#i mean depraved demons can up with the name what do you expect

[edgeray]

Heyyooo!! I was wondering if you could make an Arle x afab reader with like a beauty and the beast plot?? Arle’s curse is slowly killing her though which is why her arms turned black and the only way she can save herself (this curse could also be affecting the House of the Hearth, up to you) is if she finds someone whom she can open up her heart to and they accept her fully and love her back in return! It doesn’t have to be exactly like that but I do think having a beauty and the beast au with arle x reader would be pretty fun to see.

Cursed Human

(Arlecchino x Fem! Reader)

A/N - Hi anon! This is a super interesting AU anon! If you choose to request as an anon again make sure to give yourself a name/emoji 🫶. I actually really love this idea. This gives a little bit of hanahaki au vibes (which is something separate that I should write and have been meaning to write, ack– too many wip). This will lean more into dark fairytale and will be based off of Arlecchino's backstory. (This turned out darker than I expected, and I'm very sorry for that.)  The switch up is crazy to me. 💀 How do I pull out horse girl au, platonic au, and domestic fluff, and then this shit? I'm versatile like that, I guess. But I promise it gets better after all the dark stuff.  Content warnings / info - afab reader, pretty dark, some brief religious notions, semi-graphic details of violence, a little bit of arlevie but only ‘cuz of the angst, hopefully not forgetting something, 1.8k words

Here tells the tale of a cursed monster. 

Peruere was said to be cursed from childbirth. A child who caused misfortune wherever and whenever, it was a surprise to none of the villagers when Arlecchino was dropped off at the doorstep of Crucabena, the head of an illegitimate orphanage. Misfortune began with the death of her birth mother. Afterwards, her father was stricken by an unknown illness, quickly becoming too ill to take care of her. The first day that Peruere arrived at the orphanage, the stocked vegetables and fruits had all rotten. And the first night, every child in the same room as her was suddenly struck with insomnia.   

(The pregnancy only intensified the already ill mother  in the first place. The stress from a newborn child and the death of his wife caused him to be ill. The recent intensity of humidity accelerated the spoilage of the produce. The mattresses were far too solid, the room was far too cold, and the piercing cries of Crucabena's daughter were far too loud to allow slumber.)  

The villagers deemed her as cursed, a threat to their quaint little town. They tried to persuade the town head, a powerful sorcerer, to eradicate the hell offspring. The town head rejected, suggesting that the mere existence of a child did not warrant taking away her life. Crucabena had stepped up to the conference, easing the villagers’ concerns by ensuring that the depravity would be beaten out of the wretched child. 

And Crucabena did just as she said she would. 

“Mother” had no issue every night carving the symbol of her archon into Arlecchino's skin in an effort to exercise the demon inside of the child. “Mother” sullied Peruere's once flawless skin with bruises, lacerations, and blood. The cursed child clawed and struggled away every night, and yet every night she only knew of the pain that was etched far past the layers of her skin, carved into her bones, and syringed into her veins. 

The wretched child became very familiar with the acute sting or the prickling ache. However, there was something else she became familiar with. While “Mother" dealt her pain, what Clervie dealt her was love.

Clervie was young and naive. Perhaps if the cursed child knew better, Clervie would not be tainted.  

“Mother” did not stop even when the screams of a six-year-old child rang through her ears. “Mother” did not stop when even her other children begged her to stop her demonstrations. “Mother” did not stop when her own daughter rose against her. “Mother” did not stop when her own daughter's blood spilt on her hands. 

Love is a strange thing. It can transform a meek sheep into a vengeful wolf. 

The same night that Clervie's life was extinguished, Peruere burned bright, hot enough to scorch Crucabena's life away. 

After hearing of the child's atrocity, the town head cursed the child, expeling her to a decrepit home amidst a dark forest, condemning her to a slow, painful death. Peruere will die a death befitting an unlovable, inhuman creature. For if she sins under the pretense of something so pure, then she shall forever be undeserving of it. Stripped from her final piece of humanity, her name, a new name is thrusted upon the child: Arlecchino, the Knave, the servant of a devil.

—

At Arlecchino's feet lay the corpses of the intrusive villagers, the ones that dared to enter her forest and prey upon her children. How dare they? 

It had been a decade since she had been cursed. A simmering fire burns within her veins, sometimes the constant ache so acute that Arlecchino believes that she is truly burning from within. She had long presumed that that was the very nature of her curse, that she would eventually burn from the inside like the very flames that consumed Crucabena. Her arms had attained the same color as char, the spread of the physical toll of her curse growing with each passing day. And her eyes, they gain red-crossed pupils, said to be the mark of a demon inside. 

After having been expelled, the villagers were ‘generous’ enough to give her an abandoned abode. With her hands, she made it into something liveable. After a few weeks of living in the forest, she encountered intruders on the eastern borders of her forest: children from another town, said to be cursed and so were being chased out by villagers with torches and pitchforks. Arlecchino had sheltered them, and they had remained with her since.

Arlecchino gives it another half-decade before the char completely consumes her body, and she will meet the same fate as “Mother.” But until then, she will protect her forest, her home, her children. Perhaps her children will grow strong enough to protect themselves when she is gone. 

Other children, in one way or another, made their way into her forest. One, whose mother had abandoned after giving birth to them, was left to die with nothing but a blanket bundled around them. Another, seeking a sanctuary to peacefully die was convinced otherwise, and now smiles everyday. Each and every child within her cabin had some tragedy placed unjustly on them, and so Arlecchino welcomed her arms to them. 

Arlecchino had taught them well, each child could not venture out beyond the woods for their own safety. But the villagers, across all five villages surrounding her forest, had grown bolder, determined to ‘exterminate vileness.’ 

She cannot protect her children for much longer. She will die, and her children–her nest of the outcasts, the abandoned, the cursed, the hurt–will be left to fend for themselves. Even she cannot escape fate, no matter how much she challenges it. That is the tragedy she must shoulder.  

She is tired. 

The warmth of her children, while welcomed, is not the same as the warmth she longs. The warmth of her children does not comfort her at nights when the bloodfire, so she calls it, creeps up, maiming any semblance of sleep. The warmth of her children does not undo or prevent the curse's effect, her arms still remain black, her hands still resembling the claws of a monster. The warmth of her children does not melt her frigid heart, does not make her any more human. 

She longs and longs for something she is destined to never receive. 

Because this is the most she deserves. 

—

One day, a person stumbles into her forest. She is neither a child or a malevolent aggressor. She encounters you, breathless and heaving as you clutch your bleeding side. Arlecchino can tell that you do not bear any spite towards her or her children, but she cannot deem you nonthreatening. 

“A-are you the Knave?” you're able to choke out, leaning against the tree.

“Would you like the misfortune of finding out?” Arlecchino forewarns, extending out her hands and showcasing her claws, remnants of other victims’ blood still on her fingers. You swallow thickly, your hand clutching onto the small dagger behind your back. 

“I'm… I'm looking for my child. They wandered into here and never came back. But… I refuse to believe that they're dead. They're alive, aren't they? You have them, don't you? Let me see them,” you boldly demand, despite your injured state. Your eyes burn with a dangerous determination, a familiar fire dancing among your pupils. 

“Are you unaware? That the Knave kidnaps and feeds on young children?” That was obviously a lie, but an effective lie that has dissuaded most villagers from entering her territory. 

You shook your head. “They're just rumors.”

“And how would you know?” 

You breathe in deeply. “I've heard of you. You're the first cursed child. But, I know why you were cursed. You wouldn't… you wouldn't do that.”

Arlecchino pauses, hesitance in her for the slightest moment. “I am cursed,” she says it like a shield, a wall that defends her from futile hopes. 

“The world isn't as just as most people like us to believe.”

The cursed human breathes deeply. “What is your name?” 

—

You were telling the truth. Arlecchino remembers one of her children yearning for their mother, the only source of comfort before they found the House. She takes you to her home, and you're reunited with your child.

Your child pleads with Arlecchino to allow you to stay, and begrudgingly, she does, to your amazement. You adjust well to living in the secluded home, often filling in for her the emotional support that the children always needed, but she could not provide. The children take to calling you ‘Mother.’ You joke with the children, insisting that Arlecchino was the ‘Father’ in that case.  

Something inside of her stirs when she does. It is both a familiar and foreign sensation, somehow a sweet and bitter taste in her mouth, soothing but perturbing at once. You are unbeknownst to this. 

There are traits that you learn about the cursed once-child, traits that you find endearing, and traits that you later learn to love. Although her words may be cutting, they can carry a tenderness with them. Her hands, that she so frequently despises, protect her children. There is no reason for you not to love them, despite their appearance. She utilizes her cursed status to protect all of you, and for that, how could you possibly see someone who is ‘cursed’ or ‘inhuman?’ 

One night, you lay awake, suddenly jolted by the sounds of scratching, originating from the room besides you. You approach the room, and view the forlorn sight of Arlecchino, hunched over and writhing in pain, the bloodfire overtaking her once more. Pained groans escape from her as her claws dig into the wall besides her, dragging them down as she searches for any sense of grounding. Her eyes glower, the color reminiscent of blood. It is in this moment where she looks nothing more like a beast. 

Still, you do not see her as such. Not when you take her hand, kissing each knuckle and finger, the same ones that had saved your child from danger, the same ones that had saved you. 

“Arlecchino,” you whisper out to her, and it calls out to her soul. The bloodfire weakens, and she gazes at you. Your eyes fill with a warmth that melts her.

“Don't,” she warns with a harsh gruff that wavers, attempting to wrench her hand out of her grasp, but she finds herself vulnerable when you grip tighter. You lean down, bringing your lips on her blackened skin, the very skin that signifies her inhumanity. The black gradient recedes, and you continue until you kiss up to her shoulder. By then, the charred hue only spreads up to her knuckles.

Shock envelops her expression, but she is hardly given the time to process when you slot your lips over hers. She sighs and leans in, bringing up her hand to cup your face. 

Her hands are neither clawed, nor charred at that moment, but the two of you hardly realize until the next morning. The bloodfire inside of Arlecchino dissipates.

Fate can be challenged, and destiny can be broken. Cursed or not, deserving of or not, Arlecchino will take what is rightfully hers. 

[janeicethesiren]

Hot take: The Woobification of Sebastian and O!Ciel-How Beauty Clouds Judgement

Hey guys, it’s me again and I can’t sleep. I have another hot take to share! Once again, please don’t take this too seriously, I’m just talking.

So, I just want to start off by saying that I totally get it. I mean it! We’ve been following these characters for years and we’ve gotten so invested in there stories and we can’t help but want them to win, you know? It’s human nature to want to root for the underdog in some ways. And, O!Ciel kinda fits the mold of underdog when you consider his backstory.

But, and this is my opinion, Ciel and Sebastian are NOT the underdogs. And I can’t help but think that if they both weren’t so pretty, you’d see a lot less people excusing their behavior or rooting for them.

I should also stress that I’m not talking about the people who look at these characters through a complex lense, I’m more so talking about people who are insistent that O!Ciel and Sebastian are good people/not evil.

Like I said, I get it and I empathize with the kid, but the kid is a BASTARD. He has progressively become an awful, awful person and that’s the POINT. And I can’t help but find it boring when people try to strip that away from him.

People feel bad for O!Ciel because he’s been through a lot, which yeah he definitely has. And people are mad at R!Ciel for standing against him and at Lizzy for turning on him, at least for now.

And, again, I kinda get it because we’ve been with O!Ciel for so long and it’s natural to root for him. But, O!Ciel is not the good guy! Lol what’s happening right now is that he’s currently being forced to face the consequences of his own actions. Which, let’s be honest, he wasn’t expecting to ever have to do because of his personal countdown death clock, Sebastian.

I can understand why he told those lies, especially at the beginning. But there’s no excuse for them anymore. He should have BEEN told everyone the truth. Would it have been easy? Of course not. But it would’ve been the right thing to do. While it’s understandable why he did what he did, he still took away his family’s ability to grieve and R!Ciel’s ability to rest, at least in my opinion.

Also, I think it’s important to note that, after a point, O!Ciel started to ENJOY being Ciel. So much so that he’s willing to fight the real Ciel for his own name. Which is absurd when you think about it!

His family absolutely ain’t shit for not only not noticing the difference, but also not doing anything to step in and really be there for that boy. But again, that’s part of the point of what Yana is trying to say in that upperclass Victorian society is/and was depraved, shallow, and mostly evil.

O!Ciel may have been thinking of the others when he made his initial decision but the decision was still selfish. I think that it’s ok to say that; while yes, he suffered from heavy survivors guilt and truly thought that his family would prefer for R!Ciel to come back (and unfortunately he wasn’t wrong), he still, if only subconsciously, wanted the power, prestige, and access that R!Ciel’s name carried.

He LIKES being Ciel now and loathes his old name and position. He LIKES the power, the access, the maneuverability, hurting people when they get in his way, killing those who wronged him, the security of Sebastian’s presence, the ability to make his dream come true (made a lot easier with Ciel’s name), the dark mind games he plays with people. ALL OF IT. He loves it and that’s the POINT.

And Sebastian is a demon. Yes we all know that, that’s not news. However, I still feel like we give the man (entity, whatever) too much credit a lot of the time. Again, mostly because he’s pretty.

Is it possible that he grew to care for O!Ciel in someway? Sure! And I do believe he legitimately has a lot of respect for O!Ciel. But I honestly think it’s more likely that the bastard is hungry and the current events are making him worried that he’ll end up being killed or losing his meal in the end. I don’t think it’s impossible or too much of a stretch to say that he’s grown fond of O!Ciel in someways, but best believe that child is food. Yana even outright says that Sebastian LOVES to see Ciel suffer! Only it’s not so fun when Sebastian is also suffering too, lol he’s a narcissist.

TLDR: It makes sense why people root for O!Ciel and Sebastian. But I think we give these two way too much credit sometimes and there’s an over abundance of people trying to absolve them both of their evil. They are both garbage (lovable garbage!) that are currently facing the consequences of (mostly Ciel’s) actions. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk. Please don’t kill me.

[gealach-in-a-misty-world]

Dimitri Alexeyev used to be the Tzar of Novo-Svitsevo. Now, he is merely a broken man, languishing in exile after losing a devastating civil war instigated by his estranged husband, Alexey Balakin. In hiding with what remains of his court, Dimitri and his spymaster, Vasily Sokolov, engineer a dangerous ruse. Vasily will sneak into Alexey’s court under a false identity to gather information, paving the way for the usurper’s downfall, while Dimitri finds a way to kill him for good. But stopping Alexey is not so easy as plotting to kill an ordinary man. Through a perversion of the Ludayzim religion that he terms the Holy Science, Alexey has died and resurrected himself in an immortal, indestructible body—and now claims he is guided by the voice of God Himself. Able to summon forth creatures from the realm of demons, he seeks to build an army, turning Novo-Svitsevo into the greatest empire that history has ever seen. Dimitri is determined not to let Alexey corrupt his country, but saving Novo-Svitsevo and its people will mean forfeiting the soul of the husband he can’t bring himself to forsake—or the spymaster he’s come to love.

"If I die first, I'll tell you the secrets of heaven."

Laura R. Samotin's The Sins on Their Bones is an extraordinary tale of healing from trauma and finding your inner strength again after enduring an abusive relationship, a well-written dark fantasy story with Jewish accents and folklore and a Russian-inspired court, a tale of the supernatural that doesn't shy away from its horrors, even when it's creatures of good that are doing the violations. It's a quiet story, following the three POVs of the grief-stricken former Tzar, his loyal spymaster, and the man who abused the Tzar's heart, body, and empire.

The abuser's POV is truly unsettling; he's so enamored of his narrative, so disgustingly lacking in self-awareness, that it proves to be a challenging read. He's a perfect villain, not moustache-twirling but one who believes he's the hero of his own story when in truth, we see the depths of his depravity in stark vividness. The book is prefaced by trigger warnings, and one would do best to take heed of them; the upsetting material isn't just in his chapters, but is reminisced and witnessed in the other POVs as well. The spymaster, too, has a painful past, that he'll try to overcome while he helps the former tzar do the same. The tzar's POV is heartbreaking, for his love for his abuser, even though he's aware of the things he did, is still ever-present and drenched in agony, and he can't bring himself to find comfort as his kingdom is taken apart by a madman.

The supporting cast truly shines. Dimitri has friends, his inner court, well-rounded characters with inner lives, who love him and try to bring him back from the abyss (they enrich the queerness of the book, as one of them is nonbinary and another is aroace). The story starts after the war that broke the realm, and pieces of information are given here and there, to slowly paint the picture of what happened. Not everything is clear - how exactly Alexey turned to the Holy Science, for instance - but the atmosphere makes up for it. Another character who is truly tragic is Dimitri's half-brother, who bears the brunt of Alexey's twisted affections in the absence of the brother whom he resembles so much; his story was heartbreaking.

The magic system was intriguing, as were the glimpses of the supernatural and the way they were linked to Jewish folklore; we have demons and angels and the name of God. There are horror elements, in a sense, but the deepest horror is human depravity.

The book, despite no indication of this, seems to be part of a series given the epilogue, but I was expecting a standalone.

The Sins on Their Bones is a powerful tale.

✨ 4 stars

[You can find more of my reviews about queer speculative fiction on my blog MISTY WORLD]

[burwickdestination]

did i ever mention that demons with telepathy-based powers (like Thial’thu) are canonically called mindfuckers? cuz that’s a thing

[luminnara]

Incubus!Bakugou x Male!Reader | NSFW 18+ |

So Y/n decides to summon a demon one day just for fun. He doesn’t actually expect it to work but what else is there to do on a Friday when your home alone? (Well, there’s many things but Y/n is weird so why not?) He doesn’t actually know what an incubus is, all he knows is that it’s a type of demon. So when he summons the demon and it actually works he’s quite surprised. He tries to explain to the demon that has introduced himself as Bakugou Katsuki, that he was mostly just messing around. Bakugou then asks him if he knows what an incubus is. When Y/n says he doesn’t know, Bakugou smirks and decides to just show him instead.

I just wanna say HI I LOVE THIS REQUEST, MORE MONSTERS PLEASE

Warnings: nsfw, anal, oral, two dongs! uhhh demon semen, very slight cumflation, i’m really bad at warnings omfg

Requests are open!

When you had decided to mess around and summon a demon, you didn’t really expect it to work. 

Yeah, you had followed the instructions to a T, and yeah, those instructions came from a musty old book that was probably bound in human skin or something, but seriously? You had just been bored, and what else was there to do on a Friday night other than summon an incubus, whatever that was? It’s not like it was hard to do, either; a few weird chalk drawings on the floor, some candles, and a bunch of words you didn’t know the meaning of, and suddenly, there was something crawling up out of the center of the pentagram. 

So, yeah, a typical Friday night, really.

The demon was, to put it simply, pretty fucking hot. The first thing you saw was a hand reaching up, thick black claws digging into your hardwood floor as it hauled itself out. As you stumbled back, more of the creature appeared, rising up as if you had just opened some sort of portal. It--or he?--was bathed in a red light that came from below, and it...or, he, seemed to be totally naked.

And pretty well endowed...not that you noticed, or anything.

Wait...were there two...?

“Oi, what’s the deal?” he growled, voice rough. He was standing above you now, cracking his neck to the side as he crossed his arms over a well-muscled chest. 

“H-huh?” you blinked up at him.

 Fuck, he was gorgeous, he really was. His hair was blonde and spiky, something you hadn’t really imagined on a demon. Two tall black horns curled up from his forehead, the tips capped in gold, but as grand as they were, you were focused on his eyes. They were crimson, the color of blood, and they were piercing right through you. 

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Humans.” he mumbled under his breath before crouching in front of you. “My name is Katsuki Bakugou, and you just summoned me. So are we getting this thing going, or what?”

“Wh-what?” you stammered, still staring in disbelief.

He looked completely unimpressed. “Seriously? What’s your deal? You summon me just to waste my time or somethin’, you idiot?”

Your face reddened in anger and embarrassment. “No! I...I didn’t really expect it to work, that’s all.”

The demon raised an eyebrow. “In over your head, huh? What were you doin’, messin’ with stuff you aren’t supposed to touch? Shit, you humans are so stupid sometimes...accidentally summoning a demon, tch...yeah right...”

“I did it on purpose, you know!” you snapped, irritated with his demeanor already. “I just...didn’t think I would actually summon something.”

Bakugou paused his annoyed grumbling and looked you over. “Well, here I am. What do you want from me? I’d rather get this over with quick. I’m a busy guy.”

You wondered what exactly he was so busy doing all day, but rather than ask, you realized that you had no idea what to do with the demon you had just summoned. 

“Oh, uh...” you stared at him blankly. “What...well, what can you do?”

It was his turn to stare. “The hell you mean? You’re the one who summoned an incubus. You tell me.”

You sat back, leaning against your couch and rubbing the back of your neck awkwardly. “I, uh...don’t really know what that means. I mean, I know an incubus is a demon and all, but that’s about...it...”

You trailed off, equal parts transfixed and concerned by the grin that was slowly creeping onto Bakugou’s face. It was predatory, showing off his sharp fangs as he pulled his lips back in a menacing snarl, and you were beginning to feel a bit like a rabbit that had just been caught by a fox. 

“Oh, human...” he purred, creeping towards you on all fours. 

You gulped, heart pounding. “Y/N. I’m y/n.”

His grin grew wider, and you suddenly wondered if you had just made a horrible mistake in telling him your name.

“Well, y/n,” he said, voice smooth as honey as he placed a hand on your shin. “Why don’t I just show you what an incubus does?”

“Uh,” you were frozen in place, staring into those mesmerizing eyes. “S-sure?”

That was when you noticed the tail. 

It slipped around your thigh, giving a tight squeeze as if holding you in place. Not like you were going anywhere, anyways; Bakugou was already making his way up your legs, reaching for your zipper. There was a hungry glint in his eyes as he shoved your jeans down, and by the time you realized you had been focusing on them, you also realized your cock was hard. 

Huh. When did that happen?

Bakugou leaned down, a long tongue sliding out of his mouth and wrapping around your cock. The second his lips touched you, your head fell back on the couch cushion behind you, a low moan leaving your throat. It was the best head you had ever received, and as the demon bobbed up and down on it greedily, you couldn’t believe how much you were already aching to cum. 

The air was filled with a heavy, luscious scent that you couldn’t place. All you knew was that it was the best thing you had ever smelled, and it was absolutely coming from the incubus currently crouching between your legs. He was insatiable, that fucking tongue sliding up and down, over and over, urging and coaxing and milking until you felt yourself unraveling. He swallowed every drop of cum, eyes flashing a bright red as he looked up at you. 

“This is what an incubus does, human,” he grinned, licking his lips. 

“O-oh,” you panted, chest heaving. You hadn’t realized you had been bracing yourself with your hands on the back of the couch, afraid to touch the demon as he went down on you, but now you were beginning to feel the tension leave your shoulders. “I...uh...wow...”

Bakugou stepped away from you and stood. “Up.”

You obeyed blindly, staring up at his twin cocks. They were standing at attention now, the lower one larger than the top, both shaped somewhat similarly to a human’s but also entirely differently. The sight of them made you want to find out more, to touch and explore, and before you could stop yourself, you were licking at the underside of a shaft while the demon’s hand guided your head. He tasted incredible, precum already oozing out of the tip, and as you worked on the bigger cock, he used his free hand to jack off the other. 

“Good human,” he growled down at you. “Making yourself useful so that I can make you feel even better later...”

You didn’t know what he was talking about, but you didn’t care. The taste of his cum was intoxicating, and the longer you sucked, the harder your own dick grew. You could feel a puddle of precum dripping down between your legs, your skin hot with arousal as that heavy scent swirled around you. Fuck, you couldn’t think. All you wanted was him.

“Easy now,” he grunted, pulling your hair until you could no longer reach his cock. 

You whined, reaching for it, but his tail immediately wrapped around your wrists and held you back. 

Bakugou chuckled. “On your hands and knees. Now.”

You had no choice but to obey, and as his warm hands ran up your back, you sighed. As terrifying as he was, you felt totally at ease. Even as he tore your shirt off, he was careful not to harm you, gentle in all of his movements. 

“Mmm, look at you...” he purred in that deep, rough voice of his. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, human...”

You shivered at his words, letting out a surprised, strangled moan as you felt his tongue on your ass. It swirled around, dipping in to stimulate your hole before it was replaced by one of his claws. You expected to feel pain, but there was only immeasurable pleasure as he finger fucked you, and soon, his other hand moved to stroke your cock. He was so masterful, so absolutely confident in all of his motions, and he soon had you cumming again, moaning his name as you made a mess all over your own floor. 

“F-fuck,” you said, shaking slightly. 

“Good?” he asked, grabbing your ass appreciatively. 

“Fuck yes,” you let your head drop, leaning against the floor as you tried to catch your breath. 

“The best is yet to come, human.”

You glanced around your arm, looking back at him. “What do you...?”

Your eyes widened at the sight of him leaning towards you, one of his cocks definitely aiming for your ass. 

“W-wait! You’re not going to fit--”

“Trust me,” he said soothingly, holding your hip. “Just relax and let me do my job.”

You swallowed hard and nodded, watching over your shoulder as he slowly pressed his larger cock into you. 

There wasn’t any of the pain you expected. It wasn’t even uncomfortable. Bakugou felt amazing, his cock stretching you in a way you had never experienced before. Hell, you hadn’t even played with your ass that much in the past, and suddenly here he was, finding a steady pace and rutting into you like a starved, depraved monster. 

The sounds you were letting out were filthy, the room filled with guttural moans and groans and the slapping of skin against skin. Each of his thrusts felt better than the last, the ridges of his inhuman cock stimulating you in the most perfect way while his smaller dick slid between your cheeks. 

Your own cock was so hard again, it was painful, and as if he sensed your discomfort, Bakugou reached around to grab it for you. 

“That’s it,” he purred in your ear, completely covering you with his own body. 

You shuddered at the sensation of his breath on your ear. It was enough to drive you over the edge again, and with a pleased sound, the demon withdrew from you. Both of his hands found their way to you hips, claws digging into your flesh as he picked up his pace, and now that you had been satisfied once more, it was clear that he was chasing his own release.

He was grunting and growling, his tail swishing behind him as he bared his fangs in a nasty snarl. When he finally came, it was with a throaty groan, his head tossed back as he buried himself deep inside of you and filled you up. 

And when he came, he came. It didn’t seem to stop, rope after rope of his thick seed eventually oozing back out around his cock, your lower belly slightly distended as he just kept going. It felt warm, but in a pleasant way, and when he finally pulled back out and caught his breath, you could feel it all spilling down your thighs.

“Well,” he laughed, leaning back on his knees as he looked at you. 

“That was amazing,” you gasped as you collapsed, knees finally giving out. 

He smirked. “Was it, human? I’ll give you a few minutes before round two.”

Your face fell. “Wait, what?”

“You didn’t really think that was it, did you?” he laughed tauntingly. “Oh, no. I like you. I like the taste of you. You give me so much energy...I’m sticking around for a while, human.”

Well...there were probably worse arrangements to be in, right?

[phandombigotryarchive]

Ayo @madamefaust ? You gonna tell me why you're writing about the white ass french De Chagny's being involved in the SLAVE TRADE?

Playing into the tragic mulatto trope by making Raoul half Black for some diversity points? (See the word bastard when referred to Raoul's Blackness.) All for some fucking fanfiction?

Do you even know the implications of naming a Black/White biracial child a bastard and flat out stating that their white side was involved in the slave trade? It means that child's mother was possibly r*ped. You are implying that Raoul's mother was a victim of slavery and sexual trauma. You are playing into the tragic mulatto trope. You are anti-Black.

You decide to write Raoul as Black. Then you state that his family is involved in the slave trade in the description AND ON TOP OF THAT YOU MAKE HIM A TRAGIC MULATTO. How do you even sound? 💀 FUNNY how you only care about writing Black characters when it's to exploit and fetishize Black trauma for this lily white ass fandom. Much less, for a pharoga fic! (I know most of you pharoga shippers/writers are white. Yes that's a bad thing!)

Is you even BLACK too, madamefaust ? 🤔 And don't give me that "oh I did my research" I DO NOT CARE. IT IS NOT IN A NON-BLACK'S INTERESTS TO BE WRITING BOUT US. You don't speak for us. ESPECIALLY WHEN IT COMES TO SLAVERY LMFAOOOOO

Let me not forget the fact that she based Raoul's story off the Dumas family. Alexandere Dumas was a biracial Black and White man who wrote the Three Musketeers. His Father, Thomas Alexandre Dumas was a born into slavery in Haiti but was freed and fought in the French army under Napoleon. Do you know how disrespectful it is to base a fictional white aristocratic family off a Black family traumatized by slavery and anti-Blackness for your fanfic? Did you know that many of these BLACK PEOPLE in Haiti suffered brutal conditions under slavery by the French? That many of them died in the Haitian Revolution obtaining their freedom. How could you be so disrespectful as to base off A FICTIONAL WHITE MAN OFF A REAL LIFE BLACK ENSLAVED FAMILY?? MUCH LESS FROM HAITI OF ALL PLACES??????

Do you think slavery is a fun joke? Do you think that me and many other members of my diaspora not knowing where we come from as a result of COLONIALISM and ENSLAVEMENT is something to use as a fanfic trope? Do you think this is a fucking game to you? That making an aristocratic white french family being aligned on the slave trade cute to you?

FUCK YOU.

This is everyone who left a kudos and bookmarked. Fuck all y'all. Notice any familiar faces? 🤔

I don't expect nothing from this fandom about blocking and accountability cause y'all stay being weirdly racist + colorist with the Daroga, interacting with transphobes and all other types of heinous shit.

So I just want you all to know that hell is a hot place if you keep interacting with this person. And madamefaust? Stay the fuck away from Black people and don't forget to donate to Black Trans Women if you even have a slight bit of remorse. I know you be interacting with them transphobes around here (we can see who you reblog from. I know you've seen the call out posts).

That includes the rest of y'all in this fandom too. Since we're on the topic of anti-Blackness, non-Black people in this fandom love to make and share fanart of Black Christine, yet they call and paint Erik as abusive while they draw their Black Christine fanart. What does that tell you, when you have a Black woman in a relationship or friendship with a white man, who you view as abusive? This implies that you want Black women to be abused. You people claim to love Norm Lewis' Phantom and interact with non-white adaptations of the characters yet you paint Erik abusive and depraved. So why do you like Norm's Erik so much, huh? What does that tell you about how you see a Black Erik? You people profit off the pain and consumption of Black people under the guise of your false representation. You are anti Black and cover it under the guise of, "we welcome everyone."

You don't.

You don't make Black fans safe with interacting with @filthybonnet an anti-Black terf as well as madamefaust who thinks she's so high and mighty as to exploit Black trauma under the guise of "historical accuracy". You don't make Irani, darkskinned and Muslim fans feel safe when you fetishize the Daroga or call him slurs under the guise of calling out racism. The monkey "jokes" aren't funny. You are colorists. You make make mentally ill fans unsafe when you demonize Erik's trauma. You make fans with facial differences unsafe when you demonize Erik's face. You consistently make trans women unsafe by refusing to stop interacting with terfs. We can go on forever.

And if you just scroll past this post, knowing what goes on in this bullshit ass fandom, you're part of the problem. I bet y'all don't even care anyways.

Anyways Happy Black History month and fuck the ph*ndom.

I do not like y'all.

I better not see not one of y'all ever interact with my fics. I'll see all y'all in hell ♥️ and I do hope all y'all block me too. That's what you're good for anyways LMFAOOOOO

Better not see y'all bum asses talmbout ooh "I love Norm Lewis' Phantom. Ooh, I love Derrick Davis Phantom 🥰" while y'all support this anti-Black racist white woman. You only love Black people when they're suffering or when they're performing for you. You consume our pain and trauma and expect us to hold hands with you while you view us as subhuman. Similar to how y'all treat Erik.

Must be why you like Black Phantoms so much. Anyways.

Oh look what we have here! madamefaust putting out some performative ass shit about how she "loves" Norm Lewis whilst writing the tragic mulatto trope ft slavery on Raoul De Chagny 🤔

(I won't delete this btw, it's people like you that make this fandom impossible to navigate as a non-white person. You are a grown ass woman. I'm sure you can handle the pressure if you can write a slavery AU. I ain't listening to your non-Black crocodile tears too, so don't come into my inbox playing kumbaya cause it's not gonna work on my ass. Go read a book on anti-Blackness if you're such a librarian or better yet? Stay away from Black people all together. I know you be liking and reblogging posts featuring and from Black people too. I'm not accepting no apology neither. Go take that up with my ancestors.)

P.S: A colonized person venting out their oppression via the medium they enjoy is different from a privileged person weaponizing oppression for their own consumption and enjoyment. The historical traumatizing brutalization of Black PEOPLE is not your little plaything.

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

Caught in Your Riptide, Can’t Let You Know

Joe Liebgott x Reader One Shot

MERRY LATE CHRISTMAS @sunsetmando​! 

Summary: Joe needs to remember that there are still some things worth fighting for

Warnings: ANGST AND SMUT AND BLASPHEME!, feels, church sex, fwb relationship, sex with feels, maybe fluff?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You didn’t even seem surprised as you watched him slip into the cold stone sacristy behind him, your eyes dancing in the low light that trickled in through the cracks in the walls.

Joe didn’t believe in angels or demons, but right now he was willing to swear on whatever religious text he could get his hands on that you were both.

You’d been sitting just behind his left shoulder silently, head resting on your folded arm as they lay crossed on the back of his pew. The warmth on your hand around the back of his neck was sweet, the steady half-moon crescents your thumb made as it moved up and down the only thing keeping him from crawling out of his skin- a task that was becoming more and more difficult with each passing moment.

He knew that most mothers would tell their children that they couldn’t run away from their problems, he knew that for most it was just a turn of phrase.

But not for Joe

 Since he was a child, he’d always chosen to run from conflict, too young to know what to do with all of the frenetic energy in his little body. That was before he’d learned how to hit and fight and shove the adrenaline from his veins, before his mother started begging him to just walk away from discord and hostile situations he always managed to get himself into.

When things became too much, Joe knew himself enough to know that he needed some sort of release- some physical outlet for all of the feelings that made his skin itch and feel too tight.

 But he didn’t have it in him to fight anymore, not right now.

Not after months of watching the people he cared about die and get sick and break like brittle branches under the constant stress of battle. He was tired, so tired that he wondered if it were possible to die from exhaustion. Every bone in his body ached but he still had the urge to flee, as if he could run back to the safety of his home and the smell of the sea and his mother’s arms.

He wanted to run until everything made sense again.

 There were only three things that stopped him from doing just that:

His hatred of injustice.

His loyalty to his friends.

His loyalty and love for you.

 He never thought that there was a difference between loyalty and devotion until he’d met you, when he realized that you meant everything to him. As far as Joe Liebgott was concerned the sun and the stars only hung in the sky and shined because you willed them to. Before you’d even given him a second glance he’d known that he was willing to go to the ends of the earth if it meant making you happy. He thought he might even consider leaving San Francisco if doing so ensured you would spend the rest of your days by his side. 

 Not that he told you any of that. 

Telling you how head over heels in love he was with you meant that you’d know.

And if you knew, you could turn him away.

And he didn’t think he’d be able to deal with that.

 So he settled for showing you how much he cared.

 Sex had always been easy for him, another extension of his tendency to seek out a physical release when the thoughts and feelings boiling his blood became too much.

He was a quick learner and he’d be lying if he said that making his partner fall apart in ecstasy didn’t give him a major ego boost. For a skinny kid who’d been bullied for things beyond his control, knowing that he could fuck his tormenter’s girlfriends better than they ever could gave him the confidence to fight back. 

 Joe never claimed to be a good man, something he used as an excuse for the libidinous delinquency of his early teenage years. It kept people from expecting anything from him, kept him safe from the disappointment he left in his wake

Those days felt like lifetimes ago now. 

Today, he felt powerless. He had no wind in his sails, no fire in his belly.

 He needed to feel something good, something to remind him that he wasn’t as useless or powerless as this war left him feeling. 

And, because you were both sin and salvation in one, you had seen it.

 Which was what brought him here, having trailed after you like the dutiful servant he was after you’d whispered the command in his ear.

You knew what he needed and because you were too good for him you would give it to him, you’d let him take back whatever prowess he’d lost in that month-long foxholed nightmare.

 Your coat was already off, and when you whispered his name he came to stand before you obediently. Your bruised and battle-raw hands found his face and brushed gently against his cheeks, fingertips trailing the path across his too-sharp cheekbones as if he were something precious.

Why you kept coming back to him, Joe would never know. He wanted to, but that would mean the two of you would have to actually talk about those feelings lurking beneath your bated breaths and he knows that would change this strange dynamic he cherished so much.

 When you whisper his name again, he finally meets your eyes- feeling small and intrusive under such open care. Sincerity made him anxious, but with you he couldn’t bring himself to lie about how broken he was. Keeping the depth of his affection from you wasn’t as much a lie as it was an omission, or at least that’s how he justified it to himself.

 The fisr press of your lips to his is always sweet, and this time is no exception. Your lips are chapped but still softer than they have any right to be, and when you press your next kiss to his mouth you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into you.

 Joe takes your bottom lip gently between his, always wanting to make sure that this was what you actually wanted, that you got at least a moment of sweetness before he let himself be selfish.

Because that’s what he was, even though he didn’t want to be- especially not with you.

But it was all he knew. 

Why did you let him do this?

 You sigh shallowly as he grips at your hips, his tongue spearing your lips apart so he can make the kiss deeper, firmer. Better. More.

The hands that had fisted in his hair slide down his chest and begin to unbuckle his gun belt, fingers nimble and quick from muscle memory. You don’t have much room to work, not with the way he’s pressing his torso into yours yet still you manage to drop it to the floor and move on to the buttons of his jacket.

 He can feel your brows furrowing as you press your forehead to his and gasp for breath, your eyelashes ticking his skin as he kisses at whatever part of your face he can get his lips on.

His hands pull and fist into the mess of your hair as he walks you backward, letting one of his hands follow the curve of your neck to wrap around your throat when your back meets the wall.

 Holding you there, he kisses you with tongue and teeth and groans when he tastes blood.

“Yeah?” he asks, and when he hears you echo the word he knows that you don’t mind the overenthusiasm. That you don’t want him to stop.

 It’s his turn now to seek the belt holding up your cargo pants, his fingers noticeably fumbling with excitement and making the metal of the buckle clack promisingly against itself.

He doesn’t bother removing the belt from the loops, more focused on tackling the button keeping him from his goal.

 Your nails are scratching at his chest, his neck and scalp as you match his eagerness. He likes when your nails are a bit overgrown like this- likes the bite of them and the red lines they leave behind despite your attempts to refrain from marking him.

If Joe had his way, you’d leaven him bruised from head to toe from your love bites. He wants people to know how much you want him, how desperate you get int hese moments.

You are so reserved in public. It had shocked him how untamed you could be in private.

 You’re pleading with him under your breath, alternating between his name and telling him to hurry up. It drives him wild, the idea of you impatient to get him inside of you.

It makes him so hard it hurts.

 The moment that he unfastens your pants you’re turning around and bracing your hands against the wall, gasping quietly when he tears them down your legs and kneels to free at least one of your feet from the leg of your pants. Your underwear comes down easily, and as it does the smell of your arousal is revealed to him like someone uncorking a fine wine.

 Joe bites the skin of the backs of your thighs as he follows the scent to the source, bunching your shirt around your hips and pulling at your waist so your back is arched for him. You always hiss when he kneads the cheeks of your ass up and away so he can nose at the thatch of damp hair between your legs, and if you were somewhere else he knows you’d call him disgusting and depraved.

As if those words didn’t encourage his behavior. As if it made him any less debauched.

 “Not now, Joe,” you mumble, one of your hands reaching behind you to grip onto his too-long hair and pull at him. “I can’t keep quiet if you do that now, not here….”

You’re right, your otherworldly self-control does always seem to slip when he eats you out- which he loves but he also knows that getting caught doing such a thing in a church is something neither of you wants to have happen.

So he settles for ducking a quick kiss there and biting your buttcheek before he stands and pulls himself from his pants.

 You keep your hand in his hair as you press your forehead against your forearm against the wall. Joe can feel your back heaving with the quick, deep breaths you’re taking, the knowledge that you’re this worked up because of him adding to the tight warmth pooling at the base of his spine.

If you both somehow managed to survive this war, the first thing he wanted to do was fuck you until you passed out. Watching you hazy and fucked out was one of the only things he missed about being in Toccoa.

 He’s wrapped his arm around your hip and doesn’t realize how vigorously he’s been rubbing at your sex until you twist your grip in his hair so tightly he almost cries out in pain.

 “Please please please, inside me, don’t make me come until you’re inside me—”

 How is he supposed to deny a request like that? When you’ve asked so sweetly?

The first thrust inside of you almost unmans him, it’s been so long since he’s been able to relish in the hot and tight squeeze of you that he nearly blows his load embarrassingly soon.

He’s hooked his chin over your shoulder and gasps pathetically into the soft pillow of your hair, glad you are so distracted by your own pleasure that you probably don’t hear the high keen in his throat as he starts to piston his hips.

 Keeping one hand between your legs he brings the other up your stomach to grope at your chest, the feeling of your nipple against the rough skin of his palm sending rivulets of sweat down his back.

You always started babbling when he started playing with your tits, making him think that your past partners had neglected to give them the attention they deserved. Since your time in Europe, he’d noticed that they’d become smaller, most likely from losing your soft weight under the heavily rationed diet they all sustained themselves on.

He didn’t mind, if anything he thought they had become more sensitive from it.

Next time, he’d make sure to pay more attention to them from the get-go.

 Next time.

 With that thought, Joe suddenly remembers the sight of you huddled behind the hay bale beside Dike. watching you and his friends scramble for cover under the heavy fire of the German Army had made him sick to his stomach, the lack of direction from Foxhole Norman leaving you vulnerable for far longer than you ought to have been.

 Joe, stuck providing suppressing fire in the tree line, had never felt more useless in his life. Because all he could do was watch while Dike pulled your body over his in some desperate attempt to shield himself from enemy fire, your screams for Dike to let you go reaching Joe’s ears and making his heart still in his chest.

 If Joe had had a clear shot, he would have truly considered taking it.

 Suddenly, the fact that Joe can’t see your face is wildly unacceptable, and he pulls himself from your velvet heat immediately.

Hands finding your hips, he twists you around before you can voice your protest- your face twisting in pleasure when he shoves you up the wall and sheathes himself inside of you once more.

 Yeah, this is better. God, you’re beautiful.

 Your head is thrown back as you bite back your sounds of pleasure, your breaths coming out sharp and hard with each full rut of him inside you. Skin flushed and shining, some of your hairs are sticking to your temples attractively and when you look down and catch him admiring you, you smile.

 The press of your forehead to his allows him to hear all the praise you’re gritting out between clenched teeth for him- your words making him moan low in his throat.

 “You’re close,” you sigh, a hitched sigh interrupting your cooing. “Shit, Joe- I can feel how close you are—”

“Shut up.” he hisses without any venom, not disagreeing with your observation but also not wanting to come before you. “Just, shut up about it— fuck.”

 Before he can stop you, you capture his lips in a deep kiss and clench down around him- a move you know he can’t resist.

He always seemed to forget how wicked you can be when it comes to making him come. your drive to push him over the edge first was just as strong as his desire to do the same to you.

Unfortunately, it seemed like you were going to win this time.

 The bite of your nails at the nape of his neck paired with a dragging, tight roll of your hips sends him tumbling over the edge- your hand slamming over his mouth before his guttural cry has a chance to escape his throat.

“Yes yes yes yes yes…” you are praising from somewhere near his left ear, his vision going white and his muscles clenching violently with the force of his orgasm. “Look at you….shit, don’t stop doing- oh!”

 The feeling of you fluttering around him is foggy in his blissed-out mind, and when he feels himself re-enter his body he is sitting beside you on the cold stone floor and you’re running your hands over his face and brushing his sweaty hair from his brow.

 When he regains use of his limbs, he brings his hands up to take your wrists and pull them until your face is close enough for him to kiss, his lips lazy and slow against yours as you kiss him back.

 All too soon, you duck a quick kiss to his cheek and sit back- using the hem of your shirt to wipe at his cum as it gathers between your legs.

He knows what comes now- he knows that you’re going to leave and give him a moment to put himself together and rejoin you whenever he’s ready.

That’s how it’s always gone, and while he hates it he knows that he was the one who started this routine back in Georgia- because he was afraid that he’d accidentally tell you how much he loved you.

 Joe knows that he needs to tell you, the words curling on his tongue as he watches you put your clothes back on and rebraid your hair away from your face. He knows that if he asked you to stay that you would, you’d stay and let him tell you how lost he would be without you- how this isn’t about sex and hasn’t been just sex for a long time.

 But he doesn’t, and when you sling your gun over your shoulder and turn back to give him a knowing smile he can only give you a wink that portrays more cockiness than he actually feels.

 “Better?” you ask, your cheeks still rosy and your lips still swollen from his biting kisses.

He can’t, not now. It could ruin everything.

“Better.” he hears himself agree, and the moment you slip out of sight he smacks his helmet and it skitters across the floor.

 Alone, in the dark room that now smelled like sex, Joe wonders how much longer he’s going to be able to keep quiet.

Because when he’s like this, he’s reminded of how there may not be a next time.

 Fishing around for a cigarette in the pocket of his pants, Joe tells himself that he’ll tell you in the morning.

Maybe he'll be braver in the morning.

~ ~ ~

TWO IN ONE NIGHT?! WHO IS SHE?

Taglist: @mrseasycompany​ @itswormtrain​ @mrsalwayswrite​ @happyveday​ @sunsetmando​ @teenmagazines​ @liebgotttme​

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH57

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 57: Purgatory Reunion (IX) {cw: torture}

At this moment, Qi Leren’s shock was completely written on his face, and this surprise and shock sent the wrong message—Ning Zhou's hand trembled and suddenly let go.

"Wait!" Qi Leren realized that he had made a mistake and quickly took Ning Zhou's hand. "I was just a little surprised. I didn't mean it. I'm, I'm very happy."

This joy was sincere. Although Qi Leren thought this progress was too fast, unexpectedly, he didn't want to refuse, but thought that this was also quite good. They had experienced too many separations and tortures, so these people who loved each other should be together. Besides, he had already received Ning Zhou's ring—one on his tombstone at Undead Island and one on his left hand when he’d woken up in the tree tomb. He had also wished to give this heart to Ning Zhou in return—in the letter he’d written to Ning Zhou that was not received.

"Really?" Ning Zhou asked.

Qi Leren nodded hard: "Really!"

Ning Zhou smiled; the gloom in his heart immediately dissipated, and the uncontrollable thought of wanting to destroy everything quietly sank to the bottom again.

Qi Leren was still looking at him, and his brown eyes were a little uneasy, but there wasn’t even the slightest reluctance, which convinced Ning Zhou that he really was willing.

The person he loved had returned to him with the same strong and meaningful emotions. Even if God didn't bless them, they were still inseparable.

This thought had given him peace of mind, and his world was no longer withering and dead at last. The warm sunshine illuminated this barren land and made him reborn.

So he took his hand again and walked forward firmly.

　　&&&

The underground casino mentioned by the contact Celia was located in a remote part of the lower Underground Ant City. The rail cars weren’t directly connected to the lower part of the city, so Qi Leren and Ning Zhou had to get off the bus outside it and enter on foot.

The chaos of the Underground Ant City became more and more prominent in the lower city. Within the boundary of the upper city, there was at least a basic order, and there were few violent conflicts in the streets. However, when the two entered the lower city, the world they could see was almost a hell: dirty old streets, ragged pedestrians, and eyes that were numb or malicious... In the shadows of the street corners, Qi Leren even saw several bodies, which seemed to be an inescapable element of this place.

There was the scent of blood in the air, and Qi Leren's five senses had been enhanced after breaking the shell. The consequence of a keen sense of smell was that he could smell these unpleasant smells more easily than before.

Following the clue given by Celia, the two people who were dressed in disguises came all the way to the underground casino. The skinny doorman standing by the entrance secretly glanced at the two strange guests wearing masks. The tall one stood straight and was out of place in the lower city. The shorter one was dressed in an exaggerated sexy leather coat, and glanced at him and gave him a tip of copper coins.

The doorman hurriedly pushed open the door, and with its opening, the bloody and absurd world behind the door appeared.

It was like a greedy beast driven by desire, constantly devouring life.

Both human beings and demons became confused once they entered this trap, would lose their senses, bet everything on their person, and be ruined.

The world behind the door was a crimson hell, and the strong scent of blood made the people who had just set foot inside hold their breath. The floor of this dark underground casino was soaked with a layer of blood! Stepping a foot down, the sticky blood splashed on his shoes, and even slowly seeped in, and the sticky and disgusting feeling made Qi Leren's hair stand upright.

Crazy cries echoed in this dark underground world. Both humans and demons stared at the chips on the table excitedly, and went crazy whether they won or lost.

There was also a gambler who was being punished in the corner of the casino. He was stripped naked and hung upside down from the ceiling. Several lower demons laughed and urged him to bet: "There’s a 'leg' missing, will the next one be the left leg or the right leg!"

The gambler who had fainted from the severe pain of castration had a bowl of pain-killing medicine poured down his throat, and he choked up with tears, whining and groaning.

A little hellhound knelt in the pool of blood, licking its lips and excitedly watching the blood bubbling up between the legs of a castrated gambler. Fresh blood was as delicious as wine for demons.

"I bet my left leg! Left leg! Betting high! This one must win!" The gambler who had been called back by the pungent demon blood widened his bloodshot eyes and shouted at the top of his lungs.

The dice on the gambling table were lifted, and the gambler's fanatical expression instantly solidified on his face.

The demons smiled grimly, and cut off one of his legs. The gambler screamed hysterically, but he only got a casual glance from the other gamblers. They laughed and laughed at the unlucky goner who had lost everything, and didn’t feel that every time they bet, they were moving closer to him.

Ning Zhou frowned, and all the absurdity and depravity here made his skin crawl. This wasn’t the first time he had come to the demons’ territory, nor the worst place he had ever seen, but...

Ning Zhou looked at Qi Leren beside him. His face was hidden behind half a mask, showing his tight mouth. From his body language, his mood at the moment was just as heavy and tense.

However, when a scantily clad female dealer came up to them, Qi Leren’s manner changed immediately.

In a moment, Qi Leren half turned, and committedly took his arm. He looked up and whispered in his ear: "You keep quiet, let me ask about things."

Ning Zhou's ears turned red, and he couldn't help but feel glad that the lights here were dim enough. However, Qi Leren, who had already broken his shell, could completely see his red ears and shouted “cute!” in his heart.

The dealer stood in front of the two men. She should have stood closer, but these two gays may not welcome her approach, so she politely asked, "Is this your first time here?"

"Why, are we not welcome?" Qi Leren's voice changed. Although it was still a male voice, it was more delicate and feminine than ordinary men. The deliberately drawn out tone was full of ambiguous dissatisfaction.

"How can that be?" the dealer quickly apologized. "What do the two of you want to play?"

Qi Leren pointed to the table with the most people: "Let's play whatever’s there."

The dealer led the two men to go forward with light steps, her slender high heels sticking on the foul blood.

The gambler who was being punished in the corner had already lost his legs. He was put down, whining and crawling in the pool of blood. The little hellhound opened its mouth and bit his wound. The lower demons laughed and talked over their glasses while urging it on.

"Whether I bet big or small, you double your chips and bet against me," Qi Leren whispered to Ning Zhou.

Behind his mask, Ning Zhou looked puzzled.

"Believe me, getting rich depends on this trick." Qi Leren showed a weak smile.

“……”

The dealer handed them exchange chips and enthusiastically helped two people place their bets. In her eyes, the two men were really strange. Not because they were wearing masks, but because...

"Low." This person wearing a half-mask casually gathered a few chips and carelessly threw them into the low area.

The dealer silently turned her attention to the other person, and sure enough, the man put double chips in another area.

The other gamblers at the table made random bets, and no one noticed this slightly weird scene.

The dice rolled, and the result was self-evident.

The chips in front of the man wearing a half-mask decreased at a speed visible to the naked eye, but the chips in front of his companion were increasing. After several rounds, he finally felt bored. He pointed to the chips in front of the two of them and motioned for the dealer to put them away. He held the man's arm and whispered with him, and he also giggled.

As if he was aware of the dealer's sight, he turned his face slightly, and his eyes hidden behind the mask swept over her coldly, but there was a charming smile on his mouth: "I don't like you looking at my man with eyes like that. Next time you look at him like this, I’ll dig them out."

"I'm sorry." The dealer immediately lowered her head, intently looking at her blood-stained feet, and never looked at the two men.

"Good girl. This is a reward for learning politeness." The man stuffed a chip into her bra and laughed maliciously. "When I look closer, your makeup is really thick. I’ll remind you that your facial features are really not suited for this kind of heavy makeup."

With that said, he returned to the man's side and he muttered a few words.

The dealer kept her head down and let herself be silenced under the strong aura of these two men. 

"By the way, I want to ask you about someone." The man wearing a half-mask lazily uttered a name.

The witness had been a frequent visitor to this underground casino, and he is also the last person to see the illusionist. He had claimed to have met the Illusionist who wore women’s clothing in this underground casino. After that, both the Illusionist and this person disappeared, and even the informants who came to verify had disappeared.

It was risky to ask directly. Qi Leren didn't expect to get the answer he wanted from an ordinary dealer. He just wanted to test how deep the water here was.

"I’ve heard the name... but I haven’t served him before. Let me ask for you?" the dealer asked carefully.

"Sure."

So the two men sat down in front of a coffee table in a quiet corner of the underground casino, and there was no overwhelming scent here. Qi Leren just squeezed into the same sofa with Ning Zhou—he had a very honest reason: it was so that they could quietly communicate at any time.

The female dealer who had just left came back with a tall male dealer. He looked like a higher-up and his face was reserved and arrogant: "Hello, I heard you’re looking for someone?"

"Trying to find a friend," Qi Leren said lightly.

"He hasn't come for several days. Maybe he walked into the pub and couldn’t climb back out." The dealer seems to be familiar with the missing witness, but his tone was full of the coldness and indifference particular to this place.

"Which pub?" Qi Leren asked carelessly.

The male dealer's expression changed slightly. He asked with slight suspicion: "Aren't you his friend?"

A mistake, he had said the wrong thing. Cold sweat flowed down Qi Leren, and Ning Zhou held his hand tightly.

Qi Leren's nervous brain was running at a rapid speed, and he switched from a state of casual handling to a state of first-level alert. He had to round up his words and at least explain why he was a "friend" of that person, knowing the underground casino he loved but not the pub he loved.

"Friend?" Qi Leren's smile was even more fake. The deep ridicule and disgust beneath it were completely written in his smile. "Can you call someone who doesn’t pay back his debt a friend?"

The male dealer suddenly realized that he was a debt collector.

This wasn’t surprising. In this place full of gamblers, the debts of this group of people added up to an extremely horrible number, which was enough for them to sell everything they owned, whether it was their wives, their children, or their own bodies.

"I heard that he often comes here. It's a pity. If he used the time he spent gambling here to sell his ass instead, he wouldn't owe so much." Qi Leren dragged out an ambiguous sound and looked at the gambler amidst the crowd in the distance. His smile grew colder. "Or does the fool prefer to lose his hands and feet here, but doesn't want to work hard to pay his debts?"

The two dealers also looked at the man. He had already lost his legs and arms, leaving only a bare head hanging from his neck as he slowly died in a pool of blood. The demons around him were cutting his tongue and belly, and choosing the best parts from the blood-covered table.

The light steps of a woman came from behind them.

Qi Leren didn't look back, but Ning Zhou did, looking at the shameless woman.

The two dealers stood up from their chairs together and said respectfully, "Manager."

The female manager took a few steps forward again, gave Qi Leren an appraising look, and saw his slightly exposed leather coat from his half-mask, and then saw his boots covered with silver ornaments.

"Mr. Red?" Her face pulled into a grandiose smile, "is it really you? I haven't heard from you for a long time."

Qi Leren was startled. Red? How could this fake identity he had fabricated while undercover with the Slaughter Secret Society have acquaintances in Underground Ant City? He had never seen this woman at all.

"The Mrs is waiting for you, please be sure to join us."

-----

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

[hatterstan-shameblog]

The One With The Room Reassignment

Aguni needs a new room. For, well, reasons. Embarrassing reasons. Reasons that he’s trying not to disclose to anyone, least of all Takeru, who...well, you know how he is.

But it’ll all be okay.

Right?

(Because I simply could not have read this post by @missdrake without writing the Aguni prompt. I mean, come on, the opportunity for banter was just too good!)

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Rating: ‼️18+‼️ Do Not Interact If You Are Underage

Warnings: descriptions of sexual situations, referenced drug use, alcohol, threats of violence

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Of all the places Aguni could be right now, this has to be one of the worst.

It’s not that he dislikes Takeru’s room, per se. On the contrary, he actually enjoys the subtle opulence of the space, spelled out in caramel-colored woods and blue-green drapes.

It’s fancy, yes, but approachable. Comfortable, even.

But, in this moment, Aguni feels anything but comfortable. He feels antsy, he feels jumpy—he feels the angry little teeth of embarrassment nibbling at the ends of his nerves, and its making his palms sweat.

Are the lights in here extra hot, or is that just him?

...It’s probably just him.

It doesn’t help that Takeru is staring at him, those deep-dark eyes filled with their usual mix of subtle scrutiny mixed with glittering amusement and finished off with a dash of smug confidence—like a flourish of whipped cream atop a hot fudge sundae, if the whipped cream had the uncanny ability to see into a person’s soul and the hot fudge sundae was a lovable bastard whose modus operandi involved creating as much drama as possible.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Takeru says—and he is so very feline, stretched into a graceful sprawl along the black leather sofa, his lips curled into a serene, sleepy smile around the lip of a champagne flute.

Aguni doesn’t even like champagne, but he’s been taking small, nervous sips from his own glass all the same because that is infinitely more manageable than talking. Except, well...because he’s not talking, the situation is getting more and more awkward by the minute.

“Didn’t expect you to be alone.”

“I’ve decided to take the night off,” Takeru says, rolling his shoulders back in a slow stretch of spine, “The games, the meetings, the endless parade of unfortunates looking for guidance and reassurance? It wears on you, Mori-chan.”

As if to illustrate the point, Takeru heaves a dramatic sigh.

“There’s something wearing on you, too, isn’t there? You look...pained?”

“I, uh,” Aguni swallows nervously. This is the part he’s been dreading for the last hour, and now that it’s here...well. All he has to do is stick to the plan and everything will be okay.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

“I...” Aguni gulps, “need a new room.”

Although his delivery leaves something to be desired in the “calm and collected” department, Aguni is quite pleased with himself for having managing to get the words out without blushing.

...Okay, he’s probably blushing a little bit, but Takeru hasn’t teased him about it yet, so it can’t be that bad.

“Oh? Why?”

Aguni’s jaw tightens. The problem with Takeru (one of the many, if he’s being honest) is that the man can be particularly difficult to read. Even after thirty-plus years of friendship, Aguni can’t tell what he’s thinking half of the time, which has left him in quite a few...situations. Difficult situations. Confusing situations. Awkward situations.

Situations like these, where Aguni’s brain is spinning like a high-powered carousel on a pottery wheel inside of a giant blender and someone keeps pressing the ‘pulse’ button with a giant hammer and it’s all very loud and very unpleasant.

“The bed,” he answers slowly, “uh, the bed is...broken.”

“Broken?”

Aguni takes another gulp of alcohol—too much for one swallow, and his throat spasms around the popping fizz of carbonation. He coughs slightly.

“Yes,” Aguni clarifies, “Broken.”

Takeru rolls his eyes.

“Always the brilliant conversationalist,” Takeru says, dripping with sarcasm and waving his champagne with a dismissive gesture, “We’ve established that the bed is broken, but you’ve failed to mention how it is broken, and since I do not know the extend of the breakage, I am unable to determine if you do, in fact, need to be moved to a different room. Space is limited, Mori-chan. I can’t afford to be frivolous about such things.”

Had he not been so focused on maintaining some semblance of composure, Aguni might have teased his friend for lecturing him about frivolity—but now is not the time for chit-chat. He is a man on a mission, and the success of said mission is dependent on his ability to, as they say, ‘get in and get out.’

“The frame. It, uh...snapped off of the headboard,”Aguni answers carefully, “It’s...I can’t sleep on it.”

Takeru’s eyes narrow.

“Ah. I see.”

Silence settles between them once more—only for a moment, but it’s enough to make Aguni shift uncomfortably in his seat.

“I can fix it,” Aguni adds, “I just...need a place to stay tonight.”

There is a flash of silver—Takeru is one of the only people Aguni knows under the age of sixty who uses a cigarette case, which is both charming and frequently inconvenient— and it’s only a second before the scent of smoke and nicotine fills the air.

“I suppose that’s reasonable,” he concludes—and it’s a weight off of Aguni’s mind and heart that Takeru hasn’t decided to ask him a million questions regarding the “why’s” and “how’s” of his current predicament.

Perhaps there’s a chance he can make it out of here (relatively) unscathed.

So, when Takeru offers Aguni a drag on his cigarette, Aguni doesn’t much read into the gesture and gladly accepts.

“Hm,” Takeru says.

“What?”

“That is...so interesting.”

Aguni hands the cigarette back to his friend.

“Not sure what you mean.”

“I’m just reminiscing, I suppose,” Takeru says airily, “about the last time we shared a cigarette. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Something blooms in Aguni—something bad and uncertain.

“I don’t—“

“Oh, it’s been years. Three, actually. And a half. Tell me, Mori-chan,” Takeru furrows his brow, “can you remember where we were three-and-a-half years ago?”

Remember the ‘something’ that bloomed inside Aguni just a moment ago? Well, it has a name, and that name is ‘intense discomfort.’ He knows where this is going. He knows he’s powerless to stop it.

“Don’t worry, my dear friend—I remember,” he says, closing his eyes and smiling to himself, “Halloween. Osaka. 2018. I was Freddie Mercury. You were Elton John. It took me ages to get all those sequins sewn on...”

Takeru takes one final hit from the cigarette before stubbing it out into a (decidedly lovely) teacup that happened to be conveniently placed on the coffee table in front of him.

“Isn’t that the year you threw the statue of Colonel Sanders into the river?”

Takeru sneers.

“You mean the year I threw Colonel Sanders into the river alone because...somebody ran off with the mascot from that mediocre takoyaki stand,” he snips, “and then had the audacity to show up two hours later asking for a cigarette. Do you know why you asked for a cigarette, Mori-chan?”

“Oh no.”

“It’s because you didn’t have any on you. Because you don’t usually smoke. Unless,” and Takeru positively relishes his dramatic pause, “it’s after sex.”

Aguni doesn’t say anything.

“You thought you could come into my house,” Takeru shouts, “after having mind-blowing, soul-shattering sex—the kind of sex that snaps bed frames clean in half—and I wouldn’t know about it?”

“But how did you—?”

“I heard you,” Takeru spits, “howling like...like some kind of demonic wolf in the light of a full moon!”

“I couldn’t have been that loud...”

“Loud enough to hear from down the hall,” Takeru adds, “frankly, I’m impressed. And a little jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Of your lover. Nobody’s broken a bed fucking me lately, which is a goddamn shame,” Takeru sips from his glass, “Don’t suppose you’ll tell me who it was, hm?”

“No,” Aguni snaps, perhaps a bit too quickly, “making fun of me is one thing, but I won’t you have you making fun of my...uh, my...”

“Paramour?”

“...Sure,” Aguni says, “Look, the point is, it’s important that I—“

“Yes, yes, you’re about to lecture me about ‘privacy’ and ‘boundaries’ and all the things decent people like you are oh-so-interested in preserving,” Takeru says, rolling his eyes, “Believe it or not, I am capable of discretion.”

“You are?”

“When the situation calls for it,” Takeru muses, “or if it’s simply more fun to keep my mouth shut and watch the drama unfold. You having a secret lover ticks both boxes.”

Takeru jumps up from his seat and claps his hands together.

“So! I have decided,” he announces with great panache, “that I shall, in fact, give you a new room. A nice one, too. Maybe even nicer than the one you’re in currently.”

Aguni huffs a relieved breath.

“Thank you.”

“But!” Takeru flops down on the couch next to Aguni with all the grace of a fleshly-flipped pancake, “You have to do something for me.”

“I don’t—“

“You have to answer three,” and Takeru holds up three fingers in front of Aguni’s face, “of my questions. Truthfully. No skips, no take-backs.”

This is...well. This is not ideal.

Aguni considers his options. On one hand, he’s entirely justified in slapping Takeru across the face and shouting ‘absolutely not!’—and, honestly, Takeru would probably understand because, while he is an asshole, he is a self-aware asshole.

On the other hand, it’s only three questions. Maybe, if he’s able to keep Takeru on topic (a Herculean effort to be sure), Aguni can make quick work of getting a new room and, more importantly, getting the hell out of here.

“Fine,” he mumbles, “but make it quick. I’m tired.”

“Yeah, I bet you are,” Takeru says, “nothing wears you out quite like an evening of dirty, nasty, animalistic—“

“Takeru!”

“—Depraved, disgusting fucking,” and he makes a very disgusted ugh-ing sound when he notices Aguni shooting him a pointed glare, “Fine. Lovemaking. Whatever. The point is that you got it in real good and that’s enough to make anyone tired.”

“Dealing with you is making me tired. Please, just...ask your questions so I can get a room and go to bed.”

“Fine, fine,” Takeru says, and he makes a great show of thinking the matter over, mouth puckering into a pouty little frown before snapping into a mischievous smirk, “Question one: did you shower before coming here?”

Aguni sighs and looks down at his shoes.

“No.”

“Oh, that is gross,” Takeru shouts, clapping him on the back, “I’m so proud of you!”

Aguni rolls his eyes, trying his hardest to look unaffected by his friend’s prying. But he can’t hide the blush from blooming on his face, because this is all very mortifying and he doesn’t particularly enjoy the way Takeru is looking at him with a devious little smile.

“It’s like looking in a mirror,” Takeru says, running a hand through his hair, “a less-handsome—but taller—mirror!”

“Got a good two inches on you,” Aguni says, and he relishes the way his companion winces. Although he is not a short man by any means, Takeru has always been just a bit shorter than him—which has led to quite a few jabs over the years.

“Maybe in height,” Takeru quips, “but certainly not everywhere else, hm?”

It’s odd, but somehow, Aguni has not yet gotten used to feeling his soul leave his body. He doesn’t hide the fact that he’s dying inside, letting the pain shine out directly from his face and hopes it slaps Takeru across the mouth so he doesn’t have to.

“I couldn’t resist,” Takeru says between chuckles, “You know how I am!”

“Unfortunately.”

But Takeru is too busy staring at him now to give one of his classically witty retorts. To the untrained eye, it would appear that he is carefully considering something. Because Aguni knows that the words ‘careful’ and ‘consideration’ are not part of Takeru’s vocabulary, he steels himself for whatever batshit-insane bullshit is going to come flying at him next.

“Now, I know the identity of your new squeeze is off-limits. Which I am sympathetic towards, because I am a sensitive and caring man—which, by the way, is something you should mention to any and all available singles you should happen upon throughout your travels...”

There’s just something about the way Takeru talks—and talks, and talks—that sets Aguni’s blood to boil.

“You know why it took me three years to get laid? Because you,” Aguni snaps, “wouldn’t stop fucking talking long enough for me to get away and meet someone.”

“Ooh, so bitchy! Seems like you could use a little more of whatever you just had,” Takeru runs a finger along the rim of his glass, smiling to himself when the friction creates a high-pitched hum, “if that’s a possibility, of course.”

Aguni feels a headache coming on. He runs at his temples in a (futile) attempt to stave it off.

“I don’t have time for your games, Takeru. If you want to ask me if this was a one-night stand, then ask me if it was a one-night stand.”

“Fine, then. Mori-chan,” Takeru places his glass on the table and turns to face Aguni. He pulls his legs up and hugs his shins close to himself, chin resting on his knobby knees—like a high school girl at a sleepover, “Did you give that mystery individual the fuck of a lifetime because you knew it was going to be a one-time thing...or because this is the start of something more?”

“I...” Aguni pauses, “I don’t know.”

Takeru’s brow furrows.

“Don’t look at me like that! I was, uh,” Aguni rubs the back of his neck uncertainly, “I thought we’d maybe have that conversation when I got back.”

Takeru tilts his head slightly to the left.

“Got back from where?”

“Here.”

“Mori-chan. Darling. Dearest,” Takeru places a hand on his shoulder, fingers gripping into the skin a little more with each passing moment, “do you mean to tell me that you...left your lover alone on a broken bed...to come talk to me?”

“No,” Aguni answers, “Left ‘em in the bath.”

“Oh my God...”

“What? I thought it was a nice gesture.”

“You are so cute and hopeless.”

Takeru scoots close enough to Aguni that their hips are touching, the arm that had been gripping his shoulder now slung around his mid-back.

“Picture it,” he says, reaching his other arm out in front of them as if grasping at a ghost of a dream, “your paramour—whoever they may be—sitting alone in a bathtub. Naked. Glistening.”

“...Glistening?”

“Sparkling, even.”

That is...oh dear. Aguni hadn’t thought of it like that. And now he can’t stop thinking about it. His mind’s eye is conjuring up a most hypnotic display, involving skin and steam and a crystalline droplets rolling down the length of a neck and—

“I put bubbles in,” he admits, voice soft and unfocused as he drifts in his daydream, “Lavender-scented.”

“That’s. Wow,” Takeru sighs, patting Aguni’s knee, “You’re a stronger man than I am, that’s for sure. I simply wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation. I mean, you could be in there right now, but...you’re here with me instead.”

Something breaks in Aguni. Something he hadn’t been aware of before now, but was apparently a very important piece of whatever was keeping him from grabbing Takeru by the lapels and shaking him with all the strength and rage that has been building up for the past twenty minutes.

Because that’s what he’s doing right now. He’s grabbing Takeru by the lapels of his weird robe thing and shaking him within an inch of his life. He’s also yelling, something like ‘give me the goddamn room’ but it’s hard to hear over the deafening rush of blood in his ears.

“Not...the...silk,” Takeru begs—well, as much as a man being maliciously jostled can beg—while his hands attempt to loosen Aguni’s own from his outfit, “She didn’t...do anything...wrong!”

Aguni stops shaking him, but not because he wants to—no, he very much wants to continue shaking this annoying man until his head snaps off and flies out the window—but because Takeru has started to take on a bit of a sickly greenish tinge and Aguni is not in the mood to deal with that on top of everything else.

“I will tear that tacky thing to shreds if you don’t give me a new room,” he seethes, releasing his grip on Takeru altogether and enjoying the way the other man falls back slightly as he’s let go, “I snapped a fucking bed frame an hour ago; I could tear that and you in half without even trying.”

“Okay, but,” and Takeru winces, “I just...there’s a bit of a problem. Not...a ‘problem’ problem, but...I’m very worried about how you’ll react after that little outburst you just had.”

Great. Of course there’s a catch. There’s always a catch with Takeru—but Aguni had been naive enough to think that his frustrating questionnaire had been it.

“There’s only one room available,” Takeru continues, as if he’s trying to calm a very angry horse or convince a toddler to do literally anything, “and it’s...well, it’s...the one next door.”

“You mean,” Aguni says very flatly, “the room next to this one?”

“Yes.”

“With the adjoining door?”

“Hit me if you want,” Takeru says, pressing himself against the arm of the couch and, therefore, as far away from Aguni’s anger as possible, “just...please don’t shake me again. My delicate constitution couldn’t possible take it.”

Aguni is reminded of a poem—the Robert Frost one about two roads in a wood or something like that. The way he figures, he’s got two roads in front of him right now: the ‘scream at Takeru and maybe shake him a little more and also refuse the room’ road versus the ‘it’s only one night and things couldn’t possibly get worse than they already are so take the room and maybe try to salvage the evening’ road.

Both are tempting.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said it was nicer than your current room. Good view, spacious, well-decorated,” he says, “Except for the credenza under the TV, that’s hideous. Wouldn’t be mad if you, y’know, decided to break that in the heat of the moment...”

Aguni must look positively murderous, because Takeru immediately switches into grovel mode, which includes various assorted platitudes and exclamations of ‘it was just a joke!’ and ‘please don’t kill me!’

It’s kind of funny, actually.

“Listen,” Takeru half-pleads, “I’ll be good. I’ll be quiet. You won’t even know I’m over here. Hell, if I smoke enough weed, I won’t know I’m here, which will work out just great! I slip into a light coma, you slip into a comfortable bed with your sweetheart, and everybody’s happy.”

“You just want an excuse to get high.”

“No,” he answers confidently, “I want you to be happy and I want to get high. Use my mind-altering substances for good, not evil. You know, like a superhero. Or maybe even Jesus.”

Aguni decides not to bring Takeru’s half-joking-but-not-really God-complex into question, because that would launch him into an hour-long tirade about the importance of self-love and how he would be an excellent choice for the next mayor of Tokyo. And maybe he wouldn’t be the worst mayor Tokyo has ever had, but...well. He might not be very good at it, either.

And maybe it’s because he’s incapable of staying too horribly angry at his best friend for very long, but Aguni concludes that it’s best just to take the room and let the situation go. He’s had enough drama for one night.

“Fine,” Aguni finally says, “I’ll take it.”

And he moves to stand before Takeru can suck him in to another conversation.

“You know,” Takeru calls casually as Aguni begins to walk towards the door, “I still haven’t asked my third question...”

“You have got to be kidding—“

“But,” Takeru quickly interjects, “I don’t have to ask, because I already know that the answer is ‘yes.’”

“Hm?”

“Yes,” Takeru concludes with a wry smile, “you are happy. Even when you were about to about to slap me, I could see it written all over your face.”

Aguni feels...embarrassed. Again. He’s truly been on an emotional rollercoaster since stepping foot into Takeru’s room, and it’s almost poetic that he has managed to start and end his journey with a begrudging blush.

“Now, go,” Takeru says, shooing him off with a roll of his wrist, “get out of my sight and into bed with that sexy little secret you insist upon hiding from the rest of us!”

Aguni doesn’t need to be told twice. He swiftly makes his way towards the exit, his legs taking slightly-larger-than-normal strides as he attempts not to appear too giddy at the thought of returning to his lover. Maybe they can test out the bathtub in the new room. Or the shower. Or maybe just hang out in bathrobes and talk?

Honestly, he’s just excited to see them again. A nice, soothing presence. Something to help him decompress after...whatever the hell that just was with Takeru. There’s a seventy-five-percent chance that he’ll stay true to his word and be stoned out of his mind by the time they switch rooms, and a twenty-percent chance that he’ll spend the night pressed up against the door trying to listen in. The other five percent? That’s what Aguni likes to call the ‘wild card allotment’ because Takeru is...well, he’s just the kind of guy to do something completely unpredictable, and he likes to plan for that.

“Remember,” Takeru calls out just as Aguni is stepping out, “Break the credenza!”

And Aguni has never been happier to shut a door in his life.

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PS: the thing with throwing the statue of Colonel Sanders in the river is a thing that actually happened and I think it’s really funny so that’s why I put it in here. Plus, like. Takeru totally would.

[jui-imouto-chan]

Hi!! I was wondering if Hinata would make contracts with more people (demons? creature?) and what happened with Izumi and kouji, is their any type of bad guy?

It’s a really interesting concept and I’d be interested in reading more if you wanted to post more (sorry if this turned out wired it the first time I’m doing this)

Part 3

Previous | Next

Hinata actually makes a lot of contracts! In fact, they happen in quick succession, so I’ll tell you about one of them really quick ;)

After Oikawa and Iwaizumi, he stumbles across a cat next to a convenience store while Kageyama is inside buying a drink (Kageyama was being indecisive and was taking forever so Hinata just got himself some milk and went outside).

He pets it and the cat doesn’t really purr or anything, just blinks slowly at him. It’s a black white and yellow cat with large gold eyes that look way too smart.

So he decides that he wants to make it purr and enjoy his petting. He goes for the lower back, near the tail, which usually gets a reaction but just makes this cat readjust to cover it. Then he goes to the cats neck the cat reacts a little bit, tilting its head up, but it still doesn’t purr. He moves up to the top of the head, scratching between and around the ears, and finally, finally, the cat purrs just a little bit.

Hinata gets ecstatic and runs his finger over the cats nose, and the cat, seemingly accepting him, paws at his hand. So hinata definitely doesn’t expect it when the cat sniffs his finger, licks it, rubs its cheek against it, and then chomps down.

Hinata’s hand jolts and the cat creeps around the corner of the store as he’s whining about his finger to Kageyama, who finally exits the store. Kageyama and him go inside again to grab a bandaid, and when they return, Hinata looks around to see if the cat was still there.

Instead, at the corner where the cat was laying, there was a boy crouched over a console with blonde and black hair.

His eyes flicked up from his game to meet Hinata’s, and the redhead eagerly sends a, “Good afternoon!”

And the boy smiles a little and licks his lips, where a small speck of red disappears with the swipe of his tongue, and murmurs, “Good afternoon, Shouyo.”

Kageyama immediately gets prickly at that and drags Hinata away, who is very confused about how the boy knew his name and if they were classmates.

A few days later he gets an envelope in the mail that has a good amount of money, lists a minimal amount of terms (what does it mean by “show me how interesting you can be”????), and calls him by his first name, sent from someone named Kenma.

Kageyama snatches the letter from his hands to read it and immediately asks Hinata if he has a sugar daddy. Hinata, mortified, gives a vehement no.

••

There are a few creatures that I can think of that Hinata has the potential to summon.

There are Demons, of course, as we’ve seen.

There are also Angels, who had been mentioned in the first part, although it’s rare to have a full-blooded angel. There’s some stuff about angels and demons that we can get into at some point in terms of their relationship

There are also Beasts, which can take on different forms depending on the mana they’ve been provided or that they have in stock.

Aside from those are the lower creatures, one example being Plant-Beasts, which, as seen with Izumi and Kouji, can transform the way Animal Beasts do, although they need a lot more mana in order to do so.

There’s also some creatures that have no living form until they’ve been blessed with mana, and that’s actually how a lot of these creatures were first made.

Angels were blessed objects or animals turned into beings through holy rituals with very pure mana used to make them, carefully mantained until they took on Angelic form.

Demons were blessed objects or animals turned into beings, but given mana without any formal rituals or care, making them a bit more depraved and unable to exist outside of mana-rich environments (such as the demon realm) for very long without a mana provider.

Some humans can even be turned into Angels or Demons by following the steps above, but they have other guidelines that would’ve had to have been met.

••

Kouji and Izumi enrolled into the wrong Highschool when they were all leaving middle school. They didn’t tell hinata, as they wanted to surprise him on the first day by meeting him there, but then they just. Went to the wrong one during entrance exams and they don’t have any parents to help them with the transfer process.

But, they thankfully talk with hinata over the phone a lot, so they can get his verbal affirmations to maintain their forms, but they still have to take a lot of “sick days” just in case. Hinata still doesn’t know they’re plant-beasts though, smh.

There are a few occasions where they have sleepovers (Kageyama had to stay in another room bc, according to hinata, he was “too scary” and “would give Izumin and Kouji nightmares”) and the two of them sometimes turn back into their normal forms so they can both hug Hinata’s hair and replenish their mana (and also just get to hug hinata bc who wouldn’t want to).

••

In regard to a “Bad Guy”, I’d say that there’s not a direct antagonist but there is something that Hinata’s going to be involved with internally that occasionally feeds into conflict.

Someone that drives Hinata to do more, be more, need more, demand more

And that might cause some problems for him 😋 or maybe not, I’m not sure, I’ve been writing a lot of this off the cuff. There is like, minor conflict, but I don’t know if I’ll make it get bigger.

Thank you for the ask! Don’t worry, it didn’t come off weird (although my scattered response probably did lol)! I’m really thankful to have people interacting with my ideas! :))

••Part 3 of (?)••

•• Send Asks for more! Feel free to ask about characters and send Headcanons! Or if u wanna just talk Haikyuu/ships, I’m good with that too! :) ••

Previous | Next

[phantoms-lair]

Uncommon Ancestry Snippet 12

Note: This does not contain Spoilers for MSA: The Future, but it was inspired by it. ~~

“Ibara-san!”

Ibara Shiozaki was not fond of many of her yearmates. She found them sinful, fixated on matters of glory, violence, and lust. But there was one she despised above all others.

Midoriya Izuku, who was unable to cope with being quirkless, how God made him, and had trafficked with demons for unnatural power. He should be cast into the hottest fires of hell, not allowed to walk amongst those who tried to be heroes. And now he was calling out to her-it made her flesh crawl. “What do you want?” She snapped.

He gave her a look, as though she were being unreasonable. “Just wanted you to pass on a message to your Grandmother, Mouri-san, not your paternal one. Tell her Vivi’s brat says hi.” He rolled his eyes and left.

Of course she wouldn’t - no, better to after all. Though her Grandmother clung to Shintoism rather than the true Faith, she should still be warned that such a depraved individual knew of her.

~

Izuku was glad for his lessons in situational awareness. He knew the instant the street was a little too empty. Supernaturally so.

Well, it could be a quirk, but he had a feeling otherwise. He was expecting this encounter since he’d left his message yesterday. Still he barely got the shield now forming around his arm up before a pair of oversized shears nearly got his back.

~

“Oi, Yukino, is this the best your spawn can do?” The door to the Midoriya home burst open and Izuku came flying through, landing on the couch. “He didn’t even take off any of my limbs!”

“Not everyone counts skill in dismemberment, you rotted old tree.” Vivi snapped back. “Zuku actually has this thing called a conscience and doesn’t try to kill people within minutes of knowing them.”

“You mean he’s soft. Softer than you, and you were a hell of a lot softer than Mushi. At this rate it’ll only take another generation or two for your line to be as threatening as a dandelion.” “You want to try me?” Vivi eyes glowed brightly in her skull as she locked gazes with the intruder.

“Any time, any where,” The two glared at each other for a moment, before breaking into girlish giggles and hugging each other. “Damn I’ve missed you, Vivi.”

“You too Shiromori,” Vivi squeezed her stepsister tightly.

Mystery let out a sigh of relief. He knew they did this every time they were apart for a long period, but every time he was afraid it would be like the first time his children (born and adopted) had met.

“It’s nice to meet you, Auntie. But I would appreciate it if you didn’t throw my son around the house.” Inko said politely but firmly.

Shiromori inclined her head in a tacit apology. “So what’s the occasion? Last I remember you guys had yourselves sealed away only to be awoken in the family needed you, next I get a vague message that ‘Vivi’s brat says Hi’, so what gives?” “Our family needed our help and we were called.” Arthur said simply. He knew the hatched had been buried, but the image of Shiromori on the windshield of his van stabbing her way inside was a lasting one.

“We got Zuku-chan into UA, and we’ll continue helping him,” Lewis supplied.

Shiromori blinked. “That was the big family emergency? Getting him into his top choice of school?”

“It wasn’t exactly the school,” Izuku started to nervously fidget. “I’m kind of quirkless and just about everyone I ever met thought my dream was worthless and that I was worthless and I was starting to believe it, so my grandparents have been teaching me magic and how to Batman and building up my confidence and-”

“You were bullied.” Shiromori stated bluntly. “You were abused.” Her words were heavy, but she wasn’t looking at Izuku. Instead she was focusing on Mystery. “Tou-san, where were you when this was happening?”

“I…” Words seemed to catch in Mystery’s throat. “I wasn’t around. You don’t understand how hard it is-”

“It’s hard. So you did what you always did. You left.” There was nothing fake about the anger in Shiromori’s voice now. “You left the children entrusted in your care, just like you always-”

“Shiro, calm down.” Vivi floated up slightly so she could lay a hand on her shoulder. “Mystery seriously screwed up with you, I won’t argue that. But this isn’t the same. For one thing, he left a way to contact him if help was needed and the moment Inko-chan asked he did come, and woke us up to boot. And he wasn’t around for the same reason we weren’t. We knew we’d watch all of our family die, even our children and grandchildren, that’s why we decided to be sealed.”

“Fumiyo will pass one day,” Mystery said despondently. “She is mortal and will go the way of them. So will Shiozaki And when that happens, it will hurt like nothing you’ve ever experienced.”

Shiromori looked away, but Vivi perked up. “Fumiyo? Shiozaki?”

“My brat of a daughter and her kid.” Shiromori was still shaken, but smiled. “Shio-chan’s in your kid’s year, though not his class.” Vivi squeed. “Tell me everything!”

~

“Mother,” Ibara greeted stiffly as Shiromori returned. 

Shiromori rolled her eyes.  She had been such a cute kid when she was little. But at some point she’d decided inheriting Youkai powers rather than a ‘proper’ quirk was shameful. She’d blamed her mother for it, and the relationship between them had never really recovered.

For her late husband she’d happily created a mortal guise, thickened her bark into lines making her look older along with him. She’d even kept it up after he’d passed. Today had been the first time she’d dropped it for testing Vivi’s brat and it had been surprisingly hard to put back up.

Much like her daughter, she’d forgotten it was alright to be herself.

“Brat.” She answered fondly.

Fumiyo frowned and her husband and daughter looked up in surprise. “Mother, please.”

“Fumiyo, I have spent the past few decades doing the best I can to meet your standards of propriety. It took reconnecting with my step sister to remember what it felt like being myself and I’m not willing to let it go again. I am not kind. I am not polite. I would gladly kill my way through every hero and villain to protect you and Shio-chan.” She gave her son in law an appraising look. “You’ve cared for both of them, but haven’t stopped Fumiyo even when you knew she was wrong, so I’d kill heroes or villains for you but not both.”

As Shiromori went to her room she knew her daughter was cursing her name and grinned. She’d missed stirring the pot.

[hoodoo12]

Costume

This month’s prompt on our discord server? “Costume”, for Hallowe’en, of course! SFW, Beetlejuice/gender neutral reader.

@beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @thewolfisapartofmysoul @janitor-boy @turtlepated @angelicspaceprince

Enjoy! `

You’d never have expected being invited to a Halloween costume party would be such a problem.

A problem shaped like a pestering, jealous ghost-demon named Beetlejuice. “I wanna go! Why can’t I go! You’re leaving me for a whole evening to have fun and I have to sit here and twiddle my thumbs?! You’re going to leave me in the dark in an empty house and I never get to do anything!” His whining was amazing, and not in the good way. “You could take me! We can do a couple’s costume! Like Mickey and Minnie Mouse, or you can be a brick, and I can go as a brick layer!”

You couldn’t help but snort in laughter at his suggestions, as raunchy as the second one had been. “Or, or--you know those horse costumes? We could do that! I could be the back half, because I like holding onto your butt--” “And also because you’re an ass?”

The specter grinned broadly at your jab, thinking that if you were joining in on the idea, his battle was mostly won. “Beej, sweetheart,” you said, patting his cheek, “the answer is no. No one’ll be able to see you, so a couple’s costume just isn’t going to work. I’m sorry.” His expressive face fell. You were pretty sure that if he could control not just the color of his hair but how much it stuck up, it would have drooped in a dramatic, cartoonish way as well. 

“Fine,” he muttered sadly. “I mean, people could see me if you just, I don’t know, said my name a few times or whatever, but it’s okay, I’ll just stay here with the dust and spiders and wait in the dark for you to come back . . .” He turned to go, shoulders sloping dejectedly, and shook off your hand when you tried to take his wrist to attempt to make him feel better. 

⁂

You actually had no idea what to dress as. Everything was too cutesy or overdone or trite. When watching those Bly Manor and Truth Seekers shows on streaming, however, something clicked into place. You could go as a plague doctor! And not only that, since Beetlejuice bragged about living through the Black Plague, he’d have firsthand knowledge of it and them and could assist making it authentic!

Excitedly, you told him your idea. Although he was still a bit crestfallen, he of course preened a little when you asked for his help and promised to give you all the details he could to make it the best plague doctor around. He went so far as to bring you an authentic beaked mask from . . . somewhere, which he proudly tried to thrust into your hands. Gingerly you accepted it, but tried to keep only the very tips of your fingers in contact with the leather. The clear glass for its eyes made it look more than slightly creepy. 

“I’m not going to . . . catch anything from this, right? You didn’t get it out of a festering plague pit . . . ?” “Nah,” he replied dismissively. “I mean, yeah, it’s from a grave, but it’s super old so anything infectious should be gone, I’m pretty sure.”

One thing he’d never claimed to be was a doctor or infectious disease expert, so although you accepted his suspect contribution, you cleaned it inside and out with bleach. And tossed it in the microwave to nuke any possibly remaining microbes, for good measure. 

You procured a black coat and hat on your own. Beetlejuice also dug up a black cane--telling you that the doctors used them to poke at people so they could examine them without getting too close--with a silver wolf’s head as a handle. You joked that that was a prop for the Wolfman but accepted it anyway.   He also gleefully shoved so many aromatics into the beak it made your eyes water when you finally tried it on. “Thanks, Beej,” you praised as you tried to breathe through your mouth. “Wow. There’s a lot in here, huh? What is that, pine needles?” “Juniper, cloves, and camphor! Some mint too.”

“Uh-huh,” you croaked. You were going to have to grab some tissues to wipe your running nose and watery eyes during this party. “Okay, I’ll see you later.” “Have a good time!” he called after you, and you were glad he’d gotten over his disappointment. 

⁂

You knew the people who’d invited you to the party tended to go all out for Halloween, and this year was no exception. It wasn’t Martha Stewart, but it wasn’t professional haunted attraction either. They’d filled their house with lots of skeletons and spiders, pictures that changed based on which angle you looked at them, a soundtrack that low enough to not impede conversations but was filled with creaks, moans, and shrieks, and a buffet spread filled with treats made to look gory. 

Everyone was in costume, of course, from those same generic ones available at Halloween stores to homemade cosplay of movie slashers. A hush rippled out like a stone thrown into water when you walked through the front door, even as you called hello to your friends. The party-goers turned to gawk at you.

Gradually people returned to their conversations, and some people returned greetings. You grinned behind your mask; it was good to make an unexpected first impression. 

Wandering through the party, you slowly became aware that few people sought you out, and when you tried to engage with others, they were polite but seemed anxious to get away. More than once you caught people glancing over their shoulders at you as they left you. It also became apparent that people gave you a berth as you walked through the house, even at the table spread with food and drink. At first it was kind of cool, like you were this mysterious being, but then it devolved into being a little weird. It had to be because of the aromatics Beetlejuice had stuffed to the brim inside the beak. “I’m sorry about the smell,” you apologized to anyone who would listen. “I just went a little overboard on it being authentic.”

You followed that apology with a little self-depreciating chuckle. 

It didn’t make people seem more comfortable around you. 

Unable to mingle, feeling like a bit of an outcast--maybe like a real plague doctor--you didn’t stay at the party long. Walking home along streetlight lit sidewalks, you had the same effect on anyone else out: veering to give you room, furtive glances back at you once they were passed. 

There was no way you stunk that bad.

Sighing, you slowed down a little. Although there was a chill in the air, you were getting this hat and mask off your face. Maybe you could dump the herbs and whatnot in a garbage can, and reduce the stench. Your nose could use some fresh air anyway. 

You happened to stop in front of a closed store’s window. As you grabbed your hat to yank it off your head, you glanced at your reflection and yelped in surprise. 

It was you in a plague doctor’s costume, but nightmarishly extreme. Your coat--just a cheap plain coat you found at a thrift store, was smeared along the sleeves and hem with something that looked tacky and black, like old blood. Like your coat had been dragging along the floor of a slaughterhouse, and like you’d been wrist deep in something gory. The rest of the fabric looked moldy and stained and threadbare on the elbows. As if that wasn’t bad enough, your mask--

It was authentic, obviously, but the leather seemed to have molded smoothly to your face. The glass in the eyeholes didn’t show your eyes at all; instead, pinpricks of light, the reflection of an animal’s eyes, shone out. 

Everything that looked back at you in the glass looked evil, depraved, and unsettling. The effect was overtly chilling, even as you knew you were looking at yourself. 

You ran the rest of the way to your place. “Beetlejuice!” you shouted, throwing open the door so had it bounced back at you from the wall it hit. He sauntered in from the kitchen. “Heya babes! How’d the party go? I was just here, making rice krispie treats--the kitchen’s a bit of a war zone right now--is marshmallow difficult to get off the ceiling?”

“What did you do?!”

“I told you--I was making rice krispie treats--” “I mean what did you do to my costume!”

The specter stopped, and grinned. “Did you like it? Did everyone like it? I think the pièce de résistance was that faint whiff of rot. You really have to concentrate to smell it, but once you do, you can’t unsmell it--”

You gaped at that disgusting revelation and resisted the urge to grab him by the sharp labels of his striped coat and shake him; he’d see that as playtime. Through gritted teeth, you repeated, “What did you do to my costume?!”

“I made it authentic. Just like you asked,” he shrugged innocently.

Squeezing your eyes closed, you counted to ten, actually making it only to four. Your jaw hurt from clenching it so hard, but you didn’t loosen it much to say sarcastically, “And the way my eyes look? Is that authentic? Did plague doctors have creepy shiny eyes?”

He laughed. “Oh. That. Yeah, that was some artistic license. Just to give it some flair.”

A worn coat splattered with unnameable gore, the stench of random herbs plus decay, a mask that was already unsettling and silver eyes for some “flair” . . . this time you did make it to a count of ten, and released the tension in your jaw this time. He was only trying to help. He had provided the expertise you asked for, and he just took it too far because he was nothing if not over the top.

“We should’ve just done the horse costume,” Beetlejuice advised. “Want a rice krispie?”

You glared at him, but couldn’t stay too mad too long. Shrugging out of the coat, you said, “Yes. Take this costume out and bury it or burn it or something. You tricked, and I’ll have a treat.”

“That’s my babe,” he grinned, and took the disgusting outfit off your hands.  

fin!

[heliosthegriffin]

What to do after death; Vampirism

Preface -

I feel the name says it all.

But, I will elaborate anyhow.

I don’t intend on becoming a Vampire, at all. It’s a raw deal and one-way passage into a hell of my own making.

I suspect should I actively pursue becoming a Vampire I will lose my soul to damnation. Vampire’s are often the results of the foulest of magic and consorting with satanic entities with depraved offerings or just as often the results of those black souled individuals who find happiness in the torment of others. If I am not planning on becoming a Vampire, why I am I making this list?

Easy, it pays to be prepared. Just because I don’t seek undeath doesn’t protect me from being turned against my will. I am of the belief, once you have become a Vampire against your will you die and lose your soul, leaving a husk behind. A husk that has all your memories, personality, and desires, but none of the restraint, humanity or compassion. A sociopath with supernatural powers and a need for life essence of others to maintain my own parasitic existence.

I am making the list to give myself direction after death so as to prevent as much suffering as I can, and if possible, try and help humanity grow.

I can only hope my husk listens to my will.

My family is well armed otherwise, they will do what must be done, as I would do for them.

-----------

The List

-----------

Step One - Leave home, let’s not take any chances hurting my loved ones, or former loved ones, I owe them that much.

a) Construct a note though, tell them all how much they meant to me and why I am leaving, be through and leave nothing out, but don’t tell them where I am headed. Leave the code-word I have with our elder brother so he understands and tell him he’s free to what I leave behind.

b) Make a pack, get one of our knives in there and get a gun. Get some blankets so I can cover-up during the day, actually many blankets and some stones so that they’ll be weighted down. This is a temporary solution however.

c) Empty my bank account as much as possible. Cash and coin will be more beneficial if I’m going off the grid.

d) Leave town.

Step Two - Head north and head to a bigger city

a) Buy a sleeping bag and tent at the closest opportunity.

b) Keep an ear to the ground, find out who can go missing and people would be thankful that their gone. Pick my targets carefully, never more than one person at a time and always when their not expecting it, I’m a predator I should act like it. I might have supernatural powers, but I can’t be prepared for everything and people will know my weakness if I get found out.

c) Aim for the scum of the earth, get rid of them, but not until I have conclusive evidence. But, when I do have it, it’s feeding time, make sure to take their valuables, will need it for future plans.

d) Do that for about a month and move on, can’t stay anywhere for too long. But, before we leave buy a couple books on architecture, vampires, morals and ethics, stone-working, physics, building ect. We’re going to need it.

e) Find out if I can sustain our-self off animal blood.

Step Three - Rinse and Repeat. Go from city to city in our state till I’ve cleaned out what I can. Hopefully I’ll have a duffel-bag of money and valuables, along with those books.

a) Study those books. Find out what kind of vampire I am, make sure I learn about building castles.

b) Take some time to practice building.

c) Practice hunting; Hunt some animals to drink their blood if that helps, practice skinning and chopping up the parts. Donate the meat if I can, or leave at a poor home, they probably won’t be able to afford throwing it away.

d) Learn about interior decoration.

e) Get some better guns, drop off the gun we borrowed from our family along with a chunk of changes, leave them another note that we’re doing fine.

Step Four - Time to move. By the time I’ve hit this step I should have hit all the large towns, which depending we’re counting above or below ten thousand as a big town could take us from anywhere three years to around four if I cut off at nine thousand in population for a big town. It’s hard to say how much money I’ll have at this point, but It must be at least ten thousand dollars at a minimum if I’ve spent all my time eating, murdering, and robbing scum of the earth at least once a month for three to four years.

a) Head north. I need to get to Detroit. That place is so crime ridden no will notice a vampire. If there already vampires there leave, go find another crime-ridden hell-hole. I assume vampires get stronger, or at least craftier with age, I am not fucking with any old monsters.

b) On the way there repeat the Step three on any big cities on the way there, cover my tracks.

c) Make sure to pawn off what I can. Invest in urban camo and a bullet-resistant vest.

d) Keep practicing stone masonry, and improve my gun skills. I don’t need to chase anyone down if they can run, plus I can suck the blood from the wounds, it’ll be like a water fountain.

e) Read that book on physics and other science books, I am playing the long game, look into magic too. Nothing is better than magic or science than knowing the rules to both. Don’t fuck with demon’s though.

Step Five - Settle down for a while and then move again, once I get to my crime-ridden hellhole of my choice take some time to start eliminating the seedy elements. If not, start going for the low hanging fruit, I can’t help everybody, but I can help somebody.

a) Find some random kid and become their guardian, a great way to kill time probably.

   ai.) By guardian, I don’t mean parent, I’m talking more guardian spirit. A vampire rasing a child is a recipe for disaster.

   aii.) Don’t get too attached though, after their in a good place leave. I’m not       doing it for good, I’m doing it to maintain a little humanity.

b) By now I should have enough to fund a new identity and since I now live in a corrupt hell-hole it should be easy to enter the system. If I don’t have enough money, then attain it. Don’t try and intimidate anybody just yet me, I don’t have enough influence yet and it’ll just end up screwing me over.

c) Buy an actually house, fake a life for about ten years, then move to another corrupt hell-hole. Start saving valuable, no, start a war found, we’re going to need it.

Step Six - Start prepping for the End. Humanity has conflict in it’s blood, it’s only a matter of time before we go nuclear. Use the funds we have to buy some land in the mountains. Use the stone masonry skills and architect skills I’ve attained over the last several decades to build a fortified castle with space age materials.

a) Create a underground vault for my mortals.

b) Install anti-air defenses, install ground defences, booby-trap my land.

c) Creating a sustainable area for farming if possible, if not work on making sustainable green houses.

d) Start preserving all of human history, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Movies, games, books, porn, all of it. It needs to be preserves. Put it all in the vault. Record all the science, by hand if neccasary.

e) Start stealing relics so that they can be preserved by me. I am definitely going Trazyn the Infinite.

f) Start recruiting people for my cause, screen each and every one.

g) Put my room at the top of the mountain with as long stair case as possible, If these fuckers want to kill me while I sleep I want them to have leg cramps while they do it. Also put booby trap my coffin room.

Step Seven - Rebuilding Society or keep playing the waiting game. If the world has torn itself apart, I will then do what I feel is the best choice. Create bio-augmented techno-knights, or not. 

a) Hopefully decades of research on physics, matter, and engineering will allow me to create powered armor knights, but if not, just keep researching.

b) Make a secret castle deeper into the mountains no one else can reach without significant resources, or supernatural abilities. Start moving my lab, my vault, my copies of human history and media, plus my stored blood there.

c) When I finally succeed leave my first castle to my servants and teach them what I have to offer, leave them the blue prints for becoming techno-knights and leave. I no longer have a place among men or their future, I will merely safeguard the past and record it.

d) Go to my new castle and spend eternity studies reality and building more castles.

-------

Afterword: The probability of me becoming a vampire is close to zero, and the idea of my soul-less husk following is these steps is even less, but should it work it will have been worth it.

[aconstellationofmemories]

The Secrets We Keep: Prologue

Pairing: Laxus Dreyar & Mirajane Strauss (Miraxus) Rating: M for violence and language. Genre: Angst, mafia AU. Chapter Word Count: 1437. Link(s): AO3  Summary:

Laxus Revenge. It fuelled him through his depraved life. His entire being, dedicated to one single cause. For years, he acted patiently in the shadows, bidding his time to claim his prey. Now the time had finally arrived. Approach her, make her utterly in love with him, then shatter her – that was his plan. Until her hypnotising blue eyes drew him in, and he began to question his knowledge of her. Because those bittersweet depths were hiding something. And in his world, only two things were guaranteed. Either you kill your secrets, or they kill you.   Mira Death, lies, manipulation. They lurked around every corner of her life, even flowed in the very blood coursing through her veins. Merely the mention of her last name was enough to cause eyes to widen and people to scurry. Naïve, pretentious, entitled. Those were just some of the names people called her for choosing to be different. But life was short. And in the dangerous world she lived in, everyone was a player racing to oust the other before the opponent terminated their life. Her own game had just commenced. Only this time, she wasn’t sure she could outwit them. Not anymore. Tick tock.

Author's Notes: The newly-crowned Queen of Foreshadowing is back! I bring with me my favourite ever FT ship after a long spell in my first ever ambitious multi-chapter fanfic! I'm also excited for this one as it revolves around a couple favourite themes of mine: angst, mafia and revenge. I binge romance novels on the second, but never actually wrote it. Please look kindly upon me in my first attempt at this project. (Or like signing for my death, currently being piled with exams and all that.)

Also that summary?? The best I've ever written.

As always, I appreciate every like and review!

Thank you @be-dazzled for nudging me to pursue this and @sweetmemories2606 for supporting me every step of the way. 💛

Tagging @sassyglassesbunny @adramaticbeauty - my original Miraxus gang. 😏

Slow but steady update. Spoilers will be released on the Miraxus Discord Server (find link on my tumblr profile) when available. Otherwise, feel free to message me!

___________________________________

Laxus

Fake.

The adjective sneered from the forefront of his mind as he watched the models strutting down the white platform. Heavy makeup accentuated the elegant features of the slender women of all colours, making their cheekbones more defined and their eyes sharper than their original form. Eyeshadows of glittery monochrome shades further decorated their eyes to match their black and white designer clothes.

A smug, seductive look adorned their otherwise beautiful face, tugging an end of their luscious lips upward in a smirk. With their chins held high, they strode down the runaway, every single movement of their limbs expertly coordinated for nothing less than the best catwalk.

Anyone with a functioning pair of eyes could see that those women were gorgeous. His own roamed over the alternating models with slight interest, toying with the idea of tangling limbs with one of them in bed.

The thought didn’t last long.

That beauty of theirs which sent men to their knees and the women to turn green with envy? Most of it were carefully altered with the help of a needle or a knife in their futile quest for an image of perfection.

An image which had never existed anywhere in the universe except in the recesses of their insecurities.

In other words: fake.

Add in the charming attitude of a heaven-sent goddess who was too lofty for mere mortals, and any spark of lust his body felt toward them fizzled out.

Soft cheers erupted from the audience at the entrance of the next model, pulling him from his thoughts. His gaze travelled up the length of the woman’s black gown, appreciating how the sleeveless garment hugged her body and highlighted her curves. A strip of white cloth ran up her left side before its unblemished trail stopped below her armpit. Light blonde tendrils stood out against the black material at her torso, and led him up to the only medically untouched face in the line-up.

With delicate eyebrows of a darker shade of blonde, sparkling cerulean eyes and a button nose, her looks easily exceeded that of her colleagues. And those luscious, scarlet-covered lips...all they had to do was utter a word, and any men would bend a knee and do her bidding.

Mirajane Strauss.

Niece of the notorious Roman Strauss. Next in line to the throne with his only son, Marcus.

The beauty she radiated was unrivalled. Along with her good looks, the charisma she carried set a standard the other women could only aspire to possess.

She was a sight to behold.

But just like all things good and beautiful, inevitably, they wither and die.

Her attractive appearance, too, hid secrets – hers more twisted than her fellow co-workers. He found it unfortunate that underneath that stunning façade, ran the dark and dirty blood of the Strauss family.

Specifically, that of her father’s and her uncle.

Giovanni Strauss, her father, was infamous for being a merciless boss with more than a few screws loose and a twisted obsession with prostitutes. He didn’t hold any personal grudge towards her father; the tyrant was just another in a long list of evil and perverted bosses, his own father among them.

Though he would be lying if he said he didn’t feel some satisfaction to have stolen the last breath from the great Giovanni... His demise, after all, did propel the women one step closer to freedom.

But her uncle, Roman... He clenched his fists at the thought of the middle-aged man. Roman assumed the position as the boss of the Strauss family after his brother’s death and severed their ties with prostitution. Very little goodness existed in this world of theirs – if it even existed anymore at all – but Laxus personally preferred to keep innocent women out of it. Her uncle’s decision was unconventional, to say the least, and he could almost respect him for it.

Except.

Roman Strauss killed his mother.

The only good thing in his life – gone.

The bastard could die a thousand deaths and it still wouldn’t be enough to placate the monster inside who craved revenge.

Because he could torture him until he wished he was dead, kill him in the most gruesome way possible, and one thing would never change.

His mother would never return to him.

Mirajane might had been born innocent – at least, until life forced her hand in a world she never asked to be a part of. But by being a bloodline of Giovanni and Roman Strauss, she was cursed to a life burdened with the sins and debts of her predecessors. The good princess act she played was merely a means to disguise the impurities hiding below the surface.

A demon wearing the clothes of an angel – that was what she was.

She strode with her head held high, but balanced down with enough humility to glance at the audience in a friendly yet alluring manner. When she reached the end of the stage, the corners of her lips lifted up in a rehearsed small smile which somehow managed to appear sincere. Immediately, the dimly-lit attendees reacted to the visual – the men with smitten looks on their faces, the women a varied display of envy, adoration, and awe.

One could easily see why she was crowned the title ‘The Princess of Hearts’ by the media.

She pivoted on her heels, returning to the entrance, and he sucked in a breath when his gaze landed below her hips. Her smooth, creamy leg peaked out at him from the slit of her gown. The fleeting sight of her flesh involuntarily stirred up desires he despised to have for her.

Fucking hell.

In a rebellious act which broke traditional modelling, she glanced back as she walked and smirked. Flashes of light fired in rapid succession, each competing with the other for the best shot of the expression.

Oh yeah, the little demon definitely knew what she was doing. Not only that, she enjoyed every second of it.

He didn’t need to look at their camera’s memory card to know there had been over ten photos taken in those few seconds before she disappeared backstage. Neither did he need to possess supernatural powers to predict that she would grace the front covers of almost every – if not all – of the fashion magazines tomorrow.

The models gathered in a horizontal line at the entrance with the acclaimed fashion designer in the centre once the show was over. Grinning widely, he spoke into the microphone.

“I’d like to thank everyone who kindly graced my humble exhibition with your presence. The theme of this fashion show is ‘Darkness and Light’. People are of the opinion that these two can never exist together – one which I strongly disagree. By incorporating monochrome colours in my clothes, I hope people are able to see that they can co-exist without one extinguishing the beauty of the other.” He winked. “Because we all have a little darkness and light inside us, do we not?”

Thunderous rounds of applause rose from the audience at the end of his speech. His gaze swung from the ecstatic designer back to Mirajane, who seemed to be happy to be standing at the corner of the line.

His eyebrow quirked up. Odd. For someone of her status, he had expected her to dominate the centre.

She beamed a bright smile and waved to someone in the front row – a few people, actually. Roman returned her grin with a fatherly smile as he clapped his meaty hands along with the other attendees. His eyes instinctively sharpened at the sight of his mother’s murderer. Beside him, Marcus smiled proudly while applauding the success of the event.

Many would kill to be the receiving end of that brilliant and genuine smile of hers. Its effects were so widespread that it not only lit up her face, but the entire being of the receiver.

But he wasn’t a man in search for salvation.

He was the man people sought to be salvaged from.

Nobody saw his face knowing his identity unless they were about to meet their end. Never in his long years as a made man did he fail to escort them there personally.

He would see to it himself that the same plea to be spared would fall from her lips.

Make her weep – that’s what he’d do.

After all, what better way to inflict revenge on Roman other than first breaking his beloved niece’s heart?

His lips tilted up in a smirk, his eyes gleaming with a predatory look.

Let the show begin.

[nautiscarader]

Anonymous 1 hours ago

Dipper And Wendy visit the H-hotel and make a new friend https://mobile.twitter.com/JonesBO50034805/status/1273656307170652160/photo/1

(Ao3)

==============

Anonymous 1 hours ago

Dipper And Wendy visit the H-hotel and make a new friend https://mobile.twitter.com/JonesBO50034805/status/1273656307170652160/photo/1

- I've always knew that wandering into random rooms will end like this...

Velma Dinkley couldn't really complain though. She's spent a significant portion of her life running from door to door, all looking the same, and in a hotel with infinite number of them, one really could make an easy mistake. And now, trapped between two naked bodies of complete strangers, she was feeling more and more ecstatic every moment.

From their moans and very brief introduction, she learned that the young man she was sucking off was called Dipper, much like the constellation, and his red-headed girlfriend, who watched her actions, was named Wendy. And though at first she was merely an observer, she quickly wanted to join the fun, and her lips quickly met hers at the base of Dipper's cock.

Her hands, however, were nothing but idle, reaching underneath Velma's sweater and trying to undo her bra.

- Oh wow, going commando? - Wendy smiled, seeing a blush on her new friend's face - It's always the nerdy ones...

Velma muffled, with Dipper's cock in her mouth, trying to explain herself, but her speech was quickly interrupted when Wendy unceremoniously pulled her head back, depraving Dipper of her lips, to which he reacted with a sharp yelp.

- Sorry for the interruption, Dip - Wendy calmed him down - But feast your eyes on these!

And with a single pull she disrobed Velma of her sweater, revealing a rather large pair of breasts. Wendy's quick move hid Velma's blush for a while, but as her two lovers marvelled at her assets, it quickly came back tenfold.

- Jinkies! - Is that how you call them? - Wendy chuckled.- I bet you can teach me a thing or two...

Wendy leaned forward, dragging her finger between Velma's tits.

- Like, what? - she corrected her slightly skewed glasses

Wendy and Dipper exchanged confused looks.

- Oh come on, don't tell me you;ve never done that!

And with equal nonchalance, she pressed Velma's body against Dipper's, forcing his cock to slide between her voluptuous breasts.

- O-Oh, that... - Yeah, "that", Wendy added. - Come on, girl, start working out!

And with a gentle pat to her head, Velma looked up at the face of her lover, a man she hasn't seen in her life until ten minutes ago, and with a sly smile drawing on her face, she pressed her hands against her breasts to make the very first move. Dipper's eyes rolled up and he let out a soft, almost girly moan, which turned into a proper one when Velma's lips touched his tip with her lips. Velma thought she should feel at the very least strange, sucking a random man's cock, with his girlfriend watching and caressing his abdomen, but the strange, strange hotel she ended up in seemed to have eradicated the feeling of shame. She licked his tip, gathering first small droplets of pre-cum, undoubtedly caused but the presence of not one, but two redheads. Something told her her lover had a thing for that shade...

With each lick, Velma took Dipper an inch or so deeper into her mouth, while her breasts made sure that the rest of his cock was covered with heavenly soft skin, much like her warm, welcoming mouth. Wendy, on the other hand, took care of his testicles, massaging them, as much as he could with Velma's massive bosom in front of her. But that allowed her to sneak a few kisses not only to her boyfriend's cock, but also Velma's breasts, much to her surprise and excitement.

She let out a gasp when the other hand of the red-head found its way between Velma's legs and discovered that bra wasn't the only part of her attire that was missing. her finger slipped between her thick folds, forcing more moans to vibrate around Dipper's cock, only strengthening the moans coming from his lips.

- He's not gonna last much longer. - Wendy spoke - Yeah, I-I can tell tha-hey!

Velma protested when Wendy took her place, slobbering all over the cock that until recently made contact with mostly Velma's breasts. Velma watched as Wendy bobbed her head furiously up and down, making Dipper's legs twitch and writhe.

- Well, guess you could teach me a thing or two as well...

Wendy stopped and looked at her new friend and let go of her boyfriend's cock.

- Wanna try? It's really easy. - If you say so-

But Velma didn't have time to deliberate, as Wendy's hand grabbed her short hair and pressed her against Dipper's crotch, filling her mouth with him in an instant. The same aggressive after-taste and slight masculine smell now overwhelmed her senses, and the fact that Wendy wasn't letting her go, made her slightly dizzy...

When Wendy pulled her back, Velma only let out a soft "Jinkies!", that allowed her to take a breath, before Wendy impaled her on her boyfriend's cock again and again. Somewhere around her, she could hear Dipper's cries and moans, as well as soft kisses Wendy was planting around his abdomen. And with each minute of her impromptu "lesson", she could feel her lover's climax coming faster and faster.

- We-Velma!

Dipper cried and watched as Velma's eyes bulge out when first stream of thick cum floods her mouth. If she wasn't already feeling light-headed, then the new explosion of taste and smell has done it, sending her into  erotic stupor that made her suck more of his fluids...

But they weren't hers for long, as Wendy pulled her back  once more, this time to take what was rightfully hers. Velma was depraved of oxygen for the fifth or sixth time when Wendy pressed her lips against her, her tongue swirling around the dollop of thick cum in her mouth. But Velma wouldn't give up that easily, and soon the two redheads fought for Dipper's seed, until each received her share and could break their impromptu kiss.

- Oh... oh jinkiest of jinkies... - Velma groaned, swallowing last droplets of heavy load - I...I didn't expect that to happen to me... - Well, we're glad we could have helped you. What do you say, Dip?

But Dipper could pant, watching his girlfriend exchanged sloppy, cum-filled kiss with the stranger that just sucked him off.

- Hm, maybe he needs some encouragement to open his mouth.

Once more, Wendy took the initiative and closed her arms around Velma's body, only to effortlessly lift her legs into the air, exposing her glistening pussy hidden underneath her red skirt. And when Dipper saw it, he gladly leapt forward, having not one, but two of them to choose from. Wendy and Velma soon met face-to-face, as their pussies were pressed against each other, giving Dipper better access to both of them at the same time.

- Is-Is that how you spend every night with... er, what-what was the name of your friend? - Velma stuttered by sudden intrusion of Dipper's tongue between her folds - Ta-Tambry - Wendy wheezed, as Dipper dug his fingers into her sex - I wou-wouldn't wo-worry about her, though... We-We-ve been separated before...

And with that, their lips met again, just as Dipper continued to repay them for the mind-blowing blowjob he received.

===============

- So, you're also chasing ghosts? - Tambry gently rolled to her side, passing the joint to on of her new lovers. - Like, yeah! I mean we mostly run away that chase, and they usually end up not being ghosts. - Shaggy replied. - Ours usually are. Or are worse. Monsters, demons, that kind of stuff. - Jeepers! - Daphne exclaimed relaxing on top of Tambry's bosom, her usually perfect hair looking equally untidy as Shaggy's. - Your friends must be brave. - Yeah, they are.. - Tambry moaned, pressing her head against her breasts - Maybe we can go on some joined expedition one day...

Tambry let out a deep moan, as she drifted off to a well-deserved slumber, knowing Wendy and Dipper were in good hands.

[gadgetgirl71]

Amazon First Reads September 2020

It’s that time yet again! For me and other Amazon Prime Members to take our pick of this months Amazon First Reads. So if your an Amazon Prime member don’t forget to get your free First Reads Book.

This months choices are:

Thriller

Every Missing Thing by Martyn Ford, Pages: 367, Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: One family. Two missing children. A lifetime of secrets.

Ten-year-old Ethan Clarke’s disappearance gripped the nation. Just as his parents are starting to piece together a life ‘after Ethan’, their world is ripped apart once more when their daughter, Robin, disappears in almost identical circumstances. They’ve lost two children within a decade … and now doubts about their innocence are setting in.

Detective Sam Maguire’s obsession with the first case cost him his own family, but he has unfinished business with the Clarkes. He is convinced that discovering what happened to Ethan holds the key to finding Robin. But what if the Clarkes know more than they’re letting on?

With the world watching eagerly, the clock is ticking for Sam as he embarks on an investigation that forces him to confront his own demons. To uncover the truth, he must follow a trail of devastating deception—but the truth always comes at a cost …

Book Club Fiction

Millicent Glenn’s Last Wish by Tori Whitaker, Pages: 340, Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: Three generations of women—and the love, loss, sacrifice, and secrets that can bind them forever or tear them apart.

Millicent Glenn is self-sufficient and contentedly alone in the Cincinnati suburbs. As she nears her ninety-first birthday, her daughter Jane, with whom she’s weathered a shaky relationship, suddenly moves back home. Then Millie’s granddaughter shares the thrilling surprise that she’s pregnant. But for Millie, the news stirs heart-breaking memories of a past she’s kept hidden for too long. Maybe it’s time she shared something, too. Millie’s last wish? For Jane to forgive her.

Sixty years ago Millie was living a dream. She had a husband she adored, a job of her own, a precious baby girl, and another child on the way. They were the perfect family. All it took was one irreversible moment to shatter everything, reshaping Millie’s life and the lives of generations to come.

As Millie’s old wounds are exposed, so are the secrets she’s kept for so long. Finally revealing them to her daughter might be the greatest risk a mother could take in the name of love.

Police Procedural

The Unspoken by Ian K Smith, Pages: 295, Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: In this new series from #1 New York Times bestselling author Ian K. Smith, an ex-cop turned private investigator seeks justice on the vibrant, dangerous streets of Chicago.

Former Chicago detective Ashe Cayne is desperate for redemption. After refusing to participate in a police department cover-up involving the death of a young black man, Cayne is pushed out of the force. But he won’t sit quietly on the sidelines: he’s compelled to fight for justice as a private investigator…even if it means putting himself in jeopardy.

When a young woman, Tinsley Gerrigan, goes missing, her wealthy parents from the North Shore hire Cayne to find her. As Cayne looks into her life and past, he uncovers secrets Tinsley’s been hiding from her family. Cayne fears he may never find Tinsley alive.

His worries spike when Tinsley’s boyfriend is found dead—another black man murdered on the tough Chicago streets. Cayne must navigate his complicated relationships within the Chicago PD, leveraging his contacts and police skills to find the missing young woman, see justice done, and earn his redemption.

Contemporary Romance

Roommaids by Sariah Wilson, Pages: 301, Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: From bestselling author Sariah Wilson comes a charming romance about living your life one dream at a time.

Madison Huntington is determined to live her dreams. That means getting out from under her family’s wealth and influence by saying no to the family business, her allowance, and her home. But on a teacher’s salary, the real world comes as a rude awakening—especially when she wakes up every morning on a colleague’s couch. To get a place of her own (without cockroaches, mould, or crime scene tape), Madison accepts a position as a roommaid. In exchange for free room and board, all she needs to do is keep her busy roommate’s penthouse clean and his dog company. So what if she’s never washed a dish in her life. She can figure this out, right?

Madison is pretty confident she can fake it well enough that Tyler Roth will never know the difference. The finance whiz is rich and privileged and navigates the same social circles as her parents—but to him she’s just a teacher in need of an apartment. He’s everything Madison has run from, but his kind hearted nature, stomach-fluttering smile, and unexpected insecurities only make her want to get closer. And Tyler is warming to the move.

Rewarding job. Perfect guy. Great future. With everything so right, what could go wrong? Madison is about to find out.

Literary Fiction

A Single Swallow by Zhang Ling, Pages: 299, Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: The eagerly awaited English translation of award-winning author Zhang Ling’s epic and intimate novel about the devastation of war, forgiveness, redemption, and the enduring power of love.

On the day of the historic 1945 Jewel Voice Broadcast—in which Emperor Hirohito announced Japan’s surrender to the Allied forces, bringing an end to World War II—three men, flush with jubilation, made a pact. After their deaths, each year on the anniversary of the broadcast, their souls would return to the Chinese village of their younger days. It’s where they had fought—and survived—a war that shook the world and changed their own lives in unimaginable ways. Now, seventy years later, the pledge is being fulfilled by American missionary Pastor Billy, brash gunner’s mate Ian Ferguson, and local soldier Liu Zhaohu.

All that’s missing is Ah Yan—also known as Swallow—the girl each man loved, each in his own profound way.

As they unravel their personal stories of the war, and of the woman who touched them so deeply during that unforgiving time, the story of Ah Yan’s life begins to take shape, woven into view by their memories. A woman who had suffered unspeakable atrocities, and yet found the grace and dignity to survive, she’d been the one to bring them together. And it is her spark of humanity, still burning brightly, that gives these ghosts of the past the courage to look back on everything they endured and remember the woman they lost.

Supernatural Thriller

The Haunting of H G Wells by Robert Masello, Pages: 393, Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: A plot against England that even the genius of H. G. Wells could not have imagined.

It’s 1914. The Great War grips the world—and from the Western Front a strange story emerges…a story of St. George and a brigade of angels descending from heaven to fight beside the beleaguered British troops. But can there be any truth to it?

H. G. Wells, the most celebrated writer of his day—author of The Time Machine, The War of the Worlds, The Invisible Man—is dispatched to find out. There, he finds an eerie wasteland inhabited by the living, the dead, and those forever stranded somewhere in between…a no-man’s-land whose unhappy souls trail him home to London, where a deadly plot, one that could turn the tide of war, is rapidly unfolding.

In league with his young love, the reporter and suffragette Rebecca West, Wells must do battle with diabolical forces—secret agents and depraved occultists—to save his sanity, his country, and ultimately the world.

Nonfiction

Welcome to The United States of Anxiety by Jen Lancaster, Pages: 288, Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: New York Times bestselling author Jen Lancaster is here to help you chill the hell out.

When did USA become shorthand for the United States of Anxiety? From the moment Americans wake up, we’re bombarded with all-new terrifying news about crime, the environment, politics, and stroke-inducing foods we’ve been enjoying for years. We’re judged by social media’s faceless masses, pressured into maintaining a Pinterest-perfect home, and expected to base our self-worth on retweets, faves, likes, and followers. Our collective FOMO, and the disparity between the ideal and reality, is leading us to spend more and feel worse. No wonder we’re getting twitchy. Save for an Independence Day–style alien invasion, how do we begin to escape from the stressors that make up our days?

Jen Lancaster is here to take a hard look at our elevating anxieties, and with self-deprecating wit and level-headed wisdom, she charts a path out of the quagmire that keeps us frightened of the future and ashamed of our imperfectly perfect human lives. Take a deep breath, and her advice, and you just might get through a holiday dinner without wanting to disown your uncle.

Children’s Picture Book

The Monster on the Block by Sue Ganz-Schmitt, Illustrator: Luke Flowers, Pages: 32 Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: Monster is excited to see what kind of creature will move into Vampire’s old house on the block. He even starts practicing his welcome growl for the new neighbour. But when the moving truck pulls up, it’s not a greedy goblin, an ogre, or a dastardly dragon that steps out. Instead, it’s something even more terrifying than Monster could have imagined! Monster quickly rallies the other neighbours to unite against the new guy on the block. But what if the new neighbour isn’t exactly as bad as Monster thinks? Join Monster as he confronts his fears in this charming and light-hearted look at what it means to accept others who are different from us.

*** Which book will you choose? I have no idea which book I’ll choose as there a couple of books that interest me this month. ***

#AmazonFirstReads, #Amazonkindle, #AmazonPrimeMembers, #BookClubFiction, #Books, #ChildrensPictureBook, #ContemporaryFiction, #Kindle, #KindleBooks, #LiteraryFiction, #NonFiction, #PoliceProcedural, #SupernatuarlThriller, #Thriller