#Berkley Gulp! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fish-whisper · 4 months

Text

10 Tips for Catching Flounder on Artificial Lures in Chesapeake Bay

Welcome to the ultimate guide for Chesapeake Bay anglers looking to master the art of catching flounder with artificial lures. Whether you're a seasoned fisherman or new to the sport, these tips will help you increase your chances of landing these elusive flatfish. So grab your gear, and let's dive into the world of flounder fishing! 1. Understand Flounder Habits Flounder tend to stay near the bottom, so focus your efforts on areas with structure such as drop-offs, ledges, and sandy flats. In Chesapeake Bay, the underwater landscape near the mouth of the Potomac River is a haven for flounder, especially during the summer months. Here, the mix of fresh and saltwater creates an ideal habitat for baitfish, which in turn attracts flounder. Example: Anglers have found success by targeting the edges of the shipping channels, where flounder often congregate to ambush prey. https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=khJHX76D_Fo&t=166s&pp=ygU5RmxvdW5kZXIgZmlzaGluZyBmcm9tIHBpZXIgb24gdGhlIENoZXNhcGVha2UgQmF5IFZpcmdpbmlh 2. Choose the Right Lure Soft plastic lures that mimic baitfish or crustaceans are excellent choices. The Berkley Gulp! Swimming Mullet, for instance, has a lifelike swimming action that is irresistible to flounder. Experiment with different colors and sizes to match the prevalent baitfish in the area. A tip is to observe the local forage and try to "match the hatch" to what the flounder are naturally feeding on. Example: A pearl white 4-inch paddle tail rigged on a 1/4 oz jighead can be particularly effective during the spring flounder run. 3. Master the Retrieve Flounder are ambush predators, so a slow and steady retrieve that makes your lure look like an easy meal is key. Intermittent pauses and twitches can also trigger strikes from watchful flounder. One effective technique is the "drag and drop," where you drag the lure along the bottom and then let it fall to stir up sediment, mimicking a wounded baitfish. Example: Try retrieving with a series of short hops off the bottom to imitate a fleeing crab or shrimp. 4. Pay Attention to the Tides The moving water of incoming and outgoing tides can bring flounder into feeding mode. Plan your fishing trips around these times for the best results. The hours just before and after a high tide can be particularly productive, as flounder move into shallow waters to feed. Keep a tide chart handy and note the times of peak activity. Example: Focus on the transitional periods during the slack tide when flounder position themselves to catch prey carried by the current. 5. Use the Right Gear A medium-light rod with a sensitive tip will help you feel the subtle bites of flounder. Pair it with a braided line for better feedback and control. The Shimano Stradic spinning reel and St. Croix Triumph rod is a great combination for this purpose. Also, consider a fluorocarbon leader to reduce visibility and increase your chances of a strike. Example: A 7-foot rod with a fast action tip provides the sensitivity needed to detect those light flounder bites. 6. Focus on Color and Contrast Flounder can be particular about color, so having a variety of hues in your tackle box can make all the difference. In murky waters, opt for lures with high contrast to stand out, such as white or chartreuse. During bright days, silver and translucent lures can reflect light and attract attention from flounder lurking below. Example: On overcast days, switching to a darker lure can provide the silhouette that flounder are looking for. 7. Explore Different Depths Don't be afraid to change depths until you find where the flounder are feeding. A depth finder can be an invaluable tool in locating the right fishing spots. If you're fishing from shore, cast your line to different distances and let your lure sink to various levels before retrieving to cover a range of depths. Example: Try varying your retrieval speed as you explore different depths; sometimes a slower retrieve at a deeper depth will entice a hesitant flounder. 8. Keep an Eye on Water Temperature Flounder are more active in certain temperature ranges. During the spring and fall, look for water temperatures between 55 and 68 degrees Fahrenheit for peak flounder activity. These transitional periods often see flounder moving inshore, making them more accessible to anglers. Example: Use a temperature gauge to find the warmer pockets of water during early spring, as flounder will often be found there. 9. Be Patient Flounder fishing can be a waiting game. Patience is vital, as flounder may take their time to investigate and strike at your lure. Keep in mind that flounder may follow your lure for a distance before deciding to bite, so maintain a steady retrieval rate and be ready for a subtle tug. Example: Remember, sometimes allowing your lure to sit motionless can be just the trigger a curious flounder needs to strike. 10. Respect the Environment As you enjoy the sport of fishing, remember to practice catch and release when appropriate and always respect the marine environment. Follow local regulations and be mindful of the delicate ecosystems you are fishing in. Participate in conservation efforts and join local cleanups to help preserve the habitats that flounder and other marine life depend on. Example: Participating in a tag-and-release program can provide valuable data to researchers and contribute to the sustainability of the flounder population. For more tips and fishing tales, join the conversation on our Fish Whisper community. Share your own experiences and learn from fellow anglers as we all strive to bridge the gap between fish and fish enthusiasts. Happy fishing and tight lines! Read the full article

0 notes

codidead · 2 years

Text

The Best Ugly Fishing Lures On The Market That Are A Bargain, And Braided Fishing Line Fails

braided fishing lines

Fishing is a favorite pastime for many people. Whether you’re out in the open water or trolling along a river, fishing is an enjoyable experience. But what if you don’t have any gear? What if you don’t have any bait? That’s where fishing lures come in. Lures are tiny devices that can be used to attract fish to your hook. There are many different types of fishing lures on the market, but which are the best ugly fishing lures? In this blog post, we will explore some of the best ugly fishing lures on the market and why they are such bargains. We will also discuss how braid fishing line fails and how to avoid it.

Ugly Fishing Lures

There's no shame in admitting that you like to go ugly when fishing. In fact, there are some great fish out there that love lures that are a little on the unconventional side. And if you're looking for some affordable and good-looking baits to hit the water with, you're in luck. Here are five of the best ugly fishing lures on the market that are both affordable and visually pleasing: The 1st Place Winner - The Barnett Ghost Baits "Ghost" Series is a set of three baitfish shaped lures made from durable plastic with a realistic ghost pattern. These baits come in two sizes (3/8 ounce and 1/2 ounce) and feature a 7 inch stainless steel chain with a nickel-plated swivel for added durability. They also come equipped with an easy-to-read scale on the side so you can weigh your catches accurately. The Barnett Ghost Baits "Ghost" Series is a set of three baitfish shaped lures made from durable plastic with a realistic ghost pattern. These baits come in two sizes (3/8 ounce and 1/2 ounce) and feature a 7 inch stainless steel chain with a nickel-plated swivel for added durability. They also come equipped with an easy-to-read scale on the side so you can weigh your catches accurately. The Second Place Winner - Berkley Gulp Worms This Berkley Gulp Worm

What are the best ugly fishing lures on the market?

There are plenty of really ugly fishing lures on the market that are a bargain, and braided fishing line fails. Here are five of the best ugly fishing lures on the market that are both affordable and effective: 1. The Squid Jig is a budget-friendly option that is designed to look like tentacles from a squid. This lure is perfect for those who want an ugly lure without breaking the bank. 2. The War Pig is another budget-friendly option that features an exaggerated pig shape. This lure is also great for beginners as it's simple to use and doesn't require any special setup or care. 3. The Wacky Worm offers fishermen a unique twist on the classic worm design. This lure is covered in bright orange feathers, which makes it stand out among other lures in your tackle box. 4. The Zebra Minnow is one of the most popular ugly fishing lures on the market due to its unique patterning and color options. This lure can be fished either weighted down or free-floating, making it versatile for any application. 5. The Piranha is perhaps one of the most iconic and recognizable ugly fishing lures on the market today. It features an exaggerated piranha tooth design that will instantly turn heads when targeting fish in open water habitats

Why are ugly fishing lures such a bargain?

There are a few reasons ugly fishing lures can be such a bargain. For one, they may not be in high demand by anglers. Second, some fishermen may not want to spend a lot of money on a lure when there are other more affordable options available. Third, some fisheries may only allow certain types of lures to be used, which can limit the variety of lures that are available. Finally, many ugly fishing lures are made from recycled materials or recycled parts, which can lead to lower production costs.

What types of fishing can be done with ugly fishing lures?

There are a lot of different types of fishing that can be done with ugly fishing lures. These lures can be used for a variety of fish, including but not limited to catfish, bass, trout, and pike. Some of the best ugly fishing lures on the market are made out of materials like soft plastics, metal, or composite materials. One type of ugly fishing lure that is often overlooked is the jig. Jigs are a versatile tool that can be used for bass, trout, and pike. They are also a good choice for targeting smallmouth bass because they imitate their natural prey items. Jigs can be fished deep or shallow and in various locations around the lake or river. Another type of ugly fishing lure that is often overlooked is the worm. Worms are an excellent choice for targeting largemouth bass and other species of bottom-dwelling fish. They can also be fished deep or shallow depending on your preferences and location. Worms come in many different colors and sizes making them versatile tools for any fisherman.

The best way to use ugly fishing lures

There are a lot of ugly fishing lures on the market that are a bargain, and braided fishing line fails in comparison. Here are the best ugly fishing lures that are worth your money: 1. Ugly Fish Lure – This lure is made to look like a real fish, and it has a thick profile that makes it less likely to get lost in the water. It also has an extra-long body so you can cast it further out than other lures. 2. Duckbill Lure – This lure is shaped like a duck’s bill and is designed to look like an aquatic bird. It attracts prey by mimicking the sound of its natural predator, making it one of the most effective lures on the market. 3. Gulp Lure – This lure is made from durable materials and features a bulbous head that makes it easy to spot when trolling in murky water. Its hip-deep design also allows you to fish deeper waters with ease. 4. Jigging Tool – When jigging with ugly lures, it’s important to have a jigging tool that can handle the weight of your baits. This tool will help you steady your bait while you wait for a bite, and it comes in handy when trolling as well.

Conclusion

Looking for a fishing lure that will get the job done but doesn't break the bank? Check out our list of the best ugly fishing lures on the market and see if any of them fit your needs. Whether you are looking for a budget-friendly option or something unique, we have you covered. And if braid fishing line isn't your thing, don't worry – we also have a list of the best twisted wire Fishing Lures.

0 notes

largemouthbassnation · 6 years

Video

youtube

Hair-Jigs For Smallmouth Bass Hair-jigs tipped with scented softbaits are a dynamite option for smallmouth bass.

#Berkley Gulp!#Berkley Powerbait #Hair-jigs #In-Fisherman #scented soft plastics #smallmouth bass #soft baits #soft plastics #softbaits

1 note · View note

dingosaidso · 6 years

Photo

Don’t normally take the gear with me for the morning cup of joe, but today it was calling my name! #okuma #fishing #okumafishing #berkley #gulp #berkleyfishing #newport #beach #newportbeach #surf #surffishing #morningcupofjoe #ceymar #barredsurfperch (at Balboa Peninsula, Newport Beach) https://www.instagram.com/p/BoCLqVlHiIz/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1temvbmgpbs1p

#okuma #fishing #okumafishing #berkley #gulp #berkleyfishing #newport #beach #newportbeach #surf #surffishing #morningcupofjoe #ceymar #barredsurfperch

5 notes · View notes

fluffykitty1999-blog · 3 years

Text

Dog of the Military- Chapter 5

Lots of whumph here. And a bit of medical care.

Chapter 5- Triage

They got a room on the second floor- as soon as Roy unlocked the door, Ed strode in, albeit shakily. Roy expected the first thing the boy would go for was the bed, but to his surprise, Ed opened the door to the bathroom, turning on the tap and sticking his head under the water, drinking straight from the faucet.

The kid spent a good three minutes just drinking, and Roy realized with a sinking sense of certainty that Ed obviously hadn't been given water in a long time.

"When was the last time you drank anything, Fullmetal?"

"Last night. That lady- the Lieutenant- she snuck me a mug of water."

Ed strode out of the bathroom, falling into the closest bed and letting out a long sigh.

"And the last time you ate anything?"

"Uh... a day or two?" Ed mumbled into the pillow.

Roy felt indignation burn in his chest. "Right. So you get back and Banks threw you in a cell with no food or water for two days?"

"Pretty much."

Roy wanted to kick a hole in the wall. But he didn't. Ed sounded half asleep, anyways.

"Do you have any clean clothes?"

"Back at the fort, I think."

"Right." That was out, then. Roy would have to buy the kid something to wear- the kid's shirt was basically rags anyways.

"What else did he do to you, Fullmetal?" Roy tried to keep the anger from his voice.

"I don't wanna talk about it."

Roy wanted to push the issue. He really did. But he was pulled from his thoughts by a knock at the door.

"Hello?" he pulled the door partially open, only to be met with the innkeeper- a rather homely looking woman- who was looking at him tentatively.

She held a plate in her hands, and a fresh loaf of brown bread was sitting on it, as well as a mug of broth. "I brought you this." Despite the fact she was talking to Roy, her eyes seemed to search the room behind him. Ed really had been a sight- shambling, bloodied as he was, through her lobby a few minutes ago.

Roy looked over the offering, nodding. "Thank you."

He stepped out into the hallway, shutting the door behind him. "Is there a doctor in this town?"

The woman nodded. "Shall I send for him?"

"That would be helpful if you could, thank you."

The woman nodded, handing him the plate of food, before she scurried back down the hall.

Roy stepped back into the room- Ed didn't make a move at the sound of his entrance- he was still sprawled out on his stomach on the bed. Roy tried to ignore the blood stains on the back of the boy's shirt.

"Wake up, Fullmetal. The innkeeper was nice enough to bring you some food."

"Hmm?" Ed lifted his head, managing to turn over in bed and carefully sitting up, tearing into the loaf of brown bread as through his life depended on it and finishing the mug of broth in a few gulps before sighing in contentment and laying back.

"We need to talk about what happened to you, Ed." Roy spoke up from where he sat on his own bed.

"Do we really, though?" Ed mumbled. "I got the information, we're going home- that's pretty much what matters."

"Colonel Banks tortured you, Ed. To try and get that information. I intend on filing an official complaint against him for the imprisonment and torture of a state alchemist. If I'm going to do that, I need details on what happened to you."

"I got back and wanted to catch a train to Central asap. Colonel Banks wasn't going to let me leave without giving him the information. That's pretty much all there is to it." Ed said simply.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Roy stood, opening it to find a doctor- a rather careworn man with thick-rimmed glasses a a black medical bag- standing outside.

"Good evening, Sir. I was told you were in need of my services?"

Roy nodded. "Thank you for coming. Come in..."

The doctor stepped inside the room, looking over to see Ed lying on the bed and nodding.

"Good evening, young man."

"Hello." Ed narrowed his eyes, looking at Mustang. "Who's this?"

"This is the local doctor. He's going to check you over- since you refuse to talk about what Banks did to you, someone needs to treat your injuries..."

"I'm fine." Ed protested.

"Then prove it. Let him look you over. Humor me here, Fullmetal."

Ed frowned.

"Let's start by taking off your shirt, if you don't mind." The doctor gave Ed a reassuring smile. He had a kind face, despite his obvious age- the man looked like he'd been in his profession for decades, and probably had several grandchildren. It was different than the sort of young, sterile lab coat clad upstarts Ed was used to in the hospital. Ed didn’t like to admit it, but the man seemed... nice. For a doctor.

Ed sighed, but obliged, unbuttoning his white shirt and shrugging it off, trying to hide his wince as he did so.

Roy hadn't been prepared for the mess of injuries beneath the boy's clothing.

Half a dozen perfect circular burns spotted the boy's left side. Ed's ribs and chest were a splattering of black and blue, violet bruises blossoming on his torso. There was a rather deep cut on the bicep of Ed's flesh arm, in addition to his black eye, swollen lip, and the cut that ran over his left eyebrow and ended just after it crossed the bridge of his nose.

As shocked as Roy was, the doctor took in the scene before him with practiced professionalism, nodding solemnly.

"I'll need to clean these wounds, young man." He pulled a jar and some gauze from his bag, quickly but carefully swabbing the cigarette burns with moist gauze, dabbing them dry, and smearing a salve onto them before he was taping a bandage over them with meticulous but gentle hands.

He moved onto the wound on Ed's arm- it was three inches long, and rather deep, and he frowned, cleaning away the blood. "This will need stitches, I'm afraid."

"I don't like needles." Ed said firmly.

The doctor nodded, withdrawing a vial from his bag. "That's perfectly understandable, son. I'm going to ask you to close your eyes- you'll feel a pinch and a burn, but only for a brief moment."

Once the doctor was sure Ed had closed his eyes, he withdrew a syringe from his bag, drawing up some of the drug in the vial and carefully injecting a small amount of either side of the cut.

Ed frowned, twitching at the sensation. "What are you doing?"

"Just preparing the wound, son." the doctor set the syringe aside, threading a needle with practiced ease and expertly beginning to suture the wound. Ed didn't flinch as the needle pierced his skin, completely unaware. Roy realized he'd numbed the boy well enough that Ed didn't even realized he was being stitched.

"You can open your eyes now, son." the doctor made sure to tuck his syringe, needle and thread back into his bag before giving the boy the instruction.

Ed opened his eyes, looking surprised to see the wound neatly sutured shut. Before he could examine it too closely, the doctor wrapped a bandage around it, nodding to Ed.

"Now that all the open wounds are taken care of, I'd like to feel your chest and abdomen- check for broken bones and such."

"Okay." Ed said, though he narrowed his eyes, looking at the doctors hands. "But if your hands are freezing I'm gonna bite you."

It was such a childish threat that Roy was stopped cold for a moment, but the doctor simply laughed. "Of course, I know- nothing less fun than cold hands and stethoscopes." he rubbed his hands together for half a minute to warm them, looking to Ed for permission. "May I, young man?"

Ed nodded, and the doctor carefully ran his hands over the boy's chest and ribs, starting at the top and working his way down. He moved with a gentle but practiced ease. Still, Ed tensed up, sucking in a breath, when the doctor came across a rather sore area. The doctor saw how Ed tensed up and stilled. "Sorry, lad. It must hurt a bit there, yeah?"

"I wasn't sure if they were bruised or broken." Ed admitted, voice barely above a whisper. The doctor nodded sympathetically, before he continued down the boy's abdomen, carefully feeling his stomach before concluding. "Mostly bruised, one broken." he confirmed. Ed gave a tired nod.

"Any other injuries that need attention?"

"His back."

Ed glowered at Roy, looking betrayed, but he gingerly elbowed his way onto his stomach anyways.

Ed's back was less serious, but still marred by 3 rather large cuts. The doctor cleaned and examined them all, before nodding. "I think the smaller two will heal nicely with just some bandages, but I'll have to suture the deepest one." the doctor nodded to the four inch cut that was rather deep.

"Just get it over with then." Ed groused. Once again, he didn't complain as the doctor skillfully numbed the wound before stitching it, daubing more salve on all the wounds before taping a gauze pad over them.

"Now then, let's see to your face."

Ed rolled onto his back, letting the doctor carefully clean the cut above his eye and dab at his smaller scratches before sitting back.

There was a knock at the door, and the doctor strode over to open it. The inn keeper stood in the doorway, a steaming cup of tea in hand. "Ah, Mrs. Berkley, just as I requested. Thank you."

He pulled a small brown bottle from his bag, putting a splash of whatever medicine was inside it into the steaming mug of tea and handing it to Ed.

"Drink up, son."

Ed took a long sip, snacking his lips and frowning, making an odd face. "Tastes weird."

The doctor laughed. "Yes, it should. It's normally a strong tea, but it tastes better than the medicine itself."

"What medicine?"

"Just something to ease any soreness you might have and help you get some rest. You should drink it all- help to relieve any pain. Especially your chest."

Ed nodded, taking another long sip and closing his eyes, appearing to relax some. By the time he was mostly through with a mug, his eyes had grown heavy, and before long, Ed was fast asleep.

The doctor smiled down at the sleeping boy, carefully plucking the mostly-empty mug from the boy's hands and setting it on the beside table.

The doctor moved to clean his glasses, nodding to Roy. "Any questions for me..." he paused, squinting at the bars on Mustang's uniform "Colonel?"

Roy nodded, looking up from Ed's sleeping form. "What did they do to him?"

"You saw the cigarette burns yourself. Several cuts from a rather sharp blade, and contusions on his chest- I assume the boy was kicked quite hard."

"Will he be alright?"

"With time, I don't see why he won't make a full recovery." the doctor conceded. "Though I don't exactly understand who would inflict such injuries upon a boy..."

"Colonel Banks, the ranking officer at Fort Goldenfield. I'll be filing an official complaint against him, there's no excuse for what he did to my subordinate." Roy's charcoal gaze flared, before he turned his serious gaze to the doctor. "Would you be willing to write a statement in regards to Ed's injuries?"

"Of course." the doctor nodded. He pulled a small amber bottle from his bag. It contained a few pills. "I've given him a dose of laundrum- he should rest well through the night. If he's uncomfortable in the morning, give him two of these every four hours."

Roy took the pills, nodding. "Thank you for helping him. What do I owe you?"

"No need to settle that now. I assume I can send the bill to your military office, as well as the statement regarding Edward's injuries, Mr...?"

"Mustang." Roy quickly stuck out his hand, and the doctor shook it. "Colonel Roy Mustang."

Roy grabbed a pen and paper and quickly wrote down the address for his office in Central, giving it to the doctor.

"Right. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Mustang. I'll prepare the documents and mail them off first thing in the morning. I can stop in to see Edward tomorrow if you'd like, as well."

"I appreciate the offer, but I don't think we'll be in the area that long. We were planning on catching the first train to Central in the morning. If you think he's well enough to travel?"

"Ah, of course. I don't see any issue with him traveling. As I said, if he's uncomfortable give him those pills."

"Thank you doctor."

"Not a problem, not a problem. My number is on the medicine bottle, feel free to call if anything changes."

The doctor quietly left, leaving Roy in the inn room as night approached with a sleeping Edward.

Roy sighed, covering the sleeping blond with a blanket and locking the door to their room, stepping into the hallway to find a pay phone.

He had some calls to make.

Obligatory ko-fi button. Do you like papa Roy’s characterization here?

https://ko-fi.com/fluffykitty12

#fma #fma fanfiction #Fullmetal Alchemist #fullmetal alchimist brotherhood #Roy Mustang #edward elric #Parental Roy #parentalroy #whumph #whump #hurt/comfort #hurt #comfort #dogofthemilitary #injury

9 notes · View notes

stereksecretsanta · 4 years

Text

Merry Christmas, mytumbler335!

For @mytumbler335 <3

Read On AO3

*****

Not A Silent Night

“What the fuck.” Summarises Derek’s morning. Dream? No, he’s fairly sure you can’t get a headache in a dream - and there was also the fact that his dreams wouldn’t start here anyway.

Usually his dreams started just as things got more heated - he kind of liked this change in scenery. But this wasn't a dream, and the reality was here; cocooned in a pile of tangled blankets (seriously, what did he do last night?) coated in some sticky substance – which he found was wine (Derek didn’t even drink wine, what the hell?) and engaging in a staring contest of the ages with Stiles Stilinski.

Stiles Stilinski, recent graduate from Berkley (“top of my class, suckers”). Stiles Stilinski, resident pack researcher and Spark in training. That Stiles Stilinski. Who was in his bed. Derek must still be groggy from the hangover considering he hadn’t yet properly had a mental breakdown at Stiles being in his bed. Or maybe it was because he was already having that breakdown. Either way, Derek kept his body frozen - because he was undeniably naked under the sheets.

“Oh my god” Derek would have said something snarky to this, at finally seeing Stiles speechless (a myth that has never been proven until today, and no one would believe him) - at least Stiles was doing better than Derek.

“Oh my god” Stiles repeats. Derek tentatively nodded his head in agreement. It would have been almost funny, the way they rolled onto their backs in unison, if they weren't engaged in a waiting game of who could get their mental faculties back first and break the ice.

“Dude we totally boned.” Stiles didn’t even look bothered by that statement, while Derek was startled into a coughing fit.

“You don’t know that.” Derek managed to cough out. Why would Stiles’ mind go straight to the least likely option? At least it worked on getting them to appear normal.

“We’re both thinking it.” Stiles retorted. Derek wanted to say that no, they weren't both thinking it, because Derek had common sense and supernatural senses. He'd know if it smelt of sex, semen and arousal. Derek really wanted to point out why that would be Stiles' first explanation. “Why else would we be naked in bed together?”

Well...Stiles had a point there. But Derek focused more on the fact that it didn’t even occur to him that Stiles might be naked under the sheets too – and now he couldn’t get the thought of a bare mole dotted arm inches away from his own out of his head.

Derek grunted - which suited as enough of an agreement to Stiles’ assessment to placate him. Mostly, Derek was trying to ignore the heat blazing up his side.

“Okay so how is this going to work?” Derek had absolutely no clue as to what Stiles was referring to, and he told him as much. “How is what going to work?” Stiles only offered him an exasperated look which didn’t belong anywhere on Stiles’ face.

“Well, I don’t see any clothes around and unless werewolves have superspeed like the Flash that I don’t know about, then we’re sitting ducks. Naked sitting ducks ” Stiles felt the need to add on. Derek couldn't exactly tell him that was stupid, since they were sitting ducks (yes, Stiles, naked sitting ducks.) Derek clutched the sheets tighter.

“We can close our eyes.” Stiles provided but Derek didn’t believe for a second that Stiles actually would. It wasn't like Derek hadn't spent the last week carefully monitoring Stiles around his house when he inevitably went looking for his Christmas presents. That had led to some embarrassing moments that Derek would rather not mention.

“Can’t you use your Spark to move the dresser closer.” Not his best suggestion, but how hard could it really be to drag the dresser within arm’s reach? With the power of belief or whatever Stiles said anchored his spark.

“Are you being serious? Like for real, ‘can’t you drag the dresser closer’. This isn’t Harry Potter Derek, I can’t just Accio clothes over here with a flick of my wand-” Or maybe not. “-besides we’re both adults. I’ve seen my fair share of dicks of all colours and sizes – locker rooms are not inclusive to the self-conscious believe it or not – and I know you were on the basketball team in school so you’ve been in the shared showers.” Derek was unabashedly gaping.

“No.” Stiles pouted. “Come on Derek, stop being childish” Stiles said as he sported a wolfish grin to put the actual werewolves to shame. Derek didn't trust that grin.

“No.” Derek didn't falter.

Stiles slumped with a dramatic sigh like Derek was the one being irrational.

“Fine I’ll go first.” Stiles stood with an over exaggerated stretch, showing off the winking dimples in his lower back and the lean muscles from years of running with the supernatural. Despite that display, Derek didn’t fail to notice the smirk that screamed of trouble Stiles threw over his shoulder before sauntering into the bathroom.

“Hey, can I borrow a toothbrush?” Borrow a what?

“What?” Stiles stuck his head out of the bathroom door - only his head, thankfully - the top one.

“Toothbrush?” Stiles sounded way too pleased with himself. “Under the sink.” Derek at least sounded more in control than he actually was.

Derek took Stiles’ absence as a ticking timer to find a pair of boxers – not briefs, definitely not briefs – that would hide his half hard cock. Derek resolutely ignored the way his mind said that Stiles won that round, and his claws that echoed it by almost making an appearance; but Derek did manage to have clothes on before Stiles appeared leaning against the bathroom door. (He counted that as a small victory)

Leaning was a strong word to use for what Stiles was doing – it was more like watching an accident waiting to happen with the way Stiles slowly tipped sideways and slipped away from the doorframe. Derek pretended to ignore the awkward stumble before Stiles caught himself. Although he probably shouldn't have, for the hell Stiles had given him so early in the morning.

“Boxers, really? I thought you were more of a briefs kind of guy” Stiles tried to pull off the cocky tone. Instead he ended up sounding like Jackson - Derek didn't mention that for his own safety.

“How’d you guess?” Derek mustered up Stiles level of sarcasm.

“Your ass deserves the best” Stiles shrugged like it was nothing new. “Also, your laundry basket is full of them.” His...laundry basket?

“What?” Somehow Derek failed to notice that Stiles was not standing in the nude but was sporting a pair of loose briefs that were undeniably Derek’s. Derek didn't know how to feel about Stiles scrummaging through his laundry (lie, he almost puffed out his chest in pleasure)

“Take. Them. Off.” Derek tried to intimidate Stiles but he still looked far too pleased with himself, like Derek was playing into his long, beautiful - stop it - hands.

“Well...because you asked.” That should have been Derek's cue, seeing as Stiles doesn't do things when asked. Agonizingly slow, Stiles leisurely pulled down the elastic band - until Derek could see the barest hint of dark curls.

“Stop!” Derek growled, Stiles paused. Derek ignored the sound of the elastic hitting Stiles' skin. “Why are you even wearing my briefs in the first place?” Derek tried to sound judgmental, but only came off as desperate.

“Well, I figured since we most likely had sex you wouldn’t mind me borrowing your underwear. Also, I needed something to wear unless you want to see the full package.” Stiles saucily winked.

“We didn't even have sex, Stiles” Derek was at the point where he had to stress Stiles’ name. If only he could manage to tell Stiles exactly why Derek knew they hadn't had sex.

“Well either we didn’t have sex or you did it wrong because I don’t feel any different.” Stiles sounded disappointed by that – at which part Derek didn’t know. Derek was only mildly offended, knowing it's intention was to hit his pride.

“Who says I’d be fucking you?” Derek finds himself asking anyway. Derek has to force himself not to do something stupid at the aroused scent Stiles give of on that.

“Really?” Derek raised his eyebrows, what Stiles calls judgmental face number 4. He didn't even want to know what differentiated numbers 1, 2 and 3.

Stiles had the audacity to look offended “Are you shaming me? Seriously, I am a young, sexually mature-“

“You’re twenty-four” Derek deadpanned. “And sexually mature is pushing it.”

“-and honestly, what were you expecting?” Stiles carried on like Derek hadn’t said anything – nothing new there. “It’s not like you aren’t hot like burning and have an ass like a hockey player, obviously that’s going to make me thing of R rated things.” Stiles used his hands to accentuate his point for him. What point? Derek couldn’t remember anymore. “If we actually did the dirty and I don’t remember it I am going to be so pissed.” Stiles sounded like that might actually be true. Derek couldn't figure out why.

“Did the dirty?” Derek felt the need to point this out, in hopes that Stiles would stop.

It worked, mostly – and Derek was left to blatantly stare at the flushing neck as it flexed and gulped. Damn him. If Erica were here she would laugh right in his face. And then take a picture - or lock them in the room. Or both. Derek can’t truthfully say he would mind.

“It’s not like there’s any evidence that we did have sex” Derek pointed out to break the second staring contest of the day. (Derek won: Stiles - 3, Derek - 2.)

“I agree” There was something wrong with that sentence coming out of Stiles' mouth. “I mean I feel pretty satisfied and achy after sex so that means we didn’t have sex or we did and it was unsatisfying” Derek took that as the challenge Stiles wanted it to be.

He barely resisted the urge to growl – especially when Stiles looked so satisfied with himself. Derek wanted to pummel the little shit - and then maybe kiss, lick and bite him.

“Well, there’s only one way to know for sure.” Derek wasn’t about to let Stiles win. Their relationship relied on banter as it was, what's wrong with adding something a bit more intimate to it.

“What?” Stiles looked nervous now, and his gulp was audible from across the room. Derek barely hid his grin. "Scent."

“If all you need to do is have a sniff of the room, why haven’t you yet?” Stiles sounded dubious.

“Scent is greater taken from a human than from objects” A complete lie that Derek had plucked from a completely bullshit website of werewolf 'facts'. But Stiles wouldn't know that considering his ability to tell if a website was fake almost immediately.

“Sniff yourself.” Stiles thought that was an acceptable solution. Derek didn't even know where to begin explaining how stupid that was so instead he parroted Stiles' words from earlier.

“Now who’s the one being childish?” Derek didn’t wait for Stiles' rant and just stuck his nose in the curvature Stiles’ neck. “Not fair, dude” Was the only thing Stiles could say - what wasn’t fair was how intoxicating Stiles’ smell had become. The arousal had heighted everything that was Stiles. Derek couldn't resist nipping at the skin.

“Dude did you bite me?” Stiles actually sounded offended about this – like he hadn’t made every joke about werewolves and biting in bed. It was just a nip anyway.

“Stop calling me dude.” Derek didn’t know why he tried - except to test if he could still say words. It wasn’t like it worked the other three hundred times. Derek braved a taste. Derek was more than a little smug that Stiles was too worked up to manage an 'ew' at Derek licking him.

“Are you trying to turn me on right now? Because it’s working. Oh my god” Stiles didn't even try to hide his arousal, practically melting against Derek's chest. Derek continued to be smug about that for all of two seconds before Stiles’ hips shifted forward. Derek ignored the feel of Stiles' erection against his - in favour of panicking because Stiles had definitely felt his.

“Dude do you have a boner?” Stiles had an excited tilt to his voice that made Derek want to smother himself in Stiles' neck. Instead he took the still and silent approach.

“Can I help you with that? I really want to help you with that.” Stiles sounded way past want. Jesus Christ. Derek lifted his head to be on the receiving end of Stiles’ innocent face. Stiles wasn't getting out of this one now that he had felt exactly how Derek was feeling.

“Don’t say that and feign innocence.” Derek crossed his arms - which only made Stiles drool.

“Maybe we could ignore that? For the sake of dignity please.” Stiles actually tried that - like Derek was going to let this go at the matter of dignity. Derek snorted. What dignity?

“No. Why did you offer to do...that?" Derek tried to articulate his point like Stiles - with full exaggeration of his arms. Derek could admit he and Stiles had grown closer from bashing each other's heads into steering wheels but that was one thing - offering to suck his dick was another.

“Come on Derek, don’t pretend you don’t know about my giant heart boner for you. Please can we just forget this happened.” Stiles waved it off like it was old news. Derek should maybe start paying more attention to the news, if he misses stuff like this. He mouthed the words heart boner – part in amazement at Stiles’ refined vocabulary and well...He didn’t want to acknowledge the other part.

“Does heart boner-” Jesus Christ “-mean what I think it means?” Derek really hoped it did, it probably showed in his voice too - because Derek was just that far gone at the chance he could have this.

“Well, if you think heart boner means that I’m literally in love with you and want to do all the romantic shit with you but also want you writhing beneath me, then yes, it is what you think it means. But the writhing beneath me part is mostly from my actual boner. You can shut me up now...any time.” Derek never wanted to. He wanted the rambles and random rants about inconsequential shit that Derek will never think of again, even at 3 in the morning after fighting off a chimera.

“I do as well. Have a heart boner. For you.” Derek was really about to let that be their love confession story - and he told Stiles as much.

“I can’t believe that’s going to be our love confession story.” It was ridiculous and stupid, but it suited them.

“As long as we don’t tell Erica, we’ll be fine. Or Lydia, otherwise she’ll hold the fact that her parties had a large part in us getting together for the rest of our lives.” Derek didn't even want to think of the pack right now - they were going to be absolutely unbearable for three weeks at a minimum - what he really wanted to do was smother Stiles’ infectious grin. With his face.

“We are getting together right?” Derek shut Stiles up with a kiss instead - he could do that now, and with a lot of other things.

“Now, what did you say about having me writhing beneath you?” Derek didn't care if this was considered going to fast, not when the room was clouding his head with the smell of their arousal.

“Oh god, how can you switch from cute to sexy in under a second. You’re killing me.” Stiles flailed and stumbled out of Derek’s brief with his usual ungracefulness - he teetered at the edge of the bed on one foot, yanking the briefs down his calves where they had somehow gotten tangled. Derek found it endearing – and he didn't want to know what that said about his type.

Derek tried to resist, truly – but in the end he failed. He nudged Stiles’ shoulder where he was still yanking the briefs enough that they probably wouldn't even fit Derek anymore, and watched the balance tip. Stiles yelped as he bounced face first on the bed with his ass in the air. That was an added bonus, and was Derek's cue to take off his own boxers.

“Rude” Stiles huffed, muffled by the pillow – but he still rolled over and spread his arms. “Come here so we can do the dirty.”

Derek huffed as he fell into the warmth. He can’t believe he has a heart boner for this idiot.

#mytumbler335 #stereksanta20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

25 notes · View notes

putsugaonme · 5 years

Text

Gray Pt. 0.5: In the Beginning (Prequel)

Genre: Angst, fluff, everything in between

Characters: OC, another OC, Ineffable husbands

Words: 1,274

Synopsis: At the peak of domesticity, Aziraphale and Crowley receive a miracle that will not only change their lives, but also the world.

aka Aziraphale and Crowley are husbands and they have child that is literally out of this world. Out of this world because she is not really 100% human, nor an angel, nor a demon. This story is about her.

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

A certain angel and demon are free at last from the clips of heaven and hell. Other angels and demons would never dare cross or even find them now, not after their stunts with Gabriel and Beelzebub scared the wings out of everyone.

Honestly, they never thought their Freaky Friday Plan, as Crowley called it, would have worked. Sure, Agnes gave them a nudge, but they never really thought it would actually fool the archangel and the prince of hell. As they held each other’s hands for the swap, Aziraphale nor Crowley gave their 100% faith. They knowit might backfire and everything they’ve fought for was all for naught. All that dangerous fraternizing was for nothing.

But they remembered their admiration for all things Earth and it was enough for them to bet their lives on it, at least that’s what they said to each other on the bus ride to London. So they got their tartan glam and black everything on. (”Seriously Crowley, even your underwear is black?”, ”Watch where you’re looking, Angel.”)

To their utter surprise, Freaky Friday worked. The last drops of holy water couldn’t pierce “Crowley”, and the impossible heat of hellfire couldn’t burn even an inch of the tartan off “Aziraphale”.

They heaved their deepest sighs of relief and headed back to Earth, prancing like Sister Maria on the German Alps because they were freaking ALIVE. Not leaving without a smirk to their ex-bosses, of course.

After practically running (Yes! Aziraphale! Running!), they see each other once again at Berkley Square where they changed back. They decided to spend the evening at The Ritz, the official landmark of what Aziraphale would then call their “first date”. (Hear that loud, demonic groan? That’s Crowley in the distance.)

Expensive spoons and forks clink against the china. People are laughing left and right, like it’s the first day of the beginning of the world (in a way, it is). Everything is swell and nice and delicious, Aziraphale thinks. Oh look, the sunlight is bouncing off Aziraphale’s platinum hair extra nicely today, Crowley thinks.

The two start on their toast and they’re so proud of each other and their new friends. The world is just! So! Splendid! All the things that happened between now and Eden can finally be placed at the back of their minds. This dinner, this champagne and this company are all they want to think about. This is their present and future now.

Crowley then concludes the toast with a “To the world.” And that’s when Aziraphale loses his freaking sushi-eating ass. His mind goes blank. He swears that the demon meant him. “To my world,” is what the angel heard. He feels it in his wings. He feels it in his gut, and his gut is never wrong no matter what too-buff-to-realize-I’m-offending-someone Gabriel said. And the angel realizes that he feels the same way to the demon.

They love the earth, they love it intensely, but they love each other more. How could he have never realized this? How long has this been going on? Is this why he looked at Crowley’s underwear?

I love you too, Aziraphale wants to say.

“A-angel, w-whot?” Crowley freezes holding his champagne glass midair.

Aziraphale, realizing what he just said a second too late, freezes the same way.

“I-I mean…” Aziraphale feels that everything at The Ritz is suddenly interesting to look at except for the demon he loves (loves!), who is now staring at him like how the ducks stare at him when they don’t like the bread he brought.

He takes a deep breath and decides what the hell, WAHOO!

“I mean. I love you, Crowley. Always have, I reckon. And yes yes, I know. Angels are made to love everything and everyone blah blah. B-but I don’t know. I’m quite sure I’d like it if we spent this freedom together. Forever, if necessary.” He finally looks Crowley straight in the eye, a soft smile clinging to his lips. “Would you like to love me too?”

The angel is nervous but not really. He laid out his heart without the fear of winged ethereal creatures overhearing him for the first time. His candor should earn him a sushi or two tomorrow, if all of this goes pear-shaped.

Crowley’s frozen demeanor suddenly changes into a soft smile as he puts down his glass. Aziraphale fangirls on the inside at the demon’s smile. He takes a deep breath and removes his dark glasses to look at the angel whom he realizes, at that exact moment, he loves as well. “Goddammit, Angel. Let me panic for a second, okay?”

Crowley puts his head in between his own legs and takes 3 deep breaths. Aziraphale waits with a nervous smile, 10 gulps of champagne, and 20 reassuring looks to the wait staff. Then he splashes his champagne on the table when Crowley shouts to the top of his lungs, still in between his legs.

“GAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!!! WOT ANGEL D-DID YOU J-JUST! DID! I! WOT?!? You love me?!? H-how did you even! H-how?!” After everyone at The Ritz shit their pants from the outburst, he finally holds his head up and squishes Aziraphale’s face to a puffy pout. The Angel is caught by surprise at the sudden 2-inch distance from the demon’s face, so he holds on to the table for dear eternal life.

“Do you even know what you’re saying? Of course I want to spend eternity with you! Isn’t that the whole point of all our plans?! Haven’t I been inviting you to move in with me since the beginning of time?!” The panicked waiter comes near them trying to stop the fuss. “Shut up, please, we’re having a moment here!” Crowley says without breaking eye contact with the angel. The waiter pees his pants (that also has shit, if you remember) and retracts.

“You mean to tell me that-that we can eat and do anything we want now? I can show you my plants? I can hang out in your shop whenever and wherever? We can travel the world? We can feed the ducks together without being kidnapped? You mean to tell me… we can finally fraternize?!” Crowley asks like a bullet with unnecessary emphasis on the last word. Aziraphale is still pouting like a baby chick between the demon’s burning hands. He puts a hand on top of one of the demon’s.

“Why, yes. Isn’t that what we’re doing now? We’re free to do anything, love. But you haven’t answered my question.” Aziraphale struggles to speak but is happy to see the demon’s childish excitement over spending time with him.

“Ah, yes yes, the question.” Crowley finally adjusts back to his inside voice and moves his hands to Aziraphale’s shoulders but still keeps his face close and eyes full of shine. “Yes, my angel. I would like to love you too. Forever, if necessary.”

And that’s when this story started. With a fraternizing angel and demon too soft and dumb to do their jobs properly. But hey, fraternizing with each other was the best goddamn decision they’ve ever made.

Now, cue Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy by Queen.

#good omens #good omens au #good omens fic #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley #original character #i want an AO3 huhuhuhu #This is my first fic please let me know what you think <3

11 notes · View notes

taillures12-blog · 4 years

Text

Best Paddle Tail Lures for Snook

Companies are constantly researching and trying to develop new lures that will catch fish. The industry goes through different waves and with each development supposedly comes the next best bait that is guaranteed to land you more fish. There are, however, a few baits that have and always will catch fish. In freshwater, spinner baits can catch almost every type of fish and will work in all types of water. In freshwater, poppers are guaranteed to land fish every time you use them. Soft plastics have taken the industry by storm over the last few decades and for good reason. They’re continually proving themselves in their abilities to catch fish. They’ve proven to catch saltwater fish like Redfish, trout and even Snook. Be sure to add soft plastic paddle tail baits to your tackle box for your next Snook mission. They’ll land you quite a few fish are a lot of fun to use!

Bass Assassin Saltwater Sea Shad

The Bass Assassin Saltwater Sea Shad may be one of the most saltwater soft plastic baits. It’s going to catch you every fish that’s looking to eat a smaller bait fish. These are only around 4 inches long and you can find them in over 10 colors. A bag of 10 will only cost you $10 so they’re a great affordable bait that is going to catch fish.

Gulp! Jerk Shad

Gulp! baits are legendary in the world of fishing. Fresh and saltwater anglers all have likely used a Gulp! bait in their years of angling. The beauty of Gulp! baits is that they’re heavily scented. In saltwater fishing, scent is important. By giving off a strong smell, Snook will be more attracted to these baits. These are great to use if nothing else is hitting and you want to make as strong of a presence in the water as you possibly can. You can attach this to a jig just like you would any other soft plastic. You’ll find these in just about every color you would like. A pack of five of these baits is going to cost you around $6.

Berkley Gulp! Ripple Mullet

The Ripple Mullet is a great choice to use on the days you’re fishing stained water. The darker colors are going to attract the attention of the fish, but the ripples in the side of the bait are the separating factor. The ripples are going to move more water than a traditional swim bait. If you’re fishing in tough conditions and need some help, tie one of these on and you’ll have plenty of success. A pack of five of these baits will cost your around $7.

Yum Money Minnow

Most saltwater anglers are quite familiar with the Yum Money Minnow. This bait has been around for years and continues to show its value every time you use it! It’s tail is quite active and will always entice curious fish. The belly slot has a nice hook hiding feature that will allow this bait to have a natural appearance. You can find these in a variety of colors and a pack of five will cost you $10.

Strike King Redfish Magic Glass Minnow

Yes, this does have the word Redfish in the title, but this bait is proven to be successful for Snook as well. It has a larger tail than most swim baits so on the days you’re searching for more movement, tie on the Magic Glass Minnow. You’ll find these in a variety of colors and they are proven to be more durable than many other swim baits. You can purchase a pack of five for only $5.

Offshore Angler Saltwater Sally

The Saltwater Sally is a nice representation of a mullet! It’s an extremely versatile swimbait that is going to work for a variety of saltwater fish. You’ll find this lure in almost 10 different colors and is a bit larger. These are a great durable option looking to get quite a bit of use out of their soft plastic baits. If you’re after large Snook, the Saltwater Sally is going to be one of the Best Paddle Tail options you can use. You can find a pack of five of these baits for around $5.

How to fish with Paddle Tails

There are a few ways to fish with paddle tail baits. First and foremost, you need to attach these to the properly weighted jig head. The most common and effective weights are ⅛ and ¼ once. Once it is rigged, you have a few options with how to fish it. Since these are used to imitate a baitfish, you need to make sure it does! If you’re trying to imitate a wounded Shad, which is a great technique, you need to try and bounce the jig off of the bottom. Do short twitches with your rod to get the jig off of the bottom and let it fall. Depending on how active the Snook are, you may need to increase or decrease your twitches. Snook will often hit these Shad as they fall. Be prepared for the take and reel into the hook set. This is a great method to use if you’re fishing in water with vegetation. It makes the bait much more noticeable. You can also use the paddle tail and just drag it along the bottom. If it’s rocky or sandy, slowly drag it along the bottom. This technique isn’t always going to work, but it can be effective if the Snook are looking to feed directly off of the bottom. Remember, Snook are going to naturally look up or sideways so you should be confident that they’re bottom feeding before you choose to use one. One other technique you can use when you’re fishing with paddle tails is to use it as a true swimbait. If you choose this method, use a lighter jig head. You don’t want to be weighed down too heavily when you use it as a swim bait. This technique is going to work well when you need to cover a variety of water. A final technique that is not often utilized is using a paddle tail as a topwater bait. If you see bait circles in shallow water, the paddle tail is a great lure to throw. Burn this across the surface on a light jig and see what happens. If the Snook are hungry, they’re going to feast on the topwater paddle tail! If you’re unaware of how the fish are feeding, retrieve these paddle tails slowly towards yourself and see what happens. They’re a great search bait if anything! You can use them in almost every type of water.

When to Use Paddle Tail Swim Baits

Paddle Tails will be successful year round, but it’s going to work especially well as the winter comes to a close and the water temperatures begin to warm. This is when the fish are hungriest and looking for baitfish imitations. Tie on one of these and you’ll catch plenty of fish. Remember, experiment with the retrieval methods. It takes a bit of time to see how the fish want them, but it’s well worth the time! Once you know, you’re in for a great day of fishing.

#Tail Lures for Snook

1 note · View note

likethetailofacomet · 6 years

Text

The Broken Bits, Chapter Two:

Come Again No More

A/N: Moving right along with this new age in Cordonia’s history and what it means both politically and personally.

Pairing: Drake x Claire, Bastien x Annabelle

Word Count: 4,124

Song: Hard Times, Eastmountainsouth

Let us pause in life's pleasures and count it's many tears While we all sup sorrow with the poor There's a song that will linger forever in our ears Oh, hard times come again no more 'tis a song a sigh of the weary Hard times hard times come again no more Many days you have lingered around my cabin door Oh hard times come again no more

Claire looked out the window in the kitchen, the just risen sun reflecting off of the lake’s surface like diamonds, the green of the trees and the vines and bushes glowing like emeralds, like jewels of the forest. Home. She took a sip of her coffee as she let the word sink into her bones. Sure she’d stayed with Drake throughout most of the social season, but the constant danger they’d been living under had kept her from ever feeling safe. Safe. Another thing she hadn’t felt in ages. She set her mug down on the counter and moved closer to the window, leaning against the cool glass as she looked out. The last time she’d felt truly safe, truly at home, was 4 years ago when she was with her mother and Brielle; before moving to New York, before working at Keagan’s, before Alex and before Cordonia. When she closed her eyes she could still picture their front porch; the swing with the large, always fluffy cushions covered in floral patterns and caked with actual pollen from the black eyed susans and tiger lilies and lilacs that grew along the rail. She could still see the glass door and the big picture window that would hold candlesticks at Christmas and giant shamrocks for St. Patrick’s Day; could still see the tiled kitchen table, the light wood cabinets, and the one drawer that didn’t quite close all the way from that time Brielle had shoved too much junk into the junk drawer. When she opened her eyes all those images were gone, but the feeling remained, and that’s how she knew that this was her home now.

She listened as the breeze blew through the trees, a gentle whoosh as the leaves and branches swayed in the sunshine. She heard the sweet sounds of swallows singing as they swooped low over the lake. So different from the sounds of the city that she’d left behind, all harshness and volume. She took a breath and focused on the sounds she could hear inside the cabin- the coffee maker dripping, brewing a second pot of coffee for the day, the fireplace crackling, warming the whole first floor, the water rushing through the pipes from Drake’s shower. It was that last one that made her feel the most like this is where she was meant to be- Drake. Claire sighed, thinking of the man who held her heart, who’d held it from the moment that their lips met that first, electrifying time. He’d been making excellent progress in his recovery after the attacks at the Engagement Ball in Ramsford, and Claire knew that he was thrilled to be able to do something as simple as shower without help- up until two weeks ago he’d still been in a sling and unable to raise his injured arm more than a few inches. Small steps, she was constantly reminding him, are still steps in the right direction.

“I know, Berkley,” he’d say with a grumble, brows furrowed and a determined look in his deep eyes. She’d brush the long roguish hair from his face and drop gentle kisses to the corners of his eyes until the annoyed little crinkles there smoothed themselves back out and he’d sigh. “I just hate not being able to do things…or hold you…”

Claire knew that Drake hated feeling dependent on anyone but himself, and that even leaning on her these past few months had been difficult for him; not because he didn’t trust her, but because he wasn’t used to having someone to trust, not in this way anyway. “I know, baby,” she’d say, all patience and love, “but you will.”

The sound of the water stopped as he turned off the shower. Claire helped herself to more coffee, pouring a mug for Drake as well. She pulled the milk from the fridge and added a splash to his leaving hers black before bringing both mugs to the small table. She sat, gazing out the window absently, her thoughts returning to the newly found feeling of home as she waited for Drake to come downstairs. She brought the dark, bitter liquid to her lips, breathing in the nutty aroma before taking a big gulp of coffee. As it slid down her throat waking her up, she heard the heavy sound of his footsteps coming down the stairs. She turned in her seat and pulled one leg up tucking her foot beneath herself. This. This is part of what made this place home; seeing him in the morning, coming home to each other at night. Her heart swelled like it had every morning as he made his way into the kitchen, but faltered at the frustrated look on his face.

“Berkley, I need... can you...” he sighed and frowned, holding a towel in his good hand. His hair was still soaking wet, his shirt only buttoned half way from the bottom up. He’d shaved, a piece of tissue stuck to a nick near his chin, but otherwise his face was completely smooth save for the furrows in his brow and the tight set of his lips. It wasn’t just his shoulder, Claire knew; he was nervous, though he wouldn’t say it.

She rose, wordlessly, and crossed the room to where he stood. Drake cast his dark eyes downward before flicking them back to hers. Oh, Drake, it’s okay. She swallowed a thick knot, her hands going to his face, turning it so he’d look her in the eye. “Good morning, sunshine,” she said, simultaneously raising on her toes to capture his lips, and reaching out to grab the towel from him.

The feel of her lips on his instantly softened his frown as he kissed her back slowly. “Good morning, Berkley,” he sighed, relinquishing the towel to her grip, hand going to her waist. Without prompting, she brought it up to his shaggy hair and started to dry his dripping locks.

“How’d you sleep, Councilman?” she asked, finishing with his hair, running her fingers through it loosely.

“Fine,” Drake replied as she tossed the towel onto the countertop. Her fingers went next to the unbuttoned buttons of his shirt, starting around his ribs. He’d done as many of them as he could, but Claire knew it was still hard for him to keep his arm up for an extended period of time, and washing his hair in the shower had maxed out the ability in his shoulder for the morning.

“Just fine?” she questioned, one eyebrow arching high. “You were snoring all night…seemed pretty restful to me.”

“I don’t know…good I guess…”

She could tell that he was on edge about the first official Council Meeting taking place in just a few hours. Of course there had been plenty of strategic meetings and Drake had been in on all of them, but this would be the first gathering of the entire Council since they’d all sworn in two weeks previously. Claire had beamed proudly at him as he swore to serve the citizens of Cordonia fairly and to uphold law and peace in their country, and they’d celebrated that night by going out to dinner, just the two of them. He’d been so happy that day, so sure of himself and confident that he’d do the best job that he could in his new role as Valtorian Representative to the Common Council. Now that it was time to actually step into those shoes, she knew he was having some doubts and jitters. She paused her buttoning to grip the lapels of his shirt and pull him closer to her, pressing her chest flush against his body.

“Hey, look at me,” she whispered, a faint smile on her lips and in her eyes. He complied, dropping his gaze to her face, mouth falling open, a small breath slipping out. Claire held his eyes with her own for a few seconds, demanding his attention, insisting that he drop his insecure thoughts. She placed her hand flat against his chest, over his heart where it was beating with nerves. “This is the best thing to ever happen to this country, Drake. This council… this new chapter…” she felt his fingers curl around her waist as she continued. “And you’re part of it. And you’re going to be great, Drake. I know it, Liam knows it…Bastien has said so…and I think you know it too, huh?” Her smile grew as in his eyes something changed, and he knew that she was right.

He took his hand from her waist and brought it up to cover hers, wrapping his fingers around her whole hand. “You really think so…” it wasn’t a question, it was a realization- she believed in him, and not just because she loved him.

Claire nodded as he squeezed her hand. “I really do,” she said. He loosened his grip to let her finish his buttons before ducking his head to catch her in another kiss. Both hands went to her hips as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against hers. A small, breathy sound came from the back of Claire’s throat as Drake’s tongue slipped into her mouth, sliding against hers.

“You taste like coffee,” he said smiling, lips still pressed to hers.

Claire nodded, breaking the kiss with a tiny peck, and fixing a stray piece of his hair. “Just made some,” she said, stepping away to grab his mug and hand it to him.

“Thanks, beautiful,” he said, and Claire knew he was thanking her for more than the caffeine. He followed her to the small kitchen table, sitting across from her, their feet finding each other, Claire’s resting on top of Drake’s. They passed the morning by talking about everything but how nervous Drake still was; Claire had an appointment with immigrations to finalize her citizenship, she also had an appointment with her therapist, and then errands to run including a stop at the market to pick up items for dinner that night.

“Don’t forget,” she said as she handed him his to go mug at the front door. “Bastien’s coming for dinner tonight.” She smiled as she said it, absolutely ecstatic that Bas had agreed to join them. She had grown to adore the man, and loved the relationship he had with Drake, loved the sense of family that she felt whenever the two of them were together.

Drake smiled, knowing how excited she was. “How could I forget, Berkley?” he dropped a quick kiss to her nose and sighed. “Okay,” he took a deep breath, eyes widening. “Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need it, but…luck.”

Drake felt his heart skip as he looked at her standing there in his doorway- their doorway. It could be any doorway in the world, he thought, and if she were standing in it, it would be home. “I love you, Claire.”

“I love you too. Now get out of here so I can be productive.” She pushed him playfully out the door, careful of where she placed her hands so as not to put pressure on the still sore, still healing scars that covered most of his left pectoral and shoulder. As she pushed, she leaned out the door and watched him shake his head, a grin on his face as he walked to his truck and climbed in. Drake Walker, Cordonian Common Council Representative for Valtoria, suit and tie and rusty pick up. She bit her lip. Oh how I love this man. Claire stood on the porch until his truck was no longer visible, before heading back inside to get ready for her day.

As the clock struck 8am she felt the phone in her pocket buzz, and she answered it without having to look at the caller I.D. “Hey, stinker,” she said, a smile drawing itself across her face as Dan’s voice returned her greeting. She had about twenty minutes to kill, and he had just gotten off of work, so the two chatted a bit, filling each other in on what was going on in their lives. Dan asked how Drake was feeling about his first day as a councilman –‘Nervous, but he’ll be great, I know he will,’- and Claire asked if he’d gotten over his crush on Olivia yet.

“It’s not…C…come on you know me… you know I don’t do crushes…I just…she’s nice, okay? We talk from time to time. That’s all.” Claire covered her mouth with her hand so as not to laugh directly into the phone as Dan stuttered and sputtered.

“Sure, D, whatever you say. I’m not rolling my eyes at all,” she said as she rolled her eyes. They amicably filled all twenty minutes talking and teasing as if they hadn’t gone three and a half months without seeing one another, as if there weren’t thousands of miles and an ocean between them, as if there were only precious few hours before they were both standing behind the bar cutting lemons and prepping margarita mixers. Easy. Their friendship had always been easy, would always be easy.

“Love you, Stinker,” he’d said after she promised to call him the following week to let him know how Drake’s first day was. She finished her coffee in one gulp and set about her errands for the day with one last look around the cabin, thinking again how happy she was that they’d be hosting Bastien for dinner.

. . . . . . .

Drake arrived in Fydelia early. While the palace was being reallocated as a tuition free trade school, complete with dormitories, classrooms, offices, athletic fields and more, the smaller Mythra Estate House, which had served as a second home to the Royal family for years, was now being used to headquarter the Common Council. Drake couldn’t even come up with a guess at how often he’d been in this building- dozens and dozens of times throughout his life- but stepping through the door on that day made it feel like a whole new place. Everything still looked the same- one of the conditions that the more traditionalist members of the former Noble class had held tightly to, was that all Royal buildings and estates should be maintained and preserved no matter what their new purpose would be. But just because the trim and carpets were the same meant nothing about how it felt to walk through those doors.

A smiling young intern greeted him from a small wooden desk. “Good Morning Councilman Walker,” she squeaked, as she stood. Her curls were barely contained in a bun at the back of her head, her eyes wide with eagerness and made to look even wider by her glasses.

Drake smiled warmly at her. She looked about as nervous as he felt. “Good Morning,” he responded, gesturing with this coffee laden hand as the other was gripping his briefcase.

“I’m Norah,” she introduced herself, straightening her skirt nervously.

“Nice to meet you, Norah,” he nodded to her. Drake had pushed heavily for college students to be employed as interns for the Council. His theory was that if there were young minds that were passionate about this new page in Cordonia’s history, then they should certainly be a part of writing it. Norah seemed like this was her dream job, and Drake felt his smile widen. “Are you studying politics?”

Her green eyes flashed with excited interest. “Yes,” she nodded so vehemently that some pieces of hair fell from her bun. She scrambled to fix the strays as she continued. “Yes, and, well, Councilman Walker, I know that you were the one that pushed for the interns and I just want to say thank you because you are the reason that I’m able to be here, at the start of all this, and…” the words were spilling from her lips and it reminded him of Claire and how she always spoke in double time when she was nervous or excited or frightened. “And well I just wanted to Thank you, sir, and let you know that I’m happy to help however I can.” She grinned sheepishly and adjusted her glasses.

Drake felt his smile spread and some of his nerves dissipate. “Well,” he cleared his throat, not sure how to respond to her outpouring of gratitude. “Well, it’s my pleasure, Norah. We’re glad to have you. Now,” he glanced at his watch. “Can you tell me where I’m supposed to be?” he let a casual little laugh escape him as he asked.

“Of course, sir,” she nodded and gestured down the long hall in front of her. “The Council Chambers are straight through there, located in the old Library. I believe Councilwoman Nevrakis and Councilman Beaumont are already there.” Drake thanked her and she resumed her position as he headed to the room that she indicated.

Within fifteen minutes of his arrival, Drake was seated at the large mahogany table with the full Common Council: Liam sat at the head of the table with Leo, Representative from Fydelia to his right. Next to Leo sat Olivia, representing Lythikos, Maxwell representing Ramsford, and Kyla Manifustos- Cordonia’s top Social Justice attorney- representing Essenwood. Drake took the seat directly to Liam’s left, with Hana next to him- she’d be representing Portavira as Penelope had declined the offer to pursue the aspirations that the nobility had kept her from. The last seat was given to Asher Kaliphos of Castelsarreillan. Drake didn’t know much about him, other than that his appointment to the council had caused waves with some of the traditionalists; he had been the former head of the coalition for reform, a group that had been responsible for several peaceful protests in the past decade. His appointment had actually come at Leo’s suggestion, his reasoning being that to keep things fair and even, all viewpoints should have a place at the Council table. Drake represented the common people, Olivia and the Rhys brothers were a nod to tradition, while Hana offered an outside view, Maxwell- the younger of the Beaumonts, represented overlooking the long standing tradition of the eldest sibling inheriting titles and land, and Asher and Kyla stood to show the rest of the country that this new system, the Common Council, was not simply a reset of Cordonia’s old ways, but an actual representation of the people that lived there. Drake knew it meant that they might butt heads. He was hoping for it, actually, as it meant that passionate opinions were being represented and heard, and kept from turning into rebellions.

The Council discussed a variety of topics ranging from Education to Disaster Relief to Foreign Policy, but the biggest item of discussion was the upcoming diplomacy tour that Liam had announced shortly after the swearing in. As Cordonia was making drastic changes, they owed their closest allies personal visits to assure them that their alliances still stood, and their first trip would be a three pronged affair stopping first in New York, then Milan, and finally Paris. Liam explained that half of the council- himself, Maxwell, Olivia and Drake- would travel while the other half – Hana, Asher, Leo and Kyla stayed behind. The trip would begin in just three days’ time, and Drake realized that that would be the new pace of his life; short notice, lengthy trips, long meetings. None of that was a deterrent to him though, because he knew how badly this all needed to happen…knew it was the only thing he could do to try to help make his country more safe, more secure, it’s people happier and better provided for. These things were all of great importance to him for many reasons, but of course, Claire was one of those reasons.

Drake rose from the table as the meeting concluded, thinking about her bustling around the kitchen preparing dinner. He thought about waking up next to her and taking her out for a horseback ride and walking hand in hand on the beach. He dared to imagine her in a white dress, dared to imagine a family in their future. These were things that he knew he wanted. He knew he wanted them with Claire, and he knew he wanted them here, in Cordonia, so he’d do his part to help his country for the people, for Liam, but also for himself and the family he dreamed of building with the woman he loved. He said goodbye to the various council members, lingering a while to speak with his friends, before heading back out the way he entered the building. He said a quick goodnight to Norah, who even after six hours still looked at bright eyed and enthusiastic as she had that morning. He shook his head with a smile, thinking to himself how that brand of enthusiasm would have bothered the old Drake, but he found himself already taking a liking to the overly committed intern. He sent a quick text to Claire to let her know that he was on his way home. Home. To her. He smiled to himself as he climbed into the truck and started the ignition.

The drive from Fydelia to Valtoria was about an hour, so Drake had plenty of time to contemplate the evening ahead of him. He’d been meaning to talk to Bastien about the ethereal dreams he’d had right after his surgery, but so much was happening and changing and all so urgently and quickly, and he’d been focusing on his recovery through it all. This would be the first time that he’d get a chance to sit down and really talk to Bas. He’d shared his dream with Claire; he’d seen his parents, a flash of a memory of them dancing and laughing. He’d seen himself and Claire, remembered the way she begged him to come back to her. It had become clear to him why Claire appeared in his dream, why his parents had. But there was a third couple as well- a young Bastien and a copper-haired woman named Annabelle who he could almost remember, but every time he tried to think of her, she danced further from his memory until she was gone. He sensed that she’d been important to him, but couldn’t remember how… he sensed that she’d been important to Bastien, and couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been in love with her.

Drake knew that Bastien considered him and-his heart ached to think her name, but even Savannah- as his own family; knew that he had no wife, no children of his own, but until the dream he’d had, until he’d seen Annabelle, he’d never given it a thought. Bastien was Bastien- always there, always strong. He was the closest thing Drake had to having his own father in his life. He’d been there for Drake on countless occasions, and Drake looked up to him more than anyone else he knew. Drake Tonight, in his home with Claire, he’d finally get his chance to broach the topic. He was excited that Bas was joining them, as he knew that Bastien had joined the Walkers for many a family dinner, and now that things were finally starting to feel peaceful for both of them, he looked forward to having that happen more often. No more heartache, no more hard times. Only peace, now; only progress.

. . . . . . .

Annabelle folded the newspaper she’d been reading and stood to cross the darkened room. She gazed out the window of the gallery as the lights along the Seine came to life, thinking about what she’d just read and trying not to let her hopes soar too high. The Cordonian Council was set to travel to Paris and with every beat of her heart she heard his name. Bastien. Bastien. Bastien. For just over two decades she’d only been able to survive by not thinking of him; by simply hoping that one day he’d show up out of the blue. Now she wondered how many times he’d been in Paris and not come to her. She wondered if he’d come with the delegation and if so, if he’d finally be ready to lay aside all that had kept them apart. She hated the way her heart was tearing at itself both wanting and dreading the day to come so that she’d know once and for sure if he was still holding on to her. Forever entwined, she’d told him once, and felt it still. As the moon rose over the river, Annabelle locked up and headed to the place where she sleeps- it wasn’t home, she’d never called it that; home was in his arms, and in just over a week she’d know if home was a place she’d ever return to again.

tagging: @ooo-barff-ooo @sleepwalkingelite @zaffrenotes@brightpinkpeppercorn @jovialyouthmusic @mind-reader1 @endlessly-searching-for-you @notoriouscs @endlesstaylormckenzie @agent-bossypants @andy-loves-corgis @akrenich @nekkidmolerat @indiacater @thequeenofcronuts @the-everlasting-dream @the-whiskeywife @roonarific @stopforamoment @mkatschoicesblog @mfackenthal @drakewalkerisreal @jlouise88 @drakesensworld @gibbles82 @gardeningourmet @iplaydrake @speedyoperarascalparty @bobasheebaby @carabeth

#the broken bits #tbb #drake x claire #drake x mc #bastien x annabelle #bastien x oc #bas x belle #bas x oc #liam rhys #leo rhys #maxwell beaumont #olivia nevrakis #hana lee #the royal romance #trr #trr au #ltla follow up series #choices fanfiction

39 notes · View notes

words-writ-in-starlight · 6 years

Note

FIC PROMPTS. YOU KNOW THE THING. ÉTIENNE CHASING CHELSEA AROUND THE WORLD, AND ALL THE DESPERATE MEETINGS ALONG THE WAY. OR ANYTHING WITH CHELSEA, AT ALL.

I BET YOU THOUGHT I FORGOT ABOUT THIS ASK! THINK AGAIN MOTHERFUCKERS, I COME WITH CHELSEA ANGST!

over hill, over dale, over valley and vale

There’s a lot to be said for living inFairyland, in Chelsea’s opinion. DukeTorquill is very nice—partly, she suspects, because he views all of Sir Daye’sstrays as a sort of motley crew of grandchildren—even if his wife is strangeand distant even in her kindness. Pixiesare a vastly more interesting pest than mice, the Hobs in the kitchen are alltoo game to allow or even encourageChelsea to steal snacks whenever she’s interested, and for the first time inher life, Chelsea has friends near her own age. Quentin, and through Quentin Raj, and Karen, and sometimes evenCassandra or Helen. Not many friends,and spread across seven or eight years in age, but there are nights whenChelsea feels almost dizzy with the embarrassment of riches.

Then there are days like this one, whereChelsea wishes Fairyland had left her well alone until the day she died ahappily ignorant human death.

Chelsea sucked in a breath and it tasted like fire, and ittasted like smoke, and it tasted like screaming, and then—yes, God, yes, thank you, a doorout of this hell, she knew where it would take her, it would take her toSeattle—

She stumbled into ice and snow, and there was a voice shoutingfor her to listen, for her to breathe, just for a moment, and then—

The stars overhead were unfamiliar, and there was an invisiblefist around her spine, around her heart, holding her in place, and her skin wasbeing sanded away to reveal something new and strange, and there was still somuch screaming—anything to be out of this place where everything hurt and shewas a prisoner, anything, anywhere would be better, anywhere but—

There was a man with green eyes and a startled expression, andthen there was fire, and then—

Chelsea’s eyes snap open, and sheflinches back so hard her head cracks into the stone wall. Her hands fly out, trying to ward off theflames, grabbing for the intangible somethingthat makes up the world, but—

Hands lowering slowly, Chelsea blinks,gulping in a vast breath, then another, and another, as she feels her heartrace. Right. Of course. She’s at Shadowed Hills, the dim shapes around her focusing into herroom as her eyes remember what seeing feels like. There are her books, and her desk, and herwardrobe.

There’s no glittering door in front ofher.

It’s a good thing. It’s safety. It’s the surest sign in the world she’ll never be swept away again.

It makes Chelsea’s gut twist up with fearuntil she’s sure she’s about to be sick.

Chelsea pulls her legs up to her chestand wraps both arms tight around them, like a little kid afraid of thedark. Chelsea had never been afraid ofthe dark—even as a child, she had been able to see through the dim,light-polluted Berkley night with ease, and it had felt safe and comforting,nothing like the punishing whipcrack of sunrise. She thinks she might be learning to be afraidnow, despite her fine new night vision.

At very least, her time in Duchess Riordan’scare taught her well and truly to be afraid of being alone.

“I want my dad,” she whispers into herknees.

It’s a strange impulse. Her dad—Etienne—is still nearly astranger. She doesn’t know him, notreally. He’s a knight, for God’s sake, he fights with a sword. But—

But she also knows him better than she’sever known anyone, because the first time she met him, he caught her shakingshoulders in his hands and said that he would never leave her again, and shehad looked into his eyes and known hewas telling the truth.

It went like this.

Chelsea was sure she was going to die,alone in a strange world, surrounded by people who didn’t even care enough tohate her. She wonders, now, if SirDaye—Toby, which Chelsea is still adjusting to—knows how utterly fortunate sheis, that most of her enemies hate herwith every fiber of her being. It wasterrifying, gut-wrenching, to know that she was going to die, her body left onthe heather or thrown over the cliffs, and no one who cared would ever know,and no one who knew would ever care, except that their crowbar to pry open thewalls of the world had finally given out.

And worse than that, she was going to diein pain, because the blinding painthat had started in her head was lancing down her neck, burning along hernerves like it was trying to chew through her bones. The longer she held open the gate, the moreit hurt—and she couldn’t do anything else, she couldn’t, because there was an unbreakable grip around her spineand she couldn’t run, couldn’t fight, couldn’t do anything but try to standhere and not die.

When the fight started, she could barelysee past the white-static haze drifting over her vision, popping here and therewith black starbursts. There wasscreaming, barely distinguishable from the noise in Chelsea’s ears. It had started as a pitchy hum, then aringing, and now it was as if she was standing in a high wind, just an endlessroaring that ebbed every once in a while to remind her that her heart reallywas beating that fast.

Someone was rushing toward her. Fine. Chelsea couldn’t see, couldn’t move, just gasped out a wheezing, sobbingbreath and tried to straighten under the weight of the pain. The gate, the gate, she had to hold up thegate—

“Chelsea!”

That was what had finally gotten herattention, brought her back into her body from the elsewhere she had started todrift toward. If Riordan knew her name,Chelsea had never seen any evidence of that fact. The only people who had shouted her name werethe other changeling, and the man with her, and this was neither of them.

Turning her head hurt more than anythingelse Chelsea had ever done.

There was a man moving toward her, movingfast, and he looked like he’d been beaten to hell and back but he bulledthrough one of the invisible soldiers without so much as a pause.

“Chelsea!” he repeated, more sharply, andthen he was in front of her. He wastall, and broad-shouldered, with dark hair and sharply pointed ears and eyes asbright as freshly minted pennies. “Chelsea, breathe,” he said. There was a strange accent clinging to his deep voice, but his wordswere kind, and he caught her shoulder when she wavered on her feet.

“Who—are—you,” Chelsea forced out, oneword at a time, and his face twisted into something between grief and blind,homicidal rage.

“My name is Etienne,” he said, and oh,then his hands were brushing her hair out of her face, careful and unsure, butthe touch left a small path of painlessness, for a brief moment. “I’m—I’m your father.”

“It hurts,” Chelsea gasped, feeling tearsgather in her eyes again. The ragesettled more fully onto his face. “It—Ithurts.”

“I know it does, Chelsea,” the man—her father—said. “I’m going to help you hold open thegate. Just look at me. You’re doing wonderfully.”

“I don’t want to keep it open anymore,”she said, tipping over fully into crying. “It hurts, I—I don’t want to die, I don’t--”

“You are not going to die,” her father said fiercely, cupping her face inhis hands and catching her eyes with his own. Her eyes, his eyes. It was funny,to a hysterical part of Chelsea’s brain, but laughing was one too many thingsto consider doing right now. “I am goingto get you out of this, Chelsea. Youhave my word.”

“Please don’t leave me,” Chelsea begged,and she knew she was begging, and she didn’t care, because fuck, at least if he stayed, she wouldn’t die alone. “Please, please, I can’t—I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can.” Her father was still cradling her face inboth hands, and he looked every inch the knight of the Fair Folk, even throughthe bruises and blood—wild, and terrible, and honest. “Chelsea, you can do this. I am going to get you out of this, but weneed that gate back to the mortal world to do it. Chelsea—Chelsea, look at me, open your eyes.”

Were they closed? Chelsea forced them open, and it took far toolong for his face to resolve. All shecould see was his eyes, bright as copper, and vicious with determination.

“Listen to me, Chelsea,” he said, wipingthe tears from her face with his thumbs. “I am so sorry, that I wasn’t there for you. We should have had all these years together,and we didn’t, and I’m sorry. But I giveyou my word, on oak and ash and thornand rowan and anything else you want me to swear on, that I am not leaving younow. Do you believe me?”

And God save her—oak and ash and thornand rowan save her—she did.

“Yes,” she whispered. Her voice sounded like a child’s when shespoke again. “Daddy? What do I do?”

“You breathe,” he said, sounding close totears himself. “And you look at me.”

And he had somehow, through some miracleof magic she didn’t think even Etienne could explain, talked her throughkeeping the gate open, even when her legs tried to fold up under her and shestopped being able to speak through the pain. He had held her up, keeping his voice steady, and she had clung to himas best she could without losing her grasp on the gate, and then when she hadbeen snatched away again—

She knows now what it had cost Etienne tofollow her, to chase her through cities and countries and realms when, at hisstrongest, he found it tiring to go from Shadowed Hills to Toby’s house. The magic burn had been brutal, powerdampeners or not. But he had stayed onher heels every step of the way, he had stayed on his feet when she wascollapsing, he had held her hand when they were close enough and hugged her closein the Snow Kingdoms and told her where they were. Within an hour, he had gone from a strangerto her dad, the man who would doanything in the world to keep her safe.

So maybe it makes sense, now, thatChelsea wants him.

Her mom—her mom is wonderful. Bridget Ames loves her daughter witheverything she has and more than a few things she doesn’t, and Chelsea knowsthis.

Her mom also didn’t understand why herbeautiful baby girl screamed and sobbed every day at dawn, and even if sheknows the reason now, she’ll never understand. Her mom would do anything for her, but shecould never have hung onto Chelsea’s hand and panted out “Welcome toTir-na-Nog,” just so that Chelsea wouldn’t be lost anymore.

But she’s seventeen damn years old, goingon eternity, and she’s going to take some deep breaths and get herself undercontrol rather than running to her parents.

The shaking has started to ease out of herhands, finally, when her door opens—just a crack.

If it was at home—if Chelsea was how shewas, at her old home—she wouldn’t have been able to make out the face of theperson standing there in this darkness. The Summerlands might be comparable to light-polluted California intheir perpetual twilight, but any room meant for sleeping is dark, heavy curtains or else no windowsat all, and Chelsea’s is the same. Now,though, she blinks away the last haze clinging to her lashes and whispers,“Daddy?”

“I—I didn’t mean to wake you,” he says,like he’s been caught doing something wrong. “I only—Chelsea, are you all right?”

And she doesn’t know what gave her away,if he can see the salt tracks on her cheeks or hear the faint rasp in hervoice, or maybe he just knows, butit’s the middle of the day and she can’t lie to him.

“Can I have a hug?” Chelsea breathes, andshe knows she sounds like a child afraid of the dark and doesn’t care.

Chelsea doesn’t care because there’s abeat where Etienne seems taken off-guard, but then he says, “Of course.” And he crosses the room in a handful of quicksteps to hesitate, just for a fraction of a second, next to her bed before hevisibly steels himself and settles down next to her to pull her into a hug, andhe’s nervous and unsure of his welcome, just like he was when he brushed herhair from her face, but his arms are strong and he holds onto her like she’sthe most precious thing he’s ever touched. Chelsea presses her face into his shoulder without thinking twice,wrapping her arms around his neck and breathing in the faint scent of cedarthat clings to him even though he hasn’t had his magic in weeks, and herfather’s grip goes from cautious to firm the moment he’s sure of what shewants, and it’s—

Chelsea finds herself bursting into tearsagain without really knowing why.

Etienne makes a faint noise, like he’s ata loss for what to do, but he’s a damn knight,her father, and he knows how to rally and come through when he’s needed. He comforts differently from her mother—doesn’trub her back or rock back and forth, just holds her tight with one arm and strokesher hair with the other hand, tucking her head under his jaw while she burrowsinto his shoulder. He doesn’t sayanything, either, and somehow it’s perfect.

She’s heard stories of the Fair Folk allher life, but none of them ever mentioned how brutally hard Faerie took change. She’salways been fae enough for that.

She doesn’t know how to explain why she’scrying, can’t put her fingers on the words to say why she’s shaking apart half-wayinto her father’s lap, it’s all too much and too strange and some deep part ofher that’s woken up lately clings pettily to the way things used to be andmutters that change is for mortals. And her father, Etienne who kept ShadowedHills standing when the Duke went mad with change,doesn’t ask her to explain, just holds her and strokes her hair and waits forher to cry herself out.

It takes a while. When Chelsea’s tears finally ebb until she’snot shuddering anymore, she realizes that he’s humming, something sweet and alittle sad in the back of his throat. Not a lullaby, but maybe a ballad. And she keeps her head pressed against hisshoulder, tucks her face into the curve of his throat, and lets the sound of itresonate into her bones while she breathes through the last of the tears.

“Sorry,” Chelsea whispers into her father’sshoulder.

“It’s quite all right,” Etienne says,loosening his grip on her slightly to let her sit away from him. Then he cups her face in his hands, like hedid in Annwn, and wipes away her tears with his thumbs, looking into her eyeswith a worried expression. In the dimlight spilling in through the hallway, his eyes are too shadowed to show thebright penny-copper, but he can probably see it in hers. “Are you well, Chelsea? Did you have a nightmare?”

Chelsea nods, and self-consciousness isstarting to set in, at last, because this might be her father, her Daddy, buthe was also a perfect stranger two months ago. Two months ago, he’d probably never let a teenager sob all over him inhis life.

“I didn’t mean to—sorry,” she says again,weakly, reaching up between Etienne’s hands to rub at her eyes. He lets go of her at once, to give her thespace to collect herself, and Chelsea wishes idly that she wasn’t such ablotchy crier. Her mother cries with thecollected elegance of a princess. Chelsea’s face flushes red in patches and her eyes go bloodshot and shealways manages to look hopelessly frazzled. Being a pureblood just means it doesn’t last as long as it used to.

Etienne’s frown deepens, minutely. “Don’t be. What was your nightmare about?”

“Fire,” Chelsea says, and her voicewavers. She clears her throat and saysagain, more steadily, “Fire. And someother places.”

Etienne reaches out, hesitant, and tucksa wayward lock of hair back from her face, and says, “Do you want something hotto drink?”

The question is so—not what Chelsea expected that she blinks at him for a moment. “Something hot to drink?” she echoes, blank.

He smiles faintly. “Yes. I used to drink tea when I had nightmares as a child. Do you want something hot to drink?” She blinks at him one or two more times forgood measure, against the gritty feeling of having cried too hard for too long,and Etienne adds, “I’m sure that someone is awake in the kitchen, and if not, Iknow where everything is. You like hotchocolate.”

He says the last somewhere between aquestion and a statement. Like he knowsit’s the truth but isn’t sure he’s allowedto know it.

“I—look like a mess,” Chelsea says. “I always look like a mess after I cry.”

Etienne’s smile widens a little, takingon some of that wondering edge she’s getting used to seeing on him. “You get that from me, I’m afraid.”

“You are not an ugly crier.”

“You would lose that bet, my love,” hesays dryly, and stands up from her bed. Thenhe holds out a hand to her, and—

Her father’s hand is warm and Chelseafeels like a kid, standing up next to him. They’re almost of a height—Chelsea is probably due a few more inches,which will put them dead even—but she’s in pajama pants with little frogs onthem and he’s still wearing livery, fine fae cloth that looks expensive evenafter she wept all over it. The stone iscold on her feet before she steps into her slippers. It’s a strange, out-of-place sense memory, ofbeing a little girl holding her mother’s hand after a bad dream, but it’sfamiliar and safe and soothing.

Etienne has callouses on his palm thatcan’t be from anything but a sword, but the strong, sure grip on her hand as heleads her down the hall hits that same sense memory. Chelsea relaxes into it, more easily than shewould have dreamed, into this feeling of being a kid shuffling after her parentand trying not to yawn every time she’s faced with a bright light. Few people are awake at this hour, and thosethat are mostly consist of Etienne’s knights, who smile at her a littleindulgently and give him a polite nod, and then they’re at the kitchen, andEtienne is placing Chelsea on a stool while he boils water in a saucepan.

He doesn’t talk while he does it, andChelsea doesn’t ask any questions. She’stoo busy watching the apparently intricate process of making hot chocolate on astove. It makes some intuitive sense,she guesses. Etienne’s exact age is somethingshe’ll have to ask about someday, but he probably predates Swiss Miss hot cocoapackets and definitely predates the microwave. He can use one—Chelsea saw him with her own eyes,at Tamed Lightning—but apparently for the time being he prefers to meltchocolate into milk the old-fashioned way. There’s a lot more stirring and careful heat management than Chelsea isused to, when it comes to making anything short of a meal.

God, can Etienne cook? He seems reasonably confident, adding a bitof cinnamon and something else that smells strange and exotic to the chocolate,but Chelsea has literally never seen him make anything more complicated thancoffee. The Hobs that usually populatethe kitchen are happy to feed anyone who comes through, but, as a rule, aren’tcharitable to strangers cooking in their space. Etienne is lucky there aren’t any here, or they definitely would havechased him off before he could even turn on the stove.

Chelsea is so absorbed in watching thehypnotic swirl of the hot chocolate that it startles her, when Etienne liftsthe saucepan away and neatly pours some into a mug.

“It’s been a while since I made hot chocolate,”he says, with that trace of rueful humor Chelsea has started to recognize. He sets the blue mug on the table in front ofher stool and it smells sweetly of chocolate and spices, cinnamon and thatother darker spice she can’t quite put her finger on. The porcelain isn’t quite hot enough to burnwhen she wraps her hands around it. “Butthe principle is still simple enough.”

“Just like riding a bike,” she says,staring at the hot chocolate like she’s expecting it to disappear. Etienne makes a noise that she’s starting toknow as his I understood that human idiombut you’ll never make me admit it noise, and she smiles down at her mug. “Daddy,” she says. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Etienne says quietly.

Chelsea takes a sip of the hot chocolateand it’s—fucking incredible, actually. Chelsea’s always had a sweet tooth, the kind of kid who stole sugarpackets when her mother’s back was turned, and the hot chocolate is so thickand sweet that it washes away the sour taste of tears with a single swallow. When she lowers the cup, she realizes thatEtienne has the remainder of the hot chocolate in a smaller mug, his hippropped against the counter next to her, not quite selling casual but very nearly hitting the mark on comfortable.

“You were there in my dream,” she says,before she can talk herself out of it. Etienne looks up at her, over the edge of his cup. “I fell through the Snow Kingdoms, and Icould hear your voice. You were tellingme to breathe, and that it would be okay.”

It seems to take Etienne so off-guardthat he’s left fumbling for words. Inthe warm golden light of the kitchen, his eyes are so bright they lookpolished, and when he blinks quickly, twice, something glitters for a moment onhis lashes before he rallies, taking another sip of his hot chocolate as if tofortify himself.

“Chelsea,” he says, voice still quiet, asif they’re still in her room. “I—I hopeyou know that I did not mean to leave you, as a baby. I would have given anything, to be able tospend those years with you, and your mother. You are—you are the greatest gift I could ever have dreamed of, and nowthat I have the option, I intend to do everything in my power to be at yourside for as long as you want me there. For the rest of your life, if you wish.”

“For the rest of forever?” Chelsea asks,and her voice sounds thin and wistful. Forever might be her birthright, now, as a pureblood, but it’s a longtime to the girl who grew up half human.

“Until the last oak and ash crumble, andthe rowan and thorn never grow again,” Etienne swears, and he sounds so seriousthat she thinks it must be a vow. Chelsea nods, and takes a few more long swallows of her hot chocolate.

“This is really good, Daddy,” shemurmurs. “What did you put in it?”

“Cloves,” Etienne says immediately. “I’m afraid my culinary talents are—limited,but no one ever accused me of being inept with spices. I could--” He pauses, and then bulls on like a good knight. “I could teach you how to make it someday, ifyou’d like.”

“Yeah,”Chelsea says. “Yeah, I’d love that.”

#october daye #toby daye #chelsea ames #sir etienne #starlight writes stuff #LITERALLY ALMOST A FULL YEAR AFTER I GOT THIS I THINK???#MAYBE MORE?????#I HAVE DELIVERED THE GOODS #this is actually more of an Aftermath fic than the immediate drama of etienne chasing his daughter across worlds #but also are we...surprised????#ft. my own personal Feelings about etienne #namely that he has a horrible sweet tooth and can't really cook much that doesn't cater to it #and also that he's a blotchy crier and chelsea inherited that #this is just DAD FEELINGS okay? there's nothing else here #i'm sorry bridget you're radical but i just. needed to get some stuff off my chest #bridget is off teaching or some shit she's just Not Here at the moment #also i think chelsea is wrong i think etienne has definitely had teenagers cry on him before #he's just never actually put in effort to be a good person to cry on at any of those times #whereas he freezes up A LITTLE with chelsea but he's a Knight Of Faerie and Will Not Be Cowed and also that's his baby #on today's news etienne is VERY TENSE about making a mistake but also INCREDIBLY DEVOTED to chelsea #and i love it #and someday i will write a fic about bridget seeing her Gentry lover fret over chelsea and...#bridget does not feel Guilty per se but...etienne is a good father and she just KNOWS he would have doted on chelsea as a baby #and there's a part of her that feels something that she won't let be guilt about that #(also i want the luidaeg to add chelsea to her cohort of adoring children that's all bye)#queue deeper than the sea of stars #sroloc--elbisivni #asked and answered

32 notes · View notes