#akathehellcat

[cruelonlytobekindarchived]

@akathehellcat

there’s a bowl of ice cream in your lap. you’re max bloom, after all, and max bloom sometimes likes blue ribbon caramel swirl plus sprinkles for breakfast. at least on days when your face twinges a little bit and when you’ve had a few rough nights before. (you love working as a consultant, you really do. you do good work. you help. you make things better. but it’s exhausting, isn’t it?)

emotionally diminishing beyond reason.

netflix queue’s glowing on the huge tv. spoon’s standing in the middle of the ice cream. it’s melting slowly around chilly metal.

“do you think the ted bundy tapes is too much?”

as in, is this decent? no, probably not, max, it’s 9 am.

[thedestrcyer]

“   do  you  like  space?   ”      has  she  ever  asked  that  question  before?      has  ripley  even  ever  made  it  clear  ,  even  with  her  trauma  ,  that  she’ll  always  love  space  ,  that  stardust  made  her  bones?     probably  not.    ripley’s  only  sitting  out  on  the  porch  because  she’s  about  to  light  up  a  cigarette.    dark  eyes  staring  out  at  the  city  ,  cigarette  and  lighter  in  each  hand.    jawline  set.

❯     starter call!   /     @akathehellcat  ,

[godbloodednope]

@akathehellcat (x)

She tells her always. Constantly. Leave it to her. Is she not the one who cannot die? Is she not the one who may take danger without consequence? It is not she who is fearless, is it not she who is without weakness? It is, it is. And she tried. Let that never be said she did not.

In fact, she took the brunt of the trying. She was the one who managed to force Trish just enough out of the way to be hit by immediate impact. But a god’s body is far more resistant to pain than a human’s. And while by no means has she been unharmed, Kitty Valentine can suffer the pains beneath the impact with little complaint. All the damages done to her person can be quietly magicked away, though she cannot heal them.

While she has that kind of talent, she does not in such terrible, grand weakness. Beneath the guise of seeming without blemish, she is, in fact, all bruises and cuts. Burns and eviscerations that will fade with time.

The doctors ask her questions. She answers them as well as she can, scared, her eyes wide, her words thick, her accent stuck in her mouth. How did this happen. Who are you. Where does she live. Do you know if she has any prior medical history.

Kitty fumbles her way through a series of lies until she can feel her chest caving with the fearful force of interrogation. Jessica shows up just in time to cut in, smoother of voice than she, and Kitty’s grateful for it because she feels like she’s going to faint but she’s been nervously speaking from point a to point b.

But now it’s just her and Trish again, and a gloved hand touches a palm gently.

“‘T’s ‘kay. Trish. Ya name’s Trish,” it’s short for something Kitty would remember if she thought hard enough, “y’okay. ‘M’heyuh. Ya not— by y’self.”

Is that enough? Is it? She appears human enough. Teeth normal— a faked thing, but they look it— an eye that sees, pupils standard rounded, as a human’s is, not the more feline or lizard slit it generally is. Normal. She passes for normal. (Even if she maintains muscle— this is purposeful.)

“Y’okay.”

She will not be afraid, she tells herself, because Trish needs her, and Trish needs her to not be afraid.

Jessica’s gaze says so whenever she’s in here. It’s not quite unkind but it is, as she says so often, get your shit together.

So she’s got her shit together.

[samenkomen]

there    was    no    chance           in    hell    that    jessica    was    going    to    let    dorothy    pick    trish   up    from    rehab.           if    anything    her    presence    would    only    present    memories    that    the    the    blond    was    in    no    shape    to    deal    with    at    a    time    like    this.         &        there    was    even     less    chance    in    hell    that    she’d    let    her    slide    back    into    whatever        pills         she’d    been    strung    out    on    for    the   likes    of    a    goddamn    waste    of    space    like    her.          because    now    that    sterling    was    gone        ──         trish    was    truly    the    only    family    she    had    left.         which     made    her    well    worth    protecting. so    a    few    threats    were    uttered          &            here    she    was.           standing    outside    the    facility  with    nerves    that    would    usually    have    her    begging   for    a    bottle    of    cheap    ass    whiskey.       for    there    was    a    chance    that    this    wouldn’t    help.          that   this    would    turn    out    to    be   just    like    last   time.            chances    heightened    depending     on    if    she    wanted    to    keep    up     with    the        ‘pop    star’          gig.            but    somehow    jessica    had    to    remain    hopeful    this    time.          as    trish   had    only    checked    in    thanks    to    her    belligerent   nagging. “trish  !”          hand    waves    at   the    sight    of    her    exiting    the    heavy    doors.           heart    skipping    a  beat    once    assessing    how    much   healthier    she    looked.  

@akathehellcat    !                   /   /                  PLOTTED    STARTER  

[horrorempathya]

she’s  being  nice  today,  trish.     which  really  just  makes  her  look  awkward.    kristen,  in  a  rare  human  form?    different.

also --    your  fault,  trish.    you  tell  her  harder,    she  goes  harder. really,  she’s  prone  to  do  just  about  anything  you  ask  under  the  guise  of  behind  difficult  &  abrasive.   she  still isn’t  all  that  mentally  stable.  ❛   for  some  odd  reason,  i’m  prone  to  liking  valentine’s  day  over  any  other  holiday. i don’t  have  the  answer  to  why,  but  i  definitely  should  have.    did  you  forget  who  you’re  dating?   i’m  the  definition  of  dangerous.   ❜ or,  at  least  her  lifestyle.   says  the  ‘dangerous’  woman  who  definitely  thought  of  trish  walker  on  the  day  to  commemorate  love  &  bought  a  stuffed  bear  &   a  knife  in  tribute.   head  turns  just  the  slightest,  smile  on  kristen’s  lips.

❛   are  you  free  tonight?   ❜

*  continued  \\  @akathehellcat.

[raidstombs]

mea culpa.

(  @akathehellcat.  )

                    though she was loath to admit it, LARA had truly acted like a right proper ARSE during her and TRISH’s night out amongst LONDON’s social elite. what should have been a TRIUMPH for them had instead been TAINTED by her drunken behavior. she wasn’t PROUD of it ... but, at the same time, she found it difficult to bring herself to APOLOGIZE verbally. time and time again, she had attempted to write TRISH a text expressing her REGRET; but she could never get the words quite right. so, she’d sent NOTHING. 

                     after a week of lying low (in order to give her girlfriend a chance to cool off,) LARA finally decided to take ACTION. thus, she found herself seated upon her DUCATI motorcycle just outside of the studio she KNEW for a fact MS. WALKER would be recording at that afternoon. resting on the back of the bike was a second helmet, as well as a lone ROSE -- both intended for her LOVE. she watched the doors like a HAWK in anticipation of TRISH’s departure from behind the CRIMSON-TINTED lenses of her rounded sunglasses. she was DETERMINED to win her back, one way or another -- and to ATONE from her ghastly behavior. 

[cruelonlytobekindarchived]

@akathehellcat (x)

“Hey,” Max, affronted, offended, irate, aghast, he draws Trish in closet and drops a kiss to the crown of soft blonde hair. Lovingly, “I’ll protect you from anything. Including chainsaw-wielding murderers who happens to be the shitty killer in an ancient found footage film. Why the hell were you watching The Texas Chainsaw Massacre to begin with?”

But that smile on a scarred mouth says there’s no distaste to her words. That smile and those soft, soft, snowflake blue eyes, perhaps the bluest there have ever been. Honestly. Bing Crosby eat your fucking heart out.

“You know you hate that kind of thing. I don’t even like horror films. —Well, mostly. Good psychological thrillers—“

If she’s allowed she’s going to go on. And end up talking about Alien. So just— stop now.

“Are you comfortable, being unprotected because your boyfriend is small, absolutely not seeking protection because of your small boyfriend who cannot protect you?”

Cheeky.

[cruelonlytobekindarchived]

@akathehellcat

How many people have you thrown out of this bar? It’s been two tonight, so far. Getting hands with a server does that to you here. And she’s supposed to be a barback. Or she would be if her second unofficial, non paid job wasn’t to hurl someone out on their own ass. She’s tried to do this as unseen as possible.

(She hasn’t succeeded.)

And now that the night’s ended she’s sitting here with a vodka tonic in a glass. (She has an aversion to beer she cannot quite explain or shake.) there’s page turning and page turning— Plato’s Symposium— and she’s largely alone at the bar this late. Her tongue wanders errant and constant to her teeth. Runs along them like an anxious habit.

Max no last name brushes a thick handful of dark, dark, dark hair from practically translucent blue eyes.

There’s too much sensory input at the same time. Too much emotion. Too much sound and taste and sight and too many things she’d rather not pay attention to but can’t stop paying attention to.

She could really use a set of earplugs. Really and sincerely. But that can’t be applied here where all her terribly irritating senses have to be in play.

Prick. Blood in her mouth. Tongue. Great. She winces quietly for a second. It’s a breath in. No muttered profanity. She just turns a page again. Swallows red. The forgetfulness of that rough feeling is a stress reaction. Her temper’s always present, quiet.

Nails drumming on a table with some impatience. For what, she doesn’t know. She always feels impatient.