Midi Lein

“I'm great. Super great."
Neil wiped at his face. He'd been laughing so hard that he'd cried, and now he was shaking. "So, uh, is this the part where I die, pass out, or what?"
"Or put on different shoes," the dog whispered loudly.
"Hey, fuck you, zombie Clifford," Neil grumbled.
"They're Crocs, and they're comfortable."
"The holes must be where all your sense of shame drains out.”
― K.L. Hiers, Werewolves Hate Clogs

“So you're not upset about the fact that I was...tracking you?"
He flashed his dimple at me. "Think we can call a spade a spade. You were stalking me."
I grunted, not agreeing but not denying it either.
"But no." Matty smiled shyly, toying with a button on my shirt. My cock twitched as his fingertip grazed my skin. "I'm not upset about that. Actually, I think it's quite...flattering. Like maybe you were thinking of me as much as I was thinking of you."
Fuck. I was on dangerous ground here. "You shouldn't look at it that way. It's toxic, red flag behaviour."
His teeth sank into his lower lip as he looked up at me from under his lashes.
"Did I ever tell you I'm colour blind?”
― Lark Taylor, Justice

“A hand settled on her shoulder. "It's so easy to convince mortals that what they've seen is false. They'd rather ignore the impossible than rethink their understanding of reality. Isn't that true, Cora dear?”
― Kathryn Ann Kingsley, The Contortionist

“I glanced at what Dagon was holding and sighed.
"Really? You ripped out his spine?"
Dagon looked down at it like he'd forgotten he was holding it before throwing it behind him. His eyes were returning to normal, the temperature lowering as he got his demon under control. "Well, he was being spineless, so I figured it was an apt way for him to die.”
― Lark Taylor, Luck of the Devil