#unindexed

[twst-drabbles]

Jamil 18

Summary: Every so often, you check up on Jamil’s scales just to make sure there aren’t any more injuries that the little guy might’ve missed. You also like to pop some of his little bones just to see him go limp in absolute relief.

(It's fun to tease this snake.)

“I know you don’t like me doing this, but it has to be done.” Jamil had a vice grip on your wrist, whipping the tip of his tail here and there in an attempt to make you give up, but you’ve long since mastered the perfect and accurate grasp. “I have to check your scales, little sir.”

It’s a daily routine at this point, to feel over his scales and the length of his tail for anything off, but Jamil still get annoyed. Not distressed, because his mouth wasn’t hanging open, nor was his face pinched up into something painfully tight, but annoyed nonetheless.

Jamil lightly spat at you, a weird, rather crisp noise, just as you rubbed a thumb over his nice and smooth belly scales. They healed up quite nicely from when he scratched it after a swim in the pond. Not a scar to be seen. The cream you were given to help him heal worked wonders. And said cream came in such a fancy jar that you thought it some kind of scam. But you ran it by the internet and it turned out to be an official medication.

“The Asim’s just have the best vets at their beck and call huh?” You closed your fingers around the mass of Jamil’s tail and watched him jump in surprise. He looked to you with wide eyes, almost shocked that you’re doing this when, again, you’ve done this before. “Brace yourself a sec.” You pressed your thumb against his back to keep him steady, and tightened your grip.

A series of soft pops sounded from beneath your palm. Little Jamil arched his back, a cute squeak forced out of his lungs before he completely collapsed against your wrist just as you let go. He has become a jelly noodle. A jelly noodle with richly dark scales dotted with flecks of a practically burgundy red.

You chuckled. “That felt nice huh?” You soothed a palm over the rest of him now that he wasn’t squirming as much. Jamil blinked, blinked some more, then finally stiffened when his brain finally came back to him.

He grabbed the opening of your sleeve and shoved his entire upper half inside.

You snorted. “You really don’t like admitting anything, huh?”

A little hiss escaped his mouth, but it was a weak attempt at attitude.

[hell-drabbles]

How would other demons reaction be when companion is drunk? And how would companion act out with them? Would they be equally affectionate as they are with Raon?

Hmm the reactions would certainly be different depending on the devil king they see. Let's see, let's see, I'm assuming that this happens way later down the timeline, when new dynamics are established from the first impressions.

Again, please note that I am making assumptions about these characters, and also adding in my own headcanons since this is my Embittered Companion AU, so if they're out of character, oh well!

Satan:

You know, Satan thought that, the more alcohol you get into your system, the more…hungry you will get for violence. He likes it when you're tipsy, because when you're tipsy, you're bitey. You don't hesitate to sink your teeth deep into his muscles until even his very veins crunch under your incisors. Blood becomes a flavor enhancer to you. When you're like that, you seem no different than any of his citizens. Made Satan feel proud, in a weird way, that he can draw this side out of you.

Right now, however, he was just feeling bothered. And horny. Because you weren't biting down on his neck as he sat on your lap. You were nibbling, always stopping short of piercing his skin, leaving indents instead of wounds. He slid on your lap, hoping that you would take bites in other places now that you were plastered, but instead you were testing his limits. His nails clawed into the wood of the bar behind you, his teeth creaking under the force of his jaw, and legs trembling to keep from closing around your hips and potentially breaking them.

At least you probably won't remember this. Satan really hopes you won't remember the way he could not get off your lap.

Mammon:

You tugged at his robes and tested the material between your fingers, not really registering the fact that you were pinching his skin along side. Well, you did notice at first, but you have long since succumbed to the drunken haze and are just entirely focused on the way his clothes feel in your hands. Mammon didn't mind indulging in your curiosity. It is, after all, a very new side to you that he hasn't seen before. One that you probably kept very closely tied up inside. And now it was released, so no matter what you do, Mammon will not stop you.

You grabbed the edges of his robes and pulled. His sash became undone, and for whatever reason, Mammon has never felt more exposed. It felt…almost shameful that this excited him, because your gaze was empty of any heated wanting. You were powered by alcohol and curiosity.

"Where's the tag on this thing" Your breath, made heavier with the alcohol, wafted over his head. Maybe if Mammon held still long enough, you'll try and search for that tag in his pants next?

Leviathan:

Nothing. You were drunk out of your mind, and you were doing nothing. Well, Leviathan couldn't hope for a better result. At least like this, in this celebration that he's arranged, you won't ruin the atmosphere he so wanted. You're behaving, but just barely. If you so much as sighed too loudly, Leviathan will have you hanged outside the party doors. Make an example of you.

But how dare you. How dare you let your clothes fall open by a few centimeters. How dare you lick your lips as you caught every single drop of alcohol that slid past. How dare you swallow and make your throat bob, and let out a sigh that was just quiet enough to not break the rule he just made.

You've always been like this. Always intense in the way you presented yourself and yet never careless enough to truly let anyone catch you off guard. Leviathan could very well discipline you. It's well within his right, but that would require him approaching you, and perfect does not seek, it is sought after. And so, all he can do is watch as your fingers idly played with your glass cup.

Beelzebub:

While it was a shame Beelzebub wasn't allowed to make any special mixes for the bar, he will admit, it's fun to catch your shot glass when you slid it his way, fill it up with your choice of beverage, and slide it right back. There weren't any words, you didn't make a big deal out of his being here. It made him feel like a fleeting shadow, of sorts. He was here, at a party that he was probably invited to but forgot, blending in as if he both belonged and yet didn't.

Beelzebub idly chewed on a straw as the music continued to thrum through his body. He wasn't really listening, more focused on the way your tongue moved the ice around for hidden drops of your drink. It took a few seconds for him to realize your glass was back in his hand. Out of boredom, Beelzebub put his straw in the ice and blew hot air in. When there was enough water, Beelzebub noisily slurped it up.

You somehow heard and looked back to him, eyes lightly glazed over. If he concentrated hard enough, he could pretend you were looking at him with heated interested rather than exasperation. He couldn't help but chuckle and wave his straw at you with his lips.

Lucifer:

You haven't stopped touching Lucifer's face. A finger over the bridge of his nose, a caress on his cheek, turning him this way and that just to watch the way his curls bounced against his skin, smoothing hands under his jaw before reaching back and pinching his ears. It didn't annoy him, but it was certainly more than he ever expected. Though, to be fair, he also wasn't expecting you to get drunk. Tipsy yes, but drunk was another matter entirely. Lucifer will remember to prepare something for you when you wake up with the inevitable hangover.

But, for now, Lucifer leaned into your hands as you silently memorized his skin. He didn't mind. He wasn't planning on doing much of anything besides watching his little…family go about their celebration with zest. He did mind a little when he heard the heavy breathing of them behind him, but since you didn't say anything, he won't say anything as well.

Before Lucifer could take a small nip at your fingers, you had found your way into his hair. Tingles scaled down his scalp and over his spine, resting right at the base of his hips. He closed his eyes, if only to savor the feeling further. He ready to fall asleep when you guided his head to your shoulder. Bury your fingers into his hair, or into his bleeding wings, it bring warmth to him all the same.

Asmodeus:

Being who he is, a celebration is never complete without an orgy of some variety, and that doesn't change even while you're present. But, after going through a few glasses, you said you wanted some peace and quiet to enjoy the rest of your drinks, and so he promised you that you will get exactly what you want, in only ten minutes.

And so, instead of bringing his current row of lovers to the edge of ecstasy and then drawing back to have them wanting for more, he spoiled them. He gave them exactly what they wanted, drove them past the peak again, and again, and again, without any shred of mercy. All the while silencing them with his tongue.

And, as he promised, everything was silent save for the music once the ten minutes have passed. Asmodeus was nowhere near satisfied when he sat next to you, but the drink you offered him got his heart near to full bursting. He nearly split the table in two when you glided behind him, gathered his hair, and began to tie it back up. Simple gestures, that's all they were, and it had him wanting to bit into his own knuckles from how squishy his insides felt.

Belphegor:

Only half of Belphegor's torso was actually on the plush chair, the rest of his body was splayed on the floor because he couldn't be bothered to hold any posture.

Perhaps out of boredom, perhaps a small bit of cruelty within you, he wouldn't know, you reach out a leg and kicked his chair right from under his back. It slid out and Belphegor's entire body crumpled to the floor like a lifeless ragdoll. You snorted and slammed your drink down on the table, pounding on your chest as you coughed. A part of him wanted to glare, he was comfy where he was but…

He will admit, this was doing something for him. Putting aside the fact that the floor was kinda comfy in it's own way, it does give him a fun little fantasy to play around with, and probably jack off to later. He's on the floor, clothes spread open and barely hiding his bits while you sit in your chair, pointing and laughing at the mess you've made of him. You lightly pushed at him with a foot, probably asking him to get up, but his dick was convinced that you were rubbing delicious salt in the throbbing wound.

Beleth did help him up later, so that was cut short.

[sunder-the-gold]

Created Equal?

If there’s one assumption underpinning all of my other assumptions about Aura and Semblances, it is this: “All Men Are Created Equal.”

That is to say, every human being is fundamentally and irreducibly a person; a living soul. No human is born less human than any other, which is why we are all equally deserving of human dignity, and of being judged by the content of our characters.

This has not been a popular ideology in human history. Even where it is adopted as a core cultural value, it has never been wholeheartedly expressed. Those who control society have an extremely vested interest in applying the exact opposite ideology: “Some Are Better Than Others”. They, of course, are the “some”.

The elites cultivated an idea that violence was the rightful province of those who rich and powerful enough to have the luxury of spending their time learning the arts of war. Peasants and serfs, who spent their lives providing food for their families and the elites, had no time to learn self-defense, and were often not permitted to own weapons.

The introduction of firearms created a counter-culture, especially in the aftermath of the American war of independence. An old seamstress or a young maid could pick up a pistol and end a man’s life. A child could pick up his father’s rifle and kill the soldier trying to drag his father out of the house.

Any common working man could pick up a rifle and end the life of a trained knight or samurai with a single lucky shot; and the common men massively outnumbered the knights and the samurai.

It does not suppose that all people are born the same capacity for intelligence or strength, or the same talents

EDIT: This post was accidentally posted before it was finished, but I don’t think I’m ever going to finish it. Sorry.

[florilegium-archive]

Garden Airplane Trap

Max Ernst, 1935-36, oil on canvas

The Peggy Guggenheim Collection, Venice

[tagarito]

i hate spelunking is a banned tag. Tell your friends

[twst-drabbles]

Vil 27

Summary: You didn’t have to go with the group, but money talks and Schoenheit gave you a lot of it to walk down that red carpet. These outfits Vil Schoenheit had made for you, Grim, Ace, Jamil and Azul are pretty uniform, but this big gem on your coat just stood out. Too shiny, too white. And you’re very sure it wasn’t a mistake that it matched Schoenheit.

(I just spat it all out, so excuse if it seems disjointed or just plain weird. Didn't want to get stuck in that loop of wanting absolute perfection. So, have this fun bit of Vil basically putting a little decoration to signal his favored one of this little group in that Tapis Rouge event. And the Janitor just being tired of it all.)

You… have your own opinions about fashion and how it exists in your life. In a nutshell, it’s not really a thing that pings on your radar. It comes in fast and leaves just as quickly, like a breeze passing by the open automatic doors of a high-end mall. You know it’s there, and sometimes it makes you raise your eyebrows with what it carries, but other than that, it’s not taking up much of your time.

Or any of your time, really. Back at home, you were the local jack of all trades. If someone wanted to get a cleaning or a repair done but didn’t want to go through the slog of having to navigate a basically redundant call system, they’d go to you. And you’d get paid a pretty coin.

Point being, you get dirty, stuff rips and gets worn out. When you get up, you don’t want to think about what shirt matches with what scarf, or what perfume matches the season. You don’t go to fashion venues, you’re the person that cleans them up afterwards.

But, you have been in a position where you had to help set things up. Parties, weddings, quinceañeras, and theater play setups, among other things. You’ve been around, and you’ve picked up a little bit on the particulars.

Those being colors. Nothing on any academic scale, but the instinct lingers in your mind nonetheless when something doesn’t go with another thing.

And there’s something tingling in the back of your brain as you gazed at this large, white oval gem place smack dab in the middle of your chest, right before the end of your sternum. Your clothes looked like the rest of the students here. Beige.

“Hmm? Is something wrong? You’ve been fiddling with that for five minutes,” Jamil asked and it took you a second to register that he’s talking to you and not just chatting about.

“This thing.” You pulled at the gem on your coat, tapping a gloved finger on it. “It’s just off.”

White does go with a lot of things, as well as silver, gold and black, but that’s not the point here. You didn’t think much of it when you put those clothing on, but when you compared yourself to Azul, Jamil and Ace… yeah it just sticks out.

“Huh. You’re right.” Azul nudged his glasses higher up his nose before taking a closer look. “The rest of our decorations adhere to a more warm palette, but that gem is too sharp.”

“It’s weird,” you said, agreeing. None of the others had any one color that stood out, it all some kind of beige or warmer color. Yeah, Jamil and Ace had gems that were closer to white, but they lean more towards cream than anything. These outfits are clearly made to blend with one another, create a sense of unity, sorta…

And then there this big ol’ white gem on you that would blind your eyes if it caught the rays of the sun. A purple gem would’ve made more sense than this one. You don’t mind ignoring it, but you’re in the the company of Schoenheit and going to a location that’s probably gonna piss you off with all of it’s unspoken social and color clothing rules.

Well, at least you can trust he won’t have a complete meltdown.

“Maybe they just made a mistake. Too bad none of you are as skilled as me.” You could tell Grim does not care whatsoever. Just mindlessly playing with his new ribbon that he’s probably going to stash away and forget about. And then yowl at you to find it because he somehow put it in a place too high for him to reach.

“Well, yeah, weren’t these clothes made in like a few weeks? Someone probably messed up.” Ace had that grin on his face, vicious and itching to see some violence. “Vil’s going to be so angry.”

“Hmm. Doubt it.” The workers here seem to both worship and fear Schoenheit and would do anything to keep his favor. Besides, said workers are just standing there, smiling at each other like they’re sharing an inside joke.

Suspiciously quiet and composed.

Yup. They know something and that’s just making you more tired. You want to go back to bed, go back to your routine of cleaning and studying. Getting more of that good cash to spend. Not here though, you kinda don’t care for the stuff here.

Too bad Schoenheit bribed you to be here. He kept adding more and more zeroes until you finally took back your rejection. And then bribed you again to keep quiet about him bribing you. Guess he wanted really wanted someone that can wrangle these people in case something goes wrong.

You can probably afford a mansion at this point, but you can’t do that. Not when you have every intention on going back home, and you’re not about to lighten up on the pressure you’re adding to your boss.

Hmm. You can probably mess with Dire later. As a treat for yourself.

“Sorry for the wait.”

Ah, the man responsible for your extra fat wallet has come into the room, wearing a nice shade of purple and the deepest of blacks.

With an oval gem in the middle of it all, as white as the one that stood out in your outfit, glinting and nearly blinding you.

Huh.

Designers one after another fanning themselves, eyes ready to pop out of their skull like this was the first time they’re seeing him in their designs all over again. You shot an arm out just as one of them blacked out, catching them by the waist before they could crack their skull on the ground.

Ace, Jamil and Azul all panicked, but the designer’s coworkers either sighed or didn’t notice.

“This happens a lot huh.” You placed the worker in the nearest chair.

“I’m afraid it does. Thank you for that skillful capture.”

You gave a thumbs up. “You’re welcome.”

“Prefect,” Schoenheit called out from behind you, always ‘Prefect’ when in public and ‘Janitor’ when not. “Turn around for me. Slowly, if you will.”

Hmm. Don’t like that tone. It had a certain kind of tension to it, like his tongue was ready to lash out at someone, ready to be judge, jury and executioner, but with words.

But, he did give you a stupid amount of money.

You sighed out, “Fine, fine,” and turned towards him.

His eyes scanned your face, probably looking for any smudges, went down on your shoulders, over your coat, and then finally settled on the white gem right in the middle of it all. The gem that matched his exactly.

Stared at it in silence for just the slightest bit too long.

And then he smiled. Perfect and absolutely dripping with poisonous smugness. Looking the same as he always does, but now you know.

“Not a detail out of place,” he said with a little lilt to his voice, as if savoring a quiet victory.

Oh you’re going to be the subject of forum speculation theories, aren’t you?

What you wouldn't give for the little pixies to kidnap you now.

[twst-drabbles]

Ace and Deuce 8

Summary: Sometimes these two forget just how scarred up you are. Well, it’s not as if they don’t know, but it does become easy to forget when it all under the clothing.

(More scars time with the Janitor. Scars are weird and the injuries that lead to them can also be weird. Or traumatizing.)

When the topic turned from studying to bragging about injuries, you have no clue, but here you are nonetheless.

Well, not bragging about injuries so much as bragging about how much pain one can take.

“So yeah, I cracked a rib. It hurt to breath but hey, I could handle it.” Ace’s face was going to split in half if he continued to grin that hard.

You flipped a page through your book, though you’re not really paying attention to it. Didn't want to come off as interested since the topic is kinda… stupid, and you don’t want to imply they should continue doing more shit, but also… it’s sorta funny? You know that Night Raven College students are all egotistical sons of bitches, but you didn't think that would make their sense of self-preservation wither and die.

“Mm, I did have a concussion back to back once.” Deuce was trying so hard to appear humble, but you can see his smarmy smile behind his fist. “I was riding a bike I made myself, and crashed right into a bus. Made me see stars for days, and I didn't tell anyone about it.”

In a weird way, it is comforting, that as far away as you are from your world, some things just stay the same with people. College students continue to be some of the wildest people you've ever come to know.

…it does annoy you though. It shouldn't be that big a deal of to you, and it isn't, but it needles at you nonetheless. Toughness, getting hurt, grinning and bearing it, bragging about it because that’s just a thing you do. It’s funny, yeah, but something bitter stubbornly sits in the back of your mouth.

Can’t really tell why, though, so you don’t say anything about it. Don’t try to think about it. Let these two have their fun. Boredom brings out the weirdest in people and studying has a way of doing that to Ace and Deuce.

“What about you, Janitor? Got anything? Or is that too much for you?” Ace turned to you, tried to catch your eye, then frowned when you didn't so much as twitch at attention. You are stubborn. You’re not turning around. You did smile, if only to make it seem like you’re not quickly souring. “Hey. Pay attention to me.”

“You’re from a different world, so you have to have some interesting stories, right?” Deuce encouraged, even though you knew he was hoping for your answer to be dull or just be nothing at all to keep his story high in the toughness bracket.

They can't help but crave to know where they stand in the hierarchy. This weird, friend hierarchy.

"Yeah yeah, come on, tell it to us straight!" Clearly riding on this bragging high, Ace slid right up and nudged his elbow right in your side.

"It's fine if you don't have anything," Deuce took Ace's seat, slowly crowding you while also nudging a snoring Grim away from all of you. "Though I doubt it. I've seen you duke it out before."

Finally, you put down your book. You weren't smiling, and that had Ace and Deuce's eyebrows rising.

You took off your gloves first. The skin of your hands has long since grown tough with scratchy callouses, but recently, they've started looking… lumpy, almost. Discolored skin from the scars, fat ripped from your fingers, leaving odd dips and curves. Two of your fingernails no longer grow in right. And your palm jutted a bit with the bones and veins underneath.

"Woah, that's nasty!" Ace poked at your hands and shivered at the overly smooth and shiny scar tissue. It all felt muted.

"Yeah, no kidding. That must've hurt." Deuce lightly pinched your fingers, equally mystified.

The bitterness is crawling down your throat.

You slowly breathed in, then out.

You pushed up your sleeves. Pointed to the deep pockmarks, the twisting tissue that doesn't quite fold in right wrapping around your elbow, the paper-thin skin that highlighted your every muscle fiber. And your veins, painfully clear, pulsing like a moving parasite.

"W-woah…" Slowly, the duo's enthusiasm was dying.

Ace lifted his hands. "Uh, you can stop. Now. If you want."

Funny. The words you wanted to hear only made your eyebrow twitch.

You lifted your shirt last, right up over your ribs. Ace and Deuce's eyes bulged out of their heads, and finally their voices went silent.

They also didn't heal right. Your ribs. Well, they've healed well enough but one rib stuck out more than the others, only slightly though. It looked as if a creature has made itself resident on you. Like a hive-mind fungus was eating away at you, replacing what it ate with something similar to skin. Has completely taken over the left side of you, traveled over and touched at your spine. Made stretching uncomfortable. You pulled something once and had to wear a back brace for a bit.

Ace and Deuce blinked, then looked away in sync.

"What? Suddenly not cool anymore?" Well now you've gone and did it. Ruined their little bought of fun, showed more than what's needed. Got too personal, and you know Ace and Deuce are allergic to that topic. "I still have more."

A lot more. Too much, probably.

"…sorry." Ace scratched the back of his head, keeping his eyes on the ground.

"…me too. I'm sorry. I… forgot." Deuce clenched his fist and slightly bowed his head.

Yeah, sometimes you wish you could forget. Lucky Deuce. Lucky Ace.

You sighed, then dropped your shirt. "Just, keep all that in mind, will ya? Not exactly something I like bragging. Or being reminded about."

At least you get monetary compensation for it, among other things.

[twst-drabbles]

Dire 12

Summary: Crowley barges into your house while you’re laying in your newly furnished living room. He is a little bit aghast, to say the least.

(The Caretaker isn’t really all that humble of a person. They wouldn’t reject Kalim’s gifts. They like getting new things.)

Crowley has a habit of coming into your house without knocking and without warning. No calling ahead on his old candlestick telephone that somehow still works with modern phones. No hints or looks that tell you he’s about to visit you because he missed the feel of your home. Nothing. He just comes in whenever he feels like it, regardless of how you wanted to spend your day.

Today was another one of those days.

You had just finished with all your chores, fed and washed the pets that desperately needed a washing–those being Ace and Deuce because they were on mulch duty and found the stray cat Grim’s very gross and very solid “left-overs.”

After all that, all you wanted to do was bring out some new blankets that you had forgot you put in storage and just crunch and munch the rest of the hours away.

Well, you’re still doing that, but now Crowley’s in here giving you the stink eye, right after barging into your house, closely examining your furniture and ignoring your lazy complaints.

“What?” You raised an eyebrow from your couch. You are not in the mood of getting up at all. You just found a nice position and getting up would mean losing that and all the warmth your blankets had stored up.

Hmm. You should probably invest in an electric blanket. Sounds quite nice right about now.

Crowley didn’t say anything. Probably made some sort of tiny facial movement but you couldn’t be fully sure with that mask on his face. The same mask that’s wore for… just about all your life, really. At this point, you’re kinda convinced it’s a part of his skin. You’ve even caught him sleep in bed with the thing on.

You buried your hand in a bowl and crunched on your rather unhealthy snack. You were in the mood for it, and if you dare to ignore the mood, you’ll end up with a hungry stomach and an unresponsive tongue. It’s difficult to get a meal in your when you just don’t have the appetite for it. You’ve fought against your saliva glands and have lost pretty much every time. No use in forcing a meal in you when you’re not at least a little bit into it.

Anyways… you were having a decent day, and now it was starting to sour a little bit with Mr. Crowley being himself. You almost chucked your snack at his head when he made loud and pompous huff from his big old mouth.

Anything and all things annoying never fail to start from that particular sound.

“When,” Crowley’s gaze was cast at your newly stuffed bookshelf, filled with tomes, “did you get,” next was the ottoman that your legs were resting upon, “all of this?!” and last, with a dramatic flair to his hands, pointed to the wallpaper, sunlight sparkling off of the gold leaves painted into it. “And what of this?!”

Oh, he found your ostrich egg sized ruby with a wooden snake wrapped around it. Resting right in it’s white case and plum colored velvet.

It’s not unusual for you to get new things. Lot of your wardrobe’s and furniture’s made up of hand-me-downs, after all. Though, you suppose it is weird for you to suddenly have an entire new living room.

And why is that? Well, because of Kalim, of course.

See, you were looking to pick out a new chair because, apparently, the combine weight of both you and the little naga Jamil was enough to get it’s back leg snapping. Gave out from right under you and gave you a sore right on the tailbone. Ugh. You had to complain to someone and that someone ended up being Kalim. Weird man that he is, he’s also very easy to talk to. Not a shred to judgment to be found in those sparkling eyes and heart of his. Ignorant, yes, but he’s willing to learn.

Anyways, point being, Kalim decided that this was his fault and so dragged you to Sam’s shop. Practically nabbed you right from your bed. Didn’t even take off your pajama’s so you were rocking that with weirdly chunky hiking shoes.

And so, here you are, surrounded by a new furniture set, books that you highly suspect are from Sam’s own collection, and a big gem that Kalim tossed to you just because he thought it wasn’t enough.

You have never been so comfy, and with comfort comes the need for entertainment, so you said, “I’ve always had this stuff.” Looked him straight in the eye, not a waver in your voice. Master liar that you are.

Had those feathers on his coat been a part of him, you’re very sure they would’ve rose and puffed up. Air hissed through his nose in the way that it does when he wants to get indigent, but can’t because it would be a stupid thing to get angry over. He massaged his temples, seemingly done with you, but you can see the corners of his lips twitching when you put two overly large handfuls of snacks into your mouth.

Crowley makes it too easy to get him laughing.

“Why,” Crowley gestured to all of you, still buried in fancy and colorful quilts Kalim also gifted you but from a long while back, “are you like this? I didn’t know I raising someone so spoiled rotten.”

First of all, he was babysitter at best, and second, you are rotting but for vastly different reasons that you are currently ignoring and hoping it goes away.

And thirdly…

“Because it’s fun.” And that’s all there was to it. It’s fun to tease him and it’s to make him laugh not even a second later. It’s the reason why you make stupid lies to this face.

But also, you like being given things. Did the bird-brain himself tell you not to reject a gift because it’s impolite?

“I can see you fighting a smile, Crowley.” You leaned back against your pillow, smiling yourself.

Crowley crossed his arms and pouted like he wasn’t older than… probably everyone living here in this neighborhood. You have no clue honestly. You could be wrong.

“I’m not fighting a smile, I’m fighting against my eyes! From sobbing! Here you are, indulging in all manner of riches while I’m left to collect dust! All by my lonesome!” He turned around huffed once more, as if finally done with you.

“Sure you are.” You fished out the remote from in between the cushions. “Aren’t your soap opera’s usually on at this hour?”

Instantly, Crowley was on the other side of the sofa, hat replaced with his sleeping cap and a silly straw between his lips, connecting and looping all the way to a hot chocolate right on your kitchen table. “Actually, it’s a space opera this time, and yes. It’s the channel right after your favorite plant nymph documentary that Mozus narrates.”