#and the ring and the sandals are the touch of boy you are so from la in this fit for me. the whole thing is pretty la but you get it

[vanillaboyfriend]

was watching this vod and this outfit...

[vmbrq]

how do u think some of the scream guys react to a more bimbo esque s/o….. cus i already KNOWWWW some of them *cough cough* charlie *cough cough* WOULD FW IT, LIKE IDKK AND DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON ETHAN ?? obsessed loser boy x oblivious girly bimbo ??? SOOOO 🤭🤭 and i just know they’re silly little perverts too so they would get all squirmy just from her accidentally flashing them as she bends down to pick up like a flower out of the grass or smth😭😭 IDK I JUST THINK ITS CUTEEE 🤭

(also omg idk if u do anons or anything but like …… if u do …. can i be 🩷 PLEASEEEE if not thats okay😁☝️ ANYWAYS OKAY BYEEE)

yes, i do anons !! so you certainly can <3

AND IT IS CUTE :( ethan would be STRESSED LMAOO practically glued to your side or standing behind you to make sure you don't accidentally flash anyone. he would also be one of the first to volunteer to fix the straps on your sandals or tie your sneakers for the same reason. he also takes advantage of any opportunity to tutor you, even if most of your sessions end up with you in his lap with your lips on his. he's such a sucker for you, too, so weak to the way you whine his name or gaze up at him, all sweet and adoring, and ask him for a kiss. he could be holding a cardboard box he can barely see over, and he'll still be awkwardly angling his body and bending forward to give you a quick peck on the lips.

charlie would be so fond of just observing you, whether it's admiring your side profile while you touch up your makeup or watching how your animated expressions reflect your thoughts as you try to work through homework on your own. plus, he knows that half the time, you have zero clue what he's talking about when he rambles on about the specifics of media, but he adores the effort you put into trying to understand. and even if you've given up on trying, you still sit there with a smile and give him your full attention, bc you just like hearing him talk.

both of them would be obsessed with the way you have no concept of personal space when it comes to them, your brain consisting of nothing but tv static as you get right in their face or press up close to them. you're shameless with your affection, and you never think twice about how out-of-place they appear at your side.

mickey and billy would adore how easy you are to mold into their perfect, unwitting accomplice, taking all of their explanations in stride and rarely ever questioning them. there's a certain freedom that your presence allows, since they know that you don't even blink or think twice about the thin layers of blood embedded beneath their fingernails or that strange scent that clings to their clothes when they kiss or hold you. oh, they accidentally cut themselves? oh, that smell is just the gasoline from their car? okay. after all, all you need is to trust them and let them do the thinking. all you have to do is sit on their laps and look pretty for them.

mentions of smut under the cut ; minors dni

all of the sex jokes when they're around end up flying right over your head. you're so naive, so sweet, so easy to manipulate until you're bouncing on their cock and creaming a pretty, white ring at the base because it's "the best way to get rid of your stomachache." they stick out like a sore thumb against the decor of your room, but sometimes, when you've got their head resting on your chest with your fingers combing idly through their hair, or when they're sprawled on your bed lying about not peeking through their fingers while you lotion up your bare body and reflexively reach for the shirt they lent you three weeks ago, they feel as though they fit right in.

[littlesparklight]

A Burial of Love and Flowers

Apollo sits on the stairs leading out to the garden, quietly contemplating the flowers at his feet. They nod their heads in the sweet breeze, turned towards the sun, and while they're still yet alive loving the light and loved by it in turn, their lives are so remarkably short. Some flowers are perennial to the delight of all who lay eyes on them. Apollo tips his head sideways until he can rest his cheek on top of Hyacinthus' curly head. Delight and fortune, particularly so when one hadn't expected the dying flower to come back again.

So many more flowers are yearling things, grown and bloomed during a spring and summer, seeding new plants and flowers with their death.

He shifts a foot over, lifting it up to overshadow a blooming little plant. Hesitates there, breathing in the sweet-scented air. Somewhere below, to the south, a feast is being had. Being rudely interrupted.

Apollo crushes the flower beneath his foot, rubbing it down into the grass and tearing both leaves and petals as a scream - silent, unvoiced to the air and the uncaring murderer, but he can hear her - rings through the aether, reverberates through his head. Lightly, he bends further so he can kiss Hyacinthus' cheek.

"What is it?" So relaxed before, Hyacinthus is frowning now. Twists around despite Apollo's weight on him reaching up to touch his cheek, with a glancing look between the crushed flower sticking out beyond the end of Apollo's sandal and up at his face. Pushes his fingertips in, against the hidden stiffness of the seemingly relaxed little smile just barely tugging at the corner of Apollo's mouth.

He gives up. Lets the smile bloom, edged.

"She'll pay for that," he promises, and his darling Hyacinthus is of course confused. "Klytaimestra and Aegisthus have killed Agamemnon, but as foolish as Aegisthus is being, that was the price to pay for what Klytaimestra believes happened with Iphigenia, and for the complete razing of Troy."

Apollo ghosts a touch down the outer halo of Hyacinthus' curls. Knows he's frowning now.

"Kassandra, though--- No. She'll pay for that."

He repeats the promise, can already see the solution as Elektra hurries through the corridors with Orestes' nurse in tow until they find the ten year old boy. They have to pull him away from his friends and the game they're playing, and he doesn't understand, but quietens when Elektra urges him to. Nurse and child are sent to hide until they can creep out of Mycenae later tonight. The maddened mother roams the corridors, finding not what she's seeking.

"I'll be back later," he adds, but lets Hyacinthus pull him into a longer kiss, sweet enough his mouth softens a little before he leaves.

Finds Hermes goofing off with Pan in a field in Arkadia. It's a pleasant scene that would normally bring a smile to his face, one which has tempted him into joining with a lyre quite a few times. Today, his heart grows black and cold, though Pan is immortal and divine; he has lost sons too recently to be charmed, and now Kassandra, too.

"Hermes." Apollo knows his voice is too sharp, but he doesn't feel like apologising.

Hermes looks up, a greeting, and invitation, surely on the tip of his tongue, his head already tipping to indicate the spot beside him, but Apollo isn't going to be soothed yet, for all that his greatest fury and hurt has some short time to abate. Hermes sighs, shaking his head.

"Later, kid." Flashing his son a grin and playfully snagging the wispy trails of beard growing down Pan's chin, Hermes tugs on it and then stands up, coming over. "You know I can't do more than get her to the shore. She's going to have to wait."

Apollo scoffs, shaking his head. Yes, no one in Mycenae is going to bury Agamemnon's personal war prize, one so favoured as she'd been, no matter if he'd intended to keep her to himself or hand her over to his wife. That does mean she can't enter the Underworld as properly, until much later. That is simply not acceptable.

"She's not," he says, a hand light on Hermes' shoulder. "Walk with me."

Brows high above his twilight-blue eyes, Hermes peers up at him for a moment or two, but doesn't ask. Merely shrugs, and they do walk. Across fields and valleys, past vineyards and up mountain foothills, over several mountains. By the time they reach the ravine outside Mycenae where Kassandra's body has been dumped, sunset has long fled and the sky is turning from bruised purples into smooth, uncaring dark blue, pulling night along behind it. The stars are beautiful as they decorate the heavens above, the moon a silver tear. No one will cry or wail for Kassandra, loved as she'd been. They're all dead, the ones who could have, but she has also done enough wailing and crying through the last couple years to mourn her own death as much as her family's and the whole of Troy's.

She lies across the scattered stone like a discarded doll. All the finery she might have been worn, imposed by a man who thought he could cover up the blood he'd spilled with gold, have been stripped off her, but she is still dressed. Someone has also closed her eyes and mouth.

Apollo kneels down beside her, his broken doll, this torn and crushed flower which will certainly not bloom again. Brushes a hand along her throat, down her chest. The lethal wounds close up, the gore still streaking her fair skin flakes away. It might still stain her dress, but it's mostly obvious where the golden trim has been fouled; the purple absorbs the blood, dark on dark. Lightly, he touches her cheek, so similar and yet different to how Hyacinthus touched his cheek earlier.

"Kassandra. Little sparrow, my whispering snake. Come out now. It's all right." Apollo doesn't raise his voice, barely speaks above a murmur.

Hermes could fetch her, of course. But there's no need for that. The silence of the gathering night sinks thick about them while Apollo rearranges Kassandra's arms so they're laying down her torso instead of awkwardly splayed about her. She almost looks as if she might be asleep, like this. Alas, it's not Hypnos that has visited her, but his brother.

"That's a little optimistic, don't you think? Even if she doesn't hate you. Maybe I should go fe---"

"Just wait," Apollo says, not bothering to look up until he can feel the shift in the air. He looks up without standing up then, looks up at Kassandra as she comes down the ravine, half navigating the stones as if she might need the care and half straight floating through them.

Her eyes are huge and dark, her hair appears silver in the moonlight, spilling about her in thick, lazy ringlet curls, framing her in. She stares at him, grimaces, hands flexing into fists. Then she shudders as he holds a hand out, and though she doesn't come fleeing like a little girl into her mother's spread arms, woken scared from a nightmare and the room dark and still around her until the door is opened and with the familiar shape comes both light and love, Kassandra still comes. Clutches onto his hand with both of hers, and though they're as small compared to his as always, now he can see the outline of his fingers, the creases on his palm, through her grip.

"Why did I have to see all that?" It's half an accusation, half a plea, Kassandra now clutching his hand to her chest. "Was that the true punishment, oh Apaliunas? Not being disbelived, but having to see, to know---"

"Kassandra." Apollo might have sharpened his voice a little, but he'd always thought Kassandra knew what the gift of prophecy meant. Truly understood, and that's why she'd asked for it even if she hadn't, in the end, been able to give what she'd promised for it. Little sparrow, flying too high, too far, before she knew what her limits were. She too eager, and he not thinking to only give her the gift afterwards. He'd still have been angry to be refused, but some limits could only be discovered in the doing. If he hadn't given it before Kassandra had given her own gift, there would have been no divine gift bestowed, no gift given that he also could then not take back. "You wanted knowledge. You wanted forewarning. That was why you asked for such a gift, wasn't it?"

She presses her lips thin, closes her eyes. Nods, after a long moment.

"I only gave you what you wished for." He breathes, unnecessarily, but all he can smell is the night, is drying grass and the dead body next to them. Kassandra doesn't smell of her soft flesh, of sweat and seasalt breeze or the perfumed unguents she once used. The dead do not smell of life. Softening, he reaches out without, again, standing up, remaining on his knees beside and before Kassandra. Cradles her cheek as only a god can still do to and for a shade, and the smile comes out of him slow and tired. "Hoped, perhaps, it would soften the eventual blow. That is why you were seeing anything at all without looking for it."

The gift once given could not be taken back, and while he could have made her work for it, Kassandra's reasons to want the gift, Kassandra's nature, would have had her gone looking, and then she would have seen, no matter what he might have liked. She'd wanted the gift, and human nature had kept Kassandra not just seeing, but trying to speak of it. Trying to warn when no warning could be given, the words that spoke of truth never to be believed.

"I believe you," Kassandra whispers, turning her head to kiss his palm. He can't feel it as more than a chill breath, like a localized, brief burst of nightly breeze. "But if the only punishment was to not be believed - why do I have to look at my own dead body? Why am I here? I'd rather stay up in the palace, make her regret---"

Kassandra heaves, then flutters in place as noting more than a tiny, winged figure. Hermes quickly slides in behind her, his wings growing, fencing her in. It keeps her in place until she has calmed, has taken as solid a shape as she can, once again.

"Apaliunas, if you still harbour love, let me go where I can, when I can't go where I should."

"No, little sparrow." Apollo smiles faintly, taking his hand back and picking up Kassandra's corpse, cold in a different way to her shade, soft and stiff at the same time. "Hermes will take you down and stay with you until you can cross the river. I'll put you where you belong. A daughter of Troy should not be left to rot in Mycenae."

She is staring again, trembling and wide-eyed as she understands what he is planning to do. Hermes, too, is staring, though more baffled than shocked. Apollo heeds neither of them, turning away. Pauses there, glancing over his shoulder.

"Your mother rests in Awarna, though I doubt it will be long before she follows the rest of you." The smile tightens until it hurts, and Apollo nearly lurching away from the ghostly touch of Kassandra's hand to his elbow. The city, his sons, the royal family almost entirely. He's had to give up much. "I could at least give her a comfortable last span of time, not left to die ignobly."

Apollo strides off, as if he could walk away from the knowledge that he hasn't been able to offer the same to Kassandra, and neither to Troilus, or Troy. Priam dead at the altar, so many killed cruelly when the Achaeans had torn through the drunken and sleeping city.

Looking down at the pale body in his arms as he crosses the Aegean sea in a flying leap, landing lightly next to Hektor's tumulus, at least this is one more thing he can do. Give Kassandra a burial, as she deserves. She'll have no jewellery, but while Troy might have been burned and Xanthos' plain trampled, there still grew flowers close enough.

Brief as they are, they can decorate Kassandra as the dark earth takes her, decorate her on her walk down to Charon's dock and her entry into Elysium.

[tatsueigo]

Will you marry us?

Fandom: All Elite Wrestling

Pairing: Jon Moxley/Grace/Claudio Castagnoli

Rating: G

Warnings: none

Prompt: @wrestleprompts Week 3: Proposal at the beach

Wordcount: 606 words

AN: This fic is dedicated to @moxleys-darlin, who created Grace and gave me permission to use her. Love ya ♥

AO3 link: Will you marry us?

Grace could hear Claudio and Jon jiggling, while they were guiding her somewhere. She had come back from the book store to find them waiting for her after they were done with their training with the other members of BCC.

She had noticed a smirk on Jon's face, as she got showered with love from both of them, kisses and nips everywhere.

"Piccolina, you have ten minutes to prepare yourself to go to the beach. We have the rest of the day off, we can spend it entirely together."

Claudio kissed her on the forehead before she ran to their bedroom, preparing a whole bag for the day. A book which she hopefully wouldn't really need, suncream, beach towel, sandals. He wore the swimming suit directly under her clothes, excited to be able to spend some quality time at the beach with her two mates.

"Okay, I am ready Supes and Moxie!"

She was excited and looked lovingly at both of them, having them bend enough to be able to kiss them both on the lips.

The day at the beach went by really smooth, huge amount on sun tanning, swimming, building sandcastles. A whole day spent the three of them together, no interruptions, just them and their never ending love. Sunset came quickly and Claudio and Jon started a little bonfire, sitting around it with marshmallows, which surely weren't that healthy for athletes like them, but it was okay, once in a while.

Looking at both of them, Grace noticed a little nod from Claudio, she raised her eyebrow, while Jon searched for something in his bag.

"Gracie, would you mind letting me blindfold you for a moment? It's a surprise."

The grin on his face made Grace giggle and nod: she trusted him. Jon's touch on her face and then nape was gentle, as he fixed the blindfold behind her. Taking her by a hand, he helped her up to her feet, taking her two steps away from the bonfire.

"Now stay here and take the blindfold off when we tell you, okay?" He whispered at her ear, nipping it.

"Okay Moxie, but why so much mystery?" She giggled and growled at the nipping at her ear.

"You'll discover it soon enough, Gracie. It's for a happy reason." He left her, kneeled down near Claudio, taking a little satin box from the pocket of his leather jacket.

"Piccolina, take the blindfold off." Claudio was kneeling too, a similar small box in his big hands too.

As Grace lowered the piece of fabric, she looked down at her two mates, gasping loudly. They both smiled, opening the satin box at the same time, revealing two different rings. Grace could feel her eyes swell with tears, bringing her hands to her mouth, hiding her astonished gasp.

"Gracelynn Rose, would you do us the honour of marrying us?" They omitted her last name on purpose, knowing how much she hated it.

"Guapo... Moxie..." Tears - happy tears - started falling down her cheeks, as she nodded fiercely. "Yes, I will!" She was finally able to say, feeling overwhelmed by emotions. She could see her hands shaking lightly as Claudio and Jon stood up, Claudio putting her his ring first: one heart closing together other two, full of diamonds.

"The heart in the middle represents you, piccolina. The other two are me and our feral alpha here." Claudio kissed her gently, drying off her tears.

Jon took her hand gently and added his barbwire ring, grinning. "Not so fancy like Swiss one's here, but as important as his."

"They are wonderful, boys. Thank you! I love you both so much!"

[books-of-the-great-leviathan]

Chapter 43- Ziva

***

Wind tugged at Ziva's curls as she stood at the Mistfox's bow, hand on the railing. She lifted her face to the sky with eyes narrowed. That had been a fell wind, full of ice and ill intent, setting the sailor's charms to ringing. The witch's wind, she knew, but she couldn't help the stirrings of superstition it brought on.

No fair portent, she thought. Then again, when as of late was there?

She watched the dark silhouette of the islands grow nearer. Dawn had just broken, staining the waves crimson and orange. The sun was a pale slash at the horizon, illuminating the barren crags of the approaching land. Even at this distance Ziva heard the boom and echo of waves through their sea caves, the chitter and cry of coursing seabirds. Desolate ground, but neutral ground, no civilization to speak of but the remnants of some long-abandoned fortress clinging to the upper crags, empty of lanterns and inhabited only by wind and gulls.

Above, the witch-boy circled low and alit on the rigging. Ziva glanced up. He'd taken on his human form, skinny and ragged. He grinned down at her from the crow's nest, and Ziva felt cold wind whisk her hair.

"Unnatural," she muttered.

His grin widened.

Ziva heard low voices behind her and looked back. A single lamp shone from a dinghy, already being lowered overboard. Cereza stood at the gunwale, Azare and Alois alongside her. The princess was cloaked, her face pale under her hood, and she wore no weapons save for that improbable whaleglass sword. It hung belted at her side, her hand poised at its hilt. Ziva watched as two crewmen hoisted buckets down, into the dinghy- iron-banded and reeking with blood. Already seabirds, groaks and carrion eyethieves, had scented the blood and circled above. The buckets were heaped with chum, fresh and dripping.

"You're certain?" Azare said quietly.

"Completely," Cereza said. "If you're certain of your watchmen."

"Sighted a pod of them on our way," Ziva cut in, ambling toward them. "Looked to be half-a-dozen good-sized sea-orks, calves, maybe even a bull in the mix. I'd be surprised if they didn't scent this lot already."

She nodded at the chum. Cereza gave it a glance. She was doing a good job at looking calm, but her lower lip trembled, her brow creased with fear.

"Good," Cereza said. "I...I suppose I'd best get a move on."

She looked to Azare.

"Thank you," she said.

"For what?"

"For not saying I don't have to do this."

"The time for doubting you is long past," Azare told her. He held out his hand, and Cereza clasped it for a moment. "Calm seas, Princess."

"And fair skies."

"Be careful," Alois said quietly. Cereza caught him up in a long hug; it was a while before she let him go. She glanced at Ziva, then with a little nod to herself she hooked one sandaled foot over the railing and clambered down the rope ladder, into the dinghy.

Ziva drew alongside Azare and Alois, the three of them watching Cereza as she fumbled with the oars. At last she slotted them into their oarlocks and began to row, falling into a steady one-two stroke and quickly retreating from the Mistfox's side. After a few minutes her lantern was a pinpoint against the dark waves. Soon, it was lost altogether.

"I'd best get belowdecks," Alois said, his eyes lingering on the place Cereza had been. "You be careful too. The both of you."

Ziva nodded. Head lowered, Alois brushed past her and retreated through the stateroom doors. He'd spoken little to her; Ziva wasn't surprised, but she was unsettled by his lack of vengefulness. If she'd been sentenced to death, forced to share a ship with her would-be condemners, she didn't think she'd be so forgiving.

She set her eyes again on the waves, thinking of Cereza. "Seems a dangerous gamble, Severin."

"Hasn't this all been?"

He was looking at her; she could tell. She felt his gaze like physical touch. She didn't meet it. "Never thought I'd be aflutter over the well-being of a bloody Valere whelp," she muttered. "Never thought I'd break my sacred vows more times than I can count."

"How does it feel?"

"I could use a drink."

Azare smiled. "Time for that later, Lapin. We all need our heads clear. Is that pistol of yours loaded?"

"Could use another check."

"Then do it." He brushed past her as he strode for the ship's wheel. "And be ready."

"I always am, sir."

She turned as he went, words snagging on her tongue. She stared after him as he called orders to draw closer, to lay the anchor some quarter-mile or so off the coast, at the shores of an islet broken off from the island's main bulk. It was there they and the pirate lords would meet- and there Ziva and the rest would bleed their last if all went awry.

Her throat ached. She needed to tell him- what? That she couldn't lose him again? That she couldn't love him the way she wished she could love him? To save himself, and her, and damn the consequences?

She didn't speak. The moment passed; the words died.

Time for that later, Lapin, she told herself.

***

They moored the Mistfox and took the longboat in. As they pulled away, Ziva looked back at the ship. A tick of fear feathered in her throat.

"What?" Alois said.

"Nothing." She glanced at him. "Highness." "You don't like calling me that?" he asked dryly. Ziva blinked. The Alois Belmont she'd watched grow up had never had the guts to confront her, would have taken disrespect with head bowed.

"No," she said, and it was she who sounded dry, now.

"You were following orders, Lapin. We all were. I can't hold a grudge forever, not when Estara is at stake."

"I think you could manage it, Highness," Lapin told him.

Alois let out a short laugh. "Cheeky, Lapin. I respect that. One matter I want to make clear, before today's negotiations begin." "Yes?"

"Never try to betray me again," Alois told her.

Ziva grinned, sudden and hard, and nodded, and they lapsed into silence again, shoulder to shoulder in the Mistfox's longboat. It was something strange indeed, she thought, to support a bastard's claim as heir to the Estaran throne, and an afflicted one at that. But if Estara was to survive, it couldn't do so with a child king.

It was Alois Belmont she'd put her faith in now.

They reached the shore. Ziva's boots crunched on the dry, stony soil as she strode from the surf and onto the islet, flanked by Azare, Prince Alois, the witch-boy, and several of their Witchhunters. Bright blue lizards scuttled into their burrows at their approach and watched with mercury eyes, tongues aflicker. Crumbling walls and broken foundations rose around them as they climbed into the ruins of what must have once been a watchtower or smugglers' nest, barely hanging onto the little islet with each devouring wash of the tide.

They came to a halt on the remains of an ornate floor tiled in cobalt and deep red, now riven with cracks and scattered with sand. From here Ziva could see over the waves, toward the horizon and the rising sun. The groaks and eyethieves had not yet retreated, as if anticipating a feast.

Away with you, little prophets, Ziva thought, casting their whirling shadows a glare. We don't need more bad fortune today.

Dawn came, and with it: ships.

Sails appeared on the horizon. One, then more, then many: a forest of sails snapping a dozen colors in the wind. Flags flew high, pirate banners hung proud from each mast.

"A warning," Ziva said. "They're ready for a fight, each one. Those are war colors and no mistake."

"Steady, Lapin."

"You're sure you trust the girl?"

"Like I trust you."

Ziva snorted. "Not sure that answers my question."

"Don't be scared," the witch-boy murmured at her side. "Worse things in this world than death."

"No worse things today," Ziva shot back, and the boy hummed a little, a smile twitching at his mouth.

Most of the vessels hung back, ringing the islands, but five broke off from the rest and approached, coursing swiftly over the waves.

"Saints," Ziva muttered to Azare. At her side, Alois shifted back and forth on the loose scree, his brow furrowed. "That's not a ship, is it?"

"That," Azare said, "is Lord Sabat."

Ziva shook her head. "I truly, sincerely, bloody hate pirates."

The ship gleamed like jet and fresh blood, black and crimson and gilt aflash: a three-decked monstrosity cleaving the waves to a frothing churn. Its sails billowed, high and proud. Ziva counted a row of cannons for each deck, their maws gilded like the ship. Most magnificent of all was its figurehead: a great golden sea-ork with jaws agape, as if ready to tear a gash from the Mistfox's side. It towered over the Mistfox, drowning it in shadow; it dwarfed the other ships. One was the Fishcutter, another a sleek Buyani icerunner. Another yet was an Isozi caravel, all curved lines and intricate paintwork. The last seemed insubstantial as a reflection, ghost-gray and ragged, its wake so slight it scarcely parted the waves.

Ziva watched as the pirate lords disembarked, as they made their way to the islet shores. She sensed the tension of the Witchhunters behind them, standing back with weapons sheathed and holstered. She felt it, too- the thrum of her pulse, the acid on her tongue, the way the world had been turned inside out, all certainty and tradition dashed to the stones. Their king, murdered. Their duties, dismantled. Their captains, treasonous and mutinous. Their reality turned to monsters and magic. They'd been, to the last soldier, trained to kill a pirate as soon as see one; now here they were consorting with their most lofty lords.

In a thunderstorm the rat and the hawk shelter together, Ziva thought, and smiled. If you could see me now, Ren. I think you'd finally like me.

Azare strode forward as the pirate lords advanced. He'd told Ziva of the lot, and she recognized them to a man: Sabat and Atana Bateleur, Captain Irene and her seconds Matteo and Nadya. Anoshka Safi, the red-haired Buyani firestarter, and the towering blue-skinned Isozi captain Noor. Her eyes were narrowed, and she moved with care thanks to the wounds Sirin had, according to Azare, gifted her in their last spat. Each brought a retinue of crewmen armed to the gills.

Last came an old woman. She made her stiff way up the beach with the help of a driftwood cane, each step a dry tap against the stones.

"The Eel Queen," Azare murmured at Ziva's glance. She didn't look like much of a threat, but then again, most pirates didn't get old. Ziva studied her, and as if reading her thoughts, the Eel Queen's pale eyes snapped to hers.

Ziva hissed a breath as the Eel Queen smiled, exposing a mouthful of teeth carved like scrimshaw.

Lord Sabat extended his arm, and she took it, her hands fragile as bird claws against the improbable mass of his forearm. The man himself was as colossal as his ship, all gilded crimson greatcoat and glistening muttonchops, his blunderbuss near itself another cannon.

He stared up the steps at Azare, his gaze cold with suppressed fury. The stare held for a heartbeat, for two. Ziva itched to lay hands to weapons. She forced them to stay at her sides, forced her spine straight and her eyes on Sabat.

"Witchhunter," he boomed at last. His voice rolled like a thundercrack, scattering the carrion birds. "Come back so we can kill you properly?"

"You received my summons." Azare glanced at Irene, who stared back, narrow-eyed, her face hard.

"That I did. And sad it was to see one of Bateleur's best reavers put to such work as playing message hawk to Witchhunter scum."

"Speak another word against me, Sabat-" Irene snarled.

"Then you know why I brought you here," Azare went on.

"To beg our assistance?" Atana said. "To entreat our forgiveness? For your sake, Captain, I hope you brought Sirin here to fight for you again."

"Sirin," Azare said, "is gone."

The pirate lords shifted. A mutter passed between Noor and Anoshka; the Eel Queen narrowed her eyes, gripping her cane tighter.

"Gone?" Atana said. "Dead?"

"Not yet. She is why I'm here. Not for forgiveness. Not for you to become my allies. I am not here to entreat friendship from any of you. It is your anger I appeal to now."

He lifted his arms. "Kill me where I stand. Burn me to my bones. Or use your anger to make right what I have done, to make right the world I had a hand in breaking."

"Where is Sirin?" Atana demanded.

"She's gone north to the Sunken Ruins of Rashavir. She took Luca Valere's creature with her, to draw along to her the monstrous Leviathan. We all saw what she did, the last time you were assembled. You saw the power she drank from the beast. Now she craves more, enough to become herself the destroyer. She doesn't seek balance, but wrath. No resettled world, but destruction. Vengeance."

He paused. "Anger."

"She seeks the whale god's power," Noor breathed. "Blasphemy."

"All Witchhunters are liars." Sabat reached for his blunderbuss; Ziva heard her crew go for their blades, heard the hiss of steel from scabbards. She lifted a hand. Not yet. "All Estarans have tongues of silver and knives hidden up their sleeves-"

"He's not lying, Sabat," Atana said, her voice soft, her eyes half-closed. "I can see it on his heart. He comes with nothing but the truth."

Sabat cut off and rounded on her. "How can you say this?"

"I say it because I know it. You know my power, given to me by my mother's Isozi blood-"

"Do not invoke Alaji's name in the Witchhunter's favor," Noor growled.

"Your power." Sabat towered over the little girl. He was nearly twice her height. Still she stood her ground. "None can lie to you, but you can twist whatever truths you like."

She lifted her chin. "You will mind your tongue, Lord Sabat. Unless you're forgetting who I am, and who my pa was?"

"Your father would be ashamed to see you so. His only daughter-and-heir, siding with the man who murdered him?" He snarled something in an unfamiliar tongue, rolling and timbrous. "I spit on your claims, Atana, and on your so-called power-"

"You dare to betray Bateleur's memory?" Irene gave a disgusted snort, her whaleglass eye aglitter. "Are there no loyal souls assembled here today?"

"You betray Bateleur's memory by not gutting them at first sight. You betray our tradition, our way of life."

"I say we give the Witchhunter a listen," Anoshka said, picking at her nails. "He came all this way."

"All of you, traitors!" Sabat drew his blunderbuss. Irene's blade was free and at his throat in a heartbeat; Noor's rifle was unslung, cocked, and Anoshka lifted her hands, her palms glimmering with embers. The Eel Queen stood, silent, watching not the other pirates but the sea.

"Name me a traitor, Sabat, and I will flay your skin to fix upon my mast," Noor spat.

"Stand down," Irene said. "Or I'll help her."

"Challenge me, do you, O Captain Irene?" Sabat laughed, a ferocious sound. "We'll see who skins who-"

"Oh, enough of this!" Ziva strode past Azare. "Hang all of you, shrieking and squabbling and wasting time. This isn't about loyalty. This isn't about promises and bonds of blood and old Saints-damned traditions. This is about what's true. What's real. You think you'll be able to stop that monster if Sirin gets her way? Any of you?"

"Do you?" Noor said. She spat on the ground. "Witchhunters come with nothing but stolen sorcery and reckless pride. A king's hounds, sent to do a king's dirty work-"

"Not only his hounds," Alois said.

His voice cut through the crowd, cut over Noor's next words. She braced back as he stepped forward, his shoulders stiff. For a moment, he stood, his chin lowered, his brow furrowed. Ziva stood, tensed and waiting. Would he fold? Would he run?

He did neither, and lifted his head.

Silence filled the ruins. Not a one spoke.

"I am King Alois Belmont," he said. "King of the Sister Isles of Estara. Son of Daval Belmont. Beloved of Bellana. And I will be by your side."

Alois held the eyes of the pirate lords, one at a time. "You fight alone and you'll die alone, crushed to the bottom of the sea. We don't fight alone."

He pointed to the witch-boy. "We come with a witch, and winds sung under his command to sail us. But he isn't enough. We need you- all of you- to follow us into the jaws of the beast, into the Hells themselves, to give Valere a chance."

"Luca?" Atana gasped.

Alois nodded. "The same. He's on his way north as we speak, riding on witchback to save all our skins. He has nothing now but madness and hope."

He lifted his chin, his amber eyes flashing with conviction. Ziva's heart pounded, fear and pride a heady pulse inside her.

"Come with us, and keep the beast off his back. Follow us, and keep your seas, and your freedom," Alois cried. "Fight with us and see the Great Leviathan reborn. You with us? Or are you the cowards who'll sit by and watch the seas burn, and yourselves with them?"

"No," Sabat muttered.

He lifted his head, and Ziva saw the black fire burning in his eyes. Fear splintered through her; she reached for her pistol.

"I would sooner die a coward than fight alongside Witchhunters," Sabat snarled, and whirled, and fired, point-blank, at Ziva.

The explosion of his blunderbuss cracked through Ziva's skull; impact hit her hard, taking her down. For an instant she thought his shot had torn her in half. She gasped as someone seized her shoulders and dragged her onto her back.

Azare. He stared down at her, his eyes wide, searching her face.

"Severin-" she whispered.

"Are you hurt?"

"Don't think so-"

"Then get up." He dragged her to her feet, and into chaos. Gunshots cracked; the floor was a wrecked crater, still smoking from Sabat's shot. She really would have been torn in half, had Azare not pushed her out of the way. Blades clanged, filling the air with their warp clamor: the Witchhunters, in their dark grays, sliced through the pirates like sharks, circling around Azare and Ziva, pulling in to shield them from their attackers.

Their attackers. Ziva searched the onslaught, her breath caught in her teeth. Everywhere: pistol smoke, blade flash, Sabat's crew in crimson locked in combat with Anoshka's men, Noor's Isozi with white braids whipping against their Witchhunters. She saw no sign of the witch-boy, nor of Alois. There; she spied the witch's ragged shape, spiraling into the clouds with Alois clenched in his claws. Nadya and Matteo fought alongside Irene, the trio moving as if with one mind.

Irene deflected a blow aimed for Lieutenant Guilan, and he flashed a grin in her direction.

"Obliged, madam!" he called.

"Captain to you," she sang back.

Guilan dipped his head. "Saints forgive me, I-"

He cried out as one of the Isozi's spear-muskets plunged into his stomach, ripping out his back with a spray of blood.

It spattered Ziva's face. She flinched, eyes wide. Again, the drone of flies. Again, blood slick on the backs of her teeth. The Isozi flung Guilan aside and charged her with a scream.

Ziva shook off her stupor. She tore her sword from its sheath and sprang to meet her. Steel sang, parted, sang again. The Isozi snarled; she was strong, much stronger than Ziva, driving her back and back with each blow. Ziva was quicker. She ducked, twisted, whirled around to the other woman's back, opening a gash in a visible patch of blue flesh.

The Isozi cried out, stumbling. Her guard fell: an instant of opportunity. Ziva glanced at Guilan. He lay, curled, in a pool of his own blood. Dead, dying- it didn't matter. Heat seized her, black and scouring; she tore her plain knife from its sheath and lifted it, to plunge it deep into the Isozi's spine, to sever it and her life in one blow.

And when she did?

This would go on, she knew. This fight would end in blood, and pain, and despair. This place wasn't a desert, but it would be dug into graves, sure enough- more than five, so many more. When would it end, then? When Sirin, or the monster she would make of herself, came to rain storm down on their heads? When the last soul standing lay at the bottom of the sea, and breathed their last? When all that was true, and good, and kind, was bled dry from the world, like it was bled from her? On, and on. More, and more.

No.

It ended here. It ended now. Ziva flung aside her knife and slammed her fist into the blue woman's jaw. The Isozi crumpled, out cold.

Behind her: a blade cleaved air. No time for pious reflection now. Ziva spun with a scream and dashed the sword aside, then cracked her skull against the man's forehead, one of Sabat's. He dropped, groaning and clutching his head.

"Azare!" Ziva yelled.

She searched the battle. Red hair- no, that was Anoshka, cackling as she fought, her hat lost, her hair aflame, truly aflame, up like a wick. She saw him then through Anoshka's heat shimmer, at the battle's heart. Witchhunters flanked him; Atana was pressed to his side, armed with a dagger and pistol of her own. A cut streaked down one cheekbone. He ducked and weaved, his back straight, his eyes narrowed, defending the girl.

"Severin!" Ziva screamed. She elbowed off a pirate and plunged toward him. "We have to stop this- we have to-"

Red filled her vision. Sabat. He moved like a rockslide against Azare, his sword a heavy, scarred cutlass. It swung; it screeched against Azare's slimmer Estaran blade. Ziva saw his eyes spring wide, his teeth clench. He set his weight, but Sabat had that advantage. Azare's boots scraped the tiles as he was driven back, their two blades locked.

"Lord Sabat-" Atana darted in, but Sabat swept her aside with his free arm, sending her spinning to her knees.

The sword lock broke. Azare spun his sword for a strike, but Sabat was ready. The back of his hand cracked across Azare's face, slamming him against a wall. He lay there, reeling and dazed.

Sabat's cutlass glinted, red in the dawnlight, as he lifted it to Azare's throat.

"Severin!" Ziva screamed.

A bellow filled the air. The ground quivered; waves hurled themselves up the beach, swamping the longboats and dashing against the ruin's foundations. Swords stilled in midair, battle cries shifting to shouts of shock and terror.

Hot wind blasted Ziva as she whirled toward the coming dawn. Her mouth, halfway to shaping Azare's name, hung wide in disbelief.

A shape filled the water, a vast black column surging through the waves, hide deep gray and glistening, encrusted with scars and barnacles. A sea-ork, the biggest Ziva had seen, and coming straight for them. In a fanburst of spume its tusks broke the surface and speared toward the skies, twin sawtoothed curves vast enough to impale ships and take them crashing to seabed. Its jaws followed, long and saurian and clustered with teeth, a second bellow already rumbling from deep within the beast.

It rose higher from the waves, swimming with powerful strokes of its forefins and long, flat tail. Its wake sent the moored ships to swinging, its body twice the length of Sabat's galleon, its cold yellow eyes set on the beach.

"Sea-ork!" cried Matteo. "Bull sea-ork, coming in fast and hungry! All of you, into the ruins! Now!"

The pirates scrambled higher up the beach, away from the monster. The Eel Queen danced and cackled, waving her stick through the air. Ziva stayed where she was.

A slow grin spread across her face.

Light flared from the sea-ork's back: prismatic light, channeled through the blade of a whaleglass sword. Cereza gripped its hilt with one hand, the other wound around a spike on the sea-ork's neck ridge. She didn't just control it; she rode it, holding Valeria's sword aloft. The sunrise fractured through the blade and set the air alight, set the waves aflame.

The sea-ork reared up the beach, carving great gouges in the sand with its forelimbs, another roar blasting Ziva with hot breath. Pirates crouched and huddled around her, but Lord Sabat stood, lifting his sword from Azare's throat as he faced the sea-ork.

"Korag Magra," he breathed.

He approached, tossing his sword aside, his hands open, beseeching. He stopped before the beast's tusks and fell to his knees.

"Ork Mother," he said. His eyes shone. "You have come."

"Stand down, Lord Sabat," Cereza called from her place atop the beast's neck. She lowered Valeria's sword, pointing it down at him. "All of you who fought for him, too. And be quick about it."

"You!" Sabat said.

"Me." Cereza stood, balancing on two struts of back-spine. "I said. Stand. Down."

Sabat signaled to his men. Ziva heard the clatter of arms laid aside, the murmur of the pirates, whispers of reverence or disbelief.

"Then I welcome my death at your jaws," Sabat said. "Ork Mother-"

"You think I'm here to kill you? Triune, no. And I'm not Korag Magra." She touched the sea-ork's neck, and it lowered its great head. The lower curves of its tusks came to rest, gently, on the sand. Cereza followed, climbing gingerly down its muzzle and onto the beach. She stood before Lord Sabat, the point of Valeria's sword set at his knees.

"Get up," she said. "Come on, now."

He rose. He towered over her, but she stared up at him unblinking, her soaked hair plastered to her cheeks.

"You heard them," she said. "They came to you, here at world's end. They came to you at the hour of greatest need. Now what do you say?"

Sabat's grin was a craggy thing, glittering with teeth silver as his fingernails. "She is magnificent," he said, nodding at the sea-ork.

"She is," Cereza said. "But she needs to be free."

The sea-ork snorted, gouting steam through its blowhole; warm seawater spattered Ziva's face. Cereza lifted her hand, and the great creature reared backward, diving from the shallows into deeper waters. It crashed to the waves and sank to a shadow, the ridge of its spine glistening for a moment in the dawn before vanishing, too, gone back to the depths.

Cereza slumped; her eyes fluttered shut, her face drawn. She pressed her hand to her heart, the strain bright in her eyes. Still, she stayed on her feet. Wind stirred at Ziva's side, and Alois stumbled from the black flutter of the witch's wings, his face ashen, his expression set.

He glanced at Ziva, and she nodded.

He smiled, just a little.

Sabat turned to the gathered pirates.

"World's end this may not be," he said. "Our hour of greatest need, not yet upon us. But I cannot deny the prophets have come." He took up his cutlass and plunged it deep into the ground. "And I cannot refuse them."

He faced Azare, and Alois. Conflict tightened the lines of his face, then settled. He produced an enormous S-curved pipe from his greatcoat, lit it, and took a deep drag.

"I won't fight for you, Witchhunter, nor your king. But I will fight with you," he said, pungent smoke curling round his muttonchops. "And so will my crew. And so will those loyal to me."

"And to me," Atana said as she picked herself up from the ground. "We'll have words, Sabat. For now, we haven't a moment to waste."

She climbed atop a broken crust of wall and lifted her hand to the sky.

"All of you," she cried. "All those who count yourselves people of these seas, whaleblood and freemen and pirates to the marrow- we sail as one."

"With the wind," the witch-boy whispered at Ziva's side, and for the first time since Ziva had first seen him, shot down and cowering, his blood black on the ancient stones underfoot, he almost sounded afraid.

***

Ziva found Azare, later. He sat by Guilan's body, lain out on a canvas sheet. A bowl of seawater rested by his head. Azare was washing him, cleaning the blood from his face and the sand from his eyelashes. Cereza's sea-ork was long gone, nothing left but great furrows carved into the beach, already smoothed over by the tide. Around Lapin was a moil of pirates climbing into longboats, of casting off and signaling from ship to ship, of creaking sails and shouted orders. Atana knelt alongside the wounded, feeding them sips of water from the Belmont cup. She was teaching Alois, Ziva saw, the king's hands red to the elbows, on his knees in the sand and the blood.

Once, maybe, she might have scoffed at the sight of a gentle king, one who knelt to help reavers and brigands drink. Once, she might have not believed there were ways to be strong that did not depend on the pain of another.

In the midst of the beach Azare seemed over-still. He looked up as Ziva stood over him, on the far side of the canvas.

"He was the only one?" she said.

Azare nodded. "Some wounds, but no other lives lost on our side." He smoothed down the lapel of his uniform, lingering on the speared wing signet affixed to the fabric. "He was a good man."

"He was. A proper lieutenant." Ziva sank to her knees beside Guilan's body. "Better one than I proved, anyhow."

She ached, her muscles sore as she'd ever remembered them. Her head was worse. She watched Azare clean the blood from Guilan's mouth, then lifted her eyes.

"I want to bury him," she said.

"We need to move," Azare said, gently, watching her.

"No. We need to bury him. Properly, Severin."

He paused, then nodded. "Then we bury him."

They left the chaos of the beach for the far side of the islet, the lee face of its ruins, where the shadows were still cool and blue and tasted of night. They found a spot of loose ground under a section of wall and began digging, their borrowed spades making quick work of the soil. It wasn't long before they had a grave.

"It's no shrine in the Witchhunter tower," Ziva said, leaning on her spade. "But I hope it's enough."

Azare brushed his fingers over Guilan's canvas shroud. "So do I."

He climbed from the grave and helped her fill it in. They stood over it, silent. Neither of them was a priest, but no words were needed, not for a soldier's burial. Gulls circled above, shadows moving like ghosts across the sand.

After some time Azare reached into his uniform and withdrew Ziva's knife. "This is yours, I think."

"You should know. It was in your heart."

"Might be mistaken. The heart's a foolish thing."

Ziva took the knife. She flipped it in her hands, examining its blade. "I thought Sabat would take off your head out there."

"He very nearly did."

"I almost lost you, Severin."

"Are you afraid of that now?"

She dug her thumbnail into a groove in her knife's bone hilt. "Always was. So I did it first. I was ever a spiteful thing."

"I think much more than that." He paused. "What I feel hasn't changed, Lapin. Not for you. I remember what I told you, still. And I'll swear by it, as much as any vow I ever made."

Ziva didn't answer. Her throat was as tight as her grip on the knife. She couldn't answer him, not now, and maybe after twenty years together he understood that. Maybe he didn't. Either way, he was at her side.

Azare glanced toward the beach. "We should go."

"Give me a moment."

He nodded and began away. Ziva didn't watch him leave. She didn't look up, not even when the air chilled, when the snowfall spackled the grave with white. When she sensed the air pressure shift, and she knew she wasn't alone.

"You're scared," she said.

"So are you."

Ziva lifted her head. The witch-boy perched on the wall above the grave, wings shrouding him and Ziva both from the snow.

"Well, yeah," Ziva said. "Remember the monster."

"Not that."

She drew a short breath. "I miss the days of being sure," she said quietly. "I miss the days of knowing."

The boy's eyes were dim, his arms hugged around his knees. He didn't look like a boy anymore, nor a monster, but old, and so tired.

"Maybe you never knew," he said.

They said nothing more, but stood together in silence, watching the snow fall past the shadow of his wings.

[wisdomfish]

You could have kissed his face

For nearly 400 years nothing. Then a bloke called John in a camel hair jacket and an eccentric line in snacks, stands up in the desert and cries out, "You know how God was going to send his servant to end the exile? Well get ready! Get ready for the one we have been waiting for, for the one whose sandals I am not worthy to untie." At last, God is coming to our rescue. They are all agog. And then up steps this carpenter's son from Nazareth. And it has to be said, it was a big let down.

But this Jesus stands up in the synagogue and reads out a bit from the prophet Isaiah, where God is saying that one day he'll come and end the exile and set people free, and restore things to how they were meant to be.

And Jesus rolls up the scroll and calm as you like says, "Today that promise is fulfilled." And they are outraged. Who does he think he is? Restoring all things was something that God was going to come and do.

So Jesus heals the sick; with a word he calms a storm; feeds 5000 people with a small boy's packed lunch; raises a dead man to life. And his disciples are wondering, "Who is this guy?"

And all along Jesus is saying to them, "Does what I've been doing ring any bells? Who do you know who's got power over the sea, who famously fed people in the desert, who has got the sort of power to bring the dead to life?" Then one day he says it straight out. The disciples say, "Show us the Father." And Jesus replies, "Don't you get it. If you have seen me, you have seen the Father."

People often ask, "Why doesn't God come and make himself known?" The claim of the New Testament is that he has. If you had been there 2000 years ago you could have seen God, walking the streets of Palestine. You could have touched him. You could have kissed his face.

~ Mike Cain

[katcoquette]

Too Many Games, 18+

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x f!Reader

masterlist | taglist

summary: requested by @iloveefictionalpeople! <3 you'd always thought jake played too many games, and tonight was no exception

★ word count: 1.5k

★ tw: smut 18+ I'm so serious, oral (f receiving), fingering, also this is my first smut pls be gentle, you are responsible for your own media consumption!

★ author's note: i dont have anything to say?? he’s just like so sexy?? except I have a lot to say firstly, this was a pain in my ass to get to tumblr because I wrote it on my phone last night at 3AM and was just frantically trying to get it all down, secondly PLEASE I was too mortified in the light of day to edit my night fantasies like LITERALLY could barely get through formatting so please let me know if there are big mistakes, thirdly... enjoy because I know I did ;)

It was late, most of the bar's patrons had already left satisfied and drunk off their asses aside from a small group of top gun pilots gathered around the dart board. You’d told Penny to take off early, promising to lock up and make it home safely on your own. You finished cleaning the last glasses of the night, trying to delay closing as long as you could for the men you’d seen frequenting the bar all summer long. Eventually, after closing all the blinds, you run out of tasks (and even made-up tasks) and decide the time has come to ask them to leave.

What a shame.

“You boys ready to go?” You offer a smile with it in an attempt to soften your bluntness, tossing a bar towel over your shoulder. They chuckle in response, one of them offering a “we’ll get out of your hair”, while the rest of them agree and start to leave.

All except one. Hangman.

He was by far the hottest of the group, and he had the ego to prove it. You loved the days when he visited the bar, always with some cheeky comment to you at the beginning of the night, and with every drink order thereafter. He kept an eye on you, followed your orders to throw people out, sent smirks your way in between shots. It had become a routine, a buildup, but it was one that you weren’t sure would ever extend beyond flirting.

He says goodbye to his friends and makes up some excuse to linger longer, fingering a dart absentmindedly while he waits for the bar to be fully empty. You sneak glances as you move around the bar, turning out the lights, and god if you didn’t wish those fingers were doing something else. You go back behind the counter and discard your towel.

“You planning on spendin’ the night?” You tease, hands planted on the bar as he finally makes his way over to you.

He leans in as far as the counter will allow, “I feel like playing one more game.” His eyes flicker not so subtly from your lips to meet your eyes. “Care to join me? We can make it interesting.” His signature cocky grin is firmly on his lips.

You touch your tongue to the back of your teeth and look up at him, considering his offer. “I’m intrigued…you’re on.” He holds out his hand and you take it, climbing over the bar to follow him back to the dart board.

“The name of the game is Strip Darts.” He announces, handing you a set of darts. “Do you need an explanation of the rules?”

You almost snort, “Seems pretty self explanatory.” He holds up his hands, a smirk on his face. “Alright, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You narrow your eyes playfully, then turn and throw the dart, hitting a space in the inner ring. You turn back to him with an innocent smile. “I believe that’s your shirt gone, Bagman.”

His jaw clenches slightly at the name, causing your smile to turn smug. “Need any help?” You quip, to which he responds with a sarcastic smile, and one shirt thrown to the floor. “My turn.”

He throws a dart and hits the outer ring of the bullseye. “That counts as two.”

“Bullshit.”

“Hey, you’re the one who didn’t want to hear the rules! Not my fault it bit you in the ass so early.” He winks.

“Fine.” You say, sliding off both your sandals. He narrows his eyes, but doesn’t protest at your loophole.

You hit the board again and are rewarded with his undershirt being discarded, leaving his chest on full display. You gulp as his arms flex to pull it over his head, unashamedly staring at his abs, and then trailing your gaze even lower.

He clears his throat, and your eyes snap back up to his. He’s grinning again. It was a challenge. He takes his turn.

Bullseye.

He puts his arms up in the air, as if he’s just scored a touchdown, and spins to face you. “That.” He emphasizes, pointing to the board. “Is worth three items of clothing.” The rules were obviously stacked against you, but you decide that won't stop you from beating him at his own game.

You undo the button on your jeans, keeping your eyes locked with his as you pull them down and step out of them. His smirk falters when he sees the thong you’re wearing. You cock your head, convinced you have the upper hand again, and start to unbutton the top you have on while walking closer to him.

You stop about a foot away, letting the shirt fall off your shoulders and onto the ground. You’re left in your bra and underwear. “That’s two.” You say sweetly, “Third’s your choice.” He takes a sharp breath in, and you realize then that the game of darts would be abandoned.

Now you were playing an entirely different game, and it was the one you’d been dying to finish all summer.

His gaze roam your body hungrily, all tension coming to a head.

His eyes snap back to yours.

And then he’s crashing his lips against yours in an unrestrained kiss.

His fingers unclasp the back of your bra without breaking from you, and you help him pull the straps off, letting it fall between the two of you onto the ground. Arms now free, you wrap one over his shoulder, hand splayed across his back in an attempt to ground yourself in this moment. His mouth leaves yours to move to your neck, leaving wet bites as he continues down.

You tilt your head back to give him better access and let out a moan as he gets closer to the curve of your breasts, your hand moving up to grasp at the hair on the back of his head. Your other hand grips his bicep.

“Jake…”

At the sound of his name he sighs, squeezing your tits then leaving one last mark there, causing your nipples to harden. One arm wraps tightly around you so your bare chests are pressed together as he moves back to your lips, his other hand cupping your chin while he kisses you.

His arms keep you steady as he walks you back toward the bar until you feel your ass hit the edge. When you do, his hand grips your ass, lifting you up onto the bar in a sudden move that startles a yelp and then a laugh out of you.

He takes a step back and smiles, a genuine, in-awe-of-you smile, as his eyes rake over your half-naked form propped up on the counter.

“God you’re so fuckin’ pretty. Look at you.”

You blush, “Come back.” You pout, extending your leg to brush over his pants. He groans at the contact, “Don’t have to tell me twice.” And he’s back in your arms. His tongue enters your mouth this time, and you reach down to unbutton his pants.

He chuckles against your lips, grabbing your wrist to stop you from undoing the zipper. He rests his forehead against yours as you both breath heavily, and, still holding your wrist with one hand, the other skims down your side, stopping just above the waistband of your thong.

“You’ve been teasing me a long time, sweetheart.” He snaps the band, causing your core to pulse. He gives you a chaste kiss. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you at this bar all summer eye-fucking me.”

You smirk. “There’s just something about you pilots.”

“Oh yeah?“ He encourages you, his fingers tracing the outline of your underwear, further and further down, until he’s moving the fabric aside to part your swollen lips. The cold air hits your area, and you feel like you stop breathing just as his fingers do. He’s waiting for you to say something.

“One pilot.” You admit, desperate for his fingers to touch you. He connects your lips at the same time that he pushes two fingers into you. “Oh god.” You moan into his mouth. “Not quite.” He answers between kisses. “But close.” You can feel him smirk against your lips as his fingers continue to work in and out of you.

“Fuck please.” You beg as he curls his fingers. “Please what, baby?” He rasps.

“I wanna feel your tongue.”

He doesn’t say anything, instead just smiling and giving you one more kiss as he pulls out his fingers. You almost whine at the loss of contact, but then he’s lowering to his knees, hands sliding down to your thighs.

You gasp softly as he pushes your knees wider, pressing kisses to your inner thigh. He looks up at you from his spot between your legs, and god he looks beautiful.

Your chest heaves with deep breathes as you wait with anticipation. He pushes aside the material of your thong for the second time, licking a deep stripe up.

Your eyes flutter closed in ecstasy as he sucks your clit, finding it easily. You lean back onto your elbows, and throw your head back. "Feels so good, Jake." You breathe out, already close.

He picks up on that, his finger replacing his mouth on your clit, "You're doing so good for me, aren't you?" He asks before his tongue moves lower. It doesn’t take much longer for him to send you over the edge.

When he’s done nursing you through your high, he stands up and leans over you, resting his chin on your chest as you lean, practically lay over the bar, barely able to hold yourself up. He notices and puts his arms behind your back, relieving some of the tension.

"You broke the rules." You whisper, still seeing stars.

“That doesn't count because I left your panties on.” He smirks, "Besides, I made the rules." His voice rasps in your ear.

“Please just fuck me.” You plead. He chuckles.

“We’ll save that for our next game.”

part two

[prettytoxicrevolver]

Photos | Anthony Beauvillier

“Can we go to the beach so I can take pictures?” you ask Tito when he answers the phone after 2 rings.

“Are you for real?”

“Please? We can go during the sunset it’ll be all pretty,” you reason and Tito pauses but eventually agrees.

You tell him you’ll pick him up an hour before the sun is supposed to set. You get dressed in your favorite sundress, pull your hair into a half up half down and slip on a pair of sandals.

By the time you’re finished, you’re able to leave and head out to pick up your best friend. It’s a quick drive to Beaus house and he’s already waiting outside for you. He steps into your car and you hold up his favorite starbucks drink as bribery and he grins.

“Why’d you wanna take pictures?” Beau asks looking over at you.

“Cause my hair actually looks good today,” you joke and Beau grins.

He couldn’t help his gaze that rakes up and down your body. You’re wearing his favorite dress of yours, strappy sandals, and your hair curly and wind blown. He’s practically awestruck looking at you and he’s hoping it doesn’t show how utterly obsessed he is with you.

The drive to the beach flies by and you end up parking to the side where the boardwalk is. You’re ginning madly as you jump out of your car, ten steps ahead of Beau and all he can do is smile as he tries to catch up. You bound across the boardwalk, gasping when you see the sun fading perfectly over the beach. You turn to look at Beau and he’s grinning as he heads up the boardwalk.

You watch his movements and your heart starts to beat louder and louder as he nears you. His blue eyes blaze against the suns rays behind you and you feel yourself swooning.

“(y/n)?” you look up yo see Beau staring at you with a confused look on his face and your face changes quick to a sheepish smile, hoping it plays it off.

“Here,” you thrust your phone at the older boy and he takes it as you position yourself towards the end of the boardwalk, and smile brightly.

Beau starts to snap photos and you move around, giggling a bit because you feel part ridiculous and part happy. Just as you hand your phone back for a few more photos, someone calls out to the two of you.

“Excuse me?” You turn to see a young girl with a professional camera slung around her neck and a shy smile on her lips.

“Would I be able to take photos of the 2 of you? I’m trying to build a portfolio and have been asking strangers.”

You look to Tito and he shrugs his shoulders.

“We would love to!” you tell her and she smiles in relief.

You tuck your phone in your purse and wait for her to tell the two of you what to do. She instructs the two of you to lean on the boardwalk ledge and look over at the sun. She snaps a few photos and the two of you turn towards her.

“Uhm, Anthony can you wrap your arms around her shoulders? And (y/n) can you lean into him and just smile?”

Beau’s hands slide around your shoulders and his touch leaves you jittery. You lean your back against his chest and turn slightly in his embrace. You feel Beau tense against your touch but overall relax into you causing your heart to skip a few beats.

The two of you stay like that as she takes a few more photos and when she lets you know, the two of you part before looking for direction from your young photgrapher.

“Okay, if you’re comfortable, turn towards each other. (y/n) put your left hand on his chest and your right hand around his shoulder. Anthony, slide your hands to her waist and lean down.”

As Tito follows her instructions you realize how close the two of you are. You look up at him, meeting his emblazened gaze and you can’t help your stare from flickering down to his soft looking lips.

“Beau,” you breathe out quietly.

As if Tito could know just by the sound of his name, he dips down to meet you and a small sigh leaves your lips as the tension dissapates. His kiss is fierce and beautiful and your knees slacken at his touch but Tito only pulls your farther into him.

“That’s perfect!”

The two of you part, burning cheeks and shy eyes mimicked in the way you thank the photographer as she walks away.

“So,” you say slowly realizing that the sun has officially set.

“Come here.”

[princecharmingmendes]

Okay ma’am hear me out vacation Raul kissing you like

okay, i'm feeling personally attacked right now, so you can't say you didn't ask for it! this got completely out of hand, but i hope you like it either way, and this is also from the Hey Angel universe, but can be read alone (but if you want you can find all of the other parts on my masterlist)

*Word Count: 2K+;

*Warnings: cursing, drinking and Raul Mendes (yep, that's a warning).

-*-

Y/N wanted to blame it on the drinks she’s been sipping all day or the prolonged sun exposure, but she couldn’t kill those stupid butterflies on her stomach every single time Raul even as much as breathed in her direction.

They finally had a couple of days off and decided, alongside Peter, his girlfriend and a couple of other of their friends to go to the beach for the weekend, renting a boat to spend the day in it and then piloting it to a nearby island that had a pretty cool bar and hotel to spend the night in. They’ve been needing the break from their chaotic routine to spend some quality time together, and since their schedules were pretty hectic, several date nights were skipped in favor of naps and much needed rest. And ever since they got together all those months ago, their little dates and getaways were externally valuable for the couple, so when Peter came up with the idea, Raul was quick to jump in and make reservations to surprise Y/N with it.

And she was extremely happy to be able to finally enjoy her boyfriend while actually relaxing.

So as soon as they got in the boat, she was quick to change into her swimsuit to enjoy her day in the sun, quickly meeting her already shirtless Adonis of a boyfriend with a beer in hand, and almost immediately as she stepped in the deck she felt her whole body heating up, Y/N just couldn’t pinpoint if it was from the warm weather and sunshine or from the way Raul looked at her. Lips slightly parted, golden eyes wide as he took in her form. His expression quickly melting into his signature smirk just before he trapped his bottom lip with his teeth, a string of praises spilling from his lips as he extend his hand to her, which she grabbed with a soft giggle and playful roll of her eyes.

Raul wrapped his arm around her waist as he pulled her closer “What's wrong, doll? Getting shy when I look at you like this?”

“Like what?” she asked blinking up at him.

“Like you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever met” he said with a lopsided grin plastered on his face making her laugh as she shook her head, trying to dismiss his compliment as she felt her whole body heating up at his praise.

And that was only the beginning of a day filled with soft touches, subtle winks and heated looks thrown on her direction as she had the best day with her friends, filled with drinks, sunlight, music and swimming. So maybe she was left all flustered due to all of the activities and not her insanely gorgeous boyfriend and his not so minor teasing.

But she didn’t have much time to think about it since as soon as they hit land, her friends were dragging her to one of their rooms so they could get ready to meet the boys later that night at the bar by the hotel they’d be spending the rest of their weekend. She opted for a silky backless summer dress, that she got from Raul’s mom as a gift and never got to wear, and a pair of sandals in favor of staying comfortable throughout the night, and since they’re by the beach it only made sense, keeping her makeup light and hair simple.

When they were ready, they went to the fancy bar/club thing where the boys already had a table, and despite the view being incredible, Y/N could only stare at Raul, his traditional black jeans, his rings adorning his long fingers, matching the silver chain sitting on his exposed chest, since most buttons on his shirt were open, his tan skin peeking from the soft material of his button up. He was quick to notice her presence and promptly got up from the tall stool he was sat on previously, like most times (their friends even joked they’re like magnets everywhere they went), a beautiful smile blossoming on his lips as his eye dropped in a wink.

A soft ‘oh fuck me’ escaping his pink lips as a smirk formed on his voice as she came close enough for him to touch, his hands quick to attach themselves to the soft curve of her hip, squeezing it gently as he pulled her closer to his body. He leaned down to press a prolonged kiss to her forehead before greeting everybody else.

“You look so fucking gorgeous, Bambi” he said as she sat by his side.

Y/N beamed up at him and pressed a kiss to his cheek “thank you, you do too”

“Yeah?” his usual confident, borderline cocky persona dropping for a second as he turned bashful under her soft gaze, which only made her even more fond of him if possible.

“Of course, Raul, you always do” she said with a smile, but before he could reply at all, someone from their table called her name and they’re all quick to engage in a conversation.

The light banter quickly turned into a round of shots, followed by a round of drinks, then another round of shots and then Y/N was pulled to the little dance floor by her friends as their claimed favorite song of the day started blasting through the speakers. The first song merged into another one as they kept dancing, and soon enough it was already the tenth song playing but they simply didn’t care. She was feeling pleasantly lightheaded, just slightly tipsy, enough for her to let loose without getting lost and she was happy, happy to be there with such good company and glad to be having so much fun.

“Babes, can I just say you’re so fucking lucky” Hannah, her friend that was just a bit drunker than the rest, said in her ear and she laughed at the exaggerated sigh her friend let out.

“What are you talking about?”

“Raul is a fucking amazing boyfriend, when I met him I thought he would be the grumpy rude type, but he’s so in love with you and it’s so fucking cute” she said as she pinched Y/N’s cheeks “I’m so happy for you, you deserve to be treated like a queen”

Y/N laughed as she shook her head “Thank you, and yeah, I’m pretty lucky”

“Like, he literally can’t tear his eyes off of you, not it a creepy way though!” Hannah said wrapping her arm around Y/N’s shoulder.

“Oh" Y/N mumbled as she looked around, only to meet her boyfriend already watching her as his friend said something to him, to which he just nodded, his eyes still glued on hers as he shot her a little wink, his cheeks pink from the alcohol he’s been drinking.

“Come on, give him a show babe! Drive him insane” Hannah said as she let her go in favor of going back dancing “Maybe I’ll meet my little summer love tonight so we can match for the trip” she said jokingly with a wink, grabbing Y/N’s hand to move her around.

Y/N only threw her head back laughing but decided to follow her friend in her moves, deciding to leave all her worries behind and just have fun.

And it might have taken less than ten minutes for her to feel a familiar pair of hands landing on her hips as she felt a kiss being dropped to the heated skin of her shoulder. She couldn’t help the smile from showing on her lips as she turned around in his hold to face him, her hands coming to rest on his chest as his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer to his warm body.

He didn’t say a word as one of his hands cupped her jaw, his thumb coming to rest on the full of her bottom lip in a sweet caress, his other hand staying on her waist, slowly leaning down as his intense gaze burned her in the spot driving her insane. His warm breath fanned across her face as her eyes fluttered shut, the soft brush of his lips on hers making a small whine in protest leave her lips. Raul let out a breathy chuckle before finally slotting their lips together.

The kiss ignited something inside of her that she couldn’t point out what it was exactly, but maybe it was some sort of frustration finally being let out from all the teasing, and she could barely form a coherent thought when he kissed her like that, so Y/N couldn’t care less what it was, she just knew it was precisely what she needed. A breathtaking, toe curling, Mia Thermopolis knee popping kiss.

With the hand cradling her face, Raul gently tipped her head back to deepen the kiss, his other hand sliding to the small of her back to pull her even closer to him, her lips parting almost instantaneously allowing him in. Her hand moved from the spot that had curled against the soft fabric of his shirt to slide into his soft curls, gently tugging at the roots making him let out a barely audible moan into her mouth. Y/N was the first to pull away, unfortunately needing oxygen, as Raul pecked her lips in one final kiss before placing delicate ones along the lines of her jawline and down her neck before coming back up to look down at her, only for her dazed ones to be staring right back at him, watching as he took her in like it was the first time he was seeing her that day, making her sigh softly and lean into the hand that was still resting on her face.

“Where did that come from?” she asked still a bit breathless and Raul let out a small chuckle, proud he could still shake her up a bit by kissing her after all those months, and secretly hoping he could keep doing it only to have her sparkling eyes looking at him like that.

“Just wanted to kiss you, Bambi, drove me insane all day, couldn’t hold it any longer” he admitted bashfully and it was her turn to laugh softly at him.

“Yeah?” she asked teasingly, playing with the silver pendant hanging from his neck.

“Mmhm” he hummed, pressing a light kiss to the tip of her nose “had to share your attention for a whole day, I’m a jealous guy, doll, and selfish, don’t like sharing you” he added with a pout, a playful glint tinting his eyes.

“You’re ridiculous” Y/N said with a smile plastered on her face.

Raul winked at her before changing subjects “Have I told you how gorgeous you looked all day, tonight specially?” he mumbled lovingly, and despite the loud music, she could hear him perfectly.

Her whole face heat up as she tried to play it cool by rolling her eyes playfully at him, trying to hold back a smile and failing miserably “of course you did”

“Well, must be doing a pretty shitty job at it since I can’t remember, and I couldn’t possibly say this enough, you look fucking gorgeous, absolutely perfect, doll, I’m the luckiest man alive” he said before pressing a chaste kiss to her lips.

“How much did you have to drink?” she asked teasingly and he laughed shaking his head.

“The perfect amount, darling” he said wrapping his arms around her in a hug “but I mean it, you’re so beautiful it’s not even fair”

It was Y/N’s turn to cup his face gently in her hands and lean on her tippy toes to press a kiss to his lips “thank you, I love you” she mumbled, sighing contently.

“You're welcome, and I love you more” he said with his million dollar smirk “now can I have another kiss, doll?”

And Y/N didn’t have it in herself to deny him anything at all.

-*-

*Please reblog or like this post if you liked it so I’ll know.

*I’m sorry if there are any spelling mistakes.

*Please do not repost this without giving me the credit, this is a completely original piece and I do not give permission to copy this!

*Hope you guys enjoyed it!

*xoxo

-🌙

[manonblaqkbeak]

Friendship Rekindled

Hello, back for Day 10--single parents. This is the second part of a mini series during canon week. this is continuing off from Day 1--desperately in love. there’s going to be two more parts and i cant wait to get them out there!

i think this could be considered a little angsty, given some of the conversation topics that happen.

cw: brief mention of death and blood loss. mention of an abusive parent. (if i miss any, pls dont hesitate to let me know!)

enjoy! :)

2.9k words (my longest fic yet i believe)

It was nice to be finally out of the house, Aelin decided as she walked up to the nursery, her five month old daughter, Olive, strapped to her chest. After being cooped up for what felt like the last five months, Aelin had decided to liven up her apartment with some plants.

Hardy, un-killable plants, that is. Being a single mother didn't leave her much time to look after other things, so she needed some plants that required minimal water, but also had to be pretty to look at.

It was also a plus that there was a cafe attached to the nursery, and she heard that they served the best scones with homemade strawberry jam and cream in Orynth. All her life she had never come here, but she needed somewhere new to visit. And to reacquaint herself with her home town. Not long after Rowan and Lyria's wedding, Aelin had transferred to Rifthold for work, and had used the miles apart to quietly disappear from their lives.

That was four years ago now, and come back home to be closer to her parents. Aelin had never known her grandparents, and Aelin didn't want to deny her parents the privilege of knowing Olive, so she had transferred back just before she went on maternity leave. Aelin was happy to be back, especially since she hadn't seen Rowan or Lyria. The last she heard was from Elide, who got it from Lorcan, that a year after marriage, they were expecting. She was happy for them, she truly was, but that didn't stop the stab of pain she felt when she heard the news. She had dreamt of her being in Lyria's position for a few weeks after she heard the news, but forced herself to stop. To move on.

Aelin had, in a way. She would always love Rowan, but she needed to move on. It was wrong to consider her daughter a distraction, but she did provide the perfect one. Aelin briefly removed her lemon printed bucket-hat (Aelin wore a matching one) to kiss her head, her golden hair sparse, laughing her perfect baby laugh.

Aelin finally entered the nursery, tugging her nappy bag higher on her shoulder as she took in the hundreds of plants. She had no idea where to start, but started her browse. She slowly walked through the fern section, stopping every now and then to let Olive touch one, making the cute hand grabbing motion when she saw one she liked.

Aelin heard the laughter of a young child behind her, and then a deep and familiar one accompany it.

Aelin froze. It couldn't be. Surely the Gods weren't that cruel. Months she had been here, for the first time in ages she had decided to do something for herself, only to be met by that damned laughter.

Slowly she turned, her sandals making the gravel underneath crunch. She saw a flash of silver and a broad body.

Turning around had been a mistake, because when she did, so did the silver-haired man.

And for the first time in four years, turquoise eyes landed on pine-green ones.

Rowan blinked, and then blinked again as he took her in. His eyes widened as he noticed Olive strapped to her body, her face on display as she took in her surroundings. Her baby had the chocolate brown eyes of her father, but it was clear to anyone that knew Aelin that Olive was hers. Her daughter had Aelin's nose and hair colour, and would likely grow to have more of Aelin's features as the years went by.

Behind Rowan, his cousin Enda was holding the hand of a brown-haired boy. It was difficult to tell his exact age, but he looked to be about three. If Rowan was here with his son, then it was a good chance that Lyria would be here, too. The woman was a flower enthusiast, and was practically a walking encyclopedia when it came to flowers. Any questions anyone had, they went to Lyria.

Aelin really did not want to be here. Did not want to have that conversation of why the hell she had left and dropped all communication with them after the wedding.

Aelin hated it, but she adverted her gaze and started to leave. She would have to come here another day—maybe after she called the office to make sure that there was no silver-haired man in attendance.

“Aelin,” Rowan said, his voice raspy from surprise. Gods, she missed his deep voice and the rolling purr of his accent.

Aelin pretended that she didn't hear and made a beeline for the exit. Rowan called her again, and then a third time. Just as she reached the gate, his warm hand landed on her shoulder gently. His hands were still calloused, his hands always doing some type of manual labour work. She wondered briefly if he was still an auto mechanic.

Turning around, Aelin noted the shock in his dark eyes. She gave him a weak smile, not sure what to say.

“What are you—I mean, how are you? Where have you been?”

“I'm good,” Aelin answered after a moment, not really sure how else to respond. “I've been around. What about you?” Somehow, these questions didn't feel like the right ones to ask. Before Rowan could say anything, Olive made herself known, making grunting sounds that meant she wanted attention, so Aelin kissed her hand and said to Rowan, “This is Olive.”

Rowan's eyes dropped down to Olive. “Is she yours?”

Aelin snorted, a sound she hadn't made in so long. It was something she often did around Rowan—or used to, that is. “No, I bought her from the store. Yes, she's mine.”

Rowan's eyes dropped lower, to her ring finger—her empty ring finger. There had never been a ring there. Aelin's traitorous eyes drifted to Rowan's and her heart stopped when she noticed that his ring finger was bare as well—that there was no tan line to suggest that he had only recently removed it.

“I'm doing this on my own,” Aelin found herself saying after a moment.

“As am I,” Rowan said. Aelin cocked her head to the side, annoyed at herself for being curious. “Lyria...Lyria passed away three years ago.”

Aelin's heart shot up to her throat, choking her. Years ago, Aelin had horribly wished that the ring Rowan had purchased was secretly for her and was heartbroken when it wasn't.  In her loneliest moments, she had wished that Rowan and Lyria would break up and somehow find his way to her in Rifthold; but never, never-ever in a million years would she ever have wanted this to happen.

Why the hell hadn't Elide told her? Or anyone else for that matter?

Aelin found her voice after long minutes of just staring at him, processing his words. “Rowan, I am so rutting sorry. I had no idea. Are you...are you okay?”

“I have my good and bad days”. He pointed to the brown-haired boy with Enda, who were both busy inspecting each leaf and flower petal in front of them. “That's Egan, he's a plant lover like his mother.”

Aelin couldn't really see him, but she still said, “He's adorable.”

“He is, and a little terror,” Rowan said, a small smile on his tanned face. After a moment, he turned back to her, and asked, “Are you...doing anything? I'd like to talk, it's been a long time since we have.”

She should say no, but she ended up saying yes.

Taking a deep breath, she followed Rowan back inside the nursery and to the cafe.

X X X X X X

It was turning out to be an ordinary Saturday when Rowan had needed to get out of the house, so he asked Egan if he wanted to go to the nursery and his son had enthusiastically agreed, asking if Uncle Enda could join them. Thankfully, his cousin was free and more than happy to spend time with his nephew.

Never in a million years did he think he would run into Aelin. He had heard the rumours that she transferred back to the publishing house and that was it; there was no mention of her being pregnant. But when Rowan looked up and spotted Aelin, and his eyes immediately dropped to the baby strapped to her chest, his heart had stopped.

He had once wished to have that life with Aelin, exploring the world with their child, one that had Aelin's hair and his eyes; but Rowan never told Aelin how he felt because he knew how badly her last relationship ended, and he didn't want to put any unnecessary stress on her if she didn't feel the same way. Didn't want there to be any chance to ruin their friendship.

And so, he had moved on. Had started dating Lyria and came to love her, but not the same way as he loved Aelin. And when Rowan proposed, he had only done it because his parents were getting older and wanted him to get married, wanted him to have a grandchild.

It was cruel irony that they had both died before Lyria had even given birth.

He was bastard, and he hated himself. Lyria was kind, sweet and gentle—and deserved someone better than him, should have been with a man that truly wanted to marry her for her and not because of family pressures. But he never stopped himself from their relationship moving forward.

But he was doing better, thanks to therapy, because while he may have been a bastard, he didn't want his son to know that. Maybe it made him a bastard to hide this part of himself to his son, but his son was gentle like his mother and Rowan loathed the idea of Egan growing up to hate him.

And as Rowan asked Enda to take Egan home, Rowan could see that Enda thought that this lunch was a bad idea—Rowan had confessed his secrets to his cousin long ago, how he loved Aelin even when he was married to Lyria. How he had wanted that life with her instead.

Rowan knew that he was going to be on the end of a scolding conversation when he got back to his house, but he told Enda that it was going to be okay and that he was fine and could handle this.

Enda sighed heavily through his nose and muttered a 'good luck' under his breath. Rowan planted a kiss of Egan's head and told him that he would be home soon. His son was too excited to spend time with his Uncle to really notice.

When Rowan returned to Aelin's side, they soon found a nice spot in the cafe that was away from others.

It was...painfully awkward for a good while. They only spoke to order their food—scones with jam and cream with a side dish of seasonal fruits for Aelin, and a steak sandwich with fries for Rowan—and then lapsed back into silence.

They ate in silence, too, and Rowan wondered if maybe this was a tremendously bad idea when Aelin said, softly but not weakly, “What happened to Lyria?”

Taking a deep breath, Rowan swirled his fries in the mustard on his plate. He hated this part. “She passed away not long after giving birth. She hemorrhaged and bleed out too quickly for anything to be done. Egan never really got to meet her.”

“I'm sorry,” Aelin said, doing her best to speak over the lump in her throat, “that's horrible. I'm so sorry.”

Years later and Rowan still never really knew what to say to that. Needing to distract himself, he asked, “So, what's your story?”

Before she could say anything, Olive started crying, and without a seconds hesitation, Aelin started feeding her. Some people stared in disapproval and Aelin stared right back, unflinching. He knew that if someone said something, she would spit back. It never made sense to Rowan how people frowned upon breastfeeding. A small smile made its way to Rowan's mouth at the steely look in her stunning eyes. That was the Aelin he knew and loved.

When the strangers turned back around, Aelin looked back at him, the steel in her eyes softening. “I briefly dated my high school boyfriend, Sam, for a while back in Rifthold, and well...the condom broke and Olive made her appearance.” Not the most elegant way to describe the situation, but Aelin figured she had years to think of a better way to explain Olive's appearance if her daughter ever asked.

“And he wants no part of it?” He had no right to ask, but the question left his mouth before he could stop it.

Aelin sighed, and finished feeding Olive and cleaning themselves up before responding. “It's complicated...Sam's father, Arobynn, is a cruel man. He's manipulative and sadistic, but knows how to turn on the charm when it suits him. Sam has been scared of him his entire life, and didn't want Olive to know the fear that he did. So, every month Sam sends money, but he's not on the birth certificate—he doesn't want there to be any paper trails leading to Olive's existence. I had to convince him that it was safer to transfer me the money than to send it through the mail. I send him pictures from time to time, but whether he saves them, I have no idea.” Not to mention the miserable length of the conversation of sending money electronically. Sam was so damned paranoid that Arobynn checked his accounts that Aelin had almost told him not to bother to send anything when he relented. Aelin could provide Olive well enough on her own, but it was helpful to have that extra bit of cash—baby things were expensive as hell.

Aelin bit her lip. She hadn't meant to divulge that much, no one knew that, not even her best friends,  but she didn't regret it. It felt...like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

“That's awful, Aelin, I'm sorry to hear that.”

“I just...” She probably shouldn't ask, but out of everyone she knew, none of them were single parents. “Has Egan ever asked about his mother? What do you say to that?”

“He's asked a few times, and I've told him that she passed away when he was little, but I don't think he fully understands what I'm talking about.” Those conversations were the hardest that he ever had to go through, and he knew it would be worst when Egan grew and fully understood what death meant.

“I have no idea what I'll tell Olive when she's older and asks about her dad,” Aelin admitted. “It's not like he's gone, but he is absent and I just...what if she grows up to think he hates her? I think that would kill me if she ever thought that.”

Without thinking, Rowan reached over and too her hand in his. Her hand was soft in his, and he swiped his thumb against her knuckles. “You have a good few years to worry about that. Who knows,” he added, “maybe Sam will be able to get out from his father's shadows and you three can be a family.”

A small smile made its way to Aelin's face. She was more beautiful then he remembered, and he wasn't sure if he should feel guilty for thinking that.

“I like the sound of that, but I'm not going to get my hopes up. I'd like to think that I can do this on my own.”

“You can, but if you'd like...if you ever need help with something, if you need someone to look after Olive, I could do that for you.”

Silver lined Aelin's eyes as she watched him. “Are you sure? I wouldn't want to intrude.”

“That's what friends are for, aren't they? To help?” And as a single parent himself, he knew how hard it could be raising a child in this hectic world.

Aelin's smile grew. “Okay, I'll keep that in mind. And if we're friends, could you help me find some plants? I'm sick of looking at my boring walls.”

“Okay, I know the perfect ones for you to get—ones that are practically impossible to kill.”

“I'm going to ignore that implication that I can't look after a plant.” Although it was true.

Rowan snorted. “Because you can't. I remember that poor aloe Vera plant that you slaughtered.”

Aelin narrowed her eyes, but he could see just a hint of mirth behind the glare. “I did not slaughter that plant, it just didn't like me!”

Rowan laughed and it was the most freeing sound he made in a long time. After he calmed down, he said, “Come on, let's finish here and I'll help you to liven up your place.”

“Fine, but I better not hear anything about my poor gardening skills or I'll let down your tires.” And she would, he knew, but Rowan just smiled even more.

“It's a deal.”

The conversation moved much more smoothly and Rowan realised how much he missed her. And Aelin realised how much she missed him, too.

Maybe things wouldn't be too bad after-all. It would be nice to have Rowan in her life again, even as a friend, even if she still loved him and knew it could never be, not after everything.

[necros-writing-stuff]

It felt dirty. It was definitely wrong. All the same, Robin stayed where she was; hidden behind the trees and bushes. You were splayed out on the ground, your clothes haphazardly thrown this way and that. A man she's never seen before has your knees pressed to your chest. Initially, she'd been afraid that you were being assaulted. But the way you were crying out the man's name, begging him for more. She'd have to ask you who this "Eden" guy was and about your relationship with him later. As it was, she felt frozen.

The man was large in more ways than one. From where she was, Robin could see how his fat cock stretched you open. He almost covered your entire body with his own. He was covered in scars from what she could tell. He wasn't nearly as undressed as you were. The large man grunted each time he rolled his hips into you. He spoke, but it was low; quiet enough that Robin couldn't hear what it was. What she could hear was your desperate moaning and his skin slapping against yours.

Unable to move from where she was, she briefly reflected on how the two of you ended up in the forest. You'd had a bad day. Whitney pushed you into the lockers, you were late to history, that Kylar kid apparently had a shrine dedicated to you in his locker, and you had detention. She wanted to do something nice for you and suggested a picnic. It was a beautiful day, nice and warm. When you got to the woods, the pair of you chose a nice spot in a clearing. A gust of wind blew her sun hat off, and she'd gone after it while you set up. Now here she was, pussy wet with need watching you, her best friend, get wrecked by a giant man and his monster cock. Neither he or you seemed to notice she was there, too lost in eachother.

Why was she so turned on by this? Why was she watching? She should leave, give you and your partner privacy. Instead, one of her shaking hands slowly crept up her sundress. She teased her slit through the damp fabric of her panties. The white cotton became transparent against her pussy. This was wrong. She needed to stop but she couldn't. Carefully, Robin wiggled out of her underwear. It hung around one of her ankles, threatening to slip off over her sandals. The first touch against her bare cunt sent a shiver up her spine. Touching herself wasn't something Robin did often. Especially not to you getting fucked stupid.

She covered her mouth with her hand to muffle her quiet moan when she slipped a finger into her wet heat. Her inexperience left her sensitive and needy. She was becoming too caught up in her own pleasure that she failed to notice her surroundings beyond you taking Eden's cock. She didn't hear the rustling of foliage behind her. Not when she inserted another finger, scissoring herself open. Nor did she hear the snapping of a twig behind her. Not when she pulled her sundress down to expose her breasts to the open air. Her perky nipples hard with arousal. She was too caught up in groping herself and fucking herself on her fingers, that she didn't notice the large, black colored wolf boy that came up behind her.

It wasn't until he pushed her forward, onto her hands and knees, that she remembered how dangerous the forest was. Again she was frozen, now out of fear. This was what she got for being a pervert. The wolf boy huffed the scent of her soaked pussy like an addict huffed paint. What was she supposed to do? Run? Scream? Struggle to get away? Before she could make a decision, the wolf boy ran his tongue from her hole, to her clit and back; stealing the air from her lungs. It felt so sinfully good, even if she didn't want it. The wolf boy pushed his tongue into Robin's virgin pussy and began fucking her with it.

She was horrified by the noise she made. A lustful moan that the wolf boy pulled from her. She wanted her first time to be with someone she loved. Not a feral wolf boy that lived in the woods. All the same, she remained pliant as he worked her open on his tongue. Her lower lip quivered as her thighs began to shake. The heat in her lower belly spread throughout her body, painting her face a deep, red color. She was close, she was going to cum on a wolf boy's tongue. Cum she did. Robin bent forward, biting her knuckle to keep herself quiet as she shook.

It was all the invitation the wolf boy needed. He pulled his face from Robin's twitching cunt and mounted her. His weight kept her pinned beneath him as he rubbed his meaty length along her folds. It definitely wasn't a human penis. She knew what they were supposed to look like. Hell, she could see one now as you and the man in the clearing switched positions. His cum spilled out of you, as you moved to straddle his cock, now riding him. Good god, she couldn't believe you had something that big inside you! Your head fell back when you slid down onto the man's cock; your hair sticking to your face from sweat.

Still she remained quiet, partly out of fear, partly out of a deviant curiosity that had peaked when she came. She'd only ever touched herself, infrequently; and she'd never cum like that on her fingers. Robin was still desperately aroused, still watching you get fucked by the huntsman. She took a sharp inhale through clenched teeth when the beast behind her pressed the pointed head of his cock against her virgin quim. Face pressed into the dirt, she mewled softly as the creature forced himself inside her. She felt sick, violated and… So, so good. The burning stretch hurt a little. But she and the wolf boy had prepped her well enough that it wasn't painful.

The wolf boy started with a fast pace that left Robin breathless. He hit so deep inside her, places she had never reached before. Each thrust sent jolts of lightning through her body. Her body was on fire and it felt amazing. She couldn't stop the lewd moans that slipped from her mouth, like the drool sliding down her chin.

"Such a good mate." The wolf boy snarled, nipping at her back. Robin whimpered at the praise, her pussy tightening around the unusual cock inside her. No, this was bad. It was going to make her cum again, on it's cock this time. Her eyes flickered to you again, once again on your back with Eden hammering away at your leaking pussy. Your eyes were rolled back in your head and your tongue hung out the side of your mouth.

Then the wolf boy struck a spot that made Robin see stars. Her walls clenched pleasantly around the length inside her, encouraging the wolf boy to do it again, and again, and again and-

Robin's whole body shook as she came, crying out like a whore and squirting all over the wolf boy's cock. He growled and doubled his efforts.

"Good mate, ready to breed. Going to knot mate." He growled. Robin was too lost in her own pleasure, blood having rushed to her ears. It wasn't until she felt something big and hard push against her opening that she came back to herself. Unfortunately, by then it was too late. The wolf boy forced his knot past the ring of muscles that tried to keep it away. She let out a soundless scream and fell limply to the ground. It hurt so much, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt!

He howled loudly from the pleasure of having his knot successfully taken by a fertile partner as he began flooding Robin's pussy with his cum. The hot rush of semen filling her up pushed Robin into a third orgasm.

The wolf boy's howl caught the attention of the man who had been fucking you. He was quick to dress himself and wrap you in his jacket. Eden lifted you into arms, carrying you bridal style. She watched as you weakly protested, but were ignored; too fucked out to do much of anything. When the swelling of the knot went down, the wolf boy pulled out of her. His spend gushed out of her like a broken dam, forming a pool in the dirt under them. He threw Robin over his shoulder and began carrying her off, in the opposite direction Eden had taken you. It was the last thing she saw before passing out.

(-anon 🚩 lol sorry for the late post, my phone died)

ROBIN GETTING THE PC TREATMENT YES!

This was a very good read.

[moldisgoodforyou]

significant upgrade

i wrote the rest of this on the plane don't come for me if there is a MISTAKE !! (however do politely shoot me a message so i can correct my typo lmao)

wordcount: 3.4k

warnings: nada except brooklyn is a BITCH, ok so maybe cursing is a warning

_________

James: SOS

Sophie

Doll

Sophie: what do you want

James: Come bar

To the bar

Sorry not sober

Sophie: I’m grading, buddy

James: No no no

DEFCON 5

Urgent

After their short back and forth, and James’ little typing bubble popped up multiple times before going away, Sophie pushed aside her work and called him. She checked Find My Friends first, feeling better about the situation once she saw Rafe’s dot at the bar with the boys. “James? Something wrong?”

“Yes. Sophie, listen, look. You gotta get here.” James told her with a little slur to his words, but what was more telling was the sheer volume on the phone call as he yelled. He was always a loud person naturally, but she swore he got ten times louder when he had an ounce of alcohol.

“I already told Rafe I couldn’t, I have to catch up on grading stuff if I want to go out tomorrow. Is something really wrong?” She questioned, but considered going anyway. She’d already graded over half the work and it was proving easier to mindlessly go through than she thought, and she could knock it out tomorrow morning if she really needed to.

“It’s like, urgent, Soph. Look, come here, wear your sluttiest top - that’s not an insult, by the way, it’s a compliment or whatever - like, empowering or some shit - shut up, Colin -”

“James -”

“I’m serious, she is not backing down -”

That caught her attention and she stood, glancing over her appearance in the mirror. “Who?”

“Just c’mere. I’ll have a drink ready for you. Are you still on that Fireball peach schnapps kick? Like a fuckin’ psycho?”

She laughed. “You drink vodka redbulls, James, shut the fuck up. I’ll be there in...uh...ten.”

“Deal. Sluttiest top!” He added before hanging up.

She rolled her eyes, looked herself over in the mirror, and shrugged. She wore an old pair of Nike shorts and a t-shirt of Rafe’s with his name on the back, an old intramural shirt. If it wasn’t senior year, and if she wasn’t locked down already, she’d probably give more of a fuck, but she just wanted to take the opportunity to hang out with her friends while she could. After swiping on a quick coat of cherry lip balm and brushing her hair, she shoved her feet into sandals and made her way to the bar.

When she arrived, she went straight to their usual corner booth and slid in next to Colin, who greeted her with a grin and a drink, as promised. James threw his arm around her shoulders and messed with her hair immediately, making her squawk in protest. “Flint, kiddo, that is not nearly as slutty as I expected.”

“The Cameron on the back adds some possession though, don’t you think?” Colin pointed out, slapping James’ hand away from her.

Sophie scowled, combing her fingers through her hair. “What am I here for?”

“Oh! Right.” James stood on his toes and scanned the bar, locating Rafe in the far corner. Rafe wore a forced smile and was leaning against the wall with a couple of the other interns from Jeni’s over the summer - including Brooklyn, who was twirling her hair and stood right next to Rafe.

Sophie stood on her tiptoes, hand on James’ shoulder for balance as she followed his gaze. “I don’t see him, what am I looking at - oh, shit.”

“Yeah, see why I told you to go for the slutty top?” James reached for her shirt, tugging at the hem until she shoved his hand away.

“No, she would have just implied I was a prostitute or something.” She shook her head and turned back to the table, then took a long sip of her drink, draining nearly half of it in one go. “I don’t want to seem, like, overbearing - I mean, she’s with the whole group.”

Colin raised his eyebrows, skeptical. “She’s touched his arm multiple times and made him link arms when they did shots earlier. Had everyone else partner up too as an excuse.”

“Exactly.” James nodded, emphatic. “I already tried to rescue him, but Colin says m’ too drunk.” He hiccuped to punctuate his statement, then pushed a plastic shot glass toward her. “Here. Got you tequila.”

She wrinkled her nose, eyeing it with a frown. “I hate tequila.”

“See! I told you!” Colin exclaimed, snatching the shot glass away and knocking it back. “If you need backup, just wave or look over or something. I’ll deck her if I need to.”

She grinned, drinking the rest of what James got her. “Thank you, both of you. I appreciate it.”

“Hey. Whoever Rafe’s dating, we’re dating too.” James proclaimed, patting her head affectionately. “Just without the fun parts.”

“Lovely.” She replied, glancing over toward Rafe again. Brooklyn was now leaning just a little closer and Sophie could practically feel the tension radiating from his body, even from all the way across the room. She frowned when the other interns seemed to agree on something, dispersing, but Brooklyn stayed.

Sophie stood there and watched for a few more moments, seemingly frozen, until Colin nudged her shoulder. “Go.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” She dismissed, taking another breath before striding across the room. Of course, someone turned at the exact moment she rounded the bar, spilling their drink down her light pink shorts, soaking the entire left leg. She didn’t even let the guy apologize before she shrugged him off with a grimace and made her way toward Rafe.

He noticed her immediately out of the crowd, grinning and straightening up once he saw her. “Soph!”

She smiled at her eager boyfriend and how he always lit up upon seeing her, without fail. “Hi, baby.” She greeted, slipping her arm around his waist as he rested hers comfortably around her shoulders. She never - ever - used pet names in public, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Thought you weren’t coming out tonight?” He asked, glancing over her outfit and frowned when he realized half her shorts were wet. “What happened?”

“Grading went quicker than I expected.” She dismissed, her eyes flitting over his expression. He looked confused and she could tell from the way his eyes were glassy that he was drunk and nearly on the verge of falling asleep. “Can I try your drink?”

“Rafe, are you going to introduce me?” Brooklyn feigned a smile, fingers tightening around her own drink.

He furrowed his brow even more, looking between the two of them. “I thought you guys met. At the charity gala thing, remember? Sophie had that really pretty dress?”

“Yeah. We’ve met.” Sophie replied coolly, taking Rafe’s whiskey sour from him and took a sip. She hated them, with all her heart, but wouldn’t dare make a face in front of Brooklyn.

“Oh! Sorry, I just didn’t recognize you, you must have been wearing a ton of makeup or something at the gala.”

“She still looked like herself.” Rafe supplied, confused. He traced his thumb over Sophie’s cheekbone, staring at her in concentration before tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. Sophie swore she saw Brooklyn’s jaw tick as she watched the two of them, as she watched what she used to have.

“Okay, okay. Rafe, did you tell her about all the fun things we did this summer? Sophie, you were away or something, right?” Brooklyn asked, hyper-conscious of how Rafe leaned into Sophie more and how he pressed a sleepy kiss to her temple.

“Nope.” He replied, popping the p. “Nothin’ to share. The internship was kinda boring. She was in Barcelona.”

“Oh, right. Long distance wasn’t too hard on you then?” Brooklyn probed with a sympathetic smile. She reached toward Rafe to touch his arm reassuringly, then seemed to remember at the last second that Sophie was right there, and jerked her hand back like she’d been burned.

“Nah. Why?” Rafe asked, cocking his head to the side, some of his hair flopping into his eyes.

Brooklyn grinned. “I just didn’t think you’d still be together, is all.”

“That’s funny, because I’m pretty sure you follow me on Instagram. So you’d know.” Sophie shot back with an equally fake grin, determined to come out on top in the petty exchange.

She wished Rafe was more sober so he could make an excuse for them to leave or shut the whole conversation down, but when he was drunk he didn’t pick up on any tone inflections. (She’d accidentally made him upset more times than she could count with a poorly worded sarcastic insult, and immediately felt guilty as his drunken gaze gave way to his signature pout.) To an outsider, their conversation seemed as civil as possible, like three friends catching up, until you got close enough to see the bared teeth and the tense jaws.

“No...I don’t think I’d waste a follow on you.” Brooklyn retorted, glancing down to the Cartier ring on her hand. “Sophie, usually when people wear designer, they have to have the clothes to match the rest of the outfit. Not whatever…” she looked her up and down, scrutinizing her clothing choice. “...Whatever is going on here.”

“Hey.” Rafe interjected, finally noticing the hostile undertones in the conversation. “Be nice, she’s hot in whatever she’s in.”

Sophie had to resist rolling her eyes at his completely unhelpful comment. “It’s okay, Brooklyn, I actually have style, so I don’t have to rely on wearing tacky designer clothes. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my boyfriend and I are going to go hang out with our friends.” She glanced over toward the boys for backup and tilted her head toward the door, and James and Colin started making their way over. Alright. So she’d handled that well, she thought, matched her energy without getting too emotional or heated -

Brooklyn wrinkled her nose at Sophie’s comment. “Careful. He gets emotional when he’s drunk.”

“He doesn’t, actually, he was probably just being manipulated by you.” Sophie shot back with a sharp tone, protectively curling her arm tighter around Rafe’s waist. He just watched the back and forth with a furrowed brow, not sober enough to keep up.

James and Colin arrived just as Brooklyn sneered at Sophie, shaking her head. “Whatever. He’ll end up drinking away his problems in private like his dad anyways.”

As Sophie’s nose flared and as she took a quick step toward Brooklyn, getting right up in her space, Colin immediately grabbed Rafe’s arm and pulled him away. “C’mon, Rafe, let’s wait for her outside.”

Rafe let himself be tugged along, but frowned as he glanced back at the girls. “She’s gonna be okay?”

“Yes. She’ll be fine.” Colin replied confidently, dragging Rafe and James out of the bar.

Sophie stood tall, eye-to-eye with Brooklyn. “Don’t say that shit about Rafe. You don’t know him like that -”

“I do, actually. I know a lot more about him than you probably realize. Has he taken you to the Bahamas yet?” Brooklyn didn’t back down at all, smirking when she saw Sophie’s expression falter for a split second. “Still no? He’s probably embarrassed.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Sophie snapped, unable to come up with a better response. “Give it up, you’re not with him anymore.”

“Yeah, but I know he’s not going to keep up this little facade once we graduate college. He needs someone that can keep up with his family, that’ll do more than just hang on his arm at all the charity events.” Brooklyn smiled, taking a step back. “I’ll be there for him when you can’t hold your ground.”

“You’re delusional.” Sophie shook her head, so furious she couldn’t snap back with a sharp comeback. When Brooklyn just shrugged and lifted her drink to her lips, Sophie tipped up the bottom of it, making it splash all over Brooklyn. “Have a good night.”

“Fucking -”

Brooklyn exclaimed, but Sophie just turned on her heel and flipped her off over her shoulder as she strode out. She was fuming, practically shaking, but didn’t dare break down in front of anyone in the bar.

Colin regarded her carefully, making sure she was okay. “You good? Need me to go back in and finish the job?”

Rafe, leaning on James, seemed to finally realize she’d come out. “Baby! You’re back!”

She bit the inside of her cheek, taking a deep breath. “No, I’m okay. Thanks Colin. Need help walking these two home?”

He grinned, gesturing at the way the two boys were slumped against the wall of the bar. “Might need a little help, yeah.”

She nodded and slipped her arm around Rafe’s waist, unsurprised when he leaned into her and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “Alright. C’mon, Cameron, your bed awaits.”

James sighed, striding along with them. “I want a girlfriend to bring me home.”

“Too bad, you’re stuck with me for now.” Colin quipped, grabbing James’ arm when he tripped on the uneven sidewalk.

“Was she being mean?” Rafe asked with concern, reaching for her hand. “I wasn’t listening.”

“Yeah. Your ex is a bitch.” She replied bluntly, taking his hand and squeezing it. “Am I gonna have to drag you home?”

“No ma’am. I’m good. All good.” He replied quickly, though unconvincingly as he slurred his words. “There’s a chance that I might be a tiny bit drunk.”

“A tiny bit?” Colin snorted, waving his hand in front of Rafe’s face. “You and James did multiple Jagerbombs. That always does you in.” He glanced over Sophie again, concerned. “Soph. You okay?”

“Huh?” She did her best to help Rafe along and guide his 6’3” frame so he wouldn’t trip over the sidewalk or walk the wrong direction, but was running through a script in her head of all the things she wished she had said - or done - to Brooklyn.

Colin frowned. “You’re doing that thing, Rafe says you bite the inside of your cheek when you’re mad. You want me to go back in? I’ll talk to her, I swear -”

“S’true. She does.” Rafe confirmed, then finally seemed to pick up on the anger radiating from her. “Did I do something?”

“No, baby, you didn’t do anything wrong.” She reassured him quickly, then gave Colin a small smile. “It’s okay. Thank you. I just - she just -”

“Yeah. I know.” Colin nodded. “Fuck her.”

“Exactly. Fuck her.” She repeated, a little louder and a little more confident.

James whipped his head back and started walking backward for about two steps until Colin forced him to keep his eyes ahead. “Who are we fucking?”

“We’re not - James, pay attention.” Sophie sighed, urging him along.

Rafe leaned over to press a kiss to the crown of her head, then whispered - in the loudest stage-whisper possible - “I think I’m a little too drunk for fucking.”

“Rafe.”

“Yes.”

“Please shut up.”

“Yes ma’am.” He nodded dutifully, hooking his arm in with hers. They made it to the boys’ house a couple minutes later and Colin shoved James onto the couch, tugged off his shoes and grabbed him a water bottle from the fridge.

“Alright. He’ll be fine here, Sophie, do you need help with the stairs?” He asked, noticing the way Rafe slumped onto her.

“Um...no. I think we got it.” She took a deep breath, her mind still racing from what Brooklyn said at the bar. “Thanks, Colin.”

“Night, you two.” He paused on the stairs, glancing back at James and then at Sophie for a moment before heading upstairs.

Sophie nodded, more to herself than anything else. “Alright. Rafe, baby, work with me on the stairs and then we can go to bed?”

“I got it, I got it. M’not that drunk.” He protested, but tripped up the first step anyways, knocking his knee against the stairs as he fell hard with a thud. “Ow!”

Without even asking, Colin was jogging back down the stairs all the way from his room in the attic, hauling Rafe up before Sophie could blink. He dragged Rafe up and into his room, ignoring his protests, and pushed him onto the bed. “Soph, you can go get ready for bed, or whatever. I’ll babysit.”

“I think I got it, Colin -” She started halfheartedly, only to be cut off by Colin just pointing at the door. She nodded gratefully and hurried into the bathroom, quickly wiping off her makeup and brushing her teeth. When she returned, she paused just outside the door to hear Colin talking to Rafe.

“Give her a break, okay? She just had to deal with your insane ex -”

“She didn’t have to -”

“She did, because you’re a fucking pushover sometimes.” Colin interjected, exasperated. “Your breath reeks, get your ass up and go brush your teeth.”

“You’re mean.” Rafe grumbled back, but got up and ambled out to the bathroom, giving Sophie a dopey grin as he passed. Colin followed him out but stopped in the doorway, acknowledging her with a nod.

Sophie looked like she was about to cry, overwhelmed by how nice he was being and the fact that someone even noticed that she was struggling a little with dealing with Brooklyn. Without a warning, she stepped forward and gave him a quick hug. “Thank you.”

He stiffened in her arms, then awkwardly patted her back after he was released from the hug. “It’s no big deal. Anything for a friend. Especially a friend that’ll stand up to that bitch.” He cracked a grin, nudging his shoulder against hers.

She laughed, rubbing her eyes quickly. “I didn’t realize you felt that strongly about her.”

“Yes. She’s awful.” Colin nodded. “You are a significant upgrade.”

“What are we upgrading?” Rafe asked as he returned from the bathroom just wearing his boxers slung low on his hips, with damp hair - even though they hadn’t heard the shower running - and his breath smelling of mint.

“Nothing, bud. Good night, you two.” Colin gave them a nod of dismissal and strode back upstairs, leaving the two once he was confident Rafe could stand on his own again.

Rafe reached out, noticing her slightly teary eyes, and affectionately stroked his hand over the top of her head. “You good, angel?”

“Just tired.” She yawned to make a show of it. “Where’d your clothes go?”

“Oh. Uh…” He glanced back to the bathroom. “I was gonna shower, but that was too much work, so I just got my hair wet.”

“...Right. Okay, bud, you need sleep.” Sophie ushered him into his room and onto the bed, then changed quickly into a spare pair of pajamas she’d left behind. When she returned to the bed and slipped under the covers next to him, he rolled over to face her, concern written all over his face.

“You’re upset.”

“Not at you.”

“But you’re still upset. Talk to me?” He stroked his thumb over her cheekbone tenderly, unsure what was going on - and honestly, the room would spin a little if he shut his eyes - but he was still conscious enough to pick up on Sophie’s feelings.

She nodded, rolling onto her back so she didn’t have to make eye contact. “It’s just - it makes me so fucking mad that you dated her. Not because of anything you did, but I just know you deserve so much better. And then she just still thinks she has any influence on you, she’s so damn condescending - ugh.” She rolled back over, frowning. “If we ever broke up I don’t think I’d ever be able to see you again.”

“You wouldn’t see me anymore?” He frowned, trying to keep up.

“No. It would hurt too much. That’s how I know she damn well didn’t love you like she should have.” She insisted, eyes bright again as she ranted. “She fucked up by letting you go, you’re a fucking catch, Rafe. I’m sorry she didn’t realize your worth.”

He blushed and pulled her close, nudging his nose against hers before kissing her. “You wanna repeat that again tomorrow when I’m sober? So I make sure I remember?” He had a joking tone, but seemed a little unsure too.

“Absolutely. I’ll tell you that every damn day if I need to.” She kissed him back, heatedly, as if to emphasize her point. “I love you. You’re mine and I love you.”

“M’ yours.” He confirmed with a sleepy nod, not nearly reciprocating the kiss as hard as hers. “My favorite girl.”

She pulled away, peppering kisses over his nose and cheeks before resting her head on his chest. “Good night, baby. Don’t you dare throw up in bed.”

He laughed as he wrapped his arms around her, closing his eyes. “I won’t. Sweet dreams, Soph.”

taglist: @drewstarkey @lemur46 @jjmaybanksbaby @edgeofgr8 @quxxnxfhxll @obxtess @hoodpankow @vtgirl802 @outerbankies @messagesinthesky @nicolecarsley @svechnikolan @ilovejjmaybank @obxtess @abbyj1822 @oopsiedoopsie23 @g4bster @jjmaybankzz @freddymaybank @dontjinx-it @illbesafeforyou @moniamaybank @tovvaa @jailcalledlife @sunshineitsfine44 @randomficsandshit @outerbankspreferences @outerbanksbro @karsinner @kkmaybank @whoeveniskendall @lemur46

[a-is-for-abel]

"“I’m moving.” He froze, glancing up at his friend. The other boy’s eyes were gleaming with suppressed sobs, breath hitching and jaw clenched. “Mom got a job in another state and we’re moving in a month.”

Inspired by this prompt by @givethispromptatry

Sand and shells crunched under the belly of the kayak as it ran aground. With a wobble and a curse he tumbled into the water, paddle floating away from him and kayak shooting off in the opposite direction.

"Fuck."

He scrambled to collect both, tossing the paddle up onto the beach and grabbing the handle at the bow of the kayak to tow it onto shore.

"You're late."

He rolled his eyes and glanced over his shoulder to see Warren in all his cut-offs and sandals glory. "And you're early."

Warren crossed his arms. "I'm literally the most on time, dude."

"Whatever, just-- Help me grab the stuff."

He popped open the watertight chamber in front of the seat and reached into the belly of the kayak, all while Warren struggled to pull the backpack out from under the cage of bungee cords at the front.

"Just unhook them, dude," he said, his cellphone and two unopened cream sodas finally in hand.

"Don't tell me how to do it."

"It's not going to--"

"Shit!" Warren yelped, recoiling and clutching his hand.

"Told you."

Warren flicked him off, but turned to do what he said anyway.

"Come on, suns gonna start setting soon." He grabbed his backpack from Warren and stuffed the drinks and his phone inside.

"What? Afraid of some gators?"

"No," he said. "Rather a gator than my dad."

Warren grimaced. "He still got you on that curfew?"

"Yup."

He picked his way through the mangrove thicket that cut the beach off from the rest of the spoil island. The roots of the black mangroves jutted up like fingers through the sand and the stilts of the red mangroves tried their best to snag his feet as he ducked under the sprawling web of an orb weaver hidden in their midst. Thankfully, it cleared out past the initial wall of foliage, becoming more barren with only the occasional thicket.

He remembered when his dad had led them through here the first time and explained that the mangroves kept the spoil islands standing. That when hurricanes and storms threatened to wash them away, their roots would act like a little army, keeping off any barrage and harboring whatever took up shelter under them.

He frowned. His dad and him hadn't come out here since--

"Fuck, fuck, fu--" Warren sputtered behind him, high-pitched.

"Web?" he asked, glancing back to see Warren flinching away from a tree.

"Yeah, fuck--" Warren brushed his arms off frantically and patted at his hair. "Fucking spiders all over the fucking place, man. They call it Mosquito Lagoon, but it really should be spider god damn la-- Fuck!"

"Nice one, ‘spider god damn la-fuck’ really has a special sort of ring to it."

Warren shot him a glare and dusted off his shoulders and the front of his shirt with quick flicks. "You owe me for psychological damages..."

"Come on, we used to come out here all the time."

"When I was like ten! And with your dad!" Warren cowered away from another web that sprawled from a lone tree. "And I didn't have as much free real estate for a spider to like, you know-- Crawl all over me or whatever."

"Free real estate?"

"Yeah, you know the whole--" Warren gestured vaguely. "The meme."

"God, please stop," he groaned. "That shits like, what, twenty-seventeen? That's like ancient history, man."

"It's a classic."

"Sure," he muttered. "A classic."

"Whatever, man, you're just not cultured."

He scoffed. "That's definitely it."

The other end of the island unfolded into a drop-off, all coquina and shells packed tightly together and built up into a mound that cut off abruptly into nothing. It was the highest point of the island-- of most of the spoils out here honestly-- even though it's small cliff had been eaten away and eroded over time, shrinking and shifting as the island shrank with the waves.

Dropping his backpack, he sat and dangled his legs over the edge, shoes knocking back against the coquina with a scratchy rasp. Warren plopped down beside him, keeping his legs folded and away from the plunge. Not that it was much of a sheer cliff. Only about eight feet down at the most, but enough that it felt like a lot. Compared to the average of three feet below sea level for the rest of the mainland; eight feet felt pretty fucking huge.

The tide lapped at the base of the island, the water hissing and coiling, writhing and alive where it squirmed through the holes bored through the coquina face and back out with a soft crackle. Crabs, tiny and mottled, darted in and around the rocks and he could see finger mullet, their scales flashing as they turned and twisted with the waves.

"You tied up your kayak, right?" Warren asked.

"Naw, but it should be fine. I pulled it up pretty far."

"I'm not sharing if you get stuck out here."

He frowned, shooting Warren his best puppy dog eyes. "You'd leave me out here?"

"Yes."

He chuckled. "Fair."

Seagulls drifted in lazy circles far overhead, the occasional cry working its way down to them as the birds banked with the wind, following the gusts up to where they could catch a glimpse of a meal beneath the water. One wheeled down in a sudden arc, wings folded close to its side as it plummeted, beak first, into the water with a snap and then back out with a spray.

"Man, tough luck..." Warren said. "Hate whenever they miss. Makes me feel kinda bad."

"They're just gonna go do what the rest do and steal some fries at the jetty once they realize it's easier than doing this."

"Yeah, but it's like-- I don't know, man. Just wish he'd get a win."

"You don't even know him!"

"I feel like we have a connection." Warren pointed at where the seagull had gone back to patrolling the waters. "Me and seagull number one thousand and three, we're like this--" He crossed his fingers.

"Shut up," he snorted.

They watched the seagull try again and fail.

Warren started up a running commentary after the third attempt, cupping a hand over his mouth to imitate the slight grain of a sports announcer's microphone as he dramatized the whole thing. When the seagull finally managed to snag a fish Warren cheered, arms thrown up in a touchdown motion that he copied with a grin.

"Hell yeah, dude!" Warren high-fived him.

"Where's all that enthusiasm for when you're at my games?" he asked.

"Come on, dude, you know I always cheer the loudest. You're just too far out on the field to hear me."

"I'm sure that's what it is."

"Whatever, man-- What'd you bring anyway?" Warren grabbed his backpack and began rummaging through it. "Oh shit! Gummy bears, dude! And the good kind, hell yeah!"

"Yeah, grabbed them before I came here. That's why I was late, idiot."

Warren tore open the package. "Crimes forgiven, man. This is worth it."

"Give me that--" He pulled his backpack out of Warren's lap. "I also got some soda, but I guess all you care about is your precious little bears."

"Naw, naw-- Hand that over."

"Rude much?"

"What? You want me to kiss you on the lips for it first, bro?"

He laughed. "Now, that would be the polite thing to do."

Warren puckered his lips at him and then snatched the soda. "Fuck off."

"Not even a little kiss?" he teased.

"You dragged me out to spider-fuck-nowhere, while it's ass fucking hot out and where it smells like rotting fish taint-- Just to watch the fucking sunset, when we could have sat on my roof and done the exact same thing-- You expect a kiss for that?"

He shrugged. "Yeah. Bro code."

Warren snorted. "Hand me a bottle opener, dip shit."

He popped open his own bottle and passed it over to Warren, who struggled for a moment before finally getting it with a triumphant 'whoop'. The mixture of saccharine flavored soda and the slight rotting stench of algae, and whatever else the lagoon had to offer, wasn't exactly pleasant, but it wasn't terrible. It was familiar.

It was homely in it's off kilter sort of way.

"So, why'd you bring me out here anyways?" Warren asked.

He sighed and kicked his heel back against the coquina. "I’m moving.”

Warren sucked in sharply and he glanced over at him.

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at the water below his feet. "Dad got a job in another state and we’re moving in a month.”

"Dude…"

"I didn't know how to tell you. I just--"

"Is that why you decided it'd be a good idea to sneak out and go to that dumb party with me?" Warren asked, frowning.

"I figured it would be one of the last chances I had to do something fun, you know. Here. Before I just-- Leave all this shit forever. I mean, we're moving to fucking Ohio, man. Where the fuck am I gonna find a party on an island out there?"

"Right…"

"And look, fuck my dad--"

"Jake--"

"No, fuck him-- He didn't even--" he huffed. "Things were looking up, man. Varsity lacrosse in sophomore year, that's huge, dude. And I wasn't just the fucking loser kid in the back of class anymore and he just--"

"Works rough here, dude..." Warren cut him off, sighing. "Space programs taking a shit. Whole island's taking a shit, really. Plenty of people left the first time NASA tanked, remember? It's just… it happens, man."

"So, you're just fine with it then?" he asked, brows furrowing. "We're never going-- I'm never going to see you again and you're just okay with that?"

"It's not forever!" Warren said, throwing out his hands. "There's planes, man! It's the twenty first fucking century. We got phones, dude. We'll stay in touch."

He grit his teeth and looked down.

"Jake, bro. C'mon-- Look at me."

He met Warren's eyes.

"It's gonna be okay, dude." Warren said, smile wide, and he could see the little falter at the edges, but he didn't call him on it. "Look--" Warren held up his bottle. "We'll cheers on it."

"Cheers on what?"

"To staying in touch, to meeting up in the future. To staying friends and all that, I don't know."

"To you finally getting a boyfriend?"

"Actually, you know what, I'm not going to miss you at all."

"Come on--" he grinned, nudging Warren with his shoulder. "You'll miss me."

"Yeah," Warren chuckled, looking down with a small smile. "I will..."

His fingers tightened around the glass bottle in his hand, bottom lip threatening to worry between his teeth. "Look, let's do your dumb cheers thing before it gets too sentimental or whatever."

Warren sighed, seeming to shake himself off before raising his soda bottle above his head and towards the slowly setting sun. "To us."

"To us?" He wrinkled his nose. "Isn't that kinda cheesy?"

"Just shut up and do it."

"Fine..." he grumbled with a grin, raising his bottle to clink against Warren's. "To us."

--

//photo credit// me and my phone c. 2020 //

[lovebishoplosamiguelgalindos]

That Dress:

Neron “Creeper” Vargas and Reader 18+. smut just because 666 words

So you knew there was a thing at the club house tonight and you had just decided to go in what you had worn to work. The little black soft and comfortable dress with some sandals that had a low heel. You spritzed on a little perfume and touched up your lip gloss in your truck while taking your hair down out of the clip it had been in for work . Then you walked into the clubhouse with a smile for EZ who opened some bottled water and added a lime wedge to it . You spotted him sitting at the table playing cards and just went to sit on his lap like you had done many times before.

“ Rose petals.” He said into your ear softly.

You smiled. “ Hi baby.”

Then his lips touched yours. “ cara de Fantasia.” ( fancy face)

“ Neron.” You felt yourself blush for a moment .

“ You’re looking good Jaden.”

“ Thank you Taza.”

You felt Neron’s hand move over your thigh slowly touching the material of your dress as you sat on his lap drinking your water. His fingers lifted the material quietly and then you felt his rings touch the lace of your thong underwear and move in a circular motion over a certain place. You stiffened when the cold metal found your warm core but yet your facial expression stayed neutral . Then he put his cards down on the table and said “ Three of a kind boys .” There was a little smile on his face as he leaned back in his chair slightly.

When he did you slipped right onto his denim clad cock that was already hard,

“ Sorry baby,”. You said softly while nipping below his left earlobe.

:readmore:

His muscular arms lifted you up gently and he moved back the hall to where his dorm room was that he slept in sometimes when not at your place. Clearly since it was Friday night you were staying over as well.

He gently smacked your left ass cheek before he pushed the door open to his room and then locked it behind the both of you .

“ You know how I feel about dresses on you in the club.”

“ Yes I do but I decided to just come here straight from work instead of stopping at home to change first .”

“ I see well then let me see what you’re wearing for Daddy underneath this thing.” He lifted the black material up over your head slowly and then he saw the purple lady bra and panties combination you were wearing underneath it. His fingers unclasped the front hook of your bra and it popped off onto the blankets on his bed . Then he pulled down your panties and they went on the floor .

“ So it’s been a few nights , let’s see if you remember how I feel inside you .”

He moved onto the bed gently pushing your left leg back and then he began to slide into you slowly . You pulled the tank top off that he was wearing slowly so you could access his chest better. Your lips nipped and sucked on his pectoral muscles and you flicked your tongue over the ring on the piercing on the left one in slow circles. That drove him crazy and you knew it.

“. Shit querida I’m going to unload if you keep doing that .”

“ Fill me up Creeper , I want all of you in me.”

A little while later he did. You pulled apart to catch your breath and he gently cleaned you up.

“ Shower ?” He asked after gently kissing your lips.

“ Sure I think my soap and shampoo are here right ?”

“ Yes along with your favorite shirt .”

You gave his ass a gentle pat. “ How the fuck did I find the best looking Mayan in the whole damn club?”

“ Same way I met you when you stitched me up in the ER. I have the hottest nurse in Santo Padre .”

“ I love you .”

[tears-and-lilies]

Chapter 41 - History

Looks like Loui makes an appearance again

Tag: @whumpfigure @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @green-eyed-whumpster @liliability @sideblogformindtrash @starnight-whump @milk-carton-whump @abitefullofwhump @unicornscotty @myst-in-the-mirror @neverthelass

CW: forced to kneel, handcuffs, panic attack, ptsd flashbacks, blood mention, scars mention, pinned to ground, manhandling, war mention, death mention

***

Glorien was forced to kneel before the statue of Emperor Koi, at the end of the central hallway. The grand marble cast a dull shadow over him. It was warm here, and the hard stones under his knees mixed with his own sweat made him uncomfortable to say the least. At least he had no dance training today. 

Two guards were standing behind him. He didn’t know how long it had been, but through the window he saw the sun had moved quite a bit. 

‘Head down.’

He did as he was told. His neck was going to hurt tonight.

This was all Jespen’s fault. He had complained to Vasri about Glorien’s remark. Though “offending a dancer-whore” and “kneeling in front of the impressive statue of the beloved first Emperor of Koia” were two very different things. He wondered what Jespen had told Vasri exactly. Jespen was the type of person who could lie to get whatever he wanted. 

Annoyed, Glorien rubbed the short metal chain that linked the cuffs around his wrists between his fingers. The cuffs were only there for show. He wasn’t going to do anything to escape. 

He never did. 

He shook his head, prompting a guard to bark at him to keep still. But Glorien wanted to move. He loathed this kind of punishment. When he was forced to clean, at least he was doing something. 

I could still put that time to better use. 

Six years, I lost so much time.

I never do anything to help myself. I’m so helpless. 

Coward. 

He winced. 

Helpless, pathetic, coward.

I’m not, I’m not!

Then why am I still here?

He flinched when he heard footsteps. Sandals tapped on the ground, approaching him. Glorien held his breath. 

Can I leave now?

The footsteps had stopped, only a few steps close to him. Still behind him. A shiver ran down his spine. It was Loui, wasn’t it?

But the presence did nothing. They didn’t even speak. They just stood there. If Glorien focused hard enough, he could hear them breathing. And that sound made his veins go cold. His back was bare, vulnerable, but he didn’t dare to turn around. He was frozen - Saints, why was it suddenly this frigid? But his scars, they were on fire. Never before had they felt like they burned. What was going on? Sweat ran down his forehead, down his arms, down his neck, down his back. 

Or was it blood? 

He was shivering. Something- something must be pressed against his back. His scars were opening. They were bleeding onto his white clothing. It prickled, it stung. It hurt! 

A knife, he thought. No, a dagger.

‘That was one’, the executioner said. 

He couldn’t breathe. What was that loud ringing in his ears? Did it come from inside him? He panted, he gasped for air. 

‘Why would it even surprise me? You remind me of your brother, the moment before I killed him.’

It took a while for those words to set in. 

Ah.

Loui took a few steps to the right. He sighed. 

‘Tell me, what did Koi do to deserve such an imposing statue?’, he said. 

Glorien leaned more forward, finally able to take in air. 

As a boy, he had learned so much about Emperor Koi. Koi had been the greatest Emperor the Koian Empire had ever known. 

‘Well?’

‘He… He created the Koian Empire.’ Glorien’s voice sounded ragged. 

‘“Created” is a big word. He added Houssaia and the provinces overseas to the Old Empire’, Loui said. ‘Why? Wasn’t it big enough as it was?’

‘We were at war… with the Trader’s Isles and the People of the Far South. We were being attacked from three sides. We lost the Plain.’

‘By forming alliances with those provinces, Koi had enough manpower to fight off the enemies. And after victory, he pulled the provinces further to his side, promising them wealth. And he kept his promise.’

Glorien wasn’t sure where Loui wanted to go with this. He felt vulnerable and confused. Yet he didn’t mind the distraction. It took away the burning sensation on his back. Had it even been there in the first place? 

Loui continued: ‘Before the war, the so-called “Dereian Empire” had been ruled by kings. But when the enemies attacked, the king proved himself to be weak. Koi, on the other hand- his triumphs were rigorously celebrated, and people cheered him on when he received the lily brooch from the king. And there was no one who batted an eye when he influenced the king to step down from his throne. He was a hero, a saviour. The most successful man to have ever lived.’

Of course. He had chosen this place as the new capital, and named this new city after himself. People from all corners of the Empire travelled to Koia to meet him. He became their leader, and they became “the Koians”. 

‘No one could ever reach his success. No one except his family.’

‘Too bad you and Vasri aren’t descended from him’, Glorien muttered. Once again he wondered what the point was in making him kneel before this statue. 

A kick landed on his side, and he knocked his head against the ground. He gasped for air, yet again. 

‘Neither was your father, you imbecile.’ Loui towered over him. He placed his foot on Glorien’s stomach, pinning him down. For a moment, he looked furious, and Glorien closed his eyes out of reflex. But nothing happened. 

‘I saw you for the first time only a few hours after you were born. I’ve seen you grow up into a promising young man. And then… whatever this is.’

Glorien looked up. With his back pressed against the stone floor, his dry uniform stroked his skin. He now was sure he wasn’t bleeding. With renewed confidence from the relief, he snarled: ‘You made me this way.’

‘Did I?’, Loui asked with a monotone voice. His face was neutral, but Glorien knew he was losing his patience. 

The man sighed loudly. ‘Not too long ago, you told Vasri, “I can see why my father wants you dead”. How are we supposed to react to that? Do you want to die that badly?’

Glorien pressed his lips together. His heart was beating violently, and he didn’t want to show this man he was scared. 

The sandal pressed harder into his stomach. 

‘Have you ever considered that man could have been wrong?’

He smiled. This was the one thing they would never take away from him. He would always remember how his father had been wronged, no matter how they twisted it. 

‘Look at it this way’, Loui said. ‘Do you think the things you learned as a boy were all true? Do you think Koi did all of this to help the Empire, and his means were harmless? Who controls history?’

‘The victors’, Glorien replied. ‘How does that relate to my father? Isn’t it you who wears the lily brooch?’

Loui’s eyes shone. It was only for an instant, as he turned his head and stepped back immediately after.  

‘Alright, dancer. At least I tried.’ 

He held out a hand. Glorien hesitated, not really wanting to touch his brother’s murderer. But Loui grabbed his arm and pulled him up. 

‘I have one more proposal’, the man said. ‘I have a task for you, so you can be useful for once. It’s a precarious task, but I have confidence that you can accomplish it. Though of course, if you’re afraid, you can refuse. In that case, I will talk to Vasri about what we discussed and we will decide on the best way to execute you.’

Glorien took a step back, and narrowed his eyes.

‘What… what do you want me to do?’

‘You’d have to come with me to find out.’

[thewickedmerman]

The Specialists Casual Outfits

Well, I'm finally gotten to the boys casual outfits. I'm not as creative with their outfits, since I just used outfits they wore in the show.

Sky

Sky's is very sporty. I also gave him (And Riven) a watch/bracelet that is supposed to transform him into his hero outfit. It's kind of like a Power Rangers thing. I made it look similar to his hero outfit to give it a personal touch.

Brandon

Brandon's style is very preppy, which is interesting when you compare it to Sky's style, since Sky is the prince and Brandon is his squire. Sky is more casual and sporty while Brandon has a more preppy style, which I guess did help with them switching places.

Riven

Riven's outfit is very much bad boy, biker dude, which really suits his style and personality. I also gave him (And Sky) a watch/bracelet that is supposed to transform him into his hero outfit. It's kind of like a Power Rangers thing. I made it look similar to his hero outfit to give it a personal touch.

Timmy

Just like Brandon and Sky, I just used an outfit that he had from the actual show, which is very geek chic. His outfit was more fun to do because of the variety of colors. Plus, I did love that I got to show off more of his freckles. I also gave him a ring that is supposed to turn into his scepter, similar to Stella's Solaria Ring. I gave it the head of his scepter. His ring is the only thing that has his signature color, yellow, which is different from the other images I did of The Specialists in their casual outfits because they are wearing something that is their signature color. It makes him stand out. Also, despite him being from a planet of technology, it's also not as advanced as Tecna's planet, so he doesn't dress intergalactic in his casual attire like she does.

Helia

I used Helia's outfit from seasons 2 and 3 because it really suits his chilled personality and has a bohemian style to it. However, I made changes like giving him sandals and making the colors salmon and lavender to show off his feminine side, since he's the most in touch with his feminine side out of all the guys. I feel like after season 3, Helia really lost his style with how they chopped his gorgeous hair and put him clothes that didn't suit his chilled and artistic personality. I had a lot of fun with him and even gave him a black sketchbook with splashes of color.

Nabu

Nabu's outfit was the one I was the most creative with because I decided that instead of using one of his outfits that I would take some liberties. I wanted to incorporate Indian culture to match his Indian coding, similar to how the show incorporated Chinese culture to Musa's outfits, due to her being Chinese coded (Being modeled after Lucy Liu). I think his outfit is my favorite because of how I love cultural outfits and I would wear them, if it wasn't for the fact that I'm a white man, which would make that obviously very offensive because it would be cultural appropriation. It really suits his chilled and relaxed personality while still being different from Helia's chilled and relaxed style. I also gave him a ring that is turns into his scepter, just like I did with Timmy.

Credit for the bases goes to SelenaEde from DeviantArt

Credit for the background goes to SparxGuardian from DeviantArt