Villain, 96

“Hey, Levi.”

Levi started, but looked a little relieved when he saw Derek. He’d been sitting at a table in the library masturbating. There were only two tables, so it wasn’t like it was hard to find him. “Hi, Derek. I’m not in your way, right?”

Derek shook his head, sitting down next to Levi. “Never,” he said with a smile. He hadn’t known that Sam and Henry were planning to come back from their meeting with a new boy. A new clan member.

Villain, 92

“That went better than I thought it would,” Henry said, as they stepped into the tackiest room Clan Cween had in their objectively tacky fort, which they self-importantly called a castle. The whole thing was smaller than Arkhewer Manor and they only owned it because it had been derelict and nobody else had wanted it, which was apparently something sorcerer clans just liked to do. But they called it their castle and had decorated it with a lot of swooping black curtains and wrought iron.

Sam snorted, pausing just perceptibly as Henry shut the door. He held out his arms for Henry to undress him. “It went on forever,” he muttered, sounding tired rather than angry. “It shouldn’t take four hours just to talk about an alliance.”

“No, but it might take four days at this rate.”

Coming Home

Twig was washing his hair after practice when a basketball hit him in the head.

“Ow,” he said, playing up his stagger a little so that whoever had thrown as basketball at him in the freaking shower would feel super bad and offer him conciliatory blowjobs or something. He could get blowjobs in the team shower easily enough, but conciliatory blowjobs were the third best kind of blowjob to receive after congratulatory blowjobs and sleepy hung over blowjobs at six in the morning.

“Sorry man,” said Archie, coming over and picking the ball up.

“Oh, it’s fine, just a mild concussion, happens all the time,” Twig said with a grin that communicated very clearly that this was a problem that could be cured with a direct injection of his dick into Archie’s mouth. “Can I ask why there’s a basketball in the showers? There are more than enough balls in here already and we struggle enough with the basketball/actual ball distinction as it is.”

Noble, 27

“You ready for bed?”

Uri shook his head, leaning on Geoffrey’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Geoffrey said, helping him sit. “You’re ready for bed.”

“If I’m old enough to be your hostage, I’m old enough not to have a bedtime,” Uri complained, as Geoffrey stood up.

“You’re old enough for plenty of things,” Geoffrey promised him. “But hostages go to bed when they’re told.” He picked Uri up, holding him lengthwise. “Come on, Fabien.”

The Life of A Renegade Is Hard, But Not for the Reasons You’ve Been Led to Believe

John was in a pissy mood, and he knew it. He’d been snapping at his sister and snarking at his parents for a few days now, enough that they were mostly leaving him alone. He knew he was being childish, he really did. But he was also pissed off.

He’d made two artificial souls. Literally made them from nothing but power and ideas, in a shed. He’d had to anchor them to his own, but he’d done it. That was so hard it was basically impossible, and John had done it. And he’d put them into two corpses that he’d had lying around, and John had created life. Artificial life.

And then it had been stolen from him. Some creature called the Sea King had shown up out of nowhere, ruined the nice piracy gig John had had going on, and stolen Hammerhead and Alanna. Broken his control over them, made off with them, and turned them into his servants instead of John’s.

John had made the necromantic breakthrough of a lifetime and it had been stolen from him by some asshole with nice teeth. And he’d gone there. He’d followed the thread that connected him to Hammerhead and Alanna, and he’d gone there to negotiate to get them back. And he’d been met with an offer to work for the Sea King. As a servant.