#HOW DO YOU EVEN WEAVE. A BOAT

[sp0o0kylights]

Steve and Gareth as cousins warm up, part two! 

First part is HERE. 

Next part is HERE. 

Reminder: Someone on Twitter proposed Steve and Gareth as cousins whose family had a major falling out, and then someone else brought it up recently and long story short no idea who to credit the idea too bc you can’t search for SHIT on Twitter but it's theirs not mine.

Warnings: Steve and Robin Get (canon-S3) Drugged. 

"I'm just saying the other theater is cheaper." Eddie said around the straw jammed in his mouth. 

He carried the largest bucket of popcorn Starcourt’s movie theater offered, alongside the two boxes of candy he'd also demanded Gareth buy him. 

"Easier to sneak into, you mean." Gareth corrected, with his significantly smaller bag of popcorn. His, he planned to share with Jeff, Grant having snuck in his own food. 

Gareth himself would have snuck in the cheaper (and far larger) snacks, but Eddie had thrown a fit about going to the mall to see a new movie instead of Hawkin’s far older theater. 

Of course, the older theater also had several disadvantages, key of which was terrible seating, and so, Gareth had bribed him with whatever treats he wanted. 

His wallet took a hit but fuck it, at least they got to actually see the screen. 

Not that they even made it into the fucking theater, because someone chose that moment to crash into Eddie. 

Popcorn kernels and soda flew everywhere, with Eddie only avoiding it landing on him and Gareth both by years of dealing with this exact bullshit in school. Of course, the mall wasn’t school, and neither of them had their guard up. 

"What the hell man--" Eddie spat, immediately on the defense, as they both turned to see what jackass wanted to cause problems this time. 

Except Gareth had recognized the person who bumped him. 

"Steve?" Gareth asked, causing  his cousin to totter around and face him. He was in his Scoops Ahoy uniform, which remained to be absolutely ridiculous, but that hadn't been what had drawn Gareth's attention. 

No, that would be the absolute wrecked face staring at him with a doped up grin. 

All thoughts of the movie immediately faded away. 

"What happened to your face!?" Gareth demanded, immediately stepping up into his cousin's space, eyes darting over the damage. 

Recent black eye, split lip, blood splatter all down one side of his neck, nevermind his clothes… 

"Robs!" Steve called over his shoulder instead of answering, body moving as if he was walking on a wildly rocking boat and not solid ground. "Come 'ere!" 

He beamed, which had the horrific effect of resplitting his lips. "Meet Gareth, my baby cousin!" 

"I am two years younger than you." Gareth argued on automatic. He didn’t look to see how Eddie took this little piece of info--he’d figure out what he’d say later, when Steve wasn’t covered in blood. 

It did not stop Robin from reaching out to pinch his cheeks. 

She too, Gareth realized, was clearly high on something, both of them giggling and weaving on their feet. 

At least Robin didn’t appear to be hurt--or at least, not hurt as badly as Steve. 

"What the hell did you two take?" Gareth demanded, looking between them as he quickly put his popcorn back off to the side. 

"We didn't take anything, dad." Steve said bossily, rolling his eyes. He spoke in a voice so unlike himself that Gareth knew his own face was doing something crazy. 

Not that he could stop it because what the hell. 

"What my patriotic friend here means is that we don't know." Robin added, smacking a hand onto Steve’s shoulder. 

(The entire sentence was slurred and sounded like she'd shoved candy in her mouth before she started talking.) 

"You don't know?!” Gareth asked, taking in the way Steve flinched when Robin touched him. Added a mental note to check his cousin's shoulder too. “How do you not know?" 

Gareth wasn't panicking, he wasn't, except he absolutely fucking was. Steve's dad was going to kill him, disown him, and throw the body out of his house--in that exact order. 

Gareth’s parents wouldn’t take him in, not unless his mom felt she could use it to one up her sister in some way which meant that Gareth was going to have to sneak Steve in and out of the house like he was some--some puppy Gareth was trying to keep and--

"Did someone give you two something?" Eddie asked, interrupting Gareth’s spiraling. 

"Give is a very strong word." Steve said with a snicker. 

Robin nodded so much she looked like a bobble head. She leaned in, nearly falling into Gareth in the process. “In fact it’s not the word I’d use at all! I’d use…” She trailed off, screwing her eyes up in thought. 

“Made us?” Steve suggested as Gareth finally gave in to his instincts and reached out to steady his cousin. “Forced us?” 

“Socked it to us!” Robin added with a weird amount of glee, and the two of them once again collapsed into giggles.

Literally, forcing Gareth to try and steady them both. 

Which meant Eddie was right--they’d been drugged. It made perfect sense-- Steve wasn’t the kind to experiment with drugs beyond weed. Had in fact, given a very long lecture about how he’d make Gareth go on runs with him if he ever found out Eddie had given him anything stronger than weed. 

There was no way he’d change now, and especially not around a jobsite. Particularly one as busy as the mall. 

"You can't tell anybody." Robin continued, eyes so wide they were more white than pupils. "But we got truth serumed!" 

As if that made any fucking sense. 

Gareth turned a half frantic, half disbelieving look to Eddie--whose own face scared him almost as badly as Steve's did. 

He was hiding it, and doing a good job of doing so, but Eddie was the one person Gareth knew better than Steve. 

Right now? Eddie Munson was furious. 

Not mad, or upset, or even as pissed as he had been the time Tommy Hagan had thrown his drug box in the river. 

He was enraged. 

"Hey." He said, and the only thing more shocking than realizing Eddie was this mad was hearing him talk in a calming, almost playful voice. "Sounds like you two sailors had a pretty rough time. Why don't we go to the bathroom and get you both cleaned up? I bet you'll feel a little better." 

It was clearly the right move, because both of them looked downright delighted. 

"He thinks we're sailors!" Steve said, cupping a hand around his mouth and leaning to talk in Robin’s ear as if he was whispering. (He wasn’t.) 

Robin’s grin grew impossibly wider, before Eddie stepped forward to help Gareth half guide half herd the two into the nearest bathroom. 

"I know you." Robin said, squinting dramatically as Eddie opened the door with his regular flair, bellowing for anyone in the place to get out. 

It was Steve's turn to nod enthusiastically. "That's Eddie, Robbie." He said.

"I'm honored King Steve knows such a humble peasant's name." Eddie bowed as Gareth finally got both Steve and Robin into the bathroom, trying to get them to sit on the floor before they fell on their asses. 

Which just made a hurt expression appear on Steve's face. "’Course I do. You have really pretty hair." 

It had the effect of making Eddie look like he’d been punched and Gareth had to quickly turn his bark of laughter into a cough. 

"I bet it's soft.” Steve continued, as he pressed his back against the tiled wall and slowly slid down to the floor. “Gare, is it soft?" 

"It's very soft." Gareth agreed, trying to wet a paper towel with shaking hands. Finally he gave up entirely, ripping the plaid sweater he had tied around his waist and shoving one of the sleeves into the sink. 

“Oh my god.” Robin said abruptly, sitting up from her own slouched spot on the floor as if she’d suddenly been stricken sober. “It’s him! He’s your type!” 

“What’s my type?” Steve turned to her, as Eddie leaned his back against the door to the bathroom, blocking anyone else from entering. 

“It’s like--like Nancy! But boy Nancy.” Robin seemed to think this made a ton of sense, and given Steve’s immediate groan maybe it did to him, but Gareth was too freaked out to even begin to process what the hell they were on about.

Probably nothing, given they’d been drugged. 

Eddie seemed to pick up on his general anxiety and poor attempts at shoving down his own freakout, because he gently called out Gareth’s name. 

“I think it’s wet enough.” He added with a raised eyebrow. His eyes drifted purposefully to the sink and with a curse, Gareth snapped shut the water off. 

His hands were still shaking. 

“Give it to me.” Eddie said gently, moving to take the shirt from Gareth’s hands. “Here, swap me Gare, and guard the door.” 

Gareth did, as Eddie knelt down to take Steve’s chin in one hand, and carefully began dapping his wounded face with the wet sleeve. 

“May I ask what battles you two sailors have been involved in?” He said, continuing to sound like playful, fun Eddie and not like he was about to murder half the town (which, Gareth could tell by body language alone, is what Eddie actually felt like) “Did you happen to catch a glimpse of the villains who did this?"

“Robin melted into Steve, rubbing her face in his shoulder. “You wouldn’t believe us.” 

Eddie smiled his most charming smile, a full blown rouge grin he played up as he continued to wipe and dab at Steve’s wounds. “You’d be surprised at what I believe in, my fair lady.” 

Steve tried to talk, but ended up hissing as he ran into Eddie’s fingers. 

“Russians.” He managed to get out, when Eddie quickly took the sleeve away so he could talk. “We got kidnapped by fucking Russians. Also we kinda saw some shit and they’re after us. Possibly you now if they saw you with us.” 

There was the briefest of pause as Steve and Robin stared at Eddie, as Eddie stared back. 

Then Steve and Robin as one started howling with laughter, so hard that Robin’s head ended up in Steve’s lap with Steve’s own head resting on hers. 

Eddie turned to give Gareth a pinched look. “Russians.” He said, still calm despite it all. “Right.” 

Which had to be the fucking drugs speaking. 

Gareth just took a deep breath as Eddie managed to gently prod Steve back into putting his chin in his hand, shaking his head ever so slightly. 

He didn’t know who he was going to actually have to murder, but at least Eddie looked to be on board with acting as his backup. 

#tw drugs #tw canon bodily injury #Steve Harrington #Robin Buckley #eddie munson #Gareth Emerson #Gareth and Steve as cousins #secret cousins #whose family had a falling out #Eddie is fuckin PISSED #he may be a drug dealer but he is a drug dealer with MORALS #how dare someone drug people in his town! #mind hes thinking Steve somehow took a hit for Robin and then they still got Robin anyways but ya know #Gareth is having a full bore anxiety meltdown #He just wants his older cousin to be okay : ( \

[itsjusthockey]

Hey hun!! Could u write about something about Jack getting injured pretty bad with him being his clumsy self and catching his edge or something. Reader feels obligated to pamper him every second of everyday and is just so gentle with him it gets to the point where Jack is like “babe just because I hurt my leg doesn’t mean we can’t make out or do it” cause reader is like so scared of hurting him but Jack is just super needy

Smooth - Jack Hughes

Summer Series Open Now

This was a request, keep sending them I love them (if I get more than five new request, I drop a new fic tomorrow)

I changed a few little things but I love how this turned out

Much longer than expected, whoops

w.c 1,516 (credit to gif maker) (slight suggestive content)

You’re honestly surprised Jack has lived to see the grand age of 22. He may think he’s agile, smooth even, but you know better. In fact, you’d dare even to say that your boyfriend is one of the clumsiest people you know. It’s honestly a miracle he hasn’t broken anything, especially since this summer; he’s really been pushing his limits.

“Babe, Babe! Look.”

You turn your head up from the book you are currently devouring to stare at your boyfriend. You watch as he does a cute little flip on the wave and throws you a couple of peace signs. You smile, give him a thumbs up, and not a second later, he dives off the board and into the lake.

He quickly gets into the boat, grabs a towel, and shakes out his hair. As soon as he’s only a little wet, he walks toward you, sitting right next to you and placing your legs on top of his.

“That must be a damn good book. Usually, you can’t take your eyes off me.”

You roll your eyes at him, gently placing the book down. “Well, if you must know, it is very interesting. Lots of murder, lots of mayhem.”

As soon as the sentence leaves your lips, he snatches the book from your lap, reading the back insert. After a couple of seconds, he hums.

“Looks kinda good.”

You smile and snatch it back. “I’ll add it to your list.”

Jack nods, smiling again at you, and leans over to kiss your forehead. When he pulls back, he nods toward Luke, who is currently surfing at the back of the boat.

“I think I’m gonna go again; try that thing Luke saw on TikTok.”

Once he says that, you narrow your eyes at him.

“The last time you tried something like that, both of you almost drowned.”

This time Jack rolls his eyes, shaking his head wildly.

“Please (Y/N), your lack of faith is insulting. We’re experts.”

You shrug your shoulders at your boyfriend; you honestly don’t care; you know that sometimes their little tricks can become problems.

Mere minutes later, the two of them are hooked up and gliding effortlessly on the water. Quinn is driving the boat, and you’re watching, realizing this may be something you want to see. You’re also sitting beside Trevor, who’s filming the entire thing.

It’s starting great; they do a few little tricks while you and Trev cheer them on. You also catch when Jack does another turn a throws a wink your way, dragging his hand through his hair which he knows you love.

You’re honestly pretty impressed at the pair, not that you’d ever let them know that, but they look good. Everything seems to be going great until it’s not.

You’re all still cheering them on when they reach their final move. One second they’re both good, then in a blink, they both go down, but not before you hear a slight yelp from your boyfriend as he hits the water.

As soon as they fall, Trevor’s eyes dart to you, both of you sharing the “oh fuck” look. Quinn notices this, too, and weaves the boat around quickly.

When you finally get to the pair, they both look a little nervous. Trevor moves first, quickly moving to put down the ladder. Seconds later, he’s helping pull Jack up, Luke also helping to push him into the boat. You can’t help but wince yourself as you watch your boyfriend's nose scrunch up in pain.

As soon as he gets into the boat, he swings his leg up, and everyone can see the blood dripping down and a giant purple bruise forming.

Without saying a word, you grab the first aid kit from the front of the boat and swing into action. You sit across from your boyfriend, wordlessly opening a few supplies. You’re not mad, of course; you’re just worried. Injuries aren’t ideal for hockey players, even if they're small.

“Oh, son of a bitch,” Jack hisses as you wipe some alcohol pads over the rather large cut.

You glance up at him to see some tears welling up in his eyes, and as soon as you meet his eyes, he rips them away. You know he’s mad at himself and, obviously, in quite a bit of pain.

“Is he gonna make it?” Luke asks, watching behind you.

“Don’t know, might have to cut it off.”

You look toward Jack as you make the joke, trying to ease the slight tension, but he doesn’t seem very impressed.

Ten minutes later, you’re docked, and Trevor and Luke are tasked with getting Jack to the house. You stay behind, helping Quinn get the boat settled and doing the glamorous job of wiping your boyfriend's blood off the boat floor.

“He’s lucky that wasn’t worse.” Quinn breaks the silence. “I should’ve backed you up more.”

You shake your head, throwing away the bloody paper towels. “They were gonna do it anyway. He’ll be fine.

You both finish up and go to the house, seeing Luke and Trevor in the kitchen, but no sign of Jack.

“He’s upstairs,” Luke says, gesturing toward the stairs.

You walk by and ruffle his hair slightly, to which he wacks your hand gently away, throwing you an uneasy smile.

You head up the stairs to the bedroom, and when you enter, you see your boyfriend lying on the bed, his foot propped up with some ice on it. As soon as you enter, his eyes follow your figure as you move toward the dresser, grabbing some clothes to change into.

Before you go to the bathroom, you stop.

“Do you wanna shower all the lake and sunscreen off you?”

Jack whips his head toward you, and after a bit of silence, he nods. You move to help him, getting him into the bathroom and helping him peel off his shorts.

Soon you’re both in the shower, and you’re making sure he keeps his weight on the good leg. In the bathroom's light, the bruise and the cut look terrible, and your heart breaks everything he winces.

“I’m sorry.” He blurts out after minutes of silence.

You give him a confused look. “Why? It’s not like you planned on getting hurt, J.”

You quickly swipe some hair from his face, forcing him to look at you.

“I know. I just should’ve listened. And also, I was being a dick, which you don’t deserve, but I know if I talked to you, I’d start crying.”

His admission makes you even sadder, and you quickly pull your boyfriend down to meet you. Placing a gentle kiss on his lips.

“It’s okay, J.”

You finish the shower, and for the rest of the night, you dote on your boyfriend. You make sure he’s comfy, get you both snacks and turn on his favorite movie. Minutes tick by, and you’re comfortably tucked into his side when you notice he isn’t watching the movie.

“You okay? Tired?”

He shakes his head, and m he pulls you into him, connecting your lips. You smile into the kiss and then pull back away from him. This causes him to pout, and he leans back in, pulling you into him, but you resist.

"Hey now, let's not add more injuries to the list, shall we?" You give him a sweet smile and another quick peck, "How about you settle for snuggling? We don’t need any more dangerous stunts, and we can save that for when you're back to your agile, smooth self.”

Your teasing causes Jack to pout further and rolls his eyes, ducking down the meet your lips again. You slightly let him win, letting him deepen the kiss a bit before you pull back once again. As soon as you do, he leans down to whisper in your ear.

“I appreciate the concern, but I still have two legs, babe.”

He raises his eyebrow at his suggestive comment, and you roll your eyes back as far as they can go.

“Gross.”

He snickers, pulling you back in and moving his lips down your neck, stopping at the place you go crazy for. You can’t help but squirm as his lips send tingles down your spine.

“Jack, you're impossible," you laugh, trying to maintain some composure while he continues his teasing assault.

He lifts his head, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, if I can't be agile on the water, at least I can be smooth here," he winks, earning himself another eye roll from you.

“Smooth, huh?" you quip, a smirk forming on your lips. "I'll believe that when you can walk without limping."

He smiles another big smile, and his eyes grow soft.

“Please, I’m 100% sure you will heal me, and I promise I’ll be careful.”

You stare deep into his eyes, and you feel yourself breaking.

“Fine, but I’ll do most of the work.”

Jack's eyes darken as the words leave your lips, and at record speed, he pulls at your top.

“If that’s the case, I think I want to stay injured forever.”

#hockey #hockey boys #hockey imagine #hockey x reader #imagine #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #hockey fic #nhl hockey #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #quinn hughes #luke hughes #trevor zegras #summerlakehouseseries

[sirenologyyy]

RIGHT SIDE OF MY NECK!

neteyam x fem!metkayina reader

✧ summary : a certain sully boy can't admit he's smitten by one of the daughters of the olo'eyktan, but why would he? he's calculated and discerning and she's everything he wished he was.

✧ warnings : swearing (that's pretty much it LMAO)

✧ author's note : neteyam's 15, reader is older than tsireya by a year or so, some much needed lo'ak and neteyam brotherly bonding (after the trauma inducing hellscape that was atwow), lo'ak talking like a regular teenage boy, and in honor of it being December again, may i present to you, a neteyam fic that has been rotting in my drafts since April 🤩

A gravelly groan escapes your lips as your hands managed to shield your face, almost to hide yourself from the undisputable truth that you, along with your Tsireya, and your older brother Ao'nung had been roped into the evident mess that was to teach the children of Toruk Makto the ways of the Metkayina.

You weren't as prejudiced as Ao'nung, sneering at the Sully children whenever he'd run into them, so meticulously influenced by your mother's dislike towards Skypeople, let alone the Omaticaya.

You weren't as welcoming as your younger sister, who had greeted them with big grins that only further accentuated her dimples and her devout willingness to help Toruk Makto's family in any way she could. While you had resorted to mirthless smiles and polite nods whenever you'd come across one of them, it was unnatural, yes, Ao'nung was quite unfair with his treatment towards them, yes, but Tsireya's overall cheer and joviality was something you could not for the life of you reciprocate.

You were fine with them being here, although you couldn't say the same for most of your people.

The only real thorn in your side was the oldest.

Neteyam.

Oh how your blood boiled whenever you'd spot him in the crowd. Always so eager to help, so eager to please, so perfect, so good, it made you want to punch the living daylights out of him... Well, only slightly, that may be an exaggeration. Your hate for him might be particularly irrational but valid in all the worst ways.

"Can't you tell them I've been bitten by something?"

"No" Tsireya snorts.

"I've slipped collecting coconuts and dislocated my ankle"

"Stop moving so much sister, or I will mess up your hair"

It was like he was so anxious about keeping up the golden boy facade, what a show off, you thought. Going out of his way to help any way he could, helping carry baskets of dried fish across the village, pushing heavy boats off to sea, weaving baskets, seeing to the ilus, even the tsuraks at one point. It infuriated you. What did he had to gain?

If there was one thing you despised, it was try-hards.

And Neteyam Sully was the bane of your existence.

"Oh!" You had exclaimed, snapping your fingers. "You can tell them I have fallen off my ilu and got ripped apart by an akula"

Tsireya laughed. "Yes, like they would believe me"

With another scoff, you stare st your sister through the mirror, so engrossed in the braiding technique you'd requested for her to do on your hair. "I don't see why you're bringing me into your affairs sister, it is clear as day you only want to help out the Forest People because you like the way that boy kept looking at you yesterday"

Tsireya tugs at your half-finished braid, making you swear and rub at your head, bringing Tsireya some amusement out of this. "Now, be quiet, be still, let me do my job"

With a sour mood, you allow Tsireya to thread the shells you requested she put in, sitting up straighter. "Your job in being an absolute bitch?"

Tsireya sighs again, feeling her slump in frustration behind you. "Do you think it is so easy a job for me to constantly deal with your attitude?"

A smirk comes to your face as Tsireya knots your braid off. "Don't worry, all your efforts will be seen by Eywa, she might even make the boy tell you your hair looks nice today"

"Enough, Y/N" Tsireya says, standing up from her seat.

You stood as well, hooking your arm around Tsireya's as you left your pod. "Oh let me have my fun"

A dozen morbid thoughts suddenly flood Tsireya's mind. "If we do that I am afraid there will be nothing left of Awa'atlu when you are finished"

When you arrive, you immediately spot both the brothers sitting on the edge of the woven platform, their long legs dangling just above the water. They looked to be so immersed in a conversation that neither of them noticed you or Tsireya approach them, only when they were about 4 feet apart was when you clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth.

"Oh great mother, is it just the two of you?" Says you, making both the boys stand up like springs.

"No, our sisters are coming, they aren't exactly good at being early to things" says the younger one, his eyes flicking to Tsireya every now and then, making you dizzy trying to hold eye contact with the boy.

"Hey Tsireya" He finally says, nodding at her sister who laughs again. It took everything in you not to start dry-heaving in front of them.

"Why do you sound so disappointed?" Neteyam wonders, another smirk playing at his thin lips as he looks at you.

Your forehead creases. "I am nothing of the sort, what about you? What has gotten you so chipper?"

"Nothing all that special, really" He replied, not even convincing himself.

You heftily exhaled through your nose, moving away from the group and walking up on the platform, taking one of the seaweed bands on your arm to bunch your hair up just to get it out of your face. Once you'd pull your hair through the band the final time, you turned around just to see Neteyam's head turn away, almost like it was a chain reaction.

You placed your hands over the dip of your hips, facing the odd group. "Now, where has our dear brother wandered off to? It's almost noon and he is nowhere in sight"

This makes the rest of them look around for Ao'nung, even the two brothers who you'd assumed wanted nothing to do with him after your brother had showed his blatant contempt towards them after he'd ridiculed them during their arrival.

"He must still be with Rotxo and the others, we must be patient" says Tsireya.

Your mind remained closed, throwing your hands up in the air only for them to land on her hips with a thwack. "We both know Ao'nung does not move like the tide, he is too stubborn, too hard in the head " you found yourself saying, prodding a finger at your forehead.

"Patience, sister" Tsireya admonishes calmly, making her way towards you as you placed your hands on the identation of your woven skirt. "We must not rush things, we allow things to come to us at their own pace"

"Alright, alright" you tell her half-heartedly.

"Hey! Sorry, are we late?"

You turn her head to spot the two Sully sisters jogging up to the beach, the youngest out of all of them went straight for Neteyam, watching as he scooped her up with no hesitation. "Where in Eywa's name were you two?" Neteyam wonders, eyeing his sisters curiously.

The older girl rolled her eyes, pointing her chin at the youngest. "Couldn't decide on which skirt she wanted to wear"

The little girl pouts. "I didn't know which one I wanted!" She protested, her ears drooping down.

"She had two to choose from" the older sister groaned. Eyes finding yours as her grin widens, you chuckle to yourselves, having sisters was never a dull moment.

You two had bonded over that when you first helped her with her chores, although she seemed reluctant at first she accepted. Neither of you got anything done as you both found that snacking on dried seaweed and exchanging stories about your lives proved to be more fun.

"Maybe he isn't coming" says Neteyam's younger brother, subtly inching towards Tsireya while keeping everyone under the impression that he was trying to find Ao'nung just like she was, but in truth, all he wanted was to stand beside her. Tsireya didn't pick up on it at all, being the oblivious person she was, but Neteyam did, quietly chuckling to himself as he puts Tuk down, watching as she sprints towards the sand at full speed.

You shook your head at the sound of Tsireya's giggles and walks off the diving platform as well, making your way towards the beach to stretch your legs, walking along the coastline trying to kill time. That is until something tugs at your skirt, you turned around to see who it was but then looks down to see Neteyam's youngest sister, proudly holding a small conch shell in her hands, beaming up at you.

"They look just like the ones in your hair!" She exclaimed, a gigantic grin spreading across her face as you crouched to her level, taking the shell from her hands to study it. "It's a light purple, you don't have any purple shells yet"

"You're right, I don't have any purple shells in my hair yet do I?" You say in genuine amazement, holding it up against the sun, feeling the little girl scoot closer to you, but the shell had suddenly started to sprout 6 legs and you dropped it, startled by the animal and by the little girl's scream, you watch as it scurries back into the water, gone forever.

You turned back to the little girl who was visibly upset, another frown slowly forming on her face before you placed your hands on the little girl's shoulders. "Hey, we'll find another one around here somewhere, don't be upset"

She huffed, her shoulders rising and falling. "I didn't know there was something inside it, I really didn't"

You shook your head. "Neither did I, we both didn't know" you assured the younger girl, cupping her round face as her frown slowly started to shift into a smile. "Look, if we need to do this properly and find shells for my hair, I'm gunna need to know your name"

"Tuk!" She says. "My name's Tuk!"

"It's very nice to meet you Tuk"

"Really?" She giggled as you nodded. "What about you? What's your name?"

You beckoned her closer with a simple gesture of your fingers as you whispered your name into her ear.

"You've got a very pretty name" Tuk whispers as well, hiding her face behind her hands as she giggled.

"So do you" You had whispered all the same.

Tuk then looks back at the diving platform, and then back at you. "Y'know I think my brother is staring at you"

"Oh yeah? Why do you think that is so?"

The little girl scratches her head. "I don't know, he only stares at things he thinks looks nice or looks weird"

You grinned. "Does your brother think I look nice or weird?"

Tuk blinks. "I don't think you look weird"

"Would he think that?" Ka'leia emphasized.

"Probably" Tuk replies honestly, looking back at the diving platform again. "Why else does he keep staring at you?"

It made you think, it made your mind spiral into the bottomless void of memories in which you had caught a pair of warm amber eyes catch yours, and every time you did it made your heart stutter, however unfortunate it may be. "I'm not so sure either"

"Neteyam's weird" Tuk deduced.

You snort. "Yeah, he's weird"

Silence settles between you, but not for long as Tuk takes your hand and pulls you up. "Can we go and find shells now? Then we can put them in your hair! Then you'll look pretty!"

"Am I not pretty now?"

"No, not really" says Tuk, swinging your interlocked arms back and forth as her wide eyes scanned the sand.

"No?" You wonder almost scandalised, "alright " you nod.

You and Tuk spent a good couple of minutes digging holes on the beach to fish out the shells that had been buried underneath the sand, conch shells, shards of shells, fossils, rocks, bits and pieces of coral, if it was pretty enough for Tuk's standards she's adding it to her pile.

5 minutes later you're following her around with an armful of tiny shells, half the beach full of holes from Tuk and her makeshift shovel that had originally been a branch, with her screaming in delight when she's spotted another one, hurriedly running to you to add it in with the rest.

Lo'ak abruptly places his hands on Neteyam's shoulders, purposefully trying to scare him but Neteyam does not flinch at all. "Yo bro, you got a staring problem or something?" He wonders in English, stepping beside Neteyam to look out into the beach too.

"You done flirting with Tsireya?" Neteyam shot back.

Lo'ak huffed. "Pfft, me? Tsireya?"

"I know your tell, your tail's a dead giveaway"

Lo'ak laughs, punching Neteyam's shoulder, finally making the older boy turn to face him. "Yo! Shut your ass up!"

Neteyam chuckles. "No one else here understands English bro, we're fine!"

Lo'ak shook his head. "I'm not worried about the Metkayina, I'm worried about that devil right there" He says, pointing at the beach.

Neteyam looks at the direction where Lo'ak was pointing. "Who? Tuk?

"She's got spot on hearing, incredible memory," Lo'ak listed. "If I'd have known how much of a tattletail she'd be I'd have abandoned her in the forest when she was a baby"

Neteyam frowns, laughing. "Yes, and when I'd get home I'd find your extra finger in my stew"

Lo'ak grimaces, almost gagging as Neteyam wiggles one of his fingers at him. "Disgusting!"

Neteyam cackles loudly, watching as Lo'ak covered his mouth. "You're overreacting!" He tells him.

"Nah bro, you don't get to fill my mind with those kinda thoughts" Lo'ak says.

Neteyam places a hand on his back. "Face it baby bro, i'm in your head"

Lo'ak pushes it away, chuckling. "Lay off!"

"Will you two ever go a day without fighting eachother?" Kiri asks, giving them a look.

"Not sure" says Lo'ak. "But I wouldn't hold my breath"

Kiri rolled her eyes and Lo'ak turns to Neteyam again. "If Ao'nung isn't coming then we might as well fetch him, if you catch my drift"

Neteyam shakes his head, his braids swishing from side to side. "No, we will do no such thing"

Lo'ak half shrugs, already moving away. "Fine, if you won't then I will"

Neteyam grabs his arm, stopping his brother in his tracks. "Hey, what did dad say?"

He pretends to think. "Not sure, something about you being the next poster boy of the clan?"

Neteyam flicks a finger on Lo'ak's forehead, making the younger boy hiss. "No, you skxawng, he wants us to be on our best behavior, and I don't want to be stopping you from pulling another shitty stunt that'll get you in trouble"

"Fine" Lo'ak says. "I'll go check up on Tuk," He tells Neteyam unconvincingly, scratching the side of his head. "What's up with you and wanting to stay on the beach?"

Neteyam's jaw tightens. "There's nothing that's keeping me here except my promise to dad"

"Uh-huh" Lo'ak nods, eyes flicking to you and Tuk. "Nothing or no one?"

"I don't know what you're talking about"

Lo'ak frowns, pretending he understood. "She's pretty hot"

Neteyam pays him no mind, only scoffing.

"She still avoiding you?" Lo'ak asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yes, and I can't seem to find the reason why" Neteyam huffed.

Lo'ak snickers. "Maybe it's cuz you're coming off a little too strong"

"I don't know how else I can get her to talk to me without her insulting every fibre of my being or making up some excuse to leave, I've tried everything" He replies desperately, causing Lo'ak's eyes to go wide, a whistle leaving his mouth. "Damn that bad??? What the hell did you do to her to make you hate her this much?"

Neteyam rakes his face with dread. "I don't know baby bro, but you have no idea what I would do to find out the reason why"

His brother was too down-bad to be saved, Lo'ak knew that much, looking across the beach as he studies you with his little sister. Neteyam looks at his brother, his eyes seemingly trained on you as it flicks up and down, he slaps his brother's arm. "It's rude to stare"

"Yeah, go tell that to them" Says Lo'ak, pointing at a handful of Metkayin boys passing by, giving you stolen glances as they talked amongst themselves, chuckling and hooting.

Neteyam's eyes narrow into slits. "They're irrelevant, we must not let ourselves become like them"

Lo'ak glances at him, clearly unconvinced. "Yeah, okay, so stop looking"

"Fine, I won't" Neteyam replies quickly, watching Lo'ak turn around and walk to the edge of the platform. But he dosen't stop looking, he hated himself for it for it and the way that it was practically eating himself alive.

Wasn't it such a simple task? To turn his head around and look somewhere else? Well it should be, but Neteyam couldn't bring himself to pry his eyes away from you, you, oh Eywa. Your eyes were the colour of the sea, your hair shiny and black, your smile making his stomach twist itself into knots, your laugh making shivers run up his back, the way you dressed alone would make people turn heads, but your attitude was what drew Neteyam in.

You didn't feel the need to keep up this respectful facade, treat him like a guest because it was expected of you as the daughter of the Olo'eyktan, no, you treated him the way you thought of him.

You were rude, you were impolite, and you were blunt, because you didn't like him. You didn't feel inclined to tolerate him just like what was expected of you. He wished he was that brave.

"'Teyam! 'Teyam look what I got!" Tuk squealed as the pair of you walked up the diving platform carrying mountains of shells on your palms. "Y/N told me she and 'Reya could put these in my hair after diving lessons! Isn't that cool?!?"

"Oh Tuk, you didn't force her into braiding your hair did you?"

Tuk looks back at you for moral support. "But she said she would-"

"-Neteyam let her be, if she wants me to braid her hair then I'd be happy to" you had jumped in, siding with Tuk whose ears flicked upwards at her statement. "I hope it isn't too infuriating that I favour your sisters over you"

Neteyam wanted to scoff, but instead stifles it with a tight smile. "Nonsense, my sisters have that effect on everyone" He tells her, looking at Tuk. "Don't you?"

Tuk simply gives him a giggle, a swift nod, and then runs to Kiri, shouting her name over and over again before the older girl groans in acknowledgement. "Here," you say, handing him a conch shell with yellow and brown patterns ruminating on its surface.

"What's this for?" He wonders.

"Your sister practically dug up the entire beach, you deserve at least one" you chuckled.

Oh. He stares at the shell in your hands, then looks back at your face. "If I take this does this mean we'll be friends?" He asks, a sly smile breaking on his face.

"Oh you wish" You reply, smirking as you narrow your eyss at the boy. "Taking this won't change anything"

"Yes it does," He replies as a matter of factly. "this is the longest conversation we've ever had without you leaving or insulting me"

"No it dosen't" You shook your head, insistent. "I'll still hate you after this"

He hums. "I think I can live with that," He smiled. "I did get a gift from the daughter of the Olo'eyktan after all" He laughs when he hears you scoff.

You leave right after he takes it and right before he could say thank you. Walking off to find a basket to store more of Tuk's shells in.

Neteyam looks at the shell in his hands, about 2 and a half inches long, smooth, shiny, perfect, it was perfect. He loves it. He closes his fist, a smile breaking on his face before he could even relent it, a light purple tinting his cheeks as he places the shell in one of his pockets.

#avatar the way of water #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam sully x y/n #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam x you #atwow neteyam #neteyam x metkayina!reader

[judeswhore]

coffee, pancakes for two; jude bellingham

summary: coffee dates with jude before class sound way better in your head

pairing: jude bellingham x reader

warnings: mentions of food

notes: you can find my masterlist here

"we're sitting in."

jude's tone was final, firm enough to suggest he wanted no argument from you and the slight raise of his eyebrows and tilt of his head said he was waiting to shut down any attempt you gave. he held on to your waist, fingers soft on the skin beneath your jumper as though he could stop you from running away. not that you would, you wanted your coffee first.

"but i have to squeeze in my last few slides of notes before the exam." you pouted slightly up at him and watched him shake his head as he tapped just above the curve of your bum. the coffee shop was busy with the early hour, students and workers alike waiting for their first hit of caffeine, eager for the few minutes of warmth the small corner establishment offered. despite the stream of people around jude had no issues in tugging you as close as possible, dipping his head and pressing a quick kiss to your jutted out bottom lip.

"you can do that here."

"but you'll-"

"nuh uh," he cut you off with another kiss. "but nothing. you have lectures after your exam and i know for a fact you won't eat anything until at least 5 and it's-" jude checked the clock on the far wall with a pointed look. "8 right now. i wanna make sure you have something before you leave."

your eyes narrowed, fingers tugging at the straps of your bag as he ushered you forward just slightly in the queue. half of you was grateful for him, a fuzzy feeling low in your tummy that he wanted to take care of you, loved you enough to make sure you were okay when he knew sometimes you forgot to put yourself first. the other half of you knew being with him meant you probably wouldn't get much done, his presence alone a distraction, even if he remained quiet.

"i can grab something after my exam."

"i know you won't. so how about you close that pretty little mouth of yours and go find us a table?" this time you rolled your eyes and jude grinned, kissing the side of your head. "don't roll your eyes at me."

"you're so bossy."

"maybe you should just listen to me then." knocking your elbow into his side you pulled away from him, gaze sweeping the cafe for somewhere to sit. jude's fingers were still on your back, thumb brushing back and forth almost absentmindedly against your skin and it had you half melting into him, any hint of protest gone from you as you nodded towards an empty table by the window.

"m'gonna sit over there."

"you want your usual?"

"yes please." he squeezed your hip in a sign of acknowledgement and then you were weaving your way to the table, sitting yourself down with your back to your boyfriend. you were already pulling your laptop from your bag, setting it on the table in front of you and pulling up your notes, attempting to get at least a little bit of reading done while you were here.

you'd read three pages of an assigned journal before jude appeared at the side of the table, a tray balanced in his hand. his brows were drawn together, tongue peaking out from the corner of his mouth in a way that had you giggling. his gaze snapped to yours then to your laptop.

"scoot that out the way."

"i'm busy."

"you want your coffee or not?" shifting the laptop off to one side to make room you peered at the tray, gaze sliding over the two cups of coffee and landing on the small stack of pancakes, a small boat of maple syrup beside them. "almost got those for free." jude had settled into the seat opposite you and was in the process of shrugging his black jacket off, twisting to drape it over the back of his chair. he was wearing a plain white tee underneath and you hated him just a little for looking so effortlessly pretty in such a minimalist outfit.

"the barista was a fan?"

"the barista thought i was cute." your gaze snapped up from admiring his arms at that, a grimace twisting your lips as you reached for your coffee. it was warm beneath your hands, eased the slight chill that had been in your fingers since leaving the house that morning.

"clearly has terrible taste, all that caffeine must be going to her head."

"yeah? what's your excuse?"

"i know what your bank account looks like."

"funny." jude knocked his foot against yours beneath the table, locked it around your ankle and tugged softly. "what was it you were saying this morning? i'm sure you were telling me how fit i am, couldn't keep your hands off me."

jude had poured the syrup over the pancakes and you used your fork to cut a piece free, popping it into your mouth with an exaggerated roll of your eyes. "i don't know what you're talking about."

"oh really? you don't remember begging me to-"

"i swear to god, bellingham, if you finish that sentence." you pointed your fork at him in an attempt to look threatening but jude only grinned. your cheeks suddenly felt hot with the reminder of what had happened only an hour earlier and the fact that your boyfriend was so ready to air it out despite the old couple sitting at the table next to you.

"what?" he was pretending to be innocent, taking his own forkful of pancakes but his lips had tilted into a teasing smile. "i was gonna say how you kept begging me not to leave the bed."

"yeah, sure you were. these are really good by the way."

"thanks, i think they really went out of their way to impress me."

"the size of your ego never fails to amaze me." you turned to your laptop, pulling up your notes to skim over, aware that jude was still smiling over at you, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

"only the size of my ego?"

"nothing else is big enough to impress me."

"'oh jude! please don't stop, s'just so good.'" the toe of your shoe smacked harshly into jude's ankle, your glare enough to seer through his head as his fake moans tapered off into soft giggles. the couple beside you sent a look of disgust your way, muttering away to each other as heat crawled up your cheeks.

"seriously? you're ridiculous."

"just tryna jog your memory."

"you don't have to be so loud about it, you're gonna get us kicked out. and i do not sound like that."

"no, you're a lot louder. and more whiney, kind of like a-"

"shut up." he only laughed at your tone, held his hands up in mock surrender before reaching for one of yours. he held your hand in his, the black ring on his finger a cold sting against your skin as he slowly lowered his head. with his gaze still on yours, he kissed your knuckles.

"m'sorry babe."

"hmm you will be. here, make yourself useful." you pulled your hand away and pushed your laptop towards him, finger pointing to a small list of questions you were sure were going to be on the exam. "ask me these?" you watched him read over the words, his brows scrunching, nose crinkling as he glanced back up at you.

"you know what these things mean?"

"i hope so."

"it's so hot that you're smart."

"stop being a flirt and help me, would you."

for the next twenty minutes jude managed to behave himself, asking you the questions set out, leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to your mouth whenever you got it right, leaning in and kissing you even softer if you made a mistake because "kissing makes you smarter or whatever, it's biology". he'd cut off little slices of pancake for you, holding the fork in front of your lips and urging you to take a bite while your eyes skimmed the notebook you'd pulled from you bag.

once you'd made your way through all of the questions he pushed the lid of your laptop closed, slid it back into your bag for you before you could complain. "you're sorted for this, take a break before you burn yourself out.” you didn’t protest like he’d thought you would, only settled your elbows on the table, chin propped in your hands. jude had ordered a croissant halfway through your study session and he tore a bit of pastry off, pressed it between your lips with a tilt of his head.

“why’re you staring at me like that, weirdo.” he hadn’t missed the soft look in your eyes, the lovesick smile that was growing as you shrugged your shoulders. he copied your position, elbows on the table, chin in his hand and suddenly you were both almost nose to nose, his eyes locking on yours.

you sat quietly for a moment, took in the lighter flecks in his dark eyes, the slope of his nose and the full outline of his lips. he was trying to grow out his facial hair, the dark stubble on his chin and jaw almost begging you to drag your lips over it, to leave behind soft marks, too light for anyone to see. his full attention was almost making you squirm, heat blossoming in your tummy and rising until your heart felt ready to burst.

“i love you.” jude blinked a little in surprise at your sudden confession, not that he’d never heard it before, you said it often enough, he just hadn’t been expecting it in that moment. you cocked your head and sent him a somewhat shy smile. “thank you for the breakfast.”

“the pancakes were more for my benefit than yours, i was starving.” a soft snort left you as you shook your head.

“i’m being serious.”

“i know,” he pressed his foot to yours beneath the table. “but you don’t have to thank me.”

“i know.” again the two of you went quiet, neither of you wanting to be the one to look away first. jude’s eyes crinkled at the corner when he grinned, his head nudging to one side slightly.

“c’mere.” he didn’t give you the chance to move forward, he closed the gap himself, lips slotting softly over yours.

the kiss was slow, a gentle brush of his mouth over yours, broken rather quickly from fear of upsetting the couple still sitting a few feet away. jude didn’t move back straight away however, just bumped his nose against yours. “i love you too by the way.” then he was sitting back, pulling his jacket back over his shoulders, gaze tracking the time on his watch. “c’mon i’ll buy you one of those ice lattes and walk you to campus.”

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham blurb

[jakescakeislateforourdate]

Stealing Kisses

(Actors from The Boys in the Boat)

Joe Rantz, Don Hume, Bobby Moch, George (Shorty) Hunt

tbitb masterlist

A collection of kissing scenes. Might write something for Chuck Day later, we’ll see, anyway, got carried away with Don, I would die for Bobby

Enjoy this garbage!

…

Joe Rantz:

Joe is a gentleman. He plans it’s out, wanting to take you on a decent date beforehand to set the mood and feel out just how much you like him. He doesn’t have money or a nice apartment or cooking skills for that matter. What he does have is his strength and his smarts.

So he takes you for a boat ride one sunny afternoon. He brings his guitar, opting for a little less country than the banjo, and paddles you out to a secluded spot. Despite his protest, you brought a basket full of treats and you talk as you share them under the hot sun.

His blond curls become waves of amber grain in the sunlight. After a while you fall into a comfortable silence which gives him the opportunity to pull out his guitar. Now he’s been planning this date for a little while so he picked some new songs to memorize. Sweet and romantic but not too lovey dovey. Though he doesn’t hide the fact that he loves country music.

As he strums his guitar he catches you intently staring at him. You look at him with so much affection that it makes him blush and stutter and he forget the words to his song.

“You’re cute, Joe.”

It makes him laugh so much he has to stop playing entirely. You tease him, enjoying his laughter.

After he recovers you both decide to venture out onto land. Wild flowers grow along the banks in great colorful bunches. Joe begins collection some, blue and purple and white and yellow, and he begins to weave them together.

It’s a special trick he learned while he lived alone, cutting and clearing trees for a living. During his breaks he taught himself to do this. The braid the delicate flower stems into bracelets and rings and crowns.

Joe makes the finest crown his has ever managed. He carefully lays the creation on your head and tucks away any loose strands of hair. ‘You’re gorgeous’ he wants to say. If he was a little more gutsy he would.

His hands trail down to cradle your cheeks. He’s not gutsy enough to tell you you’re pretty but for some reason he has the gall to lean down and kiss you.

His lips are a little chapped from rowing practices, the heavy breathing dropping his jaw and the wind biting his lips. But they’re gentle and sweet. Joe soaks up the private moment and rests his forehead on yours. He wraps his arms around your waist and sways back and forth with you. He starts singing again and you dance together in the afternoon sun.

Don Hume:

Let’s be honest here, you’re more likely to kiss him first. You simply make him too nervous to even find the coordination to plant his lips over yours.

After their first win, Don is dragged out to celebrate. Luckily his sweetheart of a few weeks now is already there. You’re happy to see Don out and about whether or not he likes it. Bobby flashes you a wink as he pushes Don into a chair next to you.

It’s too loud. You can’t hear a word the other says. In a blinding moment of courage, Don takes your hand and pulls you out of the hall. His calloused palm is sweaty. His fingers tremble between yours. You remember him first approaching you, Bobby pushing him forward and then abandoning him at your library table.

“Hey, you’re Don Hume right? From the rowing team, right?”

He nodded, swallowing hard.

“What can I do for you, Don?”

His tongue had gone dry. Where are his words? His mouth dropped open “I—” you smiled at him and it made everything worse.

“C’mon, Don!” You heard Bobby whisper shout, a collection of the rowing team has amassed behind a bookshelf, quietly cheering him on.

“Can-can I takeyouonadate?”

He panicked and cursed himself out, thinking he spoke too fast and you don’t catch what he said and now he’s going to have to ask all over again.

“I’d love to go on a date.” Your smile brightened and Don’s shoulders drooped in relief.

He still stutters asking you on dates now.

Don finds himself walking you across campus grounds and the pale light of the moon. “You did so good, Don, in your race.”

“Thanks.” He speaks so softly the whistle of the night breeze in the leaves is almost louder. He turns to you, catching your gaze first and then blushing and nervously glancing down at your lips.

He’s never kissed anyone before, but he thinks he wants to kiss you.

There’s a comfortable silence that fills the space between your faces. Don’s eyes keep flickering to your Cupid’s bow. To that perfect curve. He starts to say something but his words leave him again as he feels soft lips shutting his mouth.

His lips are rough, worn from the blustering winds. He smells faintly of sweat and the river water that sprays up from the churning oars.

Don can hardly think enough to kiss you back. He blinks, stunned and you lean in to kiss him again and again. He’s overwhelmed by the warmth of your lips and the velvet soft press of your tongue. His shaking hands clutch at your cheeks, trying to ensure that it doesn’t end.

“Don, baby—”

“Kiss me again, please.”

There’s a smile on your lips when you wrap your arms around him. “Only if you promise to dance with me.”

“Yes, yes, okay. Just…”

This time he kisses first.

Bobby Moch:

Bobby is a confident man. He maybe shorter than your average guy but his boldness makes up for it. But I also think you’d kiss him first.

You’re waiting for him to finish up practice, your routine being to go on a long walk and let Bobby blow off some steam before studying together and then going home. Bobby emerges from the shell house, clearly bothered, but he can’t help his smile when he sees you waiting on a bench with two warm cups of tea in your hand.

“Good evening, lovely, should we go to the library or the bridge?”

You hand him a cup and take his free hand. “I think… the library would be nice.”

“Me too.”

He squeezes your hand. He starts his rant and angrily blabbers on until you’re at the steps of the library. Somehow, between all his complaining, he’s managed to chug his whole cup of tea.

The library is fairly empty at this hour. Most students having given up on studying for the day and retired to either their dorms or gone off to work. Bobby drops his bag onto a secluded sofa and the two of you sit down for a nice, quiet study date.

While Bobby reads over his textbook chapter, you notice things about him. The wrinkle that forms on his forehead when he's focused. The tilt of his eyebrows. How his lips purse. You notice the tiny blemishes on his cheeks; they were once little nicks or pimples that he picked. You keep stealing glances of him. Absolutely fascinated by the way lamplight reflects off his skin or the curve of his jaw or the bob of his Adam's apple when he swallows. He hadn't really bothered to straighten out his hair after his shower and it's dried wild, tickling his face.

Bobby catches your gaze and it's stunning, how light pools in his eyes. How his irises brighten. His gives you an adoring look and returns to pouring over his textbook.

Then there's his lips. They look so soft and they're so gently rounded they look hand carved. Occasionally he'll lick his lips and you get a flash of tongue and white teeth. At some point you decide to just go for it. You've been dreaming of kissing Bobby for some time now but he's been content to let you take things at your own pace.

You reach of his textbook, "Need something?" Bobby asks genuinely. His gaze is uncharacteristically kind. He's always yelling at the top of his lungs or bossing around or saying something snappy. That's just Bobby. So why does he look at you like this? Like he's watching the sun rise.

"Yes, actually." And then you deliver a kiss to his lips. Bobby is caught off guard and before he can really even kiss you back, you're pulling away. "Sorry--"

"Don't even think about it." Bobby quips, "Get back here." He cups the juncture of your jaw and throat to bring you in but you hide in his palm. "Finish what you started. C'mon. Don't you feel like trying it again? I'm ready."

When your lips touch again Bobby is gentle in making it last. He never presses too hard but be doesn't let you shy away again either. He kisses you until the taste of him has stained your tongue and the oxygen is gone from your lungs.

George "Shorty" Hunt:

Sly dog, this one is.

George is highly tactical(he likes to think so) and because he’s so brilliant he hatched a perfect plan to get you to kiss him. He wants to see how bold you can be.

He makes three plans, two of which fail. They go like this. The first time he tries it, you’re walking him to practice. His jacket is slung over his shoulder and he’s telling you about his engineering class. “You know there’s this term we use called osculate which is where the curve of on surface meets the curve over another and they share a common tangent.” You raise a brow. Shorty licks his lips, “It’s also formal code for kissing.”

“Don’t even—” you swat at him and push him towards the shell house. “Go practice and share a tangent with Day!”

“Hey now,” Shorty pouts and disappears into the shell house, defeated. That was attempt 1. The second attempt hardly goes better.

It’s the night after their first win and Shorty is dancing with you. His nerdy pick up lines proved to be a failure so he goes for building some good old fashion romance. He’d gotten you flowers and taken you out for dinner before he brought you here where the music is so loud it blocks out everyone else around you.

Now you’re slow dancing, cheeks pressed together, hands laced with one another. The first thing you notice is that he smells good. You have no idea if he’s wearing cologne or if it’s the soap he uses to wash his clothes but he smells divine. The second thing is how soft his hands are despite the wear and tear of the pad. The third is that he didn’t put any product in his hair. You’ve always loved to play with the dark curls and fluff it up. But sometimes he styles his curls and the products make his hair stiff. But his curls are free today which tells you he’s been thinking about you and all the things you do.

“Watcha smilin’ about?” Shorty asks, his eyes light up as he smiles back. He hopes you’re thinking about it. He hopes you’re wanting to kiss him.

You plant your hands on his chest, “Nothing, you just make me happy.” It’s quite possibly quite possibly the nicest compliment he’s ever received. And then you rise up on your toes a place a kiss on his cheek. It’s not what he expected but he’s as pleased as ever.

The third and actually successful attempt is on the train before he leaves for Poughkeepsie. You’d arrived late and missed him boarding. You force your way to the train and look through the window. George sees you and throws the window open. “I was afraid you weren’t coming!” He shouts of the chatter. He’d actually been heartbroken.

“Had trouble getting here!”

“Can I…” you don’t catch what he says.

“What!”

Shorty smiles and shakes his head. He turns and gestures for something. He opens the window as far as he can and you see Chuck and Johnny behind him. And then George is falling out of the window. First his shoulders and chest and then his hips and your almost scream but Chuck and Johnny are holding his thighs. He wedges one hand on the window sill to support himself and the other reaches for you.

He pulls you as close as he can and gives you a kiss goodbye. “I’ll come home with a gold medal!” Don’t you worry!” The people who notice give him a cheer and a laugh as he’s pulled back into the train. He blows you one last kiss and then the train starts rolling.

tbitb masterlist

Dear Reader,

Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this piece please be sure to check out my masterlist and if you want to request something you are more than welcome to. Have a nice day.

- the author

#joe rantz #joe rantz x reader #bobby moch #bobby moch x reader #boys in the boat #callum turner x reader #don hume #don hume x reader #George hunt

[seaofwine]

What do you like about the Odyssey? Besides some entertaining episodes (e.g. Circe or Calypso), I've never really been able to get into the Odyssey as a whole (I find the first 5 books especially dull). The Iliad really speaks to me more.

It's hard to really pinpoint what I like most about it but I love to talk about the Odyssey so I hope you like long posts hahaha

The first five books act as the exposition. When the Iliad ends, there's a general understanding that most of the surviving characters made it home. Menelaus and Helen have reunited, the catalyst for the Trojan War has been resolved. Agamemnon traversed the sea and made it back, and although he was killed by his wife Clytemnestra, there is no question about where he is; unlike Odysseus.

Telemachus has spent his entire youth without a father. When he finally decides to set out from Ithaca to find any leads on where Odysseus is, he is confronted with the fact that most everyone else has been accounted for. He sees Menelaus and Helen, the order of their kingdom, the comfort they have in each other and the bonds they have restored. Telemachus has known nothing but uncertainty, while his mother is forced to weave lies and deceptions to keep the suitors that plague their home at bay. The first five books really show how important one man can be when he is utterly lost, and what it would mean for everyone who loves him should he be found. These books also show the close interest that Athena, as patron of Odysseus, takes in his family. She steps into the chaos of Ithaca and gives Telemachus the inspiration to embark on his own journey, chasing the ghost of his still-living father.

When we finally reach Odysseus, he is not the same man that those who knew him in Troy described. They are the closest Telemachus can come to knowing what came of his father, but even they are separated by nearly a decade and the breadth of the sea. Penelope hasn't laid eyes on her husband in twenty years, there is no overestimating what that can do to a person's memory. Odysseus's first action is to cry. When finally Calypso is forced to allow Odysseus to leave, by order of Hermes, he makes his own raft and leaves at the first possible moment. He is fighting against the will of Poseidon, against the wrath he incurred, all alone. He has lost every single one of his men, every single person who could ever vouch for his identity, in a world where no one could recognize him, is gone. Despite this, he is still fighting to get back to Ithaca.

Odysseus is so utterly human in the text. When he is hosted by Alcinous, Odysseus asks the singer there to recount the story of the Trojan Horse. It's like landing at the doorstep of a stranger who graciously allows you to stay and immediately asking his DJ to play *your own* greatest hits - which in turn only upsets him. This also sets up the dramatic reveal of his identity (I like to imagine him looking around like, you guys remember this one? Yeah that's Me, I pinkie promise. Please give me 4000 drachmae and your best oarsmen (: ).

He recounts the story of how he got so utterly lost on the way back and one thing the Odyssey will tell you, to your face over and over again, is that Odysseus is a big time liar. But for some reason, his tale is so compelling it's hard to remind yourself of that when hearing it for the first time. Some points are so beyond baffling (like striking Polyphemus in the singular eye the poor sod has, and then once to the safety of his boat (which is on open water, the domain of said cyclops's father) loudly announcing his full gods-given name and mailing address, just in case anyone missed who it was) that it's like, yeah that was probably exactly what he did. This is the section of the story where we see Odysseus as he sees himself. This is his own reflection of the actions he made and the troubles that befell him because of it.

Odysseus is such a complex character that one of the epithets he is given is "polytropos", the many-faced or many-sided. Odysseus and his relationship to his own identity, which he can shed and don at any point that's convenient for him, is one of the main reasons I am obsessed with his story. This, and the exploration in an ancient text about what a close relationship with a deity, is something I am constantly thinking about.

#odyssey #ask #odysseus #i just really love him ok? ok

[unoislazy]

What Can Never Be

Hiccup Haddock x Reader

Summary: You and Hiccup fight together during the battle against Drago Bludvist, what could go wrong?

Warning: a bit of angst

————————————————————

“Woo!” You cheered, clutching tightly to the wooden handles on your dragon's saddle. You and several of the other Berkians had just busted out of Dragos traps, having waited there for just the right moment.

It was actually Erets idea, which you weren’t too keen on admitting considering he did almost sell you all out to Drago to save his own ass. Then again, if you were in his position you probably would’ve tried the same.

You and your dragon ducked and weaved between fire blasts and netting, freeing any dragon you could while taking out some trappers along the way. Honestly if the stakes weren’t as dire as they were, you’d probably be enjoying yourself a lot more.

“Alright bud, show them what you’re made of!” You shouted, leaning forward on your dragon as it dove into a crowd of trappers.

You never used to call your own dragon “bud” , but after hanging around Hiccup for so long you picked it up too.

The cold wind whipped past you as you held yourself close to your dragon, your arms were tucked to your sides, and your legs were fastened in their stirrups. You leaned in the direction your dragon would go, as if reading its mind, continuing to almost effortlessly dodge and attack the barrels of attackers ahead of you. Before long you had taken out almost the entire crowd with just a few well placed fire blasts.

Even with the crowd you took out, it seemed like there was still an endless amount that would just fill back in for the ones you had just taken out.

“Well, that’s mildly discouraging .” You muttered, trying to think of a way to get them to stop coming back. While thinking you had let your guard down for a moment. Turns out a moment is just long enough for another dragon to come up and knock you off of yours.

Before you could even blink, you had been knocked clean off your dragon, sent barreling straight for the ground. You screamed for your dragon but it just wasn’t fast enough to reach you.

So this was it, this was how you would go out. Falling to your death in the middle of a dragon battle, not the most honorable Viking death but at least you were fighting for a good cause. You continued to scream for your life as you fell even though you knew it clearly wasn’t going to help you.

And then, what often happens when someone falls to their death, your life flashed before your eyes. Living on Berk, becoming friends with Astrid and the group, getting your dragon, even when you realized you liked Hiccup. All those thoughts traveled through your brain at lightning speed, overcoming your fear with a quiet sadness as you focused on your thoughts about Hiccup.

You had no idea where he was, you thought he had been captured by Drago, but drago didn’t even know he existed. For all you knew he was long gone by now, and if that was the case, maybe heading to the gates of Valhalla after being pushed off your dragon wasn’t the worst thing that could be happening to you right now.

Just as you were about to come to terms with your fate, you heard a very familiar noise… like something rocketing through the air at an incredible speed.

Then, just barely before you hit the ground, you were yanked out of the air by a very recognizable Night Fury and his rider.

“Hiccup!” Gods were you happy to see him. The last you had heard from him was on Eret’s janky boat. Your legs dangled as Toothless's claws carefully held onto both your arms. He looked down at you, giving you a very gummy smile as his tongue flailed about in the wind. You smiled at him, feeling safe in his grasp, you had known Toothless ever since you accidentally stumbled upon him and Hiccup in the woods. Obviously you were a bit skeptical at first, but Toothless showed you just how truly gentle dragons could be.

“I knew you fell for me once but I didn’t expect you to do it a second time.” The man joked, leaning over the side of his dragon to see you. You rolled your eyes, but a wide smile was still very evident on your face. He may be a dork, but you loved him. In fact, maybe that was part of the reason you loved him in the first place.

You and Hiccup had known each other ever since your awkward teenage years. And by awkward, I mean AWKWARD. You two clearly liked each other, but neither of you did anything except fumble around the idea of getting together. So much so everyone else was just counting down the days until it would finally happen.

You’re almost sure a few people also placed bets on it, which in hindsight is a little weird, but also it’s not the craziest thing Vikings have ever done so…

By this point you and Hiccup had been together for a few years and to make a long story short, he was infatuated with you. He loved you in every sense of the word, even if sometimes he didn’t know how to articulate that well. You had been there for him for years, even when no one else paid him any mind, you were always right there for him.

And the gods alone know how much he truly appreciated that.

So now, there you were, being held by your arms, dangling a few hundred feet in the air by the claws of a Night Fury that your boyfriend was riding. All while a gigantic war was going down below you.

What more could you want?

Eventually your own dragon caught back up and Toothless gently dropped you onto it. Once you were settled you came up beside the man, unable to contain your smile as you finally knew he was okay.

“Where in the god's name have you been!?” You shouted over to him, to which he answered.

“Oh you know, catching up with mom.”

You looked at him confused before noticing him looking up at someone. You turned to see what he was looking at and just then you noticed a figure standing atop a Stormcutter, while also controlling a bewilderbeast?!

All you could manage was to stare for a few moments, your jaw practically on the floor.

“Well, now I know where you get all… this from.” You said, waving your hands in his general direction.

“You just gestured to all of me.” He laughed, giving you a very knowing smirk. “Remind me when we’re done here to introduce you to her, she’ll definitely love you.” He remarked, looking back up at her as she waved her stick around in the air.

You nodded, still staring in awe before realizing, you’re still very much in the middle of a fight. As if he read your mind, Hiccup turned back to you and said,

“Now why don’t we free some dragons?”

Before propping his mask back down over his face. You nodded, following his lead as he and toothless dove straight down into the battle.

You had continued fighting back for a while, managing to free a fair few dragons on your own as well as helping the others out when they’d get stuck. It seemed like you had this in the bag, you were all going to win!

That was until…

Dragos Alpha had killed Valkas.

The entire field went silent as you all watched in terror as Drago now commanded the dragons to gather.

From there, almost as if magic or as if they were in a trance, most of the dragons immediately began to swarm around the Alpha, listening to its command. Every single dragon you had just spent time saving, went right back to Drago as if they had no choice.

Well, because they didn’t.

Thankfully most of the dragons that were being ridden seemed to be able to block out the Alphas will… for now at least.

“Oh gods…” Was all you could mutter as you watched in terror and awe as all the dragons gathered, landing on the snowy ground before the bewilderbeast, showing their respect.

Your attention was quickly taken away from this issue when your own dragon began to struggle against the will of the alpha. Its idle flapping became jittery as it tried to keep itself in the air while also fighting against the alpha.

“Don’t listen to him, it’s okay, I’m right here.” You tried to comfort it. It seemed to work for the most part but it continued to struggle on and off.

That was until the alphas focus had been drawn away. Its massive body slowly turned away from your general direction and now focused towards an area where you could faintly hear Drago yelling for it. You took a much needed sigh of relief as your dragon quickly gained back its own full consciousness until you finally followed where the alpha was now focused on.

“Hiccup!” You gasped, “Alright, it’s time to put those fast flying skills to work!” You ordered your dragon, which wasn’t entirely needed because it was already on the same page as you.

Just as before, the freezing cold wind whipped against your face, you could feel your nose and cheeks began to sting a bit solely because of this but you didn’t care. Your eyes began to well up with tears, not only from the cold, but because now you feared you were going to lose him. You had spent hours worrying about Hiccup's safety, whether he was alive or not and you had just gotten him back, you didn’t want to let him go again so easily.

“Come on, just a little faster…” you strained, leaning as far forward as you could as if it would increase your dragon's speed by any significant amount.

Just as you had gotten into a decent enough range, an armored dragon took you by surprise and quickly grabbed hold of your dragon and dragged it to the ground, flinging you off. You both spiraled out of control, but luckily the snow broke your fall for the most part.

You quickly got up, ignoring the pain as you looked to your dragon who had managed to get out of the dragon's grasp and was now standing defensively between you and the armored beast.

Your dragon snarled at you, as if telling you to go. You knew it could handle itself, and so you listened, getting right back on track.

“Toothless, what’s going on with you bud? Snap out of it!” You could hear Hiccup yell. You were close, you were so close. The tears in your eyes made it tricky to see clearly, paired with the bruises that were now forming on your back, you had begun to slow down.

“Toothless!” You heard Hiccup scream again, the desperation in his voice seemed to flip some kind of a switch for you and the adrenaline almost immediately kicked in.

You sprinted as fast as your legs could carry you on the snow and ice, your breathing became quite heavy which caused your lungs to feel like they were being stabbed by a thousand sharp needles due to the extreme chill in the air.

But your pain didn’t matter.

What mattered right now was,

“Hiccup!” You shouted again. You were almost there. You were so… so close.

You closed your eyes, praying to the gods you would make it in time, your heart pounded as you made your way to him.

“Wait, stop!”

Was the last thing you heard before you leapt off the ground, heading straight for Hiccup and successfully pushing him out of the way, leaving you in direct range of Toothless's blast.

You didn’t feel anything as your back collided with the icy wall behind you, snow and icicles dropping on top of you as your now limp body laid beneath the rubble. The moment Toothless’s blast made contact, you were gone.

Hiccup, a bit disoriented from being so suddenly shoved, looked up and immediately ran to you.

“No, no, no, no!” He cried, quickly clearing your body of debris and holding you close to check for a pulse.

Valka and the others had made their way over, all of them shocked by the scene before them. None of them, of course, were as affected as Hiccup.

“Why would you do that…” He asked you softly, tears quickly began to spill from his eyes as he held you close as he had done many times before, except this time you weren’t going to hold him back. His hand lightly glided across your cheek, wiping the tears that had fallen just before you had pushed him out of the way.

Toothless, now out of Dragos control, tried to get near both of you, concerned as to why you were so lifeless. He carefully began to sniff your hand, expecting you to wake up and scratch just behind his ears like you always did.

But you didn’t.

Toothless went to try again, only to be pushed away by Hiccup.

“You did this! Get out of here!” He screamed, only to be held back by his mother. He was a mess, he didn’t know how to control himself.

He knew it wasn’t Toothless’s fault but he needed someone to blame. If there was anyone to blame, he wanted to blame you.

Why would you do something like that, why would you sacrifice yourself for him. He was supposed to be the one to make stupid decisions… not you.

Now here he stands, on the edge of the island, watching your now burning boat drift off into the water as his tears began to flow.

You weren’t supposed to leave like this.

You both were supposed to live out your days together, leading together, living together… and he had hoped to take the next step with you one day. He would never admit it outloud but Hiccup had pictured having a family with you and it was one of his most treasured day dreams.

Now it would become nothing more than an idea of what could’ve been…

And what can never be.

#hiccup haddock x reader #hiccup #hiccuphorrendoushaddockiii #hiccup haddock #httyd hiccup #hiccup x reader #hiccup how to train your dragon #hiccup and toothless #httyd #i need him #how to train your dragon #x reader #fanfic #fanfics #httyd fanfiction #fanfiction #how to train you dragon: the hidden world #how to train a dragon 2 #dragons #drago bludvist

[marsprincess889]

About Bharani

Fate, The female and Desire.

Venus ruled, Mars's sign, Rahu's birth, Saturn's debilitation.

A kind of love letter to myself and other bharanis, especially bharani moons.

So, aren't we amazing? 😄 jk, but in all seriousness, I have some opinions and want to express them.

We're mleccha(outcaste) and venus ruled. What the hell is that? We're precious, that's the truth.

If there is one nakshatra that caters to females exclusively, this has to be it. This is no male territory. They wouldn't even understand. They don't. Think of how helpless they are when a female is birthing, how clueless they are about what menstruating feels like. We know some things have to be gatekept, for our sake. That's what we are about: guarding, protecting, gatekeeping, and we do it harshly, mercilessly, there's no other real way of doing it anyways.

I want to talk about what i think Bharani nakshatra is truly about: Fate.

Fate, choicelessness, being at the mercy of higher beings, authority, hierarchy...

Bharani's symbol is widely known to be the yoni(female sexual organ), a gateway to another world. Another symbol is the boat. In Greek mythology, souls were transported to the underworld via a boat. In various cultures, when a person died, people would put the corpse on a boat and let it burn while it floated away on water. Bharani-death association is no news, but why are females the key to all this?

After the freedom in Ashwini, the Sun's exaltation, we come to restraint, and not restraint from our own will, but the restraint we have no choice but to accept. This is the first nakshatra where we see the female. This is Saturn's debilitation, and amidst all this restraint we have the birth of planet Rahu, the birth of desire. Makes for a thrilling combination, does it not? While the male is cerebral, solar, the female is material. She IS the nature. While the male does, female is. The male's the user, the female's the used, and she can be used unfairly, poorly, incorrectly. This is the place where the female gets her revenge. Bharani is like a protection mechanism for ladies, she's given the right to refuse and if that right is violated, the will get her revenge. I'd say she has the power, but that would be wrong, because she IS power.

After all, all that male energy needs grounding, or it will disperse, that's why the female and her body, as well as mother nature that we all live on, are vessels_ material manifestations of the male energy that they hold. Bharani is about the rules that the universe is governed by, the unchangeable rules, the simple truths that have to be accepted. When you realize that the female perfection can be so easily ruined by the incorrect use of male energy, the choicelessness gains a whole new meaning in this context. It's the female that is choiceless, she's simply replicating the energy given to her on the material plane, giving it a shape, its proper shape, and if they don't like what they see, the blame should not be placed on the feminine.

So the female is the material and the rules,the boundaries, the limitations. That's why, in the most stereotipical way, many men fear women or are annoyed by them. The fate cannot be escaped, fortunately or unfortunately, and it does not really care what any individual thinks, it's much bigger than that.

Mythologically, various cultures have attributed fate to the feminine. The fates in greek mythology, three women with their threads of human fate, are one one of them. Another one that comes to mind is the norse goddess Frigg. Although I wouldn't coorelate her to Bharani, I think it's interesting that the highest standing(debatable) Norse goddess has a spinning wheel and a spindle, and it had been said that she knows the fate of everyone and eveything but keeps silent. Another interesting example would be Arianrhod from Welsh mythology. Her name literally means "The Silver wheel". Her various symbols include the tools used for weaving. The wheel-fate coorelation is apparent, and it's also interesting that fate is something to be "weaved" in all these mythologies I've mentioned.

The movie Brave(2012) comes to mind, where the rebellious princess Merida wants to change her fate, without any spoilers, there's a scene in the end where she has to repair a tapestry to avoid some disaster. She also has a tumultuous relationship with her mother, something that is also closely connected to Bharani. A really good example of this is the movie Ladybird starring Saoirse Ronan and Laurie Metcalfe, both Bharani moons.

Now we come to the part where I mention my personal life. As Bharani moon my relationship with my mother has been chaotic and full of tension, it's not exactly easy to talk about or explain. I've also noticed this in almost every Bharani person I ever knew. We always have that passion to stand up to authority and injustice, and it frequently leads to quarrels.

TRIGGER WARNING (gaslighting)

So I always thought that the gaslight gatekeep girlboss term was very Bharani. We've discussed the gatekeeping part, the girlboss part is obvious, and about gaslighting... the yoni is called "the great deluder"(source_claire nakti. Had to credit her!).

I want to talk about the movie Tangled and about Rapunzel's tale in general. The original story goes like this: A couple want a child(that venus, rahu's birth, desire theme) and the wife is pregnant(another bharani symbol) and she's craving a plant- rapunzel, that grows in their neighbor's garden(again, the desire-craving theme). Their neighbor is a sorceress. The husband ultimately steals the rapunzel, but he is caught by its rightful owner. They strike a deal: he can take all the rapunzel he wants in exchange for the baby. The man agrees.

After some time, the baby girl is born, and the witch comes to claim her. She names her Rapunzel, after the plant, and eventually, when she's twelve, locks her up in a tower. Let's pause for a moment to note the fact that we already have the Bharani themes of karma, cause and effect, desire and now claim and ownership(bharani, as the first venus-ruled nakshatra often tries to claim things and label them as their own and then gatekeep it harshly, just like the sorceress in this story. It's also interesting that the OWNED is also feminine).

Now, I really relate to Rapunzel. I also feel like I'm always missing something and that I could attain if only i could escape my current circumstances(the tower). Despite this state, I'm also full of desire and enthusiasm. When I was 8 (?) I won the tickets for my family to the premier of Tangled at my friend's birthday party. I obviously loved it(I still do), loved the story, the animation, THE MUSIC, Eugene... but never did I ever imagine that it would be so emotionally relevant to my life 12 years later. I kinda cracked the code and realised why I love it so much, it's cause she's basically me, and to be honest, she's every human in the truest, simplest way possible.

Anyways, let's continiue wuth the story. Rapunzel is locked in and while she's safe from the world, she's not safe from her "mother". Here I want to move over to the movie Tangled, but before that I'll finish the original. A prince finds her, they become lovers behind the sorceress's back, she eventually finds it out because Rapunzel can't keep her mouth shut, she cuts off Rapunzel's long golden hair and exiles her. When the prince comes to the tower he is greeted by Dame Gothel instead of Rapunzel, she tells him he's not to see Rapunzel again, he falls from there into the rose bushes and blinds himself. After years of wandering, he and Rapunzel finally find each other, Rapunzel's tears heal his blindness, they go to his kingdom and live happily ever after. Now, to Tangled.

The relationship between Rapunzel and and Gothel in Tangled is explored well enough for the audience to realize that she's abusive and a gaslighter(watch cinema therapy on youtube, they have a video about Tangled. They're also very wholesome). She's lying to her to keep her to herself, not really caring about her at all. The way Rapunzel feels misunderstood by the person who raised her feels very personal to me. This theme of gaslighting is very Bharani, as well the theme that love conquers all which is prevalent in the original tale. Also, I think that the damsel in distress archetype is very Bharani, as is the princess in the tower trope. She is power herself, so she's this completely passive power, waiting to be seen and be of use, longing for the other side while being trapped(saturn's debilitation). Bharani is about that leap of faith, to approach the female, to stand up to authority, to be brave, to follow your heart...

My another point is what drives these actions, which is desire and love. Overcoming fear through desire is the theme of Bharani. That's the very basis of life. There are tons of things to be wary of, but if we had no desire, no lust for life, we might not have lived at all. It's no secret that life and death, or birth and death, nourish each other. It's simply a matter of time(saturn, the material. The illusion of time is nessecary for life, limitations are nessecary for life, as bharani teaches us, the point is, are your limitations correct for you and your desires?), it's a process created by the illusion of time, and all that is driven by desire. While analyzing the tale of Rapunzel, I've noticed that most people focus on her long golden hair, ignoring what this tale is truly about, which is destiny, karma, cause and effect, bravery, how desire can lead to actions that have undoable consequences, how helplessly we are driven by desire.

One of my favourite movies, Tristan + Isolde (2006) is about the famous couple written about in medieval texts. They live in a cruel world but they're still driven by love, even though everyone and everything around them urges them towards restraint. They choose the limitation based on their hearts, knowing of the consequences that they would most likely have to face. I won't spoil it for you, but there's a quote in the end that i think really represents the essence of Bharani, at least, from the human perspective: " I don't know if life is greater than death, but love was more than either." This is very poweful. Life and death are just opposite sides of the same coin, death leads to birth, birth leads to death, and it's all driven by desire, it's all driven by love. And whether or not we have choice in all of this, we still simply have to accept the truth, we have to accept our truest limitations, as that is only way of growth and self-realization.

I'll leave you to that movie, that quote and this song. Love all of you, take care ❤

Please, interact with me. Like, reblog, COMMENT, especially if you're bharani, I'd love to hear your thoughts.

#bharani #bharani nakshatra #vedic astrology #moon in bharani #moon in bharani nakshatra #feminine #Spotify #sirereal astrology #sun in bharani #ascendant in bharani #ketu in bharani #astrology #nakshatras #bharani observations #bharani nakshatra observations #astrology observations #vedic astrology observations #astrology tumblr

[glamfellens]

i do find it soooo juicy that depending on how much you argue for or against the crown it seems to effect the weave boat scene with gale in act 3? i've always picked the wary dialogue options in regards to the crown and the book of karsus, and my tav reluctantly handed the book over to him in the vault ("Fine, do what you must"). so by the time the boat scene happens later that evening he's already convinced that he is enough and doesn't need to chase godhood. Ugh

#i am assuming this is what effects it i could be wrong #but i've done it twice and gotten the same result #while i've seen gifsets of the same scene where he needs to be convinced? #pls correct me if im wrong lmfao #bg3

[cienie-isengardu]

Sokka's sexism

Sokka’s sexism from the earliest episodes is an interesting case, because the Southern Water Tribe, at least from what was presented to us on screen, doesn’t seem to operate that much on gender roles? Especially when compared to the Northern Water Tribe?

I mean, yeah, warriors (men) went to war, while women, children and the elders stayed at home. But as Hama’s story shows, when Fire Nation attacked Southern Water Tribe, both female and male benders were fighting against invaders arm to arm and it seems like they were the actual first line of defense there, not the non-bender warriors.

In contrast, during siege of North Pole, in the final of Book 1: Water, we don’t see any female bender helping defend their home except Katara, who was involved in protecting Aang when he was in Spirit World.

Since all the waterbenders were captured from the Southern Tribe, it makes sense that non-bender warriors stepped in and got involved with war, while the kids and elders were left under women’s care.

Another example comes from “a ceremonial test of wisdom, bravery and trust”, known as ice dodging. As Bato explained, it is a rite of passage for young Water Tribe members and in their village “done by weaving a boat through a field of icebergs.” When a child turns 14, their father was supposed to take them to ice dodging, so they could earn their mark. Though the episode itself was focused on Sokka’s ceremony, Bato never specified it as something that boys alone should do and not only Katara (girl) but also Aang (outsider) is allowed to take part in the ritual. Once Sokka proved himself, everyone of their group got a mark, as a sign they passed the test. Interesting thing to note, since Bato did not specify it is a rite of passage for boys alone, it suggests girls were expected to know how to sail in boats of the Southern Water Tribe. Of course, again, war didn’t allow to continue this tradition as men (Hakoda, in case of Sokka & Katara) left to fight against Fire Nation.

Later, when Sokka and Katara reunited with their father, Hakoda did not try to send away Katara nor relegate her to just a medic job during the invasion. In Northern Water Tribe episodes, we learned that teaching for waterbenders there was defined by gender - women were allowed to learn only how to heal, while men how to use their bending in fight. Hakoda, nor Bato nor other of their warriors even for a moment questioned Katara’s presence on the battlefield nor the presence of women in the ranks of their allies like a blind, 12 years old Toph or the female water benders from Swamps or female(?) soldier from Earth Kingdom

And during battle, Katara did not fight in rank with other soldiers, she first alone secured Appa during submarine attack, then alongside her brother and father took down guardhouses - Hakoda himself told her and Sokka to attack one when he took down the other one

showing how much he trusted his 15 years old son and 14 years old daughter while ordering them attack on Fire Nation adult soldiers hidden in well guarder place.

Later, when Hakoda got seriously injured and Sokka temporary took the command of their forces, we could see that Hakoda relied on Katara to follow his troops and not ever once tried to send her back “to safety” or argued she should leave him behind, as often it happens with heroic (male) figures. Quite the opposite. When Katara offered him to “wait here if you want”, Hakoda firmly said “I want to press forward with the others”, which meant his daughter needed to come with him directly into an already ongoing fight (even if they stayed more at the rear of their army, they were still on battlefield).

She and her brother, alongside with the youngest members of Invasion, were forced to flee on Appa once the battle was lost, but no other adult woman was included. During Zuko’s coronation, when all war prisoners were released, in the background we could again see the female character(s) from Swamps.

And let's not forget how impressive Hakoda was by Suki when she single-handedly captured the warden at Boiling Rock prison and did not try to stop her from fighting against Ty Lee alongside Zuko and Sokka against Azula.

Understandably, we have no idea how the Southern Water Tribe and its culture looked like before the war, even arguably, the characters themselves may not have a clear idea due to growing up in dire times. But my point is, Hakoda and Bato, the two main adult Southern Water Tribe’s warriors that Avatar: The Last Airbender allowed us to know more about, have never shown any direct sexism toward Katara or other female characters. And though Sokka was the oldest boy at their village, there is no reason to think women did not hunt in absence of men, because one person would not be able to provide for a whole community 24/7. Also, as Hama proved, the Southern Water Tribe’s waterbenders were capable of fighting and their gender did not play any vital role the way it happened in their sister tribe at North Pole. 

Of course, Fire Nation’s repeated attacks affected residents of South Pole and their living conditions but from the little bits the show gave us, I think it is correct to assume if Sokka grew up with Hakoda around to guide him as he should, his behavior would be different from the sexism and dismissive attitude toward Katara or Kyoshi Warriors. For one, logically thinking Southern Water Tribe’s warriors need to do all the cooking, sewing and keeping their camp clean all on their own during war so it is not a “girly job” but a vital part of a warriors skills to survive and ensure their equipment is in the best condition. But Sokka doesn’t know it, because there is no one to teach him the importance of those skills. All Sokka had was father’s farewell words to cling to - and I’m not sure if Hakoda truly expected his son to be able to protect Katara and the village in his absence, or he just tried to make Sokka feel a bit less depressed about being left behind. You know, by giving him purpose and a Big Important Job to focus on and to feel needed and trusted. 

Which leads me to think that Sokka’s sexism is not rooted in Southern Water Tribe’s culture itself, but in his own insecurity and pressure of being the oldest boy in the village. If girls could be warriors - and be better than him - it would put into question all his self-worth, purpose and the trust given by father. Once Sokka met Kyoshi Warriors and later all the skilled girls, it challenged him on a very personal level, but he accepted the truth and moved on and alongside, finally became a true warrior and a man. 

And I find it indeed an interesting case, as Sokka’s sexism and dismissal of girls is not necessarily stemming from the culture he is part of, but rather is the effect of not knowing said culture & pre-war history of his Tribe. And of course, from his own insecurity. 

#atla #avatar: the last airbender #sokka #hakoda #just some thoughts #because bato and hakoda seems pretty okay toward katara and include her in rite of passage for sokka and invasion battle #like her age and gender doesn't matter #with dad and dad's friend (bato) like that where comes sokka's dismissal? #so i guess this is about sokka's insecurity and growing up without father to guide him #good suki straighten sokka up pretty quickly #i'm pretty sure SWT has some sense of gender roles but not so strict take like northern water tribe #no arranged marriages and no true aristocracy and waterbenders being fighters and so on #sokka though lives in destroyed by war tribe to understand yet what was done to his community i guess?

[sky-scribbles]

I never thought I'd be grateful for a game crashing so hard it erased three hours of play. But right now, I am. Because pre-crash, I decided to have Gale talk to Mystra before his Outer Plane boat ride scene. Once I realoded, I had him talk to her after. And I am so glad to have seen the difference.

When Gale speaks to Mystra without you having talked to him in the Outer Planes first, his first response on returning is to launch straight into talking about the Karsite Weave. It's very similar to his reaction to emerging from the Mind Flayer colony at the end of act 2 - he doesn't stop to sit with how he's feeling about defying Mystra and choosing to live, despite these being enormous, world-shaking decisions for him; he goes straight into fixating on the potentials of the Crown of Karsus. He pulls away from your attempts to engage him in conversation about his choice. And after talking to Mystra, he does the same thing again. He gives himself no time to reflect on how he's feeling or what he's going through; nor to consider that you, his friend and possible partner, might want to check in with him and connect with him after such an important moment.

In this version of events, Gale is fixated on the potential of the Crown. He wonders if the reason he survived the orb was because the Karsite Weave chose him. He's fully on the 'ascending to godhood' train to an extent that my Tav found very unsettling - mostly because all she wanted was to just ask her partner how he's doing after this very enormous event. And crucially, he does not talk about - and there's no opportunity to ask him - whether he thinks this would make him happy.

But then my game crashed. My saves got eaten. And I decided I deserved nice things after that, so I ended the day right after starting it and experienced the boat scene. And my Tav got to tell Gale, quite simply, that he is enough. He is loved for who he is. He doesn't need to strive harder, become better, prove himself, be more special. No perfect godhood needed; all of him - the flaws, the mistakes, the brokenness - is worthy of love.

And when he got back from talking to Mystra this time? He immediately stops to check in on himself. He says that he can't believe that he saw her. He's able to sift through his emotions and even be proud of himself for facing Mystra. Far from feeling like the orb chose him, he's stunned that he ever thought he could control it. Because he doesn't need the idea of having been chosen anymore. He doesn't need that desperate validation. And my Tav got the chance to ask him that all-important question: 'Is this what you want?'

Both versions of this scene were great and telling, and there's definitely an argument to be made for doing it both ways around. But it really struck me to conpare the two and see it made so very clear: all Gale ever needed to be able to stop and see himself truly, to consider his own feelings and needs, to communicate more clearly with his partner, and to be kind to himself... was just for someone to tell him that he is enough. Just as he is.

Because that was what it was all about, wasn't it? The orb, the book, returning of that fragment of the Weave to Mystra - it was all about him trying, desperately, impossibly, to be enough for her.

It's not until he realises that he's worthy of love in all his imperfect mortality that he can even consider being enough for himself.

#so yeah i'll be putting three by sleeping at last on a gale playlist shortly i think #bg3 #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #mystra #bg3 spoilers #sky plays bg3 #bg3 meta #bg3 gale

[galedekarios]

Am I the only one who thinks that something very different is happening in some people's games from mine? Cause I still keep seeing people talking about how gale is constantly trying to get in their pants and ???? even when romancing him you literally can't have sex until well into act 2, and he has no romance content unless the player makes the first move in the weave scene. He's actually one of the most subtle of the companions on this, several of the others very blatantly come onto you whether you've ever chosen romance dialogue with them or not. But it's gale people talk about. I'm confused what is actually happening when they say that

no, you're not the only one. i think anyone who pays the least bit of attention to and/or actually played gale's romance storyline for themselves will understand that his romance is a slowburn.

people keep regurgitating the crap they've heard from someone else and now it's turned into this bizarre twilight zone take of who gale is and how his romance is.

those scenes simply do not exist where he "constantly tries to get into your pants". gale has very few scenes that are or can be romantic: the weave scene. the conversation at the tiefling party. the flirt in the shadow-cursed lands. last night alive scene. the boat scene.

like you pointed out, if you want to romance gale, you as the player have to actively choose options to express an interest in him and actively choose to pursue him at several points:

during the weave scene, it's you as the player who has to imagine a kiss or a romantic walk. during the tiefling party, it's once again you who have to flirt with him. you have to actively initiate any sort of romance with him since gale doesn't do it on his own for various reasons.

i've also seen people like to blame this perception on his release bug, but i honestly think it's more or less just an excuse to perpetuate negativity and hate directed at a character they already disliked.

if it was truly just the bug, then i wonder where the same energy was for k*rlach, who for the longest time had the same bug if you romanced gale. the option to tell her that you were in a relationship with him never went away, even when you picked it several times, and she took rejection much worse. nvm that even without bugs, she wakes you up in the middle of the night going "i want to ride you until you see stars" once your approval gets high enough. but no, it's crickets.

the simple truth is that many of the companions come on much stronger, much much earlier in the game. k*rlach is just an example here (lae does it too, ast*rion, etc) - and that isn't meant as criticism or hate against those companions btw, they're all different people with different stories and different characters and it makes sense for them.

it's the double standard of the fandom that gets me.

you don't have to like gale. feel free to hate him. but at least hate him accurately lol.

#ch: gale dekarios #vg: baldur's gate 3 #series: baldur's gate #text: asks #text: personal #fandom critical #discourse for ts

[morallyinept]

A full character analysis on JAVI GUTIERREZ from the film THE UNBEARBALE WEIGHT OF MASSIVE TALENT

I've created this as a point of reference when writing for Pedro's characters, and I hope you find it useful. Even if you just want to learn more about the character. 🖤

FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO'S CHARACTERS ANALYSED

FULL CHARACTER STUDY:

Basic Details:

Full Name: Javi Gutierrez

Nickname(s): Javi

Appears in: The Unbearable Weight Of Massive Talent, 2022 (first appearance seen at approx. 18:50)

Age (if known): 39/40 - Javi has invited Nick to his 40th birthday party

Nationality: Spanish - Javi lives in Mallorca, Spain. Javi's villa used for filming is actually Villa Shehereazade, which is based in Dubrovnik, Croatia

Sexuality: Straight

Family: Father, deceased. Cousin, Lucas Gutierrez. No other family mentioned

Spouse/Partner: None, however Javi is in love with Gabriela Lucchesi

Relationship Status: Single

Current Living Status: Alive

Languages Spoken: Spanish, English

Education: Not confirmed, although Javi writes a script that is made into a film, so assumed basic schooling/college education at least

Occupation:

Job Role/Title: Face of a cartel posing as an Olive Grove business run by his cousin/script writer

Special Skill(s): Able to memorise all of Nick's films, use of firearms

Notable Colleague(s): Nick Cage

Distinguishing Features:

Tattoo(s): None

Piercings: None

Scar(s): None

Other Markings: Freckles on neck

Eye Colour: Brown

Prominent Feature(s): Brown curly hair, facial scruff that is slightly greying, moustache

Injuries: Javi is shot in his left shoulder by his cousin Lucas. Javi is also hit and knocked over by a car when he runs out into the road, although he is high at the time and doesn't seem obviously injured.

Hair Colour: Brown

Personality:

Traits: excitable, wild, impulsive

Javi speaks with a Spanish accent as he is from Mallorca, Spain. His cadence is light and mellow, and he weaves into Spanish when excitable and high.

Javi seems to be the highly suggestible type, letting his imagination run away with him. He also seems to live vicariously through Nick's films, unable to do so in his own life.

Javi is the face of a cartel, posing as an Olive Grove business, which is run primarily by his cousin Lucas after Javi's father passed away. It is not confirmed exactly how much Javi knows about the day-to-day dealings of the business, as he wasn't aware of the kidnapping, however he says to Nick, "my cousin Lucas is the head of the organisation! The whole world thinks I run it. When my father died, Lucas took over. He forced me to be the figurehead..." so there is some assumption that Javi would know about some of the business dealings to some extent. And is potentially being manipulated by his cousin as he also tells Nick that "you don’t just leave this world, Nick. You, and everyone you care about, is in constant danger."

Javi is in love with Gabriela, however does not act on it to keep her safe. Explaining this to Nick, he says "I can’t be with Gabriela because that would put a target on her back."

Javi goes through a character growth arc by standing up to his cousin and doing the right thing in the end, even if he knows it will put his own life in danger. Together, he and Gabriela take on Lucas. Javi says to Nick, "I'm never going to have any kind of a life unless I stand up to my cousin! I need this."

Javi appears to take drugs recreationally. He is seen smoking a joint with Nick after jumping off the cliff, and they also take LSD drops to get inspiration for their movie.

Javi is seen cliff jumping and also driving whilst high on LSD, indicating he likes to have adventure and live on the wild side.

Fashion/Outfits:

Outfit 1 - (Opening scene on boat) Light blue blazer, white and grey striped shirt, brown chinos, brown belt

Outfit 2 - (With Gabriela scene) White and grey striped shirt, brown chinos, brown belt

Outfit 3 - (By the pool scene) White and blue striped speedo, cream linen shirt, sunglasses

Outfit 4 - (The cliffs scene) Striped button up shirt, white vest top, burnt orange pants, white sneakers

Outfit 5 - (Paddington scene - 2nd outfit) Cream chinos, white and red striped button up, white vest top

Outfit 6 - (In pool with Nick) Red swimming shorts

Outfit 7 - (Javi's birthday party scene) Green two-piece suit, blue print patterned shirt, gold ring on pinky finger on left hand, dark shoes

Outfit 8 - (LSD scene) Brown striped shirt, green pants, blue sneakers, ring and watch

Outfit 9 - (Clay pigeon shooting scene) Red striped shirt, cream chinos

Outfit 10 - (Nick's family scene & remainder of scenes) Yellow checked linen shirt, blue rolled up pants, brown suede loafers, trades for Nick's Vans sneakers

Outfit 11 - (Premiere scene) Black two piece suit, white shirt, black silk tie with silver stripe detailing

Accessories: Gold Rolex watch, sunglasses, gold ring on left pinky finger with what looks to be a diamond cut into it

Weapons Used:

Weapon(s): (Exact weapons pictured below)

Javi's gun is a Glock 17 (3rd Generation) hand pistol 9x19mm

Javi's collectible Golden Guns are Castor Troy 24k Gold Titanium Springfield Armory M19-11-A1 V-12 Pistols .45 ACP

Modes of Transport:

Vehicle(s):

Javi owns and drives a silver Porsche 356 Pre-A Speedster with the license plate 216F1AG

Javi owns and drives a green 1984 Land Rover 90 with the license plate 940OFJI

Javi owns and drives a speedboat, which appears to be an Art of Kinetik Antagonist model

Dialogue:

🗨 See Javi's full dialogue from the film, including deleted scenes.

Further Character Links (if any):

Behind The Scenes TUWOMT, Behind The Scenes 2nd Video, More Behind The Scenes Footage

Samples of Javi's Wardrobe - Watch, striped t-shirt, sunglasses, yellow shirt, blue sneakers & Adidas sneakers info obtained via Styleofpascal IG

FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO'S CHARACTERS ANALYSED

#pedro pascal #javi gutierrez #pedro pascal characters #PPCU #the unbearable weight of massive talent #javi g #tuwomt #pedro pascal character study #pedro pascal character database

[separatist-apologist]

A Lost Princess of Sunlight

Summary: Lady Elain has spent her life in the idyllic countryside wanting for nothing, so when her adopted sister Vassa begs her to accompany her to court, how can Elain say no? The roguish prince is in need of a wife and Elain, certain she'd make a terrible princess, has no interest in such theatrics.

But something about the palace brings back memories lost to the sea ten years before. Memories Elain had been certain she'd never get back…memories that speak of a colder place, and sisters long forgotten. Amid the tumultuous politics and the looming war, Elain finds herself embroiled in a mystery to find out who she really is.

And where she really comes from.

Note: HAPPY HOLIDAYS @writtenonreceipts! I hope you like this- I tried so hard to give it TOG vibes AND to incorporate nessian and feysand because you said you love them (and I in turn love you).

@acotargiftexchange

Major thanks to @velidewrites and @wilde-knight for the moodboard + beta-ing this fic when I was laying face down in a puddle of my own tears.

--

Prologue: 

“Go,” Feyre whispered, hands pushing against Elain’s back. It was frigid outside, their boots cracking the ice crusted over the cobblestone streets. It should have smelled like pine and snow, should have been utterly silent as everyone waited for the coming Solstice and the gifts that so often accompanied it.

War had shattered the once idyllic peace, inching closer and closer to the capital of Ellesmere until Elain and her family were forced to flee in the night. Just ahead, her mother grasped Nesta’s hand, weaving through alleyways unfamiliar to the ransacking soldiers.

She knew where they were going. They had practiced this before. One more left, ducking beneath a half-ruined awning, and then a sprint to the docks where a ship was waiting. Her father was nowhere to be seen, though Elain supposed he had a head start on them.

“Go,” her mother urged, pushing Nesta, then Elain, and finally Feyre into the little vessel. A man was waiting, hoisting them beneath with hurried, impatient fingers. “Get down—”

A flaming arrow screamed through the night, missing Feyre by mere inches. It took Elain a minute to realize what had happened—the shield that had saved her youngest sister’s life. Their mother stared, blue eyes like glassy mirrors against her ashen face. Golden brown hair graying at the temples was set aflame. Nesta began screaming, the words ringing in Elain’s ears.

“Go,” their mother mouthed, hitting her knees before she pitched forward. Hands pulled the three of them roughly back into the boat as orders were given to pull up the anchor. Was she crying? It seemed as if she must be given how frozen her face felt. 

The world was moving too slow for Elain, making it impossible for her racing thoughts to process. Even as the ship pulled away, dragged by roaring wind, Elain was certain their mother was going to get up. 

She didn’t. 

“Princess,” the captain was yelling at Nesta, unsteady against the choppy northern sea. “Princess, we need—”

Elain never heard what they needed. The wind drowned out the command which Elain didn’t care much about, anyway. Was Nesta Queen, now? The few sailors moving about eyed her fourteen-year-old sister warily and though Elain couldn’t hear what Nesta said, she recognized the sharpness of her eyes. Nesta was used to giving out such commands. Feyre was gripping the railing of their ship, staring at the water below with a hollow gaze. Elain knew what she needed to do—put on a brave face and take Feyre into the interior of the ship where they could get some sleep, if only to forget what was happening to their home.

Everything was going to be okay. They’d get to the safehouse where relatives would be waiting to usher them to safety. Everyone was okay. A healer would attend to their mother who would be bedridden but otherwise safe. 

Deep, deep down Elain knew it was a lie. She needed those lies, at least for now. As the ship rocked, Elain made her way toward Feyre who was still looking outward. The once beautiful city she’d spent her life in was a mere haze of smoke and fire in the distance, half lost to the fog of sea. 

“Feyre,” Elain began, though that was all she was able to say before the ship violently lurched to one side. The gods were moody that night, unwilling to offer safe passage despite the circumstances. Elain lost Feyre, hitting her back against the wet wood so roughly it robbed her of breath. 

Please, she thought just as water rushed over her. It was shockingly cold, leaving her paralyzed like a rag doll, flung from one end to the other. She could hear nothing, could do nothing, utterly helpless to even draw breath though she desperately wanted to.

Get up get up get up! Her mind screamed with panic. Elain did try to grasp at something when the ship tilted sickeningly again, though her fingers were utterly stiff and unwilling to bend. The world was upside down, a swirl of dark hues of navy and gray.

And then it was silent and salt and made entirely of water. Elain’s body constricted, lungs demanding air though none arrived when she opened her mouth. More water, more fear. She could feel nothing, could see nothing. Just a blur of her own hazy fear and the terrible fear she was going to die. 

Elain did try, though it amounted to nothing. There was nothing to cling to, no light to tell her which way was up and which way was down. And as the cold seeped in, somehow driving out the horrible chill, she thought that maybe this wasn’t so bad. Maybe it was better to be without fear. 

Maybe this was a mercy.

In the end, it was nothing at all.

[ten years later]

Lucien Vanserra stretched out his legs, neck stiff. “Bastard,” he spat, tossing his sword to the muddy ground beneath him. Behind him, the boisterous laugh of his best friend and second-in-command Jurian followed him out of the training pits.

“You’re a sore loser,” Jurian crooned, likely catching the way Lucien’s fists curled and uncurled. “I have half a mind to tell your father you were bested in training again.”

“And I have half a mind to punch you in the face ahead of Lady Vassa’s visit,” Lucien retorted hotly, wiping the smile off Jurian’s face. “Oh. Did you not hear she was coming to court?”

It was Jurian’s turn to look as though he’d like to hit Lucien. Lucien had intended to tell Jurian though it had slipped his awareness given all the other things happening. Now was as good a time as any, besides. 

“Why?”

“Why do you suppose? Now that mother and father insist I marry, every lord with a daughter under the age of forty will descend upon us hoping to secure a match.”

“You wouldn’t—”

“Of course I wouldn’t,” Lucien snapped, wiping his sweaty brow against his bare forearm. “And Lady Vassa is hardly on mothers shortlist besides. This little ball of hers is not in good faith.”

“Ah, but it will be one last night of debauchery and fun,” Jurian teased, elbowing Lucien in the ribs. “This is every firstborn son’s duty, is it not? Get married, carry on the family line, etcetera and so forth?”

Lucien’s mood only darkened at the prospect. It wasn’t that he minded the thought of one day having a son, of becoming king and ruling the empire his father had so strategically built. It was the manner in which he was expected to do it. His own father had been allowed to choose his wife, however ill-advised it had been at the time. Lucien had no intention of stealing another man's wife as his father had done, sweeping her away and leaving six furious sons behind.

He merely wanted the ability to say who he wanted when he wanted.

And, perhaps, he was still a little burned by Jesminda’s rather abrupt dismissal of their courtship. She was gone, left to the countryside with her new husband she loved. Lucien told himself he ought to be happy for her. It had been nearly two years since she’d left, married and beaming—practically glowing, now that he thought about it. He’d been too bitter at the time to notice. He didn’t begrudge her that.

Lucien merely wished she had felt that way about him. He was convinced there was no one else in the world for him and perhaps he’d told his mother so drunkenly a few months earlier. If he’d only kept his big mouth shut, he’d have been allowed to carouse as he liked for at least another year.

Possibly two if he was careful about it.

Now he’d be married by solstice—just in time to parade his new wife around the summit in Velaris while making not-so-veiled threats to Archeron, the utter bastard. He was in the process of marrying off his eldest daughter so he, too, might have a successor to the throne, looking west toward Lucien’s half brother which was a threat in and of itself.

Everyone knew the Vanserras would love to see the southern empire laid to ruin. It was important Lucien married more than ever—ideally into a family with deep pockets to fight the war they all knew was coming. Peace was tentative, brokered when the northern royals lost their queen and a princess all in the same day. Ellesmere ceded territory laden with gold, enriching Lucien’s family and in exchange his father returned their remaining two daughters, rescued at sea. 

He still remembered Nesta Archeron. They’d been allowed to live in the palace rather than as prisoners and while Feyre had been mostly mute, glassy eyed and silent, Nesta had raged like a wild animal.

If she still harbored even a lick of resentment, Lucien knew she’d be the driving force behind Eris Vanserra’s throne and her father's bid for revenge. Eris was coming on a diplomatic mission, too, which was the polite way of saying Lucien’s mother was going to throw herself at his feet and hope she forgave her for leaving, while offering up all the same women she was pushing at Lucien, too.

As if Eris were the type for a love match. 

Shaking his head, Lucien pushed through the wooden gate to make his way back toward the city. It was unseasonably hot even for summer, the humidity drawing sweat even when he was sitting in the shade. It was miserable just then, boots hitting the sunstone streets with a loud thwack. Behind them, the sounds of clanging metal and groaning soldiers were half drowned by the cheerful white sands and foaming ocean, while ahead of them the bustling city created a chorus of voices. It was Lucien’s favorite sound. 

And his favorite sight. The looming palace on the hill made of ivory and gold and the multicolored buildings that circled around, built on a sloping mountainside. Purple flowers dotted along spiky grass while towering palm trees occasionally dropped coconuts to the streets. As a child, Lucien had collected them, begging his father to puncture them so he could drink the milk inside as he strutted about, a pretend sword strapped to his hip. 

Now when he stepped onto the main road people lowered their eyes and bowed their heads. He wasn’t a boy anymore, but a man they might one day call king. Lucien missed being the former, though—missed the way they’d reach for a strand of his auburn hair or how they’d sneak him little treats when they thought his parents weren’t looking. 

Jurian straightened, his expression shifting from Lucien’s friend to Captain of the Guard. One day Jurian would be his General, but for now, this was enough. Jurian was one of them—just another man from Rhodes who had risen through the ranks while making Lucien feel less isolated when he, too, had been shoved into the army. Everyone else treated Lucien with respect.

Jurian had shoved his face into the dirt.

“There’s a way out of immediate marriage,” Jurian began, reminding Lucien once again why he was both Lucien’s best friend and closest advisor. 

“Go on,” Lucien murmured, inhaling the smell of grilled meat. 

“Velaris is filled with beautiful women. Tell your mother you’re interested in a more political marriage.”

“And when she realizes I’m not interested in a more political marriage?” Lucien asked dryly, trying to think of the last time he’d been inside Velaris. Had he ever? Maybe once when he’d been a boy, the memory eluding him.

“It’ll be winter and half the ladies who visited will be married to other lords. It’s not forever, but maybe another year or two. Nothing will save you from the marriage bed forever.”

“It’s better than anything I considered,” Lucien agreed, dodging a donkey hauling a cart filled with sunmelons. 

“And who knows. Maybe the love of your life is up in the mountains,” Jurian added, elbowing Lucien once again.

“I doubt that,” Lucien grumbled, his thoughts once again turning toward Jesminda. How long before she was pregnant, he wondered? How long before she brought her firstborn to court for his father’s blessing, forcing Lucien to see the man and family she’d wanted over him? 

Why not me?

Knowing full well Jesminda had never wanted to be a princess and had never wanted to be queen. 

He couldn’t shake the thought from his mind even as he entered the opulent palace to a loud argument between two of the philosophers his father insisted be allowed to live at court. Sidestepping them and mumbling a goodbye to Jurian, Lucien took the steps two at a time toward his bedroom. He needed just a little silence and a chance to clear his head. 

Flopping onto his bed, still sticky from heat and sweat, Lucien closed his eyes, intending to find a way through the tangled mess that was his mind.

All he found was sleep.

“Come with me,” Vassa urged, reaching for Elain’s hands. “Please. Please. Pleasepleaseplease—”

“I don’t belong at court,” Elain interrupted, looking up from her book. Vassa plopped beside her, spreading her hands over the cerulean blue of her skirts. “And you’ll have more fun without me.”

“I won’t. I never do,” Vassa protested, pretty face twisted into a scowl. “The prince is a bore and his court is far too self-satisfied to be of any amusement.”

“Stop, you’re making it sound too fun—”

“Come with me anyway. Rhodes is a wonderful city filled with libraries and museums and amusements beyond your wildest imagination. Plus there will be parties and dancing and you love parties and dancing.”

“Yes, and there will be all these well-bred ladies–”

“You’re a well-bred lady, and my sister to boot.”

Elain offered Vassa a look of exasperation. They were sisters in name only, but not by blood. Elain’s family was yet another casualty in the brutality the north inflicted upon them, razing her village to the ground and tossing her body into the western sea. Had she not been found by Lord Koshington, Elain might have succumbed to exposure. Her life before Vassa was lost to her and in some ways, she knew she was quite fortunate. She’d been given the education of a lady and one day a marriage would be arranged on her behalf.

It was far better than whatever she’d been expecting before the raid, she supposed. But just because Lord Koshington had taken her in didn’t make her an actual lady. Elain had never been brave enough to go to court either, choosing to remain behind rather than be reminded of her inadequacies.

She wanted to see it all, if only once. 

“I should stay–”

“I won’t take no for an answer. Please. I’ll do your latin homework for a week if you agree. Or…I’ll give you my gold dress—”

“You wouldn’t,” Elain replied, facing the book in her lap to fully look at Vassa. “You love that gown.”

“I love you more. Is that an agreement, then? You’ll spend a month in Rhodes with me in exchange for my gold dress?”

“And my latin homework. And you’ll work harder on the piano when we return as well. I’m tired of being the only one asked to play when guests come over.”

“Done,” Vassa agreed, blue eyes as bright as the sun itself. “Lucky you agreed because I may have told father this morning you’d agreed to accompany me. We’ll serve as each other's chaperones so he can waste his time droning on and on with the king about politics.”

“Chaperones? Who are you hoping to see?”

Vassa’s bronzed cheeks darkened, her freckles lost beneath the wash of color. Elain forgot her book entirely, surging forward until their faces were mere inches apart. “Tell me his name at once!”

“Swear to keep it between us. I would die if he ever learned the depth of my affection. He thinks I loathe him and I would prefer to keep it that way.”

“You’re cruel, Vassa.”

“Men prefer to work for our affection and this man is no different. Worse, I suspect, which is why I like him. The prince’s mother is hoping to match someone with her son but I am far more interested in the Captain of the Guard.”

“Is he handsome?” Elain asked, resting the back of her head against the rough bark of the tree behind her. 

“Terribly handsome. And horribly stupid, but in an endearing sort of way. I’m certain he’s good at many things…just not winning an argument.”

“Well, no one can win an argument against the likes of you,” Elain said with a laugh. “What will the lord say about it?”

Vassa’s smile dipped a bit. “No, I’m sure. He has no title, no money and will always serve the prince. Still. It’s fun to imagine a world in which we could select our own husbands, don’t you think?”

“I’ve never really thought about it,” Elain admitted. “It seems risky.”

“That’s just what men want you to think. But we’re perfectly capable of knowing our own minds and deciding for ourselves. We’re not as helpless and brainless as they imagine.”

“What are you planning?”

“Me? Oh, I wouldn’t dream of planning or plotting.”

Elain rolled her eyes, wondering for the first time just how much Vassa actually liked this man and how far she might be willing to go. Elain pondered it all evening, wondering if she shouldn’t tell someone that sending the two of them mostly alone to Rhodes was a bad idea.

But Vassa’s words lingered in her mind. 

We’re not as helpless and brainless as they imagine.

Because Vassa was right. She’d been educated within an inch of her life just for men to waltz around her acting as if she were as new as a freshly born baby. Treated as though it were cute she had opinions when she was supposed to be nothing more than ornamentation while Elain brushed it off because what else could she do?

But Vassa was right, just like she always was. They weren’t stupid—men wanted it both ways. They wanted a wife smart enough to one day oversee the education of their sons, but stupid enough they were always the unchallenged authority. It didn’t mean Elain wouldn’t acquiesce when her time came—she had no other option and no other skills but to be married—but that didn’t mean she couldn’t help Vassa escape the expectations.

That was what Elain told herself, anyway. And it helped her sleep at night for the following week as preparations were made to leave the idyllic countryside estate they resided on and make their way further south toward the coast. Lord Koschington was still accompanying them and would be the one to introduce Elain to court—as his niece rather than his daughter. That was the more believable lie without besmirching Elain’s reputation right from the start. 

With the gold gown packed in a trunk and the promise of being allowed to coast in her lessons when she returned—assuming Vassa returned with her at all. Elain was dreading the carriage ride not because the journey was long and it was already oppressively hot, even at dawn, but because Lord Koshington loved to hear himself talk.

And in the carriage he had a captive audience. 

For five miserable hours, Vassa and Elain sat straight backed and silent while Lord Koschington droned on and on about King Helion’s feud with the King of the North, Archeron. Elain loathed the name like any good southerner, having learned to fear those silver armored warriors that often ducked across the border to raze whole villages to the ground. 

He had two daughters and Koschington was fascinated with the oldest, said to be unparalleled in her beauty and destined for the prince to the west, Eris Vanserra. For five hours, all he talked about was the disaster it would be if those two territories united and how Lucien would be the last Spell-Cleaver to ever sit on the sunlit throne. It was the sort of conundrum that kept men like Lord Koshington awake at night but to Elain, who couldn’t remember the war and had been living in nothing but peace for the last decade, it felt more like unwarranted anxiety. 

Who cared about a princess’ marriage? Why wouldn’t she marry a prince, besides? Elain had heard rumors that Eris Vanserra was the most handsome prince in the realm, still unmarried as his ancient father crept toward the grave. She imagined there was a line from his bedroom door to the edge of his coast hoping to secure him as a husband.

As for herself, well. She was glad to not be in such a position. Elain didn’t think she cared for that kind of responsibility. 

Eventually, even Lord Koschington was silenced by the heat, sweat sliding down the temples of his face. His once onyx hair was threaded with silver and his face lined with age though he was easily a good-looking man. Elain sometimes wondered why he’d never remarried after the passing of his wife though she’d never had the guts to ask him. That was private—personal. 

He wasn’t her father, either. He’d cared for her, taken her in when that had never been his obligation and treated her as well as his own daughter.

Elain knew better than to upset him. Though he’d never given her a reason to believe otherwise, some part of her suspected that if she acted outside of his will, he might withdraw his support. Better to be above reproach in all things so he felt his investment was worth it. 

Elain had never been more grateful in her life to stumble out of a carriage. At first glance, she saw the women in the capitol wore far fewer layers than they had been out in the country. No laces, no petticoats, no sleeves. Gods above, but Elain was desperate to update her wardrobe with the breezy fabrics and shorter sleeves, even if some part of her felt slightly scandalized by the scooping backs and the clingy bodices. 

She noticed the palace itself next. Set atop a rather steep hill and half-carved into a mountain overlooking the southern sea, the sprawling structure was made of ivory and gold, lined with swaying green palms, while purple flowers dotted against the lawn.

Rows of carriages circled to the front of the drive spilling ladies in all manner of garb toward the towering pillars where they were greeted by an elderly man draped in white. Elain and Vassa both dipped into curtseys when it was their turn as Lord Koshington announced, “My daughters, Vassa and Elain.” Elain’s pulse hammered.

My daughter.

He’d told her she would be introduced as a cousin. Daughter? Blinking rapidly lest she burst into tears, Elain grasped Vassa’s hand so hard she was certain there was no blood flow. Putting aside his kind words and his willingness to pretend she was wholly his, Elain and Vassa stepped into the palace. She’d expected more of the miserable, oppressive heat but somehow it was cool. Not cold, but chilly enough a shiver raced up her spine the moment the air hit her skin. 

They were hardly the most anticipated guests—no royals to greet them, no decadent rooms. Lord Koshington had his own while the girls were given a suite of interconnected bedrooms that were larger than anything Elain had ever seen. Draped in cream and gold, her bedroom had the good fortune of overlooking the sea and the gardens just below. 

Elain was living in a dream.

She didn’t want to wake up.

Nesta Archeron took the spiraling, stone steps two at a time, navy skirts gathered in one hand to keep her from plummeting right back down. Chilly hair nipped at her cheeks, drawing color that wouldn’t otherwise exist. The air itself stung her eyes, making them seem glassy like she’d been crying.

Nesta Archeron never cried. 

Hiding at the top of the tower stood her younger sister Feyre, fingers bright red from the cold. “Have they arrived?” Nesta asked, shouldering beside Feyre to peer out of the little arched window overlooking the whole of the city. 

“There,” Feyre said, nodding toward the black and silver banners marching toward the palace gates. Nesta’s eyes were drawn to the man sitting atop a black steed, his matching cape fluttering in the wind. She couldn’t see him well, but every ounce him screamed warrior king. 

King Rhysand of the East.They called him the King of Nightmares for his reputation for being ruthless—he didn’t kill those who slipped over his border looking to destabilize his regime. Rhysand had them tortured, broke their minds, and sent them back home. 

He was flanked on either side by two men who might have been brothers. The distance obscured their features, though Nesta could make out the broad shoulders and lethal sword hilt of the one on the left and the slimmer build of the one on the right. She supposed the one on the left was the terrifying Lord of Bloodshed, Rhysand’s general, and the other was the torture master himself, Azriel. 

For the first time in living memory, the North was welcoming the East into their borders. Nesta wasn’t foolish enough to think it was mere diplomacy, though she’d already promised the prince of the west her home, her throne, and her body, too, if he returned with a way into the south.

But should he fail, she’d do what her father was hoping and she’d marry Rhysand if he could offer her the revenge she was so desperate for.

Nesta’s nightmares were still plagued of Elain, wide-eyed and shivering as she made her way toward Feyre in the dark. She still dreamt of the ricocheting canon that slammed into their ship and how she and Feyre were whisked into a lifeboat. How they’d been kept political prisoners by Helion himself, their lives used to forge the treaty that now bound both nations.

While Elain had never been found, her body still haunting the sea bed. 

And Nesta might have been able to forgive the death of her mother. But she’d sworn her life to protecting Elain the very night she’d failed. It was the only way to convince Elain to leave.

I’ll protect you. Please. Come with me.

How she’d failed. 

Nesta was old enough to inherit her father’s throne though law dictated she needed a husband and so Nesta had begun a campaign of finding the right man. She didn’t need love—didn’t want love. She wanted vengeance and none of the men at court were equipped to give her that.

Eris Vanserra wanted it nearly as badly as she did, and was just as practical. He’d told her he wasn’t looking for a love match and would look the other way if she chose to take a lover so long as she was discreet about it—and he had no question regarding any future offspring.

Fine.

He would be there now, poking through Helion’s secrets. Looking for weaknesses, mapping out their borders, the walls of Rhodes, and anything else he could glean. Nesta would give him everything, ruining her father’s careful legacy in favor of turning her family into Vanserras, giving her husband total control her territory, her wealth, her armies.

And she’d be the one to drive the blade straight through Helion’s blackened heart.

Rhysand was her backup plan and her father’s first choice. Eris Vanserra was a snake in the grass, untrustworthy and perhaps more damning, a Vanserra. Their family had ruled longer than any other on the continent, with a legacy that predated the oldest written record. 

But for all Eris’ faults, Nesta knew vengeance was personal for him. Helion had stolen his mother away in the night, forced her into marriage, and made her his wife. Those kinds of scars lingered, lasted. Rhysand wasn’t that sort of man from what she’d gathered.

He was a shadowed mystery, his motivations unclear. She didn’t know if he even wanted conquest, or if he was merely interested in seeing her home. She’d sent several letters which he’d returned with short, polite answers. Nothing helpful, no hidden message she could read between the lines. Only a gentleman’s words that were utterly banal and uninteresting to her.

Gentleman be damned.

She needed someone bloodthirsty and cruel.

Beside her, Feyre turned her head, chestnut hair whipping against her face. She knew, even if Nesta had never once explicitly said what she planned. Feyre knew, watchful as she was. Whether she approved or not didn’t matter, though Nesta had never known Feyre to be terribly soft-hearted. And she suspected she carried the same weighty guilt over Elain’s death, held the same deep-seated need to see someone pay for it. 

“We should be ready to greet them,” Nesta said, well aware Feyre would slip up into the rafters to listen without anyone watching.

“You go, then. I have no interest in any more princes or kings,” she replied, blue eyes flashing with defiance. “Nor do I wish to assist father in selling us off like livestock.”

“Not us. Me. You are safe—and once I’m married, you can pick whatever lovely northern gentleman is hounding your steps. I’ll make sure of it.”

“I don’t want a husband. We don’t need any of these horrible men to get what we want, Nesta. Take the throne, rewrite the laws—”

“The nobility would revolt. They’d throw me in prison or worse, force a marriage on me, wait until I gave them a son, and then stage some timely yet tragic accident. It’s better to have a say in it. To decide for myself and direct it as best I can.”

“None of them are trustworthy and I fear this king—Rhysand— is the worst of them.”

“Worse than Vanserra?” Nesta replied, genuinely curious which Feyre would prefer ruling their home. 

Feyre glanced back out the window, eyes narrowing. “He looks like a liar.”

“That’s because he’s a man.”

Feyre blew out a breath, crossing her arms over the rosy pink dress she wore. Neither of them would acknowledge what they were both thinking—Lord Tamlin Rosewood, who’d asked for Feyre’s hand in marriage and then struck her in a fit of frustration over some problem with the dowry. It had been, he claimed, an accident. 

He had been expelled from court, banished to the countryside and Feyre locked in her room until the bruising on her face faded. Everyone wanted to pretend it had never happened but to Nesta, it merely highlighted that she needed to be the one to secure their family so Feyre could have a small sliver of peace. 

Love was for the lower classes, besides. Perhaps Ferye understood that, now. 

“Come on,” Nesta said, hoping she wouldn’t have to go alone. She would, but she would feel less anxiety if she weren’t by herself. 

For once, Feyre didn’t put up a fight. Perhaps she recognized Nesta’s own vulnerability. Or maybe she wanted to stare the foreign king down with that lethal gaze of hers that made men wither to dust. Nesta thought it would be something to see them cower before her petite sister rethinking whatever strategy she was certain they must have.

The halls were utterly emptied, leaving only the watchful sentries posted by windows and doors, none of whom were allowed to meet their gaze. She still remembered Elain trying so hard to get the ones at the throne room door to smile and how she’d nearly always succeeded.

Feyre and Nesta didn’t bother. 

Their father was waiting, sitting on his icy, iron throne crowned in the blue diamonds that could be found only in the ancient mountains of the Spine, the natural border between their home and Rhysand’s. Nesta wondered if Rhysand would come wearing them, too. Nesta was wearing them around her neck, so heavy it made her spine ache. She’d carefully braided her hair off her face and put on a rather sumptuous, though conservative, gown. 

She was beautiful and she knew it. Nesta also knew that men liked a woman who presented herself well—Eris Vanserra had certainly been taken with her presentation, and she assumed Rhysand would be, too. There was no harm in letting him see what he wanted. A wellbred, obedient wife was the expectation. It wasn’t the reality, but that was a problem for another day. 

Nesta and Feyre took their place on either side of their father, staring across the room lined with nobility as the sounds of heavy footsteps began echoing louder and louder. For one moment, something in Nesta quaked with fear, blood icy as though death itself was making its way for her.

It was only a man—a man she didn’t want, didn’t like, and would never love. Rhysand and his right hands were the only ones who came in, strangely unadorned.

He was, objectively, attractive enough. High cheekbones set in a symmetrical face, with eyes so blue they were nearly violet and dark hair styled to look as though the wind had merely tousled it. A silver circlet of stars adorned his brow and one heavy ring was perched on his middle finger while the rest of him was rather bare in comparison to her father.

He looked like a warrior king in his dark black leathers and the heavy cape hanging from his shoulders. He lacked all the pomp and circumstance Eris had brought with him along with the warmth, too. His whole presence exuded ice and instinctively, Nesta took a step back.

His eyes were on her, and then her father as he swept into a bow. Nesta watched, as he came back up, how his gaze slid to Feyre.

And remained there.

“Rhysand,” her father began, his voice sharp and clear. “I hope the journey didn’t give you too much trouble.”

A cat’s smile slid across his features, eyes flicking back to their father. “None at all.”

Nesta didn’t hear her father’s response, buzzing filling her ears as she took a moment to survey the other men who’d come to join their king. The tallest one had removed the heavy helmet he wore, tucking it beneath one muscular arm and oh, Nesta wished he hadn’t. His face, scarred just at the eyebrow and again across full lips, was perhaps the most beautiful face she’d ever laid eyes on. Not classically, of course—for one, he was far too large. The sconce on the wall across the room was, perhaps, as tall as this man was and the muscle packed on his body spoke to an active life, never mind the twin, curved swords looming over his shoulders.

A light layer of dark stubble graced a perfect jaw while strange, whirling black inked tattoos peeked from beneath the neckline of his armor. She wondered what they meant, what their purpose was. Nesta drank in his slightly crooked nose, likely broken in some battle he’d won and the curved scar across his throat that must have been brutal when he’d first received it. He had his large hands clasped in front of him and when she looked up to take in the color of his eyes—hazel, more green than brown—she found he was grinning at her.

He’d caught her looking at him and wanted her to know it. Nesta immediately looked away, unable to hide the damning flush creeping up her own neck. 

Nesta swore he’d never catch her looking at him again.

Hands in his pockets, Rhys allowed Archeron to show him around the palace. These visits never failed to bore him. Look at this painting, survey my wealth. Did you see my daughters? Aren’t they lovely? 

Usually the answer was covert eyerolls and shared smirks with Cassian and Azriel. Today, though, Rhys felt moody. Unsettled. Disturbed, even, by the younger daughter he hadn’t known existed and hadn’t expected to see. 

Rumors swirled about Nesta Archeron and the possible marriage her father was considering with heir apparent Eris Vanserra. His father was on death’s door and a marriage between North and West almost certainly promised a brutal and bloody war. 

When Helion had learned, he’d sent word to Rhysand. What is going on in the Spine?

Nothing smart. Rhysand intended to do what he did best—lie. Pretend he had interest in Nesta, jerk her around for a year while he drew up marriage contracts that had to be written and rewritten and written again, wasting her time while Eris inevitably moved on to some nice noble in his own court.

And then Rhys could withdraw, free to continue philandering until his advisors put their foot down. His presence was purely nefarious—two months freezing his balls off in the frigid north while Cassian inspected the army and Azriel devoured secrets. 

And yet…and yet. 

Rhysand’s mind slipped toward the younger daughter and those eyes. They looked like the same stars that hung over the Illyrian Mountains, silvery and bright and so very alive. Rhys had spent his entire life gazing up at them—he would have recognized them anywhere. Even in the face of that woman, who spared only a passing glance before she fixed her stare on the wall behind him, clearly underwhelmed by their presence. 

He wanted to talk to her. He’d seen beautiful women before, though perhaps this was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and that beauty was often exhausted the moment they opened their mouth to speak to him. 

Easier said than done. Rhys tried, but Nesta Archeron became the ambassador for the Archerons, silently watching him without ever speaking a word. He found that unnerving all through dinner and wasn’t the only one. The moment he, Azriel, and Cassian were locked away in the suite of rooms, Azriel was the first to speak.

“This place feels like a tomb,” he said, looking around the dark interior.

“Why don’t the princesses speak?” Cassian added, pulling open the heavy velvet curtains blocking out the dim light. “Are they allowed?”

“We should have brought Morrigan,” Azriel grumbled, flopping gracelessly onto a floral sofa. 

“She doesn’t deserve the archaic practices of Archeron,” Rhys replied, running a finger over the marble mantle of the fireplace. A thin layer of dust came with it, proving the North rarely hosted guests.

They were far too untrusting.

He supposed he didn’t blame Archeron given the horror of that final invasion. Rhysand couldn’t imagine losing both a wife and a daughter, no matter how, frankly, deserved Rhysand still found the entire thing. After all—Archeron had marched into a neutral city, the third largest in the West, blocked all routes in and out, and burned it entirely to the ground in the matter of a week. 

War was hell and there were no heroes. Helion’s father had retaliated, breaking into the capital city and sacking it over the course of a night. In the aftermath, he’d taken the two surviving daughters hostage and only agreed to return them when a peace treaty had been brokered, redefining old borders and returning both stolen land and land long contested. 

Oh, but it was all such a mess even a decade later. Those wounds had been left to fester and no matter how Rhysand looked at it, he could see no path forward that didn’t explode into utter disaster. Maybe if Lucien Spell-Cleaver married an Archeron they could avoid war, but he’d heard the prince was far too spoiled and sheltered to be offered up like a political pawn.

And having seen Nesta, he doubted she was willing to subject herself to another hurt at the hands of the West. 

“What did you think of Nesta?” Cassian asked, his words carrying a strange ribbon of curiosity. Rhys opened his mouth before closing it again, trying to find words that were both honest without being cruel.

“I doubt a marriage is in our collective futures. Still—maybe she’ll surprise me.”

“With a dagger to your throat,” Azriel commented lightly, causing Cassian to grin at the thought. 

“We don’t need to worry about them other than distracting them. Any one of us can accomplish that,” Rhys declared, wondering why the image of Azriel and Feyre annoyed him so much.

“Let's get what we came for and let’s get out of this miserable city.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Azriel murmured, stretching out his legs. 

“I can already tell you their military is weak in compared to our own,” Cassian half whispered, his gaze sharp. “I’m going to ask to train with them tomorrow—”

“Trotting out the dumb brute act?” Azriel questioned, a gleam in his eyes.

“My favorite,” Cassian agreed. “I just love swinging a sword and no one ever taught me to read.”

“There must be more of them. Up in the mountains?” Azriel suggested, glancing toward the windows. “Archeron wouldn’t be so stupid to leave his entire kingdom undefended just to protect one city.”

“Helion decimated them a decade ago. Men don’t grow up so quickly,” Rhys reminded them both. “The north has gold, and diamonds from the Spine. Vanserra has manpower and a navy none of us could fend off should he bring it to our shores. It makes sense that Nesta would go to Eris first if she lacked manpower.”

“Then why are we here?” Cassian asked, drumming his fingers against his knee. 

“Perhaps Vanserra isn’t sold on the idea?” Rhys suggested, uncertain himself. “Or her father wants to explore all his options? We’re here to prevent another war that would almost certainly drag us into it,” he added, looking at his general and spymaster.

“We’re just waiting out the summer, then?” Azriel questioned.

Rhys nodded. “We can give them all a little taste of what war might mean for them this time.”

Knowing his objective didn’t do much for Rhys’s restless mind, though. While his brothers got ready for the evening, making jokes and generally amused by the entire situation, Rhys slipped from the suite of rooms they shared to walk the halls. It unnerved him how many people were watching under the guise of not watching at all. The sentries and guards never looked at him and he knew his steps would be reported to the king before breakfast.

Getting around undetected was Azriel’s domain. Rhys had never tried, commanded too much attention. He was always the distraction, besides. No one gave Azriel and Cassian much thought, certain he must be the knife in the dark. Slick smiles and double entendre made everyone assume he was far more clever than he was.

Cassian was the dumb brute, Azriel obsessed with cruelty which left Rhys as the one worth watching. He just seemed like a two-faced bastard. And to be fair…he was. But he had help, had chosen his inner circle carefully. 

His feet took him to a set of stone steps that spiraled upward into a tower. It was a decent vantage point over the dreary city. Fog hung like a curtain, floating from the mountains that kept the warmer air Velaris received from reaching them. Rhys heard there were years where Ellesmere experienced nothing but rain every single day.

No wonder they liked war so much. What else was there for them?

At the top of this tower, rather than more oppressive fog, sat the younger princess. Rhys hesitated, drinking in the sight of her propped up in that window, one leg dangling precariously over the edge. Her hair was braided over one shoulder and propped on the wall beside her, a bow with a quiver of arrows. 

Another sentry, far prettier than any of the others he’d seen. Rhys couldn’t help himself, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest.

“Keeping watch?”

She turned her head to look, those starry blue eyes narrowing. “You shouldn’t be up here.”

“Says who?”

“Says me,” she replied, causing Rhys to take a step into the candle lit, chilly room.

“Oh, but you seem like such fine company,” he crooned, holding her gaze. “Maybe you could give me a tour—”

“I’ll leave that to Nesta,” Feyre snapped. It was a dismissal given she turned back to looking out at the city and any rational man would have turned around and left.

But Rhys was famously stupid, if his cousin Mor was to be believed so he came closer, desperate for anything to say to her. He was a fool to have any interest in this woman at all, to want a moment of her time when he’d come here to betray her. 

“Why are you here?” she asked when Rhys couldn’t think of anything eloquent to say.

“I’m looking for a wife, darling,” he heard himself say. Heart thudding, Rhys recalled telling his advisors not a week earlier he had no interest in a wife and to stop pushing him on it. What absurdity to say it while looking at her, knowing damn well she wasn’t for the likes of him.

He barely knew her at all.

“It's strange how many men suddenly find themselves desperate to be married,” Feyre commented, swinging her legs over the edge of the window before righting herself. “We came of age years ago. Surely you’re not interested in women as old as we are.”

“You think me so shallow? I like a conversation partner—”

“You don’t worry we’ve been ruined?”

Oh, what man touched her he wondered? What man would Rhys have to murder? The urge washed over him stronger than any other emotion he’d felt in recent months. It wasn’t that she had potentially been with another man but the defiant way she asked him if that somehow diminished her worth. 

“A lot of things keep me awake at night, Feyre darling,” Rhys purred, taking a measured step toward the princess. “Your activities in the bedroom are not one of them.”

“That’s good, given you’re here to court my sister.”

“I’m here for the princess of the North. You are a princess, are you not?” 

“I am a princess, I live in the North,” she agreed, those eyes of hers flashing. And Rhys knew whatever words came out of her mouth next were about to wreck him. His whole body went tight at the prospect.

“And I will never be your wife,” she added with that same, light tone. “I am not interested in a husband, especially one who looks like he lies as easily as he breathes.”

Rhys flashed a smile. He wanted her. What a revelation. “We’ll see,” he replied as she sauntered past him, shouldering her bow with ease. 

Feyre only shook her head, eyes rolling upward in her skull. “That wasn’t a challenge. You repulse me.”

Rhys only laughed.

They’d see about that, too.

#im gonna upload on a tues/thurs schedule until its done (i only have 5 chapters written) #elucien #feysand #nessian #DID YOU KNOW IT WAS ME OR WAS I SUBTLE?

[featherandferns]

20 smut pls

20. Say that again.

i'm going to hell but at least i'll get a good tan...

idk what jj actually stands for but go with it, please

feel free to request: prompt list

john james - prompt 20

“What does JJ stand for?”

You look to your boyfriend as you ask. The two of you are lounging on the front of the boat as it’s tethered to the jetty of the Chateau. Both of your legs are outstretched; sat side by side. In your hand is a bottle of beer and in his, a joint.

“John J.”

“And the second J?”

“James,” he clarifies, turning his head away from the horizon to look at you. “John James Maybank.”

“That’s like a tongue twister,” you chuckle.

He grins. “Say it five times, fast?”

“John James Maybank, John James Maybank, John Jay Baymank—”

The two of you laugh and you shake your head at the silliness. Uncrossing then recrossing your ankles, you have another swig of your drink. Leaning your head against his bare shoulder, enjoying the last few rays of sunlight before dusk, you smile. JJ presses a brief kiss to your forehead.

“When’d you become JJ then?”

“After I met John B,” JJ said. “Made it easier to tell which one of us was being yelled at by his dad.”

“I’m guessing it was always you?”

“Usually, yeah,” JJ confirms with a chuckle, making you laugh.

“John B and John J. The two Johns.”

JJ sniggers at that, pressing another kiss to your head.

“You’re so weird,” he lovingly tells you. Hooks his spare arm around your waist, letting his hand comfortably rest on your thigh. As JJ takes another drag of his joint, the conversation drifts away with the waves.

You half forget that you’d even asked until a couple of days later. It’s when the two of you are fooling around at his house.

His dad’s out on a bender somewhere (probably Barry’s) and JJ clearly has plans to take full advantage of the empty house. He’s already gone down on you in the kitchen, with you perched on the counter. The only thing that kept you from falling onto your back was the tight grip one of your hands had on the rim of the kitchen top, the other uselessly grasping at his hair. JJ then practically manhandled you onto the sofa in the sitting room, kicking away empty cans and tossing an old t-shirt to the side to make space. A messy make-out driven purely by the haze of pleasure. You’d returned the favour then, giving him head as he sunk into the tired couch, his head resting back on the top of it. You loved the sounds he made; loved how he wasn’t quiet with it. How he’d chant your name and mumble out his little praises (‘taking me so good, baby.’). You even loved when he got a little mean. The way he’d tug tightly on your hair, forming a makeshift ponytail, and force you down so you’d deepthroat him. He’d never hurt you, though. Would stop if you told him to.

You want him to finish there and then but clearly, he has other plans. JJ forces you off him, somewhat reluctant to do so, and you crawl up to kiss him again. Finally, your t-shirts tugged off, and you happily do the same with his. His fingers move around to unhook your bra, but he’s shaking from edging and can’t do it, making the two of you laugh breathlessly. You do it for him, tossing it to the side, and JJ’s thanks is focused to your chest. Kisses that’ll bruise and the gently teething against the flesh that has you groaning. Your head tumbles forward to rest on his shoulder, hands lopping around his neck, fingers weaving into his hair. Subconsciously, you rock against his hard-on, your slick risking him slipping in. The moment he teases at your entrance you’re moaning. Thoughts are a blurry, incoherent mess in the fog of the amorousness, and for some reason a name slips into your mind and tumbles desperately out of your mouth like a plea.

“John.”

JJ stops his assault on your chest with a breath. It’s like that brings you back to reality a little. You catch onto what you’d just said. Before you can think about it too much or wonder why exactly you’d thought to call him by his first name, JJ’s pressing his forehead against yours, kissing at your mouth with a new heat. Okay…

“Say that again,” he mumbles against your lips. It’s a demand. You can’t help but smirk.

Shifting against him again, basking in his desperate whimper that it elicits, you move to kiss at his jaw, working your way up to his ear. You nibble at his earlobe a moment.

“Want you to fuck me, John,” you whisper.

His hands tighten on your waist, firm enough to leave a mark, and you can’t help but giggle knowingly. Who knew that there’d be more things that could get your boyfriend fired up? It’s like you’ve just overturned a rock that had been outside of your house for the past five years, only to find a secret spare key.

He’s hauling you up as he stands (your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist) and then he’s placing you, only semi-gently, to lie on the floor. JJ half-arsedly shoves some junk out of the way; takes a moment to grab a pillow from the sofa for you to rest your head on. But you don’t have the patience for it. You need him now. Pulling him down by his face, hands cradling his jaw, he gladly kisses you back. Not breaking apart, he finally slides into you. You’re practically soaked and he fits in so easy it has the both of you moaning.

“Thank fuck for the pill,” JJ rasps against your lips.

Your chuckle barely lasts a second. JJ starts fucking into you, fast and hard, and you’re not surprised if your eyes don’t roll up into the back of your head. Your hands scramble for purchase; one comes to claw at his back, at the skin of his shoulder blade, and the other moves around the floor before coming to grasp at the foot of the coffee table. He’s grunting, loud and fervent, his head dropping down near your shoulder. One hand cages you in as he holds himself up by the arm, right next to your head, and the other is gripping your hips all mean-like. The sounds you’re making feel detached from you: gasps and moans and pants. There’s no other thought in your head apart from how fucking good everything feels.

“You close?” JJ asks, almost right in your ear.

You nod. Clench around him. He moves his hand from your hip to rub at your clit. It has your back arching, your knees bending, toes curling. It’s like he made you from how well he knows your body. Drew you into existence and willed you to life. Needing him closer somehow, you pull his lips to yours, tethering your fingers into the strands of his hair. The kiss is practically useless, with how much the two of you are moaning, but you don’t want it to end. You don’t want him to pull away but you also want to come so bad it almost hurts.

“JJ, please,” you whine desperately.

“Fuck,” JJ gasps. His rhythm’s faltering. He’s getting tired and he’s so close that he can barely hold it together.

In fact, he doesn’t. He comes with a broken moan of your name, shuddering against you, panting against your neck. You let him catch his breath a moment, indulge in his kisses, knowing that he’ll take care of you once he can breathe again. Pulling out of you, making you gasp, he slips two fingers inside. It’s filthy, the sounds it makes, the mix of the two of you, and the thought alone has you teetering on the edge as he fingers you. JJ kisses at your neck the way he knows you like. Rubs at your overstimulated clit. You come with an almost inaudible gasp, eyes clenching shut. JJ’s chuckle against your throat is dark and muffled by your skin.

“Good fucking girl,” he mumbles into your ear. That has you clenching again, around his drenched fingers, and JJ chuckles again. “Oh, you like that, huh?”

You laugh through a breath. Guess that makes the two of you even now…

#jj #jj maybank #jj x reader #jj maybank x reader #jj drabble #jj maybank drabble #jj x reader drabble #jj maybank x reader drabble #obx #obx drabbles #obx preferences #outer banks #outer banks drabbles #outerbanks preferences #20 #prompts #drabbles

[monstersandmaw]

Laces for a Lady - 18th century, poly, shifters x human romance - Chapter Five (sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me. 

Here's chapter five! I've been blown away by your reaction and love for this story so far, and the fact that I've got two lots of fan art out of it as well has just totally humbled me. Thank you! You can find them here and here, by the way, as well as my own doodles of Locryn and Ned.

Anyway, here we have the Harvest Festival Dance, where all bets are off, and there's some angst and a sprinkling of drama for some *spice*...

Wordcount: 4203

Part One (sfw), Part Two (sfw), Part Three (sfw), Part Four (sfw)

The night of the Lammas Festival dance ticked around in no time, and even though the focus of the festivities was the great barn and the yard outside, the whole of Heath Top House itself came alive.

The staff spent the entire day scouring the stone floor of the barn and setting out the long tables in the barn and preparing the feast, while Winnie and Nel tried not to get in their way while weaving and hanging decorative wreaths and festoons along the walls, and tying ribbons in bows on the huge doors.

As promised, Aggie had come to the house a few days before to teach the two ladies how to weave the traditional corn dollies, or Nests as they were called in these parts, much to Nel’s confusion. Her own hadn’t turned out too bad, despite her lack of skill with an embroidery needle, while Winnie’s was decidedly lumpy and misshapen. Still, they laughed and hung them in pride of place in the drawing room window, and Aggie had even managed a kind word about their efforts while gossipping about everyone in the village.

“Little Betsie Carne is going to get a proposal from Arthur, you can count on that, and Meg has been leading poor Jack on something dreadful. If he can get a word out without turning red as an autumn apple to ask her to dance on Lammas night, I’ll eat this whole Neck with gravy and turnips!” she cackled, waving her own intricate corn dolly at them like a cook with a wooden spoon while they all laughed.

Nel refrained from asking about whether Edmund Nancarrow or Locryn Trevethan would be seen with anyone, though she was curious if the older woman had noticed their seemingly obvious adoration for one another. Perhaps it was one of those things that everyone knew about and simply didn’t mention in case it brought unwanted attention down on them, much like the smuggling and Free Trade in the area. Nel was not one to rock the proverbial boat, and kept her focus on the plaited strand of corn in her fingers, all the while remembering the way Locryn had crowded close to Edmund on the quayside and the sound of his smouldering voice as he’d growled soft endearments at him under his breath.

On the night of the dance itself, the trestle tables in the barn stretched all the way down its length, and were flanked by long benches for seating, and the stall doors of the stables along the edges of the barn each sported a different wreath and a coloured ribbon.

Blackthorn immediately ate the enormous sunflower that had been at the top of her wreath with great relish, and Nel fell about laughing while the black mare blithely scattered yellow petals all over the floor while Winnie looked honestly heartbroken. The stable hand nearby chuckled too, and Nel moved the remainder of the wreath to a spot where Blackthorn’s pincer teeth couldn't reach.

As dusk fell and the lanterns were lit around the yard and in the barn, Nel continued to help the staff where she could until Winnie emerged and called her name into the dying afternoon. It was so unlike her that Nel nearly dropped the basket of hazelnuts she’d been carrying. Liddy, a kitchen servant, gently took it from her and chirped, “Best see what she wants, Miss Nel.”

The slight glow of affection that she felt whenever the household called her ‘Miss Nel’ instead of ‘Miss Bywater’ or even ‘Miss Eleanor’ hadn’t faded since she’d first heard them start it up, and she offered Liddy a quick smile and her thanks as she handed the basket over and scuttled over to Winnie on the threshold of the manor house.

Winnie laughed and dragged her by the wrist through the house as though they were both barely fourteen, not twenty-five and thirty. “Come on! The guests will start arriving any minute and you’re still wearing that horrible brown dress! And it’ll take me at least an hour to style your hair properly…”

In the end, her hair only took twenty minutes, though that was more because Nel’s wild tresses refused to be properly curled and even Winnie simply gave up, but it was a good couple of hours before they were both fully dressed and ready, and dusk had well and truly fallen outside.

Winnie led her arm-in-arm across the hallway to the front door of the hall, where her father and mother in law were standing and smiling. “You both look beautiful,” Lady Mary said, speaking first to Winnie but surprising Nel by including the young woman in her gaze too.

“Shall we go?” Lady Mary asked her husband, who nodded and a servant opened the door for them.

Nel’s breath caught when she saw how the staff had finished off the decorations, with lamps settled on the ground all around the courtyard, candles glinting within them, and festoons of foliage and flowers around the edges of the open space. The shrill piping of a tin whistle and the steady, heartbeat rhythm of a drum kept a leaping fiddle carefully in time as the music rose above the chatter and laughter in the barn beyond, and she walked with Winnie towards the celebrations that were already kicking off by the sound of things.

Nel recognised many of the faces from the farm and estate workers, as well as a few from the village, and she caught Agatha’s eye as the old woman beamed at her while laughing with the man beside her. Nel grinned at her and slipped away from Winnie to hug the woman.

“Dearie, you look right lovely,” Agatha said as she released her and gazed up and down at her embroidered green dress. “Doesn’t she, Martin?” she asked, and her husband nodded enthusiastically.

They glanced around the great barn and smiled at the sight of all the horses poking their noses over their stall doors, clearly wondering what the fuss was all about. Blackthorn had a piece of hay in her dark forelock, and Nel had just thought about going over to pick it out for her when Lord Penrose cleared his throat and tapped a knife against the edge of his glass, calling for silence.

Although he wasn’t as popular with the local folk as Winnie herself was, people fell silent quickly to listen to him. Just as he opened his mouth to begin, however, one of the carthorses near the back of the barn broke wind and let rip an enormous noise that made everyone go completely still and then burst out laughing. Once one person started, the cacophony rose and people slapped the table and guffawed, and even Blackthorn joined in with a shrill neigh of her own before things eventually sputtered back to quiet.

Nel covered her mouth with her hand and turned her face into Agatha’s shoulder, still shaking with silent laughter, but just as she shut her eyes, she saw Edmund Nancarrow standing nearby, biting his own lips together to keep from laughing. When their gaze met, it was all over for Nel and she whickered out a shuddering breath that was just the right side of decent to escape Lord Penrose’s attention as everyone else gained control of themselves.

“Yes, well… quite,” the older man chirped around a tight smile of his own. “Well, after such a crude reminder from Old Flint there for me to keep things brief, I would just like to thank all of you for your hard work and dedication this year. I believe this was a record harvest for us, and I hope you know how valued you all are as my tenants. None of this would be possible without your daily hard work. Providing a feast like this is a truly inadequate way of thanking you, but I hope you enjoy it all the same. Please…”

And with a gesture and a wordless toast, he raised his glass and everyone cheered.

Nel glanced back at Edmund, who was then looking in the other direction and speaking to a young woman in a dark blue dress, so Nel used the brief opportunity to take in the slender lines of his body in the wine red coat he wore. Angular and handsome, he was quick to laugh, and he ducked his head shyly as he ushered his companion forward ahead of him to the trestle table to help herself before him.

The motion left him standing alone, and Nel slipped free of Agatha to join him.

He watched her approach and bowed his head as she joined him. “Miss Bywater,” he said in his quiet tenor.

“Mr. Nancarrow,” she said. “Old Flint got things off to a good start,” she giggled, and Edmund snickered like a schoolboy again.

 She could see an endless well of mirth in the depths of his brown eyes and didn’t trust herself not to laugh along with him if he started up again in earnest.

“And here I thought it was going to be my dear Blackthorn causing all the trouble,” she went on, nodding at the black mare as she popped her head curiously over her stable and sniffed curiously at the tankard of cider someone was holding in their hand while talking and facing in the opposite direction. “She’s a bit of a menace, but she’s a sweetheart too.”

Edmund looked very much as though he wanted to talk, to say something in response, but perhaps his innate shyness got in the way and he just swallowed thickly and he smiled one of those devastating, dimpled smiles instead.

“No Locryn tonight?” she asked quietly, and he smiled to show he wasn’t anxious about the topic.

“He said he might come later,” he said. “He doesn’t tend to have much to do with the village, even at big events like this one.” He finished the statement with another bashful smile that lit him up from the inside out, and she fought down a wave of selfish jealousy; she would have been lying if she’d said she didn’t want someone to smile like that at the thought of her.

“Can’t say I imagine him being overly comfortable at a gathering like this,” she ventured, and Edmund snorted.

“No. It’s a shame though,” he added with a glance at the musicians near the back of the barn. “He loves music.”

“Let’s hope he shows up then,” she said. “I’ve been to my fair share of gatherings and balls in London, but this is already ten times more fun.”

A hand at her elbow made her start and she looked round just as Winnie giggled and squeezed her arm. “There you are,” she said, and then her eyes fell on Edmund and her smile grew. “Oh.”

She clearly recognised him, but didn’t know his name, so Nel turned and said, “Winnie, this is Mr. Edmund Nancarrow. He is assistant to Mr. Fordyce.”

“Oh, a tailor!” she beamed, with a rosy flush in her cheeks. “How talented! You must never, ever be allowed to see my embroidery, Mr. Nancarrow,” she said with the perfect sincerity of the very tipsy. “Nel’s isn’t much better though. Dreadful, actually, but you didn't hear it from me.”

Nel gave a laugh through her nose and began to steer Winnie towards the table, and towards a glass of water. With a look back over her shoulder, she said to Edmund, “Will you excuse us before Winnie drops any more embarrassing truths about my shortcomings? Give her another glass of Mr. Meddlar’s cider, and she’ll be telling everyone how bad I am at the fortepiano too. At least I can speak French to a passable degree. Come on, Winnie…”

Edmund was smiling again as if she’d told him the world’s funniest secret, and when the young woman who’d been with him earlier joined and immediately led him away by the elbow with the air of a close friend who needs to know every detail of recent events, he shook his head fondly and indulged her.

Nel lost track of him after that. She and Winnie sat down together near the head of the table to enjoy the glorious roast beef and pork pie and boiled vegetables that had been prepared for the feast.

“Who was that young man you were talking to?” Winnie asked about an hour into the festivities, having soaked up a little of the cider with some supper. “He was rather handsome…”

Shaking her head, Nel reached for her own wine glass and sipped from it. “His name is Edmund Nancarrow. He’s Mr. Fordyce’s assistant.”

“You told me that,” Winnie said flatly. “That wasn’t what I meant. You seemed…”

“Don’t,” she sighed, and whatever bitter, sad undertone carried in the single word, Winnie caught it and let the matter lie.

Instead, the young widow closed her hand around Nel’s forearm and leaned in close. “Make sure you dance with whomever you like tonight, mmm? There are no rules at the Harvest Dance, and no one will think anything of whatever happens tonight.”

She didn’t reply, but she mulled her friend’s words over while they ate dessert, and when the merry drone of the bagpipes started up outside in the courtyard and the people began to line up, Nel followed Winnie and tried to take part as best she could. Nel had never danced most of the country dances they all seemed to know there though, and after embarrassing herself by stumbling through a few sets under Winnie’s rather chaotic directions on the fly, she slipped away and strolled along the barn towards Blackthorn’s stall, snagging an apple from the table on the way.

The horse whickered, low and warm when she opened the door and slipped inside the dark stall, and while the heat of the dancing faded a little from her cheeks, she stroked the mare’s velvet nose and fed her chunks of apple until it was all gone.

The mare’s ears pricked forwards suddenly and Nel turned to see Edmund slowly sinking down onto one of the long, empty benches outside the stall.

He had a tight expression of pain on his face and he seemed to be breathing carefully through the sharp discomfort in his leg with the practised pattern of someone who deals with chronic pain on a daily basis.

Aware that she was intruding on his privacy, she had just begun to turn back to the mare when she heard Edmund laugh quietly and she glanced over her shoulder again to see Locryn’s massive form sliding onto the bench beside him.

He wore an undyed linen shirt that was open a little at the neck, and simple brown trousers and boots, but somehow he had the presence of a lord in a great hall, and she found herself transfixed. He pulled Edmund against his side for a moment and then, from what she could see from her limited angle, he appeared to lay his big hand quietly on Edmund’s painful hip. After a few long, measured breaths, Edmund simply melted into his supportive touch, allowing the bulk of the bigger man to buttress him up entirely, and he half closed his eyes in the relative privacy of the shadowed barn.

The noises of dancing and merriment drifted down the empty table, over the abandoned plates and tankards, and for a time, everything stayed perfectly, timelessly still.

Nel hardly dared breathe, let alone turn around, in case her skirts dragged on the straw and disturbed the couple by alerting them to her presence.

Blackthorn scraped her hoof along the stall floor a few moments later, shattering the silence with the jarring sound, and she nudged at Nel’s hand for more apple. Using the shuffling of the horse to mask her own movements, she turned her back on the two men to breathe in the scent of the mare’s glossy coat.

She rubbed her cheek against the silky hair on Blackthorn’s neck and slowly buried her fingers in the dense, dark coat that was starting to grow as the year turned colder. Tears prickled hot around her eyes as she was struck starkly by the force of her loneliness, despite her friendship with Winnie. The sting of knowing she would probably never curl up with a man in bed, never feel his hand resting on her hip, never hear him sigh with pleasure or feel his lips brush over her neck, suddenly seemed all the sharper with the knowledge that just outside the stable were two people who meant the world to each other.

With a huge sigh, she pressed a kiss to Blackthorn’s neck and prepared to walk out with her head held at a dignified angle, politely ignoring Edmund and Locryn as she left and went back to the manor house for the night.

Instead, she turned around and found Locryn leaning his huge, bare forearms on the stable door immediately behind her, and nearly leapt out of her skin. How on earth he’d moved so silently, she couldn’t fathom.

He offered her a lopsided grin and opened the door for her as she approached. “Not hiding in there, are you, Miss?” he asked as he stepped back, and, comically, both Nel and the mare made to leave the stall together.

Nel turned around and glared pointedly at the horse, who tossed her head, snorted, and then promptly turned her quarters around and stuck her nose in the hay trough on the back wall without so much as a farewell nicker for the apple.  

“No?” Nel grimaced at Locryn, nodding her thanks as he secured the door behind her. “Truth be told, I got fed up with tripping over my own feet in dances I don’t really know, and I wanted to make sure Blackthorn didn’t feel too left out. You’re not dancing either, I take it?”

“Me?” he laughed, the oddly delighted sound carrying easily over the deserted table and echoing around the otherwise empty barn. “You think anyone wants to partner up with me?”

“Why ever wouldn't they?” she asked with a frown, stopping abruptly and staring up at him. He was nearly a foot taller than her, and so broad and muscular in the confines of the dimly-lit barn that he seemed almost like a giant out of a fairytale.

“You saying you would?” he countered, one thick, steel-grey eyebrow rising.

“I —” her gaze flickered to Edmund, who was sitting on the bench and watching the exchange with a wry twist to his lips that made his dark eyes glitter. “If I were halfway decent at dancing, and if you asked me, I might,” she told Locryn archly. “But I didn’t think you liked anyone else here enough to want to dance with them, let alone me.”

At that, a little of the playful laughter faded from his green eyes and he took half a step back. “Now why would you think I don’t like you, Miss?” he asked, arms folding across his chest. The movement pulled the fabric of his undyed shirt across his shoulders and accentuated the enormous muscles of his arms and chest, and she looked down at the ground before answering him. Some of the heat from her earlier dancing returned to her cheeks and refused to leave a second time.

“Well,” she mumbled, “For starters… you glowered at me something fierce the first time I came to Polgarrack, and you nearly knocked me flying off the cliff when you brought Mr. Nancarrow up from the sands. You didn't even check to see if you’d toppled me over the edge in your haste.”

“Forgive me for caring about —” he hissed and stopped himself from saying what Edmund truly meant to him and ground his teeth. “You weren’t in any danger,” he said with a clenched jaw.

“Perhaps not,” she conceded, “And you did redeem yourself somewhat by helping me onto Blackthorn afterwards.” The way his huge hand had lingered around her ankle joint had lived far longer in her mind than it had any right to. “Fine. Are you saying you would genuinely dance with me?”

“You saying you want to? Thought you weren’t enjoying the dancing… Two left feet and all…”

She rolled her eyes and flapped her hands a little in frustration. “Oh, you’re impossible. Forget the whole thing. I was going to call it a night anyway.” She looked over at Edmund, who was just barely holding back a laugh at his lover’s antics. “Mr. Nancarrow, I wish you good night. I hope you and Locryn enjoy the music. God knows, I think I’ve had quite enough of all of it.” Her cheeks were stinging and it had nothing to do with the exertion after dancing.

With that, she turned and walked briskly towards the open doors of the barn, her chest churning with the strange and unsettling feeling that she’d either been flirted with or made a fool of, and she couldn’t tell which it was. Perhaps it was a bit of both.

“Wait!” Locryn's bass voice was soft, and she almost missed it over the shrill piping and rapid-fire scraping of the fiddler outside, but she stopped all the same.

Slowly, she turned and found him walking towards her with a completely new expression on his face. With his green eyes wide and dark, he looked contrite and abashed, and behind him she could just make out Edmund, leaning his elbow against the table while he drank deeply from a wine goblet as if to hide a smile.

“If I asked you, would you dance with me?” Locryn asked in a low rumble.

A little suspicious, she frowned and jutted her chin back towards Edmund. “What about…?” she asked carefully.

Locryn shook his head. “He asked me to ask you. He knows I like dancing, and it’s not something he’s comfortable doing.”

“You like dancing?”

The mountain of a man just nodded.

“And you’re not making fun of me?” she asked.

“No,” he breathed. “I’m sorry if I made you think I was just now. I was just having a laugh with you. You give as good as you get, and I like that.”

She smiled and held out her hand, palm down. “Alright then. One dance. And if I tread on your feet or trip over, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I won’t let you trip over,” he said with a smile that showed his thick canines and made his eyes glint. Despite all that, she trusted him, and let him lead her out of the barn and towards the dancing.

A few people looked at them as they joined the end of the line for the next set, but true to his word, Locryn neither embarrassed her nor let her embarrass herself. His big, rough hands were gentle as he turned her under his arm, and he moved with surprising lightness of foot for someone his size. And he really did enjoy the music. She saw it in the way his eyes lit up and his lips curved into an attractive, heartfelt smile. He picked her up by the hips and floated her down to the ground again in a turn that left her dizzy, with two points of heat searing into her skin where his hands had been, if only for a second or two.

The set passed in a blur of lines weaving in and out of each other; of steel grey hair and dark green eyes and wolfish smiles that lit her up inside. From time to time, since they were on the end of the line, she caught glimpses of Edmund’s pale face watching from the shadows of the barn, and each time she saw him, he was smiling.

And then it was over almost before she’d even realised it.

They stared in breathless silence at each other for several pounding heartbeats while the rest of the dancers cheered and applauded the musicians, but Nel couldn’t tear her eyes from his. They were as green as the sea on a summer evening, and there was an otherworldly glow about him that drew her in like the promise of soothing waves after a long and thirsty day in the sun.

For some reason she could almost taste saltwater on her tongue.

There was a pounding in her ears like the thunder of distant surf and she couldn’t catch her breath.

Locryn leaned down and she watched the very tip of his tongue move to wet his upper lip. For a wild, wonderful moment, she thought he was going to kiss her.

Someone bumped into her from behind, sending her lurching a step towards him and he steadied her where he still held her hands in his rough, rope-callused fingers.

The moment vanished like sea foam and she swallowed, looking up at him. He looked as stunned as she did.

“No wonder he’s so in love with you,” she whispered, blinking back tears. She bobbed a tiny, stiff curtsy. “I thank you for the dance, Mr. Trevethan.”

Without waiting long enough for him to react, she turned and walked as quickly as she dared back to the house.

__

Uh-oh... :)

Next chapter ->

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