#they should have given me a Damn discount

[invisibleraven]

It's that time again: Inny prompts a Ray Is The Best Dad prompt because: keeping a few of their favorite snacks in the house for when they visit. makes me soft.

Grocery day was not Ray’s favourite day of the week. For one it was less fun without Rose who liked to race the charts, do silly puppets shows with the fruit when testing their ripeness, and indulged his love of trashy food.

For two, he had a lot more mouths to feed now.

Not that he minded the extra mouths, but it got to be a lot remembering all their restrictions, dislikes, and still keep their nutritional health in mind.

He started with the staples; bread, eggs, and milk. Making sure to get oat milk for Alex whose lactose intolerance he learned about in the worst way. Plus it was always handy to have on hand if Carrie and Willie decided they were vegan this week.

He stocked up on veggies-he had become an expert on hiding them in food so the gaggle of teenagers who frequented his home would eat them. He had better luck with fruit, and Luke loved to help him make weird smoothie combinations but hey, at least he was enthusiastic about that part of healthy eating.

He couldn’t say the same for Flynn who would survive on soda and pizza if she could. Though given her mother liked to brew up meatloaf containing wheatgrass and alfalfa sprouts, he didn’t really blame her.

Julie was easy to please, as she had started cooking for the group and gave him a list. She had been working on recreating some of Rose’s recipes to introduce her friends to Latin food, as well as the desserts. Ray was more than happy to be her guinea pig for those experiments.

Plus it made Carlos (and Victoria) from complaining about his spaghetti for the third day in a row.

At first Ray had thought Reggie was the easiest as he would happily eat anything and everything placed in front of him. That is until he found out that he probably wasn’t getting much to eat at home, and rarely indulged in buying food since he was saving up to move out as soon as he could.

Ray had offered him the guest room more than once, but kept getting denied. “Well can you at least tell me what you actually like to eat? We can even make it together.”

Reggie lit up at that. “Can you teach me to make ribs?”

Now Ray had never really attempted ribs-they weren’t a staple in the Molina household. “How about we learn together?”

The end results were pretty damn good if he said so himself, even if Reggie was far better at the grill than Ray was. With that in mind, Ray grabbed another pack-plus some chicken and impossible burgers and wondered if he could convince Reggie they should have a cook out this weekend.

With all the healthy options done, Ray gathered snacks; savoury and salty snacks for the boys, chocolate and candy for the girls, sour stuff for Carlos and a pack of cookies for himself-one he would be hiding because he learned the hard way about not doing so with seven teenagers in and out of the house.

He also grabbed some of those nasty rice cakes for Tori-just because she spent enough time with them, he wanted to have options.

He approached the register, hunting for his wallet-he knew Julie handed it to him after he couldn’t find it with the mail. It was in his jacket pocket, and within it there was a pile of coupons, courtesy of Flynn the Coupon Queen. Plus a points card that he knew belonged to Willie that gave Ray some savings and would give Willie a discount on the movie he wanted to take Alex to the weekend.

Ray shook his head softly and smiled at the weird situation he found himself in. Widowed and the father to eight kids, only two of which were his.

He wouldn’t trade any of them for the world though. Even if the bill after it all was starting to get ridiculous. But the kids-his kids were worth every penny.

[sweet-honey-tears]

🪶Nice to Meet You☕️

Hawks x GN!Reader - FLUFF

How did you and Hawks meet?

PLEASE READ: Story does talk about how the five sense (touch,taste,sight,smell, hearing) can be over stimulating. I by no means mean to offend or anger anybody if I inaccurately represent this. I’m not to well informed of this subject so I’m always open to learning more if anyone wants to reach out🤍

Sasha is not a actual character FWI- don’t wanna confuse anyone

Readers Quirk: Sensory- Subjects five sense (touch,taste,sight,smell, hearing) are enhanced. One’s sense are always slightly enhanced, but subject can choose which one. In moments of intense stress, all sense could possibly be at peak performance due to the flight or fight response within the human body.

Warning: Swearing, Slightly subjective themes but only in one line.

He met you at one of those 24 coffee shops. This one was a smaller business one though, with only a few people working at a time.

Working at 3 am did wonders for your mind, so you honestly didn’t even think anything of it when a man dressed in a black hoodie(hood up) with a pair of red wings walked in. His fingers made quick work to pull his hood down and comb through blonde hair. A medical mask on.

“Hi welcome to CaffineLine, what can I get for you tonight.” You had smiled sweetly, your voice light. When your iris caught golden ones, you hummed quietly to yourself. You couldn’t deny it, the man was rather handsome. With tan skin and warm honey hair. But this job has taught you a lot about people. Looks be damned, people can be awful and you’re not about to be creepily-flirted with or threatened.

The man chuckled a bit at your sleepy welcome. “Late night, huh?” He questioned.

“You have no idea.” You smiled, palms pressing into the counter. So far so good, seems like another friendly customer. “But hey, I get discounted coffee so it helps.” You smiled, pushing off slightly.

“Oh? Do you have a favorite you’d recommend?” The man smiled, giving you a rather handsome grin. ( he found it funny, you still had not recognized him. I mean the store even had a drink named after him- after a couple of popular heroes)

You hummed lowly, thinking over certain options. “I the Chickadee”

“The Chickadee? What’s in that?”

“Oh, it’s like a spring drink.” You say before continuing after a pause. “Which tells you nothing about it.” You laugh lightly, putting a hand on your forehead.

“No no, it’s fine. It’s late, I'm not blaming you- I can barely remember where I parked right now.” A joke, considering his wings but it seemed to go over your head.

“ So it's kinda like a chocolate, coconut, caramel iced coffee with added whip cream if you want.”

“Sounds good I’ll take that”

“Alrighty! Can I have a name for the cup- ah I don’t need that.” You laughed a bit, realizing it was only him. No one would accidentally grab his drink.

“No, it’s fine, my name is Hawks.”

“Alrighty” you scribbled his name on the cup.

Hawks watched you dance around, getting his drink ready. “If you don’t mind me asking, where’d the name come from?”

“Ah well, I actually came up with the name Chickadee.” You beamed over your shoulder. “I thought it sounded really cute and the drink is popular around little kids since it tastes like a Girl Scout cookie.” He watched you top it with whip cream and caramel. “And because it’s bird related, kids relate it to the pro hero Hawks- and can be persuaded to get this one instead of that one.” You gestured your head to the hero list of drinks. The ‘HAWKS’ one in bright red lettering.

“Why persuade them?”

“It has Red Bull in it, so I try to steer really little kids to our Chickadee. Less trouble on the parents” You joked cheerfully, handing him his drink. In that split transaction, he watched it click. The way your eyes so slightly widened, as you took in his face and wings. Your mouth opens slightly, before turning upwards into that smile you had when he first walked in. “The wings really should have given it away, huh”

“They usually do, but I appreciate the normal interaction.”

“Well, I try.” You smiled, hands back on the counter. “That’ll be 3.46.”

Hawks smiled a real bright one. No special treatment. He handed you a ten and stuffed a twenty in the tip jar.

“See you around Chickadee,” he said, lifting his drink as a goodbye salute before taking a sip. “Wow, that is good.” He whispered leaving.

->-----////-----<-

“Hey there Chickadee”

“Hi, there Big Bird”

Hawks paused for a moment before snorting, “Big Bird?”

You shrugged and smiled at him, “Seems fitting but I don’t think it’ll stick” you teased.

“Hm, maybe not.” He hummed, walking up to the counter. He was in a black leather jacket, his medical mask hanging off his ear.

“How was patrol?” You asked, moving around the small kitchen to warm up a sandwich.

“I mean I talked with the angriest kid alive”

“I saw that.” You gestured to the TV in the corner. “ A little gremlin isn't he?” you joked. It’s caused Hawks to chuckle slight. You Put both a warm sandwich and a steaming drink in front of him.

“New?”

“Yeah, steamed milk with cinnamon and cardamom. The owner's son came up with it. The sweetest little boy I’ve ever met.” You smiled.

Hawk's face flushed slightly at the sweet look on your face.

“Sounds great.”

->-----////-----<-

“Hey Chickadee, are your socks on inside out,” Hawks questioned. He was sitting across from you behind the counter. His feathers moved around, maneuvering to help you pick-up. Since you refused to have him actually help you- but that doesn’t stop his feathers.

You paused, the rag in your hand stilled as you looked down at your feet. Your work shoes were stained with coffee and whatever else.

“Yeah, they are. My quirk is Sensory.” You turn to him, giving a sad smile “It means my five senses are enhanced and it’s sometimes-.” He watches that smile drop slightly, your eyes back on your feet. He can see you wiggle your toes, and the cringe on your face. “-can be overstimulating,” There was a moment of silence, Hawks searching for the right words to say. “But, I mean I can have super smell and sight, so that’s cool. But on days like this, I just go with touch or taste. It’s easier than overwhelming coffee, or ringing from doors.” You rocked back and forth on your heels before you picked the rag back up.

->-----////-----<-

“Ack!” Your ice drink fell on the counter, the bright colors spilling over. The dried fruits and berries made a rather artistic mess over the space. Your hands covered your mouth as you ducked your head, shaking it back a forth. Tears welled in your eyes. Hawks, who had been on the other side of the counter moving the chair back into place, hopped over instantly. Sensing there was no coffee burn- I mean your drink had ice in it. His wing propelled him over, almost wrapping around you.

“Chickadee, are you okay?” His tone was filled with worry, golden iris scanning you.

->-----/After/-----<-

“So you had a sensory overload with your taste?”

“Y-yeah. And it was one of our newer drinks too.” You chuckled lightly. The sour taste and acid feeling still lingered heavily on your tongue. “It can sometimes be a hard to control what sense is getting a little boost.” You smiled slightly, almost soundly. “When I was younger, I even had quirk canceling stuff.” You laughed a bit.

->-----////-----<-

“Breaking news, CaffineLine is currently being held-”

->-----////-----<-

Your heart was in your throat as one of the men laid waste to a table. Your eyes watered from the intense heat coming from the melting metals and wood. These men weren’t known villains, not like the league, but that didn’t stop them from being dangerous.

“Where the fuck is he!” The same man yelled, you watched his bright orange iris glow as his palms started to turn red.

“Well, no one will be able to hear him if you keep destroying shit, Carter!” The other man yelled. You could feel the floor almost move like someone caused a ripple in the water. Your breath caught in your throat, and the vibration shot up your hands and arms, through your bones.

Your lungs contracted as you pushed your body closer to the counter you were behind. They were looking for someone. They didn’t want the money in the register or tip jar. They wanted ‘him’

“Are you even sure he’s even coming?”

“Yeah, he’s been spotted here over the last year.” You stared at your hands, the feeling of the cold tile grounding you. Your chest rose and fell in a quick motion. Too much! Too much was happening! They saw him come here all those times. They saw Hawks here- they want Hawks!

Every sense you had seemed to be shaking, grabbing onto anything it could. Your vision seemed to quake from the intensity of zoning in and out, seeing each line in your fingers and nails. The cold tiles worked through skin and bone, and every piece of clothing you wore made you want to scream at the feeling. The smell of coffee beans became an acidic poison making your eyes water. Then the sound, every scared heartbeat, and breath, every whimper from a child and hush from an adult. Then the light sound of wings.

“Ya know, you’ll have to pay for everything you touch.”

The calm voice caused your shoulders to slump, and your breath to be still. You shuffled to the edge of the counter, the scratch of clothes becoming almost painful but you needed to see him. You peered over to see him. Red wings splayed out and a cocky smile upon his lip. But you could see the tension in his shoulders, almost hearing the sound of tensing muscles. Sunny eyes scanned the room, likely taking in the civilians present. Till they landed on you, they stayed, lingering. Hawks watched the shaky-ness your eyes held. How your pupils dilated. His eyes flickered back to the man in front of him.

“You finally arrived!” The man with orange eyes yelled. His hand trailed another table, and a bit of fire spewed in chaotic lines. “Now we can have real fun!” The sound and smell of burning caused you to cringe back.

“Geeze, I already have one fire gremlin to deal with.” He heard you snort as he used your line, “I swear, it’s like I attract the hot ones.” Hawks quipped. His voice was flirtatious as he winked at the man. The sound of your laughter caused his shoulders to drop, and his muscles to loosen. It causes your sense to dull a bit, the tones of his voice bringing you a bit from your cliff. But it also caused anger. Your happy laugh caught the attention of the other man.

“You think this is funny, huh?” He questioned, walking towards you. His voice was calm. Like he was talking to a scared animal.

“Hey now, let's leave them out of this-“

“Would you shut it!” The fire spread through the tables, trailing to the ground near your fellow civilians. Hawks lunged in the direction, his wings giving a strong flap to put it out. to his surprise the fire did go out.

“I see” the man approaching spoke. “You must be the one he keeps coming to see every night” The ground under you rumbled and growled. Your body almost became limp from the intensity of the vibration. Your eyes caught on to flashing red wings, watching them sling sharp red daggers at the other man. You clawed at the tile floor to try and drag yourself away, but couldn’t.

You felt a tug on your shirt collar, being hoisted up to the man's chest and held there. His hand rested on your chest. “You poor thing,” he cooed in your ear. The sound sent a cry from your lips that caught Hawks's attention, an unconscious man now hung from his hand. His feather shot up, dancing in the air in his head-

“I wouldn’t or I’ll liquidate their organs and you wouldn’t want that, would you?” Hawks stilled, his eyes scanning around again before landing on possibly you. His feathers sweep back into his wings. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. They're cute, huh? I can see why you kept coming here.” The man jarred, sending a light vibration through your body. But your quirk, the stress, and the fear caused it to amplify. It was like someone shook you with every ounce of strength they had- trying to pull a sound from a broken maraca. You cried out, gasping for air as tears trailed down your cheeks. The action causes the man holding you to tighten his grip. “Fuck they’re loud. Though-.” You watched his face morph into a smirk through tear-laced eyelashes “is that why you like them?”

Hawk's face tightened at the comment, but his eyes gazed past the man’s shoulder.

“You know, if you want their number, you should just ask.” A woman’s voice spoke from behind. The man gazed back. But you sensed something coming, the feeling of the atmosphere changed ever so slightly. “It’s impolite to just grab.”

At that moment you felt it. You felt every muscle in the man’s body shakes with such intensity you wondered if he used his quirk on himself. You heard his heart start racing. You saw the airy vines of purple loop themselves around your hands and arms, avoiding your skin and clothes with precise care.

“Yeah…what she said.” Hawks quietly spoke as he rather quickly walked to you. He carefully prided you away from the man, pushing you to his side a little too closely to be some random civilian. His Carmen wings wrapped around you, as almost a slight shield.

->-----////-----<-

Your body shook, and ripples of shivers seemed to cascade down your limbs. Your fingers pulled tight on the blanket around your shoulders, your back leaned against the ambulance. The EMTS had already given you the go-ahead to leave if you preferred but didn’t push. Other shaken civilians need to be checked. Some had burns from the intense heat of the melted table.

“How are you, Chickadee?” Hawks stood in front of you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. His cherry eyes glided over your hunched form, watching you ever so slightly loosen your grip on the blanket.

“Shaken, but I’m okay. Are you alright?”

“Hm?”

“Are you okay? I saw you fighting the other guy. Are you okay?”

“Heh, I’m an okay kid. Worry about yourself right now, okay?” Hawks spoke with a smile yet his eyes scanned the world around you.

It was a bit chaotic, at least to your standards. Cop cars and ambulances were only a touch away. People were getting interviewed and questioned, some by cops, others by the media. You could see flashes from the cameras in the distance, the photos likely going to reach the news for the pure fact Hawks arrived on the scene. The bright lights seemed too intense, almost unnecessary. Why take photos like this? When people felt vulnerable? It seemed cruel.

“Hey Chickadee,” your eyes shot back to Hawks, his slight movement forward catching you off guard. His voice also seemed different, a little quieter and deeper.

“Yes?” You scooted yourself forward a bit, ensuring the conversation would stay between just the two of you.

“Listen, you can say no and nothing will change, okay?”

“Okay” Your chest seemed to tighten, like a weight laid on it almost. But you hoped, almost praying he would ask you what you hoped.

“Would you like to get lunch sometime? “

“Yes.” Your answer came out faster than you wanted, but your voice was still very soft as an after-effect. In theory, your voice would have come out a lot louder, more chipper. Your cheeks heated up at your eagerness and Hawks laughed. The smile stretched his face at your reaction.

->-----////-----<-

Extra Part of the story: a bit angsty

“You finally ask them?”

“When did you get so interested in my love life?” Keigo joked. He wanted a second for the other hero to catch up.

“When you started looking happier. And acting like a teenage boy.” Keigo glanced at her, taking in Sasha’s appearance. He knew she was being serious, but trying to give him an out in the case.

“Yeah…”

“I won’t tell them, Hawks. I know the commission doesn’t want you dating” Hawks didn’t respond. “But you also know the Wings isn't legal,” She chuckled lightly, causing Hawks to smile a bit.

“How are they by the way?”

“They're good, pains died down a bit.”

“That’s good to hear, I wouldn’t mind flying with them again. If they can keep up that is.” Hawks felt a playful shove to his arm, responding by slapping her with his wings.

Sasha shook her head, smiling before both his and her phones went off. Pictures already appeared of the incident that had just happened.

Hawks Come to The Rescue!

Hawks Appears-

Hawks Saves-

Hawks-

Hero Hawks and Shiver-

A photo of the area showed you in the background. You appeared hunched, the camera lights getting outlines of your face. It was a small thing, something most people wouldn’t even notice. But both Keigo and Sasha did.

“I won’t tell them, Hawks,” Sasha spoke more sternly, her fingers clutching her phone, her thumb swiping up to exit the article. Hawks caught a glimpse of her Home Screen. A younger Sasha and Wings hanging on each other. It was before they broke Wings’ wings. “They don’t deserve it.”

“Neither did Wings.”

“Yeah… neither did Wings.”

[jeffersonhairpie]

Spoilers up to chap 336 of Jujutsu Kaisen

-

Sorry gotta get this out of my system

A slightly unhinged list of reasons that I'm Not A Fan of this Gojo death that I sincereley hope will make me look like an overreactive weirdo in a few weeks time:

He died offscreen. I know we see the body but we don't actually see the finishing blow. Bizzare for a character of his prowess and significance at this point in the story

Gojo in the 'afterlife' immediately talking about how much stronger Sukuna was than him hits really strange for a character defined by his casual arrogance. Gojo is fast as fuck so it's pretty clear that Sukuna could only get him with the Mahoraga-aided slashes if he caught Gojo off guard. Nothing we have seen in the Gojo vs Sukuna fight indicates that Sukuna is all that much stronger than Gojo and they're mostly pretty evenly matched. Nothing about this ending for Gojo looks to me like 'dying without regrets'.

Sticking Gojo in a box for 3 years real time (19 days in universe time) and freeing him just so the rest of the story can screech to a halt while all the other characters watch him die is fucking stupid. It's bad storytelling.

There are a few different things you could view as Gojo's character arc - whether it be the question he's asked of whether he's the strongest because he's himself or himself because he's the strongest, whether it's laying Geto to rest, whether it's learning that being the strongest is not all there is to being a complete person, whether its shedding his loneliness by learning that Geto is not the only person who he could be emotionally close to. Whatever you see it as, his arc has not reached its conclusion. Gojo is incomplete and him dying now makes his whole character feel like a waste. He didn't even really learn to value the people left alive bc how is he in the afterlife all smiling and happy knowing that Sukuna is about to rampage through the lot of them?

Gojo dying has always been so damn obvious. This is entirely personal preference, but I would have sooooo much rather seen him have his powers neutered so he was forced to understand tha value of an individual life than just wiped off the board. Also I think the universe could benefit from the notion that getting stronger and dying are not the only two things that can happen to a sorcerer.

I know they're not even on the same scale of plot significance, but I can't help comparing how Nanami's death was painful but felt well foreshadowed and entirely justified in the story to this death which very much doesn't (my thoughts on Nobara's death are more complicated). Nanami's death hurt because it felt true to the character, but Gojo's death has just annoyed me.

I never expected the final fight to be Gojo vs Kenjaku and I knew that something was going to have to happen to him in order to justify him not being part of the final showdown. Yuji as the MC and as Kenjaku's kid in this story about how the sins of the past shape the present is 100% the right choice for the story. Much as I thought it was taking the easy route, I hadn't discounted the possibility that Gojo would die, I had just expected him to, ya know, learn something and complete his character arc before he did.

This death just feels really cheap to me, in a way that I don't think even makes for a good fakeout. Maybe the fact that characters have already come back from the dead means that there was no way to have a fakeout feel entirely shocking, but I don't think I should be left thinking 'was that REALLY it?' after the fakout death.

BUT maybe hope doesn't have to be lost

Things I am holding on to hoping that this will be some kind of fakeout (copium is real and I am huffing it):

Gojo wasn't hit in the head, and in his fight with Toji he is able to come back from basically being dead because his head was undamaged

There is still one of the ten shadows that we haven't seen and given that it can't possibly be a stronger combatant than Mahoraga I'm betting on it having a healing ability, which would presumably be incredibly strong given that it's the last to be unveiled. The same healing could save Gojo and Nobara

When Yuji was presumed dead by his classmates and training with Gojo, Gojo comments that Yuji's body will eventually be scarred by Sukuna's cursed technique and he'll be able to use it as his own. Sukuna has the ability to bring people back from the dead so if Yuji can access those powers he can save Gojo (and probably Nobara).

Maki and Mai have something of an 'afterlife' conversation that is real but it doesn't stop Maki from returning to the land of the living.

Depending on exactly how you want to count 'coming back from the dead' several characters have done it at this point lol

In the afterlife Nanami has that random ass line about how curses and sorcerers can bring people back from the dead that doesn't seem to fit in with everything else being said. This could be foreshadowing.

Speaking of foreshadowing, maybe Gojo's line about not wanting to have two death anniversaries was an indication that he intended this to happen and has some sort of pre-established plan for how to win.

Shoko reveresed technique bass boosted by Utahime can heal anything #IBelieve

[romadine]

Chapter 2: Devious or Dubious?

For the whole chapter:

Nacht wanted to alleviate his headache by staying away from the Black Bulls as far as possible. Gods, even his room wasn't spared by those kids. 'Those kids' naturally meant Magna and Luck but for now, Nacht didn't want to discriminate.

The war long ended months ago. It was just as the epic folktales he had read. Good triumphed over evil. Asta and the rest won by default. The kid proved his righteousness all throughout his journey. He was rewarded by his efforts. Although a part of him wondered, if Asta could, why couldn't Morgen...?

No, don’t go there. He shouldn't wander into that territory. Asta... Asta didn't have a burden like him. Asta didn't have a reckless twin trying to outmaneuver his inferiority.

He pursed his lips in dejection with what he was seeing. At least that was what Nacht wanted to believe anyway. That he was for now only dissatisfied with this place and not himself through and through.

A local commoner introduced this land to him. Based on his sample currency conversion, this place has an extremely cheap market value which was suspicious given how wide the property was. Nacht wasn't convinced and that has probably reflected on his face based on the trembling knees of the man.

"...Ayo, hehehe. No movers really lasted there." He leaned in to whisper at Nacht. "Prolly somethin' dubious. A ghost perhaps..." He paused upon seeing his nonchalance. The man apparently remembered his job was to entice buyers, not discourage them any further. Henceforth, he corrected himself. "Not that any of that was true, right? Hahaha! That's a big discount right 'ere! This was a Yashiki that used to thrive b‘fore."

The man suddenly halted in his tracks. He slapped his forehead for almost forgetting one crucial detail. “But wait a min’te! Aren’t ya a foreigner? We ain’t really sell to outsiders, no offense. Y’know rules and that, haha! Are ya an errand guy perhaps—?”

An emblem to which Sukehiro—err he would still call him Yami, his name was mouthful of crap— referred to as ‘Mon (紋)’ was given to him by the Shogun of this country. It was to give their squad better privileges and away from social scrutiny. A crest so important that Yami had stupidly kept on misplacing it everywhere. Nacht figured then and there to take charge of the precious item lest the need arrived. Right now, however, was the necessity. Not for the squad, but for his peace of mind. Yami be damned, well temporarily. Nacht shoved this aforementioned crest to silence the man from his endless yapping.

“Oh~~ OHHH! I see, aha! Here ya go, just sign this up, pay the sum, and we’re good to go!”

The pounding of his head grew. Nacht was sleep-deprived the whole time and he did not have the soundness of mind to deal with this now. They proceeded with the sale and the guy handed him a scroll stamped in archaic ink with “Katahōsho (片方証)” as its header; one that he could not comprehend or read due to their language barrier. Nacht grew dubious but he wanted to rest as soon as possible and have his own space to gather his thoughts without worrying about immature delinquents accidentally blowing up his room.

Upon receiving the money, the man had a wide grin on his face as if he won the lottery. His facial expression caused Nacht to reveal elongated shadow hands strangling the seller’s neck and shoulders. The poor man was horrified, sweat formulating on his face.

“Seal this fate of yours should you intend to deceive me by any means.” Nacht gave the man a sample choke before smirking, “The dead shan’t hesitate to skin you alive, it’ll be good for you to fear me, a mage able to shackle the shadow of anyone I choose.”

The man coughed upon being dropped heavily, his left hand still on his neck while gasping aloud. “O-of cours-e!” He crawled his way out, fear-stricken at the foreseeable future bestowed upon him. This foreigner whom the Shogun favored was by no means an ordinary citizen just like them. Only the Seven Ryuzen members mastered the art of ki and zetten. This Faust guy, however, was no simpleton. There was a big possibility that he could rival this land’s protectors, even surpass them based on the strange and vast yoryoku alone. That he could see it now. The yoryoku he emitted was a testament to his strength. What the hell did he just go into? He needed to leave this place fast!

A cackling voice was heard as he hastily left the place. He was so sure it was the devil, something more sinister than the rumored ghost of the manor.

That was stupid. Nacht shook his head at the ridiculous notion. More for him, he guessed. Far from chaos. All by himself. Or maybe he was the dumb one? These days ought to have dulled his mental acuity.

He couldn't help but nitpick at the dilapidated walls with cobwebs stretching across the corners. If he were to compare the fallen residence of Fausts, this place, the Yashiki, was entirely something else. He supposed he could find beauty in its aesthetic if the air wasn’t polluted with more dust and debris.

Nacht may have lived with unfavorable lodging conditions during his mission in the Spade Kingdom, yet he always finds a way to prioritize his bedroom and comfort room. No one could force him to lie down on a wooden floor that was thick with dust, and crawling with unseen bugs.

Gimodelo manifested out of thin air. His face crumpled in disgust for what he was about to be ordered. Nacht paid no heed to his feelings. "Well, do what you must."

"Buuuuuut MISTER NACHTTT!"

"Now."

One sneer was all it took. Nacht held the reigns to their contract. His minions knew all too well about his odd temperament, that his smile was mocking, condescending, and shouldn't be taken lightly.

The tiny devil just sobbed silently in return. In exaggeration of course. Plumede and the others made fun of him while he picked up a broom somewhere. "Mister Nacht was such an ogre!"

"There, there. Keke!"

Nacht left them alone. He stood out to what seemed like the veranda version of Hino country. There was nothing spectacular to see, just overgrown vines and foliage obscuring the pathways. It wasn't that dim for there was a crescent moon up in the sky.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

Where had he seen that? He could've sworn he witnessed that symbol before. Looking upward seemed to be a wrong idea as his brain felt more fuzzy than before. Was the moon mocking him? He has an odd feeling about this. A spine-tingling sensation. He felt this before yet he couldn’t put a name on it.

The occasional sounds coming from hidden animals began to perturb him. Now, don't get him wrong. He wasn't easily spooked. Just what was this aura? It was forcing him to get down on his knees. Like it was scratching and squeezing his throat, similar to what he had done to that seller. He fought hard to stop his growing labored breathing.

If it wasn’t enough, clouds seemed to have covered the moon, eradicating what little was left of their moonlight. He silently recalled his four devils back just in case.

"Who's there?"

******

Ichika accidentally let out a snicker reverberating throughout the place. She couldn't help it. His sudden sharp intake of breath told her what she needed to know. The man sensed her ominous energy and was in a defensive mode contrary to his usual placid nature.

Ah, the tumultuous ki of this guy. She knew him. Not well enough, but she was familiar with his silky hair and nonchalant temperament. He was her brother's friend. Asta's Vice-Captain. The ever-so-smiling Nacht Faust.

What she wasn't aware of was the reason that brought him here. On her place, granted he didn't know that, why was he here and not on his brigade? Yami had once written to Ryu regarding their upcoming short stay at the Land of the Sun, or Hino in short. A frown began to form on her lips at the reminiscence of her brother. They managed to exchange brief words but that was it. It was still kinda of awkward, hence she avoided confronting him back at Clover Kingdom. She understood their past now with a bit of objectivity, yet she wasn't the type to invalidate her feelings of hurt and anger. She thought she needed space and time to fully sort out her thoughts. So that she could talk to him properly like an adult without dismissing him, lashing out, or crying out of grief.

“I do abhor wasting time." An irritated voice snapped her out of her reverie. Her eyes were greeted with the sight of him regaining his cool composure.

Oh, shoot. She nearly forgot about this twink. How should she approach him? Interested movers normally scram once they feel her presence. This guy was a tough nut, as expected of a capable magic knight.

She subtly let out her yojutsu (magic) somewhere to rattle some things. For safety measures, she subconsciously manipulated her yoryoku (magic power) around them to protect herself simultaneously keeping her target from escaping. She had no idea what this was called but she has seen some of those excellent foreigners use this move. These foreigners naturally consist of Nacht though as she fought with him before. It hurt her pride to admit that she was copying one of his abilities, so she would just credit it to her brother who had done the same. Or should it be the other way around? Still wounded her pride, nevertheless.

It was only a matter of time before he made his move so while he was still clearly out of it, might as well take advantage and cast what she had learned faster than him. 'Something about a zone,' she guessed.

There was a sudden drop in temperature, intensifying the existing cold drafts in the air even further. The moonlight has long gone leaving no lights for shadows to rise. Regardless, if she was being honest with herself, he would make a finer ghost than she did with all that shadow stuff.

“Hmm, I wouldn’t make that move if I were you,” she spoke while referring to his subtle attempt at summoning his devils. The way his hand touched the relics on his necklace. “I’m quite temperamental, you see.” It was just a faint whisper yet the way it echoed through the house had seemingly depicted that of a woman’s mournful cries.

Nacht was… He looked utterly apathetic. His grimoire now opened suggested a fight that would ensue. He was not amused by any of this ridicule. Her presence was scattered all over the room. She bet he wasn't even biting this 'ghost' idea.

"I have reasons to believe you are but a mere trespasser. I dislike dishonest people." He was taunting her with that attitude. She could decipher the looming threat behind his gaze. Looked like she would have to fight for this house tooth and nail to reinforce her rights.

Her hand skimmed the texture of her scroll. Her shoulders tensed just as his posture shifted. "I am the--"

"Owner of this house? Says who?"

"Says me." Ichika huffed, indignant to him cutting her off. A series of items flew in different trajectories, hitting either the wall or the floor. One knife managed to cut a strand of his hair, just below his neck, all the while crashing into the shoji screen. "I don't react kindly to an intruder with too much power for his own good."

Nacht couldn't exactly pinpoint where she was. It was pitch black but he got a whiff that smelled like those of the green sticks they called bamboos. He could mentally deduce that she was nearby, with her long hair down and flowing like the wind. "Power isn't the issue here. You say you belong to this place yet you resort to such theatrics. You'd do more than a stab to scare me off."

"You think I'm playing house? You were warned beforehand and you only think that I'm doing tricks?" Ichika couldn't help but raise her voice, her temper flaring up at such accusation.

"This," the knife that cut the screen levitated in the air and hit the floor right where she was standing. "is by no means a trick. A threat if you will." He glared at her elusive figure with great animosity. His tone softened considering that a part of him would've done the same should someone enter into his old premises. For this Nacht calmed himself a bit before asking, "Suppose I believe you. What truly brings you here?"

The atmosphere with them that sizzled in anticipation diminished a bit with her hesitance. Ichika didn't know this but just a bit more, Nacht could almost make out the outline of her face. A woman with a loose white wardrobe, her hair down with a face seemingly promising an ethereal look should the moonlight shine upon her.

"I..." she struggled for a while as if finding the right words to describe her predicament. "...am here because--!"

“Oi! I’ll kill ya if you’re still slacking again! Come back here, I’m telling you!”

The cringiness of this situation would have won her over if not for the crisp voice that so fucking rudely interrupted them by shouting.

“Oh for the love of…!”

"Aish, son of a gun!”

Both jumped at the sudden loud sound from no other than… “Yami, I swear to god,” Nacht hissed. Ichika felt lucky that she did not utter that one, THOUGH SHE THOUGHT OF IT, otherwise her cover would've been blown. They were both stupefied that all tension just vanished in mere seconds.

Yami on the other line just chortled. "Haha! Seriously, get your ass here, scaredy cat!" And just like that, the line ended with a beep.

Peeved, Nacht squeezed the communication device intending to break it had he not regained his self-control. He must have heard her tut over this immature display that he finally remembered her presence.

“This isn't over. I'll talk to you later,” he cleared his throat. A little embarassed being so easily caught off guard after imposing an intimidating stance. Real smooth, Nacht. “I have to go...?” His shocked light blue eyes which were usually squinted as if up to no good, were wide as they could be. Almost like a shining sapphire in the dark if that was even possible.

To hell with that. What mattered was to put their confrontation on hold. Ichika bit back a smile despite the annoyance she initially felt. Almost everything on this scenario was silly. She couldn't have imagined doing this for the life of her and yet here she was. “Hmm, you should.”

Nacht stood there in an awkward stance, still in disbelief that he was more flabbergasted with Yami’s voice than the ghost’s. He was still young yet he could’ve felt a heart attack. All of this was reflected on his ki, albeit chaotic, this one had Ichika empathizing. Her brother could be so… so ugh. She was at a loss for words.

Seeing Nacht still agape, Ichika raised her eyebrows even though he couldn’t see her despite the mana sensing. IF he even remembered to do just that. “What, you couldn’t trust me at my own house?!” Her tone before was light but this one was in a clipped incensed manner that frightened everyone including the Shogun and Asta.

Nacht believed that he wasn’t to be easily startled. This night, however, was doing something on his nerves. He blamed it on the Black Bulls’ AND their captain. Not only he was having the worst migraine of his life, but his nerves were absolutely frayed. He needed to cut his caffeine intake. Real quick.

“...then,” He paused, still unsure of what was going on. ”I’ll be back tomorrow midnight.” A bead of sweat fell onto his right cheek. He turned away but gave her a slide glance. His eyes narrowed at the realization that she was back to being mean again. "We'll do something about that temper of yours, Ms. So-called Ghost." Before she could reply, he casted a travel spell and was out of that tenebrous place.

'The hell was with this night?' He could’ve sworn the ghost spouted a string of curses more than he did which was crazy, right? And why was he even going along with this incredulous setup?!

[digitalsatyr23]

Gaius orders a pizza

Pizza Guy: "Hey, welcome to Papashan's, can I take your order?"

Gaius: "Tell me. What specials are available?"

Pizza Guy: "Uuuuh well, we have a 2 for 1 deal, an any topping large pizza at 20% off, and a family deal for only 1000 gil. Oh, but if you already have a coupon it can't be applied to these."

Gaius: "Hmph! How very glib. And do you not believe in my coupons?"

Pizza Guy: "What?"

Gaius: "If not, then these pieces of paper are forged on falsehoods, built on deceit! The coupons I get from the delivery moogle every day would then be nothing but instruments of deceptions. What's even the point if a regular pizza with a coupon is still more expensive than your specials anyway?"

Pizza Guy: "Listen sir, I understand why you're upset, but-"

Gaius: "It is naught but a cobweb of lies. To believe in paper coupons is to believe in nothing. In the marketplace, many older moms and dads make use of entire books of coupons to reduce the cost of their groceries to nearly nothing - though other businesses rarely allow you to do the same. Which is strange, is it not?"

Pizza Guy: "Listen, I don't have time for this. I-"

Gaius: "Is pizza not considered fast food? I was given to understand that all fast food was supposed to be quick and cheap, but lately it feels like I pay the same no matter where I go, discounts or not! If the coupons I get every week truly had any value, why not let me use them alongside the specialty prices? If I was getting a frozen pizza at Gobmart, they would allow it, and even price match, so long as I show them proof of the other business's prices."

Pizza Guy: "Then why don't you go to Gobmart and leave-"

Gaius: "Your pizzas are no different than the ones at Gobmart - and I should know, I buy and bake them myself quite regularly!! I can apply coupons during a sale there, and yet I can't with you. Anticonsumer practices like this will bleed your business dry."

Pizza Guy: "Do I have to get my manager? In fact he's right here."

Pizza Guy (Phone to his shoulder): "Can you please talk to him? This guy is unreal."

Gaius: "Nor is this unknown to your manager. Which prompts the question: why do you cling to these practices? What drives a business to only allow one discount or another - even the great Papashan's - making my paper coupons absolutely worthless? The answer? Your managers are nothing but gil-grubbing fiends!! For the world of discounts to mean anything, man must be allowed every discount. To this end, people ever fight to find the best way to save money - to grow rich through savings. And when the dust of transactions settles, is it ever the intelligent who dictate the fate of the dumb."

Pizza Manager: "Hi, this is the manager of Papashan's. Is there anything I can do to help you?"

Gaius: "Knowing this, but a single path is open to the impotent business - that of false savings. A path which leads to stagnation and bankruptcy. Only a manager that understand the customer can rightly steer the course of their business. And in this land of creeping inflation, that one truth will prove its salvation."

Pizza Manager (Phone to his shoulder): "Okay, you weren't exaggerating."

Gaius: "Come, manager of Papashan's, face me! Tell me my coupons are worthless and a waste of paper. Your defeat shall serve as proof of my readiness to dictate your business practices! It is only right that I should get your pizza for as low a price as possible. For none among you has the power to-"

Pizza Manager: Hangs up

Gaius: "Hello? Hello? Damn!"

[darklydeliciousdesires]

The Dark Passenger - Chapter Seven.

Thank you to everyone for your interactions! I have noticed these dwindling of late, though, just 18 notes for the last chapter. Surely we can do better? If not, I might have to bring the unlocking system back and only release a new chapter when the previous one hits a set number of notes.

Previous chapters - One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six

Words - 3,212

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed

“Is that a birthmark?”

She thinned her lips, trying not to laugh. “Nope.”

“Sock mark?”

She shook her head, EZ eyeing her ankle again. “Okay, I give in. What is it?”

“Fake tan cling.” The face he pulled had her in soft fits. “I know, I know! It’s shameful, given that I do these professionally. I got a rub from new shoes and then after it had almost healed, I didn’t want to exfoliate and knock the scab, but my tan needed topping up and I don’t do the sunbeds or sunbathing, so yeah. Sorry, that was probably as boring as watching paint dry for you.”

He cocked his head, kissing the side of her foot. “Little bit.”

She gasped, mock aghast. “You’re not supposed to admit it!”  

“Hey, at least I don’t lie!”  

Except he did. All the time to her, Camille having absolutely no idea, either. At least in that moment, though, EZ was actually having a sincerely good time without resorting to any game playing, somewhat wedged in her bath, sat at the opposite end, rubbing her tired feet for her. These moments did happen, where he didn’t feel overwhelmed by the need for control or manipulation, when he just enjoyed Camille for who she was, how he felt when she was with her, and not the hoops he could stealthily make her jump through.  

“Damn, you girls have so much stuff, I swear. What, do you get a product discount at the salon or something?” he remarked, eyes touring the bathroom, especially round the outside of the tub as he began picking things up. “Exfoliating face polish, exfoliating body polish... are they not the same things? Little bits of grit suspended in some kind of perfumed goo?”

“No, they’re different,” she began, taking the face one from him. “This one is finer, because body polish is too harsh for the face, the gritty bits you speak of are smaller, so it’s kinder to the more sensitive skin. This stuff is really, really good though. Here.”

Squeezing some out onto her fingertips, she reached for him, EZ recoiling. “Nope, I don’t need to be buffed, no!” He lifted his chin, resisting as she moved onto her knees between his legs, trying to apply it to his face. “Camille!”  

“Oh, sit still and let me pamper you!” He grunted with begrudging acceptance, scrunching his eyes tightly shut while she massaged the scrub over his face. “I thought you said the stuff for the face was finer?”

“It is,” she hummed, working it along the sides of his nose.

“It’s like being sandblasted!”

“Oh, EZ!” she snort laughed, fingertips working along his jaw. “For someone who has a scar on his abdomen that I suspect came from a bullet, you sure do complain.”  

He grumbled in mild complaint as she picked up a washcloth and began wiping down his face, EZ further crumpling his features. “I’d rather be shot again.”

“So dramatic,” she teased, bobbing her tongue between her teeth, giggling at the dark look he gave her.  

“No, dramatic is my brother,” he stated.

“Does his wife attack him like this too, then?”

“I have no idea, but she waxed his chest once and he screamed so loud, I swear, he nearly blew the clubhouse doors off,” he explained, beginning to laugh. “She’d been shopping with Gilly’s girl, and got these waxed paper things, so they’re sitting there doing their legs, and Angel being Angel said it couldn’t be that painful, so she stuck one on his chest and ripped. He nearly died! Said if she ever came near him with one again, he’d divorce her, and he was sticking with a razor.”  

“Yeah, it can be painful! You should let me do yours some time, though. It lasts longer than shaving,” she offered, EZ raising an eyebrow and shaking his head.  

“Absolutely not. I don’t get much anyway, just a small patch in the centre I shave off when I’m in the shower. I’m not like my brother, if he let his grow he’d look like a Persian rug.” She cracked up at his statement, her giggles escalating.  

“Bit like your balls then, huh?”

“Oh, screw you, Camille! I trim, I’m tidy!”

“What with, a weed whacker?”

He scowled, her giggles escalating. “Now you’re really gonna get it.” He lunged for her, blowing raspberries at the side of her throat as he tickled her beneath the water, water that sloshed out all over the floor as she scream laughed. What began as silly fun quickly gained heat, EZ lifting her from the water, carrying her soaking wet body to her bedroom and throwing her down onto the bed, diving on her with hunger. Pretty quickly, though, she was the one to top him, in a way that had EZ absolutely out of his mind with arousal.  

“You look very content down there, I, ahhh, I have to say,” she purred softly, watching his eyes burn gold in the dim light coming from the many candles she’d paused to light, his tongue dragging through her folds as she grinded herself against it, his hands stroking her thighs as she sat astride his face.  

“I have a mouthful of my favourite thing in the entire world, of course I am.” Her hips gyrated in serpentine, tender, wet folds dragging over his plump lips, his chin, his nose, getting herself off on the angles of his face, just as he wanted, soaking him with her dew. His tongue darted out again, catching her sensitive, swollen clit, her mewl filling the room as she continued to rock back and forth, back and forth.

She whined, and it was the most beautiful sound to him, Camille utterly lost in the tempest of the moment, slow and winding, her nails flexing upon his powerful forearms, his tongue swiping through her folds as she purled forth again, drowning him in the slick gush from her hot, pulsing cunt, like a honey pot dripping into his eager mouth. “Yeah, my gorgeous baby. Get me wet. Fuck, you taste incredible.”

Every word uttered had her pulse throbbing madly, her pleasure ascending, EZ pulling her down closer to him, lifting his chin as she moved back once more, her gaping opening stimulated by the press of it, his tongue pushing within, grunting as he felt her muscles pulse against it. He let her ride it, circling, his nose nudging deliciously at her clit before she slid up once more, shaking, overcome.

“Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum!” she wailed, his lips enveloping her clit and sucking until the lightning struck home, her tingles wild and tempestuous as her pussy melted into his mouth. “Oh my god, that was amazing!” What followed, though, well...

His many inches of thick, hot heaven stroked pure ebullience against her sensitive walls, her dainty fingers clutching at her breasts as he held her thighs apart, fucking her frantically, sexually decimating her insides, giving himself with keenly delivered thrusts. Actually, keen was not a word that could be used to describe the utter pounding Camille was receiving.

What he gave was all-out sexual brutality, the headboard banging against the wall, her body sliding back only for the clutch of his powerful hands to keep hauling her back, anchoring her to him, forcing her to take the brunt of it entirely. And that brunt, nothing could feel better. Nothing did feel better than EZ, fucking her with all the power of a turbo charged jackhammer. Nothing.  

His body was an absolute masterpiece to her lust blown eyes, all thick, tattooed and smooth, covered in a sheen of sweat as he railed her mercilessly into the bed, his thumb beginning to stroke at her hardened clit as the punch of his cock drew lewd noises from within her soaking walls, pleasure crackling through her, the swell skittering through her veins and down to her bones as she wailed helplessly, at the mercy of him entirely.

“Look at you, fuck. You look so fucking beautiful, split around my dick.” he growled, grasping her legs and hauling them up to rest against his chest, turning his head to lay kisses and little bites at her ankle, adding to the teeth marks he’d left over her already, the brandings from a man near out of his mind with carnal fury.

He then slowed, each plunge into her fluttering centre given in all-in, all-out thrusts, teasing her aching core, chuckling at her frustrated little mewls as he panted hard. “EZ, please! Fucking give it to me!” she demanded, nails raking his arms.

“But I am, querida. Just not the way you want it.” he winked, laughing further at her vexation, the circles at her clit rubbed so slowly, lightly and tightly that she almost forgot to breathe, his cock popping out again, pausing, arrowing back to her summit as he groaned, her slick muscles contracting on him tightly. He leaned forward, her knees touching to her chest, bearing his weight down through his pelvis right into the very plush of her, kissing her throat before gently clutching her jaw, turning her head to look at him. “Alright, my little dove. I’ll give it to you.”

And god, how he did, sending Camille to the edges of heaven, the way he arrowed into her without even a hint of control, long, hard, barbarous thrusts delighting her entire body, her screams filling the room as lava began to bubble and pool at the base of her spine, the release set to erupt, his thumb circling at her bud faster.  

His teeth crushed at her neck, whispering a string of cusses as his undoing possessed him, like a demon vying for release, her entire body tensing as with fury, longing and fire, she came undone spectacularly beneath him, seeing stars, breathless and sweaty, and oh so very satisfied. Such was the measure of that satisfaction, they both fell into dreamy slumber soon after, pleased that neither of them had anywhere to be the following morning.  

It was just coming up to 10am when a noise from the front door awoke EZ, his head shooting up, senses on high alert. Camille might have lived in a decent neighbourhood, but you could never be so sure. Pulling his boxers on, he picked up his gun from where he’d left it upon the dresser, toeing the partially ajar bedroom door open and waiting, hearing someone walking down the hallway. He stepped out at speed, gun primed, the air filled with a scream.  

“Oh Jesus Christ!” Marge yelled at suddenly being confronted by a huge, barely dressed, gun toting man, dropping the hessian bag she’d been carrying onto the hallway floor, resting a hand to her chest as she heard a scrambling noise coming from the bedroom. Immediately, EZ lowered his gun.  

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he began, Marge feeling like she’d just birthed her own spleen. “Camille didn’t tell me you were coming over. You’re Marge, right?”  

“Yes, at least I was until ten seconds ago. I’m now Marge’s ghost. And you are?”

“EZ.” He offered his hand, Marge shaking it just as Camille appeared behind him.  

“Sorry, I should have mentioned that mom sometimes comes over unannounced,” she spoke, kissing his shoulder as she slid past him, EZ nodding before excusing himself to dress. Thank fuck they hadn’t been partaking in anything even remotely similar to what they had prior to falling asleep, or her mother would have gotten a different surprise altogether, one distinctly more embarrassing, too.  

While EZ dressed, Camille ushered her mother into the kitchen, closing the door behind them, Marge setting her bag down before turning back to her daughter, her eyes wide, jerking her head towards the door. “That’s one tall drink of water.”

Switching the coffee machine on and tightening the silky tie of her floral robe, Camille nodded, grinning. “Isn’t he?”  

“And how long have you been with him for? I take it this is new, since mommy here knows nothing of him?”  

“A few months now, but it’s going really well.”

“Alright, and tell me, why does he carry a damned semi-automatic handgun?”  

Marge Smith was nothing if not extremely direct, Camille beginning to feel a little uneasy. “Protection. He lives in the lesser nice area of Santo Padre. Besides, mommy, you carry!”

“Yeah, but I’m five two and stumpy. Women like me get car jacked, I’m a target. He’s no damned target!” They shared laughter there, Marge continuing. “And what in the hell kind of name is EZ?”

Oh, she was on form that morning, the spritely redhead beginning to unload the bag she’d brought with her, freshly baked bagels placed on the counter, a tub of cream cheese following.  

“It’s short for Ezekiel,” Camille informed her, pulling coffee cups from the cupboard.

“I like that, yeah, that’s a good name. Very biblical.” She paused, chewing the inside of her cheek for a moment. “Quite the contradiction, since the body on him is built for nothing but sinning.”

“Mommy!” Her daughter’s cry had her in soft fits, Marge pulling homemade jam and some smoked meats from the bag, her purchases from the farmer’s market that morning up in La Jolla she’d decided to spoil her daughter with.  

“Well!” Taking the package of prosciutto over to the fridge once she’d pulled out a few slices, she playfully smacked Camille’s arm with it, her smile full of menace. “You really gonna tell me you were up playing dominoes all night with him, hmm? I saw the nail marks on his chest, my girl.”

“You are not like other mothers,” she sighed with a smidgen of embarrassment, taking the ground coffee and pouring it into the top of the machine.  

“No, I’m a realist. Always have been. I’ll leave thinking you’re still a sweet little virgin princess who’s saving herself for marriage to daddy,” Marge spoke, picking up the jam jars and placing those in the fridge too, Camille mouthing her thanks for the grocery treats. “You’re welcome, chickadee.” Giving her a hug, she kissed her cheek, humming softly. If Marge Smith lived for anything at all, it was her three children, Camille the eldest at twenty-five, Candiace next at twenty-one, and Corey the youngest at seventeen.

Marge was mid-way through toasting a stack of bagels when a freshly showered EZ walked in, thinking he could be courteous enough to not reek of the fact he’d been banging the woman’s daughter for half the night, since he was set to sit down at a table with her.  

“So, EZ,” she began, handing him a plate with a cream cheese and prosciutto smothered bagel and a smile. “Tell me about yourself.” He did as they sat, of course leaving a lot of details out, Marge spotting it instantly, but also wondering something else much more prevalent.  

“You seem a smart kid, I gotta say it,” she began, EZ looking a little entertained.

“At almost thirty-five, I’m not really a kid any longer,” he snorted softly, his big grin still in place to indicate no offense was either meant or taken.

“I’m fifty-two, so to me, you’re a kid still. Deal with it,” she spoke through her kind smile, EZ noticing just how forthright and direct she was, but friendly with it. Camille was very different to her mother in that respect, much timider. “Anyway, as I was saying, you’re smart. What the hell are you doing working at a scrap metal yard with those brains?”  

Camille noticed him stiffen a little, but wondered what his response would be. He was articulate and bright, it was obvious he’d paid attention at school and likely gone to college, too. She wondered the exact same thing, in all truth.  

“Well, I was on a completely different trajectory. I did two years at med school, training to be a doctor until suffering a traumatic event that resulted in the death of my mom. If it’s okay with you, I don’t mean to shut you down, but I’d like to leave it there.” He had to keep up an image of a somewhat respectable man, he realised, so wasn’t about to reveal that he’d served eight years for killing a police officer in the immediate wake of his mother’s murder.

Marge winced a little, her face full of sympathy. “Oh, I’m so sorry, EZ. That must’ve been awful.” She reached for him, rubbing his forearm affectionately, Camille hugging the top of his other arm from her seat beside him.  

“I didn’t know that. I’m sorry too, baby.” He smiled to indicate it was okay, kissing her head and wrapping his arm around her, Marge touched at how fond he appeared to be of her daughter, who she went on to speak of with pride in the name of changing the subject.  

“You know, some people lose a little of that sweet, childhood softness as they grow, but not my girl here,” Marge began warmly, reaching to stroke Camille’s hand. “I remember when she was four, and we’d gone back home to visit my mom in New Jersey, and there’s this little stream that backs along the rear of the property. Anyway, I’m busy feeding Candie, and suddenly Camie shoots off down the bank before I get chance to grab her, all because she saw a butterfly drowning in the water, so jumped in to save it.  

“There it was, this tiny little creature most wouldn’t have noticed struggling, and Camille spots it right away, covering herself in algae and mud in the process of retrieving it. Then years later when she was eighteen, we were coming back from a big beauty expo up in LA, and she swerved her car over suddenly, jumped out, and actually stopped the traffic in order to rescue a kitten from the middle of the highway. That kitten is now my pain in the ass, fully grown Maine Coon, who hates everyone bar me and this one.”

Marge stayed for another hour regaling him with stories of her daughter before having to leave, explaining that her husband was taking her out for a late afternoon lunch, and she wanted to get back and do ‘a little clean’ as she worded it, Camille knowing no such thing existed in the Smith household.  

It was while EZ had gone out back to take a phone call and Camille was searching through her beauty stash for some sample face masks she’d picked up for her mom that Marge noticed something concerning as she slid her feet back into her comfortable, blue moccasins. Her hand reached out to grasp the leather kutte hanging from the peg in the hallway, recognising the logo on the back. Mayans, California. And Ezekiel wasn’t just any Mayan either, he was the president of their town’s charter.  

It made a slither of fear trickle through her, knowing that beneath the veneer of the polite, smart and charming man she’d met, lay a man who was much more dangerous than he seemed. And her daughter was besotted with him.  

What could she do, though? She was twenty-five, a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions. She just had to hope that EZ wasn’t one she’d come to regret.  

[galaxysweeper]

Okay so Hunter has some things that I highly doubt he’d buy as The Golden Guard (Sprig plushie, cardinal socks, etc.) so I actually imagine that he buys them as Hunter. He didn’t seem to have a hard time getting a Hexside uniform despite it not being through the Emperor’s Coven (kind of a secret mission) so he shouldn’t have too much of a problem with getting normal “civilian” clothes. And he wouldn’t need to hide his name or give a fake name because no one knows it. So I propose! Somewhere on the Boiling Isles, there is a merchant, or maybe multiple, who knows Hunter. Not GG, but actually Hunter, who will very rarely “spoil” himself by getting something he really wants!

This merchant would have met a kid who, ever since he was a teeny tiny kid, always showed up alone, looking kinda scarred and beat up and tired. Always seemed kinda shy or embarrassed about buying “silly” things that he’d mutter about not needing. This kid would be flighty as hell, looking damn near ready to disappear if anyone so much as looked at him for too long. And this kid would almost never come around, maybe about once a year like clockwork, but he was too memorable to forget. Always respectful, arguably more than a kid his age should be, especially once he got in his teen years, and always both stern in his tone but surprisingly open with his emotions on his face, as if he never had to worry about people seeing them. And the merchant would wonder about him, but decide after one particularly awkward exchange that the boy didn’t want help or pity. So they would start throwing in extra things for him, extra “discounts” or “deals”.

Oh, the healing potion? They’d ordered too many so they were giving them away free with any purchase! Oh, this soothing tea? Their sister had given it to them after a trip but they didn’t quite like the taste! Oh, someone finally bought those bird socks? Thank Titan, they’ve been here forever, here, have a free extra pair!

And I can imagine, one day, after the Boiling Isles are saved and Emperor Belos has been defeated, that the boy, Hunter, shows up for the first time with someone else. With his friends. And he’d walk up, all nervous, holding one of his friend’s hands for support and say something along the lines of “Uh, you probably don’t remember me but-” and they’d cut him off. “Of course I remember you, Hunter. You’re one of my favorite customers. How about you introduce me to your friends over a cup of tea?” And he would smile like the merchant’s never seen him smile before and his friends would hug him and tell him that “See, you had nothing to worry about!” And they’d share tea and stories and after that, the merchant would start seeing Hunter come around much more often than once a year!

[the-darkdragonfly]

New Chapter!! Obliviate: A Dramione Tale

Chapter Three - Samhain

The end of the war is nearing, and its not clear which side will win. The hunt for Muggle-borns is intensifying and Harry knows he needs to hide her. Save her. With no family, Hermione starts a new life in America, unaware that the man she meets at the library one day used to be a schoolmate. A wizard.

Narcissa Malfoy is desperate. The Dark Lord has ruined everything now with his sights firmly set on her son once more, she does the only thing she can think of that might keep his safe. She obliviates him, sending into the Muggle world where he stands a chance at a safer life, even if it’s without her in it.

♥️♥️♥️

Ummmm.... so it's the middle of December, sort of... somehow???

Gross.

I'm sorry! I meant to post this last month but things are dumb and I'm much later than I wanted to be.

♥️♥️♥️

“I have had an idea,” his suite door flew open, revealing a wind-mussed Granger, her hair curling around her head as she unwound the red and yellow scarf, coiled around her like a sleeping cat. 

He had given her a keycard-mind you don’t lose it, please- the week prior, after having been alerted by the front desk staff that a friend was waiting for him in the lobby and while they did wish to provide him with the privacy he deserved as their Most Distinguished Guest, would he perhaps be amenable to meeting his friends outside the hotel and escorting them himself? He had laughed, finding Hermione red-faced and brimming with self righteous indignation, her harsh whispers- I’m not God damn Julia Roberts- accompanying her stomping, angry footsteps as he ushered her into the lift. He had promised to clear it up with the front desk immediately, and had placated her by pressing a spare card into her hand. 

Since then, she’d become unpredictable- get yourself a cell phone and I’ll call you ahead of time, how ‘bout that?- in her visiting hours and he was both delighted and confused to find more and more of her belongings making his set of rooms their permanent home. 

Draco looked up from his tea, the sitting room, in perfect order from housekeeping hours before, once again looked like a discount clothing store, Hermione’s belongings being flung around the space like confetti. He swallowed a grimace and raised an eyebrow instead. She plowed on, her coat joining the heap of outerwear on the cream coloured armchair before flopping down beside him and stealing a biscuit from his tray- I swear to God, woman, you were raised by wolves, do use a saucer this time, I shall beg if I need to- her pale pink scrubs smelling faintly of antiseptic and what Draco had privately referred to as Eau D’Old Person. 

“Since I am the only one out of the two of us who is clever enough to have a drivers,” she stopped to pick up her tea mug, sans saucer, and take a careful sip of the Earl Gray he had ordered- pleb- ignoring his barb, “I think we should rent a car and go to Salem for the day tomorrow.” 

“What’s Salem?” 

“A town,” she said through a mouthful of chocolate-covered digestive. “I saw it on a pamphlet at the front desk. It’s only an hour away.” 

He raised an eyebrow again.

“They had witch trials there, it’s quite famous.” 

“Witches?” 

“Yup.” 

“Real ones?” 

“Obviously not,” she rolled her eyes, snatching another biscuit before he could bat her fingers away- use your saucer- and popping the whole thing in her mouth, “witches aren’t real.”

♥️♥️♥️

Read the rest here.

Read my other stuff here.

Tagging 🥰 (i would love love love to add you - just let me know!)

@elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @sailtoafarawayland @stahlop @xarandomdreamx @xxdeliriouslybookishxx @mysteriouscatstellation @batana54

[nemobeemo]

I can believe you looked at me, saw me in my whole, and didn’t see someone worth keeping. That’s what most people see, a lack, someone not worth it. But you had me convinced you might see someone worth keeping.

I can’t believe you kept coming back and making me beg you to even see me as an option, only to fucking disappear again bc you’re too much of a fucking coward. If I knew you to be anything, I wouldn’t have said you were a coward. But I guess I see it now.

I’m so angry because I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask you to show up and I didn’t ask you to stay, not for a long while. I asked you to go, I let you go so many times I thought you would stay when I finally got the gumption to ask for what I wanted. I know I’m not the easy choice, I know I’m not even always a good one, but I would have been good for you.

You’re the one who kept coming back; at first you disappeared for months and would just randomly show up and I always welcomed you back and it was fine. And then you stopped disappearing. And you sought me out specifically when your account got banned for being a dick. You put my name in your display name to fucking find me; what was I supposed to think that meant?

I loved you out loud, I loved you in some of your worst places. I know you were there for me in some of mine. I deserved a chance to be good for you, to be enough. You should have given me that chance instead of running off when you assumed I was rejecting you.

Which was bullshit, you don’t get to lay that on me. I asked you multiple times that night if it was an either/ or, or a both/ and because I wanted to do things right. I wanted to give you a partner who knew all these things about you and loved those things. I wanted to learn how to play your game, even if it didn’t end up being something we did together I wanted to understand it.

I understood your family would always come first, I wasn’t asking for them not to. I just wanted to come in second, or third even. I just wanted to be there for you and with you.

I tried to give you everything you asked for, because I wanted to give you everything. I don’t think I did anything wrong because you refused to tell me what was right. I asked so many fucking times. And all I wanted back was communication. All I wanted was to know you were going so I could prepare for it and you couldn’t even give me that.

It’s not like I hid how badly I was doing from you, you knew more than most. I thought you got that, but apparently you thought it was reason to discount me entirely. You said I was hard to relate to, but when did you even try? I thought we had a good friendship, where we could be open and honest and explore things together. You seemed to think I was just convenient and easily disposable. You always seemed to believe no answer was an answer. Didn’t even realize what you were doing half the time.

If you’d just been honest about it, point blank said earlier that saying we could date was a mistake, that you didn’t see me like that, I could have adjusted. But you just disappeared and tried to blame me which was bullshit.

I couldn’t make you feel a damn thing; anything you felt was about you and never about me.

Are you going to tell her anything? Are you going to tell her about your needs? The things you’ve done? Or is that “all in the past” and you’ll “never do that with her”? Because I can tell you, just steeling yourself not to cheat on her or lie to her is going to lead you right back where you were when I found you.

Can you be honest with her or are you going to lie to both of you for as long as you can?

[chargetheintruder]

[Dark]  So this is it?

Fair warning: this is me again, worried about the state of my society, the society of my state (in the United States of America), and just . . .well, what the fuck DO we have to do to have a future worth having here?

So yes, if you’re in Happy Futbowl Metric Land (the rest of Planet Earth) you’ll skip this like you do most of my posts.  And yes, if you’re not fond of weirdos being existential . . . wait, do you even know me?  Quick, name a mood of mine that ISN’T a) perving on small women from a distance, b) being existential and worried as fuck about the future, or c) my being a “Fanboy” badly because I’ve got to avoid (A) and (B) above at the same time, and Keep It Platonic Dammit, at all costs.  :)  You can’t, you say?  :-P  But if you somehow didn’t know I was existential and moody sometimes, what are you even doing here?

Moving on.  So.  These so-called “Republicans” are still nakedly Trumpist, nakedly nationalist at minimum, they BARELY have the House of Representatives, still DON’T have anything else and the Media’s all over the place acting like they’re KINGS as usual, when they’re largely just freaks and wannabe serial somethin’-somethins.  Some of that is “follow the money” logic, but it’s disturbing how people have just GIVEN UP on the idea that Trump and his will EVER be punished for one thing, that ordinary people like the rest of us will EVER get justice for one thing (a.k.a. Vast Student Debt Relief, for example), or that you know, the people who have WON will grow a pair and act like it, on behalf of the majority who VOTED for them.

Really, what the fuck does it take to get out from under the abuse fucknuts and their Idiot 28 Percent hanging out at QAnon Meetings over donuts and discount lobotomies?  What does it take to CATCH the neo-nazi bastards shooting up utility substations, just to attack people with power failures like a bunch of cowards from a Certain Peninsula?  What does it take to get civil society back?

(*sighs*)  Here’s something about me.  I don’t normally have nightmares about myself.  Those ended roughly when I was four or five years old, after I had a nightmare of catching a burglar, a home invader, threatening my mother with a gun.  In that dream, I got shot, in extreme slow motion.  I could see the bullet coming--and it was literally ALL I could do, time had stopped for everything else.  I couldn’t even blink as the bullet hit my head, spun into my head, drilled two-thirds of the way through my head slowly tearing my head apart piece by piece, and THEN I woke up screaming once the bullet got three-quarters of the way through. I haven’t had nightmares about myself since.  If things happen to me in a dream and I’m still breathing that’s my clue it’s a dream.  So I don’t get scared of what happens to me.  I HAVE however had plenty of nightmares of the End of the World, or of Societal Collapse and Ruin.  I do have nightmares of EVERYTHING Else dying.  And in fact most of my recurring dreams either are of this nature or they start off that way. And lately, I’ve had recurring nightmares of a Partial, Half-and-Half Societal Collapse.  So not immediately terrifying, but once I wake up and think about it, it gets troublesome.  And I’m thinking at least one or two of you who follow me, and who knows why you still do? but somebody could use an insight as to how fucked up life could get if life asked ME to save civil society, since nobody else cares to?  I don’t know.  That is insulting as fuck, let’s put it another way.

I know we’re all exhausted and worn down as hell three-plus years into a Two-Week Forever Fucking Plague.  I understand that.  Most people can barely save themselves week in and week out, month in and month out.  In that context maybe I should get used to the idea that I’m the only one left who more than half gives a damn?  But I can’’t really?  Yeah.

So my next post tonight is going to be me, dumping a nightmare of mine out into Tumblr in as much detail as I can muster.  Knowing my luck it’ll be lame by Typical Eeby Deeby standards but what do, almost nobody’s going to see this anyway, right?  Right?

[cinnamonswirlhair-archive]

can u talk to me about something happy, maybe a funny story or something im sorry for bothering you omg i need a distraction i hate the dark

i don’t have very many funny stories but i have plenty of embarrassing :)) for example, one night i was staying the night at my cousins house. it was midnight, going on 1 in the morning and we decided we needed more snacks for our movie marathon. so we go to walmart ! and the nearest walmart from her house is 20 minutes, she was driving so i was dj. i start playing music like idk… drake, kendrick lamar, j. cole, etc bc that’s what we were in the mood for. anyway, we get to walmart and i had monster stuck in my head so i was singing it in the store right? and i’ll admit i was being a tad bit loud, borderline obnoxious but it’s 1 am at walmart and you know how that goes. anyway, this random guy came up to us in the snack aisle and was like “you spit bars?” and i was like “HDHSHAHHA n..o?)” bc i was just trying to have a good time w my cousin u know and nicki’s verse in monster is catchy, anyway! essentially he challenged me to a rap battle and i was like “sir. i’m a 17 year old white girl this can only end in my embarrassment” and he started anyway. THIS GUY WAS GOING IN !!!! LIKE LOOK AT ME NOW VERSE TWO TYPE RAPPING AND MY COUSIN AND I WERE losing our SHIT. anyway this starts gathering a small crowd (like a couple customers and two or three workers that happened to be around) and he finished whatever he was doing and pointed at me and i’m not one to back down from a challenge but i’m also not one who actively seeks public humiliation. but my cousin said she’d do it with me if i did it and i wasn’t gonna leave this guy hanging and FUCK IT it’s 1 am at walmart why not dhhshdhsh fhdh (i wanna die) so we start nicki’s verse in monster (bc we’re so fuckin predictable) and this guy is blown away (not in an awe-jaw-dropping way but in like a “i’m drunk and didn’t expect that” kinda way) FUCK it’s so cringey looking back at it and i’m pretty sure i dreamt it but basically the tiny crowd that gathered couldn’t hold back their laughter and said that he won but i think it was so they wouldn’t hurt his feelings. i’ve also ever shown my face at that walmart since.

[sandsorghum]

The fic I've always wanted to write I don't know what to say about this one because it means a lot. Maybe once I get some distance, I've spent too much time with it. I'm just glad to have made it for Nanami's birthday, under the wire. But also it's unbeta'd. The format is new for me too, sort of a slow-burn triptych, best thought of as snapshots. I want to experiment more with it in the future, so I hope it does well. Please let me know your thoughts! Thread Count Genre: Slow Burn, Romance, Friends to Lovers WC: 5.3k

i.

Ache, behind the eyes. Throbbing. Fizzling fiber optics.

Static hissing. Constant haunting. Pelting silver sibilance. The ghosts chorus against asphalt.

Chill in the air. Condensing upon dewy brows. He tilts his head ever so slightly. Satin relief, the sheets are cool too. Except in one spot.

Warmth already leaching into his fingers. He flexes them against his palm, to assess how sticky he's made the bed.

This thread count is too high.

Shit.

"Relax."

His body refuses, does the opposite. Freezes as he hears his name dissolve into a warning. Something fractal spreading in his lungs, spidery and sharp, an icicle breaking off between his ribs as he struggles to sit up.

A hand settles in the crease of his elbow, touch no longer tentative. Firm as the voice, equally familiar. Too familiar.

"It's okay, Akemiuchi's loyalty program is gonna guarantee me a decent discount on the next duvet."

"I'm-"

"It's a good chance to rack up those points. There's this crocheted quilt I've been eyeing? It's the cutest thing ever. I'll show it to you next time."

Nanami winces, sweet intentions souring into an implication. An imposition you've already accepted as inevitable. He's the worst. He had a few moments of consciousness to spare, he knows he did, could have called Ijichi or Shoko even, directly, but no he'd wasted those final flickering seconds to drag himself over here.

The last thing he remembers before slumping over was your welcome mat. Rubber now, instead of fabric.

He can't keep doing this. Not to you.

"Phone." He rasps.

You fluff the pillows behind his head. "It's charging."

A rectangle glares in the periphery of his slits. 3%. It'll do. Ijichi's prompt with calls, especially those coming in at this hour.

" - a real viper's den of cables, took me a while to find yours. I told you you should switch to Android, that port design is super dumb - Hey."

Fingers clamp down on his wrist before he can even reach the nightstand.

"It's late-"

"I was editing a presentation anyway. Clearly we've both got issues with work boundaries."

His arm stretches out again, sinews shrieking their protest, bones creaking their own echo. He ignores them. Deft fingers skate up his swollen biceps, insistent. There's a pressure at his shoulder and he flinches. When had you gotten so strong?

When had he gotten this weak?

"Crap - sorry. That hasn't healed yet? Or is it new..."

He doesn't dignify you with a response, but the tight seam of his lips reveals enough. Nanami's further given away by the loose slump of his limbs. Defeated and betrayed by the mutiny of his howling muscles.

His body sings its triumph with a fresh pang rolling hot through his gut, crimson banner unfurling over ragged veins. He'll be damned if he admits to such a vicious victory. Nanami sucks in a breath instead.

"Fine, don't tell me."

There's something clipped in your voice, something abrupt in the way you stand and stride to the bathroom. A cabinet creaks, but that's all. Nanami watches the silhouette of your hands meld into the shadows to retrieve something off a shelf.

The lowest shelf.

There isn't any other sound besides the soft shuffle of your returning footsteps. Well, of course you'd know where everything is in your own home. Including the things you rarely had a use for. You hadn't even bothered to switch the lights on. Nanami wishes you did. Wishes he could confirm your dry eyes and blank face, numb and neutral as you moved through the motions of getting medicine for a man who has soaked your front step scarlet again.

Routine, right?

The tub thuds against the table, crisp and resolute.

"There's a quarter of the salve left," you mutter. You aren't looking at him. You wouldn't be able to see him in this dark anyway.

"If it isn't enough, I've another jar. Top drawer. Aspirin's there too."

Easy access, even blind, Nanami thinks. The room's still swathed in navy blues. He's invisible in this ink. It feels safe to smile, just for a moment.

"Thank you."

Your head tilts up and his mouth hardens with restraint once more. They were just two words, you couldn't possibly have detected anything beyond civility in them.

But there's a suspicion, once tightly coiled, now starting to slither from the base of his spine and it's this: People don't unquestioningly accept their ex-colleagues into their apartments at 3am to bleed into their bed, out of sheer politeness.

A sliver of a pause before you say,"You're welcome."

You move to the door.

Nanami exhales, the exhaustion deflates and the stubbornness exsanguinates as his bones relearn their weight. Your palm meets the handle and you let go of the breath you didn't know you were holding. But it hitches when you hear the grunt of your name. You glance over your shoulder.

"Akemiuchi, was it?" An index prods at your comforter.

"Uh. Yeah?"

The confusion furrowing your brows is clear in Nanami's mind, he knows just how those lines will knit and scrunch your puzzled expression. He knows, even at a distance, with you all the way across the room how you'll shrug and shake your head at his apparently random question.

"Okay."

"Okay. Rest well, Nanami."

Then you're gone, and it's safe now.

It's a famous brand, there's a branch three blocks down from his neighbourhood. He's seen the quilt, a recent addition to the autumn collection. An elaborate fuss of mint and pastels, taking pride of place in the storefront window. It's got tassels too.

Gaudy, unabashedly.

Nanami closes his eyes and his mouth twitches.

ii.

He shows up at your doorstep tonight, a night of thunderstorms, looking like an envoy of Zeus and giving you about as much warning. His always imposing silhouette had crumpled in a crack of lightning.

When the skies next belched and blanched, you'd seen his clothes drenched with rain and red. And a goopy violet you'd never seen before.

"What do you tell people?" you had asked early on, not expecting any proper answer. You were right not to.

"They don't ask."

"You don't let them." It's neither question nor confrontation, but you get confirmation in his silence, eyes downcast amidst the downpour.

He'd had the decency to be mollified about the dramatics.

You were people to him too. He'd given you the same answer he gave everyone else. You could tell how well it was rehearsed, even through his grimaces, mumbling his way through something about Private security.

Unlike others however, you weren't polite enough to accept his excuses. Especially not when he dripped all over your carpet.

"I'll replace it," he shudders, heaving himself against the edge of your bathtub.

"It's $3000," you pointed out, kneeling and pressing a towel to his side. He arches a brow, not so much shocked by the hefty price tag, but by your lavish attitude towards interior decorating. You, on the other hand, are startled by a swoosh and soon after, the chime of your phone receiving the bank's notification.

You stare at your screen, then back up at Nanami, who simply pockets his mobile with a small shrug.

Somehow, it seemed smug.

Whatever this new gig was, it paid a hell of a lot better than the previous one at which you two had met. You pull the cloth away.

The fibers are saturated scarlet, staining your fingertips. What kind of job could be worth this? Moral fetters at the expense of financial freedom, was that the trade off Nanami had made? Nanami Kento, whose resentment and disdain for Mondays was sustained throughout the week, whose bleak, sombre expression stayed whether cast under cost-cutting fluorescents or the neon glitz of Shinjuku's excess.

You remembered the distant din of middle management's chants, the chugging and choking of sycophants, all muffled by plumes of cigarette smoke escaping thin lips, and a jacket draped wordlessly over your shoulders. Sobriety never seemed to be an issue for him.

Yet, he always appeared more exhausted than his hungover colleagues, the shadows beneath his naked eyes darker and deeper than those hidden under the department head's sunglasses. Nods to decorum couldn't disguise the stench of alcohol or the slur of his speech, a nasal wheedling appealing to Nanami's efficiency as another stack of files thumped down unceremoniously before him.

You gaze at Nanami now, beneath the bright white lights of your bathroom, teetering on the edge of your tub. He looks just as tired, except now he reeks of iron, not whiskey. Liberated from a desk, still duty-bound. We all pick our poisons and our prisons, you think.

The two of you have an understanding by now. Whatever his next chapter was, that story is sealed behind a steel vault, nothing will ever rust away at its hinges. You don't care. You're just...nosy, occasionally. Fiction formed from a few bad habits.

The consternation had been there before, threatening to bubble over, acidic enough to bleach bones. Yet even then you knew, Nanami had no use for emotional effervescence.

So what could you do, but wipe away the stains and residuals? Return him smudge-free glasses so he's immaculate and impassive once more. Though there's no alternative to ignoring your instincts, the filtrates of fear never quite boiled down to what you could label mere curiosity; still corrosive, always gnawing away at you.

In the stretch of months after, in his indefinite absences, the fangs drill down to your marrow. You only muzzle its maw when Nanami reappears with gashes and abrasions and an expression masking whatever else his shredded suits can't.

And you, you've gotten pretty decent at disguising the twisted relief that comes with finding his pulse; intermittent, but in your hands. You're the worst.

"You always did have expensive taste," he comments, catching your stare before you can tunnel further down that rabbit hole.

You blink, then snap the clasps on the first aid kit and scoff, "Please, your midweek coffee bill was double my lunch budget for the month."

Your hands make quick work of the packaging.

"Even if I was buying for two," you add.

"Did you want a reimbursement? You always said it was your treat."

You roll your eyes. "Because someone always forgot to take a break. Seriously? Not even a vending machine sandwich? Nobody should be able to survive solely off six espressos."

You pause, laying out a few other implements. "The cafeteria's ciabatta is a lot better now though, after you gave them those tips. Shame you left before you saw the benefit of your feedback pay out."

"Hm."

To anyone else, the sound is non-committal. But you recognize that hum, the rich roundness hinting at his satisfaction, that a minor injustice of yeasty mediocrity had been redressed.

You recognized it, because it was rare and you'd always had to strain to hear it, replaying it in your mind to compensate for the sore dearth set by reality's quota.

"Besides, I couldn't risk our top sales lead collapsing from low blood sugar at an important stakeholders' meeting. Oh, and Shuichi's department head now, so thanks for that."

There's a suspicion of amusement which rumbles low in his chest, a sound you've heard even less frequently, and so conversely, dreamed about more. But it cuts off abruptly into a rough grunt when your fingers ghost over his ribs, swiping antiseptic. You look up sharply.

"This is even worse than-"

"It should have been you." Nanami's interruption rings mildly vexed, to your surprise. He grips your hand with a force that's even more unexpected, as he pulls it away. "You had more seniority than him."

"Yeah well, you know how it is." you mutter, fist clenching around the cotton swab before hurling it into the bin. "Apparently women my age are meant to be running nurseries, not boardrooms."

Nanami watches you fiddle with the surgical thread, spooling it through without hesitation. Meets your gaze, unclouded by worry or weariness. It had been 2am when he had turned up unannounced. And he feels your hands, reassuring warmth hovering over his wound. He nods once, and you touch skims over ruptured skin, where a fresh scar awaits to adorn his obliques.

His breath seems harsh and loud to his own ears.

"You could manage both if that's what you wanted."

"What makes you think that?"

"You're capable of a lot. Discipline and kindness."

The crescent of your eyes and lips glint brighter than the curved piece of silver weaving in and out of his flesh. It's a pleasant distraction, he'll admit that much.

"Ruthlessness too," he adds, wincing as the needle digs into a particularly tender spot.

"Go on," your smile is sardonic, both bee sting and nectar. Nanami feels a twinge in his rib cage, in his chest free from any visible bruises.

"You're beautiful."

Maybe he lost a lot more blood than he realised. He only notices his accident of sincerity when the thread is tugged tense, the needle jerking back abruptly. Then the anvil drops over his windpipe.

He glances at the gleaming point, barely quivering between your thumb and forefinger. The tremble of your lips is terribly obvious by contrast.

Desperation surges through him suddenly, a riptide of an urge to have them quake against his own, to savour your whimpers shaking against his tongue, give you a taste of your own medicine, have the pinprick of his incisors sink into where you're soft and vulnerable. You've given him countless stitches, and he hasn't left a single mark on you. It's unfair. It's cruel.

"How-" A distracting slip of pink darts out to wet your lips. The needle nips into his skin again and he has to hold back a groan.

"How is that trait relevant to being either a manager or a mother?"

Nanami grips the edge of the tub, white-knuckled as its porcelain. There's a pause. Longer than he's comfortable with, though you don't seem to notice. Or comment on it at least. Small mercies.

Then he says, "It doesn't hurt your odds."

"My odds aren't that great."

For a moment, Nanami wonders if you're still fishing for compliments. But then, dorsal finned mischief flashes in your grin and you let him off the hook.

"Most smooth-talkers aren't like you. More style than substance."

Your smile stretches wry, deprecation retreats into the furthest corners of your cheeks. "Not that I meet many of them though."

"It's difficult to find someone compatible." You lean forward, on the pretext of inspecting the knot before you snip the thread. Your hand settles on his knee. His spine stiffens into a limestone column. The caterpillars in Nanami's belly curl into tight cocoons.

"Someone who isn't intimidated by my ambitions," your fingers are feather-light, trailing up his toned hamstrings. Nanami feels the winged creatures twitch in their chrysalis.

"My desires..." Your palm curves higher, like your lips, closer to the apex of his muscled thighs. Newborn butterflies stir, damp with arousal. Nanami swallows, perhaps his spit could extinguish the sparks fluttering in his gut.

"Someone who's sensible and strong, who could hold me down long enough to..." The ridges of your knuckles have met the crest of his seams, any further and you'd feel the effect of your touch, of your smoldering eyes.

"...put a child in me." Your whisper fans the flames in his hollowed cheeks, in his skin scorching and stretched thin over the flint of his jaw, in the recesses of his throat, scratchy with kindling.

"If that's what we both wanted." It's the slightest graze of your thumb, but Nanami's already doomed by the briefest jolt of his hips. Fuck. You definitely felt that. Your eyes flicker, but by some sheer miracle, not downwards, to where the wet spot is staining and straining against his fabric and your fingers.

"Do you know someone like that, Nanami?" you murmur and he breathes hard, sees the vapour of his harsh pants slip behind your own mouth, parted and patient. Your fingers haven't moved a fraction too.

His brushes with death have sculpted his body, corded his chiseled torso with complete control, each synapse wired with lightning to assess curses, salivating for his flesh and demise.

Nanami knows the anaerobic burn of adrenaline, what it is to run on fumes into the jaws of danger, to dispatch nightmares, to delay the inevitable. Countless demons slewed in calculations of perfect precision, in single fell swoops and too close shaves.

You are the greatest peril Nanami has faced in years.

It takes every last fiber of his being, of his battered body, crafted far beyond the demands of labour and the delusions of purpose, not to buck into the threat and promise of your gentle heated hands or crush his mouth to yours.

"No," Nanami croaks. "I don't."

iii.

There's something soupy about the atmosphere tonight, thick with humidity, hot fog rolling in. The sheets stick to his clammy skin.

He doesn't remember how he got here this time.

Regret reverberates together with recognition as his cuticles clink against glass. There's the rustle of foil, conveniently within reach too. The plastic pops twice underneath his nail. The end of the row, Nanami notices.

He wonders if these are the drowsy kind, or maybe it's just a moonless night and all the shadows are melting together. Eventually he finds the silhouette he's looking for, slumped into a chair.

Nanami squints at the world's saddest mountain, gradually losing its slope. It's the blanket sliding off you. It puddles by your ankles, next to a basin of water, tinged pink and tepid by now. You shiver slightly, his eyes dart up and sure enough, there's the rag, twisted in your hands.

An exhale wheezes its way from his ribs and Nanami winces; he should know by now shallow sighs are all his sunken chest will allow. But the pain is dulling everything, pounding against his ivory dome like a petulant brat with balled fists.

His mobile - had you confiscated it? Such sly sweetness - Focus, landline then for a taxi, tip extra for the smears on the seats -

"You should be carrying an umbrella with you these days. Could probably fit one in that holster."

Your admonishment pierces through his haze, sounding less groggy than he'd hoped.

"It'd obstruct movement."

"Or try wearing a poncho, unless you're worried it ruins the lines of your suit." You stand up, retrieving a familiar looking quilt off the floor. The shipping had been free, he recollects.

"Given the latest state of your jacket however, I doubt that's a priority."

Nanami hauls himself up, or tries to. His deltoids have other ideas, and every muscle beneath them agrees. The veto is unanimous, and he grimaces.

You shuffle over, remarking, "I've been looking for a good tailor. I'm sure you have recommendations."

"Bulk orders from the department store," Nanami grunts, combating gravity as he attempts to swing his leaden legs over the bedside. You drag the duvet back over his lap and it might as well be lumber.

"Shame on you," you scoff with such force that he stops struggling for two whole seconds to look askance at you.

"Deluding some atrocious tie designer out there into thinking they have a shot in the fashion industry."

Against his better judgement, Nanami decides a snort is worth the risk. It isn't, obviously. He learns, too late, the appeal of mirth's medicinal qualities is gravely overstated.

"And if I told you they were custom pieces?" he snipes.

"Then I'd applaud whatever keeps attacking you."

A warning filters through the back of his brain, Whatever, not whoever. Suspicion alone is a lethal enough threshold to his world, he can't risk you. And yet he's here, the voice whispers. Far from an emergency.

"My assailants are probably acquainted with decent tailors."

Nanami's cynicism towards humour as a balm ebbs, watching your lips curve.

"I'm in stitches," you state, digits skimming Nanami's pectorals, skirting around the petunias starting to clot there.

"You took a dozen this time," you add, a little softer.

He lets your palm stay on his chest. "Where's my cell?"

"Down the chute."

"I'll use yours then." He brushes your hand away.

"Mine's outta juice too." A fist this time, knuckles pressed to his breastbone.

Nanami's eyes flick up to the ceiling for a moment, he's long suspended belief in heaven or gods, the gravity of his bones remind him of this; Any covenant he's made is between his cursed technique and body - more altar than temple.

"Got a pull out couch?" he asks at last.

"Oh shut up. You're staying here," you huff in disbelief and he looks at you, a Vestal Virgin with embers for irises. A braver man than him would wait for the hint of a spark.

But instead he says, "More water, please."

You nod, handing him a mug that's still warm but empty. "I'll fetch the thermos - oh, hang on. Let me rinse that out, sorry."

Nanami takes a quick sniff before passing it over. "Nicaragua?"

"Guatemala, Santa Isabel," you elaborate. "Tea's probably better for putting you down though."

"Water's fine."

You slip out into the shadows, taking the aroma of the dark roast with you. Nanami reclines against the headboard, your scent lingering in his passageways. Yet another inconvenience he's instigated. A longstanding tradition, fitting its origins. There had been a time when you insisted on oolong instead, or the superiority of Ceylon. You were convincing enough in those first few months, with your tiresome tirades and passionate grandstanding in the pantry, all before 8am. Nanami had almost attributed your bright eyes to the beverages you rigorously argued for, even as he refused to deviate from the ritual masochism of his "sad bean juice". Not so much elixir as IV drip. "That much caffeine will wreck your melatonin production," you berated him. He had no idea what you were talking about but then, neither did you. The destruction of Circadian rhythms, the annihilation of any balance beyond the kind in the books you pored over (long after your bosses had dumped them on you a quarter to 7), would never boil down to what was poured into your mug. The defeat was inevitable. Nanami told himself he didn't miss your near daily trivial one-sided debates; they just interfered with his morning reports. Still, he had stared too long at the pair of steaming takeaway cups you carried in one day. "A peace offering," you said. "Robusta. The cafe down the street has a fresh batch every Tuesday." You leaned forward, depositing them under his nose. "Here's to the grind, on our terms." A croissant wrapped in the white flag of a serviette slides next to his cup, over the grey laminate of the table. Compromise shouldn't smell this good on you, he had thought. In your kitchen he's spotted both the conical slopes of the Chemex, and your stash of pyramid pouches with their loose leaf treasures. Just one more thing he's taken away from you on a night like this. He's an aberration, an intrusion - much like the flavours infringing upon your tongue. It ought to be the routine lull of chamomile, instead it's coffee, keeping you alert; iron and tannin tangling in the air. Nanami's mind drifts to the rude awakening your taste buds must endure, wonders about the sweetness there, more hazelnut than herbal, strong or mellow, aggressive or pliant- "Here." Nanami reaches out, fingers grazing ceramic that feels like hearthstones. He finds the handle by sheer luck. The sips he takes are small and slow, tendrils of steam climbing up his sheer cliff face. Over the rim, Nanami feels you watching him absently. Your concern suspended over the ravine between the both of you, silence slack in your carabiners.

Then you murmur, "Your mouth's too hot."

His throat goes taut. "What?"

"I forgot. Now the reading won't be accurate," you sigh.

Something rolls off his shoulders when he recognises the thin beak of the thermometer outlined in your grasp. The sensation is more weighted than mere relief, Nanami can't quite name it. It's a residual sludge in his gut, turning the ground to mud as he tries to trample it.

"I'm fine."

"Liar." The mattress dips and the boulder in his belly plummets as he feels your body brush next to his. He pushes back, it's Sisyphean, your breath against his clavicle, his soles are slipping.

"What are you-"

"Last I checked," you interject, wrestling the covers over your laps, "this is my bed."

His knees buckle as you shove aside his thigh with yours.

"You'll catch this bug." The warning is futile, Nanami knows. He's already set down the mug.

Your tone takes on a solemn timbre. "An extra risk. There's no known cure for cooties either. Sorry to break it to you."

Nanami huffs through his nostrils, he ought to feel more patronized than placated. But there's a levity to your touch, gently pressing him back against the bed.

"And I really hope you're not a blanket hogger because I'll kick you out. Injured or not."

There's already too little space between you and him but Nanami turns on his side, stoic expression that much closer. "You should have kicked me out a long time ago."

"Probably," you agree.

Nanami startles as your fingers sweep beneath his fringe, pressing your palm to his forehead, then to yours, then back to his.

"At least your fever's broken, I think."

Perhaps the pills worked, but Nanami doesn't feel the same relief flooding your gaze.

"Are you sure?"

Your touch lingers, he leans into it. His temperature is rocketing, if anything. Hesitantly, Nanami's hand glides over your temples.

"You're too warm yourself."

"I'm not," you object, despite the steadily building furnace in your cheeks. "Check again."

"This isn't accurate," Nanami mutters, but his touch settles over you. His fingers should stay in a delicate arch over your head but his hand is drifting to cup your face, feeling your smile curve into his palm. He cradles it, together with the quiet of your breathing slowing into sync.

"I should keep a couple of shirts in the closet. What size do you wear?" you mumble sleepily.

"That's not necessary."

You crack open an eye. "So you're gonna insist on staying half-naked in an unmarried woman's bed?"

Nanami retracts his hand swiftly, as if he's been scalded.

"That's not what-"

"Don't get me wrong," you smirk, drowsiness completely vanquished. (Had it really been there in the first place? Nanami wonders.)

"Wearing just perspiration and bandages is a great look on you, but..."

You pull the blanket higher over the distinct curves of his biceps, shifting closer. "You'll get cold. And the forecast said rain tonight."

The meteorologists must be right for once, he thinks.The atmosphere is electric, frenetic with an impending summer storm. He can feel the crackling in his capillaries, heat condensing in the air.

You're an inch, maybe less, away from his face now. Near enough anyway that he can make out the feathered arc of your lashes, can see how they'd flutter with each of his exhalations, if he isn't careful.

Nanami holds his breath, becomes statuesque. You notice.

He's a magnum opus of masonry, Michelangelo's misery, muscles cast in moonlight and breaking all mortal molds - but the truth is, he's built himself from scratch. You know this. You've admired his Adonis belt, cut from alabaster, yes, but you've also witnessed that rigid expression, pale as chalk. The bricks in his abdomen, the welts chiselled crudely into his spine, your hands have traced all this.

It's how you know where to look for movement now, your palm pressing over the telltale pounding in those marble pectorals, fingertips skating the shadows that dance along the column of his throat. Nanami swallows cinders, the inferno in his belly growls. There is smoke in his lungs, his trapped protests, his warnings will taste like ash.

Because Nanami's not sure how much more of your mercy he can take, how many more miracles will lay to waste his mornings and nights as he remembers the softness of your skin, free from soot.

Reality isn't this good to him, Nanami isn't kind enough for it-

But you are.

Your kiss is gentle, glacial. Mouth drifting over his, as innocuous and inevitable as an iceberg.

A kiss so gentle it rips the hull of him wide open.

A hissing, gasoline fumes siphoned from his clenched teeth as he rolls your body on top of him and his cracked ribs, your gasp tangling with the rustle of the sheets. They bunch in your fists as he feels you struggle to push away from him, to alleviate the weight, but Nanami needs it, like pressure upon a spurting wound, grabs your hips and holds them flush to his own as he locks his other hand around your nape. He nips your protest in half, teeth and tongue raking and tilling along your bottom lip, until at last you let submission bloom in the bruises there.

Nanami doesn't know if he will survive this tenderness; if it'll survive him. The struggle is exhausting. But then, your hand clutches the hair at the back of his neck, roots silken in your strong grasp. Soft blonde strands sprout through the gaps of your fingers, the furrow of your brow eases into a plateau, a quiet moan pushes into his mouth; and Nanami knows he's lost.

And found again.

He feels the sickle of your smile, the swipe of your tongue as it reaps the first fruits of spring.

The scent of rain starting to fall can't compare to the taste of you, the scattered sounds are even more vague. Nanami doesn't register the gale's shrill whistle, too focused on the high peals of your whimpers. Precipitation's heavier pitter-patter against the panes is drowned out by the hammering of your heart underneath him, all of heaven's rumbling can't contend with the rushed whispers of his name and yours. Nanami links your hands together, the syllables loop around your bodies tighter and tighter as the intervals between your chants get shorter, breathier.

You pull away from Nanami at last, not quite completely, as he tries to temper his greed by suckling at your neck, your pulse barely a pacifier for his petulance. You pant, head lolling further to the side.

The sky has mistaken itself for the sea, deluge of melodrama lashing against your window. The cityscape is shrouded in silver, though you're not exactly enamoured by the view at the moment.

Nanami coaxes your attention back to him, lips roving over your cheeks and chin and nose. He rests his forehead against yours, gazing deep into your eyes. The silence is different now.

There had always been a certain detachment and distance, as if he were tuned to the frequency of a far away planet, a separate world. Still, you were pulled into each other's orbit; a pair of satellites emitting mixed signals.

You sense him drifting now, calibrating, calculating again; static buzzing as he searches for the right words.

You sigh and tug Nanami into another kiss.

He's a little surprised the atmosphere isn't scorching, that he isn't burning up upon reentry, falling back into your gravity. The heat is still there of course, just under your tongue and evident in the kerosene trails you're painting across his chest. It's diffuse this time, simmering rather than searing. Languid as syrup, as butter browning in a skillet. No flash in the pan, you tell him, lips still occupied.

Nanami closes his eyes, the liquid light filling him brighter than any solar flare. You drag your kiss, slow and soothing, till it's tucked into the hollow of his throat.

"Sweet dreams, Kento."

How redundant, he thinks without verbalizing it, arm curling around his one impossible yearning that has already come true.

Quietness seeps through the room as you curl into Nanami's side, and he allows himself to drift into warmth's embrace; the warmth of a sunbeam spilling through billowing muslin curtains.

Perhaps he could get used to this thread count.

[astaroth1357]

Demigod MC Series: Dionysus

Hey y’all, sorry for going dark! I’m alright, almost completely recovered in fact! I just got so sleepy while my body was fighting stuff off and couldn’t really work up the energy to write... Still going to be spotty for a short time, but I’m glad to have gotten this done. See ya soon!

Demigod MC Series: Intro, Aphrodite, Hermes, Hades, Dionysus

Lucifer

Well, this mortal stumbled out of the portal covered in glitter, body paint, and carrying a red solo cup… which they proceeded to stare at like, "'ell sshhit… Thiz iz sum stron s'uff…"

First impressions were not on their side here.

He spent a depressingly long amount of time more or less assuming that the MC was a drunken f-up and spent the first few months trying to make them more… presentable.

But like… How do you stop someone from acting like a drunk fool when they can turn any drink they touch alcoholic???

For months they would show up to meetings buzzed or stumbling, all smiles and all giggles but HORRIBLY unprofessional, and he just couldn't stand it!

But then he found out their little secret…

Assassination threats befall the exchange students all the time. Most of them are dealt with quickly but some (through skill or dumb luck) manage to slip through...

He had been walking with the MC through their new vineyard in the House's courtyard, yet again trying to lecture them about their drunken behavior, when suddenly the two were ambushed!

Ten or so heavily armored demons dropped down from the sky to attack them! Lucifer was so preoccupied that he got cornered by three of them and it took him a hot minute to destroy them.

When he looked back at the mortal (who had been fighting a 1-on-7) he was certain they'd have been kidnapped or worse…

But he saw that they had already cut down two attackers with their weapon with ease. The other five were rolling in the dirt, babbling about inexplicable terrors and imaginary pain as their minds succumbed to madness…

Meanwhile, the MC just stood in the middle of it all with the icy glare of someone who’s just revealed how stone-cold sober they've always been under the surface...

When they turned back to him, they put their usual ditzy smile back on over the tormented wails of the demons around them...

MC: Whoopsie… Gotta little mad there. 🙂

He uh… took a big ol'step off their back after that. Surprisingly, they're more pleasant (and less dangerous) "drunk" than they are sober…

Mammon

Oh HELL yeah!! Lucifer actually gave him a mortal that knows how to party!!

Admittedly, they looked like utter trash when they first met, like, "Hey, I've been at this party since DAWN" trash, but they gave him one good look and pulled together a surprisingly hot smile.

MC: "-ey yer cute… Ya like strip poker?"

Spoken like someone else who also makes shit decisions… They were going to get along just fine!

And they did. The MC to him was that one friend that's always down for anything. Just anything. Whenever. Wherever.

He wants to try sneaking into Lucifer's room to steal stuff? Sure, what time?

He wants to take a mattress and see if he can ride it down the grand staircase of the palace? Alright, we bringin' pillows too?

He needs to set up another scheme that's gotta involve live rats and box of tiny hats and monocles?? That's oddly specific but count them in!!

Sometimes he honestly can't tell if they're laid back or just crave chaos... but it works out fine for him either way so who cares? 🤷‍♀️

And if you think normal Mammon is a pain in the ass for Lucifer? Check out drunk Mammon. All the same urges but literally none of the (marginal) competence!!

At one point, the eldest ended up stringing both Mammon and the MC from the ceiling after they both barged into his office looking for Goldie… while he was still in there… watching them wander around aimlessly calling out for a piece of plastic like it was a missing puppy…

They end up together on the ceiling a lot come to think of it, but hey, at least now he has some company. 😌

Leviathan

Thinks they're the most normal normie to have ever normed on this normie planet!!!

No, seriously. They're a billion times worse than Asmo!! All they want to do is go to parties and drink all the time! What kind of use is he to someone like that??

… That being said they ARE pretty fun to be around… And their sake is WAY better than anything he could get off Akuzon!!

They also like karaoke too! So at least he has someone else to go with (even if they get so drunk they can’t remember any lyrics and just belt barely coherent discount Mariah Carey vocals behind him...)

Of course, the real fun between these two is everybody else getting to watch a couple of the Devildom's sloppiest drunks attempt to communicate with each other…

Levi: MMM-*hic*-MCCC…!!! *throws himself at them from across the bar*

MC: What Leviachan??? 😨 Did the chair kick you off?!

Levi: Nooo! *pokes their cheek* I wanna-I wanna tell you sometin'...! *tries pulling them closer*

MC: Whaa? Secrets?? *leans in eagerly*

Levi: Mammon used all ma money on’a pyramid scheme a thou-zand years ago… AND HE STILL WON'T PAY ME BAAA-!!! 😭😭 *starts shaking them violently*

MC: *getting flung around like a limp noodle* Waaaat?! Nooo!!! I'm so sowwy!! 😢

Mammon: *watching it all go down right next to him* 😑 Ya guys need some water… I'm cuttin' ya off, got it?

MC: 😱 Shut yer whore mouth, criminal!! *starts pelting him with pretzel bites*

Levi: 😤 Yah!! *joins in*

Good thing he's a shut-in, because the hangovers he gets after those escapades are unreal…

Satan

A little concerned for their liver, honestly… How much damage have they already done to the poor thing...?

But at the same time, he'll be damned if they don't make some utterly fantastic wine!

Alcokinesis wasn't a power he would have pegged a demigod to have but apparently the great art of making drinks comes from their godly DNA.

When they first met, he was trying to get the MC to act less slovenly but made the mistake of agreeing to a wager: he'd let them dress however they pleased if they could give him the BEST drink he'd ever tasted.

Now, Satan isn't a huge drinker (thank you terrible alcohol tolerance), but he's still a man of fine tastes. Plus, he's sampled Demonus from Diavolo royal stock before. They should not have won…

But on that day, he had to let them go to RAD in a pink blanket toga... 😑 Their wine is just THAT good.

He hates to admit it, but they've gotten him drunk more times than he could probably count too… He's not a huge fan of clubbing with them and the others, but if they bring over a bottle from their vineyard he just can't resist. They're a master of their craft, truly.

And it's a good thing he likes their drinks so much, because if they called him, "Kitty-boy," when he's sober, he may have just become a sour grape himself…

They also may or may not have copious amounts of blackmail material of him either meowing between sentences, sobbing over some fictional character he likes, pole dancing on dares….

Yeah, he's been trying to destroy their phone for months now. If Lucifer were to see ANY of that, he's done for… 😣

He has also been meaning to ask them about other aspects of their abilities, their father is also the God of Madness after all, but anytime he tries to bring it up they shove another glass in his hand and tell him not to kill the mood...

Eh. What's the harm in having another drink, right? 🤷‍♀️

Asmodeus 

Honey. He's MET Dionysus. He's been to a Dio-party or two and they're INSANE. He could not be more thrilled by this!!!

He practically scooped them up on the first night that they were in the House and it’s practically been a nonstop rave between these two ever since. They’re like the party twin he never knew he needed!!

He absolutely abuses their ability to turn pretty much any drink they touch into alcohol at clubs. It makes the nights so much easier on the wallet PLUS it makes an excellent little party trick to impress the succubi! Who doesn’t want a free drink? 😏

And can he just say that their drinks are better? Just flat out amazing! If it weren’t so unhealthy he’d consider drinking nothing but their booze and wine for the rest of his days, Satan’s certainly getting close to it.

But little does Satan know, he’s not even getting the GOOD stuff...

There’s the normal wine: grapes picked from the vineyard, hand squeezed, then magically helped through the fermenting process. But their real good stuff? They were given enchanted oak barrels from their father and anything that comes out of those is worth starting a WAR over. 😩

He knows, because he gifted an extra bottle to Diavolo once and Barbs came to him the very next day demanding to know what vineyard had produced it with the look of man willing to annex a small nation...

Asmo had to beg Lucifer to talk to Diavolo after the butler more or less kidnapped the MC back to the Castle… Devil knows even Barbs wouldn’t ever be able to reproduce their wine, so they could have been locked there for eternity!!

Thankfully, he got his party-buddy back and their debauchery continued! (Just now with Barbatos following them around sometimes like he’s trying to gather state secrets... It’s an impossible task but he hasn’t given up yet, bless his black heart.)

Beelzebub

He isn't much bothered by their carefree nature, at least they seem to be having fun with his family which he appreciates. 🙂

To be honest, though, he nearly ate them when they first met because they smell like freshly peeled grapes… and for good reason.

By their third day at the House they had (somehow) planted and cultivated a full on vineyard in the courtyard. Hell, the wall growing to their bedroom balcony was covered in grapevines!! Always ripe and completely healthy in defiance of the lack of sun... Whatever magic they used was strong.

And, of course, their grapes were also delicious! Easily among the best fruits he's ever tasted! Every cluster is ridiculously plump, juicy, and sweet like little droplets of pure Heaven… 🤤

When their fruit first ripened, the MC came out with a basket to collect some only to find Beel had gouged himself on over half of their crop!!!

… which may have been why he got snared up on one of the courtyard walls by pissed off grapevines... Even with all his strength, he couldn't break through them and had to wait for Lucifer to cut him down… 😔 

From then on, Beel was pretty much the pesky rabbit to the MC's harvest. They had to set up traps and magical barriers to keep him from their precious grapes…!! Which inevitably meant one of his brothers had to come rescue him from their furious vines at least once a week... 🙄

SOMETIMES, the MC will bring him along to help harvest with them with the deal that he can have an extra basket for however many he helps them pick. But the second he takes a bite he shouldn't, it’s back on the wall!

Out of the vineyard, they're nice enough. But put some grapes between these two and they're mortal enemies… STOP messing with their plants, Beel!! 😤

Belphegor 

So… this drunken fool is supposed to get him out of the attic? Never mind, this is never going to work…

He was SEVERELY underwhelmed when the "human" finally made it up the steps. This was who they decided to bring for their exchange program? They seemed like they could barely stand!

Naturally, he figured all the better for him. They probably wouldn't even last that long! 

Some poor, incompetent human falling victim to a demon out there? Diavolo's reputation would in tatters and he wouldn't even have to lift a finger! (His favorite way of doing things really 😌).

But… they just kept coming back? Like. Nothing was killing them….! How guarded were they keeping this moron?? 

Or… maybe it was something else?

Sure, the MC seemed like a drunken idiot but there were times when he'd swear that they were just… too aware to be sloshed…

MC: *suddenly stops smiling at him mid-conversation and looks him in the eye* You tilt your head when you lie. You know that?

How can someone so cheerful ALSO be so unnerving…?

So really, he should have seen their sudden heel-turn after they opened the door coming. There he was, fully intending to take them by surprise and choke them after a hug…

...and they knocked him down, climbed onto his back like a spider monkey, and rode him around like a bucking bull using his horns like handlebars!!

It wouldn’t have been AS humiliating if they didn’t also keep shouting things like "Giddiyap!" And "Yee-haw!!"

It took him a whole month to be sure that any and all footage of that nightmare was erased and he STILL hates the MC quite a bit for it…. But he's too scared to attack them now, so…

The lesson here? It's not a fair fight when one side’s crazy... 😔😒

[bakusquad-assemble]

Can I request a Sero x reader/Bakusquad x reader who is dealing with a panic attack after Class 1A deals with yet another villain. Also no rush and I absolutely love your writing!

Aw, thank you so so much! I love being able to write for you! I also love all the love Sero gets on this blog, I’m not sure I do his character justice but damn we love to see it. No warnings on this one, just some sweet comfort and fluff. Hope you enjoy!

The sound of blaring sirens pierced through the night sky, dark and cold save for the flashing red lights that illuminated the students of class 1A. They sat huddled close together, blankets pulled tightly around their shoulders in attempts to bring them some semblance of comfort. It seemed as if your class was a target for misfortune, like the group of students were always in the wrong place at the wrong time. If you were being honest with yourself, the fear of the evil lurking around the corner at any given moment was really starting to get to you. You all somehow managed to escape each attack relatively unscathed, except for a few cuts and bruises that would heal in time, but you were still shaken to your core every time and couldn’t find the strength to keep it down any longer. You’re not quite sure when you started crying, letting the salty tears soak down your blood stained cheeks, but you didn’t even attempt to quell them. You let them consume you, wracking your body with sobs in hopes that it would bring you some solace. Instead you felt your body tremble, your stomach churning with all of the fear that you had kept down for far too long. You slapped your hand over your mouth as you whimpered out involuntarily, in hopes that no one would shift their attention to you.

That hope was shattered almost immediately though as the tall black haired boy who sat next to you straightened his back at attention. He had heard you take in a sharp breath, and upon locking eyes with your form he found his heart dropping in his chest like it was attached to a ton of weights; sinking to the bottom of a treacherous sea with ease. Hanta Sero has had a crush on you for some time now. There was just something about you he found so enticing, like a magnetic force was constantly surrounding you and pulling him in every time he wandered too close. You were best friends, constantly sharing laughs and inside jokes in the hallways at school, or having deep conversations late at night in the dorm common rooms. He cared about you so deeply, and seeing you like this; covered in your own tears and blood and shaking in fear, made him sick to his stomach. He was quick to act, his large hand reaching out for the small of your back to lend you consolation, but when you jumped back from him he quickly pulled away and put his hands up in the most non threatening way he could muster. You hadn’t meant to react like that to Sero’s touch, in fact, you craved his warmth more than ever right now. You wanted nothing more than to be engulfed by his comforting embrace as he whispered his latest horrible joke into your ear- managing to pull a laugh from your salty and cracked lips, but your body was on high alert after tonight. Luckily, Sero understood completely.

“Hey, it’s okay! It’s just me.” He reassured, his hands still up in the air in attempts to show you he meant no harm. He offered a sweet smile, despite feeling that same fear that overtook you, and you felt your body relax ever so slightly. You sniffled, wiping at your eyes with the sleeves of your sweatshirt as the tears continued to spill like rushing waterfalls.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” you choked out, voice barely audible among the commotion that surrounded the two of you, but Sero heard you clear as day. He could see everything he needed to know written in your pinched expression. You were petrified, and he was going to do everything in his power to make you feel better.

“Woah, hey! don’t apologize!” Sero started, cautiously moving his hands down in front of him and reaching out for one of your hands,trying his best to read your expressions as he did so. You didn’t pull away and he delicately wrapped his large hand in your smaller one, his thumb rubbing comforting circles atop your soft skin. He felt his cheeks heat up as he realized he’s never really touched you this intimately before. He tried his best to shake the sensation, and was thankful for the dark night sky for hiding the flush that consumed his features.

“Nothings wrong with you, y/n! I think we’re all a bit shaken up after that and it’s totally normal to be upset.”

The remnants of the dam that you had been holding up broke at Sero’s words, and suddenly you were sobbing uncontrollably and throwing yourself into his arms. The choked noises of anguish gained the attention of some classmates nearby, but you didn’t notice, nor care. You were lost in your own thoughts, in the fear of what could have happened, and the only thing keeping you grounded was Seros arms wrapping tightly around your torso and pulling you in against his chest. He brought the comforting circular motions to your back in efforts to soothe you while he rested his chin comfortably on the top of your head. If you were a bit more aware of your surroundings, perhaps you’d have noticed the way Sero’s heartbeat ran rampant in his chest, or the way his hands got clammy with nerves on your low back, but instead your mind lulled it out.

It was Kaminari’s voice that permeated the air first, though you kept your head situated in Sero’s chest, finding refuge in his closeness.

“Oh man, are they okay?” Kaminari stood awkwardly in front of the two of you, pulling his blanket snuggly over his shoulders to keep it from falling to the ground. Sero’s only response was to pull you in tighter and shake his head. Kaminari sighed out, his voice wavering as if he had just gotten over crying himself. You couldn’t help but look up from the confines of Sero’s chest just a bit, eyebrows pinched up in curiosity.

“Mind if I join you guys? Mineta isn’t exactly the best company in a time like this.” He tried to keep his voice light and playful, shooting your newly emerged face a warm smile. Kaminari didn’t wait for a response,however; instead picking the unoccupied spot next to you and squeezing in tight, enjoying the comfort the closeness brought him.

“Mineta is never good company, Bro. He’s a little scumbag” Sero quipped, sending a smile the electric boy's way. Kaminari chuckled, shrugging defeatedly.

“Hey! he can be funny sometimes!”

“I think that makes you a little scumbag too, dude. ”

You felt your throat stutter as you let out a breathy laugh. It came out choked and water logged, but it was a sweet little laugh nonetheless. Both of their expressions lit up, looking at each other before moving their eyes down to you, shocked by the sweet sound escaping your lips. Sero smiled widely, pulling you in just a bit tighter as he felt your shoulders get lighter. These boys always knew how to pull it out of you, and despite the fear still bubbling deep inside, their playful banter had you feeling kind of normal again.

“Woah, hey! Why didn’t we get an invite to the “we almost died but we didn’t and we still kickin it somehow” snuggle fest? Move over! I need some!” Minas voice was perky per usual, but even you could detect the hints of worry laced between each syllable. She was just able to use her personality to hide it well, something you had never been more envious of than right now. You straightened your back, pulling away from Sero to get a better view of the rest of your friends approaching. You tried your best to wipe your face free of any remnants of your breakdown, though seemingly impossible with the current state you were in. Mina was pulling Kirishima along behind her by the hand, keeping him close for comfort reasons you figured, and a certain scowling blonde wasn’t too far behind. It was as if he was tethered to the redhead, following against his will and dissatisfied with his new change of scenery, yet he continued to follow with a pout and his arms crossed heavily over his chest. After knowing bakugou for so long, though. His demeanor didn’t shake you, nor did his booming tone as he spoke up above the noise.

“The hell you all whining for? Some hero’s you are for being afraid of some lowlife discount villains that couldn’t even kill a bunch of high schoolers!” Kirishima nudged Bakugou hard, causing him to shoot the red haired boy an evil glare. It didn’t shake Kirishima though, he just shook his head at his blonde best friend.

“Read the room, Bakubro. We’re all kinda messed up about it. Even the manliest people get scared sometimes, you should know. ” Bakugou clicked his tongue in frustration, dropping onto the ground with a thud and pulling his knee up to rest his arm on it.

“I’d never be scared by some shitty ass villains and neither should you! They didn’t stand a chance against us! You’re all alive so stop complaining” Bakugou had locked eyes with you, and deep down you knew this was his makeshift way of trying to cheer you up. His way to remind you how strong you were, despite the tears and snot that ran down your face. You nodded softly to him, a faint smile ghosting your lips, and he quickly averted his gaze to anywhere but you. Mumbling something under his breath that you couldn’t quite make out but appreciated nonetheless. You watched Kirishima take a spot of the ground near Kaminari, and Mina dropped to her knees in front of you, her eyes welling with the same tears that plagued yours. Her smile was gentle, caring, and it made you feel safe. Safe despite everything that had happened to all of you just a few hours earlier. In fact, just being surrounded by your friends filled you with a sense of comfort that you didn’t expect yourself to find. You weren’t sure if it was simply their presence, or if it was the puffy eyes and wordless smiles of understanding that laid hidden on their expressions.

“You alright, baby?” Mina asked, her soft and well manicured hands coming to rest on your soaked cheeks. And despite it all, you nodded. The tiny smile still ever present on your face. Because for the first time tonight, you were reminded that no matter how hard things get, no matter how many villains tried to tear you down, you would always have your friends to pick you back up- to put a smile on your face with ease when you felt just minutes prior that you may never smile again. You could never thank them enough.

“Yeah, I will be.”

[the-darkdragonfly]

Obliviate: A Dramione Tale

Chapter Three - Samhain {coming soon}

The end of the war is nearing, and its not clear which side will win. The hunt for Muggle-borns is intensifying and Harry knows he needs to hide her. Save her. With no family, Hermione starts a new life in America, unaware that the man she meets at the library one day used to be a schoolmate. A wizard.

Narcissa Malfoy is desperate. The Dark Lord has ruined everything now with his sights firmly set on her son once more, she does the only thing she can think of that might keep his safe. She obliviates him, sending into the Muggle world where he stands a chance at a safer life, even if it’s without her in it.

♥️♥️♥️

“I have had an idea,” his suite door flew open, revealing a wind-mussed Granger, her hair curling around her head as she unwound the red and yellow scarf, coiled around her like a sleeping cat. 

He had given her a keycard- mind you don’t lose it, please- the week prior, after having been alerted by the front desk staff that a friend was waiting for him in the lobby and while they did wish to provide him with the privacy he deserved as their Most Distinguished Guest, would he perhaps be amenable to meeting his friends outside the hotel and escorting them himself? He had laughed, finding Hermione red-faced and brimming with self righteous indignation, her harsh whispers- I’m not God damn Julia Roberts- accompanying her stomping, angry footsteps as he ushered her into the lift. He had promised to clear it up with the front desk immediately, and had placated her by pressing a spare card into her hand. 

Since then, she’d become unpredictable- get yourself a cell phone and I’ll call you ahead of time, how ‘bout that?- in her visiting hours and he was both delighted and confused to find more and more of her belongings making his set of rooms their permanent home. 

Draco looked up from his tea, the sitting room, in perfect order from housekeeping hours before, once again looked like a discount clothing store, Hermione’s belongings being flung around the space like confetti. He swallowed a grimace and raised an eyebrow instead. She plowed on, her coat joining the heap of outerwear on the cream coloured armchair before flopping down beside him and stealing a biscuit from his tray- I swear to God, woman, you were raised by wolves, do use a saucer this time, I shall beg if I need to- her pale pink scrubs smelling faintly of antiseptic and what Draco had privately referred to as Eau D’Old Person. 

“Since I am the only one out of the two of us who is clever enough to have a drivers,” she stopped to pick up her tea mug, sans saucer, and take a careful sip of the Earl Gray he had ordered- pleb- ignoring his barb, “I think we should rent a car and go to Salem for the day tomorrow.” 

“What’s Salem?” 

“A town,” she said through a mouthful of chocolate-covered digestive. “I saw it on a pamphlet at the front desk. It’s only an hour away.” 

He raised an eyebrow again.

“They had witch trials there, it’s quite famous.” 

“Witches?” 

“Yup.” 

“Real ones?” 

“Obviously not,” she rolled her eyes, snatching another biscuit before he could bat her fingers away- use your saucer- and popping the whole thing in her mouth, “witches aren’t real.”

♥️♥️♥️

Catch up on the rest of the Tale here.

Tagging (I'd love to add you - drop me a note!!):

@elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @mysteriouscatstellation @stahlop @xxdeliriouslybookishxx @sailtoafarawayland @dramioneficrecommendations @dramioneasks

[pukicho]

Same Anon from before. Dude, I'm so so sorry, I didn't mean my message to sound so damn harsh. I should have given it a half hour and a re-read. You're an awesome contribution to this hellsite and I was a dumb dickhead. You want to satirise Supreme and such? You do you. Seems I have to work on me. From the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry.

Hey don’t worry so much about what you said! Yes it was a satirized joke on high-fashion, but some people genuinely wanted it so I tried to offer it as low as a price I could make it :) In the end though, a lot of people, not just you - seemed to miss the point entirely and deemed it a low-effort way to mooch money off people, and even setting that precedent to me isn’t something that I take lightly so that’s ultimately why it was removed! That, and those who asked for the shirt seemed to have gotten it. I thought discounting $8000 off the pricetag was also a novel idea hehuo.