#father short story

[colourstreakgryffin]

oh no if an angel tried to decapitate Husk daughter who was hiding and Husk see's this and for a moment turned back into his overlord form temporarily and it made the chains Alastor have on him Crack a little. Imagine if Alastor noticed this too

Haha! That’s actually precious in the most tragic way possible! I actually already picture Husk pulling a Charlie and just changing form in that moment to commit Angel murder!

Husker- Daddy’s Little Girl

The Battle for Hell is getting more and more messy throughout every second. Charlie’s getting apprehended by Adam, Alastor had been beaten in ages ago, Vaggie is struggling a bit with Lute, the Hotel crew are already getting surrounded by so many exterminators.

Husk is among the group of the fighting Sinners and whilst he is expertly fending off Angels to protect himself and his new friends, his mind is littered with how you, his seven year old daughter, are doing. If you’re still okay

He had hid you away in the Hotel before the invasion hit, in the deepest parts where both himself and Charlie suspected the Angels wouldn’t be able to find but sadly… both were wrong. Maybe thirty minutes into the intense battle, Husk’s cat-like ears flicked up at the sound of a terrified child scream echoing through the Hotel’s surfaces, something he could hear clearly and he didn’t hesitate to jump down from the rooftop of the Hotel, since he knew that scream is yours

His mighty big red black and white casino-patterned detailed feathery wings spread open and help drop him down after leaping off the rooftop’s edges, climbing downwards, down the many many feet as fast as he can. His wings beating up and down rather hard, allowing him to pick up even more speed. Angel Dust calls out for Husk in shock for his sudden disappearance but nobody tries to actually stop him

Since they all know he’s going to rescue his daughter

Husk rushes into the Hotel, his many weapons prepared to attack. Furious, his ears still flicking with the sound of your fearful whimpering and crying for help, his feet beating with every single step. He needs to find you, you’re in danger! In no time, the ex-Overlord stops his sprint with a hard skid around the corner of the main Hotel’s entrance hallway, needing to make it to you in time

His golden yellow eyes widening in both intense fear and overwhelming unfiltered fury, at the sight before him… he almost can’t believe what he is seeing

“DADDY! HELP ME!”

You, roughly pressed into the corner and being held up by your neck by a single bloodthirsty Exterminator as you sob out with tears streaming and cry out for Husk as loud as you can, the silent angel gripping it’s angelic spear in it’s free hand whilst the other shoves you up against the wall. In that moment, Husk’s hollow powerless soul radiated a powerful magical force, a wave of strength that rushes through his systems and somehow…

That moment of anger and fear for his babygirl, triggered something thought to be completely impossible. His Overlord Magic, the souls’ powers he collected and the strength to attack an Angel full on has crashed onto him like a big tsunami wave, changing his causal black suspender-supported black pants outfit to his past snazzy business-centred suit and slick-black hairstyle, in a single spiral of orange glowing magic. His wings’ patterns had sharpened up, the red colouring glows a bright orange and his golden yellow eyes also grow a lot more sharper

The soul collar around his neck, the invisible magical green chain tying him to the deal cracked, like a big rock hitting a glass window… but it didn’t break

Even Alastor senses this incredible feat and it makes his bleeding wound throb out, gritting his fangs harder whilst hiding off in the darkness of his Voodoo magic. His tight ownership of Husk’s soul just gotten weaker, the bonds around the feline avian demon loosened up immensely for such a insignificant sinner doing a impossible task; temporarily transform back into his Overlord form

Husk didn’t even bother using the weapons, he used his returning power. Dropping those casino and gambling-centred items for battle to take advantage of being able to tap back into the strength he had lost via his deal with Alastor. The weird magical flow coursing through his bloodstream that made him feel on top of Hell and in that moment, he summons a large claw attack from the ground which smoothly slices off the Exterminator’s arms, the disembodied limbs dropping to the floor with a liquidy squish

Before the merciless angel can possibly behead you, as it was already attempting to do so. Having striked at you with its tall sharp spear. The Exterminator had been forced to drop you rather hard, stepping back whilst Husk openly charges this Exterminator and uses even more of his gained-back Overlord magic to case the Exterminator’s mask-covered and halo plus horn-decorated head with a semi-transparent explosive energy-dosed dice-shaped sphere

Shoving the Exterminator off to the right with a rather agile kick, the pure force behind this shove had caused the Angel to stumble back into the nearby wall with a very hard thump as Husk picks you up quickly, feeling your arms wrap around his neck and face sobbing into his suit-lathered chest, little body shivering, cat-like ears and tail drooped down helplessly

Husk‘s murderous rage-glazed golden yellow eyes glare hatefully at the Angel, who’s barely moving at this point, clutched one of his hands together and that magical sphere half-suffocating the Exterminator quickly blows up, effectively killing your attacker with just two magical strikes. You didn’t look at what your father did since you were so afraid of almost dying again and shuddering in his arms

Husk just glared with heavy angered huffing at the body of the Angel he just killed with his returned Overlord power, almost shaking in his boiling protective rage, all for his precious daughter. Nobody touches you on his watch

The ex-Overlord didn’t even get a chance to check up on you, forcing himself to look away from his handywork, to calm down your fearful and pained sobbing and wailing, since the Hotel begun to shake. He didn’t even bother running on foot, he had used a teleporting power in his current Overlord form and transports both himself and you out in a single blink and soft pop of silvery magic

As soon as you’re both out of the Hotel in that quick flash of teleportation magic, Husk spreads his wings again and takes you up off the ground to dodge the big yellow magical energy beam that slices up the Hotel in a single clean strike. It’s menacing, it’s intense but he isn’t going to focus on that until he has you off in a more safe location. Clearly, he messed up and his first decision didn’t work in protecting you

Husk ensures both you and himself are away from the Hotel enough, his mighty feathery wings flapping in the air with strong sharp gusts of wind slicing out every beat up and down, holding himself and you above the ground

He is usually a lazy man, not preferring to fly but right now. He must put you and your safety above everything so he’ll keep you a few feet away from the crumbling apart Hotel and a few feet off the floor as long as he has to, to make sure no other Angel can get their hands on you

He takes those few seconds of nothing and of the brief safety to check on you, rubbing fingers over your pinned-back fearful ears. Tilting your little chin up with your glowing teary eyes looking up at him as your lips quiver and letting out shaky breathes

You haven’t seen your father in his Overlord form in so long… it’s almost surreal that he is right now. The same suit, the same streaked pushed-back hair, the different patterns on his wings. However, he is still your beloved parent

“Are you okay, Princess? Daddy’s sorry that he didn’t come sooner. Did that bad Angel hurt you?”

[neighbourscat]

𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐑 , father charlie mayhew

MAKING A WOMAN OUTTA YOU.

𓈒  ˙ ꪆৎ   ꣹  ۫  𖨂 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 . .. . priest!charlie m. X non-believer!black!fem!reader || second person ( you, yours, you’re ) + lowercase intended.

+ synopsis. for such are false apostles, deceitful workers, transforming themselves into the apostles of christ: and no marvel, for the devil himself is transformed into an angel of light: therefore it is no great thing if his ministers also be transformed as the ministers of righteousness, whose end shall be according to their works. - 2 corinthians 11:13-15

+ cw. grandma thinks reader is troubled and sexually active :: ‘G’ in ‘God’ is lowercased. use of ‘y/n’, brief mention of pregnancy and abortion, sacrilege / taboo, blasphemy, abuse of authority, feeding that fantasy / giving into obsession / scratching that itch , religious shame / guilt || pússy drunk father charlie, he’s so vocal — dirty talk, overstim, “angel” petname, choking, unprotected sex / charlie rejecting two condoms, multiple creampies, charlie & his standing positions.

+ nali’s notes; charlie mayhew & those blood red cowboy boots. writing gratuitous smut to breathe / did not expect to write this much. wordcount :: 6.2k+

+ to be played: family tree, ethel cain. || alternative: church, chase atlantic + numb, rihanna & eminem.

MAKING A WOMAN OUTTA YOU.

in two swift motions, you refolded the pamphlet and shoved it into the large pocket of your purse — letting the sleek paper crumble and tear. your grandmother norrice sat beside you, scanning through her copy of the same pamphlet and grinning softly. “you new adults are lucky,” the elder had said, removing her thin-wire, rectangular framed reading glasses, “it’s so good for young women to attend these type of things; to keep their hearts and minds pure. if i had such opportunity at your age, i would certainly have my life together.”

your relationship with the church had always been strained, and belief in god, at least the way your grandmother spoke about him, never came naturally to you.

annoyedly, “grandma . .. your life is fine.” norrice gave a small shake of her head and pushed her grandma-glasses back into place. “my life could be better. i would have done more,” she said in a wobbly voice. grandma norrice had fallen pregnant with your father at the young age of sixteen, and since her parents ( your greats ) were opposed to abortion, considering such action immoral, grandma norrice was forced to adult much quicker. “look. look. come look at this,” showing off the pamphlet, pointing a wrinkly finger over a bolded textbook — “start over. rededicate yourself as a virgin,” she read.

grandma norrice lowered the pamphlet into her lap. “isn’t that amazing?” you sighed deeply, swallowing down the hysterical laugh that almost left your throat. grandma norrice could feel the aggravation that seamed off of your body. “hey . ..” again, she pulled those thin-glasses off the bridge of her nose. she placed a cold hand onto your forearm and squeezed lovingly, “i’m only asking you for one. one session, hmm?”

and on: “you go in there and you listen. you show up for yourself, right?” grandma norrice reached and hooked a finger under your chin, tilting your head toward her. “you go in there and confess your defiance. you go in there and pledge yourself to be pure again in the eyes of the lord-“ there had been a misunderstanding between you and your grandmother norrice.

backstory: grandma norrice likes to keep her receipts. all of them. every last one. she had folders upon folders that divided her receipts by year and frequently shopped stores. she considers her an organizer, but she’s a hoarder . .. of paper. anyways, one day, way back when, she had read an advertisement in the town’s newspaper, that pretty much said: ‘good-day people of mississippi! make money off your receipts! one receipt for one penny!‘ the company had been active many years later, sending grandma norrice rolls and rolls of pretty brown pennies, but as the world aged and technology progressed — the company died.

and for some reason, even though she’s been told time and time again that that company had no longer been operating, she still collects and saves — waiting to reach her goal amount and cash in her receipts. she’s nearing a thousand receipts; it was like playing bingo and scratching lottery tickets for her. separating those receipts into their categories gave her joy.

and the short version of why you are here: as she was cleaning out a reusable shopping bag, she had seen a receipt. excited to store it where it belonged, her misty eyes scanned the slip of paper for a date. and though she found the date, she had also seen: CRYSTAL CONDOMS EXTRA VALUE , 4.99. a box of condoms was bought.

no, you weren’t sexually active . .. . but you were planning to be with this guy. and no, he wasn’t just any guy. you’ve been talking to him for a while now and he, surprisingly, has checked off every box in your ‘my type’ list. for the last four months it’s been cute dates and sweet hangouts, and after that makeout session last weekend, you were sure you were ready for it. you wanted to do it with him, badly. so bad that you started carrying two condoms in your purse, like a highschool kid, anticipating the next meet-up.

“-you must desire to re-purity.” you have not had sex yet. “you must desire to be clean.” hearing the low clacks of flat-heels, you turned from your grandmother with a low groan — the quick distraction needed. a woman, looking around your age, had been coming down the hall, giddy and with a greedy look in her blue eyes. her blonde hair, seeming freshly curled, had bounced up and down on her shoulders.

you let your eyes stroll downward; seeing the pamphlet. her copy a nice, pastel green color. a more recent edition. and then came another young woman, she too hurried down the hall with a copy of the pamphlet. “-you need guidance,” your grandmother norrice had still been speaking ( to herself ). “do not let your desires lead you astray.” and as more young women came filing down the hallway, she silenced herself.

“i believe that your time has come for a cleanse,” grandma norrice said, watching as the duos and trios of giggling, beautifully polished young women gathered at the large, double dark-oak doors. she patted your knee twice, telling you to hurry up and along. “i will be right here waiting for you, okay? right here. go on now, hurry in.”

the basement of the church was cold, even in the middle of summer. the pearly fluorescent lights gave the room an almost sterile feel, a stark contrast to the warmth of the sunday service that was held upstairs much earlier. the chairs were arranged in a tight circle, creating an intimacy that felt more like confinement. you made your way down the creaky staircase, stopping at the bottom landing and staring at the misguided women.

the air smelled like old books and faint incense, but none of it brought the comfort your grandmother said that the church would. if you turn back now, you could hide in the bathroom — since whoever was leading this thing wasn’t in yet . .. . but you would have to pass your grandmother to camp out in the bathroom.

you dropped your shoulders with a deep sigh.

you clutched the strap of your purse and eased into the light — careful and observant. you settled down in between two white women who were holding hand-held flip mirrors and fluffing their shiny hair. honey blonde and deep brunette. your gaze shifted then and your curious eyes landed on two other women; spanish women who were re-applying their gloss. the air was heavy, thick with an uncomfortable silence.

one session, your grandmother’s words echoed in your mind: “you need guidance. do not let your desires lead you astray.” maybe if you had had sex, this could be useful. if only she were here to see all of these women in their makeup and neat hairstyles and sitting so proper to show off what they have in the front — and as a slam sounded, the women jumped startled and readied themselves . .. . their heads bowed low in what looked like guilt or shame. fake guilt and fake shame.

“welcome back ladies . .. .” the priest, father charlie mayhew, now stood in the center of the circle, his hands clasped in front of him like he was leading a sermon, but there was an edge to his presence that made your skin prickle. eerie, he was. “i applaud each of you for returning this afternoon. i applaud you for wanting better for yourself, and for trusting me to guide you through this process.” he was a tall man, with a face that was just on the edge of a smile, but never quite reaching for warmth.

his collar seemed to cling too tightly around his neck, and his eyes darted around the room, landing on each young woman, one by one; hungrily, before lingering on you for a beat longer than comfortable — his expression unreadable. but then, one corner of his lips tipped upward. the honey blonde at one side of you noticed and for a second, she considered tackling you. but she took a deep breath in and out. in and out.

“thank you for joining us this afternoon,” he said, his voice deep and smooth, his attention making you shrink slightly in your seat — wanting to disappear. father charlie fashioned a calming, slightly condescending grin on his face.

the other women turned to look at you, some with curiosity, some with attitude, but all with fake sympathy. “why don’t you introduce yourself?” his tone was warm, but something about it felt performative, rehearsed. the tall priest took two big steps back and gestured toward the center of the center.

you remained seated — shaking your head no. “i don’t plan on comin’ back, so . .. .” your fingers twisting in your lap, “i don’t think there’s a need to, y’know . .. . know me. know my name. why i’m here.” you finished with a shy chuckle. no one laughed with you. no one cracked a smile.

a bushy brow of his lifted a bit. he noted how sure of yourself you seemed after that statement. father charlie decided to try again: “please, come. introduce yourself.” all eyes were on you . .. . and you felt like a teenager again about to give a solo-project presentation. “i don’t . .. .” a scoff and another nervous chuckle. “there’s no reason for that. like i said, this is an in and out kind of thing for me.”

father charlie never had to ask twice. young women, such as those around him, moved whenever he needed something done. they moved as quick as possible, they never wanted him to lift a finger. any and every favor was complete without complaint or hesitation. though he never had to ask twice, for you, he’d give it a third go. “this is a safe environment. what is shared here will stay here. right in this circle. our small community.” as father charlie spoke, he stepped along said circle. the women smiled up at him as he passed, their hearts fluttering and their stomachs knotting.

when he landed, standing right before you, he held out his hand. “grab onto me . .. . and come forth.” his voice smooth, almost hypnotic. you felt the weight of the gazes from the other women — some surprised, their faces drawn in confusion and puzzlement. no one had ever hesitated to take father charlie’s hand. you could see the tension in their bodies, the way they sat stiffly, chests and shoulders leaned in, they were practically on the edge of their seats . .. . wondering if you’d keep denying the man or finally give into him.

but, they all swore that they’d rather be you right now; looking up at father charlie as he offered his beautiful hand.

“grab . .. . onto me.” fifth time.

you took a dekko at his hand — thinking.

and when your hand fell onto his, a collective sigh had gone up. father charlie clasped his other hand on top of yours and gave a pat; a pat that said: thank you, gorgeous.

you kept your hand in his as you took to your feet. father charlie’s palm felt nice in yours; surprisingly soft — he walked you to the circle’s center and released your hand, his fingers dragging against yours as he parted. “there is no need to be shy.”

you were annoyed.

“my name’s y/n, ‘nd, well . .. . i’m here ‘cause of my,” you cleared your throat, then trailed off abruptly, “my grandma.” the women stared amongst themselves for a second and then looked up at you again. you raised your chin softly, catching a glimpse of father charlie beyond you. not hovering, but towering perfectly. “it’s silly, really,” you had told the group, folding your arms over your chest protectively, “she does this thing . .. a-this weird thing, where she .. . like, keeps all of her receipts?”

you heard a soft hum come from behind your back. you wanted to look around, to look at father charlie, but you kept yourself from doing so. “it’s a long story . .. well, not exactly, no. it’s actually the shortest story in history, really-“ fast paced babbling. purely from the anxious energy that coursed and spun throughout your body. for some people, their brains lock up and they have trouble thinking of things to say. for you, being jittery filled your mind with thoughts, along with an urge to say them all. right now. as fast as you can. “-when she was much much younger and livin’ in mississippi, she was reading a newspaper . .. .”

and you rambled. and you rambled. and you rambled.

“‘nd she thinks that i’m having sex, which-“ you laughed at the thought, “-which i am not. i’m not.” directed to the women. “seriously, i’m not.” was directed to father charlie. “i’m here for no reason, honestly. i’ve been forced here on an assumption. a silly assumption. i’ve been carryin’ ‘round condoms, but that’s all-“ the embarrassing statement caught you off-guard.

with a hand, father charlie gestured toward your chair — clearly telling you to sit the fuck down. you hurried back. you dropped down and quickly kicked your purse underneath the seat; as if to hide the condoms that were already tucked in a zipper pocket.

“at least you’re having protective sex,” the brunette whispered over, not even facing you. you almost choked on nothing: “no, i’m not,” you answered too quickly. that didn’t sound right. “i-fuck. no, i’m not havin’ sex. but if i was, i would be protected,” you corrected. “that’s what makes this whole thing hilarious. i’m still a virgin.” the brunette looked at you. “then why are you here?” your shoulders slumped, “did . .. . did you not hear me?” you asked, pointing to the circle’s center. the brunette said no, “would you listen to yourself talk about your grandma collecting receipts? we all were falling asleep, sweetie. i was so tuned out, which never happens here.”

you shifted your weight a bit, turning your body toward her.

“wait, so why are you here, seriously?” she tilted her head.

you opened your mouth to speak and heard a finger-snap. “ladies . .. .” father charlie urged. he clasped his hands in front of him and continued, “you are here because of your struggle. each of you struggle. struggle with the desires of the flesh. desires that pull you away from god.“ he lifted a hand toward you, “she travels with condoms. can anyone tell me what that says about her?”

two arms had gone up and you so desperately wanted to leave.

father charlie called on tabitha, her loose waves pulled up into a high ponytail. her eyes sparkled. “it is clear that she is eager to engage in sexual intercourse with a man. it is on her mind and she is desperate for it. but if such dangerous thought continues to linger, she will eventually take action.”

you scoffed, “i am not ‘eager’ or ‘desperate’. i jus’ wan’a-“ father charlie raised a hand, shushing you from going any further. your lips shut, disappointedly. “that is correct, thank you, tabitha.” and she felt her bones rattled.

father charlie’s eyes slid back to you, his voice dropping into something softer, more personal. “these desires . .. these thoughts, like tabitha had stated, they are dangerous. but luckily, they can be controlled. with the right guidance.”

you felt the heat of his attention again, the way his words seemed to be directed specifically at you, though there were ten other women sitting in this circle. you lowered your gaze, trying to find comfort in your lap, but the room seemed to close in around you.

“lust,” he continued, stepping closer to where you sat, “is the most powerful weapon the devil has. it twists the human mind, makes you believe that these urges are natural.” father charlie had left the circle for a moment, their eyes following except yours. he had never left the circle before — he stuck there for every session. his hand rested on the back of your chair, and you froze. “but they are not. not one bit. they are sins. and we are here to free you from that temptation.”

“desires,” he said then, his voice dropping into a low murmur, “can be dangerous if left unchecked. they can consume you.“

a few of the women murmured, their voices barely audible. you remained silent, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. his fingers brushed against your shoulder, lightly, almost as if by accident, but you knew it wasn’t. the touch was deliberate, testing. father charlie leaned in more, pressing himself into the chair fully now. “god forgives,” his voice velvety, his hand lingering on your shoulder for a moment too long. “but only if you are truly willing to repent. to give yourself fully to him . .. .”

you stiffened, not sure if you were reacting to the feel of him or the fact that he was singling you out again.

you wanted to stand, to leave, but something kept you anchored to the chair. a combination of guilt, fear, and an unshakable sense that you should’ve never came.

father charlie moved away, continuing his slow pace around the group of beautiful women. he spoke about discipline, about submission to god’s will, about sin and repentance, but each word felt laced with something darker. something unspoken.

you glanced around the room, noticing the way the other women seemed to hang onto his every word, their eyes ogling and admiring how he carried himself. you weren’t sure what you expected from this session, but the way he spoke about desire — like it was something to be ashamed of — made you uncomfortable. sure, you had your own struggles, but was that really something that needed to be controlled like a disease?

this was something else entirely . .. . and it was confusing.

as the session dragged on, you realized that the shame you felt was from being here, in this room, where father charlie wielded his authority like a blade, cutting away at the parts of you that made you human.

at the end of the session, as the other women began to gather their things and shuffle toward the door, father charlie gestured for you to stay behind. you hesitated, but the weight of expectation pressed down on you, making it impossible to refuse.

you slung the strap over your shoulder and held the leather close, as if to comfort yourself.

and once the room was empty, he stepped to you, a smile creeping back onto his face. “thank you for sharing this afternoon. that was quite the story,” he said, his tone sickeningly sweet. “i know you said that this was a . .. . ‘one and done’, type of thing-“

you wanted to speak but nothing came out.

“but, i think we need to have a private conversation. just you and me. i can help you further. i would like to help you further, y/n.”

the bile rose in your throat, but all you could manage was a nod, the fear of what would happen if you said no silencing you. you quickly turned your back and left for the double doors.

you entered quietly, hoping not to draw attention, but the oak door creaked louder than you expected, making a few heads turn. you weren’t that late, just a few minutes, but it was enough to feel the shift in the room’s energy as you found an empty chair in the circle. the same chair you had been seated in last weekend. father charlie had made sure to leave it out.

“punctuality is important,” father charlie said smoothly, his voice breaking through the murmurs as he watched you take your seat. his smile was there, but it didn’t reach his eyes. you gave a quick nod of apology, shifting uncomfortably as you settled in, trying to brush off the feeling that all eyes were on you.

this time . .. . you were here by choice — you hadn’t told your grandmother norrice that father charlie had asked you to return. you knew that if you did, she’d throw a fit. she’d throw a damn superbowl party — it unsettled you, but at the same time, something pulled at you. maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was the fact that you couldn’t stop thinking about how he had made you feel just by looking at you, as if he could see something in you that no one else could. whatever it was, it brought you back.

there was a distance between you and the women, a sense that you weren’t part of their world just yet. a sense that you were special, and far more important to father charlie.

“but, i am glad that you’ve decided to return.” you gave a small nod, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. “yeah, i . .. . i figured i’d give it another try,” you had said.

he nodded, as if he had expected nothing less. “good. very good.” father charlie smiled at you, but it wasn’t comforting. there was something behind it — something almost predatory in the way he seemed to hold his gaze on you, like he was sizing you up. then, he turned to address the group, but his words felt distant, again like they were just for show. you couldn’t focus on the session. your thoughts were too tangled, your mind too occupied with what he had said last time.

i think we need to have a private conversation.

“even if-when you don’t believe,” father charlie said, closing in behind your chair, his voice low enough that only you could hear, “god has a plan for you. you just have to let him in.”

you swallowed hard, fingers swiping along the smooth paint of your nails, unsure of what else to do. his hand found your shoulder for a second or three before he moved on, continuing his speech. the other women nodded along, their heads still bowed in what looked like submission.

as the session dragged on, you found yourself drifting in and out of the conversation, only half-listening. you weren’t here for the church, you weren’t here for god, you weren’t here for your grandmother, you weren’t here to be lectured about how your desires were dangerous if not properly controlled . .. . you were here for father charlie.

as the session wound down, the other women began to gather their things, exchanging quiet goodbyes. father charlie’s eyes followed them out, but he didn’t speak. he was waiting — waiting for them to leave, waiting for you. he caught your eye, giving you a knowing look. “stay . .. ?” he mouthed, the request felt more like a command.

tension.

when the last of the women finally left, the door closing softly behind her, the room seemed to shrink. the room felt different — charged. father charlie slowly walked over to where you sat, his presence looming larger now that it was just the two of you. his smile was still there, but it was different in this quiet space, more intense, more focused.

father charlie sat down in the chair right next to you. he scooted closer to you, grunting as he moved the chair with him — scraping it against the stone floor. his voice was soft, intimate. “i’m really glad you gave this another chance.” his dark eyes locked on yours with a strange intensity. “you know, sometimes the answers we are looking for are . .. . in places we wouldn’t expect.”

“like the basement of my grandmother’s church,” you had said mindlessly. father charlie gave you a gentle grin, showing you that he had been amused. barely. “yeah. exactly that. the basement of your grandmother’s church. but . .. . like i was saying-“ his hand brushed lightly against your arm, “-i think that you’re searching,” his voice a bit lower, like a secret was being shared. “-searching for something deeper, something that no one else can give you. i see it in you, the desire for connection.”

connection.

“i want to help you work through . .. . your urges.”

there was no mistaking it now — the way he said urges, the way his voice dipped, made it clear he wasn’t talking about faith or repentance anymore. “we all have them,” he murmured, his eyes scanning your face like he was looking for something, some sign of compliance or curiosity. “it happens.” his hand slid downward. just a little closer they went . .. . fingers grazing the back of your hand, subtle but deliberate. “i can guide you through it,” he whispered. “let me help you.”

your pulse quickened, a sense of alarm flooding through you, but there was also a need.

“you have to trust me. you have to let me in.”

“i don’t . .. know. i don’t think-“

father charlie’s smile deepened, his hand gently squeezing your forearm. “sometimes, we don’t know what we need until we find it. trust me. you’re here for a reason. god brought you back for a reason, right?”

his words hung in the air, heavy with a meaning that wasn’t lost on you.

“i don’t know,” you repeated yourself.

you tried to look away, but his hand reached out, his fingers lightly gripping your chin, forcing your gaze back to him — like he was trying to hold you in place, make you stay in this moment with him. “i know what you’ve been feeling. i know what’s pulling at you. you want to give in, yeah? to feel something . .. .”

“sometimes . .. . we’re not meant to fight it. sometimes, we’re meant to feed it.” he dropped his hand from your chin.

“but yesterday, you said . .. .”

he chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it, only a dark edge. “i know what you want. i know what your body wants, what it’s demanding from the world.” his hand moved, not to your arm this time, but to the small space between your shoulder blades. “and there’s nothing wrong with wanting and needing to feel pleasure. most times, we need personal attention to overcome and strive.

“i didn’t tell the others; but sometimes . .. . we have to allow ourselves to feel these things in order to rise above it. that’s how we control it.” his fingers slid down your back slowly. “desire can a gift — one that can bring two closer to the truth of who we are. allow me to help you feed it.”

. .. .

“are you going to let me help you now?”

. .. .

“yes.”

and he wasted no time bringing a hand up to grab the zip of your short-sleeved hoodie. he pulled down carefully, the plump cleavage of your breasts peeking. his other hand smoothed along your curly slicked back hair, “thank you,” he whispered.

and though you were prepared for something like this, the contraceptives in your purse went unused. when charlie had seen you flick it out — showing off the metallic dark green wrapper, the imprint of the condom bold — he refused, immediately: “no.” simple. flat and cold.

charlie plucked the packet from your perfectly-manicured fingers and tossed it across the floor, dark eyes boring into you. you looked at him as if he had lost his mind. just as you were about dig into the pocket for the other condom, charlie gripped your wrist; the pressure gentle but firm. “what do you mean ‘no’?” you asked — though you knew exactly what he meant.

“i have something real to give.” in other words, he would not be spilling his seed into some rubbery latex. there was no blocking him out. “i need you to feel everything. okay? you need to.” you couldn’t oppose him.

and here you were: holding onto his forearms. his arms had prodding veins for days. from his wrists to the tops of his large shoulders. he was so built, you weren’t at all expecting it. “. .. ready, angel?” you nodded down at him sweetly, hands sliding up to his flexed biceps. “wan’a be yours already. please ..” charlie had you right where he wanted you. there was something so nasty about the smirk that grew across his face, “god saved you for me . .. . wanted me to have you.”

“mm, think so?” came quiet and soft.

“know so,” charlie muttered, stroking himself messily. “i know so.” he reached down for you, carefully lining himself up with your heavenly entrance. “taste me.” his words are sweet, poison laced sugar. you kissed him, letting your eyes close as you did so.

and when he slipped inside, spongy and slimy, it was like his own personal hell. you were so much better than he could’ve imagined. charlie had gone completely silent, choking on air — like he was just punched in the gut. there’s no comparison, no feeling in the world . .. . he couldn’t form a single, coherent thought. you were gripping him just right, massaging his cock like you really were made to have him as your first. like he was made to stretch your hymen.

“fucking shhit,” charlie’s head gradually tossed itself back. he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice, couldn’t keep himself from hiccuping and mumbling your name and calling you ‘angel’. “f-fuck. fuck, fuck, hang’on, f-please . .. hang on.” charlie had to pause halfway, huffing out an overwhelmed breath. he’s drooling — he couldn’t quite fathom how amazing you felt on the inside.

you sighed, and sighed again as his nose brushed your throat, as he guided your hips — slowly and tediously, pulling you up and down. your jaw hung open desperately, toes curling with each vein he gradually dragged so rigidly along your walls. “i’ve got y-you . .. . i promise, angel. i’ve got’cha,” you were taking him so well despite the pain, making it harder to resist the urge to pound into you.

your cunt readily accepting the priest’s dick as it oozed against your insides and spreads the flame of desire.

he’s making your pussy his own; shaping your cunt, molding you into the perfect cocksleeve. pretty much carving his name into it. and he was trying his best. trying so hard to be as gentle and as slow as he could possibly be, fighting every bad thought that so tightly pulled and demanded he go deeper. charlie did well, swallowing those thoughts down . .. but it was tiring.

it was exhausting. so fucking exhausting, especially when your desperate cunt keeps sucking and swallowing him in deeper after each and every pass. charlie kissed and licked at your neck, blankly trying to distract himself — which gave nothing. your cunt would not let up. nothing would give. not like this. there was no way. there was nothing in this world strong enough to pull him away from you and your warm cunt.

charlie’s guiding your hips so slow that it was painful. he’s trying to make every thrust connect — he’s groaning and struggling to keep his dark eyes open. you're smothering his entire cock with nothing but your slippery slick, hearing the filthy clicks ring from in between your sweaty thighs — he’s so lost in the sounds of you.

you are secured to him; fingers tangled into his brunette hair, gripping strands and raking your nails along his scalp, eliciting a satisfying moan to slip past his pretty lips. you blinked away, only for a moment, and stared down at his glossy lips. covered in his spit, your toes are curling. your tummy is doing cartwheels — butterflies no longer butterflies but pterodactyls.

“y-you’re .. . .. ‘t’s so deep ..” charlie gave a gentle smile, one hand slipping up and caressing the curve of your back. “i know i am. i know. i can feel it too, angel.” your sleepy gaze remained on his smiling lips. you licked at your own, almost leaning in to capture his. “i can feel everything . .. .” and you felt fan-fucking-tastic. “everything.”

you bit back a smile.

charlie winced lowly, his thighs starting to rattle. “hurts to .. to keep goin’ this slow ..”

it felt like he was worshipping you — that you are the sacred body here, two bright candles flickering in the corner — he’s worshipping you, you’re sure of it, with tongue and teeth and cock. it’s messy, and he’s not shy, those lips that could stir a congregation with their sweetness, his golden tongue .. . “nngh-wait,” you pleaded softly. “w-wha’?”

clenching around him so tight you could feel the outline of his prominent veins, the sensitive spots along his shaft. charlie’s brows furrow in clean focus, letting out a sultry string of words, “i .. i can’t.” he's buried nose deep near the crook of your neck. “i’m sorry, angel. i can’t .. fuck, i can’t.” he softly rasped as deep brown locks of hair stick against his shiny skin. “takin’ everything in me . .. i’m tryin’, fuckk, i’m tryin’ for you-don’t wan’ it to hurt . .. .” you felt his throaty pants trail against your skin, “but i’ve gotta go harder.”

with a sheepish smile, you met his chocolate-eyed gaze, moaning a soft: “okay ..”

“y-yeah?”

your weak arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, the pads of your fingers almost rubbing against a fresh scar, “mhmm .. . do it, please.” the ghost of a smirk. charlie’s thick fingers clasped at your waist; the decorative beads printing mini dents into your brown skin. effortless, he lifted your hips and fixed himself — the feet of the chair loudly scratching the cold, stone floor. “you’re the best i’ve ever felt, angel .. . s’hot inside. s’soft.” that deep, silky whisper has your cunt quivering disgustingly. and he’s driving his hips up, fast, drilling himself into your body.

“so fuckin’ wet-“ one hand cupped the side of your face, bringing you in. you’re both panting, quick and short, breathing hot and heavy air into each other’s mouths. “pretty hole sucking me in so good . .. .” your teeth nipped at your plump lower lip, drinking him in. charlie’s hot fingers slipped underneath your waistbeads, toying with the jewellery. “so good, angel . ..”

the gel slicking back your naturally thick hair put up zero match against the heat of this basement. edges once neatly laid, were puffing up — stretched curls lifting out of place and shrinking.

“fuck-never wanna leave.” your heart continued to race at his obscene words. and you caressed his face, whispering about how good he was making you feel. he mewled at your validation, wanting to please, needing to be the best for you.

and he’s so loud, so hungry for more. with the way charlie’s long lashes flutter and his hooded eyes droop, he was so visibly pussy drunk. already nearing the edge and trying his best not to tip over. balancing on a uni-cycle on a string of the cheapest of cheap dental floss.

he could practically taste the pleasure on his tongue — release is coming quick and there was no preparing himself for it. not enough preparation in the world. the pointed tips of his ears burn with intense, searing heat.

“oh my-! oh god!”

“no-“ charlie cursed under his breath and snapped a hand over your throat, all five fingers digging into your brown skin — “-no. fuck no. you don’t call on god. you-you don’t call on him. don’t. he’s not makin’ you feel good. i am. you call on me,” he ordered, harshly. and all you can is nod and follow his direction. “call for me . .. . do it.” you’re practically speechless, nothing left from your lips yet, all that could be heard was the constant slap slap slap of slippery skin.

and his hand tightened around your neck. “come on, angel . .. say my name.” charlie’s muscled chest heaved up and down, hard. “fucking call on me.”

your hands latched onto his wrist — this new feeling, you couldn't quite describe it. it was tasty and he was peeling you apart, layer by layer. “do it. who’s makin’ you feel good? huh? who’s breakin’ you in half? .. . who’s splittin’ you the fuck open?”

“charlie!” all you can do is choke out a shrill. “you are!”

what happens next takes you by surprise — charlie locked his big burly arms under your thighs and stood up, keeping himself plugged in; nice and snug. the new position, standing, had charlie’s head spinning. he grunted loudly, and it’s a sexy guttural noise. your legs kicking and dangling in the air as he feeds your cunt inch by greedy inch, again and again. “charlie .. .” you whined, pulling at his hair.

“shiit,” and as if a switch had been flipped, hot sticky ribbons shoot right into you, spilling way into your sweet welcoming womb. you gasped, nails scratching into his large shoulders — and the feel of him letting go inside of you has you cumming as well. his panting is deep and animalistic. he held onto your shivering body tighter, his hips never faltering.

beefy arms lifting your sticky body up again, he’s back at it — pushing and eager to reach another one. “a-angel .. .” his entire body hot and heavy. “gonna fill you up again-i’ve gotta.” his brown eyes continued to grow hooded and low.

you were still trying to recover. still coming down from your first orgasm and just barely adjusting to the feel of having his previous load fucked even deeper. “‘m gonna cum again,” he warned softly — cream tearing down his trembly thighs. he’s silently babbling out more whispers and moans of your name. “givin’ you all of me .. .”

you’re flustered right away and wanting to kiss him, hungry to. but as your leaning in, the heels of your feet knocking into the back of his thighs hard, he hoists your legs over his shoulders without so much as a warning. you’re scared to fall, but he won’t let you. he promised you through shaky moans, rocking you up and down.

and you’re gonna pass out, eyes knocking in the back of your skull. your legs bobbing from the movement, you’re trapped against him — and it’s even hotter. even messier and you can’t squirm at all. charlie’s watching your face contort and scrunch and there goes his ego; shooting through the church’s roof and into space. you’re barely hanging onto his big arms and he’s feeling so good about himself. “i can’t-can’t anymore,” you cried to him.

“but you can, angel . .. .” charlie snapped. “keep takin’ it .. and let’s finish together, ‘kay?” and every time you touched down on him, you squeal —

— “charlie . ..” you cooed, voice cracking cutely. your voice made his cock twitch and from the inside, you felt it all . .. . and it felt so nice. so sweet and so insanely intimate. “ch-charlie, pleaseee.” sickly, your voice bounces along the holy walls of the church’s basement.

lips parting as he tried to find his voice: “cum with me, angel-do it,” he pleaded. charlie felt every little reaction and spasm. every cute gasp and cry and moan sent a thick rush through his aching body. and you’re cumming again, holding onto him as tight as you can, clawing at his biceps.

and that’s when he lets go. pumping in yet another hot, thick load of his cum — you almost gag at the re-fill. his grip weakened, but charlie doesn’t let you fall. he told you that he won’t, so he won’t. he’s shivering, feeling a wave crash down onto him as he’s caving into his high . .. .

if this is sin — this beautiful, divine feeling — then what is the point of it all?

[angelssmvse]

𝙂𝙊𝙊𝘿 𝙂𝙄𝙍𝙇𝙎 𝙂𝙊 𝙏𝙊 𝙃𝙀𝘼𝙑𝙀𝙉

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ 𝙁𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙀 𝙈𝘼𝙔𝙃𝙀𝙒

This is an edit I made and got inspired by for my most recent smut. ( click here to read🤍 )

Copyright © angelssmvse 2024 — I own only this story; please do not copy nor translate without permission or proper attribution. I give credit for the character Father Charlie Mayhew from the series "Grotesquerie" by Ryan Murphy. This is the only platform where I have published the story.

[signanothername]

Oooh I just noticed. In the picture you drew of Cross when he was a baby he didn't have the X's in his eyes. What happened to him to get them?

context

I was hoping someone would notice eeeeeeeeeeee

I'm not gonna go in depth cause I'd really love to make a comic about it one day

But to put it simply, it's XGaster's doing

Let's say that XGaster is alive and kicking, and he's very much in the same position as Cross, not very well liked, living in the Omega timeline

XGaster, being the possessive freak he is, and seeing everyone in Xtale as his own creations to do as he pleases with them, tied all of them to him permanently, as in, they are almost like one entity in a weird way (Viktor kinda shit without the religious symbolism if you watched Arcane), excluding Cross for a while simply because XGaster was intrigued and wanted to observe Cross without interference

That of course, comes to an end when he finally got all the data he needed and saw no point in letting Cross roam around as freely anymore, eventually also tying Cross to him

Know how XGaster can control the Xtale cast? magnify that by a thousand, he can hear every word they speak and when spoken to, see what they see on a daily basis, and control them down to even changing their habits if he so wished, if they're not as perfect as they could be

Of course, how much XGaster uses that control is generally minimal, as he loves observing without much interference, but he just loves to make it clear to Cross that he is his creation regardless

In fact, the sketch under baby Cross? see how distressed Cross is? that's when his eyes first turned to Xs :)

[dabiconcordia]

Last year I heard a story about this gentleman who knocks on his son’s door. "Jim," he says, "wake up!" Jim answers, "I don’t want to get up, Papa."

The father shouts, "Get up, you have to go to school." Jim says, "I don’t want to go to school." "Why not?" asks the father. "Three reasons," says Jim. First, because it’s so dull; second, the kids tease me; and third, I hate school. And the father says, "Well, I am going to give you three reasons why you must go to school. First, because it is your duty; second, because you are forty-five years old, and third, because you are the teacher." By Anthony de Mello

[assmaster-8000]

no because what if gojo satoru had found another special grade child. a child whom the jujutsu higher-ups wanted satoru to mentor because they'd be a useful trump card to the jujutsu society so naturally they'd want this child's talent to be honed till they potentially surpass satoru and be used. but satoru had seen too much of what this world had done to the person he'd love the most and he wouldn't ever be the one to subject another person to it like a tool. like a weapon. like a machine. so of course he takes them under his wing and gives them the guidance he never had, suguru never had. a 20 year old prodigy fresh with wounds of loss and grief taking in a child with greatness sitting on their head like a heavy crown cutting into their skin underneath his cape of power and blood stains. satoru is an enigma and even he himself doesn't know if it's because he wants to mold more strong jujutsu sorcerers who will change this world (because what greater irony than the child you wanted to utilize like a cold knife being the one to bring reform right to your door?), or if he wants to give them everything everyone else didn't have (please, he can't have someone follow in suguru's footsteps.), or if being number 1 was too tiring for him (but he doesn't know if it's selfish bringing them up to this blinding spotlight.)

years pass and he vehemently denies the higher ups control over his protégé, his student, his brat. he'll give them control and the means to break out of the shackles of this damned hierarchy. and even if satoru cannot outwardly say it, they're his child. as though he was there at their birth and has been ever since. his child and his best friend and he's their father and their best friend. it's either he sees too much of himself in them or too much of suguru because they're rising to the top fast and he's proud of them and so full of dangerous hope their wings aren't made of wax. (but he'll be there to catch them if they'll ever fall, of course!) they're so strong now. if he was blessed by the heavens and the earth then perhaps they were born of it because look at them go! giving the great gojo satoru a run for his money! not everyone can do that, you know? they're such a great student and person! isn't he such a great mentor?!

so he decides to have faith in them. bring them along with him to shibuya to deal with those reports of special grade curses he was being told about. this is how your teacher deals with these curses! better watch closely because you'll probably have to do it too! he has them positioned on the sidelines to ensure the civilians aren't hurt and if anything, to aid him because they're gonna be the strongest some day too so they can't be lazing a round on their ass all the time.

and they're doing so well until kenjaku comes along. satoru's breath stops and his heart rattles against the prison bars of his ribcage but it isn't the stupor of seeing his lost love that doomed him to the box. his special grade student lurches to -- what, attack kenjaku? pull satoru away? run? it didn't matter what. it was all a blur -- wards him and his body moves on an instinct that's even stronger that the compass needle pointing to suguru's body.

no, no.. that isn't suguru. it's his body and that's not him. somethings not right. but his student is right infront of him and that's them and he can't let anything bad happen to them now. flexing infront of his student can be saved for another day. but it's this mistake that ends up setting him right into kenjaku's trap and the box. the moment his gaze snaps to them and his body is torn between suguru infront of him and them kenjaku sees an opportunity and snaps it up like it's golden.

satoru doesn't even get the mere moment of chained freedom before he's fully trapped in the box. with the special grade student there, kenjaku needs to make it quick. make it count. he does. satoru is pulled into the box and satoru can't even say anything to his student. and he worries in his infinitesimal prison. satoru never usually worries unless if it's his leftovers have gone bad in the fridge.

they'll be alright.

they'll be alright.

they'll be alright, won't they?

they're strong.

they're capable.

they're smart.

he's raised them well they'll be okay they've got friends.

they'll do the right thing.

...

and when satoru finally exits the box he's sees faces changed. they tell him a lot about what they've been through, about what has changed since he's been gone, what changed about them.

he sees yuuji has been weathered with pain and a unique sense of hope.

he sees megumi has been puppeted with the strings of despair by sukuna.

he sees maki has faced the fiery trials and tribulations of this cruel world and bears it like her trophy.

he sees...

he sees nothing of his student. his special student. where are they? injured? somewhere off in the game? will they be back soon? time's a-running out, you know.

he sees the looks his students exchange and his heart drops. he knows. he knows. he knows what must've happened.

they're dead, aren't they?

and he's brought back to the time he carried riko's dead body in his arms and he was met with the disappearing suguru in the crowd and suguru slumped against the wall.

it's happened again.

they tell him they were a hero. that in satoru's absence, they did the heavy lifting and protected shibuya from the full-on destruction it would've suffered if not for them. that if not for them, the jujutsu world would've been left in even deeper disrepair. they saved some of their fellow sorcerers from certain death and suffering! they were the one to grapple with sukuna when he let all havoc ravage the city.

they paid with their life.

all because they were too worried about getting these normal civilians back home safe. about keeping their friends and mentors safe. and satoru wonders if there was someone else worrying about keeping them safe.

... atleast he didn't have to worry about them following in suguru's footsteps and the hatred of regular civilians. they were good of heart and soul. they were strong.

they did the right thing.

and satoru has a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that the person he's raised for, what, 10 years? is dead. gone. deceased. that's just preposterous! he was there when they were a snobby little kid and he was there when they were going through that awkward phase and he was there when they were learning more and more as a teenager and where are they now?

sukuna asks him that. "where's that miniature personification of yours? hah, don't tell me they died the last i saw them. have the special grades of this era started to slack off?"

satoru has all the more reason to kill sukuna now. he has to show his students who are watching that he can do it.

even if they will no longer watch him do anything.

[premamelody]

THE END OF ME

(oc)

[temiree]

…………………….. Previous Page | First Page | Next Page …………………..

Here it is - the 100th page of Little Runt! It's been a long journey (over five years!) getting here, and a ton of effort, but I feel proud to have made it. Thank you so much to everyone who's supported this comic (reading it; sharing it; being a patron), and for all the kind words of encouragement. Not many comics make it this far, and I'm very glad this one has.

But the story is not over yet! There is still plenty more to come. And for those asking if I planned this to be the 100th page (with a title drop happening here), I did not. It just lucked out that way. :3

The 101st page of Little Runt is up early on Patreon for $10 comic supporters, as well as a full-res copy of this page and progress images showing the making of it!

[radioactivepeasant]

The context of this one:

Jak: "No trust me, it'll be really funny."

Mar, holding his first lost tooth: "Yeah!"

(Jak is many things. A bad influence is occasionally one of those things.)

Mar: "Mama, Baba, one of my bones just came out!"

Melinöe: "Hm, I wonder where he learned that?"

(Recycled my oldest concept art of Captain Phobos to make Melinöe, a Jak Mom for a different universe.)

Daxter: "Did you know that feelings of impending doom are a symptom of anxiety? Not yours, though. That's some very real doom."

Narrator: "And it was at that moment that Jak discovered that Mar's parents knew precisely who he was, precisely who he had been, and could, in fact, send him to his room."

[stromuprisahat]

She didn’t ask the next question, the question strangers always asked: Where is your father? Of course, that one was easy because the answer never changed. He’s dead. He’d once asked his mother if that was the truth, if his father was really dead. He will be, she’d said. Before you can blink your eye. You’ll outlive him by a hundred years, maybe a thousand, maybe more. He’s only dust to you.

Demon in the Wood (Leigh Bardugo)

This would hit differently, if Aleksander were allowed to decide that for himself. If he were allowed to watch his relative wither and die, then chose to avoid more pain of such loss by viewing mortals as... well, mortal.

Instead Baghra cuts him off from anyone that isn't her, robbing him of development alongside possible memories to keep.

One could almost hope she's trying to spare him the harder lessons of life, but since she drives a wedge between him and immortal Alina centuries later, it looks more like a part of a pattern. It's not about helping him, but keeping him to herself.

[colourstreakgryffin]

Can you do fizzaroli and asmodeus comforting their teenage adopted child after she/he/they had a rough day today?

Ooooh! My second Helluva Boss request, that’s so exciting! I can’t wait to work on some Helluva Boss! Let’s give some love to best Achillean couple!

Fizzarolli and Asmodeus- Ruby in the Rough

Fizzarolli is an energetic and somewhat crude man, that energy is also applied to his parenting style. He is caring and affectionate but also energetic and can accidentally be oblivious about his child’s problems with his jokester attitude. Though, he will make up for his mistake and unconditionally spoil his child rotten

Asmodeus, on the other hand, is the most doting and considerate parent of this pair. He’s more calm and a bit playful, though. He loves chatting and bonding with his child as often as he can, cuddling his child and can recognise every problem they may have instantaneously. He is one of the best comforters and huggers in Hell

Fizzarolli and Asmodeus, together as parents, as a married couple, as a father and father tag team, for their adoptive young teenage Hellhound daughter. You. A cute fluffy red fox-patterned and red fox-coloured Hellhound; Fizzarolli absolutely adores you and Asmodeus wants to squeeze your little cheeks

Asmodeus is the first one to notice his and his husband’s daughter’s distress. The way your fluffy tail is drooped and dragging on the floor, your voice is softer, your attention is averted. Fizzarolli, unintentionally, doesn’t notice your problems until his husband points it out

Then. As the usual wholesome doting couple they are, Fizzarolli and Asmodeus let you go to your bedroom and speak to one another in how they’ll approach comforting you. Of course, Fizzarolli offers buying you a gift whilst Asmodeus proclaims they should just raise up your self-esteem

And since they can’t decide inbetween each… they pick both

Fizzarolli barrages into your bedroom and basically throws a new phone case present into your lap whilst jumping up onto your bed to hug you as Asmodeus calmly sits down and hugs you right away after his husband, brushing through your hair gently with his mighty claws

After a bit, both fathers respond to hearing their precious fluffy Hellhound cry at her parents’ loving hugs. Crying in relief that both are immediately coming in to help you. You already feel so much better with both Fizzarolli and Asmodeus silently waiting for you to speak and hugging you

Of course… your problem is that people were mistreating you for being a Hellhound, a species of demons considered as meaningless animals, not as people. Asmodeus and Fizzarolli are already psychically speaking to one another on hiring assassins to kill the demons daring to harass their beloved little gemstone

“T-they… he was just so rude” You mumble out gently, long dog-like snout pressed into Asmodeus’ mighty big feathery chest whilst he holds both you and his husband, Fizzarolli to him whilst Fizzarolli keeps his thin but metallic robotic arms coiled around his hellhound baby girl like rope tied around your waist. His long imp tail wagging, Asmodeus couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath at seeing his imp lover so excited to hold their child, even when she is so upset

Asmodeus then whispers out, his dark blue beak slightly brushing over your soft hair, inbetween your tall fluffy red fox-like ears. Fizzarolli is mainly there for physical support, having the right as your upbeat and cheering up father whilst Asmodeus is the King of Lust and the king of Emotional Support, speaking for the both of the parents

“Darling. Whatever those fools said. They are wrong, you’re not ugly, you’re not a useless gross canine, you’re not a pet. You’re a beautiful, unique young lady that deserves all the love and admiration in the Lust Ring”

Just hearing Asmodeus’ smooth, silky and comforting voice alongside Fizzarolli’s warm big hugs is a one-two punch of extreme love to your heart and make all the dread, heartbreak and image problems wash away… well, mainly all of it. Though, both can sense when you’re not fully happy and both are still hugging you. The Sin holds both his husband and his daughter to his chest whilst the Imp snuggles his daughter in his husband’s hold

“I-I… I’m not a flea-ridden gross mangy mutt?” You ask gently, almost like a little child. Not even like a fourteen year old. It’s precious, both dads’ hearts are melting and Fizzarolli openly expressing how cute he finds their daughter with a soft ‘awww~!’ under his breath, even with his deep raspy voice. Asmodeus then nods and speaks gently again

It doesn’t take a big pep talk for this dads to cheer up their child from any problems she has

“Never, babygirl. You’re gorgeous, you’re talented, you’re filled with loveable joy and you have much ambition. You’ll slap down those fools when you become successful”

As soon as Asmodeus finished, Fizzarolli chimed in. Unable to stop himself from stating what’s on his mind and what he’d considered comfort. Asmodeus doesn’t really mind and your fluffy long tail flicks in curiosity at your Papa for what he wishes to add in to his husband’s truthful statements. As classic Fizzarolli fashion; it’s energetic, playful and a bit silly but passionate

Both promise they will make sure you’re successful, wealthy and beloved when you’re a fully grown adult

“You’re warm as well! People should be pouncing on you for snuggles and affection, rosydoll”

[dkniade]

Fanart of @blood-orange-juice’s early Fatui Ajax fic “Transcendere” that I did not long ago ^^

This part’s from chapter one.

It is, as the fic’s tags say, Fluff and Angst and Humour, Slice of Life, Hurt No Comfort

(Or, like snapshots of a boy with a toy knife becoming a weapon himself, with a vaguely fantastical lens over the story♦️…to put it nicely ^^”)

[angelssmvse]

𝘼 𝘿𝘼𝙐𝙂𝙃𝙏𝙀𝙍’𝙎 𝙋𝙍𝘼𝙔𝙀𝙍

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁𝙒𝙀 𝘼𝙍𝙀 𝙎𝙄𝙉𝙉𝙀𝙍𝙎 𝜗𝜚 (part three)

A few weeks after Cecilia and her mother decided to bake some cinnamon rolls, they put in a bit of effort and, honestly, managed to create what could be considered the best cinnamon rolls ever.

Once they finished lunch, Cecilia changed into a lovely white dress and packed some cinnamon rolls for Father Charlie. She then approached the car, where her father was waiting to drive her to the church. “Alright, sweetheart, I’ll pick you up later, okay?” her dad said. “No need to worry, Dad; I’ll walk home today,” she replied, not wanting to inconvenience her parents. “Besides, it’s a beautiful sunny day—a walk won't hurt.” she adds with a smile, Cecilia exited the car and made her way toward Father Charlie's office.

As she entered, Cecilia noticed the sound of running water. Curiosity led her to follow the noise, which brought her to the open bathroom door. She paused at the threshold, and moments later, Father Charlie emerged from the shower, his hair dripping wet and his biceps on display, a towel loosely wrapped around his hips. He turned to her with a smile, “Hey, I didn’t expect you to come by.” Father Charlie leaned casually against the doorframe, facing her.

She looks up holding her plate of cinnamon rolls “I know, I brought you some sweets,” Cecilia said looking down “and I wanted to thank you—somehow; for all the private lessons.” she smiles, holding eye contact with him waiting for a response.He was captivated by her doe-like, magnetic eyes, her sweet dress, and her silky hair. As he brushed his fingers along her chin, the urge to kiss her right then overwhelmed him. He turned away, heading toward the sink to comb his hair. “Those cinnamon rolls look delicious,” he remarked. “Did you make them?” Father Charlie inquired, glancing at her through the mirror's reflection. Cecilia smiles nodding “Me and my mom—yes.”

They both walked toward his bedroom. He settled onto his bed, patting the space beside him as an invitation for her to join. She complied, sitting down next to him. "Let’s give it a try," he said, reaching for a piece from the plate. Cecilia noticed the crumbs scattered around his mouth and playfully brushed her fingers across his lips to tidy him up, laughter bubbling from her like a child’s. "Oh my gosh, what a mess." she exclaimed, smiling brightly. He returned her smile, captivated by her. "Here—let me handle this," Father Charlie said, gently taking the plate from her hand. He stood up and placed it on the nearest table.

Cecilia looked up at him, her gaze fixed intently on his every move. He took a step closer, noticing the intensity of her gaze, and asked, "Has anyone ever told you..." Cecilia raised her eyebrows in confusion, "Told me what...?"He shook his head and answered in a low whisper, "Told you that you're pretty..." Her heart seemed to skip a beat as he moved closer to her, his closeness making her breath catch in her throat. "I don't know," she said, unsure of how to respond to his compliment. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he observed her innocence—her innocence that made her so genuine and sweet. He looked down at her, mesmerized by her wide, doe-eyed gaze, her lips sending an invitation that he was struggling to resist. It was her.

He gently lifted her chin with his thumb, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. He then slowly moved his thumb to her lips, their smoothness caressing his skin as she gently took it into her mouth. Father Charlie couldn't help but smirk at her reaction. His hand moved from her chin to her neck, gently cupping it as he leaned in closer, his face just a breath away from hers. "You've never been kissed before, have you?" he asked in a voice thick with desire. Cecilia tried to protest, but the words caught in her throat as he pressed his lips hungrily to hers. She was at first surprised by the intensity of his kiss, but she quickly surrendered to it, her hands instinctively seeking out his hair as a soft moan escaped her lips. The kiss grew more passionate, their bodies pressing closer together as he moved his hands to her waist, lifting her slightly as he pinned her against the wall. Her dress rode up slightly, revealing more of her legs as they wrapped around his hips. Father Charlie continued to kiss her deeply, his hands roaming over her body as he explored every inch of her. Cecilia was losing herself in the moment, her body responding to his touch and her mind filled with nothing but him.

As the kiss deepens she pulls back, gasping for air “I don’t think we should—Father it’s a sin.” Cecilia whispers. He sighs looking down at her, her eyes dart away, unable to meet his gaze, he gently lifts her chin up to meet his eyes again, then leans in to whisper in her ears, “We are…” his hands sliding down to her wrist bringing them away “We always will be,” he continues. Cecilia’s heart raced in her chest, every beat sounded loudly in her ears, every sense heightening as he stood so close to her; as she adds “Sinners.”

He began to then bring up the skirt of her dress revealing even more of the flesh, he holds her tighter making her softly moan. He chuckles “Easy…easy.” he whispers bringing his face back to the crook of her neck as he starts to gently kiss it, she arches her back, her hands holding him tight on his big shoulders.

Father Charlie's hand begins to gently wander, coming to rest on her inner thigh as the tension between them grows to an almost unbearable level. He moves even closer to her, his body now pressed against hers. His towel slides down so did her underwear; Father Charlie studies her face for any sign of hesitation or discomfort, and when she nods—he knows there's no turning back. He begin as slow, his movements deliberate and controlled. The tension between them is palpable as he moves back and forth, building the heat and desire with every motion. Cecilia moans loudly, arching her back against him and digging her nails into his shoulders. With a sense of urgency, Father Charlie increases the pace, his movements becoming more intense. "Father!" she gasps, her legs wrapping tighter around him. He places a hand over her mouth, silencing her, "Shhh...shh," he whispers, his voice low and gruff. "We don't want them to hear us, do we?" he continues, his pace not faltering as he keeps going.

He got lost in the way she reacted, in the noises he could get her to make, in the way her legs shook around him and her back arched off whichever surface he'd set her on. He was obsessed with how sweet Cecilia was and how just a few teasing could have her weak just for him.

He keeps moving noticing her climax was growing, her getting tighter around him; he knew she was close. It wouldn’t have taken a lot anyways since she was fresh flesh; a virgin.He fluctuates his pace, speeding up and then slowing down, intentionally prolonging the act to tease her. With every movement, tears begin to stream down her cheeks adding with her dirty moans, “You’re doing so good baby,” he adds “So good.”

EXPLORE THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS HERE🤍

Copyright © angelssmvse 2024 — I own only this story and some characters I have created, including Sister Cecilia Jones, Gwen Jones (Cecilia's sister), Lenny Jones (Cecilia's mother), and William Jones (Cecilia's father), among others. I give credit for the remaining content to the series "Grotesquerie" by Ryan Murphy. This is the only platform where I have published the story. Please do not copy or translate it without permission or proper attribution.

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

Something rubbed against his leg beneath the table. Jon saw red eyes staring up at him. “Hungry again?” he asked. There was still half a honeyed chicken in the center of the table. Jon reached out to tear off a leg, then had a better idea. He knifed the bird whole and let the carcass slide to the floor between his legs. Ghost ripped into it in savage silence. His brothers and sisters had not been permitted to bring their wolves to the banquet, but there were more curs than Jon could count at this end of the hall, and no one had said a word about his pup. He told himself he was fortunate in that too. His eyes stung. Jon rubbed at them savagely, cursing the smoke. He swallowed another gulp of wine and watched his direwolf devour the chicken. Dogs moved between the tables, trailing after the serving girls. One of them, a black mongrel bitch with long yellow eyes, caught a scent of the chicken. She stopped and edged under the bench to get a share. Jon watched the confrontation. The bitch growled low in her throat and moved closer. Ghost looked up, silent, and fixed the dog with those hot red eyes. The bitch snapped an angry challenge. She was three times the size of the direwolf pup. Ghost did not move. He stood over his prize and opened his mouth, baring his fangs. The bitch tensed, barked again, then thought better of this fight. She turned and slunk away, with one last defiant snap to save her pride. Ghost went back to his meal. Jon grinned and reached under the table to ruffle the shaggy white fur. The direwolf looked up at him, nipped gently at his hand, then went back to eating.

Jon I, AGOT

It's interesting that GRRM would dedicate several paragraphs to a seemingly unimportant exchange between a boy, his wolf, and an unfriendly third party. But there's just something about this passage that has continued to nag at me for years since I first read it because, considering how heavy handed GRRM was with the foreshadowing in AGOT, this feels important.

Jon is sitting at table full of squires - aka would be knights. We don't really know who they are or what families they belong to, but it's safe to assume that they come from a certain level of privilege; this is considering the fact that it cannot be financially easy to be a squire. And these boys already have a slew of tales detailing all their previous knightly exploits regarding "battle and bedding and the hunt" which suggests that they have some capital. So you have boys who will soon be men. And they will, presumably, become men of some power.

These lads eat their fill of the chicken until only half remains, which Jon then gives to Ghost. The direwolf's name is not so important here but what he represents is. Throughout the series, we're told that Ghost is reminiscent of the weirwood trees (because of his red eyes and white fur). He's stated to be of and from the Old Gods and since he's a personification of the weirwoods, he might as well be one of them. It's almost as if Jon is presenting whatever is left on the table to the Old Gods (Ghost). He lets them devour his offerings while he silently watches. And the motif of watching is so interesting here because it's kind of like Jon takes on a stewardship role - to watch over land/people/etc. He oversees Ghost eating the chicken, so he's overseeing whatever has been given to the Old Gods. This is not new imagery to his arc. As a brother of the Night's Watch and eventually its leader, we have several instances where he leads people to adopting the Old Gods in some fashion. In ADWD, several recruits swear their vows to the Old Gods while he watches on as their Lord Commander. The Old Gods are also primarily of the North and we're told that Jon has more of the north in him than his brothers; interesting that this also includes Bran. So perhaps whatever is being offered to the Old Gods relates to the North.

We must also note that Jon initially thinks to give only a small portion, a leg, before pivoting and providing the entire thing. It feels to me a bit like the process of carving up a kingdom or something similar. The lords (represented by the squires) take what they want and leave aside what they don't; or perhaps they have eaten to their fill and can take no more. Then when his time comes, Jon first considers a small piece of land/group of people before eventually absorbing all of whatever is left behind. The concept of carving up a kingdom rings harder considering that we have several callbacks to the ideals of kingship in this chapter. Robert, Jaime, Tyrion, and even Mance though we don't know it yet, all play into this. And then there's the aspect of Jon letting the chicken slip between his legs which evokes birth/fatherhood, a very curious choice when GRRM could've just had Jon place the chicken on the floor. So land/people are carved up and Jon then uses whatever is left to birth his own type of kingdom. And this kingdom is one for the Old Gods.

This also touches on something that has been quite prevalent throughout Jon's arc. It's the concept of accepting the "others" or "those left over" who live apart from the accepted social norms. Arya (a tomboy), Sam (a gender non-confirming boy), the Night's Watch (criminals, extra sons, and men who have no future left or place to go), and even the wildlings are all examples of this. And Jon takes on a leadership/paternal role to every single one of them. He looks after them as a leader would/should. Sometimes, in the case of Arya and the wildlings, he's equated to a king. He's a steward/shepherd/king. There's messianic undertones to this:

Come unto me, all you who are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." (Matthew 11:28-30).

If you're familiar with Judeo-Christian tradition, you'll know that Jesus is often personified as one who spent the majority his time among the outcasts. The idea is that he came to save them too and that anew kingdom (or new earth depending on your translation) would spring up after the end of the world where he would forever rule as king; which presents the idea of a final king after the earthly ones are done away with. Now GRRM isn't so heavy handed with Christian allusions as other authors out there, but he does have a Catholic background and Jon is so overtly a Jesus figure. And in Revelation, Jesus is king and god at the very end....

One last thing: the mention of the mongrel who challenges Jon has always been rather interesting but confusing to me. A mongrel doesn't really relate to one specific type of dog. But it's interesting that Jon notes several roaming about where he is. They follow the serving girls who carry the food to be offered. Mongrels are used to describe antagonist/villainous groups in ASOIAF. Sometimes, they're used to describe slavers in Essos. But what's interesting is that most of the time, they're used to describe Euron's Ironborn especially in Victorian's POV. So I don't think the mongrel who challenges Ghost is a supernatural threat of death (i.e., the Others) but rather a human one. They represent those who are called to the scene once the lords have finished playing their games. It almost feels like a feast for (carrion) crows....

But it doesn't really matter because this mongrel isn't much of a challenge for Ghost. Though the mongrel is much larger, the direwolf is able to fend her off very effortlessly. Given that "mongrel" is used to describe Ironborn raiders, could this exchange between Ghost and the mongrel point to reavers or sea raiders who rise and fail challenge Jon kingdom? There is a historical King Jon Stark who did this....

When sea raiders landed in the east, Jon drove them out and built a castle, the Wolf's Den, at the mouth of the White Knife, so as to be able to defend the mouth of the river.[1][2] His son, Rickard, followed him on the throne and annexed the Neck to the north.

ref.

So this might shed some light not only on Jon's already published arc, but also on what we can expect in the future. We have some foreshadowing through Jon's ADWD dream that he will not only rise with the dawn (thereby live through the Long Night), but will be in a position to lead people (wildings in that chapter) to a new peace after a hard fought war. Also remember that the wildlings, rather enthusiastically, swear oaths to him as if swearing oaths to their king. In this instance, the supernatural (a dream of the war for the dawn) is followed by the natural/human. So perhaps this particular passage (and Jon's dream) can be used to predict that Jon comes out on top, and quite effortlessly too, as a leader. And he becomes a leader who rules by association with the Old Gods; or rules a kingdom for them.

To end, I think it's of note that this passage immediately precedes Jon's conversation with Benjen where he voices his desire to go out on his own - the hero's call to action. This is the adventure that's going to kickstart his growth as a man, warrior and most importantly, a leader. So it looks like before we even began, GRRM telegraphed how it would all end in just three short paragraphs.

[bookshelf-in-progress]

A Jules and Vern Christmas

A time travel story for the Christmas Challenge at @inklings-challenge. This is a follow-up to "Jules and Vern"--a very short piece that explains how the time travel works, so you may want to read that one first.

*

Vernon looked up from his writing in a daze. The papers spread across his kitchen table, the books piled on shelves and chairs across his sparsely-furnished apartment, seemed suddenly unfamiliar. Outside, it was nearly dark, and a light snow shower was falling.

He'd lost track of time--gotten too deep into his writing. This draft of his article was due by the first of the year, and there was so much worth writing about now that he had practical experience--not just theoretical knowledge--of time travel.

He had his new patroness to thank for that. His one and only time travel cruise--paid for with his life savings--had brought him in contact with one of the wealthiest heiresses on the planet, who'd adopted him like a stray cat. She'd guided him through the cruise and even paid to extend his trip. A man in his position couldn't refuse gifts like that--but neither could he repay them.

He looked at the silver-wrapped package sitting on the edge of the table. It seemed silly, giving presents to a woman who could buy him a thousand times over without blinking an eye. He could mail the package next month. Send a nice little note keeping things purely professional.

But it was Christmas. After roaming through history with Juliette, he'd come to consider her a sort of friend. This deserved a personal touch.

He put away his manuscript, seized the package, and left on his errand before he could talk himself out of it.

*

The high-rise hotel, sleek and silver, towered over the squat brown-brick historic buildings of the rest of the street. Bedecked in golden lights, the building looked like a Christmas candle, like a queen among peasants.

Vernon felt like a peasant as he stood in the golden light coming through the glass of the revolving door. A doorman in crisp livery—blue with gold trimmings, a finer suit than anything Vernon had ever worn—took one look at the threadbare elbows of Vernon’s jacket and the holes in his woolen gloves and growled, “Move it along.”

The doorman’s square head reminded Vernon of some of the meaner-looking idols he’d seen on ancient temples. This face would have been a guardian of the underworld, ready to smite the unworthy with the wrath of the gods.

No, he scolded himself. It was the face of a doorman. Of a hotel. Vernon hadn’t walked through ancient battlefields to turn tail because a hotel employee scowled at him.

Vernon held up his package—a silver rectangle. “I’ve a delivery for Miss Juliette—“

The doorman's voice was like something that would have come from one of those stone idols. “She doesn’t take unmarked deliveries.”

Vernon felt like he’d run face-first into a wall. He stepped back and tried to gather his wits. Snowflakes fell down his collar. "If you'll just--"

From behind, a languid female voice drawled, "Vern? Is that you?"

Juliette stood behind him, wrapped in black fur. Her black hat—bedecked with white feathers and an enormous red flower—was wide enough to cover both of them, and her heels were so high that Vernon wondered how she’d managed more than two steps on the icy streets.

Juliette took Vernon's arm and told the doorman, "Relax, Pete, he's with me."

The doorman gave a skeptical stare.

Juliette's laugh sparkled. “Oh, very well.” She tugged Vernon by the arm. “We’ll roam the streets.”

Juliette took Vernon down the sidewalk, past the stores of this wealthy shopping district. These shops were nothing compared to the astonishing height of the modern hotel, but their wares were so rich Vernon half-feared he'd be charged a fee just for looking.

Juliette strode through the snowy streets with perfect confidence, never looking at a shop, never stumbling in her heels. “What brings you here, my darling little scholar?”

Compared to the wares being sold just outside her door, Vernon's offering seemed pathetic, but there was no help for it now.

He held out the package. "I brought a gift.”

Juliette stopped and tipped back her hat so she could look him in the face. “Gift?”

Could he call this a gift when her world meant so much more by the name? Jewels, cars, vacations—those were gifts. This was—

“A...small token,” he amended. “In honor of the holiday."

"Holiday?" Juliette seemed truly perplexed. At last, she laughed, low and languid. "Oh, Christmas. How quaint!"

Her laugh made Vernon bristle. Not for the first time, he wondered if she'd ever had a heart.

"I ought to have known you celebrated," she said. “It's so earnest and wholesome--like you."

“You don’t celebrate?”

“I haven’t paid attention in years.”

“Why?”

“When you’ve experienced every single Christmas in history, it gets rather dull.”

“Every—”

“Christmas cruises. Some time travelers try to hit every Christmas Day in history. They get so insufferable about it.”

Not for the first time, Vernon’s mind swam at the unimaginable wealth this implied.

Juliette said, “I decided against the full set. It’s just not worth it. The first one’s off-limits, of course, and then there's nothing really interesting until the Arians show up. But even in the most exciting years, it's all variations of the same thing, isn't it? Food and fires and presents and songs and various states of inebriation. There's only so much of that kind of thing one can take."

Vernon's chest burned--a bit of shame, a lot more anger. He tucked the silver-wrapped package beneath his arm. "I'm sorry I wasted your time," he said, turning away.

Juliette grabbed his arm. "Wait!” The languid tone had been replaced by genuine alarm. “Don't listen to my nonsense. It was kind of you to think of me."

Her eyes, amber in the streetlight, held some deep spark that Vernon had never seen before. A hint of genuine feeling. She was truly afraid of being alone. Vernon felt a pang of pity.

He handed her the gift.

She tore off the wrapping and uncovered a hardback book. The crimson cover glowed like an ember against the black of her furs.

"The first copy of my latest work," Vernon said. It didn’t sound so pathetic when he put it that way. "A treatise upon the interactions of parallel time streams, supplemented by observations from our travels."

She turned the book in her gloved hands, looking at it from all angles. “It looks disgustingly academic.”

"Exceedingly so."

She grinned. “I’m delighted, and I’ll never read it.

Vernon relaxed into a smile. "I didn't think you would. But I thought you deserved a copy all the same."

She put the book into a massive handbag. "I feel I ought to have a gift for you."

Vernon laughed. "A time cruise is a gift I could never repay.”

"Would you like another one?" Juliette asked.

Vernon stepped back, his hands held before him. "I couldn't accept such--"

"Just a short one. A cheap Christmas trip. Horribly touristy. Everyone and their mother heads to the Victorian era for a proper Dickens Christmas. The place is crawling with time travelers."

Vernon thought about the book in Juliette's bag, and his mind lit up with a new theory. "That would explain the ghost stories--"

She pointed at him, her eyes bright. "See? That's the mind that could make even that kind of Christmas interesting again."

It was flattering, and tempting, and yet--

"I think you're missing the point," Vernon said.

“Am I?” Juliette drawled, one eyebrow raised.

“Yes,” Vernon said firmly. “You don't need to run off and watch a Christmas that's already happened. You need to experience this one."

She waved a dismissive hand. "I've seen a thousand like it."

Vernon wondered how literal that was. How many Christmases had she traveled to--?

He pulled his mind back to the point. "I'm not sure you've seen any Christmas. You've seen parties, feasting, carols, but you haven't seen Christmas. The reason for the celebration. I'm not sure you can see it."

“I know," she said. "That’s why I need you.”

Snow fell onto her expensive furs, white against the black. A cold breeze ruffled the flower on her hat. She was a fashion plate, the model of luxury--and she looked so alone. All the money in the world, able to buy anything she wanted, go to any place or time she desired on a moment's notice--and she had no one to spend Christmas with.

He took her hand in his, tattered wool against sleek leather. "Then I'll come with you. But not to Victorian Christmas. To this one."

She raised an eyebrow “The time travel expert is turning down a chance to time travel?”

“Gladly."

"You'll never get anywhere in your career if you keep turning down opportunities like this."

"I'll take the risk."

She looked at their joined hands, then shifted her grip to turn it into a handshake. “You have a deal.”

Snow fell faster, thick white flakes. The shops along the street began turning off the lights in their windows. In the distance, church bells sounded.

Vernon inclined his head toward it. “We can start there.”

As the snow fell and the bells rang, Vernon tightened his grip on Juliette’s hand and pulled her down the street. In the lamplight, her eyes held a spark of something that looked a little bit like joy.

[myimaginationplain]

Another thing about episode 8; I absolutely called Viktor being grateful to Singed for resurrecting him, & I'm glad that I did. I saw some people assuming that he'd be pissed off about it, but I think that's a misread of where Viktor is mentally atp. He's long past the point of wanting to die, & even longer past the point of being resigned to death; Viktor now has a goal, a mission all his own, & has all the spite in the world in his heart.

Singed has given him the necessary tools to see this mission through, just like he always has. That's just how their relationship is; Viktor rejects Singed's methods & ideologies, balks at then...but then he comes back around. Always. "I understand [it], now," Viktor said twice. Once in reference to keeping Rio in suspended animation, & again in response to Singed's disregard for humanity.

this is Singed & Viktor @ one another to me (especially on Singed's side of things) :