#They aren't /his/ kids but those are his fucking BABIES. All three of them.

[cyberrats]

Thank you Phantom Liberty for giving us a chance to tinker w/ Crow's story... That man raised his younger brother's kids while healing from divorcing his abuser now. This man has never had a moment of peace but carries NO regret for over half of it.

[yeyinde]

baby blues

John Price + the panic of fatherhood x reader

pregnancy. babies. soft. sappy. angsty. slight allusions to rough sex. John being possessive and smitten. allusions to childhood trauma. the fear of children is somehow more potent than the fear of god. girl dad John. mentions of Price's divorce lmao

Most assume he'd take to fatherhood like he'd been born for the role; handcrafted to cradle a swaddled babe in his arms. The perfect father figure. But as he hovers over your sleeping form, the little bundle nestled in the sleepy bracket of your arms, he's overcome with a sense of dread that punches hard enough to shatter bone.

The reality is this: Price doesn't understand kids. He wants them. Covets them with a viciousness that almost immediately sets alarm bells off in the heads of those who were opposed to the idea of children, parenthood. Giving birth. But when it comes to being a dad, a role model, an effigy to siphon wisdom and knowledge off of, he flounders. Hesitates.

All he has as an idea of fatherhood is bruises laughed off by the neighbours as him being a clumsy boy. A man who drank in the living room, silent in his fury, his belligerence, until something—anything, really—set him off. He always seemed like he was itching for a reason to punish.

And god, was he ever fucking good at it.

If anger issues are hereditary, then Price picked up the generational slack of his seething ancestors. 

It's this, and the plethora of scars and burns that decorate his skin (well hidden, tucked away like a dirty secret because if Old Man Price was anything, it certainly wasn't stupid; he knows how to hide the ugliness of himself away, and how to turn a boy into a punching bag without causing too much damage, too much alarm) that make him ache something fierce when he sees his chubby little child for the first time. 

Price doesn't know how to be gentle. All he has are worn, rough hands and a constant stench of smoke. A voice that makes grown men tremble. An ire unmatched thus far in his life. 

Until you. Little spitfire. His hellion. You stood on the tips of your toes just to tell him off for being a stubborn pig! and then taught him how to hold you. How to be tender. But even now, he can see the wear on your skin from his bites. His propensity for violence that he morphs into desire. Into lust. 

How is he supposed to be a dad when he's this caustic? This mean? 

The answer doesn't come. All he gets is the rhythmic sigh of your breath as you sleep, well and truly exhausted after giving birth to their child. All alone. A constant in your lives, it seems. Aloneness. His work takes him away, throws him into dangerous situations. And you carry the brunt of it. 

It caused the rupture of his first marriage and is a needling fear he carried with him when you started pursuing him some odd years ago. To think that he'd be standing here now, gazing down at you with your heavy eyes and your soft cheeks, rounded with the additional weight you gained during your early trimesters. A plushness he's trying to keep on you for good—all softened edges, flesh that gives when he touches you, marshmallows out between his fingers when he squeezes.

You look good like this. Motherhood, despite your misgivings (it took three years of him hinting and hounding you before you'd relented with a sure, what's the worst that could happen? We're terrible parents and raise a terrible kid? Or we end up the catalyst for a list of psychological issues and get reamed out during their therapy sessions later on in life?), suits you. Fits you like a glove.

A fact you'd been quietly overwhelmed by in the first few months, grieving the loss of something he couldn't ever understand, or experience. A piece of yourself morphing into the mother that raised you. A kaleidoscope of feelings that you choke on when he asks, unable to render them into coherent words. 

But you're good at that, aren't you? Good at culling expectations, at superseding the limits others place on you. Even him. 

Especially him. 

When he'd said, don't know what you're gettin’ yourself into, love, you took it to the chin like he challenged you to a brawl, and set out to show him why you knew what this was, what he was, and why it didn't matter much. 

Even now—

Giving birth all alone. Overcoming the isolation of being shackled to a man who married his post first. Sisterwife to his career. Second in all things. 

Even this. 

He was in Iceland when he got the call. Laswell, of all people, was on the other line telling him his own wife was in the delivery room. Water broke. Baby is on the way. 

And you—

Don't worry, old man. Just do what needs to be done and we'll be waiting. Always. 

—well. You certainly are. Alone in a hospital room with the curtains drawn to blot out the sun as you sleep, cradling this thing he made with his fingers shoved deep into your mouth, uttering foul under his breath as he crushed you to the bed, rutting you like an animal—the most tender he could ever be—and he's suddenly all too aware of his own inadequacies. His shortcomings. Failures. 

He's not a dad. He's not the sort of man people think about when they think healthy father figure. He likes cigars and whiskey, and sometimes aches for a mission that will let him cut his knuckles on teeth—bloodletting; exorcising his demons out on the people he's sanctioned to kill. How is he supposed to guide a child when he threw a man over a railing without a second thought—

The bundle stirs. Wrinkled, red face scrunching up tight. Little thing is just like you, huh? All softness and give. All—

They cry, and it's shrill. Loud. It jars him.

Not the sound, but the anguish he feels piercing through his chest as they bellow out their confusion to the world, this lost little thing. Strapped with a father who was beaten black and blue and told to be a man when he cried. 

But right now—anger is the furthest thing on his mind. He can't fathom that emotion when his child is whimpering in your arms, chubby little fingers grasping at the air. Seeking comfort. 

Waking you feels cruel when you've spent the better part of two days awake. Four, really. You couldn't sleep when the contractions hit, wide-eyed and worried about everything. What if something went wrong? If they hated you? What if you hurt them—

Worries he tried to assuage, but couldn't deny he felt them, too. 

All he knows how to do is hurt. But as he reaches down for this little thing squirming in your arms, he tells himself to be tender. To be the man his dad never was. 

And they're soft. So fuckin’ soft. Tiny, too. His hands dwarf them, engulfing them completely. He tries to blame the way he trembles on the denial of nicotine for so long, but the mist in his eyes, and the burn in his throat, call him a liar. He doesn't know what to do. Even with all the hours spent thumbing through manuals and books and scoffing under his breath at the parenting courses you dragged him to (but paid rigid attention to every word the heavily bangled woman said to him), he feels lost. Unsure. The ground is shaky. Control slips. And that's maybe the crux of it all—

Babies can't be controlled. And it's the loss of this, what makes him whole, keeps him steady, that has him feeling rubber-limbed and fawn-like. 

“Quiet, now,” he murmurs, and then winces at the rough drag of his voice in the silence of the room. Too firm, too forceful. All the gentleness he has in his bones was devoured by your greedy mouth when you cracked him open like the legs of a snow crab, marrow slurped up until he was hollow. Empty. His tenderness rests inside your belly. What else does he have to give—

But the warm bundle in his awkward, clumsy hold stops their shrill cries. A girl, he remembers you saying. Crying. Sobbing into the phone when he called, all ugly and gross. He heard you sniffle, snot undoubtedly dribbling from your nose as you wept to him about how fucking cute their baby was. Their little girl. 

She's soft. Smells of a newborn, too—something powdery. Sweet. Warmed milk, fresh bread. The clinical books that made you squeamish, the ones that outlined every anatomical and chemical change to your body, mentioned that newborns smelled distinct to each parent. A phenomenon meant to encourage protection and bonding. 

It made you shiver, muttering my little parasite under your breath, even as your hand curved possessively over your bulging belly. 

He knows that's what this is. Chemical. His mind is evolving, shifting. Changing. And it's then that he feels something hot thicken in his throat. Something ugly, and bitter. The scars on his knuckles, the cigarette burns on his fingers are a sharp reminder of what his father felt and ignored. 

He scoffs, then, irritated at himself. He's a grown man and still—

Still thinks of him. 

“Won't be like that,” he says, still rough. Still firm. She blinks up at him, eyes rheumy and wide. “Not with you.” 

Never. Never. He pins the word to his pericardium, letting it rot his tissue. He'd rather die, he thinks, than ever hurt this little girl. But despite that, he knows he will. Inevitably. Just like he does everything good—or bad—in his life. Leaching from the goodness of others, sucking them dry and letting them moulder. A disappointment everywhere except the battlefield where he screams himself hollow and rents the air with his ire. Incorrigible. Immovable. An object of cruelty. Unforgiving in all aspects. A curse that follows him home, into his marital bed when he pins you down, and makes you profess your love for the beast inside of him. Never satiated, never quelled, until you're shackled at his side. Tucked away from the world he knows is too cruel to people like you who end up a corpse he has to step over on his way for empty retribution. 

He thinks, too, about all the ways he's going to ruin this chubby little thing in his arms, and wishes, suddenly, he was a better man. 

“Gonna hate my fuckin' guts when you're sixteen, aren't you?” In response, this little thing just opens its red maw and blows bubbles. He huffs. “You're gonna be nothin’ but trouble, mm? Steal my car. Crash it because your mum's gonna teach you how to drive and she backed into the garage six times already. Gonna gang up on me. Both of you. Little nightmares.” 

He's not sure what else to say, and thinks, already, that he said too much. Bared his belly to her too soon. She'll have this memory, buried down in the deep recesses of her psyche of her father falling to pieces while he held her. An impossibility, he knows, but can't shake the feeling that this, in itself, is an epoch. A marker for what's to come. All the ugly, the hate. The screaming matches that make him curl his hand into fists as she levels his failures at him. Not to hit. Never to hit. But to stop the tremble that won't stop. That has already started. The shake in his joints that tell him to run before he hurts. Before he ruins this precious mass of his blood and your tissue in his arms. 

“Gonna—” he isn't crying. Isn't. But there's a thickness in his throat as he thinks about how quickly she'll grow up. Age marked in the crows feet that gather around your eyes. The laugh lines. “Gonna be a fuckin' menace, and I'll—” he chokes, then, when she reaches up with a pudgy, red fist and snags the strap of his vest he didn't even bother taking off before he fled here. Fat, tiny fingers curling into the spot he grabs to ground himself from lashing out. “Fuck.”

He'd burn the world for her, he knows. Sacrifice everyone and everything just to keep her warm. Both of you. It begins and ends with this little thing that has your eyes and his nose. 

But he doesn't know how to translate that into love. Into affection. 

It comes out caustic. Abrasive. Possessive. 

And he is. 

Now that he has her in his hands he knows that nothing else will ever compare. That they'll never be empty because she'll always fit in his palms no matter how big she gets. There's only ever been enough space in his heart for you. Chiselled into with a fuckin’ pickaxe because you wouldn't wait for it to grow on its own. 

But there's give, he realises. This domicile you carved yourself has a room attached. A place for her. And she fits like a glove. Sliding inside. Cocooned against his pulse. 

He loves her. Endlessly. Forever. She deserves better. More. 

But when he tells her this, she makes a noise and it sounds like a giggle. 

“Laughin’ at me already, mm?”

She giggles again, and he likes that her laugh is a little ugly. A little mean. 

“Scarin’ the wits outta me,” he confesses, shifting her weight as she occupies herself with the clasp of his vest, disinterested in the man that breaks into pieces around her now. “I don't know—fuck, I don't—”

You come to in a panic. It starts as a slow roll to the side before your eyes flash open, wide and furious even as sleep congeals in the corners, pawing at the empty spot where the lingering warmth of your child presses into your chest. Anger, fury, darkens over your brow, and the apoplectic rage that simmers in the gaps of your dread, your fostering panic, softens him. Makes him melt. The burn of your ire, your fear, liquifying his bones. 

He falls in love with you a little bit more at that moment. When the snarl rucks your upper lip up, up, teeth bared to the world as you whip your head around in frantic, desperate dismay, searching for the little girl he knows you, too, will burn the world for. 

“I've got her,” he says, whisper-soft and low. Cadence even, clear. Tries to quell the howl he can see hammering its fists against your throat before it rips from your lips and scorches the world around you in a hail of horrifying anguish. “She's safe.”

It says something when you immediately go still at the sound of his voice, muscles going lax, slack, as you slowly turn your head toward him, blinking against the fog clotting your vision. Something that cuts him to the core. Rents his chest in halves. One side for you, and the other for her. Nothing left to spare. 

This feeling brimming in his chest sweetens when you startle at the sight of him, them, lashes shuttering like an old camera as if you were trying to sear the image in your head forever. Branded on the back of your eyelids. (A sentiment he knows all too well considering the stream of photos added to his camera roll of you and her nuzzled together.)

“You—” your voice catches, breaks from sleep. Fatigue. You swallow, slowly licking your lips. “When did you get in?”

Your eyes are glued to them. Unblinking. Widened with pure affection, the intensity of which makes him want to touch you, hold you.

“A few hours ago,” he murmurs, glancing down at his—

It cuts a jagged line through his chest. Knicks his bone with how deep it goes. False starts pressed tight to his heart. 

—his daughter. Fuck’s sake. 

He's choked. Strangled. Rendered mute, immobilised. It guts him, this. Daughter. The ring of it echoes in his head, filling the recesses of his mind. Embedding itself within his head. Congealed over. Fixed in place. 

“I have a fuckin’ daughter,” he breathes at length, the air knocked from his lungs. He's not sure why this is what breaks him, but it does. And it's you, then, holding the fracturing pieces together, hands reaching out—in a startling mimicry of his daughter, and fuck, doesn't that just eviscerate him—and curling against the heaving brackets of his ribs, boxing him in. 

“John,” you say, but your voice wobbles. Wavers. When he peels his eyes away from the sleepy yawn she lets out long enough to look at you, there's tears flooding your lashline. Threatening to break. “Fuck,” you say, crass and beautiful, and he's overcome with the urge to tuck you into his other arm, keep you both cradled in his hands. “Don't make me cry or my stitches will tug.” 

“We've got a daughter,” he says again, just to hear it uttered aloud. We. Yours. His. It messes with him. Bludgeons into his core. “We've—”

“She's beautiful, isn't she?” 

Your words shatter him, but the pinch of your hands on his waist keeps him from buckling. 

“Yeah,” he rasps, voice thick. Ugly. It's mangled in his throat. All fractured and raw. “Just like her mother.”

He shows his affection in the burn of his embrace. In the way he holds you tight, refusing to let go. Keeps his words callous and firm. Soft utterances, declarations of love, tucked away in the sure, greedy way he clings to you in his sleep. Yields to you like no one else. Lets you in. 

And he supposes he ought to say it more often if the way your face crinkles up just like his daughter when she cried, tears spilling over your rounded cheeks. 

“Don't,” you heave, ugly and brittle, and he thinks you're the prettiest thing he'd ever seen in his life. “Don't or I'll rip my stitches—”

He huffs. Nods only once, and then steps toward you. “Do you want—?”

“Keep her for a little while,” you mutter, leaning back into the bed, eyes lidded by fond. So in love with him, the picture they paint, it's almost sickening. “She likes you.”

He snorts. “She's only three hours old. Give her time.” 

You're quiet for a beat. Pensive. Mulling something over. It's never a good thing when you're silent, and the unease that grows in his belly is justified when you heave out a long, tired exhale through your nose. 

The way you look at him is raw. “You're not your father, John.” 

And isn't that just the worst lie he'd ever heard.

He scoffs, then. Shifts his weight, still cradling his daughter tight to his chest. “Mm, 'dunno about that.”

“I do.”

“Jus’—” leave it. Keep going. Keep feeding him lies as he stands here and pretends that he wasn't a horrible bastard for wanting this from you. From taking it. Strapping you with a man who's always, always, one foot out the door—

“No.” You say, soft and sure. “You're not him. I know you're not because you're still here.”

“So was he.” 

You don't acknowledge the interruption. Content, it seems, to rattle off lies and half-truths into the stifling air. Your eyes close, the curve of your lashes leonine. Breathtaking.

“Do you want me to take her?” You ask instead of the multitude of things he can see piling behind your eyes. Some of the ugly. Jagged glass. Others powder soft. 

He shakes his head. “You need your rest,” it's a half-truth. Fatigue clings to you still, swathed in the purpling of your skin. The slow, heavy blinks you take to try and fight the tug of an artificial sleep. 

But the real reason is this:

He's just not ready to let her go. 

Thinks, viciously, suddenly, that if he does, this moment built between them in budding, liquid blue will cease forever. Severed too soon. She'll carry the same resentment in her heart he feels for his own father, and he'll die in a shallow pit thinking about how badly he wanted just a second longer. 

Generational, right? Trickle down hatred. Ancestral rage. It's what your grandma talks about sometimes over tea and fried bread, half disbelieving you brought a white man into her home, and making a show, a facade, of wisdom even though he spotted the how to raise a child notebook she hastily shoved into the kitchen drawer when you arrived. Taking over in place of your own mother, stepping up. And yet—

She just doesn't get it, you said, rubbing your hands over your belly when she steps away after another long-winded conversation about traditions, spirits, and dead languages. Raising a child like yours in a world like this. She's just. I don't know. Ignore her. 

(He doesn't. But you don't have to know that.)

So. He clings to her a little tighter. Holds her a little firmer. Brings her close to his chest and hopes she can hear the echo of his heartbeat and know that this tired, old song is just for her. 

(The heart itself for you—)

And maybe—

Maybe he's not quite ready to see you be a mother. Some perverse part of him is already trembling at the promise of watching you nurture and feed her, the tantalising whisper is enough to make the air in his lungs turn humid, sticky. Tar, you remind him sometimes, having seen the ugly spatter of black in the grainy photos the doctor in Hereford likes to shove at him. Never too late to reverse the damage, John. 

Or maybe he wants you for himself just a moment longer. An hour. A day. When you're still you, shackled and bound to a man who reeks of stale tobacco, and started sneaking cigarettes in the dead of night like some pimply, awkward teenager when you first came to him, cheeks wet and eyes wild, and said:

“John, I'm—”

Pregnant. 

He did it, of course. Put that baby in you. Made it with his teeth buried into your throat and your hips canting up to meet him, taking everything he had to offer. Animal aggression. Nothing tender in the way he chewed you up, made you beg him for it. But still—

Wanting and having are worlds apart, aren't they? 

Faced with it, the consequences of his actions, he's at a standstill. 

You hum, and when your eyes slide open, he feels the mallet against his head. Cracked open. You fossick about until you find what you're looking for. Cheeky fuckin’ thing—

“Fine. Just pull up a chair before you keel over, old man.” 

“M’fine,” he grouses in that voice that serves as a dice roll between making you feel hot or homicidal depending on the mood he catches you in. Muttering something under your breath that sounds like a whispered plea for guidance (“tss, gimme strength.”)

But even with the waspish denial, he's inching closer to the spare chair left in the corner, looping his ankle around the leg to slide it closer. The squeal of rubber on aluminium makes him grimace, eyes darting down to his sleeping girl, nestled in his arms. Her brow pinches in the same way your grandma’s do when she's annoyed by the news. Her bingomates. The way he refuses her offering of burning tobacco and lemongrass whenever he goes away for a while, unable to really commit to this little, broken family that feels more like home than his own ever did. 

(“aint my place,” he says, and she scoffs. 

“fuck, s'matter wit’cha?” is her counter, the harsh line between her brows now perfectly superimposed on his daughter’s face. “tss. ain't yer place, eh. are you tryna piss me off? fuck, you make me mad—”)

He sees that spitting anger in you. Generational, he knows. The same inherited attitude his daughter will inevitably have. The one that singles him out as an outlier. Outnumbered. Three, now, to one—

There's got to be a reason why his chest bubbles, innervated by the thought of a Sunday dinner when she's old enough to watch her grandma make intricate bracelets, necklaces, earrings, and pins with thread and glass beads as you, her mother, cuss at the stove that doesn't burn as hot as it used to, flipping over golden dough in a sizzling pan. 

Orange juice in old cups your grandma kept since the nineties. Something soft playing on the radio. The peeling, waterlogged wallpaper flakes off the wall when you slam the pan down too hard. The way the spill of the sun through the rusting window rents the room in half. Pale yellow and oak. Little orange blossoms in soft pink above the speckled granite countertops. Everything awash in a gossamer of sleepy-eyed affection. 

Just like it is now. But—

He looks down at her, head full of lead. Cotton. 

Complete, maybe. 

“Don't know how to be a dad,” he confesses to you, and thinks of how much easier it is to slam a sledgehammer into a metal door than it is to peel back the veneer sometimes. “Don't want to mess up.” 

“You'll be fine.” 

The crinkle of the plastic mattress, the scratch of the sheets sliding across the bed is louder now than it was before. He cuts the gentle sounds with an abrading hum that clicks off his teeth. 

“Get some sleep,” he says again instead of the awful truth that buoys in his throat. Things like you don't know and I tricked you this whole time into thinking I'm a good man and look what you’ve let me do to you. “You need it.” 

Another noise. In his periphery, he watches you lean back against the upright pillows, lips parted on a soft sigh. He feels—

Small, then. An oxymoron considering he has to duck his head to get in and out of the room, towering over most he meets daily. But the inadequacies gut him. Vivisect him. He should be more comforting to you, he knows. This whole thing has been difficult. Tiresome. Cut into and having the life you grew inside of you cut out—

“Did good,” he rasps, still staring down at her even as he pulls the chair as close to your bed as he can get. “With her.” 

You snort. It's inelegant. Ugly. Brittle, like you're holding back tears. 

When he glances up, he finds that you are. “You're strong,” he adds, and knows he should have started with this first. “Doin’ this all on your own.” 

“I had help.”

It's awkward trying to adjust himself in the seat with his daughter perched in his arms, but he finds a way. Settled, then, with her still sleeping away, he lifts his hand from her back, keeping her cradled in his arm with the other, and reaches for you. 

The starchy sheets catch on the bramble of hair on his knuckles, the back of his hand, and the static jolts tickle against the rough scar tissue thickened over his knuckles, some still fresh, scabbed from the latest mission he'd been deployed to. You watch him, misty-eyed and tremulous, as he draws nearer, eyes flickering like a pendulum between the bundle nestled on the thick of his arm, to him, watching you back. Greedily taking in every spasm, every blink. 

Something inside of him cracks. Softens. He thinks, breathless, that you've never been as beautiful to him as you are right now. Bubbles of snot in your nose. Eyes reddened, dropping from exhaustion. A dizzying mess. The sort that speaks of tireless work, of physicality. Muted pain brimming in the backs of your eyes when you pull on your stitches. 

“Got a pretty wife,” he says, and it's not enough. He knows it isn't. Looks away before the fracture lilt to his tone breaks him in two. “And—” it's hard to say. He forces himself to. “And a beautiful daughter.” 

The tears stream down your face at this quiet, clumsy admission. 

“Don't—” you sniffle, hoarse. “Or I'll tear my stitches.”

“M’not doin' anythin’, love.” 

“Fuck you, John—”

He leans back in his chair with a hum, eyes slipping shut. A brief respite amid the panic still clinging tight to his ribcage. “Love you too.” 

It's quiet. Nothing but the soft drag of each breath his daughter takes, the tremulous sniffle you give as you try to dam the tears sliding down your cheeks. His heart hammering in his ears. He commits it all to memory. Glueing it to the fibrils of mind where it'll stay, embedded in tissue, for as long as he is of sound mind. 

Much like the grainy, black-and-white ultrasounds stuffed in his breast pocket. Tucked inside the drawer of his desk where he keeps the pictures of you. Keepsakes he's unnecessarily possessive over, elbowing the rowdier men who try to needle him for sparse information on the little wife he hides at home and the baby they'll never meet. Something just for him. Unshareable to the rest of the world because they don't deserve you. 

The feathered snores tell him you're finally asleep, and he thinks about resting for a moment as well—the bone-deep exhaustion he feels jetting from Iceland to home, to the hospital catches up to him with a vicious kick to temples—but the weight in his arm keeps him awake. Hyperviligent. 

There's this urge clawing at him, making ruins of his chest, and he answers its worried insistence by opening his eyes just a sliver to stare down at the little bundle in his arms only to find she's staring back at him. Eyes wide. Comically too big for her chubby face. 

She has your complexion, but his dark curls. Her eyes, though, are the perfect equilibrium between pools of sapphire, burnt blue, marbled with the dark gleam, that vibrant shade of yours that he's so fond of, the one that's often accompanied by a smart-ass remark. Seeing it gaze up at him with such incipient adoration knocks the air from his lungs. Has his heart shuddering in the brackets of his chest. 

It's love, he thinks first. Instantaneous. Apodictic. And then, cold, callous—

Chemical. 

Just to hurt himself, maybe. Just to let it cut deep. Scar. Because as he stares down at her, he knows it doesn't matter. No amount of hatred, of anger, will ever rip her away from him. His daughter. His family. His.

Like her mother. The root of it all. The catalyst. The start. 

Shackled to this gaping chasm that devours endlessly, never satiated. Always starving. 

Needy. Full of greed. 

Because even now he covets. Craves. Muses to himself about how he can convince you to have another the moment the opportunity arises and you're healed. Whole. Aching for it. 

He wasn't joking when he said he wanted a football team. 

But for now—

The soft sighs you make in your sleep, ones that almost sound like his name, and the comforting weight of his daughter in his arms are enough to make the beast inside purr. Preening under its own conquest, its own victory of successfully turning your body into a home he can rest his weary head on. Sacrosanct. 

He looks at her, then, and feels the dread ease into pride. Into elation. An emotion he knows should have come first, but it's here now, and that's all that really matters.

“Gonna be trouble,” he grouses, watching her pink mouth gape wide, blood-red maw grinning up at him in delirious glee only babies can imbue. Unhindered by the ruination of the world around them. Unfettered. 

Something he couldn't protect you from, but knows you're both on the same wavelength when it comes to her. At all costs, you'd said, hand against the burgeoning swell. And he kissed you until he couldn't feel his lips anymore. Until all he tasted, all he knew, was the taste of you.

“Of the best kind, though, mm?” 

In response, she coos. And he hews the sound into his chest where it sits beside the brand of when you first said, i love you, too, John. 

So, he relaxes. Whispers soft, conspiratorily. "Think you might need'a brother, mm? What'd you say about that?"

And she giggles.

[luceafarul-de-dimineata]

Rating Whb kings on the experience they have with humans (NSFW-ish)

7. Belphegor - he slept a lot with Solomon, but it was just them sharing a bed. He doesn't even remember if he ever fucked Solomon since he was asleep when it happened. He's probably to lazy to go to the human world for a one night stand.

6. Leviathan - he slept with Solomon three times and that was all his experience with humans. He's not that interested in sex, much less with humans. He's also kind of scared that he'll get a human pregnant accidently and have a little Dantalian of his own. You know, maybe chastity belts aren't that bad of a concept now that he had to babysit for a week.

5. Lucifer - Lucifer fucked Adam and Eve. That's two humans so he gets to be higher on the list than Leviathan and Belphegor. He used to fuck Adam and Eve almost every other weekend to prove to himself, mainly, that he's above humanity. So he knows both female and male human anatomy. But after Adam and Eve, he never slept with a human again. Not even Solomon.

4. Mammon - back in the olden days he would just go around the human world and show them how to farm or domesticate animals. He would sometimes demand a sacrifice be given to him in exchange for this knowledge, so he did fuck quite a few people. The reason he's not higher is the same as Lucifer. After a short while he stopped. He hasn't gotten human bitches since the mesopotamian empire

3. Satan - There's a reason he's the most well known demon in the human world. When he was in his late teens - early twenties, he had a phase where he would make himself known even in the sloppiest of incantations. Sometimes there were only children being edgy and he'd mess with them for fun, othertimes he'd find himself alone with some cultists and that's where he got most of his experience from.

2. Beelzebub - All the flies in the human world are part of the Beelzebub hivemind. So, when he notices a mortal he really likes, he stalks them until they're drunk or high and fucks them until the next tomorrow. He never loved a mortal outside of Solomon and MC, so there's no chance of having a baby... we don't talk about Terarre, he was a bastard.

1. Asmodeus - He's still doing it. He has slept with more humans than devils. He just thinks humans are better at sex. Do demons have dildos? No they don't. Just yesterday he got ravaged by a bad dragon strap from a random ass human. Asmodeus spends most of his time in the human world either visiting his kids or finding people to have more kids with. He has a breeding kink and a human kink and all the time in the world to put those two into great use with eachother.

[fictional-orphan-smackdown]

ROUND 4, MATCH 1!

All propaganda and what each competitor is from under the cut

The Baudelaire Orphans (A Series of Unfortunate Events)

The epitome of orphans, they’re the best

“I’m having a very terrible childhood right now”-Klaus

The story deadass begins with them being told that their parents died in a fire and that they're orphans now. They then bounce from guardian to guardian who tend to always meet a gruesome fate at the hands of Count Olaf. Not only have they been orphaned once, but have been orphaned multiple times and are called "The Baudelaire Orphans" by not only characters in the book but by the narrator himself. They're called "The Baudelaire Orphans" so many times that it might as well be a defining character trait of theirs, and honestly it sort've is. The series doesn't even end with them finding a home or guardians of any kind, it ends with the Baudelaires fate being completely ambiguous with them literally sailing away from the island they were stranded on in the final book (yeah this series is quite the journey, I highly suggest it). These poor three kids are probably the most orphaned kids of all time since their orphaned in a new way almost every book and they deserve at least one win in their unfortunate tale.

These guys are like the poster-child of orphaning, we open the series with them finding out that they're orphans and also have no access to their money so now they hop around from place to place from weirdo caretaker to another weird/crazy/murderous caretaker and it's all fun and games and murder and decieving and surviving and thriving and---my point is, these three are a wonderful trio of siblings who love and rely on one another through all their trials and tribulations.

Literally every single one of their problems come from being orphans. They’re continually referred to as orphans and the plot of the first half of the series is them being shuffled around to guardians.

These kids are so orphaned they never even get a found family outside themselves. At least most stories featuring orphaned kids see them fulfill some sorta epic destiny or have them find a new home or set of loved ones of sorts. The Baudelaires? They're thrown from one fucking failure of a home into the next, ignored, hunted, etc.. It's been years but like, even in the end, they still have to set sail alone. As individual characters, they aren't bad either. Violet's the dependable big sister who's knack for inventions comes in handy, Klaus is a well-read chap and Sunny is a lovely gremlin. They make a good trio.

Every single guardian they try to obtain throughout the series turns out to be someone who wants the large inheritance left for them and is willing to do whatever it takes to get it.

They basically fend for themselves the whole series when no adult will listern to them. The whole series is them being resourceful and clever the whole series despite the misfortune. Violet is a brilliant inventor, Klaus reads and collects knowledge, and Sunny learns to be a good cook over the series

their parents die tragically in a fire and then everything awful proceeds to happen to them

I haven't read these books in years but if any orphans deserve to win a smackdown it's these fools, they are constantly in the trenches in those books goddamn. Also that baby is like a shredder they have that on their side, I think that beast literally solo'd a snake?

(This one was specifically for Klaus, but I'll put it here still) He and his sisters being orphans is kinda the point. As in many books, it's the trigger for them to change lives and navigating hardships. The thing is, their hardships just grow worse and "unfortunate" (read "dreadful") events keep happening to them as they stick together instead of the story getting better. Klaus and Violet become Sunny's subtitute parents and get through their more and more miserable lives together keeping hope things would eventually get better

Arguably more famously orphaned than Bruce Wayne, if not for how their story happens while they’re orphaned children versus an orphaned adult. Definitely have the most famously tragic post-orphaning story. All three are incredibly brilliant in their own way, including the literal baby. Pursued relentlessly by the leader of a maniacal theater troupe and letdown by a slew of adults, so it’s all the more impressive how amazing they each turned out to be. Book series was so good it got turned into a pretty great movie and then a successful TV show years later. Also can’t forget how these three are orphaned repeatedly as the distant relatives who take them in get killed off in increasingly inventive manners. Let’s be honest, ain’t no characters out here orphaning like the Baudelaire orphans.

this series taught me so many cool words and phrases and I love each of the 3 main characters so much

Violet, Klaus, and Sunny are peddled from caretaker to caretaker over the course of 13 books, always being chased by the evil Count Olaf who wants to steal the Baudelaire fortune that the children are meant to inherit once they reach a certain age.

Spoilers ahead, the Baudelaires siblings story starts with them going from being the Baudelaire kids to the Baudelaire orphans, after their parents pass away in a mysterious fire. But they arent the only paternal figures that they lost, they go from tutor to tutor, almost all the good ones dying in front of them, and even the ones that survive at first their future is uncertain since the last time the kids see them they are blindfolded in a burnind building, and we never found out who make it out alive and who didnt. Even the main villian, Count Olaf their first tutor, and the only constant adult in their life after their parents death ends up dying in front of them. These three are orphans ten times over.

They are THE orphans. They have lost not only their parents but multiple guardians that they went to live with as well.

They're THE Orphans. The childhood book orphans we all read, Orphans Prime if you will. They lose their parents, every caregiver who's ever kind to them, then say fuck it and live on a deserted island on their own to raise themselves abd fully embrace their orphan status. On the island, they learn their parents survived the shipwreck then died again - double orphaning even.

OH MY SWEET LITTLE CHILDREN THAT FUELED MY LOVE FOR READING AND THE MACABRE Violet- Won her first of many invention competitions when she was five with an automatic rolling pin (comprised of a window shade and six pairs of roller skates). Extremely innovative and genius, foiled by her kindness to others. And she knows how to make a Molotov cocktail. Klaus- Absolute monster of a bibliophile, conducts research for fun, and has a photographic memory. He is known to want nothing more than "a good book, a comfy chair, and the warm glow of a reading lamp". He also is a Herman Melville fan, which is points for him in my book. Sunny- Most people know her only for her penchant for biting, but Sunny is a distinctly distinguished character. She has sharp wit (as long as you can read it through her babbles), her poker skills are phenomenal for a baby, and she has quite the knack for cooking! Also yeah, the teeth. She climbed an elevator shaft with them once.

They are constantly going through it, give these kids a break for real

Mina Murray/Harker (Dracula)

IIIIIIII Loveeeeeeee Herrrrrr, she's learning shorthand, she's the group scribe, she writes in her diary about her and lucy seeing cows on a walk, AND she's a train fiend. She's everything to me fr

[luveline]

steve zombie au —you and steve celebrate his birthday with a frank discussion and some new fun. [5k]

fem!reader, afab!reader, fluff, MDNI smut (hand job, implied oral), cw for mentioned circumstances of the apocalypse; food insecurity, danger, zombies, nightmares, injury

April 29th starts exceedingly warm. Summer is fast approaching, and it's being felt all over The College community. You can forget zombies — a world without air conditioning is much scarier. 

You're kidding, obviously. Geeks are scary. Both for what they are, slimy decomposing husks that want more than anything to chew on you like a dog toy, and what they could be, the end of your life. There have been times where you wished for something of the same calibre, but these days you have someone you want to hold onto. 

And that someone is turning twenty three. He's still sleeping, the limp hair in his eyes freshly shorn. He doesn't know that you know it's his birthday today, but you do, so you'd traded with Mel the used-to-be hairdresser to get you both haircuts. You would've traded just for him —her services aren't cheap— if you thought he'd ever let you, or ever get one without you.

It's exactly that reason that you'd wanted him to have a haircut in the first place, and why you want him to have a good birthday. He's so loving, and sweet, and good, he deserves to feel special. He needs to know how much you appreciate him. 

You're hoping you've prepared enough to do that. 

You brush the sweat damp hair out of Steve's eyes as he begins to stir. You've been up for hours, now, and it's a credit to how much you like him that you would wake up early on a day you could've slept in, sweaty but safe in the circle of his arm. You've washed up for the morning so he doesn't have to wake to your oily face, and you press a spearmint-fresh kiss to his cheek as his eyelashes strain. 

"Hey," he says, rough with sleep. 

You love his voice in the mornings. "Hey, handsome. Good morning." 

You lay your cheek against his pillow, watching as he opens his eyes. Your hand roves over his naked torso selfishly, feeling the soft indentations of muscle. He's put on weight since you got here. It's amazing. 

"It's fucking–" He stretches out beside you, his sentence scythed in two by a low groan. "S'fucking so hot. I just woke up and it's so hot." 

"I think it's finally summer." 

"I don't know," he argues lightly, "it shouldn't be this hot. Not for another two months, Jesus." 

He traces your face with his eyes as he talks, and as his sentence finishes he pauses his searching. He brings a hand up between your two bodies and rubs his thumb against the highest point of your cheek. "I guess it's almost May." 

"It's April 29th," you say softly. 

His lashes come together slowly, a subtle suspicious squint souring his otherwise serene expression. "Robin told you?" 

"Yes, she did. Happy birthday, baby." 

He looks at you a little longer. You like to be looked at by Steve because you know he's thinking nice things as he does, but for those long, stretched seconds you worry you've given him a reason to wrinkle his nose. Maybe it's cringy to be romantic about it. After all, he'd kept his birthday to himself the entire time you'd known him. 

"Thank you." 

He tugs you in for a hug, so tight you swear you can feel his heartbeat against your own. 

"You're welcome," you say, words smothered under his cheek. 

He clings to you. You can't count how many hugs you've shared after so long together. Even before Steve told you he loved you on the floor of this very room, before he asked if you were together in a cold car shivering for your lives in the middle of an abandoned highway, he was hugging you when you needed them, or when he needed you. 

You feel your eyes warm thinking about it, until the heat becomes tears, and the tears roll down over the bridge of your nose. You push your head as far as you can over Steve's shoulder, your hands hugging behind his head to keep him with you if he tries to move. You're selfish, and you don't deserve him but you have him. It counts for something. 

"I love you," you say, tears making your voice all wobbly. Cicadas call from the open window, and the earth seems deathly still. Steve is quiet for a while and you worry you've put him off crying on his special day, but then his arm shifts against your back and his embrace tightens again. 

"I can't believe it took me," —he presses his forehead to yours— "twenty three years to find you." 

"You found me ages ago," you remind him, fighting for your life because isn't that the most romantic thing, isn't he the sweetest guy? 

"Are you crying?" he asks, frowning. 

"Not really. I just love you." 

He holds your face in his palm and gives you a gentle shake. "I love you. But you know that. It's embarrassing how much you know that."

"Embarrassing how much you love me?" you ask, poking for extra compliments. Again, you're selfish. 

Again, it counts for something. 

Steve pushes your shoulders back into the bed and follows with his weight on top of you, his chest pressed to your chest and an elbow by your arm so his face doesn't smash into yours. You're a little daunted —Steve doesn't come on to you so suddenly, but it's his birthday, and you just asked him how much he loves you. Maybe he's excited. 

His laugh fans over your face. 

"Sorry," he murmurs, "I saw the look on your face." He turns his head to kiss your cheek. "I love you so much. That part isn't embarrassing, at all, I just mean I would've had the shit kicked out of me in high school for being whipped." 

"You're whipped?" you ask lightly, trying to maintain casualness as his lips dip lower. His kisses show how he's still far from being properly awake, mouthing at the column of your throat one slovenly inch at a time.

"I'm worse than that," he says, his lips parting over your pulse. 

His teeth scratch. 

"Steve–" You laugh as he sucks your skin between his teeth, not his worst hickey but the start of a sore one if you let him finish. "Baby." 

He pulls away, his words scorching against you, "You sound flustered." 

"I am! You're biting me." 

"I'm not not biting you," he agrees, kissing his hickey. It won't last, he hadn't worked at it for very long, but it turned you to jelly under his big hands. "Sorry, I like when you do that." 

"Do what?" 

"You relax," he says with a smile. 

"I relax with you." 

It's true and untrue. It takes you time to decompress, for months you hadn't felt safe, and then things had happened to rob you of that feeling again, but Steve's persistence and insistence that nothing is going to happen is one you believe. You crawl into bed with him and sometimes it takes an hour, but you relax. You sleep well with him. 

"I know," he says, pulling up to meet your eyes again, "but when I kiss you like that you go somewhere else. I'm not saying it to be cheesy, although it's definitely cheesy and I'm a romantic weapon." He smiles at your smiling. "I'm trying to describe it to you but I got a C in English and I never went to college." 

You laugh again. He would've been hard pushed to go, considering the circumstances. 

"We're in college now," you say. 

The community that you live in has been nicknamed The College. It was a smaller college campus once upon a time, and now it homes a couple hundred people of all ages trying to make a life. 

"Let me brush my teeth and then I'm gonna kiss you stupid," Steve says, climbing off of you. 

There isn't an ensuite in your room but there is a small sink, and he stands there in his boxers and short-sleeved t-shirt bent over the basin. He puts paste on his toothbrush and tries to talk to you around brushing, his hair rumpled and sticking out at the back, his boxers lower on one hip. 

You're trying to talk back to him, but you've noticed something you hadn't meant to. 

Steve has a bulge. 

Steve usually has a bulge, you're not stupid, you know your boyfriend is well-endowed. It would be impossible not to notice, you've woken countless times to something warm pressed against your thigh, but you honestly hadn't cared. You and Steve haven't had sex, and that doesn't bother either of you, you know it with surety. Your relationship has always weighed heavily on other things. But you have to wonder if he wants it. You know you do, in moments like this where he's had you pressed down into a box and nipped at your neck, suggesting the salacious to the shell of your ear. 

He swills out his mouth and washes his face as boys do, rough and quick, water dripping down his neck and soaking the hairs surrounding his face. 

You have your heart in your throat as he slides back into bed. 

"You have your shift soon?" he asks, hiking up on his pillow and pulling you toward his arms. 

"I swapped with Shirley to have today off, it's your birthday." 

"Ah, but when I gave you that necklace for your birthday there was no need." 

"It's different." 

Steve kisses the top of your head, sounding fondly defeated as he says, "It's not different." 

You turn in his hold, head by his elbow as you look up at him with a question you don't wanna ask in your eyes. He stares down at you. 

You shift your leg against him, and you can't miss the slight twitch of his mouth. Like he enjoyed the feeling. 

"Stevie," you murmur. "I have something I want to talk about, but I think I'll probably die of shame before I can say it out loud." 

"Is it your period? I already told you it shouldn't bother you, honey, it's natural–" 

"Progressive," you say with a laugh, "but no, I know you're not a big baby about it." The only thing that bothers Steve about it is that you're in pain when it happens.  

"I don't know what else would embarrass you like that," he says. 

"We don't have to talk about it. It's your birthday, I want to celebrate," you say, regretting your honesty. 

“It’s my birthday and I wanna talk about it,” he says. “Hit me with it. Tell me tell me tell me tell me–”

"No," you mumble, knowing you'll have to tell him now. 

"Please?" he asks. 

His tone slows everything down. Your mixed emotions, your apprehension and nerves, your excitement over his birthday, they slip away into the palm of his hand where it strokes under your breast. He takes it all. 

You look up into his face and try to look serious. 

"How come we don't have sex?" 

Steve is noticeably thrown for a loop. His hand lightens its hold. 

"Do you want the short answer?" he asks slowly. "Or the long one?" 

"Why are there two answers?" 

Steve is quiet for a second. You sit up some, not entirely but enough to feel as though he's hugging you rather than acting as a place for you to rest your head. He helps you without asking, hand like a brand considering the topic of conversation. 

"I just–" A muscle in his jaw moves as you talk. "I know sometimes I can– that you want to. I mean, that your, um–" 

"That I'm obviously excited," he says. 

You both cringe, and then you both laugh quietly. 

"Yeah. And you've never tried to do anything. I just wondered if maybe you don't want to, ever, or if you're waiting for me. If you are waiting for me…" 

"You're ready," Steve says. 

"Yeah." 

"I kind of knew that already, babe." Steve's fingers curl in toward your rib, knuckles resting against you, an arm behind your back. His face dips down to yours, and he kisses your cheek fondly and almost too softly, you barely feel it. "Not that you're obvious, but, you know, we've been together for a long time. I'd be an idiot if I couldn't read you." 

"So why haven't you asked me?" 

"Why haven't you asked me, 'til today?" He sounds immeasurably happy, now, his tone golden and silky smooth as pure honey, murmuring. "Being with you has never really been about that. I mean, we never could've on the road, how could you relax there?" 

"Maybe it would've relaxed me." 

"Maybe, but I kind of assumed it wouldn't. And I… I didn't want you to think you didn't have a choice, either, like I was looking after you so you had to do stuff you didn't want to do." 

"I wouldn't have thought that." 

"Good, then I was less of a dick than I thought." He pauses, breathes in the skin of your cheek as though it smells like something other than hand-soap turned face wash. "There were times when I really wanted to. But I guess most of the time I wasn't thinking about it, and then we got here and," —he smiles against your cheek— "I didn't want you to think I was saying I loved you and that having sex would make a difference." He turns bashful. "It sounds stupid now I'm actually telling you." 

"It doesn't," you say, immediate and soft with awe. "It doesn't." 

"Then you weren't safe, and you were having nightmares all the time, but now you're doing better and lately I've been thinking the same thing. Why aren't we?" 

You turn your face to his. "Well? Do you have an answer?" 

His lips pout up and his eyes squint a little as he nods, a melodramatic defeat. "The short answer. I can't find a box of fucking condoms." 

You're speechless. 

You cough. 

"...You've been looking?" you ask. 

"Sometimes. I looked in the mall pharmacy but they only had finger condoms. What am I gonna do with one of those?" He laughs at his own joke. 

You're thankful it isn't awkward. Thank whoever for your stupid beautiful boyfriend who cares about you more than anything. Too chivalrous to make a move but horny enough to look for condoms when his life is in danger. 

You settle your arms heavily over his shoulders and look him in the eye. "I really don't think that would work for you, Stevie." 

"You're flirting." 

"Is it working?" 

He touches the tip of his nose to yours. "It always works, but I really can't find any rubbers, I didn't want to ask you without being able to deliver. We're stuck." 

"I mean, maybe we could just… not use one?" you ask, genuinely wanting to hear his opinion. 

The side of Steve's nose touches yours, his breath warm on your cheek. "I thought about it. About asking you, but I just need you to be safe." He pulls back. "You couldn't have a baby." 

"I don't know. I don't think I could now, but we'd make it work." 

"Do you want one?" he asks. 

You think about the obvious. It's too fucking dangerous. Pregnancy before the apocalypse was dangerous. Pregnancy now is so much worse. It could kill you, and if it didn't labour could, and if it didn't and you did have a baby, that baby would live this life. You're too young to make that decision, you think. And if none of it mattered and you and Steve were a couple in a regular world, would you want one then? So soon? 

"No," you say. It feels good to say, because Steve will support every decision you make and you know it. 

"No. I don't want you to have one either." He licks his lips. "Maybe someday?" 

You smile at his hope. It cracks a yawning gap down your chest to the pit of your stomach. 

"Maybe someday," you say. 

He kisses you. Chaste but somehow sharp, pressing at the same time. Not trying to initiate anything he can't finish, but now that it's on the table the implied what-if feels heavy between you.

You hug him as the kiss breaks, your lips by his ear. "You could pull out?" you whisper. You love him and he's amazing but it's still a mortifying question. 

"I don't think that always works. Is it worth it?" he asks. 

Not really. Not if you aren't prepared to make big choices.

His arms wrap around you, and his hand rubs your back. "It's not like it'll never happen, honey." 

"Steve," you say softly, hand running down his back, "what if we did other stuff? Sex isn't just… I could make you feel good." You're trying hard not to sound crude, harder still not to sound as scared of his rejection as you feel. He's more than allowed to say no, but you hope he won't. You hope he wants you. 

"You could…" He swallows. You hear it loud and clear. 

"I could make you feel good," you repeat, lowering your voice. "What do you think, handsome?" 

"You don't have to do anything you're unsure of," he says. His breathlessness has your heart leaping in your chest. 

You pull back to see his face, find his cheeks warm as you press your palms to them. "I'm not unsure. If you want it, I want it. How do you feel?" 

"If you… if you change your mind," he murmurs. 

"I'll tell you," you say. You give him a look, the kind of bright-eyed, loving expression you save for special moments with him, pouring all your adoration and trust and wanting out for him to see. You lift your chin in question, and when he kisses you, you take it for a soft yes. 

You kiss him while you stand on knees, while you ease yourself over one thigh. Your knee rubs up against him and he shudders into the kiss, his hands leaping to your waist. 

"Do you," —you break away from his lips but can't stop yourself from dispersing honeyed pecks between words— "ever do anything by yourself? When I'm away? When I'm at the kitchen and you don't have to go, have you–" 

You're asking because you have a great suspicion that he has —one time you came home and he was so, so needy, clingy and sweet and relaxed. Another you might have found him midway, but he hid it well.

Steve nods hurriedly and steals another kiss. "Just a few times," he says. 

"How do you do that, sweetheart?" you ask, your hand trailing down his chest achingly slow. 

"I– I lay on your side of the bed." 

You kiss him harder than you mean to. "Why?" you ask into his lips. 

"It smells like you–" 

His hands roving up and down your back give you more than enough confidence to grasp at him wildly, your kissing suddenly, painfully desperate, your top lip on fire as Steve pulls your face down to his. You don't have the wherewithal to speak as your hand coast past his t-shirt to the rising tent of his boxers. 

Foreign and familiar at once. You've seen Steve naked a hundred times having lived in close quarters with him for as long as you have, and if Steve hadn't seen you before, all those times he's had to sit in the shower room with you lest you panic someone else is in the room would've made sure. You know what the other looks like bare. What you don't know is how they feel, and how they want to be touched. 

You reluctantly break your bruising kiss, resting your temple at his cheek as you look down. You slowly, slowly let your fingertips stroke down the line of his cock, beside yourself with giddy excitement as Steve moans breathlessly in your ear. 

"Fuck," he says. 

You've barely touched him. You flatten your hand as you approach the bottom of his length, pressing your thumb gently into the swelling of his balls. He hisses at your touching and you look up worriedly. "Sorry, am I not supposed to touch there?" you ask, whispering though there's no one else around to hear it. 

"Please," he says. He cuts himself off with a laugh, his head tilting back in pleasure as you put your hand back. "Please, touch anywhere." 

"It feels good?" 

"Please, honey, keep going," he says. 

You rub the length of his cock over his soft boxers, near awed as it hardens. You knew he was well endowed, and you've seen him hard and pressing against his jeans, but it feels different when it's under your hand. You drag your nose against the side of his throat, whispering, "Finger condoms really would've been useless," and laugh as he starts to laugh himself, breathless, throaty chuckling that lights a flame in your stomach. 

You start to kiss his neck slowly. Your hand is curious but not shy as it works up and down the length of him. Steve readjusts your grip, the pressure of it, his hand gentle on yours. 

Your face smushed to his neck, you watch what he's showing you and try to commit it to memory. It's tugging, almost. Kind but with a firm hand. 

"Can I see?" you ask. 

"Please." Steve is quick to pull his boxers down, exposing the pale length, his ruddy tip, the tiniest bead of precum shiny as it oozes from the head's slit. Your breath catches at the sight of his hand, his long fingers encapsulating the thick girth of his cock and tugging up. "Fuck," he says again. 

"Can I do it?" you ask. "Or is it–" 

"Honey, it's okay, you can do whatever you want to me," he reassures. "Just do it, baby, please." 

He rarely ever calls you baby. "Poor boy," you murmur. 

Steve laughs, as if to say, Fuck you, but he's distracted from his plight when you wrap your hand around his warm cock. He pushes your face into his neck instinctively as you start to move against him. 

You've enough sense to spit in your hand and work it around. He's hot, heavy in your hand, tip of his cock to the belly button if you press it toward his torso. 

"I don't think I'll last long," he warns. 

"How do I– do you want me to be gentler?" 

He bucks into your hand with a shiver, groaning like the suggestion is agonising. 

"Should I use my mouth?" you ask. 

Steve really does sound pained, then, his head falling back, his abdomen rising and falling quick against your bicep. "I'm trying to last, baby." It's as though he's begging for something without saying what he wants. 

You try to distract him a little, prolong the inevitable as your fingers flex around his cock. "Kiss me," you say, using a tone you hope —you know— will hook his attention. "Please, Stevie, kiss me?" 

He drags his head up, cheeks as red as the ruddy head of his cock, the heat practically emanating from him as he gives you what you want. These kisses are sloppy rather than messy, lavish rather than tired. Your tongue presses at the seam of his lips and your head turns heavily to the left, sighing into his mouth as his spit paints your lips. His cock leaps in your hand, and you speed up just a touch, the skin bunching ever so slightly with your ministrations. It gets harder and harder for him to kiss you as his climax builds, his breath coming in pants, his thighs and stomach tightening in anticipation. You pull away, letting him shudder and whine by your ear, his hand like a vice around your forearm that's not helping but holding you. You push kisses into his jaw, the skin under his ear, and weave the hand that isn't wrapped around his cock into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, scratching his scalp lightly as you confess. 

"I love you," you say, nipping at his neck, printing red crescents in your wake, "I love you," you repeat, hot breath fanning over your hotter kisses. "I love you," you mouth, resting your forehead against his neck.

His head clamps down on top of yours and breath catches, held, his hand practically crushing your wrist as frantic pleasure builds. You speed up even if you're not sure that you should, and it must be the right thing to do —Steve goes white out still and tense as stone, your eyes widening a touch as the first string of cum spills over your fingers. Something snaps in him and he's moaning like he might cry into your hair, breathless panting as sticky cum bumps down over your fingers with each pump, his cock twitching uselessly in your grip. 

You soften your grip but don't slow until he gasps and says, "Honey– ah, ah, don't, don't. Please, that's so–" He laughs deliriously. "I'm gonna pass out." 

You take your hand from his cock, not grossed out or anything but definitely not sure what to do now. Steve's all but collapsed beside you, his torso sliding behind you into the pillows, twisted up and breathing hard as he wraps his arms around your waist. It's an odd position, not the cuddling you'd pictured, but you're content to let him cling to you if he needs to. He breathes in harsh breaths against the small of your back. 

You watch with a burning pit in your stomach as a last bead of cum wets his cock and seeps into his boxers. 

"Did that feel okay?" you ask. His cock twitches again at the sound of your voice. You'll have to ask him what that means.

Steve doesn't answer you straight away. He sits up, and he tucks his cock away, and then he sees the mess he'd made of your hand and laughs. He's definitely high from the pleasure of cumming like that after so long, 'cos he grabs your hand and wipes it clean on the literal t-shirt he's wearing.

"Steve, I could've washed it," you complain, laughing with him.

"I'll wash the shirt," he says. He keeps your hand in his.

"Did it feel good?" you ask again. Low, you're shy to have to ask twice, worried he avoided the question. It obviously felt good, but you want the reassurance that you did it well.

He pulls your hand to his chest and leans down for a kiss. "I'm really worried we shouldn't have done that. That was like, pot. You're gateway drugging me." He kisses you again, and he rubs your hand with his thumb. "Felt good, honey, couldn't you tell? You did– you did so good, honey. It felt fucking good." 

You descend into another round of messy kissing. He must feel the shape of your pleased smile, as he smiles too, and it's very difficult to kiss each other seriously when your lips are hardly touching. 

"Can I ask for something else?" he asks, pulling away. 

Your heart skips, 'cos you think he might ask to fuck you, and after all his pretty sounds and the heat between your thighs, you'll probably say yes, and that would be a terrible fucking idea without any protection—

"Let me go down on you," he says. 

You gawp. "What?" 

"Let me go down on you, sweetheart, please." 

"I didn't even go down on you," you say shyly, heart beating in your stomach now. You shove your hand between your legs impulsively. 

"If you went down on me I would've embarrassed myself," he says. He follows your hand, his own slipping between your legs. "Only if you want to." 

"You don't have to, Steve, I just wanted you to feel good–"

"This is, like, the best day of my life," he says, "or second best, because the first time you told me you loved me was a fucking immense feeling–" 

"'Immense–'" 

"–I want you to feel like I just felt," he interrupts your interrupting. His eyes are imploring and his hands are soft where they roam. "We can stop if you don't like it, but I think you'll like it," he continues, rubbing the inside of your thigh teasingly. "If you want it, please let me." 

You nod quickly and pull him in for a kiss, though you pause when his lips are close and whisper, "I get to go down on you, then?" 

To which your boyfriend groans and kisses you roughly. Your lips are tingling from so many. 

"I guess it is my birthday," he says, with a faux-bashfulness that has you both giggling.

Later, at Robin's, when you're sure "We just got each other off repeatedly," has been written across your forehead for everyone else to see, and a small party of the older friends have gathered for a drink in Steve's honour, Christopher tosses a rectangle in Steve's direction. It slides right into his lap. 

You both look down. 

"Happy birthday, Harrington," Christopher says. "Don't worry, they shrink to fit." 

It's a box of condoms. 

Steve glares at Christopher for the public humiliation, but he puts the box of condoms in his pocket, and everybody gives you shit for it when you're making excuses to leave barely an hour later. 

—

thank you for reading!! I get asked to write about their first time more than anything else which isn't a bad thing, I really love that people like this au and that they want to see that, but I haven't personally been in the mood for that! I figured I'd post this even though it stops at hand stuff / isn't an explicit scene of them fucking because it was gathering dust and also because it hopefully answers some questions I get sent often about their sex lives! maybe I can write them fucking in the future but for now I hope you enjoy :D <3

[queenofallimagines]

Alexis ness x witch reader

A/N: WHY THE FUCK DID I NOT THINK OF THIS BEFORE?? I TRYING TO FIND A WAY TO MIX MY WITCH HCS WITH BLUE LOCK AND OFC THE EX HARRY POTTER KID WITH THE STEM CAREER PARENTS WHO CRUSHED HIS DREAMS WOULD FOAM AT THE MOUTH!! Was word vomiting onto a page and this came out and I’m like??? Fuck yeah??

TAGLIST: @priv-rose

Alexis Ness:

- I am SO excited for this🗣️

- First of all fuck Harry Potter and fuck JK rat ass Rowling

- Good now That’s that’s out of the way

- He would literally be star struck like he def wouldn’t tell you he believes in stuff like that bc of his childhood

- But like when he sees your so chill he might joke around with superstitions

- But when you know more of them than he does,,,,?

- “Don’t forget! Salt over your left shoulder!”

- “Plant rosemary by your garden gate,lavender for luck and blow cinnamon into your house on the first of the month.”

- “I- what?”

- Putting some sigils for focus and luck in the shoes

- In the inside of the compression suit

- Reading incantations before a game to help(aka mumbling them while pressing kisses to his face)

- Putting a hex on the other team or players you don’t like (Kaiser)

- Kisses as a good luck charm

- Kissing isagi eyelids and forehead so he can smell his goals😔💕

- Charming a necklace he wears during games

- Putting something in his phone case for good measure so he can accidentally not respond to his family or kaisers texts💕

- You could put a little soccer ball charm on your altar for him🥺

- Alexis ness: Love please don’t hex the opposing team I want to win on my own

- Also ness: so like if you COULD hypothetically make isagi twist his ankle,,,,,

- He’s so funny and silly

- Asking you to turn people into frogs

- “It doesn’t work like that beloved”

- I like to think he would go to haunted places and drag you along

- If this is before he knows you’re a witch

- He pretends he just wanted to see the location and he don’t belive in ghosts n stuff

- Even tho he researched like 600 ghost protection methods before yall got here

- The two of you go in, joking around and having fun in the worn down building but the two of you stop dead in your tracks as you hear something?Footsteps...that aren't yours or his.

- Ness clutching you like a damn lifeline

- Your hearts are both pounding in your chests as you walk through the halls, unsure of what is making that noise that doesn’t sound like it’s coming from an animal…

- Mama ain’t raise no Bitch

- So you just straight up yell💀

- “Fuck off! go bother someone else!”

- Poor baby Ness quickly clamps his hand over your mouth, his eyes wide at your outburst. Whatever was making noise in the abandoned hospital immediately stops making noise tho 💅🏿

- Ness gives you the “you’ve lost your damn mind” look

- “Hey! Maybe don’t make whatever it is more pissed off-!”

- “That’s how you banish ghosts! so unless it’s something more dangerous you can tell them to kick rocks! We’re technically on their territory but like same thing I guess. They can’t do much but scare us and I’ve got like 10 protection charms they can’t really do much.”

- Pause

- Rewind

- Excuse me?

- “Y’all got about three seconds to get the fuck up out my way and two of ‘em are already gone because I don’t count shit but money so get to stepping Casper!”

- He’s going to propose to you

- “ Wait! You’ve got protection charms-!?”

- Ness is side eyeing you hard asf rn😭

- Not in a bad way but a “when was this??” Type of way bc he knew nothing of this

- “Ok then…but what about those ghost hunting shows! like there’s those that say that if they get pissed off they can hurt you for being on their ‘property’ if I remember correctly..”

- Like he’s pulling out his ghost busters encyclopedia lmao

- “Those are fake and I’m a witch they can’t fucking touch me. I’ve talked to demons🙄Some old grumpy spirit can’t do much but give me nightmares and even then they’ll have to box me about it”

- Lmao he’s like full stop staring at you wide eyed

- Kaiser baby you’ve been dethroned I fear

- A new emperor about to spin the block😔✊🏿

- Oh! And not let him hear you WORK with deities

- He will be like a kid in a candy store

- Like trauma suddenly gone lmao

- His ugly ass momma saying all that vile shit to him as a baby suddenly never happened

- He’s living his Peter Pan dreams!!

- Ness’ jaw drops to the floor as he hears you list out the demons you’ve worked with.

- Kinda thinks you’re making fun of him at first so he bristles at you but when he sees you’re not even smiling about it he’s even more shocked

- “So..you made a deal with them or something-? If you did that’s like….your soul is basically his now, right!?”

- “Not really? I just had to ask nicely.”

- Lmao he’s like trying to rewire his brain right now

- Nagging voices at the back of his head telling him

- Magic isn’t real and there’s probably a logical explanation for all of this like you’re so clearly kidding

- “Y-You’re like…a legit witch? Like you can do magic and summon stuff!?”

- “Yep”

- He stares for another few seconds before a smile creeps onto his face, his eyes going wide with amazement?

- Like you can actually see the stars

- “Dude this is SO COOL! You’re like a bad ass witch! Wait…CAN YOU DO MAGIC RIGHT NOW!?”

- Dragging you through the hospital as suddenly he done forgot about the shorts or whatever

- You flinch at something dripping but he don’t even turn around to look at it he’s rambling to himself for the most part

- “Alex baby It’s not like Harry Potter but I do curse people and do old ancient spells and stuff. Like I’m technically doing magic right now? I have a protective charm on us so nothing can try anything funny-“

- “A PROTECTIVE CHARM?! YOU CAN DO PROTECTION MAGIC TOO!”

- Lord

- He grabs your hand and starts yanking it

- Chill out???

- he’s excited about this magic stuff and as he holds your hand, he seems so innocent and curious about all of this now.

- “Show me some magic…PLEASE?”

- “Like what spell do you want? And again not like flying magic. It’s more…I guess stuff close to that? Still within the realm of reality. But I mean technically your parents do magic too right? They’re scientists. And just before you know how something works doesn’t mean it’s less magical yknow?”

- Ignoring the fact that last part is what sparked this entire head canon I’m right leave me alone

- “Eh..scientists are just nerds who figure out how things work, not really magical.”

- He’s gunna start pouting, he didn’t really believe in his parents nerdy sciencey stuff

- but your magic that’s WAY more interesting! Magic! Actual magic! How cool is that!

- “Magic isn’t just something you can’t understand. Like think of it. We don’t know shit about gravity and it’s still just a theory but if I drop something it falls right? Same principal. Things seen and unseen in this earth are magic. Like you can use chemistry in spell work all the time. like urine and bleach make chloramine gas and I’ve used that in curses.”

- See he only heard that last part I’m afraid

- was DEF not expecting the last part to come out from your mouth

- “I’m….You…put piss…into your curses?”

- “I WILL call the ghosts to come jump you on my behalf…”

- That got his ass In check real quick lmao

- “like the possibility that I CAN. Like it could be for a nightmare curse. Throw in some poppy seeds for mental unrest and nightmares, vinegar to sour their mind and maybe black pepper to get them to leave your life really fast.”

- “Huh…so piss, seeds, vinegar and black pepper in a mixture makes a nightmare curse…”

- “Why did you write that down….”

- Hope your grimore or whatever isn’t like private bc he WILL dig through that every chance he gets

- Got all the books on your shelves unorganized and fucked up be he done ran through them

- Like can you have some class??🙄

- Sits and stares at your altar for hours

- Like he’s looking at everything on it to see if he can figure it out

- No that table cloth is blue because that’s all I had leave me alone!!

- Back to deities

- He will always be polite

- Nothing if not a gentlemen

- Will say hello to them before YOU walking into the crib

- Like you know when a boy is so polite he talks to your whole family before even remembering he came there for you?

- That’s him

- “Hi great grandma! I bought you some of that liquor you like”

- Leaves more offerings then you I’m afraid

- He’s so baby deer coded they love him

- Everyone and they momma will ride or die for him.

- So like don’t let Kaiser be within a one Mile radius of your house and talking bad to him

- Matter fact? Don’t even watch his games in your home

- Bc now everyone mad

- “Why is he disrespecting my baby like that?”

- Like house is in shambles

- “Go give this to him”

- “What? But wasn’t this mine-“

- “Did I stutter?”

- He’s so beloved

- “I call him old man a lot. Or like Lucy-“

- “Lucy….king of hell, devil incarnate, Lord of the Underworld, and one of the most infamous fallen angels. And you call him LUCY?!”

- Jokes that your food is made with love but like now he’s not sure it’s a joke at this point….

[oddballwriter]

The Moon Boys as Dads

꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

Warnings: The moon boys being girl dads and mentions of Jake teaching your kid how to fight a bitch 

Author’s Snip: This would happen eventually. It's been bubbling in my mind since I've started writing for Moon Knight. It's inevitable, everyone in this fandom wants to have their babies.

Notes: I genuinely think that Jake's part is the only one that would be troubling but let's face it. If Jake had a kid, especially a daughter, he's going to teach her how to fight and send the to the ER or to the scale  

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

Okay. First thing I need to make straight. I understand that the idea of them having a son is deep. Have it that it heals some of that inner child in Marc and thus the rest of them. And I think that idea is lovely. Honestly can't get enough of it, gets me in the bullseye of my feels

But these men are such girl dads, all three of them

So we're gonna go slightly off of that

Steven Grant

Steven strikes me as the type of guy who just fits into the family man role so well

Absolute proud stay at home dad who has a million photos of all of his kids energy.

Yep, that's right, kids, plural, he wants a bunch of them

He understands and respects if you want just one or two but... like...

He's so good with kids, come on, episode one where he was talking with the little girl??? You can't tell he's not great with kids. He can handle a gaggle of kids if you'd be okay with having a bunch with him.

"One for each of the us" is a joke he'd make

But let's go with the perspective that you have a daughter with him

Already he's just obsessed with her as soon as he gets to hold her

Kids are very chatty, which is great because Steven's chatty and also listens, so if your daughter is talking about her day at school then he listens and nods along.

He'd also do this with her as a baby when all she could do was babble. He'd just listen to it and say "And then what?"

Steven, although he can be quite sassy, is naturally very polite and I'm pretty sure that rubs off on your daughter. He teaches her proper manners like saying "please", "thank you", and "excuse me"

Teaches her about Egyptology because of course he does, you think he's not going to give her those kids books about Egypt? You think the egyptology nerd isn't going to make his kid an egyptology nerd?

If she takes on another interests that's fine too but you think you aren't going to have one more dork in your house?

He praises her all the time for being interested in so many things.

Not to make him sound like one of those dads but he's glad that his kid reads books

Marc Spector

I'll save you what you've heard before. Marc is unsure, Marc is worried that he's gonna fuck up, Gods have mercy on Marc, blah blah blah

And sure I'll go in on it a little bit too

Marc is of course worried about how well he'd do at parenting since he still has some emotional and mental scars that haven't fully been patched up or wounds he's too scared to lick

But hey, he knows what not to do, and that's at least something

He might helicopter parent a little, maybe even a lot, when your daughter is little, especially if she gets her adventurous side early and it's really strong

You and the boys might have to remind him that she's a kid, she's gonna want to navigate and explore what's around her and maybe she'll do something dumb and get hurt a bit

As long as she knows what's dangerous and what's gonna earn her a band-aid

Marc's good when she's a kid but I feel like he just feels more comfortable when she's older, like teenager age

I actually feel like he'd be one of those dads who gets it in his kids head that they can still be a teenager and do teenager things but don't get into any trouble or do something really bad

"Focus on school and stay away from those groups" type of dad that really just means "Don't get Fs in class and don't get arrested."

He's letting her make mistakes and grow from it but he's not gonna baby her either

Marc won't entirely be the "No boys allowed" type of dad either. But if she brings a boy home for any reason, even if the boy's just a classmate that she's doing a project with, then he's telling her that the door stays open till he leaves or they do the project and research in living room or whatever

He's so proud of her too. He makes sure she knows just how loved she is and that he will always be there

Marc actually wants to be the type of parent where whenever his daughter gets in trouble or make a mistake that she thinks "I need to call my dad." instead of "My dad's going to kill me."

Jake Lockley

Jake would have said he wanted a boy but that's a lie he wants a girl first

I can see both Marc and Jake not really being the types to keep their kid in gender roles, neither is Steven if his daughter wants to do things that are considered masculine or boyish then he won't stop her he just sort of defaults to thinking that she'd want to do girly things, but Jake is the type of dad that wouldn't care if he has a daughter he's gonna teach her how to stuff and to take shit from no one

She's going to be a spitfire if Jake's her daddy, that's for sure. A real Buttercup.

She once got in trouble for fighting a boy in her grade because he was making fun of her and he scolded her when you were around but he was secretly so proud

When she's older he teaches her how to fight people and defend herself, I mean he already told her to do that when she was younger but back then it was kick, bite, and scream. When she's a teen it's teaching her how to right and left hook and disorientate

Fuck, she's probably good with a knife too

Jake knows that your daughter can handle herself pretty well but he's still going to be protective over her

If she has a relationship and they put their hands on her that person's just straight up dead

She might know how to aim for the vitals and wash blood off her clothes but she's still his little princess

[clownery-and-fuckery]

Alright buckle up here's my actual genuine reaction....

First episode:

First of all, I regret asking for more Hemlock, this was fantastically awful, I will not be recovering.

Second of all, that shaved clone has done things to me. Horrible, horrid things that made me actually pause it and look away. It made me physically ill, it was the worst. Great, but the worst.

The passage of time really did fucking get to me BUT HER LITTLE PONYTAIL UGH

crosshair..... I need a moment

EMERIE !!!! CANT STAND HER !!!!!!!!!!! SNITCH ASS BITCH

I literally don't care that she was allowed to keep the doll, btw. I dont give a shit. I hope Emerie dies in a fire.

nala se.... ew............

I think the whole episode was just pure horror, it was so fucking disgusting to watch, idk about you guys but watching the clone who had probably faced the true horror of SCI-FI warfare crying alone in his cell genuinely had me pausing the episode. Really great work there, Jennifer, I will be billing you for my therapy

Crosshair and Omega bonding !!! The little "What's your mission objective" was definitely a tactic he used on his brothers to have them pay attention, I refuse to acknowledge that he's the youngest, he just isn't. That's big brother keeping his little brother(s) on task behaviour.

Everything about Hemlock gave me chills. I love him. I hate him. I hope his guts cover the screen. I am fascinated by him.

I had a sneaking suspicion Emerie was taken under Hemlock's wing, and her undoing will be her endless loyalty to him... they did not have to say it as obviously as that, though. Glad they did.

Crosshair is sick. There is no way you show us all these sick, dying clones then Crosshair and expect us not to figure that out. He's going to die. His shaking is just the first symptom. I am not ready.

I definitely have more smaller notes I will make once I am not sobbing hysterically about it !!!!

Episode two!!:

This is the one that made me cry, actually.

Watching Wrecker and Hunter march in, quiet and covered in countless injuries, made me so sad. I couldnt recognise them. Those aren't my lads.

Wrecker begging hunter not to go because people didn't make it back.... hunter I get you're desperate, but you will NOT survive another brother being killed. I can't bear to watch him tear himself apart and neither can Wrecker.

WEEPED LIKE AN ACTUAL BABY WHEN I SAW THOSE CLONE BABIES.... THEYRE TOO YOUNG.

"99ers???" THERES FUCKING MORE ??????? I want to know the lore behind this line particularly.

Theyre so cute..... they're so CUTE ugh sedate me immediately

THE WAY HUNTER WAS LOST AT THE START BTW WITH THE TECH AND HE WAS GETTING FRUSTRATED AND HE IMMEDIATELY LOOKED TO OMEGAS STUFF AND LET HIS GRIP LOOSEN ON THE DATAPAD HE WSS THINKING OF HIS YOUNGEST TWO SIBLINGS I WILL NEVER FUCKING RECOVER DAVID AND JENNIFER LET THEM BE HAPPY !!!!!!!!!!!!!

anyways that little fucker who was good with tech..... I see you. I love you.

They were so used to letting Tech do his thing.... they immediately moved to cover fire....... for a second they forgot it wasnt him, I'm weak

THE CRATE FROM S1 YOU HORRIBLE BASTARDS WHEN WILL YOU LET ME DIE

wrecker playing with the kids..... laughing with them....... ohh i will not cope when he dies.

Hes going to die, btw. In case you didn't know. I know. I am aware. I am unprepared. I dont want to discuss it.

PABU..... THEYRE GOING TO PABU WHEN I TELL YOU I SOBBED. MY MOTHER HAD TO HOLD ME. I WAS INCONSOLABLE FOR FIFTEEN WHOLE MINUTES!!!!!!

i cannot express my feelings for this episode.

Episode three!!!!!!:

I want that man. Yes, i do mean that masked man we saw for two seconds, I want him.

The Emperor had me actually screaming. I was so hyped. He scares me so bad.

Hemlock!!!!!! Evil !!!!!!!! CUNT !!!!!!!!!!!!

nala se was so obvious about her "Get tf out" speech..... why don't you say it louder, the whole fucking room couldn't hear you

The fucking timer. Chills. CHILLS.

Crosshair and Omega !!!! He was so unserious I love that

....sorry to all the lovers tho, have to say i DIED laughing at his "gUaRdS"

And the SCREAM he scrumpt when the door opened, who allowed that 😭😭 it was so fucking funny whbeisbwiba

They were so messy this entire ep, they're everything to me......

"Of course he did" DO YOU WANT ME TO FUCKING DIE ?!?!?!? WHO FUCKING GAVE YOU THE RIGHT CAUSE IT WASNT FUCKING ME

Crosshairs trigger finger shaking so bad he gave his position away....... that's a major fucking problem, isn't it? That's gonna bite him in the ass.

I want more of Hemlock having a damn tantrum, that was fantastic. Him this season has me in a chokehold. I can't wait to write more of him.

This entire season so far is amazing. I can't wait to watch more, there are so many more points I wanna make, I'm freaked. I'm so happy, I'm still crying, I can't wait I can't wait I can't wait !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Making more coherent thoughts about them soon <3

[mediapiays]

https://www.tumblr.com/mediapiays/761093636217864192/if-14-year-old-me-could-navigate-the-absolute?source=share

Oh, absolutely. I've seen a few of these stories of poors ex-taekookers who fell for all the lies and manipulations other taekookers create and they spent years in that fandom believing and agreeing with them, and worst of all, spent all those years hating Jimin. But now they finally saw the light and feel so very sorry for all the harm they caused Jimin.

Every time I see one of these stories all I can think is "What a fuking idiot". And that's exactly what I think of this person. And honestly? Fuck them. They were a full adult who fell for shit that's so obviously false you don't even need to be an adult to see through it. They purposefully avoided official content and let themselves be surrounded only by other taekookers and their lies. They put themselves in that situation. Call me mean but that person is an idiot, plain and simple. And you don't get to be an idiot who spent years hating an innocent person than expect me to feel sorry for you once you finally realize you were being stupid.

And taekookers aren't even as convincing as people give them credit for, the people who believe them are just stupid. Their videos are clearly edited and lacking context and most of it is just short slow-motion clips with on-screen text consisting of some wild interpretations of what is essentially two guys making simple eye contact with each other. Nothing they say makes any sense if you think about it for more that three seconds. They constantly contradict themselves and change what's true and what's a lie at the drop of a hat. To them Jungkook or Taehyung briefly mentioning the other in a livestream it's definitive proof they're not just dating, but are straight up married. (Taekookers even have a date for their marriage and the number of kids they've adopted. I wish I was making this up).

Like, for fucks sake, taekookers main narrative is that Hybe is forcing Jungkook to pretend to be in a fake gay relationship with Jimin (who apparently is on Hybe's side and is also evil) to hide his real gay relationship with Taehyung.

A gay relationship to hide another gay relationship.

Gay relationships that are between idols.

Idols, people who are often forbidden by their companies be in even straight relationships.

All this happening in South Korea.

Famously homophobic South Korea.

Hybe deciding that this is somehow a good idea.

Jungkook and Taehyung putting up with this for over a decade despite having had the chance to not resign or at very least change their contracts not once but TWICE.

Jimin, Jungkook and 𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 Taehyung being good enough actors to convincingly and consistently pull off this extremely elaborate and long-running lie.

All this going so far it culminated in Jungkook being forced to enlist with Jimin in the 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘺.

All of this for what is not even the most popular ship within the fandom.

And the reason? The reason for all this convoluted mess? Who knows, definitely not taekookers.

I'm sorry, but you believe this you're a fucking idiot. Unless you're are a child, not even a teenager, I'm taking 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 a child, than you shouldn't be naive and stupid enough to believe this shit for literal years. And the fact that most of these people are actually middle aged woman with husbands and kids. Sincerely, what the fuck?

No, these ex-taekookers aren't some poor little naive babies who got tricked by the actually bad taekookers. No, anyone who believed this bullshit did it because they WANTED to believe it. Some part of them knew deep down it is all bullshit but they ignored that part because they liked believing it's true. They found pleasure and satisfaction in believing these things and they were selfish enough to let that be more important than showing basic human decency towards a man who's only crime is threatening their fantasies.

So no, I have no sympathy for taekookers of ANY kind. Not the 'nice ones' and not the 'reformed' ones. They can all go to hell for all I care.

i have nothing else really to say anon because you practically read my mind. it also emphasizes how people in stan spaces really don't think for themselves and is basically a hive mind.

[kenny-the-ken]

My Brother's Best Friend PT 2

This was highly requested guys!! Thank you all so much for the love!! Keep those requests coming guys!! And remember, they don't all have to be for Kenny!!

Warnings!!: NSFW content, strong language, sexual references, mentions of drugs and alcohol. AGED UP CHARACTERS!

The dreaded talk had came, and Stan was not happy, he was infuriated. He felt betrayed, not only by one of his best friends since childhood, but by his own blood too! He couldn't believe that his twin sister was in bed with his best friend, and not just any friend, but Kenny fucking McCormick! Of all the guys in South Park, you chose Kenny. But why?

He couldn't wrap his head around it! His innocent little sister had been tainted by that asshole! He just knew it, Kenny would taint you, get you to fall in love with him, and then dip when he got bored of you. He was a player, he always had been, and Stan was going to prove it!

You hadn't seen your brother for two days, you decided against going home, you were with Kenny the entire time, staying in his parents home with him, and Kenny couldn't believe his eyes. His home was clean, much thanks to you, they had heating and electric for the first time in forever, and the fridge and freezer were full to the brim, you'd spent whatever money you could to help them out, and you were just happy to help. Kenny wasn't used to this, no other girl he'd been with had treated both him and his entire family so amazingly. Karen adored you, and you adored her right back.

Kenny loved domesticated life with you, his mind wandering about what day to day life would be like in the future with you. You were great with kids, so kind, loving, you would make an amazing mother some day, and oh how Kenny hoped you two could be parents together, a small smile on his face.

"What's got you smiling to yourself?" You asked, snapping Kenny from his thoughts as he rose from where he sat on the tattered old couch, and he wrapped his arms around your waist, placing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Just thinkin' about our future, babe." He said, and your cheeks flushed, placing a kiss on his lips and running a gentle hand through his fluffy blonde hair.

You were both torn from your loving gazes at each other as your phone began ringing loudly, and you pulled it from your back jeans pocket, sighing as you looked at the screen.

Incoming call from:

Stan 💀

"Do I answer?" You whispered to Kenny, as if Stan could already hear you talking.

"It's your call baby, but we can't avoid him forever, I guess." Kenny said, sitting back where he previously resided on the couch, and you sat beside him, answering on the phone and putting it on speaker.

"Y/n, where are you?" Stan asked, his words slightly slurred, he'd been drinking again.

"I'm in Kenny's. Are you drunk, Stan?" You asked, your tone laced with worry, Stan never knew when enough was enough when it came to alcohol.

"So what if I have? You fucked the biggest man whore in South Park who coincidentally was my BEST FRIEND!" He shouted down the phone, and Kenny took it from your grasp, taking a deep breath before talking.

"Stan, I've actually only slept with three girls, and yes, that's counting your sister! You want her to be happy but you're the only person upsetting her right now. If you think it's okay to scream down the phone at your sister, then you seriously need help dude." He said, his tone calm yet stern, he was standing up for you, and he didn't care who he had to stand up to, he wouldn't let anyone upset or hurt you, and that included your family.

"Help?! I need help?! So you aren't with my sister till the next slut walks along and gives you the eye then?! We've been friends forever, Kenny! You're a player and I am not going to let you hurt my sister! Y/n, I hate that it's had to come to this, but if you don't come home, I'm telling mom and dad where you really are." Stan said before hanging up the call.

You didn't realise you were crying till Kenny wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest and peppering gentle kisses all over your face.

"Shh, Princess, it's okay. No matter what happens we'll deal with this together, okay? They could move you to the other side of the world and I would still come and find you. You're like a drug, I'm completely addicted to you, I want to be with you forever, and if I need a slap from your mom and a punch from your dad to prove that no matter what I'll always be here, then so be it! You're like no one else I've ever known, you're my soul mate, baby. I promise I'll never ever hurt you." Kenny replied, running his hands through your long black hair as you tilted your face to capture his lips in a long kiss.

The walk to your home seemed shorter than usual, and Kenny had gave you one of his hoodies and a pair of his sweatpants to wear as you walked hand in hand together. You reached the front door, pausing as your hand hovered over the door handle, taking a deep breath before walking inside, Kenny following closely behind you.

"Oh darling, you're home!" Sharon said as she ran to you, giving you a long hug and a kiss on your forehead. "And hello, Kenny. What brings you here?" She asked, as your boyfriend unzipped his orange parka and pulled his hood down so he could be better understood when he spoke.

"Actually um... I came to talk to you and Mr Marsh." He said sheepishly. Your mother's eyebrow quirking as she simply nodded in response.

"You both sit, make yourselves at home! I'll go grab Randy." She said, scurrying off to search for wherever you dad was.

"I'm shiting bricks, babe." Kenny said, his hand resting softly on your thigh as you both sat close together on the couch.

"But we can't hide in the shadows forever. Plus Stan's a big cry baby! When he doesn't get his own way he always tells our parents, and then I get in trouble!" You said, burying your head in your hands, sighing in exasperation.

Kenny quickly moved his hand off of your thigh as your parents returned. "Hi dad." You said plainly, a small smile on your face.

"Hello, y/n. You disappeared for a few days to Wendy's, is everything okay?" Randy asked, his eyes scanning over both of you.

"I-I um... Mr and Mrs March, I'm gonna cut to the chase, you're both busy people and I don't want to waste any more of your time... your daughter has been with me the past few days. Stan found us together... in bed and, I guess I'm just rambling but, I want your blessing to keep dating your daughter. She really is a credit to both of you, she's incredibly kind, caring, she's selfless and loving and I really would be lost without her. Please, do we have your blessing?" Kenny asked, his face a dark shade of red as your parents sat wide eyed and open mouthed at both of you.

"How long has this been going on?" Randy asked, and you both averted his gaze, looking at each other.

"Six months, dad." You replied, playing with your hands, picking at your nail beds awaiting a response.

"I FOUND HIM BALLS DEEP IN HER, DAD!" Stan shouted as he made his way downstairs, and both of you swore that you felt both your hearts sink. Of course Stan had to ruin it.

"Do you love him y/n? Does he make you happy?" Your mom asked, a loving smile on her face as she completely ignored the shouts of your twin brother, raising her hand to alert him to shut it.

And you nodded, tears in your eyes. "He treats me like a Princess, mom. And Stan is referring to a few days ago, it was my first time and... he made it special, he made sure I was comfortable, I- I love him." You said as your mom rose from her chair, sitting beside you both and pulling you in for a hug.

"You're nearly eighteen darling, if Kenny makes you happy, then I'm happy! As long as you promise never ever to hurt my daughter, or I'm coming for you." She said, eyes looking to Kenny now as he nodded, a smile on his face.

"I swear to you, Mrs Marsh, I would be a fool to let her go."

"Well, Stan and I still aren't convinced." Your dad chirped in, your smiles fading as he stared at Kenny, and you swore if looks could kill, Kenny would be dead.

"Prove to me that you're worthy of being with my daughter. I'll watch closely how you treat her, what you say and do to her, and if you meet my expectations, then I won't say anything more about it." He said, before rising from his seat, he and Stan leaving the room, gossiping between each other like two stroppy children.

"Why don't you stay with Kenny for a few days, let me talk to your dad and smooth things over, and I'm sure he'll accept your relationship. As for Stan, that may take a little longer. He's extremely protective over y/n." Your mother spoke, and you nodded.

"I'm just gonna grab a few things from my room and then I'll be right back." You said, quickly running upstairs to pack some clothes and a few other things in your backpack.

"I promise, Mrs Marsh, I'm here for the long haul, I wanna make y/n my wife some day. I really do love her." Kenny said, and your mother smiled placing a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm glad to hear that, Kenny. And please, call me Sharon." She smiled warmly as you came speeding back downstairs.

"Ready to go, darling?" Kenny asked, taking your hand in his and pressing a kiss to your forehead as you nodded in response.

"I'll text you, mom. And thank you, for everything." You said, giving your mom a quick hug before reconnecting hands with Kenny and leaving before Stan or your dad realised you were both leaving.

When you both got back to Kenny's it was eerily quiet, only Karen being in the house, she wasn't old enough to be left alone, she was only eleven, and Kenny swore he was ready to lose his shit, how dare his parents leave his little sister on her own?!

He said he was gonna quickly jump into the shower and then he'd get Karen ready for bed, and you said that you'd help. The younger girl smiled at you as you opened your bag, pulling a pair of pyjamas, you had them for years but never wore them, and you knew Karen would love them, they had little white dogs all over them and they were a dark purple all over.

"Are these for me?" Karen asked, her eyes lighting up as you nodded.

"You like them?" You asked and she nodded happily, running to her bedroom to get changed before reappearing in the living room, a large smile on her face as she ran to you, giving you a tight hug.

"I'm so glad my brother is dating an angel." She said, and your heart swelled at the little girls reactions. She was unbelievably cute, and she deserved so much better than what her parents gave her, so did Kenny.

When Kenny finally appeared from the shower, wearing nothing but boxers and sweatpants he smiled at both of you, before looking at Karen.

"Where'd you get those?" He asked, and Karen pointed to you, a large smile on her face.

"Your angel girlfriend!" She said, as she did a little spin. "Don't I look cute?" She sang as Kenny nodded, laughing gently. "You look adorable as usual, Karen. Now come on, it's your bedtime." He said as she nodded, giving both of you a hug and making her way to her bedroom.

"Goodnight!" She shouted, and you both replied back to her, wishing her sweet dreams.

And as you both sat aimlessly watching television, you could feel Kenny shift on the couch, loving himself closer to you, you knew what he wanted, Kenny had suppressed six months of horniness for you by jacking off to photos of you, and now he had been in your pussy, his hand just wouldn't cut it. You two had slept together a few times from he took your virginity that night, but tonight, Kenny was gonna test your limits, and he smirked, his hand roughly gripping your thigh as he leaned in to place feathery kisses down your cheek, then your neck, his hand moving from your thigh, to the hem of his hoodie that drowned your small body as he slid his hand up to your breast, his fingers teasing your already hardened nipple, making you gasp.

"Not wearing a bra today, baby?" He mewled into your ear, before connecting his lips to yours, pulling you to sit straddling him, both his hands now teasing both your nipples, your breath catching in the back of your throat.

"Thought I'd save you the hassle of having to take it off anyway." You replied, kissing him once more, your make out session heating up by the second.

"I wanna try something new tonight, baby girl. That okay?" Kenny asked, a groan leaving his mouth as you ground your clothed cunt against his painfully hard cock, and that was all the confirmation Kenny needed.

"You wanna cockwarm me?" He asked, as you pulled away from your kiss, you looking at him in confusion.

"I- I'm too innocent to know what that means, Ken."

"You just let keep my dick warm in that warm, tight little pussy of yours. Think you can do it for me, baby?" Kenny whispered in your ear and you nodded in response, your cheeks burning, Kenny was so good at talking dirty, but you didn't know how. Tonight you were going to try something else new, and hopefully it would have a good effect on Kenny too.

Kenny took your hand, leading you to his bedroom as he sat himself on the edge of his bed, patting his knee signalling for you to take a seat. And you did as you were asked, climbing on to his lap, your arms wrapped around his neck, and Kenny's lips were glued to your neck the second you sat down, pressing wet kisses and small nips to your neck, quickly pulling your hoodie off your body, his eyes gleaming when he was able to then unclasp your bra and let it fall down your arms, as he threw it to the far side of his bedroom.

"That's better." Kenny replied, a cheeky grin on his face as he took one of your hardened nipples into his mouth, suckling gently and earned a soft sigh of pleasure from you. His other hand was attached to your other breast as he gave that nipple just as much attention. He moved his mouth to between your breasts, his head completely surrounded by your tits as he sucked a dark purple hickey on your smooth, pale skin, small moans escaping your mouth.

"Stand up and strip for me, baby." Kenny ordered and leaned back, still sitting up half way, his hands propping him up on the bed as he watched you take your sweatpants off and then your pale pink panties, your pussy already soaked for your boyfriend.

"You really are literal perfection, Princess." Kenny cooed and pulled his own sweatpants and boxers off, his cock springing free from its clothed cage.

"You don't look too bad yourself, Ken." You replied as you made your way back over to him, sitting back on his lap, and you could feel his cock twitch in anticipation. He couldn't wait to be inside you. Lining his cock up with your dripping hole, he slid into you, your head falling back, a moan leaving your puffy red lips. Kenny had a grip like a vice on your hips, pulling you down to sit fully on his cock.

"You like that?" He hummed, a smirk on his face, running his hands through your hair before giving it a rough tug, pulling your head backwards to expose your neck as he licked a long stripe from between your tits right up the front of your throat.

"Yeah, yeah I do like that. But not as much as you'll like this." You responded, a naughty glint in your eyes as you rose your hips upwards and then back down again on Kenny's cock, a moan escaping both of you.

"Oh, so that's how we're gonna play it?" Kenny smirked, bucking his hips up into you as his cock managed even deeper inside you, your eyes welling with tears of pleasure.

"I'm in charge here, baby. And don't you ever forget it, understood?" Kenny replied, lips against your breast, leaving another purple bruise to the growing collection he had already given you.

You were both ravenous for each other, your lips crashing together as your ground your hips down on Kenny's cock, moans leaving both of you, as his hand reached around your throat, applying a small amount of pressure, a small gasp escaping you in response. You never knew choking was one of your turn ons, until now.

"Want me to fuck you like a dirty whore?" Kenny whispered into your ear, another moan leaving you. You thought it was impossible to be any hornier than you already were, but somehow Kenny made you the horniest you'd ever been, and you nodded sheepishly in response to his question.

"Use your words, baby girl. I asked you a question." Kenny said, his hand tightening a little more around your throat as you gasped out as best as you could.

"P-Please, Ken." And he smirked, removing his hand from your throat to grip your breast, giving it a rough squeeze.

"Please what baby?" He pressed further, knowing that you were growing impatient, he could feel your walls pulsating around his agonisingly hard cock.

"P-Please fuck me, Kenny, please!" You pleaded with him, and he scooped you up from where you sat on his lap, holding you tightly around the waist, your legs on either side of his body as he pinned you against the wall, before roughly starting to fuck into you.

Your moans were sinful, and Kenny swore he would remember them in every lifetime, your cunt was dripping for him, and he needed more of you, and you needed more of him too, every single inch he had to offer you.

You were both coated in a thin layer of sweat as he kept up his merciless pace, his head buried between your tits due to the angle he was fucking you. Kenny wasn't bothering to be quiet anymore, his low moans and groans mingling with your own high pitched cries for him.

"C-Can I cum, Kenny?" You moaned out, and he nodded, panting and moaning himself.

"Cut for me, slut." Was all you needed to hear as you let yourself go, your orgasm crashing around you as your pussy tightened, moaning your lovers name over and over and pulling Kenny into his own orgasm, he gave a few hard, sloppy thrusts into you before you felt his load fill you up both of you moaning out for each other, both of your panting, sweating messes.

Kenny gently say you down on the bed, running to the bathroom to grab you a towel to clean yourself up, and he cleaned himself up too, before pulling on his boxers and laying beside you.

You just about managed to pull your panties on and throw on one of Kenny's tees before cuddling into your partners side.

"That was incredible, Ken. I love you." You whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, and he returned your kiss back, his touch now so gentle compared to mere moments ago.

"It was, baby. I love you too." Kenny said, his arms tightly wrapped around your small frame, both of you slowly beginning to drift off into dreamland together.

Sorry it took a while guys!! I've had a lotta things going on lately, but I hope you guys enjoy this!! I've lots more requests coming out!!

[microraptorreactor]

Hello! It's time, I'm making my (somewhat rabid) speculation on eliksli biology while waiting for the next act of Revenant. This speculation is wholly mundane, but good fun for me. Long post, so it's below the cut!

Now, my first note that informed much of this post:

Riis was fucking DANGEROUS.

Or dangerous for pre-Traveler Eliksni, anyways. I have a pretty simple reason for this, and that's because Eliksni have a lot of kids. Seriously.

Irl, often the more babies an animal has per pregnancy is linked to how likely any individual is to survive to adulthood. I'm going to drastically oversimplify things here, but the more likely any individual offspring is to die, the more offspring the animal has. Any individual juvenile insect is very, VERY likely to die, so most insect species have hundreds. Tiger cubs have a 40% chance to make it to adulthood, so tigers have 2-4 cubs in a litter. Only animals with very high infant survival rates (humans, elephants, whales, etc.) can afford to put all their resources into one offspring.

Eliksni have about four offspring per gestation. Probably. We'll get into the nitty-gritty later. To my knowledge, there aren't any crustations that have clutch sizes that small, so to figure out approximate survival rates, I'm looking to mammals. For lions, another large social apex species that also has between 1-4 offspring per gestation, the survival rate for offspring is about 20%. This lines up perfectly with Eliksni. To me, that says it was tough being an Eliksni and shit was killing them all the time. Pre-Traveler contact, those adorable hatchlings were dying all the time.

"But Spire, why did you say probably an average of four?" You may cry, shaking your screen. Or not, I don't know. That's because of the exitance of Eggcloth! While, to my knowledge, the exact way eggcloth is created is unknown, one thing we do know is that it's made of the shells of eliksni eggs. And the only time this is mentioned it is in reference to crushing an egg. The specific line I'm getting this from I'm going to dig into, so I'll put the full thing here.

I should have crushed his egg and woven it into cloth; a regret I will always carry. "

Inaaks' great life regrets aside (no wonder Misraaks has mommy issues), she mentions destroying an egg and turning it into cloth. While it could be argued that this IS drastic, and she's just desperate, why would she turn it into cloth if it was? And eggcloth is a relatively common material made of broken eggs, as can be gathered elsewhere[1][2]. While in Achilles Weaves A Cocoon those broken eggs may have been broken on accident, with the other mention of crushing eggs in The Long Dark, I'm really not sure that's the case.

So, my theory is it's possible Eliksni clutches are larger then 4. It's just that more then four hatchlings need more recourses then most Eliksni can give, and the excess eggs are crushed and turned to eggcloth. One could argue eggcloth is usually made from the discarded shells of hatched eggs, but the fibrous material inside Eliksni eggs [1] may be ruined when the egg hatches, since it's only ever referenced to be made from broken eggs.

And now, let's talk about Eliksni teeth! It's confusing. I'll start by breaking it down.

I've divided Eliksni jaws into three sections (yes, I did figure out Blender just for this post lmao). It appears there might be a fourth section of teeth behind 3, but I can't get a good enough shot to figure out what those teeth would be used for.

This is the outermost section of teeth that are definetly for eating. They appear long and thin, with the exception of two cusped-like teeth on the front of the upper jaw. Thanks to this being an old model, the teeth are INCREADIBLY low-poly. What I can tell is that this layer of teeth is long, thin, sharp, and close together.

This is a pair of sharp and large teeth. While similar in appearence to rodent teeth, there is no corrisponding teeth on the upper jaw. I'll dig into this one soon.

This is the inner section of teeth. I have problems with how this inner section was handled. I will get to those problems in time.

I'll start with what's clear to me. Section 1, the outer teeth, are most likely for eating fish. Long, thin teeth like that are usually seen in aquatic animals that eat fish, as those thin teeth pierce fish like a spear and keep them in place, or hold fish within the animal's mouth depending on the size.

Section 2 is strange. The main option that appeals to me is that these teeth are for cracking open fruits or nuts. These teeth also could be used for separating fruit from rinds, as Achilles uses his section 2 teeth for separating egg materials. The top of the mouth's corresponding structure doesn't quite line up for this. There isn't quite as much of a structure on the upper jaw to press against as one would expect for that purpose. Section 2 might also be for display.

Section 3.... how I dislike section 3. This is plain old lazy modeling. A second set of thin sharp teeth, point blank, does not make sense. With the current tooth setup, it would appear that Eliksni are purely piscivores. They are not. While the full diet of Eliksni is never mentioned, they are treated as if they are omnivorous. Most omnivores possess grinding teeth. The reasonable location for grinding teeth would be behind the piercing teeth, but these are not grinding teeth, so that caught fish wouldn't have to go far through the mouth to be chewed. The reason for this is because in 2014 Bungie wanted to design a monster. Not a creature that lived in an alien ecosystem, but another thing to mow down en-mass. It makes sense from a monster design standpoint, but ugh.

Anyways, notes I have for now! As I get The Garden-Way I may have more thoughts. Or this may be completely disproven! Who knows!

[bonebabbles]

Gray Wing is Not Their Father

It doesn't matter that the three children were born and brought up under Gray Wing. It doesn't matter that they never knew their father or that Gray Wing isn't their biodad until the day that Tom kidnapped them. It doesn't matter that Tom beat their mom and got her killed.

DOTC HATES adoption. It says very loudly that your sperm donor, no matter how fucking evil, neglectful, or abusive he was, will always be more special than the people who actually love and raise you.

"Doesn't it count for anything that I did my best to be a father to these kits?"

Nope! Magic genes! Super blood! Biological relevance is always important, even in the most cut-and-dry cases possible. Tom walks across the screen and activates a sleeper agent inside of his biokid's brains.

Doesn't matter how much you try. You can be one of the best examples of fatherhood in this RANCID series (and Gray Wing is really not winning awards, but the bar is SO low) and it still doesn't count at all. Magic Genes.

"I'm not your father, am I?"

The answer is no. Owl Eyes is skirting around it because he doesn't want to make Gray Wing upset. He has to find some other way to phrase that he wants to know about his "real" dad, which is not Gray Wing.

And that's why Gray Wing needs to have a fertile woman "bestowed" upon him at the end of this series so she can birth his kits. The book is saying very loudly he does not currently have children, because they aren't biological.

In the words of Wind Runner, he was "borrowing" Turtle Tail's kits to "pretend."

Slate has to be conjured up out of nowhere because they killed every potential woman for someone's man pain. Female characters are treated so poorly in this series, they're practically on the same level as objects. Things to be "won" and "deserved."

And then he doesn't raise those reward babies, and yet, they get to be considered Gray Wing's "real kids." More than people who actually knew him, or the people he really did raise.

Owl Eyes immediately cares immensely about this man he met once, who took him away from everything he knows, and lead to the death of his mother. He's so shaken he can't even go be there for his sister, who is mauled and might not survive.

Clear Sky is finally facing consequences for one of his actions................... and that action is allowing Tom the Wifebeater to get killed by One Eye.

Not the other billion counts of abuse and murder, nope. FEEL BAD THAT TOM IS DEAD, READER!! HE WAS THEIR FAATHER AFTER ALL.

[things-about-cars-in-posts]

Suzuki Cappuccino :) or other baby roadsters

Oh, I had a post in the chamber about exactly that! :D

So, Japan is pretty densely populated. Let's put it this way: one reason the Tokyo metro area couldn't do a huge and extremely weird cultural exchange where every citizen trades place with someone from Australia, Belgium or Slovenia, is there aren't enough Australians, Belgians and Slovenians combined to do that. So you can imagine it would be pretty advantageous to public life for people to drive small cars - hence the popularity of kei cars, a car class with huge tax benefits and tiny engine and dimensions limits. Those limits, positively minuscule when they were introduced to push bike makers to use their parts to make small cars, eventually increased to a 0.66L engine size and the dimensions below...

...and in the late 80s there was a "gentleman's agreement" whereby no one would make a kei car more powerful than 64hp, similar to the other gentleman's agreement whereby they agreed not to make cars with more than 276hp - which they cleverly addressed by equipping more powerful cars, like the Skyline GT-Rs, with unusual little devices called lies.

But now it's the 1990s -contrary to popular misconceptions- and Japanese businesses and customers have a problem: what the fuck do we do with all this money?

To truly convey the desperation with which cash was being thrown around like primate feces, Mazda created FIVE sub-brands (Amati, Autozam, ɛ̃fini, Xedos, and Eunos, brand under which they sold the Miata as Eunos Roadster) AND gave the SIXTH sub-brand M2 separate headquarters - these headquarters. In Tokyo.

M2 only ever made parts and some fringe prototypes, the most it produced were three Eunos Roadster-based limited versions - they cost twice as much as the original (and for good reason - one of them used leather deemed too expensive by the only other automaker to ever use it, Rolls Royce), but because economic bubble, they were so sought after they had to set up a lottery, Andrea was telling us, and as he got to the uber-limited production numbers (a combined 780), he explained that, since of course they were only sold in Japan, there were only five in the whole of Europe. He then raised his finger and, in one of the greatest flexes I have ever witnessed, pointed it around his huge, Miata-packed shed, counting "one, two, three, four, five".

S'yah, it turns out the world's biggest Miata collection is just owned by Some Guy in the middle of Italy, and if your kid ever gets dumped it is a wonderful place to take him to cheer him back up. Thanks, dad.

So clearly, this was a point in time where even people with no need nor wish nor space for a large second car, or a large car at all, could still be interested in a sportscar, thus spawning some briefly-lived but oh-so-brightly-burning kei sportscars, nicknamed ABC.

One of them being, indeed, the Suzuki Cappuccino.

Please remember, this car is positively lilliputian. It's 3.30m long. For the yankees in the audience, that's just 0.03 football fields. Here are some fun size comparisons.

The engine was front-mid and turbocharged...

...the roof was a fun puzzle that allowed you to have a T-Top coupe (with just the sides off), a targa (with the top part of the roof removed but the rear pillar of the roof still in place) or a spider (by folding the rear pillar and window down)...

...and it was NOT exclusive to Japan, with 12% of units being sold in the UK!

But since this was clearly asked by someone quite familiar with its generalities, some less-known quirks for the geeks:

It was the first kei car ever with double wishbones all around

The indicators changed between JDM and UK versions so if you've got the latter finding spares is 10 times harder

The hood release is in the glovebox and the fuel release is in the center console storage - the latter locks with a different key than the ignition uses, so if you hand just the latter to the valet you can keep them from siphoning your gas, but I'm yet to hear whether that also goes for the glovebox, so stay tuned for updates on whether you can also keep them from siphoning your washer fluid

Air gets to the engine (well, to the turbo) through the frame. Like, it gets into the frame, it travels inside the frame, and then gets out and is filtered. Now, you may ask yourself why they would do that.

While most cars had front disc brakes at the time, the less effective but cheaper drum brakes were usually used on the rear, which was fine since when a car brakes weight transfers to the front so the front wheels are the ones that get more grip and can thus brake harder anyway - so not only do you not need the rear wheels to have the same stopping power, you don't even want them to, because then the rear wheels would lock up before the front ones even got to their full braking potential. So when the Cappuccino got four wheel disc brakes, like every other car with four wheel disc brakes, it didn't put four discs of the same size all around. Unlike every other car with four wheel disc brakes, however, they put the bigger ones at the rear. A friend who owns one called the brakes "not amazing".

Then again, let's cut them some slack, it was the second kei car ever with four wheel disc brakes! Second, yes, because the Cappuccino was not the first kei-sized sportscar.

So, remember how with Ferrari, the last car to be signed off by its founder was a mid-engined, rear-wheel-drive, manual, record-setting, no frills two-seater sportscar? Well, the Japanese being famous overachievers, that goes for Soichiro Honda's last two.

Supposedly, Honda decided that its F1 engines hadn't kicked Ferrari's ass enough, so they set out to build a car as approachable, reliable and daily-life-friendly as a Honda yet faster through both straights and corners than a Ferrari. Or a Lamborghini. Or a Porsche- you get the idea. Thus, the NSX, seen here next to it is its test driver, tuning consultant and enthusiastic owner Ayrton Senna, best known for driving the car on the left into three championship wins, a bunch of "Greatest Of All Time" debates, and a wall that killed him.

But if your second-to-last car is a two seat, mid-engined, rear wheel drive sportscar with Pininfarina design, a 40mm short-throw manual, and a redline past 8000RPM, what do you do for your last one? Easy! Another!

This little bowl of pint-sized cuteness is the Honda Beat, and yes, that interior is not just factory, but was the only pattern available. Still, if you think the interior is the most outlandish part of this car, you haven't heard it.

Again, this engine was outsized by two Coke cans and the car it's in is no bigger than the Cappuccino, and you already know how... ah, screw it, let's show you a size comparison anyway.

Some geek facts:

It was the first mid-engine monocoque (as in not body-on-frame, not un-shark-like, you pervs) spider ever made! There were some targas before, but never a full-on spider

The stereo was custom to fit in the super-narrow center console between the two asymmetrical cabin spaces so the cassette slot has the same cute little Beat logo as the "Open Air Motoring!" branded floormats!

Gathers celebrated its 20th anniversary with a new touchscreen radio for it that is now uber-rare and uber-expensive

It had two trunks, which is lovely, except that the rear one had the battery and optional CD changer conspiring against you and the front was literally inside the spare tire, so it's good that you could also get a rear rack!

The rear rims are bigger than the front!

With how much cooler this is than the Cappuccino (sorry, friend who owns one) it's quite the shame Suzuki decided not to go forward with the mid-engine layout their kei sportscar development started with. At least, Mazda sure thought as much, asking Suzuki to please keep working on that idea and make a mid-engined kei sportscar for them to sell under their brand for the youth, Autozam. And thus we have the ABC - C for Cappuccino, B for Beat...

...and A for AZ-1. Think of how cool life was in Japan back in the day that this was a car for the youth.

Fun facts:

IT HAS GULLWING FUCKING DOORS

The spare tire was mounted in the front compartment but crashing made it jam the steering wheel in your chest so they sent owners a little bag and asked them to please put that tire behind the seats

GULLWING FUCKING DOORS

Suzuki sold a few of them themselves as the Cara

G U L L W I N G D O O R S

Sadly, it joined the party (JapaneseEconomicBoomfest, that is) just when it was ending. Hell, the Beat was sold for six years ('91 through '96) and two thirds of Beats sold are 1991s. That's how hard recession hit Japan right when the AZ-1 came out, which indeed sold a fraction of the other two.

But fear not: after decades, Honda blew the dust off the kei sportscar idea in 2015 with the gloriously sexy S660.

It did cease production last year, but at least it left the Japanese used market a kei sportscar with the modern amenities we (and by we I mean you spoiled pussies) cannot do without, like steering wheel controls and *squints* HDMI.

Oh by the way, remember how I said I was going to post about the Cappuccino? Well, it was because someone posted a picture of one with aftermarket taillights.

Guess what car was next to it when this picture was taken. Guess.

WRONG.

"What? Where was this?" At a Fiat 500 meeting, of course. And then people wonder why I love Japan so much.

Links in blue are posts of mine explaining the words in question - if you liked this post, you might like those!

[fictional-orphan-smackdown]

PENULTIMATE ROUND, MATCH 1!

All propaganda and what each competitor is from under the cut

The Baudelaire Orphans (A Series of Unfortunate Events)

The epitome of orphans, they’re the best

“I’m having a very terrible childhood right now”-Klaus

The story deadass begins with them being told that their parents died in a fire and that they're orphans now. They then bounce from guardian to guardian who tend to always meet a gruesome fate at the hands of Count Olaf. Not only have they been orphaned once, but have been orphaned multiple times and are called "The Baudelaire Orphans" by not only characters in the book but by the narrator himself. They're called "The Baudelaire Orphans" so many times that it might as well be a defining character trait of theirs, and honestly it sort've is. The series doesn't even end with them finding a home or guardians of any kind, it ends with the Baudelaires fate being completely ambiguous with them literally sailing away from the island they were stranded on in the final book (yeah this series is quite the journey, I highly suggest it). These poor three kids are probably the most orphaned kids of all time since their orphaned in a new way almost every book and they deserve at least one win in their unfortunate tale.

These guys are like the poster-child of orphaning, we open the series with them finding out that they're orphans and also have no access to their money so now they hop around from place to place from weirdo caretaker to another weird/crazy/murderous caretaker and it's all fun and games and murder and decieving and surviving and thriving and---my point is, these three are a wonderful trio of siblings who love and rely on one another through all their trials and tribulations.

Literally every single one of their problems come from being orphans. They’re continually referred to as orphans and the plot of the first half of the series is them being shuffled around to guardians.

These kids are so orphaned they never even get a found family outside themselves. At least most stories featuring orphaned kids see them fulfill some sorta epic destiny or have them find a new home or set of loved ones of sorts. The Baudelaires? They're thrown from one fucking failure of a home into the next, ignored, hunted, etc.. It's been years but like, even in the end, they still have to set sail alone. As individual characters, they aren't bad either. Violet's the dependable big sister who's knack for inventions comes in handy, Klaus is a well-read chap and Sunny is a lovely gremlin. They make a good trio.

Every single guardian they try to obtain throughout the series turns out to be someone who wants the large inheritance left for them and is willing to do whatever it takes to get it.

They basically fend for themselves the whole series when no adult will listern to them. The whole series is them being resourceful and clever the whole series despite the misfortune. Violet is a brilliant inventor, Klaus reads and collects knowledge, and Sunny learns to be a good cook over the series

their parents die tragically in a fire and then everything awful proceeds to happen to them

I haven't read these books in years but if any orphans deserve to win a smackdown it's these fools, they are constantly in the trenches in those books goddamn. Also that baby is like a shredder they have that on their side, I think that beast literally solo'd a snake?

(This one was specifically for Klaus, but I'll put it here still) He and his sisters being orphans is kinda the point. As in many books, it's the trigger for them to change lives and navigating hardships. The thing is, their hardships just grow worse and "unfortunate" (read "dreadful") events keep happening to them as they stick together instead of the story getting better. Klaus and Violet become Sunny's subtitute parents and get through their more and more miserable lives together keeping hope things would eventually get better

Arguably more famously orphaned than Bruce Wayne, if not for how their story happens while they’re orphaned children versus an orphaned adult. Definitely have the most famously tragic post-orphaning story. All three are incredibly brilliant in their own way, including the literal baby. Pursued relentlessly by the leader of a maniacal theater troupe and letdown by a slew of adults, so it’s all the more impressive how amazing they each turned out to be. Book series was so good it got turned into a pretty great movie and then a successful TV show years later. Also can’t forget how these three are orphaned repeatedly as the distant relatives who take them in get killed off in increasingly inventive manners. Let’s be honest, ain’t no characters out here orphaning like the Baudelaire orphans.

this series taught me so many cool words and phrases and I love each of the 3 main characters so much

Violet, Klaus, and Sunny are peddled from caretaker to caretaker over the course of 13 books, always being chased by the evil Count Olaf who wants to steal the Baudelaire fortune that the children are meant to inherit once they reach a certain age.

Spoilers ahead, the Baudelaires siblings story starts with them going from being the Baudelaire kids to the Baudelaire orphans, after their parents pass away in a mysterious fire. But they arent the only paternal figures that they lost, they go from tutor to tutor, almost all the good ones dying in front of them, and even the ones that survive at first their future is uncertain since the last time the kids see them they are blindfolded in a burnind building, and we never found out who make it out alive and who didnt. Even the main villian, Count Olaf their first tutor, and the only constant adult in their life after their parents death ends up dying in front of them. These three are orphans ten times over.

They are THE orphans. They have lost not only their parents but multiple guardians that they went to live with as well.

They're THE Orphans. The childhood book orphans we all read, Orphans Prime if you will. They lose their parents, every caregiver who's ever kind to them, then say fuck it and live on a deserted island on their own to raise themselves abd fully embrace their orphan status. On the island, they learn their parents survived the shipwreck then died again - double orphaning even.

OH MY SWEET LITTLE CHILDREN THAT FUELED MY LOVE FOR READING AND THE MACABRE Violet- Won her first of many invention competitions when she was five with an automatic rolling pin (comprised of a window shade and six pairs of roller skates). Extremely innovative and genius, foiled by her kindness to others. And she knows how to make a Molotov cocktail. Klaus- Absolute monster of a bibliophile, conducts research for fun, and has a photographic memory. He is known to want nothing more than "a good book, a comfy chair, and the warm glow of a reading lamp". He also is a Herman Melville fan, which is points for him in my book. Sunny- Most people know her only for her penchant for biting, but Sunny is a distinctly distinguished character. She has sharp wit (as long as you can read it through her babbles), her poker skills are phenomenal for a baby, and she has quite the knack for cooking! Also yeah, the teeth. She climbed an elevator shaft with them once.

They are constantly going through it, give these kids a break for real

Chuck e' Cheese (Restaurant/family entertainment center chain)

Charles Entertainment Cheese grew up in St. Marinara orphanage and he loved singing, especially happy birthday. But he didn't know his own birthday (because he is an orphan) so all he could do was celebrate other kids' birthdays. His favourite part was the pizza. He also loved playing Pong and he went to New York City after winning $50 in a Pong tournament.

[androgynousblackbox]

Can't Remember To Forget You. 8 [Radioapple, Appleradio]

Chapter 8: Just Give Me A Reason

Alastor wheezed, so suddenly and strong, that his usual laughter came out like a agonizing hyena.

"Are you still wondering about that?" asked and then laughed even more because, frankly, that was the only thing he could even think to do in such a fucking ridiculous situation. "Oh my goodness! You just can't handle the idea that there is something about someone that you don't know about, do you?"

Vox blinked, his eyes coming back to normal. Realizing that his power had absolutely no effect on him and pissed off about it. He laughed some more until he fell to his side. There was no way for him to stop it. Everything was just too fucking funny.

"I have revised literally every footage that there was about you, even from before I came to Hell. I had talked with literally every fucker in this ring that could know anything about you and not a single one, not one, could tell me shit about your stupid ass family!" Vox was no longer sitting in his chair, flashes of Alastor's glitched out faces crossing his screen, footage of other Overlords talking to Vox, even a brief aparition of Mimzy fluttering her eyelashes. "Oh, sure, people told me about all those partners you have been showing off around" Images of Alejandro walking on the streets next to Alastor, Honey floating in the air to kiss his cheek, and other faces that Lucifer had been using through out the years, always looking up to him, always close. Alastor recognized all of them, he could even remember the circumstances in which those dates happened, but they were gone too soon for him to find any comfort in them and leaving only the anger of Vox in full display."I investigated all of them, and you know what I found? Oh, yeah, people talked to them! Some of them even consider them friends! But houses? Work? Life outside of you? FUCKING NOTHING! It's like they only ever existed to go out with you! So, of course, my very first idea is that you have all these people kidnapped on some fucking hole somewhere and take them out to walk them around whenever it tickles your fancy. You have tortured or brainwashed them so throughfully that they have their Stockholm Syndrome down to perfection, so even if they have the chance to escape they won't do it!"

"A logical conclusion to reach" Alastor cackled some more barely opening his mouth.

"My next idea is that it was all just an ilusion you made to your own shadow. We are not going to pretend now that you are above some dosage of narcisism! So you wanted to kiss your own reflection under a different mask. Weird kink to have, but hey, I don't judge! Until you appeared with a fucking baby and literally all of that was out of the window with a hole in its head. Because you aren't blonde. None of those fuckers you were with were blonde. So either you were bleaching the hair of your own infant child, which would be fucked up even for me, or you had them with someone completely different that wasn't either of them. And then" Vox grabbed the chair and stomped it in the ground for some emphasis, sitting down with the back of the furniture against his chest, "you throw at me all that fucking bullshit about having not one, not two, but three kids in fucking total and other dimensions and whatever the fuck else! So you were either high as fuck, completely making shit up, while bleaching the hair of your own kid, by the way, or you have been having an entire life fucking Charlie Morningstar!"

That shut up Alastor faster than a ballet to head ever could. He stared at Vox like he had never heard or seen anything more repulsive in his entire life. A shiver ran up his spine and he barely managed to contain the bilis that pushed its way up his throat.

"Good grief, don't say those words ever again. Have some decency at least if you don't have any dignity left."

"THEN WHAT!" Sparks jumped out between the antena on top of Vox's head, flashing in red colors. "Tell me what the fuck I have been missing! I stole all the data from that detective you ate already and nothing adds up! No one is that good at keeping secrets! Just tell me what the fuck is going on. Or I swear, Alastor, I can turn up the intensity of the lights even more and leave you there for the next century!"

"Alright" Alastor sighed as he pushed himself up, to sit on his ass again. "I think I have entertained your little fantasy enough already. I do have to say, though, you had the right idea. Something like this whole set up could have been effective two years ago. Back then, you could have totally got me and be slightly more than an annoyance. Now? You came way too late for that" added, standing up casually as he threw the blessed rope back to Vox, all the knots undone. Vox took a step back as it were a living snake hissing at him. "As for your little christmas lights? It's down right adorable that you think they mean anything to me."

As he spoke that way, he elevated himself in the air, sound the static filling the air as the lights around him flickered and blinked. It was merely for a few seconds, but Vox could still see the darkness full of sigils of Alastor whenever the lights turns off, only to dissapear the next second. Until suddenly Alastor came back to the floor and all the lights were on.

The message had been delivered loud and clear already. Alastor could have gotten away any moment he wanted to. But he wasn't doing it and he couldn't understand that either.

"And yet you are still here" said, somehow managing to get out a chuckle through his own nerves. "You could have kill me the entire time. Did the darts even do anything to you?"

"By the second batch, I just pretended to be asleep to see where they were planning to take me" Alastor grinned. "Imagine what a delightful surprise for me was to find out that my good old pal was the one who commisioned my capture. Surely, Vox must have some kind of plan here! Some brilliant idea that he no doubt felt like he could pull off perfectly! All of that, just to bring me here and basically gossip about my private life. Talk about a let down."

"Again, you are the one that is still here" Vox reached a quick hand to grab the chair and put it in front of him, as if that could work as his shield. "Why?"

"I told you, didn't I?" Alastor sat again, casually resting his elbow on his knee to cup his cheek. "I am just so bored. Sure, I could kill you right now. But you went through all this trouble and I have nothing else to do or nowhere else to go, so might as well talk a little bit. You were right in that I do love much to do that."

Vox squinted his eyes, reluctantly leaving the chair on the floor again.

"Nowhere to go, huh?" said cautiously. "What-what happened with the other parent of the kid? They kicked you out?"

"Oh, no, not at all. He didn't have to. We are just… on a mutually agreed upon break."

Vox quickly covered up his mouth to drown out the laughter that almost escaped him. At the first sound of it, the static in the air started to increase and the lights around Alastor flickered again in warning.

"I mean!" Vox cleared his throat, chuckling again. "Who doesn't have one of those, am I right! They are even a healthy part of any good relationship! A time to reflect, a time to see your other options. Completely normal to go through that."

"Oh, no, we are having none of that" said Alastor calmly. "That man can have whatever opinion he wants about me, but he is still mine. There is no escaping that as long any of us exist. If he ever tries to see other options, I will make sure they all find as quick and painful end as I can make it. Likewise, the thought of ever looking at anyone else is so far away from my mind is not even an option at all. As I said before, this is just a temporary situation."

"Huh" Vox slowly came back to his chair. "What did you even do? Forgot to clean up the blood off the floor?"

"What kind of uncivilized monster have you taken me for?" Alastor huffed, brushing his hair back. "Nothing as rude as that. I just destroyed his sense of reality and made his mind to attack him in such a way now he is convinced I am planning to kill him, any good associations he had about me entirely erased as if they never existed" He shrugged, letting his chin rest on top of his knee. "But that is nothing I can't fix anyway, so it's fine."

"Uhu" Vox made his lips into a thin line for a moment, almost containing himself. And failing in the end. "So that is why you have been eating and killing people at random all over the city?"

"What? No, why any of that would have anything to do? Can't a radio demon just want to indulge on some lethal fun for the sake of it? I told you already, I was bored anyway. Bored enough to talk to you even."

"Well, don't I feel appreciated" Vox tried to imprint some politeness in his tone as he finally let himself sat down. He cleared his throat once again. "Did you… intend to break his sense of reality? Or you just don't like that he find out you did it?"

"It was… an impulsive act of the moment. An unintentional misstep" Alastor sighed, rubbing his face as he pulled his hair back. "He was saying very stupid things. Questioning as to why I was bothering with him. Telling me I should want better things. All because he was way too stupid to realize that if I was ever spending a single second around him, it was because I already decided it was worth it. And he had the audacity to say that I was being too nice to him! Can you believe that? When has it ever been the case that I have been nice without a purpose? Too nice to anyone?!"

"Can't think of any example" admitted Vox, deadpan.

"Exactly! So obviously, that man was talking pure nonsense. And I may have reacted a little more strongly that it was strictly warranted, something completely understandable for anyone in my position, which take us to our current situation."

"That is almost an admition of guilt, Alastor" pointed out Vox with a soft chuckle. "He really got you that bad, huh?" said and immediately shrunk on himself, waiting for a response of Alastor.

There was only the sound of more static filling the air as Alastor looked to a side, a slight frown in his face.

"Like I said, it doesn't matter anymore" continued after a while. "I will just wait until the dust has settled a bit and just get back. He can hate me if he likes, it won't make a difference. We have a kid to raise after all. He is not getting rid of me that easy."

"Three!" Vox perked up. "You said three kids. One older than your oldest, apparently! I bet that there is must be a pretty interesting story behind that. Like how you two met at all and why the fuck I can't find any record of him."

"Mmmm" Alastor hummed pensatively, tapping his chin. Finally he let out a sigh and shrugged. "I guess that is as good of a topic as any. At this point there is no chance of him even remembering any of it either, so there is not much of a point to hold on to those memories anymore."

"Yeah, yeah, exactly! So tell me everything you can."

Alastor lifted his head towards him.

"I am not mentioning any names, so we are clear. For no other reason I don't feel like giving you those."

"That is… fine" said Vox, grinding his virtual teeth. "Yeah, no, that is totally cool by me! Just whatever you feel like telling me will be enough."

"Well" Alastor reclined over his hands, extending his legs over the floor in front of him. He snapped his fingers and a small black portal opened up behind him, indifferent to all the light. Vox took a second to recognize the bottle as one of the scotch of their corporative bar for business meeting. Alastor did make sure the logo was in plain view of the screen as he took his first huge gulp. "To put it simply, we married by mistake during a binder in Las Hellgas when neither of us planned for it. It was mostly his fault, I just got involved with it. Anyway, when we woke up the next morning, he said that his undying love for me would have him doing anything for me and I thought, huh, that is neat, I never had a slave before at that point, so we decided to continue married for as long we wanted to. In the way we had our first child through magical means that I discovered myself, humbly speaking, of course, and then adopted an older child. At some point I died, as you well know, and then came back, as you also know, which unfortunately did nullify the marriage because of that whole until death do us part condition, which is stupid if you think about it because at least 90% of the people in this ring are dead anyway. But I digress.

"He was still desperately, stupidly, obssesively in love with me, the poor fool, so he proposed again to get married. I didn't know why bother at that point, but I saw no harm on it either so I said sure, why not. If he ever ever kicks the buckett it will make it easier for me to inherit all his assets, so there was that to look forward to! Unfortunately he got sucked into another dimension before we could sign any document making it official. Then I was dragged to where he was, I still don't know why, so don't bother asking. I think I was already pregnant at that point? Yes, I was. I find out during another little rampage because I got so bored without my little slave around to keep me entertained. On that other dimension I happened to know another version of myself who fancied my little slave and I said no, no, no, that one is mine. He may me small and annoying and so overdramatic like you wouldn't believe, but I caught him first so you can go die on a ditch and keep your filthy paws away.

We eventually came back. But that was a relief short lived before we got captured by some powerful people. People who wouldn't listen no matter what we said."

"Heaven" said Vox suddenly and Alastor stared at him. The TV demon shrugged. "That was an easy enough deduction to make. All the cameras that tried to capture you were fried, but they all fried in direction to the portal opened up by Heaven. After that last extermination was done, you were gone for months. I thought they had killed you again, but no, that would be too nice. Instead, the first thing I hear about you is that not only you are back, you are carrying a little spawn that looks nothing like any of the partners people saw you with before" Vox frowned, lifting a finger. "Wait a minute. If you were… not married to that guy, then who the fuck were those people?"

"Paid actors" said Alastor easily, taking another long sip of the bottle. "I couldn't be seen with him in public. Didn't you hear about how small he was? Such a tiny little date was just going to ruin my style, so we paid those people so I had something to do while he was doing my betting somewhere else. You are right that they technically do not exist, because those were all just characters I made up for them to play. It made him insanely jelous too, the insecure cretin, so that is why I kept doing it. Little slaves should know already their place and that they can't dictate the will of their masters. It was a nice lesson for him."

"But you proposed to one of them? I don't have any footage of that, but there were plenty of witnesses. You used the head of some guy for it? A succubus chick?"

"That? That was just a little prank I thought in the moment. I thought it would be funny to see what the actor would do with that material and I have to admit, they pulled it off wonderfully. We looked like an actual real couple there. It was so entertaining when he find out too. We weren't married and I was already giving a ring to someone else. Hilarious" Alastor let oug a chuckle as he took another gulp from the bottle. When he finished it all, he turned upside down the whole way to get to the last drop and then let it roll away before he conjured up another exactly the same, but full. "Oh, and at some point he got hit in the head pretty badly and that is how he lost his memory of me, our life and our baby. Not our other children, though, which I guess is the silver lining. I lost my patience with him one time while he was on that state and my little slave did not look at me the same way ever since. So that is the current situation. I am just biding my time until I can fix it."

"Okay" Vox took a deep breath, putting his two indez finger against his mouth as he reflected. "So you never told anyone about your husband because… it cramped your style. What about your other children? Why keep them in the dark too? And if you are going to do that with them, why not the baby too?"

"Vox, I don't expect you to know this, but when you are a parent you care about your kids having a little thing we call privacy. Also, why I would tell anyone? Those are my kids, not yours. Get your own if you want to know what that is like. As for Artemis" said, opening the bottle with a tentacle and drinking another quick sip, "I said fuck it. I am stronger now, I can kill anyone that thinks it would be fun to mess with them. At that point I was technically a single father and my babysitter of choice had a life of her own, so my options were more limited now than the other times."

"And how long were you with that husband of yours? Before the whole dying, reviving, other dimension, which I still do not understand by the way, but let's move on, Heaven and hit in the head that made him lost his memory."

"What date is it today?" asked Alastor, realizing he sincerely had no the slightest idea.

Vox told him so and then he nodded, processing that piece of information, and let it jump out of his head.

"It would have been 86 years if we had stayed together the whole way through. Before the point we got separated the first time, it was 85 years of marriage. So I guess 85 was the final record."

"W-what" Vox pronnounced the word like he was spitting a specially thick portion of coffee in shock. But there was no coffee, so he could only stare dumbfounded to Alastor as he just drank again. "What the fuck, Alastor?! Are you seriously saying that you have been married, with kids, literally the entire time I have known you? Almost all the time you have been in hell?"

"Indeed" Alastor whispered to the bottle. Then he shrugged. "Not that it matters anymore. We never intended to be married in the first place. It was all a… comedy of errors that was convenient for me. Nothing else."

"Wow" Vox laughed, crossing his arms. "I might not be the most best guy to say this, in fact, I might be the worst one, but that is just such a pile of bullshit I could smell it from the first floor. Fucking nobody stays married that fucking long to anybody, they have multiple children together, new baby included, and give a fuck of who they are looking at, just out of convenience. Who the fuck do you expect to fool with that? How stupid do you think…"

The words of Vox got cut out when the bottle that Alastor was holding suddenly crashed against his screen, cracking it, as the rest of the liquid still left spread over the rest of his suit. Vox moved his hands in front of him, blind, mute, but not deaf.

"I don't remember asking for any review" warned Alastor, his magic hissing and twisting around him as his eyes turned into green dials that Vox could not appreciate, even if he lifted his head towards the sound. Alastor scoffed. "Everyone thinks they are critics."

Vox patted his suit and his pocket. On the front of his chest, he got what he was looking for and he pulled out his phone to hold it in front of him. His own face appeared there.

"Alright, so you don't like constructive criticism, got it!" said Vox, sneering. "Sensitive much?!"

"Aren't all your questions answered already?" said Alastor, gnarling. "You wanted to reveal the big mystery, there you have it. That is all you are ever going to get. Are you done?"

"The fuck we are!" Vox's body stand up, gripping the phone. "I know you are still keeping stuff away from me! And I will get it sooner or later!"

"What makes you think I couldn't just easily move away from here just like I stole those bottles from you already?"

Vox rolled his eyes.

"If you wanted to do that, you would have done so already."

Alastor pursed his lips.

"Fair point" admitted, his ears still twitchig. "Still doesn't mean I have to tell you anything."

"If you cooperate, I will bring you enough booze to drown out the entire Envy Ring. The best shit I can get. I can… throw a couple of low earners into the mix if you want."

"I could just enjoy both of them without your help."

"And do what? Go where, Alastor?" Vox sighed. "Just play nice with me and I can play nice back."

Alastor rolled his eyes and laid on the floor made entirely of light destined to weak him, completely useless for it.

"Yeah, fine" said finally the voice of the radio demon. "I have some spare time I can waste. Just keep those bottles and bodies coming and I might, I repeat, might feel generous. And Vox" called without changing positions, just when Vox was turning away towards the door.

"What?"

"He was never jelous of you. Despite how obvious you have always been about me. You never represented any kind of threat to bother with."

"Fuck you."

With that, Vox got out and Alastor closed his eyes. One snape of fingers later, he had another bottle to hold. In a few minutes, the door would open up again to bring him even more. The lights blasting through his eyelids at every second, not giving him any peace, were also a nice distraction.

Everyone at the hotel was treated to a similar sounds. That being the crying of a baby as Lucifer was trying to comfort them, all the while preparing baby formula.

"Argh, again?" groaned Angel as the rest of the resident came with him. "If I ever said I wanted children, forget about it."

Lucifer pouted as he still rocked little Artemis, letting their little lungs out afainst his shoulder.

"To think they used to laugh so easily before" sighed almost to himself, kissing the blonde head.

The rest of the presents resigned themselves to sit at the table. Most of them tried to ignore the noise, while others were trying to cover their ears whatever ways they could as they tried to start breakfast.

"You know why they are in distress, papa" Charlie sighed, taking over the preparing the baby formula so Lucifer could use both hands with Artemis to rock them.

"I know, but don't look at me! I am not the one who went up and left my baby after my little attempt against someone failed!" Lucifer protested, making kissy faces to Artemis, with very little effect. "It's okay, little buddy, it's okay."

"Yeah, because he is toootally going to enjoy staying at the place where someone is convinced that he wants to murder you or whatever" couldn't help to add Charlie, before shaking her head as he went on to prepare the bottle. "I don't know why I bother."

Lucifer frowned at her briefly as he sat in one of the chairs, making appear some tea for him.

"Really shows the signs of a innocent man, huh? Running away as soon you got find out. I think you are forgetting that I am not the one who kicked him out, honey. I was willing to let him stay and maintain a healthy distance while keeping him monitored so he wouldn't try any other shit against anyone else. Instead, the guy just left. Was I supposed to stop him?"

Charlie groaned. Vaggie came up to her and rubbed her back, which did relaxed her a bit. She finished with the bottle, tested it out that it wasn't too hot, exactly as Alastor taught her, and only then went to give it to Lucifer without another word. Lucifer hold it with magic for Artemis to drink and they all collectively sighed at once when the baby actually drank, their crying done for the moment.

"Sir" said Husk with a profound, deep sigh, uncovering his ears. "I am literally the last person in Hell that is ever going to advocate for that guy's good heart. But even I think you might have the wrong impression over what happened."

"Yeah, that really wasn't I am going to murder you clothing or make up, your Majesty. That would have been even hotter" commented Angel, shoving a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. "A lot more cleavage."

Lucifer frowned again, this time not really directed at Husk, as he rubbed one of his temples. First a pressure of the finger, but then holding his knuckles against his chins as his brow furrowed.

"Why is everyone acting as if this my fault?"

"It's not" said Emily, sitting next to him to squeeze his shoulder. "It's really not. Forget about it, papa. We all just wants what is best for Artemis."

"And I don't?"

"Of course you do. Nobody doubts that" Emily gave him a little smile. "Let's not fight, please?"

Lucifer let his shoulders fall.

"Yeah. Sure, honey" said, squeezing her hand back.

Sooner than later, the whole bottle of Artemis was empty. Before Lucifer could do anything about it, the baby moved their head out the way and renewed their crying as if never stopped. For everyone's collective displeasure.

"Hey, buddy, how about a little walk around the garden, huh?" Lucifer stand up, rocking them again as he walked to the door. "Let's see the pretty flowers. Would you like that? Pretty flowers, all for my pretty little rascal. Come on. Maybe this time you can have a nap that lasts more than one hour! Wouldn't that be something?"

As soon they were both out of there, they all relaxed again as the cries of Artemis got lost. Charlie cleared her throat, holding onto her mug.

"I finally contacted dad" said, before taking a sip.

Emily immediately straighten up in her chair, looking at her.

"You did? What did he say? Is he okay? Does he needs us to go pick him up?"

"Not… really" Charlie pursed her lips. Vaggie took her other hand over the table and locked their fingers together. "He… was still killing people. And I think he was a little drunk. He only calls me Charlotte when he is drunk."

"But was he okay?" insisted Emily. Charlie exchanged a look with her until she turned away. "Stupid question, I know."

"He said he doesn't plan to keep away forever" continued on Charlie. "I don't know how much time that means. It could be a week, it could be a month. Maybe more? But he kept insisting that we shouldn't worried about him."

"That is comforting" let out Emily with a scoff. "So we are supposed to just wait around until he decides to come back on his own?"

"I don't know what else we could do" Charlie shrugged with a pained expression. "We can't force him to come back and papa is not going to do it either. I already tried. It only gave him a migraine and Artemis wouldn't stop crying."

"Maybe there is something else we could do here?" said Vaggie. "What did Stolas or Vassago said?"

"No news from them either. They just think that if the contact with each other's magic was the thing to work the first time, then it could do it again. But dad kinda would need to be here for his magic to be present at all" She sighed, taking another sip.

Emily tilted her head contemplating her hand. When Charlie put her mug down, she reached over to take it on her, her thumb running over the red tips.

"His magic" she whispered and then smacked her own forehead. "It's so obvious! Why I didn't think about it sooner!"

"Emily" called Charlie with a frown, concerned and confused at the same time.

"Charlie, you have papa's magic all over you! You were made from it!" Emily's eyes twinkled with her revelation. "We don't need him, we have you already!"

--

Vox lifted his sleeve to look at his watch. It had been already give minutes since he heard the last scream. He could only assume that Alastor had finally finished with their interns. Clearing his throat before preparing his winning smile, he opened up.

"Hello! Everything going well here?" asked, just as something he couldn't tell what it was got unstuck from the door and slipped to the floor. "I see you have kept yourself busy" commented with a little tilt, walking over various body parts. Alastor was back at the center of the lights, making a head roll with his hand while drinking with his other. The white lights were still blinding, but now there were some splashes of blood to give them a red tint and points where the lights was coming from under the body parts.

"They were not as tender as I expected" commented Alastor, lifting the head by the hair, looking at the two black holes where eyes used to be. "They were all scared even before I did anything to them. Scared, but not surprised. I could only imagine the kind of treatment your employees get on the regular for that to happen."

"It's a tough business out there. They knew the consequences the moment they ever solicited work here. If not, then, well, you can't do anything against pure idiocy" commented Vox without any shame, picking up his chair, that miracously only had a few drops of blood in the back and sitting in front of im. "So, how was the drink?"

"Passable" Alastor threw away the head and took another gulp, passing it down with a shrug. "My husband can create better ones."

"You have said that about the last option too. That one costs more than the entire neighborhod where your lived" Vox pointed through gritted virtual teeth. Seeing as Alastor did not react to his comment, he took a breath and let it go. "Quite the development that you are back refering to him as your husband instead of your little slave. I thought dead did you part already?"

"I was dead from the start, obviously that doesn't count" explained Alastor with an sneer. "I never signed any divorce papers, so he is still my husband. Whether he sees it like that or not is irrelevant. It doesn't change the facts."

"Makes sense" said Vox with perfectly agreeable grin. "So, now that you have taken your meal and insulted my selection of drinks, again, do you feel like talking to me about the whole another dimension thing?"

"What is there to talk about? We never found out how it happened or how I end up there. My husband tried to come back, but was unabled to do so. I got bored so I joined him on a whim. He told me about how miserable he was without me, about how he needed me there, about how he needed pills to cope with my abscence and, honestly, I don't know how I didn't die a third time of laughter at how pathetically that tiny man kept insisting he could barely keep on without me. Clearly, keep some semblance of self respect was never one of his priorities. But that is what made him so obedient, I guess" He shrugged again, taking another long sip.

"How did you join him into that other dimension? You had to know the way for it to be on a whim, surely."

"I got lucky. All was completely intentional, of course. It was all part of my plan to get our life back in track again and so he could continue to follow my command. Away from that other weaker version of me who thought he could watch what was mine. I obviously succedeeded in the end so it was the right decision from my part."

"But how did you get there?" insisted Vox when Alastor finished the bottle, letting it roll away from him.

"That was so long ago, my memory is a little fuzzy still" Alastor laid back against the floor, using his hands as a pillow and crossing his legs. Like he didn't had no rush at all. "Maybe next time bring less terrified prey to see if we can unlock something."

"Duly noted" Vox said, actually making a note for later in his system. "Well, what about the children then?"

"What about them?"

"I don't know, anything! Do you have any favorites? Do they actually like you? How old are they?"

"Do I have any…" Alastor lifted himself on his arms, glaring at him. "What kind of parent do you think I am? Of course there are no favorites. They are all my fawn so they are all perfect, strong, smart and delightful in every way. You would be so lucky to even get to be in the same room as any of them. Favorites. Really showing your own family issues right there, Vox."

"Even the adopted one? That one you didn't had anything to do with their creation."

"Why do you think I adopted them in the first place?" Alastor huffed, laying back. "It was my decision, after all. One of the best I ever made. They are brilliant. It was thanks to them that we managed to get back."

"I thought you didn't remember how it happened."

"I know they were involved and are smarter than you for it."

"Mature."

"Shut up."

Vox sighed deeply and started to stand up, giving that first encounter into a waste, when Alastor talked again.

"Vox, when was the last time you made a deal?"

"Random question, but okay" Vox sat again, crossing his arms as he looked in his own memory. "Yesterday I think? To arrange the contract of some actor for a reality show. Why?"

"Just curious. I don't remember the last time I made one."

Vox snorted a little, before he could hide it under a polite cough when he felt the black eyes of Alastor sending him daggers. An Overlord admitting they haven't made a deal in a while was like a painter saying they had forgotten what was like to hold a brush.

"Well" Vox fixed his bowtie unconsciously, regaining his composure. "You did had quite the journey for what you very vaguely have implied. I can't imagine that up there in Heaven you would be given lots of chances to do one. I am sure it will come back to you."

"I didn't mean that I don't know how" remarked Alastor, with an irritated note. "I feel like I could have strike one with any of your little internet to convince them to kill and prepare their coworkers for me. That is the thing about reaching the positions that we have, Vox. You never can forget that instictive need of looking out for your best interest and waiting for the better angle that best benefit you. We are like vultures in that way. Waiting to smell the tiniest bit of weakness in our prey before jumping down to take as much we can before anyone else does. We take advantage of the worst moments or impulses of the people we met. Their problems, their struggles, they are anything but amusing if not useful. Deals are how we obtain our power after all. A careful web of favors and moving pieces that we operate with every handshake, by repeating over and over that people can trust us, that it's for their own wellbeing too. They are easy for us. Absurbidly so."

"Okay?" said Vox, with no clue where any of that was going.

"Have you ever had an issue with it, though? Maybe a prey that you can't bring yourself to extend your hand to? Even if you know is the best thing for the two of you and it wouldn't bring any negative consequences whatsoever?"

"Mmm" Vox barely had to think about it at all, but he made a show of considering it anyway. "Nope. Can't think why or how I wouldn't just do it. For what you describe, it sounds like I would have to be pretty stupid to let pass an oportunity like that one. Why?" added with a chuckle, barely containing himself. "You failed into making one? You?"

"To fail you would have to try in the first place, Vox, and I never did" Alastor sighed thought his nose, covering his eyes with his forearm. "In order to make a deal I would have to see them as another fool to be used. I didn't want to do that, not even for a second, so I didn't. I let hundreds of moment of weaknesses pass by without even thinking in how to use it, even though I had a lifetime practicing that art."

"Was your little slave husband the one you didn't made the deal with?" asked Vox. The silence of Alastor, even the total abscence of his static in the air, was all the answer he needed. "Then you cared about him, you idiot."

For a glorious moment nothing happened after he said those words and Vox started to relax again, lifting himself up.

"That is so stupid" finally came out of Alastor, who started to laugh. "So genuinely stupid. The deal was supposed to fix things. He would have thank me for it after."

"Well, but you said it" Vox shrugged. "You only made deals thinking about you, about what you needed. They are not usually made to think about the other like an equal."

Alastor's cackle filled the entire room. Vox took out his phone to order a cleaning crew.

"There, there" cooed Lucifer gently, gently rubbing the chest of little Artemis as their cries finally started to die down. "Crying all the time is really exhausting, isn't it? You don't have to tell me twice, little rascal."

He sat on a bench near a bush of flowers who all blinked at him and sighed. A small whimper came out of his baby and he hummed softly, kissing their forehead.

"You miss your dad that much? I never had, like, a real dad that was ever there, but if I did, I would miss them too. Even if my papa is totally amazing and loves me to death like yours does" added with a tiny chuckle. Artemis gurgled, patting his face clumsily. Lucifer kissed their palms too. "I am sorry, buddy. I really wish you haven't been involved in any of this. None of this is your fault. This is all just… adult nonsense. But I am sure that guy loves you, wherever he is. Who couldn't love you with that precious face you have?"

As Artemis calmed down more, Lucifer showed him some nearby flowers, with no real clue of what was their name or if they did anything at all, but liking their colors anyway. Keekee was chasing bugs between his feet. At some point she went closer for pets and Lucifer kneeled, directing the hand of Artemis to also pet her back as she arqued underneath. That seemed to cheer them up again. Lucifer was glad to see their goofy smile back as Keekee turned around and sniffed them, before knocking her head against the palm.

"Papa!"

Lucifer stand up as he saw his three favorites girls running to her. Emily was leading the way, bringing over Charlie by the hand, with a big smile in her face. The face of Charlie, however, didn't gave him more hope that they were going to talk about something light. Vaggie smiled politely when he looked at her, but otherwise didn't leave any hints for him about what was the issue.

"Hey, girls" greeted. "What is up?"

"We actually have a little issue" said Emily, coming up to him and gently guiding him to the table under a big tree. It was supposed to be used for tea time with the residents, but it was hard to coordinate everyone's schedule at once and end up being free for all for whatever someone needed it. Lucifer sat down when Emily moved one of the chair and then she occupies the next one to him. "Okay, so, remember how we were looking into new manufacturers for the pillow sheets because the old ones kept fraying?"

"Uh…" He had no fucking clue what she was talking about. "Sure, honey. I totally remember details like that one. Very important stuff to keep track in order to run a succesful hotel! You don't want fraying at the time of sleep! That would be bad, very bad, for redemption."

"Exactly" Emily perked up. "I knew you would understand, papa. But here is the issue. The new manufacturer that we found is demanding some of the alcohol that we have in store for the pillow sheets in order to get a discount."

"Which we need" added Vaggie quickly. "In order to get more accomodations ready for the hotel. Every penny saved counts, sir."

"Oh, is that all?" asked Lucifer. "Girls, if you need more money, you just have to ask. How much do you need?" said, conjuring his checkbook in the air, ready to sign.

"Papa, no, that is not what we meant" said Charlie, lowering his hand and holding it on his. "We… actually thought maybe we could strike a deal with him so we can renegotiate the conditions. Problem is, I have never done a deal and I am not sure about how to go about it."

"I have never seen one either" intervened Emily. "Is that the kind where you sign papers or the one in which you give each other a hug? Or was it a kiss on the lips? My books are never too clear on that. Also, does it have to be all verbal? Does the phrasing matters really that much?"

Lucifer blinked, looking over at Charlie.

"Sweetie, deals can be… tricky things to navigate. It would be just easier if I give you the money. Or I could send someone to talk with that manufacturer so he gives you the discount already."

"But that is not really handling it on my own, papa" said Charlie with a soft smile, patting his hand. "I can do it, but I would really appreciate having some first hand experience first in how they are done."

Lucifer looked over at Vaggie. If anyone was going to concern themselves with the safety and wellbeing of his daughter, it was going to be her. But instead of trying to change Charlie's mind, she nodded.

"It's just a small demostration, sir" she said to calm him down. "Later we can see the rest."

"I also want to know" added Emily, supporting her chin on her knuckles over the table. "How about you make a small deal with Charlie and then we can be ready to know what to expect from this guy?"

"Honey, I don't know" Lucifer passed a glance over both his daughters with a slight frown. "Demons thrive in deals so they are always looking to make the ones that best work for them."

"That is why we came to you first, papa" said Charlie, smiling again. "Who better teacher about how to make deals responsibly than the devil himself?"

Well, he couldn't argue with that logic. He looked over at the other two and sighed, nodding a long. First, there was a couple of rules to consider when ever looking at deals. The most important was, obviously, that wording was everything. More than person had been tricked into giving out more than they ever hoped for because of the words. Second, you can never force a deal. It has to be a voluntary action that both or more parties freely participate in. You can't hold a gun to someone's head and tell them to agree to the deal or else. Third, the deal is always a two way streets. Everyone involved in it is equally obligated to fulfill the conditions that were already accepted. The only exception is when the other parties agree to call off the deal entirely. That is why the one who had the better wording was considered the winner.

"What kind of conditions?" asked Emily, reclining over to him. "Does it always have to be a life changing thing or it can be small?"

"Well, technically speaking, it could be anything at all if we both agree with it. Honey, could you hold your sibling for a moment?" After Lucifer passed Artemis to Emily, where the baby cooed and played with her fingers, Lucifer turned to Charlie. "Also technically speaking, deals can be sealed with any kind of contact. It could be a kiss, a hug, anything that is mutual and consentual. Handshakes are the most traditional form because they are neutral, safe, while still being able to keep some distance. How do you want to do this, duckling?"

"Well, if it's tradition" said Charlie, offering her hand to him. "Nothing defeats a classic, right?"

"Sure" Lucifer chuckled a little and took it. "Mmmm, how about this? My condition to you is that I want you to keep being the wonderful woman you already are."

"Aww" said Charlie before she straighten up at the energy surging from both of their hands joined. The red and golden magic of Lucifer circuling around his arms while hers, green and red with specs of gold, did the same for her. It tingled on the tip of their fingers. She could feel her own antlers becoming bigger on top of her head. "Oh. My turn?"

"Yes, sweetie" Lucifer nodded, encouraging.

"Well, papa, I… My condition for you is that I want you to… uh…"

"Clean this this leaf off this table" suggested Vaggie, pointing at a single one at the center.

"Oh, good idea! Yes, I want you to take that leaf off the table."

Lucifer smiled as his eyes glowed in intense red, but it was a kinder gesture than many of the people he had been in that same position with before could have witnessed. Both their magics expanded and surrounded both of them, travelling across each other to reach it's destination to make it official. Charlie felt it like a soft pat on top of her chest as the magic of Lucifer came inside.

The whole things must not have lasted more than a few seconds, but it felt like a long time when she looked over to her father. Lucifer let her go first, in order to cover with both hands his mouth. His still red eyes big and incredulous stared at a world far away from anything around him. Tears started to run his cheeks as he pulled himself up, trembling.

"I-I…" Lucifer looked over at the table and patted away the leaf urgently. "I need to find your father!" gasped quickly, dissapearing in a portal.

"No, don't save anything. Just throw it all away" said Vox when one of the cleaners lifted an almost complete body. At his confirmation, the worker dumped all the same on the industrials trash bags that they have brought. "Unless you want it as a snack for later, I guess?" said to Alastor, shrugging. "You already killed them anyway."

"I prefer lively ones for now" said Alastor from the floor, where he haven't moved at all. The most he had done was to hiss any of the workers as they clean up the blood if they came too close to him, but otherwise had just keep drinking from a new bottle. More expensive, more rare, stronger. Still one that his husband could have done better, apparently.

"Suit yourself."

Once all the surfices were cleaned up and all the pieces were gone from his sight, Vox felt a lot better. The moment he let out a small sigh of relief was the one when all the lights went off.

"Another black out, Vox? Really?" said Alastor in the dark and Vox could hear the rolling of eyes in his voice.

"I didn't do anything, you asshole. It must have been Valentino connecting way too much shit to a single outlet at once again. You, keep moving" said to the cleaning crew, that started to take out their own phones to illuminate each other. "The back up regenerators should be up and running in a bit."

The workers left the place, guided by their cellphones. In the complete dark, Vox's face was the only point of illumination.

"Huh, sure it's taking its sweet time" recognized finally.

He was about to make a call to his technicians when suddenly a voice agitated the whole building. It shook it to its very foundation, where they were, just the same as if a pair of giant hands had picked it up and was shaking it to test what it had inside.

"ALASTOR!"

The eartquake was so strong that Vox found himself in the floor. That was the last thing he knew before a pair of tentacles appeared from the dark at his back. One of them picked up his phone from his pockets, crushing it. At the same time, the other crushed his entire screen and threw him by his spine to a corner.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles December challenge.

Elf You

Prompt Day 20: Magic AU | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Sentient Toys | Tags: Elf on the Shelf AU, Elf!Steve, Elf!Robin, Elf!Eddie, Elf Magic, Platonic Stobin, Crack Taken Seriously, Silliness, The Magic of Christmas

'Twas the night before December, and all is quiet except for the grandfather clock in the corner of the living room tick, tick, ticking as it edges ever closer to midnight. December is approaching, with only seconds to spare as the small town of Hawkins, Indiana sleeps.

When the clock strikes twelve, two little sets of eyes snap open, alive and alert for another holiday season. 

Two little Scout Elves, but no shelf to be found. No, sirree. That's amaetur hour, and they've grown past those early pranks. No, these little elves use their magic to put on big productions. Bigger and grander each night, leading up to Christmas Eve.

They were born for this. 

But right now, they've got to get their bearings after nearly a year of slumber.

Steve stretches, pushing his little fabric arms over his head. 

Robin stands, trying to work the kinks out of her back. She'd been twisted in the tote of decorations, and now her back is killing her. 

"Hey, Robbie, you okay?" Steve asks, walking over and looking at her. 

"They've got to be more careful with me next year, I'm getting too old for this shit," she complains, sitting upright. 

Steve helps her to her feet, and they dust themselves off. Being an elf is fun, but it's only for twenty-four days a year. The rest of the time they're shoved in a box in the attic. Dormant.

Shitty parents tell kids they flew back to the North Pole, but that's a goddamn lie.

The first night is hard. They don't have a plan for their nightly chaos. They have to do it on the fly, so they better get started, right away.

"Marshmallow mini golf?" Steve suggests. 

"We did that last year!" Robin whines. 

They're running out of new ideas. They've done everything twice at this point. 

"How 'bout a messy kitchen?" another voice asks, and they snap their heads towards the sound. 

"Who the hell are you?" Steve asks, putting his hands on his hips. This is their territory. "And…where the hell are you?" Steve asks. 

They can hear him, but they can't see him. 

"Yeah, interloper! Who do you think you are?" Robin demands, backing Steve up. 

Steve looks around, but there's nobody there.

Not until Steve spots the box on the counter, brand new and unopened. Slightly wobbling.

Together, they pull open the cover, and there he is. Another boy elf, with dark eyes, and long hair, trapped behind cellophane.

"What's your name and what are you doing here?" Steve demands. 

"I'm an Elf on the Shelf. We're gonna be friends 'til the end."

"Oh brother, he belongs on The Island of Misfit Toys," Robin says, snarky. "That's a Good Guy line. That's a whole different kind of magic doll. Not our department. So, clearly evil."

"I'm not evil," he says. "I'm an elf."

"That's what they all say," Robin says, looking at Steve. "Let's just leave him wrapped up. Problem solved."

Steve sighs and rubs his forehead. 

There's a little name tag on the counter: Eddie.

"Well, you were an idiot, when you showed up, too," Steve tells her, crossing his arms, annoyed. Looking back through the plastic, "Your name is Eddie."

Eddie just nods.

"Why aren't you out of your box?" Steve asks him. Eddie has elf magic. He can teleport. Surely, he can get out of a fucking cardboard box. If not, oh, brother.

Eddie looks unsure, and Steve rolls his eyes. If Steve had fingers, he'd snap them, but he doesn't. So, he just thinks really hard and uses his own elf magic to get Eddie out of his packaging.

Robin looks at Eddie, "Well, it was nice to meet you. But we've got this house covered. They've got two kids, and we're two elves. We don't really need a third," Robin is explaining, when they all hear a baby cry.

Well, shit. There's three kids now. That's what happens when elf magic keeps you dormant most of the goddamn year. You don't find out about big changes until way after the fact.

So, new elf. Steve went through this when Robin showed up after the last kid, and now they're best friends. So, maybe this will be okay. 

Then he sees Eddie dangling from the light fixture. Maybe not. 

"Stop that, asshole," Steve says, jumping up, grabbing Eddie, sending them both to the floor. "Stop messing around, and help us think of something to do tonight," Steve demands.

"Cookie baking mess?" Eddie suggests.

"Been there, done that," Steve says, "that's first year shit."

Robin puts her hand on her chin, thinking, "We really don't have much time. We'll be able to plan better tomorrow. Marshmallow bath in the sink?" she suggests.

Steve groans. It's easy. But the kids like it, and their mom always has marshmallows in the pantry.

"How about a ski slope," Eddie says, and they both turn to look at him. 

"Tell me more…" Steve prompts.

Eddie is looking around the kitchen, a little frantically, clearly trying to come up with a fully formed idea. Steve waits. Robin waits. 

And finally Eddie pops up onto the counter and grabs the full roll of paper towels and takes it to the living room, and the couch, right near the tree. He stacks up two pillows from the couch on the floor, and stands back, thinking.

"Like this," he finally says, and gives the paper towel roll a good shove, unrolling it down over the pillows and onto the ground. 

Steve looks at it. 

Robin looks at it.

This could work.

"We could rummage through the Barbie clothes," Robin suggests and Steve nods. That's a really good idea. 

Steve gets in the box with the Barbie stuff, and digs around until he throws out a snowsuit, some skis, goggles. A Christmas sweater. This will do just fine. 

They all get dressed, and in place, ready for the kids in the morning. 

Eddie might not be such a bad addition, after all.

Notes: Yeah, I don't know. They're elves. Magic elves. 🤣

This is the ski slope idea Eddie came up with.

"Friends 'til the end" is a Chucky catchphrase. Also, a magic doll. Just a very different one, lol. The Island of Misfit Toys is from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!

If you want to see more of my entries into this month-long challenge, you can check them out in my Steddie Holiday Drabbles tag, right here!