#shitty ass name can they be normal for one second

[promniight]

why couldn’t devsis call them forget me not what the fuck is a pond dino….dinosaurs didn’t even swim those were plesiosaurs

[bmpmp3]

i really love when shoujo manga protagonists are like sweet and goofy and fun normal girls who are also haunted by horrors and traumas beyond our imaginations. like the whole:

[brooooswriting]

hi, can I request a fluffy leighton x reader where the reader is having just a really bad day (late to class, someone spilled coffee on her, etc) and she’s just super stressed and anxious and leighton notices and tries to make her feel better and helps her through it? and ofc leighton’s roommates are totally unused to seeing her being soft with someone so they’re all shocked and stuff

Softie

Sometimes life just seemed to fuck you over and today was just one of those days. It started early in the morning, or well it didn’t which was the problem. Your alarm didn’t ring as your phone charger didn’t work. You woke up a lot later than you normally did resulting in you getting late to class and after class was finally done and the prof was done lecturing you about being late, you walked out of the room just for someone to bump into you and spill their hot coffee over your shirt. As you were already late you didn’t have time to change for your next course, instead just closing the jacket which was at least a bit better.

When it was finally time to eat, at least in theory, you went back to your dorm room to change and since your phone was still off you couldn’t even text your friends about not coming. Happy to finally arrive at your dorm you opened the door just to hear weird noise coming from your room. It took you a second to figure out what those noises were before sighing, your roommates sex life really always was your enemy. Since you couldn’t go into your room you just grabbed a new jacket to pull over your shirt, hoping that it’d fix the problem at least a bit.

During lunch, your friends sat at the same table as always. Leighton was constantly checking her phone, a worried look on her face. “It’s weird that she’s not answering right?” She asked her friends making them freeze for a moment, it wasn’t often that the blonde was asking for advice.

“Wait, is the leighton Murray worried about someone else?” Whitney asked, fake surprise in her voice as she widens her eyes earning an annoyed look from her friend.

“Did you maybe do something to upset her?” Kimberly asked innocently.

“Oh my god, did you say somebody else’s name during sex?” Bella intervened, making the rest of the group cringe. Especially Leighton who shuddered before shaking her head.

“What kind of question is that? Of course not and I don’t think I did anything to upset her. Yesterday everything was fine, we were out and then she brought me home, kissed me good night and went to her dorm. Later we texted shortly before saying good night and going to sleep. Since then I haven’t heard from her” she explained, wrecking her brain trying to think of anything she could have done. The rest was still kinda perplex, the blonde never talked about her private life like this. It already took them hours to get out of her who she was dating.

“Well, do you know if she had a course with anyone you could ask?” Whitney suggested.

“Oh, Lila. Didn’t you have Econ or whatever with y/n this morning?” She suddenly called out to the girl who was walking by their table.

“Yeah I did, dude was late as shit and left me alone in that boring ass course” Lila complained on and on until the blonde finally interrupted her.

“What do you mean she was late?” You were normally very punctual so this was already kinda weird.

“What do you mean ‘what I mean?’ Class started at 7:30, your hot stuff girlfriend arrived at like 8:15, leaving me alone for 45 minutes. But she did seem like she had a rough night or morning. If she did, that bitch is excused. But only this once” with that the sips manager disappeared.

After a moment Leighton stood up and grabbed her food confusing the rest of them as she didn’t say anything. “Where are you going?” Bela asked.

“I wish I could be looking for my girlfriend but instead I have to go and write a shitty math test that is way to easy anyway” she aggressively packed away her stuff before storming off to her lecture.

You never thought you’d say that you’d rather be in Leightons weird ass math class than at sips. But Thursdays were always extremely full and a lot of the people there were frat boys who treated workers like shit. Normally you were at least two people on Thursdays but Zoe had to call in sick last minute leaving you alone with a whole lot of work. Throughout your whole shift the frat boys tried to humiliate you and made you work twice as hard as they spilled everything on purpose and didn’t throw away anything. Your shift went an hour and a half longer than normal exhausting you even more.

Once you could finally leave you felt like breaking down, your eyes were wet, your bottom lip trembling and you were barely moving your feet. As soon as you entered the building your body moved on its own finding the way to your girlfriend’s dorm who was still panicking. She only knew that you were alive was due to other people telling her that they saw you. “If I don’t hear from her in the next hour I’ll get the police or some shit” she told the others while aggressively typing on her phone. “I have been everywhere. Her sips shift was over over an hour ago. I was at her dorm, the library, the cafeteria and the gym but she’s nowhere to be found” she added.

“Have you looked at sips?” Whitney asked making the blonde scoff.

“It’s Thursday” she answered leaving everybody confused, “She hates it there on Thursdays, so why would she stay longer?” While Kimberly found it unbelievably cute that Leighton knew which days you liked and which not she realized that the blonde didn’t have a clue how shifts might work.

Just as she was about to explain that to her there was a knock on the door. The youngest Murray sibling quickly jumped up to see who was behind the door, a relief sigh leaving her when she saw you. But her relief quickly disappeared when she saw how your shoulders were hanging, your eyes wet and barely sparkling anymore and your lips trembling when you tried to greet her. Everybody looked at you, making it even worse. Leighton quickly pulled you in to the room, her hands caressing your cheek softly. “What happened y/n?” She asked carefully while studying your face.

You tried to speak but every time you wanted to open your mouth, you could feel yourself starting to cry. The blonde didn’t want to force you to speak so she just wrapped you in a hug which made you sob out. “Shh, it’s okay. Everything is gonna be okay” she mumbled over and over, feeling all her roommates watch her. They couldn’t believe it, Leighton was hugging someone and in addition to that, someone who was crying. While they stared at her, she tightened her arms around you as she felt your legs giving out. “Bela, Kimberly couch” she asked. They quickly stood up and set on the seats across the couch so you two could sit there. When your cries slowly died down, the blonde pointed at the fridge, making Kimberly get up to get you a bottle of water. “Thank you”

Once your girlfriend had forced you to drink some water with the words “you don’t want to look puffy later do you?”, she repeated her question from before. “It’s stupid, really” you answered but the look she gave you made you continue. “I just had a bad day” you then explained, looking down at your hands.

“That isn’t stupid, love” she comforted, her hands still rubbing circles across your back.

“Can we ask what happened?” Whitney said carefully. One, she didn’t wanna upset you further, and two, she was scared of Leighton is she did upset you further.

“It’s just, my charger broke so my phone didn’t load which meant that my alarm didn’t ring. Then I was too late to Econ and the prof lectured me like half an hour after the lecture that I was too late and as soon as I left the room somebody spilled their hot coffee onto me, but I was already too late to change. So I had to sit in my next lecture drenched in hot coffee and when I wanted to change during lunch I walked into my dorm just for my roommate to have another one night stand over, so I couldn’t change. And when I arrived at sips I was told that Zoe called in sick so I was alone and it was so full and these stupid frat boys were there so I had to work longer than my shift went and they made me spill oat milk on myself” by the end you were nearly crying again. If it wasn’t for Leighton giving you comfort you definitely would.

“See, I told you Zoe is evil” Whitney pointed out, receiving a glare from Leighton which made you chuckle a bit. The moment the sound left your mouth the blonde stopped glaring and instead smiled at you. “I’m sorry the day was so shitty” she then added.

“Oh, I know these frat boys they’re so rude. They always knock their coffee down on purpose” Kimberly said, hoping that that would help you.

“Did you take on of those anxiety pills?” Leighton asked.

“No, they’ve been empty for like three weeks but the pharmacy isn’t delivering them. I called like 60 times and I even went there but nothing. They’re ignoring me” you explained while playing with the blondes fingers to calm yourself down.

“Wait, are you still wearing the shirt with the oat milk on it?” Bela asked as her eyes wandered down to your shirt. You gave her a nod with your lips pressed into a thin line.

“Alright, get up. You’re going to change and then we are going to deal with the rest” you only whined, moving seemed really hard right now and you’d rather not do anything. But the blonde grabbed your hand and pulled you up and into her room. The others tried to give you privacy but couldn’t help the glance through the open door where they witnessed Leighton pulling the shirt over your head and helping you put on another one. You didn’t even need to be told to get on the bed, instead just immediately falling into it, burying your face in the pillow that smelled like your girlfriend.

“Are you gonna come cuddle?” Your voice was muffled due to the pillow which somehow made the whole thing even cuter to Leighton. She nodded and placed herself next to you so you could cuddle. The fact that you were now going to sleep while it wasn’t even 5 pm wasn’t something she liked as you’d definitely have problems sleeping later but she ultimately decided that an hour won’t hurt after the day you had. She’d just wake you up when it was time for dinner.

“No! I mean today, latest in 2 hours. I don’t care, we’ve been waiting for these meds for weeks now!” Leighton nearly screamed into the phone as she exited her room, “Look if you don’t want a lawsuit you’ll bring them in the next two hours. Oh trust me, I have the money to run you down until you do not have a penny anymore. Thank you very much” when she hung up the phone she saw three pair of eyes starring at her.

“What?” She asked her roommates.

“What was that?” Whitney asked, her brows furrowed while the rest also starred at her.

“That damn pharmacy that’s been blowing y/n off” she shrugged as she sat down next to Bela on the couch. “Oh, Kimberly. Do you still have that calming green tea?”

“Uhm, yeah I do. I think it’s in the drawer over there, take as many as you need” the girl pointed to a drawer close to the fridge making Leighton stand up to find the package.

“Great, thank you. I’m gonna get some of y/ns favorite snacks. Does anybody else want something?” After each of them added at least on snack she quickly walked to the small store on campus to get everything. Once she was back the medication was already in front of the door and she still had enough time to brew your tea before she wanted to wake you. “Alright everybody, here are your snacks” she announced as she placed their bag on the table, keeping yours safely stowed in her hand while she heated up a cup of water.

“Love, come on. Wake up, it’s dinner time soon” she carefully shook you awake before placing a soft kiss in your cheek.

“How long did I sleep?” You grumbled as you hid your face in her stomach, still way too sleepy to think clear. The way the blonde brushed her fingers through your hair nearly made fall back asleep.

“Like an hour, but it’s dinner time and you gotta eat something so up you go” she encouraged noticing your hesitation and the way your eyes were darting around endlessly. It was a typical thing you did when you got anxious. “Hey, it’s alright. I even got you your meds so your mind and body can relax a bit” She presented the meds and the tea to you after helping you sit up.

“Thank you” she only gave you a soft smile and wrapped an arm around you.

Not long after you sat in the cafeteria, just observing the discussion the table had while eating your food. Due to the medication you were a lot calmer, giving you time to rest. Your whole body leaned against Leightons something she actually encouraged. Except for Bela, who once saw Leighton and the first girl she knew of make out, no one of them had ever seen her this touchy with anybody.

“Hey what are you guys thinking about watching a movie before we go to sleep? There’s a new Netflix movie that I think we’d all enjoy” Kimberly suggested, earning a yes from everybody except Leighton who instead looked at you who said yes.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” She whispered to you who was laying on her shoulder. You really liked Kimberly and she was scared that you were only too nice to say no. The nod you gave her didn’t convince her at all so you grabbed her chin to title her head down making it easier for you to press a kiss to her lips.

“I promise I’m up for this” you reassured again, she nodded at you and then at Kimberly who happily clapped her hands.

After all of you finished eating you redecorated the dorms common room so all of you could sit comfortably while watching the movie on the small projector Leighton bought during on of her shopping trips. You sat in front of your girlfriend, your back against her front with a blanket over your legs. To everybodies surprise the movie was actually good and all of you enjoyed it. At least until your eyelids became heavier and you drifted to sleep in her arms. When she noticed that you were asleep she pulled the blanket higher and pressed a kiss to your forehead mumbling a quiet ‘sleep well’.

“Who knew Leighton Murray could be such a softie?” Whitney grinned as she looked at you two earning an agreeing nod from the other two.

“What?!” The blonde asked visibly confused.

“Dude you’re a simp for your girl” Bela laughed enjoying the look on her roommates face.

“I am not” she argued back. “You’re so lucky she’s asleep otherwise I’d beat you up”

“Well, she’d kinda right. But like in a good way, you really care for her and it’s very sweet” Kimberly explained knowing that Leighton wouldn’t do anything to her as you liked her too much. Something that actually proved what she just said.

“Whatever! You guys are crazy” she complained feeling you stir slightly in her arms, “and now be quiet before you wake her”

“Simp” Bela whispered while turning her focus back on the movie only to miss the pillow that was chucked her way.

She knew that she was soft for you and she loved it, she loved you. But that wasn’t her roommates business.

[ddejavvu]

I’ve never sent one of these before so I apologise if this is silly. But Imagine hotch is scrolling through readers instagram and derek catches him. He’s all embarrassed denying that it meant anything meanwhile derek is literally taunting him about his crush.

i used fem!reader for this just bc you didn't specify so i hope that's okay! this prompt was so good <33

--

The way that Hotch is bent over his knees, Derek thinks that he's crying. Which is a shocking sight for him, but not unheard of. He beelines for his boss but instead of glistening tears he finds the glow of a lit screen, stopping short before Hotch is able to see Morgan out of the corner of his eye.

Morgan thinks he's actually more surprised that Hotch is hunched over his phone than he would have been if he was crying. Crying is just something that happens when you have too much sadness welling up inside of you, and Morgan knows Hotch has a lifetime of sadness pent up and ready to blow. What's strange is that he's on Instagram, his posture is shitty and he's indulging in social media like a normal person; like someone who isn't Aaron Hotchner would.

Derek isn't about to interrupt the only time he's ever seen Hotch relax, but before he can turn away, his boss's thumb clicks on a picture in the grid he'd been scrolling through. Morgan quickly realizes that what he'd thought was the Explore page was actually someone's profile, a woman- a pretty woman, and he watches Hotch peruse the six photos you'd uploaded to the set.

Morgan's never seen you before, but he commits your username to memory, hellbent on finding your profile, then giving your name to Garcia for a full deep dive. He wants to know who you are, how Hotch knows you, if you're single and ready to mingle with his seemingly-unmingle-able boss.

Hotch lingers for just a second longer on the photo of you in a bathing suit than the ones where you're posing beside your friends in matching sundresses; really, Derek might be imaging that. But it's all he needs to finally reveal himself, clapping a firm hand down onto Hotch's shoulder.

"My man," He grins, squeezing Hotch's tense muscles when the man startles for the first time in his life. Nothing ever catches Hotch off guard, but now he's fumbling to lock his phone and struggle out of his seat so that Derek isn't looming over him.

"What do you need, Morgan?" Hotch addresses his subordinate with a tight frown on his face, swallowing so that his Adam's apple bobs.

"I need to know whether to set an extra place next to you for dinner at my place this weekend," Derek pries, "Is she coming?"

"She is not coming to dinner this weekend," Aaron snaps, frown somehow deepening, "She's none of your business."

"That's no fun," Morgan tsks, "Come on, Hotch, you can tell me! Where'd you meet her, what's her name? She's cute, I see why you like her. 'Seems fun, too, she'll fit right in."

"We're not involved with each other," Hotch insists, but Derek can see his face being slowly seized by a pink flush, "I got distracted on my phone, that's all."

"Yeah, distracted by that bikini," Derek snorts, and for a moment he genuinely thinks Hotch might lunge for him.

"That's inappropriate," Aaron glares Morgan's way, fists clenched by his side.

"Alright, alright, stand down," Morgan puts a hand up to placate his boss, "I was just trying to get a rise out of you, Hotch. Y'know, what friends do? We're friends, man, you can tell me if you're interested in someone."

"In this office I'm your boss," Hotch reminds him sternly, though his stiff posture has weakened slightly, worn down by Derek's earnest appeal, "Social matters have no place here."

"Women don't like men with sticks up their asses," Morgan drawls, mentally repeating your username so that he doesn't forget it before he can dig up information on you. He turns to the door of the conference room he'd caught Hotch lingering in, headed back to his desk, "I suggest you sort that out if you ever wanna get with her, Hotch. And if you need help doing that, you know where to find me."

He takes his leave, he knows his place, but Hotch calls for him just before he can let go of the door: "Morgan."

At Derek's curious glance back at him, "Thank you. This stays between us."

Morgan hopes Hotch takes his acknowledgement as agreement, because he's not going to make a promise to his boss that he won't keep. Derek bites back a grin as he beelines for Garcia's office, no it won't.

[lowkeyrobin]

headcannons where quackity's s/o has tattoos? could also be nsfw, if you're comfortable with it :))

I don't write NSFW but I can definitely do the tattoo part! thanks for requesting!! I don't think I've actually posted a quackity focused thing yet which is surprising to me bc I have like 3 drafts for him LMAO

QUACKITY ; tattooed lover

summary ; you have tattoos and your boyfriend is head over heels

warnings ; language; talk of needles / pain of tattoos, use of quackitys real name (lmk if I should change it!)

word count ; 670

genre ; fluff

masterlist

In general, he'll act normal about all your tattoos and whatnot, but inside every time he sees your arms (especially if you have sleeves or some sick ones around your wrists that trail up your arm even a bit) he'll just get a little red in the cheeks. He absolutely loves all your ink. He thinks it's so sick, but he's not committed enough to get any, and he doesn't think he has the pain tolerance.

he went with you to get a new tattoo on your shoulder/upper arm area

he learned you'd be there for like 5 hours and he groaned like a shitty iPad kid and took his phone out while he threatened to call Philza

once he saw the tattoo gun... oh lord it was over

literally whisper shouted at you while the artist got up to get gloves

"that's what you're getting jabbed with??? why are we here again???"

genuinely can't look

once he hears the buzzing he turns his music on and he's staring down while he sits on the couch across from you

"Alex, look!" you smile, "I'm fine"

"how do I know you're not a clone?"

"Holy shit. dude it's the quackityhq duck, that's why I brought you along"

"WAIT WHAT?"

it's not a big tattoo whatsoever, but it's a reminder that he's always with you, how you've grown together and how that's always going to be an era of your content you'd never forget about

literally gets emotional about it

"You didn't have-"

"I wanted to, for the millionth time"

he genuinely didn't know tattoos were so expensive, once you leave he questions why it was 450 dollars and you explain to him how tattoo artist income works

He's not the one to want to peel off the second skin or pop the ink bubbles or even touch the tattoo until the skin goes back to normal. He's just kinda freaked out for some reason, it's just one of those things and it honestly makes sense.

He takes some dedicated time to sniff all the lotions and numbing creams and comment on each and every one, though. All while you're trying to do some aftercare on it and shit, and you just watch.

"this one smells like buttercream icing"

"yeah?"

"ew, this one smells like badboyhalo's ass!"

"why would you even know that? 😁"

If you have any tats without color, Alex will gladly color them in with washable markers like you're a walking coloring book. He'll literally call for you and ask you if he can color on you again, it's cute, really.

"y/n/n, can I color your tattoos again?"

"aren't you streaming?"

"so?"

"yeah, fine"

he has a whole gallon sized ziploc bag filled with Crayola washable markers

like he goes from playing on the qsmp and hanging out with some people to coloring all over you while said people watch 😭

you wave to his friends like "Hello, I am his walking therapy coloring book"

he's like a little kid. You just look over at him like, "Holy shit I could love you forever wtf"

Sometimes, he'll just draw you new tattoos (with washable markers dw) cause he gets bored and wants to doodle on you. Most of the time it ends up being stick figures and dicks but it's okay, it's his way of showing affection.

He'll genuinely think of song that remind him of each of your tattoos. Somehow, some way, he does. He has a whole playlist titled 'Y/n's tattoos', and he rarely listens to it, but he thinks it's fun to think of a new song when you get another tattoo.

Although he is a little concerned because what's gonna happen when you're old and wrinkly? How do the tattoos last? Do they become old and wrinkly like the tattooed grandmas meme? Because if so, he'll rip on you til the end of time.

"well I have a long time before I look like a tattooed elderly person, but okay"

"So you will? Oh my fucking God! BAHAHAHA"

[auteurdelabre]

THE BLACKMAILING BABYSITTER CHRONICLES PART II

rating: 18+

summary: You're a babysitter to many of the families in your small town. When the father of one of your charges makes a move you see an opportunity to make enough cash to leave after college graduation.

reader: Is you babes. But she's graduating college and she's got a backstory you'll see...

tags/warnings: mentions of past intercourse, blackmail, infidelity, power imbalance, oral (m receiving), blue balls, not a great home life, dirty talk, Pedro Pascal characters, DILF's.

a/n: I can't even explain how this became a series. Hormones I guess.

series masterlist here

Part II: The Plan is Made

You're still smiling to yourself as you walk home from the York's that evening, recalling Dave's jaw dropped in shock as you crawled off of him, his cock still hard and thoroughly soaked with your arousal. 

You kick off your shoes as you enter your apartment, giving a wave to your Mom and her new boyfriend snuggling on the couch before rushing into your room and giggling into your pillow, your face hot. 

You can't help but laugh again when you place your babysitting money in your piggy bank. You graduate from college this semester and you're already counting down the days until you can escape this shitty town full of philanderers and broken dreams. 

Unfaithful assholes. 

Your own dad fucked around on your mom plenty of times. Left her heartbroken and believing she was worth nothing. You've gathered all this information second hand from your chainsmoking Nana that you've visited once a week in the nursing home since you were twelve. 

Your old man took off the second the pregnancy strip turned pink with you. Part of you isn't even convinced he was your real dad. Your mom isn't exactly a shining star of model behavior. Pregnant at twenty-two, still working at the same diner she was back then, fucking her way around your small town. You've had more ‘uncles’ and ‘stepdads’ than most people have freckles but most of the time she's pretty harmless. Just a woman who drinks too much and looks for men in all the wrong places.

You don't even bother getting to know this one's name. He’ll probably be done by next week.

You close the door to door room before throwing yourself over your old twin bed. The same bed you've had since you were a kid. The only one you mom could afford. You think of Dave’s cock, the way it felt between your thighs. You wonder if your Mother downstairs was ever like this at your age. Early twenties and already disenchanted with the romantic world.

You wonder if it's in the genes. If you're destined to be unfulfilled. 

You like dating. Like the sensation of power it gives you when your cunt is full and they beg you to come, but the college boys you've dated are so... Boring. Perhaps that's why Dave's advances hadn't put you off immediately. 

You still can't believe it happened.

It wasn't your plan; you'd just been babysitting for the York's like you always did. Carol was upstairs, a little tipsy from the party that evening. The girls were tucked away asleep in bed and you were tidying up the kitchen before leaving.

Dave was putting away some of the dishes, trying to work off some of his pent up energy. Normally he would have been upstairs as well, leaving your money in its customary place on the kitchen table.

You’d already slipped it into your purse, internally calculating how much more you needed for an apartment in California; a place of dreams and sunshine. You had your babysitting job, your server job and between classes a few shifts at the library. But you were still far away from enough to start a new life.

You'd slid between he and the cupboard, just intending to put one of the cutting boards away when you realized your ass had brushed against his hard cock. 

He'd been still, obviously terrified that you'd felt it. You think he must have been waiting for you to scream, his large hands tensed. But you weren't running away. You were just standing there between he and the counter. Then after a moment's hesitation your hand went behind you, sliding down Dave's front until you'd squeezed his aching cock as if make sure and Dave's knees nearly buckled. His hands went to either side of the counter, caging you in, holding himself upright. 

"Why are you so hard, Mister York?"

He didn't answer you at first; likely going over internally that he was a good man, a faithful husband. But your hand held his cock firmly, squeezing again before sliding back in front of you. 

You’d felt his hot breath on the back of your neck, the rasp of his blue linen shirt rolled up to the elbow. You’d smelled the cologne and the sweat leftover from his date night and something in that scent drove you to sigh gently, allowing him to press into you from behind.  

"I'm just...so pent up," he finally rasped against your neck, hips jutting against your ass. "And you're so fucking hot." 

You’d preened at this before casting a coy look over your shoulder all fluttering lashes and pink cheeks. You just know his clothed cock surged against his zipper, desperate to be buried within your wet heat. Saw the way his irises became black moons as you bit your lower lip sensually.

"Wanted to fuck you for months," Dave confessed in a hushed whisper, his broad hands starting to creep along the waistband of your skirt. 

At this you'd tilted forward, your ass rubbing against his front more aggressively. From this angle you were sure he could see the damp spot forming on the gusset of your panties, peeking out from under your skirt. 

You'd never acted so sluttish in your entire life. Never let yourself be seduced by a married man. But you were heady with the power you were holding over this big, strong man. All because of his desire for what lay between your thighs. 

"You want me to help you, sir?" 

"Yes," Dave groaned, his hips circling your ass and starting to shallowly rut. "Oh, fuck yeah." 

You felt the smooth of his clean shaven face glide along your cheek as he nuzzled you. At the intimacy your thoughts went to Carol upstairs.  

"But your wife," you'd whispered when his hands slid up under your shirt. His palms cupped your breasts, lightly pinching your nipples into straining points for him. 

"She'll never know." 

His voice was a husky rasp against your temple, his hard cock nestled between your pussy lips through your dual sets of clothing.

"Need to fuck you." 

"Yes, sir," was all you whispered before he had you gathered in his arms, your legs wrapping around his middle, kissing his neck as he walked you both to the couch. 

He dropped you to the ground gently before urging you to your knees, quickly pulling his hard cock from his trousers. Your tongue was already out, waiting for him to tap the girthy head against it.  

"Eager little slut," Dave groaned as your saliva mingled with the beads of precome at the rosy head. "Show me how a college girl swallows cock."

And so without hesitation you'd sucked his cock, humming around it wantonly as Dave murmured praises only you could hear. 

"Is the babysitter still here? Dave did you hear me?"

You took him deeper into your throat and he'd gotten harder at that. You sucked his throbbing cock, tongue teasing the underside as he fought to keep his breathing even. 

"Yeah honey. She's just finishing something up."

You winked up at him, his cock slick with your saliva as he bit his fist to keep from groaning. 

"She's got classes in morning! Don't work her too hard!"

You couldn't help but poorly suppress a laugh at that. 

"Am I working you too hard, little slut?" Dave crooned, watching you bob along his length before pulling off, your mouth damp. 

"He's not ma'am!" You called up cheerfully as you rose from off your knees, coming to straddle an eager looking Dave on the couch. "I like doing my job thoroughly!"

You began to grind your pussy against his cock, only your panties under your skirt separating your carnal union. His hands had been on your ass gripping, pulling you down and this is when you'd settled in his lap, his eyes blown black with need. 

"We should stop," you told him solemnly. "Before we go too far. You're married."

It was a last chance. A moment for him to see the error of his ways. But he was already pulling your sweater up over your head, almost ripping the bra from your body. 

"I don't give a fuck," he all but growled. "I need this.”

And there it was: the turning point. The moment where you decided he wasn't getting off. Not by you. 

He'd been so arrogant as he stuffed his cock in you moments later. His mouth in a curled smirk as he watched you bounce up and down on his rigid length. 

Show me why I'm fucking you and not my wife. 

You'd enjoyed your time, chasing your own high with abandon. You fucked Carol York's husband in their family room while the TV murmured quietly in the background. You came all over his cock, soaking the hair at the base and then you'd left him still hard and staring after you. 

But you didn't feel guilt. Oh no. You'd exposed Dave for what he was and you'd denied him what he really wanted. And now he has to live with that for the rest of his days. Secretly wondering if you'll tell his wife, paranoid out of his mind. 

The thought amuses you. It actually makes you a little wet.

The funny thing is you've always been the ‘good girl’. The one who always had her homework done. The one the teachers praised. You wanted to prove that just because your family was poor and your mom a little slutty that you weren’t a lost cause. You could be better than where you came from. A flower blossoming amongst weeds.

But after tonight all you want to do is be bad because it feels so good.

You want men like Dave York babbling and desperate because you like denying them. Pulling off their cocks at the last minute, leaving them with throbbing members and blue balls as they all but beg you to keep going. 

This is what you tell Sarah a few moments later, the two of you giggling over the phone, your voice a hush so your Mom and boyfriend don't hear. 

"You just got up and left?"

"Yeah," you say as the two of you collapse into giggles. "He was just staring like a goldfish when I told him I was leaving."

Sarah has been your closest friend since you started at college four years ago. Together in many of the same classes, running with the same group of people until at a freshman bar crawl you both bonded over your drunken dancing and realized how well you clicked.  

"Serves him right," Sarah insists on the other end of the phone after the laughter subsides. "He was cheating on his wife."

"And men like that don't deserve to come," you finish. You roll onto your back, looking at the chipped polish of your nails. 

"You know you could do some really bad shit to him," Sarah whispers conspiratorially.

Your attention is immediately piqued. You roll onto your stomach, ankles crossing behind you. 

"Like what?"

"Blackmail." 

The thought sends a tingle up your spine. Blackmail. It sounds sophisticated and terrifying all at once.

"Do you have anything incriminating?"

"Just an audio of what happened," you say with an oily smile. "I hit record when he was unbuttoning his pants."

He'd been so fixated on fucking you that he hadn't even noticed your finger surreptitiously sweeping over your phone under the coffee table. 

At the time you hadn't known why you did it, but now you're so thankful you did. 

"Perfect. Listen to it and see if there's anything juicy you can use."

"Sarah Miller, secret extortionist," you smile over the phone. You're about to say more when she cuts in. 

"Shit, Dad’s calling me for dinner. Let me know if there are any more developments, kay? Love you!"

"Love you double."

You pull out your phone, hitting play on the recording and listening. There's no mistaking the sound of Dave's grunts and your moans. It sounds absolutely sinful, wet slaps and muffled groans and then a particularly incriminating whisper.

“Go on and come for me, college girl. Show me why I’m fucking you and not my wife.”

Bingo.

You smile as you pull up his number on your phone. You only have it because of babysitting. Your messages before have been adroit, bordering on cold. Dates and times. Questions about bedtimes and allergies and now ....

Hi Mr. York. It's me. Thanks for the ride. 😉

Glad you got home safe. 

Do you give all your babysitter’s rides?

Only when Carol thinks I should.  

Your wife is very thoughtful.

Next time we’ll make sure we’re home early enough for you to take the bus.

Dave isn't stupid enough to put anything incriminating in writing. But thankfully your phone captured more than a little verbal confirmation as you have just recently heard.

Would hate for your wife to hear this since Carol's always been so sweet to me. [Attch: collegegirl.mp3]

You can almost hear the pin drop over in the York home. You imagine Dave next to Carol in bed, his balls blue and a frown on his handsome face. You don’t know if you’re expecting anything really. Maybe Dave and Carol have an open relationship for all you know.

Then his text comes through.

What do you want? 

This is all happening so quick. You kind of can’t believe that you’re typing this, sending it off. You pause, trying to think of what something like this is worth to a guy like Dave with his big house and perfect, shiny family. 

Money.

There's a long pause, one where you can imagine Dave anxiously pacing around his home, dark gaze narrowed in anger. 

I’ll give you $5k. Plus I want your phone. 

Your eyes blow wide at this. That's a lot of money. Much more than you actually anticipated receiving from him. You actually stare at the phone in disbelief. The sound of your mom and boyfriend laughing a soft muffle.

When you don't reply right away Dave sends another message.

Deal or no?

Deal. Payment in cash within 24 hours. Plus $1k for new phone.

Pick up at 2pm tomorrow. My house. 

You know what he's planning. You're not stupid. He'll use brute force for all you know. Or he'll insist he get his money's worth, that you finish what you started on the couch. Neither option appeals to you in the least. 

Drop off tomorrow at 2pm. Coffee shop at 6422 Balmaceda Terrace. Leave it with a girl named Sarah Miller. 

You turn off your phone then, blocking his number so he can't reach you. You know it'll drive him crazy and the thought makes you giggle again. 

You'll call Sarah to tell her all about the plan and her part in it later. You'll even give her a couple hundred for her trouble. For now you go through your list of families you babysit for on your phone. Ones with sexy father’s that seem to have wandering eyes and hands.

Mr. Mareno? No, he's a widower. Nice guy that’s never leered at you or made you feel like he was studying you behind his thick glasses when you babysat his daughter. You go through a few more names of the dads you babysit, muttering their names: Daniels, Tovar, Phillips, Pike. 

Mr. Maxwell Lord makes you stop. He's a maybe. He and his wife and going through a rough patch. But he's always given you hugs that last a little too long.

Then a name pops up for a family you haven't sat for in months. The one with the cute, shy husband that had a charming smile and never, ever made a move on you. But whose eyes lingered just a fraction to long on your ass when you bent over to pick up his son. 

The man that had cunnilingus porn by the truckload in a poorly concealed folder on the office computer desktop. One you'd used to get the number for the pizza place when your phone was dead. 

One that you subsequently covertly explored when he and his live-in girlfriend Dana went out for date nights, leaving you alone with their sweet tempered toddler. 

His porn searches were even more enlightening. You'd sat for them maybe three months and in those three months his search had gone from standard threesomes and light bondage to include such items as "eating out my naughty babysitter" and saved videos with titles like "I caught my babysitter playing with herself!" To "fucking my babysitter while my wife is in the next room".

You hadn't been able to babysit for them for months due to your scheduling with your second job at the restaurant in town. But something told you that you'd be calling in sick to your serving job this weekend. 

You feel a sinister smile break out over your features as you compose your final text of the night to Sarah. 

Who??

I've got my next target. 

Mr. Frankie Morales.

[bunni-v1]

Diasomnia request: Reader was born in Titan time (before the gods. When the earth was still very fresh) reader's father had committed a terrible crime, which is why he was cursed to never die, to be punished forever for his crime. However, he managed to get the curse passed to Reader. How do the Diasomnia people react to the fact that Reader can never die? And that they have experienced everything that has happened so far (wars,etc) (you can write for the other dorms too If you want.)

Diasomnia's Immortal Reader

TW: Mild Swearing, Sebek being a dick, Talking about lifespans

Info: Headcanons; Malleus, Lilia, Silver, Sebek x Reader (can be read as either romantic or platonic)

Summary: In the title

🍓I really should've thought about my situation more before opening this account. School is rough, I hardly get a break, and when I do I want to spend it with my friends and relax. I'm hoping I can dedicate myself to writing more, so I decided to try out something short and sweet to kickstart my ass back into it. Thank you for requesting <3

Malleus Draconia 🐉

Pleasantly surprised.

You’re not secretly Fae, are you? Some kind of… monster? No? Hmm… how curious.

He could probably find a way to lift the curse if you wanted…

He could definitely lift the curse.

He just finds you endlessly amusing. Humans are fascinating… immortality isn’t exactly a curse in his eyes, but you dislike it. Peculiar.

Once it’s explained why you have this curse he understands why you’re so upset by it, but he’s still naive and young. He doesn’t see the full extent of what immortality has done to you.

He’s a little… overwhelming with his curiosity about things. He has a ton of questions, and he asks them.

Wants to see if you know anything about the history of Gargoyles that he doesn’t. (You definitely don’t.)

Most of his questions center around the war — his family namely. He wants to know an outsider's take on what happened, how his grandmother came to power, his parents passing… everything.

He’s never met a human like you. You’re practically a dream come true for this goofball.

Lilia Vanrouge 🦇

Oh! How interesting!

Immortal humans, now that’s a rare sight. Not that it’s impossible, it’s just that humans aren’t usually… immortal. 

His curiosity to your past may be more overwhelming than Malleus. Question after curious question. 

He’s never met someone like you! He’s usually the oldest, wisest one around. It’s a very nice change of pace to have someone… ahem… his age to talk to.

It isn’t unlikely that he’s heard about your story before, he just never had a face to the poor cursed soul.

He feels bad for you, and if you asked he could find a way to lift your curse somehow, but respects you if you don’t want it lifted.

Lots of discussing about history with him, and he enjoys hearing your opinions on how humanity and fae society evolved over the years.

He makes you feel normal about your situation, because his situation isn’t too different.

Silver ⚔️

Like his father? 

Thats his first thought.

His second thought is confusion because… you’re human? Wtf?

After his initial shock… he’s pretty cool about it. I mean, he was raised by practically immortal creatures it isn’t too big of a shock to him.

Not a big question asker. 

He understands that you have your own story, you don’t owe him any explanation and if you want him to know you’ll tell him.

When you do, he’s like… damn. 

You’re invited to family dinners. Lilia won’t be cooking, he promises that.

Family is a core part of who you are, and your’s was shitty. You don’t deserve that, so let him be your new one! Lilia sure would love to have you around.

He never calls to attention your extended life line, or your past, or anything that might make you feel strange. He’s just someone you can be you around.

Sebek Zigvolt ⚡️

Annoying ass mother fucker <3

Assumes that you’re fae, a bit of an odd one, but that explains your immortality.

Jaw DROPS to the floor when he learns you are human. Biggest, most dramatic gasp you’ll ever hear from his ass.

It doesn’t make any sense to him, you’re gonna have to explain it to him to get him to calm down.

Then… he’s sorta an asshole about it. It’s Sebek. What do you expect?

Definitely says something like ‘Of course a human got themselves cursed!’

Truly though, and he won't admit this, he’s just as curious as his fellow Diasomnia members about you.

Probably tries to ask Lilia about you and gets pushed back in your direction.

He comes to respect you in a way. I mean, sure you’re human, but you’re immortal and have a lot of life experience. You can’t be all that useless after all these years.

[reptilian-angel]

The Cafe' Prince & The Killer Cook Pt. 1:

Chapter One - "Egg on your Face" Mega-Omelet

ME: Blitzø, having suffered a the worst day of his life, finds an unexpected silver lining when he awakens inside some random cafe hosted by a sweet (if oddly articulate) little girl, Via and her chef daddy, Stolas (Who looks like Hell on Wheels and cooks just as good, but who gave a shit.)

Later on after this chance encounter, a completely unanticipated offer might just be what Blitzø needs to turn his trashfire of an existence into a lifetime of amazing food, exciting moments and maybe even . . . Love?

Stolitz fluff, food chain puns, good food and healthy doses of angst await you at the Stars & Stir-Ups Cafe’!!! (Yet to be named)

Inspired by Pink Lomito’s ABSOLUTELY ADORABLE Stolitz Cafe’ AU fanart and written with their blessing, so I can only hope this will live up to the hype! (Displayed Below)

Full disclosure, I DO bake as a hobby, but I am NOT a career baker so most of descriptions of any foods mentioned, cooking and otherwise, will totally be written by an author completely in the dark, so please be gentle with any criticisms regarding any of the cooking displayed here. (Also see the end of the chapters for the recipes used, or at least the closest comparisions.)

Get Your knives and forks ready, you sinners & saints, and please enjoy!! I owe nothing!!!

Normal P.O.V.

When Blitzø woke up, he was automatically confused.

He had expected to be face flat, ass up on the shitty, grime covered flour of the bar he had trudged into last night like he had only hours to live. It had been a record-breaking shitty-ass day for him and he decided, like the many, many bitchy broke losers out there who had had their dreams squashed and trampled on like gnats in Hell, to drown his sorrows. Burning $ouls like tissue paper, he had began going for broke, mooching off other patrons and drunkards, earning petty shots in impromptu contests and maybe even performed a small strip tease for a gaggle of succubi and incubi.

He wasn’t a hundred percent sure how it ended, although he did have a vague recollection of plowing his dick into one of the incubi in one of the nasty as fuck bathroom stalls and wondering if the greasy pump soap could be used as lube before fading to black.

Christ on a Pogo stick he had REALLY gotten fucked up, didn’t he?

That said, he wouldn’t have been shocked in the slightest if he had found himself upside down, half- naked and definitely robbed of his wallet and phone in some shady alley at the crack of dawn. Yeah, that would have been normal for him.

Waking up in a plush, fancy-pants booth with a soft, comfortable quilt thrown on top of him was not.

He began leaning up to try and get some sense of where the fuck he was, but everything between his ears immediately started to bitch at him with an acute, relentless thrum that felt even worse than the headaches Moxxie gave him while bitching at him. On a good day.

He gave a low groan, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes in a sorry attempt to dull the throb. He swore everything was hurting, his horns were hurting, his scars were hurting, fuck, even his brand was hurting -

“Fudge.”

That innocent correction almost made him tumble out of the booth. He barely smacked his palms against the floor to keep him from actually falling face flat on its surface. Points for highly trained trapeze instincts. Centering himself, he found a pair of big, bright pink, and admittingly cute eyes of a little owl demon looking right at his.

Even with him being upside-down, he could tell they were a girl; maybe four or six, with a messy nest of long dark hair let loose save a small ponytail tied up on the side of her head with a scrunchie covered with moons and stars and a simple pink jumper with white stars of various sizes printed all over it.

It had taken a second for his hungover brain to figure out she was an owl, the white heart-shaped frame of her face like that of an owl’s a dead giveaway. The way she blinked at him only cemented that conclusion. She blinked calmly at him, despite how fucking weird he was sure he must’ve looked as a middle-aged, hungover, hot mess sleeping in what he just know fully realized was a restaurant booth.

Feeling caught off guard for a number of reasons, he could only respond with, “Sorry?”

The Little owl gave him a reproaching look, or at least as close to one as a toddler could manage. “‘Fudge’. You said it wrong.” She stated in all seriousness. “You’re supposed to say ‘fudge’ when you say the ‘F’ Word. Otherwise, it’s not polite.”

“Says who?” He asked.

“Says my daddy.” She said proudly as if she was referring to Lucifer himself. “He says ‘Politeness is the-” She paused, her face scrunching up in concentration, “- ‘Per-Ah-Get-Ive’ of sensible young demons’.”

He gave her a small smirk. “Oh yeah? And what is that?”

“What’s what?”

“Whatcha just said – Know what it means?”

He had expected her to respond with a "yes" as all little hellspawn do to prove they were just as smart as their parents who most of the time are dumber than the garbage man, and of course be all snooty and snobby about it too.

But, amazingly, she shook her head so much her hair flew in both directions. "Nope! But my daddy taught me that word. Which means it must be a smart grown-up thing to say. My daddy's all grown up and smart so it makes sense to try and apply it to my everyday 'Wing-guess-tics'."

"Uh, 'wing-guess-tics'?" He repeated with a smile.

The little owl nodded. "You know, the way you talk and how you sound to other people. Don't you ever take pride in how you sound towards others less proud of themselves?"

Blitzø sure as hell didn't. In fact, good mood or bad, he couldn't give two shits in a Gluttony Ring brand crapper what every other piece of shit thought about him or the way he talked. Which is exactly what he should tell to this innocent, sassy, too precious for words little oh satan's taint, he was too hungover for this.

Getting up at an old man's pace, he grunted, "I don't really have an answer to that, ow."

Okay, sitting up straight didn't quite stop the ache, but it wasn't harping so badly now.

The little owl made a sad sound. "That's too bad. Everything needs an answer."

"Does it?" He asked while once again pressing into his eyes to try and settle his headache. She gave an affirmative hum.

"They do. Sometimes."

Blitzø gave up trying to squeeze his eyeballs back into his brains and gave a slow roll of his neck, breathing with the small audible stream of cracks that followed. "Yeah, well, sometimes is better than no times I guess." Once his neck didn't feel so stiff, he looked down at the little owl who still was blinking up at him. "Hey kiddo?"

"Yes?"

"Can you, uh . . . Can you tell me where we are right now?" Geez, Blitzø, you need a little kid to tell your dumb, hungover ass where you crashed? Talk about hitting rock bottom.

She giggled like he had just told a funny joke. He admitted, even with a headache, the sound was nice to hear. "You're in our cafe, sir. Mine and Daddy's cafe. You've been here ever since last night."

He felt embarrassment collide with exasperation in a wave that only incensed the pounding in his skull. Grreeeaaat. Now he had to deal with a bitchy dad that could probably make a Karen more bearable. And considering his crappy luck, he could probably give Moxxie a run for his money when it came to whining and botching. Like he didn't have enough of a migraine already.

To distract himself from the imminent ass-chewing, Blitzø decided it was a good time as any to take a quick peek around. In case, things went tits up, he should know how much he could tag with horses and dongs later.

Look all over, he had to admit . . . He was pleasantly surprised.

The cafe was definitely a little ritzier than almost every other diner or bistro in Pride, at least the ones run by imps or sinners. It wasn't an 'in-your-face-so-suck-it-bitches' bourgeois nightmare that you found on the cover of rich people magazines, but it was still easy to smell the $oils that had been burned to buy the number of furniture and appliances that filled it. Pristine designer steel tables, floors tiles so clean you could eat off of them, cushy warm booths like the one he was sitting in that felt comfy enough to be small bed; yeah, this place made the local Hellbucks look like a gas station men's room (Which was also, coincidentally, one of the many places he would periodically wind up in after a bender).

He could probably make off with one of the tablecloths - Made with actual fucking linen, not rag or crappy burlap - And the money he would get for it would easily pay off his non-existent mortgage.

The walls, covered in perfectly intact, shiny wallpaper that was neither covered in mildew nor aged and peeling, colored the interior with a tasteful cream and vanilla striped pattern. Each dark strip of cream had subtle motifs of shooting stars, little crescent moons and cheery spiraling suns. The cushions seated on each chair and the fabrics of the booths were royal blue and spotted with muted violet stars, all differing sizes, each cleaner than the back seat of an Imp City taxi cab. Plus, no springs popping up to try and fuck him in his little red hole.

He then noticed the bar. A quaint but spacious counter as long as Blitzø's body and tail combined, a simple but pricey cash register at one end, with matching leather stools lined up perfectly beneath it. A large glass case half the size of his van sat at the other end, the inside holding shelves of numerous plates of decadent-looking desserts and pastries that drew an expectant grumble from his stomach.

It wasn't his fault, the last thing Blitzø remembered having that was even close to food was some outdated peanuts and the olives he wiped from some douche who had ordered nothing but martinis that were drier than Wraith in a heatwave.

And he normally hated olives, Christ, he must've been fucked up to devour those things, pit and all. Fuck, did I bang the guy who ordered then too?

Okay, not the priority right now, Blitzø. Especially with the cute little kid in front of you whose dad is definitely gonna throw you out on your ass the minute he sees you -

"Oh! Daddy's awake! Good morning, daddy!"

Fuck.

Blitzø jerked his head up at her cheerful greeting, opening his mouth if only to curse at how his head throbbed in response -

— Only for it to immediately die when he caught sight of "Daddy" coming into the cafe'.

Fuck him twice.

The demon that had stepped into his view was, hands down and pants down if his belt was loosened, one of the most gorgeous demons he had seen.

And the tallest, Jesus Christ.

The owl demon was as tall as a tree, with legs for days ending in jet black talons that clicked delicately against the immaculately clean tiles as he strode over. His body was much, much thinner than Blitzø had expected, delicate and lithe with sinfully svelte curves around his well-rounded hips that he felt an instant, barely concealed urge to wrap his legs around and squeeze. His upper body was just as long, lengthy frail arms that grew like willow branches from his shoulders with dainty but large hands and fingers that reminded him of spider legs as they moved and were just as dark as his feet. They were probably as soft as that little fluff of feathers that peeked out on his chest.

Looking at his face, he was slightly taken aback at the sight of not one but two pairs of eyes peering back, although the second pair were smaller and placed higher on his forehead, just as wide and bright as Via's, but instead of pink they shone with crimson and were as opaque as a ruby. It was obvious who this little girl got her looks from the most; the same dark spot at the tip of his beak, and the same shade of grey blue feathers, only his grew darker in hue as they climbed up his very lean throat, combed into a neat and very trim style that clearly was given a lot of attention. The only blemish to it would be the bold streak of grey that cut through the feathers which easily gave away his age, but somehow that had actually improved his looks as it contrasted the young (and pretty) features of his face.

His outfit wasn’t too extraordinary but still, Blitzø felt himself growing warm at the sight of the white button up dress shirt and the open cranberry pink waistcoat the owl was currently snapping shut dexterously and simple dark slacks that hugged his legs perfectly.

Fuck. I was once woken up with V wearing lingerie that was made pretty much just string but this guy is dressed like a fucking waiter and I wanna lay him flat on the counter.

Blitzø was suddenly that much more thankful for the blanket covering his lap, because he was sure feeling the telltale signs of a growing boner.

Oh well, he was sure it would go away once this guy started to whine about having to deal with a drunken piece of shit first thing in the morning -

The tall owl, even with the slightest of sleep still clinging to it, smiled warmly and brightly at his daughter. “Good morning, my Owlette.” Blitzø felt himself once again be knocked off guard by his chocolaty, silky tenor voice, the sound of it sending pleasant shivers down his spine.

Fuckhim three times, he sounded hot too. Satan, this sucked.

The owl’s pleasant chuckle only added to Blitzø;s horny chagrin. “I see you beat me down to the cafe’ today. I hope you slept well, my Starfire.”

The little “Starfire” nodded happily. “I slept good, Daddy! And so did our guest!” She gestured innocently at the imp, who then tensed at being put on the spot by a kid. “When I came down to check on him, he was snoozing like a kitten!”

Blitzø, of course, made a face. A kitten?

It went unnoticed by the little owl, but not by her father who gave her a stern, but still soft look. “Via,” He started. “You didn’t disturb our guest while he was sleeping, did you?”

“Via” quickly shook her head, he feathers swinging side to side in a flurry. “Mh-mm! No, Daddy, I promise I didn’t! I was real quiet until he woke up and said the bad thing wrong.”

He blinked at her. “The ‘bad’ word?”

“One of the words that Mummy used to -” He explanation was abruptly cut off by her father’s wincing and his hands waving the universal sign for stop. “O-oh, alright, alright, sweetie, I understand, no need to go further!”

Blitzø watched them quietly.

Huh. So pretty boy had post-marital troubles with the little former wifey, huh?

Yeah, that made sense. Aside from his friend’s, Blitzø had yet to see any marriage that wasn’t one step away to instating the “death do us part” vow.

This guy must have gotten out while the getting was still good. But not without a few licks dealt, judging by the signs of wariness on his face.

He mentally sighed. Alright the hottie daddy knows you’re here and first impression has clearly gone to shit so, get ready for take two, dumbass.

Blitzø, deciding that jokes was the way to go in a pinch, then said casually. “I guess ‘Mummy’ wasn’t a ‘fudge’ kinda girl.” He then put on his best smile as he looked straight on at the pretty owl. “Me, personally, always liked the mine with plenty of nuts.”

As smooth as it sounded, he still cringed on the inside. Oof, Blitzø, how lame do you sound right now?

However, to Blitzø’s surprise and relief, the innuendo did not go unnoticed by the only other adult in the cafe’. Both sets of eyes went wide and the haggardness on his face was instantly washed away with a swift, prominent pink flush that Blitzø definitely liked seeing. Next to Via, it was probably the cutest thing he saw this morning. It certainly took the edge off the ass-chewing he was sure to get.

Usually, anytime he cracked any sex jokes around others, he was almost immediately told off by whatever prude or asshole or Karen was in the vicinity (i.e. Moxxie) and who clearly had no sense of good humor. (Like they didn’t start humping on each other’s earlobes the second every one’s back was turned like the hypocrites they were.)

Anybody else who didn’t was either not giving two shits or just as eager to talk dirty after a line up of shots.

But this bird seem reasonably sober. But then again, judging by his frame, he was probably the type of demon to go for light drinks like martinis or cocktails rather than tequila or beezlejuice. Considering the little girl now running up to him and hugging his shins, it was more than likely. He had the bitter experience of always dealing with a parent more often found nursing a hangover rather than an infant and it was an all around shitty experience he had no wish to repeat.

However, right now, he wouldn’t mind getting another peek of that cute ass blush as the bird briefly ducked down to scoop up into his arms. “W-well,” He started, “It’s certainly good to see you awake, Mister . . . ?”

“Name’s Blitzø. The “O” is silent.” Blitzø stated without missing a beat.

The owl blinked. “What ‘o’?”

“Exactly.” Blitzø nodded without thinking and once again, groaned in pain as everything from the neck up throbbed.

“Oh dear, hangover not quite remedied yet?”

Blitzø hissed out a breath. “Yeah, that’s a big fat fff-fudgin’ no.” He smirked weakly at Via’s approving nod. “I feel like I decided to go dumpster-diving outside the nearest Sinnabon’s for a midnight snack-run.” His empty stomach than made itself known by giving an impatient grumble. “And it looks like I’m up for round two so I think it’s about time I get outta here.”

The owl blinked again. “I’m sorry?”

Blitzø carefully climbed out of his improvised bed and unsure of what to do, opted to take apart the bedding and fold it as neatly as he could. “Yeah, I know, I know, I should’ve been out of here hours ago, I get it. Satan knows no-one wants to deal with a hungover dumb-a first thing in the morning. I know I wouldn’t, plus you gotta kid here and I can’t imagine you want some strange weirdo around your baby-girl so I better clear out before -”

The quilt literally rising out of his hands cut him off like a record scratch. The fuck-?

He watched cow-eyed as some kind of blue sparkly whatsit energy surrounded the quilt and untangled the lump he had been making a mess out of. It than began folding itself in a much more professional fashion than his was and as soon as it finished, it levitated right over his head and towards the guys who, judging by the ethereal sheen wrapped around his talons, was making it.

“Mr. Blitzø,” He started calmly. “As the owner of a cafe’, I have often had ‘strange weirdos’ coming in and going out from here every day. Thankfully, most of them are courteous enough to show up around working hours, but I am no stranger to any who who wander in from the late-night crowd, which I’m assuming is where you come from.” His tone wasn’t accusing but Blitzø still frowned at the teasing lilt he definitely heard.

“As for my little Starfire,” The bird continued, nuzzling his daughter on the cheek which earned a giggle. “Via, I like to think at least, is an excellent judge of character, especially more so with strangers. So, if she thinks that you’re trustworthy then that’s more than enough reason to let you stay.” With a twirl of his talon, he sent the quilt through the door leading upstairs to, whatever the fuck it led to as he set Via down on one of the stools after a quick, dramatic spin that earned him another giggle. “At least, long enough for us to feed you a decent breakfast.”

That last bit was definitely NOT what Blitzø thought he’d hear. “Uh, excuse me?”

“Oh certainly, after you’ve been given food of actual substance to eat instead of the leftover, surely bacteria-ridden remains scrounged from a random dumpster.” The big bastard responded blithely as he made his way around the counter, to where Blitzø finally noticed the fancy-looking coffeemaker that made him feel more broke-ass than he already was. “But first, I believe refreshments are in order. Would you prefer coffee or tea?”

The asshole part of him wanted to deliver a pissy comeback at the offer. He was a grown-ass man, more than capable of getting his own food, fuck you very much and no trust-fund, (sexy) long-legged prick had the right to tell him what was okay for him to eat or not – Moxxie already got his ass enough about that, he didn’t need anyone else doing that shit.

Big bitch was probably trying to keep him here long enough to call the cops on him the minute his back was turned so he could stick him with some BS robbery charges just for shits and giggles. Which had happened to him before due to more than one nut-job Karen and/or Kevin.

And of course, since it was fucking Hell, there was only a certain amount of times that you could get arrested and get bailed out before the taxpayers think to simply say “Fuck it” and just take your money and never bother to find your cell keys.

That in mind, he was so not in the mood to bust out of prison again, that one stint in Greed was enough for the next five years.

Well, fuck this bird. The front door was right there and he was not gonna have to put up with whatever bullshit this guy was -

His stomach halted his would-be flipping-the-bird-at-the-bird-on-the-way-out escape with a rumble even louder and more impatient than before. The tell-tale smell of brewing coffee didn’t do anything to help quell it. And damn, did it smell good . . .

. . . . . . Oh, forget it, they dump that dumpster every other day and he was too hungover to spare the effort to drive. Or Look for his van. Or try to remember the name of the club he was at.

“. . . I usually have iced coffee. But right now, I’ll take a regular coffee, as black as blood.”

That request was responded to with a humored smile. “I myself usually take it black as sin, but I’m always up for a challenge.” Turning to the way too complicated than should be normal looking, coffee-making monstrosity, he also added, “Also, forgive me.”

“For what?” Blitzø asked as he came closer to the bar. This close, he could now spot a simplistic yet obviously custom-designed hotplate big enough to fit enough food for five people, flat black surface on one side and a classic stove-top on the other.

“For not introducing myself properly earlier.” A clean, see-through glass coffee pot that Blitzø didn’t even see him pull out appeared in his hand as he whipped out a coffee filter so finely made it looked more like a hankie, bypassing the coffee maker completely. “I’m Stolas, owner of this cafe’ as well as Chef and Barista. You’ve already had the pleasure of meeting my daughter, Octavia, my darling little helper.”

“Daddy says I’m his ‘Suzy Chef’!” Via, also now known as “Octavia”, chirped proudly. Before Blitzø took a seat on one of the stools, he moved as to help her up but she shook her head. Gripping the crank under the seat, she pulled it up and down like a desk chair’s until the seat was low enough for her to climb up. He watched in bemusement as she then adjusted the seat back up. Clearly, they were built with the varying heights of Hell’s diverse demographic in mind.

Not bad thinking, Blitzø had to admit.

“Indeed you are, my Owlette.” Stolas chuckled. Having placed the filter inside a clenex wrapped around a chic-looking coffee pot, he placed a silver carafe onto the stove-top side of the hotplate and flipping the switch. Taking out a bag of coffee grounds that smelled fucking fantastic. “She and I have been running this little cafe’ for about four months now. And if I may so, we’re doing rather well. Granted, we’re not millionaires but I’m certainly not complaining.”

In almost no time at all, the carafe’ started whistling sharply. Stolas took it off and replaced it with a small skillet that Blitzø didn’t see being pulled out either, only to stare unabashedly at the medley of cheeses, meats, veggies and eggs that literally flew in from the entry to what he guessed was the kitchen like it was something of out of a kid’s movie. He knew Via giggling at his face but he forgoed responding to that, as while Stolas attended to the coffee pot, a bottle of oil floated over to the skillet and poured a delicate amount inside with two slices of butter following suite. “. . . Uh, yeah, if you’re good at something, you should capitalize.”

“Perhaps, but it’s not really so much about the money as it is the business of cooking itself.” Stolas said earnestly as he dumped the grounds into the filter and sweeped up the carafe to pour in the hot water in one fluid motion. “I find that this line of work gives me much more gratification than that of my previous occupation.”

“Oh, what was that? Real estate spokesman? Attorney? Phone seee-” Blitzø was instantly reminded of Via’s presence as the little girl hummed happily while folding and unfolding a napkin she plucked from the napkin holder closest to them. “-eeecrecy operator?”

If Stolas noticed the near slip-up, he didn’t comment on it. “No, I’m afraid. Simply one of the cogs of the crumbling, over-heated machine that is known as Hell’s government.” While the skillet started to pop and sizzle, the owl than summoned a sizable knife to finely chop one onion to join the oil and butter. As the coffee grounds were left to bloom, Stolas made quite a show of crumbling up a thick sausage into bits with one hand while simultaneously conjuring an actual clutch of flames in the other hand, selecting a few strips of bacon to cook and crisp in a matter of seconds. Most likely to show off for Blitzø and his daughter who “oohed” at the sight.

Admittedly, Blitzø was a little impressed too, but he’d be fucked by a mime before he ever let on. “Geez, playin’ it up a bit, don’t ya think?”

“Perhaps a bit.” Stolas admitted, not so sorry in the slightest. “But compared to how stoic and quiet I had used to be, I relish any chance to ‘play it up’.” Having deemed the bacon thoroughly cooked, which it definitely was going by the smell, he extinguished the flames and set the crispy strips onto a cutting board for a magicked knife to chop up. Washing his hands in a small sink set by the hotplate, he gestured towards the enchanted parade of flying ingredients, allowing three eggs to gently land on the counter.

Blitzø, at this point, had taken his eyes away from the free magic show in front of him, cool as it was, to quietly observe Stolas’s shapely ass as he bent over to retrieve something from one of the lower cabinet.

Hmm. He could feel the tip of his tail flicking in appreciation. Guess the cake wasn’t only in good in the cases.

He tried to keep ogling as unnoticeable as possible as he asked. “Old job sucked that bad, huh?”

“Oh, abominably so.” Stolas groaned as he fished around in the cabinet obliviously. Eventually, he made a small sound of triumph as he located his prize; a small mixing bowl which he then set on the counter next to the eggs. A crooked finger brought a whisk right into his hand just as all three eggs were lifted and cracked into the bowl and the shells were tossed away. “And all I can say is that I’m bloody well glad that it’s behind me.”

“And now Daddy gets to be the bestest chef in all of Hell!” Via proclaimed, which was rewarded with a loving smile.

“Well, I certainly try my best.” He said cheerfully. He made sure to keep close attention to the carafe’ as it poured more water into the now ready coffee grounds as he beat the eggs thoroughly. As dark, fresh coffee began to drip into the pot, he set the bowl aside to neatly dish the sausage and bacon into the skillet. “I don’t know if anything I make will win any awards, but I wouldn’t mind if they didn’t. As long as I have my Via and this cafe’, I’ll be happy.”

Those words, despite himself, left a deep pit in Blitzø’s stomach.

He was all too familiar with the feeling to know that it wasn’t hunger.

And the cause of it was the warm translucent air wafting around in the little cafe’ that was more potent than the coffee.

And more pointedly, how out of place he felt to even be watching it.

He felt his claws clench the leather of his seat, the fabric creaking softly in response to his tightening grip. The pit felt like it was growing larger, making his shoulders tense. He found himself staring full-on at the clean surface of the bartop and tried to ignore the itch of his spines going erect. For the next few minutes, all that was heard was the sizzling and firecracker-like popping of the skillet as the eggs were poured in, the repetitive sound of coffee dripping and Via humming as she tried to fold her napkin into something other than a lopsided square.

Blitzø took a deep breath through his nose, his lips sputtering a bit like a horse’s (Didn’t he wish) as he exhaled.

“. . . Look, I’m . . . ” He paused a moment to think his words over carefully. The last thing he felt like doing right now was to sound an utter dickhead to the guy who was making him a hot meal for a total stranger.

No telling if he was the type to spit in on the plates of assholes who deserved it.

“. . . I’m sorry for, uhm, for having you make deal with me first thing in the morning.” He managed to get out rather lamely.

He wasn’t sure if the bird heard him. But that didn’t stop him from continuing. “I . . . I had a really, really real sh- crappy day yesterday, and – And I just needed to blow off a little steam.”

Images started to flash unbidden in his head. Of zeroes, of bottles, of bitter looks and smashed frames only made everything in Blitzø had been able to blissfully ignore up until that moment, then chose to rear its ugly head making him let out a barely concealed grunt. “. . . Point is, I-I’m sorry for screwing up your day and -”

He was interrupted by a good-sized mug being set calmly before him. He started as the smell of the dark roast curling in soft puffs and into his nostrils, the scent heavenly and already mending the throb of his head – only to be taken aback at the feel of a large, plush-soft hand petting the space between his horns in a comforting rub.

It took every single inch of Blitzø not to either smack the hand away or bite it off on sheer impulse.

He looked up and instead of what he thought for damn sure was going to be a patronizing sneer, – Because how else would any prick look after patting an imp’s head like a puppy’s? - Stolas’s face was as soft and reassuring as the smile on his beak.

A smile filled with nothing but understanding and warmth.

Sweet Lucifer, when was the last tim anyone had smiled at him like that?

“No apologies are need here, Mister Blitzø.” Stolas said simply. No hint of bullshit. “Nothing’s been broken, nothing’s been ruined. So please, don’t worry. I’m not a demon so easily rattled. Especially by lovely surprises such as yourself.”

. . . . Blitzø blamed the warmth he felt tingling on his cheeks on the steam coming from the mug.

Stolas didn’t comment on it, but he was sure that he heard some not very subtle amusement in his voice as he turned back to his cooking. “Would you like for me to add some peppers to dish? They were freshly picked this morning and I’m sure that they’ll taste wonderfully with the eggs.”

“UH-” Blitzø grabbed the mug and pretended to study it to keep himself from doing anything else dumb. “Y-yeah, sure, whatever, go nuts. I’m good with whatever.”

“Marvelous! I’ll add some as soon as the eggs have cooked for a bit.” Stolas said cheerfully. Blitzø muttered a “yeah, whatever” to his back as the owl reached from some green and red peppers big enough for Via to hold in both of her hands. He then made a small hoot that Blitzø, even with how off-kilter he felt at the moment, found cute. “Oh, and let me know how the coffee is, please. I’m trying a new blend I finally managed to put together a few days ago and I’d love to hear your opinion.”

Blitzø blinked at that. “Wha-? You mean this isn’t instant?”

Stolas shook his head. “Oh no. I try my best to use fresh items whenever I cook. Not that I have anything against instant or frozen food, but, as a chef, I find it almost like cheating if I’m not as authentic for my customers. The last thing I want is to have our cafe’ be mistaken for another Twink Trip or Hexxan.”

Blitzø would have taken a shot at that remark. Namely how if you loaded up gas station coffee with a fuckton of sugar, cream, and booze, it didn’t matter about the quality ‘cause who would give that much of a damn about dirty bean water -

That is, had he not taken a sip out of his mug.

It took a moment of peering down at his “coffee” to think up a much more direct response. “. . . . This is the best damn cup of coffee I ever had.”

“Thank you!” Stolas accepted the compliment cheerily. I admit it took much longer to properly cultivate and grow the beans for it than I had originally anticipated. I mean, I already knew the process was intricate but it’s a whole other experience when you actually attempt it yourself.” Stolas gave a weak chuckle as he prodded at the eggs simmering in the skillet. “I’ve lost count of the amount of times I almost blew up my grinder or ruined my insides.”

Blitzø, taking a much larger sip of his coffee hummed appreciatively. “Yeah, bad coffee can f- trip you up.” He knew that to be true. He once had to get his stomach pumped from drinking brew made by some dumbshit in his RV. That experience wasn’t really as painful as the telling-off Moxxie gave him afterwards. Little bitch always had act like he was right.

He took another big gulp. “You did good, though. Five stars.”

It wasn’t blind praise. Blitzø never bullshitted how he felt about what he drank and ate, (Much to Moxxie’s, Fizz’s, his Sunday Barista or, really, anyone’s annoyance) and the coffee was no exception; heavy and crisp with a balanced pairing of earthy and floral notes, the acidity like berries that left plenty of room for flavor instead of just tang. And the aftertaste didn’t linger like secondhand smoke, it left gradually with a mellow sheen that he didn’t mind in the slightest. Even though he was more an iced coffee guy, this was a kind of coffee Blitzø could see himself drinking again. When he wasn’t hungover, that is.

“Well, I’m thrilled to hear that, Mister Blitzø. Thank you.” Stolas responded gratefully.

By now, he had placed a lid over the eggs to let them simmer which allowed him to focus on chopping up the peppers. The imp assumed that had all he had been cutting up before Stolas turned to delicately slide a plate baring an apple that had been sliced in a way that the core stood erect as a tower with the slices spread open like a flower bloom. Before he can ask how the hell he did that so fast, Via chirped happily before plucking one slice and biting into it with a thank you.

Blitzø found her delight over the piece of fruit adorable, which the baby owl took as an invitation to pluck another slice and offer it to him with a smile. Satan, could this kid get any cuter?

He took the offered slice with a cheeky grin. Only to quickly toss it in the air and catch it with his tongue like an iguana’s, adding a “Bleh!” just for laughs, for which he earned a round of giggles from Via. He had almost missed by being blindsided by the cinnamon and spice flavor that had been baked into it. It had to have been made that very morning if the warmth and freshness of the slice was anything to go by, allowing the fruit to melt orgasmically well into his taste-buds. Wow.

He and Via had had unanimously agreed to split the apple between them, with no objections from Stolas as he busied himself with divvying up the vegetables and summoning other ingredients from the kitchen to prepare accordingly. Via filled up most of the time with chattering on innocently about little things, how funny her dream was last night, how home-school was “five times better than private school as there were less big dummy poop-heads” - Blitzø almost choked on a slice while Stolas lightly admonished her about “language” - And how her daddy once made her the bestest cake ever in the in the whole wide world for her fifth birthday. Blitzø, for as sweet as he found her daughterly praise, had to swallow the gag when she started going on about the “tasty” mouse chunks Stolas had added.

Bird or no, eating mice for Blitzø was a flat out no.

A sudden, horrifying though than popped into his head. Was Stolas going to add mice to his food?

Like mouse sausage? Mice bacon? Rat peppers? Was that a thing?! Or was he just pulling a Moxxie and asking dumbass question?

. . . Probably just being a Moxxie.

His internal debate was cut short by something else being set before him. A damn good-looking something.

An omelet the size of Blitzø’s fist lay before him, hot and steaming and straight from the hot plate. Yellow as can be with spots of golden brown, there were no signs of tears of breakage, with a perfect fluffy layer peeking from the folds stuffed with meat, veggies and oozing cheeses. The artsy fucker had even gone the extra mile and draped the top of it with a thin sheet of mozzarella, some garnish and a couple slices of baby tomatoes. Talk about extra.

“There you are, this morning’s special - ‘Egg On Your Face’ Mega-Omelet, with all the fixings and extra cheese for those unwelcome aches and pains. If I’ve done my job right, it should fix you right up.”

“Like magic!” Via dded with a bright smile. Both men chuckled at her.

“Like magic, huh?” Blitzø smirked. Well, I’ll just have to see about that.

Sure, the eggs may have looked good, but Blitzø had learned all too well that food looking good and tasting good were two totally different things.

What looked like a pile of slop to the naked eye could taste just as good as a five morning star meal served Beelzebub herself. The same thing applied to a plate of fancy finger foods that cost the same as a house mortgage but tasted like cardboard in the end. And Blitzø certainly had more than enough exposure to lousy food like that, thank you and fuck you very much, with no wish to repeat it.

Which he hoped he wouldn’t with this monster-omelet before him.

Deciding not to put it off any longer, he picked up his fork and dug the prongs into the soft-cooked eggs, scooping up a decent-sized bite with plenty of pepper, meat and cheese. After a moment’s consideration, he also speared one of the baby tomato slices. He gave the loaded fork a few blows to cool it, because there was no way he was going to down a maybe-shitty breakfast with a burnt tongue.

He stuck the fork in his mouth -

And his mind was BLOWN.

If there was such a thing as a bit of paradise, than these eggs were the mother fucking proof in the pudding. Or omelet, in this case.

The eggs were cooked to perfection; nice and fluffy to where they melt on in his mouth like luscious chocolate from Lust’s first class bakeries. And the flavor was like a parade in his mouth, from the salty onions, the crisp tomato and the sweet peppers, the numerous flavors sucker-punched his sense of taste without overwhelming the presence of the eggs. The meat inside was spectacular too, the bacon was at the optimum point between chewy and crispy, and the sausage was deliciously flavorful and greasy. His kind of meat, with the right amount of salt and black pepper.

He could barely hold down the pleasurable moan, but did nothing to stop all the muscles in his body from going lax.

Man, fuck trying to go to heaven, the key to fucking Eden’s Gate was right in his head hole.

A bemused coo. “So I take it you like it?”

Blitzø taste-jizzed mind abruptly snapped back into focus. Stolas’s beak was curled into a big, smug-ass grin that made his own fault in to a frown. The owl simply looked at him expectant. Dammit, if the kid weren’t here, he would have gladly told the bird exactly where to shove that grin.

Instead, he gave a disgruntled growl. “Yea, it’s . . . okay.”

Most chefs would have promptly gotten offended by such a dry appraisal of their “masterpieces”, especially if it came from an “uncultured swine” such as him.

But once again, Stolas surprised him by delivering a pleased smile in lieu of a hissy fit. “Well, I’m glad you like it. Eat up now, or it’ll get cold.”

Blitzø chose not to shoot off a shitty comeback, despite being rankled by the “order”. He took out his bubbling frustrations out on his food, picking up the plate and bringing it close enough to begin shoveling the omelet into his mouth like a starving man.

The petty, spiteful gremlin that was roughly, meeeh, ninety percent of his overall personality hoped that such a messy personality hoped that such a messy display would earn at least, would earn a groan of disgust. Always did the trick when he wanted to annoy Moxxie.

However, much to Blitzø’s complete consternation, the owl just gave a small humored hoot and returned to the hotplate with a single crack or insult. Like he didn’t give two shits about his bad manners.

Blitzø internally growled. What an ASS.

. . . A pretty ass, but still.

“I’m glad you’re pleased by my cooking skills.” The big bastard (Yes, Blitzø was calling him that again, suck it.) said happily, busying by wiping down the skillet while beating a new batch of eggs and sliding two slices of bread into a small old-fashioned toaster. “I have to admit, my main specialty is baking and drinks, but I try my best to expand my range of cuisine when I can.”

Once the yolks and whites were thoroughly whipped, there were poured into the skillet and almost immediately they started to sizzle and bubble from the rewarmed metal. “Unfortunately, I can’t cook the kind of food necessary to run a full-fledged cafe’.”

Blitzø swallowed a sizable bite of egg and pepper before asking, “Can’t you just wiggle your fingers and hocus pocus a steak or something?”

Stolas shook his head. “Alas that’s more Lady Beelzebub’s forte than mine. Even my magic can only do so much. Now if this was a flower shop that would be another matter, but it is what it is.”

“I’m glad it isn’t.” Via piped up. “I love Daddy’s cafe’! And I love helping him cook!”

“And you do such a magnificent job, my Owlette.” Stolas’s praise was followed by a small plate of scrambled eggs encircled by toast cut into the shape of flowers and mice, covered in butter and jam. Via took it with a bright thanks, digging in right away with a sparkly pink fork also provided by Stolas. “But sadly, a cafe’ needs more than peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and milk to cater to wider clientele. Not that I’m downplaying your talent as a chef, darling.”

“I’s okay, Daddy.” Via said, crumbs dotted on her beak from biting into one of her toast flowers. “I know it’s only because I’m not big enough to use the stove yet.” Blitzø mirrored her smile as she beamed up at him. “Once I can do that, Daddy said I could make even better dishes just like him.”

“Indeed I will, Starfire.” Stolas affirmed. “But for now, I’ll have to settle for looking for another cook. Sadly though -” Stolas pulled a face. “- There hasn’t been one suitable enough to help me run things here.”

“Yeah, it’s hard running the show solo.” Blitzø agreed. “Sucks even more when you don’t have a good crew to back you up. Don’t know where I’d be with M&M.”

Stolas blinked. “Uhm, ‘M&M’?”

Via blinked too. “Like the candy?”

Blitzø snickered. “Nah, Moxxie and Millie, friends of mine and my emplo-” He cut himself off with a grimace. “Well. Who were supposed to be my employees.”

The sudden downtrodden shift that overcame the imp id not go unnoticed by Stolas. “‘Supposed to be?’ What does that -”

“Don’t ask.” Blitzø said curtly. After a second, he added a little less harshly. “I-I don’t really wanna get into it right now.”

Because if I do, I KNOW I’m just going to get pissed off and do something shitty all over again.

“. . . . Alright then.”

Blitzø could hear it clear as day that the bird bastard had more questions, and would more than likely prefer to bombard him with rapid-fire questions like Moxxie would when he wanted to be particularly annoying. But thank Satan, he looked put off enough to put him off.

Small blessings.

The next few minutes passed in silence. The lull of it broken only by the sounds of silverware hitting the plates as Blitzø and Via ate, the drip of coffee as more was brewed in the pot and the subdued sounds of crunching each time either a somewhat concerned Via offered Blitzø a bite of her toast or, returning the favor, when he offered her a bite of bacon or sausage – He learned quick that she didn’t like peppers so much so he did well to avoid giving her any filled-to-the-brim bites. He could only hoped that the reason she liked it wasn’t because the meat that was in it wasn’t made from rodent.

It probably was, though, because . . . Birds.

Eventually, Blitzø had cleaned his plate, a satisfying weight settling in his stomach, he let out a contented sigh, his headache feeling miles better than almost a half hour before. “Woo, that was good. A frickin’ plus.”

The owl’s smiled chased away some of the terseness from before. “Happy to hear it. It’s always good to get good reviews on new dishes.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. Quick question, though.”

“Yes?”

Blitzø pointed at the now empty plate. “Level with me – Was there any mice in that? Because, I get it, you and Via are birds, but I kinda draw the line when it comes to eating plague-carrying little turds.”

Stolas tittered at that. “No, no, I assure you, no lovely vermin of any kind was served to you. Unfortunately, I’ve learned that mice are terrible cures for hangovers.”

“What’s a hangover?” Via asked in that no-filter, childishly clueless way that all little hellspawn did.

Stolas, in a perfectly natural response to such a question, was freeze awkwardly. “O-oh, well, erm-”

Blitzø supplied the answer. “It’s like a really bad stomach bug, but for grown-ups.” Giving the little owl a conspiratorial grin, he added in a fake whisper, “Basically, if you eat too much green stuff, your poop comes out greener than Mammon’s butt.”

Via burst into a peal of little girl laughter that definitely brought an easy diffusion to Stolas’s unease, even earning a couple of barely smothered hoots that were poorly hidden by his hand.

Huh. That was twist.

Usually the parents were scolding him at this point, the usual uptight bullshit spiel about “using such vulgar language in front of their innocent little babies, you demented little firetoad!”

Not that he gave a shit because he was a comic genius, fuckyou, Moxxie.

After a bit, both birds managed to quell their laughter enough for Stolas to gently urge Via to head upstairs and get ready for the day. She agreed without protest, stopping only to allow Blitzø to ruffle her headfeathers as he added, “Gotta look cute for the suckers!” That earned him an admonishing look from Stolas that was weakened by his approving smile.

A smile that only grew bigger when Via caught the imp completely off-guard with an unexpected hug, her tiny arms wrapping swiftly and tightly around his waist, almost sending him falling off his stool. Before he could recover, Via was already heading up the staircase, humming cheerfully all the way.

Stolas’s soft chuckle drew Blitzø out of his shock. “Via has certainly taken a liking to you quickly.”

“Uh, yeah, I-I guess.” Blitzø rubbed at the back of his neck. “Last time I got hugged like that, some piece of shit nicked my wallet to buy thirty Bruiser King gift cards.”

“Oh, that’s a pity.”

“Joke was on him, though, he got food poisoning with the first card he used.”

Stolas hummed approvingly as he poured them both a fresh cup of coffee. “Well, I suppose there is such a thing as karma.”

Blitzø barked out a laugh. “Ha! Yeah, and maybe there’s a God.” He accepted the refilled mug, along with the offered sugar and creamers, and dumped almost each one in like an alcoholic adding liqueur. “Uh, speakin’ of, what do I owe ya?”

Stolas, who had added his own preferred condiments to his coffee in much more moderate manner, paused in his blowing at the steam rising from his mug. “Pardon?”

“What do I owe ya? For the food and coffee.” After a moment, he also added with only a tiny wince of guilt. “And whatever else my drunk ass did to your place before I blacked out.”

By emotionally-traumatized principle, he wouldn’t have asked outright. Often times, being the victim of a classist system that shat on those on the bottom rung, he had been subjected to grossly padded bills and unexpected expenses issued by a good percentage of the “well-to-do” owners of “upstanding establishments” where he wound up spending half the night washing up dishes. Once he got fast enough, and only if neither the food nor the service was worth the lightening of his wallet. Blitzø didn’t hesitate to pull a dine and dash; making escapes either through the bathroom window, the vent, or once through riding one of those fancy dining carts into the kitchen and out the employee entrance that admittingly had been fun to ride . . .

. . . Right up until he learned too late that the entrance opened right up to a three-story staircase with no handrail.

Needless to say, that had been one shitty ride to the hospital, Moxxie lecturing him the whole damn eight miles.

After everything – And he meant everything – in his lower body healed, he opted to hold out on anymore dashing. At least until the little baby-dick whineypuss would get off his fucking back about paying.

That aside, he saw no reason to be the deadbeat bun right now. Not when Stolas had been nothing but polite towards him. Even though he certainly didn’t deserve such kindness . . .

He braced himself for the amount as he took a long sip of his sweetened coffee -

“Oh, you needn’t worry – You don’t owe me a sint.”

Blitzø sputtered into his mug, nearly choking on the brew as he processed the owl’s words. “*Cough* *Cough* *Hack* Blegh! Excuse me?”

“You don’t need to pay me.” Stolas restated. “Like I said, you’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve been nothing but civil, you are obviously sorry for any offense you think you’ve given – Not that you have, don’t make that face – And more importantly, Via likes you. So I see no reason to change you.”

Blitzø frowned at him. “You’re screwing with me.” He stated flatly.

“I assure you, I am not. Honestly, your praise over your breakfast was payment enough. In all honesty, you were doing me a favor.”

“Meaning?”

“I don’t get a chance to try out new recipes on new faces very often, so any new opinions are always appreciated.” Blitzø felt his face fault at the slow, awfully sensual smile the owl sent him. “Especially ones as sublime as yours.”

Blitzø forgoed looking him in the eye, each cerise eye of his hooded and looking at him like he was going to be the next dish for him to devour, choosing instead to chug down half the contents of his mug. Gulping audibly, he mumbled back, “Glad I was such a good guinea pig for you.”

“I prefer the term ‘freelanced taste-taster’, personally.” Stolas retorted politely.

“I don’t want your charity.” Blitzø bit at him.

“Nor am I giving it to you. Like I said, you did me a favor.”

“How do you know I’m not some thieving bastard taking adventure of goody-two-shoes shop owners like you?”

“I have measures set to prevent such an occurrence.”

“I’m an undercover health inspector and you just failed.”

“Now you’re just grasping, dear.”

Blitzø rubbed a hand over his face. “You can’t just -” He let out a frustrated breath. “Look, I get you’re an . . . Okay guy and you are obviously trying to set a good example for your kid. I get that, but I don’t want to be the lasting impression of what to expect when giving out freebies to poor drunken bitches like me. No one should have to deal with that without getting paid, -”

“Mister Blitzø.”

Stolas’s firm tone stopped him with the sharpness of a smacked ruler. His face was stern, but not completely harsh as he eyes were looking at him with a softness that pricked at his chest.

“You. Do. Not. Me. Anything. And when I say something like that, it’s because I mean it with all the sincerity that is implied. It is not just for the sake of looking good in front of Via and certainly not some sort of dastardly ruse to get you to lower your guard. You’ve apologized and you meant it, you’ve been kind towards my daughter and enjoyed my cooking without bias or sarcasm. That said, believe me when I tell that is something I care for much more than any check or bill.”

Stolas sipped at his coffee calmly, making no comment about the for certain mollified expression on his face. “So, please, no more apologies. They are appreciated, but to be honest, after twenty-two of them, it just feels repetitive.”

Blitzø gave him a look. “Sorry what now?”

“Mister Blitzø -”

“Nah, nah, what you just said, the fuck you mean I said sorry twenty-two times?”

Stolas’s beak dropped into a thin line, taking a moment to maybe think his words over before formulating a response, “When Via and I found you last night, you were in a . . . A great deal of distress.” He was clearly trying to more emphatic than judgmental. “You were greatly intoxicated and horridly incoherent. Once I was close enough, all I could hear was you saying sorry over and over.”

Blitzø could feel himself growing hot from the neck up in embarrassment. The apprehensive caution in Stolas’s voice was doing fuck all to help the crashing wave of shame following up like a speeding train.

He didn’t need Stolas to tell him what he was bawling like a baby over.

But, ever the bottom bitch for punishment, asked anyway. “. . . I say what for?”

Stolas then turned sheepish. “O-Oh well, uh-uhm, I don’t quite recall -”

“Bird, I don’t do any of that hee-haw Shit, it’s too early and I’m still hungover and all I’m gonna do is get pissed off now WHAT did I SAY?”

With two sets of eyes, it was easy to see that Blitzø was not going to give up on getting an answer. Stolas sighed softly.

“You made a great deal of apologies to a great deal of people. I didn’t catch every name but, erm, you had quite the list.” He sipped at his mug, stalling for only a minute before continuing.

“You apologized to a miss Mistly for dinging her car door while trying parallel park by a Wacdonald’s, a miss Queen for breaking smashing her one of a kind pirate ship in a bottle instead of the pinata by accident on her birthday, a miss Millie for chipping her favorite ax, a mister Moxxie for making him run all the way to Greed for a single battery for your TV remote, dropping his guitar fourteen times, borrowing his wallet, or more accurately, pinching his wallet to pay for Voxflix twice, a miss Barbie for stealing one of her skirts and ripping it whilst performing a split, I couldn’t really make out what exactly you were apologizing to a “Vee” and a “Fizz” for -”

“Okay!” Blitzø blurted out. “Okay! I get it! I get it! I was a hot mess, no more shit needed, I got it!” He cringed at the indignant crack in his voice. Christ, like he didn’t look enough like a pathetic shit already. He might as well plan to fake his own death again.

You know what they say, fifth time’s the charm.

“It wasn’t that bad.” Stolas’s weak attempt to reassure him only bounced off of the imp like a ping-pong ball. “It really wasn’t. Really, you should have seen me afterwards when I was binge-drinking.”

Blitzø scoffed. “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you got real frisky from all those white wine spritzers.”

“Actually, I tended to lean more towards absinthe.” Stolas retorted, with no little bit of sass, taking a small bit of gratification from Blitzø’s surprised. “Of course, with how I was knocking back each bottle, you’d almost believe they were Purgerade drinks.”

Blitzø lifted his head from where he had been pressing it into the bartop. “Damn, how many we talkin’?”

“At least two to three on a good night, or whatever was close to that.”

The imp gave a low whistle. “”Fuck me, bird. I get shit-faced after half a bottle, how the fuck are you still standing?”

“At this point, stubbornness and sheer dumb luck, I believe.” Stolas quipped.

That startled enough mirth in Blitzø to actually make him laugh. “Join the club, pal.”

“I fear I cannot, as I have cut back my vigorous drinking to properly attend to Octavia. Leaving my former occupation did wonders for helping me cub the habit.”

“Bosses sucked that bad, huh?”

“Doubly so, considering it was a family business, sort to speak, although, I can assure they were family in name only.”

“Ugh. Preachin’ to the fuckin’ choir – there’s only so much shitty family a bitch could take in one day.”

“That, Mister Blitzø, I can wholeheartedly agree on.”

There were getting off-track. Blitzø bit his lip. “. . . I’m sorry for my shit.”

“For the final time, no more apologizes are necessary.”

He angled his head towards the staircase door. “I probably scared your kid.”

“Via has seen far worse, I assure you. Even when off your cups, you weren’t untoward her in any way, so you can save any of the claims of indecency that you’ve half-heartedly concocted in that crafty little mind of yours.”

“Just let me fuckin’ pay you.”

“I neither require nor want your money and I promise you, should you try to force any $ouls on me, I will promptly set it to aflame.”

“Lilith’s titties, you’re a stubborn bitch.”

“And you are an equally stubborn spendthrift.”

“Fuck you.”

“Not without dinner, if you please.”

Blitzø groaned. “God, we’re gonna keep talking in circles if you don’t just charge me and get it over with. I’m not fucking broke, I have the $ouls, just let me pay you.”

Stolas’s counter remark definitely caught Blitzø unawares. “It’s been a long time since anyone’s done something genuinely kind for you, hasn’t it?”

Blitzø’s hackles rose instantly at the “innocent” statement. “You trying to say something?”

Stolas merely sipped at his coffee. “Just an assessment.”

“Or you being a dickhead.”

“I made you a free breakfast for which I expect nothing in return. I am being absolutely forthright whereas you are choosing not to believe that I have no ulterior motives. Who, might I ask, is being the dickhead here?”

Oh, this smug bitch.

He had wanted to let loose a snarl that would make the owl falter in his not requested charity streak. He felt the urge already rising in his throat, ready to finally tell off this prick who was seriously starting to piss him off . . .

. . . But could only let out a low whine at the exhaustion of prolonging the one-sided argument, the fatigue of a bad night, getting totally smashed and crashing just as hard setting in. Being still half hungover sure as shit was not helping to keep the spark of pride burning.

If anything, Blitzø felt even more tired.

He wanted nothing more than to lay everything out, pay whatever the fucking bird deserved and drag his broke-back ass back home and lick his wounds from last night. And the only thing that was stopping him was getting through to this royally stubborn and feathery (Not to mention pretty soft-looking) bastard of a demon.

“Alright, look – I want to pay you back, but for some weird ass reason, you won’t let me.”

“I think we have perfectly established that.”

“So we got a problem.”

“Which could be solved by you accepting my putting your breakfast on the house.”

“And it should be clear as fuck that ain’t happening.”

“So I’ve gathered.”

Blitzø blew a breath of air out of his nose. “I’m not just being an asshole here – I don’t like owing people anything. I’ve been dipping in and out of debts for years, financial and personal. And just that fucking recently I finally managed to pay off a good chunk of them only to literally be screwed over again almost the same fucking day. So now I’m once again edging too damn close to bankruptcy for my liking.”

He gave the owl a flat look. “Meaning I can’t take any chances, such as freebies or random handouts, cuz Charity was just as easily turn into high-interest loans with zero time frames for return payments, unless you want to set up an installment plan that involves cutting out pounds of flesh ever week. Obviously, a guy like me can’t afford to look any more fucked up than he is with a chunk of anything missing.

“All that said, do you see what I’m gettin’ at?”

“. . . . I’m starting to.” Stolas said with a considerate look.

“Satisfaction eased through Blitzø’s frame. “Great. Glad we finally got that -”

“All the same, you needn’t pay me.”

And just like that it was gone.

He growled so sharply it would have destroyed eardrums had he done it inside of headphone speakers. “You fuckin’-”

“But since you won’t accept the gesture,” Stolas interrupted calmly. “How about just doing me a special favor?”

“‘Special favor’?” Blitzø blinked. “What kinda -”

A sound not unlike a light bulb dinged in his thank full-no-longer-as-sore cranium.

Oh.

Oh okay.

He gave a resigned sigh. “Hooookay, look, tootsie hootsie, if you just wanted a quick shag in the back all you had to do was ask. But I gotta warn ya, the place I’ve fucked in was a public bathroom that probably wasn’t cleaned in the last year or two, so I’ll probably need to wipe down the goods with something. Baby wipes would be good if got’em -”

“NO!” A spluttered hoot brought his attention back to Stolas, whose heart-shaped features had turned an almost violent shade of crimson in the span of half a minute. “No! No, no! Not that kind of favor, no! I mean I need your mouth!”

Blitzø gave him a deadpan look. “Yeah, I got that much, relax.”

“No! No! I mean -” Stolas let out a shaky warble before planting his face into his hands while muttering to himself in fit of bashfulness.

Blitzø just sipped at his coffee, waiting for him to spit whatever he wanted to say out. To his credit, he didn’t stare, knowing from his own share of verbal vomiting moments that doing that would just make his embarrassment worse.

Even though he no clue what the fuck he was suddenly so damn worked up about.

I mean, fuck, if I had a sint for each time I said the “wrong” things, I’d be raking in more money more green than Mammon.

A deep breath. “Forgive me, I’m doing this all wrong. I’m trying to offer you a deal. Something, I hope, will mutually beneficial to the both of us.”

The incredulous look on Blitzø’s face was quickly addressed. “Nothing vulgar or dramatic involved, you needn’t worry. Nothing of the sort.” He took another deep breath. “I would like for to come in again, and try my cooking.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Say what now?”

Stolas made a small noise of exasperation. “As I said, I’m still relatively new to running a business dealing with dining and catering and the like. I’m often pushed into having to spontaneously expand my range of techniques and specialties depending on my success. I know I’m capable, but I know that I can’t just rely on my own opinion and preferences alone. Even more so when I’m attempting new dishes. As such, I need an outside opinion.”

The imp blinked. “And yooouuu think that’s me?”

Stolas nodded. “Very much so.”

“Some fucking rando off the street who broke into your private property, was wasted out of his mind and could just as easily rob you blind despite these so-called ‘measures’ you said you have?”

“Not as ‘so-called’ as you say, but yes.”

“Rrrright.” Blitzø rolled his eyes. “Don’tcha have, I dunno other foodie friends, you can ask? Or maybe just wait for some famous food blogger critic douchebag to to come in and give you a rating?”

“None that would trust to be fair or take seriously, or assume my want for approval is really a want for cheap compliments – that I’m desperate enough to give someone license to either be obnoxiously petty or to deliver the best shallow review that procures them a not so low-key invitation to my bedroom.”

Blitzø grunted. “Asshats.”

“You should see how quickly they recoil as soon as they learn of Via.”

“Fuckin’ asshats.”

“Quite.” Stolas affirmed. “And to answer your other question, yes, I do have others whose say I do value, but I’ve heard relying on the biased does not help one’s credibility. I do appreciate the precious few whom I’m fortunate enough to have as friends, but I need a healthy dose of honesty from outside sources to provoke me to experiment and expand myself.”

“And you think that guy is me?” Blitzø repeated, gesturing to himself crudely.

“Of course.”

“Bullshit.”

“Good gracious, and you call me stubborn.”

“It’s not -” He let out a small snarl.

Seriously? He was still keeping this up? Enough was enough.

“Look, I get you’re trying to be nice, I get that. But, trust me, I’m the last fucking guy you want to be nice to let alone have around. Seriously, ask fucking anyone in hearing distance – I’m a right bastard on a good day and a pushy dickhead on a bad one, I’ve fucked up more people than I’ve actually helped and you would have more sense to shoot me rather than invite me over again. I mean, you gotta kid to think about, and -”

Blitzø shook his head. “And you don’t want me messin’ with your business. The one I tried starting flopped before I even got my feet off the ground. Pretty sure that speaks a fuckton for how helpful I can be towards you.”

He could barely ignore the burning sting of truth in that statement.

Saying all the shit that was a constant boiling inside him all out loud sucked.

It sucked balls.

He knew it was better than letting it all rot and fester like he let everything else – But it still sucked.

Fuck what his therapist said about it being being cathartic. He should quit that bitch.

It’s not like he would be able to pay them for much longer anyway.

Blitzø knew he was not the kind of person to be asked to come back. Even the scraps of friends he had managed to hang on to could barely wait for him to leave as soon as he said hello.

Moxxie was the leading example of proving him right. Even when Blitzø actually adhered to his demands of privacy and properly asking for invites to visit, (That Blitzø still found completely anal of him although he bit his lip) Moxxie was adamant to get him out the door before he could even get two fucks in.

Even Millie, Moxxie’s blast and a half of a wife, who was far more accommodating than her whore-back husband, drew the line when it came to his company being longer than necessary.

That was to say fucking nothing about his own flesh and blood.

Barbie Wire, his twin sister, his other half, would sooner see him six feet under before seeing him again.

Cash Buckzo, his father, never asked for him, never wanted him, and made it a point of telling him so straight to his face more than once.

His mother, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . She sure as fuck would have been better off without him.

And his exes? Those who he didn’t remember or couldn’t care to remember, those he never took a chance on because of him being too much of a pussy to try?”

Verosika? It was pretty fucking clear on how that went.

Fizz?

He was never wanted.

He was never missed.

He was never asked to come back.

Not for a visit.

Not for a drink.

Never just to hang and shoot the shit.

He was always tossed away as soon as necessary.

He was always left behind, pushed aside, shoved into the background.

Forgotten.

Dead for all those concerned.

Dead, except in the way he wanted when he was at the lowest he could be.

No one ever missed him.

No one ever wanted him back.

Nobody.

“. . . . I fuck things up more often than I get them right. There’s a pretty good chance if you get involved with me, shit’s gonna go sideways for you too.”

He wasn’t sure if he had muttered that part aloud or not. Not that he gave a shit.

He halfway expected to be asked to repeat himself.

Or maybe Stolas would curse him under his breath for being such a dramatic bitch.

Maybe he would finally cut the bullshit and be real about what the fuck that he really wanted from him.

However, all Blitzø got in response, was a soft touch at his wrist, soft as silk and just as gentle.

Along with two sets of big cerise rose eyes that crinkled gently at the corners as they held his gaze with calmness and sympathy.

And maybe something else, but that could’ve been that whiny, fractured part of himself making up what wasn’t actually there.

“I’ve taken far riskier gambles than trusting a stranger out of the blue, Mister Blitzø.” Stolas spoke in such a comforting voice. “And I have yet to lose from any of them. Perhaps it’s rather cocky to say so, but since my winning streak has yet to be broken, I think you’re a rather good bet to take a chance on.”

The tender smile, that was nothing short of dazzling, he gave Blitzø at the end such a declaration was a damn good seller.

Satan forbid this man ever works for Vox – cause with that smile, he could sell gas station keys like they were the keys to gates of Eden itself. I mean, if his touch alone could send sparks up my arm like he was doing right now. . .

Fuck him if he knew.

The hand causing such a feeling than gave two soft pats to his wrist before lifting away to grab the coffee pot once more, refilling Blitzø’s mug with still steaming java and the exact number of sugars and creams he had diluted it with before.

“So, how does coming in twice, three times a week sound? I usually close the cafe’ around seven since I try to get Octavia in bed by eight thirty on weeknights. If you like to come by over the weekend, I close around six thirty to seven o’clock depending on how busy I get. Except any catering orders or special events, I’m not fussy over whenever you come over. All I ask is that you let me know when you’re coming by in advance so I can have something ready for you. A day or two ahead would be just fine.”

Blitzø, this time, could not find in him to groan loudly in protest to the blatant hardheaded dismissal of the what seemed like hours long argument. The argument he bitterly realized that he couldn’t fight against.

That did nothing to stop him from throwing his head back and scowling at the annoying as shit clean ceiling tiles above them.

“. . . . . . . You really aren’t gonna give this up, are you?” He said after a while.

“I suppose I’m about as bull-headed as you are.”

Blitzø gave a chuffing laugh at that.

Well, fuck.

What was he supposed to do with that?

What could he do with that?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Fuck it, if the worst happened, he could just disappear again, right?

Not likely Stolas would look for him just for a review, right?

. . . . Right.

“. . . . . . . . . . The peppers and onions were both sweet.”

Stolas blinked at him like the owl he was.

Heh. Cute.

“The omelet was good, but it was kinda over-sweetened; I don’t know what kinda onions you added but personally I would use a more subtle kind of onion to help round out the sweetness of the peppers.”

He let this sink in for a moment before continuing, “I remember seeing you add a green pepper so next time I would recommend using a shallot, maybe about half a tablespoon’s worth should be right. A regular tablespoon’s good too if you don’t use too much of the peppers.”

He sipped at his refreshed coffee. “I personally, like some spice in my eggs to help me wake up, so don’t be afraid to throw some in the mix in the future. Like oregano or basil. You don’t have to go crazy with the amount, though, - just about when you’re making the bowl and a few dashes of it on top when ya put it on the plate. It’ll pair well with the tomatoes and not distract you too much from the rest of the food.”

He took a breath. “Coffee’s good, strong enough to double as a chemical peel, everything any caffeine addict is looking for. The aftertaste doesn’t turn me off from drinking the rest and from how it feels going down I am a hundred and fifteen percent sure you’re a nit-pick bitch cuz I taste how finely you ground the beans without turning them to powder. It’s good ya didn’t because that shit’s only good foe about half hour before fighting to keep your eyes open by either shooting up some dope or knocking back enough 66-Hour-Energy drinks to give the Big B a heart attack.”

Shouldn’t he stop? Maybe he was saying too much. Stolas had asked for honesty and Blitzø was doing his best to deliver it with as little jackassery as possible.

Problem was, for Blitzø, jackassery was his default language, according to practically everyone and their fat mom’s. And, most of the time, he didn’t even realize how much he let slip out before he got a sharp crack across the face. Or a knee to the balls.

He chanced a look at Stolas. If he looked upset, he could take it all back. It wasn’t too late, he could still backtrack -

Tiny stars sparked in Stolas’s wide eyes. Small and bright and beautiful, looking every bit like the twinkling little lights his mom would tell stories to him and Barbie back in their childhood. After the circus ring was cleared of trash and the last Hellhorse was tucked in their stall. Back when, even thought hings weren’t easy, everything was okay.

Before everything suddenly wasn’t.

Stolas, upon noticing Blitzø looking at him, instantly grew more flustered in some odd cacophony of joy and mortification, his plumage fluffing up from the top of his crown to the little floof of feathers on his chest. His hands belated came up to smooth them back into place, unfortunately they did little to quell them along with the rosy blush that tinted his face plate into an eye-catching pink.

Damn, this bird was so cute it was unfair.

The anxious itch in his chest was put to ease right there and then.

This couldn’t actually work, could it?

. . . Could it?

. . . . . . Maybe. Just maybe.

Emboldened, Blitzø sent the owl a lazy smile that easily darkened the pink on his face, matching the warmth the imp felt on his own face. “The apple was like a fucking angel feather, so soft and tasty. You have got to show me how the ever-loving fuck you made it turning to to applesauce ‘cause that shit was better than fuckin’ crack.”

Stolas looked like he couldn’t decide whether to be elated or overwhelmed.

After an awkwardly long amount of time, he clearly had settled on elation. His upper set of eyes turned upward in little crescents as his beak returned the smile with a brightness that Blitzø felt proud of bring out.

“I’d be happy to, darling.”

To be continued . . .

ME: Hey all you sinners & saints! Who’s excited for HAZBIN HOTEL coming out this friday?!?!?!? (Or Thursday if you actually watch it at it’s appointed time) I know I am!

I am SO EXCITED AND DESPERATELY TRYING TO IGNORE THE FACT THIS STORY IS LITTERALLY GOING TO LOST IN HAZBIN HIGH THAT I KNOW IS COMING FOR THE PAST WEEK. AND THE WEEK AFTER THAT. And the week after that . . .

ANYWAYSO, here is the recipe for the Mega-Omelet, which let me tell, just reading the ingredients alone mad me feel full! Also, what do you do for your respective hangovers? Let me know in the comments!

I’ll have the next (& FINAL chapter of this installment) written and posted as soon as I can, so until then, eat hearty, everyone!

Oh, and enjoy your stay at the Hazbin Hotel . . .

[kingdaddydaichi]

☆ title: redefining (ch. 11) | ( ch. 10 ) ☆ ( ch. 12 - wip )

☆ pairing: cop!daichi sawamura x single mom!reader

☆ wc: 2.5k

☆ synopsis: four years after leaving your toxic ex, you find yourself a single mom to a 11-year-old boy named musubi, who harbors a lot of misdirected anger. you hear from his fifth grade teacher, mr. suga, more often than your own mother and a resulting friendship is born. meeting suga’s best friend wages a war between your head and your heart - one that challenges everything you think you know about love and police officers. neither are to be trusted. both have left you lost and scared when you needed them the most. so, when a cop comes knocking at love’s door, just how strong is your resolve to keep your heart under lock and key?

☆ warnings/notes: sfw. cop!daichi. mutual pining. angst. domestic disturbance. fear. idk like, the way daichi talks to subi might come across as patriarchal? but it's the way i feel like daichi would speak to him under the specific circumstances, how he knew he would get through to him. i am deeply sorry for the massive real-life time gap between chapters //sob. but i'm committed to finishing this series. my love for daichi and this story is settled deep inside my bones. I'M BACK BITCHES /aff 🫶🏼

she's falling in love now losing control now fighting the truth trying to hide but i think it's alright, girl yeah i think it's alright, girl

losin control - russ

Life can be a rip-roaring bitch sometimes, y'know?

The first week or so after your fallout with Daichi had been relatively easy. The fact that you were still angry at him helped a lot more than you'd have liked to admit. The battle to get him off your mind was constant, but all you had to do was remember the way his eyebrows angled inward when he yelled at you. You’d never seen him like that before and it had scared you, triggering your fight or flight response on top of the heart-wrenching pain of seeing him being a little too friendly with his ex.

But what you kept pushing down with all of your might was the fact that daichi was right. He had called you on everything you’d worked so hard to hide from him. The fact that he’d seen you so clearly scared you more than the look in his eyes when he raised his voice at you. He had been angry, yes. But a lot of hurt had weaved its way into his words as well.

Halfway through the second week, however, things started to go downhill. You found yourself reaching for your phone a couple of times to tell Daichi about something ridiculous or funny that had happened only for your fingers to stop short as your heart sank.

Oh. right. I'm not supposed to do that anymore.

You’d even tried venting to Suga about Daichi in hopes that he would validate you, but he wasn’t as sympathetic towards your plight as you would’ve liked: “But isn’t this what you wanted?” he'd said. “You’ve been saying that whatever the hell was going on between you two had an expiration date…” “You’re right. It’s probably better this way so you and Daichi can each find the people you wanna be with...” That last one had really dug deep - the thought of Daichi with anyone else made your heart splinter and your stomach wretch. But you had swallowed your heartache down with the lump in your throat and nodded with a meek “Yeah, exactly,” knowing deep in your bones that you didn’t mean a word of it. Suga knew it too.

The week after that was the week from hell. Crying in bed every night because you missed Daichi so much was made that much worse by your shitty week. Life could’ve just given you a normal week but NOPE. Every single day, multiple times a day, you’d pick up your phone to send him an angry text about your boss or the rude ass lady at the grocery store. Or the fact that some really, really important notarized legal documents got lost in the mail. Three trips to UPS, two trips to the post office, and $91.00 later the paperwork finally reached its intended destination via next day air. You wanted to ask him to arrest the incompetent twat who put your mailer on the wrong truck in the first place and then smile at his reaction. To top it all off, your son’s behavior had hit an all-time low. You’d been hoping that it would’ve improved after the disciplinary hearing, which Subi had attended as well but, if anything, his behavior at home had gotten worse too.

You wanted to call Daichi. You wanted him to come over and hold you as you curled into a ball against his chest. To feel his hands in your hair and his lips on your forehead telling you that ‘everything’s gonna be okay’. Because you’d believe it If Daichi was the one saying it. He’d make sure of it. But you couldn’t do any of those things and it made you cry. Like getting kicked when you’re already down.

Daichi didn’t have it much better. 

He’d called and apologized to Yui, who had called him a “fucking asshole”. There was the drunk driver who had puked on him while doing his field sobriety test (he probably deserved that, he’d guessed). Then there was the day he got stuck directing traffic in a torrential downpour. The police-issued waterproof ponchos had done nothing for his wet socks and the sloshing in his shoes. 

There were also all the little annoying things that kept happening to him - his washing machine quit working (mid-cycle, no less), he got a flat tire (in a different torrential downpour), he stubbed his toe one morning while getting out of bed (talk about a rude awakening) - nothing too serious but just enough to piss him off. 

The worst of it was finding out his mom had to be hospitalized for Covid. She had to be on oxygen, but the prognosis was good. She was expected to be okay and eventually make a full recovery, but of course it made him worry about her nonetheless.

And through every bit of it, you were on his mind. He missed you something fierce. But some of the things you’d said still weighed on his heart:

“...how cruel can you be?” “You’re not even my type.” “Just go back in there and fuck your ex-girlfriend!”

That last one had hurt the most. Did you really think that lowly of him to think he’d do that to you? 

To be fair, he also remembered some of the things he’d said to you:

“Would you have liked it better if i’d introduced you as my fuck buddy…?” “What? Not toxic enough for ya?” “...you don’t have to be a jealous girlfriend about it…!”

They made him cringe every time he remembered. Sometimes the words you had thrown at each other kept him up at night.

Tonight was one of those nights…

Daichi was reading in bed, trying to take his mind off of you when his phone buzzed on his nightstand. Thinking it must be work-related at this time of night, he picked it up to see who was calling. When he saw your name on the screen, his heart wanted to claw its way out of his chest. What could you possibly want? Best case scenario was you wanted to apologize, but that could wait until tomorrow. If you didn’t want him to make you a priority anymore, he was going to honor that. Worst case scenario was you were reaching out to him for another booty call, and he was done with that. 

Either way, he let your call go to voicemail, but just as he was about to put his phone back down, your text came through as three little numbers:

911

Daichi sat bolt upright and immediately tapped the call button. Halfway through the first ring, you answered. “Daichi?” You were crying and he could hear a young man’s voice yelling in the background.

He sat forward in his seat, wide brown eyes darting this way and that. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Subi,” you cried. There was a loud bang accompanied by a muffled sob from you. “He threatened to hurt me and now he’s throwing things…”

Before you could say anything else, daichi was on his feet, throwing on a pair of sweats and a hoodie before heading for his front door. “You at home?”

“Y-yes.” you were crying so hard you were wheezing. “Daichi, please…please help?”

“I’m on my way.” His voice was remarkably low and stern and comforting as he told you to go inside your bedroom, lock the door, and stay there. He made sure you didn’t have any injuries and stayed on the phone with you for the 10 mins it took for him to get there. It normally took twice that long to drive from his place to yours, but he had his blue lights on, going well over the speed limit. 

“Daichi, I’m so scared,” you sobbed. 

“I’m almost there, (y/n). Just five more minutes. Come on, deep breaths.” He talked you down enough that you weren’t crying as hard. “Alright, I’m here. Do you know if he’s still in the house?” 

“Yeah, I can hear him. But the front door is locked.” 

“Do you feel safe enough to come out of your room and open it?” 

You’d heard Subi’s voice getting further away and the slamming of his bedroom door. “Yeah, I think so.” 

You slowly came out of your room and hurried to the front door, nearly collapsing in Daichi’s arms when you swung it open. He hugged you and told you everything was okay. He walked inside slowly, noticing some broken glass and other, obviously thrown, objects on the floor, and called your son’s name. Your pre-teen came out of his bedroom to find a man he didn’t recognize standing in the living room. 

“Who’re you?” he asked. 

“I’m Daichi, a friend of your mom’s. You must be Musubi.” 

Musubi narrowed his eyes at him and shrugged in response. 

“What’s been going on, man?” 

Your son crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe it’s none of your business.” 

Daichi’s dark brown eyes remained steady on him. “Well, seeing as how your mom is my friend and she’s scared and crying, I’d say it is my business.” 

The boy rolled his eyes. “Whatever. It’s not that big of a deal-“ 

“Wrong again. Your mom doesn’t feel safe in her own home. That’s a problem. It’s just the two of you living here, right?” 

Subi shrugged. “Yeah, so?”

“Then that makes you man of the house, doesn’t it?” 

Your son’s eyes met Daichi’s for the first time since he first spoke to him. “Yeah, I guess.” 

“And as the man of the house, don’t you think it’s your job to protect everyone in it, including your mom?” 

The boy didn’t respond, but his facial muscles relaxed as he maintained eye contact with Daichi. He had his undivided attention now. He was speaking to him man to man and your son was listening intently. 

“It’s a big responsibility to be in your position,” Daichi went on, nodding towards you. “Your mother and her safety are under your watch. She doesn’t feel safe with you when you’re the one who’s supposed to be protecting her.” The off-duty police officer's voice remained calm and even as he tilted his head. “So tell me, Musubi: do you really think you’re qualified to be man of the house?” 

You watched and listened with awe as Daichi took command over the situation, showing Subi what it means to be in full control. He leveled with your son while making him feel validated and understood. Rather than telling Subi how he should talk to you, Daichi did far more by showing him what it means to be a good man; he was teaching Subi how to treat others with respect in the way he spoke to him - by demonstrating to him that you get respect from others by being respectable.

Your son’s gaze fell under the weight of Daichi’s words. His beliefs about what it means to be a “man” had just been challenged and shaken to the core. He thought it meant being loud and aggressive, lording over others, calling the shots and expecting others to submit to him - no doubt all the tactics he’d learned from watching his father. 

“You think you’re in control here? Because, from where I’m standing, it doesn’t look like it.” The boy’s gaze followed Daichi’s as he looked around at the broken items in the room before looking over at you, still trembling and sniffling. “If you lose control, it means you don’t have it, Musubi. It’s that simple. Do we have an understanding?” 

The boy’s eyes locked with Daichi’s again and he nodded. 

“Good man. Now,” Daichi said with quiet authority, “Clean up the mess you made.” It wasn’t a request.

“Yes, sir,” Subi murmured as he started picking up the pieces. 

You couldn’t believe the words that just came out of your son’s mouth. Yes, sir? You looked up at Daichi - The Musubi Whisperer - wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Never even raised his voice and had him under his complete command. 

“(Y/n), can I talk to you for a minute in the kitchen?” Daichi said it just loudly enough that your son could hear how his mother should be talked to - by asking, not demanding. 

“Of course.” You followed Daichi until your son was out of earshot, then whispered, “How the fuck did you just do that?” 

Daichi shrugged. “I’ve had a lot of experience. Oldest of 5 kids. Team captain. Cop.” You smiled and nodded, wiping the last of your tears away. He put a tentative hand on your shoulder. “You okay, (y/n)?” 

“I think so,” you sniffed, wiping your freshest tear away with your shirt sleeve. “I’m so sorry to have troubled you, but you were the first person i thought of-” 

Daichi shook his head and pulled you into his arms. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m glad you called me.”

Whether it was the catharsis from the highly charged situation or your need to feel Daichi close was irrelevant when you fastened yourself to him. Before you could think, your arms were around his waist and your head tucked against his chest. 

“Thank you,” you said, your shaky voice muffled by the warmth and weight of Daichi’s arms wrapping tightly around you.

“If it happens again, call me again. If you need anything at all, call me,” he said, rubbing your back. This was the Daichi you’d known all along and fucking hell, you missed him.

You tightened your hold around his waist. You were so immensely relieved to hear him say that. Maybe he still wanted to be the one you called. Just maybe he wanted to be the one you needed. 

“I will,” you said, nodding against his chest.

Before he left that night, he shook Subi's hand. “Take care of your mom.” 

“Yes, sir.” Holy hell, there it was again. Daichi hadn’t even told him to call him sir. Leastways, not with words. How did he do that?

“Do I have your word?” Daichi asked, squeezing Subi’s hand. “Yes, sir.”

“Alright, I’ll stop by in a couple days to see how things are going," he looked at you, "...if that's okay." 

Your son’s lips pursed as he fought back a smile as he watched you nod. “Okay.” 

After Daichi left, Subi said, “You should find a guy like him, Mom.”

Your mouth dropped open, your heart skipping a million beats. Your son had no idea who Daichi was, what he did for a living, or the highly complicated nature of your relationship with him. Finally, you smiled and said, “Yeah? He’s a good guy, huh?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “He’s alright.”

Your son turned to you with his shoulders slumped and tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Mom.” 

Your body shook with tears as you nodded against his shoulder. “I know, baby. I love you so much.” 

Subi squeezed you tighter as he told you he loved you too.

ch. 10 ☆ ch. 12 (wip)

series mlist | daichi mlist

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[corsairesix]

Fallout TV show thoughts

Spoilers ahead because I'm like, talking about the show and what happens in it.

The first two episodes are the strongest definitely. The vault dwellers being culty trad weirdos and the brotherhood being technofascists is a great return to form. But after that, the aspects of both of those tend to get subsumed into "Lucy and Max are naive"

Lucy and Max kinda stop having ideologies pretty quick. It's easier to accept with Max because he's shown from the beginning to be less interested into the technocult aspects of the Brotherhood but Lucy has fully drunk the vault kool-aid and that kinda becomes secondary to "she's from a vault so she's used to good people"

The central tension of "if it's life or death, you'll abandon your morals" vs "but we have to keep being better anyway" is a really popular one for post-apocalypse stories to tell, but it's kind of a boring Fallout story for me.

The early Brotherhood stuff really hits the sweet spot between the creepy ritualistic aspects and the fact that a lot of them are just shitty bullies. Titus going from the helmet voice to his normal voice was a really good scene.

Tangentially, I don't particularly care for Ghoulgins. I thought the pre-war plot with Walton Goggins was great, but with Ghoulgins it felt like every scene he was in he walks up to someone, snarls a bit, kills everyone present, and walks away with no variation.

The best part of episode 3 onwards was all of the stuff with young Steve Buscemi solving mysteries

I laughed at the fact that they did Kid in a Fridge 2, but after the fifth time or so that they played that clip it was increasingly obvious that it was the only backstory that Maximus had. We know exactly five-ish seconds of his life outside the story. And sure, part of that was that he's like, raised in a high-control cult, but so is Lucy and we learn a half-dozen hobbies that she has in the first minute.

Also is it just me or did they put one black guy in every scene where Max was getting his ass beat? So like, invoking a certain imagery for sure but not textually saying anything about racism, which seems like the worst of both worlds

There's a running textual and subtextual dichotomy between "innocence/naivete/ignorance" and "willingness to do violence" but it's undercut a little by how often characters screw up by doing violence because they were ignorant or naive

Lee Moldaver call me

(side note, I'm not a "wouldve been way better if at the end the Black Panther turned to the camera & said "i am communist now" & then specified hes the exact kind of communist i am" person, but honestly Fallout is allergic to ever depicting American communists. McCarthyism can only be bad if it's aimed at the wrong target.)

I just realized Sarita Choudhury was in Gawain and the Green Knight and she was really hot there too

I *really* liked the plot device of "Vault-Tec has a fiduciary responsibility to the end of the world" but I thought every company we know the name of sitting around a table and going "we're going to do the end of the world" was corny. I'm surprised Slocum Joe wasn't there to pitch an iced regulah and strawberry frahsted vault.

Slight tweak that could be more compelling--vault tec wants things to be bad/drive up paranoia to sell reservations, but they don't actually want the world to end. It's like an insurance company that wants you to be scared of disasters, but doesn't actually want to pay out. That's the exact type of corporate hubris I could see them trying to thread. And it still works with stuff like suppressing Moldaver's cold fusion.

Wait why was the cold fusion in that guy's head? They injected a similar thing into the dog, so I assumed at first he could like, psychically communicate with the dog and that's why the dog could track his head. But the dog was injected before the guy so like, did the dog just have general cold-fusion tracking software injected? Like I know it was an excuse to have Dogmeat IV, but I genuinely want to know if anyone knows the deal with that.

A good amount of stuff that turns me off of the show is that I genuinely find the post-post-apocalypse of some Fallout games more interesting than just post-apoc.

This show seemed less built up than even Fallout 4. All the locations seemed kinda disconnected from any sense of space. I cackled when the snake oil guy showed up to treat the guy's foot. He's not anywhere near the other two places we've seen him. Is this even his building?

"The Governmint" being two guys and their boss who looks like every wasteland mayor ever was really good. Good enough to wipe out Shady Sands? Jury's still out.

I'm not particularly mad about "they destroyed the NCR!" but I wish they did something interesting. I do like how Moldaver flies NCR flags. That was probably the most interesting element of it

[respectthepetty]

Make Shin Suffer for 35 Minutes!

Full disclosure: I like Guide. He is a good actor, but I like him aesthetically because he is beauty and grace, and I am desperately in love with his face, so my thoughts on Bake Me Please have always been biased meaning . . .

I loved the Bake Me Please special episode!

Shin is still a Black Brooder and a jerk.

And Guy is still fine and the obvious better choice.

But Shin is very much in love with his Blue Boy Peach and has started incorporating Peach's color into his wardrobe.

However, on the day he is finally able to see Peach due to Peach's busy schedule, our Black Brooder decides to wear pink! Because he is very much in love with Peach, and Peach picked this shirt for him.

But Blue Boy Peach doesn't give one eff and tells Shin to change back into his normal black then abruptly leaves.

Shin is worried Peach no longer loves him, but Atom assures Shin that Peach is very much in love with him, so much in fact that it makes Atom sick to his stomach.

But the entire friend group does suggest that perhaps Shin's boring ass personality is to blame for Peach's distance since Shin tends to bore them to death every single damn day.

So Shin sits on that honest truth, and with some convincing from his friends, he decides to surprise Peach.

He asks Peach if he is doing something on the 17th, which happens to be Shin's birthday, and Peach replies that day is a very important day.

Now, Shin is all kinds of excited as he bakes a Torta Caprese highlighted by the blue background for his Blue Boy.

But Peach doesn't show up claiming to be somewhere else celebrating someone else since Shin said he didn't want to do anything for his birthday, so we flashback to the boys asking what Peach wants to give Shin for his birthday, and he states he wants to sleep with Shin.

The entire table is shooketh by this way-too-much-information truth!

But what Peach means is he wants to sleep with Shin every night in their bed in their home as in he wants to move in with Shin. Once Atom fully recovers from the scary thought of someone wanting to have sex with Shin, he immediately questions his friend's sanity by reminding him that Shin is, well, Shin, and who the hell would want to willingly live with Shin? (remember that his brother had a crush on Shin, so Atom is definitely holding grudges, and I love it)

Then, Atom proceeds to list all of Shin's shitty quality WITH supporting examples.

And tries one more time to help his friend see the light before he ends up married to this man with a mortgage, a kid, and a dog named Ruffles. *shudders at the thought*

But Peach is Peach and double downs on his BIG feelings for Shin, so the guys decide to help Peach be less weak for that jerk and devise a plan to make Shin suffer for reasons that I think are totally valid since they just want to see Shin in pain which who wouldn't?, but they do this under the guise of forcing Shin to see how much he wants Peach around.

But the problem is Peach is ready to cave the second Shin texts him.

The guys know how to handle this and take Peach's phone away and threaten him to stay strong so they can all reap the benefits of watching Shin possibly cry.

It's a constant battle, but the boys remain steadfast in their goal of making Shin pay for all the shit he put them (AND ME) through for six episodes.

But I do appreciate that Peach recognized how fine Shin looked in that pink!

Finally, the big day is here, and Shin is peak Sad Boy energy and probably listening to Drake's "In My Feelings" on repeat, so, of course, the fam is ecstatic and very pleased that their plan to make Shin lay on the floor in the fetal position worked in Peach's favor!

But they pull one more stunt and decide to change the writing on Peach's cake to say "I'll give you a good time tonight" instead of "I want to live together" which would have matched Shin's cake.

Basically, they are doing the Lord's work!

And everybody wins including my light x dark duo!

But especially the audience because we deserved to see Shin miserable for 35 minutes, and we also deserved to see Shin lift Peach on that counter, and . . . eff it! Just enjoy the visual.

And I'll enjoy my Oab x Guy crumb.

I needed this, and I deserved it!

[new-tella-us]

Alright. No art. Just positive rant. The entire point of my redesigns was me being slightly annoyed at the designs and story of Seduce Me and having way too much positive nostalgia to be normal about this game. I love-hate this game. However! The one thing I will never, never shit talk Seduce Me for is its characters. The main six love interests (Yes I am counting Diana as a main love interest. Thank Demon War for that) are all so well written! I genuinely love them. Even Sam, my least favorite character, isn’t boring. I don’t dislike him for being a bad character, I dislike him because the tsundere trope annoys me.

But this isn’t a rant about the characters as a whole. This is a rant about Damien. Let me rave for a second. Because as melodramatic as his backstory is, it got me hook, line and sinker. I am convinced that either Michaela had a period of being obsessed with Damien or some redheaded fuck boy named Damien pissed her off so much that she made him into a character just to make him suffer. This boy is tragic!

Like b r o, all the other boys’ backstories can be summed up with “The palace life is boring, my dad is kinda shitty and I got one other, reoccurring, minor inconvenience” and then there’s Damien being like- “My mom suffered as my dad’s harem girl until she couldn’t take it anymore and tried to murder me before killing herself. Also my dad is extra shitty to me. He tried to kill me a few times. Food? That’s a luxury. Energy? I’m used to not having it. A room? What is that? Please let me become human because mind reading kinda sucks, oh wait, I only got a 1 out of 6 shot for that ending. And I’m not even the canon ending!”

And another thing! Matthew’s main bad ending has traumatized me for multiple reasons but that line, “That’s what you get for making me go to the human world” after he kills Damien! Now, Matthew is a favorite of mine, but in that moment, I wanted to shake that little bitch until his soul evacuated his body! Like, I don’t care that he was being controlled, how d a r e he come firing shots at Damien when all he wanted was a good life away from his abusive ass dad!? Bro Damien may have been the illegitimate child but at that moment Matthew was the bastard.

Tragic…

On a different, lighter note, I do love the sort of contrast between him and Matthew, at least on the topic of “naivety”. Of the two, you expect the fun loving, goofball to be the naive, kind of innocent one. But that’s not the case. Matthew is optimistic, Damien is innocent. Matthew knows what he wants and while the world is a wonder to him, he goes about the world with this sort of maturity, knowing what he wants to see and when. Damien is more of the spacey type. There is this level of inexperience to how he grasps the world as if he can’t even believe that it can exist. Plus, as much as he has an idea of what he wants to see, sometimes he feels like he must ask permission. Like in the New Years Episode where if you go on Damien’s route, he asks “Can we do this every year?”.

In conclusion, I want to wrap Damien into a blanket burrito and tell him that everything is going to be okay. And then take him to therapy because this man probably has C-PTSD. As my friends would say, I am mentally ill for this demon equivalent of a sad, wet dog.

[fckyouiwontdowhatyoutellme]

Okay. Fuck it. I said I'll get it done until the weekend but considering I'll make it into 3 parts now, have part 2 of 'Sanji having a tattoo and Zoro being super normal about it' before writers block kicks my ass again.

Pt. 1 can be found here

This part gets a bit horny and also kinda emotional....at least as emotional as these idiots can get. Enjoy😊

For a few moments the bathroom was silent enough to hear a pin drop. Then hell broke loose, or rather Sanji broke loose. With a kick to Zoro's stomach he tried getting the green haired man off him.

"The hell is wrong with you? Did all that moss on your head finally grow into your brain or what?!" he screamed. But the swordsman didn't move, eyes fixed on the tattoo. Sanji cleared his throat, aiming for another kick. "Mosshead, I'm talking to you!" he tried wriggling free but it was no use. Zoro still held both his hands in an iron grip with one hand, while the other reached out towards his chest as if the sentient seaweed was in a trance, unfamiliar gently tracing over the rose. It took everything in Sanji not to shiver at this.

"You know..." Zoro started, his fingers still tracing over the tattoo. "I really hoped you weren't that dumb. Tattooing some random girl's name, fucking stupid!" as soon as the last word left Zoro's mouth, he found himself splashing backwards into the bathtub. Maybe he should have seen that one coming. "Bet her reaction was comparable to yours right now, am I right?" Zoro asked as he hoisted himself upon the ledge of the tub. The shitty cook made an angry noise at that, stomping over to the swordsman.

Crossing his arms Sanji gave Zoro an angry stare. "What happened to asking about it like a good boy, huh? Instead you barge in here like a perv and assume you know shit about what I conciously put on my body! I didn't know what I expected from someone who only has alcohol poisoned moss for brains, but it certainly wasn't this!" he yelled, contemplating to just kick the shitty swordsman back into the tub. At least that would take care of his personal hygiene. Already raising his leg towards his opponents head, he noticed that the shithead wasn't even looking at him anymore. Ignorant bastard. Instead the green haired idiot was staring towards the ceiling and was that a blush on his cheeks? For a moment Sanji wanted to blame that on the overall temperature inside the bathroom, then he finally realised that he was still entirely naked and the swordsman literally had a front row seat to see his dick right now.

As soon as the shitty cook raised his leg towards Zoro, all thoughts left his brain. This sight was better than anything his imagination ever produced. Long legs still dripping with water, muscles flexing, ready to deliver a painful kick. He wished to feel them wrapped around himself, to mark them up with bites, kiss along them up to...No. As much as he wanted to appreciate those powerful thighs and everything between them some more, this was not the right moment. It took all his willpower to look at the ceiling instead of the very exposed cook infront of him. Why did he even go through with this stupid idea? He should just walk out and forget this ever happened, the cook wouldn't let him live it down anyway. Speak of the devil, said shitty cook shook out of his momentary stupor to grab Zoro's chin and force him back to eye level with himself. "First of all, my eyes are here mon chou" he almost purred with newfound confidence and Zoro felt heat curl in his stomach. "And second, you still haven't asked to see me like this, it's not that hard...unlike you".

Sanji didn't really know what he expected from teasing the mossball or where he took his sudden confidence from but he was still surprised when a callussed hand grabbed his wrist and a dangerous growl escaped the swordsman. "Don't fucking talk to me like that! I'm none of your hopeless flirts curlybrows!" he hissed, guiding Sanji's hand aways from his face. "I've already seen it now so there's no need to ask anyways!" Zoro sounded different as he said that, tho Sanji couldn't quite pinpoint why. This entire situation was too weird for them to think about such little details now. He never thought the swordsman would stoop as low as this just to see his tattoo. But here he sat infront of Sanji dripping wet and with a very visible boner. This was the weirdest thing of all and the blond had to dig very deep through his memories to not match the swordsman in his compromising position (For once he was glad to have seen his old man in the rattiest pair of underwear known to mankind). He wouldn't give the mosshead that satisfaction. Not yet at least. For now he wanted to sort through this mess that startet shortly after he joined the Strawhats and maybe finally tell the truth about the name over his heart. The swordsman didn't seem to buy the lie of Sanji getting the name tattooed for a random girl, so truth it had to be. Goddamn shitty marimo and the things his presence did to Sanji. He needed a cigarette. Or three. For now he settled on a deep sigh.

"Alright marimo, this is ridiculous even for us. Take care of your little problem and then find me in the galley. If I'm gonna tell you about this, at least I wanna wear pants" with that the cook yanked his hand out of Zoro's grip and made his way out the door. Zoro sighed. The love cook was right. This whole thing was ridiculous. The only thing he himself got out of it was the most embarrasing boner of his life and uncomfortably cliging wet clothes. He waited until he heard Sanji's steps retreat, then quickly took care of the problem in his pants. After cleaning himself as good as possible and wringing out his clothes he made his way to the galley. Hopefully all this shit was worth it, he just wanted to know wich poor girl was forever stamped on the cook's chest and if it was something he could use against him. With a teasing grin Zoro swung open the galley door. "So, who's the unlucky lady on your chest curlybrows?" he asked and settled on the couch. The cook already looked ready to kick him again and took a long drag of his cigarette. Oh this would be a fun story to hear.

"Will you finally stop with that assumptions you shithead? And maybe apologize first for spying on me" Sanji hoped he could stall for a bit, still contemplating to tell Mossball the same lie as anyone else. But he said it himself. He knew Sanji wasn't stupid enough to do something like this. And why was that idiot so determined to see it anyways. That was the question that drove Sanji insane the most. "Well shitty swordsman? I'm not hearing an apology and why are you so dead set on seeing my tattoo anyways, hm?" if he was to answer the swordsman, he also had some things to explain first. Sanji watched the still slightly wet marimo opening and closing his mouth like a fish, all while looking like doing the hardest mental gymnastics. Maybe it was mean to force Zoro into telling, considering he didn't like to talk about personal things. No. No, for once he had to explain himself no matter how uncomfortable it made him. Sanji was right there with him anyways. After a while, Zoro finally decided to speak.

"Well, I was just curious I think" he managed to get out. It was only half the truth but he wasn't ready to tell the shitcook the entire reason why. Zoro's eyes flicked around the kitchen, he couldn't look at the blond in front of him. Not when the images from the bathroom were still fresh in his mind. He never thought to see the cook like this close up and it was a sight to behold. Nope. Full stop. That train of thought had to wait until this conversation was over. He wished he could stand up and get some Sake, that always made talking easier. But noticing the ashtray on the counter filled with cigarette butts he at least knew he wasn't alone in his nervousness.

Sanji sighed. "Curious? That's what you call spying on me in the shower? I'd call it being a creep" he said pointing his cigarette at Zoro.

"If anyone's a creep it's definetly you curls. Seeing as you got some random girl's name tattooed" Zoro grumbled out, not caring for the shitty cook's sharp intake of breath.

"Will you stop with that? Have you even considered that it could not be a random girl?" Sanji had a hard time trying to keep his voice calm.

Zoro huffed out a half hearted laugh. "Well then, enlighten me cook! I already asked you once but you didn't answer me. So go ahead, now is the time"

"First off: you were drunk off your ass when you asked me, I doubt you'd even remember it if I told you back then. Second: unless you apologize, I won't tell you shit!" by now Sanji didn't even care if he was yelling. Sometimes that was the only way of communication the mossball infront of him understood.

"Fine shit cook! I'm sorry for being curious about your stupid tattoo! Now tell me who the poor girl on your chest is" Zoro yelled back and narrowly escaped another kick aimed at him.

Sanji took another deep breath. The mossball had sort of apologized and he was getting tired of his stupid assumptions, so now it was all or nothing. "It's my mother's name, shithead!" he said in a calm and measured tone that even surprised himself.

That left Zoro stunned. He blinked, opened his mouth, blinked again and closed his mouth.

Sanji took the last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out in the overflowing ashtray. "Bet that never crossed your mind, eh marimo?" he asked looking at a still very much speechless Zoro that looked like he was questioning his entire being right now. It made him kinda nervous. Sanji never thought that the first person, besides Zeff, to know about his tattoo would be the stupid moss haired swordsman that is Roronoa Zoro. He basically bared a part of his soul to the one person he knew could destroy him with this knowledge.

After a few more seconds that felt like hours, Zoro finally found his voice again. "Shit, curls....'m sorry" he mumbled, looking anywhere but the cook. Feeling his curiosity come back he added: " Why didn't you tell the others?".

Sanji leaned against the counter, already fumbling with his next cigarette. "Dunno, they never questioned my cover story. I'm sure at least Robin-chan and Nami-san know it's not the truth but they never pressured me for an answer, unlike you dumbass." he chuckled. "The others would probably never believe you if you told them what I told you"

Zoro nodded. "Wouldn't have told them anyways" he said, decidedly not acknowledging the cook's provokation. Sure curlybrows mostly was an idiot but that didn't mean Zoro would tell his secret to everyone. He still had some sense of honor.

"Thanks, mon chou" the words fell out of Sanji's mouth before he could stop himself, mentally cursing the unusual fond tone of his voice. He blamed the weird time of night for it and hoped Zoro would ignore it like his jab towards him. Unfortunately luck wasn't on his side.

"Anytime curls, thanks for trusting me with that" came Zoro's equally fond reply. The atmosphere between him and the cook was weird enough anyways, so what. The blond lowered his guard, so Zoro could too even tho he didn't like how mushy he sounded. Like a lovesick teenager, wich was technically the truth but he didn't really want to put that kind of feeling into the conversation right now and risk making things even weirder. So he decided to test his luck, maybe the cook would tell him some more. "How was she? Your mom, I mean" he asked, playing with the hem of his still damp shirt. Sanji looked at him like he'd grown three heads.

"Why the sudden interest in my family mossball?" Sanji asked. That question was decidedly too personal for the two of them and considering he wanted to keep his family history hidden from the world. His crew knew enough about him already. Zoro just shrugged at him. "Well marimo, I'm still mad at you for what happened in the shower so why should I tell you? Also it's late, I have to get up early and I believe you still have a night watch to get back to" with that he made his way to the door, running away from the question like a coward. "Good night!" he added before leaving the galley.

Zoro was left sitting on the couch, suddely very aware of his damp clinging clothes and the ruined moment between him and the cook. Damn this pretty blond bastard and his ability to scramble everything in Zoro's brain. And damn Zoro too for handling emotional matters with the grace of a bull in a china shop. Grumbling about Sanji and himself he made his way back to the crows nest where he stewed in his thoughts for the rest of the night.

[cherryy-slushy]

I Will Never Fall in Love Again~ Yandere!Jason Dean

TW: Violence, cheating, abuse (alcohol related), smut?, alcohol, drugging, using (using a person for something), bad mental health. (Also I may change to personal pronouns halfway through I apologise in advance.)

Part 1!

Part 2

Enjoy!

Your an average person. You have a normal amount of friends, a bit of childhood trauma but an average life now, average looks and average grades. You’re no Heather. But, recently you started to wish more and more that you were. And here’s why.

Y/N has English first class, she was tired as any sane person would be. Your teacher was also majorly upbeat for 8:50 am on a Monday morning. What is she hopped up on?

Y/N looked over to her side. Great Christine isn’t in again. She rolled her eyes knowing this class is going to drag on because of the absence of her friend. She isn’t entirely close with Christine, but she still helps her get through English without loosing the plot.

She snapped out of her trance when she heard her name get called on the registration.

“Y/N?”

“Here”, She said in a blank tone.

“Perfect”, the teacher replied in a chirpy tone.

As she went back into a daydream she kicked back into reality when she heard a knock on the classroom door. Jesus Christ you know it’s a bad class when you find any way to not listen for one second.

She looked to the door as it opened. Through the open door came a deviously handsome boy. I’m talking a guy that would have girls swooning.

“Ah you must be Jason!”, Ms Fleming chirped. “Yep, that’s me”, he replied back, clearly trying to be polite but just sounding sarcastic. Y/N tried so hard not to snort at this.

In the corner of her eye she saw Veronica sawyer. Veronica shifted in her seat suddenly intrigued by the stranger. I turn my head to face her and roll my eyes. I don’t dislike Sawyer, she’s lovely, but it is pretty shitty that she dumped her only friend of nearly 11 years to be a part of the “popular” gang.

I face back up to where the boy and Ms Fleming we’re stood.

“Y/N, Christine isn’t in today is she?”, Ms Fleming asked. “No, she’s not”, I respond, remembering the tragic disappearance of my friend. Okay, maybe I’m being dramatic but this class sucks ass. I need someone to help me through the day.

“Perfect”, she said clapping her hands together, “Jason, go take a seat down there next to Y/N. Y/N raise your hand please.”

I raise my hand a small bit but not too high. Jason starts walking down the class and plomps his bag down next to the edge of the table. I try act nonchalant even though inside I’m dying. I return to scribbling incoherent nonsense onto a refill pad.

In the corner of my eye I see him look at my face and then down to my refill pad as he cocks his eyebrow.

Shit I forgot to change the page…

The sheet I was using was a page another friend of mine and I used to pass each other notes in science class. So yes, there is a massive…willy.. on there…. A very graphic image of one too..

I quickly snap the refill pad shut and pretend to listen to Ms Pauline Fleming ranting about S.E Hintons writing. She was talking about hawkes harbour.

“Im more an outsiders guy myself”, I hear a deep yet somehow high voice whisper too me. I look over at him and see him looking up at Ms Fleming.

“You’ve read the outsiders?”, I asked with a small smile starting to appear on my face.

“Have I read the outsiders? Well duh. Who hasn’t darling?”, he replies back with a small chuckle.

“Tell me, are you more a Ponyboy or Johnny person”, I asked. You can tell a lot about someone from their favourite characters movie.

“Dally”, he replied. “May not be the answer you were looking for but it’s an answer.”

I like this guy

We spoke about the outsiders for a bit longer and before I knew it the bell rang. We both started to stuff out stuff into our bags and before either of us could say anything Veronica Sawyer swoops in.

“Hey. I’m Veronica, Veronica sawyer. What’s your name?”, she asked with a polite smile. “Greetings and salutations, Veronica, Veronica Sawyer. I’m Jason, Jason Dean. JD for short.”, he smirked back.

Oh fuck, am I gonna have my heart broken by this boy.

I started getting bored of them because let’s be honest, who would want to stand there and listen to the boy she’s already starting to have feelings for talk to one of the most beautiful girls in school who is clearly swooning for him and he is clearly swooning for her. Doesn’t seem like a very fun conversation too listen too.

As I walked out I looked back to see if he noticed I left. Nope. He didn’t. Great. I kept walking down the hall and into my next class. Today is going to drag on.

[therealjackdsaf]

THE ENTIRE PLOT OF DEAD PLATE

tw for mentions of cannibalism and injury

yes i know i mixed up ending 3 and 4 i don't care

okay so this one bisexual FRUITCAKE OF A MAN named Rody gets a job at a fancy ass restaurant in 1960's france. his boss (vincent) looks like a sentient corpse and looks literally so mentally ill its funny. first day: nothing weird happens, so rody goes home, tries to call his ex, and goes to sleep. second day: it's raining and he's stupid so he bikes through the rain really fast and gets soaked. vincent dries his hair off. he goes home after work and tries to call his ex. he has a NIGHTMARE!!! i think they start on the second day anyways he wakes up and goes to work and vincent is like "dude are you okay you look ill." and rody's like "i had a nightmare :(" and vincey-wincey is like "damn rip haha" and you can interact with vincent now so you can ask him a few things i dont remember what they are. anyways day 3 your gf still won't pick up and the trash bags are bloody when you take them out in the morning. SPEAKING OF THAT rody drops the trashbag (which is full of guts) and vince slaps him. day 4 rody walks into the kitchen to take out the trash and vince is holding a cook above a flaming stove. day 5 the cook isn't there and you're nearing the end of the week and vince is hiding in his office. if you look at a hole in the wall you see his eye staring out into the resturaunt. spooky. day 6 he calls and he's like "hey wanna come to a dinner party" and if you say no you continue the week and quit your job. you call your ex but she doesn't pick up.

ending 1: table for one.

if you do decide to go, vincent didn't invite you to a dinner party for fun, he invited you to cater his guests. fun. we find out vincent lost his sense of taste when he was younger, so he's a miserable cook. you meet a college friend, look at vince's shitty bathtub, and steal a freezer key. when exiting to his living room you notice the knife from his kitchen is gone and when talking his arm is behind his back the whole time... he doesn't attack you. yet. if you go into the freezer the next day, you find a sausage making thing. there's meat on the table next to it, and locket. the locket has a picture of you and your girlfriend. that meat isn't animal. vince knocks you out. you wake up locked in the freezer. if you don't have the matches, you struggle until vince comes in and kills you.

ending 2: best served cold.

if you bought the matches, you can burn the ropes holding you and escape the room by turning off the freezer and breaking the door. you interact with a plate of food and vince leaves his office, shocked to see you escaped. he bites off your ear and tells you that he doesn't eat normally- he can't stand it, everything tastes the same- and that him cooking your girlfriend wasn't for him. it was for you. you were supposed to enjoy it! he itneracts with oyu again and if you don't push him away, he stabs you and takes you to the freezer to kill you.

ending 3: abattoir.

if you run into his office and grab a broken wine glass, you fatally wound vincent. you go into the freezer, grab some cooking oil, and cover the whole resturaunt in it. then, you take out your matches...

ending 4: best served hot.

[tottymatsuno]

how would ichi make his pp presence known >:)c

nsfw!!! for brittany! self insert so uses ha name and such!

This stupid ass phone. Ichimatsu glares at it, sitting heavy and sweaty in his palms. Why the fuck did he even get this damned thing, his eyes swirl, he can’t breathe, his face is flushed and Ichimatsu’s two seconds from pulling down his boxers and fucking shitting on the table.

All the heat in his body is burning him directly where it sits, heavy in his sweats, urging his palms to attend to his needs.

“I’ve gotten a few dick pics, but never from anyone I’ve liked.”

“What about you, do you have any to send?”

Ichimatsu’s heart is racing. It’s beating so hard that he’s sure you can hear it from your bedroom across town.

What the fuck is he supposed to say? How is Ichimatsu supposed to play this game of 4D chess? What if this is a test? What if you block him immediately after he sends one? What about angles? Lighting? How to make his weird dick not so weird? Ichimatsu got this fucking phone for you, and now you’re going to render it useless because he’s too excited?! You might as well tell him to quit his job too, and kill himself since the punishment you’re asking for in exchange — Ichimatsu’s too inexperienced for this!

Instead he breaks open a shitty little notebook, and scribbles a dick in order to ease the tension. Next time he sees you! Next time, Ichimatsu thinks panting. Next time he’ll let you grip his hair, and force whatever you want on him! He won’t resist, but Ichimatsu needs to be passive so he knows without doubt, that you want Ichimatsu back.

With a click, carefully framed so you see the shadow of Ichimatsu’s true feelings erect on the dingy paper, he sends it over.

“Like what you see?” Ichimatsu asks, already cringing.

“Aw, I wanted to see the real thing.”

“Haha perv. I’ll send you a dick pic.” Another beat passes and Ichimatsu sketches out a more serious version, he even uses his real cock as a reference, when you respond. “Is that what your dick really looks like?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy?” Ichimatsu hopes he gets bonus points. Notice that I used your phrase. I watched that video, I learned it. Praise me.

You don’t reply within a half second, so that’s too slow. The shame eats him away like a moth, he needs an out.

“I gotta go to bed though, see you tomorrow at your place, at 5PM. I’ll be there when you get off work.”

“That’s specific. Good night.”

Ichimatsu’s body pillow is taken out, a rare appearance when he usually reserves it for Christmas related loneliness. He hides in the night to rub himself normal, every time he remembers, then clicks his screen open to let his fantasies return. As many times as Ichimatsu can until he’s exhausted in the morning.

After that it’s a waiting game.

What if you fuck him? Ichimatsu thinks, at the bath house. Then when he’s using his entire allowance to order you food, and when he buys your favorite snacks. When he’s standing in line, thoughts full of cotton candy affection, and having his virgin ass dominated in the most romantic way possible. He keeps remembering the image you sent a while ago, with two girls.

He can’t wait til you tilt his chin and make him drink from the carton of milk.

So when 5PM rolls around, Ichimatsu stands outside of your door when 4:59 becomes 5 exactly when he knocks.

You open the door fairly quickly, right when Ichimatsu’s knocking transitions to banging on the frame. The second he sees your face, Ichimatsu melts.

“Right on time.” You smile before commenting, “You nearly scared me half to death. I was wondering who was hitting my door like that. I was gonna call the cops!”

Ichimatsu swallows, then opens his mouth, then swallows again. “Sorry.”

“Alright, don’t do it again.” You exit your house, pushing right into Ichimatsu’s space. “Let’s go,”

“…Go where?”

“Gotta pick up groceries.”

That’s how Ichimatsu ends up riding shotgun in your SUV, thinking on repeat “Touch me, Brittany. Touch me.” In semi-patient anticipation.

He’s pushing the cart, hoping to remind you of last nights conversation even though it seems like you’ve forgotten it. Ah…a banana?

Ichimatsu watches you weigh a bunch. He plucks a random one after you set it in the cart. “It’s kinda like…”

His fingers wrap around the fruit like he was about to play with himself, “But not this length…”

Does that give him a pass? Is that flirting? Is that good enough? Do you hate him?

The expression on your face ignites Ichimatsu from head to toe, he can’t look at you too long or else he’ll combust.

He can’t speak for the rest of the trip, instead Ichimatsu’s tongue wants to swallow itself. So he dissociates until Ichimatsu’s helped put up all your food, until he’s eating the lunch you brought over, until you pragmatically hand him a toothbrush, until he’s spitting out the mouthwash, and until his hands are braced on your hips - wait, this is good place to start paying attention again!

Ichimatsu’s pressed back against your bathroom counter, and you’re kissing his neck feverishly. “That feels nice.” He sighs, he’s holding onto you for dear life while your body contours between his thighs.

“I just want to prepare you though,” Ichimatsu mumbles out mid moan, god you’re gripping his hair in order to access his throat. You teeth graze against his shivering neck, “It’s actually not that great.”

Your hand slips down to feel Ichimatsu through the fabric of his sweatpants.

“My dick, that is.” He loves you.

“So keep that in mind, don’t get disappointed.” Your smile is so bewitching, when you return to kiss Ichimatsu on the lips. You only say three words in between breaths, “I won’t be.”

“You say that now.”

You slowly begin to sink to your knees, and Ichimatsu keeps his mouth shut when you pull his waistband down.