#i don't think he'd even get on the damn boat

[worstwolvie]

case fic but they're on a cruise

[himbosandhardwear]

Eddie has a bad habit of picking at his skin when he's nervous. Not, like, shy nervous or stage fright nervous, but the real kind of nervous, not-sure-I’m-gonna-survive-this kind of nervous. Like while he was alone in the boat house, he'd shredded every one of his cuticles. That time Hopper caught him behind The Hawk, very obviously selling his wares, he'd bitten his lips bloody.

Tonight he's picking a scab off his knee. It's practically healed already, so it won't bleed, he just needs to feel something on his body come loose before he does.

“You good, dude?” Steve asks, so in tune to Eddie's nervous disposition. Such a good guy. What a friend.

Eddie lets his head hit his knee caps with a thunk.

“Yup.”

Steve snorts. “You don't look good. I mean… You know what I mean.”

He smiles, tilting his head to look at Steve, always happy to give him a hard time.

“Oh, absolutely. You think I look good, don't cha, Stevie?”

He gets a couch pillow to the face for that, but they're both laughing so he doesn't think he's crossed the line yet.

Yet, yet, yet.

“Seriously, what's up with you? You've been quiet. It makes me want to call the squad.”

“Har har,” Eddie mumbles, but he does uncurl himself, sitting back against the couch again. “I'm trying to work up the nerve to ask for advice but it's-” Christ, he doesn't even want to admit to being embarrassed, that's how embarrassed he is.

“It's what?” Steve asks, the picture of earnest encouragement. “You can talk to me about anything, man, we're, like, bonded in blood or whatever.”

“Right. Yeah. Except this has the potential to get real awkward, real quick, and I'm not sure we're at that level of friendship yet.”

“Well,” he drawls, “if you ask me whatever it is that's got you all flustered I'm sure that will level us up. Right?”

“I'm not flustered.” God damn his red fucking face. Steve just laughs at him. “It's just, I don't have anyone else to ask about this. Jonathan probably doesn't have this particular problem, cause he's got- Uh. Sorry.” Steve waves it away, so Eddie goes on. “The kids are too young and the band guys don't understand what we went through-”

“Eddie, just spit it out.”

“Fuck! Okay, fine! You asked for it.” He takes a giant breath, steels his spine and just says it. “The Trauma is affecting my ability to get laid and I don't know how to fix it. Every time I get close to it I freak out and have to bail.”

There. All out now.

He looks over at Steve, and it's so much worse than being laughed at or pitied. He just looks sad.

He shakes it off quickly, hair barely moving, Eddie notes. He finds Steve's hair routine both endearing and ridiculous.

“Yeah. Okay. That's super common, just so you know,” Steve assures him first. “Robin says it's all connected, your mind and your body, so trauma can, like, get trapped in weird places like that. I can't play baseball anymore. Cause the memory of beating demodogs to death.”

“As you do,” Eddie quips.

“Right. But your thing. Uh. Yeah, it took some time before I could relax enough to even attempt getting laid, let alone actually do it.”

“So?” Eddie drawls, waiting. “How did you get over it?”

Something is off. Steve's not known for being skiddish about sex, but his hesitation and his inability to look Eddie in the eye is setting off alarms.

“Hey, if this is too weird for you-”

“No, I'm good, it's fine. Just, I'm the only person you have to talk to about this, so I'm gonna try to be helpful but, uh,” he scratches at the back of his head awkwardly, “in all honesty, I haven't been laid since before Vecna either. Way before. So. Yeah. Not sure I should be giving out advice on anything.”

That's crazy. Like actually crazy. He can't even compute Steve Harrington not absolutely dripping in women. He must have some look on his face because Steve gives a dry sort of laugh, self deprecating, and leans back against the couch with him.

“Weren't you on a date with Brenda Mulligan the night- Vecna��s first attack?”

Steve shoots him a look. “Y- Yeah, but that didn't go anywhere. We weren't, like, compatible or whatever.”

Oh, yeah, it was weird that Eddie knew that at all, let alone remembered it nine months later. “That's too bad,” he replies lamely.

“Yep.”

He feels terrible for dragging down the whole night, it would've been better if he'd just kept his mouth shut. But that's never been his strong suit, as evidenced by him blurting out, “If the hottest guy in Hawkins can't find a suitable date, what fucking chance do I have.”

Steve snaps, “Don't say that. What the fuck?”

Great, now he's gone and made it weird. Good job calling your straight friend hot, you fuckin’ dipshit.

They sit in the awkward silence, out of things to say or out of useful things to say. Either way it's them breathing, the clock ticking, and the M.A.S.H. rerun playing softly in the background.

Steve clears his throat. “Whatever, let's get back to the point. You don't have to tell me if you don't want but…what do you think the specific reason is for your…issue?”

He thinks about it. Has been thinking about it, for a while now. “My dick still works, if that's what you're wondering.”

Steve chuckles, high and surprised. “Good for you.”

“Yeah. It's more like, I can't get out of my head. I start worrying about my scars, explaining them if someone asked. I think about how even though I don't want anything long-term, I wouldn't be able to do long-term anyway, because I'm a fucking mess. If it's really bad, I'll get flashes of Chrissy or Patrick's bones snapping, as a little soundtrack to the fun shit happening outside my head.”

Steve looks sad again. Maybe it is pity but it looks more turned inward, like he's dealing with his own shit more than Eddie’s.

“You hooking up with strangers then?”

Eddie blinks at Steve. “Well…duh. Right? Not like I have guys lined up around the block here in Hawkins.”

Steve is full blown scowling at the TV. It's weird.

“What if-”

Eddie waits but Steve doesn't finish his thought.

“What if…what?” He prompts, giving a little nudge with his foot.

He's still avoiding eye contact, not even turning his head to look in Eddie's direction.

In a soft voice, almost too quiet to hear, he says, “What if we helped each other out?”

He must've heard that wrong. Or he's misunderstanding.

“What?”

“What if we help each other out? Like, a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

That can't be right. No fucking way. It's a test. Like as soon as Eddie agrees, Steve yells ‘Aha! I knew you wanted to molest me! Goodbye forever!’ and runs out the door.

“What, exactly, do you mean? Like, what are you getting out of it?”

Steve finally looks over. “Well, I would think that was obvious. If you're willing.”

Eddie's legs are starting to go numb.

“Okay, so I blow you and you blow me, except when you're doing it I have to watch you take it like you're being force fed liver and onions at Grandma's house?”

Steve slowly shakes his head no.

“Oh, okay, so you're going to blow me and enjoy it,” he snaps sarcasticaly.

Steve nods once.

“You want to blow me?”

“Mmhmm,” he hums without moving a muscle.

“Since when!” Eddie brings his octave down from the upper atmosphere. “Since when, Harrington? This is insane behavior. Should I call the squad for you? I'm serious. I'll do it.”

“You don't have to say yes. I was just offering.” He says it like Eddie isn't one green flag away from stomping on the gas.

He starts nervously laughing, which makes Steve flinch unfortunately, but he can't stop.

“It's cool, just forget I said anything.” He moves like he's about to get up and leave, which is fucking insane because it's his living room. Eddie stops him with a tight grip around the bicep.

“Don't you dare. If you're even remotely serious, we have to have a much longer conversation. Sit.”

Steve drops like a sack of bricks. Which is…something.

“Right. First off, this is uncommon behavior in a straight friend. Is there something you'd like to tell me, so I don't think you've been body snatched?”

He pinches at the top of his nose, like Eddie is inconveniencing him greatly. Too bad.

“I'm probably bisexual.”

“Probably?” Eddie asks with a raised eyebrow.

“I'm an inexperienced bisexual,” he amends through clenched teeth.

“Good. Great. Happy to hear it.” His heart may explode from his torso à la Ridley Scott's Alien but sure. “Second on the agenda, what do you mean help each other out? What's on the table? Mutual handjobs and then we never talk about it again?”

“No,” Steve answers immediately. That's good. “I'm open to…whatever you're open to.”

“Steve.” He has to clear his throat. “You dont even know what you're agreeing to.”

“I trust you.”

Fuuuuuck.

“Okay, right, uh, let's circle back to that later. Third thing, what, uh, what is your level of commitment with this?”

He just stares at Eddie, all doe eyed. It shouldn't work, Eddie fucking invented that look. It's gotten him out of more scrapes than he can count. Now it's being used against him but to what end? Does Steve want to get bundled up in a blanket and tucked into bed? Because Eddie can make that happen for him.

“Whatever you want, I guess,” he finally says. “I mean, like I said earlier, friends who help each other out. Casual. I'm not interested in looking for Mrs Harrington anymore and you're having a problem relaxing around guys who don't understand what you went through.” He makes a gesture like ‘Ta da.’

He's not wrong. It makes sense. But…

“Fourth thing. Is this just an experiment for you? Cause I'm all for you exploring your sexuality but, historically speaking, friends are a bad place to start.” AKA ‘it will break my fucking heart if you decide you're not that into it and it's because it's me.’

“Eddie. Look.” He gets more comfortable, facing Eddie straight on finally. “What you're going to provide is practical knowledge on what has only been theoretical up to this point, but the theory has already been well established.” He taps his head. “Understand?”

A smug confidence melts Eddie into the couch. “You liiike me,” he sings. “You think about me naaaked. You wanna-”

Steve lands on him, lacking any elegance or grace, and nearly caves their skulls in with his Jay Garrick approach to kissing. Eddie doesn't say a fucking word. He does wonder at the fucking majesty that is making out sober. What a revelation. Steve keeps making these tiny, almost wounded noises, to the point where Eddie tries to back up and do a check in but Steve doesn't let him, he chases him down and latches back onto Eddie's bottom lip like he's Hannibal Lector. It's stupid hot.

Everything is going great until Steve lets out a sound that legitimately has Eddie worried he's upset about something.

He pulls back and asks, “Are you okay?”

“Oh fuck, I'm sorry. I just can't, I can't believe I got this fucking far. You're so hot I'm losing my fucking mind.”

“Me?” Eddie snaps. “Dude, you're out of your mind.” He pokes Steve in his meaty chest. “Literal. Prom. King.”

“Fucking stupid high school shit, are you kidding me?” He sits up, straddling Eddie's hips, which is boner enhancing to say the least; he's got Steve's thighs in his grasp immediately. “You don't get it, I'm gone on you. I've got it bad, man. I was playing it cool earlier-”

“At no point tonight were you in any way playing it cool.”

“-but, fuck it, guess I'm ruining it, cause I can't be cool about this. I don't want casual. I don't even want to date you,” and before Eddie can even worry about that, he says, “I wanna skip straight to boyfriends, man. I know you said you didn't want long term with anyone but-”

Eddie interrupts again, this time by pulling Steve back down horizontal and kissing him like he just bravely declared himself as all in.

If this is a pod-person, well, that's a problem for Tomorrow Eddie. Tonight Eddie just landed Steve Harrington as a boyfriend.

[erwinsvow]

Okay but shy/bunny reader being used to bestfriend!Rafe ditching her because he’s with some girl, she never points it out and somehow she always lets it go because she’s just a babyy and Rafe starts realising that they don’t hang out as much😭💖

it was hard seeing rafe go—always was, and always will be.

you tried to convince yourself you were used to it now, but the familiar ache in your chest when he'd say goodbye to you, topper, and kelce and walk away hand in hand with his flavor of the week was getting worse and worse.

before you'd realized you had feelings for rafe—beyond just the affection you gave to your close friends—you hadn't cared at all. you'd even encouraged it, same way you did with top and kelce, offering advice and recommending which flowers to bring, what places to bring them.

not that rafe ever really needed your help. it seems since the day he'd become your best friend, there was a line of girls hanging behind the two of you, seemingly waiting for their turn. at night, when it felt worse—and somehow it always did feel worse in your bed alone, wondering if rafe's was empty too and knowing that it wasn't—you tried to make yourself feel better.

you're still here, and they're not—that's how you tried. it worked for a little.

the newest girl had been around for a record three weeks, so even your usual bandaid for your shattered heart wasn't helping the wound heal.

so far, he'd skipped two meals, a day at the course, and half of a boat day to spend with her instead of you. you, kelce, and top that is. you'd hoped today was going to be different, walking back to top's jeep after lunch to head to the marina.

"you're not coming?" you call out to rafe, who was walking back in the direction of his own car. kelce and top are too far away to hear—getting into the front already. you were always stuck in the back, and you had never minded when rafe was there to keep you company.

rafe flicks his eyes over you, taking in the new dress you really shouldn't have bought just to see what kind of reaction you could get from him. your bag has your bikini in it and one of his button ups to cover you and he sees it poking out—white seersucker temporarily distracting him.

"rafe?"

"yeah. sorry, no. made plans with-"

"yeah, of course you did." you cut him off, and though even a few weeks ago you couldn't have imagined the vitriol in your voice, it comes out all too easy. "have fun."

you try to walk away but his footsteps follow—and damn his long legs, because he gets infront of you before you can escape.

"what, kid? you mad at me?"

you shouldn't say something. you shouldn't say anything.

"we're going to the boat. you said you were coming. i cut fruit for you."

"i-i'm sorry. top will eat it."

"it's not for him. that's not the point." the words teeter on the edge—wanting so badly to tell him that you miss him. that he never hangs out with you anymore, that he's choosing some girl over you and it stings worse than anything you've felt so far.

you're not sure when it started feeling so different—rafe's always done this. and standing two feet from the jeep, kelce sticking his head out the window to yell at you to get in, you realize you're going to reveal yourself if you don't shut up.

"have fun, rafe. sorry. bye."

you don't give him a chance to respond, but it doesn't take anything else for the gears to click. you're too quiet to ever admit it, too shy to say what you're really thinking, and rafe knows that—he's known it since he met you.

standing there, watching you drive away with kelce and top, he briefly wonders what the last time was he did something just with you. he can't even remember it. it all blurs together—late night runs for ice cream and breakfast while top and kelce were still passed out. the sweet way you smile at him and how your expression changes when he goes to the girl who's waiting for him. he gets in the car and can't decide which direction to turn—towards this girl or towards you.

on the boat, you kick up your feet and open your book, trying to drown out the chatter of kelce and top trying to get out of the marina and focus singularly on the romance in your hands rather than the one in your brain. you drown it out a little too much.

"that the one i got you?" rafe asks from somewhere next to you.

"god-" you exclaim, book slipping from your grip and thudding on the boat. "you scared me." catching your breath, you bend to pick up your book, but rafe beats you to it, picking it up and placing it on your lap.

"sorry."

"what happened to your plans?" rafe shrugs. you wish your heartbeat would slow down. you look down at your lap and rafe looks over you—exposed skin shiny with sunblock, a blue bikini he thinks he's never noticed before, matching nails that suit you.

"already had plans with you, remember?"

[theworldisadumpster]

The most inaccurate thing about Baldur's Gate 3 is that you know damn well that Gale wouldn't be roughing it. He's the kind of motherfucker that if and I mean IF you can convince him to go camping at all, would be pulling up in a damn motor home. He'd have a pocket dimension charm on that bitch so fast so when you step in ot's his whole ass tower, Mom, Tara, and house keepers to boot. As well as Elminster who'd somehow escaped his notice but is annoyingly in the way of his kitchen.

Y'all'd be putting a whole deer on the fire, and he'd step out of his camper with a four course meal and an evening robe. He's the type of motherfucker to sit by the fire and ask "Ah, nothing quite like the bracing cold of nature. Shall we carry on with the old camping traditions? A rousing tune about friendship conquering hardship? The rowing of a boat perhaps?" while lounging on a blanket with a glass of wine.

"Oh but he's in hiding, he wouldn't be using so much frivolous magic" you would cry

This is GALE DEKARIOS we're talking about here, motherfucker makes a northern lights show for himself every night, he can't keep his damn hands out of the weave cookie jar.

Dude is constantly getting his squishy wizard ass handed to him in battle, slipping on his own conjured ice and has his own personal life insurance tab with Withers. The companions also keep snack packs on them in case the orb gets hungry.

No way his tent doesn't open up with a full library, comfy chair and tea to boot.

"But too much exertion might explode us all!"

"He doesn't want to get made fun of by the other companions"

You really that his sheltered, mama's boy, groomed by a goddess, nerd ass CARES what the others think?? Yes, a lot, but he'd never admit it. He would also justify it as self care. ie "sleeping on a bedroll will destroy my back and I need to be in tip top shape" (you know he's unironically using tip top in a sentence, don't lie).

In conclusion he sleeps on a feather bed made of fucking magic while the rest of them lay in the dirt, no I will not be taking any criticisms.

[miniwheat77]

Brat. (dbf!Captain Price x Reader.)

!CW! NSFW, Smut, oral sex (f receiving), using worms as bait, age gap, (sorry if I missed any)

Your body feels warm, the hot sun beating down on you as you swam with one of your friends in her swimming pool. You had one as well but her parents weren't as strict as yours so you spent most of your time there.

You had just turned 18 but since you still lived with them for the time being you had no other choice but to follow their rules. You still had a curfew, had to tell them when and where you were going and what time you would be home. They still had to approve of it of course. Although they rarely ever told you no anymore since you were 18.

Your dad sat at an old wooden bar in and old dive bar him and his best friend, John Price liked to hang out in. They've been neighbors for years and years and it's essentially how their friendship started. They spent every holiday, game day, barbecue, and family get together with each other since then. They got along well, never fought. John was invited to everything and since he didn't have a family of his own it wasn't too hard for him to show. He wasn't married, had no kids, and lived too far away from his parents and siblings to plan the flights. He also didn't know when he'd be deployed but since he took on a job on the base and was only backup for missions, he was always home. Usually worked a 9-5 on the base. It was out of the ordinary for him and apart of him felt useless but it paid the bills. He was still there if they needed him anyways.

You dad was tipping the whiskey back like it was water which only meant one thing. Something was stressing him out.

John smiles after drinking some of his own bourbon. "Something going on mate?" He asks your dad. "Ah yeah. Y/N has been driving me crazy lately." He groans. "Me and her mom." He laughs. John tilts his head in confusion. "What's been going on?" He asks. "If you don't mind me asking of course."

"To be honest? I don't know. She's just been a real grouch lately. Has an attitude, doesn't listen, complains all the time. We've given her much more freedom since she turned 18 so I'm not sure where it's coming from." He shrugs. John nods his head. He's still listening. "I mean.. we convinced her to go to the doctor to get a few scans and blood work done, thinking maybe it was hormone imbalance or a mood disorder but those all came back fine and seemed to piss her off even more to be honest." He shrugs. "She got something going on in her personal life? Maybe she's fighting with a friend or boyfriend?" John asks. Your dad shakes his head. "She hates guys her age. Hates pretty much everyone she isn't close with anyways. She always said she won't date until she's older after her first boyfriend but I mean. She was like 12 so it was stupid anyways. She's only got a couple close friends and that's where she is right now. I don't know what it is." He tips back another shot of whiskey.

"Must just be moody. Maybe you guys should come out to the lake with me this weekend. I’m taking the boat out.” He shrugs. “Yeah that sounds good.” Your dad smiles. “Maybe getting out of the house will help her out.” He shrugs.

“I don’t know, I just know she’s in my damn nerves.” He laughs. Once they finish up their drinks, they part ways. Driving down the same roads to get home since they were neighbors. They’d usually carpool together but they’d met after work. When your dad arrives home, you’re home already. Watching a show on the couch. He closes the door behind him as he steps inside, smiling when he sees you. “Hey. John invited us out to go fishin this weekend. I said we’d go.” He smiles. “Do I have to?” You mumble. “Yes.” A grumble leaves your lips. “I’m not sure what the attitude is but it better quit young lady.” You roll your eyes, going upstairs to your room. Throwing yourself back on your bed with a groan.

—

John smiles at your dad, he’s sitting up at the front of the boat. You’re laying on your stomach, bikini leaving little to the eyes, you’ve got a pair of sunglasses on and you haven’t spoken much the entire trip. “John, you mind letting me off at the doc? I’m gonna go get another case of beer.” He nods his head, starting up the boat and making his way to shore. He lets your dad off, letting him know he’s going to go back out with you and to let him know when to come get him. When he’s back out on the lake and the anchor is down, he flips his hat around. Scooping up some water with his hand and flicking it all over you. He draws a gasp from your lips and you turn around, “John what the hell!” You gasp. Wiping the water down. “Cmon kid. You’re driving your poor ol’ man nuts. What’s with the attitude?” He crosses his arms, lazy smile playing at his lips. “I don’t have an attitude. Why does everyone keep saying that?” You roll your eyes. “Oh come on. The eye rolling, talking back, ignoring people when they talk to you. Being a real brat little lady.” He teases. You grumble, laying back down. “Nope. Cmon. You’re gonna try fishing. You’ll have fun.” He picks up a fishing pole. “We’re using worms. I mean.. you can use power bait but the stocked fished are smaller than natural spawn fish. It’s up to you.” He shrugs, holding out the styrofoam container that has the worms in it. You sigh, taking it from him. “You want me to show you how to put a worm on?” He asks. “Yeah sure.” You mumble. “Alright, here. You basically just thread it through the top.” You watch him hook the worm and thread it on, watching as it squirms. You take the pole from him, casting it out into the water and waiting.

Pretty soon, there’s a boat full of younger guys creeping up near you. They cat call you, yelling out obscenities at you. You ignore them, rolling your eyes. John is a little amused because he knows what your dad has said about guys your age and how you hate dating. They leave just as quickly as they come. “Can we just home? This is boring.” You roll your eyes. “No, not until we catch some fish.” He laughs.

This is where he starts to see it.

When you think he’s not paying attention, you’re adjusting yourself. Sliding awkwardly on the seat, rubbing up against your fishing pole for any sort of friction. Acting more and more bratty as the time ticks on. It’s amusing to John really, to see just how frustrated you are. “Where is my dad? He’s been gone a long time.” John shrugs. He pulls out his phone. He notices a text from your dad, seeing that he’s received a text from him a few minutes before.

You mind giving Y/N a lift home? Her mom texted me and said she took a bad fall at work and is in the ER.

Yeah no problem at all, see you later mate.

“He said your mum fell at work so he’s going to go see if she’s okay. It’s just me and you kid.” John sits down. “So we can go home now?” You ask. “No.” He laughs. You mutter something under your breath. He laughs. Your fishing pole bobbing startles you and John perks up. "You got a fish!" You set the hook, yanking the fishing pole and starting to reel it in. The fish puts up a pretty good fight and when you reel it closer to the boat, John scoops it up with the fishing net for you. Helping you get it off the hook. "Look at that darling." He smiles as you pick it up. "Good girl, see? This is fun." He smiles. His statement takes you off guard, cheeks heating up. "Uh.. Yeah. Whatever." You shut down quickly. He thinks it's odd at first. Once you've thrown the fish back into the water, he sits down across from you at the front of the boat.

He looks around, making sure no one else is around. “Look. I know what’s going on.” He smiles. “Yeah? And what’s that?” You look at him. “Well.. I’m putting two and two together here. The attitude, the never wanting to go out.” He smirks. You look up at him. “I mean.. you’ve been grinding up against your fishing pole since I gave it to you. Rubbing your thighs together when that boat full of guys came by.” Your lips part slightly, cheeks going red. "And when I called you a good girl." He chuckles, seeing how you start to squirm from his watchful eyes on you. “Do you not know how to make yourself cum sweetheart?” He laughs. "T-that's inappropriate John." You look away from his gaze, thankful your sunglasses help conceal your embarrassment. He laughs. "Oh come on, what your dad doesn't know won't hurt him, besides. You've been on his nerves lately and if I help you out, maybe he won't be so stressed out. So talk to me." He smiles. You stay quiet and he moves across the boat, sitting right next to you, throwing an arm over your shoulders. "You can talk to me darling. I can help you." Your heart rate picks up, it's racing in your chest. "I.. I don't know what you want me to say." You breathe. You're one step away from panting at his close proximity. The only thing you can think about are his hands on you. "Have you ever had sex before?" He asks. You shake your head. "Have you.. done anything at all?" You shake your head again. "I've tried to it myself but it makes it worse." You look down at your hands nervously playing with them.

He smiles. Right now, John is thankful there is a room below on his boat. "I can show you." He rests his hand on your thigh, feeling you stiffen up under his touch. "O-okay." You breathe. "Come on." He grasps your hand. There aren't many boats left on the water, it's getting late in the day and everyone is going home thankfully, you might get a little loud. He pulls you down the small set of stairs into the cabin of the boat. It's really small. He makes sure to wash his hands before he touches you, having you do the same.

There's a small bed and a table and chairs and that's it. "Lay on your back." You swallow hard, getting up onto the bed. His deep voice has your clit throbbing at the attention it knows it's about to get. You're sure you've soaked through your panties. He leans onto the bed, helping you remove your bathing suit. When your bottom half is exposed to him, he wants to drool. "God you're beautiful." He groans. He glides his hands down your exposed thighs, causing chills to rise on your skin. You're panting now, small gasps leaving your lips. "Relax." He chuckles. "I'm going to help you, try to calm down sweetheart. You're too eager." He runs his fingertips over your skin, his touch is searing, it burns your skin as his fingers move across you. You want his hands on you. You want them inside of you. He takes a deep breath of his own, trying to ignore the way his cock throbs against his cargo shorts. "Start slow. Little circles on your clit." He reaches forward. "Like this." He breathes. He uses his thumb, rubbing circles over you. Your lips part slightly, a whimper leaving your lips. It’s different when he’s touching you. You can feel your lower stomach swirling, something is building already. “You try.” He draws his hand away. Resting your hand over your mound, rubbing circles over your clit just as he said. The sensation is gone just as fast as it came, causing you to whimper out at the loss, your touch feels like nothing. You draw your hand away. “This isn’t going to work John, it doesn’t work.” You blush.

You try to sit up but he pushes you back. “Have you ever cum before?” He asks. You shake your head. “Oh darling.. no wonder you’re so bratty.” He smiles. “All of that sexual tension and no way to release it. Poor thing.” He’s teasing you, but at the same time actually feels really bad. He knows it’s harder for you to cum. “Stop it John.” You try to push him off, tears gathering in your eyes from frustration. “I’m just teasing darling, let me help you.” He moves himself up further, grasping your thighs and pulling you down on the bed further, you let your head rest back on the pillow, looking up at the ceiling. The boat rocks back and fourth over the water. You’re nervous. You don’t know what he’s going to do to you. He moves himself between your legs, and you don’t understand what's going on until you feel something warm and wet against your entrance. You lift your head up, jumping at the sensation. “Oh f-fuck!” You gasp. He glances up at you. He’s still got his hat on, but he’s flipped it backward by now. Giving himself room to devour you. He moans into your opening, you taste sweet. You’re breathing hard, clutching at the sheets as he flicks his tongue over your clit. He starts slow, letting your sensitive nub get used to the sensation of his tongue, not wanting to overwhelm you. You clutch at the sheets, melting further and further into him as he laps at your entrance with his tongue. It's clear that he's had a fair share of experience. You feel something building in your stomach and you know you're about to cum.

You're getting louder and louder, crying out his name and he's never imagined himself in such a position.

This is just to help her dad, so that he isn't so stressed out.

That's all.

John rocks his hips into the bed, cock hard and throbbing against his shorts. Begging for some kind of friction. He imagines your pretty lips around his cock, maybe your pretty eyes looking up at him as you take him further down your throat. He groans into you earning another moan from your lips. When you're wet enough from his spit and your arousal, he slides a couple of his fingers into you. Feeling you tense up around him, all of the air leaving your lungs, you've never had anything inside before and he can't help but smile into you.

He sucks against your clit, swirling his tongue around it, you're squirming, struggling to stay still beneath him, even his grip on you doesn't keep you completely still. He sucks your clit into his mouth one more time, lapping his tongue over you, his fingers curling into the sweet spot inside of you and you lose it, lips parting as moans leave your lips. A mewl leave your lips and you squirm out of his grasp as he desperately laps up your arousal from your orgasm. You push him away, closing your legs. You're looking at him with a look of pure shock, panting, a little sweaty. The look you're giving him it's unsettling how fucked out you look. He wipes his lips of you, looking up at you. "Do you feel better?" He laughs. You nod your head. "Good. Try to relax." He smiles. "Still got about an hour of light left, let's make it worth while and try to catch some fish yeah?" He smiles, standing up. When he's out of your line of sight, he sucks the taste of you off of his fingers. Groaning at himself.

What has he just gotten himself into?

[teeny-tiny-revenge]

Today I'm thinking about Ed's reaction to the marmalade. No, not about that it's very good. (I wanted a gif of this moment and it was the only one I could find.)

I'm thinking about Ed's face after Stede's "Ship's stores are loaded with it. Had to get rid of some gunpowder, but I think it was the right decision."

Ed is surprised, shocked maybe, but you never get the idea that Ed thinks the load of marmalade is frivolous or a waste of space (as a lot of other characters would!). But Ed's eyes are wide with wonder. Ed is impressed. Ed is fucking inspired. (And a little bit in love already, but that's beside the point.)

Because Ed is a survivor. Ed has built his entire life around surviving, and he's successful at it, he's going grey in a career that tends to cut your life pretty short, he's built this entire act and persona up for the sole purpose of ensuring his safety and survival, and when challenged and threatened later in the series (before he completely loses his will to continue surviving like this) we see Ed throw away anything pleasurable in favour of holding up the sword and shield of Blackbeard and the Kraken.

Ed is a guy who has learned to prioritise survival over anything else. Ed's stores are certainly full of gunpowder, no space for even a jar of marmalade left. Ed lived a life, from young age on, that taught him that he doesn't get to have nice, pleasurable, fun and comforting things. He keeps his one nice comforting scrap hidden away inside his leather armour. He has more money than you can shake a stick at, but he doesn't have any luxuries. He doesn't even have comforts. He has knick-knacks. But he doesn't have soft robes to sleep in, he doesn't have the damn good whiskey Stede keeps in his cabin (although he could easily afford it!), and he certainly doesn't have good marmalade. Ed doesn't treat himself. Ed is a survival guy and he has survival necessities. Ed only has gunpowder. He doesn't have marmalade.

And here comes Stede, with his fancy boat full of fancy things that aren't helpful to survive on the seas. It's a ship full of joyful little pleasures. It's got a library, a nice cozy fireplace, two fucking chandeliers (overkill!), it's stocked with good brandy, and two full closets of nice clothes, and its captain prioritised tasty marmalade for breakfasts over gunpowder for survival.

Because the Revenge isn't built for survival. Stede was done surviving (he'd run away from just surviving). He was probably aware he might not have a long life out on the sea, but Stede didn't come to survive. Stede came to live. And he was going to live to the fullest. He stocked his ship with all the things that he found make life worth living. (Stede later learns that he doesn't need all the things to enjoy life, but that he needs friends and his lover, but that's not the point here.) Stede designed his ship to be fun. To be a nice place to live. The Revenge is full of creature comforts. A full bathtub! Can you imagine Ed to have a full bathtub on his old ship? I can't. Because Ed has spend his life so busy surviving that until he's almost dead he doesn't stop to consider what makes his life worth living. And then it's so simple things he comes up with. (Creature comforts!)

Ed has lived a life of denying himself nice things in favour of things he hates but that are "safe". Ed lives in a house full of gunpowder. And he's choking on it, it's killing him, but he doesn't think there's another way. And then comes a guy who goes "oh actually, I replaced a lot of my gunpowder (not all btw) with this super tasty marmalade so I can have nice breakfasts". And to Ed that's life changing. Look at his face next time you rewatch, when he turns to Stede. This is a guy who just had an epiphany, who just had someone crumble his world view in the best of ways. You don't only have to keep gunpowder. You can also have marmalade, because marmalade is nice. You should live rather than just survive.

And we see Ed try to embrace this. With Stede, and for a brief time before Izzy happens to him, even on his own, Ed lets himself have nice things. He wears comforting clothes and eats the marmalade from the stores. Because it's nice to live a little even when you're sad. And then he goes back to just surviving, and he can't do it. He's tasted marmalade, he can't deal with being stuck with nothing but gunpowder anymore.

But he does survive, and Stede comes back, and they spend the night together and the next morning Blackbeard's getup is tossed away tied to a cannonball (a companion to the gunpowder), and for Ed there's toast with marmalade in bed.

Because Ed chose life. And to live means to have things to enjoy. Like good marmalade to start the day.

[writealongnowdear]

Love me Like a Sailor

Arthur Morgan x Captain!Reader

Summary: John is a little brother. The Konstantina prepares to set sail. Arthur is nervous with a side of pathetic.

A/N: Classes got me FUCKED UP and I'm sick. I hope you enjoy tho ❤️❤️

Part 1

☆☆☆☆☆

When Arthur rode back into camp, he could feel eyes on him. It made his skin prickle, the way that it always did when someone was watching.

He hitched up his horse, boots hitting the ground as he brushed up her sides and let his head rest against her neck for just a moment. He had to gather himself - wouldn't be able to look anyone in the eye if he didn't.

Morgana whinnied, brushing against him almost compassionately. Arthur snorted, patting her a few times and feeding her a sugar cube.

“Quit your worryin’, girl,” he muttered. “Don't need my damn horse on my case, too.”

Everyone else was gathered around the campfire tonight. It was cool out, fall on the air and rain on the horizon. He'd have to make sure that they were ready for the storm.

A heady laugh reached his ears, unmistakable. Arthur grimaced, looking up from under the brim of his hat.

“How was it?” John asked teasingly, immediately after laying eyes on him. Arthur glared, walking past him.

“I ain't in the mood, Marston,” he gruffed. With a huff, he grabbed a bottle of beer from Pearson's wagon and uncapped it. He raised the bottle to his lips and took a long sip that elicited a whistle from John.

“Cmon now, it can't have been that bad,” he said, shit-eating grin twisting his scarred features. Arthur grimaced.

“It wasn't, asshole,” he said, blush rising to his cheeks. “I got us a deal.”

John wiggled his eyebrows, making him look even more like the child that he was.

“Oh really? What kind of deal are we talkin-”

“Shut up, Marston.”

John laughed again, grabbing a beer for himself and clapping Arthur on the shoulder. He stood next to Arthur, watching the camp go by in silence for a moment.

“What is the deal then?” He asked eventually. Arthur shrugged, rolling his shoulders and taking another swig of his beer.

“They need extra protection. In return they'll pay us or peddle for us.”

John nodded, digging in the dirt with the tip of his boot. He always did that when he was thinking.

“What's the catch?”

Arthur sighed, rubbing his eyes. That's what he'd been trying to figure out.

“Don't know yet. But with how things are going, we ain't got time to wonder about it.”

“Amen, brother,” John snorted.

The two sat in comfortable silence. The sun had just started to set, purple and orange splashing across the lake and its shores. Arthur itched for his pencil.

And he thought of you.

☆☆☆☆☆

The ride went quickly. Charles and Javier were fast riders, always ready to run.

Van Horn was just as it always was - quiet and unassuming but for the drunks retching outside the saloon. It was an early morning; the sun was barely rising on the horizon.

The Konstantina was moored where it was last time he'd visited, almost a week ago. There was a man on watch at what Arthur thought was the bow. As they rode their horses in and tied them up, his eyes flashed over the main deck. He caught a glimpse of your silk shined hair, his heart skipping a beat.

“S'that it?” Javier asked, coming to stand next to Arthur. His bag was slung over one shoulder, his other hand coming to rest on his belt. Arthur nodded.

“The one and only.”

Javier snorted. He clapped Arthur's shoulder and shuffled his boots in the sand. Charles fell onto his other side, sighing out a breath and squinting at the boat.

“Not what I expected,” he murmured. Arthur shrugged.

“Gets the job done, doesn't it?”

Soon enough, all three men were stepping aboard the boat. The watchman on the bow greeted them, asking them to wait while he got the captain.

Javier lit up a cigarette, sitting on top of a crate. He passed it to Charles who took it with a hum of thanks.

“I'm excited to meet this captain of yours,” Javier said, leaning forward with a glint in his dark eyes. “John said she was something else.”

“John says a lot of things,” Arthur said as easily as he could manage. Charles huffed, passing the cigarette back. “Ain't none of them smart.”

“He said she had you whipped six ways to Sunday,” Charles said, crossing his arms but gesturing one of his hands at Arthur with a raised eyebrow. Arthur felt himself blush, and thanked the darkness of the early morning for hiding it.

“I don't even know what that means,” Arthur grumbled, pouting. Charles laughed, Javier slapping the man's broad shoulder with a mischievous grin.

“I bet you wish you did, though.”

Arthur glared at both men as they laughed. He was about to open his mouth and defend himself, but he cut himself off when he saw you approaching.

Your outfit was a far cry from when he last saw you; baggy cotton pants and a button up shirt that somehow hid the swell of your chest. Your hair, which was usually left long, was braided tightly and pinned methodically around your head save for a few strands in the front. When you fastened your captain's hat on your head, he couldn't tell that you were a woman at all.

Despite that, his heart still felt like it was going to beat out of his chest if he looked at you for any longer. He could've chuckled at the humor in it. Even dressed as a man, the sweep of your long eyelashes along your cheeks still made his breath hitch. The curve of your mouth still made him want to tear his hair out.

Catching the stunned glances of Charles and Javier, Arthur shrugged and cleared his throat. Their shock quickly passed, but their obvious amusement did not.

“Arthur,” Javier said in the same tone of voice that Abigail used to scold Jack.

“What?!”

“Gentlemen!” You exclaimed, greeting them with the same upbeat attitude you always seemed to have. “Welcome aboard! We're pleased to have you.”

Charles nodded, a slight smile on his face as he introduced himself and Javier, who moved forward to shake your hand. His eye flicked back to Arthur with a lazy grin that betrayed his mischievous curiosity.

“Pleasure's ours,” Javier said. “Cigarette?”

You hummed in assent, taking the cigarette between two fingers and inhaling a drag of it. Arthur stared as you let the smoke pool out of your mouth in waves.

“So you're the infamous Caspian that Arthur's been talking about?” Javier said, his charm turned up all the way. Arthur sighed heavily.

“That's Captain Caspian, to you,” you said with a wink, dissolving into laughter soon after. “For better or worse that is.”

“S'that why you're dressed like that?” Charles said bluntly, gesturing to your outfit. Javier slapped his shoulder with a venomous “Cabrón!” hissed under his breath. You smooth out the wrinkles of your shirt with a raised eyebrow.

“Sailing ain't a woman's work,” you say.

“Neither is smuggling.”

“Can't have one without the other, Mr. Smith.”

“...I suppose that's true.”

“It's better like this anyway,” you say. “Navy would be onto us in seconds if I dressed normally.”

The small talk continued as your cigarette burned down between your fingers. Arthur couldn't comprehend your words, but he figured that was okay - if it was important he'd ask you to repeat yourself and that wouldn't be so bad. He could listen to your voice like one of Dutch's terrible records.

“So, what's the route?” Charles asked, kicking Arthur's boot and forcing his attention back on the conversation.

“It'll be short - we should be in port by supper tomorrow night,” you said. “We sail from here to Saint Denis, which is where we'll drop you boys off.”

“Thought it would be longer,” Javier muttered, itching around his mustache in thought.

“Think of this as a trial run,” you said. With a shrug and a sigh you stamp out your cigarette and lay your hands on your belt. “If it goes well, we can go longer.”

Arthur nodded along, trying not to let his eyes catch on the way your hands looked clutched on your belt and failing miserably. The way he always stood, the way every man stood… it looked damn near erotic on you.

“Mr. Morgan?” You asked, jolting him once again from his pathetic thoughts. His eyes snapped to yours, meeting your amused face. “You've been awfully quiet.”

“Was just thinking,” he said, scowling. Charles snorted.

“That's new.”

“Don't hurt yourself.”

You laughed at Charles and Javier's responses, only laughing harder when you caught a look at Arthur's glare. He crossed his arms and sat back against the railing of the deck, hat falling over his brow.

“Har har,” he said. “My brand of thinking is always the least likely to get us killed.”

“Oh, really? Care to enlighten us?” You ask, clearly teasing him now because what else could he possibly be thinking about.

There wasn't any time to think about robbing and stealing and killing when he could be thinking about your hips, the swell of them and how they would give under his hands. Your eyes, how pretty they would look filled with tears of pleasure. He could be thinking about the way that your lips would form his name, and if your voice would crack with love around the vowels. Or how soft your hands would be if he got to hold them, and how the skin of your back would feel pressed against his chest after-

“Tomorrow,” Arthur said, hands fisted tight in his lap. “I was just thinking about tomorrow.”

He looked up to see your eyes soften, fondness clouding the color of your eyes. He's sure that the smile spilling across his lips is one that John would describe as dopey, but he finds that he doesn't give a damn.

Because now? All he's thinking about is how he can make you his the way that he's already yours.

☆☆☆☆☆

Bbg, this is for you @johnnysilverhandeeznuts

[annunen]

NHLWAM S12 E7: Niko Mikkola & Eetu Luostarinen

I translated the highlights of the video for any florida finns fans to enjoy.

TLDR: the finns love chirping each other and Lundy needs a babysitter.

Manninen and Putkonen are the NHLWAM hosts.

Under the cut <3

Manninen: We've got two Finnish Fort Lauderdale locals here. Niko Mikkola, new guy, and Eetu Luostarinen, who's already one of the vets. So what's up?

Mikkola: Nothing bad, getting to know new places and the sun shines. Great people here.

Luostarinen: It's always fun to get more finns here. Always welcome.

Manninen: Eetu, how would you describe Niko as a person and a teammate?

Luostarinen: He's a chill Oulu guy. Chill company, easy to hang out with him, he gets along with everyone. Really nice.

Manninen: Do you agree?

Luostarinen: Sure, i'll take what i'm given.

Manninen: Counterquestion for you.

Mikkola: We've known each other pretty long. He's one of those Savo guys, a little twisted like they all are. But there's only great guys here, like i said, so it's been easy to come here.

Manninen: You got pretty lucky, your training center moved from the middle of nowhere (lit. horse ass) to the neighbor. You could bike there, have you ever done that?

Mikkola: I don't have a bike but i've been planning to buy one. It's 5 minutes away so it would be pretty nice to bike there.

Manninen: Or an electric scooter! Has anyone ever come with one?

Mikkola: No, but Kaapo Kakko always used one in NYC. I'd walk and he'd drive past me.

Luostarinen: I haven't biked there either but some guys have electric bikes. And golf carts, pretty cool that you can come to the rink with a golf cart.

Manninen: Now that's style!

-----

Manninen: I asked "Lunkka" Lundell this same question, now i want to ask you Eetu too. Looking at your points, this season hasn't been as good as the last. The big crowds only look at points, they're thinking "what's up with Eetu, he hasn't scored points". So what do YOU think, has this season actually been worse than the last, or have you actually gone forward as a player?

Luostarinen: I wouldn't say it's been worse than last season, pretty equal. Just haven't had those successes. There's also a lot happening in the background, in the game. I play a lot shorthanded too, i've got to take credit for that. If i can't get confidence from points, i have to find it somewhere else in the small things.

Manninen: Are the points so important? I don't remember if you lead the league right now, but as a team you're playing really well.

Luostarinen: It's a team game, if your team is doing well, you're doing something right, and you have to be happy about that. But if i have less points than Mikkola, that's when i should be worried.

Mikkola: Why am I suddenly being attacked?

Putkonen: God damn, throwing you under the boat, right there under that Catamaran.

Manninen: What about you Niko, do you ever set - even though you're known as a defensive brush, let's not say broom (that's Hakanpää's "nickname") - do you set some personal goals for points when starting the season?

Mikkola: Defensive brush, i'll take that. Good name. I don't really set any goals for points. The beginning of the season was pretty wild for me, but now i've returned to a normal phase. Probably getting close to 30 straight pointless games now.

Luostarinen: Yeah, early in the season they were throwing the nickname "Niko Norris" around there.

Putkola: You were on a phase for 80 points.

Mikkola: It was crazy, but now we're back to the roots. You can't only get confidence from points. You need some guys who play shorthanded, keep the own net clear. Take some confidence from those.

-----

(Someone walks by with a dog.)

Putkonen: Cool dog. How's your dog doing?

Luostarinen: Yeah, we have a new one in the family - cavapoo, it's a cavalier poodle mix. And then we have Rose, she's a little over 4 years old now.

Putkonen: Who in your team would you not let dogsit your dogs?

Luostarinen: Lunkka. Even if we speak the same language, i wouldn't trust him with them.

Manninen: Is Lunkka your team's little rascal?

Luostarinen: He is, a little. You need to watch what he's doing sometimes.

Mikkola: But he's so young still.

Manninen: You're allowed to be careless when you're young. We've been careless too.

Putkonen: ...older too.

-----

Putkonen: Roberto Luongo was in the net at your practice. He still catches pretty well.

Mikkola: Yeah. I've said that he'd only need one training camp and he could play an NHL game again. I can't score on him either.

Luostarinen: Best possible EBUG.

-----

Putkonen: Let's take some fan questions. Does Sasha "whip" (reprimand) you?

Luostarinen: No, just constructive criticism.

Mikkola: He's flicked me a couple times with a video where I ice the puck or something. More as a joke. He doesn't really "whip" (reprimand) me.

Manninen: But he gives that to Lunkka!

Mikkola: Lunkka is "in his teeth" a little. In a good way.

Putkonen: Yeah, he was already the last time we visited. Gave him an earful from some celly, telling him "don't jump to the glass, only juniors celly like that".

-----

[abarbaricyalp]

Strawberries and Cigarettes (always taste like you)

Title from Troye Sivan

Bucky smoked like a chimney. It didn't matter how many times Sam said they'd figured out it was bad for you. Mostly because Bucky had a super soldier serum that made him think he was invincible. Sam had sat next to him on a Brooklyn balcony one night that they both couldn't sleep and watched Bucky go through an entire carton without coming up for air. He always had a cigarette behind his ear, waiting to be lit. A lighter in his pocket, even during missions. It wasn't like it was to help with anxiety or whatever. The dude was jumpy and jittery even while he was smoking. And Sam had never really seen him jonesing for a smoke break, but he took one every chance he got.

He'd asked Bucky to stop smoking around him because Sam didn't have a super soldier serum to save his lungs, which Bucky was slightly gracious about. Gracious up until the point that Sam slunk over because the smell of the smoke and Bucky's shampoo and his leather jacket was addictive, and then he was all smirks and silent 'I-told-you-so's. It at least put him in the habit of asking before he lit up. It really didn't help that he looked like a modern Marlborough man ad come to life. He was desperately alluring and sexy when he smoked. It was woefully unfair that such a foul hobby was so damn hot.

(Oddly enough, the grace came back on the rare nights that Sam sat beside him and wordlessly held out his hand for a cigarette too.)

Sam didn't condone the habit, but he didn't exactly hide Bucky's cartons from him or give him an ultimatum either. Hell, Bucky's smokes were usually on his grocery list when he knew the guy was going to be around.

"Hey, have you noticed if Buck's low on cigarettes?" Sam asked Sarah while she compiled her own list to send him with.

She turned to look at him with raised eyebrows. "Bucky doesn't smoke," she said. "I've never seen him even hold a cigarette."

Sam frowned and thought before making an answer. After four decades, he'd found it was best not to argue with Sarah about something that may have an objective truth to it. He rarely beat her at this game.

True, he had woken up a few weeks ago, last time Bucky had been around, with the glaring thought that Bucky smelled good next to him. Not like smoke, but a clean, fresh smell. He'd chalked it up to him showering the evening before and not getting up throughout the night. And true that Bucky had a fidget in Louisiana that Sam never noticed anywhere else, where he flipped the cap of his lighter continuously or tumbled the lighter through his fingers. But he never actually lit anything with it. And true, he didn't smoke on the boat. And true, he'd never asked Sam where the cheapest cigs around were (a constant hunt in New York).

Bucky didn't smoke down here, Sam realized with a start. And he never smelled like smoke because he had a whole new wardrobe in Sam's house. Sarah had never seen him smoke.

Sam made for the backdoor, grocery list discarded. Sarah called after him, but he didn't quite catch it--something about the zucchini she needed him to remember and also lollipops--and he went out back.

Judging from the way Bucky had an arm around Cass's center, and AJ was rolling on the ground with laughter, and the swing set was still rocking up and down as Bucky held Cass still, Sam had a feeling he'd interrupted an attempt at swinging the swing all the way around the top of the set. Bucky looked much guiltier than either child, but it was Cass who insisted, "We weren't doing anything!"

Sam leveled a stare at him, but he knew these boys were forged under Sarah's gaze and nothing Sam had in his arsenal was going to be half as effective.

"Why don't you two head inside?" Bucky suggested, still looking guilty. "Your Uncle Sam and I were just about to head into town."

The boys grumbled their objections, but it only took them a few steps before they were jostling each other and starting a game of tag that would absolutely get them in trouble inside. Once the door was shut, Sam looked to Bucky again.

"No one was going to get hurt," he insisted sheepishly, wrapping the chain of the swing around one arm to lean his weight against it.

"Can I have a cigarette?" Sam asked without preamble.

Bucky's got-caught frown turned into a confused one. On muscle memory, but with no conviction, he patted his front pocket with his other hand. "I don't have any on me," he admitted with a shrug.

"Why not?" Sam asked.

Bucky flushed prettily, looking away from Sam in embarrassment. "I didn't wanna do it in front of your nephews. Didn't wanna be a bad example. And, when we were staying here, I didn't want to make Sarah's home smell terrible. You know how that smell is. Lingers."

It was more forethought than anyone had put into anything for Sam in a long, long time. Sam hadn't even thought about Bucky smoking around the boys. Bucky didn't usually smoke in front of other people, unless someone was passing by the alley he had stepped into, so Sam hadn't been worried about it. Bucky had never even seen the boys before he'd shown up on his own down here, new clothes, no cigarettes.

"You chew on lollipops instead," he realized as the fondness in his chest bloomed even further out. "I thought you just did that to give the kids an excuse to have some too."

Bucky scuffed his sneaker in the dirt under the swing. "Keeps me distracted enough."

"Buck, you spend so much time down here. More time than you don't. You must hardly smoke anymore."

Bucky's shoulders came up to his ears. It didn't hide the blush on them. "It's worth it. Guess I might've been looking for a good reason to stop."

Sam thought about all the movie moments he'd caught Bucky smoking--the moonlit balcony, a sunset after a fight, digging through files half naked in bed. All those moments he'd had an overwhelming teenage desire to pull Bucky to him and kiss the smoke out of his mouth. But they were all easily overshadowed by images of Bucky acting as a jungle gym for kids, or reading to Cass and AJ before bed, or helping with science experiments and baking days, or swinging Cass all the way around the swing set, ready to catch him if he fell.

Sam crossed the distance between them, pulling Bucky's face to him between the swing chains to kiss him deeply. He tasted like strawberry lollipops. "I like this look better," he decided.

He felt Bucky smile against his lips. "Well maybe you can help keep my mouth busy," he suggested before kissing Sam again.

Yeah, this was definitely better.

Don't smoke, kids.

Bucky absolutely has an old engraved lighter from the war

[starry-snippets]

being kak and joots friend in college (all sharing a dorm/apartment) hcs

jotaro

☆ hates sharing a space for a decently long time. especially if it's a sharing a single room ordeal. if you have separate but small rooms it'll be more manageable for him

☆ majorly because he wants his own space and keeps to himself, he's pretty amazing at respecting that your room is your space and also he normally doesn't even want to go in there

☆ does enjoy sharing a dorm or apartment if you cook. cause like. he loves his mom's homemade meals. I don't think he's incompetent in the kitchen, but I don't think he knows how to make anything too fancy

☆ you as his roommate will definitely grow on him if you're not a bad roomie. he can tolerate certain bad traits, but if you never clean up or interfere with him trying to study or sleep he'd get pissed

☆ grows to appreciate all you do around the dorm/apartment and will entertain your hobbies, like if you garden he'll give you some plants. if you cook he'll get you some new equipment, etc. if you tease him about it he'll say it benefits him too so you don't think he loves you or anything (he does)

kakyoin

☆ doesn't mind sharing a space normally! as long as you're not incredibly messy or rude with his things he won't mind. does need his alone time, but that's something literally separate from you

☆ unlike joot he is so curious about your space. he respects your boundaries and won't just come in, but he's a bad knocker. like he'll knock twice but not say anything, and kinda just come in. if you tell him about it he'll announce himself or something but if you're friends he has this potentially bad habit

☆ i like to think he's a little bit disorganized, but not quite messy. the type of guy to leave his gaming consoles in front of the tv on the floor rather than on the shelf under. doesn't make his bed everyday sort of "messy" things

☆ overall a good roommate though! this man can cook and he can clean. he may be a tad disorganized but it's not terrible. once you learn he likes to put the big spoons separate from the small spoons you develop the muscle memory to look for them in different spots. just requires some familiarity

☆ definitely engages in your interests and he'd love if you did the same! would love if you played games with him and he'd be down to do your hobbies with you too! epitome of besties to lovers living together (or just besties, or just lovers - whatever floats your boat)

both

☆ since jotaro is territorial about his spaces, kakyoin gets better at knocking on your door before coming in without you having to even talk to him cause he made the mistake with joot

☆ nights typically consist of you and kakyoin cooking together while jotaro works on homework or shares his opinions on what you two made the night before

☆ jotaro funds the grocery shopping since he doesn't actually help cook and doesn't want to feel like a leech. learned to not go with you two after seeing kakyoin push you in the cart

☆ getting into the bathroom is such a battle. jotaro likes to take baths to decompress and cannot be rushed (damn you for getting him starfish shaped bath bombs for his birthday) and kakyoin spends so long styling his hair

☆ if you didn't already have tough skin about your style prepare to develop it. they don't mean to be rude but kakyoin always wonders if you'll be too hot/cold in an outfit while jotaro is very much thinking his own version of "wear what you want I can fight" but you wish he'd acknowledge you can handle yourself

☆ when your schedules allow they walk with you to and from classes. because they enjoy your company, because they worry about your safety, because the long walk alone can be kinda draining too. they always try to walk with you home no matter your gender - even if they have to go out of their way to

☆ kakyoin embraces your habits a lot easier than jotaro. it's nice to have someone who gets you almost immediately, and it's nice to feel additionally appreciated when jotaro comes around

☆ they can both be annoying sometimes. like you're normally not the problem. kakyoin sleeps with his body everywhere (so when you do movie nights his ass needs to be in bed once he's tired) and jotaro hates doing the dishes so guess who normally has to do them cause kak is already out?

☆ both individuals are very bright so if you ever struggle you have one guy who's down to help no matter what and another who will groan and act like you're being needy before insisting you get a lesson from him. kakyoin also gives good advice in general and jotaro listens like no other

☆ the longer you all live together the more common doing group activities naturally becomes. kakyoin and jotaro both need quite a bit of alone time, but they also do feel rejuvenated after talking to you. movie nights and game nights become a fairly common occurrence when you guys aren't swamped with homework. overall living with them is pretty fun!

[quill-pen]

Bless This Woman

So, @rom-e-o presented me, out of the blue and in the middle of the night, with this gorgeous piece of fan art😍😍😍:

And it inspired a wholesome and sweet little ficlet, surprise, surprise.

Btw: Yes, my Ebenezer grows his hair out long, if this is the first encounter with my work you've had. Also, in future, I plan to try and publish my Scrooge story, and Romey and I are kind of in cahoots with that; so we are trying out some slightly different character designs for Scrooge. That Netflix look is so specific, that I don't want to risk getting sued. This hairstyle is one we've decided on for him, as opposed to his lovely swoop.

It was a request Ebenezer had never been asked before; one he never thought to encounter. He wasn't what anyone would particularly call a "praying man", even now after he'd turned his life around for the good. But he'd be damned if he wouldn't become one: Because how could he possibly deny a woman as sweet and lovely as his Bess when she shyly asked him if he would pray over her that night before bed?

"Pray over you?" Ebenezer asked. Not in a condescending way, but certainly in a slightly confused way. He'd never heard that phrase for it before. Praying for someone, yes, but over someone? That was new to him.

Bess stood before him in her gauzy summer nightgown, the neckline slipped tantalizingly down to expose one speckled shoulder. She looked a little embarrassed, a slightly rosy tint in her cheeks making her freckles pop sharply--something her husband adored. "I-I know it sounds silly," she commented with a small, beseeching smile. She ducked her head and lowered her gaze in instinctive supplication, as her hands fiddling together at her waist. "But it's... it's something George used to do with Mama every night when he was home and... well... it's kind of something I've always hoped the man I love would do for me, too."

She looked back up at him, trying to judge his reaction to it. "Y-You don't have to if you don't want to," she assured him in a bit of a rush. "I just thought I'd ask. Doesn't hurt to ask, right?" She bit her bottom lip, hoping she hadn't just made herself look foolish in her husband's eyes.

She hadn't. And as far as Ebenezer was concerned, she never could.

Smiling softly at the woman, the Englishman stood from his seat beside the small fire, closing and placing his journal upon the mantelshelf as he did. Then he approached his wife, opening his arms to her. "It doesn't sound silly," he murmured softly, taking her into his embrace. He snuggled the American close, nuzzling into her thick, inky curls and kissing her crown. A satisfied purr nearly rumbled from his chest as Bess folded him into her arms and snuffled into the soft fabric of his nightshirt over his heart. "And, no, it never hurts to ask. I'd be happy to pray over you."

Bess looked up at him, eyes sparkling with happiness? "You would?" she asked, sounding rather relieved. "Truly?"

Her husband nodded as he kissed her hairline. "Of course." He touched his brow to hers and gave her a sheepish smile. "You might have to tell me how," he muttered. "I've never prayed over someone. Come to think, I can't recall when I last prayed for someone either. Not really. Not like you would in church."

Bess giggled as she nudged her nose along his. "This isn't exactly like that," she assured him. "It's not a big production full of show-boating piety the Bishop likes to make. This is more genuine and from the heart."

"I'm not even sure I know how to pray, to tell you the truth."

"George always told me that prayer is just talking to God. And the best way to talk to God is to talk to him as though He were a good friend."

He knew that was true. Still, Ebenezer felt a little out of his depth as he watched his beloved sink to her knees on the plush rug beneath their bed. Regardless, he knelt beside her. "H-How did George used to do this?"

Snorting, Bess gently pulled out of Ebenezer's embrace. She grabbed his hand and pulled him after her as she moved towards their marital bed. "Don't worry, I won't judge," she stated with a smirk and wink over her shoulder.

"I only caught him doing it a few times," Bess answered as she scooted into the man's side, ever desiring to be close as possible. She manages to twine her legs and feet with his. "But the few times I did, he always had his hands on Mama. On her shoulders, around her waist, hugging her--he was always touching her."

"Well, I certainly like the sound of that," Ebenezer remarked. Without a moment's hesitation, he stretched an arm across his wife's shoulders and pulled her close again. He pressed his lips to her brow. "Mmm, I love you," he murmured, the sentiment leaving him automatically.

Bess hummed as she leaned into his touch. "That love you feel--let that be what guides what you say," she quietly instructed.

In many ways, that didn't give Ebenezer a clue as to what to do at all. Yet in many others, it did.

The couple knelt there at their bedside in silence for a moment, the man absently stroking the woman's arms as she pressed into him. His mind, for a moment, felt like a wheel stuck in muddy clay. What should he say? How should he begin? He supposed the best way was just to start.

"Dear Lord, first and foremost, I would like to thank You for the wonderful woman beside me. I'm... not always certain what my convictions are in terms of faith and religion; one thing I do believe with certainty, however, is that You have placed my wonderful Bess beside me."

Bess dared to open her eyes and lift her gaze just enough to see her husband's down-turned face just above hers. She smiled in adoration at the man, marking how his long eyelashes brushed his cheekbones. Somehow, she managed to press a little closer to the man, nudging her head under his chin.

Ebenezer tightened his grip on her. "I come to You now, to pray for my Bess, Lord," he continued on, voice quiet but steady. He still didn't really know what he was doing, but that didn't seem to matter: He was focusing on his adoration for his wife, letting that guide him through what he wanted to say, and it was doing the trick. He was feeling much more confident in every passing moment. And, amazingly enough, even more in love with his mate.

"I pray that You watch over my beloved Bess, Lord. That you take her into Your arms and keep her safe throughout her life. I pray, if she can't find comfort and happiness in this world, that she is able to find it in You. I place her ultimate well-being in You, Lord, for I know there are things that I, as a mere man, cannot do to protect and comfort her."

Bess pressed her face into the open neck of Ebenezer's nightshirt and nuzzled at the hairy swathe of chest bared to her. On instinct she fluttered kisses to over sternum. "Oh, Darling...."

A slight heat bloomed across Ebenezer's face, but he didn't falter. "I ask You to continue to bless this woman with goodness you have granted to be in her life, Lord. And should it ever come to an end, I repay You grant her the strength to overcome challenges, just as You have granted her before. I ask You to continue healing and soothing the wounds and scars of Bess' past, and that You might bring her to realize that she is so much more than them--that they do not define her. I pray that she continues to discover herself in You, oh, Lord, and that she might draw great satisfaction and peace from that.

A lump suddenly formed in the man's throat and tears bit at his closed eyes. "I also pray that-" he cleared his throat as it croaked, "-that You might allow my lovely Bess to remain in my life, Lord. To remain by my side and help me continue to bear the burden of life. She is my greatest strength, my greatest happiness, my Brightness. And I ask with all my heart and soul that she might remain so, Lord. I promise to strive each day to be a better man, to be stronger and more virtuous, and to make this world a better, kinder place if You might allow Bess to remain in my life. I promise to cherish her with my entire being and do my best to care for her and make her happy all the days of my life."

Bess felt something warm and wet drip onto her cheek. Looking up again, she saw a single trickle of tears dripping down Ebenezer's cheek. Moved to wet eyes herself at the sight (her kind, sweet, tenderhearted man), the Yank reached up and gently dried them away. Then she kissed his stubbly chin. "Amen," she whispered. "That was beautiful. Thank you, my dearest moonlight."

Ebenezer gazed down at her with a trembling chuckle. "Not as beautiful at George's though, yes?" he rasped, looking a little shy.

Bess shook her head with a doting smile. "Better," she answered honestly. "Because it's my prayer. And it came from you and your heart. And I'll cherish it and carry it with me, until the day I die."

Genuine relief flooded through the gentleman. Bowing his head, he lifted a hand to his love's face and held her tenderly as he pulled her into a lingering kiss, one she eagerly returned.

"I'll do this again every night if you'll, please, just stay with me forever, Bess," Ebenezer whispered against her lips. His eyes were beseeching as he gazed deeply into hers. "Please."

Bess couldn't help the little smile that curled her lips, nor the little chuckle that left her in response to that promise. "Well, then, you're about to become a praying man, Ebenezer Charles. Because, while I can't speak for our Heavenly Father, I have no intentions of leaving your side. Not ever. Now, please, kiss me again."

And her husband, ever faithful and giving, did just that.

[whatwooshkai]

"Red, you gotta tighten your grip, you're goin’ to lose it like that!" High Tide orders, smacking Heatwave on the back of the helm. With one hand he grabs the rod Heatwave's holding, forcing it into a different position.

Heatwave grumbles something unintelligible and High Tide hums, moving on to inspect whatever Chase and Boulder are doing.

High Tide's correction actually makes holding the rod more comfortable, but it's not like Heatwave's about to admit that, especially not to him. High Tide's ego cannot get any bigger.

"Green!" High Tide shouts, and starts adjusting the rod in Boulder's hands, who's shooting pleading glances at Heatwave.

"I think I preferred the derogatory nicknames to this," Blades mutters from beside him, flicking Heatwave with one of his rotors.

"WHAT WAS THAT, CREAMSICLE?!" High Tide shouts and Blades flinches, shoulders shooting up to his audials.

"Nothing!" he shouts back, voice box crackling with nervous static. Confident High Tide's not looking at him anymore, Blades turns to Heatwave and flicks him with his rotor again.

"I think I got something!" Boulder suddenly shouts, backpedaling as they yank on the rod, which is bending probably more than it can handle.

"'Atta bot!" High Tide shouts, running up beside Chase to help Boulder pull on the rod. "That's gonna be a big one!"

Heatwave doesn't move, his tanks suddenly cramping. Blades grabs onto him, dropping his rod, which High Tide notices, of course.

"ORANGE!" he shouts, suddenly letting go of Boulder. "Grab that damn rod! Don't be losin' my equipment now-!"

"Sorry!" Blades shouts, scrambling for the rod, and Chase lets go of Boulder to turn on High Tide, presumably to either chastise him or wait for orders, depends on how the mech feels, usually.

There's a sudden lurch of the boat and Boulder's rod bends faster than any of them can react, and soon there's no more Boulder, but rather a green blur that speeds off the side of the boat and into the water.

Heatwave doesn't even think about it. He dives into the water.

-----------------------------------

"Are both of you nuts?!" High Tide snarls, shouting over their fans at full blast. He piles more towels on their shoulders, then quickly checks the temperature of the hot energon he gave them.

"Primus almightly," High Tide mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and his thumb. "We're lucky none of y'all have sea-based alt modes, y'all sink like rocks."

Heatwave's tanks give a sudden lurch at that and he flinches, leading to all three of his rescue bots leaning closer.

He doesn't know what happened. He's done water rescues before, hell, he's saved Boulder from the water before.

But he'd jumped in and his vision had gone black. And for a moment, he was someone else. And then he was himself, again, but different, heavier, that damn feeling of phantom kibble-

It makes him wonder about the actual nature of his power. Can he see the future? Into other universes?

Nothing makes sense.

"I think that's enough for today," High Tide mumbles, rubbing both Boulder and Heatwave's helms. "I'd better take y'all home before Prime gets on my aft again."

Heatwave sighs heavily, leaning against Boulder again. There's a fleeting thought in his processor, that maybe he should avoid water for the foreseeable future.

But that's ridiculous. What kind of firetruck doesn't like water?

[stabbyfoxandrew]

Hey happy wip wednesday💕 I hope you don’t get too many this week that it overwhelms you! Could I please have some mer au?

WIP Wednesday (9/11) | Mer Roadtrip AU (Part 65)

Andrew was prepared to growl over Abram's notepad, but the simple use of his name was enough to get him to let go. Abram's pout has no effect on Andrew at all. He merely sticks his tongue out and looks down at the notepad. Abram's written out two columns at the top of the page. Andrew skims them and has to suppress a frustrated sigh when he notices 'shoes' on the wants side. Abram's shoes are falling apart as they speak and they've actually got blood on them, Andrew thinks. This idiot.

Andrew drops his gaze to the bottom of the page where there's a third section, completely separate from the other two. For Andrew, it says. Andrew looks from the list in his hands to the boy who wrote it and some sort of emotion tries to fight its way through his chest. He hasn't had anyone who cared For Andrew since February when everything fell apart. Andrew grits his teeth against the memory of his brother frantically clawing and slashing at the fishing net, trying to get him free.

Aaron and Nicky swam alongside the boat, taking turns at helping Andrew saw at the ropes with their claws. (There wasn't enough room for both of them to hold on to the net and cut at the same spot.) While it was Aaron's turn, Nicky suddenly fell behind. Andrew heard panicked clicking and smelt the sharp tang of blood, told Aaron to help Nicky. Aaron told him to keep trying and disappeared.

They never caught back up with the boat. And Andrew wasn't able to free himself before the net was hauled up onto the deck...

"Andrew," Abram says, startling Andrew to the present. "You okay?"

"Yes." Andrew swallows and takes the pen from Abram, crossing off the things they've got. Then he adds 'soap that doesn't smell like shit' and 'duffel bag' to his column. And 'cell phones' to the Needs section. Then he drops the notebook in front of Abram, who scans the new additions with wide eyes.

"No. I don't want a cell phone."

"Tough luck." Andrew says, crossing his arms. "They're on the needs side, so we have to get them."

"Andrew, they're too easy to trace! It's risky and stupid—"

"I will not get separated from my pod again," Andrew grits out, silencing him. Abram's eyes are wide for a long moment, but Andrew won't back down. Not on this. He'd kill to know where Aaron and Nicky ended up. If they're... Andrew shakes his head. He won't even entertain the thought that they're dead. He won't. He'll be damned if he loses this moron, because like it or not Abram's all he's got now.

"Okay. Okay, we'll get cell phones," Abram says.

"There's gotta a Verizon somewhere in this place," Andrew says, then he stands up. "Let's go."

[apomaro-mellow]

Got inspired by this

Steve regretted laughing. Which is something he never thought he'd feel. But as he cackled at something Robin said, he saw the look on Dustin's face and wished he could take the laugh back. Robin went to go and show a customer something and Dustin slid over to him.

"Remind me again how she isn't 'the one'?"

"She's a one. One of a kind. The kind I don't wanna lose by asking her out."

"Whatever happened to the Harrington charm?", Dustin asked.

"Doesn't work on girls like Robin." Steve ignored him by trying to escape to the backroom. Of course Dustin followed, employees only be damned.

"I don't even think you've tried. Which confuses me. But what's got me even more confused is how you've seemed to stop trying altogether."

"Why are you so invested in my love life, huh?"

"Ew, gross", Dustin winced. "I'm not invested. I'm just tired of hearing you whine about never finding love-"

"I don't whine!"

"SO just ask her out already. Even if she says no, you can still be friends. Like Jonathan and Nancy."

Steve rolled his eyes. Then saw a lightbulb go off in Dustin's head.

"Well since Nancy's single again-"

"I'm gay!"

For the first time ever Dustin shut his trap. Steve thought he should get a trophy for this. Except he realized what he just said. Dustin, with all the grace of someone who had just been blindsided, hugged Steve tight.

"I'm...I'm here for you, man."

It was so sweet that it made Steve feel like shit. But only a little. Because now Dustin couldn't keep trying to matchmake him and Robin. Or Nancy.

Turns out the love boat only stopped for a couple days.

Steve was hanging out in his room when he heard footsteps approach. Dustin came in without a single knock.

"Um, hello? How did you get in?"

"Some lady let me in."

Steve raised a brow. "You mean my mom?"

Dustin shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. Anyway, what about Gary?"

"....Who? For what?"

"Gary? He works at the art supply store. He's gay, why not him?"

Steve shot up and shut his door like a zombie was coming. "What the fuck are you talking about Henderson?!", he hissed quietly.

"Gay people deserve love too, Steve. So how about it?"

Steve rubbed his face. Forget about how Dustin knew about some random dude's sexuality, apparently he wasn't one to be deterred.

"You can't just set me up with any guy. Or any gay guy."

"You've slept around with just any girl? Why are guys different? Seems pretty discriminatory Steve."

He wanted to strangle this kid. More than that though, he wanted to go back and slap his past self. He could have said anything. Said he was into old ladies-no, then Dustin would be sending him on blind dates to the senior center.

It felt like the only thing to get Dustin off his case would be if he was in a serious relationship with someone.

Then a second person came into his room without knocking and Steve wondered if he should be walking around naked more.

It was Jonathan.

And Steve got another bright idea.

"I can't just go out with anyone. Because I'm already dating Jonathan."

"What?!", two voices shouted out and Dustin gave Jon a look.

"Why do you sound surprised?"

Jonathan looked to Steve for help and Steve tried to convey the best he could with his eyes.

"I...we never....put a label on it....?"

Steve could kiss him if he was at all interested in men. To sell it a little better, he put an arm around his shoulders. Dustin was left speechless for the second time in a week and Steve was definitely putting it in his journal for posterity.

This time he gave them both pats on the back and walked out silently.

"Don't tell anyone!", Steve shouted behind him, then closed his bedroom door.

"Hey, um, the hell?", Jonathan asked.

"Thank you for being so cool with that."

"I'm learning to be more chill. But still, explain?"

Steve told him the whole story as they sat on his bed and through it all, Jonathan looked nothing but understanding.

"So, how long do we need to pretend to be boyfriends?"

"Who says we need to pretend?", Steve raised a brow.

"You just told Dustin."

"It's a secret we're keeping", Steve said, getting up to pace about his room. "Which means we just act normal. Later we can tell Dustin we broke up."

"How much later?"

Steve pondered. "....Once I'm engaged?"

"Steve!"

"Jonathan, please?"

He looked conflicted. This just seemed like a lot of stupid work just to convince Dustin. "You get 2 months? Got it? Put it on your calendar."

"Thank you! I'll do it right now!" Steve grabbed a pen and went over to the calendar that hung on the wall. He went to February 3rd and put a broken heart on the date.

"Subtle."

"No one else looks at this thing. Alright. If our break up is bad enough maybe Dustin will stop butting his head in."

"What if the others find out?", Jonathan asked.

"No one else is gonna know."

----------------------------------

Lucas had been noticing that Dustin had that weird grin on his face for the past week. The 'I know something you don't know' grin. While sitting in Steve's living room, shoulder to shoulder with Max, who he nudged.

"You notice anything off with Dustin?"

"You mean more than the usual offness? Yes, actually."

"What do you think it is?", Lucas asked.

Will came to sit on Lucas' other side. "My guess is he has a secret. But what, I don't know."

"So it's pretty obvious, right?", Lucas said.

"No, I said as much to Mike and he said I was being crazy and that Dustin wouldn't keep anymore secrets after Dart."

Their eyes went over to Dustin, who was grinning at the group who was deciding on the movie they were gonna watch. Steve and Eddie were in a heated conversation while Jonathan was trying to be a mediator.

Steve was flapping around a vhs so hard it threatened to sail across the room and Jonathan grabbed his wrist to still it, scared for the innocent movie.

"Get a room, you lovebirds", Dustin called out.

All eyes turned towards him.

Part 2

[rumbelleshowdown]

-

Author: pomegranate seed

Group: D

Prompts: True Love’s Kiss. Skinny-dipping, secret relationship. Voyage.

-

Two Tickets to Paradise

“Actually, I've got something that might interest you,” detective Weaver said. 

Lacey stopped sipping her beer, her eyes glowing with interest as Bob Seger droned from the tinny speakers overhead. Setting the bottle down on the sticky bar table, she sucked her teeth. “Like what?”

He wet his lips as he reached into his jacket for the envelope, relishing the curiosity written all over her face. He waited until she was practically squirming before setting it down in front of her. “Like this.”

Lacey furrowed her brows and studied the envelope. Her mouth twisted into a smile she was trying and failing to suppress before a loud about escaped her. “...Bon voyage?” She read aloud. “What the hell is this?”

Detective Weaver sighed, his shoulders slumping in a crestfallen slouch. “Tickets for a cruise,” he muttered, slapping his hand over them so he could drag them back across the table and away from her scrutiny. 

“No, hang on!” She laughed, swatting his hand away. “I'm still looking!”

Weaver grumbled and let her take them back. Lowering  his head in the dimly lit venue, he could feel his cheeks warm with embarrassment. What the hell had he been thinking? Asking Lacey French to go on a cruise with him?

“Where did you even get these?” She asked, still giggling. “I didn't realize you knew how to book shit like this. Did your grandson have to help you out?”

Weaver rolled his eyes. In truth he was beginning to get more than a little self-conscious about his age–but she didn't need to know that. After all, he hadn't caught Lacey French's eye by being meek and self-conscious. He'd done it by playing the bad cop who didn't give a damn if she liked him or not–so long as he got the information he was looking for.

“They were a gift from the precinct,” he muttered. “For thirty years on the job.”

Lacey snorted. “ Dude, you really need to fucking retire.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, putting on his best scowl. Sure, he could retire. Gods knew he should. But for what? His blasted job was all he had.

Well–his blasted job, and these clandestine nights spent with his former suspect-turned informant-turned… lover? Girlfriend? 

Gods, fifty-six-year-old men don't have ‘girlfriends’, Weaver scolded himself. And whatever the fuck this was, it was a violation of protocol. A conflict of interest. But the fact of the matter was that at the end of his shift, Lacey French was the only person he wanted to go to, to talk to, to be with.

“Are you interested or not?” he snipped. “Otherwise I'm giving them to Hen–”

“Of course I am!” She said, looking the tickets over again. “There’s free alcohol!”

Weaver shot her an admonishing look. He hated the water, hated boats and waves and salty air–but something about the idea of ten days alone with Lacey to do nothing but talk and drink and fuck in relative peace had called to him. 

Pathetic old bastard. Chasing a pair of nice legs in a short skirt.

He ought to be giving the tickets to Henry and that new wife of his–what was her name again? Jocelyn? Jessica? Julia?

Oh, who was he kidding? He and Lacey French deserved each other. They'd down their drinks, share a fumble in the bathroom or the back seat of his car, and then take things back to his miserable flat, where he'd wake up the next morning alone.

“Whale has an amazing video of Ruby doing drunken karaoke to Pat Benatar from the cruise they took last year,” Lacey snorted. “She was doing the little shoulder jig and everything.”

“Well,” Weaver said, smiling as he watched her sip her drink. “That could be you–” he winked, “showing a captive audience your best Joan Jett performance.”

Lacey glanced up at him with a sly grin. “Fuck off,” she said, reaching across the table to give his elbow a shove.

He pulled away before she could reach, and her crystal blue eyes sparked with mischief. Weaver could feel his smile widening, his chest swelling with warmth, and gods–he really did love her, didn't he? 

That was the crux of the thing. If he wanted to be with her–truly–he needed to leave his job. But it was a fool's wager to think that Lacey French–who made a joke out of everything–actually returned his feelings. Tilly would tell him to just talk to her about this. He knew that much. But he also knew that Lacey would laugh and make a comment about him going all soft on her before changing the subject.

She couldn't possibly be content to keep meeting in secret at odd hours in places like this though, could she? Gods knew, he wasn't.

He picked up his glass and took a long sip, as if it were large enough to hide himself behind.

“I'll tag along,” Lacey decided at last. “If–” she stuck a finger up, “You promise to sneak out to one of the pools at night and go skinny-dipping with me.”

Weaver almost choked on his whisky. “You want me to commit public indecency?”

Lacey took a swig of her beer before peering over the rim of the bottle at him. “You don't give a damn about decency and you know it,” she challenged.

“No one needs to see my bare arse, Lace,” he dismissed with a scoff. “There'll be enough people gagging already from seasickness.”

“Oh, come on!” She laughed. “It’s a great arse.”

He tried to ignore the flash of heat in his cheeks. This was, of course, what he liked about Lacey French. The way she wasn't afraid of him, the way she teased him, pushed him out of his comfort zone, broke up his otherwise miserable routine.

Surely that was worth pursuing, wasn't it? 

He didn't expect that they'd share true love’s kiss or anything on a god-forsaken boat in the middle of the Atlantic–but maybe the chance to be with her without all the usual distractions would make that question a little easier to answer. Maybe she'd give him some kind of sign that she felt about him the same way he felt about her.

Weaver knocked back the last of his drink and wet his lips. “You, Miss French… have a deal.”

-

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

another way to die-- meet you at the docks

(behold, these two.)

---------

"I am so sorry, Sunforged!" The Landsguard spellcaster gestured helplessly behind her. "There was an accident in the harbor this morning, and now we're backed up by several hours. We can try to expedite your request--"

"No no, don't!" Sebastian said quickly, holding up his hands. "Please. Don't. Things happen." He glanced around the Mamool Ja, taking in the snarled chaos that was Tulliyollal's docks. Tents were set up nearby, with Landsguard directing traffic as needed to individual setups. One was white with green and red ribbons--the healers--and quite a few people were being assisted inside.

"What happened, if you don't mind me asking?" The Boonewa woman followed the hyuran man's gaze.

"From what we know right now, it seems like a ship ran aground on the worst part of the reef." She said. Sebastian winced visibly, and the Mamool Ja woman nodded in agreement.

"It does not help that the sea is high and rough right now, which is hampering rescue efforts."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Sebastian offered. The Boonewa gave him a warm and toothy smile.

"You are generous, but no. Things are well in hand. Are you certain you do not want me to-?"

"It's a care package for my brother, the healer. Nothing that can't keep until things get organized again." The gunbreaker assured her. "Besides, I may not be able to even pick it up anyway. He may need to come to the docks to sign for it."

"Ah. Controlled substances then?" Seeing Sebastian nod, the Boonewa hummed thoughtfully. "On that, I am not too certain of. At least allow me to send you a message if matters here clear up enough that the customs agents can start processing goods again."

"Fair enough." Sebastian agreed. He accepted a wooden token from the mage.

"This will turn blue when they're back to work." The woman told him. "Keep checking every so often."

-------

"Your business here, outsider?"

"Work." Brucemont answered. The Xb'raal guardsman narrowed his eyes, surveying the elezen from head to foot.

"What kind of work?"

"A friend of mine told me about some Sharlayan scholars putting out a call for sell-swords to accompany them on survey trips." Brucemont answered. He'd swapped out his spear for a plainer but well-maintained weapon, and had replaced the upper half of his drachen mail with a reinforced leather coat. Combined with the battered satchel he was carrying, it gave off the air of 'itinerant adventurer'.

I keep forgetting, I need to thank Lady Fortemps for gifting me her holding spell. Riven had given him a bracelet charmed with her most powerful storage array, which permitted one to magically transport...well, damn near anything. It also allowed fast armor and clothing changes in and out of combat. The Landsguard grunted, looking back down at the papers.

"Ishgard." He rumbled, tapping one with a claw. "Aren't you going to melt out here? They say the place is naught but an ice cube." Brucemont snorted, putting his hands into his pockets.

"I've spent enough time outside home that I can easily adjust." He replied. "Though I admit, I've never been anywhere that's so colorful!" Around him and the immigration agent, the Tulliyollal docks were an explosion for the senses. Bastion had been excitedly chittering in the back of his mind at all the colors--and Brucemont indulged his other half, turning his head to take in the view.

<Is this place brighter than Thavnair?!>

Probably might be, or give them a run for the money. Brucemont thought. His gaze landed on the tents, and he frowned. The Landsguard turned his head, noticing where the elezen's gaze had went.

"Ah. That. Boat ran into the reef this morning." He said, going back to Brucemont's paperwork. "You were lucky, getting in when you did."

"I would have thought that the captains that sail here know how to avoid the shallows?"

"Think someone fell asleep at the wheel. Nothing to declare?"

"A bottle of Limsa Black." Brucemont replied. The Xb'raal snorted, producing an official looking document with the Tulliyollal emblem stamped near the bottom.

"A child's drink. I won't charge you for bringing that in." Carefully he filled out the blank spaces on the page. "Where is this Sharlayan expedition you're joining?"

"Ur...Ur...kopacha?" Brucemont stumbled over the word.

"Urqopacha." The Landsguard corrected him. Brucemont felt Bastion shift in his thoughts, tasting the word's sounds. "You're permitted entry there and to the city. If your people want to go anywhere else you'll have to reapply--but I imagine your handlers will take care of that." He handed Brucemont the paper, and the elezen accepted it.

"Thank you."

"Welcome to Tulliyollal. Next in line!"

<One wonders what drinks they have here if they consider Limsa Black to be child's play.> Bastion commented as his dragoon picked up his satchel and started to walk away from the processing point.

"Tequila for starters." Brucemont replied. "And I should probably plan to bring a bottle or two back for the others. Otherwise I'll never hear the end of it."

<Don't give it to Helgrim. He'll drink it all and try to fight everyone again. Including Aymeric.>

"Don't remind me." Brucemont sighed. Climbing up the steps that were the main entry and exit for the harbor, the dragoon, the elezen came to a stop. If the docks were a sensory explosion, what he was seeing before him was a riot. People were everywhere--merchants hawking their wares, guards on patrol duties, children laughing and and playing in the streets under watchful eyes. The air was filled with the smell of salt, of spices, of sweets, of something savory--too many scents for Brucemont and Bastion to distinguish.

<Don't even think about it.> Bastion suggested. <You'll be overwhelmed.>

"No argument there." Brucemont agreed. He'd had the brief thought of opening his senses to see if he could pick up on Reinhardt. Better to let Bastion be the one to handle the sensory overload and give him the needed information first. His stomach growled, reminding him he'd had naught but a bowl of grits on the boat that morning.

<Food is a good idea.> Bastion commented. <Food keeps you from falling flat on your face in front of strangers. Or the Azure Dragoon.>

"That was one time!" Brucemont snapped.

<Or the Lord High Commander.>

"Fury's tits, look! I'm going to find something to eat now!" And with that, Brucemont began to walk forward once more, looking around for a food vendor...

And he froze. Bastion flared in alarm--and then paused, realizing what his dragoon had just found. With a quiet hum he respectfully pulled away--leaving Brucemont to stand in the middle of the street, staring.

"I can stick around if you want me to, Mathye."

Sebastian was here.

"No, it seems like they have things under control. I asked."

Sebastian was here. In front of him.

"Right."

But he'd...changed. Or...had he? Brucemont blinked. He suddenly felt like he couldn't breathe, like a thousand butterflies had just exploded to life in his stomach, his brain trying to reconcile the last memory he had of the gunbreaker with...what was in front of him. Unaware he was being watched, Sebastian deactivated the pearl. As his head turned--his gaze caught Brucemont's own. The hyur froze, surprised.

"Brucemont?!" He exclaimed. Brucemont couldn't reply. He could only stare back, dumbfounded.

Sebastian was in front of him. Sebastian was safe. Sebastian was alive.

But he'd...when had he become...? The elezen swallowed. Now it wasn't the just the butterflies in his stomach, now there was a coil of heat too...

"Hi." He got out, his mouth suddenly dry. When had Sebastian become beautiful?! He'd always been lovely, but this... Brucemont swallowed again, trying to form words.

"I...Your--your last letter..."