#around the same amount of time to spin as a nest of top

[milkweedman]

Genuinely spending 2 hours a day just prepping the fiber, RIP

To be fair at least a third of that time is pushing the executive function button so I can start the next nest. They're unfortunately one of those activities that has enough steps that each one feels like it's own separate thing, so I have to Start Task each damn time. So there's a 5-10 minute cooldown between them.

Got 9 nests, I think (on top), middle is some fleece that's already had a lot of locks picked out so it's kind of jumbled, bottom is combing waste.

[just-someone-who-likes-to-write]

hey luv, can i request some simple, domestic fluff with jonathan crane? like maybe jon having a casual heart attack from seeing reader in one of his shirts, trying their best to cook them both breakfast or feeding his crows, doesn't matter. i'm just in need of pure fluff with this rowdy stinkman garbage boy

Oh pure fluff, that's what I need now and seeing this request of our favorite but oh so terrible "God of Fear" made me determined to write it!!

Thank you for the request and I am sorry for taking so long to do it!

Being one of the most known and wanted Villains of Gotham can be stressful for to only Jonathan but to his beloved as well since the batman knows of his relationship with (Y/n). Whenever he escapes arkham the first person the Batman would interrogate was her, thinking that the scarecrow would go to her first, or that she might know of his hideout, which she doesn't since he never took her there to begin with, and because he is a "hero" he never took her into custody sense she never really participated in any of his schemes or his escapes. Of course, he could have taken her for not reporting him whenever he was in her home, or going out on dates, but again he was a "Hero" who never harm civilians.

That was the only thing he was grateful to the batman for.

And despite his commitment to his life as the infamous Scarecrow, he had his other commitment to (Y/n) as Jonathan. It was difficult trying to balance between gasing the city and planning a romantic night for his hardworking Darling. So after escaping Arkham again and laying low for a few months until the batman was distracted with Joker again, to inform his henchman that he will take a couple of weeks off and they should do the same, with every few days one making sure that his lab wasn't burning.

He surprised (Y/n) with a getaway to out of Gotham to a Rural area, his childhood home to be exact. Despite is being a great mansion that has been past to generations Jonathan loathed the place but seeing how it has a lot of space and no-one dares to come near it of fear it being hunted, he renewed the home from the inside so he can use as a second area to escape to, in case Gotham no longer was safe for him, but now with his Darling that place became their home. So after making some adjustments he brought his (Y/n) to their now second home.

It was heaven for him, waking up and sleeping together, being in the same table in all three meals, and engaging into cute couple activities that he only saw on TV or read in books. It was really tempting to just forget his career in gothem and start a new just for the sake of experiencing this bless everyday for the rest pf his life.. But he knew it was impossible, so he wanted to enjoy these few days as long as possible.

Jonathan was forced awake when the sun light that seeped from between the heavy curtains assaulted his eyes. He groaned and turned around stretching his arm to your side in order to cuddle you until noon, but his brows furrowed when he was met with an empty cold space. He forced one of his eyes open and saw that you were no where to be seen. He knew that there was no reason to stay in bed if you weren't there with him, and so he stretched his limps before standing up and picking up his clothes that was discarded on the ground from your... Previous night "intimate activities", just the thought of it made grin like an idiot. He paused when realizing that his white dress shirt or missing, maybe it was somewhere in the halls, lost in your moment of passion no doubt so he shrugged it off believing that you wouldn't mind him walking around with only his pants.

"Now, where could you be?" He asked himself as he looked at your empty side. He didn't need to think more for his answer came in the form of wood cracking lightly from above him. "There you are."

He walked out of the room and made his way through the halls to the stairs that lead to the attic, which was quite spacious so he made it into a special room for his pet crows. He remembers the time he introduced (Y/n) to them, she was quite scared at first, which was very adorable to him, but with time the fear turned to simple nervousness and from that to adoration, which was some time troublesome because he doesn't seem to be able to keep her away from there, always wanting to feed and pet those dark creatures. Finally reaching the attic's door Jonathan had this mischievous thought of scaring you, the attic was mostly dark having only one big window that allows that sun light, many pillars he could hide behind without you directing him, I mean he did that many times with the batman and he was only able to catch glimpse of him, so he doubted that you would be able to even know he was around, confident with his plan he opened the door slowly and carefully to it won't make as much as a creak as he sneaked in. However, the entire plan was thrown at the window when he finally saw.

You stood there legs and feet bare, your hair a mess not brushing it after waking up probably, the only item covering you was his missing white dress shirt which was too big on you. Jonathan's eyes where wide in both shock and fascination, he could feel his heart hammer against his rib cage as you giggled from of of the crows feathers tickling you cheek. He must have made a sound some how for you turned around to look directly at him, and caused his heart ache to rise, for the top buttons were undone which showed a generous amount of you cleavage, and with the sun light bathing you, you literally shined in his. Poor Jonathan wanted nothing more than to fall on his knees for you.

"Jonathan." You called breaking him out of his train of thoughts.

You came towards him causing the crows around you to fly away to their nests. You had such a look of concern as you came closer.

"Hey, are you alright?" You asked as you titled your head to the side.

No able to hold it back anymore, Jonathan wrapped his arms around you bringing you closer to him, his nose buried further in the crook of your neck and his hummed in content when he felt your own arma wrap around him as you pressed yourself further against his body. You stood like that for what felt like hours, before you had to pry yourself away from him enough to look to his face.

"Someone woke up in a good mood." You stated with a smile that he returned.

"I did." He replied not letting you go, no that you tried anyway.

"And may I ask what is the reason professor?" You asked sounding intrigued.

The two of you started swaying with each other, until it looked like you were slow dancing to no music.

"Oh my dear it is a simple reason really." He said with a spin and he took you hand into his, his other hand resting on your waist while your own was on his bare shoulder.

"Is it now?" You continued to ask earning a him of approval from him.

He slowly stopped your small dance before taking your hand and kissed it tenderly but didn't pull it away from his lips enjoying the feeling of your skin.

"The reason my dear... Is because I seem to find myself smitten by you all over again." He confessed.

He could see a soft blush starting to show on your cheeks, embarrassed by his words, but you didn't allow it to show.

"Are you know?"

"Oh yes." He quickly said. "You fill my every thought even more than before, every minute I spend away from you feels like hours and the hours like days and the days to weeks and so on so forth."

"Then I guess nights spend scheming were terrible for you?" You asked enjoying his words and craving for more.

"Tormenting!" He almost exclaimed as the hand around your waist brought you close again." And the nights locked up at Arkham were agonizing."

"I did offer to visit you." You reminded.

"And risk the batman lurking over you even more or the cops sniffing after you?.. Never! I'd rather spent a thousand night and a day alone with the blissful thought that you were safe rather than drage you down with me."

He declared and you knew he was sincere. You pulled your hand away from his body only to bring them again to cups his face.

"Then what about me?" You asked with a pout. "I can't stand living those thousand night and a day knowing where you are but can't reach you. I'd probably go mad!"

You said as you dropped backwards dramatically but he caught you with a chuckle bringing up again to meet his blue eyes.

"You would go mad without me?" He asked with a grin.

"Of course." You answered with mot hesitation. "You aren't the only one smitten badly here, how do you think I felt when you same here all shirtless and messy?"

He raised a brow at your words the grin never leaving.

"You like that I look like a mess now?" He asked in a fake bewilderment.

"Well, yes, after all, everyone knows the uptight, serious and organized professor crame, but only I get to see the hot mess of a man Jonathan Crane." You said with a giggle.

Not able to resist anymore, with his arms still locked around you, Jonathan pulled you close to him as he leaned down to press his lips against your own and you kissed him back. The rest of your world was lost against his lips. The kiss was gentle and careful but it wasn't enough, greedy for more you sneaked your arms around his neck before running your fingers through his hair and gently clenching it as you pulled him harder against you. He groaned softly, low in his throat, and then his arms circled under you back gathering you against him and from the ground, causing you to let out a surprised yelp, breaking the kiss. You'd always be surprised at how truely strong Jonathan can be. You looked back to him, your eyes lost into his blue ones, you were about to lean down to continue the kiss but the moment was interrupted by your stomach growls.

You were suprised by the loud sound and because your eyes were locked on Crane's, you saw the exact moment his eyes slightly widened at the sound as well. Embarrassed and having no where to hide you buried your face against the crook of his neck. Your lover just laughed as he rubbed your back in comfort, finding the situation funny, his laughter eventually died down, but the grin was still there.

"How about we go to the kitchen for breakfast, and then... " he pressed his lips against your ears. "We can continue this after."

Lifting your head slowly to meet his eyes, you saw that the lust was still there and he could have just ignored your what he heard and continued to slam you against one of the wooden pillars so your moment of passion was not gone, but to him your needs are a priority... including food. So he slowly put you back down and with your arms locked together you made your way to the kitchen.

Yes, jonathan had some awful memories in this house, but with his darling new memories were made as the old once are being forgotten.

---

I hope you enjoyed this fic and that you don't mind the bit of spice in the end.

[your-local-grubdog]

Star Touched AU: Onions

Now time for some AU stuff about how onions work hehehe. This took a while to make, but it was a lot of fun to do so as well! :D Enjoy!

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Onions are the nests that pikmin live in. These strange creatures are just as alive as the pikmin and are also a strange plant-animal hybrid. Unlike the pikmin though, onions lack true brains. Rather, their nervous system features multiple "clumps" of nerves in key spots to control vital functions of the onion. Pikmin are able to control where the Onion moves, though they admit that they don't have much of an idea of how they do it. All that is known is that the onion will go where most pikmin wish to go and that in the rare case of a standstill it will stay still. 

Details on how onions look and function internally are vague. Because they're meant for pikmin to sleep in, pikmin naturally feel groggy while inside. As a result of being either asleep or half asleep while in the onion, not even the pikmin can perfectly recall what they saw inside. Consistent details from multiple pikmin have helped greatly in piecing this mystery together. 

There are many theories as to what exactly makes pikmin sleepy in the onion, the most popular ones being the onion giving off pheromones that encourage sleep or the pikmin themselves giving off these same pheromones while in the Onion. However, neither have been proven.

Onions are roughly, well, onion-shaped organisms with a flower on top and three spindly legs below. The main body comes in many colors, matching that of the pikmin that live inside it. The petals of the onion will also match those of their pikmin. The legs, which can be retracted into the onion, are typically yellow but have rarely been observed to come in other colors. They also have a band of white and black triangles around the midsection of their main body (fig. 1). Onions also have a sort of "mouth" on their underside where prey and pellets alike are sucked into the onion. 

They are able to fly, retracting their legs before propelling themselves into the air. While they can fly an impressive amount above the ground, they are unable to leave the atmosphere of PNF-404 (fig. 2). The flower on top of the onion has been observed to spin while in flight (fig. 3) and puffs of hot air escape from the holes in which the legs retract into. However, no one knows quite for sure how the onions fly - just that these two things probably aid in their ability. This is also still hotly debated.

… seriously, if you wish to see a room of pikminologists get into a fight then ask them why exactly pikmin feel so sleepy in their onions then ask them how onions fly. They'll be yelling at each other in due time.

Onions have limited capacity, as you'd imagine. This is normally capped at 100 pikmin living inside an onion at any time. However, onions can fuse with other onions! When two onions fuse, their main body color becomes a splotchy mix of their main colors. The same applies to the petals, assuming the pikmin had different colored petals to begin with (fig. 4). Merging is a slow process that must be done on the surface during daylight hours, as the onions will need the extra energy from the sun to properly fuse. Both onions must also be empty of pikmin to properly fuse. One onion will suck another one up, and then it will take a few hours for the insides of the newly fused onion to be as they should. Fusion is permanent, but still common for the community-driven species.

Onions at their maximum capacity will only occasionally accept prey items, but do not turn these into pikmin. It is thought that these extra nutrients are stored to "feed" the onion, "feed" the pikmin, and make emergency seeds in the event of a pikmin extinction.

When onions merge, their size capacity increases by another 100. Interestingly, the onions can fuse only five times meaning that it could only produce five species of pikmin at any given time. But the maximum cap of pikmin does not exceed 300 pikmin. Fused onions will also always ensure there are at least five of any given type of pikmin within its crop. Thus it is possible for the onion to refuse to make seeds even if the overall cap hasn't been met.

Pikmin can sleep in onions not their own if need be, so long as there is space. It doesn't even matter if the onion can't produce that type of pikmin - a winged pikmin could sleep in a purely yellow onion if needed. 

As mentioned before, exact details on how onions look and function internally are vague. However, we do have a rough idea of how it looks! The inside is apparently green, and soft to the touch. Pods line the walls and floor of the onion, with tinted "lids" that can be opened so that pikmin can sleep inside. Accounts of the color of this tint vary wildly, and it's currently thought to be unique to each individual onion. These pods are built purely for sleeping, several pikmin snuggling up together in one (fig. 5).

There is a tube of some sort in the middle of the onion, leading from the flower to the onion's "mouth". The pikmin refer to it as a "seed chamber", and is most certainly where prey is sucked up and where seeds are shot out from the top. Somewhere in the mid section of the onion is a thick, hard disk (fig. 6). Pikmin have stated that it is possible to climb through it via holes near the edges, and that above it are more sleeping pods. This disk is referred to by the pikmin as being "the grinder", and is presumably where nutrients are ground up. There, they will either be turned into seeds or absorbed by the onion.  

It's unknown how long these pikmin trees live, but it's currently thought to be a long time. The onions themselves take their time growing as well, requiring roughly 30 years to fully mature (though this can vary by species). Despite the danger this seems to allow, the onions can survive winter just fine so long as their tree is healthy and they didn't start to grow too late into the season. Creatures typically do not eat the onions either. On the very rare occasion that an animal does decide to eat an onion they always die soon after. It is thought that perhaps the black-and-white band is a sign to herbivores and predators alike that they are highly poisonous, but once again pikminologists are uncertain. When onions drop from them they fly to a clear area, release five seeds, and then these pikmin pull themselves out of the ground to begin life as a new crop.       

So if pikmin come from onions, where do onions come from? Trees! Specifically "pikmin trees". Each species of pikmin tree can produce only one type of onion, and the physical characteristics of them also vary drastically. Red pikmin trees (fig. 7) for example, are short wide trees with thorns. Blue pikmin trees are taller, with long root systems that can support them in water. Yellow pikmin trees are taller still, with their leaves being clustered in a dome sort of shape. While pikmin themselves can survive and thrive just about anywhere, their trees are a little more picky. Red pikmin trees prefer dense forests, blue pikmin trees prefer wetlands, yellow pikmin trees prefer savanas, and so on.

These pikmin trees are quite rare, though pikminologists are reluctant to classify them as "endangered". The pikmin themselves have stated that there are only supposed to be a small number of these trees, much like how there is supposed to be less predators than prey. Still, care is taken to protect these trees and prevent any unnatural deaths of them.   

Old age is unfortunately not the only thing that can kill an onion. If the onion is damaged to the point of leaking a fluid that matches the color(s) of its main body, it is as good as dead. Whatever this fluid is, it is vital to the onion as once it starts leaking it ceases to properly function. Once fully drained, it will be a translucent, hollow shell of what it once was (fig. 9). The onion is unable to grow into a pikmin tree when drained like this. Despite any tear being enough to kill an onion, small injuries are still better. The onion can still fly (though poorly) if the liquid is slowly trickling out. This gives the pikmin time to escape whatever caused the damage and then hopefully find a new onion. These destroyed onions still have one last trick up their sleeves though! With whatever little energy and nutrients they have left, they will expel a cloud of spores. These spores are fairly complicated on their own, and so will be saved for another section.

On that note… onions can and do die. How long they can live has yet to be recorded, but there is a point where the onion is simply too old to properly function anymore. At this point it will slowly turn black and shrink, the petals wilting. One way or another, the hardened dead onion will make its way underground where it will slowly begin to grow into a new pikmin tree (fig. 8). Pikmin whos' onion has died will leave in search for a new one, though it's more common for them to leave while the onion is within its final year. Pikmin will also bury any dead onions they find. 

If an onion experiences a total pikmin extinction (as in, a fused onion lost all of its pikmin, not just all of a particular type) and fails to detect anyone nearby to help, it will go dormant. The onion will darken, but not to a completely withered shade of black. It is able to survive a long time in this state but once again exactly how long is unknown. All that is known is that, if left for too long, the onion will wilt and eventually grow into a tree. What exactly the onion is looking for is unknown as well: pikmin and many bipedal alien races can awaken the onion, but the animals of PNF-404 cannot nor can any alien race that falls outside the common "upright, two legs, two arms" pattern. The most commonly accepted answer is that alien species that do fall in this same body plan pikmin have are mistaken as being pikmin by the onion due to it lacking the ability to truly think.

Fun facts!

Despite being named after a vegetable, onions are better classified as a fruit. Specifically a berry. Olimar didn't know much about the pikmins' onions when he first found them though, and named them based on appearance. He was also fighting for his life; cut him some slack.

Yes, a fruit animal produces vegetable animals. Deal with it.

A note on pikmin hybrids: while I don't currently plan to write any stories within this AU about a pikmin hybrid, they can still happen in this AU. In short, onions are built for processing revitivaly simple creatures. When given an organism with a brain that is already as complex as the one it is trying to create, it mistakes it as a deceased pikmin later in the process than usual (onions normally immediately reject deceased pikmin, as they lack the nutrients needed to make a new pikmin). Thus the process stops halfway through, leaving a hybrid behind. This hybrid may have some minor memory issues as a result, but is still fully aware of who and what they are. They may also experience issues with both fine and gross motor skills for a short while as they adjust to their new body. These hybrids do not count towards the onion's pikmin capacity. While they can sleep in an onion (given that there is space), the hybrids would find that whatever causes the drowsiness in pikmin is particularly unpleasant for them. Thus they would usually avoid it when possible.

[patchies]

Shadows

Pairing: Dream x Reader x ???

Summary: An apocalyptic world where creatures of the night roam all around it. Searching for living beings to satisfy their hunger. Vicious creatures they are. It’s said that one person called upon their wrath in revenge. You awake in this place with another human being at your side. No memories whatsoever of the life you’ve had prior to coming here. In search of a way out, and your memories, you stumble upon multiple people with many personalities. Some can’t wait to meet you. If you take it the friendly or hostile way is up to you, but worry not… Nothing can hurt you. Or can it, now?

Warnings: none that I can think of

Word Count: 2.8+k

Author's note: hi, hi, hi! I bring you a new chapter after what... 1 and a half months of not uploading anything? My apologies are probably not enough, but I have been working on chapters, I promise! And, drum roll, please, I might have some art in store for this series. It isn't done, yet, but I'm trying to work on it, guys!

Wattpad link: here

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Chapter 4: Forming Friendship

As the sun starts off the next day, you and Nick depart from your home in search of more resources. He throws in a suggestion that you should spread out, so you could cover more ground, and you agree- not like you have anything else to do for the meantime. Unless you want to be stuck at home playing some card games Nick had found while searching for the paint buckets.

You search the places south, just outside the town. All the buildings look the same to your wondering eyes, nothing valuable piquing your interest that much, so you rather opt for wandering further. Through the greenery until a clearing reveals itself before you.

A beautiful and elegant meadow stretches across the horizon. As if a page was torn from a fairy-tale book, and rightfully so. The only thing missing is a royal castle or fairies' houses. Pollen flies in the air and swirls around you enchantingly and a surge of calmness goes through your being. An accommodation in your body along with the feeling of delight.

The nature has truly taken over most of the world.

It's not like you can complain, really. Colours, textures and elements flow with each other in a beautiful harmony, creating an almost painting-like picture that you can marvel at.

Deep down, you were always a fan of the quietness Mother nature has offered you at times in need. Whenever you felt down, really.

You slightly remember how it helped you with your anxiety, shyness and depression when you used to be socially awkward and unwilling to do something about it. It felt peaceful compared to the continuous pressure many people used to put on you. Not many people were harsh on you, but your social battery could take so much until all you were ready to do was just lie down, put on a playlist of your favourite songs and chill. They denied your want to be left alone when the only thing you needed was space and your own time. Their faces are now blurry images of faces you once used to know, but you don't know if you'll ever get back to your life or how long it might take.

I should throw away my pessimistic thoughts…

That was a part of the old you, though. You'd like to think that you're better now, but your pessimism has stayed with you nonetheless. It's about time you started working on it and who knows? You might get to form plenty friendships here who will be willing to help you.

With a shake of your messy hair, you focus back to the beauty in front of you, pushing the vines away and walking towards the flowery meadow.

Yellow grains contrast gorgeously with the sparse greenery the field has to offer here and there.

You bent down and pluck one of the many Dahlias near your feet, putting the pistil close to your nose.

Sniff, sniff, sniff

The flower alone doesn't smell alluring or sweet, like anything. The stem and leaves, on another note, smell bitter with a slight flowery undertone. It strikes a sense of serenity in you as you inspect the innocent white petals be carried away from you by the wind, flying off to the clear sky to join the fine powdery substance.

You let go of the stem and watch it be snatched, following its trace until it falls between the loads of flowers.

Just then, a gentler breeze begins and takes a handful of leaves of the ground, aiming just below a small hill to your left as if it had a mind of its own. You realize that it might actually do as it points you to a lone building sitting at the base, overflown with the finest flora you've ever faced.

A mere bookshop from what you can see from the distance. The walls are built from brick and it still seems in a decent shape, except the nature, but that gives it a special charm. A great place to get away from all this chaotic and death-threating events for even a while.

You carefully move through the grass and blossoms, trekking your way up to it.

• • •

Meanwhile, somewhere far away from you, a deer curiously, yet cautiously, examines you from a cliffside looking over the whole meadow. Its doe eyes flick from you to a small fawn by its side.

It huffs, shakes its head and turns, departing into the forest.

• • •

The inside is wondrous, despite your expectations of it being completely trashed.

Bookshelves line the walls and are all filed with all styles of literature. Slightly used, torn and unkept. It gives you an idea how no one surely visits this place. The place looks great, so it doesn't make much sense to you. You cannot help but be a little happy over the fact at that despite the telling signs of its abandonment.

Your hand automatically lifts up to slide over the spines of the books, keeping your touch light as you advance further inside. The rough, yet extremely soothing, texture extracts a small smile from you and you close your eyes. You begin dragging your other appendage across the parallel shelf until a thud makes you shoot your eyes open in alert, whipping your head behind you, but finding nothing out of ordinary.

With your now unsure footsteps, you slowly walk to the end of the aisle in front of you, peeking around the corner.

You catch sight of a short boy sitting in front of a shelf, or rather a stand, with comic books. He's sat down near the middle where the wooden stand is, flipping through each comic with haste.

A messy brown nest of hair sits atop his head while a flower crown with some scarce plastic bees thrown in reasts atop and a long green scarf messily wrapped around his neck. It strangely compliments his look that is styled with green, golden and black and despite the apocalyptic surroundings and lack of proper resources, you're surprised he's styled it very prettily.

A black stylish coat with golden accents is thrown on the floor near him along with his messenger bag, its contents peeking out. Especially the thick book with a pack of pencils. You wonder what the book contains, but maybe you'll get a chance to see it sometime.

You cautiously and carefully lean against a counter near you, observing the young boy as he shuffles through numerous comics. He huffs out a long sigh, throwing another book aside. It comes tumbling down back to him due to the amount he has already piled on top of each other. His nimble fingers pick up another one, swiping through it with precision.

He mumbles something quietly, softly putting the comic onto another pile beside him that is neat compared to the other one.

This demeanour continues for a long minute, basically choosing a book in a ratio that one is kept and twelve are thrown away. He never seems too happy with his decision, frowning at some in sadness despite having to give up on them. You don't understand why he doesn't put them onto the obvious piles of his favourites, but you stand in your place.

Having enough of watching, you whistle too loudly to get his attention.

Only to see the guy jump up in the air and slip on a paper he has previously abandoned on the ground. He pointlessly flails his arms around until his elbow hits the ground first, followed by his hip and the rest of his body.

You wince.

As if caught in the headlights, he spins his head to you. The previously left out paper now present on his head. You see confusion, fear and surprise fight against who will persevere on his face, so you lower your shoulders back down and give him an awkward smile, “Uh, sorry?”

He unsurely stumbles to his feet and dusts his clothes off, tightening the scarf around his neck with tense movement. His eyes widen and he makes a quick, though awkward, show of pulling out a stick?

He fumbles around with it for a bit before it extends into a normal looking sword, posing heroically, “I'll- uh, stab you! Yeah! I'll use this sword to stab you.”

You quirk an eyebrow at his choice of words, and at the adorable stutter he did, “Do you even know how to wield a sword?”

“Of course, I do! Wait- do I? No, no, no, you're just trying to make me look silly. I do know-”

Cue an uncoordinated swing of the sharpened weapon at his own leg, but at least his reaction time seems to be fast and he slides his foot out of harm's way just in time. One he created, and he watches as the sword penetrates the wooden boards and he struggles to pull it out.

His action makes you doubt his abilities further and a you can't help the small giggle that escapes you, raising your arms in mock defence when he sends you a defensive glare, “You- you cannot be serious. Quit the child's play, I'm not here to hurt you.”

He stays quiet, still pulling on the handle of the sword with unfortunate outcomes. It slips out of his fists multiple times and he sighs before flopping down onto the floor, defeated, “I guess I really don't know.”

You choose not to retort any sassy comeback to his gloomy self, rather analysing his figure and approaching the weapon. Arms still held above your head to show you don't plan on attacking, your features soft, “Mind me getting the weapon for you? I won't use it against you, I promise.”

“Go ahead,” he gives you an absent wave of his hand and only stares as you grip the handle.

At first, you tug and nothing happens, so you try holding it at a specific place and are delighted when you feel a small button press against your palm, giving it one more tug along with a squeeze of the switch.

An imaginary lightbulb blinks above his head as he sees the sword retract from the ground and you're left gripping the stick in your hand, “See? It isn't as hard, is it now?”

“I admit, you're right,” he accepts the handle from your outstretched hand, storing it into his hoodie pocket.

No wonder you didn't notice it before. He's had it hidden there and he had to have pulled it out when you whistled. Although you personally wouldn't own a weapon like that, it probably comes in handy for situations like these. You aren't sure if it'd be beneficial in an actual fight against a stronger and better crafted weapon, though.

A switchblade would do a better job, surely. From what you've seen, they're a lighter object, more portable and friendlier to beginners. Might even suit his style of fighting better, even if you haven't seen it in action yet, to be truthful, “I do believe I'm right.”

“I would beat you if I had my hatchet!”

You chuckle, “Well, we can always engage in hand-to-hand combat, if you're that confident in getting me. Why use weapons?”

His eyes widen and all his courage dissipates, waving his hands crazily and shaking his head, “When you say it like that, I'll pass you on that offer, thank you. Why didn't you attack me, by the way? Oh, and also, I'm Tubbo, since we seem to be okay with each other.”

Refraining from telling him your name back, you swing your arm at his head and watch him yelp, shut his eyes and flinch from you in humorous satisfaction. You stop it inches from his face, lowering it and stepping away from him, “You should've seen your face, Mr. Tubbo. I'd say we are okay, but I had to pull that on you and to answer your question of my peace towards you… You just seemed harmless.”

He stands up and looks at you in feign anger, jabbing an accusing finger into your chest “You're so cruel, what? I can't trust you now.”

Tubbo crosses his arms, turning away from you. You turn away from him and spot his collection of comics. His previous actions coming to the forefront of your mind, “Hey, why were you browsing through so many comics?”

“I was looking for something,” he shrugs, walking past you and picking up quite a big amount of comic books. He catches the incredulous glance you give the items in his hands and nods his head at them, “They aren't for me.”

“You looked quite sad when you couldn't grab one for yourself, why can't you?”

He's surprised you picked up on that, but he just shrugs, “I would. If my bag allowed me to carry so much at once and I just want to surprise my friends.”

You give a small 'aww', making his ears flush pink and cower away, “I could help you carry them. Where is your camp?”

“I don't think I should be revealing that to strangers, but I've never been the smartest with decisions and I'm sure you'd notice either way,” Tubbo stuffs the books inside his bag, barely closing it, “I could just act like I abducted you.”

“Won't that be suspicious? You actually seem like a person who's too nice to do that.”

The bee boy lightly grins at that while putting his coat on, throwing the messenger bag on his shoulder, “I'm bad at acting, too, so they'd surely notice.”

“Are any of them keeping guard on this place, by the way?”

“No,” his answer is straight-forward, without any hesitation, “It might be very shocking, but none of my friends know about this place. Although I visit quite often than not. It gets quite harsh out there, y'know?”

You hum, choosing to drop the subject and return back to an airier topic, “Which ones do you like?”

Tubbo's quick to light up at the change, dropping to his knees and shuffling through the messy mountain of comics once again. He carelessly throws ten of them at you in happiness and leaves you grasping them to your chest. You laugh at his enthusiasm, reading off few of the titles and shaking your head as he keeps on searching for more.

This was probably a crazy idea, but whatever. Tubbo seems like an adorable person to be around.

Not long after you get ready to leave, keeping the conversation loose and it's almost effortless how you get along. The themes get intertwined between you with ease, pointing to some aspects around you if you want to make a point.

He is a strange guy to get a hold of, but you can say that you like how easy-going talking is with him. The male has visibly suffered some of his own stuff, but he still has this bubbly personality around him that you can't wrap your mind around. Though, you enjoy that little perk he has.

At one point, you lose sight of the boy, looking around you in confusion only to have him appear behind you and throw a freshly made flower crown on top of your head. The question of where he got it from is lost to his ears as he babbles on how he needs to teach you the crafting of one, so you could be 'flower crown buddies'. His own words. Your reaction is to bump your shoulder with his, joking how he is too goofy for you to even want to learn. A look of betrayal is thrown at you and you chuckle.

He proceeds to skip at certain intervals during your trek through the forest, too, visibly being excited to earn a new friend who is close to his wave-length. You don't even notice when you get close, having too much fun getting to know each other and goof around, but Tubbo increasingly slows his steps near an old-looking house.

He turns to you, “Well, this is my stop. I shouldn't take you further or I'll get spanked for not listening to my peers.”

“Uh, I won't respond to that, though I hope everything's alright back at your base. You shouldn't go through child abuse anywhere,” you awkwardly scratch at your neck, handing him the comic books meant for him.

Tubbo light-heartedly laughs at your perplexed self, a jokester-like glint appearing in his eyes as he accepts the papers, “I hope we can meet again.”

“I do, too, and hey. The library can be our place, if you're comfortable enough to call it that,” you heartily smile at him, ruffling his hair and receiving a pouty 'hey! my hair, not yours!'.

He shakes his head to fix your doings, throwing a lop-sided grin, “I can allow that.”

“Well, I should go,” you look up to the sky, seeing the sun brightly shining more to the west side now. It shouldn't be that long before you'll have to get ready for the night and report your findings with Nick. Not like you have much to say to him, but there are some things worth mentioning to him, “I have a friend possibly waiting for me already. It was incredible meeting you, Tubbo!”

“Likewise.”

[freetobeafcknriot]

*queues this thing into the future after months of it being in the writing oven* hello! i'm the doctor :)

for midam week 2k21, day 7: melody. (inspired by an actual, iconic scene from doom patrol season 1 episode 8! i wrote this back in april after watching that episode and started to translate it afterward. you don't need to know the show, but if you want a reference or background music or you're simply curious, here's the scene on youtube!)

Adam has always liked music. The number of songs he used to, well, scream at the top of his lungs the first years in the Cage for the sake of keeping himself some company — no matter how much Michael told him to shut up — and some memories that the archangel has grown to know by heart are proof of this. He still sings sometimes, even now.

It's mostly little bits and pieces he picks up here and there between his shifts and a trip to the grocery store, but Michael listens to him nonetheless. Adam knows it, and in a way, he has come to understand why — he can feel Michael's grace tinkle, and the whirlwind of his very core buzzing with a warm sense of calm and contentment. It's kind of the reason why he keeps doing it, keeps humming stray melodies. And to be honest, music's good for Adam, too. It makes his soul flutter uniquely, or so Michael has noticed, not without a mix of confused endearment and curiosity. It's actually normal for pretty much any human out there, but well, it's not like Michael pays attention to any soul other than the one nestled next to his grace. Like now, for instance, while they sit in comfortable silence, watching a TV series that even Michael seems to be fairly interested in. Adam shifts for a bit, eyes on the screen, where the Negative Man has just started, to his surprise given what kind of character he is, to sing. And sure, it's probably because of the context and the lyrics and the bubbling crescendo of good feelings in his body but—the point is, that suddenly, from his side of the bond, Michael hears him think ‘what the hell’. Then he stands up and holds his hand out to the archangel. "Alright, come here," Adam says, eyes expectant and a tad bit nervous. A good kind of nervous though, Michael notes, studying him with furrowed brows. It doesn't take him much to understand what exactly Adam is asking for, and no matter how much he is always willing to humor him if there is anything that the archangel Michael has never done that is dancing. So he shifts his gaze from Adam's outstretched hand up to his face and pointedly says, "I think I'll pass, kid." Michael's lips are pursued in a deadpanned, but not an unamused or grumpy line, and that's enough for Adam to nudge him. Not to mention, he's most certainly not exposing himself to take no for an answer. "Oh, come on, old man," Adam presses, idly and unafraid to clash with Michael's stubbornness, the corners of his lips lifted upwards and his blue irises alight with something akin to mischief. "It'll be fun!" "Adam, I don't dance." "Just this once?" Michael quirks an eyebrow. Not much, but it still holds one hell of a whirlwind of expressions and gives Adam the impression to be looked at through and thorough — he is... bubbly, content, and a billion different little human things. And, while on the TV screen the main character's bandages start to disappear, making him look human again for the first time after decades, his soul's ringing feels a little softer. With an exasperated sigh, Michael eventually takes Adam's hand and stands up in a swift motion. "Just this once." Adam grins, cheery and maybe just a little smug. From this up close — aside from their breaths meeting and the buzzing sensation of skin against faux skin — the flow of his warm-colored mirth pulses more clearly than before. It's tangible; radiant.

(As if Michael didn't love him enough already.) ‘You're insufferable.’ Michael's grace whispers, but the tacit affection threaded within the words spoken over their bond is so evident that it glimmers in his apparition's eyes, and Adam, for the life of him, can't help but blush. Not too much alright, but, if only to ignore the light heat rising to his cheeks and for the sake of his so-called insufferableness, he shrugs in a what can you do kind of way and says, "Heh, you like me anyway and you know it." Michael looks him dead in the eyes. "Do I." "Hey." Michael tilts his head with an amused glint of his grace and really, sometimes, Adam almost misses when back in the days he was about as expressive as a marble statue. Or a rock, for that matter. He shakes his head with an equally playful scoff and takes a step back, pushing the coffee table with the back of his leg in order to have a little more space. Michael looks at his movements with rapt attention, specifically when Adam shows him where to put his hands and by consequence moves a little closer. "Here, just..." Adam's murmur is slightly muffled by all the singing that is going on on the TV screen, but that doesn't make the light flustered note on his voice any less obvious, clearly. His eyes meet Michael's, and Adam takes in a breath, their noses almost touching. He finds himself feeling a little off, a little mesmerized really—but not necessarily in a bad way. His lips twitch, glimmering irises and warm blue. "...hey," he exhales. His cheeks start to hurt a little because of the amount of smiling he stupidly feels like doing right now. Michael doesn't make that kind of ache go away with a brush of his grace, he's come to associate it with the good chemicals that fizzle all over their body and the happiest his vessel — his only friend, his... Adam—can be. So, the archangel mimics the gesture, in his own way, while tracing the fabric of Adam's shirt with his fingers. "Hey yourself," he says, voice is low and deep despite the light playfulness dripping from his words. Under his touch, Adam shivers and hurries to shrug it off. "Right, so, you gotta— relax your shoulders, there. Good. Don't think, just..." Adam starts to sway a little, left and right, with growing confidence as his movements begin to follow the music. He's not in perfect sync with it, at all really, but hey, they're in their home after all! His hand is pressed against Michael's side — it tingles a bit with the echo of the buzzing, unleashed power concealed within the archangel's apparition and the thrill Adam feels blossom in his chest first — and with a light pull, it sets a playful invitation to move along. Michael does as much, if a bit stiffly and mostly to humor him, and Adam chuckles. Dancing is not much different from eating or taking a shower or a bath, to Michael, that much is clear. It's better than eating, for sure, but it's still too human, for him at least, to come naturally or even make sense, or hold some kind of appeal. Nonetheless, Adam's sensations latch onto his own in the same way their fingers entwine. They flow in through lowered veils and walls, carrying genuine amusement and happiness, and Michael finds — unsurprisingly, for the most part — easy to take them in and let himself be carried away by them. Enough for his faux body to move more fluidly, naturally even. Which is ridiculous: he's a soldier, definitely not a dancer. (The things he does for love.) "Wow, you're not that bad, you know that?" Adam chimes in, all ringing soul and silvery voice. "Very funny," Michael scoffs, a pointed look that accompanies his dry remark. "I think I'll leave you to the rest of the song now. I'll be fine for the next couple of decades." He takes a step back, lifts his arm, and twirls Adam around.　 　　People like us, we've gotta stick together, 　　Keep your head up, nothing lasts forever... Adam laughs. And he spins on his heels, too; a fluid movement before he winds his arms around Michael's shoulders and finds himself closer to him, chest to chest. (Within their shared body, between grace and soul, it feels like pure euphoria.) 　　Here's to the damned, to the lost and forgotten... Their noses brush, tenderly. And damn it, he said decades, which—okay, Adam digresses, but damn, does it make his heart flutter! Still, stubbornly and gleeful, he grins, mirroring the state of their truest beings. "Too bad, you're not leaving me at the chorus, Michael, it's literally the best part to sing along!" "I'm not singing." And that's not debatable. "Nah, I know that. But I sure as hell am!" Because listen, Adam is in no way, shape, or form the kind of guy to be, you know, a party animal or anything of the sort. But this is far from the most embarrassing, stupid thing Michael saw him do. They're well past that, thank you very much, especially when it comes to his singing. Maura and Larry's voices resonate in the room, powerful and beautiful in their unity, Adam's own promptly in tow. "We are all misfits living in a world on fireee. . .!" he sings, spreading his arms, his soul vibrant and alight. Nested around it, the grumpy old solar fire projected right in front of him fills his body with an iridescent rush of warmth. Michael doesn't sing along with him, Adam doesn't expect him to, but his eyes crinkle in that fond way of his, and his body moves along the lively melody. He's mesmerized, captivated by the human in front of him so much that if any one of them were the type, they would say that suddenly, it's like they're not even in their little living room anymore. Music does that, too, doesn't it? Bringing colors and life to the people like them, that is. 　　Sing it for the people like us — Adam entwines their fingers. They are, of course, the mirror image of one another, and fit together like puzzle pieces. He stumbles a bit on the lyrics, which to be fair he is not all that familiar with, he's mostly following the characters' lead, but it's not important. It doesn't need to be perfect. Not that Adam would care, given how Michael takes most of his attention. "They can't do nothing to you," In tune with the music and with laugher on his lips, Adam steps towards Michael. "They can't do nothing to me," Michael's grace scoffs in mirth, and amusement dances in his eyes while he takes a step himself, his hands tight around Adam's and in motion. "This is the life that we choose—" It's a happy moment, Adam's voice is as vibrant as his soul, and yet, Michael senses the echo of an unspoken promise when he sings: "This is the life that we bleed." It sinks in the threads of his grace and the line of his mouth, as the quickening rhythm tries to slither into the lessening space between them and lights up Adam's grin. They meet in the middle, and their foreheads rest against each other despite the frantic rhythm. Quicker and livelier by the second. "So throw your fits in the air. Come out," Their hands clenched around each other and the tip of their noses bump playfully, causing Adam's voice to crack with amusement and a dash of sheepishness for the proximity. "Come out if you dare!" And it doesn't take much for Michael's impossibly blue eyes to slide from Adam's own to his beaming lips. "Tonight we're gonna...!" Then the distance is no more. 　　—change forever. Adam goes stiff out of surprise for a moment. Michael, eyes closed, can feel the tangible quirk of his lips, smiling against his own. Then Adam's arms are around Michael's neck, and when they part, his heart is beating furiously and he would very much like to spare an offhand comment of any kind, but he doesn't. Larry's daydream dissolves abruptly into harsh reality; the music, the song stop. Meanwhile though, in that odd little living room, for once in their very long lives, reality is sweeter. Not idyllic or easy, but quieter; tangible. Theirs.　 　　Sing it for the people like us, the people like us.

❪　ao3．❫

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Sweater | The Mikaelson Boys

Hey Lovelies! Hope you're all doing well in this time of uncertainty, I know it can be tough. Never fear though, as always the Mikaelson boys are here to the rescue. I almost wrote another smut, like I had to put my laptop down and walk away, but alas I kept the tale on track. Kind of. None of my stories ever stay on track. Oh well, here you go loves, happy April 1st! Also, stay tuned for a master list that I will be posting sometime in the coming days!

Description: The Mikaelson household is a household that shares everything, something that Y/n finds out when she unassumingly picks up a sweater and puts in on without a care.

Pairing: The Mikaelson boys x Fem!Reader, definitely leaned this in Elijah's favour though

Warnings: None? Sharing? Is that a warning? They share Y/n there, I said it, you've been "warned"

Word count: 3798

Tags: FLUFF, very light smut, like not even just a heavy make-out scene,

(Photos do not belong to me but the mood bard does :) )

Life at the Mikaelson compound is, by no means, an ordinary one. It’s a lot of loud conversations, a lot of even louder fights, and a delirious amount of laughter. The kind of laughter that immobilizes people. It’s a life of never being alone, even when you want to be. Someone’s always around; chewing loudly when you want to read, sitting on your bed while you pick your clothes in the morning, hell even hanging outside the bathroom while you shower. It’s a life of love, the kind that fully consumes you.

Above all, though, life at the Mikaelson compound is a life of sharing. Food, books, beds, you name it. This house coined the phrase “what’s mine is yours”, literally. After two centuries of life with the Mikaelson siblings nothing surprises you anymore. Clothes are the main culprit. You don’t bat an eye these days when Rebekah strolls out of your room in a newly purchased dress or pair of pumps. You simply couldn’t care less. That’s just how things are.

That’s why it doesn’t cross your mind when you pick up a hoodie that someone had lazily draped over the back of a dining room chair. You were freezing and it was there. It’s probably Kol’s. Holding it up, it’s massive. You shake your head. Definitely not Kol’s. There’s a chance it’s Bekah’s but it doesn’t strike you as something she would wear. It's a cream white color with a Cambridge logo. Someone must be feeling sentimental. You settle on it being Klaus, the temperamental artist, pulling the hoodie over your head without a second thought.

You continue on your way to the den, padding barefoot in a pair of lounge shorts and your newly aquired hoodie. It has a familiar scent, one that riles your senses in the most delicious way, but you still can’t place it. Pine and nutmeg. You would think that a surplus of two hundred years with the same people would make you better at this but it hasn’t.

It’s unusually quiet. Considering you didn’t wake up cuddled next to Bekah, you’re already a little off centred. You haven’t woken up alone in years. By now you should have encountered at least two of the brothers and maybe a sister. Kol is usually up early. It’s kind of suspicious. You hear the slightest hum of noise as you get closer to your destination. Nothing crazy, but it’s there.

Entering the den, your questions are answered. Almost everyone is piled in, draped across the couches, sprawled on the floor, curled in armchairs. That’s more like it. Only one person is missing. Elijah. He’s been gone for a few days now. Your heart hammers at the thought of him. His smile flashes through your mind. Your veins sing. Every nerve in your body feels like it’s calling out to him. You seriously need to get that in check.

“Something on your mind, love?” Kol’s voice breaks you from your thoughts.

Of course he heard your heartbeat pick up, he’s a millennium of trained vampire hearing, “I’m fine, don’t worry.”

You walk over to the couch he’s stretched over, tucking yourself under the book he’s holding and into his chest. Cuddles are a big part of the Mikaelson household, just as much as sharing. He smells heavenly too, but different from the sweater. Sweeter, not as earthy. It’s just as lovely. Your mind falls from Eli as Kol places a kiss to your forehead. His arms are cool and you try and keep your pulse in check this time. This whole family has had you enamoured from the moment you first met them.

He nuzzles his chin against your hair, “that’s what we do, hun.”

“I know,” you murmur, your heart slowing back to normal as you pull a comforter from the back of the couch onto your legs. You’re still chilly, he’s not helping much with that.

“Hey, no fair,” Rebekah whines from the floor, “I want cuddles.”

You giggle from Kol’s hold, “guess you should have waited for me this morning then, huh?”

She pouts from her own pile of blankets, giving you puppy eyes. Bekah has perfected that look for centuries. Her blonde hair is piled in a messy bun on the top of her head, a few strands trickling down around her face. She’s wearing one of your t-shirts, the blue one you got at the New York Zoo a few years back. She makes it look like a ballgown.

“Don’t pout, sister, it's not becoming,” Klaus calls from the armchair he’s sat in, his bare chest on display for your viewing pleasure, “besides, I do believe that it’s my turn.”

Klaus is no exception to the Mikaelson charm. He's mischievous and playful. Yes, he can be ruthless and, yes, he did have a reputation for boxing his family members when you first met him, but now he’s different. He cares recklessly, a page he must have taken from Rebekah’s playbook.

Not to mention he’s undeniably gorgeous and he makes your chest flutter every time his blue eyes sear into yours. You are in way too deep.

Kol grumbles, tightening his arms around you before whispering, “can’t I ever have you for five minutes before the wolves descend?”

Naturally, everyone hears his complaints.

“Vampires, Kol, vampires,” Klaus chimes in, a devilish smirk on his lips, “now hand over the girl, brother.”

“Y/n, babes, cuddles please,” Bekah intensifies her pouting and you giggle again.

They’re in an all out war for your attention, but what else is new. Your eyes dart between Bekah and her pile of blankets and Klaus’ outstretched arms. You hate to say it, but the choice is a pretty obvious one.

You rest your head against Kol’s chest, breathing his intoxicating scent one last time, “I promise I’m all yours next time.”

He gives you a tight squeeze in return, “whatever you say, love.”

You wobble slightly as you stand up, readjusting your sweater and pulling it down where it had ridden up. The chilly air nips at your exposed legs as you stumble over to Rebekah, whose arms are now open and waiting. There's a blanket around her shoulders ready to engulf you. You’re more than ready to jump into her little nest.

Klaus’ words stop you though, “that’s a nice sweater, doll, where'd you get it?”

Wait, what?

“It was in the dining room, I figured it was yours,” you more than figured; you had been certain.

His laugh sends tingles flying up your spine, “unfortunately no, love, but I’ll never turn down the opportunity to get you in my clothes.”

“Or out of them,” Kol chirps from the couch, his nose turned into his book without a care in the world about who heard him.

Your cheeks flush at his suggestive words. Not because you aren't used to them, though. Comments like these were quite usual in the Mikaelson household. It wasn’t a normal day if at least one of them didn’t make you want to squeeze your thighs together and jump one, or maybe all, of them. No, you blush because it's been two hundred years of not one of them having actually followed through on anything and it pushes you closer to doing it for them everyday. Especially lately.

His words made your legs tremble but you continued with the topic at hand, “Kol, is it yours?”

He pulls his head from his book, his eyes dark with something you can’t say you haven’t seen before, “I wish.”

The sigh that leaves your lips is not of your own volition. His brown eyes burn into yours, daring you to turn away. You do. Sorry Kol, now is not the time for a staring competition. You cross your legs desperately and put your hands on your hips, looking to Rebekah for relief.

“Sorry, sweetheart, but that’s not my sweater.”

You run a frustrated hand through your hair. You don’t know why this is bugging you so much. Your whole body feels like it's being pulled in every direction by every Mikaelson. Except Elijah, who’s not here. His name in your mind alone, though, is enough to add him to the rest. He doesn’t need to be here for you to feel his pull. Everyone of your senses is on fire right now. The earthy scent hits your nose again and you close your eyes, trying to soak up every last drop. It's driving you mad and you can swear it’s getting stronger, but it’s probably just your sanity wearing thin.

You can hear the flimsy distress in your voice, “then who, pray tell, does it belong to?”

“Me, love,” your head goes fuzzy at the sound of his voice.

You spin around on clumsy legs, practically falling into Elijah, “Eli!”

He catches you easily, pulling you against his hard chest. You don’t hesitate to throw your arms around him, standing on your toes to get closer to him. Even through his suit jacket you can feel how strong he is. You hadn’t heard him come in, too distracted by the other three Mikaelsons in the room. He smells exactly like the sweater, which makes sense now.

He laughs into your hair, squeezing his arms tighter around you, “I missed you too, baby.”

His words make you breathless. They’re so unlike Elijah. Well, not the ‘I miss you’ part. It would be unusual if he didn’t say that. But baby? That’s very much not a word he frequents often.

“Elijah,” his name is a whisper coming from your lips.

Your heart pounds furiously in your chest. Being so close to him makes you delirious. You struggle to keep from pressing your legs together. You know he can read it all over you, they all can, his lazy smirk giving it away. Your face flushes again for what feels like the millionth time today. His eyes darken, the same way Kol’s had, and drag all the way down and back up your body.

He takes your face in one of his hands keeping the other arm hooked around your back, drawing his words out slowly, “you look ravishing in my clothes, baby.”

“Eli, what-”

You’re cut off by a pair of warm lips colliding with your own. His arms wrap once more around you fully, pulling you closer to his hungry mouth. You kiss him back like you haven't been kissed in years, and you haven’t, lacing your fingers through his hair and feverishly pulling his lips harder against yours. It takes everything in you not to moan against his mouth in the middle of the den.

“Awe, no fair Elijah,” you pull back, shocked and breathless, at the sound of Kol’s whiny voice, “I wanted to be the first one.”

He glances over your shoulder, past your wide eyes, at his brother, “too bad, little brother. I gave you two hundred years. You had plenty of time.”

“Well, I’ll be damned if I’m not the second.”

In the blink of an eye you’re in Kol’s arms, being dipped theatrically as he places his own lips where Elijah’s had just been. He tastes different, like berries and honey, whereas Elijah’s lips were peppermint. You kiss him back just as strongly, twisting your fists in his tee and pulling him as close to you as possible. All your senses are consumed by Kol, just as they were Elijah.

When he pulls away, your head is swimming, “I’ve been waiting for that for an eternity, hun.”

His eyes are shining, a huge grin on his pink lips. You haven’t been kissed this much in as long as you can remember. You feel lightheaded, like you’re walking on a cloud. When you peer up at Elijah, he doesn’t look upset. He probably should. You feel guilty for reeling at the new kind of attention.

You feel a hand on your shoulder and you're pulled into a new pair of arms that scoops you into a firm chest.

“My turn, love.”

Klaus’ lips taste like chocolate. Kissing him is, again, different than both his brothers. Playful. He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging gently. You sigh into his mouth, your hands on his face. He spins you around, laughing against your lips. Your heart soars once more. All you can see is Klaus.

When he sets you down, you break away from the three of them, at a loss for both words and air. Your whole body is on fire. Somehow, you can taste all three of them on your lips at once. You can hear your heartbeat furious in your ears. Your eyes dart between them, like a deer in the headlights. Your hand finds your lips. Swollen. But what did you expect? Your legs start shaking again but less out of pleasure and more out of shame. The room feels like it’s shrinking. You wish it would just swallow you already.

You whip your head around to meet Rebekah’s eyes, who looks as shocked as you feel. She sends you a small smile, though, nodding her head. She doesn't seem disappointed, but, then again, you could go on a killing spree and she would still look at you with kind eyes. You grasp at your chest, trying to slow your pulse even slightly. You can’t breathe. Your eyes dart to the door and then back to her eyes. She nods again. Then you bolt.

The Mikaelson boys are fast, they're a thousand years old after all, but you’re determined, and that makes you faster. You just barely close your bedroom door before there's a knock.

“Y/n, it’s Elijah,” his accent flows like honey through the door right to your ears, sending traitorous warmth to your core, “please open the door baby.”

“Why, are you all going to kiss me again?” Your voice is shakey.

You can hear him try to stifle a laugh, “I can if you want me too.”

You huff, frustrated, “I am serious, Eli.”

“It’s just me, love. Let me in?”

That makes you feel the slightest bit better. At least you only have to face one right now. You debate just leaving him out there but he’d probably bust the door down. Elijah is a gentleman but when he wants to talk nothing can get in his way. You run a hand through your hair, trying to make yourself look more presentable, less wanton. You pull the sleeves of the sweater over your hands, trying to hide the shaking.

Opening the door, you come face to face with a half worried Elijah. There’s a small smile on his lips but also a tinge of hesitance in his eyes. You step aside, letting him in before shutting it once more. He grabs your hand leading you towards your bed where he sits on the edge, drawing you to stand between his legs. His hands move to settle on your hips, settling under the hoodie and tracing small circles with his fingers.

“What are you thinking about?”

Your laugh is humourless. What are you thinking about? He can’t be serious. Each of the Mikaelson boys just kissed you, one after the other, all in front of each other, and he wants to know what you're thinking about. The weather Elijah, you’re thinking about the weather. God, you feel so dirty, which you know wasn't their intention but you can’t help it. You feel something for each of them. Something you definitely shouldn't feel. Something you had pushed down for a very long time. It’s hot and throbbing and you don’t think you could bear it if you had to choose between them.

You can’t look him in the eyes, “what do you think I'm thinking about?”

You don’t realize that you’re crying until you open your mouth, your words choppy and broken. As soon as you do, though, it’s like the floodgates have opened. You start sobbing heart wrenching cries, hands over your face, blocking out the now very concerned man. At the thought of losing any of them your lungs constrict. For someone who’s pretty indestructible, you feel like you’re suffocating. You barely register the curse that flies from his mouth before he has you tucked into his arms, his hands sliding over your hair and rubbing your back. Really, doing anything he can to get you to calm down even a little bit.

“Baby, shhh,” he’s frantic, trying to calm you down, “it’s okay love. You’re ok. We’re ok.”

“Eli,” you hiccup into his chest, “what happened out there?”

He holds you tighter against him, “you happened, Y/n. From the moment you walked through our door that’s been it.”

You pull back slightly, finally looking into his eyes, “what are you talking about?”

“We want you. All of us. Kol, Klaus, myself. Hell, even Rebekah is enamoured by you,” he picks you up before sitting back down, still holding you, “Am I too forward in assuming you feel the same?”

Your cheeks flame, the familiar heat returning to your thighs, which are straddling Elijah’s lap, a position you weren’t aware of until now. You wish you were still clueless, though. You positively ache for him, let alone the rest of his brothers.

“I shouldn’t Elijah, it’s not normal,” your hands rest on his shoulders, bringing you to his eye level for once.

He laughs quietly, leaning in close to your face, his breath hot on your lips, “baby, we aren’t normal.”

“How are you okay with this? You should think I’m easy. A tramp,” you cast your eyes downward, landing on his red tie.

He grabs your chin with his hand, forcing you to look at him again, “I would never, could never, see you that way. Love, you’ve been with us for two centuries and haven’t touched us once. You are anything but easy. I have loved you for two hundred years. So have they. If sharing you means I finally get to have you then I am ok with that.”

Your lips are on him the instant the last syllable leaves his lips, your hands curled around his tie pulling his mouth to yours for the second time today. It’s not like you to make any sort of move but if ever there was a time it’s now. He groans into your mouth sending electricity dancing down your spine. You squeeze your thighs hard around him, reveling in the feeling of his hips bucking up to meet your own. His hands slide up underneath his sweater, grasping at your skin desperately. He pulls it up and over your head, tossing it on the floor without a care before attaching his lips to your neck.

“That's what made me cave, baby, seeing you in my clothes,” he mumbles into your skin, hands under your tank top, roaming up your sides.

“Mmph, Elijah,” you can’t stop the moans from flowing freely from your mouth, you don’t want to. You’ve waited for this moment for what feels like an eternity.

Your hands tug on his tie, practically ripping it off his neck before starting on his shirt, pulling it open without a care for the buttons popping off around you. He leans back on his elbows, looking up at you with dark eyes. His hair is a mess, falling into his face in a very un-Elijah fashion. His shirt is wide open, putting his toned stomach on display for you. His breathing is heavy, his chest rising and falling harshly with the air. He looks positively disheveled. Undone just for you. Sexy.

You slam your lips to his once more, pulling the shirt off his body before dropping it on the steadily growing pile of clothes. You wrap your arms around his bare shoulders, trying to get as close to him as you possibly can. Your fingers claw at the bulging muscles of his back, pulling a moan from him. The sound is music to your ears. You wish you could listen to it on a loop all day, every day.

His hands pull at your tank top, bringing it over your head and leaving you in nothing but a pink bralette and your shorts. His eyes devour every inch of bare skin, soaking up every curve and dip of your body on his. He looks exquisite. He looks hungry, his eyes pitch black and wanting. Elijah looks like a god.

His mouth attacks your collarbone, sucking harshly at the skin at the base of your throat. Your hands land in his hair, tugging at the soft strands. You never knew he had this side to him. This dominant, hungry side. It makes the ache between your thighs grow. Two hundred years of pent up energy threatens to spill over now and you don’t want to stop it.

So, of course, now is when someone decides to knock on the door, “Surrender the girl, Elijah, you already got the first kiss. Time to share, brother.”

Make that ‘someones’; Kol chuckles at his brother’s antics from behind the door. Klaus’ voice is playful but you can hear the serious note at the end. It makes your already lust-clouded mind even foggier. You know you have to go out there.

You pull Elijah in for one last kiss, sighing into his parted lips, “that’s my cue I think.”

He presses a kiss to your lips reluctantly, “I suppose it is.”

You stand, separating from him for the first time since he walked into your room. You dig his hoodie from the pile of clothes, reveling in the way his eyes, which had only recently gone back to their usual brown, turn black again when you pull it over your head. That will never get old. You toss him a knowing wink before reaching for the door. When your hand hits the knob he spins you back into his arms in a dizzying kiss. Your head twirls from all the times his lips have been on yours today.

With a slight growl, he pushes you out the door, “hurry back.”

You stumble into the hallway, giddy and full of life, right into Klaus’ waiting arms. He doesn’t waste any time throwing you over his shoulder, giving you the perfect view of his gloriously sculpted backside. You can't help the giggles that fall freely from your lips.

“Finally,” he starts jogging down the hall, towards his room, “now, about that sweater, Love.”

You look over his shoulder at Kol who shakes his head but smiles nonetheless. You barely make out the ‘me next’ he mouths at you before Klaus kicks the door closed and tosses you on his bed. The last thing you think before his mouth descends on yours is that you should have picked up that sweater one hundred years ago.

[evolutionsvoid]

The Colloscyt is a terrestrial bird that is found primarily in the labyrinthine caverns and tunnels of the Underworld. They can be found in cave systems that are closer to the surface world, but further investigations have shown that these systems are, or were, connected to the Underworld. So it seems they are directly tied to this land down below, which makes sense when you look at these strange beasts. Gone are the wings that give them flight, as their limbs are now specialized for climbing and scrambling across stone. Their legs and arms are now greatly elongated, giving them a better reach as they scale the walls and ceilings of the Underworld. Their eyes have shrunken and lost their focus, now only good for discerning between light and dark. Not only are their eyes reduced, but so are the specialized throat organs that run down their neck. Hold up second, those wouldn't happen to be external larynges, would they? And how about that third pair of limbs that are sprouting from their back? Those structures seem awfully similar to the ones True Sirens have! In fact, they are the same, because the Colloscyt is indeed a True Siren! "Now say there, Chlora," you may say, "if these things are Sirens, then why didn't you say so in the first place?" A fine question! The reason is because we didn't know it was a True Siren for quite some time! Today, we folk on the surface world call these Cave Sirens or Blind Sirens, but we didn't have these names in the past. Since this species is tied to the Underworld, the people up top didn't really have much of a chance to study them or even see them! The conflict between the two worlds made expeditions and research trips quite difficult, so what information we received about this species (and many others, at the time) came directly from the denizens down below. Even with that, the sources were quite limited, as there wasn't a whole lot of demons and shades who were willing to talk to surface dwellers (and not a lot of surface dwellers wanting to talk to these folk in the first place). With that, many species found exclusively in the Underworld were either unknown or had very little information attached to them. The Colloscyts were one of them, as we only had the word of those down below and few measly parts and pieces. The reason I have called them Colloscyts instead of Cave Sirens is because "Colloscyt" is the first name this species had. This was the name given to them by the people of the Underworld, and it was the name they told us when we asked about these creatures. So for a long time, we called them that as well, until relations between the two worlds got a bit better and we could send researchers downstairs. When a welcomed expedition finally got their hands on a Colloscyt specimen, they were immediately like "hey, this is a True Siren!" And I imagine their Underworld guides were like "what is that?" Obviously the people of the Underworld were not familiar with the creatures up above, so why would they follow our naming conventions? Honestly, it is for the best they don't, because, as far as I can tell, they aren't going around calling everything a freaking dragon! Now that we have covered that, we can take a look at the Colloscyt (or Cave Siren) itself! As I mentioned before, the external larynges of the Colloscyt are quite reduced compared to the other members of its family. This is because the Underworld is kind of a funky place when it comes to sounds and noises. In such an enclosed place with such an array of shapes and sizes, the way sound travels and bounces can be quite erratic. Since every part of the Underworld is quite different from each other, tuning oneself to the environment is a bit difficult. With this, the high-energy, specially tuned hypnotic song of the True Siren family is kind of worthless. They could make it work, but it seems the process would take much longer to finesse, which means it would burn way more energy. So it looks like the Colloscyts let their external larynges reduce a bit, losing their ability to create this entrancing tune while still retaining decent mimicry. Though they have lost this song, they have replaced it with something a bit more helpful. With the help of their external larynges and specialized ears, the Colloscyts are capable of using echolocation to help navigate this darkened world. Their vocal chords produce a special sound, which then bounces off the environment and is then picked up by their ears! Quite helpful when sight isn't really an option in such a lightless place.

This ability is useful with navigation, but it also helps them detect prey. Like other True Sirens, Colloscyts hunt prey, but they use a rather different tactic when it comes to subduing and eating these targets. Climbing silently through the darkness, the Colloscyt will move to position themselves directly above their prey. Hanging from up above, they open their beaked maws and vomit forth a shower of sticky nastiness. This species can create an adhesive mucus, which dries quite quickly when exposed to air. They store up copious amounts of it in their crop, unleashing the torrent when prey is within range. When their target is drenched with this saliva, it will quickly ensnare them and make movement difficult. In a short period of time, it will thicken and harden, trapping prey in a solid mound of spit. Before that can happen, the Colloscyt will drop down and grab hold of the struggling victim. With more gooey saliva, the Colloscyt will "spin" their target in a cocoon, ensuring that they are sufficiently covered and bound. Often, the victim will die of asphyxiation, as their breathing orifices are covered in this sticky crud. Once they are neatly wrapped up and the cocoon has properly solidified, the Colloscyt will jab their beak through the thick coating and into the prey. Through their nostrils, the Colloscyt will inject a digestive enzyme that is pumped from a special organ at the base of their beak. This enzyme is meant to break down the insides of the victim, turning all the organs, muscles and whatnot into soup! When it is all melted into a slurry, the beak will be reinserted and their long tongue will help slurp up what is left! When the cocoon is drained of all nourishment, the Colloscyt will retreat, leaving behind a hardened cocoon and a bundle of bones. This sticky saliva of theirs isn't only used for hunting, as it also helps with deterring predators. When they are hanging from up high, another climbing fiend or a beast on the wing may try to attack them. When this happens, the Colloscyt will use its spit to gunk up their limbs and send them tumbling to the stony floor below. In some cases, the Colloscyt may wind up feeding on their own predators! This saliva is also used by mated to pairs to create nests for their eggs. They will climb up to a hard-to-reach place and use their spit to form a basket to hold their precious young. This construction is not a one-time thing, as the two will tend to the nest and add more mucus to keep it strong as time erodes it and their young grow bigger. When their offspring finally leave the nest, the mated pair will abandon it, constructing a new one when mating season comes back around. This vacant space winds up becoming the home of another creature. A lot of different species can take over these empty nests, which is important to keep in mind if you go poking around in them. I saw one during my travels in the Underworld and wanted to take a closer look. My guides were wise and advised me to test the nest before I climbed up close to it. With a few misaimed rock tosses, I succeeded in agitating the occupant of the nest, which turned out to be a rather large and angry female Mound Roach! No clue why it was dwelling up there, but I am sure glad I didn't get my face close to that thing!   This odd creature is known quite well by the denizens of the Underworld, and it should be no surprise that its spit is the star of the show! It's adhesive nature and quick solidification makes it quite useful when it comes to speedy repairs and patch jobs. Those who take excursions into the wilder parts of the Underworld will often keep a hardened bundle of this mucus on them. When equipment breaks or something needs to be glued, they will heat up the solid mass until it becomes gooey again. Apply it to the spot that needs fixing and leave it out to harden! Voila! If they don't have one on them, they can simply collect some from the field. Empty nests and discarded cocoons of previous prey are easy to come by, so they can just get it there. There are some groups down below that even keep a bunch of these birds as livestock, but not for meat! They harvest the spit that comes from them and then sells it as a material or even an ingredient! Turns out that demons and shades have made a dish out of this creature's mucus! "Cocoon Crust Soup" is the name, and it certainly made me curious when I heard about it! A soup made by bird spit? I thought it impossible, but my friends were quick to steer me to a restaurant that served it. I will admit that I was a bit hesitant before I ordered. Having spit in my food is usually something I avoid, and here I was about to order a whole bowlful! But I toughened my roots and gave it a shot! When I tried my first spoonful, I soon realized a problem: Cocoon Crust Soup is a bit too hot for a surface dweller like me! Keep in mind, I am not talking about "spicy" hot, I mean "hot" hot. Like boiling water hot. Turns out this stuff only liquidizes in extreme heat, meaning it must be prepared piping hot to get it to the proper consistency. Since the folk down here aren't put off by blazing temperatures, they serve this soup while its still boiling. One spoonful almost burned a hole in my mouth, so I had to wait for it to cool, which took a long time! Everyone had already eaten by the time I could even get my soup to a tolerable level! Eventually I got to taste it, and it was rather pleasant! A quite unique flavor, though the consistency was a bit gummy. To be fair, that was because I allowed it to cool, and thus it began to solidify. I have to imagine the waiters and cooks thought I was crazy. You get some weird plant person who orders a hot meal and then sits there for an hour and a half until it is stone cold. Sure, I could explain myself by saying "it's too hot," but I am in the Underworld! Who's going to believe me?!   Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian ----------------------------------------------------------------- It seems that that one of my go-to species ideas is take an animal that isn't a spider and make it a spider.  

[ofdragonsdeep]

29: Debonair

Count Artoirel de Fortemps attends a ball for the Members of Parliament.

(ArtoirelxHilda? Sort of?)

The sound of the orchestra echoing out in the high-roofed walls of the Vault promised the trappings of high society to those within. Count Artoirel de Fortemps was no stranger to such functions, wending his way through the crowd with practised ease, but the surroundings sought to subvert the expectation of any passing noble, or indeed anyone who remained familiar with Ishgard, reimagined in the image that her saviours had planned for her.

Commonfolk in their best dress rubbed shoulders with nobility here, a formal gathering held for each and every member of the Republic’s new council. Artoirel had endeavoured to learn the names of each and every person sent as speakers for the House of Commons after the parliament’s formation, but even his memory was taxed to recall the names of their spouses and friends and other miscellaneous plus-one’s. In the same breath, the House of Lords was far expanded from the days of decisions made solely by the church and the four High Houses, though his upbringing had at least given him a head-start on remembering those names.

A buffet had been provided that had likely cost more than many of the commonfolk earned in a year, and champagne was being passed around among the merrymakers. It was not, Artoirel had noted, the best champagne, but perhaps that was the point. Besides, it made no difference to him, as he had made an art of refusing every canapé pressed beneath his nose, a cautious part of him still remembering the events of Falcon’s Nest, the reports he had heard of attempted sabotage on ceremonial functions, and his own persisting dislike of being intoxicated in public.

“Reckon you’ve turned down enough food to feed an orphanage, your Lordship. There better grub somewhere I should know about?”

Artoirel jumped at the noise, spinning on the spot to find Hilda - captain of the Watch, who were the de facto guard for this function - stood just a little bit too close.

“Sadly not, Lady Hilda. I simply neglected to prepare.” He took a step backwards, just slightly, and straightened the collar on his shirt. “I trust that the evidence of your keen eyes will stay between us?” Hilda laughed at that, folding her arms and regarding him with an appraising look. He appeared to come up short.

“Lady Hilda. Don’t get that one much,” she said. “How’s about this then? I won’t mention your disdain for Ser Aymeric’s fancy sausage creations, but you have to dance with me.”

“I beg your pardon?” Artoirel said, taken aback. Hilda winked at him, the smile fitting easily on her face.

“All that book learnin’ and here we are. You. Me. One dance.” She held up a single finger. “That’s the thing where you lead your partner round in circles, in case that was what was holdin’ you up.” Artoirel made an empty noise, then collected himself, clearing his throat as if it would save him face.

“Yes, I am aware of what a dance is, Captain,” he said, exercising incredible restraint to keep the ice from creeping into his voice. “I am simply at a loss as to why.” The single finger was pressed against her lips, inviting him to take part in her secrecy, as if he had any choice when he was not aware of the secret.

“That’s for me to know and you to wonder, your Lordship,” she replied. The gesture became a two-finger salute, and she turned on her heels and disappeared back into the crowd. Artoirel could only hope that she had retreated to actually do her job.

—

Though the guests were unusual, the itinerary was not. Entreés were followed by a time to mingle and exchange the latest gossip, and Artoirel’s feet took him around the room with all the emotion of one of Stephanivien’s strange robotic creations. Though he had despaired of his little brother in the past, he could not deny that Emmanellain’s head was far more suited for such endeavours than his, but he was a master at polite conversation nonetheless. The atmosphere was far more cordial than any such event would have been before the end of the war - there was less power to squabble over, more people who held it, and so less to gain by knowing a few choice and guilty secrets. Artoirel spoke with Aymeric and Lucia, shared their worries on the war which yet fomented at the front at Ghimlyt, all three of them hoping nothing untoward would occur in their absence. He listened to news of the progress on restoring the Firmament from Aurvael, attending with his father the Count. The Dzemaels ignored him, as they always did, but Count Charlemend and his young nephew at least engaged him in pleasantries.

The commonfolk had far more to say, if you knew who to ask. The view of the ongoing reconstruction of which Aurvael was so proud was well-received among the people, despite certain members of the nobility dismissing it as seeking glory from the worthless. Lord Francel had a good heart, and those who he was helping saw it, it seemed.

And the news. There was much of it, and the fine details a little different for each mouth it came from, but Artoirel listened and attempted to filter the nuggets of truth from the sheer volume of it. If only Emmanellain had not been busy with his duties at Dragonhead - though he could not help but be grateful that his brother was applying himself for once, he found himself at quite the disadvantage.

And then, as Artoirel had dreaded, the music changed.

Artoirel was a good dancer. He had been taught from a very early age precisely how one was to dance at a ball, the correct amount of attention to pay one’s partner to not suggest too much but not offend with inattention. The eyes will judge you on every line of your form, his mother had said, and he had taken it to heart, as he had many of her lessons, not all of them in his best interests.

Hilda caught his eye from across the room, and offered him a cheeky little bow. Artoirel let out a long breath, and crossed the room to join her.

“Might I have the pleasure of this dance, Captain?” he asked, holding out his hand precisely as he had been taught. There were whispers immediately, of course, although rather more of them were jealous than he had been anticipating.

“You’re flatterin’ me, your lordship,” she said, playing coy as he had expected her to. “I suppose it would be rude to refuse.” Artoirel mentally went through the motions of gritting his teeth, in order to remain outwardly poised.

Hilda was not dressed to dance the same way the other ladies who had taken the floor were. She had no dress to float with each step, but sturdy trousers and solid leather thighboots that clacked upon the dancefloor with a noise that was, at least, quite satisfying. Her fingers were not smooth, but calloused from holding a gun and holding the line against the ever-rising tide of pushback against their nation’s struggle for equality. Her nails were not painted, but filed down to not catch in the trigger. She carried herself with the confidence and expectations of nobility, the pointed tips of her hyuran ears the damning reminder of why she was not.

She could, however, dance.

“See, your Lordship? This ain’t so bad,” she said, sounding amused by his predicament more than anything else.

“Only one of us will be quashing foolish notions in the aftermath,” he replied, to which Hilda laughed. They separated, turned - Artoirel did not raise his arm as high as he was used to, when dancing with an elezen, and Hilda performed the top spin with remarkable grace. The dexterity that gave her the eagle eye and uncanny trigger finger she was famed for were putting in their work here, though he could not help but wonder who, precisely, had taught her.

“Don’t you think it would be more interestin’ to give them somethin’ more to talk about?” she offered. Artoirel did not stop dead on the strength of reflex alone, but the hells-damned woman had felt the way he stiffened regardless, and it seemed only to egg her on.

“It would be unbecoming,” he managed, and Hilda tutted.

“You need to learn to relax,” she disagreed.

They turned again, Artoirel holding his arm out just so, her gloved hand in his. He could not tell if she was fooling with him and - to his rapidly growing embarrassment - could not tell if he wanted her to be or not.

If his mother had been alive, she would have fainted at the notion of her eldest carrying on some scandalous affair with a commoner, and a half-blood at that. But she had been wrong about Haurchefant - he had loved him as a brother, or tried to, in the gulf between the two of them. There was no need for distinction between high and low-born now, and besides - did her ruby-red eyes not speak of a noble heritage that she had quite rightly cast aside as worthless?

She had asked first, he supposed.

“Perhaps we shall discuss this further when this event has concluded,” he allowed, and Hilda raised an eyebrow. She was surprised, but not displeased, and Artoirel wondered what that said for his character.

“Perhaps we shall, Lord Artoirel,” she said. “Damn, I owe Stephanivien ten gil now.”

Artoirel thought he should not have been surprised.

[v3nusaphr0d1t3]

day five: courting

content warning: language @omegaverse-sfw-week

In terms of all romantic affairs, Ezekiel was one oblivious motherfucker.

No matter who attempted to court him, they would always give up around the fourth or fifth gift that Ezekiel hadn’t even realized were romantic in nature. Flowers? ‘Oh, thank you, they’re gorgeous!’, and he would proceed to put them on his window sill and not think twice. Chocolate? ‘Thank you so much, your gifts are gracious and appreciated,’ and he would give them out to the staff at the palace without a second thought.

Any suitor that  Ezekiel was set with by his parents eventually gave up, because they were trying through all of the conventional courting method, but failed to realize that even though Ezekiel had been educated on the manner of courting, he was a man of words. He was a man of action. Gifts were something he received every single day, and help was something he received at the snap of a finger. These things could not be used to court him, because they had been given to him all his life, so they meant nothing to him. Any biological instinct had been repressed and hammered down for an unearthly persona.

That’s why when Oscar first started sweeping Ezekiel off his feet, Ezekiel was off and running. Never before in his life had a man taken him out in public so freely. Never in his life did he get to go out in plainclothes and dance on the bar and enjoy a live performance that didn’t involve at least one full sized orchestra. Oscar would call him down from his balcony, like in some old fairy tale, and take him off to do something new every week. It was exciting, and it made Ezekiel’s heart pound. This was the language of love that he had heard for so long. But the problem was, Ezekiel didn’t know how to show signs back. 

He wanted words from someone else, but had none to give himself. He was tongue-tied when Oscar looked at him with those honey brown eyes and showed him the moon. He was lost for words when Oscar took his hand, rough calloused skin against soft cold skin, and led him off into the night. When Oscar twirled him like a maiden, tripping over the boots and trousers that he was so unused to.

Oscar gave him excitement, new experiences, made his brain melt, heart pound out of his chest, and Ezekiel was wondering to himself if this was what love felt like. They had been going out at night for months before he even acknowledged the possibility.

And of course, the first thing he does when he thinks he might be falling— tell Florence. Tell her of the dates, the live nights, the firecrackers in his chest. He preened his feathers in anticipation for God’s sake. He told her late one night, while they were in his room— in his nest— about the feelings, and the dates, and the butterflies.

And Florence immediately took to laughing— no, cackling at Ezekiel’s situation. She wore herself out after a few moments of giggling, and turned to Ezekiel with a broad grin and joyous, yet mischievous eyes. She cupped Ezekiel’s face in her pale, freckled hands and cooed at him.

“My love, My world, Ezekiel, darling— you are absolutely, annoyingly in love.” She murmured to him, shaking his head with her hands. His feathers ruffled and he shook his head on his own, fixing an askew braid.

“Well, you could have said so simply, no need for all the fuss—” He murmured to himself, immediately cut off by Florence with a squeal.

“Of course there’s need for fuss! You’re in love, darling, it doesn’t happen every day! You must let me meet him, see if he’s good enough for my boy.” She smiled.

“But how do I let him know?” He asked, voice full of concern and slight unease, for fear that he may be reading the situation wrong. “And what will Mother and Father think?”

Florence immediately shook her head. “They won’t know! You don’t tell them anything now and they’re fine, what’s one more thing?” She grinned wide, fangs glinting in the dim light. “I’ll help you show your love to this boy, and should he reject you, we’ll kick him to the curb!” She giggled, and Ezekiel leaned in for a hug.

“Thank you,” he whispered, “you know this means the world to me.”

She didn’t reply, but he felt her giggle in the crook of his neck.

“So when is he coming next?” She pulls away, grabbing a pillow to hug, like girls at a sleepover debating the latest and greatest gossip.

“Two days time. Every Friday evening he comes to the balcony, knocks on the beam thrice, and I’ll jump out. Not a long fall, so it doesn’t really matter. I get in through the servants entrance near the stable.” He explained, motioning with his hands over to his balcony that currently had the curtains closed, meant to block the light in the morning.

“We’ve got to gussy you up! Put you in a pretty dress, pretty collar, and get him a present!” Florence flapped her hands in excitement. She had read all about this in the novels in the back of the palace library.

“I— Alright. I suppose you can doll me up a bit.” A flush spread across Ezekiel’s cheeks, hiding his face in the sleeve of his nightshirt. 

Florence’s squeal had to be muffled, lest she wake up the palace.

For the present, Ezekiel thought that Oscar most likely wouldn’t like some bougie jewel, or some awful fruit basket like so many had used for him in the past. So he decided that he would make something. He would string together beads on a spool of thread, braiding the thread for strength before. He spent most of Thursday evening making that bracelet, but it came out just the way he wanted. Not the best, but most definitely homemade. His excitement grew greater by the hour.

By the time Friday rolled around, Ezekiel had to force himself not to smile in excitement as to not arouse suspicion. When he was done with all his lessons, and Florence was done with all her duties, they found themselves in Ezekiel’s room yet again, Florence digging through the back of his closet for something functional yet pretty. Ezekiel had been dressed femininely from birth, but often wore a gifted pair of trousers when he went out with Oscar, so he was excited to dress up for once. He would have to be careful should he choose to wear heels, however.

When Florence finally made up her mind, she let Ezekiel choose from two dresses, both shorter than he was used to as to not get caught up when walking. First was a gorgeous white lace-y number with all the frills you could think of. Second was a more simplistic, yet still white (it was good contrast and it worked with his wings) satin body con dress that hung on his frame nicely. It let his wings be fully exposed, as well as an almost shameful amount of leg. If his mother saw him in this number, she would be scandalized. Ezekiel loved it.

“Where did you get this, Flor?” Ezekiel’s voice was stunned as he spun in the floor-length mirror, hair done up with one or two braid hanging down to frame the sides of his face. His wings were preened and shone in low light, dark skin contrasting gorgeously.

“Don’t ask me the questions, just enjoy it!” She smiled, spinning him around and humming with excitement.

She put highlighter powder on his shoulders, collarbones, the tops of his cheeks and his nose. And lastly, a nice white collar, to cover his neck. He may be dressed like a half-way harlot tonight but he still had his wits about him. And lastly, he put on the bracelet that he was to give Oscar. It clashed awfully with the rest of his outfit, but he would only be wearing it for so long.

And just as he was thinking, he heard it. Three knocks on the short column supporting his balcony. Florence clapped quietly, leading him to the door, and pushing him out, staying covered by the shadow of the curtain. 

Now in the open, more arm and leg showing than nearly ever before, with the man he was planning to confess to staring him up and down, he felt vulnerable. He was almost scared for a moment, before he remembered that he did this for a reason, and that Florence was right there and her hard work should not go to waste.

Ezekiel walked his way up to the edge of the balcony, heels clacking against the stone, and he leaned out onto the railing and smiled softly at Oscar. He was dressed in plain clothes, loose black poet blouse and brown pants with those damned brown knee-high boots he was always running around with. His short hair had a middle part, ear length and wavy. It was mussed, as it always was, and his brown eyes reflected the light of the moon. Ezekiel could see his small hybrid ears through his hair, perked up. He was just here, as himself, and Ezekiel thought he was gorgeous.

“You..” Oscar found himself at a loss for words, “you look fuckin’ gorgeous, darlin’.” He swallowed heavily, freaking out on the inside and trying not to show it.

Ezekiel was the same, though he was better at hiding it, as he was better at hiding any emotion. He stepped over the railing, sitting for a moment and taking the heels off so he could jump to the ground. He put them back on, and with them he easily gained a few inches on Oscar. He liked how the man looked up at him.

Ezekiel looked back to smile at Florence, her giant grin only evident if you knew where to look. Then, he turned back to Oscar, fiddling with the gift bracelet, before taking it off and holding it out for Oscar to either take or reject. Ezekiel looked away.

He felt the bracelet being taken out of his hands, and it wasn’t long before the bracelet was replaced by a warm hand, hand that he had felt before, hands that he wanted to feel every day for the rest of his life, and he laughed softly. He laughed. And Oscar stepped closed to him, and closer, until they were nose to nose, Ezekiel’s wings fluttering, Oscar’s puffy tail swishing back and forth, back and forth.

“Can I kiss you?” Oscar asked. 

“Yes, please.”

[tamoria]

Prologue

The moon hung high above me, smiling as I tug my long woollen bratt tighter around me to banish the chill. Not long past high night. The stars dance mischievously between the clouds, teasing and playing as they do in the early spring. I count to five in my head and pull myself up to check what I had been left. My boots tossed haphazardly beside an old stump with two long dowels

leaning against it and the two bowls I had molded last night sitting atop it. I had shaped the bowls in a rush after forgetting about them in my preparations and cooked them quickly in the fire. Between the two bowls, on a long leaf lies a small crystal shard from the sea to the west, it is shy and quiet. Even in the shadow light it glows, bright and beautiful. I dare not touch it for fear of my dirt-streaked hands smudging or tarnishing it. It seems embarrassed by this. The slender stone cutting knife to the otherside of the bowls is less bright, in fact it is almost cruel as it glares at me, convinced I will not succeed before dawn breaks and we will all be here again another year. I go over the order in my head, “fire, tea, rain, wind, sleep.” I will not forget this time as I did under the same spring moon once before.

I turn a full circle, slowly, squinting through the dark to see anything else that does not belong. I don’t know this glade, so we must be far from home. The trees here - tall and wide, know not my name and I know not theirs. They are strong, sweet pine. Less familiar to me than the great oaks. The small woven pouch I was looking for catches my eye. It is nested in the ivy at the base of a large tree that towers over us. I place a hand on the trunk and thank it quietly before carefully detangling the pouch from it’s sleeping spot. My fingers find the lump of knot and pick it apart, pulling the rough strands of twine through each other. I upturn the pouch and count the small smooth pebbles as they tumble out. They are all luminous white and shining in the swaying shadows. I count them again - it is unlike Tadg to make mistakes and six pebbles is clearly a mistake. Surely I’m just tired, maybe the light is playing with me. Once more I count, as I place them back in their pouch.

“One for the Sea,

Two for the Sun,

One for the Sky,

The last for Falling.”

There, in the middle of my hand, the sixth pebble sits lost. I hold it against my palm with two fingers as I organise myself, tying the small pouch to my belt by the dangling twine and gathering the cutting knife.

I make my way around the circle of the glade, collecting small clippings of plants, leaves and delicate flowers. Turning into the centre at the end of a full loop and placing them on the stump. Then again around the perimeter of the glade, each time moving a couple of steps further from the middle of the clearing. I continue this until the stump is covered with small offerings and then walk one final loop, this time laying my hand on a stone, tree or bush every few paces and speaking words of protection and containment to mark my perimeter.

This time last year I was halfway to finished, believing I had the know;edge I needed to make things up as I went along. I was so used to the praise Tadg gave my work that I had forgotten the inherent order that makes these things safe, and in some ways, possible at all. I had been impulsive, I had riffed and played with the way and was sorely reprimanded for it. Leading to me being back in a glade late at night, trying to prove myself. This time, however, I will not be so arrogant as to assume my breath and my hands and my voice are no more than vessels. I will be gentle and reverend this time.

With a small fire kindled, I gather a handful of pine needles and crush them in my hands before placing them in the second of my bowls, the first already full to the brim with water from the small stream on the edge of the glade. Once boiled I split the water and pine needles equally between the two bowls and allow the tea to brew. All the while singing The Song of Danu under my breath. I drink the sweet pine tea quickly, glad for the comforting warmth of it and place the bowl on top of the other to form a spherical shape. Around this, a small altar, the long spindly sticks covered in leaves lean against the bowl to form a frame, flower crowns of various sizes and shapes surround them, and intricately designed patterns made up of small leaves spread out and away from the structure.

I allow the quiet of the night to seep in and fill all the gaps, I breathe with the trees and the ancestors as I speak my dedication to Danu and her children. I rest then, finding the moss bed I had woken in only hours before and once again pulling my bratt closely around me.

When I wake the second time a thin line of orange graces the horizon and the sky above has paled from deep inky blue to a lighter ceruleum.

The clearing shines with the life of a new day, all my small offerings from the night before now covered in a thin layer of dew. I do not have long this morning so I check on things quickly. My altar to danu still stands and after a small amount of tweaking , the leaves on the spindle sticks and the small flowers - wilted now, are back to their former glory, fresh in the morning light. I peek through the pyramid structure to see my bowls and find them just as they should be, collapsed into each other and locked in embrace. My work won’t be so hard this morning, I think with a flutter and a small smile.

My sitting circle is formed, four of my pebbles laid, two by my each knee as I sit cross-legged on two behind me, where my head and shoulders would rest if I were lying down. I start, feeling my breath move me first, once my mind is clear, I begin to feel myself lift away and hold amongst the trees above me. I tie the long strands of wind around my fingers and push the clouds around until I am happy with the dark grey cloud that sits directly above. A small amount of encouragement is all that is needed to coax the rain down. It is - a first, a light drizzle, unsure if falling is the right thing to do. It mists my face and the young leaves around me. I laugh at it’s caution and turn my face up to it, welcoming the cool droplets. This merely encourages the rain to gain confidence and before long I am dancing amongst the points of the young spruce and the rain is falling with abandon - free and delighted. The relief washes over me and I hear the faint rolling of thunder far in the distance. I have done well, I think, Tadg will be proud and I will soon have my own title as Master Druid. I allow the rain to continue a few minutes longer, reveling in my success before I call it to cease and feel the forest floor beneath my heavy boots once more.

Immediately I go to tweak my altar, making sure it is still worthy of the great Mother Goddess’ approval. I feel my stomach pang with hunger and for the first time, remember how long it’s been since I last ate. It has been at least four days - it was before my time in the dark caves, though not long before. When I am satisfied that the altar is again the proud and beautiful thing I made the night before, I continue my work.

Again I lower myself into myself into the sitting circle and try to leave behind thoughts of dinner and the cold and my title. This time I bring the breeze to me, plucking strands from the air. I gather a dozen and then walk around the clearing, tying them loosely to a twig here and there, small stones, leaves and tufts of grass. I return to the middle and with arms outstretched at my sides I turn slowly, sending the wisps tearing from their tetherings and spinning around the clearing. The wind darts around trees, dipping under low branches and prancing along the stream. My fingers reach out then to play with the breeze, pulling and twisting it. I tangle it up in my hands and watch it unfurl itself as it dances around wildly.

It starts to pick up speed, pulling other wisps in as it speeds around. Safe enough, the barrier of containment around the clearing can hold much more than a strong breeze. It is just growing faster than I expected. As I think this, I begin to get worried, repeating it again to convince myself. It dances around me, whipping my thick bratt and leaving me goose bumped and shivering. I turn quickly, throwing my hands out as the wind takes my altar in its wake, leaves scatter, wheeling through the air. All around, there are branches falling from high in the trees, crashing loudly on the soft forest floor. Once more I lower myself in the sitting circle, close my eyes and desperately beg my mind to clear. I need to catch the wind before it escapes. Building always and nearing the teachta mountains.

I focus on the perimeter, fighting hard to hold it steady. There are at least three villages between here and the sea, where the wind can blow itself out. There is no explanation for this small wisp becoming so powerful. It has been years since I last lost control of anything. I try to put my doubts aside, knowing the only way I can smother the storm is to empty my mind. I pray for strength.

Snap.

I hear the perimeter break loudly and refuse to open my eyes, knowing that will make it real. If I open my eyes I will have destroyed at least three villages, probably more. So I sit, heart thumping, with my eyes tightly shut. It is quiet before I open them, jumping when I see Tadg standing there, all bone, hunched and withering - more so than last time I saw him somehow. “Lets go,” he says, glancing behind.

Over his hunched shoulders I see the downed trees, the three men acting as Tadg’s guards - wind beaten and dishevelled, and the sparking in the air. The containment wall is fully disintegrated. Tangled strips of it lie where they fell, still marking a circle, inside of which is damaged but standing. Beyond, the forest is not far from flattened. I gaze in shock, trying to understand.

“You have sat here long enough Feada. Lets go. Now.” His words are firm and so are his bony fingers digging into my arm as he pulls me up.

I try to explain, or maybe just defend myself, “It sped up so quickly! It was only a minute or two before it was too strong to control. I don’t under-”

Tadg interrupts me, voice calm and smooth, “they have come.”

The simple statement feels like a hand around my throat. I stop asking questions and instead give him a knowing and concerned look as I pass his shoulder and walk to the men behind, my breath trapping.

[haikyuu-sickfics]

Vomit warning

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READ THE WARNING!

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Word count: 1651

“Alright guys, you’ve been working hard lately so we’re going on a trip!” Coach Ukai announced, presenting a poster for the nearby amusement park.

Excited cries of the team echoed throughout the gym, Yuu was all but bouncing off the walls while Chikara was trying his best to get Ryuu to keep his shirt on.  Amidst all the excitement, Koushi could feel waves of uneasiness flow through his body.  At the root of his unease was his inexperience with coasters and fast moving objects.  However, the team's enthusiasm infected Koushi and he found himself cheering right along with the first and second years.  Diachi and Asahi, being considerably more mature than Koushi, expressed their excitement in a quieter manner.  

The day of the trip drew near, and as it did, Koushi managed to find ways to excuse the concern nagging at the back of his mind.  He was not about to allow the negative emotion overpower the joy of having a team outing.  Members of Karasuno who were attending the trip were told to meet in the school's lot at 8 in the morning.  Koushi and Daichi were among the first to arrive at 7:50, slowly the rest of the team began to trickle in. Shōyō and Tobio were the last to arrive at one past eight.  Overflowing with noise and excitement, the bus left the lot at ten past eight.  Koushi turned around in his seat to make conversation with Chikara and Hisashi.  

After what seemed to be hours, the bus came to a grinding stop outside of the park. Karasuno formed a small group outside of the bus, awaiting instruction from the two adults.  

“Okay guys!  I have a couple of rules to go over before you can go into the park.  Firstly, stay in groups of three or more.  Secondly, be respectful!”  Takeda and Ukai both looked at Yuu and Ryuu as this rule was spoken, “And finally, stay hydrated and have fun!” Takeda clapped his hands together and motioned for the team to go towards the park.  Daichi, Koushi and Kiyoko banded together for their group, Asahi had been dragged off by Yuu and Ryuu, and by the look on the Ace’s face, he was not happy about it.

“So what do you guys wanna do first?” Koushi asked, excitement evident in his tone, “That coaster looks fun!” He added, pointing towards a large metal coaster with more than one loop.

“We should start off small, then do those rides,” Daichi inputted, “How about the teacups?”

Kiyoko nodded to Daichi’s idea, and so the three made their way towards the spinning ride.  Once the three third years had waited in the queue for around 10 minutes, they were finally allowed onto the ride. 

It started off slow, however the large plate in the center of the cup was beckoning Koushi to spin, so he did.  Giving a smirk to Daichi, the setter began putting all his strength into spinning the disk, taking his hint, Daichi placed both hands on the plate as well and began spinning.  Kiyoko yelled out in joy as her hair whipped around her face.  The moment was picturesque, all three with large smiles plastered on their faces.  However, as the ride went on, Koushi began feeling something other than joy.  The feeling was rooted in the same area as excitement, yet the feeling was harsher, and definitely not pleasurable.  Koushi’s smile faltered a bit, and he put less strength into spinning the cup.  Daichi flashed him a look of concern, but Koushi dismissed him by widening his smile.  Finally, the ride screeched to a stop, Kiyoko was still laughing, her hair a wild mess from the extreme wind, Daichi also had a smile playing on his lips, however a drop of concern was flavoring his brown eyes.

“You guys hungry?  I sure am!  We should get food then ride more rides,” Koushi was hoping the uncomfortable feeling in his gut was a result of hunger.  His two companions nodded to his idea, and so they went on the hunt for suitable food.

Fried foods and sweet foods danced in the air, both fighting to win over the attention of any wandering guests.  The smells sank to the bottom of Koushi’s stomach and seemed to have a fight of their own down there, much to Koushi’s appreciation, the feeling wasn’t as strong as it had been on the ride.  Allowing him to once more chalk up the pangs as hunger. A stand selling hot dogs is what ended up attracting the small group.

By the time the food was in his hands, Koushi felt fine. He happily gulped down the hot dog, smiling at the warmth of the food.  Kiyoko and Daichi were about half way done when Koushi stood up to toss his food wrapper.  Once more, excitement flourished throughout his body, as well as anticipation to ride one of the bigger rides.  

“So,” Koushi dragged out, glancing between his friends and the rollercoaster which towered over the park.

“You sure that’s a good idea?  We just ate,” Daichi replied, once again understanding Koushi’s not-so-subtle hint.

“What if we go on a small ride while our food digests and then go on the big ride?” The setter offered, his heart set on riding the large coaster.

Defeated from Koushi’s puppy eyes, Daichi looked over to Kiyoko as if asking for her input, she shrugged, but didn’t make any move against the proposition.  With a sigh, Daichi looked back at Koushi and agreed to his plan.

The small ride which they ended up choosing was the ferris wheel, which was technically not small as it towered high into the air, but it wasn’t an extreme attraction like the rollercoaster.  In fact, the ride proved to be very pleasant.  The third years talked about what’s been going on as well as their plans for the future.  A faint aura of sadness surrounded the three as realization struck about their graduation.  Eventually, the ride came to a graceful stop onto the ground, and the three walked off the ride  Koushi happily led the way to the queue entrance for the towering coaster.  Doubt began pooling deep in Koushi’s gut, but it was drowned out by the overflowing amounts of excitement he felt.

The queue was significantly longer than the one for the spinning cups, and by the time the three got clicked onto the ride, all doubt was erased from Koushi.  A ride attendee began listing off safety requirements for the ride before signing off with a deadpanned ‘Have fun’ Koushi looked to his sides and smiled at his friends as the ride took off with a blast.  Cries of joy filled the air as the track winded and dropped.  The first loop came and went, with Koushi smiling the whole time.  Then after a few more meters of track, the second loop came.  Koushi’s smile faded a bit as heavy nausea began nesting in his gut.  Another few meters of track came and went and finally the final loop was here.  Koushi’s smile was completely faded now, replaced with a tight line.  His body flew forward a bit as the cart came to a screeching halt.  The ragdoll treatment did nothing to help his current situation.

As the mechanical restraints flew up, Koushi’s shaking hands struggled to unclick his belt as fast as possible.  Much to his dismay, his friends on either side of him were taking their time.  As soon as Daichi stepped away from the ride, Koushi hurried out and ran out of the exit doors.

Once he walked onto the main path for the park, his eyes quickly looked left and right, scanning for a trash bin.  Finally he spotted one and hurried towards it.  He used his hand to push open the flab and stuck his head in.  A foul smell of rotting food drifted up into Koushi’s nose punching him in the gut.  He let his mouth lul open, allowing warm metallic saliva to dribble out and land with a disgusting splat on top of the preexisting waste in the bin.  A heavy weight pushed against his abdomen as the first gag ripped through his slender body.  Hot liquid began rising into his throat.  Only now did he realize the situation he was in.  Red hot embarrassment exploded through every limb in his body as another heave racked him.  This one was productive in bringing up a mouthful of undigested hotdog.  The awful taste only forced Koushi into another harsh gag which brought up a far thicker wave.  Tears began streaming down his face, a result of the pain in his stomach as well as the pain of embarrassment.  Suddenly, he felt large hands begin to rub calming circles onto his back.  The touch only encouraged Koushi’s stomach to continue emptying itself, his back arching into the hands.  After a couple seconds of  being free from illness, Koushi pulled his head out of the bin.  He sheepishly looked up to his friends, Kiyoko shoved a cool bottle of water into Koushi’s hand.  

“So, uhh maybe that wasn’t such a good idea, huh,” Koushi admitted after swishing water in his mouth and spitting it onto the ground.  The other third years didn’t find his comment funny.

“Are you okay now?” Kiyoko asked, worry etched deeply onto her face, “I called for the coaches and they should be here soon.

As if on cue, Takeda rushed over, near tears from worry, Ukai walked up, any trace of concern masked by extreme annoyance.

“Are you okay?  We should sit down,” Takeda worried, wrapping a supporting arm around Koushi and leading him to a nearby park bench.

Ukai said nothing, which said everything to Koushi.  The setter scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, “I’m good now.  I guess this isn’t a good time to say that I’ve never ridden a roller coaster, huh.”

[asherrosesmokey]

Smoking Stars: High Light Love: SaboxAutumn

Trigger warning: smoking weed, mentions of lemony scented goodness, and cursing.

A gift for @bisexualsabo

On a dark and stormy night, sitting alone in her smoking lounge, Autumn smiled as she rolled a few joints for her and Sabo to smoke when he arrived. It was their usual weekend evening, where they would smoke together, and listen to music or watch TV before having sex outside underneath the starlight. However, tonight would be a bit different… it was downpouring outside. She felt a little miffed about the stormy weather mainly because she couldn't piss of her narc of a neighbor, old man Garp. 

She chuckled to herself as she remembered how the veins in Garps forehead stuck out the last time he shouted at Sabo and her for fucking on her roof. Sabo promptly flipped him off and told him to sit and spin. 

Despite the dreary weather, she knew that she had a special device she could use to bring the stars into her house, and before anybody could ask, no it's not shrooms. 

Rummaging through her closet, she found a dusty box that contained a galaxy projector. She smiled as she pulled out the contraption, and plugged it into the power bar near her tv. 

She then built a love nest on the floor in front of her tv, made of a futon, and a generous amount of fluffy blankets and pillows. Once her shared nest was built, she brought out some snacks and some wine to drink, before lighting some candles to set the mood. 

Checking the clock, the young witch noticed that she had about 15 minutes to kill before Sabo walked in, so she spent those 15 minutes checking over her appearance and making sure she was ready for him. 

Glancing at her reflection in her large mirror, she wore a tight fitting tank top, and booty shorts for pajamas, completely different from her usual baggy sweats and smock looking clothes. 

The reason for the different mood for tonight was because Autumn had something very important to say to Sabo. 

Tonight, she had a plan to finally confess to Sabo. 

Yes, they smoke together, and have sex, but nothing is official with their relationship. 

Basically, she gives him weed, aromatherapy, and provides him a safe haven for anarchists just like him. But he is the only one she fucks. 

However, she wanted more than just sex; she wanted to call him her partner, her lover, her boyfriend.

She just wanted to know if there was more to what they had.. 

She sighs softly when she is completely satisfied with how she looks before laying on the love nest. 

When she hears the door open and close, she smiles to herself before strong arms snake around her waist, and greet her from from behind. "Hey" a familiar voice husks cooly. 

"Hey~" she purred back before turning to face him and give him a warm hug… only to realize what a horrible mistake that was. 

"Sabo you're drenched~" she whines playfully before Sabo cuddles her more. "Now we can be wet together." Sabo teased before noticing how the tight fabric of her pajamas hugged her body. The now wet clothes clung to her even more and reveal a faint outline of her perky nipples. 

Autumn in turn covered up before getting up to get him a change of clothes. She only had a pair of sweatpants he had left behind a few nights back. She made sure to clean and fold them for him. 

Once he was changed, he went back to snuggling Autumn while proceeding their ritual of smoking together while talking about life itself. 

"So what's with the tight clothes and candles anyway?" Sabo asked with a smile before taking a bit from his blunt. "Got a boyfriend or something?" 

Autumn laughed and nudged him playfully "no you dork!" She smiled "I did this just cuz…." She lied. 

Sabo caught on right away "bullshit." He smirked. 

"Dammit. How did you decipher that?" She chuckled.

"Because you fidget a little when you lie. It's adorable." Sabo smirked wider. "Now spill it, weed mama~"

Autumn blushed and sighed before running a hand through her hair "alright you win.. I wanted to do something different for you that's all, I mean it's raining so our usual is out of the question, so I thought why not try this?" She admitted.

Sabo nodded along listening to what she was saying. 

Autumn then continued "I just wanted tonight to be special.." she stated softly before Sabo pulled her into his strong arms and held her tight. "Every moment I get to spend with you is special… you don't need to try. This is perfect because you're with me.." he smiled. 

It was moment like these that made Autumn's heart pound. He had such a way with words.. 

"But I will admit, I'd be lying if I said I didn't like the new look I love how this hugs your curves… I just wanna take a bite~" he smirked before giving her plump ass a squeeze. 

And like that, the moment is gone. Autumn yelps before tackling him as the two wrestle in their love nest, before he pins her down and kisses her softly. When he pulls away, they gaze deeply into each other's eyes. 

"Ya' just so perfect… so free, and laid back.. I got lucky ." Sabo spoke softly while moving a strand of dark Auburn hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear. 

Autumn sighed and gulped de using it was time to tell him how she truly felt. 

"I love you, ya' know that, right?" Sabo asked. He beat her to it. 

"You… you love me?" Autumn breathed, bewildered by his sudden confession. 

"Yeah? Is that… okay?" He asked hesitantly before proceeding "ever since we met, you were just so kind and warm but you kept me calm, and cared for me even though you knew how wild I am… I love what we have, and it's great and all, but…" 

"You want more?" Autumn finished with a smile. "Sabo… I feel the exact same way. Fucking while high is great but everytime we do it, I just feel like you and I are connecting even more and more… you bring me so much happiness… I love you too." Autumn smiled. 

"Does that mean you're my girlfriend?" Sabo inquired

"Only if you'll be my boyfriend." Autumn answered

"Does anything change?" Sabo asked.

"Aside from titles, no. Oh yeah, on nights like this, you can stay over more often, and we can wake up together." She smiled. 

Sabo grinned ear to ear before kissing her passionately to which she instantly returned, wrapping her arms around him. 

Once apart, the pair laid side by side, panting breathlessly. 

"Damn… that was amazing… fuck this weather though. I was kinda looking forward to fucking you while Garp was watching so we can piss him off again." Sabo whined

Autumn laughed "well we can still stargaze. I have something that'll help." 

"Please don't tell me it's shrooms." Sabo blinks. 

"It's not shrooms. It's a galaxy projector." Autumn grinned before pushing the on button on the remote, sending billions of twinkling little stars up on her ceiling, lighting the room in hues of deep blue, and purple. 

Autumn could have her attention on the ceiling, but in that moment, all she could see was Sabo and his childlike wonder and wide grin as he gazed at the lights. 

Autumn smiled lovingly at the sight before the witch was pulled into another heated make out session.  

Soon enough, clothing was precariously discarded, and all that could be heard was the sounds of the newfound lovers, and their symphony of starlit love making before drifting off to sleep completely bare in each other's arms. 

[spooky-raccoon]

Years Later (Part 14, Finale)

The finale to Years Later, part 14!

Pennywise X Female Reader

Tag List: @rottenhearts-and-sharpteeth​ @clussysposts​ @originalclodmakergarden​ @yeetingful​ @hauntedpennywise​ @wanna-rock-n-roll-in80s​ @risettochan​ @angeli-fucking-cat​ @breeknighty​ @trig-loves-clowning-around​

         Days melted into weeks and weeks melted into months.  My belly grew and grew as the time passed which only made Pennywise more ecstatic.  The day he felt our baby kick he even did a back flip that was following by his clowny giggles.  Though now it was much harder to walk around though walking was a subjective term.  I waddled more than anything.  Pennywise would constantly be by my side as I went about my day, helping me with various tasks or just doing them himself.  He had been persistent that I dare not lift a finger after a certain stage and I had finally gotten to the point during the end of the third trimester.  Then my water broke.  I had been peacefully asleep and thought I needed to use the rest room just like nights before but instead I found that my water was broke.  Pennywise was awake right away as soon as I shook him just the slightest and all of a sudden in the blink of an eye we were in the cistern.

         It seemed that now and again when he had the chance he had gotten a little area together for me to comfortably give birth.  There were pillows and blankets that made everywhere rather cozy.  It would probably be more comfortable if it wasn’t for the wave after wave of contractions though.  My cries and wails echoed off the walls of the caverns as each one hit me.  Pennywise was circling around me with a never-ending stream of encouraging words.  At a certain point though he helped in the birth which sped up the process.  Finally, my cries died down and changed for the cries of our baby who Pennywise bundled up in a baby blanket he had close by.  He brought the bundle to me, a proud look in his eyes as he stared down at our child.  

       Our little one was pure white all over like him.  There were a few extra limbs that I would need to adjust for in their onesies but that would be just fine.  Several eyes dotted their face along with the usual set.  There was a wisp of black hair that was on the top of their head that moved like it was smoke.  They were more beautiful and lovely than I could have imagined.  Most of their eyes were already open and blinked out of unison as they stared up at me.  Then they grinned and I could feel everything inside me melt as I smiled back.

        Time passed and Pennywise had gotten the mess of the ordeal cleaned up or at least made the blankets vanish off somewhere.  He then curled around the baby and I, his eyes glowing ever so softly as he watched and listened to the baby make its first few noises. I don’t know how long we stayed there but shortly after the baby fell asleep so did I.  When I woke up all three of us were back in the house with the same blankets and pillows now amassed on our bed in a makeshift nest. Though, Pennywise was gone.  When I got up I could hear some shuffling coming down the hall in the nursery.  Quietly, I made my way to the room and saw Pennywise setting up a few more stuffed animals and clown dolls along some shelves we had set up across the crib.  For a moment I just watched him and at that moment, with a cooing baby in my arms, I felt the most at peace and the most knowing in my heart everything would be alright.

         A few days passed and something was starting to go wrong. Something was very wrong with my body as it tried to recover from the birth.  It felt as if my body was shutting down.  The baby was thriving and doing well.  Pennywise was prouder than ever for our child and his hunting had gone better than usual.  My health was rapidly deteriorating though I tried to think that if I focused on the baby and appearing healthy that maybe I would be.  Pennywise first noticed when I was feeding the baby when I was wobbly on my legs.  It looked as if my legs were shaking like one of our babies toy rattles.  I brushed off his worries and concerns as being tired, having stayed up with the baby the night before he believed it.  Though there was still a wary gaze as he watched me from that point on.  At least he was right there the day that I fainted in front of him.  Just as my eyes fluttered before my knees buckled Pennywise was there to catch me in his arms.

        “(Y/N)!  (Y/N)! What’s wrong?  Please wake up.”  His voice sounded distant and there was a panic I had never heard before from him. There were barely any noises coming from me and when I couldn’t respond that’s when he turned to Robert to make the call to 9-1-1.  “Please, be okay.  Please, be alright.”  I could barely just hear him muttering as we rode to the hospital.  At least until I blacked out completely.

        Consciousness faded in and out after that point sporadically.  At first I saw Robert sitting beside me in the chair with a baby seat with a blanket draped over it.  I could hear our sweet little baby cooing as if nothing was wrong in the world, as if something wasn’t wrong with their mother.  After that the doctors were around me, explaining to him that my condition was getting worse and that the likely hood that I wouldn’t make it through the rest of the week.  Everything in me was slowly failing and they were unsure why.  The last thing I remember in the hospital was Robert shouting at one of the doctors. Next time I awoke for some time I felt the coldness of almost smooth stone underneath me.  When I looked around I could see I was in the cavern, the sharp splashed like stone surrounding me along with some blankets.  As I looked up I could see the silverish light that came from the lights that shone high, high above me in the throat like ceiling.

        ��Pennywise?”  My voice was raspy and sore from finally speaking in what felt like weeks.  I moved to sit up but I had to use one of the structures beside me so I could lean against it.  “Pennywise, I need to be in the hospital.”

        “No!”  His voice boomed from a rocky corridor.  “Those filthy humans would rather let you die!”  My head turned to see Pennywise coming out of the tunnel, clawed legs emerging one after the other.  He was so much larger, and he reminded me of a spider.  “Those pests saw no worth in doing their damndest to save one of their own. Filth.  Every single one of them!”  His words dripped with anger and annoyance as he got closer to me.  

        “Pennywise, please.  Just take me to a different one.”  I moved to get up even though my legs shook violently under me as if they were made of paper.

        “No!  I will take care of you!”  His eyes were starting to glow which was making me nervous.  It had been twenty-seven years since I had seen the same look on his face.  Though this time he was in control of himself.

        “Pennywise.  Please.” I grabbed onto anything I could as I moved away from him.  “We can find somewhere that can treat me.”  I was trying to get to him but his eyes only glowed brighter, the snarl on his face getting more intense.  I had to try to run.  I had to try.

       The adrenaline that ran through my body finally gave me a small amount of strength to get up and make an attempt to run.  At least for a short distance.  My heart was pounding harder than usual and it felt like the room was spinning so I got disoriented far too quickly.  Everything around me felt like it was slowing down.  Though no amount of running would have stopped Pennywise.  I could hear the sound of his many legs hit the ground as he closed the distance between us.  I could see one of his arms shoot out past me then curled around, hooking me around my middle.  My scream rang off the walls as he pulled me back to him.  I tried to pry his arm off me as hoisted me in the air up to his face, but it was no use.

       “I will fix you.  I will make you better.  Not those filthy humans.  You will be better, stronger.  But first.” He brought me closer to him and another one of his arms wrapped around me like a snake.  I continued to try to kick and cry out.  “You must heal.  Can’t change you like this.  I’d lose you. Never going to lose you.  Baby would lose you.  Can’t lose.  Can’t lose. Not after keeping you alive.  No, no, NO!”  His voice was becoming distorted just before he started to open his mouth wider, his eyes rolling back as his face peeled back.

       He was going to put me in the lights again.  I was going to be put back in them for God knows how long.  I kept trying to fight and look away, but my body was getting exhausted so fast.  Both my fight and flight response was fading as it was getting harder to even look away as the sounds of screams filled my ear.

        “Pennywise!  Please!” I’d miss so much if I went.  I’d miss our child growing up.  I’d miss Pennywise and I growing as a couple.  If he would just listen.  “Pennywise!”  I turned my head to maybe try to get him to hear me out, but it was too late.  Too late for words and for any begging I had thought of in the past few seconds.  His lights were out in full force and I felt my mind slip away into the darkness.  The screaming, oh god the screaming.  The sound of screams and crying and begging rang out inside my skull that sounded like it would never end.  And then I felt weightless.

       And here I was in the coldness of the cold void with its boundless screaming.  My body floating in the cavern high above where Pennywise knew my body would stay safe until it would be time.  And there as my body healed in his lights I suffered for years upon years later.

[nev3rfound]

midnight dreaming : b.b

I can’t remember when it started, the routine we’d fallen into. But all I know is it’s our little secret, something we don’t talk about with anyone else. It’s our routine, one we don’t wish to share.

In the middle of the night, a light knock on my door would wake me up. A small slit of light would illuminate his build as he slowly crept in towards me.

No words had to be exchanged, he would slip underneath the covers and curl up against me. He would hold me, bringing me into his bare chest as I listen to his heart beat slowly returning to normal.

Opening my eyes I see him rubbing his face. I move to sit upright in the dark as he shuts the door and climbs into my bed, lying next to me. “Was it the same dream?” I quietly ask.

His face remains down, avoiding my gaze as he slowly nods. I move over, bringing him closer to me as we shuffle to lie down. He rests his head on top of mine, holding me as close as he can against him. “Please don’t leave me.” He whispers into me and I can feel the tears fall from his eyes against my head.

Outside of these four walls, he was one of the coldest people here. He was far from an open book, a man of mystery as he kept himself to himself. But in here he was gentle, caring. All he wants is help without knowing how to ask.

*

Slowly opening my eyes I see what I always see, my bed empty with a piece of toast in his place. It was always his way of silently thanking me considering he’d be gone by the time I would wake up.

I take the toast and bite into it, trying to disguise my growing sadness about this arrangement and never waking up beside him.

It wasn’t as if this arrangement meant something really to either of us. When it first started I found him in the kitchen staring at the wall. I told him if he needed anyone to talk to I was always there regardless of the time. How it developed to more than a mutual understanding of hard times I still don’t understand. But I don’t regret what is happening between us. That is until it gets complicated and one-sided.

At some point, I began to notice the little things about him. The way he furrows his dark brows in his sleep. How he holds me so delicately as if he’s afraid he’ll crush me if he holds me too tight. The way we can sit and talk for hours as he brushes my hair with his fingers or vice versa. How he rarely flashes a smile, but when he does it says more than he could describe.

It was all of the little things that were amounting to something more than I could ever admit. And that was slowly crushing me inside whenever he opened my door and crept inside. 

Walking out of my room in my pyjama shorts and a hoodie I feel his eyes on me, on my body without even saying hello. I continue to brew some coffee whilst he talks to Steve who remains unaware of my presence. That is until he catches Bucky not focusing and snaps his fingers in front of his face. 

“Oh, morning Y/n.” Steve polite as ever greets before turning to Bucky who sits upright, forcing a small smile before he and Steve resume their conversation. 

As I head back to my room I glance back seeing his eyes still on me and as I shut my room I can’t hide the growing grin on my face. 

*

Turning on my side I reach over, noticing the lack of weight on the other side of the bed. I move to sit upright, realising he hasn’t woken up yet to come and see me. 

I run my fingers through my hair before getting up and heading out of my room, wanting some sense of security knowing he’s okay, that he is at least still asleep. 

As I step out of the room I see a figure standing down the corridor and they turn to look at me. “What’re you doing up?” Steve walks over and I stutter lightly, unsure what to say. 

“I just wanted to grab a drink in the kitchen,” I mumble, yawning as I do. 

Steve chuckles softly before walking alongside me in silence as my eyes wander elsewhere to all of the suites we have. His being four doors down from my own. 

The two of us stand in the kitchen, leaning against opposite counter ledges as I sip at my water. “How come you’re awake?” I ask, returning the question. Cap turns his head, snapping out of his deep thoughts. 

“I, erm. I was thinking about the mission some of the guys have gone on.” He sighs deeply, and I shift on the spot, standing a little bit taller. 

“Who, who went?” I enquire and catch his eyes, hoping he isn’t seeing the fear rising in mine as I bite the inside of my cheek.

“Natasha and Bucky, Fury wanted the best of the best for this one.” He states and I watch as his shoulders fall. “Buck not mention it to you?” 

I let out a small chuckle before placing my water down. “Why would he?” I ask, crossing my arms. 

Steve tilts his head, before mirroring my actions. “You think Bucky is subtle with the way he looks at you? Or how I can smell Lavender on his clothes when he comes for breakfast? How about the toast he sneaks into your suite every morning?” 

Standing still I listen to it all. The glances, the smell of my room on him, how he sneaks me breakfast. 

I’m unaware of my growing smile, and I watch as Steve once again copies me. “I think you’re good for him, Y/n.” 

“I don’t know, Steve. I’m just his friend.” I mumble but he lets out a short scoff. 

“Friends? Oh no, don’t tell me you think that?” He asks, cocking his left eyebrow as I shrug my shoulders. “Y/n, you’re all he talks about when we’re alone. He tells me how he loves the smell of lavender as it reminds him of you. Even if he hasn’t had a nightmare he’ll see you just to be with you. But, of course, Bucky being Bucky, he can’t admit it to you.” 

Listening to all Steve says it starts sinking in. 

How he holds me. The soft things he tells me. Waking up before me. Bringing me breakfast. The embarrassed glances. 

But also, not telling me he was going on this mission. 

“When will he be back?” I speak up, bringing myself back to the conversation as I focus on Steve with pure determination. 

He glances behind him at the clock on the wall next to the calendar FRIDAY displays. “Tomorrow night. Just do us all a favour and tell him?” He asks before walking over and bringing me into a tight hug. “I just want you two to be happy, and be able to do so outside of your suite.” 

*

I can’t help but pick at my nails. It’s one of those nervous habits I’ve never been able to shake, but now I can feel my skin pulling away as I try to distract myself from over thinking about him returning. 

The last mission was hard for him. He got hurt, but that wasn’t what bothered him. It was the fact that I got hurt. He stayed with me all night for a week, refusing to leave me alone. 

This time, I have to be there for him. I can’t continue this, whatever this is without being honest. And if what Steve told me is true, I have to be the one to spark the conversation. 

“FRIDAY, when is Agent Barnes and Romanoff due in?” I ask FRIDAY for the sixth time, hoping she’ll be able to say something different. 

“I’m afraid it is still at Seven PM, Miss Y/L.” She announces and I lie back down on my bed, directly in the middle as I stare up at my ceiling analysing new potential patterns that are undiscovered. 

“I can’t sit here all day,” I mumble to myself before forcing my body to sit upright and head towards the training room where Steve hopefully is. 

Pushing the door open Steve stands there with Tony talking about something before spotting me. “Well if it isn’t the love bird waiting for the other one to return to the nest.” Tony remarks and I raise my eyebrow to Steve. “Oh come on, Y/n. Bucky isn’t exactly subtle, even for him.” 

I let out a small laugh before joining them in conversation. “I just need a distraction, any ideas?” I ask before they exchange a glance. 

Sitting with my hands resting on the steering wheel I turn to Tony whilst Steve sits in the back seat, clenching onto the headrests. “I don’t think this is a good idea.” I tell them once again, but Tony brushes it off. 

“You want a distraction, this is the perfect one.” He tells me before going through the manoeuvres once again. “She’s all yours.” Tony mutters as he leans back allowing me to unleash all power of his Ferrari as I drive around the compound. 

The exhilaration, the adrenaline rush as I can feel the energy, the force of the car rushing through me. I can’t keep my scream in as I hear Tony and Steve yell in excitement for me. “Fuck! Tony, this is, this is mad.” I yell as the windows are now open, my hair flying behind me as I glance out of the window, seeing a figure stood watching us. 

At first, I’m able to brush it off, but the longer he stands there the more conscious I become. I slam down on the breaks, causing both of them to groan loudly. “I’ll be back.” I mutter before climbing out and slowly walking over. 

“Buck?” I call out as he starts to pick up the pace, running nearer to me until we’re metres from each other. 

His face is still marked and scratched, but the look in his eyes, relief. “I, I missed you.” He states clearly as he brushes his hair out of his face. “God, I missed you doll. This, this thing we have goin’ on I can’t do it without you being with me, actually being with me.” He explains, slowly stepping closer as I remain still. “And I love it, I love our private moments in the night, and how you smell like lavender and all the comforting things I lack. I, I love it all and I think,” He shakes his head, a small smile forming on his face. “no, I know I love you.” 

I reach my hand up, resting it on his cheek as he closes his eyes leaning against my soft palm. “What took you so long?” I chuckle before he opens his eyes and leans down to kiss me. 

As his lips are on mine I feel his arms move to my waist, picking me up and spinning me around. 

It was the kind of moment I had dreamt of, and based on the cheers behind us I wasn’t the only one. “About time!” Tony yells and I lean against Bucky’s chest, perfectly content at last. 

[whirlybirbs]

» PRE-FLIGHT CHECK, FOUR.

summary: the metal bikini is the icing on the cake for cadet!reader & poe dameron. these two continue to have a bad luck streak. cadet!reader runs into an old friend, poe is jealous. 4/?. companion piece to risks. word count: 4.5k! it’s a long one! a/n: i put this story up on ao3 so you can read there if you’d like! click here!

Poe Dameron has always been an optimist.

Genuinely, he’s a good guy -- smart and quick-witted with a good head in his shoulders. In the worst of moments, he’s always able to look forward and keep his chin up. Must be a genetic thing; his mother was always the same way. Shara, a spearhead in the Rebellion and his own life, had an affinity for spinning the world on her finger -- the sun was always shining if you looked through the clouds.

He’s well-aware it’s infuriating -- I mean, the amount of times he wanted to quit as a kid? To throw in the helmet after a failed time run? To land for good after stalling again and again? Shara was always there on the back porch, ready with a kiss and a smile and a few words of encouragement. The optimism radiated off of her and Poe swore he’d be like her one day.

Kes Dameron? Not so much the optimist. The sergeant was frequently cleaning up the ‘can do’ attitude of his wife -- not that he minded. He loved her to the farthest moon and back forever. Kes would do anything for his wife. After all, the retired-Pathfinder was a fighter.

You remind Poe a lot of his dad.

Hot-headed, short-fuse. Your moral compass is strong but your fighting spirit is stronger.

If you’d known this week long mission would have you wading through metaphorical bantha-shit, you probably would have just had Leia ground and transfer you. After all, Poe had stripped your flight privileges twice before the assignment of this mission (once per command and once per landing gear murder); it was hell, but being grounded meant you wouldn’t be wading through said metaphorical bantha-shit.

Nor be in a metal bikini on in Mos Shuuta, Tatooine, chained to a Hutt Cartel crime-lord and watching as he slobs down some vaguely human-shaped meat leg.

Metal bikinis, for all intents and purposes, are just plain offensive.

I mean, there’s no functionality -- not to mention, no support -- and as you’re forced to your knees and hit the dusty floor of the Mos Shuuta cantina, you’re pretty positive the gathering crowd of onlookers behind you can see the entirety of your backside. You’re aware that’s kind of the point, but you still scowl and wince at the delicate jingling of the body jewelry across your chest.

Too breezy.

Poe’s pretty optimistic, usually. You know, in recent hours that optimism has really been worn down. Sans BB-8 and burdened with his Lieutenant in chains, Poe’s not really sure if this plan is going to work. The New Republic Navy taught you both to be resourceful and yeah, sure, sometimes getting out alive meant following through on a plan that was less than ideal, but no one ever told you this would be your legacy: being paraded for sale in front of your flight-commander.

In a metal bikini.

Poe’s hung up on the bikini, too.

“So,” he starts, clearing his throat as bidders begin to circle up, “Teemo...”

Teemo the Hutt -- a large, olive colored Hutt and cousin of the Jabba the Hutt -- is reclined before you in a nest of plush, lavish pillows. The marcan herbs burning in his hookah stings sweetly in your throat as the Hutt pulls and exhales a cloud of the intoxicant your way. He then chomps on the meat-leg, groaning while he chews thoughtfully. At the puff of hookah and bad meat breath, your lip curls in a snarl. Teemo, unsatisfied with the display of attitude, unceremoniously yanks at the chained collar around your neck.

In Huttese, he grovels out a slow: “<She is fiesty>.”

It’s directed at Poe, who’s really going to get it for this plan -- he can tell by the look on your face. He’ll be lucky if he survives getting you both off planetside. (If the plan even works, that is.) You’ll probably smother him in his sleep.

Absentmindedly, he wonders how the Cartel didn’t learn a lesson from Leia, a self-made Hutt-slayer. Chains, really? A little antiquated, don’t you think?

You grit your teeth, settling back on your knees as Poe steps forward from Teemo’s side; his hands are raised, face masked in something mockingly-suave. He’s a good actor, but his usual charm is fading pretty fast; blame the buyers moving to sniff, literally sniff, his Lieutenant. He’s trying to play the roll as slave-dealer, trying to trade you for a ship and then, later that night, bust you out of your chains so you can both slip away.

“Hey, buddy,” Poe snaps at a cantina dweller who gets a bit too close. He cocks a hip, pointing, “You touch her, you’re buying her.”

You’re convinced he gets off on this -- y’know, rescuing the damsel in distress. Typical Dameron. You turn, stealing a deadly glare in the direct of the male Twi’lek leering. He quickly backs off. Poe turns back to Teemo.

“She’s punchy,” Poe shifts from boot to boot, “It’s all part of the package, pal.”

The metal-bikini-slave-trade situation is the icing on top of the last 16 hours.

First, you and Poe were rudely awakened by a low-ranking Kanjiklub lieutenant with an unfortunate name and his ragtag team of even lower-ranking gang members boarding your ship. You’ve never been so thankful to Kanjiklub. After all, it’s not Bala-Tik -- he was the last person you wanted to see right now.

(Safe to say you two hadn’t gotten off on the right foot, despite the smuggler’s insistence on a movie and dinner.)

Poe’s first instinct, of course, was to fight -- but you’re aware of the gang’s reputation and you’re not about to make the situation worse; no doubt you’ve got a bounty on your head, even it if is from a rival gang who is notoriously well-known for collecting said bounties. Credits are credits, even if the bounty was placed by Bala-tik himself. So, in a rare moment, you weren’t the one trying to punch your way out of things. In fact, you were dragging Poe by the collar down to the lower part of the engine room.

With some luck, and a good hiding spot, you thought you could maybe get out of this unscathed. They might think it’s a dead ship - or abandoned. And you probably could have. That is if Poe would have shut up and hid.

“They have a small ship, that means small crew --”

“It’s Kanjiklub,” you seethed, drawing his face close as you round the corner. Your finger jabbed his chest, “Do you want to get us killed?”

Poe’s brows furrowed. “How do you know it’s --”

There was a loud clang overhead signalling they’ve docked. And as much as Poe wanted to figure out how the pit you know it’s the Kanjiklub (you’d seen their callsign scrawled under the hull when they’d pulled the Allanar N3 light freighter into their EM field -- not to mention you’d met up with plenty of these medium sized freighters before), he’s distracted when the sound of boots meets his ears. Both you and Poe flinched then, spurred to hurry and pull at the grates.

“Poe, will you lift --”

“I am lifting --”

The crawl space was small, maybe too small, but you gestured for Poe to go first. Above you on the catwalk, BB-8 and A3-C8 rolled back and forth, whirring hurriedly down at you and Poe. That was your cue.

They’re coming!

“C’mon, go,” you whispered harshly, nudging Poe’s shoulder and quickly following him into the crawl space, “I can hear them --”

“I’m going -- ow, ow, ow,” Poe was cursing as you land in his lap, “God, kid, the knee --”

“I’m trying, this isn’t exactly roomy,” you sneered, “And I’m not a kid --”

Aforementioned low-ranking Kanjiklub lieutenant and crew did a good enough job dragging you both from the hull after you’d been caught mid-whisper-argument; BB-8 and A3-C8 were hauled away, whirring and beeping as they’d yanked up the flooring under the engine room to find you in Poe’s lap, his hand slapped over your mouth. Proximity ignored, you’re hauled up and slapped into stasis cuffs.

“Seriously?” you snarked, “C’mon, bite me, stasis cuffs? Who are you, Guavians?”

On that note, you were promptly clocked with the back end of a laser-sight bolt action blaster and wake up on the floor of the bridge of Jax Dag’s bridge.

Jax Dag, Poe thinks, is a pretty unfortunate name. The kid was young -- no doubt trying to make a name for himself. Too bad the name is just... bad. It sounds wrong. Kinda like a swear. Poe doesn’t really feel comfortable sounding it out in his head. Jaaax Daaaaag. Definitely a swear.

Your own bleary eyes caught his own then, and Poe felt himself deflate a bit. You weren’t dead. On any other day, he probably would have made an off-hand comment about how much of a shame that was. But, right now? He’d never been happier to see your half-concussed scowl. He would asked how you’re feeling if, well... If Jax Dag wasn’t already leering at you. In hindsight, Poe’s starting to realize a trend. He can’t stand that.

“Nice of you to join us,” Jax chirped at you and Poe felt a flare of anger in his chest. Jax’s fingers dug into your chin, “Sleep well?”

“Get your hands off of her,” Poe growled, eyes set in a seriousness you’re not used to seeing. He’s not really sure where that came from. Did he get hit in the head? Your own look says the same thing. Shutting up. Shutting up now.

Jax ignored the comment. Instead, he pointed to the ship in the loading bay. The vomit colored Allanar N3 sat, dim and freshly abandoned. From your spot on the floor, you tested the stasis cuffs. Still there. Your head still hurt -- and Jax’s face isn’t the nicest thing to wake up to. Poor kid. Bad name, bad looks and as you come to find out, a terrible sense of bartering.

Somehow, after an hour of eyelash batting and lip chewing, you’d convinced the kid to drop you and Poe on the nearest planet in trade of the ship, all the credit on either of you, and --

“The droids.”

“No,” Poe scowled, trying to cut the games, “No way. The droids don’t leave our side.”

“Then no deal,” Jax Dagger battled back, “And I call Bala-Tik up, turn you in, and then I take the droids.”

You nearly fall over yourself at the mention of the rival syndicate’s Leader and Poe noticed. “Take the droids.”

He turned, then, and looked at you like you’d had eight tentacles and a pit for a mouth. Turn you in?

BB-8 howls in protest. BeeOOOoop?

“The droids,” you said, “Are worth you dropping us in the closest town when we land.”

And so, here you are. In a metal bikini. In a musty cantina, chained to Teemo the Hutt who smells like hookah and meat and sweat. Poe saunters in front of you, boots dirtied from the Tatooine sand and you wonder why the hell you hadn’t proposed to make him the slave -- half the cantina was looking at him like he was an entire meal. You’re not sure why the leering is making you so mad, I mean, c’mon. He probably smells like the wrong end of a tauntaun right now.

But still, it’s infuriating how good he looks -- shirt matted with sweat, sand caked along his jacket. His curls are stuck to his forehead, and despite how sweaty he is thanks to the Mos Shuuta heat, he’s still looking like a verified poster-boy. The dark line of five o’clock shadow lining his jaw is more dirt than anything. You’re irritated he looks dashing and even more, that you’re even thinking this way.

Maybe you hit your head.

(The landing had been rough. When Jax Dag said he’d “drop you off” he’d been being literal.)

All the while, Poe doesn’t feel like he looks good. He can feel the prick of a sunburn along his nose and the grit of sand in his pants and -- Pit, he smells. He knows he smells. He can feel the sweat running down his back just standing here in the stale air of the cantina. You, at least, had been given a shower and new outfit before you’d been paraded in front the cantina like a piece of prized steak. Not that he was a fan of that. At all. And he’s a little irritated he feels so keen on throwing you his jacket so you can cover up.

He definitely hit his head.

“You look like you’re interested, Teemo.”

Poe’s voice is even-tempered, hands on his hips as he stands in-front of you.

“<Can she dance?>”

You don’t speak Huttese; you’d instead opted to learn Mando’a in the academy. When Teemo wriggles and leans to look at you around Poe, you try to hide your evident confusion. It had sounded like a question. When Poe turns on a heel, hands still on his hips and his face is warped into something tied between fear and apology, your stomach sinks. You have a bad feeling about this.

“Of course she can dance.”

Oh, you could kill him.

There’s that can-do attitude of his -- and here you are, cleaning up the mess of aforementioned attitude. With a single wave of Teemo’s greasy meat-leg, the band strikes a tune that is so not something you’d ever dance to on a night out. From your spot on the ground, your face is set with such a heavy sense of mortification, Poe has to mouth a very short: “I’m so sorry”.

The singer in the far corner chirps a cat-call of encouragement your way. T’Snooza and the Blur-tones reads their drum-set. T’Snooza, you’re assuming, gives a loud bellow, music striking a crescendo. You thought jatz died during the last Galactic War. The music genre is just... unfortunate.

You’re yanked to your feet then, eyes a bit wild -- the braid on your head swings as you snarl and try to gain your balance.

“I can’t dance.”

“That’s -- c’mon,” it’s Poe, eyes wild, “Don’t be shy, kid. Show ‘em what you can do --”

You’re about to say screw it, about to try and get into some sort of groove when suddenly:

“Shut off tha’ kriffin’ music!”

Every head in the room swivels, albeit Teemo’s turns a bit slower, to land on the man in the entrance of the cantina -- he’s tall, swathed by four red outfitted men. Poe knows the crest on their chest nearly immediately.

Guavian Death Gang.

You’ve never been happier to see Bala-tik in your life.

Oh, you could kiss him.

“We’d like tae make a purchase.”

Suddenly, the excited BOOOWEEEEEEPs of A3-C8 and BB-8 roll through the doorway in tow. The GDG make quick work on crowd control, the high-ranking gang members clearing the way for Bala as he crosses the opening before Teemo and snorts.

“Gold isn’t really yer’ color, is it?”

Bala-tik, a bit like a metal bikini, is a man built on impracticalities -- if he sees something and he wants it, he usually gets it. As leader of one of the most notorious black-market affiliated gangs, he’s got access and a lot of it. Just not to people like you; he’d love to say the pretty New Republic Navy pilot with affinities for T-68 X-Wing mods was his, but he can’t. And that? That infuriates him.

And the eyeing that’s going on right now? Yeah, that’s infuriating Poe.

“Sorry, catch me up,” Poe chirps, “Do you two know each other?”

“An’ this must be yer new Commander --”

Poe is getting sized up. He know what this is. The pilot immediately squares his shoulders and his jaw, dark eyes narrowing on the man in front of him. Bala-tik is about the same height as him, if not a bit younger, with a haircut that leaves a lot to be desired. Poe would do something about the way Bala is looking at him if weren’t for the four armored pirates circling him.

“Teemo,” Bala-tik raises his voice, eyes not breaking from Poe once, “How much for ‘er?”

A burp. And then:

“<800 credits>.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Poe starts, turning to raise his hands at the Hutt, “We’re a package deal.”

At that, half the cantina jumps into a roar, fists raised with credits clutched tightly. The uproar, as unexpected as it is, is enough to catch Bala-tik off guard. You move then, hand pressing gently against the armored chest of the Guavian Death Gang leader. His eyes jump to you, softening a bit at the gesture. Very quickly, years of unreciprocated feelings fly to the surface and Poe is awed by the way you play him. Another one lost to the wrath of the metal bikini.

“Bala, please,” you urge, “Just get us out of here.”

There’s a moment’s pause. You can see the sway in his eyes -- in all the years you’d known the black-market arms dealer, you’d always been good at reading him. He’s an open book if you know the language. Raising your face, you sport your best enamored look. Thank god for the holovids of Mandalorian soap-operas you and L’ulo had been binging.

“You saved my droid?” it’s sultry.

Poe’s whole face scrunches up. And then he sees your hand.

Bala-tik’s jaw is slack, voice uneven. You lean a bit closer.

Poe watches as your fingers land on the holster along Bala-tik’s hip.

“Couldn’t a’ had th’ Kanjiklub recyclin’ ‘im.”

“Oh?” you bite your lip, “I guess I should say thank you, then, huh?”

You temptress. Poe’s impressed. You’ve got the gang-leader around your finger. And currently, the poor sap’s eyes are closed and chin jutting as he leans in for a kiss.

In a flash, Bala-tik’s rifle is tossed into Poe’s hands.

In a flash, the cantina descends into outright chaos.

Instead of a kiss, the crime-lord gets a right-hook; he drops to the ground and you follow, ducking and clearing a way for Poe to take down the two guards to his right. The yank of a chain brings you to your knees and you snarl.

“<No, no, little girl.>”

That boils something in your blood.

You move fast, distracting the other two armored-thugs as you bound up the Hutt’s platform and tug your chain in tow. The cantina has now succumb to the chaos and is scattering into a massive brawl, drinkers going for the expensive armor and gadgets on the GDG thugs while Teemo bellows out orders for his own guards.

You choke those orders right off.

Poe’s distracted, slack-jawed and trying to make fast work of the Gamorrean guards as you pull a royal Leia and put an end to Teemo the Hutt with his own chain. There’s something to be said about it, something awfully poetic about you snuffing out an in-famous slave dealer with his own device for control. With one short war-cry, you finish the deed as the Hutt’s tongue lashes out; a few short moments later, he stills and you huff. Your hair is wild, back slick with sweat as you stumble from the platform and claw at the collar around your neck.

“Hold this.”

You gratefully take the blaster.

Poe slides to your side behind the platform, fingers working nimbly at the collar there -- you can feel his breath on the back of your neck. When the metal collar finally falls from your neck, you exhale. You try and catch your breath. Your hands hit Poe’s chest.

“We need to go,” your eyes hit the far door which frames more GDG thugs pouring through it, “Now.”

“Couldn’t agree more, Punchy,” he chirps, snagging your hand and standing fast, “Bee-bee, Ace! Find us a ride, will you?!”

“Yeah, alright,” you chirp, yanking your hand back, “Nice try -- I can handle myself, Dameron --”

Blaster fire rockets over your shoulder and you shriek, no protesting in the slightest when Poe grabs you again, manhandling you in front of him and out the back door. His hands linger on your waist, pressing you forward and into the hot sun of the Mos Shuuta -- quickly, the two of you chase after the two astro-droids peeling around the cantina to the makeshift airfield behind of it. The selection on ships is slim, but the YT-2400 that the two droids break into will do, even if it is older than both you and Poe and smells like soured Kaadu milk.

Dropping the blaster at the door, you break from Poe.

“You fly, I’ll shoot!”

The engine starts with a cough and a sputter. The gunner turret is stiff, but as you swing wide and train on the crew of Guavian’s approaching, you can’t complain about the kick. You give an excited shout and lay down cover, fingers moving to charge the front canons -- you swing again, body jewelry jingling as the freighter rattles up and Poe begins the take-off sequence. But it’s slow.

You can see the GDG loading into their ships.

Bad news.

“Any day now, Poe --”

“Gimme a second,” he hollers, “Tryin’ my best up here!”

You throw yourself from the turret, bounding up into the cockpit and hands hitting the back of Poe’s chair as the hyper-drive stutters.

“Come on, beautiful,” Poe mutters, “Come on.”

Another flick of the drive. EEENNNHHH-CHU-CHUNK.

Your eyes dart across the dash -- you spare him one single, annoyed look before punching the landing lock.

And with that, you and Poe and your droids slip away from Mos Shuuta and the GDG in a flash of blue.

In hyperspace, you both melt into silence, your back hitting the seat of the co-pilot’s chair with a soft jingle. The metal of the ships floor is cold on your bare feet. Poe turns slowly, dark eyes watching you --

“Told you the plan would work.”

Poe Dameron has always been an optimist.

“Next time,” you grit out, “You get to wear the metal bikini.”

Poe chews the inside of his lip. You can see the flicker of something on his face and you’re still watching him as he turns to punch in the coordinates for Voss. Crossing your arms, you can’t control the amusement in your tone.

“Oh,” you chirp, “Ooooh, no, go ahead, Dameron -- chalk it up, laugh it up -- go ahead. I get it, yeah, really funny -- she can dance --”

“I mean,” Poe jabs, “I knew you couldn’t -- I had to try --”

“I can dance just fine, thank you --”

“Oh? Is that how you and Bala-tik know one another? Dancing...?”

You snap your mouth shut, brows raising. Poe blinks over his shoulder at you. He knows instantly his tone has betrayed him -- the way he said it showed his cards and the weird sense of jealousy that flares in his chest at the mere mention of the crime-lord’s name. You turn, standing and moving to place your hands on your hips. Your tone is accusatory.

“You’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous --”

He’s trying not to stare at the soft dips of your hips.

“I can’t believe it, you’re jealous.”

Poe snarls. “I am not jealous.”

“No? No, then what’s the problem --?”

“What’s the -- really? -- he’s the leader of an underground gang, that’s the problem --”

“Oh, that’s the problem.”

“Yeah.”

“Not the eyes -- not the near-kiss --”

“I don’t -- no, that’s not --!” Poe throws his hands, finger darting into your face as he stands and moves to step around you. His eyes get caught on the low dip of the bikini and he’s fast to blink and recoil, “You are... infuriating, you know that? I saved our skins and here you are --”

“You saved our skins?” you jeer, arms crossed as you follow the fly-boy through the halls of the freighter. He stops at the back generator, eyes checking the readings there. You can’t believe him. He’s trying to do a pre-check mid-flight, “You’re kidding -- can you, for one second, can you just admit you’re not always the hero, Dameron?”

“Oh, right, you’re the hero -- the one in bed with Bala-tik --”

Your tone is sharp as you corner Poe, your own finger in his face. Your braid swings and your body chain catches the light.

“I am not in bed with that scum.”

“Reeaaaally?” Poe’s tone is cold. His brows raise in faux-impressment.

“Really,” you seeth, “I am over that part of my life --”

“Sure didn’t look like it, Punchy --”

“What the kriff does that mean?!”

“I saw the way he looked at you,” Poe supplies, standing and moving to the opposite side of the room. The other generator’s readings distract his gaze from you, still traipsing around in the slave-outfit. You follow, face set in anger, “He clearly wasn’t over it - ... Are you going to change?”

“He’s delusional. He mistook buyer-loyalty for romance,” you bite, ignoring the changing comment, “It was never a thing, it will never be a thing.”

“Buyer-loyalty, huh?” Poe tries to feign his interest -- he’s listening intently, hell-bent on trying to convince you otherwise. Your outfit jingles as you follow him down into the engine room. The venom is heavy in his voice.

“You’re not stupid, Poe,” the laugh you supply drags his eyes from the generator and to your face, “You can’t seriously believe the mods on my X-Wing are NRN-flight-compliant?”

“Wait...”

A pause. You blink at him expectantly. Poe’s interest in the engine is abandoned.

“...You bought mods from the GDG?”

“Of course,” you laugh, like it’s already been said, “What, you seriously think -- ... oh my god. Did you... think I built them myself?”

Poe’s face falls.

“You did, you thought I --,” you cover your mouth, “Installed, yea, but those things are -- you’re kidding. I told Snap about them. I thought...”

“Well,” Poe throws his hands, “Snap didn’t share that info!”

You bury your face in your hands. “Oh my god, what... what did you think I was going to say when I said ‘buyer-loyalty’? Spice?”

“I don’t know!” he nearly shrieks, eyes darting down on impulse, “I don’t -- you’re just... Could you change?!”

“What, is the bikini distracting?”

“Honestly, yes --!”

The meaning behind that statement hits you both and where anger was, awkwardness flies in.

“Well, I don’t have anything else to wear, Dameron,” you chirp, face suddenly hot with embarrassment. You’re suddenly very aware of his gaze and feel yourself shrinking a bit. You pull yourself away from the argument, arms crossed tightly over your chest now as a way of covering yourself.

Poe heaves a sigh, moving quickly to dig through the cargo bins on the far wall -- inside, he finds a tunic, light cotton pants and a pair of boots that are one size too big for you. Shoving the bundle your way, Poe’s face is screwed up tight like he tasted something bitter. You avoid his gaze and he avoids yours.

“Here.”

“... Thanks.”

You pull the sheer fabric close to your behind as you ascend the stairs, trying to cover yourself up a bit. Still too breezy. Poe tries not to stare.

When you’re out of earshot, BB-8 gives an amused whir from up above on the catwalk.

Not jealous, my processor chip.

“Shut up, Bee-bee.”

[aurelia-blake-carter]

    - REFERENCE TO SEXUAL ACTIVITY SO WARNING IF NEEDED (NSFW MENTIONED) -

"You want me to—what?" Aurelia's mouth dropped open as she stared at the older Winchester in disbelief. "You're—You are not serious." She looked at Sam, pointing at Dean like he had finally snapped. "Sam, can you believe him?"

     Sam shifted a bit but he didn't say anything, just glancing between the two of them. Aurelia forced a laugh. "You.. You're not agreeing with me—Sam! You both are ridiculous!"

     Dean took a swig of his beer, watching her get as flustered as she was. "Come on, it won't even be that bad." He encouraged. "You've always said that you respect them because of their upper body strength and confidence level!" He tipped his beer towards her. "You are just stepping into their life for a night or two."

      Aurelia covered her face with her hands. "Dean!" She groaned. "That never meant, not once, that I wanted to walk into a strip club and ask to get on stage and be a dancer!" She snapped. She could have grabbed his beer and poured it over his head. "Besides, they would definitely say no."

      Sam gave her a look. "You, not to be weird, are attractive, and have a healthy body.. shape so I don't see a reason for the owner to reject you." He shifted uncomfortably, like he felt awkward for—

     "Basically, you're hot." Dean chimed. "You could definitely work a crowd." He said.

      Aurelia turned pink. "I don't know if I should be flattered or offended." She huffed. She lifted her shirt, showing a faded scar down her side. "How about scars, you idiots. I don't think anyone wants a scarred up dancer shaking her ass in their face."

      Dean opened his mouth to respond and she pointed at him. "You even think I'm wrong, I'm putting a bullet in your kneecap." Dean closed his mouth abruptly.

      Sam put his hand on her side. "Listen, Auri, the only reason that we ask you is because we do know there's a nest at that club taking strippers—"

       "Killing or turning them, I know." She groaned, dropping against the bed in annoyance. "But.. why can't we just be FBI and ask to speak with the staff?"

      "You know this nest has moved three times already." Sam responded.

      "If we even look like hunters, the pack will run and will leave a trail of bodies. If we get an insider?"

      "We can kill them from the inside out, I know." Aurelia sighed. She put a pillow over her head to hide her embarrassment.

      "However, if you really don't want to do this, we can try to find another way…" Sam sat back down at the table.

      Aurelia was quiet for a long time, trying to come up with a better plan than the one they had. She couldn't. She sat up and threw the pillow against the wall, as if expelling her anger, embarrassment and annoyance. "Fuck."

    "You nervous?" One of the other ladies, Emily, asked her. Emily was gorgeous, strongly built and the confidence level she gave off made Aurelia want to sink back into a hole. Emily was a natural ginger haired beauty, but Aurelia was somehow sure the green eyes were contacts. "I remember being shaken so bad my first time I got sick right before I had to go on."

       Aurelia nodded, giving her an distressed smile. "I'm just… not used to this." She gestured to the outfit. It was theme night at the club on her first night. Emily was adorned in silk red outfit that showed all the best, with a black lace long dress cover that hide the "goods" as Emily put it. Aurelia's favorite? The devil horns and tail that was attached to her outfit.

      Aurelia on the other hand was the exact opposites, dressed up in a one piece that thankfully covered her essentials, gold slivers woven beautifully in the costume. The white wings felt like the universe was making fun of her.

     "Be glad they didn't immediately give you the heels, though." Emily hummed while sliding on her final coat of lip gloss. "One of our previous dancers said she knew how to dance in them, lied of course, and nearly broke her ankle on stage. Its important to stay safe while dancing." The red head nudged Aurelia. "Don't worry too much, hun. Just follow my lead and you'll do great! You only have to do one dance tonight then Mave is gonna put you on the floor to give out drinks and orders."

       I don't know which is worse. Aurelia thought. She looked at herself in the mirror, taking in a deep breath. From an outside prospective, she probably looked amazing but she could see the peeks of her scars and her odd tan lines. She started to pick apart her confidence little by little before Emily slammed her hands on the sides of Aurelia's shoulders.

      "Stop stressing, hun. You're the sexiest girl here." She winked. She started leaving the room. "I'll meet you outside for our dance in five." With a soft click, Emily shut the door behind her.

      Aurelia raced for her phone, dialing Dean immediately. When he picked up, she didn't even let him greet the call: "I can't do this!" She panicked.

       Dean hushed her. "Sweet heart, you got this. It's one night." He tried to reason.

       "I don't know anything about this, Dean!" She whined. "I know nothing about dancing sexy or acting sexy or just anything remotely attractive—"

       She heard Dean move to cover the mic. "I knew she would flip." She heard him say to Sam. "Okay, sweet heart, in your bag, I put a small earphone. Remember how I helped Charlie when she worked for Dick?" Aurelia nodded, trying to control her breathing. "You're lucky I know you just nodded. I slipped one the same speaker in your bag. Put it in, and I'll walk you through the dance."

     Aurelia dug through her bag. "Oh, so you've been a stripper before, Dean?" It was a sad attempt but she honestly didn't know what else to say or do.

      She heard him laugh. "No, of course not. But I've seen plenty." She slipped the speaker in her ear, covering it with her hair. She set the phone down. 

    "Can you hear me?" Dean's voice resonated through her eardrums. She felt oddly calm because of it.

      "I can." She responded. She hung up the phone. "What do I do?"

      "Get out there because you're about to be next. I'll help you through this. It's me and you, hun. Just focus on me."

     When Aurelia got out on the stage with Emily, the light was almost blinding. She could barely see the crowd but she could feel the eyes, waiting for the two of them. Emily took a bow, slowly and precise, smirking at the crowd like she was born to this. Aurelia tried her best to copy it.

      "Relax your face." Aurelia almost flinched, not expecting Dean's voice. "Give us a.. almost sleepy smile." Aurelia did as told. "Much better… Now, you use your hand, trail it down your leg as you bow—yeah, like that."

      Emily smiled at the crowd, getting into a pose next to Aurelia. "We've practiced this, Angel." She purred into Aurelia's ear. "Just do the routine, and feel the beat."

      She could hear Dean chuckle. "Couldn't have said it better myself."

     From the moment the song blasted through the club, she moved in time with Emily as best as she could. She would hear Dean every once and a while say a comment to arch her back a bit, or spread her legs a bit more to make the move more natural. Despite the entire situation, she felt almost full of thrill and Dean's coaching wasn't too bad either. When the song had stopped, she was covered in a thin layer of sweat, heat from the lights and from the rapid bodywork.

      "You're glowing, sweet cheeks." Aurelia sent a glare in what she assumed to be his direction. "Hey, if you're gonna glare, be seductive about it. Don't want to break your cover." He snickered into the mic.

      I'm really going to shoot him in the kneecap.

      Later, she stopped by their table, handing Dean and Sam their drinks. Dean snickered as she got closer. "My angel." He purred towards her, grabbing his beer and popping off the top.

       "I will hurt you." She replied without missing a beat.

       "I mean, what luck that you're first night is Devils and Angel's night?" Dean teased.

       Aurelia gripped her tray. "I will smack you as soon as this job is finished, Winchester. I swear on it." She promised, eyes deadly serious. However, she couldn't deny in the back of her head she liked how his eyes drifted across her like it had. When she had been dancing, the thought that he was watching so closely made her feel like she was on fire for some reason.

         Sam was the opposite, he kept only looking at her face, making sure not to drift elsewhere. "If you two are done flirting," he cleared his throat. "Case?"

         Aurelia nodded, glancing back at Mave. "Mave is the owner and… he caters very well to new staff." She muttered. "Hes only been owner for two weeks, new promotion when the other manager quit suddenly." She whispered. The boys drifted their eyes towards them. "Emily said that she's been working at the club for years and when Mave became owner, things started going to shit. Pay cuts, abusive treatment, and 'uncomfortable treatment's'." She put the tray underneath her arm, leaning across the table like she was sweet talking the two. "She said he's tried to get her a 'promotion' several times but she keeps refusing because a promotion would ruin her day schedule with her kid." She relayed. "He wasn't happy the last time she said no."

       Sam looked away from the owner when he looked up, glancing around the club. "So he must be the best leader. Any idea on the rest?" He inquired.

       "Still working on it but I've got some ideas." She replied. Suddenly there was a sharp sting against her ass and Aurelia stood up abruptly, spinning around.

        "Come on, fan favorite. You've got more drinks to serve, hun." She wrapped her arm around Aurelia's waist. "If you'll excuse us." With that, The devil dragged away the angel.

         Dean took a swig of his beer, watching the two basically strutting away. "Best decision we've made."

        Sam threw one of Dean's fries at him. "Dude, gross. You're drooling."

      Later on when the club was shutting down, she saw Marv get pulled the dancers to the back. He handed out what they had made, Aurelia being pleasantly surprised on the amount of tips that were given towards her. She pocketed the cash, finally glad to be in normal clothes once more. He also chose a selective few dancers to the take to the back. On her way out, she watched Mave close the door when two other bouncers had snuck in as well. Aurelia gripped the blade. She spoke into the earpiece. "Dean?"

       "You got sight?" He asked.

       She didn't answer at first, just watched through the blinds of the office. Until one of the bouncers moved in front of the window, gave her a grin and she could see it. A second row of pointed teeth.

       She slid her blade out, heading towards the office on the other side of the club. "I got teeth, hurry up." She hissed.

       "Don't go in there alone!" Dean yelled. She could hear them both scrambling out the car. "Wait for us."

       "I can't just wait, Dean—" She answered, about to break into the door to the office. A voice cut her off.

      "Pretty angel, you're supposed to be gone." Aurelia's blood ran cold. She spun around to face Emily. The red head was smiling, a second set of teeth glinting from the few lights in the club. "Newbies are really supposed to leave when we close, not snoop." She crossed her arms. "And carry around big scary blades like that, too."

        Aurelia spun it, moving away from the door, figuring it was best to only take on the one vamp versus altering all of them and then have all on her ass. "I get curious." She spat. "You can't really trust anyone these days."

        "Especially hunters." Emily stepped forward. "That's why when you started asking all those questions? I really had to give you a better target, Mave instead of me." Her body language changed, like she was about to pounce on prey.

      Emily then launched forward, going to do an upper cut to Aurelia's jaw. The blonde blocked the strike, kicking the vamp in the stomach to knock her back. With Emily preoccupied, Aurelia swung her blade as hard as she could, decapitating the monster. As the head rolled off, she noticed Sam and Dean had just burst through the door.

      Aurelia flicked her blade. "You're late." She mumbled. The door behind her burst open and Mave and the two bouncers raced out, all of them going for one of the hunters. The girls inside her unconscious, blood coming out of them. Dead, or turned. Aurelia couldn't tell.

     After a brief struggle of Aurelia nearly being strangled to death, the three had killed the nest and ran to the girls. Two were dead, one turned. Thankfully, after waiting for the girl to gain consciousness, she admitted she refused to feed. They were able to cure her.

       On the way home to the bunker, Dean turned down the music. "So, Auri, how was it?" He asked.

       Aurelia tilt her head back and groaned. "How many times are you going to ask me how it was back stage?" She complained. "It was overwhelming!" She answered. "I danced, I probably looked like an awkward chicken with puppet strings when I did and we killed the monsters! End of story." She huffed. Sam let out a snicker.

       Dean held up a finger. "For the record, you're performance? Was the absolute opposite of what… whatever you just described." He told her. His eyes locked with hers and an emotion she rarely seen directed at her swirled around in his eyes. His pupils were a bit large and the color was dark. Goosebumps rose to her skin at the look. "You looked phenomenal." He finished.

       Aurelia managed to tear her eyes away from him, shifting a bit in the seat to calm her now scorching body temperature.

      "Once again, can you two stop flirting?" Sam asked, looking at the two. Dean smirked as he turned up the music, ACDC blasting throughout the car as his answer. His eyes locked with hers again.

       I'm never going to live this down.