#deadly accurate with a bow

[rookedcrow]

🐦‍⬛⚔️ - EMILIA "ROOK" DE RIVA

[bettysupremacy]

idk if you write for finnick.. but could you write something where it’s the beginning of the quarter quell and he can’t find her? Just pure panic as he runs around the cornucopia?

I’ve never written for him before but I love him! idk how I feel about this but I hope truly that u like it.

Icy hot terror is all Finnick feels when the timer hits one. Loud and disorienting, the bang ripples against the water in vibrations that rumble under his feet.

Where are you?

The sun blares disgustingly into his eyes and skin, an obvious manipulation of the gamemakers sick amusement, but he ignores it, plunging into the only water he’s ever dreaded to tread. You’re not in sight. He’d told you to stay away, to swim, to run as far away from the cornucopia as you could. Don’t risk it, he’d shaken your shoulders, listen to me I’ll find you.

The water is warm and gross against his skin. It’s not as refreshing as the district four that he’s familiar with. It’s hot and fake. He comes up gasping for air, letting the terror settle into his bones as he pushes against the current of a manipulated riptide. Katniss climbs the stone so he does too; pushing his feet deeper into the ground with every step he takes. His breathing is labored, jagged as he runs. He can’t find you, but he will. He can’t find you, but he can find a weapon.

The cornucopia glistens in the sun, never lacking the weaponry he’d expected from it. Bows, arrows, knives, he eyes a backpack stuffed with supplies. Could he lug it with him? Probably not. He diverts his eyes to the trident beside him. Perched in its stand, it gleams in artificial sun as the grip molds to his fingers. He squeezes the deadly lifeline.

The sound of metal on metal scrapes behind him. Katniss. He turns quick, flashing the bangle around his wrist tauntingly. “Good thing we’re allies, right?”

She breathes hard in front of him, eyebrows pulling as she pauses in bated confusion. The weapon doesn’t lower. “Where did you get that?”

“Where do you think?” He gravels, quick enough to be considered panicked. “Duck.”

She listens, dropping to the floor hard enough to sting the weeping palms she balances on. The sick squelch of his trident in the fallen tribute is covered by her hands tight over her ears as she waits for the boom. The gong sounds, and then a scream. An unmistakable scream. It settles in his stomach and throat thickly, sweating his already wet hands. You didn’t listen.

“Finnick!” The voice screams. Sobs. “Finnick! Finnick!”

The sound is nightmare-ish. Something the gamemakers could never manipulate that accurately, and deep down he knows it’s the sound you’ll wake him up from if you ever gets out of this arena alive.

“I’m coming!” His feet hit hard against the gravel as he sprints. His breathing dries his throat quick. “I’ve got you!”

“Finnick!”

“I’m coming-“

The moment skids to a halt as he finds you. Trapped in the arms of a larger, broader tribute, you struggle for air as he headlocks you. He considers doing something rash, but Katniss behind you shakes her head. Like she can see it in his eyes. It’s a slow, quiet moment, hunter quiet as she stalks closer. Finnick eyes her wary to give her away.

“We can talk about this.” Finnick rationalizes slowly. “It’s the beginning of the game.”

“So?” His arm tightens around your neck. Your squeak breaks Finnicks heart.

“Finnick.” You strain.

“Give the viewers what they want.” Finn pleads. “A show. You can’t kill her so quick.”

“I don’t see a bargain being made.”

A bargain? It’s the first ten minutes and he stands next to a gleaming cornucopia filled with sharp armory. He could get something better than a simple metal trident. Throwing knives, poison, a machete. Finnick suspects the victor is doing what he pleaded. Giving the audience a show.

“Take my trident!” He nearly crashes, cool demeanor dropping as he watches you tap the man’s arm in panic, your air slowly constricting. “Give me her.”

It sickens Katniss; the ability to kill someone for views. To feed into the capitals agenda. This is a necessary kill, she reasons, this isn’t for her own survival. This isn’t a selfish homicide; this is Rue in the net, Prim on the stage. This is the girl she could save. Katniss’ fingers loosen, letting the elaborate metal fly from her grip. It hits the nameless career in the back. Her target.

The moment slows in Finnicks eyes. Katniss stands far, arms hanging limply at her sides. She stares at him, grateful for the thankfulness in his eyes that eases her burdened chest.

“Y/N.” He gasps as the man falls hard on you. He runs, helping you from under the heavy weight. “I’ve got you now.”

“Finn.” You weep, hands in his as he lifts you. You stumble, crashing into him hard. He hears a sob in his tribute suit. “I’m sorry.”

“I told you to listen to me.” He doesn’t anger, but this feels close to it as he grips you tightly. “I told you to run.”

You heave, greedy for fresh air, but your lungs are infiltrated by the heady scent of salt water. His hand calms the coughs that rake through your chest, guilty for his scolding. It’s a quiet moment in the calamity of the bloodbath, a stolen moment that he can’t afford to prolong another second.

“Cmon,” He eyes you, hands cupping your face, then falling as he looks up to Katniss. “Let’s go find Peeta.”

[star-girl69]

Music To Watch Girls To

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Demigod!Reader

—-

sypnosis: is it wrong to be obsessed with clarisse? obviously not!!

a/n: i cant just write a drabble what is wrong w me it’s always gotta be a full fledged fic damn anyways i don’t like this one that much so don’t crucify me, but i hope you all enjoy!!

Music To Watch Boys To - Lana Del Rey

warnings: FRIENDS TO LOVERS GOOD LORD, all clarisse know is be mean to her friends, like girls, and lie, reader is a little insane this time…., it’s not watching clarisse train bc i got struck with inspo but you all will like it dw, there’s still muscles and watching clarisse fight, swearing, violence, mentions of weapons, reader is an honorary ares cabin member bc i think it’s cute and i do what i want, y/n gets hurt like 20 times ITS FOR THE PLOT OK, kissing!!!!, like angst for half a sec not rly tho, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

The only word you think of when you think of Clarisse is fuck.

It describes your feelings about her so accurately. The first time you saw her, you knew you had to have this girl. And the first time you heard her talk, she was calling some Hephaestus kid a dumbass for not fixing a dent in her armor correctly.

She was an asshole, a bully, whatever, and she was also the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. But, thank the Gods you became close friends with her brother Matty, and then Carrie, and then you practically knew everyone in the Ares cabin like your own siblings.

Even just friendship with Ares kids is an intense rollercoaster.

They admired your for your deadly skill with a bow, a few of them even openly claiming you were probably the best at camp. They were loyal and fierce, protective, funny and everything you could want in a replacement family. Your mortal parent went down a dark road after your godly parent went back to Olympus, and you had never felt that love that everyone craved.

Clarisse hated you at first, like she does everyone, until one day at the bonfire you were sitting with her and a few of her siblings, the fire was hot and it was never the same. You still remember her eyes on you, feeling intoxicated under the moon. Besides, the nights are made for secrets.

And it became a tradition.

You would look at each other next to the fire, and never speak of it again.

The rest of the time, she was like any friend. That same loyalty, focus, but sometimes you could swear she seemed to look a little longer.

After the arrival of Percy Jackson, Clarisse was especially on edge. She was supposed to be training, but she was instead sulking and ranting to Matty and Carrie.

“And he really thinks he killed that Minotaur? Doesn’t matter. That’s what everyone else thinks.”

“Talking about the new kid?” you ask, sitting on top of the picnic table next to their cabin.

“Oh, yeah,” Carrie mumbles. “Talking all about the new kid.”

Clarisse stops her angry pacing to send her a harsh glare.

“He’s just a baby, Clarisse.”

She slams her hand down on the table next to you, pointing her finger in your face.

“He’s a liar,” she hisses. “I’m gonna make him admit it.”

“Hm, okay,” you say, pressing her foot against her stomach and pushing her back. “And that’s totally logical. But have you considered that he actually killed the Minotaur?”

“I’ll punch you.”

“Oh, you love me, Clarisse,” you smile, sweeping your arms out in a big circle. “I’m the brightest part of your day.”

She glares at you.

Matty coughs to hide a laugh.

“Just ignore him!” you say. “I don’t get why you’re so obsessed over him anyways.”

“I’m not explaining myself to you,” she huffs, stubborn as ever.

“Okay, Clarisse,” you say, drawing out the words.

You miss Carrie and Matty shooting each other looks.

—-

Chiron announces the next capture the flag game later that day, and the next morning you’re heading off to the Ares cabin with your bow and armor in tow.

You walk in. They’re all adjusting their armor, polishing their weapons. A few smile at you and wave, but you head straight towards the back. Clarisse is there, helping some of her younger siblings pick out weapons from the secret weapons stash the Ares kids have curated over the years.

It’s Danny’s first game. He’s only twelve.

She looks up at you for a moment, which is about as much acknowledgment as you’re gonna get. You sit at the end of someone’s empty bed, right next to Danny.

“How you feelin’?” you ask. His face is twisted into a stone cold mask.

“Excited,” he says, like he practiced it in the mirror.

“Well, I’m scared.”

He looks at you and frowns.

“You’re the best archer in camp. Matty says so.”

You shrug. “I may be the best archer, but I’m nowhere near the best fighter.”

He nods, thinking hard like the whole world is suddenly starting to make sense.

“Hey, if I promise to keep a look out for you from the trees- will you watch out for me on the ground?”

He doesn’t need your assurance. He’s a child of Ares, they’re prebuilt with the lust for battle. But you know how to play all of them like a fiddle. They like feeling important, and he’s only twelve. It doesn’t hurt you to give this to him.

You stick out your hand and he grabs it.

“Deal.”

“Deal.”

“Y/N,” Clarisse says. You realize she’s been standing there for a while. “Are you here to distract everyone or for a reason?”

“You know, I would welcome you into my cabin warmly.”

Her face remains stone cold. Danny runs off. Clarisse can be some sort of halfway nice, but rarely, and most of the time everyone just knows her cruel words, her ruthless tactics in battle, and her misleading words and smiles.

“You’re no fun,” you pout.

“You’re the one who sticks around. No one’s holding you hostage- you can leave.”

“I need a dagger.”

“Oh,” she says, blinking. “Wow, you actually came here for something? What happened to yours?”

“Broke,” you shrug. “The handle fell off. Weird, whatever.”

She hums, looking through the daggers hung on the wall. “This one.”

She hands it to you. It’s similar to your old dagger, except a lot sharper and a lot more sturdy. But it’s the same style you’re used to. You wonder if she knows that or not- Ares kids do notice everything.

But for Clarisse to actually do something like that with intention is rare.

“I like it,” you say. “Thanks!”

She hesitates for a second.

“Keep it.”

You look at her. “I can give it back.”

“I already told you to keep it. Don’t be pathetic and make me reassure you.”

“Okay, Clarisse,” you roll your eyes.

—-

Your position on capture the flag is always the same.

Carrie, Matty and Clarisse hunt in the woods on the ground, and you get thrown up into some random tree to shoot arrows at anyone you see.

The idea is, they see the arrow coming from up above and look to the trees, only for Clarisse, Matty and Carrie to ambush them on the ground.

It’s only the third game you’ve employed this tactic, so the blue team is starting to catch on.

After Chiron gives his speech you could probably say yourself, you head over to the three of them, holding your arm out to Matty and the red bandana. He ties it around without saying a word, Carrie reaches over and scolds you for not tying your armor tight enough.

“Blah, blah, blah,” you say. “I’ll live.”

“Yeah,” Carrie snorts. “Because I fixed it.”

“Shush,” Clarisse hisses. She finishes talking to a few more of her siblings, and they take their companies off into the woods. She turns back around. “I have a different plan today.”

Carrie and Matty grin dangerously.

There’s something in between the three of them, some sort of matching glint in their eyes.

“Okay, did I miss something? Why are you guys being so… scary?”

“You’ll see,” Clarisse says, her eyes dark.

Gods, it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

—-

The great thing about being up in the trees is you get to see everything.

You get to see the way Clarisse grins while she fights, the way she whips her spear around like it weights nothing, the way sweat forms at her brow- and the way her muscles flex. That’s the best part.

Her arms, her legs, her stomach, every part of Clarisse is just lean and toned muscle.

It makes you want to betray yourself in a way that would permanently embarrass you.

You follow them, of course, even though you have no idea what the hell is happening or what the plan is. There’s a reason she’s not telling you the plan. Why?

When you walk past the woods where you normally hunt, you start getting fidgety.

“Ok, guys, seriously. Tell me what’s going on.”

You realize you’re heading towards the side of the big hill, starting the climb up through the trees and rocks.

Clarisse turns around.

“Stop. Worrying.”

You grit your teeth. “I’m not worried. I’m just confused.”

She sighs, signaling to Carrie and Matty.

“You know,” she mutters. And they leave, so it’s just the two of you.

They spit up, making their way on the farthest two ends, all leading to the same ledge.

She grabs your wrists. “Stop cracking your fingers. It’s annoying, and you’ll hurt ‘em.”

“Then tell me what’s going on.”

She lets go of one of your wrists, but keeps her tight grip on the other, forcing you to keep pace behind her.

“I’m not gonna tell you again, Y/N. Don’t worry. I’m not going to put you in danger, obviously.” She laughs, as if the idea is ridiculous. “You’re a damn good archer.”

“Oh, my Gods. Did you just compliment me?”

She tenses up, finally realizing she did it.

“D-don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, I won’t. It will just be our little secret, won’t it?”

You bite your lip as you smile so you don’t burst out laughing.

“Sure,” she mutters, and you don’t miss the way she stares at your lips. She clears her throat, finally letting go of your wrist. “Percy Jackson-”

“Who’s a baby.”

“-attacked us last night.”

You raise an eyebrow, walking next to her. “Did you attack him first?”

She doesn’t answer that.

“I doubted you would join us. I just didn’t want you to be alone in the woods.”

“Why?”

“Hm, I saw Annabeth as we left the bathrooms. She knows, she knows we’re gonna get revenge so Luke’s gonna go straight for the flag because we’re not in the woods.”

“So you’re just sacrificing the entire game for revenge? Against a 12-year-old?”

“Revenge,” she mutters, thinking over it. “That’s a fun word.”

She smiles, looking at you.

“Oh, Gods,” you mutter.

—-

The rest of the walk continues in silence, until you can see Carrie and Matty in the distance, both waiting for Clarisse’s signal. She grins.

“Now, why don’t you just stay behind me and draw an arrow, and tell me if anyone’s coming. And when he’s distracted, you’ll sneak around behind him and block him from escaping, hm?”

You look around the forest. “Okay. But, Clarisse-”

She smacks her hand over your face. “I don’t need your morality right now. I just need you to keep those pretty eyes open and be our lookout.”

“Fine,” you hiss as you throw your hand off her mouth.

“Thank you,” she smiles, sarcastically. “Was that so hard?”

You mock her under your breath, but she signals to Carrie and Matty. They all start walking forward, trying for stealth, but your feet make sink into the gravel. He hears them. He sits up.

You don’t know anything about Percy Jackson, except for the fact he supposedly attacked the three musketeers you call your friends and possibly killed a Minotaur.

True to your word, you stay behind Clarisse, watching as she lifts her helmet off, throwing it to the ground.

Her spear sinks into the dirt.

“Flag’s that way,” Percy says. “It’s not here.”

“We know.”

You start walking out from behind her. His eyes flick between all four of you.

“Yeah, glory’s fine.” You can feel her eyes on you. “Revenge is more fun.”

She looks up at her spear, slamming it down, and you hear the familiar crackle as it lights up. Red hot electricity.

She laughs a bit.

He scrambles for his sword and spear, forgoing his helmet. They close him in. You walk around Carrie and behind him. His eyes move between you and Clarisse, but there’s nothing he can do to stop the four of you from surrounding him.

“No maiming. It’s like the one rule.”

His stance isn’t even close to correct.

“Yeah, I guess I’ll lose dessert privileges for a while,” she fake frets, looking up at her spear. She smiles and looks back at him. “I’ll live.”

Her face twists into a mask of focus and she swings out at him. He manages to dodge her first hit, and block the second with his shield.

She looks at Carrie and Matty. They lunge forward, attacking him together, and he certainly is a demigod- he has a natural talent.

But you can only really focus on the way she lifts her spear back over her head.

She grunts and spins, shocking him, before jabbing forward at his armor, making him fall back over the log he used to be laying on, right at your feet.

“I’m actually not interested in maiming or killing you, believe it or not,” she says, standing over him. “I just want you to admit you’re a fraud. It’d make me feel better. Are you feeling up to that yet?”

The way she holds her spear, the way she says it’ll make her feel better- you miss the way he swings out with his shield, hitting you in the shins.

“Fuck,” you hiss, leaning down to touch your burning leg. “Oh, fuck, that hurt.”

Percy grunts and takes off running.

“Y/N,” Matty says, a silent question in his concerned voice.

“I’m fine,” you mumble, shaking your leg out.

Clarisse glares at his retreating figure.

“I guess he has a fucking death wish,” she whispers, voice full of a deadly promise.

She grunts and launches herself over the log, Carrie and Matty following. You straighten yourself and take off running after them. You leg does burn, but you still manage to keep pace. Besides, Matty is already far ahead, surprising him and knocking him down from the path, making him tumble through the woods and land on the beach.

Matty and Carrie wave their swords at him from the right. He pants and breathes heavily, backing up, but when he turns around to run- Clarisse is there.

You draw your bow again, out of habit.

The arrows you use aren’t actual arrows of course, but filed down to little circle rocks at the end. They won’t kill you, but they fucking hurt.

You can’t help but giggle as he falls onto his back, scared just by Clarisse being there.

She laughs too, before all three of them launch into an attack.

They push him back, towards you, and you step back with them, waiting for the perfect moment.

But your eyes drift up to Clarisse. She’s hanging back for just a second while Matty and Carrie jab at him. She looks… proud. She looks really fucking proud that you’re laughing at this 12-year-olds misery.

But Clarisse was right. Revenge is fun. And you hate it, but you can’t stop it.

You smile back at her, and it’s like those nights at the bonfire, you know you’ll never speak of it again. It doesn’t matter. Right now, there’s angelic music playing in your head, and you’re watching her. You’re watching her, the sweat on her brow, the way her hands clasp her spear.

Her face twists into something else.

“Y/N!” she shouts, but Carrie and Matty pushed him too far, you didn’t move back enough- distracted by her- and you slam into each other, a tangle of limbs and metal.

He does this awkward sort of flip over you, landing a few feet behind you. You drop your bow in favor of catching yourself, and it gets caught on his shield and dragged along with him.

It’s a blur, you yelp as you go down, Percy groans.

They’re all standing there, tense and watching the way Percy stands up with your bow in his hands. His stance is nowhere near correct, it actually makes you cringe more than your bruised side after the fall.

Why the hell are you the one who keeps getting hurt?

Percy let’s out a breath. “Why don’t we all just walk away and forget this happened?”

“You just made that impossible,” Clarisse hisses.

You just want to get an ice pack on your leg and sit down. You’re tired. You want to boss Clarisse around as payment for bringing you here.

“Okay, okay, just stop. This is stupid, all of you. He’s, like, 12. He didn’t do it on purpose, you’re just attacking him for no reason.” Carrie and Matty look at the ground. Clarisse glares at you.

You turn around and face Percy. “Just go, okay.”

He looks between you and Clarisse.

“O-okay,” he breathes.

You can feel her move, hear her footsteps in the sand, her spear cutting through the wind. She comes around you, and Percy gets scared, so he raises up the bow and let’s it go- pointed straight at her face.

But it never hits her. It hits you, of course, because you have the worst luck in the world.

It hits you right in the chest, and it doesn’t kill you, but Percy is strong and it knocks the wind out of you.

Clarisse throws her spear to the ground and catches you, screaming your name at the top of her lungs.

Gods, this was so stupid. All of it. He didn’t mean to hurt you, he meant to stop her from attacking him. Because Clarisse is bloodthirsty. She cares about no one else but herself.

You were stupid to think she ever did.

But even through all of this, everyone treating you like a rag doll, you stare into Clarisse’s eyes. She’s frozen. She’s watching the rapid rise and fall of your chest, she’s watching the way you press your hand into your chest, trying to breathe, she’s looking at the fear in your eyes.

You’re terrified. And Clarisse looks the exact same way you feel.

You mouth her name.

Carrie and Matty are gathered around you, telling you to just breathe, take a breath in, but you can’t.

Clarisse let’s go of you and ignores your hands trying to hold her back, ignores Carrie warning her.

Oh, Gods, you’re in love with her and she’s just your friend, but it all hurts and you just need her right now.

Percy tries to scramble away from what he’s done, but Clarisse grabs him by his shirt and holds him up.

You think she’s actually going to kill him- then the conch sounds.

You all turn around.

The blue team runs to the beach, sticking the red flag into the ground. They all cheer loudly, Luke and Chris at the center of it.

Clarisse throws Percy back down on the ground.

She picks up your bow. Matty helps you stand up, you can breathe now, and you’re really fine. You just couldn’t for a minute. You don’t look at Clarisse, even though you want to.

—-

The four of you end up at the sword practice field, sitting on picnic tables like you did that one day.

Matty touches a few scratches on his arms from where he burst through the woods, scraping himself on something thorny.

Clarisse walks towards a dummy and starts attacking it. She lets all her anger out on it. They didn’t win, and her revenge is incomplete so, its not even worth it. You could have told her that from the beginning, but whatever.

Clarisse can do whatever she wants. She doesn’t listen to you, she doesn’t care about you- not as much as you want her too. Not as much as you care about her.

She’s so wonderfully in her element it makes you want her more. This is where she belongs, in the field in the sun, with her spear in her hands. She belongs here, where she feels closest to her father and farthest away from her responsibilities, from the constant battle it is for her to keep her emotions in check.

Even after a minute of her obliterating the dummy, she seems better. Finally, after another minute, she slows down until she stops.

You don’t stop looking at her until she turns around and looks at you. She breathes out.

“Are you okay?” she asks, sitting down on the opposite end of the bench.

“Fine. Just got the wind knocked out of me.”

She hums.

“C’mon, Matty,” Carrie says. “Let’s go back to the cabin, I’m thirsty.”

You’re not ready to get up yet, you’re too comfortable here on the bench, it’s too easy to breathe in the valley.

Clarisse flexes, stretching her spear over her head, and you watch her. Of course you watch her. You don’t think you’ll ever just be able to look at her in passing- you’ll always have to focused, you’ve always have to have your eyes totally and completely on her.

Like she’s some book you have to study. Like she’s all you’ve ever wanted to look at.

“Stop staring at me, weirdo,” she mumbles.

You sit up straighter. “I’m not. You’re just flexing dramatically all over the place, of course I’m gonna take notice of it.”

“Okay, sure,” she taunts, and you remember what happened, you remember how you felt when she walked away from you to continue with her revenge.

“I-I’m gonna go back to my cabin.” You don’t wanna be around her, not right now at least. “See you later, Clarisse.”

She stands up immediately. “I’ll walk you.”

“No, thanks, it’s fine.”

“Y/N, you got hurt because of me.” She crouches down and tugs up your pant leg. “How’s your leg? Your side?”

Matty, Carrie and Clarisse too, sometimes, are always touching you and doing things for you. It’s sweet. They aren’t good with the words, but they show you they love you, and that means more than anything else.

If she hadn’t done what she did, if she really cared about you, then you wouldn’t mind her touching you like this. You would love it.

“Clarisse- get off of me,” you shake your leg out, which hurts a bit, but she lets go and stands up.

Her face twists into one of anger, her fists clenched.

“I’m sorry, okay. I’m sorry you got hurt. I feel really bad about it, so just let me do this for you.”

“It’s not about that,” you mumble, cursing yourself and hoping she doesn’t hear you. Of course she does.

“Then what’s it about?”

You try to turn away, but she clamps her around your wrist and tugs you back towards her.

“What’s it about, Y/N?”

She holds your hand to her chest.

You both know what it’s about.

“Just stop, Clarisse,” but your body betrays you and you make no move to push her away. She notices, of course she notices, and she pulls you closer. “We’ve been dancing around each other for months.”

She blinks and her grip on your wrist loosens.

“And it was fun. It was a fun game, okay, Clarisse. But you can stop playing it now. You showed me today that your care more about yourself then you ever could me. I’m sick of it.” You tug your hand away. “I’m so sick of it, Clarisse.”

She grips you tighter again.

“What the hell are you talking about? I’m running around looking like a fool, and you think I care about myself? You think I don’t care about you?”

Your breath is a little shaky again.

“You could have helped me and you chose revenge.”

“For you.”

“What?”

“He slammed his shield into your leg, knocked you over, and then shot you in the chest. Of course I wanted revenge. Not for me, it was about that at first, but then, Gods, did you do something to him?”

You laugh. She smiles, staring at your face like she’s seeing you for the first time.

“Like, he just kept coming after you, I don’t get it. But I… I like you. Like, like you. And I don’t know what that means, but I don’t really care. I just… want you. I want to be near you all the time. And I go crazy when you’re with someone else. I want to touch you all the time, hug you, hold you… I want to kiss you so bad I think I’m gonna fucking explode.”

Fuck is always the first word you think of when you think of her. It used to be because she made you so angry with the secrets, but now it’s just the things the says make you wonder how much more you can fall in love with her.

“Well, I don’t really want you to explode,” you roll your eyes. “That’d be too messy. Besides, I-”

“You’re always such a fucking worrier.”

She plants her hands on your face and presses her lips to yours. You can feel the slight desperateness she won’t say, but she’ll tell you with her body. You can feel everything she won’t show, won’t say. How beautiful you are. How scared she was. How much she wanted you and for how long.

You feel it all just by her lips, and you can’t help but wonder what more she can tell you.

She pulls back and smiles.

“If you tell anyone about this, I’ll deny it.”

“I’m the light of your life, Clarisse.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, grabbing you tighter and kissing you again. You grab onto her arms, smiling. You always wondered what he muscles would feel like against you.

There’s only one word to describe the way it feels.

Fuck.

—-

clarisse when she accidentally told y/n she has pretty eyes: PLEASE DONT NOTICE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

y/n my ladybug not noticing: 🧍‍♀️

—-

y/n and clarisse just being insane together WDYM YOURE LAUGHING WHEN A KID FALLS OVER STOP

—-

clarisse: bitch stop WORRYING

y/n: WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME SHUT UP

—-

clarisse and y/n both pretending that clarisse giving her a dagger wasnt literally a declaration of love and also clarisse throwing her spear down to catch y/n???? bitch she’s in LOVE

—-

taglist:

@jazhandzzz

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss

[bump1nthen1ght]

Silver and Gold (M!Siren!Reader x M!Pirate Captain)

Pairing: Male!Flirty!Siren!Reader x Male!Pirate Captain

Genre: Pirates, Flirting, First Meetings

Word Count: 2570 words

Warnings: N/A

Summary: For living a life in a sailor’s death trap, you think you’d be used to handsome pirate captains, rushing headlong into adventure. But something about today’s quarry seems different.

Request May I request a flirty male! siren! reader with a male gruff pirate captain? I'll leave the details up to you! Love your works by the way, take all the dang time you need. :3

A/N: Alright now THIS one should be accurate to the request lolol. You guys get a two for one special!

Life in the Dragon’s Teeth was shockingly boring.

Its reputation is infamous, the majority of sailors being sensible enough to leave it well enough alone. Of the people who dared to enter most were young and braggadocious sailors looking to prove their worth, who often made for quite boring sport. They always thought they were somehow better than siren magic, that pure belief could beat an enchantment powerful enough to literally make men wantonly fall to their deaths.

Bo-ring.

You think, watching one such ship entering into the gorge, men lined up the sides like pigs ready for slaughter. Your ravenous siblings all leap for the chances, hiding behind treacherous rocks or laying alluringly on outcrops, all ready for a taste. Despite the ship you all sank just one week ago, their bellies never seem to fill.

You however, have grown tired of this. Too easy, too monotonous. Maybe it’s time you finally spread your fins and leave the gorge, head into open water and explore the seas. Would be much more interesting than this, that's for sure.

You roll back over on your fins as the siren’s begin to sing, a haunting chorus bouncing off the chasm as the ship deftly avoids the rocks. Rolling your eyes, you daydream about the Great Barrier Reef, wondering if it’s as magnificent as they say.

But then-

“Ugh, come on!” A particularly voracious sister of yours hum to a tune of discontent, harshing her usually sweet melody. “I’m hungry! Why is this taking so long?”

“I don’t know.” A more rational brother of yours whispers, just loud enough for you to hear from your outcrop. “They should be overboard by now.”

That’s enough to have you turning over, eyes lazily sweeping over the ship, now deep in the Dragon’s Teeth. To your surprise, every sailor still seems hard at work, keeping mindful of the edges of the ships, but fulfilling their duties. Even the watchman at the crow’s nest, isolated as they are, stays perched and at the ready, looking over at your beckoning family with nervous yet un-enchanted eyes.

Now this is new.

You slide down a mossy outcrop, slipping in between the confused masses of your siblings, whose songs grow more and more discordant. Some have even swam up to the sides, clawing at the bows and preening like young pups. Still, the sailors ignore them, not paying any mind.

For a whole ship to be free of a whole horde of siren’s is a shocking thing, a terrifying thing, a wonderful new thing. You have to know more, so you crawl along the rocks, exploring the entire hull with watching eyes. 

Is there some boon they’ve brought with them? Did they find a witch and ask for safe passage? Has Poseidon himself blessed their voyage?

You wander from man to man, trying to find a hint of any wills breaking. But while curious eyes occasionally steal a glance at your siblings, curiosity is its reason, not compulsion. Any who dare get a sharp retort from the man at the helm, though they hardly deem to notice.

It’s then you realize, all these men are deadly silent. Not a peep between them, not even shouting orders. Except the helmsman, all the others silently following a preapproved pattern, a routine.

Oh, and what a helmsman he is.

It's easy to see how much better dressed he is than his men, a crimson coat that falls to his knees, closed by several belts and buckles over a ruffle white shirt. Gold studs decorate up and down his ears yet he is sparsely decorated elsewhere. Long black hair peppered with gray is tied in a low ponytail, healthy and silky despite a life at sea. His beard is less maintained, more scraggly, split apart by the occasional scar across his jaw. His boots are polished leath, not a scratch or stain on them, and his trousers are well fitted. Especially across his buttocks, which you take the time to appreciate.

The other thing that catches your eyes are his hands. Hands which swiftly attend to the wheel, in fact are tied to the rudders. His breathing is labored slightly, his cheeks darkened from focused exertion. Still, he keeps his eyes straight, shouting loudly to a young third mate who dares to ean over the side of the ship. The man ignores him, up until the captain kicks at a nearby can into the man's leg, shocking him to attention.

Oh, I see.

Seems you’ve found yourself an interesting prey.

—

Royce felt like a fool.

All his life he’s been a pragmatic man. Where other Captains gambled, brawled, and squandered their lives in stupid feats of bravado, he had always kept a level head. Sure, he’s a pirate and knew to have some fun, but he always did so with care.

He had weighed his options heavily before deciding on the Dragon’s Keep. It wasn’t easy, nor without risk, but the quickness of the route and the assurances of his men had convinced him. His plan would allow them to reach their next port in half the time, beating out any other rival crews to what was rumored to be an excellent bounty. He had even concocted a plan to ensure casualties would be at a minimum, scrounging for texts and stories about the fabled place to be best prepared.

But he had just been so goddamned curious.

“Cotton in the ears, huh?” 

A melodic voice knocks Royce out of his focus, thanking the gods for his resilience and not flinching at the site of the siren, now hoisted up the side of his ship. He thanks his foresight in tying his hands to the wheel, knowing that even without a song, the siren could easily lure him to his death.

“It’s a good plan, surprised you’re the first to think of it. There’s always a risk of course, that we’d be louder, but it seems they’ve packed those eardrums full.” The siren drags a clawed hand across the railing. The siren has a more human disguise, fins and teeth and scales all out to show. It does not make him any less alluring. 

Glowing yellow-green eyes dance up and down the captain’s form, a black tongue wetting the siren’s lips.

“So why not you, Captain?” The title drips out of the siren’s mouth like honey, his beck arching as he relaxes along the railing, precariously balancing his weight yet not a care in the world. “Is it supposed to be a challenge, a test of your willpower?” Sharp eyes dart to his tied hands “Or just plain ego?”

Royce takes a deep breath, meeting the beast’s gaze. He is a proud man, maybe too proud, but he’s not stupid.

“I am an example for my men, siren. I cannot be bested by a simple song.”

“Hmm, a likely story.” The siren sits upright, tail now swung over and onto the ship. He leans forward, a gleeful look in his eyes. “You are doing rather well. Most men would have torn their arms clean off by now.” A heat lingers over Royce’s arms, the siren’s gaze covetous. “It would’ve been a shame, they seem like very nice arms indeed.”

Royce tries not to feel flattered. These are games, that is all.

“I have faced many challenges in my life. None of them have claimed me yet.”

Royce keeps the details to a minimum. He’s content that he’s able to keep his composure this much, the siren testing his strength.

The siren’s laugh is as frightening as it is charming.

“Ah, so ego it is. Though you seem smarter than other idiots who have tried it before.” The siren goes back to his tied hands, to his tense posture. “And far more handsome. Awfully bold, coming into a territory like this looking like that.”

Royce scoffs. 

“Are you here only to play with you food, beast? Or do you find joy in plying me with compliments instead of singing?”

“Ooh, some sass! Good to know your words are as sharp as your sword, Captain.” The siren licks his lips. “And that jawline. My, my, I think you put even my kind to shame.”

Royce rolls his eyes, only making the siren laugh more. It seems that this Siren is less interested in eating him and more in entertaining himself.

“I have to ask, most others who pass through here are looking for a fight. A chance to prove themselves. You seem rather content on passing through, your men as well. Why come through this place?”

Royce stays quiet, thinking over any potential danger in revealing his plans to siren. If anything, nothing could be more dangerous than the position he is in now.

“It’s the quickest route. My men seemed up to the challenge, and so was I. We’re pirates, it’d be unbefitting for us to cower away from the riskier route.”

The siren nods. “True, true. Still, quite a risk indeed.” The siren flashes a smile full of glittering fangs.

The ship rocks, several of his men thrown to their knees as a stray rock scrapes against its side. The siren rocks with the waves, easily keeping his balance.

Royce grits his teeth. Is that what this was? A distraction? But the siren seems disquieted, slightly annoyed.

“Gah, fucking ridiculous that lot. So gluttonous.” The siren leans over, hissing an angry song. Royce almost wishes for the cotton, but finds no compulsing rhythm.

The ship stops rocking, the sound of rushing water as sirens fall to the wayside. The cacophonous songs fall to the side, though some still linger, waiting for a fortunate accident to occur.

“This place you're going to, will it have adventure?”

Royce raises his eyebrow.

“One would hope. Treasure too.”

The Siren’s smile is giddy, almost like a child.

“Then it’d be a shame if you got stuck here, then.”

The siren leans over the side, raising his hand, pointing to the portside.

“You’ll want to turn 20 degrees. There's a hidden outcrop that will cut through your hull.”

Royce grits his teeth, but follows the siren’s instructions. The ship sails smoothly, barely rocking.

“Now 10 degrees.”

  Royce turns again, just missing another jagged set of rocks. Sirens hiss in the water, Royce’s companion hissing back.

“Seems dangerous, betraying your own kind like this.”

“Bah, they’ll survive. They’re not even hungry, just peckish.”

The siren eyes him up and down again.

“Though you have me absolutely ravenous, Captain.”

Royce focuses on the wheel, hoping the siren doesn’t see his ears tips turn red.

—

This is definitely the most fun you’ve had in the while.

The Captains is as cunning as he is handsome, deft hands talented with the wheel. He peppers in anecdotes from his times at sea, a casual tone for such riveting stories.

In between instructions you take the time to eye him up more, those thick thighs and that strong back. You weren’t lying, he does put some sirens to shame.

“You’ll want to avoid those.” You point toward a deceptive spot of calm water. “The area alone sank an entire Navy Ship once. We feasted for weeks, though the meat was less than exemplary.”

“With only military rations, I’d imagine they aren’t very tasty.”

“Exactly! Gods, you’d think I’d be the only siren with taste around here.”

You see the faintest of a smirk from The Captain, which he quickly stomps away. He shares your dark sense of humor, quite fitting. You’ll get a laugh out of him yet. “15 degrees, starboard-side.”

The Captain follows with ease, your directions trustworthy by now. The crew still seem wary, unaware of the conversation due to the cotton in their ears, but they continue their work. Either their trust in their captain is strong, or they're too terrified to disobey in such treacherous waters.

The sun has begun to peak through, the end of the gorge insight. Your mind is slightly conflicted. A sadness, that the most interesting person you’ve met will soon be on his way. A glee, that this might be your best chance to leave the Teeth and explore the world.

The Captain clears his throat.

“It’s got its ups and downs, pirate life. Plenty of boring days, plenty of dangerous ones, plenty in betweens.” The Captain’s eyes stay on the horizon, safety so close for him and his crew. You smile.

“Would this be one of the ups, or one of the downs?” You wave to the jagged rocks, to the hungry eyes that linger from the water.

“I’m still undecided.”

You and your arm on the railing, watching the tides front the gorge clash with the ones outside.

“Still, it’s better than the same thing everyday. I think that's why most men go to sea, for the adventure, the undiscovered.”

Your eyes must be sparkling, minds filled with whales, sea turtles, with sunken ships and glorious battles.

The sun now speckles the hull of the ship, men visibly relaxing as the bow breaches the Dragon’s Teeth and splashes into safe waters. No one removes the cotton from their ears, however, still aware of your presence.

“I must thank you for your service, siren. I do not think we would’ve made it through unscathed if not for you.”

“____, It’s ____.” You say, eyes still on the wide ocean, on all the possibilities.

The Captain smiles, a familiar longing in your eyes.

“And it’s no problem. I think you’ve helped me more than you know.”

You whisper, heart thrumming. 

“You could join us, you know.” That has you whipping around, eyes wide. “I think you’ve proven yourself more than trustworthy. Besides, it would be helpful to have someone as powerful as you aboard.”

Your heart rises, bubbling up with excitement. But the fearful gaze of the rest of the crew still stings on your back, hackles raised.

“I think I’m gonna go out on my own for a while.” You hum, tapping your claws against wood. “See the world, really prove myself.”

The Captain keeps the quiet, nodding along silently. 

You sigh. Just a couple of hours with this man and you’re already melancholy to leave. For shame, ___, don’t you know better?

“Well, it’s a big ocean, Captain. But I’m sure we’ll see each other again.” You ready yourself on the rail, sitting upright and pivoting your tail to the outside of the ship. “Who knows, maybe I’ll be especially hungry next time.”

The Captain smirks, clicking his teeth.

“I’ll put up a hell of a fight, ___.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will-”

“Royce, the name’s Royce. Captain Royce.”

You smile, scaly cheeks glittering like diamonds in the sun.

“Until we meet again, Captain Royce.”

You give him a wink, eyeing up that gorgeous body of his one last time, and jump tail first into the ocean.

His ship fades into the sun as you swim away, hopeful that you’ll bump into it again one day. A day when you’re more worldly, have more adventurous stories to share.

You eye up the reef, several sirens slinking away, discontent with their food stolen. Whatever, they’ll get over it.

Your older sister might be a little upset about your abrupt departure, but she’ll get over that too. After all, she often leaves to visit that pirate paramour of hers, so what's the big difference?

Hell, maybe next time, you’ll come back with one of your own.

[historyslittlebish]

Hello. I would like to ask for your permission before I submit a full request.

Do you by any chance accept King Baldwin x Male!Reader request? It might involve NSFW scenario as well.

King Baldwin IV x Male!Guard!Reader One shot NSFW: (Completed!)

a/n: Hi anon and I know I declined but I'll still do it because I feel bad for rejecting, Idk how to write NSFW so it's gonna be bad but i'll do it. I also don't know if this is a scenario you wanted but if you wanna request a different one please do! Also I apologize because I have never watched the movie and I'm not sure how accurate this is.

==========================================

Warning: fluff, handjob, occ for our king I think

It was often unheard of, two men in a romantic or sexual relationship. Many thought it was sin, it wasn't something god accepted but they can never really know the answer can they? Why would god let them feel the feelings, why would god allow it to be an option? That is something many people never ponder enough.

Something that a knight named Y/N never pondered until he met with the great king of Jerusalem, Baldwin the IV.

Y/N had been hired as a knight since Baldwin was 12 and Y/N was 15 and a freshly knighted boy. As years past, Y/N was named best soldier in the brackets of the armies. He was agile, quick, resilient, strong, and most of all, loyal.

He was the kings personal guard which he didn't mind at all. He had grown close to the king, enough to get the king to show him his sore ridden face, his scars, his 'ugliness' but to Y/N, he was anything but ugly.

Y/N saw a kind hearted boy and man growing up, intelligent, brave, and strong willed, those were the words Y/N thinks when describing the king, everyone does.

Growing up, he saw Baldwin's determination to become a great king and to overcome his deadly illness. Only one could be truly possible but Baldwin was content, despite being numb to the bone, skin lesions, and more.

Today was like any other. Baldwin had a few things to get done but after that, he could have his peace.

Y/N stood slightly behind the throne Baldwin sat on, staring at the arguing lords and counsel members. Each fighting on whose strategies are better, who's morally righteous, whatever that is available to bicker about.

Y/N heard Baldwin sigh as he raised his hand and made a sound.

Suddenly everyone looked over and quieted down.

"I will meet with Saladin, we shall negotiate peace." Baldwin shifted slightly before hearing one of the older counsel members try to inerject.

"How do we know we can trust that Muslim r-" Baldwin raised his hand once more, immediately silencing the man "He may be Muslim, but we will respect him and treat him with nobility and equality.".

Y/N's heart thumped in his chest at the kings word. The kings kindness and true compassion was incredibly admirable but also making him lust for the king.

The people of the counsel glanced between each other but bowed at the kings words before swiftly making their exit, allowing the two men to be alone and at ease.

Baldwin slowly stood from his throne and looked at Y/N.

Y/N could see the exhaustion in his eyes, his beautiful sky blue eyes. Y/N snapped himself out of his thoughts and kept up a stoic expression.

"What now, my king?" Y/N asked as Baldwin stepped towards him. The king cautiously touched the mans arm and looked deep into his eyes. "I think I require a way to relax before I retire for tonight." As he said this, Baldwin's hand tools Y/N's and slowly led it down to his pelvis area where a little tent formed under his white and gold robes.

"My king.." Y/N breathed as his hand ghosted the man's bulge.

"Make me a happy man, Y/N, I long for your touch." Baldwin's raspy voice murmured as his being was consumed with lust. Y/N doesn't know how a man of God to dare go against him in terms of lust for another male but Y/N can't say he doesn't thoroughly enjoy it.

It doesn't take too long before Y/N helps the king to his quarters and settling on the soft and silky bed.

Y/N helps the king reveal his bulge.

His cock bobbed as soon as it was released from its confines. "Y/N.." Baldwin groans as his hips slightly buck. This is one of those moments when Baldwin thanks the heavens that the feeling in his crotch is not numb or too sore ridden.

Despite the sores, Y/N didn't mind at all. his hungry eyes took in all the kings cock as he played with the tip soaked in pre-cum.

Baldwin groaned as he sat half laying down as the man continued to fiddle with his manhood. Y/N loved the sweet sounds the king was making as he felt himself nearing his peak.

The man let out a loud moan as his semen spilled into the mans hand. As the king came down his high he stared at Y/N in awe, despite him being hired and a guard, he could still love a man like him.

Slowly, Baldwin sat upright and gently grasped Y/N hand, silently hoping that he would not get infected either. Baldwin leaned over and pressed a his to the mans temples.

Y/N softly smiled as he held his beloveds hand, enjoying each others presence. Love radiating off the two.

This is a sin but it is an amazing feeling.

A/N: Hopefully this is to your liking anon! Sorry if its bad :/

[skepwith]

More Parts of the Revenge for OFMD Fans

Part of a series: Revenge Master Post.

This post is about stuff in the body of the ship, going more or less from top to bottom. I’m saving the sails and rigging for my next post. If you want to know more basic terms like fore and aft and bow and stern, look for “Parts of the Revenge” in my master post.

Obviously, using these terms is entirely optional, since David Jenkins et al. are free and easy with the ol' historical accuracy. This list is for pedants like me and people who like historical and specialized language. Enjoy!

Main Deck

The low “walls” on the sides of the open decks were called the bulwarks—they were to keep people from falling overboard. On the Revenge, the bulwarks are topped by a rail (railing).

A gap in the bulwark, together with a set of rungs on the hull, was called an entry port. It allowed people to climb aboard from a dinghy.

The top edge of the bulwark was the gunwale, pronounced gunnel. The expression “loaded to the gunwales” is still used to mean very full. The top edges of a dinghy are also called gunwales.

An opening in the deck is called a hatchway. I wrote about hatches a while ago, but what I didn’t realize was that the hatch is the part that covers the hatchway. The wooden grid that lets light and air through is called the grating.

In the bow, the curving rail that goes from the figurehead to the hull is called the head rail, which would’ve been really helpful to know for my toilet post. Oh well.

Stede’s journal could at a stretch be called a logbook (or log). This was a book in which an officer noted details of the ship’s daily progress and journey. Probably a bit less fanciful than Stede’s version.

Weaponry

The Revenge has guns (the word used for cannons) on her main deck and her gun deck. Before a gun was fired, the barrel was cleared with the sponge, then loaded with gunpowder and shot and wads of cloth, all of which was tamped down with the rammer. There were different types of shot, or ammunition; cannonballs were called round shot.

To fire a gun, a lit fuse (usually a slow match) was brought in contact with the vent at the top of the gun—called the touchhole—to ignite the gunpowder. (The wick added in OFMD isn’t accurate. Shocking, I know.) The slow match was usually held with a staff called a linstock, tucked into a notch on the end. You didn’t want to be right next to the cannon when it went off, because there was a non-zero chance it would misfire and explode in your face.

Despite what you see in movies, cannons didn’t produce a lot of fire and smoke; the cannonball did damage by going unstoppably through hulls, masts, and people—often many at a time—like a deadly Energizer bunny.

The gunpowder was kept in kegs in a small room called the powder magazine. (A magazine is an ammunition storage area.) This room was in the hull of the ship, below the water line, to minimize the chances of a stray spark sending the whole ship up in flames. The shot was kept in the shot-locker, a small room in the hold (though this word wasn’t recorded till 1805). As we know, Stede calls this the ball room.

Besides the regular cannons, the Revenge also has swivel guns, small cannons mounted on swivels. These were too small to damage another ship; they were there to fire at boarders and approaching boats. Or, you know, to set off fireworks.

To take an enemy ship, sailors might use a grapnel (or grappling hook). These were attached to a rope and thrown at enemy bulwarks or rigging so the ships could be pulled together for boarding.

The Gun Deck

Everything on a ship had to have a special name: stairs were always called ladders; the floor was called the deck; and a wall or partition inside the hull was called a bulkhead.

Some of you may know that a ship’s kitchen is called a galley. However, this usage wasn’t recorded until 1750; the earlier word was cook-room.

Likewise, the mess is where you eat on a ship, but this sense wasn’t recorded until the late 1800s. In OFMD’s time, mess meant “a group of people who eat together,” like officers of the same rank or sailors on the same watch.

You might know a berth as a shelf or box to sleep on, like Stede’s (and Ed’s) bed, but this usage wasn’t recorded until the 1790s. The earlier meaning, used from at least 1706, is “a room where a particular group (such as officers or midshipmen) eats and sleeps.” So you might call Jim’s room a berth—except that it changes hands, and its name has been firmly established as the Room.

A berth is also a place in a port or harbour where you can moor (park) a vessel, and thirdly, the safety margin around another vessel or object, which gives us the phrase “to give [it] a wide berth.”

Finally, the area where the animals (remember them?) were kept was a small triangular area in the bow called the manger. This seems to be where the Revenge’s en suite is, at least as far as I can figure, but if you want to include the animals for whatever reason, they’d probably live somewhere around there.

Storage

Some of the stuff on board was stored in casks, a.k.a. barrels. These could be any size, but a large cask was also called a butt. A scuttlebutt was a butt full of water attached to the deck for sailors to drink from. Unfortunately, the word wasn’t recorded before 1800, and the “gossip” meaning not till a century after that. But it’s a great word and you should use it anyway.

A keg was a small cask, usually less than ten gallons, used for things like gunpowder or rum.

A sea chest was a wooden box used to store an officer’s personal effects—or to confine a nosy hombrecito.

The Ship’s Bottom

(As it were.)

In several of my posts and diagrams I said the lower decks of the Revenge were the gun deck, the orlop, and the hold. But my friends, I made a grievous error: the Revenge has no orlop. I know!

In season 2, for the first time we get to see what’s below the gun deck. When Frenchie opens the secret passage in the kitchen, he reveals a set of stairs—sorry, a ladder—down to a grim, damp space. The kitchen is on the gun deck, so this is the deck immediately below it, and while on most ships that would’ve been the orlop, in this case it’s the hold.

The hold was the lowest compartment of the ship, used for storage and cargo. It also sometimes held the ballast—heavy stuff (e.g., pig iron, gravel, stones, lead) put there to improve the ship’s balance. The lowest part of the hold itself was called the bilge or bilges—the area where bilgewater collected and had to be pumped out.

Episode 3 shows the water on the floor—sorry, deck—making it pretty clear we’re in the bilges of the hold. On top of that, an Instagram post by crewmember Will Giles (shared on Tumblr by @ourflagmeansbts) mentioned repurposing the “bilge set.”

Which all proves that the Revenge’s hold is immediately below the gun deck, with no orlop in between.

The keel is the structural piece that runs lengthwise along the middle of the hull’s bottom. Keel-hauling was to drag someone along the outside of the keel, underwater, as a punishment—very nasty, often fatal.

Also underwater, at the stern, is the rudder, whose movement makes the ship turn. On a dinghy you steer by moving the tiller, a horizontal bar attached to the rudder post. On a ship like the Revenge, you turn the ship’s wheel, which is attached to the tiller via cables, and that moves the rudder.

That’s all for now! Coming next: sails and rigging, in port, and more sailing lingo.

Sources: Wikipedia, historicnavalfiction [dot] com, Oxford English Dictionary

[dreamywriter143]

My Dearly Detested

Status: Part One (7 part Mini-Series, 1/7)

Genre: Enemies to Lover troupe, Angst, Rude Neteyam, Comforting Lo’ak, some fluff, Romance, violence. Mentions of blood.

Warnings: Depictions of blood, Battles and cursing. Rude Neteyam😭. Reader is older then Neteyam by 1year.

Parings: Neteyam X Y/n (Reader)

Summary: Neteyam hates Y/n. He never liked how she always bested him in everything and never once sought the praises he was accustomed to. She had no one, yet she had everyone in the palm of her hand. He despised her, and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon. The but happens when the RDA threat comes and Jake tasks her with watching his sons? Neteyam can’t help but grow a newfound hatred.

Word count: 4.4k

_________________________________________

The beauty of Pandora never ceases to amaze Y/n. The forest is surrounded with foliage, beautiful fauna and trees as high as the eyes could see. It was simply breathtaking. It didn’t matter how familiar she became with the environment around her, new discoveries seemed to amaze her every day. The simple yet striking beauty, that is her home planet. Eywa'eveng.

Y/n regulates her breathing, perched on a tree branch high above the ground. Over the years she had mastered her skills to perfection, she could walk the entire forest without a single sound. Something she was quite proud of as many admired her for it. 

Y/n peers down below her, her bow at the ready. The perfectly hand crafted bow seemed weightless under her hold as she grips it tightly. Her eyes scan her target, who was oblivious to her presence.  She carefully pulls back to reach for an arrow, aligning it against her bow with ease. She had been following a lone yerik for a while now. She watches it bend its long neck to munch on a plant near him. 

Y/n pulls her arrow back, her eyes zoning in on its head. A clean headshot, sure to relieve the creature from pain. Taking a sharp intake of breath Y/n whispers a silent prayer under her breath. 

‘Eywa rutxe’ srung ‘sno’ (Eywa, please guide me) (A/N: Also, the translation may not be accurate. Please ignore that!)

In a flash Y/n lets go of her arrow, striking the yerik with deadly force knocking in down immediately. Y/n lets out the breath she was holding in, jumping down the greenery below. Her feet land with a soundless thump, her feet carrying her towards the moaning yerik. 

Y/n peers down at the animal, crouching down beside it. Her hands caressed its body reassuringly as it laid beneath her, letting out soft whimpers of pain. Thankfully Y/n’s precision was on point, her arrow landing exactly where the nociceptors were. The pain receptors of the brain. After her Tsahik training Y/n made it her mission to learn more, her intellect and drive was enough to push herself through tedious teachings proving to be effective in the long run. 

“Shhh, Shhhh little one” Y/n whispers, taking out her knife from its sheath. The animal whimpers, seeming to accept its fate. 

“Oel ngati kameie, ma tsmukan, ulte ngaru seiyi irayo” Y/n whispered, inserting her knife into the yerik sliencing it. She carefully pulls out her arrow in the process, her lips formed in a saddened frown. (I See you, Brother, and thank you)

“Ngari hu Eywa salew tirea, tokx 'ì'awn slu Na'viyä hapxì” (Your spirit goes with Eywa, your body stays behind to become part of the People)

Finishing off with the prayer her nimble fingers closes the creature's eyes, letting out a long sigh. Y/n's ears perk up to the sound of footsteps, the  pattern of the steps proving who it  was that approached her.

“Another clean kill, I must say you never cease to surprise me numeyu” (Student) Tarsem teases, walking towards the large catch of the day. A proud smile adorned his lips as he glanced down at Y/n. His student who seemed to grow up too fast for his liking. It seemed like just the other day when Y/n would latch onto his leg begging to join him on his hunts with her watery pleading eyes. 

Now, Y/n was an established warrior. She completed her Iknimaya a while ago with flying colors gaining admiration and respect amongst the clan. She had grown as a warrior and as a woman. Her rights were done long ago  and she grew to become a beautiful Na’vi. It didn't go unnoticed how many suitable men who ogled her, wanting to court her. 

Her locks were long and always braided neatly, adorned with beautiful beads and pearls. Her hips grew wider as did her height, though she was still shorter than Tarsem and many other men. It didn't stop her fierce personality. Her e/c eyes, unique and eye-catching. Y/n was the epitome of beauty, requests to court her being asked regularly. But Y/n never reciprocated any gestures, her mission to become the best warrior was far too important. She had stated loud and clear that she had no intention of finding a mate, even at the ripe age of 20.

Tarsem’s mom would always scold her, claiming it was the perfect time to find a mate and start a family. But even with all her accomplishments, Y/n still felt unfulfilled. She felt like she didn't quite accomplish her goal, and she wouldn't let anything stop her from reaching that feeling of fulfillment. 

“Numeyu? Really?” Y/n chuckles, wiping her arrowhead while she stands up. She hated how short she was compared to the Tarsem who still towered over her. 

“Oh, sorry taronyutsyìp. I keep forgetting how grown up you are!” (Little hunter) Tarsem tosses back, loving the way Y/n’s little nose twitches at the nickname. He places his arm over her head teasingly, displaying how tall he is compared to her. Y/n huffs out in annoyance. 

“Yea? Well, at leas-”

“Tarsem!” 

An urgent voice calls out, running towards the duo. Kay’m, Tarsem’s friend and fellow warrior, bursts through the bushes. Y/n bit her lip from bursting out in laughter. He looked to be in disarray, leaves caught in between his locks making him look silly. 

“Yes? What's the matter?” Tarsem asks, taking a step away  from Y/n. He seemed to notice the look of mild worry over his friend's features, causing his tail to twitch in attentiveness. 

“The Olo’eyktan wishes to speak to you” He gasps out, trying to regain control over his breathing. Tarsem furrows his eyebrows but nods nonetheless.

“He wanted to speak to Y/n as well” 

Y/n’s ears perk up, her eyes looking towards  Kay’m in question. Sure, Y/n was very close to the Sully’s. She grew to spend most of her free time with Kiri and Tuk, who she loved dearly. The little girl always tried following Y/n around in pure awe. Though Lo’ak had grown up a lot over the years, Y/n still found herself covering up for him, trying her best to keep him out of trouble when his brother couldn't. Speaking of Neteyam-

“He didn't say why. But it's urgent. I'll take care of this, please go right away” Kay’m urges, his tone serious. Y/n glances down at her kill, letting out a sigh of defeat. 

“Lets go”

~~~~~~~~~

Y/n follows Tarsem’s lead towards the Olo’eyktan tent, nodding to the Na’vi who smile at her presence. Y/n loved the village, but she loved the forest more. The only time she spends her free time in the village would be when she would come to restock her arrows, hang around her guardians and Mo’at or to pick up Kiri and Tuk to accompany her in exploring. 

“What are you doing here?” a sharp voice calls, stopping Y/n mid step. Thankfully she stopped when she did , or else would have collided against Tarsem who also froze at the cold tone. Y/n turns her head, her ears folding upon taking in the figure standing a few feet away from her. 

He stood tall, much taller than her. His braided locks fell past his shoulder, his visor still placed neatly fastened on his forehead. The gear he wore proved that he was flying his Ikran prior to now. His posture was stiff, his broad veiny muscles folded against one another as he eyed Y/n. She watches nervously as his piercing unwavering gaze trails from her face all the way down to her toes. It made her feel warm, and cold at the same time. Warm because she didn't understand the fuzzy feeling she felt whenever he stared at her. Cold because she knew what his stare always meant, hatred. 

The only other warrior that could be considered a rival to her feats of accomplishment. The only other warrior that despised the very soil she walked upon. 

Neteyam. 

“The Olo’eyktan called for both of us” Tarsem informs, his jaws slightly clenched. 

He looks back at Y/n who snaps from her trance. He nods forward  indicating for her to follow, before stepping into the tent. Y/n hurries to follow only to be intercepted by Neteyam. He stepped near her, his gaze shooting straight down her soul. Y/n gulps, her palms growing sweaty. 

“H-Hi” she stutters out, in a meek attempt to erase the awkward atmosphere. Neteyam snorts at her words, throwing one last glare her way before disappearing inside the tent. 

Y/n huffs out before stepping inside as well. The first thing she notices is how tense everyone looked. Jake stood tall, his eyes holding worry. Neytiri paced around, her fear wafting off her in waves. 

“Yes Sir, I’m quite familiar with that area” Tarsem replies snapping Y/n from her thoughts. She takes a step beside her former teacher, her head held high. She had to force herself to look straight, to avoid the harsh stare Neteyam sent her way from his spot across the tent. 

“Yes, That's why I've called you two. We don't know where she could be and I don't want to alert the clan by sending a search party….yet” Jake responded calmly. Y/n’s eyes widen, she glances around frantically.  She knew Kiri had lessons with Mo’at, and Lo’ak was always busy during this time hanging out with Spider. That only left one Na’vi unaccounted for. 

“Where is Tuk?” 

Neteyam curses under his breath, his scoff not going unnoticed. “Can't you hear? She's been missing since the morning.” He relays, ignoring how Neytiri hisses at his tone. Y/n frowns, turning her gaze to Tarsem. She must have been so deep in her thoughts that she missed the part where Jake had debriefed  them on what the situation was.

“We’ll look for her, don't you worry about it Sir” Tarsem declares, ignoring the staring contest Neteyam was having with Y/n.

Neteyam turns to his father after hearing Tarsem’s words. He held back the urge to raise his voice.

“I’ll help too. You won’t be needing her help, Tarsem and I can take care of it ourselves” Neteyam pipes up, stepping forward. 

He was deeply worried for his sister, he got the call from his father while he was out on his solo hunt. He immediately rushed home in order to find her, he just didn't see why Y/n had to be included. His rival who he despised. He would do anything in his power not to ask for her aid. He didn’t want to be indebted to her in any way. 

“Neteyam” Neytiri calls warningly, her tone of embarrassment for her son's behavior.

“Sorry mother, it's just that I’m sure we can handle it. Tarsem will be on ground, and I can be in the air. If we have both terrains covered we’ll be able to find her before the sun sets” Neteyam explains, throwing an apologetic smile towards his mother for his odd  behavior. Jake looks to be contemplating the idea when Y/n steps forward, in front of Tarsem. 

“Sir!” 

Y/n felt her resolve break. She cared a lot for Tuk, and not to mention it was her duty to ensure the safety of her people. Especially the children of Toruk Makto. She felt honored to be considered to search for her, but she wouldn't stand back and let Neteyam take that away from her. Memories of the many times Neteyam tried to keep her out of hunts and excursions rack her brain. She was never one to fight back, always keeping her head low and quietly  following her duties blindly. But now, today, she had enough.

“With all due respect I know the forest like the back of my hand. I know the forest because I actively explore it. While I do think scouting from the air would be ok-” Neteyam tenses up, noticing how she threw a slight jab at him “-it’s nothing compared to someone who knows the land. I can find her, I can track her down. if you'll let me” Y/n says sternly. She surprised herself from how she kept her voice firm, unweaving. Jake nods in understanding. 

“So be it, Thank you for your service Y/n” 

Y/n smiles wide, looking up at Tarsem who smiles endearingly. She didn’t notice how Neteyam clenched his teeth, or how his eyes burned with fury. 

“Let's get going Nìhona” (Sweet Thing)

~~~~~~~~~

To say Neteyam was unhappy with the decision was an understatement. The moment Tarsem was far enough from the duo, Neteyam grabs Y/n forcibly by her waist, pulling her along him to a stop. 

“What the hell was that?” he spat harshly, his grip tight. Y/n bites back a wince, her eyes on him. 

“What do you mean?”

“That stunt you pulled in there. Does it please you to taunt me in  front of my parents?” Neteyam hissed angrily. Y/n furrows her eyebrows. That was not what she had intended. She just didn't want to lose the opportunity to find Tuk, someone dear to her. 

“Netey-”

“Dont say my name!” Neteyam growls. It was as if her even mentioning his name seemed to burn him in some type of way. 

“Don’t act like you're familiar with me” he hisses. Y/n’s feels her throat close up. She didn’t know why he hated her so much, why he acted as though her presence was a punishment from Eywa. 

She would be lying if she said the rivalry between them didn’t push her to where she was today. They always butted heads growing up, always fighting each other to do their best. While Y/n rarely retaliated, Neteyam was all bark. The prince of the clan who was widely admired had a dark side. A dark side he let out only in her presence. As if it was exclusively reserved for her. Despite all that, Y/n couldn’t find it in her heart to hate him like how he openly hated her. 

“Do that again and I won’t hesitate. I won’t hesitate to put you back in your place” Neteyam whispered harshly. Neteyam glances at Tarsem. Noticing how Tarsem’s steps slow down, as if noticing the lack of Y/n’s presence behind him.

“I didn’t mean it like that, I swear” Y/n tried one more time. She admired him, watched in awe when he caught his first adult Talioang at the age of 15 with one clear shot. How he held himself, how amazing he was. She wanted his approval, in a way that's what started her quest for perfection in the first place. But Neteyam never seems to acknowledge her accomplishments. He never used her name, always regarding her as she or her. As if saying her name would leave a bitter taste in his mouth. He acted as though he didn't care that she was older than him. 

“Oh please, you don’t think I don’t notice how hard you try to best me? How hard you try to be better?” Neteyam says through clenched teeth. His ears perk up to the sound of Tarsem fully stopping. In a blink of an eye Neteyam lets go of her wrist, backing away. 

Y/n pulled her hand back to her, holding it against her chest as it stung. 

“Y/n! Hurry up!!” Tarsem calls, confusion written over his features. 

Neteyam turns to leave before looking at her once more. “Stay out of my way. I mean it” 

He quickly walks off, presumably to call his Ikran. Y/n ignores the pang in her heart as she jogs up to her best friend. Tarsem’s eyes are trained to where Neteyam disappeared too. 

“Did he say something?” He asks quietly. Not noticing how Y/n hid her wrist behind her. She furiously shakes her head, forcing out a smile. She felt like she wanted to be alone, and focus on the search. She needed space.

“I’m fine! How about we split up? We’ll cover more terrain that way” Y/n suggests, not giving Tarsem time to argue back as she begins to walk away. 

~~~~~~~

Groaning under her breath Y/n turns around, having one more place in mind. She checked all the places Tuk accompanied her when they went to explore together. All of which she came up empty handed. 

‘Ewya, please make sure she is ok’ 

A silent prayer leaves her lips as worry weighs her down. She couldn’t find any traces of the young Na’vi which only caused more panic to rise in her. She also didn’t receive any responses from Tarsem or Neteyam. Upon leaving for the search Jake had supplied them with their own coms and earpieces. So they wouldn’t check the same place twice and have contact with one another if they were to split up. 

Y/n cursed herself for being so caught up with the interaction with Neteyam. Truth be told she always tried to figure out why he acted the way he did. Y/n was one year older, therefore her age alone demanded respect. Heck, her title as a warrior demanded respect, all of which Neteyam actively avoided. 

Y/n begins to worry that she probably missed Tuk, she had been so involved with her own thoughts she wasn’t quite aware of her surroundings. Maybe Neteyam was right? Maybe Jake shouldn't have asked her for help? Just as Y/n walks closer to her favorite tree, filled with her favorite Yovo fruit she hears a whimper.

It was so quiet it almost went unnoticed, but Y/n’s ears automatically reacted to it, standing up in alert. She looked up at the tree, it was tall and big. From the ground it looked as though it could reach for the stars. 

“Tuk?!” Y/n calls, her voice echoing throughout the forest. She had her hand ready near her knife should any predator sneak up on her. 

Hearing no response back she turns to leave but stops abruptly. Hearing that familiar whimper. 

“Y-y/n?” It was quiet. As quiet as a whisper in the wind. But Y/n heard it, loud and clear. She whips around, squinting her eyes. She finally catches sight of the frightened girl, latching onto the tree for her life. She was quite high up, which made sense as to why she didn’t come down. The branches were thick but fragile. One wrong misstep could cause the branch to collapse. 

“Tuk!!!” Y/n calls, hauling herself against the tree. She seems to forget about the splinters within the old tree as she works her way towards the shaking girl.Tuk is gasping out in fear, her eyes blown wide. As she stares at Y/n coming her way, she feels hands shake. Unable to hold on. 

“Y/n!!!” Tukl calls again, her voice laced with fear.



“I’m almost there!!! J-Just hold on!” Y/n reached the branch closest to her, she carefully took tiny steps towards the girl who was within her arms reach.

 

“Give me your hand Tuk!!-” Y/n urges. Tuk glances at the outstretched hand. She shakes free one hand to reach out. “-Trust me”

As Tuk gains more confidence she stretches out, their fingertips brushing against one another. When all of a sudden, the branch holding them up lets out a crack under their weight. 

~~~~~~~ 

Neteyam lands his Ikran with ease. He swiftly jumps on the grass below, his eyes scanning the dense forest around him. He picks up the sound of footsteps nearby, choosing to follow it after he instructs his Ikran to leave, for now.  Fear was eating him alive at this point. He couldn't find Tuk  anywhere from up above and the sun was already beginning to set. 

He angrily swipes at the bushes nearby, feeling terrible guilt settle inside him. He couldn't help but realize it had all been his fault. He should have accompanied Tuk for her excursion when she had begged him earlier on in the day. He was just so caught up on his hunt, he desperately wanted to make his father proud. Over the many accomplishments he overcame. He is still yet to actually accompany his father on actual raid missions. It always left him in a sour mood when Jake enlisted Y/n’s help. Even if it was just as a spotter. 

“Neteyam” Tarsem calls, turning around to the sound of his steps. Neteyam glances around him, his tail twitch in annoyance noticing Y/n was nowhere to be seen. 

“Any luck?” he asks, noting how Neteyam seems on edge. His silence alone spoke volumes. “Don't worry, we'll find her” he tried to reassure. 

Neteyam lets out a huge sigh, his shoulder slumping. 

“We should call it in, just in case we need a search party” Neteyam mumbles walking closer to Tarsem. His solemn mood doesn't go unnoticed by Tarsem.

“It's not your fault Neteyam” 

Neteyam’s ears twitch. He knew Tarsem was right, but that didn't stop the feelings growing inside. He smiles sheepishly at his mentor turned friend. 

“Maybe Y/n found her. I haven't heard anything from her end” Tarsem pipes up, his eyes dancing around. At the mention of her name, Neteyam clenches his teeth. His mood shifted significantly. 

“I highly doub-”

“H-hello?” a quiet voice calls from both of their coms.Tarsem stands up straighter, his hand reaching up to press his collar. Neteyam stood still, his heart rate quicking. He could faintly hear her rapid gasps, as if she were in pain. Neteyam couldn't help but feel dread. 

“Y/n?! Where are you? What's wrong?!” Tarsem speaks firmly, also noticing her tone and the gasps of air. She sounded to be in pain, and struggling. 

“I-I found T-uk, she's o-k” She rasps out.

Neteyam’s feet carry him across the clearing with Tarsem hot on his tail. He had no idea where he was going, where his legs were carrying him. But all he knew is he had to reach her. Her tone alone had set him off, he couldn't help wondering what danger befell her. 

“Where are you Y/n! We’re coming” Tarsem says, his heart rate increasing in fear.

 “I-”

~~~~~~~~~

“Shhh, we're ok. You're ok, shhhh” Y/n clutches Tuk closely against her body. The little girl was wrapped up tightly in her embrace, her face tucked away in the crevice of her neck as she sobs quietly. 

The moment Tuk lost grip as the branch beneath them broke, Y/n had lunged for the girl. Cradling her against herself to insure she took the majority of the impact as they tumbled to the ground below. The fall had caused a nasty gash along Y/n’s thigh. It bled heavily as her body was also littered with tiny cuts from the branches she crashed against.

Luckily Tuk had nothing major, just a few scratches here and there. Other than that, unharmed. Y/n called it in the moment she was able to catch her breath and insure no broken bones. She had to thank Eywa for evading that causality. That being said Y/n had trouble standing up, still clutching the sobbing girl within her grasp. 

“They're coming, they'll be here soon” Y/n tries to say soothingly. She had trouble taking her steps, every step felt like a stab through her body. Her body aching in protest. Y/n’s ears twitch to a sound of flapping, and a screech of an Ikran nearby. Tuk seems to quiet down, recognizing her brother's Ikran right away. 

Y/n halts her steps as two Ikrans land before her, screeching wildly. She immediately recognized them as she looked towards the riders who hopped down with ease.

Neteyam is the first to reach them, his eyes searching for Y/n’s. His eyes widen as they scan her beaten up form, the blood that trickles down her leg as she stood in an uncombable way to relieve her injured leg of her weight. He bites his lips furiously, his worry for his sister clouding his vision. He glances at Tuk who smiles softly at him. 

“She's ok.” Y/ns whispers out, handing her over into Neteyam’s outstretched hands. He takes her with ease. His eyes wandered to her, his mouth opening and closing as if he had something he wanted to say but was too afraid to speak. 

“Y/N!!” Tarsem calls rushing in, he carefully scoops her up peering down at her shocked face. She smiles slightly as he inspects her wounds, hissing as his eyes wander to her thigh. Her blood smeared against him. It looked deep, which further triggered his brother's instincts. 

“Shit!! Let's get back!”

~~~~~~ 

“Y/n, please. Let's go to the Tsahiks tent? You need to have that checked out” Tarsem pleads. Still holding her tightly against him.

Even though Y/n had insisted she could walk just fine, he wouldn't let up. Neteyam, uncharacteristically, had been quite the entire ride back. Not even throwing a glare Y/n’s way that she grew accustomed to. He had whispered a quiet  thanks to their general direction before heading towards his family's hut in a hurry.

“Fine, though I could fix this on my own. I don't want to bother Mo'at '' Y/n reluctantly agrees. Anything to get out of Tarsem's arms. She felt tiny against him, and the weird stares she received from the younger Na’vi only soured her mood. A smile twitches along Tarsem’s lips as he walks quickly towards the hut. As if she had weighed nothing. 

Upon arrival he peeks in, his eyes wandering around the empty hut. He quirked an eyebrow in question, looking back at Y/n as if she had the answer to his question. Y/n sighs out, gesturing towards herself. Getting the memo, Tarsem gently sets her down.

Y/n holds onto his bicep as she takes her wobbly legs towards the mat, seating herself as a loud grunt leaves her lips. 

“She is probably already at the Olo’eyktan’s tent, checking up on Tuk. I’ll be fine” Y/n says calmly, reaching for a cloth to wipe away the blood. Tarsem physically cringes. Seeing her hurt and bleeding made him question himself. He couldn't help but feel guilty that she got hurt under his watch. 

“Tarsem, I'll be fine. Please go and relax. You look tense” Y/n observes, gesturing her hand in a shoo-ing motion. Tarsem chuckles at her attempts, his ears folded down. 

“I’ll be right back…I have to tell mother” he informs, causing Y/n to wince.

She didn't want anyone worrying over her. Tarsem’s mom would always fuss over her, treating her as her own. Y/n nods watching him leave the tent. She winces as the cloth grazes at the cut. She gently reached for the basket of tools she was well equipped with after helping Mo’at on many occasions. She searched for a needle and thread, it was a deep cut and it required stitching. While she fumbled through the basket she heard rushed footsteps walk into the tent. 

“Tarsem I'm fine, I'll just stitch it up. You go-” To Y/n’s surprise it wasn't Tarsem, but Neteyam. His chest heaved as he looked to have rushed here. Her eyes are solely focused on her thighs, his eyes glancing at the cloth soaked up in her blood staining it crimson. 

“Ne- What are you doing here?” Y/n stutters. She didn't think Neteyam would ever approach her out of his own free will. She watches how his strained eyes dance around the tent. 

“Mo’at isn't he-”

“I'm not here for her:” Neteyam cuts her off, taking a few steps to loom over her. He couches down to her level, finally looking her in the eye. Y/n felt a lump in her throat from the sheer intensity of his gaze. She didn't know what it meant.

 Sure, before she could easily recognize the hate with his yellow orbs. But now? Now it was an emotion she wasn't familiar with. A deep emotion that swam within his irises. 

“Do you…need help?’ he asks, gesturing to her still open wound. 

“Wha-? No, I’m fine” she quickly responded, covering up the cut with the bloody cloth. Anything for him not to linger around. Not receiving the message Neteyam’s eyes look back into hers. 

“Thank you…for what you did. For finding Tuk '' Neteyam says, his tone forced but holding some sincerity. Y/n smiles, it felt like he acknowledged her. And it felt great. 

Neteyam’s eyes glance all over her face, momentarily stopping at her lips that were stretched into a small smile. He quickly shakes his head, standing up at the thoughts he refused to let surface. Y/n jolts at the sudden movement breaking from her trance. 

“Y-Your Welco-ome!” she stutters out as he turns to walk out of the tent.. He stops himself, a smile playing along his lips. 

“Get yourself fixed Y/n” 

And with that, he disappears.

Y/n grins, forgetting the aches and pain. He had said her name. And she couldn't be happier. 

He said her name….

____________________________________

A/N: Ok, confession time. I cry every time I have to write about rude Neteyam. Like, he’s not rude at all!! It’s soo OOC for me, he is such a sweet and caring boy 😭😭😭 Anyway, thank you for the great response on the prologue!! I hoped you enjoyed Part One. If you would like to be added to the Tag List for this series please comment below. Love ya’ll!!

Ps. This chapter was long cuz its the first one, I'll try to shorten the next ones!

My Dearly Detested TagList

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[the-californicationist]

The Devil's Summer

Konig/Reader TW: Rape, sexual assault, corpses, murder, violence

I am not being playful when I say that if you find any of these tags disturbing that you should skip this fic. Reading this story is not worth making yourself feel uncomfortable or causing yourself pain. Please take care of yourself first and foremost.

MDNI/18+ NO EXCEPTIONS

AO3 Link

A tall, foreign stranger comes to town with his masked crew of bandits. They rob the train station and the bank, but the big one… he has his sights set on a different sort of prize: you.

The summer had been like an open mouth, unbreathing, unmoving, but warm and wet and still in its bearing. The bayou lay like a lolling tongue over the swampland, and the sweetness of the azaleas could not make up for the stench of its lazy, murky flow. Bald cypress trees lined the river like rotten teeth, their graying, dull bark holding evidence of the cavities of selfish men, black bullet holes from selfish gunfire. The rope burn on the tall, gnarled bows left scars as if they were old wounds, and they were. Your brother’s innocent body had been the cause for one, and you were glad he wasn’t here to witness them today.  

The Devil didn’t know how hot it could get, but you did. You could barely move in the high noon of the day, and as the cicadas screamed, so you wanted to as well. The air lay on you like an awful hand, pressing you flat with its damp, punishing palm. It kept you from sleep, and it threatened you with steady, unrelenting torment. Your skin grew pink and tight from the ruby-colored sun, gleaming and immutable as it sagged in the cloudless firmament. Like the tangle of Spanish moss that hung in the trees outside, swaying back and forth like strange fruit, your hair clung to your neck, vampiric. 

Your father was dead, much good may it do him, as were most of the other people in your town. Since the early hours of the morning, you’d sat on your aching knees in the wet bank of Bayou Têche, providing sustenance for the mosquitos who feasted on your unguarded flesh. Your hands were bound with wire twine, and it cut into your wrists hard enough for them to bleed. The flies swarmed you, and you’d long since given up trying to fight them off. The man who had come to deliver this day to you and the other few inhabitants of your town was watching your future unfurl before you, as patient as the summer sun. 

He hadn’t shown his face, but you knew he was a white man. Those pale, ice-blue eyes couldn’t have been borne from Creole blood. If you were honest with yourself, something in your chest told you that those eyes weren’t even human. They were situated behind a black, heavy hangman’s hood that covered him from head to neck, and it was stained with blood and all manner of other liquids. The humidity made it cling to his nose and jaw, and you saw the aquiline shape disturb the smoothness of the fabric. 

The hangman wore a large-brimmed cowboy hat on his head constructed of fine, black felt. It was very much out-of-season, meant for a cool dry winter. Despite your suffering, you could imagine and empathize that his head and neck must be near boiling. 

His body was immense. He looked like he was seven feet high, and he was as broad as a door. His heavy musculature moved slowly, teasingly, but you had watched him strike like a water moccasin, deadly accurate and blindingly fast. Atop his demonic draft horse, he looked like he was one of the Hessians that Sister Campbell had described to you in school, when you’d been allowed to go.

The Hessian was a fine shot. He’d killed most of the men in town by his own hand, picking them off like he was elbow-deep in a blackberry bush, choosing the biggest ones first to stain his hands in their sweet juices. Your father had been near the end, no longer a threat in his old age. The white hair of his beard was painted with red stripes, coughed up in those final moments of futility, and the dark skin of his cheek made the colors that much more vibrant. You wished his eyes were closed. You didn’t want him to see what may happen to you now. 

He’d been staring at you for quite some time. Although he hadn’t been the one to tie you up, it was what he wanted. The will of his men and of your small town folded under his brutal control, and now that everyone was dead, he dominated the silence with comfortable ease. 

You watched him swing a long, thick leg over the saddle, lowering himself to the wet ground with a thud. His boots were worn and filthy, not intended for walking through the black bayou waters and shores, and his spurs were sharpened into curled spikes. Each step was a promise. The gun in his hand would be your reward, you were certain of it. 

Imagining all of your hopes and dreams seemed disgusting to you now. The shine of the gun was nothing like the glittering gold ring you’d wanted to wear to your wedding, if you had one. You’d wanted children, a whole litter of them, and you wanted to cook jambalaya for them and dress them in matching flour sacks, all lined up in a row. You wanted to braid their hair in the way your mother had braided yours, secreting away little prayers between each bite, locking them in place with an extra twist. 

You would have none of that. The only thing for you now was this demon. Whatever he wanted had replaced your own desires. You waited for his wanting to find its end. 

The dirty barrel of the gun pressed under your chin, its soot gritty and black against your skin, and your jaw turned up to the blinding sky to look into the coolness of his gaze. He looked like he was smiling at you, which was worse than his fury, and you held back the bile rising in your throat, burning you as hot as a brand. 

“Fils putain,” you snarled without raising your voice, spitting on the gloved hand that had the gun to your neck. 

You watched the spit bubble white across the black leather, his thumb as wide as a root, and you heard it drip into the mud at your knees when it ran in thick rivulets across his knuckles.

He smiled again with his eyes, removed the gun from you to lift his hand to his face. As he did so, he lifted the hood so that you could watch his mouth as he licked your spit from the glove, tasting the sour sting of your bile and vitriol. You saw his pale, ghostly lips, scarred and maligned, peel away from sharp incisors as he laved his tongue across the back of his hand, clad in shining silver like two daggers. The rest of his teeth were bright and straight and ready.

The pain you felt from the butt of his gun was sudden and shattering. The crack of your cheekbone exploded in your face like a collapsing star, white hot and dying. You felt like you were dying. You landed, face down in the mud, vomiting and coughing and crying. There was nothing more meaningful than your sobbing, and your body prioritized it over everything else. 

Your assailant knelt in the muddy bank of the bayou with you, letting his boots dip into the shallow waters where minnows hoped to feed on the larvae that lay sprinkled across the surface like salt in a stock. He had removed his gloves and was cupping your face, gently soothing the wound that he had caused. That pale, bloodless mouth was kissing you, leaving a trail of little, soft contacts over the ruined skin on your face, and the blood from his cut was staining him crimson. He replaced the hood and picked you up off of the ground. 

At first, you couldn’t walk, and all the blood that had been pressed out of your lower extremities was now flooding back in, making your bones ache from the inside out. You stumbled next to him, and he carried you like you were as light as his sidearm. One of his men approached you and spoke to your tall devil in his language, foreign and loud. 

They’d robbed the small train station, killing Mr. Fusilier, and they blew up the track, stopping the sheriff from being able to send for help. Sheriff Guidry was dead, laying in the small graveyard next to the church, and you found it odd that he’d died laid over a headstone. You were sure there was poetry there, but you weren’t smart enough to know what kind. 

Your captor handed you off to one of his men, a thin, wiry man with a large mustache. He smelled like sulfur and tobacco. His grip was weaker than the hangman’s, and there was a coldness to his touch that made you uncomfortable. 

He was taking you back up to your house. You didn’t know whether or not it was worth it to fight him off. He was smaller than the other one, but your cheek still throbbed, fresh and mean. He sat you down at your own kitchen table like it wasn’t yours, like you hadn’t cleaned its worn oak slats every morning since you were old enough to hold a rag. 

Yanking out a chair beside you, he sat, rolling a long cigarette, and leaving the twisted matchstick on the tabletop, marring the grain. You wanted to rail against him, to wail and scream that he was ruining it, that your mother had set all of her meals down in that very spot — crawfish etouffee, filé gumbo, rice and beans — and that you missed her laugh and the way she smelled like white pepper and rosemary oil. 

The cheek that had been hit couldn’t have throbbed any harder, and something twisted within you wished that the large man was still there, wiping away the hurt. 

The one with the mustache spoke in a slow, Texan drawl,

“What’s your name?”

You rolled your eyes up to meet his, hoping that the hate you felt was loaded in them like the bullets in his gun, 

“Eve.”

“Like the Bible?”

You didn’t reply. He grabbed you around your knee and pulled you towards him, your chair screeching across the floor,

“Bitch, I’m talkin’ to you. You think you’re too good for me, huh? Fuckin’ whore.”

You were on the table then, spread out and plated like a red fish, all meat and bones and sauce. He was going to eat you alive, and what could you do about it? Your bound hands bit into each other like the fangs of a snake. You kicked out, hard, but he caught you. 

Then, you felt his hands ripping away the fabric of your cotton dress. There wasn’t much left of it to ruin. You wondered if the button you mended last week on the collar was still intact. You were never as good as buttons as your mother was. 

Dirty fingers dug around between your legs, finding what they wanted to, shoving aside your bloomers and wetting themselves one by one, dipping into you brutally, soaking the pads over and over like a candle was dipped in wax, like a pen into a font of ink, and you hoped it stained him. 

You screamed until he stopped you, planting a smelly hand across your mouth. You bit it, taking his bitter flesh with you. 

“Ah, fuck! Son of a bitch!”

Clutching his wound, he backed away from you. Then, when he raised his eyes, he looked behind you at a horror you could not see. Then, he died on your kitchen floor. The bullet sliced through his dark brown eye and splattered his brain and face all over your kitchen counter. There were two big, flaky biscuits left over from your breakfast that morning, and they looked like someone had slathered them in a rich, fruity compote. 

You wanted to see who had saved you, but you knew already. His huge boots made the table rattle beneath your burning wrists, and you could hear his enraged breathing, dampened by the mask. It was your Hessian.

He stood over you for a moment, looking disturbed by your appearance. You had disappointed him somehow. You were crying, but you didn’t stop for his benefit. It wouldn’t matter anyway, you figured. Might as well give in to the feeling. 

Your body was being lifted, carefully, and carried to your father’s bedroom. It was the nearest to the kitchen, just off of the first hallway. A cross-stitch goose you’d made when you were twelve hung neatly on the wall below the lantern. You remembered the way the threads used to sound when they ran to and fro through the linen. The goose wore a little blue bow, and her beak was the most beautiful goldenrod yellow. 

The giant man lay you on your bed, the blood from your wrists surely ruining your duvet. Was it still your duvet? Did you actually own anything anymore?

The mattress sagged under your weight, and it groaned deeper as it sagged under his. 

He unbound your wrists and took a careful look at them. Then, he peeled away the ripped edge of your dress, shaking his head sadly,

“I am sorry, Liebling. My men should know better than to touch what is mine.”

You let tears and snot run freely down your face. 

“What is your name?”

The same question. And why did it matter? Who gave a shit what your goddamn name was? It wasn’t going to help you. 

“...E-Eve…”

“Eve...” He dragged out the vowels like he had dragged you into the house, slowly and against your will.

“I have been called many names,” he leaned down to your neck to smell your skin, whispering into it, “But, you may call me Kӧnig.” 

When his hands ran up under your dress, they did not fumble, they were not brutal, and yet the pain of them hurt you anyway. He didn’t force you to open, but your body yielded to him nonetheless, wilting for him like a flower in the sun. You became pliant, and your sobs went from desperate to something laden with strife. You had not consented to his touch, and yet your body welcomed him in with open arms, eager to host the traitor at the gate.

He knelt. As he began to lick you between your legs, he smelled your scent, lifting his hood and letting it pool along your belly, cold as his hot mouth made wet contact with your skin. The way he suckled from you reminded you of the calves in the spring, pumping their mouths onto their mothers’ teats and filling their throats with her warm cream, selfish and relentless. His nose tickled the dark curls above your folds, and you wondered if he was being teased by them, if his nostrils could smell your fear and if they misunderstood it as desire. 

“Mmm,” he hummed, pleased, “You are so sweet, my little Eve. So eager for me, hm?”

A growling sob escaped from your throat, and all at once you felt like you would vomit again. He caught your face in his hands before you did, lowering you to the floor and holding your jaw up to face him. Knocking off his hat, he pulled the hood from his face and you saw the gruesomeness there. It wasn’t as bad as you’d feared. Your mother had always told you that the promises of the darkness never amounted to much in the light. You wondered how true that was now. 

“I will show you how eager you make me, Liebling.”

He pulled off the button fly of his cotton britches, and his heavy cock tumbled out of them, rolling into the center of his body, pounding with blood and want. He placed the tip at your lips, and although he could have ignored your volition, he begged you instead, providing you with the illusion of choice. 

“Kiss it for me, Eve. Be a good girl for your Kӧnig, ja?”

You did not comply. You were your mother’s daughter after all. 

He shoved your face onto his length with a calm sort of precision. You didn’t bother to make it easy on him, letting your teeth drag against the velveteen slip of skin, nor did you bite down. You were already dead, and you had decided to act like it. 

“Are you not pleased, Liebe? I will give you what you want then,” he laughed quietly to himself, the curl of his smile broken into shards by his scarring, “Silly me. Playing my little games. I am such a tease.”

He pushed you to the ground, shoving your face into the floorboards, letting you look under your own bed. You saw small piles of dirt and a glittering ornament, lost from the last Christmas you’d had. You felt him preparing you from behind. Although you had not married him, you and an old beau had gotten this far. But, this was something else. The way he stretched you was like an intrusion. Your hip bones ached under his drooling rod, and you could feel the sharp tear of your thin skin. 

“Oh, Scheiße! So tight for me. I want to come in you already, my darling.”

You let him fill you, and you tried to ignore the electric pleasure that he crafted in you, spinning a spell over you and forcing your orgasms with his cock and hand, one after the other, making you tremble beneath him, laughing all the time,

“So pretty. Coming for me just like a dream. Such a good girl, Eve.”

You were out of tears. 

After he was finished with you, he carried you to his horse and put you in the saddle, climbing up behind you and taking the reins. You felt his come and your blood dripping out of you and onto the black leather, wetting you between your thighs, making you slide across the seat, back and forth. 

The hot wind blew in your face as he rode you out of town, and you saw the smoke from all of the burning buildings floating high, high into heaven. And you wondered if God could smell the mesquite bark as it smoldered.

[workersolidarity]

[ 📹 A man screams for his mother and other family members after the Zionist occupation army bombed their home in Gaza, destroying several levels of the building and burying his family under the rubble. ]

🇮🇱⚔️🇵🇸 🚀🏘️💥🚑 🚨

279 DAYS OF GENOCIDE IN THE GAZA STRIP: UNRWA BUILDINGS HIT BY ISRAELI OCCUPATION FORCES IN 453 ATTACKS, U.S. TO SHIP 500LB BOMBS TO ZIONIST ARMY EVEN AS NEW MASSACRES TAKE DOZENS OF LIVES EVERY DAY, NASSER MEDICAL COMPLEX CLOSES AMID ISRAELI BOMBARDMENT, ANOTHER DAY OF MASS MURDER AS CIVILIANS TARGETED

On 279th day of the Israeli occupation's ongoing special genocide operation in the Gaza Strip, the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) committed a total of 2 new massacres of Palestinian families, resulting in the deaths of no less than 50 Palestinian civilians, mostly women and children, while another 54 others were wounded over the previous 24-hours.

It should be noted that as a result of the constant Israeli bombardment of Gaza's healthcare system, infrastructure, residential and commercial buildings, local paramedic and civil defense crews are unable to recover countless hundreds, even thousands, of victims who remain trapped under the rubble, or who's bodies remain strewn across the streets of Gaza.

This leaves the official death toll vastly undercounted as Gaza's healthcare officials are unable to accurately tally those killed and maimed in this genocide, which must be kept in mind when considering the scale of the mass murder.

The United States, under the direction of the Biden administration and American Democrats, will resume shipments of 500-pound bombs to the Zionist entity, even as new massacres continue to take dozens of civilian lives on a daily basis.

Previously, the Biden administration suspended a delivery of two types of American armaments, including 500lb (227kg) and 2'000lb (907kg) bombs as student protests exploded across college campuses in the United States.

The shipment was suspended in the context of the protests and a rapidly rising civilian death count amid the occupation's ongoing genocidal operations in the Gaza Strip.

In a piece published in the Jeff Bezos-owned American newspaper, the Washington Post, the news outlet says the decision to reverse the pause of these deadly bombs came as the Zionist Prime Minister, Benjamin Netanyahu, along with occupation Defense Minister, Yoav Gallant, and the Israeli lobby, including AIPAC, demanded the resumption of deliveries of American munitions regardless of their lethality.

According to the Post:

Despite the pressure campaign and initial hold, the U.S. officials said the 500-pound bombs were never a serious concern for the Biden administration.

Speaking with the Post, an anonymous US official said that "because of how these shipments are put together, other munitions may sometimes be co-mingled. That’s what happened here with the 500-lb bombs, since our main concern had been and remains the potential use of 2,000-lb bombs in Rafah and elsewhere in Gaza."

The Post admits that, while the tempo of the Zionist entity's attacks on the Gaza Strip has slowed in recent days, occupation strikes that result in mass casualty events continue to occur on a weekly basis, sometimes accelerating to a near daily basis, including a recent assault on a UN-run school housing displaced Palestinian families in Abasan Al-Kabira, east of the city of Khan Yunis, killing 29 and wounding another 53 others.

The Washington Post goes on to say that the suspended arms shipment was a "shot across the bow" by the Biden administration in a warning to the Netanyahu regime as he planned at the time to invade the city of Rafah, in the southern Gaza Strip, where more than 1 million Palestinians had gathered in tent cities to find shelter from occupation's bombing and shelling, with President Biden going so far as to describe such an operation as a "red line".

Despite this, the Israeli occupation army invaded Rafah anyway, systematically destroying civilian housing in nearly the entire city, then taking control over, and burning to the ground, the border crossings south of Rafah City, all while committing several massacres. Including an attack on a grouping of Palestinian tents that resulted in a conflagration responsible for killing nearly 50 civilians and wounding dozens of others.

The Zionist army recently allowed Western journalists to visit Rafah to witness the destruction themselves, during which reporters described the city as "decimated" and largely empty.

The Post also interviewed Janet Abou-Elias, a research fellow at the Center for International Policy, a Washington-based think-tank, who described the destructive power of 500lb bombs as something that should not be taken lightly.

“In Gaza’s densely populated areas, the difference in the destructive impact between a 500-pound and a 2,000-pound bomb is negligible, both causing immense destruction and civilian casualties,” Abou-Elias is quoted as saying to the Post.

In more news on Thursday, July 11th, the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestinian refugees, also known as UNRWA, stated in a post to the social media platform X that the Israeli occupation forces have attacked their premises in Gaza on 453 occasions since the start of the war.

"453 attacks impacting UNRWA premises and the people inside them have been reported since the war began," the post stated, adding that, "two thirds of our schools in Gaza have been hit, with 524 people sheltering in our facilities killed."

UNRWA concluded the post by declaring that "UN structures, schools and shelters are not a target," adding a call for a "CeasefireNow."

In other news, the international humanitarian healthcare organization, Doctors Without Borders (MSF), issued a warning on Wednesday that the healthcare center at Nasser medical complex, in the city of Khan Yunis, south of Gaza, has ceased functioning due to a severe shortage of medical supplies and fuel.

In a statement, MSF lamented that "after the closure of the Gaza European Hospital in the Gaza Strip due to Israeli evacuation orders (early July ), we warned that Nasser Hospital is at risk of being overcrowded with mass casualties and wounded."

The humanitarian organization went on to explain that "MSF teams are witnessing a severe shortage of medical supplies, which threatens to stop basic health care [services] available to patients," going on to warn that the Nasser complex was "the last advanced hospital still operating in southern Gaza."

"Nasser Hospital receives an increase in the number of patients every day, which places a burden on all departments beyond their capacity, and our teams have no choice but to resort to the medical stock allocated for emergency cases," the MSF statement reads.

The statement concludes by stating that "while Nasser Hospital is dealing with the influx of new patients, it is also suffering from a fuel shortage, and if the power goes out due to a fuel shortage, care provided in many of the nearby field hospitals will [also] stop."

Meanwhile, the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) slowed but continued its attacks on civilian homes and residential buildings in various axis of the Gaza Strip, slaughtering dozens of Palestinians and leaving others severely wounded in the bombing and shelling of the occupation army, with a particular focus of attacks targeting the city of Gaza.

According to Gaza's Civil Defense, more than 30 decomposing bodies of murdered Palestinians are lying in the streets of the Al-Rimal neighborhood, as well as the Al-Sina'a and Al-Katiba areas, of Gaza City, where Zionist armored vehicles have launched a violent incursion over the last several days.

Local medical sources are reporting that on Thursday, more than 34 Palestinians were killed as a result of the Israeli occupation's raids on Gaza City and Rafah, resulting in dozens of bodies laying scattered in the streets, particularly in the Al-Rimal neighborhood, as well as in the Industrial Al-Sina'a area, and the Al-Katiba areas of Gaza City.

Another occupation raid on the Tal al-Sultan neighborhood, west of Rafah, in the southern Gaza Strip, resulted in the deaths of four Palestinian civilians, including a child.

The occupation's atrocities continued when Zionist warplanes bombed a residential house in the Zafran area of the Al-Maghazi Camp, in the central Gaza Strip.

At the same time, an occupation drone fired a missile at a civilian residence in the Nuseirat Camp, also in central Gaza, while IOF artillery detatchments shelled the Al-Mughraqa area of the camp.

In the meantime, occupation fighter jets conducted airstrikes on neighborhoods east of Khan Yunis, while additionally, Zionist soldiers detonated with explosives several residential buildings in the center of Rafah City, amid occupation artillery shelling that hammered the Al-Shaboura neighborhood in central Rafah.

Israeli quadcopter drones also fired on civilian homes in the Al-Sabra neighborhood, south of Gaza City.

The suffering of the Palestinian population of Gaza continued when the water desalinization stations that provide potable water to northern Gaza and Gaza City have ceased to function due to the continued closure of Gaza's border crossings, resulting in a severe shortage of fuel to operate electricity generators.

As a result of the Israeli occupation's ongoing war of extermination in the Gaza Strip, the endlessly rising death toll now exceeds 38'345 Palestinians killed, including at least 10'000 women and well over 15'000 children, while another 88'295 others have been wounded since the start of the current round of Zionist aggression, beginning with the events of October 7th, 2023.

July 11th, 2024.

#source1

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#videosource

#graphicsource

@WorkerSolidarityNews

[neteyamshoney]

Similarities

(This was kinda, very loosely, inspired by the song My Ex's Bestfriend by MGK)

Hey y'all. I had this idea in my head for awhile and I'm currently drafting a Neteyam x OC AU but I just had to get this out. After I'm done with that one, I'll expand on this one-shot. For now, enjoy a little fluff with my favorite blue giant :) Gif is also not mine. (I'm working on making pretty pics for the AU pic if anyone has tips to get those super cute ones I see on here lol)

Neteyam Sully x f!OC

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff

Ever since he could remember, Lo’ak had known his older brother to be everything he was not.

Brave. Strong. Intelligent. Accurate. Deadly. The perfect son.

They were so different. Day and night.

Though he loved to give him shit for it, Lo’ak understood the pressure his brother was under. Being the perfect heir to the clan, always having eyes on his every move, sounded like literal hell for the second son. He was secretly so glad that Neteyam was the oldest and not himself. He couldn’t imagine the mental stress that kind of pressure would put on him. How Neteyam didn’t have the urge to runaway from home and never return was a mystery to him.

It was only natural for Neteyam to focus solely on his duties as the perfect warrior and heir. It was all he had ever known, as soon as he was crawling (which of course was months before the average baby because of fucking course he was even advanced as a literal infant). As soon as the light lit up their world, Neteyam would be out - sharpening his knife, tuning his bow, practicing his hand to hand combat - before Lo’ak even rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The poor thing didn’t even have a social life outside of training with the other boys their age. There was no room for him to have any free time, even less to mingle with the young women of their age in their clan. 

It was painfully obvious that the girls of their clan favored Neteyam over his baby brother. The way the girls their age would huddle together, giggling with a hushed voice as the brothers would pass them at first was an ego boost, definitely. It became glaringly obvious that they were casting their love-struck eyes at his older brother, and while disgruntled at first, he could understand. However, his big brother was too busy living up to their father’s expectations to find love, much less a crush.

So, when Lo’ak was sitting next to Tsireya, listening to Roxto explain how to spear fish underwater, he noticed how Neteyam’s amber eyes glanced passed the Metkayina boy and his back straightened up. It wouldn’t have been odd, until Neteyam’s face softened into an expression he didn’t think he’d ever see on his no-nonsense brother. An expression he’d seen on his father whenever their mother would walk into his line of sight.

Love-struck.

With wide eyes, Lo’ak whipped his head to the side, following his brother’s line of vision without shame of being caught. Subtlety was not in his vocabulary and he wasn’t about to start now. The others around them, surprised by his sudden movement, followed suit.

Almost twenty feet away, there was the subject of Neteyam’s distraction. Staring right back at the oldest Sully boy with a bashful smile as she walked with a few of the other girls of her clan.

Yana.

Ao’nung was the first to recover from the shock of the new information, his blue eyes narrowed dangerously at the forest prince. “No fucking way. Not Yana. Pick another girl.”

Tsireya smacked the back of his head, glaring. “Stop using the sky language to curse. And Yana passed her trials. She is older than you, and can decide who she wants.”

Neteyam didn’t bother replying, probably not even listening as his eyes still trailed after the older girl. Bright eyes wandered down her back, hypnotized at how her long spiral curls swayed in time with the swing of her hip. She glanced back to him once more, wiggling her fingers with a wink that nearly sent his heart into cardiac arrest.

Lo’ak snapped him out of it, tugging on his arm band with a teasing glint in his eye. “Really? Tsireya’s older cousin?”

He had to hand it to Neteyam though, he sure knew how to pick a crush. Yana was arguably the most beautiful girl in the clan, second to Tsireya in Lo’ak’s personal opinion. They had met her family last night during the communal celebration. Ironically, it was in celebration to reward the newest members of the clan passing their trials; Yana being one of four. She was now recognized in the clan as an adult - the dark ink of a fresh tribal tattoo wrapping around her shoulder the first indication of her new status. There were many young men in the clan that had showered her in attention last night, but she had stayed close to the Sully family after being introduced by her parents.

Too wrapped up in Tsireya, Lo’ak hadn’t even paid his brother any attention last night. Seeing how love-sick he looked as Yana disappeared from view, he was slightly glad he didn’t witness anything that might’ve corrupted his innocent mind.

Kiri giggled to his side, “You’d better hurry and finish your trials, Neteyam.”

The chuckles around them made the topic of conversation duck his head, hiding the heating of his face by looking at the soft sand beneath them. It was common knowledge that only those who were seen as adults in the clans could pick a mate, and they didn’t need to voice it for him to understand the innuendo.

They poked fun at him for a few minutes until a shadow fell over Ao’nung. “You don’t mind if I steal the mighty warrior for a while, do you, little cousin?”

Yana grinned at the surprised faces of the younger teens, and felt her smile widen at Ao’nung’s pout. Her baby cousin was too protective for his own good. She placed a hand over his damp braids, feeling him relax slightly. “I promise to bring him back before dinner, hm?”

While the others had turned their attention to the newcomer, Lo’ak took this time to examine his brother. How his eyes light up when she first spoke, braids swishing around his head as he turned to give her his undivided attention. The look in his gaze was as if this girl had put the sun in the sky herself. As if no one around him mattered when she was near. The two love-brids made eye contact and Yana held out her hand.

Neteyam didn’t even hesitate to stand, sliding his larger hand into hers so the shorter Na’vi could pull him any which way she desired. Which was apparently somewhere only the two of them were going. They didn’t even bother with a wave goodbye.

As if in sync with each other, Lo’ak and Kiri made identical gagging noises. Neteyam was so whipped, it was downright nauseating.

Tsireya nudged him, laughing at the Sully’s immature reactions before trying to get them all to focus back on task at hand. A soft teal hand on his upper arm was all she needed to get his attention and those dimples made his heart do flips. He felt those sparkling blue eyes take all of his focus, not even bothering to stop himself as he smiled at her.

Maybe he and Neteyam weren’t that different after all.

[sketch-guardian]

IMAGINE THE ANGEL STUDENTS WITH A MONSTERFUCKER MC (I don’t know if that’s the right word, this isn’t meant to be nsfw! But I’m talking about people who really like non humans and think they’re adorable and love everyone no matter their species! So sorry if that’s the wrong word, I don’t really interact with a lot of fanfics out of platonic child reader ones!!) AND LIKE MC WANTS TO GIVE THEM A LITTLE KISS WHILE THEYRE IN THEIR BIBLICALLY ACCURATE FORM, ESPECIALLY IF ANY OF THEM ARE INSECURE ABOUT IT, LIKE LITTLE REASSURANCE KISSES WHILE MC SAYS THEYRE BEAUTIFUL EVEN WITH THEIR SCARY APPEARANCE (SO SORRY IF THIS REQUEST MAKES YOU UNCOMFY, I DIDNT KNOW WHAT TO CALL IT.)

Don't worry, I understood what you meant☺so for this occasion, to make it clear that these headcanons are SFW, we'll use the term "monsterlover"✨(I like monsters, demons, angels, aliens and robots as well, so perhaps I can consider myself a monsterlover🤣). Also aw, it sounds like such a tender scenario💜I'll try to do my best with the headcanons💖(I should draw the New exchange students' true celestial forms sooner or later🤔but it's hard to find some free time to both draw and answer asks😖perhaps I should close the askbox for a few days in order to start the sketches, would that be okay?🙈):

"NEW EXCHANGE STUDENTS WITH A MONSTERLOVER MC DOTING ON THEM IN THEIR TRUE CELESTIAL FORM"

REMIEL

Remiel's true celestial form, as the Archangel of Hope, is quite intimidating to behold, in all its fearsome glory, it's quite majestic, standing around four meters tall, with her face completely obscured by a hood, a void filled with eyes, no mouth, with tufts of hair coming out from the shadows. Remiel, in that celestial form, wouldn't have legs, only torso and arms, instead of the lower limbs, black smoke would be visible from the bottom of her black robe. Remiel's torso would be open, resembling an exposed ribcage, with a bright silver spark inside, shimmering as if to represent hope amidst darkness. Remiel would have eight wings and hands with pointed talons, her weapon would also be a long scythe with a blade at both ends of the staff. Remiel wouldn't be able to speak in her Archangel form, she would only make otherworldly noises. The angel of death would be hesitant to show her true celestial form to MC, after all she would only use it for matters of life and death, she would know that for the human mind, her sight could be overwhelming to manage, however with some kind encouragement from MC, Remiel would change into her true celestial form, towering over MC, terrifying as ever, however her baby blue eyes would be innocent as always, showing she's still in there. Remiel would have to hold MC in her hands for them to reach her and, not being able to kiss, MC would stroke her wings or hair, to reassure her they aren't afraid, while Remiel would respond with a soft guttural noise, sounding almost like a whale, it would be her attempt to communicate her relief and fondness

NATHANIEL

Nathaniel in his true celestial form as the embodiment of Patience, becomes about two meters tall, with still six wings on his back and six arms floating, very thin pointed legs, arrows of blue light floating around him, slightly longer hair and a large mask covering half of Nathaniel's upper face, mostly hiding his several eyes. Nathaniel's weapon in that form is a bow and his form would be graceful, yet he would be able to land deadly punches with his six arms. Nathaniel would prefer not to show himself in his true celestial form, because usually he only transforms when he snaps, which is rare, it would be a bit difficult for Nathaniel to show his true self at will, however with a little insistence, he would sigh and warn MC not to be afraid, because while he might turn into a creature they might do not expect, it would still be him. Nathaniel, in his true celestial form, would cautiously lean closer to MC and nuzzle them, returning their caresses with his several arms, a little surprised by their lack of fear, but also relieved to be accepted for who he really is. Nathaniel's voice in his true celestial form would be more boomy and whispery

URIEL

Uriel's true celestial form as the embodiment of Justice would be rather powerful, buff and bulky, about three and a half meters tall, with jaws similar to those of a lion and half of her face covered by a helmet, obscuring her eyes, she would also have four muscular arms and four rather large thick wings. Uriel's armor would be even sturdier, her sword too and her hair would be longer and thicker, almost as a bright mane. Uriel isn't ashamed of her true celestial form, however she would suspect it could overwhelm MC and therefore she would ask MC if they're truly sure they want to come face to face with such a majestic being, there is a reason why angels say not to be afraid when they show themselves after all. After some convincing, Uriel would transform into her true celestial form and hesitantly lean towards MC, allowing herself to be examined by their hands, she would greatly appreciate their kisses and praises, basking in their affection and trying to cradle MC with caution, as if they were made of glass. Uriel needed to be careful in order to control her strength in her celestial form. The demonstration should happen, as in others' cases, in a fairly open environment, because Uriel's weight and size would risk accidentally breaking something

[fairytale-poll]

ROUND 1B, MATCH 16 OUT OF 16!

*Though I am referring to her as Popelka, her original name in Czech, she is also often referred to as Aschenbrödel, her German name. Additionally, Three Wishes for Cinderella is the English title (with an alternate localized title being Three Gifts for Cinderella). The original Czech title, Tři oříšky pro Popelku, and the German title Drei Haselnüsse für Aschenbrödel both are translated as Three Hazelnuts for Cinderella. All names and titles have been tagged. Any local Czech or German speakers feel free to correct me for any mistakes! :)

Propaganda Under the Cut:

Danielle:

This is, imo, the single best retelling of Cinderella out there. She has a great character, her relationship with the prince grows organically rather than happening in a single night, and the scene with the bandits is top tier

The story is told as a historical romance instead of anything supernatural happening. Drew Barrymore is a cute Cinderella, Anjelica Houston is an incredible stepmother, and she's also really nasty to one of the stepsisters too, who ends up taking Danielle (Cinderella)'s side. Also Leonardo da Vinci is hanging around painting a portrait of Danielle at one point.

The Drew Barrymore Cinderella is fantastic. It’s got real history mixed with beautiful whimsy! I absolutely love the butterfly wings and how she spoke up for her step mother and sister at the end (and that they were still punished). I feel like I need to go watch it now.

she’s funny and smart and she’s resourceful (also her outfits are historically accurate!)

Popelka:

She has so much personality. She's funny, smart, kind, has a lot of spunk, and she really does things instead of just waiting for miracles to occur. Also, she's a great rider and has a deadly aim with bow and arrow.

She finds three hazelnuts that grant her wishes by giving the clothes to do what she wants. Beautiful dresses. The prince puts a ring on her finger while she’s in her huntsman’s outfit.

I don't know how it's faring in modern day Czechia, but here in Germany, Drei Haselnüsse für Aschenbrödel is still THE (non-Disney) Cinderella adaptation and a yearly rewatch for many, despite literally turning fifty this year. It's just so fairytale and also just... good? And she hangs out in the woods and shoots with a crossbow and saves deer and gives the prince riddles and then the music aaa the music!! I guess this isn't just a submission of this version of the character but this version of the story. For those who don't know: This adaptation is based on a Czech author's retelling of the Grimm version of the story, the film was a co-production of Czechoslovakia and East Germany and it slaps so hard it gets played at least 10 times (usually more) on public german television in and around December every single year. This is not an exaggeration, you can look it up, they even make a special, official info graphic with all the air dates every year that people can (and do!) share on social media. In Germany, the main event of Christmas is the 24th, Christmas eve, and on that day they play it at least 4 times (often more) at different times of the day on different public channels (ALL of which any German with a hooked up tv has access to) so anyone who wants to watch it gets a chance to. And Aschenbrödel herself in the movie STILL holds up as a (within reasonable expectations) feminist character, she's skilled, she's smart, she's witty, she and the prince actually talk and they like each other for their personalities, like... yes, there's a couple of flaws with the movie that time has pointed out, but mostly small, background things or things you simply cannot expect a movie from 1973 to get right. It's SO well made and just plain charming, it has truly stood the test of time and I would be devastated if it weren't included. It's also my mum's favourite movie (she's from East Germany and was born in 1969 so she's had regular access to it basically all her conscious life) so we would actually usually watch it multiple times each year and even record it (first on VHS, later again on DVD) so we could rewatch it any time and yet, I literally never got tired of it. It's just good & magical & I love it. Even my brother, who usually didn't care for fairytale movies at all and would much rather play video games in his room, would come down and sit with us to watch this one, THAT'S how good and magical this movie is.

And if all that hasn't convinced you yet but you speak German, here it is on YouTube, go watch it:

[Link]

(I won't provide a Czech link since I can't vouch for any of them as I don't speak czech)

Anyway, dear tournament runner: Have a pic of Aschenbrödel, in my favourite of her magically provided outfits, for the poll:

[Link]

She is the Cinderella of like eastern central Europe and the Story is a little different (she's no. 1 girlboss, beats the prince in a shooting contest and instead of a fairy she has 3 magic hazelnuts/ a magic owl)

[goodqueenaly]

I liked your comparison of Aegon IV and Daeron II with Valois kings Jean le Bon and Charles the Wise. Do you think the Golden Company invasion is going to parallel Henry V and Agincourt? Also do you see any other ASOIAF comparisons with the Hundreds Years war from the French perspective like the intrigues of Charles of Navarre or the Armagnac-Burgundian civil war?

To be clear, I had compared Aegon IV and Daeron II to John II and the future Charles V specifically as depicted in The King Without a Kingdom. What can I say, it me. (More under the cut.)

Anyway, do I think the battle our Aegon apparently wishes to wage against the army marching on Storm's End may somewhat resemble the historical battle of Agincourt? It's definitely possible. GRRM is certainly familiar with Agincourt: he's written that "[e]very schoolboy knows the story of the Battle of Agincourt, where a small, sick, starving English army under King Henry V won a stirring victory over a huge French host" and that while "[t]he English lords and knights performed nobly ... the battle was won by the longbowmen, who stood behind their sharpened stakes and loosed hundreds of arrows at the flower of French chivalry as the knights advanced through the mud". I wouldn't necessarily describe Aegon's army as "sick" or "starving", but "small" is definitely accurate: of the 10,000 men the Golden Company can muster at full strength, somewhat under half that number actually made it through the storms of the Narrow Sea to land on Westerosi shores. By contrast, the army marching on Storm's End may have some (very roughly) 20,000 to 30,000 Tyrell soldiers - not the largest army ever assembled in the history of Westeros, but certainly much larger than Aegon's army (a point Daemon Sand mentions in his arguments to Arianne).

Too, Jon Connington notes in "The Griffin Reborn" the importance of bowmen in the Golden Company's ranks: while Connington admits that he had once "shared the disdain most knights had for bowmen", he had realized in exile that "the arrow was as deadly as the sword" - so much so that Connington "had insisted that Homeless Harry Strickland break Balaq's command into ten companies of one hundred men and place each company upon a different ship". Those companies include not just crossbows and "the double-curved horn-and-sinew bows of the east" but also "the big yew longbows borne by the archers of Westerosi blood" as well as "the great bows of goldenheart treasured by Black Balaq himself and his fifty Summer Islanders". The Golden Company's archers may not be exclusively longbowmen as per the popular conception (and GRRM's) of the battle of Agincourt, but the emphasis on the unexpected (by Westerosi biased assumptions) importance of archers certainly feels reminiscent of the Agincourt legend.

That victory of seemingly humble archers specifically against what GRRM calls "the flower of chivalry". It is a truth bordering on the banal that chivalry and the Reach go or appear to go (green) hand in hand: Yandel waxes poetic that "[i]t was in these green fields that chivalry was born" and that "in the Reach ... the Tyrells continue to uphold all that is best in knighthood and chivalry", while Renly boasted of "the chivalry of the south" (a phrase Catelyn also used to describe his host). Whatever the actual proportion of knights versus non-knights in the current Tyrell host, it may be easy to associate this army with chivalry and knighthood - and with the Golden Company only ever boasting five hundred mounted knights at any given time (and apparently ever fewer now, since the missing ships contained some of their horses), it may consequently look like this battle is a (relatively) gigantic army of born and raised knights against a relatively small band of non-knightly soldiers. Add in Haldon's observation that "[t]hese rains have turned the roads to mud", and the Agincourt parallel may to some extent write itself (especially given the fact that I see our Aegon succeeding in - albeit briefly - becoming king.)

Now, again, this is not a perfect parallel by any means. The overall more comparable figure to Henry V in Westeros is, I would say, Daeron I, the Young Dragon (himself, to be sure, a figure of inspiration to our Aegon). Henry V didn't march out of a castle - much less one of the strongest castles around - specifically to do battle with the French, as our Aegon seems to be doing in marching out from Storm's End. However, I would not at all be surprised if GRRM borrows elements of the popular conception of Agincourt for this battle.

As far as the rest of the Hundred Years' War ... I'm most amused by comparing the title "King of the Rhoynar" to the English claim to the title "King of France". I did also note that Myriah Martell's marriage to the future King Daeron II may parallel the marriage between Margaret of Anjou and Henry VI of England, at the tail end of the Hundred Years' War. Again as well, I think it's worth considering Daeron I and King Baelor as parallels to Henry V and Henry VI.

[jonmyblaze]

" children scare the living shit out of me" au(or how fab five kids defended their babysitter Tim)

Jason easily infiltrated Titans Tower pretty easily, He had his old passcode.

Expecting to scare the living shit out of his replacement, so that he would never be Boy Wonder again.It was petty yeah but that was Jason's plan.

He did not expect replacement to have in his hands little girl with black hair in a little Robin outfit and bright green terrifying eyes. Now the replacement just going to die on principal.

One second later

Okay the green-eyed girl threw a fucking energy bolts at him! What the fuck? And he knew he wasn't tripping acid

Because of the multiple scorch marks on the wall!

Jason was on the run, inside the tower.(it was rather big New York paid a lot to keep it up)

he was still in his custom-made Robin outfit that he bought, (with the benefit of pants thank you very much)

Then he found a redhead kid, at first he didn't think much of it as he charged past him.

But then the flying girl with scary green eyes and black hair shouted to get after him.

Why the fuck was that boy with a flaming sword ready to cut him? Why the fuck does he look like Donna Troy?

And he flies too! Did he have a lasso ?

(one ass kicking later)

It took only 3 minutes of running and zigzagging through hallways before he found another kid,

or a blue haired archer girl , her bow drawn at him

Wait He thought she looks familiar

Lian?

(, multiple arrows drawn and fired Plus several boxing glove arrows later (

Shit multiple arrows were on him no where deadly but they were fucking uncomfortable barely penetrating the suit

Oh look is that kid a water bender? Oh fuck that's a water bender!

--+++++----

Jason felt like his head received a swearly. he was still trying to get the water out of it

Then he felt to breezes in the wind

Or more accurately.

Or the two speedsters. That barely looked like they were five..

--------

Timothy Drake was lucky, today was the day that he was babysitting the Titans children, along with friends

Mari, Cerdian, Robbie, Jai, Iray and the eldest lian

He's still wonder who tried to break into the Titans Tower hey it was a perfect test run for the titans of tomorrow

Jason had to drag his bloody body out. God damn it he hated kids. You know what back to the drawing board

[shinra33459]

Skyrim Argonian Husbandos x Human!Reader Headcanons

Art Credit - ArtOfZaromi on DeviantArt

Writing for Argonians. I have mods that allow some of the base NPCs to be followers as well, so this also applies to them as well

Derkeethus

You two first met when you rescued him from Darkwater Pass at the request of his friend and coworker, Sondas. Simple enough of a rescue all things considered. You then recruited him as a follower.

He was quick with a sword and deadly accurate with a bow, not many stood a chance. He had some experience in combat, most likely from some kind of military or mercenary experience.

Wherever he got his experience from, he did know how to communicate with humans better than the average Argonian. Instead of using intricate body language cues that only other Argonians would understand, he used human body language.

Instead of jumping straight into the war, you decided to join the Companions to sharpen both of your skills and bring glory to yourselves.

After becoming the Harbinger, you then dealt with the Dragon Crisis first and foremost; the Civil War was going to have to wait, no matter what Ulfric Stormcloak or General Tullius had to say.

After retrieving certain documents in the Thalmor Embassy showing Ulfric was a Thalmor asset in waiting, you joined the Imperial Legion together.

You ended the war and protected the security of the Empire. Your efforts extended to Harkon and his vampires, as well as Miraak. You married him after all of this and retired to a cabin in the woods, living off the land and hunting.

Scouts-Many-Marshes

You found him working the docks in Windhelm for a meager pittance. He and the other Argonians were cold and hungry, making barely enough to have food in their bellies.

Despite you being a human, he held no ill-will towards you individually, unlike his friend Neetrenaza.

You were disgusted at what the Nords here put these poor Argonians through. Poor pay and living out of a small warehouse room. That wasn't fair, nor was it right.

You exchanged some rather fierce words with Torbjorn Shatter-Shield, their boss. The man knew that if he didn't listen to you, his head would be rolling on the floor of his home.

After the Argonians were getting paid better, he decided to tag along with you in your quests, supporting you however he could. However, he was still very much a newbie when it came to combat.

Both of you joined the Imperial Legion together. Seeing what the Nords were doing in Windhelm alone was enough to stir you into action.

The Civil War was long and bloody, with both of you getting injured at times. Once you two closed in on Windhelm, he left to go back to the city to ensure the safety of the Argonians at the docks.

After the war, you two got married, and took on the Dragon Crisis, the Vampires, and Miraak. After the fighting and adventures came to an end, you two got settled down and enjoyed a nice and quiet life.

Jaree-Ra

You saw the shifty Argonian the minute you walked into Solitude, looking for some person to con into whatever he was planning to do. This close to the coast, he had to be a pirate of some sort.

He enlisted your services to put out the lighthouse fire at the Solitude Lighthouse, ensuring that the Icerunner would run aground. Simple enough of a job to do.

Your hunch about him turned out to be true, when you snuck into the Blackblood Marauders' base of operations and found that Jaree-Ra was going to use whoever put out the lighthouse as a patsy.

When returning to Solitude, you confronted him, and boy was he surprised that you found out. After that, you became an equal partner in that venture.

You were rather clever for a softskin, even more so than himself, and that was a trait he admired. Cunning and intelligence was what you and he needed to survive in your line of work.

Afterwards, you, Jaree, and Deeja joined the Thieves Guild after the Icerunner situation, with you eventually taking the helm of the Guild.

You chose to join the Empire in the Civil War, knowing that Maven Black-Briar would eventually be the Jarl; it was simply a choice of business, not one of morality.

You married Jaree-Ra after the war had come to an end. The Dragon Crisis, vampires, Miraak, and much more got dealt with. Afterwards, you bought a ship and took Jaree and Deeja as some of your crew as you now sailed the high seas as a pirate.

[lostaestheticsworld]

I have some headcanons about bowyer from smrpg.

1. Bowyer has a very good sense of smell, better than an average person (like tanjiro from demon slayer)

2. Bowyer has very (deadly) accurate intuition even when it comes to enemies or that something is going on with someone, he's never been wrong but at times he doesn't think about it much

3. Bowyer can be very agile and flexible without his bow string on but he's able to lay down with or without the string

4. If bowyer's aeroes get missing then he would know that something is wrong and would try to look for them

And that'll be all for now.