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Demon who is gonna need some ice cream to cope with this.

Previous Series

Lilith adjusts her glasses, leafing through a stack of papers.

"Brizora, I take no joy in saying this, but if you don't shape up you're going to fail my class." She says, frowning tightly. "Your work is sloppy, you-" She glances at the girl's cleavage. "-flagrantly disregard dress code, you cause disruptions constantly when you can be bothered to atten- are you smoking in my office?"

Brizora takes a slow pull from her cigarette, exhaling into Lilith's face.

"So what if I am? You gonna stop me?"

Lilith blinks, aghast, and sets her jaw.

"Brizora, I want all my students to succeed, but you are just determined not to listen, aren't you?" She says, getting out of her seat.

"Maybe you need to be less boring?" Brizora suggests, rolling her eyes and placing her cigarette back between her lips.

"Maybe-" Lilith hisses, wrapping Brizora's tie into her fist and yanking it tight. "-you need some harsher discipline."

"H-Hey, leggo-" She protests, as she's pulled out of her chair and rammed against the edge of Lilith's desk. Her cigarette almost falls from her lips, and Lilith plucks it away and takes a drag.

"I think it's time you were reminded who's in charge here." She husks, acrid smoke billowing from her lips. She holds the cigarette just below the hem of Brizora's short skirt, taps a bit of hot ash onto her bare thigh.

Brizora jerks and inhales sharply at the burn. "F-Fuck you, bitch-"

Lilith smiles, fangs glinting in the dim light of her office. She-

"LILIIIIIIIIIIIITHHHHH!!!" Comes a cry from the hall, rapidly increasing in volume.

She lets go of Brizora, the two of them dropping their roleplay as Tinixi bursts through her door.

"Tini?" Brizora asks.

"Tinixi dearest, what's wrong!?"

Tinixi just buries herself into Lilith's arms, sniffling and hiccuping as she struggles to speak. Brizora slips in behind her, sandwiching her in a hug. What in the hells could have upset her like this?

"Breathe, Tini." Lilith instructs, panicked. "Tell me what happened."

"Th-There-" She gasps, distraught. "There's an angel in the courtyard and everyone who sees it is freaking out and crying and I didn't look but a lot of the other girls did and it's so so bad out there you have to do something Mistress!"

"Oh, shit."

Jesus fucking Christ man.

It’s really fucking weird how it seems those kind of “nuh huh actually you’re doing a racism” type of asks are almost always targeting POCs and never people like me (white) (I know why).

"Maybe they're not all so bad," Johan says grudgingly, over a foaming stein. "They work hard. And that one that keeps hanging around, Rip."

"Seems very taken with you," Gregor says.

"It's just like when we go through the small villages, sometimes," Johan says, staring into the taproom hearth. "You know, the young boys, they run along by the wagon and shout, all excited to see soldiers. Rip is—" he takes a long swallow of beer. "Rip is a good lad," he finishes, almost defiantly.

Gregor is silent for a minute.

"Johan," he says eventually, "you remember when it was the Red Wolf Company? And we had that one fellow, you know, the one who was funny about werewolves?"

"What are you talking about," Johan grunts irritably. "The Red fucking Wolf — you mean Sebastian? It wasn't werewolves, he was sworn to slay vampires. Said they'd killed his father. Though between you and me, I think his father just went out to buy tobacco one day and found another home to go home to, if you take my meaning—"

"No, no. The fellow who was funny about werewolves," Gregor says, earnestly pulling exaggerated faces. "Wilson, that was it, Wilson."

"Oh, Wilson. I remember Wilson, yes. No, he wasn't funny about them at all. Didn't he want to fuck them?"

"Yes! He was funny about wanting a great big hairy monster to ravage him," Gregor says meaningfully.

Johan grunts. "What happened to him, anyway," he says. "Did he find one, or what?"

"Arrow to the throat," Gregor says, and they both drink and look at the fire. "Anyway, Johan. Rip's, you know, fully grown, for a kobold?"

"He's half my size," Johan says.

"Not all that big, even for one of them," Gregor agrees. "You know, if Wilson had ever found a werewolf, one of those would be, what, twice his size maybe?"

Johan grunts and shrugs.

"Rip's very attached to you—"

"I have a fatherly air to look up to," Johan says, scowling.

"Johan, you woodentop," Gregor says, "I am telling you that Rip is like Wilson, all right? Ungeheuerficker. With the wanting a big, hairy—"

"Rip?" Johan says, wide-eyed, nearly spilling his beer.

"Yes!"

The man considers the drink in his hand, and takes a healthy gulp. "I can't fathom it," he says solemnly. "Why, a werewolf is twice as big as me!—"

"Yes," Gregor says, resignedly. "Never mind."

"What a brave little lad," Johan says shaking his head.

"I also think Rip's not a lad," Gregor mutters into the foam on his stein.

laughing really hard at the Japanese text to the right of them (and on the bottom in the pink marquee) that reads, "Boys like manly things, such as... Men!"