzle. The lawn looks, somewhat appropriately, like the aftermath of Agincourt. I sing, quietly, so as not to arouse -Ci and -Lá, (or the newly-discovered recumbent form behind the couch – is it the mathematician’s daughter?) "Orwe king dyd go forth to Normandie...." After breakfast, we form a police line (assholes 'n' elbows, people) at the road and, as my neighbors get ready for church, pick up the first of thirty-odd bags of detritus – the very cans that did affright the air of Winterville -- that we will later -- much later – put in the Dudge and take (in two sorties) to the dump. By then, the legends – including but not limited to this one -- are already taking shape, to be remember’d with advantages (if a tad vaguely) by the happy few who come safe home. -RLC, 2013

Footnote: My first formal “mixer” took place in 1974 at my house (the “Murder House”) at 1308 Timothy Road. Janice Stanland, then registrar at GMOA, ordered the oysters and prepared cole slaw. There was a head of lettuce left unused after the party that I kept in the refrigerator and took with me when I moved to Winterville. I exhibited it (despite some resistance) in the Edible Art exhibition of 1978. It has followed me through all my peregrinations since. It is now 42 years old.