#red grouse skull

[ervotica]

maybe mean!rafe x crybaby!reader? he gets mad at her for not sitting down on the couch with him and he yells at her, dragging her by her wrist and forcing her to sit with him… only if you’re okay with it(I’ve never requested anything before)

warnings; mean!rafe, dom/sub undertones, brat taming, crybaby!reader, barry is a shit stirrer but we love him for it <3

a/n; thanks for the request, angel! hope you enjoy🥰 (side note; may or may not be thinking abt being rafe & barry’s shared gf😍 they’re just too hot together jfc)

You get agitated in a sort of frenzied way that has always driven Rafe insane; you start to twitch, tapping heel clad feet and cracking knuckles until the sound of it has his jaw ticking in vexation.

You're rocking back and forth on your heels, red solo cup clutched between clammy palms; you can see Rafe in your peripheral vision, never letting him too far out of your line of sight in fear of being left to fend for yourself at one of these parties packed with drug-addled teenagers.

The smell of cheap, stale beer and sweat pervades your senses and you cringe, the blaring music paired with the way Rafe is staring you down- cerulean eyes piercing straight through you- forcing your brain into overdrive.

"Would you quit it and come sit down already?" Rafe snaps, thick digits outstretched as an offering for you to take; your lip spills into a pout, tightness pulling at every inch of your skin as the tension pools and gathers between your crumpled brows.

"I don't wanna," you whine, dragging out every syllable plaintively until he's standing, storming towards you with a thunderous expression carved into his features that you're not often on the receiving end of.

"I told you to fucking sit down! What the fuck is wrong with you, huh? Can't even do as you're told, can you?"

You feel the tears tickling at your waterline the second he raises his voice, your gaze snapping up to him as the first wave spills over your wide eyes.

"For God's sake, kid. Come sit down," he grouses. His tone softens when your expression crumples and he hooks a thick bicep around your neck, drawing you into the warm expanse of his chest. You're pulled along in short, shuffling steps until your bum hits the leather couch and Rafe's bruising grip digs into your calves to splay them haphazardly across his lap.

"You're mean," you sniff, backs of your fingers smearing across your teary eyes until they're caked in black. He pinches your thigh before delivering a firm swat to the afflicted area, his arms a vice around your squirming body as you try to free yourself.

“I told you to sit down and be fuckin’ quiet. Take a nap or something, cranky pants.” He rolls his eyes, fingers spreading across your jaw to settle your head in the hollow of his shoulder.

You grumble something indecipherable before he feels you go slack on top of him, lashes fluttering as you fight the fog of fatigue that invades every inch of your skull. He smears a kiss along the curve of your forehead.

“Y’alright, Princess?” Barry queries, only amused by Rafe’s sudden glaring of daggers at the shorter man. “Country club bein’ mean, huh?”

“She’s fine,” Rafe snips as you stir and start to whine once again. “Just bein’ a brat. Needs a rest ‘s all.”

“Rafe.”

“I swear to fuckin’ God, kid. You be quiet or I will spank you raw in front of all these people.”

You sigh and curl up and into his embrace, exhaustion settling heavy in your bones once he cages you into his chest with a firm squeeze.

“Good girl.”

#rafe outer banks #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron drabble #rafe x y/n #rafe x you #rafe x reader #rafe x fem!reader #rafe cameron x fem!reader #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x kook!reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x reader #rafe fanfiction #rafe fic #rafe imagine #rafe obx #mean!rafe #writer #writers on tumblr #writing #writing for fun #rafe cameron #obx x reader #obx x you #obx x y/n #outer banks fic

[ladykailitha]

Can Anybody See Me? Part 7

And here we get to my little headcanon about Gareth. I saw a gif of Nancy talking to a kid with a camera at the game in season 4 and thought it was Gareth. But Gareth is shorter with darker curls. So meet Gethin, Gareth’s taller fraternal twin.

On the tagging, I HAVE REACHED MY HARD AND FAST LIMIT OF 50. I love the response this story has gotten. I do. I love you all. I love every reply, like, and reblog. It brings me so much joy, you don’t even know. But tagging is hard for my ADHD brain. I have gone up from 20 to 30 and finally 50 as my system improved but I think if I do any more than that I’ll go insane. So any future tagging requests will be ignored. Sorry.

The best way to keep update on these stories is follow me and set me on notifications. I rarely do a lot of reblogging these days (too busy churning out stories like whoa), so more often then not a post will be a story. I try to post at least once a day (some times twice if I’m trying to rush through the posting a bit like I did to make sure the Valentine fic got out in time without making people wait on Vamp!Eddie), just never at set time.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

*

Steve was the last one to arrive.

Again.

But at least this time he wasn’t late. Just last. Fucking story of his life. Thankfully all four of them were waiting in the open garage. He could see Gareth’s drum kit in the corner, but none of the other guys brought their instruments.

“You found the place okay?” Jeff asked.

“Took a wrong turn somewhere, I guess,” Steve groused. “But I finally got back on track.”

“Come on in,” Gareth said. “My mom made homemade hot chocolate and sugar cookies.”

Steve lit up. “Sounds great.” He poured himself some hot chocolate and a couple of cookies, shoving one into his mouth immediately.

“So how we do this,” Jeff explained. “Everyone hands out their presents and then one person at a time opens all of theirs at once.”

“And since this is your first time,” Gareth said, “you’ll get to go first.”

Steve blushed. “Thanks guys.” He frowned suddenly realizing something. “Wait...how did you guys know what to get me?”

All four boys just grinned at him. “Well, that’s not creepy at all.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Eddie said, patting him on the shoulder.

Steve opened his gifts and since the point was to be outrageous, he laughed when he pulled out a pair of Speedo’s. “Do I even want to know which of you guys got this for me?”

Brian shook his head. “It’s better if you don’t know, man. Forbidden knowledge that.”

Steve nodded. The last thing was one of those auto-signature pictures of the 1984 Olympic gold medal swimming relay team. He looked up at Eddie, somehow knowing it was from him.

“Thanks, man. I love it.” At Gareth’s questioning look he explained. “I’m on the relay team at school. It was so fun watching this. They even had the Olympic trails right here in Indy.”

“Wow,” Jeff said. “That is cool.”

Eddie just cleared his throat and shove hair in front of his face to hide his embarrassment.

They went around the room, Gareth, Brian, Jeff and then finally Eddie.

Eddie got temporary tattoos.

“These ones are legal,” Brian teased.

A pack of guitar picks and a new DM screen. And then he got to Steve’s.

Steve squirmed in his seat, because he knew he had blown the limit. But when he saw it he knew he had to get it for the metalhead.

He opened it up to see a black leather wallet with a skull and a red lightning bolt behind it. It had a small metal ring for a chain to be clipped onto.

Eddie looked up at him with shiny eyes. “Steve...”

“I told you I was going to get you something nice for you and your uncle letting me come over and spend Christmas with you.”

“Steve wins,” Gareth said.

“Agreed,” Jeff and Brian said together.

Steve blushed. “I’m just glad everyone enjoyed their gifts.”

“You ready for some D&D?” Eddie asked trying to change the subject. Not just because he was uncomfortable, but because he had a feeling that Steve was too.

Steve nodded. “I got some pointers from Dustin and Lucas when I dropped them off. They also let me borrow some dice.”

“That’s some friends you got there, Steve-o,” Jeff said.

They led the way inside and Steve was sat between Eddie who was DMing and Gareth.

They had just gotten settled when another boy came out of the kitchen munching away on leftover ham. Steve had to blink. He looked over at Gareth and then back to the boy.

The Corroded Coffin boys grinned.

“Meet my fraternal twin, Gethin,” Gareth said, batting his eyelashes innocently.

Steve’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit, dude. I didn’t know you were a twin.”

Gethin rolled his eyes. “I’m the cooler old brother of the pair.”

“By two minutes,” Gareth said rolling his eyes.

Gethin’s eyes glittered with malice. “Still counts, nerd.”

“Go back to your camera, dweeb!”

Steve just shook his head.

“All right, let’s roll up these characters,” Eddie said rubbing his hands together and cackling gleefully.

It took a bit for Steve to get the hang of it, but he needed less and less help from Eddie or Gareth as the game went on.

They all died spectacularly.

“That was fun,” Steve said as they cleaned up.

“It’s not that bad with a campaign normally,” Brian said. “Unless specified to be a kill your darlings kind of game.”

“The point is to get your character to level twenty and beat the final boss, right?” Steve asked.

“That’s right,” Jeff said. “Sometimes we play with the club and sometimes it’s just us four having a blast. Our characters have been a party for about three years now.”

Steve let out a low whistle. “That is a long time.”

“We’ve got a paladin, that’s Jeff,” Eddie explained. “A wizard, that’s Gareth’s character. And Brian’s rogue.”

“And your druid, right?” Steve said snapping his fingers, remembering what Eddie said at the mall.

“That’s right, sweetheart.”

Steve grinned. “That’s so cool.”

“Hey, Steve,” Jeff asked. “Is okay if me and Brian get a ride home with you. Eddie lives on the other end of town and Gareth drove so...”

Steve shrugged. “Sure. Ready when you are.”

Jeff and Brian gave Eddie and Gareth hugs and then followed Steve out.

Once Steve had left Eddie turned to Gareth.

“So how did he do?”

Eddie wasn’t going to force his friends to like Steve. They didn’t have to. But he would like them to.

“He seems pretty chill,” Gareth said. “Gotta wonder if a couple of concussions changed his personality.”

Eddie nodded. This definitely wasn’t the Steve Harrington of last year. Or hell even of their experience with the guy as a whole.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I think maybe there were flashes before this.” He threw his arms in the air. “Because yeah, head injuries can cause personality changes, but I think at the fundamentals he’s still the same person he’s always been. Just now he can be himself instead of whatever Tommy H and Carol wanted him to be.”

“A funky little dork who is just trying his best?”

“Exactly,” Eddie said. “I just wonder what made him decide to give up all the popularity.”

Gareth nodded.

*

They hung out a few times with Steve and sometimes it was just Steve and Eddie.

Eddie could tell that there was something that was bothering him. Something that went deeper than feral dogs and beat downs by California transfer students.

But every time Eddie would get close, Steve would shut down. Once he got so upset he got up and left. Eddie was on the phone every day for three days trying to apologize. It took actually going to his house and threatening to beat the door down before he got through to Steve.

“Hey, don’t do that,” Eddie growled. “What if you had another concussion and no one was around to help you, dude. You could have died.”

Steve sighed. “Sorry. I can’t talk about it. Like literally, legally on pain of incarceration can’t talk about it.”

Eddie blinked. How the hell did a seventeen year old boy get mixed up in something that could get him arrested for talking about it?

“So write me a story or paint me a picture,” Eddie said. “Something, because it’s eating you alive. Is there someone you could talk to? An adult or something because fucking hell, Harrington you look like someone walked over your grave.”

Steve dug the meat of his palms into his eyes. “I know. There are a couple people I could talk to but they have so much to worry about.”

Eddie thought for a minute. “This is about Will and El isn’t it?”

Steve’s head whirled to face him, fear etched into every line of his face. “I don’t know what you mean...”

Bingo.

“A girl turns up out of no where and boy that was dead, suddenly isn’t?” Eddie said cocking his head. “Doesn’t take a genius to figure out the two are connected.”

Steve looked down at the floor. “Whatever you can imagine, just know it’s much, much worse.”

Eddie nodded. “So I’m guessing the adults are Mrs Byers and Chief Hopper?”

Steve nodded. “And the other people that know about it are all younger than me. So...”

“So tell me a story...” Eddie said. “Change the names, the details, but tell me a story. Or paint me a series of pictures. I’ve seen drawing pads all over your place, man. Just something, anything. Okay?”

Steve sighed. “Yeah, okay. I’ll try. Because you’re right. I need to release it somehow. Keeping it bottle up inside isn’t good.”

Eddie smiled. “There you go. Now go get dressed, we’re going to grab a bite to eat.”

Steve smiled softly. “Okay.”

*

After the first week of January Steve came up to him, eyes darting around him like he was nervous. So Eddie pulled him into the janitor’s closet.

“Hey, I need you take a deep breath for me,” Eddie said as Steve started to hyperventilate.

Steve struggled to obey.

“Hey, hey,” Eddie said, soothingly, rubbing his arms up and down. “Take a deep breath.” Steve managed that at least. “Good, now let it out slow.” The breath shuddered, but still it came out slow. “Now can you repeat that for me.”

“I’m in so much trouble, man,” Steve sobbed, sliding to the floor, his knees to his chest. “We have to do a comic in art class and so I thought I would do what you suggested. Make a comic out of the hell I went through. Only Miss Chen thinks that it’s too dark and wants to call my parents.”

Eddie’s eyes went wide. “Shit!” He began pacing back and forth. “Do you think your parents will come?”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’m terrified that if they see it...”

“They’ll lock you up and throw away the key?” Eddie suggested.

He nodded.

Eddie took a deep breath. “Okay. Do you still want it or do you want it destroyed?”

Steve opened his mouth to answer, but frowned. He closed his mouth and really thought about it. “I’d like you to see it,” he said quietly.

“All right,” Eddie said. “I won’t go into details, because you need plausible deniability. But the first page of your comic isn’t going to be there tomorrow. And hopefully with it gone, Miss Chen won’t call your parents. Okay?”

Steve nodded.

Eddie opened the door to leave when Steve called out.

“Hey, Eds?”

“Yeah, Stevie?” Eddie asked, turning back to him.

“Thanks.”

Eddie smiled softly and then made his way out of the closet, giving Steve time to collect himself before he faced the hell of high school once again.

*

Eddie couldn’t be involved in the art theft either. It would be expected. So he enlisted Gethin’s help.

“And you’ll give Janice my number?” Gethin asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

Eddie threw his arms in the air. “For the last time, yes! Besides, she probably already has it as you know, your TWIN is in the same club as she is?”

“What do you get out of this?” Gethin asked.

“I’m the one that suggested it in the first place,” Eddie admitted, putting his hands on his lower back. “So it’s my job to get him out of the trouble I put him in.”

Gethin rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Steve’s going through some pretty heavy shit, huh?”

Eddie licked his lips. “Yeah, man. I thought he could get it out safely through his art, but even though Jeff and I have turned in far worse stuff...”

“Because it’s coming from Steve, obviously he’s acting out,” Gethin supplied.

“Pretty much the whole thing in a nutshell,” Eddie said.

Gethin nodded.

“So you’ll do it?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah, I’ll do it,” he said.

Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13  Part 14  Part 15  Part 16  Part 17 Part 18  Part 19  Part 20  Part 21

Tag list: @shrimply-a-menace @strangersteddierthings @throwbackthrowaway @novelnovella @cursedfoxteeth @babyblender @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @swimmingbirdrunningrock @steve-the-hairrington @winterbuckwild @spectrum-spectre @matchingbatbites @garden-of-gay @anaibis @thing-a-ling @fandemonium-takes-its-toll @artiststarme @sundead  @nelotegreitic @gregre369 @butterflysandpeppermint @thedragonsaunt @kodaik97 @messrs-weasley @scarletzgo @deadlydodos @renaissan-vvitch @evix-syne666 @emly03 @justforthedead89 @ashwinmeird @huniibee @phantypurple @stevesbipanic @shucks-yuckyuck @awkwardgravity1 @bookbinderbitch @reportinglivefromsoda @chasinggeese @be-the-spark-bitch @jinxjinn @kohlraedirectioner @cr0w-culture @xjessicafaithx @whimsicalwitchm @jaywhohasthegay @dangdirtydemons @lovelyscot  @howincrediblysapphicofyou @the-redthread

#My writing #stranger things #steddie #canon divergence #the boy with the bat #ladykailtiha writes

[see-arcane]

Blood of My Blood: The Law's Delay

Shout out to @ibrithir-was-here for putting up with my never-ending goal of overfilling the glorious Blood of My Blood AU with my ramblings and extra shout out to @everchangingfungusthoughts and @animate-mush for tripping me down the slope of Writing Another Text Brick. Specifically via this whole thing.

Summary: Jonathan Harker, now fifteen years deep into his life at Castle Dracula, finds himself the unwilling guest of yet another frightful host and his company. Talk and violence and time tick by.

The sun sinks low.

The dead travel fast.

And a vital Lesson is taught regarding the Law of the land.

Warnings for graphic violence, suicide, and murder.

Jonathan’s head ached.

Partly from the agonized spot at the back of his skull where the cudgel had struck. Mostly from the state of his current company.

They were nomads, he knew, but not Dracula’s men. This lot were too fresh for that. In fact, some wore tailoring that the locals weren’t accustomed to apart from tourists and the occasional city dweller passing through. He wouldn’t bet money on how many were ‘donated’ from past victims and how many were afforded through helping themselves to said victims’ purses and personal cheques. They were a dapper group, whichever the case.

From what he picked up while feigning unconsciousness, there was someone missing from their assembly. Someone’s…paramour? Wife? A young woman close to the presumed leader. Some grousing about superstitious idiots. Counter-grousing about precaution and history and how somebody’s cousin’s friend was slaughtered by the ‘superstitions.’ A third sect was grumbling about how thin Jonathan’s pockets were for a supposed noble, monster or not.

“A half-full purse and a few strips of dried pork don’t particularly line up with your theory, Jacob.”

“Props, idiot. Would some common huntsman be wearing what he wears? Would he have these?”

Jonathan heard the heavy jingle of his set of the castle’s keys. They had taken the ring of them from its chain among a handful of other lightweight treasures. All that and his wedding ring. That would cost them.

“Oh, yes. Of course. Because all the revenants who run a swatch of the Carpathians’ government are surely wandering around with frightful things like jerky and house keys.”

“Are you blind? Do these look like house keys? Half of them look older than the mountains!”

“Well, perhaps that is the ‘prop’ of his property, eh? A fancy set of keys made to look old. They certainly haven’t any rust. It wouldn’t be a terrible gimmick these days. Everyone is a fiend for the local bogeyman or a good haunting. I would do tours with my own castle, dribble a little red sauce on my lip, charge a fee for the thrill and the courtesy of not killing anyone on the way out.”

“You talk like it’s a joke. This, when I was raised in these godforsaken crags, and my own neighbor lost their newborn and its mother in the same night! The father blew his brains out when he found what was left of them in the forest. His forest.” The words were hissed in Jonathan’s direction. “God! If we had known how easy it was to take him by daylight!”

There was a snort. The leader’s voice. Sour.

“You say ‘we’ like you weren’t still in nappies, Jake. Like the castle in question isn’t a fortress on a cliff in the dead center of the mountains, all covered with wolves and your frightful bloodsuckers. What would Mama and Papa do if they knew better back then? March all the way up with the neighborhood and hope they made it in time before sunset? That’s assuming the advised tools of the trade actually mean anything against the bastard in question. If he’s as old as legends claim, throwing himself through a hundred wars’ meat grinders with his head and heart and all his other giblets getting minced, with him still standing after it, who’s to say an axe and stake are enough?”

A kick was delivered to the chair Jonathan sat bound to.

“Assuming this piece of work is said bastard.” Spoken with equal parts resignation and frustration. “I’ll grant he looked a bit off in broad daylight. Sure as hell would pass for a cadaver. But if this is the man who had your slovenly little villages soiling themselves after dark, I’m not impressed.”

Snickers from most of the room. A few grimmer sounds from the believers.

“If you don’t believe us, then—,”

“I believe in precaution, Jake. There are strange things in the world. If we want to believe that talking pile of dust, Vordenberg, who I’ll admit was a museum exhibit in his own right, we had us a near miss back in Gratz. So, fine. We finish this in the fashion of the locals. We can even set the pieces on fire if it makes you happy. Not the point. The point is—,”

A hand caught in Jonathan’s hair and wrenched his bowed head up, making the back of his skull throb anew.

“—we know Katrina was seen with you last, you ghoul.”

Jonathan opened his eyes. It had a noticeably sobering effect on much of the room. His host even eased his hold enough to stop trying to rip Jonathan’s hair out. A glance was spared for the assembled party. Easier now that he wasn’t doing it through his lashes. They really were a well-dressed bunch. One of them even wore the silver watch taken from Jonathan’s pocket quite well, though it clashed somewhat with the dagger he was fiddling with. He’d sprung for a handle with a gold hilt.

“Well?” He received a last yank before the man flung his head against the back of the chair. “Where is she?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know anyone by that name. Could you describe her?”

“Oh, I doubt if she would give her real one out to anyone. But we know you know her, Count.”

Jonathan felt the headache blossoming into a migraine.

“Count?”

“Dracula,” the one called Jacob grated out. He stood close to the table with his hand near the aforementioned tools of the trade. A wood axe. A sharpened garden stake and a sledgehammer. Matches. But he, like the rest of his friends, was content to leave his other hand resting on the pistol at his hip. “Don’t think you can throw your word games around here, you leech. You are not boyar here. You are not even a monster by daylight. Just a man—,”

“A man I am talking to, Jake,” from the leader. He turned back to Jonathan. “You see we have some bias in the retinue. Now, Jake and his cadre believe you are, in fact, the same awful old man who likely played out his Báthory fantasies by killing off a few local rustics for kicks once upon a time. Same white hair, same carcass complexion, and some properly unhealthy-looking windows of the soul. As an aside, you have the same body heat as a slab from the butcher. If you had a chance of living beyond today, I might have recommended you see a doctor about your circulation.

“Because I, like the bulk of the room, am of the belief that you are Count Dracula in the sense that the original Count and some Countess loved each other very much and managed to squat your malformed self out into the world before croaking. And, before departing, father dearest passed on the family tradition of idly killing off whoever was convenient as a little hobby. Am I near enough?”

Jonathan said nothing. Chiefly because he was fighting a wave of nausea, but also because it allowed him to keep his gaze steady. The westward window was visible over his host’s shoulder.

“I asked you a question.”

“I will answer if you tell me how you possibly concluded that a middle-aged man walking in the woods was a nobleman.”

To his surprise, the man revealed his evidence: the tarnished gold clasp of a dragon sitting against a garnet setting. This would also cost them.

“Hard to imagine the average hiker idling around in that corner of the wilds with this particular emblem on his coat.”

“That’s true,” Jonathan nodded. “I am not a hiker or a hunter any more than I’m a count. I am only the castle’s retainer.”

“Ah, well. That’s different. We are men of the people, sir, and we take pride in doing our fellow servile class the courtesy of a quick death. It’s only the aristos and nouveau riche who get the extra effort. Them and bleached out old bastards who go around taking what’s ours. What’s mine.” Jonathan watched the man slide a handsome pearl-handled blade from his pocket. It had a very fine edge. “Case in point, a certain young lady, of the flaxen and doe-eyed variety, being spotted in town with an older man of very unique description, not two days ago. Who she left with in his goddamn caleche.”

The blade came down in a gleaming arc. It sank cleanly into Jonathan’s left shoulder. Jonathan screamed at this and at the blade being flicked out. The steel was wiped clean on his sleeve.

“It should go without saying,” the leader said over Jonathan’s noise, steadily dwindling into hard breaths behind his teeth, “that the locals have a few choice theories about just who and what the man driving those horses is. Human? Dead? Dracula or one of his cohorts? Anyone who’d know for certain is either underground or a living antique themselves. Oh. But they did point out you seemed polite enough, according to most. Not someone anyone is eager to shake hands with, but fair. If you are the old devil of before, the younger generation are relieved you’ve gone mellow with the new century. Well done on the new leaf.”

“They were lying,” Jacob intoned, the picture of exasperation. “We all used to lie about him! He had eyes and ears everywhere! You didn’t mention him aloud unless you wanted to wake up to your child missing or you yourself being drunk dry or taken apart! I’m telling you, Katrina is already gone or worse!” His hand clutched eagerly at the whittled garden stake. “Let us be done with this, Anthony.” 

Anthony gave his blade another cleaning swipe. He opened his mouth—

“The stake is wrong.”

—and closed it. He and the others peered down at Jonathan as he righted himself against the chair. The migraine was marching in circles around his head now, lighting fireworks and banging pans. At least his shoulder was a small distraction.

“Say again?”

“The stake. You haven’t finished the end of it. If you don’t burn the point down, harden it, the wood will just splinter if you don’t get it in one blow. One of you took the flint lighter from my coat, yes? Use that and save yourself the matches.”

The room looked owlishly at him. Jacob and his small band especially. Awkwardly, one of the latter fished out the stolen lighter and began cooking the point with its steady flame.

“See that? He’s already feeling accommodating.” Anthony clapped his palm with heavy chumminess against the wounded shoulder. Jonathan winced appropriately, stealing another squinting glance at the window. “Care to keep in this giving mood, or would you like me to even things out?” The blade pointed airily at Jonathan’s right shoulder.

“No need. I said before, I do not know anyone named Katrina. But I did give a ride to a young woman two days ago. Not ‘flaxen,’ though. Her hair was red.”

Anthony abruptly straightened. The blade twisted and fidgeted in his fingers.

“Red,” under Anthony’s breath. His brow furrowed. “She took the wig too?” There was a low murmur from the less vampirically-invested portion of the group, of that specific tone that declares ‘I told you so’ by vowels alone. Anthony whirled on these members like a viper. Several mouths snapped shut. “Did you lot have something you wished to share? Hmm? I’m all ears.”

Interest increased in the state of each other’s shoes, the floor, the lovely view of the mountains, and the progress of the stake. It was now neatly blackened and free of loose slivers. Jacob stood by with it, toying with it as Anthony had his knife. He kept trying and failing to meet Jonathan’s gaze.

“Ah,” Anthony grinned mirthlessly, “that’s what I thought you said.” The blade flashed. “Now, Count, Retainer, Whoever or Whatever, while you are being forthcoming, is she alive or dead? I confess I might be just as happy with one or the other at this point, so no need to fret over a lie.”

“She was alive the last time I saw her. I dropped her off outside Bistritz,” Jonathan said, clearly recalling turning the horses toward Bukovina. He winced again as Anthony laid a hand on the bleeding shoulder, driving his thumb against the wound as he leaned.

“And? How did the bitch pay for her ride? Did you introduce her to necrophilia or did she just throw my money at you?”

“Neither. I am a married man and you can tell I had no bank vault in my pockets. In any case, I must assume whatever she took from you was fair recompense.” Jonathan felt a shift come through him. The old cold tilt that made him lean three-quarters of the way out of humanity and into something else. Whatever it was that lit his eyes and froze the air around him. That made the entire room shift an unconscious inch back. “Considering the state of her face.”

Anthony’s own countenance squirmed between aggravation, anger, and a surreal flash of embarrassment. As if leaving the girl’s face mottled with patches in shades of plum and charcoal was the equivalent of friends overhearing a marital spat in the next room. The man’s lip curled, making the well-trimmed whiskers twitch.

“Do forgive me if my decorum isn’t up to your standards, sir. I tend to get a touch irate when the thankless sow I’ve been bedding not only comes within inches of blowing our cover over some brat who went and poked his head out at the wrong time, but has the gall to try and resign after a few threadbare months. As if I didn’t scrape the little strumpet out of the gutter with my own hands.” A storm roiled in the man’s face. “Had a whole life of gold ahead of her, getting to play out her idiot actress dreams, and she thanks us by taking off with three hotels’ worth of work. Over a goddamn toddler. But that is the way with women, isn’t it? Always falling apart over a babe.”

“Men as well, in my experience,” Jonathan hummed. His line of sight drifted back to Jacob, whose attention was now firmly split between Jonathan and the view from the west window. Even halfway through spring, the sunsets did still tend to rush in the mountains. Shadows were already starting to stretch.

“Personal experience?” Anthony asked with an appraising glance that saw value in the negatives with Jonathan’s mien. “Is there a little Dracula pup crawling around nursing on the countryside?”

“Oh, no. He’s grown out of crawling. Apart from roaming along the castle walls, when he wants to surprise me. There’s no getting away with it with his mother.” Jonathan swallowed a bitter lump, knowing it had to be heard aloud, “Or his father.” Jacob was looking at him now. This time Jonathan held his eyes as they grew an increment wider. A slight dew of sweat had formed on the young man’s brow. “I only know where they are half the time. But they can always find me.”

Anthony barked an acidic note that tried to be a laugh.

“Is this the part where you tell us you’ll be missed? That there’s some cavalry who will come seeking vengeance? Please spare yourself the storytelling. If you were anything other than a relic living off a skeleton staff you wouldn’t be driving your own horses or puttering around by your lonesome. Really, what we’re doing here is a public good. What’s the loss of one more parasite riding into the twilight of peerage’s relevance?”

“Regrettably, he has thought ahead on that,” Jonathan admitted. “The gold he’s already sitting on is kept partly for emergency seed money, but mostly as a memento. He’s been on top of the capitalistic pulse since 1652 going by the oldest records. Given another decade, I believe he’ll be a magnate in a dozen industries from here to the United Kingdom.” A genuine moue puckered his face. “He calls it investing in the live-stock. No, I didn’t think it was funny either.”

This he addressed to Jacob.

Jacob, who had to set the stake down because his hand was shaking.

Jacob, who had been keeping watch of him and the window and seen how blandly Jonathan greeted the approaching dusk.

Jacob, who had finally taken a closer look at what Jonathan wore under his coat. His coat, worn because he was always cold—a chill that he truly felt. Covering an ensemble of boots, long sleeves, and a high collar. In mid-April. 

“…You still have time,” Jonathan told him gently. “If you had your childhood here, you know there’s time. You still wear your crucifix, yes?” Jacob flicked his gaze up to Jonathan’s. His whole face seemed to shine with perspiration. He did not know what was wrong yet, what piece was missing, but he scented something. “Do you? Any of you?”

Jacob nodded jerkily. The men behind him did likewise. Some fidgeted at their shirts.

“That’s good. It sickens them, did you know? Stings them away from the throat.” Jonathan smiled for him. A sad curl. “Hold it out before you if you like.” He tipped up his chin. Just above the shirt collar was a glimpse of sickish color against the maggot-white skin. Something worse than a bruise. “You can check. Or ask one of your friends. But it does help to know for certain. To have it confirmed.” The smile grew worse in its apology. “There have been no vampire attacks in Transylvania for the past fifteen years. The youngest around here take it all as local legends. Parents’ and grandparents’ fairy tales. Because they grew up without knowing what you do. Without realizing why people stopped disappearing after dark when Count Dracula still rules here. When there are still sharp mouths to feed up in his mountains.”

Jacob gawped openly now. He looked strangely like the boy he might have been fifteen years ago, hearing his neighbors whisper and moan about the latest loss in the night. Fifteen years ago, when a foolish young Englishman had come to Castle Dracula, and everyone had known. No one had seen him again…supposing one belonged to a family who had moved away at last, daring their monstrous master’s ire to save their son.

“Oh, for God’s sake, what is this? Are we playing theatre now?” Anthony and his handful of fellow eye-rollers looked between Jonathan and Jacob as if expecting to spot some invisible party holding up script cards for them. “Jake, if you want to play at slaying the vampire, you are welcome to it. Get your stick and your hammer and have at it. Erik, take the axe.” He waved his blade like an impatient conductor with his baton. “Well?”

Jacob moved forward without the stake. His crucifix was held out as far as the cord would allow.

Then he hooked Jonathan’s shirt collar and pulled it open.

Jonathan hadn’t been able to get a good look at the full state of himself in some while. Occasionally he might steal a glance in a mirror for sale or a clean shop window in town. There was rarely anything good to see as far as his development went. Age was not weathering him the way it would an ordinary man. What should have become the easy creasing of crow’s feet and smile lines had given way to something sunken and grey. More than a few children had come to nickname him ‘Herr Geist’ when he passed through. On one occasion, he’d been approached by an American claiming to be a talent scout for a circus who thought Jonathan could easily bill as, The Walking Corpse.

But that was all just the effect of his face. He hadn’t seen his throat or a clear view of his shoulders in years; the real estate with the greatest number of visits for fifteen years. It had to be at least twice as unpleasant a sight as his forearms, pocked by only one hungry mouth’s nursing. To judge by the shudder of revulsion that jolted the entire room back on its heels, his neck was apparently quite the visual.

To judge by Jacob’s expression, the discolored map of ruined skin and old punctures was his own obituary in all capitals. Nor was it a very peaceful end it spelled out. His eyes rolled up to Jonathan’s like wet marbles. Jonathan could no longer maintain his smile, however somber. There was only condolence in the look.

“I told you. I am Castle Dracula’s retainer. At least, in the sense of a retaining wall. I have played the role of its inhabitants’ personal bloodletting pantry for a quarter of a century. Which would be cause enough to worry. But I am also a married man and that is worse.”

Jacob wobbled on his feet like a sapling in a high breeze. He almost fell over with a cry when the first thunderclap boomed over the cabin’s roof. A horrified look shot to the westward window. Sunset was less than a jagged slit across the mountaintops, already erased in the smear of a rushing storm. Lightning drew livid eyes in the clouds.

“I am sorry. You might have had a chance if you hadn’t been cautious,” Jonathan went on. “There would have been a coin toss if you had simply shot me dead in the forest. I fear I am testing everyone’s patience in that household by keeping to my contract against turning until the twenty-year mark. Special occasion and all that. But if you had gone with a bullet or a slit throat, that would mean that I would be undead by sundown. You would still be slain for trespassing on private property,” he gestured to himself as best he could with his bound hands, “but it would have been tidier. They might even be grateful for ripping off the plaster and booting me over the threshold. A mere snapped neck apiece.  

“Unfortunately, I saw your tools of the trade. I heard your plans for ‘destroying the vampire,’ or the madman playing pretend as such. Heart staked, head removed, burn the body. All very thorough. But because I saw and heard these things, they saw and heard these things. Just as they know your faces now.”

Thunder snarled again. An explosive sound joined with a noon-bright flicker of lightning. Wolves sang a violent song. Close.

Jacob’s friends within the gang were talking in frantic tones to each other. The rationalists of Anthony’s side of the room seemed a touch less comfortable where they stood, grasping at their holsters. Anthony himself looked as if he was waiting to wake from a particularly confusing dream.

Jacob’s eyes were running. Pleading. A man only five short years past being a boy.

Jonathan still could not hold a smile for him, but he spoke in the tone he had for Quincey the time he’d came across a bat with a half-broken neck in the forest. Wings smashed, head cracked open, it had been alive in the worst way. Quincey had been thirteen then, considering himself practically a skip away from adulthood. He had still gone to his Papa, eyes dewy with blood trying not to spill, asking please…please…

Jonathan thought back to how his son had hidden in his coat sleeve while he ended the creature’s pain with a brisk twist.

It was quick, you see? It won’t hurt anymore now, shh, it’s alright, son.

“It’s alright,” he said in the present. “You still have time.” Not much. A few minutes at most. But still, “You’ll be safe from it. From all of it.”

Jacob nodded with a twitch. A puppet on a caught string. His hand trembled as it held up the crucifix again.

“…May I keep this? After?” Jonathan nodded. “Thank you.”

Jacob kissed the Cross and tucked it under his shirt.

“Jake, I swear to God, if you don’t drop this act, I will—,”

Bang.

The sound was almost lost in another thunderclap. Not so for the sound of Jacob’s corpse hitting the floor, the new tunnel in his head oozing a scarlet pond out from under his skull. There was a moment of quiet.

Then the wolves bayed again.

The men bayed too. Curses and questions of equal inanity whirled around the room.

Bang.

The sound of Anthony’s own pistol firing a hole through the ceiling.

“Shut. Up. Every one of you, bite your idiot tongues.” The barrel swung to point at Jonathan’s temple. “He says he has people on the way? He says they’re vampires or werewolves or the Four Horsemen a-riding? Then it would perhaps behoove us to think rather than squeal like women over this,” his shoe struck Jacob’s corpse, “fool’s choice of exit. Coward.” He snapped his fingers at the room. “Come on! Block the windows, set up arms! Move!”

And so they moved. Some men scrambled and shouldered into each other trying to cover the windows. Chairs were broken into pieces for stakes. Guns were unpacked and loaded. Erik held the axe as if his hands were welded to it. Anthony, meanwhile, took one of the unbroken chairs for himself and perched at Jonathan’s side. Something between supreme irritation and a baffled sort of wonder shaped his face.

“I do have to give you credit if this is all improvisation on your part. You should have been booked at the Grand Guignol instead of rotting up here.”

Jonathan watched Erik begin to pace, gripping the axe as though it doubled for a shield.

“That or one of those hypnotist acts. Jake was always a nervous one. An easy mark, ironically enough.”

Jonathan’s peripheral caught on Erik’s figure as he came to a stop by the door. There was no peephole to spy through, yet he inclined his head toward it. His ear was cocked as if listening for something under the thunder and wolves.

“But supposing this amounts to something more than an act, I admit I’m curious to see what these things are supposed to be like outside the pulp on the bookshelves or clogging up the stage. Everyone has their opinion on them these days.”

Erik first frowned, then nodded at the bolted door. The anxious creases of his face began to smooth. A smile tugged his lips up as the axe lowered.

“Are they the same kind of horror show as you?”

“Usually quite the opposite,” Jonathan allowed. “But that is by choice. They make some rather impressive exceptions when the occasion calls for it.”

Erik set the axe down. His freed hands moved the wooden bolt aside and reached for the key on its hook. This didn’t go unnoticed. The nearest man, one of Jacob’s friends, jolted toward him.

“Erik, what the hell are you doing?”

“Didn’t you hear her?” Erik spoke over him in a dreaming lilt. “The girl outside. Lovely voice.” He turned the key in the lock. “She and her brother got lost in the storm.” He turned the knob. “Wouldn’t be right to leave them out th—,”

Bang.

Erik dropped like a felled tree. Jacob’s friend whirled on the rest of the room, his gun and free hand up. He had his crucifix worn outside his shirt now.

“I had to! You know I had to! Jacob and old Vordenberg laid it out, didn’t they? You invite the things in and it’s all over!” He pointed at the door with the new stain on its timber. “One of them is out there right now, trying to worm into our heads, so we’ll let it over the threshold.”

As every eye nailed itself to the man and the door and the second corpse within five minutes, no one paid attention to the fireplace. They had not lit it, having opted solely for lamps. Chimney smoke would give away their location to anyone happening by the area.

Only Jonathan stared at the open stone mouth of the hearth. Watching what crawled out. Watching it watch him.

Anthony swatted Jonathan in his bad shoulder. He looked up and realized he’d been asked a question.

“Pardon?”

“Is he. Telling. The truth. Or did Erik lose his brains over nothing?”

“A vampire cannot cross the threshold of someone’s home without invitation. I think, at a stretch, you could call this temporary base of yours ‘home.’ Strict definition is tricky for travelers. But if you declare this place yours—,”

“We do,” insisted half the room in unison.

“We do,” Anthony echoed, somewhat dryly. “Our lovely domicile, this. And we are strictly against welcoming any visitors tonight.”

“Understandable. But there’s still the trouble of this afternoon. It’s hard to be more insistent about an invitation than resorting to abduction.”

“And? What of it?”

The fireplace continued to purge its contents out and out and out. Cooling the room like a thin and steady gust. Heads finally began to turn as gooseflesh spread and the sight became unignorable: A thick mist had been pouring into the room since Erik’s brains splattered on the door.

“You thought I was Count Dracula. Whether I was him or not, he was the man you wanted here.” Jonathan looked Anthony in the eye. He was not surprised at what he found there as it squirmed and sweated. “I’m afraid you invited him in two hours ago.”

The lamps guttered. One snuffed. Then its neighbor. A third, a fourth. Voices raised in tandem with the weapons.

“Light them!” came the universal cry. “Turn them back up, come on!”

But the room blackened and blackened until it came down to one canny fellow who’d dived for a lantern. The same man who���d pocketed the flint lighter. He lit the lantern and set it shakily on the table, its glow seemingly safer than the lamps’. The lighter was almost as bright in his hand, making a spotlight for himself in the ruddy gloom.

“What? What is it?”

Every head was turned to face him. Every eye wide enough to show its whites, like the stares of startled horses. The man opened his mouth to utter a third query—and stopped.

There was a hand on his shoulder. Cold. Far colder than the man he’d taken the lighter from. Its fingers ended in claws.

Above his head, the firelight caught on what might charitably be called a grin. It was, in fact, the default state of Count Dracula’s jaw in this shape. A medley of the wolf and the bat and the nightmares that are born when children’s imaginations first start to sketch the things that will eat them in the dark.

Jonathan wished he could have closed his eyes for all that followed. He did try. But there was an implicit order sunk into his mind that demanded he watch. Had this been a decade ago, this may have been for the sake of an object lesson.

This is what I can do. This is what I would have done to your little hunting party at the right hour, with your guard down for an instant. This is what I will do to any sheltering cattle you try to run away to with wife and child. Watch, my friend. Watch.

But that was practically a lifetime past. They were coming up on a mere five years until the wait was over and his free will and the final fig leaf of humanity was forfeit. Which suggested that he was a captive audience solely for the fact that an audience was desired. There was some artistry to it all, in a medieval sense. Some of the acts performed with the makeshift stakes and the barrels of guns and certain repurposed bones reminded Jonathan of old woodcuts left out for him to see once upon a time, back in that first summer alone with the castle’s Master.  

By the time one of the men died choking on his own severed arm, the rest of the lot stopped shooting and herded themselves to the door, desperate. To their relief, there was no vampire at the threshold. They fled.

A heartbeat passed before the screaming began anew. Gunfire mingled with it. The screaming dwindled down and down, the choir thinning to a single shriek that ended on a terrible sound. Wet and crunching. Wolves were heard soon after.

Anthony had not moved from his position behind Jonathan’s chair. He’d resumed his grip on his hair, this time holding his blade just below the Adam’s apple.

“If you don’t have a head,” Anthony panted at the Count, now busy picking gristle from the spades of his nails, “you can’t be undead. The plays make a lot of fuss about staking the heart, but this?” He tugged Jonathan’s head back another inch and pressed the blade’s edge until the skin broke. “I figure it’s a fair bit more vital. I am a practiced man at my profession and quick when I need to be. You want him in one piece instead of two, you leak yourself out the door, call off your pets, and I’ll send him on his way come sunrise.” Though he couldn’t see him, Jonathan was certain the man was trying to smile. “If you’re amenable, perhaps we can even get a silver lining out of this whole thing.”

Dracula sucked a piece of sinew out of his thumbnail.

“I am accustomed to getting my hands dirty. While I’ve been in the habit of leading assorted hapless dregs around, I can easily see myself following someone worth respect. Your friend here indicated he’s on the edge of retirement anyway, and I imagine you could do with someone to step into the role. Or add to the ranks.”

Dracula busied himself with scanning the floor. He plucked up the silver watch still chained to a torso that was twisted like a wrung washcloth. A scowl was spared upon retrieving the key ring from a puddle of a head. Then the pouch containing Jonathan’s allowance. He deposited each bit of treasure found on the table. The last thing he discovered was Jonathan’s wedding ring. He seemed to ponder flicking it aside, but saw Jonathan watching. The ring was dropped in the pile the way one might discard a clump of dirt.

“Well?” from Anthony. “Do you talk or not?”

“I do,” from the Count. “Though not usually to vermin. Especially ones who raid my pantry.”

“Honest mistake on our part. I hadn’t realized you were the one-in-a-thousand legend that isn’t just the fumes of an invented ghost story.”

“I see.” Dracula bent and retrieved the stake that had its point burned. It left the holster of a man’s sternum with a damp sound. “And this too was a mistake?”

“Just trying to placate the skittish sorts in the party. You saw how Jake was.”

“I did.” The Count tapped the stake’s point against his chin, pondering. “In fact, I think I recall a face like his. A sailor I met once. He took to the sea, having no bullet in reach.” He leveled the stake at Anthony’s head. “You called him a coward for this, yes?”

“Am I wrong?”

“There is a fine line between cowardice and wisdom,” Dracula shrugged. “It moves more than you would think. Little Jacob was wise tonight, if sadly mistaken in his target. He was not the first of his type. Likely not the last. The same goes for you, vermin. You, who squeak and chitter about preying upon the predator, and then try to sell yourself to the cat.” Though much of his face had reset to a human shape, the Count’s teeth remained a bristling forest of white needles when he grinned. “I have had this land in my jaws for half a millennium. I have not gone a single century without your like slinking underfoot, thinking to kiss my cape and offer a tithe of others’ throats to win my favor. My power.”

“Way of the world, isn’t it? Strong bows to stronger. What makes this cadaver,” another jerk on Jonathan’s hair, another throb in his skull, “so special? Better resumé? Seasoned arteries?”

“A number of things.” Another shrug, a twirl of the stake like a toy. “He does so hate to hear it anymore. It has been so long since any kind of praise heartened him and age has made him shy. But he cannot shush me, so I can say he does far more than bleed, be it himself or his victims of old. He certainly has a more impressive history than robbing and gutting tourists for a living, and so is far more attuned to the Law of this land than any other. Not the yapping dogs of mortal authorities. Not your jailor or judge or bureaucrat. Not even those of the sciences, such as they are.”

Thunder cracked and lightning danced. The Count’s eyes burned brighter than the lantern.

“He knows that I am Law in these mountains. That my will, my word, and my want order all that is here. He knows that there is no escaping consequence for trespassing upon what is mine. But.” The Count clapped the stake into his open palm with the joviality of a cruel teacher with his yardstick. “Beyond all this, he is something which guarantees his value over yours or any other’s. He warned you himself.” The jagged grin turned almost saccharine. “He is a married man. And you have kept him out far too late for his spouses’ liking.”  

Anthony shifted behind the chair. The grip on Jonathan’s hair shuddered a moment as if suddenly repulsed to be touching it.

“God. Even the monsters are in on that depravity up here?”

“Depravity is a pastime of mine. But I am not so low as to debase myself by touching filth like yours.” So saying, the Count raised both hands in mock surrender. “I shall not waste my time or teeth on you.”

“Fine. Fine, you say that and I can believe you. Once you’re out the door.”  

The door, still open.

The door, which Anthony had not dared to look at for fear of taking eyes off the Count.

The door, full of mist.

“Ah, but I cannot go yet. There is a show I have been so looking forward to. You mentioned the Grand Guignol. Such a promising establishment! I plan to see it in person some night. But for now, we must content ourselves with your meager scene.”

Anthony opened his mouth to ask something. Say something. Maybe he was just drawing breath. Whatever the reason, his mouth froze in a voiceless O of epiphany.

There was a hand on his shoulder. Cold.

It distracted him from the other, decorated with its simple gold band, locking around the man’s forearm; the one responsible for holding the blade.

Snap.

Anthony’s mouth dropped open wider, belting a screech that left Jonathan’s ears ringing. Then the man was torn away from the back of the chair and all the noise of him was pinned and shrilling on the floor. Laced over the ensuing sounds of his dismantling, both vocal and visceral, was a voice that threaded through the mind more than the ear:

He cut you. Twice he cut you.

“I’ll be fine, Mina.” Said because there was concern in the statement. There was. But, more pertinently, there was the accusation. The condemnation. The citing of the crime.

He cut you. He meant to kill you. He meant to unmake you out of reach forever.

Anthony made a new and piercing noise. The kind just an octave short of a dog whistle. Jonathan winced.

“And he failed to. It’s alright, Darling.”

“Hardly,” from the Count, now turning Anthony’s abandoned seat around to face the slaughter. “You are too soft as always, my friend. Even when it comes to a rightful culling. Or do you think they deserved to live after their crimes?”

“I think this was excessive.” Jonathan withheld a sigh as Dracula hooked the back of his chair, hoisting and turning it so that his back was no longer to Mina’s work. She seemed to have an innate understanding of what could be taken apart and to what degree, the better to leave Anthony still clinging miserably to a thread of life. “And I also think I’m ready to have these off.”

He flexed his hands and feet as far as they could go against the ropes.

“Have what off?” Dracula asked as he swiped a finger into the shoulder wound. A child stealing cake icing. He clicked his tongue. “This would happen just after a feeding. All this guilt-free cuisine and your knights-errant are too full to enjoy the banquet. A pity. Have you eaten?”

“If I had my hands free, I could get my—,” Jonathan pursed his lips as Dracula brandished a bouquet of the retrieved dried pork. Deciding against waiting for the mesmer to prod him into it, he opened his mouth a crack. Bit. Chewed.

“Do you suppose the Grand Guignol has concessions? Any actual blood used in place of the stage swill?”

Jonathan swallowed. A nauseous feat, considering the piece Mina removed from Anthony in the same moment. 

“I doubt any director is so dedicated, Sir.” Anthony was growing quieter now. There wasn’t enough air in him. Jonathan could tell by the glimpse of lung through his ribs. “Does Quincey know about this?”

No. It was blocked from him. He believes we are out on business.

Crunch. Twist. Rip.

Anthony went silent and still at last. Dracula afforded this a light round of applause.

“Not wholly a lie, you will grant. Though I suspect the boy thinks it was code for a more,” the Count made a face caught between glee and disdain, “intimate excursion. Which should be an easy enough ward against any prying you fear from him. You may have made a sickening romantic of the boy, but there is never a child alive or undead who wishes to know what his parents get up to out of his sight.” The Count craned his head, squinting at what was left of Anthony. “Did you come across it?”

That depends. Where’s mine?

Mina stood with the dragon clasp in one red hand and her other held out and open. Dracula idled a moment or three longer than was necessary before the stolen wedding band was produced. Clasp and ring were thrown rather than exchanged. Jonathan had each reattached to him. Though the Count spared a curse in three different languages at finding the coat not only mangled at the shoulder, but torn where the clasp had been ripped away.

“As if they could not understand the mechanics of a brooch? You should have pinned this in his eye.”

You should have fed him the stake. Look at this.

Mina touched the nick on Jonathan’s throat.

I know you count my wound as a blessing, but I would think you’d not risk losing his voice.

“I had to stall while you cleared up the leftovers outside. I may as well have left you with the boy.”

And lost your show and your diversion.

“You—,”

“I cannot feel my feet anymore,” Jonathan announced. “And I would like to stitch and plaster myself before we head out. Whatever Quincey may think we’re up to, it will be easier to lie without me looking like I just left,” he gestured as best he could at the room, “this.”

A minor miracle came and went as there was no suggestion made that they simply lay a new bite apiece over the wounds. The ropes were cut, what was filched was returned to its owner, give or take a little scavenging of their own. Jacob and the others were left with their tokens of the Son. Outside, the wolves went on enjoying the meal Mina had left for them. Up until a titanic thunderbolt struck the cabin and sent them scrambling. The building went up like a great bonfire.

“I know, my friend, you were clearly looking forward to digging more graves. But you must admit my method is quicker and far more thorough in erasing evidence.” The nettling cadence waned. “I suggest you avoid wandering away from the castle for some time. Considering your state.”

Not while dressed in this, at the very least. It’s clear this insignia draws as much ire as it deters.

“A fluke,” the Count huffed. “Such degenerates as those are rare. The chattel know better. Besides, the folly was in drawing attention by playing Good Samaritan to the wrong victim and her maudlin pleading. Something else to keep in mind.” Jonathan tried and failed to keep his head down as the hook landed in his mind and turned his eyes up. Dead blue against burning red. “At least for as long you insist on holding to your last few years as…this.”

Jonathan bit into his last strip of the dried pork. Loudly.

“Five years. That’s all.”

“Four and a half.”

“Four and a half I mean to savor. In-between being waylaid.” The careful placidity fractured as his free hand drifted up to the back of his skull. Still aching. “I think I shall finish off the Golden Mediasch tonight.” His hand was plucked away by Mina’s own, her chilled fingers seeking out the tender place under his hair. Her fingertips felt the scabbing patch.

I should have skinned him.

“You are welcome to stroll through the fire and do so,” the Count hummed. But his smile stopped short of his eyes and his own hand swept Mina’s away to thumb at the ache. “The Mediasch is barely more than fruit juice. You will want something stronger.”

Jonathan didn’t argue. Nor did he protest when the horses of his ex-hosts were commandeered for the return to the castle. Quincey thrilled at the sight of them almost as if they had arrived riding wolves. Was this the business they went on? Tunet and Pretekár were quite new—and solid obsidian as the horses before had been—but it was good to see them gain more company. And they’d picked piebald this time!

“They’re beautiful. Do they have names yet?”

“Thought we’d leave that to you,” Jonathan managed lightly enough. Or nearly so. Quincey frowned at him, nose pricking at the smell of dried blood.

“Papa, are you alright? You—,” his eyes landed on the coat, “—what happened?”

 “Just a quick lesson from our new friends about minding their moods. I was tossed and landed in a less than opportune pile of rocks.”

Quincey scowled at that and scrutinized the stallions.

“Which one? I’m not riding him. Or petting him, even.” He considered. “At least for a month.”

“Seems a cruelty too far. I suppose I just won’t reveal the guilty party.”

“And what if I get on the wrong horse and I get tossed and land on a rock somewhere? What then?”

“Then you will get back up and be perfectly alright. Or am I misremembering the night you fell asleep on the side of the north turret and fell through half a tree on your way down?”

“Yes, well. They were fairly soft branches.” Quincey fought and lost the attempt to keep his smile up. “Papa?”

“Yes?”

“The horses weren’t the actual business, were they? You could have gotten them yourself.”

“That’s true. The horses were only picked up afterward. Quite a bargain, not counting the lumps.”

“Then what happened?”

Jonathan looked at his son. His Sweetheart, though the boy had finally started to bud into that stage that visits all adolescents, demanding a shedding of childhood names. There was a dusting of stubble barely fringing his jaw and his mother’s own whorls outgrowing the edges of his last haircut. But the eyes were still a child’s. Bright and molten as the sun at dusk.

“…There was some trouble two days ago. I aided a girl trying to leave behind some people who hurt others. Who hurt her. They had some less than scrupulous plans for the future and had already bypassed local authorities to get where they were by the time I crossed them. So I reached out for some assistance.” And, because he felt the air prickling with observation, “Your Father was very keen to educate them on the difference between the laws of other lands versus the Law of his land. And your Mum has always been of a rescuer’s bent as a rule. So.”

“So Mum and Father caught them? Together?” The sunset eyes gleamed at the prospect.  

“They did,” Jonathan nodded.

“Were they bandits?”

“Of a sort. But they won’t hurt anyone now.” Jonathan watched from the corner of his eye how the boy, so near to a young man, glowed over the notion of being a son to heroes.

He got to the tower before he felt his eyes begin to sting as sharply as his head.

#I'm beginning to think I simply cannot go more than 0.5 days without making a novella #oops #anyway enjoy the One and Only scenario in which Dracula and Mina would willingly work together on literally anything: #Their Damsel/Jonathan is in peril. Time to do some mauling about that. #anyway #jonathan harker #mina harker #dracula #dracula bad ending #blood of my blood #my writing

[cambionverse]

Happy March 29th!

Once again, it's Cambionverse Day and Jesse Turner's birthday. We don't have the next chapter of Envesseled ready to post yet, so we decided to post some excerpts from it instead! Please enjoy them, and as always, thank you for your patience <3

Amazon Rainforest, Brazil

"Do you think this is what it looks like?" asks Jesse as they leave, moving on foot through the towering forest until they find a place without angelic interference to let him jump. "In...Heaven or whatever. Where souls go. Do you think this is what Ben sees?"

Claire has dreaded the thought of Heaven since she was eleven years old, and some days she thinks she only survived this long out of fear of ending up there. Maybe this forest is a close analogue, if the way her skull feels about to vibrate off her spine is any indication.

"I keep thinking about what Marie said," he confesses. "About how he might be—happy there. With his mom."

"He's probably surrounded by angels," Claire retorts. "That's no one's idea of a good time, even if you're a Winchester." She doesn't want Ben to be happy in the afterlife, she realizes; either she is cruel enough to tear him out of Heaven, or cruel enough to hope he is suffering so that even being with her again would be a relief. She kicks away a vine that crosses their path and then crushes it under her heel out of sheer spite.

"But what if she's right?" says Jesse. "Don't you think—"

"No one asked you to think," she snaps. "I don't need the Antichrist's opinion of Heaven. Just take us to the next place."

Jesse stops. Claire does too, silent and glaring. He searches her face, and for a moment it's like he's looking at a stranger.

"I still want him back," Jesse says. "I didn't say I don't."

Claire flicks out her hand like she's drawing a sword. "Then stop wasting time," she says, "and let's go."

She kisses him again later that night, after a piece of grace in Kabul knocks her out too badly to continue. It's not an apology, and she doesn't try to make it one. But it does keep him from asking about Ben again.

Nile River, Egypt

"Just leave some for tomorrow," Jesse says as she wrings out her hair. The locals on shore haven't noticed them yet, but it's getting to be a close thing. "This is already more than we usually get in a day."

"I'm almost done," Claire mumbles. Her mouth tastes like copper. She reaches down again, gets hit with a flash of Castiel fighting off one of his brothers, and comes to with the river breaking across her face as Jesse pulls her up again.

"Claire," he says, holding her upright. "This is stupid. Just stop."

She ignores him, tries to pull away. When that doesn't work, she frowns and aims her mouth at his mouth instead. To her surprise, Jesse tightens his grip on her shoulders and stops her there too. When Claire's eyes refocus, she sees him watching her with a frown.

"Look," he says, quieter. "You can get your blood on my mouth if you want to. I'm still going to tell you you're going too far."

Claire reaches up to wipe her face, petulant, and only now notices that her nose has been bleeding all along. It's not that she didn't think he would notice the pattern, but he's not supposed to talk about it. A drop of red falls off her lip and stains the river red.

Jesse sighs. "It's not like I mind," he says. "The kissing, I mean, or whatever you want to call it. But just 'cause I like it doesn't mean I can't tell what you're doing."

"It's not a reward," Claire grouses.

"It can be whatever you like," says Jesse, too sincere. His hands are still holding her in place, holding her up. "You know that's always been true, don't you? And if you decide you don't want to do it anymore, that's also fine." His cheeks go a little red. "Or if, when Ben is back—"

The warmth of tolerant exasperation curdles in Claire's throat instantly. She pushes out of Jesse's arms, and this time he lets her go. "This isn't," she begins, and then chokes as the truth curse tries to twist her words. She smears more blood off her face and glares at the river. "My usual outlets aren't available right now. I've already explained what this does and doesn't mean to me. You have no excuse for wishful thinking."

She's glad she can't see whatever face he makes at that. By the time Jesse speaks again, his voice is as even as hers. "As I said. You'll do what you like." He steps out of the water. "Let me know when you're done."

Claire tastes blood the whole rest of her time in the Nile. They don't share a bed that night.

#writing #rough drafts #envesseled #cambionverse #claire novak #jesse turner #ben braeden #who is not actually here on account of being dead but he IS here in spirit :( #also disclaimer to those coming in from the claire tag this fanon version of her predates her canon appearance

[triplesilverstar]

Bar lights don't help

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Pairing: Vash X F!Reader

CW: Canon Typical Violence, mentions of injury, blood and injury, pining, drinking, you’re both idiots

Word count: 2.1K 

A/N: Chapter One of Thoughts lost in the sand. A series of one shots set between "An idiot walking in the desert" & "The Idiot is still walking in the desert " Where we see Snipes ignoring her feelings and Vash coming to realize his are a little more than just being friends.

You smiled from your seat at the bar back against the wall watching the revelry as it unfolded, a foot resting on the high chair next to you. The town had a good reason to celebrate an attempted robbery of their bank that afternoon stopped without a single injury.

Well no injuries to the townsfolk, the bandits had a few pretty bruises in shades of blue and purple painting their faces and more than a few of those bruises were very much rifle butt plate shaped. Yet the town itself hadn’t been too worried about the condition of those who had tried to rob them of everything they had. 

The attempted hold-up halted all because the bus you had been planning to take was late, which also meant Vash was around. Your tall red clad shadow that you just couldn’t seem to shake, still following you from place to place. While neither one of you had yet to say it, you had made the transition from sort of traveling companions to friends some time ago. The days of finding him an annoying shadow you couldn’t shake were long gone, even if you still had slightly different views on how to make money. 

So when the bandits rolled into town shooting at random from their car you and Vash just looked at one another, shrugged your shoulders, and split apart. Clearly, these morons knew the place as in no time the bank door was open and they were walking out laded with stolen goods. So Vash played the fool and popped the car tire as they tried to load the money bags in the vehicle making small talk and trying to seem unassuming, while you started from the other side and in their confusion over the burst rubber started slamming them with your rifle as a club. 

It had been over in minutes. 

And the town had been dead set on not letting the two of you leave that afternoon after that little showdown was dealt with, intent on having a party which resulted in both you and Vash being given free rooms for the night at the hotel and dragged to what the locals called the best bar in town. 

It was the only bar and stuffed with more food than you’d be able to finish and the townsfolk were dead set on stuffing you and Vash till you were ready to burst. Or at least they were trying with you, ignoring all the comments about how you couldn’t eat anymore at least until the old woman running the bar stepped in to be your defense. 

Vash had been happy stuffing his face and then the taps at the bar were opened, and Vash went from those shy little grins to a laughing fool. Cheering with the townsfolk and raising his mug of beer in the air before being dragged to the dance floor. Time and time again, pretty girl to pretty girl. 

The first chance you had, you bolted for the wall well aware if you tried to leave you’d just be dragged back into the party. Your earlier attempt halted in a similar manner and there was an itch building at the back of your skull because of it. 

A few short months ago you wouldn’t have cared and slipped out anyway, hiding on a rooftop somewhere to watch the stars. Now though? Now even if you had tried to run a part of you stuck around because Vash himself had made you see something. “I don’t stick around for me, I stick around for them. They aren’t like you and me Snipes, so if they feel they need to celebrate, who am I to refuse them.” 

You’d groused back that it was just an excuse for him to get a few cheap beers which made him rub the back of his head in that stupid sheepish manner. And yet his words had made you change your tune, the ring of truth you wanted to ignore kept whispering in your ears. Sure you still weren’t drinking anything more than a single beer if you even had that, and still scowled to an extent at those that tried a little too hard to pull you into activities you didn’t want to participate in. Yet at the end of it all and putting your own discomfort for solitude aside you were sticking around, and while Vash still sent you looks of exasperation while you hid at the edge of the party you were still there. Because it wasn’t about you. It was about them. 

“Hey, there little lady” pulled from your musings as one of the men, probably no older than twenty leaned on the bar beside you. “How about you come join me for a dance?” A soft chuckle leaves you, as you sip from your water flicking your eyes at the man standing beside you. Another reaction that would have been rather different a few months back when you would have sent him a scowl to send the devil himself running. 

“Sorry friend. Just have two left feet.” A gentle refusal and the boy with his flaxen hair just shrugs and heads back towards the center of the bar back into the fray of the party. 

Rolling your shoulders and looking back at the bar you take a longer drink, sighing and running a hand down your face. You’d never understand your own appeal, you were covered in sweat and grime from the heat of the day and the brief interlude of fighting. “Aw Snipes, there is a heart under all that cool disinterest.” 

“Funny, real funny Vash.” You snort, rolling your eyes as his long lean body drapes across the bar beside you spreading one of his arms along the smooth surface. “I thought you figured out I had a heart a while ago, especially when you held my hand for those two stupid days.” 

“Not gonna let that one go are ya?” Turning your attention fully to Vash you roll your eyes again, watching him swallow the last of his mug. He’s somehow found a tie and has it wrapped around his head, keeping the scruff of his longer hair out of his eyes, a knot at the temple, and the length of the tie hanging along his face. Seeming casting a shadow along his facial features as the light from the bar reflects above him, making him seem a little more ominous than usual.  

“You had your chance to cut Stamp, it’s your own fault for sticking around. I’m gonna keep that ammo in my pocket till I have to use it.” Laughing as you signal for the bartender, watching the gray-haired matron nod her gaze flicking to Vash’s empty mug as well. A tap of your finger and another nod as she pours your partner another beer and brings the jug of water with her for you. 

“But then who would I have such fun adventures with?” Smirking with a blush painting his cheeks as his head is thrown back that image from seconds earlier gone, a clear indication he’s starting to feel the amount of booze he’s no doubt had. Oh well, his hangover tomorrow won’t be your problem. “Besides, maybe I like you having some dirt on me.” 

Something about the way his voice rings in the air makes you look at him a little harder, and your heart shudders in your chest. He isn’t just leaning against the bar, he’s perched so part of his body is on the chair your foot is pressed against. His long legs crossed over one another and the fabric tight showing the muscle of those strong thighs. The baggy crimson of his coat hangs with gravity to highlight just how much of his figure is hidden from sight within the bulk of it, the turtleneck taut across the expanse of his chest. 

The pink tinge on his cheekbones and the way his sunglasses have slipped lower on his nose allow you to see more of his face normally hidden behind the orange lens, making his blue eyes seem even brighter. Like two ocean pools, and it makes you yearn for something that you can’t find in this desert world. Your mouth suddenly feels as dry as the dunes just past the edge of town, something is swimming in those blue depths as the corner of his mouth lifts, parting his lips. Your shoulders begin to tense and your heart starts to race faster the longer he has you caught in those brilliant eyes. 

Only to close it as someone calls out to him, breaking the moment. A light sheen of sweat breaks out between your shoulder blades which you’ll swear to the universe is because of the beaming overhead lantern light cast across you. You’ll blame the thundering in your head on the sound of those dancing around you, and not the muscle in your chest beating a far faster tempo than it should have from that single gaze. 

No. 

None of what you feel as your body goes numb is because you’ve realized you're sexually attracted to one Humanoid Typhoon.

One Humanoid Typhoon that you just happen to be traveling with, that you had been actively hunting to cash in his bounty. 

No. 

It’s all because of the liveliness of the town around you because you can’t, won’t, refuse to believe you could feel anything more than companionship for someone as wholesome as Vash. Swallowing the last of your water and making an excuse to slip outside, hoping the cold dry air will make your body calm down and there must be something showing on your face as those still sober at the door make no attempt this time to stop your attempt to leave. 

Not that they could have now that you wanted out back into the open space. 

The moment the chill air hits you, you hold off from fastening your jacket, taking a few steps farther out before stopping and lifting your head to the sky. A long breath and counting to four as you inhale letting the crispness seep into your ribs, another count of four before you let it out just as slowly. Watching the small cloud form and rise from your lips before disappearing into the air around you. 

Dragging a hand down your face, feeling the heat rising from under your palm before digging your fingers along your hair and shaking it like mad. You are not growing attracted to Vash. 

You can’t. 

It’s just a recipe for disaster. You might look like you’re in the prime of your life, but you’re old. Old enough to be at least his grandmother and it’s not right to let whatever affection you might feel for him start to grow. No. You need to shove it down and just continue to think of him as your friend. It’s all you can feel for him, the same amount of affection as if he’s a friend. 

You only have so much time before he figures out you aren’t exactly human, just like so many other people you’ve met over the years. While the physical scars are long gone, healed by your unique biology, the mental and emotional ones not so much. 

Time has never been your friend. 

Just like how you only manage to keep friends for a short amount of time. No one wants to be friends with a monster hidden behind a moniker you hate because your real one is never said, because it hurts less to be called a monster when no one knows your name. A facade to trick your mind. 

Dragging your fingers from your hair and dropping your chin to your chest, watching the smallest dance of sand upon the wind as it blows across the top of your boots. You just need to enjoy the companionship while you can before you have to go your separate ways. 

Again. 

The burning in your chest finally starts to ease and you roll your shoulders feeling the crack of a few vertebrates in your spine before turning towards the bar, glad the hotel was next to it as you took measured steps back. All while trying to shove thoughts of Vash out of your head. 

And the look you had seen in his eyes. A look you’ll have a long time trying to push out of your thoughts because you could have gotten used to someone looking at you like you mattered. 

Kicking the sand as you walk, unaware of those same blue eyes watching you from the window of the bar trying to come to terms with his own growing feelings towards you.

Back to Masterlist for the series

#vash the stampede x reader #vash the stampede #trigun stampede #trigun #twink writes #Bullets Bandits Ghosts & Typhoons #tristamp #vash x reader #vash x you

[kalicofox]

More of the HomestuckxDC AU experimental thing from the other day. Tim gets an info dump. Ish

Red Robin crouched in the rafters of the warehouse he’d found- the sounds of talking and laughing driving away most of the more wary denizens of the district, and drawing him to it like a moth to a flame.

“O, you getting this?” he breathed, and got back a quiet affirmative.

Down on the warehouse floor, there were thirty-one metas, all in various colors that seemed to divide them into groups that congregated, conferred, then split up again as they mingled.

The majority of the metas had grey skin and horns that graduated from red closest to the skull, through orange, to yellow at the tips. And wings. Colored, semi-translucent butterfly wings.

As he watched, another human looking meta, this one in shades of pink slipped in through one of the skylights and floated down to join the throng.

One of them, the dark haired boy in blue with a ridiculously long hood, slipped through the crowd to chat with him, though whatever he said was too quiet for Red Robin to hear through the rest of the chatter.

They spoke for a couple of minutes, then the blue kid turned and made his way through the crowd, picking up one of the grey kids in all dark red, and another in greys and beiges with fantastically long braids as he went.

Air swirled through the warehouse, cool and fresh, as the blue kid lifted into the air then settled on top of a shipping container, and a moment later, the other two landed next to him, red and fuchsia wings fluttering.

“All right!” The kid’s voice didn’t boom, but it did something funny, and almost at once the talking died away as the rest of the kids (teenagers, really, they were about his age, it seemed like,) turned to look at him. “So we’re still not back. It looks like this place is getting closer, though! They’ve got the right constellations, and the technology level is about the same, so I’d say we’re well on our way home!”

“I still don’t know why we aren’t going back to Alternia.” One of the grey teenagers groused, his purple wings, a lighter shade than some of the other purples in the group, fluttering.

“Because Alternia was a fucking pit.” The red-winged teenager on the shipping container said flatly, his voice harsh. “And before you say anything, Beforus wasn’t much fucking better. We’ve got the best chance at fucking living if we stick with the humans.”

‘Stick with the humans.’ Tim blinked. So… they didn’t consider themselves human? Was this an alien invasion, then? But they were talking about getting home… Dimensional displacement, possibly?

He whispered as much to Oracle, who made a thoughtful noise.

The fuchsia winged alien on the shipping container cleared her throat, and suddenly she was leaning on a massive, golden, double-ended trident that had apparently come from nowhere.

“We ain’t got someplace better to go, dum-bass.” She drawled. “If we head back to Alternia, chances are I’m gonna still be queen of everyfin, and we’ll all die. Beforus, and Fef’s queen and we’ll all get culled ‘for our own good.’ Nah. We’re stickin’ with the squishies.”

“Still,” The teenager in blue said excitedly, lifting into the air slightly on a soft swirl of air, “this world is pretty cool! There’s superheroes! And they fight bad guys and everything!”

Several people groan, but a couple of others perk up.

“This may be a decent place to lie low, then.” One of the human teenagers, a girl in the same beiges and greys as the fuchsia winged alien on the shipping container called. “We can gather our strength and recover for a bit before attempting to move on again.”

“We shouldn’t stay for too long.” The meta in the pink that had passed Tim on his way down to the group said, his voice carrying easily despite the slight rasp of disuse. “People around here’re trigger happy as fuck.”

That gets winces out of a few of the humans, but a low chitter rises from the aliens, a sound that makes the hair on the back of Tim’s neck stand up.

“They wanna strife?” The gleeful way that the blue-winged alien in shades of yellows and oranges said that made Tim wince but the pink wearing guy just shrugged, half turning away from her to look at two other, similarly dressed people. Both of them aliens, with similarly shaped triangular horns.

“Nep, Meu, I pointed this guy I found in your direction. He’s a little trigger happy, but his soul’s coming loose, and I figure we might as well fix it while we’re here. He’s supposed to be one of the heroes around here, so we might as well build up the good will.”

Tim nearly fell out of the rafters.

Trigger happy hero? That was Jason. It had to be. What the hell did he mean, ‘his soul’s coming loose’?!

#HomestuckxDC #DC #Homestuck #my fic #my writing #Hell yeah

[augment-techs]

27, 18, 34 for the Ship Ask Game for Jason/Bulk

How do they say “I love you” non-verbally? Bulk is in the habit of telling people things with his eyes, especially Jason once they got together as more than just people that used to butt heads and grumble or grouse. Most people don't know this because his eyes are usually focused slightly to the left of their face or at their chin as a result of his shitty childhood. Jason was the first person to recognize this who WASN'T Skull or Ernie. Once they got together, Jason realized that Bulk could hold multitudes in a look, a glance, a wink of one eye. He also does that slow blink that a lot of large and small animals do. And the first time Jason realized what that meant, he got the dumbest, dopiest smile that lit up his face like the Vegas strip. Jason, on the other hand, is very touch oriented with affection and lust and loving. Fingers lightly breezing the line of Bulk's spine and shoulder blades through his shirts, his palms flat to Bulk's belly and hips while his chin rests on his shoulder, resting against his side with his full weight. Pulling Bulk's hair out of its bun so he can weave his fingers through dark blond locks; kissing Bulk's forehead and knuckles and the shell of his ear. How do they care for each other when one of them is wounded/sick? Bulk does not handle being sick or injured very well. He puts it off or keeps it hidden for as long as he can, if he can, and then he tries to pull through bandaging or medicating himself somewhere dark and quiet and out of the way. Jason, unfortunately, was almost exactly the same way for most of his life until after he stopped being a Red Ranger. Then he had to look after his dad and looked at himself in the mirror and realized what absolute bullshit that attitude was. After his dad died and he and Bulk started dating, they had a long, LONG, conversation about hiding and how that didn't help anything and made them both promise to find the other when something happens. Honestly, Bulk is totally fine with getting medicated and bandaged by Jason after sustaining an injury that draws blood, and Jason is now in the mindset to abide by being taken care of when he has a fever or cold or etc. and being fed whatever delicious meal Bulk has cooked up--and is usually more than willing to be spoon fed, too. Do they have any inside jokes? Once Bulk finally dropped the bomb that Jason and the others were TERRIBLE actors trying to hide being Rangers after school graduation in a quiet corner in the Juice Bar when the music was on blast and they were splitting a large basket of fries... Yeah. Yeah they have SO many inside jokes about the Scooby-Doo door gag, and Love Squares, and how stupid comic book heroes with just domino masks are. And a whole lot of jokes about spandex.

#boom! comics power rangers #mmpr #ggpr #Farkas Bulk Bulkmeier x Jason Lee Scott #ask fill #prompt fill

[xjumbled-up-brainx]

This is a project I’ve been crafting for a while through my re-run of everything english dubbed Octonauts. A brand new A-Z list of EVERY SINGLE CREATURE THE OCTONAUTS HAVE EVER MET:

*Vegimalese*

What’s that Tunip, you and the Vegimals want to learn about even more creatures?

*Vegimalese*

Well, let’s go again!

The Octocomputer will show you all the creatures the Octonauts, and Octo Agents, have met, on both land and sea!

Cheepa Cheepa!

Anaconda 1

Albatross 2

Anemones 3

Angler Fish 4

Arapaima 5

Adele Penguins 6

Alligator 7

Amano Shrimp 8

Anteater 9

Arabian Camels 10

Armadillo 11

Bowhead Whale 12

Barracudas 13

Beluga Whales 14

Black Caiman 15

Blobfish 16

Blue Whale 17

Blue-head Wrasse… 18

Bottle Nose Dolphins 19

Bat 20

Baboons 21

Barnacle Goose 22

Bear 23

Black Giant Squirrel 24

Black Winged Stilt Bird 25

Blind Shrimp 26

Burmese Python 27

Brittle Stars 27

Bombardier Beetle 28 and

Bomber Worms 29

Capybara 30

Carrier Crab 31

Catfish 32

Conocono Crab 33

Conocono Crab?

Coconut Octopus! 34

Colossal Squid 35

Comb Tooth Blenny 36

Cone Snail 37

Cookie Cutter Shark 38

Cuttlefish 39

Convict Fish 40

Caiman 41

Caterpillar 42

Cave Fish 43

Cave Shrimp 44

Chameleon 45

Clam 45

Chinstrap Penguins 46

Chinese Mitten Crab 47

Christmas Tree Worms 48

Coelacanth 49

Coral Polyp 50

Coral Snake 51

Crawfish 52

Crocodile 53

Crow 54

Crown of Thorns Starfish 55

Dormice 56

Deer 57

Damselfish 58

Dogfish 59

Decorator Crab 60

Duck-Bill Platypus 61

Dwarf Lantern Shark 62

Eel 63

Electric Eel 64

Elephant 65 and Elephant Seal66

Elk 67

Egyptian Vulture 68

Emperor Penguin 69

Fiddler Crab 70

Frogfish 71

Fire Ants 72

Flamingoes 73

Flying Fish 74

Flying Fox 75

Fruit Bats 76

Giant Clam 77

Giant Comb Jelly 78

Giant Isopod 79

Giant Spider Crab 80

Giant Squid 81

Giant Grass Carp 82

Giant Pacific Octopus 83

Giant Panda 84

Giant Weta 85

Golden Coral 86

Golden Mole 87

Giraffe 88

Garden Eel 88

Gray Whale 89

Grey Reef Shark 90

Grouper 91

Guard Crab 92

Gull 93

Great White Shark 94

Gulper Eel 95

Hammerhead Shark 96

And Harbor Seal 97

(Inhale hoo inhale hoo)

Harlequin Duck 98

Harpy Eagle 99

Hippos 100

Hoatzin 101

Honey Badger 102

Hornbill 103

Hourglass Dolphins 104

Howler Monkeys 105

Hyenas 106

Hermit Crab 107

Humpback Whale 108

Humphead Parrotfish 109

(Slower) Humu-humu-nuku-nuku-a-pua-a! Haha! 110

Ice worms 111

Iguanas 112

Indochinese Tiger 113

Immortal Jellyfish, 114

Jellyfish 115

Jaguar 116

Jawfish, 117

Kangaroos 118

Kea Parrots 119

Kelp, Fish 120

Leatherback Sea-Turtle 121

Loggerhead Sea-Turtle 122

Lemon Shark 123

Longfin Eels 124

Leopard 125

Lions 126

Lion Fish 127

Lions Mane Jellyfish 128

Long Arm Squid… 129

Leafy Sea Dragon 130

Mangrove crabs 131

Mantis Shrimp 132

Martens 133

Microbe 134

Monarch Butterfly 135

Mound coral 136

Mountain Goats 137

Mud Skipper 138

Moray Eel 139

Mimic Octo-Pus! 140

Marine Iguanas 141

Manta Ray 142

Mana (Mana?) Mana (Mana?) pause. Manatee…! (Clears throat)3

Narwhal 144

Needlefish 145

Nile crocodile 146

Nile monitor lizards 147

Nine banded armadillo 148

Nutria 149

Okapis 150

Omuras whale 151

Orca 152

Oarfish 153

Octopus 154

Prowfish 155

Pelicans 156

Polar Bear 157

Pilot Fish 158

Parrotfish 159

Piranhas 160

Porcupine Puffer 161

Porcupine 162

Puffin 163

Pangolin 164

Pikas 165

Pin-tailed whydahs 166

Poison dart frog 167

Pygmy 3 toed sloths 168

Quino checkerspot butterflies 169

Queens-land-Lung-fish 170

RedRock Crabs 171

Reef Lobsters 172

Remipedes 173

Remora Fish 174

Rainbow blanket octopus 175

Rats 176

Raven 177

Red deer 178

Red eye tree frogs 179

Red fox 180

River Dolphin 181

Rock climbing gobies 182

Ruffed grouse 183

Sand grouse 184

Sand viper 185

Screaming piha 186

Seals 187

Sehuencas water frogs 188

Squid 188

Skinks 189

Skua bird 190

Skull Spiders 191

Snail 192

Spinner dolphins 193

Suckermouth catfish 194

Sun bear 195

Sunflower Star 195

Sunfish 196

Surfing Snail 197

Sailfish 198

Sardines 199

Salt-water croc-o-dile 200

Sea gulls 201

Sea squirts 202

Sea tulips 203

Sea Otter 204

Sea Pig 205

Sea Skater 206

Sea Snail 207

Sea Snake 208

Sea Sponge 209

Sea Urchin 210

Sea Horses 211

Siphonophore 212

Slime Eel 213

Snapping Shrimp 214

Sperm Whale 215

Spook Fish 216

Sea Star 217

Surgeon Fish 218

Swordfish 219

Shovel Nosed-Guitar Fish 220

Swell (sigh) Shark (sigh) 221

Snot Sea (panicked) Cucumber! 222

Tiger shark 223

Tokay Geko 224

Toucan 225

Tree frogs 226

Tree lobsters 227

Tree snails 228

Trout 229

Turtles 230

Tulum cave remipede 231

Tube Worms 232

Triggerfish 233

Tor-pedo Ray…! 234

U: You? Me? Me? You? V!

Vampire Squid 235

Vent Shrimp 236

Vole 237

Watchman goby 238

Water dikkops 239

Weasel 240

Wisent 241

Wolves 242

Wood louse 243

Wolf Eel 244

Whale Shark 245

Walrus 246

Water Bears 247

Weddell Seal 248

Whale Louse 249

White-Tip-Shark 250

X: Xylophone solo!

Yellow bellied sea snakes 251

Yeti Crab 252

Zebra 253

Zebra fish! 259

Dadadada!

#I’m having the Shellington moment at the end of the first official song where I realize ima have to edit this when season 5 gets English dub #MEOMI AND OCTONAUTS CREATORS: #do your musical thing pls and make this happen #if Keith wickam voiced this I would simply pass away #for 12 years of adeventures! #octonauts aniversay! #octonauts a&b #octonauts #octonauts above and beyond #above and beyond #the numbers are a bit messed up but the final number is 258 creatures

[twentydaysofdrabbles]

The Concierge Gives A Tasting - Smell/Investigate (Part 24)

With Sans pinning you up against his front, you no longer need to engage your muscles to keep you upright. No, now you simply let the monster take your weight in his bony yet strong arms, freeing you to touch his body as you please. 

From your elevated position, you stare down at him with a smouldering gaze, your faces naught but an inch apart still. One hand skates over the broad planes of his chest. Up and up. Following the dark line of a suspender strap to the bony angles of his collarbone. Then further still, until you are gripping the back of the armchair, his skull resting on the back of your hand. 

“sweetheart,” he breathes out, his tongue flicking out to try and lick at your lips again. 

You huff a soft laugh at the wet touch over the seam of your lips. “I shouldn’t be surprised that you have a greedy streak, Mister Sans.” Your voice is even, with just the slightest lilt of amusement tingeing it. But you entertain him nevertheless, your comparatively pinker tongue flashing out to lick him in turn. 

Stars, the sound that comes from his mouth at that simple touch. It is a guttural sound, thick with want and frustration. He wants more, you can tell. 

“tease,” he grouses. Vents that frustration by kneading at your backside, by rocking his hips up against you in a vain attempt at generating some friction for himself. 

And--yes, that is definitely an erection. Proportionate, from what you can feel. To deny him is also to deny yourself, but this is worth the wait. You will make it worth the wait.

You smile at the disgruntled expression on his face, murmuring, “And yet you are still sitting under me.” The gloved fingers of your free hand release the suspender strap where it had been toying with the fabric. Traveling north-ways until you reach bare bones rather than fabric. “Tell me, Mister Sans. How sensitive are your bones?”

Sans parts his jagged maw, about to respond. But just as quickly, he snaps it shut to choke down a soft moan when you trail a finger over the sweeping incline of his clavicle. 

“Oh?” Your lip twitches upward. 

The monster sneers at you. Grits his teeth. Parts it and growls out, “was ‘boutta say that you should find out fer yerself--” And promptly moans again when you explore around the inner round of it, all four fingers and a thumb fondling the bone. It’s ever so slightly chalky under your gloved fingertips, grippy enough to create friction, smooth enough not to hurt. 

“I’ll take that under advisement, Mister Sans.” Idly, you wonder what it would taste like under your lips, your tongue. You might already have had a trial by kissing his teeth, but instinctively you know that there is a difference between his fangs and the rest of his body body. 

Eyes flick up from where you had been looking at your hand, locking with fuzzy red lights floating in the dark abyss of his sockets. You smile when you see that same look Sans had in the elevator - like you had clubbed him over the head. Yes, you definitely like this look on him...for the right reasons, of course. 

“Is there a particular area I should avoid, Mister Sans?” You might have no intent of doing anything below the belt, but this is, as you said earlier, negotiations. 

The skeleton takes a moment to unscramble his thoughts, his sharp phalanxes digging into your backside and sparking sharp pinpricks of pain. “...just don’t go stickin’ yer fingers into any orifices and we’ll be fine,” he says after a moment of thought. Whether that’s because he hasn’t had anyone ask that before, or whether he’s simply not sure, you don’t particularly mind. 

“Of course.” You had no intention of doing so, but it is good to be told nevertheless. Drifting up from his clavicle, you trail your gloved fingers over the thick column of his cervical vertebrae. By the stars, even here he is broad. His vertebrae alone are as thick as your own neck, though the red glowing gaps between them are distinctly alien. 

You like it.

This close, you don’t miss the way he inhales sharply at the first touch to his vertebrae. Or the way his breath stutters out when you drag them up the spines that jut out behind him. “oh fuck...” he swears under his breath when you dot kisses from his teeth, to the slight round of his jaw, and then to the underside of his chin. 

“You are welcome to touch me, Mister Sans,” you say against his jaw, soft lips feathering over the bone. “But do so over my clothes.” You wait a moment, just long enough for him to grunt out his agreement, before you dip your head to press your mouth against where his cervical vertebrae meets his skull. 

The skeleton jolts under you as if you had shocked him, a loud whimper escaping his cracked open maw. 

“Oh?” You breathe out, a knowing smile blooming over your lips. “You like this?”

“y-yeah,” he groans out. Stars, you think that’s the first time you’ve heard Sans stutter. Yes...yes, you’d like to hear more of that too. Now, how else to draw out such sounds from the big skeleton underneath you...

Warm, dry bone presses up against the softness of your cheek, the firm line of your jaw, as you lean in harder. As you lay a gentle, wet kiss to the red glow where skull and neck meet. Not content to simply use your lips, you hum lowly as you lave your tongue over bone and magic.

Oh, so this is what he tastes like, what he feels like under your tongue. Dry, but not quite as porous as human bone. A slight musk, a mix of salt and cherry smoke and something else that is uniquely Sans. The bone under your lips and tongue remains wet as you lick and suck and kiss, though growing even damper from the appearance of thin, red sweat that leaks from every joint. 

Sans, on his part, clutches at you like he’s holding on for dear life. His hands claw at your back, your thigh, holding you flush against him as he trembles with want. He can’t stop the noises leaking from his lips as much as he can’t stop himself from sweating thin red magic from his skull, his bones. In a long, slow hiss, he swears, “motherfucker--”

You chuckle, carefully scraping your teeth over the sensitive bones to the tune of another choked gasp. “I prefer monsterfucker, Mister Sans.”

“not yet, ya ain’t,” Sans hisses out, his hands gripping at you, groping hungrily at your soft flesh. His hands are strong, so so strong. Broad, greedy, like the rest of him. They grip at your flesh with enough strength to bruise. In fact, you’re certain you’ll find phalange-shaped bruises on your ass and thighs tomorrow. 

Ah, to have a reminder of the night’s escapades. Alas, how to leave Sans with similar reminders? You’ll have to think. But for now...

“All in good time, Mister Sans.” Your gloved fingers trace up Sans’ occipital bone, over the jagged seam, and then to the parietal bone. Bereft of hair to play with, to hold, you spread your fingers wide over the back of his skull to grip it gently, to tip his head up so you can close your mouth around the front of his vertebrae. 

More delicious sounds drip from Sans’ parted mouth, his tongue lolling inside it. “nngahh--” he moans, his breath quickening with every wet suckle. “oh stars...” Unable to help himself, he grinds up against you. Seeking friction, seeking weight. Stimulation. “c’mon sweetheart, give a skeleton some sug--ahh-”

You press your thigh tighter against his bony pelvis and the firm thickness tenting his trousers. 

“ye-ahh--c’mon--”

Rumbling softly against his cervical vertebrae, you pop off the bone with a wet snap and draw back enough to look him in his dazed eyelights. You lick your saliva and the red-tinged liquid that seeped from his joints off your lips, swooping in for a quick, if dirty, kiss. One that he reciprocates with a sluggish but greedy tongue and the press of his teeth. 

“Mister Sans,” you purr, gloved fingers gliding down from the top of his parietal bone down to trip over the spines of his cervical vertebrae, “Would you like to...have a tasting?”

You definitely don’t imagine the twitch in his trousers. 

Sans leers up at you with a wide smirk, his claws sliding inwards where they cup your backside, teasing at your sensitive inner thighs. “oh yeah, hit me with it, gorgeous.”

“Excellent.”

#undertale fics #mafiafell sans #mafiafell au #mafiafell sans x reader #sans x reader #spicy #the concierge #ficlet #drabble #2 more parts left to go!

[dhm-rising]

For Sale

Notes

Number of units available is not listed due to the frequency at which they may change

If Plague has one of the Dominance spots ask about discounts!

I’m also willing to trade anything here for anything on my wishlist! Just dm me (preferably here) and so we can work something out

Food

Price - 1g or 1kt per unit

Key: 🥩 = Meat, 🦐 = Seafood, 🌳 = Plants, & 🐞 = Insects

Hib Den

🥩 Balsas Anatole

🥩 Black Capped Chickadee

🥩 Black Orpington

🌳 Blue Parrot Tulip

🥩 Blue Throated Budgie

🥩 Bog Canary

🦐 Broadstripe Uaru

🌳 Bulrush

🦐 Clown Shrimp

🥩 Common Sparrow

🐞 Daddy Longlegs

🌳 Dark Creeper

🥩 Dust Slither

🥩 Dwarf Fawn

🐞 Earthworm

🌳 Floating Maiden

🐞 Fly

🦐 Electric Stinger

🥩 Grey Squirrel

🥩 Hellbender

🥩 Hooded Skunk

🌳 Juneflower

🌳 Jungle Lillies

🦐 Leech

🥩 Old World Rabbit

🥩 Plauge Bat

🦐 Pumpkinseed Sunfish

🦐 Redwing Hopper

🥩 Reedhopper

🐞 Palefoot Slug

🦐 Sardines

🌳 Satin Violets

🦐 Sea Sparrow

🦐 Serpae Tetra

🥩 Shrew

🦐 Smallhead Flying Fish

🦐 Sparkling Crayfish

🦐 Tiger Shrimp

🥩 Trumpeter Swan

🦐 Tuxedo Urchin

🥩 Valley Quail

🦐 Vampire Eel

🐞 Water Strider

🦐 Yellow-tinged Featherduster

Swipp

🥩 Amethyst Striker

🌳 Blackberry

🌳 Black Tulip

🐞 Black Witch

🥩 Coral Snake

🥩 Emerald Striker

🥩 Ferret

🥩 Micro Deer

🥩 Mute Swan

🐞 Nymph

🥩 Olive Sea Snake

🦐 Sunset Sea Dragon

🥩 Weasel

🐞 White Cabbage Butterfly

🥩 White-Eared Hummingbird

Baldwin

🌳 Blue Rose

🌳 Frosted Violets

🦐 Glowslug

🐞 Honeybee

🐞 Leaf Beetle

🦐 Nudibranch

🥩 Snapping Turtle

🐞 Stinglash

Hib Den & Baldwin

🌺 Pale Pink Rose

Materials

Price - 1g or 1kt per Unit

Hib Den

🔸 Ash Twigs

🔸 Beautiful Barrens Tile

🔸 Beeswax

🔸 Birch Twigs

🔸 Chimera Fangs

🔸 Chrome Laser Head

🔸 Clay

🔸 Coppercoil Segment

🔸 Iridescent Cloth

🔸 Lumen Wiring

🔸 Metal Spring

🔸 Rusted Chain

🔸 Sand

🔸 Swiftfoot Warrior’s Belt

🔸 Volt Wiring

Swipp

👾 Berserker’s Belt

👾 Black Iron Segment

👾 Bone Fragments

👾 Bonewood Branch

👾 Brilliant Length

👾 Broken Pottery Piece

👾 Cedar Logs

👾 Chipskunk Tail

👾 Chrysoberyl

👾 Copper Ore

👾 Crumbling Leather

👾 Decorative Desert Tile

👾 Driftwood Log

👾 Emerald

👾 Firestarter

👾 Glowing Pocket Bauble

👾 Iron Belt Buckle

👾 Mangled Textile

👾 Moldy Leather

👾 Moth-Eaten Rug

👾 Obsidian

👾 Red Fabric Scrap

👾 Rose Quartz

👾 Rotten Leather

👾 Seeker Broach

👾 Shale

👾 Shimmering Cloth

👾 Snakeskin Cloth

👾 Squirrel Skull

👾 Umbral Yarn

👾 White Linen Fabric Scrap

Baldwin

🧪 Aged Tome

🧪 Battered Book of Fables

🧪 Ceramic Plate

🧪 Dried Cedar Branch

🧪 Fancy Silver-Plated Belt Buckle

🧪 Fir Branch

🧪 Fishing Net

🧪 Grouse Basilisk Field Notes

🧪 Intact Parchment

🧪 Silken Feathers

🧪 Smokey Quartz

🧪 Smokey Sphere

🧪 Tiny Feathers

🧪 Wind-Up Key

Hib Den & Swipp

🩸 Hardy Antler

🩸Iron Ore

🩸Nickel Ore

🩸 Salt

🩸Sparrow Skull

Swipp & Baldwin

🔹 Driftwood Branch

🔹 Pine Branch

Hib Den & Baldwin

🌺 Blue Ooze

🌺 Copper Muck

🌺 Gold Muck

🌺 Green Goo

🌺 Green Ooze

🌺 Green Sludge

🌺 Orange Goo

🌺 Orange Ooze

🌺 Orange Sludge

🌺 Purple Goo

🌺 Red Ooze

🌺 Redwood Kindling

🌺 Rusted Iron Belt Buckle

🌺 Silver Muck

🌺 Sweetpuff Feather

🌺 Yellow Goo

🌺 Yellow Ooze

🌺 Yellow Sludge

All

♠️ Silver Ore

Apparel

To Be Priced, but feel free to offer

Head

🎩 Forest Green Head Wrap

🎩 Pretty Aqua Head Bow

🎩 Red Warrior Face Mask

🎩Viridian Leather Skullcap

Neck

🧣 Pretty Pink Neck Bow

Arms & Legs

🥾 Iron Filigree Boots

🥾 Kelly Green Spats

🧤 Mage’s Peony Gloves

🥾 Pretty Buttercup Leg Bow

🥾 Refined Highnoon Spurs

Wings

🦋 Contrast Rouge Wing Guard

🦋 Pretty Peach Wing Bow

Body

👔 Burrowing Chitin Breastplate

👔 Creeping Chitin Breastplate

👔 Earthsong Haori

👔 Silver Filigree Breastplate

Tail

🧶 Iron Filigree Tail Guard

Extras

🕶 Silver Flowerfall

Familiars

To Be Priced, but feel free to offer

Fiona

💕 Paddyfowl

Battle

Price - PWYW or Trade

🪓 Ambush - Lvl 9 or Higher

🪓 Berserker - Lvl 17 or Higher

🪓 Discipline - Lvl 9 or Higher

🪓 Frozen Acuity Fragment - Lvl 5 or Higher

🪓 Leaf Bolt - Lvl 5 or Higher

🪓 Magical Acuity Fragment - Lvl 5 or Higher

🪓 Scholar - Lvl 17 or Higher

🪓 Shred - Lvl 1 or Higher

Skincents

No Items Available

Specialty

To Be Priced, but feel free to offer

Genes

🧬 Banescale Sugarplum (Secondary)

🧬 Modern Fissure (Secondary)

🧬 Veilspun Arc (Primary)

🧬 Veilspun Flecks (Tertiary)

Other

Price - 1g or 1kt per Unit

Hib Den

🔸 Airborne Warrior Belt

🔸 Amber-trapped Fly

🔸 Battered Scroll Case

🔸 Black Knight

🔸 Black Pawn

🔸 Black Queen

🔸 Black Rook

🔸 Decorative Centaur Quiver

🔸 Decorative Rasa Shard

🔸 Duelist Hilt

🔸 Ebon-Edged Spear

🔸 Enchanted Candle

🔸 Fennec Mask

🔸 Harpy Masque

🔸 Kelp Tender Plush

🔸 Large Stone Collar

🔸 Long Form Poetry

🔸 Moth-eaten Mith Doll

🔸 Mysterious Relief

🔸 Petal Bat Spoon

🔸 Ringmaster’s Bellwhip

🔸 Scroll Case

🔸 Shattered Reading Spectacles

🔸 Sharpened Serthis Spear

🔸 Sparksylph Husk

🔸 Spikeshell Cover

🔸 Stonestomp Tunic

🔸 Tarnished Chain

🔸 Trilobite Fossil

🔸 White Bishop

🔸 White King

🔸 White Knight

🔸 White Queen

🔸 White Rook

Swipp

👾 Amber-trapped Mosquito

👾 Aviar Fragment

👾 Azure Lure

👾 Battered Gauntlet

👾 Fossilized Fish

👾 Haunted Stone Orb

👾 Ornate Porcelain Jar

👾 Pulsating Pendant

👾 Raptor Effigy

👾 Rasa Pottery Fragment

👾 Spectre Loop

Baldwin

🧪 Basilisk Feather Fan

🧪 Crumbling Relief

🧪 Florist’s Satchel

🧪 Glazed Mammophant Mask

🧪 Herbalist’s Satchel

🧪 Intricate Woodcarving

🧪 Lawn Sin

🧪 Mender’s Healing Staff

🧪 Overly-Engineered Buckler

🧪 Owlcat Journal

🧪 Rusty Pickaxe

🧪 Showy Bell

🧪 Sorceress’ Loopbelt

🧪 Wolpertinger Hoodie

Hib Den & Swipp

🩸 Black Bishop

🩸 Dancer’s Bell

🩸 White Pawn

Swipp & Baldwin

🔹 Broken Bottle

🔹 Redfin Belt

Hib Den & Baldwin

🌺 Pickaxe

#fr sales #flight rising sales #flight rising #swipp’s swap stand #Baldwin’s bubbling brew #Hib den #fr item sales #flight rising item sales #the cauldron bubbles

[corvus-coraxs]

red grouse skull and all its parts! 🖤

#fraizer's bones #animal death #vulture culture #update #red grouse skull #grouse skull #skulls #bird skull #RGR021002

[autisticdindjarin]

Sleep It Off

(AO3)

Summary:   “You’re a kriffing mess,” Boba declared. Mando’s eyes opened again at that, all wide and teary, brow crumpled. Rating: T Pairings: Din Djarin x Boba Fett Warnings: Drunkeness, Vomiting Notes:  For Bobadin Week 2021, Day 3- Protectiveness/Caretaking I ended up getting a new job and it's been exhausting so this isn't edited as well as I wanted it to be but. Heh. Better than nothing, yeah?

(Masterlist)

↪

 Boba cursed under his breath as he eyed the tipsy Mandalorian, being held up halfway with his own feet, and halfway with Fennec’s help. He reached forwards immediately, taking the brunt of the weight from his partner.

 “Where did you find him?” Boba shook his head, grimacing as Mando leaned into his hold. Fennec sighed, wiping her hands on the tops of her thighs, looking unimpressed with everything as usual.

 “Cantina in Mos Eisley. Trading stories with some mechanic. Don’t know how much he’s had.”

 “Helmet?” Boba asked, and Fennec handed it over. It was strange, seeing Mando without it most of the time now. The man seemed to be avoiding it, yet he took it everywhere, in hand.

 Mando remained silent where he leaned against Boba, though one hand was strangely running across his shoulder, almost admiringly. Fennec looked between the two of them and shrugged.

 “I’ll let you handle this one,” she said with a slight smile, and Boba didn’t have the time to respond before he was facing a closed door. He grumbled under his breath, then turned his attention to Mando.

 The man was a sorry sight, one that tugged at heartstrings. Boba guided him gently to the bed, keeping Mando from falling over when he attempted to sit down. He plopped on the bed instead, feet flat on the floor and back flat on the mattress, arms sprawled out. His dark eyes were slightly unfocused, but they didn’t leave Boba’s form.

 “I’m getting you some water,” Boba groused, shaking his head. He was startled when Mando’s hand clutched at his, the grip strong.

 “No, I can’t …. Stay?”

 Boba looked back at him. Mando’s bottom lip was jutted out, his eyes big and shining, looking like he was about to cry.

 Fuck, but this was pathetic. Boba let out a huff, but was gentle when he extracted Mando’s hand from his wrist.

 “I’ll be right back. You really need water, or you’re going to be cursing yourself out even more tomorrow. I’ll be right back,” he said again as a reminder. Mando seemed to consider it, then nodded, a curl of hair falling into his face. Boba hesitated before reaching over, brushing it back, and Force be damned, those pleading eyes were going to be the death of him if he kept looking.

 So he turned away, intent on his task of finding water for the intoxicated Mandalorian awkwardly situated on his bed.

 He was back within minutes, and was surprised that Mando hadn’t passed out on him; Instead he had sat up and crossed his legs underneath him, making a pretty picture where he was perched on the mattress. Boba raised a brow as he sat beside him, and handed him the glass, hoping but also kind of not hoping that he wouldn’t need assistance.

 Mando gulped down the water too fast.

 Boba cursed as it came back up immediately on his floor, barely getting his foot out of the way in time. The glass dropped onto the bed and Boba reached over, his hand cupping the back of Mando’s neck and holding him steady as he got sick all over Boba’s rug.

 Boba didn’t care much for the rug anyway.

 When he was done, Mando’s eyes met Boba’s. They were watery and red, dark bags beneath them, his skin clammy to the touch and ashen. Boba sighed, running his hand over Mando’s forehead. Mando made a strange little sound, almost something like  longing, and closed his eyes, leaning into Boba’s hand that now cupped his jaw.

 “You’re a kriffing mess,” Boba declared. Mando’s eyes opened again at that, all wide and teary, brow crumpled.

 “‘M sorry ….” Mando said, on the verge of tears. Boba hissed, shaking his head and rubbing a hand over his neck, fingers massaging gently at the base of Mando’s skull.

 “No better place to be a mess than here. You’re safe,” Boba assured, hoping to get that point across at least. Mando relaxed under his hand, his shoulders slumping forwards. Boba took a breath, just watching him for a long moment.

 “We should get you out of that armor, Mando, get a bit more comfortable,” he squeezed gently at Mando’s neck. Mando glanced over at him, and reached a hand that found its way to Boba’s kneecap.

 “Name’s Din,” he said, his voice nearly whispered. Boba’s brow furrowed.

 “Right. We’ll see if you remember this tomorrow. If not, I’ll pretend to have forgotten it.”

 This seemed to immediately distress Mando … Din … who lurched forwards, his grip tightening on Boba’s knee.

 “No. No - I want you to know. Want you to know me,” he said, his proximity close enough that it would make Boba uncomfortable with anyone else. Instead Boba clicked his tongue, patting Din on the shoulder.

 “We’ll talk about it tomorrow … Din,” he added his name with a small smile on his lips, and Din smiled back at him, eyes that had previously looked so sad now sparkling over at him.

 “Okay,” Din said, in an almost dreamy tone. Boba shook his head at him.

 “If I get you more water, will you drink slow and keep it down?” he asked, leaning forwards to get better eye contact from him. Din nodded at that, very seriously.

 “Right. I’ll be right back … again,” Boba snorted, making sure Din was in a position where he’d less likely risk falling off the bed.

 He made his way to the fresher, grabbing a towel to clean up Din’s mess, and filled another glass with water. As an afterthought, he rooted around in a drawer, grabbing a spare ultrasound cleaner for teeth.

 When he returned, Din was right where he left him, watching him walk back in intently. Boba hid a smile, sitting down beside him again. This time, he held the glass of water while he encouraged Din to drink, making sure he went with sips instead of gulping the whole damn thing down. Satisfied with half a glass, he put it to the side, handing Din over the pseudo-toothbrush.

 “Think you can handle this? It’s a spare. Didn’t figure you’d wanna wake up with aftertaste. I always hated that.”

 Din nodded at him, and Boba chuckled. A man of few words. He started on cleaning his teeth while Boba cleaned the mess off the floor - good enough until morning, at least. He’d have one of the cleaning droids give the room a shine while he worked.

 Din finished with his teeth before he was done, and the ultrasound cleaner found its place on the nightstand alongside the half empty glass of water.

 “Right. Now, you wanna get that armor off for the night, or do you enjoy sleeping in metal?” he asked, approaching Din again, who was looking more and more like he was about to pass out as time passed. Boba would like to get the beskar off of him before that happened, ideally.

 “Yeah,” Din rasped out in that gravelly voice of his, his stare intent on Boba. Boba faltered just slightly before he reached over, helping to begin the process, starting with the pauldrons. By the time they were finished, Din was slipping into sleep. Boba smiled and got the armor tucked away safely underneath the bed, well guarded between the two of them. He reached over to brush the curl that had fallen over Din’s forehead away again. Din’s eyes snapped open, and their gazes were drawn together for a long moment.

 “Stay,” Din breathed out, sitting up again, his hand reaching for Boba’s. Flustered, Boba chuckled, turning his head away.

 “I’m fine, don’t worry-” he cut himself off as he found Din’s face inches from his. Gulping, he looked into Din’s eyes, which were pointed towards his lips. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, his lips were covered with Din’s, his jaw cupped by a calloused hand. In shock, Boba immediately responded by kissing back, his hand moving to curl into the back of Din’s hair. But he was snapped out of it soon enough when Din pressed closer, trying to wriggle his way into Boba’s lap. Boba pulled away, pressing a hand against Din’s chest as his own heaved.

 “Steady - I-” his own voice was tangled up and hoarse now as he tried to collect all the thoughts rushing through his head. “You’re drunk, Mandalorian. Let’s … save this for tomorrow, yeah? If you even remember,” Boba sighed, just gazing at the man in front of him, drinking in the sight of his mussed hair, heaving chest, and flushed face.

 Din blinked at him a few times, then nodded slowly, eyes falling shut with a goofy grin on his face. Boba near giggled at that, his hands soothing the mussed hair back as he guided Din back on the bed, tugging the sheets over him.

 “Sleep it off,” he added again, not unkindly. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

 As he turned the lights off and settled down onto the nearby couch for the night, Boba slowly ran his fingers over his lips.

@bobadinweek

#bobadin #bobadinweek2021 #boba fett #bobin #din djarin #the mandalorian #myfic #mine

[scribbuluswrites]

The Call

Happy Friday! erm.... Saturday. Let’s see if I can remember to keep posting these weekly or if I’ve forgotten how to stick to a plan. 

I hope you guys enjoy the next chapter of my little prequel to Faking It! As always, thanks for reading!!

Happy growled as his ringing phone interrupted his next threat. Things had gone sideways with the Calaveras MC, and he was currently trying to extract more information from a man buried up to his neck in the desert. 

He yanked off one of his gloves, ripping the phone out of his pocket. Initially, he had thought to detail the many ways he was going to remove pieces from the caller, but the words died in his throat as he saw the name. 

“I gotta take this,” he said roughly, shoving the hilt of his knife into Jax’s hand. Clay, the club president, shrugged, raising his eyebrows in frustration. Happy was their hired muscle for this issue, but no one was going to question him. 

Happy stepped away, making sure he was out of earshot. He didn’t want anyone listening in on this conversation. 

“Is this important?” There was sniffling on the other end of the line. 

“Oh, um, no. You’re busy, and this is really small in comparison probably,” she stammered, startled by his tone and sharp words. Kat sniffled again. “Sorry, I’m not even sure why…” 

“What happened?” Happy tried, unsuccessfully, to make his voice a little gentler. He was torn between wanting to finish the job and immediately rush over to find out what had made Katarina cry. She hadn’t called him since the night they met, but he would be lying if he claimed she hadn’t crossed his mind since. In fact, he’d thought about calling her every day for the last month.

“Somebody broke into my apartment,” she admitted, her voice small. Happy’s fingers tightened on the phone. 

“Go outside right now. Get in your car and lock the doors. Send me the address,” he barked, his words coming across like orders. The phone vibrated against his ear, and he held it out, reading the address. 

“I didn’t go in. I saw the front door standing open and went back to the car park,” she explained. Happy felt relieved that she had the smarts to stay outside. 

“You sure it wasn’t your roommate? Forgot to lock the door or something?” There was a scream in the background on Happy’s end. He spun around, the look on his face enough to give Tig pause as he sliced the tip of the knife across their hostage’s forehead. Something like a squeak came through the phone. Happy could picture Katarina’s face scrunched up as she probably imagined what was happening behind him. 

“Uh… no, she moved out,” Katarina replied slowly. He felt like she was struggling to find her voice. This was not how he wanted their first sober conversation to go. 

“Be there in fifteen.” Happy snapped the phone shut, swearing under his breath. He stomped back to the group, slugging Tig in the jaw. “Next time I’m on a call, don’t make so much noise, shithead,” he groused, picking his dropped knife off the ground. 

“He doesn’t know anything,” Jax complained, clearly annoyed that they’d picked up the wrong culprit. Happy marched past him, burying his knife in the top of the Calaveras’ member’s skull. Tig jumped back, his feet now spattered in blood just like Happy’s. 

“What the fuck, man?” he complained, his lip split and jaw already beginning to swell. Happy wasn’t even phased that his relationship with the mother charter might be strained after this. They needed him, so it would be fixable. “Where the hell are you going?” Happy grunted, throwing his leg over his bike. He didn’t bother with an explanation, starting it up and taking off, leaving a rooster tail of dust as he headed back to the highway. 

Happy felt an uneasiness in his gut that hadn’t been there for many years. He had run through every stop sign and red light, ignoring the speed limits on his way. Knowing Kat was fine wasn’t enough, somehow. He needed to see it. 

He parked next to Katarina’s car, shucking his helmet and stepping off the bike in one fluid motion. Happy kept his face impassive despite the relief he felt at seeing her get out of her car. He briefly looked her over, not moving any closer. He desperately wanted to wrap her in his arms and keep her safe. The impulse was terrifying. 

“Stay put,” he commanded, pulling his gun out. “1701?” Kat nodded, surprised he had already memorised her apartment number. 

The door had definitely been tampered with, scratches covering the door handle. Whoever had broken in had obviously gotten fed up with picking the lock. Instead, opting to just kick it in. The door jamb was going to have to be replaced before she could stay here, Happy decided. 

He cautiously pushed the door open, moving through the room slowly. Satisfied that no one was in any of the closets, he moved through the rest of the apartment. Happy carefully inspected each room, closet, or hiding space. It took at least ten minutes before he was confident that no one was here. 

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you coming over. I just got so scared when I saw the door,” Katarina explained, walking towards him as he re-emerged into the parking lot. She toyed with a ring on her right hand, clearly nervous around him. 

“First one that answered?” he asked, wondering how much his curiosity reflected in his eyes. He also wasn’t sure why he cared. 

“I didn’t call anyone else,” she said quietly. Happy felt a grin spreading on his face as Kat looked down at her feet, her cheeks red. 

“Go pack a bag,” he directed, leaning against his bike. Her head snapped up. 

“What? I don’t want to tell anyone else. They’ll worry, and then it will turn into a thing…”

‘You can stay with me. I can’t get any supplies tonight, but I’ll get your door fixed tomorrow.” Kat’s mouth snapped shut, but she didn’t look entirely comfortable with the idea. Happy again wondered why he felt such a strong need to take care of her. She was too innocent to get dragged into his world. 

“Great plan, Kat. Don’t want people to think you’re irresponsible so you’ll go stay the night with a total stranger,” she muttered, walking away. Happy was almost certain she didn’t realise he had heard her. 

She returned just a few minutes later with a backpack on. Happy passed her his helmet, patting the back of his bike. 

“Can’t I follow you?” She hesitantly took the helmet, clearly having never worn one before. He shook his head, patting the back of the bike again. 

“I don’t know who did this. Just give me a little peace of mind, will ya?” he explained, unsure when he had started offering up any information. 

“What’s one more new experience,” she replied, forcing a smile onto her face before gingerly climbing onto the bike behind him. Katarina carefully placed her hands on his waist. Happy chuckled, grabbing her hands and pulling them around him. 

“Hold on tight, little girl, and try not to throw our balance off,” he instructed, firing the Harley up. 

“Sure. No idea what that means, but I’ll keep the balance,” she quipped, her grip automatically tightening as Happy rolled out of the lot. 

It had been a very long time since he’d had anyone on the back of his bike. He had never been one to give out casual rides or ferried people home for the club. His bike was an extension of him, and just like his attention, he didn’t offer it to just anyone. 

Happy thought about the girl holding on to him. Katarina was a very bad idea. She was too young and too naive. He had already known this, but he couldn’t bring himself to delete her number. Or ignore her call. 

Happy Lowman was in big trouble. 

Tags: @agirllovespasta @gemini0410 @scuzmunkie @woahitslucyylu @chibsytelford @ifoundmyhappythought @multiyfandomgirl40 @yourwonkywriter @jitterbugs927 @withmyteeth

If you would like to be added or dropped please just let me know :)

#happy lowman #happy lowman imagine #happy x reader #happy lowman x reader #happy lowman x oc #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy imagine #SAMCRO #soa #soa imagine #faking it

[ao3-deviance]

@lionheartkrbkzine 's drabble challenge sounded fun so I gave it a go!

Bakugou narrowed his eyes at the man in front of him.

"What?" He snapped.

"Foul demon!" The man yelled, brandishing a rosary. "Begone!"

Bakugou stared at him, unimpressed. 

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit!" The priest--since Bakugou felt that was a pretty obvious deduction--continued to yell, edging closer to him and waving the rosary. His arm was trembling with fear. Bakugou's nose twitched and his lip curled up just a little with annoyance. "I command you to leave this place!"

"The fuck you even talking about?" Bakugou groused. 

"Do not try to deny! You are pale and only venture out in the night! Your disposition alone reveals you to be the beast you are! Foul-mouthed and belligerent! A creature of the night plagues this gentle town and it is without a doubt you, sir." 

The priest inched even closer. His legs were shaking. Bakugou rolled his eyes, moving towards the man without concern. The priest yelped, jumping to keep facing him. Bakugou walked right up to his hand, looking down at the rosary coldly. 

"You think this little thing's going to do anything?" Bakugou sneered, pupils dilating before contracting to narrow slits. The priest's eyes widened with fear and he quickly began to chant verses, stumbling back. Bakugou growled, mood officially ruined--not that he'd been in a good mood anyways--and he gave a lazy swipe with his claws, knocking the rosary from the other's hands. 

"Demon!" The man screeched, turning and taking off. Bakugou crouched, growl louder now. 

"Oh no," he deadpanned, just before he grinned with too many sharp teeth, his hair looking just a bit more ragged and creeping down the sides of his face. His grin was manic and he snapped his teeth together. "Don't you know? Only prey runs."

He covered ground quickly, letting out a howl for the hunt, earning him a fearful backwards glance from the man.

"Hey, man, that's not cool." 

Bakugou collided with what felt like a rock suddenly appearing in front of him. He blinked, staggering back, a little stunned. The man that now stood in front of him had obnoxious red hair and a bright happy grin. 

"You shouldn't be scaring people. You know, don't play with your food and all that."

"I wasn't going to eat him," Bakugou denied, working his jaw. 

The other blinked. "Oh. No?" He glanced over his shoulder, seeing that the man had tripped not too far away and was dragging himself now, giving them terrified glances. "Mind if I have a quick bite then?"

Bakugou drew back at that, feeling his ears--which must have come out sometime during his chase, large triangles of fluff the same color of his hair--lay flat against his skull. His tail pushed the back of his pants down just a little, the appendage swishing twice before stilling with caution.

"Don't really feel like watching a murder."

The other laughed. "I'm not going to kill anyone, dude. He'll just...forget. A little." His eyes rested on Bakugou's ears, glanced at his tail. "Might be good for you too, actually." 

Bakugou decided not to argue against that, watching the other grin brightly before moving quickly, appearing right behind the priest. 

"Hi!" He chirped at him. "This should only take a minute!" 

The priest didn't even have a chance to scream, the other's eyes glowing an eerie red as he captured his gaze. The priest stood like he was in a trance, and the redhead neared, one hand slipping into his hair and pulling his head to the side. Bakugou's eyes widened as two of the redhead's already sharp teeth lengthened to pinpoint thin fangs and he bit into his neck. He pulled away a few minutes later, eyes flaring as he met the priest's hooded eyes again. The man hadn't flinched a muscle.

"Go home. Go to sleep like normal. You'll wake up and think this was all a dream. You're going to forget anything about a demon or monster or anything supernatural in this town."

"All a dream," the man repeated hollowly, turning on his heel and walking away robotically. 

"Sorry, dude," the redhead offered as he turned to Bakugou, wiping at his mouth. "I was starving! That guy's been on the hunt for me for a while but I can't really get close when he's got that rosary or chanting his holy stuff."

Bakugou's ears swiveled, flicking briefly as he watched the other near him. 

"Werewolf, right?" The other continued. "Nice!"

"Vampire," Bakugou deduced, voice low with warning.

"That's me! Name's Kirishima." He hit his fists together across his chest. 

Bakugou eyed him, his tanned skin, bright smile, almost puppy-like eyes. "How the fuck are you a vampire?" He challenged. "You look nothing like one!"

"Got to have a good camouflage, man!" Kirishima laughed. He waved towards the top of his head, where his hair was spiked. "Dude, I'm sorry, but your ears--" he cut off, covering his face as he laughed. Bakugou growled, eyes narrowed.

"My ears what?"

"They're so cute!" Kirishima giggled.

Bakugou snarled, fangs bared. "I'm going to kill you, Shitty Hair."

"Hey, our hair is basically the same!"

Bakugou crouched, tail alert behind him, and Kirishima paused, eyes scanning his form before he smirked. 

"If you're looking for a fight, I'll take you on," he accepted with a wild grin. "But, I want to make a bet."

Bakugou scoffed. "You think you can beat me?" 

Kirishima didn't back down. "What do you have to lose then?"

"Name it then."

Kirishima's eyes sparked with mischievousness. "Loser pays for our first date."

Bakugou sputtered with shock as Kirishima laughed, taking off with a grin over his shoulder. Bakugou howled, instincts triggered, and he gave chase. He couldn't help the startled laugh that erupted from him when Kirishima ran into a tree when he wasn't paying attention.

Maybe he wouldn't kill the vampire. 

Yet. 

He'd make him pay for dinner first. 

#kiribaku #bakushima #lionheartkrbkzine #vampire kirishima #werewolf bakugou #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #teen #blood mention #drabble #challenge #my writing

[anneimaginesundertale]

(This came to mind reading nonny's recent ask about the fishnet stockings and my brain instantly went "How and why would Jess pull something like that on G?" and behold the silliness that inspired. Thanks for helping with G's reaction Anne! XD )  Jess gave a long suffering sigh and walked back over to G with a huff as he continued to peruse the various costumes on the other half of the aisle. He glanced over at her in surprise at her vexation, given how excited she had been to visit the seasonal Halloween store that had popped up. “What’s wrong Angel?”

“I forgot how frustrating it is looking for women’s costumes in these places. I might as well be in a Love Shack.” She groused folding her arms as G snorted at her ire and choice of words, turning to look back at the other section.

“What do you mean? They can’t be that bad.”

“Oh but they are. Everything is ‘Sexy’ this, ‘Seductive’ that. I mean look.” She pulled him over “Policewoman? Busty top, boots shorts and fishnet leggings. Little Riding Hood? Must call her that for how little material is in the skirt.” Jess said holding up the costume that barely covered the models rear, again with fishnet stockings to complete the look. “Pirate? Try Pi-not. I mean aside from the plastic hook prop and the hat, how is this a pirate outfit? Where’s the leather? The long jacket? Or at the very least, sturdy pants! But noooo, we get practically a tutu attached to a red and black striped corset!” Jess rolled her eyes before snickering at the ridiculousness of it.

G snickered with her as she pulled him down further “I mean not even an Angel costume is safe from the ‘sexy’! Look!” She held up the package to him, ire replaced fully with amusement at this point. The costume was a mini white toga with glittery gold accents, a fuzzy halo and a tiny set of wings and of course white fishnet stockings.

“I am noticing a theme.” G grinned pointing at stockings.

Rolling her eyes again “Right? Clearly every outfit is made seductive by the power of fishnet stockings.”

G nodded sagely fighting down a grin. “Of course. They make everything look good.”

Sharing some more laughter, they went around the rest of the store guffawing at the other costumes designs or some of the other clear knock offs but with different names (Jess about hyperventilated at ‘Suspicious Red Astronaut) but managed to find some decent accessories and décor. At the checkout there was a bin of $1 fishnet stockings and a glimmer of a prank she could pull later came to mind. She slipped it in her order while G wasn’t looking with a grin stretched her face in anticipation.

Later that night, after all the shopping was done popcorn was popped and movies were set aside for a long Halloween movie marathon. G came back into the kitchen wearing his comfy clothes, a ‘Bad to the Bone’ t-shirt and a pair of baggy sweatpants. “Ready Angel?”

“Just about. Let me go change into my jammies. You go ahead and get set up on the couch.” Jess smiled, trying not to laugh at what was to come.

G grabbed the popcorn and summoned up a extra set of hands to carry their drinks to the living room. As he was distracted with the first movie’s dvd set up (Nightmare before Christmas, a must Jess had insisted) Jess came out of the door behind the couch wearing her own t-shirt with Halloween designs, a pair of knee length baggy shorts, with the fishnet stocks underneath and a grin on her face.

Jess went to prop her leg on the chair arm, underestimating the slidiness of the stockings causing her leg to rest across G’s lap instead. He whipped up his skull in shock, Jess’s eyes widened too flustered she managed to squeak out “Are you seduced yet?” and promptly died on the inside. Huh. So this is how Pokemon hurt themselves when confused.

G let out a bark of laughter still utterly shocked. After a moment though understanding set in and his face started to glow bright yellow and he couldn’t seem to speak.

His expression tipped her over the edge and Jess broke down in laughter, managing a broken apology between giggles "I'm hahhaha sorry! I couldn't hee I couldn't re-resist." Hopefully her laughter would excuse the red staining her cheeks as she righted herself “Imma get out of these.” She said fleeing leaving the room. After a couple minutes of deep breathing, for which G was thankful for as well, she returned sans the stockings. G pulled her down next to him holding her closer than usual as he started the movie.

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

😂 This is perfect! Great work!

#g and jess #isnt that something #this is canon #this happened

[corviddays]

SO I’ve always wanted to do paleo art, but never felt confident enough. I was always worried that my piece would be behind the times on what is or is not scientifically proven in the appearances of dinosaurs of the past. This year will be different, I will try to just jump in from now on, so here is my rendition of a T-Rex. I only based this on the skeleton of T-Rex. It started with the idea the holes in the skull of T-Rex is there for a reason. I’m thinking Beluga Whale.

This is my idea of a male T-Rex. From what I know they live in swampy areas, so a kind of mossy grey seemed legit for a predatory, possibly ambush hunter. His head feathers are inspired by pheasants and his eyes Hornbills. What started this all, the red inflatable membrane, is inspired by a sage grouse. I love the idea that a male would utilize sound and vibrate the membrane to attract females. Maybe even bed low to expose and flash their head feathers?

Anyway, I’m curious what other people think

#Trex #paleoart #digitalart #sage grouse