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fatehbaz · 2 years ago

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Travel back [...] a few hundred years to before the industrial revolution, and the wildlife of Britain and Ireland looks very different indeed.

Take orcas: while there are now less than ten left in Britain’s only permanent (and non-breeding) resident population, around 250 years ago the English [...] naturalist John Wallis gave this extraordinary account of a mass stranding of orcas on the north Northumberland coast [...]. If this record is reliable, then more orcas were stranded on this beach south of the Farne Islands on one day in 1734 than are probably ever present in British and Irish waters today. [...]

Other careful naturalists from this period observed orcas around the coasts of Cornwall, Norfolk and Suffolk. I have spent the last five years tracking down more than 10,000 records of wildlife recorded between 1529 and 1772 by naturalists, travellers, historians and antiquarians throughout Britain and Ireland, in order to reevaluate the prevalence and habits of more than 150 species [...].

In the early modern period, wolves, beavers and probably some lynxes still survived in regions of Scotland and Ireland. By this point, wolves in particular seem to have become re-imagined as monsters [...].

Elsewhere in Scotland, the now globally extinct great auk could still be found on islands in the Outer Hebrides. Looking a bit like a penguin but most closely related to the razorbill, the great auk’s vulnerability is highlighted by writer Martin Martin while mapping St Kilda in 1697 [...].

[A]nd pine martens and “Scottish” wildcats were also found in England and Wales. Fishers caught burbot and sturgeon in both rivers and at sea, [...] as well as now-scarce fishes such as the angelshark, halibut and common skate. Threatened molluscs like the freshwater pearl mussel and oyster were also far more widespread. [...]

Predators such as wolves that interfered with human happiness were ruthlessly hunted. Authors such as Robert Sibbald, in his natural history of Scotland (1684), are aware and indeed pleased that several species of wolf have gone extinct:

There must be a divine kindness directed towards our homeland, because most of our animals have a use for human life. We also lack those wild and savage ones of other regions. Wolves were common once upon a time, and even bears are spoken of among the Scottish, but time extinguished the genera and they are extirpated from the island.

The wolf was of no use for food and medicine and did no service for humans, so its extinction could be celebrated as an achievement towards the creation of a more civilised world. Around 30 natural history sources written between the 16th and 18th centuries remark on the absence of the wolf from England, Wales and much of Scotland. [...]

In Pococke’s 1760 Tour of Scotland, he describes being told about a wild species of cat – which seems, incredibly, to be a lynx – still living in the old county of Kirkcudbrightshire in the south-west of Scotland. Much of Pococke’s description of this cat is tied up with its persecution, apparently including an extra cost that the fox-hunter charges for killing lynxes:

They have also a wild cat three times as big as the common cat. [...] It is said they will attack a man who would attempt to take their young one [...]. The country pays about £20 a year to a person who is obliged to come and destroy the foxes when they send to him. [...]

The capercaillie is another example of a species whose decline was correctly recognised by early modern writers. Today, this large turkey-like bird [...] is found only rarely in the north of Scotland, but 250–500 years ago it was recorded in the west of Ireland as well as a swathe of Scotland north of the central belt. [...] Charles Smith, the prolific Dublin-based author who had theorised about the decline of herring on the coast of County Down, also recorded the capercaillie in County Cork in the south of Ireland, but noted: This bird is not found in England and now rarely in Ireland, since our woods have been destroyed. [...] Despite being protected by law in Scotland from 1621 and in Ireland 90 years later, the capercaillie went extinct in both countries in the 18th century [...].

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Images, captions, and all text above by: Lee Raye. “Wildlife wonders of Britain and Ireland before the industrial revolution – my research reveals all the biodiversity we’ve lost.” The Conversation. 17 July 2023. [Map by Lee Raye. Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

#paleo #ecologies #multispecies #tidalectics #geographic imaginaries #extinction #interspecies #ecoliving

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on-a-lucky-tide · 26 days ago

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Your tags make me want to read Price getting to pat Nik. Please? 🥺

Nik's hair is a reflection of his character.

cw: none (partly inspired by a post by @panchulien with a young Nik and Price).

Price had realised he was obsessed with Nik's hair quite early on. When they had met, it had been a harsh buzz cut; a number two all the way over at the very longest, with a clean shaven jaw. It hadn't suited him. Not even in his blue uniform and cap. His eyes were too warm for the austere, minimalist impression the rest of him was trying to communicate. It was like his internal conflict had manifested in his physical appearance; the severe officer battling the warm-hearted Russian patriot.

After Price had "liberated" him, or rather, encouraged him to turn informant and cut his own path towards liberation, Nik had grown his hair out. Price remembered seeing him for the first time after freeing him from the detention centre in which his own government were going to execute him. Nearly a year had passed, and Nik's hair had grown into an unruly mane. Close to a mullet, but with erratic, thick black curls paired with roguish facial hair. He had reminded Price of a musketeer or a Renaissance poet. The sombre misery had been replaced by an almost manic charisma.

That had suited him. It set off the wildness in his eyes. But that wildness had manifested in other, more dangerous ways. Price and Nik had fed off of each other's anger and their penchant for violence in those early days. When they were on op together, their lack of boundaries had led them to dark places; Nik, without direction or purpose beyond point and shoot, and Price with a chip on his shoulder.

Price had watched those thick curls fall across a blood smeared face after Nik had beaten a man to death with his bare hands more than once, the crooked smirk that followed revealing a flash of something raw and in pain beneath the surface. They crossed lines, violated boundaries and codes of ethics, telling themselves it was for a higher purpose that not even they had much of a handle on.

Mac had tried to keep them apart. Had warned Price away and told him to get a grip. Dogs that bit the hand that fed them were put down eventually, one way or another. But Nik had been intoxicating. His rage completed and complemented Price's in the worst and best ways.

Nik needed to heal. They both did. It took years. Years of dancing around each other, of finding the limit of what they would do for the "greater good", working out what that even bloody meant in the first place. They carved out their own morality, separate from the hypocrisy of the institutions that had made them, and slowly, slowly, the rage, the bleeding wounds, inside Nikolai had healed. Price had fallen in love with that wild, uncontrollable maniac, and he had stayed in love with him once he had found enough peace to stop his own self-destruction.

Price sat across from him in the little boat they had hired for a tour down the River Oder. Nik had wanted to show Price Wrocław, the Venice of Poland. Twelve little islands connected by over a hundred little bridges, with one of the biggest markets in Europe. Nik had spent the morning dragging Price down side streets to find some of the three hundred odd little bronze gnomes scattered throughout the city. "To commemorate the Orange Alternative movement," Nik had explained, his big hands gesturing expressively towards the Gothic Town Hall, tone excitable and boyish, "they used absurdist humour to protest against communist rule in the eighties."

Nik was at peace now. Nearing his fiftieth birthday, his hair was receding into a deeper widow's peak, smoothed back and neat, with slight curls at the back and beneath his ears. His stubble flattered his jaw and Price liked raking his nails through it when they kissed. Not too wild, not too austere. A perfect balance that reflected the equilibrium in Nik's heart.

"John?" Nik asked, his eyebrows raised. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, comrade," Price said, flashing rueful smile. "Just thinkin' about old times."

"Ah." Nik scratched up his bare forearm to the fold of the sleeve at his elbow. "Well then," he picked up his glass of krupnik and Price did the same, "to old times."

"And all the good times to come, cheers." Price knocked back a mouthful of the liqueur and grimaced. "Jesus fuck, Nik, this shit is fockin' 'orrid." He tipped the remainder of the glass overboard. "Could murder a man for a decent stout."

Nik rolled his eyes. "You take the Englishman out of England, but..."

Price kicked his shin lightly. "Yeah yeah, Mr World Wide. I'm a simple man with simple tastes, not all of 'em good."

"Oh, I don't know," Nik hummed. "You are dating me after all."

And there, just for a moment, was a flash of that wild, curly-haired man that had first stolen Price's heart in the devilish little grin on Nik's face, and Price's blood ran hot in his veins.

#captain john price #cod nikolai #nikprice #prikolai #meta-ish headcanon ramble #sorry Rogue this went off piste #but it is hair related!

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darkspellmaster · 9 months ago

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Master Post for A Phantomhive in Night Raven College or one Hell of a Twisted Tale

So If you're looking for the story, Here is the master post with all the Chapters broken up in to groups. I hope this helps, and also if you want to skip over say the Long Halloween, you can.

Main Arcs are linked, All Vignettes are in-between Chapters.

Summary:

Ciel Phantomhive, the Queen's Watchdog, has seen some serious situations in his short life, and always had control over them, but he never once believed he would find himself in a world where all his skills and charms would be useless to him. Now, tossed through a gateway to a Twisted world where magic abounds, can the young Earl Phantomhive manage to survive going to Night Raven College, and unravel the mystery of why he was set there, and how to get back home.

A, mostly, Cannon Compliant, crossover of Black Butler/Kuroshitsuji and Twisted Wonderland.

Chapters (Only Beginning and Endings)

Welcome to the Villain's World Ciel

Chapter 1 / Chapter 6

The Rose Red Tyrant

Chapter 8 / Chapter 24

The Usurper of the Wilds

Chapter 25 / Chapter 46

The Phantom Bride

Chapter 47 / Chapter 57

Halloween is Coming

Chapter 58 / Chapter 61

Halloween: Terror is Trending

Chapter 65 / Chapter 130

Halloween: Spectral Soirée

Chapter 131 / Chapter 156

Merchant of the Depths

Chapter 157 / ?????

Chapter 165:Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, A Deal with a Devil

Chapter 166: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, Splashing Encounter

Chapter 167: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, Scheming

Chapter 168: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, Water-logged Misfortune

Chapter 169: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, Shocking

Chapter 170: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, Marred

Chapter 171: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, Advantageous

Chapter 172: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, Brainstorming

Chapter 173: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, Dastardly Heist.

Chapter 174: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, Gone Fishing

Chapter 175: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, Jousting with a Kraken

Chapter 176: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, Lonely Pot

Chapter 177: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, Packing and Unpacking

Chapter 178: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, Late Night Conversations

Chapter 179: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, Interventions

Chapter 180: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, Enter Dream World

Chapter 181: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, First Time Riding

Chapter 182: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, It’s a Small World

Chapter 183: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, Everything Goes Up And Down

Chapter 184: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, Learning to Steer

Chapter 185: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, Screamin’ in Space.

Chapter 186: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, Traversing the High Seas

Chapter 187: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, Tally Ho

Chapter 188: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, Sunset Screaming

Chapter 189: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, Goalie

Chapter 190: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, Shooting for a Picture Perfect Dance

Chapter 191: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, Game, Set, Whack that Mole

Chapter 192: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, Spun out.

Chapter 193: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, Touring by Train

Chapter 194: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, Bugged and Bumped

Chapter 195: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, Exploring the River

Latest Chapter

Chapter 196: Merchant of the Depths–That Butler, Into the Jungle

Have questions, just shoot me an ask. Happy to answer it.

Discord for those interested in it.

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mur-art · 1 day ago

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I was a dam builder

Across the river deep and wide

Where steel and water did collide

A place called Boulder on the wild Colorado

I slipped and fell into the wet concrete below

They buried me in that great tomb that knows no sound

But I am still around

I’ll always be around

***

You’ll never guess where I went this weekend. /s

Yep, I went and toured the Hoover Dam! It was pretty dam cool.

Factoids, Headcanons, Ramblings and some inspo photos under the cut!

-The Hoover Dam is a concrete arch-gravity dam in the Black Canyon of the Colorado River, on the border between the U.S. states of Nevada and Arizona. Constructed between 1931 and 1936, during the Great Depression, it was dedicated on September 30, 1935, by President Franklin D. Roosevelt. Its construction was the result of a massive effort involving thousands of workers, and cost over 100 lives. (Wikipedia)

-Headcanon time! Nevada and Arizona themselves were among the workers who helped build the dam. Specifically, they were “high scalers,” who climbed down canyon walls on ropes to remove loose and weakened rocks along the canyon walls. This was a super dangerous job, but Nevada and Arizona, being immortal(ish), experienced with mining, and suckers for an adrenaline rush, were ideal for it.

-Neither of them have a fear of heights…it helped. They both still enjoy rock climbing together…for fun now though!

-The dam and its water helped make both of them what they are today, for better or worse. It helped Las Vegas grow from a tiny train stop to a major city in just a couple decades. It helped Phoenix and Tucson boom as well. You know what they say; build the future you want for yourself? 😅 They literally did that. I don’t think either of them could have predicted everything that would happen in the future, though.

(Some pics that I used for reference, feat. a photo of an actual high scaler.)

#mur art #you get a dose of history whether you want it or not😈#wttt #wttt Nevada #wttt Arizona #welcome to the table #welcome to the statehouse #maybe this was an excuse to draw shirtless men??#nahhhh I would *never*🫥#table history #…I wish lmao

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themotherofblood · 1 year ago

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chapter 6 | river of fire | d.t x reader x r.t | there is much to say

series masterlist | masterlist | previous chapter

a/n: so finally we pick up from where we left off, with some major changes, while I will always love the first original chapter of the brothel scene, i needed to do my girlie some justice

warnings: daemon being kinda gross.

synopsis: daemon returns to the red keep, to find a much grown version of his young cousin and his niece.

The court had finally come to weigh upon Viserys’s shoulders, three parchments, all borne by white ravens. One from the Stepstones, one from Storm’s End and the other from the Old Palace. The missed warmth and wrath were all returning at once.

One rebel posed as his brother, one nuisance his daughter and the other, his wounded pride— his ward.

“Preparations have been made your grace, at the cost to the crown, a feast seems appropriate given the occasion. The Targaryen seat brimming full again.” Lord Beesbury coughed out his accounting.

“In lieu, your grace. I don’t find a feast appropriate upon the way all three of them have disobeyed your wishes.” Otto Hightower interjected, “perhaps the costs could be levied elsewhere.”

“Nonsense! My family is together after many moons, we should celebrate, find a reason to indulge in cups,” Viserys chuckled, looking at Lord Strong for his support.

It was the truth, Daemon begun a war without the direct command of his King, aiding Lord Corlys in his excertions upon the Stepstones. Whereas Rhaenyra, dismissed an entire court of suitors, ending a very heftily paid for tour to an end; three moons and early— then there was you. Fleeing the Capital without the King’s consent, boarding a ship to return to your brother, the cause? Knew no one but one, Alicent and she too shielded the truth of the matter.

And thus the word spread, the dragons had come to roam the streets of King’s Landing again.

Rhaenyra was the first to return, anxiously awaiting the brunt of her father’s disappointment.

You must marry, it is your duty. You must bear heirs, it is your duty.

She had grown tired of what her possible duties would be when she herself couldn’t implement one condition at the Small Council table, a poser amongst the one’s with true power. She felt left out, unseen— and her father believed that marriage would fix her unmoving temper, like a man in her vicinity would make her womanly thinking turn to putty.

Not one, not one of those morons would come near to be a possible husband for her, but more so than that, she wished that her lover would understand so. That for her, you would forever be the true bearer of her unencumbered devotions, her unconditional love. Yet the weight of responsibility had weakened your shoulders too, for you heard the same but one less.

You must marry, you must bear children.

And thus the fight, a terrible arguement between two hearts that always beat as one.

“I would never be your wife! Ever.”

There had been copious tears and then a conspicuous letter, then followed silence and Rhaenyra’s tour.

Her heart wasn’t in this, she cared not if she ever loved her husband, she didn’t want one in the first place. Even beyond Viserys’s advise, a man? A man couldn’t be worth her happiness.

She is a dragon rider, the Heir to the Iron Throne. A measly being possessing a cock wouldn’t cut it.

Her ship’s sails had caught the wind, she stood on the deck, twiddling her thumbs as she laments of returning to a cold half of her apartments. Her ladies in waiting and plenty other friends to keep her company and yet she couldn’t muster an apology to make you return home. More than a year apart, without a word— the agony should have dwindled but it lingered, prickling around her heart every night as she slept alone.

Nyra held hope that she would catch a glimpse of your face once more, run her hands through your wild hair, feel the burning chill of your fingertips and the softness of your full lips. If the world around her was just quiet enough, she could feel it, a ghostly touch pressed to her lips— only to break her heart once more as she opened her eyes.

“Princess?” Criston Cole tore her attention from her wide eyed face staring down at the Blackwater.

“We should make landfall within the hour.”

She hums following with a nod, her lips part with hesitance.

“How do you think he will take it?” She seeks perspective, perhaps to find a lighter response of possibilities than the terrible ones that stirred in her head.

“Do you speak of how curtly you’ve rejected every suitor put before you or how you have abruptly ended the tour with three months remaining.”

Rhaenyra defensively blinks away, understanding the point Cole made but partly from the anxiety of it all, willing Syrax to fly to her and flitter her away to the Summer Isles or far up the mountains in the Vale.

She returned to the storm in her head, hearing the waves and the wind jostle by her ears, the smell of salt and fish in the air and chirping, wild chirping.

Her head bolted to the skies, a noise she hadn’t heard for years.

“Take cover!” Cristin Cole screamed, taking his princess down with him.

However Rhaenyra’s eyes were fixated upon the red creature that flew dangerously close to her boat.

Caraxes… Uncle Daemon.

The smell of this bustled city once again graced Daemon’s nostrils, the cheap mead of the people and the golden painted whores of his cherished brothels all celebrated the return of their beloved Prince.

Armour clad and crowned with his haughtiness adorned in his hip, he swaggered in the Throne Room, the familiar scent of pompous perfumed cunts made him sick and yet, the smirk of victory did not leave his face as he eyed down his brother.

Gods he looks sickly, gloved hands and his body weight leaning upon Blackfyre, a sword once meant to wield the firey might of House Targaryen was now diminished to be an old man’s cane. What had happened to him. They are but four years apart in age, and while one brother stood tall in posture and tore down enemies by the hundreds. The other a King, dressed in fineries to shield the dismantling resolution of his health— he reeked of illness.

He stops in front of his brother’s Kingsgaurd, arm outstretched with Craghis Drahar’s axe at the hilt of his palm, pointing it straight at Viserys’s face. A fine present that he drops by the King’s feet.

“Add it to the chair,” he blankly says before retreating, clutching onto the pommel of Dark Sister.

He could feel it, the plenty of gazes fixated upon the crown of bones and rubies placed on his head, there could only be one king.

While Daemon adored the amusing chaos he brought to court, the unpredictability— they all saw him a monster, he knew so. Defiant, vulgar and a rake through and through. He wouldn’t disrespect his brother, not in open court and not without reason.

Daemon knelt, head bowed as he presented his earned crown to his brother.

“There is only one true King, your grace.”

Viserys looked to Otto Hightower, the cunt, eyeing away at Viserys to reject Daemon’s honour— once more denying Daemon’s adoration for his brother to be a malformation of his envy or ambitions.

Viserys descended the steps, still eyeing his younger brother with contempt, or mayhaps doubt.

“Rise.” He ordered, patting Daemon’s shoulder.

Both of them stiff yet brothers once again untied, Daemon bowed his head, resting on Viserys shoulder as they embraced one another.

Daemon relished the embrace as the court around him erupted in an applause, he heard a distinct voice— whose eyes he had witnessed preening at him as he walked into the Throne Room.

rūs— Rhaenyra.

Daemon turns to her, leading himself out with Viserys as the court begins to disband. Viserys however shoots scorned look towards his daughter, a look Daemon frowned over, in Viserys’s eyes Rhaenyra could do no wrong. His curiosity caught a waft of tension and he wondered. What could his brother’s heir have concocted this time to truly face the wrath of Viserys’s rare occurrence of anger.

It seemed that his worries about him not being welcomed home had been for nothing, Viserys had already a feast awaiting for his brother in the Godswood. Wines and musicians, foods of his liking and women of his taste already lined the halls.

“No no, I will not hear it. You were always mother’s favourite!” Viserys chuckled as he reminisced stories of their shared youth with his young wife in presence.

A gauche scene really, and yet Daemon eyes seemed to have caught another serene sight entirely.

The head of silky silver locks, developing curves accentuated by the low hemmed cream gown and eyes that much looked like his, Rhaenyra, much had truly changed, and perhaps a salacious opportunity.

He wandered over to her, avoiding one droll conversation after the other.

“What have you done?” Daemon nudged her shoulder.

“Rejected every suitor in all of Westeros.” She hummed back, licking the sweetness of the lemon cakes off her fingertips.

“Well done!” He chuckled.

She looked to him, rolling her eyes, “well you have return, the prize of my father’s eyes.”

Daemon chuckled once more, shaking his head. His eyes finding a much familiar necklace adorning her neck, and just so— much had changed but nothing at all.

“You’ve changed.”

“As have you Princess.” Daemon looked around as the crowd in the Godswood dwindled.

“You seem calmer, more content perhaps.”

“You seem besides it.” Daemon countered.

“Well it seems my station provided me with ample— discrepancies.” She scoffs.

He sat there, in an odd sense of familiarity. Once again loved, not in the thrall-ish way he often seems to force it out of the common folk, but truly wanted. In the presence of his family, his only pride and at times joy.

Though one figure he registered had been missing all this while, a little dragon in viper’s clothing. The wild mess of dark curls and hesitant eyes— he’d have thought he’d see you first, and yet you were no where to be seen.

The air pulled against the loose wisps of your done up hair, you leaned against the barricaded balcony of your cabin, feeling the waves sway beneath as your ship sailed into the Blackwster Bay. The muddled dark colour of the ocean taking over the serene blue of The Sunset Sea, the murky waters leading it ugly way to once a place you dearly wanted to return to but were afraid too.

On the horizon you could see Rhaenys Hill, the gates of the city and the Bell Tower. Calling to you as you thought of all the possible earfuls of lectures Viserys was about to grace you with.

“How could you take off with my leave?”

Much had changed since you had left, both in reality and within yourself, you looked more a woman than a child, you had flowered. While showing to court in the robes you had on now would be just a little inappropriate. The Martell that you once pushed away, now towered with you with a spear in hand. Such was the Gods choosing you wondered, while your brother Qoren was the perfect portrait of Martell seed, leaving but just his olive skin a testament to your father. His brownish curls and striking purple eyes called to his Targaryen heritage even as he sat on the Martell seat to rule its lands.

You on the other hand, had paler skin than most of the Dornish kin, wide and expressive hazel eyes and ever since you flowered. Thicker streaks of silver that shone bright within the ample strands of your wild brown hair. A small token of your Valyrian heritage, of your mother Daenerys and her eyes. If one looked closely, a ring of lilac crowned the brown of your pupils.

Just this time as you returned, perhaps born anew to your role in the Targaryen dynasty. You were no longer timid, your tongue as sharp as the shot you could take with your bow and arrow and a mind far wise to irk the pompous men at court. Returning home did you good, as your people would call it. All though you were sure Septa Marlow would do naught but sneer at how mismanaged a young princess could become.

Fuck that.

Even as your ship anchored to a halt, with boats circling to receive you and your party. You couldn’t take your eyes off of the Red Keep. Would it have changed in the past year and half, would Viserys be healthier. You wanted to know this instant and yet no answers were brought to you.

Your old jeweled palaquin sat waiting for you, with four Targaryen guards at each pole hilt, you hiked your soft pink skirts to prevent any dirt staining the delicate fabric as you crouched to enter the vessel.

The city still smelled the same, perhaps worse— but it was home, your childhood. The swaying of the palaquin pulled you further into your thoughts, a sick anxiety twisted at your insides as you readjusted your dupatta.

There was barely a procession levied to your name as you stepped out to the courtyard, you heard Oberya scoff behind you; her arched brows scrunched to portray her dismay to the empty courtyard. You were a Princess after all, a name deserved the gathering of at least the Small Council if not the King himself.

“yahain vapis nahi ana chahiye tha rajkumari.” Oberya shook her head. We shouldn’t have returned Princess.

You sighed, hiking your skirts once more to walk behind the guards escorting you— no doubt to the Throne Room where you were certain you would hear an earful from the King himself or perhaps a monotone warning from Otto Hightower. A chill ran down your spine, imagining the steel purple eyes glaring down at you with the weight of his disappointments.

You stood by the door, reminding yourself to breathe, nice large huffs of breaths to fill your lungs and ease the sinking pit in your belly. You nod your head, letting your party and Oberya disperse to their own duties.

Your sweaty palm pushes against the massive heavy metal doors, the sound of creaking so loud against silent hallways it made your ears ring just a bit. The sight within was something you didn’t expect at all.

Empty, not a soul.

The gallery, the Throne and bleachers. Not a person here to watch you catch an earful from the King.

No one at all but one maid crouched by the statue of Jaehereys, scrubbing away with a sudded cloth.

“Where is everyone?”

She looked up, confused for a moment and then meekly replied.

“The Godswood, milady.”

You hummed, turning to the Throne once more before heading to the west doors.

You thought of all the reason’s as to why the entire court would have gathered in the Goswood, you wondered if Alicent was with child again. It couldn’t be though, when you left she had just announced the quickening of Haelena, it was too soon for her to be with child again.

Perhaps a marriage? Rhaenyra?

You prayed not, you had just returned. You didn’t think yourself capable to feel the burn of jealousy but you did, you imagined whatever lord hoped to wed her and then you imagined something untoward happening to him.

You stopped by the wooden doors, you could hear the bustle of the people in the gardens, the smell of meats and perfumes tickled at your nose.

The guards stood by the door appeared confused by the sight of you, your dressing extravagant enough for you to be a noble but they couldn’t quite place which one. You looked between the both of them as the hunched closer, whispering amongst themselves to place your identity.

“Princess Rhaenys?” One whispered.

“Does she look old to you?”

“It is the Princess of Dorne, now if you may.”

You flinched at the abrupt voice behind you, you turned to find Lord Strong looking down at you.

“Princess.” He greeted “We were not expecting you until tomorrow.”

“The winds were in our favour, I’m afraid.” You explained, smiling at the gentle favour of his hand.

The wooden doors opened as you were greeted to the blossoms of the gardens, many of which now thrived and grew from your efforts over the years.

Then it dawns the reason as to why the court had gathered, two heads of very prominent silver hair stood in the crowd.

You were frozen looking at them and everyone else was frozen looking at you.

In the surprise of it all, Alicent approached you first.

You in all regality, bowed on her approach. “My Queen.”

“Y/N!” She gushed, patting your shoulder as a formality when you’d rather embrace her. The warmth of her palm easing your nerves just a bit. You were home for now.

Daemon froze solid to the ground for a moment, a gentle tilt to his head as he registered who stood a couple feet from him. There were many stale bets he would have placed in his lifetime but he saw this coming from so far away.

Even as a little boy learning to spar over the summer and watching his cousin Rhaenys grow wisps of Targaryen silver with the black of her Baratheon head.

When he looked down at his niece, she shared the confusion he had— her head too finding answers to whatever this creature stood in front of them was.

The truth was in the blood, the magic that people sing about stood in person.

By the gods

The blue gowns changed for a soft summery pink, and the cut of that neckline— torture. So much to see but nothing at all.

You turned their way, eyes fixated on Rhaenyra for a moment and then around her before you turned to greet the rest of the Small Council members.

There was commandment, a tantalizing graze to how the shimmery fabric moved as you did.

It wouldn’t be appropriate, Rhaenyra knew it but her impatience grew as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

A year and a half— too long, too fucking long.

She was waiting to hear every footstep coming her way, from the jangles of your payal. The sway of your skirts coming to a stop a foot away from her and Daemon.

“My Princess,” you acknowledged “My Prince.”

There stood a moment of awkward silence between you and Rhaenyra until you turned to Daemon.

“I must congratulate you for your valiant victory in the Stepstone, cousin. One can only hope the poets sing about it till the end of time.” You smile at him.

That’s when he sees them, twinkling against the soft glow of the sun, the purple hiding behind the brown of your eyes. He never could place it, even as he fucked false silver haired whores in brothels, the image of Targaryen seed trampling the viper blood in your veins gave him so much joy.

Rhaenyra still remains silent, pulling the strings in her head to conjure up words.

In the Common Tongue, in Valyrian— just speak please!

Viserys however interjects, Alicent following behind him “What joy, my family; whole again!” He smiles with his teeth barred.

The smile persists cheek to cheek as he looks at Alicent, then to his brother and then you. Though as her turns to Rhaenyra, his eyes fall to disappointment. Reminding Rhaenyra yet again of how much trouble she was in.

Alicent with much grace however, shifted the conversation.

“Perhaps Prince Daemon would like a tour to the tapestries gifted to you by Novos and Qohor?” an innocent suggestion.

Viserys’s face scrunches for a moment as he slaps his hand around Daemon’s shoulder.

“Tell me, would you like to see the tapestries?” He breaks in to an ugly cackle.

Daemon, though oftentimes expected to be the one devoid any manner contains himself for the sake of his young sister by law. He hated her father, not her.

“Well I, would love to see them.” Rhaenyra sheepishly chimes in.

“Well then you should not deprive yourself, daughter.”

The curt sting could be felt from a mile away as she hangs her head in defeat.

“I would love to see them, care to escort me cousin?” You turn to Rhaenyra, smiling at her with an arm extended.

The two of departed from the court, rigidly walking hand in hand to the galleries. She couldn’t say anything out fear that you were still angry at her and her uneasiness amused you.

When the doors to the Grand Gallery finally closed she turned on her heel hastily.

“Forgive me, everything I said. I take it back.”

You looked up at her, this time tilting your head to the side, eyes purposefully stern. You held her hand and began pulling her to the closest wall and pushing her against it.

“I’m sorry.” She repeats.

“Shush.”

You pressed your lips against hers, taking her aback as you grab at the cotton fabric around her waist as you pulled her closer.

She hums, relishing the taste of your lips before finding her footing and turning you around— pressed up against the very lovely tapestry sent by Essosi envoys.

Only painted eyes in witness as you took your liberties with your lover.

“A dozen chambers,” a sing song voice tore the two of you out of your trance.

A deep pit of fear flutters in your belly as you pull yourself away from Rhaenyra.

“Haven’t I taught you better?”

Daemon stood at the door with his palm questioningly pointed at the two of you. His mind found a new source of amusement and by the gods he was going to enjoy toying this time.

THE NEXT CHAPTER IS SMUTTTTTTT. Lemme know if you wanna be on the taglist.

Comments and reblogs are appreciated!!

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x reader x rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen x rhaenyra targaryen #desiblr #daemon targaryen #house of the dragon #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #house of the dragon fanfiction #houseofthedragon #house targaryen #daemon targaryen x rhaenyra #rhaenyr #river of fire series #river of fire us

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wildrivers · 1 year ago

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Follow are Facebook account to know the update about Wild Rivers Tickets, Water park in USA, and Irvine water park.

Again, don’t miss Carload Nights at Wild Rivers! 😁 If you haven’t already heard, guests can enjoy admission with INCLUDED parking for up to 7 people after 4pm Monday - Thursday of this week!

Get more details here:- San Diego Water Parks.

#wild rivers tour #wild river water slide #water attractions near me

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kathlare · 13 days ago

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espresso

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Amelie reunites with her childhood friends Alex and Nat for a few days of songwriting before her next big tour.

Wordcount: 1.0 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

July 12th, 2023 - Chinon, France

liked by taylorswift, landonorris, and others

ameliedayman: dtf (down to france)

View all 986 comments

thisisrozzi: Paris is a vibe, but you are the vibe. Also, the new music is going to break everyone. 🔥💣 → ameliedayman: @thisisrozzi LET'S GO! I swear we’ve got something wild coming!

alexwolffofficial: back in the studio with my favorite partner in crime. → ameliedayman: @alexwolffofficial literally this is exactly what i needed

emmachamberlain: um, so when is the world gonna be blessed with this new music?? We’re all waiting 😭😭 → ameliedayman: @emmachamberlain soon, my friend, soon.

mayahawke: Amelie, you’re killing it. So proud of you always. 🖤 → ameliedayman: @mayahawke love you my girl.

musicfreak_97: WAIT. Lando still liking the posts?? Can we get a follow though?? 👀👀 → landoisback: @musicfreak_97 ummm, let’s not read into it too much, ok? 🙃

frenchvibesonly: She’s really out here making music in France while looking like that?? Queen behavior. 👑

victoriadayman: Watching you grow and do what you love makes me so proud. Keep shining, kiddo. 🌟 → ameliedayman: @victoriadayman you’re the reason I keep going. Love you, mom.

elysiadayman: MY. TALENTED. SISTER. Always making magic, and always so gorgeous while doing it. 😍 → ameliedayman: @elysiadayman I’m just doing my thing, love. Thanks for always supporting me!

alexwolffsupporter: i’m just so glad they are back in the studio together. iconic duo coming soon! → onlyalexwolff: @alexwolffsupporter they are literally the definition of “it” couple when it comes to music. Periodt.

rosie_rocks: THE NEW MUSIC IS GOING TO BE INSANE I CAN FEEL IT IN MY BONES 😩

moodmusic_89: Alex and Amelie back together in the studio?? Can’t wait for the magic they make together again! 🎶💫 → alexandamelieforever: @moodmusic_89 yasss, we all know these two are a hit-making combo!

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Chinon, a sleepy place in France, had all the charm you could imagine—a quaint old town, cobbled streets, and views of the Loire River. Amelie had picked it specifically for the solitude, the space to breathe before Asia, before the crazy tour schedule started again. And who better to spend a few days with than Alex, Nat, and Rozzi? Alex and Nat had been her closest friends since childhood, long before her career took off, long before they became too busy for lazy days like this.

They were scattered around the tiny music studio they’d rented for a few days to write. The coffee machine hummed in the corner, and the faint buzz of summer insects outside mingled with the soft rustling of papers and guitar strings.

Alex was leaning back in his chair, his feet up on the desk, strumming his guitar absentmindedly while Nat sat on the edge of a couch, scribbling something in a notebook. Amelie was pacing the room, her mind racing but her body trying to stay still. The air was thick with the easy comfort of old friends, the type of silence that was filled with a thousand unspoken words.

—You’re overthinking it again, Am,— Nat said, not looking up from his notebook. He knew her too well.

—I’m not overthinking,— Amelie muttered, glancing at him. —I’m just... what do we want this song to feel like? Like, is it a love song or... is it something else?—

—Both,— Alex chimed in without hesitation, strumming a chord. —It’s gotta be both. You know, the kind of love that makes you wanna stay up all night thinking about someone, even when you don’t want to.—

—Yeah,— Amelie said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. She stared at the blank page in front of her. —But, like, how do we say that without sounding cheesy? I don’t want it to feel like one of those songs that’s trying too hard.—

—I think the key is in the details,— Nat said, finally looking up. —It’s about the little things, the way someone makes you feel, the stuff they do that drives you crazy. That’s what makes it real.—

Alex nodded. —Exactly. Like, how do you make something as simple as coffee feel important? How does the way someone drinks their espresso tell a story?—

Amelie chuckled softly. —Okay, I get it. I’ll try. Let’s see what we come up with.—

She tapped the pen against the table, her mind pulling in memories of late-night conversations, of moments when everything felt alive and real and a little bit reckless. Her mind wandered to the past—back to the late-night gaming sessions with Lando and the way he used to flirt with her in that teasing way, always keeping her on her toes. Her heart twisted for a moment, but she pushed the thought away. She wasn’t in that place anymore.

—Alright, let’s start with the hook,— she said, trying to focus. —We need something that sticks. Something you can’t get out of your head.—

—Espresso,— Alex suggested, taking another swig of his coffee. —Like, you drink it and it’s like: bam. Instant energy. But there’s a whole other thing going on with it. You know, the buzz, the obsession.—

—Yeah,— Nat agreed. —Espresso, like the way someone gets stuck in your head, the way they keep you up at night even when you don’t want them to.—

—That’s it,— Amelie said, the words clicking into place. —It’s not just about the drink. It’s about the way they make you feel. It’s like... they’re your fix, even when you don’t need one. But you can’t stop thinking about them.—

The mood shifted in the room, like something had finally clicked. The words started coming fast now. Nat scribbled something in his notebook, and Alex leaned forward, tossing out ideas as Amelie joined in, all of them feeding off the energy of the others. It was pure magic, that moment when the song started taking shape, as natural as breathing.

Amelie started humming a melody, the rhythm of the words matching the pulse of her heart. The flicker of excitement that spread across the room was palpable, as if they were all discovering something new together.

—Okay, let’s go for it,— Amelie said, her voice now filled with purpose. —Something like... "Now he’s thinkin' ‘bout me every night, oh... Is it that sweet? I guess so."—

They worked quickly, feeding off the momentum as they pieced the song together. The lines came one after the other, easy and fast, like they were meant to fall into place. Alex played with the chords, Nat hummed along, and Amelie found herself lost in the flow of it all. For a brief moment, it was as if time didn’t exist—just three friends, creating something bigger than themselves.

Later that night, after hours of recording and laughing and reworking lines, they finally had something they were all happy with. They sat together in the small, cozy studio, the air thick with exhaustion and the quiet hum of the air conditioner. Alex hit play, and the first notes of Espresso filled the room.

Amelie’s heart raced. She wasn’t used to hearing herself like this—raw, unpolished, but somehow real.

As the song progressed, they couldn’t help it. They jumped up, clapping and singing along to the words, completely off-key but too happy to care. Alex and Nat were spinning each other around in a ridiculous dance, and Amelie, despite the nerves that gnawed at her stomach, found herself laughing harder than she had in a long time.

Amelie looked at her two childhood friends—her constants, her partners in crime—and felt a wave of gratitude. Maybe things had been tough lately. Maybe the relationships in her life had become complicated, stretched thin across time zones and missed moments. But here, in this tiny studio, surrounded by the people who had known her before all the fame, before all the chaos, everything felt right. For once, nothing was rushing her forward. It was just her, Alex, Nat, and a song they had created together.

She couldn’t help but smile, even as she felt the weight of her recent breakups. It all seemed so distant now. The song played on, louder, and they kept dancing and laughing, completely unaware of how much Espresso was going to shape her future.

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pegafin · 2 months ago

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Over the River and Through the Woods

A special AI generated Thanksgiving home

Are you a grandma looking for the perfect house for the whole family? Give them a Thanksgiving over the river and through the woods, in this charming new-build from a bygone era! Enjoy acres of woodland property with picturesque wildlife, including pumpkins and wild hand-turkeys. 9 bed, 6 bath, original linoleum flooring.

Quaint veranda foyer with attic.

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Behind the Scenes:

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gigiprinceton · 3 months ago

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After an amazing day yesterday, the following morning Fluffy and I boarded a train once again and this time we are headed to the Famous Bukovel Resort in the Carpathian Mountains Fluffy tells me.. This is going to a much welcomed trip, compared to all the walking around we’ve been doing in the hustling and bustling cities.. I tell you, I’m ready to be lazy for some needed rest and relaxation for a change…

Our train ride took around 12 hours and with all that time we enjoyed chatting, eating, and meeting many new and interesting people… Mostly though, I enjoyed spending my time reading, and just looking out of the window allowing life to pass me by while enjoying the beautiful scenery as it flew by..

In the early evening our train pulled into the Tatariv-Bukovel station in the small town of Polyanytsya.. When we disembarked Fluffy and I had to hurry up to catch our bus that would take us to the resort… Another beautiful trip as I was mesmerized by all the rivers and lakes surrounded by these majestic mountains..

As we stepped off the bus, I could smell the fresh, clean mountain air, mixed with the incredible smell of pine all around.. “This is truly God’s Country” I thought to myself..

Fluffy booked us into one of the beautiful wooden log chalets.. The views of the mountains were spectacular not to mention that the ski runs were literally a few steps from our front door..

After a quick bite to eat, we decided to go for a hike since it was still early in the day, so we set out to explore a nearby forest.. I mean I’ve hiked before, but not like this.. Even though I knew I was at a resort, I truly felt as if I was in the wild.. As we hiked trough the forest on paths that were barely visible, I couldn’t help but think this is a bird lovers paradise for we beautiful saw golden eagles gliding above us in the sky in search of prey, and heard the distinctive drumming of woodpeckers making their nest holes in the trunks of trees, and heard all around us the melodious songs of the song thrush…

We discovered beautiful mountain springs bubbling up from the ground which fed into mountain waterfalls.. We came across spectacular flowery meadows that were rich in berries and mushrooms…

Fluffy explained to me… “That the berries and mushrooms here are considered to be the greatest treasure of the Carpathian mountain region and are often referred to as the "Carpathian Gold"… Fluffy continued.. “That among these ancient trees and springs; they grow rich in minerals and nutrients”... I listened intently as I sat eating a handful of wild raspberries…

When we returned to the hotel, after our amazing day Fluffy and I decided to relax a little and he suggested that we sit in the hot tub.. I looked outside and told Fluffy that we don’t have a hot tub, He chuckled a little, pointing to a huge round vat outside on our porch full of water.. Fluffy gathered up some firewood and placed it under the vat and then lit it.. After about an hour the water was ready.. I wouldn't say the water was very hot, but sitting in it with good company, and a glass of wine in hand was quite relaxing…

After a good night’s sleep, the following morning Fluffy and I set out to do a little hiking and mountain climbing...

Our resort offers the use of their ski lifts for a wonderful aerial scenic tour up to the top of their ski runs as well as hiking and climbing combination tours to different summits in the area which we took full advantage of..

Fluffy and I chose to hike up to the top of Mt. Hoverla which is the highest mountain in Ukraine at 2061 meters.. But not before enjoying an amazing scenic view of our surrounding area by riding 30 feet off the ground on the ski lift to the top of their highest run..

It was a beautiful sunny day as we began our trek up the mountain.. The air was cool and refreshing on this October day as we made our way up through the forests of pine and beech trees, rocks covered in green moss which shimmered under the sun… Along the way we came across more spectacular flowering meadows, beautiful brooks, waterfalls, and pastureland... We ate berries along the way, chatted about our lives at home, and of the fun that we have shared so far..

When we finally reached the top, which felt like forever by the way, we were both amazed and simply floored by the breathtaking panoramic view.. So much stunning beauty of this whole region all around us..

After about an hour resting admiring the beauty, I finally asked Fluffy when the helicopter is coming to pick us up…. “No helicopter”.. he replied with a grin “We go back down the way we came up”.. “Don’t worry, we’ll make a strong Ukrainian woman of you yet”…

I grumbled.. “What? No Lift Either”? All Fluffy could do was laugh the whole time when he caught me grumbling to myself while we picked up our things and began our long journey back down the summit..

*Note to Self*: No More Mountain Climbing without Optional Transportation..

By the time we got back to the chalet it was almost sundown and I had to pack yet for my train to Poland and my flight home tomorrow.. So after our showers, Fluffy and I relaxed and sat down to an exceptional final dinner of Borscht, which had fast become one of my favorite meals while here in Ukraine… We made a toast to each other at the end of the night while we sat by the fire, and vowed that we would get together and do something like this again real soon, and I told him that he is always welcome to visit me in the United States… And that it will be my turn next time to show him around..

And with that, we fell asleep in each others arms laying in front of the fireplace while reminiscing about all the fun times we spent together..

With Gratitude, Credit, and Many Many Thanks to @fluffyfaza

A Great Big Thank You to Everyone who participated in helping me to make this the Best Virtual Vacation Ever..

@softsmooth69 @dryndelicate @fluffyfaza @alyssa-ai @celestmilena @angelmiledg @danni-gurrl @amazonqueencindy @bob--and--friends

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switchscene · 2 months ago

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I promise there's more folk punk recs coming, I swear. I've got a lot going on like trying to get ready for our busking tour in DC/NYC in about a week, so packing and prepping for rough living is a slight priority.

But I'm still seeing people talk about folk punk like it's only AJJ, Days n Daze, and Pat the Bunny's assorted projects. And like don't get me wrong I love those, but there's so much more than that out there and like I like Je-C as much as the next guy but there's so much more out there. So here's a non-exhaustive list of bands I plan to gush about in more detail in the future, if your playlist needs a dose of stuff that's not the same three bands I see tumblr talk about. Think of it as a bit of joy in this trying time.<3

As usual, some of these are folks I know personally, others I'm a couple degrees removed from, and others I just think y'all need to know about. Everyone's on Spotify unless I specifically say they're not.

Blossomin' Bone: Probably some of my best friends. They've got a new album coming but Wild Mosey is my favorite song of theirs, but they're all amazing.

Swamp Rats: Andie's banjo playing is to die for, if I'm ever half as good as her I'll know I've made it. Whiskey and Weed is on repeat a lot. Their dog is cute and I love her.

Little Foot: every time I go see a show of his, I cry. He's even got a button that he sells at shows that says "I cried at the little foot show." Growing Up Is Giving Up is my life motto.

Rambler Kane: A little more country-ish and folksy than some of the other bands here, Pat (not that one) is like the sweetest guy. Pride Before the Fall will sell him I promise.

Rail Yard Ghosts: a little crusty, a little witchy, and also great people according to my buddy who's hopped trains with some of em. Burning Down the Landlord's House is a banger.

Spider Bucket: Met them at a show at the punk house, then went to their fest up in NC. Raining Iguanas is a beautiful love song to the great state of Florida.

X Dirty Fingers: Poignant songs about being crushed by society, and with an amazing voice to boot. I've probably met them but don't remember. Third Shift Love Song is super good.

Chad Hates George: Do you like Days n Daze? Do you wish there was more of them but acoustic? Good news, cause Je-C has another band with his sister, and this is it. Shooting Up Breaking Down is the first song I learned on ukulele.

Escape from the Zoo: Do you like Days n Daze? Do you wish there was more of them but more ska-punk? Good news, this is yet another Jesse Sendejas outfit. Twelve Rounds is my favorite, and the first song I got punched in a pit to.

Matt Rivers: Sings a lot of anti-corpo and union songs. He's a friend of a friend, and I'm told he's a cool guy. Shame on Shaw is a song about the train derailment in East Palestine, Ohio. It doesn't pull any punches.

Of course this list is non-exhaustive, so stay tuned cause I will have full write-ups about these folks eventually and there's even more to come.

Love y'all, and up the punx

#folk punk #florida folk #music recs #ash reccomends #punk rock #up the punx #no hate to pat the bunny or dnd but like its all i ever see for folk punk here #actually hate to pat cuz he said he didnt believe in what he sang about #there's just so much out there in the genre and i never see anyone talk about it #so im doing it

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on-a-lucky-tide · 4 days ago

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Hi Father [hands u shiny rock 💎]

Ever since I did the “fish talk” doodle I’ve been following a few peeps on ig that does cooking videos in the wild (like rivers, park, forest etc) and every time I just think about the way you describe food 🤌🏻 I feel like Nik and Price would try doing cooking in the wild for fun…and wanted to share this video

https://www.instagram.com/reel/C58-cVZvTrQ/?igsh=MWJucjg2bDU5am40dA==

(Btw to those irk to blood and such the video starts off with the fish being gutted so you can skip ahead a bit)

The tent…the food…imagine Nik and Price taking a vacation and just cooking stuff hehe

I think you are amazing and I watched this video several times absolutely craving a wild holiday, so now we're booking up for our next bike tour. Thanks, Big G! But yes, your fic...

Nik and Price find some peace in the wilderness.

cw: Nik's chest, prepping their catch.

As Price watched Nik skin and field dress the rabbits he'd shot only a few hours ago, he pondered on the sheer bloody absurdity of their current arrangement.

Nik could holiday anywhere in the world. Quite literally anywhere. He had bolt holes and apartments and arrangements on every Continent; hell, in most countries. But every year, as the temperatures began to rise in ol' Blighty, he chose to spend a week dossin’ around with Price in the great British back and beyond; no showers, a hole to shit in, some firearms, two rucksacks, with only a battered old paperback and a grumpy Englishman for company. Sounded like a sanction for poor behaviour rather than a reward for making it through another year, but here he was. Again.

Sure, he moaned about the mugginess. How the moisture in the air made clothes stick to his skin, how even the most valiant antiperspirant lost the battle on a particularly close afternoon in July. But that just meant that Nik had to take his shirt off and... well, Price weren't complainin'. Even better when they clambered into the hammock and Price fell asleep face down in that glorious chest, Nik’s scent gathered in the salt and pepper curls of his body hair for Price to breathe in as he slept. He’d never felt a peace like it.

After the fourth year of this odd arrangement, they’d thrown pretense to the wind. They didn't want to sleep in separate tents, separate sleeping bags, or separate hammocks. Out here, with only the birdsong, the earthy smell of the woodland and parched soil, the tranquility with not another soul for miles and miles, they wanted to be close.

There was a certain vulnerability to it.

No one watching, no one listening in, no one to act up to or behave in front of. Just them. The chance to be close without strings, or a time limit, or fuckin'... howevers. Price watched Nik’s bravado ease, and a certain softness, an uncertainty, bleed through, as if he wasn’t sure the Nikolai that was left when the mask slipped away was worth as much attention. Price just wanted to be close to him. Didn’t matter what they were doing at the time. They hadn’t named it yet, but Price reckoned it wouldn’t be long before they had to; every year, it was getting harder and harder to pull apart again. The desire to step their intimacy up a notch a constant tug behind their rib cage.

Helped that, after a few days out, they were basically nose blind. Price smirked.

Nik happened to glance up from where he was emptying the cavity of the second rabbit, his hands and forearms a mess of gristle and red. "You have feedback?" he asked, wryly.

"Naw, jus' thinkin' about how much we must hum," Price said, shifting Nik's rifle over his lap. "Didn't take you too long t' rustle up some scran fer us this time."

Nik huffed as he turned back to his work, using his hunting knife to cut away the paws and head. "It would be easier with traps, John. Your laws belong in the medieval period."

Price rolled his eyes. The first year, he had caught Nik setting up traps and snares, and then had to explain Britain's complex poaching laws, including the fact they weren't allowed to hunt with a bow and arrow, had to ask for the landowner's written permission, and said landowner happened to be a member of NASC with a huge deer population roaming the property. It was illegal to snare certain animals, but not others. They couldn't risk it. Nik, whose face had gone through several stages of grief, had muttered something about "class warfare" before stomping off to get his rifle from the tent.

"S'good for you to practice shootin'. Last couple of ops I swear you must've been pullin' the trigger with your eyes closed. Thought spray and pray was a yank fing." Price knew he was poking a particularly disgruntled badger, and offered a crooked grin when Nik threw him a squinty-eyed glare.

“It is called laying down cover fire,” Nik murmured, almost petulant as he tore off the last fluffy paw like it had done something to him personally. “Perhaps if you did not leap dick first into situations with minimal information…”

“Olrigh’, point taken.”

Their previous op had got a bit hairy at points, and Nik had let Price know all his thoughts in a heated argument once they had arrived home. Price sensed Nik hadn’t quite worked through all of his frustration. He’d even taken a small pop at Laswell, which had to have been a first. A few more days in the fresh air with the sun on his skin would flush it out of his system.

“All done. Take this, I will dispose of the rest.” Nik tipped the cuts of rabbit meat into the Tesco bag they’d brought their beers in and passed it up to Price, while he gathered the rest of the viscera between his large hands and carried it away into the trees. Price left his post on the fallen tree and headed the few meters back to their makeshift camp. His Landie was parked up about two miles southward and they had trekked the rest of the way into the woodlands to find a peaceful spot where the river was moving and they had a chance of catching some trout if the hunting had been less favourable.

The campsite was just as they’d left it when Price returned; two hammocks slung up between three trees, one unused but for a bit of afternoon napping. There was a rather large fire in the middle of the small clearing, with two camp chairs either side and a small work area made of a large, flat stone and two half cut logs turned on their end, an axe and several knives stuck into the flesh of the wood. Price washed the rabbit off in the river and transferred it to a bowl, before grabbing the second bag of vegetables and setting to work.

By the time Nik had traipsed back, washed off his hands and arms, and sat down at Price’s side, the shallots and parsnips were chopped and Price was finishing off the potatoes. Nik bumped their shoulders together and Price flashed a smile, their easy equilibrium restored. They worked together seamlessly to prepare their meal, Nik piling the fire higher before adding a cast iron pan. He carved off a wedge of unsalted butter using his hunting knife and tipped the rabbit in once it began to sizzle, adding roughly chopped garlic cloves he crushed a little more against his palm using the flat of the blade, followed by the shallots. He stirred it all with a hefty wooden spoon as the meat began to brown, scenting the air and making their stomachs gurgle in anticipation.

They added the parsnips, fresh parsley and the wild thyme Price had found on one of their strolls, porcini mushrooms and a mixed array that Nik had foraged. Nik left the fire briefly to collect his second big contribution from his Bergen; a bloody expensive sherry that he tipped in over the meat before covering it with the lid. “Reckon you just poured ‘alf my salary inta that stew,” Price murmured.

“Not quite half,” Nik said softly and Price elbowed him with a chuckle. Bloody git. Nik leaned back on his palms and kicked his feet out, head falling back as his eyes closed. Price watched him as he finished the last potato, guiding the blade with the heel of his palm. It was nice, seein’ Nik like this. His broad shoulders relaxed, bare chest rising and falling in deep, even breaths; it was like the year’s toils were leaking out of him with each passing hour, soaked up by the dark soil and the verdant leaves of the canopy overhead. Later, Price would curl into the hammock, feel the soft give of Nik’s belly beneath him, the thick curves of his chest under his head, and it would be a small slice of heaven on earth.

“Beer?” Nik asked.

“Yeah, g’won then.”

As the stew simmered away, they cracked open two of the bottles of Peroni they had kept cool by stashing them beneath the waterline, secured by large rocks close to the shore. The sun was beginning to set and the stars were peeking through as the startling ombre of red and orange faded towards the horizon. After about fifty minutes, Price added the potatoes to simmer for the mash and joined Nik on the wool blanket he cast over the floor by the river bank. They watched the sky, their heads side by side and legs kicked out in opposite directions with their propped on their bellies, and let their minds drift. When Nik’s big hand settled by his shoulder, Price reached up and hooked his fingers around it without even thinking. He closed his eyes as Nik stroked his fingertips ponderously over each digit, feeling his calluses, the bumps of his weathered knuckles, like he was mapping it to memory. Eventually, his thumb circled against Price’s palm in a wide arc as his forefinger followed a scar across the back, and Price tilted his face into the side of Nik’s head, pressing his nose into the rough stubble on his cheek.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. Price drew in a deep breath and felt his entire body glow in response to Nik’s warm scent; it curled behind his eyes, rolled down his chest to join with the ebb of pleasure that came from the simple touch of their hands. Price floated in blissful contentment, grounded only in the man that knew him better than any other on the planet and the tranquility of the woodland; the gargle of the river, the crackle and snap of the fire, the rustle of shifting trees and scarpering wildlife. His mind emptied, thoughts flitting in and out like the butterflies they had watched over the lavender field that afternoon, errant and fleeting. This was where he was truly himself, where he could simply be without a single worry or pressure. Nik was the same. Shirtless, his gold chain stark against the dark hair on his chest, a little musky, his hair ruffled and gel free, boots unlaced, carhartts belted low on his hips; only the man, not the fixer, the arms dealer, the pilot. Just Nikolai, raw, vulnerable and open. Price basked in him.

When Nik spoke, his voice a low rumble, Price hummed acknowledgement without really hearing what he said, palm flattening on the warm path of blanket he left behind with a deep sigh.

Price must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew Nik was waking him with a light squeeze of his wrist. He sat up, blinking groggily at the ration tin heaped with stew and mashed potato that Nik pushed into his palms. “Smells bloody gorgeous,” Price said, his voice thick in his throat before he cleared it.

Nik grinned, the corners of his eyes wrinkling, and Price couldn’t help but smile back. They sat cross-legged on the blanket as they ate, the fire warm at their backs even though it had simmered down to smouldering embers. The meat fell off the bone, melting on the tongue, and the sherry was a damn sight better than the cheap white wine Price had brought up with them last year. That had been a culinary bloody travesty. Nik had said as much at the time.

“Next year, I think we should try a red,” Nik said as he polished off his second helping.

“Red? Proper posh…”

“One way or another, I will turn you into a cultured man.”

Price scoffed. “Oi, wot you tryin’ t�� say? ‘m bloody cultured.”

“Knowing how to swear in fifteen languages does not count, John. And neither does having a curry every Friday night,” Nik said, placing his ration tin aside. “You are still charming. For an Englishman.”

“For a—I’ll give you fockin’ charmin’. C’mere!”

Nik’s low chuckle and gleeful yelps carried far in the otherwise still summer evening as they scuffled, the echoes still fading even when the source was occupied by the chapped lips and greedy hands that drew him close, demanding, hungry. In a few days they would have to return to the crushing weight of reality and responsibility, but, for now, they could forget the rest of the world and bask in the unnamed bliss of what existed between them in the wilds of the British countryside.

#captain john price #cod nikolai #just a slice of life for gomz #rough and ready like them #mwah #cw for vague rabbit prep

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