#initially it was a flat color piece but i thought i should try a little harder for once and hey i think i lowkey snapped

[alligaytorswamp]

they are so soldier game to me

[twelfth-harbinger]

Hello!! I just finished reading your Zhongli piece and it’s so so good! I love the way you write and your descriptions, unlike other writers who just dive into dialogue and feels very 1D, yours is 3-D!! I love it! Do you plan on continuing the Zhongli one with part 2 NSFW?!?

Also, may I please request a NSFW Diluc piece with female reader, who’s his co-worker/bartender who works at angels share with Charles?

Thank you for your hard work!

A/n: Firstly, yes!!! & thank you!!!, ilysm <3. Secondly Diluc is fucking hot & this is something I couldn’t get out my mind once I read your request. Pls Enjoy ^^

Mentions: Master Diluc likes being called...Master Diluc. Don’t taunt him it’ll lead to something spontaneous and igniting! Bar sex.

Warnings: Nsfw! So spicy hehe

The Angel of Angel’s Share

He spotted you on his occasional endeavors to Angels Share, being an outstanding and tremendous help to Charles when it came to cleaning up and serving drinks to the patrons of his humble business. You insisted that Charles let you help out once in a while as a side job — you needed the mora. Upon getting Dilics rather passive approval in a letter you got in! You spend most nights tidying up, wiping down tables and cleaning glasses periodically. Many of the bar patrons converse with you. Calling you the literal Angel of Angel’s Share. Your beauty was no secret, every man and woman there simply adored you. How could they not? You were friendly, outgoing and most importantly, kind. Your smile was as radiant as the sun itself and of course Diluc had to witness it with his own two eyes. Word did not spread around his establishment without him in the loop. Kaeya frequented the bar more often to flirt with see you; he was a regular before, but now? You rarely go a night where you don’t see him, even if it’s for a short while. Charles has to make snide comments about him slacking off to get him to leave.

All it takes is one night for things to burn brightly into something new, a night akin to this one. Diluc stood behind the counter to relieve Charles for the night shift — he had been there all morning and the night before. You walked in as Diluc was speaking to Charles, you wasted no time in maneuvering to the second floor to clear those tables first.

“Enjoy your night off Charles, I’ll take it from here.” Diluc waved him away and well, it left you there with him. Not alone of course, not yet. As the night pressed on you entertained the customers, served them delicious drinks Diluc prepared and made friends with Stanley?? The busy happy hour of Angels Share gave you no time to take a break. Not until it was well after hours and Diluc had locked the doors to Angel’s Share for the night.

“Good work today.” You chirped happily, as you sat at the bar of the counter atop a stool. Diluc prepared you spiked wolf hook juice on the house; it had a bearclaw kind of taste to it. One of Dliuc’s hands held an empty glass whilst the other dried it with a plain off-white dish cloth.

“I should be saying that to you, you overachieved tonight.” He didn’t mean for his comment to come off as brash, even though it did. You glanced up at him over the top to your glass, your eyes narrowing slightly in amusement. He quickly corrected himself with a light clear of his throat. “Not...that, that’s a bad thing. You..did well.”

Talk about awkward, you and he hadn’t spoken much since your employment over the past few months. You were undoubtedly curious about this handsome man with hair the color of fire. All dressed in black and a wielder of a claymore. He had to have some form of immense physical strength to do so and it only made you wonder what else he could do.

“Why thank you Master Diluc.” Your lips curled into a coy smile as you peeked up at him over the rim of your glass once more. His eyes were like flames too, and his gaze made you burn. It’s strange, so many people address him as Master Diluc regularly and yet you were the only person that was able to stoke the fire within him. Intentionally or not he enjoyed the way it rolled off your tongue and he wanted to hear it again. His hand stopped moving in the glass and he set it down neatly next to the others that were lined up.

“There’s no need to thank me, everyone deserves recognition for their hard work.” He played it cool, you’ll give him that. You stood up, hopping off the stool to the bar, only to walk around it and move past him. You were shorter than he was, he saw the top of your head. He was in the midst of asking you what you were doing but you stopped in front of him to drop to your knees. He fucking froze, he watched you completely unsure of what was going to happen next. He prayed to the gods that you weren’t going to do what he wanted you to do. He wouldn’t be able to keep it together otherwise and he doubted he’d stop you. With a cheeky grin you stood back up with a large jug of homemade grape juice in a hand. He exhaled quietly, letting out a silent sigh that caught in his throat. His face remained straight with a hint of a slight irritable frown threatening the corners of his lips. You proceeded to stand in front of him, turning your back to him to pour a glass of his favorite beverage.

“I know you don’t drink and I heard you liked grape juice from your brother. Why not sit and join me for a while?”

His eyes drifted down the back of your figure before he stepped aside shamefully, Kaeya rubbed off on him more than he cared to admit. Even so, he was ignoring any and all signals you were sending him. Or at least he was trying his very best to. Certainly nothing came that easy— a passing thought you both shared. He sat beside you at the bar, it was silent for a little while. You looked at him with a slight turn of your head and moved to place a hand on your cheek. He lowered the glass from his face and looked over at you. Seeing him up close was making you nervous, you thought you had it in you to seduce this man but you began having second thoughts. He stared at you as if he was trying to read you like a book. It only made things more complicated which lead to you doubting yourself even more. Kaeya never made you this nervous even when he flirted with you.

“My brother told you I liked grape juice what a nuisance.” He said, breaking the silence; he had to the cat ripped out your tongue. You looked at the glass jug and then at him and finally smiled, breaking a light sweat from your overthinking.

“O-Oh, yes haha.. he was teasing you quite a bit.” Diluc didn’t find it amusing Kaeya could get under his skin like it was his job. A light ‘tch’ left his lips as he raised his glass. You followed suit needing more liquid courage than you initially thought. “It’s okay,” You sighed out, you cheeks warming from the bitter sweet drink. “Apple juice is superior in any case.” Diluc looked at you and a light smile crossed his features as he shook his head.

“It’s not.” He stated, “At all in fact.” You caught his semi playful gaze, you narrowed your eyes a little at the comment. “Sunsettia juice is even better in all aspects.” You chuckled and lowered your hand onto the table.

“Coming from the juice enthusiast himself why am I not surprised.” Diluc smirked a bit, finding your comment funny. He looked at you and your radiantly warm smile; it really did resemble that of the morning and setting sun. The two of you remained there conversing with each other well into the night, losing track of time. He hadn’t felt this at ease with anyone by his side in a while. Jean was a great friend to talk to but she was so busy he rarely got to speak with her. He was too in his own right, running the wine industry in Monstadt was no easy task.

“Do you enjoy working here?” He asked as you stood up to stretch, the tables in the back still needed to be cleared, a few drinking tankards, bottles and glasses were scattered about. His question made you think, you loved the night atmosphere of the tavern and the people that came with it.

“Of course I do, it’s very inviting I dare say more than Cats Eye.” You looked his way with a grin he stood up along with you a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Though I do have my work cut out for me here.” You quipped lightly before making your way to the back of the bar where a wooden bench table sat nestled in the corner with a small cabinet and barrel behind it. Diluc followed after to aide in an easy clean up you worked hard enough for tonight. With your back turned you bend over the table without fully walking around it to reach for the glasses and tankards. Your arms were quite short given your stature, without thinking too deeply into his actions Dilic stood halfway behind you to grab the bottle.

“It’s fine to take a break once in a while. There is no need to overwork yourself.” He stated plainly as he picked up the second bottle that sat next to the first. Unbeknownst to him you felt his presence the moment he stepped up behind you. He smelled like a freshly lit fire in the middle of the Whispering Woods his warmth drew you in. You stepped back somewhat unintentionally, your backside grazing him lightly as you turned around to face him. Even on your toes you wouldn’t be at eye level, he stared down at you a bit embarrassed by what he believed was his fault. He opened his mouth to apologize, you couldn’t stop yourself from stealing a kiss. When your lips pressed against his in a sweetened and heated kiss, you noticed Diluc tensed up. The bottles he had fell over onto the surface of the table. Upon hearing that you pulled away and stood flat footed against the edge of the able. You avoided looking at him and tugged on the ends of your hair sheepishly.

“Sorry I...don’t know what came over me, I thought maybe...“ With your half hearted apology you trailed off looking up at Diluc who stared down at you with a perplexed look in his eye. With his gloved hand he reached up to cup your cheek and leaned down to press his lips firmly against yours. His other hand moved up to hold the other side of your cheek. He wanted to kiss you the moment everyone left. Your lips moved in time with his, your hands finding themselves holding onto the sides of his coat. Without breaking the kiss, he lowered his hands to your waist and then to your thighs. In one swift movement he effortlessly lifted you to sit you on top of the table. The bottles on the surface rattled upon him doing so, slightly moving the table in the process. Your hands moved up his chest from his sides as his own slipped further down your legs to hold onto your waist. His pants were growing tighter by the second, you were so beautiful and he hadn’t voiced it yet. Not that he was given the chance to, the moment you both came up for air you pulled him into another fierce kiss, you legs locking around him in efforts to draw him closer. You needed him to ruin you on that table top and he wasn’t going to deny you of one of life’s simple pleasures. After all this man made it so that people could drink happily within the safety of Angel’s Share. Your tongue moved past your lips and Diluc gladly glided his own over yours to gain access. His hand moved back up to your cheek only to slip down to your neck to hold you in place as his other hand moved up the side of your thigh to squeeze. His leather gloves felt so good on your skin, you wanted to feel more of him.

Your hands moved from his sides to his pants, fumbling with the belts and buttons to try and get them loose. Diluc moved to kiss your neck, his warm lips trailing hot kisses against your soft skin. He made an audible sound, a muffled moan as he kissed the nape of your neck. You tugged him closer upon finally undoing his bottoms. His hand wandered down your side and moved to hitch up your work tunic, the other pulling onto the string to your top. He yanked it down to reveal your bare chest, as he exposed your legs and thighs. He was going to thoroughly enjoy fucking you on top of that table. A slight smile crossed his features as his index finger and thumb moved down to grip your chin, he tilted your head up to look into your eyes. Never has a man made you this weak with such a simple gaze.

“Is this what you want?” He asked quietly, he wasn’t going to begin without asking you. Your brows furrowed in need and you nodded as your eyes searched his face. His own were a bit complacent when he didn’t move to give you what he knew you wanted; he wanted to hear you say it. He only moved in to kiss you once more before his lips found the skin of your neck again.

“Diluc..please.” You whined, he smiled lightly against your neck and kept kissing. You wondered why he was only kissing you, unbeknownst to you his hand moved down in between your legs and his crotch to free his fully hardened member from the confides of his trousers. “M-Master Di—“ Your breath hitched in your throat and you moaned out the rest of his name, a deep growl moving past his lips as he slipped inside of you. He stretched you out continuously as you contracted around his length in utter bliss. Your legs squeezed around him and his hands gripped your waist and thigh. Pulling you closer to his chest as he bottomed out inside of you. Your eyes rolled back as he pushed himself further; your lips parted in a light moan and your hands tangled in his red locks. Diluc’s hand moved from your thigh to your neck to hold you in place briefly as he leaned back to look at your face. It was intoxicating, if he could get drunk off your facial expressions he would. He pulled back and thrusted hard into you, your body jerked up and the table moved along with the bottles and glasses on top of it.

You cried out in pleasure and your hips bucked against his. He bit down on his bottom lip to surpress a groan, he thrusted once again, finding a hard and steady rhythm that left your body jerking upwards against the table and your chest exposed for him to see. An alluring sight that made him thrust even harder and your loud moans to fill the atmosphere of the bar. Mixed in were his own light goans and mild grunts, even as he laid you flat onto the table he didn’t stop. Though the pace slowed a bit, he became more forceful with his movements which made your back arch into his chest and your legs shake. You were going to cum a lot harder than you expected, you could feel it and so could he, you caught wind of a faint smirk that slipped across his face as he kissed you. A kiss deep enough where you could lose oneself. Your hands tugged at his hair and your face pleaded with a need for release.

The bottles, tankards and glasses had since fell onto the floor of Angel’s Share. Not that either of you could be bothered by it now. As your climax rushed at you like a battering ram Diluc groaned out low into your ear the sound made your body quiver, you were about to milk him dry. Your hands slipped out of his hair and fell back onto the table as you convulsed in an intense high. Diluc held you in his arms and sat you back up, with your legs wrapped around him once again. He turned and sat on the edge of the table with you on top, allowing you to ride out the rest of your orgasm as he filled your depths with his hot seed. The feeling itself made you shutter as he buried his face into your chest and his arms wrapped around you, the moan he let out was something you could never get tired of hearing. The area in Angel’s Share that you two both shared had grown hot, the sweat you broke out was enough to cause your breathing to be ragged.

“Master Diluc...” You mumbled into his hair with closed eyes and a smile, his hands rested on your waist as his head rested on your chest. He moved back to look up at you, his hand moving to brush your cheek. He kissed your cheek as he pulled back to look at your face.

“Yes?” He replied, a smile crossing his features, you grinned at him finding the humor in his answer. You kissed him once more, this time slowly to savor the taste of his lips. He looked up at you, his eyes flickering like fire. “There’s going to be a shipment at the Dawn Winery from Liyue, Charles usually comes to pick it up but, I trust you enough to be there in his stead.” Upon hearing those words you knew you’d see him again.

“I will gladly be there, Master Diluc.”

Bonus

After your visit to the Dawn winery a few day ago, you decided to get an afternoon drink at Angel’s Share. Outside you ran into Kaeya and Diluc sitting at one of the tables outside. Kaeya spotted you first of course and when your eyes met Diluc’s a smile surfaced onto your face and his own softened a bit. Which, caught Kaeya’s attention quickly; being the absurdly perceptive man that he was.

“You’re here early, I thought your shift doesn’t start until sundown.” Kaeya spoke with a smile that was suspiciously sly. Diluc sat there with his arms crossed and a placid frown on his face, you sat with them and looked at Kaeya unamused.

“I thought I’d get a drink before my shift, I’ve been quite busy as of late.” You replied moving a hand to rest on your cheek, Diluc was silent and Kaeya looked between you both before his eye settled on you.

“Have you now? You know, a few days ago I went to the Dawn Winery looking for you and Diluc seeing as Charles said you were going to be there.” Kaeya held up a letter from grandmaster Jean and waved it in the air idly. “I needed to deliver a letter from the active grandmaster to Diluc and hoped I’d run into you there and yet...I couldn’t find either of you.” Diluc frowned deeper and your smile began to fade slowly, your hand moved up casually to cover your mouth a bit and Kaeya’s smile grew as he went on. “So, I took it upon myself to look around given your maids told me you were in his study.” Diluc’s expression shifted from displeasure to pure annoyance. You were a bit nervous though wondering if you two had been found out already. You knew the answer in the back of your mind though. “When I couldn’t find you there I saw a maid walk out of the west wing hallway with blush staining her cheeks so, naturally I went that way and much to my surprise there you two were behind the semi closed doors to dear brothers bedroom-“ Diluc snatched the letter from his brother and narrowed his eyes. He stood up and narrowed his eyes at him.

“You finished ?” He asked, short tempered as always, you were a blushing mess on the other hand, with your face covered in attempts to hide your embarrassment. Of all the ways to be found out, it had to be Kaeya happening across you two at the Dawn Winery! Kaeya chuckled lightly and leaned back in the chair.

“Ah-Ah you interrupted me brother, I was just getting to the good part.” You peeked up at him and shook your head Dliuc let out and irritable sigh and turned his back to Kaeya and then looked over at you, a smile on his face one he’d only show to you really.

“I’ll see you later.” You nodded with a warmth to your cheeks as he walked off ignoring Kaeya all together. The three of you knowing Diluc was working tonight with you again. It left you two sitting there in a painful kind of silence where only one of you were inflicted and the other found it jovial.

“He must like you.” Kaeya sighed raising his wine glass to his lips, you glanced over at him with a slight glare and he smiled your way.

“Your point?” You retorted, it lead to him shrugging lightly as he finished the drink. He stood up, preparing to take his leave, moving to place a hand on his hip.

“None really, it’s just he got to you before I could.” Kaeya wouldn’t admit to him being beaten at his own game, he also wouldn’t voice at how it made him proud and happy for his brother at the same time. You looked at him with a straight face and he chortled. “You’ll make each other happy, especially with the sex you’re having. I’m not worried.” He patted your shoulder before he walked off in the opposite direction of his brother. Leaving you there blushing and with the future to think about, one where both you snd Diluc shared.

[tundrainafrica]

Title: Copycat

Summary:  

""Shitty four eyes and clean freak? Would you know what those words mean?" The teacher asked.

Hange and Levi exchanged knowing glances. A parent teacher conference wasn't at all the right place to explain nicknames. Really though, when would it ever be the appropriate time to explain them?"

Levi and Hange learn the hard way that children like to imitate.

Link: AO3

Notes: This has been on my WIPs for a while and I have a few other prompts for domestic verse pieces so will probably focus on them first hehe. Anyway, feedback is very much appreciated!

“Levi Ackerman and Hange Zoe…”

The teacher was looking through what could have been the class list. No, it definitely was a class list. They were in a parent teacher meeting, what else could it be.

With the way she was holding it though, it was difficult for Levi to sneak a peek at its contents. Eventually, he gave up and let his mind wander, his eyes soon followed. He spared a glance at Hange to see she had cocked her head just a little bit to the side. She was definitely as curious if not more curious about the contents of the piles of paper.

The teacher, Ms. Wilde had a smile on her face and it had been that way since Luke had started school. Her expression then wasn't too far from her usual smile but her eyes were too wide, her mouth too flat of a line especially when she bit her lips. And when she ran her eyes over documents, she seemed…. Stiff.

Uncomfortable? DIsturbed maybe? Levi was expecting the worst.

“Commander Hange Zoe and Retired Captain Levi Ackerman…” Ms. Wilde corrected, clearing her throat.

“No need for any formalities. I mean you have been taking care of our son…” Hange held one hand out for a hand shake, obviously trying to ease the tension in the room.

“Yes, he’s a pleasant kid,” Ms. Wilde added, nodding her head. The discomfort on her face still did not waver.

He is a pleasant kid. Levi was with that kid 24/7. He brought the kid to school and back home, he cooked breakfast, lunch and dinner and he taught him all chores possible at the ripe age of two. Levi was almost certain that along with it, he had taught the kid basic manners.

Levi had to admit though, he himself wasn’t the most diplomatic either. The kid though was glaringly much nicer than Levi was and on top of that, he had picked up some of his other quirks from Hange. The boy didn’t have to be exceptional though. At the least, Luke should have been a functioning member of the kindergarten.

Not enough to make a teacher squirm as she spoke about him. Right?

Most days… And as Levi reflected on it, he started to dig deeper into the past few years, the almost negligible cracks in between their routine. Was there anything he failed to teach Luke? Hange could have been asking the same thing, she looked at Levi questioningly.

Ms. Wilde cleared her throat and in her own way, she had broken some of the residual tension. “Apologies… I’ve been stalling.” She turned to Hange. “Commander Zoe…”

“Retired… Commander Zoe,” Hange corrected.

Was Hange stalling? Or just deliberately looking for a way to alleviate whatever tension had blanketed the room. Hange’s own corrections though were only delaying the inevitable, stretching the tension for longer than necessary.

“I wanted to talk to you about your son," Ms. Wilde started.

No shit. “Go on….” Levi said softly, not loud enough for her maybe. He subtly moved his hands in some signal to continue, as if that could have been communication enough.

Ms. Wilde stared for a bit longer and when Levi squinted, focusing on the paper underneath, he could tell it was a drawing, the crayon ink, visible from just behind the paper. She then put that same crayon art on the top of that stack of papers. “Shitty four eyes… and Clean freak?”

The words sounded strange from anybody else’s mouth, particularly a teacher who had attempted to say it with so professional of a tone and with emphasis on syllables and on words which made it sound unintelligible to anyone less familiar.

“Excuse me?” Hange asked. She had said those words a little too fast. With Levi thinking the same thing though, it had sounded clear enough.

Ms. Wilde flipped the paper open and down on the table.

There were two stick drawings, one with glasses and brown hair, definitely Hange and one with an apron and a bandana over his head and an unimpressed look on his face. That second one was definitely Levi.

Just below it, a caption which Levi had to squint twice to read

Shut tea for ice clean freek. It was straight out gibberish.

Ms. Wilde preempted it. “Would you know what this means?” She looked back up at them expectantly. “Your son… he tried to explain it to me and he said, you two would say… Shut tea for ice and clean freek.” She had said it with unexpected emphasis on some syllables and it was starting to sound like a glaringly familiar cluster of phrases.

Enough for Levi to freeze in his seat and start to dig for some sense in his speculations.

“Don’t get me wrong… Your child being able to spell at this age… It’s admirable, remarkable really,” Ms. Wilde continued. Was she consoling them or admiring them? With that soft and gentle of a voice, it was difficult to tell.

If Levi hadn’t been too busy trying to make sense of that last phrase maybe he would have at least attempted to read through her body language. The teacher had already presented a problem though and naturally, he found himself attempting to get to the bottom of that initial issue.

Luke had Hange’s brain. With Levi on top of that child most of the day, he was perfectly aware of what Luke would usually be playing with. He had gifted Luke letter tiles and had played with him multiple times, at Hange's suggestion of 'something more educational.'

He could have sworn the other times Hange had gotten off work and had played with those tiles with him before dinner, she had been teaching him herself. Although, some words were strange and unfamiliar, she never thought him any of those words. Never.

Levi looked back up at the teacher, forcing himself to meet her eyes. What was the best thing to say?

These are our nicknames. Nope. Should they be divulging something so personal in a professional meeting?

Maybe he could break that awkwardness by complimenting Luke’s work. For a three year old, Luke did a good job with the coloring. Or maybe Levi was just hyperaware about his dad status and somehow everything their little human made seemed almost surreal, almost beautiful even if it was just a bunch of stick figures.

Hange held the drawing between her fingers, her eyes wide with what looked to be the same wonder Levi was holding in. “We’ve been teaching him how to read,” Hange said. “Read and write.”

“But, would you know what ‘shut tea for ice’ means?” The teacher asked.

“Levi here… He really likes tea,” Hange said calmly. “And he likes it with ice.”

“What about clean freak?”

“He cleans with me a lot…” Levi said.

The teacher sighed. “Apologies for the misunderstanding but those words…” She leaned over, cupping her mouth, to soften to a whisper just for the three of them. “It sounds pretty vulgar to me. If you could talk to your son about it, so he could stop calling the other kids names… That would be very much appreciated.”

“Wait, our son, he’s calling people names?”

The teacher shrugged. “I heard him talking to one of the kids just recently… He kept calling her ‘shut tea for eyes.’ and just the other day, when we were cleaning up the locker… then he called her a cleen freek.” She sighed. “It might be just my imagination but it sounds to me like bullying if you know what I mean?”

“Bullying? How?” Hange asked. The knowing look in her face betrayed such a question.

“Well you see, Sarah wears glasses and she likes keeping her cubbyhole neat so… I can’t help but think he might actually be saying….”

“Shitty four eyes?” Levi repeated it again, with a familiar manner, all the emphasis on the right tones. He could almost taste the sweet venom that laced it every other time he said it before.

“And clean freak?” Hange repeated.

The teacher put her hands up in defense. “But that might just be my wild imagination. If ‘shut tea for ice’ is really code in your family, maybe you could spend some time explaining to your son what it actually sounds like?”

***

Shut tea for ice.

Levi could have been in denial. The first plan of action as soon as he got home was to open and close the cupboard a few times over and stare at the box of tea bags every single time. He was deep in thought, still trying to come up with any other reason for those words to roll so easily out of his son’s mouth.

“You want me to make dinner?” Hange called out from the living room.

Levi instinctively turned behind him and towards the voice, craning his neck to look past the kitchen counter. Hange was sitting cross legged on the floor, a toddler Luke right next to her.

The letter tiles Hange had scattered on the floor were an eye sore.

An eyesore which Levi tolerated. After all, Hange had done amazingly at making Luke one of the smarter toddlers in his class.

Experiment… Titan… Omnivore...Carnivore… Whether the child needed to know how to spell those words at that young of an age, Levi wasn’t too certain. At least if ever the classes shifted to topics on history or science, Luke would have the upper hand.

Or so, that was what Levi consoled himself with as he looked back at the cupboard, trying to erase that picture of a mess in the living room. His own experiences with playing with those blocks had been teaching Luke words like clean, broom, breakfast, lunch, dinner. For a second, he wondered which Luke enjoyed more.

“I’ll make it,” Levi said. “You’re at work most days. I’d rather you spent your free time bonding with Luke.”

Hange didn’t respond and the next few minutes passed with the clacking of the wooden letter tiles on the floor. And then an exchange which Levi felt almost compelled to insert himself in.

“When the creature eats both vegetables and meat…” Hange started.

“Omnivore,” Luke answered.

“And meat only?”

“Carnivore.” He had learned to repeat those words clearly very quickly. Levi had to note as he tipped the tea, Luke had always learned to pronounce the more complex words within a few repeats.

The inquisitiveness and the natural genius came from Hange for sure. And Hange was only nurturing them. Soon, the conversation shifted to animals, and then to titans and why the fuck was she talking about her goddamn experiments?

Even when half listening, Levi never understood what the hell that one experiment after capturing the titan and burning through its hair actually did but Hange was suddenly talking about follicles, roots and some catalytic reaction.

Would Luke know what a catalytic reaction is? Levi attempted to answer it for himself by first asking, what the hell a catalytic reaction was. Whatever slate that had appeared in his mind remained blank and he asked another question. Should a child really be learning those words?

“And you know what a dinosaur looks like?” Hange asked.

“Dinosaur!”

A rustle of papers. Hange muttered something about a pencil.

Found one! Then the sound of scribbling on paper.

Levi was only starting to boil the soup, when whatever conversation on whether dinosaurs were omnivores or carnivores slipped one ear and out the other.

The padding of socks on the carpeted floor, Hange’s hums and just Luke’s high pitched voice lisping at some words, saying lines which could have started with Rs or Ws were faint and Levi found himself passing the time just listening to them as he stirred the soup.

He bent over, pulling out the tray of baked chicken from the oven. “Hange,” he called out.

Hange took a second longer than necessary to respond. “Hm?”

“Set the table,” Levi said. “It’s almost dinner time.”

No response. No clicking of plates, no slamming of utensils on the table.

“Hange?” Levi asked.

“Wait, just this last page,’ Hange said louder.

Levi closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Hange was murmuring, words Levi couldn’t make sense of. And the lisping words, the mispronounced Rs and Ws and garbled syllables were telling. Luke was reading something out loud.

“That’s right! So, the plants eat through photosynthesis," Hange said.

“Hange, set the table,” Levi said.

Hange sighed in response. There were footsteps then the clack of plates.

Levi soon confirmed for himself that Hange had stood up, tiptoed and pulled a serving plate and a bowl from the upper cupboard. He transferred the roast chicken and the soup onto the plates. While it cooled, he took the bread basket and dropped it on the table, raising one eye at the view in front of him.

“Hange,” Levi said, louder this time.

Hange was back in the living room, cross legged once again, an open picture book in front of her. Luke had shifted to half lying down position, stomach down on the floor, propped up by the elbows.

“Are dinosaurs real?” Lukei asked.

Hange nodded. “They were alive a long time ago,” she said.

“Hey, you two. I said, let’s eat.” Levi found himself looking away as he noticed Luke’s mouth twist into a pout.

Hange sighed in disappointment. “Alright Luke, let’s stand up.” She carefully pulled her son up and guided him back to the table. She moved sluggishly towards the dining room table and it looked very much like Levi had virtually twisted her arm just to get her up.

To make things clear though, he didn’t. There were more pressing things at that moment than making sure the food he worked so hard on was eaten. Levi stared at them then back at the scattered letter tiles on the floor. Then back at Hange again.

The years might have just made it easier for Hange to pick up the silent question just with a few glances. “We’re gonna go back after we eat,” she answered,

“And you’re fine leaving a mess like that there,” Levi said. “What if someone trips on that?”

“Well, we won’t. Luke and I know that it’s there and you can just watch where you’re going right?”

“It’s still a hazard,” Levi argued.

“A negligible hazard.”

“Can’t you just clean it up then bring it out again later?”

“It takes time,” Hange answered nonchalantly as she walked past Levi.

For a retired commander with a full-time job rebuilding Paradis, time felt like a luxury more than disposable income did and Levi had only ever silently acknowledged that. The moment he looked back, he realized there wasn’t much he could have argued about. Hange guided Luke to his chair, and she started to pour the soup into his bowl.

Levi sat next to Hange and served Hange first then himself, a pressing distraction, long enough for Levi to need not look back at the mess on the floor.

“Luke, chickens look a little bit like dinosaurs,” Hange said.

Levi rolled his eyes. Most of their meals usually ended up as a science lesson.

Luke seemed to be enjoying it though. He clapped his hands excitedly. “We’re eating dinosaurs?”

In response to that, Levi shoveled more of the soup into his mouth, enough to give any excuse not to speak up. That wasn’t his conversation. It was Hange’s and Luke’s.

“Technically yes,” Hange said.

What the fuck is she researching this time? Hange did too many jobs at once that Levi never could catch up to her theory or vernacular wise.

“Like the book! The dinosaur looked like the book!” Luke said excitedly.

“Yes! You remember!” Hange mirrored that same excitement.

“Are dinosaurs like titans?”

“Technically no… They can be the same size... “

“Are titans omnivores?”

Hange hummed. She dropped her spoon and put one finger to her chin, a very climactic sequence of motions that could have meant she had something interesting to say. To the disappointment of everyone in the family, she returned the question with one word. “Maybe.”

They don’t eat. Levi added to himself silently.

“Do titans poo?” Luke pressed.

Hange opened her mouth to speak. “They don’t…”

And Levi only had a split second to note the glimmer in her eyes, then the wonder that could have come from reminiscing nights worth of experiments. Then the familiar excitement and passion he had seen so many times before in the barracks over tea.

Oh no. He looked back at the soup, a mixture of beans and tomatoes, the green of the vegetables sticking out at very strategic places.

What the fuck.

And Hange’s tirade only continued, and naturally Levi’s mind made sense of the words having had too many direct experiences with titans to last a lifetime. If he looked at his own soup from the right angle, with the right vegetable bits in the right places and the right lighting from just above them, he realized it looked just like vomit.

He was in a frustrating position, hungry but with no more appetite. He pushed himself up. “You two just keep talking. I’m gonna clean up.”

Hange stood up. “Wait, Levi where you going?”

Everything was just suddenly pissing Levi off at that moment. “I’m cleaning up your fucking mess.”

“That’s not a mess!” Hange retorted, an incredulous look on her face.

“I told you, just bring it out after if you wanna play again!” Levi bent over, and started to mix the blocks amongst one another. Words like carnivore, omnivore, photosynthesis, follicle suddenly mixed among one another. The tiles were suddenly gibberish, letter soup. And the more he mixed, the worse it became.

It became easier to put them into the basket.

“We were planning to go back to it after dinner. You didn’t have to clean it up,” Hange chided.

“Well, you two might step on it,” Levi said.

“Really?” Hange raised one eyebrow. “You can’t watch where you’re going?”

“Listen Hange, I’m the one who cleans this house ninety percent--- hell, a hundred percent of the time. I decide what messes we can leave around.”

“Well, it takes a kid a while to pick up the words, we were supposed to practice reading.”

“Hange a three year old does not need to know what photosynthesis means.”

“Three and a half,” Hange clarified. “A child his age does not need to live in an immaculate environment.” Clean. Hange definitely meant clean. The way she had said the word ‘immaculate,' the fact that she had chosen such a heavenly word, an almost self righteous sounding word felt almost mocking. “Why do you have to be such a clean freak about this?”

“Why do you have to be such a nerd about this. He’ll learn how to read big words at his own fucking time,” Levi said. He noted the way Hange had put one hand to her chest, seeming scandalized at whatever insinuation Levi had brought up.

When he was dealing with the someone who couldn’t bat an eye at hygiene and clutter, who suddenly thought the pursuit of knowledge was a must have for a poor four year old, Levi wasn’t feeling too guilty at offending her, at least not too much. He opened his mouth, only intending to let it out as a release born from quiet anger. And during moments of heightened emotions, sometimes he lost a little control, and sometimes, he’d fall back to very familiar habits.

Shitty four eyes.

Hange could have heard it, but they had said it so many times before, that she didn’t open her mouth to speak. He couldn’t be too sure either that he had said it out loud.

“Daddy? You want tea with ice?”

Levi only realized then, when the silence broke and a young Luke went in between them a mug in hand.

No hot water, no tea bag. A look of confusion on Luke’s face. ‘Daddy, shut tea for ice?” The words were stilted, the syllables garbled against one another.

Levi and Hange had both looked at Luke with the same surprised look, surprised but very very understanding of the current situation.

***

Shitty four eyes.

Luke didn’t have a potty mouth. Or at least, he wasn’t supposed to.

Levi was with Luke the most among everyone. The heavy responsibility of 'main provider' on his back, he found himself thinking back to every single ‘alone time,’ the two of them had since Luke had been old enough to talk. It had been a year at least since Luke had started to seem more like a companion than a responsibility. When Levi looked back at it though, he thought the moments to be countless and consequently, he had found it difficult to point out the exact point in time where Luke had thought it a good idea to blurt out the words ‘shitty four eyes.’

Coming up with no conclusion, he desperately grasped for a glimmer of an explanation. “Luke’s a nice kid, he wouldn’t call people names,”

“I don’t doubt that,” Hange responded, seeming not at all bothered by the chain of events.

“Hey, we’re still gonna have to explain that to Luke?”

“You tried a while ago, right?” Hange asked “What did Luke say?”

“He just kept repeating it… Shut tea for ice. Shut tea for ice.” Levi whispered in response, letting it get softer and softer on his tongue. It had been just an hour before they had put their son to bed. The conference, the incident just a while ago suddenly had self conscious about how loud they were talking and how close the bedroom door was to the living room. He turned to the sofa and sat a few more feet away from the door, as if that could have done anything to make their conversation more private.

“So Levi, what do you think that means?” Hange asked. She had moved next to him, as if she understood Levi’s intention with switching seats.

“He didn’t seem hostile,” Levi said.

“So he doesn’t think what he’s saying is bad right?”

“He called you shitty four eyes too.” Levi turned to Hange.

“And shitty four eyes has never been an insult to me. You’ve been calling him that since before,” Hange said.

“So what do you suggest?” Levi asked.

Hange was in deep thought for a second, one hand to her chin. She turned to the phone on the kitchen counter. “Calling someone more experienced maybe.”

***

Historia had a child, a good few years past the terrible twos and threes. Naturally, she seemed almost nonchalant about that problem.

“Imitation,” Hange said so confidently, yet so abruptly that morning as she sipped her coffee. She turned to Levi and grinned in the same exact way she would have dropped a research-backed theory many years ago when she was still a titan researcher.

“Titans used to imitate right?” Levi said. Mentioning the magic word ‘titans’ could be enough to pull any good ideas out of her.

“Yes, I know,” Hange said matter-of-factly. “And titans and humans are a little different… It would be easier to have a peaceful conversation with titans. Luke understands me almost perfectly. And you too. I think we can talk to him first about why using nicknames is bad.”

“You think a three year old can understand a convoluted explanation by Hange Zoe?”

“Three and a half,” Hange clarified again. If he can tell omnivores and carnivores apart, I’m sure he can tell the difference between calling people names and respecting people right?” She propped her mug on the dining room table and looked expectantly at Levi.

Levi averted his gaze. “Hange, do you think a three and a half year old will get it?” He dropped the tea bag into the mug and watched as the darker liquid consumed the water, touching the rims of the mug. He walked back to the dining table, settling himself on the chair right in front of Hange.

Hange chuckled. “Worth a try right?”

“Daddy! Shoes!” Luke was painfully demanding. And of all moments, it had been then that Levi noticed that Luke had picked up some of their attitude.

Right. Although Luke could easily get ready for school himself, tying shoes was still something Levi had been in the process of teaching him. “I’ll just help him tie his shoes first.”

“I’ll go ahead.” Hange gulped the last few drops of coffee. “Gonna be late for work. You think you can handle this?”

“Talk to Luke right?” Levi asked. “About the importance of respect?” He had put emphasis on those last three words, as if to hint to Hange that introducing such an abstract idea to a three year old seemed like not so good of an idea.

“Worth a try right?” Hange responded as she stood up and slung her back over her shoulder.

“And if it doesn’t work?” Levi pressed.

By then, Hange was already closer to the door than the dining table, far from hearing range of Levi’s naturally soft voice. Levi felt it pointless to say it louder, especially since by then, Hange had already slammed the door behind her.

And he had bigger fish to deal with, like a frustrated son, who had knotted the laces of his shoes enough times that Levi struggled to find the tips. “Luke… Why… Did you do it like this?” Levi had to resist the sweet temptation of inserting a ‘fuck’ somewhere on that question. After all, it wasn’t Luke’s fault he was just a three year old who was still learning the ropes.

The process of unknotting a very tight knot though was painful, frustrating enough for Levi to sit down crosslegged in front of his son. It was taking longer than a few seconds, enough to have a conversation.

“Luke… The school told me about ‘shut tea for ice’”Levi started and when he started to pull at the top most knot, he felt some sort of release with it, some extra reserves of patience he could easily tap at.

“Shitty four eyes! Clean Freak!” Luke responded happily.

When Levi looked up and met his son’s eyes, he couldn’t help but be somewhat bothered by the knowing and confident look. “You shouldn’t call people names Luke.” He put one finger right in front of Luke’s face.

Was that how to tell a kid off? Levi had been working with Luke long enough though to know, Luke didn’t understand what he was saying. Or maybe he didn’t understand what Levi meant.

What would Hange say? When Levi reflected on that though, the only thing he could salvage were her rants on photosynthesis and titan experiments. If their son understood those, he should understand a lecture on respect right?

“No.” One word Levi had learned as a parent. “No calling people names,” he added, his voice softer that time.

Luke pouted.

Levi had a soft spot for his son’s pout and consequently, he did what any sane parent would have done in that situation. He stared at the clock. Fifteen minutes before class starts. He stood up and took his son by the hand. “Come on Luke, let’s go to school.”

On the way to school, he allowed himself another session for self reflection. Imitation huh? Levi thought to himself. He had to admit, he may have called Hange ‘shitty four eyes’ more often than not and in return, he may have brushed off a few ‘clean freaks’ from Hange as well.

They could try to wean Luke out of it right or at least find out why Luke had been using it at school? He could leave that to Hange though, and maybe consult a bit with their teacher.

Levi took a deep breath, a loud one, particularly when they passed through one of the less saturated parts of town on the way to school. He was sure he had enough reserves at his already scarce social battery to deal with asking advice from teachers.

***

Same advice as Historia.

Children were master imitators. And whether a three year old (or a three and a half year old according to Hange) would understand such an abstract concept as respect, that was one thing they weren’t sure of.

So when dealing with a toddler, play with their imitator side, not this belief that they might actually understand an abstract concept.

Levi had repeated those same words to Hange. By that evening though, he had forgotten half of it, and he had hoped that was the message she got.

“So, we should change how we talk to each other then…” Hange leaned back on the sofa. “But when do you think Luke heard us say it?”

Levi shrugged. “When do you say it?”

In return, Hange shrugged and let out a short laugh. “To be honest, I don’t remember calling you a clean freak either.”

“When we fight?” Levi suggested.

“Or when we don’t?” Hange put her hands up. “Anyway, the important thing is, he hears us say it. That kid won’t get shitty four eyes or clean freak out of anywhere. So we watch ourselves okay? No using bad words in front of our son.”

“That’s easy.” Levi narrowed his eyes at Hange and sat back on the sofa. “I’ve been doing that ever since Luke was born.”

***

With a little more self-introspection and blatant awareness of his surroundings, Levi started to realize it wasn’t as easy as he had expected it to be. He had stopped himself enough times that his throat had been sore from the many times he concealed his own penchant for vulgarity with a dry cough.

“Luke, make sure to put your bag back in the room,” Levi said from the kitchen as he pulled an apple from the fruit basket. It was just like every other day before, pick Luke up, prepare an afternoon snack. Very routine, very predictable and the only thing that made it a challenge had been the heavy awareness that Levi did curse on a regular basis.

Or maybe just the fact that he had to watch himself, had him very very heavy, as if every move had to be cold and calculated.H e was a little more careful than usual with cutting the apple. And he was terribly terribly slow. By the time, he turned back to the kitchen counter, sliced apples arranged neatly on the plate, Luke had already settled on the seat in front of him, looking expectantly at the plate on Levi’s hands.

How long he had been there? Levi didn’t want to ask. “Are you hungry?” he asked instead.

Luke nodded. It was a stupid question, but at least his son was too young to judge his ineloquence.

He dropped the pile of apples in front of him and made himself comfortable on the seat next to his son. “After this, you wanna play with the tiles?” Levi offered.

But never freak. Levi told himself as even the prospect of teaching his kid was starting to weigh on him.

“Let’s play with the tiles!” Luke clapped one hand on the table, and he shoved one of the apples into his mouth.

“Okay, I’ll bring it out later,” Levi said. He took one apple from the plate and started to munch on it, only interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing a few seconds later.

Most days, the phone ringing was a nuisance, peppered with conversations with salesmen, customer service. Having grown up with a place with no phone, but too many scams, it was only natural that Levi would detect the opportunity for scams in that new fangled piece of technology.

There was one voice which always made the process of using the phone though, bearable, if not pleasurable.

“Levi! What’s for dinner tonight?”

“Four eyes, you’re out from work early.”

There was a pause, a pregnant and awkward pause. Then Hange spoke up. “Is Luke with you?”

The silence and that one question spoke for him. Levi spun around to see Luke, staring right at him. “Four eyes… Shitty...Four eyes?” The young boy repeated. It sounded rehearsed the first time around, then confident the second time.

There was a lot he had to teach the kid.

“Just take out food for dinner. Luke and I will have a long talk,” Levi said.

***

Levi’s mind was a blank slate. That wasn’t necessarily a good thing though.

Whatever he was supposed to say to lecture Luke on proper respect lasted at the most, a few seconds in his muddled brain. It went into one ear and quickly out the other.

Somewhere along the way, Levi had given up. He had mentioned words like ‘respect,’ ‘not nice.’ When he didn’t even believe half of what he had spewing out of his mouth, he ended up unable to blame Luke for wearing such a blank expression.

Would Hange have done a better job at teaching Luke? Maybe.

Levi had never been the most diplomatic person, having sat at the sidelines every time Hange had been negotiating trade contracts and war treaties. Besides, he didn’t believe it completely necessary either to teach children not to curse.

There were bigger fish to fry, like rebuilding a war torn country, eradicating poverty and starvation, income inequality and terrorism.

Having lived like a soldier his whole life, dealing with something so mundane as a teacher’s request to teach his child not to curse, seemed almost mundanely unnecessary.

When his son was insulting other children, when a teacher was telling his son off for it, Levi didn’t necessarily find it horrifying. School rules were school rules though and their new society made compliance for three year olds a big issue. Maybe he could leave that educating to Hange though, and just focus maybe on teaching the young boy how to read.

He rearranged the letters and a few times, he gave free rein to his son to form words himself.

There were easy words like ‘dog,’ ‘cat,’ and ‘cow.’ Although Levi had been surprised that Luke had independently put together more complex words like ‘broom’ and ‘clean,’ he started to accept anyway, that it was only natural that the young boy would know them. After all, Hange had been teaching him more complex words like ‘photosynthesis,’ ‘omnivore’ and ‘carnivore.’

Luke had been spelling all those words on his own while Levi watched silently. And when Levi started to scramble the pieces again, just to watch what his son would create, he started to notice some pattern.

Shut

“Shut!” Luke screamed. He didn’t completely open his mouth though, and it started to sound more like another cursed word. Levi wasn’t going to mention that though.

“Shut…” Levi explained. Like ‘Shut up.’ ‘Shut up’ wasn’t the most diplomatic expression and it was probably better not to teach his son that at such a young age. “Like shut the door,” Levi added a second later. He mimed the act of slamming a door closed, suddenly self conscious of how rude it probably would be to slam a door. Was Luke going to start slamming doors if he made his movements too forceful?

Ice

“Ice!” Luke read aloud.

“Ice…” Levi paused for a second, racking his brain for the best way to explain it without having to go for the refrigerator and risk making a mess on their matted living room floor. “The cold thing…”

Four

“Four!”

“The number,” Technically there were two words ‘four’ and ‘for.’ What do you call those filler words? How do you define the word for? Levi realized then, there were only too many ways he could explain what words like ‘for,’ ‘to,’ were used for. He could just leave that to the school to explain.

Tea

“Tea!”

“Te---”

“Daddy likes tea!” Luke started. His face fell. “Right?”

In shock, Levi didn’t even notice he had frozen still, his hand dropping the tile. He nodded. “Yeah I like tea.” He allowed himself a tight lipped grin as he adjusted the letters just to make his son’s final product a little neater. “I really like tea.”

“Shitty four eyes?” His son said again, his excitable tone from a while ago unwavering.

That’s a bad word. Levi wanted to say. That’s disrespectful. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything else though. After all, his son was a bundle of innocence, a bundle of excitement. Did Luke even know what the hell he had been saying?

Levi was pathetic. He was weakshit. And he couldn’t even bring himself to disciplining his child on something he personally didn’t even believe in. He continued to reflect on it as he rearranged the letters again. Then he further wallowed in whatever guilt settled in him as he stood up and walked towards the kitchen. As he prepared dinner, then washed the dishes.

When Hange came home, he at least had been ready enough to speak. “I think he’s too young to understand,” Levi said.

“Well a three and a half year old would have a hard time understanding abstract ideas right?”

“Says the parent who’s teaching a three year old science.”

Hange pouted. “Science is not an abstract concept.”

“That’s not the point,” Levi said firmly. He knew if he didn’t interrupt Hange there, she probably would have gone on another tirade. “Do you have any ideas? On how to deal with this?”

“I have one,” Hange said. “I was talking to Historia just today, and some other parents…” She propped her chin on the palm of her hand. “Have you considered… Aside from just laying off, the shitty four eyes first? And I’ll lay off the clean freak? I mean, the kids apparently, at this age, they like to imitate and if we just be more careful about what we’re saying and try to say something nicer, more positive as nicknames. He should stop right?”

“We’ve been calling each other for years,” Levi commented.

“But, not in public right?” Hange said. “You never really said it during meetings.”

“Well those were meetings.”

“Think of this as a meeting, except this time, our son is probably listening to us every single time.” She frowned, wrinkled her nose and looked behind her. Just on the other side of the wall was Luke’s bedroom. It was late at night and he probably was asleep.

But with their conversations and Luke's tendency to pick things up, it only proved that the walls may have been too thin and their son may have been very observant.

Levi raised his eyebrows. “So you’re saying…”

Hange nodded. No clean freak. No shitty four eyes. AT ALL. She spelled out those nicknames slowly and carefully, just so their son wouldn't’ pick the words up, taking in the small possibility that he was awake.

Levi sighed. “Fine.” He wasn’t fine. Their home was supposed to be their private space. Luke would be a sponge for information but a stranger to logic and abstract concepts for the next two years.

Letting go of such an intimate habit born through years in the survey corps just to please the teachers and to make it easier for their son fit in, seemed almost unfair. He sought solace at least in Hange’s forced grin. She didn’t want to do it either.

We suffer together. Levi thought to himself. With a quick glance at her, Levi was sure Hange understood. Making it an issue of pride and misery made it all together a more bearable challenge.

***

It was bearable at least. And it took a little more careful introspection to pick up those few moments he had called Hange 'shitty four eyes' or ‘four eyes’ and he started to realize, it had been more difficult to point out than his own abrasive choice of words and his own vulgarity.

Shitty four eyes after all, never seemed like a string of curse words or insults. It was a pet name, so invisibly embedded in conversations that Levi felt strangely incomplete not peppering his dialogue with it.

Hange seemed to struggle as well. Clean freak. She used to say. She had started to replace it with something more diplomatic. “You really like cleaning huh?” A few syllables longer but it felt terribly, terribly unnatural. And Hange always accompanied it with the widest and most cringe inducing grin.

Every single time, Levi would look away, to stop himself from laughing or grimacing, one of those. Hange must have been doing the same though.

Shitty four eyes.

He had replaced ‘shitty four eyes’ with the closest thing he could come up with. It had taken some strict observation from other couples to pick up the best one. “Yes honey, I really love cleaning,” Levi admitted. He put enough emphasis on the pet name, hoping that would at least teach their child about proper pet naming conventions, the importance of ‘not cursing’ and just conventional diplomacy.

Hange was only making it harder to take the challenge seriously, a sardonic grin constantly plastered on her face. Every single time, he had called her honey, she looked away and cleared her throat, or let out a wracked cough, a good disguise for what he guessed had been a laugh.

A shoddy disguise but somehow, it seemed to work. Luke would watch them every time, his stare far from blank. He had on the same face he made every single time he would form those words with the blocks. Luke was deep in thought. “Shitty four eyes! Clean freak!” He said a second later.

Luke would then repeat that many few times over dinner or breakfast.

Imitation. Levi would tell himself, will himself to ignore Luke’s words. As painfully uncharacteristic as it was. Levi would trod on with his mission. “Honey, you want more bread?” Levi tried to make that one word seem as sweet as it sounded. He never got the practice though, so he wondered if he ever had the innate ability to make any words sound sweet.

“Thank you honey,” Hange responded, her grin much wider. A split second later, she looked away, seeming ashamed with herself.

Levi couldn’t blame Hange. It was a painful rendition, her tone seemed very much rehearsed. And when it was common knowledge between them that she was naturally more eloquent than he was, Levi found himself wondering how bad he sounded.

As long as Luke learns. Levi willed himself to swallow whatever embarrassment and stifling sensation came with the slow and excruciating weaning process from very intimate habits.

Luke eventually picked it up. “Ho...ney?” he repeated as his eyes darted between his two parents.

Yes. Honey. Levi nodded.

Luke’s face fell, his expression shifted from something curious, then something confused. Ending with something that could have been a hint of crestfallenness.

Levi couldn’t be too sure though. The boy looked down at his food and Levi couldn’t bring himself to crane his neck and sneak a glance to confirm it. The drooping shoulders of his son was enough to get his stomach turning though.

How long would it take for him to get used to it? Three weeks? Months? Eventually Luke should get used to it… Right?

It was one of those rare days where Hange had decided to work from home. Her piles of paperwork took up more than half their dining table and food would seem more like a hazard than a necessity.

When Hange was only present during weekends, Levi at the least, tolerated it.

On one condition, he was allowed to straighten out the almost two foot tall pile everytime he passed by the dining room in between household chores. When Hange was deep into hundreds of pages worth of reports though, she didn’t look like she minded Levi’s silent interruptions.

“What time are you picking Luke up from school?” Hange asked.

Levi looked at the clock. “He gets out of school at two today,” he answered. It was eleven, and half his mind was already looking into planning lunch.

“Okay,” Hange said, her focus fell back to the paperwork.

It wasn’t anything new, even on weekends or any other day Hange was home, Levi did most of the cooking and cleaning. Hange’s presence did manage to take some of the load off household management off of his shoulders.

Answering the phone was no exception.

Most days, Levi was capable of doing it on his own. When the vegetables were boiling on a pot, the pasta heating in the oven just below it, Hange offered to answer the phone.

“Zoe residence… Speaking…” Hange had always been better at answering the phone anyway. “Luke?”

Levi’s ears perked up at that. He lowered the heat of the stove, as if that would have done anything to make the conversation clear.

“What? Why? No… We’re not.” Hange’s voice was racked with surprise. “....You’re right. We’ll get there soon… We can leave now… We’re not too busy….”

Hange? Not busy? Levi had turned off the stove. Lunch never was the most urgent thing. “You’re going to school?”

“It’s about Luke.”

No shit. “I can tell that much from the conversation,” Levi said. “What happened?”

“He just started crying apparently…” Hange said.

Levi sensed the urgency in the speed at which she pulled her coat over her and retied her hair. “Crying over?” Levi pressed. Luke rarely cried and just that thought had Levi’s heart pounding.

“When the teachers were explaining… Luke was crying about… his parents… About us?”

“Your son said, you two ‘’didn’t love each other anymore’” the headmaster explained. It had been just them in the office but with the way the headmaster had explained it, it looked like she could have been quoting Luke word per word.

Levi surreptitiously flashed Hange a look of confusion, a glance just to see if she knew anything.

She seemed as lost as he was. “Can we talk to our son?” Hange asked.

“Before that, I just wanted to discuss the family situation first… See if we could do anything to support Luke through this?”

“Through what?”

“Through your ‘separation?’”

Levi turned to Hange, his eyes wide. We’re separating?

Hange furrowed her brows at him, an incredulous look. She turned abruptly back at the principal. “Who told you we’re separating?”

“Your son said you two have been fighting a lot. And he seemed very affected...”

“Fighting?” Levi asked. Are we?

No we aren’t. Hange’s expression said it all. “If there’s any misunderstanding, we can explain it to Luke ourselves.”

“You have to understand. We have our students welfare in mind. If we believe that your son is being raised in an unsuitable environment…”

“Excuse me?” Hange put one hand to her chest. Her tone was slipping to something with more emotion than any attempt at compromise.

“Just let us talk to our son,” Levi said. The echo of his own voice sounded unfamiliar in that small voice, especially since Hange had done the talking the whole time.

“We’ve been hearing as well about the vulgarities your son has been spouting...” the headmaster said.

“Yes, we’ve been working on it,” Levi said firmly, with every intention to interrupt the old lady.

“I’d like first some verbal commitment from both of you at least to work on this? We treat every child here like part of the family. With the case on Luke’s word usage and his suddenly bursting into tears in school… It looks like his home environment might not be ideal.”

“Can you let us talk to our son please?” Levi said. He turned to Hange. The brunette had fallen silent yet she seemed very much deep in thought.

“Could you please explain though from your end the debacle about the ‘shitty four eyes’ and the ‘clean freak?”

“We’re working on it,” Levi repeated. Somehow, it was getting harder and harder to sit still.

The condescending look in the woman’s face, the accusing glare wasn’t making it any easier. “But have you been working hard on it? Can I ask what is causing you to employ such vulgarity in your own home, in an environment for children?”

Since when did schools in Paradis get this vigilant about children’s home lives? It was a welcome change at least but Levi was in no mood to ponder the benefits of such an arrangement. “With all due respect ma’am, that’s none of your goddamn business.”

Levi could have just made it worse. And Hange said so herself, in between a stifled grin and a stifled chuckle.

If his own treatment of the very snobby principal could have done anything to convince the whole school that they were shitty parents. He was confident at least, Luke would defend them.

I mean a three year old should be capable of defending their parents right?

A three and a half year old. Hange’s words echoed in his head. If the ‘half year’ of living did anything to make Luke anymore aware of what exactly was going on, he prayed it did work.

Whether it was because he was three and a half or he was merely three, he seemed to have understood. A flash of recognition as they locked eyes along the hallways, Luke still let go of the Ms. Wilde's hand and ran towards them.

By some instinctive need to prove something maybe, Levi clutched Hange’s hand. She gripped back.

Luke seemed to have noticed it. “No fighting?”

“Fighting? Who said we’re fighting?” Hange bent down and patted her son on the head with her free hand.

A wide grin on his face, Luke turned to Hange. “Shitty four eyes.” Then to Levi. “Clean freak.”

Levi bent down, right next to Hange. “Yes, this is my shitty four eyes,” Levi said as he put one hand on Hange’s head, pulling her close.

“And this is my clean freak,” Hange pointed a finger to her left, towards Levi.

Something felt natural and intimate and something tasted sweeter than honey when he was saying those words again, words he had kept nill for months.

The grin in Luke’s face only made the release all the sweeter. “Shitty four eyes and clean freak!” Soon, he was running back to the teacher that had called out to him. He still had a few more hours of school.

“I guess we’ve been pretty careless about the nicknames huh?” Hange whispered wryly. “He’s probably just too young to understand what ‘shitty’ or what ‘freak’ could imply in any other situation.”

Levi stared ahead, at the young boy who was talking to the teacher in whatever childish babble the three year old could manage. “You know, the nicknames never felt like an insult to me.”

“I mean, we have been using them since we’ve met right? It just slips off our tongue every now and then,” Hange said as she let out a soft chuckle.

Every now and then. No a lot more often, than every now and then. To the point that Levi never felt it when it happened. Yet the absence of such words were painfully glaring.

“What are we going to do now about Luke’s language?” Levi averted his gaze, perfectly aware that if Luke had learned anything, it had probably been from his father.

“Have you ever taught him what the words ‘shitty’ or ‘freak’ meant?”

“Never,” Levi said.

“Then maybe we don’t have to think too much about it?” Hange suggested.

But it continued to nag. After all, the teachers continued to stare, probably whispering. Levi and Hange spent the last few hours before school ended just sitting by the courtyard of the school and they had more than enough evidence by then to be sure, teachers were talking.

When the bell rang, they found themselves attempting to brush away whispers and glares from the teacher, instead focusing on the hallways which were starting to fill with toddlers and kids.

And eventually, they found Luke, next to him a young girl in pig tails, with glasses. She wore a blouse and a skirt without a single crease on them. “This is my shitty four eyes… And my Clean freak!” Luke said. The girl next to him waved her hand, a wide grin on her face, not at all fazed by the words ‘shitty’ or ‘freak.’

Levi exchanged a knowing glance with Hange. No other words were shared between them but somehow they both understood. Maybe adults were just overthinking that very simple thing called language.

[blackradandmad]

why blippi is rotting yr children's brains

preface: i literally expect no one to read this. it is an essay length, strong opinion piece critiquing a niche youtube-based children's show that i don't expect most of y'all to even have knowledge of lol. but like, i promise that even if you know nothing about what i'm talking about, in my incredibly, super humble opinion, it's a good piece of writing and interesting nonetheless. anyway if you read this whole thing for some reason yr really hot and we should kiss.

i thoroughly vet everything my child watches before he watches it, episode by episode. and we rarely watch youtube for entertainment; we usually just look up educational videos when he has a question about something and wants more detail than i can provide him. and that's mainly because children's content on youtube is so fucking troubling and distressing. i don't judge parents who give their children a tablet at a restaurant at all bc i've been there and sometimes it's easier on everyone to just put on a video and avoid a giant scene, but i do judge parents who just leave their children alone with youtube kids on autoplay.

take stevin john, a literal millionaire who got famous from dressing up as a silly character called blippi and going on tours of places like aquariums, zoos, construction sites, etc and posting it on youtube. this has branched into a whole empire of blippi videos, hulu shows and specials, live shows and tours (that he outsources to another character actor), merchandise and so on. this 30-something year old man cites his main influence as being mr. rogers, but i question if he's ever even seen an episode of that program.

mr. rogers had no background in early childhood development or media production, but he revolutionized the world of children's media, because he respected his audience and didn't shy away from real world situations, all while creating a show with an enormous heart. mr. rogers begins his episodes by inviting the viewer in, literally changing his attire to be more comfortable, and talking about/doing things he genuinely cares about. whereas mr. rogers calmly and maturely addresses the viewer, blippi puts on a high pitched, contrived voice, interjecting every other sentence with a forced exclamation such as, "teehee! we're having so much fun!"

i don't find it a coincidence that john (blippi) is a veteran, either. his videos are completely devoid of the absurd, abstract, childlike thinking that makes children's media fun, creative, and entertaining. his thinking and process is methodical, devoid of emotion, and very superficial. this line of thinking clearly shows the kind of creative sterilization and emphasis on sameness and conformity instilled in the military. blippi simply observes things and interacts with them in a stale, matter-of-fact way. "this ball is purple! this ball is pink! anyway... what's over there? teehee! a car! vroom, vroom!" objects are colors, toy cars don't do anything but drive, curiosity is simply not encouraged.

he uses the "it's educational!" excuse to hide the fact that his show lacks everything that makes media a valuable resource for children to consume in the first place. further than identifying colors, numbers, and the occasional letter or shape, there is just this total lack of children's need for social and emotional development. when mr. rogers breaks the fourth wall to address the viewer and let them know they're special, it feels authentic and natural, because we've spent the last half hour building whole worlds with diverse characters and unique stories in a pretend neighborhood, learning about and enjoying different musical instruments, being exposed to and making friends with (even if parasocially, it is still a real bond to children when done properly) children who are similar to us in character regardless of physical or environmental differences, feeding the fish, making art together, and so on. when blippi tells the viewer, "you are very special, and i enjoy spending time with you!" it falls completely flat and feels unearned, because the last half hour was spent running around a soft play center pointing at bright, colorful objects, visiting interesting locations like farms or fruit production factories while failing to acknowledge the humanity of the humans actually working there (everything is machine or product focused; the human workers are simply an extension of the machine), learning "fun facts" about elephants that just list attributes of elephants, not taking the opportunity to inform the viewers of elephants' intelligence, or diet, or matriarchal society. it is a loud, sensory overwhelming display of a man so disconnected from the social and emotional needs and desires of children that he assumes they're stupid, easily entertained idiots who only need some silly dances and fast-moving cartoon graphics to give their attention (meaning time and desire to purchase products meaning $$$). john clearly views his audience as a means to gaming the algorithm and ultimately a paycheck by the hollow way he addresses them.

the show is so narcissistic, so focused on all the fun blippi is supposedly having, but he lacks any of the character traits that make individual children's show hosts memorable, so much so that he was able to have someone else who doesn't even vaguely resemble him dress as blippi and impersonate him and host the show or appear at live shows, and it went unnoticed by most of his toddler and child audience. the show is so formulaic and the character of blippi is so unmemorable that instead of taking the blue's clues route of developing a story of the host leaving for college and his brother now stepping in, or making some sort of believable excuse for the change in actors, they can simply swap him out with some random guy and not acknowledge it at all. although a comedy show for older children, the amanda show in no way could or would try to replicate the show with the same name but swapping out amanda bynes with a random teenage girl who is clearly not amanda bynes. it's weird and nonsensical and shows that his character is so much of a farce put on for a paycheck that not even his dedicated audience is affected or even cares when he is replaced by a random, unknown person.

this is completely garbage content made by an opportunist with no experience with children who saw his nephew watching children's youtube content, took it at complete surface level and still hasn't realized that while children's content only looks and feels so easy, entertaining, and enriching because it is so hard to do well. even with outsourcing his music, that aspect of the show still sucks. famous and successful children's musician, raffi, is known for his song describing the life of a little white whale, called "baby beluga." it opens with a calm strumming of his guitar, followed by the lyrics, "baby beluga in the deep blue sea/swim so wild and you swim so free/heaven above/sea below/and a little white whale on the go." is it silly and kind of pointless? yes, but the point is that he is captivating children and showing them the fun of listening to music, dancing, singing, and appreciating art. the "excavator song" featured in an episode of blippi about construction vehicles opens with what sounds like a default garageband loop and the flatly sung lyrics, "i'm an excavator/i'm an excavator/hey dirt, see you later/i'm an excavator." i don't feel i have to meticulously analyze the aforementioned lyrics; the stark contrast should speak for itself.

i have a million more criticisms about both blippi specifically and youtube children's content as a whole, but this is already so long and i doubt many people will get this far anyway. it's an issue i was completely apathetic towards until i had my own child and had to wean him off these kinds of junk food shows because i realized the fast-paced visuals and bright colors and repetitive songs/lyrics were putting him in this spaced-out, fugue state, and he thought he could demand this show or that show whenever he wanted. the moment he started regularly yelling things like, "watch! cars!" or "no! click it!" i knew i had to be a lot more invested in the things he watched even if just for entertainment or as a soothing message. i showed him an episode of mr. rogers yesterday and feared it would be too slow to hold his attention, but he was mesmerized, greeting and interacting with mr. rogers verbally, asking me, "what's that?" to different objects on the screen. since purging this low-brow children's entertainment, he has had a noticeable increase in attention span and concentration, can focus on a task for longer amounts of times, is more likely to "read"/look through books without me initiating it, and doesn't throw a fit when the tv/my laptop is off.

i just know that for me, growing up with so much unsupervised internet access definitely led me to real-world pain and consequences, and it seems like now children are born with an iphone as an extension of their arm. if my child is going to be consuming videos, i'm definitely supervising every second and am going to be highly critical of the videos and the credentials (or lack thereof) of the creators and team behind it. but i also know, from pure observation admittedly, that parents letting youtube kids autoplay parent their children for hours at a time is not an uncommon occurrence. and it worries me that a generation of children are being raised on videos that rely on being as loud and bright and superficially enjoyable as possible. what's the use of a child knowing their colors and alphabet if they don't know how to treat people with kindness and empathy and respect? there is something wrong for a children's show host to plug the spelling of his name at the end of his videos ("well, that's the end of this video. but if you wanna watch more of my videos, just type in my name! can you spell my name with me? b-l-i-p-p-i!") after essentially rotting his audiences' brains for a half hour. there's something so insidious about the prioritization of naming different parts of construction vehicles over honest depictions of and conversations about dealing with feelings, or why someone with autism may act differently than you, or what to do when you feel lonely, or ways to make art and express yrself creatively. also, not to mention the blatant police propaganda and outright worship is seriously jarring; as a black mother to a visibly non-white child, i cannot sit there and watch blippi show kids how to be a bootlicker for the shittiest profession on earth, but that could be a whole essay in and of itself.

anyway, thanks for reading, if yr looking for quality children's content, i recommend, in no specific order: mr. rogers, sesame street, the electric company, molly of denali, daniel tiger, bluey!, blue's clues, the odd squad, word party, trash truck, puffin rock, uhh... that's definitely not an extensive list but that's just off the dome!!! ok bye y'all <333

[bitchwhoreofastorm]

"Do you know what they do with the corpses?" Trinimac had asked, at the end of their sparring session. And Boethiah hadn't even known who he was talking about, because they never spoke of Lorkhan to each other, not until that day. But Trinimac's voice was hollow and grim in a way he'd never heard it before. "Follow them, some time,” said Trinimac, “See what they do with the corpses." And this was an intriguing prospect, in a time when only one spirit had the power to kill.

So here Boethiah is once more, liquid smoke among the tall grass, slinking small and cowardly in the wake of another.

Tracking Kyne is not hard, for wherever she passes, she leaves howling wind and churned soil in her wake. This hunt has taken her through a vast field of wheat, once neatly-cultivated but long abandoned by a perpetually distracted Mara, so the stalks stand woody and over-tall, bent to breaking where Kyne had charged through. The destruction she’s wrought has left an abundance of hiding-places, which Boethiah takes advantage of as he winds through the dusty-smelling carnage.

He's larger than he was the first time he followed her, and it's harder to be nothing more than smoke; here and there he's clumsy, and when his feet accidentally land on the trail of destruction, his toes become sticky with dirt and blood.

Trinimac's challenge has interested him for one reason: Boethiah actually has no idea why Kyne has invented the concept of death. He has been at the edge of her claws, yes, he has felt the sharpness sinking into his essence and has known what it is like to be on the brink of being destroyed, but he has never understood this thing she would have inflicted upon him, had Lorkhan not seen him crushed into the ground below her wrath. Death is an unpopular concept, considered vulgar because it’s inexplicably frightening, so it's not often talked about, and even Bal shudders away from the topic when brought up; it's understood by all that Kyne and her husband are doing something with it, that it’s connected to that elusive notion which is called Lorkhan’s endeavor, but if anyone knows the real purpose for the act, they haven't shared.

Following Kyne now, Boethiah wonders if it's intentionally kept secret, and how Kyne might react to being spied on-- there's a reason he tries to be as unseen and fickle while he pursues her through the grass. Kyne is a mighty and terrible spirit, and Boethiah, for all his strength and all his tenacity, knows that if she decided to end him, she could. He thinks he knows better than to assume Trinimac is trying to get him killed, but as the wind grows fiercer and the bloody puddles underfoot turn steaming-fresh, he starts to wonder...

Then there's the sound of crashing, a repetitive meaty thud accompanied by the dry crackle of snapping reeds. Fluid as a snake, Boethiah slips to the top of a strand of wheat and watches.

Kyne’s prey is a spirit with a distinctive essence about it. It's the concept of something that sets out on a transformative journey of the self but is forced to return to its initial state before reaching its destination-- an Anuic that wants to be Padomaic, grey through and through. It's large, very large, reminiscent of a hairless mammoth with cobbled skin and a thick trunk that hangs limply on the ground, bulky enough that even Kyne is struggling to lift it. She perches atop it in the form of a giant hawk, hunched over and indistinct for her concentration on her task, so that to Boethiah she seems a shapeless mass of feathers and storm-clouds, save for the single fearsome leg outstretched with claws grasping its neck. But as he watches she extends two vast wings, and gives a mighty flap-- she succeeds in lifting her prey into the air slightly, only for the weight of it to slam back into the ground with that same meaty thump, sending a slurry of blood and leaf-litter spraying into the air.

Boethiah's ears are keen enough that he hears Kyne mutter a curse. Then Kyne shifts her grip, becoming something a little less bestial, and, using the same futile gesture of flapping wings and awkward hops, she begins to heave the spirit through the grass.

It is not truly dead, Boethiah realizes, when he starts to follow them again. The spirit Kyne’s dragging is bleeding, its essence ripped into tatters, but he can still see it, its substance still exists; it cannot be dead, because death, Boethiah realizes at once, is little more than a clever piece of propaganda that Kyne's put out there to stop her prey from resisting once she's got her claws into them. The prey’s skin has been shredded, and the foggy rain-like anima sublimates the moment it leaks from its openings, but the trough left by Kyne is filled with pools of gory mud, as if it's taken inspiration from the tales of so many hunts that have come before. 

Kyne's progress is slow, given the awkward hopping shuffle she's been forced to use, and she's so preoccupied with the unwieldy task that Boethiah feels quite sure she won't see him. He follows as close as he dares, letting himself be little more than a streak of imagined gore among the ruin left in their wake.

Thus, slowly and unsightly, Kyne leads him right to that secret she and Lorkhan have been keeping.

-

The secret Lorkhan has been keeping turns out to be an arena. 

The secret kept by Lorkhan turns out to be a cavernous and terrible pit into which thoughts slip like debris sliding down the walls of a cliff.

The field falls away into a confused distortion of itself; a steeply-sloping arc of wheat turns into a jumble of thick milled stalks, like hay, which slide over each other as they depart the plain, only to break apart against each other in ways that no wheat should break. Here they become glass, there they snap into bones, in other places they sublimate into broken color and fractured shades of grey, being reduced to a hell of rhombuses and squares as they tumble down and come to rest in a slowly-churning heap of soupy geometry at the base of an arena wherein existence has been reduced to a profane intellectual game. 

This miasma-- a poor description for it, for it could not be described by one coherent notion so much as several contradicting ones reducing each other to fluid-- seems to flow in a sluggish current around a raised platform in the center of the chasm, upon which a sort of workshop has been set up. At this workshop is racks upon which are hung sheets of dripping grey matter; tables smeared with rendered bloody notions; a warping-table like that Mephala uses for her secrets; cauldrons; hammers; machetes; blades; and the centre reserved for the most dangerous of instruments.

Still dragging the spirit behind her, Kyne limps to the very edge of this-- this unconventional arena, such as it is. Here at the edge she fans out her massive wings and beats them two, three, four times-- with the advantage of the steep slopes, she takes off and, sluggish for the weight she's still bearing, goes half-flying, half-falling over the cascading fractals being sucked into the pool below. Her massive form plummets towards the central island, ballasted down by her prey, and when she goes crashing onto a round flat platform the sound of her impact is audible throughout creation itself.

"Husband," Kyne cries, struggling to set herself upright, "A successful hunt."

In the middle of his many instruments, Lorkhan turns to the side and gives his wife a radiant grin. "Well done, my hawk," he says, striding over to her.

His hand meets her face, and at once Kyne is a woman of some sort-- the thunderstorms of her hair waft around her beautiful face, her feather-cloak crackles with electricity, but Boethiah sees that she is panting hard, and at Lorkhan's touch she sags against him.

Lorkhan moves forwards, and disappears in the chaos of her as they kiss. Seething with envy and sickened by curiosity, Boethiah watches, winding himself around a wheat-stalk so tightly it begins to smolder.

Moments later they separate, Lorkhan's expression tender with affection. While Kyne moves away and slumps down to the ground nearby, Lorkhan turns to the prey she's bought him. It’s still inert, believing itself dead, but when Lorkhan kneels and touches its ruined flank Boethiah sees its eyes open, and its long trunk stirs.

"Who are you?" asks Lorkhan, so sweetly.

The spirit is scared enough that even from this distance Boethiah can see the whites of its eyes. Lorkhan's word is law, however, so it answers:

"I am that which falls and is always falling. I set out on journeys but only end up at home."

"Yes, I know you. What is your name?"

"Virga."

Lorkhan's hands, ink-black, spread across Virga's grey flank. With a religious reverence he bows his head, probing with his fingers the many punctures rent into its skin.

"Is it enough?" Kyne calls. She's crouching some distance from him, with her feather-cloak wrapped tightly around herself, so that she’s once more shapeless, ragged and panting.

Lorkhan does not answer her. "What is it that you want?" he asks Virga.

"I set out on journeys but only end up at home," Virga replies.

"I understand. You want to be transformed, but you can never quite manage it."

"Yes."

"Have you ever felt the rain, Virga?"

"Yes."

"Did you like it?"

"I should like to feel it again."

"It is enough," Lorkhan declares, looking back at Kyne.

Kyne rises to her feet.

Lorkhan remains kneeling by Virga's side. "You want to be transformed," he observes, with brilliant warmth, "So we aren’t so different, you and I. You see, I wish to transform things. Actually, I wish for a lot of things. I am full of desire. I desire much, and I desire it very keenly.

"You did not wish to become my prey," Lorkhan continues, as Kyne approaches him with an adamantium knife. "So, how is it that you are now my prey? Because I wanted you to become my prey. I am stronger than you. This is why I get what I want and you don’t. Do you know why I am stronger than you, dear Virga?

"Because I am want," says Lorkhan, taking the knife from Kyne. "My desire is keener than yours, so I am stronger than you. You are my prey because I've willed it so. My desire is strongest, so my being is strongest.

"I want to fulfill my wanting," says Lorkhan, laying the flat of the knife against Virga's heaving fear-sweaty flank, "And I have the power to do so. And so I exist.

“And so I will do as I want. 

“And so you shall die for me."

And Boethiah cannot make himself look away, he cannot bring himself to recoil even when the wheat he’s clinging to bursts into flame, and it's only when the smoke catch Kyne's attention does he even realize he ought to flee, but he's captivated, captivated despite his horror, and he thinks that he sees Lorkhan raise his head-- Boethiah thinks that their eyes meet, in the moment before Lorkhan makes the first cut.

-

"So you saw it," Trinimac says when Boethiah returns to him changed.

Compared to the miasma of Lorkhan's creation, Auri-el's abode is sterile and static, all straight lines and shining clean surfaces draped in inert gaudy gold. Boethiah is not meant to be in Trinimac's chambers but those rules have not stopped him; ever since Lorkhan began his endeavor the palace is less populated than it ever has been, and sneaking in is far too easy. Among Auri-el’s elite Trinimac is one of the few who’s deigned to abstain from the serpent’s schemes, and now it is clear why that incarnate of perfection always seemed to find such distaste for Lorkhan's plans: creation, it seems, is a very messy thing.

Boethiah is still smoke-shaped and silent as he drifts into the centre of Trinimac's chambers. "I saw it," he agrees in a voice that is very quiet. 

And then he says nothing more, hanging suspended like a wisp of cinders in the centre of the room.

The air is perfectly still, so still that nothing moves him, so still that even Trinimac's small sigh slightly stirs his form.

"Perhaps you weren't strong enough to see it," Trinimac admits, with obvious concern in his usually stoic voice.

Boethiah does not respond to the insult.

"You knew, didn't you?" Trinimac asks tentatively. "About the endeavor?"

"I knew he was...creating. Something."

"But not what he was making it out of?"

Trinimac moves closer to Boethiah, creating eddies of breeze that pluck at his edges. "I know," he says in a voice that's trying to be soothing, "It's--"

"Glorious," Boethiah whispers.

This single word pauses Trinimac in his path. Boethiah stands still, staring into nothing, but his edges bleed into the stagnant air.

"No," says Trinimac. "It's horrific. It's profane. Glorious is defeating your enemies in combat, not--"

"It's glorious!" Boethiah repeats forcefully, jerking his gaze up to meet Trinimac's, and perhaps the wheat from the field snagged on his borders before it was immolated because his eyes are blazing in a way they never have before. "To want, to will, with such force, that others are vanquished and remade in your image-- what could be more glorious than that?"

Trinimac, stalwart warrior, so undaunted by everything in the world, recoils.

"Lorkhan is brilliant," Boethiah continues breathlessly, and he now fees very solid against the cold golden room. "If you cannot see that then Auri-el has blinded you. What he was doing back there-- he's discovered the point of it all. Becoming-- existing in spite of all else! What else can possibly matter in the face of that?"

"He's ruined you," Trinimac whispers.

"So let him ruin me, if that is his will, if I'm not strong enough to stop him! Trinimac!" And Boethiah lunges forwards, pressing his burning palm against the icy coldness of Trinimac’s breastplate. "Now everything is strife, our very existences depend on being strong enough to resist each other! Isn't this what you've been looking for, too? How long have we fought with one another, trying to impose our wills on each other? Isn't this what you've wanted? What has Lorkhan done but recognize who we are?"

But Trinimac knocks his hand away, and a smoldering black handprint remains seared into the gleaming armor. Trinimac is expressionless in his helmet, so Boethiah cannot discern his reaction, and this too is something new, because his gilding has never stopped Boethiah from reading him before.

"I did not expect..." Trinimac begins, moving slowly across the room. "I thought you would hate it.”

“Then you did not know me,” spits Boethiah. “Then I did not make you know me.” 

“You were a fraction of myself when I met you! What was there to know?”

“Then you do not know yourself.”

“But you told me that you denied him!”

“Yes, because I knew he meant to tear me to shreds.”

“And you call that glorious?”

“It is glorious!”

Trinimac has arrived at his weapons-stand and he’s reaching for Vosh Rakh, which hangs inert and gleaming with violent light upon the wall; Boethiah, in shadows, is nonetheless burning with a violent light of his own. 

“No, I won’t let him tear me to shreds,” Boethiah proclaims, voice raw with passion, “I respect him far too much for that. No, instead I will emulate him. If he is desire, I shall be--” 

Trinimac has taken Vosh Rakh in hand. “What can you-- you, a small weak thing-- what can you possibly be to him?”

“To him I will be Boet-hi-ah! Not as meat to be used, not as a tool to be wielded, but as Boet-hi-ah, as myself, as the one who won’t be butchered!” Boethiah raises his chin boldly as Trinimac approaches him with the killing blade. “Can you say the same for Auri-el?” 

“Lord, forgive me!” . 

But Vosh Rakh does not meet its target when it descends in an arc of cold light, for Boethiah is a little faster, or a little stronger, or a little more mutable from the flames. He’s gone before Trinimac can land a second blow, slipping through the window and dissipating like a memory of smoke, leaving only in his wake cinders and char, and the burned-black handprint over Trinimac’s heart.

[dzamie-oc]

05 - Space

Space prompt, eh? A good a time as ever for some hammer-space dragon! Featuring Sylvia, the loveliest little gold dragoness in the Dragonslayer Guild Hall.

Length: 2200 words Rating: M (noncon vore. Not sexual, but it’s still noncon and vore) Summary: Victoria, a dragonslayer in training, learns an unforgettable lesson about how hammerspace dragons work, and perhaps about assuming mundane explanations around fantastical creatures.

Minors DNI with this particular story. I am hella uncomfortable with the idea of y’all openly interacting with vore.

-----

“Hey, Sylvia, any chance I could borrow a gold coin? Need to test the magical affinity of this thing to some elements, and gold’ll do just fine,” the cheetah asked the little golden dragon perched on his shoulder. “Y’know, before I permanently affix the actual part.”

“Yeah, gimme a second. Hand, please.”

Behind them, Victoria watched the pair work - or, well, she watched Dzamie work, while Sylvia mostly just watched him from closer. She had initially stopped by to ask the katul about one of his swordwork lessons, but he seemed busy, so she was fine waiting... for ten minutes longer, maybe. A bit more if she thought she’d get to cuddle the adorable little dragoness. Yes, time and time again, Dzamie himself had repeated that every dragon can kill an incautious slayer, and it was almost always in reference to Sylvia, but the woman found it hard to take it seriously. Not that she’d ever say it aloud. Even if it turned out not to be true, Sylvia seemed to take pride in her rumored “danger,” and Victoria liked the little lady too much to rain on her parade.

A loud hiss filled the air, then Dzamie waved a gold coin in his hand back and forth, steam rising up from his paw and the coin. “What’s he doing that does that?” the human asked herself, aloud.

Dzamie, however, was the one to respond, without looking up. “Oh, fire spells come easy to me, so I use ‘em to quickly dry off stuff Sylvia gives me. Gives the workshop a certain smell, but it’s not really enough drool to bother humans.” His voice dropped to a mutter as he looked over his work, then nodded and spoke up again. “Yeah, that’ll work. But, yeah, if you ever catch me after a swim, I do the same thing to myself - just, with a silencing spell when there’s people around.”

Having been unofficially invited into the conversation, Victoria walked closer. The katul was working on what looked an awful lot like a gun from a video game. “Huh, forgot you did cosplay,” she remarked, “and, wait, why would what she gave you be wet?”

Two pairs of eyes swung to look at her, one tiny and yellow, one more her size and, well, also yellow, but with a purple aura around them that soon cleared. “I trust him to return items from my hoard,” Sylvia said, “and, naturally, anything I don’t bag up for protection gets wet.”

Victoria looked around, trying to find where the little dragoness might have put a hoard that she could somehow reach from Dzamie’s shoulder, to no avail. Luckily for her, Sylvia easily read the human’s face, smiled, swished her tail, and said, “Hmm, tell you what. You’re nice enough to me, good enough pets and all that.”

“Oh, is she the other one who’s been giving you strawberries?” Dzamie asked. He was looking back at the prop again, where a finger wreathed in green fire poked at a floating spell circle of the same color.

Sylvia huffed. “Anyway! Would you like to see my hoard, Victoria?” The golden dragoness sat up as tall as she could to deliver her next line, “just be aware that if you try to steal from me, your life is forfeit.”

Any tiny, intimidating effect she might have had was immediately discarded as her furry, feline perch moved his arm and sent her tumbling onto the table. In spite of herself, Victoria laughed. “Sorry, sorry!” she said, “it’s just, the timing. I would love to see your hoard, Sylvia. Assuming it’s not just that coin. Uh, no offense, you’re just, well, you-sized.”

Dzamie interrupted again, muttering “alright, let’s see if this doesn’t explode this time” as he picked up his project in one hand. “And Victoria, pop quiz! Zero percent of your grade. What species of dragon is this adorable golden derg?”

“Don’t call me a derg.”

“Adorable golden dragon,” the cheetah amended. The device in his hand whirred and glowed with his green magic, and successfully failed to explode, at which he gave a satisfied “heh.”

Victoria leaned against one of the other tables, trying to recall. “She’s a... hammer-something. Not hammerhead, hammer... hammerspace!” she said with a confident smile.

Dzamie nodded. “Fantacular. Just making sure you might know what you’re in for.” He turned to Sylvia. “I’m gonna go test this out proper. Back in a few.”

The dragoness on the table walked over to the edge and sat down, facing Victoria. “Okay, then, just set your sword... somewhere and give me your hands.” As she did so, unsheathing the weapon and laying it flat, Sylvia continued, “I never figured out whether it’s easier for you if I go slow or fast, but I like slow, so I’m gonna go slow.”

“Oh, and you’ll want to ditch the rest of your armor,” Dzamie added, gesturing to her with the toy gun, “trust me on this, it’s uncomfortable and then you just have to clean it unnecessarily.”

Victoria glared at him. “Sure, Teach, let me just strip down right in front of a male katul all alone in this room.”

Dzamie passed his prop to his other hand, then held up his fingers as he counted off, “okay, one, Sylvia’s here with us; two, just because I fit the stereotype doesn’t mean you should use it; and three-” he lifted his project, “- the only reason I’m coming back here in the next half hour is if this thing explodes on teleport. ...which you better not,” he muttered at the prop. Then, with a snap of his fingers, he was gone.

For a solid minute, Victoria stared at the spot he’d vanished, almost daring him to teleport back in. Sylvia coughed to get her attention. “He’s not wrong, though. I don’t know about armor maintenance, but usually people prefer to be in comfortable clothes.” The little dragoness turned her head away and flicked her tail back and forth. “If, uh, if they wear any, but people like that are few and far between. Look, it is pretty cramped on the way to my hoard, but I’d be an awful friend if I insisted you get rid of things that aren’t weapons.”

“Things that aren’t weapons?”

The golden dragon gave her a flat look. “Can you really blame me, a dragon, for not trusting dragonslayers with weapons?”

“Fair point.” Victoria sighed. After a moment more of internal debate, she started to remove her armor. She asked Sylvia for some help, and before long, she stood before the hammerspace dragon in a sports bra and athletic shorts, glad that her friend was a dragon and not a katul, or a human.

Sylvia looked her up and down; Victoria jokingly asked if she thought she was hiding knives or something. “I... already checked, actually. Just thought dragonslayers wore something more underneath. Laundry day?”

The human grimaced. “It’s done, just... I wasn’t thinking earlier. Er, so, hands?”

“Hands!”

Victoria tentatively held her hands out in front of Sylvia, who pressed them together with her little paws. She brought her muzzle right next to the woman’s fingers, then looked up and said, “just so you know, I’m not letting you back down from this.” Before Victoria could ask what she meant by that, the dragoness opened her jaws and lunged forward.

She could hardly believe her eyes. Her arms looked just fine all the way down to her wrists, but there... they simply weren’t. Sylvia’s snout started, and her arms stopped. Her hands were surrounded by something warm, squishy, and wet, and when she tried to move them or pull them apart, they were pressed back in on each other. Then, a wave of pressure rolled down the hidden hands, and Victoria watched as more of her forearms also shared her hands’ plight. She wiggled her hands more, but there was no change. It took a few seconds for her mind to finally piece it all together: Sylvia was eating her. Somehow.

Another swallow pulled her elbows in, locking her arms out straight. In the back of her head, Victoria knew that she really ought to be panicking, that being eaten by a dragon was something she should not be going calmly into. But still, even as she bent over to the table, leaning down towards the dragon’s tiny body, it was hard to really take it seriously. After all, if she turned her head, she could see that not one of Sylvia’s scales were out of place, so CLEARLY the tiny dragon couldn’t be swallowing her.

A moment later, and she no longer had that problem. Her head was buried deep in somewhere dark pink, surrounded by hot, wet flesh, and any time she moved her arms or twisted her head, all she heard was wet “shlrk”s and squishes as she was guided back into position. The dragoness’s next swallow came more quickly, as though anticipating the human’s reaction:

Now that her eyes were no longer trying to tell her she wasn’t being eaten, Victoria came to the obvious conclusion: her friend had betrayed her trust for a meal. However, she found that she wasn’t scared, or terrified. Be it her own natural inclinations, or her, admittedly incomplete, training as a dragonslayer, Victoria instead found rage. With a primal yell, she twisted and turned, thrashing her arms to try to choke or even gag Sylvia, and she kicked one knee up, trying to feel her way into slamming into the tiny trickster. Unfortunately, the next thing she felt was her knee pinned against her belly, joining the rest of her upper body in the tight, slimy tunnel. Dragon drool got in her mouth, so she spat and sputtered as her hips, shorts, and other thigh were engulfed by the irrationally long throat. Between the heat, the steady, almost soothing noises of wet throatflesh squishing against her skin, the humid, heavy air, and simple exertion, Victoria soon found the fight slip away from her. Ankle-deep in what she thought was a very small dragon, the human sighed and let Sylvia close her jaws after her foot without a struggle.

When her head pressed against the ring of muscle, Victoria had resigned herself to her fate as dragon food. After all, the only person who knew where she was was Dzamie, and that katul would probably demand something-

Her head ran into something solid, and a clattering sound entered her ears, rather than just the constant squelching of wet flesh. Victoria opened her eyes, then sat up and- well, sat up, brushed her hair and Sylvia’s drool from her eyes, and then really opened them to see...

A pile of assorted coins, gold, silver, bronze, and more, bars of precious metals, gems of many colors, piled up nearly as tall as Victoria, herself! A trio of abstract sculptures - possibly part of a set, Victoria reasoned, though one could never really tell with that much abstraction. And, for some reason-

“So, how is it? I’m glad you calmed down eventually,” came Sylvia’s voice from all around.

“There’s... a train engine...” was all Victoria could say.

The little dragoness laughed. “Haha, yeah! One of my earlier additions, actually. I bet every hammerspace dragon does one of those, ‘okay, but CAN I eat that?’ things; I just decided to keep mine for a while, as a trophy, and over time, well, it’s a bit sentimental now.”

“You ATE and KEPT an ENTIRE TRAIN OUT OF THE-?!” the human shouted, dumbfounded, then faltered. “Uh, what’s it called, train house?”

Another laugh. “No, no, I ate a MOVING train - well, just pulling out, not that fast - and kept the engine car. The passenger car and all the delicious treats within are years gone.” There was a pause, and then. “Don’t worry, though. I’m much nicer these days, keep myself in the green zone.”

Victoria sighed, crawled over to the vehicle, and climbed into a seat. “Well, as far as places to die go, this place at least looks nicer than I expected.”

“Die? Who said anything about that? I’m not letting you stay in my stomach, you’ve got stuff to learn and I’ve got strawberries to eat, given only to dragons who DON’T have anyone stewing away in their bellies. ...willing meals notwithstanding.”

Another sigh, though this time of exasperation. “Sylvia... stomachs digest organic material. I am an organic material. I just hope I pass out before the pain gets to me too much.”

This time, there was raucous laughter, followed by a shriek and a swear. “Uh, sorry, fell off the table. You should attend more dragon biology lessons. And/or ask Dzamie for some notes, though if you do, prepare to have an entire encyclopedia dumped on you. Unabridged.”

“I’m safe?”

“You’re the biggest danger to yourself in there. Don’t smash yourself in the head with a sculpture and you’ll be fine.”

Victoria’s mind was still reeling. Nearly half a dozen earthshaking revelations in only a few minutes was not an easy thing to deal with. “And... you’ll let me out when I ask?”

“Or in half an hour. I want strawberries and that’s when there are strawberries. Oh, but make sure you aren’t holding anything when you come back up, or you WILL be eaten again, and it WON’T be to see all my shinies.”

This time, Victoria decided to take her threat seriously. And she had more reason to not “rain on her parade” about being a deadly maneater.

[adventuresofclever]

CleverMax: SDCC 2021 Masquerade Entry

Comic-Con@Home Masquerade Entry: Adventures of Clever Costume Title: CleverMax - Mr. Clever as a Borderlands boss Costume Description: Recreation of Mr. Clever from the Doctor Who episode Nightmare in Silver, written by Neil Gaiman, done in the style of the video game, Borderlands. Bio: They/He pronouns

Greetings all!

I realized that I never wrote about how I made my CleverMax mashup cosplay, so when SDCC posted about their At Home masquerade, I figured this was the perfect time to do so! Most of you know that I cosplay exclusively as Mr. Clever from Doctor Who, with the random mash up thrown in here and there. I’ve always wanted to be a Borderlands cosplayer, and the following is how I managed to combine the two together.

As always, enjoy the blog and if there are any questions, please feel free to contact me. 

Let’s step into the TARDIS and jump back to October 20, 2009, when the first Borderlands game was released. It was my first foray into FPS (First person shooters) and I was hooked from day one. In 2012 they released Borderlands 2 which is, in my not so humble opinion, the best video game ever created. We got some of the most iconic charcters and storylines in that game. Including the best DLC ever, Bunkers and Badasses. And my second favorite villain of all time – Handsome Jack.

Jack’s sass, sarcasm and charm fits well with Mr. Clever’s personality. And in the pre sequel you get to play a version of him called the Dopplegnager.  I mean, this pretty much wrote itself.

Handsome Jack from Borderlands 2 and Mr. Clever from Doctor Who

Borderlands cosplayers have aIways left me in a state of awe and admiration. The style of the game is so unique and seeing it recreated in person is nothing short of incredible. I’ve always wanted to figure out a way to be a Borderlands cosplayer. For the past eight years I have only ever cosplayed as Mr. Clever from Doctor Who. In the summer of 2019 I decided that was the perfect time to try to make this happen before NYCC.

When I initially decided to do this, it was going to be more of a mash up between Handsome Jack and Mr. Clever. I had planned on wearing Jack’s basic outfit, but in Clever’s colors with the a few add ons. Namely the bow tie and the cybernetics.

After much research and drafting, I decided against that. I ended up just turning Mr. Clever into a Borderlands boss. Same basic outfit as Mr. Clever/11th Doctor, but cel shaded and with weapons, cause Borderlands.

I made the accessories, chess set, and obviously the working cyberplanner piece itself for my Nightmare in Silver version of Clever, but I have never tackled anything this ambitious. An entire costume from scratch? Not something I thought I could do. Not knowing how to sew and being visually impaired were both challenges that I had to work around.

I started with looking around my house for various items that I thought I could use. I figured if I messed up, might as well mess up on something I hadn’t spent money on yet! I was going to toss a pair of my old paddock boots as they had some rips in the leather. Ripped leather? How very Pandora. They were the first thing I tackled.

Old paddock boots that I refurbished for the cosplay

This was my first time using leather paint and I have to say I am very pleased with the Angelus brand of leather paint. I have worn these in the rain and through puddles, and they have held up 100%.

After the boots were done, I started on the vest. I had an old black vest lying around the house that was sort of the shape and size I wanted. I don’t have a dress form, so I put it on myself, inside out, and used safety pins to make it the size I needed, then hand sewed around the safety pins. Not ideal, but it works.

I had a spare pair of black jeans, button down light blue shirt and a plain bow tie that I just ended up cel shading.

The only item that I really couldn’t figure out was the purple frock coat. Try as I might, I couldn’t find one to modify. So the coat was actually made by my friend Heather Long. I did alter the length after NYCC. 

With the clothes themselves all set, for the most part anyay, it was time to paint. This was my first time trying to recreate the art style of Borderlands, often referred to as cel shading. I have a few “art of Borderlands” style books that I poured over before I sat down to attempt this.

Other than the accessories and anything leather, I used the same materials and techniques for each article of clothing. Instead of describing each seprate piece, I’ll just explain what I did to achieve the overall look.

When you look at a Borderlands character on screen, it can be a bit overwhelming. So many colors, and so many nuances of each color. I did my best to visually sift through all that, and try to establish what I thought was the base color.

Once the base color was determined, I just added blotches, blobs, shading, low lights, highlights and other variations of the base color itself throughout each piece. I recommend keeping your fabric wrinkled and using those wrinkle as guidlenes for where the lines and shading would fall naturally.

Once all of that dried, I then went over different sections of the fabric with white and black lines. To get that crisp, almost comic book looking outline of each piece I used black sharpie, and white fabric pens as well as white fabric paint.

When I sat down to do the coat, I wanted something a little different than just cel shading. During a second playthrough of Tales from the Borderlands, I noticed Rhys and other characters had interesting logos and designs on the back of their jackets. I ended up putting a chessboard pattern on the back as a homage to the chess game between the 11th Doctor and Mr. Clever in the episode.

Great shot of the chess board and my Judd Nelson pose

The materials that I used for all of the clothing items were craft paints that I had around the house. Any brand works, but I prefer Americana paints. I then added an additive that you use to make the paint water proof and used various sized brushes. Dry brushes are also very useful if you have them.

Black sharpies of different sizes and any fabric markers are also very helpful. Heat setting is required to make the paint waterpfoof, so if you mess up before you add sharpies, you can wash the clothes and start over.

A few tips if you decide to undertake cel shading clothing: Until now I hadn’t noticed that there aren’t many thing in Borderlands that are true black. Due to the art style most things that appear black are in reality shades of grey, with a grey base colr. This makes it easier to add the lines, shading, and what not.  Looking back, I should have bought GREY clothes. It was a ton of work to make the pants look like they were a mixture of greys. And as a result of so many laers of paint, they are stiff, lost their stretch and feel an entire size smaller! So I would recommend grey fabric as a base for black clothing and buy a size larger.

The pants are so stiff that I think they will stand up on their own

This entire process was way more fun than I thought it would be and I’ve since become addicted to cel shading anything I can. I may or may not have started cel shading my guest room. 

After the clothing was finished, I started on some accessories and props. The first being the easiet – a wee little cybermite that I cel shaded. My cosplay of Mr. Clever always has a cybermite on my lapel, so I took one of my older ones and repainted it.

You can’t have a Borderlands character without some sort of weapon, so I painted a nerf gun that looks similar to the one that Clara Oswald holds in the episode.

I have never had to carry a gun for my Mr. Clever cosplay before so weapon checks are sort of new to me. I didn’t want to go through that at NYCC so I came up with a clever, no pun intended, way around it.

I took a photo of each side of the gun. Went to Staples and had them printed on heavy cardstock. Then I cut around the guns, glued them together between a piece of cardboard then added some black electical tape around the edges.  Viola. Instant weapons check approved gun that is lightweight, and also acts a fan when it gets hot. It was a huge hit at the con. A few security guards were like “ we have to check your…wait..is that flat?” And they proceeded to play with it. I highly recommend doing this!

Gun and its flat counterpart

I am holding the flat gun in this picture from NYCC

In the actual game, you can equip your characters with mods that give them certain abilities and bonuses. In the Pre-Sequel, you can play as a Dopplganger of Handsome Jack so I searched for some of his mods and found one in purple which seemed perfect. I made the mod with cardboard, covered it in craft foam, modge podge to set, and installed led lights. The first time I wore it I put it on my belt which didn’t work. It kept falling off. I eventually put it on my lapel and wore it like Jack does. Unfortunately, someone glomped on me at a con and broke it, so I recently had to remake it all over again.

No Borderlands costume would be complete without cel shading on yourself. This was a huge challenge for me for a few reasons. One, I’m visually impaired so doing line work like this was challenging. Two, I am highly allergic to so many materials and ingrediants that finding a make up brand that I could wear was a trial and error process that ended up with many break outs and rashes before I found the perfect combination.

I used mostly eye liner pencils and liquid eye liner to achieve the look. The Wet n Wild liquid eye liner lasts forever, and is actually difficult to remove, but that is not a bad thing as it stood up to the heat of a very crowded venue.

As for the cel shading itself, I relied on many refernce photos of various characters in the game. I started with the eyebrows first as that seemed to frame the face nicely and give me a nice mischvieous look. I then just outlined the bones of my face, adding some random lines here and there. It never looks the same way twice, but that’s ok. Playing with different angles, lines, shading etc is half the fun!

The only real challenge were my hands. The make up didn’t last that long on my hands so I had to touch it up throughout the con. I also eventually started to use band aids that I cel sahded to cover up a tattoo on my inner wrist.

Figuring what to do with my hair is an on going process that I still haven’t 100% mastered. I opted to not use a foam wig as I have over heating issues on a cool day let alone trying to wear one if it gets warmer. I have had adverse reactions to craft foam in the past, so I don’t want it touching my skin, and lastly, I think a wig AND a facial prosthetic would be too much for me. So I decided to just cel shade my hair.

This takes forever to do, and I’m still figuring out better techniques every time I wear it.

I have a really great brand of colored gel, called Mofajang which I apply with a baster brush that you would find in the kitchen gadgets aisle. I also use a clean mascara brush to add some finer lines here and there. Set with way more hair spray than I ever used in the 80’s and it becomes fairly waterproof.

I have learned that due to how hard the make up and hair color is to remove, I really need to wear this on the LAST day of a con. I made the mistake of wearing it on day one of Long Island Who one year, and spent hours scrubbing my skin and hair for the next day. Far better to just leave the con with a tad bit of left over cel shading. Which makes it very interesting when you stop at a roadside bathroom on the trip home.

With the entire costume done it was time to work on the actual cyberplanner appliance. 

Next time I make a variation of Clever, I will make this FIRST. Making these pieces is the bane of my existence – I love wearing them, hate making them.  It’s a long process.

I am allergic to latex, silocone, scuply, most clays, and so many other things that seem to be every cosplayers go-to. When I made my first cyber piece back in late 2013, I spent weeks trying to find a substance that would keep attached to my face all day without causing a rash. Like an alchemist in a fantasy novel, I submerged myself into creating the perfect concoction. It took 22 days to finish the final product.

I admit that I rushed a bit on the Borderlands one.  As a result, it doesn’t quite fit as well as my others, and is a bit heavier than I expected. I only added two working lights, instead of the usual four, to hopefully balance the piece out. It lasted through two full days of a con, despite the heat of a crowded venue, but I did end up tweaking it a bit after. Even with the tweaks, it still doesn’t fit as well as I would like. It is too heavy and brings down the entire left side of my face, making it difficult to keep my eye open at times. I really need to sit down and force myself to make a new one.

There are a few more things that I would like to add to this costume eventually. Like a belt of grenades, and maybe another gun. But aside from that, I am incredibly pleased with how this costume turned out. It is by far, my favorite Clever variation that I have done.

I hope this post gives you the inspiration to go off and cel shade something, and possibly even play some Borderlands!

[suituuup]

pieces - chapter ten

Five years ago, Chloe dropped off the face of the Earth. Beca didn’t expect to see her again dancing in a strip club, out of all places.

rated: E (drug use and emotional abuse in early chapters)

ao3 link

*

The knock at the door made Chloe jolt. 

Aubrey was here, and Chloe was a nervous wreck. Even if Aubrey had shown nothing but support in the texts they had exchanged over the last couple of months, Chloe was bracing herself for judgment. It had become her default setting over the last couple of years, to always expect people to think the worst of her. 

It turned out Aubrey couldn’t make it for dinner that weekend and instead offered lunch on the following Monday, so Beca was currently at work. Meeting her alone made Chloe even more nervous; Beca had become her rock, her lifeline over the past couple of months, and someone Chloe actually trusted, and she would have been more comfortable with her being present. 

She wiped her hands on her apron and padded to the door, sucking in one last deep breath before pulling it open.  Her friend looked the same as Chloe remembered her, except for her hairstyle, which evolved into a neat bob and matched the lawyer persona well.

“Hey Chlo,” Aubrey greeted softly, eyes soft and smile shy. 

“Hi,” Chloe breathed out when she remembered she should say something, blinking. 

Before Chloe could step aside, Aubrey stepped forward and pulled Chloe into a loose hug. Chloe’s first reaction was to tense for a brief moment, eventually wrapping her arms around Aubrey’s back, in turn, her shoulders relaxing as she exhaled. 

“Thanks for having me over,” Aubrey said as she backed away.

Chloe nodded with a small smile and took a step back to let Aubrey through. “Come on in. I uh-- I made chicken pasta. Do you still like that?” 

Cooking had been one of the activities Chloe had rekindled with since finishing rehab. Following a recipe was a good distraction from her cravings. 

“I do. Sounds yummy.” 

“You-- you’ve been here before, I imagine?” Chloe asked as she shut and locked the door behind them, leading Aubrey to the main room.

Aubrey shrugged off her jacket. “A few times, yes. I think the last time was for Beca’s birthday last September.” 

Chloe nodded once more, then remembered her manners. “Can I offer you anything to drink?” She asked as she padded to the fridge. “We have water, flat or sparkling, coke and fanta.” 

“Sparkling water is good,” Aubrey said as she perched herself on a stool, resting her chin over her propped-up hand. “How’s it been living with Beca?” 

“Good,” Chloe replied as she reached for two water glasses in the cupboards, the water bottle in her other hand. “She’s been really amazing with trying to make me feel at home. It’s weird though because I can’t pay rent or groceries. I still feel like I’m taking advantage of her generosity.”

Aubrey hummed. “I get that. But you’re not. Beca wouldn’t offer all those things if she felt like you were taking advantage. And we all know you’re not. You’re getting back on your feet and could use all the help you can get, which I’m sure Beca is happy to give.” 

Chloe took a deep breath and nodded. She uncapped the bottle and poured some water into both drinks. 

“How have you been feeling otherwise?” Aubrey questioned then. 

Chloe shrugged, breaking eye-contact. “It’s been a real rollercoaster, to be honest. Somedays I feel fine, other days it feels like I’m drowning. If it weren’t for Beca’s support or--” The baby, which she had yet to tell Aubrey about. She swallowed, forcing herself to meet her friend’s gaze. “A few days before the end of rehab, I found out that I was pregnant.” 

Aubrey blinked twice in slow succession, much like Beca had done. “You are? I mean--” 

“I’m keeping it,” Chloe cleared up before Aubrey could attempt to reword her question. “I know it probably sounds crazy and irresponsible given my situation and who the father is, I--” 

“I think you’re going to make an amazing mom, Chlo,” Aubrey murmured before Chloe could finish. “And yes, your situation is tricky right now, but it won’t forever be that way. And the father might be a dick whose balls should be fed to wolves, but you and I both know that a  baby sharing your genes can’t be evil.” She tilted her head to the side. “Are you going to tell him?” 

Chloe froze. She hadn’t dared broach the subject with her therapist for fear of her telling a judge, and she didn’t know what she was allowed or not allowed to do. “Do I… have to? I mean, legally?”

Aubrey shook her head. “No, you don’t have any obligations to. The father’s name on the birth certificate can be left blank, and that means Marco will have no rights over the child.” 

Chloe nibbled on her bottom lip as she processed that information. “What if he finds out? Can he get custody?” 

“He’ll have to submit a petition to the court through a lawyer in order to have a DNA test done,” Aubrey explained. “After that, a judge decides if he has the right to have custody, but I really don’t see how he could, given his track record. I had a friend at the precinct look him up, and he’s been convicted several times for drug dealing and violence.” 

Relief swept over Chloe upon hearing that. The thought of Marco having any influence on that child gave her nightmares. “Okay. Good.” She cleared her throat when her brain caught up with the rest of Aubrey’s sentence. “I didn’t know he was a criminal.” But she wasn’t surprised, now. “I wouldn’t have-- he was really good to me at the beginning, and by the time his true personality surfaced, I had nowhere to go.” 

“He was toxic,” Aubrey said as she nodded. “A manipulator. He probably loved the hell out of you at first, bombarded you with sweet messages and calls and flattery? And little by little, the connection faded and you started to feel meaningless? Unworthy?” 

Chloe could only nod faintly, because Aubrey had just put into words what her relationship with Marco felt like, without Chloe telling her any of that stuff. 

“I come across so many people with the same profile in my job, and the victims, men or women, always blame themselves. But they shouldn’t. You shouldn’t.” 

Her therapist had already told Chloe that many times, but Chloe’s default thinking made it hard to grasp that. Being with Marco felt like chaos reigned in her head, her emotions, her body, her life, and he found a way to make her believe it was her own fault. 

Chloe mustered a soft smile, feeling more than ready to stop talking about that for now. “Should we eat?” 

The conversation thankfully transitioned to easier subjects. Chloe caught up on the last six years of Aubrey’s life, feeling a little lighter and more at ease around her friend now that it was clear Aubrey held no grudge or judgment towards Chloe for cutting her out of her life. They found themselves reminiscing about their college days, two hours zipping by without Chloe once thinking about her cravings. 

“I’m just a call away, alright?” Aubrey said as she slid her jacket back on. “And if you ever want to come to Boston for a weekend, I have two guest bedrooms.” 

A genuine smile spread across Chloe’s lips as she nodded. “I’d love that.” Chloe was the one to initiate the hug this time, letting it linger. “Thank you for coming down, Bree.”

Aubrey smiled back. “It was my pleasure. See you soon, Chloe.” 

Bean’s thirteen-week-check-up took place the following day. Chloe was set on having as many tests done as possible at this stage, with an NT scan to help assess the baby’s risk of having complications such as Down syndrome, other chromosomal abnormalities, and major congenital heart problems, as well as full blood work to rule out cystic fibrosis and Tay-Sachs.

Bean passed their scan with flying colors, much to her relief. The heartbeat was strong, and 

Bean’s features were unmistakably human this time around; Chloe could make out Bean’s head and their nose and the round belly and tiny feet.

She went home with three pictures, and Beca insisted one should go up on the fridge. 

The following month was punctuated with more therapy, NA meetings, and the visit to Oregon. Chloe felt more at home in Beca’s apartment with each passing day, though she tried her best to stay out of the way whenever Sarah was over. 

On the day of their departure, Chloe was beyond grateful Beca agreed to come with her, as telling her parents the truth felt incredibly daunting. 

They landed in Portland a little after four that Thursday, renting a car to drive the two hours to Newport, where Chloe’s childhood home was located. As Beca parked the car in her parents’ driveway, Chloe was rooted to her seat with nerves. 

Beca’s hand on her leg snapped her out of it. “Hey.” Chloe turned her head to the left, meeting Beca’s soft eyes. “Breathe. In and out.” 

Nodding, Chloe inhaled deeply through her nose and released the air through her mouth, closing her eyes. She reached for the door handle next and stepped out, swallowing thickly as she let her leaned legs carry her to the front door. She pressed the doorbell and stepped back, instinctively reaching for Beca’s hand. 

Her mom appeared on the other side a handful of seconds later, and she engulfed Chloe into a hug before Chloe could even utter anything. 

“Hi mom,” she croaked out, her eyes fluttering shut as she released Beca’s hand to hug her back tightly, basking into the instant comfort being in her mom’s arms brought her. 

Alice pulled away but kept Chloe at arms’ length, her gaze sweeping over her features. “It’s so good to see you, baby.” Her focus shifted to Beca, and she embraced her next, keeping it a bit shorter. They had met each other before when her parents flew to Atlanta for Chloe’s graduation. “Welcome to our home, Beca.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Beale.” 

Chloe’s mom glared playfully, tutting. “It’s Alice to you. Come on inside.” 

They stepped into the house, a smell Chloe knew well drifting from the kitchen: her dad’s famous lasagna, Chloe’s favorite. 

“Hey Chlobear,” her dad greeted as soon as they rounded the corner, smile bright and eyes sparkling as he sat in his electric wheelchair by the couch. 

Tears pricked behind Chloe’s eyes, and she crossed the distance between them, bending down to hug him. His working arm drifted up to snake around her back. “Hi, Dad,” she whispered, emotions trapping her voice in her throat. “I’m so happy to see you.” 

“Me too, sweetheart,” he murmured, his own voice wavering. “I made your favorite. Well, your mom made your favorite under my supervision, ‘cause she would have messed it up otherwise.” 

“Hey,” Chloe’s mom objected, drawing a chuckle from both Chloe and her dad. 

Chloe straightened, hitching her thumb over her shoulder. “You remember Beca, right?” 

“Of course I do,” Mike confirmed as he made his chair go forward, then extended his hand. “How are you, Beca?” 

“Hello Mr. Beale,” Beca greeted, shaking his head. “It’s nice to see you again.” 

“You, too. And it’s Mike. No Mr. Beale around this house.” 

Beca laughed, nodding. “Got it, Mike.” 

“I hope you guys are hungry, we’ve made enough food to last us until next month,” Mike commented as he moved towards the table. 

After freshening up, she and Beca sat at the table just as Alice pulled the lasagna out from the oven, then grabbed the salad and the wine bottle from the counter. 

“Wine, Beca?” She asked, holding up the bottle. 

“I’m good, thanks, though.” 

Chloe glanced at her. “You can have some if you want.” 

Beca shook her head, smiling softly as she unfolded her napkin and draped it across her lap. “I’m okay, I promise. Water’s fine.” 

Chloe caught her parents sharing a confused look over the exchange, and she cleared her throat, knowing it was probably best to get this over with. “Mom, you should probably sit down.” 

Concern creased a frown on Alice’s forehead as she set the bottle down and lowered herself next to Chloe’s dad. “What’s going on, Chloe?” 

Chloe took a deep breath, and she felt Beca’s hand cover her own under the table. She flipped hers over and wrapped her fingers around Beca’s, grateful for the grounding contact. “I um--” she swallowed, unable to figure out where to start even though she had practiced her speech countless times leading up to their visit. 

Shame and guilt rushed through her, digging their claws into her heart and lungs, making it harder to breathe. 

“Chloe,” her mother’s voice pierced through the buzzing in Chloe’s ears. Chloe looked up from her plate, finding soft eyes. “Whatever it is, you can tell us.”

Chloe closed her eyes and sucked in a sharp breath, forcing herself to own up to her situation by looking at her parents while she spoke. “I have a drug problem. Had. I’m--I’m in recovery. I got out of rehab a couple of months ago.” 

A heavy silence settled over the room as Mike and Alice processed the news. Chloe felt like bolting out of the house as she watched her dad swallow thickly, and her mom’s jaw-dropping. She felt a squeeze to her hand and remembered to breathe. 

“Oh Chloe,” her mom whispered and got up to sit in the vacant chair on the other side of Chloe, taking her other hand as she tilted her head to the side. “How long have you been struggling?” 

Chloe cleared her throat. “About five years. I never-- I never graduated from vet school. I dropped out.” 

Her father frowned, his mouth moving wordlessly for a few beats. “But-- the money you gave us for my treatment every month?” 

“I was a stripper,” Chloe admitted quietly. “That’s how I got introduced to cocaine. How I met Marco. How I... made so much money.” She was hit by an array of emotions -- shame, fear, and somehow, relief -- right then, and a sob burst out from her throat before she could reign it in. “I’m s-sorry I lied to you for so long.” She released Beca’s hand to cover her mouth, her body shaking as she crumbled under the weight of her feelings. 

She didn’t fight it when her mom pulled her into her arms, rubbing her back in slow circles and whispering reassuring words into her ear. “It’s okay, sweetie. Breathe. We love you. No matter what.” 

It took a few minutes for Chloe to be able to get her breathing under control, straightening when she did and taking the tissue Beca offered her. 

“You must have a lot of questions,” she murmured, licking her dry lips. She still had the baby bomb to drop, but one thing at a time. Thankfully she wasn’t showing that much yet, and her large hoodie kept her small bump concealed. 

“Thank you for telling us,” her father murmured, and Chloe saw him wipe a tear away when she looked up. “I can’t imagine how hard that must be, as for deciding to seek help.” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t do it before. I was ashamed and lost and--” she shrugged. “I wasn’t myself.” 

“How are you feeling now?” Her mom asked softly, pushing Chloe’s hair behind her ear. “You said it’s been two months since rehab?” 

Chloe nodded, sniffling. “Ups and downs. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Beca. She’s the one who encouraged me to get help, who paid for rehab, continued paying for your treatment, and I’ve been staying at her place while I get back on my feet.” 

Both her parents’ focus shifted to Beca, gratitude swirling in their eyes. 

“She’s been incredibly strong and responsible,” Beca said, smiling softly. “Hasn’t missed a therapy session or NA meeting since getting out of rehab.” 

“And this Marco…” her dad trailed off in a questioning tone. 

“He’s out of my life. He wasn’t a good person, but I failed to realize that.” 

“More like he hid it well,” Beca corrected gently. Chloe met her eyes. “Remember what Aubrey and your therapist said about how you didn’t have to blame yourself for that?” 

Chloe nodded. “Right.” 

“Did he… hurt you?” Mike asked next, a tremor in his voice as he seemed to brace himself for the answer. 

“Not physically.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but Chloe didn’t think that slap was worth mentioning. “Just… emotionally. He knew how to get into my head, and the drugs didn’t help. They have this funny way of having you believe whatever it wants you to. Logic and reason no longer existed for me when I was at my lowest. I was ashamed of lying to you every time we spoke on the phone, but the paranoia over you not wanting to talk to me again if I told you was stronger.” 

She was sure her dad had a lot more questions and probably wondered if his treatment and their financial problems pushed Chloe into taking that job, but he remained silent, clearly mulling everything over. 

“We could tell you looked tired every time we called, but we never…” Alice trailed off, shaking her head as a few tears rolled down her cheeks when she blinked. “I’m so sorry.” 

“No,” Chloe croaked out, having feared this: her parents blaming themselves. Her heart felt incredibly heavy as she sandwiched her mom’s hand between her own, glancing at her dad briefly. “I don’t want you guys to feel guilty and think that you should have noticed. I hid it well, especially the first few years. Then it sort of derailed, that’s why I stopped visiting. Please don’t apologize.” 

“Did you take that job because you felt like you had to help us?” Her dad asked, just as Chloe had predicted. “With my treatment?” 

Chloe took a deep breath. “I took it because NYC was expensive and I was struggling a bit with rent. And when your health worsened, I asked for more shifts to help out.” She didn’t want to get into what she was asked to do for more money. She couldn’t. Her dad would be eaten away by guilt if he knew how much of a toll working in the VIP room took on her. The whole truth would hurt him more than a small lie. “It’s when I started doing drugs that everything fell apart. It’s not on you, dad. I promise.” 

Mike swallowed and ran his hand over his face as he visibly tried to keep a hold on his emotions. “You’re my daughter, you shouldn’t have had to provide for me, or to put yourself first.” 

“Dad, please,” Chloe whispered, feeling her throat shrinking. “I wanted to help. I just… made bad choices and met the wrong people. It’s not your fault.” Her eyes found her dad’s. “Please tell me you believe that?” 

Her father remained silent for a stretch as he stared at her. He eventually offered a faint nod, but Chloe wasn’t sure if he was being honest. 

Her mom reached up to wipe her tears away, sniffling. “What… what can we do to help you through your recovery?” 

“Being part of my support system, like you unknowingly have since I got out of rehab,” Chloe murmured with a small smile. “And dealing with more of my visits,” she added, knowing they would both be all for that.

“You are always welcome to move back here, Chlo. For as long as you want,” she offered. 

“I…” she cleared the rising lump in her throat as she briefly glanced down to her lap. “There’s something else that I need to tell you.” Another deep breath. “I’m four months pregnant. With Marco’s baby. But he’s not going to be involved. I’m going to raise them on my own.” 

There. Everything she was ready to share was out there in the open, and Chloe felt incredibly lighter, despite her heartbeat picking up as her parents once again fell silent. She really couldn’t blame them, after everything she had just dumped on them. 

“I know it’s a lot,” she added, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “And I know my decision to keep it might come across as strange, but I couldn’t get rid of it, and this baby is giving my life purpose again because I want to be a better person for them.” 

“I think you are incredibly brave,” Alice said after a little while, reaching out to catch a tear falling on Chloe’s cheek with the side of her pointer finger. “And I’m failing to find words to express how proud of you I am.” 

Chloe sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand as her gaze met her dad’s once more. She could tell he needed more time to work through everything, and maybe they could talk about it some more the next day, once he had slept over it. 

“That kid is going to be the most spoiled grandchild of all Newport,” he joked with a soft smile, his words loosening the nerves in Chloe’s stomach.

Chloe released a watery giggle. “I love you guys.” 

“We love you, too, Chlobear,” her dad murmured, and after embracing her mom tightly, Chloe stood up and rounded the table to hug her dad. 

They eventually dug into dinner, the conversation shifting to the baby, whether it was okay, what the risks there were, when was her due date... Her parents offered to turn the office into a nursery if Chloe wanted to move back in with them, to which Chloe answered that she would think about it. She had been concerned about how much the pregnancy and having a newborn baby around would affect Beca’s life and her relationship with Sarah, and this would be another alternative to which Chloe needed to give some serious thought. 

Chloe and Beca headed upstairs shortly after dinner, both feeling exhausted as their mind and body were three hours ahead. After showing Beca to the guest room, Chloe changed into her pajamas and washed up for bed, knocking on Beca’s door on her way back to her own bedroom. 

She pushed it open upon hearing a soft come in, finding Beca lying on top of the comforter, already changed in her sleeping wear. 

“You okay?” She asked, smiling as Chloe sat down on the edge of the mattress. “That went pretty well.” 

“Yeah, I…” she swallowed, shaking her head in leftover awe. “I have amazing parents. I didn’t think they would be so understanding.” 

“Of course they’re amazing. They raised you.” 

Chloe bowed her head as blush bloomed in her cheeks. She cleared her throat. “I think my dad is a bit shaken up and part of him feels to blame, but I’m hoping he and I can talk some more tomorrow.” 

Beca nodded. “Yeah. I think that’s a good idea.” 

Chloe let out a small sigh, and she reached out to squeeze Beca’s hand. “Thanks again for coming here with me.” 

“Not a problem. I’m hoping you’ll show me around the town at some point, take me to your favorite spots.” 

“We can definitely do that tomorrow,” Chloe agreed, her smile genuine. “Goodnight, Bec.” 

“Night Chloe. Night Bean.”

[ohbeaby]

So the all of the boys we have met really are just rich. The only one who isn’t is probably Mammon but even he is only in debt due to some of his strange spending habits.

So this is just a silly little thought about how the boys might react to an MC who isn’t very rich at all and has habits to save money.

Clothes:

While they all take decent care of their clothes they also tend to just throw them out if a hole is made or a stain appears. Belphie might keep his longer out of sheer laziness but it’s not like he’s trying to fix any of the issues with his clothes he’s just too lazy to go get more.

MC probably has a small sewing kit and some tricks to get stains out of just about any fabric. The brothers try to throw clothes away and Mc swoops in your save the lightly used fabric from the garbage. They also have a small collection of patches and fabric strips that they give to Levi if he needs extra material for his cosplays. All the saved clothes get returned to the brothers who are very confused as to how the holes all got patched up and WHY MC would bother patching them.

This spills over into Purgatory Hall when MC learns Solomon keeps ruining his clothes in different disasters. The issue is the word disaster clearly has different meanings to everyone because MC just about loses it when they learn that the “disastrous” state of his clothes is just some tears and some small spots where a potion spilled.

All the boys confront MC at some point about why they keep fixing their clothes and MC just explains that they find it wasteful to throw the fabrics away when they could easily be repaired and maintained. They’re all mildly impressed but don’t say anything, though there is a distinct lack of clothes being thrown away after everything is done and some even come to MC for repairs.

Food/Soaps/Jewelry/Bedding:

So when MC first got there no one really paid attention to what they were buying for themselves. The brothers simply didn’t care because it’s just some human. As they get to know MC more though they start to pay attention and realize that MC isn’t exactly buying the highest quality in anything. I imagine Lucifer might be the first to actually say something.

MC: I think I want to get some hot coco.

Lucifer: Yes that doesn’t sound nice. Some milk and cream with coco powder- What are you doing?

MC: *holding up a box of instant hot coco* This is what I usually get. Just add some hot water and it’s okay.

Lucifer: *internally screaming at how terrible that sounds compared to what he was imagining* Do you...not know how to make hot coco?

MC: *laughing* Oh I know! It’s just more expensive than this.

Lucifer makes sure to accompany them on their grocery shopping trips and tries to get them to be a bit more open to buying more expensive cuts of meat or cheeses. He just wants them to enjoy some of the nicer things they feel comfortable indulging in.

Asmodeous probably has a heart attack when he realizes MC is just buying the most affordable shampoos and body washes. Poor boy isn’t able to comprehend that MC doesn’t want to drop 100’s of dollars on soaps.

Asmo: But look at how many harsh chemicals are in there MC! Your poor hair isn’t going to feel healthy at all!

MC: I mean...it gets my hair clean yeah? So it’s fine.

Asmo: At least get a body scrub! They help make your skin feel so soft!

MC: Is there one not quite as expensive? The one in your hand is a bit more than I expected.

Asmo: ...I don’t know what’s in the cheaper ones though. They probably don’t have as much moisturizer.

MC: Soooo I don’t need it?

Asmo: *screeching because he doesn’t know how to convey what the issue is*

Asmo takes time to find more affordable products that at least have a similar quality to his high end taste. He doesn’t like it but he does know he can’t force MC to buy the products he would normally use.

Mammon is VERY confused when MC is looking at jewelry of some kind but it’s like glass or shiny plastic instead of actual crystals or diamonds.

MC: Oh these charms are cool! Look there’s a crow!

Mammon: I mean...I guess? They aren’t real crystals or anything though. Looks like hard plastic.

MC: Eh? Why does that matter? *laughing* I’m just window shopping anyways.

Mammon: Window shopping?

MC: You know? When you’re just looking around but not actually going to buy?

Mammon: But if you want it why not just get it?

MC: These charms are each more expensive than my average meal! I can’t just drop that kind of money on little trinkets!

He’s probably the most understanding about all of it since he gets not having money. The realization that MC doesn’t actively seek out anything remotely expensive turns him to trying to save up more money to get them nice things.

Leviathan is probably the one to make MC the most uncomfortable with his spending habits. He is known to spend egregious amounts of money on things that don’t have an actual function aside from just being part of a collection. MC on the other hand will buy little knock off things like key chains or stickers because they don’t want to spend so much on the official merchandise but they still like whatever show or game it is. MC also knows how to make their own cosplays and repurpose things for props and accessories.

MC: *showing Leviathan some cute little charm from Pokemon or something* I love this one it’s so cute. I wanted to get the set but that was quite a bit more!

Leviathan: *sees it and knows immediately that it’s knock off and not even close to official merch* The colors aren’t even close! Look it doesn’t even look like the original character!

MC: I mean it’s pretty close. Maybe it’s just hard to make that color?

Levi: Why not just get the official merch?? It’s much better quality

MC: But the official is ten times more expensive. I think this looks close enough.

Levi: ...okay look I THINK I have an extra set with that character in it.

MC: ...extra set??

Levi: Well I buy more than one so I can sell them later.

MC: More than one??????

Leviathan makes it a goal of his to get MC whatever merch he can for their interests. He doesn’t like the idea that MC just settles for lower quality stuff just because they don’t think they should buy it. This is HIS Henry after all, only the best quality for them.

Satan also struggles hard trying to understand MCs spending habits. He prefers to get new books when he can as he doesn’t like the idea of buying a used book that someone ruined (ie. the corners have small bends or there’s a pencil mark in them, he has high standards for his books lol). The only exception he has is older books that are limited quantity. He gets frustrated when he sees MC carrying books around that look like they’ve been through hell and back in his eyes. He initially thinks MC is the one ruining their own books.

Satan: Really? The semester started a week ago and your books already look this bad?

MC: Bad? I thought I got a good deal on them.

Satan: Well when you bend the corners like that of course they look bad. Is that a coffee stain? Really?

MC: What? We haven’t even gotten to these sections yet. I’m not sure what you’re issue with my books is.

Satan: Well why are the pages all bent here of you haven’t gotten to these sections yet? Are you just incapable of taking care of your stuff?

MC: Maybe it was the previous owner? I take care of my stuff, don’t even try and pull that card.

Satan: ...previous owner? Like you’ve just gone and bought a used book? Why?

MC: Well actually it’s a rental, it was cheaper than-

Satan: RENTAL?!

Satan then insists that he buys MC all new books despite their protests. He isn’t going to sit around and let them use older books if it can be helped though he does start to understand why MC doesn’t mind used books when they show them places with discounted or even free textbooks and PDFs. It’s kind of handy to not have to pay a large sum for a physical copy when he can just have a free PDF of an older version on his laptop.

Beelzebub starts questioning what the humans habits are when he takes them shopping in place of Lucifer and sees them picking up instant noodles and coffee. He may be willing to eat almost anything but even he knows that stuff doesn’t taste the best and can’t be the healthiest for them.

Beelzebub: What about this brand? It’s got those little veggies in it.

MC: But it’s three times the price. I can just chop up some chives and put it in this for cheaper.

Beel: Why does the price matter?

MC: I don’t like spending too much if I can help it. Oh! They have frozen pizzas!

Beel: *increasingly concerned about the humans poor eating habits*

Beel probably starts taking them out to restaurants more or trying to rope them into cooking with him. He isn’t sure if they just don’t know what good food looks like or what their deal is so he’s just going to try and show them and hope they get the hint. He does avoid eating anything healthy they bought, like yogurts or frozen fruit.

Belphegor. King of sleep. Ruler of comfort. The one you know KNOWS how to take a good nap. He is absolutely pissed when he sees MCs room for the first time, most importantly their bed. The pillows look awful and the sheets are the cheapest ones you can get at the store. He confronts his brothers about the humans poor sleeping arrangements to which they all say “it’s what they chose when they first got here.”

Belphie: No. Unacceptable. Throw it away.

MC: You’re being ridiculous, I’m not throwing my pillows away.

Belphie: They don’t even have a shape they’re so flat! You have no comfort standards!

MC: My bed is comfy!

Belphie: The only comfortable part is the mattress which is also the only thing you didn’t choose.

MC: What’s wrong with the rest of it?!

Belphie: Those sheets are scratchy, the blanket is thinner than a piece of paper, those pillows look sadder than a kicked puppy, do I really need to go on?

MC: You’re being completely unreasonable.

Belphie drags Asmo and Mammon to the store to get MC a whole new bed set and even insists on getting them a new mattress. MC gets barred from their room for a few days until everything is set up. Belphie cares, he just wants MC to be comfortable, it’s important to him that MC sleeps well.

Overall I think the boys will learn to be a little more accepting of MCs habits. They also become increasingly more aware of how much richer they are than them and try to make MC as comfortable as they can.

[hopeassassin]

Rally’s Scribbles in the Work

So after that lovely anon blew my mind away with their kind words and wonderful support, and because I keep telling you guys about my writing plans without actually giving you even a teensy little detail, I have decided to stop being coy and actually likely get your hopes up a bit by dilvulging small details and bits of plots of what is currently going on in my G-Drive. 

This will be a brief recount of what I have currently baking in the AoMomo oven, so let’s dive right into it! Please note that the numbers are in no particular order - I just keep revisiting each of these stories and writing a bit more to them whenever I feel like it. So there’s no ranking and no importance, just a number to keep proper count.

1. “Knight of Renown” Dragons and Knighthood AU, based on that one AoMomo pic with Momo ithe Knight and Dragon Aomine that I reblogged a while back and I actually let me imagination go a bit too much in the tags. I ended up actually rather enjoying the premise I set up in the tags so I actually started writing that one out!  Completion rate at about: 5%? I’d say? Less? :D 

2. AoMomo Music AU - a dearly beloved project that I am pouring a lot of love and attentioin to. That’s why it’s coming along super slow. It’s been in the making since November and I chewed it and mulled through it so thoroughly that I’ve grinded to a halt with it. Intending for there to be 2 chapters, and I am at about 25-30% of chapter 1 currently ready currently. At the pace I’m going, it might be another full year before you actually get to see this bad boy up, but when you do, I’m sure you’ll see all the care and effort that went into making it perfect. Honestly, no joke here, I am intending for this to be one of my rare masterpieces in this tag. So I’m not gonna rush it!

3. AoMomo Car Accident AU where Daiki barely manages to save Satsuki from being run over by a hit-and-run and ends up being the one run over instead. This was my first piece of writing after coming back to AoMomo last summer and yet completion rate is a sad thing. I want it to be flawless, a perfectly agonizing, thrilling type of torturous read that gives you a great sense of relief by the end of it. Needless to say, the clusterfuck of negative feelings is a bit difficult to hold onto for a prolonged period of time and the work is coming along slowly. Planned at about 5 chapters, I have 2 complete ones and the 3rd one is at about ... 30%? Hopefully before this year’s whumptober, we’ll have a finished piece!

4. AoMomo bond character study, which went in a direction I did NOT expect nor intend. It was suppsoed to be an idea that you will see also listed below. But I started this one from their early childhood and somehow, instead of focusing on the kids and their bond and their weird interactions with each other and their first moments of realizing they are of opposite genders, it turned into something much too fun to let go of and the ideas for scenes just kept piling. It’s going to be a long one, very explorative and very in-depth character study on the bond between these two and how it changed over the years, and their first encounters with their sexuality inbetween (because that was really the main idea that I started with... xDDD;;;) Currently at 1 chapter complete, chapter 2 somewhere around 50-60% completion, and at least 6-7 chapters to come after that, soooo.... :’DDDD YEAH. THIS ONE AIN’T SEEING THE LIGHT OF DAY ANYTIME SOON.

5. AoMomo deciding to practice stuff on each other, because I am a sucker for this trope.THIS will be what the idea under previous number 4 was SUPPOSED to be like, but it instead spun out of control. So this one, under number 5, is going to be the smutty, idiots bumbling through physicality to discover that they actually have serious feelings for each other kind of piece. Chapters are planned at about at least 6-7 or so, but not my usual monstrocities! :D First we start with practice kissing, and we move our way up from there! 

6. “The Evil of Humanity” AU - a dystopian futuristic kinda mecha AU, sort of an amalgamation of some of my favourite anime in the genre - a bit of NGE, a bit of Gurren-Lagann, a lot of Darling in the Franxx rewrite and improvement, in distinctly AoMomo colors. I poured a lot of thought and love into initial outline of main moments for this one, and I really hope to make it an epic, thrilling action/adventure with a big dash of romance kind of read! Chapters currently not even planned properly, because I need to sit down and consider this seriously. It will definitely be more than 10-15 though, and they will be my usual chapter lengths so.... likely no time soon. :D 

7. Aomine Fanclub - I got a plot bunny some time ago and I shared it here and my friends were spurring me on with it, so I started trying it out a little more. I’ve written out like... maybe 30% of this one as well, but need to re-read and reconceptualize to get it back on track. The issue with this one is that I’m not really sure where I want to take it, thus it’s on the back burner at the moment.

8. KagaKuro AoMomo double-date kind of story, where Aomine is asking some curious questions of Taiga about going to America and pondering if any of his immediate friends know what Satsuki wants to do with her life. I’m really invested in this one but haven’t started properly writing it out yet beyond just sketching out the idea so I don’t forget it. (I’d say 1% complete here.) Really looking forward to using the idea of Kagami being super impressed with AoMomo perfect sync when playing as a team in arcade games!

9.Laws of Attraction Chapter 2 - You might be surprised at this, but I’m actually super invested in this one. Likely the reason why I am delaying so much working on it - I feel like all my great scene ideas are just too chaotic and I have a hard time starting the chapter flowing properly. I had like 4-5 false starts already and I’m feeling a bit skittish with picking it up. But I have such AMAZING concepts on where to take it after it revvs up the engine, so... Maybe sometime this year! Completion rate: 0% written, but at least about 30% ideas built up for the installment!

10. AoMomo college rooming together story - sort of an expansion on my fill for one of the prompts way back those years ago in AoMomo week. I really dig the concept and the trope of sharing spaces with someone you consider nothing more than a friend and then gradually learning to appreciate each other for something so much more. I am definitely doing this one some day, but not anytime soon, likely.

11. A random idea bit me the other day (read: a month ago) and I actually wrote out like... maybe 25% of it already as well. A random comment from Wakamatsu miffs Satsuki but then she realizes why he’s asking dumb questions and she comes to realize that something is wrong with the equation: either Dai-chan likes someone really close to them and she hasn’t realized, which is unlikely, or Dai-chan likes HER and is super blase about it in a way that betrays his feelings not at all, which is even more unlikely. Being a curious  individual, she sets out to find which it is! Some hilarity should ensue but mostly just some mess-with-Dai-chan fun!

12. Touou summer training camp at the sea - progress is practically 0, I wanted to write a summery piece and set my mind on this, but nothing beyond has come to me, so I’m not forcing it.

13. AoMomo cultural festival fic in second year of high school (meaning something approx end of Oct -> beginning of Nov.) with Daiki being in a distinctly Haruhu Suzumiya role at that festival (has anyone even seen this anime? I adored that episode to freaking bits, man, it’s engraved upon my soul) and singing Billy Idol’s “Rebel Yell” and one more song just like Haruhi did. And Satsuki just beholding the phenomenon he becomes in no time flat while he lays bare his passion for life for all the student body to see. Shippiness will happen in private afterwards!

14. You Can Leave Your Hat On Chapter 2 - Probably like 2-3 years ago while I was still in the damn woodwork and wrestling with real life and adulting being crap, I remembered this AU premise and I got super hyped on the idea of Club Owner Dai-chan being a flirt with innocent Satsuki who got dragged to his joined and fell in love at first sight with his shenanigans. I’ve already played around for like 7k words with the second chapter of this but I’m still not where I want to be at, so it will take a while longer to flesh it out.

15. Idol Worship - a story that I promised my mate aricana some 6 years ago the premise for which I am super hyped for but not quite engaging with it yet. The idea was that Momoi finally starts gettiing the dates she has been pesting Kuroko for for years, and Daiki feeling terrible about beholding that, whilst Kise is being pestered by Horikita Mai for a date and instead ditches her with Daiki because he knows his former Teikou classmate is a huge fan of her. Mai-chan isn’t particularly happy but somehow ends up enjoying her time with Daiki and starts considering actually pursuing him instead of Kise when she sees what an interesting soul he is, with the torch that he’s carrying for some girl in his life he doesn’t really talk about but is evident from the little things he drops off as hits. AoMomo shenanigans will start to ensue properly when Satsuki realizes that Daiki is actually having a close female friend who is not her but is Horikita Mai instead, Dai-chan’s perfect woman, practically. She doesn’t take well to the news and has to grapple with why that is! And what to do with these newfound frustrating emotions!

16. Obstruction of Justice Chapter 3 - MAYBE SOME DAY, I WILL GET TO WRITING THIS. Last summer I inteded to do just that but instead, Wild Side of Justice was born. And it became a spin off of sorts on its own. ORZ. I WILL FINISH THIS SOME DAY, I do have some plans for it and I do have the desire to pursue them. I just need to be in the right headspace for it ahsjkfhkjaf

17. A PWP story of Kagami arriving early for a practice match at Touou and somehow walking in on AoMomo getting busy with each other in very unexpected and explicit ways that Kagami did not see headed his way. Because, we need more PWP in this fandom, honestly.

18. And since we DO need more PWP, recently when checking the 30 lemons community on LJ (shut up, I’m not ancient, YOU’RE ANCIENT) I was wondering how exactly a smut plot around the “Taken by the Faceless Stranger” could work for Aomomo and I came up with this Masquerade ball that they end up both attending because of their friends and meeting each other and hitting off fantastically just chatting the night and then banging in a niche in the long castle-like premise of the ball. :’DDDD Cuz it’s me and if I don’t have something like that in the works, you know i’m likely sick.

ALL OF THESE I am planning on eventually finishing one day. ONE DAY!

For now they are in various states of completion and in various stages of being cared for and improved on with more ideas added and fleshed out.

I am not joking when I say I am very invested in this fandom. I just have difficulty getting to writing out these ideas when I spend like 60% of my free time playing my mobile games. :D 

So there you have it. I didn’t want to say anything about these because 1) I don’t want to get your hopes up. You Can Leave Your Hat On 2, for one, has been in the making for 3 years, very on-again-off-again kind of way, and I just... can’t do that to you guys. I have decided against posting any incomplete fics so I don’t torture you guys and my muse doesn’t abandom me forever for them. So when something is complete, it gets posted promptly for your viewing pleasure!

And 2) If I divulge too much of the story, I feel like my hype of it may disappear completely. Ehh, my muse is a willful creature, what can I tell you... 

So let’s hope at least SOME of these get to see the light of day soon!

[babbushka]

Sinbound (1/8)

Daniel Jones x Reader 

5k; Content warnings: Spoilers for The Report. Mentions of torture/violence, but nothing explicit. 

Tumblr Masterlist // Also Available on AO3

                                             ----------------------

Two years. That’s how long it’s been, up to this moment.

Two years in this basement, surrounded by concrete walls and the faces of ghosts staring into his very soul. It’s haunting, being down here, Dan thinks. Walking empty halls in the middle of the night, the way that sounds echo and come from all directions at once, everywhere and nowhere.

He walks the halls now, something sour sitting in the pit of his stomach, something close to panic, he thinks. He’s not going to let it turn into anything real, he doesn’t have the time for that.

It feels like he doesn’t have the time for anything, anything except for this report.

He’s the last to leave the office, the last to leave the building, just as he is every night. Usually he’d stay later, but as he scans his badge to open the door that leads to the lobby of this dark cinder block building, his eyes struggle to focus. He must look particularly rough, because as he does scan himself out, the good-natured security guard gives him a pointed look.

“Do you ever sleep, Dan?” The security guard asks, and despite the exhaustion in Dan’s bones, he manages a friendly smile.

“I used to, it got in the way of work.” He jokes, earning a smile back.

“Anything in that bag contain the real names of CIA officers, assets, or partners, or any information that would be in violation of the agreement between the Central Intelligence Agency and the United States Senate?” The security guard rattles off the protocol, a memorized passage that both he and Dan know by heart at this point.

“Have a good night, Jay.” Dan doesn’t answer the question, he doesn’t have to, he doesn’t need to.

Instead, with some kind parting words from Jay as permission to leave, he walks out through the door and into dark damp streets of the real world, a world which has passed him by, two years shot in the blink of an eye.

Dan sits in his car and sighs, for a minute or two, or twenty. He rubs the back of his hand against his eyes, blinks a couple of times. He’s been debating getting a pair of glasses, the new kind that block out the blue light from screens – god knows he could use that. He’s more tired than usual, and with good reason, he sighs. He looks at himself in the rearview mirror, sees the bags under his eyes.

“You wouldn’t look good with glasses.” He shakes his head at himself, dismissing the thought.

He sits in his car and folds his arms over the steering wheel, rests his head down on top of them and wills himself not to scream. He thinks back over the events of the day, of the last couple hours, thinks about how he’s going to have to go through this alone now. In retrospect, he should have known this was coming. He just had hoped…well. He had only hoped it wouldn’t be so soon, wouldn’t be right when they were finally starting to connect dots, piece together the puzzle, wouldn’t be right when they were only just beginning.

                                              ----------------------

Dan noticed April gently approaching him, her arms crossed over her chest. He glanced at the clock, realized he’d been reading this document for nearly three hours, picking it apart, studying it. He’s glad for April’s audience, and he didn’t waste much time launching into what he’d just learned, knowing that she would be just as interested in it as him.

“Did you know that the CIA testified in 1978 before Congress on the subject of – of ‘coercive physical interrogation techniques’ in Latin America? And how they concluded that they were proven to be ineffective – that the prisoners would lie just to make it stop?” Dan scoffed, frustrated, shaking his head.

April had shifted in her spot a little then, had cleared her throat, but Dan wasn’t entirely paying attention, not even when she tried to interject with,

“Dan, there’s something I have to say – ”

“But before they did it in Latin America they did it in Vietnam! It didn’t work then and it isn’t working now and – ”

“Dan, Dan I’m leaving.” April had said, with such finality that it shut Dan up. She had held her ground, her arms crossed over her chest, in that dark cold basement, and told him, “The study, I’m leaving. I can’t do this anymore, I’m sorry. I got a job offer and I’ll be packing up once the Thanksgiving break finishes.”

Dan held his breath, wondered if this were another one of his nightmares. He’d been having them more and more recently, but this was never one of the plot points.

He blinked, stared at her and then at his computer, watched as the screen flickered for a moment, as if it too were uncomfortable, stressed.

“Thanksgiving.” Dan had replied (and in his car, Dan wants to kick himself for making such a point of himself, for proving their point because he had stupidly said), “That’s – okay well that still gives us a couple months and – ”

“It’s November, Dan. Thanksgiving’s next week.” Julian had gently reminded him.

“…Right.” He was deflated, embarrassed, and faced with the reality that maybe he was losing his grip on reality. He can’t look at her, at April. The screen flickered, and he sighed. “Right I – I…Right. Okay.”

“I’m sorry, I am, it’s just that…well you said it yourself, the CIA knew decades ago that this shit didn’t work. They knew and they’ve known the whole time that their program is ineffective now but who is listening to us? Who is waiting for us to come out with all of this?” April tried to explain, even though she didn’t really need to. Her voice was soft and gentle as she placed a hand on his shoulder and tried to talk some sense into him, “We’ve been down here for two years, Dan, the three of us in this basement, typing up thousands and thousands of pages. No one is waiting for us.”

And that was it, wasn’t it? That was the cold hard truth that Dan refused to accept. Every day, Monday through Friday and weekends, he’d been there. They’d all been there, working and working and working until their eyes grew sore, until their backs went stiff and their wrists ached, scrounging together as much information as possible – while under impossible restraints.

No cooperation from the CIA.

No cooperation from the DOJ.

Three people in a basement, trying their best to bring justice to an unjust situation, and being vilified for it.

Dan sighs, both in his memory of the exchange, and in his car.

“I understand. I do.” He said, because he did. He didn’t like it, he wouldn’t accept it, but he understood it. That was enough for April, enough for Julian, enough for them when Dan nodded and sighed once again, glancing at the calendar. “Thanksgiving.”

“I’m sorry.” April had said again, before going back to her desk.

Dan locked eyes with one of the mugshots on the wall, and he thinks that it’s not him that April should be apologizing to.

                                              ----------------------

He starts the car, smacks a palm against his cheeks lightly to shake himself out of this funk. He’s just tired, he knows. He’s tired and it’s been a long day, that’s all. The dashboard lights up and he’s relieved to see it’s not that late, not really. It’s only eleven, he’s stayed later before. Washington D.C. is never not busy, but Dan finds that later in the evening like this, on a weekday no less, there’s always a little less traffic, for which he’s appreciative.

His stomach is appreciative too, it growls and growls the entire drive home, so much so that Dan makes a pit stop at a Chinese takeout place, lured in by the idea of fresh eggrolls and beef lo mein.

The neon sign blazes brightly in the night sky. Something about the world when it’s just finished raining makes everything more rich, more vibrant, Dan thinks. Maybe it’s got something to do with the way that the water on the ground reflects the colors. Maybe he’s just being sentimental, he doesn’t know.

“Mr. Jones! You’re here early.” Cindy, the young woman behind the counter greets him when Dan walks through the door.

“They let me out for good behavior.” His joke falls flat, just a little. Still, she looks at him with a fond smile and shakes her head, before ringing up his usual.

He’s been coming here at least once a week every week ever since this thing started. He never really meant to fall into the habit of relying on takeout, but when one works fifteen-eighteen hour days every day, the prospect of cooking and cleaning up your own kitchen quickly grows less than ideal.

Dan watches her for a while, as he hands over his credit card. He thinks about how she always smiles at him, and wonders if she smiles at everyone else too, or if that’s something just for him. He shakes his head slightly, chastising himself. Of course it’s not just for him, they’ve not spoken beyond the typical small talk while he sits around and waits for his order. She never initiates conversation past that of the weather, and why should she? She’s busy, Dan thinks, busy with the restaurant, with her life.

He tries not to let the thought depress him, the thought that maybe if it weren’t for this report, he could be out busy living his life too. Tries not to think about how he could be married by now, have kids by now. He tries not to think about the girlfriend he used to have, before all of this, tries not to think about how she left him because well, really, he had left her first. He wasn’t a very good partner, he knows – how could he have been? Holed up in that basement, unable to talk about anything he did.

Cindy hands him the neatly packaged bundle of his dinner, and he thanks her for it. She doesn’t know that he goes back to his apartment and eats by himself in the dark every night, but then again, she doesn’t have to. She gives him another one of her smiles as he offers a little wave goodbye, and he’s walking to the parking lot, the interaction and the thoughts behind him.

It’s worth it, he thinks, as he walks back to his car. One day, one day soon, Dan knows it’ll all be worth it.

Climbing into his car, Dan notices something.

Or maybe, he thinks he notices something.

There’s a car in the parking lot that wasn’t there before, was it? He doesn’t remember anyone getting out, no one came into the restaurant while he was there, and no one had left when he showed up. It’s black, with windows so tinted that he’s sure he wouldn’t be able to look in even on a bright sunny day. Something about that churns his stomach some more.

“You need to eat and sleep.” Dan shakes the paranoia out of his head, it wouldn’t do to dwell, not right now, not after he’s poured a fresh new batch of images of torture behind his eyelids, dancing in front of his vision whenever he seems to blink. Wouldn’t do to dwell on the thought that maybe he’s being followed.

He keeps an eye on the car though, as he pulls out of the parking lot. It doesn’t move, and he releases the breath he didn’t even know he was holding, as he turns some corners and goes down some back roads, ends up in front of the building he calls home.

                                              ----------------------

It’s not that he can’t afford a house, because he can. He makes a significant amount of money, being a Senate staffer at his level. He could afford something nice in a nice neighborhood, green lawn and driveway out front, maybe an inground pool out back for the summer time. He can afford it, he just doesn’t see the point in it, not right now, not with the report.

The apartment though, isn’t bad -- it’s not! It’s a very nice, luxury apartment, with a doorman and a parking garage and everything.

“How’s it going Edgar?” Dan asks, as he passes said doorman, a young chipper guy who Dan wouldn’t have expected to have such a mature name.

Maybe if he and Edgar were friends, he’d call him Eddie. Dan’s not so sure what other nicknames there are for something old fashioned like that. Maybe if they were friends, he’d tell Dan.

“Not too bad Mr. Jones, yourself?” Edgar doesn’t comment on the fact that he’s practically hiding the takeout behind his briefcase, and Dan appreciates it immensely.

“Not too bad.” He echoes with a smile, before stepping into the safety and security of the lobby and making his way over to the elevators, his polished shoes clacking on polished tile as he gives a warm, “Stay dry out there.”

The elevator is empty, thankfully. He leans against the mirror wall and sighs deeply, groans just because he can. He lives on the eighth floor of the building, which gives him about ten seconds of peace, before the doors open again. He likes his apartment building, likes the doorman and the elevator. He likes how each floor has its own little display when he exits the elevator, decorated for whatever holiday is up next.

The lobby’s display probably should have clued Dan in to the fact that it was already November, but he can’t really be blamed for not noticing. He notices now though, and he can’t deny that he’s impressed. There’s a large wicker cornucopia on the antique wooden credenza which sits flush against the wall opposite of the elevator.

In the cornucopia are fake fruits and vegetables in a beautiful array of autumnal colors, reds oranges yellows and plum. He reaches out to pick up one of the faux squashes, impressed by the weight of it. He’d been halfway expecting cheap styrofoam, but these were more solid than that. Idly Dan realizes that he must have completely skipped over Halloween, and something about that puts a bit of a pep in his step.

He leaves the lobby and turns around the corner, goes down the hall until he’s faced with his front door. He’s lucky that there aren’t too many apartments on this floor, his neighbors are down a ways on either side. He likes the privacy, not that he uses it much. Putting his key in the lock and pushing the door open, he can’t really remember a time where he spent an entire day lounging in his living room.

Which is a shame, Dan thinks, because just as he does every time he comes home, he finds that he really does like this place. It’s bright, inviting. Not clean or sterile, nothing overly modern or minimalist, but he has enough dark and gloom at work, he doesn’t need that here, not in his one-bedroom apartment. The walls are a light grey color, the kitchen and living room accented with blue and cool tones. He likes blue, Dan does.

All his appliances are stainless steel, to go along with the color palette, and he likes that too. He thinks it makes him feel more like an adult, like a real person. And he is, isn’t he? Daniel Jones, Senate Staffer. That’s a real person name and a real person job, isn’t it?

Why does it all feel like a sham?

“Eat, and sleep.” He mutters to himself as he steps out of his shoes and puts them neatly in the closet by the door.

He rests his briefcase down on the kitchen counter, brings the takeout over to the rectangular dining table. He didn’t know what he was thinking, buying this dinner table. Maybe he thought he’d have guests over, women over. Now it just feels empty, a table too big for just one person.

Still, it gives him enough room to spread out, which is nice. He keeps the table set all the time, the way they do in old television sitcoms and in movies. He loves movies, and he puts one on now. Nothing high action or stressful, no he’s not got the emotional or mental bandwidth for that these days. Instead, he scrolls through his OnDemand and lets something from the ‘30s dance across the screen in black and white, while he eats his dinner.

Dan tips the takeout onto the plate in front of him – one of the things he refuses to do is eat straight out of the container. Something about that feels like crossing a line into some kind of downward spiral. He can wash one dish, one fork and knife, one glass. He can do that, he has the time for that.

He’s not got time for much, but he’s got the time for that.

Dan eyes his briefcase, thinks about what Jay had said. He’d never taken anything from work before, and he didn’t plan on taking anything from work anytime soon. No, everything in his briefcase was allowed to be there, what was in his apartment was allowed to be there.

“It’s for the best anyway,” Dan says to himself, as the music from the movie swells and flows, a beautiful tap number numbing his mind from the repeated images that are so keen to flash. “Imagine if you brought that shit home more than you already do.”

He scoffs at the idea, at smuggling something out of the basement, out of the building. What would he even do with it? Where would he even put it? No, he thinks, everything that’s important will stay in the office where it’s the safest. The CIA isn’t allowed inside that room, that’s part of the agreement that they made.

“Good thing too, they wouldn’t be too fucking thrilled to read the documents I’m reading.” He’s stopped caring about talking to himself a long time ago, and now that April and Julian will be leaving him, he figures he’ll need the good company, or else he may really go insane.

He sighs, sighs at the knowledge that they’re leaving.

Two years they’d been together, the three of them. Dan’s only a little upset – he’s more scared. Scared of having to go down this rabbit hole alone. Scared of wasting himself away in the basement, surrounded by the ghosts of men who were put through conditions so inhumane that it wakes Dan in the middle of the night, throat hoarse, screaming and raw. What’s worse is he’s scared that they’re right, that no one will care.

But Dan cares. Dianne cares. It’s enough to know that Dianne’s got his back, that’s enough.

Still, they’d gotten a lot accomplished in those two years.

It had started of course, with the tapes.

                                              ----------------------

“What tapes?” Dan had asked, a confused frown on his face.

Dan had been in the middle of a meeting when Marcy, Chief of Staff to Senator Dianne Feinstein, had called him out for a moment or two, a folded newspaper in her hands. Dan recognized it, the New York Times, and it was opened to a ground-breaking story of coverups and espionage. He stood in Dianne’s office and scanned over the small print of the story, growing more and more confused with each word he read.

“Evidently, the CIA destroyed tapes of interrogations, interrogations that had been conducted on al-Qaeda detainees.” Marcy said, but nothing rang a bell for Dan.

“Does – did the Intel Committee know that there even were tapes?” He had to ask, wondering if he was simply out of the loop, or if this was about to become something much larger than it already was.

When Dianne shook her head and clasped her hands together behind her desk, when she pressed her lips into a thin line of frustration of her own, Dan knew that it was the latter.

“No, this New York Times story is the first we’ve heard of it. I want you to find out what was on those tapes and why they were destroyed. We’d like you to lead an investigation, Dan.” She spoke clearly, always had, Dianne did. Dan appreciated that, appreciated her candidacy.

It didn’t lessen his confusion, however.

“But if the tapes were destroyed then how do I – ” He started, handing Marcy back the newspaper with a thankful nod.

“Written records. The CIA says they have written records of what was on the tapes, thousands of pages. I want you to find out what it is they actually have, and read every word of it. I want to know what else they’re hiding.” Dianne instructed, and the weight of the task was enough to make Dan stand up a little straighter.

The concept of going through a thousand pages of written records of interrogations had, at the time, seemed like the most intimidating and overwhelming undertaking Dan would have gone through in his life. Oh, if only he had known what he was getting himself into, if only he had had a shred of a clue.

“Yes, Senator.” He agreed anyway, knowing the stress this was bound to bring.

And stressful it had been, but he had done it. He had found horribly disturbing materials indicative of the conditions in the CIA Detention and Interrogation program. He had read those thousands of pages, and he had relayed them to Dianne, and in the end, despite it all, the findings had remained classified.

But through the tapes, the door to the greater EIT Program report had been opened.

Dan of course was the immediate first choice to lead the investigation, considering he already had the security clearances as a result of working on the tapes case. And he had been happy to do it, happy to push forward – the tapes might remain classified, but if he could expose these conditions, if he could bring this to light, then that wouldn’t be in vain.

None of the suffering and illegal practices would have happened in vain.

                                              ----------------------

It hadn’t been easy in the beginning, dealing with the CIA. Although, Dan huffs out a little laugh to himself as he watches the movie, when was dealing with the CIA ever easy? From the very first day they’d proven themselves to be smug bastards who held themselves above the law, the very thing Dan was trying to convict them of.

                                              ----------------------

The first day he was given a very brief tour of the office, an off-site in Virginia where he would have to commute. It wasn’t a long drive, part Dan already knew that the drive would feel ten times longer after a grueling day of uncovering whatever bullshit the CIA was trying to hide.

He had been met by a middle-aged man named Sean Murphy, who had brought him inside. They had shaken hands, and Sean wasted very little time, in that way that CIA agents tended to do. They were brusque, the lot of them, Dan thought. He wasn’t particularly a fan, but whether that was because he was with the FBI for four years, or because he’d never had a good interaction with a CIA agent, was still to be seen.

“The room we’ve designated for you is SCIF; no phone reception, no photos, you know the drill.” Sean had led him down down down dark stairwells and corridors, deeper and deeper into the belly of the building.

Part of Dan wondered if they’d given him such a shitty space out of spite. It seems like something they would do, make the investigation as passive-aggressively frustrating as possible.

“Yes and per the requirements, the room is completely off limits to everyone aside from Committee personnel?” Dan kept his tone light, despite the literal darkness they were descending into. He was relieved to hear Sean’s hum of agreement.

“Absolutely. No one inside without your permission.” The Agent nodded, arriving finally at the door.

It’s metal, windowless, and locked with a combination pad. There’s a small placard which read: United States Senage Intelligence Committee Staff Only. By Order of the Director of Central Intelligence.

Sean pointed to the sign, as if to appease Dan, and Dan only nodded in response. Sean punched in the code on the combination pad, and opened the door for Dan to bare witness to this cell of a room that he was to spend the next foreseeable future working out of.

It was a spotless room, grey from floor to ceiling. Cold and sterile, no windows, no other doors, just six desks and six computer monitors.

                                              ----------------------

Somewhere in the present, Dan grimaces at how he once had five other people working with him on this shitshow. How he had had two other Democrats and three Republicans, an attempt for bi-partisan facts. And now it was just him, all alone.

                                              ----------------------

“Computers?” Dan had asked, running his hand over the top of one of them. He was glad to see that at least the space was clean – no dust swiped off when he traced his fingers lightly.

“All right here at your disposal. You get your own dedicated server just for you. We’ll be updating the database as we go, the files will be loaded onto the server as we collect them from across the Agency.” Sean had crossed his arms over his chest, and Dan nodded, understandable.

“Perfect, we’ll want all relevant documents as soon as possible, get this thing underway.” He put his hands on his hips, if Sean wanted to psyche him out with body language, Dan would show that he wasn’t to be trifled with, at least in this small way.

“Well, you know that could take some time, we have to vet it first.” Sean shrugged, “There’s a lot to go through and – ”

“Vet? No, Director Panetta agreed to give us everything pertaining to the program. Everything.” Dan interrupted him immediately, brows furrowed. “Why – who would be vetting it?”

There was simply no way that Dan could run a thorough investigation if materials were being withheld from the Committee, and if the CIA were the only ones allowed to vet CIA documents due to the sensitive nature of their material, then Dan could only imagine what they would withhold. The displeasure must have been clear as day across Dan’s face, because Sean only shrugged again.

“Listen Mr. Jones, we understand your situation, but it’s a big Agency. We have to make sure you don’t get anything you’re not supposed to.” He tried to explain, and Dan bit his tongue, instead turning to survey the room once again.

“There’s no printer.” He noticed aloud, “No paper?”

Sean had almost laughed at him for that, and still to this day, that makes Dan uneasy.

“No documents are allowed to leave the room without CIA approval. As I’m sure you can understand, Mr. Jones, paper has a way of getting people in trouble at our place.” Sean had said in a hushed voice, a conspiratorial voice, a voice that made Dan want to grit his teeth.

“And I’m sure that you can understand, Mr. Murphy, paper is how we keep track of laws, at ours.” Dan had replied seriously.

                                              ----------------------

He should have known then, that they weren’t going to play nicely.

Two years, and they’d only been getting more and more difficult.

Dan finishes up his dinner relatively quickly, sleep dragging in his bones. He’d been up at the office bright and early at eight o’clock in the morning and he was now nearing on midnight. Bringing his dishes to the kitchen, he quickly but efficiently washes them and sets them on the drying rack near the sink, never bothering to use the dishwasher. He doesn’t need to, when he’s the only one here.

He goes straight to the bathroom, turns the shower on as hot as it will go. The hamper was only about half full – or was it half empty? – so he knows he can hold off doing laundry for another day or two at least, as he dumps his clothes from the day into the little heap.

Naked, Dan stands in front of the mirror and looks at himself, really looks at himself. He’s attractive, he thinks, in that way that he hopes so, anyway. He maintains his workout routine, which is probably a good idea, considering how much time he spends just sitting around and eating takeout. Maybe he’ll go for a run tomorrow. He thinks he deserves a day off, it’s not like he’s got to show up and report to anyone other than Dianne, but she isn’t expecting an update until after the holiday weekend anyway.

“Run tomorrow,” Dan tells himself in the mirror, lifts his arms and flexes his muscles just to check himself out, make sure that he knows what he looks like, makes sure he’s real, a real person. Steam from the shower begins to curl along the glass, and Dan knows it’s hot enough for him to get in and scrub the day away. “Shower, sleep, and then run tomorrow.”

He makes sure there’s a nice clean towel nearby, and sighs out a breath of relief as he steps under the scalding spray. He lathers up his shampoo and breathes breathes breathes in the calming scent of bergamot and sandalwood, pretends he’s down by the beach somewhere instead of here alone in his apartment. He’s too tired to jerk off, which feels a little sad but not sad enough to bother Dan too much.

He’ll indulge himself tomorrow, he decides as he rinses the suds away. Tomorrow will be a better day than this one, it has to be. He’ll make it so.

After washing his body and applying his conditioner, he steps out of the shower and wraps himself up, pads across the little hall to his bedroom. He slips into warm pajamas and is about to pull back the covers of his neatly made bed, when he notices a piece of paper resting in the tray of his printer/fax machine.

Dan frowns, how long had that been there?

He hesitantly, very hesitantly, approaches the fax machine. It’s a blank piece of paper, nothing on it – aft first glance. Dan thinks he catches a flash of something, maybe its his eyes playing tricks on him, he doesn’t know. But he turns on the lamp near his printer and holds the piece of paper up and his blood runs cold when he reads:

 56 Signers of the Declaration of Independence Memorial

Constitution Gardens, Washington, DC 20245

Sunday 11:30:00 AM

Destroy this.

 He doesn’t know what compels him, but he rushes to the window. He doesn’t open it, doesn’t do anything so foolish as that, but he peels back the curtain just enough to see it, to see that black car with its tinted windows, driving away.

                                            ----------------------

Tagging some pals! If you’d like to be added or taken off this taglist, please just let me know! @clumsycopy @whiskey-bumblebee​ @umbrielchip000​ @supremehaunter​ @kyloawaken​ @candycanes19​ @thegreenmatt​ @ladygrey03​ @zimmerxman​ @niniita-ah @autumnlovesadam​ @solotriplets​ @steeevienicks​ @aweirdlookingtree​​ @heldcaptivebychaos​​  ​ @formerly-anonhamster​​ @lookinsidemyhead​​ ​ @adamsnacc-kler​​  ​ @magikevalynn​​ @tinyplanet-explorers​​ @chelsjnov​​ @romancedeldiablo​ @helloimindelaware​​  ​ @peterisparker​​  @goodboybensolo​​  @the-marvelatic​​ @miasera​​ @emily-strange​​ @proxyfoxy​​ @disaster-rose​​ @hazydespair​​ @yosoymuyloca​​​ @1-800-choke-that-snoke​​​ @ktellmeastory​​​ @anongirl007​​ ​​ @okk–maaan​ @flapjacques​​​ @callmemania-pls @theold-ultraviolence @og-selene @schopenhauerdeathsquad​ @nekonaomitard​ @feminine-machinegun​ @carloswilliamcarlos​ @contesa-lui-alucard​ 

[waywardbeanie]

A Man of Letters - Chapter Seven

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader Summary: It started as a simple hunt for Sam and Dean Winchester. Dean didn’t realize that this single case would change his life forever. Now they are on the biggest mission of their lives, and without the use of cellphones, the only way he can communicate with the love of his life is through old fashioned letter writing. He has done everything in his power to keep her safe, but will it be enough? Word Count: 6931 ish

Series Warnings: Language, slow burn, angst, smut, alcohol consumption, fluff, SPN typical violence (individual chapters will contain relevant warnings) a little meta Chapter Warning: humor (Is that really a warning?) and a little bit of sweet.(Always), angst, spicy (smut), unprotected (ish) sex

A/N: I want to thank everyone who has read so far, thank you for sticking with me!  All of the comments and reblogs mean so very much! THANK YOU!

Thank you to my beta’s @winchest09 and @whatareyousearchingfordean​ without them I would be sunk!

MASTERLIST A Man of Letters

If you’d like to be tagged, my list is open. Just send me an ask HERE: **Make sure you check out the playlist, it is updated every chapter and an essential part of the story**

Spotify Playlist : A Man of Letters

Catch up here >>>>>>> A Man of Letters Masterlist

This series is ongoing!

No Gif’s are mine

                                   Dean “Tongue Magician” Winchester                                                     PO Box 323                                               Sioux Falls, SD 57101

Dear D,

You were right, I got both letters the same day. It was a really nice surprise. I hope that “Sam” likes the brownies. I’m sure they are stale, but I made enough for everyone, so please share them because I know they are for you. Sam literally eats one brownie when I make them. Work has picked up, and my schedule is full most days. I’m happy to be busy when you are gone, it makes the days go by faster, but my bed is too big and empty without you. I’ve slept on the couch a few times since you’ve been gone, I just leave the pillows on, and I can almost convince myself you are here.

I was thinking about the couch night, but now you have me thinking about the bed night, and damn, you are too far away to dwell on that for too long! Also, do not talk to me about me moaning your name in letters because I swear to God I will write you a note that you will have you locking yourself in Baby to read!

Things are pretty quiet here as usual. I went to the farmers market today and bought vegetables. I’m trying to figure out some new recipes to try. I know you said that you were up for anything, just no more butter beans because they taste like mud (which, for the record, they do not!), so we will see what I can do. I saw Mark from the garage there, and he told me to tell you “Hello” and that he is almost finished with the body of the 1971 Plymouth Hemi Cuda. He wondered when you would be back because he could use your help with the new paint job. I told him that the job you had was going to last longer than most but that I’m sure as soon as you got into town that you would help him.

D, I know we talked about the future before, but are you sure you want to walk away? I’m here no matter what, I’m not going anywhere. You need to be sure this is what you want to do for you. With that being said, I am selfish enough to say I want nothing more than to fall asleep in your arms every night and to wake up next to you each morning. I’m glad you wrote it in a letter because I can read it over and over. Sometimes, when you are gone, I just start questioning things and can be a bit insecure about all of it, but you knew that already.

I guess I should wrap this up, I’m sorry you guys are doing more research, but, as always it will pay off in the end. I’m not surprised you set up training for everyone, that is definitely your thing, and it gives you an excuse not to read those dusty books. You guys be safe and come back soon. I miss your face.

I Love You, Your Initial

3 Years Ago

They were a little over halfway back to the bunker, driving through Hastings, Nebraska, and Sam started to worry. Dean had not spoken 5 words this entire trip. He didn’t even want snacks when they stopped for gas. They have been driving for almost two hours, the radio on low, the only thing consistent is the tapping of his thumb on the top of the steering wheel, lost in his own thoughts.

“Dean.” He broke the silence

“Huh?” pulling himself from his thoughts, glancing at Sam.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“What? Nothing,” raising his eyebrows, he shook his head briefly.

Flicking his eyes to the backseat, Sam confirmed the vamp was still out cold. “Ok, I’ll start. I know that you knew where these vamps were hiding out long before I told you. Instead of helping me, you continued to point me in the wrong direction.”

He rubbed his hand down his face with equal amounts of irritation and embarrassment. “Sammy, it’s not like that I-,”

Annoyed Sam cut him off, “Dude, it is exactly like that, but the funny part is I’m not even mad anymore.”

“Fine, you know I don’t want to talk about this, but you get one question and one answer and don’t get all chick flick about it either because that’s not happening.”

“Great,” Sam smirked, “What’s Y/N’s favorite color?”

Without missing a beat, Dean answered, “It’s a tie between navy blue and dark grey.”

Sam threw his head back with a laugh. Dean’s mouth quirked up in a half-smile, turning up the radio as “Ramblin’ Man” by The Allman Brothers blared through the speakers. Laying his foot on the gas pedal, a little heavier to get back to the bunker to get answers from the comatose vamp tied up in the back seat. 

Dean and Sam had left Y/N’s house 2 days ago. The first 24 hours she didn’t go anywhere without her phone, that got old quickly. She began to feel like it was a leash; finally, she went about her day and left it plugged in on her nightstand. Today was Saturday, she didn’t have any clients this morning; instead, it was all the things to catch up from the week. Mowing the lawn, cleaning the house, grocery shopping, stripping the sheets, and doing laundry.

She put her hair in a messy bun, threw on her Neil Diamond t-shirt with denim shorts, grabbed her BlueTooth headphones, linking them to her tablet, and set it outside on the deck and connected it to her playlist. Greta Van Fleet’s “Highway Tune” burst into her ears as she yanked the pulley to start the lawnmower. She chuckled to herself as she began to mow the backyard. Dean had mentioned a few times that he wanted to do it, but that was not going to happen. She had put them both out enough, and besides, it was a good exercise for her. Finishing up in a little over an hour, she put away the lawn equipment, grabbed a bottle of water from the “beer fridge” in the garage, and jumped in the Jeep. She wanted to head to two destinations,  the grocery store and the gardening store to buy  more plants and flowers. Working in the yard kept her hands and mind busy, and right now, that is precisely what she needed.

As she was perusing the freezer section for her favorite Ben & Jerry’s flavor,  she ran into her friend Jennifer. They had met just a few weeks after Y/N moved to Lincoln and they had become fast friends. After a brief hug, they agreed to meet later on that evening for drinks on Y/N’s back deck to catch up. She stopped and bought some more daisies and headed back home, looking forward to spending the evening with her friend.

After planting the flowers, she ran in the house to quickly shower and wash her hair, scrubbing off the dirt and grime of the day. Finishing up, she wrapped her hair in a towel and dried off when she noticed Dean’s black flannel hanging on the door hook. He’d accidentally left it behind the last time he was here. Walking over, she brushed her fingers lightly over the material and as she brought it closer to her nose, she could still smell his woodsy maleness clinging to the fabric. She rested her head against the door, thinking about how much she missed him already and realizing how ridiculous it sounded.

With a sigh, she left the bathroom walking down the hall to her bedroom, pausing she looked at her phone lying face down on the nightstand. She was torn; part of her wanted to see if Dean had called or texted, but an overwhelming part did not want to be disappointed when he didn’t. She made a deal with herself, she would get dressed and dry her hair, and THEN she would look at it. Y/N did silly bargaining things like this with herself all the time, almost like bargaining with the Gods to turn the odds in her favor. She pulled on a pair of grey shorts and a and white Garth Brooks shirt, chuckling to herself, thinking of when Dean accused her of having more band shirts than he did.

Sitting in front of her mirror with her flat paddle brush, she began drying her hair in pieces, after finishing she put on a bit of mascara, eyeliner, and colored lip balm. Smiling at herself in the mirror, she was pleased with the results, standing with a huff, Y/N went to check her phone. Picking it up, she expected nothing. However, she slowly lowered herself to the bed as her screen lit up, her eyes growing wider with every missed notification.

Dean 3 Missed calls

Dean: Hey, Babe, been crazy with you know what. Just wanted to hear your voice.

Dean 4 Missed calls

Sam 1 Missed call

Dean: Y/N. Is everything ok? Call me when you get this.

Dean 2 Missed calls Sam: Tink, would you PLEASE call Dean? I might kill him soon if you don’t. Jennifer 1 Missed Call Dean: ok, I’m trying to keep my shit together right now, I’m FUCKING WORRIED. I’m just telling you right now if I don’t hear back from you in 2 hours I’m driving back.

Just then, her phone lit up in her hand, Dean’s face popping up, the ring scaring her so bad she dropped the phone. She scrambled to pick it up, pushing the speaker button quickly. “Hello?”

“Y/N?” Dean’s voice boomed through the speaker.

“Hey Dean, I’m so sorry-” she began.

Dean cut her off, “Are you good? Jesus Fuck, I was like a crazy person down here. You’re good, right? I mean you are answering the phone, so you’re alright. Right?” She could hear a slamming car door in the background.

“Dean!” she raised her voice to get his attention, “I’m fine I just left my phone plugged in all day, and I was busy.”

“Shit, right.” She could hear him running his hand over his scruff, “I’m sorry Babe, I know, I sound like a lunatic. We just haven’t been able to get anything out of this vamp, when you didn’t answer, my mind just started going to a dark place.”

“I promise, I’m really fine,” she soothed, “I mowed the lawn and went to the grocery and bought some flowers; just busy. I even saw my friend Jennifer today. She’s coming over tonight, and we are going to sit on the deck and have a couple beers.”

“Honestly, that sounds great Y/N/N, I just wanted to hear your voice and tell you to be careful. We don’t know who sent those vamps yet, and until we do, you just need to watch your back.”

She didn’t want to roll her eyes, but she couldn’t help it. There were only so many ways she could reassure him, she didn’t want Dean to worry about her, Y/N just living her life, maybe she was naïve. Hell, no one has worried about her since her parents’ death. It was a strange feeling.

“Dean,” she began, “What can I do to make you feel better?”

She could almost hear the sheepish shrug in his voice “I don’t know” pulling himself out of that quickly, his voice became stronger. “Could you just carry your damn phone with you?”

Dean heard the laughter through his phone, and he couldn’t help but smile, hearing her laugh warmed his insides. “Of course, I will! I do have a question for you, though.”

“Shoot.”

“Were you really going to drive back up here if I didn’t answer?” The silence on the phone went on for so long that she had to double-check to be sure they weren’t disconnected. “Dean?”

“Yeah,” came a gruff reply, “I was in the garage when I thought I would call you one more time before I left.”

“Oh Dean, I’m sorry.” Guilt niggled at her as she thought of him dropping his plans.

“Y/N, maybe I overreacted a little, but I’m so far away that, if shit went down, It would take me 2 ½ hours to get there.”

“I’m just living, Dean, but I will be careful, I swear. I don’t want you to worry about me. You have enough to worry about without adding me to it.”

Oh, Babe,” he chuckled, “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

“Maybe.” He could hear the smile in her voice.

“So, I thought I would come back up on Thursday night if that’s ok.”

“More than,” she replied with a soft smile, “I miss you.”

“Same,” he replied gruffly, “see you Thursday, then.”

“Bye, Dean,” she whispered. She pushed the end button and flopped back on the bed, heart pounding in her chest.

She missed him, but the idea of him coming back had her stomach in knots. There was no doubt in her mind that she was going to have sex with him when he came back. She could barely keep herself in check before he left. It had been a long time since she had been intimate with anyone, what if she forgot how? She had been fine just shoving her sexual frustrations to the bottom of her priority list, life got its hooks in her, she was more interested in getting her business off the ground, fixing up her house and making a life for herself. He was the first person in recent memory who made her look twice. Now he was coming to stay with her. This time she knew that the couch was not going to cut it.

Dean’s POV

Bracing his forearms on the driver’s side window frame of Baby, he tossed the phone on her roof with a sigh. It’s taking all of his internal strength not to jump in the car right now and head back to Lincoln. In his mind, he knows that she is safe, but his chest still ached. This is why he didn’t involve himself in this type of bullshit. Sticking to the random hook up fitted his life. What the hell was he thinking, dragging her deeper into a life that she has no business being within a 1000 feet of? She is too sweet to get involved in his shit show of life. He was tossed into it the day his mother was roasted on the ceiling. Y/N deserves so much better than he could ever offer. If he had a brain cell left in his head, he would man up and text her right now to tell her to forget it, he wasn’t returning to Lincoln. He and Sam would track down whoever was after her and take care of it. Y/N could move on with her life and forget all about him and the nightmare life he leads. Exhaling loudly, Dean grabs his phone, shoving it in his pocket and pushing himself off the car, the adrenaline of his fear and anger  still pumping through his veins. He knows she deserves better than a text. When he drives up on Thursday, he will tell her that it’s best for her.

Eventually, the stabbing pain in his chest will go away and if it doesn’t,  maybe this is just what it would be like now that he really knows what he will be missing when he walks away.

Jennifer and Y/N embrace at the door when she arrives promptly at 7:00. It was an evening of a few too many beers and laughs. Jennifer switched to Diet Coke after two. Although she was a little more than tipsy, she was careful to keep most of the secrets when Jennifer started to question her about the black muscle car parked at her house when Y/N was MIA for a few weeks, no one knew she was hiding a bruised and swollen face.

Travis had kept his mouth shut as promised. Sam and Dean stopped in to talk to him about the “guys” who followed Y/N home and assaulted her. He wanted his bar as far away from that controversy as possible.

They ended the evening with more hugs and promises to get together again soon, Y/N made her way to her bedroom, phone in hand, drunkenly stripping off clothes all the way down the hall. Climbing under the sheets, she started to plug in her phone but changed her mind.

Dean’s phone buzzed with a text message at 1:17 a.m, he was sitting in the library nursing his third whiskey of the night. Picking up his phone, he thumbed it open to see it was a text from Y/N. As he opened the message, his mouth slowly began to gape open. Staring back at him was a selfie. Y/N was laying down, her hair fanning around her on the pillow, a sweet smile playing on her lips. He could see the curve of her breasts, turning the phone back and forth he was sure he could have seen her nipple. She was totally naked in that massive bed without him. The simple text accompanying the picture is what truly did him in.

Babe: Wish you were here

“FUCK!” he groaned loudly, closing his eyes, throwing his head back

Thursday came in a blink of an eye for both of them. Dean had texted Y/N to let him know he would be leaving around noon. It was 10:00 a.m. now, his anxiousness already kicked into high gear. Sam walked into the war room, a mug of coffee in his hand, still in his blue and black plaid pajama pants with a grey long sleeved T-Shirt. His hair pointing in every direction, bare feet smacking against the tile floor. He stopped abruptly when he spotted Dean pacing a path back and forth. He was already dressed in jeans and boots topped with a dark grey T-shirt underneath a burgundy and grey flannel. An empty coffee cup sitting on the map table along with his duffle bag. 

“Dean?” he questioned.

“Yeah?” he responded, continuing to pace.

“What’s the deal? What are you doing?” He fully entered the room, placing his mug on the table studying Dean.

“I’m thinking! What are you doing? I just got shit on my mind,” he barked back, continuing to pace, stopping to look at his phone, before beginning his walk again.

“Aren’t you going to Y/N’s today?” Sam questioned, “I thought you would be happy. Instead, you’re stalking around here like an angry bear.”

Dean’s angry gaze snapped to Sam, confirming his characterization. “I’m coming back tonight.” Sam paused in the middle of sitting, standing back up, “Dude, WHAT?”

Running his hand roughly over his face, he sighed. “I got some space; after the other day, when I couldn’t reach her, it made me realize she doesn’t need to be dragged into this life. It’s too much.”

“And there it is” Sam threw his hands in the air, frustration written all over his face.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean growled.

“Every.Fucking.Time,” he emphasized each word pointing his finger at the older Winchester. "Whenever you find a little bit of happiness, you start sabotaging yourself, it’s always something. This life sucks, you’re too busy, it’s the apocalypse, someone or something needs you more, you just shut down and tell yourself it’s not worth the trouble.”

Dean just stared at his brother as he continued to ramble.

“Just once Dean, just one time can you put yourself first?” he gestured toward him. “Yes, I know Y/N was a case and you are pissed off that the vamp won’t talk, you’re worried that your life is going to splash on her. She is stronger than you think, you think you need to pile all of this on your shoulders, you don’t. I have never seen you, my own brother, let his guard down around someone before.”

“She’s too good Sammy, she doesn’t deserve-”

“What?” Sam questioned, gathering momentum again “She doesn’t deserve to be happy? She doesn’t deserve to have someone care about her? You-” he pointed at him once more, “are both crazy about each other. I could see it on your faces every time I was in the same room with you both. You have earned the right to be happy.”

Dean crossed his arms contemplating Sam.

“Just do me a favor, would you?” Go up there and just see her, stay the three days, like you planned, see what happens. Promise me you won’t go up there halfcocked trying to tell her, like you always do to everyone, that you know what’s best. Leave your bullshit baggage here and just go see her.”

“Whatever,” Dean grumbled, hiking his bag on his shoulder as he picked his keys off the table, striding towards the garage, “I think you need to mind your own damn business.”

“When has that ever happened before?” Sam called after him.

As Dean began to drive to Lincoln, Y/N was running around nerves and excitement, twisting her gut. She had showered, shaved everywhere, lotioned up, fixed her hair, letting it flow down her back instead of the ponytail or messy bun look and she had applied light makeup. Looking down at her bed, almost every article of clothing she owned was spread out. Y/N picked up all of her dresses and hung them back in the closet. If she wore a dress, he would know that she was trying too hard.

“This is ridiculous!” she thought to herself as she started shoving clothes back into drawers. She settled on a pair of denim cutoff shorts and a sleeveless black and white blouse that cut in at the shoulders and tied at the back of her neck, flowing to mid-hip. Picking up the remainder of clothes strewn about, she muscled them back in her closet, slamming the door. She checked herself out in the mirror, happy with the tan legs and arms on display. Walking out into the living room, she started to feel fidgety. She had serious thoughts about going to work in the garden, but she would have to shower all over again. After wandering around the house, she checked her phone at 1:00. She had two hours left. Flopping on the couch, she flipped on the television and began channel surfing, trying to zone out.

As Dean sped up the highway to Y/N’s house, the conversation with Sam this morning was a consistent loop in his head. Actually, it was more of a Sam tirade. Dean knew what was best, right? Nip it in the bud before one of them could get hurt. She really wasn’t what he needed in his life, he told himself. Unattached works best for him. An after bar closing fling to get rid of the itch, then back to living life. No expectations, no texts, no I’ll-call-you-laters. But if that is what he wanted, then why did it make him sad and angry all at once?

Twenty minutes outside of Lincoln, he stopped for gas, seriously considering calling her to say he couldn’t make it. Sure, she might be disappointed, but she would get over it, wouldn’t she? No, he chastised himself, he would do the right thing and tell her face to face. He owed her that, at the very least. Looking at his watch, he realized that he had made a good time between leaving the bunker early so Sam would quit bitching at him and no traffic or cops on the 2 lane highway. He would be at her house at 1:30. Jumping back in Baby, he cranked the ignition “The Real Love” by Bob Seger blared through the speakers, it was a slow one, he reached down to flip the channel but paused but as the lyrics began to speak to him.

I think I’ve found The Real Love Genuine and true I think it’s really come my way today Babe I think it’s really you

I remember moments looking in your eyes Could have sworn I saw the spark of love babe Flickering inside

I’ve been around this track And the only thing I lack Is The Real Love

Placing his hand back on the wheel, his knuckles turned white as he squeezed, the pressure in his chest overwhelming him as he blinked back tears. His mind and heart screaming, “Don’t do this!!” Angrily, he threw Baby in drive, grinding his teeth together and snapping his jaw. He jammed his foot on the gas, leaving tire treads next to the pumps. The Impala fishtailing as he exited to the street heading towards Y/N house. The pain crashing through him as the verses washed over him.

Every time I see you, every time we touch I can feel the way you feel for me Babe And it means so much

And every time you look at me It’s just the way it all should be In The Real Love

Oh darlin’ darlin’ darlin’ Stay with me stay I long to see you in the morning sun Everyday Everyday

So until that moment When I take your hand I’m gonna try to do my very best Babe To prove that I’m your man

I’m gonna do my very best I’m not gonna rest Until we’ve got The Real Love

He was in agony, convincing himself it was what he deserved thinking about what he was about to do.

Hearing the deep rumble of Baby, Y/N sat up on the couch, flinging the remote on the coffee table. Her heart began thundering in her chest as she looked at the clock 1:28 p.m. “It’s too early, it can’t be him. He said 3:00” she thought. Her feet had a mind of their own, carrying her, almost unwilling, afraid to be disappointed that it was another car, but she knew. She would recognize the sound of his car anywhere. The screen door opened with a squeak as she stepped on the porch as Dean drove up the driveway. She shoved her hands in her front pockets to appear calm, but she could not wipe the huge grin off her face nor the heat burning her cheeks.

Dean turned off Baby and sat there for a moment, squeezing the steering wheel, flexing his jaw as he tried to get his bearings together. He knew what had to be done, he couldn’t draw it out. “Just cut to the chase, short and sweet. Get it over and done  with and let her live in peace,” he told himself, until he glanced out the window and saw her on the porch.

The ice that he tried to form around his heart cracked wide as he looked at her beautiful, smiling face. Never in his life could he recall someone so thrilled to see him. She was pure sunshine that spread light through him as he looked at her. Pulling the metal handle, he got out of the car, slamming the heavy door behind him. Her hands were in her pockets, but she was so happy she was almost vibrating. As he walked towards her, all he could hear was Sam’s voice yelling in his head, “leave your bullshit baggage here! You have earned the right to be happy!”

Each step that he took melted the ice a little more, stopping in the grass, he matched her smile and opened his arms. She was off the porch running to him. She jumped into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist as he locked her in his embrace. She buried her face in his neck as he nuzzled her hair, breathing her in.

“You know,” she whispered, smiling into his neck, “when I thought about today, I always imagined I would have been much cooler.”

Chuckling, he pressed a kiss against her temple, “I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.” The truth is, had she been calm, cool, and collected, Dean would not have questioned his stupidity until he was headed back to the bunker. By that time, it would have been too late, and he would have had to live with his decision no matter what the ache in his chest told him.

Setting her on her feet, bending, he pressed a firm kiss on her lips, lingering as the last bits of ice melted around his heart. He wanted to tell her what he had driven up here to do; he just couldn’t yet. What if he scared her? What if she stopped looking at him with unconditional acceptance? After everything he had shared with her, the killings, the monsters, and the Mark of Cain, she rolled with it all as if he was telling her how he changed the oil in Baby. She was interested and asked questions but never judged him. Telling her most of his secrets on the couch was never what he meant to do, but she pulled it out without even trying. What if telling her he was going to look at him differently? He couldn’t handle that, his chest hurt to even think that. What if it broke what has been so carefully built. What if it broke her? He couldn’t do that. The thought that he was actually going to come up here and tell her it was over made him feel lightheaded.

Pulling back, she took his hand in hers with a smile. “I hope you’re hungry tonight. I made steak, twice baked potato, corn on the cob and...” she drawled, wiggling her eyebrows, “pecan pie.”

“Wow,” he chuckled “you didn’t have to do all of that.”

She lifted one shoulder, slightly embarrassed, “I wanted to.”

Squeezing her hand, he murmured, “thank you.”

Smiling bright at him, she opened the screen door, Y/N entering and pulling Dean with her. The house smelled like pie. He didn’t realize how much he missed being with her in her space until he walked in the door. The smell, the feeling of hominess solidified his decision to listen to Sam’s advice. Maybe his little brother knew something, after all.

Dean grabbed two bottles of beer out of the refrigerator, walking out on the back deck. Just being close to her, he could feel a weight lifting off him as he comfortably settled back into their little routine. He would always twist off the bottle top for her and hand her the beer. Even if she brought the beers out, she gave them both to him. When both bottles were open, they would clink the bottlenecks together before their first drink. It was the little things like this that made him ridiculously happy.

Sitting on the deck, they shared different things from the week, there were no awkward moments or pause in the conversation. It just flowed as it did on the couch. Dean tried to keep it light, telling funny stories about Sam as Y/N’s laughter rang out, filling him with a warmth he never knew he needed., She would reach out and touch him, brushing her fingers against his knee or grasping his arm when she was making a point. He looked forward to each touch, desire shuttering through him every time. As the afternoon slid into the evening, Dean would graze her upper arm with a smile, just to see her shiver. He felt powerful that it was his touch doing that to her.

Time flew by as the cold beers went down smoothly. Soon it was time to light the grill and cook up the steaks as she put together the side dishes. They decided to eat at the pub table on the deck, lighting the lanterns as the sun began to set and soft music played through the hidden speakers. Y/N watched Dean eat dinner as she moved the food around her plate. She watched him as they talked through dinner, either he wasn’t nervous or could chew through anything. She was hungry but only took a few bites here and there. The later it got, she began to get keyed up. She felt like she knew how the evening would end; however, her insecurities made her start to question everything. After dinner, they loaded the dishwasher and made coffee for both of them. It was very domestic, like all the pieces were snapping into place. Dean sat down his mug as the crisp sound of an acoustic guitar wafted through the sound system. “Give Me One Reason” by Tracy Chapman. The notes carried into the darkness as the deck was illuminated by the hanging lanterns.

Reaching out his hand he beckoned to Y/N, “dance with me.”

With a shy smile, she accepted his hand as he led her to the middle of the deck and took her in his arms. Her heart began to double-time in her chest as she looked into Dean’s eyes and saw the heat reflected back down on her. He pulled her close as they moved through the song and she could not help but to be struck by the lyrics.

Give me one reason to stay here And I'll turn right back around Give me one reason to stay here And I'll turn right back around Said I don't want leave you lonely You got to make me change my mind

Ducking his head to brush his lips to hers, the sizzle that has built between them all night, ignites. He wants this woman more than he has ever wanted anyone in his life. In a rush of uncontrollable desire, Dean cups Y/N’s face and pulls her to him, crashing his lips greedily to hers. The first touch of his mouth on hers and she threw her arms around him, pressing her body against his. The intense desire exploded between them; the compelling need to claim her, lick her, have her, drove him to the brink of insanity. He opened her lips with his, his tongue sliding into her mouth, bringing out a throaty moan that almost pushed him over the edge. He glided his hand down her back, cupping one of her round cheeks with his palm as he roughly pulled her against his erection; she gasped with pleasure as she began to grind herself onto him, her own arousal dictating her actions.

Picking her up, she wrapped her legs around him as he walked them into the house, down the hall into the bedroom, their mouths only moving apart to gasp for air before devouring each other once more. The dance of their tongues did nothing to quench her thirst for him since they had initially started, and she found herself rubbing against him in an attempt to ease her aching core. Setting her down on her feet in front of the bed, she looked up to see Dean’s eyes had changed to a dark smoldering green; the lust reflected back to her, making her tremble with yearning.

“I need you so much,” he rasped.

“God, me too,” she whimpered.

A smile spread across his face as he hooked his index finger along the waistband of her shorts, dragging them down her tan legs to her ankles. On his knees in front of her, he placed a soft kiss on her belly button, his tongue flicking her hoop piercing.

“So fucking hot,” he murmurs as her skin erupts in goosebumps, a shiver of excitement moving up her spine as she runs her hands through his soft brown hair.

Gently pushing her back on the bed, he pulled her to the edge, his mouth mere inches from her slick heat. Moving his face slightly, he brushed the inside of her thigh with his scruff, pulling a moan from her lips. She could feel his warm breath against her clit and began to squirm.

“Please Dean,” she begged. He lay his muscled forearm across her hips, pinning her to the bed.

“Shh,” he whispered as his eyes met hers, his intense look scorching her skin. “I want to look at you, I’ve done nothing but think about you like this for weeks, just want to enjoy the view for a moment.”

She let her head fall back on the mattress, laying her arm across her closed eyes, her body buzzing as it pleaded for relief. Every second that ticked by, the intensity coiled in her belly, convincing her that she will burst into flames any second. She jerked as she felt his flattened tongue lick upwards along her damp slit, teasing her. His lips stopped at her clit, humming in satisfaction.

“Jesus, Dean,” she moaned, grasping the sheets on either side of her, “I can’t do this, it’s too much,” she cried with frustration.

Chucking, he licked her again before swirling his tongue around her sweet spot. A sound ripped from her throat that was a mix between a whine and a curse. “That’s it, Y/N,” he growls against herm “let go, I want to feel you cum.”

“No, I want to feel you inside me.” Her arms stretched to reach him, but he leaned back, just out of reach.

“You will,” he promises “but I need this first.” His tongue delved into her wet sweetness as he buried two fingers inside her, coaxing her to climax. She felt the white-hot heat building inside her as he wrapped his lips around her clit, sucking one last time, hurdling her over the edge while crying out his name. Dean was relentless, lapping up everything Y/N had given him before he glanced up at her writhing form, his chin glistening in the dim light. It was a sight that made Y/N swallow hard, the man between her legs had given her an orgasm in less than a few minutes so her mind was reeling with else he had in store for her.

“I need you, Dean.” Those four words that bled from her lips sent Dean into a frenzy.

In haste, he removed his boots, socks, jeans, and boxers before he climbed up the mattress, pulling Y/N along with him. Situated in the middle of the bed, he settled between her legs, his hard length nudging at her. Resting his forearms on either side of her head, he brushed his lips over hers as she moved her hands to entwine her fingers in his hair, deepening the kiss. Her legs then wrapped around  his waist, urging him to enter her but he held back, his body taut with the effort.

“Protection?” he asks softly. “IUD,” she answered breathlessly, desperate for him to fill her. “Oh god.””

“It’s Dean” he husked playfully, his voice deep and gruff.  

Kissing down her neck; cupping her breast in his hand, he rolled her taut nipple between his thumb and forefinger, a hiss of pleasure rushing from her lips as he took her nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue over the bud before nipping it gently with his teeth. He moved to the other breast giving it equal treatment. Steadily he slowly made his way back up her body, peppering her skin with kisses as he reached her mouth, claiming her lips again in a searing kiss as he lined himself up. He slowly pushes his impressive shaft inside of her as her body stretches around his girth, tightly squeezing and slowly accommodating him.

“Y/N,” he breathes between clenched teeth, “Fuck, I’ve wanted to do this for so long, you feel so damn good.”

She murmured her approval as her hands wrapped around him, her fingers digging into his rippling back muscles with each thrust. She had fantasized about this so often, but the reality eclipses anything her imagination had come up with. His mouth moved down her exposed neck as her hands blindly explored his body. Their dual moans mingled in the bedroom as their sweat-slicked bodies met. She gripped his shoulders as they both barreled towards release.

“Babe, I’m so close,” he grits out, his rhythm stuttering. She plants her feet on the bed, meeting him thrust for thrust.

“Dean!” she cries as another orgasm rips through her body. She comes undone, her insides clench and twist around him as she digs her fingers into his back as he feels her flutter around him. Groaning her name, he buries himself deep inside her, allowing euphoria to wash over him as he coated the inside of her walls.

Breathless, he nearly collapsed on top of her but managed to hold himself up on shaky arms as she ran her fingers through his sweaty hair with a smile. He leaned down to place a sweet kiss on her mouth before laying on his back next to her as they both tried to catch their breath. Turning his head, he saw her blissed-out face staring back at him with a sleepy smile playing on her lips. He gathered her still shaking body to him, wrapping his arms around her as she rested her head on his hard chest with a satisfied sigh. She snuggled into him as he reached down to pull the sheet over them both falling into an exhausted sleep. He was so glad he didn’t listen to his own thoughts and allowed himself to enjoy being with her. The woman that had turned his life upside down.

Chapter 8

Tags: @winchest09​ @katehuntington​ @whatareyousearchingfordean​ @emoryhemsworth​ @flamencodiva​ @superfanficnatural​ @deanwanddamons​ @janicho88​ @talesmaniac89​ @anathewierdo​ @compresshischest09​ @supernatural-bellawinchester​ @jensengirl83​ @this-is-what-im-reduced-to​ @ellewritesfix05​ @moron225​ @foxyjwls007​ @hobby27​ @unicornqu33n17​ @swinchester27​@ @deans-baby-momma​ @squirrelnotsam​ @clumsy-nerd104​ @sarahbaker2010​ @supernatural-love14​ @akshi8278​ @lyarr24​ @angelhearts1012​ @nothinbuttrouble2​ @cookiechipdough​ @lady-pswrld​ @peachyafshawn​ @notan-applepielife​

[danddymaro]

Roughly | Revolver Ocelot x Reader

Once again, MGSV | Word Count : 5077 | 

I thought it’d be nice to make some of this content for Daddy Ocelot.

Warning : Adult content 

Please....Please, if you’re not into it, don't read. 

(◕︿◕✿)

Roughly

He tore open her white blouse, exposing her heaving chest covered only by a thin brassier. With intently focused blue orbs, he watched as two peaked nubs strained against the white, delicate cloth,

"Excited?" He questioned her, quirking a brow at the painfully obvious display of arousal.

Nodding eagerly she confirmed it with a tight bite of her lower lip,

"Yes," She inhaled as she caught sight of the feral dimness in his eyes while they aimed themselves at her displayed figure. 

Backing up, she leaned back to his desk before popping up on it, waiting for him to reach her,

'On the desk...Here...' She mused with excitement, never having had the boldness to initiate anything so daring in his workspace where just about anyone could interrupt them. Granted, the door to his quarters was right there in the room too, but nonetheless, she had become thoroughly ignited when he threw everything aside while fiercely lip-locked with her earlier on.

With a slow lick to his lips, he came closer, beckoned by the alluringly sensual, position of her lovely figure. Smirking, he slid his body between her open, hanging legs, not wasting a minute to run his hands over the length of her legs which were covered by thin, sheer pantyhose.

"...Too many layers," He muttered to himself with a hint of annoyance, his left hand rising to his lips, his index finger pointed towards his slightly parted lips, " I don't like it," he added huskily, capturing a piece of the red glove between his two-row of teeth, tugging it off before he did the same with the right one.

"There, much better," he claimed while returning to his earlier position, his naked hands delightfully creasing her legs, his nails dragging down the length of them with hopes of tearing through the delicate material.

During then, her eyes closed, chest heaving as she focused on the touch of his grazing nails, his name slipping out from her pretty mouth longingly.

“Take it off, “ he muttered, watching her un-clip the undergarment, her expression being flustered. Yet again his gaze fell onto her chest, this time focused onto the aroused, risen teats.

Sometimes he wasn't sure where to begin, what part of her to focus on the most, because every square inch of her body called out to him, wanting attention and desiring his love. However, at that moment, it had become a painstakingly easy choice as she deeply inhaled, reminding him that they were ready for him to give attentiveness to.

'Perfection,' he praised, his mouth watering before he decided where to head first.

She moaned softly as his tongue flicked her two peaked nipples, the hot muscle coaxing them with his warm drool. With her eyes shut tightly, she ran her fingers through his blonde locks as he continued to suck on them, occasionally tugging them between his two-row of teeth with playful, little nips.

Focused, she picked up on his low groans which barely escaped his working mouth as he continued to tease her. Soon, the need in her body was no longer one she could bear and whimpering at his every movement, she swallowed hard, trying to find her voice,

"Please" she begged, tugging at the silver strands to drive her point farther, "More..." She added, pleading with him to stop being so merciless, desperate to be filled by him.

Not one to disappoint, he conceded to her desire, wordlessly trailing his attention down with unaligned kisses descending to her navel,

“Only if you’re good,” He reminded her, both of his hands taking hold of her wrists, untangling her fingers from his locks and putting them down to her sides instead,

“So no touching,” he said sweetly, near-silent sternness lying beneath the words, hidden by the sugary tone. “I know you’re excited,” He added, watching as her palms lay flat onto the desk’s surface, fingers desperately twitching, wanting to find their place back home on his body.

"But be good girl," He ordered.

Reluctantly she agreed, knowing she had no reach say in the matter,

If she wanted him to keep going, she had to be good.

‘I have to do everything he says,’ She reasoned, fighting her body's natural response to reach for him.

Her heart rate climbed furthermore as he released the little button of her pin skirt from its place, dragging down the small zipper placed at the side as well,

‘He’s undressing me fully,’ She fretted with upset, ‘ But he’s still wearing everything,’ she added while fuming, wanting to have him just as exposed as she was.

Slowly he slid the jumbled skirt down her legs, dragging his nails over her yet again, this time successfully tearing through the hosiery. Her skin tingled as she felt his nails through the torn sheer, dragging over her flesh with their sharpness.

Once the article of cloth was fully removed, he threw it aside and he worked his mouth back up. Ever so slowly, he found his way back up, kissing her ankles first, descending his lips onto her calves right after. Worshiping her slightly trembling body, he took his time in reaching her thighs.

By that point, she was panting, waiting with a burning ache.

As he breathed, she felt the warm puffs fan over the inside fo her thighs, a startled little sound drawing out of her as he nibbled at the softest piece of her legs. Slowly, while his mouth became occupied with the sweet patch of skin, his hands slipped beneath her, palming her ass and lifting her hips into the air with ease.

With maddening desire she swallowed down, glazed eyes begging him for him to truly touch her, doing away with all the cruel taunting.

‘I can’t…’ She huffed, feeling impatient.

"I'm not all too sure you deserve my cock, " He said teasingly, tearing away from her, standing at his full height, “ Should I fuck you now?” he asked himself, seeing to contemplate the idea, not quite certain she deserved it yet.

He then began to unbutton the sand-colored shirt that hid his body from her, taking his sweet time with each and every button, starting from top to bottom.

With half-lidded eyes, she stared on, memorized by his sensual demeanor, all the while wanting to jump on him, tearing the clothes off until he was even more exposed than she was.

Sighing softly he tucked his chin to his chest, hiding the little curl of his lip as he smirked,

“...You just don’t seem to want it that bad,” He claimed, knowing fully well how frustrated she was beginning to grow.

But he wanted her to slip…

Harshly breathing through barley parted, red lips, she nodded eagerly, already feeling a burning itch of desire for him.

“No...No…” she chanted airily, “ No… Please don’t stop,” She begged. "I do want this,"

"I'd believe you, unfortunately, you're not following the rules," He argued, continuing to undress nonetheless.

Slowly sliding his shirt off of his shoulders, he let it fall to the ground with a soundless noise, revealing his lean physique, the pale skin in her sights. With a delighted sigh, she went closer to him, her hands eager to touch him, to fall over his chest like many times before, when he stopped her right as she was about to graze his skin,

"Hands off !" he barked, a deep growl to his voice making her shutter.

The booming order made her squeak and as fast as lightning shooting down, her hands flew to her own chest. They both tightly balled over her heart as she stared at Ocelot with large, (e/c) colored, doe eyes.

Another little sound, akin to the cry of a mouse flew past her lips as she withdrew, and mindlessly her legs squeezed together tightly, a pleasing little friction bringing forth a spark of pleasure,

‘There,’ He mused, having baited her into disobedience, all along hoping she'd crack.

"Remember the rules Darlin'? No touching," He told her, his own hands prying her’s off her chest, one held by each of his own,

"All of you belongs to me," He added lowly, pulling her towards him, her naked chest pressed against his, her startled face set before him. "You...Every bit of you belongs to me, " He reminded her, his deep, sensuous voice rattling her body as he possessively uttered the words right at her burning ear, “Me… and only me," he said with a devious curl to his lips.

“Yes,” she said shakily, too far taken by him to say anything else.

"So when I say no touching,  you don't lay a finger on me, Got it?" He added with a sneer.

"Yes," She gulped.

"Will you do as I say now?" He said lowly, receiving an eager nod as well as a voiced confirmation,

" Yes, yes, I will," She answered him without hesitance.

With a tug towards his direction, her feet fell onto the ground, off the desk.

"Now, on the desk. I want you bent over." He ordered her.

Without a word she did as he said, her glowing face lowered onto the wood, palms flat against the surface.

"Get your ass in the air,” He said while eyeing the shaken way they buckled, as she leaned onto the work surface. “And don't you move, " he ordered with the same harshness.

Eagerly, she complied, not wanting to disappoint him, not wanting to be left without the delightful touch of his body.

‘Use me….I'll do whatever you want,

Just, please... Please fuck me,’ She groaned, expecting to be taken right then and there as she heard him unbuckle his pants.

He then pressed his lips to her (s/c) colored skin, sweetly pecking the back of her neck. Consequently, her body jumped at the smooch, her stance faltering for just a moment as she mewled.

Chuckling her shook his head, a hand tightly gripping her hips, keeping her back arched, ass angled up,

“For someone who wants to get fucked, you sure don’t do as you’re told,” he mused while clicking his teeth.

With widely peeled eyes she shook her head, “ I do! I promise I do!” she said alarmed, not wanting him to stop. Diligently,  she remained in the same position, unknowingly wiggling her hips from side to side, desperate to finally be taken care of.

“Then prove it,” He scolded, a whipping sound echoing right from behind her, causing her back to stiffen, her body tensing in its entirety,

‘Is that…?’ She barley had any time to think before he swung, the leather cruelly cracking against her skin.

Shrieking out with both surprise and pain she flinched, knees bending. She faltered yet again, but this time he steadied her, his hand that was still placed at her hip forcing her back to the right position before he aimed yet again, striking her.

It stung, her skin glowing with the assault, “It hurts,” she whimpered while he swung again.

There was another sound of connection and as expected she squealed,

“I...I’m a good girl,” She insisted, whimpering as she felt yet another bash fall upon her. Her eyes shut tight, hands tightly balled as she bit her bottom lip, the entire row from the top sinking into the plump flesh.

"Ada-"

“ Quiet, ” He hissed, saying nothing more.

With another strike she jumped, her hands flying to press over her trembling mouth, tightly pressed. Over and over she swallowed down the small sounds, wanting to please him, craving his approval.

It was painful, however, within the furthest depths of her being, she was thrilled by the ache being brought forth. She was well aware that he held back, having far much more strength than the meager vigor used to discipline her, and somehow with that knowledge, her heart fluttered.

He could see her beginning to shake furthermore, and her tightly held back whimpers had begun to escape, sounding utterly pathetic, the pain obviously getting to her.

"Had enough?" He jeered, receiving another whimper in response.

"Well ?" He sang, grazing the held leather piece over her stinging ass, giving her a small window of escape, "Answer me," He demanded.

'She's still learning…' He reasoned, being especially kind to her.

"You always answer back to me," He prompted her. "So tell me, Have you had enough? "

"Yes," she struggled through her breath, holding back tears, 

‘It hurts.’

The leather piece within his hands fell onto the desk, the sound of the metal piece clashing with wood being right next to her ear, causing her to jump,  making him chuckle softly,

“What? Are you afraid of me now?” He questioned her, gently running his naked fingers down the line of her spine, subsequently causing all the little hairs over her body to stand at attention.

The teasing, little crease though feather-light had a powerful effect on her body, raking her to the furthest depth of her being,

"Oh, Adam..." She shuttered, shakily exhaling.

"Darlin' ...Are you afraid?" He murmured smoothly, asking the question once more.

He pressed on in a softer tone, a sensible one that caused her heart to flutter, because it was pleasantly sweet, weaved with warm tenderness that would ultimately heat into burning passion.

'Afraid? No never…’ she mused.

With certainty in her mind, and even much more confidence within her heavily beating heart, she shook her head, a gentle smile take over her,

“Never,” she breathed, peeking at him from over her shoulder.

‘I never could,’

She didn't fear him, it was the contrary, she felt safest with him, tucked beneath his arm, and pacified by his warmth. She was held within his manly arms in a proprietorial way that made her feel nothing else could touch her,

'Adam...I love you,’ she proclaimed, ‘ I love you so much… my heart could burst,’

Slowly, he slid his finger down within the waistband of her panties, his light blue eyes keeping her (dark/light) ones captive all the while,

‘I already feel myself slipping,’ she thought to herself, ‘ And he hasn’t actually touched me yet…’

He then hooked his fingers within the thin material, gradually gliding his fingers down her flesh as he pulled down the article of clothing, both pantyhose and underwear descending.

Cool air mercifully creased her heated, abused flesh, making her unwillingly groan out beneath her breath. As though the touch wasn't torturously sweet enough his other hand palmed her ass, petting her with notable praise,

"You're doing good," He commented, "You'll get what you deserve," He added.

She heard the zipper of his pants come down, followed by the sound of his trousers hitting the floor as he slid them off. It was almost too much, every single thing he did was driving her crazy, her senses heightened.

As he moved to stand behind her, he was fully bare, causing her to wriggle with joy, comfortably eased onto the desk in anticipated wait, growing ever more excited,

“Do you want  me to fuck you, huh?” he asked her, literally licking his lips, "Do you want my cock to fill you?" he added, watching her back arch perfectly in his sight.

“Answer me,” He hissed, his right hand lightly spanking her, causing her to jump, a little whine of lament blowing past her lips,

“Yes,” she sputtered, “ I Want your cock to fill me, I need it,” She spluttered out, cursing herself from within at forgetting yet again the rule.

Steadily, he pressed his cock's head against her pussy lips, willing himself and holding back from diving in immediately. Instead, he guided the throbbing erection towards her excited clit, pressing the tip while she writhed in distress.

Heavy pants flowed from her gaped mouth as she moved her hips for the attention she’d craved from the start.

Slowly, he dragged his cock back down to her pulsing heat, slipping the head within the wetness.

He was taking his time, as he was well aware of the degree of desire she had within her little body, exploiting it. Unmoving, he settled within her, his two hands on either side of her waist, petting the sides with kind gentleness.

But, she didn't want sweetness...

Desperately, she began to plead, grinding against the bit he sank into her as she begged for him to use it fully and ravish her.

‘I can’t take this,’ She thought helplessly, sniveling.

Finally, deciding it was enough, he slid it inside fully sinking in all at once, immediately pressing against her special spot, knowing just how to aim.

"Ah!" she breathed lecherously.

"Fuck," he uttered whilst he thrust in,  welcomed inside by her soft squeeze. He gave her no time to adjust, instead, picking up speed, causing her moans to get more intense, every thrust sending sparks up her spine to her fogging brain.

She grunted yet again as he grabbed a handful of hair, cursing lowly beneath her breath.

Instantly, her arms shot out before her, hands grasped at the edge of the desk opposite to the one she was leaned into.

She supported herself as he rammed into her harder and harder, losing what little sweet remnants that existed in his dives. One hand pulled her head back by her hair, whilst the other gripped her waist, pulling her into his thrusts while she quaked.

The fire was building, every second her breathing getting more rapid and desperate, her heart running a marathon.

In the past, whenever they made love, his hands would stroke her hair, his lips occupied with tracing over every other part of her body, sweetly coaxing her with their tender warmth. And it was all done whilst his thrusts remained slow and merciful.

Always done slowly at first, gently while letting her body get used to having so much of him inside it, the pace only picking up just before his climax.

But now it was different.

Each snap of his hip was strong, crashing with her beaten arse, shooting sweet pain throughout her body. And if that wasn't enough, the grip on her scalp remained fierce, not letting loose,

"Keep...Keep your ass up," he huffed, gripping her ass with both hands, squeezing, his nails digging into her rear as he jutted it back up.

"mmm!" though her verbal response was halfhearted, her back arched to raise her backside to him perfectly, just as he wanted.

Obediently, she did as he said, which made it all the more disheartening when she saw him pick up the belt again. For just a moment her entire body tensed, becoming stiff.

Frozen, she gasped, "Adam… please, no," she begged, tears already bubbling in her eyes as she eyed the leather piece in his grasp,

Granted she’d had a part of her enjoy the act, but it wasn’t enough for her to want to go back to it, especially not now when she was finally awarded.

The sight of it alone had her shaken, and then the instant wash of pain from before came back tenfold. The mistreated flesh of her ass wept in pain with hot throbs, the aftermath of his assault letting itself be known, not intent of being forgotten,

'Did I do something wrong?' She wondered, barely having enough strength to think back, far too engrossed on the pleasure she felt, the feeling even overpowering her aching.

"No?" He repeated in question, gliding the leather piece down the left cheek of her butt, a taunting little tap to her rump added, making her jump with a groan.

“Darlin’,” he said softly, “ One word,” he reminded her. “ With just a word you can make it stop, alright?” He told her, his lips gently pressing against hers.

" You remember it, right?" He asked her, staring down at her with half-hearted worry, his palms both lovingly pressed to her cheeks, searching for proof of hesitance in her (e/c) colored eyes.

Truth be told he was excited, but even then with the delightful thrill he’d only fantasized about until then, he didn't want to push her too far.

He didn't want to actually hurt her. It'd be his first time being so aggressive with her, and from what he summed up, she hadn't a real clue as to what it truly meant,

“Are you sure about this?” he asked yet again, “Because you don’t have to. You don't have to just to please me,” he said with an assuring smile.

And he meant it, he was happy as they were,

" You don't have to do anything to keep me, " he added chuckling as he joked with her, trying to entice a sweet smile from her to wash away the fretful seriousness that found home over her features.

Shaking her head, she smiled, stepping closer to him, her hands pressed to his chest, "I know, but it's just...

It's just, I've also wanted to," she revealed to him, " I've wanted you to..."

"To what?" He breathed, wanting to know just what she wanted, wanting to hear the words right from her pretty lips,

"Tell me, What do you want me to do to you?" He pressed on, his hands traveling up to her scalp, the pads of his fingers pressed through strands of (h/c).

"Adam," She rasped, " Can you please fuck me?" She uttered shakingly, exited.

"Fuck me roughly, "

"KItten," He purred, " You've been good, " he reassured her with the same enjoyment, glad to know she was enjoying herself, despite the teary-eyed gaze she set on him.

He continued to move his hips, never stopping. Within each hand, he grabbed an end of the belt, holding it tightly before he held it under her chin, gently pressing it against the skin.

He hesitated, his ears perked for their special word, but he didn't hear a word escape her, only the sound of her deeply inhaling through her nose.

"Good..." He muttered appraisingly, pressing a long kiss to the nape of her neck, "You're doing good," He acknowledged.

Feeding the end of the belt through the buckle and wrapping it around his hand,  he was set to properly restrain her, while the other hand was back to her side, gripping the side with claim.

As the pressure on her throat became more apparent, her brain rushed, a loud, excited cry escaping her,  

"Adam!" she cried out, the pressure on her throat making the feelings of pleasure so much more intense.

And then he pulled...

In that instant the leather snapped tight against the (s/c) colored skin,  biting into the soft flesh of her neck as it earnestly crushed her throat. Harshly, it squeezed her while the tug from his fisted, wrapped hand-pulled her head back.

A choked, guttle groan left her as he suddenly slammed his hips to her, sinking into her fully in one go and staying there, dug deep within her,

"You wanted to be fucked, right?" He taunted her, reminding her she asked for the punishment. "Just like this," He added.

A fountain rushed from her pulsing heat, soaking his throbbing cock and making a filthy mess, a barley recognizable groan of affirmation falling past her gasping, drooling, mouth.

" What a filthy whore," he grunted with feigned disgust, not truly feeling any repulsion for the woman, because if anything he couldn't be more attracted to her than he was at the moment. " You’re a filthy whore who loves getting choked, " he said with a wide grin as he tauntingly tugged on the accessory,

'of all things,' he thought to himself. ‘Of all the things you could have asked for... and actually enjoy…’

" Everyone else thinks you a sweet, innocent girl,” he reminded her, “ They all think of you as pure... when you're nothing but a slut.” he added, “ A filthy slut who likes to be choked and dominated.” he went on.

"You fucking like this, don't you?" He growled, noticing her panting and moaning getting more frantic. "You like being on a leash, right? Just like a bitch."

"Yes...yes! " she squeaked back, words struggling to form in her constricted throat, but with all the willpower she had, she answered back.

"I love it!" She cried out, "I love being your bitch!" She added desperately. " I was born to be your slutty bitch!" She said back, the words flying out of her mouth without a second thought. If it had been any other time she would have never even dreamed of uttering the words, especially not so loudly and boldly, like she had no shame.

"Ah! Adam! " She was building up, every insult he hurled at her pushing her further.

' Darlin…

Kitten…

Sweetheart…

Angel …

Love…

Sunshine…’

He had so many sweet words to address her, and yet, none felt right. With each thrust of his, she groaned out a curse, hissing at the overwhelming sensation of his brutish fucking.

"You like that, don't you, you filthy bitch," He growled, panting harshly.

"Yes!" She responded back, happily.

"You exist only to get fucked like this by me, don't you?"

"Yes! " She agreed, thrusting back, knowing she was close, "Always...Whenever...Wherever..."

He'd never seen her so sloppy, her voice uncontrolled, her body quaking harshly, unable to hold still,

"I'm...I'm going to... I..." She could barely find the words, just knowing that whatever came was going to move her entirely, hitting her hard.

' Fuck....Yes...I want to cum...I'm going to cum,' She thought with exuberance.

The belt pulled tighter, and all her air supply cutting off with that single motion of his hand. Panicking, her overworked lungs desperately ached for sweet oxygen. Meanwhile, her hands gripped the edge of the desk harder, nearly growing numb with the pressure she used,  all while sobbing joyously.

'This is the best. I can barely... barely think... hardly speak... '

"Is my bitch going to cum"? He rasped, watching her body crumble. Silently, with only the sound of gasping breaths falling past her wet lips she shook,

"(f/n)" He warned, as she was only a stray hair away from true bliss, ignoring him yet again. It was only for a moment that she registered his voice through her heavily hazed mind, but by then it was far too late,

“How unfortunate,” he said lowly, smirking darkly,  the leather slipping from his hand as he opened his fist offhandedly. Suddenly, the tension on her neck released and like a tossed doll she fell forward, landing on her face,

‘W-What? What just happened,’ she thought to herself with alarm, feeling the delicious hardness snugly fucking her suddenly slip out as well.

She then turned her head back to him, huffing heavily, her tearstained face set into a confused, bitter glare.

"Why?" She gasped, losing control of herself, crying.  "Why Adam!” she cried, “ Please! don't stop," she protested, her hips desperately dancing back to him.

"Oh darlin'," He said pouting, "Remember? I said only good girls cum, Only good girls who listen," He said while staying unmoved by her distress.

" I was good," she whined vexed. " You're just being unfair!" She said whilst her ass scooted back to him, her throbbing heat begging to be fucked properly by his cock.

"You can't stop now," She demanded, trembling.

It amazing him how bratty she became, all because she was denied.

But it wasn't his fault, he'd been fair. He'd been lenient to begin with, letting her slip up with only small reminders given in place of true punishment.

But then again, it would make sense to him how she felt entitled because perhaps she took his leniency as a sign of weakness,

'It's my fault,' He mused with enjoyment,

“Ohh,” ocelot sounded, "Did I spoil you that much?" He asked, smirking, "...So much that you think you can talk to me like that?" He asked coming closer, his hand reaching to her, ignoring the belt, and instead, grasping at her (h/c) strands.

Turning her over, he made her lay her back flat onto the desk, one hand entangled within her hair, the other gripping her neck with a fierce grip.

"Spoiled little bitch, You think you can raise your voice to me?” He asked her lowly.  

Blinking up at him with wide (e/c) colored eyes she gasped, a sweet, devious twinkle to her eye making him understand she was willing to be defiant, so long as he kept his hand wrapped around her,

'Where's my sweet little angel?' He wondered, thinking back go the sweetheart that would beg for sweet kisses, driven to bliss by tenderness instead.

Grinning he came down to mark the uncovered bits of her neck his hand wasn't coiled around, the hand tugging at her scalp letting go, falling down to her wet pussy, fingers diving into her needy cunt,

"You want to cum..." he said lowly, "I'll make you cum till you beg me to stop, " He purred, intent on showing her why he was the one in charge, no longer holding back.

Within her fuzzy mind, she couldn't be happier, knowing that when he said something, it was a promise.

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

Afterward, she lay motionless on the bed, her cheek snuggled onto the pillow, breathing with harsh pants blowing out of her trembling lips.

Her body was married with little bite marks, scattered here and there with the most notable bruise tattooed over her neck.

Occasional groans, so close to mewls drew from her in a way he found to be adorable, and inwardly, he fawned over them. Smiling, he combed his fingers through her messy hair, gently tugging to untangle the knotted messes that had formed during their sinful play.

“Was I too much?” He asked, chuckling at how spent she was.

With a declining nod, she stared at him from the corner of her eye, almost too tired to keep her eyes open. Pressing his lips tenderly at her hairline he continued to smile, lovingly and with complete adoration.

"You need to get up," he said in her ear,  his hand gently trailed up her thigh, stopping at her bum.  

He kneaded the flesh with a caring hand, hearing her sigh happily, her arms wrapped around the pillow even more, cuddling into it.

" I can't move," she said breathlessly, her legs rubbing each other.

"I know, " he mused, "But I think a nice warm shower will do you well, " He offered, putting out his hand for her to take,

"What do you say darlin'... Join me?" He added, and soon after, her hand was placed over his, eager to join him in the warm soak.

[radiikill]

Seashells by the Sea Shore

(a/n: something fun I wrote a while ago to get the creative flow going, my majimako fic tho? i’m trying i swear)

Mammon’s heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest. They’d been at the beach for a couple of hours now, everyone doing their activities. Him and Satan were trying and failing to get a picture of Lucifer, whenever they could. Beelz was eating, Belphie was sleeping. Asmo was with Momo, which only irritated Mammon a little.

Maybe not a little. When Mammon saw Asmo trying to get way too close to her on the floatie, capsizing it felt like a natural reaction.

Momo’s outfit was distracting. It was a simple one-piece, but it hugged her body nicely. Her smile lit up the already bright beach. Though, it seemed like everyone wanted her attention. Somebody wanted to eat with her, nap with her, or build sand sculptures. It was infuriating. He was impressed by how well she took the requests. She would always just smile widely or laugh.

It didn’t look like she was forcing her to complete these requests. Momo looked like she enjoyed everything. He appreciated it. All of his brothers were important to him, and he wanted her to get along with them.

That doesn’t mean he wanted them hogging her all the time.

Now, he was searching intensely for something to give her. It had been a long time since he’d been to the beach, so he wasn’t sure where to look. His eyes landed on chunks of flat shells; the colors were bright; he was ecstatic. Momo would love this. Scanning the beach and found Momo eating a popsicle with Belphie.

“Hey Momo, can you come here for a second,” he said as he walked towards the pair. Belphie glared at him.

“Really? Now you have to interrupt?” Belphie huffed.

“You spent enough time with her, come on Momo, I wanna show you something,” Mammon replied, looking at the blonde. Momo gave Belphie a small smile and got up.

“I guess I’ll have to see what you’re so pumped about,” Momo said, wiping her hands along her thighs. - The silver-haired demon led his human towards the edge of the beach, shells laid along the shoreline. Momo was curiously looking at them, and then he pointed to a bright pink shell.

“Look at that one! Isn’t it pretty.”

She smiled again, “it’s beautiful.” Mammon’s heart was racing again, especially since she was close, eyes sparkling, enamored by the shells.

“Are you happy?” he asked. Heat rosed to his face, realizing that the question came out more serious than intended. Her head tilted at the question, eyes squinting as she pondered her answer.

“I am,” she said, “why do you ask?”

“I-I just wanna figure out what makes you happy.” Fuck. He did not need to say that out loud. Mammon felt like he was on fire. Momo’s eyes widened, then she laughed. The girl was beaming.

“Mammon, you idiot. You know plenty of things that make me happy.” The way she said that made his heart flutter. The teasing tone was apparent. She never honestly thought he was stupid. There were moments when she got angry at him, but they always came from a place of concern.

“Well, I could know more,” he said slowly.

He rummaged around in his pockets, searching for the specific shells he found this morning. Gently reaching out towards her hand, he held it, so Momo’s palm was facing up. Giving the gift to her was nerve-wracking, but seeing the way her eyes lit up was worth it. She looked closely at the chunky shards in her hands, prodding them with her finger.

“I found these for you, apparently they’re called sea glass,” he said, the words coming out rushed. Before she could respond, Asmodeus cut her off, his sly grin piercing Mammon’s good mood.

“Aw, Mammon, I bet you were looking all morning for those,” Asmo teased.

Mammon glared at the blonde, “get out of here Asmo.” The demon raised his hands defensively, laughing.

Momo’s dark eyes softened, she tucked a strange of hair behind her ear. “Thank you,” she said, looking directly at him.

“N-no needs to thank me, I don’t need it,” Mammon responded, blushing profusely.

“Mammon, you gotta be more honest about your feelings,” Asmo snickered.

“Asmo, leave.”

“Fine fine, I’ll leave.”

-

After Asmodeus left, they walked along the beach, searching for more shells. Momo talked about the beaches she’s been to in the human realm, and how cold some of them could be. She mentioned boardwalks and how there is usually lots of games and food.

‘I’d love to go with you someday,” she said, “maybe you can visit the human realm when I go back.”

“I’d like that,” Mammon said, “I gotta bless the human realm with my presence more often.”

“If Lucifer lets you,” she teased.

As they were talking, Mammon’s eyes focused on a prickly shell. He pointed at it, commenting on the spikes.

“It’s sorta like you,” Momo teased.

Mammon snorted. The more he thought about it, he could be prickly. So he just laughed it off and agreed with her. Though, he hoped he was never to prickly towards Momo. As they were searching the beach for more shells, their hands bumped, Mammon quickly apologized, stuttering at the unexpected contact. Then she took him by surprise and slid her fingers into his.

“H-hey, if you do that, I won’t let go,” he said.

“Then don’t,” she replied. The temptation rose to press a kiss against her hand.

He scoffed, and they continued to walk along the shore, searching for more shells.

“Why don’t we turn this into a game,” he smiled, “let’s find shells to trade.” Momo nodded.

“I’ll go that way,” she pointed her finger behind her. Mammon gave her a thumbs up and went the opposite direction.

He could never tell her that he was taking this search seriously. Mammon wanted to find her something special, besides sea glass. He shuffled across the sand, hoping to find something hidden underneath. If he could find something extra special, she’d remember this time with him specifically. He wanted to outshine any time she spent with his brothers.

When he saw the rainbow shell, he knew it was the one. The shell was bright, but the closer he looked at it, he noticed the more delicate colors. Similar to his human. When he first met her, he thought she was plain and fragile. The more time he spent with Momo, he realized how complex she was. Incredibly sweet, stubborn, and too nosy for her own good.

Momo was standing by their initial position, looking towards the horizon. She looked deep in thought, her fingers were running through her strands absentmindedly. Beautiful, he thought to himself. When she noticed him drawing closer, she turned towards him, hiding her hands behind her back. “Looks like you’re plotting something,” Mammon said.

She shrugged, “hold out your hands.” Mammon complied, and Momo placed the prickly shell in his hand. The man couldn’t hold back his laughter.

“Really? The prickly one?”

“It’s my favorite,” she said, smiling. Mammon eyed her, trying to search for some hidden meaning.

Clearing his throat, Mammon pulled out the rainbow shell. “Well,” he said quietly, “this one is my favorite. It reminded me of you.” She took the rainbow shell in her hand and rotated it under the sunlight. “This is extremely pretty,” she said.

He wanted to say, like you but realized how cheesy that was. Maybe he should’ve told her. Perhaps he should tell her how much he cherished her, and how much he loves spending time with her. Thoughts were swirling through his head, he wanted to tell her everything.

“Hey guys, food is ready!” Leviathan yelled.

Fuck, he thought to himself. “Right when things were getting good,” he said, rubbing a hand behind his head. When he started to turn away towards where his brothers were eating, he felt his wrist get tugged back. He looked curiously at Momo.

“What is it?”

“Thank you, really,” she said earnestly, and she started to move closer to him. Mammon’s heart pounded again, he felt like he’d pass out.

“W-what are y--,” he sputtered out. The sentence stuck in his throat as he felt her lips make contact with his cheek. She looked directly at him, her eyes sparkling, a small smile forming on her lips. Once she saw his expression, she laughed so loudly Mammon felt like all the blood in his body went to his face.

“You’re so cute, Mammon,” she said.

“S-shut up, you can’t just do that without warning,” he was sputtering, everything felt like he was self-destructing.

She shrugged again, “let’s go eat.” The human grabbed his hand and led him towards the rest. Mammon realized even if she didn’t remember this day, he’d remember it forever.

[pixiegrl]

Can I get "are you finishing that or....?" and/or "don't even think about it" for lashton. Thank you!

~no clue who

Hello hello! This for for @lifewasradical’s anon who has graced my inbox and who has also talked to me about lingerie luke! I thought you might enjoy some soft domestic morning fluff for the lingerie verse. Please enjoy!

on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29708487

Luke wakes up to the sounds of Ashton humming, running his fingers through Luke’s curls. Luke rolls over onto his side and looks up at Ashton.

“Morning,” Luke mumbles. Ashton glances down at him, smile breaking out slowly on his lips, dimples popping. In the early morning light, he looks golden, skin glowing and eyes almost honey colored. Luke curls into his side, letting Ashton scratch at his scalp, sighing contentedly.

“You’re as bad as Petunia,” Ashton teases. Luke smacks Ashton’s thigh in response.

“Killing the mood.”

Ashton laughs, leaning down to kiss Luke. Luke pushes at his shoulders sending Ashton onto his back. Luke straddles Ashton, pressing soft kisses to his lips and cheeks. Ashton laughs, gripping onto Luke’s hips and squeezing. Luke laughs, swatting at Ashton’s hands.

“Ash stop! You know I’m ticklish,” Luke shrieks with laughter, squirming under Ashton’s hands. Ashton grins mischievously, sneaking his hands below the lace of Luke’s underwear and pressing into his hip bones. Luke shrieks again, trying to push himself out of Ashton’s hold. Ashton uses it as leverage, flipping them both over so that Luke’s flat on his back, gazing up at Ashton as he hovers over him.

Ashton stops, arms braced on either side of Luke, grinning down at him. Luke reaches up, pushing a black curl out of his eyes and tugging it behind his ear. In the light, Ashton’s eyes are hazel and glowing, smile soft. Luke smiles up at him, continuing to rub his thumb over Ashton’s skin.

“Hi,” Luke whispers up at him. 

“Hi,” Ashton whispers back. He leans down, kissing Luke softly. Luke eats it up, pulling Ashton in closer, pressing their chests flush as they keep kissing. It’s lazy and easy, with no purpose behind it other than to simply kiss. 

“You’re cute in my shirts, but I’m not going to have any shirts left if you keep stealing them.”

“Who says I want you to wear shirts?” Luke teases. Even if Ashton’s shirts are too tight over Luke’s broader shoulder, he likes them. They feel well-worn and loved, soft to the touch. They make Luke feel special and cherished when he wears them. 

“Well, if we get arrested for public indecency because I’m not wearing a shirt, you can tell management why,” Ashton says. Luke giggles, arching up to steal a kiss from Ashton. They kiss for a few more moments before Ashton finally pulls away, speaking up. 

“I promised you brunch didn’t I?” He says, gazing down at Luke. Luke’s a little dazzled looking at Ashton, seeing the open adoration and love on his face. He keeps playing with Ashton’s curls lightly.

“You did! With the fancy pancake shapes! And fruit!” Luke grins. Ashton rolls his eyes a little, but his fond smile gives him away. 

“Sweet breakfast for a sweet boy,” Ashton says. He ducks down for another kiss before rolling off of Luke and out of bed. Luke sighs, flopping onto his side and staring up at Ashton. 

“Hey.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I love you,” Luke says. Ashton snorts, leaning down to kiss Luke. 

“I love you too. Now come help me in the kitchen you brat,” he says. Luke laughs as Ashton leaves the bedroom, greeting Petunia when he realizes she’s in the hallway. Luke sighs, dragging himself out of bed and pulling on the shorts he keeps by the bed, soft and gray and covered in stars. Luke shimmies them on, leaves the bedroom to find Ashton on the stairs, carrying Petunia down. 

“And you say I spoil her,” Luke teases. Ashton flips him the middle finger, but makes no move to put her down until they’ve  reached the ground floor. 

“Maybe I won’t make you pancakes now,” Ashton says. 

“You wouldn’t dare,” Luke fires back. Ashton blushes, clearly caught out by the truth in the statement. Ashton just shots Luke another middle finger, heading into the kitchen. Luke laughs, following after him. 

Ashton’s already pulling things out of the cabinets and trying to set the kitchen up. They’d watched one too many cooking videos over the weekend and decided that they wanted to make pancakes in different shapes. They’re going to attempt to make them using squirt bottles with the batter. Luke doesn’t know if it will work, but Ashton has far more confidence in it than he does. 

Ashton pulls out the pans and the pancake mix from the cabinet. Luke grabs the eggs and milk from the fridge. Ashton heats up the pan they use, putting some butter on it to make it easier to use. Ashton starts the mixing while Luke grabs their little coffee pot, getting the bag of coffee they keep in their freezer to scoop it out. 

“Ground coffee? Getting fancy there Luke,” Ashton teases as he beats the egg in the bowl. Luke shrugs. 

“Thought we deserved the change is all. We have all this coffee that we barely use. Gotta spice things up,” Luke says, wiggling his eyebrows. Ashton dissolves into giggles, swatting at Luke as he finishes mixing the batter. He pours it into the bottles as Luke heats up the water. Ashton holds a bottle out to Luke.

“Fire away.”

“You trust me?”

“No, but it’ll be fun,” Ashton says. Luke laughs, pointing his bottle at the pan and trying to spray the batter into a heart shape. It turns out lopsided and uneven edged as it starts to cook. Luke wants to be sad about it, but Ashton’s laughing, waiting till it's brown before flipping it. He takes it off the pan, puts it on the plate. Ashton tries his own heart, more like a blob than a heart. Luke giggles when Ashton huffs. 

They keep going, trying to make hearts and flowers, their initials. All the pancakes are slightly uneven, less defined edges. Ashton keeps complaining about how easy the videos made it look, how it’s clearly not. Luke keeps giggling, giving him kisses on the cheek to make him feel better. Ashton always prides himself on how well he can cook. It must be killing him.

“At least they’ll taste good,” Luke reassures him as they turn off the stove once they’ve run out of batter, making sure the coffee’s ready.

“If you say so,” Ashton mumbles.

“Hey, you made them. They’re going to be amazing. We should eat outside. It’s nice weather out there,” Luke says, squeezing Ashton’s hand, smiling at him.

They make their way outside to the deck, bringing their plates of food, fruit, and mugs of coffee to the table they have out there. Petunia trots out after them, curling up at Luke’s feet once he sits down and gazing up at him, clearly begging for food. Luke tries to ignore her, instead looking up at Ashton.

Ashton’s cut his pancake into little bites, but he hasn’t made a move to start eating them. Instead, he’s pushing the blueberries around on his plate, coating them in the maple syrup and slowly eating them. Luke eats a couple bites of his lopsided heart, relishing in the sweetness of the syrup, the fluffiness of the pancakes. Luke’s not sure why, but they’re the best pancakes he’s ever had. Could just be because Ashton made them for Luke and Luke loves everything that Ashton makes him to eat. 

“Are you finishing that or…?” Luke trails off, making to stab a piece of Ashton’s pancake when Ashton’s been silent for too long, poking at his pancake. Ashton smacks his hand, glaring. Luke smiles innocently in response, eyes wide and innocent. 

“Don’t even think about it,” he snaps, stabbing the piece and sticking it in his mouth. Luke laughs, leans over to wipe a bit of syrup from his lips. He sucks his thumb in his mouth, grunning when Ashton stares obviously at his lips. Luke blows him a little kiss, laughing when Ashton huffs, rolling his eyes.

They eat in comfortable silence for a few moments, knocking their feet against each other under the table. The pancake hearts are lopsided and none of the shapes look like their shapes, but Luke’s never been happier. He’s eating pancakes with fruit with Ashton, sitting outside on their deck with Petunia at their feet. He’s so overwhelmingly happy, can’t stop smiling.

“Hey,” Ashton says, softly.

“Hey,” Luke replies.

“We should get married.”

“We already are silly,” Luke laughs. Ashton shakes his head.

“No, we should do our backyard wedding. We should do it soon. Like, put a date on it for Michael and Calum. We can invite Sierra and KayKay too. Make a little party of it.”

“Really?”

“I don’t want to wait any longer to be married to you. I want to call you my husband. I want to tell our friends how much I love you. I want to kiss you in front of everyone. I want to see you in your dress and dance with you in heels until your feet hurt and then I want to undress you later and see your lingerie. It’s nice weather for an outdoor wedding. I want to marry you under the sunshine and blue skies. Let’s get married,” Ashton says. Luke drops his fork, leaning over the table to take Ashton’s face in his hands and kiss him.

“Yes. Yes, god yes. I want to marry you so much. Let’s do it.”

“You already have everything don’t you?” Ashton teases, gripping onto Luke’s wrists and squeezing. Luke smiles, cheeks hurting from the force. 

“Of course. Who do you take me for?” Luke says, laughing. Ashton grins even wider, pressing another kiss to Luke’s lips. Luke goes around the table, collapsing into Ashton’s lap and snuggling into him. Luke knows they still have to finish breakfast, clean everything up, call their friends and arrange things. They still have to check if Calum’s ordained yet, set things up, plan out everything just to get married in their backyard, but for now, Luke rests his head under Ashton’s chin and sighs happily, closing his eyes. He’s happy and warm and in love. He could live like this forevermore.

[words-writ-in-starlight]

Some Trans!Danny Thoughts

When this hit its second page, I moved it to a new post.  In no particular order of importance.

When Danny was a year old and learning to talk, he spent two hours getting in a power struggle with his then-three-year-old sister where she pointed to him and said “Danielle” and he said “Dannel” back, and then she told him “Jasmine” and he answered “Jassem”, and it ended with two kids in tears and Maddie having straight-up given up.  This was not so much a gender thing as a “kids getting into a screaming match about nothing of import” thing.  Instead of trying to fight the point, Maddie decided that her kids were now named Dani and Jazz, and that mostly resolved the issue.  It was also extremely convenient later.

Maddie and Jack are not, shall we say, the most attentive parents in the world. Danny was in the third grade before he was required to attend a formal event of any kind (it was Jazz’s elementary school graduation), and while Maddie did manage to wrangle him into a dress, he scowled through the whole thing.  Then Jazz bounced down to them, grinning and bright-eyed, and dropped her robe onto his head, because it was June and too warm for it.  He spent the next hour running around like a wizard and destroyed the lower third of his dress and that was pretty much the ballgame on Danny and formal attire.  He wore jeans to his elementary school graduation.

Jazz started being mostly in charge of making sure Danny had clothes that weren’t, A, full of holes, or B, contaminated around when she was twelve. She decided to do the big sister thing right and took him to Target, whereupon Jazz immediately got decision paralysis. This turned into Danny, ten, and Jazz, twelve, staring at each other in the baby clothes section like they had walked into a parallel dimension, until finally Danny very slowly lifted up a blue newborn onesie covered in elephants and said “I think we’re in the wrong section,” and then they had to sit down on the floor so as not to knock anything over while they lost it.  It was a weird day for the Target employees.  Jazz pulled it together enough to turn Danny loose and tell him that he needed three t-shirts, a jacket, a pair of pants, and underwear, but not enough to actually dictate anything about the clothes he found.  If her sister wanted to run around in block colored t-shirts and a boy’s hoodie, that was between Danny and God.

The ONE dysphoria headcanon I will be including is that Danny was one of those people who went from completely flat chested to a C-cup more or less overnight when he was eleven and suddenly all the mild discomfort he’d ignored through most of his life crystallized.  Jazz offhand said that they should go buy a couple bras, because she needed some more too, and Danny fully blue-screened out for five minutes before Jazz snapped her fingers in his face and went “Hey, Earth to Fenton, are you okay?”

“I don’t want to do that,” Danny said.

“What, go shopping?  Listen, we haven’t gotten lost in a store since--”

“I don’t want to get--” Danny stopped there, because he was suddenly really not prepared to say any of the words that might go at the end of that sentence.  “Can’t I just not?”

“Not—buy a bra?” Jazz asked carefully.

“Yeah.”  And Jazz’s baby sister blinked at her from under the shaggy overgrown pixie cut she’d been getting since she was old enough to have preferences, and Jazz thought, a little idly, well, Dani won’t be able to look like a boy anymore, if she looks anything like me and Mom.  

And then Jazz, budding psychologist, opened her mouth, shut it, and said, “Tell you what, how about we don’t worry about it right now.”  So they didn’t, and watched a movie, and then after Dani went to bed, Jazz hauled one of her secondhand psychology textbooks off a bookshelf and started doing reading.

Three days of intensive research later, she sidled up to Danny and said, “Hey, I have a weird question. Do you even want to be a girl, or what?”

“Sure,” Danny said, distracted by frowning over his summer homework, in the universal tone of I’m really not listening but okay, yeah.  “I—hang on, what?”

“Would you be a girl if you had the option?”

Danny blinked at her, again, and said, like Jazz was an idiot, “Would you?”

“Yeah,” Jazz said.  “I like being a girl.  But I was thinking that maybe you might want to start school as Daniel?”

And then it was Dani’s turn, Danny’s turn, to open his mouth, shut it, and say, “Is that—a thing?”

“Sure,” Jazz said with completely unwarranted confidence.  “I’m sure I can figure it out.”

Danny went over to Tucker’s the same afternoon and said, in a tone of total shock, “Hey, did you know I was a boy?”  And that was pretty much the end of that conversation.  The conversation with Sam also featured Sam’s very earnest attempt to convert Danny to being goth, but that was because Sam was going through a Phase and tried to convert anyone who asked her anything about clothing.

Jazz helps Danny figure out how to explain to their parents.  Since it doesn’t involve ghosts, Maddie and Jack could really give a fuck what pronouns their kid uses, and since it doesn’t really change anything except that Jack starts calling him “Danny-boy” instead of “Dani-girl,” it’s not…remarkable.  

Later, Jazz is going to think about that conversation, and about the way their dad boomed a laugh and said, “From your face, I thought you were going to tell us something awful—like you were a ghost!  Sure thing, Danny-boy, sounds good.”  And she’s going to understand why Danny told them one secret and not the other.

Danny’s pediatrician is just relieved that, at Danny’s pre-school yearly physical, Jazz’s only weird question is “can you prescribe hormone blockers” rather than something like “hey if you eat something contaminated with ectoplasm do you think that’ll have effects or…?”  (Someone please put this woman out of her misery.)

Danny’s wearing his binder during the accident, which is very convenient, don’t get him wrong, but also that was his favorite binder and he’s annoyed about it getting permanently removed from his wardrobe.  It didn’t do that rolly thing at the base of the elastic, it’s hard to find binders that don’t do the rolly thing.  Sam listens to him complain about it twice and then she tries to smother him with a pillow and accidentally slam dunks him through his bed.

Also, he initially has some concerns about whether he can take his binder…off as Phantom?  You’re not supposed to wear a binder while you exercise, Jazz has drilled this into his head, and it’s not until after his first major dustup with a ghost that he remembers, huh, fighting ghosts probably counts.  Some experimenting proves that, while Phantom is a lot more…structured than your average ghost and his suit does come off, it can’t really sustain itself without him for long.  If he leaves a glove or torn clothing behind, eventually it’ll start to crumble, or, more alarmingly, melt.  On the upside, the suit seems to repair itself, and can straight up regrow any pieces that he loses.  A little more experimenting proves that Phantom doesn’t breathe except to talk, and even that seems to be mostly habit, so Operation: Fight Ghosts In A Binder is a go.

Real conversation:

“So…this is Dani,” Danny says, doing kind of a ta-da gesture at the long-haired ghost who, undeniably, looks exactly like him, if a little younger.  “She’s my clone.”

“Hi,” Jazz says gamely, and the ghost waves back.  “What are you two going to do about the name thing?  If you’re both named Daniel it’ll get confusing.”

“My name is Danielle,” the girl says, bemused.  “It’s Dani, with an I.”

“She’s not trans,” Danny says with a shrug.  Jazz feels about four hundred questions hurl themselves at the back of her teeth, and she takes a deep breath, and Danny is already smirking by the time she wrestles down the impulse to never stop talking.  “I told you it would kill her not to be able to write a paper on us,” Danny tells Dani.  Then he turns back to Jazz and says, “So, Vlad gave me a free sister and she literally does not own clothes.  I figured you could take her to Target and have a meltdown in the baby section.”

“Danny!  God, you’re such a brat, that was one time,” Jazz says, flushing, and she grabs Dani by the hand and drags her off while Danny cackles at their back.  “Congratulations on your jerk brother,” Jazz tells Dani.  “He’s giving me grey hair.”

“Don’t worry about it too much,” Dani says.  “You’ll match.”  Jazz narrows her eyes and Dani grins, unapologetic.

It makes Danny grin like an idiot the first time the Amity Times publishes a (nominally complimentary, before shit hits the fan) headline about the ghost boy, and he keeps a copy of the article.