#you have no idea how much i think about baby scrabble

[extremelyputridfishbreath]

1.) Cliff, Fudge, Amethyst, and Seagull's parents were all apart of an adventure's guild- The Sharp Point, named after their legendary leader Taffeta's signature weapon: a battleaxe fashioned from a large sewing needle. And since Dogear's other parent besides Taffeta, Bookmark the Box Dragon is the protector of the Box Dimension at large- what better fit to their ragtag aspiring adventurer group than him?

Although Taffeta has another child in her care besides Dogear, it doesn't seem like he's outside with his siblings today...

I'm sure this isn't a common occurrence, and they make sure to treat him fairly...after all, surely they wouldn't leave him out of everything, right? After all, this is just as important to him as it is to them...

Zkhq Vfudeeoh uhdolchg kh'g qhyhu eh lqfoxghg ehfdxvh wkhb doo zdqwhg klp wkhuh, kh ohduqhg wr kdyh ixq lq klv rzq zdb. Exw hyhq li wkdw ohg klp wr ilqglqj wkh ehvw iulhqgv kh frxog dvn iru…grhv wkh kdssb hqglqj mxvwlib krz dorqh wkhb pdgh klp ihho? L wklqn qrw…L wklqn qrw.

2.) Chauncey does mukbang streams for fun, usually twice a week whenever he's having dinner. He doesn't really care enough to monetize it, he just likes the idea of helping people feel less alone by 'sharing' a meal with them in a sense. Sometimes he cooks the food himself (which usually gets his sibling Mukluk to join since it's pretty darn tasty food), but he usually has fun with it nonetheless.

3.) Rollando loves to sing.

This is a problem, because he is a horrible singer. Despite his mother being a literal siren, and his siblings, Destin and Daytona both having excellent singing voices...Rollando's singing is awful enough to shatter glass. Even if he isn't particularly loud about while singing. Nobody likes his singing, and not even Rich will compliment it.

Scrabble likes his singing, and encourages it. Whether it's genuine or simply because he thinks it's funny seeing everyone groan from his horrible singing is a mystery, though...

[mitchellpete]

Kinktober Day 6 - Cockwarming

pairing: pete “maverick” mitchell x f!reader

cw: instructor!mav, student x teacher relationship, power imbalance, angst if you squint?, age gap, office sex, oral sex (m receiving), penetration, cockwarming

word count: 1875

kinktober masterlist here.

18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI

-

It takes Maverick about a minute to notice you standing in the doorway to his office. He’s swamped with paperwork, his pen nearly running out of ink at the scrabbling he’s been doing the past couple of hours. It seems you’d both ended up with irritable days, hence the reason you found yourself here in the first place.

It was late, thank God, and no one was really around anymore and you really didn’t feel like leaving base and spending the rest of the evening sulking alone at home. You knew that Captain Mitchell was staying in late, knew that if you didn’t wander in to see him, you might not see him at all over the next couple of days.

It was a bad habit he had. He gave you too much space. 

“Lieutenant,” he greets you now, a small smile curving the end of his mouth at the sight of you.

You ignore his propriety, stepping inside and shutting the door behind you. You try to match his smile. “Hi, Mav.”

He immediately drops the act. Eyes darting from you to the closed door, he asks in a hushed voice, “What are you doing?” 

You approach his desk, your failed smile replaced by a frown. You want to hug him. You want him to hug you, you mean. To make it all better. You’re not sure how to ask for that, though.

“Just wanted to see you,” you say instead, curious hands reaching for the objects on his desk. 

He doesn’t break eye contact as he takes each object from your hands, placing them back in their spot as you move them. “I’ve got a lot of work to do, sweetheart.”

Your heart sinks a little at the rejection, and he seems to notice the disappointment cross your face. 

“Come here,” he says then, beckoning you over with a single nod.

You step behind the desk and into his space, leaning down to meet him for a kiss. It’s risky; you didn’t lock the door and the blinds aren’t fully shut, but the kiss lasts maybe two seconds. It’s fine.

Mav smiles and looks up at you with a soft glint in his eyes, the one that reads I’ll see you soon, okay? It’s the look he gives you every time he sneaks out of your house, or drops you off. You’ve started to dread it. There’s so much uncertainty that comes with it. Every single time you see him after that affectionate look, he’s just your instructor again. The affection is gone and you’re never sure when it’ll return. It doesn’t matter how much you ache for him. 

Boy, how badly you ache for him now. A kiss is never enough.

You’re almost going to swallow your pride and leave his office, seemingly satisfied with the one little kiss, until your eyes land on his lap. Then at his paperwork, then at the door.

He cocks an eyebrow, curious.

Fuck. You slowly stride over to the door, battling with your choices, but decide you have no intention of leaving. 

“Wh–” Maverick sits up straight at the sound of the door locking, and then watches as you move towards the windows to start shutting the blinds all the way. “What are you doing?”

“I wanna try something,” you say confidently, like he already gave you permission.

“Try something?”

“Mhm.” You shut the last set, take a step back to make sure they’re all closed and then turn your attention to him again. “Blinds shut, door locked. I think you’ve left for the day.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. He drops his pen instead, tilting his head as he tries to figure out what it is you’re planning.

He sort of gets an idea when he notices your eyes scanning his side of the desk.

“Baby, I do have a lot of work to do.”

You smile. “And if I promise you won’t get your hands dirty? At all?”

Mav chuckles, shakes his head like it’s the most absurd idea he’s ever heard. It might be, you think, but it’s something you can pull off. The door is locked, after all.

“I think we’d be really stupid if we tried,” he admits, though his smile doesn’t falter.

“You don’t have to do anything,” you reiterate. “I just want to sit there. You can continue working.”

It’s like he opens his mouth to protest again, but then his lips press together instead, and he beckons you toward him with a nod like before.

Excitement fills you as he scoots his chair back to grant you access.

It’s hard to get on your knees in the cramped space underneath the desk, so you have to urge Mav to move his chair back with a gentle push to his legs. He complies, does his best to make as much room for you as he can. You find that you’re sort of shaky when your fingers pry at the button on his jeans, so he helps you with that, too. The position is slightly ridiculous, the chair a little higher than it should be, so you end up on your haunches when you pull his cock out of his briefs, and then sort of yank his garments down with your other hand for easier access. 

His eyes are still nervously peering at the closed blinds, making sure there aren’t any shapes or sounds coming from behind them, but you ease his worries when you take his shaft into your mouth. There’s no time to prolong this, so you get right to it; you take him in as much as you can, using a hand to stroke him at the same time. His knuckles are white from gripping the arms of his chair as he hardens in your mouth. Stifled groans leave his lips, filthy wet ones coming from yours. 

He throws his head back in silent satisfaction when you swirl your tongue around the tip, and accidentally groans out loud when you dip your head and trace your tongue down, and then back up his frenulum.

The noise he makes reminds you that you’re not supposed to make him cum here, that this is something different, and you pull back after a minute or so. Maverick is biting down hard on his lip, watches as you stand up off your haunches and immediately work your pants off. He shifts in his seat, positions himself as best he can for you.

With your pants completely off and kicked aside, you grab onto his shoulders and mount yourself atop his lap. Hovering above him, you reach down to grab him and line yourself up with him the best you can; usually he would do that for you but you did promise he wouldn’t have to get his hands dirty. 

“No moving,” you prompt, exhaling softly at the feel of his tip against your slit.

You whimper at the stretch—it stings just a little from lack of foreplay—but gradually sink onto him little by little. You let your body accommodate him, feel yourself growing wetter around him before you sink any lower. He tenses up, tries to minimize his reaction by gritting his teeth. The long groan that leaves his mouth is inevitable when you fully slip onto his lap, his cock buried inside you to the hilt. Christ, this is gonna be harder than you thought.

He seems to think so too, as his grip around your waist tightens slightly. “Sweetheart, I don’t—I don’t think this is such a good idea,” he groans.

“Just get back to work,” you whisper, arms wrapping around his shoulders.

His hands leave your waist to resume his task, but his breathing remains heavy near your ear. You relax into him, face buried in the crook of his neck, breathing him in. You’ve got your hug. This is all you wanted today.

Maverick scoots his chair forward as best he can, picks up his pen and shuffles through his papers. 

You try not to clench around him, a very difficult problem when he scoots forward slightly a second time, his balls rubbing up into your clit. You try to focus on something else, on his scent, past him at the frames on the wall, on the bits of light coming in through the blinds.

A minute passes.

Two minutes pass.

Three, and Mav still hasn’t touched pen to paper yet, clearly dazed by the situation. His eyes skim over the words he’s already written instead, trying to give his brain an idea on where to get started again. 

He wants to move very badly. It’s a terrible itch he needs to scratch.

He starts to think that this is maybe a form of torture. You try not to think much of it, try to pretend this is the hug you were here for, and it sort of works. Sort of. His cock prods at a very delicious spot inside you the more he begins to shift his hips, and it becomes harder and harder to stay still.

It’s when you hear his pen drop and roll across the desk that you realize Maverick is not so fond of your idea. Get back to work how, he must be thinking, and God, you hope he’s not frustrated that this whole ordeal probably just set him back. 

If he is, he doesn’t show it, instead wrapping his arms around you and inadvertently rolling his hips underneath you. You gasp, taken by sudden surprise, clasping a hand over your mouth when his hips jerk a second time.

“Mav,” you whisper. “I said—fuck, I said no moving.”

He scoffs, bows his head to lazily kiss at your collarbone. “You’re killing me. I’ll never go back to work like this.”

You bite back a moan. “I promised you wouldn’t get your hands dirty. I just wanted to sit he–”

He shuts you up with a sharp, fully intended snap of his hips. His arms drop to cup the bottom of your thighs, and neither of you care anymore after the first stroke. The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room and it’s hard not to make any additional noise, suppressing your moans into little whines instead. Maverick starts fucking into you as if it were the first time, as if he’d never felt something so good before. 

Neither of you last very long.

Maverick’s thrusts get sloppy when you’re both seconds away, his tiring pace beginning to stumble. He’s smart enough to take you in for a deep kiss when you both cum at the same time, your quiet, high-pitched noises trapped in between your mouths. He continues kissing you through your unplanned orgasm, tongue licking against yours.

When he pulls back, you’re both panting heavily, savoring the glow. 

He helps you off of him eventually. Your legs are a little sore and shaky, and you clumsily stumble back against his desk. Maverick’s good reflexes prevent your fall, an arm around your waist, and you avoid landing on his messy stack of paperwork. You can’t help but snicker at how absurd this really was.

Maverick, on the other hand, has a smirk on his face at the sight of you propped over his desk.

[the-old-witch-writes]

Day 7 🡆 Breeding Kink (dom!Zoro x afab!reader)

Summary: Zoro fucks a baby into you.

CW: public sex, sex in the forest, breeding kink, afab!reader, dom!Zoro, dirty talk, use of petnames like "baby", daddy kink, biting

Deep inside a forest, just outside of the bustling town the Thousand Sunny docked at hours before, the sweet serenity of nature is shattered by broken moans and the wet smack of two bodies meeting.

“Ah, oh fuck—Zoro!”

“Got you, baby,” he rumbles in your ear, somehow steady as he batters inside you mercilessly, groaning as the gummy walls of your sweet, greedy little pussy welcome him. “Fuck, you feel so good…!”

Again, your head is thrown back against his shoulder as you moan and moan, eyes clouded and glossy as your palms clench at the rock under you. Wherever your thoughts are, they’re definitely no longer in your head. No, no—he made sure to do away with those the minute he kissed you, the moment you pulled his pants down, when you nearly choked trying to swallow his cock, and then, the very second he bent you over this rock and was inside you.

Now, all you can think of is Zoro, Zoro, Zoro and how Big he is, arms wrapped around you, his hands squeezing at your curves, his muscles thighs slamming furiously against the back of yours—and then, of course, how his cock isn’t even kissing your cervix but outright ravaging it. Like he wants to drive you insane, like he wants to become part of you, maybe put a baby in you—

Zoro growls, sinks his teeth into your shoulder, causing you to whimper.

“Shit, love your pussy, Bunny,” he says, licking his lips and tasting a hint of copper. “Always takes me so well, like you were made for it. Made to take my cock, my seed—”

You cry out, eyes beginning to water. Fuck, no, no, no. He can’t say that, he’ll ruin you.

Zoro pauses, feels how you clench around him, the wetness that drips onto him—and he grins wide, like the devil he is.

“Oh? You like that, huh? Like the idea of me stuffing you nice and full, filling your body until my seed takes?”

Your teeth sink into your swollen lip, the gaze in your eyes taking on a new haze. One of his rough hands moves to stroke at your pulsing clit. 

“I think about it too, y’know. Maybe a little too much. You’d be such a good mommy—”

“Yes, please," you moan, feeling your eyes roll back, your mind going crazy. "Want it so bad, daddy. Wanna be filled to the fucking brim—ah!"

You barely have time to breathe before Zoro has you on your back, pinned to the rock under you. His rough hands move to throw your legs over his shoulders as he looms over you. His hands then go to your waist and lift your lower body up as he shoves back inside you, forcing your cunt along his cock as he slams inside you over and over. He’s so rough, going so deep to push you closer and closer to the edge, you end up letting out scream after scream—speech barely audible, your throat left raw, those sorts of screams. The tension inside of you starts to become difficult to hold back, your cunt fluttering wetly whenever he’s inside you, and your eyes start to roll back. 

“That’s it, baby, that’s my good girl,” he rasps, his harsh exhale coming out in near steams. “Let go for me. Let go so I can fuck a baby into you—”

And with that said, with a flutter of your cunt, your whole world explodes in color.

“Ah, fuck, fuck, mmmm,” you squeal while pressing your lips closed, face flooding with heat as your back arches, as your eyes go wide and unseeing, each wave of your orgasm taking bits of your mind with it as he keeps going, dear god. “Zoro, daddy, I want—”

“Yeah, yeah, here I come, baby,” he growls, leaning forward to press his mouth to yours, shuddering when he feels your hands scrabble along his back, raking your nails into his skin. He moves faster, almost there almost almost almost—“God.”

And with another arch into him, you moan at the electrifying feeling of being full—of him, of the love you and him made together—and as your cheek falls to his shoulder, a cock drunk smile spreads across your face.

[ab4eva]

Austin x reader prompt “gentle” ..it’s a lazy Sunday morning with Austin and both of you decide to take a lazy day in bed together and enjoy each other’s company..the reader gives austin a sweet nickname calls him “gentle giant” turns into a day of love and cuddles..

‘Dominoes’

Warnings: none, pure fluff

a/n: Thanks for the request, dear anon! And thanks for bearing with me while I waited for inspiration. I changed up the nickname a tiny bit, hope that’s ok. And I hope you enjoy!

-

Your bed is so comfy. There’s almost no other place you’d rather be than in bed. Smooth, cool sheets dotted with tiny flowers. White, fluffy down comforter. Pillows that are just right - not too soft, not too firm. Oh and the warm, lanky boyfriend that’s in your bed. Him too. You stretch your legs, curling your toes and snuggling into the covers on this chilly Sunday morning. You yawn a little and blink the slumber from your eyes, focusing on Austin’s back in front of you. You really want to touch him, but he’s been so busy recently and you know he needs his rest. You settle for counting the freckles on his back, trapping your hands underneath your pillow so you’re not tempted to start lightly tracing constellations between them.

When you can no longer stand it, you gently scoot up closely behind him, tucking your legs behind his and wrapping your arm around his chest. Nuzzling your face into the back of his neck, sandy curls tickling your nose, you breathe in the scent of him - clean soap and sweet vanilla. You can’t help but place feather-light kisses between his shoulder blades. He stirs a little and places his hand over yours and squeezes.

“Morning, baby,” he says sleepily as he turns over to face you, kissing your forehead and pulling you close to his chest. “Morning, kid,” you whisper back. He hums happily and you’re content to just be in his arms again after so much time apart. You think about how hard the past few months have been - him away filming, you stuck at home and tied to your job. But he’s finally back and you’re determined to make the most of it.

“So babe,” you say, “I was thinking we could just take it easy today. I know we’re supposed to go to brunch with everyone but I’m thinking we bow out…I really just wanna stay here all day…in this bed….with you.” You pepper his mouth with kisses in between your words. He smiles down at you sleepily and you can tell he likes the idea immediately.

“Mmm, that sounds perfect, sweet girl. No place I’d rather be.” He nuzzles into your hair and in a minute you hear him breathing heavily, already asleep again. You smile softly to yourself and struggle to reach your phone on the nightstand, carefully trying not to wake Austin. You shoot a quick text to the group to let them know you won’t be at brunch and you yawn again and let the tiredness pull you under, the sound of Austin’s heartbeat all you need to lull you back to sleep.

When you both wake up refreshed a couple of hours later, it’s decided the order of the day is a bed-in, ala John and Yoko, except without the whole protest thing. Unless you’re protesting leaving your cozy bed on this lazy Sunday. Austin orders brunch to be delivered while you get a movie queued up on the bedroom tv. One that you’ve both been dying to watch but just haven’t found the time to yet. You pop to the kitchen to make some mimosas for the both of you and by that time the food has arrived. Carrying it all back to the bed, you and Austin settle in happily, munching on fried egg sandwiches and bacon. The movie is a silly comedy that has you both howling with laughter, the kind that makes your stomach hurt and eyes tear up. God, you’ll never get tired of hearing that man laugh. It’s so pure and sweet, it makes your heart flip-flop recklessly in your chest, every damn time.

After the movie, Austin grabs the Scrabble board from the living room and sets it up on the bed, and you settle on your stomach to try, really try, and beat your boyfriend this time. He’s just so darn good - he’s like a sponge with words - always trying out new ones on you, making notes in his phone of ones he’s not familiar with so he can look them up later. By the time the game is almost over, the scores are close, with Austin in the lead by only 20 points. You poke your tongue out of the side of your mouth in concentration as you stare at the letters you have to play for your last turn. Then you see it - the perfect word, the perfect place on the board.

“S-E-D-U-C-E. Let’s see…triple word score…27 points!” You crow gleefully. “Take that, Butler!” You jump up on the bed and start dancing around, not caring that you’re scattering Scrabble tiles all over the bed. Austin stares up at you from below and laughs.

“Are you trying to seduce me, Mrs. Robinson?” He smirks. He loves to call you this, his familiar tease owing to the fact that you’re a little bit older than him. “Because it’s working. I mean, I haven’t ever seen anyone do the Running Man on a bed before, and I have to say…I’m impressed.” Without warning, he grabs your legs, sweeping them out from under you and you come crashing to the bed, bouncing unharmed and giggling. He’s suddenly on top of you, tickling like there’s no tomorrow. He knows you can’t take being tickled, not for long anyway. You manage to grab pillow and smack Austin on the back with it. That shocks him just enough for you to scoot out from under him and hold up the pillow in defense.

“No more,” you gasp, trying to catch your breath. He looks at you with a devilish gleam in his blue eyes, one corner of his mouth quirking up as he advances slowly towards you.

“AUSTIN, I mean it!!” You shriek, still laughing. You don’t see the pillow he covertly grabs until it’s too late and he lightly whacks you in the head and you playfully fall to the bed, hair floating wildly around you. He’s standing over you, impossibly tall but with the goofiest smile on his face. A thought floats through your brain and you smile up at him.

“Come here, kid. My gentle boy,” you whisper, reaching out your hands to him. He takes them in his own large, warm ones and softly kneels on the bed, straddling your waist. He cups your face tenderly, staring into your eyes and your breath catches in your throat and you heart stops for a moment and then starts up again. He smiles at you then, and brings his lips to yours gingerly, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles on your cheeks.

“I knew you were trying to seduce me,” he says as he pulls away, shaking his head with a lopsided grin and face-scrunching wink.

“What can I say, babe? It was all my design. I’m a mastermind.”

Tagging: my dearest @aconflagrationofmyown

[luminouslywriting]

As a recent convert to the ladies who Brady crew, I love the idea of Brady wanting to learn more about his girl's interests. She loves Pilates? He's trying a class. She has a favorite author? He's checking out one of their books. She likes plants? Brady's always wanted a cactus! He would just be so cute and eager to share. 😊

Ahh this is darling so I just had to go on a slight rabbit hole for you Nonny! Because you're so right and he's such a supportive guy! Cut for length :) And keep sending me stuff, this is so much fun! Some light spice mentions below the cut!

-John Brady is above all things, a supportive man—and when it comes to you, he just adores you. Worships the ground that you walk on, thinks that you're prettier than starlight and more important to him than the sun is to the life of earth.

-That being said, if you have a hobby or an interest, he is running with it at full-force and attempting to make it a bonding experience.

-You want to get into art? Babe, he is finding some local art classes and trying his hand at it. Now I don't think he's all that great at drawing....but painting? He absolutely is great at it! I imagine he's really into painting landscapes and finds a lot of comfort and peace in it!

-This maybe leads to some more precarious moments between the two of you....paint fights that turn into messy sex is absolutely on the table haha

-You want to get into hiking or rock climbing? GREAT! He loves being outside and in nature and fitness is pretty important to him! So he's gonna be your hiking buddy for sure! -He absolutely would carry your water for you and make sure that HE has the backpack because he wants you to just have a good time and be able to enjoy nature.

-Rock climbing might be a little more worrisome to him but he loves getting to spend time with you and he really enjoys watching the way that you concentrate so fully on something. It's definitely a turn on for him.

-Oh you like photography? He might be a little bashful, but he's absolutely your muse and he's going to get in on the action

-This definitely means there are a few risqué photos of you that only his eyes have ever seen haha

-Yoga? HOT YOGA

-You want to get into sports? Fantastic! He definitely did a few things in high school and he's a decent enough athlete that he can pull off an average performance in some of the sports he's not as well-acquainted with

-Definitely takes advantage of trying to show you how to golf, or how to hold a tennis racket or baseball bat though haha

-Archery? I'M THINKING OF THE SCENE WHERE MIA AND NICHOLAS FROM PRINCESS DIARIES 2 PRACTICE ARCHERY

-I had to include the gif haha

-You want to get into baking or cooking? He's going to have the time of his life making food with you and it's the most wholesome domestic thing

-Definitely gets a little heated in the kitchen if you know what I mean

-You're into gardening? Great! He loves gardens and wants to make sure you have your favorite flowers or your favorite plants!! And he always surprises you with new plants!

-You're into reading or writing? He's going to read whatever books you like after you read them, or he's going to suggest to you some of his favorites.

-And if you're a writer then he's going to read everything you write and hypes you up! He's also going to be honest about his opinions and tell you what he thinks could be better (in the best and most constructive way)

-You like dancing? BABY, he will take you dancing every weekend and has the time of his life when he does!

-Board games is a hobby? He gets so competitive when it comes to Scrabble, it's not even funny

-You play a different instrument than him or you like to sing? AMAZING!! He's going to ask you to teach him about your instrument and that might get a little heated haha.

-Would absolutely harmonize your favorite songs with you because I think he has a great voice!

-You're into collecting things? Be it baseball cards, butterflies, coins, stamps, whatever it is—he's going to get in on it and try to find you the ones you're missing!

-An academic?? He adores that about you and will try to read up and learn about your favorite field of study, be it history, science, or whatever it is!

-Anywho....I could go on forever and ever, but these are just a few general things that I think he'd be like when it comes to your interest and hobbies

[angelasscribbles]

Victim of Love Chapter 13: Torn

Series: Victim of Love

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Drake x Riley, Liam x Riley

Word Count: 1,243

Rating: MA

Warnings for this chapter: Language, drinking

Song Inspiration for series: Victim of Love by The Eagles

Victim of love We're not so far apart

My other stuff: Master List.

Riley paced nervously back and forth across the marble flooring of the great room at Balymore. She had returned to her Valtorian estate two weeks ago. The request for a meeting with the king had arrived at her door the next morning. It had taken her a week to respond. Not because she didn’t want to see him. But precisely because she did.

She had no idea what he wanted, what he was going to say. She had been gone for four months. Four months of complete radio silence.

She had told him to focus on Hana and the baby and she had meant it. Liam was nothing if not conscientious. Bound by duty and honor, of course he would do exactly what needed to be done, regardless of the personal cost to himself. Or to her for that matter.

It was something she both loved and hated about him. She wanted someone who would fight for her. She understood why he couldn’t. That didn’t make it any easier. Although, perhaps all the things he had done to keep her in his life was him fighting for her in the only way he could.

Four months with Drake had engendered feelings for him in her heart but had done nothing to diminish the ones she already had for Liam.

Her majordomo opened the door, “The king is here, Your Grace.”

Several guards preceded him into the room and did a sweep of the area.

Her heart stopped when she saw him. He was stiff, it was slight, no one but her would notice, but it betrayed his nervousness.

“Nice to have you back in Cordonia, Your Grace,” Liam greeted her formally, “I trust you had an enjoyable trip.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I did.”

The moment the guards and servants were out of the room, he closed the distance between them, “I’ve missed you so much!”

She let herself be swept into his arms, she didn’t resist his kiss, in fact, she returned it. She melted into his embrace, she inhaled the musky scent of him- familiar, intoxicating, heady, comforting…and laced with memories of pain.

She pushed out of his embrace and moved away from him.

“Riley, please! I want to fix things between us. I’m sorry for….everything-“

“It’s fine, Liam. We don’t need to rehash our entire relationship again. I was there. I know what happened and I understand why.”

“You understand why, but things are still strained between us…”

They stood in an awkward silence for several moments before Liam asked, almost in a whisper, “How was Texas?”

She turned her head away as she answered, “Fine.”

There was an edge in his voice as he followed up, “And Drake?”

Her eyes darted to him then away quickly, “Drake is good.”

“I’m surprised he hasn’t proposed already.”

“He has.”

Riley stood at the bank of the Nueces River, her deep auburn curls cascading out from under the cowboy hat and down her back. “Why are we here again?”

“Because you love to watch the sunset over the river.” There was a quality in his voice that pulled her attention from the orange and red hues painting the sky over the West Texas landscape. She turned slowly toward him to find him fumbling with what looked suspiciously like a ring.

She sucked in a breath of shock, “Drake!”

“Riley….these last few months have been the best days of my life and that’s because of you. I don’t think it’s any secret that my heart doesn’t belong to me anymore….it belongs to you….” He dropped down to one knee as he held the ring out and up to her. His hands were trembling so hard that he lost his grip on it and dropped it in the dirt.

“Shit!” His hands scrabbled through the mud as he tried to quell his shaking hands and steady his breathing. His fingers closed around the cool metal of the band. He wiped the dirt away with the bottom of his shirt, but before he could offer it to her again, she was on her knees with him.

Riley lowered herself to the ground in front of him, her hand instinctively going to his face, “When we met, I was broken, shattered into a million pieces... You put me back together again, you made me whole.... through sheer strength of will I believe…and I…I love you too, but-“

“But?”

“But I think there are a lot of things I need to figure out in my life before I’m ready to take such a step.”

Bitterness coated the king’s words, “So, you’re engaged now? You’re going to marry him?”

“I haven’t given him an answer. He wants to stay in Texas, but I’m not ready to leave Valtoria. I love it here; I feel an obligation to the people of my duchy. They need me and it turns out, I’m good at governing.”

“In none of that did you say that you don’t love him.”

Her head jerked sharply upward, “That’s because I do.”

Liam’s shoulders dropped forward in defeat as anguish swirled through him.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Riley, I-“

“Now you know what it’s felt like for me, watching you with Hana all this time.”

His voice rose as he pulled himself up to his full height, “I don’t love her!”

Riley arched an eyebrow at him.

He deflated again, “Okay, I do love her, in a way, but it’s not like what I feel for you! It’s not the same!”

She relented a little, “I do know that. But I’m not sure where that leaves us.”

“Are you…considering leaving Valtoria? Cordonia?” The unspoken question hung in the air….me?

She brushed a strand of errant hair out of her face with a sigh, “I love you, Liam. I will always love you, but I love him too and he's offering me everything that you promised then took away. He can give me a whole relationship, not just part of one.”

“Riley, I know what we have isn’t what we wanted, but it is real!”

The anguish in his voice was breaking her.

There was a knock on the door and the majordomo opened it, “Sorry for the interruption but you have another visitor.”

“I…what? Who?”

The visitor stepped into the room and her heart jumped into her throat, “Drake! What are you doing here?”

“Not letting you walk out of my life, that’s what! I’ve been thinking about everything you said, and I have some ideas…” He trailed off as he noticed they weren’t alone, “Liam! Sorry, I…”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. Congratulations on your impending engagement I guess,” Liam thrust his hand out, “Just…take care of her, all right?”

“Of course!” Drake’s brows furrowed as he took in Liam’s stoic expression. His gaze darted to Riley, standing stiffly, eyes averted, “Um…what’s going on? Why do you both look like this is a funeral?”

“I’m happy for you, Drake. You deserve happiness and so does she. But surely you can understand my…disappointment in losing my relationship with her. My marriage is political, my hand was forced. None of how things worked out was my choice. I love her! Not being able to marry her and make her my queen is the worst and most devastating sacrifice the crown has ever asked of me.”

Drake looked back and forth between his best friend and the woman he loved in perplexity. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

[whirld-of-color]

decision: comfort them

right. so what happens is this:

mango opens the bathroom door and there is blood everywhere. or- not blood, exactly. it's something red and fluid but it doesn't smell like blood. it has the viscosity of mud with patches of paint thinner, it is thick and congealing, it smells like petrichor- it is everywhere.

what mango will observe with a terrible dread is that this is too much blood for the injury sustained. his gaze slides along the bathroom tile, skipping over the blood-smeared pin in the corner of the room. mango finds his child there on the floor in a ball, and oh goldenrod-

gold has a series of thin puncture wounds along the length of their arm, discoloration and warping- warping, because they keep on frantically trying to wrap their arm with bandages (bathroom cabinet door ajar) and they are pulling at the flesh, fingers scrabbling, nails scratching and the skin warps with the motion, leaving fingerprints and crescent-shaped indents in their arm, around the wounds, clawing open the wounds and releasing more blood- too much blood, where is it coming from- mango thinks this numbly (he knows how much blood would be shed he knows he knows) and with shaking hands crosses the room to shush gold oh honey he's here now it's okay running his numb fingers over the injury smoothing over the deformed skin like wet clay baby where does it hurt it will be okay

"no no no it- it doesnt-" choked out through sheer panic and terror "dad i- i'm- somethings wrong i- it doesn't- doesn't hurt help"

the fear in gold's voice hits him worse than that jagged knife, makes his pulse jump and his hands shake pain flares up along his most recent injuries. no no no

(tunnel vision not them not them please don't hurt them don't scare them like this no no no)

gold looks at you and they are so scared what can you do what can you do (they are crying- mud? water? salt?)

you can only say it's okay it's okay we can fix this we can make this okay

you wipe away your child's tears- clean up the wound (smooth out the indents apply disinfectant and gently wrap the bandage around his arm. shhh shhh it's okay we can fix this i love you i love you i love you) clean it up- you have experience, after all

(they are mumbling under their breath "doesn't hurt wrong no please" in a stream of consciousness terror. it is so quiet so so quiet oh baby you are so sorry you are so sorry)

it tears you in two

this should never have happened to them, as you wet paper towels in the bloodstained sink and clean their hands and face free of tears (are they?) and blood (is it?) and whisper empty reassurance as if you are not shaking with fear and worry as if you are not being torn apart along every seam every time your child sobs they are so scared (you are too)

gold is quieting down now, hugging you and fluid (tears?) staining your shoulder. you hold them as if they will fall apart if you let go (the fear sinks it's teeth into your heart)

shhh, shhh

as you comfort gold and hold them tight, the thought crosses your mind that there is a way to fix this.

---

i have got to start linking the masterpost at the ends of these updates heres the wishing well au masterpost if you have no idea what this is about

[thisismysecondrodeo]

//Prompt//

Ted and reader's wedding day. Ted standing on one side of the door frame, holding her hand while she works through her nerves not about marrying him (she's never been more sure she wants to marry him) but more about accidentally tripping, or that her dress isn't nice enough, what is the press going to say

AN: Who doesn’t love a wedding? And what a fun lil twist on the classic cold feet. Thanks for the prompt! 

Rating: General

Tags: Keeley Jones, Romance, Fluff, Weddings, Light Angst Wedding Day (Remix) | Fic masterlist

-

You explicitly told Keeley NOT to go get Ted but you should have known your maid of honor wouldn’t listen to you. She took one look at you shaking out your hands, staring into the distance, and squealed, “Oh my god you don’t want to get married!” 

“No, I…I, mean yes? But…” 

Keeley was already halfway out the door before you could finish your sentence and you sighed, crossed one leg over the other, and shook your foot nervously. The other bridesmaids were waiting for you down the hall, and in less than 30 minutes they’d line up with the groomsmen and make their way down the elaborate staircase and up the aisle. And you were so incredibly nervous. 

There was a quiet, triple knock at the door immediately letting you know Ted was there. You opened the door expecting to see his smiling face—or even his concerned face—but you opened the door to see nothing and no one on the other side. 

“Uh, Ted?”

“I’m right here, sugar bear,” Ted responded, the sound muffled as he hid himself against the wall on the other side of the door. 

“Ted, you know I don’t care about that silly superstition, you can look at me.” You tried to take a step forward to see him, but to your surprise, he stuck out a hand and covered your eyes. “Ted!” 

“Humor me, please baby,” Ted said sweetly. “Just step back in and put your back to the wall.” You did as he asked and he dropped his hand, scrabbling briefly to find yours and grip it tightly. “Keeley is all in a tizzy about you getting cold feet?”

You sighed, “Keeley overreacted.” 

“So you’re not nervous? You’re okay?” Ted sounded a little nervous himself as he asked, and you wanted to give him the validation he was looking for…but you’d also never lie to him. 

“Well, I wouldn’t say I’m not nervous. It’s a big day, and I just want everything to go well. My dress feels like it doesn’t look the same on me, Rebecca tried to keep it from me but I know the press is hiding out down there, and…mostly I think I’m worried about eating shit on the staircase.” 

Ted couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Sweetheart, it's going to go perfectly. And I don’t mean that nothin’s gonna go wrong. Henry will probably spill soda on his shirt and someone’s phone’ll ring during the ceremony, and, yes, we’ll probably get mentioned in the DailyMail tomorrow, but you know what? Your dress will look absolutely gorgeous on you in the picture and today will be perfect because it's our day. And however this wedding happens is absolutely perfect because you and I will be married at the end.” 

You tilted your chin up trying to keep your tears from ruining your makeup. They were tears of joy, though, because you’d never been more certain that you were marrying the right person. “You’re right, Ted, of course you’re right. Jesus, I love you so much.” 

“I love you too, darlin’. And you know I’m sure Roy wouldn’t mind walking back up the stairs after escorting Keeley to make sure you get down okay.” 

“With his knees? No, it's alright. I’ll just…be careful,” there was still a thread of nervousness in your voice and you knew that Ted heard it. Of course the venue with the massive staircase had been your idea, but it was turning into your biggest regret. 

“What if I walked you?”

“What?” Your brow furrowed, even though Ted couldn’t see your expression. “Ted, we're holding hands on opposite sides of a door frame right now, how can you walk me down the stairs? I’m supposed to meet you at the altar.” 

“Didn’t you just tell me you don’t care about that ‘silly superstition,’” you could hear the smile in Ted’s voice before you felt the tug on your hand as Ted pulled you back towards the door and into his arms. “We will walk into this wedding the same way we’re gonna leave it: together.” 

You held Ted tightly to you and released a sigh of relief. “And it’ll be perfect because it's ours.” 

You called for Keeley and let her know the change of plans and she clapped her hands together with excitement, communicating the change to the rest of the wedding party, the photographer, and videographer—and the photos of you and Ted making your way down arm-in-arm to the altar were the best pictures of them all.

Wedding Day (Remix) ->

[livebloggingmydescentintomadness]

tw suicidal thoughts

hi momdad. I'm not doing very well right now and although I know I'll be okay, do you have any tips for how to make it easier while I wait it out? anything to just block out the constant suicidal thoughts and stop me mentally planning things that make me sad to think about. I understand if you don't have the time/spoons for this and I'll be okay either way, but your words often make me feel a lot better about things. thanks <3

hey there, darling, i'm really sorry you're going through this. Bad Thoughts are also one of my biggest enemies, and i've been dealing with them for... going on twenty years, now. so, let's break this down.

in my expert opinion, you need to attack Bad Thoughts from three different sides: physical, mental, and social. congrats, you've already taken a step on the social side!

physically: i know, fucking believe me i know, that right now is the last time you feel like doing anything, but it genuinely is harder to feel like dying when you're clean, fed, and rested. this isn't about being perfect, having a bubble bath and making your bed or whatever, it's just about feeling less gross, through whatever means you're capable of.

change your clothes if you've been wearing them more than a day, take a sponge bath to get rid of the worst of the grime and stink, throw down a fresh flat sheet on your bed or change your pillowcase if it's been a long time since you changed them. whatever little thing you can do.

eat something. if all you've got is candy bars, then eat candy bars, but it is important to keep in mind that you will, unfortunately, feel better when you've had some nutrition. if you can get some apple slices, baby carrots, snap peas, etc, super easy finger foods, that's great. you also need protein and will feel weak and shitty without it, so get some beef jerky, hard boiled eggs, whatever you can. doesn't matter if you're just eating peanut butter out of the jar, just eat.

i know, intimately, the pain of insomnia, so if you can't sleep i totally get it, but do try and sleep instead of just staying awake because you can't face your own mind. honestly, i have a small tv in my room and i tend to keep it on at a very low volume when i sleep, because the noise helps to keep my mood from tanking when i close my eyes. if you need something like that, that's totally okay. just try and sleep, or at least rest. if nothing else, close your eyes for a while and listen to a podcast.

lastly - and know that i'm saying this through gritted teeth, seething - i'm afraid that exercise helps. i hate it, i hate every minute of it, but it actually fucking helps. i prefer to lift weights and/or do yoga, as i can go at my own pace in my own room, and stop whenever i can't take it anymore. i sleep so much better when i exercise 2-3 times a week, because life is just horrible like that.

mentally: when it comes to fight off the Bad Thoughts, distraction is The Most Important Thing. when you can't do anything else, distraction is your last line of defense. and i have unmedicated adhd so i know it's fucking hard, but it helps if you cultivate multiple tactics that work as distractions.

the best distractions i've found:

something that makes you laugh (you have to laugh, fuck, you absolutely have to find a way to laugh)

something you find interesting (science, history, puzzles, even just how it's made videos; scroll through youtube until you find a topic that you're legitimately curious about and learn something new)

something that feels comforting (your favorite movie or show, your favorite book, your favorite fic; doesn't matter if you've watched/read it a hundred times, do it again)

something totally mindless that requires your entire focus (for me that's usually a game on my phone, something like scrabble, word search, or a pop-all-the-bubbles sort of game; make sure you don't fall down a sinkhole of buying more turns and shit)

i have a distractions tag if you'd like some ideas on where to start. if you'd like a few recs of channels i like to watch when i feel shitty:

andrew rousso's skits are hilarious

liziqi lives in the chinese countryside and makes beautiful, peaceful videos of gardening, farming, and cooking. wild girl and dianxi xiaoge have similar channels.

absolute history has some fascinating in-depth videos

acrylic pours are pretty damn cool to watch

chris fleming is as unhinged as he is funny

tasting history with max miller recreates ancient recipes and discusses the history surrounding them

serena art has a cool method of painting that is very interesting to watch

caitlin reilly is painfully good at being funny

the animal cracker is a chiropractor who works on animals, including horses, which is actually really cool

for some reason i think harvesting videos are fascinating??

okay, that probably has you set for a while, lol. but i think that gives you an idea of what i find helpful, from educational to funny to just cool to look at when you can't concentrate on anything.

important part of this is staying committed to the distraction. you are a hockey goalie and you are not letting that shit through. cycle through ten different distractions if you need, just do not fall into the pit of bad thoughts. power through the worst of it.

socially: believe me, i don't love talking to people when i'm buried under a wave of despair, and i'm pretty bad at keeping in touch with friends, but make an attempt at talking to someone and either being honest about how you feel or just have a chat about nothing important, because we're social creatures and we feel better when we've been in contact with other people. even if you're just sending memes or rambling about fanfic, it helps a little bit.

okay, dear, that's my guide to holding back the tide on the Bad Thoughts. of course i could say all sorts of encouraging, inspirational stuff, but honestly when i'm in the depression hole, i don't really want to hear that stuff. simple, concrete actions help me more than promises that everything's going to be okay or i'm strong enough to handle this, blah blah. but if you do want more along that line, try my suicide tag for support and more advice.

this fucking sucks and it's okay that it fucking sucks, you don't need to paint a smiley face on a pile of shit and try to act grateful about it. just try and take care of yourself as best you're able, and don't let those thoughts gain a foothold, alright? you'll get through this, sweetheart.

[waters-and-the-wilde]

okay so one of the fun and neat things about going on T and shifting into boy mode is. i'm hot now??

it's not that i've changed that much or was dealing with negative self-image stuff, like i was already the prettiest boy you've ever seen before i got on T. back in girl(?) mode i dodged the worst of the usual body image issues due to a confluence of factors, such as

a.) enough early messaging to the effect of 'hey trying to make girls be attractive all the time is kinda fucked up' and me going 'yeah! that is fucked up! fuck being pretty'

b.) just. extraordinary amounts of asexuality. and with that came the primary incentive to go 'oh fuck i don't want to be attractive. dear god get that away from me. engage the Somebody Else's Problem Fields to maximum capacity!!'

c.) 'but also hey i've got great hair and look dashing in a waistcoat, i just do it for me you know? i'm like if a vain creature spent a lot of time scrabbling about in a tree hollow'

like i felt like i looked fine as a girl(?) and i didn't want to deal with the social baggage of being pretty (TM) or hot (TM) and clearly all that took so much effort anyway so it was super easy to just. not. although I liked wearing fancy costumes so in a lot of ways it's easier to look back on like. girl formalwear moments and be like 'oh yeah. that's drag. i was in drag.' without getting hit with the dysphoria stick. and the moments i felt really good about myself, like, 'flirt with myself in the mirror' moments were. boy drag. but i wasn't going to call myself hot. (also probably an autism thing, bc The Neurotypicals and the CisHetAlloNormies love to take the things you say literally and contort them to fit their assumptions so i couldn't risk them conflating 'hot' with 'sexually available'.) i was 'allowed' to be hot when i was dressed as jack harkness but under all other circumstances i didn't want that and wasn't willing to risk being thought of in those terms. never mind nipping it in the bud i was gonna salt the earth first.

which, maybe was a little overkill, i've got a bit of a tendency there but tbh i'm incredibly grateful for how much that kept the background society noise from getting the worst of its hooks into me. like the rampant asexuality and baby's first genderqueer shenanigans did me so many favors for maintaining a neutral-to-positive outlook on my relationship with my body. especially when it came to keeping prospective attention at bay so any time someone actually tried to ask me out it was just like. reaction gif of those girls with the red cups at the party. how did you get past security.

didn't hurt that i didn't want to hang in the kind of environments that made a big deal about appearances slash recognized it's rude to be a dick about peoples' appearances, but also there was probably a certain amount of baseline white/able-bodied/skinny privilege that i wasn't really aware of at the time, and lately i've been suspecting that contributes to other people trying to reinforce their idea of my place in 'the girl club'. something something same coin as those standards that also exclude and deny cis women for not measuring up.

recent years it's been weird because it sort of hasn't mattered how obvious i think the transmasc cues are, how much i look in the mirror and go '!!! hell yeah look at that handsome little guy!' because it just wouldn't translate. there was just a lot of 'yes fine i know i know i kNoW what people see when they look at me. it is still weird to me but i have to maKe Allowances for our soCiAL coNText riGht?? just because i got sick of being low-effort nonbinary and decided I wanted a turn at the blue hair and pronouns thing doesn't mean that other people aren't stuck in their assumptions. yes i know who i am but i have to wear a little sign and point it out to people and most of the time they don't notice or remember and if i'm lucky they'll wring their hands and get all conCerNed about having oFfEnded me instead of telling me they don't think they should have to make the effort of trying.' and don't get me wrong i love meeting cishetnormies who are cool and onboard and supportive or just baseline chill about it, but there are a lot of them where there's this definite undercurrent of knowing they're just humoring you and it itches like a shirt with the bad textures.

anyway it's not as if i didn't know i built in a bunch of defensiveness around knowing I was being perceived female and trying to control for the implications of that. (it's been a perennial topic of household conversation bc sibling and sibling-in-crime are a bit more settled into their own flavors of genderqueer especially in terms of dealing with other peoples' perceptions and i've still been grappling with a lot of 'i need to look GAY i need to look QUEER i need to look LIKE A BOY I need to look COMPLETELY UNAVAILABLE. do NOT perceive me. ENGAGE 'SOMEBODY ELSE'S PROBLEM FIELD' to MAXIMUM CAPACITY. i am JUST SOME GUY. FUCK i dress like a 12-YEAR-OLD and people think i'm in HIGH SCHOOL but they STILL DON'T THINK I'M A BOY' 'buddy hey do you think maybe you're overthinking the way people perceive you and trying to accommodate for that instead of being yourself' 'I KNOW BUT HEY'

i think starting to working in a much more public retail job kind of threw it into sharp relief because before I wasn't doing that on purpose, i just got so used my Whole Deal just sort of automatically flying under the radar. and suddenly every day i'm having to deal with other peoples' assumptions. and every day i'm still kicking and yowling and biting because all i'm getting is other people trying to shove me into a box. they see a girl-shaped person and it doesn't matter about the collared button-down shirt and what's usually a boy's name on the apron, lol what's a pronoun button, she's young and skinny and cute and white and that's what the quirky young ladies do these days because androgyny is trendy right??

(do not get me started on how women are not allowed to age and how trans guys get infantilized and how i keep getting clocked as much younger than i am, what does a guy have to do to get treated like a goddamn grown-up ah fuck i gotta show up with healthy boundaries and self-respect probably because i'm not about to stop dressing like a twelve year old because i am fighting for my life to retain my youthful whimsy on this godforsaken bitch of an earth)

and then. not much changes but I change. six weeks on T and i'm like ugh nothing's happening it's fine it's fine it's gonna be gradual it's gonna take its own time. and then two weeks later, holy shit. the goddamn second i unlocked the slightest bit of facial hair and boom. 'not my fault you think i'm a girl. skill issue. oh shit i look GOOD'

they (the charming and helpful transmascs who make youtube videos) said T won't just up and fix your confidence issues, and yeah okay they're right because something something gotta find that in yourself or whatever, but also. they were right when they said it doesn't not fix your confidence issues.

now. sometimes it's even more fucking jarring when it's easier for me to forget that it still doesn't always translate. last week some middle-aged guy tried to ask me out while i was at work (it was a short and not ill-mannered interaction but pretty obviously 'area man has interacted with a Young Lady for five minutes and decided to go for it' way) and it was like. The FUCK? now?? like. sir. babygirl. you are not only barking up the wrong tree you are not even in a forest right now. this is in fact. a lumber department. 'you look lovely' my ass i am the grubbiest little dweeb you have ever seen and these aprons flatter nobody, not even me. who the fuck do you think you're trying to kid. also i'm a boy. no sparing your feelings no laughing it off no 'easy mistake to make' i hope you feel super awkward about this. not my fault you tried to pick up a grown-ass man with a mustache. i don't care if you were polite about it you're old enough to be my dad and this is my workplace. i am once again asking how the fuck did you get past security.

(work-life gender is totally a thing too. at work i am 'actually a boy but thanks', i'm they/he and uh him actually when people use 'her', i am just some guy, fuck you i am a grown-ass man stop telling me how to do my job boomer. and then i get to go home and be a creature and a weird little man (nonbinary) and i'm suddenly more comfortable in a bunch of the girl(?) shirts i had stopped wearing and i'm looking forward to approaching more of a queer guy flavor of femininity on my own time)

it's weird too in that materially very little has changed, like it's been all of four months, i sound like i'm getting over a cold and my face can do a new party trick. it's all still mine, it's just that maybe it feels a little bit more mine now.

anyway the point of all this was that. i couldn't be hot because i couldn't act like i was hot because i couldn't envision a version of events where people didn't make this my problem. and suddenly I'm Just Hot Now. because I Am. like it's just a fact now it's an immutable law of the universe. all those posts about 'i'm transgenedner and sexy' and i was like 'love that for you, couldn't be me tho' and now i'm transgedener and sexy. am I going to do anything about it?? god no. i'm gonna make this everybody else's problem.

(be funny if i had a slut era in an asexual way but one thing at a time perhaps)

[sparklingbinjuice]

UM I would like to know about Bad Cop, Worse Cop. For reasons. (Although that Sharon/Layla also has me in it's grip so if no one else asks you, please feel free to share!) Thanks 😘

listen this was very much inspired by your Recruitment Opportunity, which i may have read *checks ao3 history* 31 times, so i totally understand your Reasons.

there is very little plot and i have no idea if it could fit into canon. i just needed an excuse to have rollins and rumlow spit-roast torres :))) so... he and his buddy parachute behind enemy lines (except not really, just close to a hydra base) and he gets caught and interrogated.

my description for this doc is just '*roughly whumps the baby bird*', which pretty much explains it. snippet below the cut. nothing explicit yet, just set up and allusions to torture

“You know what I’m going to ask you, kid,” he said amicably.

His tone was casual, almost playful. But given the circumstances his familiarity was more unsettling than comforting. He had a broad New York accent – Brooklyn or the Bronx if Joaquin had to guess.

“Gonna make me waste my breath, huh?”

Joaquin set his jaw, clenching his teeth so hard that the enamel crown on his lower right premolar threatened to crack under the pressure.

He focused on the shiny metal tabletop laid out before him. It was old, marked up with a series of scuffs and scratches. Some of them looked unsettling like they could have been made by desperately scrabbling fingernails.

He clenched his bound hands into fists behind his back; his own jagged nails digging grooves in the balls of his palms.

“Yeah?” New York laughed, short and humourless. Joaquin could feel the dark eyes on him, appraising him relentlessly. “Brave boy, huh? You want the full experience?”

He set his jaw, refusing to be goaded into breaking his silence. He had been trained for this. He wouldn’t be broken.

“I’m giving you an easy out here, ace,” his captor told him. “We can have a civil conversation and I’ll let you get back to your little buddy up over the ridge in time for breakfast.”

Joaquin forced himself not to react to that. They didn’t know where the camp was. Where Ollie was. They couldn’t. He'd been so careful.

He counted his breathing, keeping it even and steady. Inhale four seconds. Hold four seconds. Exhale four seconds. Hold four seconds.

The man across from him laughed again, so loud and sudden that he had to force himself not to flinch.

“OK. Well, lucky for you I like to hear myself talk. As an old friend of mine once said ‘I could do this all day’. So I’ll tell you what I think about you and you can waste all of your energy keeping your pretty face in neutral. How’s that sound?”

Joaquin tried to force his vision to narrow in on the dark smudge directly above his right knee but the blur of movement in his periphery kept catching his attention.

His interrogator refused to sit still: crossing his arms then messing with his coiffed hair then swinging back in his chair like a bored school kid stuck in an especially dull class.

Joaquin glared at the mark, forcing himself to focus by going through a list of what could have caused it. Blood? No, that would wipe off too easy and the surface was clearly kept impeccably clean. Despite the damage, it shone in the glow of the fluorescent strip bulb overhead. Acid?

“And if you still ain’t willing to chat by the time I’m done, I’ll call in someone who’ll make you beg for the chance to talk.”

Gas? Joaquin distantly wished that he had paid better attention in Chemistry class.

"'Cause if you’re thinking that I’m the bad cop here, kid, you’re in for a nasty surprise.”

[variantia]

Anonymous said : Would I be right in saying that Chara is the most mature of the kids outwardly/aesthetically - using long, grown-up words, referring to Frisk and Asriel as little, smart collared shirts - but is just as much of a kiddish goofball internally when it comes to how they think and play?

BELLUM.   hm ... you’re half right, at least !

for the most part, their maturity isn’t necessarily JUST aesthetic ; they think of themself as a very mature, grown up little person, and often they view things more seriously than their siblings might.   in that, they THINK about things Frisk and Asriel don’t always think about.   consequences, philosophy, things that really are too heavy for a kid to be worrying about, but those things are on their mind anyway.

it seems to be a common thread among people who were abused as children, like Chara, that they ‘grow up’ too quickly because they were forced to.   in Chara’s case, they learned rapidly about things like consequences.   i.e., if they didn’t try hard enough to manifest magic, their father would lock them in the basement.   (and that’s something they can’t control, because they HAVE no magic ability, so that kind of thing also reinforced their belief that other people are going to hurt them no matter what they do.)

I hesitate to really call them kiddish or a goofball ... they’re not.   they WILL have moments where they act like a kid, but they’re not really ... silly ?   in the way that Frisk and Asriel are willing to be.   they can be, just not often, and usually it’s at someone else’s prompting rather than an idea of their own.

that said, Chara’s thought processes are VERY much childish, in the sense that they use childish logic.   but it’s still logic, even if it isn’t correct logic !   after all, their plan for freeing monsters was to get their brother to help them kill themself, so that Asriel could absorb their SOUL and they could have enough power to kill a couple of humans and break the barrier.   that’s not the plan of a well-adjusted adult.   it’s the plan of a desperate child struggling with suicidal thoughts, who’s following logic that only makes sense to a troubled kid.

they ARE mature ... but they’re also still a kid.   they like to play games, but the games they like to play are chess and Scrabble.   they don’t read books about a dinosaur going to school, they read books about war and forbidden romances.

honestly, the time they’re MOST like a child is when someone they love treats them as a child.   they’ve been through SO MUCH trauma, even they seem to forget that they’re a child, not a child-sized adult, because that’s how they feel with how much they’ve lived through.

they don’t like acting like a kid, because it’s not how they perceive themself.   which really is a whole other problem, because whether they like it or not, no matter how mature they are, they are a kid.   they just never got the chance to be one and so have a hard time doing things that other children do, because that maturity is deeply ingrained into them.   they almost don’t realize they’re safe to act a little silly.

it’s actually interesting, because they’re a whole adult before they start to act childishly, like teasing their siblings or cracking jokes more often or letting themself snort while they laugh.   they have this game with Frisk called “Popcorn Goalie” wherein they just toss popcorn at Frisk and Frisk tries to catch it in their mouth, but they have only ever played it as an adult, they never did that as a child, and even then they’re extremely calm while playing.

I TALKED TOO MUCH BUT AAAAA THANK YOU FOR THIS I LOVE GETTING TO TALK ABOUT MY BABY

[vanillanaps]

Unthinkable | Bucky Barnes

Summary - Tired of hiding your relationship with Bucky, you decide that you’re ready to go public, but when he doesn’t have the reaction you expect, things take a turn for the worst

A/n - Unthinkable x Alicia Keys

Category - 40s!Bucky x black!Reader, angst

Warnings - well it’s the 40s with a black reader so, language, implied smut (if you squint) talks alluding to racism.

Word count - 2.0k

♡♡♡♡

A soft breeze gushed through the open space of the cracked window, filling the room with crisp air. Yours, along with his, body laid beneath the thin fabric that barely covered anything. Slick with sweat limbs were limp, chest heaving as your breathing tried to regulate. You were connected to one another, his fingertips trailing the side of your naked hip as his warm lips pressed soft kisses onto your shoulder.

“I should go soon, doll.” He muttered into your neck, a smile gracing his lips once he heard you groan. Wrapping his arms fully around your waist and pulling your body flush against his, “I know, I know. I don’t wanna go either, but I have to.”

You relished in the moment for a while longer. The way his lips felt against yours, his calloused hands following along the curves of your body, gripping it where he pleased before it all ended. Bucky pulled away from you with one last kiss. You watched him as he sat on the side of your bed, pulling his boxers up his legs and over his hips.

A quiet sigh escaped you as the dread flooded in. You hated this. Bucky quietly sneaking his way into your neighborhood, into your window to spend a few hours of the night with you. A whole 19 hours passing by before you could hold him in your arms again. Sure, you’d see him on the streets, but what good was that? You couldn’t walk over to him, hug him, hold his hand, kiss him. Hell, you would barely be able to speak to him without receiving the looks you had gotten for simply just living in your skin. But, was it worth it? Was fearing the way people viewed you worth you finally being happy in public with the love of your life? Would it be worth letting the plethora of women that came up to flirt with Bucky fly free? Countless amounts of times had you watch women walk up and flirt with your man. Of course, he’d turn them down but not without that charming smile that had them still thinking they had a chance. That charming smile that won you over in the first place.

You wanted to be able to flaunt Bucky. To tell those women that he was taken by you. To be able to tell your family that you were in a happy relationship and found someone to spend the rest of your life with. A man that you were so deeply in love with and who were ready to have a family with, but you couldn’t do that in hiding.

Your eyes followed Bucky around your room as he collected his scattered clothes, “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” He glanced over at you, letting you know that he was listening before pulling on his pants. Taking your lip between your teeth, watching him dress, you started second guessing yourself. What if he didn’t feel the same as you did? What if he only liked you because it was a secret? He would be satisfied with his lay for the night and was relieved in the fact that he wouldn’t be bothered by you until he would be by your window again—No, no. Bucky wouldn’t do that, Bucky loved you inside and out, he would never use you in the way that you're implying. He’d never use you in a way that you didn’t want to be used, “Doll? What’s going on in that beautiful brain of yours?”

The concern in his voice pulled you from your thoughts and pushed away all the bad ones. He sat besides you, his steel blue eyes locked into your brown ones. You finally spoke, “..What do you think of me?”

Bucky eyebrows shot up in surprise. He could tell by the look on your face that something was bothering you, but was he expecting this question? Not in a million years, “What kind of question is that?” He huffed out a laugh.

“Buck, be serious.” You pouted, pulling yourself up to lean against the headboard, using the blanket to cover your chest, “What do you think of me?”

His eyes searched your face, finally realizing that you were serious. Had he done something recently to make you doubt yourself in such a way? Had he not been showering you in enough love whenever he got a chance to see you? Did he not call you beautiful enough? Spew to you much he loved you?

He nodded taking your hand into his, letting his thumb brush over your knuckles, “Well first, I think you’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. You’re gorgeous, smart, hilarious, compassionate. You’re the only woman that I have ever loved more than anything in this world. And I know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you...someday.”

Someday. Someday. Someday. The word repeated over and over in your head. Someday when? Today? Tomorrow? In the near future? How could it be someday when there wasn't a day the two of you had been seen together.

Your heart was beating out of your chest. Nerves taking over your entire body. It was now or never. If he loved you like he said he did, there would be no objections, “I don’t wanna hide us anymore, Bucky.”

This time, it was Bucky’s turn for his heart to beat out of his chest. Were you being serious? Where did all this come from? The two of you had a schedule and it was there for a reason.

His eyebrows furrowed as he let out a nervous chuckle, “Baby, you’re joking—right? Tell me you’re joking?”

Your chest filled with pain as the tears bubbled in your eyes, pulling your hand from his grasp as you cleared your throat desperately not wanting to cry, “I’m serious, James.” His face dropped at the usage of his first name. He hated when you called him that. It was too serious—too formal. James didn’t feel like him. To you, he was Bucky, baby. Now you sat here calling him by his government, it definitely wasn’t a joke.

“But, why? Why would you want that? I mean, we do this for a reason, Doll.” He expressed, trying to reach out for your hand again only for you to push it away as you scrabbled out of the bed, scanning the room for your clothes now as he took your spot from watching on the bed.

“Why would I want that? Maybe because I’m sick and tired of us having to hide. Seeing you for what? 5 hours out of the 24 of the day? Sometimes even longer due to us working, or just having separate lives completely?” You ranted, pulling your undergarments on, picking up your dress from hours before and tossing it in the hamper, “I want to be seen with you, Bucky. I want to be able to kiss and hug you without a care in the world. Walk down the street holding your hand. Cuddle up with you at the theatre while watching a movie. I want to tell those girls that come up to that you’re taken! I don’t want to watch from the sidelines anymore! I’ve been doing it for a year and I don’t want to be your dirty little secret anymore!”

“Y/n, lower your voice before someone gets suspicious.” Bucky told you as he stood from his spot on your bed and made his way over to you, stopping you from wandering around the room. You were frustrated and he could tell by the way you had started cleaning in the middle of your rant, “Look at me.” He pleaded, face following yours as you turned it in every way trying to avoid him, but eventually his hand came up to grab your chin, forcing your face to stay still as his eyes came in contact with yours, “I hear you baby, loud and clear. I love you and I’d never want you to feel unhappy or insecure in our relationship—but we do this for a reason. Do you have any idea about the things people will say about you? The looks you’ll get? Baby we can’t, not now at least.”

“What can they say about me that they already haven’t, Bucky?” You sighed, finally letting that tear slip down your cheek, “I don’t care about them, I care about you! I care about us! And this—situation we have is hurting me.”

“I’m just trying to protect you.” He tried explaining.

You pushed his hand away, moving away from his body as you walked to the opposite side of the room, “Trying to protect me or trying to protect you?”

“Excuse me?” Bucky was taken back by your words.

Your tongue ran over your now dried lips, the saltiness from your tears now lingered on your taste buds, “How can you say you want to spend the rest of your life with me when you don’t even want to be seen in public with me?”

Now it was his turn to get defensive, “Don’t put words into my mouth.”

“How else am I supposed to take it?! What are you protecting me from, hmm? Have you listened to anything I’ve said?! People are going to talk about me because I’m just me. Simply because my skin is darker than yours and theirs.Whether I’m with you or not! I don’t care about what people think of me, if I did they would’ve ran me out of this town a long time ago. The only opinion I care about is yours!” You argued, “But clearly you do care about what everyone else says.”

Bucky stood there, shocked and confused. Just a few days ago, you were perfectly confined in what the two of you had been doing for over a year now. What had drastically changed that had you wanting to risk it all, “Yes, Y/n, I do care because I don’t want to sit and listen to people shit talk the girl I’m in love with! I want to marry you! I will marry you! I’ll propose to you right now and go out to get you a ring. I will do anything to make you happy and you know that. Why can’t you do this for me and just be patient?”

“Patient ‘till when? No matter where we go, we will get looks from people, Bucky! There’s no stopping that!” You were exasperated. This was getting nowhere, he was hellbent on staying a secret and you were the exact opposite. You were foolish to ever think this would work. Not in these times, “It’s getting late. Maybe you should just go.”

“So that’s it? You’re gonna kick me out now?” He questioned, waiting for response, but when your eyes never left the ground he got his answer. Bucky shook his head as put his shoes on before grabbing his jacket and going over to your window, opening it more. His escape route since it caused less attention than your front door. He glanced back at you one more, “I love you.” If possible, you’d be able to hear his heart shatter into a thousand pieces when you didn’t return your affection. There was never a time he didn’t leave you without the both of you saying I love you. This has done it now.

You watched from the corner of your eye as he left through the window. You waited a minute before going over to check if he was clear as you shut the window. Not a moment passed by before the tears began rolling. You questioned how a simple request had turned into this whole fiasco. You should’ve listened to your gut and never asked that stupid question because now everything you worked for, had gone to waste. All the love and commitment that had been put into your relationship was in the trash. Guess it wasn’t meant to be after all.

[fruitcoops]

LOOPS RAILING CAP IN THE SHOWER - cause we all know he deserves it after a game

Not exactly after a game, but still some fun and frisky locker room shower times. Coops (and James) credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for smut, being sort-of walked in on (only after everything is said and done), cramping muscles

“Hurry up,” Sirius hissed as he teetered on one foot and accidentally dipped the toe of his sock into the water pooling beneath him.

“I’m trying!” Remus whispered back, still elbows-deep in his duffel bag. His face lit up and he rocked back on his heels with a small container.

“Absolutely not,” Sirius said immediately.

“It’s all I have!”

“Mon dieu,” he muttered, yanking his other sock off and kneeling by his own bag. “There is no universe in which that bullshit is going up my ass.”

“It’s Vaseline, baby, not battery acid.”

Sirius turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “It’s sticky, it’s slimy, and it’s cold as shit. You hate it, too!”

“Fair point.”

With a quiet, triumphant ‘ha!’, Sirius emerged with a small tube of clear aloe gel. “Who’s the Boy Scout now, sweetheart?”

“You’re the Boy Scout,” Remus grumbled, wincing as he stood and his knees crackled. “Alright, scoot, we don’t have a ton of time.”

“Oh, baby, talk dirty to me,” Sirius deadpanned.

Remus made a face to hide his smile. “Shut up, you.”

He peeked around the edge of the shower stall once more before backing up against the wall, then stifled a shout at the cold tile between his shoulder blades. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“We do have a perfectly good shower at home.” Despite his words, Sirius could see the gleam of excitement in Remus’ eye as he was beckoned forward. The idea of maybe possibly maybe getting caught was a bit embarrassing if he thought about it too long, but it still sent a thrill through every nerve. That may have just been the feeling of Remus’ warmth on his front mixing with the chill on his back, though.

“Do you—” Sirius cut himself off with one more heated kiss, sliding a hand down Remus’ neck and laughing slightly at the squeak of his wet skin. “I wanna see you. Can you hold me up?”

Remus hummed, then pulled back with a thoughtful look. “Not before stretching. Sorry.”

“Pas de problem, mon coeur.” Sirius uncapped the aloe and handed it to Remus, using the side wall of the stall as a brace to hold himself up. He prayed his own tired muscles would do the job and not send them both tumbling to the floor in a heap of horniness.

“Here, let me…” Remus bit his lower lip and looped an arm under Sirius’ knee, lifting his leg around his waist. “Will that cramp?”

“Nah.”

He looked skeptical, but didn’t protest as he slicked his fingers and ran them down Sirius’ cleft. The water had finally started warming up to a more comfortable temperature; Sirius closed his eyes with a sigh and soaked in the feeling, letting the familiar tingles wash over him while Remus dragged his teeth along the side of his neck and the pad of his first finger slid in.

“You have magic fingers,” he murmured, gasping when cold air hit his pulse point. Whoever created aloe gel, I owe you a fruit basket.

He could feel Remus’ smile as his hitched-up thigh started trembling. “Merci.”

A door slammed down the hall and they both jerked in surprise—the digit rubbing gently around his outer muscle slipped very deep inside on very short notice and Sirius’ yelp was quickly muffled by Remus’ palm. “Fucking Christ,” he wheezed, torn between moaning in contentment and shrieking like a little girl at the sudden intrusion.

“Sorry, sorry, it was an accident.” Remus kissed his cheek. “Are you okay?”

“All good.”

“Will this be enough?"

“Considering we have—” Sirius did some awkward gymnastics to spot the wall clock. “—shit, just under an hour until the guys should start showing up, it’ll have to be.”

Remus chewed on the inside of his lip and glanced at the aloe. “I don’t know…”

“Hey.” Sirius cupped his face and kissed him. “This isn’t my first horse show.”

“Rodeo.”

“Same thing.” Remus’ lips twitched upwards and warmth spread all the way down to his toes, not just from the showerhead still spraying them like a firehose. “Besides, God knows you stretched me well enough last night.”

His concern turned to smugness and he crooked his finger slightly. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Bastard.”

The playful insult came out a little breathy as Sirius leaned his head back against the wall, losing himself to Remus’ practiced movements and damp, smooth skin touching him everywhere, everywhere, everywhere. Something blunt and quite a bit slicker nudged his entrance after a moment—after a slow exhale on Remus’ part and a whine from Sirius, he was in to the hilt with all ten fingers gripping Sirius’ hips.

“Oh, fuck.” Sirius was rather winded for reasons he couldn’t spare the braincells to name, and Remus laughed under his breath as he began to move. “Oh, fuck.”

“Shh.”

“I can’t.”

“I know you can.”

“I don’t want to,” Sirius corrected, rocking his hips to match Remus’ thrusts. His fingers began to get sore from holding the stall so tight, but heat was building in his gut and he was hard enough to almost hurt in the best way. “God, there.”

“Not god, just me.”

He flicked his arm with a teasing grin. “Smartass. This is exciting.”

“Uh-huh.” Remus caught him by the thigh as his other knee buckled after a particularly nice angle. “Can’t hold you, can’t hold you, baby—”

“Got it,” Sirius managed, propping himself up again. A clunky door echoed in a faraway corridor and he heard Remus’ breath catch. “Keep going.”

“Someone’s gonna hear.”

“So?” He quirked an eyebrow and wrapped his free arm around Remus’ upper chest, drawing him even closer for a kiss that was more tongue than lips. “That’s the whole point, right?”

“The point—” Remus punctuated his words with a harder thrust that left Sirius’ scrabbling for grip on the wet tiles with a shaky sound. “—is that we could get caught. We could get caught, and then everyone would see how whiny, and needy, and lovely you are while you’re begging for me.”

“Oh my god,” Sirius practically whimpered. He swallowed hard and wrapped his leg tighter around Remus’ waist.

The water was starting to lose some of its heat, but he was dizzy with lust, and pure pleasure dripped like wildfire through his veins. “Actually, I think they already know,” Remus murmured into the hollow of his throat, leaving a light bite there. “Our friends don’t need to find us fucking in the showers, do they? They just need to take one look at you and they’ll know that as soon as I get you between the sheets, you’re a wreck.”

Sirius’ eyes fluttered shut; he couldn’t seem to close his mouth anymore, nor could he muffle the short, guttural sounds slipping out with every quick movement. His left leg was completely numb; it was a miracle it hadn’t given out yet.

“But no,” Remus continued, hoisting him back up into the proper place with a huff. “No, we just have to be that couple that sneaks into the locker room an hour before call time because we just love to tempt fate.”

“This was—your idea—too,” Sirius panted.

“Yeah, because I can’t keep my hands off you.”

He melted into Remus’ palms as they ran along his ribs and back, then down to his ass to give it a firm squeeze. “Close?” he asked, half-slurred.

“Not as close as you.”

His free leg tried to buckle again as Remus stroked along his shaft, but he forced it to stay steady and settled for gritting his teeth around a loud moan that would surely give them away. Remus smiled and upped the pace, but kept his hips moving at the exact same speed. The contrast made Sirius’ head spin. “Please, please, please, please—”

Teeth sank into the junction of his shoulder and all the air fled his lungs. “What else do you want, baby?”

“I don’t know.” It came out far needier than he intended, but who cared? Stars were already popping at the corners of his vision, and he couldn’t even feel the lukewarm water very much anymore.

“Come.”

“I c—”

“Now.”

Sirius took one shallow breath, two, and then shuddered apart, leaning all his weight into the tiles while Remus pulled out and came on his inner thigh. Through his hazy vision, he saw they still had about forty minutes until any of the others would show up. “Love you. Oh, fuck yeah,” he sighed.

Remus made a questioning noise against his collarbone; Sirius felt his heartbeat pounding under his hand.

“We’ve got time to spare.”

“Thank god,” Remus said with a breathless laugh. “I don’t actually want anyone to catch us.”

“Sounds like a nightmare,” Sirius agreed. “I think I’d rather—”

“Sup, Mad-Eye?”

Both of them froze in place as a cheerful voice rang out down the hallway. Sneakers squeaked on the linoleum floors, drawing closer every second. Sirius had gone ice cold, but he didn’t think it was just the shower’s fault.

“Go, go, go!” Remus hissed, yanking away.

Unfortunately, Sirius’ thigh decided that was the perfect moment to cramp so hard it made his vision go white for a second. As soon as his foot touched the ground, his whole hamstring seized, and he doubled over with a strained “motherfucker!”

“Get up!”

“I can’t!”

James’ footsteps were getting louder. Sirius cursed under his breath and limped after Remus into the shitty little janitor’s closet in the corner, wedging himself next to a mop as he bit down on his knuckles to stifle the pained groans building in his throat. Remus shot him an apologetic look and squeezed his hand in sympathy.

The closet was not meant for much more than a handful of emergency cleaning supplies, let alone two mid-season-muscled hockey players. They were pressed chest-to-chest, holding their breath as doom approached.

Well, not doom. Just utter, world-ending humiliation. Not the kinky kind, either.

James whistled to himself as he neared the locker room—two seconds after Sirius buried his face in the side of Remus’ neck to breathe through the agony in his leg, the door slammed open and his best friend began clattering around.

All of a sudden, the room fell silent. Shit.

“Hello?” James called, sounding much too amused for his own good. “Anyone in here?”

Sirius’ pulse hammered in his ears.

“Huh. Looks like somebody left the shower on,” James said with a dramatic gasp. “And what’s this? Two whole duffel bags?”

Fuck, Remus mouthed as Sirius straightened up with a wince.

James started laughing. Deep, deep in his soul, Sirius knew he had spotted the aloe. The squeaking stopped just outside the closet. “Good morning,” James singsonged, though he didn’t open the door.

Remus opened his mouth, resigned, but Sirius jabbed him in the chest with his pointer finger and shot him a warning look. They weren’t going to engage in conversation while naked and crammed in a janitor’s closet. Especially not when James Potter was on the other side.

“I think it’s a little early for all this, but I could be wrong.” He could almost see James shrugging through the thick wood. “I suppose you’ve gotta take what free time you have. Cap, your showers are a lot nicer than these, though. At least they stay warm for more than a few minutes.”

Remus thudded his forehead against Sirius’ sternum.

“Alright, alright,” James said after a moment of quiet. “If anyone were to perhaps be hiding after getting off in the shitty team showers at seven in the morning—at least, I hope you got off—they should feel free to come out of the closet in a much more literal sense because I am leaving. And I will be out of the locker room for five minutes. Once again, that is five minutes, and then I will be back in here to get ready for my job like a responsible adult.”

The door opened and closed again with a click. They both waited with bated breath.

“Ugh, fine,” James groaned. The hinges creaked, his footsteps faded, and there was a loud slam as it shut for real.

“I’m going to kill him,” Sirius said as they shuffled out of the closet, knocking over several spray bottles in the process. “Really, I will.”

“I’ll help you bury the body,” Remus said wearily as he tossed the aloe back in his bag with a sigh. “That was horrific. Think we can sneak out and back in without him noticing?”

Sirius narrowed his eyes at the door. “The son of a bitch will be waiting for us. It’s better to just accept our fate and let him have this.”

“We’re putting shaving cream in his gloves after this, right?”

“Actually, I think Vaseline would be better.”

[riotwritesthings]

Location Matters

WinterIron, E, 2.6k - PWP, semi-public sex, anal fingering, begging, dirty talk, edging, orgasm delay

Ayyy welcome to the first day of Smutober! Yes that’s right, I’m going with Smutober, Kinktober didn’t quite feel right when I’m much more focused on just writing smut than getting through a list of unique kinks. And I’m not following any prompt list at all, just my heart. And I have no idea how many fics I’ll actually be able to get out this month, I have been having a Bad Brain Time, as the kids say, but I’m gonna do what I can and it’s better than nothing right?! Anywho I’m here to break rules and write smut so lets get to it!!

~~~

“Please,” Tony sobs as he arches his back harder, fingers scrabbling at the shelves in front of him and he really can’t bring himself to care about the several packets of pasta that go tumbling to the ground.

Even if he didn’t consider dry pasta a terrible abomination, Tony has way better things to focus on anyways. Like the solid line of heat that is Bucky pressed in close against him, pinning Tony securely between Bucky’s broad chest and the corner of the shelves as two of Bucky’s calloused fingers slowly press into him.

Tony knows they’re being more than a little ridiculous. They are grown adults with their own bedroom, but here they are in the common kitchen of the compound, barely hidden away in the walk-in pantry with Bucky’s hand shoved down his pants like horny teenagers. He can feel Bucky’s cock nudging hard and thick against the back of his thigh and Tony is well on his way to fully hard himself, rocking back against Bucky’s hand and trying to force him to move faster.

“Fuck, I- you- I need—“ Tony gasps out, voice breaking off into a moan when Bucky’s fingers press a little deeper. His grip on the shelves slips again as he can’t decide between turning to face Bucky or just trying to force himself back onto Bucky’s fingers, trying to get more, and Tony ends up just kind of twitching and thrashing in place.

“Patience, baby,” Bucky rumbles, his lips moving over the skin beneath Tony’s ear and that’s probably Tony’s least favorite thing to hear but oh he loves the way Bucky says it, low and rumbling and burning with intensity.

Bucky shifts his wrist a little and it works Tony’s worn pajamas down a little lower past the curve of his ass, but not enough to free his cock from the clinging fabric. When Tony rocks his hips in place, trying get any friction, or Bucky’s fingers pressing into him deeper, or anything, all he gets is the faint drag of soft flannel over his leaking cock. Tony lets out a desperate groan and tries to buck his hips harder, but Bucky just moves with him, not letting Tony have more than the not-enough stretch of two of Bucky’s fingertips barely working him open. Which, after Bucky thoroughly fucked him into the couch earlier today, it’s not nearly enough.

“What do you mean patience, we are in the kitchen,” Tony finally manages to get out, and his voice might be rough and breathy but he still thinks it’s a decent point.

Sure, it was some ungodly hour of the morning when they finished their latest Star Trek binge and first stumbled down here looking for snacks, but Tony has honestly lost track of time entirely at this point. He has no idea how long it’s been since Bucky kicked the pantry door shut behind them and crowded Tony up against the shelves and or all he knows the damn early birds in the house will be along any second, yanking the door open looking for the pancake mix or something and getting a whole-ass eyeful. Literally.

But in the next second all thought is pushed from Tony’s mind when Bucky’s fingers finally press deeper, nudging over his prostate as they twist inside him. Tony had more good points to make, he swears he did, but he forgets all of them as Bucky begins to finger him in earnest, pressing kisses to Tony’s throat and mouthing filthy paise into his skin, bringing Tony right up to the edge with the almost brutal efficiency that he’s basically perfected.

“’S this what you wanted, baby? Want me to really work you open, make you feel it?” Bucky demands roughly, his lips sliding up to Tony’s jaw and all Tony can manage is a shaking whine, trying desperately to shove himself back onto Bucky’s fingers. “Yeah, always take it so fuckin’ sweet, feel so perfect wrapped around me, clenching an’ shakin’, still tryin’ to fuck yourself back on my fingers even when you can’t barely move.”

As if to prove his point Bucky presses Tony in harder against the shelves, pinning him in place as every twist and thrust of Bucky’s fingers set off new shockwaves of pleasure through Tony’s whole body, pushing him higher. Bucky alternates between deep thrusts that make Tony ache for more and relentless jabs to his prostate that are driving Tony out of his mind.

“Please, please,” Tony begs, shaking as Bucky’s fingers stroke over his prostate again, tension winding tighter in his gut and he’s so close. He’s sobbing out every breath as Bucky’s fingers bear down harder and Tony clenches around them, arching back into the pressure as his balls draw up tight and the knot of pleasure inside him twists tighter, tighter—

And then Bucky’s fingers disappear, withdrawing from him entirely and Tony is left dangling right at the edge without anything to push him over, clenching around nothing and feeling so empty. He can’t even rock his hips in place for the light drag of his pajamas over his cock, Bucky’s free hand tight on his hip to hold him in place and it only accentuates the waves of pleasure still sparking along Tony’s nerves, not quite enough.

“What the fuck,” Tony groans, “you hate me, you hate me and you want me to die like this, is that it?!”

“Tha’s what you always say when I try to take my time with you,” Bucky points out with a low, rumbling laugh as he drags his fingers too-lightly over Tony’s loose hole.

“And I’m still convinced it’s true!” Tony replies, his voice caught somewhere between a snap and a whine. He has more to say, but he’s interrupted by Bucky pressing back into him with three fingers this time, stretching him that little bit wider and he’s so loose, so desperate, that there’s not even a burn. All Tony feels is the stretch of it as Bucky’s fingers sink all the way into him, until Tony can feel him everywhere.

Bucky’s fingers thrust in and out of him in an unsteady rhythm, working him up without ever giving him enough to push him to the edge again and Tony buries his face in his folded arms to try and muffle the sob that bursts out of him. His legs are doing nothing to support him at this point, it’s only Bucky’s hand on his hip and Bucky’s chest pressed flush against his shoulder blades and Bucky’s fingers buried deep inside him, holding him up and taking him apart.

He can’t think past the waves of pleasure that rush through him every time Bucky just barely nudges his prostate, the shudders that run through him when Bucky withdraws his fingers just enough to tug at his stretched rim, making sure Tony feels it. And just when Tony thinks the knot in his gut can’t wind any tighter, that he’s about to come with nothing more than the maddeningly inconsistent press and twist of Bucky’s thick fingers inside him, playing with him, the pressure abruptly disappears and leaves him achingly empty.

“Oh, you absolute bastard,” Tony groans, thunking his head against the shelf in front of him and then sucking in a sharp breath when Bucky laughs roughly and drags his fingertips in light circles around Tony’s hole. “Would you just-“ Tony cuts off into a breathy whine when Bucky’s fingers just barely start to press into him again, trying to arch his back harder like he can force Bucky’s fingers back inside him despite the way Bucky has him thoroughly pinned in place, completely helpless as Bucky’s fingers continue dragging wetly around and around his clenching hole, until Tony’s every breath is coming out as a pleading whine.

When Bucky finally pushes his fingers back in he does it slowly, so slowly, making sure Tony can feel every shift and press, working him back right back to the edge with steady, inescapable thrusts of his fingers and then pushing him higher. Until Tony has no idea how he hasn’t already broken and he can’t even try to rock back into it anymore, can’t move, can only take it.

“Fuck, love the way you shake for me,” Bucky growls, all hot breath and teeth against the line of Tony’s throat as he crooks his fingers a little harder, and then has to crowd in against Tony a little more to help keep him upright as Tony’s legs give out entirely.

Tony’s legs might be useless noodles at this point but that doesn’t stop them from shaking with overstimulation, his hips jerking and twitching in place with every deep press of Bucky’s fingers. Tony’s entire body is shaking like he’s been hit with a live wire and he’s crying out every breath, his fingers going numb from how tightly he’s gripping the edge of the shelf.

“Look so fuckin’ good like this, blissed out an’ shaking’ with it, can barely even hold yourself up,” Bucky growls, pressing down harder on Tony’s prostate and Tony’s entire body jolts hard, his hands sliding off the shelf and his bare feet sliding against the floor.

After a second of scrambling Tony manages to cross his arms across the shelf, burying his face against his forearms to try and muffle his wail. Partially because he’s so close and fuck Tony might just die if they get interrupted before Bucky finally lets him cum, if it’s not soon, and also because he doesn’t want to miss the honestly filthy words spilling out of Bucky’s mouth.

“C’mon sugar, wanna feel you come on my fingers,” Bucky says, a low rumbling growl against the curve of Tony’s shoulder, “always clench down so damn tight around me, sound so gorgeous, wanna hear you sobbin’ for me.” He thrusts his fingers in hard again and then twists, stretching Tony’s loose rim a little more and even that is enough to have Tony’s entire body jolting, another ragged cry tearing out of him. “Fuckin’ love this, don’t you baby?” Bucky demands roughly, “bein’ worked open and stuffed full? Pinned and helpless an’ just takin it, lettin’ me play with you however I want until you’re beggin’ for it just- like- this?”

The final couple words are punctuated with a too-brief drag of Bucky’s fingertips over his prostate, sending bolts of pleasure through him that are right on the edge of too-much and god it’s not enough. Tony is only vaguely aware that he’s trying to beg, but keeping track of the broken attempts at words and ragged sounds spilling past his slack lips is far less important than the sensations rushing through him.

Tony would much rather focus on trying to shove himself back to meet the press of Bucky’s fingers, no matter how little he’s actually accomplishing, right up until Bucky presses in impossibly closer and Tony is left completely immobile. Bucky’s metal fingers disappear from his hip to instead tangle in his hair, yanking Tony’s head back with one hard tug and Tony has no hope of muffling or containing the loud cry that escapes him. All he knows is the deep, insistent press of Bucky inside him, the burning pleasure and ache as his spine is pulled into a sharp arch and Bucky’s fingers seem to press impossibly deeper.

“Fuck-“ Tony chokes out, panting brokenly for air and then whining when even that simple motion lights up his entire body, like he’s just one giant struck nerve and his face is wet with sweat or tears or both as he finally manages to gasp out “please—“

“I can feel how fucking close you are, sweet thing, how much you need it,” Bucky says, lips trailing up Tony’s neck and when Tony tries to wiggle in his hold, to rock himself down onto Bucky’s fingers, anything, Bucky’s teeth catch at the corner of his jaw to hold him in place. “Don’t you wanna come for me baby?” Bucky demands once Tony goes relatively still in his hold, hard tremors still running through him as Bucky’s fingers continue to thrust and press and twist inside him. “Don’t you wanna make a fuckin’ mess of yourself for me? Let me watch you wobble back to our room, legs still shaking’ and cum coolin’ on your skin, flushed and dazed and gorgeous, wanna let me lick you clean and put you to bed still sloppy and reekin’ like sex?”

“I- I- ahh—“ Tony wants to say that god does he want that, he’s so close, but every drag of Bucky’s fingers is melting every thought out of his head and Tony is nearly screaming out every exhale and he can’t stop, shaking too hard to properly fuck himself back onto Bucky’s hand and fuck he’s so close—

“C’mon Tony, give it to me,” Bucky snarls, rocking his hips against Tony and circling his fingers hard over Tony’s prostate and that’s it.

Tony’s loud cry cuts off as his voice breaks, and instead he’s left making hoarse, breathy noises as he comes, wave after wave of pleasure rushing over him, dragging him under. He can barely hear anything past his own pulse throbbing in his ears, his orgasm dragging on and on with every relentless shove of Bucky’s fingers still working into him until Tony’s brain finally whites out to the sound of his own hitching, wailing moan.

When Tony zones back in, both of Bucky’s arms are wound around his waist, holding him steady as Tony continues twitching with fading aftershocks. His pants are back in place, although the front of them is indeed a mess of his own cooling cum, and Tony has to forcibly remind himself why just falling asleep right here is a bad idea.

And it’s not because he can feel Bucky’s cock still pressed hard and warm against his hip, no matter how distracting of a realization that is.

“What time is it?” Tony asks roughly, because his mind might be a little (a lot) blown, and he really wants to do something about the way Bucky is rocking minutely against him while he lets Tony catch his breath, but not as much as Tony wants to not get another lecture about public indecency. It always makes him feel a little too much like he’s back in college.

There’s a tellingly long silence before Bucky clears his throat and says, “Uh… we should probably get back to our own room pretty soon.”

The hoarse, gravely sound of Bucky’s voice has heat valiantly trying to swell in Tony’s gut again, but Tony forces himself to focus on arguing “You should probably carry me back to our room, because what even are legs. I don’t think I have them, I certainly cannot feel them.”

Bucky laughs but seems all too happy to oblige in scooping Tony up off the ground, even if it is more in an up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes way than Tony would really prefer. He’s about to complain, but then Bucky’s hand settles over the curve of his ass and Tony decides he can live with it, and at least this will keep the rapidly cooling cum soaked through the front of his pajamas from rubbing against his skin.

It’s not until they’re in the elevator that Tony’s brain comes back online enough for him to remember all of Bucky’s filthy promises, and Tony grins at the small of Bucky’s back as he says, “I guess if you really want I’ll try wobbling around like a drunken baby giraffe when we reach our floor, but frankly I’m more invested in the ‘licking’ part of your plan.”

Bucky hums, equal parts amused and thoughtful, and Tony’s breath catches hard as Bucky shifts his grip a little, his fingers easily dipping between Tony’s cheeks through his thin pajamas.

[beautifulterriblequeen]

Were you the person who had a post about "what if Rayla had died on the mission and Runaan had lived"? I was thinking about that... is there a possible scenario where Rayla had escaped with the egg and princes the same way as in canon, but Runaan and the other assassins had survived and now believed Rayla was dead and both somehow missed each other? The angst possibilities from Runaan's end, at least until he got back to Silvergrove, but even then he would angst over having 'abandoned' Rayla...

You know, I don't remember making a post like that, but I can tell it's an angst I could get behind, so maybe I did?

Fam, I love a good honest misunderstanding, oh man, those are great! Very tasty stuff. So let's see here... oh gosh this really took off, huh? Yas.

________________________

"Runaan, please," Rayla begged, planting herself between her mentor and her new allies the human princes, "this is a miracle, a chance for peace."

"No," came a smug, raspy voice from behind her, "it's not."

Rayla whirled in surprise. How had the dark mage gotten free of her manacle so quickly?

Claudia stood beside Callum, smirking confidently and holding the primal stone she'd just stolen back from him. But her smirk dropped at the sound of Runaan's bowstring. A green-fletched arrow whispered past Rayla's shoulder, headed for the dark mage's heart. Rayla's eyes widened as she realized she was about to watch her first human die.

"No!" Callum held his sketchbook in front of Claudia's chest. Runaan's arrow punched through it with a heavy thunk. Claudia, Callum, and Rayla stared at its poison-dipped broadhead in shock. The deadly metal fell just short of cutting through Claudia's tunic.

Rayla spun back to face the older assassin. "Runaan, wait-" But he was already loosing another arrow. Rayla cut it out of the air.

"Callum!" Ezran called plaintively. Bait, perched in his hair, croaked too.

"Get out of here," Rayla told the humans. "And keep that egg safe." She spared Claudia a single glare.

Runaan began striding closer, and he whipped another arrow from his quiver and nocked it. Rayla knew he'd loose that last arrow before he got close enough to use his swords instead. And that, she did not want to see at any distance. Not when so much else was at stake!

"That's far enough, elf," Claudia called threateningly. She held up the primal stone and began to chant in Ancient Draconic. The air started to crackle with lightning.

"Claudia, wait!" Callum shouted. He grabbed her wrist again, but this time, the primal stone wobbled and fell as they both scrabbled for control of it. Rayla gasped, watching it tumble. Neither of them were going to be able to catch it. She suddenly wasn't sure she wanted to, either. She shot Runaan a regretful, pleading look.

Runaan's arrow loosed. With everyone in motion, Rayla couldn't be sure if Callum would be in his line of fire when it arrived. She folded her swords and turned her back on her mentor, squeezed her eyes shut, and stepped into its path.

"Rayla!" Runaan's voice cracked the air like a whip.

"Rayla, look out!" Ezran shouted.

The primal stone hit the stone walkway and shattered.

The first massive gust of wind struck Rayla and tumbled her just as Runaan's arrow found its mark. With a cry of surprise, Rayla rolled across the high stone walkway, flanked by Claudia, Callum, and Ezran, who was somehow still holding onto the egg. Rayla thumped against the parapet and scrabbled for a grip against one of its crenellated edges, feeling her feet kicking in midair while a screeching gale scattered everyone and everything that had been on the castle roof a moment ago.

Runaan stood on the other side of the walkway, barely on his feet as he braced against the wind. His ponytail whipped like an angry snake, but his face was full of pain and alarm. "Rayla!" he shouted.

"Runaan..." Why was her voice so weak? Shouldn't she want his help?

Crumpled against the crenellated wall below Rayla's tenacious grip, Callum, Claudia, Ezran and Bait huddled together for dear life.

"Rayla, this isn't what I wanted!" Runaan shouted over the wind. He tried to stagger toward her through the strongest of the winds, but they only shoved him back against the far parapet.

"Claudia, help her!" Callum called.

But Claudia was distracted by the alarming amount of rainbow-hued magic that had begun crackling off the egg of the Dragon Prince. "What's happening?" she blurted.

"Help..." Rayla called.

"Fine, I'll help her, then!" Callum stood in the storm and reached for Rayla's hands.

Another arrow zipped past, whirling madly off target in the howling wind. Callum flinched back, then grasped Rayla's hands firmly. "I've got you!"

"And I've got him!" Claudia said. She pulled a glowing orange thing from her bag and started chanting, and she squished the orange shape until it oozed meatily between her fingers. Its gory remains caught fire, quickly swelling to a fervent blue heat that made the princes flinch away.

"No!" Rayla's grip slipped in shock, but Callum braced his feet hard and held on tight.

Then Claudia threw it, just as the storm grew an eye of calm.

Runaan was already leaping high with his swords in his hands. The fireball landed directly beneath him. Rayla's last sight of her mentor, as the blast struck Callum and forced her hands free of his, was of Runaan's tumbling, silent figure flying back over the outer wall of the castle and vanishing into the fury of the storm.

Was he coming to save me, or to kill me? she wondered as she fell too, engulfed by the same winds that took him. She closed her eyes, expecting to meet her fate, but a fluffy and overstuffed cart of hay had other ideas and Rayla flopped safely down into the courtyard.

Her first instinct was to jump up and go find Runaan. But then she remembered: his side of the castle roof had a much farther drop. She'd finished climbing it herself not an hour ago. And with all those rocks dotting the river, she couldn't imagine how he'd survive such a fall.

"Oh no... Ethari, I'm so sorry," she murmured brokenly.

But the storm was only growing stronger, and the rainbow lightning up on the roof grew brighter and brighter. Rayla stared in awe and amazement. Was the egg... hatching?

A newborn dragonling would need more protection than an egg. She scrambled out of the hay and darted through the wind, trying to find her way back up. Before she could, though, the storm wore itself out, and she ran into Callum, Ezran, and Bait as they bolted down a curving flight of stairs.

Rayla whipped out her swords. "Where's the dark mage?" she demanded.

"She ran to find her dad," Ezran said.

"Yeah, , but after she got giant heart eyes and squeed over the baby dragon," Callum added, looking starry-eyed in a conflicted way.

"The wot?" Rayla asked.

"Look!" Ezran opened his coat and showed her a cuddly, fluffy dragonling nestled quietly against his chest.

Bait grumbled, but Rayla gasped in delight and held the dragon's little face. "Oh, he's just so cute! Why is he allowed to be so cute?" she demanded playfully.

"His name is Zym," Ezran said.

"Hello, Zym," Rayla said quietly, ruffling his soft fluff. The dragonling sniffed at her hand and licked it, and then he nipped at her binding ribbon, pulling it off. Rayla stared at it in shock, allowing Zym the opportunity to nibble off the other ribbon, too. "Huh," Rayla mused. "Guess these things were just decorative after all."

They ran to the bottom of the stairs and began to hurry toward the main gate. "But what about Dad?" Ezran asked, looking worriedly at the uneven towers.

"He'll be alright," Callum said. "He has the finest guards in the kingdom defending him."

"Yeah, of course!" Ezran piped up.

Without Runaan, the others won't stand much chance, Rayla thought angstily. They'll soon fall too, if they haven't already-

"Rayla, uh..." Callum gingerly touched something stuck in the back of Rayla's hoodie. "You've got something on your back. Ez, go hide for just a second, okay? I need to help Rayla with something."

"...Okay, but hurry," Ezran whispered, as he darted into a shadowy tunnel. "Bait, no glowing, he didn't mean that kind of hiding."

"It's an arrow," Callum murmured to her, once Ez was out of earshot. "Is it, um, does it hurt? I didn't want him to have to see any blood or anything..."

The arrow. Rayla straightened her shoulders to see if she'd actually been hit. "I think it just missed me," she said lightly, not wanting to think about what would've happened if it had pierced even one more layer of clothing and scratched her skin with its deadly poison.

Callum tugged it out of the cloth and awkwardly offered it to her. Rayla took it and stared for a moment. The arrow's shaft had broken when she fell, and it dangled like a felled bird in her grip.

Runaan. He'd fallen, too. Probably permanently. Rayla's shoulders slumped, and she added, "I... We need to hurry. They'll be comin' for us soon, and it's a long journey to Xadia."

"Rayla!" It was Callisto, perched overhead in full Moonshadow form. "Where's- It's done?" he blurted, interrupting himself. His eyes locked onto Rayla's wrists.

A clamor of guards ahead drew his attention, and he leaped toward them, staff at the ready. Rayla grabbed Callum by the arm and ran, snagging Ezran's sleeve a dozen steps later. "Don't look back," she hissed, shifting into full Moonshadow form mid-stride. They didn't need to know she was only talking to herself.

In a few minutes, they reached the forest. Its cool shadows swallowed them whole, and they ran all night. There was no reason to wait anymore.

***

Runaan woke to gentle hands pulling him from the water. He coughed himself awake and sat up slowly, holding his head. When his focus returned, he shot an alarmed glance at the sky and saw that the Moon had nearly set. "We must hurry-" he began, trying to stand.

Four sets of hands pressed him back onto the grass.

"Easy, Runaan," Callisto said. "It's done. It's over. We can go home."

With wide-eyed disbelief, Runaan checked Callisto's wrists, then Andromeda's. Then Ram's and Skor's, too. Their binding ribbons were indeed gone.

A strange sort of lightness flitted through Runaan's chest, heady, intoxicating, and refreshing, erasing his injuries--or his perception of them, at least. His reward for a job well done. The ribbons around his biceps loosened and turned red before drifting to the grass as softly as newly fallen leaves.

Runaan reached back for his shadowhawk arrow and found his quiver gone. No... Ethari's arrow! He scanned his squad's expressions hopefully.

"Sorry. We couldn't find it. But we did find your bowblade," Skor said, offering it.

Runaan took it gratefully, feeling a bit of calm returning along with the familiar weight in his hands.

"We did it. We actually did it," Andromeda said as she got to her feet. Her smile beamed like the Moon. "I can't wait to get home."

"Unless Runaan needs a moment first," Callisto said mildly.

"No, we should leave now, and we should hurry," Runaan said. "Without the shadowhawk, the Queen of the Dragons will be waiting on my personal word. I should not keep her, not in her condition." The rest of his team stood immediately, and he took the hand Callisto offered and stood with focused effort. "We only need to make one stop along the way."

But the rock he'd parked Rayla on was empty. And so were the next dozen rocks. "You're certain you saw her?" he said, clasping Calisto by the shoulders, turquoise gaze boring into his eyes.

"Aye, clear as moonlight," he replied. "But only for a moment. And..."

"What?"

"The human with her pulled your... a-an arrow... from..." Callisto looked aside awkwardly.

"If she took even a scratch..." Andromeda breathed.

"Shh," Skor hushed her.

The assassins went quiet, waiting respectfully.

Runaan's eyes widened. He thought he'd struck true when Rayla stepped into the path of his arrow. Then he thought he'd missed, when she survived long enough to cling to the parapet and call his name. Then he thought the explosion had taken her. Then, hope again, only to have it ripped away one final time. He knew how terribly deadly his chosen poison was. His face froze in a mask of pain, and he shut his eyes. He felt like he was falling from the parapet again, except this time, there wouldn't be any merciful oblivion to put him out of his misery at the bottom. There'd never be a bottom to this fall from grace.

Ethari gave me one job. And I failed him. Does he know yet? Did he watch her flower sink?

Runaan gulped and gritted his teeth. Mourning would have to wait with all his other feelings. He still had a job to do.

He stood straight, gripping his bowblade, and met everyone's eyes, one by one. "We run for home. Ethari can make me a new arrow there. Move out."

They flowed into motion, and Runaan let them take the lead. It was only logical to track and follow the other elves, he reasoned, since he was having such trouble seeing the forest clearly through the tears in his eyes.