#so then she offered to slice me up into pieces so the different parts of my body can’t communicate

[curly-cottage-girl]

tbh I know we’re all weird girls here and I love it but on average I have at least one interaction with my roommates per day that is weirder than anything I ever post on here

[pareidolla]

hello.

can you tell me what your biggest gripes normally are when people write broken?

like, I get the feeling that there's a fine line between "adorable pathetic sopping wet cat" and "annoying pathetic sopping wet cat" and I personally find Broken in the former. but I cannot really tell what the line is.

I have written Broken before and not to self promo but here is the link in case anyone is curious; like it got positive reviews for the most part. Still, would be nice to know.

hello dearie!! i'm so flattered you asked ♡

i did write this little post about broken a few months ago, and i'd like to first reiterate that i don't want to be labeled an arbiter of broken characterization or anything similar. one thing i admire about the stp fandom is how we all contribute our own distinct flavor to the characters, and i don't want anyone to feel like they're writing broken incorrectly simply because it differs from my interpretation. if i ever were to write a broken fanfic then his voice would be completely off (i just can't help but make him act cute!! he's just an anime girl to me!!!!) so honestly don't place too much stock in my opinions.

with that being said — i'd say my biggest gripe when it comes to depicting broken is when he's pathetic, flat-out, without any rhyme or reason to his actions. he can't perform basic actions, he cowers away regardless of who he's interacting with, and yammers away about giving up just because.

for anyone struggling with writing broken, i think you should first and foremost understand his motivations. ironically, tower is a great place to start here!

one could argue smitten and broken could have switched princesses, with smitten accepting the princess's nature as a world-ending divinity and broken's mirror image being someone equally hollow. except, that's not what either of them desires. smitten wants be the perfect knight in shining armor who whisks away the princess on horseback, and broken?

its easy: once you let her in, you'll be safe forever.

she doesn't want to hurt us. she's just doing what she has to.

what's the point of fighting if she's just going to win everytime? it hurts being sliced to pieces.

broken's main desire is to be safe. you ultimately gain him by failing to be a hero: giving up, expressing hesitance in a key moment, or fruitlessly struggling against a power so much greater than you. as a result, his princess, his love, appears not as a horrific creature, feral beast, or vicious demon, but as a a goddess, someone capable of protecting him.

think of tower less as the dommy-mommy broken was so incredibly horny for he cut his own throat just to kiss her feet, and more as a hurricane. a force of nature which tore apart his home, showed him the frailty and meaninglessness of his life, then offered him both meaning and shelter within her eye of storm—as long as he gives his body to her. which is ideal for broken because it restores the control he's lost by, ironically, offering it to someone else. if he is obedient and lovely and grovel then his savior will take pity on him and he will never suffer again.

to return to my main gripe, if we understand broken desires safety and fawning is his trauma response, then we should know it obviously wouldn't be triggered by every little thing, especially in a controlled environment.

for instance, if broken was invited to a game night with the boys then he's not going to be sobbing pathetically in the corner like a child. he is, and i cannot express this enough, a grown adult man. there are several approaches to writing this—personally, i'd have him decline the invitation outright, muttering excuses about being too busy and he'd sour the mood anyway. if wrestled into it then he'd sit quietly, trying not to take up too much space or attract attention, and then fudge a game once or twice to keep the others happy. ultimately, he doesn't care about winning, and just wants to avoid any fights.

having said that, being conflict-averse does not imply cowardice. broken is a hater, and i love that about him. he's very empathetic and gentle and sweet and the perfect boyfriend, yes, but he's so fucking sassy it's amazing. broken may shy away from conflict but there are several scenes where he expresses his disbelief over how unusual the other voices all are, bickers with them, or straight-up insults them in their face.

like, i'm chill with interpretations where broken secretly admires the voices and aspires to do better, especially post-para apotheosis, but most of the time he hates their fucking asses. he wholeheartedly believes he is the only normal person in a sea of freaks. a caged bird watching as the other birds fling themselves against a glass window. yes, he is a pitiful little sheltered pet who let's out a sad whine every few minutes but please he still has his teeth!!

phew. okay this got too long. uhm! i don't really know how to end this ♡♡♡ i will say i did like your fic! i've been starved for non-wholesome smitbroken look at those boys enabling eachother. if anyone else is reading this, please go forth and create your own broken fic; i will read and i will enjoy it. this is a threat.

[macabr3-barbi3]

Hex: Smile Like You Mean It

guys I'm sorry I have no self control- enjoy my brain worms thinking that there needs to be a Hazbin/Dead by Daylight crossover (you can blame/thank @fraugwinska for encouraging me)

Tags: mentions of murder, blood and gore; brief mention of tentacles but not anything fun lol; vaginal sex; female reader

I have like two more parts planned for this fic specifically (and maaayyybe a little something planned for Halloween with my beloved Frau ❤️)

There was something weird about this new killer.

It took a while to notice the pattern- between the different trials and trying to repair generators and not get sliced to pieces or shoved onto a meat hook from the other killers- but once you got the idea in your head, it was impossible to ignore. You hadn’t mentioned anything to the other survivors yet, wanting to be sure before you brought it up and potentially pissed off all of the men and made them sulky and irritated in the other trials.

But it’s confirmed for you when the Radio Demon gives you a cheeky wave on your way out the exit gate after hooking Dwight, Gabriel, and Felix, his red eyes glowing in the darkness of the swamp and his antlers silhouetted by the light from the incomplete generators, having opened the gate for you as you were searching for the hatch.

He was sparing the women every chance that he could. The only time he even swung at one of you was if someone was trying to get him to drop one of the guys, and it was more like the batting away of a fly than him trying to inflict any serious damage. He would chase for a while before diverting or slipping into shadows to go after one of the men, he tutted disapprovingly when you dropped a pallet on his head, he would stand menacingly off to the side while you worked on generators, pleasant jazz in your ears in lieu of a thudding heartbeat. You had only been hooked by him one time, in a trial with four female survivors, and he had offered you a static-y “awfully sorry, my dear” as he pierced your shoulder, fading into shadows and giving Sable plenty of time to safely unhook you and heal you with her medkit. You all escaped- Nea even hung behind to find the hatch while the rest of you ran out the gate. When she returned to the fire she told you that she hadn’t seen a glimpse of him; the only sign that she wasn’t alone was the distant sound of jazz echoing across the farm.

You should have just accepted it. Told the other girls so you could coordinate and plan your trials when you arrived in them, so they all had some sense of peace in this hellhole. A killer that showed as much mercy as was possible in the Entity’s realm was a rarity- sure, every once in a while Ghostface would ease up and let everyone escape, enforce the completion of generators, encourage you all to help each other and drop pallets and cleanse totems. But the next trial he was always right back to merciless slaughter, like the generosity he had shown was just to change the pace a little, make things more interesting for himself, or maybe give himself something to be angry about the next time he faced the survivors.

But it burned in your mind. Why was the Radio Demon like this? Why was the Entity allowing it? You had just as little information about him as you did any of the other killers; some of them at least had a realm that they were linked to, that could provide some sort of clue. But with him there was nothing- he flitted between maps as trials changed, he never spoke to anyone, and he only went after the men when he could help it. The curiosity, the need to know consumed you.

So this time, when you spawn into the Racoon City Police Department, you work on the generators alone and avoid David, Nancy, and Leon as they run from the strange deer demon. A few minutes and some agonizing screams later, two loud booms ring out as Leon and David are sacrificed to the Entity.

Moments later, the exit gates open, spindly pikes coming up out of the ground to cover the generator you had been working on, and Nancy is at your side. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” she cries, her clothes stained in blood from trying to heal Leon before the Radio Demon downed him, and she’s pulling on your arm towards the gates.

“You go on,” you tell her. “I’m gonna try to find the hatch- I’ll see you back at the fire.” She doesn’t hesitate, only a single anxious nod before she’s off. As soon as you hear the vague humming of the hatch, you abandon the generator and search for the Hex totem- you know he has one, even if you don’t know exactly what kind of powers it grants him. But you do know that cleansing it, dismantling it, will alert him to your presence and hopefully save you the trouble of having to hunt him down. 

You stumble across him before you can even really start searching for the totem- seated at a desk off the main room of the police department, sipping at a mug. “My my, how brave you are!” He says, without turning to look at you, the jazz that he emits soft and somehow soothing in the quiet of the building. “Your little friend has escaped now- why don’t you run along with her?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” you tell him, and drop yourself into one of the nearby rolling chairs as a bell rings out, signaling that the exit gates would be closing soon. One of his ears perks up- and you’ll have to tell Feng that they are ears, because everyone had been debating and she was dead set on thinking that it was just strangely styled hair- and he swivels the chair around to look at you, eyes trailing up and down your much shorter frame. “Why do you always let the women go?”

“Ha! I had wondered how long it would take for one of you to notice.” He smiles, teeth razor sharp and dangerous, reminding you that despite his demeanor and how politely he speaks and the antlers atop his soft and fluffy hair, he’s still a predator- chosen by the Entity for his bloodlust to fuel these forsaken realms and inspire fear. “I merely operate by my own rules, that’s all!”

“And the Entity is okay with that?”

He leans forward so suddenly you almost don’t move back in time, jerking away as he appears in your personal space. “She prefers sacrifices, but she feeds on the emotions,” he says, delighting in the way that your heart rate increases and you grip the arms of your chair. “The uncertainty of not knowing if you’ll live or die. The adrenaline of a chase and knowing that if I catch you, you’ll be tossed on a hook like cattle. The terror in wondering if your luck has finally run out, and that perhaps this will be the time I acquaint you with my knife.” The mentioned blade is at your cheek then, materializing in his hand from the shadow and swiftly moving; not pressing in but merely resting on the soft skin there. “Don’t worry, darling,” he says softly at your sharp intake of breath. “I don’t need to hurt you. You’re already feeding her now- curious, don’t you think? That despite the trial being effectively over this realm hasn’t collapsed and sent us back to our respective areas with the others? It’s like a delicacy to her, a spot of curiosity and intrigue and excitement instead of the usual droll. She wants to see how this plays out.” 

The knife disappears. “Anyway, you’re correct in your assumption- I avoid the women when I can, because the emotions alone are satisfactory. The Entity knew about my… hm, let’s say ‘moral guidelines,’ when she brought me on board.”

You’re still frozen in place, the volatile nature of the situation making you cautious in your intrigue- he was unpredictable, and apparently the Entity was too. “You can’t do the same for the guys, then? If the emotions are enough?”

“Well, I have to bring something to the table, don’t I?” He finally moves back, settling back into his own seat. “She’d hardly have chosen me if she thought I would give her nothing- unfortunately for your male friends, they align more closely with those I targeted in life. In exchange for being able to spare you lovely ladies, the men cannot be allowed to leave.”

“I see.” You sit in companionable silence for a few minutes- imagine that; companionable! With a killer! - before you realize that the sound of the gate timer has stopped. Time is effectively frozen in the realm, like the Entity waits with bated breath to see what will happen next. “So, what happens now? Now that I know for sure, I mean. I don’t imagine you’ll just let me go.”

He regards you through narrowed eyes, the smile never leaving his face. “Hm, a curious situation we find ourselves in to be sure! I don’t presume you would keep my little secret out of the goodness of your heart?” He takes your silence as an answer. “Well, I can’t very well have you running off to tell your little friends, can I? If they know the game there goes all those delicious anticipatory emotions for the Entity, which puts me back at square one of having to kill everyone- despite my own moral obligations, I do fear that She can make me do her bidding if she’s not getting what she wants.”

As if to agree with him, the realm creaks and shakes, pictures falling from the walls of the office you sit in and shattering on the floor. “Quite the conundrum then- what to do with you!” He waves his hand and a tendril emerges from the darkness, circling you in the office chair, applying pressure to spin you in a slow circle before the demon. “Perhaps you could be persuaded to accept a deal for your silence?” Alastor rests his head in his hand, legs crossed at the knee as he watches you closely.

The atmosphere changes, dark shadows growing up the walls that surround you, never taking your eyes off Alastor. “What kind of deal?”

Your chair jerks forward, the wisps of darkness wrapping around the wheels and tugging it forward, tipping you out of the chair and effectively into Alastor’s lap, arms on either side of his head to hold yourself up. “As I mentioned, she feeds more off the emotions than the true sacrifices,” he murmurs, a tight grip on your arm and the other curling around the back of your neck to bring your face closer. His breath tingles against your lips as he speaks. “I believe we could provide her with more… pleasant emotions, if you’re agreeable to it.” The grasp on your arm loosens, sharp claws trailing delicately across the skin, sending shivers through your body. “A bit of a palette cleanser for all of us! Something to look forward to once in a while among all the carnage and death- in return for your silence and playing your usual part, of course.”

He couldn’t be proposing what it sounded like- and yet, his fingers are carding gently through your hair, the softest touch you’ve felt in months since coming to this place, his nails scratching pleasantly at your scalp as you tremble in his hold; fear, adrenaline, anticipation all spiraling and settling somewhere so low in your gut that it feels like arousal despite this world that you’re in, seated in the lap of a man with teeth so sharp they tear through flesh like knives. You should leave while his guard is down- you had no idea if the hatch would still be open but it seemed like the timer had stopped on the gates-

“H- how often?” You ask, instead of fleeing, and the fingers tracing soft patterns on your skin settles onto your waist, claws prickling through the summer dress you had been dragged into the Entity’s realm in.

“I believe that would be up to Her,” he says, and drops his head to the juncture between your neck and shoulder, sharp teeth gently brushing across your pulse point, where your heartbeat makes itself known. “We can’t have our private moments too often I would think; what would all your little friends say if you were missing so frequently? We can sort out the sordid details later, darling- focus on me now.”

And with that he pulls back far enough that his shadowy tentacles can slip between your bodies, pulling your dress up over your head and leaving you perched in his lap in just your panties. Alastor is leaning back in before you can cover yourself, his mouth latching on to the swell of your nipple and sucking it hard into his mouth, tongue swirling around the tip with a free hand coming down to tug at the flimsy fabric of your panties, the mere suggestion of his claws reducing them to scraps. His grip back on the soft curve of your hip, he pulls your body down against him to grind against the wet heat between your thighs, a reverberating groan against your chest that sends heat rocketing through your body.

It’s the most perfect thing you’ve felt in ages- firm pressure against your clit where his erection strains against his slacks, the slickness of your arousal irreparably ruining them. You hope for both of your sakes that despite the strangeness of the trial you were in, your clothing would be reset like it usually was; showing up to the fire completely naked wasn’t something that you wanted to be subjected to, nor was what would be unavoidable scrutiny from your teammates at taking so long in the trial and then showing up unclothed.

“You’re far too preoccupied with whatever is in that lovely head of yours,” Alastor says around a nipple, giving it a parting kiss before moving to the other side. “Am I not adequately entertaining you, my dear?” He continues to rut his hips up against you as he speaks, the tinkling of a belt buckle making you look down to see more of his tentacles undoing his pants so he doesn’t have to take his hands off you. That’s the thought that finally has you releasing the shaky breath you’ve been holding back, hands coming off the back of the armchair to tangle in his hair and clutch him closer to your chest. Sudden, burning heat presses against you, a moan suppressed into your skin as Alastor pulls back, kissing along your collarbone. “I’d so hate for you to be bored,” he says politely, and starts to shift you backwards off his lap.

“Wait!” You resist the pull, sliding forward again until the folds of your cunt rest against his cock, his hissed intake of breath sending your heart rate skyward. Hands braced on his chest now, you place your forehead against his. “Please, I want- fuck, Alastor, please…”

His grip tightens, tilting and lifting you enough that the tip of his cock presses insistently at your entrance. And fuck, you knew he was strong- he had to be, with the ease that he lifted the others, men entirely comprised of dense muscle, onto the hooks; how deep his slices cut with one swing; how easy it was for him to bust pallets and walls and fuck up your generators- but the demonstration of it now as he prepares to fuck you shoots arousal into your bloodstream, sharp and dangerous while he merely holds you aloft like its nothing, the drip of your arousal coating him where you hover in his grasp. “Go on,” he whispers, his lips brushing tantalizingly against yours. “Let me taste what you sound like needing me.” 

So you plead- you let the words fall from your lips like a prayer, to him, to the Entity, begging for release, for the pleasure that he’s promised you as a reprieve from the usual torture of these realms. “Please fuck me, please, Alastor, I need it- oh God, yes…” Your words dissolve into a drawn out whimper of his name as he pulls you down, sinking you onto his cock with such steady pressure that your limbs tingle with the feeling of being so perfectly filled. Your moans echo in the empty halls of the police department, no one to hear you as you settle fully into his lap, his length reaching deep inside you and brushing against that soft sweet spot that many back home struggled to hit with any accuracy. He stills and allows you to adjust to him, claws still gripping the plush skin of your thighs while you breath deeply and force yourself to move slow to start.

Alastor exhales harshly through his nose when you rock your hips against him, a slow grind that has his cock dragging deliciously against your inner walls. The way he’s watching you, the feeling of his tight grip against your skin- it’s all such a contrast to the feelings you’ve been plagued with since the Entity abducted you. There’s still a tinge of fear but with it- burning, glorious pleasure, anticipation that grows in your gut along with the distant ache of an approaching orgasm, the satisfaction of a curiosity being sated. You use the little leverage to have to lift up a couple inches off his cock before rocking back down, a desperate whine escaping you when he bucks his hips to meet your thrust. You establish a rhythm, slow and firm with the pressure exactly where you need it even without a hand between your bodies to rub at your clit. You were sure if you snaked a hand down now it would be over, cumming in Alastor’s lap as many times as you could manage before he finally finished himself. But you were in no rush- you could stay like this forever, you think deliriously, riding this demon’s cock without a single thought to the world outside this room, the dangers of the Entity’s realm that normally lurk around every corner.

Like she can hear the thought as it enters your head, a bell rings out- the world shakes around you as the end-trial timer starts again, shadows that are different from Alastor’s growing up the walls and dismantling the realm at the seams.

“Oh dear,” Alastor says, his hands tightening their grip on your body even as he ceases his thrusting. “It would appear that we now have a time limit, darling. Perhaps you’d better run along now- we wouldn’t want you to get caught in the Entity’s clutches, would we?”

He knows as well as you do what happens when the timer runs out- dark spikes that emerge from the ground to spear the unfortunate survivor that took a second too long in finding the hatch or opening the gate, like the Entity was throwing a tantrum at them not playing her game the way she wanted. And he’s not wrong- if you had any sense of self-preservation you would climb out of his lap and stumble with your weak legs back towards where you had heard the hatch earlier. Fuck, you wouldn’t even still be here if you had any true survival instincts, because where was the logic in staying in a confined space with who was, despite his honeyed voice and thick cock, a confirmed killer?

You didn’t want to risk being caught when the timer ran out, impaled in a far less pleasurable way than you currently were- but maybe the buzz of pleasure was making you a little careless in your decision making. You were so close to orgasm, you didn’t think it would take you long to get there.

He starts to lift you from his lap and you clench your inner walls in protest, stealing the groan from his lips with a fierce kiss. “No, wait- I have enough time, let me keep going.”

You feel him smile against your lips. “I admire your dedication, my dear, but time is fleeting- I’d hate for you to feel rushed, there’s always next time.”

That should sound promising, the knowledge that you can have this again, but instead it spurs you into action. “Fuck, no, need it now-” You rise up and slam back down onto him, your legs digging into the sides of the chair, your thighs straining with the effort you’re now exerting as you properly ride him, fast and sloppy. It’s desperate now, the need that you feel- as the world around you continues to shudder and quake you make quick work with your fingers, finally reaching between your bodies to slide your fingers through the slick of your arousal and rub at your clit, engorged and throbbing in your need. Alastor lets out a soft noise as your walls flutter around him in time with the flickering of the lights, cumming with a whine into his mouth as your body tenses in his grasp, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt in an imitation of his claws. Your vision goes dark- which might be an effect of the realm disintegrating, now that you think about it- and everything is crackling electricity and white-hot pleasure that drowns out everything but the sound of Alastor grunting as he continues to fuck up into your pliant body, soft and soaked in the remnants of your orgasm.

Black oozes down the walls surrounding you, the full collapse of the police department imminent as Alastor stands suddenly, tentacles sending papers and binders scattering so he can lay you across the desk, thrusting in time with the ringing of the bell. He bucks his hips once, twice, before spending himself with a couple long pulses, the last spilling across the bare skin of your pelvis as he pulls out.

You know that the collapse is going to happen now, that you wasted any chance you might have had of escaping in favor of cumming on Alastor’s cock, but you can’t bring yourself to care as Alastor pants softly, brushing your hair from your forehead and standing, helping you get your feet under you before he takes a step back. “Until next time, my dear,” he says, and before you can even inquire what he means there are cool, ghost-like hands wrapping around your ankles. A glance down reveals that in the chaos of the collapse Alastor had moved the pair of you- shifting through the shadows until you stood outside RCPD instead of the office you had been occupying, the hum of the hatch ignored despite being so close to you.

His shadow grins at you from the fading sidewalk and tugs hard, sending you sprawling through the hatch with Alastor’s glowing eyes watching you from above.

You land hard on your back beside the campfire, immediately swarmed by your friends- Nancy in particular is teary, worried about having left you alone with Alastor after she escaped. After covertly confirming that you were clothed- because thank God, showing up late would be one thing, but late and naked was another- you shoo them off with some fabricated story about Alastor chasing you away from the hatch whenever you got close.

Everyone’s minds at ease, you settle onto a log by the fire, Meg and Laurie on either side of you as they tell you about their own trials; no one else seems to notice the wispy shadow that lurks on the edge of the woods, or the way that it grins and winks before fading into the fog.

[waywardangel-wilds]

Inspired by this post by @littlemarianah and this post by @mellarked-katnisseverdeen :

Katniss propped up her father’s frameless shaving mirror, watching herself in the setting sunlight as she anxiously rearranged her hair. She brushed her fingers down the front of her dress. It was ironed, clean, and never before mended. It was the nicest piece of clothing she owned. Was it alright? She turned herself to profile in the mirror. Would he like it?

“Birdie, what are you puttering around in there for?” Her father hobbled towards the bathrooms doorway. His bad leg usually gave him a harder time on rainy evenings, like the one they were having. “My,” he paused to smile, “aren’t you a pretty picture?”

She smiled. “Oh daddy, don’t tell me you forgot already.” She reached over to put the mirror away. “You promised you’d be on your best behaviour.”

“For what?” He asked, but his slight smile gave him away. Katniss rolled her eyes while she straightened the collar of his shirt. “I’m just joking, ‘course I didn’t forget. What are you messing with my shirt for? He's not coming to see me!” He laughed.

“This is important to me,” She met her father’s smiling eyes with her own nervous gaze. “I want him to like it here. I want you to like him.”

“We’ll see about that,” he chuckled at his daughter’s stricken expression. “Don’t give me that pout! I just want to know if he’s good enough to be on your arm, is all.”

“Daddy,” Katniss shook her head. She glanced out the window at the sun. He’d be by soon. “I need to finish getting ready!”

“You’re beautiful already, birdie. I don’t see what all the fuss is about.” He was laughing as she pushed him out of the bathroom. “Alright! Alright! I know when I’m not wanted.”

“Please don’t let mama say anything embarrassing!” She begged before she shut the door in his face.

“You heard that? Your daughter thinks we’ve no self control,” he snickered into the kitchen where his wife offered him an amused tweak of the brow. “You’d think the boy was the prince of Panem or something.”

“Hm, I think it’s sweet.” His wife replied, lifting the lid of the stew she’d been working on for the better part of the evening. “Young love, remember it?”

“You’re calling me old?” He pulled her into the circle of his arms. “These Everdeen women sure are difficult to impress.”

“Spruce,” she shook her head. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and help me with this food, huh? Your daughter put a lot of work into tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He walked over to their makeshift ice box. “I promise to keep the commentary to a minimum.”

“Mama! If Katniss marries the baker do we get free cakes forever?” Prim little head stuck into the house from where she sat on the front steps. “Cause that’d be really neat!”

“Primrose Everdeen!” She said around a laugh. “Don’t you have to get dressed for dinner?”

“He’s not marrying me,” the girl replied sullenly as she shuffled towards the bedroom.

“No one’s marrying anyone!” Spruce called out. “In fact, what does anyone need boys for?”

“You’re a boy daddy,” Prim replied.

“Now that’s an entirely different thing,” he replied. “I’m your father. That makes me better than the rest.”

“Mmhm,” his wife replied sarcastically. “Taste this?” She placed the spoon before his lips.

“Sour,” he coughed. “What have you been doing over there?”

“Well you could fix it if you know so much,” she handed him the spoon. “I could use a rest, you know. It takes a lot to look like this.” She fluffed her hair.

“Yes, I noticed. You look lovely, dear.” She smacked his shoulder. “I mean it!”

“Uh huh,” she replied.

“Mama! Could I borrow your lipstick?” Katniss’s voice came from the bathroom still. “Is it in your room?”

“Yes, darling.” His wife replied, shooting him an amused look. “In the drawer!”

They didn't hear anything else before they saw her zoom by to the bedroom, her hair trailing behind her like a river of molasses.

“Don’t sprain something now!” He called after her. “This kid better be the best thing since sliced bread. I don’t remember you putting this much work into making me happy.”

“Hush,” his wife tried to peek into the bedroom before the door shut behind their daughter’s back. “She’s nervous enough as it is.”

A thudding noise from beyond the closed door caught their attention. “Hey!” Prim yelled.

“Oh no, now they’re fighting.” She patted his arm. “I’m going in there.”

“You have my thoughts and prayers,” he replied sarcastically. She didn’t spare that a response, but she smiled, so that was a win.

He set about fixing the stew, adding some extra water to try and counteract the excess vinegar. He was cutting up some wild onion when a tentative knock befell the open door.

"Ah, there he is," He glanced towards the doorway with a friendly expression. "The man of the hour."

At the threshold, a shy-looking eighteen-year-old boy peeked halfway into the house. He smiled self-consciously. "Good evening, Mr. Everdeen."

"Mr. Everdeen? That was my father. You’ll call me Spruce. Come in! What are you doing hanging out in the rain?" He waved him over. "Do you know much about cooking?"

"The basics, I think." He shrugged good-naturedly, taking a moment to wipe his feet on the cheerful mat his wife had laid out there ages ago. He walked in strangling some unfortunate daisies. "These are for Katniss."

"We've got a vase somewhere," He ducked to check the cupboard, his back protesting the whole time. "Here we are. One chipped jug, close enough." He smiled over his shoulder. "It's Peeta, correct?"

"Yes, sir." Peeta accepted the old milk jug and went to fill it at the sink. He quirked a brow at that. "Uh, Mr. Spruce, sorry."

"Whatever floats your boat." He accepted, "Is that for us?" He looked at the covered dish in the boy's other hand.

"Yes, of course!" He awkwardly set it down on the counter as his hands were full. Spruce was starting to feel bad for the kid, he'd never seen anyone so nervous. "Katniss loves the bakery's cheese buns so I figured it might be nice to bring some."

"That she does. Do you think she'd mind if I took one?" He asked cheekily, removing the dish's lid.

Peeta smiled. "Maybe a little."

"I think I'll risk it," He took a big bite out of a nice warm bun. He nodded in approval, "This is good."

Peeta's smile widened, "thank you, Mr. Spruce."

"You're here!" They turned towards the sound of his daughter's voice. She stood in the doorway to the bedroom, looking as lovely as she'd been since the day she was born, but this time she had a light touch of lipstick on her cheeks. "You met my dad."

Peeta nodded, "I did." He started blushing. "I-uh, brought you these." He extended the flowers in her direction, which she leaped across the room to accept. "You look beautiful."

Katniss glanced over her shoulder self-consciously. Spruce averted his eyes to give her some privacy. "Thank you," she said with a voice as sweet as honey. "You look nice too."

Peeta's face took on a love-dazed look and Spruce shook his head. Oh man, that's why his mother had constantly made fun of him back in the day.

He turned his back on the kids. Might as well spare them the extra embarrassment. "We're having a big dinner tonight. Katniss caught all this game all by herself." He returned to the stew, "Right, birdie?"

"Yep," the awkwardness seemed to be a common denominator. "You brought me cheese buns?"

"Yeah, I know how much you like them," Peeta replied with an awkward little chuckle.

"Thank you, I do-- like them, I mean. Yeah." Katniss spoke haltingly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Oh!” His wife finally made it out of the bedroom. “Prim, come say hello!" She called back into the bedroom. "Peeta! How are you? Did the rain give you a hard time?"

"No, no, not at all, I'm great" Peeta replied. "Thank you for inviting me over tonight. You have a lovely home, Mrs. Everdeen."

"Thank you, and it's no trouble at all. We've been curious about you." She walked towards the table with Prim following close behind, a curious look to her. "And please, you don't have to call me that, Lily is fine."

"Lily," Peeta repeated with a smile.

"So since you're the baker and all, do we get freebies when you marry my sister?" Prim challenged.

"Prim!" Katniss chastised. “You don’t have to answer that. We’re not even engaged Prim.”

"And I'm not the baker. I just work there." Peeta answered with an amused smile. "My dad's the baker but I can still make you anything you'd like."

"You don't have to," Katniss said.

"Great! My birthday's coming up." Prim went on shamelessly. She pulled out one of the dining chairs and sat down. "Could you make it a heart-shaped cake? Oh! And cover it in pink frosting?"

Lily put a hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter, meanwhile, Katniss looked mortified. Spruce tsked, joining his youngest daughter at the table. “Don’t scare him off, you’ll cost us our in at the bakery!”

“Daddy,” Katniss complained. She picked up her boyfriend’s hand and tugged him towards the table. “They’re just joking. They do that a lot.”

“I really wouldn’t mind making it though,” Peeta smiled gregariously. “It’s not every day you get an order for a pink and heart-shaped cake. It sounds like fun.”

“In that case, could it be tiered too?” Prim interjected.

“That’s enough, Prim. Don’t disrespect.” Lily said. To Peeta she added, “has Katniss offered you something to drink?”

“Oh wow, I’m sorry I forgot. Do you want some water?” Katniss smiled her embarrassment.

“No, I’m okay, thanks.” Peeta and her seemed to have some sort of secret conversation which resulted in Katniss laughing.

“Should we eat?” Spruce stood. “I can serve the stew.”

“I’ll get the bowls,” Lily readily added. Once they were a sufficiently far away from the children she stage-whispered, “what do you think?”

“I think we’ve got ourselves a problem.”

“A problem? What do you mean? He seems perfectly nice to me.”

“No, he is. Problem is we’re gonna lose our kid.” He peaked over his shoulder. The kids were all seated at the table and having a normal conversation. “This looks permanent.”

Lily’s face grew sentimental. “We weren’t that much older when we got married.” She bit her lip. “ironic, huh?”

“How’d you mean?”

“You and me, town and seam. I chose the coal miner over the baker. Now, our daughter and her boyfriend, still town and seam, but she’s choosing the baker. It’s almost by design.”

“You’re reading too much into it,” he said. “What we should be worried about is how this affects me and the actual baker. First his girl and now his son? I can't go back there.”

“Spruce,” Lily laughed. "You and your jokes. Would it kill you to take this seriously?"

"Yes, it would." He grinned shamelessly. "But you knew that when you married me."

"You're terrible." She handed him a bowl. "Hurry up."

"So demanding," he shook his head. "This is cripple abuse."

"Cripple," Lily snorted.

"Thank you," Peeta smiled winningly as Lily deposited his bowl in front of him.

"So Peeta," Spruce interlaced his fingers. Time to look serious. "If you're not going to be the baker, what will you do? I'm assuming one of your brothers is the next baker, right?"

"Dad," Katniss complained.

"It's an important question." Spruce leaned forward slightly on his forearms. "Peeta?"

"That's right, Mr., Uh, Spruce, I'm not the next baker." Peeta managed to maintain eye contact with him. Good. "I'm apprenticing at the justice building for the rest of the year. My mother's side of the family has connections there."

"Interesting. What will you be doing?" Spruce cocked his head. "It pays?"

"Dad," Katniss groaned. "You know I'm sitting right here right?"

He put up a placating hand, "Peeta?"

"It pays," the boy nodded. "It should be enough, for um, multiple people." He blushed then.

"Please, I could probably provide enough for all of us." Katniss rolled her eyes and muttered. "Talking about me like a goat up for auction."

Spruce stared hard at them both for a long moment. Peeta looked like he was sweating. Katniss looked like she wanted him to keel over. He nodded. "Alright."

"Alright?" Katniss asked derisively.

"I'm giving you my blessing, birdie. Don't spend it all in one place." He smiled as Katniss gave in and softened. "That's my girl."

Part 2

[srgntjamesbuckybarnes]

The List (6)

Summary: When a hit list spreads around New York, Bucky’s ex-wife is the only one with any information.

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Mafia Bucky Barnes x Ex-Wife Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Not Beta’d.

Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Chapter 6

Surprisingly, Bucky was just as good at taking orders as he was at giving them. He called Y/N every chance he got. Some days they kept things simple, light. That was the easy part. It was like second nature, falling back into old habits. They were the conversations that reminded Y/N just how removed Bucky had kept her from his other world. How easily he had lied to her.

Other days, they discussed business. These conversations were shorter. Y/N hadn’t known the code words Bucky and Steve used to discuss private matters in public and she figured she never would. So, Y/N and Bucky invented their own secret language. Bucky had always been able to read Y/N with just a glance but there was something intimate about birthing their own language. Secret words designed for their ears only. It was intoxicating.

Steve on the other hand, was incapable of following orders, at least from Y/N. The six-foot man lurked around the house eavesdropping on Y/N’s conversations. Despite his skills, Y/N had noticed him. It was impossible to miss him when he physically absorbed so much space. He never said anything, but Y/N guessed he wanted her to notice him. He wouldn’t let her words alone push him away. Steve was still loyal to Bucky. Y/N had sliced her heel one too many times balancing around shattered glass. That didn’t mean she had to cut her fingers while gluing the broken pieces back together. So, she let him listen.

Each morning Sam’s first question was, “How’s Bucky?” Today wasn’t the exception.

Y/N’s face lit up. While the question was stale, the answer was fresh. “He’s doing well. His lawyer vouched for him and thinks he could be out any day now.”

If the island countertop hadn’t separated them, Sam would have hugged Y/N. Delighted by the news, Sam leaned down until his elbows came in contact with the marble. His head rested in his palms with a toothy grin. “Sounds like it’s almost time for a wedding. Let me know if you need a male’s opinion on honeymoon attire. I happen to have an eye for that sort of thing,” he teased.

Y/N gasped, slapping his elbow. Sam’s face fell as his elbow gave out. Ignoring the blush splattered on Y/N’s cheeks, she shrieked, “You’re lucky Bucky isn’t here to kick your ass.”

Sam let out a loud belly laugh as he straightened. “The man practically wears all black. He has no sense of fashion. He would be grateful for my opinion.”

It was true. Bucky gravitated toward the darker scale when it came to clothing, but it suited him. His eyes always stood out letting the rest of the world know they were under the eyes of a predator.

“Well in that case, I’ll let Bucky know your offer extends to him as well. I’m sure he’d be thrilled to try on some little outfits for you.”

Sam fake gagged. “Now that was cruel. I don’t want to imagine Bucky in anything little.”

Now it was Y/N’s turn to laugh.

A shadow lingering outside of the kitchen caught her eye. Steve. It wasn’t the first time he listened in on her and Sam’s banter.

Sam turned to his left at the sound of footsteps. There hadn’t been any bad blood between Steve and Sam. Steve knew it wasn’t Sam’s fault he had been demoted. Sam who once reported to Steve had been silent since taking over. He was so busy with Y/N that Steve hadn’t realized how much his relationship with Sam was mostly business.

“Hey Steve.” Sam waved.

Steve stood in the doorway; one shoulder rested on the doorframe. He sent Sam a nod and shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

“How is he?”

Y/N knew he had been listening in. He already knew how Bucky was but maybe it was a test. Would she tell him a different story? She didn’t hate Steve but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t call him out.

“You should know already. You’ve been listening in for a while.”

Steve’s lip twitched upward as if he knew something she didn’t. An unsettling feeling pooled in her stomach. It wasn’t the reaction she had been expecting from Steve.

“If you knew I was listening, why haven’t you said anything before,” he questioned.

Y/N shrugged, “I don’t have anything to hide.”

Steve hummed, “Except for when you talk to Bucky. What aren’t you telling us?”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “That’s for his benefit and you know it. You two speak in code all of the time. Besides, some conversations are meant to only be between a husband and wife.”

Steve huffed, striding to stand beside Sam. Steve bit his tongue on the husband-and-wife comment. They weren’t married yet. There was still time for her to back out and leave Steve to do damage control. He knew Y/N. The part of her that was in charge may have been new, but the way she spoke or didn’t told him there was something she hadn’t told them.

“And?” Steve pressed.

And Bucky had managed to get Thor to help them, but he would need help escaping the prison Y/N wanted to say but she kept her cards close to her chest. She wouldn’t let anyone ruin her plan. It was on a need-to-know basis and Sam and Steve did not need to know. At least not yet.

“And nothing,” Y/N shrugged.

Sam waited with a bated breath as his friends faced off in an intense stare down. Y/N had trusted him enough to appoint him as second in command, but Steve had never steered him wrong. This was one battle he didn’t want to meddle in.

The sound of fast approaching footsteps ricocheted off of the walls. Steve was the first to break eye contact, spinning on his heels with a raised gun. Sam followed suit backing Steve up.

Bursting through the archway was a disheveled Peter. None of them could say they were surprised. Peter panted bent over with one hand resting on the door frame.

“Hey kid, breathe,” Sam called out, lowering his gun.

“What’s going on?” Steve asked, his gun lowered slightly.

Peter straightened glancing between Y/N and Steve. “Uh- there’s a guy at the front gate. He asked to speak with whoever is home.”

Steve’s grip on his gun tightened. “Did you find out who he is?”

Peter frowned. “Some guy who works for the court. He’s here about Bucky’s trial.”

Y/N jumped to her feet ready to charge outside. Without turning around, Steve held out his arm blocking her path.

“I’ll meet him down at the gate. See what he wants.”

Shoving Steve’s arm away Y/N barked, “I’m up to date with Bucky’s trial. I’ll go.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you both go.” Sam wasn’t asking.

Y/N huffed, “Fine. We’ll both go.”

The long walk to the gate was silent. Steve’s long legs carried him ahead of Y/N slightly faster. If it wasn’t for his hand hovering over his gun tucked into his waistband, Y/N would have thought he was being childish. She wouldn’t put it past him to want to beat her in some imaginary race.

Steve halted at the gate staring at the man on the other side. He made no move to open the gate, so Y/N opted to keep the barrier as well. Bucky hadn’t mentioned to expect someone. It could be a trap from Loki.

A tall ebony man in a dark suit pushed himself off of his sleek car. With two manilla folders in hand he approached the gate.

“Steve Rogers. Y/N Y/L/N. I’m pleased to see you both.”

Steve and Y/N shared a look silently asking the other if they knew him.

“I’m Michael. I’m here on behalf of the court.” He slipped a single folder through the gate. Steve caught it and Michael pursed his lips. “There’s eyewitnesses clocking you at the scene of the crime.” He eyed Steve. “That's a subpoena. You will testify at the Barnes trial.”

Y/N froze as Steve fumbled with the folder. He had to see it for himself. There were many cameras at the event. There were plenty of witnesses. Of course, someone recognized them. Y/N clenched her fist.

“This must be some kind of mistake,” Steve argued.

Michael shrugged, pushing his round glasses higher up the bridge of his crooked nose. “That is not my concern. My job is just to make sure these folders,” he smacked the manilla folder against the charcoal metal fence, “get in the hands of the people that are required to show up to court.” Then he pointed to the second folder at Y/N.

With a shaky hand, Y/N reached for the folder. Before she could touch it, Steve grabbed her hand, yanking her back. Michael’s eyes zeroed in on the engagement ring that decorated Y/N’s finger.

“I see,” Michael’s mouth set in a hard line. “According to public records, you and Barnes are no longer married, correct?”

Her mouth went dry. “Yes,” she wheezed.

“Then legally, I can serve you this.”

This time, Steve didn’t stop Y/N from accepting the folder. Time stood still between the two of them as Michael drove away. They both remained glued in front of the gate. Steve had expected the court to come for Y/N since she had been with Bucky before the fight, but he hoped they hadn’t been seen. He hadn’t expected the court to come for him. Most of the witnesses had been too panicked to remember his face.

“What now?” Steve asked. It was the first time he had been stunned. It was also the first time he accepted Y/N in charge.

Y/N’s wild eyes found Steve’s. “Do you remember how to officiate a wedding?”

Next Chapter

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[hypexion]

Dot and Bubble turned out to be much more than what the trailer offered, yet still I will post my list of words next to dots.

First up, in spite of it all, the episode is not escaping the "social media bad" allegations. More on that later

The core concept of the Doctor having to remotely guide someone out of a situation is excellent. Very Blink, but in real-time

The idea of being surrounded by a danger you're unaware of until someone reveals it is also pretty rad. And slightly terrifying

Like the scene where Lindy de-bubbles outside and loads of people are being eaten is messed up

Sadly I think it goes a little too far in having Lindy being unable to walk in a straight line without the bubble. I'm pretty sure that's not even how walking works

You could force the re-bubbling just by making it so she doesn't know the way out of the building. Then in the Plaza 55 scene just have her freak out and freeze because she's surrounded by scary monsters

The problem is that suddenly Lindy is capable of basic motor skills after a few minutes anyway so what was even the point

Also the Dots wanting to kill everyone felt kind of stupid to me for complex meta reasons. Social media might not have your best interests in mind, but the way it which it does so is not homicidal. It in fact needs you alive

The first big twist was pretty brutal. Surprise! The perky idiot was in fact evil!

This actually also clashes with Lindy previously being incapable of all thought since her plan requires fairly decent critical thinking skills to combine several pieces of information and to predict how revealing Ricky September's previous name might save her

This theoretically serves as the final hint of the other twist unless you already worked it out: The Finetimers are all racist. So much so that they walk off into the wilderness to die horribly

wow Ncuti Gatwa puts his all into that Doctor Speech

but there's a but

While it is good that the topic was not avoided, flattening all racist down into a vauge "wow look at those stupid racists" is not an amazing way to handle it?

There are smart bigots of all kinds and they are often the most dangerous ones

It also sort of glosses over how exactly Finetime is benefitting from whatever inequitable society they have

The audience reaction here is also not particularly inspiring here even on the things that aren't Fridge Horror

Some people are saying "woah the Finetimers didn't deserve to be saved" which is essentially not just missing the text of this episode but the entirety of Doctor Who. The Doctor's ethos is that everyone deserves to be saved. If the Daleks get mercy so does everyone else

Also what's going in this episode is genocide

And it gets worse. The episode shows us a very specific slice of the Finetimer's culture. They are directly stated to be the children of the rich upperclass.

The concept of a rich privileged elite only makes sense if the is an underclass from which the elite are distinct

Lindy is reflexively dismissive of the Doctor, and acts as if he should be obligated to help her, but she isn't surpised to see him. So whatever group Lindy thinks the Doctor is part of still existed when she moved to Finetime.

Therefore, I think it's incredibly likely that in addition to the rich racists, the Dots also murdered the entirety of Homeworld's underclass, for the "crime" of being that underclass.

So did the Dots turn against their creators for principled reasons, or did they simply absorb the values of the culture that created them, with the only difference being that they put themselves at the top of the hierarchy?

anyhow I think it would have been more messed up if Lindy realised "yeah we aren't going to make it" and abandoned the other Finetimers, while still being exactly as evil, bigoted and self-centered as she was before. Hell have her lie to the others that she's going to wait for more survivors then turn around and say "so what are we waiting for lets gooooo" in her airhead voice

[freetheshit-outofyou]

@sadrcitysocialclub, In reference to the PTSD post. Folks often say "Man, you left the war 17 years ago, it can't hurt that bad anymore." what they don't understand is it was 17 years ago for them, it was last night for me. "June 26, 2007, 3:51 PM

By Brian Mockenhaupt

I Miss Iraq. I Miss My Gun. I Miss My War.

A year after coming home from a tour in Iraq, a soldier returns home to find out he left something behind.

A few months ago, I found a Web site loaded with pictures and videos from Iraq, the sort that usually aren't seen on the news. I watched insurgent snipers shoot American soldiers and car bombs disintegrate markets, accompanied by tinny music and loud, rhythmic chanting, the soundtrack of the propaganda campaigns. Video cameras focused on empty stretches of road, building anticipation. Humvees rolled into view and the explosions brought mushroom clouds of dirt and smoke and chunks of metal spinning through the air. Other videos and pictures showed insurgents shot dead while planting roadside bombs or killed in firefights and the remains of suicide bombers, people how they're not meant to be seen, no longer whole. The images sickened me, but their familiarity pulled me in, giving comfort, and I couldn't stop. I clicked through more frames, hungry for it. This must be what a shot of dope feels like after a long stretch of sobriety. Soothing and nauseating and colored by everything that has come before. My body tingled and my stomach ached, hollow. I stood on weak legs and walked into the kitchen to make dinner. I sliced half an onion before putting the knife down and watching slight tremors run through my hand. The shakiness lingered. I drank a beer. And as I leaned against this kitchen counter, in this house, in America, my life felt very foreign.

I've been home from Iraq for more than a year, long enough for my time there to become a memory best forgotten for those who worried every day that I was gone. I could see their relief when I returned. Life could continue, with futures not so uncertain. But in quiet moments, their relief brought me guilt. Maybe they assume I was as overjoyed to be home as they were to have me home. Maybe they assume if I could do it over, I never would have gone. And maybe I wouldn't have. But I miss Iraq. I miss the war. I miss war. And I have a very hard time understanding why.

I'm glad to be home, to have put away my uniforms, to wake up next to my wife each morning. I worry about my friends who are in Iraq now, and I wish they weren't. Often I hated being there, when the frustrations and lack of control over my life were complete and mind-bending. I questioned my role in the occupation and whether good could come of it. I wondered if it was worth dying or killing for. The suffering and ugliness I saw disgusted me. But war twists and shifts the landmarks by which we navigate our lives, casting light on darkened areas that for many people remain forever unexplored. And once those darkened spaces are lit, they become part of us. At a party several years ago, long before the Army, I listened to a friend who had served several years in the Marines tell a woman that if she carried a pistol for a day, just tucked in her waistband and out of sight, she would feel different. She would see the world differently, for better or worse. Guns empower. She disagreed and he shrugged. No use arguing the point; he was just offering a little piece of truth. He was right, of course. And that's just the beginning.

I've spent hours taking in the world through a rifle scope, watching life unfold. Women hanging laundry on a rooftop. Men haggling over a hindquarter of lamb in the market. Children walking to school. I've watched this and hoped that someday I would see that my presence had made their lives better, a redemption of sorts. But I also peered through the scope waiting for someone to do something wrong, so I could shoot him. When you pick up a weapon with the intent of killing, you step onto a very strange and serious playing field. Every morning someone wakes wanting to kill you. When you walk down the street, they are waiting, and you want to kill them, too. That's not bloodthirsty; that's just the trade you've learned. And as an American soldier, you have a very impressive toolbox. You can fire your rifle or lob a grenade, and if that's not enough, call in the tanks, or helicopters, or jets. The insurgents have their skill sets, too, turning mornings at the market into chaos, crowds into scattered flesh, Humvees into charred scrap. You're all part of the terrible magic show, both powerful and helpless.

That men are drawn to war is no surprise. How old are boys before they turn a finger and thumb into a pistol? Long before they love girls, they love war, at least everything they imagine war to be: guns and explosions and manliness and courage. When my neighbors and I played war as kids, there was no fear or sorrow or cowardice. Death was temporary, usually as fast as you could count to sixty and jump back into the game. We didn't know yet about the darkness. And young men are just slightly older versions of those boys, still loving the unknown, perhaps pumped up on dreams of duty and heroism and the intoxicating power of weapons. In time, war dispels many such notions, and more than a few men find that being freed from society's professed revulsion to killing is really no freedom at all, but a lonely burden. Yet even at its lowest points, war is like nothing else. Our culture craves experience, and that is war's strong suit. War peels back the skin, and you live with a layer of nerves exposed, overdosing on your surroundings, when everything seems all wrong and just right, in a way that makes perfect sense. And then you almost die but don't, and are born again, stoned on life and mocking death. The explosions and gunfire fry your nerves, but you want to hear them all the same. Something's going down.

For those who know, this is the open secret: War is exciting. Sometimes I was in awe of this, and sometimes I felt low and mean for loving it, but I loved it still. Even in its quiet moments, war is brighter, louder, brasher, more fun, more tragic, more wasteful. More. More of everything. And even then I knew I would someday miss it, this life so strange. Today the war has distilled to moments and feelings, and somewhere in these memories is the reason for the wistfulness.

On one mission we slip away from our trucks and into the night. I lead the patrol through the darkness, along canals and fields and into the town, down narrow, hard-packed dirt streets. Everyone has gone to bed, or is at least inside. We peer through gates and over walls into courtyards and into homes. In a few rooms TVs flicker. A woman washes dishes in a tub. Dogs bark several streets away. No one knows we are in the street, creeping. We stop at intersections, peek around corners, training guns on parked cars, balconies, and storefronts. All empty. We move on. From a small shop up ahead, we hear men's voices and laughter. Maybe they used to sit outside at night, but now they are indoors, where it's safe. Safer. The sheet-metal door opens and a man steps out, cigarette and lighter in hand. He still wears a smile, takes in the cool night air, and then nearly falls backward through the doorway in a panic. I'm a few feet from him now and his eyes are wide. I mutter a greeting and we walk on, back into the darkness.

Another night we're lost in a dust storm. I'm in the passenger seat, trying to guide my driver and the three trucks behind us through this brown maelstrom. The headlights show nothing but swirling dirt. We've driven these roads for months, we know them well, but we see nothing. So we drive slow, trying to stay out of canals and people's kitchens. We curse and we laugh. This is bizarre but a great deal of fun.

Another night my platoon sergeant's truck is swallowed in flames, a terrible, beautiful, boiling bloom of red and orange and yellow, lighting the darkness for a moment. Somehow we don't die, one more time.

Another night, there's McCarthy bitching, the cherry of his cigarette bobbing in the dark, bitching that he won't be on the assault team, that he's stuck as a turret gunner for the night. We'd been out since early that morning, came back for dinner, and are preparing to raid a weapons dealer. Our first real raid. I heave my body armor onto my shoulders, settling its too-familiar weight. Then the helmet and first-aid kit and maps and radio and ammunition and rifle and all the rest. Now I look like everyone else, an arm of this strange and destructive organism, covered in armor and guns. We crowd around a satellite map spread across a Humvee hood and trace our route. Wells, my squad leader, rehearses our movements. Get in quick. Watch the danger zones. If he has a gun, kill him. I look around the group, at these faces I know so well, and feel the collective strength, this ridiculous power. The camaraderie of men in arms plays a part, for sure. The shared misery and euphoria and threat of death. But there is something more: the surrender of self, voluntary or not, to the machine. Do I believe in the war? Not important. Put that away and live in the moment, where little is knowable and even less is controllable, when my world narrows to one street, one house, one room, one door.

We pack into the trucks after midnight, and the convoy snakes out of camp and speeds toward the target house. I sit in a backseat and the fear settles in, a sharp burning in my stomach, same as the knot from hard liquor gulped too fast. I think about the knot. I'll be the first through the door. What if he starts shooting, hits me right in the face before I'm even through the doorway? What if there's two, or three? What if he pitches a grenade at us? And I think about it more and run through the scenarios, planning my movements, imagining myself clearing through the rooms, firing two rounds into the chest, and the knot fades.

The trucks drop us off several blocks from the target house and we slip into the night. As always, the dogs bark. We gather against the high wall outside the house and call in the trucks to block the streets. The action will pass in a flash. But here, before the chaos starts, when we're stacked against the wall, my friends' bodies pressed against me, hearing their quick breaths and my own, there's a moment to appreciate the gravity, the absurdity, the novelty, the joy of the moment. Is this real? Hearts beat strong. Hands grip tight on weapons. Reassurance. The rest of the world falls away. Who knows what's on the other side?

One, two, three, go. We push past the gate and across the courtyard and toward the house, barrels locked on the windows and roof. Wells runs up with the battering ram, a short, heavy pipe with handles, and launches it toward the massive wood door. The lock explodes, the splintered door flies open, and we rush through, just the way we've practiced hundreds of times. No one shoots me in the face. No grenades roll to my feet. I kick open doors. We scan darkened bedrooms with the flashlights on our rifles and move on to the next and the next.

He's gone, of course. We ransack his house, dumping drawers, flipping mattresses, punching holes in the ceiling. We find rifles and grenades and hundreds of pounds of gunpowder. And then, near dawn, we lie down on the thick carpets in his living room and sleep, exhausted and untroubled.

Many, many raids followed. We often raided houses late at night, so people awakened to soldiers bursting through their bedroom doors. Women and children wailed, terrified. Taking this in, I imagined what it would feel like if soldiers kicked down my door at midnight, if I could do nothing to protect my family. I would hate those soldiers. Yet I still reveled in the raids, their intensity and uncertainty. The emotions collided, without resolution.

My wife moved to Iraq partway through my second deployment to live in the north and train Iraqi journalists. She spent her evenings at restaurants and tea shops with her Iraqi friends. We spoke by cell phone, when the spotty network allowed, and she told me about this life I couldn't imagine, celebrating holidays with her colleagues and being invited into their homes. I didn't have any Iraqi friends, save for our few translators, and I'd rarely been invited into anyone's home. I told her of my life, the tedious days and frightful seconds, and she worried that in all of this I would lose my thoughtfulness and might stop questioning and just accept. But she didn't judge the work that I did, and I didn't tell her that I sometimes enjoyed it, that for stretches of time I didn't think about the greater implications, that it sometimes seemed like a game. I didn't tell her that death felt ever present and far away, and that either way, it didn't really seem to matter.

We both came back from Iraq, luckier than many. Two of my wife's students have been killed, among the scores of journalists to die in Iraq, and guys I served with are still dying, too. One came home from the war and shot himself on Thanksgiving. Another was blown up on Christmas in Baghdad.

Thinking of them, I felt disgusted with myself for missing the war and wondered if I was alone in this.

I don't think I am.

After watching the Internet videos, I called some of my friends who are out of the Army now, and they miss the war, too. Wells very nearly died in Iraq. A sniper shot him in the head, surgeons cut out half of his skull—a story told in this magazine last April—and he spent months in therapy, working back to his old self. Now he misses the high. "I don't want to sound like a psychopath, but you're like a god over there," he says. "It might not be the best kind of adrenaline for you, but it's a rush." Before Iraq, he didn't care for horror movies, and now he's drawn to them. He watches them for the little thrill, the rush of being startled, if just for a moment.

McCarthy misses the war just the same. He saved Wells's life, pressing a bandage over the hole in his head. Now he's delivering construction materials to big hotel projects along the beach in South Carolina, waiting for a police department to process his application. "The monotony is killing me," he told me, en route to deliver some rebar. "I want to go on a raid. I want something to blow up. I want something to change today." He wants the unknown. "Anything can happen, and it does happen. And all of the sudden your world is shattered, and everything has changed. It's living dangerously. You're living on the edge. And you're the baddest motherfucker around."

Mortal danger heightens the senses. That is simple animal instinct. We're more aware of how our world smells and sounds and tastes. This distorts and enriches experiences. Now I can have everything, but it's not as good as when I could have none of it. McCarthy and I stood on a rooftop one afternoon in Iraq running through a long list of the food we wanted. We made it to homemade pizza and icy beer when someone loosed a long burst of gunfire that cracked over our heads. We ran to the other side of the rooftop, but the gunman had disappeared down a long alleyway. Today my memory of that pizza and beer is stronger than if McCarthy and I had sat down together with the real thing before us.

And today we even speak with affection of wrestling a dead man into a body bag, because that was then. The bullet had laid his thigh wide open, shattered the femur, and shredded the artery, so he'd bled out fast, pumping much of his blood onto the sidewalk. We unfolded and unzipped the nylon sack and laid it alongside him. And then we stared for a moment, none of us ready to close that distance. I grabbed his forearm and dropped it, maybe instinct, maybe revulsion. He hovered so near this world, having just passed over, that he seemed to be sucking life from me, pulling himself back or taking me with him. He peeked at us through a half-opened eye. I stared down on him, his massive dead body, and again wrapped a hand around his wrist, thick and warm. The man was huge, taller than six feet and close to 250 pounds. We strained with the awkward weight, rolled him into the bag, and zipped him out of sight. My platoon sergeant gave two neighborhood kids five dollars to wash away the congealing puddle of blood. But the red handprint stayed on the wall, where the man had tried to brace himself before he fell. I think about him sometimes, splayed out on the sidewalk, and I think of how lucky I was never to have put a friend in one of those bags. Or be put in one myself.

But the memories, good and bad, are only part of the reason war holds its grip long after soldiers have come home. The war was urgent and intense and the biggest story going, always on the news stations and magazine covers. At home, though, relearning everyday life, the sense of mission can be hard to find. And this is not just about dim prospects and low-paying jobs in small towns. Leaving the war behind can be a letdown, regardless of opportunity or education or the luxuries waiting at home. People I'd never met sent me boxes of cookies and candy throughout my tours. When I left for two weeks of leave, I was cheered at airports and hugged by strangers. At dinner with my family one night, a man from the next table bought me a $400 bottle of wine. I was never quite comfortable with any of this, but they were heady moments nonetheless.For my friends who are going back to Iraq or are there already, there is little enthusiasm. Any fondness for war is tainted by the practicalities of operating and surviving in combat. Wells and McCarthy and I can speak of the war with nostalgia because we belong to a different world now. And yet there is little to say, because we are scattered, far from those who understand.

When I came home, people often asked me about Iraq, and mostly I told them it wasn't so bad. The first few times, my wife asked me why I had been so blithe. Why didn't I tell them what Iraq was really like? I didn't know how to explain myself to them. The war really wasn't so bad. Yes, there were bombs and shootings and nervous times, but that was just the job. In fact, going to war is rather easy. You react to situations around you and try not to die. There are no electric bills or car payments or chores around the house. Just go to work, come home alive, and do it again tomorrow. McCarthy calls it pure and serene. Indeed. Life at home can be much more trying. But I didn't imagine the people asking would understand that. I didn't care much if they did, and often it seemed they just wanted a war story, a bit of grit and gore. If they really want to know, they can always find out for themselves. But they don't, they just want a taste of the thrill. We all do. We covet life outside our bubble. That's why we love tragedy, why we love hearing about war and death on the television, drawn to it in spite of ourselves. We gawk at accident scenes and watch people humiliate themselves on reality shows and can't wait to replay the events for friends, as though in retelling the story we make it our own, if just for a moment.

We live easy third-person lives but want a bit of the darkness. War fascinates because we live so far from its realities. Maybe we'd feel differently about watching bombs blow up on TV if we saw them up close, if we knew how explosions rip the air, throttle your brain, and make your ears ring, if we knew the strain of wondering whether the car next to you at a traffic light would explode or a bomb would land on your house as you sleep. I don't expect Iraqi soldiers would ever miss war. I have that luxury. I came home to peace, to a country that hasn't seen war within its borders for nearly 150 years. Yes, some boys come home dead. But we live here without the other terrors and tragedies of war—cities flattened and riven with chaos and fear, neighbors killing one another, a people made forever weary by the violence.

And so I miss it.

Every day in Iraq, if you have a job that takes you outside the wire, you stop just before the gate and make your final preparation for war. You pull out a magazine stacked with thirty rounds of ammunition, weighing just over a pound. You slide it into the magazine well of your rifle and smack it with the heel of your hand, driving it up. You pull the rifle's charging handle, draw the bolt back, and release. The bolt slides forward with a metallic snap, catching the top round and shoving it into the barrel. Chak-chuk. If I hear that a half century from now, I will know it in an instant. Unmistakable, and pregnant with possibility. On top of a diving board, as the grade-school-science explanation goes, you are potential energy. On the way down, you are kinetic energy. So I leave the gate and step off the diving board, my energy transformed."

[hexedwinchester]

Unfinished Business

*spoilers ahead..kinda*

It's going to be Camden Casey's character analysis from his three episode arc. This is part 3.. (and yes I'm sad it's the last one..)

I'm a bit bummed that there were no scene between Gabriela and Casey at the bar. I would have traded Jake's storyline in this episode for that one especially after they left us guessing from the previous episode. But of course they didn't hook up which as much as I would have loved I'm glad it didn't happen because it wouldn't have made sense and that's not who Camden is. I would have loved if Casey would have offered her some good piece of advice though. It certainly looks like she could do with one. Instead, he is chivalrous enough to hand her license to Sharon.

It's funny to see just how judgemental Sharon is about Casey. His act is not an escalation against Gabriela, he was saving her further embarassment which struck me interesting. Camden is not a bad guy that Sharon has made out to be in her mind

For someone who has defied protocol himself, it's contradictory to see that Casey is very strict on having his cadets follow his orders. Naturally, after Bode picked the birds over Casey's orders, he didn't make the graduation cut. This didn't sit well with Sharon's nepotism at Station 42. Surprisingly Vince thinks confronting Casey about it would work in Bode's favour. Having understood Casey as much as I have i doubt he would have taken Vince's involvement lightly.

When Casey and crew investigate the fire alarm things turn sour as it turns into a hostage/robbery situation (such SPN x Walker vibes, I tell ya!). Casey notices Shane's (the hostage guy?) lack of confidence about using gun. As Casey works up a plan he slips a name "Patrick" to Bode.

Bode and Casey work together to diffuse the situation and that involves Casey slicing his hand open (SPN easter egg?!) to force an injury as a distraction. Unfortunately a phone call breaks the distraction and Shane catches Audrey slipping and fires at her.

Shane takes control of the situation, threatening Casey to start bagging up the cash. A one little tid bit that is revealed about Casey when he is distracting Shane is that he has experienced loss both monetary and emotional that hints at harsh up bringing which hello I'm so down for! Casey thinks quick and tackles Shane down on the floor. Shots are fired leading to gas leaks and a breakout fire but eventually Shane gets an upper hand and runs for the vault.

Meanwhile Casey and the crew help the hostages out of the building and then Casey decides to go back to save Shane with his cadets. Once the situation is under control Bode confronts Casey about "Patrick" and Casey confesses that Patrick was his baby brother (yup, exactly those words. Gosh this episode was full of SPN easter eggs or I'm just too obsessed with SPN that I see it everywhere). Bode reminds Casey that he is not different than him when it comes to looking out for his own people.

Bode makes quite an impression and eventually finds himself graduating the program alongside Audrey. Y'all didn't tell me they put Camden Casey in a fucking uniform?! 😍😍 Oh man, that was something extraordinary!! Both Audrey and Bode stay at Station 42 as Casey takes a leave for SoCal, his hometown for unfinished business which tbh I'm very interested in 😍

Here are my final thoughts on Camden Casey:

we were promised a SoCal fire fighter with a surfer swag and I feel they partially delivered on this. The only bit missing was the "surfer swag" involving beaches and a shirtless Camden🤩. Hopefully, if a spin off happens, they will give us that.

Casey was meant to un-tame Bode but it felt like he tamed him in other aspects, especially about his relationship ties.

Camden Casey brought hell of a fight sequence which I absolutely loved. Hey, there was a flying flip flop, salt pepper throw, bare feet fighting, hand to hand combat!

His past is very blurry. All we know is he lost his crew one of them being his younger brother but that's about it. No other family or love interest mentioned.

I do love how focused and disciplined he is. How serious he is about ensuring the safety of his crew. He is also pretty respectful of Sharon and Vince even after Sharon has thrown a taunt or two.

Casey has a tragic past other than losing his crew.

i would have loved to see him interact with a lot more characters but I get squeezing all in in three episodes might be tough.

If this spin off is picked up, I'm hoping we will get some flashback into how Casey was before he lost his crew. Would be nice to get a good story for him which is packed with action because Jared is good at bringing fight scenes to life. I'm also very interested in knowing his journey as a firefighter captain and what really makes him tick.

[kiki-shortsnout]

Something I'm working for @the-elle-kat! A Sugardaddy A/B/O in which Tony (omega) ran away from home at 19 when he was pregnant, and since then has been leaping from crappy part-time jobs to make ends meet.

Stephen (Alpha) a famous, and rich, neurosurgeon has been looking for a caregiver for his mother, who is paralysed from the waist down after a horse riding accident.

When Tony turns up to interview for Beverly Strange's caregiver, Stephen immediately wants to turn him away, especially when Tony brings his young daughter with him.

***

Tugging down his shirt sleeve and fiddling with the cufflink, Stephen strode down his hallway, mentally preparing himself for the regular morning arguments, his mother’s frustrations echoing around his penthouse about whatever perceived slight she could concoct.

Pausing, his socked feet slipping on his immaculate hardwood floors, he strained to listen. Nothing, there was nothing, no screams, no arguments, no cutlery flung against counters in frustration.

Frowning, Stephen tiptoed forward now, concerned. Had Stark even remembered to help his mother this morning, or had he taken his offspring to school without a thought for her? Yanking open the door, he drew the attention of his mom and the child, both looking around at him with toast in their mouths.

‘Morning,’ Stark called from the coffee machine, removing a mug and placing it on the kitchen island for him. ‘I wasn’t sure what you liked for breakfast, but these two wanted toast, so that’s what we’ve got,’ he told Stephen, lifting his piece and taking a huge bite from it.

Stephen rarely remembered to eat breakfast, he was usually fleeing the penthouse if he was honest, and he tentatively entered the tableau of domesticity, his gaze on his mother who had turned back, talking to the girl about something. Her brown eyes followed him as he walked in, and he ignored the scrutiny, wondering if she’d had much exposure to alphas, if her other parent was in her life, probably not with the way they’d been living.

He’d been shocked at how little the pair of them owned, now understanding what had prompted Stark to accept his offer, to even interview for the job.

He’d been desperate.

Even in that desperation he hadn’t agreed right away to Stephen’s offer of a job, had made him wait, and he begrudgingly felt his respect for the omega grow. Despite his initial protests, his unease about the situation, he couldn’t deny how different this morning was compared to last year, couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his mother eating with a smile on her face, engaging in conversation.

He was under no illusions that her infamous temper would flare with Stark, that she would attempt to drive him away as she had countless others, an aspect of her personality he couldn’t quite understand. Still, he was interested to see how he would handle it.

‘If you tell me what you like I can have it ready for you. I’ve already asked Beverly what she likes-’

He’s not mentioning the list I gave him of her dietary requirements. Probably for the best, Stephen thought to himself, reaching out for a slice of toast with peanut butter slathered thickly on it.

‘I’ve written down here what I’ve used for Morgan’s packed lunch. I thought you could deduct it from the monthly salary?’

‘Stark-’

‘Or we could do it weekly if you prefer, doesn’t matter I suppose.’

‘I’m not charging you food, either of you,’ he clarified.

‘Doctor Strange, there are two of us, and I’m pretty sure the contract didn’t include a packed lunch for a Kindergartener.’

‘Then I’ll amend it,’ Stephen told him, picking up his coffee and taking a sip. It was good, the omega knew his coffee.

‘But-’

‘No arguments,’ Stephen shut off the conversation.

[separatist-apologist]

The Death Of Peace Of Mind

When the curtains call the time, will we both go home alive?

Summary: Eris Vanserra is a man who is used to feeling nothing.

All that is about to change.

For day 5 of romance week (but maybe we're not gonna tag this one): Feelings Realization

Read on AO3 | Part 1

“What would you do if you found out the guy you were kind of seeing is a psychopath?” Arina asked, jogging across a sidewalk before a car could come barreling through.

“Are you talking about Eris?” Elain replied through the phone. “I know he can be intense, but underneath it all, he’s really decent.”Arina almost laughed. She was talking about Eris, who wished her a good morning each day and asked her how things were going when she got off work. He’d sent flowers to her doorstep.

And at night he climbed through her window, tied her up with rope, and ate her pussy like it was the finest meal he’d ever had. He was also planning his next murder, which Arina was struggling with. Not because he was doing it…but because she found she just didn’t care. 

What did it say about her that she was anxious for all three of them to be dead? That what she really wanted was for him to take off that stupid mask, tell her the truth, and let her merge these two men into one complete picture. 

“We have a date tomorrow night,” Arina told Elain, making her way to Eris’s office. He’d made this appointment for her, the controlling bastard. It hadn’t stopped her from making her way across the city to see him or from putting on a clingy dress and make-up, knowing full well he was going to have to unzip the top if he wanted to see her ribs. 

No bra, of course. 

It was ridiculous, but nothing he hadn’t seen before at this point. Arina had stopped wearing clothes to bed given Eris would just slice them right off her body. One ruined pajama set was fine. Five of them was too much. Besides, she rather liked being woken to the feel of the soft blindfold sliding over her eyes. He’d found more gentle rope after the first night left burns on her skin, and tied her so there were no lingering welts.

For a murderer—and a stalker—he was surprisingly thoughtful. 

“I hope it goes well,” Elain offered cheerfully. “And not just because I think it would be fun to date brothers. Eris could use someone in his life. He seems lonely.”Arina wasn’t touching that with a ten foot pole. 

“Maybe,” she agreed, though she suspected there was more to it than that. Arina was at the office and needed to end this conversation before she saw the man in question. “Let me call you back.”

Arina slid her phone into her bag and entered the clinical office. She filled out the required paperwork and handed over her insurance and ID before she was directed to sit on a rather nice leather choice facing a television. A woman with a small child weaving around her legs bounced her foot as she glanced toward the door at the other end of the room. Magazines were spread over a chipped coffee table while different posters warning people not to smoke, drink, or have unprotected sex were hung against beige walls.

“Ms. Novak?” 

A nurse in cheerful lavender scrubs called Arina back. She wondered if Eris let her jump the line, or if this woman was waiting to see a different doctor. Arina was weighed, her blood pressure taken, and a patient history given before she was left alone behind a closed door, sitting atop an exam table that had a model of a human heart sitting on the little gray counter. She was tempted to fidget with it, to pull apart the different ventricles and see if she could piece it back together.

A knock on the door tempered that impulse. A moment later, Eris Vanserra poked his head through the crack before stepping in entirely. Arina’s heart took off at a gallop when she saw him, dressed in a white button down tucked into a pair of charcoal slacks. He looked incredible with his styled hair pushed off his elegant, handsome face. Closing the door, Eris turned a truly sultry smile on her.

“You came.”

“I’m sure you saw me on the sheet,” she replied, suddenly embarrassed by this obvious attempt to seduce him. Surely this man wasn’t creeping through her bedroom window each night. He didn’t seem capable of such a thing. 

“That doesn’t mean you’d show up,” he replied, sitting easily on a swivelling stool to pull up her chart. “How are you feeling?”

Raw from your fingers and mouth and rope. “Better,” she replied. He nodded, scanning whatever he saw on the screen.

“Sleeping well? Eating?”

“Yes and yes.”

“Any pain?”

She shook her head, forcing him to glance up at her. “Good,” he murmured, typing quickly. He stood, looking her over. With gentle, warm fingers, Eris turned her face toward his own and brushed his thumb over the bruise still healing on her cheekbone. 

Which one?

She almost shivered. 

Eris dropped his hand to step around the table for a stethoscope. “Deep breaths. Just like before,” he murmured, sliding the little notches into his ears. He was close enough she could smell the familiar crisp, spicy scent of his cologne. Her whole body reacted on instinct, flooding her with heat like she did every night. Eris didn’t seem to notice, or was too professional to acknowledge it. He merely replaced the little piece of metal against her back to listen to her lungs. 

He slid it around his neck, blinking as if he’d just realized what she was wearing. “I want to see your ribs. I’ll step out—”

“No,” she said, far too breathlessly as she swept her long hair over to one shoulder. “You can stay.”

She reached around the back of her dress for the zipper but Eris very gently replaced her hand with his own. He tugged the little piece of metal down over her spine before oh so gently pushing the straps off her shoulders. Arina held the front against her breasts, only because they were in his place of work and getting half naked seemed wildly inappropriate. 

His eyes darkened and she wondered if that was how he looked when he crawled between her legs each night. Eris skimmed his fingers over her ribs, pressing lightly. “Does that hurt?”

“No,” she whispered. He swallowed, exhaling a soft breath through his lips before reaching over her to push against her other set.

“And this?”

Arina turned her head to look at him, well aware they were mere inches from each other. They had a date tomorrow night. She ought to leave well enough alone.

His eyes slid to her lips. “It doesn’t hurt,” she breathed, palm pressed against his chest.

He groaned softly, taking that hand and tangling it in her hair for a brutal, yet familiar kiss. Did he really think she couldn’t tell the difference between his persona and real life? That a mask was enough to hide how utterly obvious he was being? Did he think she didn’t notice how he bit her lip, how his tongue was so demanding or how his fingers pushed at the fabric of her dress so he could tease her breasts? All of it was edged in pain.

Exactly the way she liked it.

Arina wondered how Eris liked it. He never let her touch him, even when she’d suggested he keep her blindfolded and fuck her. She was here, now. There was nothing stopping her from taking that hand on his chest and cupping him through his pants.

Eris moaned. “I want—”

“Me, first,” she interrupted, well aware of what he wanted. He did it every night until she was shaking and exhausted. It was her turn, she told herself. Her turn to slide off that exam table and onto the cold, white linoleum beneath her. She tugged at his belt while Eris watched, his eyes wild and dark. 

“Arina—”

“You need to be quiet,” she said, holding his gaze while undoing the button on his slacks. She could see the bulge in his pants and wondered how he’d been taking care of himself. Had he? Had he been using his hand, or was he all pent up? What would he taste like?

“You still have to take me out tomorrow,” she warned him, using the heel of her hand to rub him through his black boxer briefs.

“Whatever you want,” he told her, threading long fingers through her hair. “It’s all planned, but I can fuck—” he exhaled, throwing his head back when she pulled the long, thick length of him from his underwear and, without teasing or preamble, took the blunt, heavy head into her mouth. How much time did she have before a nurse came looking for him? 

This was payback for the nights in her bedroom when he refused to let her touch him. She was well aware Eris could have straddled her chest and shoved his cock into her mouth—she wanted him to. 

She couldn’t fit all of him, though it was clear Eris wanted her to try. Maybe if they were in her bedroom she would have. Tied to her headboard, unable to escape him, Eris could have pushed her nose to his abdomen and made her take all of them. No one would have heard her gag, her protests. 

Here, though, Eris was forced to yield when she pressed her palms against the tops of his thighs and slapped, forcing him to release his grip on her hair. Using one hand to make up the difference and her other to tease and toy with his balls, Arina threw herself into swallowing as much of him as she could silently. The scent of his cologne mingled with the clean taste of his skin and the near silent moans coming from the man above her. He’d braced his body against the counter behind him, though one hand was still using her hair to half fuck her face. 

He was too loud when she tightened her grip on him, teeth gently scraping against his skin. Of course he liked this rough. Of course he liked a little pain. Arina wasn’t gentle, then, nor was she polite. Saliva dragged from each pass of her mouth, her wrist twisting roughly each time she came back up.

Eris was shaking, reaching for her head with his other hand. Their eyes met in a silent question, to which Arina answered by hollowing her cheeks. 

Do it.

He snapped, hips pumping his cock furiously into her throat with just enough restraint to keep him from suffocating her. She wondered if today would mark a new development in their evenings together.

Was it fucked up that she hoped so? 

Eris grunted, pushing further into her throat to finish. Arina widened her jaw to suck down air, eyes closed for the first time to focus on swallowing without choking. He was panting, practically begging, shuddering as wave after wave of pleasure overtook him.

Good.

She felt like the score was better settled between them. 

Breathing as if he’d run a marathon, Eris gripped Arina by the tops of her arms and pulled her off him for a vicious, messy kiss. 

“Spend the night tomorrow,” Eris whispered, thumbs stroking her cheek.

“Why? So you can—”

“Fuck you? Yes, exactly,” he interrupted, eyes flashing. “Nice and slow, all night…no interruptions, nothing keeping me from doing everything I’ve been imagining all week…”

“Does this mean dinner is off?” she asked nervously. She didn’t want to be just a hookup.

He shook his head, kissing her again. “Date is still on.”

“We’ll see how I feel, I guess.”

“And if I insist?” he responded, allowing her to step back and slid the straps of her sundress back over her arms. 

Arina felt mischievous. “Then you’ll have to sneak into my bedroom window and have your wicked way with me, I suppose.”

He betrayed nothing. “Say you will. My place, my bed. I’ll buy you breakfast in the morning. And lunch, too—dinner, even, if you want.”

“You sound desperate,” she teased, her heart racing.

Eris only shrugged. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Eight oclock.”

She smiled. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

ERIS: 

Eris had no fucking idea how he managed to get through the rest of his day. He typed clinical notes and saw patients. He drove home and had dinner and talked to his mother on the phone. And the entire time, all he thought about was Arina on her knees, peering up at him through dark lashes as she choked down his cock. It was all he could feel, that wet, warm mouth, her pillowy tongue, her soft throat. He wanted to do it again. Wanted to wrap his hand around her neck and make her take every last inch of him, until her lips were blue and her eyes were glazed.

He thought she wanted that, too. 

He intended to go to her just as soon as he crossed a name off his list. Josh O’Neil was the second roommate who’d helped hold Arina down. Who’d been promised he could take a turn—and who therefore needed to die. 

He’d had a hell of a time tracking Josh down. The police presence had lingered, which was enough to keep Eris away. Something about that place bothered him. He couldn’t put his finger on it—but Josh and Jack were careful. Like they knew it was no self strangulation that had killed their friend, despite how Eris had looped that belt around his neck and left him with his pants around his ankles. 

He was curious. Curious enough to leave Arina to her bed and head out into the night. Back to that apartment where he knew Josh would be. Unlike Arina, who lived in the heart of a good neighborhood filled with people who didn’t pay close enough attention to her, Jack and Josh lived in a rougher neighborhood. A place where people intentionally looked the other way. It had made it easy to slip through a broken lobby door and into the apartment Arina had forced her way out of.

If Eris was young and lacked capital, it was the kind of place he might have chosen, too. 

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he approached. 

“Truce,” called a voice from an alleyway. Eris turned his head, his vision half obscured by his mask. He could hear shoes crunching on glass, dragging shadows from the dark. There was no streetlight to illuminate them, and when they appeared, Eris supposed he should have guessed.

That was Arina’s luck, to slip from one killer to another.

“How’d you get in?” Jack asked, pushing sandy brown hair off his face. He looked like every other douche bag Eris knew, minus the fresh, still damp blood soaking his shirt. Beside him, Josh stood just a little taller, grinning with amusement. Eris had his knife just behind his back and a gun tucked under his shirt, just in case. 

Eris didn’t respond, cocking his head as he tried to figure out how to best cut Josh’s throat and leave the corpse for Jack to deal with.

“Did we overstep?” Josh added. They didn’t know, then. They were young, still, and likely green. He wondered whose blood they were coated in or why they didn’t care. Sloppy, was what it was.

“Are we on your turf, fucking your whores?”

Eris remained silent.

“Look, we don’t need a war. We brought you a gift,” Jack said, gesturing to the alley behind them. There was no fucking way Eris was stupid enough to go back there. Josh laughed, turning his back without an ounce of fear to march back into the dark. It was the only opportunity Eris was going to get. Lunging, Eris pulled that curved blade from his pocket, and in one easy, fluid motion, brought it screaming across Josh’s neck.

He hit his knees with a loud thud, gasping into the dark. Eyes wild as he turned for his friend, who merely watched with a clinical, almost bored expression on his face. Neither of them moved, though Josh reached for them both, dragging himself against the pavement as if that would save him.

Only when he was still did Jack  turn to Eris. “You’ve done me a favor. They’re sloppy—messy. I’m going to leave your present in the ally so you understand that whatever score you think is between ought to be settled. I would hate for anyone else to get hurt. You understand.” Jack reached into the waistband of his jeans and as casually as he might have pulled out car keys, pulled out a gun. He didn’t point it at Eris—there was no need. He merely stepped over his friend's body, whistling to himself as he made his way home in the dark. Eris watched, hidden in the shadows, until Jack was far out of sight. 

Only then did he dare to creep into the alley.

He was nearly sick. They knew. A woman he didn’t recognize, far older than Arina, lay dead against a brick wall. She’d likely died hours before, though Eris couldn’t tell. He couldn’t stop looking at all that blood stained, blonde hair. A piece of paper was curled in her lifeless fingers—a message clearly written to him.

Eris pried it out, well aware he needed to get the fuck away from all those dead bodies. Clutching it in his fist, he took off, not daring to look back and careful where he stepped. The neighborhood was dangerous—it would look like Josh had left his lover to die in an alleyway, only to meet a coward's fate. 

Eris drove around for an hour, weaving around the city in random, unpredictable patterns in an effort to confuse anyone who might have followed. He never took off his mask—not until he was sure he was alone. Only then, parked in a gas station, did he dare unfurl that blood splattered note.

I always had a thing for blondes. 

Eris exploded in rage. Everything was so fucked. If Jack thought Eris was coming after him, he’d turn around and go right back after Arina. And even if Eris didn’t, Jack still might. The threat would loom for the rest of her life, unaware of the threat that surrounded her.

He willed himself not to care. To walk away from her, to drive back home and not give a fuck if Jack was plotting to end her life. He could go home, eat dinner, and call anyone in his phone to suck his cock. Just like he’d always done. Sh was a distraction.

She was the death of his peace of mind.

Eris took a breath. And then another.

Eyes closed, he reclined in his seat.

She’s nothing. She’s worthless.

She was everything.

He turned the ignition back on, well aware he could not go back to before. That life was over for him—he’d known it the moment he saw her. He needed to see her, to make sure she was okay. He’d wasted too much time tying her up and eating her out when he should have been teaching her how to disembowel someone. 

He couldn’t watch her all day, every day. Though Eris was about to try. He went home, well aware he’d crossed psychopath territory days ago. Who gave a shit at this point if there were cameras in her house? Who cared if he tracked her every fucking movement until Jack was floating in the river? One day she’d be grateful for all this, ideally when he had her sleeping in his bed every single night, but until then, this would suffice.

After all, he wasn’t trying to stop her from going anywhere. Or, that was how Eris rationalized all this. Stalking was usually reserved for prey, and it was short-lived. Eris was in this for the long haul, for better or worse, which meant she could not die. He was unwilling to discover what grief felt like. Arina would live, or they would both die, and those were the only options he was willing to entertain. 

Eris crept into her bedroom like he always did, relieved to find her alive and asleep. She was tucked beneath her blanket, one hand curled beneath her chin. He wanted to go to her, to brush bare knuckles over her still healing cheekbones, and tell her everything was going to be fine.

Instead, Eris set his cameras up to face every point of entry in her apartment, concealing them so she wouldn’t notice—not immediately, anyway. Maybe one day if she ever deep cleaned, which Eris doubted. He’d picked up the night before and again as he moved through her place, replacing her shoes by the door and putting her dirty laundry in the hamper. 

He was tempted to do her dishes, too—maybe another night. This night couldn’t be soft. He needed to make her sharp, at least around the edges. Tomorrow she’d be in his bed, and the next night, too, if he could get away with it. Eris had no idea what sort of timeline people who typically dated adhered to, but he knew his brother and Elain still weren’t living together and they’d been dating for a solid year.

Eris needed things to move a little faster. A degenerate like Jack wouldn’t be able to get past his doorman.

A month? 

He was still chewing that thought when he went to her in her bedroom. Eris pulled the blankets from her body, forgetting she’d been sleeping naked to keep him from cutting apart anymore pajamas. She was so absurdly pretty, with a body that made him irrational. He’d nearly thrown away a medical career that very afternoon when she’d gotten on her knees to suck his cock and he’d had to fight every urge in his body not to fuck her up against the door. 

She stirred, peaking open an eye. She wasn’t afraid of him anymore. Arina hadn’t been afraid since that first night, because Arina was strong. Because she was like him, even if she didn’t realize it. 

“I was starting to think you’d forgotten,” she whispered.

“There’s no forgetting you,” he replied, staring at that little strip of blonde hair over her pussy. He wanted to fuck her so badly it was making him stupid.

Tomorrow. You’ll be inside her tomorrow.

“Get dressed,” he added, forcing himself to look away.

“Why?”

“Where is your knife?”

There was a pause. “Why?”

He sighed, irritated that she still thought there was any possibility he was going to harm her. “You need to know how to use it.”

“Oh.”

“Do you really think—” he cut himself off when he realized she was standing, holding a little blue top between slim fingers. Those fucking legs. Even the mask couldn’t hide his reaction given he immediately looked up at the ceiling in an attempt to keep himself from falling to his knees. 

Had he ever been good at this? He was starting to think he hadn’t. Eris had to turn to keep himself from leaping on her, his cock roaring to life. He hadn’t forgotten that blowjob, after all. “I’m not going to kill you,” he ground out, willing himself to calm the fuck down. He counted to ten, assuming that was enough time for her to dress before he turned back around. She was bent over her pillow, fishing out that knife and Eris was aching and hot all over again. 

“Ready?” she asked innocently.

Not in a million fucking years.

“Let's begin.”

ARINA:

Arina rubbed her eyes, crossing her legs again. Eris had kept her up most of the night running her through drills without telling her why it was suddenly so important she learn how to stab. She much preferred the night he went down on her. Arina was in her living room, dressed in a red slip dress and heels. The time shone 7:59 on the stove which made Arina antsy. He wasn’t coming. 

She didn’t know why she thought that—only that it was still possible she was wrong about him and blowing him in his office had scared him off. Arina had to be careful when it came to men—give them what they wanted too early and they stopped trying.

Not soon enough and they didn’t try at all.

The clock shifted to eight and a soft knock graced the door. Arina exhaled a breath. Arina went to him, drinking in the rich, familiar scent of his cologne. Eris looked incredible, tall and muscular in inky black trousers and a matching black shirt. He reached for her, arm around her back to pull her into him for a soft, passionate kiss.

“Sorry,” he murmured, not looking sorry at all. Arina decided not to mention her lipstick had smeared over his mouth. It looked…well, it looked a little like blood. What did it say that she sort of liked that? 

“Missed you, too,” she said with a smile. “I’m glad you came.”

“This is all I’ve thought about,” he admitted, looking past her at the overnight bag she’d packed. “All ready to go?”

Eris was smooth, swapping their positions so she stood on the porch and he was striding into her apartment for the bag. Arina tried so hard to smother the smile on her face—failing when he slung the floral straps over his shoulders with a sultry expression. 

Arina nodded before asking, “What’s the plan for tonight?”

“Dinner,” he said, closing the door behind her. “And something else I think you’ll like—not my cock, don’t look at me like that—ice cream after, if you want. Or my cock, if—”

Arina smacked him lightly on the arm. “It was one blow job, Eris.”

He yanked open the passenger side for her, clearly working for the sex he expected to happen later that evening. “Forgive me for wanting many, many more.”

“Is that all it takes?” she all but laughed, folding herself into the familiar leather interior. Eris snapped the door shut, tossed her bag in the trunk, and joined her in the car. 

Eris glanced over, smug and pleased in equal measure. “It doesn’t hurt, that’s for sure.”

Arina was grinning the entire way to the expensive restaurant Eris had picked out. There was no lull in the conversation and though it was easily the nicest place Arina had ever eaten in, Eris didn’t make it weird. He didn’t do that thing where, when pulling out his card to pay, he looked over at her so she knew it had been expensive and he expected to be repaid in some way.

Arina was doubting herself by the time they reached the theater. Eris was so pleased with himself to have secured ballet tickets on such short notice. He was witty, he was well-dressed and elegant and charming.

Was he also the kind of man who could strangle someone to death? 

She’d snoop, she decided once they were seated in the dark. He had to sleep eventually, and once he did, she’d go through his things and prove he was the man creeping through her window each night.

Arina prayed he was, at any rate, because she didn’t think Ghost was going to be cool with another man. And if she was being perfectly honest, she much preferred Eris, who’d put his hand on her thigh and was rubbing lazy circles over her skin while he watched the show. She’d take the doctor if his hobby’s skewed toward vigilante justice.

But no one else.

That was a dangerous thought, given she just barely knew Eris to begin with. It was too soon to say she liked him enough to excuse a multitude of felonies and yet standing in the elevator of his building, his fingers brushing the back of her hand while Arina explained all the things she was sure he’d missed, she didn’t care. She hadn’t cared last night when he’d been barking orders at her through that stupid Halloween mask and she didn’t care when he led her into his absurdly large penthouse, swaggering like a man with a big dick he knew was going to be wet soon enough.

Eris took her bag straight to his bedroom. “Just in case you think I’m the sort of gentleman who’d offer you a guest room,” he told her, eyes flashing. Eris’s bedroom was immaculate, with a wall of glass overlooking the city. His bed was large and draped in black silks and cream cotton, the headboard framed by the glass. She imagined he woke up each morning bathed in golden light and found herself jealous of such a small opulence.

Two nightstands on either side of his bed held little lamps, a book…and a knife. “Afraid of being attacked in your sleep?” she teased, walking toward it. Eris didn’t stop her, fingertips pressed into the wood at the top of the door frame as he leaned his large, tall body against it.

“You never know,” he murmured, his easy expression slipping into something more intense. Arina unsheathed it from the leather, inhaling a sharp breath. Was he even trying to hide it, then? It was an identical match to her own blade, curved and impossibly sharp.

Eris’s smile was edged, eyes watching her with open amusement. Did he want her to guess? Or was this part of the fun? Arina slid it back into the holster, mind racing.

“I suppose a doctor would be good with a knife,” she said lightly.

“Very good,” he all but purred, pushing off the frame to come to her. “Though, I think I’m more skilled with my hands.”

She shivered—not from fear, but want. He was prowling toward her, every inch of him wholly focused on her. 

“You don’t need to worry about that,” he murmured, taking the handle from her fingers and tossing it with a clunk back to the bedside table. “Or anything but me.”

“I should be worried about you?” she whispered, looking up into his amber eyes. They seemed to burn, were all but living flame.

“Maybe a little,” he admitted as one hand cupped the back of her head. He pulled her closer, eyes slipping to her mouth.

“And if I’m not?” she replied. 

He smiled slightly. “Even better for me.”

Kissing him was just as good as she remembered. Better, even, with that mask partially pulled back. Eris wasn’t pretending, though he wasn’t openly admitting what he was, either. Arina reached for him, twining her arms around his neck to drag him closer. She’d meant to force him to watch a movie, to work for the right to unzip her dress.

Eris backed her toward the bed, tongue invading her mouth like having her was his mandate, a directive from the gods themselves. He groaned softly, pressing them both into the mattress. 

“What’s your rush—” She tried to slow him down, but Eris was a man possessed. He swallowed the rest of her words, reaching for her thigh to hitch around his waist. Grinding himself against her ended Arina’s weak protests. She’d forgotten the size of him, forgotten how it had felt to have him in her mouth, her hand. 

She wanted to know what it would feel like to have him in her body, bad enough that she arched into him, tugging at his perfect hair until she’d thoroughly unmade him. She had the sense that Eris’s sleek, unbothered exterior was merely another mask for whatever writhing creature lay just beneath the surface. How many people got to see him like this? How many had he let in?

Eris reared up, thighs bracketing her body as he began undoing the buttons on his shirt. “I can’t stop thinking about yesterday,” he told her, his chest rising and falling. “About your mouth—fuck—” She’d propped herself up on her elbows to watch him undress. Tall, lean, and still well-muscled, Eris Vanserra was a fucking dream. Exactly her type, she thought as he shoved that nice shirt off his frame and tossed it to the floor. Not so tidy after all, she thought with a smile.

“What’s that for?” he asked gruffly, eyes searching her face. His cheeks had warmed, highlighting the smattering of freckles dusting his nose.

“You,” she breathed, running her palm over his stomach. “You’re beautiful.”

“Beautiful,” he repeated, as if he couldn’t believe she’d said such a thing. Arina was given no opportunity to insist she was right or even offer up another compliment. Eris was back on her, kissing her like a desperate, wild man. This was what had been missing from their nights together, she thought. Eris was rough and yet kind, his hands palming her through her dress to edge the pleasure he offered with the sweetest touch of pain.

She could meet him. Arina ranked her nails down his bare back, sharp enough to all but draw blood. Eris groaned, grinding his cock against her body. 

“Is that what you like, Eris?” she whispered, hooking her leg against his waist. He responded with a nip to her bottom lip. Arina wanted to see all of him. Reaching for his belt, she meant to fully undress him so she could take him back into her mouth before she rode him into oblivion. She wasn’t tied up this time, and to Arina, that meant she had control.

He had to do what she said, what she wanted. 

Eris was quicker, flipping her to her stomach so he could unzip her dress and push it off her body. Eris wrapped the long strands of her hair around his wrist and pulled, arching her back up off the bed.

“There she is,” he whispered, letting Arina shove the dress down to her knees. No bra, which he must have realized in the theater given how cold she was. She had worn a lacy red thong, which Eris snapped like a thirteen year old boy, chuckling to himself when her head snapped to look over her shoulder. 

“I’ve been thinking about this since I saw you in my brother's apartment,” he whispered, rubbing his hand over her ass cheek. “I wanted to bend you over the kitchen counter and fuck you so hard the whole building complained.”

“Eris,” she whispered, wiggling her hips while he maneuvered the scrap of lace off her body. She was utterly naked, pushed up on her knees and elbows. Eris’s eyes were glazed over, drinking in the sight of her. In any other circumstances, Arina would have felt self-conscious about being so on display.

Eris made her seem like something sexy, something he’d been waiting on his entire life. She knew he’d seen her naked before, but this was different. Arina pulled her hair from his grasp, yanking the strands from her scalp. She knew what he wanted—to fuck her from behind, until she was all but suffocating into a pillow.

She wanted control. This first time, Arina wanted to decide when and how he came. 

“On your knees, Eris,” she whispered, holding his haze. He cocked his head, sitting on his haunches, and for a moment she thought he’d say no. 

“I’m putting my face in that pussy,” he informed her, a lazy smile on his face.

“Then you’ll do it on your back,” she declared, anticipation building in her chest. He didn’t stop her as she trailed her fingers down his chest or when she reached for his belt buckle. In fact, Eris remained still until both his pants and his underwear were down by his knees, waiting to join her clothes on the floor.

“Is this what you want, then?” he asked, his thick, long cock jutting from between her legs. Arina scooted closer until the tip of him was bruised against her stomach.

“Maybe I’d like to tie you up,” she whispered, holding his gaze. Eris’s eyes flashed—not with fear, but excitement. Grabbing her by the back of her neck, Eris kissed her roughly, teasing her breasts with his other hand. Was she being obvious enough?

I know and I don’t care.

Pulling her hair to arch her neck, Eris pressed a sucking kiss to the hollow of her neck. “Do whatever you like with me.”

She was quick, pushing him to the bed before he could change his mind. “How does it feel?” she asked him, raking her nails up and down his bare chest as she swung her leg over his body. Eris’s eyes were wholly dark, watching her with interest. 

He responded by grabbing her by the hips and yanking her up to his face. “Feels fucking fantastic,” he replied, kissing one thigh, and then the other. It hadn’t occurred to her that Eris would still get what he wanted even if she was on top.

Not until he pulled her against his face so it was him suffocating. Arina pitched forward, gripping the dark wood headboard to keep herself from falling off him. With her eyes shut, she was practically back in her bedroom. He wasn’t even trying to hide who he was. The only difference was this time, Arina could ride him the way she often wanted and was prevented by his hands. Eris was forever holding her still so he could lick the way he wanted, keeping her just at the edge for as long as he deemed appropriate—sending her flying over the edge when he tired of teasing. 

Not that Eris didn’t try. There would be bruises on her hips from how tight he held her, trying to still her so he could prolong fucking her with his tongue. Anytime Arina got too loud or traded her hold on the headboard for his hair, Eris would move his tongue down her body, denying her the release she wanted so badly.

It was driving her insane. He was driving her insane.

“You can end this, pretty girl,” he panted, stopping entirely when Arina let out a frustrated growl. “Beg me to let you come.”

“Eris,” she replied, pushing his face back into her. He chuckled darkly, sucking her clit between his lips as she began to ride his face again. He was clever, his tongue gliding over her in just the perfect rhythm, building her up just until she was right there—and then he moved, jerking his head to deny her what she wanted. No matter how vicious she was with his hair, Eris always managed to evade her.

He was going to make her beg.

Arina was dying, throbbing from unmet need. Every inch of her was wound tighter than a bow string.

“Eris,” she gasped, hating how his tongue slowed, tracing lazy circles around her clit. He hummed out a response. Arina whined, hips jerking desperately. “Please.”

His tongue was no faster. Waiting.

“Please let me come.”

He groaned, gripping her by the thighs again. Arina rolled her hips, his tongue rising to meet her. This. This was what she needed. Eris sucked and licked as excitement built through Arina, gathering like molten heat just at the base of her spine. This time, when she hung over that edge, Eris kept going until she came. He let her ride his face like she was a wild, desperate animal, his arms shaking with the effort it took to keep himself flat on his back. Arina couldn’t breathe, was hot and tight and alive for maybe the first time in her life. 

She knew what he would try and do next. Arina was quick and Eris was needy. She swung off his face, pulling herself roughly from his grasp.

“Not this time,” she breathed, grabbing him by the chin for a kiss. Eris groaned again, arching into her hand when she reached for that thick cock. She stroked and kissed, chasing the taste of her release until she’d come down just enough. She wanted him to feel the aftershocks, to know what was waiting for him if he let go. 

Eris reached for her and Arina swatted, still holding his cock as she straddled his hips. “First time belongs to me,” she said, rising up on her knees to tease the thick head of him over her soaked pussy. 

“And the next time?” he grunted, neck arching with pleasure. 

“I’ll do whatever you say,” she whispered, sinking herself down on him. Eris was loud, which surprised her, groaning as she took each bruising inch of him. His hips bucked, driving himself deeper and drawing a loud gasp from Arina who was trying so hard to adjust to the stretch of him.

Eris watched her, eyes half lidded. He was struck dumb for the moment but if he realized she was struggling to accommodate him, he’d take over. Arina rocked herself against him, squeezed so tight she could barely breathe.

“Fuck, sunshine,” he panted, merging his two personas without meaning to. Digging her nails into his chest, Arina kept going, if only to hear him make more of those sounds. Moaning and heaving, all the while watching her. Eris’s legs parted behind her, as if spreading them wider somehow heightened his pleasure. 

Arina wanted to see him come apart. It took her a moment to figure out a rhythm that didn’t immediately exhaust her, using his body for leverage as she began to slide herself up and down his cock. 

“You’re so fucking tight, I can’t—” Eris reached for her nipples, teasing him in his fingers until Arina was whining. Release built all over again, too fast too uncontrolled. She wanted to drag them both out. She swore she’d come again, that she’d slow down to really enjoy him. Arina came with a soft scream, flattening against him to rub herself along the length of his body. Eris was wild beneath her, meeting her thrust for thrust as he grunted indiscriminate curses into her ear. 

Arina sunk her teeth hard into his shoulder, biting down the scream that rose in her body. That was, apparently, the magic button to set off Eris. He came like a bomb, flipping her over with his thighs so he could grab her by the throat in one hand, her wrists pinned above her head.

He was vicious, riding out both his and her orgasm with punishing thrusts. There was no finesse to it—it was as if he merely needed to drive himself as far into her as he could. 

Eris was covered in a slick sheen of sweat when he finally stopped, wild-eyed and burning. He released her throat, but didn’t pull himself out of her.

“Again,” he whispered, kissing just behind her ear. “Right now.”

“Right now,” she agreed, still tight around him. 

“You’re mine,” he added, as if there was ever any doubt.

Arina merely kissed him in response. 

ERIS:

Eris knew he was better served spending his night between Arina’s thighs. He knew better than to roam the streets at night when she was asleep, and consoled himself with the knowledge that she was in his bed, at least.  He’d had her two months as of that day–which Eris had celebrated by keeping her naked and on her back for the majority of the day.

And yet the lingering problem of Jack kept him up at night. He didn’t trust that the man wouldn’t get curious about the woman who’d thwarted him and come looking. That he, too, would become enamored with whatever charm Arina possessed that kept Eris so thoroughly enraptured. And when he realized Arina wanted Eris, what then? 

He needed to die. 

Eris couldn’t lay his feelings at Arina’s feet knowing there was another predator out there. And he was too chicken shit to admit he was the man in the mask, even if he was mostly sure she’d pieced that one together, too. 

She’d be back in her apartment tomorrow, and Eris had an overnight scheduled in the emergency room. He needed to know she was safe. That thought drove him back into the shitty part of the city, back down those unlit streets and the sidewalk where he could see the faint smear of blood from his kill two months before. 

He was quick, slipping into Jack’s apartment without being detected. He could hear Jack moving around the back, unaware death was coming for him. Anticipation warmed Eris, pushing him down the hall toward that door—where Jack was waiting.

“Dumb mother fucker,” Jack snarled, shoving open the door just as Eris unsheathed his knife. Eris lunged, knocking Jack to the floor while still gripping his knife. “Now I’m gonna fucking kill her—and I’m gonna let you watch.”

Eris snarled, messy and stupid. He wasn’t thinking straight, had forgotten how to best incapacitate someone who was struggling. He was too blinded by his emotions, which gave Jack an edge. Eris felt white hot pain lance through his side and realized he’d been stabbed. 

His own blade came up over Jack’s face, slicing over the man’s rather plain face before he rolled to the side. Both them were bleeding, staring at the other like wounded animals.

“You come near her,” Eris breathed, panting through his mask as he stepped back toward the door. “And I’ll have your head.”

“You’re gonna watch her die,” Jack breathed. The wound was deep—he’d need stitches. Eris would be working in the hospital tomorrow, which he imagined would be about the time Jack would need to hobble in for help.

Accidents happened every day. Who would miss a fucking lowlife loser? He could make it look like infection, like sepsis had worked its way into his bloodstream and then quietly kill him. A long, drawn out, painful death.

“We’ll see,” Eris replied before staggering out. Laughter followed him down the hall and out into the cool, near wintry air. He couldn’t go home to her—not bleeding like this. She was safe he told himself, loping down the sidewalk toward his car hidden a couple blocks away.

Stupid—he was so fucking stupid. He was too scared, too caught up in Arina that he wasn’t thinking logically. He’d gotten hurt. She’d see the wound the next time he undressed in front of her and then what? What would he tell her?

“I was jumped.”

He said it with a rueful smile when he made his way into his own emergency room, shirt lifted to show the clean cut. 

“You’re lucky,” Rhysand murmured, cocking his head to the side as he assessed Eris. Eris had left his mask, his gloves, and his vest in the car so it seemed like he’d merely been out, dressed in black. “A little further and they’d have nicked a kidney.”

Eris only sighed. Lucky. 

He didn’t feel fucking lucky with only a local anesthetic and Rhysand’s clumsy movements. Eris was a terrible patient, like all doctors, annoyed that Rhys didn’t do things how he would and at the orders to keep still—to wait, when Rhys was done, for worthless observation. He knew the signs of infection, and the signs of lightheadedness, too. 

“If a guy with a cut down his face comes in,” Eris began, drawing his thumb over his eye to illustrate where the wound would be, “can you call me?”

Rhysand chuckled. “Are you thinking about payback?”

He had no idea. “I’d like to see the look on his face when I walk in to treat him,” Eris replied with a savage grin. 

“That’s fucked,” Rhys replied with a smile. “And so fucking funny. Yeah, if I see a guy with a cut down his face, I’ll give you a call.”

And that was that. Eris was sent home with a little pain medication he didn’t bother filling and a sense of unease. He’d have to just tell her. Tell Arina how he’d fucked it all up, that he’d put her right back in danger.

He’d have to tell her who he was. There was no way around it anymore. No more waiting. Eris’s stomach churned the whole drive back to his apartment. He couldn’t stop himself from playing out every worst case scenario. Couldn’t stop imagining Arina demanding he let her go.

Breaking up with him.

How he’d have to tie her to the bed with those burning eyes once so filled with want, now filled with hate. Keep her there until she softened, until she understood that he loved her.

Eris groaned, head against the seat after parking in the garage. He was so fucking stupid.

He was in love with her.

Sighing, he made his way toward the elevator that would take him to the lobby. Unease pricked at the back of his neck. Eris swore he was being watched. He turned his head, but nothing was out of place. He was extra paranoid, or that was what he told himself. Eris moved quickly, stepping into the lobby as dread flooded through him.

If he were Jack, how much would he have tried to learn about another killer in the same city? Eris knew everything there was to know about Jack—divorced parents, shitty state school he flunked out of, car salesman to pay the bills. It hadn’t been hard to track down an address, grades, hell even a fucking credit score. 

And as he stepped into his apartment, he considered what Jack might have learned about him. A dead father and a mother living on the west coast. A brother in law while Eris was…a doctor. Someone who could step into an emergency room to be stitched up in a place that, even with connections, still liked to waste time.

Every light in the apartment was off. He couldn’t recall if he’d done that himself, though Arina hated it. She’d sleep in total darkness if he was there, but when he was gone he turned on a lamp. And he swore, as he opened the closed door to his bedroom, that he’d done that for her. 

Rage was building in his chest as he flipped on the light. The sheets to his bed were tangled around the end of the bed, half dragged to the floor. Blood dotted his sheets. Not enough to speak of death, but enough to make his hands shake.

There had been a fight. He could see it in the overturned chair, the lamp broken against a wall. Several pairs of his shoes were scattered about the floor and a picture frame on the wall hung askew. He could track her movement—she’d run to the bathroom and tried to lock herself in. Clever thing, he thought, pulling back the pillow Arina always slept on. The one she still kept her knife beneath.

Just in case.

It was missing. A burst of affection slammed through him. She wasn’t unarmed, then. Eris turned for his closet, where he kept an array of tools. A gun, which he loathed. He much preferred to be up close and personal when he killed. For whatever it said about him—and he wasn’t willing to examine it—-he liked seeing the light leave a person’s eyes. 

A note lay just at his feet. Jack's calling card, he knew as he picked it up with trembling fingers. Blood, smudged in the shape of a fingerprint covered the words.

Do blondes have more fun? 

Eris was going to kill him. He was going to fucking kill him. Flexing his fingers around the piece of metal, Eris turned back to look at the blood. Little drops—like she’d been struck unaware. Likely when she was sleeping, as if one blow was enough to knock a person out. Jack was stupid, and real life wasn’t like the movies. It would take a hell of a lot more to bring Arina down.

And still Eris counted them up quickly. He’d punish Jack for each one. Each little hurt. 

As he made his way back into the inky night, he reminded himself that she’d already bested him once. 

She would do it again.

ARINA:

All the things she’d ever learned about being kidnapped were lies. Tied up in the back of a trunk with a bruised, throbbing head, she’d managed to kick out the taillight with her barefoot. It cut up her skin in the process, and ultimately did nothing given no one stopped. No one called the police. Jack kept driving, slamming the breaks just often enough to slam her around.

She needed to focus. She had Eris’s knife tucked into the waistband of her shorts and would have to be careful to keep Jack from noticing. This, she understood, was only partly about her. She’d escaped and had the sense that he was angry about it, but beyond that, he was baiting Eris.

The fresh cut on his face, inflamed and swollen, told her why.

No matter what Jack said about Eris bleeding out in an alley, she knew if he was alive, he was on his way. That, for whatever flaws he had, he would come if only to keep someone else from touching her.

Though, she had been certain that night when she’d fallen asleep wrapped around him, that he was in love with her. 

And more certain that she was in love with him.

Stalking murderer and all. 

All she had to do was keep her wits about her. Jack wasn’t particularly smart, she reasoned. She’d escaped him once before. He thought little of her. This fight was clearly between him and Eris. So Arina settled and waited for the car to stop. Her hands were bound in front of her which she used to hold the knife still when he opened the lid and yanked her out. 

She limped over broken pavement, inhaling the rotting stench of fish. He’d taken her to the docks which didn’t bode well for her. If he threw her into the water bound, there was a decent chance she’d drown in the river. Not that he was thinking that far ahead—yet. 

“What happened to your face?” Arina asked as they made their way toward one of the corrugated metal buildings. She knew exactly what had happened, but wanted to get him talking. Wanted to focus him on his actual objective before he looked at her too closely and decided she’d be fun to play with in the interim. 

He exhaled noisily. Overhead, a street lamp flickered on and off, giving the area a truly sinister vibe. It was too cold to be out in the thin shirt and shorts she wore, and Arina was grateful she’d put anything on that night. She typically slept naked in Eris’s bed, especially after he fucked her into the mattress. She’d woken a little before Jack arrived to find him gone and had dressed so she could go to the bathroom. 

Jack pushed her through a swinging, heavy door, shoving so hard she nearly toppled to the ground.

“Sit,” he barked, nodding toward a beam in the middle of the space. There were no rooms, no enclosed spaces save for one bathroom that hardly looked sturdy. Rust ate at the concrete below her bruised, cut feet and a window on the side overlooking the river had been blown out by a storm. 

Storage containers and old tools lay scattered along a wobbly table, long abandoned by whoever had once worked here. Arina carefully folded herself to the ground, resting the back of her head against the steel support holding up a tin roof. 

Jack paced back and forth, his white sneaker splattered with blood. One side of his face was viciously swollen and, Arina supposed, had to hurt badly. Eris had cut him deeply. She wondered if it was better to continue to play stupid—to pretend this was all a continuation of those two bad dates.

“Please,” she began, her throat coated in sand. “I won’t tell anyone—”

“Shut up,” he barked, head turning toward the door. He pulled a gun from his loose fitting jeans, cagey and nervous. “You’ll do whatever I say if you want a clean death.”

Her hands out of sight, Arina carefully edged the hidden blade to her back. Jack wasn’t watching her, didn’t think anything of her. Heart pounding, Arina managed to get the knife into her tied hands without him realizing anything was amiss. She looked, she though, merely like she was struggling.

Would Eris be proud she wasn’t crying? That she was being rational, level-headed? 

Where was he? 

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered, stilling when he turned to look at her. Jack assessed her with new eyes before turning back to his watch. Arina didn’t let herself relax, never dropping her guard even as she began to saw at the roughly tied rope. 

“It’s not personal,” Jack finally ground out. “You were merely convenient.”

She had to swallow the bile that rose in her throat. No crying, no vomiting, she told herself. All of that would happen in the aftermath. 

“I told him to stay away,” Jack added. “Warned him what I’d do if he didn’t let it go. He can’t, though. He’s like me. It’s the thrill of the chase, of hunting. I knew he’d come looking. Dr. Vanserra.”

And there it was. Confirmation, just like she’d always known. 

While Jack continued his vigil, Arina managed to make headway on her bindings. 

“Why you?” he asked, glancing toward her for a moment.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lied. “Eris is a doctor, he works long hours.”

“He’s a killer,” Jack said with a relish, baring his teeth. “So noble, Dr. Vanserra. He prefers the wealthy, the elite. Men,” Jack added with a wolfish grin. “I’m sure he styles himself as the protector of the innocent, but deep down he’s no better than me.”

With one final pull of the knife, Arina’s bindings came undone. She gripped them in her hand too keep him from hearing the thud of the rope. 

“How long,” Jack had turned his back to the door as he faced that dark bathroom, “before he learns what we all figure out?”

“What's that?” she whispered, wondering how she was going to escape. The knife in her hand felt damning, weighty. 

“You are nothing but a novelty. Something fun until you’re not—until the hunger is too overwhelming and your presence too inconvenient? Men like us don’t love. We only consume.”

The sound of boots echoed around them. Crunching glass, a skittering rock—a warning. Jack was grinning like Christmas had come early but Arina was shallow breathing.

A door somewhere out of sight kicked open and then there he was. In the mask, in all black, swinging a heavy, metal baseball bat and whistling a children’s tune. 

How had he found her? Scratch that, she decided. She didn’t care. She only cared he was here, radiating dangerous, violent energy. It also took all the attention from her. Jack stepped forward, his back fully to her though Arina sensed Eris was watching only her. 

“Aw, take off the mask, doctor,” Jack sneered. Arina had turned, pulling her hands apart carefully so Eris could see. He cocked his head toward the door, a silent order to get out.

She shook her head no.

I’m not leaving you. 

“Show her who you really are.”

Arina watched that gloved hand reach for the mask—and the other for the gun in his back pocket. He dropped the bat with a clatter to the floor, quick as a flash. Eris was fast, pulling the trigger, but Jack was prepared. He laughed as the bullet grazed him, firing his own shot that hit Eris in the thigh. Eris groaned, slamming to his knees while Arina screamed. 

“Still?!” Jack demanded, striding to Eris. “After everything, you still won’t speak? Explain her to me, doctor! Explain your fascination!”

Jack ripped off the mask, revealing a furious Eris burning with hatred. Panting from the pain, looking at her with nothing but steel. Waiting, she realized. 

Jack was going to kill Eris. It prompted Arina to her feet, to walk toward the pair of them even as Eris’s expression shifted, silently pleading for her to go. 

“I was going to make you watch her die,” Jack said, fingers threaded roughly in Eris’s hair. “But there’s poetry in dying knowing I’m going to fuck your girl. I’m going to fuck every hole right next to your—”

“Don’t,” Eris begged. Jack laughed before the sound choked in his lungs. Arina had driven her knife into his side, twisting enough that Jack groaned in pain. Ripping the blade from his flesh, she thought it was all so odd. Like sliding a knife into a cooked turkey, cutting through tendon and hitting bone.

Jack brought his gun to Arina’s chest and with an inhuman roar, Eris lunged himself at Jack. This was personal, not just to Eris, but to Arina, too. She followed them both to the floor, kneeling over Jack’s head while Eris kept him pinned.

“Tell me what to do,” she demanded, looking at Eris.”How do I end this.”

It was like Jack wasn’t there, as Eris reached for her hand.

“Right here,” he said, pressing the tip of Arina’s knife against Jack’s neck. “Push, sunshine. Perfect.”

The blade slid like butter through his skin, drawing a fountain of blood that sprayed her in the face. Jack’s eyes were wide as saucers and filled with fear, just as she must have once been. He’d enjoyed that—would have killed her, had she not escaped.

“How do you like it?” she asked him, watching the panic on his expression. 

“Arina,” Eris murmured, pulling her back. Neither of them moved, sitting on that filthy floor silently. Witnesses to Jack’s final moments, of his gasping, wet breaths and the rattling groan before silence filled the air. 

“I would have…” Eris tried, taking her face in his hands so she had to look at her. “I didn’t…This wasn’t how you were supposed to find out.”

“I’ve known,” she replied. “Since you tied me up.”

He licked his lips nervously. “Oh.”

“I don’t care,” she added, catching the relief that flooded through him. “I love you.”

He pulled her closer, wincing in obvious pain. They needed to leave before they were caught beside a dead body. “I am not a good man,” he told her, silencing her with a look when she opened her mouth to protest. “I’ll never be a good man. This is who I’ll always be. But, fuck, Arina, I swear I’ll be good to you. Good for you.”

“I know,” she agreed, pressing a bloody kiss to his mouth. “I know you will.”

“I do love you,” he added, threading his fingers through her hair to kiss her deeper. Chasing the taste of copper and salt on her lips, on his own desperation. Arina let him before helping him to his feet. There were practical concerns—how had she become this creature? While Eris limped to the sidewalk, Arina went back inside with a can of gasoline she’d pulled out of a nearby warehouse. Arina felt nothing at all, pouring gas over the pools of Eris’s blood, Jack’s body, and every other surface she could find. She merely wanted to hide their presence—she didn’t care about anything else. 

Eris was in the car when she returned, the flames of her former life illuminating her back. “Ready?” he murmured, wincing as he held his leg. He’d need to see someone about that injury.

Sitting in his driver seat, Arina leaned over and placed a kiss to his jaw.

“Ready.”

Eris:

One year later:

“My brother says he fell in love with Arina the moment he saw her.”

Lucien’s words lingered in Eris’s mind as he tugged at his tie. As far as speeches went, Lucien had done a perfect job hitting all the emotional notes Eris had always struggled with. Elain had been even better, bringing his new wife to weepy tears as she listened to the heartfelt words spoken to their family and friends. 

The same wife with her head on his shoulder, eyes closed after a long day of smiling and dancing and generally being on. That was her talent, he thought. Making him seem more charming by comparison, smoothing out his sharper edges, his tendencies to stare a little too long, to speak a little too dryly. If people liked him, that was Arina’s influence. 

Eris leaned over to kiss her forehead. “Did I wear you out?” he asked, catching the way those pink lips curved into a smile.

“Just preparing myself for what's coming.”

“A nap is what’s coming,” Eris joked, though there was truth to those words. He’d had a little too much to drink and was drained from all the time spent socializing. “And then some fucking….at three am.”

Arina reached for his thigh, rubbing high enough to excite him. “Three am?”

It was already one in the morning. 

“Maybe four,” he conceded, well aware he was likely to get stabbed if he woke her too early.

“And our flight?” she pressed as the car they were in slowed to a stop.

 Door opened just as Eris said, “There’s always time.”

“Maybe in the bathroom?”

As if Eris wouldn’t have the whole plane to himself. She didn’t understand that, was still getting used to spending his money however she liked. “Especially in the bathroom,” he said instead, sliding an arm around her waist. They were ushered up into the suite he’d booked for the night. He’d had different, filthier plans when he’d first seen it—of fucking her on every possible surface. Until she was bowlegged as she made her way through the airport. 

Now, standing in the spacious bedroom, Eris chugged a cold bottle of water while Arina flopped onto a white duvet scattered with rose petals.

It looked rather like blood. 

“Well, Mr Vanserra,” she began, holding up her hand to look at both the diamond cut ruby and matching band on her ring fingers. “Have you finally gotten what you wanted?”

He ran his thumb over the cool, matching metal on his own finger. “It worked out better than I imagined,” he admitted. That was true. Arina had never participated in another of his kills, though she also was more than willing to bandage up any scrapes or bruises he had—and to lovingly remove the bloodstains from his clothes. 

“Oh? How so?”

“I didn’t have to tie you to my bed until you fell in love with both me and my cock,” he said, prowling toward her. Arina shot up, still in that ivory gown he was so fond of, and dragged him to the bed. She was giggling as he fell beside her, pulling him close until his head was pillowed against her breasts. Little beads bit into his cheek, though he didn’t care. Eris buried his nose in her skin, drinking in the soft smell of her. 

“You’re a silly man, Eris Vanserra.”

“Only for you,” he murmured, lacing his fingers through her own before pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. 

“I don’t care about anyone else,” she admitted.

Eris grinned. “As you shouldn’t. I belong wholly to you.”

[delphi-shield]

For your wip tag game:

I would love to know more about "Moving Forward" and "America's Suitehearts" pretty please? 🥹

OH THANK YOU FOR ASKING oh man, oh man this is exciting! i'm so sorry, i got so carried away. i had too many thoughts when i went back to skim these wips lmfao. i'm putting this under a cut that's how bad it is.

Moving Forward is a one shot and maybe the stupidest fic I've ever written. idk i like thinking about the transition periods between all the different leon's we get to see, and i was thinking about infinite darkness through re6 leon and his relationship with adam benford. i know a lot of people decry their friendship as character assassination but i genuinely have never thought that it was out of character. by re6 (and arguably infinite darkness, though he's still kinda finding his footing there) leon has resigned himself to operating in a broken, fucked-up system. he's able at this point to recognize the people around him who are trying to do good and trying to work within the same system to get shit done. leon is not and never has been a leader, he's consistently happy to hand over authority to a more established, senior power. he does not spearhead change. he'll hold his ground and speak up if something violates his personal code of ethics/morals but he is absolutely not reforming anything by himself, he is way too happy to fall in line and play good little soldier and by that point in his life he's recognized that about himself and he's playing to his strengths.

anyway only like half of that is relevant. the fic deals with leon's servitude and his attitude towards his work a little bit, but it's mostly a fluff piece in which leon takes the reader to have dinner with his friend. he neglects to inform them beforehand that his friend is president-elect adam benford. insert hi-jinks. here's where the fic gets its name!

The house is a two-story colonial, fresh paint, a manicured lawn with a BENFORD 2012 sign stuck in the front yard still.  It screams money.  “Always thought that was kinda tacky,” you tell Leon. “‘Moving Forward’ - like, yeah, I hope so. It doesn't even rhyme with Benford.” “It's a slant rhyme.” “Why do you even know what a slant rhyme is?”

America's Suitehearts on the other hand is basically me shoving all my Ashley headcanons into a fic and making everyone deal with that!! Post-re4, poly leshley/reader, extremely inaccurate portrayals of how the secret service operate with adult children of sitting US presidents because i'm struggling to research it. reader is a big lonely loser in this fic and they're really fun to write. part 1 is very office romance, slice of life-y, part 2 is established relationship, sort of navigating the awkwardness of the early stages of a relationship.

perfume and cologne also play a really big part in this fic. i think it started as a way to practice writing smells and then it very quickly just became 'okay but ashley would smell good though, she'd probably like gourmand scents'.

“I think it smells better on you,” you say, offering her a sheepish little grin over top the cubicle. You hand her the perfume back, catching the pout of her lips and the furrow of her brow when she looks up. Her fingers brush yours. Warm and soft, yet they still send a chill through your body. “That can’t be right,” she declares. She stands up, leaning over the low wall separating your desks, gesturing for your arm. You give it to her without a second thought. Her hands cradle your forearm. Her nose presses to your wrist. You’re grateful for the empty office. If she wanted to open her mouth and sink her teeth into your skin, you would let her just to feel her tongue laving at your skin, to have her teeth leave impressions in your skin like a flower pressed between pages. Jesus, what a weird thought. You’re going to have to unpack that later. Maybe find a date or something. Fuck, you’re lonely.

[almacambiondaughterofsaleos]

Bodhisattva tara becoming Charlie mother figure

Charlie: Hi welcome to the hazbin hotel nice to meet you

Tara: Call me tara

Charlie: Tara come

Tara: This hotel wasn't too bad need decoration sure but it can work

Charlie: Yes i wasn't very well prepared sorry about that and i have Apple pie. You should have a slice

Tara: Thank you dear

Charlie: So i was told you gonna come to discuss about my hotel

Tara: Yes i think your idea is amazing

Charlie: Thanks not a lot people think that way

Tara: Ignorant Will always exist no matter what time it's. Back in previous birth i was princess just like you and there this Buddha Tonyo Drupa. I give my offering to him and i want to reach enlightement. The monk there suggest me i should be reborn as a man but i tell them it's ignorant to say that and only weak minded person. So i swore to becoming a bodhisattva who reborn as a woman and i meditated for million of years. Here i am now

Charlie: Wow that's amazing

Tara: Some sinner are bad people in this lifetime and in different lifetime they are good people. You don't need to save every sinner just one if you manage to get one then you can get two sinner if you manage to get three then you get four

Charlie: Thanks i wish my dad told me about that and my mom was here

Tara: Also killing sometime doesn't solve anything or solution to the problem

Charlie: That's what i've been talking about i Don't want sinner to be dead i just want to improve their life

Tara: Maybe you're not an expert and don't have any experience but with guidance you can be better to help them

Charlie: Yeah that part was true

Tara: So How's your first sinner to came here?

Charlie: I got two Meet vaggie and angel dust

Vaggie: Oh hi i'm vaggie

Angel dust: Hi angel dust

Vaggie: You look very pretty

Angel dust: Gorgeous pretty yes but gorgeous is the right word

Vaggie: Whatever

Tara: I'm Tara let's begin then shall we

Therapy session with angel dust and vaggie

Tara: So angel do you believe in redemption?

Angel dust: No i just stay here rent free

Tara: Vaggie

Vaggie: i'm not so sure but i want to believe it's possible

Tara: What Charlie help you with?

Angel dust: I'm going first well it's weird not everyday a princess came to brothel other than sex. But she was different she just give me money without doing anything then she say she believe me. That is the nicest thing i Heard from anyone outside of my family

Vaggie: Same as angel dust I'm just a stranger but she help me with everything. When we both get invited to this hotel she didn't charge us with anything

Angel dust: It's weird usually they want something like sex but she didn't

Tara: Do you want to get better?

Vaggie: Yes i do

Angel dust: Me i don't have the answer to that

Tara: What do you want achieve in life?

Angel Dust: I want to be movie star

Vaggie: Well i want to be a writer

Tara: Friend or family?

Vaggie: None my parents probably here or not. Growing up don't have a lot money so they did the best they can do to survive

Angel dust: I got family molly arackniss and my dad Henroin. After mom die we become distant especially pops. Mom try her best but then she die i don't know if she's here or in heaven but hopefully in heaven she really nice you know even to the most biggest piece of shit

Tara: Does this hotel safe for you?

Angel dust: Yes

Vaggie: Absolutely

Tara: You don't have full of control in everything sometime there something you can control and there is some you don't

Love it

[cospinol]

supremely late as usual but yayyy it's finally time for the winter season's isekai (and rpg fantasy and miscellaneous reincarnation plot) log~ i initially expected the average score of the shows in this log to turn out significantly higher than average but instead it's only very slightly higher than usual because the one essential truth in seasonal anime is that everything will always let you down except for kingdom.

kicking things off is the one that i think is the most Actively and Consistently good , saijaku tamer, which is (certainly not incidentally) the one whose isekai aspect is by far the least relevant to/present the actual show, not just among this season's crop but across the entire genre as i know it : the 'reincarnated person' is not just a completely separate character from the protagonist, it's a disembodied voice in her head that no one else can hear (including the audience!) and whose knowledge/commentary she remarks on less than once an episode. it's the kind of thing that immediately makes you assume it's only there for marketing purposes but it's also not in the title or in any synopsis or trailer, so...? anyways this show made me cry during that trailer and then kept that momentum the whole time; it's absolutely laser-focused one thing, which is extracting as much feelsbait as possible out of various scenarios of ivy cautiously allowing herself to be foster-parented by different types of people (and animals) along her journey, which is also fortunately also the thing it's really good at (when the plot occasionally requires it to show you something else, like the worst action sequence you've ever seen in your life, it's deeply apologetic about it). what if kino's journey was moe! this is the platonic ideal of a 7/10

just below it in the 'you should've earned yourself a 7 as well' shame box we have ishura and chiyu mahou, neither of which is actively bad in its own right but ultimately can't cash the checks they started out writing. ishura does a lot of things right for most of the season, and while i know a lot of people bounced off its structure of 'half a cour of isolated character introduction segments, half a cour of these people showing up in the same place to kill each other', i love a stupid death game in almost any form it's offered to me. unfortunately, though, it ended up getting on my nerves by only distantly promising the eventual murder tournament and centring its actual plot around its military politics, only to reveal that absolutely everything that happened this season was just in service of taking a few pieces off the board before we go to the real plot, which will be... the tournament itself...... this is way too meaty an arc to just be a prologue but its ending is so dismissive of it that it makes me wish neither i nor anyone involved had bothered and we were just watching the tournament instead. it's such a shame... still, the actual pvp section of the show is excellent, and my favourite part of this entire anime season was when it aired its Bandit Vs Spider episode as an apéritif for the Bandit Vs Spider episode of kingdom later in the same week lol

it's hard to place the full blame on chiyu mahou for failing to live up to expectations when i know full well that when one of these shows promises that its characters will go off to War With Demons later in the season, it's never going to be the kind of detailed military campaign i want to see. the problem is that this series is very character-focused (..comparatively, for the genre) and all of its major character arcs and theming revolve around individual sense of responsibility towards one's role on the battlefield, so it's incredibly hard not to get your hopes up that that theme will be explored... and then find them dashed as we get further and further into the season having done nothing but increasingly basic training arcs and slice of life antics and more training and multiple episodes of flashback and even more training until momentum is completely at a standstill, and then we spend barely two episodes on what amounts to a single boss battle against one demon, before returning to training and time-killing with little no reflection on what impact the alleged war had on anyone involved. i was especially put off when the captive Strongest Demon Knight was immediately and effortlessly recruited into the main party (and then they make her train with them, of course); it felt blatantly harem-y in a way this show had managed to avoid up until that point and made me lose a lot of my remaining respect for it. the best thing i can say about that character is that it is a hilarious move to shell out for aoi yuuki for your main villain only to then down-pitch and reverb-effect her voice beyond recognition in almost every scene she's in (as if there's any viewer at this point who sees a big suit of armour with a conspicuously weird voice effect and doesn't immediately assume the person inside is a cute girl...? it's not a twist, guys)... anyways i'm grateful for the sequence of teasers for upcoming characters/arcs that this show ends with because it appears to confirm they're going to magic school next, which means i don't have to spend a moment wondering if the story actually gets good eventually

in the lower-achieving class is sasaki to pii-chan, which did manage to pleasantly surprise me just a little bit, though not in the way it was aiming for. the reaction it's obviously trying to get is "wait, it's an isekai and a magical girl show and a psychic secret agent drama??!!!!!!???? all at once?????!!!!!!??" by throwing the simplest tropes imaginable from each of those settings at you, so obviously i won't be entertaining that; the aspect i actually enjoyed was the simplest and most straightforward of them, its Standard Isekai Setting which is decently comfortable and, critically, the one that has lord mueller in it, who is sincerely charming in the role of 'the one kind of character i usually like in these things' and orchestrates a really fun little fake-succession-drama episode. unfortunately, back on the other side of the isekai portal in modern japan, there is very little fun to be had; the writing has and follows exactly one good instinct in immediately swapping out the unbearably irritating hoshino for the significantly more dynamic shizuka as sasaki's main scene partner pretty early in his employment, but even she can't do much to salvage this series's absolutely abysmal production and pacing. please, mr. sasaki, stop narrating events that happened to someone else somewhere else and let a scene happen organically for once, why don't you

mofunade's main raison-d'être is (or at least should be) being extremely comfortable, which it mostly succeeds at, even if it is on the most basic level of cute girl + fluffy animal service; its problem is that it actually also has a ton of action-and-politics plot for some reason (significantly more than saijaku tamer, for example) and none of it is good, to the point where i really couldn't think of a stand-out character or plotline to bump this up to a 5 despite there being tons of them to pick from. also, this is a dumb complaint, but i can't get over the main character doing all of this stuff while being four years old, it's so stupid and immersion-breaking for no reason at all, you guys don't know she's an isekai protagonist stop bringing your baby to the battlefield!!!!

akuyaku reijou lvl 99 scores a little higher than the chaff on sub-genre basis alone - and can you believe it, it's a villainess story that not only has a dedicated romance but a really cute one between a charming pair of characters with some extremely entertaining micro-dramas and one-on-one moments! unfortunately absolutely nothing else in the show is particularly good, and it has nothing to say about its i-know-the-plot-of-this-game causality plot and yet is determined to forefront both it and its baffling oppression metaphor (which it completely backs down on multiple times before suddenly concluding that entryism works don't worry about it) at the worst possible moments, including a big enough swath of the finale to leave a slightly bitter taste in my mouth - but ultimately the balance is in favour of yumiella's solo antics and romantic endeavours and i won't hold the rest of the show's trappings against it enough to deny it a low pass

at the bottom of this season's scores (with the lowest of our low 4s) is kekkon yubiwa monogatari which is such a default harem that i don't think i even have a paragraph in me about it, nothing is egregiously bad or got on my nerves enough to drop this down to the pit of 3/10s but it also has no real defining characteristics of note at all. the girls are all okay to cute (okay, fine, i do think nephritis kind of owns) the protagonist's a wet noodle with no romantic chemistry with any of them, the plot and set-dressing are trope-default on a level that's impressive even for one of these, there's nothing here to write home about at all. even the uncensored version of this is an archetypal 'semi-background noise while you do something else' watch

andddddd tsukimichi 2 doesn't get a full review since it's incomprehensibly entered a second cour (preliminary diagnosis: builds up a decent head of good-will by spending its first few episodes on non-makoto activities and then blows all of it immediately by spending the rest of the season spinning its wheels at magic school, go figure) but i want to mention it briefly here just because one of its stronger elements in my personal estimation is the Lich Boy Best Friend Main Party Member and it got absolutely smokedddddddd in that respect by... saikyou tank, a show that made it onto this list on the technicality of having a 'kicked out of the hero's party' plot, in probably the weakest iteration i've ever seen, if you're at the point where the hero has personally apologized to our protagonist and admitted that he's sooo much cooler and stronger than him by episode four why even bother? but that absolutely does not matter at all (nor do any of this show's myriad other idiot plot backwaters and protagonist-worship tendencies and basic harem nonsense) because it features one of this season's absolute best boy characters, right there in the main party, and that's the only meal i personally am here for. catch me on the right day and this high-6 score could easily be a 7, marius is so cute, that's all i ask from these shows really

[yoshizora]

💖🤔🧠~

💖 What do you like most about your own writing?

i like adding ambiguity that can be interpreted in different ways! part of that is me just being indecisive about how certain things should be laid out, but the other part hopes to get comments from readers with their own interpretations (i have gotten comments like that before and they always make my day, especially if their interpretation is actually more creative and wowzers than what i originally intended lol).

🤔 What is the hardest part of writing fic?

WRITING

actually starting a fic to be more specific. once i get a scene rolling i can usually hammer out a short one-shot in one sitting, but just getting a beginning that feels satisfying enough to continue with is always like pulling teeth. i think i've gotten cold feet about it recently which is why i haven't posted anything for a while.

🧠 What’s an idea you have that you can’t quite call a WIP yet?

oh my god where do i even start

Hatate picking a fight with Megumu and losing miserably but Megumu is so impressed by her SHEER AUDACITY that she offers a promotion and Aya is just seething in the background

Wriggle venturing underground to look for the legendary centipede who would SURELY!!!!! help her regain her prestige as an insect youkai, but oops Momoyo is rude and dgaf about this rando weakling.

something about the concept of there originally being a lot more youkai followers of Byakuren's that were sealed underground with the Palanquin; they all gradually leave over the years when they realize they're technically free to do whatever they want in Old Hell, but Murasa is bound to the ship so she can't venture far. in the end, Ichirin (and Unzan) are the only ones left who stay with her.

slice of life about Murasa repeatedly drowning Mokou and the two of them having a weird friendship based around breaking their respective monotonies. Kaguya is probably somewhere there too idk.

a surreal piece about Renko having her own dreamlike spirited-away adventure in Gensokyo that ends up being about a strange feud between Megumu and Okina having a "territorial dispute" over Renko because of her own connection to the stars.

Megumu and Kanako teaming up to sell bogus tengu-warding crystals to humans. yes really

[deathandthemaiden23]

Tea Time with Death (ONESHOT)

A few months of visits later, Death comes to visit Sidhela for tea. Over the course of the afternoon, tensions begin to mount between them, and Death finally confronts an elephant in the room.

From their very first meeting, it was clear that there was a spark of potential between them that would be foolish to ignore, and the best part of it was… He couldn’t smell fear on her whenever he was around. In fact, it was quite the opposite, an ease and a genuine sense of comfort lingering around her like a gorgeous, fragrant perfume, and that ease was accompanied by often-flirtatious behavior and banter between them. He liked the smell of fear, quite loved it in fact, but on her, he wanted nothing more than coziness and relief. Solace in his presence, a desire to come closer, a desire to stay close and never leave. He didn’t want her to leave.

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

“It’s not much…” She tells him shyly, setting a big tray down on the table. “But you’re welcome to as much as you’d like.”

He looked at the spread laid out before him. Aromatic, strongly steeped assam tea is steaming in a porcelain, floral-patterned teapot, complimented by two matching teacups on saucers with tiny spoons, lumps of sugar, and a small pitcher of cream. An assortment of little finger sandwiches is on a platter, a few each in different varieties, and cut up in huge slices on a different plate is freshly-baked soda bread, a generous pat of sweet butter in a little dish beside it. Little bowls of hot and savory potato leek soup are sitting amongst all of this, and he has to wonder just how she was able to make all of this between the time that she invited him here and the time it took him to arrive. He had not the slightest notion, either, how a banshee such as herself had come across the necessary accoutrements to make afternoon tea in the first place, but this world, as he knew very well by now, was full of surprises and things that didn’t quite add up, so he didn’t really question it. The smell of it all is positively intoxicating, and he finds himself licking his chops in anticipation for it. He never really could turn down a warm meal when it was offered to him, even less when it was lovingly homemade by the most adorable little banshee he’d ever seen.

“My, my, ninita, you’ve really outdone yourself.” He says, marveling at all of it. She smiles sunnily as she sits just beside him. “You didn’t have to do all this for me. Just the tea would have been enough.”

“No, no, I used to love cooking.” She brushes him off shyly. “I used to cook meals for my family all the time, gave me something to do when I wasn’t working.”

“It all looks wonderful.” He tells her kindly, scooting his chair in more to get a closer look at the raisins in the soda bread as well as silently appreciating the sugar crust on the outside of the loaf. He gestures at it with his paw. “May I?”

“Please, help yourself.” She tells him. “I baked it fresh myself this morning.”

With her permission, he silently takes the end piece and picks up the knife beside the butter to administer a generous smear over the top of the bread, quietly pleased and feeling less self-conscious when she does the same. He bites into his piece first, and it’s just as warm and delicious as he thought it would be.

“Mmm, me gusta, pequena. Very good job.” He praises her in a low tone, beaming at her with his striking red eyes as he observes a small amount of blush staining her cheeks at his approval. He manages to polish it off in no more than two bites, and if it were possible for him to blush, he very well would have at her amused giggling.

“I’m so glad you like it!” She says excitedly. She waves at his soup bowl now, carefully nudging it closer to him. “Try the soup, mo chara, before it turns cold.”

He chuckles and does as he’s asked, picking it up in one hand and lifting it up to his maw before taking a small, tentative sip. It’s wonderfully flavorful, tepid and hot from having just been on the fire, and the burn of it warms his throat. He finds it perfectly seasoned, creamy, and all-around comforting. He takes a few more sips and cleans his chops with his tongue, positively charmed to see her not boorishly sipping straight from the bowl as he was, but rather lifting delicate spoonfuls up to her lips, blowing on it gently, and drinking it that way. She was so elegant in her mannerisms, hands usually folded over her lap as they talked, raising her hand to her mouth to cover it as she laughed, and she always crossed her legs as they sat (at a respectable distance, of course) from each other on her couch. He found her tendency towards effortless grace to be positively alluring, and over the course of these past few months, he found himself growing more and more attached to her company. How delightful it was to finally have a friend, a friend he was assured was relatively safe from his influence, and a friend that… Well, he harbored some secret, strange feelings for. It wasn’t that secret, to be perfectly fair. From their very first meeting, it was clear that there was a spark of potential between them that would be foolish to ignore, and the best part of it was… He couldn’t smell fear on her whenever he was around. In fact, it was quite the opposite, an ease and a genuine sense of comfort lingering around her like a gorgeous, fragrant perfume, and that ease was accompanied by often-flirtatious behavior and banter between them. He liked the smell of fear, quite loved it in fact, but on her, he wanted nothing more than coziness and relief. Solace in his presence, a desire to come closer, a desire to stay close and never leave. He didn’t want her to leave. He could not always be around, for he was always busy, always beholden to his duty, but whenever he could see her, he found a way to make time for her without reservation. She was his friend. He’d never had a real, true friend before, one that understood what it was like to be isolated from society, one that understood real and total loneliness, unwilling ostracization from their peers. He felt regret for how she’d been treated by her town and the people around her, his heart broke for the blatant mistreatment she had had to endure, how she endured even now, arguably even more so now that she’d been cursed with the life of the bean sidhe, but… He was glad for the common thread between them, that pulled them closer together with each and every day. A string of fate, almost.

As he watches her continue to eat, helping herself to a few of the finger sandwiches on the platter, a question occurs to him. “There’s something I’ve been wondering about, mi nina.” He says slowly, and after she finishes eating one that appeared to have cream cheese and salmon expertly layered between the bread, her eyes flicker over to him again.

“Oh? What’s that, Muerte?”

“Do you… Need to eat, like this?” He asks curiously, gesturing to all the food. “I’ve never met a banshee that… Cooks. Do you still feel hunger in the first place?”

“Do you?” She asks back playfully behind her teacup.

He’s stumped by the question. As the physical embodiment of death, he wasn’t quite sure of the answer. It didn’t make sense for him to eat really, but he did nonetheless. “I don’t suppose I do.” He muses, rubbing his chin. “But sometimes it’s a comfort to indulge.”

“Food was one of my only true comforts when I w-was… Alive.” She stumbles awkwardly on her words, fiddling with her hands all the while as she tries to relate with him. “As you can see, I’m… I’m on the bigger side, a-and… The townspeople always made fun of me for it.”

“I don’t understand it myself.” He sighs, leaning back in his chair. “So many of them are obsessed with a certain standard of beauty. But you, mi hermosa rosa, are perfectly fine as you are, I can promise you that.”

A delightful shiver ripples up her spine at the compliment. She presses her hands to her cheeks. “Ó dhia…” She gushes quietly. “You’re making me blush, Muerte.”

He chuckles in a low tone and leans forward, elbows propped on the table. “I’m simply telling the truth, mi nina.” He whispers to her decadently.

“Do you… Really think I am? Pretty, I mean?” She asks him, and though he finds the hopefulness in her voice endearing, it also saddens him to see her so insecure.

“Like a bed of forest wildflowers in spring.” He assures her.

“I-I’m… So lucky to have you as a friend.” She tells him now, tears starting to well in her eyes.

“Pequena…”

“I mean it, I really do.” She smiles sadly at him, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her dress. “I feel so alone so much of the time, but… Your presence is always a comfort. I always look forward to seeing you.”

“Yo tambien.” He agrees. “I must tell you, mi chica… I’ve never been so lucky to have someone be… Unafraid of me, as you are.”

“I used to be.” She says quietly. He gives her a solemn look, letting her speak without interruption. “As much as I wanted not to live, I-I… I was always too scared to take the leap, as it were. I feared your permanence, and… I didn’t know what would come next. A life after, or… Just a void.”

He nods somberly at her words. “That’s a fear that many have.” He says, validating her confession.

“In a way, as… As much as I often don’t want to be here…” She continues stiltedly. “I… It’s a bit of a comfort, to know that I might be safe from it. I do love to live,” She admits. “But the pain of it all… It’s hard not to want relief.”

“Am I… Any relief for you, by chance?” He asks slowly and cautiously. “That is… Do I help you feel any better?”

She gives him a wistful smile, sliding her hand over his and giving it a squeeze. He looks at her in slight startlement at the sheer boldness from someone so characteristically timid. “You’ve made life so much more colorful for me again, Muerte.” She assures him. She giggles. “It’s strange. I never thought that death could make me feel so alive.”

He’s quite frozen in place by the sensation of her hand against his paw, so much so that he doesn’t know what to say at first. “Sidhela…” He begins, and then stops. Now might not be the time for such things.

She seems to realize the implication of her gesture just then and nervously pulls her hand back now. “Ah, I-I… Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No no, en absoluto.” He brushes her off. “It was… Nice.”

“I’m pretty full.” She comments shyly now, trying to change the subject in an attempt to assuage whatever that awkward situation was. “Would y-you… Like to sit with me, for a while? Talk?” She asks hopefully.

“Talk…” He parrots her slowly, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. Unconsciously, he was avoiding direct eye contact, because he didn’t think he could take facing her right now with such shameful thoughts on his mind. “…I think I’d like that.”

“G-Good, good!” She says, feigning normalcy in any and every way she could muster. She gets up and pats down her dress in an attempt to dust the residual crumbs from her lap. She leads the way over to the couch and settles into the crook of it, awkwardly patting the side next to her with a gentle hand. He follows her over and takes a seat at her silent behest, keeping a respectable distance from her as he clears his throat and props his elbows on his hindlegs. It had been quite a while since he’d arrived, and really, he should be returning to his duties by now, but… But…

“Is there anything in particular you want to talk about, pequena?” He says, still not looking her directly in the eyes as he stares headlong at the wall. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut through with his sickle, and though it made him uneasy, it also almost excited him.

She’s silent, as though she had something to say but was having trouble spitting it out. She wrings her hands nervously, glancing at him almost obsessively out of the corner of her eye. “Have you… Ever had feelings for someone before, bás?”

This question, it… It pierces right through him. “Why do you ask?” He says, his lips numb from the anticipation as well as something melancholy inside of him that he couldn’t quite place.

She shakes her head. “I… Just wondered. I was wondering i-if… If you could even feel such a thing, f-for… Someone else.”

“Of course I can feel these things.” He tells her, his tone a bit shorter than he’d intended it to be. His ears flatten at a spark of fear he can smell jolting through her veins. He didn’t mean to scare her with that. He sighs. “It’s just… Not a good idea, for someone like me. My job is to cull life from this world, and… Anyone I’d ever liked, it’s… Always the same. It was never worth the heartache.”

“Oh.” She says, sounding truly remorseful. “I d-didn’t mean to…”

“Everyone always dies, mi nina. No one’s ever escaped me.” He continues, sounding pained. “I don’t blame them for not being able to stay, but… I just always wished for one that would.”

They’re both quiet, for what seems like an eternity. And then, against all odds, she speaks.

“…I would stay.”

He finally looks at her now, truly taken aback. He sees in her eyes true, earnest honesty. He blinks. “You… Would?”

She shifts her position on the couch to move in slightly closer, still wringing her hands. “Well, I d-don’t… Know if dying is possible for me, like this… At the very least, I don’t think I’m capable of aging anymore… So… Yes, I would. You’re… My best friend, Muerte. My only friend.” She stops again. “I… I’d only stay if you wanted me to, of course. I wouldn’t—”

“I want you to stay.” He says suddenly. It’s her turn to look surprised, and he can practically feel the blush rolling off of her face in waves.

“You do?” She asks, her mouth completely dry now.

“These last few months have been the most fun I’ve had in eons.” He recalls wistfully. “Actually, I can’t remember a time I ever felt so… Light. You bring out the best in me, ninita.”

“I… I-I…” She stammers, absolutely lost for words now.

“…I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but… I think there’s something… Between you and me.” He looks at her out of the corner of his eye. “…Am I wrong?”

He braces himself for some kind of rejection, some inevitable disappointment, but he’s met with pleasant surprise at the sensation of her leaning her head against his shoulder now. “I thought you might never say it, mi Muerte…” She sighs delicately.

His tail has no room to wag behind him on the couch, so it curls and sways around the curve of his hindleg instead. Mi Muerte. Such sweet words, and meant only for him. “…You… Feel it too, then?”

He can feel her nodding into the fabric of his poncho. “For so long.” She answers softly. “All this time, every single day, I’ve thought of you… Wanted you… Pined for you… Muerte, I…”

“Shh.” He shushes her now in a gravelly tone. “I think that’s quite enough for now, mi flor…”

“Did I go too far? I’m s-sorry, I… I didn’t mean—”

He turns in towards her now and swiftly leans in close, interrupting her thoughts with a gentle kiss as he cages her against the arm of the couch. She squeaks into his mouth but parts her lips nonetheless, letting him slip his tongue into her mouth and deepen it. He pulls back. “Sidhela…” He breathes. He goes in again for a second kiss, and a low growl emits from his throat as she takes hold of him by the sides of his head and pulls him closer in unmistakable reciprocation.

“Oh, Muerte…” She whispers between kisses. “I-I… I…”

“Say my name again, mi corazon…” He demands of her gently, running his paw carefully through her silvern hair as he pulls back to look at her. She really was breathtaking, especially like this, her chest heaving with her exhilaration and her already soulful eyes wide as saucers at his advances. “I love my name on your lips…”

“…Muerte, I w…”

“Yes, Sidhela?”

She looks bashful. “…I want you t-to… Can you…” She runs her hands down the curves of her body now, silently indicating what she wanted from him in a timid gesture of her shaking fingers ghosting over her breasts.

He chuckles. “My, my…” He whispers. “You want me to touch you there, hmm? Nina traviesa…” But nevertheless, he obliges at her consent, emboldened by the way she arches her spine up to meet his hands as he slides them carefully over her ample bosom. He gives them a firm but gentle squeeze, slotting himself in closer as she parts her legs just enough to allow him in. He perches himself over her, fondling her generously at her request, but withdraws his paws after a minute or two so as not to go too far. This… This felt so good, but it would feel so much better if he took his time. It would feel so much better if they moved slowly and savored this, savored all of it. Luckily, he could tell she was on the same page, perfectly content simply to kiss for the time being because it was such a pure and intimate gesture to share. To tell the complete and unabashed truth, he wanted more than this, so much more than this, but he was sure that would come eventually. For now, this would do perfectly well.

Despite his own decisions to hold back, however, he cannot deny the beginnings of lust starting to stir within him at the sight of her so needy and desperate for him. This feeling was not new to him, per se; he had, as he had said, held such feelings for some of the mortals before, but he’d never acted on those feelings. He had never indulged, really, beyond entertaining fantasies and… Satisfying himself, in other ways. The prospect of finally getting to feel these things with another living, breathing thing… It only made him all the more determined to slow down and take his time with it. To relish in the fact that she felt the same, and had, in fact, felt the same for so long, just as he had. To know that she was safe from the pull of eventual mortality, as far as they both knew anyway, it… It filled him with excitement he had not felt since chasing that arrogant gatito, right before they’d met. He could have her forever, he could keep her at his side and cherish her, for as long as she was content to stay with him and do the same. And she said that she would. She said that she’d stay. This alone was enough to ensnare him in his loyalty to her.

“Mi Muerte…” She sighs softly, throwing her head back in the arm of the couch as he pulls back from another kiss. She giggles helplessly as he starts to pepper small ones along her neck and collarbone now, charmed and aroused as he even gently licks and nips there at the sensitive skin. “Muerte!” She gasps at a particularly hard nip, and he pulls back, immediately apologetic.

“I’m sorry, mi nina, did I hurt you?” He asks concernedly, but unconsciously, his tail begins to wag more rapidly again when she shakes her head.

“N-No, juh-just surprised.” She breathes. “Please… Keep going…”

He grins at her. “My pleasure, mi amor…” He takes the roundness of her face in his paws and leans in again, her lips simply melting against his as he hungrily takes what he’d been pining for for months. He had wanted this for so long that it was painful; for eons before she had ever existed, he had wanted this. And now he got to have it; he got to have it, and it felt so good, and the best part of it was, he knew that it felt good for her too. She wanted this just as much as he did, and nothing else in the world could make him happier. He could see the potential in her, in them as partners. He could not see the future, but he could guess what lay ahead, and he could tell that what lay ahead was not of misfortune, but great potential prosperity. They could… Be happy together. They could be for each other what no one else could hope to offer them individually, and the thought brings him peace, comfort. Maybe eternity wouldn’t be so bad, or so lonely or isolating, if she was only here with him.

Uninterrupted in their intimacy, they had continued like this for what seemed like eternity. Neither one of them seemed to grow tired of this, but eventually, regretfully, he had to break away from her. He had spent too long in her company, as he often always did, but now was the time to return to the duties he had been dodging for far too long as it was. He bid her a wistful goodbye, but this time when they embraced before the door, neither wanted to be the one to let go.

“Will you come back to me, Muerte?” She asks him in a fragile voice, clinging to him tight.

“Always, pequena.” He promises her. “Will you call for me?”

She smiles at him, as they both pull back at the same time. “Always.”

He returns her smile, walking slowly towards the front door of her cottage. “Buen. Until we meet again, then, mi Sidhela.”

And then he was gone, taking her heart with him. But she knew that it was in good hands.

[terrifictoonman]

[WP] It’s PTA day at school! Unfortunately your mom is sick and can’t go, so your father goes in her stead… The only issue is your father is a literal demon from Hell. Surprisingly, everything went OK. [Reddit - u/Endulos] (12/04)

~Devil's in the Details~

{Warning: LOOOOOOOOOONG}

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So, here's my situation...

In my little slice of heaven, Evelin County, the PTA is right up there with the sheriff's office and the mayor. You make the right friends, do a few favors, and bake the right cookies, and that turns into scholarships, recommendations, and basically a full ride to any school you want.

My mom has been working her way up the PTA ladder since she knew she was pregnant with me. She's saved up enough IOUs to guarantee me a doctorate in any field I want, with a seven-figure hiring salary to boot. There's just one problem...my dad.

Love the man to death and back, but he despises the PTA. He says they're a bunch of soulless, manipulative, power-hungry hyenas who could care less for the betterment of the students or their families, which is funny, seeing that he's a demon. Now, he is "Reformed," for the most part, but there's a reason my mom and I did everything in our power to keep him as far from the PTA as humanly possible.

That is until my mom got sick.

Nothing too bad, just a really bad stomach virus, but it meant she was too sick to go to her meeting. Now, missing a meeting every once in a while is understandable, but this was the Memorial Meeting where PTA leaders of old returned to honor a lucky few with what is essentially a golden ticket. The very few kids who've gotten one are now so rich they don't even lie on their taxes or have offshore accounts.

All my mom's work led up to this moment. She used every last favor she had to get a seat with Penelope Tyler Addison, the first head of the PTA, and a chance at getting me a golden ticket, but when she got sick, it nearly destroyed her. So, my dad, the loving husband he is, offered to fill in. After trying every medicine, spell, and curse she could think of to cure satan's cold, my mom begrudgingly let my dad go.

And the grin on his face could only be described as, "I am going to Fuck. Shit. Up!"

So, after days of shopping, rehearsing, and a really fun daddy-daughter spa day, the night had arrived. We entered the auditorium looking amazing. Me in my humble red dress shirt with the sleeves rolled, a black midi skirt with a matching belt, a color-coordinated handbag, and my auburn hair in a perfect bun. Then there was my dad, jet black hair combed to perfection, wearing a perfectly tailored black three-piece suit, gold cufflinks with a matching Rolex, and his favorite bright...red...tie...

I blinked. All I did was blink, and he was gone. Only the faint sound of maniacal laughter could be heard as I looked into the crowd with dread.

So, here we are. My entire future is on the line, and my dad's running at it with scissors in both hands. Only one person can stop him: me, Diana Pater.

Diana weaved through the multiple crowds of guests with grace and gusto, saying high to her fellow students and also having polite but quick conversations with other parents and school faculty. Diana notices an eerie, shadowy figure in the distance every few minutes, believing it to be her father. She races through the crowds only to find the figure gone.

"I can't believe it," said Diana, "he's using demon magic. Ooooh, I am rat on him so fast when we get home!" In her frustration, Diana doesn't notice an elderly lady and bumps into her, nearly causing the woman to spill her tea. "Oh my goodness, I am so sorry, ma'am!"

"Oh no, dear, it's more than fine," said the elderly woman. "More people than floor at these get-togethers nowadays. You know, back in my day..." Diana becomes tense as she realizes she fell into the oldest party trap there is, the reminiscing elder. The woman drones on about her youth and how different the PTA was when she was younger for what feels like hours.

Meanwhile, Diana notices the shadowy figure popping between crowds all around her while she's held captive by politeness and conversational etiquette. Diana looked down at the elder's nearly empty tea cup. She fights against an idea forming in her mind but studies herself with a deep breath.

"Excuse me, miss," said Diana.

"Please, call me Gabbi," said Gabbi.

"Ms. Gabbi, I can't help but notice you're almost out of tea," said Diana. "How about I get you a refill? Then you can find a nice place to sit and finish your story."

"I would be so blessed," said Gabbi as she handed her cup to Diana. "Not too many like you in this generation. Your parents should be proud." As Gabbi turned to start looking for a table, Diana stopped her.

"Ms. Gabbi, wait," said Diana, "you forgot your tea." Gabbi laughed at what she thought was a joke until she saw her glass filled with hot tea. The elderly woman found herself unable to look away from her drink, seeing her life in every ripple of her drink. The steam from the tea wafts into her face, and a light green energy pulses through her veins. That same energy passed over her eyes like a wave before she looked up, staring far past Diana into the distance. She then shuffled through the crowds.

Diana watched as Gabbi wandered into the mass of people, guilt plain on her face. She then feels a rush of energy fills her body, almost overwhelming her. When the feeling subsides, she pulls a compact mirror from her handbag. Her skin has gone from light bronze to a rich tan, and her eyes from dark brown to bright yellow. "Sorry, Gabbi. Tea's on me next time, I promise."

Diana continues to walk through crowds but appears to be using them like portals, entering one and coming out another on a completely different side of the auditorium.

"Lord damned, I've been out of the game too long," said Mr. Pater as he walked out of another crowd. "I mean, how hard can it be to find one stuffy bag of bones?" Mr. Pater walks into another crowd only to be stopped by his daughter, who grabs him by his jacket collar.

"Gotcha!" said Diana.

"Guess I'm not the only one getting in trouble tonight," said Mr. Pater.

"A necessary evil to accomplish my goals," said Diana, "just like Ms. Adderson and the PTA."

"There is a diamond chandelier on the ceiling," said Mr. Pater. "What part of the school's budget did that come from, ya think?"

"I know you're not about to lecture anyone on frivolous spending," said Diana.

"Well, I did write the book on it," said Mr. Pater. "I've also been working on a sequel, "Ditching your Demon Daughter on the Doorstep" Chapter One..." With the snap of his fingers, Diana instantly appeared outside the auditorium holding her dad's jacket. Diana growls in frustration as she throws the coat back on the ground and charges back into the auditorium.

Back inside the now even more crowded auditorium, Diana struggles to move a few inches, fully at the mercy of the sweaty sea of people. Finally finding some room to breathe, Diana looks around, unable to see anything other than the ever-shuffling crowd.

"Ok," said Diana, "I don't need to find dad to stop him. All I need to do is beat him to Ms. Addiline!" Diana then looks up at the chandelier on the ceiling. "And I know exactly who to ask."

Next to the indoor entrance to the auditorium, a woman sits in a golden chair wearing a silver off-the-shoulders dress with royal purple ruffles at the top, a purple sun hat with a silver ribbon, and a diamond necklace with hints of silver inside.

The woman watches the crowd with an aura of superiority, occasionally scoffing and sticking her nose up at those passing her. After shooing away a small child, the woman looks up to find a paler Diana standing in front of her, nearly causing the woman to fall out of her chair.

"Enjoying the party, Evilyn?" asked Diana.

"Once again, daft child, it's Mrs. Edalyn," said Edalyn, using the most obvious fake British voice ever heard. "I see once again your poor excuse for a mother has failed to instill in you any manners." Diana struggles to disguise her anger as she tightens her fists behind her back. "Speaking of which, where is your mother? I would have figured she'd be parading around how she blackmailed her way into getting Ms. Addison's invite."

"She had...personal business that needed her attention," said Diana. "My daddy and I are here on her behalf." Edalyn scoffed.

"Your father?" scoffed Edalyn, "What is going to do? Try and pay her off with his brain-rotting books. You would have been better off coming alone!"

"Oh, I bet you know a lot about ***THAT***!" whispered Diana.

"Excuse me, young lady," barked Edalyn, "Do not murmur to your elders! Speak clearly!"

"You're right," said Diana, bowing her head, "I'm sorry. I was just wondering if you knew where we could find Ms. Adderson. We've been looking all night but haven't been able to find her. "

"Because you don't," said Edalyn, a large grin across her face. "Ms. Addeson doesn't sully herself with the riff-raff. She'll only send for those she feels might be worthy of her company, and given the current state of the PTA, I wouldn't be surprised if she never shows her face again."

"Oh, I see," sighed Diana, "I guess I'll give Billy the bad news." Edalyn suddenly sat up straight.

"What does my husband's son have to do with this?" asked Edalyn.

"Well, my mother told me about how hard you campaigned to get Ms. Adderson's invite," said Diana. "Our relationship aside, Billy is a bright kid in his own way, and if Ms. Adderson didn't see me as qualified for the golden ticket, the least I could do is point her in the direction of someone just as, if not worthier than I." Diana barely hides her grin as she watches Edalyn's eyes dart around as the situation races around her head.

"But, if you think she's already left, then I guess I'll just tell Billy and head home." After turning around to walk away, Diana silently counts down from five, and once reaching zero...

"I'm sorry, but that is not how a proper lady ends a conversation!" yelled Edalyn. Diana quickly scutters back to the older woman. "Lucky for you, I am in a more forgiving mood. That being said, hypothetically, I knew where Ms. Adderson would be. How would I know you'd actually put in a good word for Billiard?"

"Ms. Edalyn," said Diana as her eyes were engulfed in a dark green hue. "I promise, before the night ends, Billy will be richer beyond his wildest dreams." Diana reaches out her hand. "Do we have a deal?" Edalyn pretends to mull over the decision for a few seconds before giving in and reaching for Diana's hand.

However, just before they shake, Diana takes her hand back. "One small thing though, you have to say one nice thing about my family, all three of us." Edaly glares at Diana annoyed.

"Fine," said Edalyn. The two shook hands, and instantly, a rush of dark green energy raced through Edalyn's veins, causing her to shiver and quickly retract her hand. "Ugh! Two words, baby powder!" Edalyn pulls out a bottle of hand sanitizer and frantically rubs it on her hands.

"Thanks for the advice," said Diana, rubbing her hand on her skirt. "Now, where's Ms. Adderson?

"Dressing room five," said Edalyn, "and make sure to knock first."

"Thank you," said Diana as she entered the door. "It hasn't been a pleasure."

"Likewise," said Edalyn, "hope the door hits you on the way out." With the door now closed, Edalyn tried to get back on her high horse when she saw a more vibrant Diana walking toward her from the crowd.

"Enjoying the party, Mrs. Evilyn?" asked Diana...again.

"Seriously?" asked Edalyn, "Now you're just trying to annoy me."

"I'm sorry?" asked Diana.

"I highly doubt it," said Edalyn. "What do you want now?"

"I...uh...I don't..." said Diana, baffled by the conversation. "Have you seen Ms. Adderson?"

"Good lord!" said Edalyn. " Did your mother forget to get you tested, or were you always this insufferably moronic!"

"Excuse me?!" asked Diana.

"You're excused," said Edalyn, "Dressing room five, F-I-V-E, do you need me to write it down for you? No? Then go and fill your half of the bargain!" Getting what she needed and struggling to fully comprehend what was happening, Diana walked through the doors next to Edalyn, with the older woman slamming the door shut.

Diana stood on the other side of the door, confused and angry.

"Fuck you, Evilyn!" said Diana.

"Language! Shit!" yelled another Diana. Diana looked down the hall just in time to see herself racing around a corner in a panic.

"Oh no, you don't!" said Diana as she gave chase—light green energy pulsing through her veins.

Doppelganger Diana surrounded herself in a cloud of dark green smoke, transforming back into Mr. Pater as he ran down the halls. Diana slid around the corner and threw a lime-green ball of slime at her father.

Mr. Pater ducked the slime ball as it splatted across several lockers. As the two race through the school, Diana continues to try to slime her dad, but Mr. Pater proves to be a master of magic as he transforms into several animals to avoid his daughter's attacks.

"I know this probably isn't the best time," yelled Mr. Pater as he transformed into a dragonfly, "but your fastball has really developed. I mean the consistency alone!"

"What can I say?" said Diana as she leaps behind a wall. As Mr. Pater flies around a corner, Diana is a few feet in front of him, mid-pitch. "I had a great coach!" Diana launched the slimeball, nailing her father and pinning him to a wall. Mr. Pater returns to human, the slime expands to keep him stuck. Diana walks up to her father, breathing heavily.

"Nice try, dad," said Diana, "but you're...on my turf. There's not an...inch of this school...that I don't know about."

"Then I guess you know what's on the other side of this wall?" asked Mr. Pater. Diana surveys the area while looking at the school map in her head. Her eyes widen in shock as she realizes the answer. "Demon's 101, we never play it straight, and if I timed it right, you've burned through all the demon energy you got from your deal."

Diana looks at her arms as the green energy fades and her skin turns pale. She looks back up to see her father phase through the wall behind him. "See you on the other side, baby girl!" Diana grits her teeth as she forces whatever demon energy she has left to the surface as she leaps at her dad.

Mr. Pater falls onto the ground on the other side of the wall. He sits back up and sees Diana stuck in the wall from the waist up. Mr. Pater tries to keep a straight face but lets slip the occasional snicker. Meanwhile, Diana tries furiously to pull herself free from the wall to no avail.

"Diana, stop," said Mr. Pater as he walked toward his daughter. "You're not gonna get yourself out like..." Diana reaches out to try to grab her father but is barely an inch away from touching him. "Diana, stop. I'm not going anywhere. Now let me just..."

"Just what? Phase me back to the other side of the wall so you can ruin my future!?" yelled Diana.

"You're half right," said Mr. Pater. He tries to get close to Diana but flails her arms at his face to keep him at bay. "Seriously? Are you seventeen or seven?" Diana crosses her arms and puffs her cheeks with air while glaring at her dad. "You know what? Fine, I'll make you a deal..."

"How dumb do you think I am?' asked Diana.

"Not dumb enough not to hear me out," said Mr. Pater. "If you can tell me, right here, right now, why this dumb golden ticket is so important to you, I'll pull you out, and I'll follow your lead."

"But?" asked Diana.

"No lying, no half-truths, no omissions, one hundred percent honesty," said Mr. Pater as he extended his hand. "Deal?"

Mr. Pater dragged a chair from another room and sat in front of his mounted daughter.

"I'm all ears. Why is this so important to you?" asked Mr. Pater.

"Because it'll set me up for life," said Diana, "I may not know how, but it's not some myth or anything like that. Ms. Adderson has a proven track record with testimonials."

"So, you just want the fast pass to success, huh?" asked Mr. Pater. Diana nodded her head. "Then why didn't you try to leave me at home?"

"Because I needed the ride," said Diana.

"All your friends drive," said Mr. Pater, "and I know Gavin would have gladly given you a ride for free for the box of cold pizza we have back home. That definitely would have been easier than playing cat and mouse with me."

"Well, it's not like I had a choice," said Diana, "Mom made you come." Mr. Pater just stares his daughter down. "Yeah, knew that wouldn't fly the second it came out my mouth. Oh, wait! Because mom's been working for this her whole life. I couldn't let seventeen years of work get flushed down the toilet."

"Sure, that's true," said Mr. Pater, "but you're still lying."

"But-" said Diana.

"You still haven't explained why you let me come with you," said Mr. Pater. "Especially since I have a long and detailed history of dunking on the PTA." Diana became frustrated as she struggled to find any sort of an answer.

"Why do you even care!? What's the point of this!?" yelled Diana. "Was this all so you could teach me a stupid lesson or something!? Do you hate the PTA so much that you'd possibly ruin your daughter's life and your wife's hard work?!"

"Because they don't care about you," said Pater. "A PTA is supposed to be an organization where parents work with the local school for the betterment of the students and the community. There is a chocolate fountain the size of an actual fountain out front, most of the people in there are wearing clothes worth more than our house, and the entire organization becomes an episode of survivor when one raggedy old skeleton comes to town promising wealth and a stress-free life."

"I had to watch your mom work herself to death and back trying to get in with the right people In that hell hole! You think I know how to make a Faustian Bargain? Your mom has put me to shame on four separate occasions that I can prove. I'm pretty sure she legally owns a soul, a full soul!" Mr. Pater takes a few deep breaths to recompose himself..

"I...I didn't know," said Diana.

"Yeah, you did," said Mr. Pater as he tapped his heart. "I've seen how you've taken care of your mom after some of those meetings. Somewhere between that big brain and your bigger heart, you put two and two together. Now the real question is, why do YOU want this so bad?"

Diana slowly began to slide forward from the wall, not noticing due to being deep in thought. She thought back to all the nights she found her mom passed out on the couch, coming home defeated and miserable, and all the happy days ruined by a PTA phone call.

"Because it could save mom," said Diana as she was ejected from the wall into her dad's arms. Light green energy rushed through her body as color returned to her skin. "You knew, you knew the whole time, didn't you?"

"I'm a Lord of Avarice," said Pater, "I know what everyone wants, physical or otherwise, helps with Christmas shopping." Mr. Pater helps his daughter to her feet. "You good? Everything where it should be? No extra weight anywhere?"

"Yeah, yeah, I think I'm OK," said Diana. The two walk down the hall until they reach dressing room five. "So, what do I do now?"

"Hey, a deal's a deal," said Pater. "I follow your lead. Just know, whatever you choose, I'll back you up one hundred percent." Diana smiles as she sheepishly raises her fist to the door.

"You said you always know what people want," said Diana, "why does mom want this?"

"A means to an end," said Mr. Pater, " to giving you the best life she can." With one last deep breath, Diana knocks on the door.

Diana and her father walk back into the auditorium as the crowd watches Mrs. Edalyn on the stage. A tall, lanky young man wearing a cheap suit that is a size too small waves at the pair.

"How you doin' Billy?" asked Mr. Pater.

"Oh, you know, one wheel at a time," said Billy.

"...yep, I totally get it," said Mr. Pater.

"So, did ya get it? Did ya get the ticket," asked Billy.

"She offered, and it was...a lot of money," said Diana, "but I think I'll find my own way to the top."

"The look on her face when you said "no," laughed Mr. Pater, "I should taken a picture for your Mom., maybe it could've shortened my life sentence."

"Don't worry, Dad," said Diana, " I got your back. Don't know what good it'll do once she finds out about..." Mr. Pater fakes a loud cough before motioning toward Billy. "About my secret...pet...snake, yeah!"

"Ooh! Ooh! My Pop's and I can take it off your hands for ya, free of charge!" offered Billy.

"No sweat, Bill, I got it handled," said Mr. Pater, "but you can do me a favor." Mr. Pater pulls a folded slip of paper from his pocket and hands it to Billy. "Take this to your Mom, it's a note from Ms. Adderson, she'll want to read it to the crowd." Billy takes the note and salutes Mr. Pater.

"You can count on me, sir!" said Billy.

"You know what, you're right!" said Mr. Pater as he pulled twenty dollars from his back pocket. "Keep the change." Billy stares at the twenty like it is his firstborn child.

"Wow! A whole twenty dollars!" said Billy. "This is more money than I thought was possible!" Billy excitedly tackles his way through the crowd on a path to his mother.

"What was that about?" asked Diana.

"You'll see," said Mr. Pater. "Just smile and nod when she looks at you." After parting the crowd like the Red Sea, Billy climbs onto the stage. To his mother's annoyance and embarrassment

"Hey, Ma'ma...oop, I mean Ma-ther," said Billy. "I got a note for you from Ms. Adderson." Edalyn takes the note and finds Diana in the crowd, nodding at her with a smile next to her father, recording on his phone. As she opened the note, inside it read, "Pay up!" Edalyn's eyes turned a dark green hue as she took a firm grip of the microphone.

"I, Edalyn Mackenzie, would like to take this time to apologize to Lucy Pater and her wonderful daughter Diana," said Edalyn. "In all my sixty-two years as a part of the PTA, I have never seen a woman so dedicated to this organization than Lucy, especially seeing that I have done everything in my power to get her to quit since day one!" The crowd gasps as whispers fill the room.

"Giving Billy that money was part of a deal to embarrass her, wasn't it?" asked Diana.

"Easiest deal I've ever made," said Mr. Pater.

"I love you, Dad," said Diana as she hugged her father's arm.

"To Diana, for all the shit I've given you," Edalyn continued, "just know it came from a place of intense, borderline psychopathic hatred and jealousy stemming from the relationship, or lack thereof, with my parents. Mind you, they did nothing wrong to me, they were actually very kind and understanding I was just a monster of a child. They truly deserved a child like you, Diana. Hell, they could have made Billy into Einstein with the amount of love and support they wasted on me.

"So, was that piece of paper some kind of script?" asked Diana.

"Nope, this is all stuff she truly believes," said Mr. Pater, "whether she knows it or not. The spell's called "Absolute Truth." She'll only stop when her part of the deal is fulfilled, meaning she has to say something nice about all of us." Diana's eyes widened in horror.

"Including you?" asked Diana.

"Yep," said Mr. Pater, "let's see what you have to say about Mr. Pater."

"And to Morris Pater, oh, if you only knew how I truly felt about you," said Edalyn.

"Oh no," said Diana.

"Shhh, this is gonna be good!" said Mr. Pater.

"When I first read your books, I truly felt seen for the first time in my entire life," said Edalyn. "You hooked me on your every word like a fish desperate to get caught!"

"Wait a second..." said Mr. Pater.

"I followed you on all your socials," Edalyn continued, "and treated every one of your posts as if they were verses in my bible, which they are because I made one and sent you a copy."

"Oh my dark lord, I thought it was a joke from my editor," said Mr. Pater.

"I even found out who your editor was and used his address so you would think I was some sort of creep," said Edalyn. "I then followed the pakage just to find out you lived here, in my county! I was so ecstatic I went home and-"

[End of Video Playback]

Morris sits next to his wife, back at home. Lucy frantically scrolls through the rest of the videos on his phone before he takes it back,

"Yeah, everything after that is just...yeaaaaah," said Morris, "In short, I'm pressing all the charges and getting some protections wards just in case."

"I can't believe that hag was your stalker," said Lucy. "How was she allowed to run a PTA!?"

"And to think," said Morris, "we would have never found out if I..."

"Don't even try to spin that shit!" said Lucy, "We're going Sunday AND Wednesday church!"

"For how long?" asked Morris.

"Depends," said Lucy, "how many zeros were on that golden ticket?" Morris sat there in awkward silence. "Ugh, you're lucky you were right, or you'd be sleeping in an actual dog house too." Lucy wrapped herself around Morris, hugging him onto his back. "That being said, thank you for doing what you did. I'm lucky to have married such a caring demon."

"Hey, like I said, I'm well worth the investment," said Morris.

"Also, where is Diana? I didn't hear her come in," said Lucy.

"Oh yeah, after...THAT, " said Morris, "Billy needed all the emotional support, so she and a few other kids took him out for dinner. Then she's gonna mind wipe him after."

"That's sweet of her," said Lucy.

"Do we know how to raise 'em or what!" said Morris.