#founding father bracket

[theworstfoundingfathers]

THE GRAND FINALE WHO IS THE TRULY THE WORST FOUNDING FATHER?

THOMAS JEFFERSON VS HENRY LAURENS

Thomas Jefferson (April 13, 1743 – July 4, 1826) was an American statesman, diplomat, lawyer, architect, and philosopher who served as the third president of the United States from 1801 to 1809. Following the American Revolutionary War and prior to becoming the nation’s third president in 1801, Jefferson was the first United States secretary of state under George Washington and the nation’s second vice president under John Adams.

Starting in 1803, he promoted a western expansionist policy with the Louisiana Purchase and began the process of Indian tribal removal from the newly acquired territory.

Jefferson lived in a planter economy largely dependent upon slavery, and used slave labor for his household, plantation, and workshops. Over his lifetime he owned about 600 slaves.

During his presidency, Jefferson allowed the diffusion of slavery into the Louisiana Territory hoping to prevent slave uprisings in Virginia and to prevent South Carolina secession. In 1804, in a compromise on the slavery issue, Jefferson and Congress banned domestic slave trafficking for one year into the Louisiana Territory.

In 1819, Jefferson strongly opposed a Missouri statehood application amendment that banned domestic slave importation and freed slaves at the age of 25 on grounds it would destroy the union.

Jefferson never freed most of his slaves, and he remained silent on the issue while he was president.

Since the 1790s, Jefferson was rumored to have had children by his sister-in-law and slave Sally Hemings, known as the Jefferson-Hemings controversy. According to scholarly consensus…as well as oral history, Jefferson probably fathered at least six children with Hemings.

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Henry Laurens (March 6, 1724 [O.S. February 24, 1723] – December 8, 1792) was an American Founding Father, merchant, slave trader, and rice planter from South Carolina who became a political leader during the Revolutionary War. A delegate to the Second Continental Congress, Laurens succeeded John Hancock as its president. He was a signatory to the Articles of Confederation and, as president, presided over its passage.

Laurens had earned great wealth as a partner in the largest slave-trading house in North America, Austin and Laurens. In the 1750s alone, this Charleston firm oversaw the sale of more than 8,000 enslaved Africans.

Laurens’ oldest son, Colonel John Laurens, was killed in 1782 in the Battle of the Combahee River, as one of the last casualties of the Revolutionary War. He had supported enlisting and freeing slaves for the war effort and suggested to his father that he begin with the 40 he stood to inherit. He had urged his father to free the family’s slaves, but although conflicted, Henry Laurens never manumitted his 260 slaves.

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By popular vote, this final round will run for one full week

Please reblog so we can get the biggest sample size possible and figure who is TRULY the worst

#founding father bracket #worst founding father #founding fathers #amrev #brackets #polls #thomas jefferson #henry laurens #FINAL ROUND #the fact that i have books about both of these men on my bookshelves 💀

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Gregory Peck (Spellbound, To Kill a Mockingbird, Roman Holiday)—i mean, just look at him. his performance in to kill a mockingbird is probably responsible for millions of people being into dilfs. aside from being absurdly gorgeous, he was also a genuinely good person and a political activist throughout his life! (you know a guy is great when he was listed as a personal enemy of richard nixon.)

Anthony Perkins (Psycho, On The Beach, Fear Strikes Out)—submitted: this fancam

This is round 3 of the bracket. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage man.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut]

“Handsome face, beautiful eyes, amazing voice- what else do you need?”

"Tall, whip-lean, ruggedly handsome, he has a magnetic voice guaranteed to send shivers up and down feminine spines.” -modern screen may 1944

“She mentioned his large frame, his great shoulders and swinging stride. She praised his deep, dark eyes, and his prominent cheek bones. She described his strong jaw line, and his shock of dark hair, one lock always trying to fall forward over his forehead.” -a fan describing gregory peck to her father after seeing him on the big screen for the first time

“His lanky 6' 2 1/2" frame, lithe 170 pounds, unruly brown hair and thoughtful brown eyes”

“With  Peck, it's a kindliness and inward strength whose appeal is universal. If you were to put into words the feeling he gave you, you'd say something like this: "That's a guy to trust. That's a guy you could talk to if you needed to talk to someone. He could touch a raw spot without hurting it too much. You could take courage from him" -modern screen august 1946

"Another thing about Peck. He sees you, if you know what I mean. To most of them, you're the unit man or the hairdresser or the little fellow who comes around with cokes. Beyond that they don't look. Greg's aware of you as an individual. Not that he starts asking about your ulcers. You just know he sees humans as humans first — not as cogs in a machine." -a girl who worked at the studio when asked about him

Anthony Perkins and Gregory Peck propaganda:

#gregory peck #anthony perkins #round 3 #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old man

[saradika]

— beneath the mask

din djarin x f!reader

rated t - 1.3k

tags: medieval!au, light angst, anxiety, arranged marriage, soulmate au, reader has a mother & father

prompt: "I wanted it to be you, I wanted it to be you so badly” from the writing challenge hosted by the amazing and lovely @moonlight-prose 💖

when a mysterious stranger wins your hand at the tournament, you can't help but wonder about his intentions

With each step down the aisle, your legs threaten to give out.

A clicking of your teeth as you tremble, before you're gritting your jaw, biting your anxiety back. You have a reputation to uphold, even if you're only the daughter of a lord from a lesser house.

You're still a lady.

And this marriage would ensure a home for you. Protection. More than, if this man is what he says he is.

But a part of you desperately wishes that it was someone else at the end of the aisle.

You'd searched for a long time. For the glimpses that flash in your dreams at night. Knowing that he was out there - the one you had begun to think of as yours.

Your soulmate.

Never managing to meet the same eyes that reflect back at you in the darkness, just before you wake. Not once in the hundreds, thousands of people you’ve looked at, throughout your years.

And when none were found, you slowly gave up. Knowing the world was too large and you were too small, too poor, to seek them out.

Eventually agreeing to the match that your mother and father arranged.

If you could not have him, then you did not want anyone.

And now - the figure that waits for you stands tall.

Encased in gleaming armor, showing none of the nerves that wrack you. Making you wonder if you should have protested. Taken the path of the unwed, even if there was hardship in your future.

The stranger had won your favor, in the tournament. That is how the story will be told, passed on by your father.

Looking back, you remember very little from it. Knowing deep down that the winner would be the one to have your hand, whether you liked it or not. So much of it had turned to haze, as you had sat frozen there.

All but too nervous to watch, as weapons clashed, shields splintering.

Men you had known and grown up with falling beneath the sword of the mysterious man, clad in silver armor.

A Mandalorian, it was rumored.

Something from stories, you didn't know they still existed. An ancient clan of knights and warriors, honoring weapons and myths over sworn deities. Never revealing their faces to outsiders, and sometimes even to their own.

He had never killed any of them, and there was some comfort in that.

But that didn't mean he did not wound.

That he wasn't vicious, ferocious on the battlefield. Driven by an unseen force. Unrelenting, even when blood was drawn - splattering a bright crimson against his armor.

Showing just how he came to earn his station. The leader of his tribe, from the whispers you heard. Traveling far - slipping into the last few open brackets in the tournament, just as the first morning was starting.

Ripping through them all, in the days that followed.

You were given as the prize, in the end.

Even before the day ends, you would belong to him - ferried off to a new life tomorrow.

And this is what also slows your feet.

Wondering why such a man would come for you.

At the end of the aisle, you halt. The clergymany is speaking, but it's all white noise. Your own eyes wide and face solemn as you stare at your betrothed - your features reflected back at you in the tinted glass of his visor.

Acutely aware that you haven't seen his face. Not knowing what your husband was to look like.

Was he younger than you? Or older... older than your father?

Was his face kind, or was it as sharp as his movements? Was it all snarling teeth, beneath?

Were his eyes blue, or green, or just maybe... brown? Like his?

You don't know. You think not. Leaving you to wonder how you will bear it - to spend each day staring into their eyes while dreaming of anothers.

It's only when a voice raises that you're snapped from your thoughts. Realizing that the ceremony is waiting for you.

Managing, with a stammer, to repeat the words. To pledge yourself - your life and love - to this stranger.

The words repeated after, a low voice layering with metal. The shaking of your hands is still visible when they reach out to meet his, the tips of yours resting against wide, steady palms.

Covered in gloves but solid, like the rest of him.

Only the peek of tanned skin visible when he peels the glove from his hand. A small comfort coming in the warmth of his hand, as you slip the ring on his finger, settling it just above a scarred knuckle.

The careful brush of his fingers - a calming stroke against your skin, when he slips a matching one on yours.

Gentle, after everything.

Not him.

But perhaps, not a monster.

The celebrations swirl past you. There's music you don't remember. A meal that sits heavy in your stomach, from the meager amounts you managed to swallow.

A smile plastered on - assuring your excitement to family and friends - all while you worry about the hours to come.

Will he be as gentle as he was during the ceremony?

Or will it be more like the battlefield?

These thoughts linger, as the hours pass. Until the sun dips below the horizon, until the stars blanket the sky.

And then, you're alone.

Waiting in the finest room prepared for him in the guest wing. The pretty, ivory gown stripped from you, replaced with something thin and fine and silver - hand-sewn and intended to please him.

Pacing, until you hear the heavy steps approaching - as he returns from a meeting with your father, your dowry and your life handed over.

Leaving you frozen in place, as the door opens. Where he lingers, filling the space.

A different man than before, you think.

There had not been a slope to his shoulders, the way he moves as if afraid to frighten you.

His voice is different too - soft now, coaxing.

"I wish our meeting had been under more pleasant circumstances." Your husband tells you, as the door slowly shuts behind him.

Trapping you, now. The iron latch heavy, as it locks into place.

"But I could not bear to stand by." He continues, that hard edge creeping into his voice again, "You must understand."

"I don't." You manage - your brow pinched, shifting the smallest step backwards as he moves forward.

He goes still, at your retreat.

"Do you not, ner kar’ta?" His head tilts, "Do you not know why I have come?"

The shake of your head is small. Not understanding the name he calls you, his intentions.

He hesitates then, for a second. Before his hands are reaching - grasping the edge of his helmet. Slipping it from his head, as his head dips.

His hair is dark, beneath. Messy and curling, greying at the temples, down to the scruff that lines his jaw beneath plush lips and the curve of his nose.

And his eyes. That pretty shade of brown, the dark fan of his eyelashes.

You know them. Though you've never seen them, yourself.

For a moment, you can't breathe. Frozen for an entirely new reason - starting back at the eyes that you've seen so often.

"It's you," You manage. The words are no more than a soft gasp.

He lets you touch him, then. Fingertips tracing his jaw, those eyes slipping shut when your fingers brush the nape of his neck. Somehow knowing how the curls would feel against your fingers, already knowing each detail of his face.

Hidden deep down, revealed bit by bit in your sleep.

Only now, do you see all of him.

And only now, do you lean in. Your head tipping towards him, just as his forehead presses against yours. And it's now that you understand the warmth of his touch - the way it seems to soak into your skin. A lost piece of you, now becoming complete.

You hadn’t been able to find him - so he had found you, instead.

Unable to help the smile, as the dark pit in your stomach blooms into spring.

I wanted it to be you, you think - as your heart finally starts to beat again. I wanted it to be you so badly.

There's a hitch in his breath, with your touch. Fingers that stretch out and then curl, until you're taking them yourself, slipping yours between them.

"Now do you know?" Your husband murmurs, in the voice that you know as well as his eyes.

And you do - the answer coming easily, as you nod, "Because you're mine."

"Yes," He smiles.

"Yours."

i cant stop writing soft!soulmate din 💖 thank you for reading!!

ner kar’ta - my heart

#so sorry I am late my love #I have been thinking about this so much - such an great prompt and event!! 💖 #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #writing challenge #din djarin imagine #din djarin

[relatableblorbopoll]

Round 1 of preliminaries, group 11

The first two places get a place on the bracket

Little reminder: there will be 2 more rounds of preliminaries, the losing blorbos of this poll still have 2 chances of getting in the official bracket

Propaganda under the cut

Mae Borowski (Night in the Woods)

"Spoilers! She's a college dropout in her early twenties, who suffers from untreated mental illness and dissociation and had a complete breakdown at college, causing her to come home. Now she's living with her parents again, but life in her dingy little hometown went on without her. Her friends are adults now - in a relationship and planning on moving to the big city, or having to waste away in a dead end job instead of following their dreams. Mae is the only one without a new adult role in life. She's not great with people either - she's blunt and often doesn't think things through, and in many ways just doesn't get the world of adults. She's also prone to petty crimes and general anarchy. She's kind of lost and purposeless, and trying to find meaning in life by desperately clinging to the past. Her decision to drop out of college probably saved her life, but it's also put her family in a tough financial situation and is viewed by most people as her just thoughtlessly doing whatever she wants. She's also kind of shamed a lot about not having a job or other productive role in life, despite the fact that her untreated mental issues are actually disabling for her. She also plays the bass real bad. Anyway, i love Mae a lot. Playing this game as a college dropout in my early twenties, sitting in my childhood bedroom in my mom's attic, back in my dingy little hometown, desperately missing my old friends who have all moved on to better, resposible things in life... yeah, it felt like the game was pointing dead at me. Given tumblr's general demographic, i figure i must not be completely alone in this"

Shigeo Kageyama / Mob (Mob Psycho 100)

"autistic. likes milk. if we reach a certain level of emotion we turn into a psychic bomb. cool brothers :)"

Barry the Quokka (The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog)

"Their only skill is working the microwave, they're non-binary, when seeing a trash bin their first instinct is to look through it, they're always the most normal person in the room, they can beatbox, and they were only hired due to being the only one who applied."

Kaveh (Genshin Impact)

"In a fantasy world, be a guy with a regular profession losing his goddamn mind. Poor guy has a guilt complex, (so true) and a lot of deep embarrassment regarding his life.(ehe) He just wants to do what he's passionate about but capitalism is evil and also he keeps getting scammed. Claims to not want anyone to know Things, goes into depth about these Things anyway. Is probably most definitely gay. Can be found face down on a table lamenting his fate. Terrible sleep schedule. (HA) He is such a guy. Wants to believe the world is a good place and people are inherently good. And wants to help people and do good himself. It's just hard. [And he has a roommate. Oh my god he has a roommate]"

"He was, and still is, regarded a genius. He aced his Akademiya days, he has the admiration and appreciation of so many people because he is oh-so remarkable. But what for, when reality is that he sits at home depressed and with guilt consuming him, faking the image people have of him, not only broke as fuck but actually in debt, drowning his sorrows in wine."

Yusuke Kitagawa (Persona 5)

"highschooler who wants to spend the rest of his life doing what he loves. is obsessed with art and beauty and it's on his mind 24/7 received help from his now friendgroup to break from his abusive foster father who he still have complicated feelings with had to move into school dorms and am struggling to live independantly since he'd rather spend money and time on his art but he's still surviving and enjoying the good times id say also ends up saying whatever is on his mind and is pretty eccentric. very passionate about what he loves. doesn't want to do anything else."

Nanami Kento (Jujutsu Kaisen)

"Ex-salaryman, now jujutsu sorcerer. During one life-and-death fight, kept talking about how it was almost six pm with is when he is getting off work at 6pm no matter what because he hates overtime. While his opponent repeatedly almost kills him. Normalest adult in this shonen anime. Teen MC: "Let's go all out!" Nanami: "No. Where moderate effort will suffice, use moderate effort." Some of his quotes from the anime: "I studied at Jujutsu Tech and one thing I learned is that Jujutsu Sorcerers are shit! Then I worked at your typical company and one thing I learned is that work is shit! If both are equally shit I'll take the one I'm more suited to." "You've faced several life-or-death situations, but that does not make you an adult. Finding more fallen-out hairs on your pillow, watching your favourite stuffed bread disappear from the convenience store... The accunulation of these little despairs is what makes a person an adult." "I don't praise or disparage anyone. I adhere to facts and judge on that basis. That's who I am. There was a time when I mistakenly believed society operated the same way." "

#preliminaries #tumblr polls #tumblr tournament #character bracket #character tournament #mae borowski #night in the woods #shigeo kageyama #mob psycho 100 #barry the quokka #the murder of sonic the hedgehog #kaveh #genshin impact #yusuke kitagawa #persona 5 #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen

[thewalkingwillowtree]

Safe Haven

Series Part Listing Found Here

Neteyam x Original Na'vi Female Character

Summery: Seeking refuge, Xilä and her father venture to the lands of the Omatikaya clan, in the hopes that the Toruk Makto would be generous in allowing them to stay. This is her story about not only finding her strength, but finding love. 

Warning: This story contains smut, violence & abuse (please don't read if these topics will affect you)

Some characters have been aged up. Neteyam in particular is 24.

Xilä is my own creation.

~

Part 20 - New Life

From her spot around the crackling fire, Xilä felt as if she were being watched. She didn’t need to look up to know who it was though. 

Since their arrival at Awa’atlu, she’d gotten her fair share of stares and peaks and glances. She’d expected it really. 

Physically wise, Xilä was no Omaticaya, so she didn’t blame the Metkayina people for their curiosity. She herself was curious about them.  

So when the other clans had arrived- all in their varying physicality's, she wasn’t the only one of interest and it was nice if she were being honest.  

But Aonung however, well his stares were different. She didn’t think they had anything to do with her features, not really. It didn’t feel rude or inappropriate either. More… intrigued, perhaps? Confused? 

He always watched her as if he had a question right at the tip of his tongue, but he never asked. Instead he’d always pursue his lips and look away. 

Tonight, a large group of them- all mostly within the same age bracket, had escaped to a nearby little island, which was nothing more than a sandy beach with very little vegetation. 

Away from the rest of their families, they built an impressive bonfire and made themselves comfortable on woven mats whilst pouches and cups of strongly brewed spirits and fermented wine were shared around.

Xi politely declined any offers of the alcoholic beverages and was thankful that no one questioned her about it. 

Their large group was scattered along the shoreline, creating clusters of conversations and activities and attraction was heavy in the air. 

For those single- the women whispered and giggled amongst their groups, eyes darting over to whichever male had caught their attention. 

As for the men- well, their own peeks and glances weren’t as hidden either, not even the ones being silly and dumb by daring each other to do stupid things by the water’s edge. 

There were even couples- some mated like her and Neteyam who cuddled and spoke quietly as if they were in their own world, gazes locked and glistening with love. 

The vibe and atmosphere all reminded Xilä of the night she’d completed her rites. They were all so young and full of life. And the rare freedom to let go and be themselves- away from elders or younglings, it was refreshing. 

Unable to bear the feeling any longer, Xilä finally turned away from her mate and met Aonung’s intense stare. 

He was quite a sight to see- he always was really. Aonung had not one, but two gorgeous females under his arms. A flirty, bubbly thing- the daughter of an Anuri warrior who seemed to be animatedly talking his ear off. 

And the other- a sultry, vixen of a Metkayina woman whose lips appeared to be permanently attached to his skin- her mouth lavishing and sucking at his neck with gusto. The woman whispered something to him- something that made his lips quirk devilishly. 

“I’m beginning to think your friend has a staring problem,” Xilä murmured to her mate. 

“He’s asking for it now,” Neteyam replied through gritted teeth. “I won’t warn him a second time.”

She probably shouldn’t have said anything. “Ignore him. He’s probably doing it on purpose, trying to test your patience.”

“Sure.” 

Xilä tittered when he wrapped a possessive arm around her and allowed herself to be shifted out of view- face pushed into a hard chiselled chest. She didn’t need to glance up to know her mate was probably boring holes into Aonung’s head. 

Their bickering hot and cold, frenemy relationship never failed to amuse her. They were adults- men, but yet they behaved like boys around each other.

The Metkayina male gave him a knowing smirk before returning to the conversation with the group surrounding him- his voice so important that all eyes fell on him to hear what he was saying. 

Lo’ak’s laugh pulled Neteyam’s attention away- and Xilä’s. 

“They’re adorable, aren’t they?” she whispered, peeking out to observe the couple seated nearby. “He’s completely smitten.” 

Neteyam watched Lo’ak and Tsireya. His head was in her lap and their fingers were interlocked- they looked every bit in love. 

He’d never seen his brother so open with affection. Not with anyone really. Lo’ak was a heartbreaker- unknowingly to himself. Kiri didn’t joke about his fan club for no reason. His brother had charm and the moves to have any woman at his feet- something Neteyam had once upon a time been jealous of. 

But this? This open display of ‘this is my woman’- Neteyam had never seen this from him. 

“Oh yeah... He’s a goner. She’s good for him.” 

When the drums and bone flutes began with a deafening roar, Xilä was quick to find Kiri- both girls pulling a hesitant Tsireya along to dance amongst a growing crowd. 

And while she was busy, Neteyam enjoyed conversing with a spontaneously formed group of men he and Lo’ak had befriended during their stay. There were K’ayno and Astlu- cousins from the Tipiani clan, Ye’k- a warrior from Ta'unui and Cxian the son and next in line Olo'eyktan of the Sarentu clan. 

Neteyam of course couldn’t help himself and still kept careful watch on Xilä, lips quirking upwards every time his eyes landed on her. She was enchanting as she moved- standing out from everyone else. 

She and Tsireya eventually made their way to him and Lo’ak- Xilä begging him to dance with her- eyes dangerous and weaponized to make him weak, however could he say no? 

They danced for what felt like hours- yipping and  twirling on fast feet. Rhythmic music beats speeding up, Xi’s hips moved wildly in time with the drums. Neteyam followed, eyes heated and intense on the woman before him, hands greedy and unable to not touch her skin while he stole and planted kisses wherever he could. 

It was electrifying. 

There was no one else but her and him.

As the night wore on, almost everyone was on their feet, bodies moving carefree and minds loose as they gave in to the spirit of the music. 

Eventually needing a break, Neteyam left Xilä in the trusted hands of his brother, sister, and now soon to be sister-in-law. Xi loved dancing, she was not stopping any time soon, he knew. 

Returning from relieving himself in a secluded patch of shrubbery, he saw a lone figure near the water’s edge. 

“Not in a dancing mood, I see,” he teased, startling his friend who had been tossing pieces of his meal into the calm ocean, a sort of game with a few clustered ilu.

“Not really, no. Although I must say it was quite shocking to see you of all people out there with the rest of them. Last I remember from your previous visit, you turned down almost every teenage girl who’d dared muster the courage to ask you to dance.” 

Neteyam snorted. “Yeah well what can I say, Aonung? Those girls weren’t my wife.” 

Aonung's flickered to his, and the same curious expression he’d been staring at Xilä with was now directed at him. He stared as if wondering who the man in front of him was- as if seeing him for the first time.

“Alright, enough. Spit it out. What’s the matter? If I didn’t know you, with all the looks and staring you’ve been giving my mate lately, I’d think you were interested in her- but I do know you so I know you’re not stupid enough for it to be that. What’s going on Aonung?” 

Aonung’s gaze fell. Jaw clenched in irritation, he pretended to be far more interested in the rolling sea. 

Before Neteyam could speak again, they were interrupted. 

“Aonuuung, come dance with me,” a Metkayina woman crooned through slurred speech. She plastered herself to him, most likely unaware that Neteyam was standing right there since her fingers tried to creep into Aonung’s loincloth. “Or do you want to sneak any instead? I’ll do that thing with my tongue like last time and maybe we could-”

“Zers’i,” Aonung chided, although there was no real bite to it. “Go find someone else to warm your bed tonight. I’m sorry, but I’m not very good company right now.”

“Oh…” She pouted dramatically- huffing in disappointment when he pulled her hand away from groping him. “Well maybe next time then, yeah?”

“Next time,” he promised. 

Neteyam coughed and looked away when the woman promptly kissed him- practically sticking her tongue down his throat in goodbye before finally stumbling back to the dancing crowd. 

“Brother, don’t even.” 

But Neteyam couldn’t keep a straight face. 

Aonung scowled and flopped to the ground with a sigh when he heard his friend’s stifled titters turn into a full bellied laugh. 

“Right… no, because while I’m thoroughly traumatized, that- that was entirely too entertaining.”

“How’d you and Xilä happen?” 

“What?” Neteyam sobered up quickly at the sudden question. 

Aonung blew out a breath and hung his head, elbows digging into his propped thighs. “I need a mate. Soon.”

Understanding dawned upon Neteyam. He glanced over to the crowd in the distance and once he spotted Xilä who was squashed between Kiri, Tsireya and a few other familiar females, he slumped down onto the sand beside his friend. 

“A mate… You’ve been given a deadline I’m assuming?” 

“A year. One fucking year,” Aonung rasped. 

“Shit.” And Neteyam thought his six years were ridiculous. 

“I don’t know how you do it. I don’t think I’m cut out for all this. How do you deal with the pressure? We have to take over from our fathers, follow in their great and mighty footsteps- lead an entire clan of people who hold us with the highest of expectations. They expect us to find a woman and make sure we produce the future generation, they expect us to be the best examples and not step an inch out of line because when we mess up it’s-”

“Our responsibility and we should have known better… yeah.” Neteyam rubbed the back of his neck. He knew exactly where Aonung was coming from- from each and every side. “Believe me I get it- all of it.”

They sat quietly for a few long minutes- the drums and yips and hoots being the only thing they heard until Aonung broke the silence between them. 

“Your Xilä is great- amazing. I’m halfway not joking when I say sometimes that I’d steal her from you… but she baffles the shit out of me.”

“It what way?”

Aonung shrugged. “She’s as in love with you as you’re in love with her. Right?”

Well now Neteyam was straight up confused. “I’d say so, yeah.”

“And it’s not all an act?”

“Fuck no. What are you trying to get at?”

“The last time you were here, you said you’d probably never take a mate. You said- what was it again? Oh right, that you hated the pressure of being “the chief’s kid and wish you had the guts to do things your way.” Did I remember all of that right?”

“Impeccable memory there, brother. You should also note that I was sixteen and an idiot.” 

“Skxawng relax,” Aonung chuckled, amused by Neteyam’s sudden defensiveness. “I’m glad you found happiness, truly. I’m simply looking for it myself. You saw a couple of the others-” he jerked his chin towards a certain group of men- men like them who either followed in their father’s footsteps, or “married” into it. “Not everyone like us gets lucky like you.” 

Neteyam absorbed his words. He knew arranged matings were the norm for most clans. Some pairings eventually found love, while others tolerated the match. Neteyam knew he was blessed, this trip had solidified it as much. 

Of the many Na’vi who’d shown up to Awa’atlu, he and Aonung had met some of the unlucky ones- the ones who’d taken another out of duty and expectation. It wasn’t that they were out right miserable, but it was clear as day… They weren’t really happy. 

“I guess I should be grateful that my parents are allowing me to find my own mate and haven’t just thrown someone at me… K’ayno over there”- he pointed to the Tipani man- “his mate was picked out for him before he could even talk. They’ve been together for eight years already. They’ve got a kid and another on the way… does it seem like there’s an ounce of affection in that relationship to you?”

“Eight years? He’s only two years older than me..”

“Yeah. And I don’t want that. Couldn’t do it.”  

Neteyam distractedly nodded in agreement, mind whirling away. 

“How’d you choose her though? Xi? How did you decide to spend an eternity with that one woman?” 

“Eywa.”

“Eywa? That’s a given, ‘Teyam. I’m being serious here.”

“And so am I. Look, just like you I got a deadline, not only that but a blood-oathed yes from me, sealed the deal- I had no choice. At first I did try to make a connection. Nothing felt right. I fooled around with a couple women- though, not as openly as you, my friend,” he said, making them both chuckle. It eased the tension somewhat. “But it wasn’t until Xilä who practically landed in my arms, did I know. Eywa’s to thank for that.” 

After another quick glance to his woman, he continued. “She’s impossible not to love. It was fast. I didn’t even court her. I claimed her as mine without going through all the traditional bullshit, and pissed off our mothers and half the clan while at it… and I have no regrets. I’d do it all the same way in a heartbeat.” 

Aonung’s brows rose high at the admission of pissing off their mothers and made a playful jab that made the conversation veer off topic for a couple minutes. 

“Man, your story was sweet and all, but that tells me nothing. How’d you know it was Xi?” 

He considered the question. “I cared.” 

“You… cared? That’s it? It was that easy?” 

“She was the first thing on my mind when I woke up and the last before I slept. It might sound trivial, but I cared about whether she’d eaten dinner or what her plans were for the rest of the day. I wanted to know everything about her. What her favourite food was, what her past was like, what she wanted for her future. I wanted to know what her fears were and what I could do to make them all go away. I hated sharing her- wanted her all to myself all the fucking time. And… and I’d never felt an ounce of any of that with anyone. Ever.” 

Aonung had an indescribable look on his face as Neteyam spoke. He shook his head, brows furrowed in hopelessness. “I don’t even know where to begin looking for someone like that. Not that I even tried looking yet, that is.”

“So don’t.” Neteyam shrugged, “This might be shit advice, so take it at your own risk… but maybe you shouldn’t look. I had about given up until Xilä came along. Maybe it can work for you too. Eywa will hear your heart.” 

Aonung reluctantly nodded. “Thanks,” he said in a tight voice, and Neteyam knew his thanks weighed heavily- that it meant more. 

“Oh and by the way, if you tell anyone about this little conversation, I’ll deny it and kick your ass. I’m not giving up hope for round two with you and beating you this time around.” 

“I’d like to see you try.” Neteyam shoved him with a grin of his own. 

His friend's chin jerked forward to where Xilä stood a couple feet away, seeming unsure if she should interrupt. 

“I think your pretty mate misses you,” he pointed out, taking in the way her cheeks were flushed and hair was wild and askew from her dancing. There was no doubt she was gorgeous and although he was wholeheartedly happy for Neteyam, he still felt that subtle pang of jealousy. 

“I’ll see you bro,” Neteyam said, eyes drawn to his waiting wife. They both got to their feet and slapped arms in parting. 

Aonung watched Neteyam greet his mate, head ducking low to claim her lips, one palm cupping her cheek, the other pulling her close while Xilä tucked her fingers into his belt. 

“Hi baby,” he heard Neteyam murmur, “you ready to go?” 

Xilä whispered something that Aonung couldn’t make out, but it made Neteyam laugh and kiss her again, deeper as if he hadn’t seen her for ages. 

And when they broke apart- voices hushed and eyes intensely locked, Aonung didn’t miss the way his friend’s palm spread across the span of Xilä’s stomach… or the way they both looked down to where it rested, smiles matching in the moonlight.

~

The old device gave a loud whirring noise that made all three of them cringe and wince in discomfort. Xilä in particular slapped her palms to her ears to try and muffle the sound, while Neteyam himself clenched his teeth together- ears flat to his head. 

“Sorry! Sorry! Lemme just- oh don’t do this to me now.” Norm’s fingers moved furiously across the keyknobs and the instant the high pitched sound ended, he released a joyful WHOOP and raised his fist in the air. “It works! I am a fucking genius.” 

Neteyam chuckled and peered over the older man’s shoulder at the large, clear monitor screen. The glass had a slight crack on the top left corner, but then again the thing was most likely ancient after all. 

Xil watched too, fascinated by the numbers, letters and moving lines that flooded the “page” Norm had brought up.

“Alright then genius, lets see you get it up and running now.” 

They left him to it, and it took him another half hour filled with curses and threats at the poor device, but with a final few strokes of the keyboard, Norm was looking back at Stephan and Max- their background being the familiar scenery of the labs back at Home Camp. 

Between him and Stephan, they made a few more tweaks, and then- finally then, Xilä was staring back at her parents who were also awed by the technology like her.

“Xilä! Oh magnificent Eywa- Jxo, look, look it’s our Xilä!” Salveen was yelling at the top of her lungs. “Darling, can you see us too?! Can you hear me?!” the elder screeched while her face pressed up into the glass.

Norm, Xilä and Neteyam smothered their amusement while watching a very patient Max explain to her parents how the communication worked and that they could speak normally. 

“We’ll give you some time to catch up, but I’ll be back, okay?” Neteyam murmured before he and Norm quickly made their way out of the designated mauri used for communications- a makeshift lab of some sort. 

“Hi,” Xilä breathed, smiling wide at the sight of them after so long, fingertips gently pressed to the glass. 

“Oh I miss you, my sweet girl. Darling you’re glowing, you look so beautiful, doesn’t she, Jxo?” 

Jxo grunted in agreement. “When are you coming back?” was the first thing he said. 

Xilä’s smile faulted a little, she was going to have to tell them. “I miss you too. So much. Have you been taking care of yourselves?” 

“Bah, we’re fine. Just fine. Oh I have so much to tell you though. You’ll never guess who broke off their betrothal!” 

On and on Sal went, filling Xilä in on all the latest gossip of the Camp. Xilä awed and gasped and laughed throughout it all- giggling, especially when Sal would throw out a “right, Jxo?” to which the man would simply nod or grunt in agreement. 

Xilä loved them both so much. Right now all she longed for was to hug them, to physically see them in person. She missed them a ridiculous amount. 

She perked up when she heard a familiar shriek in the background. 

D’avi and Yalnïk appeared with their two babbling children. “Xilä!” 

“D’aviii!”

L’eya was plonked onto her grandfather’s lap and then an overly excited D’avi invaded most of the space on the screen and started blubbering away- much like her mother had done before. 

There were many “I miss yous” and “look how shiny and long your hair has gotten!” and “when are you coming home?” 

Both sisters were momentarily in their own little world and Xi was saved from answering her sister’s last question when L’eo shrieked- the baby clearly needing some attention. 

Yalnïk and D’avi proudly filled her in on the twins' newest milestones. L’eo was even more a talker now, and Xilä had just about burst into tears when Yalnïk pointed to her and asked his son to say hi to his aunty Xilä- to which L’eo strung together a jumbled mess of words that sounded exactly like it. 

L’eya had finally taken her first steps and was now cautiously toddling around after her brother who’d Xi had had the joy witnessing his own first steps before she’d left. 

Jxo had gotten up to give Xilä a little demonstration by placing the baby down on shaky legs. She was still wobbly and didn’t want to let go of her grandfather’s fingers, but she managed to make a couple solid steps before falling on her bum. L’eya’s bottom lip wobbled in preparation to cry but still distractedly clapped her hands along with everyone else when they’d cheered her. 

Xilä had tears running down her cheeks by now. “Ah my babies, I miss you two so much,” she sobbed whilst smiling back at the toothy little grins of her chatty excited niece and nephew who blew her sloppy kisses. 

“Do you want me to come get you?” Jxo suddenly asked- voice gruff and no nonsense as ever. He kept staring at her as if trying to figure something out. “What’s that damn boy doing to you? You keep crying, darling. I don’t like it.” 

“Jxo!” Sal chided but her mate paid her no mind. 

He simply handed her L’eya and came closer to the screen, frown deepening. “Where’s he at, Xilä? I want to talk to him.” 

Xilä couldn’t help laughing while she frantically tried to remove the evidence from her under her eyes and cheeks. “I’m fine, father. I am. Neteyam is as wonderful as ever to me. I just really miss you all. Finally talking and seeing you,” she sniffled, “just makes me really happy.” 

Her father seemed to buy it after a couple more of her assurances. 

Her family asked about life at Awa’atlu- Yalnïk in particular was highly interested in the fishing techniques and gear- which Xilä suggested he ask her husband instead- she’d not really paid any attention to the job. 

D’avi told her that Leati and Ze’lu had finally started courting- much to Fe’ska’s displeasure and apparently there was a very public argument between the mother and daughter that was all the clan could talk about for days. 

They spent another half hour of bonding before Neteyam returned and quietly asked if she was ready for him to interrupt. Crouched beside her with a warm palm to her thigh, he greeted her family and caught up with them- marvelling over how much the twins had grown in the few months they’d been gone. 

And when the Sully family started trickling in- Spider included of course and when Mo’at appeared on the screen as well- it was like one big happy reunion. 

Mo’at had eyes for only her at first, ignoring everyone else in favour of asking about her health. The Tsahìk was not usually the fretting type, but with all the questions and attention, Xilä had a feeling that the grandmother knew.

Afterwards Lo’ak introduced them to his lovely future mate who shifted nervously under Mo’at’s assessing gaze. D’avi saved the awkward encounter by complementing Tsireya’s hair, and from there, the two became quite chatty. 

Finding the right moment, Neteyam stood, cleared his throat, calling for everyone’s attention. He squeezed the back of his mate’s neck in comfort when she leaned her head against his leg. 

“So, I’ll admit, I had a bit of an ulterior motive for making all this happen. We- Xilä and I have some news we’d like to share.” 

A soft gasp was heard through the computer- D’avi.

“Oh I knew-mpf!” 

Yalnïk covered his mate's mouth like he’d probably had to do a thousand times, and shot Neteyam a sheepish smile and nod to continue. 

“Right, um, baby?” He offered her his hands and helped her stand.

Xilä was nervous, but with an uncontrollable excited grin, she pushed down the bunchy material of her long slitted skirt which sat high up on her waist and revealed the little bump she’d been hiding for the last couple of weeks. 

“Surprise! I’m pregnant!” 

The noise that erupted was deafening- cheers and screams and cries of happiness which was mildly overwhelming. 

Neytiri was the first to wrap her up in a hug, pulling back to cup Xilä’s cheeks with a blinding smile before she was leaning over to do the same to her son. 

Sal was just about squeezing the life out of poor Jxo as she squealed and jabbered on and on. 

“I knew it!” D’avi was telling Kiri whilst taking a whining L’eo into her arms, and blindly pulling at her top so her baby could feed. “She’s got the glow- and the tears.” 

“Shit, you’re right, the tears! I knew something was up,” Spider laughed, “no regular sane person cries over fruit- Ow! Kiri!” 

Kiri rolled her eyes at him, then made her move to congratulate her brother and sister-in-law.

“XiXii!” Lo’ak shouted from across the room. “I’m really going to be an uncle? You- you’re not pranking, right? Because this is the best day everrrr! Babe, hold me,” he fake sobbed dramatically, throwing himself at Tsireya. 

A frowning Tuktirey had made her way to her eldest brother and patted his leg to get his attention. He’d been wrapped up in a hug by his father who was teasing him about his upcoming journey of fatherhood. 

“Hey there, baby sis.” He lifted her up with a dramatic groan and planted a kiss on her cheek. 

Tuk poked his nose and then frowned at Xilä who was chatting away with Mo’at and her family through the screen. “You’re still gonna love me the most right?” she pouted. “Even when the baby comes?”

“Aw, Tuk. Are you worried about that?” 

The little girl shrugged and played with the beads on his choker. “Täylley said when her sister had a baby, everyone forgot about her. She said they only ever wanted to play with the new baby. Just like everyone sometimes does with L’eo and L’eya.” 

Neteyam knew the feeling Tuk was experiencing all too well. He was the eldest of four after all. 

“I’m sorry your friend’s feeling that way but I’m sure that’s not the case at all. And it definitely won’t be the case for you. Who do you think is going to teach the baby how to build a fort or paint the best looking flowers I’ve ever seen?” 

“I can climb the best in my class. I bet they wouldn’t know how to do that either.”

“Nope. See, they’ll need an expert like you to show them.”

“Yeah, I can show them… but only when they get older. When they could talk- and walk,” Tuk said, hesitantly as if trying not to get too excited. 

“That’s right.. You know, the baby, and L’eo and L’eya are going to need someone they can look up to. Someone awesome, and brave and smart. Someone who can-”

Tuk’s eyes were wide as she absorbed her brother’s words. “Me. Me! I can be that person. I know I’m only seven, but I can do it! Almost- almost like a big sister, right?”

Neteyam kissed her cheek again and playfully tickled her side. “That’s right.” 

Xilä shook her head at her mother’s question. “I haven’t really been sick, mostly nauseous around certain scents.” 

“Oh you lucky bitch,” D’avi teased without heat. “These two had me constantly throwing up for the first four months straight, and then it was a constant fight or dance party inside me for the other eight.” 

“What has Ronal been giving you for your daily nutritional maintenance?” Mo’at asked with a slight frown. 

“A couple things I’m unfamiliar with. But I feel fine and my energy is good. Once I have a nap in the afternoon, I’m not overly tired for the rest of the day.” 

“What worries you mother?” Neytiri, who was at Xilä’s side, asked. 

“I know not about the Metkayina’s ways. I would be far more comfortable knowing Xilä was under my care. How far along are you, dear? Did Ronal confirm?” 

“I’m nearing the end of my fifth month,” Xilä admitted with a hand to her stomach. She knew where this was going. She knew it was time to share the other part of the news with her family- news she was dreading. 

“She- Ronal strongly advises against me returning home until a couple months after the birth.”

“What?!!” D’avi and Sal exclaimed together. Even Neytiri- and Kiri, who had just joined, glanced at her in alarm, Jxo’s lighthearted expression turned to stone. 

“We don’t leave here for another two and a half months and by then I’ll be too far along to risk the journey by ikran… I’m sorry mother, I-”

“No… No, Tsahìk, tell her it’s fine,” Sal gently demanded- though a hint of hysteria poked through.  

“I’m afraid Ronal is right. I was against you going on this trip in the first place. But it wasn’t for me to say at the time- and the risk was far lower. As much as you may not like it Xilä, the safest thing for you and the baby is to stay there.” 

~

Neteyam didn’t think he could ever tire of the beauty spanned before him. Even at night, Awa’atlu was a sight to behold. 

He and Xilä sat on the beach while calm waves rolled in, kissing the tips of his toes before fading back. His pretty mate sat between his propped up thighs, head and body molded to his chest while he cradled her bump. 

Since they’d found out she was expecting two months ago, her bump had grown- still small but prominent enough that she couldn’t hide it anymore. 

“You’re quiet tonight. Too quiet.”

“Just thinking.” 

“More like overthinking. I can hear your thoughts a mile away, sweetheart… Tell me.”  

She sighed. “I think it’s finally registered for me that we’re actually having a baby… a baby who’s going to be here in only a couple of months. Our baby, yours and mine… I- I’m going to be a mother.” 

At her tone, Neteyam’s fingers paused their gentle caressing on her bump. He said nothing, waiting for her to continue. 

“I know we’ve had conversations before and I agreed to all of this, and I’m not backing out- I’m not. But I’m scared, Neteyam. Eywa gave us a precious gift.”

Her hands came up to rest over his. “I’m scared that I’m going to mess this up somehow. I don’t know the first thing about being a good mother. I mean, look at last month- I completely freaked out when I felt our baby flutter inside of me for the first time.” 

Still listening, her mate hugged her closer, chin nudging her temple, propped thighs pressing into hers.

“My birth parents messed me up. Their own parents messed them up too. I want to break that cycle. I refuse to be like them. But it doesn't stop my worrying and I- Ugh… You probably think I’m being silly bringing this all up again.”

“Xilä…” Neteyam licked his lips and exhaled a breath. “You’re not alone in the way you’re feeling. You don’t think I worry about being a good father? Of course I do. But we’re in this together. You and me, baby. We’ll figure it all out together too. And you what? We’re going to mess up. We’re going to make mistakes. There’s no perfection in all of this.” 

He flipped the arrangement of their hands, his covering hers as they rested against her skin. “But you know what? The little one we created inside there? We’re going to try our damn hardest to be the best parents we could possibly be for them, and we’re going to love the heck out of our kid. ” 

“Yeah?” Her head tilted to meet his gaze. 

“Yeah, baby. You and me. Always...” He ducked and kissed the tip of her nose. “You’re going to be an amazing mother, Xilä. Our baby is lucky.” 

Just as Xilä was about to respond, a sharp gasp escaped her lips instead. 

Neteyam tensed. “What-”

“‘Teyam, I-” She grappled for his palm and moved it lower- just under her navel where she’d felt it.

He was going to ask her what was wrong when he felt it too- he felt the light pressure press into his hand, a small little first hello from his baby. 

“Was that-” And if he thought he’d imagined it he certainly didn’t, because he felt it again, and then again. 

“Oh Eywa,” he whispered, meeting her awed ecstatic expression. “Was that the first time? First kick?”

“Uh-huh. Oh! There it is again.” 

“Well hi there, little Sprout. Are you finally saying hello?” 

“Sprout?” Xilä chuckled. 

“Yeah, been calling them that in my head since your tiny bump first appeared.”

“Sprout. I like it- it’s a cute nickname… Hello, baby Sprout,” she sang to her tummy. 

“Speaking of names, we’re going to have to pick one ou-”

“‘Teyam.” Xilä suddenly sat up and turned to give him her full attention, finality set in her expression. It had been eating her alive and now she was more sure than ever. 

“I know Ronal said it’s not safe- but I really don’t want to have the baby here. I want to go home. I want us to go home.”

And without hesitation or worry over how he was even going to make it happen, Neteyam gave her a firm nod. “Okay. Then we’re going to go home.” 

~

“Are you going to get big like D’avi was? She was so huge! Bigger than Täylley’s sister when she was having her baby.”

“A-ha! Um, maybe. D’avi was having twins after all.”

“Oh right… Is it only Sprout then? They’ll be lonely inside of there don’t you think? Oh! Do you remember the christening grandmother Sal took us too? The one where her- her friend’s daughter had three babies?! You should do that Xi. 

You should grow three.”

“Three?” Xilä spluttered with a laugh. “Why three?”

“Three’s better. There’ll be one for me, one for L’eo and one for L’eya to play with,” the seven year old stated matter-of-factly. 

“I see… Well, I’m sorry I can’t make that happen. I don’t think it works like that. And anyway, Ronal confirmed there’s only one little one growing inside of me right now.”

“Oh. Mm that’s okay too, I guess. We’ll just have to share, but I’ll be the baby’s fav-”

Tuk stopped. Her brow wrinkled as she pondered in thought, fingers pausing their works on the pile of sand she and Xilä were constructing.

“Xilä? Do you think Sprout will like me? Täylley fights all the time with her sister’s baby- and he can’t even talk yet! She said he’s always pulling her hair or biting her finger! Can you believe that?”

Xilä tried her hardest not to laugh at the little girl’s theatrics. “I think the baby will love you, Tuk. Just like I do. I’m a little jealous that my baby will grow up having someone amazing like you in their life, honestly.”

“I am pretty amazing, huh?” Tuk nodded seriously, making Xilä smother another incoming chuckle. 

Tuktirey scooted over on her knees, sandy little hands reaching out to rest against Xilä’s bump. “I think you’d be a really great mommy.”

Xilä sucked in a surprised breath. “Yeah? What makes you say that?” she whispered. 

“Just because, and my mommy and daddy said so too last night,” Tuk shrugged while she continued to rub Xilä’s belly, rendering the pregnant woman slightly speechless. 

“Why’s the baby so quiet? Can you make Sprout do the kicking thing again?”

“Baby’s probably sleeping. Lately, they seem to like keeping me awake at night with all their stretching and kicking. Shall we see if we can wake them up?”

After a couple nudges and feeling around, they finally felt a small, almost barely there kick which made Tuktirey giggle then pout when the baby didn’t move again. 

“I think Sprout’s a bit grumpy today. Probably telling us off for disturbing their sleep.”

Tuk sighed dramatically, a sigh that reminded Xilä too much of Sal. “Okay, well let's get back to work then. I’ll finish the mountains and you dig the hole for the lake. Then we can fill it with water.”

“Hey, Tuk,” Xilä called when she caught sight of a lonely figure. Ronal and Tonowari’s youngest son was playing in the sand by himself a couple feet away. “This seems like a really big task. Why don’t you invite him to come help us?”

“Ohh, great idea!”

Once the trio completed their masterpiece and the kids decided to run off and play near where Neytiri was helping shell clams with a couple other women, Xilä stepped away and walked toward the shoreline. 

A cool breeze sent her hair flying. She shook out the thin shawl she’d been sitting on and wrapped it around her shoulders instead to combat the chill of the wind. 

Neteyam and Aonung were still where she’d left them since she’d come out here. They were further out- knee length deep in the crystal clear waters as they fished. 

Xilä bit her lip at the sight before her. She openly ogled her mate, appreciating the ripples of his back muscles and biceps while he worked the massive net in his hands. Aonung must've said something funny, because her husband's shoulders shook slightly. 

“Can you not look at my brother like that in public, Xilä?” Kiri complained with a dramatic groan, making the pregnant woman jump as she approached. “I get that your hormones are all over the place but sheesh. Every time I see you it’s the same damn look. No one needs to see your fuck me eyes in public. Bleh.” 

“Well hello to you too. I’ll remember this the next time you want to drag me to the training rings to spectate and find that Tasam’s the one who’s conveniently already there, mid-fight. I’ll remember to tell you the same thing when you’re shooting him your own fuck me eyes, as you call it.”

Kiri’s mouth flopped open to argue a retort, but she quickly shut it when nothing came out. “Shut up,” she seemed to come up with, failing at hiding her blush while Xi laughed. 

“Do you miss him?” 

“A lot honestly…” She made a face. “Is that weird?” 

“Not at all. You like him, it’s okay to miss him… Do you find it weird?”

“Yes. I find the entire thing strange. We went from never hanging out, to pretty much spending all of our free time together. And now I’m wondering, how’d I never noticed him before? It’s like one day he just appeared. And he’s so…” 

“He’s so what?”

“Unexpected.” Kiri settled on. She sighed. “Did you know he told me he’s liked me for years? Years, Xi. I didn’t even notice. It took your sister one afternoon to pick up on it and meddle her way into creating this thing between him and me.” 

Xi drew into the damp sand with her toes. The waters rolled in and covered her feet, erasing her artwork when it fell away. “Honestly? I’m not surprised you didn’t. I’m sure you’ve not even noticed your Awa’atlu admirer either.” 

“What? Who?!”

Xilä jerked her chin towards Rotxo’s direction. The quiet man seemed to always appear wherever her sister-in-law was. He was currently seated nearby, whittling a spear whilst shooting not so subtle glances in their direction. 

“Are you talking about Rotxo?!” 

“Mmhm. He’s definitely got a crush. Very sweet too, don’t you think?”

Kiri stared at him with a tilt of her head, brows furrowed in thought. “Huh.” 

Xi snickered.

A comfortable silence fell over them, where they both got lost in their own thoughts. Xi returned to appreciating her husband’s backside while Kiri pursed her lips as if forcefully trying to keep words in.

“Tasam said he’s going to ask me to court when we get back home.”

An audible click was heard when Xi flung her neck towards Kiri, mouth open in shock, then morphing into excitement. “And what did you say to that?”

“Nothing… and then I felt bad because there was a whole awkward silence moment happening while my brain went haywire. He told me not to say anything yet. He wanted me to take the time away to really think about it before making a decision.”  

“Aww Kiri. This is exciting. Do you know what you’re going to tell him?”

“Not yet,” her sister-in-law replied, but there was no hiding the blushing smile she tried to rein in. 

A splash had them both looking out at the sea again. 

“Oh look, here comes, your admirer, and I’m not talking about your husband,” Kiri deadpanned. 

“Hello beautiful,” Aonung called out, wading through the waters towards them with his and Neteyam’s catch for the morning. 

“Stop flirting with my wife, skxawng.” 

Aonung jogged ahead of him and sent Xilä a playful wink with his good eye as he passed. 

“Better get out of here before he gives you a matching black eye, you fool,” Kiri taunted. She followed after him then broke off and headed towards Rotxo who’d beckoned her over.   

“I really still can’t believe you punched him, ‘Teyam. You’re not boys anymore. You use your words, not your fists!”

“I did warn him though. He’s the one who decided to keep flirting with you,” her husband shrugged as he made his way closer. “He knew he had it coming.”

“Handsome! He only does it to piss you off. You could just ignore him. You know that right?” 

“I like my solution better.”

“Of course you do.” This man never ceased to amaze her. 

Like an insect to a flame, when he got in reach, Neteyam’s hands crept under her shawl and immediately found her belly, fingers trailing over the smooth firm skin. 

“Hi,” he whispered in greeting, ignoring her exasperated expression and kissing her anyway. “How’s my little Sprout doing today?” 

Sprout gave a big kick as if awakened by the sound of Neteyam’s voice- as if saying hello daddy!

“Quiet until now. Our baby always knows when it’s you.”

That made him happy. 

“What are you doing later? If you’re not busy tonight, do want to go on a date with me?” he asked with a wiggle of his brows.

Xilä pressed up onto her toes and looped her arms around his neck. Her bump prevented her from getting closer, but she made it work. 

“Always… Will there be sex at the end?” she teased quietly. 

“It’s on the list of activities, yeah.”

“Good. We haven’t done that in a while and I miss you.”

“It’s been only four days, Miss Greedy.”

“Exactly, it has been four days. I’m glad you’ve been keeping track. You’re the one who keeps putting off every one of my efforts.”

“Yeah, cause… baby, you’ve been so tired lately and- hey, don’t even,” he said, halting her objection. “Sprout’s been keeping you up a lot with all the kicking and you need to rest. So, I’m making sure that you do when you can. Even if it means, no sex sometimes.”  

Xilä stared up at him for a long minute- taking her time to roam over his facial features. “I love you. What did I do to deserve you? I must have done something right- something big.” 

“Stop.” He was trying so hard not to blush. “I hope you remember you love me the next time you want to rip my head off for simply breathing too loud.”

“That was one time.”

He raised an amused brow as if saying really, babe?

“To be fair you have been behaving ridiculous lately. Actually if we’re checking, pretty much since you found out we’re expecting.”

“When have I ever been ridiculous?”

“Are you kidding me? I have a whole list of instances, but if you want more recent- You tried to ban me from hanging out with Spider and Lo’ak just this morning at breakfast!”

“Because the idiots wanted you to go with them to explore Cx’ove Creek!” he hissed. “Who in their right mind invites a pregnant woman to go exploring a srakat infested water cave for fun?”

“I told you already, they were just being nice and simply offered. I wasn’t actually going to go! You didn’t have to be so bossy about it.”

“But I thought you liked it when I was bossy?”

She turned flustered. “Well yes, but-” 

Neteyam silenced her with a kiss. Then another when she was about to protest and one final one before she finally gave up trying to argue. “I love you too by the way. Are you hungry? Have you had your second breakfast yet?” 

She shook her head with a grumpy frown, eyes following him when he squatted in front of her. 

“I think your mama’s mad at me, Sprout,” he whispered to their baby, kissing right where felt a poke, “but don’t worry, I’m going to feed you both and then I think we should all take a nap, and that means you too. Can’t keep waking her up every night, alright?” 

They both grinned at their baby’s nudge. 

“Alright,” he said, getting up, “time for second breakfast.”

Second breakfast. It made her chuckle every time.  

When Jake had picked up on her habit of having another meal after breakfast and before her first lunch, he started calling it “second breakfast” which was some sort of inside joke between him and Norm. 

They tried to explain the movie where the joke came from. There was something about a quest and a ring and a creature called a hobbit? 

And although it went over her head, second breakfast stuck. 

~

Their final two months at Awa’atlu flew by, bringing many changes along with it. 

The majority of the other clan leaders and clan representatives had by now returned to their homes, but for the Sully company, they’d stayed the longest. Jake and his team’s roles were far too important for the massive project they’d started. 

What they had accomplished was far from simply great- it was incredible, completely world changing. They had gotten the clans of Pandora to come together. Uniting them in a way that was marked as historic. 

With Norm’s guidance, a temporary form of communication between all clans was successfully up and running. It also aided the new system they were trying to implement for the sharing of resources which was finally underway. 

And thanks to it, Neteyam was able to secure a safe solution for his wife to return home…

The moment he saw her, the man’s jaw dropped. His grin broadened at the sight of her midsection. “Well look at you, kiddo!” Stephan laughed as he gently hugged Xilä. “The bump suits you, doll. Congrats, darling.”

“Thank you,” she smiled, proudly, hand automatically running along said bump. “Nice hairstyle, it suits you,” she replied, taking in his new-do. The sides were shaved and the hair in the middle was short and spiky. 

“Much more me, right?” he winked, moving forward to their packed things to grab up three overstuffed satchels in one hand and a wrapped heavy net in the other. She’d gotten Aonung to organize the specially crafted gift for her last week- she couldn’t wait to give it to Yalnïk.

Neteyam and Lo’ak had just strolled into the marui when she awkwardly tried to bend to pick up a bag with the intention of following after Stephan. A belly bump made simple everyday tasks difficult sometimes, she was still adjusting. 

Her mate was quick to tell her off however, mildly scolding her for even attempting to lift anything. 

Xilä huffed. “We’ve talked about this, Neteyam. I’m not an invalid. At least let me help carry something out to the ship.” 

“Here.” He handed her a small pouch of seaglass stones she and Tuk had collected which made Lo’ak snort when Xilä shot her husband an unimpressed look. 

He took off with his own armfulls- the large case he’d brought his weapons in, a thick rolled up pelt and the last three satchels that held their belongings. 

“Four more months. Just four more months,” Xilä sang to herself. “Have I told you that your  brother is driving me crazy, Lo’ak?”

“Only two or three times a day since you told us you were expecting,” he teased. 

“Ugh! Everything is don’t lift that, don’t go there, that’s too dangerous, my baby shouldn’t be eating that, eat this instead, you should rest, you should sit, you should sleep! Eywa! If I didn’t love the man…” 

“Hey, don’t look at me for help. You’re the one who willingly chose him as your mate. You knew what you were getting yourself into…” His playful words fell away as he stared at her. “I’m going to miss you, XiXi.” 

“Don’t do that, Lo’. You’ll make me cry. Do we really have to do this now?” 

He clicked his tongue sympathetically. “Come on. I’ll walk you out.”

Xilä took one final glance at the now sparse marui before Lo’ak led them out onto the bouncing pathways. 

“I’m going to miss you too, you know. You’d better not hold any blessing celebrations over you and Tsireya without me.”

“Nah. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. After that stunt Neteyam pulled with you, mom would kill me in a heartbeat, and Tsi’s parents aren’t people I want to cross either. Even grandmother threatened me on our last call. She wants to meet Tsireya in person before I officially ask Ronal and Tonowari for their blessing.” 

“I get it. You’re bringing her on your visit in a couple of months right?”

“Yep. So you better not have that baby until we arrive.” 

“I still can’t believe you’re moving out here. I am so happy for you, though.”

Lo’ak stopped and pulled her in for a hug, being extra careful not to squish her belly. “Hey Xi? I don’t think I ever apologized… but I’m sorry I was such an asshole the first time we met. You’re hella awesome.”

Xi hugged him a little tighter. 

The beach was crowded that morning- much like it had been on the first first day they’d arrived. Many Metkayina surrounded Stephan’s ship, all awed and fascinated with the odd metal, bird-like aircraft. 

From Xilä’s viewpoint she could see the eccentric Avatar giving a couple of the younglings a tour through the wide glass windows at the front of the ship. 

This was it. It was time to return home. 

Her and the Sullys’ goodbyes were bittersweet.

Awa’atlu had been their home for the past six months. She had formed deep connections, friendships and had grown attached to the sea and all the beauty that came with it. 

“Take care of him for me, will you?” She overheard Neytiri asking Tsireya as they embraced. “He can be a handful sometimes- too stubborn for his own good, but he really is the sweetest boy.” 

“Are you sure that contraption is safe?” Ronal interrupted, to ask Jake who was chatting with Tonowari. “I don’t know if it’s any better than your tempered ikrans. It doesn’t look like it.”

“It’s safe,” Jake assured. “They did a lot of repairs on the ship in preparation for this trip. Xilä and the baby will be well protected.” 

She gave an unimpressed hum, but said nothing else on the matter. Her expression softened when Xilä approached to bid her goodbye. “You better bring that baby with you next time you visit. I can already sense your child will be destined for great things…”

Xi was finishing making her rounds when a voice called for her.  

“Are you not going to say goodbye to me, beautiful?” 

“Aonung.”

“Tsk. Aw come on Xi- I’m hurt, wounded,” he joked solemnly- palm over his heart. 

“Take care of yourself, okay? I mean it.” 

His smile fell a little. “I’m going to miss having you around. It was sure fun riling up your husband… I never did get to fight him again.”

A chest plastered against her back and she automatically leaned into it. “Yeah, cause you know you’d lose again, you skxawng,” Neteyam teased from over her head with a possessive palm to her round tummy. 

Xi shook her head, highly amused- there they went again. 

She was really going to miss this place. 

~

Xilä’s reunion with her family was a joyful one. Welcomed home with open arms and all the love they had to give, she knew she made the right decision to come home. 

Returning to the forest eased Xilä’s worries. It was safety, it was warmth and love. It was… home. 

And although they’d been gone for six months, she and Neteyam had settled back in quite quickly and were able to return to their routines just like before. 

She resumed her studies with Mo’at, eager to share all that she’d learned from the metkayina and Neteyam returned to his duties as a high ranker, along with all the other responsibilities he had under his belt. 

What was most exciting was catching up on how much she’d missed out on. 

Kah’lee and W’aote were on some sort of weird break where they weren’t talking but would still have the occasional “fuck session.” W’aote apparently was ready to settle down, but Kah’lee wasn’t- which was strange because before Xi left for Awa’atlu, it was the other way around. Kah’s hesitancy to officially court him sparked an argument between the two, thus creating the weird separation.  

Leati and Ze’lu however were going strong. The female warrior loathed public displays of affection but Ze’lu appeared to be a stage five clinger- Kiri’s words, not hers. The man was completely in love and would smother his woman in affection despite her grumpy, lackluster protests. 

Xilä personally thought they were a perfect couple. He calmed her bitchiness and temper tantrums and she brought him out of his shell. It was the perfect balance.

The twins' development, however, amazed Xi the most. They were toddling around everywhere now, and always chatting up a storm in a mixture of baby babbles and their ever growing learnt vocabulary. 

They were also both fascinated with her belly bump, especially whenever Neteyam was able to coax a big movement from Sprout- tiny little hands patting her with excited squeals. 

And speaking of babies. Xi and her husband had done a lot of preparing for their little one’s arrival. Xi had never sewed as much as she did before- Sal was a big help in that department. 

Meanwhile Jxo and Neteyam did a lot of upgrades and rearranging of their tent in their spare time. Jake had pitched in too, only he called it baby proofing. 

Her father had also built them the cutest little cot she’d ever seen… It was very similar to the ones he did for his first two grandbabies- and yes, she did cry when he gifted it to them. 

Since finding out that they were going to be parents, the mated pair were eager to absorb as much information and advice from those closest to them. And sure, they would have the support whenever they needed it, but they wanted to learn to do as much of it as possible on their own. 

As she neared the end of her pregnancy, Xi had grown increasingly miserable. She couldn’t move as fast as before. Her bump prevented her from certain tasks, her feet ached all the time, she could never find the right position to sleep in and quite frankly, she was just about ready for Sprout to move out. 

Neteyam was another matter entirely. 

Four weeks ago, Mo’at had instructed her that she was supposed to be taking it easy- an instruction her husband was all too eager and diligent in making happen… 

He’d become increasingly overbearing and overprotective of her throughout her pregnancy. It seemed as if as her baby bump grew, so did his possessiveness.

He snapped at anyone who so much as breathed too much in her direction. It was probably worse than his clinginess back when she’d been rescued from Li’ona.

Suffice to say because of said behaviour, it was no surprise when he and the women of their family butted heads a few times. 

Sal and Neytiri had to keep reminding him that pregnant women were tougher than they looked. He and D’avi also got into far too many bickering matches whenever he hovered and lingered during their “sisterly bonding dates”. 

Kiri and Mo’at simply found Neteyam’s behaviour amusing- Xi was sure she’d never seen the grandmother so entertained before. 

And when Xilä had finally met her twelve month mark- due date coming and going, there was no baby. She was a week overdue now and felt uncomfortably massive. 

“Why doesn’t the baby want to come out,” she whined. 

“You’ve made too good a home for your little one it seems,” Mo’at joked mildly as she ran her hands over the stretch of Xilä’s skin, fingers pressing down to feel the baby’s position. “We shall have to do some coaxing then, hm?”

“What kind of coaxing?” Neteyam asked quickly. 

“Have her take a walk. She can try some char’mille tea, heavily spiced herb broth, perhaps a warm bath and sex.” 

Xilä knew the list of suggestions, and yet even as the Tsahìk voiced the last one, her cheeks still tinged lightly. Her mate seemed unaffected though. He nodded seriously and asked his grandmother a couple other million questions- like he always did whenever they came in for a visit.  

Is it normal that her boobs are already leaking milk?

When will they know for sure she’s in labor?

Do they need to wait until her waters break or until the contractions start before coming in?

How painful will the birth be for her?

Was there anything he could do to ease it?

Fingers interlocked and propped up on her bump, Xilä relaxed as best as possible while her husband went on and on with question after question. 

Midway through their visit, he handed her a leaf wrapped snack that appeared from nowhere- some thinly sliced nectar coated meat placed between two sari cakes with mashed teylu and diced shrooms. Not the most appetizing thing to anyone else, but it was all she livid off of for the past week. 

Xilä smiled at her husband’s attentiveness and dug in without needing to be told. 

“And I know I’ve asked already, but are you sure there’s nothing else I can do for her during the birth?”

“Your role is to support her. The moment is all about her… and then all about her and the baby. She needs calm. You soothe and encourage her through it all. That’s it. If you can’t do that then you stay outside the birth room… Now, any other questions?”

“Yes. What-”

This boy! Mo’at huffed and shot Xilä a half amused, half frustrated expression. “Are you sure you want him to stay during the birth?” 

“What do you mean? Of course I’m-”

“I’m not asking you, ‘Teyam… Xilä?” 

“I wouldn’t want him anywhere else,” she smiled.

~

They’d tried almost everything. 

But no amount of tea, or broth, or walks or baths did anything to nudge their little Sprout out of her. 

She was too uncomfortable for sex, so only when nothing else on the list worked and she was just about at her wits end, did she finally decide to give lovemaking a go. 

“You’ll have to do all the work. I’m not moving a muscle,” she groaned. 

“We don’t have to do this, you know.” 

Xilä could cry. “Well we’re going to have to! I want the baby out already, ‘Teyam! I’m so uncomfortable. My skin feels stretched to its limit, my boobs feel like they’re about to explode. And there are parts of me that hurt, that I didn’t even know could hurt like this! I don’t want to do this anymore. Please- just please do something! And why are you standing so fucking far away?!” 

Shit! “Alright hey, hey. I’m here, baby.” He climbed into their hammock beside her, sensing a mental breakdown. “Sweetheart-”

“This is not sex,” she frowned when he cuddled her into his arms. 

He tried not to smile. “Let’s take a breather first, yeah?” 

She nodded and blew out a gush of air. “I’m sor-”

“Stop,” he whispered against her lips. “Just relax, sweetheart.”

He hummed the little tune he’d started singing to Sprout whenever he got too rowdy while his large palm soothingly ran over the curve of her belly. He prepared her with tiny kisses wherever he could reach from his position and sent silent prayers to Eywa to ease her discomfort. 

“‘Teyam.”

“Xi.”

“I have to pee… again.” 

He kissed her forehead. “Okay. Let’s go.” 

After helping her to her feet, they probably only made it a couple steps before Xilä stopped with a gasp. A gush of liquid escaped her- it coated her inner thighs and rolled over her calves and ankles as it fell to the floor. 

“Was that-”

“My waters broke,” she said, staring dumbstruck at the puddle at her feet. 

~

The room was too crowded.

Neteyam was itching to throw them all out and with every passing second, every glance towards anyone who wasn’t his wife, his patience grew thinner. 

They were nearing the fifth hour since Xilä’s waters broke. Her contractions were slowly growing more frequent now, and it was killing him every time he saw another wave of pain hit her. 

Seated between his raised thighs, he felt her body tense up again. She moaned through gritted teeth and desperately squeezed his forearms while the pain consumed her for a couple seconds too long for him, before her shoulders slumped and head fell backwards as she panted. 

“You’re doing so good,” he whispered against her temple. 

She gave a shaky laugh in response. 

“Do you want me to take over, ‘Teyam? You can go stretch your legs for a bit and-”

“No.” He winced at his tone and shot his mother-in-law an apologetic half smile. “Sorry. But no, I’m good, Sal. I’m not going anywhere.”

Five minutes later, his mother came and asked the same damn question. 

Ten minutes after that, D’avi offered to sing Xilä a “calming song” she thought would help sooth her. 

Neteyam knew it was their custom to have a “village” present for a birth… but this? This was too much. 

Why couldn’t they wait outside with the men- as well as the shocking mass of clan members who’d shown up to give their support? 

That damn song made him reach his limit. 

The singing, combined with the not so soft chatter from Leati’ and Kah’lee seated in the corner of the tent, Sal and Neytiri’s bustling around the small private quarters Mo’at had set up for them as they made arrangements and Kiri and Mo’at’s ingredient tinkering- he’d had enough. 

“Baby?”

“Yeah?”

“How mad at me would you be if I kicked them all out?”

Her head moved against his shoulder. 

“What? Who?” 

Even with sweat slicked hair and heated flushed cheeks, he thought she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

“All of them? Except grandmother of course.” 

Xi turned and took in the room’s activities. Her stifled anxiety quickened so she quickly glanced away again. 

“You can say no.” 

“Honestly? It’s crowded. I won’t be upset if you ask them to leave,” she admitted. “I love them all and I’m glad they’re here to support us… but it’s just…”

“Overwhelming right?” 

She nodded, feeling a wave of guilt consume her. 

Reading her all too well, he brushed her jaw with his thumb. “There’s nothing to feel bad- or be sorry about. They’ll understand.” 

Xi internally debated asking D’avi to stay. But if she was being honest with herself, she wanted this moment to be between her and mate. 

“Wait”- she stopped him before he could move- “do it nicely, okay? I don’t want any of them to think they’re a problem.”

He kissed her neck and promised to be nice about kicking out everyone before he got up. 

Sal looked ready to put up a fight with him but with one glance at her daughter who Mo’at was helping through another contraction, she relented. 

The women understood- thankfully. 

Both mothers showered Xilä with kisses before they left and assured they’d be a call away and just in the next room giving up prayers of their own. 

~

In the quiet dim space, Mo’at’s chats shifted in waves of highs and lows. Xilä’s wails however, overshadowed them. 

“No more. No I can’t. I CAN’T do thi-” Xilä broke off into another cry that Neteyam helplessly tried to sooth. 

“Xilä, breathe.” Mo’at patted her thigh and waved another round of spiced smoke from a lit herb bundle. 

“‘Teyam,” she whimpered through never-ending tears, breathing heavily in pants she fought to control.

“I know sweetheart, I know.” He brushed away the stubborn strands of hair that kept getting stuck to her forehead. “You’re doing so good. Almost there, baby.” 

Her chin wobbled and she licked her chapped lips. 

“Tell me what to do for you. What can I do?” We wished he had the power to take away her pain. 

“Tell me a story?” 

He couldn’t help the breathy chuckle that escaped him. It had been a while since she’d asked for one of those. Lips to her temple, he tasted salt. “What kind, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know. Any? I just need to hear your voice. Please?”

“Okay, I got you,” he soothed. “I’ll tell you about the one that changed my life, yeah?”

Her head fell forward when another contraction rolled in- back arching away from him. Her fingers bit into the flesh of his thighs that bracketed her own. His palms ran over her sweat slick skin- shoulders, arms and the backs of her hands whilst soft cooed words fell from his lips. 

Only when it was over and she sagged against him- fatigue dripping heavily with another plea for him to talk, did he start his story. 

“It all started on what I thought was a random day of the worst year of my life. Nothing was going right and so much was weighing heavily on me. I decided I needed to get away for a couple day, so I went on a solo hunting trip to blow off some steam.” 

He ducked to check on her. Her eyelids half closed while she stifled a whimper. 

“I caught nothing though, couldn’t focus- I kept missing my shots. On my last day, after catching nothing again, I was just about to head back home when a woodspirit distracted me. And then I heard a sudden scream- a gut wrenching and skin chilling one at that. So I followed it and I found this odd little cloaked thing running from a nantang. They tried to climb a tree to escape, but they slipped, and fell.”

Xilä’s heart thudded in her eardrums… She knew this story.

“Anyway, after I took care of the beast, I approached the hooded and masked stranger. They blinked up at me for a second, with- with the most incredible eyes I’d ever seen, before they blacked out. And when I pulled the mask away”- he made an approving pleased sound- “the stranger? Prettiest thing I’d ever laid my eyes on.”

Mo’at’s chants grew quieter as she continued to waft smoke in Xi’s direction- it helped her calm somewhat. 

“Anyway, I didn’t know it at the time, but I made the best decision of my life by taking her home with me… After an order from my dad, I had no choice but to spend time with this gorgeous creature every day, and you know what?”

Xi’s eyes closed. “What?”

“It was pure torture,” he whispered in her ear, making her snicker with a moaned wince. 

“So then what happened?”

Neteyam bent and nuzzled her cheek, palm coming to rest on her stomach. “So, then I fell in love with her… and by some miracle she loved me right back.”

“And then?”

“And then I claimed her as mine, and she claimed me as hers… can you believe that? She became my mate. Mine.”  

Xi peered up at him- pure love and adoration shining through her pain stricken face. “And then?”

He wiped the tear rolling down her cheekbone. “No… and now… and forever.”

“Xilä,” Mo’at called. “It’s time to push.”

“‘Teyam… can’t-” 

“Shhh. Come on baby, what am I always telling you? Hm? You’re strong- you can do anything.” 

“It hurts,” she whimpered. 

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. Lean on me, sweetheart, I got you.”

~

Their baby came into the world with a hearty cry. Wails almost deafening but Neteyam laughed in glee- eyes prickling at the sight of the tiny wrinkly blue creature Mo’at placed on Xilä’s bare chest. 

A boy. A son. 

“Neteyam- oh ‘Teyam, look at him. He’s-” Xi grinned through her tears- pain forgotten, “he’s perfect.” 

Neteyam couldn’t keep his eyes off of their little Sprout. “Holy shit.” He was here- their baby- their son.

Arms over Xi’s he gently cradled his baby’s head. “So much hair,” he marvelled. 

“It’s dark like yours, handsome.” Xi couldn’t move her eyes away- too busy trying to absorb every single detail. 

Index finger extended, Neteyam touched his son’s palm, and when his teeny tiny fingers closed over the digit, his heart melted. 

Their son’s cries turned to whimpers as Xi soothed him and he looked almost annoyed as he blinked up at them through half opened eyes before they closed again.

“Hi precious, I’m your mama. Hi, aren’t you the sweetest.”

“I think he’s got your eyes, baby. I caught a flash of silver.”

Xi took a damp cloth from Mo’at and began to clean their son- removing away as much of the waxy type substance that coated his skin. 

Mo’at eventually took over after ensuring Xi was taken care of. The elder handled their baby with expertise. He began to fuss while she checked him over- gums, tiny tail, pointed ears and queue. 

The grandmother failed to hide her sniffle and misty eyes, voice soft in her whispered prayers to Eywa. 

“He’s okay?” Neteyam was itching to have their baby back. 

“Perfect. A healthy baby boy.” She handed the crying infant back to his mother and he instantly quieted. She gently cupped Xi’s cheek. “You were amazing, darling. Congratulations to you two.”

“Thank you, grandmother. For everything. Thank you.” 

Little Sprout gave an unhappy coo, and like a natural, Xi arranged him in her arms and helped him find her nipple. It took a couple tries and whispered coaxing but the instant he latched, he was hungrily suckling. 

Neteyam stared at the two of them, entranced and amazed- unaware when his grandmother snuck out to share the news with the rest of their family. 

He kissed his wife’s temple, with whispered words of praise- telling her how proud he was of her. She met his lips with hers for a brief moment and with her own I love you’s.

After she shifted their baby to her other breast and he had his fill, she gently burped him, cooing a soft good job when he did. 

“Ready to hold him, handsome?” 

He nodded eagerly and shuffled out from behind Xilä, accepting hands comically larger in comparison to their infant. 

Was it possible to love someone wholeheartedly after knowing them for less than an hour? 

His mate was right, their son was perfect. 

Nestled in the crook of his arms, their baby yawned, tiny fists clenched against his cheeks, knees drawn up against his tummy. 

Neteyam’s heart could burst. Happiness consumed him. 

“He looks just like you. Just like his daddy.” 

The resemblance was startling, he thought. A mini him. 

Xi peered at the second love of her life, head resting against her husband's bicep. “I don’t think any of the names we picked out suits him, and as much as I think it’s a cute nickname, I’m not calling our son Sprout.”

“You’re right… we’ll figure it out though.” He kissed the top of her head. “How are you feeling, sweetheart? Do you ache?”

She nodded, fingers gently touching her son’s tiny toes, they twitched and Xi thought she’d just about burst into tears. “Yes, but I can bear it. I can’t believe our baby’s here with us now. I’m so happy, ‘Teyam, I don’t know what to do with myself.” 

“Me too.” 

Sprout shifted and made a soft noise in his sleep before settling- tail giving a slight flick against Neteyam’s hand. He truly couldn’t take his eyes off of him. 

“Our families’ are going to go crazy, they’re gonna love him. They’re probably going mad over waiting so long as well,” he joked. 

“Let them wait,” Xi sighed, the pad of her thumb tracing a delicately soft cheek. “Let’s just be together a little longer, yeah?”

Neteyam smiled in agreement. “Whatever you want, sweetheart. Whatever you want.” 

~

This chapter was soooo difficult to write & edit, I hope you all enjoyed it anyway!

First things first, yes, that was the last chapter- but WAIT. There will be a two-part epilogue. One- a slice of life after the birth of little Sprout and Two- a couple years after that.

PS. I still haven't settled 100% on a name for Sprout, so you can still send suggestions. Also, for girl names too (since they may or may not have another baby/babies in the epilogue).... (Who am I kidding, of course they will) LOL!

Okay, now cue the waterworks...

Thank you, THANK YOU to everyone of you who've followed me on this journey. Safe Haven is so special to me and I have enjoyed sharing it with you all.

Every read, every like, every comment, every suggestion and idea- just know I appreciate them all!

This community has been so welcoming and the response to a newbie writer like myself is profound.

As always, please share your thoughts :)

Tags:@jakesullyfatjuicypeen@granddearduck@riatesullironalite@strawberri-blonde@earthling55 @innercreationflower @duckworthbean @gyuventure @btsiguess-kpop@blkmystery@neteswife@luvteyams@isnt-itstrange@erenjaegerwifee@faatxma@ivysully@bakugouswaif@pinkpantheris @mntx666@ironcaptainnataliabarnes

#neteyam #neteyam x oc #neteyam avatar #neteyam fic #neteyam x reader #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam sully

[juuuulez]

about the negan requests i don’t know if they’re still open but img i’ve been craving father!negan so bad recently i cantttt

i was just thinking like imagine how protective he’d be like he’d do anything for you and i’m imagining him killing people for you like if you were caught or taken for being his daughter and then bam he kills everyone. UGH i can’t hes so dad 💔💔

obv if you’re not up for it ignore this but i’d love to read it thabk you queen good night ❤️

info: Negan x Daughter! Reader, platonic hurt/comfort, kidnapping, torture, choking, omg sorry this was dark, but also sooo cute, he is father.

summary: After his daughter is kidnapped, Negan kills to get her back.

you are SO RIGHT he is absolutely so dad

i’ve left it open to interpretation, so you can decide if you’re his actual daughter or just a found family/adopted situation like my capulet series

this was soooo much fun to write, it got lowkey dark but i’ve been needing something grimy

“This isn’t going to work the way you think it will.”

You were currently trying to convince your stubborn captor that this whole kidnapping thing wasn’t going to play out well.

After a supply run gone wrong, you’d been taken by a member of a rival group, with the intention of getting leverage against the Saviours. Simultaneously, they attempted to get some cooperation out of you, figuring there was no better ransom than a begging daughter.

It was this strange, metal contraption. You were chained to a chair, by the hands and feet. A steel collar was fixed around your neck, with a rotating knob at the back, which upon movement, lessened the circumference, tightening the metal collar around your neck.

Because of this, you held little control of the situation. Your captor knew this, refusing to give in to your half-assed reasoning.

“I dunno, darlin’,” He chimed, the nickname sounding gross on an unfamiliar tongue, “I think this is workin’ pretty well.”

The man moves behind you, twisting the metal fidget, letting the collar close in on your neck. In response, you lift your head to try and gain any extra room, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to even breathe.

“Now, speak into the mic, babe. Make it sound genuine, we wanna really rile ‘em up.”

When you don’t respond, refusing to plead for your life, to be reduced to begging, he only tightens the contraption. You let out a strained noise, chewing down on your bottom lip, trying to breathe through your nose in hopes of staying conscious.

A burly hand comes into vision, clasping your nostrils closed, completely cutting off your airway. The knob ticks over a few more inches to the right, the sensation now becoming outright painful, harsh metal cutting into your flesh.

It’s all starting to get a little spotty, but you stand your ground. Last time, you’d passed out, and the process had simply started again from the beginning. But this wouldn’t wear you out. You were stronger, at least, you hoped you were.

Luckily, there’s the distant smash of glass, a whirr and pop noise wizzing past your face, eyes still clenched closed. Everything goes fuzzy, dark spots invading your vision, even as the silence erupts into groans of pain.

Your captor lays on the floor, bullet wound to the shoulder. One hand clasps the gun at his side, only for another shot to land right through his meaty wrist. There’s a slight commotion, but it all sounds like distant mumbles, drowned out by a cotton-like blanket of distortion.

“Load ‘em up. I’ll deal with him back home.”

The voice is familiar, but you don’t have the capacity to understand, still teetering on the edge of consciousness. Then, the confines around your neck are loosened, and suddenly you’re granted access to air again.

It’s all too much, too fast, the sharp inhale only worsening your dizzy state. You yank at your hands, wanting to soothe the painful gash along your neck, but find that the metal brackets still restrain your wrists.

“Hey, hey. Just breathe for me, baby-girl. Can you focus on that?”

Warm hands on your face, are the first thing you notice. Holding you still, so your head doesn’t slump over. You mentally note the absence of gloves, but don’t know what to do with this information, otherwise simply comforted by the air of safety provided.

Your vision comes back slowly, still all fuzzy at the edges, but you can make out what’s important. Negan, in front of you, kneeling. One hand is holding your face still, the other working at the cuffs on your wrists and ankles.

He’s bloody.

So, so bloody. It’s stained all over his leather jacket and jeans, splattered up his arms, likely the reason behind removing the gloves. Some is even on the side of his face, colouring the slight greyish hue of his stubble red.

It all snaps back to you in an instant, like suddenly you’ve gained awareness, fully conscious of everything that’s just happened.

You twist your head around, searching for the body of your captor, only to spot a bloody streak across the concrete floor. “Where is he?” You ask, breathless, throat all raspy and sore from being choked.

“Shh, it’s okay. He’s gone. Dwight’s putting him in the van,” Negan assures you, helping to shift you out of the metal chair, figuring your legs would hurt from being confined. “Wanna know what I’ll do to him?”

You find yourself nodding, head coming down to rest on Negan’s shoulder. He smooths his hand over your hair, nails gently scratching at your scalp, brushing the strands back. His other hand rests on your knees, trying to help stretch your muscles after being confined for so long.

“I’m gonna cut his tongue out, and let him choke on the blood,” Negan whispers into your ear, “Then, Lucille’s gonna smash every bone in his body, starting from the feet. Might leave just his head behind. Throw it out into the yard with the other walkers.”

It’s surprisingly relaxing, like you’re being told a quiet story, or a lullaby. Suddenly, the concrete floor is the most comfortable thing you’ve ever sat on, and even the stench of blood isn’t of concern. It’s all perfect.

“You’ll let me help?” You ask, a hopeful lilt to your tired voice.

Negan runs his hand down to your neck, thumb rubbing over the deep bruise marred over your skin. “No, baby. We’ll get you home and into bed. Let me handle this.”

You can’t find the strength to protest, not opposed to the idea of curling up in bed. Everything still felt hazy, and you were all lightheaded, so you doubted that you’d be much help, anyway.

So, Negan lifts you up into his arms, subsequently getting blood all over your clothes. Not that it mattered, anyway. You didn’t mind.

Having somebody who loves you enough to kill was plenty.

#negan smith x reader #the walking dead x reader #twd x reader #twd x you #negan smith #the walking dead #negan smith x you

[abibliophobiaa]

Beyond - s.h. x f!reader

Chapter One: She Might be It

a/n: here’s chapter one of my purely self-indulgent fun, which shouldn’t be taken very seriously, if at all. haha. wanted to play around with one of my favorite tropes, so here we are with modern day!rich!fake husband!steve harrington x afab!reader.

warnings/tags: hugely unedited; mentions of alcohol; parent loss, both parties; r has a sister and father; smut in later chapters, so 18+, minors dni; additional tags to be added.

masterlist

-

The rooftop is crowded, bodies brushing against your shoulders and hips as you try to blend in, ignoring the creeping insecurity that you’re merely an imposter trying to fit into a world you were never meant to. It’s a foreign land you’ve found yourself in. A stranger in unknown territory as you listen to the sounds of lively conversation and clinking glasses.

The air is thick with the smell of expensive colognes and perfumes, bringing to your attention the soft spray of vanilla you’d spritzed on earlier, bought off some discount rack at the mall. Yet another reminder of the chasm separating you from them. From the elites of society you can’t help but compare yourself to.

All around are women garbed in designer dresses, men decked to the nines in finely tailored suits. Beneath, when you look out to the cityscape, is an electric hub of activity below. Cars spill in and out of busy streets, headlights illuminating the night sky.

You’ve found yourself at some rooftop lounge situated in the heart of the city, which you know for certain is well outside of Robin’s and your budget, but Eddie insists. And when Eddie insists, neither of you argues. You merely humor him, milling about bodies around the bar illuminated in glowing neon lavender, fingers curled around a flute of champagne that you’re sure likely cost at least half of your monthly rent.

You didn’t buy it. No—the man who did has long since disappeared into the throng of bodies, seeking out conversation with close companions, leaving you to wander aimlessly about the space, did. And you find it hard to focus on anything but when you’re constantly reminded of your own humble beginnings everywhere you turn.

Robin and Eddie have drifted toward the rest of Corroded Coffin, likely catching up after months of him being on tour, leaving you to people watch in silence, very much a tiny fish in a sea of wealth. And there, in the center of the sea of swirling bodies, stands none other than the man who bought you your drink himself, decked head to toe in a suit, freshly from the office, one hand in his pocket, the other elbow leaning on the bar as someone regales him with a story he seems uninterested in. His head bobs as they speak, mouth drawn tight, light catching on the thin wires of his glasses.

He glances your way and suddenly the room feels like it shrinks. As if it hones in on where you stand. You’re a girl in a spotlight you never yearned for, drawing the attention of Steve and the man he’s presently talking to, your hand coming to rub along your bicep as he waves you over into the fold. Heart hammering in your ribcage, you make your way over, heels clacking against the rooftop, stomach fluttering when Steve’s hand brushes your shoulder as he pulls you nearer to him, asking if his companion will excuse the two of you.

You dip your head to the man standing beside Steve. Definitely older than the two of you—likely in his forties, with wrinkles bracketing his mouth, the beginnings of salt and pepper throughout his hair. And when they’re gone, muttering they’ll see Steve come tomorrow at the office, you shift so you can stand as he is with one elbow against the bar, skin basked in neon lavender light. Your other hand holding your glass raises your glass to his, earning a huff of laughter from his full lips.

“Using me as a distraction, are we?” You tease, taking a few sips of your bubbly drink. “Didn’t think we were on that level yet, Harrington. This is—oh, I don’t know, the third time we’ve hung out, is it?”

“The fourth, actually.” When you’ve finished off your drink, he waves the bartender over for another, even despite your multiple protests. “It’s on me. We’re meant to be celebrating. You’ve finished…year three of veterinary school, Eddie told me. Impressive.”

“Yes, I just finished my last final the other day. And I am definitely looking forward to some down time.” Another champagne flute is pushed across the bar toward you, your fingers curling around the stem. You gently tip the glass in Steve’s direction, watching those eyes of his trail along your face, taking in your features. Curiosity piqued, you continue, “Keeping tabs on me, Harrington?”

“Always Harrington to you, huh?” He chuckles, extending an arm to lead you away from the bar. “You looked a little out of place. Figured you’d like a little company, even if you don’t consider me a friend just yet.”

“In case you couldn’t exactly tell, this isn’t my usual crowd.” Nose wrinkling humorously, your elbow loops with his as he walks you over to one of the many smaller barstools situated along the roof. “Well, we can always fix that. Tell me, Steve, what brings you here tonight other than Eddie’s demanding? You seemed a little off kilter when we first got here.”

“I’ll need another drink for that,” he laughs, the light of the moon catching on his wire frame glasses. “There is a quieter area inside. We could play a game of pool. Catch up.”

You’d like that, so you tell him as much. There’s a boldness you feel as he leads you into the mouth of the building, the gazes of those around you shifting your way, likely because no one can imagine Steve Harrington entertaining Cinderella in a room full of royalty.

He’s not wrong that the inside of the building is quieter. There’s a second bar in here, various bodies lining couches as the two of you steal away toward the pool table. Your throat tightens at the couple sitting across the way, the man’s nose running along the side of his partner’s. Intimate. A closeness that has heat thrumming in your gut as your eyes dart up to find Steve looking at you. Inside, you’re really given a chance to see him. He’s draped his jacket over the side of the pool table, revealing a black tie and thin gray button up. The corded muscles in his arms ripple and jolt as he unfastens the buttons around his wrists and rolls the sleeves up to the elbow, revealing golden tan skin lined with dark hair that matches the fullness of his wild mane atop his head.

Steve, though a mere acquaintance, is handsome. Highly so. To deny that would be choosing to ignore what’s so plainly there. You’ve only seen him after work. Always dressed to the nines in suits and slacks, professional at all times. But now he’s carding his fingers through his voluminous hair and sidling up beside you, bumping his shoulder into yours, ordering another bottle of champagne for the two of you, murmuring, “As we were saying, I think it’s about time you call me something other than Harrington or Mr. Harrington.” And you’re struck with his charm. The little smirk that crawls along his lips making something foreign flutter in your chest.

Your lip pinches between your teeth at the notion—at the roiling heat in your gut at the purr in his voice. Hip pressing into the corner of the table, you shift to face him, head tilting to the right slightly. “Okay, Harrington. You start. Tell me about yourself.”

“That’s so very broad,” he teases, moving to set the pool table. “What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know. What does a normal day like this look like for you? Was always curious. Is it always flowing drinks and sneaking women off to quiet rooms to chit-chat? Or am I special?”

“You know, I forget who you’ve been best friends with since kids sometimes, and then you go and remind me.” He snorts, lining up the balls on the table. “It’s actually not all that exciting. Since my dad passed, I’ve been preoccupied with…all of the details of that. His will, stakeholders, lawyers—you know, all very exciting.”

“I’m sorry, Eddie told me and I meant to go to the funeral—”

“Don’t even worry about that.” He waves a hand in the air. “And no, I don’t sneak off women to quiet rooms for chit-chat. I don’t usually have time for stuff like this.”

“Late night rendezvous with your best friend’s best friend?”

He lets out a guffaw at that, shaking his head. “And sleep. Apparently it’s a hot commodity for someone who newly inherited a business. Who knew?”

“I think it’s a hot commodity for most,” you joke, sliding back up beside him. Your elbow brushes the bare skin on his forearm, palms pressing against the edge of the table. “I work at a restaurant after classes. I’m sure it’s…not the same as running a company, but the no sleeping thing…”

He grips one of the poles and tosses you one. “Know how to play?”

“Are the rules different here?” You smirk, lip quirking upward.

“No, guess they’re not. You can be stripes.” He pauses, like he’s contemplating something, and bumps your elbow back. “You’re different than I remember.”

“This is the first time we’ve really spoken alone,” you remind him, grasping your champagne glass and taking a sip. He does the same, eyes trailing yours over the lip as you lean forward over the table for the break. You manage to sink one of his, grinning wryly. “So you know I’m in veterinary school and that Eddie is my best friend. You’ve also known Robin for a bit. I grew up in Hawkins, which is basically bumble fuck. You’ve lived in the city your whole life, haven’t you?”

He takes his turn next, hips angling a bit as he gets into position, those broad forearms shifting with every movement. You turn a bit to take another gulp of your drink, the familiar heat of your buzz starting to settle in. “Grew up here. I’m an only child to Elise and Rowland Harrington. And now I’m the inherited CEO of the company for the time being.”

“For the time being?” You muse, shoving him jokingly out of the way as he sinks one of your balls and it’s your turn once more. “How can one be a CEO for the time being?”

“I’m not nearly drunk enough for this conversation,” he laughs, eyes lingering on the side of your face as you attempt to sink another ball but it bounces against the exterior with a hollow thump.

You take turns around the table, talking about surface level topics. Laughter ebbs and flows in the spaces between you, an endless banter that flows easily between two friends. And it’s in that moment the knowledge of such solidifies for you. Steve’s company is pleasant, the two of you feeding off of the other’s energy as the drinks continue to flow between the two of you.

He wins the first game and you poke him squarely in the chest, watching those dark eyes of his grow darker as they linger on your face. “Mr. Harrington, we’re going for round two. And you’re going to tell me something no one else knows. I think it’ll truly solidify our friendship.”

“Oh will it?” He smirks, turning to set the table once more. He pours the two of you another glass as soon as you’re ready for the next game, glass clinking against his. “You’ll tell me one?”

At your nod, he moves to line up for the break, and with the clash of his cue stick against the cue ball, he blurts out, “There’s a condition in my father’s will that I need to marry, otherwise it goes to my shit head of a cousin, Theobald Cletus. And don’t you dare call him anything but, because he’ll never let you live it down if you do.”

“Theobald Cletus?” You snicker, leaning in to take your turn. “People don’t really have ritzy names like that, do they? I thought that was just a celebrity thing. Like naming your kids after inanimate objects”

“He sure does,” he clears his throat and gets into position, knocking one of your halls into a pocket. “Anyway, I’m coming up on the date I’m supposed to be married. People are already giving me a hard time because I’m young, and then I have this over my head on top of it all.”

“Haven't you thought about dating?” At his narrowed eyes, you splutter out, “Right. You already said you don’t really have a lot of free time. I’m sure dating is the furthest thing from your mind. Uhm—if it makes you feel any better, I’m drowning in student debt because most of my money is used for rent and helping my dad take care of my little sister.”

He stops in his movements and rubs a thumb along his jaw, thoughtful. “I just had a funny idea. But I’m pretty sure it’s because you’ve coerced me into drinking two bottles of champagne—”

“I did nothing of the sort!” You gasp, thumping the back of your hand into his stomach. He laughs jovially, one of his hands coming up to steady you when you nearly trip over your heels. “What was this funny idea, anyway?”

“We could…get married. Would solve all problems.”

You laugh.

And then laugh again.

Because there’s no way Steve Harrington just suggested what he had.

“I’m serious,” he continues, hand carding through those messy strands of hair. “We would be helping each other.”

You laugh again, palm pressing against your forehead. “I think we’re a little drunk. But what you’re insinuating…”

“I’d help you pay for college, and you’d help me secure the company from Theobald.”

“By becoming your wife,” you tell him slowly, uneasiness creeping up slowly. “You do realize what you’re suggesting.”

“It sounds crazy, I know.”

“Actually insane.” Your head nods up and down rapidly, watching the man swallow thickly before you.

He palms the back of his neck. “It would solve all our problems, though.”

“You’re just casually offering to pay for my college. It’s veterinary school,” you explain, as if he’s not fully understanding.

“Between my inheritance and my salary, I think I’ll be fine,” he says plainly, like it’s some minor inconvenience, when it feels like a daily cloud over your head.

“Your wife.” You emphasize the word, hoping it breaks through his skull the severity of what he’s proposing.

“Yeah,” he exhales deeply.

“And you think it would work?” Your words are quiet and shaky, a hoarse edge filling the tone of them.

Not that you’re considering.

You’re just curious. That’s all.

Right?

He shrugs. “I mean, people fall in love fast all the time.”

Your hand waves wildly in the air. “Just a whirlwind romance. No big deal.”

“Again, just a funny idea.”

You laugh. “Yeah, very funny.”

The two of you continue as if everything is normal. As if he’s not just thrown out into the open the suggestion of a fake marriage. That ease that flows between the two of you continues, even despite it, bodies shifting about one another as you finish your second game and Eddie and Robin finally find you, commenting that it’s probably a good time for the girls to head back to their apartment.

You walk alongside Steve with the rest of the group as you all walk out onto the busy city streets. Eddie lights a cigarette just as Steve asks for a moment alone with you. With a hesitant wave to your friends, you walk a short distance away with him, heart thundering away at what he might ask you now.

Surely, you can’t. Surely he hadn’t meant those words back inside the building. And yet, now that you’re both a little more sober in the chilly summer air, he repeats the suggestion.

“Just…I know it sounds crazy. But think about it.” He holds out a hand and you pass him your phone, watching as he puts his number inside and presses it back into your awaiting palm.

“Sounds like the plot of some book. Definitely not real life.”

He chuckles brightly and nods in agreement. “Just—just think about it.”

And as you walk back toward your awaiting Uber and glance out the window, capturing the gaze of the man standing with his hand in his pockets on the sidewalk, you find that you actually do.

-

The days that follow pass as they normally would.

It’s almost like you’ve forgotten Steve’s proposal of marriage. If one could even call it that. You’re not sure standing on a side street in the middle of the night, still humming with the remainder of your drinks in your bloodstream, staring up into the face of someone who was still very much a stranger, despite the way you’d exposed yourselves to one another that night counts as one. Had shared the deepest insecurities plaguing the both of you at the present time. Him, with his need for a wife to satisfy the wishes of his father’s will and the safety of the Harrington business. And you, with the endless swirl of debt that dangles like an ax over your head, awaiting your judgment day.

Every day thereafter on your summer break you wake up and prepare for the day as normal. Carry on your routine as it was before. Waltz through your apartment and greet Robin on your way to the coffee pot that’s nearing the end of its life, make yourself a fresh brew, and scroll through social media as you await the silence that follows endless percolating, signaling the coffee is ready. You’re about two cups in by the time you are ready for the day, tossing on what little makeup you wear, and slipping into your work attire. During your summer sessions, it’s generally a pair of dark slacks and a black top. Something simple and sophisticated for the restaurant you work as a waitress at.

You greet your normal customers for the evening, tend to their needs, and slip into the break room to scarf down whatever food the cook’s had on reserve. That evening it happened to be a salad someone had returned to the wait staff. You’ve made good tips for the evening—nothing to write home about, but enough that you’ll be able to cover a good bit for what your father will need to care for Caroline. Mostly food or clothes, now that she’s at the stage in life where she grows out of things way too quickly for either of you to keep track of. Last week it had been new shoes, and last you’d spoken to her, she had muttered breathlessly over the phone in her excitement to get to her play date, that she happened to need new jeans. So you split your tips into two and mentally made a note to pull up the website she had sent you and place an order later that evening to have it shipped home for the upcoming school week.

Only that day in particular is different from the ones before it. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that it’s only going to get worse once your father calls you gruffly explaining how he’s been let go of a job he’s had for twenty some-odd years. Your heart aches at the way his voice breaks off at the end, the hurt evident in his voice, the anguish over not knowing how he’s going to pay for everything. You offer to give him extra that week, uncertain of how you’ll also manage to then pay rent for your apartment, but before he can even protest you’re routing him some money over to his bank account—throwing in a little extra for Caroline.

It gets worse later that evening when you’re late to work because you’d missed your usual subway. Your boss is less than thrilled; merely offers you a huff and threatens a write up then next time you’re late. One more of which—for similar reasons—would lead to an eventual firing. And you need your position to stay afloat; especially those vital summer hours, where more tourists fill your section, eager to tip a little extra.

But the icing on the cake. The moment that really drives the knife into your already aching chest is the way Robin looks at you when she enters your shared apartment. Drapes her jean jacket over the coat rack at the door and huffs out a great sigh, glancing down at something on her phone. Always effervescent, Robin’s quiet roils the nerves already rolling in your belly. Your suspicions of the day going from bad to worse are proven correct when she sits down on the coffee table in front of you and claps her hands in front of her, chewing on her bottom lip.

“What’s going on, Rob?” Tiredness oozes from your voice, legs and brain already aching from your long day. You’d ended your shift with a table full to the brim with business men who had barely looked up from their phones to acknowledge your presence. One of them looked so similar to Steve it nearly struck you quiet. Steve, who you still have a text sitting unanswered in your inbox from.

“So, you know how Nancy and I have been dating for a few months now…”

“Well, yeah.” You laugh uneasily. “I’m the one who set the two of you up, remember? She’d been working part time at the restaurant and I noticed her looking at you and all of that—asked her if she’d be interested and the rest was history.” You’re not quite understanding the morose expression on her face, the downturn of her lips, the overall downtrodden demeanor.

“We’re thinking about taking the next steps, babe.” Her hands fold in front of her, nervous energy making them shake in her lap. At the upward arch of your brows, she proceeds, “We’re moving in together at the end of the summer. And before you freak out and panic, I’ll be covering my portion of the rent until then! Don’t even worry about it. And I’ll definitely help you figure out other living arrangements, I’ll screenshot listings and—”

“Robin, it’s fine—”

She shakes her head vehemently, hands carving broad slices in the air. “I feel so bad, and I told Nance, maybe we should wait until your winter session with school. But I just figure we’ll be saving money, I’ll be closer to her job and my job and I—”

“Robin,” you interject, palm coming to curl around her forearm. Your voice wavers, but you swallow your tears. It’s likely only a result of all the issues cropping up out of the blue, you remind yourself. None of which are her doing. And you’re happy. All you’d ever hoped for when introducing them was for them to find deep, lasting love in one another. “I’m happy for you.”

It doesn’t lessen the sting of the news. The timing of it all, the knowledge that in a few weeks you’ll either have to move back to Hawkins with your family, or try and foot the bill on rent all on your own. With year four of school coming upon, you know you’ll be working less. Spending hours upon hours studying when you’re not in class, and starting up clinicals in the midst of it all. You’ll be barely scraping by as is, simply trying to keep a roof over your head.

But you don’t give her insight to any of that. They’re not her burdens to carry, nor were they ever meant to be.

Robin heads off to shower after you hug her for a long while in your living room, murmuring your reassurances in her ear until her smile slides back into place and the tension eases from her form. It’s then and only then, when you hear the water running in the bathroom, you pull out your cell phone and dial Eddie’s number.

He answers on the second ring, groaning, “Are you okay? It’s one in the morning, and you’re usually sleeping like the dead by now.”

“Can I ask you a question?” You ask, biting your bottom lip nervously.

“Always.” There’s a rustle on the other end, like the shifting of bedsheets in his hotel room.

“Would you love me even if I did something stupid?” Your heart clenches. You can’t believe you’re even considering the thoughts running wild in your mind. The prospect of opening that message from Steve Harrington where he’d sent you a simple, “Here’s my number, think about it.”

“You’ve done a lot of stupid shit. I mean, look back on high school. Like that time you planted that whoopee cushion under the principal’s chair, so when they sat down and started the morning announcements, everyone thought Higgins ripped ass.”

You groan at his choice of memory. “That was your idea, asshole; you were just too chicken-shit to do it—”

“I was trying to graduate.” He did that year, and you’d been so happy for him, knowing how hard he’d worked to get there against all the odds stacked against him.

“Moving on. You would?” A frown stretches along your lips, heart hammering away behind your sternum.

There’s a deep huff on the other end. In your mind, you can picture the deep set lines around the corners of Eddie’s mouth, concern evident in those umber eyes. “You’re worrying me now. What are we talking about?”

“I’ll tell you later,” you mutter breathlessly, already swiping up into your text threads. “I just needed your blessing.”

“Wait, wait—wait! What am I giving my blessing for?! Don’t you dare hang up the phone—”

The line clicks as you hit the end call button and pull open the message from Steve. There’s a small image of his face pulled from social media for his icon, his face obscured by sunglasses, jeans snug against muscular thighs. Fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment, mind churning, before you begin typing away.

You: So if I were to marry you. BIG IF. What would that entail?

Husband?: Meet me at Caldwell’s tomorrow? I have meetings until 2pm, we can grab coffee there at 3pm and talk business.

You: Stop. He’s trying to seduce me. Oh no.

Husband?: HAHA — you’re hilarious. I’ll send you the address.

Husband?: (Address Link)

You: Didn’t know they sold coffee this expensive.

Husband?: It’s on me.

You: So it’s a real date.

Husband?: Something like that.

Husband?: Talk to you tomorrow.

-

Caldwell’s is gorgeous. An array of pinks, beiges and creams. Like something out of a Pinterest daydream. Endless sprawling plants line the ceilings. Plush couches and eclectic wooden decor outline the walls and interior seating section. You’re amused by the fact Steve chose here of all places for your meeting. So opposite of where you imagined he might choose.

Almost even more amusing is that your prospective husband-to-be looks out of place in the brightly illuminated space in his dark outfit. In the few times you’ve seen him, you’ve noticed a pattern: gray, black, the occasional pop of maroon, and navy blue make up most of Steve’s wardrobe. And sure, it's no detriment to him, because he looks handsome as ever, but it brings a smile to your face as you capture his gaze from across the coffee shop. Your lips quirk upward as you wave. His answering smile makes something unfamiliar quiver in your chest, though you pay it no attention and clutch your bag tighter to your chest, phone in the other, and make your way over.

He’s already placed an order for you. Texted you a few minutes prior so it was ready at the table he’d situated himself at. You settle down on the chair across from him, catching the laptop in the center of the table, a leather satchel on the plush bench beside him. He’d foregone his glasses today, you notice, eyes meeting the constellations of birth marks along his face and neck, drifting down into the collar of his shirt.

“You look nice,” he mutters, glancing down at your workout clothes. Nothing more than a cross body bag, pair of leggings, tee shirt and running shoes. You know he’s only being kind, a snort falling from your lips, eyes rolling. “I’m not kidding.”

“I meant to change. But, uh, something came up and I sort of needed to rush here.”

No, you had no intention of telling him you’d fallen asleep after you’d gone for a run around the neighborhood. You’d been reading a book on your couch and woke to the pages folded across your face. It had taken a bit to rub out the crease in one of your cheeks, evidence of one too many sleepless nights at the restaurant you worked at.

“I got your iced coffee…thing. Although, I don’t know how you consider that coffee. The barista threw in so much sugar,” he says, pointing to your drink. Your fingers open the straw wrapper before you hastily, giving him a thumbs up with the first splendidly perfect sip. “Good?”

“It’s actually perfect. And it’s meant to taste like a cinnamon roll, if you must know. But in all honesty, ‘Happy wife happy life’ starts with getting your wife’s coffee order right,” you laugh, not missing the way his cheeks flush. He clears his throat, fingers tapping along the spacebar on his laptop. “Sorry. Just trying to get used to the fact this…might actually happen. I figure if I repeat I’ll be your wife about, oh I don’t know, a thousand more times I should be okay.”

He folds his hands in front of him, and you wonder briefly if this is how it’s like sitting in a conference room with him. Stern demeanor, an edge of severity that has your feet curling inside your shoes, that tension in his jaw which highlights the perfectly sculpted features sitting mere inches across from you.

“I guess we should probably talk out the details,” he says, shifting his laptop to show you the document he’s typed up. At the top he’s written the title of your ‘marriage contract’ and you also don’t miss the NDA agreement tab just beside it. “So my father said as long as I was married a year after the reading of the document, I would satisfy the will and the company wouldn’t be transferred over to my shitty cousin, Theobald. Which would mean we need to marry soon. I’d like the sooner the better…since you go back to school in a few months. And I’d like to maintain the appearance that we’re spending time together. So we’ll need to go on a honeymoon as well. But we’ll get to the details of that later.”

You know Steve has a pretty substantial social media following. It’s natural for someone who is not only the son of the late Mr. Harrington, but someone who has also modeled for his mother’s clothing brand, and thus other companies. And you suppose it’s also natural for someone who is friends with other socialites and people like Eddie Munson, who is part of one of the biggest up and coming bands.

You’ve been on the receiving end of comments on Eddie’s photos long enough to understand people are interested in everything going on in their favorite celebrities' lives. You can’t even count on two hands the amount of times people have asked ‘is she dating Eddie?’ To which you’ve always laughed and scrolled out of the photo. But for someone like Steve, someone who has been notoriously private and maintained an air of mystery for so long, to post a photo with his new bride-to-be? You’re not sure about that one. All you can assume is it’ll be explosive.

“Okay, I’m listening,” you tell him, glancing about the room.

No one is looking; not really, at least. But you can’t help the fear that wells over anyone overhearing what you’re planning on doing. Negotiating a marriage contract, talking through the terms of said marriage, actually planning to marry.

“We will marry in a month.” He coughs, like he can’t believe he’s speaking that sentence out loud. Neither can you, but you’re certain if it’s baffling to you, it must be to him as well. “If you agree to it. My mother knows enough wedding planners and has enough connections in the city that we won’t have to worry about scheduling or anything like that. It shouldn’t be too hard to make it happen.”

“A month.” Thirty days. June seventeenth of this year will be your anniversary. A thought in itself that has your stomach clenching. “We will get married in a month.”

“A month,” he repeats, nodding patiently at your thoughtful expression, brows drawn high on your forehead, lines etching into creases between your brows. “In front of all our closest family and friends.”

“In typical holy matrimonial fashion, yeah.” Only there’s nothing holy about this union.

This ruse, if done properly, will set you both up to achieve everything the other lacks.

“Okay, uhm…what else is in this contract?” you ask, giving him permission to continue through the remainder of the document.

You’ll stay married for three years, giving you enough time to sustain the image needed to set forth. Steve agrees to pay for your tuition on a per semester basis throughout. Sorrow creeps into your heart at the thought desperation has brought you to this moment, and you briefly wonder if Steve senses it when he stops mid-sentence and brushes a thumb along the back of your hand.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks softly, your eyes lingering where your skin meets. Your head shakes, and he continues, “Are we going to be faithful to each other?”

“Oh—I hadn’t really thought about that.” Your eyes lift to meet his dark ones, shoulders shrugging. “I mean, I don’t really think I’d enjoy people gossiping if they caught either of us with someone else. But this is a fake marriage, so…uh, I mean, if you need to uh…take care of business elsewhere I suppose I wouldn’t—”

“I don’t really date much these days,” he laughs, easing your seemingly silly fears. You find that one very hard to believe, but he proceeds before you can think much further on it, “Or at all, really.”

“Right. So, uh, you’re going to be good for three years with just your ha—”

“I’ll manage just fine.”

You whistle. “Brave, Harrington.” He snorts, eyes rolling. “I don’t date much either these days. Always too busy. When I’m not in school, I’m working. So you’ll have yourself a faithful wife.”

You’ll attend as many social gatherings as you can given your schedule. Be it family gatherings, galas, charity events, and the like. It’s all meant to uphold the image of a supportive wife, though you don’t really find issue in it. At the base level, Steve is an easy person to get along with, so you suppose it’ll be like spending an evening with a friend.

And there, at the bottom of the contract, after he’s walked you through the remaining details of your nuptials, is a line for both yours and his names.

“Do we really need a contract, though?” Your finger taps his screen, pointing to the NDA next. “And the NDA? Are you really thinking I’m going to admit to people how absolutely insane this whole idea is? We’re like one of those cliché romance novels as it is. Two people who are practically strangers choose to fake their marriage, minus the falling in love bit.”

“It would make me feel better, yes.” He folds the laptop shut. “You don’t have to make a decision right now, but—”

“I want to do it,” you blurt out. The hard line of his mouth softens, cheek jolting. “I want to marry you. I, ah, want to be your wife.”

It’s impulsive, you know. But if you allow yourself to think too long about it, you’ll talk yourself out of it.

“Are you sure?” And suddenly it’s like the whole room shifts, eyes locking on the couple that’s not really a couple sitting in the corner of the coffee shop. “You…agree to it. Really?”

“Looks like we’re getting hitched June seventeenth, Harrington.”

-

If there’s one thing Steve is, it’s a gentleman. He opens the door for you as you waltz into the jewelry shop, hand lingering on your back as he leads you toward one of the many display cases revealing different engagement and wedding rings, as well as earrings, necklaces, and other pieces.

It suddenly dawns on you what you’re here for. An engagement ring, and your wedding rings. Plural, for both you and Steve when you solidify your marriage in only a month’s time in front of your closest family and companions. The weight of his palm guides you toward one of the many illuminated displays, eyes peering in on a selection of halo engagement rings.

“The Mrs. Harrington-to-be. Have those caught your eye?” The gentleman behind the counter admonishes, sliding out the set of glittering rings. “Gorgeous, truly. Also new. She has good taste, Mr. Harrington. Would you like to try it on?”

“Isn’t that bad luck?” You glance over your shoulder to Steve, who merely shrugs at the suggestion. You suppose it can’t be too much poor luck when you’re already lying to everyone around you as it is and allow the jeweler to slide the ring onto your ring finger for size. It’s a gorgeous piece, you can’t deny. A giant central diamond with a sparkling halo and glittering band. But it’s not quite you. Too fantastical and bright—well outside of your comfort zone and liking. Instead, your eyes gravitate around the many display cases for something simplistic. Something timeless.

If you’re going to be married to Steve Harrington for three years, you want something understated and more in line with your preferences. “Do you have anything a little less…bold? I—well, I want to wear this every day proudly. But I don’t know if it’s impractical for my job.”

“My fiancée is going to be a veterinarian,” Steve explains, drawing you tighter to his side.

“You’re thinking of something smaller?” The attendant looks to Steve worriedly, mouth downturned at your words. Steve only waves a hand and they dip their head. “What about these?”

You walk around the counter, looking into the cases imploringly. Steve is there at your back, glancing over your shoulder as you shop about, stumbling on a round engagement ring with diamonds set lovingly into the band. They’re simple—albeit still extravagant—but they’re better suited to your tastes. Understated and classic.

“How about Mr. Harrington puts this one on?” The man grins, eyes bright as Steve takes the ring and lowers it to your presently bare finger.

“Still want to marry me, honey?” Steve asks, wry grin in place as he rests the ring on your first knuckle. He doesn’t slide it up. Not right away.

The nickname is new. Sends a flood of liquid heat to roll in your gut, heart fluttering rapidly behind your ribcage as you nod and he pushes the ring up into place. You glance down and marvel at it as his fingers wriggle it into place near the base of your knuckle, his thumb brushing overtop before swiping across your skin. It’s perfect. As perfect as fake engagement rings go.

You both tell the worker as much, before proceeding to find a matching wedding band for your new ring, and then search for Steve’s. Steve settles on a metal and you’re presented with a few options of styles. Steve’s preferences are more simplistic, his wedding ring a simple shiny silver. Your breath skitters when you teasingly ask him to marry you, before sliding the ring up his finger. Inhaling sharply, your eyes dart upward to your future husband’s, softening when he glances down at his finger and smiles to himself. That smile falters only for him to ask to purchase the ring, and it’s soon thereafter you leave the shop and ready yourselves for your dinner with Eddie and Robin, where you’ll deliver your engagement news.

Images of their reactions already preconceived dance in your mind. You’re prepared for Eddie to have a fit over the whole thing. Can already hear Robin’s frantic rant wherein she tells you all the reasons why this is a bad idea.

So you suppose it should come to no surprise when you sit down, now beside Steve to present yourselves as a couple, and are met with the unamused the looks on their faces when you exclaim, “We’re engaged!”

Robin glances at Nancy. Laughs nervously to herself, chokes on her water. Her girlfriend places a hand on her arm, mouth opening to speak, just as Robin cries out, “Babe. I’m gonna be really honest with you. Steve’s great, I love him, but are you really thinking this one through. You two have hung out a collective…four times. What do you really know about each other? I mean, we left you two alone because we wanted you to maybe date, but holy shit Eddie, if we knew they were going to do this—”

“You told me you wanted my blessing for whatever stupid thing you were about to do,” Eddie interjects, swiping a hand down his face. “I didn’t think that you meant marrying my best friend. And hey, asshole—I didn’t say you could ask her to marry you.”

“I haven’t technically asked her,” he says, holding up your hand to show off your still bare ring finger. “Well unless you count the party the other day.”

Eddie’s eye twitches. “He asked you at the par—”

“You haven’t even asked her to marry you with the ring, you dingus?!” Robin’s vein in her forehead throbs, her head leaning into Nancy’s as the girl beside her shifts to run a hand along her arm.

“I wanted to make it special,” he admits, wincing at the sight of Eddie practically turning red before you. “In front of our closest friends.”

“You’re going to ask her properly.” It’s Eddie who speaks next, his eyes drifting to lock onto yours. “If you two idiots are going to actually get married, he’s asking you properly.”

Maybe now is the right time to tell them it’s fake. Nothing more than an equally beneficial agreement between two consenting parties. Your mouth opens to tell them as much, to try and assuage their fears, when a waiter walks out with a champagne bottle on ice and a dessert plate with Marry Me? written out in decorative chocolate. Head already reeling from that, you fail to notice Steve dropping down onto one knee in his perfectly tailored suit, despite the fact he’ll likely wrinkle, with that velvet ring box open and your sparkling ring set into the center.

All eyes in the restaurant take you in. Some with phones held aloft, because naturally they’ve noticed Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington. Your hands tremble as you finally look into his eyes, knowing this agreement is very much fake, but the nervousness that wells in your belly isn’t. Ever the gentleman, Steve reaches across your lap and grasps your left hand, staring you squarely in the eyes.

It’s grounding, even despite catching Eddie, Robin and Nancy watching with bated breath on the other side of the booth, to have him there to offer support. In one month, your future husband.

“Honey, I know it hasn’t been very long, but people have always said ‘when you know, you know.’ And I know there’s no one I would want to spend the rest of my life with other than you.” There’s a collective inhale all around the room, or maybe that’s your own breath hitching in your lungs as he pulls the ring free and Eddie’s hand reaches across the table to retrieve the empty box. Steve breathes your full name into the open space, and it sounds like a gentle caress down your spine. “Will you make me the happiest man alive and be my wife?”

This part—this part, you haven’t thought out. Haven’t really allowed your mind to wander down the path of public displays of affection with your very fake husband. At the wedding, when the officiant declares he may now kiss his bride, sure. Maybe a little hand holding at a social gathering or family event. But this part? The engagement itself, the portrayal of a happy couple in front of prying eyes? No.

And still, you nod your head all the same, letting out an excited “Yes,” that you hope isn’t too over the top, and cover your mouth delicately with one hand as he slides the ring into place on your left one. Cheers erupt into the room, mixing together with the clinking of utensils against glasses, prompting the two of you to lean forward in an embrace.

His arms circle your waist and his lips brush your ear, chills dancing along skin.

“Kiss me,” he whispers into your skin.

Your head dips and you lean back just enough to capture his gaze before he’s leaning forward and pressing the chastest of kisses to your lips.

After that it’s endless congratulations as people pass in leaving, the looks of pure unadulterated happiness from coupled up spectators around the room, as if recalling their own proposals or simply reminiscing on the love they share. Across from you, Eddie, Nancy and Robin start pouring champagne.

Eddie downs his first drink swiftly, before reaching across the table to grab your hand. “Speak up, both of you. Why the rush to the altar?”

“It’s uh…” you start, shoulder brushing with Steve’s. “It’s—well, it’s a long story.”

“We have nothing but time,” Robin points out, leaning back comfortably against the plush booth.

They remain quiet as you both explain the whole situation. The events that have brought you both to this moment, the reminders that you’re both capable of making your own decisions (albeit silly ones), and that it’s only for the required amount of time. It’s a positive business decision for the both of you, Steve expresses, though you wish he’d maybe avoided that one because Eddie’s face is nearly purple by the end of it. Nancy remains quiet at Robin’s side, while Robin nods here and there throughout, awaiting the perfect moment to explode over the whole ordeal.

“I hope this isn’t because I’m moving out—”

She speaks, just as Eddie lets out, “When you asked if I’d love you for making a stupid decision, I didn’t mean this one! I thought you two would go on one date after we saw you walking together. Not get married!”

“But it’s…” your voice drops to a whisper, “not a real marriage.”

“Babe, when you say it like that, it doesn’t really make it better,” Robin murmurs, placing a comforting hand on Eddie’s forearm.

“I think it actually makes it worse,” Nancy adds, wincing slightly.

-

All in all, Eddie, Robin and Nancy eventually come around to the idea. There’s multiple drinks passed around the table before they do start to understand, but once the idea has settled a bit in their minds, they start to question the event itself. Robin and Nancy will be in the bridal party, naturally, and Eddie’s the decided best man. Luckily, this aids in dissipating a lot of his anger—either that or he’s trying to appease you both—and the group is excited by the end of the night for the ordeal. A big party, you remind them, think of it like a big party.

Full of hundreds of strangers.

But there are important matters to be taken care of before then.

Your heart throbs as the driver pulls up in front of the Mrs. Harrington’s home. It sits outside of the city in an eastern county. A large cream house, grandiose in comparison to anything you’ve ever known, with sprawling property and modern decor sits atop a sprawling driveway. It looks like you’ve stepped out of a Pinterest catalog. What with the endless black and gray detailing, floor to ceiling windows, and a porch that overlooks a small body of water.

Though you’ve told your friends the arrangement is purely an arrangement and nothing more, both Steve and you have decided in order to prevent any doubt over the situation, your families need to be kept in the dark. The thought supplies you with hefty guilt, but you tip your head up all the same and clink your glass of wine with both Elise Harrington and her son’s.

“To a bright and happy future and hopefully grand babies,” she toasts, and your chest burns at the idea. Quietly, she adds, “If you two should want them, that is.”

You’re surprised by how easy going she is with the whole thing. Upon arriving she immediately commented on how pretty you were, kissing you on both sides of the cheek before ruffling her son’s hair. He’s told you enough that for most of his life, their relationship has been strained, but that with the death of his father she’s been trying. It warms your heart seeing them now, caught in a moment as she cups his cheek fondly and waves you both into the kitchen.

You recount how you met. A wonderful evening at a rooftop bar. Conversation flowing simply between the two of you, a few months of quiet relationship kept from the public eye, and a pure desire to not wait to spend forever together. It’s simple and it’s partially true, and she latches onto it without hesitation, hand immediately reaching out to look at your ring.

Bringing Steve to Hawkins takes place the next day after an early morning flight. You call your father the day before and tell him there’s something very important you need to tell him. Steve steps out of the rental car and opens your door on the other side, drawing you as close as possible as he tucks a wine bottle under his other arm.

“Are you nervous?” You tease him, catching the way his knuckles pause mid-air over the door. “They’re both harmless. Caroline probably will scroll through TikTok the whole time we’re here.”

Only you’re wrong.

Instead, you’re immediately met with the screech of a younger tween when your father opens the door and Steve introduces himself, the girl practically throwing herself into your arms as you reach out to grasp her. From above your shoulder, where you struggle to hold her up, she shoves at Steve with a wild glint in her eye.

“Did you bring home a boyfriend?!”

“Nice to meet you, Caroline. Your sister has told me all about you,” Steve says, rubbing at the place she’s dug her fingers into playfully.

Your father leads you both into the living room, your eyes catching on all the papers and bills strewn about the kitchen table as you pass by. Steve’s ignorant to it all, his hand still clutching yours tightly as the two of you settle down onto the couches there. Fondness brims in your chest when your father reaches across and shakes Steve’s hand again, his kind grin settling into the wrinkles surrounding his mouth.

“Holy shit, is that a rock?” Carole gasps, breaking up the moment. Your eyes drop down to where your hand rests over Steve’s, sunlight catching on the sparkling stones. “That is a rock! Wait, you’re Eddie’s friend. You’re that Steve. Your dad was the owner of that company, and you model and…don’t you own a football team? Your mom is also that big designer in the city! You’re, like, really rich, I bet.”

“Care,” you warn, shooting her a glare to calm down. “I, ah, have known Steve for a little while now and I know it’s crazy but…I’m in love with him.” The words taste wrong on your lips, throat tightening as you continue, “When you know, you know, right?”

The words leave you with a wince, and you’re not sure if you imagine Steve’s fingers tightening around your own, but it brings you a semblance of comfort. Thankfully, your father speaks next, “I knew your mother for two weeks before I asked her to marry me. We were married for twenty three years, you see, Steve. So if my daughter says she loves you, I trust wholeheartedly and believe you’re the one for her.”

And in a way, those words are both soothing and a knife in your heart, what with the ease he accepts your feelings as truth.

The remainder of the evening is spent talking about the wedding details—what little you know, at least—and your offer for Caroline to be in the bridal party. She’s over the moon, naturally, and grows bored immediately after, pulling out her iPhone and scrolling through social media so she can show your father the engagement photo plastered across your page, Steve’s and Eddie’s now.

“Congratulations, you two. I wish I had something fancy to toast with, so the wine you brought will have to do,” he apologizes, moving into the kitchen to pour you all glasses.

“It’s not a problem at all,” you reassure him, thanking him softly when he returns and places a glass in both your hands.

“To your love.” He turns to Steve next, grinning in a way that has your heart sinking. “Welcome to the family, son.”

-

Steve drops you off at your apartment at the end of your evening spent together apprising your family of your news. Neither of you speaks for a moment. He merely rests his palm on the car steering wheel and brushes a thumb over your ring, making sure the stone is in place. It seems like such a silly thing—the slightest of brushes to make sure your fake engagement ring is properly on your finger. But your skin still ignites at the small contact. It’s paired with the crushing knowledge that in a month, in only thirty days, you’ll be standing across from this man and reciting your vows to him, binding yourselves together in marriage.

“Your rent is up at the end of the month with Robin,” he reminds you, eyes shifting your way. You watch his long fingers glide through his hair, ruffling bits of it in his face. A part of you feels intent on fixing it despite yourself, but you remain seated in place, one ankle crossed over your knee. “But I think for those following on social media, it likely looks better if you move in as soon as possible.”

That reminds you of the thousands of new followers you’d received once Eddie and Steve had posted your congratulatory photos from your engagement—as well as once other news sources got a hold of it. The young CEO, friend to one of the hottest up and coming musicians, a girl who has always been in the background of their photos now suddenly took center stage. You’ve propelled into a world you’d never prepared for.

Becoming Steve’s wife was one thing, gaining a spotlight another, wholly untouched territory.

“I think you should move in on Friday.” You know he’s saying you think, but a part of you recognizes it’s what he knows is best for optics. It’s what he wants without forcing you to do so. “There’s more than enough room. I have the penthouse, we’ll have privacy. And it’ll, uh, sell the illusion.”

It’s then and only then that the reality of your situation finally creeps up on you. The understanding of the weight that settles on your ring finger as you glance down at the ring he’d bought you. A ring that should be meant for someone he loves—truly loves, at least—and not someone who is little more than a mere stranger. Your thumb moves to run along the diamond band, hand cupping over the sparkling stones that cost a small fortune.

His palm reaches over and slides over the back of yours, stilling you in your movements. “I’ll help you. And your room is nice. Spacious. Far away from mine.”

Because, you remind yourself, you’ve agreed upon not falling in love—and definitely no consummation of marriage. Even still, there’s a sting to his words. The understanding of a loveless marriage, forged in mere convenience. Two ships passing in the night, nestled on opposite sides of Steve’s spacious lodgings.

“Okay,” you agree, dipping your head and moving to push the passenger side door open. “I’ll move in on Friday. I’ll tell Robin tonight. I should get going; I have to meet with your mother and the wedding planner first thing tomorrow, you know?”

“I’ll see you,” he says, leaning down to look at you on the sidewalk. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Steve.”

Your chest tightens as you watch him peel away from the sidewalk. As he drives down your road, and disappears from view. Your heart throbs at the recollection of your father’s weathered face, smiling as he’d welcomed Steve into the fold of your family like he was already a part of it with a firm shake of the hand and a blessing. Chest aches at the vision of Caroline nearly slamming into your soon-to-be husband’s legs when he’d reached for the door and wished your family well for the rest of the evening. Because you feel like a fraud—are a fraud, really. Your impending nuptials are not refined by fire and forged in love. They’re unlike that of your own parents' relationship—the depth of your father’s love toward his wife had been limitless. Untouchable from anything the world might have thrown at it. No, instead your upcoming sentiments you’ll share with Steve are a mockery of the vows people wait to speak over the altar in front of loved ones their whole lives. They’re a lie told to secure an inheritance and cover a debt. That’s all. And it dawns on you then as you slip into your bedroom, waving to Robin as you pass, and settle down on your bed.

Your mind wanders to that moment back at the restaurant with your friends. How all the eyes turned your way in the room to watch your face drop in shock. It’s the only genuine reaction you’ve had thus far, you realize. Because you hadn’t expected a proposal. Not really. When you’d picked out your ring at the store your mind had been a bleary haze. You remembered hearing the voices of Steve and the jeweler, running over various options that were befitting for someone of Steve’s status, and thus his wife-to-be by default. But they’d slipped into conversation about karats, quality, and cuts. And all you could think about was the fact the rings Steve were looking at cost a few months worth of your rent. All of a sudden you were Cinderella long after the clock struck midnight, your carriage turned back into a pumpkin, your tattered dress the pair of thrifted jeans that sat a little too-big on your frame.

But you once more think of your father’s aging face, the brightness of Caroline’s eyes. You think of the knowledge he’s looking for a new job with little luck because of layoffs in his workplace, the mortgage on his home, the endless list of things Caroline needs. The constant stream of bills you’re footing, the need to try and save them, because if you can’t save them, who can you save? And on top of it all, your college debt, for a program you’re only halfway finished with. With a resounding sigh, you roll over onto your side, snapping a photo of your ring to send to Steve. It looks silly and garish in the dying afternoon light, though you suppose fitting for a wife to a young CEO of a prolific real estate company.

You: I don’t even know if my first name goes well with Harrington.

HubsToBe: It does. It’s a perfect fit. Don’t worry. I can practically hear you worrying from here.

You: Guess we’re really doing this.

HubsToBe: One month until we say ‘I do.’

The second text message rushes in.

HubsToBe: Remember you can back out at any time.

You: I’m not changing my mind, don’t worry. Time to plan a wedding, fiancé. ;)

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comment/reblog if you can. 🩷

#steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x afab!reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fic #steve harrington modern au #husband!steve harrington

[littlemisspascal]

Getting Lost is Being Found

pairing: joel x female reader

rating: M. 18+ only.

word count: 5.4k

summary:

When you finally brought yourself to open your mouth, it wasn’t a question that came out. It was a fact, simple and blunt. “You’re one of them.”

“I am,” he replied, the sun still emblazoning him in radiant light. Almost made it hurt to look at him. “But I never wanted to be a human again until I saw you.”

warnings: black dog/hellhound au with hints of a bigger plot that I'm too tired to dive into. reader is referenced as smaller + younger than Joel. alpha/omega dynamics. slices of life. time jumps. non-descriptive smut. fast burn/love at first sight. biting. blood. rough handling. language. non-major character death(s). thunderstorms. reference of reader's parents. nudity. sneaking in a CoD reference cuz why not

note: Trying to remember how to write for the fun of it. This is the result *awkwardly throws out into the universe*

i.

You stand on your bedroom’s balcony, concrete tiles cold beneath your bare feet. Your eyes look towards the horizon, fingers tightening around the wrought iron railing.

A storm brews. The sun is swiftly retreating behind the distant hills, leaving the city dark and cold in its wake. Electricity taints the air, the hair on the back of your neck prickling -

And then you hear it, harmonizing with the thunder’s rumblings, the ghastly howls of the Black Dogs chasing down the scent of their prey.

ii.

Nightspyre, for all its blackouts and seediness, isn’t the worst place to call home. Not when you’re collared and marked by an Alpha, not when your Alpha has stared Death in the eye and made Her flinch. Not when retaliation for every spilt drop of innocent blood emerges each sundown in the guise of hulking shadows and gleaming red eyes.

The collar had been your request. An old-fashioned tradition dating back centuries, replaced in recent years by sharper, more permanent means of securing a mate. Your mother, rest her soul, had treated her collar as her most prized possession every moment of her short life. Red velvet with a gold tag inscribed with your father’s name. Gone are the days Omegas gathered and gossiped over the patterns and colors adorning their necks. Bitemarks are the present trend, judged and compared by the size, placement, and number of teeth.

They’re advertised as the ultimate display of devotion. A lifelong promise between an Alpha and their chosen mate. A claim warning off others from sniffing too closely. Simply put: a marked Omega is a loved Omega. 

But you learned the hard way when people saw your mark, they didn't see love. They saw something cruel. Something monstrous.

Only when you began wearing a collar you'd fallen in love with after seeing it in the window of a thrift store, adorned with faint golden moons and stars, did the concerned looks and judgmental whispers gradually stop. Convinced them maybe your Alpha wasn't so heartless as they initially believed.

After all, everyone knows monsters don't know how to be gentle. It goes against their very nature. Everything they touch dies an agonizing death.

iii.

“Do you think it’s possible? To know someone your whole life and also know nothing about them at all?” you ask, fingertips tracing the jagged edges of the bite beneath the curve of your collarbone. It’s a hideous thing made in a frenzied moment of raw need, consequentially stained your favorite sheets irredeemably scarlet. 

Your Alpha looks up from where he’d been dragging his tongue over the knob of your hip bone, replying, “Of course.” He moves to hover over you, bracketing your head with his arms, fogging your senses with his distinct scent of petrichor and woodsmoke. “As long as lies exist, no one’s ever truly known. Just pieces of ‘em.”

“Pieces, huh?” You touch his face now, thumb lifting his upper lip in the semblance of a snarl, revealing a glimpse of too-sharp teeth. “I wouldn’t mind collecting more of yours, Jo–”

A warning nip to your hand, blood hot under the surface. “Careful what you wish for.”

iv.

Lightning bathes the living room in a flash of white. Outside the city is wet and dismal, but here, inside, it’s flickering candlelight, and your Alpha is pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, body more shadow than flesh, and you close your eyes, allowing yourself a moment to pretend the hand on your cheek has fingers instead of claws.

v.

Three years ago you first saw Joel during one of the worst storms in Nightspyre’s long history. You’d been new to the city after finishing your degree and securing a job there, still a rookie navigator of its maze of cobblestone streets and alleyways. The weather was a fickle tormentor, you quickly learned, swapping between dry heat and violent downpour seemingly at whim. You’d entered a restaurant for a late supper in cloudless twilight, and exited an hour later to bone-chilling rain hurtling down from a pitch black sky. And it had been a miserable discovery for you to make whilst shivering beneath the front entry of an abandoned church, paint-chipped with boarded up windows, that absolutely nothing looked familiar in the rain. For all you knew, you’d tripped and stumbled into a completely different world.

A lightning bolt streaked across the sky, your eyes following its descent from the heavens, and that was when you first saw it. A black dog prowling amongst the faded and cracked tombstones, tail unnaturally stiff, seeming completely indifferent to the pouring rain—and ‘dog’ seemed like an insulting descriptive at the time, too small and domestic for the behemoth canine, but calling it a wolf didn’t settle right with you either. It was…it was…

It was staring right at you now, crimson eyes cutting across the distance and the darkness like searchlights. You froze, heart lodged in your throat, and it was such a bizarre thing, to be in the presence of something as simultaneously terrifying as it was so eerily beautiful. And the longer you stared, the more convinced you became that this was no ordinary creature. There was a dreamlike quality to its appearance, blurry around the edges, like it could change shapes at any second. 

Fuck, maybe you had tripped into a completely different world.

Another bolt of lightning bathed the cemetery yard in white light, the dog’s figure caught in the flash. Its black fur was thick around its neck, adding further bulk to its already broad body, and completely dry all over despite the puddle forming at its paws. You heard the uptick of your rampant heartbeat. Instinct screamed at you to run, but something else made you stay. A conviction you both were meant to share this moment together.

And it scared you how much that belief didn’t scare you.

Darkness swallowed the light again, taking the red eyes with it. You remember how you’d stood there until the clouds changed from black to gray, rain losing some of its vicious sting upon striking your skin, and you’d returned home in a numbed state of exhaustion and confusion. In the days that followed, you didn’t get sick from the incident, not even so much as a sniffle, adding another layer of oddness to the whole ordeal. And that dog…you couldn’t shake it from your mind. 

You wanted to know more about it. Any and every last scrap of detail you could find.

vi.

Welcome back! Your recent internet searches:

black dog breeds

massive black dogs with red eyes

black dog folklore

hellhounds

People also searched for:

fairy hounds

perro negro

okuri-inu

the hound of the baskervilles

dogs in folklore, religion and mythology

vii.

“You realize how ridiculous you sound, right?” Abe told you, wiping at his glasses with a cloth, a nervous twitch in his fingers. “The Black Dogs are a silly legend to scare children. Anyone who says they’re real is selling something.”

“I’ll tell Professor Ratna you said that,” you replied with a smirk.

Your quest for answers revealed everyone had an opinion one way or the other on the topic of massive red-eyed, dark-furred canines. Most thought they were myths limited to the boundaries of their pages in books or the online web. A few though, spoke in hushed murmurs, casting around wary glances, as if afraid of accidentally summoning one from the depths of the earth. Others talked with booming voices and gesticulating hands, telling you everything you wanted to hear like they’d been waiting for this conversation their whole lives. 

One homeless drunkard who dwelled in the alleyway next to 57th Street Tavern explained through slurred words, “I’ve seen ‘em, twice I have. They’re big brutes, shaking the ground when they walk. But–but they leave nothing behind. No tracks. Scary fuckers, they are. And they know it–they feast off fear, then they feast on flesh.”

You asked him how he’d lived through the close encounters unscathed and he shrugged off the question. “I ain’t never hurt nobody. The folks they hunt down, they’re already going to hell. The Dogs just bring ‘em there faster.”

You’d visited Professor Ratna next, catching the older woman in-between classes during her lunch break. She’d politely entertained your inquiry rather than outright scoff at it as the rest of the university faculty had done. “My specialty is mycology, not folklore, so I am no expert on the subject,” she said, taking a sip of tea. “That being said, I’d urge you to be cautious if you’re going to continue going around asking these questions. Few things happen in this city the Dogs don’t know about.”

“Makes it sound like they’re keeping the city hostage.”

She set down her teacup and looked you straight in the eye. “No, my dear. They are what keeps the city safe.”

You had left her office even more unsure of your own convictions than you’d felt when you arrived.

“Well, if you’re ever unlucky enough to come across one, run the other way as fast as you can,” Abe said, hesitantly looking up to meet your gaze. “Don’t even think about trying to pet it.”

The thought honestly hadn’t crossed your mind until then. It sounded like the quickest surefire way to lose a hand, perhaps even the whole limb. But if you had taken the chance at the church, you couldn’t help but what would the pelt have felt like –

Thick, dense fur like other canines? Or deceptively smooth and oily like a serpent’s scales?

(The answer, as it turns out, is a curious mix of both.)

viii.

The next day, a man knocked on your front door. He was tall, body thick with muscle and marked with smatterings of freckles and–oh. Your gaze stopped on his abdomen, refusing to dip any lower as realization turned your brain to mush. 

He wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing. Nude as the day he was born.

He wasn’t saying anything either, brown eyes sweeping over your face like he was trying to memorize every detail. In another setting, preferably one without nakedness, perhaps over a candlelit dinner, you would have been flattered by the attention but as it was –

Pressing closer against the safety of the door, you took a tentative sniff of the air. His Alpha scent knocked into you like a tidal wave, barely stifling a reflexive whine in your throat. He smelled like thunderstorms, electric and pungent, like wet grass and ozone all blended together. And something else beneath the surface, something distinctly fiery. Smoky. God, you wanted to drown in that scent.

But first things first –

“What the hell are you doing here?”

The Alpha’s nostrils flared, followed by a low rumble from the depths of his chest that had your grip on the door tightening to keep you from doing something embarrassing  (shamelessly flinging yourself at him came to mind). “I followed your scent. Mint and vanilla.” Another inhale, deeper this time, eyes darkening. “Sassafras.”

His voice was hoarse, grating. Sounded like he hadn’t used it in months, maybe even years.

Your thoughts deserted you again, leaving you to dumbly stare at him for a moment. “Um.”

You’d dated a couple Alphas in the past, nothing that ever developed seriously and that was mostly due to the fact they all didn’t like your scent. Scent-compatibility was an essential factor when it came to bonding–after all, you’d be smelling that scent for the rest of your lives together so it was better to be a pleasing one. One described it as boring, another said it was too clean. Whatever that meant.

But this Alpha—this strange, heavenly-smelling, unfairly attractive man liked your scent enough he followed it all the way to your front door. 

“I–uh,” you blinked once, twice, slowly rebooting your brain, “what was your name again?”

The question had a curious effect on the man, emotions rippling across his face, one after the other, looking lost, but only for an instant, before he swallowed thickly, throat bobbing in a distracting manner.

“It’s Joel.” The corner of his mouth dipped. “I think.”

“You think?” you echoed, eyebrows raising. Who didn’t know their own name?

He lapsed back into silence, but there was a defensive edge to it that wasn’t there before. 

You exhaled a quiet breath and gave him a scrutinizing look, gaze dragging all the way from his head to his dirty bare feet and back up again without pausing on any…intimate areas. You wished you could peel back his layers, cut straight through the weird aura and iron defenses and find out what was there at his center that he’d hidden away.

It must be something incredibly precious, you thought. 

Or something shockingly hideous.

“Tell me, Joel,” you crossed your arms to hide your trembling hands, “have we met before?”

The Alpha tilted his head, midafternoon sunlight turning the dark of his eyes into liquid gold. He swallowed again, then quietly admitted, “Once. A couple nights ago…”

You found yourself leaning closer. He didn’t move away. You could almost taste the rain, the howling wind, the thunderclaps, the lightning, everything wild clinging to his skin. 

“Are you–” You cut yourself off, glancing away. You worried your bottom lip for a moment, hesitant to release the words burning on your tongue, scared of their potentially devastating influence. 

“You’ve been asking an awful lot of questions around town, Sass,” Joel said, soft as a caress. “Haven’t you figured it out by now?”

And that – well, that just about confirmed every last suspicion you had.

When you finally brought yourself to open your mouth, it wasn’t a question that came out. It was a fact, simple and blunt. “You’re one of them.”

“I am,” he replied, the sun still emblazoning him in radiant light. Almost made it hurt to look at him. “But I never wanted to be a human again until I saw you.”

ix.

“Any regrets, Sass?” Joel asks in the midnight hours.

“Hmm?” You curl closer, ear pressed against the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

“If you’d known it’d be like this,” he whispers into your hair. “Would you have run away if you had the chance?”

“Maybe,” you say, and you feel more than see the sudden tension roll through his body, shielding himself from the hurt. “But I would’ve found my way back sooner or later. I’d miss you too much.”

Joel says nothing, doesn’t have to. The way he presses you into the mattress, moves inside you, against you, with roaming hands and searing kisses, becoming one — speaks volumes more than words could ever convey.  

x.

The south side of Nightspyre is a haven for smugglers and thugs, consisting of multiple rows of derelict warehouses and an understaffed police presence, half concealed in the smog produced by the factory district. The streets are sticky with unknown substances beneath your shoes, each breath burning the inside of your nose.

“Gets prettier every time I visit,” Tess says wryly, standing next to you and looking at a spray-painted dick on the side of a dumpster.

You shoot your friend an amused look. Her brown hair’s half-up in a bun, she’s tough as nails, and carries at least four concealed weapons on her person at any given point. Female Alphas aren’t a common sight in the city, but Tess’ intimidating presence fends off the inappropriate comments, striking fear into the hearts of even the biggest Alphas with one icy glare. She’s the perfect ally to have by your side.

“Let’s just grab Joel and get out of here.” You pick up the pace. Your eyes note the different colored ribbons hanging from the overhead telephone wires. Each represents an illegal activity, whether it be gambling or drugs. If one knows their code, these ribbons act as a map of the district.  

Tess holds a hand up, stopping at a crossroads. You watch as she looks to the left, center, and right, then up at the ribbons–red, orange, and black respectively. The code regularly changes depending on the month or weather or local events, memorized by those who frequently visit the area, but there is one warning that will never be made different.

“Beware the path marked by the ribbon dyed black,” you recite quietly. “For if you follow it, you’ll surely become the next meal of the pack.”

“Sure you don’t wanna grab a drink instead?” Tess asks, jerking a thumb in the direction of the orange ribbon. 

You say nothing, adjusting the shoulder strap of your bag, and turn right – trusting that your friend will follow close behind, watching your back as she always has since you first met.

xi.

It's a wonder that there's enough of the body left to investigate, you think, crouching behind a car that smells overwhelming of weed and watching a group of men in police uniforms toss around ideas about who or what killed the dismembered and burnt corpse.

Deaths like this, they're how the myth of the Black Dogs continues to circulate and gain credence amongst the locals. The police, on the other hand, refuse to acknowledge them or the black ribbons pointing the way. They'll claim any other excuse under the sun - rabid wildlife, homicidal rage fueled by drugs or alcohol, deranged serial killers, hell even lightning strikes - but to openly admit beasts of folklore are responsible for the high fatality rate? Not a fucking chance.

They've tried setting traps a few times, reassuring folks they'll catch whatever savage thing is responsible for making the streets run red with blood. "Don't worry," they always say. "We have everything under control."

It’s you who should be worried, you want to retort, images flickering through your mind of sharpened teeth and paws the size of tires. Only a fool attempts to catch a hurricane in a glass jar. 

xii.

It’s another forty-five minutes before you find him.

You slide down a steep slope of dead grass, fresh mud from last night’s storm painting the sides of your pants, seeping into your shoes, almost dragging you face-first into the brown sludge of Pickett’s River if not for Tess’ fast reflexes. Eyes on the culvert pipe, you grit your teeth, remind yourself why you’re here, and step forward into the mess of sewage and soil and rainwater. Disgust is immediate, soaked above your knees, but you force yourself to take another step and another and another until you reach the large, ebony mass lying at the culvert’s gaping mouth, black mist emanating from his heaving flank.

“There you are,” you murmur, dropping to your knees near the muzzy outline of his head. Triangular ears twitch before they are concealed in a haze of shadow again. Your heart sinks, forcing a bit of levity into your tone. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this, yeah? Our backyard is a helluva lot nicer than this shithole.”

“I’ll build a doghouse for him myself if it’ll save me from getting dragged outta bed at this ungodly hour,” Tess offers from somewhere behind you.

She’s smart enough to stay back, especially when the sound of her voice has eyes snapping open in a blaze of red, immediately narrowing into smoldering slits, lips curling back from bloodstained teeth, snarling in challenge. 

“None of that,” you scold, followed by a bop against his nose with your finger. He stills, some of the feral luster clearing from his eyes. His body remains primed to fight, muscles coiled, lingering side effects from last night’s hunt. “It’s over. It’s a new day.” A hot breath of air wafts over your face, flooding your nostrils with a concoction of coppery blood, damp earth, and sulfur. “Fucking hell, that’s awful. You, Alpha mine, need a toothbrush. No, scratch that, you need to gargle bleach to get that nastiness out of your mouth. Ugh.”

Joel shoves his head forward, rumbling a deep, guttural note as his wet nose pressed against the vulnerable tendon of your throat, a hint of teeth grazing your pulse. If not for the bitemark under your shirt and the history of early mornings identical to this one spanning across the course of your relationship, perhaps you might have screamed or fainted in fright. Given the circumstances though, you merely tilt your head back further, allowing him to drink his fill of your scent until he remembers.

He had explained once, his human memories were like sand in this form, his mind an hourglass torn between two lives. Your scent triggers the reset, tipping everything right side up again, memories falling back into place until the next hunt steals them back again.

You know when it clicks because Joel’s breath hitches, a violent shudder rippling along his spine. It’s always agonizing, watching him transform, listening to the grinding and splintering of bones and sinew realigning themselves. The cloud of obsidian mist begins to lighten, the once ambiguous outline of a colossal beast slowly, so painstakingly slowly merging into a man – naked, trembling from the aftershocks, clinging to consciousness by his own stubborn will. 

Brown eyes meet yours, blood smeared across his mouth and beard. “Sass,” he says, a dry rasp sending a wave of warmth all the way down to your frozen and wet toes. “Aren’t you getting tired of coming after me yet?”

“Nah,” you shake your head, smiling. “I think it’s good for our relationship. Keeps things interesting.”

He snorts. “Interesting. Sure, that’s a word for it. How many times’ it been this week? Two, three?”

“Four,” Tess chimes in, punctuated by a pair of jeans striking Joel square in the face.

“Mornin’ Tess,” is the low, sheepish response from your Alpha. He pulls the pants off his head, hair ruffled every which way. “Didn’t see you there. Is that a new haircut? It’s nice. Suits you.”

Your friend hums, unimpressed. She used to think you were cute together, that the twang of his accent was amusing, but after eight months of accompanying you in retrieving his naked ass from various sordid and revolting sites around Nightspyre she’s become immune to his charms.

You pull out a shirt and shoes from your own bag. “We’ve gotta get a move on. Police already think you’re strange. Don’t need to give ‘em another reason to dislike you.”

“Four hunts in one week,” Joel mutters under his breath as he begins dressing, a disturbed look in his eye, and you hear what he isn’t saying, unspoken words weighing heavily upon your chest like individual stones.

Four more damned souls.

xiii.

Sometimes you can’t find him the morning after a hunt, losing him amongst the creeping shadows, and you’re forced to wait, anxious and helpless, until there’s another storm, another hunt, another death to reunite with him. 

Those times, the house feels too empty and your bitemark aches something fierce, a brand seared against your skin. Nightmares plague your sleep until your sheets are a tangle of sweat and tears. The cloudless blue skies and starry nights are further personal insults, mocking your heartache.

xiv.

It’s a tricky concept to wrap your head around, the idea that Joel had once been a human decades, perhaps centuries ago. Time isn’t something Black Dogs keep track of and Nightspyre’s historical archives are in the city hall’s basement which floods every other rainfall. He’s older than you, that’s something you can confidently say. Less confidently you can guesstimate he was probably in his late thirties when he was turned.

Your first year together you tried to piece together his story, pestering him with whatever question crossed your mind. Were you born here? What were your parents like? Any siblings? Hobbies? Your attempts proved mostly unrewarding though - his memories of that life are few and flimsy, giving him a headache if he thinks about them too long - and by now you’ve learned he prefers to make new memories than dwell in the past.

The day he knocked on your door becomes his birthday. He turns forty and who gives a fuck if it’s accurate or not, certainly not either of you. You celebrate with cake and ice cream topped with hot fudge.

“My mother used to make cake like this,” Joel says after swallowing a bite. You look at him, your own spoon hovering in front of your mouth, ice cream threatening to melt, but his eyes are glossed over, lost in a memory, and you can’t bring yourself to move, scared of disrupting the moment. “She added chocolate chips in it. Made it sweeter. She’d let me lick the batter from the spoon.”

An image of a young Joel forms unbiddenly in your mind. You can imagine him hovering at his mother’s side, waiting patiently as she scoops and pours and mixes the ingredients, how wide he’d grin when he finally got his prize, smearing chocolatey goodness across his mouth.

“Your ice cream’s melting,” Joel’s voice yanks you back to the present.

You blink a few times, reconciling the child in your head with the Alpha in front of you, then look down at your spoon where, sure enough, the ice cream’s more of a liquid than a solid, blending with the cake and fudge in a gooey swirl. You stick it in your mouth, not really tasting, not really thinking except -

Next year you’ll remember to buy chocolate chips.

xv.

A horde of ominously gray clouds accumulates on the horizon, blotting out the sun. Standing together on the balcony, Joel drapes himself over your backside, chin on your shoulder, both your gazes locked ahead.

“Death is becoming greedy,” you say, mouth coated in bitter venom. You don’t care if She overhears, so long as you carry his mark you’re untouchable. Not even Her powers can disentwine your souls. Where one goes, the other will follow - and she needs Joel too much at the moment to let him go just yet.

“It’s not Her. There’s something else poisoning the city, rotting it from the inside out…” Joel trails off, interrupted by the first drizzling drops of rain, the distant clap of thunder summoning his alternate form to the surface. His fingers flex against your waist, forcibly swallowing down the growl building in his chest with an audible gulp.

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

You don’t say tomorrow morning. Not anymore. It’s too specific, too painful when it doesn’t come true.

“See you in the morning,” he echoes, and gently turns your head, sealing the vow with a kiss. It’s chaste, sweet, foreheads coming to rest against each other, savoring the moment even as the rain pelts your skin and clothes. “Go on, get inside and get warmed up. And no matter what you hear—”

“Don’t go outdoors,” you finish, pressing one last kiss against his jaw. 

xvi.

Joel starts to age again. It’s a slow, gradual process for his body to remember what it means to be human. He still heals unnaturally fast, still answers Death’s call whenever there’s a soul to collect, but - 

There are flecks of gray peppered in his beard. Along his temples. They turn silver when the light hits them just right. Never once does he make an effort to shave them off or dye them. 

He needs glasses when he reads. It shouldn’t be possible yet somehow the dark frames make him look even hotter, especially late at night when they’re perched on the brim of his nose as those perfect lips silently mouth along with the words of whatever genre-of-the-week has snagged his attention.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” you ask abruptly one morning. Joel’s in the middle of peeling oranges, making an attempt at adding more fruit to both your diets, and the kitchen air is oversaturated with citrus. “Dying?”

His hands pause, pensive lines creasing his forehead. It’s a sign he’s thinking hard about his answer, giving it the necessary time to form and develop. You wait, perched on the kitchen stool, pushing your toes against the floor to keep your leg from bouncing anxiously.

“I already died once, remember? This,” he says, gesturing towards his gray hairs and then at the house as a whole. “This isn’t dying, Sass. Not for me.”

You lean forward with your arms upon the counter. “What is it for you then?”

He looks at you for a long second, soft and fond, and smiles. “This is me finally living.”

xvii.

Loving Joel is easy, you learn. As natural as waking up with the morning sun, as necessary as drawing breath into the depths of your lungs. You don’t believe much in fate or destiny, but there are moments where he looks at you, like he can’t believe you’re the one who's real, and it feels like it’s always supposed to have been you and him. 

“Of all the churches in all the world,” you quietly laugh under your breath one night, head resting on his stomach. 

His hand stills in the middle of stroking a warm line down your spine. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” you shift just enough to press a kiss against his sternum, smiling to yourself at the hitch of his breath. “Just thinking how lucky I am.”

Joel’s hand continues its movements again, but this time when it goes back up it carries on past your shoulder, pads of his fingers dipping into the teeth indentation marks there. 

And you know he’s thinking the same.

xviii.

Joel’s sliding home inside of you, all scorching heat and possessive growls, face buried against your neck. You wrap your arms tighter around his shoulders, nails cutting scratches deep into his skin, drawing blood. They’ll be gone before he’s done with you. Damn healing factor, a blessing and a curse.

“I want to be like you,” you murmur carelessly against the hinge of his jaw, mouthing a kiss that’s more tongue than lips.

“No,” Joel grunts, and then he’s moving back, pulling out of you. You whine, a pathetic and desperate high-pitched plea of an Omega trying to appease her Alpha, to call him back to fill the emptiness threatening to devour you alive. He ignores it, grabbing at your face with a large hand, forcing you to look at him, really look and fuck, you’ve never seen him like this before.

That emotion in his eyes, dark and gleaming and intense – it’s fear.

“You don’t want to be like me, Sass. You can never be like me,” Joel says, and he doesn’t even try to mask the tremble in his voice. “I won’t allow it.”

You reach a hand up, purposefully slow and obvious in its approach, and curl your fingers around his wrist. He loosens his hold instantly, exhaling a ragged, shuddering breath like you’ve stabbed him.

“Okay,” you say, and that’s all.

His face is wet when it buries against your neck again.

xix.

There’s a secluded house on the city outskirts, an unextraordinary two-story dwelling with a yellow front door and a stepping stone pathway, known to its pair of inhabitants simply as home. 

Most mornings you can be found in the front yard, humming a song from your youth while painting your next masterpiece. Joel will sit in the shade on the porch steps, coffee in hand, watching you watching the world. There are plans to build a greenhouse in the back, another hideaway to retreat to when the world feels just a bit too large. A bit too bloody.

xx.

“It’s going to hurt,” Joel warned you, six months after you’d first met, peppering kisses against your shoulder.

For as many strides as Nightspyre’s made keeping up with modern law changes and customs, out here amongst the untamable hills and freak electrical storms people remained convinced the best and safest life for an Omega was at an Alpha’s side.

Unclaimed Omegas didn’t last long in Nightspyre. If an Omega didn’t find a mate themselves, then one was found for them. Didn't matter if they didn't like each other, if their scents didn't match. Having an Alpha mate was an Omega's golden ticket to a better life - or, at the very least, a larger cage where the bars weren’t so easily seen.

“Not from you,” you panted, tilting your head to grant him more access. He was still an enigma to you, so many layers left to unwrap, but you knew there was no one else in the world you wanted more as your mate than him. No one else made you feel the way he did. “It won’t hurt if it’s from you.”

His hands pinned your arms down, making you gasp, and then - then there were sharp teeth slicing through skin, biting, claiming, intertwining your lives together irreversibly.

You were his. And he was yours.

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #my writing #my fic #pedrostories

[de-sterren-nacht]

The Fae of the British Lostbelt

This is gonna be a long one, so strap in.

The fae and other creatures of the British Lostbelt take heavy inspiration from real-life legends; almost every major character is named after a type of fairy or mystical creature from British folklore. Many of these names are not English; I've added a pronunciation guide for these in brackets after the word. In this post, I'll go over the beings and concepts these characters are named for and compare the legend to the original. This won't include Morgan or Oberon; those figures are complex enough to deserve posts of their own.

Aesc [ASH]

Aesc is more accurately spelled Æsc. It's an Old English word for the ash tree, and also doubles as the word for the rune for the letter Æ. This is pretty much a direct translation into Old English of Aesc's Japanese name, Tonelico (トネリコ), a word meaning "ash tree".

Albion

Albion is a poetic name for the island of Britain, from Greek Albiōn (Ἀλβίων), the name used by classical geographers to describe an island believed to be Britain. The name probably means "white place", which is how it's connected to the Albion of Fate. The Albion of Fate is the White Dragon, a symbol of the Saxons from a Welsh legend. In the most well-known version of the legend, the King of the Britons at the time, Vortigern, was trying to build a castle on top of a hill in Wales to defend against the invading Saxons, but everything he tried to build collapsed. He was told by his court wizard to find a young boy with no father and sacrifice him atop the hill to alleviate the curse. He sent his soldiers out and found a boy being teased for being fatherless, but when he brought the boy to the hill, the boy, a young Merlin, told him that his court wizard was a fool and that the real reason for the collapsing castle was two dragons inside the hill, one red and one white, locked in battle. The red dragon represented the Britons, and the white dragon represented the Saxons. Merlin told Vortigern that nothing could be built on the hill until the red dragon killed the white one. A red dragon is the symbol of Wales to this day, and a white dragon is occasionally used in Welsh poetry to negatively represent England. This white dragon is Albion in Type/Moon lore.

Baobhan Sìth [bah-VAHN shee]

A baobhan sìth is a female fairy in Scottish folklore. The name literally means "fairy woman" in Scottish Gaelic. They appear as a beautiful woman and seduce hunters traveling late at night so that they can kill and eat them, or drink their blood depending on the story. They're unrelated to banshees except in terms of etymology (Banshee is from Old Irish "ben síde", meaning the same thing as baobhan sìth). They're often depicted with deer hooves instead of feet, which is probably what inspired Baobhan Sìth's love of shoes.

Barghest

In the folklore of Northern England, a barghest is a monstrous black dog with fiery eyes teeth and claws the size of a bear's. The name probably derives from "burh-ghest", or "town-ghost". It was often said to appear as an omen of death, and was followed by the sound of rattling chains. The rattling chains probably inspired Barghest's chains. Her fire powers are also obviously based on the fiery eyes of the barghest. Otherwise, she's not very connected to the folkloric barghest, which is never associated with hunger or eating humans.

Boggart

In English folklore, a boggart is either a malevolent household spirit or a malevolent creature inhabiting a field, a marsh, a hill, a forest clearing, etc. The term is related to the terms bugbear and bogeyman, all originally from Middle English bugge, or possibly Welsh bwg [BOOG] or bwca [BOO-cuh], all words for a goblin-like monster. It usually resembled a satyr. It's not really ever depicted with lion features, so it's anyone's guess why Boggart is a lion-man.

Cernunnos [ker-NOON-ahs]

Cernunnos, probably meaning "horned one", was an important pre-Roman Celtic god. His existence is only attested by fragmentary inscriptions and the repeated motif in Celtic religious art of a "horned god", a humanoid figure with deer antlers seated cross-legged. This fragmentary evidence is often led to assume that Cernunnos was a god of nature, wilderness, animals and fertility. There exists no evidence that Cernunnos was a chief deity of any kind, since we have barely any evidence he existed at all in the first place. Cernunnos might not even be his name; it's just the only name we have. Needless to say, the only thing the Cernunnos in the British Lostbelt has in common with the real figure is his large antlers.

Cnoc na Riabh [kuh-nock-nuh-REE-uh]

Cnoc na Riabh, Knocknarea in English, is a hill in Sligo in Ireland. The name means "hill of the stripes", referring to its striking limestone cliffs. It's said to be the location where Medb's tomb lies, so it's connected to Cnoc na Riabh through Fate's conflation of Medb with Queen Mab, a fairy mentioned in Romeo and Juliet; this etymology of Mab as derived from Medb was formerly accepted, but has lost favour with the advent of modern Celtic studies due to the lack of any concrete connection between the two figures.

Grímr (don't know how to say this one, apologies; Germanic myth is not my strong suit)

Odin (Wōden in Old English) was a god worshiped in many places, basically anywhere the Germanic peoples went, including the Anglo-Saxons that became today's English people. As such a widely worshiped god, he had a very large number of names, titles and epithets. Grímr is one such name, literally meaning "mask", referring to Odin's frequent usage of disguises in myths, which is fitting for how Cú disguised himself as a faerie in the British Lostbelt and hid that he possessed Odin's Divinity from Chaldea.

Habetrot

Habetrot is a figure from Northern England and the Scottish Lowlands, depicted as a disfigured elderly woman who sewed for a living and lived underground with other disfigured spinsters. She often spun wedding gowns for brides. Cloth spun by her was said to have curative and apotropaic properties. All the Habetrot of the British Lostbelt has in common with this figure is the association with brides and with spinning cloth. "Totorot" is not a real figure; the name is just an obvious tweak of Habetrot.

Mélusine

Mélusine is a figure that appears in folklore all across Europe. The name probably derives from Latin "melus", meaning "pleasant". She's a female spirit of water with the body of a beautiful woman from the waist up, and the body of a serpent or a fish from the waist down. In most stories, she falls in love with a human man and bears his children, using magic to conceal her inhuman nature. However, she tells her lover he must never look upon her when she is bathing or giving birth. Of course, he invariably does so, and when he does, he discovers her serpentine lower body, and she leaves, taking their children with her. Since Mélusine is just the name Aurora gave her, the Mélusine of the British Lostbelt has very little to do with this figure, but an analogy can be drawn between the Mélusine of folklore hiding her true form as a half-serpent to maintain her relationship with her lover, and Fate's Mélusine suppressing her true form as both a dragon and an undifferentiated mass of cells to ensure Aurora continues to love her.

Muryan [MUR-yan]

A muryan is a rather obscure Cornish fairy. The word is Cornish for "ant". Muryans are diminutive figures with shapechanging abilities, cursed to grow smaller every time they use those abilities until they eventually vanish altogether. Muryan, of course, is connected to muryans through her ability to shrink others.

Spriggan [SPRID-jan]

A spriggan is a type of creature in Cornish folklore. The word is derived from the Cornish word "spyryjyon" [same pronunciation], the plural of "spyrys", meaning "fairy". They're usually grotesque old men with incredible strength and incredibly malicious dispositions, and are often depicted guarding buried treasure. Spriggan is not himself a faerie, and the name is stolen from a faerie he killed, but it's still appropriate due to the greed and selfishness spriggans are usually depicted with.

Woodwose

Woodwose is a Middle English term for the wild man, a motif in European art comparable to the satyr or faun. The etymology is unclear. It has little to do with wolves or animals, despite its association with wildness, but there is at least a thematic connection with Woodwose's character, since the archetype of the wild man depicts a figure who cannot be civilised or well-mannered no matter how hard he tries, much like how Woodwose barely restrains his temper by being a vegetarian and dressing in a fine suit. Woodwose's predecessor, Wryneck, is named for a type of woodpecker with the ability to rotate its neck almost 180°.

#incoherent rambling #fate grand order #fgo #lostbelt 6 #avalon le fae #boggart fate #woodwose fate #habetrot #spriggan fate #muryan #melusine #baobhan sith #cernunnos #barghest #cnoc na riabh #fateposting #if i missed anyone in this post OR in the tags i will jump off a cliff #now it is bedtime #will probably give morgan and oberon their own posts in a few days #school. you know.

[theworstfoundingfathers]

Who is the worst founding father? Round 5: Henry Laurens vs James Monroe

Henry Laurens (March 6, 1724 [O.S. February 24, 1723] – December 8, 1792) was an American Founding Father, merchant, slave trader, and rice planter from South Carolina who became a political leader during the Revolutionary War. A delegate to the Second Continental Congress, Laurens succeeded John Hancock as its president. He was a signatory to the Articles of Confederation and, as president, presided over its passage.

Laurens had earned great wealth as a partner in the largest slave-trading house in North America, Austin and Laurens. In the 1750s alone, this Charleston firm oversaw the sale of more than 8,000 enslaved Africans.

Laurens’ oldest son, Colonel John Laurens, was killed in 1782 in the Battle of the Combahee River, as one of the last casualties of the Revolutionary War. He had supported enlisting and freeing slaves for the war effort and suggested to his father that he begin with the 40 he stood to inherit. He had urged his father to free the family’s slaves, but although conflicted, Henry Laurens never manumitted his 260 slaves.

---

James Monroe (April 28, 1758 – July 4, 1831) was an American statesman, lawyer, and diplomat who served as the fifth president of the United States from 1817 to 1825. He is perhaps best known for issuing the Monroe Doctrine, a policy of opposing European colonialism in the Americas while effectively asserting U.S. dominance, empire, and hegemony in the hemisphere. He also served as governor of Virginia, a member of the United States Senate, U.S. ambassador to France and Britain, the seventh Secretary of State, and the eighth Secretary of War.

As president, Monroe signed the Missouri Compromise, which admitted Missouri as a slave state and banned slavery from territories north of the 36°30′ parallel. 

Monroe sold his small Virginia plantation in 1783 to enter law and politics. He owned multiple properties over the course of his lifetime, but his plantations were never profitable. Although he owned much more land and many more slaves, and speculated in property, he was rarely on site to oversee the operations. Overseers treated the slaves harshly to force production, but the plantations barely broke even. Monroe incurred debts by his lavish and expensive lifestyle and often sold property (including slaves) to pay them off. 

Two years into his presidency, Monroe faced an economic crisis known as the Panic of 1819, the first major depression to hit the country since the ratification of the Constitution. The severity of the economic downturn in the U.S. was compounded by excessive speculation in public lands, fueled by the unrestrained issue of paper money from banks and business concerns.

Before the onset of the Panic of 1819, business leaders had called on Congress to increase tariff rates to address the negative balance of trade and help struggling industries. Monroe declined to call a special session of Congress to address the economy. When Congress finally reconvened in December 1819, Monroe requested an increase in the tariff but declined to recommend specific rates. Congress would not raise tariff rates until the passage of the Tariff of 1824. The panic resulted in high unemployment and an increase in bankruptcies and foreclosures, and provoked popular resentment against banking and business enterprises.

The collapse of the Federalists left Monroe with no organized opposition at the end of his first term, and he ran for reelection unopposed. A single elector from New Hampshire, William Plumer, cast a vote for John Quincy Adams, preventing a unanimous vote in the Electoral College. He did so because he thought Monroe was incompetent. 

#semifinals! #founding father bracket #worst founding father #founding fathers #amrev #brackets #polls #henry laurens #james monroe

[badass-queer-couples-battle]

Sword gays showdown, round 1, bracket two

Propaganda:

For Adolin Kholin:

HIMBO SUPREME!! Fights with a giant-ass fantasy sword. Unlike everyone else, he does not have superpowers, but he is REALLY GOOD AT SWORD!!! Best duelist in the kingdom, doesn’t want to go to war, just wants to be a jock. He’s still really good at war tho. Once took on a 4 on 1 duel in the most epic chapter ever written and won (ish). Befriends the sword. Her name is Maya. Befriends everyone he meets, actually. One character really wants to hate him, but can’t cuz he’s just genuinely a nice dude.  Super supportive of his girlfriend, knows she’s a girlboss. Talks to his dad’s horse. Probably bi. 

His church lets you pick One Thing to train yourself in, his is magic sword fighting (and hes only second to his father in it) on book 2, chapter whitespine uncaged, he fought basically (his friend helped but was super unprepared)  4 on 1 with an unfair judge and WON

He's almost canonically bi Loves his wife *SPOILERS* Loves his sword so much he resurrected her immortal soul

Omg he LOVESS swords so much. Which sword? Any and all. He talks to his sword before duels, he brings like 30 different blades on a mission and when prompted starts info dumping about what each of them is useful for. His ideal date - sword training his fiance. He is THE sword guy. And also him and Shallan are so bi4bi <3

For Nicky:

Nicolò di Genova (aka Nicky) is an immortal warrior who was raised to become a catholic priest and fight in the Crusades with his two-handed long sword. There, on the opposite side of the crusade invasion, he meets Yusuf al-Kaysani (aka Joe), who is of a religion that Nicky was raised to hate. After killing each other, coming back to life and killing each other countless times, they eventually make peace, learn each other languages, become friends, and fall in love. They now fight alongside each other in the Old Guard as the immortal husbands (paralleling Andromache and Quyuh’s immortal wives duo). They will do anything for each other and their found family. Nicky is deadly efficient with his longsword as well as with any weapon/hand combat. Nicky and Joe once took out a truck full of armoured guards while handcuffed. Nicky is very caring and empathic but tough when he needs to be (is able to fight despite being experimented on for days) and is worthy of the title of best gay swordsperson <3

He’s very neat

#adolin kholin #the stormlight archive #nicolo di genova #the old guard #tog #stormlight archive #brandon sanderson #sword gays showdown

[hotvintagepoll]

FINAL POLL OF ROUND 4

Propaganda

Gregory Peck (Spellbound, To Kill a Mockingbird, Roman Holiday)—i mean, just look at him. his performance in to kill a mockingbird is probably responsible for millions of people being into dilfs. aside from being absurdly gorgeous, he was also a genuinely good person and a political activist throughout his life! (you know a guy is great when he was listed as a personal enemy of richard nixon.)

Paul Robeson (Showboat, The Emperor Jones)—this man's life was fucking wild [link to his Wikipedia]

This is round 4 of the bracket. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage man. Gentle reminder from admin that the propaganda cuts off at 1970, so anything made after that point will not be included.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Gregory Peck propaganda:

“With  Peck, it's a kindliness and inward strength whose appeal is universal. If you were to put into words the feeling he gave you, you'd say something like this: "That's a guy to trust. That's a guy you could talk to if you needed to talk to someone. He could touch a raw spot without hurting it too much. You could take courage from him" -modern screen august 1946

"Another thing about Peck. He sees you, if you know what I mean. To most of them, you're the unit man or the hairdresser or the little fellow who comes around with cokes. Beyond that they don't look. Greg's aware of you as an individual. Not that he starts asking about your ulcers. You just know he sees humans as humans first — not as cogs in a machine." -a girl who worked at the studio when asked about him

“Handsome face, beautiful eyes, amazing voice- what else do you need?”

"Tall, whip-lean, ruggedly handsome, he has a magnetic voice guaranteed to send shivers up and down feminine spines.” -modern screen may 1944

“His lanky 6' 2 1/2" frame, lithe 170 pounds, unruly brown hair and thoughtful brown eyes”

“She mentioned his large frame, his great shoulders and swinging stride. She praised his deep, dark eyes, and his prominent cheek bones. She described his strong jaw line, and his shock of dark hair, one lock always trying to fall forward over his forehead.” -a fan describing gregory peck to her father after seeing him on the big screen for the first time

Paul Robeson propaganda:

#paul robeson #gregory peck #hotvintagepoll #round 4 #fuck that old man #Youtube

[throwingmetothelions]

Thick GF HC (NSFW)

Let’s get into it 😌 Please remember that when I make headcanons, as you may have noticed, I don’t play into what I think people want to hear. My headcanons have absolutely hurt feelings because sometimes people get painted in a light that doesn’t line up with the fairytale people have constructed. These are real men with real thoughts and feelings and they have maladaptive behaviors. These are my thoughts about said men, so they might not always be bright and sunny. I pull from my brain and all the content I’ve ever seen. This is not the truth as I am not them - these are just my thoughts. It ain’t a dick - please don’t take it that deep. TW: descriptions of bodies, PIV, Oral

Noah - Noah … I feel like he didn’t ever seek you out strictly because of your body. I genuinely don’t believe he started out as someone that saw himself ever sleeping with (much less loving) someone with that many curves. You might have been like - a representative for a brand, or someone who managed a recording space … someone that he interacted with enough to think over time like “she’s got the lightest laugh,” or “her eyes are so brown you can’t see her pupils,” and other things that build upon each other when you love someone.

Time goes on and there were enough hugs between y’all for him to realize his monkey brain was taking over occasionally, and it said “soft? Soft”. He noticed the way that his long arms could almost sink a little when he wrapped them around you. Noah was so used to being big and tall … but when you laid next to him watching Spirited Away that night … when you threw your thigh over him and he instantly felt smaller and warm because of it? The way that Noah was made aware of his muscles as he pulled you on top of him sparked what would be an inferno of arousal as he slotted his lips over yours. He liked that he had to spread to bracket his thighs around your curvy hips. He loved that you made space for yourself in a way that no other girl had. Noah drowned himself in everything you had to offer. He was never a fan of being ridden before as he liked the control, but he found himself with his back to the bed. A panting mouth and two eyes that were screwed tight because if he watched your ass jiggle when it bounced off his lap one more time he knew he’d make you both parents. He delivered a harsh slap, watched it ripple like water, and decided he’d be an excellent father. His battle with believing in some sort of divine figure really does end in this moment. God is in the sound of your pussy juice sticking your thighs together as he parts them. Noah loves you more than anything, and that’s something he’s grateful for because a relationship that is unexpected and had to be built is one worth fighting for.

Nicholas - Nicholas had always been left with a blush on his cheeks and neck when the boys clowned him every time he said “it’s what’s inside that counts”. As a tattoo artist, Nicholas was made deeply aware of the things that could make a woman self conscious. He often saw it in the way that clothes were shuffled off at appointments, or when he needed to lay his hands on them to place a stencil and they tensed up when his fingers graced scars. You were no different. He was tattooing your thigh - right where it met your bikini line (one of the most attractive areas of you ask him). The way your stretch marks moved with you like tattoos given by Mother Nature kept him in a headlock. Nick wiped at that area so much he lost the stencil, but he gained the image of the extra fat you held on your hips squishing in slightly as he applied pressure. He didn’t see this as a bigger body being attractive - he just saw the attractive part. Nick thanked an ethereal body for letting his fingers skate against your skin.

That’s exactly where he presses his thumb as he holds you down on him. It was no shock that he found himself under you, rubbing up and down your thick calves as he breathed over your lips, “I want you to fuck me”. The way that your pussy lips hug his dick sends him into space. They’re puffy and they feel too good gliding against him as you fuck down on him. He likes that when he cums they hold it all inside. He loves wrapping you up in his arms and fucking up into you, pounding the shit out of you until you all but fall over. He likes that when he dives in to lick at your folds it’s messy and wet and all powerful. Nick loves the way that gravity works against those big tits so that they hang in his face and he doesn’t have to stretch his neck up to suck on your nipples.

Folio - Okay. So I think Folio is pretty damn loud about y’all’s love.

“I have stretch marks on top of hip dips, Nick! This bikini isn’t gonna go over well, but I can -“

“Hey. Hunny. Hey. Repeat after me. ‘Tactical grip’,” he enunciates each word with a clap before he reaches down to squeeze at your tummy. He’s the type to hug you from behind and purposefully grab your belly - digs his fingers in and just grabs it. Might even grunt a little. See, you’re normal. Normal girl that lets him fish and even joins sometimes. You bring him out tea when he’s cussing at his bike in the driveway, and you never gave a damn about what people said online. He loved your fuck you attitude, and the way your ass swayed in the jeans you wore the day he met you was all the courage he needed to say hello.

He might be shorter than the others, but he has no issues pinning your knees to your ears and loving you down. “Take this dick baby … you got it,” he moans as he fucks into you. Nick can’t stop staring at the way your thick thighs spread wide for him and only him, and the way that the slapping of skin echoes through the room. He wants it sweaty. If he can tell where you end and he begins he’s fucking failing. Nick likes it filthy as fuck, and he likes the way that you aren’t afraid to toss him around and put your body on his. He loves the way your tits feel when they’re pressed into his heaving chest - loves the way it almost hurts because you might make him cum for the third time. You spread your pussy lips over his dick as you sit in his lap and suck on his tongue and goddammit he’s gonna -

Jolly - Ah. Jolly fits a crucial part of this headcanon. Jolly appreciates the way that your body does it’s job. He’s a man of science, and he loves seeing biology in action. The way your skin stretches and curves to accommodate how it needs to is so fucking attractive to him. He could stare at the way your upper arms look as you hug a friend goodbye for hours. Jolly sits back and observes the things that, while insignificant to you, make him want to tear you to shreds. The way you close the car door with your hip, and the way you use the extra weight to move the couch over so you can sweep underneath it.

His dick leaks before it comes within a foot of you because he knows that if he wants to put it in your cunt he’ll have to spread those thick asscheeks of yours. Call him gluttonous in the way that he needs to consume you. Jolly feels like he’s powered by batteries as he hits it from behind, but it’s the thought of your body shaking on his cock that drives him. Jolly rakes his nails over your shoulders as you suck his dick. He loves that when you sit on his face he can’t fucking breathe. Loves that you put your full weight on his tongue to cover him and smother him in your femininity. He is nothing but a page to a queen. Jolly wants a noble death. Begs for it.

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fic #auntievwroteit

[vintagetvstars]

Marlo Thomas Vs. Lily Tomlin

Propaganda

Marlo Thomas - (That Girl) - ann marie from that girl is literally me and my mom's Blorbo From My Shows. <3 Marlo Thomas is beautiful, very funny, and an activist and philanthropist. was given the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 2014. currently serves as National Outreach Director for St. Jude Children's Research Hospital, a nonprofit pediatric research hospital (founded by her father, Danny Thomas) that focuses on treatment for children's catastrophic diseases, particularly cancer. starred in That Girl from 1966-1971, which centered around a young woman who moves to New York City to become an actress - one of the first tv shows to focus on a leading lady who lived on her own. was only the fourth tv series to be produced by its' female star. the sponsors wanted the series to end with a wedding between Thomas's character and her boyfriend, which she refused because, in her words, "I just can't do that to these women and girls who followed Ann Marie's adventure. I can't now say that the only happy ending is a wedding, because I don't believe it." the final episode instead featured her character taking her now-fiance to a women's lib meeting, which according to Thomas "made nobody happy but me. I loved it."

Lily Tomlin - (Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In, Saturday Night Live, Murphy Brown) - She's beautiful and hilarious! Her smile is so bright! photo of her and her partner Jane Wagner (pic below the cut)

Master Poll List of the Hot Vintage TV Ladies Bracket

Additional propaganda below the cut

Marlo Thomas:

Marlo is an Emmy award winning actress and feminist. She is also the outreach director for St. Jude’s Children Hospital which was founded by her father, Danny Thomas. Her show “That Girl” was one of the first sitcoms to focus on a single woman and helped pave the way for other similar shows like the Mary Tyler Moore Show. The network and the show’s sponsor wanted to end the series with the main character getting married but Marlo fought against it: “…They wanted to end the show with a wedding. I said, "I just can't do that to these women and girls who followed Ann Marie's adventure. I can't now say that the only happy ending is a wedding, because I don't believe it." There was a big ruckus about it, but I wouldn't do it. The last show, Ann Marie took Donald (her fiancé) to a women's lib meeting, which made nobody happy but me. I loved it.“

Along with having stunning dark eyes and iconic hair, Marlo Thomas helped lead the way for shows about young unmarried women living on their own. While it's true that That Girl's heroine Ann Marie had a steady boyfriend throughout, Marlo Thomas was instrumental in keeping her unmarried through the show's run and resisted ending the series with a wedding. Especially in the early seasons, she not only gave the character a charming wistful style (Ann Marie was almost always shown carrying a ladylike pair of gloves when she went out, long after convention dictated), but she kept the character from being too sweet with her comic exaggerations and feisty comebacks.

this article has several good photos from that girl:

Lily Tomlin:

#vintage tv stars poll #tv ladies 1 #marlo thomas #lily tomlin

[zablife]

We're In This Together

Joel Miller x female reader

Summary: Joel calms you down during a panic attack. 

Author’s Note: Despite being a reader insert, Joel's companion is an adult. As such, use of the term "babygirl" is a pet name, not an indication of age/someone who is underage. My first fic for The Last of Us so please be kind!

Reblogs are appreciated, comments are love💕

Warnings: anxiety, panic attack, mention of the infected, mention of weapon

The old weathervane above the dilapidated barn groaned outside your window, spinning forcefully with the gusting wind. The creaking sound was an unsettling reminder of the terrible shrieking you’d tried to put out of your mind. Removing the tattered gloves you wore and rubbing your hands together for warmth, you attempted to think of anything else. Closing your eyes tightly, you envisioned a crackling fire and hot tea with honey. Although you were good at imagining the things you’d come to live without, tonight was different. You couldn’t keep the fear at bay no matter how hard you tried, receiving no comfort from the cozy memories that usually calmed you.

A familiar tightness in your chest returned as you wondered how much longer you’d have to live like this, running from the infected and making a home wherever you found shelter. As you counted the days you'd already been looking for your family, your future unraveled before you along with any remaining fortitude. You looked around the weathered farmhouse where you found yourself tonight and wondered who had once called this place home. You shivered as you thought of those who were surely dead by now, allowing you to occupy their space because they no longer had need of it. The crushing guilt pressed into you until you felt suffocated by it.

Stop it, stop it! you chided yourself, banging your head against the peeling wallpaper. Get it together! you thought as you dug your heels into the floorboards, every muscle in your body tense as your stomach churned. You tried to stay strong and remember why you and Joel were still searching after all this time, but you couldn't concentrate. You began to shake as your worst fears replayed in your mind on constant loop and you couldn’t end it. The fit overtook you more quickly than usual, rapid breathing turning to dangerously shallow hyperventilation in seconds as the terror consumed you.

The sound of heavy footsteps outside your door had your heart racing even faster in seconds, threatening to tear from your chest. Your eyes darted up in time to glimpse Joel’s boots by the dilapidated wooden door and soon you spotted his jeans, moving toward you in a blur. The room began to spin as you heard the distant thud of his rucksack hitting the floor. “Y/n, it’s gonna be alright, I’m comin’” Joel called out, crossing the floor in long purposeful strides to reach you as quickly as possibly. He knew the signs of your panic attacks well by now. You were too dizzy to comprehend his words, only feeling the warmth of his hand on your cheek at first, bringing you around. His brown eyes studied you with deep concern. You hadn't been this bad since the night you met.

A year ago, he found you hidden away, clutching an old hunting knife of your father's. Separated from your family during evacuation, you were unsure how to navigate this new world, let alone an attack by several infected. He’d gotten to you just in time to save your life, but your conscious mind had slipped below the surface where he couldn't reach you. It wasn't until hours later through his calm demeanor and gentle voice that he was able to pry the weapon away. He held your hand, promising not to leave you, until you felt steady enough to tell him your name.

Taking up a place behind you now, Joel promised, “Nobody’s here but us, babygirl. You’re safe with me. I got you." He cradled your back to his front, legs and arms bracketing yours, securely holding you in place. Without the need for words, you felt his chest rise and fall against your back, urging you to adopt a similar rhythm for yourself. You leaned your head back against his shoulder, wanting the spinning to end. “It won’t stop, It won’t stop,” you panted, desperately clutching onto his hands, fingernails digging into his skin. Joel wished you never had to suffer like this again. He would have done anything to take the feeling of powerlessness from you.

“I got you. You're safe. I’m here no matter what, okay?” you heard him say in a soothing monotone, the rumble of his deep voice reverberating through you as you felt his beard rub against the top of your head. After a few mintutes, your heartbeat slowed it's pace. As the relief began to wash over you, the waiting tears silently escaped your lash line and slid down your cheeks.

Pulling away to search your eyes for understanding, Joel rubbed your arm gently asking, “Can you tell me what happened?”

You shook your head, unable to put your finger on what had triggered you. “Okay, we don’t have to talk about it now,” he said, wiping the tears away with the pad of his thumb. “You should try to get some rest though. You wanna lie down for a little while?” he suggested. You nodded as you clung to his jacket. He slowly lowered you both to the ground, wrapping his arm around you so still felt connected to him. You breathed in the familiar scent of him as he stroked your hair gently. “I'm sorry,” you said, sniffling. 

“Shhh, you don’t have to do that,” he reminded you. No matter how much you apologized, Joel  told you you weren’t a burden and that knowledge made you feel secure with him, knowing that you didn’t owe him anything in return for his kindness. 

“Joel?” you asked in a shaky voice.

“Hmmm?” he grunted.

“Do you ever wish you were on your own?” you asked hesitantly. 

You felt his body go rigid for a moment. “What are you talkin’ about?” he asked, voice suddenly turning harsh. 

You slowly turned to look at him, noticing the deep furrow in his brow as he studied you. “I…I just thought…well...we might go our separate ways in the spring,” you stuttered, trying not to explain your feelings about how much better Joel might be without you. He must have thought it before, the freedom he'd have by himself with no one to care for or defend. If you said it first, maybe he wouldn’t have to propose the same plan to you one day when it all got to be too much for him.

You watched Joel’s face fall, a pained look of hurt and confusion settling over his handsome features. He cupped your face in his large, rough hands, staring into your eyes for a moment before he finally spoke. “Don’t you understand? I wouldn’t have been able to go on all this time without you. You’re the reason I’m still standin’, darlin’. I need you,” he confessed, voice barely above a whisper.  His thumb stroked your cheek gently as he added, “Remember what I told you the first night we met?”

Tears clouded your vision as he spoke those words to you. You nodded, thinking back to that fateful night. You laced your fingers through his as you answered with the words you’d never forget, “We’re in this together.”

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**If you liked this fic please leave a comment or reblog! If you have an idea for a fic, send an ask! Interaction keeps me motivated to write.**

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#tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #Joel Miller fanfic #Joel Miller imagine #Joel Miller x you #Joel Miller x y/n #Joel Miller x reader

[whatthefishh]

the adults are talking

Rydal Keener x f!reader

Warnings: p in v, swearing, cream pie, car sex, possibly bad banter idk I love these idiots, daddy issues, just PWoP but part of the Oxford Comma universe

Words: 1.4K

This was not a good idea, and yet here you were trying to make it work.

You were in Rydal’s car, on his lap in the front seat, knees bracketing his hips while you shared the same breath. Chest to chest, you could barely move in the tight space. He had told you the seats reclined back but clearly the vintage vehicle wasn’t designed to fit the two of you, least of all two people trying to fuck in the front seat.

It started when you were in class together, his hand resting on your thigh innocently. You were paying attention, diligently taking notes in the back of the lecture hall. Rydal was losing interest, you could tell by the swirls he was drawing with his finger on your bare leg, the skirt you were wearing one of his favourites. He always lost his damn mind when you showed a bit of leg, and to add to his agony you were actually being studious today.

After inching his hand upward every few minutes, going unnoticed, you nearly yelped when his index finger brushed the gusset of your panties. Forcefully dragging his hand away, you hissed at him to stop. He tried to stare at you convincingly but it still failed to work on you. He tried to pout, leaning in closer to grab your attention and you still didn’t give in.

Eventually you told him you’d let him have his way with you after class but that you needed him to be patient. As soon as class ended, he packed up your stuff for you, quickly shoving it into your bag and pulling your hand towards the exit. Your dorm was closer than his, and he made a beeline heading in that direction, expertly weaving his way through the crowd of students and pulling you behind him. Upon opening your door, you saw your roommate essentially eating her boyfriend’s face on her bed and immediately turned around to leave before they broke apart for air.

Rydal was quick to offer his own dorm, now not as far away, which found the two of you in the hallway before his neighbour decided to let him know his father was waiting for him inside his room. Looking at him with a bit of humour and a bit of pity, you brushed some of his hair back and told him maybe it just wasn’t his day. He was pouting again, using those big beautiful brown eyes of his to pull at your heartstrings before they lit up again.

Which brought you to the present, your back pressed against the steering wheel as he sat back and groaned at the sight of you without your top on.

“What the fuck kind of name is Cerberus anyway?”

“Why are you so hot when you’re mean to me?” He replied back, not even looking up from the expanse of your skin he was touching on your tummy.

Reaching up to pull the cups of your bra down, he didn’t have to strain his neck at all to put his mouth on you, tongue swirling around your nipple in small circles before flicking it, pulling a soft moan from you. You were rolling your hips against his pants, the space so tight even with the seats moved back, you couldn’t even get your panties off. Your hands were in his silky hair while he sucked a bruise onto your sternum, on his way to your other breast.

Rydal’s one hand was gripping your hip and preventing you from grinding on him while the other was trying to open his pants, shaky movements giving away his desperation.

“Help,” he mumbled over your skin.

Sniffing out a laugh, your hands slap his away before unzipping his pants for him and pulling his hard cock out, gripping the base of it teasingly.

“Always need my help—“

“—trying to fuck you right now, it’s so not the time—“

“—when are you not trying t-to fuck me, let’s be real—“

“—so mean, baby, is it because you want me so bad, huh?”

At that, he pulled your panties aside and without warning started pushing his length into your dripping core, effectively silencing any comeback you had for him. Throwing your head back on a moan, he pushed on your sternum so you were laid in front of him, as far as you could go.

Your skirt was still on. He looked at where you were joined, secretly, like a little secret kept between you two, the way he was grinding his hips up into you, the way he made you absolutely come apart for him— not so secretive by the way the windows were fogging up — enough to make you forget your retort.

Rydal’s hands were squeezing everywhere he could reach, watching you barely lift yourself on his cock and then drop back down, moaning unabashedly. The range of motion you had was limited but his cock was filling you up so deeply from this angle, hitting that spot inside you that made your mind go numb repeatedly.

His mouth was slightly open, ragged breath only adding to the heat your bodies were producing, bucking his hips up every few seconds into your warm and wet pussy. Seeing you ignoring him and swatting his hand away in class, biting your pencil before scribbling notes and just being so fucking smart in general had him hard for so long before he even attempted to get his hands on you. Watching you go stupid when he filled you up was something he’d never get enough of.

You’d barely been riding him for a few minutes before you were coming, the slow grind and whiny pants coming from Rydal had you falling over the edge quicker than you anticipated. Head falling back behind the steering wheel, your back arched so your breasts were in his face. He was delirious from how bad he wanted you today.

Kissing whatever skin he could reach, he left a spit trail on your body, roughly pulling you down onto his cock and fucking up into you at the same time. Your body heaved forward, curling into his chest as you were still riding out the waves of your pleasure while Rydal chased his own. His grunts and whines were close to your ear now, his sounds so debauched to have your stomach muscles tightening in response.

Leaking more for him, Rydal’s thrusts were more and more sloppy, the noises of your coupling as well as his whimpers made you clench around him, the stirrings of desire once again catching you by surprise. Your own moans were probably loud enough for anyone who happened to be within fifty metres of the car to know exactly what was happening, let alone the fogged up windows.

Your hand shot out to steady yourself, imprinting in the condensation as you met his thrusts, slamming your hips on his to reach orgasm again. His hand moved to the front of your panties, pressing on where he could feel himself inside you and you gasped at the sensation. His thumb slipped around the flimsy material, rubbing at your wet bundle of nerves until you shuddered.

“F-fuck, harder! Mmmph—“ you cried.

The way his hands were indenting your flesh was utterly obscene, the way the car was probably rocking, the tightness of the space, Rydal’s own whines and whimpers — all of it made your second time coming that much more intense.

You cried out loudly, unknowingly causing Rydal to find his own release inside your sweet pussy.

“S’good, so — fucking — good, shit baby,” he groaned, licking a stripe up your neck before attacking your lips with his own in a sloppy and desperate kiss.

He softened inside you, plugging you full of him while he kissed you and kissed you and kissed you. The two of you probably alerted the whole school as to what you were up to, regardless of the parking lot being somewhat empty when he made the rash and cliche suggestion of using Cerberus for his “personal emergency”.

Finally pulling apart to breathe, Rydal’s shapely nose brushed against yours before reality hit him again.

“What do you think my dad wanted?”

“Yeah, okay let me just—“

Sliding yourself off him before he started talking about his father while still inside you, you fell gracelessly in the front seat and started getting dressed.

Once you were proper again— as proper as you could look, your hair and face were giving freshly fucked but —you turned to him, smiling at the contemplative look on his face.

“Okay Rydal, tell me what’s on your mind.”

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