#I know this was really long and perhaps irrelevant but whatever

[sapphicrow]

The choices for the side enemies in each section of resident evil was very deliberate, and shows off both what Mother Miranda thought the lords deserved and what suits their characters. This may have been for difficulty purposes for each area, but still. I think it is a nice tidbit of flavor to our characters even if it’s indirect. Also I have brain rot.

Moreau doesn’t have any mobs. His reservoir is uniquely isolated. It’s evident from the way the other lords treat him that this is how they feel towards him as well. He isn’t a popular fella. As such, Mother Miranda granted him no special protection or privileges. Besides, I’m sure his bile would repel any creature, even a zombie or moroaica.

Lady Dimitrescu has many creatures within her castle because she interacts with more people on the regular. It’s canon that she had a whole service of female servants who were regularly harvested and experimented on. These subjects are later turned into one of two things: moroaica (the on ground creepy crawlies), or samca (the harpy looking things on the roof). Though we know Alcina isn’t Miranda’s favorite, she’s still pretty high up there. She had to make these critters herself still. Plus, her castle is huge and it only makes sense to have scattered security. I’d say Alcina’s daughters count as a high honor and another reflection of the characterization of Castle Dimitrescu.

As for Lady Beneviento, her situation is an interesting one. Angie doesn’t quite count as a mob, since she is technically an extension of Donna’s consciousness. This is obviously part of her as a person. Disregarding Angie, Donna has no major creatures. I say this because I don’t believe her dolls count as beasts bestowed upon her by Miranda. They’re handmade. She had to harness the skills of cadou experimentation, combined with the craftsmanship of doll making. This reflects Donna because she is isolated, but skillful enough to combat it unlike Moreau. She’s delusional, but evidently not to the same degree as Sal. She copes in her own fucked up, crafty way.

Last but not least, Heisenberg. Now, Heisenberg is Mother Miranda’s established favorite. The golden child. The sun of her sons. It’s also established that Mother’s fondness is by no means requited. Heisenberg loathes her. But nonetheless, even with his absolutely meh loyalty, he has a fair deal of power bestowed upon him. Disregarding his cadou abilities, he has the entirety of the lycan pack. That is no small force. Miranda practically trusts the most dangerous lord with an army. I’d like to believe she isn’t stupid enough not to realize his faulty loyalty, but I feel as if she treats him like a second true child. He’s the son that could’ve been Eva’s big brother should everything have worked out. Love is blind, and Miranda’s too busy to question cutie Karl. Karl also has the Soldats that he’s made himself. This is an intriguing view of him in my opinion. Karl lets Ethan slaughter Miranda’s creation because the entire time he’s been using the powers she gave him to oppose her. Silly guy moment.

Mother Miranda herself has no side mob which is very purposeful as well. She works alone. Her sidekick is the cadou, which we see in the form of all those root looking appendages bursting forth from the ground later in the game. Unlike Moreau who’s isolated due to his insufferable and odorous nature, Miranda is alone by choice. By grief, more accurately. Why bother with companions when Eva isn’t back yet? For her shattered mindset, I’m sure the thought of her daughter is companionship enough. Even with the mold making an appearance, Ethan only has to engage in combat with her herself. This is because even with the mold present, she’s still the vessel. It’s illogical and unnecessary for the megamycete to risk itself when Miranda is right there and so willing to take the blunt of the force.

The megamycete’s side mob is every single thing infected with the mold.

Thank you for reading :) hope it was coherent

[klausysworld]

Hi could you write some angst about a deeply insecure reader who hates her appearance and is sort of friends with Elena and everyone(pushed to the side kind of relationship)but when klaus comes around it’s clear that she has a crush but believes he’s out of her league then klaus uses it to his advantage by showing an interest in her for information and helps her with her self worth.klaus then starts to develop feelings for her but then it’s revealed that he was just manipulating her and reader is devastated and utterly humiliated and it sets her back to how she was before him.(sorry if that was a really long explanation,you can decide the ending)thanks I love your writing btw

Real

Growing up in Mystic Falls is a bizarre experience.

There were town events almost every month where you had to dress up and act better than everyone, parents basically had a competition over who had the prettiest daughters or the most handsome sons.

Not my parents.

They didn't think I was good enough to even pretend that I could compete. I was told my worth from a young age and became more aware of it with time. When your own parents don't think you're good enough it's sort of an eye-opener if you will.

It didn't help that everyone in this town seemed to be born into modelling.

Somehow I was lucky enough to wind up 'friends' with people like Elena, Caroline and Bonnie but I knew I didn't belong with them. Somehow they were gorgeous enough to get whatever they wanted.

Sometimes I wondered if everyone else at the age of 17 looked like them and I was behind or if somewhere, I was above average. I doubted it. A lot.

Occasionally I would look at a mirror and think that I wasn't even that bad to look at. There was nothing particularly ugly about me, there just wasn't anything special. I looked plain in a way, bland and forgettable.

I was very forgettable actually. My 'friends' made that abundantly clear throughout the years when they would go out without me or forget to ask if I also wanted something or liked something.

Somehow I was of no value to them. Perhaps I was simply there to amplify their beauty. Like a DUFF. I was definitely the DUFF.

Damon actually told me that I was once, after Tyler had made the joke and Damon asked what it meant. Even though I already knew it to be true, to be told it was much worse.

You could sort of tell everyone else was thinking it, especially when I was stood beside Caroline.

Stefan was the only one who was nice but I wasn't sure if it was out of pity or just because that was who he was. Then again, I'd rather just not know.

So I tried my best to keep in the background, avoid attention and stay out the way.

Even with all the vampire and werewolf drama that took course, I kept myself quiet and to the side. Strangely it was Katherine who was kind to me, whether she had an ulterior motif I'm not so sure anymore but she never hurt me in the time she was there. Neither did Elijah when he came to town, he was polite to everyone but it was obvious that my presence was irrelevant to him.

And then of course, Klaus arrived.

I didn't officially meet him until the senior prank night, he sort of just threw to the side and told me to keep my mouth closed and not to bother running because he'd just kill me. Part of me thought about running anyway so he would just end it but I didn't.

Klaus dragged me by my wrist into his car, told me to keep quiet while he drove Elena to the hospital. For whatever reason he brought me along and left me in the car as he went to drain her of blood for his hybrids. I did as told: sat silently and waited.

He came back out and spoke to Damon for a moment, I saw them glance over in my direction only for Damon to laugh and smirk. I sighed to myself and got out the car. It was clear that Klaus thought I could be a good pawn but was surly mistaken and Damon told him to do whatever he wanted to me. In response I walked home, neither noticed so it was fine.

A week or so later he came back, crashed homecoming or something? I dunno, I wasn't there but I was told about it the next day via a stroppy Caroline.

It was that same day that he came and sat beside me at the grill. I ignored him for the most part, confused by his attempt at what I could only guess was flirting? I wasn't really sure. I think he could tell.

"Not easily impressed are you love?" he questioned as he leant forward, uncomfortably close. I sort of just looked at him, still unsure to what he wanted. A smirk pulled at the end of his lips and his hand lifted, his fingers wrapping around a piece of my hair making frown and pull away abruptly. Without hesitation I stood up and spun on my heel, going to leave. His laugh followed me and a hand grabbed my waits, it was stange.

"Calm down love, It's not like I was going to rip it out, I just wondered what it felt like" he chuckled, pulling my back flush against his front making me tense and squirm.

"It feels like hair" I stated simply "Now get off" I grunted, shoving my elbow into his side to make him let go. I kept walking, keeping my eyes on the ground.

The next time I saw him he apologised for the previous encounter which again, i didn't understand but there was no point in questioning and arguing so I just accepted it and tried to leave but he asked if I'd stay for one drink, he asked so nicely and he smiled. I was stupid enough to think it was genuine and accepted.

Looking back it was pretty obvious that this was a game for him or a trap, whatever you want to label it but in the moment I ignored what was right in my face. Deep down I knew it was all a joke of sorts really.

But no boy, let alone a man had shown me this sort of attention and the soft fluttering it made me feel had me staying for far too long. I listened to his little stories and asked a range of questions as the drinks kept coming. He asked a couple about me but i gave relatively vague answers. There wasn't much I had to give him on me, I wasn't up for a pity party about friends and I didn't really fancy talking about my shitty parents either. I think Klaus picked up on the fact that I didn't really want to talk about me and eventually gave up with it.

It was late when I realised I needed to get home and he offered to take me which I admit made me wary. I didn't want him to kidnap me and think I'd be any good as leverage again, though I guess Damon made that pretty clear already. I decided to just walk home which he eventually accepted and got into his car.

Walking by myself probably wasn't my best option after drinking so much in one go but I made it home with minimal stumbling. My mother shook her head when she saw me and asked what was wrong with me. When she realised I had been drinking her mind jumped to two very different conclusions. The first being that I was being a slut which was ironic as in the past she'd made it clear that no guy would want to sleep with me, and the second being that I had taken pills to kill myself.

Listening to her drastic thinking made me wonder what kind of pills she was on but I didn't question it and waited for my father to come and take her to bed, telling her to just ignore me. Then I proceeded to make my way to the bathroom, getting changed and washing my face before going to my bed.

My phone dinged making me sigh, thinking it was Elena asking me to help her with something dumb and life threatening however much to my surprise it was Klaus. A smile involuntarily spread across my face and we messaged back and forth before he told me to rest.

The following few days he would just check in. Not too much but he also made it clear that he hadn't forgotten me which was all I had ever truly wanted from someone. To be acknowledged at the very least.

Of course I didn't tell the others that he had been talking to me, besides they didn't ask so I didn't see why I should. I guess I just wanted something for myself.

I wasn't completely stupid. I always had the feeling that he was using me, especially towards the start...but he was just so wonderful with his words and his ways.

When he began to make and buy sweet gifts and claim they were tokens of his affection, I couldn't help the blush on my face. When he would find a way to have his skin against mine, or how he would pick up my hand and gently tug my along. Somehow we always seemed to end up somewhere for food, and he would always refuse to let me pay.

Something about him was so enticing, addictive if you will.

He began to make me feel a certain way. He made me warm and happy. His touch was so soft, it made me feel like I was buzzing. i was stupid for thinking he could feel the same way about me.

I had been so scared to admit my feelings.

He had assured me that he would never push me to.

He told me that he liked me, that he didn't want me to be frightened of him or nervous around him. "Not unless it's the sort of nervous that puts butterflies in your stomach sweetheart" he had teased and my cheeks had glowed red.

Over the space of months his presence never lessoned. He always made time to see me, and speak with me. I found myself longing for his voice, his touch.

On days where he was too busy at home, he would urge me to come over. I would spend as long as I possibly could with him, a few times I even stayed over but he had slept on top of the duvet so that I would feel comfortable.

This had gone on for a small while until he actually said the words 'I love you'.

Perhaps I was just so happy to actually hear those words. Maybe I believed them to be true, real. Or I just saw what I wanted to see, heard what I wanted to hear and ignored the rest.

The time I gave myself to him used to make my smile and blush. Now it just makes me feel dirty, humiliated and embarrassed.

Knowing that he could and has had his hands all over my body, his lips and eyes. In the moment I felt like a goddess, probably because that’s what he told me I was. The memory of him inside me haunts me. I had thought it to be such a beautiful experience, romantic and personal.

I wish I could say that I had slept with him only once but as the months went by we would share intimacy often.

I had even told him that I loved him, so many times and I meant it for all of them.

So you should understand why it was so hard to accidentally hear him tell his sister that he had been compelling me for any information on the others.

It had felt as though my heart had stopped when the words hit my ears and tears already made my eyes burn. I heard a weak laugh and turned my head to see Damon, strung up by chains whilst bleeding all over, looking straight back at me.

“Y/n…” I heard Klaus’s voice, his tone one of panic or maybe it was just surprise. He probably didn’t want me to know of his routine. Damon only rolled his eyes and gave me look,

“You didn’t…think it was real, right?” He coughed, a cruel smile on his face.

His words just made me quieter. They made me think. Why did I think it was real?

My eyes slowly lifted to meet Klaus’s. I could see and feel Rebekah looking at me, everyone was silent. Even Damon shut up for a second. I think maybe he was expecting me to say something but I didn’t really have anything to tell him.

As awful as it all made me feel, and even with the amount of emotions swallowing me, I felt more disappointed in myself than I did him.

My right hand went to my left arm, pinching my skin through my jumper in some sort of hope that I’d wake up from some stupid nightmare but it didn’t work.

The first tear fell from my eye and I sniffed to keep the other ones from coming.

Klaus just looked at me, I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, I didn’t want to know either. I could just guess anyway.

So without a word I just turned around and left, walking quickly back out the door before breaking into a sprint in the direction of my house. I could feel the mascara running down my face, ruining the foundation I had only recently started wearing, for Klaus’s benefit.

My hands wiped at the tears as I pushed my from door shut behind me and went upstairs, blocking out the annoyed voices of my parents and locking myself in my room.

It was only once I was in the shower that I was flooded with memories. That I remembered all the things I had done with him. By the time I stepped out of the bathroom my skin was scrubbed raw in an attempt to wash his touch away. Even the slightest touch made me feel as though my body was burning, stinging with pain but I would have rather felt that every day than have to realise Klaus had been using me for over a year now.

I was curled in my bed, hidden under the blankets and surrounded by the dark as I let every comment not matter how small or petty play back through my mind.

I wasn’t even sure who to be upset with. I chose myself.

Klaus must’ve known I was an easy target. Desperate. I wonder how much he’s had me tell him. To be fair I knew more than you’d expect about what was going on. I had gotten good at observing and overhearing so I still knew what was going on, even when spending so much time with Klaus himself.

I also wondered what else he had compelled me to do. I hoped he wouldn’t do anything other than ask questions but I couldn’t help that fear creep inside me. It made me sick to my stomach, and then I wondered if he would just wait to compel me again so that I could continue to be his information feeder.

The idea made my fingers dig into my arm, bruising the skin purple but I wouldn’t stop. I only did so that I could go get some vervain that I kept downstairs in one of the cupboards at the back. I was reaching for the little glass bottle when I heard a door close. I spun around quickly to see Klaus in the doorway of my kitchen. My hand clutched onto the vervain tightly and I noticed his eyes glance at it briefly. His hands went up as if to show no harm but there was no way I would believe that meant a thing.

“Sweetheart- listen to me..” he began and I let out a breathless laugh

“Get out” I whispered making him sigh and frown as though he had the audacity to be upset or annoyed.

“Y/n..”

“No Klaus. I’m fucking serious, get out.” I told him, my eyes watering again. I let out an involuntary whimper when he stepped forward making him stop and stand still.

“I never meant for you to know that” he whispered and I frowned, swiping a tear away.

“Sorry I ruined your plan” I mumble, exhausted.

“No- no I didn’t mean it like that- I meant that-“

“Klaus it’s fine” I murmur, avoiding his eye, “It’s fine, I get it. You needed to know what was happening, you got to be two steps ahead. I’d appreciate if you just found someone else now please”

I could feel his stare on me, it make my skin itch and I just needed him to go. I could feel my hand getting clammy as I held onto the bottle.

“I haven’t compelled you in such a long time” he muttered, as though maybe that made it better. “I used to, but I truly have fallen for you Y/n. I love-“

“Please get out” I cut him off, my spare hand resting on my forehead to cover my eyes.

“I love you”

“No you don’t” I cry, “you wouldn’t do this to someone you love. I know you don’t love me. You never have and you never could. You’re just pretending again so I’ll let you control me, I don’t like it” I whimper, tears streaming again. I could hear him getting closer but I was already against the counter and I couldn’t out run him. There was no point in trying.

“Sweetheart, I’ll never use you again-“ he tried to argue but I couldn’t listen to it.

“I really, really need you to leave. Please Klaus just get out, I can’t stand you” I tell him honestly and for a second as I look up at him, he looks almost sad but I have to assume it’s still apart of his act.

“You- you��re not going to do anything…anything harmful are you? To yourself, I mean.” He asked and I felt a wave of embarrassment wash over me. I should never have told him that I’d had those thoughts or feelings once. I shouldn’t have ever said a word to him.

“No…now go away” I whisper, my hands trembling as I stared at the ground, listening to his footsteps eventually get further away.

I knew there was no way I could sleep, he was probably still outside my house. Waiting.

I wasn’t sure what he was waiting for but I could him there.

I had no idea what I was going to do.

[incidentallysunny]

I Was Never There.

Death Island Leon x Reader

Real!Dad Leon

Dead dove warning.

13k word count. Proof read 3 times until I got to around 11k then I stopped worrying and just skimmed. Critique is welcomed and my skin is thick for it.

I’d like to appear in the tagz pls so here’s a warning. My writing is not ever meant to be taken literally and is just for the sake of writing f*cked up content that I enjoy writing. If you do not wish to read this, please do not as my intentions are not to offend or make you intentionally uncomfortable but if you choose to read- don’t be hateful. With that out of the way, extremely sensitive content and dead dove material ahead.

Specifically blood-related incest, smut, suicidal ideation, mentions of grotesque imagery, light mentions of gore in a hypothetical scenario, daddy-issues, age-gap, overall disturbing topics.

As far as smut specifically: this includes talking of public sex, mentions of oral, fingering, unprotected sex, cream-pie (wrap your willy irl pls) praise, dirty talk, any probably some other irrelevant shit I’m forgetting my b.

PROCEED if you read the above, are okay with it, and are mentally unwell like I am. Happy reading, it’s a long one.

The drive from your college town to where your home had been all your life was as expected. Nostalgia and homesickness being mixed in your gut like a can of paint in one of those weird machines at the hardware store that your dad would take you to. Speaking of dad, you hardly remember him. He was present for a short while, your mom always excusing his absence with work this and work that. He really did get busy, though. Almost dying several times. You still remember your moms panicked phone calls, her countless prescription drugs for the same problems you now suffer from, and her late-night bathroom breakdowns. Apparently he couldn’t get out of this job though. Some real fucked up government shit he was tied to, your mom explained. All you know about him is that he saved the president’s daughter. Whatever.

So yeah- a perfect life with a perfect set of parents. One being mentally driven through the dirt and the other that you haven’t seen in 8 years or maybe more. You can’t seem to remember if the last few times you saw your dad were daisied dreams or reality. Bastard has never FaceTimed or video called you, either. Dunno if he even had a phone capable of that. Either way, it must be for the better, because your grades had been sufficient without stressors on your mind. And we all know a low-effort dad would definitely be one. But perhaps he’d rather just be there in person. Older people are like that.

You grunted, trying to drag your over-packed suitcase up the steep suburban driveway before sighing and standing in place. Sure, you didn’t need to bring so much shit home, but would you really want to risk some bitch at college stealing anything from your quad-dorm?

Before you could think and figure out how you’d even get the plastic luggage up the pristine, hand-painted porch steps and inside (without scratching them up and having your parents on your ass about their perfect house having a flaw) a voice called out to you. Unrecognized and not ringing any of the bells in your head. (If there were any left)

“Hey there, sweetheart. It’s been a while, huh?”

You turned to see a middle-aged man, similar to the last memory of your dad that had been printing-pressed into your mind for safe keeping. He was just emerging from the front door, broad chest accentuated by a well-fitted T-shirt. You immediately felt angry that his tits were bigger than yours. Would probably look better with a bra, too.

You didn’t answer.

Fuck- nerves were getting the better of you. Your palms were slick with sweat and you didn’t know if it was from the building summer humidity or anxiety. Was this normal? No the fuck it wasn’t.

“Uhh.. dad?” You queried- almost certain the gorgeous man at the door was just a hotter, older version of your dad and not actually him. The fuck is wrong with you? You’re getting this worked up over your father? Did college drinking really rewire your brain to be this fucked or is it all of the anxiety meds? Maybe both. Maybe you’re just overwhelmed. Maybe it’s because you rarely saw him and have zero attachment.

“Yeah, it’s me. Your old man. Missed you, kiddo.” There’s a pause for a moment- because you’re not sure why he’s talking so casually as if you see each other every weekend- like it hasn’t been years and years since you’ve seen him.

“Don’t remember me,huh?” He laughs satirically- like you’re supposed to be so sure. It makes you slightly furious and the feeling of anger bubbles up again- replacing any strange thoughts you were having moments ago.

No, my apologies dearest dad. I totally recognize you despite having met you enough times to count on almost two hands.

But the better part of you that managed to exist underneath the scores of problems you had just replied in jest- like someone without said scores of problems. It was best to keep the peace for now.

“You look a little different… sorry.” Is that all you can manage? It’s pitiful the state that your sullied mind is in.

He chuckles, though, like he knows your’re right. The sound is more pleasant and striking when it’s genuine. Makes you feel damp in other areas than just your armpits (thank you, heatwave).

“I suppose there’s truth to that. But It’s alright, sweetheart. I know it’s been a long time. People change, right?” His eyes scan you in an undecided way.

“But you, shit. You’ve grown into such a beautiful woman. College treating you well?” His words sound a little huffed then, he’s clearly beating around the bigger issue with a stick. But him calling you beautiful and being all fucking sappy makes your face feel hot and sticky like it’ll melt off. Got you wanting to rip the hair from your scalp to hear him say it again.

“Please?” You called out gently- gesturing to the suitcase and ignoring any other question. You were very much overstimulated- having overexerted muscles in your arms by being a weak bitch about a crammed carry-on. Just get your ass out here and help your daughter, thanks.

He shook his head- again laughing hotly while looking down as he stepped off the porch- his brown bangs were peppered with greys and they brushed his face on one side, his hair somehow pornographic on its own. Christ. He looked like one of those men you saw on Viagra commercials that obviously didn’t actually need it. Even the sight of your perfectly trimmed lawn and faux-looking home completed the scene. Where was the camera?

He walked over to you- there was a slight stiff in his stride; like he had a bad back or something. Maybe he did. Almost dying was the likely cause for that. Serves him right for leaving you with issues on top of issues. Maybe you should stop being mean, you’re the one getting hot over your own father. Again- because of him. Circle back to square one.

Leon towered over your frame as he hinged at the hips, picking up the suitcase with ease- the muscles in his arm flexed with each small movement. His face was a tinge of smug with a mix of something else…satisfaction? Maybe he was just pleased he was able to lift it without rupturing a hernia. Jesus Christ, his veins. You wonder if he has them anywhere else. No- maybe you should be wondering about taking your ass to an inpatient facility immediately. A few screws are loose and you don’t exactly have the tools to tighten them.

“I guess college did treat you well. You’re here in one piece.” He says- cutting you thickly from your thoughts and answering his own question from earlier. His blue eyes are sweet and gently lined with signs of aging. Which only makes him hotter- just like the fiery pits of hell that await you.

You scoff.

“Well, it’s not like I went to war or something.”

“Still. It’s nice to see you, sweetheart.” The word rolls off his tongue again. Your insides are trapezing around in their own miniature, fleshy circus- you’re wishing you could stab yourself in the stomach to stop the swarm of butterflies that don’t even feel metaphorical anymore. You’re sure they’re real now.

He continues, though.

“I know I haven’t been around much in your life- this fucking job and-“ You stare up at him- glossy doe-eyes and stupid look on your face. An apology- or even an explanation from your daddy might be part of what your scrambled brain needs.

“Work kept me away, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t think about you every day. I’m sorry if I wasn’t there for you like I should have been. Shit… What I mean to say, is- things will be different. I’ve retired. Your mother wanted me to tell you over dinner later but I figured you’d be happy to know. I’m not the best at keeping secrets.” He jokes at the end, but how is that true in the slightest? He’s kept his job a secret for your entire life, so he clearly can’t be that horrible at it.

“Oh.” Leaves your lips quietly, ghosting over Leon and leaving him wondering if he said something wrong. But then he realizes it’s probably just overwhelming for you. The worst part of him thinks you hate him. A feeling overcomes you though, and you rush in to wrap your arms around his waist- hugging him tightly. You now wonder why he didn’t hug you to begin with. Maybe he wasn’t an affectionate guy.

He says nothing at first- he’s even more awkward than you are if it’s possible. But he’s trying. He sets down your suitcase before returning your hold. One arm comes around the back of you and the other is overlapped on top- a hand nestling on the back of your head. Seems he’s getting a bit emotional, too. The attention from him is nice, though.

When you make a small grunt as to wanting to end the hug, his hands linger on your shoulders and he smiles at you. You actually return to, not feeling anything horrid become of your thoughts right now. Whether it be anger or incestual lust.

—

Your dad pushes the front door open with one of his large hands encased on the knob. Hands you immediately find attractive, wondering if they’d feel nice scissoring your cunt open. You now begin to understand why your mom was getting suicidal over him possibly not returning home. You’d kill yourself over him too. But that’s too morbid- especially after the moment you just shared.

That’s already lost to you.

He shut the door firmly, sighing, then gestures to the stairs.

You went up first, self conscious about your backside being right in front of his view but he was your dad. Wouldn’t be looking at you that way. You’re just brain-rotted and have an ill opinion of men.

Your old bedroom still looked the same, basically. Just emptier and more hollow without your things. But the walls were still painted a babydoll-pink and lined with the few girlish decorations you left on the wall. No way you would have been caught dead with those in your dorm. Not unless you wanted to endure torment and bullying that’d lead you to jumping off the dormitory roof.

He sets your luggage down and takes a seat on your bed. A groan escapes him as he puts a hand on his lower back for a moment.

“I see this room hasn’t changed much, has it?” he muses, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Your mom and I had a blast putting it together for you when she was pregnant.”

Yikes. You almost feel guilt for both the incestuous thoughts and the fact you may have ruined your parents' marriage. Maybe that’s not true. It was his work- not you. After all, he’s insinuating how happy they were to have you brought into this world. Plus- they were fine. Never argued or anything.

“I’m sorry. I dont- I don’t know what to say.” You laughed awkwardly, throwing your hands slightly up by your side.

His face doesn’t drop, though. It seems he understands perfectly fine.

“It’s okay. We can start from scratch. Not talk about… your room or childhood stuff. I know it’s a sore spot for you, sweetheart.”

Wrong. It’s more like a festering wound with the rusted knife still wedged in it. The knife being Leon and the wound your daddy issues, by the way. And having no attachment to him as a father figure makes the attraction worse. Notably when he calls you any term of endearment. He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

What the fuck. Was he sculpted by Satan himself as some kind of hell-on-earth punishment? Is this purgatory? Everything he did now was driving you up the wall like a roach- every movement and small flex showing a vein or bulge of muscle. And his arm hair didn’t help. Fucking Christ- shave it off or something. You don’t know how you’ll be able to stand it.

“Okay…. How does that work?” You cocked your head to the side a little, shifting your weight onto one leg. A nervous habit.

“Well- what do most parents do with their kids? We could go out for dinner, catch a movie, just… hang out. I’d like to spend time with my daughter, you know.”

Okay, so maybe he did care. That’s a start.

“Uh… all three?” You questioned, an eyebrow lifting along with the infliction of your voice towards the end of your sentence. You’re indecisive like your mom.

He smiled, lines and the corners of his mouth pressed. Happy. Something you heard wasn’t common for him, anyways.

“Of course. We can go out tomorrow, honey. Your mom just wants us to all have dinner together when she gets home. She missed you- not as much as I did, I bet.” He does that stupid fucking wink again. It makes you switch emotions and want to throw something at his head. Maybe your lamp. You feel bad, It’s not his fault you’re acting like a mental freak about him. You don’t even bother to fixate on the fact you’ll have to have dinner with your cunt of a mom. Okay, maybe that’s harsh.

“Okay.” You breathe out, looking around your room. Leon takes that as a cue to stand up from your old bed- the thing creaking from his weight and leaving an indent on your comforter.

“It’s a date, then. I’m going to start dinner. As much as I love your mother, she can be…scary.” He says, still rocking that pressed-in-cheek smile and cracking your door closed behind him. By the way, what he really meant was probably ‘bitchy’- not scary. But dad seems too kind to say that. He loves your mom.

You can breathe again without his presence. It was smothering, like you had to overperform. You find yourself rushing to your dresser mirror to check how you looked. Hair looks great, face too- though a little tired from college over-studying and then driving 4 hours home with no break.

You might as well write ‘whore’ on your mirror with lipstick. Or a marker- since that’s a more permanent reminder with the way you’re acting. But part of you wanted to know what he thought of you- how he perceived you. For now though, it doesn’t matter. Had barely been 15 minutes since you arrived. You turn your attention to your suitcase and push it over flat, unzipping it before the teeth give out and some of your things spill from inside.

You had less than a sufficient amount of energy to care about it being broken now- so you just put your things away quickly before plopping onto the bed and indulging your senses with the smell of the floral detergent your mom always used on your sheets.

—

It’s some time later when you’re abruptly awoken by your moms manicured hand shaking you awake by the shoulder.

“I can’t believe you’re sleeping when you could be spending time with your father. He was excited for you to be home.”

‘Way to wake me up.’ You thought. She was always having a stick up her ass about this kind of thing. Or anything, really..

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Besides, we’re going out tomorrow to do a bunch of stuff.” You argue sleepily, sitting up as your back aches with your vision still adjusting. She cuts on the lamp, sizzling your retinas.

Her face perks up but is pleasantly surprised.

“Oh, okay..” silence.

“I’m sorry, honey. It was just a long day at work and I’m just over-the-moon for you two to finally have some daddy-daughter time.”

You wrinkle your face in disgust, but not fully disgust since you were just fawning over your hot dad earlier. Maybe daddy doesn’t sound so bad.

“Ew- mom. He’s just my dad. I’m not five.” She laughs, waving her hand off at you.

“Well anyhow- come down for dinner, will you? He put in a lot of effort to cook something for us.”

You cursed under your breath and straighten out your shirt- hoping she wouldn’t bitch about it being slightly wrinkled from you sleeping in it. You seat yourself at the table- adjacent from your mother sitting at the end. She’s already changed out of her office clothes and sure enough, here comes your daddy dad from the kitchen with utensils.

“Sorry ladies- almost forgot these.” He laughs, placing down everyone’s set before seating himself next to you. Fuck.

“You know- your father has only been home a few months and he’s already shown the extent of his memory loss.” She jokes, giving him a loving yet teasing look that makes you want to vomit. And yet jealousy curls up like a cat in your lap, wanting to be lavished with attention from you. The metaphorical jealousy pounces off your lap as you’re met with your dad’s hand on your denim-clad thigh. It’s an innocent gesture but you want to his hand to go further than just sitting politely.

“She’s right, but I can be useful otherwise.” He’s bantering back with her- and you realize he’s making an innuendo when you look over at his face. But it’s weird that he’s saying it while his digits cradle your thigh so gently.

“Gross.” You take a bite of your food- momentarily shocked that a dad of any sort could make such a pleasant meal, especially when he’s spent such little time doing domestic duties.

“Oh honey- you’re grown. We’re just teasing each other.” Your mom nods to Leon, taking a bite off of her fork. His hand slides off of your thigh and he grabs his whiskey glass to take a proper sip.

Jeez, he drinks that shit like its water. No grimacing. No face was made when he swallowed it. Just a guy thing you suppose.

Dinner drags on- the both of them forcing you to talk about your less-than-thrilling college experience. No mom, no boyfriend. No dad, I’m not failing. No you two, I’m not having unprotected sex- fuck off.

After that eventful meal and conversation where your parents basically eye-fucked each other over dinner, you’re left to clean up the mess while your mom gets ready for bed. She has to leave for work early in the morning- as usual. Guess she’s going to take your dad’s spot for the absent parent now that you’re grown and traumatized full and proper.

-

Sleep came and went- leaving you to trudge out of bed and do your morning routine. It felt out of place trying to do it back at home- but it was also a sentimental feeling to be doing just that.

Leon is already in the kitchen, shirtless and cooking. Seems impractical, but holy fuck. You’d gorilla glue your eyelids open just to not miss a single second of what you’re seeing. Maybe that wasn’t needed- because you've been staring long enough that your eyes prick with tears. You remind yourself to blink and you seat yourself at the high-top, the stool swiveling slightly when your bottom meets the material.

“Morning, sweetheart. Sleep well?” He asks, turning to look at you over his shoulder. His traps are distracting you. You want to chew your fingernails past the nail bed- bite a finger off too. You can’t stand it. For a moment- the way he talks to you- you’re pretending you’re not his daughter. And then a moment later, you’re not being delusional anymore.

“Mhm.” You mumble sleepily- wishing you’d have stayed in bed longer. But piercing morning light, lack of blackout curtains, and the chirping of birds outside made that idea inconceivable. Leon chuckled to himself- turned away from you.

You decide to scroll through your phone for a moment’s time before he slides a plate to you from across the island.

“Breakfast a la Leon.” He says- clearly being silly. Corny as fuck, anyways.

“You’re old.” You snort, setting aside your phone and grabbing a fork to pick at your food until he turns away again. You didn’t enjoy the idea of having a hot, shirtless man watching you eat.

He shakes his head, sitting down next to you at the island.

Christ. Fucking go away. It’s actually enraging now.

You want to scream at him- it’s irrational and crazy- but you do. Screaming at him and being sent away to a ward sounds more appealing than the anxiety crawling up your spine like a horde of fire ants. Potentially- just like the butterflies- they’re real too.

He seems undisturbed as he settles- taking a bite. You do the same- trying to ignore the fact he's so close you can nearly feel his arm hair touching you every second or so. He breaks the silence after a moment.

“So- after this, I’ve got a whole day planned out. Mall, movies, and dinner. Sound good?” You nod, a soft ‘mhm’ reverberating on the roof of your mouth.

He finishes before you and makes his way upstairs- the occasional pain in his back unmistakeable every few steps. And yet he wants to take you to the mall to walk around? You didn’t even know how to feel about a day with your dad. What’s a dad? What’s daddy-daughter bonding? That’s lost to you- well- more like it was never even discovered. Not even Columbus could have ventured out and conquered it.

Since he’s no longer in the room, you hastily eat the rest of your breakfast before you discard the plate and fork into the way-too-elaborate dishwasher your mom had installed (you totally didn’t spend 10 minutes trying to turn it on).

Back in your room, you settle on a simple, totally not underlyingly slutty outfit. Shorts and a crop top. Can never go wrong with that. It’s just soft/core prom enough for an outing with your dad. When you leave your room- Leon is just headed down the stairs. He turns to look at you, his smile is as jovial as it has been since you’ve seen him. For a moment though, you think you catch his eyes landing on your exposed legs- but you know you’re just crazy. You’re the one lusting after him, not the other way around. Your dad isn’t abnormal like you. His head is on correctly- even if it’s been battered and spun on his shoulders throughout the years.

“Ready?” He asks, stopping in place to wait for you. You nod stupidly, breaking from your trance to follow him in a descent down the stairs.

He’s dressed similar to how he was yesterday- jeans and a t-shirt that should be considered indecent. If you were your mom, you’d beg him to wear something that doesn’t highlight every curve and dip of his chest. Hell, if you were your mom, you’d never let him go outside. Too risky. But you’re not your mom. You’re just unusual.

As a perfect man does, he opens the door for you. Then opens the SUV door, allowing you in before shutting it behind. You’re sure you've never met a guy that does that in real life, but maybe it was a ‘you’ problem and not the guy. Who knows.

When he gets in, he cranks the vehicle only for rock music to start playing from the radio- making the corners of his mouth dimple with a pleased look. Really are the simple things for him. As for you, you’re suffocated in a Hellish torment by both his presence and the expensive scent of cologne and leather seats combo.

The ride isn’t long, nor bad. Albeit you two only talk here and there so he can focus on the road- and so you can focus on not dying (he’s not a perfect driver, but not terrible either). Just enough to keep your nerves teetering between a light anxiety attack and full blown panic.

You’re relieved to get there alive. Maybe not. Your thoughts have you thinking suicide may be your only option for now disgusting they are. And it only gets worse when he helps you down from the step up of the SUV- a hand on your exposed waist and the other on your shoulder. It’s harmless. Just a dad being gentlemanly. He was shaped and carved out in that perfect, chivalrous image with only a mallet and hammer. No reason to make it weird.

Inside the mall is a tad busy- the perfect amount to be comforting. You feel a bit more at ease in a public setting since you can now focus on anything but your dad’s chest. As long as he doesn’t require eye contact or talk to you, that is.

He looks around, arms crossed. It’s almost whorish. He has to know his arms look good. Or that his everything looks good. The fuck.

“So…” He cranes his head to the side, bangs brushing over his nose for a moment. The way he looks around makes his Adam’s apple and neck muscles a little more prominent. A perfect, stubbled spot to attack with your lips.

“What do you feel like doing first, kiddo?”

You. Is what you want to say.

He looks back to you, smiling down amused. He seems genuinely happy to be able to take you out. But really- his face is making you nauseous. Obviously not because it’s bad. But because it’s good-bad. Too good it’s bad.

“Uhh… “ you look away from him, scanning the entrance area and looking at any signs. Almost like an escape.

“How about new clothes maybe? Seems like something got ahold to the other half of your pants anyways.” He nudges you with an elbow, gesturing to your shorts with his head.

So he probably did look at your legs earlier. Maybe not in the way you think, though.

You glare at him.

“Seriously?”

Leon puts his hands up in defense. He’s always on the defense in life anyways.

“Joking, joking. You’re…grown.” His forehead lines crease when he raises his brows. You did get rather annoyed at his comment, however.

“I could always buy some even shorter.” You spit sarcastically.

“Yes- because every father wants to walk around with their daughter who has her ass out.” He’s quick to remark, this time he seems grumpier when he talks. Sorta like he’s uncomfortable with the conversation. Or that he’s mad.

“Sorry my legs make you so uncomfortable. I guess I should’ve left them at home.” The back and forth here could go on forever between you two but he catches you off guard.

“Shit- no. It’s not that- ‘s just you’ve got nice legs. Can’t have these…shitheads eying down my little girl. I may be old, but I can fight when I need to.”

You know he meant his words innocently enough, but the fact that he said nice legs has you giddy inside. Same feeling when your crush calls you pretty. Yeah- that sorta feeling. And his little girl. It has a ring to it. Could even legally change your name to it so that he can call you by it more often. Maybe he’ll even let you jump on his dick right away.

Your face is pure rose-shaded. A perfect, neutral shade to make your embarrassment pop on your skin. You’re sure it’s visible to him, too. Your mom always teased you about how blotchy it would get when you were humiliated. Particularly when she would tell awkward stories about you at family dinners. Bitch.

“What’s wrong? Don’t be pissed at me, sweetheart. I was just teasin-“

“It’s not that.” You interrupt- heart thumping into your rib cage. If it doesn’t stop, or you don’t stop your word-vomit, it might crack a rib or four. Probably more. Better have hospital bill and therapy money ready, dad.

“Then what’s the matter? I just want us to have a good time together. I’m not trying to upset y-“

“You said I have nice legs.” You’re quick to cut him off again.

“And…?” He trails off, cocking his head to the side like he’s confused. Because he is confused. You stare off to the side- eyes glued to the fountain. Maybe you could go drown yourself in the penny-flavored water that you guarantee hasn’t been changed out since you were still the unlucky sperm in your dad’s ball-sack.

“I like that. You saying that.” You speak a little lower now- afraid someone will hear. Or because the tinnitus is so loud in your ears. What you’re getting at is almost clear now. Or at least clear enough.

Leon’s expression is taken aback but still confused to an extent because he’s not even certain what you’re saying. Though, he has an idea.

“Oh- uh. Okay. Sweethea-“

“Holy fuck- stop calling me that. You’re not making this easy. Wanting to fuck you. I know- I sound mental.” You spill it out, guts on the floor and the sword still in hand. Holy shit. Just told your dad you want to fuck him. You could have backtracked- fucking dumbass. You won’t be shocked if he packs his bags and leaves off again tomorrow.

He’s silent for a moment.

“Okay- clearly I wasn’t around enough. I get that. But I mean- fuck.” He runs his hand through his hair, looking around. Probably thinking the same thing about the fountain that you did. Still- he looked hot while having a crisis and contemplating immediate suicide. He paces while your nerves are being electrocuted in your body. Why couldn’t you just be normal?

“Just- sweetheart, no. None of that’s.. I can’t.” He starts, turning back to you. It seems he can look you in the eyes now. So maybe he’s not entirely disgusted by you. His face isn’t contorted with disgust, so there’s a chance. Yeah, you’re off your rocker now. You know.

“Look- let’s not talk about this. C’mon. Let’s go catch a movie like I promised.” He starts walking- leaving you standing in a puddle of shame and embarrassment for a moment before stopping to let you catch up.

Luckily- the theater is joined to the mall. It’ll be a short walk.

—

Leon is lax on the couch until he hears the crunchy sound of tires on concrete. You’re home. Despite his shitty back, he's huffing as he gets up fast and is already opening the door. The air is hot as it greets his skin and he watches you struggle with your suitcase through the heat-haze that spans over the distance.

He calls out to you- making your head snap in his direction. Your face is that of awe and confusion. You don’t seem to immediately recognize him- okay. He gets it. It’s been a while. Nevertheless, you’re beautiful. He’d seen pictures of you from your mother, but he’s in awe just as you are. Though, he doesn’t think that highly of himself so he often wonders if you’re even his kid. Couldn’t have made something that perfect, in his mind. He helps you with your bag and follows you to your room. But your demeanor around him is noticeably mousey. At first, it doesn't seem like much. You’re just getting used to him.

Plus, Leon knows he can come off intimidating. Sometimes. But for him, he’s got a good eye and his job has led him to being able to read even the tiniest bits of body language. Doesn’t take him long to see how you’re worming around shyly- subconsciously smoothing your hair down and biting at your lip. Same way your mom acted around him before they started dating. But again- maybe it’s just in his head. Leon’s been wrong a time or two.

A better man would have left it alone. Leon gets that. But an innocent thigh squeeze at dinner can help him test his theory. A thigh squeeze that’s under the guise of friendly, fatherly touch. You tense- he can hear your small, sucked in breaths as long as his hand is there, along with heat radiating off your body like a wildfire. If wildfires could be horny college-aged daughters with daddy issues, that is.

The idea disgusts him. Because he should feel disgusted and just kill himself. Where did these thoughts come from? He even has the urge to let his hand wander other places. Bets that you have a cute pussy. No matter what it does or doesn’t look like, it’s yours and he knows it's cute. He’d give you two thick digits in your hole (three if you allow him) and have his tongue kitten-lick your clit.

“There we go. Good girl.” Is what he envisions saying before diving back in for a mouth full of you. Girls like you love being praised. Especially by their estranged father-figure or a middle aged man. It’s all the same. He’d pry the daddy issues right out of you with his dick. It’s long and fat enough, and solves all of his matters properly. Your mom is in a bad mood? His dick will fix that. He can’t sleep? His dick will fix that. His daughter is a horny freak and begging for it? His dick will fix that, too- obviously.

It’s only when your mom makes some stupid fucking joke about his memory loss that he snaps back into reality and he loses the momentum he had going for an erection. Which is good. Maybe thinking about fucking your mom will make him normal again. So he drops a quip right back- something about… being useful. Yeah. Again, his cock is useful. Your mom bites at his words, but you’re annoyed and disgusted with his comment- especially with his hand on you while he says it.

Trust me, baby. Much rather be splitting you open than having performative, mandatory spousal sex. It’s like a switch flipped. He’s not interested in your mom. Should’ve had that realization years ago, even. Technically he did. He’s just now saying it in his head finally. Mostly he was exhausted because she had nothing to do with Leon even when he was home (unless it was for dick). Too bad he was a golden retriever following after her every step like a good doggy. Marriage did that to a guy. He just did what he was supposed to. Kept the lights on, blew out her back occasionally, listened to her complain, and took care of the lawn when he could. Easy enough. That’s what men do, right? He doesn’t really know what being a man is, honestly. Thanks, Major Krauser. Anyhow- he chokes down his food with a smile. The need to upchuck after everything he just thought up is a given.

He takes the liberty to fuck your mom later that night as promised per (faux) flirting over dinner. He has her face down-ass up, though. For… imagination’s sake. At least fucking a pussy and imagining you is better than his hand and imagining you. Or so he tells himself. Call it killing two birds with one stone, satisfying your mom and quelling his own desires. And it’s not hard to imagine any of it, because you look so much like your mother. He lies awake for a short while after- contemplating his existence and fucked up thoughts. He’s still holding back vomit and the urge to grab his gun from the nightstand and off himself all over the wallpaper, while in the process, traumatizing your mom. After an hour of this- he figures it’s fine, men think of perverted or weird shit sometimes. Jerk off to weird shit too. He hasn’t technically done anything morally wrong… sort of. It’s denial. At least he’s good at playing the part of a genuine, loving father. Because he is! He loves his family. Always has!

Spending time with you would make you happy, him happy, your mom happy. He loves you dearly. All is great. He’s swearing that his brain won’t be smoothied in his skull by tomorrow. It’ll be normal and function rationally.

But Leon wakes up with the thoughts being real as ever while he stretches an arm out to feel around for your mother- bed empty since she leaves at the ass crack of dawn. Leon had just missed her leave, he’s still getting used to sleeping in ever since he retired.

He gets up and heads downstairs- immediately starting breakfast to take his mind off his…mind. Breakfast is his favorite meal of the day, it makes him feel better to indulge in it right now. Though, he doesn’t bother putting a shirt on at any point- just rocking those generic, green and blue tartan patterned pajama pants. Cooking shirtless is weird- but he’s hungry and part of him wonders if he’ll get to see your priceless face when you walk into the kitchen. He shakes his head- telling himself that he just had this talk with himself last night. None of that shit.

He was right about one thing. God, he could make a killing in betting. He sees your reflection behind him in the small window above the counter but you didn’t know that. Just stood, gawking. It’s okay. He’s observative, you’re not. You’re his dumb little girl. Dumb in the way you shift in your stool next to him when he sits down, dumb how you hold your breath when he’s near, dumb how you can’t even eat next to him, and dumb how your thighs seem to wriggle when his arm ‘accidentally’ brushes yours. Oh, he’s definitely not wrong.

Still- he knows when to back off. He hounds down his food, before you even make a dent in your plate, and heads upstairs to shower. He’s analyzing every detail of himself, contemplating how he can get under your skin the most- his knuckles gripping the sink with distaste for himself. Because it’s wrong. He’s acting like a teenager. This is a date with his daughter, not his highschool girlfriend.

Leon skips over shaving his face. Likes to keep it a little grown out but not too much so. Just in case he gets the chance to eat (your) pussy or kiss (your) a neck. Then comes the Dior ‘Sauvage’ body wash he never failed to keep with him. He takes pride in smelling good if anything. And this particularly expensive wash, plus the cologne, was his lifeline for that. When he traveled for work- the D.S.O. better have god damned had some sent to his room as courtesy. Ever since Raccoon City- he’s adamant about not smelling less than great. He swears he can still smell the sewer on himself sometimes, even if it’s not really there.

His hair routine was even more extensive and involved a weekly hair mask. Hey- it wasn’t wrong for a guy to have nice hair. It paid off.

Heat protectant, blow dry, hot-comb to get any cow licks or fly-aways he might have- though it’s unlikely- and a little spritz of biotin spray to keep it healthy and shiny. All of that in reasonable time, too. And no- it's not weird for him to spend longer on his hair than your mom does.

Besides, you seem to appreciate the way he looks when you come out of your bedroom- watching him descend the stairs. Leon looks back at you- eyes on your legs momentarily then coming back up. He knows it was a quick look- quick enough to make you question it. You do. Very much. Still, taking you out in public wearing those shorts is less than ideal for him, but he’s the one who needs to be watched closely. Aforementioned, Leon’s great at pretending. Pretending to be normal. Pretending to not have ulterior motives. Pretending to not want your legs on his shoulders as he-

“All ready?” He interrupts himself here. Can’t let his thoughts keep going too far. Even if he does want to rest a hand on your leg while he drives. Or veer off the road and into a tree so that he can’t continue to be disgusting. He’d die with the image of being a good, wholesome dad in everyone’s mind. And if you did or didn’t die too, at least you would have died not having been fucked silly by your old man. He manages to not kill you both, though. He wasn’t planning to- his driving is just ass. He knows whiskey with his breakfast isn’t ideal but when you’re a recovering alcoholic plus post traumatic stressed failure of a father, it helps.

Can’t complain though since he gets to put his hands on you while helping you out of the vehicle.

Now you’re both in the mall- Leon questioning what exactly he’s supposed to do now. He hasn’t been to one since… he doesn’t have enough fingers for that. But you’re seemingly calm. Until he makes a stupid joke about your shorts. Sure. As much as he’s thinking about ripping a hole in the crotch to fuck you cause he’s impatient and stupid- he said it out of genuine concern.

He still has fatherly instinct. Some sick bastard could get a glimpse of your exposed legs and go jerk off to it or take a photo. Ironic coming from him right now. The call is coming from inside the house but the dad is too busy fiending after his own daughter to answer.

You’re royally pissed. He knows it. Women don’t like having it insinuated that they’re dressed like a whore. Big whoop, though. Someone has to say it. Then you blindside him. Big, needy eyes and saying you like it when he tells you your legs are nice. Then something about how you want to fuck him. Christ. What the fuck. He’s not sure if this is some kind of screwy set-up or you’re actually just so slutty that the only dick you’ll accept is your dad’s. He’s rocking a semi now. Would be a full hard-on if he weren’t in public but his head spins cause all the blood went to his loins too fast.

Leon doesn’t accept the advances yet. Not now, anyways. He’s mortified. He really thought he had himself going in delusion about how you were behaving- but he was actually right. And now being confronted with it… he’s fucking scared - that’s for sure. Hmm. Be a morally acceptable human or fuck your needy, whore daughter silly? He shakes his head and lets out an exhale.

That question needs some thought. No, it doesn’t. He knows better than to do any of that shit, right? He takes a moment to start walking while you follow along shamefully- the two of you headed to the theater. A movie is perfect. Don’t have to talk or anything. No interacting, really. But how the fuck is he just going to forget what you said? Sure, he’s been having questionable thoughts but they’re just thoughts. Your words, however, spoke it into existence. Like a fucked up, frankenstein’s monster of father-daughter reality.

Don’t mind us, everyone. Daughter’s got it real bad for me but I’m just going to take her to the movies and pretend it’s normal. Reality was distorted for him ever since the existence of zombies and BOWs anyway.

He lets you pick the movie- telling the attendant that he needs two tickets. It’s a horror movie. Of course. Something to trigger his PTSD, maybe. Then he could say anything he did after that was just accidental. A mental slip. He goes to fork over the $60 for tickets and popcorn- god, when did shit get so expensive? As he’s pulling out the cash, he sees you give him a look like you want to say something. His mind is racing looking at you- it makes him nervous.

“Uh.. what about candy?” You ask, looking away from him and at the display.

“What? Sour worms?” He questions you, laughing. Not in a mean way- but because it’s your favorite. So insignificant but he remembers. You were still a kid when he and your mom took you to see some milked out children’s movie that was a part of an entirely too long series. He bought you two boxes of sour worms then. You were a weird kid, though. The worms were split into two colors, and you’d always bite them down the middle and make him eat the side you didn’t like. But he’d do it. Gladly.

You nod, a little befuddled that he’d remember something like that. Cute. Too bad your weird ass just told him you wanted to fuck him about 15 minutes ago. So not entirely a cute moment.

“Oh- and two boxes of Sour Worms, please.” He adds, now pulling out a little more cash.

You both respectively grab your own drinks- Leon with popcorn in tow and you, your worms and cherry soda. His hands are full but he manages to flash the movie ticket between his index and middle finger to the usher, who then ripped it in half and pointed to the left end of the hallway.

You both don’t say anything, but you immediately race to the very top row like a child once inside the screening. Leon swears under his breath as he follows you like a geriatric snail. If a snail could have lumbar issues. He’s able to make it up the stairs to you quite some time after and takes the seat next to you that’s closest to the aisle. Safety and all that jazz.

Previews are already playing so it gives him peace of mind to not address the awkwardness between the two of you. Your soda is in the cup holder that’s separating you both, but you lean over to take a sip, cheeks hollowed out while you drink. Of course Leon looks over, fuck.

Pretty little lips wrapped around the straw until you pull off of it with a satisfied sigh. Cause you were thirsty from anxiety- like someone shoved gauze and cotton into your mouth.

He shifts in his seat and looks back at the screen. He doesn’t even know if you’re doing it on purpose. You’re not, however. He’s just a perverted dickhead.

Time passes and not a single soul has come into this screening. It’s Monday at 11am, after all. Who the hell would come watch a horror movie at this time? No one except two fucking weirdos. It’s making Leon’s nails dig into the armrest with the other set scratching at his jeans.

The movie doesn’t start off bad, to Leon’s shock. He’s actually enjoying it and you seem just as entranced, pulling open the box of Sour Worms without looking down. You do wind up looking down, however, to bite one in half because it just so happened to be a blue and orange combo, and you hated the orange side.

“Here.” Leon turns to look at you- your eyes coming up to meet his blue ones that are oddly blue enough to the point that any light from the screen makes them pop. Pretty.

“The orange half. I know you don’t like them.” His voice is husky and low since the speakers are blaring some generic string-quartet horror piece. He nods down to the half chewed candy in your palm.

You pinch it between your fingers, bringing it to his mouth as your cunt throbs. He was expecting you to hand it to him, but the way you confidentially yet instinctively brought it to his lips isn’t entirely unwelcome. The emptiness of the theater makes it that way. Allows room for incest of whatever. He opens his mouth for you, and you go to place the sour treat on his tongue. His lips gently close around it, before he grabs your wrist to hold your arm in place. A hold gentle enough to tell you that if you want to snatch your hand away- feel free to do so. But you don’t. And you won’t. He knows.

Candy in cheek, he brings your fingers to his lips and nurses your knuckles with a kiss before puppeteering your hand with his larger one, working each digit so that he can equally suck each one clean. You’re amazed, aroused, and alarmed all at the same time. Amazed because he looks so gorgeous sucking on your fingers. Aroused for the obvious reason. Alarmed because duh, he’s your father and things can only go further from here.

Leon places your hand back onto the arm rest between you, chewing the halved sour worm now. As if he didn’t just give you the most visually appealing form of sexual affection in the history of womankind. The dryness of your mouth returns and you take another sip of your Cherry soda. Maybe you can drown yourself in it. No, stupid. That’s what the public bathroom toilets are for.

Right before you set the plastic cup into the cupholder again, Leon speaks.

“Ah, ah. Put it over there.” You don’t even hesitate to listen. Record timing for you doing anything. You don’t even know why you followed his instructions so quick.

“Good girl.” His words send lightning of excitement down your nerves and straight to your clit as he pushes the armrest between you upwards and out of the way. Because that’s a thing, for some reason. It’s like theaters want people to fuck, give head, and spread their diseases everywhere. And why does he know they move? You don’t even want to question it. Maybe he’s just a knowledgeable guy.

“Come here, honey. Let daddy kiss that pretty mouth.” Fucking Christ. This can’t be real. Doesn’t matter, ‘cause again, there’s zero hesitation on your part. Leon likes that. A woman that can follow orders. He’s so used to taking them, not giving them. And your mom isn’t one to listen to other people. Either way, if this goes south, Leon can always just off himself. He wasn’t around much so what difference would it make if he was permanently gone? The reassurance of being able to log out forever gives him courage here. It’s rational.

You scoot over since you’re free from any barriers or restrictions, and he puts an arm over you. You swear you almost hear your skin sizzle from the contact. You’re not a witch- and as far as you know, he’s not water. Even if he gets you wet. He brings a hand up to cup your cheek and swipe a thumb over your bottom lip- teasing you.

“D-dad.” You stutter a protest- cringing that you sounded the way you did just now. Maybe you shouldn’t be embarrassed ‘cause he’s your dad- but you are embarrassed ‘cause he��s hot. You can’t even figure out why you wanna back out suddenly. Probably because the idea was better than betraying your mom and knowing yourself as someone who fucks their dad. Anywho- didn’t he say something about kissing you? Cause he’s not even doing as promised.

Your dad leans in, his free hand is now on your neck and angling it just to show you how easy he can manhandle your body. He plants a kiss on your earlobe before saying anything.

“What’s wrong, baby? Can’t go giving daddy blue-balls now. It’s not polite to start things you don’t wanna finish.”

Leon’s words simultaneously gross you out and turn you on in a self-deprecating, disgusting kind of way. Not to mention he’s literally contradicting himself since he would gladly eat the half of the sour worms you didn’t want to finish- therefore entirely enabling you to start things you couldn’t finish. Hm. That must explain a large portion of your life, then. And besides all do that, doesn’t the know blue-balls is some kinda stupid myth or whatever?

His thumb falls down your lip and traces your jawline with intentional slowness while his eyes look over your face appreciatively- but it also seems as if he’s looking for or at something specific.

You get the courage to speak, air sucked fully into your lungs.

“Sorry, daddy.” The fuck is wrong with you? You could have said anything but that. It’ll only spur him on. But you want that, obviously.

He smirks, lips pressed together as the corners of his mouth do that same, pitted thing they do that you like so much. Must go hand in hand with how his chin is also dimpled. It’s sexy. But little do you know, it’s one of the reasons he keeps his stubble. Doesn’t feel like having his butt chin on display to the world- even if every woman that’s ever laid eye on him sees it and wants it buried in their cunt.

“That’s my girl. Didn’t even have to be around much to teach you that, did I?” Leon queries, grabbing your chin to crane your head just so that he can plant his lips onto your neck. His other hand is on your knee, unmoving. You want it to move, though. God- you’re sure whatever higher power is in the great sky is throwing up right now, moments away from pressing the reset button. The same higher power will make a new rule on humanity.

No free will and absolutely no incest. Yeah. Probably should have written that into the books ages ago, one fears.

You fidget as he kisses your neck, stubble scratching your epidermis yet tickling all the same.

“Not gonna answer me, sweetheart?” He murmurs against your throat, the neck kiss he gives it uses a bit of tongue- making your body jolt. “I know your mother taught you manners.”’

You mumble something pathetically apologetic, hands gripping the fabric over his shoulders. Hopefully your mom won’t notice his shirt being stretched out there- cause she notices everything.

“N-no, daddy. I knew it on my own.” You huff, that hand you wanted him to move is slowly doing so- fingers dragging along your inner thigh as if everything he’s doing to you is purposefully meant to be some kind of forewarning. But for what, exactly?

“Such a smart girl. Get that from daddy, you know it?” Ok, cocky…

Leon kisses his way back up your neck, jawbone, and then your cheek. It’s sweet- if being lavished with saccharine, sexual and inappropriate attention from your dad could be sweet.

You nod, feeling his grip loosen from your chin and now sliding up the back of your neck to tangle in your hair, threading it. He’s slow and deliberate- part of you wishes he’d not give you time to think about your actions. Not that you can really think anyways. Your heartbeat is muddled in your ears and the movie is still rumbling through the speakers while someone gets murdered on screen. Lucky them.

The hand on your thigh presses firmer into the skin just below the edge of your shorts, a silent telling for you to keep your attention on him.

“Sorry baby, daddy got distracted. Just so pretty.” He must be able to tell you’re impatient because he kisses your cheek (with an oddly dark undertone to it) before slimming the distance between your lips. He pauses right when they touch and you’re breathing in the taste-turned-scent of the sour worm you fed him earlier. Sugar and that weird orange flavor that is only specific to orange candy. You’re obviously not a fan, but it suits him.

You don’t get any time left to process before it’s a full on kiss- well, make out, actually. It’s slow. You can’t recall being kissed like this, ever. Normally it’s straight to tongue with guys, and not in, like, the good way. The ‘having an eel invading your oral cavity’ kind of way. Eugh.

But your dad’s tongue does brush yours, tastefully. You can actually feel the texture and it’s easy to tell there’s an erection fueling his actions- but not so much so that it takes over the whole kiss.

He uses your hair to pull you closer, teeth clashing momentarily. Not exactly the best feeling but everything else envelops your senses to the point that it’s only a flash of a moment. Your thigh is neglected by his touch, hand moving up and around onto your backside. He gives a squeeze to the fat of your ass and groans against your mouth before pulling you into his lap- legs folded on either side of his thighs.

You break the kiss, looking over your shoulder and to where the entrance is- the exit sign casting a nearby glow that gives you anxiety..

“Can’t- we’ll get caught.” You pant, that weird feeling that’s the grotesque love child of nervousness and excitement is swimming in your gut like a parasite before settling. The severity and realness of the situation sinks in.

Leon laughs low and mean, retracting his hand from your hair and moving to run it through the top of your scalp to push it back. He juts his hips upwards to prod his denimed erection into the cunt of your shorts. You mewl quietly, or maybe it was loud. The movie is just too deafening to distinguish which.

“Suppose you’re right, baby.” He tucks a loose strand behind your ear, leaning in to give you a light peck on the lips. “Told you you’re a smart girl, didn’t I? Can’t let me go around thinking with my dick, huh?”

His hand pats your thigh as if to tell you to get off.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Up.” He commands you with a huffed voice- not because he’s annoyed but because he’s a middle-aged man. Moving is hard. You ignominiously climb off of his lap, putting your bottom back onto the seat next to him. He’s looking at you, meandering a hand back onto your thigh just to rest in place.

You stare at the screen- but you can’t even register it because you’re too disassociated from what just happened. You almost want to beg him to fuck you right here- plead for forgiveness that you suggested stopping in the first place. And you can still taste that damned orange sour worm in your mouth.

Leon behaves, though. He’s good about that. Respectful. In the way of consent- not in the way of not tongue fucking his daughter in a public space. When the movie ends, he gestures for you to stand and you walk past him, carrying your empty cup and boxes of sour worms while the uncomfortable feeling of your slick clinging the gusset of your panties to your cunt. You look back at your father, the sight of him in the palely lit theater is a bit intimidating. He’s adjusting his pants for obvious reasons. You look away quickly and keep walking- a giddy feeling of satisfaction overcoming you. Shortly enough, you’re both back in the main area of the mall. You brush your shirt out and fix your hair- the thought occurs to you that maybe you look a little mussed and should have straightened up sooner.

But the daylight beaming through the sky roof brings you back to your senses.

“Hmm. What does my sweet girl want to get up to now?” Leon asks, intersecting his arms as he looks over you.

You think, mind fizzling as it short circuits. You almost smell smoke emanating from your head, too. How can you look him in the face right now?

“Uhh..” You really don’t know what to say. What can you focus on doing after everything that’s happened today?

“How about this? We can go home a little early and I’ll cook something up for lunch. The drive will give us time to work up an appetite.” He says, nonchalant. Right back to his same fatherly tone from earlier today instead of the ‘I want to split you open with my dick’ tone he had moments ago. Maybe he’s just being sweet and you’re overthinking.

You’re befuddled that he’s not saying anything else about… that. How can he so easily go from publicly groping you to acting cheery and normal? It’s frustrating. Disturbing even. Leon can see the disappointment on your face- but you don’t know that. You assume it’s well hidden, just like the fact you kissed your own father. He thinks it’s cute though. You’re just cock dumb for him. On the other hand, this whole situation is something he has to deal with.

“Got it.” You manage to say, walking a little faster than he does. This is the second time you’ve walked off from your dad, and it does irritate him because he can’t keep up like he used to. Displaced disc in his spine or whatever. Plus, he thinks you’re pissed. Which is worrying. Should have known better than to mess around with his own daughter, he supposes.

The drive back is silent and less terrifying than the previous, part of you thankful. Maybe he was only a bad driver in the morning. Unlikely, but not impossible. Maybe it was the fact that he drank whiskey with his breakfast. Hm. ‘Responsible’ in hindsight.

It’s still early in the afternoon when you arrive back home. The concrete is sizzling from the heat and the sun beats down way too uncomfortably for even a walk from the driveway to the front door.

Leon side-steps you to unlock the house before he urges you in. He may be morally reprehensible but he still didn’t want to let any cool air out- AC’s expensive. You plop down on the couch and he locks the door, walking past you and straight to the kitchen.

The tension is thick for you- but for Leon- not at all. You watch him disappear through the doorway as he goes to prep food. Why is it so hard to read his emotions? He’s like a fucking light switch. You’re annoyed- leaning back on the couch, until he calls for you. You’re quick to get up, scrambling into the kitchen.

“Hey, sweetheart. Mind giving me a hand?”

“Yeah. What is it?” You faintly cock your head to the side.

Leon looks to the side- directly at you. You’re cute when you’re confused. He can tell that all you’re thinking about is continuing where you two left off earlier. Shit, you’re no better than your mother. ‘S just that you’re not crabby and sour all the time like she is.

“Can you grab the saucepan from the bottom cabinet. Your old dad can’t exactly bend over too well.” He laughs- shaking his head. Yes, dad. I get it. I know you have a bad back.

You walk over to the cabinet where he’s leaned onto one hand which is rested on the marbled countertop. You feel a bit apprehensive to be close to him again. Mostly because you don’t trust yourself to not jump his bones, but Leon’s already ahead of you. As soon as you bend over, he pulls you back by the hips so that your ass is flush with his groin.

You’re taken aback but definitely not surprised. He’s a dirty old man, as you’ve learned.

“Gonna let daddy fuck this pussy now, or are you getting flaky on me?” He coos against your ear while he runs his hands up your sides and down again- creeping his hands to your front and over the buttons of your shorts- unhooking them through the slits.

“Yes.. want it.” You breathe in quick- the word coming out on its own. If god could hear you right now, he’d set your house ablaze with lightning.

“Need you to loosen up if I’m going to. You’re way too stiff.” Your shorts are the opposite of you, loose and unfastened fully so they fall to your ankles, and Leon nudges your feet apart with his boot. You realize he’s got a point as you feel his calloused hand glide down your hip and yank you in place. The other hand is spreading your pussy lips apart before finding that fleshy bud between them. A moan rumbles in your throat as your legs almost give out below you. He mutters a curse under his breath, and you realize his cock is now out while he rubs up against your ass- getting off on not only playing with your pussy but from dry humping you.

“Fucking christ. Got the prettiest ass, baby. Think daddy needs to see it bouncing on his cock.” You can practically feel that stupid, smug look as he grabs his dick- slapping it on your ass. It makes you cringe a little, but maybe you should be cringing at the fact your dad is the one doing it. You figure it’s just something he saw in porn, so it doesn’t leave your expectations high at the moment. Great. Leon adjusted himself back into his pants, for now.

His finger continues circling that bundle of nerves, your legs shaky as you’re being pressed into the counter, a hand is on your lower back to keep you down so he can do what he wants. You sound stupid- tears welling in your eyes as you babble nonsensically about wanting to cum. He moves his hand off of your back and sinks to his knees to be face level with you (even if it makes his back hurt a little), sliding his fingers up your inner thigh until there’s a digit prodding your hole, slowly pushing in.

He watches your cunt swallow his finger, barely able to fit it inside.

“Fucking shit, baby. Gonna have to stretch this pussy out if I want my cock in you, huh? Think you can let daddy do that?” He asks, breathy and sounding like he’s trying not to bust all over himself.

You eagerly shake your head.

“Yes, daddy. Need you to get me loose.” The words spill like a hot cup of tea from your lips, scalding Leon with desire.

“God damned. Such a polite fucking girl I’ve got. Might have to eat your mother out later to thank her for making you so respectful.”

You scrunch your face in disgust.

“That’s fucking gross.” You moan, Leon slipping a second finger into you, which should technically feel like four with how worn and big his hands are.

He tuts, planting a kiss to your asscheek.

“Now, didn’t daddy just compliment you? Could be a bit more grateful since he’s trying to make you cum” He grits, sounding a bit (terrifyingly) stern.

You apologize again.

“Sorry, daddy. Just don’t wanna hear about you and mom. Makes me jealous.” You admit, briefly thinking about their dinner conversation last night. Then about how fucking weird you are. You’re really hoping you get the courage to bash your head on the marble countertop and get amnesia.

Leon laughs, but in a way that makes you think he’s amused more than actually laughing.

“God. Want me to stop fucking my own wife just ‘cause you’ve got a needy pussy?” A third finger slips in, making an almost unbearable stretch as you feel a slight ache, but the previous two fingers already did enough work that it’s not completely unbearable.

“Maybe you’re not that grateful. Giving you three fingers here and she’s still too tight.” He twists his hand, letting the inside of you feel every inch of his knuckles and calluses. Your knuckles, however, are ghost-white as you grip at nothing.

“Maybe your fingers are just too small.” You say- mostly from built up tension and annoyance that you didn’t get to let out yet. But you regret the words.

He’s silent- which scares you. He pulls his fingers out of you- the stark contrast in emptiness is clear and the cool air stings you.

Leon groans as he stands up, kicking off his boots before yanking you by the arms to stand straight. He leans into your ear.

“C’mon. You’re gonna come sit on daddy’s dick, since you’re too fucking picky.” Goosebumps form all over you as he leads you to the couch. Leon leaves you standing there so he can get comfortable and discard his clothing, lying back with his hands behind his head. You make a mental note of how his biceps look with his arms bent in this position, even if you kinda feel like it’s lazy. But holy fuck, his toned stomach is perfect- sprinkled with a happy trail that will definitely lead you somewhere that will make you happy. Speaking of, his dick is nice. Fat. Not sure how big it is since you have not much to compare to, but you’d imagine taking it would be a bit of a proper challenge.

You step a little closer- crawling awkwardly over his lap- ass faced towards him so that you settle on his waist. It’s hard not to feel self conscious about your backside in this position, even considering the fact that he was just fingering you from the back moments ago. You’re mostly just upset you can’t gawk at his tits or stomach.

You grab him by the base, shifting yourself to hover directly over him, letting the tip graze your wet hole before slowly sinking down- a drawn out moan escaping you.

“Fuckkk. That’s it. Sit down on it. Take all of daddy.” You glance over your shoulder as you bottom him out; his eyes are half-lidded. Well, at least he’s got a pretty face while you’re fucking him. You almost failed to realize his hands moved from behind his head to your ass- gliding up your back and down again.

You take a moment to adjust, breathing shakily ‘cause his dick is so fat you think you might die. Or maybe you’re having a heart attack at your ripe age.

“Didn’t tell you to take any breaks, did I baby?” You’re annoyed at his pushiness, but you did have a bit of a sour attitude earlier. So you can only blame yourself.

You’re not sure how to entirely do this, but you move yourself up and down. Not at a fast pace, yet. Just that savoring your dad’s dick seems like a reasonable ordeal.

He doesn’t shut up, though. You’re learning just how much he likes to talk- as if he just wants to hear himself. Is he even getting off on you or the sound of his own voice? It makes you roll your eyes even if you do like hearing him say dirty shit.

"That’s my girl. So fucking good. Ride it nice and slow... Work that sweet pussy on daddy's cock.” You just might fall over dead hearing him say any of it- it’s disgusting but sweet Jesus are you eating it up. He must know it too because of how you clench around him involuntarily when he talks like that.

“You like when daddy praises you? Yeah, you love me telling you how good you are.” His words are husky and yet pleased with the previous tidbit of information.

“See how nice I am? Letting you sit on my cock after you made me wait earlier. Wasn’t very nice of you, now was it, baby?” His words have an underlyingly mocking tone, but you’d do anything to make him change it.

“No, daddy. Was really mean of me.” You whine pitifully, bouncing yourself on his dick like it’s your major in college and you’re trying to pass with flying colors.

“I know, baby. But daddy forgives you.” He murmurs, sitting up with you still on top of him. He’s flush against your back now- reaching in front of you to make those same tight circles on your clit. You both exchange your pitchy moans and his grunting and groaning- working up to a good point in both of your impending orgasms.

“Gonna cum in this pussy, got it? Daddy doesn’t like to pull out.”

You scramble a bit, squirming on his lap.

“Fuck, dad! You can’t do that!” You whine as his other arm holds you onto him- wrapped around your stomach. Your nails dig into his forearms, hopefully not leaving noticeable scratches.

“I think I can, baby. You’re squeezing me at the idea- I’m not fucking stupid.” He’s quick to be mean again, but you’d be a liar to say you’d don’t want him to cum in you. And you’re not a liar, that’s just deplorable- coming from someone who is literally fucking their dad with enough energy to power a small village for a month. And yet, you don’t stop riding him.

And your silence tells it all.

“Yeah- my baby wants a nice creampie.” He sounds more strained now, letting go of his hold on your stomach and using his hand to now guide you to roll your hips on him.

Sweat beads down Leon’s forehead, bangs sticking to his face as he watches your ass grinding against his lap.

“Fuck, baby. Just like that. I’m gonna cream this tight fucking pussy. Want that, don’t you? ‘Cause daddy’s gonna give it to you whether you want it or not.”

You should be a little more upset or concerned in any regard right now, but the last two days have made you into a proper whore to the point that you don’t even give a shit. Self respect crawled itself into a space shuttle and launched off of the planet, probably to never be seen again. Stuck in orbit, if you will.

You’re sucked out of the motions when Leon speaks again.

“Stop, stop.” He pats your bottom.

“Turn around, baby. I wanna see your face. Wanna kiss those lips while you’re on my dick.” Your stomach flutters with nervousness and a sickly sweet feeling. You lifted yourself from him with a trail of arousal to follow and maneuvered to turn around- this time he was holding his cock ready for you. Moments went by of you staring, getting a proper look of him since everything had been a quick blur so far.

“Come on, baby. Need you to mount daddy’s cock again. Told you I wanted to kiss you, didn’t I?” He exhaled, sounding a bit pent up. Jeez- seconds without pussy and he’s getting upset. Maybe he needs a therapist and anger management, not his college-aged daughter spearing herself on him.

You replied, yes, daddy. Sorry, daddy. Didn’t mean to make you wait, daddy.

You dropped yourself down onto him once more- only this time it was easier since you were able to get accustomed to his dick.

“Start moving sweetheart, make daddy cum.” He instructed, leaning in to take you in a kiss. It was more dirty than the last kiss, somehow. His tongue slipped between your lips- Leon lifted you with his hands on your waist before jutting his hips up to slam his cock snugly into your heat, groaning against your mouth delightfully.

His teeth nipped your lower lip- giving you a little further taste of just what kind of lover he is. Or maybe this is just the version you get. Either way, you can’t complain in any area. You feel lucky to receive even a sliver of it.

The familiar roughness of his thumb returns to your already throbbing bud- circling at the same pace he’s now moving at. Despite his age, he seems awfully enthusiastic to do strenuous work involving his hips. Bad back, my ass. Or maybe he’s able to put that on the back burner to please you. Probably worried if he doesn’t give you good dick then you’ll go tattle on him.

Leon didn’t break the kiss whatsoever while he pounded into you ruthlessly, he swallowed up every moan and noise you made like it was alcohol. ‘Cause that was his favorite, obviously.

When he pulled his mouth off of yours, a trail of saliva lingered- stretching out while you giggled on top of him. Something about you laughing almost made him nut immediately, but he held out just to prolong this and let it engrain into his mind for certain.

“Got the prettiest baby- look so good on my cock like this. Want daddy to bust in that pretty pussy?” He asked, looking for your approval.

“Uh-huh. Need daddy to knock me up.” The words came from god knows where, making even your eyes look bewildered for a second.

Leon laughed darkly at you.

“God, baby. Daddy’s so fucking close.” He muttered stupidly, almost like he was drunk. At least this could be an ego boost for you- but the fact it was your dad canceled that out. Dick only counts if it’s from someone that’s not related to you. His eyes did that half-lidded thing from earlier that you found so hot, and he pulled you down onto his cock one last time, spilling thick ropes into your blood-related hole. His dick pulsed as he let out a muted grunt, head lolling back and his adam's apple on full, stubbly display. You could bite it, just like a real apple.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He moaned. Jeez. He was a whore, honestly. The way he made noises and didn’t shut the fuck up was honestly… a case that should be studied. Maybe he had been turned out a time or two himself.

His cock didn’t soften though, nor did he not forget about you cumming. He lifted his head back up, looking down at where his thumb was. It was almost like he read your thoughts, not saying a word as he concentrated on making you cum. ‘Cause earlier he had been too eager to get in you and you were too eager to get on him.

Your nails dug into his shoulders (hopefully your mom wouldn’t notice any marks on him when she gets home from work later) and he gently fucked into you while you received proper attention on your aching clit. The combination of his dick keeping you full and the sensation of his digit sent you throbbing through your orgasm around him- low curses and other disgusting things coming out of both your mouths.

‘Cause you’re both disgusting.

[mint-8]

Platonic Yandere Grandparent x GN! Reader

- Yandere Grandparent whose life was monochrome and seamlessly endless. Waking up every day for the same routine, work, eat and sleep. Some socializing here and there and spending time with their family, but not feeling any sort of true happiness or enjoyment from it.

- Yandere Grandparent who simply followed what school, their parents and peers told them. Study, get a good job, marry and have a child or two.

- Yandere Grandparent who might not have been the best parental figure to their own kids, perhaps abusive? Negligent? Absent? What about their spouse? Perhaps leaving them all the housework, childcare or money making?

- They weren’t even that interested when their children married. Not really caring at that point of their lives either, just waiting for the inevitable death to come to them and, perhaps then, it would be more entertaining.

- Yandere Grandparent whose life was finally given color and light the moment their eyes landed on you, their first grandchild. They weren’t excited when they got the news, just curious. What a pay off it was to endure the nagging of their spouse and the annoying traffic to find little, chubby adorable you in their offspring’s arms.

- Yandere Grandparent who truly smiles for the first time when your eyes open and you smile at them! Their eyes watering a bit when they get to hold you for the first time, and refusing to let go when you hold one of their fingers in your soft baby hand.

- Yandere Grandparent who felt love for the first time ever and who promised that they’ll look after you, in this life and the many new ones to come.

- Yandere Grandparent who visits practically every day to visit their little niece and spoil them with affections. From treats to toys to cute clothes, they would happily spent all their savings to give you a smile.

- Yandere Grandparent who insists to their children to continue to go out for some dates with their partner! You two are so young after all! And don’t you worry about their little niece, for Yandere Grandparent will happily look after them! It doesn’t matter what their own spouse says, their opinion is irrelevant to them and they will have no problem ignoring them if necessary.

- Yandere Grandparent who secretly wishes their kids turn out to be abusive so they can be your legal guardian and keep you all for themselves! Oh, and their spouse too, of course. As long as they aren’t too much of a pain.

- Yandere Grandparent who is so, so, so happy that whatever higher deity out there gifted them a living proof that happiness is real and that they can actually love like a normal person. Well, their definition of normal, of course.

- Yandere Grandparent who is overbearing and it’s pretty much involved in every single thing you do. They attend every recital, show, competition and event that you might be involved in! Always bringing their special camera for their special album of memories of you and with your favorite drinks and snacks on their bag as a little treat.

- Yandere Grandparent who offers a heavy amount of financial support to your parents so that you can go to the best schools or have the best tutors available. They don’t want you to suffer in this horrible world like they did! So let Gran-Gran decide the best and easiest path of success for you! They know what they are doing.

- Yandere Grandparent who tells you so many stories about their lives and gives you the best advice they can offer, as well as 100% support in whatever thing you want to do or are interested in! That includes siding with you in every possible argument between you and your parents.

- Yandere Grandparent who knows that they will definitely die before you, but are willing to prolong that due date the most they can. And who will leave their entire inheritance to you, so you’ll have a happier life.

- Yandere Grandparent who, at their last moments, smiles at you while holding your hand and muttering a final “I love you, sweetie…” before peacefully dying.

- Yandere Grandparent whose soul will continue to protect you even in the afterlife, for even death itself will never be able to break the bond of love they always had for their adorable niece.

[twistedwonderlandshenanigans]

School-side Staycation - Staff Shenanigans

@ashipiko has a super fun 1k follower event going on that reminded me of a conversation I had with a friend a While ago!! I decided to turn it into a drabble, so I hope you guys enjoy some NRC Staff Shenanigans!! (Including my staff/greenhouse caretaker oc, Aspen Zoi - I apologize in advance for the stim word "like" OTL if you don't check out his profile, just know he speaks like your stereotypical surfer/hippie/stoner)

Also apologies OTL I have to write on my phone due to Technical Difficulties, RIP my formatting. Um just as a heads up, there is some food talk in regards to calories and dieting. It's not talked about a lot, but it is in there.

Also also this is my first time writing all the staff together so I hope it's at least entertaining!

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"Turkey burgers, really Divus, I'd have thought better of you." Mozus scoffed lightheartedly over the younger man's shoulder, watching the black latex clad hands work in a mix of shredded vegetables into the meat.

Crewel raised a questioning brow to his senior, using his shoulder to push away hair from his face for the upteenth time that day. Even with his dark shades on, both the unamusement and the spark of competitiveness was felt to be fanned.

"Well, Mozus, if you cared to ever look past those dusty old history books of yours and indulge in the dietary world, you would know that ground turkey-"

"Sucks. It sucks." Vargas interrupted, shaking his head in disappointment. He was wearing near neon orange shorts and a white tank top, though clearly splattered with some stains from his preparation, shades sat nicely atop his lofty locks. His food was currently concealed in the two heaping platters he had under aluminum foil as he set them down on the table next to the barbeque. "It's got less protein, less iron, less zinc, and more sodium than ground beef. It has a little more 'healthy' fat," the air quotes were heavily emphasized by the gym teacher, "but for Sevens sake Divus, it's supposed to be a vacation sort of thing. Let the kids loose for a little while."

An audible "hmph" left the alchemy professor, moreso at Trein's smug grin than Ashton as he refocused on his work. His UV protectant, black, long sleeve shirt was rolled up to his elbows, a simple red short sleeve button up layered on top. "Not everyone can afford to give up their calorie intake over a vacation."

"Then you may as well have just made black bean patties and volunteered yourself to make the vegan option."

Trein sighed and shook his head at Ashton's apparent naivety as he opened his grill, throwing a few patties on. Perhaps his air of superiority would have been less humorous if not for the cargo shorts, white shirt, the blue, green, pink and yellow tropical overshirt, the matching, tropical bucket hat, and the apron that read "Grillmaster", but Trein continued anyways.

"He's using the leftovers of his dogs food that he thawed and forgot to use."

An awkward silence filled the air between the three of them, save for the soft sizzling of Treins burgers and the distant sounds of their beloved students having fun. Ashton spoke up in near disbelief.

"....Divus is that-"

The older of the two suppressed a scowl, trying to play it off best he could as he waved off his former underclassmans concern.

"Ground turkey is ground turkey, how I was going to use it is irrelevant! Really now Mozus was that necessary?!"

Vargas exchanged glances with Trein, before grinning a little more, willing to 'poke the bear'.

"I know you call them your pups but..."

Crewel felt his eye twitch slightly. Not much got to him, but the implication that 1. His dogs weren't incredibly dear to him, and 2. That his students weren't held to the same regard as his dogs in terms of how he cared for them, was not something he felt he could articulate well enough to get it through Ashton's thick, thick skull.

" It's still perfectly fine food, it's ought to be better than whatever Dire has!"

In an attempt to get the attention off of him for once, Crewel directed his, and his colleagues attention to the approaching headmage, ignoring the soft snickers behind him from Ashton for the sake of his sanity.

The headmage wore a huge grin under the stupid mask of his, dressed in his normal vacation attire. His arms were outstretched, as if anyone there would hug him as a greeting - none of them would, but especially not now that one was grilling, the other had his hands plunged into raw meat, and the third...well Vargas wasn't doing anything that would impede him from doing so, but he pretended to look busy as he fidgeted with the aluminum foil from one of his platters, careful to not lift it up.

Trein glanced at the headmage as he joined them under the white tents, his clawed gloves drawing most of his attention as Dire lowered his arms to his sides.

"Dire. What are you bringing to cook?"

The headmage looked at him blankly before smiling, chuckling a little awkwardly as he took his hat off and held it to his chest. As if he didn't already look pathetic, now he looked like he was going to apologize, and the staff in front of him already looked unamused.

"Ehe, well you see, I was generous enough to allow our students host this event-"

Knowing glances were exchanged between the three as Crowley continued.

"So neeever did I ever think my kindness would be taken advantage of like so! After all the budgeting and set up and organizing and ordering and nights laying awake and wondering how to make today the best success it could be, I didn't think I would be expected to cook too!"

The masked man rested the back of his hand against his head dramatically, trying and failing to gain the sympathy of the staff who all very well knew he had signed off on the event, and being a part of the catering. Hell, he had admitted it himself- he hadn't done any of that. That was all part of hosting, something that had very much not been on his shoulders, like many other responsibilities this year.

Vargas moved to the table across from Crewel, starting to make a protein-packed sauce to go with his still-mystery food, shooting Crowley a bit of a shit-eating grin.

"Well I guess you better go buy hotdogs or something from Sam's and be prepared to lose."

An indignant squawk left Dire, his dramatic display clearly not working in his favour, and he couldn't fathom why.

"Lose??"

"Hot stuff comin' through! And it ain't just me-"

Sam wheeled a tri-level service cart over the grass with ease, thanks to magic, each level with absolutely delicious smelling, but hidden food. Aspen followed close behind, Willow, his Pekin duck toddling after him.

Dire moved out of the way so as to let the trio through, Sam moving next to Vargas and starting to load tray after tray onto the serving table, a determined and slightly crazed expression on his face.

"Ain't nobody beatin' Mama's mac'n cheese recipe. Not even your fancy ass brisket Ashton, don't pretend like that ain't whatchyer tryna hide under there, I know you too damn well fo' you to try an' hide it."

Vargas and Same broke into easy conversation as Aspen hung back with Crowley, who was still visibly confused. He looked down at his hands, as if they held the answer to his questions.

"Lose?? Beating his mother's recipe??? What have I missed????"

Aspen's single, amused "haaah" was rather annoying to the headmage. Despite the sharp turn of his head and the glare he directed at Aspen, he just gave him his same old dopey grin.

"Aww man, you really didn't, like, read anything you signed, did ya? The teacher who like... looses the cook off gets pelted with water balloons by like...the whooole student body. It would really suck if one of us forgot to bring something. It'd be like...immediate disqualification or whatever."

The blond tilted his head a bit and giggled as he watched a few of the students play volleyball not far from them, oblivious to the rising panic on the headmage's face.

"But you haven't brought anything?! So what if two faculty members didn't bring anything?! The penalty is halved, right?!"

Aspen let out a small laugh.

"Hah. As if. Babygirl and I made seven layer salad, which is like, on Sam's cart, and a buncha desserts last night, isn't that right?" He bent down to pick up Willow, kissing her head as he cradled her. "I mean sure, baking isn't, like, COOKING but I don't think anybody is gonna complain about brownies 'nd, like, homemade ice cream, y'know? I just gotta wait to bring it out cuz..like....the ice cream...duh."

He waited a beat, the rising panic from the man beside him finally catching on. He was about to ask, but Crowley was on his knees next to Sam in a split second, holding his hand and groveling.

"PLEASE- no, actually, as your boss, I DEMAND you open your shop and sell me the best cuts of meat- no, actually, I want as many tube's of ground beef, ah, no, Trein is already- ground PORK-"

Sam shook his hand away from Crowley in mild disgust.

"Oh hell no, might I remind ya, I'm on vacation, as are the rest of us and the little imps. If you want to serve hot dogs, you'll have to go into town and move fast. Otherwise you're gonna have to embrace your fate of death by a thousand waterballoons." Sam swapped the position of one of his trays with Vargas' platter, so as to get his jerk chicken onto the grill after changing his glove out for an untouched one.

"With all due respect, your poor plannin' does NOT constitute an emergency on my part, Mr. Crowley, Sir."

Dire let out an undignified noise at Sam's facetiousness and lack of cooperation.

Trein looked down at the rather defeated looking headmage and sighed at the mess of a man, shaking his head again in disappointment.

"For Sevens sake, pull yourself together Dire. You could go ask the ghosts in the Cafeteria if they've got anything they'll lend you to cook."

Crowley looked like a kicked puppy at Trein for a moment before standing back up, beaming and near launching himself at him for a hug, which Trein avoided as if this was something that happened often. Despite not getting what he wanted, Crowley clearly had new vigor.

"Ah! You're right. Of course, if the ghosts are there I could- hm! Nevermind, nevermind, yes thank you my dear friend, I knew you wouldn't let me suffer! Unlike SOME people." He shot a fake dirty look at the rest of his beloved faculty, only to be met with snickers and mildly amused expressions. Yes, even with all their jests and disagreements, these were the people he felt most comfortable around. His expression softened for a half second before he clapped twice and smiled widely again.

"I'll be back with something delicious! I swear to defeat you all!" His voice lilted playfully, before he disappeared in a puff of smoke.

A shared sigh came from Trein and Crewel, amusing their younger colleagues with the similarity.

Crewel wiped at his head with his shoulder again, grinning knowingly at Trein.

"Mozus."

"Divus." Trein kept his focus trained on his burgers, though his voice had an air of amusement to it, and it was clear the corner of his mouth was kicked up in a small smile.

"Were you really trying to be of assistance?"

Crewel finished rolling the last of his turkey blend into disks, turning his full attention to his conniving collegue.

Trein hummed a bit in response.

"Yes. Not to him, to us, but his absence makes it much easier to concentrate."

Crewel shed his latex gloves, put some hand sanitizer on and walked over to 'supervise' Trein's grill, before grabbing a patty that was cooked and looking over it in mild disgust.

"Concentrate on what, perfecting a burn on your patties, oh 'grillmaster'" he mocked, breaking a piece off and eating it, hardly hiding his distaste.

"Ah, I see, you're trying to make up for your lack of seasoning using charcoal, well old man I can guarantee the turkey burgers you were so quick to dismiss will certainly be better than that piece of semi-edible Sahara."

Trein sighed, annoyed, plucking the rest of the patty from Crewel's fingers and throwing it out.

"I always burn my first one. It guarantees I won't burn the rest of them. If you used those astute powers of observation you're so proud of, you'd have seen the rest of the burgers are cooked beautifully."

He lifted the foil just enough to show Crewel the admittedly, mouth-wateringly delicious looking patties underneath, though Divus refused to show any indication that he was impressed.

"They're still bland. The students don't have a grandpa stomach like you."

Trein rolled his eyes internally, huffing, but even Sam and Aspen snickered at the comment.

"It will be fine once I make my sauce to go with them. My daughters love my cooking, I'm sure our students will as well. You have your dogs as reference for your tastes. I would be more worried if I was in your shoes."

Crewel moved towards Sam, who made room for him, moving his chicken to the top rack so Divus could use the main part of the grill to start cooking.

"You say that as if I don't cook for myself either. Really Mozus, I'm hurt by how lowly you think of me. Besides, I understand cooking as not only an art, but from the very chemical bases of it. I have every confidence that if no one else, I will be getting votes from Pomefiorians."

Aspen snorted from behind him, waving his hand dismissively.

"Nahh, Poms are gonna go for Sam's mac or, like, his chicken. They're like, tired of eating that Vil guys super bland food. Ya might, like, get Vil himself? Maybe? But I feel like he's prolly just gonna beeline it to my salad cuz of that new green diet thing one a his freshies said he's on. I only know cuz like, they were getting veggies from the greenhouse. If anything, I think ya might pull a few votes from Savanaclaw, but like, to be honest, even as a vegetarian, Ashton's brisket looks really good and prolly will come in after Sam's food."

Crewel let out a soft sigh, but Vargas was beaming, as Sam and Aspen exchanged finger guns and a wink. Trein squinted slightly at his watch.

"Lunch is meant to be in about 45 minutes. Aspen, Vargas, seeing as the two of you have nothing better to do, I suggest you start cutting up veggies for the burgers and fruit for after. Just make sure to use some hand sanitizer first."

The two exchanged a glance, both mouthing a mocking, lighthearted 'yes dad' behind Trein's back, making Sam snicker a bit.

"Dontchya worry Mozus, they got it covered."

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

And that's where my brain stopped RIP

In case you're wondering, Crowley showed up like 3 hours late and got ambushed. It's okay though his "food" would have put him in last place anyways.

I'm not used to typing things like this out on my phone, and I'm even less used to reading them so this is not proofread or betaread or like. I'm not. Rereading it so here's to hoping it flows okay and it's as engaging as I think it is lol.

ANYWAYS thank you for such a fun event Ashi!!

Taglist: (ask to be added)

@fluffle-writes @my-cursed-brain

[sgiandubh]

Hello how are you? I follow several shippers' blogs and I noticed that every now and then some bloggers publish hateful messages they received. My question is about mental health: how do you deal with it? I understand that your presence here is relatively recent, but have you ever regretted something?

Dear Mental Health Anon,

This is the kind of submissions I welcome with all my heart, because they are benevolent and witty. Forgive me already for what I suspect will be a long answer. It is not the pleasure of hearing me talk that prompts them, but the sincere intention to answer deserving asks as clearly, fully and honestly as I can.

The short answer is : I am fine, Fall is slowly coming and nights are starting to be really chilly. There's some light rain tapping on the roof of my flat and I will spend my week-end wandering around some of my favorite places on Earth. And now, onwards to the consistent and interesting ask of yours...

The worst trolling message I have ever seen in this fandom is the one I am immediately going to post below, because I think it should serve us all as warning and reminder. It was posted on a blog I have been reading from the beginning of my long lurking days on Tumblr: @cb4tb is one of the most balanced and articulate people in this corner of the Internet. I remember being shocked by its cold and very coherent violence. The feat of a casebook sociopath, who thinks her asks in Spanish (I am 200% certain about it) and who has an appalling command of English grammar. Written on Christmas' Eve and on purpose:

Compared to the alarming slander @cb4tb got (whatever for is a mystery, she is non conflictual and posts very witty business insights) on a day that should be completely taboo for every civilized human being (you don't need to believe in God to respect one of Christianity's most important celebrations), whatever hate I could get in here is definitely subpar. Most of it did not make it on my page and went straight to the bin. But it's not always easy: I am as human as you, Anon, and sometimes I feel personally insulted and revolted by the smugness and pettiness of it all. However, I must immediately add their hate never made me give up an inch of my convictions. They are the result of a long interval of watching and pondering, coupled with my own observations I gladly share with like-minded women all around the world. That often hits a nerve or bruises overinflated egos on the Other Side. So be it: I am not here to be meek and obedient, if I never was meek and obedient in real life. I am here to bring clarity and build trust, which incidentally resonates very closely to what I do for a living. That probably rates me as a moderate on the shipper spectrum, in the sense that by complete design I put aside some divisive topics I firmly chose not to discuss. I am not interested to bring attention on me, in here, and the least thing I'd like is to be a vector of discord. So that would also rate me as a peacemaker of sorts - and yes, that sounds perhaps pretentious, but I believe it is needed, especially now.

I only felt a clear intention to threaten me twice, both in DM. The first time it curiously came from one extreme fringe of the shipper community and I brushed it off, because it was an empty, almost ridiculous threat. I politely denied and that was it - two persons blocked me and there were no other consequences to it. The second time, an anti came to confront me on an irrelevant point, with a very aggressive undertone. I blocked and almost forgot about it. If you have it clear enough in your mind that such things cannot be avoided and, at the same time, you know that your own moral compass is not compromised, these details will not affect you. At all. I confidently promise you that. Last but not least: if you are not great with compartmentalizing, don't step in the arena. It can seriously ruffle your self-esteem and it's not worth it.

So this is how I deal with it: I focus on what I have to say (does it bring something new? interesting? positive? thought-provoking?), on the way of saying it (above all, be kind and gracious to every other shipper) and on the right moment to say it (only when I am honestly sure I can do it with no unwanted consequences). But I will stand in solidarity with any shipper (any single one of them) who is humiliated, belittled or disparaged, with not a single shred of fear in the world. And I would also fend for myself if necessary, if I am getting over-the-top slander: all the other yapping, I ignore. Sometimes (often, even) it's more interesting to watch.

And if anything else fails, I go for a long drive and have a coffee at the seaside or simply open a book or listen to some Bach or call Someone. Or take this little big guy out for a lazy walk in the park:

You ask me if I regret anything. Absolutely not. I have received more than I could ever give, in here. I have met spectacular women and men, I have grown very fond of and feel very close to. I have had the immense satisfaction of sharing their secrets, their worries, their plans and this means trust, in my book, for which I will never tire saying how grateful I am. I also strived to respond in kind and I mean to honor this unwritten contract. Last but not least, I have watched this community slowly dusting off months of sadness and perhaps starting to open up again.

And all of this makes me damn proud of who we are, Anon. Thank you for dropping by! You are always welcome on my page.

[moonlight-shadxw]

Do you remember when I said in my Headcanons monty turned his mom to diamond by accident

He keeps her statue somewhere safe ( was his hotel ) and cleans it everyday

I'll explain more in detail below,

Ever since he was a kid, he couldn't help stealing whatever he thought was worth keeping. It started off with small things, to the point even irrelevant things too ended up in his hands.

As the kleptomania developed further, it'd get him even more in trouble with his father who already disapproved of his entire behavior.

His mother had opened him the doors towards art ; music, dance, and literature, and his main ideal was Romeo and Juliet, hence the name. And while he was an art enthusiast, it still wasn't enough to satisfy what his father needed of him. His mother would cover for him, much to his father's dismay, to the point he decided to disown his own son.

Sick of his father's abuse and mistreatment, he didn't hesitate to leave as soon as he was told.

Several years later, he chose to return home ;

After getting his hand on the diamond amulet, he thought he might show it to his mother as an achievement. But that wasn't the only aim of his trip ; the one he'd seen first was his father ー sneaking through the kitchen window, he came face to face with him ; quickly grabbing onto a knife, he stabs his father to death.

Now covered in blood, he realizes his mother had been watching. Knowing she already had heart problems, he watches her fall to the ground. He reaches to hold her, and unaware of the full extent of the amulet's power, he turns his mother to diamond. He wasn't sure if her turning this cold was because she was already dead when he held her, or because she had turned to crystal.

But the fact he hadn't much reacted to her death made him think, that perhaps his own heart had stopped too, turning cold, yet shiny and sturdy like diamond, the first part of him to crystallize.

He realized that day that all his ideals relating to people were going to be disappointing anyway ; valuables such as money or jewelry would never really lose value and power ー and if lost, they could always be found again.

Hence, his mentality shifted to mostly caring for this side of him, thus neglecting his artistic side, burying it along with his mother.

He still has her statue intact. Sometimes he still wonders if he had gone to his mother first, and then to his father ; perhaps things would've been entirely different.

The reason he went to see his father first was because he had a specific goal in mind, to take revenge on him, not only for himself, but also for his uncle.

As a child, he had witnessed his father kill his own brother in order to inherit his wine producing company and be its new boss.

Montague's uncle used to be one of the very few people he looked up to aside from his mother, and it was him who had told him about the diamond amulet, as a farfetched fantasy, keeping him dreaming about it over and over.

All these thoughts were intermingled in his mind, causing him to choose revenge before sentiment, making him the legal new owner of the company. However, turning his mother to diamond was an unwanted side effect, leaving him confused about what to do next ー until he thought the loss of both parents would be too suspicious, especially that he had just returned.

He needed to get rid of the evidence as soon as possible.

[ tw for slight gore and accidental cannibalism ]

.

.

.

He decides to chop up his father's body into reasonably sized parts and turn them to diamond, changing their shapes in order to make them appealing enough.

The only thing he'd been too curious about was his heart. It felt like his true act of vengeance, and the first compulsive thought that crossed his mind was to eat it.

Distraught by his own actions afterwards, it didn't take too long for him to regret, and then continued with his initial plan of burying the evidence and having it spread around. Those cannibalistic tendencies will only show in random impulsive bits, especially after committing a murder.

His only witness had been his mother, just as he had been the only witness of his uncle's murder ー and the two of them will be quiet about them.

[lunar-years]

https://deadline.com/2024/08/ted-lasso-season-4-deal-near-brett-goldstein-hannah-waddingham-1236049653/ LOOK WHAT YOU DID /J

Article here

PHEW. Okay. I kind of cursed us I think? I’m sorry everyone. :(

now that i've had a few hours to soak this news in uhhhh. I have thoughts! As many of you know, I flip flop all the time on whether i actually *want* more Ted Lasso, but now that it's far closer to happening and we're hearing a bit more about what it might it entail, I'm unfortunately kind of landing firmly back in the "god no keep that away from me" camp. Reasons being:

The show kind of doomed itself when it made s3 because at the beginning of that season I would have SWORN there was going to be a s4, and by the end i was convinced there was absolutely never going to be a s4. They had sooooo many plots going on, and instead of doing the reasonable thing and adjusting the original vision of the show to expand the vast amount of story they'd ended up with for s3 into two enjoyable and well-paced seasons, they decided to instead squeeze it into one very mid, terribly paced season. so now s4 isn't going to make much sense because the show already HAD an ending (even if it was a subpar one)

why on EARTH couldn't they have decided to move ahead with this before everyone's contracts expired 😭 wtf wtf!!!!! this is an absolutely wretched cursed timeline. if i remember correctly everyone was under contract for 4 seasons up until May this year. and they're going to turn around and announce a s4 in AUGUST??? hello???

As the article mentioned, and expanding on point #2, it is quite likely several og cast regulars are no longer available or only available in a guest star capacity. this sucks. a show that's missing some of the characters is literally FARRRR worse to me then a show that was given an ending and is now over forever. boo. if you're not giving me back jamie tartt again like literally pack it up boys. why are we doing this.

the *only* cast member I could understand (and perhaps even endorse) being lowered from series regular to guest star capacity would be Jason, and that's mostly because I think it's very hard to rectify Ted being a part of the afc richmond / London scene again after they JUST concluded his series-long arc by having him return home very poignantly to his son in Kansas. Like...huh? He just changes his mind and goes back??? lmao*

*The article is under the impression Jason WILL be returning and whilst that confuses me i AM willing to give the show the benefit of the doubt on writing a creative, fun way of making that possible. I am willing to trust them and let them sell me on how Ted Lasso can continue on! but going back to point 3, it's unfortunately all irrelevant to me if other characters are missing. sorry but. no.

as much as i did/do love ted lasso for a vast number of characters, i am too emotionally attached to my favs to where i literally do not think i would enjoy the show anymore if any of them were missing. A roy and keeley plot without jamie visibly in their lives sucks 2 me. A roy plot without jamie OR keeley (because frankly i'm hesitant about the potential of juno returning either) also sucks 2 me. i love the characters together and considering where we left them in s3, it doesn't excite me at all to think about their futures without each other. i'm not asking for rjk to be canon, even, im just asking for them to all be like. IN IT. At the end of the day, the show I love, I love because they were in it.

based on the current specualations...if everyone is in it (with or without ted) i will be tuned in but i feel nervous about it. if phil's really not returning like certain reports are saying, i'm not watching. BUT i will follow along via post episode tumblr gif sets where i can see any of the fun lighthearted roy stuff and keeley stuff and team stuff and ignore the rest of whatever the fucks happening. i will peacefully continue to live on (and contribute to) Ted Lasso Ao3 island.

[tuulikannel]

@lazytoufu and I have talked a bit about doing different princess themed karushuu stories. This isn't really a princess one, just based on a fairytale. I think I'll yet post this on AO3 too... once I figure out a real title for this. No, I will not be calling this Little Red Riding Shuu for real XD

But, yes. A Little Red Riding Hood retelling with some hints of karushuu in it. Funnily enough, it's exactly 3333 words atm. (And that's like, 2000 words more than I thought it'd be...) (I hope there are not many typos and other stuff, I wrote this in one go in the past 3 hours or so and now it's midnight here and I'm too sleepy to proofread more) (if you've any suggestions for a title do tell me)

The Little Red Riding Shuu (or whatever this'll be called)

In a grand house at the edge of a forest, a man called his son to him.

“I have an errand for you,” he said, offering the boy a basket. “You have to take this basket to your grandmother’s cottage.”

The boy gave the basket a long look. “I have a grandmother?”

“Of course you do.” The man pushed the basket to him. “There is also a map in there. Now, don’t dawdle. She has taken ill, and you have to make haste to bring her this medicine, so that…”

The boy snorted. “Yeah, sure. You’re sending medicine to people. Give me some credit, father.” He looked at the map and frowned. “She sure lives at a nice place, doesn’t she? Those parts of the forest are full of robbers and dangerous wildlife.”

“Is that a problem?”

He gave the man a sharp glance. “Don’t be stupid. I’m on my way.” He threw his red cloak over his shoulders and headed out.

As he started his journey through the forest, Gakushuu took a curious peek into the basket. There was a vial in it but there was nothing on the vial to indicate what its insides were. Medicine? He gave a little laugh. Hardly. Perhaps he would find out something once he found this so-called grandmother of his.

The road wasn’t as bad as he had thought. Yeah, sure, some random robbers attempted to attack him, but he dealt with them easily enough. One tried to stop him with poisonous gas, another, he had to admit, had a fairly strong grip in his hands (and an extremely annoying way of speaking), and then there was the absolute weirdo who seemed to be more interested in eating his guns than fighting with them. A sniper was a bit too close for comfort to get him, but in the end Gakushuu escaped him, too.

Evening was getting close and dusk was beginning to settle. He had left all roads far behind, but thankfully the terrain wasn’t too difficult. Gakushuu fastened his pace a little. He had hoped to make it back home before night fell, but he had spent a bit too much time dealing with the robbers. At this rate, he might have to spend the night at his “grandmother’s.”

“Well, hello there,” a soft voice suddenly said from the darkness, and he nearly gave a start.

He hadn’t sensed anyone watching him. Had someone truly been able to sneak upon him like this?

“Who’s there?” he asked, carefully keeping his voice even.

Someone – something? – stepped out of the dark forest. Gakushuu’s eyes widened a little, looking at the sight. Gleaming yellow eyes, a pair of rather fluffy ears covered in red fur, toothiest grin he had ever seen… He could just stare.

The other’s grin faded gradually away. “What? Never seen a wolf before?”

Gakushuu frowned. “You are… a bit red for a wolf.” Not to mention big. As far as he knew, a wolf shouldn’t be looking him almost in the eye.

“Shows what you know,” the other grunted. “I’m a red wolf.”

“Hmm.” Gakushuu wasn’t fully convinced, but in the end, the exact species of this beast was irrelevant. “So, what do you want?”

The self-declared wolf sighed. “Just to say hello! It’s quite an event to see a new face around here.”

“Okay then. Hello, and goodbye.” Gakushuu nodded and started walking on.

“Hey, c’mon!” The wolf ran after him. “We just met, don’t be in such a hurry!”

“Night is coming,” Gakushuu said shortly. “I want to reach my destination before that.”

“Ah,” the wolf breathed. “Of course. You poor humans and your lacking eyesight. I do understand. So…” The wolf jogged up to him to walk beside him. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“So suspicious…” the wolf sighed. “Come now, I know this forest through and through. If you tell me your destination, I could guide you there.”

“I don’t need a guide.”

“Mmm… if you say so. Juuust… if you continue down this way, you’ll soon run into thorny thickets that’s very hard to go through. It might seem tempting to go by it on the left, but that would lead you to a treacherous swamp. But if you head this way instead,” the wolf nodded to right, “you’ll soon find a path made by animals that just might be handy for you.”

Gakushuu said nothing but walked stubbornly on. He wasn’t foolish enough to follow a complete stranger – let alone a wolf – in a situation like this. Soon enough, though, he found those thickets the wolf had spoken about. He paused to consider. Yes, the terrain did seem easier, if he tried to go around this place on the left, but… hmm.

Was this a trap? He glanced at the wolf who was watching him with a much too innocent smile, and turned then right, against his better judgment.

“My offer still stands,” the wolf said, following him. “Just tell me where you’re going, and I’ll get you there in a moment.”

“And I bet you’re helping me out of the goodness of your heart, huh,” Gakushuu said dryly.

“Oh, of course! Although I would not mind it if you were to offer me something in return…”

“Like what?”

“Well, maybe a sniff of whatever you’re carrying in the basket,” the wolf said, and Gakushuu instinctively drew the basket closer. “Come now, that’s not too greedy, is it?”

“What is in this basket isn’t my property,” Gakushuu said. “So I’m afraid I can’t promise you any of it. Even a sniff.”

“Who are you taking it to, then?” the wolf asked, clearly curious.

“My grandmother,” Gakushuu said after just a short hesitation.

“Hmm.”

“She’s sick.”

“Of course.”

They walked a moment in silence. There really was, Gakushuu saw, some kind of a path going through the forest. It headed approximately in the right direction, so he started following it.

“So, your grandma lives in the cabin that’s by the brook down there, huh?” the wolf asked. Gakushuu said nothing, but the wolf ignored that and went on. “Well, it’s the only building anywhere nearby that you possibly could reach before dark. Funny though, I thought it’s just a hunting cabin.”

Gakushuu just shrugged.

“Follow me,” the wolf said after a while and left the path. “This is a shortcut.”

Gakushuu was still a bit hesitant to do that, but to be honest, he had just been thinking he probably should leave the path and head in that direction. Oh well. He’d just be extra alert and keep a careful eye on the wolf. If he tried something, he would yet regret it.

Soon enough he heard the brook, and then he saw the cabin. It did look like an average hunting cabin.

The wolf paused. “Sure you want to go in there?” he asked.

“What, you don’t like hunting cabins? Scared of hunters?”

“As if.” The wolf snorted. “But… ah, I forgot. It’s not just your eyesight that is lacking. This place smells all wrong.”

“Yeah?” To be honest, Gakushuu wasn’t surprised. This whole thing was clearly nothing but a test his father had created for him. But not delivering the “medicine” to his “grandmother” would equal failure. Therefore, he had no other option but to enter this cabin.

And he did so.

It was so dim there. He could see a desk and chairs, a cupboard… head of a deer on the wall… but there was no one in there.

“Hello?” he called out.

“Oh, hello,” a squeaky voice replied. “Is it you, my darling grandson?”

 “Yes… grandmother,” he said and walked carefully deeper into the cabin. “I’m bringing you medicine.”

“Oh, what a good boy you are!” the voice squeaked.

Gakushuu entered another room. A bedroom. There was a figure lying on the bed. A very big figure. Gakushuu squinted his eyes, trying to see. It was even darker in this room. There was, perhaps, a face half-hidden under a white sheet. Were those dark dots eyes looking at him?

“Grandmother…” he said slowly. “What tiny eyes you’ve got.”

“Still they see you very well, dear boy!” the voice squeaked. Yes, it clearly came from the bed. For a moment Gakushuu had suspected someone had merely placed some pillows into it to fake a body.

He moved a little closer. She saw very well, huh? Unlike him, in this darkness. But the body lying in that bed – if it was real – sure was big, that much he did see.

“What a large body you have,” he muttered.

“All the better to hug you with, my boy!”

Please don’t, Gakushuu thought to himself.

The sheet fell from the face as the form on the bed moved. The grin that was revealed from underneath it was much toothier than even the wolf’s.

“What a big mouth you’ve got, grandmother,” Gakushuu said, his hand grasping his knife.

“All the better to eat you with!” exclaimed the creature in the bed, and suddenly half a dozen tentacles shot at him. Gakushuu slashed at them with his knife, cutting two, dodging three, but one still caught him. Only for a short moment, though, as something red flashed in the corner of his eye and the wolf had sunk his sharp teeth into the tentacle.

“Augh!” Something big, yellow and tentacled, clad in black robes, stood on the bed, wailing. “That hurt!”

“That was the meaning,” the wolf said with a grin. “Mmm, tastes like octopus! Nice. It’s been too long since I’ve had seafood. Hey, Little Red Riding Hood, how about we make some sushi for ourselves?”

“You can have it all for yourself,” Gakushuu said. “And don’t start making weird names for me. I’m called Gakushuu.”

The yellow thing was flailing on the bed. “You! You would eat me? That’s so rude!”

“Didn’t you just say you’re going to eat me, grandma?” Gakushuu asked, jumping into a swift attack. The octopus monster dodged him, impossibly swift, and then yelped, having to dodge the wolf, too.

“Well, yes! But I’m the monster of this story, so that’s how it should be! The monster isn’t supposed to be eaten!”

Tentacles whizzed across the room, fast. Gakushuu had to rely on all his training just to dodge them. A counterattack was simply impossible.

“Tactical retreat!” the wolf yelled and dashed toward the door. Gakushuu didn’t really like the idea, but under the circumstances it seemed sensible.

They rushed out of the cabin. Gakushuu wasn’t quite sure if having more room would be a good or a bad thing against this opponent, but it did feel better than the cramped cabin.

“He’s coming!” he shouted as a yellow blur flew out of the cabin after them. Again, there was nothing he could do but dodge – well, at least there was more room to do that, now.

Again, the wolf jumped at a tentacle and caught it in his teeth. A sharp flick sent him flying and he landed in the brook. That didn’t stop him, though, and just a moment later he was making another attack on the tentacle creature.

“Ah! You’re all wet!” Again, the wolf was sent flying, but Gakushuu paused. A few droplets had fallen on a tentacle, and it was… melting? The wolf was back on his feet in an instant, and for a moment their eyes met. In a silent agreement they started dodging in a way that led the creature toward the brook. At one point, Gakushuu grasped a bucket that had been lying by the cabin, pretending to use it as a shield.

It took a good while of dancing around, but finally the creature stood right at the edge of the river at the perfect spot. Again their eyes met, and both knew exactly what to do. Gakushuu raised his knife, locking his eyes with the tiny beads of the octopus monster. He parried a tentacle, made a fake attack and then threw the knife toward its head. The octopus parried it with ease, but right then the wolf took a firm grasp of the hem of his robe and pulled, strongly. Gakushuu too flung himself at the octopus who fell toward the brook, suddenly shrieking in terror.

Somehow the long tentacles grasped a hold of trees and stones around the brook, stopping the fall in the last moment. The wolf landed on the octopus’s chest and Gakushuu already had the bucket filled with water, about to throw it at his face.

“Surrender!” the wolf growled, and Gakushuu paused. Huh? Wasn’t this a fight to death?

The octopus’s eyes had a strangely panicked look in them (for being nothing but little beads, that is) as he glanced from the growling wolf to Gakushuu grim face and the bucket that had almost been emptied over his head.

“I surrender!” he shrieked.

“Great.” The wolf jumped to the ground and grinned at Gakushuu. “Our victory, comrade!”

“Are we really going to let him live?” Gakushuu asked with a frown. “He was going to kill me!”

“No I wasn’t!” the octopus shouted. “Of course not! What do you take me for, some kind of a monster?”

“…you yourself said you’re the monster of this story,” Gakushuu pointed out.

“Well, yes, but…” The octopus flailed, flustered. “It was just for dramatic effect! Of course I wasn’t going to kill you! Your father would have been so mad with me!”

“Father.” Gakushuu sighed. “Of course. He hired you, didn’t he.” It wasn’t even really a question.

The octopus nodded, looking miserable. “He wanted me to test you, that’s all! I wouldn’t have really eaten you or anything.”

“And that vial… it was your reward, right?”

“Talking about which…” While they were talking, the wolf had gone inside to get the basket. “It belongs to me now, you know.”

“Hey,” Gakushuu said, ignoring the octopus who was wailing something about needing it. “I never said anything about giving it to you.”

“Oh, come now!” The wolf glared at him. “You’d have never done this without my help.”

“That’s debatable,” Gakushuu said, even though, to be honest, it truly wasn’t. He did remember the iron grip of the tentacle that had grabbed him right in the beginning. If the wolf hadn’t come to his help, the fight might have been over right then and there. “But,” he went on magnanimously, “you did come to my aid – even though I never asked for help – and it’s not like I needed that vial for anything, so… you can have it.”

“How very kind of you,” the wolf said dryly. “Would you help me…”

“But!” the octopus wailed. “It was promised to me! And I did my job, so I’ve earned it! Your father told you to give it to me, didn’t he!”

“I was told to give it to my grandmother, and you,” he gave the octopus a long look, “are clearly not that.”

“Buuuut! You don’t understand! I’m under a curse and unless I drink that magic potion I’ll never become human again!”

“Tough luck,” the wolf muttered. “Open it for me, won’t you?”

“So you too want to drink this?” Gakushuu asked, curious.

He picked up the vial and opened it. He glanced at the octopus. There were actual tears flowing down his round cheeks. Gakushuu sighed.

“If my father had this, he can surely get more. Just go ask for another vial”

“Have you ever tried to deal with your father,” the octopus whined. “Who knows what he’ll have me do this time!”

Gakushuu paused. True enough. And perhaps he shouldn’t hold his father’s actions against this octopus. He’d just been doing what he’d been told to, anyway.

“Well then. Fifty-fifty, how about that? Both of you get half of it.”

The wolf gave him a thoughtful look. “I’m not sure if that’ll be enough.”

“You drink half of it,” Gakushuu decreed. “If it’s not enough, you get also the rest.” He looked at the octopus. “That’s the best deal you can get.”

The octopus just nodded, still the epitome of pitifulness.

“Okay then.” Gakushuu carefully poured half of the liquid in the vial to the wolf who drank it. The wolf shimmered softly, his outline grew strangely blurry, and suddenly instead of a wolf a boy was standing there.

“Huh…” He felt carefully his arms and chest and patted then his head, grimacing a little. “I told you it won’t be enough!”

Gakushuu eyes were transfixed on the wolf ears on his head. “That’s not too bad, though, is it?” he said, reaching out. Yeah, the ears were just as fluffy and soft as they looked like. “They’re kind of…” cute, he was going to say, when he suddenly realized he stood there ruffling the ears of a stark naked boy of his own age.

He turned around swiftly, his cheeks hot. “You can have the rest,” he said, giving the vial to the octopus who gave it an uncertain look.

“…if I’m still going to have tentacles…” he mumbled, but still drank the rest of the drink.

Gakushuu waited with mild horror, wondering if they’d end up with some kind of an octopus/human chimera, but in the end the young man who appeared in the place of the octopus looked perfectly normal.

“Hmm,” the wolf-boy said, sounding a bit disappointed. “How boring.”

The man grinned. “Hey, this is…!” Suddenly two tentacles shot out from under his hair, and he gave a startled yelp.

“Oh, that’s more like it!” the ex-wolf stated happily. “Cool.”

Gakushuu sighed, turning away from the man who was freaking out, trying to see his image in the brook’s water. He would certainly have a thing or two to say to his father once he returned home. If he returned. He was certainly more pissed off with the man than probably ever before.

It was already dark. He started walking toward the cabin. He’d spend the night there and decide in the morning what he’d do.

The wolf-boy was suddenly by his side. “So! There’s only one bed there. Shall we share or will you sleep on the floor?”

Gakushuu spluttered. “Why the hell would I sleep on the floor!”

“You’re the one with clothes, so you won’t get cold.” The boy grinned at him, something extremely wolfy in his expression. “Or then we can decide who gets the bed in a fair fight.”

“I’m done with fighting tonight,” Gakushuu muttered. “Whatever. It’s a big enough bed, I guess.”

“Uh, I…” The man had rushed after them and was about to say something.

“You’re not joining us!” Gakushuu exclaimed. “You’ve your robes, you’re fine on the floor.” The man fell silent, a hurt look on his face. Gakushuu paid that no attention but marched into the bedroom, followed by the smirking boy.

“God,” Gakushuu mumbled as he settled down on the bed, still fully clothed. He was so tired. It had been a long day.

The other boy clambered into the bed too. “So,” he said, “what shall we do tomorrow? You wanna stay here or…”

“Who said we’re going to do anything?” Gakushuu said. “What you should do is to find some clothes. I’ll decide what I’m doing tomorrow.”

“I just think we’re a pretty good team, don’t you think? We could go adventuring together! I’m sure that together…”

“Yeah, sure, absolutely. Shut up, I’m tired.”

“Okay, okay. Goodnight then, Shuu.” The boy curled up next to him, a bit too close.

“I told you not to come up with stupid nicknames for me,” Gakushuu mumbled, but he was too tried to be really mad. “Stupid wolf.”

“I’m Karma,” the boy said.

“Figures,” Gakushuu muttered, on the borderline between sleep and waking.

Quite soon the two boys were in a deep sleep. In the other room the man lay awake quite long, trying to decide if he wanted to be the one to tell his employer that his son had eloped with a wolf, or if he should rather just run too while he could.

[barefoot-inthewildestwinter]

Make your tea and your toast (part 2)

A/N: I am so sorry for the delay. I moved for/started grad school and I hadn't set up internet yet so writing kind of took a back seat! I plan to update much more frequently though. Any feedback is much appreciated!

Title: Make your tea and your toast

Summary: If he played his cards close to his chest, she never picked hers up. Emily's past slowly catches up to her and he realizes just how little he knows about her.

Word count: 10k

Ratings: Mature, eventually

Warnings: Mentions of child abuse, SA, abortion, pregnancy and teen pregnancy, and violence.

February 2007

Quantico, VA

It’s 4:15 on Friday when he glances down and spots the crowd gathering at her desk. She’s gotten up from the heaps of files she’d been pouring over all day. The pads of her long fingers brushing wrinkles out of the blue fabric of her dress. She looks like a painting from where he’s sitting. Rays of sunlight from the windows in the unit all converged on her, giving her a warm, glowy aura. She was talking to someone. He wouldn’t be able to tell anyone who it was, blame it on the light. It was irrelevant. Her contagious smile had burst into laughter, silky hair bouncing across her shoulders as she moved. He could tell that she was passing out muffins to anyone that wandered into her eyesight. Asking about their weekend plans, about their families, trying to force more baked goods into their arms as they headed towards the door. 

He thought back to a couple of weeks ago. That night when he saw her blink for the first time.

Later on, he would realize she hadn’t blinked. In fact, she really hadn’t deviated from her usual manner. The only real intel on her that he had gathered from that was that she was passionate about their work. Particularly so when dealing with women who had been victimized by career psychopaths. She understood the feelings of helplessness that plagued cases. And perhaps the most revealing, she had a bit of a sleeping problem. Apart from her outfit, she had remained professional. Or rather, she remained heavily guarded, not budging an inch even in what he thought was a moment of weakness for her. What he thought was a blink wasn’t even a scratch on the surface of her. 

Though, something had certainly changed; she had shown him genuine trust beyond the minimum amount required to demonstrate her respect for his authority while also maintaining the safety of their team. Enough to take him up on his offer for solace and enough to challenge his wonted reasoning for tolerating failure in their casework.  She had even trusted him enough to allow him into her room to make sure she got some rest. 

They hadn’t spoken about that night in Nevada since it happened. Though, as Reid noted, he had been more attentive to her on the flight back to Virginia than usual. Bringing her a mug of his chamomile tea before take off and checking in with her periodically. 

It had been a week of busy work for them. Mostly tying up loose ends on previous cases, finishing case reports and a couple of individual client consults for Gideon and himself.  Leaned up against her desk, JJ is the first one to ask Prentiss what she’ll be doing this weekend. Back to him, her plans remain a mystery. Whatever her answer is, it clearly doesn’t satisfy JJ, who scowls lightly and shifts her weight to stand up straighter. He moves closer to the doorway of his office, hoping to glean details of the conversation below without arousing much suspicion. 

“We’re getting drinks this weekend,” she states, pushing loose hair over her shoulder. “And you have to come.” Her legs cross as she slides herself up onto the only free space on the desk. As if something in JJ’s words had summoned her out of her office, Garcia skipped over to the bullpen. Perching herself on Morgan’s desk, dangling her heels into the empty chair, her foot maneuvering the armrests to swivel back and forth. 

Prentiss sits down in her own chair. “We?” Her lips hang open, anticipating a quick response. He wonders if she’s asking because she hopes that he won’t be there. 

“Everyone. Me, Penelope, the team...”

 “Are you talking about this weekend? At Dubs?” Garcia interjects before Prentiss can press for further information. “Oh please come. On Sunday, after the Super Bowl, we do this every year.” She shifts her focus between the two women as they rehash the events of the previous year’s night out, arms crossed. She doesn’t appear unhappy. Just less happy than he would think her to be, given that she is often one to push for them to meet outside of the BAU. “Last year, JJ was four sheets to the wind and a couple of DC unis had to bring her home.” JJ’s eyes widen as she lunges to smack Garcia with one of Prentiss’ lighter files. 

“In my defense, the Steelers won and I grew up in a town where watching football is another form of going to church.”

“I didn’t realize you were all such big football fans.” Her question comes out as a statement, indicating that perhaps she was not one. JJ shakes her head. “Oh no, definitely not. JJ is, you could probably tell by now. Derek is, obviously, and I like to see brawny men in tights under almost any circumstance.” Prentiss and JJ share an awkward laugh. “The rest of us just passively watch the Super Bowl. It’s like a trainwreck, you know, you just can’t look away.” 

“Even Hotch is coming,” JJ offers. He smirks at this statement, not entirely sure why. Surely her answer will be ‘No’ now. “I remember him saying that Haley would be coming as well.” 

He can see her shoulders fall, releasing tension he hadn’t seen her carry. Her glowy smile returned to her lips. “Oh, good, you know, I cannot picture Gideon in a D.C. bar right now, but I am very intrigued.”

Penelope snorts a laugh back. “Yeah, neither can I.” She leans in briefly, lowering her voice half an octave. “He usually doesn’t take us up on our offers, I kind of wish he would just once though.”

“Oh, JJ. I would pay to see Gideon drunk. Maybe even just to see him have a cosmo.” After a few minutes of chatter, JJ gets up off of the desk and straightens out her blazer. “So, Emily, you’ll go with us?” He sees her nod, “Oh, definitely. What bar is it again?”

“The Auld Dubliner over in DC, everyone calls it Dubs.”  Prentiss nods, attempting to write down the name and location on a notepad against her thigh. “It’s okay, I’ll text you the address and the time we’ll probably mostly get there at.” JJ walks off, giving the desk some of its space back. He turns to go back to the files on his desk, her questions to Garcia about the dress code just within earshot. Given her upbringing, he’s sure that she is perfectly capable of choosing an appropriate outfit for any situation on her own, but he admires her attempt to win points with Garcia through fashion advice. 

At five he’d cleared his desk of open files, briefcase sitting in his chair. He’s rummaging through his coat pockets for his keys when she sneaks in. Avoiding starting a conversation with him through casual eye contact, she places three files in his inbox. Through pursed lips, she explains, “Missoula, Ann Arbor, Omaha.” He nods, the gesture freeing her to slip towards his door as quickly as she had entered through it.

“Prentiss?” he calls after her, stopping her in her tracks before she reaches the doorway. She turns on her heels to face him once more. “Yes, sir?” This time she holds her head up, allowing their eyes to meet. He detects a twinge of panic in hers. He sizes her up, noticing her nails press into her palms against the blue fabric on her dress. “Have I done something to upset you?” Her presence immediately shifts, the dark, glowy aura morphing into an apologetic one matching the blue of her dress. She shakes her head. “No, sir. You haven’t, really. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.” 

He takes a moment to look her over once more, analyzing the statement beyond her words. He furrows his brows and shoots her a look, Be honest. When she doesn’t budge, he tests the waters. “I don’t mean to pry but you’ve been rather withdrawn since we came back from Golconda. If I’ve overstepped, you can tell me off.”

His relief comes when he hears her laugh sincerely. “No, it’s just me, cursing myself for making a fool of myself in front of my boss that night.” Now he’s the one shaking his head. “You did no such thing. I was put in charge of this team, I’m here for you all, for anything, anytime. Don’t tell Garcia I said that though, or she’ll try me at home more often with less remorse.” She cracks a smile, nodding in agreement. He grabs his briefcase from the seat and turns off the lamp, following her out. The unit is dim, empty aside from a couple of uniformed officers. 

“So you’ll be coming then, on Sunday?” They step into the elevator headed down to the garage. 

“Yeah, I think I will. Although the idea of potentially outing myself as a lightweight does frighten me.” They share a laugh. She looks down at her hands, twisting her thumbs.  “No, I am looking forward to it.” 

“Great, I know Haley was eager to formally meet you.” She grins at him and he can’t help but reflect it back.  The elevator stops at the first level, his stop. “See you Sunday.” He disappears behind a concrete wall. 

Her words echo through the building, “Have a good night, Hotch.” 

She hadn’t watched a minute of the game. Instead, her afternoon had been spent preparing to go out and cleaning her apartment. For a reason she couldn’t pinpoint, she felt nervous. Like she was back in high school, waiting for a date. Sure, she was still relatively new to the team, but she was in good standing with all of them. Enough to be comfortable hanging around them outside of the office. She slips on a top and some jeans, checking herself out in the mirror three times before leaving. She tosses her purse and go-bag in the passenger seat of her car before combing through her messages for an address from Garcia. 

The phone buzzes as she parks the car. The text is from Penelope; We r all here. Pretty please say ur coming soon? She replies, letting her know that she’d arrived. 

When she walks into the bar, Hotch is already sitting down, a half glass of beer left next to him. He’s wearing his brown sweater, the one he was wearing in Nevada when they last spoke. He looks relaxed, casual almost. 

“Sit, please.” His voice was softer than it had been a few days before. She obliges, hopping onto the barstool across from him. She takes this opportunity to survey the room. JJ in the back, shooting darts with two tall men she recognizes from Counterterrorism. Reid is sitting in a booth with a girl from Counterintelligence and two others she doesn’t know. He has a drink which shocks her a little bit. Morgan is leaning against another table, flirting with a couple of unsuspecting girls. 

“Hey, lady. You made it!” Garcia props herself up at their table, drink in hand, leaning into Prentiss’ side. He notices her tense lightly at the contact, biting her lower lip while briefly calculating her reply. 

“Hey, thanks for the address.”

“Yeah, no problem. You look hot by the way.” She’s wearing a silky top, no sleeves, leaving her arms bare. The neckline plunges, exposing more of her chest than she typically does at work. Her cheeks blush and he wonders if he’s been staring at her for too long. 

Penelope had only glanced at her for a second, causing Prentiss to realize that her friend had wandered over to her just to get a better view of Derek. Swirling her cocktail around with the mini straw, she is rapt. 

Emily takes a deep breath in, looking over at him, then her, then back at him. Are you seeing this? He gives her a half nod. “Yeah, you’re one to talk.” Their eyes remain locked and they share a frightened laugh when they hear her purr. 

“Okay, Penelope, I love you. But, I am going to need you to take your drooling somewhere else, babe.” Garcia relinquishes her hold on Prentiss’ arm, sneering as she moves to a seat at the table in front of them. Free to sit up untethered, she turns her attention back to Hotch. “How was the game?” He bares his teeth with a brief smile. “I have no idea.”  Glass to his lips he spies her raised brow and wild eyes teeming with curiosity. “We spent the day taking Jack to the Orchid exhibit at the Museum of Natural History,” he offers. He watches as she turns away to laugh into her shoulder. Tucking her hair behind both ears, her lips still parted when she faced him again. “Was that a joke, Hotchner?”

“No, of course not. We take our perennial flowers very seriously.”

 A small, blonde woman brushes his backside before pulling a stool up between them. She recognizes her immediately from pictures and from the few times she’s seen her  in his office. “Honey, the line for the bathroom was so not short.” He mumbles and observes as the two women acknowledge each other. An elbow to the ribs snaps him out of his thoughts. “Oh, I’m sorry. Prentiss, this is my wife, Haley. Haley, this is Agent Prentiss.” 

She shoots him a playfully annoyed look. “Emily, please. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“Yes, it’s nice to meet you as well. Aaron talks about you often, I’ve been hoping to get a chance before now.” The use of his first name forces her smirk. Aaron.

“All good things, I hope?” Haley nods eagerly. 

“What did I miss?” She turns to Hotch. He shifts on the stool to lean into her, pointing to their team as he speaks. “Well. Jennifer is still schooling those guys at darts. Spencer is dissecting episodes of Star Trek, I think. Derek is…” They all glance over to him. “Well, Derek is in a good mood, he’s from Chicago. And Penelope may be too far gone.”

“No Jason?” Haley asks, looking up at him. He shakes his head lightly. “He had a prior commitment.” She notices him distancing her from himself. Jason, Jennifer, Spencer, Derek, Penelope. She’s Agent Prentiss. It feels impersonal. Though she still is relatively new to the team, she didn’t feel that unfamiliar. Perhaps his way of storing her in his work life and not bringing her home. Had he not been the one to initiate their friendliness?

They chat, make small talk. He can tell that she’s pulling from her past. A childhood of masterminding conversational skills. The bottom of his empty glass hits the table. Haley’s voice right after pulls her down from the spiral. “Well, I could use a drink.”

She smiles, getting up from her stool. “I’ll go, what are you drinking?”

Hotch looks over at her, judging the tension in her voice. “Guiness?” 

“I’ll have an aperol spritz, thanks.” She nods and turns away from the couple. 

He watches her make her way back towards the bar, her top rides up slightly when she bends over the bar to shout their orders. He can see their orders on her lips as she gets the attention of the bartender. She orders another beer as well. He quickly averts his eyes, feeling heat rush to  his cheeks. 

“She seems nice. Very pretty.” His wife’s words bounce off of the side of his neck. In a hushed tone, he mutters a stern ‘Haley,’ his lips barely open to let the words out. "A bit puppyish though, don't you think?" He stares at the bottom of his empty glass. “She’s new to the team, still trying to fit in. Please don’t do this.” She keeps her calm tone, “I’m just saying. I feel better knowing you have something nice to look at while you’re away.” Her words are sharp but take them both by surprise. Reaching a level of seriousness, they laugh it off.

She beams on the way back, dodging Morgan and the girls that have adhered themselves to his sides,  and careful not to spill all three drinks. “Hey Morgan, be careful. The one in the back could take your wallet” He doesn’t even look back at her. “That's alright, I'd be a broke, happy man.” She smirks in disbelief. They grab at the drinks down on the table. Saying cheers and taking much needed sips. She notices them sitting closer together than they had been, but they weren’t being affectionate. An obvious change in the air. 

“So how are they treating you at the BAU,  Emily?” She looks up at Hotch, pleading for an answer or at least a clue. “She means, am I being nice to you?” He clarifies through the drink. She looks between them, something is definitely off. She feels like an outsider but is somehow also too close to them at this moment. “Actually, everyone has been incredibly nice.” She bites her lower lip and plays with her watch. 

“Look at him move, he's like a cat,” Penelope’s words overshadow the awkwardness. 

Grateful to shift attention away from herself, she comments back, “More like a dog.”

“He did not ask them to dance, they asked him.” She laughs big at her friend’s dedication to watching Morgan grind up on strangers. She stifles her laughter. “Okay, okay. He's a cat,” she concedes. 

Haley leans into her, shouting over the music and chatter, “An alley cat.” 

“Come on, honey. Let's show them how it's done.” She stares at them as he takes Haley’s hand and pulls her towards the floor. “Oh, that is so sweet.” She promises Penelope that she’ll watch her drink  and guard her front row seat to Derek’s show, but her focus is elsewhere. Her eyes are glued further back though. Watching her boss dance with his wife. It’s obvious to her, and probably anyone else, that they are highschool sweethearts. He is so unwound around her, softer than he had been to her in Nevada by miles. She wonders how difficult it is for him to move between his lives.

In the corner of her eye, she spots JJ on the phone headed for the door, head down. When JJ comes back in, she shoots her a glance from the entrance. They have a case. She sighs and shrugs back, getting up to notify the others. 

When she gets to them, they already know. They meet her halfway, holding hands. “Party’s over?” Haley asks. Prentiss says yes, it’s urgent. “Of course. Um, honey, we drove here together.” 

“Oh, that’s right.” 

She bites her lip again, trying to refrain from overstepping. “JJ has a full car, but I can drive you to Quantico. If that’s okay.” He looks to Haley for approval. “Are you sure you can get home safe?” She nods. 

Prentiss notes the surprise in his words. As if he wasn’t expecting this reaction from his wife. Haley takes the keys from his hand, “Go on then.” She almost apologizes for stealing him away for a case, but she can tell Haley is used to it.

She looks down at her wedges when they kiss goodbye. 

When they arrive back at the BAU, they pile into the briefing room. “Coffee. Everyone.” It’s an order. They’re all giddy with laughter, if not from their own drinking, then a second-hand intoxication. They listen to Morgan brag about his conquests and watch Reid shrivel away in response to some of the details. 

He can’t help but fixate on her as she sips her coffee, gently clutching the mug in her palms. When she speaks, he feels clear-headed, the fear flushing out of his system with the alcohol. She’s still in her top, scrunching her nose as she laughs at Morgan, which cracks his poker face into a shy grin.

When Gideon and JJ enter, it’s game time. JJ presents the case. A homicide. A young, wealthy, white couple in Atlanta. Police were called to the scene by one of the unsubs before the crime was being committed. She’s zoned in, inquiring about the police response time. It had been just under five minutes.  

For a moment, he ponders the differences in their affect. Gideon, frustrated with the reason for them being called in, desperate for any and all information he can use to end it. JJ, justifiably upset that another night off has been sacrificed for a brutal criminal. Prentiss, pushing aside her personal sentiments in order to devote her full mind to the case. They all appear determined, yet they carry it so differently. 

Despite her tenacity, he catches her flinch at the mentions of sinners and religious material. He doesn’t have time to read into that now, trying to assess what they are about to step into. They’re on the jet within the hour. 

She’s changed into a button-up and blazer. They pour over the little information they have on the ride. Hotch pre-assigns them to responsibilities, giving them a chance to catch their breaths and to prepare for anything they may find. One thing is clear, they need to be prepared for a change in course. He dispatches her to the morgue to examine the bodies of the victims. She’s not as squeamish as Morgan or JJ, usually okay with this sort of thing. He’s also witnessed her insightfulness, understanding the most reasonable questions to ask the medical examiner and being able to read the body forensically.

When they all reconvene at the station, they present the information they’d gathered . She shares the details she’d obtained from the coroner. The killings were similar to that of animal slaughter consistent with knowledge of farming or hunting. Not abnormal for rural Georgia, but it was something. They note that the killings are efficient, sacrificial. 

He watches her scrawl the most important details from their words on the whiteboard. Her hair falling below her shoulders as she writes.  Gun and holster clinging to her hip, pushing her blazer aside. They discuss the religious aspect. 

He’s just sent JJ and Reid to go talk to a witness when word comes of more victims, sending the rest of them to the scene. Detective Faraday  explains that this scene is different. The victim doesn’t live in the house, he is a handy man. The husband is alive and out of town and the wife is missing. As Gideon mentions infidelity to Hotch, Prentiss pushes through the crowd to get to the body. Morgan follows close behind.  If adultery is the sin the unsubs are claiming here, she’s not sure there’s a happy ending for Mrs. Douglas. 

They head back downstairs to confirm the presence of the camera. A uniformed officer confirms the location of the husband, asking them if they want him brought in for questioning. Gideon shakes his head. “It would be a waste of time. He didn’t do this, and from the looks of it, he probably wouldn’t be able to help us find her.” He steps aside to examine the passage left for them. 

“Prentiss, Morgan,” Hotch calls, head gesturing to the door. He stumbles out the door and they throw their gloves out in the evidence bags. Needing some space from the full house, he pulls them onto the front lawn. “So, let's work this out, what does this new behavior tell us?” His words are gentle but he’s looking at her with urgency. 

Staring back at him, she supplies him with a response. “There was only one unsub this time, uh Raphael alone?” His arms are crossed, not satisfied with her answer, but not upset at her. “Not if he’s the psychotic, he wouldn’t be capable of operating this efficiently.” She agrees, nodding once. “Someone was here who could control himself. Make sure no evidence is left behind.” He keeps his eyes on her, searching for emotion behind her sunglasses. She gives him nothing, maintaining composure and intent on finding the wife.  

Derek highlights the necessity of the phone call for the unsubs, part of the signature. It’s something they are all thinking, but neglect to mention out loud, closing themselves off. He shifts to Morgan. “Have we ever seen this in case history?” Derek says no, explaining the inconsistency between restraint and psychosis. She concurs, “People with extreme psychosis don't often play well with others.” 

He’s certain they’re dealing with one unsub. Gideon rejoins them.  Raphael doesn’t exist, he says, “He’s  an archangel. We’re still not sure about the third voice.” He explains that the unsub sees Mrs. Douglas as Jezebel, an unpleasant death is in her future if it hasn’t already occurred. 

On the drive back into the station, Gideon and Morgan dive into the implications of the themes of sinning. Gideon occasionally gets lost in thought and zoning out for a mile. “Have any of you been trying to reach Garcia?" 

“I tried as we were leaving. I tried JJ as well. Prentiss, you said that you weren’t getting any signal like ten minutes back, right?” Morgan looks to the woman on his right, she gives them all a tired response. “Mm? Oh, yes. Still nothing.”

He gets her in the rear view mirror, staring out the window, biting her lower lip like she had in Nevada. Her eyes glued to the car’s roof, holding back at least one sarcastic comment. He hadn’t seen the case getting to her. He paused to consider that he had seen almost nothing to suggest that it was the case. They hadn’t stopped to rest since their night out and she hadn’t napped on the jet. Morgan and Gideon had been reciting Bible verses back and forth across her for the past hour. And they had piled into one car, none of them smelling particularly great. Well, she smells great, but that isn’t unusual. He knows she has a few scents that she circulates through, all lovely, but all very expensive. Today, she smells sweet like honey and juniper. He holds onto that as they head towards Atlanta.

Back at the station, Morgan confirms that Garcia is running voice analysis on the phone call for the third voice. When she finally gets a hold of them, she tells them a new video has been posted, and it’s already gone viral. This doesn’t fall lightly on any of them.

“Garcia, can you get this on our screens?” Hotch requests with such delicateness, she would even call it a plea. “Already on it, sir” They hear her gasp, assuming she has just accessed it herself. “Oh my sweet… No, no, no.” Looking at the faces of her colleagues, they are visibly hurt by Garcia’s reaction, remorseful that she had to see it. She sits in the bullpen, pulling up the video they were just sent. He follows suit, standing behind her, a bit surprised at her initiative to step up to ensure they stay on task. 

On the screen, this video is worse than they imagined. The unsub is reading from the bible. Mrs. Douglas tied up behind him, being ripped apart by three dogs. Prentiss is sitting at the desk, full view of the screen,Faraday sitting next to her, far enough away to be able to not look at the full screen. Morgan keeps his distance, but above her, Hotch and Gideon lean in. “Jezebel’s death.” 

On the screen, Hotch can see their reflections in front of the video. A look of disgust or shock on all their faces. Not her, she just looks bemused. “My god.” Her voice is steady. She hasn’t looked away, her frown flashes across the monitor.. Gideon and Morgan avert their gaze. Hotch has one hand firm on the back of her chair. “You can turn it off,”he tells her. Faraday grabs her wrist before she can close out. “Wait.” 

Derek recedes further back. “You haven't seen enough?”

He shakes head, moving closer to Prentiss and the screen, causing her to slide to the back of her chair. She can feel him standing over her, a protective hand on the back of her chair. “Those dogs. Those three dogs attacked someone a couple of months ago.” All eyes are on Faraday now. “I would've had them impounded, but the victim knew the owner, a neighbor. He didn't want to press charges.” Gideon lifts his head up, voice deep and shaky. “ You sure?” Faraday continues, proud of himself for recognizing them.  “As God is my witness.” He reaches for one of the notepads on the cluttered desk, flipping through the pages frantically. “Three mangy mixes, I knew those dogs looked sick. Called animal control, I don’t know if they ever followed up. Oh here it is.”

The owner is a man named Tobias Henkel. 

Prentiss looks up at the men towering over her, locking her wide eyes with Hotch’s. “We sent JJ and Reid to go talk to him hours ago.” They don’t know what to say, words stuck in their throats. She takes out her phone. “I’ve been calling them all afternoon, they haven’t picked up, there’s probably not any service out there.” She calls JJ again, letting the stark dialing tone ring. They stay put in their shock as she grabs her bag and files. “Henkel is pretty far out there?” She glances at Faraday just long enough to see him nod. “Okay, uh… We’ll need at least four unis, you all know the area better than we do… and vests. We’ve seen some of what this man is capable of. He’s in a state of psychosis, we don’t want to rush him to another victim. We won’t know until we get there, but if he has JJ and Reid, we need to proceed with extreme caution.” She’s halfway to the car before realizing that no one is behind her. She finds his deep, brown eyes again. He’s berating himself for sending their teammates to danger, he can tell. Come on, she begs him. We have to go. Now.  

“Alright, everyone. You heard Agent Prentiss.” He follows her out to the cars, grateful for her presence of mind while his was blank.

They’re beyond speeding to get to Henkel’s ranch, the sun long gone by the time they get there. Faraday directs them, Gideon and Hotch to the house, she’s going with Morgan to the barn out back. 

They slide into the barn, guns drawn, each taking a wall to move down. Their flashlights catch something. Henkel’s dogs on their sides, each with at least one gunshot.  Morgan keeps going but pauses at the next stall down. His light refracted on the blood and pink organs spilling over onto the barn floor. “Damn.”

Prentiss is walking over to see what he’s fixated on when a voice calls out behind her, hearing a familiar click she knows is from a gun. “FBI. Don’t move.” It’s  JJ. She looks distressed, her hair down, gun out,  aimed straight at them. Prentiss identifies the desperation and panic in her eyes. She’s in survival mode. 

“JJ stop. JJ, down, it’s Morgan and Prentiss. Don’t shoot, it’s okay.” His voice commands and she lowers her weapon. “Are you hurt?” Prentiss moves close to her, grabbing the gun from her hand and using her free arm to stabilize her. JJ’s voice is flat, all of her characteristic pep drained from her hours ago. “Tobias Henkel is the unsub.” 

Morgan sighs, “Yeah, we know.” An officer runs back out to call an ambulance. 

“I mean, we just thought he was a witness,” adjusting her belt, she shakes her head in denial. They look at the dogs among their feet. “I had to kill them,” she says, still not making eye contact.

“JJ, where’s Reid?” She ignores him, rambling on, riddled with disgust at the depravity. “They just completely tore her apart. There's nothing even left.” Morgan steps back, attempting to stifle his frustration with her.

Prentiss takes stock before approaching JJ with focus and authority. Her words cut clear, striking a balance between using kid’s gloves and interrogation tactics. “JJ, look at me. Look at me, where’s Reid?” She shepherds the conversation, leaving no room for JJ to veer off course. “Uh, we split up. He said he was gonna go around back.” Morgan doesn’t miss a beat, leaving them in the barn. “Where are Gideon and Hotch?” 

Prentiss is checking her for signs of injuries. “They’re checking the main house.” Sirens in the background draw her eyes up. She wraps an arm behind her, “Let’s get you out of here, Jayje.” They stumble over to the bus. Prentiss hands JJ off to the EMT rushing to meet them, pulling Faraday aside. Under her breath she asks him to keep an eye on her, he nods. 

Nothing from the men yet, she tries Garcia for a possible trace on Reid’s cell. No signal. She wanders back over to the barn, hoping to at least learn something from the tools Henkel has out there. She’s three steps in, eyes on the dogs again, then she’s called back out. “Agent Prentiss? Agent Jareau is asking for you.”

 She bites her lip hard again and tastes the salty blood flush her teeth. The request makes her feel boxed in. She wants to be able to stay with JJ, her friend, who has been incredibly kind to her since she joined the unit. Her friend who has clearly gone through a trauma and is justifiably not okay. But they also have a case to solve. One involving a deranged psychopath killer who likely has one of their agents. She checks in with Faraday before talking to JJ. “Hey, Is there any sign of him yet?��

It's raining now. She feels the sweat rinse off her cheeks. Under his hat, Faraday shakes his head at her. “We got every one of our units on the road.” She nods, giving some semblance of a response. “He won't make it far.” She knows that isn’t certain.

“They can't find Reid?” She gets closer to JJ, who is sitting in the entrance to  the ambulance, legs dangling off the back. “Not yet.” She smiles slightly, not wanting to provoke her in any way, or trigger her guilt about losing sight of Reid. Her busted lip throbs as it brushes against her teeth. 

“Prentiss.” Morgan calls her away from the paramedics, spotting JJ still half-gone, wrapped in emergency blankets and one of the officer’s coats. He lowers his voice, “I think Reid fled into the cornfield,” he gestures his head to the area behind the barn. “Looks like somebody got dragged.” Fuck, she looks back at him, aware that they both can tell how bad this may be. 

A deputy informs them that a neighboring county’s sheriff reported giving directions to a man who fit Henkels description to a motor inn in Fort Bend. 

Hotch and Gideon appear from the back of the building, neither looking any less frustrated. “JJ okay?” He asks, waiting for one of them to nod back. “Henkel’s long gone. No sign of Reid. I doubt he was ever in the house.” Gideon rubs the tension in his face around with his hands. Hotch looks at her, sensing information missing from their recap. “One of the unis got a message that a man fitting Henkel’s physical and vehicular description asked for directions to a motor inn in Fort Bend. They’re sending two cars.” She tells him.

“Good.”

Behind her, Morgan is forcefully kicking his boots into a bale of hay. “Shouldn’t we go after them as well?” He asks, looking at Hotch only for instruction.

“No, no, let them handle it. It’s likely a diversion. Henkel's too smart to leave a trace like that. The house is a time capsule, we should go through it. If Henkel has barely left in 10 years, there's gotta be something in here of use to us. Something to help us find Reid.” He watches her response to his words. She nods and then clears her throat. “I’m going to finish documenting the situation in the barn.” She’s twisting her watch around her wrist. 

Morgan prevents her from leaving with the back of his hand. “Wait, Prentiss, hold up. Do you want me to come with you? You shouldn’t be going in there alone.” She brushes past him without hesitation. Hotch evaluates the disturbance in Morgan’s intervention. He can only imagine what they had walked into. 

“I’ll be fine, Derek. Henkel’s gone, it’s not like he’s going to be there. We need to get this over with so we can turn it over to local CSI. I really don’t mind.” Knowing there’s no use in arguing with her, the three men watch her as she turns and jogs back to the barn. 

There are still two officers posted by the entrance. From their demeanor, she can tell that they can't bring themselves to step inside. She flashes them a sympathetic grin and steps into the open barn. The air is crisp with chill and freedom. Her eyes dart over to the dogs once more, teeth digging into her busted lip at the thought of JJ firing her weapon at them. This time, she does get a very good look at what Morgan had been so upset at. Organs splayed out in a pool of blood. Obviously human, and obviously fresh given the coloring. Nothing had been left. Fuck this. 

“Prentiss?”

She hadn’t heard his footsteps on the ground approaching, but she did feel them coming up behind her. When he doesn’t say anything more, she figures he’s probably just as disturbed by the scene as Morgan had been. She turns to face him. “Hotchner, I was under the impression that we’d addressed your inability to walk up to someone without acting like a lowlife.” Her words are an attempt to lighten the obvious heaviness in the air. She searches his face for signs that anything she was saying was getting through to him. His eyes narrowed, trained on the depravity beyond her, face all blank and serious. ”Hotch?” 

“Right. Right, sorry.” his expression breaks, revealing a more troubled look. His feet are still planted. 

“No, it’s okay,” she offers. “I’m just sorry you had to see this.”  She gestures behind her hips, flashing soft eyes at him. “I thought you’d be waiting outside. I’ll just need another minute or two, but I am really fine staying here alone.”

Hotch nods.  I know , he concedes. Let me stay anyway. Emily sends him a small grin of acceptance.  She turns back to the stall, snapping pictures on the team’s digital camera from a few angles. “I knew it was bad when Derek was offering to chaperone you, and I figured I’d come check on you when he wouldn’t say anything else.”

“Oh, you didn’t think that was a shot at my sensitivity?” He catches himself almost letting out a laugh. She is nothing if not witty, even at the most inappropriate of times. “Jezebel’s death,” she scoffs, dropping the camera to her hip. “No one deserves that . I mean what is the game here? Find a woman, use her as a pawn in your sick, sacrificial, religious game? It’s beyond sick.” The adrenaline rushed through her forcing words to spill out from her lips. Through her rambling, she pauses to bite her lip and play with her hair and she doesn’t break. Her tone is stern and headstrong, but not emotional. 

He finds her dedicated obsession charming, but he’s smart enough to know that it’s best that he stops her spiral before it goes too far. “Let’s get out of here. I’ll let the officers know.” They move quickly, the breeze hitting their skin as they find the doorway. She pulls him aside before they’re near the others. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Not entirely sure. Officers couldn’t find any sign of them in Fort Bend, we were right to assume it was a misdirection. Henkel’s computer setup is much more intense than we’d expected. I’m bringing in Garcia first thing tomorrow morning.” She nods. “We should get JJ some rest,” he looks over at their friend, still in the middle of a huddle of first responders at the back of the ambulance. 

“We’ll get more done if we stay at the house. That way we can keep an eye on her and keep working. She shouldn’t be alone right now.” She spots a glimpse of fear in his eyes. “Reid is smart. He can hold his own, he’ll be alright.” 

By the time they convince JJ to take the sofa, it’s past 1:00. Morgan is already out on the floor beneath her. She’s alone at the dining room table, pouring over Henkel’s diaries. She’s holding them closer to her face, undeterred by the poor lighting. When he sets a mug down by her wrist he witnesses her real smile for the first time in days. “Coffee?” She beams.   

“No, it’s chamomile, sorry to disappoint. You have a serious problem.” He sits in the chair beside her, a mug of his own held away from the stack of journals between them. Her smile slips into an offended glare. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want milk or honey?” Her brow furrows, deeping her glare, he laughs.

“I wanted coffee. You don’t get to deprive me of feeling joy just because this case is a living nightmare.”

He sips his tea slowly. “I don’t believe anyone else could fault me for denying an obsessive insomniac caffeine at this hour. So yes, this definitely qualifies as a problem, Prentiss.” She scowls and shakes her head, returning to the journals. “You know, they put up cots in the upstairs landing, if you claim one now, you could get at least a couple hours before everyone starts back up in the morning.” He’s tiptoeing. 

“Forget it, Hotch. I am so not sleeping tonight.” She drops her wrist, revealing her whole face. Her cheeks flushed. “Hey, did Haley get home okay the other night? Have you even spoken to her and Jack since we left?” He feels his smile fade. 

“I called her from the jet when we landed and again a couple hours ago. They were already asleep, I left a voicemail.”

Her fingers wrap around the mug in front of her, staring down into hot tea. “Do you ever feel bad?” She rephrases,  “Doesn’t it bother you, not being home, missing all of the ‘Goodnights’?”

He swallows a mouthful of tea. “Of course it does. But when I’m away on a case, I have to be able to set personal troubles aside. When we’re home, I’m there for Jack's bedtime and I call when we’re away. He’s only one, but I’d like to think the effort means something above abandonment to him. I don’t have it down to a science.” He lifts the porcelain mug to his lips, disappointed to find it empty. “I value priorities, but I can’t live with the idea of Jack growing up thinking that I’ll always put work above him. I don’t know, maybe we’re doomed to inherit things from our parents that we swore we’d be better than.” Her face falls down to the ugly linen placemats, trying to appear unaffected by his statements. He considers the opinions on politics she’d hurled at him in her first month in the unit and the time he’d spent in her mother’s office fourteen years ago. “Emily, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything.” She shrugs him off. 

“I know, there’s nothing to imply anyway. Ambassador Elizabeth Prentiss is an impressive woman, but she is also my mother.” He narrows his eyes, That wasn’t really an answer. “Besides Hotch, you care enough to try, that’s not worth nothing. You should get some sleep though, it’s been a long day and you’ve got to get Garcia early.” He’s still studying her when she returns to the diaries a minute later. 

She’s right, he should have gone to bed hours ago. He forces himself up to find a cot to fall onto. “Goodnight. At least try to sleep for once.”

Garcia had spent almost every second since she’d arrived in the computer room, but Prentiss and Gideon were in deep. They spend the day moving through the house, combing through milk crates and shelves full of diaries. They don’t speak often, only when necessary.

“Hey,” she perks up. “I have got a list of Narcotics Anonymous meetings with someone’s name and numbers on it, but it looks to be about 12 years old.” Her voice falls.

“Try it. There are no bad leads.” He peels away at the wallpaper revealing words written over and over, recitation punishment. “Is that latin?” She knows that it is. “Honor thy father.” 

They head down to consult with the others. “Go on ahead, I’ll get JJ.” Behind the ajar bathroom door, she hears the faucet run. Her knock on the inside of the door is met with a gun drawn at chest height. “Hey, hey, hey, JJ. It’s me.”  Her stern voice is enough to get her to lower the weapon. “Are you alright?”

“Uh yeah, I'm sorry you scared me.” Her voice is shaky and she won’t make eye contact

.

Recognizing her friend’s jumpiness, she apologizes. “I'm sorry. I'm talking tomorrow morning to some guy who knew Henkel from Narcotics Anonymous. Why don't you come with me, get out of the house?” JJ agrees. “Okay, great.” She walks away to give her some space and privacy to tend to her wounds.

“Emily?”

“Yeah?” Prentiss turns back to find JJ close in front of her.

“How come none of this gets to you?”

She puts confusion in her brows. “What do you mean?” Maybe if she buys enough time, she can change the subject.

“You came off a desk job. Now suddenly, you're in the field surrounded by mutilated bodies and you don't even flinch.” She feels Hotch come up behind her again. Now she’s definitely trapped. 

“She's right,” his quiet voice pulls her to face him. “You’ve never blinked.” He’s close, too close. 

“I guess maybe I compartmentalize better than most people.” She answers only him. Their gazes locked, each searching for hints in the other’s eyes. Another bad answer , he prods. She shoots back, Please, don’t do this.

Before he can unpack her answer, his thoughts are interrupted by Morgan. “Hey guys, I think I got something.” She exhales briefly before chasing them out back. 

They wait for the coroner to retrieve Henkel’s father before heading back in. Tonight, she heads straight for the cots, avoiding niceties. She can see him following her in her periphery, but before he can speak she lies down with her back to him and stares at the wall.

They spend the next day learning more about Tobias, not getting any closer to finding him and Reid. She and JJ had gone to meet with the NA contact that morning. They’d learned that Henkel’s father was extremely abusive, becoming especially violent after his mother left. She was discussing the significance of the intel with Hotch and Gideon when Morgan called them in for Garcia. They see Reid on the monitor screen, alive but tied to a chair in an empty room. 

Prentiss gets closer to Garcia, gasping hard when she sees the bruising on Reid. “He’s been beaten.” In the background she hears Gideon berating Penelope, unloading the guilt he feels for losing Reid onto her. Henkel is asking Reid to choose a victim. He knows they're watching them. 

Tobias’ growls boom across the livestream. “You really see inside men's minds. See these vermin, choose one to die, I'll let you choose one to live.” Reid’s voice is weak, they can barely hear it. “No,” he repeats as Henkel provokes him until he breaks. Tobias tells them the name and address of the woman on the screen, giving Gideon the chance to call and warn her. He instructs the woman to turn off the camera and she complies. 

In response, Henkel shuts off the camera giving them access to Reid without missing a beat. Morgan storms out, Garcia desperately attacks the keyboard, searching for some way to pull the view back up. Gideon, too dumbfounded to speak, staggered out into the hallway. 

There are two new victims within the hour. Slaughtered, same as the others. “I’ve got roadblocks out for a 15 mile radius. Every unit is on the road, but so far nothing.” They move through the scene with annoyance, identifying the new bible verse left for them by Henkel. Gideon tries to get a message to Reid through the Hayes’ video camera. 

The others finish combing through the scene but Hotch pulls Gideon aside. “We’re not getting any closer,” he confesses with a hint of worry that Gideon is virtually devoid of. Even he is not sure if he’s seeking reassurance or Gideon’s informed advice.  

“Reid’s brilliant, he'll figure out how to survive.”

It’s true, though it wasn’t the reassurance he was looking for. “You know,” he bites his lip. “I always take advantage of Reid for his brain, but I never teach him how to deal with things emotionally.”

Gideon isn’t paying him much attention, but offers his sympathy. “You lead by example.” He feels his stomach drop. “Well, what kind of example is that?”

Sensing enough insecurity in Hotch’s tone, Gideon lifts his head to face him. “He'll make it.”

On the drive back, he can’t help but run through his performance as unit chief. He’d like to think that he knows his team, that he matches their needs. But with Reid, it was delicate. He had taken advantage of him lately, especially with the pressure they were getting from Strauss. And then there was Prentiss. He was sure that he wasn’t giving her the support she deserved. She was beyond  holding her own in this case though something was off. It was as if she was too put together. 

While the rest of them had gotten cottonmouth watching Reid’s collapse and resuscitation, she had narrowed the radius of their location drastically. When Henkel pushes Reid to pick one of them to die, he can see her eyes pleading for him to choose her. Me , her lips purse. The prayers go unanswered and he hears his name escape from Reid’s mouth. “He’s a classic narcissist. He thinks he’s better than everyone else on the team. Genesis 23:4 ‘Let him not deceive himself in trust, in emptiness, vanity, falseness, and futility, for these shall be his recompense.”  She looks at him and their eyes meet again. That isn’t right she tells him, he sends a small nod to her and steps out into the hall. They all follow close behind. “I’m not a narcissist.” 

Gideon is the first to soothe his ego. “Oh come on look, you can’t take anything he says right now seriously.” They talk over each other briefly. 

“That’s not what I’m talking about–”  

“He's trying to identify with him-“ 

“No, no. Stop. Stop. Alright everybody right now, what’s my worst quality?” They look back at him, confused, mouths open. “Okay, I'll start, I have no sense of humor.”

JJ chimes in, “You're a bully.” He nods “ I’m a bully.”

“You can be a drill sergeant sometimes.” He’s heard this from Morgan many times over the years on nights out, it was starting to lose its effect on him. “Right.” He looks to Gideon for another response.

Prentiss beats him to it, “You don’t trust women as much as men.” The sentiment had clearly been brewing for some time. It’s a fair shot, he’ll give her that but it still stings him. Regardless, they have no time to address it now. 

“Okay, good. I'm all these things, but none of you said that i ever put myself above the team, because I don't. Ever. Reid and I argued about the definition of classic narcissism and he knew that I would remember that. He also quoted Genesis chapter 23 verse 4, read it.” He hands JJ the bible like he’s submitting it into evidence. 

“I am a stranger and a sojourner with you. Give me proper burial place among you that I may bury my dead out of my sight.”

Gidepn smirks with pride. He’s sending them a message. 

“He wouldn't get it wrong unless it was on purpose”

They quickly decode Reid’s message and identify his location. The moment they arrive at Marshall Plantation they check the cabin. “Clear.” “Clear.” They aren’t there, but they have been. 

They move through the woods on foot, guns drawn. A single shot leads them to Reid, leaning over Henkel. She follows Hotch hurrying to lift him up and steady his weight. She lets him take control. “Are you alright?”

Reid leans deeper into Hotch and she steps back. “ I knew you'd understand.” He wraps his arms around him. They all look on with adoration. She feels awkward as she watches him embrace JJ and then Morgan and Gideon. When he asks for a moment alone with Tobias, they oblige, walking a few yards back to the road. 

Medics on the scene advise them that Reid should be seen by doctors at the nearest hospital. He’s too drained to argue. They send him with JJ and Morgan, but Penelope, riddled with anxiety, tags along. 

“One more night in Georgia won’t kill us.” 

She lets out a shaky laugh, “It won’t, but we are definitely staying in a motel. I’ve spent as much time in Henkel’s life this week as I could possibly bare.” Gideon nods and they pile into the last SUV on the scene.

They’re sitting in the lot of the motel they’d driven past everyday in this case. Parked under the neon sign with the ‘NO’ burned out of the ‘No Vacancy’. Despite the rundown feel of the building, the parking lot was nearly full.  She wouldn’t complain though, they’d certainly stayed in worse places. Hotch has gone in to book the rooms, leaving her and Gideon to sit in tired silence. 

“You did good, kid.” He doesn’t look back to her. 

She stares at the back of his head. Unsure of his exact intentions, even with the compliment, she takes pause. “Oh, uh, really it was the team. Henkel faced a challenge to the beliefs he was indoctrinated with and suffered a psychotic break as a result. You had him nailed to the wall. I’m just glad to have Reid back with us.” She’s rambling too fast and she knows it. 

“Prentiss?”

“Yes, sir?”

“You did good work. Just take the compliment.” His words draw a smile out of her. 

“Right. Thank you, sir.”

Hotch comes back with a handful of room keys. “We’ve got five.”  Handing one to Gideon who takes it as an invitation to turn in. 

“Goodnight. Try not to stir up any more trouble.”

They both bid him goodnight and stifle chuckles  as he lightly jogs to his room. He turns back to her, lowering his tone. “I spoke to Derek. Reid looks much better than before, they’re pretty backed up at the emergency room but he should be discharged soon.” She breathes a sigh of relief. “We can figure out the rest of the arrangements when they get back. Reid can stay with me or Morgan and I figured Garcia would also want to stay with you or JJ.” 

“Excellent profiling skills, Agent Hotchner.” She grins and takes one of the remaining keys. “Truly astounding.”

She’s already headed towards the rooms when he jogs along to catch up with her. “Prentiss, wait.”

WIthout pause or looking back, she slows her pace and they walk side by side. “Yes, sir?”

He taps her forearm lightly, asking her to stop for a second so he can read her face. “This was a demanding case and you threw yourself into it, deep. I just want to know how you’re doing?”. 

He examines the crease in nose, her wide eyes, and the lines on her lips, something he’d gotten used to doing in the few months since he’d really accepted her as a member of his team. Waves of her hair tamed under the neckline of her FBI windbreaker. He certainly didn’t mind the challenge of studying her. She gives him nothing other than slight relief. “Oh, I’m fine, sir. Just really thankful that we were able to get Reid back.” JJ was right, Prentiss had come off a job with almost no field work. He made a mental note to look over her file again when they got back to Quantico. He’ll let it slide for now, he has enough to worry about with JJ and Reid and the inevitable lasting effects this will have on them. “I’m just going to shower. Are you turning in now?” 

He can’t be sure why she asks. “I’m going to get settled and then I’ll probably wait for the others out here.” Her key unlocks her door. 

“I think I’ll join you. The night is still young.”

Prentiss beats him out. Her hair now soaking and tied back but it glows under the streetlight. He finds her sitting on the bench in the courtyard, legs crossed and a heel dangling off the foot lifted in the air. He looks on as her outstretched arm retracts and she takes a drag from the cigarette between her fingers. 

He clears his throat. “Prentiss, it’s just me.” She gestures for him to sit and makes room for him.

When he lets the silence hang for a moment as he stares at her. “I know, I know. ‘These things will kill me.’”

He claims innocence, laughing at her sarcasm, lifting his hands to his chest briefly. He’s brushing the dirt and ash off of his brown jacket, “I wasn't going to say anything.” He looks up to tell her that smoking is in fact not good for her but is met with an offering to him. He shakes his head and she rolls her eyes back at him

It’s her time to size him up, her face softer than it had been in days. “I have to say, this whole ‘casual Hotch’ thing is very entertaining.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Hey, have  you spoken to Jack or Haley?” He looks tired. No, it’s late,  he says.  “Call them now.” She’s pushing him.

He pulls out his personal phone. To his surprise, she answers. “Oh, hi, Honey. No, no, everything is fine… We were able to get Spencer out safely. How are you? How is Jack? Did he go down easy? Oh no, I keep that in his crib… Oh, great. No, I’ll get it done… Saturday night, I got it. … I know it’s late, I just finally got away and I wanted to say Goodnight. Right, I’m sorry.”

She’s absorbing up the conversation with what could be considered admiration for him. Eyes fixed on his, and the twitch in his lip when he’s clearly annoyed. The background almost completely drowned out.

She’s pulled out of it by a concerned “Emily?” She bites at the loose skin near her lower lip. “What’s on your mind?”

“Do you think that people can just… be evil?” His brow furrows. “Do you believe that we are innately good? Or are some people just born evil, in need of saving?”

He thinks back to all of her casual shutters at the mention of sin, finding excuses to leave the room if possible. “Well, I think we’ve seen in this case that committing sin doesn’t equate to being evil.”

Emily lets out a shaky sigh. “Right, I know that, it’s just-” Her voice trails off into a pause and his concerned glare deepens.

They watch their second SUV drive up and hear the engine stop. They search for Reid, grateful to find him stable but not looking much better. The rest of their team was worn out. They meet halfway and Hotch hands them their room keys, Morgan and Reid, JJ and Garcia, they split off with half-hearted “Goodnight”s. 

“Goodnight, Hotch.”

“Goodnight, Emily.”

He watches her flash him a smile and vanish behind the motel door, leaving him alone in the cold.

[gendiebrainrotreceipts]

Hello, I have a question on your answer to that last anon about men from different countries. You say that we mustn't judge men based on their ethnicity, that it doesn't make them violent/sexist, their culture does.

But isn't that what radfems already acknowledge about men in general ? That they're aren't this way naturally/biologically but because of how they are raised in this society we live in ?

If we can acknowledge that and still be female separatists, why not also acknowledge the bad experiences some women have had with men from specific cultures and understand that they trust them even less than the ""average"" man ?

It's not my case personally, but it's mostly because I don't live in a very diverse country and only know people who have the same origins as me. I can't tell if other men are worse or better. But I'm really asking about this in good faith, because some of what I've read from radfems who have been called racist didn't really seem so to me.

Is the core of the problem the fact that we are allowed to make generalisations about men based on our experience with them, their behaviour, and the way they're raised, but we are not allowed to single out certain cultures/countries ? It seems unfair to me, I think it's childish to pretend like all over the world all men are the same, even though the cultures are so different.

I do think culture plays into it, and we should ofc be able to criticise misogyny when we see it, even if it is part of a marginalised culture (so long as it’s not used as justification for racism or xenophobia). And there are ofc some cultures that are more obviously sexist than others, which we should also be allowed to acknowledge. That being said I think misogyny is at a dangerous level in all cultures (which I’ll come back to).

But as I said earlier I do think environment plays a bigger role: ie how much the current surroundings allow for misogyny. And often any culture becomes completely irrelevant as it appears any and all men will descend into misogynistic violence no matter where they have come from. I do not think we can blame women who are afraid of men who have been in or are in these environments and have participated in or been complicit in misogynistic violence, I think that’s self preservation. But at the same time I do not think it is as simple as ‘men from this country’ or ‘men from this culture’, because even one country/culture and its people are going to vary greatly. And generalising about a certain ‘type’ of man is usually useless anyway because male violence really doesn’t vary that much between ethnicities. I can understand having an instinctual elevated almost irrational fear of a certain type of man if there have been previously bad experiences with similar looking men, but it should treated as such: irrational and not a legitimate reason why that type of man should be feared more than any other men.

I don’t have a perfectly coherent answer….but roughly what I mean is yes women have every right to be afraid of any men, especially those they know to be violently misogynistic for whatever reason; but at the same time it should not be allowed to devolve into racism or xenophobia; because it is mostly down to environment anyway. This may make it seem inherent to men rather than socialisation, but it is worth noting that no culture on earth thus far has made much meaningful progress against societal misogyny or male violence. It is, in my opinion, pretty extreme even in the most ‘progressive’ of cultures. I think if there was a culture or society that actually managed to eradicate it, perhaps the men from that culture would not devolve into misogynistic violence at the first chance. Maybe the best we can hope for right now is preventing the environments where misogynistic violence is permitted, and trying to eradicate misogyny in our cultures as best we can.

I hope this answers what you’re asking

[chronologicalhomestuck]

karkat pov liveblog: part 7 (A5A2, part 2)

karkat has just fallen asleep. surely there will be no conflicts with the destruction of prospit.

he wakes up on prospit just in time to see it destroyed by a guy who sure looks like his old friend...and his dreamself is killed, throwing him into visions of horrorterrors like those that jade saw when her dreamself died in descend.

CGA: What CGA: What Did I Do FUTURE carcinoGeneticist [FCG2] 600 HOURS FROM NOW responded to memo. FCG2: OK. FCG2: EVERYTHING'S FINE I GUESS. CGA: What Happened FCG2: I PASSED OUT FOR ABOUT AN HOUR. FCG2: FUCKING EMBARRASSING. FCG2: YOU ARE OUT OF YOUR GODDAMN MIND, YOU KNOW. CGA: Shithive Maggots You Mean FCG2: YEAH FCG2: IN A GOOD WAY THOUGH.

back on page 2567, another karkat joins the memo, having woken up.

and now we reach the walkaround. im turning ruffle back on so i can play!

...and it REALLY doesnt want to load past 12%. i feel like i remember it doing this last time i tried playing it. ok i give up, im gonna use the lets read homestuck dubs.

the opening of this game has karkat send messages on the memo that we have already seen--the lines i included earlier in this post! the only difference is that now the karkat listed in the log is PCG, since we are seeing him write this from his pov.

another hussie note, via the homestuck companion extension:

and im gonna reference dialogue from here so i dont have to rip it from the video by hand.

in > Talk To Terezi, karkat (indirectly) tells terezi about his horrorterror dream and then orders all prospit dreamers to stay awake.

in > Get lowdown from Terezi, terezi tells karkat that they discovered the humans.

im gonna be skipping conversations without a lot of interesting content in them, but i might revist them in future pov liveblogs!

oh nice, lets talk to kanaya

KARKAT: HEY I JUST GOT DONE TALKING TO YOU IN THE PAST. REMEMBER YOU WERE FUCKING AROUND WITH THE VOLCANO AND I PASSED OUT FOR AN HOUR? KANAYA: Vaguely KARKAT: THAT WAS NOW. HEY GUESS WHAT, NEW ORDERS. NO MORE IMPROMPTU AMPUTATIONS, OK? KANAYA: Impromptutations

impromptutations was funny ok. also this is a moment when i think the chronological pov makes things interesting.

KANAYA: I Did My Best To Clean Up The Blood Before You Woke Up KARKAT: THANKS FOR THAT. ALSO ANOTHER NEW ORDER. DON'T GO TO SLEEP. KANAYA: Dont Worry I Dont Really Want To Find Out What Happens If I Do

way to go girl. cleaning up the blood AND on top of this no-sleep plan? hell yeah!

KANAYA: Any Other Orders KANAYA: Such As Those Which Might Pertain To These Alien Children KARKAT: YEAH, MY ORDERS ARE THAT THEY'RE COMPLETELY IRRELEVANT, AND WHO CARES ABOUT THEM. KANAYA: How Are Those Orders KARKAT: BECAUSE I'M YOUR LEADER THAT'S HOW. KANAYA: They Are Not Irrelevant KARKAT: HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT. KANAYA: Its A Bit Complicated KANAYA: But I Believe You Should Give Them A Closer Look Before You Decide What To Do About Them If Anything KANAYA: Perhaps Then An Especially Leaderly Speech Will Be In Order KARKAT: OK I DOUBT THAT BUT WHATEVER.

we continue to discuss the humans they discovered.

oh boy its vriska time!

KARKAT: HEY VRISKA, WHAT ARE YOU DOING. KARKAT: PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, LET IT BE SOMETHING INCONSEQUENTIAL AND BENIGN. VRISKA: Karkat! Man, you were out for a long time. I have made so many plans for these humans while you were asleep. Do you know how many plans have 8een made?

we are really building up the plans to mess with these humans!

KARKAT: LOOK WHATEVER YOU'RE DOING, STOP. OR PUT IT ON PAUSE. CAN YOU PLEASE DO THAT? KARKAT: I WASN'T GOING TO BOTHER WITH THE HUMANS BUT NOW YOU'RE MAKING ME NERVOUS. JUST GIVE ME THE CHANCE TO LOOK INTO THIS MATTER, AND THEN I'LL BRIEF EVERYBODY. KARKAT: MAYBE WITH A SPEECH OR SOMETHING. CAN YOU DO THAT?

and karkat continues to hint at a leaderly speech.

he also discusses the "impromptutations" with equius (supplier of the robolegs) and tavros (sleeping, unwitting participant/victim/recipent)

he talks more about the humans with nepeta. wow all these other trolls really do fucking wanna talk to these humans which karkat could not give a crap about!

the face of a girl whose roleplay shenanigans have been enabled.

and now onto feferi:

FEFERI: Finally! So Karkat, w)(at was your dream like after you died? I )(ave been glubbing like crazy over )(ere wondering about it. KARKAT: I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT IT. JUST DON'T GO TO SLEEP. KARKAT: OH WAIT, YOU'RE A DERSE DREAMER, RIGHT? NEVER MIND, KNOCK YOURSELF OUT. LITERALLY.

karkat's orders only apply to prospit dreamers. if he actually mistook her for a prospit dreamer briefly, i wouldnt be surprised. i dont have a great handle on how moon assignments work and she has some prospit traits.

FEFERI: You look so nervous and pale. Were you scared of w)(at you saw? KARKAT: WHAT ABOUT NOT TALKING ABOUT IT DON'T YOU GET. FEFERI: T)(ere's no reason to be scared! T)(ey are not as terrible as t)(ey look. FEFERI: W)(en Derse is destroyed, I am going to go to sleep and prove it.

her actual plan for when shes asleep is to get the horrorterrors to create the dream bubbles so dreams wont be so scary!

aradia is up next.

ARADIA: have y0u decided t0 tr0ll them yet KARKAT: TROLL WHO? ARADIA: never mind ARADIA: lets pretend i didnt say that and lets als0 pretend it isnt inevitable

oh aradiabot. i love u so much but u rlly can be infuriating for people to talk to.

ARADIA: n0thing. its n0t like a decisi0n y0u are ab0ut t0 make will invariably lead t0 every pr0blem we have and will ever face as well as the great und0ing itself

if she didnt make me so sad i would find her really funny

ARADIA: actually i guess i c0uld kill y0u right n0w and st0p it all fr0m happening thus d00ming us all in an 0ffsh00t timeline ARADIA: i might c0nsider it if we all werent d00med anyway ARADIA: and if y0u werent my friend

even though as a robot, aradia is much more violent than godtier or pre-death aradia (remember how she beats vriska to death?), shes so...idk her nihilism loops all the way back around to being almost sweet :]

KARKAT: IF WE WEREN'T ALL ABOUT TO DIE, I'D DEDICATE OUR WHOLE TEAM TO FINDING A WAY TO BRING YOU BACK TO LIFE

i love it when its obvious that karkat cares so much about his friends despite his attitude.

SOLLUX: [...] iim not goiing two break down 2obbiing becau2e you pa22 out at the 2iight of a liittle blood, why dont you man up. KARKAT: HEY FUCK YOU, I TURN AROUND AND SEE A CRAZY GIRL WITH A CHAINSAW AND A TSUNAMI OF BROWN. IS IT TOO MUCH TO ASK THAT WE NOT TURN OUR LITTLE HIDEOUT INTO A SLAUGHTERHOUSE?

foreshadowing much?

KARKAT: SO WHAT'S THE DEAL WITH THESE ALIENS, IS IT ANYTHING I SHOULD GIVE A SHIT ABOUT? SOLLUX: no not at all, theyre u2ele22 and uniintere2tiing liike iim 2ure you already gathered. SOLLUX: ii recommend we dont bother wiith them, though aradiia 2eem2 two thiink well all be iin each other2 2ponge2 iineviitably. SOLLUX: whatever, iim pretty commiitted two not haviing anythiing two do wiith them ever. KARKAT: GOOD, THAT'S WHAT I LIKE TO HEAR.

finally, karkat thinks. someone who agrees.

KARKAT: MAN, FUCK MY FUTURE MEMOS. SOLLUX: no way, theyre hiilariiou2, be2t thiing about haviing you a2 a leader hand2 down. KARKAT: FUCK THAT SENTIMENT, AND FUCK YOU, AND FUCK FUTURE ME.

youre getting calinguously freudian there, karkat...

oh cool, time for some ectobiology reminiscence.

maybe ill go back and add the ectobiology to an earlier post?

anyways, we are now back to normal conversations.

...which i will get to in another post because this one is already very long.

[soaringwide]

Pick a Card readings - how I views them as a reader & the different perceptive skills used

So I wanted to talk a bit about my vision of the use of pick a card readings. I'm someone who makes them but I also consume them as a viewer. I wanted to combine both in a post but it's too damn long so this will be divided in two parts. Part 1, reader; Part 2, consumer.

Part 01 - From a reader's point of view

It's definitely quite interesting to work on because you start with *zero* context and preconception about the person, since you don't know who it is meant for precisely. So your interpretation of the cards and intuition are not short-circuited by your preconceptions about either what you know of the person, or the context they gave you.

This allows me to let myself go fully into creating a story in my head from what I see in the cards. I found myself being much more relaxed when doing these readings, because I'm not scared about being wrong about a person's life since I imagine that someone somewhere will find it resonates. I can even include multiple ''streams'' in my reading since, again, it's meant for different people. For example I might interpret a struggle in two different ways and include both in the readings, if both feel relevant. That doesn't mean I say whatever comes out of my head, I still need to chose what aspect of the card resonates and creates a coherent narrative with the other cards, but it clears the way for intuition to flow more freely.

What I discovered is that it is a good exercise to strengthen my intuition and allows me to feel more at ease with it because I don't try to hold it back so much.

It's also quite fascinating because it allows me to feel different types of energy quite strongly in a short time span.

For example, the feel of the energy (or vibe or whatever you want to call it) is not the same at all if I get a very spiritual pile vs one that talks about a love situation. The first one, I once remember feeling the weight of the message I was relaying, perhaps due to the spirits that came to answer the question, or perhaps due to the nature of the query. It was also a reading that left me quite tired and I had to take a nap after it because it was just sooo much (not negatively, just a lot). Whereas a love situation will feel more lighthearted or even bubbly at times and put me in a goofy mood.

But you also get different feelings even on the same topic. Like the vibe of Pile 1 vs Pile 2 can feel drastically different, without even having to look at the cards.

I find that both fascinating intellectually and to be a great exercise in shaping my psychic skills and reading accuracy. It's quite hard to put into words and I still have a lot to learn about that, but I can definitely tell the difference.

However, there's definitely a case here of two different types of perception in use, which I'm going to attempt to describe.

Broad Perception

One is what I call ''broad perception''. As the name suggest, this type of perceptive skill allows you to cast a broad net and gather information widely, without getting too much into individual details.

It's a way to be able to get messages from multiple sources at once, creating a big landscape that is quite blurry and lacks details.

It's very useful when you are doing pick a card readings when you can't focus on one single person or situation without making the message irrelevant for everyone else.

Precise Perception

The other is what I call ''precise perception'' and well I imagine you get the gist but it's when you're trying to gather details and really dive deep into a problem or situation.

It's great in personal readings, but even in pick a cards, it's useful when you need to give someone a confirmation that the reading is indeed for them, because it allows you to pick up details that they will recognize and allow them to be open to the message you're trying to relay.

Which one is best?

Most people rely more on one than the other, but, really, you need both.

If you're too broad, you never give enough details to the querent and you risk being too general. The reading might still resonates but you're missing the opportunity to pull out specific information.

If you're too precise, then you run the risk of missing out on the bigger picture and focusing too much on a tiny aspect of the problem without seeing how it relates to the rest.

So both should be used if you want to be efficient, which is a long ass process and requires a lot of time and effort, and is the reason why I like doing both pick a card and personal readings, either for people I know or randos on the internet.

But yeah to get back to pick a cards, I think it's a great way to strengthen your broad perception, while learning to be mindful of your use of the precise perception, because, again, you don't want to be too focused on one person but also still be giving enough confirmation details.

Part 2

[septembersghost]

What do you think of the idea that this was PR for SNTV so that everyone would be paying attention to the Nash shows?

oof. okay, first of all, and this isn't aimed at you anon, but everyone has gotten way too comfortable using the term "PR" inappropriately, to the point where it's meaningless, because you get people online saying everything they see ever is PR when that's simply not the case and a lot of things are just...humans living life who happen to do so in the public eye. but the whole point of the concept there is some benefit. this is not an instance where there's benefit of publicity - trolling potential aside, because that would serve a different purpose - all eyes are already on her.

she knows fans pay attention to the shows every week (even the ones like me who aren't viewing the livestreams! i read along with the updates as they happen but haven't watched, others might check in the next day due to time zones or busy schedules, and so on), no matter what we all know what happens and what surprise songs she plays and what she might've said, and we know very quickly. every entertainment and music outlet is paying attention. an album announcement would make spectacular noise and immediately be reported no matter what.

furthermore, stoking romance/personal rumors, if anything, takes *away* from the announcement, it doesn't add to it - hence the internet being in a dither about matty rather than only being focused on excitement over SNTV. why on earth would she intentionally court speculation and rumor that distracts from an important project? moreover, why with someone who undeniably would be controversial and cause anger/annoyance? how does that help her? (answer: it's irrelevant to her if she likes him.) i'd be slightly inclined to think it was a silly joke for the sake of 1989 TV and a potential collab if she'd announced that album instead, but everything about the optics, especially given very recent events and history, has such overwhelming negative downsides with really no upsides as far as press and reactions go. so PR for SNTV specifically makes very little sense to me, versus her being in a do-whatever-i-want-with-whoever-i-want moment (which, let's be real, is not out of character).

it's either a (perhaps ill-timed and unclear) bit of shenanigans between chaotic friends or it's...whatever it is, and we're going to be living with that rebound reality for a bit. he took a very long trip to get to a hometown show for her...we're gonna have to face what that means, particularly after not seeing the person we thought we should have seen on opening night. i didn't want to read into that absence before, but unfortunately information is now what it is. (me @ mr. bowery: you should've been there! you should've burst through the door with that, "baby, i'm right here" smile!)

the announcement of SNTV would've happened last night no matter what, i'd lay odds she's had that planned for the first night of nashville for quite a while. the matty of it all is a wrinkle, not a boost. the only thing i hope is that it doesn't have any negative ramifications for her (not necessarily in the press, but in her personal life. having fun is fine, i just don't want her to be hurt anymore than what's already happened, you know?).

ultimately, what we all have to remember is that boundary - we don't know her directly. we have no say or influence over her decisions or personal life. that doesn't mean we have to like them, but we have zero input into her making those choices. all we can continue to do is what we already do, support her artistry, wish her the best, and cherish her music.

[keyofjetwolf]

The Pallbearers Club, by Paul Tremblay

Did I like this? Did I not? YOUR GUESS IS AS GOOD AS MINE

Let's start with the things I can say for sure. (Light spoilers to follow, but nothing too egregious.)

I loved the idea behind this, and the style that carried it through. The basic gist here is a memoir written by this guy, Art Barbara (fake name), who is a general sad sack disaffected Gen X'er who loves music and crawling up his own ass. His memoir -- beginning around 1988 when he's 17 and going through to the "now" of 2020-ish -- is scattered with commentary, refutations, and alternate points of view by his oldest friend, Mercy (also fake name), who has found and is reading the book.

LOVED THIS. Loved what essentially comes down to dueling unreliable narrators. Loved what could almost be considered a four-way conversation between Art, Mercy, the author, and the reader about memory and nostalgia, choice and blame, growth and stagnation. There's some good shit here.

DID NOT LOVE how ponderously long it took to get there. At around 270 pages, this isn't an over long book, but ye gods, did it feel like it took FOR FUCKING EVER sometimes.

(We get a bit more spoilery under the cut)

And it's tough to know whose fault that is, or if it's a "fault" at all. Those navel-gazing, aimless parts, that's Art, that's his life, in his own words, as inescapable to us as it feels to him. Is it a fault that I'm sitting here like "Oh my god my guy GET THE FUCK ON WITH IT" when I'm pretty sure that's exactly the way I'm supposed to feel about him?

Quite possibly not, but we also probably could've gotten that with like twenty pages less of Art meandering through the Providence music scene.

In many ways, the book never really grows beyond its premise, but again, is that the point? The characters themselves are rooted in place, perpetually locked in a space that has been swallowed by years and abandoned by relevance. Even Bob Mould went solo, kids.

I think to fully decide my feelings on The Pallbearers Club, I might have to read more by Paul Tremblay. This is my first exposure to his work, so it's tough for me to say with confidence what's stylistic choice versus stylistic failing. Is pondering and aimless more Art, or Paul?

You may note, if you've read the book or even just the publisher's description, I've completely left out anything to do with horror or supernatural or whatever. Those parts are there, for sure, even crucial to the central glue of the plot, but I found them surprisingly extraneous. Even by "this isn't really about this" horror standards, it all felt irrelevant. Or perhaps the more correct word is incidental. I'm not even sure the author (the Art author) intended his readers to believe he was truly dealing with spoopy spoops, or if he was just metaphoring super hard, with that particular brand of pretentious arrogance only the truly insufferable can wield.

So yeah, I still have no idea if I liked it or not. I may also have uncomfortably identified with some stuff in here, which was very rude, but anyway. Hell of a premise, though, and done well enough that I'll happily try another of Paul Tremblay's books.

[lia-land]

Caraval by Stephanie Garber

4.5/5

Spoilers for the first book in the Caraval series by Stephanie Garber.

I loved this book!!!

However, the more I think about it, the lower I want to rate it. You really do have to enjoy it on the surface, so I’m not going to it pick it apart as much as I’d like to here (and yet, somehow this still ended up being super long...). Quality wise, it’s a 4 star book at best, maybe even 3.5, but I had so much fun reading it.

I’ve seen a lot of criticism for this book and admittedly, I did go into it biased and expected to DNF but I thought this was amazing. When I say ‘amazing,’ I mean I really enjoyed reading it, not that the actual story and writing were amazing. It was good from page 1 and I read 1/3 the first time I opened it. I didn’t feel like I was waiting for it to pick up, because the pacing was consistent throughout. It’s fantasy, but in its own category. It’s kind of like a combination of the Wizard of Oz, Alice in Wonderland, and a bit of Coraline. Maybe a little Now You See Me. Whatever it is, I want more.

Here’s an example of why you should take this book on the surface and not think about: while writing this, I remembered that Caraval was meant to be a competition, but the plot didn’t acknowledge that. We were constantly told that Caraval was a game AND a competition, but we barely saw how any of the other players were progressing. The other players were so irrelevant that it really would have made no difference to the story whatsoever if they weren’t there. Not sure how an editor didn’t pick up on this. I think the publishing house is either Macmillan or Hachette, so what happened here? I’ve noticed that a lot of popular fantasy books recently have poor writing/plot holes and most of the time, they’re backed by one of these big publishing houses. I want quality > quantity to come back. You could argue that because this specific run of the game was designed for Scarlett to win, she never had any competition, but the point is that Scarlett didn’t know that. As readers, we also didn’t know that. It’s lazy to write that it’s a competition and have other players at the start to make us intrigued, just to later not do anything with it. The closest we got was when everyone was in Tella's room at the start.

The plot twists were interesting. I felt like it was incredibly obvious from the start that Julian was Legend, then he was, and then he wasn’t. But we still don’t actually know who Legend is, so we’re left wondering if he could still be revealed as Legend in the next book. A very interesting tactic from Garber and perhaps even a dig at current popular fantasy books where so many times, it feels like the author is treating the reader as someone who is not intelligent. Looking at you, Jennifer L. Armentrout.

Most of the criticism that I’ve come across is about the world building and how it’s basically non-existent. I disagree, I think this was a very immersive universe and a very unique one in YA, especially for the length of the book. Of course, if we compare this to current popular fantasy books with faeries and politics, then yes, the world building does not have the same level of detail in the sense that we don’t know what’s going on on a global scale, but Caraval doesn’t need that. So much of Caraval’s story relies on interpretation and mystery. More details would have taken away from that. This book is more about the characters and the game. Knowing the history of the world in Caraval wasn’t as necessary as knowing the history of the game. We were given what we needed and there’s a lot of fantasy series now with world building that is far too convoluted to get through, so this was a nice change.

This might be an unpopular opinion (update: it’s not) but I really wanted Legend to be the main love interest, and still do. Or at least for Julian to have been Legend the whole time. The way Legend was portrayed throughout the book and all the mystery surrounding him was intriguing, and I found Julian and Scarlett a bit odd since Scarlett was under the impression that Julian had also been with Tella. None of her inner dialogue acknowledged that, though. Her main reason was always the fact that she was engaged to a stranger, and never ‘my sister has hooked up with this guy.’

I didn’t notice this until after I finished Caraval, but there’s actually only two somewhat developed characters. Everyone except Scarlett and Julian were just extras with a few lines. Dante was somewhere in between, but then he died halfway through and we didn’t see much of him. Tella’s character became prominent only towards the end, which I suspect was only for the sake of writing a sequel, as Caraval was originally meant to be a standalone. For any other series, I’d consider this a really big negative, but Caraval’s focus is the game and the idea of Legend. There’s also a big theme of unfamiliarity and having no idea who Scarlett can trust, so for this specific series, it works.

Scarlett is not very interesting, but I didn’t dislike her. I felt the same way about Poppy from the Blood and Ash series, in the way that she felt like a lens for us to see the plot unfold, rather than her own character. Writing developed characters is not something that Garber does well or at all in this book, but I still enjoyed it nonetheless. I really just cared about the plot and finding out about Caraval’s intentions and Legend. Julian was also inconsistent, but I think that was meant to come across as unpredictable and mysterious. I feel like he’s still not entirely done with lying. I’m still waiting for him to end up being Legend.

The ending was underwhelming and overwhelming at the same time. Overwhelming because too much happened very rapidly with not enough explanation, and underwhelming because what did happen didn’t really seem worthy of the nearly 400 page build up. I kept waiting for another twist that made more sense. Again, I personally enjoyed it regardless, but I can acknowledge that it didn’t fit perfectly. I don't know if it gets cleared up in book two, but it was still a rushed ending. Since Caraval was originally written to be a standalone, it makes a lot more sense. I wonder if the intention was for us to never meet Legend at all. I actually think Caraval as a standalone story would have worked well, if not better.

Also, I don’t think Scarlett ate anything for the entirety of the game. I feel like there should have been at least one scene where she would be skeptical to have anything on Caraval since we know the food and drinks can have effects.

This is a book that I would love to see as a film or TV show adaptation. I might even enjoy it just as much as through a visual medium. As pretty as all the writing makes the settings out to be, I was a tiny bit bored of continuously reading descriptions towards the end of the book. As many have said, there is a lot of purple prose and some of the sentences might make you do a double take, but it’s not unbearable. It could definitely benefit from another round of editing, especially at the start, but once you get used to it, it’s fine (it definitely improves in the sequels). Reminds me of an old joke about English teachers and how they’ll tell you that blue curtains symbolise the characters’ depression and whatnot, when the author just meant that the curtains are blue. I feel like someone should tell Garber that sometimes, it’s okay for the curtains to just be blue. On the other hand, Caraval wouldn’t be Caraval without all the weird and wonderful settings, so it’s not that I want less description, but maybe striking a balance between comparing feelings to colours and describing colourful settings would make this perfect.

Honorary shoutout to the following sentences:

-“Scarlett had an emerald-green premonition that she would make a discovery inside.”

-“It tasted like the moment before night gives birth to morning.”

-“He tasted like midnight and wind, and shades of rich brown and light blue.”

All the vivid imagery made me want to make a very 2014 tumblr vibe playlist:

Young and Beautiful - Lana Del Rey

The Poison - The All-American Rejects

Wonderland - Taylor Swift

The Greatest Show - The Greatest Showman soundtrack

Disturbia - Rihanna

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived - Taylor Swift

The Writer - Ellie Goulding

Hotel California - Eagles

So It Goes… - Taylor Swift

House of Memories - Panic! At The Disco

The Black Dog - Taylor Swift

Starry Eyed- Ellie Goulding

I Hate It Here - Taylor Swift

Game of Survival - Ruelle

Figure 8 - Ellie Goulding

Centuries - Fall Out Boy

Mad Hatter - Melanie Martinez