#best beadwork

[mathosapabeads]

ive been putting off finishing the second earring but these are the tumblr-designed earrings! im planning on finishing these up today after we make lunch.

[centennialcicada]

[lichbutch]

saw an absolutely beautiful ribbon skirt and now im hashtag sad again

[bleakbluejay]

I love the liberation in wearing what you want to wear.

Like. I don't like showing my skin. I love wearing layers. I love obscuring my body either through layers or through flowing shirts or oversized pants. I love when there's holes in my jeans, wearing tights or fishnets underneath. I find great strength in wearing cloth like armor.

But I have friends who are the opposite. Who love to show their whole bodies, at least what's appropriate to show in public spaces. Who find strength in their skin being kissed by the sun.

And I love that. I love that we can choose to wear what makes us happy, comfortable, and more in line with how we feel. And this extends to religious and cultural attire, too. I love seeing Indigenous jewelry and patterns and beadwork adorning Indigenous people with pride. I love seeing people wearing hijabs and niqabs and moccasins and thawbs and yarmulkes and saris and sarafans and evil eye pendants. I love seeing people wearing gender-affirming clothes, too. I love seeing alternative subcultural clothes on people-- the goths, the punks, the e-boys/girls, the lolitas, the metalheads, the dark academics, the lovecore. I love seeing people wear hand-crocheted sweaters and thrifted flannels and regalia that I know required hundreds of hours of labor, every hour filled with love. I love seeing clothes full of holes because they've been worn for so long, but they are so loved by their wearer that they've refused to be turned into scrap cloth or trash. All of it, all of it, all of it.

There's so much beauty in the things we wear, the things we decorate our bodies with. There's so much connection in it. There's so much expression. It's so... human.

[haleighsplacestudios]

Hey u guys. 👋🏻 Sooo, im a lil l8 4 #throwbackthursday.😶 My bad. But its only like, 16 mins as of riting this so i mean.. its not that bad.😅 Anyway, 2day we're finishin up the catch up posts on the bff bracelet sets! 😁 So thats cool! Anyway i totally accidentally lied 2 yall about our bracelet makin record. I had completely 4got about how we ( me & Dani if u didn't know ) made the last color ( 4 me gold ) in the 🌹 gold, gold, & purple set ( we dont have a name 4 that 1 yet 😅 ) & then the hole Easter set wich is pink, green, & lite blue. So we ended up makin 5 in 1 sleep over. Cant b-lieve i 4got that! 🤦🏻‍♀️ It was awesum. 😎👌🏻 Anyway we were kinda in a rush 2 get these done, cuz easter was i think that weekend or the next few days. Possibly the next week. We thought since it was the Easter set after all, it made sence 2 have em done b4. Uk? + We wanted 2 wear em. 😅👌🏻Anyway thats pretty much all i got 4 this week. I hope u guys like the bracelets & ill hopefully c yall 2morrow. Bye 4 now! 😊👋🏻

[teaboot]

This is gonna sound rather conceited but I feel like it highlights an issue we have in Art.

I'm good at art. I've never had a hard time making art. I started using crayons before I could walk. Painting, Beadwork, sculpture, sketching, stippling, whatever- once I have a feel for the material, it doesn't take long to start doing what I want with it. It's been a common theme my whole life.

(Y contrast I'm awful at things like dancing, performance, sports, etc- in all things there is balance, right?)

Now, I've taught myself to use so many artistic mediums now that I KNOW how to most efficiently integrate them into the brain database. Once you really *understand* a material, it's much like memorizing the layout of your house, or flexing a muscle, or something in-between- it becomes PART of your brain in a way I cant quite articulate. But to get there involves just fucking around for a bit doing nothing in particular.

And I've found, especially in group settings, that nobody seems to be able to see you make something badly and leave you alone. Even if you say you're fine, you don't want help, you're happy, you're having fun, it's fine, they gotta ride your ass and hover.

I was at a class the other day for something I hadn't done before. The medium was one I've never used, so once the instructor told us the basics I started experimenting with weight, gravity, texture, viscosity, saturation, temperature, etc. The instructor had given enough info to know what was dangerous and what was safe, and beyond that I just wanted to absorb what I could about it.

And no insult to the instructor, but they kept checking in. Which was fine the first few times.

But then, without asking me what I was trying to do, started giving tips. That I told them I was grateful for but didn't really need just yet. If I had a question, I'd ask.

But they kept coming over. And touching my shit. And manipulating my project. And touching my hands. And using my tools. Without fucking asking.

And this happens every time. EVERY TIME. And by now I know the best way to get them to fuck off is to make something way beyond their expectations so they know I'm capable, then go back to doing what I want.

So I did. I wanted to keep having fun and learning, but instead I made something beautiful that I really didn't want to make, and wasted my time, and really didn't learn what I wanted to learn at all. I knew the formula to create a beautiful thing, so I followed that formula the same way I have a hundred times before, and didn't get to try anything spontaneous or ugly or exciting, just so I could be left alone.

And I know when I was a kid, I was aware aware people saw me puttering alone on something ugly assumed I had a special issue and treated me like I was stupid because of that. (I was neurodivergent.) And at at time I knew that I could do a neat trick for them like a trained pony and they'd go, "Oh, surely they aren't defective if they can do something like that!" And piss off.

But what if I hadn't known how to do that?

What if I hadn't been talented, or "special"?

What if I'd been just any other average kid trying to learn, and I couldn't pop something pretty out of my ass to get them off my back?

My problem my whole life has been that I haven't been allowed to make anything ugly in peace. I'm capable of beauty, so I have to make beauty, or get stepped on. And once people see what I can do, they get loud about it. "Look at this! Look what they did! We all know who the best is, don't we?". And that used to feel good, but it's tiring.

And how many people like me just wanted to play? Just wanted to have fun and experiment? Who were having fun with no goal in mind, or just took longer to learn, who gave up because of all the obnoxious helpers breathing down their neck with no way to shake them off?

How many of us are made to feel defective because we aren't doing things beautifully?

I have a lovely piece of art I didn't want to make.

I think I'm gonna frame it.*

(*I think I'm gonna burn it in my yard.)

[pucksandpower]

Meet Me at the Met

Lewis Hamilton x up-and-coming singer!Reader

Summary: in which you go head over heels (quite literally) during the most important event of the year and end up right at the feet of none other than Sir Lewis Hamilton himself

Warnings: minor injury

The roar of the crowd hits you like a tidal wave as you step onto the iconic themed carpet of the Met Gala. Flashing bulbs from countless cameras nearly blind you as you blink rapidly, trying to adjust. Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel it thrumming in your throat.

“Over here, honey!” A photographer calls out, gesturing for you to turn towards him. You pivot gracefully, the layers of shimmering tulle from your Maison Margiela gown swirling around you.

“Work it! Look this way, sweetheart!” Another shouts, snapping shot after shot.

You take a steadying breath, channeling every ounce of confidence you can muster. This is your first Met Gala, the biggest night of your fledgling music career so far. One misstep could be disastrous.

Your publicist Samantha appears at your side, perfectly put together as always in a sleek sheath dress. “You’re doing great,” she murmurs with an encouraging smile. “Just keep smiling and be yourself.”

Nodding, you continue gliding down the iconic path, pausing at the designated spots to pose for the ravenous paparazzi. An elegant string of Bulgari emeralds adorns your neck, glittering mesmerizingly under the bright lights.

“Miss! To your left please!”

You turn obediently, the intricate beadwork on your deep blue-green gown catching the flashes. Despite the oppressive late spring humidity, you refuse to let a single drop of sweat show. This night is too important.

After what feels like an eternity, a security guard appears to usher you up the final flight of stairs and into the main event. With a brilliant smile plastered on your face, you make your way carefully up the steps, lifting the delicate train of your dress to keep from tripping.

Suddenly, one sparkly heel catches on the fabric and you’re thrown off balance. Unable to catch yourself, you tumble head over heels back down the stairs, gasping in shock and pain as you land hard on the ground.

There’s a collective intake of breath from the crowd as you blink up at the bright lights, thoroughly stunned. Your vision is blurred and there’s a sharp throbbing in your head. When you try to push yourself up, bolts of agony shoot through your right wrist.

“Oh my god, are you alright?” A deep, accented voice sounds from beside you.

You turn your head and your breath catches in your throat. Crouched beside you in an exquisitely tailored double breasted suit and wool coat is arguably the most handsome man on the planet. His beautiful coffee-colored eyes are filled with concern as he reaches out to gently brush a loose strand of hair from your face.

“I … I think so,” you manage to stammer out, though your pounding head begs to differ. “Just clumsy, I guess.”

Despite the sheepish grin you attempt, a wince of pain crosses your features as you shift positions. Lewis’ brow furrows and he places one large hand on your bare shoulder to keep you still.

“Easy there, love. Don’t try to move just yet,” he soothes in that rich baritone that has melted millions of hearts. “You took quite a nasty fall.”

You nod mutely, unable to tear your widened eyes away from his handsome face. This couldn’t be happening … could it? Did you really just faceplant in front of the entire world and, perhaps more importantly, your celebrity crush?

“S-Sorry,” you whisper, utterly mortified. “I’m usually much more graceful than this, I swear.”

Lewis chuckles warmly and you feel your cheeks flush. “No need to apologize, darling. These things happen to the best of us.”

Nearby, Samantha is frantically trying to wave over security and a medic, her expression pinched with worry. You groan quietly as another stab of pain lances through your skull. Definitely a concussion, if your swimming vision is any indication.

“Let’s get you looked at, yeah?” Lewis murmurs, rising fluidly to his feet.

Before you can protest, he slips one arm behind your back and the other under your knees, cradling you gently against his firm chest. You suck in a shocked breath at the sudden movement, instinctively reaching up to grab onto his shoulders for stability. His Burberry suit is buttery soft under your fingers.

“Whoa … y-you really don’t have to carry me,” you stammer out as he easily lifts your frame.

Those rich brown eyes meet yours with an amused glint. “I insist. Can’t have one of the brightest new voices in music getting any more hurt, can we?”

You bite your lip shyly, unable to hold back a small smile of wonderment. Is this really happening right now?

“I’ll be fine, honestly,” you try again as Lewis maneuvers around the gathered crowd, heading for a discreet exit with Samantha close behind. “Just a little banged up.”

“Your wrist is already swelling, love,” he points out with a frown. “Best to get it checked properly, yes?”

“I … yeah, okay,” you acquiesce quietly, not having the energy or brainpower to argue with him further.

The two of you disappear through a door and down a mercifully empty hallway, leaving the stunned crowd and flashing cameras behind. Samantha is rapidly conversing with security to locate the nearest medic station.

“Thank you,” you murmur, letting your head rest wearily against Lewis’ shoulder. Up close, he smells incredible — like crisp bergamot and just a hint of expensive cologne. “For helping me, I mean. I’m sure you had better things to do tonight than playing knight in shining armor.”

Lewis smiles down at you, eyes crinkling in a way that makes your heart flutter unexpectedly. “What a coincidence, I just so happen to be a knight.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, suddenly feeling shy under his warm gaze. “Lucky for me then, I suppose.”

“Indeed,” he agrees with a wink. “Though I can’t take all the credit. That dress is clearly too stunning for us mere mortals to handle.”

A watery giggle slips past your lips before you can stop it. Even slightly concussed and in quite a bit of pain, you can’t deny that foreign flutters are dancing in your stomach just from being in Lewis’ presence. He’s even more charming in person than you ever could have dreamed.

“You’re too kind, Sir Hamilton,” you tease lightly. “But I’ll be sure to leave the couture gowns at home next time.”

Lewis opens his mouth to respond but is interrupted by Samantha hurrying over with a young medic in tow, his kit already open. The worried expression on her face deepens when she sees your obviously injured wrist cradled against your chest.

“Thank god you have her,” she exhales in relief, nodding towards Lewis. “What do we know so far?”

“Took a pretty hard fall down those stairs,” Lewis explains calmly as the medic kneels down to begin his assessment. “She was unconscious for a moment and seems to have injured her wrist as well.”

You wince as the medic gently prods along your forearm. “Definitely a sprain at the very least,” he confirms. “And with the way her pupils are reacting ...”

He shines a small light into both your eyes, brow furrowed in concentration. “I’d say mild concussion too. We should get her to the infirmary for further evaluation, just in case.”

Hearing his words, a small wave of panic crashes over you. Missing any part of tonight because of this would be devastating. You force yourself to sit up straighter, ignoring the way the room spins sickeningly.

“No, no I’ll be fi-”

“You’re not going anywhere but to get checked out properly,” Lewis cuts you off firmly, placing a staying hand on your shoulder. His expression brooks no argument. “Head injuries are nothing to mess around with, love.”

You open your mouth to protest again, but Samantha quickly interjects. “He’s absolutely right. We’re not taking any chances with your health.”

As much as you hate to admit it, they do have a point. If your condition really is as serious as the medic suggests, it could be dangerous to simply brush it off. You let out a resigned sigh, wilting back against Lewis’ sturdy chest.

“I suppose you’re ri-”

Before you can finish your sentence, a sudden dizzy spell washes over you. Bile rises in your throat as the room tilts crazily. Your voice trails off into an anguished groan as you squeeze your eyes shut, fighting off waves of nausea.

“Alright, that’s it. We’re getting you looked at immediately,” Lewis declares. He shifts you effortlessly in his arms and strides down the hallway, the medic and Samantha hurrying to keep up.

The rest of the journey to the infirmary is a blur. You’re vaguely aware of being transferred to a gurney and giving the doctor on staff your information. Lewis’ worried face keeps appearing in your line of vision, his voice a soothing balm against the incessant pounding in your skull.

Finally, the doctor confirms that while your concussion isn’t serious, you definitely need to be monitored overnight. A brace is fitted around your sprained wrist and you’re given strict instructions on managing the symptoms over the next few days. Throughout it all, Lewis remains stubbornly by your side, declining offer after offer to return to the main event.

Thoroughly drugged and exhausted by this point, you can barely keep your eyes open as a wheelchair is brought over to transport you out to the car waiting area. Lewis helps you into it carefully, crouching down in front of you with a tender expression.

“I’m so sorry,” you mumble miserably, gesturing vaguely to your bandaged wrist and slightly dazed state. “I’ve completely ruined your whole night … your entrance, your photo ops … everything.”

He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head adamantly. “Don’t be ridiculous, love. I’d take meeting someone as wonderful as you over all of that any day.”

You blink up at him in surprise, an embarrassed blush staining your cheeks. Did he really just say that? Lewis Hamilton, world famous athlete and heartthrob, thinks you’re wonderful?

“Still,” you protest weakly. “This is supposed to be your night to shine. And now you’re stuck playing nurse for a clumsy fool.”

Lewis arches an eyebrow sternly. “I think you’ve bumped your head around a bit too much, darling. That’s no way to speak about yourself.”

He reaches out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear, his calloused fingertips grazing your flushed cheek with unexpected tenderness. Your breath catches in your throat at the gentle gesture.

“Missing out on some silly party is more than worth it to me if I got to meet someone as lovely as you,” Lewis continues honestly. His eyes are filled with sincerity. “The only thing I’m upset about is that you were the one who got hurt.”

You’re rendered speechless for a long moment, completely disarmed by his words. Never in a million years could you have imagined this kind of scenario playing out tonight. Is this all really happening?

Finally, you manage a weak smile, blushing furiously under his warm regard. “You’re too kind, Sir Hamilton.”

“Please, call me Lewis,” he insists with a wink. “And let me know where you’re staying, yeah? I’ll come by tomorrow to check on how you’re doing myself.”

Your eyes widen in surprise and you quickly scramble to recall the name of your hotel. “U-Um, the Lotte New York Palace,” you stammer out shyly. “But you really don’t have to do that ...”

Lewis waves off your protest easily, rising to his feet with a soothing grin. “Nonsense, it’s no trouble at all. I’ll be by with some breakfast to make sure my favorite new artist is being properly taken care of.”

With a final wink and dazzling smile, he steps aside to allow an assistant to wheel you towards the exit. Your head is still swimming, though you can’t blame it entirely on the concussion this time.

Did Lewis Hamilton, actual living legend, really just say he was coming to check on you tomorrow?

You allow yourself a tiny, bewildered smile as the night breeze washes over your heated cheeks. Somehow, despite all the mishaps, this crazy night had turned into something straight out of the kind of romantic comedy you secretly loved.

Perhaps falling on your face in front of the entire world wasn’t so disastrous after all.

[ithilien-bjd]

Hello Kyyhky!!

When Kyyhky wants to model, I always let them. Not sure what would happen if I didn’t, but I don’t think I want to find out.

More size 18 bead madness, but with some size 16 (luminous lavender) thrown in because they may be wildly inconsistent but the colour is gorgeous.

Kyyhky is a Dollzone Ivy.

[neteyamsilly]

i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 4

summary ;; A father protects, that's what gives him meaning. Jake Sully has failed. PART 3 | PART 5 pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; PLEASE READ AUTHOR NOTES. I explicitly said in the previous chapter I would NO LONGER BE TAKING TAG REQUESTS. You're just going to have to check my profile every now and then. I also will not be re-tagging the peeps I did in the last chapter’s replies, it’s just a lot 😭 I'm sorry for the inconvenience and thank you for your understanding! Now I present you, the long awaited angst and groveling of Jake. Enjoy! Please excuse my mistakes if you see any. Thank you so much for the lovely comments and support, I hope the angst hits the way you wanted it / was expecting HHHHH

It’ll shine better, Jake mused to himself, rotating the lumpy amber around in his fingers to better reflect the sunlight streaming in thin rays from the hands of the dense flora above, once I dip this in that polish oil. It’s not entirely unsalvageable. 

At least he hadn’t scraped too much in attempts to give it a rounder shape, the bug at its core you were gushing about to the point of waking him up at zero dark thirty was still intact. He had been summoned from his dreams to look at a cool rock. 

Jake couldn’t not gift it to you as something to be permanently worn after that.

The problem? He was ass at this. Always had been. No drop of craftsmanship in his bloodstream at all when the Na’vi were particularly fond of their ornaments and accessories, making it themselves, in fact. 

Songcords were put together from beads, bones and stones, virtuosity was a must intrinsically woven into everyday life, methodized and irreplaceable since it wasn’t as if mass production could ever be a thing in Pandora. Everything was handmade. 

Jake’s worst enemy beadwork was in their clothing, for example, even in braids — his maladroit at it may or may not be why he wore his hair in plain dreads now. 

He wasn’t an artist or a creator, his hands were more comfortable being fit around a gun or a knife than slipping effortlessly in the rhythm of weaving or the act of making. All his end results were dreadful enough to be bullied relentlessly by his kids — except for you, that is. You absolutely loved them for reasons your mother or none of your siblings could understand. 

Jake’s blundering conscience would melt at the sight of your eyes shining and the biggest smile almost splitting your head in half as if he had just handed you the world every single time he gifted you the newest of his clunky handiwork. He didn’t know why that made you the happiest. You’d been that way ever since you saw him carving and personally adding a bead to his songcord about how he got his firstborn daughter to utter her first word: dada. 

It was important to him, so, down it had gone into Jake’s life story; putting official significance to the moment he never wanted to forget in the same thread that carried the story of him becoming Toruk Makto, just beside Neteyam’s first word, which was also dadada. (Neytiri had Lo’ak’s mam, and Kiri’s perfectly articulated mommy.)

Ever since that day, you had made grabby hands at the bead all the time when he picked you up, teethed at it like a puppy trying to grab a toy, tried to rip it off to make it yours — anything, until Neytiri made you one, but no, you wanted it from dada. 

So dada started making you little trinkets. 

He didn’t know if it was a good or a bad thing you never grew out of receiving gifts from your dad he himself cringed at. Jake wasn’t one to complain, not when someone in this life would feel such enough joy to purify thousands of blighted souls upon receiving his ugly personal work. It made him happy, stroked his ego to high heavens that his sweetheart was doting on dada to see the imperfect as the most fascinating. 

That’s why he had taken on the daunting task of making a bead for you out of the amber you’d fixated on, rasp in one hand, sitting on a thick log that cut into the little stream he and his family were spending leisurely time that day, one leg pulled to himself and one feet in the water up to his ankle. Even though he had half an ear on his four children playing around in the shallow water of the creek, all the screams and squeals of joy felt weak compared to the contained huff of amusement that escaped from his mate who had come up to Jake while he was way too engrossed in his task. 

His eyes shifted to Neytiri, watching her hop on to the log in one agile move. “Don’t laugh.”

“I am not laughing,” Neytiri said, crouching to sit, her mouth twitched upwards as she looked at the amber in his hand.

“I have eyes, Neytiri, I literally see you laughing.” His face used to burn at her openly teasing about beadmaking, but his oldest daughter’s attentions had restored his bruised confidence over the years. The slander wasn’t taken lightly these days as Jake had proudly relabeled the odd shapes of his work as a creative choice. “Right to my face.”

“You’re mistaken.” 

Jake made his jaw drop, overacting his bafflement. “Wow, gaslighting? Really?”

Neytiri hit his arm lightly. In her terms, it was light, at least. “I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s something you shouldn’t do to your mate.” He turned his back to her, giving a look over his shoulder. “You’re abusing me. I’m being abused.”

“Baby.”

“No amount of pet names are gonna fix my broken heart.”

“No. You are a baby. I’m insulting you.” Neytiri hadn’t even laughed, but the uplifted timbre of that sentence sure did make Jake snicker in disbelief. “If you can’t take it, maybe you should leave beading to me.”

“I would say they are fashionably off,” he defended. You carried them with delight, so why shouldn’t Jake take more pride in his work? “And you said practice makes perfect years ago, I remember the exact words—”

“Years ago. You still haven’t gotten any better at it.” Neytiri was his biggest supporter and criticizer at the same time. “And you became a part of the clan back in the day in three months Jake. Never a more unbelievable thing to me than this.” 

“I’m trying alright?” He turned back to the bead, or, vaguely bead-shaped amber, if technical terms were involved. It still had a whole adventure to embark on until it could receive the noble title of a bead. “She likes what I make, at least.”

“It’s because she’s your daughter and anything you do is out of this world. Beauty in the most unlikely places. A child’s love is pure that way.” The unexpected hypnotism of poetry in that sentence alone pulled Jake’s gaze to Neytiri’s, and for a moment, he could physically feel his heart within his ribcage being squeezed, tethering on painful, but with a joyful tinge. “She doesn’t have standards yet.”

Well, that hurt. “Damn.”

“Damm!” A pair of small and branch-thin arms wrapped around his neck from behind, and something, or rather, someone, latched onto his back. “Rahh!” 

Jake should have been suspicious of how silent it had gotten halfway into his talk with Neytiri. Turns out, you had swam underneath the log to get out of his line of sight, climbing with the stealth of a bug to come up undetected. 

Well, mark Jake down as impressed, you weren’t able to do that without being spotted until today, this was another wonderful milestone for you — you had learned impressively, taking advantage of his distraction, avoiding making noise and using water to your advantage. Neytiri must have given you some pointers. 

And now he was wondering if his mate was in on this all along, purposefully disturbing his peace so their kids could see an opening to pounce on him.  

“Oof!” Your hold on him was something he could break out of any minute with how adorably strong you were exerting yourself to make it, but he wanted to play along more than anything. Jake was acting panicked, swinging his body left and right from the waist, but really, it was just a light warm-up exercise with the easiest deadlift possible. “I’m being ambushed!”

“I got you now, Toruk Makto!” You wrapped your legs around his torso, and he felt like this was just a piggyback ride with extra steps. “Watch this, mom!”

Oh, it’s on. 

Discreetly handing Neytiri the amber, Jake stood up, bringing you up with him and fighting a smile at your clipped squeak as the height became too much too quick, causing you to cling onto him stronger. He reached behind, and within seconds, he had you in his hands, holding you from the armpits and dangling you above the stream, your kicking legs beating the air, and he cackled like a villain threatening to fling the hero from atop of a skyscraper. 

“You got me? Please.” He loosened his grip the slightest amount to give you the illusion he would let go, and you stopped struggling to scream, catching his forearms. “A measly thing like you? Conquering me? I’ll show you why I’m the king of the skies! Here I come!”

Making sure you wouldn’t get hurt, Jake threw you into the water as gently as possible, but made the angle entertaining enough so you would go flying. He wasn’t sure who’d screeched the highest, your three siblings who had you spearheading this little operation with full trust in your capabilities, or you reacting like you were falling down from an ikran midair. Either way, he was enjoying bullying his kid a bit too much. 

Emerging from the stream and shaking the water off too akin to a wet dog, your first action was to shield your siblings, open arms and whole body and all. “Nete, run! Protect Lovak and Kiri, I’ll save you!”

Jake’s evil smile looming on his kids wavered at that. 

You had problems with some letters even at the big age of eight, two vowels next to each other in one word was one of them, along with the confusion of “f” and “b”, and sometimes “p” — it made for hilarious misunderstandings Jake had to fight to be a parent about instead of busting a lung from laughing. 

One of the many unforgettable events was deemed “The Fish Incident” between Jake, Max and Norm. He had been recording Neteyam’s first catch on his own to add it to the cute memory pile he and his mate would watch in the future after all their children eventually moved out to pursue their paths. You happened to be present that time, watching intently as your big brother shot a particularly giant yellow fish, eagerly jumping down to the pond to get it and showing it to the camera with a shy, yet proud grin on his face. 

“Good job, boy!” Jake had cheered. “Say I got that fish!”

Out of the camera’s frame and making little jumps on your toes, you’d blithely yelled. “Yeah, you got that bish!” 

The rest of the footage was shaky and out of focus, the microphone hadn’t picked up any sound but Jake’s uncontrollable laughter, kicked off by an exploding snort of shock. 

You and Neteyam had no idea why, but after he’d stopped recording with tears streaming down his face, wheezing because he couldn’t stop laughing, you’d joined to laugh and play with him regardless, mirroring his excitement. 

Later though, Jake had to actively make it so you wouldn’t have to say the words kitchen and pitch (and obviously, fish) out loud, at least, in front of Neytiri. He didn’t want to abstain from having a little fun himself, so under no circumstance was she allowed to find out and correct you. And he had it going strong for a while until it slipped when he was talking about a scientist friend over at Hell’s Gate called Richard and you repeated it as “Bitchard”. The word had somehow weaseled into your English lexicon as well, and Neytiri wasn’t illiterate enough to be oblivious to what you’d merrily blurted. 

Good old days. Jake sometimes missed hearing you curse innocently. Neytiri had to take that source of joy away from him. Discouragement and warnings would be given to his kids if they knowingly cussed, of course, Kiri calling Lo’ak penis face was something he’d immediately shot down, but this was harmless, he thought. He could have let you be blissfully unaware until the day you learned the meaning of the words, or gain consciousness of the articulation errors as you grew up and naturally fix it yourself. It was only a natural part of a child’s growth.  

But he had other entertainment. The obligatory consonant you had to sometimes add to two different neighboring vowels if it was too difficult for you to pronounce, for example. Your little brother was a victim to this. Thankfully, Lo’ak wasn’t bothered to be called Lovak by his older sister, somehow thinking of it as a nickname, but Jake could bet his ass the boy would use this as infinite ammo against you once both of you were older. He would of course forget how you always protected him in play fighting like right now, of course, maybe you would remember enough to accuse him of ungratefulness, and perhaps Lo’ak would declare he didn’t recall anything such as that. 

How bittersweet of a thing it was to drift into imaginations of how his kids would be like when they grew up. Like the stinging ache Jake always got when he was confronted with the sadness of losing his children forever one day — the need to put every minute with them in a bottle, and the feeling of time slipping through his fingers, the same old melancholy each time: when it first dawned on Jake that you’d successfully sneaked up on him just now, when Neteyam had captured his first fish all on his own without assistance, when Lo’ak showed him the knife he had successfully carved by himself to get his approval, and when Kiri had tended to a scratch wound of his better than her grandmother did with precocious wisdom on her face. 

Jake was making every moment count. Just like this one. 

“Nobody is safe from me, I’ll huff and I’ll puff and blow your house in!” He jumped down from the log with the grace and intimidation of a leopard who had been disturbed while eating up the tree he’d dragged his meal on, splashing water everywhere. “What will you do, o’ mighty hunter?”

You loved being called mighty hunter by him, he saw the sparkle in your eyes. 

“Noooo!” Kiri cried, pulling on both Lo’ak and Neteyam’s arms huddled behind you. “He’ll get us!”

Your thought process, completely spooked by Jake, was painfully visible. But surprisingly, you yelled, “Scatter!” with the experience of a rave addict who would take a forty and smash it on the ground as the police closed in on the party grounds. And his kids ran in different directions, like a group of cockroaches when someone approached them, they all ran in different directions. 

Sloshing water all around to make it more terrifying, he got Kiri first, hauled her right over his shoulder when she made for Neytiri, thinking her mother could protect her, but no. Jake was inevitable. Lo’ak gave him a weak challenge trying to step around him, getting Jake to confuse his steps as if they were playing basketball, but this was his dad he was facing and not Spider, these tricks didn’t work on veterans, so now he was flush to Jake’s side, tail facing forward, carried like some strapless bag, it didn’t even put any strain on the man’s bicep. Neteyam was the last, hiding beneath the water level and holding his breath, but the little nose peeking out for air gave him away, and Jake had him up the other shoulder in seconds, the boy didn’t have enough time to run away even though he’d spied from underwater that Jake was coming for him. 

Three out of four. That left only his eldest daughter. 

You were nowhere to be seen. The delighted and struggling giggle-cries of the three kids in his arms and shoulders didn’t help at all to Jake taking his surroundings in with a keen ear, all senses attuned to spotting the stray. 

A rustle from above. 

“Attack him!” 

He didn’t have enough time to see just which branch of the trees cocooning the creek you had climbed on before all three in his arms turned on him, flailing around together in unison to get Jake to fall down and kneel, and it surprisingly worked, he couldn’t even recover between the blink of a time between them getting off the way and you jumping down on him. The height at which you did that knocked all air off his ribcage for a second as he tried to retain balance, and you took that chance to sit on his shoulders, your legs dangling from each one, grabbing onto two dreads on his head as if they were the tails of Toruk he once had held onto like leashes. 

Jake had to give this one to you, damn. When had you become a student of the art of strategizing? 

But, defeat was defeat. He had to play his part. “This can’t be!” He opened his arms, making it seem cartoonishly like he had been incapacitated. “I’ve been… bested?”

“That’s right!” The cockiness was dripping from you as you pulled on his dreads. “I’m Toruk Makto Makto now. The first of my name!”

Your siblings started cheering battle cries, repeating the word. 

Don’t laugh, he ordered himself. Toruk Makto Makto, what a title, oh Jesus Christ. 

“Alright, alright, you got me, mighty hunter.” 

“So I win?”

“Yes, you win.”

He was going to have two less dreads on his head if you kept pulling on them like this. “Hell yeah!” 

After hearing the declaration, his other children also joined in on the ‘Hell yeah!’ train. Jake supposed he could let this slide for now, you guys were too happy, he wouldn’t sully it. 

“You’re gonna rip my hair off, get down now.” You understood play time was over from his tone, and obeyed, hopping down his shoulders when he lowered you into the water, immediately attempting to rush to your siblings’ side to be celebrated, but Jake had something else in mind. “C’mere for a sec.”

He pulled you to the edge of the stream where water met grassy land, dipping his hand into the wet soil under your confused gaze and bringing his fingers up to trace a pattern on your face.

The reaction was instantaneous. You pulled back. “Ew, mud!”

“Hold on,” he gently warned, or rather, encouraged.

You let him continue whatever he was doing then, albeit not losing the laughable concern along the way. “What’s this?”

“Well, you’ve tamed Toruk Makto before an ikran. My mighty hunter should be painted accordingly, no?”

He pointed down and you followed it with your eyes. Seeing your reflection and the ‘V’ shape with a dot on your face in the water, you stopped yourself from touching it with the impulse control that kicked in at the last second, looking up at Jake, jumping up and down, unable to contain the energy, knowing exactly what he did just now. He’d recognized you as a prospective hunter candidate. “Thank you, dad!”

Jake could swear his insides liquidized at that. “Always, sweetheart.”

“Will you paint me like this when I finally get an ikran, too?”

“Of course I will.” He actually wanted to cup your cheeks and plant a little kiss at the adorable flat of your nose but the mud would be ruined, so he pet your braids instead. “As will your mother. It’s what family does.”

At the time, Jake didn’t have the slightest inkling that the paint would end up being your own blood. 

Neytiri’s bloody hands — your blood, his child, his child, his baby Jake’s entire day would stop at seeing one tear on her face — had been stroking your face, trying to hold on to you anywhere she could to soothe your flaming pain as you were squirming like a dying animal fighting for the next breath. His heart beating right behind his eyes in a massive pulsating headache, Jake was too desperate fighting his swelling panic with each noise that ripped from you to notice they had left the vague pattern of Iknimaya paint pattern in their wake. 

She did. 

And her following anguished, gasping shudder as her shaking hands hovered above your contorted face, tracing the air along the lines the blood had left on your face ended up hitting him right in the gut. He couldn’t dwell on it. He couldn’t let this random twisted sign sweep him into the roaring waterfall of torment, your life was on the line.  

Jake didn’t have any coherent memory of running back to the mouth of the cave from the family tent. One moment, he was back with his brain fried from thinking about Quaritch in the aftermath of an hour that had just taken twenty years from his lifespan, avoiding the inquisitive silence of his kids who hadn’t gone back to bed yet; and the other, Neytiri was screaming in the distance with terror worse than the anguish he’d heard her go through upon losing her father and her home. Jake had all but flown there, mind blank in swirling, spasming panic. 

Neytiri had told him he had a strong heart the first time they’d met. No fear. Even though Jake was aware he was being disliked strongly, this quality of his she had remarked on, honest to her soul. 

But she was wrong. 

That fearless fortress heart of his had begun to crumble the moment he learned of Neteyam’s existence. And with each and every new addition to their family, Jake had been rehabilitated on what fear truly was, like a baby learning a language. 

Losing. It was all about losing. 

He would wake up from terrorizing, choking nightmares with the sensation of his family being violently taken away from him when his children were in his arms, sleeping peacefully all along. He couldn’t stop it. It had spiraled out of control after the sky people came back, turning him into a paranoid, angry man who was ruled by fear. He worried for the safety of his family every day, obsessed over it — beneath the impenetrable iron mask of a leader his whole clan was leaning on, Jake was nothing more than a weak, emotionally crippled father who would lose it the more his children grew up to take reckless actions he made worse by the inability to govern his fear-curbed anger. He called it tough love. 

That tough love had resulted in this. Loss. Loss. Loss he had tried his damnedest to prevent. It was blood slipping through his fingers from a wound he had no way of stitching back together. 

The more he pushed to block the bullet entrance point, the more you fought Jake, making feral yowls that weakened into animalistic whimpers and throaty whines that all but ripped his heart off muscle by muscle, your hits and scratches didn’t faze him, but the noises. Eywa, the noises. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know you’re in pain, I know, I know, I’ll make it go away, please hold on, c’mon.” The droplets of sweat that had formed in the matter of seconds rolled down his face. You had begun to hyperventilate from the accelerating pain because of his efforts. “C’mon sweetheart. Breathe for me, breathe for dad, okay? You gotta breathe. Breathe!”

You were unhearing, lost in the overwhelming, blinding, deafening agony he couldn’t anchor or shield you from. The grunt of desperation that escaped his sore throat rattled his carbon fiber infused bones.  

Jake didn’t have time to think. His reason had flown out the mountains to be able to force one single word to form in his mindscape. He just knew he had to stop the bleeding, propelled by concentrated instinct. You were struggling too much for him to have a solid hold on you. Everything, too slippery. Too much blood. Too fucking much. The sickening smell of iron bit at his senses. 

(Was it the liver? The spleen? Pancreas? One of the major arteries? But Na’vi biology wasn’t the same as humans. Fuck.) 

Then, you were being restrained by a third party, Neytiri was too devastated to make that reasonable decision, and in his peripheral vision, he saw it was Neteyam who had sat down on your legs, restricting your movements with incredible strength. Jake couldn’t even bark at him to go away with how much Neteyam looked in control, a rock he and Neytiri both could draw strength from. Behind him, Lo’ak was a stone statue just standing there, frozen, his eyes not leaving your bloody abdomen. 

When you let out a yelp his heart could no longer stand, he yelled, “Bring a stretcher!” to nobody in particular, out of his goddamn mind. Lo’ak jumped at it, coming back to his senses, hesitating what to do for a second before he was off to god knows where. He had to take you to Norm’s, and then a doctor—

A tiny, trembling voice he couldn’t recognize as Neteyam’s reached his ears. “Dad…” 

The boy was looking at you, blown eyes shining with unshed tears, upper set of teeth sinking in his shaky bottom lip. 

You had gone slack in his arms. 

He hadn’t even seen the moment, didn’t stop putting pressure on the wound as the dread assaulted his body. And a biting shiver went down his spine before Jake also looked down on his eldest daughter. Your eyes weren’t closed all the way, halted gaze focused on something to the side, one tear rolling down your temple. 

“Don’t do this to me.” Jake couldn’t breathe as he shook his head, he was about to lose it, about to tumble down the edge he could never climb his way up from. In denial, he didn’t lift his hands, losing all strength in his upper body and gradually collapsing forward as his forehead found yours. “Don’t do this to me, sweetheart, not like this. Please, not like this.”

The last thing you were looking at was the ikran you’d gotten.

Jake didn’t feel that very ikran making its way to their side, flapping its wings, didn’t feel anything to react when a snoot reached down and ever-so-gently nudged you, like you were asleep and it was given the duty to wake you up in the morning that day. 

Your ikran nudged you once. Twice. Thrice. Each push was harsher than the other. 

You didn’t wake up. Your eyes didn’t get their light back. 

A paralyzing numbness took over Jake’s body, all his neuron ends stunted. The moon stopped spinning, time stopped moving, he ceased existing, all at the same time. 

A piercing ringing stabbed his ears, took away his hearing. He didn’t hear Neytiri scream louder than the ikran, you were ripped from his arms, and he couldn’t move to do anything about it, just staring into the distance, at nothing, bloodied palms facing upwards in his lap. 

It was Neteyam who tried to stop his wailing mother from going mad with grief, trying to get her to set down your body from her crushing embrace even though he couldn’t take his misty eyes off your body. It was Lo’ak, frantic in his run even though his panic-frozen face gave away nothing, who had rushed back with Mo’at and Kiri. It was Tuk who had thrown herself into his arms for a hug Jake wasn’t in his body to reciprocate, his seven year old child, in tears, comforting him when Jake, as the adult and the father, should have had his shit together and be the provider of comfort. 

Instead, all he could feel was the blood on his hands, one small part in his mind making him focus on that one amber with a bug inside he’d carved for you, years ago, now in your hair.

The tears didn’t come. His world was shattering all around him, but not one tear made it to the surface. 

Someone was talking to him, but Jake wasn’t there, experiencing the moment behind a thick veil of silencing glass. 

“Open her mouth, Jakesuli.”

He looked at the source of the muffled sound breaching the ringing in his ears, painfully empty and unfeeling. It was Mo’at. In her hand, a woodsprite gently floated in the air and landed before it repeated the motion again. It was as if his brains had been emptied from his skull. He didn’t understand. He didn’t see. Tuk was clinging to him, Neytiri doubled down in waves of cries in Neteyam’s arms. Jake wasn’t there. 

“Open her mouth so I can keep her spirit here longer,” Mo’at said. “Do it now. We do not have much time.”

And Jake could breathe again, his soul slinged back into his body, feeling returning to the tips of his fingers, kicking into action. 

He cradled your body from the cold ground you were lying on, bringing his shaky hand to your tightly shut jaw. Your body couldn’t have been experiencing rigor mortis, so you must have been clenching your teeth to the point of your jaw locking to fight the pain, and he was nearly blinded from the sheer strength with which he had to hold back from hugging you. But he eventually opened your jaw with a sickening pop that made him visibly grimace, and Mo’at guided the woodsprite to slip inside the cavity of your mouth.

The bioluminescent dots on your body began to flicker the moment your mouth was closed again. Jake gave a shuddering breath at the sign of life, hands unsure if he should continue to cover the wound again. 

“Eywa has allowed her to remain. For a while.”

“Oh Great Mother, thank you!” Neytiri took one of your hands, pressing it against her cheek and kissing it over and over again. “Thank you, thank you.”

“Bring her to my tent,” the Tsahik simply stated, and Jake didn’t even stop to consider how he should be taking you to the science guys, how they were probably going to say you needed a blood transfusion and surgery right after they got the necessary tests such as MRI and blood analysis out of the way. Kiri, sniffling weakly, took the crying Tuk away so Jake could carry you. He couldn’t comfort his girls the way he wanted to, couldn’t attend to Neytiri as their sons consoled her and got consoled in return in a tight hug together; he was on the move, heart about to beat out of his chest.  

He took you in his arms and clutched your unconscious and ashen blue body tightly to his chest, your head lolling in the crook of his arm, arriving to Mo’at’s tent faster than she did — and oh, how small you were compared to him, how fragile and vulnerable. The attitude made you appear bigger than you actually were, and Jake was reminded how you were still a child from how light his daughter was, like a fleeting bird. He’d forgotten. It had been forever since he last held you like this that he couldn’t bear to lay you down on the mat. If only he could hide you away within his ribcage, away from the pain and the suffering, forever.

“Everything in this world is borrowed,” she told him, an incense was burned, salves were prepared, tools he had no idea on what they were used were brought out. Plants, herbs. Jake stood there, helpless. “Even this child, Eywa has lent to you. She is borrowed from the bosom of our Great Mother, entrusted to you. Entrusted.” Your freckles were still flickering, and Tsahik’s tone, clipped. “I will converse with her. Ask if she plans to call her daughter back home today.”

Ice washed over Jake. “No, you gotta heal her, Mo’at, I can't lose m—”

“Everything in this world is borrowed. Each breath. Each heartbeat. All children. All gifts from Eywa.” Her eyes bore into him. “I can only ask.”

Neytiri pounced on him as soon as he stumbled out of the tent, beaten and spent despite not having one scratch on his body, upon Kiri’s entrance to assist her grandmother in tending to you. 

“Your fault!” He was violently pushed back, only able to take in the woman’s bloodied, wrathful face, tear tracks freshened with saltwater she couldn’t stop shedding. “This is your fault! I told you! I told you to fix this!”

Jake was aware other clan members were watching even if they weren’t out of their homes, he was Olo’eyktan, their leader, his pride would have taken this to their own tent had this been any other debate, but now, he couldn’t give a flying fuck. Bruising his back was the weight of a failed father instead of the ornamental piece of the clan leader, it was unbearable enough. She was right. There was nothing else to be said. His mate was right. 

“Mother, please,” Neteyam was right beside them in a flash, holding Neytiri back and shielding his father from her. His sunken eyes found Lo’ak and Tuk crouching at the edge of the tent, huddled together, the youngest having the crying hiccups as her older brother had an arm around her, himself looking traumatized enough. 

“Don’t, boy.” Jake put a hand on his stone-hard shoulder, moving him aside. Neteyam took one hard look at Neytiri half-circling his father in long strides, and decided it was best if he took care of his siblings instead even if he wasn’t told outright. He ushered Tuk and Lo’ak up and away, to the other side of the tent where they wouldn’t disturb their parents by staying in the field of vision. 

Jake should have been the one to take control, but Neteyam had stepped up for it — he was a kid, too, eldest child or not. What the fuck am I doing? 

In his tumultuous sorrow, every piece of the fortress Jake had put together was coming down, every decision re-evaluated, emotion overtaking what he once thought as logic. His fault. His fault. He had ruined his children, all of them. He had thought embracing the iron will of a war chief would allow him to be a strong father figure, but it had only alienated his family. 

You had died in his arms. 

Jake contained every storm in a box inside his body, Neytiri lived those storms, she was strong that way. He would take it. Her eyes were only seeing red at the moment, the grief and wrath of a wronged mother. “Yeah, it’s my fault,” he told her, something between a whisper and a sigh. His kids deserved to hear it. “I know.”

“She is dying because of you!” Jake couldn’t escape the truth by closing his eyes, but he did anyway, like an automatic body reflex against detecting something would be hitting him. He swallowed, his mouth was drier than a desert, no relief was found in the action. “My daughter! My child! Your child!” She pushed him again, hissing. Jake didn’t do anything to stop it. “All because you told her to go today—everything, everything… All because you didn’t reach out to her. She hid that.” A shiver shook her voice. “That… because of you. You! She thought you would be angry!”

Violent horror seized his heart, ears pinning back on his head, knuckles clenching so light blue they were almost white. “I would… I would never—how could I ever—?”

But it was in character, wasn’t it? Jake always getting angry over worry for his children. Going crazy because they could have gotten hurt. Fear grows into anger, worm eating away the bark of a tree into poisonous snake. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, chest rising and falling in big breaths, there was no air.  

“She said you hated her. Over and over again, she said you hated her. Not to call you because you would hate her for it, Jake!”

Bitter guilt and glacial shock rose from his stomach, choking him, his eyes looking at anywhere but Neytiri’s blazing golden eyes, to his children who sat together seemingly away from them but blatantly listening, to the tent flames were barely illuminating the shadows inside. His legs were weak. All that he had been breaching behind a wall to prioritize your safety flooded rancid to his mind. 

Jake got angry at you all the time that you’d expected it at your most vulnerable. That he would blame you, reprimand you for his enemy’s actions.

His memories were attacked by all sides. That you had gone off on your own for the Iknimaya everybody should have been there for, he should have painted your face personally for. That you have been hiding the bleeding out from the moment Jake had found you pinned down by the dead body of an avatar, from the moment you’d answered positively to the question of if you were hurt or not, with that rifle he’d thought you didn’t let go because of how the events had shaken you. He opened his mouth, a gaping fish, but no words came out, mute and voiceless. 

Hate you? Hate you? Hate his own child he would burn the whole world for?

His child. Suffering in silence when her nature was anything but silent. Afraid of her father when she was the most fearless of his kids when facing him.

You thought you weren’t loved.

“What have you done to our children? What has this family become? What are we if our children are too afraid to come to us in their darkest hours?” Neytiri was snarling, both fury and grief battling inside her, teeth gnashing so hard they could sharpen a knife. “What child does not seek her parents when she is hurt?” 

Unseeing, Jake couldn’t stand anymore, staggering towards a particularly large rock and sitting on it, he raised his hands to rub his face but stopped when he saw the blood. 

All yours. All his daughter’s who he had failed. Who had died in his arms thinking she was hated because Jake was a shit excuse of a father you couldn’t trust to say you were hurt that you would take the risk of dying so he wouldn’t find out. 

His daughter’s blood, on his hands. 

He put his elbows to his legs, crossing his wrists to lean his forehead on, yet unable to hide his shaking hands even if he managed to hide his face. Jake couldn’t comprehend any of this, crushed beneath the skyful of burning hot shame and the guilt dwarfing him — tears he couldn’t seem to shed found life in his eyes at him trying to blink away the memory of you clinging to your ikran at the flight home. You had been suffering the whole time and all he could think about was Quaritch when he should have been thinking of you.

“What child would rather hide her injury than let her father know?” It shocked his spine like lightning, and Jake visibly flinched, fists clenching and unclenching. “Explain this to me!” 

Shame. Shame. Shame. Jake was about to throw up, rocking back and forth.

He had nothing to say. Nothing could ever excuse this. He couldn’t wash away all your moments from this night, all a cursed film strip haunting his every breath accompanied by thorns that ripped apart his insides. 

“If she lives,” Neytiri said, pointing a curled hand at him, slowly, scarily calm, but shaking with mastered rage. If she lives destroyed Jake.  “We would be lucky if my mother doesn’t decide to perform Stxel’eveng as Tsahik!” 

Jake’s head shot up at the word, his arms dropping altogether and meeting his mate’s tortured stare. As Olo’eyktan, he had to be taught the traditions and ceremonies to the point of talking in his sleep from overlearning — this one was a long lost one the clan hadn’t performed for a long time, as the Omatikayan were faithful and loyal to Eywa and her teachings. 

Stxel’eveng was the shortened word for ‘Gifting of a Child’ — an adoption ceremony within Na’vi that didn’t even have the word ‘adopt’ in their vocabulary, simply because it was almost non-existent, most Na’vi didn’t even know the existence of such a tradition. If the parents were unable to care and provide for their child, mistreated on purpose or neglected them to the point of no return, they were to be publicly dishonored by the gifting of said child to another willing family. A knot would be formed between the three, one thread bound around the waist of the mother signifying the womb, one thread fastened to the queue of the father, and the final thread to the wrists of the child as if they were captive. The knot, then, would be severed by Tsahik to symbolize the dissolvement of the familial relations in Eywa’s eyes.

The biggest shame a Na’vi could bring upon their name. 

“No,” Jake muttered, his mind going blank yet again. Fuck the shame. Damn his name. He couldn’t lose you. It’s a stone in his throat he can’t swallow, whales on his tongue he can’t speak to save himself.

“Pray to Eywa it doesn’t happen. Because if I was Tsahik, I would do it.” Neytiri turned away from him, pushing the heel of her hands on her damp eyes. “I cannot bear this shame, Jake. I can barely breathe.”

He quivered like a baby leaf caught in a storm, a couple more tears rolling down his cheeks. “Neytiri…” 

“I lost my daughter today. She slipped from my fingers. I watched her die.” He lowered his head at her grief, vision swimming. “How am I a mother when I can't feel her pain? How am I worthy of being her mother when I saw my child’s pain and just sat there helpless? Why would the Great Mother ever want to send her back?” She just kept going, not having any mercy on Jake’s soul. “Where was I when she won against her ikran? Where was I when she had her first flight? Where was I to protect her from those demons?”

A father protects, that’s what gives him meaning.

Who was Jake Sully?

“Lo’ak, come back here!” 

Both of them turned just in time to see their youngest son running away from the back of the tent they’d been hiding, Neteyam following a couple steps before he stopped to look back, probably at his sister. 

“I’ll get him,” Jake said, soulless and absentminded. Neytiri didn’t respond, stalking back to Mo’at’s tent, just kneeling in front of the entrance, wrapping her hands and tail around her knees. Tuk turned the corner, scampering towards her and finding refuge in Neytiri immediately wrapping around her protectively. 

Jake wasn’t allowed to comfort his mate. 

But he could get to his children who needed it. Trust, Neytiri had said. Honesty. 

Walking up to Neteyam, he put a warm hand behind his rigid back, and felt the taut muscles relax underneath his touch, another wave of shame hitting at the inability to recall just when he had last comforted his boy. 

“Get Tuk. Go home. Rest.”

Neteyam turned to him, scandalized. “We will stay.”

“Neteyam—”

“Dad—sir, please. I can’t leave my sister.”

That sir was a splash of acid on his already weeping heart. 

It dawned on Jake that Neteyam was the one witnessing your moment of death. Death. A surge of nausea shot up from his esophagus, and he didn’t stop himself from hooking an arm around the boy, careful of using his hands not to get blood on the eldest, pulling him into a much awaited embrace. He hadn’t allowed him to be a kid.

“It’s okay, Neteyam,” he croaked. “She’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

Neteyam’s arms didn’t wrap around him, unfamiliar to the gesture — crumbling Jake’s already broken heart into dust, but he did shiver, fighting the tremble. He simply said, “I pray so.”

He was still trying to hold it together — for everybody’s sake. 

Jake felt the boy’s tears on his skin, and didn’t let him go when he tried to step back to wipe them, letting Neteyam cry silently as much as he wanted. He owed the boy that much, as his father. It was the least he could do. 

Jake would stitch this family back together. He had to.

Washing the blood off his hands had taken a while. Jake wasn’t let off easy, cursed by the remaining line of bloodied dirt in his nails. 

He found Lo’ak at where it all began. The mouth of the cave where your ikran was disturbing the other ones with restless chittering, reminding Jake of a wolf howling all night at the full moon. 

His youngest son was transfixed by the blood staining the ground. Just standing there, looking at it. Jake couldn’t protect him from the sight. Not anymore. He himself could barely stomach it.

“Is sister going to be taken away?” was the first thing he asked Jake, not looking at him still. 

Jake didn’t know if he meant death, or Stxel’eveng. 

“I pray not,” he told Lo’ak, honest for once. 

And like him, the boy wasn’t sentimental or emotional enough to bear his wounds to another, even to a family member, and fell silent. “It has Toruk’s colors,” he said instead, referring to your ikran’s red, orange, yellow and black patterns. Looking at the creature, Jake tried his hardest to stand up straight when he discerned all the blood coating its neck and back from the natural red color disguising it. “I wanted to fly with her.”

Pulling him into a side-hug, “I’m sorry, Lo’ak,” Jake admitted, causing him to finally break the trance he had on the blood. Speechless at his father, proud and strong, admitting he was wrong out loud and that he was being hugged when it wasn’t like his father at all to show them casual physical affection. Jake knew what must be going through his head, he would be thinking the same if his own father had ever taken responsibility for wrongdoings, as well.  “It’s my fault you didn’t get to.”

Lo’ak’s mouth was hanging low. “Dad…”

“But you will,” he said, determined and full of hope. He had to be. For his children. 

“You think so?”

“I pray so,” he quoted Neteyam. “Your sister is stubborn. She will pull through. Don’t lose faith in her.”

Lo’ak’s grip on his forearm was painful. 

“That ikran’s lost the half of its tail fins,” the boy sniffled, thickening his voice to hide the tears. “How did it get all the way here?”

It stung in Jake’s chest. The same way you’d hidden that injury. Your ikran was fueled only by the desire to get its rider to safety, it seemed. 

It would never fly again. 

Jake looked down at Lo’ak, only to be met with him avoiding his look, still concerned with hiding the tears. “Loyalty,” he said. “Devotion. Sometimes you don’t want to lose the things you love no matter what, that desperation gives you enough strength to push through any trial by fire. You would do anything. Anything.” 

And sometimes it was fear that did it, but he didn’t mention that to Lo’ak to not put salt on their family’s injury. Jake didn’t want to think about how terrified you must have been, or he would actually go insane. He didn’t want to think about the possibility of you not making it in the end. He had to keep going. He had to push forward. Be the father this family needed him to be. 

“Come on, boy,” he pulled Lo’ak gently. “Let’s go back.”

Your ikran whined at this pitifully. Jake tried not to think. He tried not to imagine what your reaction would be upon learning you would never fly together again, and had to put down this ikran that had been devoted endlessly to you if you wanted to get a new one. 

Jake didn’t think. Because if he did, he would actually go insane from the pain. 

Mo’at and Kiri emerged from the tent only in the morning, by which the whole family was cocooned in Jake’s embrace for the first time in years before the sky people had come back. They all had scrambled to get up, waiting with bated breath for one syllable of good news as Kiri slipped into Jake’s arms, one wink from falling asleep while standing. He kissed the girl’s head, soothing her, hoping this could be you eventually. He had been praying for it like a madman. 

“Eywa has accepted to bestow your daughter back to you, Jakesuli,” was the only answer Mo’at had for them, no word about your physical wellbeing. “But only if she accepts as well.” 

“I don’t understand.”

“You must go speak with her. At the Tree of Souls.”

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[mustainegf]

Sooo james is your best friend and he is a plus one for a wedding and he knows nobody there and he sees you talking to some guy and he gets possesive and jealous and you tell him that he is your cousin but then you realise that he likes you or smth aaaaaand you fuck in the car outside the venue

(i know this is too long, I'm so sorry)

𝐏𝐋𝐔𝐒 𝐎𝐍𝐄 ¹⁹⁹⁶

I toyed with the delicate lace sleeves of my dress for the millionth time as I stood in front of the mirror. The soft ivory colored fabric fitted, dare I say, just right, while the detailed beadwork sparkled delicately in the light.

I exhaled, trying to gather my nerves. Weddings always made me a little nervous, but tonight was a totally different story. Tonight, I had James as my plus one.

James and I had been friends for years, cemented in so many memories. For me, he was way more than just a friend. Though his exterior was quite thick, he had a heart of pure gold, and he knew just the way to make me smile.

I heard someone knock at the door, and when I opened it, there James was, dressed in his tailored black dinner jacket suit. His usual casualness turned into some polished elegance, though his eyes still held that rogue gleam.

"Wow," he said, his voice low and appreciative as his eyes traced up and down my figure. "You look beautiful."

A blush crept up my cheeks as I smiled shyly. "Thank you, James. You clean up pretty well yourself." I chuckled softly, pretending to dust off his shoulders.

He laughed, stepping into the room. "I do what I can. Ready to go?"

I nodded, reaching over and looping my arm through his as we left. That brought the problem, with this many guests at the wedding, James was going to be known by at least somebody, and while he had agreed to be my date, I still was nervous that he might be a bit ticked off getting attention.

James didn't like to show it, but he really was quite shy, preferring to slip into the crowd rather than be the one directing it.

The ceremony was gorgeous, such a great mix of love and tradition. During the ceremony, several times, James would glance my way, his soft, admiring eyes, rarely ever to be seen, something that made me feel special.

We ended up sitting at a table with some of my distant relatives during the reception. They were excited to meet James, who, in turn, was very polite. I could feel his discomfort.

"Can I get you something to drink?" he asked, bending close to me. His breath in my ear, and that deep voice of his sent ripples down my spine.

"Just some water, please," I replied, smiling up at him. "Thanks, James."

He nodded and made his way to the bar, leaving me with my relatives, who immediately bombarded me with questions.

"How did you meet James?" asked one of my second cousins, whose round eyes nearly popped with her curiosity.

"I did stage work for his band like years ago," I said, trying to sound polite. "We've just been friends since then I guess." I say with a laugh.

"Friends, huh?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "He seems pretty into you."

I laughed it off, but her words stuck like superglue. Was James into me? I shook my head once more. He was just a friend. Surely...

He came back with our drinks and set a glass of water before me. "Here ya go."

"Thanks," I said, taking a sip of the water. "Are you okay? You seem kind of jittery."

He shrugged, giving me a small smile. "Just not used to being in a room full of people who don't know me... Well most people. It's really nice, actually."

I nodded, I understood what he meant, having done work with the band, I knew how relentless some fans could get.

We spent the next hour chatting with other guests and dancing. James was shockingly an excellent dancer, guiding me effortlessly across the floor. His hands slipped into a grip on my hips that felt like always should've been.

As the evening ticked on, I was having a conversation with one of my cousins, Mark, who I hadn't seen in years. We were chatting about old times, dumb stuff we did as kids, when suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder. Turning back, I found James, his jaw clenched, his eyes a little squinted.

"Who is this?" he asked, so easy, yet laced with something that I knew was less than kind.

"This is my cousin, Mark," I said, introducing them. "Mark, this is James, my date."

James relaxed a little at my words, though in his eyes, I could still see the unease. "Nice to meet you, man," he said, holding out a hand to Mark.

Mark shook it, smiling up at James, who was much taller than him. "Nice to meet you too, James."

There was this awkward silence, and I felt the need to break it. "James, why don't we go get some air?"

He nodded, and we excused ourselves, stepping out of the venue, just outside the doors. The sweet night air was cool and forgiving. I turned to James, who was staring out at the stars with clenched shoulders.

"What's going on?" I asked gently. "You were weird back there."

He sighed and ran a hand through his short ruffled hair. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to come off like that. I guess I just… I didn't like seeing you with some other guy."

I blinked in surprise. "James, he's my cousin."

"I know that now," he said quickly. "I just… I don't know. It felt weird. I'm sorry. I feel really dumb now."

I searched his expression. Could he mean more in his words? Was it the continuous lingering gaze throughout the evening, the possessiveness in his tone, that finally could be a proof he has feelings for me? Could he really?

"It's okay," I nodded softly. "I understand."

He turned to me slowly, his eyes boring into mine. "Do you?"

I nodded, though I wasn't entirely sure that I did. The idea that James might have feelings for me was paralyzing. In a good way.

The idea of him feeling the same way that I did, because, if I'm going to be honest with myself here, I have developed feelings for him too, was something that was hard to be ignored.

"Let's go back inside," I said, clearing my head. "We still got a wedding to enjoy."

He smiled, and in that second, things were good. "Yeah, let's do that."

The rest of the night was spent dancing and laughing, but I just couldn't get that question out of my head. Had James felt something for me? If so, what did it mean?

With the sky darkening, James and I walked toward his car to find the soft hum of crickets filling the night air as we were leaving.

James, being the gentleman he was, matched strides with me with a light hand resting at my lower back.

We walked to his car, sleek and black. "Tonight was… interesting." He said with a low chuckle, almost like he was trying to relieve any sort of ill air.

I turned toward him, his tone piquing my curiosity. "Yeah,but I had a great time with you. Even if you were a bit tense."

He rubbed the back of his neck, and a sheepish grin tugged on the corners of his lips. "I guess so. I just—" He looked aside for a second before his eyes locked with mine again. "I didn't like seeing you with someone else."

I blinked, taken aback by the admission. "James, I told you, Mark is my cousin ".

He chuckled, but of course, it was nervous. He didn't have to make that, like his usual, confident laugh. "I know, I know. It's just… seeing you with him made me realize... a lot."

My heart felt a heavy beat. "Realize what?"

He drew a deep breath, as if bracing himself. "That I'm in love with you."

Those words strung along in the air, floating around as I tried to collect them. I stood there, stunned, shocked, bewildered, unable to form any coherent response. James shifted uncomfortably, mistaking my silence for something else.

"Seeing you with him just brought something to the surface, and I'm sorry if this is gonna... fuck things up."

I didn't need to think, I reached up and cupped his face in my hands, pulling him down to my level. Standing on my tiptoes, I pressed my lips to his in a kiss that was loving but thirsting. For a heartbeat, he was still, then responded as his hands instinctively slid around to my hips, drawing me closer to press against him.

It was as if the whole world had opened up in front of us after years of saying 'Just fuckin' kiss already!'

With mingling breaths and soft laughter escaping through the kisses. When we finally pulled back, our foreheads rested against each other, with our lips still touching.

"I´ve been in love with you for so long, James," I confessed, my voice shaking from my emotions as I ran my hand over his cheek, feeling his prickly facial hair.

He smiled at me then, such a natural, heartfelt smile that I'd always loved for its uniqueness. "That makes two of us."

His hand trailed down my arm, fingers intertwining with mine. "Get in the backseat, missy," he said, murmuring low, his eyes full of intentions and a tad bit of the liquor from earlier.

My heart grew weak in my chest at what I knew he meant. I nodded, letting him lead me around the back door he had opened on his car.

He gestured for me to get in first, and so I did, feeling the quickening of my pulse.

James quickly slid in beside me, closing the door behind us as my arms instinctively reached for him. His eyes brooded into mine, soft but still insistent as they ate me up. "You're sure?"

I moved in closer, lightly touching my lips to his. "Always."

As we kissed, hands moved over each others bodies, discovering all the curves and lines with our touch rather than just sight. I straddled him, my dress hitching up around my thighs as I settled onto his lap. His hands found their way to my hips, pulling me closer, and I felt the heat of his bulge pressing up against me.

"God, you're beautiful," he whispered against my lips, voice hoarse. "I've wanted this since the day I saw you."

I smiled, my chest spilling with love and lust. "Me too, James. M-Me too..."

Our lips met again, and this time, it was much deeper. Our tongues danced, explored, each shock was evident in his taut body and the barely restrained need. But what turned me on was how I couold feel him getting harder by the second, his clothes erection rubbing my thigh.

"I want you," I begged, pleading for anything he would give me. "Right here, right now."

"I need you, James. I need you so much."

James responded with his hands sliding under my dress to stroke my thighs. I moaned into his mouth again, this feel of his hands being something I never knew I needed. He lifted my dress higher, exposing my delicate panties, and he was tender, reverent.

"You're so perfect," he murmured against my skin, his lips trailing down my neck. "So fuckin' perfect."

I ticked at his words, my fingers threading through his hair as I held him close. "I love you, James."

He looked up at me then, his eyes very dark. "I love you too."

He pulled my panties to the side, the tips of his fingers touching my most private parts. I gasped as my body arched up into him. His fingers took teir sweet ass time, learning each crease and vulnerable nerve.

"You're so wet," he whispered in wonder. "All for me."

"Yes," I breathed, already dripping just at the thought of what we were about to do. "I want you inside me, James. Please."

He didn't need any other invitation. He undid his zipper and quickly released himself from within his dress pants. He sat there for a split second, gripping the base of himself that the breath caught in my throat. With a soft chuckle, he pressed himself at my entrance, his eyes locked with mine.

"This might be a bit awkward," he said with a small, nervous laugh.

I giggled at him, falling in love with his dorkiness all over again. "I'm sure we'll live."

Slowly, carefully, he guided himself inside me. I could feel every singl inch, every vein, as seated his complete length inside me. I moaned softly, trying to dig my fingers into his shoulders as I adjusted to the feeling of him inside me.

"You're tight, baby," he groaned, restraining himself. "You feel s-so good."

Slowly I rocked my hips, trying out different angles to find a rhythm that suited the both of us. I gasped as I felt his tip just gently graze my G spot.

I bounced softly, his greedy fingers pawing at my sides as he helped buck upwards. Everything was more in the close confines of the car, every touch, every movement as we whispered soft, breathless words.

"That's it, honey," he murmured against my lips, "so, so perfect."

I whined softly, my frame trembling with the stretch of him. "Keep going, James. Don't stop."

His free hand grasped gently at my bouncing breasts, squeezing at me like I was his own personal toy, looking to enjoy every second of it. "I love you," he said again. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," I replied. My voice was breaking with emotion. "So much."

It was creeping in, the thrusts, so timed and deliberate. I could feel my orgasm approaching, knotting in my stomach.

"James," I gasped, trying so hard not to cum right there and then. "I'm so close."

"Me too," he groaned, his hands clamping on my hips, my flesh spilling from between his strong fingers. "Cum with me, baby. Cum with me."

With one last, mighty thrust, I was cumming all over his cock, my walls gripping him as if begging for more. The air was occupied by my cry as fingers bit into his shoulders. Soon enough, James followed. He quickly pulled out, pumping his fist to reach the edge.

"Quick, grab my shirt-" He gasped.

I laughed out loud at him, rapidly bunching up his shirt to his chest, just seconds before he was spilling cum all over his tummy. The warm, thick liquid dripped down as the final spurts washed over him.

The two of us just sat there for the moment, gasping for breath and trembling.

Both James and I locked eyes before falling into laughter. "That was amazing," he choked out, still hoarse.

James helped me balance myself carefully, his hands remaining on my hips as he did so. "it's a good thing your suit isn't wrecked," I mumble with a short giggle.

"Yeah, thanks for that..." He chuckled, paying a short kiss to my lips.

[cherrycola27]

A Favor Among Friends

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption, historical inaccuracies. Regency era men and ideals. Eventual Smut. RegencyEra!AU Banner Credit @thedroneranger

Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

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

Chapter 2: The Offer

Your heart leaped in your chest when Bradley walked into the room. He brought your daisies, your favorite flower. He brought some lilacs for your mother and a bottle of wine from his travels for your father.

Sitting with him in the drawing room, talking felt so easy, so natural. You knew that he was the one for you. If you had it your way, by the end of the season, you'd be his Viscountess. You were giddy at the thought.

Bradley was just about to leave when your brother and his wife walked in. Eddie immediately asked to speak to Bradley in the study to catch up, you presumed. So, you excused yourself and took your sister-in-law by the hand and led her to the sewing room so you could show her the latest embroidery piece you'd been working on. Once you were married, you'd be able to join her sewing circle.

"Edmund! It's so good to see you!" Bradley exclaimed as he walked into the study. "What are you doing here, Bradshaw?" Your brother asked him harshly. Bradley looked at him puzzled.

"I'm calling on your sister. I intend to court her and take her as my wife." Bradley said as if it was the most obvious thing.

"No." Eddie deadpanned. "No? What do you mean, no?" Bradley asked him. "No, you cannot court, my sister, and you most certainly cannot take her as your wife. I will not allow it!" Edmund state.

"I don't believe that is your choice, Mister Beaumont. I believe the say is your father's, Lord Beaumont. Bradley narrowed his eyes.

"She is my sister! My baby sister! And I am your best friend. You have known her all of her life, and she was like a sister to you! Which is why I don't understand why you would want to court her. And as far as having her marry someone I know, I'd much rather her marry a stranger than my best friend whom I know all about. I know every triste and affair you have had Bradshaw. And my sister deserves an honorable man. Someone who will be faithful to her." Your brother exasperated.

"I have my father's ear. He will listen to me." Eddie bit back. "Why can I not court Ducky? She is a wonderful woman who is well accomplished in many talents and has been a friend to me my whole life! Surely you would rather her marry someone you know than someone you don't?" Bradley asked your brother.

"You think I am not honorable? I am a gentleman, and unlike many men of the Ton, I have no bastard children. And I would be faithful to Ducky." Bradley argues back.

"Bradley," your brother sighs, "you are a rake. You have been since we were six-and-ten, when your mother passed. I am not saying that you are a bad person. But I know that it is not a lifestyle you will be able to give up. I know I am being harsh, but you are not good enough for my sister, and you will only break her heart. So please. As your friend, I am asking you not to call on her again." Eddie finished.

Bradley clenched his jaw. "Fine." He walked to the door and paused. "I'll be taking my leave now. Bid your family a good day for me." He said before storming out.

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

You were saddened that you didn't get to give Bradley a proper goodbye, but hopefully, you would see him again.

Rainy weather kept everyone inside for a week, but on a fine Wednesday morning, the sun broke through the clouds and brought new life back to the Ton.

That afternoon, your mother insisted that you go to Market Square and promenade with her and your brother and hopefully find a suitor.

You looked and saw that Eddie and your mother had stopped for a refreshment, so you quickly walked over and looped your arm with Bradley's.

You wore a golden yellow dress with fine beadwork, some white lace gloves, and your hair swept up away from your face. You were walking slightly ahead of your brother and mother when you spotted Lord Harrington coming down the path towards you. You curled your nose at the thought of promonading with him and quickly looked around for a way out. Just across the path, you spotted a familiar frame.

He was startled to see you. "Ducky? What are you doing?" He asked you.

"Lord Harrington was about to come ask me to promenade with him, and I would rather jump in the pond. Which is quite the risk because I cannot swim." You giggle.

Bradley laughed at you before escorting you to your family.

"Lady Beaumont, Mister Beaumont," Bradley nodded to them. "I was hoping I could escort Miss Beaumont through Market Square this afternoon. Would that be alright?" He asked.

"Of course!" Your mother cheered and smiled at him. Eddie smiled too, but you couldn't help but notice how pained he looked.

"Thank you." You whisper to Bradley. "Lord Harrington is determined to have me has his third wife and refuse to be it." You say. "You are not someone's third wife. You are someone's first and only wife." Bradley said to you. You smiled and turned away from him, fearing the blush in your cheeks would give away the crush you had on him.

"You know, we have to stop meeting like this, Lord Bradshaw." You chuckle as you curl your arm tighter around his.

"What ever do you mean, Ducky?" He asks you, still using that nickname he gave you all those years ago. You turn slightly to see your mother and brother walking a few feet behind you.

"I mean," you drop your voice to a whisper, "I swept you into to promenading with me through Market Square to avoid a suitor, just like you swept me onto the dance floor at the first ball of the season."

"I didn't hear any complaining from you when I did. However, if you'd like, I could always find someone else." Bradley chuckled and lifted his hand as if he was going to pull away. "No!" You said hastily, clapping your hand down over his. He let out a chuckle and shook his head. He enjoyed spending time with you, truly.

He turned back for a moment to see your brother shooting daggers at him. Bradley shook his head. You were the one who pursued him this time, but your brother didn't know that.

...........

Three months. It had been three months since the first ball of the season, and you had yet to secure a proposal from Bradley. He hadn't called on on you since the first ball, but he'd danced with you and each one since then. Always two dances. One quatrain, one waltz.

Each time was always magical, yet he'd neglected to call in you again. Unfortunately, Lord Harrington had called on you three other times. Each one worse than the prior visit.

However, as you sat at your vanity, you hoped that Bradley's mind had changed. He promised you that he would be at your home this week and your parents had told you to wear something "elegant" because they had news for you this afternoon.

You donned a beautiful emerald green dress with pearl adornments your mother loaned to you. As you descended the stairs, you heard voices and in the drawing room. They seemed to be in high spirits.

You took a deep breath and plastered a huge smile on your face as you walked in the room, only for it to drop at who you saw sitting with your parents.

"Lord Harrington." You grimaced. "Miss Beaumont, wonderful to see you again. Forgive me for not being able to stay longer, but I must leave." He said the moment you walked in.

"It's quite alright." You half smiled as he took his hat and kissed your hand to bid you goodbye.

"Darling, come sit." Your mother said. "We have some news, Y/N." Your father said as you sat down. "Lord Harrington has ask for your hand. He has made quite the offer."

"What? Have you accepted it? You told me I had until the end of the season, and we are only halfway through!" You shouted, smacking your hand on the table.

"Darling," your mother began, "we have not accepted his offer, but it is the only offer we have had all season. And, there is no telling how long it will be available. So, your father and I have decided that if you do not secure a match in two weeks, your betrothal to Lord Harrington will be official."

"No, no! He is old enough to be my father. How could you allow that. He has a lesser statis than we do!" You protested.

"He has a sizable estate and is willing to talk a dowry significantly smaller than your sister's was. The decision is final." Your father said before dismissing you from the room.

Tears stung your eyes as you stormed up the stairs. You couldn't believe this. Your parents were so desperate to get rid of you that they were willing to marry you off to someone twice your age that looked like he was one day away from going in the crypt.

You were so angry. You refused to be sold off like some prized heifer. You'd seen the girls who were placed into marriages like this by their parents. You had to find a way out.

You paced around your room, searching for something, anything to help. Your eyes landed on your globe.

"America, I could go to America." You whispered. There was just one problem. You needed money. Your family had money, but you'd never be able to take the amount you needed to start a new life in America without getting caught. You needed help.

"Marisol!" You called for your lady's maid. "Yes?" She asked you. "Have the stable prepare my horse. I'm going for a ride." You said. She nodded and took off.

An hour later, you had your cloak pulled up around your face as you road your mare through the pastures to your brother's estate. You were disheveled by the time you made it.

"I need your help." You demanded we the two of you were alone in his study. "With what, my dear sister?" He asked you.

"Mother and Father intend to marry me off to Lord Harrington if I do not find another suitor in two weeks. I cannot be his wife, Eddie. I will not." You say.

"So, I'm going to America. Aunt Johanna lives in North Carolina. I can reside with her until I find a more permanent place to live. But I need money to do that. Can you help me?" You beg your brother.

"Y/N, this is a crazy idea." He tells you. "Eddie, I do not care if you think I am making a rash decision. I will not be trapped in a loveless marriage to a man forty years my senior. Will you help me or not?!" You shout at him.

He sighs. "How much do you need?"

"Three thousand pounds. Enough to start over and support myself until I can find work." You say. "I know you must speak to your wife about this, but Eddie, just know, I will find a way there with or without your help."

"Give me a couple of days to get the funds together. And to arrange for me to travel with you. I will not let you make the journey alone. It's far too dangerous." Your brother tells you.

"Thank you, Edmund. Truly." You say as you hug him. "I must leave now, Mother and Father do not know I am here. I will have my things packed and find out how quickly we can leave." You say before bolting out of the room.

"You're not actually going to let her go to America, are you?" Your sister-in-law, Clarissa, spoke as she emerged from behind a bookcase.

"Of course not, I just needed to pacify her for a few days." Eddie spoke as he settled into a chair and rubbed his face. Clarissa settled onto his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"She said that she had two weeks to find another match. Do you think it's possible. Has anyone else tried to court her?" Clarissa asked him.

"Sir, Mister Edmund Beaumont is here to see you." A valet said to Bradley as he sat in his study looking over his ledgers. "Send him in." He half mumbled.

Your brother sighed before jolting up. "My god, Rissa, you're a genius!" I need the carriage at once. I have an idea!" Your brother exclaimed before running out of the room

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

"Bradley!" Eddie practically shouted as he strode in the room. "What, Eddie?" Bradley rolled his eyes, still annoyed at the conversation from a few months ago.

"I need you to do something for me as a favor among friends." Eddie said seriously. Bradley sat up straighter, noticing his friends tone, and his flushed his face was.

"What do you need, Eddie?" Bradley asked him. "I need you to marry my sister." Edmund stated.

The laugh that Bradley let out was boisterous and echoed off the walls of his study. He subsided after a few minutes and noticed that your brother was still standing there.

"Oh. You were serious, " Bradley said. "Yes, I am!" Eddie shouted. "Didn't you tell me a few months ago that I had to stop courting your sister?" Bradley said as he leaned back in his chair.

"Yes, but things have changed. My parents are going to betroth her to Lord Harrington in two weeks if she doesn't have another suitor by then, and Ducky said she refuses to marry him. So, she's planning on running away to America so she doesn't have to marry him. She came and asked me for money so she could! Do you realize how crazy that is and how dangerous it is?! Bradley! She said she would go with or without my help!" Edmund shouts.

"Eddie, if I go to your parents and ask for her hand, they are going to think I'm crazy. I called on her once!" Bradley shouted.

"Yes, but you promonaded with her at Market Square, and you've danced with her at every ball. It will not seem out of the realm of possibility." Eddie counters.

"Fine. But she already has an offer. Why would they accept mine?" Bradley asks him.

There is a long pause between the two men. Your brother can see that Bradley is weighing his options. After what seems like an eternity, he breaks his silence.

"You are a Viscount. You have a higher rank and a larger estate than Lord Harrington, and if you agree to take a smaller dowry, they will surely accept your offer. But, fear not. I will make up for the lack of dowry from my own purse. I will give you three times that of what my father does. Please, Bradley. We both know how head strong Ducky is. She will run away, and if she does, we will never see her again. I cannot lose my sister. I am sorry for the things I said before. I will never doubt your honor again if you do this for me." Edmund begs him.

"Thank you!" Eddie almost weeps as he moves to hug his friend. "You're welcome, Edmund. I know how much she means to you." Bradley says.

"Alright. I will marry her. I will go in the morning to your parents. But I do not wish for a dowry from you. Knowing that Ducky is safe is more than enough." Bradley finally says.

"She means the world to me." Edmund smiles. "I have one request, though. You must promise me that you will be faithful to her. No affairs, no mistresses." Edmund tells him. "I promise." Bradley assures your brother as he shakes his hand, and escorts him out.

Once he's gone, Bradley walks over to a painting on the wall and removes it, revealing a small safe hidden behind it.

Bradley pulled the key from his pocket and turned the lock. He opened the small door and pulled out a small blue box. Inside what his mother's betrothal ring. A stunning arrangement of sapphires and diamonds set in silver. He placed it on his desk, and tomorrow, he would place it on your hand when he asked you to be his Viscountess.

Bradley wished the situation was different. He'd wished that you were accepting his proposal out of love, not out of need. But he would be a good husband to you. He would take care of you.

..........

Convincing your parents to accept his offer was much easier than Bradley thought. He guessed that the idea of them not having to give a dowry out weighed any other reservations they had.

Your smile almost seemed genuine when he asked you for your hand. You played the part of a dutiful fiancée so well as you gushed over your ring, which was a perfect fit. It was almost as if you actually loved him, but Bradley knew that it wasn't true. And no matter how big the smile on his face was, his heart was broken.

Tagging those who might be interested: @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @desert-fern @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @na-ta-sh-aa @katieshook02 @beyondthesefourwalls @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @horseshoegirl @djs8891 @roosters-girl @rosiahills22 @dempy @callsign-magnolia @gretagerwigsmuse @mshistorylover @seitmai @kmc1989 @bcarolinablr @waywardhunter95 @whatislovevavy @inkandarsenic @dingochef @princess76179 @schoollover @cheyrenee @angelbabyyy99 @bobfloydsbabe @sunlightmurdock @sebsxphia @atarmychick007 @queenlmno @sweetwhispersofchaos @mamaskillerqueen @withahappyrefrain @pwficrecs @blackwidownat2814 @carolineesnell @inky-sun @hrlzy @berrypockets

[lateatnewyork]

Listen- I had an idea. I was thinking about a Lucien Vanserra and the reader feeking the bond snap? But Lucien feeling like he's not worthy of her but she tells him how pretty his eyes are? Even with the scar? I was thinking of adding the prompt 32 angst and 12 fluff maybe.

Scars and All

Lucien x Archeron!reader, Helion x reader (father, daughter dynamic)

Warnings: angst, swearing, fluff

Prompts: Fluff- “I wish you could see the way I see you,” Angst- “You… why did it have to be you?”

Summary: The youngest Archeron sister has always been ignored and rejected by everyone. When she finally finds her mate in the Day Court who thought her heart could’ve broken more at the rejection of someone who was made to love her?

a/n i legit could not find any good headers for this so i downloaded 6 billion of them from pinterest, my sister had made this dress for herself and i had direct access to it thats why the description is so long 😭 im trying a new thing with describing facial features and stuff like that more lmk if u like it or not. ✨ not edited ✨

There was a ball in Day Court, almost all high fae were invited, and as the sister in law to the High Lord of Night Court it was compulsory for all of us to be there.

The dress I'm wearing is a masterpiece of intricacy and elegance, designed to captivate and command attention. Crafted from the finest materials, it combines delicate silk and ethereal lace, creating a harmonious blend of softness and sensuality. The color chosen is a rich midnight blue, reminiscent of the starry night sky that blankets the Night Court.

The bodice of the dress is a work of art, adorned with intricate silver and sapphire beadwork that accentuates the curves of the wearer. It plunges low, revealing a hint of the wearer's décolletage, while thin, delicate straps grace the shoulders, adding a touch of allure. The back of the dress dips in a graceful V, teasing a glimpse of smooth, exposed skin.

From the waist, the dress cascades into a flowing skirt, made of layers of diaphanous silk that sways with every step. The fabric is sheer and airy, allowing a tantalizing view of the wearer's legs as she moves, creating an alluring dance between modesty and seduction. The hemline is asymmetrical, with delicate lace trim that adds a touch of whimsy and femininity.

As I move, the dress catches the light, shimmering and sparkling like a constellation in the moonlit sky. It exudes an air of confidence and sophistication, empowering the woman who wears it to embrace her inner strength and beauty.

The dress wasn't my first choice though. My first choice was an indigo dress with a sweetheart neckline, that showed just enough of my cleavage to not be named as slutty. It had a slit that showed my whole right leg, but Elain had liked that dress after she saw it in my wardrobe, so I gave it to her.

She always got what she wanted.

I wasn't a type of feminine beauty like my sisters. They all had graceful features and beautiful dainty blonde hair. Nesta and I were the most similar with our sharp features.

But that's where the similarities ended.

My hair was a lustrous cascade of ebony strands, shimmered like a moonless night sky, reflecting an ethereal sheen with every subtle movement. Its glossy surface captured the light, revealing depths of darkness that held an irresistible allure.

Once I had slipped my heels on, I headed down the stairs where everyone else was waiting for me. My lips curved into a sly smile when everyone's attention was on me, glancing over the room, my eyes stopped at Elain. Her dress (my dress) was falling at all the wrong places.

She wasn't as curvy as me, Nesta and Feyre. I don't get why she would want the dress, it's obviously not fitting her properly. Ignoring Elain's incessant huffing, I head to Nesta and Cassian.

“You look absolutely breathtaking tonight, sister,” I compliment, giggling.

“I love this dress on you,” she gushes.

Nesta was my best friend, my confidant, the sister who cared for me.

“But I would’ve loved to have seen the other dress on you,” she continues. “You shouldn’t have given it to Elain,”.

“Oh it’s fine, look at the absolute beauty I have found instead,” I reassure.

“Elain are you sure you don’t want to change your dress,” Feyre asks.

Nesta and I snicker behind our hands, Elain turns around towards us and I watch in glee as her faces turns into a scowl.

“I’m fine can we leave already” she snaps.

Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.

Cassian winnows Nesta, Rhysand and Feyre, Azriel and Elain, while Mor winnows me.

Landing outside the day court palace, I mentally take in the beauty of the place. The sandy blocks making the palace and the beautiful candles hung at every corner. There truly is no darkness.

I look down at my dress, skepticism glazes over my face. I shouldn’t have worn such an eye catching dress.

How was I meant to know that there would be lights everywhere?

Cauldron fucking boil me.

After some mindless chatter with Feyre about how excited she is to show me her paintings. We’re escorted inside to see the High Lord of the Day Court lounging on his throne, looking like the childish playboy he is. Even though he was centuries old.

His beauty was otherworldly, the way his onyx locks cascaded down his back like they were paid to do so. Piercing amber orbs stared down at everyone. Clad in only a white fabric that was draped over him, he had an easy going presence to him. The sharp points of his golden crown glinting under the bright lights.

But the vision next to him put the Night Court stars to a shame. He was the sun personified. Tan skin, lighter than his father’s but darker than mine. Auburn red hair, similar to his father’s in length, rested along his back. A scar ran from just above his eyebrow to his jaw. His eyes met mine, maroon and golden. His features picked apart weren’t attractive but somehow together on him, he looked like a god.

My breath caught in my throat as my eyes blurred in and out of focus. Once they went back to normal I saw a single golden thread tugging. My eyes followed the thread back to Lucien.

I ran outside. Mother’s tits, I found my mate.

I gave an experimental tug on the bond revelling in the feeling of being complete. Tugging on it again, I let him know I wanted to see him.

Sitting there on the roof, I waited for five minutes, then ten, soon twenty and as quickly as my hope had been born it had faded away. But still remnants of it remained, maybe he couldn’t get away so soon, after all he was the heir to the Day Court.

Holy shit, he was the heir to the Day Court, what if he wanted nothing to do with me?

My thoughts spiralled one after the other.

A throat cleared behind me. Turning around to look at Lucien, I beckon him over.

“I’m Y/N, I already know who you are so introductions won’t be necessary” My attempt at a joke fails.

Finally taking a closer look at his face, I take in the pained expression. “Are you all right?” concern laces my voice, I stand up and whisper, “Have you had enough to eat you look like you’re about to pass out,”.

I’m about to leave and grab him some food, when he speaks, “You… why did it have to be you?”.

I freeze in place, I don’t dare to turn around. My mind flashes with memories of Feyre not wanting to teach me archery because she was busy, or how the boys at Rita’s never even looked at me, or how Elain took it upon herself to make me hate everything about me, or how everyone had their other half and I had just found mine. But not even a full hour of knowing me he hated me.

And somehow after all those years of rejection, self hatred and jealousy my heart broke one last time.

I assume he could feel it through the bond, as I wasn’t all that used to blocking people out of my mind yet.

I run down the stairs to get off the roof, to get as far away from him as possible.

Finally, finding an unoccupied balcony on the opposite side of the palace, I settled there, sobbing my broken heart out. The kohl from my eyes streaming down my face. My fingers red from rubbing my stinging eyes.

I looked around at the material of the dress pillowing around me. Such a waste of such a breathtaking dress.

Soft crying filled the room, my ears were ringing as I hadn’t heard the High Lord of Day Court enter.

“My dear, may I ask what’s wrong?” He asked, worry evident in his voice.

Gasping I stood up and did a sorry excuse of a curtesy, “High Lord” I bowed my head.

“Helion is fine,”

He sat down right next to the place where I was sitting. His muscled arm gently tapped the spot beside him as an invitation.

I sit down, smoothing my skirts out.

As if he can sense the awkwardness he clears his throat and says “We can stay quiet or we can talk about my son or your mate?”.

My eyes widen in shock. “How do you know me?” I mutter out.

“Sunshine I’m the High Lord of Day Court and unbeknownst to you, Rhysand talks a lot about you during meetings so most of the high lords consider you a little sister, but for me you’re like the daughter I never had,” he confesses.

A man I had not met before today, considered me his daughter, and six other high lords think of me as a little sister. My eyes well up in tears, my father had been one of the only people other than Nesta to ever truely care about me. And I had cried for months when he died.

To have someone think of me as their daughter again brought out a fresh wave of tears.

As if reflex, my head rests against Helion’s shoulder, we gaze into the night sky, in a comfortable silence. A strong hand reaches out and softly taps my head in a soothing rhythm.

“It’s ok sunshine.” he whispers.

After a while my tears stain my cheeks, Helion speaks up “I think you should give your mate another chance, I think you’ve mistaken his intentions,”.

Taking in his advice, I wordlessly stand up and hug the high lord. “Thank you” I breathe out.

Pulling away, I walk through corridors in search of Lucien.

A hand grabs mine and pulls me into a dark corner, while another hand muffles my screams.

I’m about to put the training Cassian gave me into use when I see a familiar pair of mismatched eyes.

“You can’t scream, I just wanted to talk to you,” he pleaded. Once his hand reluctantly leaves my mouth, I nod as a signal for him to keep going.

“When I said what I said before, I didn’t mean it as if you weren’t good enough for me,” he started. “I meant it as I didn’t think I was good enough for you.” My eyes soften at his words. “I mean yes I am devastatingly handsome,” I roll my eyes at his smug words, unable to hide my own smile when his lips twitch upwards.

“But I don’t think I could ever be good enough for you, a thousand lifetimes over,” he whispers, impossibly close to me but at the same time painfully far away.

“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you, Lucien,” I mumble cupping his cheek. “Please have me,” he murmurs.

I grab his face gently and fuse our lips together.

“I’m yours, if you’re mine,”

a/n i’m sorry girl dad!helion is just too good to resist and like imagine being like a little sister to all the high lords (instead of heron it’d be eris), hope you like it anon 🫶🏻

[ltwilliammowett]

Sailor's sweetheart pin cushions

These are small pincushions that have been richly decorated. Often these cushions were heart-shaped and embroidered with different fabrics, beads, small mirrors, words and pictures.

A 'Forget Me Not' sweetheart cushion, the satin cushion of heart shape applied with cigarette silks within a glass beadwork ground and fringed edge, late 19th century (x)

They were usually filled with sand or wood chips. These cushions were made at sea and sent home to the sweetheart as a love token.

Cushion made by Mr W. A. Parish, while he was in the Royal Hospital Chelsea, 1914-1918 (x)

An unusual pin in the shape of an anchor, decorated with Union Jacks, sailing ships, anchors, pictures of Queen Victoria and a sewn-in text; 'With Best Wishes', late 19th century (x)

The piercing with needles symbolises the heartache he felt because he was not at home. These heart-shaped pillows were at their peak from the middle of the 19th century until after WWII.

[loaksky]

— 𝘺𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸

the lowdown — the one where you and lo’ak are too stupid to be in love. 

the who — lo’ak x fem omaticaya!reader 

the word count — 3k

the tags & warnings — language (the usual), some angst with a disgustingly sweet resolution because everyone deserves happy endings aheh, lo'ak and reader are two big ol emotionally constipated bffs.

the notes — hello!! i'm back hehe. this is based on this request! <3

masterlist

Despite every voice of reason, you are green. Green with envy, green with greed. 

For as long as your memory has served you, it’s always been you and Lo’ak. And while things had always seemed innocent enough, had been just two kids, two best friends, growing up together, things had started to shift. 

It was well before the Sully’s and your family had sought out refuge with the Metkayina. Eyes had started to wander, hands started to linger. The two of you were treading such a fine line, teetering dangerously over the edge between just friends and something more. And you knew that he could feel it too, could see it in the way his pupils seemed to eclipse the gold of his irises.

But maybe you were mistaken. Maybe your intuition was failing you if his proximity to the olo’eyktan’s daughter was proof enough. And why wouldn’t he act on it? Tsireya was inexplicably beautiful, glowed with belonging, gentle, kind. She was the next tsahik and you were a forgettable face. 

And it tears through your heart, how easy she’d seemed to wiggle her way into his heart. 

Years upon years of you silently pleading that Lo’ak would finally see you was decimated with the single apparition of the Metkayina’s golden daughter. 

It made you burn with rage, silently seethe with envy when you’d see him tailing her or vice versa. Made every bone in your body rattle every time you’d see a lingering touch. 

“You’re steaming.” 

Kiri’s voice is quiet, teasing, as you angrily puncture holes in the shells you’d collected for beadwork. 

Like curtains drawing, your expression resigns, the furrow in your brows relaxing as you let go of the skinny sliver of steel. 

“You did it!” 

Tsireya’s voice tinkles through the air, giggles floating up the shore as she swims towards Lo’ak and grasps the hand holding up the empty half of a mollusk shell.

His smile is gooey, sweet, and you lick your bottom row of teeth before standing to your feet. 

“Where are you going?” Kiri sighs, hand coming up to shade her eyes as she watches you brush sand off your legs and collect your things. 

“No where,” you rush, then shrug. “I don’t know, anywhere.”

For the first time in weeks, Lo’ak is alone and Tsireya is no where to be found. You breathe a sigh of relief as you approach his hunched figure, toying with something in his lap as he grumbles to himself under the unrelenting beat of the sun. 

“Lo’ak!” you call, treading through the mounds of sand to reach where he sits just outside of the shade of a banyan tree. 

His spine stiffens as he peers over his shoulder and you shrink for a moment when you lock eyes. But then he flashes you such a genuine smile, you can’t help but feel like you’ve been caught in the snapshots of a moment where only the two of you exist. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, eyes flitting to the chord wrapped around his fingers. 

You don’t get a good look before he notices your gaze and quickly shoves it into the small woven bag next to him. 

A lump lodges its way into your throat when you notice that the bag looks rather new, the one you’d made for him long before your arrival to Awa’atlu gone without a trace. 

“Nothing,” he says quickly as you settle beside him, long legs stretched so that your toes line up with his. 

You settle back against your palms, noting the way that Lo’ak is still tense. 

“I miss you,” you admit softly, cheeks warming as you chance a glance at your friend. “Feel like we don’t talk anymore.” 

A hum sounds from Lo’ak’s chest as he turns to face you. He studies your face momentarily and you flash him a close-lipped smile, hand coming up to tuck a beaded braid behind his ear. 

He eases away as his gaze flutters over your shoulder and you don’t need to turn to know that Tsireya is approaching. 

Damn this, damn it all. 

“Sorry, ________,” he says shakily. “Gotta go.” 

Your hand closes around his wrist as he slings the bag over his shoulder. 

“Let’s meet here,” you offer. “Later tonight? I wanna spend time with you.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he agrees. “Sure.” 

He stands to his feet quickly and you know that Tsireya’s right behind you when a shadow shades your seated figure.

“Hi, ________,” she chirps. 

When you look up, she’s smiling, dimples denting her round cheeks. As Lo’ak goes to stand next to her, your heart shrivels because she shines so bright and they look like they belong together. 

“See you later,” Lo’ak rushes, pulling Tsireya away by her arm. 

You bite your lip, feeling the telltale burn behind the bridge of your nose, the sting of saline as tears sheen your eyes. 

Their hips bump and Lo’ak chuckles, digging into his bag to produce the craft he was hiding from you a mere moments ago.

You barely hear Tsireya gasp, a faint “it’s beautiful” leaving her lips. 

You angrily dash away the tears, grasping at the frayed potential of what the two of you could’ve been. But you steel your resolve, knowing that Lo’ak wasn’t even yours to mourn in the first place. 

Something ferocious in the back of your brain told you that you should have expected it. Lo’ak was too caught up, too enamored with a fresh spark to remember his promise to you. 

You felt stupid, standing near the same tree the two of you had occupied a few hours prior wearing your favorite beaded top, the one Lo’ak had told you made your freckles brighter. 

You feel stupider when you take a seat, hoping that getting comfortable in the sand will draw him from whatever he’s doing. 

And you feel like the stupidest girl in the world when you begin nodding off, only to be startled awake some time later when someone touches your shoulder gently. 

“Lo’ak?” you hoarse, voice dry from disuse. 

The oldest Sully gives you a sympathetic look. 

“Why don’t we get you get you to sleep,” he says quietly, fingers threading through yours to help you to your feet. 

Humiliation floods your system as you and Neteyam walk side by side through the quieting night. 

You decide, in that moment, to fold your hand, allowing the fate of your friendship with Lo’ak to spindle like a wisp of smoke. 

He’s finally ready. 

The small macrame pouch that holds the piece he labored  over day in and day out, had pricked the pads of his fingers and strained his eyes, weighs heavy like the weight of his feelings for you. 

“Just like how we practiced,” Tsireya reminds him, hand coming up to squeeze his shoulder. “It’s there, Lo’ak. Everyone sees it.” 

He hopes so. 

Because every moment leading up to this has been agonizing, has made him wrack every memory in his brain to analyze the inevitability of you and him. You’re everything to him, and he’s almost embarrassed to admit that, recently, as the chemistry between you two has started to heighten, he’s become nervous. 

You make him nervous. Make his diaphragm tighten with each hitched breath, and his cheeks incorrigibly hot. Because every time he sees you, you’re no longer his gangly best friend he’d grown up with, but a blossoming, achingly beautiful young woman that he’d do atrocious things to catch the attention of. 

The little pouch he grasps tightly holds his grand gesture, and he hopes it’ll speak volumes. 

“She’s coming,” Tsireya says, peeking over his shoulder. 

He swallows hard, blowing a shaky breath through rounded lips as he turns to face you head on. 

He expects you to light up, to meet him halfway as he tries to muster enough confidence in his stride, but you barely bat an eye and every ounce of certainty seems to dissipate like sea foam. 

“Hey,” he greets, smile unsure as he holds the pouch behind his back. 

You don’t even stop, continuing your trek across the beach. 

“Hi.” 

He blinks at your retreating figure, gaze flitting to his coach for reassurance. Tsireya nods eagerly, tilting her head in your direction in encouragement. 

He jogs to catch up with you, fingers closing around your elbow. He’s shocked when you jerk away from him, something indiscernible twitching through your features as you shift to make distance. 

“Where you going?” he asks, scratching the back of his neck. 

“For a swim,” is all you say, tangible silence cocooning you as you glance over his shoulder. 

He opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off. 

“I’m in a rush,” you say quickly. “And I think you’ve got someone waiting on you.” 

When Lo’ak’s brows furrow and he tosses a look over his shoulder, he finds Tsireya still watching the two of you eagerly,

“No, she’s just—“ 

You’re already meters away from him when he turns back around, words dying on his tongue as his fist tightens through the loops of the pouch. 

You’re avoiding him, he realizes, when he starts seeing less and less of you. 

It makes his mind race, makes him wonder what had transpired for you to withdraw from him. Insecurity begins to rear its ugly head, solidifying when a few nights after he’d tried and failed to get you alone. 

There’s a bonfire and all of the villagers your age are celebrating with fruits and a swim. He’s sat by himself, staving off anyone who tries to take the empty space next to him with a glare so deathly. 

You don’t plop down next to him like you usually would, though, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. Instead, you’re lowering yourself onto the large stone next to Neteyam, smiling softly as he shears a chunk of fruit for you. 

The pouch he’d been meaning to gift you the past week is tucked away safely in his bag, gifted from you and reinforced with new binding around the strap. It feels like it’s burning hole because it’s not where it belongs with you. 

You throw your head back in quiet laughter, shoulders shaking at something his older brother says and it takes everything inside of him not to visibly roll his eyes from across the fire. 

“Well?” 

Someone has taken residence in the seat he’s saved for you, and his hardened jaw softens when he sees Tsireya’s curious gaze peering back at him. 

“Well what?” he huffs. 

“Have you said anything?” she asks. 

“No,” he answers petulantly, sneaking another glance to find that whatever you’re talking about has Neteyam enraptured. “Never see her, every time we do cross paths, she’s running off.” 

“Well…” Tsireya trails off. “She’s right there.” 

And perhaps she’s right. You are right there, not even three meters from him, but you look devastating in firelight and the gleam of your smile rivals the stars in the night sky. In this moment, he has never felt so far away, so unsure of something in his life. 

At first, he was certain, could feel it in the way your gaze was liquid when you’d spend time alone, could feel it when accidental touches lingered, then became blatant displays of affection. You were all his, he just needed to seal the deal. But now, he feels like he’s grossly misread the situation. 

From meeting up with Tsireya who’d confronted him about his feelings when she’d seen you two and the way he hesitated during a kiss waiting to happen, to handpicking every single bead, jewel and shell to string through the piece he was making. 

He’d spent so much time trying to find the words to mean it, but they sit heavy like stones moored to the pit of his stomach. 

“I don’t know anymore,” Lo’ak whispers, shrugging his shoulders. 

Despite his own aching heart, Tsireya looks wounded, the biggest supporter when it came down to the two of you. 

“Why?” she asks. “Don’t you…don’t you–”

“I think I read us wrong.” It’s like acid, thinking that maybe he’d read between the wrong lines. 

Tsireya scoffs. 

“Definitely not,” she giggles. “Don’t lose a good thing, Lo’ak.” 

His eyes flit to you again, stomach caving when the juice of the fruit spills from the corner of your lips and Neteyam shamelessly thumbs it away. 

It’s his final straw, standing so quickly, everyone who’d been engrossed in their own bubbles have now shifted their attention to the sudden movement.

He’s crossing the circle, fingers circling your wrist as he swiftly pulls you to your feet and leaves the fire with you and his bag in tow. 

“Lo’ak,” you huff as he pulls you far from wandering eyes and piqued ears. 

He doesn’t relent until you’re digging your heels into the sand, his name like venom on your tongue. 

“Lo’ak, you’re hurting me,” you bite. 

He snaps away likes he’s been burned, expression unreadable as he turns to face you. 

“What’s going on between you and Neteyam?” he blurts, chest heaving. 

Your gaze is narrowed, lips pursed as you glare up at him.

“Nothing,” you retort. 

“That didn’t look like nothing,” he argues, then his gaze melts and he’s blinking like he’s trying to salvage the clarity in the situation. “What’s going on?” 

“I just told you—”

“With us?” 

Now you look confused, features pinched as the breeze rustles your skirt. 

“What do you mean us?” You say it like you can’t fathom the idea of you and him and it makes all of the emotions simmer dangerously. 

“Are you really gonna do this?” he asks quietly. 

“Do what?” you parrot, obviously vexed with the back forth. 

“Act like there’s nothing between us!” he shouts so thunderously, you recoil, eyes wide and searching his. 

“Is there?” you ask incredulously. 

“Don’t play stupid.” His voice shakes and something is blooming in your chest. 

“You’re the one who’s stupid,” you whisper. 

Lo’ak scrubs peeved hands down his face, finally exploding with the words that have been teeming his brain. 

“You’re right!” he agrees bitterly. “I am stupid. Stupid for ever thinking that you’d see me the same way I see you!” 

You freeze, watching as he unravels. 

“Stupid for wasting my time trying to get it right, for reading into every stupid time you’d look at me like we could be something more and so fucking stupid for thinking you’d give us a shot!” 

Your throat bobs audibly. 

“But Tsi–”

“What about her?” he cries out. “Why do you have to worry about everything else but you and me?” 

“Why are you here with me when you should be with her?” you finally shout, all the envy and rage finally coming to a head. “Why are we even–“ 

“What are you– Why would I want to be with her with it’s always been you?” 

The words cling to the air, completely unveiled, no room to be misconstrued. 

It’s always been you. 

“I spend all my time with her trying to get this right,” he says quietly. “Trying to get us right.” 

Your heart is beating like a war drum in your chest. 

“Why are you so blind?” he huffs. “Why can’t— Why can’t you just want me back?” 

The first tear falls and Lo’ak thinks he’s really gone and done it now. But honestly, truly, it’s because you realize you’ve had it all wrong this entire time. 

Lo’ak, your sweet sweet boy, was just severely misunderstood. Had finally encountered someone nearly as soft as you and took the opportunity not to learn about her, but learn about you. About what you could like, what he could do to secure a future with you. 

As he digs through his bag, your breath is still caught in your throat. He grabs your hand a moment later, depositing a macrame pouch into your sweaty palm. 

“Here,” he grunts, resigned. “Made this for you.” 

He doesn’t even wait as you turn it over into your other hand, fingers trembling as you unravel an anklet made with care. 

You know you can’t let it end like this. Like salt in the wind, you’d tasted a mere flutter of what it was like to want and be wanted.

“Wait, Lo’ak,” you whimper. “Wait.” 

He stops, still facing the fire in the distance. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you ask softly, closing the distance so that your bodies are a hairsbreadth from each other. 

Like muscle memory, your forehead connects with the expanse between his shoulder blades, the warmth of his skin finally feeling like home after so many weeks of reserve. 

“I didn’t think I had to,” he admits, tension melting from his shoulders when he feels how close you are. “I thought you felt it too.” 

“I do,” you affirm after a beat. “Of course I do.” 

He turns to face you, eyes hazy as you bow your head in embarrassment. 

You’d been so cold, so foolish when all you had to do was see. You clutch the anklet, beads blurring as you imagine Lo’ak toiling over the intricate threading. 

“I love it,” you whisper. 

I love you, is a silent insinuation and Lo’ak can’t help the way the corners of his lips turn up. 

“I was hoping you would,” he swallows. “I wanted it to mean something, so I made an anklet so that…you know…” 

Maybe you really were stupid but no, you didn’t know. 

You blink up at him and his shoulders shake with a laugh.

“Means that even if I’m not with you physically–” He smiles, hand coming up to your face. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.” 

The sentiment makes you go soft, fingers twitching hesitantly as you reach for his own. 

You’re opening your mouth to say something, but you’re cut off with a loud groan. 

“Dude, just kiss already!” You think it’s Kiri and Lo’ak is throwing the nastiest glare over his shoulder as your smile widens. 

He’s gearing up for a snarky retort to his sister, but you’re pushing up on your toes and your hands find purchase on his shoulders and with your faces millimeters apart, it seems like everything seems to shift to stillness. 

You hear the way his throat bobs and you breathe a laugh through your nose. 

“Let me kiss you?” you ask quietly.

He licks his lips before nodding once. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Please.” 

neng © 2023

taglist: @nao-cchi , @jkiminpark , @philiasoul@amart-e , @s-u-t , @netesbby , @tayswiftlovebot , @dumb-fawkin-bitch , @ewackmn , @fanboyluvr , @neteyamoa , @itssiaaax , @girlpostingsposts , @athenachu

[mistydeyes]

bachelorette days and wedding nights

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summary: The time is finally here when the 141 pops the four word question. After all the stress of planning, you can finally enjoy the two best events of the year. Here are some visuals and headcanons for your bachelorette party and wedding.

pairing: 141 x fem!reader

warnings: alcohol/minor drug use, swearing

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price

bachelorette party

private getaway in a cabin or lakehouse with expensive liquor vibes

basically it's an adult sleepover if you think about it

price would not let your maid of honor pay for anything and even has a private martini bar fully stocked for your weekend

god you love him like he really does spoil you (he just wants his fiancee to have the best time :'))

she does bring along some silk robes and fluffy slippers for everyone to change into when they arrive

he likes the occasional updates but eventually he'll just tell you to have fun with your bridesmaids

picture hikes, picnics, and casual boating on the lake

you're just a little adventurer

this is just one big adult sleepover and you couldn't ask for anything better

wedding

something about price just screams a traditional wedding

you would probably rent out a gorgeous villa in Italy or France and have a destination wedding

your dress would be reminiscent of old Hollywood glamor and you would look like a princess walking down the aisle

def would both handwrite your own vows

something old, something blue, something borrowed, and something new is a must for you both

you'd end the wedding by driving off in a sleek car, your veil blowing in the wind as you and your husband shared many kisses to the venue

the reception itself is held in a castle or an elegant historic hall

you and your new hubby SPLURGED on this wedding

you love sitting at a long table at the front so you both can see all of your guests who came to witness your love

would definitely have a his and her drink that you could order at the bar

there is not a dry eye in the crowd when you share your first dance together and he holds you in his arms

a champagne tower is definitely there you cannot tell me otherwise

soap

bachelorette party

AN ABSOLUTELY WILD TIME

don't be surprised if you pregame the airport and then buy drinks on the plane

this weekend will be a test of your liver

your maid of honor prepared the goodie bags with advil, sunglasses, liquid IV, snacks, facemasks, makeup wipes, and most importantly CARDBOARD cutouts of Johnny's face

you still have them hanging up somewhere in your home

you would have a destination bachelorette party where you could enjoy the bars and drink under the sun

one night would definitely have everyone dress like they way you were when you met

you almost die laughing when your older sister shows up in a diaper and bonnet

but for the big night you go out, you and your bridesmaid wear fun colored dresses and matching wigs

ofc you wear a nice white dress and white/silver wig to match

Johnny loves the updates you been sending him lowkey wants to join

you definitely would have one of those sashes that said bride on it and would get all the free drinks

wedding

be prepared for the most fun wedding

the guest list would be massive as everyone and their mother knows Johnny comes from a big family

since the guest list is so large, an outdoor wedding and venue would work best

in terms of seasons, you'd be a spring or late summer bride

the seating chart is a bunch of funny polaroids/pictures of you and him over the years

you make sure the 141 has the absolute best ones of their teammate

your dress has a lot of intricate details with either lace or floral beadwork

your bouquet is very colorful and it perfectly reflects the warm weather vibe

an open bar is a must for you and Johnny

you even manage to get an mobile tap for endless beer and wine

by 9pm everyone is hammered and tearing up the dance floor

some of the best photos are during this time and you have them hanging in your home

gaz

bachelorette party

self care in a beautiful location? sign me up!

you have been wanting to lounge in a green tea bath and relax in a sauna for months

ofc your fiancé drives you to the airport and you giddly tell him you'll keep him updated

you and your bridesmaids fly out to a spa resort and are pampered the whole weekend

what's better than a mojito and a massage?

you even have a fun little photoshoot in your robes and face masks

nah because tell me why it would be hilarious if you called your fiancé when you were high out of your mind and asking him to bring you food he'd do it in a heartbeat

he does have room service delivered for you and as you're shoving French fries in your mouth, you love him even more

before you leave, you do go to a nice restaurant with the most gorgeous flowers before returning home

wedding

your guest book is made of postcards from all of your travels and you encourage everyone to write a message or advice

price easily takes the cake with the most sentimental advice for you as newly weds

your dress makes you look ethereal and Kyle is floored when he sees you walk down the aisle

your bouquet is simple and it compliments the blush hue of the theme

Kyle lifts you up when you walk down the aisle and the photographer is sure to capture the moment

speaking of which, the photographer takes candid pictures of you the whole night as you both agreed that you wanted genuine reactions instead of something staged

AUTUMN WEDDING VIBES

the venue is indoors but you add ivy leaves and tea lights which make the whole evening magical

you cannot tell me that Kyle wouldn't have the best food at his wedding

you simply have everything there and all of your guests find something to enjoy

ghost

bachelorette party

very lowkey but comfortable!

you just want a nice weekend at an airbnb or your own home with your bridesmaids

if you choose your own home, it would probably be when Simon is away on duty or he agrees to leave for a weekend

your maid of honor prepared a sangria station and a paint and sip night for you

you also have prepared a ton of movies and games for you all to play towards the evening

catering? no! you and your bridesmaids chef it up in the kitchen and enjoy your home cooked meals

i also could imagine you wanting to do that trend where it's like "make a drink based on your occupation"

it's absolutely perfect as you enjoy the company and the creative outlet

the highlight has to be an outdoor garden dinner where you all can just talk and you can destress about wedding planning

Johnny wants to take Simon out for a bachelor's party and Simon just replies with a solid "No."

wedding

i go back and forth with Simon as i feel like he would want a civil ceremony or something private but he could be convinced to have a very small wedding and reception if you wanted

this would be def your idea (stolen from Pinterest) but the seating chart would be some of your favorite books and the guests could keep them after

greenhouse or garden energy for the ceremony

your dress would be very simple (no glitter or frills here)

i'm talking about bare minimum guests here- your family, a few friends, and obvi the 141 boys

lots of private intimate pictures and not a lot of solo shots or portraits

you have a few close friends help you get ready and don't splurge on a hairdresser or makeup artist

his two favorite pictures of that day are you in your wedding dress and the one where you are kissing but are covering it with your bouquet

comfort food is the menu for tonight and you both pick dishes you love

the tapas would go HARD though, gotta keep your guests fed in between drinks

when it comes to speeches, Johnny has a 5 minute limit (although he tries to keep going)

you sneak away during the reception every so often to enjoy a private moment or dance with your new husband

he definitely always catches you off guard by telling you how beautiful you are during the whole night

[percahliaweek]

FAQ '24

What tag should I use?

#percahliaweek is our designated tag - you can @ us @percahliaweek so we can reblog your contribution on the corresponding day.

Where are the prompts?

Ah, seems this has escaped containment then. You can find them HERE!

Will you be doing anything on Twitter/other social media?

We considered it! However, as other social media sites have proven unreliable (especially lately), we'll be hosting the event only on Tumblr. However, you're welcome to post your work wherever you like! Just understand that without a Tumblr post we can't exactly RB your entry.

Can I do _ for the event?

Yes. Yep. That too. Seriously, so long as it focuses on Perc'ahlia (and is appropriately tagged to avoid spoiling people), you can do it. Cosplay, inspired recipes, beadwork, podfic, go wild! Well, with the caveat that no hateful content will be permitted - don't use a joyous event to rain on someone else's parade or promote hatespeech, alright?

Is NSFW content allowed?

Given the ship in question and just how canonically horny they are for eachother - yes! However, we request that you tag this content as #nsfw and use the appropriate content filter on it. If posting in the Discord server, keep it to the 18+ chat. Be mindful of potential minors in fandom space + people browsing content in public.

I want to participate but haven't watched Campaign 1!

We welcome fans of The Legend of Vox Machina with open arms. As a result, it's requested that campaign fans do their best to avoid spoiling show fans for anything beyond what Season 2 has shown (Umbrasyl's defeat). That means late Campaign 1, the oneshots and any mention of them in other campaigns should be tagged as #cr1 spoilers (using just this tag for simplicity). Show fans, if you want to remain unspoiled, I recommend you block this on Tumblr and mute spoilery channels in the server.

Wait - what might get spoiled for me here?

The #cr1 spoilers tag should broadly cover anything TLOVM hasn't yet, but do note that Percival and Vex'ahlia pop up in Campaign 3 and so some fics might contain mild spoilers for the events of that campaign and the decades between their epilogue and now.

Is there an AO3 collection for the fanfics?

Yes! HERE it is, ready and waiting for your fics! If interested in last year's fics (which definitely deserve some love), you can find them over HERE!

Does my submission have to fit one of the prompts?

That would be ideal, yes! Anything freeform should be posted on Day 5 for Free/Random prompts. But fitting the prompt can be very loose - maybe you just use the word as a motif, or you take it in an entirely unexpected direction. We want to encourage creativity and fun more than anything else.

I don't know what to do for the Free/Random day!

We have a few recommendations (we are unaffiliated with the websites linked): Random page of the Encyclopedia Exandria Random word generator OTP prompt generator AU generator Ghost’s Spell prompts [roll 2d20?] Wild Magic Surge table Life events table If you've made prompt lists and would not mind them being featured here, reach out!

How did you choose the prompts?

Prompts were selected by a combination of admin discussion and voting in our Discord server to try and ensure a good mix of evocative prompts (we see y'all voting disproportionately for the Scars prompt! We see it!).

Where can I find last year's prompts?

You can find the list and links to individual tags HERE. Given last year was our first year, we unfortunately didn't think to tag Day 1 until after the fact (we'll need to go and clean that up).

Why late September?

On September 29th, 2016, the Critical Role episode 'Passed Through Fire' aired, which features an iconic Perc'ahlia moment (no spoilers for show fans!). Following Burr's poll last year on which scene is most iconic for the pairing, we decided to have the week celebrate the anniversary of that episode. And, with TLOVM S3 airing the next week, who knows - we might get the animated version to go with it soon! ;3

Is it okay if I only do one prompt?

This event is intended to be relaxed and fun - one entry, or seven, or fourteen, however many you want! We've tried to announce the event earlier this year, to allow for more time for everyone to work on their entries, so please don't feel pressured to do them all the week of. And if you can't finish on time, there's no pressure: late submissions will still be RB'd and added to the AO3 collection. Mind you, after a month or two we might stop checking the blog and tag regularly, so your best bet is to @ us or post in the Discord server!

A Discord server?

We have set up a little server for this event on Discord, mostly to hang out with other Perc'ahlia fans and motivate eachother to work on our respective projects. The current link is HERE - let us know if it's not working!

Who is hosting this?

At the moment the users running this blog are @burr-ell, @blorbologist, @crithaus, @essayofthoughts and @rightpastnowhere! If you have any questions or concerns (i.e. we didn't see your post and missed RBing it :c) please let us know!

Any more questions? Feel free to send in an ask and we'll do our best to answer in a timely manner!