#and for conrad to get JUSTICE!!!

[sarah-cam]

Something I find interesting about tsitp s3 and its filming is how no one is really treating this season as the finale of the show. Granted, we have yet to see how the promos go for the upcoming season, but from what I’ve seen fans are viewing s3 as a way to conclude the series’ overarching love triangle, but not as a goodbye to its characters. I’ve heard rumors about potential spinoffs for the series, so what characters and stories do you think these spinoffs will revolve around? I also don’t know if there’s going to be a fourth season of tsitp, but if there was one, what do you think the season will be about? How many episodes would it have? And what would the title for the fourth installment be considering that the titles for each of the books in the trilogy follow a summer theme?

i've said this before but my hope would be moreso that s3 is "we'll always have summer: part 1" and then s4 will be "we'll always have summer: part 2"

essentially i want s3 to end with the wedding being called off and s4 to be everything after (with added details about the other characters' stories). i feel like this is the only way to pace things in a way that does justice to belly and conrad's reunion -- at the most, we'll get the penultimate episode ending with the wedding called off and then only one episode to fit belly's time abroad, the letters from conrad, her graduation, and their wedding at the very end. i personally don't want that!! i want her personal growth and bonrad growing back together to be given the time it needs to be fleshed out. again, i haven't read the books but i've even seen book fans (bonrad and 🪼 alike) complain that the ending was so rushed. bonrad's endgame is so clearly inevitable, but it deserves more time. i feel like with the obvious success and popularity of the show, jenny should take advantage and get that bag 😂 but also she has said before that she wrote these books like 10 years ago and the show is a way for her to grow and evolve the story how she would write it now, so i'm hoping that lends itself to wanting to elongate the story itself

i'm not sure how to make it to a s4 any other way than this?? i guess if s3 is all of book 3, then s4 could be a brand new story about bonrad's life together after marriage, possibly steven and taylor's life together, how laurel evolves (hopefully with cleveland??), and how jeremiah moves on and the trio's relationship heals. i have no idea what this continuation would be "called" because "we'll always have summer" is such a conclusionary title... but i'm sure jenny's brilliant mind could come up with something that fits

i don't think any spinoffs are necessary tbh i guess the only one i would be interested in would be steven and taylor but again that story could easily be achieved with a s4 rather than their own show. other than that, maybe laurel but idk if she's popular enough to achieve a successful solo show. the only real rumors i've seen are about a jeremiah spinoff and i could not give a single fuck about that 😂

[desperatepleasures]

I will say one (1) negative thing about the second musical tho and that's that out of its twelve songs, fully seven of them are repeats from the first musical

[ace-with--a-mace]

john fled bruh evil ass cant even take the brunt of his crimes

[bonesandchalamet]

predictable - c.fisher

masterlist

requested: y- “Can you do a conrad fisher x reader where the readers family has a house next to theirs so they grew up going to cousins for the summers (cons age), and they are in love w each other but don’t want to admit it and everyone notices it around them/teases them. maybe a flash ward to their wedding in a couple of years and everyone’s speeches are like “yeah i won the bet they would be married by now” or smth like that?“

pairings: conrad fisher x fem!reader

warnings: fluff + jokes

a/n: I hope I did this justice anon! xx there are NO spoilers of book 2 or season 2!

you can hear his voice. it’s muffled, he sounds like he’s in your kitchen, a blessing of having the bedroom right above it, but you can hear him talking to your mother.

you don’t have time to think, you just fling your legs over your mattress and rush down the stairs at an appropriate pace. you’d just woke up, maybe not your best state to be in, but you couldn’t wait to see conrad fisher. the boy next door.

he’d gone to Princeton, smart cookie if you say so yourself, and you hadn’t seen him since last summer. in fact, you only saw him maybe once or twice outside of the neighborhood and that was getting ice cream and groceries. other than that, you live by the fence that separates your yards waiting to hear the laughter and conversations from the Conklin and fisher kids.

“just tomatoes? are you sure? I can go pick out some basil—“

“no, no laurel will kill you if you do any more yard work! I can get it.” you hear conrad protest. the fisher family was used to your parents generosity, the beautiful vegetable garden grew right on the fisher/y/l/n house line, the family was more than welcome to eat and take whatever they wanted, but it didn’t stop them from being kind enough to ask. Susannah raised those boys right.

“are you sure?”

“what’s going on?” you ask, it’s like the words floated out of you when you saw him. his brown hair a little longer than normal, his t-shirt a bit smaller on him, and he’s wearing small navy blue swim trunks. a sight to make any girl swoon for a fisher.

“oh, y/n, do you think you can help conrad get some more tomatoes from the vines? it seems to be the fisher-Conklin clan has run out.” your mother hands you Susannah’s woven basket that conrad was once holding. your mother looks at you with pleading eyes but she knows you’ll do anything that has conrad fisher involved.

“happy to.” you take the basket in your hand and gesture for conrad to follow. he thanks your mother once again and follows along out the back door. you can hear not only just your heartbeat, but the blood rushing to your ears.

being alone with Conrad was sometimes awkward. at least to you it always felt that way, because you never knew how to be around him as yourself. you were so deeply in love with him that just being in his presence was enough to make you fumble over your words.

“here I can get the tomatoes.” conrad pushes past you, his shoulder brushing against your body, you could smell his cologne, the salty ocean in his hair, and the mixture of the laundry detergent Susannah uses. it was an intoxicating smell, one to make your world spin.

“you sure? they are kind of all over the place.” you chuckle setting the basket down into the grass. you start picking the beautiful blush red ones and gently place them in the basket along side the ones conrad was picking. every so often your hands would brush or you’d about pick the same tomato. you both would blush and apologize instantly for the connection.

“would you guys just kiss already! you’re making me nauseous.” Jeremiah calls over the fence line from the pool, he’s watched about every embarrassing second of you and his brothers interactions.

“come on, con!” Steven hollers, it’s loud enough for the neighbors on the other side of their house to snicker at the boys energy for far too early in the morning.

“I don’t know what their problem is.” Conrad says and it’s only for you two to hear. he’s picked up the basket from the grass now, you’re stuck with holding a few more tomatoes that he claims would be more than enough for everyone.

“no seriously, just keep those ones.”

“we have enough inside, just take them—“

“fine,” he huffs out an annoyed sigh and watches you dump them into the basket, “can I at least make you breakfast with them?”

“sounds like a plan to me.”

that day, he made you more than breakfast. he made you feel the most indescribable feeling of love and excitement. he left you walking home as beat red as those tomatoes you picked. you could thank Steven and Jeremiah for their pressure and tease, because conrad fisher did in fact kiss you that morning.

—

FUTURE

“I’m so happy for these guys because today I became twenty dollars richer,” Jeremiah pauses, the laughter of friends and family make you both blush, “so thank you Steven for believing they would never get married. here’s to the bride and the groom!” Jeremiah holds his champagne glass up, others in the room follow.

“you really bet we would get married?” Conrad turns to his brother who passes the microphone to belly before sitting down beside him.

Jeremiah’s hands clap his brothers shoulder, “we also made a bet that you’d kiss her that summer. belly also made a bet that you’d have tomatoes on the menu, looks like you guys are the most predictable couple ever.”

[pruneunfair]

Ranking every manhwa villainess and white lotus I could find.

Keep in mind these are all opinion based.

#22: At the very bottom of the list is Sumin Jeong from Marry my husband

Now, like almost everyone else on this list, Sumin is kept a level that is below the FL Jiwon so she can never best the hero. However unlike the others here, Sumin has not once been shown to be anything other than a dumb and evil bimbo who talks like elmo even before Jiwon regressed, her reasons for wanting everything Jiwon has make no sense and she has no flavor to her, no backstory that makes sense, no real charm since it's lost as soon as possible, all she has going for her is a distinct design.

#21: Charlotte-the villainess maker

Honestly, Charlotte is about as forgettable as the comic she's from. She doesn't do much, just basic bland white lotus tropes over and over. She is portrayed as a sweet heart but she's secretly a jealous vindictive mean girl, she loses everything to the FL because she's too basic for the not-like-other-girls readers, nothing really revolutionary about her, but this could be chalked up to the story shes from canonically being an abysmal mess written by the FL when she was 14, Sorry Charlotte.

#20: Iris Van Conrad-Today the villainess has fun again.

A step up from Sumin when it comes to backstories, still not the greatest but it makes a little more sense. She's more passive aggressive since her actual plots are destoryed in nanoseconds by the plot, she gets dunked on so much I wonder if she's supposed to the Villainess or a discount Meg Griffin. Considering the fact to that Reilynn is pedo coded, Iris is less of the two evils.

#19: Aisha Selir-divorcing my tyrant husband.

Shes okay, But like Charlotte, Aisha isn't very noteworthy, as usual, any attempts she makes to best or outsmart Robelia are met with utter failure, she could be something really great if she were just allowed to make a mark on the plot. Like actually have Alexandros take responsibility instead of blaming her for her existence. Her design before the art shift was pretty enough and I'm pretty sure she's being possessed by a vindictive soul so that might explain why Aisha suddenly became a villain when she's described as being dainty, sweet, and a general damsel and saintess in the story within DMTH.

18: Fonta Magnus:the tyrants only perfumer

Fonta is the type of antagonist that would be adored as a isekaied protagonist. She doesn't really do much though since she gets defeated over and over with the same plan of copying Ariels ideas (how original, no pun intended) I like her though just because her design reminds me of cartoon goth girls, specially Gwen from total drama island.

#17: Benela Verdi- the princesses jewels

I don't care if she seduced Ariannas father or killed her brother, Arianna was out there acting like she wouldn't do the same just to get with a sexy man. Benela may suffer from the same problems every other villainess does but if ranked them based on that then almost all of them would be on the bottom. This image of her drinking her stress away is accurate to how I felt reading this one.

#16: Claudine von Brandt-Cry or better yet beg

I absolutely adore Claudine and she's not really a villain but unfortunately the narrative says she's a so she'll have to count. It's why she's this low since she's just a woman who gets in the way of the main ship

As you can probably guess, her only crimes are being condescending to Layla and valuing superficial values such as wealth and status, crimes that somehow make her worse than Matthias in the narratives eyes. Justice for my girl Claudine ✊️

now we are moving up to the middle tier

#15: Diana-for my derelict favorite

This girl has more protagonist material then Hestia ever will. Sorry but Hestias entire thing is just being a rich girlboss, simping for Cael and damning any woman who broke his heart including Diana, who is the saintess that opposes murder, Wow! Who would have guessed that the saintess woman wouldn't endorse literal murder! Could she have communicated better? Yes, was she always in the right? Hell no. But she's got more character in her pinky toe then everyone else in their entire bodies to I salute to her.

#14: Irene/Aileen Hascator- I didn't mean to seduce the male lead

I have a weird relationship with her. One minute I'm impressed because she actually does manipulation pretty well at first with making the lives of those who won't swear loyalty her unbearable in very smart ways, she'll buy all her friends expensive dresses so she can stand out in a simpler one, she'll defend the black sheep and make her into her friend to keep up her sweetheart facade, unfortunately it's all so she can get with a boy where she goes nuts on anyone who gets near him.

#13: Freya van Furiana- how to get my husband on my side

I really loved this manhwa, almost all of the characters are complex and 3 dimensional with a great commentary on abuse, ED, and family dynamics, with that said I was a little disappointed seeing Freya as another basic white lotus who only wants Izek for herself, it won't take much even a little more character traits would help because Freya isn't just some random girl who became the ogfl, she was the childhood friend of Izek and Ellen, so we should've gotten to see a little more too her then what we got

#12: Mielle Roscente- the villainess turns the hourglass.

Beautiful design, basic but rather solid goals, a charming personality, Mielle has all of that in the bag. She secretly wants Aria and her mother out of her life since they aren't of noble blood (before the terrible Arias a noble plot twist) and she's really entertaining. However I'll never understand how she managed to destroy Aria in the first timeline if she's such an idiot now. The first timeline also takes the blame off of Arias shitty actions with "Mielle tricked her into being evil!" It ruins the charm since Aria, as a villainess should be allowed to suffer the consequences while not wanting to quit.. since you know, she's not meant to be a good person.

#11: Isabella de Mare-sister I am the queen in this life

NOT YOU!

THIS is the Isabella I'm talking about

Absolute genius, she knows that Ceasre is a bastard and not just in the literal sense, she doesn't even love him and just wants that sweet sweet power and wealth. Fooled Ariande for years that she was on her side and as a bonus she can easily say she wanted revenge for Alfonso to the public if they ever found out she was behind it all. But the best part about first timeline Isabella is her villain monolog that women mean nothing to men, putting your life in their hands is a fatal mistake and if you want to make it to the top, you gotta crush the opponents. But alas we never see this version of Isabella after Ariande goes back in time

Higher tier now, the best of the best who managed to make it this far

#10: Rhyse/Lise Sinclair- not your typical reincarnation story

Yeah shes technically being controlled by the author or hell maybe she is the author I have yet to finish this one but for once we get a comic that doesn't immediately pit two women against eachother and actually gives a solid reason for her to be at odds with Edith. When something doesn't go her way, Rhyse doesn't throw a fit and turn on the water works no no no. She stands there, awkwardly, almost like the real Rhyse is wondering why she feels so jealous and angry with Edith for stealing the spotlight. She's incredibly ominous too when that purple mist surrounds her to force the other characters back into place. All while she's making friends with Edith in a possibly geninue friendship.

#9: Isis Frederick- the villainess reverses the hourglass

I'm pretty sure most of us can agree she's the real villain of TVRTHG since she basically started and encouraged the whole operation to begin with from afar, the puppeteer if you will. Killer design, a great fear factor and an evil sister done better. Wish she had more time to shine.

#8: Diane Poitier- I abdicate my title as empress

What already sets her apart from other evil concubines is that she was there before Adelaide so her reasons for being upset that another woman is showing up to marry the Emperor is reasonable, obviously her actions aren't but I still felt bad for her since no one in that palace gave a damn about her, Diane got ruthlessly belittled and ignored for not being useful to their liking or simply being too desperate and when Adelaide tries to not make an enemy out of her, Diane is looking for anyone to direct her anger on but the redemption arc as short as it is, makes up for it.

#7: Leila- villains are destined to die

My favorite ogfl turned villain. Leila is pure evil no questions asked. She steals the body of Yvonne which played a part in taking the latters reputation to a degree in the fandom and starts brainwashing everyone around her. That's what makes her so terrifying, one minute you could be at your highest and you feel like you rule the world, and next minute it all comes crashing down when the face of your long lost sibling arrives with fake tears in her eyes, ready to destroy everything you hold dear.

#6: Soleia Elard- seducing the villains father

I can't believe I'm saying this but a classic black magic witch is a unique villain in the manhwa world. During her introduction she's already causing mayhem by trying to kill Yerenica with black magic, and at first you'd think she's another "I want my hubbies affection!" Chick but no, she just wants to marry Erudian to have his child and use said child to avenge her family and destroy everything, characters are all frightened by her because she actually gets shit done instead of failing every minute of the day, and even after all that, she's allowed the privilege of life by getting a redemption arc.

#5: Cosette Weinberg- I was the real one.

She deserved so much better!! 😭 Cosette, my baby, you were set up to be such an amazing villain with high intelligence and well thought out plans, why did they have to give you the good old plot induced lobotomy! Girly wasn't just smart but there were actually times I could get behind Cosette. When Keira gave a maid 100 lashes after she insulted and wished death on Keira, it was Cosette who took advantage of an actual truth with only a little bit of exaggeration, they were both evil but only one of them was rightfully called out for it. Honestly just read the novel, the manhwa did it dirty.

#4: Marianne Edenverre- into the light again.

Nah someone get this baby to a church and give her the aggressive baptism 10 times over, I'll always be wondering how the hell did that 10 year old get her hands on a demon in the first place, the fact that the family never found her hiding behind a door or closet staring into their soul like a paralysis demon is surprising cause I imagine she would do that and be like "it's just me sillies, I would never mean to scare you 😛" she's a well written villainess who I wish would have a little bit more screentime but her powers and what she can do honestly confuses me (like that whole body-swap thing)

Final 3 everybody, you ready for this?

#🥉: the 3rd place medal goes to Dodolea Castor from My in laws are obsessed with me

Another real villainess, putting everyone off guard with her initial gacha life brat persona only to be hit in the face with disturbing levels of cruelty that can only match a psychopath, she looks straight out of an uncanny mr incredible meme with that light skin stare shes got. Straight up laughs at Therdeos trauma while being well aware that she tried to SA him and how it affected the poor guy and later proceeds to attempt to kill and later kidnaps his wife. There's no remorse, no regrets, just the souls of innocents behind those huge eyes.

#🥈 : the second place medal goes to Verta Alberhart from depths of malice.

She isn't even the antagonist, no that's the protagonist! And honestly, the only white lotus in the main lead spot I've ever read so far. And while she has a messed up backstory that explains why she's so bitter, she still full on embraces it. Vertas way of being granted a second chance isn't even because of some goddess or divine power, she just snatches the body of a suicidal noblewoman and wreaks havoc on all of the disgusting noblemen in her path. She cries on the court trial of her fiances murder while secretly laughing knowing she set the whole thing up and slowly ruins the life of anyone who fucked around and found out.

At long last, we reached #🏅, and the crown goes to none other than...

Rashta Ishka from the remarried empress!

Hear me out now, this isn't just me being biased. Rashta earns first place because even though she is rendered an idiot who's only use is being worse so everyone else can look good, she still managed to do something unfathomable. She earned the respect of a fandom that initially hated her with all the fiber of their being and now she has a growing fanbase of real people, not fictional characters, actual fans. People are literally turning on one of the most popular manhwas that started it all for its treatment of Rashta (because who would guess that people are uncomfortable with the fact that a former slave is the ultimate evil and not the guy who tortures people just for shit talking the FL) and even though there is still a big part of the fandom who despises her, she still lives in everyone's head rent free. The trashta meme is more well known than Navier as a character and her character arc will always be superior and far more interesting than everything else in the story, after all remarried empress did start to decline after her death.

Jesus christ this took so long, I had to do so much rereading and fact checking but it was worth it.

[fitzells]

request for conrad bringing his girlfriend to the boardwalk in e4 with the group??? maybe a distraction kiss during the laser tag game so bellys team wins instead

i’m like a conrad fisher blurb machine. seriously. requests still open for all characters. hope i did this justice!!!! belly conklin i love u and ur need to win everything u are the love of my life. this NOT PROOFREAD! and not written very well i can do better trust. ok bye.

You like seeing him happy. It suits him. His entire face just lights up the minute his lips contorts into a grin, it’s contagious. He needed this day, with his friends. With Jeremiah. With you. He really needed you here in Cousins; but Conrad Fisher is not known for being vulnerable, he’s not even remotely close to an open book. So, a couple of days ago, when he opened the front door to be greeted with you, Jeremiah and Belly; it took all of his strength to stop himself from breaking down on the spot.

He hadn’t seen you in a while, and you both blame it on the distance; really, you do. That’s why you love summer so much. Cousins. The beach-house. It’s just for you and Conrad; for a little while, it’s just magical. He knows he could be putting more of an effort in, but he really doesn’t want you to see how low he gets. You’re his sunshine; and he really doesn’t want to dampen that.

You were tucked into his chest now, peering up at him and feeling the pure serenity rushing through your veins at the sight of him smiling. You love him so much it hurts.

“Laser tag!” Belly snaps you out of your daze, her fiery competitiveness making you jolt a little. “Hey, Conrad; hands off my girl. No mind games, I’ve got my eye on you.”

She gestures for you to stand over with her, Taylor and Skye. Taylor narrows her eyes at Conrad, and sends you a happy little grin as she reaches her hand out for you to grab at. You shrug your shoulders, swivelling your head away from your boyfriends attempt to kiss you a quick goodbye; and all of your friends laugh loudly at the rejection.

“Yeah, Conrad.” You snide. “No mind games.”

He flips you off.

“We actually don’t need mind games. We’re simply the better team.” Steven declares. Conrad and Jeremiah yell out agreements as the three of them wrap their arms around each other.

You spin on your heel and face your three teammates. “Four against three. We have an advantage he—“

Conrad boos loudly. “You have no advantage.”

“Ignore him.” Belly chimes in, the two of you standing before Taylor and Skye. You nod. “We have to beat them. Game face on; in it to win it. Team Belly for life.”

“Oh please, that’s the worst pep talk I’ve ever heard!” Your boyfriend laughs. Steven and Jeremiah spew out words of agreement.

You raise your eyebrows. “Okay, Fisher. You wanna trash talk? Because remember that night I went to visit you and your dorm hall was empty and you wanted to—“

His face falls, and turns bright red. “Alright! Let’s play.”

Belly pulls you in for a hug. “Hit him where it hurts, I like it. Also.. I’m gonna need to hear that story later.”

You grin.

The game is actually not as lighthearted as one would think. So, maybe you’re all in your late teens; and maybe it’s a game aimed for six year olds’ birthday parties, regardless; you have a competitive streak that could possibly be labelled a little toxic. You need to win, badly. You’ve hit Steven and Jeremiah, easily. Your main target is Conrad; and you can’t seem to find him anywhere. Until you do, and you smile sweetly.

“Hi.” You whisper. He smiles and greets you back.

You hold your hands up in surrender. “I come in peace.”

You get a little laugh from him; and he shakes his head. You melt a little. “You know, you’re cute when you’re all competitive. Maybe slightly hot, too.”

You gasp. “Only slightly?”

“Super.”

“If I promise not to shoot, will you kiss me? Please.” You hit him with the puppy dog eyes and suddenly he finds himself not even caring about this game anymore. He loves you so much it makes him feel ill.

“Promise you won’t shoot?”

“Promise I won’t shoot.”

He pulls you in by your waist and kisses you softly, then a little harder. Your hands find his hair and you stand up on your tiptoes to deepen it. This is way too lovey dovey for an arcade. You fear not even Cam Cameron could prevent you guys from getting kicked out if some overprotective mother stumbles upon you.

He’s zapped in the back, and he freezes. Grimacing in aggravation when he hears Belly’s evil cackle from a few feet behind him. She doesn’t stop zapping, maybe enjoying it a little too much. You bite down on your bottom lip to trap your laughter.

“You promised.” He whines.

“Promised that I wouldn’t shoot. Unfortunately, Belly is a force to be reckoned with. The woman cannot be contained.” You shrug, and Belly hits him with a yeah, suck it Conrad.

He sighs. “So that was planned, then.”

“Yes and no.”

He falls in to step with you as Belly races forward to claim your spot as the winning team. “And no?”

“I was told to kiss you. Just not like that. That was..” Your voice trails off. “Wow. That was just wow.”

He laughs, and you laugh with him. “I love you, you know that? Like a lot.”

“Good. You should love me.” You exclaim, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’m the world's best girlfriend.”

He nods, pushing the stray hairs on your face behind your ears. “You are. Seriously.”

You kiss him again, this time there’s no ulterior motive. You’re just sickeningly in love.

[doe-writes-stuff]

A/N - Thank you to those who enjoyed my last post! I'm really excited to bring you some spicy content as well >.> Enjoy <3

Words: 7.9k

WARNINGS: Explicit smut, body worship, cunnilingus, strong language, tending to wounds, blood, light mentions of domestic abuse, Vigilante!Reader

The devil's not supposed to have a heart. That's why these no-name, no-face, no-strings-attached flings had worked out. Somewhere along the way, he seems to have forgotten that.

Panting, half-bent at the waist against the pain radiating in your shoulder where the bullet had penetrated, you watched as the—understandably—terrified woman ran for her life back towards the city proper, leaving the pier behind with haste. A groan from below made you snarl, anger coiling in your injured body like a snake. A booted foot kicks out at the squirming man, and your attack silences his pathetic whimpering.

The sudden kick caused a sharp pain to flare through you, and you curse under your breath, stepping back away from the now-unconscious man, taking stock of the situation. A split lip, gunshot wound, and what was certainly a few bruised ribs were the least of your problems tonight, however. Oh, no, that would be the motorboat speeding off under the cover of night, and with it your intended target.

This was all wrong. So fucking wrong. You should have been faster. Smarter. Then maybe the bastard wouldn't have gotten away...

Kidnappings weren't a common occurrence in the Kitchen. Spriting away an entire person wasn't an easy feat with a population dense place like this. People heard things, saw things. Friends went to the cops when they felt something was wrong. Broken routines didn't go unnoticed. Sure, they still happened, but most petty criminals weren't brazen enough to try something so bold, day or night. Only the truly hardened, or those without anything to lose considered it at all. Even then there were so many factors that could go wrong during the attempt, most didn't take the risk.

Conrad Clausen had tried anyway.

A career dirtbag and misogynist of the highest order, the bastard had thus far successfully and consistently toed the line of legal technicality against his ex-girlfriend, McKenzie Grissom. Conrad, infuriatingly, made full use of his minor in criminal justice to make her life a living hell after she'd filed for a restraining order, finally fed up with the abuse. Civil suits and private investigators, exploiting services written in her name, and more. The poor woman couldn't catch a break.

The last straw was when she'd come to the Domestic Violence Resource Institute, straight into your protective jurisdiction, looking for help in the wake of his vindictive crusade. That hadn't sat well with him at all.

You should have seen the signs coming, the moment all of his manipulative tactics suddenly ceased for over a week. Should have known something was up. He wouldn't have given her up so easily. You hadn't thought he'd go so far as to enlist his best friend into the plot of kidnapping and doing who-knew-what to poor McKenzie, but here you were, standing over the dude in question. He'd even brought a gun, the very one responsible for your shoulder freely bleeding.

If only you'd managed to get Conrad himself, but he'd given you the slip. With no way of catching up to him, and no knowledge of where he'd hide away to plan his next move, you stood there above his friend's unconscious form, seething.

On paper, this was a success. McKenzie had been saved, and you'd managed to apprehend on of the kidnappers involved. But Conrad was smart and wicked and cunning, and now on the loose. A rabid dog off his chain and unpredictable in what he'd do next. He'd be more careful, more patient, the next time he tried to take her and oh...you knew for certain he would try again. Men like him wouldn't ever stop, no matter how many times it took to get it right.

In the end, you'd accomplished not much at all, and the tension in your shoulders and back felt suffocating.

You needed to move. You needed to do something. Anything.

Biting back the urge to scream, you stoop down and fish Conrad's friend's phone from his jeans pocket, dialing 911 with swift fingers. The Hudson River beside you brought with it a chilly breeze, as you waiting through that first ringing of the line. A woman's calm voice answered moments later.

"911, what's the address of your emergency?"

"There's been an attempted kidnapping at Pier 92. One of the men responsible is unconscious and will need medical attention. The other just got away in a motorboat. Send in some units." Is your reply in monotone, not waiting for her response before ending the call. You weren't worried about the report being ignored. Some precincts may be corrupt, but the 15th was alright in your books. They'd follow through.

Tossing the phone aside, you step over the man's body and roll back your shoulders, trying and failing to alleviate some of the tension that had settled there. Your dark suit chaffed despite being tailor-made to fit you perfectly. Months of sewing it yourself had meant it shouldn't be this uncomfortable, which only served to further set your nerves on end as you tromped through the darkness back towards your motorbike.

The last 10 minutes play back through your head in a spiraling loop. Picking apart your decisions, playing a depressing game of should've-would've-could've until self-loathing joined the anger and resentment that kept your muscle tight and high-strung.

Breathing labored and heavy, you make it to your bike, jamming the helmet on your head and starting up the engine with a rough twist of your wrist. It roars to life with a thunderous growl that echoes beneath the concrete pier caps overhanging above.

Knuckles white beneath your black gloves, tightly gripping the handles, you rocket forward in search of the next crime-in-progress. Hopefully Hell's Kitchen would deliver.

A quiet night was typically a good thing when it came to your nightly activities. It meant the city wasn't at war with the scum that coalesced in its dark corners. It meant peace and safety to those that lived there.

Tonight, though, you loathed the peace.

The door to your foxhole swung open with such force, you're surprised it hadn't fallen off its hinges. Barely giving it any attention, you stomp with a fury inside, hearing it slam shut behind you. The noise was good. Loud. Angry.

Down a set of stairs takes you to the relatively open space that had become your landing point at the end of your vigilante patrols—with the building mostly gutted it was difficult to tell what it had been before, maybe a spacious storage closet? Complete with a semi-comfortable cot and a few cupboards and shelves with storage for your medical kit and suit repair supplies, it was a home away from home that kept your identity safe from those who might have followed you. Despite the space, it still felt stifling amidst the chaos in your head.

There'd been nothing to help you release the tension from your failure that night. No muggers to beat within an inch of their life. No burglars unlucky enough to cross your path. Every alley way and street corner you could think to look had been confoundingly crime-free. Fucking nothing.

Clenching and unclenching your fists, you pace back and forth in the dingy yellow light from the standing lamp in the corner, chest rising and falling in pain and rage that built higher with each sharp ache in your ribs and the dried blood pulling away from the makeshift bandage on your shoulder. Careless. Slow. Useless. That's what you were. McKenzie was in more danger now than she had been before. Conrad would wait for a better time to strike, and next time you doubted you'd be so lucky as to be there when he did.

The mental image of the smarmy bastard getting what he wanted was your breaking point. A guttural yell spat past your lips, and your fist shot out to punch at the nearest wall with as much strength as you could muster.

The drywall caved into a hole with the force of the hit, and you were just lucky to have missed the stud behind it. Pain radiated from your knuckles immediately after, but at least it was something to focus on other than your tumultuous thoughts. In the moment, the violent impulse had felt good. You drew your hand back, half-tempted to repeat the action.

"What did the wall do to deserve that?"

Alertness raises the hairs on the back of your neck within a split second, but recognition follows just as quickly behind it. Closing your eyes, you somehow manage to resist the urge to punch your visitor. In all your anger, you hadn't noticed another presence in the room. Rookie mistake. Had it been someone looking to harm you, they'd have had every opportunity.

Drawing your hand back down to your side with measured calm, you turn your head just enough to spot the red-suited vigilante leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. The opaque, blood-red lenses of his mask somehow managed to exude a tempered curiosity, gaze directed a few feet to your left. His lips were upturned in the barest hint of a grin, posture relaxed and at ease, a stark contrast to the coiled tension of your own.

If he noticed or was put off by your visibly wrathful mood, he gave no indication.

Jaw set, you turn and walk with purpose to the row of shelves off to his left, unclipping your arsenal of equipment from around your waist and thigh holsters. They find their places with heavy clunks in the empty spaces.

"Why are you here?" Your question comes out dripping with malice, though you're not entirely sure if any of it was truly directed at him, or the shitty night you'd just endured. It took everything in you not to yell at him to get the hell out.

Instead of answer, his head tilts in that way it always did. Several seconds pass before a frown settles his mouth downwards. "You're injured."

"No shit." Another flash of annoyance, another clunk onto the shelf.

"I smell blood," he remarks, pushing away from the storage cupboards as he zeroed in on the front of your suit, "and gunpowder. You were shot?"

"I'll live." When he tries to come closer, you push past him to remove the exterior protective jacket of your suit, painfully shrugging it off and tossing it onto the cot that would be your sleeping arrangement for the night. No need to bring your anger home and risk your own apartment's walls.

A tight-fitting black shirt was underneath the outer jacket, and you waste no time in removing it, unbothered that the other vigilante was mere feet behind you. Nothing he hadn't seen before—minus your face, of course, the mask always stayed on—but you were growing restless with his presence there the longer he remained. You hadn't expected company.

The shirt joins your jacket, and you're left with your sports bra and the makeshift bandage you'd cobbled together at some point during the night. The cloth you'd torn and packed against the wound had stained a deep red, saturated, but at least it had done its job and stopped the blood flow. It would need to be replaced with something clean and proper, though. Removing it now would hurt like a son of a bitch, but you'd grit your teeth and bear it. It's what you always did.

"Let me help." The devil's smooth voice is closer than you'd expected behind you, but you shift away from his soft touch on your shoulder with a barely-restrained growl.

"Why are you here?" You ask again, tone demanding that you'd get an answer this time now that you're facing him directly. In reality, you knew why—there was only ever one reason he showed up here—you just wanted him to man up and say it. He needed release, and as the only other operating vigilante in the city, the only other person who could really understand what he took on when he donned the mask, you were the one he sought out.

No names, no faces, and no feelings involved. Just sex. A way to release all the pent up emotions of dealing with the worst that Hell's Kitchen had to offer. It was the only method that didn't involve hurting other people the two of you had found worked just as well. Sometimes there was no other way to really purge oneself of the rollercoaster of emotions that came with trying to protect this city—a city that, sometimes, felt like it hardly wanted the help.

Maybe his night had been just as shitty as yours. Maybe he hadn't gotten all the adrenaline out of his system from his last fight. Or maybe he just felt like a quick fuck. Whatever it was, this whole situation was very off-script to your typical encounters.

He hadn't reached out to you at any point during the night. And you certainly hadn't called for him to meet at your foxhole. Him showing up out of the blue was unusual. You would have suspected something wrong had brought him here, but the absence of his all-business and terse persona made that unlikely. Your penetrating stare was strong enough that you could almost envision burning a hole through his mask.

His silence was prolonged, so you tried again, stepping closer and encroaching on his space. He didn't move back. "Well?"

Another brief pause, and the devil's head dips down further. And despite still wearing the mask, you can't help but feel like he was looking right through it to look at the person beneath. "You needed me."

"I didn't call for you."

"You didn't have to." His matter-of-fact reply was laden with something...so wholly unlike the devil you knew. Dare you call it...gentle?

That was certainly not a word you'd ever have associated with the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. All you can do is blink back, unsure of how to respond. Despite possessing heightened senses—the limits of which you were still uncertain of—you doubted he had a vigilante-in-distress sense kicking around in that brain of his.

Irritation swirled through the veins within you. His proximity itched at your nerves in so many ways. You wanted to shove him across the room. You wanted to scream your lungs out, punch and kick at the one person who could meet you on equal footing until your body gave out from exhaustion. Violence was second-nature, instinct as much as reflex.

Sex with Daredevil was a violence in its own right. Rough and unrestrained in ways that felt very much like the fights you threw yourself into against the bad guys on the streets. He'd give as good as he got. He'd meet your ferocity with that of his own, capable and willing to surpass it at times. Both of you, embodiments of wrath and rage, colliding.

You hadn't called him, but here he was. Might as well get some use out of him.

Violent intent morphed cleanly into physical need within the span of a few heartbeats. Lust born from seething anger simmered just beneath your skin, taking the tension that had settled in your limbs all night and turned it outwards, leaving you nearly shaking before him.

"So...you're here. You gonna take care of me, devil?" Is your coy question, one brow raising as you lean back against the cot pressed sideways to the wall, hands gripping the thin mattress to either side of you, nearly-naked chest on display for his eyes to gaze upon. It's almost embarrassing how much you trembled at just the anticipation of him manhandling all of your stress away.

The concern that had settled into his mouth lifted into something more amused, edged with cockiness. "I always do."

You expect him to erase all distance between you, claim your lips with his in a kiss as unforgiving as his sense of justice, shoving you back onto the cot. But to your surprised dismay, he gently pushes away from you and heads back to the cupboards. A deep frown marks your face, but logic hits a second later. Your wound. Ugh.

Your eyes track the way his body moves within his own red suit, leaning down to open the drawer with your medical supplies in it. Whether it was a lucky guess that he picked the exact drawer you kept it all in or if he somehow just fucking knew, you were too wound up to ask. But he's back in front of you only a moment later, setting the things he'd need beside you on the cot.

With barely a wince, you lower yourself down to sit on the edge of the cot, allowing the devil into the space between your legs as he knelt. A stirring deep down screamed to wrap them around his waist and draw him in where you'd rather he be occupying himself, but for now you behaved. Something told you if you didn't let him at least help with your injury, he'd leave you high and dry.

Ignoring the way you simmer in your own clouded lust, he reaches up to gently peel away the torn wrap now soaked in red. The blood that had previously dried and stuck to the edges of the wound now broke open with a sharp pain, and you bite into your lip against the feeling, focusing on evening your breathing through it.

Gloved fingers drift to your back, searching with a tenderness that shocks you.

"The bullet?" He asked, breaking the short silence. Setting the ruined rag aside, he soaked another with antiseptic.

Your voice comes out clipped and sharp. "Dug it out earlier."

He hums in understanding. You bit back a curse as he applied the material to your open wound, the sting raging its ugly head and gnashing its teeth. Hands that so efficiently bloodied the criminals of Hell's Kitchen were patient and steady on your skin, tending to you with that same gentleness he'd spoken with before. This was all so damn confusing.

Your eyes track across his mask in an effort to focus on something else. Past the red-glossed eyes and down to the stubbled jaw that was all you could see of the man underneath. You knew it would feel delightfully rough if you ran your fingers across it...

"What happened at the pier?" The question surprises you and when you stare at him in prolonged silence, because how in the hell could he have known where you'd been, he gives a little shrug. "Saltwater. I smell it on your suit."

You slowly shake your head, ignoring the subtle reminder that he could perceive so much more than you could and deciding to let him distract you from the pain of his ministrations with conversation. You didn't typically talk much during your moments together, but given the circumstances, you'd let it slide this time.

"Kidnapping, almost. Saved the girl, but the bastard got away."

"How?" He questioned, head cocked to the side, gaze still affixed to where he was tenderly cleaning the wound.

"Had an accomplice and a boat waiting. His friend kept me occupied while he made his escape. He popped off a lucky shot and I couldn't go after him once he was away from the pier."

"Tough night." The vigilante muses. "Who's the perp?"

"An asshat named Conrad Clausen. Head of an IT firm, knows his way around the law. Abusive ex. Controlling." Hands clench tightly in your lap. Just the sound of his name got your blood boiling further. You frown harshly, head shaking at your own incompetence. "I only made things worse, somehow. He'll come after her again."

"You'll track him down before that happens." The absolute certainty in his voice gave your pride enough of a spark to break through all the muddled self-loathing and lust that drove all of your thoughts right now. Even if you weren't so sure about your odds of nailing the dude before something could happen again, Daredevil's confidence in you wasn't unwelcome. "And if he's unlucky enough to cross my path before that, well...he'll wish he hadn't."

You couldn't count on both hands the number of unfortunate souls you'd stumbled upon after the devil had gotten to them. That was an understatement if you've ever heard one.

Unwilling to say anything more about it, you only hum, getting used to the stinging of the antiseptic just as he was satisfied it was cleaned to the best of his ability. Setting aside the rag, he dug through the kit again for the padded bandages. Peeling off the adhesive edges, he brought it to your shoulder, probing it gently around the wound.

Your heart thudded heavy in your chest, wishing that his gloves were off so you could feel the skin-on-skin contact. It took everything in you not to drag him forward by the neck of his suit and demand his attention in other, more sensitive places. The sudden grin that lit up his face drew your attention.

"Easy there. Your heart starts beating any faster and you might pass out."

You huff, appalled that he could indeed hear the damn thing pounding away like a drum in your chest. Because of course he could. Your glare could set fire to a building. "I've had a hell of a fucking night, and now you're taking your sweet ass time to patch me up."

"Why the rush?" He asks, tone clearly giving away his mirth.

"Careful, devil. I've got no patience for foreplay." Your words come out as a frustrated hiss, the first of your mental restraints beginning to fray. You'd been riled up for far too long, and your only potential outlet was kneeling there not touching you in the ways you wanted. Fists clenched into the thin cot mattress.

"Clearly." The venom in your words does nothing to put a damper on his smile.

With a few more gentle presses around the edges of the bandage, he pulls back to assess his handiwork. You're courteous enough to let him replace all the medical supplies back into the first aid kit before he stood and turned away to return it to its place in the cupboards.

Hungry eyes raked down the lines of his suit, taking in the way his pants really did wonders for his ass, and you felt the last of your dwindling patience crumble away. The devil sure knew how to be incredibly tempting.

Lifting up from the cot, the distance between you and him is a meager two steps. You traverse that in less time than a single draw of breath, grabbing his arm and turning him to shove him back against the cupboards.

He's still wearing that infernal little smile as he faces you, eyes hidden behind red lenses. "As your attending nurse, I'd suggest not moving that shoulder-"

"Shut the fuck up."

Shoving aside all pretense, you take hold of his suit collar and drag his mouth down to yours. It's crushing and needy, and had you been in a better headspace, you'd balk at just how strongly it screamed of desperation. But the clouds of unresolved failure, loathing, and rage that had settled on your soul seared a straight path through anything and everything else.

Sharp reflexes mean he's quick to reciprocate, though you can still feel the infuriating shape of amusement lift his mouth as he let you kiss him with nothing short of fury. One hand draws up to press at the back of his covered neck, wanting there to be no space between you.

Gloved hands settle at your uncovered waist, but pull you no closer than what your untamed lust already demanded. Too wound up to question why he wasn't meeting you with an equal ferocity, your tongue licks across his bottom lip with purpose, a request as much as a command. Without hesitation he lets you in, tangling his own with yours in a familiar dance.

He's intoxicating, you can't deny. Daredevil wielded an intensity that no other man had ever come close to matching. His attention, when directed at you, was full and overwhelming. A great wave of physical sensation that he let crash over you without apology. Some nights, it was all you could do to keep your head above water and survive the torrent. Others, his ocean storm met with a hurricane of your own making, and your foxhole was the no-mans-land where war waged under stale sheets and pale yellow lamp light.

Tonight, the tides were low, the waters strangely calm. In no mood for serene seas, you maintain your grip on his suit, dragging him backwards and away from the cupboards to be closer to your cot somewhere behind. You wanted it now, whatever he was going to give you.

Your calves hit the edge of the cot, but before your momentum can bring you tumbling backwards together, his hands tighten against your waist and hold you to him. His mouth unfortunately parts from yours.

"Why-?"

"I said I'd take care of you, so let me." His words are breathless and pleading, his masked forehead settling against your own. "Please?"

Confusion mars your expression as you stare into the red tint of his mask's eyes. This close, you could faintly see the dark eyes of the man beneath flicker back and forth with subtle movement. You'd never known this devil to be anything but full of vindictive rage. Righteous purpose, barely contained in the confines of a man. There was playful flirting on occasion, but nothing close to this...warm affection that you were now being confronted with.

Anger flaring, you found yourself nodding, but you'd get what you wanted. If you had to fight tooth and nail to get it, so be it.

"Say it." He urged.

"Fine. Take care of me." Your hands snake down his chest, ghosting over the hardened indentation of his cock from underneath his pants. He huffs a breath at the tease. "But don't make me wait for it."

Another grin splits his lips, before he reaches down and wraps his hands behind your thighs, lifting with an ease that stirs deep in your belly. Instead of your back being pressed to the wall like you expected, like you desperately hoped for, he instead fell carefully to his knees atop the cot, lowering you down onto the covers beneath. This new position slotted his hips directly against yours, that bulge you'd caressed before now flush against the heat of your cunt through layers of clothing.

You gasped, feeling the first true licks of sensation you'd been craving since he'd shown up. Lifting your hips up, seeking more, you're kept in place by the unrelenting strength of his own pressing down. Feeling the skin of his fingertips drift along your jawline—so focused on his body being pressed to yours, you hadn't noticed he'd taken the gloves off—you startle and snap attention back to what little of his face you can see.

Lips slightly parted, the gaze of his mask so centered onto your expressions, watching and observing with a tilted head, as if savoring the sight of you beneath him as his fingers dip down below your jaw and along the exposed skin of your neck. The mask dips, and you swallow as his fingers pass along the hollow at the base of your throat, then further down towards the sports bra still covering your breasts.

You're swift to lift up, hands reaching for your bra to discard, but the man is quicker, snatching your hands before you can touch the fabric and pressing them into the cot above your head.

"Devil-" You start to warn with a growl, electing not to finish the sentence as he slowly shakes his head.

Anticipation coils with your frustration, but at this point you're not sure which one is winning out. Still, you give a valiant effort in removing your wrists from beneath his grip, desperate to take what you want as fast as you can get it, but he doesn't relent. Completely at his mercy.

What he does offer, you take as if you're starving for it. The kiss he leans down to give you takes on that ravenous intensity as you engage again, but he keeps his pace slow and purposeful. And when you are just beginning to feel light-headed and in need of air, his lips slant down past your lips, over the curve of your chin, setting on a meandering path down where his fingers had trailed just moments before. The stubble on his face scratches with a pleasant sting.

The scrape of teeth along your throat earns him a low whine, a gasp following closely as he switched to the wicked, wet heat of his tongue. You feel the burning fire of each little circle he paints upon your skin, scorching you and simultaneously fanning the flames of need. Lower and lower it goes, finally reaching the top hem of your bra. Your skin practically hums in anticipation of the removal of the last barrier blocking that talented tongue of his from where you wished he'd put it to use.

But rather than remove the offending garment, he simply ghosts down over it to your stomach, continuing on as if there had been no interruption at all.

You keen a pathetic little noise, low in your throat, pushing again at the strong hand restraining your wrists. Still, he doesn't give.

"We have all night, sweetheart." It's barely more than a whisper against your abdomen, but still it sends a shiver down your spine. It's all you can do to ignore the way his term of endearment—he'd never called you that before—now ricocheted between your ears, stirring your belly further with each bounce.

His mouth traverses the last few inches of your belly, and despite all of the tension still coiling in your muscles, shoulders and back, there's this growing sense of peace radiating from your bones beneath. As if your body knew, given time, it would have what it wanted.

Wielding impatience as a weapon, you fought for faster gratification, wanting an immediate relief to your internal chaos. Daredevil's pace never quickened, savoring your skin in a way he'd never done before. Despite his determination never to kill, the bitter darkness that spouted from that mouth was really something. Who knew the same one could feel so soft against skin? Honestly, you were floored by the way you silently craved for him to take all the time he wanted to explore your body, lavishing it to his heart's content. No man had ever left you feeling this wanted.

Hands made for fighting traced your skin with softness, like it was delicate paper beneath his fingers. Hot breaths swept tingling waves of toe-curling want across the scar-littered canvas at his disposal. There was something like reverence in the way he caressed you.

And that scared you the most. This...thing between you and the vigilante, it wasn't supposed to be about feelings. The heart wasn't supposed to have anything to do with it. He'd been fine with that, and so had you, when it all began. This, though...this felt like something entirely more.

What changed? Why was he being like this tonight? He touched you as if he actually cared. As if this whole thing wasn't a transaction.

He touched you like a lover.

The shift in trajectory of his mouth is what finally forced you out of your own head and back to the present. His hand not holding down your wrists had been swirling gentle circles into your side, but now it slowly rose at the same pace of his tongue. And when he finally reached your bra on the way back up, his fingers dug beneath the band and lifted.

You squirmed in place, thankful that your breasts were free from their confines. You want nothing more than for his hand to take hold of the flesh and squeeze until the pain nearly edged against the pleasure, but his fingers drift no more than feather-light trails along the underside.

Arching your back and attempting to press yourself into his touch gets you no closer to your desires. He merely presses a soft kiss into the valley between your breasts. It becomes painfully obvious that to get what you wanted, you'd have to go at the vigilante's pace.

"Please..." You whimper, deciding you're not above begging if it helped to speed this process up in any way.

It earned you a low, male noise at the back of his throat, nearly reward enough. A half-hearted rut of his hips into yours made your eyes close in pleasure. Confirmation that he wanted this just as bad as you. Perhaps you'd push to see just how far his own patience would run...

Eyes shot back open, mouth parted in a moan as his tongue finally—finally—found its way to the peak of one breasts. Circling around the tight nub and sucking it into his mouth to taste in full. His hand rolled the other between two fingers, tugging and pinching whenever he felt like it. You writhed beneath his ministration, wanting more but having no way to grasp it.

There was no respite to his touch, endless and yet so ridiculously restrained. Like a meal to be savored, he took his time swirling the nub from various directions, tongue mindlessly circling in whatever way felt right.

And god, did it feel right, you thought through a haze of pleasure.

You think you hear him murmur something into your skin, but your own panting breaths muffled whatever it might have been. Given his unexpected intimacy tonight, you don't dare ask him to repeat it. When he doesn't seem to wait for a response, mouth switching to your other breast and giving it the same attention, you lack the attention span to give it further thought.

Another impulsive arch of your back has your clothed cunt brushing against the crotch of his pants, earning a stuttered groan from the devil. It must be torture, being so hard in that tight costume. He hardly acknowledges his own need, so focused on you. A throb pulses through you, deep to your very core.

Part of you wonders if he could hear the way your heat aches for him, or perhaps could smell the spike of arousal that accompanied it, because his fingers reach down to start undoing your own pants, shaking just enough for you to take note.

One-handed, it's a little difficult for him to accomplish—the plea for him to let you go is pointedly ignored—but with a little shimmy and lift of your hips, they're pulled down to your knees, exposing the wetness that begged for attention. Daredevil's sharp inhale and barely restrained growl is proof enough that his senses are going haywire with all of the intense stimulus.

You'd never wished so much in your life to be able to hear someone's heart beat. Was his just as fast as yours, pounding away at the sight of you laid bare?

Calloused hands glide with fascinated purpose across the exposed skin of your thigh. A glance at his mask confirms that he was focusing intently on your lower half, head tilted and gaze a little to the right of your center. Slowly, those fingers ascend closer to the apex, and you feel yourself holding your breath for their inevitable arrival.

The wait is agonizing, each second a torturous minute in your own mind. Your hips squirm, desperate and needy. Fuck, you just wanted it now.

Daredevil leans in close, lips brushing over yours in the chastest kiss you think you'd ever had.

"Breathe." Is his whispered reminder against your lips, panting lightly himself. All the while you can still feel his glove trailing your thigh absentmindedly. "Relax, sweetheart."

A stuttered pair of in- and exhales is all you can manage, body so strung up on the line that you think one good pull would snap you in half. His lips press to your own once more, guiding you through a methodical, easy kiss. It's the anchor point that keeps you from flying apart. A rock to cling to, weathering the storm.

You're thrown head-first into the current the moment his meandering touch reaches your wetness.

A sharp gasp into his mouth morphs into an elongated moan when two fingers slide easily through the heated arousal coating your entrance. A physical ache tears through your body as the appendages circle around your clit, teasing and promising so much and yet avoiding it all the same. He denied you again when your hips rose of their own volition, seeking a true release.

An absolute bastard, the devil could be. And willingly at his mercy is where you'd put yourself. Fool. You were a goddamn fool.

Each swipe of his fingers pulls another shuddering twitch out of your assaulted nervous system, the stimulation overwhelming and yet not enough. Despite all that, you still notice the devil's throat bob with a heavy swallow, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Knowing the way his senses work, you wouldn't be surprised if he could taste your need on the air.

"Don't...tease..." Words are getting difficult to speak, brain so focused on chasing that blessed release. Pulling your hands again gives you about an inch of movement, but then the devil's hands tighten again, preventing all further resistance. As if in retaliation, his thumb lowers to swipe right across the hood of your clit, eliciting shocks of incredibly intense pleasure so suddenly. Head thrown back into the cot beneath, a curse escapes you—breathless, no more than a hiss, ending in a pathetically desperate keen that would have been embarrassing in any other setting.

You expect some teasing remark from the devilish maestro currently playing your strings, but he only hums low in his throat. As if watching you get wound up so tight by his own hand was equally satisfying. His pace is steady, the pressure just enough to give you want you wanted, without really getting you anywhere.

Your inner muscles clench around nothing, thighs squeezing against his hips that prevented them from completely closing. The devil groans, nearly too quiet to hear, and you're so close to outright begging him to have mercy at this point. That all depended on your ability to actually form the words, of course. Stuttered moans were about the only thing you were currently capable of voicing at the moment.

Something shifted. This time you heard the way the vigilante's breath stuttered in time with your own, need coloring the way he swore under his breath. Your wrists were released as he snatched his hand away—the unexpectedness of it meant you were too dazed to take advantage of your newfound freedom.

Your own warnings are the rough scratch of his jaw along the skin of your inner thighs, and the way he grips them from the top. You have all of a half second to register what that meant.

The moment the wet heat of his tongue meets the needy drip of your cunt, recognition shoots immediately through your body. Back arching off the cot with a moan so broken that at first you didn't realize it was you, your now unrestrained hands scrabble for the back of his helmet. Where his fingers took their time, his tongue held nothing back, licking and swirling along all the folds that had you seeing white. If the vigilante had an instruction manual on completely taking you apart, he was following it to the damn letter.

His helmet was smooth at the back, giving you nothing to latch on to. The short, rounded horns at the front weren't enough to get a full grip upon, but they were your only possible leverage. The heels of your hands pressing them closer to your entrance, you attempt to lift your hips to seek more. His hands are like vices at the tops of your thighs and hold you in place, content to ravish you at the pace he chose.

The small foxhole echoes with your breathless litany of curses and a shaking moans. Beneath it you can hear the wet sounds of the devil's tongue working your core, his teeth making their debut when he scrapes it along the outer folds. The full-frontal assault of pleasure has you soaring closer to climax faster than you were used to, filling you with a strange sense of alarm.

There's no warning as you hurtle straight into your orgasm, throat constricting around a whine as your muscles contract with pulsing pleasure, limbs shaking in his grasp. His mouth never stops working, lapping at the arousal that he's worked so hard to produce. The thundering rush of blood behind your ears muffles, as the seconds tick. Overcome by a floating sensation, you feel all of the tension wash away like the ebbing of a tide. Warmth envelopes your body, peace just behind it.

Overstimulation cuts through the haze like a knife.

Nerves flashing in warning at the continued attention of the Daredevil's tongue, you're yanked back down to reality and twitch underneath his grasp with rough jerks. "D-devil...!" You manage through a hoarse whisper.

"One more." Is all he mutters, breath fanning across your engorged flesh before his tongue drove into your heat with purpose.

He's merciful enough to give your clit momentary respite, focusing instead on licking a full stripe up the folds that were slicked with his saliva and your own arousal. The subtle vibrations of his pleased groans only serve to wind you up further. The cot moves a little, and a glance down confirms that his hips slowly and steadily dig into the bed to alleviate some of his own ignored need.

All attempts at sitting up, at trying to lean down to reach the crotch of his pants pressed flat into the cot, are foiled by the position he has you in.

Any thoughts of reciprocation go out the window when his mouth pressed to your clit once more and sucked. The nerves, having settled somewhat from the first orgasm, now flared with renewed pleasure. Shocks of overstimulation still lingered, but the promise of another climax was outweighing everything else.

This time, it's slower to build. Sharp snaps of intense pleasure course in unpredictable pulses. Rising with haste, before pulling back, edging the sweet release. Your cries take on a high-pitched, borderline sobbing quality. One hand still pressed to the back of his helmet, pushing him as close as he could be, the other covered your mouth in an attempt to muffle all of the noises being pulled from your lungs.

Clearly, the devil took issue with that.

Without stopping or even looking up from his work, one hand unlatched from your thigh and pulled on the crook of your elbow. Fingers thread through yours as he finally gets hold of your hand, keeping you from pulling away and simultaneously giving you something to grip while he drags you towards euphoria again.

Later, you might question where all this intimacy was coming from, but for now you just wanted to cum.

So close now. Perhaps sensing this, Daredevil zeroed in on your clit. A snatch of teeth against the sensitive bud was followed up with that devilish tongue, licking and suckling away the pain, promising pleasure. Your free thigh presses in, trapping his head between your thighs as you press upwards into his mouth, moans hitching with each rushed breath.

The second time feels more intense, somehow. Subtle in its arrival, and yet filled your shivering body with such immense satisfaction and relief that you barely utter a sound as it crashed through you. That is, until the need to breathe hits, and you suck air into your lungs greedily.

The vigilante's pace slows as you ride out the sensation, not slowing until you lay boneless against the cot, chest rising and falling with heaving breaths.

The ringing in your ears ebbs until the world feels muted. You fear reality would be a rough landing place to come back to after such a sweet high, but it's not as unwelcoming as you feared.

Blinking away the tears that had leaked out the corner of your eyes and dampened your mask, you lift your head just enough to see a smug devil between your legs, the side of his head leaning against the same thigh hand softly caressed, smiling that damned little smile that was making your already overworked heart do little flips. The lower, visible half of his face glistened from your wetness, and fuck, if that sight wasn't one of the sexiest things you'd ever seen...

Fatigue, however, clouds over any further lustful thoughts you might pursue. The night had been long. Stressful. And after letting the devil work you over, all that remained was the creeping need for sleep. You fought it with all you had, aware that he hadn't gotten the same attention.

Something in your eyes must have given you away, because he turns his head to place a gentle kiss to your thigh, before rising enough to fully remove your pants. You catch a glimpse of his still fully-tented crotch, a twitch of your fingers as you feel the desire to reach out and touch.

The sight of him lifting the blanket from the cot to cover your body makes you frown.

"But you haven't-" You start to argue, pleasure and exhaustion slurring your speech and slowing all movements to the point of ineffectiveness.

"Not tonight, sweetheart." The tenderness in his voice nearly undoes you. The devil wasn't supposed to have a heart. And yet somehow he had found one. "Just get some sleep. You need it."

The fight leaves you, desire to rest and fall back into this blissful peace too strong to resist any longer. He lifts the blanket again and lets it drape across your nude body, offering protection from the chill in the air as the heat that had worked itself through you began to dissipate. You curl up into the softness, still resisting the heaviness of your eyelids since he hadn't yet left.

You hear him shuffling around, doing what you're not sure. But eventually it stops and he's kneeling down beside you. His hands—now sporting gloves once again—move your hair out of your face with a soft touch. Fingers drift down to glide along your jaw until they settle just beneath your chin in one smooth motion. The smile he sports is just as soft, if not thoughtful.

"Be safe, alright?" He plies, thumb drifting over your chin with absentminded intent. You nod, blinking slow against the fatigue, not wanting to fall asleep with him still here. Regrettably, he releases your chin and stands to step away. "See you around."

Your eyes track him to the edge of your vision from where you lay, hearing him trek up the stairs from where you'd come, and shutting the door behind him on his way out. Silence settles, feeling eerie and out of place after all of that.

One last sinful thought ushers in as you drift off, wondering if he'd take care of himself to the thought of you coming undone by his own hands and mouth. Would he wait until he got home to the privacy of his bed, or cave in to the need and duck down a darkened alley? Would he savor it, take it slow, like he had with you? Or rush to cum because he couldn't wait another second?

Would he whimper your name—well, vigilante name, unfortunately—as he came to completion, cock in his hands?

You certainly hoped so.

A/N - This one ended up being way longer and more involved than what had been my original intention, but hopefully worth it? Let me know if you enjoyed! More spicy content to come, I'm sure...

[conniesanchor]

conrad fisher + adhd!reader if you would please

your wish is my command <3

i have a couple of different scenarios in my head for this one, so if you were looking for something a bit different, then feel free to ask for a specific scenario 💓💓i also did a bunch of research on this because i don't have adhd, so if i didn't do it justice i apologize.

"baby?" your boyfriends voice interrupted your thoughts. you had been sitting at your laptop doing work for your pshych class for what felt like forever, but it was only a few hours. "i think it's time for a break. i can get you some food, if you'd like?" he questioned.

you sighed when you lost your train of thought. you had just figured out what the next sentence was going to be, and then conrad interrupted you. "no, connie. if i stop now, i won't start again," you whined, turning in your chair to face him.

conrad always knew when you were overworking yourself. whether it was chores or schoolwork, he always knew when you needed a break. "you will, pretty. we just need to give it a break for tonight, alright?" he asked, but it was more rhetorical than anything else.

you knew there was no use in putting up a fight. there was no way that he was just going to let you keep working, not when you hadn't gotten up in a few hours. "okay." you reluctantly agreed, standing up from your chair and stretching your limbs out.

conrad smiled, "want to go to the coffee place and get something to eat and drink?" he offered.

you shook your head, "im not hungry."

"being as i haven't seen you eat anything today, i don't care if you're hungry or not," he spoke lightheartedly (is that a word?), but you knew he was serious.

you rolled your eyes but gave in anyway. "okay. can we at least get- hey is that my bracelet? i thought i lost it." you cut yourself off when you noticed the black strong with a metal wave hanging off of his wrist.

he looked as if he didn't even know he was wearing it, "oh. yeah, baby, im sorry. i must've picked it up for you and forgot to give it back," he apologized, quickly tamkng it off and assisting you in slipping it back onto your wrist. "now, what were you saying? can we at least get...?"

[many-sparrows]

I love you social justice oriented Christians. I love you Gary (my pastor) who presided over gay weddings before they were legally binding and before the church had come to a decision on it. I love you Conrad (old pastor I work with) for getting arrested for protesting the Iraq war and performing a lesbian wedding the minute it became legal for a couple who'd been together for decades. I love you Dr Donald Hertz for your sermons on Acts 20:27 and your life spent living out that verse and for causing trouble when you were still a student assigned to a segregated church in Birmingham and for spontaneously joining a grape boycott picket line outside of a Safeway in Berkeley because that verse says we cannot shrink away from our duty to each other. I love you Martin Luther's common chest. I love you Charles de Foucauld. I love you Oscar Romero. I love you Dorothy Day. I love you for giving me a legacy to carry on.

[feverdreamsandlucidnightmares]

I keep thinking about moral vs ethical authorities and actions in the Trigun animes. I hope this ramble about it makes sense.

I think most of us will agree that morality is perfectly capable of secular development and is unbeholden to religion in general, though religions can certainly serve as a moral authority and inform specifics. But they are not, or at least not the only, source of morals.

And while ethics and morals are often used as synonyms, they do actually have different meanings. The short version is that ethics are the rules and standards of a social system/culture/etc and morals determine what a person individually thinks is wrong or right. Often, people’s morals and ethics follow the same principles and authorities. They don’t have to, though.

Functionally, let’s say that ethical choices are social goods, and thus social authorities are the ethical authorities within a given society or culture. Much like laws and power structures are meant to protect and benefit the people they govern, a social or common good is something that benefits the largest number of people within a society. In Trigun, these authorities include the Bernardelli Insurance Society (in a limited capacity), the JuLai/July military police, the Eye of Michael, and (notably, but discretely) Millions Knives.

There’s plenty of speculation on and textual implication within Trigun Stampede that Knives and Conrad having their hands in a lot of JuLai’s governance and polices. This is where the moral value of the ethical systems in place becomes questionable.

There are a lot of implications to unpack within an ethical system potentially developed and controlled by a genocidal semi-immortal being using it as a shadow government. The abridged, most important point is that there is no reason for Knives to be a part of a system that allows humans to flourish, build community, and grow. There is every reason for him to convince/allow everyone to think that he is.

A social good is one with the support of those in authority. It has no innate moral value. Laws and orders from unjust governments do not absolve anyone of the weight of their actions. But they determine who is punished.

So, the Eye. The church of No Man’s Land. A social authority for people in Hopeland, at least to some extent. Enough so that the orphanage cannot stop the Eye from taking its children. And Windmill Village to a much larger extent. So much so that its people volunteer their children as sacrifices. And it’s implied to have a much wider reach than just that. The Eye of Michael is a cult that preys upon the planet’s most desperate. Rollo - sick and poor and unlucky. Blessed. Made new, made whole (everything down to his emotions tampered with). Monev the Gale. Wolfwood and Livio - orphans and poor. Wolfwood, the handpicked Child of Blessing. The perfect candidate to be a child soldier. Nicholas the Punisher. Livio, the volunteer. The good and faithful brother follower. Livio the Double Fang. The other Gung-Ho-Guns. Dominique the Cyclops, Midvalley the Hornfreak, Rai-Dei the Blade, E. G. Mine, Leonof the Puppet-Master, Hoppered the Gauntlet, Caine the Longshot — volunteers? Desperate people doing desperate things? Or violent people playing at divine intervention? Social authorities in their own right, in the sense that they can do what they want without repercussions from the masses. They answer to Legato, to Knives, not to the traditional governments of No Man’s Land.

And Legato has been desperate. He would kill almost anyone before suffering that again. He would die to escape it, too. Life holds so little meaning to him. The end is near and he is both hierophant and harbinger. He lays no claim to justice, only ruin, but it’s all in Knives’ name.

Knives, who plays god. Who puts a bounty on his brother’s head to drive him back to him. All that power, he gets to determine what is wrong or right and people can either agree or die. It’s easy to see where his morals fail, but there isn’t a higher power to enact justice. So, he has the authority, what goods does he perform with it?

It’s also important to note that Zazie does not perform moral or social goods. Zazie serves themself, for their own betterment. And this is not a moral failing because applying human morals to a multi-consciousness conglomerated hivemind controlled collective of bugs can’t make sense. Zazie is all of the wams on No Man’s Land. All of their collective experiences in the species’ existence. All of their lives, all of their loss. It’s all Zazie. And Zazie believes that the needs of the many (themself in all their facets) outweigh the needs of the interlocutor few (humanity, Plants). Tentatively willing to coexist and adapt, unwilling to accept their own destruction. Allies or enemies. They work with Knives until it no longer benefits them. Very utilitarian.

Nonetheless, the Eye of Michael and its chosen crusaders, its sychophants, its priests are a definitive social and tentative moral authority within No Man’s Land. So, who can tell Conrad that he is performing anything other than a social good by doing his experiments? He claims he’s trying to save humanity and the only authority over him wants humanity dead. A flawed system. The Gung-Ho-Guns perform social goods by killing whoever they are sent to exterminate. This, of course, includes Vash without regard to whoever might be caught in the crossfire. Vash, who unwittingly takes the blame for his brother over and over. Vash, who has a bounty placed on his head by his brother and his misguided puppet government. Vash, who is being mocked and chided, his bounty the same as the cost of a new Plant. Vash, the Humanoid Typhoon, legally an act of God, the first “human” natural disaster. Destruction in his wake.

Wolfwood performs a social good by betraying Vash. He has the authority to justify his actions through his ordainment.

And Wolfwood performs a moral good by saving Meryl. It’s the first unilaterally moral good he performs in Trigun Stampede. That’s important. The thing about Wolfwood is that he knows the difference between moral and social goods. He knows whatever values he’d like to act on don’t align with his orders, but there’s always other lives at stake. Wolfwood doesn’t kill because he’s particularly bloodthirsty. He’s pragmatic. Other people have to die to keep the orphanage safe. An unfortunate, but necessary cost that he’s willing to pay. Until he isn’t anymore. Monsters don’t need morals, but if Vash can afford them maybe he can, too.

And normal, everyday people perform social goods, too, by trying to stop bank robbers and bandits and the Nebraska Family. And Vash. Those are ethical decisions, stopping criminals threatening your home is ethical. You just have to remember who determines who the criminals are and why.

Your moral and ethical authorities, ideally, should be in alignment. This is not a utopia, so they aren’t. And these random people living on the planet he forced them onto are continuously subjected to the so-called social good of Knives enacting his divine plan in order to force Vash’s hand. They are a necessary sacrifice for his greater good. The greater good that is Knives’ Eden, that is a world remade in his image. Vash remade in his image.

[cough-ka]

conrad's sad eyes when they're in the kitchen :( and at prom. you can tell he loves her so much and he just feels like he can't do her justice. and just before he says 'what is she doing here' when they get to the house and he does his little double blink and you can tell he wants to cryyyy #relatable

[sarah-cam]

spoiler from tsitp set 🤭 someone took a photo of lola on set wearing THE oversized red pjs from THE christmas 2.0 chapter and they also saw Chris on set that day - so we are getting that xmas scene for sure.

i did see that!! chris was looking 🧑🏻‍🍳💋🤌🏼

[wildflowercryptid]

V FOR VALEDICTORIAN character introduction :

VICTORIA VALENTINE, the valedictorian & victim.

after dragging my feet on finishing her chara intro, here's some more info on victoria! the basic idea behind her design was "60's girl-next-door meets elle woods & cher horowitz." it's a bummer that she's not really present in the story because i ended up liking her a lot, too bad she got caught up in something much bigger than what she thought it was.

( alt text for vic's bio below! ) ⤵

Victoria Valentine, Also known as Vic

The Valedictorian of Chumbridge College’s Postgraduate Class, known for being a kind-hearted and passionate person who was extremely active in campus life and local outreach projects. She was about to graduate with a Masters in Law.

Found dead at 6:26 in Chumbridge College’s Grand Auditorium by Georgie Grover, hung by one of the stage curtain’s counterweights.

According to her partially recovered Valedictorian speech, she was going to expose someone on campus. Who this was exactly is still unknown.

Her father was a former business partner of Hugh Henly, but was convicted of accounting fraud and embezzlement 6 years ago. Her mother left him not long after his conviction and Victoria hadn’t had much contact with either of them since.

Harris was one of Victoria’s closest friends, having known each other since childhood, as well as her #1 academic rival. The two also dated for a brief time, which ended in a nasty fight, but had since reconciled.

Angie was Victoria’s roommate and closest confidant. Having met in one of their undergraduate classes, the two had become extremely close friends and were rarely seen apart. Though, it seems their relationship was a bit deeper than just friends.

Recently, she had been seeing Dr. Conrad to help mitigate some of the stress related to her role as Valedictorian.

For some reason, she seemed very concerned about J.B.’s safety lately.

Like Drew, she had a very strong sense of justice. Due to this, she intended to work as a Civil Rights Lawyer after graduation.

According to Harris, while Victoria was always well-intentioned, she had a bad habit of getting overly involved in other people’s business (whether they wanted her to be or not.)

[judgeanon]

It Sure Has Been a Wild Couple of Days to be a Lady Shiva Fan

(Art by Skylar Partridge)

So after only showing up for a backup story in DETECTIVE COMICS a few months ago and for a few pages in the last issues of BATGIRLS back in January, turns out that Lady Shiva is gonna be a major part of not one, but two different series come November. Putting my thoughts under the jump 'cause they might be long:

First, there's an all-new BATGIRL ongoing written by Tate Brombal and drawn by Takeshi Miyazawa. I'm not really familiar with either of them, but I'm gonna try to check some of their work in the weekend. As for the plot:

When a deadly group of assassins shows up to kill Cassandra Cain, Lady Shiva must come to the rescue, and they’re forced to put their complicated past aside and work together as mother and daughter to ensure they make it out alive. Unfortunately, things are never as easy as they seem, and Batgirl must embark on a jaw-dropping, martial-arts filled adventure in her quest for truth and justice…and revenge?! This is a Batgirl unlike any other so don’t miss the opportunity to dive into the psyche of one of Gotham City’s deadliest fighters, while exploring her deep and complex relationship with her mother.

Here's the thing: while I am overjoyed that after Bryan Hill's OUTSIDERS we've pretty much exorcised the idea of Shiva as a zealous, card-carrying member of the League of Assassins, I've been a little bothered by how literally every single big Shiva appearance afterwards has revolved around Cass. Even in that weird short stint leading a new Birds of Prey team, her motivation was somehow gaining Cass' trust for... reasons. So I'm glad Shiva's no longer an LoA flunky, but I'm concerned with how she seems so tied at the hip with Cass -- especially since Cass does get to have stories that don't involve Shiva at all.

But at the same time, I do think there's a lot of meat on that bone, meat that, in my eye, nobody has really sank their teeth in yet. Hill tried but he was working within a team book, and Cloonan and Conrad just sorta teased it. This one, however, feels like a story about Shiva and Cass built from the ground up, with all the room necessary for some actual development from the two. This is them not as a subplot or as a tease for future stories, but as The Story. And while that may go in a bunch of different ways, I'm definitely interested to see what way this will go.

Annnd then there's Tom King and Ryan Sook's BLACK CANARY: BEST OF THE BEST, which I'm... a little less interested in.

Black Canary faces her toughest opponent yet, Lady Shiva, in a battle to determine who is the single greatest hand-to-hand fighter in the DC Universe. To make it to the final round, Black Canary will need all her fighting skill and ability, plus additional training from some of DC’s most accomplished fighters, including Batman, Wildcat, and even her mother, the original Black Canary!

Yeaaaaah, I just... I'm not feeling this one. There's not any real mention of a plot here, not a lot to really grab on to other than vibes, and the vibes are just weird. It's weird how Dinah is fighting to determine who's the best fighter, something that to me isn't really a huge part of her character. It's weird that, from the preview pages, they're fighting in like a Vegas casino, in a ring, with an audience. It's weird that there's three trainers mentioned and none of them are Cass, who not only has beaten Shiva before but has trained with Dinah at least twice in canon. And this being tumblr, let me say it's also weird that this is a story about a white woman training with three white people to beat up an Asian woman in martial arts.

It's a six issue mini and the short solicit and weirdness is clearly meant to pique curiosity. But I'm dreading how much this all sounds like it's using Shiva to put Dinah in a pedestal, to show how strong and resilient and stubborn she can be. Even if it goes for a ROCKY ending of "Lost the fight but won at life", unless Shiva is written very thoughtfully, it feels like she's just gonna be there for the sake of Dinah's character. And I dunno if I trust King to write Shiva with any real thought.

So that's kinda where I'm at. Neither of these are a full Shiva solo, and one of them fills me with dread, but it's been a real rush to have two major Shiva-related projects like these be revealed one after the other. And with 2025 being the 50th anniversary of her debut, hey, who knows? Maybe this is just paving the road for something special. Hope springs eternal, no?

[nodawnesperia]

Can you give more information for Eugene and the twin, Lucilla and Liberta?

Character Profile: Eugene

Starting with the second ask, this one will take a bit to fully get through since it has three characters but I'll do my best to deliver anyway! Enjoy a bit of Eugene and a continuation of Gavus' story!

Name: Eugene

Age at the time of the Barred Gate breaking: ???

Current age: ???

Affiliation: Hypogean (?)

Appearance: Eugene hasn't truly changed much from his canon appearance. The Trickster's Cube was taken from him after Liberta and Lucilla were old enough to fend for themselves and while that certainly bothers him, he really isn't in a position to fight that decision. Underneath his clothes, his back is littered with scars. He also wears two bracelets, one black and red on his right hand, and one white and gold on his left. Liberta and Lucilla originally gave the white and gold one to Gavus but the Celestial entrusted it to Eugene to hold onto.

Personality: While he may be a Hypogean, Eugene is more concerned with chasing whatever he finds interesting. However, he doesn't pursue his interests with the cruelty and sadism typical of others of his race. In fact, Eugene has an outstanding sense of justice and cares for those who cannot help themselves.

Backstory: "Hey there! Missed me?" The voice echoed through the mine making Kadrin jump. Wiping the sweat off his brow, he glared at the Hypogean trying to seem casual as he leaned against the wall. Of course, the facade fell apart as soon as one of the large gashes on his shoulder came in contact with the frigid rock. It was a surprise to see him here but for anyone who knew him as well as Kadrin did, it was more about how he got caught rather than why he would be sent. "A Hypogean who isn't a guard in the mines? What did you do this time?" He could tell Eugene appreciated his attempt at a joke. He shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. "Oh, you know, got a little bored up on the surface, babysitting two little devils and dealing with an annoying pigeonhead. Thought I'd take a vacation." "Horrible taste in location," Kadrin muttered, taking Eugene's arm and slinging it over his shoulder as he helped him walk deeper into the mine shaft. They'd only get in trouble if they continued chatting away for much longer. Once the patrols passed them, Kadrin quickly took them down a side tunnel not illuminated by the magical crystals abundant in the main shaft. He laid Eugene down and quickly opened his waterskin, pouring some of the warm water onto a piece of cloth. Sure, Eugene probably wouldn't die from these wounds but they couldn't have been pleasant either. "No need for that," the Hypogean weakly tried to shrug him off, "I just need a little nap and I'll be right as rain in no time..." "Save the heroics for someone who cares." He had no patience to deal with Eugene's theatrics. And luckily, the Hypogean didn't protest. Kadrin worked in silence for a bit but quickly noticed his friend was starting to fall asleep. "Hey, don't do that. If the guards find you here asleep, you'll get beaten even more." Eugene sighed but shook off the fatigue as best as he could. Kadrin could now make out that some of his wounds appeared to have been cauterized and made a face at the realization. "How'd you managed to piss off the other Hypogean commander too?" Eugene let out a weak chuckle. "You know me, I'm charming like that. Though it's still Conrad's fault. That old brute can't let things go..." "Wasn't that the whole reason Annih had you two fight in the first place?" Plopping down to sit once Eugene's wounds were at least somewhat cleaned, Kadrin offered Eugene some of the stale bread in his pouch – a gesture that his fellow prisoner much appreciated. "Yeah, well, seems like I was the only one who got that. Doesn't surprise me he didn't." Eugene muttered while stuffing his face like a starving man... Which he probably was. "Somehow caught wind of Gavus, showed up with Kane, and the rest is history. By the way, your cooking sucks." The dwarf elbowed him in the stomach, though not as hard as he would've had Eugene been alright. "Be glad I'm splitting it with you at all. That was my rations for two whole days what you just scarfed down." He remained silent for a bit before asking the obvious question. "And where is he?" Eugene pulled a face like he bit into a sour grape. "Who can tell at this point? I hope he was smart enough to get away. Maybe reunite with the kids or something. Then they could come bust us out of here." Kadrin was about to ask for something more when a figure stepped into the entrance to their little hiding spot. The guard cracked his whip and they both knew better than to push their luck even more. Kadrin heaved a sigh as he grabbed his pickaxe. He threw one last look at Eugene before heading off in the direction of his next workstation. He hoped Eugene was wrong. He hoped those three would be smarter than that.

[overthegardenwirtt]

Asteroid City

I know I'm about 5 months late to the party. I watched Asteroid City for the first time a few days ago and I have seen it twice again since then. The first time, I didn't get it at all. But the second and third times I fell in love. It's a beautiful frame narrative about grief and finding meaning in loss. It's about the things we leave behind. It's about a man playing the character of Augie who is grieving his wife, all the while wondering whether or not he is grieving his own lost lover correctly by honoring the last play he wrote.

I found the movie to be an incredibly interesting play on the "Death of the Author," both figuratively and literally. The Death of the Author, literally, is the central conflict of the protagonist Jones Hall. Upon rewatch, this becomes clear. Jones Hall does not know if he is playing the character of Augie correctly. And while he previously was told by the playwright that his interpretation was perfect, and while the character of Augie was really shaped around Jones in the writing process, after the death of Conrad he has no one to confirm, truly, that his interpretation is doing the character justice. What's more, the death of Conrad gives Augie a different sense of grief, of loss of a lover, that his character experiences. So are we seeing Augie grieve his lost wife? Or is it Jones that we see? What is Augie's motivation for burning his hand? What is Jones's?

The resolution, as much as this movie has one, relies as well on the Death of the Author, in the figurative sense. The idea that the true meaning of Asteroid City, if there even is one, does not matter. Just keep telling the story. And it's implied throughout the film that Conrad Earp wasn't clear on the meaning of many parts of the play. Augie burning his hand on the quickie griddle didn't have a meaning until Jones gave it one. The alien is played as a metaphor, though a metaphor to what is never pinned down. Regardless of whether the play had a meaning, outside of "infinity...and I don't know what else," the death of Conrad Earp solidifies that Jones will never know the true meaning. He just has to get what he can out of his own meaning. He has to allow himself to not understand for a while before he is able to understand.

Something that I found interesting when looking into (the largely negative) reviews of this film is that the relationship between Jones Hall and Conrad Earp is almost never touched upon. Whether it's just overlooked because we don't learn about Conrad's death until the end, or it's intentionally ignored on account of its queerness, ignoring this important aspect of the film is incredibly sad to me. By far the most compelling character in the film is Jones Hall, and adding the layer that Jones himself is struggling to grieve his lover and honor him by playing Augie correctly adds so much more to the story for me. It adds a message about searching for meaning and life in art. Just as Augie (in the deleted scene of the play) finds a bit of meaning in his dream conversation with his wife, Jones is able to find meaning in this conversation too, through the words of Conrad that were cut from the final script.

Another thing I found interesting in these reviews is how the name "Wes Anderson" is so inextricably tied to the film that reviewers cannot go more than thirty seconds without saying it. It frustrates me that on account of being a "Wes Anderson film," Asteroid City is held to a particular set of expectations and standards. Viewers look to it like they look to a marvel movie (though don't tell the wes anderson fans this). They look for visual aesthetics, actors, motifs unique to the director. They look to see Wes Anderson's take on [insert whatever genre here]. It really does the story a disservice to be so obsessed with a director's style that you can't see past that to the story being told.

Look. Maybe I'm biased. I absolutely adore cowboy aesthetics, the wild west, and aliens. I love stage plays and old Broadway. I love frame narratives. This movie has everything I could want. I love train imagery and its association with death. I love the way the play part looked like an animated cartoon and the reality part was staged like a 1955 broadway play. But as challenging it may be to put together everything, although it felt at times like everything was connected but nothing was working, I was able to find something in this film that spoke to me and i loved the journey.