#Sowing the Seeds of Lasting Love

[gaytobymeres]

bought some snowdrops yippee

[arrozaurus]

.

[somethingsketchy3]

i couldn’t agree more 🥰🥰🥰

Actually you know what fuck everybody else, this is THE most important relationship in the entire Bridgerton family for real.

[langernameohnebedeutung]

there's a lot of valid takes on why Gen Z is becoming radicalised at the rate they are - all that misinformation, tiktok, red pill, the pandemic - all have good points. But I think another factor is that even politically, their sense of normalcy is entirely different to the one of prior generations. The spiral of the last 15 years, the way the Overton window has moved, the change of style and tone in political discourse, the normalisation of anti-democratic ideas, the obsession with people's private lives, the topics that are front and centre during elections these days, the changing concept of the respect and dignity expected in a public office (god I sound like a boomer) - all of that was shocking to us.

the three generations of my family, all born and raised in VERY different time periods from one another, we've all just been equally shocked and horrified again and again these last 15 years - not just by what is happening but how it is happening and by what is possible and how easy it is to make a total mockery of the democracy and the rule of law. For all of us, that was a feeling of realising that something we implicitly trusted in to the point that it didn't need talking about ... just falling away. Or proving to always have been an illusion to begin with. To someone who grows up right now, this safety and security has NEVER existed.

But for these kids - the window of their life where they start becoming politically and culturally aware basically coincides with this downward spiral and I think that makes many of them blind or numb to it. I think for many of them, that's just their understanding of how things naturally progress and politics works. That the way previous generations evaluate the current situation - this framework of intentional manipulation and misinformation and radicalisation - is just fair and acceptable behaviour and that of course politicians manipulate the discourse to get what they want and of course it is normal to tell brazen lies and spread panic if that gets you what you want and if you're loyal to the party, you parrot those lines whether you really believe in them or not. (And let's be honest with ourselves - the seed to that has always been there)

And others, who I imagine intellectually know that things are going downhill, are really stuck in this extremely mind-numbing fatalist mindset (climate change is gonna kill us all anyway, haha) which makes you hopeless and desperate. And being hopeless and desperate also makes you vulnerable to all kinds of manipulation and radicalisation - because the offer you a perspective. Or meaning.

If you think about the trad-wife and redpill stuff or generally christian nationalism but also any movement that instrumentalises history with ideological narratives, you notice that their narratives place periods of stability way back in time in periods that match aspects of their idelogy e.g. their fetishisation of the 1950s. Then they come up with some horrible bad evil enemy that destroyed that paradise and created the 'degenerate' misery we live in now. Authoritarians and ideologues and cults have always done this. It's part of constructing the mutual enemy.

Beause this way, they can create their illusion of this kind of mythical, unreachable utopia (the past) that fascists love and attach all kinds of conditions to reaching that - with no pressure for them to ever actually deliver: women staying at home, racial segregation, christian hegemony, eugenics, absolute exclusion of gay and trans identities etc. This doesn't just have the benefit of pushing their politics on a confused youth (though that's a big benefit) - it also helps them hide from young people that these last 15 years, they literally created the chaos that these kids are living in. They sowed this situation and right now, with the radicalisation of the youth, they are reaping the rewards.

And the thing is, we can blame the Tiktok or whatever but I also think it is important that we let younger people know and feel that what's happening right now - is just not normal and not sustainable.

And yes, we need to let go of the naive illusion that "the kid are going to save the world". We should never have had that. But I also don't think a radical heel-turn vilifying all of Gen Z is going to help anyone or do justice to the situation.

[mythicmanuscripts]

Had a thought inspired by sub!Aegon being called a good boy combined with my idea that Aegon could be fixed if he just had a soft dom partner. Maybe he lashes out at a problem and just being a brat instead of saying his true feelings so they punish him (lightly no pain Bois been thought enough) and then coax him through explaining why he was upset.

I love how we have all come to the mutual conclusion that Aegon would just thrive on having a wife that doms him and cares for him and gives him not only love but also structure.

I think I'm gonna write this as Aegon's first punishment? Like he and his wife have finally had a talk and he's now hers fully, no more brothels and he goes to her for everything.

This ask is not at all NSFW until the very last paragraph, so just to safe I'll hide it under the cut anyway :))

Aegon has rules he has to follow, rules that only you and him know and he feels so incredibly good when he can go to you and tell you he's been a good boy all day. But of course, the rules are rules because they're not things he does naturally or easily.

One of the rules he has is not to allow his mother to get into his skin and cause him to yell at his small council. It's something Allicent is a specialist at, she'll come to Aegon before the council meeting starts and sow the seeds then already. She tells him of whatever problem she's going to bring up at the small council, and she tells him what she wants him to do.

Immediately Aegon breaks a rule. He's not supposed to entertain this. If his mother has something to raise at the small council. then she must raise it then. He's supposed to tell her to stop talking and that he'll only hear it at the council with everyone else. But he doesn't. He tries, but she talks over him and Aegon doesn't try to stop her again.

So he's already unsettled when the council meeting starts, because he knows he's broken a rule. You sit on his council, of course, you have the seat at his right hand. When you enter the room, you immediately know Aegon has done something wrong. Usually his eyes light up when he spots you, and he'll immediately jump up and pull your chair out for you.

(Sidenote: both Aegon and Aemond always try to pull their wives chairs out for them, but the difference is that while Aemond is all put together as he pulls your chair and stands next to it with perfect posture, Aegon is such a mess, practically tripping over his own feet to have an opportunity to do something for his wife.)

So when you walk in Aegon won't even meet your eyes? You know he must have broken a rule.

He's skittish throughout the meeting, snapping at his advisors, refusing to let anyone finish a full sentence and just generally being very grumpy and unhappy. Towards the end of the meeting, Allicent finally raises the point she raised with Aegon earlier.

She explains everything, and the table is pretty split on the idea. She then looks directly at Aegon and just waits, even raising her eyebrow when aegon was taking too long. It's then that you realise she must have told him everything beforehand and now expects him to agree with her.

When he hesitates, Allicent immediately launches into exactly why this plan is needed and the way she does it is just so... condescending? Like she's looking down on her own son.

Aegon snaps then, yelling at everyone to get out and saying he won't comment on Allicent's plan. When no one moves, he throws his glass of wine against the wall and shouts again for everyone to leave. That seemed to wake them all up, because they all got up and left the room. Allicent was the last to leave, and she was clearly lingering to try and speak to Aegon but Aegon just yells at her again and she leaves.

You, of course, stay right where you are. You don't even try to look like you're leaving. You know Aegon didnt mean you when he told everyone to get out but even if he did, you'd still stay because you knew he needed you.

But, he's now broken three rules. He let Allicent get into his head, he broke something in anger and he disrespected the other small council members.

You wait for him to start talking, and for a moment you actually think he might yell at you to leave too, but then he just kinda sighs and walks over to you. He pulls your chair out a little and then collapses across your lap, his legs hanging over the arm of the chair. You hold him close, of course. Even when he's broken rules, you'd never deny him attention and touches.

You ask what happened, and you make sure your tone is firm enough that Aegon knows he can't get out of this one. After a minute of silence, Aegon softly retells the story of how Allicent came in and belittled him and got under his skin and how he didnt kick her out or refuse to hear it. He goes on to explain how stupid and small he felt when Allicent clearly expected him to agree with her in the meeting and he felt so bad and didnt know what he was supposed to do.

You give him a forehead kiss and a little squeeze, thanking him for his honesty and then taking him back to your shared quarters.

I think really boring, monotonous tasks would be the best punishment for Aegon? Ever since his brothel excursions he can't stand pain, and having to do something boring really does feel like torture for him. Sometimes you'll have him take every item of clothing out of your closet, refold it and put it back in, other times you make him write out lines or copy word for word all the words listed in a dictionary under a certain letter.

This time, you grab a broom and make him count every single one of the bristles. If he loses track, he has to start over.

Needless to say, he's not very happy about his punishment, but he doesn't complain. He already feels like such a bad husband a bad sub, so he'd never complain about what he has to do to become a good boy again.

You stay in the room with him, reading a book and glancing over at him every now and then. You'd never ever let him be alone while he completed his punishment.

Once he's finished, you smile at him and put your book down before opening your arms for him to come for cuddles. He jumps at the chance, just about tripping over his own feet in his haste to be in your arms. The moment he's there, he grips you tight and nuzzles his head against your neck.

You start out by asking him why he broke those rules, what stopped him from following them. Aegon struggles to find the words, until eventually he just says that Allicent makes him freeze and feel like a little kid again who can't make his own decisions. He explains further how overwhelmed and unsettled he was at the meeting and how that caused the outburst.

When he's finished explaining, you immediately give him a little squeeze and kiss his head and then both his cheeks, You remind him how much you love him and how utterly perfect he is for you and then you start to go over some ways you could possibly prevent him from breaking that rule again.

But most importantly, once that is done you give him a proper kiss and tell him that he's forgiven, he's okay again, he's till your good boy.

Of course this never fails to make him cry, but you expect that by now and know that the best thing you can do it just give him a little time to calm down while you hold him.

When he looks ups at you it's like you can see that a weight has been lifted off shoulders. Not only do you forgive him, but he forgives himself too.

And then of course you can't resist slipping a hand down his breeches and letting him come apart on your lap. He deserves it.

[spxdyr]

im going to try to be nice because bucktommy's are going to inevitably see this and im not trying to start shit.

i'm seeing a lot of confused bucktommy's about the breakup. claiming it was a last minute decision, it was because lou didn't want to keep dealing with it (wtv that means), that it makes no since because of 8x05, and a lot of other spiraling bs.

i even saw someone say that buddie is never going to happen because oliver said eddie is straight...

i'm going to break this down as clearly as i can, because i've historically had issues with bt's and comprehension skills.

1. the bucktommy breakup was inevitable from the moment they got together. if for no other reason than tommy himself. from the beginning of their relationship, tommy has decided if buck was ready. not buck. tommy left buck standing on the side of the road aftet their first date because tommy decided he wasn't ready. because buck was nervous to come out to his best friend in public. tommy decided that buck would break his heart and that he wouldn't be buck's last. tommy came into that relationship assuming it would end. not buck, and not the audience. we were just picking up on what tommy was telling us. especially, given the fact that buck was fully ready and able to move past the abby clark of it all. tommy was a bad partner to buck, that's why they broke up.

2. i said this after 8x05, it wouldn't have made since to give us an on screen breakup if the only thing we saw of tommy was the thirty second birthday scene in 8x01. 9-1-1 loves a three ep arc and buck's side of whatever realization he might have started on 8x05. we needed to see more of tommy so it made sense when he broke up with buck. throughout all of 8x05, we saw the seeds of doubt being sowed in tommy. from the hospital scene after denny, to the closing one, tommy realized he didn't fit or at least wouldn't for long. because he never got that built-in family. he doesn't trust/believe that anyone would have his back like that. and he made that choice all on his own.

3. lfj is fine. he's a mulit-million dollar nepo baby. one whose been callled out for negative past behaviors and some people consider that bullying. lfj knew how long he was going to be on the show when he signed the contract to come back. the networks choice not to renew that contract had nothing to do with buddie stans. his storyline was over.

4. i can't even be confident that he's gone. there was a lot of stuff left unsaid or moved past too quickly. now 9-1-1 has a history of bad writing in that regard but they also have a habit of dropping things to only come back to them episodes or even seasons later. if he's really gone well thank god, but if he's not im not totally shocked.

5. i don't know how many times i have to say this. if eddie is gay or bi or demi or wtv, the cast wouldn't be able to say so because it would be a MAJOR spoiler. does no one remember andrew garfield and tom holland lying their asses off about spiderman ffh??? actors are liars, its like the whole bit. buck was straight until he wasn't. let's stop being dense and accept that maybe they aren't telling us everything because that would the defeat the purpose of the show.

look at this point im not just in this for buddie. im in this for an eddie that gets to be unapologetically himself. and im going to emphasize one more time how dangerous and disrespectful it is to force eddie back into the proverbial closet because it doesn't fit your ship.

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

The Chic Magazine interview with the Good Omens cast and crew by Keeley Ryan, August 2023 :)

'It was wonderful to get the Good Omens family back together'

There were plenty of miracles, mysteries and mayhem when Good Omens returned to the small screen for a second season.

The PrimeVideo series, which was originally based on Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman's best-selling novel, is heading beyond the source material this season.

The six-part series highlights the ineffable friendship between Aziraphale, a fussy angel and rare-book dealer, and the fast-living demon Crowley.

And while the duo put a stop to the apocalypse last time, there are the sparks of a new mystery that will take viewers from before The Beginning, to biblical times to grave robbing in Victorian Edinburgh; the Blitz of 1940s England to the modern day.

The cast includes David Tennant and Michael Sheen as Crowley and Aziraphale, Jon Hamm, Maggie Service, Nina Sosanya, Miranda Richardson, Shelley Conn, and Derek Jacobi also star in the series.

And Michael Sheen told how the Good Omens "world has grown" with season two - and opened up about his first day back at Aziraphale's bookshop.

In an interview conducted before the SAG strike, he said, "It was lovely to be back in the bookshop after having seen it burnt down the ground.

"Clearly I had managed to save a few books! Actually, it was extraordinary - your brain does a double take - my desk, the cash machine, the record player - everything is all so familiar even though it is a totally different location.

But we have expanded - there is much more of the world of Soho here including Aziraphale's favourite the magic shop and my favourite the pub - our world has grown."

The actor also praised Neil Gaiman's writing, noting how there's "something about the way Neil sees the mundane that is extraordinary."

He said, "His writing has such a breadth of reference and yet is so accessible and entertaining even when taking on big epic or philosophical issues.

There's something about the way Neil sees the mundane that is extraordinary. When things filter through his imagination they emerge in an entirely unique way and yet it feels like it's always been there.

Add in the sprinkling of the imagination of Terry Pratchett and cocktail has been created - utterly familiar."

Producer Sarah-Kate Fenelon told Chic how the second season of Good Omens is "building on the universe" - and how they had been "sowing the seeds of a second season without anybody knowing" last season. "

She said, "I work with Neil Gaiman and know in part that Gabriel, who is played by Jon Hamm, his character is not in the book of Good Omens - but it was included in the first season. We were sowing the seed of a second season without anybody knowing.

"That character was written by Neil and Terry as a potential second book. They never got to write it, but now we're able to tell Gabriel's story. It's kind of a lovely evolution, where we're just expanding the universe.

"A lot of locations on the set are locations from season one. We've also been able to explore new shops, like we've got the record shop and we've got The Dirty Donkey pub, which we go into - it was in season one, but we never got to go into it.

"Season two is just building on the universe."

The Wicklow native added that it was "wonderful to get the Good Omens family back together" for a second season.

She said, "We were lucky that a lot of our crew and creative talent were able to come back for a second season. But also, we had our cast return. Miranda Richardson plays a totally different character this season and we have a new Beelzebub.

"And then obviously, we've got Maggie and Nina playing themselves, Maggie and Nina, as written by Neil. It was wonderful to get the Good Omens family back together again."

Noel Corbally, who works as an associate producer on the series, recalled how they marked a special anniversary of the first season's release while prepping for season two.

The Irishman said, "We went for dinner that night to relive the celebration, happy to be back again.

"Even now, it's been more than a year since we wrapped and to be able to come back into the studio that's just been frozen in time with everything wrapped up — we had a week to turn it back to life, have it be a live street again.

"It's been a week. But it's been amazing. We had our original lighting team come back, our original art department — and they've just done a fantastic job."

And while there are plenty of easter eggs for fans to spot throughout the six episodes, the pair shared their favourites.

Noel shared, "I think that my favourite easter egg is actually in the record shop. It's a song that we play in the background. It's so subtle, but it's from the musical Happy As A Sandbag.

"Maggie's character Maggie runs the record shop, which was owned by her grandfather in the story. But the musical, Happy As A Sandbag, Maggie Service the actress - her mother and father met on the musical and fell in love. Having that was an homage to them for bringing us Maggie."

Sarah-Kate said, "I quite like the easter eggs in the title sequence. If you look really closely, there is a Gabriel or Jim in every shot, which people tend not to notice. It's like Where's Wally?"

Rob Wilkins, who manages Terry Pratchett's estate and serves as narrative EP, told how he was "elated" for the second season to be out — and about moving beyond the book's source material.

He explained, "There were lots of nerves, because there is no source material. There's no book. I went through the whole of season one with the mantra that we've got a beginning, a middle and an end.

"And at the end of season one, which was the only season at the time, I felt very relaxed - we're all grounded through Terry and Neil's words, and that's fine. We know where we're going, we've got the novel to refer to.

"And so with season two, of course there's going to be nerves — there's no source material.

"But Neil is 50% of the creative team that brought you Good Omens, so in him we trust. And we genuinely do, from the bottom of my heart - of course we do.

"There's excitement about what Neil is going to bring from the page and from the page to the screen, but trepidation as well — I'm a fan as much as anybody else, I want to know where the stories are going."

Rob added that some of his own favourite easter eggs within the second season include a nod to Terry in The Dirty Donkey pub - as well as a special sight in the bookshop.

He said, "I love the fact that in the bookshop, Teny's hat and scarf are just hanging there. Terry, as a huge patron of bookshops around the world, he just left his hat and scarf in there and moved on one day and left them behind.

"That's a lovely one for me, as well - it means more to me, I think, than anything else."

Rob opened up about the success of the first season - and why it was something that he didn't necessarily expect.

He continued, "There's the Terry Pratchett fandom, there's the Neil Gaiman fandom and push them together and there's a big crossover. But what we created with season one, we created Good Omens fandom from the show.

"People came to Neil's work and Terry's work through the show. It created something entirely individual of its own making, and that freaked me out because I didn't see that one coming.

"I didn't see that as a thing. I thought the fans would be rooted in Terry or Neil. I didn't realise that the ineffable husbands in all of that - I love David and Michael, but I didn't realise the love people would have for them as our demon and our angel.

"I shouldn't be surprised. It's just my admiration for them as actors and for what they do, and for people getting it I think that that's the thing that's meant a lot to me, that people have understood what we tried to do."

Costume designer Kate Carin told how having the opportunity to join Good Omens' second season was a "gift" - and opened up about why it was impossible to pick a favourite scene.

She explained, "When you see the whole show - you think, when you're watching episode one, you're like, 'oh my god, that's the best'. But then you watch something in episode two and it's like, 'that's awesome!'

"I would say that I'm a disciple of the show now. I didn't know the book when I was approached about the job. I'd obviously heard of it, and I'd seen season one — as a punter, I watched it.

"To get the opportunity to come and work on season two, it's a gift for a costume designer.

"You do fantasy, you do period, you do contemporary and all of the wavy lines in- between - you're given a lot of rope to play with."

The character of Shax, played by Miranda Richardson, was a "really fun character to design for" - as Kate told how plenty of ideas jumped to mind after reading the description.

She said, "When Neil writes on the page that you have a 50s inspired female demon, that gives you a lot of scope to play with. "

And when I started drawing her, I actually had to stop myself because I kept coming up with ideas."

And with the series jampacked with magical moments and settings, set decorator Bronwyn Franklin told how there was one particular shop that has a "certain magic'!

She said, "I actually think the magic shop is my favourite shop. The bookshop used to be, but now that l've done it twice - it's still beautiful. It is Aziraphale's home. It feels more magical because Aziraphale lives there, and there's the whole angelic side.

"But this one, it really has a certain magic. From a set decorator's point of view, it's a joy. Will Godstone, he gets to sit there and he's got his little cash register and if he's got no customers, he can sit there and have a little cup of tea.

"You just have to feel that person, live that person and think that it's yours. I always come into a space like this and think, 'how would I like to be?' Because if it makes me happy, it'll make the cast member happy, it'll make the viewers happy."

Michael Ralph, who is the series' production designer, told how while it's impossible to pick a favourite set, the bookshop is "one that will resonate most'.'

Aziraphale's bookshop contains more than 7,000 real books and Michael noted that it was important for the setting to feel real, not just for the audiences at home but for the cast and crew.

He said, "There's not a fake book in here. Couldn't do that. In a way, if you look at any bookshelf - I spent almost a day just moving books around, to make the bookshelves look like they're real. They could be flat dressed, and then they're not real. But this is real, when they're just moved around a little bit; or people have pulled them out and put them in incorrectly.. .that's what's real about a bookshop."

[missglaskin]

i feel like Otto would use Daemon and Rhaenyra’s secret wedding, mere days after their partners funerals, as the sole ammunition to have Rhaenyra disinherited and second-born!Reader named the Princess of Dragonstone after Otto reminds Viserys the sole reason Rhaenyra was chosen was to prevent Daemon from having the throne. and Alicent will begin planting the seeds of a doubt in Viserys mind that some may not want a the Reader on a throne because she’s adopted but if she married Aegon, the firstborn son, she wouldn’t be contested. that Aegon was better fitted as a consort anyways.

and the Velaryons have mixed feelings about the whole ordeal because Corlys really wanted his blood on the throne but Rhaenys believes the reader will be a much better ruler.

she’s kind of like the “peoples princess” if that makes sense. from a young age she began serving as the king’s cupbearer, allowing her the opportunity to watch the council work, and even there were times when she spoke up. advocating on behalf of the servants for better living conditions or pushing for repairs on the sewage system underneath the city.

not even Rhaenyra could deny that the reader would make a good queen but there’s some resentment directed to her father, angry he still won’t accept that she loves Daemon and there confusion as she watches Daemon wrap a beautiful necklace around the reader’s neck

I apologize for the long haitus, I wanted to return with something so here it is.

The plot just thickens

Before Daemon and Rhaenyra secret wedding, Alicent was already sowing seeds of doubt in Viserys's mind (the reader doesn't have any bastards, last she checked but even so it doesn’t count).And it would be a great irony if Viserys sent Otto away thinking he wanted Aegon to be king (which might be partially true), when in reality it’s the reader he desired to be in the throne. With Lyonel's death, and Rhaenyra's decision to move to Dragonstone with Laenor despite wanting to stay with her sister. Otto and Alicent are only given a better advantage to continue casting doubt on Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra and Daemon's marriage seals the deal, and soon after, they are summoned by a raven from King's Landing.

While the Velaryons may have mixed feelings, they are all in support of the reader in being the chosen heir. It’s Rhaenys who encourages Corlys’ decision to swear his fealty to her. It doesn’t help that Rhaenys believes Rhaenyra and Daemon are the cause for her son’s death and them marrying right after Laena’s death only adds salt to the wound. Rhaenys genuinely believes the reader will be a much better ruler. 

When the reader is named heir, there is one final step for both Alicent and Otto to ensure her position (or as they like to say). So it comes as little surprise when the reader is revealed to be wed to Aegon. She already has gained a great deal of knowledge regarding politics throughout the years she was compelled to relocate to accommodate the entire family, from Driftmark to King's Landing to Dragonstone. Alicent and Otto took a step further in letting the reader act as the king's cupbearer, and Viserys naturally agreed. Unlike Rhaenyra who felt undermined in the council, the reader isn't cut off when advocating for herself, rather, she's backed by the green council. 

As you mentioned, she has earned the title of the "people's princess” through her charity, her advocacy for improved living conditions for the castle's servants as well insistence on repairing the sewage systems and for better roads. Tales abound in the city about the princess who visits orphanages, escorted, of course, by the finest knights, among them Ser Criston Cole. With all of that, simply wedding the reader to Aegon, already wins him favor at king's landing, besides, it's evident to the court that it's the reader who holds all the power.

It's an internal struggle for Rhaenyra; she feels waves of resentment and anger, sometimes aimed at her father and other times at the reader. But, she can never take the reader's actions personally, not after she offers Rhaenyra dragonstone or when she vows to make her the hand when she ascends the iron throne. So how can she ever be genuinely upset at her beloved sister whom she also thinks would make a wonderful queen?

And for Daemon, whom she observes draping a beautiful necklace—akin to the one he gave her years ago—around her sister's neck. She observes as her ever naive sister turns to face him, beaming as thanks him for the gift.

And for Daemon who she watches wrapping a beautiful necklace around her sister’s neck, similar to the one he gifted her a long time ago. She watches as her sister turns to him, beaming and thanking him for the gift, her sister so naive and innocent. But it won’t be long before Viserys catches wind of it, and if not him, Otto and Alicent will and this is the last thing they ever wish to happen. For they know, no matter how many times they Banish Daemon, he will always find his way to return to your side.

[erathene]

Sowing Seeds

Summary: Wound up by your mother’s incessant nagging, you reminisce over the ranger of the north you fell in love with. Aragorn helps in more ways than one.

Word count: 2k

Pairing: Aragorn x Female!Reader 

Warnings: This fic is rated mature. LOTS of Spice, sexual themes (flirting, touching, kissing, teasing). Mentions of pregnancy and conceiving a child. Mentions of sexual intercourse, but it is not explicitly described. 

AO3 Link: Sowing Seeds

Author's note: Thank you to @emmanuellececchi for being a wonderful Beta reader and taking time to provide feedback even when sick! You're the best 😘 Thank you also to @dancerinthestorm and @inkedmoth who cheered me on when I was documenting my creative process, you guys are awesome 🙂 This fic is also dedicated to anyone who has had the unsolicited question of “when are you having kids // when are you trying for baby #2”. Fertility and conceiving is a journey which looks different from person to person, and there are many versions of happiness that come with it. Enjoy ❤️

..........................

"My love?"

At the distant sound of your husband's voice, you glance up, the letter from your mother still clutched in your hand. You rise quickly, tucking the parchment back into its envelope and stuffing it hastily into a drawer of the writing desk.

"In here," you call back to him. Even after all these months of living in the royal quarters, at times they still feel enormous to you.

He rounds the door to the study and your eyes take in the full sight of him. He's sporting a crisp linen shirt and lightweight moss-green tunic, both of which are generously covered in dirt. His sleeves have been rolled up to the elbows, the dirt even more pronounced around his exposed forearms, down to his hands and fingertips. His breeches and boots fare no better, and there are particularly large patches of mud clinging to his kneecaps where he must have been kneeling in the fresh earth. There's also a slight sheen on his forehead which speaks of his toil.

He looks far more ranger than king today, more than you've seen in a long time. He looks... delightful.

"Been in the gardens again?" you muse, taking in his form with one eyebrow raised and a twitch at your mouth.

"Aye," he says, brushing one elbow where a patch of drying mud seems to bother him. "Our head gardener believes we will have the most spectacular blooms in the palace gardens ere the start of summer," he gushes passionately.

"I don't doubt it," you smirk, still looking him up and down, "with all the work you're putting in."

He flashes a quick smile in your direction. There he is. Your ranger. The dirt-ridden Dúnedain who was always traipsing from one corner of Middle Earth to another, ragged and rough-looking from the wilds and the woodlands, the scent of which lingered on every part of his being. You suddenly wished you were close enough to smell him, just as a flash of a distant memory crosses your mind; one of the two of you buried in each other's arms, his calloused hands running gently through your hair, your lips pressing against his, fully consuming him yet wanting more. The temporary burst of imagery in your mind is intense.

You blame your mother for this, her and her persistent letters which usually centre around the royal heirs that need to come forth sooner rather than later. She was quick to approve your match with long-lost-heir-to-the-throne-of-Gondor Aragorn, but much less approving of Strider and his ranger ways. Indeed, if he had stepped over her threshold in his current state, she would likely throw him out and tell him to go bathe in a horse trough before showing his face at her doorstep again.

He somehow seems to partly read your mind. "I'll go change into something more--"

"Don't," you interrupt him quickly. The last thing you want him to do is change.

You slowly cross the room to where he is standing with a slightly bewildered look on his face, the light chiffon of your dress trailing behind you across the carpets. It's a loose-fitting gown, one of the more casual garments from your wardrobe, the colours well-suited to the warming spring weather. With no royal engagements today, you had deliberately chosen it over the tighter, more formal frocks that now seemed to be overflowing from every armoire in your chambers.

What happened to the simple leggings and cotton blouses you used to wear? What was ever wrong with them?

"What troubles you?" Aragorn's voice is calm and quiet as you approach, despite the crease in his brow. Ever the doting husband, he instinctively knows that something has irked you. 

"Nothing of great significance... My mother and her nagging," you shrug shyly with a roll of your eyes.

"And what has she to say, pray tell?" He traces the backs of his knuckles along your upper arm, up to your shoulder and the strap of your dress, so gentle it barely touches your skin.

You look up into his deep, grey eyes. "Please, I do not want to think about my mother right now." Your voice is hovering somewhere between a whisper and a moan. He doesn't stop caressing your arm. "She's on about… that subject again."

His eyebrows lift in surprise. "Has she rescinded her opinion of me? To be posing the question to you so openly and so often?"

You snicker at the thought. "I don't think she will ever move past the fact that her only daughter went chasing after a ranger of the north. She missed out on the opportunity to play matchmaker." Yes, your mother would have loved to have been the one to set you up with some petty lord with the promise of new trade links for your homeland and a sizable dowry for your family's coffers. 

Aragorn hummed to himself, his head tilting sideways as he considered this fact. "Is the King of Gondor not enough for her?" he says, stretching his arms wide in jest.

"Enough of that talk, Telcontar," you scoff, using his chosen house name against him. "You married a strong woman; unfortunately for you, she comes with an equally strong mother-in-law."

"Well," he breathes softly, wrapping his soiled hands around your own, "loathe as I am to do something to appease your mother, the idea of you, round and brimming with our child, does sound very appealing to me." He lifts your hands to his chest where your finely-crafted silver wedding band gleams in the bright sunlight. "A little Telcontari of our own," he murmurs, placing a kiss on your ring finger.

You cannot help your coy smile. "Only the one?"

His fingertips reach for a stray strand of your hair that dangles beside your cheek, and he carefully tucks it behind your ear. "However many you want, my love." His giant hand moves from your hair to your jawline, his thumb inching towards your mouth.

His words are deliberate and astute; many times you have mentioned your childhood spent amongst your large family, and there is little doubt he is not aware of your desire for a generous brood. Yet you cannot stop the flirtatious back talk that slips from your open mouth. "You may come to regret that," you say, before biting your lip and locking his gaze.

A smile quickens across his features. "I think I ought to be the judge of what I regret saying to my wife."

It almost sounds like a challenge.

Strong, muscular arms pull you in closer as he speaks, embracing you, his palms settling into the small of your back. He holds you regally, his touch firm yet gentle, as though you're the answer to every prayer he's ever spoken in tortured whispers to the divine. You are his queen, and he intends to treat you as such; he lays a tender, drawn-out kiss on your forehead where the Gondorian diadem would normally be resting on your brow. He is practically worshipping you.

Yes, it's good. But receiving the royal treatment is not on your agenda today. What you are looking for, what you need, is the ranger in him. You need Strider.

Your next move catches him somewhat off guard. You press your palms to his chest and push him backwards, driving him into the wall with a gentle thud. His eyes betray his curiosity, but he shouldn't be surprised; after all, it was he who trained you in hand-to-hand combat when you joined the northern rangers. You begin your assault, placing kisses along his collarbone and up his neck to where, eventually, you come to the skin beneath his ear where you know he is most sensitive. He confirms you have found his weakness with a low, gravelly moan that rumbles his throat. It gives you the confidence needed to push on, to be bolder. Your hands trail from his chest to the nape of his neck, up into his hair, your fingertips massaging his scalp before pulling his lengths taught. You smirk into his skin when he lets out a second moan.

You should have known better than to think your touch would disable him and this time, it's you who is caught off guard. He sweeps your legs out from under you and wraps them around his waist, spinning you around, lifting you up against the same wall he had his back to moments ago. The breath is driven out of your lungs as he pins you there. He gives you a look, his eyes holding a hunger like he's absolutely starved of you, and you know you're about to learn exactly what regret means.

His lips take to your mouth and he's a man on a mission; to satiate every whim, every desire, every need that you awoke within him and he will not allow himself to rest until he has achieved it. His kiss is wild, passionate, and his broad hands explore your body freely, taking in every contour and curve you have to offer him. You finally figure out how to draw breath again and you inhale his scent, the blissful smell of gardens and disturbed earth washing over you.

It's not hard for you to picture him the way you fell in love with him; a worn travelling cloak hanging from his well-built shoulders which also bear his pack, bow and bedroll, prepared and ready for whatever the world throws his way.

He breaks away momentarily, muttering something incomprehensible about how sweet you taste, before his lips meet your own once more. He consumes you as though you're the first proper meal he's had after weeks on the road. Your breath catches in your throat as he nips at your bottom lip in his frenzy, yet your reaction only encourages his mouth; further kisses are placed along your jawline, one after another like trailing footprints, inching their way to your neck, where his teeth sink into yet more of your flesh and begin to gently suck. He knows just as well as you do that it will leave a bruise. A claim to mark his territory. 

His hands return to roaming about your thighs, tugging at the fabric of your dress, searching for his prize. You know exactly what he wants. However, your full-length gown is awkwardly caught around your knees, the chiffon unwilling to stretch, blocking his access. His fingers switch to tugging at the fastening at the back of the dress, impatient and restless. 

Frustrating as it is to tell your husband to stop, your conscience knows you must. Breaking away from his touch, you hiss a command. "Not here, Aragorn.” You have been working hard to build a trusting relationship with your household staff in recent months, and goodness knows what would happen if one of them were to catch their king and queen in the act of procreation right here on the study floor. The poor elderly head housekeeper would likely faint with shock.

He tries to protest, the disappointment evident in his longing eyes, but you press your index finger to his lips.  "And not with those filthy hands either. Wash them first, then meet me in the bed chamber." You pause, taking a moment to lean in to whisper in his ear, "and there, you can remove whatever you want." Your seductive tone makes the prospect sound even more inviting to him than it already is.

Aragorn sighs, allowing a curse to slip through his lips. He releases your thighs and they slowly drag against his soiled breeches until your feet return to the floor. You pull away and turn towards your chambers, but not before taking a moment to look back at your husband; he's gaping at you like a fool, completely caught in your trance, so you intentionally allow the strap of your dress to fall from your shoulder. You know it's all he can do to keep his feet planted where he stands and not curse you again for being such a tease. As a final provocation, you run your tongue across your bottom lip before sauntering away, your hips deliberately swinging from side to side as he watches you leave. The palace gardens are not the only place Aragorn will be sowing his seeds today, it would seem. 

[thevelaryons]

The thing about pitting Rhaenys (show) and Catelyn (show & book) against each other, in their reactions to their husband’s bastards, is that it completely ignores the context of their situations.

Many men fathered bastards. Catelyn had grown up with that knowledge. It came as no surprise to her, in the first year of her marriage, to learn that Ned had fathered a child on some girl chance met on campaign. He had a man’s needs, after all, and they had spent that year apart, Ned off at war in the south while she remained safe in her father’s castle at Riverrun. Her thoughts were more of Robb, the infant at her breast, than of the husband she scarcely knew. He was welcome to whatever solace he might find between battles. And if his seed quickened, she expected he would see to the child’s needs.

He did more than that. The Starks were not like other men. Ned brought his bastard home with him, and called him “son” for all the north to see. When the wars were over at last, and Catelyn rode to Winterfell, Jon and his wet nurse had already taken up residence.

That cut deep. Ned would not speak of the mother, not so much as a word, but a castle has no secrets, and Catelyn heard her maids repeating tales they heard from the lips of her husband’s soldiers.

— A Game of Thrones, Catelyn II

Catelyn understands the social rules of the society she lives. She’s been taught the belief that men having affairs and fathering bastards is normal. But even in such a patriarchal society, there has to be a level of respect afforded to the wives of the men that cheat (especially if they’re noblewomen from powerful families). In Catelyn’s case, she feels slighted because her husband raised his bastard in the same household. It is considered a social insult to Catelyn that her husband did this to her.

She had come to love her husband with all her heart, but she had never found it in her to love Jon. She might have overlooked a dozen bastards for Ned’s sake, so long as they were out of sight. Jon was never out of sight, and as he grew, he looked more like Ned than any of the trueborn sons she bore him. Somehow that made it worse.

— A Game of Thrones, Catelyn II

Obviously it’s not fair to Jon that Catelyn takes out her resentment on him. Though from her POV chapters, it’s shown that she holds no negativity towards Ned’s mystery mistress despite hating Jon. It’s impossible to hate someone you don’t even know. Meanwhile, Jon is a living, breathing reminder of her husband’s infidelity. While it would be a more reasonable reaction for her to dislike Ned rather than misdirect her negative feelings towards Jon, Ned is still her lord husband. It is easier for Catelyn to hate Jon.

When it comes to Rhaenys, her husband’s mistress and bastards are relatively unknown to her, even if she is aware of their existence. They were kept far away from her. So Rhaenys is less likely to resent them. That’s why Rhaenys addresses only Corlys with barely concealed anger but Alyn doesn’t earn her scorn. The scene between her and Alyn in episode 4 appears to be the first time those two have ever interacted. Rhaenys has not had to live every day with the reminder of her husband’s betrayal. If it’s out of sight, it can be (relatively) out of her mind.

I’m sure that the way this show characterizes its female characters as more gentler/calm individuals definitely plays a part with how Rhaenys reacts here too. Which is why the viewers are led to assume Rhaenys just quietly accepted the fact of her husband cheating on her.

In the book, Corlys never dared have his bastards around whilst his wife still lived. He kept the affair so discreet that had it not been for him personally presenting the boys at the Red Sowing, no one would have assumed him to be the father. Both Addam & Alyn were staying with their mother and serving in her fleet. In the show, Alyn is in Corlys’ fleet, and therefore more likely to come under notice (and that’s exactly what happens).

Princess Rhaenys, his wife, had the fiery temperament of many Targaryens, Mushroom says, and would not have taken kindly to her lord husband fathering bastards on a girl half her age, and a shipwright’s daughter besides. Therefore his lordship had prudently ended his “shipyard trysts” with Mouse after Alyn’s birth, commanding her to keep her boys far from court. Only after the death of Princess Rhaenys did Lord Corlys at last feel able to bring his bastards safely forward.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons

Not only did Corlys have an affair with a young girl (coincidentally the same age Rhaenys was when she married him), but said girl is also a commoner. Rhaenys is a princess who could have been a queen. For Corlys to make his affair public would have been a huge insult to his wife, even if he never brought up the matter of his bastards. Rhaenys would have been rightfully furious at the shame her husband’s actions bring upon her. She was the first to speak up when her position as heir was usurped so that suggests she’s not the type to just turn a blind eye to anything she considers an injustice against her. Book version has a far more fiery personality than her show counterpart. Her reaction to the truth would probably be different too.

A detail in episode 4 which I did like is when Rhaenys corrected Alyn about her title. Princess not Lady. She’s asserting her position and status in that moment. Alyn serves the Lord of Driftmark so naturally his Lord’s wife would be a Lady to him. By correcting Alyn, Rhaenys places him in the position of an ignorant who does not even know the difference between the titles. Perhaps a subtle expression of classism towards another who is very much beneath her. But the glimmer of antagonism is gone as soon as it appears. Their interaction is not simply Rhaenys welcoming her husband’s bastard with open arms.

The show leaves Rhaenys’ original reaction, when she first finds out about the affair, to the imagination. So it’s difficult to say what exactly she felt in the moment. Unlike fiery tempered book!Rhaenys, the show version is more calm and collected. She is a person who seeks peaceful resolutions to problems (similar to Catelyn) so her reaction in the show makes sense for her even if it’s different from how the book version of her may have reacted. In the HOTD canon, we’re basically getting an interpretation of how Catelyn might’ve reacted to Jon had he been raised away from Winterfell.

[myownwholewildworld]

WHEN THE GRIEF HOWLS ― a javier peña's autumnal oneshot (pt.2)

main masterlist | read part 1 | read on ao3 pairing: javier peña x f!reader (same couple as "when the moon howls"). can be read as a oneshot. summary: javi and you go back to yours after your idyllic pumpkin patch date and he stays over. you comfort him when his demons catch up with him. a/n: hiya! i OBVIOUSLY do not know what "oneshot" means??? bahhaha. this is another entry for @goodwithcheese and @jolapeno's jolabrew + withcheese fall challenge because i'm just so inspired by it all and javi has me on a chokehold. i promise this is my last entry. also thanks to sweet jo because she kinda sowed the seed and here we are! any notes you may wanna leave to keep me motivated are most welcomed c: take care lovelies <3 x warnings/tags: 18+, mdni (no smut here, but still). very mild/veiled allusions to intimacy. post season 3 of narcos, canon-deviating as javi is not hailed a hero upon his return to laredo, but quite the opposite. fluff - they are madly in love y'all. domestic bliss. angst. a smidgen of hurt, loads of comfort. description of a panic attack and vivid nightmares. mentions of ptsd and therapy. halloween/autumnal vibes. nightmare before christmas is mentioned because duh. both javi's and reader's povs (that's more like it). no use of y/n. no description of reader (moodboard is only for aesthetic purposes). unbeta'd, soz. w/c: 4.7k divider by @saradika-graphics

Sunday, 1st November 1998.

2:53 AM.

The bodies just kept piling up in front of his eyes.

Every person whose death he had witnessed.

Every body who had been hung off bridges.

Every person who had died because of a decision he had made.

Every soul he himself had extinguished.

The innocent bystanders, other governmental agents, politicians who had tried to fight the drug lords.

The 1989 Avianca flight that was brought down by a bomb planted by the Medellín cartel. Flight 203 had reaped the lives of one hundred and seven blameless lives ―one hundred and ten, he corrected himself― just because Escobar had wanted to eliminate his political opponent, César Gaviria Trujillo, who, by a fateful twist of the universe, never ended up boarding the flight.

The pictures of such tragedy still stuck with him, burnt into his retinas like a photo negative ― every time he blinked, the colours would pour into the frame, the vision grotesque and gut-turning.

Every single one of them was a failure Javier could not elude, could no longer bury in the most godforsaken drawer of his brain. A failure that would haunt him, would become corporeal in his vivid nightmares.

With the eyes of his dreaming imagination, he could see every one of them souls in front of him ― judging him, blaming him, eyes full of hatred. Accusatory fingers pointing at him, as if it was his Day of Reckoning.

All this piteous death, all this mindless suffering ― for naught.

He had made no true, tangible difference. He had fallen short.

And he was failing all over again in his lucid dream. Unable to stop them from dying, he saw each one of them perish in front of him until a heap of foul death surrounded him.

Javier finally felt it, even welcomed it ― the Grim Reaper’s noose loosely wrapping around his neck. Then taut and firm, a tight caress ghosting his skin. There was no going back, but there was no more guilt either. A bittersweet yet soothing balance, one that could only be served by the Ghoul’s scythe.

And then Death lifted him up, the hanging rope coiling on the tree branch ― suffocating him as his averted eyes watched the scene unfurl underneath him. A snarled mess of bodies, some hands reaching up to him. He would ―should― join them, after all.

A purposeful man would have struck back ― kick his feet, unfettered from his restrain.

But he didn’t fight back. He didn’t have it in him anymore. He got exactly what he deserved.

Javier startled awake, panting and sweating from such terrible nightmare. His heart was pounding against his ribs, his breathing accelerated causing him a painful stitch. He felt his chest caving in with all the panic that had slowly but steadily built up inside him.

His reaction was so severe, he had sprung up and sat up on the mattress. All he could hear was his blood heavily flowing through his eardrums; all he could see was darkness; all he could smell was the lingering stench of death; all he could taste was his remorse; all he could touch were dead, cold bodies.

Javier bent his knees, soles against the bedsheets, and leaned forward with his head buried between his knees. Eyes closed, he had to concentrate on his breathing and slowing down his racing heart. Otherwise, the panic would only grow and grow and grow until madness took over him.

Then a soothing, grounding hand slithered under the back of his tee shirt, a warm touch against his cold, damp skin. Only at that point did he remembered he wasn’t at his dad’s place, wasn’t alone either. His strained muscles visibly relaxed without him even trying.

“Javi,” your sleepy voice prevailed over his drowning anxiety. “It’s alright, I’m here.”

He still didn’t know what he had done to deserve you, to have you by his side, strong and unyielding ― ready to fight his demons for him if necessary. You loved so fiercely, so deeply, at first he tried to fight it. To spare you.

But how could he? You were the moon that imposed the perfect cadence on his tide, calling him home at night. The moment he had landed his eyes on you and your orbits had crashed, he was a lost man ― lost to you, to your smile, to your unquivering positivity, your calmness, your ease to listen, to give advice, to help without asking for anything in return.

But how could you? Even when his grief was howling loud and clear, you loved him. Despite all his flaws and faults, his obvious defects, you saw past it all ― even past the rumours that flew around in Laredo about him. He knew you had heard all the gossip, how people talked about his fictional shenanigans with the drug lords, a willing participant in their endeavours. How he did drugs on the job and sold some of it back to the narcos. Javier had been deaf to all of it ― he didn’t care for what people were saying. Didn’t even bother to put a stop to it, because he had enough open fronts to fight as it was.

Even his childhood friends had turned their backs on him. But not you. Never you. Not even when he had shared his darkest secrets with you over a pumpkin spice latte and a slice of pumpkin cake. Instead of withdrawing from him, you held his hand as he had talked with a heavy heart and short of breath. The flashes coming back to him, you soothed by the mere caress of your fingertips.

You had touched his core ―just as you were touching him now―, kneaded it until it softened like clay on the hands of an expert ceramist. Javier didn’t think himself worthy of love, not after everything he had done and seen. Colombia had shattered him ― Javier had lost all hope in humanity.

The life he had sustained in Colombia had finally caught up with him, destroyed the person he had been prior to all of it. Once a womanizer, he had no longer found respite in laying with his informers. Had even quit smoking, only to go back to it a few weeks later ― the crushing anxiety pushing him back to the stale taste of tobacco. He had cut down on the black coffee too.

In spite of that, he was far from being a reformed man. He even doubted he could ever be a normal civilian. The trauma that haunted him had a tight grip on him, hefty shackles wrapping around his wrists. And his heavy breathing and sweating were a testament to his struggles.

“Javi?” You called again, your tone delicate and heartening.

Slowly Javier came out of his sluggish haze ― your palm rubbing his spine, beckoning him to come back to reality.

Lifting his head up, elbows on knees, he looked at you over his left shoulder.

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to wake you, pequeña (little one).” His hoarse voice felt unlike him, so he cleared his throat.

You sat back up on the bed, your hand wrapping around his waist until the palm flushed against his tummy under his tee. You kissed his shoulder and then his lips.

“You should have woken me up earlier, Javi. I want to be by your side when your nightmares startle you. I wanna help you, I wanna be there for you. Always.” Your words tugged at his heart, knowing full well you truly meant them.

A weak, crooked smile took over the muscles of his mouth. How easy you uprooted a grin from him ― you were so effortless to love, to care for, it felt as natural as breathing.

“Old habits die hard.” Javi muttered, bowing forward a bit seeking your warm, welcoming lips.

He had bottled all his suffering up for months now, years. It was hard to let go ― one of the main reasons he had signed up for therapy.

You smiled into the kiss, your fingertips lightly stroking the sensitive skin around his belly button.

“Baby steps.” You pressed a few consecutive pecks on his lips.

Javier sighed, visibly relaxing now as his body released the tension under your attention. He then laid flat on his back again, dragging you with him until your cheek was pressed against the centre of his chest. After, you buried your face in the crook of his neck while your left hand wiped the pearly drops of sweat off his forehead before raking his untamed hair back. That same hand quickly burrowed under his tee shirt, rubbing his clammy skin ― you didn’t seem bothered by his perspiration.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, your lips brushing his jawline.

“It’s just the same nightmare I always have. I was being hung off a tree, dead bodies piling up beneath me.” He struggled to say out loud, unconsciously reaching for his neck where the imaginary noose had tightened.

Your fingers forced his to move to one side so you could kiss his Adam’s apple ― the feeling of the rope around his neck replaced by the calming flick of your mouth.

Javier closed his eyes, his bad dream gradually fading away.

“Did you fight back?” He had told you that was what the therapist had recommended he tried if the nightmare was vivid enough ― that he attempted to regain control.

“No, I couldn’t. Not yet.” He murmured; a tad ashamed of himself.

“That’s okay, Javi.” You reassured him, feeling his vulnerability, as your hand caressed his tummy. “Baby steps”, you repeated.

Javier nodded, turning his face to you so he could press a kiss to your forehead. You snuggled a bit more into his side.

“Go back to sleep, pequeña.”

“Only if you do.” You challenged him with a smile.

Javi let go of a snort, unsurprised by your stubbornness.

“Alright, let’s go back to sleep then, both of us.”

6:14 AM.

The thumping rhythm under your fingertips alerted you to Javi’s awakening. Or perhaps he had been subtle enough this time not to wake you up. His heart pumped so hard, you could count his every heartbeat. With your hand still under his tee shirt, lazily resting on the middle of his chest, your thumb traced his sternum a few times.

“I thought you said both of us?” You muttered light-heartedly, your lips brushing his earlobe.

Javi inhaled and then steadily exhaled, his pulse slowing down.

“I just woke up a couple of minutes ago.”

You didn’t know if he was lying or not, but you believed him. Every word he said, you knew to trust. The last few weeks you had unearthed the real Javi, had dusted off so many secrets and emotions, you just knew he had no need to lie to you. There was really no point.

It was weird to think that yesterday you believed this impossible. Your friendship with Javi had developed so fast, you didn’t even have a chance at confessing your true feelings for him. You thought you concealed them well, afraid of losing him ― because you rather had him as a close friend, than not having him at all. A coward maybe, but a coward with him by your side.

You had not planned to fall in love again, not after your last breakup. However, Javier was so different, so down to earth and as broken as you were, you had fallen for him before you even gave yourself a chance at love again. Perhaps you had been putting his pieces back together and thrown yours in the puzzle too ― to the point that your stitches ended where his began.

Unbeknownst to you, Javi had been harbouring feelings for you too. Not even in your wildest dreams would you have thought he would be the one to take the risk. You had melted at the first touch of his lips, as if that was exactly where you belonged. As if all experiences up to that point had led you to his arms. You were meant to be ― two broken soul pieces that fit together perfectly.

Last night had been the best one of your life, no doubt in your mind. Hidden under the linen, you had silently played a new version of “trick or treat” together ― where there were no tricks, but many treats. With the language of your hands, you had read the braille on every groove of his skin. He had mapped you out in return too ― hungry, needy hands making you shiver.

You could still feel the warmth, the love, his scarce yet reassuring words.

‘There are no better toasts than those made by your eyelashes’, he had told you in whispered bliss.

You smiled at the memory ― a heavy, comforting sensation wrapping around your heart, blanketing your whole being.

“What’s on your mind, cariño (honey)?”

You didn’t want to press him, just wanted him to open up if he felt the need to. Javier stirred to lay down on his side ― his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses nuzzling. The intimacy of his closeness made you swoon, but his words wore you down ever so slightly.

“Judy Moncada. Los Pepes. The CIA. The newspaper. All of it, really.” You felt the pain in his voice as your own.

You knew how hard he had worked, for all of it to be taken away so quickly, so dismissively. He had been the scapegoat, and it almost ruined him. No wonder why he took a step back and returned to Laredo.

It still made your blood boil how the town had received him, how they treated him like a pariah. But it was their fucking loss. If they were too blind to see Javier Peña for who he really was, then Javi had not really lost much. You were just glad you had not listened to Alejandra the first day you met him ― otherwise it would have been a great loss to you.

You kissed his forehead, his closed eyes ― his eyelashes tickling the fragile skin of your lips. Then you pressed a chaste peck on his mouth while he enveloped you in a tight embrace.

“Life’s so unfair, I wish I could make them see. See who you really are, Javi. But some people are too stubborn. It’s easier to believe lies rather than the truth. It’s their loss.” You spoke softly, understanding where his train of thought was going.

Javi didn’t reply ― he just kissed your neck in silent gratitude, the hairs of his kempt moustache making you feel ticklish.

“Since last night we were― uhm, busy,” to put it mildly, “I was thinking that today we can do what I had planned for last night.” You suddenly said to distract him.

You couldn’t see, the darkness enveloping you both, but you knew his brows were knitting in confusion.

“What had you planned?” He asked, curiosity staining his question.

You smiled.

“Well… Since you don’t know, it’ll be a surprise.”

7:46 AM.

“Is it really broken?” You pouted from the other side of the counter, walking around to meet Javi.

He had a handheld mixer and was insistently pressing on the button to turn it on to no avail. He clicked his tongue.

“Yeah, it ain’t working. Gonna have to mix all of this by hand, ain’t I?” You laughed at his frustration, as you took the device from him to inspect it.

Yes, it was broken alright. Damn.

“I’m afraid so.” You removed the whisks and handed them to him. “Unless you’re not up to the task?” You cocked a challenging brow.

Javi scoffed, rolling his eyes and snatching the tools off your fingers.

“Please. I think I can handle a pumpkin cake.”

His offence was faked, and you couldn’t help but giggle. He quickly followed as he started battering everything by hand.

“I’m already done with the cheese frosting. So once you’re finished, we’ll leave it to bake for forty minutes.” You explained, leaning against the counter to watch what he was doing.

“And after?”

“Don’t be so impatient. You finish off here while I go look for… something.”

Javi squinted his chocolate eyes and pouted, shaking his head. He was not going to get you to talk.

“Stay here, and don’t come looking for me!” You threatened, burying a finger in his chest, before running away, smirking.

Two minutes later you were deep down in your closet, searching for the boxes labelled “Halloween decorations”. You had only planned to be in Laredo for a year, but that did not stop you from bringing with you all your seasonal décor. And All Hallow’s Eve, being the peak of your favourite season, had to be celebrated properly.

So, you dragged the two boxes out and then dived back in. On your tiptoes, your fingers brushed the rectangular box you were trying to reach for on the top shelf. But as much as you tried, you were not tall enough to get to it.

“Need a hand there?”

You quickly turned around ― Javier had sneaked behind you and scared the shit out of you.

You slapped his shoulder, and he cackled.

“Don’t do that! Almost had a heart attack!” You joked, although your heart was really pounding against your ribcage.

“Let me help with that.” He offered.

Javi easily reached for the box and took it down.

His brows touched each other when he saw what the box was. Then looked back at you with question marks dancing in his pupils.

“I think I got the wrong box.”

You shook your head no, suppressing a laugh.

“No, that’s the right one.” You curled your fingers, your palm extended towards him, asking for the box.

Javier reluctantly gave it to you.

“I don’t get it. You’re like almost two months off?”

You chuckled again, pushing the tall box to your chest as if hugging it. “Can you carry those two boxes to the living room for me, please?”

He obliged, albeit the confusion was still painted on his gorgeous face. You led the way with Javi on your heels. Once you both settled everything on the floor, you spun around to glance at him with puppy eyes and hands laced in a prayer.

“Don’t judge me, okay?” You started off, fluttering your eyelashes exaggeratedly. “I’ve been doing this since I was a kid. It’s what my family call a Hallotreen―”

“A Hallo-what?” He interrupted you, a grin fighting its way to the outside.

“Hallotreen. It’s a Halloween tree! Like a Christmas tree, but with spooky decorations! I usually put it up on Halloween night, so it’s ready for All Saint’s Day and All Soul’s Day.”

You extended your arms at your revelation, as if to say, “Isn’t it obvious?!”.

Javi first looked at you blankly, and then erupted in laughter. You couldn’t help yourself but join him as he took a step forward to drape his arms around you, his comforting hands landing on the small of your back.

“God, you’re so full of surprises. I love it, I love you.” You could tell it had slipped from his tongue by mistake, because his fun expression quickly darkened.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sudden confession. You leaned back a bit, studying his beautiful face, and tilted your head to one side while you considered his words.

“Do you mean it?” You cooed in a hush, feeling so vulnerable, so raw.

Javi’s eyes locked on yours for a never-ending minute. Then they slowly drifted down to your parted lips and nodded as he, unhurriedly, bowed down towards you.

“Yes, I do. I do mean it, pequeña.” He purred, no joking timbre in his words.

Your heart contracted and then expanded in an outburst, your lungs filling up with his minty breath as you tiptoed to meet his mouth before you hummed, “I love you too.”

When your lips crashed, the tenderness pouring from his mouth into yours soothed any lingering doubt. Although sudden, your love was true. You were not imagining it ― Javi felt the same way. You never believed in the tales of love at first sight, but now that you were the protagonist of such story, you definitely did.

The kiss naturally came to an end and Javi pressed his lips against your forehead, holding you still in his hug for a sweet moment. How you wished you could stay between his arms forever.

‘Maybe we do have forever.’ That thought made you slightly emotional. You could see Javi by your side until the end of days. With a family of your own. It just felt natural.

“Alright, let’s do this then. So we put the tree up first?” Javi asked, amused.

You laughed as you took a step back and knelt down to open the box the Christmas tree was in.

“Yeah, and let me tell you. It’s a big one. Seven feet of pure bliss!” You laughed while unpacking it, Javi soon on his knees helping you out, chuckling too.

Ten minutes later, the tree was up, and you both had started to sort out all the Halloween decorations that came in the plastic boxes. There was a big assortment of different bits and bobs, and you directed Javi to get all pumpkin-shaped trinkets sorted first.

Once you had a healthy pile, you both hung all the decorations on the tree with no real pattern. You peppered some pumpkins here and there; some autumnal, plastic leaves to make the tree look fuller and fluffier. You also had some Halloween-themed baubles ― one with a witch inside, other with a pumpkin patch, another one with a murder of crows floating inside. You also dotted some stringed pinecones around the tree.

You had been curating your collection for so long now, you had way too much stuff, and Javi quickly picked up on it.

“What are we going to do with the rest? There’s so much here, I’m starting to think you have a problem?” He joked, sinking a finger on your side, tickling you.

You chortled, trying to avoid his tickling attack. Javi grabbed you by the elbow and forced you to slam against his chest.

“Well… I must confess. If you think this is a lot, it’s because you have not seen my Christmas collection.”

His eyes widened in feigned horror, and then laughed.

“Can’t wait for Christmas then.”

You smiled at him before gently kissing his collarbone. Then you faced the Hallotreen, holding his hand in yours.

It was a masterpiece. The perfect balance of different hues ― oranges, browns, reds, dark greens and some black dotted around. It looked perfect with all the trinkets filling it.

It made you so happy, you clapped your hands before turning to look at an enlivened Javi.

“It’s just missing the final touch.” You announced as you rummaged through one of the boxes and took out the best piece of them all, presenting it to Javi as if it was the Holy Grail. “Ta-dah!”

It was a figurine of Jack Skellington, from one of your favourite movies ― The Nightmare before Christmas. Jack was on a sitting-down position, perfect to crown the tree.

“It’s a Jack tree-topper. I almost fainted when I first saw it a few years ago. It cost me $100, but it was worth every. single. penny”, you punctuated ― you would smack him if he said otherwise.

Luckily, Javi agreed with you with a pleasant hum and a crooked smirk.

“Let’s put it up then, the King of the Pumpkin Patch needs to have a good panoramic view of his kingdom.” He jested and you were so happy with the reference, you could only love him a bit more ― if that was even possible.

Out of nowhere, Javi knelt down in front of you, his back towards you. He looked over his shoulder at you, brows furrowed, when you didn’t move. Javi lightly patted his shoulder.

“C’mon, up.”

“What? You want to carry me on your shoulders?” You asked, confused.

“Yeah, how are you gonna reach the top if not? That’s seven feet.”

You took a step back, gripping the tree-topper tight between your hands and let go of a guffaw.

“Nope, not happening. I’m gonna crush you! I’ll get a―”

A perfect eyebrow raised into his forehead, and he scrunched his lips, his moustache moving from side to side with disapproval.

“I said up.” His tone was commanding ― Javi would not accept no for an answer. “Come on, don’t make me make you.”

With a sigh, you let go of your insecurities and ended up sitting on his shoulders. Javi’s firm hands rested on your knees as he slowly stood up, keeping a perfect balance.

You chuckled nervously as he walked to the tree. Trying to find your own balance, you planted your left hand of Javi’s forehead. Or what you thought was his forehead, because he then complained.

“Hey, I can’t see!”

You looked down ― you had covered his eyes by mistake, so you quickly lifted your hand up and placed it on his forehead.

“Sorry!”

Javi laughed in reply. Reaching up with the hand holding the figure, you were finally able to set it down without breaking it.

“Yay! Done!”

He knelt down again, releasing your knees from the prison of his hands, and your feet finally rested against the wooden floor. When Javi got up, you both took a step back to admire such work of art.

“Dare I say myself? This looks amazing, the best Hallotreen I have ever had!” You screeched with excitement, almost jumping in place.

When Javi didn’t respond, you glanced up at him. His eyes, darkened with something deep and warm, were intently studying your face. His expression was so relaxed, so at peace, you knew the nightmares were now a forgotten memory ― at least until tonight.

Knowing you could be a balm to his emotional wounds made your heart twist with longing. You wished you could take it all away, that you could take his place and suffer it all for him, so he didn’t need to. You loved him so dearly, you promised yourself that Javi would never have to go through such trauma ever again.

He lifted one hand up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear ― such a loving gesture, your heart melted for him.

“What?” You asked, timid, with a nervous laugh.

“Nothing.” He buzzed, hugging you close to his torso.

The kiss started off soft and tender, a mere graze of his lips against yours. And before it became sultry and demanding, the oven’s clock started beeping.

Javi grunted and you grinned. Grabbing his hand, you dragged him to the kitchen.

9:22 PM.

“Oh, somewhere deep inside of these bones an emptiness began to grow. There's something out there far from my home. A longing that I've never known…” Jack was lamenting on the background.

Javier couldn’t help but look at you over his mug of hot chocolate. You were laying down on the couch with your back against his chest, tightly gripping your mug and buried under a fleece blanket. The living room was dark, only two sources of light: one was the TV playing Tim Burton’s Nightmare Before Christmas, and the other was the string of lights wrapping around the Hallotreen.

He could grow used to this, to you. Jack’s Lament somewhat resonated with him ― there was a longing in his heart he had never known before. And that longing now had a name ― yours.

Javi had to suppress a lopsided smirk when you kept on mumbling the lyrics of the song. You knew all the dialogue, all the songs, every single scene. And he let you talk throughout the movie, because he loved listening to all the comments you needed to let out. You were far too excited ― and so was he.

Yes, he could definitely get used to this. To you.

If you didn’t mind, he’d like to join you by your side.

Where you both could gaze into the stars and sit together, now and forever.

For it was plain, as anyone could see, you simply were meant to be…

[kazz-brekker]

hotd episode thoughts

listen, as someone who enjoys some good dragon drama, i feel fantastically well catered-to by this episode

the confrontation between rhaenyra and addam was fun, i liked that it's apparently kind of inspired by western face-offs but with dragons instead of guns

that conversation between larys and ironrod while they were watching aemond sentence men to the watch definitely implied to me that, unlike with his brother, the council is so wary of/intimidated by aemond they don't even want to talk to him about possibly important war developments. which does not bode well for team green's stability in the future, tbh

jace stop being mean about mysaria that's your mom's girlfriend you're talking about :(

i did find the conversation between rhaenyra and jace really interesting, i hadn't considered that the sowing of the seeds plan might bring out so much of his insecurities about being a bastard. he and rhaenyra have probably the most functional parent-child relationship in the show, but they really DON'T talk about this aspect of his life at all, and it really shows

oscar tully unexpected mvp of the episode perhaps? holding his own against that whole council of river lords…calling daemon loathsome…making him execute willem blackwood to atone for spurring on those war crimes…king shit!

i enjoyed getting to see viserys again, i've really missed his actor this season and seeing daemon's reaction to his ruined face was quite interesting

daemon you are SO close to realizing that you don't actually want to be king and would make a terrible ruler, i'm rooting for you to figure this out by the season finale

the scene with aegon and larys talking was probably my favorite from last week so i really liked that we got a follow-up on it. very impressed that aegon is capable of walking even the tiniest amount after what he's been through

rhaena running off into the mountains…she's getting that dragon by hook or by crook

ulf trying to get out of claiming a dragon by claiming he had an injury made me laugh

i like that hugh and ulf have totally different reactions to being possible dragonseeds, one boasting and the other hiding it

alicent was serving real ophelia by john william waterhouse vibes this episode

loved that the dragonkeepers had a huge fight with rhaenyra over the sowing of the seeds, they're in the background of so many dragon scenes but we've never gotten much perspective on what they think of dragons or the targaryen right to claim them before

i do admit to saying "wow, those are some toasty boys" out loud when vermithor was torching those poor dragonseeds

love love LOVE that we got to see both vermithor and silverwing this episode, they look so cool and i love their distinct designs

i have been waiting ALL SEASON for the payoff of hugh and ulf claiming those dragons and it was such an exciting sequence, you could really feel the adrenaline and the danger the whole time

ryan condal on the inside the episodes comparing the death of the dragonseeds to ritual sacrifice was also super fun symbolism

another daeron mention, hi daeron and tessarion :)

also house beesbury making problems for the hightowers, love to see it

after aemond has spent so much time this season intimidating and terrifying other people it WAS super fun to see him do a hard swerve into fear when he saw how many dragonriders rhaenyra has now

that final shot of rhaenyra standing on the dragonmount with syrax, vermithor, and silverwing behind her DID get to, i must say. it's house of the dragon! and we have the dragons!!!

okay yeah i am super hyped for the finale and whatever it may bring, seems like it's gonna be epic. the triarchy! the dragons! the riverlands! helaena in the war effort, apparently?! what fun!

[mariacallous]

I LOVED this article. Leslie Gray Streeter expresses it perfectly.

https://www.thebaltimorebanner.com/opinion/column/kamala-harris-no-press-interviews-OPD4MAXYKRB4XJHB2TFB6ZJX6Q/

Since becoming the presumptive Democratic candidate for president, Vice President Kamala Harris has done myriad public appearances and given speeches but has not, as of this writing, talked to journalists outside a brief session on the tarmac before a flight.

I’m a journalist and have been for more than half my life. And you know what? I don’t blame her one bit.

Because of her refusal to sit for an interview with any print or broadcast media, Harris has been the target of a lot of indignant insistence that she change her mind — that she’s not giving the American public answers they deserve. Critics say she’s subverting an expected system that all other elected officials have gone through. They say she’s hiding behind a wall of hype and “irrational exuberance” that is proof she lacks the toughness to hold the office she seeks.

Be ever so real, y’all. You know that quote, “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results”? It would be insane to subject yourself to unfettered questions by an industry that doesn’t seem to know how to handle interviews with true journalistic integrity and practices. Why beat your head against a wall you know is made of brick and disinformation?

Harris has seen a media landscape that arguably legitimized soon-to-be-President Donald Trump as a normal candidate when he was sowing seeds of unrest, writing about him agreeing to accept the 2016 election results, “if I win,” and then denying those results in 2020 with not an nth of the absolute pushback and condemnation it deserved. She saw, as we all did, major outlets referring to obvious racist attacks by the current Republican nominee and others as “racially tinged” and to blatant bloody lies as “falsehoods” and “misstatements.”

The vice president recently approached the press gaggle with a deliberately direct “Whatcha got?” That is the same thing my late daddy used to ask me point-blank when I’d been calling and calling and he knew I wanted something. The reporters had been clamoring for this. And their response? A bunch of requests for a response to crazy stuff Trump said about her.

This is the same industry that initially wrote presidential fanfic pondering replacement candidates that weren’t Harris. Then, when President Joe Biden stepped down from the race and named her as his chosen successor, they compiled panels ruminating on Trump’s assertions about her racial identity. Fox News has gone on the attack about her every day, but she’s being called a coward for not agreeing to a debate on that network in front of an arena of opposing fans.

Yeah, no. She is not, as we say in my culture, Boo Boo the Fool, nor is she, as she’s stated, falling for the okey-doke. Would you rush to sit down to withstand more of that foolishness? I would not. Despite the protestations of several writers from traditional media absolutely aghast at her avoidance of them, the truth is that Kamala Harris doesn’t need them.

Just as Trump has flocked to friendly outlets like Fox and a live conversation on X with app owner Elon Musk (or what Harris’ team referred to as “whatever that was”), Harris has done speeches at a rally in North Carolina and last week in Prince George’s County, and she has her savvy and very online comms team to get her message out. It’s smart, because most outlets have proven they don’t know how to approach her.

The vice president has expressed interest in setting something up, but I wouldn’t be shocked if she sidesteps your Dana Bashes and Kristen Welkers and does something inventive. If I were her, I’d talk to MSNBC’s Lawrence O’Donnell, who has himself been critical of media colleagues, including his own network.

Maybe she should completely pivot and do something fun like “Hot Ones,” where she can answer policy questions while eating spicy wings. Talk to Teen Vogue. Do podcasts. Hang out with “The Real Housewives of Potomac.” I know these sound like lightweight options, but are any of these suggestions less weighty than Harris’ opponent, who bleats lies and racism on his own app, or his approved media partners who go on about Harris’ laugh, dating history and heritage? It’s all a circus. I say make your own big top.

And if madam vice president decides to talk to the traditional media, be it the New York Times or CNN, I think she should only do so with interviewers who have proven themselves to have cultural competency about race, gender, historically Black colleges and universities, the Divine 9 Greek system, step parenting and being a baddie in the 1990s. I’m not saying it has to be a friendly person like Trump seeks, but it does have to be someone who respects Harris enough as a candidate to do research and not spend the whole time asking gotcha questions about her opponent’s lies. Heck, I’ll do it! I know this is a long shot, but at least I know what okey-doke means.

I am excited for Harris’ future media choices because they are sure to be unprecedented, just like her candidacy. And it’s going to be on her terms. Everyone gets to set theirs, after all.

[sizzlingstarlightsky]

*Let Me Entertain You

Azriel x Reader x Eris

word cound: 1800

cw: smut, porn with plot, anal, deepthroating, voyerism

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Another meeting. Another day of hiding. Azriel has been haunting the halls of the Forest House for the last few months. Avoiding being seen by anyone other than his shadows, his mates, and their hounds.

As well trained as the hounds are, they almost gave him away a few times. He'd been outside with Eris and Y/N on a walk. Blending into the silhouettes of trees and nearby foliage. Azriel would occationally let a shadow or few chase around the puppies.

Lost in the peace of it all, the spymaster was oblivious to one of the guards winnowing up to Eris. Some letter to deliver in his hands. Of course that's precisely the moment a couple pups started barking at their shadow friends. Able to reign the tendrils in, just not fast enough to avoid to color draining from the guards face. Rumors of the grounds being haunted shortly followed but nothing serious was ever done about it. Eris knew, he loved the subtle pandimonium it caused. Sometimes calling a guard or emissary to that spot for, some bullshit reason. The High Lord only wanted a chuckle.

But this wasnt one of those tranquil days of peace. No. Today Azriel is bound to the darkened walls of his mates Throne room. Forced to conceal the love between them.

Eris had no problem introducing Y/N to the court. He reveled in how contagious your laughter and joy were. How effortless it was for you to thaw out the frozen fear Beron plunged the land into. But that's exactly why you two couldnt be tangled up in the High Lords bed that day, creating music only for one anothers ears.

Today Y/N was in one of the villages. Helping them clear land and plot new crops. Making way for farm animals to flourish. Sowing seeds of compassion and hope into the hearts of who you deem 'The most important people in the kingdom'.

"Does anyone have anything INTRESTING before we end? It's been budgets, complaints, and concerns all day. Entertain me" As overlooked as he felt, Az couldn't help but let a small smirk creep into his lips. Eris might be a cocky bitch, but fuck was he beautiful. Esspecially sprawled out over his throne. One leg hanging off the armrest while he files his nails.

The image of himself kneeling before his High Lord, tongue pooling, cock stiffening, arousal heating... fuck. no.

Encasing himself into the darkness he emrges on a back patio of one of their secret cabins within the autumn mountains. The one lost in the North West Mountains being his favorite. Right below the relaxing regidity of the Winter Court and along to coast of the cooling Summer breeze. The air flow between all 3 courts create a jet stream unlike any hes flown in. Flips and spins. Twists and Dips. At the end of the flight, a clean dive into the late Autumn lake in the backyard.

Home.

At least he hoped. Finally a place he feels at peace. No expectations, just harmony. Azriel loves his brothers and sees them often. Grateful of their support towards his mating with both Y/N and Eris. Courts healing, wings spread ready to pave his own path, just to end up tangled in his shadows again.

Eris has been allowing the mask to come undone. It hasn't been an easy journey but slowly those around have been growing fond of their new High Lord. When Beron died and Eris was infused of the generational fire, many feared. They had only known of him to be cruel as his father. It was a challanging time to finally achnowladge the bond between them.

but you... when the bond reveled you as a second mate to both males, everything changed. Eris started relaxing. softening. Others started noticing smiles, laughs, even deep gratitude being clearly pointed their way. Azriel wasn't sure if the courts healing was because the High Lord of fire was settling in chaos or because there was a second flame to balance his intensity out. Help redistribute everything he's kept bottled up for centuries.

but Azriel... he stays hidden away. As if Eris were ashamed to be mated to someone so evil. So hopeless. So untrustworthy. So tainted.

Walking into the Mountainside cabin, avoiding Eris; who must have winnowed in while he was in the lake, Az headed to their bedroom for a dry change of clothes.

"Did your broody little flight not cool you down?"

"Fuck you Eris."

"Oh I know you want to shadowsigner. I could feel you during the meeting. Don't think I dont know what goes on in that pretty little brain of yours."

When Azriel doesn't give Eris the reaction he's looking for, he doubles down, eager to pick a fight with his mate.

"The dive wasn't super crisp today. I give it a 6. no, maybe a 6.9 but that's a bit too generous. Not quite sure if you can handle that." ..nothing.. "I don't know what's gotten into you recently. I know I havent been able to for a few days but I didn't think you'd be this needy while Y/N is awa-" Eris is cut short as his fully overgrown vampire bat rams into him. Pinning him to the cabin wall.

"You think I want to be your dirty secret? The one thing you keep hidden, afraid how others would react once they knew what a disgusting beast you allow into your bed?" Eris knew somethings been bothering his husband, but it's difficult getting the spymaster to open up. To talk about his deeper, darker thought and fears.

"Why are you two agruing now?" Y/N. That beautiful sweet voice breaks the tension in the room for a hot moment. "You know what, I'm not entertaining this right now. I'm going back to the Forest House to drop of paperwork, take a bath, and grab my book."

"Please, don't be fighting anymore when I get back. I'm tired and we havent had an evening to lay outside in one anothers arms in what feels like ages."

"It's been 11 days and 18 hours. 12 days too long." Az corrects. Still with his forarm pressing Eris's throat against the wall and his knee digging into his inner thigh. The High Lord only grinning. Reveling in the frustration of your mate.

"Please Az? Just talk to one another." Placing a jar down on the kitchen counter before Y/N leaves, "I got some more caramel from Marla in Maple Village. I'm gonna make cookies to drizzle it over tonight. So you better not be fighting or I'll eat them all."

A cold breeze broke through the windows once Y/N left. Leaving them alone togther, in darkness and flame.

~~~~~~~~~

Floating in the giant tub of the Forest House, the few words you caught ruminating through your tired head. Allow in your bed. Turning over leaf after leaf of meaning you overthink yourself into believing you weren't loving your husbands equally. Your mates, who have different love languages, diffrerent sleep schedules, different shared intrests. How could you possibly make sure one didnt feel slighted.

With a sigh and a clean body you step out of the draining bath. Drying off and putting on one of Eris's shirts and Azriels sweatpants, you grab your current book and winnow back to your favorite hidden cabin. Ready to make cookies and express your balanced love for both your mates.

"ERIS! Fuck you"

Great. Walking towards the bedroom, the sound of slamming furniture becomes louder. Not knowing what state of distress the bedroom will be in this time, you swing the door open. Only to find Eris balls deep in Azriel pounding the everloving fuck out of his ass.

"I.. oh.. uh sorry. I came in to check you werent throwing furniture at each other."

Eris turns towards you with a shit eating grin. "Sure you did Princess. You know our sounds. And I know by your smell that you're lying." Unshething himself from Az, Er walks over to you, grabbing the book out of your hands in favor of placing it on the table. Leading you towards the bed.

Wimpers fall from the shadowsingers mouth. Songs of desire, lust, and love. "Az here thought I was ashamed of him. That I havent officially introduced him to the court because they'd never accept him."

"What? Az baby that's-"

Tenderly grabbing your cheeks Eris shushes you. "He's fucked out Princess. I explained how I didn't want to pressure him into making his presence known and, well, you know how he gets." Heat building inbetween your legs at the two devilishly handsome males infront of you. Bare. Hung. Marked with passion.

A beat of silence broken by a deep chuckle. "I have an idea Princess. A surefire way to make sure everyone knows I'm not ashamed. Only if you're okay with it?"

"Oh, um" Blushing you remember a conversation a few weeks ago. Different things you wanted to try with one another "yeah fuck it. Now seems as good of a time as ever." Winking to Azriel who's watching you as if he's about to implode.

Before you could process what you agreed to, the three of you are winnowed into the Throne room. Only you clothed.

"Tell me Azriel" sitting on his throne naked, wrapping Azriels neck in a controlled flame collar "what is it you were thinking earlier"

"I thought you knew?" He tried to fight back. Never letting the male have it easy.

A nice tug on the fire leash brings Azriel mouth level with Eris's aching cock. On cue Az opens his mouth, tongue out, drooping all over the High Lords lap.

"Look at the mess you're making. Clean it up" Lowering his head Azriel licks up his spit from Eris's pelvis. Careful not to do anything without the High Lords permission.

"Good boy. Open for me" Placing his finger in Azriels mouth Eris begins to stroke himself. Azriel taking the opprotunity to suck on his husbands thumb.

"Fuck. So good for me. Princess, come here"

"Yes daddy?"

"Don't you agree?"

"Yes daddy." You moan. Humming into your neck Eris bring Azriel wet mouth to the tip of his leaking cock. "Earn your reward"

It's almost as if his shadows possessed him. A switch was flicked and Azriel is now the sluttiest little cock whore. Gagging gracefully around his favorite beef jerkey. "Get under him princess. Reward him." With a snap you've joined them in the skin dance. Dripping a trail of your sweet treasure in your path.

Slipping into position from the steps, laying down, you grab Azriels considerable length. Licking up the precum sliding down his vein and balls.

Mid face fuck the door to the Throne room opens, causing hesitation from your mate. "I didn't say to stop" Eris moans low and dark.

"You summoned us my Lord?"

"Cauldron bless us."

"Oh mother. My greatest apologies my Lord." There was a not so rushed scramble to leave, where many glances lingered before the doors shut them in.

Eris is the first to speak as Azriel's still bobbing up and down his cock like the good boy he is.

"You couldn't entertain me... let me entertain you"

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

I smoked a little weed, messed around with an idea and ended up here. I hope you enjoy it.

Coming up with ideas is annoyingly tricky so if you have suggestions please let me know. I can feel the writing hyperfixation building.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Underworld Insomnia - 5

Character : assasin!Bucky × Psychiatrist Female!Reader

Summary: As a ruthless contract killer, Bucky is feared in the underworld of criminals. His opponents freeze when they see him, as he is feared among them. However, they don't know that he could be warm to only one person: his psychiatrist. The only person who could make him fall asleep.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 ,-

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Please let me know what your thoughts are. I'd love to hear your feedback. Thank you once again.

What could the CIA want from Bucky? He had never worked for them. And for someone like August to walk into a bar where contract killers gathered, it had to be something precious.

The reason must be you and Conroy. August came here to get you. Remembering how you ran from your captors to save Conroy, Bucky realized you must have been running from August, too.

“I won't give it,” Bucky said firmly. He admitted he knew what August was after but wouldn't help. Why should he? You were the answer to his insomnia.

August chuckled, a sound that held no absolute amusement. “I should’ve known. Sadly, I thought we could be partners.”

“Working with the CIA? That's a fairy tale,” Bucky replied, smirking.

“Not them. I’ve gathered talented people to make the world a better place. You're a perfect addition to the organization,” August explained, his tone growing severe.

“Greenpeace? No, thank you,” Bucky shot back, his smirk widening.

August took a breath and sighed, his expression one of exasperation. “It seems like you won't take any of this seriously.”

Bucky tilted his head and raised his eyebrows, giving a look that said, "You don't say."

Before leaving, August offered one last piece of advice. “Don't trust her that much.”

He knew it must be about you. This took Bucky's attention, and August smiled. “I knew she has a charm. But... it's not just us who wants that boy.” After August said those words, he left.

Bucky was left with lingering doubts, questioning you for a moment. But he couldn't bring himself to believe it. The CIA was known for sowing seeds of doubt to ruin someone's trust.

How could someone like you, who was willing to enter this den of killers to hide Conroy from people who wanted to get him, be anything but genuine?

That was dedication—a rare quality in this messed-up world. Bucky gulped down his whiskey, trying to forget what August had said to him.

💤💤💤💤💤

He returned to his place, burdened with the decision of whether or not to tell you the truth about meeting August—the person who had forced you into hiding. The moment he stepped into the house, he heard the sound of tiny footsteps. “You're back!” Conroy welcomed him, wearing only pajama pants.

You were chasing him, holding his pajama top. “Conroy, I'm not done yet. And it's impolite,” you said, putting the shirt over his head.

Conroy puffed his fluffy cheeks. Then he looked at Bucky, his head moving left and right as if searching for something.

Bucky knew what the kid wanted. He chuckled and patted Conroy's head. “You can't have chicken every day. It's not good for you.”

Conroy puffed his cheeks and grabbed Bucky's hand. Then he stopped. “You met him,” he said, running to hug you.

Bucky flinched and looked at you. You were surprised too.

“How did you know?” Bucky asked.

“His smell still lingers on you,” Conroy said, pinching his nose.

Bucky sniffed himself, wondering if it was true. But he remembered that Conroy was a ‘little Sherlock.’ What made him nervous was what you thought.

“I didn't tell him,” Bucky said.

“I know you won't,” you replied, looking at him while calming Conroy.

Bucky felt a pang of heartache seeing the little kid. “Who is this August Walker?”

"Let's sit down first." You contemplated whether to tell Bucky the truth, but knowing August had come here meant he wasn't playing cat-and-mouse anymore.

“I told you before that we came from a facility,” you said.

Bucky nodded.

“And August Walker is… how should I say this? He's the supervisor of the facility and…” you hesitated.

“And…?” Bucky prompted.

“He's Conroy's uncle,” you admitted.

Bucky widened his eyes and gasped. “Let me get this straight. Conroy and he are related, but you both hide from him?”

“Because he's a madman!” you said, glancing at Conroy, who had fallen asleep on your lap. You gently touched his cheek with your finger. You couldn't let August have Conroy.

August has this crazy idea. He planned to make a better world, but the truth is, he wanted to create the perfect soldier. That's why he wanted Conroy back. His nephew was the fastest successful human subject—high IQ, independent, strong, and never sick.

Bucky kept silent as he processed this, looking at the kid who was still sleeping peacefully. His heart ached at the thought of what Conroy had been through.

“Don't worry. I won't let them near you,” Bucky promised.

“Thank you. Thank you,” you said, tears of relief in your eyes.

Bucky nodded, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. He would protect you both, no matter the cost.

💤💤💤💤💤💤

The next day, Bucky brought you and Conroy to a kindergarten known for its safety and secrecy. It was a gray area that even other killers couldn't reach.

Conroy looked at the kids his age. He turned to the adults and asked enthusiastically, “Can I join them?”

“Sure, buddy,” Bucky said.

Conroy ran to join the other children, who welcomed him eagerly since there weren't many kids around.

You felt a wave of relief and happiness seeing Conroy so excited. Turning to Bucky, you said, “Thank you. You're a great help to us.”

Bucky felt a warm flush of shyness and something more as he looked at you. He wasn't used to such gratitude; your smile made his heart race. He was starting to have feelings for you, a realization that both excited and scared him.

“Do you want to pick him up together later?” Bucky asked.

“Of course,” you replied with a smile.

After dropping Conroy at the kindergarten, both of you went your separate ways. Three hours later, Bucky found himself at Dr. Ben's practice, eager to pick you up. He had arrived early, hoping to surprise you.

He didn't see you at the reception desk when he walked in. Perhaps you had stepped out for a moment. He glanced out the window and noticed a park across the street.

There, he saw you talking to another man, the conversation looking secretive. Being a killer made him keenly aware when someone was lying or hiding something. From what he saw in your body language, you were clearly hiding something.

Bucky's heart sank as August echoed: “Don't trust her that much.”

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Sowing the Seeds of Love - Part I: Budding Love

*Edit* Teaser for Part II: Full Bloom is HERE :)

Synopsis: You have had feelings for Lo’ak for a long time and keep trying to gain his affection. However, Lo’ak is oblivious and takes no notice of your efforts. But someone else does….

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Omatikaya Reader (Aged 17/18)

Content: Romance, Fluff, Drama, Angst, Friends to Lovers

Warnings: Brief description of injury.

Word count: 7.1k

Author's note: It's been a WHILE but I'm back to writing :) Hope you enjoy it! Thanks @vivid-ink for sharing your wonderful work with us :)

Also on AO3: Sowing the seeds of love

It was calm, absorbing work, you thought, as you diligently wrapped the seeds in tìhawnuwll leaves, securing the ends with care so the wrap would not unravel easily. You had woken before dawn and spent the better part of the morning on all fours, gathering every last seed. Now, your limbs ached from your earlier efforts. But…pxorna seeds were his favourite.

“Leyna! Let’s go!” His voice startled you out of your reverie. Knowing what would happen next, you quickly swiped the wrap behind you, opening your arms to receive Txep just as he barrelled into you. He was a boy of only seven years but you still grunted at the force of the impact.

“Txep, careful!” You warned, glancing back at the food wrap you had spent the last hour carefully preparing. He only pouted, “Leyna, you promised!”

“Promised what—” you began, stopping yourself when you remembered that you were meant to be taking Txep out on your ikran today. He was right, you had promised him, you thought ruefully. 

“Txep, I’m sorry, I’ll take you another time, okay?” Your mother, sensing the tantrum that was bound to begin at hearing your words, swooped in, “Come, ma’parultsyip, sa’nu has prepared some yovo fruit for you.” You did not miss the pointed look she shot you over Txep’s shoulder as she gently ushered him over to the pile of peeled yovo fruit.

Looking down guiltily, you resumed your work, carefully arranging the tìhawnuwll leaves around the seeds, sealing the ends of the wrap with some lanutral resin to secure its contents. 

Rising from where you had spent the last hour diligently preparing and wrapping the seeds, you ran a hasty hand across your face, wiping away the beads of perspiration that had gathered there. Your hand stopped at the band holding your hair back, fiddling with the beads, hesitating for a moment before pulling the band in a swift motion, your braids spilling across your back and framing your face. That’s better, you thought with a small smile. Sa’nok had always said you looked prettier with your hair down. 

You reached for the wrap then, bidding your parents a hurried goodbye before climbing gingerly out of your swaynivi.

Your feet nimbly padded across the boughs of kelutral, your body remembering the familiar path by heart. 

Steadying your breaths and patting the wrap secured at your side, you entered the Sully family alcove, greeted immediately by Mo’at, preparing a paste, hands stilling on the pestle when she saw you standing at the archway. 

“Oel ngati kameie, Tsahìk,” you greeted, gazing fondly at the older woman. You had once found the woman painfully unnerving, with her enigmatic smiles and piercing stares. However, having recently become one of Mo’at’s apprentices at her request and spending many moons under her tutelage, you now found comfort in her words and even looked forward to your one-on-one lessons. 

“What brings you here, my child?” she asked. “Has the txumre’ venom caused you trouble?”

“No, Tsahìk, I—” You hesitated, gently removing the wrap from where you had secured it to your body. “I wanted to bring you the pxorna seeds I had gathered earlier.”

“Ah, how kind of you,” replied Mo’at, adding after a short pause, “My grandson is preparing to leave for morning patrol, so you may want to hurry.” She nodded at the food wrap. 

How did she know? Fighting the urge to defend yourself and further incriminate yourself in the process, you hurried past the older woman, not missing the wry smile on her face as she resumed her work. 

Stepping into the main alcove, you finally saw the man you had been waiting to see all morning, whose face had given you strength as you performed the strenuous task of gathering the seeds earlier that morning. 

“Leyna,” Lo’ak greeted, smiling handsomely at you before spotting the wrap in her hand. “Oh, what have you brought with you?”

“Oh nothing, just some pxorna seeds.”

“Pxorna seeds?” For the second time that morning, you felt yourself being pushed back with the force of another’s body as Lo’ak embraced you gleefully. “Oh, Leyna, this is why I love you!”

Great Mother, he really ought not to say such things to people in delicate states. Fighting to steady your racing heart, you patted his back gently, laughing softly at his reaction. “You and your food,” you muttered, unable to stop the fondness from creeping into your voice.

Lo’ak pulled back then to accept the carefully prepared wrap from your hands and looked down at you. You paused, waiting with bated breath as his gaze stilled. Was this the moment you had been waiting for?

“Wiya, I’m going to be late for patrol and Dad’s going to have my head.” Lo’ak turned away sharply from you, breaking the spell. “Sorry, Leyna, we’ll catch up later, okay?”

Nodding mutely, you watched as he checked for the dagger at his side before rushing out of the main alcove without a second glance. Feeling a little like the wind had been knocked out of you, you turned to leave the same way you had come before a voice stopped you. 

“I like pxorna seeds too, you know?” You turned to find Neteyam watching you, his expression inscrutable as always. “Not that you ever asked.”

“There’s enough here for everyone,” you managed, after a long pause. You had played together briefly as children, but it had been a long time since you had spoken at length. Neteyam had always seemed aloof, and the closeness of your families had nothing to ease the distance. 

“You know,” he began. “I love my brother—I would fight a palulukan for him—but he’s a bit of a fool, isn’t he?”

Huh. You stared at him, unable to make sense of his words.

“Morning patrol? That’s what he was thinking of?” He continued. “It’s okay to be upset, Leyna,” he added rather unhelpfully. 

You finally found your words. “What would I be upset about?” 

He gave you a pointed look, waiting for you to say it first.

You bristled at the implication. “By Eywa, I don’t know what it is you speak of but I should be going anyway—” 

“Don’t go.” You felt a cool hand clutch at your arm as you turned away. “Stay.”

“What are you—”

“You have feelings for my brother, yes?” He raised an eyebrow at you, adjusting your face gently to look at him properly.

“That’s not any of your concern!” You shot back in a terse whisper, glancing around anxiously, as if expecting a large crowd of onlookers. 

“My brother, he doesn’t see it.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he added, face morphing into one of, dare you say it, concern? “But I know him like the back of my hand.”

“I should go.”

Turning away from Neteyam abruptly, you found yourself mulling over what had been your longest exchange with him since you were children, as your feet traced the familiar path to your family alcove. Patting your cheeks self-consciously before stepping into your family alcove, you let out a small noise of frustration, knowing well that the heat on your cheeks had not waned in the slightest. 

***~~***

“Morning patrol? That’s what he was thinking of? The skxawng!”

“Ka’ni!” You gasped, outrage colouring your voice at your friend’s language.

“What?” 

“Lo’ak is not that,” you muttered. 

“How many moons have you spent together? How many times have you brought him his favourite food, now?” Ka’ni shook her head. “By Eywa, he’s a blind man if he cannot see it.”

“Would you hush?” You glanced furtively around at the others sitting by the river, noting that none had heard your friend’s outburst. 

Pausing for a moment, you added, “I haven’t even told you the rest.”

“There’s more?”

“Neteyam knows,” you began, lowering your voice, “He knows about Lo’ak.”

“Oh, Neteyam.” A lazy smile stretched across Ka’ni’s face. “We were on duty together the other day. By Eywa, the man is so handsome—even hanging upside down—that I almost forgot to catch the tumpasuk berries—” She broke off into an uncontrollable fit of giggles. 

“Ka’ni, focus!” 

“Sorry, sorry. So, he knows?” 

“Mhmm.” Catching the tail with one hand, you ran the blade of your dagger carefully under the skin, removing the scales in a swift stroke of the hand, willing yourself to not drown in the mortification that threatened to engulf you in that very moment. 

“What did he say?”

“Oh Ka’ni, I was so embarrassed. Don’t make me say it. He hardly ever speaks to me but this he chooses to say.”

Your friend nudged you again, eyes beseeching. 

“He said that Lo’ak ‘didn’t see it’” You finally admitted, the flush returning to your cheeks. As if your heart did not already hurt with that knowledge. 

“Kurkung!”

“Ka’ni!” You admonished. 

“Well, he is one,” she defended. 

“Weren’t you just telling me how handsome he was?” You shot back, waggling your eyebrows at her, finding some mirth in the situation. 

“What? Fine, a handsome one then!”

Before they could finish, a voice interrupted them. “Who’s the handsome one? Are you done with the fish?” One of the older women, Nikira, nodded at the mess that lay in front of you.

Flushing with embarrassment, you muttered a quick apology and resumed removing the scales with renewed vigour, not quite meeting her eyes. 

***~~***

You left kelutral, hand in hand with Txep, who bounced along happily. You glanced fondly at the boy as he swung your hands between you. His excitement was palpable, as it was the longest he had ever been silent. 

Txep had wanted to tame an ikran of his own from the time that he could start speaking, begging endlessly for someone to take him flying. Sa’nok and sempul had been especially protective of little Txep, long after the tawtute had been banished. Finally, he would get to ride with you on Pänu. 

Pushing past the leaves in front of you, you pulled Txep forward into the clearing. Letting go of his hand, you stepped forward and emitted a familiar call, the noise gurgling in your throat. You stood in the stillness of the clearing, waiting for the telltale sound of wind whipping as your ikran swooped down from the sky, landing with a soft thud on the shorn grass beneath your feet. 

Smiling fondly at the creature, you reached out to run a gentle hand across his face, “Tam tam, Pänu.” He let out a squawk, nuzzling into the palm of your hand.  

“Tewti!” Came a startled exclamation from Txep. “He’s so big!”

“He is, isn’t he, Txep?” You smiled. Reaching into the pouch strapped at your side, you pulled out a chunk of yerik meat, feeding it to Pänu.

Txep eagerly accepted the yerik meat, reaching up on his toes to feed Pänu, giggling sweetly when the creature licked his palm as it fed from his hand. 

“Going out flying?” 

Arranging your face carefully, you turned at the sound of the familiar voice, watching Txep carefully out of the corner of your eye as he continued feeding Pänu. “Yes, we are. What’s it to you?” 

Neteyam smiled faintly at your words, unfazed by the hostility in your tone. “Mind if I join?”

Before you could reply, Txep turned from Pänu, catching sight of Neteyam, a smile breaking out on his face before he ran eagerly towards the man. Shaking your head, you watched as Neteyam bent down to catch Txep in his arms. “Neteyam!” He cried gleefully. 

“So, can I join?” Neteyam asked, over Txep’s shoulder. “Txep, can I come flying with you and Leyna?” Txep eagerly nodded. 

Sighing at the memory of your last conversation and faced with Txep’s pleading face, you nodded tiredly. 

Fetching a cloth from the pouch at your side, you beckoned Txep forward. “I’m going to wrap you tightly, okay, Txep? You’ll hold on to me the whole time.” 

As you lifted Txep onto Pänu’s back, you heard the familiar sound of an ikran landing, glancing briefly at the patches of green and brown spanning its large body. Tìxtur, you remembered.

“Leyna,” Neteyam called suddenly, his voice lowered. 

Sensing that he wished to speak more privately with you, you backed away from Pänu, turning to face him, a questioning expression on your face. 

He twisted his hands together as he spoke. “I’m sorry, for the other day. I shouldn’t have said it.”

Your face softened slightly. “It’s okay,” you began slowly. “You didn’t say anything I didn’t already know. It’s stupid, really.”

“No, it’s not stupid. He is.” 

You giggled softly despite yourself. Of all the people to soothe your broken heart, Neteyam was the last one you expected. “I didn’t know you cared. I didn’t even realise you noticed my presence. This is the longest we’ve ever spoken, you know?” 

Amusement coloured his face. “I pay you plenty of attention. Maybe you are the one who doesn’t notice.”

Narrowing your eyes at the cryptic remark, you opened your mouth to respond only for him to swiftly pull down his ionar, launching Tìxtur into the sky. “Neteyam, you—”

Growling in frustration, you approached Pänu with quick strides, wrapping an impatient, squirming Txep with careful hands before making tsahyelu and urging Pänu to follow Neteyam circling the clearing above you. 

“Where are you taking us?” You shouted over the winds, as Neteyam flew away from kelutral in an unfamiliar direction. The man only smiled coyly at you before seemingly urging Tìxtur to fly faster. 

Txep let out a joyful squeal as you urged Pänu faster, trailing Tìxtur. Wrapping your free arm around Txep as an extra measure, you puzzled over where Neteyam was taking you, trying to catch a glimpse of a familiar sight in the blurring landscape beneath you. 

When Tìxtur eventually slowed, you followed in suit, bringing Pänu to land gently. Unwrapping the cloth that bound Txep to you and placing him on the ground, you took a moment to take in your surroundings for the first time, gasping at the sight. 

“By Eywa,” you breathed, eyes travelling over the vast expanse of the land around you, perfectly ensconced between towering mountain ranges on either side. Running along the centre of the land, was a river. You stepped forward, mesmerised by the sight of the water, a vivid lilac, swirling and eddying as it pushed against the rocks that littered the length of the river. You smiled, catching sight of little darts of movement in the water. Txep came forward, similarly affected, pointing excitedly at the flashes of light moving in the water. 

“It’s beautiful here, Neteyam,” you praised, turning to find him beaming at you. The unfamiliar sight caused your heart to race and that traitorous blush to return. Turning away self-consciously, you patted your cheeks insistently, willing your cheeks to cool. 

Txep tugged on your hand, pulling you closer along the river bank. When his eyes turned up towards you, you saw his question even before he asked. “No swimming, Txep. Look at the water. It’s going too fast.”

Txep pouted. “But, Leyna—” 

“Only your feet!” 

“Fine!”

You laughed softly as Txep rushed forward, before plopping himself down on the edge clumsily and sticking his feet in the water. 

You suddenly felt the heat of another’s body at your back, an involuntary shiver coming over you as Neteyam breath tickled the tips of your ears. “He’s the sweetest little one I’ve ever seen.”

“You should see him when sa’nok prepares teylu, pounces like a palulukan, that one.”

Neteyam laughed amiably. “I don’t doubt it. Tuk was much the same when she was younger.”

The two of you eventually found a comfortable place by the river, content to watch Txep wiggle his toes in the water in the distance and squeal excitedly as the fish swam past him. 

“How did you find this place?” You asked, after a long while of silence. 

“I like to fly by myself when I can find a spare moment. I usually circle kelutral for a bit and return but one day, I just didn’t stop,” he began. “And then I found this place.” 

“So, this is where you disappear off to in the evenings, then?” 

He looked surprised. 

“I pay attention,” you offered, feigning nonchalance. 

“So you do.” He smiled. 

Txep called out for them then, beckoning them over to the water. 

***~~***

“Don’t you have duties to attend to?” You teased, as Neteyam’s familiar face emerged from the surrounding vegetation. For moons now, he had sought you out, sometimes while you were tutoring Txep in archery or going out for a flight. Other evenings were spent in tranquil conversation in the woods surrounding kelutral, with the two of you even making trips to the valley every so often. 

“I’m a quick worker.” He looked around. “Where’s Txep, shouldn’t he be here for his lesson?”

You laughed ruefully. “Oh, Txep. He has finally tired of me and gone to play with his friends.”

“Were you going somewhere?” He nodded at your ionar, which sat ready on your forehead.

“Vitrautral,” you replied. “I was overcome this morning with the urge to seek the Great Mother’s guidance. She has called for me.” 

“I’ll come with you,” he said, adding quickly, “Unless you would rather be alone?”

You shook your head, placing some distance between the two of you before emitting the call for your ikran, watching as Neteyam did the same, quickly donning his own ionar. He was a handsome sight, you could not help but think in that moment, eyes lingering on his muscled forearms as he reached to caress Tìxtur’s face gently. Oh, if only Ka’ni could see you now. 

Shaking your head as if to rid yourself of the sudden, sensual realisation, you turned to face Pänu, cooing at him as you fed him. It was absurd. Neteyam did not think of you that way. Foolish, foolish girl. Hadn’t you learned your lesson already?

Had you turned around then, you would have caught the way his eyes slowly trailed the soft curves of your chest down to the dip of your waist and lean legs. But you were engrossed in the task of adjusting the saddle on Pänu and his telling gaze went unnoticed. 

Climbing on Pänu’s back, you urged him to take flight, Neteyam following closely behind. Slowly, you climbed higher into the sky, leaving kelutral behind you, weaving in and out through ayram alusìng. Turning mid flight to glance at Neteyam, who smiled when he felt your gaze on him before— you gasped, as Tìxtur sped right in Pänu’s direction, stopping only seconds before collison.

“You skxawng, what was that!” You cried out, heart racing, your own fear melding with Pänu’s. 

You heard his jovial laughter over the sound of wind buzzing in your ears. Shaking your head, you returned the gesture, urging Pänu to bank gently before making an abrupt turn, pushing Tìxtur right into a cool stream of water, pouring down the edge of a cliff. 

You giggled, watching as Neteyam emerged, drenched completely.  Spluttering, he called out, “I deserved that!”

There it was, that feeling, again. Fondness. 

***~~***

Landing at vitrautral, you felt an immediate sense of contentment fall over you, keenly aware of the Great Mother’s presence around you. Patting Pänu gently as you dismounted, you glanced over at Neteyam, as he did the same.

With his back turned, you could not help but gaze at the strong set of his body, eyes lingering on the muscles flexing in his back as he tugged at the saddle, breath catching in your throat as he turned slowly, eyes slipping lower down his frame—you were doing it again, foolish girl. 

You smiled softly at Neteyam as he approached you, placing your smaller hand in his firm grasp; it was just something you did now. You couldn’t pinpoint when it had started but he always reached for your hand first, sometimes just in passing, absentmindedly caressing the palm of your hand. You felt a familiar frisson of excitement at the contact, heart racing as he wound his fingers through yours. No, not again.

Neteyam led you across the base of the tree, nimbly skipping over the dense network of roots that covered the forest floor. A comfortable silence settled between the two of you as you let your palm slip from his grasp, approaching a cluster of bioluminescent tendrils which swayed gently in the cool evening breeze. 

Closing your eyes, you reached behind you for your neural queue, fingers brushing gently down the length of your braid until your fingertips felt the curling tendrils at the end. You brought it forward, eyes briefly opening to watch as the tendrils of your queue melded with that of the tree, both glowing brighter for a moment before settling. Tsaheylu. You took in slow, easy breaths as the familiar sensation settled over you. 

You opened your eyes then, eyes adjusting to the changed surroundings, which took on a dreamlike quality, shimmering gently in the fading light of the evening, almost as if you were watching the scene unfolding before you from afar as if it were a—what was it that the olo’eyktan called it? A ‘movie’, that was it. 

“Kaltxì, ma’evi. I was beginning to think you had forgotten me.”

You turned sharply, to find yourself faced with an older woman, eyes crinkling as a bright smile graced her face. 

“Grandmother,” you cried softly, running into her waiting arms, slotting yourself in the comfort of her embrace. How was it possible that she still smelled the way she always had in life? You breathed in her scent, a comforting blend of spices and apxangrr flour flooding your nostrils. Memories of afternoons spent at her side as child, ‘helping’ her prepare an assortment of cakes for the family rushed to the surface. “I could never forget you. Ngaytxoa, I should have come sooner.”

“Mawey, I am not upset, child,” she said softly. “You are young and you have your own life to live. Let me look at you.” You felt her gently untangle your arms and step back, eyes raking over you not unkindly. 

“You look well, child,” she said finally. “You have grown into a beautiful young woman.”

“Irayo,” you managed, squirming slightly under her scrutiny. “I have missed you, Grandmother.”

Reaching for your hands, she invited you to kneel on the ground, coming to sit by your side, brushing back your braids gently with a smile. “I have missed you too, my child.” 

Clearing your throat, you began, “I felt the Great Mother’s call. In truth, I have felt her call for many moons now.”

“The Great Mother senses your reluctance, child,” said your grandmother. “There is nothing to fear, she has a path for you, as does she for all her children.”

Feeling slightly chided, you nodded. “I am not a warrior, Grandmother. I have always known that.”

“No, that you are not, child. But your training with the tsahìk has been going well, has it not?”

Eyebrows furrowing in confusion, you nodded slowly. “It has, so I am to be a healer, then?”

A wry smile came across your grandmother. “All things will be revealed in their own time, child. You must be patient and trust in the Great Mother.”

A comfortable silence settled over the pair of you, as you mulled over the implications of her words. You longed for clarity that you knew you would not receive, not yet. But, you trusted in the Great Mother, and had faith that she would not lead you astray. But another thought niggled at you, emerging from the deep recesses of your mind, taunting you once more. 

Breathing slowly, you spoke, voice soft, almost inaudible, “And love? Will I have that?”

You could not meet her eyes as you asked the question, eyes trained firmly on your hands instead which twisted nervously in your lap. 

Your grandmother’s tinkling laugh reached your ears then. “Am I to be alone then? U-unmated?” You joked, the stutter in your voice undercutting your attempt at nonchalance. 

You felt a cool hand caressing your chin, tilting your head to the side. Eyes trained on you, your grandmother spoke again, “I can only tell you what Great Mother wishes for you to know. But your heart need not be so heavy, child. Know that you will not be alone.”

A hopeful glimmer shone in your eyes. “I will find love, then?”

She laughed softly in response, brushing her hand fondly across the curve of your cheek. “Oh child, there is so much yet that you do not understand.”

She stood then, hand slipping from your face as she moved to stand. A sudden panic enveloped you as you noticed the edges of her form flickering, the radiance of her image dullening. You jumped to your feet, reaching for her again, catching her fading hand in yours. “Grandmother—”

“I must go now, child.” She squeezed your hand gently. “But, to answer your question…you already have it.”

“Have what—” You never got to finish the question as her form slipped from your grasp, vanishing into thin air, your palm tingling where her warm hand had rested only seconds ago. You felt a sudden pull then, almost as if someone were dragging your body underwater, the ambient sounds of the forest growing muffled and your vision blurring, sending another surge of panic through you as you fought against the force.

Gasping for breath, you came to on the forest floor, chest heaving as you took in your surroundings. You were no longer knelt on the ground and as the rest of your senses returned, you felt a strong chest at your back and muscled arms holding you in a firm embrace. “Oh, Leyna,” you heard Neteyam say, his relief palpable.  “You scared me.” 

You froze as a warm pair of lips pressed against your forehead. “I’m okay,” you croaked, hands coming around to brush against his own where they gripped your waist. “What happened?”

Neteyam let out a shuddering breath, his disquiet evident. “I was praying, then I looked over at you. I knew something was wrong from the way you were shivering. And then, you starting shaking. You—” He broke off with a harsh intake of breath. “You should have seen yourself. Your eyes were open, but you were not seeing anything. I was so scared, I pulled you away.” He nodded at the cluster of bioluminescent tendrils where you had been connected to before, and the end of your braid which lay limply on the forest floor. 

Heart clenching at the pain in his voice, you turned in his arms, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” you murmured. “I’m here.” You pressed yourself as close as possible to the warmth of his body, feeling his breaths tickle the tips of your ears as he melted into your embrace. Breathing in his familiar scent, you felt a calm wash over you, hoping he gleaned the same comfort in turn from the closeness of your bodies. 

You already have it, a hallowed voice whispered. 

***~~***

You stood at the gates leading to kelutral, body thrumming with anticipation, accompanied by the other apprentices and a throng of eager spectators awaiting the arrival of the hunting party. 

*FLASHBACK* 

A shawl wrapped firmly around your shoulders, you quickly descended the central staircase of kelutral. The sky was still dark, the path to the pa’li pen only dimly lit by flickering flames at regular posts. You were normally not an early riser, but today was different. Dawn marked the start of the Great Hunt, and the hunting party would ride out to the river beds encircling kelutral soon.

As second-in-command, Neteyam was due to lead the hunting party in preparation for his eventual assumption of the duties of the leader of the clan. Neteyam was an accomplished hunter with impeccable precision in his aim; you had no doubt that he would succeed in procuring a handsome volume of talioang meat for the clan. It was more so the general chaos that ensued during these hunts that filled your heart with fear. It was not uncommon for hunters to be knocked off their pa’li, or even trampled brutally to the death. 

And so, you found yourself sneaking out in the darkness to meet him once more before dawn. Your plans for a clandestine meeting had almost been foiled by Txep; the boy had always been a light-sleeper. Your heart had caught in your throat as he shifted. By the Great Mother’s grace, he had stilled, the sound of his soft snores resuming. 

You neared the pa’li pen now, the growing din of voices signalling their presence. Your eyes searched furtively for Neteyam, confusion growing as you failed to locate him. 

A hand touched the small of your back then, and you did not need to turn to know who it was. “Neteyam,” you breathed, a smile breaking out on your face. The sight of his handsome face almost instantly assuaging the anxiety that had plagued you in the hours before, turning restlessly in your hammock. 

“Leyna,” he greeted, reaching for your hand to lead you away from the rest of the group. 

Secluded from prying eyes, you reached for him, arms winding around his broad chest, feeling irrationally annoyed at the firm material of his cummerbund which deprived you of fully feeling his skin against yours. You did not realise it, but your hands were quivering slightly where they gripped the skin of his back. 

“Paskalin,” he crooned. “You are shaking.”

“I’m just worried,” you mumbled into the skin of his chest. “It’s dangerous.”

“I know, I know,” he murmured, tightening his hold on you. “But I always come back.”

You said nothing in response, too distracted by the glorious feeling of being in his arms. The affectionate names, embraces, kisses on foreheads and cheeks. Surely, you were not the only one who felt something shifting between the two of you? Your relationship had spent many weeks, many moons really, now teetering on the edge of friendship and something more. 

His voice interrupted your stream of thoughts. “Paskalin,” he called again, urging you to look at him. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course.”

“Then, trust that I will come back—” Sensing your immediate objection, he added, “—in good health.”

*END OF FLASHBACK* 

The hunting party was late. Dusk was falling rapidly and the air was bereft of the jubilant cries of the returning party, as they transported the day’s kills back to kelutral in preparation for the feast. With every minute that passed in silence, the sense of foreboding that had plagued you since the night before grew more heightened.

“Be calm, sister,” said Olin, one the other apprentices. “They will return soon.”

You, along with Mo’at’s other apprentices, had spent the better part of the last few weeks preparing healing salves, brews and other implements in preparation for this day. But still, it did not feel enough. Something terrible had happened. 

Finally, the ground beneath your feet thrummed with vibrations from the pa’li and  you heard the distant calls of the hunting party. A sigh of relief was shared by the group waiting at the gates. 

But, when the returning party became visible, your eyes narrowed. Lo’ak was in the front, leading the party, a grim expression on his face. No, no, no, no.

You strode up to the group as they closed in on the gates. “Where is Neteyam?” You demanded, eyes flitting back and forth, scanning for his familiar face. The group parted in the middle slowly, revealing a lone pa’li with—you gasped—Neteyam’s prone body flung across its back. The rider shared Lo’ak’s pained expression as he slowly pulled Neteyam’s body down from the pa’li. You walked slowly towards him, an almost other-worldly experience, as the rest of the world blurred and grew muted in the wake of your horror. 

“Neteyam,” you cried softly, kneeling down on the ground next to his form, caressing his face, willing him to wake at the sound of your voice. You felt a wetness drip onto your leg, looking down to see the red liquid drip from his side down to where your knees were pressed against him. A sudden rage flared low in your belly as you perceived the cause of his condition: an arrow lodged in his side. 

Standing quickly, you rounded on the group, fury blazing your golden orbs as you addressed them. “Who did this?”

Slowly, with trepidation, one of the men stepped forward, Iren, his stricken expression as good as a confession. “You!” You cried, approaching him in quick strides, only to be obstructed by a solid chest as Lo’ak stopped you, his hands gentle but firm. “Leyna,” he warned. “It was a mistake. He did not mean—”

Snarling, you turned, gesturing for two of the hunters to come closer. “Carry him to the healer’s alcove. He is losing blood while we waste time.” 

Iren stepped forward, a silent offer to help on his lips. 

Shielding Neteyam’s body with your own, you shook your head furiously. “Kehe,” you hissed. “You have done enough.”

Not waiting to hear his response, you turned to follow the men carrying Neteyam, Olin and the other apprentices close on your heels. Anger was good. Better than the horror that threatened to swallow you whole. 

***~~***

With trembling hands, you brushed the fletching of the arrow, knowing what had to be done but grimacing at the thought nonetheless. You wished more than ever that Mo’at was here to guide you but she lay prone on the other side of the wall, having been afflicted herself with a searing fever a few nights before the hunt, and still only in the early stages of recovery. You have trained for this. You can do this. 

“Olin,” you guided. “Hold his chest steady as I remove the arrow. He will wake when I start to pull it out and he will shift as it comes out. Any movement could dislodge the arrow and cause more damage.”

Olin nodded slowly, settling her hands on either side of his neck and pressing down with enough force to keep him still. Taking in a deep breath, you began tugging the arrow out of where it had buried itself in Neteyam’s flesh. 

He woke soon with a pained moan, hand coming to grip your side painfully as Olin held him down. 

With a final pull, you removed the arrow in its entirety, flinging it to the side and reaching for the clean cloths you had laid out by his side. Within seconds, the cloth was soaked with this blood and your heart raced as you reached for more cloths. You sent a silent prayer to Eywa as you knelt by his side. Please save him, I can’t do this without him. I love him. 

After what felt like an eternity, you felt the bleeding slow at the site of the wound, noting with relief that he was breathing more steadily than he had been before. Applying a cleansing salve to the site, you fetched your stitching implements. Fortunately, Neteyam had drifted off as the blood clotted at the wound site. 

Olin resumed her spot at his side, prepared to restrain him if he woke while you began carefully stitching the wound closed. But, he did not stir, finally succumbing to the exhaustion of the day and his injury. After cleaning and applying a dressing, you slumped back against the alcove wall, feeling drained of almost everything you had. 

Just as you closed your eyes, you were startled by the sound of clattering feet as a group of the younger girls burst into the alcove space where you had been treating Neteyam. 

“By Eywa, he’s alive!”

“He’s still so handsome, even when he’s hurt!”

“—what a stupid thing to say, how could you—”

Having heard enough of their insipid bickering, you cleared your throat. When they did not hear, you raised your voice, anger flaring once more, “Have your sa’sem not raised you to know better? He is a person, not a piece of meat. Ogling at the man while he lays in his sickbed. Get out, GET OUT!”

Throat hoarse from shouting, you fell back against the alcove wall, body slipping down its surface until you reached the floor. The girls left the alcove, duly chastened, and you let out a sigh of relief. Neteyam appeared undisturbed, slumbering peacefully in the corner. 

Crawling over to his form, you knelt by his side again, gently brushing back his braids, tears welling in your eyes as you took in the sight of his face, complexion pallid from blood loss. 

Unable to stop yourself, you whispered the words that had rattled in your chest for moons, desperate for release. “Nga yawne lu oer.”

***~~***

You diligently gathered the cloths soiled from his blood which lay strewn haphazardly across the alcove floor. You gathered each one before placing it in the wash basket to be taken to the river the next morning. 

The family had been to visit Neteyam in the hours since his injury. After catching the stricken expressions on their faces when Neteyam slept through the entire visit, you sent them away, promising that you would call for them when he woke. You had sent Olin away too, seeing no reason for the two of you to go hungry when there was an abundance of taliolang meat being prepared for the feast. In truth, you could not stomach anything if you tried.

To pass the time, you had begun chopping up roots to be added to your stores of healing salves. The roots were strangely-shaped, sharp thorns littering their sides, making it a task that required strict concentration which suited you just fine. Anything to distract yourself from the unconscious man in the corner of the alcove.

So engrossed in your work, that you did not catch the beginnings of the man stirring as he woke. Only when his pained moans reached your ears did you become aware of his state of wakefulness. 

Abandoning the heap of roots on the chopping board, you sprung forward. 

“Neteyam,” you cried, reaching his side. “No, don’t pull yourself up just yet. You’ll tear the stitches at your side!”

Backing down, he relaxed against the alcove floor. “What happened?” He croaked, voice gravelly from disuse. 

Biting your lip, you hesitated. “You were shot.”

Confusion coloured his face, “I was shot?”

Willing yourself not to give into the blinding rage that had consumed you before, you continued, “You were shot by one of the other hunters.”

“By mistake,” you added, grimacing internally when it came out as a hiss. 

“Can I guess?” He asked. “Was it Iren?”

You gasped, “How did you know?”

Sighing, he continued, “Iren is, well, not the best shot. I have worked with him for many moons now—” He coughed. “—but he is a slow learner.”

“Then why did you allow him to join the hunt?”

He shot you a pointed look. “He needs to learn, paskalin.”

“He almost killed you,” you hissed. “He deserves to have his bow snapped in half!”

Neteyam, paying no mind to your instructions, lifted himself up into a sitting position. 

“What are you doing—”

“Leyna,” he sighed. “You’re being cruel. He’s a boy, still. He will make mistakes and he will learn.”

You felt a fresh surge of anger at his words. “I’m being cruel?  He can go make his mistakes on someone else, then! Because, I can’t lose you—” You broke off with a hitching sob. “—there was so much blood. I thought you were gone and I can’t—” You felt strong arms pull you forward.

“Neteyam,” you protested, trying to shift away. “Your wound—”

“It can wait,” he said hotly. “Stay.”

You acquiesced, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, crying with abandon now. 

“It’s okay, yawntu,” he murmured, rubbing your back in slow circles. “I’m here, I’m okay.”

Relishing the feel of his embrace, you breathed in his familiar scent. Thank you, Great Mother. You felt your eyelids grow heavy, at ease for the first time in many hours. 

Moments before you slipped into a slumber, his voice stopped you. “I love you too.”

“What?” Your eyes blinked open, startled. 

Pulling back to look at you, “I love you too, paskalin” he repeated, a smile growing on his face.

Comprehension dawned on you. “You heard me.”

“I did. Did you not mean for me to know? Or was it for someone else?” He teased.

“You—you’re unbelievable,” you laughed softly. “So, is that—I mean, are we—”

“Are we courting?” He waggled his eyebrows, wincing slightly from the pain as he shifted his body. 

“Careful,” you chided. “And yes, that,” you added, squirming under the heat of his gaze, which was positively lascivious now. 

He did not respond, choosing instead to press his lips against yours. You laughed softly against his lips, sighing as they moved to trail across your skin, moving slowly down the slender curve of your neck. 

“Neteyam,” you sighed, flushed from the heat of his kisses. 

“You really shouldn’t say my name like that,” he murmured against your skin. “It’ll give me ideas.”

Pulling his head back up, you fused your lips with his again in a searing kiss, feeling a pulsing want between your legs. A pleasurable heat coursed through your body, and you were consumed by the need to press yourself completely against his body, to remove the fabrics that lay between you, to be nake—Neteyam let out a pained gasp.

You pulled back sharply, hands running down his body, checking for further injury. “I’m so sorry,” you said softly. “I shouldn’t have—I got carried away.”

“You don’t ever apologise for that,” he laughed softly. “I’m okay, see?”

You were not convinced, backing away from his body, not trusting yourself to keep from hurting him. 

“Don’t do that,” he pouted. “Come back.”

“No,” you said firmly. “Actually, no more kissing until you’ve recovered.”

That earned another round of complaints from him. You laughed, turning your back to him as you resumed restocking the medicinal stores. Neteyam loved you. You smiled quietly to yourself as you cleared the space, and arranged the medicinal packs carefully along the space in the wall. 

“You know,” he said, after a brief silence. “I wouldn’t take offence if you felt the need to do some ogling.”

“What?”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, trying and failing to contain a smile. “Since kissing’s off the table and all that—”

“Y-you heard that?” You narrowed your eyes at him. “Just how long were you asleep for, then?”

“Can’t say.”

“Neteyam.”

“I could be your piece of meat,” he added in a lilting voice. 

“Au, you’re ridiculous.”