#>hotels

[ryescapades-archived]

*ੈ‧₊༺ SANDY BEACHES AND SINFUL BLISS.

characters: itoshi sae (bllk) x afab!reader contents: nsfw mdni !! explicit, unprotected p in v, fingering, semi-public, implied masturbation, anal/double pen. (use of a toy), hickeys, backshots, blindfolds, dirty talk, petnames (amor, baby, babe, love), established rs, sae takes a pic of u (lmk if there's more ..) wc ~ 2.2k

a/n: a generalized version of another secret santa entry !!

Spain's beaches are always a sight to behold, no matter the time of day.

The sun has long disappeared into the horizon, the sky now pitch black with only the night lights from the festivities a few metres away illuminating the area. The balcony you’re currently lounging on is two-storey high, the sound of joyful chatters and laughter filling your ears as a cool draught of air softly whips over the tresses of your hair.

Leaning against the railing as your eyes remain locked on the waves gently lapping up the shore, you tuck a loose strand behind your ear and reminisce about the times you’d spent in other wonderful places such as this, most of the time courtesy of your boyfriend.

Sae, the ever-so-nonchalant man that he is, rarely says it outright, but you know he loves having you around, loves having you close and within his reach, loves knowing you’re there waiting for him after each grueling day. Why else would he always have two tickets ready whenever he has an away game if not to bring you along on his trip? Why else would he book an entire beach house instead of staying at the hotel like the rest of his teammates?

Sure, the hours when he’s away for practice would feel a little lonely at times, but that’s the more reason for you to anticipate his return, for the reward he’d been saving for you at the end of the day will only grow sweeter.

Life with Sae can be gradual and relaxed, yet thrilling in the way that he would try to explore anything and everything with you, if only you’d so much as ask for it.

Life with him makes you feel… full. In more ways than one.

The sound of the door unlocking catches your attention, and the soft pitter patter of footsteps that follow only sends a rush of excitement through you. Soon enough, a pair of rough hands settle on your hips, a strong chest leaning against the span of your back.

“Have you been good, amor?” Your boyfriend whispers in your ear, his breath brushing against your skin almost in a seductive way. No ‘hi, hello, how’s your day?’ and whatnot. He gets straight to the point, as always.

That’s your man alright.

The corner of your lips curls upwards. “Hello to you too. What can I help you with today?” You cheekily ask.

The redhead scoffs, though in a lighthearted way. “You could help me with many things, love. How about we start with answering my question first, hm?” He says, causing you to playfully pout at his response, “Well, what do you think?”

Sae’s hands start to slowly move up and down on the side of your waist, warmth seeping from his touch through your clothes. A meek gesture, giving and nearly domestic in a way if not for the promise behind his next words.

“If I tell you what I think, you wouldn’t be able to properly stand in the next few minutes, amor.” He murmurs, hands drifting lower beneath the shirt you’re wearing before his fingers firmly spreads your asscheeks.

A gasp is pulled out of your mouth, the buttplug you’d been keeping inside you accidentally dragging against your ribbed walls from his ministrations.

He already figured it out, hasn’t he?

You were supposed to stay good. Keep the plug nice and warm inside your hole, no touching nor masturbation whatsoever until he gets back. But how could you not?

When Sae kept sending you those godforsaken thirst traps from his gym and practice sessions? The way his sinewy muscles stretched oh so deliciously against the fabric of his sweat-soaked shirt, the way his thick veiny thighs were bulging after the rigorous workout, and the freaking post-session shower?

You should’ve been considered a saint for the only thing you did was get yourself off one time the whole day with your fingers.

“Can’t blame a girl for having such wild fantasies,” you huff, feeling his fingers dipping into the heat between your thighs. With the lack of underwear on your side, Sae lowly hums when he makes contact with your slick, sounding both pleased at himself and dissatisfied with your answer.

“Well, would you look at that… you’re still dripping wet. This all from the pics I sent you?” Your eyebrows pinch together, trying to come up with a sarcastic remark as you eye the people who are walking by in the distance.

“I –“

“Fingers or tongue?” Sae cuts you off, catching you off guard. “W-wait – here?” You ask as you finally turn to look at him. His auburn hair softly blows with the night wind much like your own, and Sae tentatively reaches up to brush a hand through it. His lidded teal eyes gauge yours with a perfectly raised eyebrow as if in challenge.

You’re not one to say no to any of his advances, of course. After all, you’re just as freaky insatiable as he is, if not more.

Seeing an answer enough from the relaxed expression on your face, Sae decides for you. “My fingers it is then.”

Almost immediately, he plunges two digits into your sopping cunt, causing you to let out a surprised squeal. Gripping hard on the railing, your body starts squirming as he straight away sets a quick pace.

“Oh shit, Sae–“ Your breath trembles with each thrust of his thick fingers, more of your juices trickling down the inside of your thighs.

He doesn’t let up his speed. If anything, it only seems like he’s going faster with how much louder the gushing sound of your pussy can be heard. Your back bows slightly over the railing from how hard he’s going, though you don’t stay there long before you swivel your head back again, hand fisting at the collar of his crisp white shirt to roughly pull him down into a kiss.

Your little growl mixes with his grunt as your lips and teeth clash in a fiery dance. Your legs are on the verge of trembling, and you’re so so close to coming on his magical fingers.

Your boyfriend has always enjoyed seeing you unravel before him, enjoyed seeing you come undone so quickly even when he’s not using his dick to fuck you silly. You’re so pliant, so malleable under his touch, and yet you still got that fire in you to somehow fight him back.

You’re an insufferable brat, but you’re his insufferable brat. One whose pussy that he loves making a mess of.

At this point you don’t even care about the mass of passerby who could probably see you even from that far away. They can watch for all you care. In this moment, only you and Sae and the earth-shattering orgasms he’s gracing you with exist in this world.

(Though you’re a bit glad the house he rented isn’t smacked right on the centre of the beach where lots of people will see if that was ever the case.)

“Come on, baby. Give me one before I have to fuck you dumb on my cock,” he mumbles. “Or do you need someone below to see how slutty you look right now, hm?” His other hand moves to the buttplug, slowly pushing it deeper inside your ass.

If it wasn’t in your stomach already, then it certainly is now.

You don’t bother giving him an answer because soon enough, you’re coming all over his hand with a whiny moan, your slick running down his wrist like rich honey.

Sae pulls his fingers out with a few last taps on your sticky clit, casually sucking and licking your cum off the digits before planting a kiss on the side of your head. “Good girl.”

True to his words, your legs feel like jelly from how hard he was going as you lean all your weight back against his body for support. Taking note of this, Sae spins you around before lifting you into his arms, walking you both to the bedroom just adjacent to the balcony.

All the while he’s carrying you inside, you mouth at the exposed skin of his neck, occasionally sucking and biting until the fair canvas turns raw and red from your teeth. He can reprimand (or punish) you later for giving him such visible hickeys where other people might notice. For now, you decide it’s best to indulge yourself first.

Sae sets you down onto the bed before he reaches down to pull his shirt over his head, helping you get your clothes off as well right after. “Turn around, amor. Let me see,” he instructs.

You know exactly what he means, and with a teasing smile thrown his way, you maneuver yourself to settle on your elbows and knees.

Your inner thighs are still coated with a light sheen of your arousal, wet and shiny under the dim light of the room. Using both his thumbs to soil the wetness further on your skin so near to your core, he takes in the way your cunt clenches around nothing as the plug sits cutely in your other hole. Without waiting any second longer, Sae unbuckles his belt to push his pants and boxers off, pumping himself a few times before guiding the tip against your tight entrance.

Your immense slick makes it so much easier for him to slide home, so warm and wet and tight around his cock. He lets out a low groan as your walls envelope him as easily as a sleeve, your pleased moan singing in his ears like a dirty melody.

Very much filled to the brim, both of your holes are so stretched out until there are tears clinging to your lashes.

“Fuck, stay right there, baby.” He bites down on his lips, hips stilling after bottoming out before reaching over to the nightstand, the movement causing his blunt head to involuntarily nudge against your cervix. Sae curses just as you keen at the contact, his hand grabbing the tie he’d left haphazardly after leaving the press event yesterday.

Breath hitching at the sight of the fabric in his hand, you let out a breathless chuckle as your cheek presses on the bed. “You wanna tie me up, babe?” You drawl teasingly, already half-drunk from the feeling of his cock filling you up.

A hint of a smirk appears on the midfielder’s lips. “In a way,” he replies. You’re about to ask what he means by that when he leans towards you, pulling the tie over your eyes instead, hiding away the hues he adores so much. “Oh,”

The grin on his face grows wider now that your sense of sight has been stripped away as he neatly knots the tie behind your head. “Yeah, oh.”

“Now hold on tight, would you?” That’s all the warning you get before he begins pistoning his hips against yours in a fervor, eliciting a choked moan out of your parted lips.

“O-oh, god - fuck!” The pleasure is intensified, zaps of electricity creeping up the back of your spine and piling over tenfold as the lack of vision only makes everything feels more sensitive and raw, amplified. “That’s it. Take my cock, amor.” His cock continues to drill into you, your cries and whimpers of his name and his deep grunts bouncing off the walls of the room.

Ass jiggling and drenched pussy lips stretching around his girth every time he plunges in, Sae has never seen such a staggeringly addicting sight in all his life.

He makes good use of the buttplug by shallowly moving it in and out, the dual stimulation making you bury your face into the comforter as you muffle your scream.

He can feel you clamping down on him, squeezing him so tightly that he swears he could see stars behind his lids. With both of you now close to reaching that peak, his pace only increases albeit becoming a little sloppier.

A few bruising thrusts later and you’re sent over the edge, your climax coursing over you like a tidal wave. Your pleasured cries become the final push that Sae needed before he quickly pulls out, roughly stroking himself using your cum until his own shoots out in thick ropes of white onto the globes of your ass.

He groans, a low throaty sound of satisfaction rumbling from his chest as he stares at the mess he left on your skin. Grabbing his phone that had dropped onto the bed sometime prior, he takes a quick snap before reaching over to slip the blindfold off.

Your eyes blink at the sudden brightness, thighs shaking and body spent as your top half remains laid on the bed. “Sae…? Did you just take a picture?” You ask out of curiosity from the brief sound you’d heard.

He gently pulls out the plug, rubbing at the sore skin when you let out a little yelp before he wipes his cum off your ass, smearing them right on your pussy instead. He then gives you a non-committal hum, “Yes. Now lay down properly. I’m not finished.”

Much to both of your delight, he’s not even close to being done with you. Hasn’t scratched the surface of what he had planned for you, even. Not now, not anytime soon.

You’re in for a long night ahead.

character development but it's just rye writing (lots of and more detailed) smut

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

[ovrgrwnivy]

THE WALLS ; JJ MAYBANK

SYNOPSIS ; when an unknown face appears in the outer banks searching for a father she's never met, she's unaware of how her life is about to be completely turned upside down.

WARNINGS ; jjmaybank x routledge!reader, strong language, depictions of violence, afab!reader, sexual content, mentions of abuse, drug and alcohol consumption, strangers to lovers, fast burn to slow burn, canon adjacent, not proofread.

AUTHORS NOTE ; buckle up pookies, as this is merely part one of a multi-part fic that spans as far as the end of season three ( on the fence about season four but we will see ). as noted above, this fic will be canon adjacent, mainly focusing on the storyline as portrayed in the outer banks chapters of the 'netflix stories' mobile app. without any more of my yapping, i hope you all enjoy!

you can't help but squint once you step off the bus, your dollar store sunglasses doing very little to shield your eyes from the burning, outer banks sun. you bring your hand up in an attempt to further protect your eyes, needing to make your way to the seahorse hotel and fast.

a flash of long, blonde hair invades your vision, something you don't think twice about until the body attached to said hair knocks right into you, saturating your white tank top with her oversized cherry-coloured drink.

there's a beat of silence between both of you, behind darkened lenses your eyes bore into the girl before you. if looks could kill.

"shit! i am so sorry!" the blonde apologises, face turning as red as the newfound stain on your shirt. her hand darts out in an attempt to miraculously wipe the stain away "oh god, this is so embarrassing."

a part of you feels empathetic, it was an easy mistake to make in hindsight. another part of you wanted to push past the girl and continue getting on with your day.

"my name is sarah," she continues rambling, her hand still frequently scrubbing at the stain, making it worse "i didn't get your name, well no shit" the last part is barely a mumble, but you still catch it.

an unintentional laugh escapes you, finding amusement in her panicked awkwardness "if i tell you will you stop feeling me up?"

it was a joke, at least mostly, yet sarah froze in horror as the realisation set in. she was feeling up a stranger at the bus stop.

before she can begin rambling again, you speak up "my name is y/n." purposefully, you drop the surname. sure, sarah seemed sweet, but that didn't warrant spilling your life story at her feet.

sarah nodded in acknowledgement, taking a step out of your personal space and taking a proper look at you "touron?"

your face screws up, it feels like she just called you a name you couldn't repeat "excuse me?"

"you're a tourist, right?" sarah clarified, gesturing towards the scruffy backpack hanging from your shoulder.

"not quite," you trail off, unsure of how to broach your new arrival without dropping yourself in hot water "just, in town for a while."

"unlucky you.."

"unlucky how?"

sarah links her arm through yours, all but dragging you down the street alongside her "i'll fill you in on the way."

your protests and kidnapping allegations fell on deaf ears, only being told to stop being dramatic as she dragged you along. eventually, the dragging falls back into you willingly walking with her through pristine neighbourhoods that housed buildings like nothing you had ever seen.

you listened as sarah explained the outlandish rules that accompanied living on the island. the outer banks were essentially split in half, the kooks and the pouges, the haves and the have-nots, the sarahs and the y/ns.

when her pace eventually stalls, you have to tense your jaw to stop your mouth from falling open. you had seen some serious houses on the way here, but compared to sarahs they looked like dives.

"welcome to tanneyhill" sarah beams, but you can feel the uncertainty bubbling inside her as if she was embarrassed "come on, i'll show you my room."

you follow her through the glass doors and into the manor, eyes intently scanning the walls as you climb the staircase "you make a habit of bringing random strangers into your house?"

"do you make a habit of going home with random strangers?"

"depends if they're my type."

your quick rebuttal elicits a laugh from sarah as she pushes the door open, waving you into her room and heading straight for the closet "and what is your type?"

"you sweet on me, stranger?" you tease, your playful tone making it clear you were simply messing with her.

"with my whole heart, newbie" she laughs, the contents of her closet being dropped to the floor as she rifled through it "but our secret love affair must remain hidden as i am a taken lady"

with a dramatic gasp, you slap your hand to your chest and fall back on the bed "you wound me."

"sarah 'the heartbreaker' cameron is what they call me." as you're processing her surname, a white cropped tank is flung at you from the opposite side of the room "now, come on, boy talk"

"what if i wanna girl talk?" you question, holding the piece of fabric up to examine it "sarah 'the homophobe' cameron more like"

as she crosses the room to sit alongside you, sarah rolls her eyes "my sincerest apologies, sex talk then"

"cameron now i really think you want me." you wiggle your eyebrows at her, huffing when she hits you with a pink pillow with a sparkly 's' "hey! watch the rhinestones"

"you know, i was gonna try play matchmaker at the boneyard tonight but if you wanna be like that.."

"you just said a lot of words with very little meaning" you tut, not fully clued in on the outer banks slang.

by now you have risen to your feet, standing between the bed and the window as you changed into the clean shirt, balling up the stained one and stuffing it in your backpack.

"its a pre-storm rager on the beach, the one place kooks and pouges get along. we party as long as we can and when the storm hits, run for cover"

you're only half listening to sarah, instead your attention hones in on the head of curly brown hair down on the dock as it moves along a boat named 'my druthers'.

you barely register the figure by your side, watching just as closely as you were as the brunette is joined by three others, laughing and joking.

"that would be john b," without looking you can hear sarahs grin, mistaking your fascination for attraction.

"routledge?" your mouth opens before your brain can stop it, you knew who it was, but you needed to hear it.

"you know him?"

finally, your brain catches up and you somehow manage to pull a lie out of your ass "not personally, saw him on tv. some appeal for his dad."

sarah bellows out a soft, sad sigh, letting her thoughts be known without saying a word. there's an unspoken air of silence between you, until sarah, literally, shakes it off and stands upright again.

"wanna meet him?" the blonde offers, despite the fact its more of a demand as you're being dragged along once again.

only this time your refusal is much clearer, practically begging the girl to let you go before she managed to get you out into the yard. again sarah is misreading the situation, interpreting your panic as awkward butterflies.

your demands persist, though much quieter as you're dragged further down the dock, closer to john b and his friends.

"hello, ladies" john b's blonde friend greets with a low whistle and a cheeky grin, shamelessly checking both you and sarah out.

for a moment your anxiety vanishes, your entire nervous system sparking still but for different reasons. this might be the most beautiful boy you've ever set eyes on.

this. this was your type.

"you're new" he speaks, gesturing towards you "that's for sure, yet to be a time i've forgotten a face like that." with a wink, he takes your hand to place a kiss on the back of it.

you curse god. why couldn't you have met this guy somewhere else? why wasn't he the blonde stranger that took you home?

"you done macking on the kook?" a girls voice echos from behind him, her words and her expression dripping with disgust as she eyed you.

"i'm not a kook." you bite back, sightly too aggressive for a first impression but you couldn't help it with the look of clear disdain embedded on her face.

sarahs arm links through yours, a mumbled "easy, newbie" falling only on your ears "y/n is new in town, i brought her down here while i found out what you guys are doing on my dads boat." despite her civility there's a challenging edge in her voice.

"lest ye forget, i work here."

john b, suddenly emerging from the ships hull and hurling a snide smile in sarahs direction. you had only ever seen him on fuzzy news broadcasts, he was taller than you had anticipated, confrontational too.

though, genetics could explain that one.

"can we help you?" the girl speaks again, sending your eyes rolling as you face john b.

"can you tell your guard dog to stand down? last i checked one of us was invited here and funnily enough it wasn't her"

you hear another boy mumble an excited "cat fight!" to your new, blonde, hyperfixation as they exchange money on bets.

"seriously? i expect this shit from jj but pope? disappointing" john b tutted, sounding like a disappointed father as he got off the boat "not looking for trouble, just bringing back the diving shit, full."

menial conversation is exchanged between sarah and john b, though your attention mainly resides with the newly named jj. he was leaning back against the boat, rolling a joint without a care in the world.

you try to keep the glances to a minimum, after all you had much bigger problems to wade through right now, but you simply couldn't look away. he was the definition of magnetic.

even when he catches you looking, there isn't a morsel of awkwardness, just a knowing look of curiosity that lingered far longer than it should have.

then, he winks. he fucking winks before returning to rolling with that stupid, insanely hot grin on his face. you were far from shy, and only for the audience around you, you would've jumped on him long ago.

any reckless ideas potentially coming to fruition is spoiled when sarah, still linked with you, retreats back toward tanneyhill. with a final glance back at jj, you hold your thumb and pinky to your ear and mouth 'call me', earning yourself a wink and a crossed heart in return.

maybe this wouldn't pan out to be a total shit show after all.

[fraugwinska]

Going with the times was amazing! Thank you so much. If I may can I get another Alastor x Reader who is a very affectionate person like always going in for hugs if she's close to them and she gets drunk and starts trying her hardest to give Husk a hug because he looks so grumpy, so he summons Alastor to come get his girlfriend. Who then gets incredibly happy to see him and just clings to him after he picks her up. Id also like to see Angels reaction to all of this.

You are awesome!

No, YOU are awsome! :> I do love Husk and Angel together, throw drunken Reader into the mix and we have ourselfes some chaos :D I sincerely hope you like it! <3

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Take the edge off

It had started so innocently. 

For the first time since you met him, Husk had actually, actively invited you for an after-dinner-sendoff-drink at the bar, along with Angel. 

Coming from him, the one that had been the most on the fence with you, you didn't dare to pass this opportunity. It was understandable though. Husk had a deep distrust in Alastor, and, by proxy, in you when he had introduced you to the surprised residents as his ‘courtship’. 

You had visited the hotel often after that, staying for activities or dinners, bringing over some baked goods or homemade treats if your work schedule allowed time for it, lending listening ears and comforting hugs in spades to anyone who needed it and earned the admiration - or at least acceptance of your presence - from almost everyone over time. Almost. 

Husk, ever the skeptic, had made it clear to you he wouldn't want to have any relations to demons who chose to stay at Alastor's side, let alone his ‘partner’. 

But you stubbornly persisted, even though it had hurt, even though Alastor would pat your head and tell you it was wasted labor - you still tried, bringing an extra bottle of the herb sirup you knew Husk liked to spice his drinks with, or you tried to engage him in conversations about things you learned he was interested in. Now, your earnest efforts had seemed to finally been fruitful - instead of invading, you were finally invited to sit at his bar. 

In all the nervousness of not fucking this up, you drank too much, way too fast. You were a lightweight on good days, but now, after five not-so-kid-friendly drinks in the span of less than an hour, you were… unhinged. 

“I told ‘ya the last Gin Tonic was too much for her!”

Angel snorted with laughter, two hands holding you back from climbing over the bar to an aggravated Husk, arms outstretched and whining loudly. 

“Huuuuuuusk, come on, just oooone!”, you struggled against Angels grip on your waist, eager to reach the furry demon and put your arms around him, “I give the bestest, bestestest hugs ever, you cannot not smile, I promise!” 

Husk ducked with a mumbled curse, dodging your gripping hands when Angel temporarily lost grip on you because he laughed too hard at the chaotic mess that you were - normally his job, with Charlie as the babysitter - oh, how tables turned. 

“Fuckin-... how the hell was I supposed to know that she'd turn into a goddamn demonic care bear?!” Husk grunted, pulling the feathery end of his tail out of your hands - you had caught it with delighted giggles and glee, and pouted when it slipped out of your fingers. 

“Niffty! YO, NIFFTY!”, he bellowed, looking down to find her already at his side behind the bar. 

“Shit, you're fast. Oy, go and get Alastor, pronto, tell him his friggin’ girlfriend is…” Husk was pulled back by his neck, a sudden weight on his back making him swallow the end of his sentence. You had managed to escape Angels restrictive hands, and slung your arms around the cat demons neck, nuzzling your cheeks into the fur on his back. 

“Theeeere ya go! Feel the frown turn upside down!”, you sang, words muffled by his pelt, grip as strong as iron. Husk groaned, prying at your hands, but - to no avail and Angels absolute amusement - you tightened your hold on him the more he struggled. 

Niffty tilted her head, clearly not fazed by what was happening. Angel heaved, clutching his chest as he tried to calm down enough to speak. 

“Niff, just… pfff, stop that, leave his whiskers alone babe, holy shit, huh-huh, okay, okay… just run an’ tell Smiles to get his doll before she strangles Husky, okay?”

The little bug nodded eagerly and scurried away. 

Angel turned to Husk, still a highly bemused grin on his face. “‘Ya know, having the radio demons lover hanging around ‘ya neck might earn ‘ya some major street cred.”

“Oh, you fuck off if yo’ can’t help.”Husk growled, trying to ignore your figure, still clutched onto him like a living backpack. “Get off me kid, come on, dammit.”

“But you're not happy yet.”, you said innocently, refusing to let go. 

Angel gave Husk a meaningful look. “‘Ya know, she really does give great hugs, when she's sober and not batshit crazy drunk like this.”

“I don't need hugs, I need a fucking drink is what I need.”

“Huuuuusk…”, you whined again, quieter now, sadder. “Why do you hate me?”

Husk stood still, exchanging a look with Angel, who seemed pitiful now. He nudged his head to the two of you as a silent command: Say something nice. Husk sighed, patting your arm around his neck awkwardly. 

“I don't hate yo’, kid.” 

“Yeah you do… I just want to be friends, see your happy face, smiling… but you hate me…”

Angel narrowed his eyes at him, mouthing ‘Do better’, and he huffed. 

“Jesus fuckin…, listen, I don’t like yo’ choices of men, but ...you're alright. Way better than yo’ bitch ass of a boyfriend at least.”

Angel opened his mouth to say something, but the sound of Alastor's signature jazz background music approached and he quickly decided to just sit back, out of the immediate danger zone but near enough to have a first class seat to whatever would happen now. 

Alastor walked up with an amused smile and curious expression. 

“Evening, my fellow friends. Niffty came to me with a cryptic message, about my darling doe strangling our beloved bartender?”

Husk scoffed, turning around so the radio demon could see you hanging on him like a koala on a tree trunk, pointing at you. “This yours?”

Alastor laughed, his face lighting up in a softness Husk had seldom seen before. 

“Indeed, it seems to be.” He chuckled, stepping up to you. “Darling?”

You rose your head at the sound of his voice, smiling happily when you recognized him. 

“Al!” He caught you with ease when you jumped from Husk’s back straight into his arms, patting your back as you locked your arms around his waist. “My, those two did their diligent work, you are quite inebriated.”

You giggled into his coat. “Yup, I am hammered like a rusty nail!” You lifted your head, beaming up with tired eyes at his bemused grin. “And Al, guess what! Husk said I'm not an ass like you, so he doesn't hate me anymore! I’m alright!”

Husk, who rubbed his sore neck, froze at your words, quickly shooting the radio demon a glance. Static crackled and for a second, he shivered from the licks of electricity running over his spine, making his fur stand up. But nothing further happened. Alastor just smiled at you, ignoring the cat demon completely, and ruffled your hair. “How good for you love, you did it afterall! But it’s late now, why don’t you stay here tonight?” “That’d be nice…”, you sighed, sleepy and exhausted.

You let his waist go, only to wrap your arms around his neck as he scooped you up to carry you. Angel and Husk gawked at the scene before them, questioning reality as Alastor, of all people, pressed his lips to the crown of your head, which made you humm and turned to leave, leaving the bar without so much as a cheerful "Good night, chums.".

Angel leaned forward, elbows on his knees and hands in his hands, watching the pair disappear in the dark with an amazed expression. "Man, she really takes his villain-y edge off, doesn't she? Kinda scary how she gets Smiles to almost behave human." Husk poured himself another drink. "Scary doesn't even cut it." He took a huge swig, but he still had to grin.

[carmen-art]

Dancing Spirits - Kiruna, 2025

One of the most spectacular Aurora displays I've ever witnessed and my last image for this year...I promise :)

As we were leaving our hotel in Kiruna, we noticed some faint lights in the sky. Since we had arrived late at the hotel and didn't have a specific place in mind, we decided to drive around and see what we could find.

As we were heading out of the city, the sky suddenly erupted in a burst of green. The arc spanned from one side to the other, and the movement was absolutely mesmerising. It was one of those nights where you didn’t know where to look because the lights were dancing all around you. We ended up watching the show from the side of the road, as we couldn’t find a nice spot to set up our cameras.

Later, we drove further in search for a good composition (eventually we settled for this tent), the Aurora started to fade and clouds began to cover the sky. Don’t get me wrong, it was still visible enough, but the explosive light show had passed.

I uploaded a video taken with the phone (poor quality) to showcase how strong and visible the Northern Lights were that evening, you could see green and red with the naked eye. It was one of those nights you don't want to end ....

[knightofthelemontree]

Arya and Brienne Pt. 1

I know that I've been sitting on this for weeks and I apologize. I had too much to say for one post. This will have to be multiple parts because I'm just getting warmed up.

The first parallel I want to dig into is their most obvious one: they're both female fighters in this patriarchal world. But there are all kind of female warriors: Pretty Meris, the Sandsnakes, Osha, Asha, and Ygritte to name a few. Brienne and Arya are very similar in how they use their physical abilities, despite Brienne being large and Arya being small.

Mentors:

When they were young, they were both trained by masters of combat. They both work long and hard to develop masterful skills well beyond what's expected of anyone their age, regardless of their gender.

As previously mentioned, physically, Arya and Brienne are quite different. Brienne has always been large for her age and Arya has always been small for her age.

But they both learn to not charge into battle and waste their strength. They both play the smart game, waiting for the right moment instead of trying to defeat their opponent quickly.

Old Ser Goodwin was long in his grave, yet she could hear him whispering in her ear. Men will always underestimate you, he said, and their pride will make them want to vanquish you quickly, lest it be said that a woman tried them sorely. Let them spend their strength in furious attacks, whilst you conserve your own. Wait and watch, girl, wait and watch. AFFC, Brienne VII

This training is why Brienne was able to keep up with Jaime Lannister. It's why she defeated Rorge. It's why she was appointed as a member of Renly's Rainbow Guard. Did he enjoy having a laugh at her? Yes, he did because he was a bit of a douche. But he also wasn't fucking around when he was appointing his Kingsguard.

All that Syrio Forel had taught her went racing through her head. Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. Fear cuts deeper than swords. The man who fears losing has already lost. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. The grip of her wooden sword was slick with sweat, and Arya was breathing hard when she reached the turret stair. For an instant she froze. Up or down? Up would take her to the covered bridge that spanned the small court to the Tower of the Hand, but that would be the way they'd expect her to go, for certain. Never do what they expect, Syrio once said. GOT Arya, IV

This training is undoubtedly the reason that she made it out of King's Landing alive. It's why she sparks Jaqen H'ghar's interest. It's not a large jump to say that Syrio himself was (is?) a member of the House of Black and White. Arya has been on the trajectory to join them for quite a while and has thrown herself into it. It has become her life, her home, her way of surviving.

Just as Brienne throws herself first into knighthood and then into her search for Sansa. It becomes her life. She has no home until she accomplishes her mission. She bases her identity, her worthiness, and her honor on her ability to keep her vow to Catelyn. If she can't be a Good Daughter, then she'll be a good knight.

Stepping Up:

Arya and Brienne are the closest two living examples we have of someone who fits the definition of 'true knight'. Brienne has her famous "no chance and no choice" moment.

I tend to see it without the full context, but I think the context adds even more weight to it.

Brienne and Pod are staying in a hotel run by children. There are no adults present at all in this town. The leader/eldest is an 10 year girl who is going by 'Willow.'

This hotel is in the Riverlands, torn apart over and over by soldiers and outlaws of all loyalties. Most recently, tales of horror have been spread about the man wearing the Hound's helmet.

The door to the inn banged open. Willow stepped out into the rain, a crossbow in her hands. The girl was shouting at the riders, but a clap of thunder rolled across the yard, drowning out her words. As it faded, Brienne heard the man in the Hound's helm say, "Loose a quarrel at me and I'll shove that crossbow up your cunt and fuck you with it. Then I'll pop your fucking eyes out and make you eat them." The fury in the man's voice drove Willow back a step, trembling. Seven, Brienne thought again, despairing. She had no chance against seven, she knew. No chance, and no choice. She stepped out into the rain, Oathkeeper in hand. "Leave her be. If you want to rape someone, try me."

Brienne is heading out to what she believes to be her certain death. But she steps out all the same because she has to try. She has to do something. Not because of who they serve, not because they'll sing songs of her after she dies. Because she refuses to stand by and do nothing.

Arya is routinely fond of and fiercely protective of children. She's only 9 years old herself.

The man with the torch searched around under the trees. "Are you the last? Baker boy said there was a girl." "She ran off when she heard you coming," Lommy said. "You made a lot of noise." And Arya thought, Run, Weasel, run as far as you can, run and hide and never come back. ACOK, Arya V

Other kids her age, a bit older actually, give up their friends immediately. They yield, they run, they beg. Arya fights or bids her time until she can fight.

The above scene also fuels my theory that Weasel is Willow. It's in the same approximate place if I recall correctly, she'd be about the right age, and the name Weasel could easily turn into Willow. Just as Arya became 'Arry.

I would love to think that the crying girl, Weasel, the one with matted hair who ate mud and trusted only Arya started helping and protecting kids like Arya did for her. That Arya taught her how to be brave and strong.

Righteous Fury:

Brienne and Arya both have a very strong sense of justice. When they kill someone for survival or as an act of war, it's quick and clean. They feel guilt over it. Brienne often buries the men that she had to kill. However, when they kill someone that they know to be a foul person...it's a different story.

Brienne and Arya both turn their former abuser's facades against them.

Shagwell made light of the torture he and his friends put innocent people. Brienne survived their captivity once, but she witnessed a lot of people who didn't. She turns his own sick game against him, using a traumatic memory to fuel her.

She knocked aside his arm and punched the steel into his bowels. "Laugh," she snarled at him. He moaned instead. "Laugh," she repeated, grabbing his throat with one hand and stabbing at his belly with the other. "Laugh!" She kept saying it, over and over, until her hand was red up to the wrist and the stink of the fool's dying was like to choke her. But Shagwell never laughed. The sobs that Brienne heard were all her own. When she realized that, she threw down her knife and shuddered. AFFC, Brienne IV

Arya survived Gregor Clegane and his men. A group of men so horrible that most of their crimes are merely alluded to instead of directly stated. They took so much joy in the pain and misery they caused that Arya was willing to use her names on them instead of on the people she knew were farther up the ladder.

The Tickler was the professional torturer for Gregor Clegane. One civilian was sacrificed every single day in a slow and agonizing way every single day.

While they were asked questions, it was clearly an excuse to be cruel and call it justice. They were able to call it "sharply questioning" the locals in political terms and avoid consequences.

Until Arya finds them.

The Tickler backed away. Arya could smell his fear. The shortsword in his hand suddenly seemed almost a toy against the long blade the Hound was holding, and he wasn't armored either. He moved swiftly, light on his feet, never taking his eyes off Sandor Clegane. It was the easiest thing in the world for Arya to step up behind him and stab him. "Is there gold hidden in the village?" she shouted as she drove the blade up through his back. "Is there silver? Gems?" She stabbed twice more. "Is there food? Where is Lord Beric?" She was on top of him by then, still stabbing. "Where did he go? How many men were with him? How many knights? How many bowmen? How many, how many, how many, how many, how many, how many? Is there gold in the village?" Her hands were red and sticky when Sandor dragged her off him. ASOS, Arya XII

Knighthood:

As fighters in the asoiaf world, they will both be compared to knights. Internally, externally, it's just gonna happen.

Brienne actually is a knight, of course. Arya is not. But they both demonstrate a lot of the ideals of knighthood. Loyalty. Bravery. Resilience. Patience. Generosity. Kindness.

There's Jaime's famous quote about knighthood vows and actual knighthood actions.

"So many vows . . . they make you swear and swear. Defend the king. Obey the king. Keep his secrets. Do his bidding. Your life for his. But obey your father. Love your sister. Protect the innocent. Defend the weak. Respect the gods. Obey the laws. It's too much. No matter what you do, you're forsaking one vow or the other." ACOK, Catelyn VII (emphasis mine)

And he's right. These things clash too often. What what vows Arya and Brienne keep versus what they sacrifice says a lot about their morality.

No matter what, they love their families. They fiercely protect the innocent and weak, even to their own detriment. They keep their faith about them.

What they sacrifice is blind obedience, because they've seen how that harms innocents. Because to both Arya and Brienne, knighthood and honor aren't about the rewards.

It's not about earning lands or titles or wealth. It's not about their name being passed down in history or making a name for their family.

It's not about what they get out of it, it's what they put into it.

[puckpocketed]

sharkudablr have you read the Wichita Thunder article about Jeremie Bucheler and Gabriel Carriere please i think youd appreciate it. something beautiful is happening in the ECHL <3

“We would hang out during our college careers, but it wasn’t like we are now,” said Carriere. “If we went out, it was with our teammates or with a group of other people. Jeremie would come over to use our barbeque or watch a movie, but it wasn’t like it is now.” “We weren’t calling each other to do concrete stuff like we are now,” Bucheler said. “The two of us hung out, but we didn’t hang out all the time. Now we are tied to the hip.”

“There was a basketball court nearby and we would all go hang out after practice,” commented Carriere. “We were all in the same hotel, which was easy to spend a lot of time together. Every hotel we go to, we end up being roommates and we don’t ask for it.” After Bucheler and Carriere got back to campus, their relationship as friends grew significantly. They worked out together. They cooked dinner with each other. They started preparing for their first pro seasons and that connection has continued in Wichita. “Our friendship changed so much in a three-week span during camp in San Jose,” commented Bucheler. “Now, we do everything together, even when our girlfriends come to town.”

“We share the cooking responsibilities, which is all we do, “said Bucheler. “Gabe does the little things better than I do. He is strong with the seasoning. We tag team the kitchen. If someone is cooking, the other guy is chopping. If I’m cleaning dishes, the other is putting them away.” “Our system is efficient. We get all the household responsibilities done in half the time," said Carriere. “We have our own duties, but we help each other and pick up a role. It has been a lot of fun so far this year.”

HE IS STRONG WITH THE SEASONING <3

[crow-cello]

Happy May 1st! Art has been sporadic, so I feel I need to finally expose some of those overdue concepts now that I'm focusing on another fandom at the moment. I'm not called the fandom hopper for nothing, but I enjoy each series for the duration of months before I need to stretch my mind with the next one. I always come back to the fandoms I like, eventually! There is always a time for everything, but only when the time is right.

To my Hazbin Hotel friends, I especially owe a lot of unposted wips. Now that Hellaverse is confirmed canon, I can happily say I kept the mindset of Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel characters coexisting together in the same universe. My many roleplays I have with @dashi-inu pretty much inspired a lot of these works. Some are also own personal projects. These wips span back to December 2024, to March 2025, and while they may not be finished anytime soon, these are concepts I think about a lot.

Hazbin Character Refs

Character Spotlights

Fusions

Art Wips (Michael/Lute, Alastor/Lucifer, and Adam/Lucifer) Also Solo Abel, and a Solo Lute

With that said, enjoy my thoughts in the form of sketches! Foreword: There will be casual nudity, and smut stuff.

Hazbin Character Refs

Dashi was making character refs for the characters we used the most in our Hellaverse universe and was working on one for Baxter. And my god, if you know, he always goes so hard on the lore and style of these. I was inspired to do the same.

Lute is one of my favorite characters, and someone that I did not expect to have more development for during the time I was working on a lot of Adam projects and works. Then again, these two go hand-to-hand in the Heaven Lore. And yet, Lute became so much more, that she turned out to be the baby girl of my fixations (thanks to dashi's vers. of Michael of course. <3)

Here is her full body. Yes, it looks almost complete, but I could never get her main outfit to work the way I really envision it and was too fixated on her "Descent to Hell" version more, so it became a delayed post.

Cain was also supposed to have his own fullbody. After making the realization I will have to do for Abel and Seth, I figured that would take a while.

Character Spotlights

There is a series that I love that does special focused comics for each of its characters *coughs thank you transformers* and I wanted to replicate that idea for every character of Hazbin and Helluva Boss, as most don't have current backstories, and some I had been able to imagine just a little more differently. I was particularly piqued to do for Vox and his assistant and Baxter, Velvette and Melissa, Valentino, Angel Dust, and Travis, and of course, one for Adam who would have been Issue #1 being first man and all.

The only page sample I managed out of that ambitious project. 12 pages, back-to-back if that ever becomes printed editions. You can imagine how that would take a while as well for each character!

Fusions

While the show is still ongoing, Dashi and I felt there could have been more characters. But even more selfishly, the concept of fusions had always intrigued me: To be able to explore the bond of two individuals in order to create a celestial being. Or to forcefully bond and create a monster of a force. Fusions can be a wonderful dance, or a tango lead by just one.

This was also a less pressuring way of making "love children" with my favorite ships, without slapping a fan child to them just like that. In Dashi's Michael case: his Michael has made a vow of abstinence, and Lute was more than happy to oblige with his terms!

Lute x Michael Fusion:

Modest Michael, Strong fighter Lute. She carries herself with a cunning grace, yet elegant in a dark heavenly way. Michael's comfort in letting Lute lead this fusion graces their bond together with a strong fallen angel of justice. "She's like a cat in the dark and then she is the darkness 🐈‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛"

Adam and Lute fusion would be the byproduct of a forced bond, and one that overrides Lute's confort. This is what predicts the fusion's visual identity, and the headmaster of the dance. Unstable, but one of the stronger fusions.

A rock hottie powerhouse, he has the best fighters of Heaven under his belt. His showman ways are even louder than ever, even going as far to showcase both his bits (against Lute's wants of course, Adam finds humor in showcasing the beauty of her with his confidence.) Perhaps this way, Adam can finally get the numbers of the ladies with a lady's expertise in the host body...

Art Wips

This one is self-explanatory. Fan pieces that I did not get to finish for Michael/Lute, Alastor/Lucifer, and Adam/Lucifer. (And Lute by herself, too!)

I'm sorry the Alastor/Lucifer ones have to be heavily cropped lol!

Adam/Lucifer, for a zine I had to drop out of unfortunately due to time limitations :'> But also, an Adam and Abel for an au just for indulgence.

Thank you if you made it this far! Let me know if there is a concept or art that piqued your interest, too!

[whatswrongwithblue]

The Fire in the Sin

Chapter 13 - Dad Beat Dad

Word count: 7,839. Read on AO3. Series Masterlist. <- Previous Chapter.

Summary: Spans the events of the episode 5, season 1. Mina gets caught in the middle of Alastor and Lucifer's game of "pretend we don't know each other." Smut at the end of the chapter just for fun. No TW's apply that haven't been seen in previous chapters.

Series Summary:

In the 1950's, Alastor met the woman he would eventually marry but unfortunately his Radio Demon persona went for her soul rather than her hand. He has to learn what it means to love, and cherish, without possessing and he does. Their relationship is beautiful, strong, unbreakable . . . but he carries a dark secret through their marriage for decades until eventually he has to face the consequences of that secret and leave her, without warning, for seven years. He returns, finding her at the Hazbin Hotel, and has to convince her to forgive him, while being literally bound to secrecy, unable to tell her any of things he now is desperate to explain to her.

(This is a duel timeline fic, timestamps will be a the top of every chapter.)

Chapter 13 - Dad Beat Dad

Present Day

“Mmmm, I love you,” Mina said, taking an appreciative sip from her coffee mug. “Have I told you that lately? This is so much better than what Niffty makes.”

Alastor’s smile turned up a bit at one corner at her compliment.

“It would be even better if you drank it the way it’s meant to be,” he said.

They were up in his radio tower where he once again appeared to have spent most of the evening. He certainly hadn’t come to bed. Mina had come looking for him after the impromptu meeting downstairs had happened to fill him in on the upcoming events of the day. Though he seemed distracted and a bit tense, he was otherwise being pleasant and sweet with her.

Their relationship had been mostly mended since the night several weeks back when Mina realized the severity of his deal. It still hurt, knowing he had at some point – she still didn’t know if it was before or after they had met – made a deal involving his soul. And it was still incredibly frustrating how little he could tell her. But understanding that he was literally being forced to not tell her, and that he desperately wanted to, made that bitter pill much easier to swallow. To Alastor’s obvious relief, Mina could now see how much he was trying, and the reset in her determination to help him allowed them both to feel much more at ease with the situation.

They were solid again. No more fighting and name calling. The only insults being tossed around were just the result of their usual teasing banter.

“You are such a coffee snob,” she said over the rim of her mug. “It is not that sweet.”

“There is an entire tablespoon of creamer in there,” he scoffed.

“That’s not that much!” she protested, then sighed. “You know what? Whatever. I don’t care, I like it this way. And you make it perfectly, so thank you.”

He wasn’t looking at her, his control panel still taking up most of his attention, so she pulled on the lapel of his jacket to direct him towards her enough so she could place a kiss to his cheek. Alastor didn’t respond much to the physical attention, but Mina caught the little hum from his throat that let her know he returned her affection.

“Anyway,” she continued, “you should probably get to a stopping point soon. Big things happening today.”

“Like what?” he asked, only half paying attention.

“You missed out on Charlie having a come apart this morning. Vaggie talked her down and now her dad is on his way.”

“What?!” He spun his entire chair around to face her now.

____

Earlier that morning

Mina knocked on the door of Charlie and Vaggie’s bedroom.

A still half asleep Vaggie answered the door.

“Good morning sunshine!” Mina smiled.

“Uggghh, what do you want?” Vaggie mumbled, before realization dawned on her, and she looked back into her empty room. “Wait, where’s Charlie?”

“Downstairs,” Mina said, still smiling. “She’s gone and lost her marbles. Come see for yourself.”

Mina left her to get dressed and when Vaggie joined the others in the lobby, Charlie was still flittering about her investigation board, muttering mostly nonsense to herself.

“Think, think, think, think, think,” Mina could make out in the stream of consciousness coming from the princess.

Vaggie tried calming her down and that set Charlie’s panic off even more as she went on about the short amount of time they had left before the next extermination.

Just two months. The thought even filled Mina with dread.

She had tried, to no avail, to calm Charlie down herself earlier and failed. Mina hated extermination as much as anyone but at least they would all be safe at the hotel again. But it wasn’t enough for Charlie just to keep her closest friends from being harmed while the rest of Hell suffered. The princess needed to feel like she was doing more for all of her people. Mina admired that drive in her and had told her as much. But her words had fallen on deaf ears as Charlie continued to spiral. That was when she gave up and retrieved Vaggie.

It had been Vaggie’s idea to call Lucifer and Charlie’s idea to ask him for the meeting with Heaven. The whole thing sounded far-fetched to Mina, but she was also curious to see what came of it. Either it would work, and Charlie could stop the extermination, or it would blow up in her face. And if the latter happened, Mina could envision Charlie being pushed towards the righteous anger that her parents were known for.

Despite her desire to be free from exterminations, Mina kind of hoped for the latter. Charlie was incredibly powerful, even if the girl didn’t realize it yet. And having someone genuinely good and capable of wielding great strength on her side, sat very well with Mina.

____

Present time

“Everyone is downstairs getting ready,” Mina finished after going through the details of what had transpired that morning. She finally had his attention, but she was a little put off by just how much Alastor was suddenly very interested in what she had to say.

Alastor looked pissed.

“He shouldn’t be here,” he said, standing up from his chair as he grabbed his microphone and began to pace.

Mina frowned, confused.

“Well I’m surprised he hasn’t been here already. I don’t get it. The way Charlie talks, he sounds like such a dead-beat dad but from what I’ve seen, Lucifer really loves her.”

Alastor wasn’t listening to her anymore.

“You said she invited him? Specifically asked him to come to the hotel?” he asked, coming back to stand next to her and his workspace.

“I don’t think in those words exactly but yes,” Mina said. “She told him to come see for himself what she was doing.”

Alastor leaned over his control panel, setting his cane back to the side, before resting both open hands on the smooth surface, and glared angrily out the window at the city below.

“Of course she did,” he said, with a shake of his head. “Damn it!” and slammed a fist down hard enough to dent his work bench.

Mina jumped a little at the force of it and spilled a bit of her coffee on her sleeve. She sighed, not sure where this shift in mood was coming from and not appreciating the outburst from Alastor.

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” she said. “He’s a nice enough guy.”

Alastor shot up and stood straighter as if he suddenly realized something.

“You’ve never met him,” he said.

“What are you talking about?” she said, sucking on the coffee soaked patch at the end of her sleeve before a stain could set in. “He and Lilith used to visit Abaddon all the time. You and I have met him at several parties. They were at our wedding. I still have the photos- ”

“Uh uh, Mina, my dear,” Alastor said, and took her coffee cup from her and set it down. Her eyes followed the steaming cup with longing before landing back on Alastor’s. “You and I have never met the King of Hell. Understood?”

Mina lowered her hand and stared back at her husband, finally catching on.

“This has something to do with your deal, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” he answered, and their eyebrows shot up in unison, both surprised he could confirm her suspicions. Visibly relieved, Alastor continued. “Charlie cannot know that we have met.”

“But that doesn’t even make sense!” she said. “You’re one of the most, if not the most powerful Overlord in the city. And he’s Abaddon’s brother. There’s no way Charlie will believe we haven’t crossed paths before.”

“She can know he’s at least heard of us, but as far as she believes, her father is a shut-in, a depressed failure who no longer cares about anyone or anything.”

“I . . . I don’t think that’s how she seems him exactly-“

“Close enough,” he said and grabbed his microphone, beginning to pace again.

“Alastor,” Mina said, thinking out loud, “was there some kind of significance to her inviting him?”

“Hhmmm?” He turned to her, having been lost in his own thoughts again.

“You asked specifically if Charlie had invited him. Which is interesting, because I could hear at least Charlie’s end of their conversation and he seemed to agree pretty quickly to helping her once she asked him to come over.”

Alastor stopped pacing, spun his microphone, and looked at her proudly. “You’re catching on quickly.” Then he paused, and Mina could tell he was working out what to say next. She had learned to be patient in these moments as it often took him a few seconds to find which words he would be allowed to say to her. “Charlie is the key to everything. She’s a . . . loophole, if you will.”

“So, you and Lucifer have been working together on this for some time now?” she asked.

Alastor froze again and after a few seconds, his eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Really, I can’t say that but I can say . . .” he paused, looking up at the ceiling, the words he was trying to say clearly stuck on the tip of his tongue, “. . . oh you have got to be kidding me!” he shouted and his antlers spiked upwards for a flash of a second.

“It’s okay!” she said, walking over to him and putting her hands on each of his arms. “It’s okay, Al’. I’ll figure the rest out. Maybe,” she continued, rubbing his arms, “Lucifer’s presence will help me put more of the pieces together. But until then, I’ll play along, alright?”

He continued to glare but seemed a bit calmer. “Alright,” he finally agreed, the radio filter gone from his voice for that one singular word.

Mina let out a breath and smiled softly up at him. “What is it about fallen angels that gets under your skin so much?” she teased.

His eyes shifted and his smile broadened into the expression that Mina had come to recognize as a tell-tale sign of him thinking up mischief.

“Oh darling, believe me . . . the feeling is mutual,” his voice lowered darkly. “Let Lucifer come here today. It’ll be fun.”

___

Mina was fairly certain, that Alastor, her greatest love and the center of her world, had gone and lost his bloody damn mind.

And Lucifer wasn’t far behind.

She had followed Alastor’s lead, standing with him right by the front door as Lucifer made his entrance. Mina had found that odd. If they weren’t supposed to all know each other, then they should be trying to not be front and center and yet Alastor seemed to want the exact opposite.

It only got weirder from there.

Lucifer blew right past them, greeting Charlie and her pets, and Mina felt purposefully ignored.

She watched the whole bizarre scene unfold before her with growing apprehension. Lucifer glanced around the lobby, and almost immediately insulted Alastor’s bar.

“Adds a bit of color, don’t you think?” Alastor asked, jumping via shadow from his place beside Mina, to be more in Lucifer’s line of sight.

“And you are?” Lucifer asked.

“Alastor,” he said, using shadow once again to shift dramatically to Lucifer’s side and grabbing the man’s cane to shake it rather than his hand. “Pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure. It’s nice to finally put a face to the name. You are much shorter in real life.”

Oh no . . .

Not even Alastor was unhinged enough to insult the King of Hell to his face.

But then Lucifer, rather than gutting her husband like a fish, just looked annoyed.

“Who is this? Who is this now?” he asked directly at Charlie, then turned back to Alastor. “Are you the bellhop?”

Alastor laughed.

This was not good . . .

“Ah ha! No, I am the host of the hotel!” he proclaimed. “You might have heard of me from my radio broadcast.”

“Nope!” Lucifer yelled rather obnoxiously, making Mina frown. Alastor had specifically said they could admit to at least hearing of each other. “I guess that’s why Charlie called it the Hazbin Hotel.”

Lucifer laughed and elbowed his daughter as if sharing the joke with her and Mina’s anxiety only grew, matching the uncomfortable look on Charlie’s face.

Alastor mocked his laugh and in return said, “It was actually my idea.”

Lucifer responded with an even more obvious fake laugh. “Well, it’s not very clever!”

“Ah ha!” Alastor insanely laughed and bent over the shorter man -

Oh shit

- “Fuck you,” he spat out and Mina’s jaw dropped.

What was going on between those two?

Even during the very worst of their arguments, Alastor had only used the occasional vulgar words with her, and only when he had been at the absolute end of his wits.

Thankfully Charlie stepped in between the two men before things escalated further and Mina tip toed to the other hotel residents, unconsciously seeking safety in numbers. She made eye contact with Husk as she did so, and the other cat demon looked at stunned as she felt.

Husk also knew that Alastor and Lucifer had met before. Husk had also met Lucifer before. Mina didn’t know if Alastor had a chance to talk to Husk about keeping that knowledge from Charlie or not – he had disappeared for a while that morning to help Niffty with her clogged toilet – but either way, Husk looked as uncomfortable and confused as Mina felt. The two felines got along with each other – at best – 50% of the time but that morning, she was very grateful for his company.

A less fuzzy picture began to formulate in her mind when she watched Alastor rubbing his relationship with Charlie in Lucifer’s face.

She had known it didn’t make sense that Lucifer hadn’t been around for his daughter and now she was seeing his jealous side as Alastor enthusiastically made it clear he enjoyed his position of assisting Charlie at the hotel.

It wasn’t necessarily untrue. Mina could tell most days that Alastor actually didn’t mind playing the part of a helpful hand, if only because he enjoyed how much it got him positive attention and admiration from someone as high ranking as Charlie. But he was rarely an affectionate man when in front of others, so his proud smile and fatherly hand on Charlie’s shoulder was certainly just for show, and it clearly had the desired effect on the envious Lucifer.

Had Lucifer been forced to keep away from his only daughter?

Their King shoved past them, forcing a break in the contact between Alastor and Charlie, and walked towards the hotel residents.

“Charlie, dear,” Lucifer said, “why don’t you introduce me to your other friends?”

Suddenly aware of her tactical error, Mina tried to slide away from the group undetected while Charlie was introducing Vaggie but Alastor swooped in, popping up beside her and grabbing her by the waist.

“And this is Mina,” Charlie said happily, following Alastor’s lead. “She helped me get that tv spot I was telling you about. And she’s also-“

“My darling wife!” Alastor interrupted, pulling Mina even tighter to his side. “And how fortunate I am to have been reunited with my one true love. I simply couldn’t imagine going another day without her company.”

Mina resisted the urge to dig her elbow into his side. While his words were sweet, it was clearly just another jab at Lucifer, highlighting his current single state, and Mina did not appreciate her seven years of isolation being brought up just to get a rise out of someone else.

Instead, she put on her best smile and offered her hand, trying to apologize to Lucifer with eye contact, who looked positively disgusted.

“Hello, it’s nice to finally meet you,” she said, attempting pleasantries.

Lucifer shook her hand but didn’t return her smile. His eyes roamed judgmentally between her and Alastor and Mina tried to brush it off. “I worked for Abaddon for quite some time. They always spoke very fondly of you.”

“Funny,” he deadpanned, “they never mentioned you.”

He turned away as Charlie introduced the others and Mina glared at Alastor, blaming him for the insult she just received.

“What the fuck did I ever do to him?” she whispered to him while the others were distracted.

Alastor just smiled and shrugged, his body language clearly giving “I told you so” vibes.

Then in the middle of Niffty introducing herself, the chandelier fell from the ceiling, landing right in front of Lucifer and Alastor.

Mina never figured out which one of them did it, but she was positive it was one of their doings.

All hell broke out after that, so to speak, and Mina was just about convinced the two men were going to actually come to blows right there in the lobby. While she was confident Alastor could take on just about anyone, she was genuinely worried Lucifer was about to leave her a widow when of all fucking people, Mimzy burst through the front doors.

Husk, Niffty, and Mina all rolled their eyes at the dramatic entrance but were also relieved the tension in the room had been abruptly cut in half.

Mimzy could be a lot of fun, under the right circumstances. But most of the time when she barged in like she had, it eventually came up that she needed something. Mina respected that she was an old and dear friend of Alastor’s but honestly, it annoyed her how much Mimzy used him to get herself out of trouble. Even Husk thought the same thing and he usually didn’t give a single shit what went on in Alastor’s personal life. But as much as Alastor enjoyed being the all-intimidating Radio Demon, he also rather enjoyed getting to be the hero at times, and Mimzy often allowed him to play both roles.

“Why don’t you let the others help you settle in, and I’ll be back before you know it,” Alastor said, steering Mimzy towards the bar and the other residents as Lucifer, Charlie, and Vaggie began the tour. “And Mina,” he added, holding his hand out, “join us please.”

She had settled in at the bar next to Angel Dust and glared at her husband’s offered hand. He wasn’t asking, he was demanding, and she didn’t like it.

“I’m good,” she replied cooly.

“Don’t be silly, darling!” he said, and grabbed her hand, yanking her from her bar stool. “You were helping run this hotel long before I showed up. Where I go, you go. Isn’t that right, my dear?”

She wished.

Mina did not want to spend the rest of the day being paraded around like a trophy wife. Especially just to piss of Lucifer. If anything, she had more sympathy for him than she did Alastor. Lucifer knew what it was like to be the one left behind and kept in the dark. Alastor did not. It seemed cruel to rub salt in those still fresh wounds of his.

The only reason she agreed was the voice in the back of her head telling her that Lucifer may have some of the answers she did not. So, she gritted her teeth through her smile, squeezed Alastor’s hand a little harder than she should have, and agreed to follow him.

“After you, my dear,” she said, mirroring his words with an icy stare.

He ignored her tone and with his cane held in one hand behind him, and his other hand pressed to the small of her back, he guided her towards the smaller group headed for the stairs.

Thankfully, it did seem as though Alastor was going to carry himself with a little more dignity for the rest of the day, as they followed Lucifer in silence, allowing Charlie to take charge of the tour. Though he kept a hand on Mina possessively the whole time, he and the angel had stopped slinging insults and instead, listened intently to Charlie’s ramblings.

When Husk joined them and asked to talk to Alastor, Mina stopped with him, watching Lucifer disappear down the hallway, feeling all potential opportunities slipping away. But with a knowing nod from Alastor, his hand left her back, and she left the two Sinners to their conversation and jogged back to the others to catch up.

___

“And we’ve almost been able to find all of Angel’s drug stashes,” Vaggie said, then gave a pointed glare at Mina. “Almost.”

Mina returned the glare, not about to apologize for helping Angel hide a few things around the hotel. Weed was no worse than booze and the little teetotaler could get over herself.

Charlie missed the silent disagreement happening between the two other women.

“Sooooo, once that’s out of the way, it should be much smoother sailing.”

“Well that certainly is uh, is-is something,” Lucifer floundered, looking around the view from the balcony.

“So,” Charlie gave a small nervous laugh, “what do you think?”

“About what?”

“The hotel!”

“Oh! Yes, it- it does . . . look much better now. Doesn’t it?” he chuckled. “You know, but I’m thinking this railing needs work, one good push and you’d go right over the edge! Whoopie! Bye-bye!”

Mina stood by the doorway and raised an eyebrow. The way Lucifer was avoiding talking about the hotel was reminding her far too much of how Alastor had gaslit her questions when he had first returned.

“What?! No, the plan, Dad,” Charlie growled. “What do you think about using the hotel to help Sinners?”

Lucifer’s entire body language changed when it was clear he couldn’t dodge her anymore and he looked much more resigned.

He gave a long, thoughtful sigh before beginning.

“Alright, look. I love that you want to see the best in people but these Sinners, you know, they’re just the worst. I don’t know how much you can realistically expect from them. And Heaven,” he laughed bitterly, “Heaven is not exactly as carefree as you might think. Yeah, they have rules. Lots of rules, and they aren’t very openminded, as you’d hope.”  

For the first time since joining the hotel, Mina felt real pity for Charlie. It was not easy having someone you cared for and looked up to, constantly dismissing your dreams that way. Though Mina could see layers to the conversation that Charlie couldn’t yet; suspected that for whatever reason, Lucifer was having to avoid being involved in her life and the hotel, Mina could understand now why Charlie thought so little of her father.

Charlie loved her father; she just couldn’t see that he loved her in return, and that reminded Mina far too much of her own youth.

“These are our people! Dad, I – I . . . I have to try.”

Mina and Vaggie shared another look. Something in Vaggie’s expression told Mina she was reading the conversation between father and daughter with the same understanding. Mina didn’t know Vaggie’s background, but there was a kind of knowing in her eyes that made Mina question for the first time, what had brought the little demon to Charlie’s doorstep.

“Our ‘people’, Charlie? Are AWFUL! They got gifted free will and look what they did with it! Everything’s terrible!”

Mina rolled her eyes. Besides the similarities in their physical appearance, she could suddenly see why Abaddon and Lucifer were such close siblings. Get Abaddon drunk enough, and they were certain to go on the same rant.

“I just don’t want you to put yourself on the line for people like that-“

Lucifer was interrupted as something hit the side of the hotel, rocking the building at its foundation, and throwing them all into the railing. Which held up just fine with the weight of all four of them, despite Lucifer’s previous statements.

“What now?!” Vaggie yelled.

“-well, like that,” Lucifer finished his sentence, pointing down to the crowd of loan sharks trying to break down the hotel doors with a battering ram and yelling for Mimzy.

“Of course,” Mina sighed. Mimzy had done an even more piss poor job of covering up her tracks this time than she usually did.

“You know these guys?!” Vaggie yelled at her.

“No, but I know why they’re here,” Mina said and jumped over the railing.

She landed hard on the ground several stories below, on all four massive paws, having morphed midair.

The loan sharks paused for a second, staring at the tiger sized black and spotted monstrosity before them. Mina’s black eyes narrowed on the leader, her hackles raised, and extended her claws until they dug into the concrete below her.

“Maggots,” she growled and then lunged.

Gun fire erupted all around her and though she wasn’t faster than a bullet, she was more agile and graceful than the buffoons wielding the weapons. She landed on the first shark, caving in his chest with her crushing weight, and swallowed his head whole, before leaping through the air to dodge the onslaught of bullets from the others.

She noticed the group of them that was using a catapult to launch flaming explosives at the hotel and flinched as one finally hit its mark, breaking through the hotel’s windows, and bringing destruction to the lobby. Mina tried to get to them but had to duck for cover as a torrent of bullets rained down on her from several tommy guns at once. She managed to take out two more sharks before she was well and truly pinned down, unable to move unless she wanted to experience getting shot again.

She needed backup.

As if she summoned him by thought, large black tentacles came shooting out from the hotel, impaling sharks as it went and slamming down on the catapult. Alastor came crawling out of the front doors, growing larger in size with every step, his antlers spreading out until they were nearly as wide as the hotel itself.

“I am going to devour each and every one of you!”

Mina’s demonic leopard jaws widened into an unnatural smile, exposing every one of her serrated teeth, already dripping with blood. She watched with glee as several sharks sprinted away, only to be ripped to shreds by the horror that was Alastor in his most powerful form.

God, she really did love that man.

Mina grabbed the nearest shark to her, her jaw clamping down and sending teeth into the fat body, puncturing intestines and spine as they went, before she flung her head and tossed the limp body through the air. Alastor caught the demon mid flip with his gigantic hand, smiled down at Mina, and the shark disappeared into his mouth with a large resounding crunch.

When was the last time they had fun like this? Must have been the early 2000’s. Had it really been almost twenty years? No wonder it felt like they had been missing a certain spark to their love life.

“Oh, I have missed getting to let off steam,” Alastor said, throwing Mina a wink as they both returned to their normal forms once the carnage was finished.

Rather than joining him, Mina passed Mimzy as the shorter woman sashayed up to her husband, and Mina leaned against a pillar at the front of the hotel. She folded her arms, her tail swishing expectantly behind her, and she made pointed eye contact with Alastor, letting him know it was his job to finish cleaning up this mess that Mimzy had brought with her.

“Oh, Alastor, what a fantastic show!” Mimzy said, applauding. “Bravo, as always. Thanks for helping little ol’ me out of a tough spot. You’re always such a pal.”

Mina heard a creak and stepped back just in time for a piece of the hotel to come crashing down right where she had been standing.

“Ooops,” Mimzy said, and at least had the decency to look ashamed as she looked at Mina’s glaring form. “Sorry about the mess, but I’m sure the lil’ bug can take care of it for ya.”

Oh, she was not talking about their Niffty that way.

Mina held back the growl in her chest but only because Alastor had caught her eye. He looked right at Mina as he addressed his old friend.

“I think you should go Mimzy. Now.”

“Oh pff, Alastor, you’re such a kidder you,” Mimzy said, turning her attention back on him. “You are so funny!”

“I mean it,” he snapped. “You deliberately brought danger to this place, just to have us clean up your mess. I can’t have that here.”

“But you love taking care of me!” she teased. “What?!” she glanced between him and Mina and Mina cocked an eyebrow at her, making the flapper suddenly become a little nervous, so she turned her attention fully back on Alastor. “You don’t actually give a shit about this tacky place, do ya? Come on. I know you. You heartless, son of a bitch.”

Mina almost laughed. Mimzy knew him so well? Yet she was risking life and limb by poking him in the chest when he was visibly irate.

Alastor grabbed her by the finger and pried her hand away, giving clear signals not to touch him.

“You are welcome if you actually want to give redemption a shot, but I think we both know that’s not really your style.” He bopped her on the nose as he strode past her, one final display of putting her in her place, before he joined Mina by the front doors. “So, you need to leave.”

 “Fine! Who needs ya?!” Mimzy shouted defensively. “Have fun with your little princess and your little hotel. See if I care.” She flipped them the bird as she walked away.

Mina sighed with relief as the other woman left and put her arm through Alastor’s as he stood with his hands folded over his microphone topped cane. Maybe it was just her territorial nature, but she got satisfaction in showing off that she could touch him in that moment after he had just made the point of not letting someone else.

Despite her annoyance at his earlier behavior, she was really proud of him for how he had handled Mimzy. His angered expression softened when he glanced over at her, and they shared a silent moment of appreciation for each other, before returning to the hotel lobby.

___

Later that evening

Mina stood on the other side of the door to Alastor’s radio tower, listening in on the raised voices coming from within.

She had just missed whatever had been said that got Lucifer shouting, as she had only approached the doorway a few seconds prior, but she had stopped short and pressed her ears to the wood when she recognized the King’s voice.

“-STICKING YOUR NOSE WHERE IT DOESN’T BELONG!”

“I AM RIGHT WHERE I’M SUPPOSE TO BE, NO THANKS TO YOU!”

“GROOMING MY DAUGHTER WAS NOT PART OF THE DEAL!”

“OH FUCK OFF!”

“YOU ARE, AREN’T YOU?!”

“Don’t be so petulant,” Alastor hissed, finally lowering his voice, but with no less venom in his tone. Mina had to strain her ears harder to make out the rest. “Besides, I hardly have to do a thing to turn her against you. Other than being present, that is.”

“I swear on my life, demon, if you are trying to influence her in anyway, if what you’re doing here is anything less than protecting her, I’ll end you.”

“You. Wouldn’t. Dare,” Alastor said and then laughed.

“Oh, ha ha,” she heard Lucifer’s now recognizable mock laughter. “You think you’re untouchable because of who’s at the other end of that chain of yours? I should decorate your little station here with your guts and make that cute little wife of yours help you untangle the mess.”

That’s when Mina decided she had heard enough and flung the door open. She had seen what Abaddon could do; she did not want to find out what kind of torture the actual King of Hell could dish out.

Both men where chest to chest, seething with rage, but when their eyes landed on her, they looked like they had been caught with their hands in a cookie jar.

Lucifer stepped away first, scowling at the two of them.

“How much did you hear?” he asked.

“Not enough,” she said, “but if you don’t want eavesdroppers, maybe you shouldn’t be shouting at one another.”

“This-“ Lucifer said, pointing his apple topped cane at her, but looking at Alastor. “This is exactly what you were supposed to be avoiding.”

“She’s my wife,” Alastor said as if that explained everything.

“God you are so. Fucking. SELFISH!” Lucifer shouted, momentarily clutching the sides of his head in exasperation. “My fucking QUEEN isn’t even here because of this whole shit storm parade and you think she’s special enough to get a pass?!”

“She is standing right here,” Mina said, folding her arms. She felt her tail swishing back and forth rapidly behind her, giving away just how insulted she was at this behavior. Lucifer had always been nice to her before, if only a little distant. “And she wants answers. Do you have stitches in place keeping you silent or are you actually able to communicate?”

Lucifer looked over at her, and for a moment she thought she could read a flash of sympathy in his eyes. Then he sighed and his shoulders dropped, and Mina knew she would get no further answers that night.

“Yeah, I’m not doing this,” he said and stepped backwards through a portal and was gone.

Mina stared at the spot where he had disappeared for a moment, then looked over at Alastor, who was studying her.

“So,” he began, “feeling enlightened yet?”

“Other than now I know you’re halfway to suicidal by making enemies with the King of Hell? No, not really.”

Alastor gave a dismissive wave of his hand.

“We’re not enemies, you just caught him on a bad day.”

“He threatened to gut you! And he can, by the way. I know you don’t like to hear this, but he is much more powerful than you, love.”

“And there are beings involved in this that are more powerful than he,” Alastor countered. “Trust me, darling, despite what you just heard, Lucifer and I are . . . working things out. By the way,” he began after another pause, “you haven’t said anything to anyone about my current state of affairs, have you?”

Mina frowned, unsure where that train of thought had come from. “No, not a word.”

“Not even to Husker?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Why would I talk to him about that? We can hardly stand each other.”

Alastor nodded. “Okay, then.”

“Why? Did he say something?”

“He might have but he won’t from now on.”

Mina could only imagine the fright Alastor must have given the former Overlord if he had dared to try and push that button. However, she wasn’t about to point it out then and there, but Alastor and Lucifer had not been very subtle that day, and anyone who knew even the slightest bit of their history would have been able to read between the lines.

That made her think again about the heated debate she had just walked in on.

“Am I . . .” Mina paused, unsure if she really wanted the answer to her next question. “Am I really making things worse by being here? Should I . . . go?”

Alastor strode over to her side.

“Do you want to?” he asked, looking seriously down at her.

“No,” she quickly answered, reaching for his hands. “No, not at all. I just got you back. But I will if it’ll be better for you. I can handle it, being apart I mean, if it’ll mean we can return to some sense of normalcy sooner.”

Alastor pulled her into him, and she returned the embrace, wrapping her arms around him and holding him tight.

“I want you here, plain and simple,” he said, resting his chin on her head between her ears. “If anyone else doesn’t like it, that’s their problem, not ours.”

Mina relaxed then, knowing her place by his side was safe for the time being. There was still so much to uncover, and she had a feeling this meeting with Heaven that Charlie was going to would likely only make things messier, but there was nothing to be done for it all right then and there.

And Alastor, though he was often uncomfortable with touch after something as tense as the argument he had just had with Lucifer, had initiated their hug. He was still holding her firmly to him, keeping her as close to him as possible, so Mina knew he was not touch-adverse in that moment.

Images from earlier that day, of him utterly eviscerating that group of loan shark demons with her, played over again in her mind. She let her hands wander down his back until she found the bottom edge of his jacket, before slipping underneath and trailing back up, so she could feel his taught back muscles through his shirt.

“You sure we’re alone now?” she whispered.

She didn’t see how, but the door shut closed behind her, and she heard a lock slide into place.

“Positive,” he replied.

 “Hmmm,” she sighed, rubbing her face into his neck, letting his bow tie tickle her cheek. “You looked so good today. I miss seeing you like that. So . . . scary,” she let her hands slide around his side, still underneath his jacket, and caressed his chest. “So strong and powerful,” she sucked on the tiny sliver of skin above his collar, just below his jaw line, and let her nails lightly dig into his abdomen as she lowered her hands. “So . . . big,” one hand came lower, cupping him over the fabric of his pants, feeling him already half hard beneath her caress.

Alastor gave a low chuckle at her ridiculous word play before capturing her lips with his own.

“Maybe I should make more enemies then,” he teased, “if this is the treatment I get.”  

“As long as I get to watch,” she replied, still slow stroking him, “and you come home to me in one piece.”

“Deal,” he said, his voice low and sinister, and kissed her again.

She was feeling that old spark again, a coil deep down inside of her burning red hot at the thrill of being with him. Of getting to witness the sheer strength and power that Alastor commanded, of being able to work in tandem with the raw force of nature that was her husband. Her mind flashed with images of their victims being crushed, her mouth watering at the memory of their blood pouring down her throat, and of Alastor’s wicked laughter as they laid waste to the threat against the hotel.

Alastor was backing her up until the edge of his control station was digging into her lower back, his hands holding her head firmly in place as his tongue danced across hers. She had his belt buckle undone and zipper down as they crossed the room together and by the time he was pinning her between his body and the counter, Mina had him in hand. His cock was heavy and warm in her palm, the skin silky soft and practically pulsing at her touch.

He was just as ready and wanting of this as she was, his desire for her evident in the desperate way he had her caged to him. Alastor pushed her skirts up, hooking his fingers around the top of her panties and dragging them down her legs, only giving her enough space to step out of them before his fingers were on her. He moaned in appreciation against her mouth when he found her already wet and slick for him. His fingers slid easily through her folds and two long digits curled their way into the depths of her cunt, pumping her quickly with very little need for build-up.

Mina pulled away, forcing his fingers to slip out of her and she felt his body try and follow hers as she jumped up onto the desk and spread her legs for him.

There was a non-verbal question in his gaze, asking her if she was ready for more, and she reached her hands behind his neck and pulled him to her, capturing his mouth in another heated kiss. It was all the answer he needed before he pushed his trousers and underwear down until they were pooled at his ankles, and he took his cock in his hand, and in one thrust used it to fill her pussy to the brim.

They gasped for breath as they came together, breaking their kiss for just a moment to appreciate the perfect feeling of their bodies joined, before Alastor leaned in closer, guiding Mina until her back was flush with the panel beneath her, and reclaimed her mouth as he began to rock his hips against hers.

There were all kinds of buttons and knobs digging into her but Mina paid them no mind. With his lips between her teeth and his cock so full inside of her, pumping her in a sweet, delicious rhythm, there was nothing else in the world her mind could latch onto besides Alastor.

He held her beneath her thighs as he fucked her, his hands occasionally reaching up to grab handfuls of her ass before dragging his nails down the backs of her legs, making her whine out loud every time. It was a sensation just shy of pain, teasing the extra sensitive areas with the thrilling danger of his claws but never delivering the flood of pleasure that would come from him suddenly digging them into her flesh.

Her skin felt like it was on fire and her nipples ached for the touch of his hand or the bite of his teeth. There were so many layers of clothes between them, and every thrust of his cock inside her made his torso rub against her own, highlighting the boundaries that kept their skin from touching. It was wonderous torture, being so close to him and not having enough of him.

Alastor reached between them, his fingers finding her clit, and began working the swollen nub with clumsy, fast circles. He was close, his face now buried in her neck, the sides of one of his extended antlers rubbing against the tips of her ears.

She reached a hand up and grabbed hold of one of the many prongs coming off his antlers, letting her mind wander to all the times she had seen him in his many varieties of demonic forms. Alastor’s body shifted above hers, growing slightly longer, and she felt him move his head away from her throat. When she opened her eyes, black radio dials were boring down on her, his smile unnaturally wide. He was the very image of Hell itself, a terrifying demon capable of ripping apart her soul and making her suffer for eternity. And he was using that power to fuck her senseless, knowing just how much he was turning her on by showing her this side of himself. The memories of more debauched, violent, and carnal sex they had indulged each other with in the past coming to mind as he pounded into her smaller frame, rocking into her with an aggression he rarely showed her.

Mina threw her head back as she came, crying out Alastor’s name as her walls clenched around his cock, his fingers working her through her orgasm until her body stopped spasming beneath his.

Once she was spent, his hand returned to her thigh and he pressed his forehead against hers. She kept her hand wrapped around the spine of his antler and his claws finally dug into her flesh, leaving five shallow and red indents on either ass cheek, as he found his own completion. He continued to thrust as he came, pumping her full of his cum, her tight cunt unable to take much with how intensely his larger form filled her up and stretched her to her limits. It spilled out of her, overflowing onto the desk beneath her that was already wet and messy from her body’s arousal.

Alastor shrank down to his normal size, breathing hard through his nose as he peppered her face and mouth with tender kisses. She returned his affections as he softened inside her, wrapping her arms and legs around his body and holding him in a loving embrace.

When he pulled away and began fixing the state of his clothes, Mina noticed how heavy his eyelids were, how slowly each blink was, and the lazy way he was re-doing the zipper and buckle of his trousers. On top of the long day they had - between the stress of Lucifer’s presence, to the fight with the loan sharks, and having to do hours of repairs to the hotel afterwards - Alastor hadn’t slept that night or the night before, unless he had snuck in a quick nap or two in his tower when she wasn’t around.

She sighed, feeling decades worth of frustration with him and his damn near pathological desire to not take care of his own basic needs. It had taken a lot of work, but she had gotten him to improve over the years but then he had disappeared, and now that he was back, it was worse than ever.

Mina hopped off the counter, feeling the stickiness between her legs, and covered her mouth with her hand as she yawned. She was exhausted herself and used it as lure to entice Alastor back to their bedroom.  

He smirked at her, and she was sure there was a teasing quip on the edge of his lips, but she interrupted it before it began.

“I could really use a long hot bath and sleep after all that. Would you like to join me?”

He sighed, looking around the room.

“As wonderful as your company is, ma cher, I have an abundance of work to see to. Especially since the events of today really put a damper on what I had planned.”

She laced her arms under his and around his back, batting her eyelashes up at him.

“Please?”

She didn’t whine or beg, knowing that would just annoy him, so she simply whispered the singular word and let her body language say the rest.

He sighed again, more dramatic this time, his shoulders rising with the effort of it and rolled his eyes, his entire head following the movement.

“I suppose,” he agreed, and cupped her face in his hands before smiling sweetly at her and kissing her nose. “You are just too cute to deny you a thing, my dear.”

Next Chapter ->

@inuhalfdemon, @saccharine-nectarine, @whoknowswhoiamtoday

[sednonamoris]

love, too, will ruin us

Pairing: John Price x gn!reader

Summary: You and Price take advantage of a rare sunny day in England over leave. The brief foray into civilian life has your imagination running wild.

Warnings: Penetrative sex (vague), strong language, mild angst, fluff, two raging nationalists in a relationship

Word count: 1,497

A/N: Resposting the fourth installment of my ‘hellhound’ series (cross-posted to AO3) bc tumblr ate the end of the last one and I didn’t catch it until just now 🤦‍♀️ Reading the others isn’t technically necessary but they do provide context for Price and Hound’s relationship - cheers!!

—

It’s cruel to let yourself dream of domesticity, but when he fucks you slow in late morning light it’s hard not to imagine every day starting this way. Images of a shared flat join the stars behind your eyelids when pleasure overwhelms your senses. Breakfasts for two accompany the taste of him on your tongue. You hear phantom rows over whose turn it is to do dishes between hot breaths panted into your neck.

War brought you together, so long ago now, but who might you be without it? Is there a future where you won’t watch him bleed out full of bullet holes? Where you both come home for mornings like this and stay? 

John’s teeth graze the skin of your neck and you shiver.

“Distracted, are we?” he teases past the dark blue lust in his eyes. 

“Oh, you know,” you say like you weren’t just lost in maybes and almosts and wouldn’t it be nice somedays. “Fancied a birdwatch this morning, but someone just couldn’t get enough of me. All I’ve seen so far is the English Morning-Woodcock.” 

The roll of his eyes is heavier than the press of his warm body on yours, and you can’t help the grin that steals across your face.

“You think you’re so clever,” he groans. 

“Up here for thinkin’,” you quip back, half breathless. It becomes a moan when he pistons his hips into yours just so. 

“Down there for dancing, is that how it goes?” Smug bastard.

“We’ll make a proper Irishman of you yet.”

He shakes his head to hide a smile, crooked and unguarded in the lines of too-bright sunshine that peek through slatted blinds. “Shut up and let me fuck you.” 

“Yes, sir.”

“Cheeky,” he warns before kissing the smile off your lips. 

You can’t find it in yourself to mind as he guides your body to the peak of its pleasure, hands tracing familiar skin, scars, sins. Yours wander over him as well, fingers running against the hairs on his chest, palms smoothing over battle scars, nails raking down the span of his shoulders. He comes undone with a sigh of your name so sweet that the pleasant ache between your legs dulls in comparison to the one in your chest. 

You’ll never get tired of how much you love him. You’ll never not want to keep him here with you in these quiet moments forever.

But this, as ever, is a momentary reprieve. You settle back into crisp white hotel sheets and stretch your limbs after a morning spent twisted in every position. John presses a warm kiss to your forehead before he rolls over to use the bathroom. He comes back with a wet rag - just the perfect temperature - to clean you up. 

“Did you have anything else planned over leave?” you ask.

He looks up from between your bare thighs with a spark of mischief in his eyes. “The only thing I ever plan on is you, love. Could stay here all day if you let me.”

The smile that overtakes your face is wide and entirely sappy and you see it mirrored in the creases at the corners of his eyes. 

“Well I have plans,” you say. “Get dressed, you’re coming, too.”

—

“Please tell me your plans involve more than going to the chippy up the road,” Price says. 

“Obviously,” you roll your eyes at him as you join the queue. “We’ll have a nice stroll in the park, too. Can’t stay inside the one day it isn’t pissing rain in England.”

He shakes his head. “Coming from a Paddy.”

“Your Paddy, so watch it, cunt.” 

The woman behind the counter interrupts your bickering to ask after your orders. John pays for you both, but not without a cheeky comment from you about reparations that even the chip lady laughs at. 

When you step back out into the street the hustle and bustle of London greets you. The sun shines bright and unabashed by the smattering of clouds in the early afternoon sky - fluffy and white, for once. The shopfronts you pass by are crowded, full up with loudly dressed passers-by and lively conversations that echo across busy streets. Everyone and their mother is out enjoying the day. After so long on the job crowds like this can set your teeth on edge, but the park isn’t that far, now.

Parents and lovers and little old ladies have set up on blankets across the sprawling green lawns. Children race across the green with wild shrieking laughter. Some play tag and others pilot kites and more still chant childhood songs and beg their parents to join in. Wicker baskets with packed lunches wrapped in wax paper and love dot the landscape, one for every picnic blanket making its biannual appearance along with the sunshine. 

John’s hand is warm in yours as you drag him over to the one unoccupied bench. Dappled sunlight filters through the shade of the chestnut trees that line the little paved path and streaks the blue of his eyes with gold when he looks over at you. Side by side, the two of you enjoy the day. You eat your meal in pleasant quiet, occasionally stealing one of John’s chips just to see that fond exasperation he saves for you cross his face.

He takes the trash for the both of you to the bin once you’ve finished. You take the time to appreciate his soldier’s physique in light civilian clothes. His smile is warmer than the sun on his return, and you feel yourself burn up with it.

“Thank you for this, love.”

You lean into his side and watch the old man feeding the pigeons and the single mother wrangling her gaggle of children and the teens awkwardly holding hands. “Sometimes it’s easy to forget why we do it. What we fight for,” you say.

He hums something like an affirmative. 

“I like stealing moments like this,” you continue. “Neither of us is ready to retire - might not ever be, and that’s the truth - but it’s nice to imagine, you know? Getting old and settling down and doing daft shite like taking a weekend off and going to the park.”

He wraps an arm around your shoulder and squeezes, leans over to press a kiss to your temple.

“You could have that with someone else, you know,” he says with the quiet sadness that eats at him always. 

“What’s an old war criminal like me got to offer anyone but an old war criminal like you?” you scoff, only half teasing. He doesn’t laugh. “Thought you’d figured out by now, I don’t want that with someone else - anyone else.”

The sigh he lets out rattles his whole body. He turns, then, taking your hands in his and looking you right in the eye. You suddenly feel exposed in the wake of such a confession, even though you’ve lost count of the times and ways you’ve told John you love him. There’s a seriousness and gravity to his expression that has you holding your breath. 

“I love you, too,” John Price says. There’s an apology in the depths of his eyes - for taking so long, for wasting the time you’ve had together, for a thousand other things you’ve already forgiven him for - but all you can think is finally. Finally he says it. Out loud. In the park. Under the sun in the sky for everyone to see. “Can’t promise you anything but myself, and it’s a poor prize, but you’re just mad enough to want it.” 

You grin so wide it hurts, and he can’t help but mirror with a smile of his own, eyes crinkled and sparkling.

“Barking mad,” you agree, and kiss him before he can complain about the awful pun at a time like this. 

It’s chaste - you’re still in public - but it somehow feels more passionate than the open-mouthed kisses you’d branded on each other’s bodies just a few hours earlier with only skin to separate you. Right there on the park bench you tear your heart out of your chest and hand it to him, dripping and bloody and raw but his all the same. 

You’re still smiling when you pull away. He ducks his head, cheeks flushed. Even after so long together he’s unprepared to take the full force of your affection.

“In this imaginary retirement of yours,” he asks after a moment, “do we have a flat?”

You hum an affirmative. “A nice cosy one. In Ireland, obviously. You won’t catch me dead retired in fucking England.” 

“Oh?” he challenges with a crooked smile. “Had my heart set on Liverpool, right next to the stadium. I’ll get us season tickets, we can go to every game.”

“I’ll fly you out to every bloody game if that’s what it takes, just spare me, please,” you groan. 

He laughs. It’s a sound so easy to imagine forever to. 

For the second time today, you let yourself.

[artisofthandy]

Happy 5 years to the release of a legendary indie animated series that took the world by storm back in 2019! And fun fact came on the same day as the creator’s birthday (Vivienne “Vivziepop” Medrano)! The story which takes place in hell where the princess of Hell herself Charlie Morningstar wants to rehabilitate sinners in hopes of them reducing extermination from heaven and May have the chance of entering the pearly gates itself through a massive rehabilitation-hotel with girlfriend Vaggie, guest; Angel Dust, maid; Nifty, bartender; Husk and additional guest; Sir Pentious! This series was a instant success! Reaching 100 million views in the span of a month or a year or two! And was a pioneer in the renaissance of YouTube and Indie Animation! With a strong fandom and a full on animated series to boot! :)

Happy 5th anniversary Hazbin Hotel!

[kalolasfantasyworld]

Three times thing...

Summary:

Nozel has many bad days, but he had found a shameful way to relieve his stress.

Third of the Kalola BC Ships Art series one shots ^^

I needed to make a second fic on Ao3 in the series, because this is not fluff.

Ship: Nozel x Vanessa

Type: One shot

Genre: Mature?

Warnings: swearing, sexual themes,

Word count: 671

Author's note:

I'm giving a bit of background here, since Nozel is obviously my blorbo. I chose this pose reference and had an idea for this one shot months ago. It was before my "great Nozessa research" to try to understand the appeal of this ship. I only heard of it back then so I tried to piece them together in the only way it would "canonically" make sense to me since they never interacted.

Keep in mind here that as always the Nozel I write is far away from a fluffy, sad, prince charming. I never take away his cold, arrogance and simply being an asshole. That's why it took me so long to write this, because I was trying to make it fluffy and it just didn't work. Fluff with Nozel is more of a rarity for me and I like to keep it as something special.

I dedicate this one shot to my good friend @f-oighear, because it was through discussions with her that I came to realise my stand on this ship. 💕🦅

(All Nozel ships are just those I have strong opinions on, they're not mean or anything, but I have my preferences and they're more dependant on how Nozel is portrayed in them not whoever the other person is. This means I can like a ship in one's writing and dislike that same ship written by another writer, because Nozel just doesn't feel right to me. Overall I'm very open to discussions and closed to hate or ship wars of any kind. Toxic fans stay away.)

Anyway after these long notes enjoy my take on Nozessa ^^

Ao3

Nozel was swearing under his breath, cursing himself for once again giving in to the temptation… but it was bad. The day was shit, his squad was failing on all fronts, a screwed up mission, Solid made mistakes in the paperwork leaving Nozel to deal with it and then the cook actually overdid the roast duck. Everything in the span of a couple hours. 

Nozel needed to wind down. He had a way. A very, very unfitting way. Unbecoming of a gentleman. Was he really one though? Did he deserve that name? He pulled on his hood deeper covering the silver braid. If any peasant saw him walking through the streets it would cause quite a commotion. Nozel needed to tone down his mana to not stick out within these worms. How disgusted he was he had to walk past them. 

One time thing. It did not work. It became a two time thing and a three time thing. That first time was almost an accident. She was drunk and he was no better, additionally another bad day. Oh hey a pretty face, a pretty face that wanted to go down on him? Even better. Nozel was disgusting and he knew it. He despised himself enough. 

He walked inside a familiar bar. One peasant brushed passed him and Nozel needed to control himself to not reprimand him. A frown on his face as silver brows furrowed… but then he saw her. She was right there on the stool, pouring herself another drink. Her cheeks flushed and rosewood hair let loose. Vanessa was chatting with a bartender. Why was she even gracing him with a conversation. Nozel did not understand. 

He approached her. A mysterious figure in a hood brought attention, but no more than a Royal captain would. The bartender stopped talking. 

“Upstairs,” Nozel hissed to Vanessa’s ear placing his arm on her hip. 

“Hi handsome,” she giggled. “My hot date is here,” she winked at the bartender. “No interruptions until this morning, ignore the sounds.”

A hook up. That was what it was. He was not her first one and she was not his. They simply stumbled upon one another. Physically compatible, Vanessa called them. Fine whatever that witch said… and yet maybe he could agree. 

Vanessa grabbed a glass still filled with wine as she made her way upstairs from the bar to the hotel room. He followed her quietly, as a cold shadow. However once the doors closed behind them he took off his hood. Nozel fixed his hair putting it up and approached the dresser. He folded his cloak and placed it on top. 

When he turned around he saw Vanessa had already taken off her witch hat. She was finishing sipping on her wine.

“Bad day handsome?” She smirked as she approached him.

He did not answer, she knew it was. Nozel did not have many good ones. A low growl escaped him. Get it over, make them both feel pleasure, go back home. That was it. 

Nozel reached out his hand impatiently. He slid it so that it would settle on the small of her back and pulled her closer. Vanessa smirked. The glass in her hand. 

He was about to lean down to kiss her, to go on with the deed… but he paused. There was something about that smirk, something about the way she looked at him. It made him want to stare longer, linger on her features and he did not understand why it felt warm. He did not know much warmth, even more how to interpret it. 

One night stand. Two times stand. Three times stand. He kept on coming back. 

The corners of his mouth gently tugged up. He did not even realize when that happened. She was close, her heartbeat fast and she continued to stare at him with hunger, but also something more, or was he imagining?

Fuck it! He was not going to ponder. No feelings, just a shameful fling. He leaned down making their lips meet. 

[xtruss]

How To Save A Desert Oasis—Before It Vanishes Completely

For Centuries, Hundreds of Millions of People Have Relied On Desert Wetlands That Are Now Disappearing. Can Blending Ancient Knowledge and Modern Innovation Protect These Unique Ecosystems?

— By Tristan McConnell | Photographs By M'hammed Kilito | May 6, 2025

Climate change has already devastated many oases across Morocco, and it's only going to get worse: Temperatures in Morocco are projected to rise by as much as nine degrees Fahrenheit by the end of the century, and rainfall to be reduced by 30 to 50 percent.

Driving south out of the Atlas Mountains into Morocco’s Drâa Valley, travelers find that the landscape becomes increasingly stark until the paved national highway vanishes into the desert at the oasis town of Mhamid el Ghizlane.

Sometimes known as the gateway to the Sahara, Mhamid and its surrounding villages are home to about 6,100 people. For generations, the settlement has straddled the Drâa River, with wispy tamarisk trees lining the road on the north bank of the river and palm plantations spreading out to the south. But today the concrete bridge built to span the water rises over a dry riverbed of sand and gravel. Tourists still come to Mhamid, drawn to camel treks, camping, and sandboarding. They arrive by the busload and make their way to hotels that offer swimming pools and massages.

Halim Sbai, 55, tall and bespectacled, with dark, gray-flecked hair, was born in the town. Like a lot of residents, he remembers a different Mhamid. Greener. Lusher. When he was a kid, he herded livestock beneath the dense shade of thick groves of palm trees and fished in the Drâa, Morocco’s longest river, as it wound lazily through town. In the decades since, he has watched the oasis shrivel as the rain has all but stopped and the river has dried up. The thick forests of date palms have withered and thinned, and the fields of fruit and olive trees have produced less and less each year. Most young people have escaped for a better life elsewhere, leaving houses and entire neighborhoods to be swallowed by the encroaching dunes.

At the Tinghir Oasis in Central Morocco, Crops Like Barley, Alfalfa, and Wheat are Protected from the Desert Winds by Date Palms.

“When there is no water, nothing green, the sand becomes very strong, a very fast enemy,” says Sbai. “It takes a lot of land.” The desert is pressing in from every direction. According to Sbai, the outer edge of the oasis moves inward by more than 300 feet each year. Sometimes Sbai worries that he might be witnessing the end of the oasis altogether and, with it, an ancient ecosystem—and the nomadic culture and traditions it enables—that he holds dear.

For thousands of years people have lived and thrived in oases, developing a complex agricultural system finely calibrated to the harsh desert environment, with its water scarcity and ecological fragility. By some measurements, oases occupy 740,000 square miles worldwide—roughly three times the area of Texas—and in North Africa and Asia sustain an estimated 150 million people. In Morocco, oases are home to one million people. The stresses of contemporary climate change are accelerating with increasing aridity, temperatures, and desertification, as well as destructive floods and wildfires, yet Sbai is an optimist steeped in nomadic culture, and he believes that oases contain the seeds of their own salvation.

“What Can You Offer Young People To Make Them Stay?” — Thomas Duncan, Co-founder of Joudour Sahara Music School

What Is An Oasis? An imagined place? A mythical one? An isolated, palm-fringed pool in the desert? A place of safety? Somewhere desperate travelers might find relief, or dismay if the oasis turns out to be a mirage? Ecologically, it is simply an area made fertile by a water source in an otherwise harsh and arid environment. But human ingenuity has transformed oases into complex civilizations.

Ten thousand years ago, northern Africa was hammered by strong monsoon rains and the Sahara was verdant. But the climate gradually shifted, and the grasslands and rivers dried up. In the newly unforgiving desert landscape, water was scarce. Where people found it, they exploited it and created pockets of habitable land that made life not just possible but prosperous, providing homes and livelihoods to many thousands. Radiocarbon-dated barley and wheat grains, as well as millstones used to grind flour, show that oases were already developing in the Drâa Valley during the fifth century.

As oases grew, so too did Saharan trade. Date palms, the hallmark species of the oasis, are drought and heat resistant, and grow readily in the desert wherever there’s water close to the surface. But it takes huge amounts of labor and engineering to successfully cultivate them. These costs were in part met by the salt, gold, and textile traders who plied the caravan routes between Marrakech and Timbuktu. Oases were a place for them to rest and restock before their next expedition. As Sbai puts it, “You can’t be a nomad all the time, just moving everywhere. You need to stop, relax.”

Graphic: Liz Sisk, NGM Staff. Map: Rosemary Wardley, NGM Staff. Sources: Atlas of the Saharan and Arabian Oases, LabOasis Foundation; Mohamed Ait-El-Mokhtar, Hassan Il University; Carmen Moreno and Oriol Domínguez, Terrachidia ONGD; Mohammed Hssaisoune, Ibn Zohr University.

The essential ingredients of the oasis are date palms and people, and neither flourishes without the other. The thick fronds of the date palm’s crown provide a shady canopy beneath which other species can grow, protected from the punishing sun. Scientists have described the date palm as a keystone species for the ingenious three-tiered agricultural ecosystem it anchors. The tree produces valuable dates, and the humid, temperature-controlled microclimate beneath the dense overstory fosters other crops, such as fruit, olive, and henna trees. At ground level, beans, wheat, barley, and alfalfa grow protected from the wind and sand by the palm’s tough trunks.

Mohamed Ait-El-Mokhtar, professor of plant physiology and biotechnology at Hassan II University in Casablanca, who has studied the impact of climate change on oasis ecosystems, describes the date palm as “the umbrella” beneath which all else thrives. “If we want to sustain this structure in the oasis, we have to sustain the date palm,” he says.

Oases worked, in other words, because they stayed in balance. Rainfall in this part of Morocco was always sparse, but still the Drâa was filled with snowmelt and rainwater that flowed more than 11,000 feet down from the peaks of the High Atlas Mountains. Farming communities worked together to dig and maintain geometric networks of irrigation channels to siphon river water into the palm plantations. They used stone, mud bricks, and rammed earth to build warren-like fortified homes and villages—known as ksars and casbahs—and expanded their agricultural lands into the increasingly irrigated desert.

But climate change has devastated many oases, and it’s only expected to get worse. Temperatures in Morocco are projected to rise by as much as nine degrees Fahrenheit by the end of the century, and rainfall to be reduced by 30 to 50 percent. Extreme flooding is on the rise, and government figures show that around 10,000 palm trees burn every year in wildfires.

Left: Drought­-stressed date palms in Morocco’s Tighmert Oasis are especially subject to wildfire. A few weeks before this photo was taken, a blaze struck nearby trees and houses. Right: Water at the Figuig Oasis in northeastern Morocco is distributed via a network of stone dividers; rights are prescribed by ancestral contracts and are inherited, passed on via marriage, or sold.

Like all open-­air canals in the desert, this irrigation canal leading to Tighmert Oasis requires constant attention and maintenance from locals like Fal Bardid to keep it from filling with sand.

Near Mhamid, the palms survive largely because farmers use groundwater extracted with individual solar pumps to irrigate their plots. They are cheap to run and make extracting water easy, but they are a short-term fix. The brackish groundwater increases the salinity of the soil, making growing crops even more difficult; and pulling straight from the aquifer can put it out of reach of even the deepest palm tree roots. “As long as people keep pumping groundwater with solar, they think there’s no problem,” says Sbai. But “when you use solar, you can very quickly kill the oasis.”

Abdelkarim Bannaoui, a 48-year-old with a thick mustache and dressed in a white tunic and turban, has farmed in Mhamid all his life. When he was growing up, there were periods of drought that would decimate crops, he says, “but the palms stayed strong.” Now even they wither, and date yields are falling. The palm cover on his acre plot is scant, and the fruit trees are gone. Unable to rely on the river or rain for irrigation, he uses groundwater pumped from his own well at the far end of his land, and every few years he must dig it deeper. In 1996 a 23-foot well was enough; now it reaches to 52 feet.

Top: Five miles from the town of Assa in southern Morocco, these palm trees are all that’s left of the once lush Tanoueest Oasis, which has been overrun by sand. Bottom: A potter at the Skoura Oasis in central Morocco, Mohammed El Fakhar spends six hours each Sunday collecting fuel for his kiln.

Left: Mhamid el Ghizlane, in southern Morocco, is sometimes known as the gateway to the Sahara. It straddles the Drâa River, which rarely contains water anymore. Right: As oasis towns hollow out, buildings fall into disrepair; eventually they’ll be reclaimed by the desert.

“It is in God’s hands,” Bannaoui says, “but as I see it, there is no future for farming here because of the water. In agriculture, you always lose.” He expects that eventually his three young sons, all of whom are under 10, will abandon farming and the oasis.

In a destructive feedback loop, migration hastens the oasis’s surrender to the desert. The local population has fallen by a fifth in the past 20 years, and as mostly young people leave, it’s harder for the aging population that remains to maintain the palm trees and irrigation channels. “There is nothing to do here because there’s no rain, so people emigrate,” says 61-year-old farmer Abdelaali Lahbouch, whose three sons have left. “There is nobody around, just us old people.”

“If We Want To Sustain This Structure In The Oasis, We Have To Sustain The Date Palm.” — Mohamed Ait-El-Mokhtar, Professor of Plant Physiology

In his long white djellaba and purple scarf, Lahbouch takes me to see the sand-filled irrigation channels and sand-covered fields nearby. “There’s nobody here to help us work,” he says, shrugging. Neglected and abandoned plots let the desert in, and a few days of strong wind is all it takes to coat the earth with sand, starting the process of soil degradation.

As we walk around Bounou, one of Mhamid’s satellite villages, Sbai tells me that of the 200 families that used to live here, only five remain. The rest, he says, have seen their homes taken by the desert. There are no longer enough residents to clear the sand-clogged alleys and passages, nor to maintain and repair the rammed-earth walls of the ksar, which are crumbling and collapsing like a sandcastle in a rising tide. One of the few still living here is 68-year-old Belaaid Lagnaoui, a thick-set farmer who long ago ceded the ground floor of his mud-walled house to the desert. From his perch upstairs, he uses the flashlight on his phone to peer at the sand-filled hall below.

As the water table drops across much of Morocco, wells like this one at Merzouga Oasis must be dug ever deeper.

If there is any chance of rescuing Mhamid and charting a path toward saving other oases across the world, it might come from a small, two-acre plot on the edge of town, where Sbai has constructed a laboratory of pilot projects aimed at holding back the desert and holding on to water.

Acacia and tamarisk trees sprout from shallow circular planters called Waterboxxes that were designed by a Dutch horticulturalist named Pieter Hoff. These planters reduce the amount of water young saplings need and act as a barrier against the desert. For years, Sbai has worked with a Dutch foundation called Sahara Roots planting hundreds of trees around Mhamid to strengthen what he calls “the natural system to stop the sand.” He has also introduced pipes for drip-fed irrigation, which snake across vegetable beds and use far less water than the traditional method of flood irrigation that ceased to make sense when the river stopped flowing.

These solutions, though modest in scope, are all aimed at restoring and recalibrating the balance between the people of the oasis and the changing landscape in which they live. Take the solar pumps. Climate change has made them necessary, but when they’re privately owned, as most currently are, people take what they want, regardless of the needs of others. Sbai has been pushing local farmers and government agencies to reconsider how the pumps are used. “In nomadic culture,” he says, “you need to share everything.” Thanks in part to Sbai’s lobbying, Morocco’s National Agency for the Development of Oasis Zones and Argan Trees is working to install community solar pumps and wells to replace private ones in Mhamid and elsewhere so that water can once again be managed communally and shared equitably.

Of course, none of that will matter if the entire population of Mhamid leaves for better opportunities elsewhere. So in 2016, Sbai co-founded the Joudour Sahara music school with Thomas Duncan of the Playing for Change Foundation, a California nonprofit that uses music to bring communities together. “We asked, What can you offer young people to make them stay?” says Duncan. Their answer is to celebrate, share, and preserve knowledge of the cultural traditions of the desert and the oasis. Children attend weekly music classes in the traditional Ahidous, Gnawa, Rokba, Akalal, and Chamra styles. The school has since given rise to the Zamane Festival, which features hundreds of musical artists from across the Sahara and attracts thousands of visitors.

Two seasonal workers harvest dates in Saudi Arabia’s Al Ula Oasis. Date palms resist drought and heat, but cultivating them is labor­-intensive.

The school’s new home, the Joudour Sahara cultural center, was completed last year and consists of two modern rammed-earth buildings, designed by Moroccan architect Aziza Chaouni. One is a sunken amphitheater for musical performances, the other a classroom with a subterranean cistern. The two structures are connected by underground water pipes. Rainwater is collected and stored in the reservoir. “Real resilience is saving every drop of rainwater,” says Sbai. A riad-style building for visiting musicians is under construction nearby. “The idea was to revive traditional materials that completely make sense in the area,” says Chaouni, “to build pride in traditional architecture, not to just copy the past but be innovative.”

Sbai often talks about the importance of nomadic culture, the need to live within the constraints of nature and the desert’s tough environment, to share resources as a community, to not waste anything. He says these old ways are key to the restoration and survival of the oasis in the face of climate change.

Sbai started as a tour operator before expanding into environmental and cultural activism. He still believes in the value of tourism to the oasis economy, but, he wonders, what kind of tourism? The kind that builds with concrete, fills swimming pools with precious water, and tears up the dunes for gasoline-fueled kicks? Or something slower and simpler, that treads more lightly on the land, exists in harmony with the landscape, and draws on the rich culture and history of the oasis?

One cold, clear evening, he reclines against a thick pouf on a handwoven carpet laid out by a fire. One of his guests is a Tuareg desert blues guitarist visiting the music school from Mauritania, who carefully serves tea poured from a small painted teapot heated in the fire’s embers. A waxing moon shines bright above, and a thick stand of date palms is silhouetted against the indigo sky. “We have the stars and a fire,” Sbai says. “We are the luckiest people on Earth.” The oasis is fragile, its future uncertain, but it is where Sbai comes from and where he belongs, and he is determined to save it.

— Based in Woodbridge, England, Tristan McConnell reported from Morocco for this story. His stories have been published in GQ, Emergence, Aeon, Harper’s, and Vox.

— An Explorer since 2020, M’hammed Kilito Photographed Oases in Morocco and Saudi Arabia for this story. Kilito lives in Rabat, Morocco, and his work has been published in the Atlantic, El Pais, and the British Journal of Photography.

[nichhed]

White spots of searing pain etched into a soulful child, one who had yet to discover life itself. Invited into the world, only to have its span shortened to dust. Destiny whispered a chilling tale, one that hinted that fire is a fickle thing. From burning contently a candle, gradually working its way down to its fate, gently waving in response to the wind’s whistle, to an outright hellish blaze. One that consumed all in its path, unaccepting of the will of several who wish to conquer it, unafraid of its own pursuit toward the truth it was seeking.

…So, it only begs one question. What form of this fire do you want to be?

The night sky had befallen the people of a planet far from where she had travelled from, with the darkened sky mixing into a strange culmination of blues, with stars littered across, shining big and bright above all those who slept. Crescent moon’s gaze wandered aimlessly, sensing the uncertainty of a woman far more troubled than she would like to admit to herself.

Lost eyes remaining fixated on the ceiling, one could almost mistaken that level of stillness as a representation of death. In a way, it could be considered an accurate way of describing the way scenes of bodies disappearing into a morphed, unnatural means of decay, with some seeming almost glad to be erased from the mounting pain they had to endure day in, day out. Others responded with fear, clinging onto the last few moments of their life, begging for a way to live on, even as the last of their body disintegrates into nothingness.

The only thing that would ever remain of these people were the memories they existed within from those who lived on, destined to suffer the same fate.

Slowly, Firefly was losing parts of herself. No longer human in entirety, she wondered if limits would be put on her value as a person. Regardless of effort, there would always be a regrettable expression to be met with once things were said and done. Her biggest fear to truly come from it… would be being regretted by another. Living once would be enough for her if she could just make it count. The same way those that died around her felt grief at the loss of placing their mark on the world. They would merely remain forgotten entities, though she would always promise to remember.

The sound of a wooden creak would startle the woman back to the living world, instinctively sitting upright to investigate her surroundings. How long had she been lingering on instances that lived no longer in the present moment? Why was she so fixated on something she could no longer change? With a sigh, realisation dawned that she had left the window open, prompting the wind to carry a strong chill into the bare room. For a hotel, it was exceptionally modest. To be labelled a criminal the way she chose, did she have room to yearn for more?

Swinging her legs around the side of the bed, her petite frame would find itself standing, a slow stroll made to the window to ensure it remained shut for the night. A shudder would ripple through the warm skin, dainty hands gripping onto her arms, setting the woman to march back to her bed. A heavy sigh would escape her mouth, sitting upright in the same place she had a moment ago, with so much and so little running around in her mind at one time. Familial aches would settle at the core of her heart, her eyelids fluttering closed to diminish the feeling.

Loneliness. Yearning for a closer, more intimate connection.

Despite the softness in her heart, there was never going to be room in a temporary life to learn to love and embrace another person in entirety. Some part of her felt total shame. Oftentimes, people just need someone to talk to, but Firefly wanted somebody she could talk to all day, every day. In the dreams she shares with nobody, there is a world in which she is free to be herself. A woman, while also embracing the warrior spirit she had spent years cultivating the skills for. Given her status as a criminal in variant fashions, there was little room for combat to become forgotten about.

Her head hung heavy, unfolding paper that had gone through the same process of its wings being spread, only to be clipped once again. Momentary silence — one that went beyond the quiet that lingered in the room — as the paper became one with itself again. Bottom lip trembling, fingers caressing the contents, that ache of missing a time passed.

Things had been left on a good note. Despite the deception created, there had been forgiveness to be found in the end. Yet, there was a corner of her heart filled with a one-sided guilt. If it hadn’t been for the lies cast, playing games around Penacony, nor the brief tour would have come to be. Getting to know the Trailblazer for who they were, to see the smile etched across that flawless face, having the experience of normality meant the world to her. Even as she webbed herself into a more difficult position, the time she spent with him essentially brought vitality back into her hands.

Small droplets of her tears would fall upon the two in the photo, soaking through the material as it settled on her lap. Her fingers would swipe them away, only for more to come. The pain in her heart was still raw, and in this silent moment, she was able to find enough solace to let it all out. Shaking her head, her right hand would settle over chest, as if reaching to cling to her heart.

“Did I… really have to do that?”

There was an awareness that some of what she had done was necessary, but Firefly was also aware of the relationship shared between Kafka and the famous Astral Express crew member. It was something irreplaceable, even if she didn’t fully understand it herself. There was a deep yearning for connection, and the bond that had developed between herself and the same man had ultimately led her to the conclusion that this is part of what it means to live.

Is she trying honouring that realisation by enabling her regrets to tantalise her into a deeper spiral? No. A fire would internally ignite, swarming with promise, no longer accepting of broken moments to define the bigger picture. This didn’t necessarily mean she forgave herself for the lies told, but it did open up a possibility for a truer redemption.

“I will do better by you!”

If she constantly allowed herself to be defined for those weak moments, then what the hell would have been the point in her living on like this? That night, three vows had been made. The first one would be to thoroughly redeem herself with the Trailblazer. The second would be to live life as herself, to minimise any regrets, to die at peace with herself. The third one is to embrace the connections she makes with others to the utmost. To be grateful that a moment has occurred where a new friend has been made, or a relationship has deepened because circumstance has allowed it.

Entropy Loss Syndrome was not going to disintegrate her wings to dust, nor would her lies to the first friend she had authentically made be the thing to collapse her dreams and heart in at once.

The tears that had once flowed so effortlessly now stopped, dried against her pale skin as her hands now clutch the blanket over her body. “I want… to experience love,” she mustered up, talking to the stars at her most vulnerable. “I want to love with my whole heart, to experience the ups and the downs that come with it! I… also want to be loved.”

To be loved is to truly be seen, after all.

“I want to experience being carefree. To live on without being tied back because my body hurts too much to function…”

Because, the truth is that…

“I really hate being like this, but I’d be damned if I’d let it define me all over again!”

Unbeknownst to most, her body was always in more pain than she could ever verbally admit. Whenever she would push herself, there would be a consequence to follow later, punishing her for being so stubborn. For not yielding to death. Even so, the good days were still at large, and with enough restoration, she would be free to fly again as SAM with little consequence.

A deep breath would be let out through her mouth.

“I’d like… to be held while sleeping… sometime?” There was a momentary silence after that, before her cheeks would redden, her body hiding itself under the covers. “Gah! Forget it! That was so embarrassing…”

“Though, I must admit… being honest with myself about what I do wish for has been a really… nice experience.”

Through her words, she would yawn, finding the warmth of the bed far too irresistible to say ‘no’ to. On the pillow beside her, the picture would be folded up once again, only… it had been done in a way where the man in the picture was the sole star of the show, with her own face folded to the back. This was her way of making her own dreams come true.

Because entrusting your fate with the stars alone would never be enough to bring yourself to the point you’d need to be at to experience its fruition.

[valhallasoutlaw]

In the spirit of "Problematic Media," I want to bring up my personal pros and cons of Hazbin Hotel before it gets lambasted into oblivion. I loved this show, but it's earned some criticism.

NOTABLE cons:

1) Strangely puritanical views of sex and putting Charlie in the position of a savior through a Christian fundamental lens. The show portrays sex as a sin, and Charlie is weirdly chaste/pure for a character in her position.

2) Rushed writing. I think this was a corporate boardroom decision bc "kids these days don't have an attention span and if it's longer than 8 episodes we won't get any ratings." Each episode feels like the beginning AND the end of a 3 episode arc with none of the story in between.

3) The last battle/season finale was just...bad. Only one Big Lazer, not enough time to enjoy the new outfits, no concept of power scaling. I still have no idea how strong any one character is relative to the universe they live in. Also, Sir Pentious NEEDED a competent battle moment. His death just felt underhanded.

4) So far I'm a bit of an apologist, but there's some interesting accusations about Viv in the workplace. Waiting to confirm more.

These are all huge dings to the show, but I'm at least slightly media literate and I can acknowledge it's flaws without having a meltdown. For me, the pros make it worth watching and rewatching.

PROS:

1) We've never seen this before. "Ooh this should be a show!" Has never ever been serious like this. Vivzie Pop actually fucking did it, and if she can, so can the rest of us. She's a breakthrough for indie creators and that's never been more important.

2) STUNNING characters. Yes, they're pretty monotone red/black and carry a sometimes same-y shape language, but the personality in their designs is so expressive and striking. I love looking at them and they're honestly iconic in their own way.

3) The music beyond fucking slapped. Electroswing at it's finest, brings out all the edgy stuff my younger self was too cringe to engage with. Living tombstone hits the big screen and it BANGS.

4) Again, THIS IS HUGE. We as artists can make it despite everything with AI and corporate filth. We CAN do it and Viv has showed us, problems or not.

[storiesbyjes2g]

3.57 The resort

Winter arrived, and I couldn't even tell. The pleasantly warm temperature was the same as every other day that week, like autumn in San Sequoia, and I loved it. At least it didn't rain, though. I in no way had any regrets about moving in with Sophia, but I missed San Sequoia a lot—a whole lot. There was just something about that colorful town that resonated with me. With any luck, we could move back one day, but for now, Oasis Springs was my dusty new home.

Good thing I didn't have a traditional job, or otherwise Sophia and I would struggle to find time together. Not only did she work an early shift, but also she worked on weekends and had two random days off in the middle of the week. But that also meant I'd only have a few hours each day to get everything I needed to get done before she got home if we wanted to maximize our time together. I could have gone back to San Sequoia to host a class or two, but I used the time to shop for a few items for the house and put up my pictures. I was no design diva like Mama, but I hoped Sophia would be pleasantly surprised when she walked through the door.

After the decor adventure, I went for a jog, and would you believe it rained after I had just given Oasis Springs props for not raining on me? Rude. Maybe the latter part of the year was just rainier everywhere in general and I never noticed until now.

Next to our house was an empty lot, and even though I'd jogged past it a few times, it stood out that day and got me thinking. How much would it cost to build a very small, very basic studio? The question intrigued me so much I canceled my second lap and went back home to do some research. The price of the land was relatively cheap, which meant the lot taxes would probably be low as well. So far, I had no reason to not consider this path, but I tucked the idea away for another time because I became distracted by learning about a spa resort right here in Oasis Springs. The resort, named Desert Bloom Spa Hotel, was conveniently located near our neighborhood. I still had a few more hours before Sophia got back, so I went to check it out.

I had only entered the lobby and already fell in love with the place. It was so clean, modern, and peaceful. Maybe one day Sophia and I could do a weekend getaway—a staycation of sorts. Well, definitely not on the weekend, but you know what I meant. I found someone who worked there and asked if I could look around, and to my surprise, she volunteered to take me on a tour and began in the dining room, which was just across the breezeway from the front desk.

They served continental breakfast, snacks during the day, and tapas at night. At the heart of the facility, there was a sprawling fountain that spanned almost the entire length of the spa. The poolside bar was pretty big too. Tables and chairs were scattered all around the fountain, giving plenty of room for everyone to hang out and chill over a nice drink.

They even had a two-level gym with enough machines to accommodate nearly anyone wishing to workout during their stay. Not even my gym in Newcrest had that many machines. This place was really growing on me, and I wondered if I could frequent it without a reservation.

Up next were the residential suites. We couldn't go in them, of course, but they were duplex style, side-by-side suites that mirrored each other. They shared a common pool, and I got to peek inside a little from the patio door. They looked nice enough inside. I think we could be happy there for a few days--not that we'll be sitting around looking at the wallpaper, heh.

The yoga area was outside across from the suites and pool, and MAN I was so inspired. I rarely thought about opening my own yoga studio. Honestly, it was yet another one of Mama's ideas that eventually bored its way into my subconscious. But sometimes the idea was strong enough that it felt like it came from my own mind, and I really wanted to do it. Looking at their setup gave me so many ideas for how I could craft mine when the time came.

Hopefully, they also had an indoor facility because it started raining again. I would hate to be a paying customer who wasn't able to take any classes because of the weather. Watcher forbid they still carried on, regardless. I asked my tour guide if they ever did guided meditations and explained I was a yoga instructor myself and led guided meditations in San Sequoia. This intrigued her, and she promised to discuss it with the owner.

Turns out they didn't have an indoor yoga room, but the meditation room was upstairs. The spa rooms were also upstairs, but my tour guide didn't let me go in for obvious reasons. But she said there was a sauna, two tables inside, and multiple massage chairs on the upper deck. The lobby for the massage rooms was just as clean and peaceful as the front desk, so I knew the service rooms would be too.

I was so wrapped up in the tour I didn't realize the time. Sophia had already arrived home, and I missed the opportunity to show her the things I bought. True, she could see them as soon as she walked in, but I wanted to be the one to show her. But in Sophia-like fashion, she began raving about how much she loved the rug and blinds as soon as I walked in.

Luckily, she hadn't seen the other room yet, so I got to show her the couch for the office, and she loved that too.

"Thanks for moving the desk and fitting the couch in there. I know it's not easy getting things in and out of here."

It was no trouble. After all, I was a very strong man, heh.

I joined her on the couch and asked about her day. Thankfully, it was much better than yesterday but still kind of meh. I guess that's the answer a lot of sims gave since it was so common to work a job one didn't love. I wanted better for her and didn't enjoy seeing her live a mediocre life. Hopefully, one day my yoga business would be so good she wouldn't have to work if she didn't want to. I just wanted her to be happy.

The conversation reached a lull, and she took the opportunity to change the subject and ask me a very serious question.

"So how are you feeling about living here?"

To be continued...

The resort is a golden oldie by @jenba!

[crazyfoxfur16]

Snippet of first draft of chapter 1 of my modern Au Davron fan fiction.

Chapter One

The stone walls stood as they had for more than two centuries, simple, sturdy, and strong. Mined from the hills and the valleys, they rose in testament to man’s inherent desire to leave his mark, to build and create.

Over those two centuries man married the stone with brick, with wood and glass, enlarging, transforming, enhancing to suit the needs, the times, the whims. Throughout, the building on the crossroads watched as the settlement became a town, as more buildings sprang up.

The dirt road became asphalt; horse and carriage gave way to cars. Fashions flickered by in the blink of an eye. Still it stood, rising on its corner of The Square, an enduring landmark in the cycle of change.

It knew war, heard the echo of gunfire, the cries of the wounded, the prayers of the fearful. It knew blood and tears, joy and fury. Birth and death.

It thrived in good times, endured the hard times. It changed hands and purpose, yet the stone walls stood.

In time, the wood of its graceful double porches began to sag. Glass broke; mortar cracked and crumbled. Some who stopped at the light on the town square might glance over to see pigeons flutter in and out of broken windows and wonder what the old building had been in its day. Then the light turned green, and they drove on.

Davos knew.

He stood on the opposite corner of The Square, thumbs tucked into the pockets of his jeans. Thick with summer, the air held still. With the road empty, he could have crossed Main Street against the light, but he continued to wait. Opaque blue tarps draped the building from roof to street level, curtaining the front of the building. Over the winter it had served to hold the heat in for the crew. Now it helped block the beat of the sun—and the view.

But he knew—how it looked at that moment, and how it would look when the rehab was complete. After all, he’d designed it—he, his two cousins, his uncle. But the blueprints bore his name as architect, his primary function as a partner in Blackwood Family Contractors.

He crossed over, his tennis shoes nearly silent on the road in the breathless hush of three a.m. He walked under the scaffolding, along the side of the building, down St. Paul, pleased to see in the glow of the streetlight how well the stone and brick had cleaned up.

It looked old—it was old, he thought, and that was part of its beauty and appeal. But now, for the first time in his memory, it looked tended.

He rounded the back, walked over the sunbaked dirt, through the construction rubble scattered over what would be a courtyard. Here the porches that spanned both the second and third stories ran straight and true. Custom-made pickets—designed to replicate those from old photographs of the building, and the remnants found during excavation—hung freshly primed and drying on a length of wire.

He knew his eldest cousin, Benjicot, in his role as head contractor, had the rails and pickets scheduled for install.

He knew because Elinor, the middle of the three Blackwood cousins, plagued them all over schedules, calendars, projections, and ledgers—and kept Davos informed of every nail hammered.

Whether he wanted to be or not.

In this case, he supposed as he dug out his key, he wanted to be—usually. The old hotel had become a family obsession.

It had him by the throat, he admitted as he opened the unfinished and temporary door to what would be The Lobby. And by the heart—and hell, it had him by the balls. No other project they’d ever worked on had ever gotten its hooks in him, in all of them, like this. He suspected none ever would again.

He hit the switch, and the work light dangling from the ceiling flashed on to illuminate bare concrete floors, roughed-in walls, tools, tarps, material.

It smelled of wood and concrete dust and, faintly, of the grilled onions someone must have ordered for lunch.

He’d do a more thorough inspection of the first and second floors in the morning when he had better light. Stupid to have come over at this hour anyway, when he couldn’t really see crap, and was dog tired. But he couldn’t resist it.

By the balls, he thought again, passing under a wide archway, its edges of stone still rough and exposed. Then, flipping on his flashlight, he headed toward the front and the work steps that led up.

There was something about the place in the middle of the night, when the noise of nail guns, saws, radios, and voices ended, and the shadows took over. Something not altogether quiet, not altogether still. Something that brushed fingers over the back of his neck.

Something else he couldn’t resist.

He swept his light around the second floor, noted the brown-bag backing on the walls. As always, Elinor’s report had been accurate. Benji and his crew had the insulation completed on this level.

Though he’d intended to go straight up, he roamed here with a grin spreading over his sharply boned face, the pleasure of it lighting eyes the color of blue-green shadows.

“Coming along,” he said into the silence in a voice gravelly from lack of sleep.

He moved through the dark, following his beam of light, a tall man with narrow hips, the long Blackwood legs, and the waving mass of black hair with hints of brown that came down from the Le Fey—his maternal side.

He had to remind himself that if he kept poking around he’d have to get up before he got to bed, so he climbed up to the third floor.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about.” Pure delight scattered thoughts of sleep as he traced a finger down the taped seam of freshly hung drywall.

He played his light over the holes cut out for electric, moved into what would be the innkeeper’s apartment, and noted the same for plumbing in the kitchen and bath. He spent more time wandering through what would be their most elaborate suite, nodding approval at the floating wall dividing the generous space in the bath.

“You’re a frigging genius, Fiery Shit. Now, for God’s sake, go home.”

But giddy with fatigue and anticipation, he took one more good look before he made his way down the steps.

He heard it as he reached the second floor. A kind of humming—and distinctly female. As the sound reached him, so did the scent. Honeysuckle, sweet and wild and ripe with summer.

His belly did a little dance, but he held the flashlight steady as he swept it down the hall into unfinished guest rooms. He shook his head as both sound and scent drifted away.

“I know you’re here.” He spoke clearly, and his voice echoed back to him. “And I guess you’ve been here for a while. We’re bringing her back, and then some. She deserves it. I hope to hell you like it when she’s done because, well, that’s the way it’s going to be.”

He waited a minute or two, fanciful enough—or tired enough—to imagine whoever, or whatever, inhabited the place settled on a wait-and-see mode.

“Anyway.” He shrugged. “We’re giving her the best we’ve got, and we’re pretty damn good.”

He walked down, noted the work light no longer shone. Davos turned it on again, switched it back off with another shrug. It wouldn’t be the first time the current resident had messed with one of them.

“Good night,” he called out, then locked up.

This time he didn’t wait for the light, but crossed diagonally. Vesta Pizzeria and Family Restaurant spread over another corner of The Square, with his apartment and office above. He walked down the sloping sidewalk to the back parking lot, grabbed his bag from the cab of his truck. Deciding he’d murder anyone who called him before eight a.m., Davos unlocked the stairwell, then climbed past the restaurant level to his door.

He didn’t bother with the light, but moved by memory and the backwash of streetlights through the apartment. He stripped by the bed, letting the clothes drop.

He flopped facedown on the mattress, and fell asleep thinking of honeysuckle.