#Ransack the Reject

[chernobog13]

Jack Kirby’s Eternals by Alex Ross.

[theostrophywife]

SWEET TOOTH

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🤍 pairing: lorenzo berkshire x reader.

🤍 song inspiration: so american by olivia rodrigo.

🤍 author’s note: just a cute and fluffy little piece because enzo gives off major boyfriend vibes.

It was a well-known fact that Lorenzo Berkshire had a terrible sweet tooth. 

So well known that his mates often hid their stash of sweets from him. Not that it deterred Enzo. If anything, he saw it as a challenge of sorts. 

As Lorenzo ransacked his roommate’s belongings, it should’ve occurred to him that Regulus was far too clever to leave his candy in plain sight, but his attention was focused solely on stuffing as many chocolate frogs into his mouth before his surly friend returned. In his haste, Enzo failed to notice the strange metallic taste until practically inhaling his third frog. 

Still, he figured that it was probably fine. How much damage could a chocolate frog do anyways?

Unfortunately for Lorenzo, that pesky little question would be answered soon enough. 

After carefully rearranging Reggie’s things, Enzo happily skipped off to breakfast. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he spotted you in the Great Hall. With a murderous expression, you swiped a chocolate croissant out of Mattheo’s reach and glared at the curly headed boy. 

“Make one more move towards my food and I’ll snap your arm like a twig, Riddle.” 

Theo snickered and draped an arm over your shoulder. “Come on, bella. Mattheo just wants a taste.” The twat wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “And so do I.” 

You flicked his arm off and rolled your eyes. “For the last time, I’d rather gouge my eyes out, Theodore. You’d think you’d be sick of rejection and embarrassment by now.” 

Nott merely smirked. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Could’ve woken up in mine instead, if you stopped playing hard to get.” 

“Keep pissing me off and you’ll wake up to a bed full of cockroaches.” 

Mattheo cackled before ruffling your hair. “Turn that frown upside down, Y/N. Guys don’t like a grump.” 

“I do,” Enzo blurted before he could think better of it. “I think Y/N’s cute when she’s mean. Especially to you two idiots.” 

Theo and Mattheo gaped, their gazes pinballing from you to Enzo. They were no doubt expecting you to smack your best friend upside the head, but instead you shrugged and bit back a smile. 

“Really?” Theo remarked incredulously. “You’re letting that slide? You threatened to tie my tongue into a bow the last time I called you cute.” 

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “Yeah, well, Berkshire doesn’t annoy me as much as you do.” 

Enzo beamed as he slid into the seat beside you. “Wow, I feel special.” 

Clearly, he was well aware of the sweet spot you had for him. Though you’d never admit it. Just like he’d never admit his long standing pathetic little crush he had on you. Except, he did sort of slip up just now, which he unfortunately would continue to do for the rest of the day. 

Lorenzo couldn’t help it. The compliments he normally kept to himself just kept spilling out of him. 

When you were studying in the library during free period, he found himself speaking thoughts that he usually saved for his inner monologue. “I like the way you scrunch your nose when you read. It’s adorable.” 

Surprised, you peered up at him from your book. His words were rewarded by an uncharacteristically shy smile. It was enough to make him momentarily forget his lack of control over his mouth.

Later in History of Magic, Lorenzo stared at you instead of focusing on completing the assignment in front of him. You tapped his nose with the end of your quill playfully. 

“You alright there, Enz?” 

“You’re so beautiful, it’s distracting. I can’t even focus on my notes.” 

You flushed in response and Enzo found that he rather liked making you flustered for a change. Maybe a case of loose lips wasn't so bad after all. 

During lunch, Lorenzo glared at Draco as the blonde asked you a question about the Draught of the Living Dead potion. 

“What’s got your knickers in a twist, cousin?” Draco asked after a moment. 

Enzo continued glaring at him and inched closer to you, draping a protective arm around your shoulder. “Look at Y/N like that again and I’ll turn you into a ferret myself.” 

The other boys snickered while Draco backed away from you. His brief stint as a rodent clearly traumatized him enough to balk at the threat. You turned away from the recounting of the infamous fourth year incident and faced Enzo. 

“Are you feeling alright, Enz? You’ve been acting strange all day.” 

Come to think of it, Lorenzo did feel a bit different. Unfiltered, unadulterated, and perhaps a tad bit unhinged. Oddly enough, it was freeing in a strange sort of way.

“I’m fine. I’m just saying what I’ve been thinking all along. Usually, I’m too scared to speak my thoughts out loud, but I’m not now.” Enzo scrunched his nose. “Also, the chocolate frogs I stole from Reg tasted kind of funny.” 

Before he knew it, you were marching right into the boy’s dormitory with him in tow. He shuffled hurriedly behind you as you yanked open the door to his dorm. Regulus lounged at his desk, flipping through the pages of his book and not bothering to look up as the two of you barged in. 

“Learned your lesson yet, Berkshire?” 

You frowned as you snatched the book out of Reggie’s hands and threw it over your shoulder. “What the hell did you do to him, Regulus?”

Regulus shrugged nonchalantly. “Slipped a bit of Veritaserum in my chocolate frogs because I knew the little weasel had been secretly stealing them behind my back.” 

“Hey!” Enzo exclaimed. “That’s rude.” 

“Is that why he’s acting so strange?” 

The youngest Black leveled an amused glance at you. “Define strange.”

“Well, he’s been complimenting me all day. He even threatened to turn Draco into a ferret for looking at me. It’s like he has no filter at all.” 

“Yeah, that’s kind of the point. Veritaserum makes you tell the truth.” 

You paused, taking in his words. “So everything Enzo said today…” Enzo smiled brightly as you glanced warily at him. “He means it?” 

Regulus nodded in confirmation. “Mhm, I’m afraid young Lorenzo has a little crush on you.” 

“Hello?” Enzo exclaimed. “I’m literally right here.” He turned to face you. “Also yes, I do have a crush on you. I have for ages. I’m honestly surprised that you haven’t noticed. I’m not that great at hiding it.” Your jaw dropped as he pivoted back to Regulus. “You’re a twat for dosing my candy, Reg.” 

“Your candy?” Regulus huffed. “I bought that with my hard earned money.” 

“You mean your allowance that mummy and daddy sends you every month? Please, Reg, you have more galleons and candy than you know what to do with. Honestly, it’s a bit selfish not to share.” 

Before you could put a stop to it, Regulus launched himself at Enzo. The boys wrestled, smacking and taunting each other like toddlers. With a frustrated sigh, you pried the two of them apart. 

“You two are honestly ridiculous.” 

Enzo pushed Regulus off of him and brushed off the front of his shirt. “Yes, but hopefully you find it cute and endearing, right? Well, me. Not Reg. I don’t really think you’re into the whole tortured poet thing he’s got going on.” 

Regulus glared at his friend. “Rude!” 

Enzo shrugged. “What? It’s true. Don’t worry, it works for some people. I think that redhead in Gryffindor likes you, but you’ve got to stop being so goddamn oblivious. She obviously wants you to break her back like a glow stick.”

“Lorenzo!” 

You smacked your best friend on the arm for his rather candid commentary, but it was half-hearted. You were too busy trying not to burst into laughter given the fact that he was completely correct. Said redhead definitely had a thing for Regulus. 

“I’m just stating facts. Anyways, if he didn’t want to hear it, he shouldn’t have dosed me.” 

You tugged Regulus by his tie. “You did this to him. Now you’re going to help me get this under control. Do you understand?” 

Regulus sighed in defeat. “Fine.” 

For the remainder of the day, you kept a close eye on Enzo. Though you and Regulus were both babysitting him, your best friend didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seemed rather thrilled with spending the rest of the day by your side. Truth be told, you didn’t mind either despite the fact that you had to pull Enzo out of a sticky situation more than once. 

As you watched him during quidditch practice, you nearly fell out of the stands when Lorenzo cocked his head at his captain and narrowed his eyes. “Flint, why is your head shaped like that?” 

It was by sheer luck that Regulus swooped in to save the day and promptly dragged him off to perform drills at the far end of the field. At the end of practice, you thought it would be safe to lounge in the common room, but you couldn’t have been more wrong. 

Enzo snuggled to your side, his slightly damp hair tickling your neck. The familiar scent of citrus and cedar distracted you momentarily as he stared at Tom. The older Riddle was currently hustling Theo through a game of chess. 

“Tom, even though you scare me, I still think you’re hotter than Mattheo. Just don’t tell him I said that.” 

The entire room fell into a hush as Tom directed his smoldering gaze towards Enzo. You tensed beside him, fingers curled protectively around his arm. 

Finally, Tom spoke. “It’ll be our little secret, Berkshire.” 

“Salazar save us all.” 

When dinner rolled around, your fight or flight response was completely shot. Thanks to Enzo’s current condition, you were on constant alert. 

By now, the boys were perfectly aware of his inability to lie and the twats found his predicament particularly hilarious. All except Mattheo, whose ego had taken a hit after Theo told him all about Enzo’s confession to Tom. 

“I can’t believe you think Tom is hotter than me,” Mattheo grumbled. “That’s just completely mental.” 

Theo pinched his cheek. “Don’t worry, Matty. I’ll always think you’re hotter.” 

“How can you two flirt at a time like this?��� You sighed exasperatedly. “One of your best friends is under a truth spell and all you care about is being the hot brother?” Mattheo protested, but you held a hand up to halt whatever stupid remark he was itching to say. “Where is Regulus? I should wring his stupid neck for putting poor Enzo through this.” 

“I think he’s talking to that Gryffindor,” Theo said with an eyebrow wiggle. “Finally. Maybe dosing Berkshire wasn’t so bad if it gets Regulus laid.” 

As if on cue, Enzo snapped his fingers in front of Draco’s face. “Cousin, you really need to lay off the bleach. I think it’s seeping into your bloody brain. You’ve been staring at Granger so intently that it’s starting to freak her out.”

The boys snickered as Draco snapped out of his trance. Before the blonde could reprimand his cousin, you stood up and grabbed Enzo’s hand. Your best friend grinned as he linked your fingers through yours. 

“Oh, we’re holding hands. This is nice,” Enzo shuffled to his feet as you tugged him out of his seat. He didn’t seem to mind being dragged out of the Great Hall. “Hey, have I ever told you that your eyes remind me of the sunset? You’re pretty. I really want to kiss you.” 

You pointedly ignored the kissy faces Mattheo and Theo were making. “We’re leaving. Let’s go, Enz.” 

Enzo waved to your friends and grinned. “I hope we make out.” 

The boys snickered as you turned beet red. “Lorenzo!” 

“Yes, dear, coming!” 

With the promise of an impromptu movie night, you managed to coax Enzo back to his dorm. He shuffled in your lap, nuzzling into your touch as you ran your fingers through his hair. 

“Reg says the serum should wear off in an hour, so you just have to hold off until then.” 

“Oh,” Enzo said with a tinge of disappointment. “That’s a bummer. It’s kind of nice just saying whatever was on my mind.” 

“Enz, you told Theo he smelled like day old lasagna and then you hit on Tom. Tom!”

Enzo’s honey eyes blinked up at you. “What? He’s hot. You’re telling me you wouldn’t hit on him too?” 

You shook your head. “Psychopathic maniacs aren’t really my type.” 

“What’s your type then?” You fell silent for a beat before Enzo nudged your elbow with his nose. “C’mon, it’s only fair. I’ve been making a fool out of myself all day. Grant me this one, love.” 

You sighed, knowing that you’d cave to his puppy dog eyes. “I do have a crush on this one guy.” 

“What’s his name? Enzo asked as he sat upright. “His house? His dorm number? I might ask Tom to hunt him down for me.” You glared at him in response, causing him to raise his hands in surrender. “Sorry. Blame the serum.” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “To answer your very nosy questions, he goes by a nickname, he’s in Slytherin, and we’re currently in his dorm.”

“Oh my god. The emo act worked on you, too?” Enzo smacked his forehead in distress. “For fuck’s sake!” 

“It’s you, you idiot. I like you.” 

Enzo beamed. “Thank Godric! This is the happiest day of my life.” He bounced as he talked, eyes shining brightly. . “Do you want to go on a date with me? We could go to Hogsmeade. Wait, no. That’s not good enough. Let’s go to London. Or Paris. Fuck it, I’ll borrow Malfoy’s jet.” 

You giggled at how ridiculously adorable this boy was. “Enz, slow down! First of all, I’d love to go on a date with you. Hogsmeade is perfectly fine, but we should probably wait until you’re back to normal.” 

Enzo sighed. “Fine. I suppose I can wait. But you’re staying to  cuddle, right?” He flashed those honey eyes at you again, perfectly aware that you couldn’t resist him even if you tried. To add to his plea, Enzo jutted his bottom lip into a pout. “Please?” 

“Sure, Enz.” 

With a triumphant grin, Enzo pulled you against him. He leaned forward to kiss your cheek, making you melt. As you continued watching the movie, you couldn’t help but revel in the affection Enzo showered you with. He was a great cuddler and he smelled nice and oh gods you really, really liked him. 

“I’m not going to lie to you,” Enzo murmured against your ear. “Mostly because I can’t, but I definitely have a boner right now.” 

“Lorenzo!” 

You burst into a fit of giggles, which caused Enzo to laugh as well. He only snuggled closer, burying his face into your neck. “Sorry that I find you super hot and pretty and cute. Honestly, I’m the victim in this situation.” 

You smacked his arm. “Oh my god, just shut up and cuddle.” 

Enzo grinned as he wrapped his arms around you. “Yes, honey.” 

[belokhvostikova]

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, minor alcohol consumption, mentions of drug dealing, insecurities, trouble with feelings, and explicit sexual content: mentions of virginity loss and suggestive comments (not totally explicit, but still there so…).

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

Yeah, no, it was totally the party.

It was the party that littered your house with blurred faces, swaying bodies, and their drink of choice that consisted of the pungent concoction of fruit punch and booze that caused the icky feeling in your stomach to churn.

It was the strangers, who—when given the opportunity, wouldn’t think twice about ignoring your existence—tainted your once cozy furniture with dirty shoes and outside clothes that now soiled in sweat that made you fall sick with nausea.

It was the betrayal of Carmen Paiz, as the sudden regret of disclosing your parent-less weekend to her unwarrantedly prompted your friend to spread the word of a Saturday night party at ours that made you feel ridden with queasiness.

Christ, you were just alluding to a girls night.

All you knew for certain, though, was that it totally wasn’t Eddie Munson.

No, it couldn’t be how close he was leaning into her that forced a lump in your throat. Or her manicured hand roaming the expanse of his arm. Or her giggles that filtered between them, as she stretched upon her tippy toes—because, of course, she was effortlessly cute—to whisper into his ear.

Yeah, no, it couldn’t be that. Because if it was that, it would only confirm the utter pathetic-ness of your existence; falling in love with a guy you slept with once. Who does that?! Granted, it was also your first time sleeping with anyone ever, but, of course, in the grand scheme of fearing rejection, you just had to brush off his concerns, and brand yourself the “cool” virgin, who wouldn’t get emotionally attached to the drug dealer that took said virginity.

God, what a liar you were.

Unbeknownst to you, a piteous frown had permanently etched itself onto your face. Should you have seen yourself, you wouldn’t coiled up and shriveled away from embarrassment. Like the freak masochist you had suddenly become, your eyes couldn’t tear away from the pair; torturing yourself as punishment for being so unbelievably stupid.

And to really just hammer the nail into the coffin, the round eyes that once bore into yours just a few days ago in the back space of his van had suddenly caught sight of you over the breadth of her shoulder.

Whiplash had never hit you so hard before, as you succumbed the bitterness that filled your red solo cup. But no forceful amount of chugging could deny the fact that you had painfully been caught red handed.

Staring like a perverted psycho?!

Your feet found themselves trailing up the steps to your bedroom before you could even think. With a heaving chest and a will no longer there to live, your bedroom door slammed behind you, as the bass of whatever Top 100 Hottest Hits vibrated against you.

Humiliation slumped your shoulders low, as bated breaths trapped themselves in your enclosing throat. Left with just yourself in your ill-lit room, your eyes scoured the moutain of clothes that cluttered your bedroom, because Eddie Munson was coming over.

Only, whatever attempts you made to appear “drug-dealer’s-hot-girlfriend” worthy fell short, as you stood in a poorly picked ensemble, catered directly for his attention.

Mission failed beyond miserably.

Disgusted by the feelings that infested in your belly, the sudden impulse to purge your room clean became inevitable. Ransacked became an understatement, as you rummaged through laid out garments, letting shirts and skirts take your belittling critiques to suppress those burning tears from falling.

Christ, weren’t you too old to be wearing a pattern like that?! And that shirt?! No one of this generation would ever humiliate themselves by wearing something like that! God, and enough with the blue! When were you going to learn that the color doesn’t look good on y-

“Sweetheart?” His knuckles rattled against your door.

In a panic, your unshed tears were sniffled away, as you set yourself straight against the mess of your bedroom. “Uh… y-yeah, come in!” You swallowed the lump in your throat.

You hadn’t dared to face the courage to see him, merely being content with listening to the brief exposure of music coming in and out with the door finally closing behind him.

And with the jangle of his wallet chain, his stature consumed the area beside you. “Are you okay?” He whispered.

You felt the burn of his scrutinizing eyes against you. “I…” Silence ate at you. “I think I have too much clothes.”

“Oh.” For once, Eddie had actually gotten a good look at the state of your bedroom.

“But I hate them all.”

“Oh.”

There was guilt that resided in his voice; a hurt in his chest for causing the congestion of your voice. But you couldn’t fault. And Eddie knew you never would. He, too, was confused.

“Yeah, l-like this dress, y’know.” You croaked, huffing out an awkward laugh. “Like, I don’t even wear dresses, look too stupid in them to ever do so.” You wished for nothing more than for him to give up those pitying looks, and just laugh along to your damage control. “Don’t even know why I bought it.”

“I don’t think you look stupid.” He softly corrected your narrative.

You had to give him props. Here he was comforting you for something you assured him would never happen. But feelings have a way of working against you. You chuckled. “Eddie, you’ve never even seen me in a dress.”

“So, show me.” Sigh, you walked right into that one.

The corners of his lips upturned to the loveliness of that image; you, in a dress. If only you could see it as such.

With his hands bunching at the material, he took his rightful place before you, letting the springs of your bed accommodate to his weight, before he presented you the dress. There was an urgency to his eyes that made the situation unavoidable. That Eddie Munson, himself, was cemented onto your bed until you showed him yourself in a way he knew you deserved.

To feel beautifully you.

With hesitation, your fingertips played with the hem of your shirt. “Um, close your eyes?” You, yourself, didn’t know why it came out as a suggestion. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if he had said no, virginity-taker or not.

But instead, he smiled, trying to tease one out of you. “Y’know I’ve seen you naked before, right?” Yeah, that was the issue in the first place! “Or am I really that forgettable?”

Though, Eddie hadn’t expected you to take it so seriously. “No!” You rushed out. “I-I didn’t forget. It’s just, um, y’know, different now.”

A breathy chuckle of disbelief left his mouth. “Only because I want it to be a surprise.” He smirked, letting his childish antics dramatically flare his hands over his eyes.

In the bedroom of your house, Eddie Munson sat on your bed, listening carefully to the sway of your body, wondering how he could properly prepare himself for the sight of you.

Just you. Not Lacey O’Connell. Because, spare him, a little flirt with clientele wasn’t the end of the world. Just a matter of business.

The shifting of your clothes embedded a smile onto a face. Perhaps, you’d been sporting another mismatched underwear set. A grin like no other consumed him, as he relished in the memory of the one you wore the night he got to have you.

The same night where he legitimately asked you why he would ever care for your different bra and panties, after your profuse apologies about the unmatched set confirmed just how utterly adorable you were.

You swallowed thickly. Fluffing out the tightness of being unworn before now, you made sure to take three steps back for his view (and your escape plan, should everything fall apart, now you were three steps closer to the door for running away purposes).

“Um,” you whispered, “you can look now.”

Popping your knuckles became a grand excuse to not look at his face, but had you done so, you would have seen the slacking of his jaw, as his eyes flashed with the roundness of being in awe.

Eddie Munson was abusing every second to drink you in.

“Don’t get rid of that dress.”

“What?”

“You’ll do a disservice to this world and yourself, if you get rid of this dress.” You waited for the teasing glint to come, but his words had never been spoken so matter-of-factly before until now.

“I-”

“You don’t have too much clothes.” His brows creased to the gravity of his voice. “Don’t… don’t get rid of anything.” Eddie stood from his place. “Please.”

Your eyes bounced between his, before you shakily sighed. “I feel stupid, Eddie.” You whispered, tears brimming at your lash line.

“You’re just not used to it.” His hand came to caress the tension from your stiffing posture. “Believe me, I feel like that, too, sometimes.” He huffed out a chuckle. “All the time, actually.” What a lie that had to be. Eddie Munson had an envious way of being unabashedly himself. “Because of you.” He watched your face crumple into confusion. “And it makes me do really stupid things.” He sighed. “Like, not talking about what supposed to happen after we-”

“That’s not your fau- Eddie, I told you not to worry about it.” You peered to the carpeted floor in disappointment. “Really, it’s my own fault for n-not being honest with you, and, uh, myself. A-And now I’m just feeling a lot of things that I don’t understand, but I don’t want you to feel responsible for it. Lacey’s really pretty-”

“Sweetheart-”

“And you’re a single guy, you can do whatever you want. I should have never expected anything to come out from us doing, uh, y’know, that.” You groaned in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, we don’t have to talk ab-”

His hands gently caught onto the suppleness of your cheeks. “Would you please shut up?” He softly chuckled at your stunned face. “No, sorry, that was mean, I take that back.” He didn’t. Eddie Munson’s giggles were still ringing out because of your frown. “I just need you to stop talking for a second, and just listen.” You reluctantly nodded to his request. “Because I get it, you thought things would be easier if we were just, I don’t know… nonchalant about things. But, Christ, sweetheart, if you have feelings for me, whether they’re good or bad, I want to know!” He emphasized. “We’ve talked about things before, we can talk about this.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, about how many ounces I want to buy from you.”

“Hey, you’re gonna stand here and tell me our little conversations meant nothing to you?” He joked, hoping to pull a smile out of you. “Clearly they had to if I was deemed worthy enough to sleep with.” He winked.

“That was just because I like yo- I mean, no- ugh!” What a win for Freud (and Eddie), as the unconscious error revealed his tortuously shit-eating grin. But in the moment, you didn’t want his laughter. You wanted answers to your own pathetic feelings. You whined in frustration. “This stupid dress sucks!”

You lost all concerns about changing in front of him, as your angry hands worked to throw the fabric away from your body. “Hey- no, wait, c’mon, I was just teasing.” Eddie was quick to pick up the discarded dress.

“And there’s so many people in my house! Everyone’s touching everything! A-And I’m tired, and embarrassed of all this- god, and everyone is being so inconsiderate-”

“Even me.”

Your tirade came to a halt. “What? No, Eddie, I told you, it’s not your fault-”

“It is, though.” He affirmed, despite your shaking head. “I know you saw me.” Your cheeks went ablaze with heat. You knew he saw you, but hearing it had become mortifying. “And I know it wasn’t the nicest thing to see, I should’ve considered-”

You gave up in a huff. “This is stupid.”

“This isn’t stupid, okay? None of it is.”

Your head fell into the solace of your hands. “I just don’t know what to do.”

“You already did it. You just did the hard part.” His calloused fingers wrapped around your wrists. “And I’ll make it even easier by telling you that I like you back.”

You refused his words, shaking your head in retaliation. “Don’t pity me, Eddie, I-”

“Hey, look, I get you’re trying to make me tell you how you feel, but I don’t want you doing that with me.” His voice fell stern. “Hell, I don’t even want to do that with you.” You could cry from the way he chastised you. “Stop trying to find an easy out. You’re not even realizing that the simplest thing to do not find an easy way out.” Eddie rationalized. “I like you, you like me. I want to be with you, and now you tell me if you want to be with me.”

“You already know-”

“No, I don’t know.” He interjected. “I don’t want to think I know shit. You tell me.”

You gnawed at your lips raw, eyes rounding against the scariest confrontation you had to face that came in the form of a long-haired, lanky guy with an expression so goofy you wondered how you managed to take him so seriously. “I want to be with you, Eddie.” Your voice cracked. “Like, m-more than just being with you in the back of your van.”

“Christ, why would you ever let me take your virginity there?! I could have at least taken you out to dinner first!” He swore against himself with frustration, as you giggled. “I’m so sorry about that, darling.”

“No, it’s okay, I-I liked it.” You mustered the courage to be honest. “Really, it was perfect.”

Eddie Munson smiled at you. “So are you.” Accept it. “And this dress.” His eyes finally glanced down, and suddenly, “Who the hell were you planning on having sex with?” His accusatory finger circled the seductive lace of your bra and underwear; a matching set!

Back to hiding your face you went. “Don’t make me say it, I already told you I liked you.”

“Aw, babe.” For once, you could find the will to laugh along with his teasing, letting yourself enjoy a moment of his cockiness.

His arm circled around your waist, bringing you flush against his chest. If the teasing was going to continue, he, at the very least, would grant you a place to hide. “You were just coming over for the first time, I was nervous… and maybe… hopeful.” Your muffled voice squeaked against his shirt.

His guttural laugh vibrated onto you. A silence had lingered before his lips caressed the shell of your ear. “You don’t have too many clothes, sweetheart.” Whispered with gentle firmness to solidify it into your overthinking head.

You didn’t have too many feelings.

Just the right amount ones that made you perfectly you.

His fingertips slowly traced down the slope of your waist, until it came in contact with the delicate fabric of your panties. “Well, maybe you do right now.” The lace snapped against your hip.

And your giggles fizzled into the atmosphere, as you braced yourself with the confronting journey of simply just speaking. Truthfully. “Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Get these people the hell out of my house, so we can have sex.”

You were once again ambushed with the sudden bass of whatever Top 100 Hottest Hits played, as Eddie Munson jumped hurdles out of your bedroom, before you were content with the silence that followed a closed door.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | I suppose blurbs are meant to be really short, but, unfortunately, I cannot shut up. Also, was it decipherable that the clothes/dress was representative of her feelings? Or should I just stop while I’m at it? Thank you, big kisses! <3

[bitethedustfools]

TWST Story Idea (12)

Yuu didn't get to go home after all those months spent here in Twisted Wonderland trying to deal with school life, the overblots, and the homesickness.

Yuu didn't take it too well when Crowley broke it to them. What are they supposed to do now? Yuu can't live like this, knowing that their family must be worried sick with their absence.

Moreover, this school life is only temporary. What comes next when everything is over and everyone parts to find their own path? Yuu doesn't have a place in this world. Their existence here is a mistake.

Yuu does not belong here.

Yuu refuses to believe Crowley and takes it upon themselves to scour the whole library. But that will take time given how big it is, and Yuu is only one person.

Not one of their friends is willing to help because they said a book like that doesn't exist, and there's nothing Yuu could do.

But what do they know? Yuu hasn't seen them ransack the whole library, nor did they put in an effort to, so how would they know it's not there?

Yuu keeps searching on, their loyal friend Grim ever by their side, even if he's grumbling about how bored and tiring it is.

But he stayed and helped, even when he feared that he would be left alone one day, and that's all that matters. The relationship with their friends strained just a little bit in doing so, but Yuu thinks it won't matter in the end.

The library hadn't been fully searched when the school life ended, and Yuu feared what became of them after this. Yuu knew that knowing they couldn't go home, they would have to make a new one in this new world, which is not what they would have preferred.

They could stay in that dorm, but Yuu is no longer a student. There's no reason for them to stay here in the dorm that they had fixed. Crowley had said so; he owned it and gave them shelter, so it's natural that he will take it all back.

He is not that generous at all, even though this was his problem Yuu was here in the first place.

With this being said, Yuu decided to become a teacher, replacing Professor Mozus Trein, who is now retiring, and Grim will be taking over Lucius's position.

Teaching history is no problem; Yuu already wasted some of their life in that classroom and that library. Yuu couldn't believe they knew Twisted Wonderland history much better than their own, but Yuu supposed that it's vital for their job.

This way, Yuu can continue going to the library, even though being a teacher is far from what they always wanted to be. But it's not like they have any choices, isn't it?

There are also advantages in being a teacher. One is that Yuu can do whatever they want because they are now an adult. They could talk back to Crowley face to face now.

Second is that if the library held not one clue to the way back home, which would make Yuu insane if NRC didn't really have such a book, Yuu is able to request any visitation to any other college, partly because Yuu has such a good connection with them.

Yuu's friends sometimes visit them out of the blue, bearing gifts and coaxing Yuu to visit their places as well, going as far as to crash the classroom and so forth. It was thoughtful, albeit annoying, but the implication did not escape Yuu's observation.

It's not going to work. Yuu thought of this over and over again every time their friends tried to bond with them.

Yuu will leave this place one day, and all those memories and relationships will be for naught. Yuu would rather they have no good feelings towards this world for fear they will have a desire to return here again. Yuu doesn't have the courage to leave their family once more if they managed to come home.

Yuu would have to be indifferent to their approach, reject every reaching hand, and drown themselves in dust and pages.

How long will Yuu stay here? To what length will Yuu go for the sake of going home?

Yuu glanced at the black Magestone kept properly in the chest. The Magestone that appeared the moment Grim's overblot was over.

The glimmer in their eyes shone like a star.

All Yuu needs is magic.

-

*Yandere is alright. The characters probably burned the book so Yuu could stay. They have patience and believe that Yuu will finally let go and pick one of them to settle down.

*Would the angst be great in some friends' POV?

[lefarte]

hi there... if you have time would you be willing to write hcs for levi with a reader who was a medic in the bremen army, but helped to heal soldiers from both sides? i just think theres a fun dynamic to be had there ehe. can be platonic or romantic! i love ur writing btw thank you for being there for the 7 funger fans on this website

I ended up writing this as a fic because I had several requests for a Levi fluff fic and I thought this prompt was cute in particular >:]

GN reader

TW for emetophobia

“Come on, open up,” You quietly urged. “You need to eat.”

Levi made a half-hearted noise of shame, his nose twitching at the sight of the spoon pointed towards his face.

Levi was not exactly a difficult patient. In fact, he was quite easy to handle. Even though Union soldiers would usually scowl and reject you, he never showed you any hostility. He was softspoken and intelligent, unlike many infantry troops. His only real problem was his social aversion.

He often stepped away when you went to take his pulse. He didn’t like being touched. He wouldn’t accept any praise by you, instead, he would quietly take it as condescension. No matter how you tried to reach out, he only withdrew harder. Skittish, and quietly untrusting, much like a rabbit.

You’d never forget the face of despondency he had lying on that cold kitchen floor, having ransacked an entire fridge worth of food and vomited it all out, collapsing in a cold sweaty heap and gasping and gurgling. The sound of rattling in his sternum. It was too familiar to you.

From then on, he could move and eat, but not much. You had refashioned the club into a little makeshift hospital. Securing the bunk beds with little blankets and everything. Fetching in pails of rainwater. Even though you tried to advertise it, no one else had stopped by.

So Levi was your only patient, which didn’t thrill him.

“Open,” you urged again.

“…Ah.”

You fed him the porridge, which you had mixed with medicinal herbs. It tasted awful. He didn’t react.

“I… I can feed myself.” He muttered awkwardly.

That night you brought him back, you did a little checkup on him. He suffered many of the same ailments as the others raised in the trenches. Malnutrition, shell shock, tremors. He seemed to quietly accept much of your poking and prodding, but went dead quiet when you asked him to undress.

He’d been a little bashful around you since.

“Want a drink?”

He shook his head. “I’m… not thirsty…”

“Fine, then how about I comb your hair?”

“…..You don’t want to touch my hair…. I… I have lice.”

“Every infantryman has lice.”

You paused.

“Want me to wash your face?”

“…you must be…. very… bored. Stuck here with me.” He said hoarsely. “Waiting for… someone else to come…”

“No! I’m not bored… I’m…” You swallowed. “Worrying.”

“Yeah. Me too.” He went quiet.

You kneeled over the pail of water and splashed your face. The water was cool. You carefully put a rag in (a piece of your own apron you had cut out with a knife) and looked over at Levi. He gave an uncertain nod.

You pulled the rag out of the water, dripping through your fingers, and held it up to his face. He flinched back at first, but carefully eased into it.

“The water feels nice, doesn’t it?”

“H…hm.”

You softly wiped the dried blood from the corners of his cracked lips. Moving the rag up his cheeks and to wipe his tired eyes. Levi leaned closer into your hand.

“…A little.” He admitted.

You moved the rag up to wash his forehead.

“Why are you a nurse?”

You paused, slowly retracting the dirtied rag. “Well, same reason everyone else does. I want to help people.”

“Soldiers?” He asked quietly. “…you want to help soldiers?”

“I want to help anyone who needs help. And right now, they need my help on the front.”

He cast his gaze downward and shook his head a little.

You lifted his pale arm. He made no effort to pull back. His skin was lined with scars, bruised yellow and purple from needles, his fingers pallid, cold and blue. Even his fingernails were bitten and dirty.

You dunked the rag again and put it to his hand.

“I… I think there are people who need this more…” He stammered.

“Are you kidding? There are mountains of bodies. There are soldiers sleeping on the ground because there’s not enough room in the medical tents.”

“I know.” He paused thoughtfully. “…Do you really think soldiers deserve to… be treated like this though?”

“Treated like what?” You frowned.

He made a small gesture to the speakeasy. The warm yellow flickering lights, the soft music playing on loop from the old fuzzy sound system. Full bottles of wine on the bar. Pillows. Blankets. The scent of wax and wood.

“I know no one else will come, why set this up for me?” He lowered his hand weakly. “I don’t even know what to… do here…”

You dropped the rag, standing up and wiping your wet hands on your apron. He looked up at you with a tense expression. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… it….”

You take his hand, leaning over him on the bed, and put an arm over him in an embrace. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it like that.”

Slowly, his other hand inched forward, before carefully putting his hand over your hair. As if you were made of glass. He ran his fingers through your locks in soft, longing fascination. Then, he sighed and put his hand over his eyes.

“I’m… not sure what to do.” He said quietly. “I don’t know how to deal with this kind of thing…”

“Just wait,” you hummed. “It will be okay.”

[barn-anon]

You watch from the top of a cliff how the waves crash against the rocks below. It's been a while since you left home, a few weeks in fact. Longer than you originally planned to be gone, you needed the time.

But you miss him.

This time away from him had helped you realize how much he had been doing for you. Things that you never noticed till now. How he always makes sure there's hot water in your water flask, helped you keep track of your groceries, putting your keys in your bag without you noticing. Small things.

You want to go back, to see him again. Yet not having to face rejection over and over in your home, what should be your safe place. It's relieving. You feel like you could finally breathe without pressure trying to crush you.

But you miss him.

Do you love him? You think so... he's your Custodes, so you should love him right? You love him, you realize that now. Somehow you do and you miss him so badly now. Warm and wet rolls down your cheek and you wipe the tear away. All you want is a companion you can hug, cuddle and share all your secrets with. How you had looked on with jealousy at all the other people with their Space Marines.

Wishing for what they had with their Space Marines now turns to wishing for your own Custodes to be here with you.

The drive back to the house you had rented, you're alarmed when you realize the front door is unlocked. You always lock the door when you leave. You are wary as you step in, the house doesn't look ransacked. Some of the furniture is definitely moved about though... as if to make way for something big...

You find nothing else until you reach your bedroom. Instantly you forget everything else as you rush in, to your Odysseus who was curled up on the floor hugging one of your jackets to himself and whimpering.

His armor pokes you, you always complained about it but now it's a comfort as he nearly crushes you in a tight hug. Watery coos leaves his lips as he curls his larger form around you. You feel water hit the top of your head but he keeps you tucked against him as he lets out sad heart wrenching warbles to you. It makes you cry all over again. How and when he got here didn't matter.

You're finally back with him.

Tagged: @kit-williams • @egrets-not-regrets • @bleedingichorhearts

[smilerri]

many thoughts about epic: the musical...

i am once again in the middle of essay writing but plautus is boring and my friend introduced me to this album so u already know I binged the entire thing

(quick warning for spoilers of homer's odyssey? if that's necessary?? man idk whatever)

first thoughts naturally concerned odysseus. i have hated this man with a burning passion ever since I started studying classics - i think he is irredeemably selfish, a liar masquerading as a 'resourceful hero,' and basically just a twat all around. that being said, i respect that epic is not an exact replica. in fact, i like that about it!

readings of odysseus as a loving husband and father, and a man who cares deeply for his crew and fellow warriors is one i would love to see reflected in the source text (though i admit i have only read two different translations so far, so this is subject to change depending on translators choice!), if only because it would be so so refreshing. and epic does that extremely well! i find epic's odysseus to be far more likeable, insofar as he is fueled not by greed for glory (kleos for the nerds out there) but rather the desire to return to his wife and son. (I personally would argue that, while homer's odysseus is indeed fueled by a desire for homecoming (nostos), it is not for the sake of penelope and telemachus, but rather concern over the security of his status and position within the household (oikos))

i also very much enjoy that the love he holds for his family is not an inherently positive trait. in the aeneid, and often in myth, it is achilles' son, neoptolemus/pyrrhus who kills the son of hector and andromache, astyanax by throwing him from the walls of troy - less common, it is odysseus (which i did not know until i googled it just now oops). homer's odysseus does not reject the gods. he is beloved by some, hated by others - he receives their boons and curses as they come. he revels in the attention of the divine, no matter positive or negative, for it is proof of his kleos. epic's odysseus is so much more... human. he doesn't vie for glory that reaches the skies. if anything, he rues it. in the horse and the infant he supplicates himself to (who i assume is) zeus - which is such a loaded act i am genuinely struggling to think of how to articulate it, but boy am I gonna try my darndest.

the act of supplication and guest-friendship (xenia) is a very key theme within the odyssey, and to a point in the iliad also - essentially, if a traveller were to arrive at your doorstep, you were obliged to let them in and provide food, drink, and lodgings to that traveller, no questions asked. in return (because reciprocity is VERY important in homer especially), the guest would provide entertainment, tales of their travels, etc, and would be respectful of their host. the patron of these travellers was zeus. any violation of these terms, on part of the guest or host, would be met with divine scorn. for odysseus to supplicate himself to zeus is therefore meta as hell, but I would instead bring attention to the echoing lyric "hes bringing you down to your knees." 'he,' assumedly, is astyanax. his father, hector, is dead; as is his grandfather, priam, and all of priam's other sons. at this point, one could assume that it is astyanax who is ruling troy, who is now the host of the city that odysseus, a traveller from another land, has entered and ransacked. zeus' 'prophecy' of astyanax growing old and seeking revenge (reciprocity! homeric greece had a 'revenge culture' - essentially 'an eye for an eye' as well as 'you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours,' though not always so clear-cut), therefore, would be odysseus' punishment for violating the terms of xenia.

supplication, however, is not limited to guest-friendship alone. for example, in odyssey 22, when odysseus slaughters the suitors occupying his home (is that spoilers?), their priest leodes supplicates himself at odysseus' feet, begging to be spared. odysseus takes his head from his neck in an instant. odysseus' kneeling before astyanax, therefore, is no simple act between a guest and his host - perhaps he is begging the infant for mercy, for forgiveness, or perhaps he is positioning himself for punishment; in killing astyanax, odysseus accepts his own death. perhaps this means his fate (which, in case of homeric epic, refers to the time and manner of one's death), or perhaps it is a part of him that has died. in just a man, odysseus asks "when does a man become a monster?" his killing astyanax prevents the boy from ever becoming a man, and spares him from a life fueled only by revenge and the need to regain his glorious birthright, and it turns him into a monster. just as he says he would, he trades in the world where he is 'just a man' for a world where he is a cruel beast, all for sake of his family.

(quick detour but i really like how odysseus' focus is primarily on penelope rather than telemachus. [insert deadbeat dad joke here], but in reality, he doesn't even know the boy. penelope he chose to marry and fall in love with - it's no question that he loves telemachus, but after ten years, it is only natural that he would miss his beautiful, tricky wife with more fervour than the child he never had the chance to love. it shows he is imperfect, even illogical - the son is the father's entire legacy. just as odysseus is 'son of laertes', so will telemachus be 'son of odysseus', the protector of his immortal heroic legacy. yet it is penelope whom odysseus yearns for.)

(another detour but "i'm just a man" is such a juicy lyric, because the entire message of homer's odyssey is that odysseus is not any man - he is a man that the muses deem worthy to inspire great poets to compose epic poems that persist through thousands of years and a million different voices - a hero. but epic's odysseus is not that hero. he is a man, trying to go home, craving comfort and the warmth of the hearth. these 'flaws' humanise him more than homer's odysseus could ever imagine.)

skipping over to polyphemus, odysseus violates xenia once again by killing polyphemus' sheep, albeit unwittingly. homer makes this violation very obvious - odysseus and crew eat polyphemus' cheese and wine while polyphemus tends to his sheep, knowing that the cave is obviously inhabited, and they even wait for polyphemus to return to ask for more. it is worth noting as well that, at this point, odysseus and crew are still jubilant about their victory, and unlike in epic, these 'detours' are purposeful, specifically so that odysseus can scope out the islands for anything of interest he can snatch and add to his spoils of war, adding to his kleos by means of physical wealth (timē) - which makes odysseus' offer of treasure to appease polyphemus all the more baffling in epic. this odysseus is a leader who prioritises the lives of his men over his own kleos, which makes the final lines - "you shall be the final man to die" // "what?" // "watch out!" - all the more heartbreaking. he wants to protect his men, so that they too may return to their families back on ithaca; the prospect of watching them die before his eyes after he already witnessed so many lose their lives in battle must be so utterly terrifying.

polyphemus is so excellently creepy as well! i loved him in the odyssey - this was where I really started to dislike odysseus, actually. he's a cyclops, obviously inhuman, yet he rears sheep and makes cheese and wine and weaves wicker baskets to keep them in, trying to play at humanity. i really did sympathise with him from the first time I read it. epic's polyphemus is similar, so very calm in his anger yet ruthless all the same, and demonstrates great restraint in comparison to his counterpart in the odyssey, who gets filthy drunk after mashing six men dead and allows odysseus+co. to fashion a stake with which to blind him. much of the violence against polyphemus, as well as the violation of xenia in homer's odyssey is 'excused' by the fact that polyphemus is a 'barbarian', to whom concepts of civilised people do not belong.

(very quick detour but polyphemus' first admonishment of odysseus - "you killed my sheep" up to "take from you like you took from me" - makes such heartbreaking parallels to astyanax's murder and the sack of troy. it almost provides a visualisation of the guilt that odysseus must still be battling. i would have loved to have been in his brain when he heard polyphemus say that.)

the mercy odysseus shows polyphemus is particularly interesting - homer's odysseus leaves him alive and tells him his name purely so that his name will spread and his kleos will grow. but epic's odysseus, despite his conviction to kill in survive and to avenge is fallen comrades in remember them, spares him. in part, this is to assure them an escape, so that the cyclops' giant body does not block their exit - but athena's interruption makes clear that this is not all. she criticises him, remarks "he is still a threat until he's dead." no doubt this calls back to zeus' warnings about astyanax, hence his refusal (or inability?) to commit to slaughter. for a homeric greek hero to allow a foe to live on after his allies had been slaughtered is a grave failure of reciprocity, casting shame on both the hero and their enemy. homer's odysseus escapes this with his reputation intact, since as a result polyphemus curses him to face poseidon's wrath - as I mentioned, for a hero, even negative attention from the gods is a good thing as it proves that their reputation/glory is known all over, even in olympus. but, as we have established, epic's odysseus cares not for kleos. the decision to tell polyphemus his name is entirely impulsive and irrational, grieving his comrades, hence athena's outrage.

the relationship between athena and odysseus is founded entirely on the principles they share, described in warrior of the mind (if anyone can lmk whereabouts this song fits in the timeline I will be so grateful, I'm stupid unfortunately :/). they value wisdom, reason, and rationality over brute strength and bloodlust. epic's athena becomes odysseus' patron goddess with the goal to "make a greater tomorrow" and "change the world" - aspirations that are entirely foreign to any homeric god. gods in homer do not care about the wellbeing of humans unless they are directly related to them, and they certainly don't care about the wellness of humanity as a whole. humans are toys and tools of the gods. the amount that athena cares for odysseus, even in the odyssey, is unusual, demonstrative of how much she cares for him, yet epic makes their comradery more obvious, even going as far as to (tentatively) call them friends. my goodbye frames athena's anger as disappointment at an experiment failed - calling back to warrior of the mind, where she claims to have "designed" him - but odysseus' replies to her makes clear that it is far more personal. perhaps, to her, odysseus acting so irrationally is even a betrayal; odysseus is abandoning the principles of reason they both once held and thus is forsaking all that they once shared and that she, as the goddess of wisdom, stands for.

ive always considered athena to be a very interesting goddess. she is a patron of both war, which in homer is only carried out by men, and weaving, the traditional work of women within the household - her very nature is a contradiction of masculine and feminine. although it is ares who is considered the 'black sheep' of the olympians for his brutality in war, epic's portrayal of athena through odysseus' lens paints her as lonely and ostracised - "since you claim you're so much wiser // why's your life spent all alone? // you're alone." It is clear that odysseus here does not view her as his patron at all, rather as a friend - and to that she takes offence, because she is a goddess, eternal and all-powerful. she does not need friendship or comradery; those are mortal concerns alone. personally, I see epic's athena as incredibly insecure. she cuts odysseus off because she cannot bare that a mortal has been able to read her so clearly, to see all the ugly parts of herself that she keeps hidden to retain the facade of the perfect goddess. she knows the paradox within herself - warrior and woman, immortal and alone - and rues that odysseus was able to see it as well. the cruellest part, the most ironic, is that his being able to figure out the true, imperfect nature of a god shows that he has not abandoned the path of the warrior of the mind. in fact, his wisdom extends beyond mortality into the realm of the divine. but athena is blinded by her anger and insecurity, and she says her goodbyes. she disappears from there, only to appear again to try to warn odysseus of his crew opening the bag of winds given to him by aeolus in keep your friends close, once again demonstrating her care for him, despite her anger.

the amount that odysseus cares for his crew is demonstrated time and again throughout the album, yet in the end, he still slowly loses their trust. aeolus' winds are the first sign. his crew betrays his orders upon the first whisper on the wind that he might be keeping treasure from them. the next sign, in puppeteer, is eurylochus' confession upon arrival to aeaea (circe's island), which odysseus brushes off, much as he brushed off eurylochus' concerns in luck runs out. then, in a matter of moments, 600 men are reduced to forty by the wrath of poseidon - which in itself is a significant change. while odysseus in epic is explicitly blamed for failing to kill polyphemus, homer's odysseus takes no responsibility for the deaths of hundreds of his men. it happens when they arrive at telepylos, which, unbeknownst to them, is home to the laestrygonians, a race of cannibalistic giants. odysseus, apparently sensing something off (who tf does he think he is, spiderman?), allows his entire fleet to enter the bay of telepylos while his ship alone remains outside - and when those ships are attacked and trapped, he alone takes his single ship and escapes, allowing twelve ships of men to be ripped apart and eaten by cannibals. an act which he shows no remorse for.

in my interpretation of homer's odyssey, it is this slowly slipping trust that eventually leads to his men ignoring his warnings and feasting on the cows of helios which leads to the deaths of all his remaining crew, including eurylochus and polites (spoilers? idk). so, once epic: the musical catches up to book 12 of the odyssey you WILL be seeing me again I hope ur excited.

there is definitely more i could say here, especially about the circe saga bcs ohhh my god I love circe and I love this circe especially (a female character with actual motive other than being a victim? homer could never) but unfortunately I'm running out of steam and I do in fact have 3 essays due this month (help) so I will probably return to this later !! hopefully its readable bcs I'm not going back to edit any of this ;)

[essektheylyss]

With the understanding that the Fold is clearly uniquely affiliated with Lark, in fact seems to have an affinity for her, I am really excited to see what happens with the gunfire and any potential tearrors next episode.

I have been wondering if her Fold blood will create issues like Weepe's, but it seems to me that it would in fact likely end up moving in the opposite direction, because while Weepe seems to reject the Fold like a bad organ transplant, Lark works with it. She accepts it, in a very literal sense; whereas Weepe excised it and sold it, she bought it and used it. In a world of transactional exchange, this action is almost certainly not meaningless. It's the first thing we see of Lark, in fact, and given the thumbnail of the finale, it might be the last thing we see of her as well.

I've speculated that the Fold knows what one needs, even if one doesn't know they needed it, and I feel very strongly after Home that this is true—it seems to respond to and magnify intentions. It may seem to most like it acts at random—and this is true in the strictest sense, in that it is an entity most attuned to the probabilistic, but not the probable, which is to say that it acts based upon any possible item at random in the rolodex of the fabric of reality. Much like a cascading series of confounding variables in the basic functions of reality, that randomness can and will be shaped by the intentions of those within it, and those attuned to it hold the most sway.

The Fold seems to coalesce around Lark. It responds to her whims and needs. It has anticipated the ransacking of her home by the Company, and provided for her accordingly. If she sets off—perhaps summons—a tearror within the confounding factors at work upon this situation, what else might the Fold further provide for her? In this moment which Lark, uniquely attuned to it, views intrinsically as her final stand, what might it offer?

[2cupids]

cw: stalking, drugging, h*rassment. 17+ interact only.

haechan refuses to accept rejection. the moment you turn him down and don’t reciprocate the same romantic feelings, he fucking loses it. no girl has ever turned him down before and he’s not going to let you be the first. he’s going to make you his, no matter what it takes.

it starts out with phone calls and texts, sometimes voicemails. then it escalates to him sending you pictures of yourself undressing and videos of himself masturbating. he begs you to love him back while he moans your name before cumming right on the camera lens. the calls, the text; everything stop for a few weeks and you think it’s finally over, only for you to come home one day and find your apartment ransacked. in your bedroom, you a find a note saying “i’ll make you mine” with a pair of your panties laying on top of it, sticky with haechan’s semen.

you finally make the choice to stay at a hotel in hopes that he won’t be able to find you, but haechan is always one step ahead of you. you will never be free from him.

your suitcase is packed and you’re about to walk out the door when you’re a met with a hooded figure standing in your doorway. you turn to run but he’s too fast. he catches you and you try fighting but it’s no use. he puts a rag to your nose and you feel yourself getting drowsy. the last words you hear are “i told you i’d make you mine” before your vision goes black and you pass out.

[itsoutrageouss]

Like a bellflower - chapter one

chapter one of like a bellflower, a Joel Miller x Fem!Oc fanfiction.

warnings: violence, death, blood, the word 'rape', general apocalyptic angst things yk

words: 2,6k

Story taglist

1. A stoic rescue

✿✿✿

“If we don’t find some more fucking ammo soon I swear i’m going to kill someone,” Kade grumbled as we all walked along a broad gravelly road. He bit into the last of his dried meat with anger, ripping the flesh apart aggressively with his teeth. His arm nearly hit me as it swung back. I always stayed behind the four of them. Kade, Ryan, Sarah and Cole. When they found me, and agreed to pick me up along with them I thought I could find solidarity in Sarah. A girl. Or a woman I should say, because she is a lot more woman than me. 

Her shoulders were as broad as the mens, her figure sturdy and hardened like her face. No solidarity was to be found in those eyes. She met me like the men did; looking down at me with clenched jaws, demanding I fix us all food and making mean jokes when I try to brush and fix my hair. 

“That ain’t going to fix nothing sweetheart- how about a trip to the salon instead? It’ll be on me,” Kade would say with a nasty grin and they would all belt out laughter while they tended to their guns like I tend to my hair, with the same kind of care. The kind you should never use on weapons.

“But break my heart, for I must hold my tongue,” I always quote, biting my tongue until metal melts in my mouth.

“You have to calm down, we’re almost at the next town. If there isn’t any ammo, we’ll butcher someone that has some.” Cole replies, walking with fast, tough steps. They were always so hard, so violent. I watched intensely as my feet kicked the gravel. My gun didn’t have a lot of ammo left either but I would rather not have to hurt someone to get more. I’d run if I had to, but I really didn’t. 

The rest of the walk was silent, until old suburban houses started appearing. No one spoke to me. Wordlessly everyone divided to ransack the houses. Cole and Kade went together, so did Ryan and Sarah. Sarah, a dainty, feminine name for a woman with cold, rejecting eyes. No solace. I walked on my own, shoulders slumping. 

The house was a pale blue, the door was off the hinges completely, and I stepped over the rotten wood. Dust swirled in the beams of light that were pushing through barred windows. Someone had stayed here for a while, it looked like. Empty cans of food were piled on the dirty kitchen tiles. When I glanced back at the broken down door, I noticed the beating it had taken. The blood stains that the wood had absorbed. Scratch marks. I didn’t want to think of what had happened here, and instead I filtered through the flashes of sunlight, the warmth pulsing on my cheek. The air smelled like rotten wood too, as well as flowers. They bloomed in the corners of the walls, through broken tapestry they unfolded like nothing had ever bothered them. Like the whole world wasn’t dying. Untouched by the destruction, pretty and blooming. I wished to be like the flower. 

There was no ammo, but in the back cabinets I found old cans of beans that must’ve been forgotten in whatever hurry had happened here. Between the wooden beams that barred the window I saw the others gathering in the middle of the road. Soldiers, they looked like. Machines. They made my skin crawl and every soft thing inside me hardened. I solidified, when everything I fought for everyday was to be soft. Free, fresh and blooming like a flower. A war between me and the world to preserve the delicate human I was, but I felt like throwing it all up when Kade looked at me. He made me feel like he wanted to rape me. His eyes were wide like a drug addict, and his stare a direct look into the most damaged soul I had ever met in my life. I had no clue what his story was and I was terrified to find out. He wanted to hurt the world like it had hurt him and I didn’t want to be here to see it but I had nowhere else to go. 

They talked aggressively to each other, heads bent close together even though there probably wasn't anyone around for miles. I still never got used to seeing people standing in the middle of the roads. The cars were supposed to be there. And now all the cars were flipped upside down and stripped for parts. Sarah crushed a spiring dandelion under her foot. Her black, greasy hair flipped around her head when she talked. The day was beautiful but the people were not. 

We decided to camp there, in the house I found. I found a broken family photo in a bedroom upstairs. I was frozen, sitting on a four poster bed with a family full of strangers in my hand. This room was a memory in time. A photo in itself. If not for the barricaded window, where the sunlight slowly turned red, you wouldn’t be able to tell that life had died everywhere around it. So I stayed there all night. I went downstairs silently, like a child who’d awoken from a nightmare. But there were no parents downstairs, and I crept silently around them to grab a can of beans. Kades big hand squeezed my fragile wrist harshly and the can dropped from my hand. “You’re not taking all of that,” he spoke harshly before opening the can and pouring almost all of the content into an empty one. The rest he gave to me. “Sit down,” he stroked my wrist where he’d hurt me and I coiled away, sitting down reluctantly. I never joined their talk. Ryan was the nicest of them all, though the difference in their behaviors were minimal. They had been just them for so long that Sarah was Ryan and Ryan was Cole and all of them were Kade. Not one authentic trait that wasn’t given to them by the apocalypse. None of their own selves left from before. I pitied it, sort of. When they dozed off in their sleeping bags I snuck back up and crawled under the cold comforter in the bedroom with the photo on the pillow next to me. I tried to imagine living here. With my family, when they were still here. Sleeping next to my parents in their bed even though i probably was a bit too old for it. We wouldn’t tell anyone. Tomorrow we’d make breakfast together, maybe? 

Those thoughts put me to sleep. 

Bang. I woke with such a violent start that my hand flung the photo to the carpeted floor. It was already broken, but now the glass had fallen out of the frame in pieces completely. I had ruined the last memory of this family. Another bang. It was gunshots and the crashes that followed rumbled the old flooring beneath me. Impulsively I ripped the photo from the frame and stuck it in my pocket. I didn’t know how to move. We had never been in this situation. I had never been apart from the group when we were attacked. They were always there and always merciless. I had to fend for myself still, because they prioritized each other over me anytime. Sometimes it was as if they would purposefully let me fight on my own despite them being fully capable of helping me. I swung my backpack on, in case I had to run again. My hands trembled and the gun nearly slipped from my grasp. I creaked open the bedroom door, right at the top of the stairs. “Fucking get him!” I heard Ryan yell. More crashes, grunts. The stairs creaked as I took a step but another noise covered it. Blood sprayed on the wall next to the broken front door. Greasy black hair, fell with a thud to the ground. Blood started to pool around Sarah’s head, which was all of her I could see from this angle. I breathed in. It smelled like being on summer camp. Sunlight, fresh air but a metallic, wooden scent interfered with the peaceful memory. Kane roared and I heard him  surge towards whoever the perpetrator was. I closed my eyes harshly until it hurt, then I opened them and ran down the stairs as the spots faded away from my sight. My gun was stretched in front of me. Everything after that happened so fast I barely caught it. An elbow to Ryan's face who stumbled backwards. To clean shots through Cole's stomach. Bang, bang, thud. Bile rose in my throat. My gun was still in front of me. I didn’t move. I didn’t know what I felt. 

A loud grunt, a missed shot but a punch to the gut from Kade to the stranger. He was hardened too, but not in the cold, menacing way of the others. He looked human, I thought, right before he twisted Kades arm around in a nasty crack, pushing his back into the man's chest before firing a bullet right through his temples. Kade looked at me then, and for the first and only time I saw something else in his eyes. He looked scared. Like a little boy who’d been told off. Who’d been left alone and scolded and shown no love, who now pleaded for it for the last time ever. And then my eyes turned sympathetic. I did everything I could to give him that last piece of whatever feeling closest to affection I had for him and a peace fell over his eyes right as the bullet tore through him. My mouth was sour, and I leaned down, throwing up right next to Sarah’s body. 

The stranger let Kade fall to his knees, discarded him and stalked towards me with a reaction time that seemed inhuman. I expected the harsh, calloused hands of a man piercing my skin. Like Kade’s used to. I dropped the gun. It landed in my own puke. The man stopped between me and the mess. We both looked down. Then we looked up. My eyes were filled with hot, stingy tears from throwing up. Maybe fear. He breathed harshly, quickly and his nostrils flared. His eyes were dark as he looked demandingly underneath his furrowed brows. He had a handsome face, salt and pepper scruff, a hooked nose and sloped lips. But he also was hardened from this world. 

His shoulders fell, quickly aware that I probably wasn’t the biggest threat around. That irritated me, and I squared up, fisting my hands. “Get away or I'll punch you.” I said. There was volume in my voice that I didn't expect. He didn’t move, but looked down on my petty gun again. Then he turned around, and started searching the bodies of my old crew. He took their guns, searched them. I stood still. I was shaking like a leaf and tears rolled down my cheeks now silently. I wasn’t sad for these people. I was sad for the last time this happened. When it was the people I cared for that lay still while I stood up. I cried for them,  tightly fisting the photo of the family I found in my pocket. The man stopped, and looked at me. “I’ll leave some stuff for you,” he said. His voice was gruff. And it hit me like bricks, so hard I nearly folded into two again. I was going to be left alone. The man was looking done, about to leave again. Then there would be silence, like when snow falls. Nothing. 

“Take me with you,” I said, too desperate for my liking but suddenly he felt like the last thing I had in the world even though I didn't even know his name.

“No,” he said, and walked out the backdoor without looking back. I wiped my gun off in Sarah’s shirt, with a little regret but not so much that i felt guilty and followed the man out. He had a horse that was tied to a tree.

“You have to.” i stated, my breathing quick and shallow. I would not let him leave. 

“I don’t, actually.” 

Did he not feel any remorse? What if that was my family he just killed, and then left me for myself. Not even so merciful as to put me in the grave with them? But they weren’t my family and I would not go with them into death, but this man didn’t know. 

“You just killed everything around me.” It wasn’t the first time that had happened and I felt like I was grasping at water, trying to hold it in my hand. I heaved in a gasp of shock and sorrow and it was what finally made him look at me. His brows furrowed even more, if possible. His face softened, and I swore I saw guilt flash across his still-new features. He was listening.

“I’m silent. You won’t even know i’m here. And as soon, I promise, as soon as we come across somewhere else I can stay, I'll leave. But you owe me a ride.” I wasn’t used to selling myself, to making me sound like someone you’d want along on your travels and even though my face heated with embarrassment and the words I spoke, it was all the hope I had not to curl up in that four poster bed until I withered into nothing. 

He said nothing for a while, looking somewhere behind me in thought. I mustered my most desperate eyes. I tried baring my soul through them for him to see that I needed this. He already seemed ways better than any of the four people that had taken me upon since the tragic incident. 

“As soon as we find something.. livable, you’re gone.” he grumbled. The relief made my knees weak, air seeped out of me uncontrollably and I had to hold onto the tree so as to not fall in on myself. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I whispered, tasting tears on my lips that I wiped profusely. I was not to be a burden to this man before I had even gotten onto his horse. 

“Just follow me and stay quiet,” he said, pulling the horse along with him. We walked, and I didn't look back. The blue house I swore to leave forever behind me. The photo I held onto. The sun was only just rising, cold and bright as it stretched over the abandoned houses. We walked in the middle of the road, on each side of the horse. I felt warmth on my skin, on my hair and I combed it down with my fingers and braided it down my back. And no one laughed, or said anything. I realized this might have been my rescue as I looked up at the pine trees ahead, instead of down at the gravel. I looked anywhere I liked and made my hair look nice and I stroked the now curled up photo with my thumb, looking over at the man.

“What's your name?” 

I had already broken one of three rules: stay silent, follow me, leave me alone as soon as possible.

He sighed, “you’re not very good at this.” 

Even his scolding, and his glare was everything Kades wasn’t. There was no malice, no intention to hurt. I didn’t feel fear in my gut. 

“I’m Belle. Like the princess” I peaked over the horse’s moving body.

“Like bellflowers,” he said, glancing at me for barely a second. Like a bellflower, blooming, delicate and untouched by the world. I wish it was so.

“Joel. My name is Joel”

✿✿✿

chapter two

[loveroftoomanyfandoms]

Cooking Up Love, Chapter 5

Pairing: Chef!Matt Murdock x F!Journalist!Reader

Rating: T (for now, might change, probably won't)

Story Summary: Here

Warnings/Tags: Hallmark levels of fluffy, cheesy goodness (and speed that their relationship develops, lol), no use of Y/N, Matt is not a vigilante, but he is a naughty-minded flirt 😉

Word Count: exactly 3200 for this chapter

A/N: And we're back! Thank you to everyone who's been enjoying this story so far, and please let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list for this or any of my others!

(Thanks to @theradioactivespidergwen for the divider she made for me!)

Tag List: @yarrystyleeza @hailey-murdock @mattkinsella @bellaxgiornata @danzer8705 @chezagnes @shouldbestudying41 @thepunisherfrankcastle

Ugh, this is ridiculous, you thought to yourself the next morning as you tossed yet another rejected outfit onto your bed.  You had been torn between wanting to dress professionally since you were technically working and wearing something more casual since you knew you would be watching Chef Murdock cook and didn't want to accidentally ruin one of your nicer outfits, and had ransacked your closet in order to find something in-between. It's not like it actually matters what I wear anyway.

Finally you pulled on a pair of jeans and a cute-but-casual top then hurriedly finished getting ready before heading towards Daredevil.

You sucked in a breath as you spotted Chef Murdock waiting for you outside of the restaurant. Goddamn, even dressed casually he's sexy as all hell.

He was dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans today, paired with black sneakers and a comfortably-worn-looking brown leather jacket.

His head turned towards you as you approached. "Good morning," he said with a smile.

"Hi," you replied. "How'd you know it was me?"

"You slowed down as you approached me," Chef Murdock replied. "If it hadn't been you you more than likely wouldn't have changed your pace, so I made an educated guess."

"Oh, okay, yeah, that makes sense." You shook your head. "I guess you kinda have to pay extra attention to your surroundings, huh?"

Chef Murdock nodded. “Yeah, I’ve had to learn to utilize my remaining senses to adapt to the environment around me.”

He held a to-go cup of coffee out towards you. "Here, I picked up some coffee for you. I wasn't exactly sure what you'd want so I got you something based on what you were drinking at the Bulletin the other day."

Your eyebrows raised. To you your coffee always smelled like, well, coffee, but Chef Murdock was trained in the culinary arts -- he could probably tell what sweeteners and syrups were in a cup of coffee just from the scent alone.

You took a sip then nodded in approval. "This is great. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Chef Murdock took a sip of his own coffee. "So since any culinary dish starts with its ingredients, I thought we'd begin our cooking demo at the farmer's market this morning."

You nodded. "Okay, yeah, that sounds great. Do you mind if I record our conversation while we walk? Sometimes something will jump out in casual conversation that's good for my article."

Chef Murdock shook his head. "Not at all."

"Great, thanks." You took your phone out of your pocket and started recording, once again stating your name, the date, and the time. "Interview of Chef Matthew Murdock, part 2."

Chef Murdock gestured down the sidewalk. "Shall we, then?"

"Sure."

You headed down the sidewalk together, the gentle tapping of Chef Murdock's cane against the pavement creating a rhythm with your steps.

"So, um, how was dinner service last night?" you asked. 

"It was… okay," Chef Murdock replied. "Not quite what I'd hoped for in terms of customers, but we're still finding our footing."

You nodded. "Well, hopefully my profile of you for the Bulletin will help get the word out."

Chef Murdock nodded. "Fingers crossed. So what about you? How was your evening? Have any big Friday night plans?"

You shook your head with a light laugh. "Not unless you counted a date with my Netflix account."

Chef Murdock chuckled. "That actually sounds really nice."

"I would ask if you got to do anything after the restaurant closed, but I'm sure you probably just went home and rested."

Chef Murdock shook his head. "Actually, I have after-hours access to a gym near my apartment, so I frequently go there to work off my energy from service before heading home."

I wonder what kind of workouts he does to gain those biceps of his , you thought as you glanced over at his arms.

"Boxing." 

You looked up at Chef Murdock's face, which was sporting a small smirk. Shit, did I say that out loud? "Pardon?"

"I said I box," Chef Murdock repeated. "It helps me blow off steam after service and focus when I'm stuck on a recipe."

"Ah, okay. So did your dad teach you how to fight?"

Chef Murdock shook his head. "No, he didn't want me to be part of that world, said he wanted better for me than to come home with bruises and broken ribs every night like he did. He encouraged me to focus on my education, said he didn’t want to see me have to struggle in life like he did."

You looked up at him as the two of you paused at a crosswalk. "I think he would be proud of you, you know."

Chef Murdock sighed. "I would hope so. Not sure he'd be too proud of the way I treated you when we first met the other day though."

You shook your head. "It’s okay, really. We all have our off days. And speaking of off days, do you get any time off to relax and do anything fun?"

Chef Murdock nodded. "I take Sunday after brunch service to relax and unwind. Sometimes Mondays too, but most Mondays I'm at the restaurant testing and perfecting new recipes."

"Like your apology tiramisu?"

Chef Murdock chuckled. "Yeah, but I'm also working on a few other recipes as well right now, appetizers and main dishes and such." 

You continued on as the crosswalk sign switched from 'stop' to 'walk'. "How long have you been at the Bulletin ?" Chef Murdock asked. 

"Five years," you replied. "I was at the Bugle for a little while before that, but the editor was only interested in unsubstantiated gossip and wouldn't let me write the kind of pieces I wanted to write."

"Which are human-interest stories?"

You nodded. "Don't get me wrong, I like to dig into a good investigative assignment just as much as the next journalist, but my stories don't always have to be hard-hitting exposés -- I want our readers to connect to the people I write about."

Chef Murdock looked contemplative. "That's admirable. So what made you want to be a journalist?"

"I've always loved listening to people talk about their lives and hearing about their hopes and dreams. One day I decided I wanted to be able to share their stories with the world and since I always had a knack for writing, I decided to become a journalist."

"Where did you go to school?"

You huffed out a light laugh. "Hey, who's interviewing who here?"

Chef Murdock grinned, his cheeks turning an adorable shade of pink. "Sorry."

You shook your head. "It's fine, I'm totally kidding. I just didn't think you'd want to hear me ramble on about myself."

Chef Murdock shook his head. "No, it's fine, I uh… Actually I really like your voice." 

Your face heated. "Oh."

Chef Murdock shrugged, suddenly looking a bit shy. "I mean, I can't recognize people by their looks, obviously, so I pay a lot of attention to people's voices. Yours sounds nice."

Your heart fluttered again. Chill out, he's not flirting with you. "Thank you. I, um, I went to Columbia, by the way."

Chef Murdock nodded. "I considered going there -- thought about being a lawyer for a while, but I ultimately decided to go to culinary school instead."

You could picture Chef Murdock in a business suit, arguing a case in front of a captivated jury. He certainly could sway my opinion. "Oh, wow, that's… quite a different career path."

"Yeah, I thought that was what my dad would have wanted me to do but I eventually realized that what he really would have wanted was for me to be happy and do what I love."

"Which is cooking."

Chef Murdock smiled. "Yeah, cooking really is my passion. I love taking different ingredients and putting them together in order to create something for people to enjoy."

"That's really nice."

The two of you slowed down as you reached the lot where the farmer's market was held. "Here we are," Chef Murdock said.

You looked at the expanse of booths. "So, um, if you don't mind me asking… how do you know which vendors are where?"

Chef Murdock smiled and shook his head. "No, I don't mind at all. The vendors all have assigned spaces, so I've learned to map out who is located where. Plus Foggy comes with me most of the time to help out, or Karen will if Foggy's not available."

"Oh, okay."

The two of you began walking down the first row of vendors. "So, what are we looking for?"

Chef Murdock shook his head. "We're just going to browse and see what we can find."

He slowed as you reached a booth featuring baskets of farm-fresh eggs. "We'll definitely need some eggs though."

You nodded. "Okay."

The two of you stopped at the booth.

"Good morning, Chef," the vendor said. "How can I help you today?"

"Morning, Oscar," Chef Murdock replied. "We'd like a dozen eggs, please."

"Of course." The vendor waved a hand at the baskets of eggs. "Take your pick."

Chef Murdock reached out and felt the eggs in one of the baskets. "We'll take these."

The vendor nodded. "Alrighty then."

He took the eggs out of the basket and set them in a cardboard carton. "That'll be $5."

Chef Murdock took his wallet out of his pocket and opened it before taking out a $5 bill and handing it to the vendor.

The vendor took it then handed Chef Murdock the carton of eggs. "Here you go, Chef. See you next week."

Matt gave the vendor a slight nod. "Thanks, Oscar. See ya."

The two of you continued on, stopping occasionally to chat with different vendors and purchase various fruits and vegetables. You watched in fascination as Chef Murdock took his time choosing each one, squeezing and smelling each individual item before deciding whether or not it was worth purchasing.

Finally you asked, "how can you tell if something is ripe or not?"

"Each individual fruit and vegetable has a distinct firmness and smell to them," Chef Murdock replied as the two of you stopped at a booth that was selling mangos. "I've learned to determine at what point they're at their ripest."

He picked up a mango. "Like mangos, for instance."

He took your hand and placed the mango in it. "Feel how firm this one is?"

You nodded, trying to focus on the fruit in your hand and not how Chef Murdock's touch was making your heart start to race. "Uh huh."

"Now smell it."

You held the mango up to your nose. "I don't smell anything."

"That means it's not quite ripe yet." Chef Murdock took the mango and set another one in your hand. "On the other hand, this one is a bit overripe."

You squeezed the mango, this one much softer than the other. "Okay."

Chef Murdock held a third mango up to your nose. "Smell this one."

You inhaled, a slightly mango-y scent filling your nostrils. "It smells like mango."

Chef Murdock nodded. "Exactly."

He swapped the mango currently in your hand with the one in his. "Now feel it."

You squeezed. It had more give than the first one but less than the second. "Okay, yeah, I can tell the difference."

"This one is perfectly ripe." Chef Murdock took the mango back, his fingertips slowly grazing your palm as he did so.

You swallowed. You couldn't deny that Chef Murdock was extremely attractive, but you were there to do your job, not lust after the man. Keep it professional.

You waited as he selected a few more mangos and paid the vendor before moving on. 

You reached the last row of booths and stopped in front of one called Claire-romatherapy.

The vendor walked over to the two of you with a smile on her face. "Morning, Matt."

Chef Murdock grinned. "Morning, Claire."

He turned to introduce the two of you. "Claire helps run the community garden near my apartment," he explained. "I grow herbs there."

"Ah, okay," you replied. "It's nice to meet you."

"You too," Claire said. "So what brings you two by today?"

Matt adjusted the bag he was carrying on his shoulder. "Actually, I'm almost out of that lemon soap and I was wondering if you had any in stock."

Claire nodded. "Actually, yeah, let me grab some for you. How many did you need today?"

"I'll take two. Thanks."

"Sure thing."

You picked up a soy-based candle and gave it a sniff, the subtle scent of coconut and mahogany filling your nose. "Mmm. How much are your candles?"

Claire glanced over at you from where she was sorting through a bin of various soaps. "Six for the smaller ones, ten for the large."

You nodded and went to dig your wallet out of your purse. 

Chef Murdock placed a hand on your arm. "I've got it."

You shook your head. "Oh, no, I couldn't possibly --"

"No, I insist." Chef Murdock smiled at you. "Considering I'm the one who dragged you out here at 8 AM on a Saturday it's the least I can do."

You bit your lip, then sighed as you put your wallet away. "Okay then. Thank you."

"Alright," Claire said, returning with Chef Murdock's soap. "Total comes to sixteen dollars."

Chef Murdock handed her some cash. "I'll see you next week, Claire."

"Okay. Take care, Matt." Claire turned towards you. "And it was very nice to meet you." 

"You too," you replied.

"Alright, I think that's everything," Chef Murdock said as the two of you walked back towards the entrance. "Let's get back to the restaurant."

You nodded as you headed down the sidewalk together, excited to find out what sort of culinary creation Chef Murdock had in mind.

"Okay," Matt said half an hour later as he set a plate of crepes topped with fresh fruit, honey, and whipped cream in front of where you sat at the prep counter in the kitchen at Daredevil.

After finishing up at the farmer's market the two of you had gone back to the restaurant, where you had watched Matt prepare breakfast.

Matt had admittedly shown off his skills a bit, making perfectly cooked crepes and slicing the fruit with culinary precision before making freshly whipped cream.

"Oh my gosh, this looks amazing," you said.

Matt smiled as he set his own plate down across from you. "Hopefully it tastes as good as it looks then."

He waited as you cut a piece and took a bite. He knew every ingredient was exactly as it should be but was still nervous about your reaction.

You let out a moan. "Ohmigod ."

Matt sucked in a breath, his mind wandering to other sorts of situations in which he could get you to make those pleased sounds for him. He knew you were attracted to him -- all of the physiological signs he had picked up on had pointed to such -- and the more he had gotten to know you over the past several days, the more attracted he found himself becoming towards you in return. 

He cleared his throat, fighting to keep his thoughts professional.  "Good?"

You made a sound of affirmation as you took another bite. "Please tell me that your crepes are on the Sunday brunch menu."

Matt chuckled as he took a bite of his own crepes. "As a matter of fact, they are."

You took a sip of the freshly-squeezed orange juice Matt had also prepared. "Mmm, good, because now I know what I'm doing tomorrow morning."

Come home with me tonight and I'll make you all the crepes you want. 

Matt could imagine himself in his apartment's kitchen, making breakfast as you sat at his kitchen island wearing nothing but one of his shirts after a night of passionate lovemaking.

He mentally shook his head. He would definitely need to blow off some steam at the gym after service tonight. "I'm glad you like them."

You made another pleased sound. "These are amazing, honestly."

The two of you continued eating in comfortable silence. Once you were finished, you set your fork onto your plate. "That was so good."

Matt smiled. "Thanks."

He picked up your plates and brought them to the sink to wash them later, then turned towards the receiving door as the bell rang. "Oh, excuse me one second."

He walked over and answered it, the smell of motor oil and fresh blood filling his nostrils. "Hey, Frank."

"Hiya, Red," Frank replied. "I've got your delivery for today."

Matt nodded. "Come on in."

Frank wheeled the cooler with the fresh meat Matt had ordered into the kitchen, pausing when he saw you. "I didn't realize you had company. I could've come later."

Matt shook his head before introducing you. "She's doing a profile on me for the Bulletin. "

He gestured back to Frank. "This is Frank Castle. He's our meat supplier for the restaurant."

"Nice to meet you," you said.

"Likewise, ma'am," Frank replied.

Matt took the clipboard Frank handed him, feeling for the sticky flag he needed to sign by. "Give me just a second to take care of this."

"Actually, I should get going," you said. "I'm sure you have to start prepping for service soon and I don't want to be in the way."

As much as Matt didn't want you to have to go, you were right. He nodded. "Give me just a second and I'll walk you out."

"Okay."

He finished signing off on the meat order and handed the clipboard back to Frank. "Thanks, Frank."

Frank shook his hand. "No problem, Red, see ya Tuesday. Ma'am."

"Nice to meet you," you said.

Matt waited until the rumble of Frank's truck faded off into the distance before turning back to you. "By the way, if you're ever looking for someone interesting to profile, Frank's your guy."

"Oh?" you replied curiously as he escorted you towards the front door.

Matt nodded. "He's a former military veteran who was shot in the head while overseas then lost his wife and kids in a shootout between two rival gangs."

You sucked in a breath. "Oh my gosh, that's awful."

"He became a rancher in order to help with the PTSD and is now one of the biggest beef suppliers in New York."

"I'll definitely keep him in mind then. Thanks."

You both paused as you reached the door. 

"I… I had a really nice time today, Chef Murdock," you finally said. "Thanks for everything."

"No problem." Matt rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Um, you know… you can call me Matt if you'd like."

"Okay," you said, a smile in your voice. "Thanks… Matt."

Matt smiled at the way his first name rolled off your tongue. "You're welcome."

"I'll see you tomorrow?"

Matt nodded. "Have Karen let me know that you're here and I'll come say hi."

"I will."

Matt unlocked the door. "See you tomorrow."

He sighed as he let you out then locked the door behind you. It was getting more and more difficult to fight the mutual attraction between you… and honestly, he wasn't sure if he even wanted to keep fighting it.

[eretzyisrael]

by Kingsley Marin

Davidai is seen as a radical for referring to these protestors as “pro-terror,” but Hamas is a designated Foreign Terrorist Organization by the United States Bureau of Counterterrorism. Protestors hold Hamas signs that read “glory to them.” Protestors shout “No peace” and “Globalize the Intifada.” They say this “speaks to liberation” and “to free Palestine from the apartheid regime and the military occupation. For me, it calls for freedom and for change.” But to many Jews, this phrase is inextricable from the violence towards Israelis during the First and Second Intifadas. So the word “Intifada” feels as charged as if someone were to say “Holocaust.” A phrase that calls for aggressive resistance against Israel and those who support Israel around the globe. By the same token, “From the River to the Sea” is an implicit rallying cry for the ethnic cleansing of Israeli Jews from the Jordan River to the Mediterranean Sea. “There is only one solution” is a rejection of the co-existence of Israel and Palestine with shades of Hitler’s “final solution” to exterminate Jews from the face of the earth. As is “resistance by any means necessary.” 

By any means necessary. Think about that. If that is not condoning the “means” of rape, the “means” of murder, the “means” of mutilating, defiling bodies and using people as human shields. If that is not condoning terrorism, I don’t know what is.

Davidai exercised his right to free speech by calling out Rashid Khalidi, a Palestinian scholar at Columbia. Khalidi, in response to the ransacking and vandalizing of Columbia by pro-Palestinian protestors, said “shame on the administration” for shutting it down merely because they condoned Hamas. And yet Davidai is considered an extremist and Khalidi — who endorses violence, law-breaking and terrorism — is not. Pro-Palestinian protestors may claim their right to free speech, but chanting slogans that incite such violence crosses over into hate speech. They are certainly no longer exercising free speech in a constructive way that promotes democracy. Davidai also called out Columbia COO Cas Holloway for permitting the inciting of violence. Columbia saw this as the final straw and barred Davidai from campus.

[neolynne]

Pit Babe episode 3 rewatch/live commentary (part 1)

Turns out, the problem with the pic/gif thing come from my external hard drive and not tumblr, so i will edit this post later.

Human trafficking in broad daylight....

I know that we are all saying that Alan is a good man (and he really is) but not agreeing to SELL your friend is like the bare minimum....

And while Kenta is reaaly cute....

(edit) Can we take a minute to talk about the what actually happening here : Kenta is not just asking to Alan to sell Babe as a racer, no, he came fully aware of what fate await Babe and he still stand right there, smiling, while trying to buy his brother like his nothing more than a f*cking pure breed broodmare.

And don't try to tell me that Kenta doesn't know about Way and Tony's plan

Witnessing Alan rejecting Kenta/red racing offers is what prompted Jeff to start trusting and opening up to Alan ever so slightly

He look so ...sad....maybe for a tiny moment, he thought that Alan said yes

Charlie putting himself out there, showing his face to hundred if not thousand of viewer.....isn't he supposed to lay low......

"Hold the cam sweety "

Abandoning a puppy on the side of the road is a crime by the way

I love Sonic fashion sense...but that white and pink pants....my brain has a hard time comprehending the structure of those particular pants.

He's still one of the most beautiful being i ever saw in my life (Topten)

Did Kenta gave his location to Alan ? Did he text Babe ? Did Babe text him ?????( yeah no, why would Babe have Kenta's number)

"Yup, he's right on time"

"But i miss you🥺" Kenta deep deep in his unconscious....probably

That scene is giving "where the f*ck did the kids put my stuff ?"

Why are you still there Jeff ?

I mean that fair

Uncle, you practically ransacked the working station for your tools, anyone can tell you're stressed

I, for one, would love to see the X hunter team do somme publicity thing......

"Family isn't everyone safe place" truest word ever spoken in a series, Thank you Jeff !

The man who to stunned to speak

How and why is Uncle still single ???

If Jeff had a vision when Alan touched him, i'm ready to bet my inexistant money that it wasn't something church approved

Did they just deprive us of Alan and Jeff's first "diner en tête à tête" ?

As someone who experienced alcoholism very closely, Babe (and Way) relationship with alcohol break my heart (not gonna elaborate further on that one)

He just want to help Alan carry the burden....That why a love Babe so much

Did Way ever carried on with asking his "high society" acquaintance for help ? Or was he waiting for Xhunter to financially crumble so that Babe had no other choice than to go back to Tony with him ?

Aww no sleep over for the besties

He really did came running like a puppy 🤣

Babe, you can be so dense sometimes

Charlie's puppy eyes should be classified as a mass destruction weapon

Babe whole face softening and the little smile....he's sooo gone

Tada! I had to travel for work those past 2 days, so i didn't get to make the commentary for the whole ep....but see you tomorrow !

[kuragesil]

o potatus et molassus

grow, tiny seed. you are called to the trees.

WARNINGS: book 7 spoilers, inspired by over the garden wall (you don't need to see it to understand this fic, but i highly recommend! but be warned i did take inspiration so it might be slight spoilers for the show), a bit of body horror?

NOTES: hi! so, i had this fic in the works before i watched otgw, but i watched it all yesterday and it is amazing. please listen to potatus et molassus before/while reading (here!), as it's the main inspiration behind this fic. but anyways, i wanted this to be longer but my writing blog is still under construction & i wanted to get this out before halloween was over so it's a bit brief and the ending is pretty abrupt! it's highly possible that i'll come back to this to revamp it & my blog theme.

AND FINALLY: this fic was also inspired by @llondonfog & @serenescribe 's diasomnia fics! both of their works are lovely & they both have wonderful writing styles, and their works have inspired me to try to branch out into horror (despite being scared of Everything Ever). please go check out their fics!

my main blog: @valleyofliyue

BRIAR VALLEY IS ALIVE.

The swaying of the leaves, the dancing of the flowers and the rushing of the waters—all of it is Her body, just as any typical fae has blood running through their veins and organs pumping throughout their being.

The Valley remembers everything. Every footstep set upon Her soil, every house built upon Her land and every tree torn from Her roots—every blessing and transgression is etched and carved into Her skin and memory, only to dull with Time Himself.

She is greater than any book or scroll ��� for when it comes to history, She is history.

Every fae knows this. He knew this. Lilia knew this.

As he ran through that dark and dense wood, he cursed himself thoroughly, wondering why he pretended as if he didn’t possess such basic knowledge.

Clutching a beautiful, wondrous bracelet made of acorns, he ran and ran—ignoring the burning sensation in his legs yelling at him to stop; to give up this human.

He reckons it’s the General, still humiliated and scarred from events 400 years ago—it’s ironic, how the spirit haunting him the most was a pathetic soldier he loathed to remember.

The rain came down hard and cold, pricking his flesh, trying to draw blood from his skin. He ignored it, he didn’t care. He had no time to care—when Silver, his son—!

Lilia stopped in his tracks abruptly, hands shaking at the sight before him.

A boy—his boy—being hugged to death by the branches of the Yew trees; sticky black sap dripped from wounds where blood should be bled. Silver’s once soft and pale flesh was turning a dull, muted brown that was bumpy and rough. Gentle, kind aurora colored eyes—more gorgeous and glittering than the biggest gemstones—had lost their light, losing their innocent sparkle.

But the most eye-catching part of this horrifying display was his hair.

His moonlit white locks were transforming back to their original state—that golden sunshine spreading throughout the whole head. Lilia has his own bias, preferring the moonlight as Silver’s crown instead of the sunshine.

(For the moon crown is a clear sign that this boy is his own, his son.)

However, Lilia isn’t one to reject all other options when laid out before him, he admits that the golden locks were not a bad look for Silver, either. If Silver had a normal childhood as Prince of the Land of Swords, he would never have become a Blessed Child of the Night—something Lilia often wonders if that would have been better for the boy in the long run.

A wonder that has his heart tighten at the reality before him. For Lilia knows this has cemented his long and deep-seated fear.

She knew.

The Valley knew. She knew that Silver was of the same blood that had ravaged Her lands and ransacked Her flora and fauna—actions that left Her barren and violated, actions that were deemed unforgivable. Never mind the fact that Silver was innocent to all of that, never mind the fact that he was not his family.

No, Silver was a remnant of evil, and must be taken care of; his crown of moonlight reverting back to his crown of sunshine was just a reminder of his wretched lineage.

The ground below Silver lowered deeper, capturing his limbs and sinking him underneath the surface. Lilia panicked, using all of his strength and magic to tear away at the branches and pull his son out of this trap.

“Silver…! SILVER! SAY SOMETHING!” he roared with desperation.

The boy squinted at his father, trying to open his lips ever so slightly; tiredly trying to think of something to say to him.

“... t… F….” he rasped. He took a sharp intake of breath all of a sudden, and Lilia thought his heart would burst.

He could see a branch growing bigger and bigger inside of his son’s mouth, twisting and curling as it rose up the surface, as if to taunt Lilia. As if to punish him for taking in the son of the enemy.

Still ripping the branches off of the boy’s body and attempting to pull him out of the soil, he looks around in desperation, as if She would set Silver free from this undeserved judgment.

“Please… PLEASE! He… he’s been a babe for four centuries, but he’s only been a boy for so long! Don’t punish the innocent!” Lilia pleads, lungs being pushed to their limit; the retired general thought he would start coughing up blood.

Lilia hoped that The Valley would relent, releasing Silver from Her grasp and returning him to Lilia’s—the place where he belongs.

The Valley looks down upon the two traitors.

She makes her final decision.

[shamelessliarkickapow]

Arrvatarr! The Last Arrbender! silly, playful, minimal angst Zutara pirate AU rated M fer Mizzen Mast

Read chapter 1 on AO3 here! Chapter 2, part 1/3

chapter 2, part 2/3

“Get out of my room.”

“Not your room anymore, buddy. All this stuff is the property of pirates now, so, you know, argh.”

The swordsman - Sokka, Zuko recalled with no small amount of venom - waved a dismissive hand at him and then reached up to take down the broadswords he had been admiring.

“Oh, these are nice.”

“You’re holding them backward, idiot. Switch hands.”

Sokka did not switch hands. Instead, he cast Zuko another of his irritatingly smug smiles. “Not really my style, though. I’ll probably trade them for new boots or something. Maybe a new bag. I’ve been meaning to get a bag.” The smugness thickened obnoxiously. “Got any bags, Prince Zuko?”

“Princes don’t tote around their possessions like vagrants,” Zuko sneered, folding his arms over his chest to stop himself from doing something violent.

“Yeah,” chortled the metalbender - Toph Bei-fucking-Fong - behind him in the corridor. “They seem to have trouble picking up and carrying anything of their own. Are you gonna get your stuff or what? I don’t have all day here.”

“You know, Katara made a pretty good point earlier,” Sokka said almost idly as he sheathed the swords and slung them over his shoulder. “You really should put on a coat or something.” Instead of just taking the swords and leaving, he continued poking around Zuko’s scant belongings, pocketing stuff seemingly at random. “It can be chilly in the brig and we wouldn’t want you to catch a sniffle during your stay.”

Zuko watched his Earth Kingdom knife disappear into one of those pockets and worked his jaw to the side. Technically, he would not be breaking his oath if he shoved this guy down some stairs or otherwise knocked him around, but that would no doubt violate the ‘good behavior’ agreement Iroh had made that won them the chance to take some of their belongings before the ship was sunk. Since there could be no escaping and any misbehavior on his part would almost definitely complicate whatever Iroh was planning, Zuko would just have to play nice with these gibbering morons for the time being.

But that didn’t mean that he had to expose a potential vulnerability by letting on that any of the stuff this pirate was stealing meant anything to him. So he stood there, stoically witnessing the ransacking of his few earthly possessions to make sure the things that mattered to him made it off the ship. He would just take them back later. That was fine. This was fine.

He had not felt so violated since Azula stole and burned his toys as a child.

Sokka paused with Zuko’s combed-wool blanket wadded under one arm and cast him an assessing look. “Unless you plan to spend your entire kidnapping with no shirt on? Which I guess is kind of a boss move, but still-”

“Ho ho!” Toph chirped. “No shirt, huh? I thought I felt a lot of skin-on-metal but it can be hard to tell with stuff that isn’t earth. Are you shredded? Got those ripply abs? What’s the chest hair situation?”

Zuko, realizing she was reaching out toward him like she meant to feel him up, took a long step away from her - into the room - and shot her a disgusted look she couldn’t see.

“Do not,” he snarled, “touch me.”

Sokka sighed behind him. “Seriously, Toph. Way to make it creepy.”

“What? We’re pirates! If somebody’s not feeling at least a little sexually threatened, we’re not doing it right. And since you and Suki are joined at the face like some kind of gross romance novel rejects and Twinkles is a kid, Sweetness and I have an image to uphold, here. Besides, she’s the one who really-”

“Don’t bring my sister into this,” Sokka nearly-shrieked. Zuko watched him pat at the air and calm himself quickly. “Look, I’ll keep an eye on Prince Zuko. You can go ahead and get the coal transferred.”

“Fine,” she huffed, then stomped off, grumbling. “Buncha lily-liver pearl-clutching prudes…”

She disappeared down the corridor and Sokka let out a deep breath.

“Teenagers, am I right?”

Zuko glared back at his shrugging, almost apologetic face. Then he snatched up his robe from where he had discarded it before bed and shoved his arms through the wide sleeves.

Sokka stood a little awkwardly, examining the stitching around the edge of the blanket he had pilfered. Zuko felt compelled to break the uncomfortable silence.

“The waterbender is your sister?”

“Katara. She might be nicer to you if you learn her name.” Sokka squinted thoughtfully. “Or maybe not. She’s not a big fan of firebenders as a general rule… and she seems to especially dislike firebender princes so, you know, probably a lost cause there.”

Zuko had gathered as much… and he also knew what her name was. He just didn’t want to let on to this guy. Her brother. Actually, he didn’t really want to talk about her with him at all.

Because talking about her felt dangerously close to reflecting on her looks and threats. And Zuko was intensely curious as to what kind of trouble she thought he might get into. What did that even mean?

But that wasn’t a conversation he was about to have with her brother.

“You’re taking the coal.”

Sokka blinked and then nodded.

“What do you need coal for? You came in a sailing vessel.”

For a long moment, the other guy just stared back at him thoughtfully. At length, he shrugged. “We use it as supplemental heat for our village through the winter. There aren’t enough hunters left to keep us in our traditional fuels - oils and blubbers. Coal is disgusting - no offense - turns the igloos black and smells awful, but it’s better than freezing to death.”

Zuko frowned at him, trying to convince himself that this could be some kind of deception… but he found he couldn’t. “And the food and medicine you wanted, that goes to your village, too.”

“That’s the piracy game,” Sokka said as he went back to picking over the last few things that sat out on Zuko’s shelf.

“You aren’t pirates,” Zuko huffed. “You’re obviously-”

“Do you want this picture?”

The portrait in Sokka’s hand was, in fact, the last thing in the room Zuko might have taken. He tried not to look at it. Sokka peered at him, then down at the image.

“Pretty lady.”

Zuko worked his jaw to the side.

“Maybe I’ll keep it,” Sokka said idly, tilting his head and smiling a little dreamily down at the portrait. “Is this, like, Fire Nation erotica or something because - mm. That’s a nice looking woman right there-”

Zuko snatched the portrait - which was obviously not erotica, it was obviously a royal portrait of a wonderful sexless woman with warm, shining eyes! - from that savage’s disgusting paws and stalked off to grab a blind armload of clothes from his dressing room.

Following along behind him, Sokka stifled a chuckle.

[itsbenedict]

From the beginning | Previously | Coin standings | 5/18 | 6/6

MS. OVEREAGER is happy to help you out with your problems- you need to do what, again? STALL AND REMOVE GEARS? No problemo. She'll get started right away! And by "get started", I mean "dissolve into nothingness because she was a hallucination masking an abstract concept"! You're on your own, buckos.

Okay, so... Adea thinks that this ODD TAIL AVATAR DATA VALIDATOR is after the gears that Walter ransacked from this place to heal himself earlier. If he can get them out, it'll probably stop chasing him. But removing them- even though they're clearly hurting him at this point- will hurt more, like pulling a knife out of a stab wound. He's going to need to stabilize somewhat before you can risk it.

Right here, with a Defrag Point to heal with, is the best place to do it- but he "healed" about 15% STINGY OUTLIER SOUL INTEGRITY earlier, so he should expect removing the gears to do at least that much damage. He'll need to stay there healing for at least enough time to go through two hunger, probably three, to not die on the spot. So it's a question of... how much time does he have to heal before the DATA VALIDATOR arrives and it's time to operate?

Zero. Zero amount of time. It's right here.

Five NOBLE BELT TUTS remain in the DENIAL OF SERVICE gun. Is it worth it to spend them fending this thing off? By the numbers, no. It's more efficient to just buy SOFTWARE PATCHes. But Adea isn't putting up with this thing chasing after her husband one moment more.

Error: architectural entity field 0x07CF referenced without blueprint key. Update loop deferr-

BLAM.

Error 403: resource reclamation process not configured for I/O operations. Interactions with entities other than entity with field 0x07CF rejected. Error 403: resource reclamation process not configured for I/O operations. Interactions with entities other than entity with field 0x07CF rejected. Error 403: resource reclamation process not configured for I/O operations. Interac...

Four left. The undulating thing is frozen in place. Slowly- achingly slowly- the Defrag Point starts knitting Walter back together. As it does, Adea pries clockwork out of his chest, causing him to shudder violently. It's slow, and harrowing, and every gasp of pain from her scrungly little man makes her wince- but she pulls out about a third of it before the thing finishes rattling off rejection messages for the packets.

Error: architectural entity field 0x0--

BLAM.

The two of you, on top of being injured, are practically starving. Adea suggests-

Walter says we absolutely not resorting to cannibalism on purpose! That was an accident! He wasn't in his right mind! No way no way no way!

Adea says fine, and Walter lets out a cut-off scream as she rips out a driveshaft assembly that was pretending to be his lung. She's got about two-thirds of it out, now- and she's got an idea to conserve ammo.

Error: architectural entity field 0x07CF referenced without blueprint key. Update loop deferred until resource is released.

Yeah, you want this stuff, right? Go get it, Adea says- flinging a gear like a frisbee. The DATA VALIDATOR swoops through the air after it, snagging the gear on a tooth with frightening speed. But... not so frightening that she can't delay it a little more with what she's got.

She hurls the lung-driveshaft like a javelin behind the thing, and then starts chucking the rest of the clockwork every which way, scattering it over a wide area. Like a vampire confronted with grains of rice, the DATA VALIDATOR starts scrambling for the pieces of its precious architectural entity field 0x07CF, twisting itself into knots.

While it chases down cogs, sprockets, gears, and springs... Adea hurries back over to Walter, and rips the rest of the machinery from his chest cavity. This one hurts. He's a huge baby about it and screams like that one time she accidentally bought chili oil instead of lu- uh, like it hurts a lot. This would definitely kill him if he weren't being actively defragmented. She tries not to think about that.

You were kind of hoping this thing would immobilize itself from tying itself in knots, but it's able to stretch itself out and slip through gaps in its own Gordian nightmare. It's all you can do to get the rest of it out before it closes in on you again.

Daintily, it pries open a hatch on the sidewalk with one tooth- and then, piece by piece, delicately reassembles the machinery that Walter mistook for spare parts earlier.

Update loop resumes.

With an audible TWANG, and the sound of rushing air, the tension in the DATA VALIDATOR's tail is released. The knot undoes itself, and its head shoots off backwards into the distance as it's recalled to its starting point in the blink of an eye.

It's gone.

...Now what?

The FILIAL TWINS are still here, and you could always go somewhere with a phone and participate in a NAIAD RUMBLE- but there's a few other possible priorities.

There's this moronic cook who doesn't realize he's not welcome. IDIOT CHEF WON'T GO, so you've got to do something to get rid of the jerk.

You could explore the CURVE HOUSE, a weird distorted funhouse-mirror version of a normal building with all its right angles. Seems disorienting!

There's this guy named Pete sitting on the sidewalk nearby who won't stop crying. EMOTIONAL PETER should probably go to actual therapy, but maybe the two of you can help?

There's a FIENDISH ELF ARISING, and it may or may not be your duty as legendary heroes to stop it from becoming a new Demon Lord or somesuch.

Mom's trapped! OH, RELEASE MOM! From her prison that happens to be here for some reason! ...Which one of your moms is it, anyway?

Continued