#so close to the point and then they pirouette right over it

[bnny0rgnz]

The Ballet Effect

A spacious ballet studio with mirrors lining the walls and a grand piano in the corner. The wooden floor is polished, reflecting the soft glow of the overhead lights. Y/n stands at the barre, dressed in a pastel leotard, her expression focused as her ballet instructor, Madame Colette, walks toward her.

Madame Colette clapped her hands once, looking straight at Y/n. “Alright, Y/n, let’s begin from the top. First position. Shoulders down. Spine elongated.” Her voice carried across the studio as the other dancers subtly watched.

Y/n adjusted her posture, her feet moving into first position. She took a deep breath as Madame Colette walked around her, observing every detail.

“Good. Now, plié. Smooth and controlled.” Madame Colette nodded in approval.

Y/n bent her knees gracefully, keeping her back straight and heels grounded. She exhaled softly, focusing on her form. The other dancers whispered among themselves, but she shut out the noise.

“And up—don’t rush it. Feel the movement. Let the music guide you.” The piano swelled gently, wrapping Y/n in its embrace. The pianist played a soft melody as Y/n rose back to standing, the motion fluid and effortless.

“Now, into tendu. Extend your right foot forward—yes, like that. Point the toes, keep the leg straight.” Madame Colette watched closely, her sharp eyes catching every movement as the other students watched in silent admiration—or envy.

Y/n slid her foot across the floor, pointing it in front of her before bringing it back into first position.

“Lovely. Again, but this time with more expression. Dance is more than movement—it is storytelling.” Madame Colette's voice softened, looking at the rest of the students to remind them as well.

Y/n repeated the motion, adding more grace and emotion into the movement. She pictured herself as a swan gliding over a lake, her arms light and delicate, embodying the role completely.

“Yes, that’s it. Now, let’s move to the center. We’ll begin with a pirouette.” Madame Colette smiled generously at Y/n. A small warmth bloomed in Y/n’s chest. She wanted to smile back but kept her focus sharp.

She stepped away from the barre, adjusting her stance. She inhaled deeply, preparing herself.

“Find your spot. Shoulders relaxed. Arms rounded.” Madame Colette's voice resonated in the quiet studio.

Y/n nodded, fixing her gaze on a point in the mirror. She pushed off her back foot, spinning gracefully before landing softly in fourth position.

“Beautiful control! One more time, with confidence.” Madame Colette clapped, her approval evident.

Y/n smiled subtly, determination flashing in her eyes. She prepared again, this time feeling lighter, stronger—like she belonged in the air, if only for a moment. The music swelled, and she spun—graceful, elegant, weightless.

After practice at the studio, Y/n always found herself going to an abandoned subway station to practice more—to exceed perfection. She practiced five more times before eventually heading home around 10 pm. And when she was at home, she practiced her expression, her graceful gestures, her fluid movements. It needed to be perfect. She needed to be perfect.

She had won so many awards—martial arts, figure skating, beauty pageants. Her room was filled with trophies, tiaras, sashes, and gold medals. But no matter how many accolades she earned, the love and attention she craved never came.

Maybe ballet would change that. Maybe this time, they would see her. Maybe this time, they would be proud.

The next afternoon, Y/n rode the subway home from school. She didn’t ask Alfred to pick her up anymore. He was busy with the family, after all. The subway was crowded, filled with strangers, but she found comfort in the anonymity.

When she entered the manor, she removed her pink poncho and hung it on the coat hanger—right next to her father’s coat. Maybe he would notice. Maybe he would take it as a sign of adoration.

“Master Y/n, is that you coming home from school?” Alfred’s voice called from the kitchen.

“Yes, Alfred.” Y/n made her way inside, seeing him preparing dinner.

“Would you be kind enough to sign a permission slip for me? It’s for a field trip to a science lab. I need to return it by Friday.” She pulled a crisp paper from her folder and handed it to him.

“Why, of course, dear.” Alfred pulled a pen from his suit pocket, his writing graceful and fluid.

“Thank you, Alfred.” Y/n smiled.

“You are very welcome, Master Y/n. You should wash up, dinner will be ready soon.”

“I think I’ll skip this time. I have to practice. The recital is in a week, and I can’t get too distracted.”

“Master Y/n, skipping meals isn’t good for you. Surely, you can eat before practicing?” Alfred’s voice held concern.

“I’ll see about that in,” Y/n glanced at the timer, “about four minutes.” She smiled before heading to her room.

Alfred sighed. Stubborn as ever. But he was proud of her dedication.

Y/n sat in her room, looking at the pictures on her walls. Team photos, pageant crowns, trophies. A life of achievements. Yet, a void remained.

She stopped.

Why was she thinking about her mother? She was free now—free to eat what she wanted, to wear what she wanted, to do the activities she loved.

So why did she still crave their approval?

She skimmed her arm, feeling the old scars buried beneath her skin. Her mother had shaped her into this, always pushing her to be the best, to be perfect.

Perfection was the only way to be loved.

Laughter echoed downstairs. Y/n hesitated. Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten all day.

She made her way down and saw them—the family, laughing together, sharing jokes she would never understand.

The moment they saw her, silence fell over the room.

She sat in her assigned seat, across from Jason, next to Damian, with Bruce at the head of the table. It was clear. They hadn’t been expecting her. Maybe they had forgotten she even lived there.

“Thank you for dinner, Alfred. It looks appetizing,” she said, her voice polite.

A chair scraped against the floor. Y/n turned.

Damian had moved away, sitting closer to Cass as if she carried a disease.

Her appetite vanished.

Bruce cleared his throat.

“Uh, so, Tim, how’s your invention going?”

Tim responded enthusiastically, but Y/n barely heard him.

“What’s the gadget you’re working on, Tim?” she asked, genuinely curious.

Tim hesitated. “Not like you’ll get your hands on it anyway.”

Y/n frowned. “What was that?”

“He’s saying you’re not one of us. Is that hard to comprehend?” Damian scoffed.

“Damian,” Bruce warned.

Y/n’s head lowered. Silence stretched. She felt their stares. She knew what they thought of her.

Not one of them.

A burden.

She stood abruptly. “I think I’ll call it a night, Alfred.” Her voice was quiet. She left without another word.

Alfred shook his head, disappointment heavy in his heart. He only wished they could see her the way he did.

And perhaps, one day, they would.

[kykyonthemoon]

hiiiiii i love the stories you make. Can you please make rafayel x ballerina reader where reader gets taken care of by rafayel after accidently twisting her ankle during practice?? tyyy 💗💗💗💗💗

Dear Anon-san,

Thank you so much for your request. I also apologize that it took a while to finally get to you. Hope you enjoy this piece, and I'm looking forward to your continued support <3

His Little Ballerina

── .✦ Rafayel x Female Reader|MC

── .✦ Tags: soft, sweet, physical hurt/comfort, fluff, healing, reader is a ballerina

── .✦ Word count: over 1k

── .✦ Ky Ky's note: This is also my first fic after being accepted into oracleofstars network. Yay!!!

── .✦ Masterlist ♡ Request a fic

When he came to pick you up at the hospital, Rafayel's face was already so pale.

Long story short, he had just received a text from you stating that you were at a hospital near your place and needed a ride home. You had accidently fallen while executing a simple pirouette, causing your ankle to twist. Rafayel crossed his arms as he watched you sit there with a swollen ankle, his countenance confusing..

"You can yell at me after you drop me off, okay?" You said. But he did not seem any content. You knew he was genuinely concerned about you, especially after he told you over and over that you were unable to practice ballet right away since you were still a bit unwell.

He had met you for the first time after your play. While everyone was praising your charm, Rafayel was the only one who pointed out the problem with your ankle.

For a Lemurian, witnessing your struggle while dancing reminded him of the agony a merman must go through when he abandons his tail to learn to walk on land. 

Therefore, you totally understood his response when he saw you were constantly getting injured on the practice floor. You did not defy Rafayel, but you felt awful for causing him so much tension.

“You only listen to me when you're in trouble, right?”

Even though he grumbled, Rafayel helped you up, holding your bag and pointe shoes on one shoulder. When he saw your few struggling steps, he winced. Then, he leant down and picked you up. 

"Eh? Rafael?! Put me down.”

Your face turned red. However, Rafayel continued to carry you in his arms and walk away. He said:

"You heard what the doctor said; from now on, you must rest and let me care for you. That means I shall become your legs.”

“But… Is it necessary to carry me like this? You can just give me a piggyback ride…”

Rafayel shook his head: “I won't do so. Carrying you like that would make me seem no less like a turtle!”

You sighed and gave up. You allowed Rafayel to take you to the hospital gate in front of a large crowd. You felt so embarrassed while he kept that serious expression on his face.

You expected him to stop carrying you after you left the hospital, but Rafayel walked instead of calling a taxi. You rolled your eyes and asked:

“Are you going to carry me all the way home?”

Rafayel took a short peek at you before returning his attention to the road ahead. “Your place is nearby. We can walk home.”

You shifted your body somewhat uncomfortably. Rafayel's arms closed around you even more. You nestled myself into his neck and whispered: "People are looking..."

At that moment, a child who had just left the candy store noticed you and Rafayel. She asked:

“Miss! Are you a princess?”

Rafayel's footsteps slowed down a bit so the child could keep up. That was when you discovered you were still wearing your tutu with a flared skirt. People from the studio took you to the hospital; however, because they were busy and knew Rafayel was on his way, they departed right away. 

"So, you must really be a princess to be carried like that, right?" The small girl inquired innocently again. 

Rafayel came to a complete halt. He grinned at her and said:

"Correct, kiddo. She is a princess.”

You used a hand to hit him on the shoulder and said to the child:

"No, no. It's not true. I'm not a princess..."

But it seemed that the child ignored those words. She noticed your twisted ankle and asked:

“Is Her Highness injured?” 

"Yup." Rafayel responded on your behalf. “She just fought a terrible monster, and it injured her ankle.”

The child's eyes were glowing, as if she really believed Rafayel's narrative. She spoke again:

"What a pity! So you came to rescue the princess? Are you her prince?”

Your cheeks felt heated. Perhaps it was because the sun beamed in this way. You were ready to urge Rafayel to stop teasing the child, but perhaps he, too, was caught up in this fabricated setting. 

“A prince? I am not a prince.”

“So who are you?”

Rafayel smirked, he said while looking at you, as if those words were just for your:

“I am the God of the Sea. I am her God of the Sea."

“Whoaaaaaa!” The child cheered, and you held your breath as you caught Rafayel smile at you. The sunshine appeared to cast an aura over him. You could only adore him silently, fearing that a single breath might cause him to vanish. 

At that moment, the girl's mother summoned her back. She placed a little bag of sweets on your lap, atop your flowery skirt, and declared:

"For you, Your Highness. Perhaps you need them more than I do. I pray Your Highness gets better soon!"

After saying that, she ran away. You just had time to say thank you, almost like a shout behind her.

Rafayel grinned all the way home, and you felt happy with simply a bag of sugary treats. You poked his cheek.

"See how delighted you are. She handed me candies; you won't be getting any of them!"

“So unfair!” Rafayel yelled as he kept strolling down the pavement while holding you in his arms. “I'm having a hard time carrying you home. How come you're so blind to see it?”

“Then why did you walk home instead of taking a taxi?” You softly pinched his face and noted the way he pouted.

“I'm exhausted, and dehydrated. Yet you're far from being gentle with me after all!”

You giggled and replied, “You just told that kid I am a princess. So you must serve me in the next few days, right?”

Rafayel did not respond. You figured he was reluctant to confess you had him in the palm of your hand, even if this was not something new for either of you.

“If you stay silent, it means you agree.” You said cheerfully. “Come on, my God of the Sea! I want to go home and have seafood for dinner!” 

Rafayel exhaled. “I give you an inch, you will take the whole yard.” However, he still smiled pleasantly. The afternoon sun imprinted both of you on the road, while your shadow just kissed his, on the cheek.

Mood board from my photo in game & Pinterest.

[zweigsangel]

hockeyplayer!chris headcanons!

warnings: fluff, suggestive content, mentions of sex, pet names.

hockeyplayer!chris who has this way of calling you angel that makes your heart flutter every time. he has other names for you too—sweetheart, baby, darling—but angel is the one that slips from his lips every time, soft and affectionate. "why do you always call me that?" you asked him one day, with a light giggle. "because that's what you are.” he murmured, “an angel."

hockeyplayer!chris who dedicates every goal to you. as soon as the puck hits the back of the net, he turns in the midst of the crowded stands, searching for your eyes in the sea of faces. the moment he finds you, he sends a kiss your way, his fingers lightly touching his lips before pointing directly at you. it's a ritual, as if to say, this is for you, his biggest supporter, his good luck charm.

hockeyplayer!chris who gets jealous the moment any of his teammates start talking about you. even if they’re just complimenting you or sharing a harmless joke, there’s a flicker of possessiveness in his eyes. he can’t help but step in. with a slight smirk, he’d say something like, “careful, that’s my girl you’re talking about.” he has to remind everyone that you’re his. it’s not that he doesn’t trust you—he just can’t help the way his heart clenches at the thought of anyone else admiring you the way he does.

hockeyplayer!chris who lets his frustration spill over onto you when he loses a game. he barely says a word before he’s on you, his anger spilling over into rough touches. he kisses you with a kind of desperation, his need to assert control over something, anything, overpowering his usual tenderness. his thrusts into you are frantic, almost punishing, as he pours all that frustration into you. but afterward, when he’s left staring at the marks on your skin—marks he put there—something shifts in him. guilt and tenderness wash over him as he pulls you close, his fingers tracing the outlines of the bruises. he presses soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, wherever he sees the evidence of his roughness. “i’m sorry,” he whispers. he holds you close, his arms wrapped around. “didn’t mean to... y’know i love you, right?” he murmurs between kisses, his touch now gentle, almost reverent, as he tries to make up for the way he lost control.

hockeyplayer!chris who could watch you dance for hours. there’s something mesmerizing about the way you move, where every pirouette and graceful step unfolds like a story just for him. the rhythm of the music seems to pulse in perfect harmony with your movements, and he finds himself lost in the elegance and fluidity of your performances. sometimes, when you’re both lying in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, he’ll turn to you with a playful smile and say, “dance a little for me, angel. c’mon.”

hockeyplayer!chris who gets insanely hard whenever he sees you dressed in your dance attire. there’s something about the sight of you in those elegant, form-fitting clothes—perhaps a leotard or a flowing skirt—that drives him wild. the way the fabric hugs your curves, the grace with which you move. he’ll look at you with a mix of admiration and hunger, and it’s clear he’s imagining what it would be like to pull those clothes off you, piece by piece.

hockeyplayer!chris who’s so devoted to you that he’s willing to skip a game if he knows you won’t be there. if you’re feeling unwell, he’ll cancel stay by your side, even if you protest, insisting that he shouldn’t miss a match for your sake. “no, no, no,” he’ll say with determination, “my girl is more important.” on the other hand, if you have something else to do, he’ll be relentless in his efforts to persuade you to come to his game instead. “c’mon, you have to see me play,” and in the end, he succeeds in getting you to rearrange your plans. how could you say no to him?

hockeyplayer!chris who’s gentle and tender with you in bed. when he slids in and out your pussy, his movements are soft and deliberate, mindful of your pleasure, even if soon enough his pace quickens. your foreheads press together, damp with sweat, as he tries to kiss your open lips, catching every soft, breathy moan you make—sounds he wishes he could listen to forever.

hockeyplayer!chris who loves to spoil you. if he notices you admiring a necklace in a store, he’ll make sure you have it. see you with a bouquet of flowers? he’ll buy them for you without a second thought. if you mention a book you’ve wanted to read, he’ll track it down and surprise you with it. if you’re craving a particular dessert, he’ll find a way to get it for you, no matter how far he has to go. when a new restaurant opens up and you mention wanting to try it, he’ll take you there. and he doesn’t bat an eye if you choose the most expensive items on the menu. for him, making you feel cherished and special is a joy, he wants to show you how much you mean to him.

hockeyplayer!chris who has become such a frequent presence in your life that your father can barely keep up. during one of your visits, your father, leaning against the kitchen counter with a wry smile, might remark, “i see you at every practice, and now you’re even at my house? what’s next, are you planning to move in?” he jokes. but he’s genuinely pleased to see his daughter so happy. "if you do anything to upset her, I’ll kick you off the team," he warned the first time he found out you two were together.

hockeyplayer!chris who feels extremely lucky to have you in his life. during quiet moments together, he’ll gaze at you with a look of pure admiration and say, “you’re so perfect, god.” he’s not shy about expressing his feelings, often exclaiming, “i’m the luckiest guy in the fucking world,” as if he’s continually in awe of your presence and the joy you bring into his life. “you’re mine,” he’ll say, “mine, mine, mine.” and these expressions are more than just words—they’re a reflection of his genuine feelings for you. and he knows you feel it, too.

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

Captain Rex x Villager Reader

⸻

The mission went sideways—like most things involving General Skywalker.

The Republic cruiser got hit mid-orbit, forcing the 501st into a crash-landing they barely walked away from. Engines fried. Comms fried. Morale? Hanging on by a few snide remarks from Jesse and a sarcastic comment from Kix.

They hiked miles through jungle and shoreline until they stumbled across it: a sleepy little village tucked in a crescent of cliffs and coral. Sun-bleached stone homes. Palm trees bending in the breeze. Children with wide eyes and old souls.

And then... her.

The village welcomed them with food, drink, and curious smiles. The chief offered shelter. But Rex? Rex couldn't stop staring at the figure twirling barefoot on the sand.

You.

Clothes soaked to the knees, hair tangled with shells, a song on your lips and hands raised to the sky like you were conducting the clouds.

"Who's that?" Jesse muttered, nudging Rex.

One of the villagers chuckled. "That's her. Our ocean spirit. The crazy one."

"She always like this?" Kix asked.

"Always. She talks to the stars. Dances with the tide. Claims the Force whispers in her dreams."

"Right," Rex said flatly, trying very hard not to watch you pirouette through the foam.

⸻

You noticed him the second he stepped into the village.

Not because of the armor—everyone else had that.

But because of the weight on his shoulders. The silence behind his eyes.

He was loud in his stillness. Something broken beneath all that discipline. And you... well, you liked broken things. They had better stories.

So naturally, you made it your mission to get under his skin.

The first time, you startled him by hanging upside down from a tree branch as he walked by. "You're a soldier, but you move like someone who wants peace," you said, grinning. "What a strange contradiction."

He blinked up at you. "What?"

You dropped beside him, barefoot and beaming. "You've got stars in your chest, Captain. Ever let 'em out?"

He stared.

Then turned to Jesse and muttered, "She's weirder up close."

⸻

You danced along the edges of his days.

Offered him woven seashell charms ("For luck."). Sang to him in the mornings ("For clarity."). Told him stories about planets that didn't exist, and beasts made of shadow and seafoam.

At first, he humored you. Called you "eccentric." Maybe a little unhinged.

But over time, when the others laughed—when Anakin smirked and Jesse nudged him—Rex stopped joining in. He started listening. Watching.

You'd talk to the ocean and hum lullabies to fish. You'd draw in the sand and claim it was from a vision. You'd call him "Captain Sunshine" and pretend not to notice how his lips twitched every time.

But the turning point?

It came the night you found him staring at the stars, quiet and heavy.

You sat beside him without asking.

"There's something about you," you said softly. "Like the Force wrapped a storm in armor."

Rex didn't speak. But his hand was still when you placed yours over it.

"You think I'm mad," you whispered, "but the truth is—I've just seen too much. And maybe... maybe I see you too."

He looked at you then.

Really looked.

And for the first time, he didn't see "the village crazy."

He saw you.

⸻

From then on, he started lingering.

He'd listen to your stories.

He'd walk with you on the shore.

He'd steal glances when you danced in the moonlight—shirt soaked, hair wild, joy uncontained.

His men noticed.

So did Skywalker.

"You know she's probably kissed a krayt dragon or something, right?" Anakin teased one evening.

"She said it kissed her," Jesse corrected.

Rex only grunted. But later that night, when you sat beside him by the fire and handed him a shell—"It's for courage," you said—he didn't laugh.

He kept it.

Right there, tucked beneath his chest plate, next to his heart.

⸻

The moonlight filtered through the palm trees, casting silver streaks across the soft sand. The air was warm, a gentle breeze ruffling your hair as you sat with Rex on the quiet beach. His armor, normally so rigid and sharp, lay discarded in a pile beside him. His shoulders were relaxed—more than they had been in days.

For the first time, there was no mission. No enemy. Just the two of you, the waves, and the stars.

You were humming a tune that had no words—just the melody carried by the wind. You always sang when you felt alive. And tonight, you felt alive. There was something in the air, something that shifted between the two of you.

You glanced over at Rex, who had his gaze fixed on the horizon, his arms resting loosely on his knees.

"You know," you began, your voice quieter than usual, "I've been thinking."

He turned his head slightly to look at you, but didn't say anything. You could feel the weight of his attention on you, even without him speaking.

"You're always so serious," you continued, your eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint. "I think it's time I gave you a new name. Something that suits you better than 'Captain Sunshine.'"

He raised an eyebrow, but there was a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I told you to stop calling me that."

You grinned, leaning your head on your knees. "But it fits! You're always so bright, even when you try to be grumpy."

"I'm not grumpy," he muttered.

"Sure you're not," you teased. "How about 'Captain Gloomy' then?"

He laughed, a rare, deep sound that made your heart skip. But it was only for a moment before he grew quiet again.

"You know, I don't mind the nickname," Rex said, his voice softer now, more vulnerable than usual. "I just..." He cleared his throat, then looked at you, his blue eyes soft under the moonlight. "I don't want you thinking I'm some sort of walking joke."

Your smile faded, replaced with a warmth that bubbled in your chest. You reached over and took his hand, resting it in your own.

"Rex," you said, your voice low and sincere. "I don't think you're a joke. And I don't call you 'Captain Sunshine' to make fun of you. It's because you shine, even when you don't know it. You've been through so much, but you still manage to have a light in you. It's... rare."

For a long moment, he didn't speak. Then he squeezed your hand, a silent acknowledgment of something unspoken. Something neither of you were ready to say yet.

But for the first time in weeks, Rex didn't pull his hand away. Instead, he leaned in, just enough for you to feel the warmth of his presence.

"Stop calling me 'Captain Sunshine,'" he said quietly, his voice thick with something you couldn't quite place. "Call me Rex."

You blinked, taken aback by the simplicity of it. Rex. He wanted you to call him by his name. Not by rank. Not by some distant title. Just Rex.

And you smiled.

"Okay... Rex."

⸻

The next morning, the peaceful rhythm of village life was shattered.

You were on the shore, as usual—your feet in the water, your hands lifting to the sky as you hummed to the wind. But something was different today. The ocean felt... wrong. The waves rolled with a strange intensity, crashing against the rocks with too much force.

You stood still, listening to the sound of the water. The whispers came to you, as they often did. But this time, they were louder. Urgent.

Something's coming. Something dark.

A chill ran down your spine. You felt it deep in your bones. It wasn't the Force, not really. You couldn't wield it the way the Jedi could. But you felt it—this impending darkness. The kind of thing that stirred in your gut and made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

You rushed into the village, seeking out the chief. You found him in the square, talking to some of the villagers.

"Chief!" You grabbed his arm, your breath quickening. "The ocean is angry. Something is coming. You need to prepare."

The chief looked at you, brow furrowed. "You're rambling again. The ocean is just the ocean."

"But the water—" you began, your hands trembling. "The waves—there's something wrong! It's not just the ocean. It's everything."

He shook his head. "You've always been a little... eccentric. The villagers are afraid of you, but we've never had a problem. Don't stir up fear."

Your chest tightened. No one believed you. Again.

You turned away from him, running towards Rex, Skywalker, and the others, desperate to make them understand.

But even as you spoke to Rex, the worry clear in your voice, he shook his head, not fully understanding. "You're being cryptic again, [Y/N]. We can't just go around acting on every... feeling you have. We need to focus on finding a way off this planet."

"You don't understand," you said, grabbing his arm. "You have to listen to me, Rex. The Force... something's coming. I can feel it. We're not safe here."

Rex's gaze softened for a moment, but there was a stubbornness in him that wouldn't let go. "You're not crazy, but we can't just assume the worst. We're in a safe place."

As if on cue, the first explosion rocked the village.

⸻

The Separatists came from the cliffs, their droid army descending in waves.

The village, so peaceful just hours before, was now a battlefield. The village chief scrambled to rally the villagers, but it was clear they weren't prepared for what was happening. Panic spread like wildfire. Children screamed. Elders tried to hide.

Rex and the 501st were quick to action, weapons drawn, taking position around the village. But the fight was chaotic. Too chaotic. And despite his skill, Rex couldn't shake the feeling that you had been right.

That something was wrong. That something was coming.

And when he looked back to find you, his heart dropped. You weren't by the water anymore. You were in the center of it all—trying to calm the villagers, trying to do something, but you were alone.

You weren't a Jedi, but your connection to the planet and the Force—it had always been there. But now, it was stronger than ever.

But the village was under attack, and Rex—he would do anything to keep you safe. Anything.

⸻

The ground trembled beneath your feet as the first explosion reverberated across the beach, sending the villagers scattering in panic. You had felt it before, but now it was undeniable—the feeling that something was horribly wrong. The droid army had descended without warning, their cold, mechanical clanking filling the air as they stormed through the village.

Rex's sharp voice cut through the chaos. "Form up! Secure the perimeter!" His orders were precise, but even he couldn't ignore the panic that was building. The Separatists had come out of nowhere—this was no mere skirmish. This was an invasion.

You were in the thick of it, dodging through the scrambling villagers, trying to usher the children into the village huts. Your heart pounded in your chest, every instinct telling you to run—run far away—but you couldn't. Not when you felt the waves of darkness closing in.

The Force was alive in you now—alive and screaming. You had never experienced anything like this before. There was something wrong about the way the droids moved. It was as if they had a plan—a deeper purpose. And in the center of it all, you could feel a dark presence, one that made your chest tighten with fear.

You tried to keep your cool, but it was hard. It was hard when you saw Rex, the man you had come to care for, pushing through the village with his brothers, cutting down droids left and right. You wanted to warn him, to tell him to stop, to listen to the warning bells ringing in your soul.

But you were just the village "crazy." What could you say? Who would listen?

⸻

Rex was fighting alongside the rest of the 501st, but his eyes never strayed far from you. He knew you weren't helpless—he knew that. But seeing you caught in the middle of the battle, guiding the villagers to safety, made his heart race in a way he couldn't explain. His usual stoic focus slipped, his movements sharper, more desperate as the battle intensified.

"[Y/N]!" he called out, pushing through a group of battle droids to reach you. "Get to cover!"

You didn't move, your eyes scanning the battlefield, your hands raised as if trying to push the tides themselves back. Your breath was shallow, your mind working overtime to sense the next wave of danger. You felt the air shift—they were coming. But they weren't the droids.

A blinding flash of blaster fire exploded nearby, and Rex's hand shot out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you behind a nearby hut for cover.

"Stay down!" he shouted, crouching beside you, his voice fierce, desperate. He was holding onto you tightly—too tightly, almost as if he thought letting go would mean losing you.

You caught your breath, staring at him, your hand still on his arm as if grounding yourself. The connection was stronger than ever, but there was nothing you could do but feel.

"I—Rex..." You struggled to find words. "There's something else. Not just droids. Something darker."

He shook his head, his face set with determination. "You're not going through this alone. We're getting you out of here."

But it was too late.

The battle intensified. More droids came flooding into the village, backed by a squad of heavily armored battle droids. You felt it—the pull of the darkness, tightening its grip around your chest. The very air seemed to grow thick with danger.

The droids were growing stronger by the minute. The battle outside was escalating, and the villagers had nowhere to run. You felt the heavy presence of Skywalker's power drawing closer, but you couldn't bring yourself to move. Rex had his orders. He was focused on defending the villagers, but in the pit of your stomach, you knew—if something wasn't done, this battle would turn into something much worse.

But then, everything stopped.

The unmistakable sound of blaster fire and screeching engines tore through the air. Anakin Skywalker.

"Didn't think you'd get rid of me that easily, Rex!" Skywalker's voice crackled through the comms. The roar of his ship's engines echoed as he barreled through the droid lines, his starfighter tearing through the air, blasting droids out of the sky with precision.

"I knew you'd show up," Rex muttered, a grin creeping onto his face despite the chaos. "Where have you been?"

"Just finishing off a few stragglers!" Skywalker's voice came back with a mischievous chuckle, as his ship soared overhead, dropping bombs and causing explosions in its wake. He was pulling the droid forces back.

The Separatists were retreating, forced to deal with the new wave of attacks from the air and ground.

Rex glanced back at you, his blue eyes full of concern. "We need to move now. They're still coming."

With Skywalker's timely intervention, the tide of battle had shifted. The 501st took advantage of the confusion caused by Skywalker's precision strikes, their assault growing fiercer. It wasn't just the droids that were retreating—Skywalker's presence had thrown them off balance, leaving the droid army scrambling for cover.

The villagers, assisted by the 501st, rallied together to get the wounded to safety. The battle raged on, but the droids were systematically wiped out. It wasn't a clean victory, but it was a victory nonetheless.

Finally, after the dust settled, you stood on the beach, your eyes still searching the horizon. You could feel the last traces of Skywalker's energy dissipating, his presence fading from the air. The village was safe—for now—but the cost had been heavy.

The 501st was preparing to leave. Skywalker had repaired his starfighter—patched up and fueled as best as he could with what limited resources the village had. His unorthodox heroics had cleared the sky, and now, it was time to go.

Rex stood beside you, silent for a moment, his hand resting on the hilt of his blaster. "We've got to go," he said, his voice soft.

You nodded, your heart heavy. You knew this was coming—the goodbye.

You looked up at him, trying to find the words. But there was only one thing you could say.

"You're going back to the fight," you said quietly, your voice thick with emotion.

Rex nodded, his gaze shifting downward for a moment before meeting yours again. "It's my job. It's what I'm good at."

You smiled softly, even though it hurt. "I know." Your fingers brushed his, and for a fleeting moment, the world stood still between you two.

Rex hesitated. There was something in his eyes now, something deeper than the soldier he had always been. He took a step closer, his hand reaching for yours. "Come with us. There's always a place for you with the 501st."

You shook your head gently, your heart aching with the decision. "No, Rex. You belong out there, with them. This is where I need to be. This is my home."

He looked at you for a long time, his gaze tender and filled with an unspoken understanding. "I'll never forget you, [Y/N]."

"I know," you whispered.

You pulled away, taking a deep breath. "Goodbye, Rex."

And as he turned to leave, you couldn't help but feel that your connection—this strange, beautiful bond between you—would remain. Even across the stars.

Rex glanced back one last time, his helmet under his arm, his eyes full of regret and something else—something you couldn't name. But then he was gone, heading to the shuttle with his brothers, disappearing into the sky.

And you stood on the shore, watching the stars shimmer in the distance, knowing that, just maybe, you would always feel that pull toward him. Across time, across galaxies, and even the darkness that threatened to divide them.

The Force, it seemed, had a way of bringing souls together—if only for a little while.

[galaxymagitech]

like fields of lavender swaying in the breeze

For @casscainweek

Day 1: Scars | Flowers

Summary: Cass does her makeup for her ballet performance. But the perfect girl she sees in the mirror looks more like a doll than anything else.

Characters: Cassandra Cain, Bruce Wayne

You can read it here or on AO3!

(Title is from The Ballerina by Marisa Webster.)

***

It’s all wrong. It’s all wrong.

The little bottle slips from Cass’s hand and spills all over the wood floor of Bruce’s room. Cass lets out a wail, sinking to the ground. Her shoulders curl in on her body and she clutches the thin fabric of her tank top.

It’s wrong. Why can’t she get it to look right?

This was supposed to be a good day. Cass was supposed to be happy, supposed to be spinning in a tutu, toes pointed, arms-like-wings, pirouette, arabesque, perfect. Cass was supposed to be perfect.

But she’s on her knees, her toes folded underneath like they always are when she’s sad and her eyes closed so that she doesn’t have to see her reflection in the mirror.

Cass has watched Barbara put on her makeup what must have been a hundred times. Moisturize, prime, foundation, conceal, set. Paint the lines onto her face, the shadows around her eyes, the black lashes that accent the green of Barbara’s eyes. So, Cass knows how to do makeup. But on her skin, it looks chalky and pale, the parts with makeup standing out from the parts without no matter how hard she tries.

That’s where Bruce finds her, crying on the floor of his room, hunched over the bottle of foundation. “Cass?” Cass turns to Bruce and reads the bewilderment in his stance, the tilt of his face, the—

She looks away. She doesn’t want to read Bruce right now. This day was supposed to be about her, about the focus of the moment and the curve of her spine and the tips of her toes. Her body, her mind, her spirit. Herself, with the audience shrouded in the background. No weapon. Just Cass.

And here she is, trying to paint over her scars, and it just looks—

“What’s wrong?” Bruce asks, crouching down next to her. His hand hovers over Cass’s shoulder, right where one of the bullet scars lies, and she shrinks away.

“Wrong,” Cass repeats. She doesn’t know how to explain this, how she’s doing everything right but it’s not working. She’s sure she’s doing everything right. She watched. She learned. Cass doesn’t make mistakes. “I—it’s wrong.”

“Are you trying to do your makeup?” Cass looks away. She’s sure that if she could see him, there would be pity. She doesn’t want pity. She wants to do it right. “Maybe…” Bruce swallows. “Maybe this could wait until after your performance?”

Cass shakes her head. This is for the performance. Ms. Landeau told her to cover up the scars for the stage. It needs—Cass needs to be perfect. She’s not perfect, so she has to make herself perfect. It’s so simple. Why doesn’t Bruce understand? Cass’s body is screaming not enough, fix me, make me perfect, and Bruce doesn’t see it. No one sees it except Cass.

So, she cries out again, hunching even further over and wrapping her arms around her stomach.

“Need to…” Her words are failing her. “Fix it. Fix me.”

“Cass, you aren’t bro—”

“No!” Bruce isn’t understanding. He thinks she means fix mind, fix self, but she means fix vessel. Fix body. She needs to look perfect for the stage, so the scars don’t distract the audience. Because Cass isn’t just dancing for herself—she’s dancing for them, too. She’s performing.

Just another kind of tool.

“I need—for the.” Her lips don’t form performance. Cass knows the word. It’s there in her head. But the coordination isn’t. “For the dance,” she tries, and thankfully, it comes out.

“You need makeup to dance?” Bruce asks. “For the stage?”

Cass nods, staring at the ground. The puddle of foundation is spreading. She should pick it up. She should—

“Okay,” he says. “Let me help you. What’s wrong?”

Cass throws up her hands. If she knew, she could fix it. But she doesn’t know, so it’s hopeless.

“Can you look at me?” Bruce asks.

Reluctantly, Cass turns towards Bruce. The care in his face is too much, so she quickly shuts her eyes against the storm of love. She can’t hold it in her chest. She’ll overflow. She needs a dam, and that dam is her eyes.

“Oh,” Bruce says. “Were you trying to use my makeup?” Hesitantly, Cass nods. “It’s too light for you,” he explains. Cass doesn’t understand. “Do you understand?”

Why does Bruce need to ask? Why can’t he read her confusion?

Cass shakes her head.

“The foundation needs to match your skin tone,” Bruce says. “This one matches mine, not yours. You’ll need a different foundation.” Oh. So Cass wasn’t doing it wrong. The makeup was wrong. Or—Cass was doing it wrong, because she was using the wrong makeup, but her mind hasn’t failed her. She had chosen Bruce’s makeup because he told her she could always go in his room unless it was locked, whereas her brothers might get mad. But she hadn’t realized that she couldn’t just use Bruce’s makeup—how was she supposed to know? “I’ll get Alfred to pick up some new makeup, alright? And then you can get ready for your performance. We’ve got time.”

Slowly, Cass nods. Bruce hands her some wipes to remove the makeup already on her skin, and she does so, rubbing the foundation away and taking that strange, awful texture with it. Bruce sits with her the whole time, telling her about how excited he is to go to her ballet performance and how he’s sure it’ll be amazing.

Eventually, Alfred brings a tray of brushes and makeups into the room. Cass sits cross-legged in front of Bruce, eyes closed. Slowly, he paints her face and neck and arms and shoulders and back, hiding Cass’s imperfections away. As he does her makeup, Bruce talks about getting ready for galas. Spending a summer at theater camp as a teenager, because Alfred wanted him to be more human. Learning to disguise himself as someone else with a few contours on his face.

“Okay, Cassie,” Bruce says. “You’re ready.”

Cass opens her eyes and stares into the mirror.

A girl stares back out at her. Smooth, scarless skin. Bold, red lips. Dark, long eyelashes. She looks beautiful. She looks perfect. She looks wrong.

Cass knows she should be happy to see herself perfect. If she can’t be perfect, she can’t perform. But she doesn’t see herself perfect, because that girl in the mirror is not Cass. That girl in the mirror wasn’t shot until she learned to move out of the way. That girl in the mirror has no weight on her shoulders and no scars on her skin and no bloodstains on her perfectly smooth hands. She looks like a Cass-doll. Smiling. Empty.

“No,” Cass says, tossing her head back and forth. Her arms wrap around her chest as she holds herself close, rocking on the balls of her feet. “No!”

“Cass—”

“No!” She wants to run. She can’t just—she can’t just flee. Now there are people, family. Bruce and Alfred. She has to explain. It’s not enough that she sees the doll. They need to see the doll too. Cass squeezes her eyes shut and focuses on coordinating her lips. The first time, no sound comes out; she’s forgotten how to force the noise. The second time, she chokes on her words. The third time— “It’s not me. I see…a fake. A doll.”

And then Bruce’s hands fall gently on her shoulders. He pulls Cass close, turning her so that she can’t see the mirror and her forehead leans against his chest. “You’ve worn makeup before,” Bruce says quietly. “Is there something different this time?”

Cass has let Dick paint her nails and Tim put blush on her cheeks and Steph do fancy eyeliner. But the scars were always still there. The past was always still there. “No scars,” Cass whispers. “She’s just blank.”

Bruce’s arms are warm around her back. Cass thinks she’s crying. The tears drip down her cheeks. The black eyelash paint is running. The makeup is turning to water. Cass is ruining everything. “We’ll do the makeup again,” Bruce says. “But lighter, and without the concealer. You’ll still see the scars.”

Cass shakes her head into Bruce’s shirt. She needs to look perfect for the stage. So her scars don’t distract the audience. So she becomes the perfect tool. So her body is not her own.

(Cass doesn’t know how to move if her body is not her own.)

“Ballerinas—” Cass practiced that word, over and over, so her lips could form it as easily as ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or ‘love.’ “Ballerinas have to be perfect.”

“Cass…This is a community group. It’s not a professional performance, they’re not paying you. You’re doing this for you and you’ll look how you want to look. And…” Bruce’s hand runs through Cass’s short hair. She can’t help but smile in spite of herself. “Anyone who says any different will have to deal with me, okay?”

“Yes,” Cass says.

So, she wipes the makeup off her face, and this time, she and Bruce do it together. She evens out the colors, hides a little spot of acne, adds in the contours and highlights to her face. But the scars stand out, raised and bright. They will shine in the stage lights. Cass can’t bring herself to hate them.

She goes back to her room and puts on her lavender bodice, and long, fuzzy socks, leaving the rest of the costume for backstage. “Ready, Miss Cassandra?” Alfred asks by the front door. The others will be there at the performance, but Cass has to be there early.

“Yes.” Cass smiles.

***

On stage, Cass dips and twirls and bends. Her body moves with her mind, and her mind moves with her body. The audience is dark. The stage is lit. Cass’s family is there watching her, but she dances for herself. Glissade. Relevé. Pirouette. Then arabesque—

Arms spread gracefully. A bird taking flight.

[galaxybooper]

DP OC Parade Event; Day Five: Fun Fact Show and tell us a fun fact about your character!

Plié 

Pirouette

Grande Jeté

then back to Plié.

Over and over. Back to the beginning, back to the basics. Ken had been a clumsy girl for a long time but it was time for a change. Her dad believed ballet was a perfect after-school activity to help Ken learn balance. She at first hated it but learned to like it.

Plié 

Pirouette

Grande Jeté

then back to Plié.

It was a relief to find a private tutor in Amity Park after returning. She enjoyed the calming classical music playing in the background. Her teacher barely touched her which was a plus. Instead, the teacher would use a stick to guide her legs and feet to their rightful positions. She got so good that she could wear a tutu with pride. Knowing all her hard work paid off to wear such an iconic piece of a ballerina.

This activity wasn't just to help her balance but a way to express herself. All her sorrows, and all her frustrations could be taken out via dancing to a powerful classics such as Nutcracker or even Swan Lake. Call her basic but she enjoyed the soundtracks of those. She blamed the Barbie movies. Sure, she was fourteen but damn it, Barbie was iconic. She showed the way that females could be anything they wanted!

As a romantic herself, she could only imagine the love stories of Odette and Clara. Dancing their way into the hearts of lovers. She often daydreamed about herself dancing with a partner. Their hands holding her hips as they lifted her up off her feet. There was something so romantically intimate about ballet. How ballet partners had to come close together, their hands moving together, the trust between them to be lifted up into the air and spun around. To be caught if one jumped into their arms.

It was an intimate way of saying love. The trust and respect, the way hands moved along. Even the music further pushed the ambiance feeling of love. Maybe it wasn't a surprise that Ken had her first boyfriend through ballet. It was young love and neither were really ready for it. In the classroom, their dance was passionate. Outside? They barely talked. They broke it off weeks after Ken was to move back to Amity Park. It stung Ken for a while. Feels like not even her balance and elegance of the dance could get her a boyfriend who'd stay.

Regardless of the pain, she still danced. Through her hurt, through her pain. Not just emotionally but physically. Her toes were sore from being on pointe for hours on end. As she rested on the floor, stretching her sore legs out. She wondered. Why did she like Barbie's Swan Lake and Nutcracker adaptations? Maybe it was because the leads felt more... like her. She was scared, uncertain, and not confident. Although she was raised to do the right thing, it was scary that first step into the unknown. Like Clara when she needed to go into the mouse's hole to find a way to become big again. Or when Odette couldn't go home after Rothbart turned her into a swan. Both didn't know what would happen to them. Both had no idea the journeys they would take and yet, they stayed strong.

Maybe Mackenzie could learn a thing or not about that. Maybe..

[coldmetallove]

TIKTOK VIDEO CREATOR: kamalasbangle

FLUFF

ONESHOT

AN| Finds you practicing at a dance studio as she looks for new dancers...she instantly falls in love.

VELVET X BALLET READER

Velvet watched the dancers audition for her upcoming show, not very satisfied. "What about those 2! They were awesome!" He said, smiling. Velvet shook her head in disappointment. "No, they werent" Her response only making Veneer sigh.

"Sis your not helping at all" He said, crossing his arms and legs. "Well this isn't dance! What even is this?!" She exclaimed, pouting. "It is sis, it's just a different genre. This is Jazz" He exclaimed, sipping his soda.

Rolling her eyes, she crossed out the two previous dancers. "I wanna see ballet dancers! Not this shit!" She stood up, pinching her nose. He sighed, looking up at her as she started to walk away.

"Where are you going? We still have more auditions" He asked, sitting up. "I'm taking a break! You can decide if you want, I don't give a shit anymore" she opened the door, closing it a bit loudly.

Looking at the hall of dance studios, she waltzed over to one of them. Looking into the one sided window, she saw a hip hop routine, preformed by a girl who looked about 14. She sighed, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

She walked over to the other studio, which was bigger than the one they were using. Looking it the mirror, she saw the studio wall covered with a big mirror. The room was filled with two dancers, one a boy with tights and a prince like leotard. And you, who wore a white leotard, and flat pancake skirt.

She watched as you prepped for your turns. You started to turn, doing fourte and pirouette turns. Doing atleast 15, you landed perfectly. You then started to waltz across the studio floor, and doing a beautiful leap.

Velvet was impressed, but wasn't jaw dropped. Though, she wanted you in her show. She waited until you finally finished, until she noticed you walking over to your bag.

You grabbed your bag, walking over to the door. You opened it, sweating and out of breath. You closed the door and walked to the nearby chairs, only to bump into Velvet.

You looked up and smiled nervously, expecting her to insult you. "I'm sorry" you apologized, scratching your neck. She crossed her arms, watching as you sat on the couch.

"Whatever" she mumbled, looking away. She then looked back at you, watching as you took off your pointe shoes. "Your a ballerina?" She asked you, staring down at you crossed armed.

You looked up at her as you took out your toe pads. "Yeah, preparing for a show that's in a few months" you nodded. You watched she hummed in response. "Do anything else?" She asked, starting to play with her own hair. "Yeah, I do jazz, hip-hop, tap, and contemporary. But I'm more of a ballerina. Why?" You asked. She shrugged and sat down next to you, twirling her hair around her finger.

"You interested in 50,000 dollars?" She asked, looking at you. Your eyes widened, laughing nervously. "You serious?" You asked, leaning in closer. She returned your same nervous laugh. "Yeah, um I guess" she mumbled, looking away from you.

"When?" You asked, swinging your legs. "6 weeks" she simply said, looking back at you.

You tapped your chin, thinking deeply. "Can we talk about this maybe over lunch? I'm kinda hungry right now" you chuckled, seeing how she shrugged. "Yeah I guess"

Sorry this was so short, I was bored and thought this would be fun bc I do dance!

Hope you like this!

Love you

[blackbloodteeth]

Been meaning to get to this the other day, but I've had a lot of stuff going on, haha, so might as well recollect some of my unused snippet ideas that fell away for one reason or another (that reason mainly being that before I start writing them, I have thoughts go through my brain like a pinball machine until one of them makes it out through my fingers) while in the midst of some downtime. Vaguely chronological list.

One: Bonus. I've had this idea from so long ago that it occurred to me back when Snippet Sunday was still Six-Sentence Sunday. Mentioned it offhand once or twice, but thought it would be fun to include, all things considered.

Starts with Maka hiking through the woods, and taking an obscure trail she hasn't been through before, because she knows how to navigate this place like the back of her hand. Rather peaceful, and seems like no one's travelled this route in a very long time, if at all, until she comes across a statue of Soul, who has been frozen there for who knows how long. His eyes appear to be close and his hands are held up, cupping rainwater that has recently fallen. Leaves off on an air of uncertainty and mystery.

Two: That actually reminded me; unsure if this was ever a snippet idea, but I had a scene play out once, based on a story I… read? Many years ago.

Basically, Soul's family ended up immortal due to discovering a specific tree on their land that gave healing from the water that collected down by its roots; however, this immortality is a curse, and if I recall correctly, that became a point of tension for Soul when Maka gets to know him a little more (possibly in relation to her needing healing of some sort?).

Three: Potentially a two-parter. I don't really recollect the first idea all that well, other than another Soul tagging along with Maka and Kid (uncertain if any other meister-weapon pair are present), who is struck with a madness-esque premonition. The main idea that I do actually recall, is the encounter with Pirouette; a Soul variant that I will leave to your imagination for now.

Four: Getting more recent now. Ended up devising an entire AU around this, in spite of it not being relevant whatsoever to that actual snippet itself.

To avoid excessive rambling, basically Maka has been travelling on her own during an apocalyptic scenario, until she suddenly finds herself in the midst of Black☆Star – a mutated infected who, after a moment, recognises Maka as someone he once knew even in his current state. Being as he's rather gorilla-like, it fittingly turns into a King Kong situation where he takes her with him up into the trees, where things are more "quiet" as he barely grasps his own memories. Soul is there somewhere.

Five: Actual two-parter, this time just because I came up with these scenes separately but they coincidentally ended up related to the same variant.

Part one, essentially, is just Maka showing up at Soul's apartment (this is a canon-adjacent AU where people who partner up are usually already into adulthood), which was not the best time for her to show up, but Soul doesn't want her to leave either, so he ends up sharing his secret as to why he isn't partnered with anyone despite being a weapon.

Part two, Maka is upset (probably related to the situation with her parents), so she's ended up at Soul's apartment again (this is at a later point in time where Soul no longer is shy about his secret with her). Soul ends up walking over to the kitchen, and upon questioning, says he's doing something that he knows she needs right now, which is making her a soda float. It soon enough leads to Soul confessing his fairly recent consideration to have her be his roommate, and to hell with him being partnerless.

Six: While on an assignment together (post-canon?), Maka is momentarily down and out from having taken a direct hit from their current target, while Kid attempts to shoot at said adversary (the trickster is a slippery one, though, and ends up using the rest of its remaining power to relocate themself). Kid forgoes even bothering to figure out how to track them down so that he can check on Maka, only to find that Soul took most of the attack, which appears to have turned him into a hog.

No damage is done, aside from Soul's confusion as it takes him a minute to realise what's happened, and the inevitable fussing he does when Patty throws herself out of weapon form to hug him (Maka's also completely fine).

Seven: Kid (the higher ranking Shinigami) leaves Soul (a newly turned Reaper) with Maka (a very agitated Reaper who had to work hard to get to her current position) as her trainee. Maka is very clipped with Soul due to the many assumptions she already has about him, and despite his attempts to bite back, he quickly falls in line after Maka intimidates him, leading her to be slightly merciful when she sends him to get her coffee so she can deal with the new pile of paperwork this whole ordeal brought on.

The start of Enemies to Friends.

Eight: Soul Eater and Fire Force AU fusion. Basically, there's weapons and meisters, but the process of people turning into a kishin starts with becoming an infernal. Spontaneous combustion is still an issue in some cases, so meisters have always been required to pair up in teams of at least two no matter the situation. Maka has been partnerless but often tags along with Black☆Star because of her soul perception (and she's still got enough field training), and for this scenario, Maka tells him to stay outside the perimeter for a moment because the soul of the infernal they've tracked down – fairly easy with all the ash and soot its left in its wake – feels off to her for some reason.

Approaching them on her own, the infernal doesn't immediately make a move (let alone lift their head) before Maka attempts to speak to them. Now having their attention, and getting a better grasp of the oddity of their soul wavelength, she decides to take the purification route, offering a hug to them so she can reach her wavelength directly into theirs. While Black☆Star is now anxious in the background, the infernal slowly walks over to accept her hug, and – having connected with him – the infernal snuffs back out to who he was beforehand, leaving Soul now unconscious and falling to the floor in Maka's shock.

Both meisters then fluster a bit at having never seen this happen before, and Tsubaki ends up being the one to reign them back in, suggesting they bring the guy back to be medically examined.

Nine: Admittedly something I thought of earlier that got the ball rolling into getting to this whole thing, haha.

Up to interpretation for now on who is Soul and who is Maka, but the core concept is one of them, while out on a walk, wanders upon an angel statue (of the other) that they end up pausing at, and, having a lot on their mind, opens up into rambling aloud all of their current thoughts. Feeling better, they take their leave, only to find at a later point (most likely the next day) that the statue is gone without a trace.

Ten: Since ten's an even number, here's another to wrap this up, hahaha. Woke up with a cute thought about a post-canon idea, where Soul – demisexual, but ended up having a deeper bond with Kid as he's approaching his 30's – in spite of not having considered himself someone who's been all that interested in having children, ends up becoming preoccupied with the thought of raising one, with all the people in his life having reached that stage in their relationships.

Kid is actual pretty willing to commit if Soul is, so Soul takes doing the research on the whole thing very seriously, and after receiving some help from their witch friends, a new soul is created from pieces of both of them (due to the process, though, it was guaranteed to be a girl, haha).

Rest of the thoughts were about how the two went about raising their daughter (she's got half-black, half-white hair, though I'm uncertain on the eyes exactly), and that she's specifically a sorceress due to having the nature of magic but no way to naturally use it much. She's also somewhat autism-coded, in that she doesn't relate to other people very much, and instead wants to befriend all the cryptids in the world (because they must be lonely, being all elusive like that), while also obsessing over isopods to the point of never going anywhere without her stuffed toy isopod (which she named Grimothy).

Thank you for attending my insomniac ramble of ideas; thought this would be a neat way to pass the time for a bit, hahaha. Until next time, where I relay why nightmare creatures should not, in fact, be allowed on the internet.

[veloursdor]

n'est pas assez

1,210 words. Larycent Ballet AU

Alicent wants to be a prima ballerina, Larys will be there to make it a reality

“That’s not what I asked,” Alicent heard him say from the back of the room, her muscles tensing when she sensed him approaching her from behind.

Her hand holding onto the barre tightened, worried — for a split second — that it would break, causing a splinter to get under one of her nails. She tightened her muscles once more, making sure her posture was perfect, before she looked down, wondering what he was talking about.

The end of his cane tapped the outside of her thigh, making her squeeze them harder, begging for her balance to not fail her. Her left hand, raised above her head in a perfect third position, obscured her peripheral vision, keeping him in the shadows.

She could sense his presence, acutely attuned to his every movement, his every breathing. He was close by, looming over her, but looking away from the dot in the wall where her sight was meant to be resting was unthinkable.

She didn’t want to know what the punishment would be if she looked at him.

“Sir?” She asked in that voice he liked, in the moniker he had ordered her to address him as, making sure that her chin was up.

“You call that a fifth position?” His cane tapped her pointed toes, wanting her to stumble and fall. She held on tighter to the barre, bringing her feet closer together.

“When you’re in fifth on releve, I have to see a single line, Alicent,” he said despondent, letting out a sigh as his cane disappeared from her sight. “I’m not seeing a single line.”

“I’m sorry,” she replied, voice low and soft as she pressed her legs even closer together, the inside of her thighs pressed against one another so tight, she could feel the muscle straining.

The sound of his cane tapping against the wooden floor made sweat drip down her back. Her legs were trembling due to the effort she was applying on them, but she held on tight, her grip on the barre making her knuckles turn white.

“You may rest,” he said, sounding bored, before his voice turned hard and cold once more, “but don’t forget to pass through plie. Wouldn’t want your knees to suffer, would we?”

He was mocking her, as he always did. She was sure of it.

She did her best to remain as upright as possible while bending her knees in a perfect lie, letting her energy flow through her hands as she went from third, to second, before ending in first. She let go of the barre to complete first position, making sure the tips of her middle fingers were touching. She looked down to check that her thumbs were indeed held across her middle fingers, as last time she had forgotten Larys had forced her to have a band around her hand, forcing her fingers to be in the right position.

Her body remembered every physical sensation he had made her endure in their path for her to become a prima ballerina. Day in and day out, they would stay from dawn till dusk, until her feet were bleeding and her muscles were cramped, practising every position, every movement. Ron de jambe, tendu, arabesque, pirouettes; he was always there, circling around her, making sure every muscle was in place, not a single thing out of order.

His eyes would roam through her body, cataloguing every tick, every tremble. His gaze felt like blazing fire on her skin, but she always made sure to keep her position up tight, casting aside the way it made her skin tingle.

She looked outside the window, unsurprised to see it was dark out. She let out a soft exhale as her muscles relaxed, screaming in pain as she did another plie, hoping to alleviate the tension she could feel inside of her.

“Stretch before you leave,” he said, sounding closer than she expected, startling her from her thoughts.

She turned around, surprised to see him a foot away from her. She looked up, straining her neck in order to look into his eyes. His long hair fell at the sides of his face, casting shadows above his features, but Alicent felt a pang in her heart at the bored expression she saw on his face.

She looked away as she bent down, reaching for her toes with the tip of her fingers. She let out an exhale as she placed the palms of her hands on the floor, feeling her muscles stretch as she did so.

She rolled down, ending with her knees bent underneath her torso, while her hands were stretched above her head, her palms still firmly on the floor. She could feel him looming over her, his gaze intently on her back, but for once, she paid it no mind, inhaling and exhaling every time she tried to walk her hands further away from her body.

She straightened up and stretched her arms above her head, feeling the muscles pop as she did so. She uncurled her legs and stretched them across for her, creating a perfect L when she saw herself in the mirror.

She bent down once more, wanting to grab the soles of her feet with her hands. However, she was still not flexible enough to do what she desired, so she continued breathing, hoping it would help her bend down further.

The touch of his hands circling her waist startled her, making her jump in fright. His grip was tight, scorching, and Alicent let it happen as his hands travelled from her waist to her back. He pressed down, making her chest touch the top of her thighs, his touch burning her even through the layer of her leotard.

“Breathe,” he ordered her, his breath warm against the skin of her neck, before he pushed her down once more, making her hands circle her feet.

She breathed in and out, with him kneeling at her back and pressing down on her, afraid of his touch but desperate for more. Larys always created dual yet opposite sensations in her body, exactly like ballet required of her.

When in plie, she needed to think of someone pulling a string above her head as her lower half of the body pressed down on the ground. While around Larys, she felt both appalled and entranced at who he was and what he demanded of her. He liked to watch the way her feet bleed after she removed her pointe shoes, a delirious look on his face as he remembered the way he had her doing pirouette after pirouette, until she was dizzy on her feet.

But she also liked the way his hands felt on her body, the way his long fingers would so delicately touch her. He never fully grabbed her, always touching her with just his fingertips, leaving her craving for more.

“You can go now,” he said after a moment, removing his presence from her back.

She stayed where she was, her muscles trembling as she grabbed onto the sole of her feet. She listened to the way he retreated out of the studio, the sound of his cane echoing in the empty room.

She let out an exhale, already waiting for their next practice to begin.

[leiawritesstories]

i need more aelin and rowan in the ballet pleasee 😭💖

always happy to write more of my ballet babies 💕🥰

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: ballet talk, swearing, NSFW, oops it turned into smut

Enjoy!!

performance reference (Fumi Kaneko, The Royal Ballet)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'll never get this stupid variation down, Aelin groaned to herself as she dropped out of a triple pirouette for the third time in a row. Muttering a curse under her breath, she bent into plié in fourth position and attempted the pirouette again. And again.

And again.

She was debuting as Aurora in The Sleeping Beauty in less than a month. Which meant she had only a few weeks to get this bloody variation down. Aurora Act I is a difficult variation, as her coach was always reminding her. You shouldn't be expecting yourself to get it down overnight.

Forcing herself to breathe, Aelin shook out her legs and walked in a tight circle. Maybe giving herself a quick break would help. She'd never been a natural turner, but she could execute triple pirouettes--and the occasional quadruple pirouette--cleanly, hence her frustration with these ones not working. She took a short sip of water, rewound the music, and restarted the section of the variation she'd been working on.

This time, when the pirouette came up, she rose into passé rélevé on her right leg, set down into plié, and turned on her left leg instead of her right. And she floated cleanly through three pirouettes, landed, and pumped her fist in the air, grinning.

Huh. Apparently she was a left turner.

Note to self: discuss turning to the left with coach. Aelin filed away the thought for after her rehearsal. Newly energized by her pirouette success, she ran through that middle section of the variation a few more times, turning to the left, then took a few minutes, rewound the music all the way to the beginning, and started the variation from the top, ending with a sequence of châiné turns into B-plus position, arms in an effortless, open fifth position above her head.

Applause rippled from behind her as she practiced her bow. Surprised, she hastily rose from her curtsy and turned towards the studio door, mentally praying it wasn't her coach standing there.

It wasn't.

It was Rowan Whitethorn, her Prince in this casting.

Aelin dropped into a more sardonic curtsy, dipping her head at Rowan. "Come to laugh at my failure to turn?" She rolled her eyes. "It's fine, I'd laugh at myself too if it wasn't so damn frustrating."

"Hey." Rowan walked into the studio, closed the door behind himself, and caught her hand. "All I saw was you absolutely killing that variation, Ace. I swear." He crooked his little finger. "Pinky swear."

"You better," she grumbled. "My pirouettes were absolute shit until I switched legs." She sighed heavily and glanced at the clock. "Oh, hell. Half an hour until Coach blows my legs out."

Rowan rested his hands casually against her waist, sending an electric thrum up her spine. "Sounds like you need a little bit of relaxation, hmm?" His rasping whisper brushed against her ear.

Aelin shivered in anticipation, in delight. "We're in a studio," she retorted. "And the door isn't locked."

"We can fix that." He pressed a featherlight kiss to the side of her throat. "And before you pretend to protest, there aren't any windows in this studio." Another teasingly light kiss. "I almost wonder if you picked this space on purpose."

"Hardly," she snarked. "I'm never planning for my boyfriend to interrupt my--ohhh!" Her sass broke off into a gasp when that boyfriend of hers dipped his head down to nip at her pulse point and dipped his hand down under her rehearsal tutu. "Rowan."

"Aelin," he groaned, body jerking as she reached back and palmed his cock through his tights, the thin athletic shorts he wore over the tights doing absolutely nothing to control his rapidly hardening erection.

Before she could lose herself in the sensation of his lips on her skin and his hand between her thighs, Aelin slipped out of Rowan's arms, hurried over to lock the door, and waltzed back across the floor. His dark green gaze tracked each of her deliberate steps. Deciding to tease him just a little more, she rose onto pointe and moved in a series of bourrée across the floor, stopping two paces away from Rowan and launching into a turn à la seconde, one leg extended out to the side.

Flawlessly, he lunged forward and caught her, wrapping one arm around her waist and looping the other around her extended leg, and pulled her flush against him with his leg slotted between hers. She let out a quiet moan and arched into him, craving the friction his muscled thigh created against her throbbing core.

"Please," she gasped, sliding one arm up and back to tangle in his bleached hair. One quick tug had his bandanna on the floor and her fingers woven into his floppy hair, the strands soft between her fingers. "Unless you can't live up to your big talk about relaxing me."

"I'll show you big talk," he rumbled, working her tights partway down her legs, tucking the bottom of her leotard off to the side, and pressing the pad of his thumb directly against her needy clit. She moaned a string of garbled curses and dropped her head backwards onto his shoulder, exposing the elegant column of her neck.

"Fuck, Ro!"

"That's right, princess, tell the world who makes you feel so good," he purred, plunging two fingers into her cunt. She moaned his name, her eyes fluttering closed. "Good girl." He pumped his fingers faster, drawing those breathy, needy sounds he loved so much out of her throat.

"Rowan." Her hand wrapped around his wrist. "I need you. Now." Her hips bucked backwards, rocking against his hard cock through the thin layers separating them. "Please."

"Since you asked so nicely," he murmured. He withdrew his fingers, spun her around so she was facing him, and raised his fingers to her lips. "How do you taste, princess?"

"So good," she groaned around his fingers, her words muffled. She danced her fingertips down his chest, down to his shorts, and pushed the garments down far enough to let his erection spring free, pressing it to her dripping core. "So good."

"Good girl," he groaned. He lifted one of her legs, hooked it around his waist, lined his cock up with her entrance, and slammed home in one fluid thrust. "Fuuuuuuuuckkkk, Ae," he groaned, dropping his forehead to press against hers. "You feel incredible." She moaned in agreement, rocking her hips against his. He smirked. "Needy, aren't you, princess?"

"Only for you," she panted.

He kissed her fiercely, swallowing her moan as he thrust harder, faster. "That's my good girl." She groaned deeply, her fingers scraping lightly down the skin of his back. The edge of pain spurred him faster, his thrusts almost wild. He flicked a glance at the mirror, captivated by the carnal sight of them in the middle of the studio. "Open your eyes, princess. Look how beautiful you are all wrapped around my cock."

She looked into the mirror, her gaze heavy with desire as her brilliant eyes fixed on the almost lewd display. "Harder, Ro."

He obliged, hips pounding into hers so hard her legs buckled. Easily, he swept her up into his ridiculously huge arms, letting her lock her legs around his waist as his thrusts stuttered, a clear sign of how close he was. "Aelin," he moaned, "I'm gonna--"

"Come for me," she whispered, barely able to form the words through the tremors shaking her body as her own orgasm crested and exploded. He groaned her name as he came with her, staying buried inside of her as their bodies stilled.

"Love you," she mumbled into his neck as he pulled out and cleaned her up with a couple of tissues, carefully fixing her clothes and her tutu.

"Love you more," he murmured, kissing the top of her head. "Feel relaxed, princess?"

She took a step back from him and stretched herself out, arching her back and raising her arms over her head. "Mmmm, yes I do." She rose onto pointe and kissed him softly. He settled one hand on the back of her head and deepened the kiss, dragging out the sweet moment until she had to pull away. "Rehearsal, Ro, I have rehearsal."

"I do too," he sighed. "Ugh. Merde, love."

"See you tonight!" she chirped, slinging her dance bag over her shoulder as she hurried out of the studio.

He damn well would.

~~~ TAGS:

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@silentquartz

[auxiliarydetective]

Lies and Guesses

When undertaking a long journey, you have to keep yourself busy somehow, and Merry and Pippin have taken to riddling Lindewen with questions about her half elven, half hobbit nature.

AO3 - All snippets in order here

Author's Notes: This snippets starts in the middle of a conversation between Lindewen, Merry and Pippin about the latter two's sword training - don't let yourself be confused <3 I may have also made several maths mistakes while writing this but oh well. It works for the bit lol

The whole topic of this chapter was inspired by/borrowed from this post by the users @astriiformes and @elidyce about the Fellowship's ages that I love a whole lot. Inspiration was also taken from this post by @catsvrsdogscatswin that I'll probably be borrowing some other ideas from too because it's a literal gold mine. The saying of someone or something being fairy-kissed is adapted from this post of lovely sayings by @halfelven. If anyone is upset at me tagging them, feel free to let me know and I won't tag you again if I use your post as inspo again. If you don't want me getting inspired by your post at all, you can tell me that too. As for my own sayings I invented for this fic: "cornerstone" - a killjoy, someone's who's boring; inspired by hobbits hitting their toes on pointy cornerstones and having all the fun taken out of their day because of this and also by cornerstones not being in any other way noteworthy otherwise "time to pay the tab" - time to come clear, time to be honest, time to stop pushing things aside or avoiding things; inspired by clearing a tab at a bar/pub/inn "from the rooster crow" - from the get-go, right off the bat, from the start; inspired by roosters probably being the main alarm clock system of the Shire, starting the day

“Well, if you’ve been training with such capable fighters I suppose you’re both brave warriors then,” Lindewen remarked with a smirk.

“Yeah, but I don’t think we’ll be walking up trees like you or Legolas anytime soon,” Merry quipped. “Can you walk up trees?”

“Not walk, no, not me at least. – Legolas, have you ever walked up a tree?”

“I can’t say I have,” Legolas declared. “I have vaulted along one now and again.”

“See?” Merry said. “Close enough.”

“Ah, but you’re selling yourselves short,” Lindewen declared. “Yes, yes, elven constitution and agility are a great benefit in such artistic feats, but a lot of it comes down to practice. I think it’s safe to say that, if Legolas and I were pitted against each other in a cross-country race, I would lose by a longshot. But if instead we competed on who could do the most pirouettes while also playing the fiddle, I doubt our sharp-shooting friend could even do one.”

Boromir barked out a laugh, grinning at a red-eared Legolas. “Now that is a competition I’d like to see.”

“Is it weird at all, being half elf and half hobbit?” Pippin asked. “I mean, so far it looks like you’re gettin’ the best of both worlds, but you’ve got to be either too short or too tall for a lot of things, right?”

“Oh, trust me, height really isn’t that much of an issue. I can duck or stand on my toes. It’s the cultural differences that matter – right, Aragorn?” Lindewen called over her shoulder.

“Oh yes,” Aragorn confirmed. “It’s oddly lonely, especially as a child. Knowing you’re different but unable to put a finger on it until you get old enough to be told or to realise. And even then you cannot change it.”

“My mother had very high expectations of me,” Lindewen recalled. “She was a very strict woman, graceful in the way a sword might be. My father had no expectations at all, he was a very laid-back man. An adventurer too. You wouldn’t have caught him dead in a place like the Shire, he was too much of a wanderer to ever truly settle down.” She paused to pluck a few elderberries off a bush and throw them to Cloudfur – who immediately jumped up and caught them with his snout. “Either way, I’m past the point of complaining about the folks I was born of. Hobbit and elven genes really don’t mix as poorly as you’d think. Height is one thing, yes, but I’m also very light-footed and I dare say I have the best hearing out of anyone here, including Maple, Cloudfur and Snowpaws. In the end, what use would there be in denying the things that make me who I am? I am a child of both worlds, and that includes the good and the bad.”

“What bad things would there be?” Legolas asked. “In my eyes, you seem both adaptable and free-spirited enough not to care about any difficulties.”

“Ah, but the bad things aren’t always visible, and some of them don’t apply anymore,” Lindewen chuckled.

“What’s one of the issues then?” Merry insisted.

“Alcohol.”

“No!”

“Oh yes.”

“You can’t go drinking?”

“I can, but it’s always a coin toss on which half of me takes over. I’ll either pass out after five glasses or fifty – which also depends on the beverage, of course.”

“That’s a bummer,” Pippin muttered.

“There’s always the question of growth too,” Lindewen continued. “I’m fine now because I’ve long since stopped growing, but if one half of your bloodline dictates you’re fully grown at one age and the other says it’s nearly twice that, it causes some problems. I looked a lot more like a hobbit child when I was young, the elven traits only really came into their own once I should have been done growing by hobbit standards.”

“So how old are you anyway?”

Lindewen stopped dead in her tracks and gave Pippin a stare of amused annoyance.

“You can’t just ask a lady that,” Aragorn scolded, though he couldn’t stop a tiny smirk from reaching his lips.

“I’m just saying,” Pippin defended himself, “you told that story of the Lonely Mountain and it sounds like Gimli wasn’t even alive back then.”

“I was,” Gimli corrected. “Just a bit young.”

“You’re a lost cause, Pippin,” Frodo chuckled. “No wonder Poppy turned you down when you asked her to dance at my birthday.”

“How old is anyone, really?” Merry prodded. “I mean, we’re all adults except for Pippin, aren’t we?”

“Pippin, you’re a child?!” Boromir blurted out, his eyes blown wide.

“Not a child,” Pippin said indignantly. “Just not officially an adult.”

“That’s why we call him Pippin,” Sam explained. “He needs at least another ten to fifteen years until he can make Peregrin work.”

Boromir furrowed his brows and Legolas’s lips crinkled upwards as he could practically see the Son of Gondor’s entire worldview being reordered behind his eyes.

“The reason why I got the name Linda Seasong is practically the same,” Lindewen explained. “It’s hard to get anyone to call you something like Lindewen if you’re no more than three apples tall.”

“So we know who’s youngest,” Merry said, “but who’s oldest if—”

“Gandalf,” Legolas and Lindewen cut in simultaneously.

“There’s no competition,” Aragorn chuckled.

“Really?”Frodo gasped.

He glanced over at Gandalf, who was one more comment away from laughing. Boromir, on the other hand, was still trying to come to terms with this new information. Pippin was a child and needed at least ten to fifteen more years to make his adult name work? Ten to fifteen?! Lindewen offered Boromir a drink of water – a drink that he gladly took, though her foreboding smirk worried him.

“Wait. Now I’m curious as well,” Frodo enthused. “Gandalf, you’re not an elf, are you?”

Gandalf laughed and shook his head. “No, dear boy.”

“Then how does your age work if two elves can attest to you being the oldest?”

“Not at all.”

“Not at all?!” Gimli echoed.

“Wicked,” Merry gasped.

Poor Sam was simply confused.

“So,” Merry started. “Sam is 37, Frodo is 49, Pippin is 28—” Boromir almost choked on his water — “and I’m 35. Gandalf’s age is clearly fairy-kissed, but how old is everyone else? Gimli, how old are you?”

“139 years,” Gimli stated proudly.

Merry let out a low whistle, catching him a side-eyed stare from the dwarf.

“That’s more than a hobbit’s lifetime!” Pippin gasped.

“It’s not even middle age!” Gimli barked.

Boromir had entered the first stages of grief, whereas Lindewen just snickered.

“And you, Legolas, how old are you?”

“Old enough,” Legolas muttered.

“Alright then,” Frodo chuckled. “Keep your secrets.”

“Old enough,” Merry mocked the elf-prince. “You’re such a cornerstone.”

Legolas’s ear twitched slightly and one of his brows inched upwards.

“A killjoy, a boring person,” Gandalf translated.

“He’s probably five thousand years old or something,” Pippin muttered.

“Aragorn, how old are you?” Merry asked as he continued down the line.

Aragorn, meanwhile, exchanged a worried glance with Lindewen, then they both looked at Boromir. Boromir in turn saw his life flash before his eyes.

“Now don’t say old enough.”

Aragorn cleared his throat. “87.”

“What?” Boromir hissed.

“87.”

“Eighty-seven?!” Boromir’s voice cracked.

“Why, how old are you?” Merry immediately asked.

Lindewen placed a calming hand on Boromir’s shoulder. “It’s the Númenórean blood of the royal line,” she explained. “Nothing for you to worry about.” She gave him a little wink.

“Come on, are you gonna be a cornerstone too or what?” Pippin insisted.

“I’m 42,” Boromir lied.

He was preparing himself for the onslaught of accusations that was to follow, but, miraculously, this seemed to have been the correct answer. After all, the hobbits were seemingly happy with it, Legolas and Gimli had no point of comparison, Aragorn and Lindewen just shared knowingly amused glances and Gandalf nodded proudly. In fact, the answer had even been good enough to have Merry and Pippin go back to pestering the elves now.

“Okay, Mister Old Enough,” Pippin scoffed. “Time to pay the tab. How old exactly are you?”

Legolas refused to meet the young one’s eyes. “Far older than you,” he stated.

Immediately, Merry and Pippin fell into indignant chatter.

“Why don’t you guess?” Lindewen cut in. “If you can guess both of our ages correctly before we reach Moria, you’ll get a prize.”

Just like that, the hobbits’ ears perked up and their eyes sparkled.

“What kind of prize?” Merry asked.

“A prize of your choice. Anything you like. But you have to guess both of our ages exactly to the year – and no cheating by asking Gandalf. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Pippin grinned and Merry nodded eagerly.

“Legolas, what do you say to these terms?”

The two elves locked eyes and it was as if a separate world was created between them, as if a thousand words were said but none of them spoken.

“Let all of them guess,” Legolas finally declared. “This little game will widen their horizons.”

“Oooh,” Merry called, “he’s confident now! What little scheme have you cooked up, huh?”

“None, except that we don’t know each other’s exact age either,” Lindewen smirked. “So pestering us for hints will be utterly useless. I will however give you two hints from the rooster crow, so listen well: I am older than Legolas and I am less than five thousand years old.”

And so began a flurry of guessing. Merry and Pippin were relentless, picking out the most unusual of numbers but always getting the same answer: “You’re wrong. Try again.” Frodo and Sam were less active in spitting out numbers but rather tried to reason with the information they had been given, and Boromir found great joy in helping them. Gimli wavered between eagerly trying to win the elusive prize and claiming that this was all unwinnable. Eventually, the guessing group came to the realization that Aragorn knew Sindarin. Thus, Aragorn had to know at least a handful of elves and their ages, right? Surely this meant he could give some valuable insight, especially since he himself had not made a single guess. This had to mean he was hiding something, right? But the guessers’ hopes were let down as Aragorn explained to them that he was no help as elves did not visibly age after they were fully grown, so he had no way of determining their elven friends’ ages either.

When the Fellowship had left all bushes and trees behind and had to exert themselves on their climb up Caradhras, Aragorn joined Lindewen at the head of the group. In elven tongue, he asked:

“Do you know your own age, my friend?”

And Lindewen replied:

“No, I confess I do not. But I am fairly confident in my calculation of it.”

At the back of the group, Legolas’s lips curled.

General Taglist: @starcrossedjedis @oneirataxia-girl @rose-of-oz @bravelittleflower @box-of-bats

as well as @eddysocs @villainousace and @thehedgehogat221b

[ninjaneonleon]

Dancing in the Moonlight

Start

Prev

“We should get back.” Eventually they had to separate, even if Donnie didn’t want to. He wanted to cradle his twin close, take care of him, protect him, but Donnie knew that they had things to do. First things first, he needed to get Leo aware again. “Leandro, how are you feeling?”

“Better.” Leo’s voice cracked but he gave Donnie a small smile. “I’m happy, just, uh, just sort of tired now. Which is weird. I’m not supposed to get tired.”

“I think I can help you wake up a little. We just need to get back to the lake.” Hopefully those people were still waiting. Donnie felt like he knew them, he just couldn’t remember at this point in time.

“Okay. Let’s go.” Leo pulled back and his wings perked up. With a few powerful flaps he was off into the air. Donnie followed after him, grinning at how much happier Leo looked.

It didn’t take them long to get back to the Lake. Donnie dove straight back to the water while Leo flew into his tree with a happy chirp.

As soon as Donnie touched the surface of the Lake, he knew they weren’t alone.

“Donnie! You’re back!” Mikey cried from the shore. Donnie looked over. Yes, he knew that turtle. That was his little brother who would dance with him. He liked art. Yes! Donnie remembered!

“Mikey!” He cried, rushing over and hugging his brother. “Mikey, I remember you today!”

“You remember?” Mikey sounded shocked. Then he cheered. “You remember! Hi!”

“Hi! I’ve missed you.” Donnie was surprised to find that yeah, he had missed Mikey. He remembered him enough to miss him.

Mikey sniffled at that. “That’s really good to hear. How are you? Why did you fly off when we arrived?”

“I had to chase, uh, Leandro.” Donnie knew Leo was watching, listening. He wouldn’t appreciate Donnie referring to him differently. Donnie dropped his voice to a whisper. “Leo’s going through some stuff at the moment. He’ll be okay soon. Just call him Leandro for now.”

Mikey nodded as he pulled back, then he glanced around. “Uh, Leandro? You here?”

Leo let out a happy chirp, then he flew down from his tree. He hugged Mikey close. “You know my name! I do know you,” he cooed. “I thought I did but everything’s really fuzzy at the moment.”

“That’s because of the spell, twin,” Donnie reminded him gently. “We need to reverse the spell so you can focus properly.” Donnie had thought seeing Mikey might have let Leo break through but apparently not. He’d have to rethink how to help his twin.

“Leandro, can I get a proper look at you, please?” Mikey asked after a moment. Leo stepped back and did a small pirouette, smiling brightly. “Oh, Lee, you’re beautiful. And so graceful too!” Mikey’s voice was so earnest and excited that it was hard to mistake the compliments as anything other than genuine.

Leo’s cheeks flushes a pale pink. Considering his comments before and the jealousy that Odile had for Odette, it wasn’t surprisingly that he was a little flustered. “I, uh, thank you.” He took a few steps back.

“I mean it. You look gorgeous. Your makings are just lovely. And your dress! Oh, I’d love to paint you.” Leo laughed a little awkwardly at Mikey’s enthusiasm.

“Thank you.” He paused, then blinked. “You can dance, right?”

“Yeah,” Mikey nodded, smiling. Leo lit up. He grabbed Donnie’s hand and Mikey’s and dragged them over to the water. “Woah, hey! I can’t walk on water like you guys can!”

“Trust me!” Leo said with a laugh. Mikey hesitated, then followed. The silvery roots that supported Leo also supported Mikey, appearing under his feet with every step.

“This is so cool,” Mikey whispered, staring at his feet as he walked.

“Othello, you said there’s a spell that’s making me hazy, right?” Leo asked. Donnie nodded.

“Right.”

“Then lead me. Make a dance that you think would clear my head,” Leo insisted. “Mikey, you and I need to copy whatever Othello does.”

“How will this help?” Donnie asked with a frown.

“Kinetic magic. Dancing is how Mother would cast spells.” Leo sounded so excited. “Just focus on what you want to happen, I can do the rest.”

Oh. “I can do that.” Donnie took a breath and stepped away from Leo and Mikey.

Okay, he wanted Leo to remember who he was and he wanted Odile to feel better and more stable. He wanted them both to feel balanced, like he and Odette did. He wanted his twin to be happy.

Guided by that desire, Donnie closed his eyes and danced.

He let his body move to the music he knew only he could hear. Somehow, he knew that Leo and Mikey were copying him, he could feel the magic bubbling below the water.

Donnie danced liked he never danced before, not that he could remember anyway. He put in as much of his energy and his desire and love into the movements, letting the feelings guide him.

There was a gasp just as Donnie finished and a bright light shone around the Lake.

When Donnie could see again, Leo looked different. His dress was somehow sharper, looking more sleek. His headpiece, which was a single feather, was now a tiara of feathers. Small, lace gloves covered his hands.

“I’m a swan again…” Leo breathed, looking down at himself. “I’m a swan! Not a crow! And I’m Leo and Odile. We’re both here.” He looked up to at Donnie with a bright smile. “I feel… balanced again. Leo is present and aware and comfortable. And Odile feels more whole than they have… ever.”

“Did you say they?” Mikey asked gently. Leo nodded.

“Yes. Odile prefers ‘they’.”

Donnie didn’t know that, and neither did Odette. Clearly things had changed since they had last seen each other.

“Well, you look even more beautiful now, Leo.” Mikey said with a smile. Leo beamed, his cheeks a rosy pink.

“Well, at least you’re feeling better, Leo,” Donnie said with a sigh.

“I am. Now, where is Raph and everyone else?” Leo asked, glancing around. “Because I just realised something. Donnie, do you remember how you got trapped here?”

Donnie paused. How did he get stuck? It was… he heard his name and then he danced, right? And then he fell into the Lake.

“I… danced.”

“And Odette did the same, right? With Ilma,” Leo insisted gently. Donnie nodded slowly. That seemed right, but he couldn’t be sure.

“You know what that means?” Donnie shook his head. “It means if you can remember the dance, we can figure out how to reverse it.” Leo beamed, his blue eyes bright and hopeful. “We can free you both. And when you’re free, so am I. I can’t get the treasure from the lake if there is no treasure.”

He could be freed? He could go home? Donnie could hardly believe it.

“We need to get the others right away. We have a recital to put on.”

———————

Plot bunnies woke up yesterday and chose violence against me. Part 9 is already in the works but I hope you enjoy part 8!

Edit: Part 9

Swanatello belongs to @tangledinink

Crownardo belongs to @dryad-druid

[jjungkooksthighs]

The flames of the fire beside them sway to their own ballad as his tongue dances around hers. It’s a kiss that quickly becomes all teeth and tongue, and he can’t find it in himself to stop as they move to their own passionate ballad. The wet sounds of lips connecting and disconnecting are joined by the spit that pirouettes between them as he eagerly deepens the kiss, his unused hand–from memory– finding its place on her hip to pull her closer. 

“I told you before, pretty girl,” his voice is raspy, the baritone of it combined with the nickname making a small shiver run down her spine in the most delicious way possible, not really helping the situation between her legs all that much.

“You need not thank me. It is my duty to take care of you. To make sure all of your needs, wants, and desires are met.” 

She lets his words carry her like fresh leaves in a summer breeze, not a care in this world except for him, his eyes drowning her in a sea of affection and utmost devotion.

As if to prove her point, he gently massages her back with the lather from the soap, the aroma wafting from it making her eyes roll back from how pleasant it is, the sweetness of it no comparison, however, to his scent, the whiff of blueberries and dark vanilla bean making her swoon and giggle to herself.

“I meant what I said before, you know,” he tells her, as if to reassure her that what seems too good to be true, really is.

"All of it." he concludes, his hands not stopping their action, his fingers now grazing the skin on her lower abdomen, a giggle leaving her from how ticklish it is, a small squirm and a shiver making it's way her through her body involuntarily.

He notices, finding the action far too cute for him to let it be a one time thing. So, he runs his hand over the sides of her abdomen again with a smirk, just to see her squirm and laugh, making her whine and pout all while knowing she's enjoying this as much as he is.

“Do you want me to wash your hair, too, pretty girl?” he asks, but, the question is one he already knows the answer to, because he doesn't wait for her, hand already grabbing the bottle of shampoo, far before a small "yes, please." politely leaves her lips, making him smile.

She could be so fucking sweet when she wanted to. And on other nights, a brat hell-bent on making him snap all so she'd have all of him to herself.

It was fascinating to him. Made him want to explore more of her.

And he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it when she was a brat.

“Close your eyes, love.” he directs as he wets her hair, and she follows it almost immediately, no questions asked. “I do not want to get water in your eyes. Keep them closed until I tell you to open them back up.” 

It's quiet for a while except for the constant purring that seems to come from his omega, surely enjoying the way his fingers massage into her scalp, the knots in her muscles now well loosened up it seems, for she doesn't whine when she tries moving to sit closer to him, face relaxed.

He knew that self-care was something she liked practicing, be it after a rather steamy session with him like now, or after a tiring day at work, she'd be back home to take a relaxing bath, cuddling with him right after.

Most times, she'd tell him about her day, and he'd intently listen, as if her silly encounters with kids at the schoolhouse were the most fascinating topic. He can't help it. She looked too adorable like that, eyes sparkling and wide, far too excited to share the details of her day with her mate simply because she wanted to share with him every moment of her life.

When he'd reciprocate the action after she was done, the look on her face made his heart warm, for she seemed star-struck and in awe most of the time, unable to hide the excitement of being able to hear him speak, it seems.

The thought makes him chuckle, and yet again, he is filled with intense urge and need to hear her voice, to hear her speak to him without filter, to see her excited and happy all over again.

“Do you like the new shampoo that I made for you?” He asks, genuinely curious and far too eager to listen to what his mate thought of the concoction he'd learned to make only for her.

“Did you use hibiscus with this?” She asks, and yet again, he can see the excitement of being able to share conversations with him like this bubble up through her. “I smell ritha, arappu, and shikakai as well. Did you use them?” 

The pleasant concoction she speaks of smells of petrichor, a truly fresh fragrance to breathe in, the flowery essence of the hibiscus and rose used a nice add on to it.

“Indeed.”

This, she decides, is her favorite from now on.

“Was I a good student for my teacher?”

And there he goes flirting again, making her blush and giggle.

“I listened to her well. It is a pity my lesson ended so early. She could have taught me so much more had I not been so distracted by her beauty.”

Hmph! That was hardly her fault.

She laughs, hiding her face in his neck, flustered at the knowledge that he's smirking now, his tone giving it all away.

And it doesn't help that he's now tugging at her hair in an all too familiar, erotic way, the blush that paints her face now redder than a fresh strawberry.

But she could tease him as well.

“Yes, alpha." She sighs against his neck, her warm breath tickling his skin, a visible shudder wracking through him which makes her slightly pleased.

"I…I had a very attentive student. Perhaps too attentive.”

She doesn't need her eyes open to know that his lower lip just twitched at her words, a groan desperately trying to make itself known, for she can feel it behind her in the way he shifts, trying not to make his erection prominent to her.

What? She is allowed to tease just a little bit. After all, payback of some sort is required.

“It is not my fault that my teacher looked, smelled, and sounded so good. I could hardly help myself, you know.” he confesses as he gently washes off the shampoo from her hair.

And just like that, all of her thoughts are flung out the window.

Who was she kidding? She was no match for him.

“Besides, I was a good boy for you. Not even you can deny that.”

He seals his words with a kiss against her forehead, hell-bent on letting her be eaten alive by the swarm of butterflies alive in her now, it seems, for she's star struck again, unable to speak.

"Alpha!" she whines, sinking into him now, as if doing so will hide the pink that taints her cheeks. "Don't be a tease."

“Don’t be a tease?” He runs his hands together, the look of innocence passing over his face despite the milky white liquid he has all over them, the wet squelch that makes reminding her of something far less decent when she hears the sound. “Whatever do you mean by that, pretty girl?”

She wishes she could open her eyes to take a peek at him. No doubt he would be watching her with that mischievous gleam in his eye, his nice, full lips curled up in a cocky grin while he smirked down at her. Both had regularly been the cause of her reddened cheeks, but really, there wasn’t a time when she wasn’t blushing whenever around him. 

He just..had that effect on her. He always had. 

So, as much as she wants to, he’d told her not to. She did not want to disobey him when she’d been trying to be good after being so bad to him lately. 

So, she keeps her eyes closed just as she’d been told to do. 

The responding laughter she gets is all the justification she needs to continue doing so, the deep vibrations that his chuckles send treading straight down her spine as he works in the conditioner into her hair. 

“You’re being so honest with your thoughts, my beloved.” He spreads and smears the earthly scented mixture into each of her strands,” Unfortunately, you cannot open them yet. This concoction could damage your eyes, too, and we wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

She pouts, and the sight has him crooning. 

“Now don’t give me that, pretty girl. I’m simply enforcing the same rule you give me when you wash my hair.”

His tone dips and rises as he says it, and she doesn’t even realize she’s returning a smile to him until he coos, “There’s that smile I love so much, my love. Now be a good girl and wait for me to finish cleaning you, yeah?”

She gives a quiet sound of assent, the feel of his fingers too good not to enjoy as she lets him drag his fingers through the thickened tendrils of her hair starting from the tip of her hairline to the base of her scalp. When that is done, he combs those long digits through her hair, one section at a time. He hums a low tune as he does, the thrumming through his chest traveling through her very bones as he moves through a familiar tune she’d often heard during her youth.

It was a tune she’d never been allowed to know the meaning of when she was younger, but one that, when one came of age, was known to all. 

Originally sung by the first female of their kind to the first male that the gods had created, its words had long since been lost to time. No one knew the words any longer. All that remained of the song was the traces of what had once been. 

It starts slow, and low, as that had been the spirit of the male who’d been alone in the world, without his mate and lover. Then, it picks up, the beat fastening second by second until there’s silence, as time had seemed to race for the male who scoured the whole world and ran around it thrice, looking and searching for his mate that the gods had whispered he needed to earn after he’d begged them to give him a mate. Just when his paws could no longer carry him, could no longer hold him up after he’d collapsed from exhaustion after fighting monster after monster that the gods had thrown down on him to see if he was worthy and his heart had stopped, the gods took pity on him and granted him his wish. To the mortal realm they sent the first female, who with her healing abilities restored him and made him whole again–both in spirit and in body. 

In the process of tending to him, she’d fallen in love with him, and so the tune’s notes lifted and crested until a steady sound made between the two–both low and high– was held to symbolize the male and female’s spirits as the two had accepted each other and irrevocably bonded, thus becoming each other’s forever. 

She’d heard the tune before, of course, but never did it sound the way her mate made it sound when he let its orchestration out for her. He was so soulful, so vehement in his song that she swears she could touch the notes in the way they reach and percuss her very being, the way that they shift and stir something inside her. 

Strung as she is to his song, she doesn’t even notice that he’d finished with her hair and was now working on cleaning the suds off of her body. 

“It seems you are just as fond of me singing that song now as you were the first time I sang it to you.” He douses her shoulders and back with the still steaming water that he outpours from the glass bowl, the pleasant waterfall of it down her body a contrast to warm breath that fans over her cheek as he blows it against them just to see if he can get her blush to become more fierce. “Oh, and you can open your eyes, pretty girl. I’m done with most of it now.” 

She does just as she’s told, and it is only then that she’s made aware of just how close they really are. Her chest hovers against his, her ass atop his thighs with her arms encircling his neck that she’d been burying her head into. 

It’s an entirely obscene position that makes illicit memories lap at her mind as she peeks up at him, and it is obvious that he’s enjoying this if the cocksure expression doesn’t give it away. 

The lavender-colored bar of soap he’d taken into his hand submerges itself in the water before he brings it between her legs, an inquisitive brow lifting up. “Can I clean you here, too, my love? I will be gentle.” 

Those brilliant gold irises burn with intensity as he stares down at her, and then something is simmering in her belly. Instantly, she knows that if he touches her where she’s still sore, that simmering sensation will make her want to do things that will require him to clean her once more. 

“I…” she grows bashful under the vivid vehemence of his gaze, not stopping him, yet not permitting him, either. “I…if you do that, I will not be able to move. I’m too…too sore. You can clean me there later. I promise.” 

It’s the second time she’s been bold in her answer, but she still manages to be so cute with her nervousness when she stutters and stammers like she’s been caught red-handed. He can’t find it in himself to not grin like a twitterpainted fool when she does that. 

“Very well,” he eagerly agrees, letting her take the soap from him and setting it to the side before he stands and steps out of the tub, not bothering to wrap himself up before he turns to offer her his hand. She giggles, taking his hand as he guides her out. Upon getting to her feet, she stands on shaky legs, but this time they do not do so because of the strenuousness from their past activities. 

“Let me tell you something, mate of mine.” He bends, the hot breath emitted against her ear dispelling the cold from her body as he utters, “The next time I clean you, it won’t be with my hands, my love.”

[erotischer-lesestoff]

The pleasure booster

Chapter 13 & 14

A few weeks later at dance school …

At the beginning of the lesson, Jo asked Kevin to come to his side. He stood with him in front of his students, pointed at him and said: "You all know he's a beginner, but a good dancer has no problem with an inexperienced partner like him." Jo picked up the remote control for the music system, started a song and danced some new moves that Kevin didn't know yet - it worked right away. The young man did exactly what Jo wanted, moving gracefully to the music and pirouetting.

"I can dance!" Kevin thought to himself. It was like a revelation for him, he almost floated across the dance floor, giving himself over to the movements until he finally did one last pirouette and landed in Jo's arms, a little out of breath. Gentle applause brought Kevin back to reality.

The other dance students had been watching them and were now applauding. Kevin blushed a little because he wasn't used to being the center of attention. This kind of dancing was new to him as well. He had been going to dance classes three times a week for almost two months and hadn't made any significant progress. He was always too clumsy and got cramps in his arms and hips after a short time. But this dance with Jo was something completely different. Usually Kevin danced with a woman and tried to lead her, but now he could just let himself go. He looked to the side and immediately blushed again. His dance teacher was still holding him in a way that showed they were more than just friends.

Jo seemed to sense that Kevin was a little uncomfortable with this. With a casual movement of his arm, he made his young pupil do another pirouette and with a slight swing of his hips, he directed him to a chair where Kevin sat down and looked at his teacher admiringly. Jo smiled and gave him a quick wink before turning his attention back to his other charges.

Later, on the way home, Kevin was asked by Jo if he would like to come home with him? He gratefully accepted, as it was Friday and he had nothing else planned. Gabrielle and Robert had gone out for dinner and were going to see a movie afterwards. So he would be home alone, and he was also curious about Jo's place. During the drive, Kevin glanced furtively at the driver's seat and smiled inwardly when he realized that he always looked to the left when he was in the car with Jo. There was something special about that guy. Fortunately, the object of his curiosity was a careful driver who was fully focused on the road. Kevin involuntarily let out a small sigh. Jo misinterpreted it and said: "We're almost there.

It was true, barely five minutes later they were standing in Jo's apartment. Kevin looked around. He had never seen a room with stucco on the ceiling and never an apartment with such high ceilings. Jo lived in an old mansion, but not alone. There were three other tenants. Two couples and an elderly lady.

"If you need to go to the toilet, the bathroom is over there." Jo pointed to a door.

Kevin didn't have to pee, but he was curious to see what the bathroom looked like. The room was huge and the furnishings were confusing, some of it was modern, the toilet, bidet and shower were up to date. But the bathtub seemed to be from the eighteenth century, standing on paws almost in the middle of the room. He looked closely. Yes, it really was animal paws that the bathtub stood on, he was officially impressed.Jo must have a lot of money to be able to afford something like that.

"All done?" Jo asked as Kevin joined him in the living room.

"Mmh, all good," Kevin looked around, "you live really great, it must cost a lot of money."

Jo, who was taking two glasses out of a display case, smiled as he said, "Oh, you know, money isn't everything.

If Kevin had been older and more mature, he would have known that only someone with enough money could say something like that. But as it was, he just shrugged his shoulders.

"I was lucky, I speculated on the right stocks," Jo said, "so my money multiplied."

Kevin, who had little understanding of such business, but still knew that nothing comes from nothing, asked, "Where did you get the money?"

Jo smiled bitterly, "I sued my parents.

Kevin looked at him questioningly and Jo told his story. He said that his family was very conservative and it was a disaster when his homosexuality became known. His parents dragged him first to the pastor and then to the doctor.

For his parents, especially his father, their world collapsed. It simply could not be that his son was a homosexual. He always spoke of a pathological tendency or a disease of the head. But not only his father could not cope with it, his mother and his younger brother also had big problems with it. It happened as it had to happen, Jo ran away from home and went to live with an older man. He was allowed to live there, but only in exchange for certain services. Jo was seventeen at the time and bounced around from one benefactor to another.

The best time he had was with a lawyer who informed him of his rights. Jo's family was not rich, but they had some assets. The lawyer was able to convince Jo's family to pay him his inheritance. They did, but only on the condition that he would disappear from their lives. The lawyer invested the money in safe stocks. But Jo had other plans for the money, which he considered dirty money. It was money that his family had used to buy their freedom from him. He speculated like crazy in the stock market. But whatever he did, he made a profit. Even the most daring transactions increased his wealth until he had so much that he never had to work again. He also owned the apartment building where he lived. But the other tenants knew nothing about it. Jo could live his life the way he wanted to. He had always loved to dance, so he fulfilled a dream and became a dance instructor. But the lessons he gave were private; he didn't do it for a living, he didn't make any money from it.

Jo smiled bitterly as he came to the end of his story, "That's it," he said, "That was and is my life. I'm rich, but I'd rather have had a family, a father to talk to about everything, a mother to find comfort in, and brothers and sisters I could argue with." Sighing, he raised his hands, only to drop them immediately. It was a depressing gesture. Kevin didn't know why he did it, but he took Jo's hand and held it tightly.

They were silent for a while, then Kevin told them that he had also moved out when he was seventeen, that it hadn't worked out with his parents and that he had ended up in assisted living. There was silence again for a moment, then Jo let go of Kevin's hand and put an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. Kevin let him, more than that, he cuddled up to the man sitting next to him and felt safe. He took a deep breath and let it out with a satisfied sound.

"We are soul mates," Jo whispered.

"Mmh," Kevin confirmed.

Silence reigned again. The two enjoyed their closeness. Carefully Jo moved, filled two glasses with red wine and gave one to Kevin. He took a small sip. It was a heavy, aromatic wine, not too sour and not too sweet. Kevin, who did not know much about wine, liked it. Little by little the bottle emptied and Kevin felt that he had a slight buzz. He became more and more talkative and cuddly. Jo liked this, but he did not take advantage of it. He didn't want to be too pushy, but began to seduce Kevin velvety soft. Giving him closeness when he needed it and space when it became too much.

It was another two hours until the first gentle touch of her lips. Jo noticed that Kevin was stiffening and pulled away slightly. A little later Kevin pressed against him, looked at him, looked deep into his eyes and then closed his own. Another tender kiss followed, this time Kevin returned it lightly.

After the third kiss, Kevin was putty in Jo's hands, willingly allowing himself to be kissed and stroked again and again, and had no objections when he was led into the bedroom. There they continued gently. Jo gradually made Kevin naked, taking her time. Kevin enjoyed it. He wasn't gay, he wasn't into men - and yet he enjoyed it with all his senses. Maybe it was the alcohol that made Kevin so uninhibited. Maybe it was also the long period of abstinence, the long period without tenderness, without the tenderness of another. Jo's hands touched him everywhere, caressed him everywhere.

Suddenly Jo stopped, "Don't you like it?" he whispered in Kevin's ear.

"Yes I do, please don't stop."

Jo continued, his fingers playing briefly with Kevin's flaccid penis, then his hands went back to wandering. Kevin moaned in pleasure and delight. He clung to Jo, pressing against him, searching for his lips. A kiss developed. A kiss in which Kevin almost sucked Jo's tongue out of his mouth. A kiss that brought Kevin to orgasm.

The orgasm he experienced was so different from the orgasms he had during his solitary pleasures. With Jo it was much different, much more beautiful, much deeper, much more intense. Kevin relaxed. Jo used this moment to undress. When Kevin felt Jo's naked body, he was shocked for a moment, but that passed quickly and his lust, his greed for tenderness, took over again.

He had gotten what he needed from Jo and now he wanted to give it back. With infinite tenderness he cradled Jo's cock, stroking it and marveling at its size and hardness. Jo wasn't overly large, Kevin had just never held a strange, fully erect penis before. He was even more surprised when Jo pressed a condom into his hand.

He was not ready for this. Jo's words quickly calmed him down. Jo explained in a low voice that when he came a lot came out of him and the condom was to protect the bedding from stains. Kevin understood and awkwardly tried to pull the rubber over Jo's penis. Jo had to help him, then they continued to cuddle. Soon they were back in the most beautiful sexual frenzy. The condom made Jo's cock feel a little strange, but that didn't bother either of them. Kevin became bolder and bolder, gripping harder and harder, jerking Jo harder and harder. He enjoyed feeling Jo's pleasure, he did to Jo's cock what he would have enjoyed if his cock still worked, and he took it a step further. Slowly his head slid down.

Jo, who suspected what Kevin was up to but would never have asked him to do it, stroked Kevin's hair, neither holding him back nor applying pressure. Kevin had already reached his goal. For a brief moment he hesitated, am I doing the right thing, he pondered as he did so? He felt Jo's hand stroke the inside of his thigh and rest on his bottom. Kevin enjoyed the touch. He opened his mouth and took Jo's cock into it. He caressed it with his lips and did everything he knew Jo would like. But something bothered him. "No, don't," Jo moaned as Kevin pulled off the condom and felt the cock in his mouth without the annoying rubber. Jo sighed and relaxed. The pleasure was all on his side now. His hands on Kevin's head set the pace. He could lead the young man here just as he did when he danced.

Both men groaned with lust. Kevin's movements with his head became wilder and wilder, he felt that Jo was almost ready and he felt something else, he felt power, at that moment he had power over Jo. Again he sucked the cock into his mouth, nibbling carefully with his teeth and stroking the sensitive tip with his tongue and then he felt something else … Jo was ready. He came - and how he came! Kevin wanted to pull his head back at first, but decided otherwise, he wanted to have it. He wanted everything that came out of Jo.

His mouth filled with cum. For a tenth of a second Kevin felt disgusted or was it just the amount that scared him? Now he tasted Jo. It wasn't unpleasant, just unfamiliar. Kevin swallowed, sucked the cock again and another load poured into his mouth. He sucked until nothing more came, and only then was he able to remove his head from Jo's crotch and snuggle back into whose arms. Jo was still completely exhausted. He had never expected what had just happened, he pulled the young man close to him, kissed him passionately and told him that they should sleep now. Kevin didn't mind, after the wine, the multiple orgasms and the wild lovemaking he was very tired.

Chapter 14

The next morning, Kevin had a slight headache. He was alone in bed. A little confused, he looked around and his memory came back. Now he knew where he was and what had happened. There were faint sounds, dishes clattering, a radio playing soft music, and the typical sound of a coffee maker. The latter tipped the scales. Coffee would be just the thing.

As he stretched, he felt his nakedness and looked around for his clothes. They were strewn about the bedroom. Next to him he spotted a pajama. Was it for him? Anyway, he put it on. A problem arose. The pajamas belonged to Jo, and he was much taller than he was. The pajama bottoms kept slipping off Kevin's hips, so he did the only logical thing and just put on the top and then looked for his underpants, because without them he felt naked and that made him uncomfortable.

Kevin wondered how he should act. Sure, the last night with Jo had been hot, he remembered. But he hadn't expected him to go so far as to give a blow job. What would Jo think of him now? What did he think of himself? Looking for Jo, he walked barefoot through the apartment and found him on the balcony in front of a set breakfast table. Kevin was surprised, there were even fresh rolls. Jo stood up when Kevin came to him and without much ado he planted a passionate kiss on his lips and smiled at him.

Kevin smiled back. He was relieved, there were no questioning looks, no comments about last night, just a sign of affection. It would be nice if things were that simple! But then Jo gave him a questioning look as he pointed to Kevin's bare legs.

"The pants didn't stay up."

"I see," said Jo, "we'll buy you something suitable to wear later, you look like a girl now. But for the moment, let's have breakfast."

Kevin didn't need to be told twice.

Later he enjoyed the pleasures of a massage shower. The water splashed at him from all directions, massaging him. Still later, he sat on the couch in the living room with Jo and felt ashamed. He was ashamed of what he had done and he was ashamed that he had done it. He was only supposed to play the gay friend to Gabrielle. Just playing! Now he had spent the night with a man and even satisfied this man with his mouth. He had deceived him.

"What I did last night, I've never done before," Kevin said quietly without looking at Jo, "I don't know what came over me. You mustn't think I do this with everyone."

Jo put his arm around Kevin and said with a smile, "Well, that it was the first time, I noticed." He stroked Kevin's hair and continued, "It was nice, very nice. Everything was just right yesterday. First the dance, it was great to hold you in my arms, to feel and direct your energy. Later we were here kissing."

Jo gently turned Kevin's head towards her and moved closer, their lips touching ever so gently. Kevin closed his eyes and let it happen. The kiss evolved, becoming more passionate and intimate. Kevin's heart was beating in his throat, he pushed himself very close to Jo. What is happening to me, he thought, I am not gay. I am not gay! Then he didn't think at all, he just let himself be kissed. It was wild tonguing.

Kevin let himself drift and felt Jo's hands on his body. First they were over his clothes, then underneath. Kevin became more and more aroused and let himself be carried away by his lust. He clung to Jo, feeling those strong muscles and soft hands. Kevin moaned and writhed in Jo's arms. He moaned again and jerked suddenly. An orgasm washed over him and made him forget everything around him. All he could do was hold on to Jo and try not to go crazy with pleasure.

"What are you doing to me?" asked Kevin when he had caught his breath.

Jo smiled, "It's just nice to feel your excitement and drive you higher and higher." He leaned forward and kissed Kevin on the mouth.

"Tell me," he turned to Kevin more seriously after that, "have you been to the doctor about this yet?"

"With what?"

"That's a bit embarrassing," Jo said sheepishly, "I know a man doesn't like to talk about such things. I mean the part where you don't really get hard."

He put his hand between Kevin's legs to show the spot he meant.

Kevin thought feverishly. What should he say? The truth? No, then he'd have to admit everything else, including that he wasn't gay at all. He couldn't do that. At that moment he realized that he might be gay. The thought was suddenly there, and it was powerful.

Jo misinterpreted Kevin's hesitation, "You don't have to answer if you don't want to, it's so nice with you too. He smiled, "I've always been the active part anyway."

But Kevin had made up his mind and now he knew how to explain everything. He would stick to the truth, just adjust it a little. He looked at Jo, then lowered his eyes and began to speak. He said that he had never been with a man because he hadn't dared to admit his feelings. He used to masturbate a lot, it was almost an addiction. Then he met Gabrielle and even tried to make love to her, which of course didn't work. But she was the kind of woman who liked gay men, so it didn't matter that Kevin couldn't have sex with her. On the contrary, she liked it. Kevin later confessed his masturbation addiction to her, and Gabrielle had the idea of the chastity cage. When he wore it, he could no longer play with himself.

But his body responded to the lack of touch. The desire that had been building up was looking for an outlet. Usually it was only his penis he could use to bring himself to a climax, but gradually his body became more and more sensitive. He found more and more new erogenous zones, stroked them and experienced such strong feelings that his penis became secondary.

Because he had not told Gabrielle, she felt that he could now go through life without the cage. But that was not the case. The chastity cage had changed Kevin's emotional life, he needed it to continue to feel pleasure without his girlfriend knowing.

Jo had listened to all of this in silence. Now he took Kevin in his arms and hugged him, "I thank you," he said quietly, "I thank you for your trust. He let go of Kevin's arm and said, "So you think it's because of this strange cage?"

Kevin nodded.

"Well, I've heard of such things, but not that they have this effect."

Jo looked at his friend, "You really tried to sleep with a woman?"

Another nod.

Jo stroked Kevin's hair, "And I'm the first for you?"

"Yes," came the breathy answer.

"That makes me very proud," Jo said, "very proud and very happy." He smiled, "Then now I will teach you not only how to dance, but how to love."

Kevin cuddled up to him.

Jo made a thoughtful face and considered, "Maybe you'll get an erection again if you stop wearing the cage at all."

Kevin hesitated a bit before answering, "I don't know. Maybe." He looked shyly at Jo: "It creates exciting feelings in me when I wear this thing. I like the tightness it gives me. Do you understand?"

Jo nodded, but then asked some more, "Why don't you wear it now?"

Again Kevin looked embarrassed, "I didn't know how far we'd go and I thought you," he swallowed before continuing, "thought I was weird."

Jo thought for a moment. Weird? What did Kevin mean by that? He wondered if his young friend had meant perverted. He smiled. No," he said, "I don't think so. "So you like wearing that thing?" he asked.

"Yes," Kevin admitted.

"Good, then I wish," Jo interrupted herself, improving, "no, I insist you wear it. I want it locked and I want the key."

Kevin's excitement was almost palpable and Jo knew he had said the right thing. He leaned forward and whispered: "You are mine now.

Kevin moaned, suddenly clinging to Jo, and said softly, "Yes, I'm yours.

They both let go and looked at each other. Kevin was the first to grin and then laugh, Jo joined in the laughter.

"It's crazy the things you experience. Isn't it?" said Jo when they could look at each other again without either of them laughing.

"You can say that again," Kevin replied wholeheartedly. He looked into Jo's eyes, "Were you just kidding?" he asked, "I mean about the cage, about me wearing it?"

Jo shook her head and Kevin swallowed. The excitement that had just died down when he laughed was back in full force, his heart pounding in his chest.

"I can see it makes you hot," Jo said, "so I want you to wear it and I want the key too." He smiled and continued, "But the part about you being mine then was just a joke."

Kevin cuddled up to Jo and whispered, "It made me hot too, though."

"I'm not really into role playing and bondage though," Jo commented.

"Into what?" asked Kevin in surprise.

It was explained to him and some of it sounded pretty exciting to Kevin's ears. But he assured Jo that he didn't have to try it, it was exciting enough as it was.

"Well," Jo said, with Kevin still hanging on him like a sweet burden, "we should get a few things for you first, especially one particular item."

Click here for Chapter 15 & 16

https://erotischer-lesestoff.tumblr.com/post/778907254971891712/the-pleasure-booster

[thoughtfulfangirling]

Words: 2,176 POV: Minako Aino This comes after this fic where Usagi learns how to resurrect Chibiusa with Rei's help. It was done in secret at Rei's absolute insistence. But secrets with physical tells are tricky ones to keep. This scene was going to continue, but it was getting too long. Hopefully I'll keep up the momentum to continue to the next scene immediately following this as it was originally intended to have included XD This got a bit away from me.

"Truth or dare?"

Ami hid her face in her hands. "I can't believe this is what we're doing after a battle like that."

"Hey, I'm the one that nearly died!" Mako said from beside her before taking a swig of her beer.

"So you have to pick one!" Mina demanded from across the circle of inner senshi lounged about her and Haruka's living room. Haruka sat on the other side of the island that separated the kitchen from the living room beside Michiru, who was the only one among them with wine instead of something more classless.

"Truth" Ami whined from behind her hands.

Simultaneously, Minako and Mako and Usagi groaned. "You only ever pick truth!" Minako pouted. She shook her head and took a moment to think, staring at the shiny aluminum top of her beer can, unlike the bottle Mako had. The light was catching one end, and Minako was turning the can back and forth ever so slowly, moving the light across it.

"Assuming for some reason you had to sleep with one of us in this room, to like save the world or something, who would it be?" Mina paused as Ami opened some fingers to stare at her, wide eyed with concern. "Like sex sleep with!" Minako added, uncurling one finger from around her beer can to point it at Ami, as if accusing her of thinking to abuse a loophole.

Ami shoved her hands between her knees, her shoulders up, face flushed a distinct pink. "umm" She said oh so quietly. "I..." She tilted her head ever so slightly, as if about to look at the woman who sat on the loveseat beside her.

"Oh you devil Minako!" Mako was saying, not observing that tilt of Ami's. "You would ask that!"

"You wouldn't?!" Mina asked with a grin and a wink.

"Shh shut up!" Usagi said, throwing a pillow at Mako, who intercepted with a palm down slap, knocking it to the floor. "I want to hear Ami's answer."

Eyes turned back to Ami, who continued to look down at her buried hands as though perhaps if she made herself small enough, they might not see her.

"Mm... Ma-maybe you Mina. Yeah. You could do that if it meant saving the world." Mina caught how Ami had very nearly said Mako instead, even started to. Minako had suspected there was some attraction there, and it was always good to keep an eye on the below-the-surface interpersonal goings on among her people.

Minako set her can down and got up. She closed the space between them, reached then to put a knuckle under Ami's chin. With a nearly inaudible gasp, Ami allowed Mina to tilt her chin up. Mina leaned over, her hair falling in a curtain to one side of her face, shielding them from view to one side, but not Mako's side.

"A situation doesn't need to be that desperate first Ami," she nearly purred. She started to lean closer, watching as Ami's eyes widened, her face going from pink to red.

A sudden tight grip on Minako's forearm caused her to jerk Ami's head back a little further. Mina noted with fascination that something darker entered Ami's eyes then. So she could feel that particular pull.

"Mina she didn't tell you you could do that." Mako said firmly. It was her hand gripping Mina's arm, preventing Mina from moving closer and also making a demand that she let go.

Mina dropped her hand and grinned at Mako. "You're right." She patted Mako's knee. "Can't blame a girl for trying right?"

"You're such a slut." Rei said in a way that she thought was teasing and affection but came out annoyed.

Mina did a sort of mimicked pirouette to turn and face Rei who was lying across pillows strewn on the floor. She put her hands on her knees and looked down at Rei. "I wouldn't have to be if you'd do something about it."

She earned a pillow to the face for that and everyone—well almost everyone—laughed at Mina's just desserts. Mina returned to her seat and picked her beer back up. "Your turn Ami."

Eyes turned back on Ami, who had only just started to turn back to a normal shade. She pinked again. "Uh, Usagi. Truth or dare."

Usagi, who was lying on her stomach among the floor pillows, hugging a big fluffy one to her chest, kicked her feet in delight. "Dare!" She cried out.

"Ugh Usagi, you're not going to get a fun dare from Ami."

"Shut up Rei! You don't know that." Usagi declared, and flung a small pillow at Rei's face which hit home. Minako wondered at quite how so many pillows had ended up in her and Haruka's apartment. Probably from nights kind of like this.

"Hmm..." Ami scratched the back of her neck, her eyes looking up in thought.

"Dare her to get all her homework done!" Rei cried.

"That's not fair!" Usagi said immediately. "It has to be something I can do now. I didn't bring my homework with me!"

"Dare her to moon us!" Minako suggested, knowing it would fall on deaf ears.

"Dare her to give us the last of her pork buns!" Mako offered, eliciting more squeals of despair from Usagi ("not my pork buns!").

"I dare you to do the chicken dance!" Ami said, her voice definitive and the loudest it had been all night. Groans erupted from all around the room.

Usagi pushed herself up to her knees. "Wait. What's that?" She asked, looking around.

"Oh my god. It loses the point if we have to show it to you." Rei groaned.

In the smallest possible motions, without hardly moving her elbows beyond shoulder width apart, Ami mimed the motions at Usagi.

"Oh! Oh I do know that!" Usagi said, hopping to her feet. She swayed as she did, her foot dangerously close to the sugary alcoholic drink she had. Mina quickly leaned over to move it out of the way.

"Guard your drinks!" She called as Usagi moved to the center of the circle, very nearly already stumbling. She began to hum a very off-key, not quite correct version of the chicken-dance song, and began, swaying so much the girls around her raised their hands as if to catch her should she fall, which seemed increasingly likely.

Usagi just managed to successfully finish the dance, and in the last moments, managed to step on her own foot and finally tumble over. There was a comical disturbance of scattered pillows so that one literally landed on Usagi's head which she had to pop up from under, dying of laughter at her blunder. She had truly lost herself to hysterical laughter and it infected the room. Mina had to hold her stomach as Usagi jerked one direction, but her hair had caught on something by the entertainment set and jerked back. Rei on the other side, between gasping laughs, was untangling Usagi's hair. Their ridiculous princess kicked her feet in her mirth and her attempt to reorient herself.

Mina noticed it with what felt like a blow to her midsection. During the fall and struggle, Usagi's sock had come off on her left foot and to Mina's horror, a whole toe was missing. She was aware that it shouldn't be so noticeable, being the smallest one and clearly long healed. But Minako was their general. It was her job to learn when and how they get injured and learn from it so they never get hurt like that again. She had tallied every bruise, every scrape, every broken bone. This should not have escaped her notice. How was she to protect their princess if an injury like this could have come and gone without Mina any the wiser?

Feeling suddenly sober and slightly panicked, her eyes rose to scan the room but immediately were caught by shining black, startlingly serious eyes. Rei and Minako stared across Usagi's flailing, giggling form.

"Usagi get it together! It's your turn!" Ami said, her voice straining for composure between the laughs.

Minako broke the gaze to look at Ami. "Eager for more truths Ami?" Minako teased. "Or perhaps a really good dare?" It was Mina's cover. She would figure out what had happened, what was going on, but if Rei was going to be like that about her noticing, perhaps it would be better if Rei wasn't totally sure Mina had seen what she had, or would understand its significance. At least not until Mina had a moment to think. For if nothing else could have told her that there was something to understand, that look in Rei's eyes told her she was right to think there was.

Ami turned bright red again and refused to look at Mina. Mina grinned at the reaction, genuinely amused.

"Okay! OKay!" Usagi cried, seeming sincerely to try and pull herself together. Minako fished under the pillows, so that as Usagi tugged her clothes back into order around her and pulled her right sock fully back on her foot, Mina was holding her left one out to her by the time Usagi went to fix that one. The blonde certainly acted as though there was nothing remarkable about having lost her sock in the first place.

"Rei! Truth or dare!"

Mako groaned.

"She only ever does truth just like Ami!" Minako declared.

"I do not!" Rei snapped.

"You only pick dare if it's Ami asking because you know she won't ask you to do anything humiliating." Mako offered with a tone that said this hardly made Minako's statement untrue.

Rei sat up straight and rigid. "Dare!" She barked at Usagi, who squealed with delight.

"Seven minutes in heaven! Take your pick!"

"What if she picks Haruka?" Minako grinned, eyeing the sea witch on the other side of the island. She got in response the barest lift of eyebrows.

"Don't be a cunt Mina! Rei's more dignified than you. She wouldn't ask it of a taken woman." Haruka said, rolling her eyes and saving Michiru from having to say anything. Well, she probably wouldn't have anyway.

"Usagi why do you have to be such a perv?!" Rei demanded, tugging hard on one of Usagi's already slowly unraveling pigtails.

"Owe! Rei!" Usagi cried. "Do it or admit defeat!" She pouted, hugging her hair to her chest as if to protect it from the meanie Rei.

Usagi's excited and then disgruntled wiggling had almost dislodged her socks again, and Minako couldn't keep from glancing at them again, a part of her still feeling like she couldn't have seen what she saw. She was so careful!

Pale ankles entered her vision. Mina looked up and had to sit back for how close Rei suddenly was to her. The woman aggressively bent down and planted her lips stiffly against Mina's. Mina was actually too taken aback to immediately react. She was about to lean in and show Rei how it was done, when the lips left hers. "There." Their eyes were locked again, but Mina let the desire that had risen show in her eyes instead of whatever Rei had seen before. The dark eyes almost seemed to panic, staring into hers. They flicked away.

"Oh hell no!" Mako was saying.

Ami had made some inarticulate noise of surprise and embarrassment.

Usagi was hitting Rei in the ass with a pillow between the words, "That's! Not! Seven! Minutes! In! Heaven! That's just a kiss! You have to go to the closest for seven minutes or else admit defeat!"

Rei’s hands tightened into fists. “Usagi!” The yell was accusing.

Mina started to stand, so Rei stepped back, giving her the space. “No closets for me.” Mina said. “We’ll use my room.” She gave Rei a salacious grin. “Maybe you should ask your truth or dare to the next person so they can continue without us. Seven minutes might not be long enough.”

“Mina.” Haruka said cautioningly. Leave it to Haruka to think Mina might want to protect her own feelings more than she’d want to soak in every second Rei would give in to her even if it wouldn’t last. Especially when it wouldn’t last.

“Haruka, truth or dare.” Rei barked, surprising them all at her taking Mina’s suggestion.

“Dare of course.” Haruka replied with a wicked grin.

Rei paused a moment, her shoulders tight as Minako slung an arm over one of them, taking advantage of their proximity.

“I dare you to convince these losers to play a better game.” She said, then whirled on her heel, the momentum nearly unbalancing Mina. She might have actually been unbalanced if Rei hadn’t then grabbed a handful of the back of Mina’s shirt to drag her toward Mina’s room, Rei marching her way there. The girls watched in stunned silence until Mina, stumbling awkwardly behind, made an expression of swooning and fanned herself with one hand, mocking Rei behind her back.

Sniggers followed them into the room and turned to whistles and howls as the door clicked shut behind them.

[quinnsanity]

starter call (accepting) || @arkhamdecay

♦ ♠ ♥ ♣ The Brown Bridge looked like a corpse in a bridal gown, white-draped, skeletal, and creaking under the weight of the freak blizzard. Snow crusted everything: the girders, the cables, even the broken 'Welcome to Gotham' sign hanging at a sad little angle like it’d just given up (hey, who hasn't!). But Harley didn't mind, she'd brought her own kind of party. A trail of skate lines zigzagged across the bridge’s iced-over concrete, each turn punctuated by a whoop!, a pirouette, or an off-key whistle of 'Baby, It’s Cold Outside.' Below, the river sloshed black and half-frozen, like a mouth full’a teeth waiting to bite anyone dumb enough to fall in. And yet - here she was! Harley freakin’ Quinn, skatin’ loops over six lanes of dead traffic and ice. The wind howled. She howled L O U D E R.

“Ladies and gents and whatever’s crawlin’ around in between!” she shouted to absolutely no one, spinning on her skates with a firework tucked under her arm. “Welcome to the show! Gotham’s own bridge-top ballet, sponsored by frostbite, unresolved trauma, and discount explosives from that one guy near the docks who smells like vinegar and sin!”

She lit another one, sparkler jammed between her lips like a cigarette. Fffzzzzzttt! went the fuse. ˗ˏˋ B O O M ! ´ˎ˗ went the sky. Pretty colours bloomed overhead, golden and green and red exploding into sparkles above the bridge and the river, decorating the skyline. One of 'em popped so close to the suspension cables it rattled the whole damn structure, and maybe somebody shoulda been worried, but Harley just laughed and curtsied deep, wobbly on her skates. “That’s the money shot, baby!” she sang out, her voice echoing down into the emptiness.

A gust of wind yanked her coat sideways and nearly took her with it, but she twirled through it like a ballerina loopy on amphetamines. She was loving it! The height, the wind and the ice, the way the fireworks echoed back like all of Gotham was clapping for her. She imagined the whole city watching from their crummy windows - Gothamites in bathrobes trying to stay in from the cold, maybe even a Bat or two with their long ears twitchin’. The bridge rumbled once beneath her skates, a deep old-man groan that she ignored with the practiced indifference of a girl who'd learned not to flinch.

She hadn't noticed the drones right away, and definitely hadn't heard them, obviously. News choppers, maybe? Or worse. Her little fireworks display had probably set off somebody’s alert system, and now they were buzzin' in from the north like she’d thrown up a flare. Which, okay, she kinda did, but that’s not the point. Her grin faltered just a tick. “Oopsie-daisy,” she muttered, patting the crate of remaining fireworks. “Might’ve overdone it this time.”