#natey love

[lovestarrecords]

Nateybeats, Love Star Records

Portland, Oregon

[sugarcandydoll]

Happy Birthday My Hubby Nate Jacobs ♡🙈💗

˚｡⋆୨୧˚ august 4th ୨୧⋆｡˚

[ellenembee]

Thinking about Detective Ophelia "1% people" Maven, who rarely smiles or shows much emotion (like mother, like daughter), gradually opening up to Adam once his initial sour attitude melts away. In the spaces that remain, she finds he is earnest and serious in the same ways she is, if not for the same reasons, and she finds comfort in it. Because he is like her. Because their pieces fit together.

Thinking about Ophelia gradually smiling more in his presence - only when it's the two of them, of course. It starts out small with a slight uptick at the corner of her mouth. Then a small smile that flashes then fades. Then, finally, a full smile, sincere and excited. (It's the car that does it (God, she loves classic cars.))

Thinking about her accidental slide into a love triangle, with Nate being the only one she liked when they first met, the one who ignited that unfortunate spark she tried so hard to deny. But Adam, once his brashness faded into safe mundanity, once he accepted her as a member of his team, became an anchor in the storm. A safe haven amid the chaos. He doesn't push her boundaries or say those uncomfortably emotional things that make her insides crawl.

Thinking about Nate hearing the rarest of sounds - Ophelia's laughter - faintly from a distance and following it to find Ophelia and Adam sitting on the living room couch together, each on opposite ends but their bodies turned toward each other, heads leaning inward, bright smiles on their faces as Ophelia tells a story from her youth - the same youth she'd told Nate she didn't want to talk about. It's not a raucous joy that lights their faces. It's quiet. Understated. But it cuts deep and to the quick. Because Nate has never made her smile like that, has never even seen her smile like that. And though he vows to earn that smile, the trickle of dread has reached levels deep enough to drown in. And he surely hates deep waters.

Thinking about Ophelia trying to walk away from both of them, only to keep being pulled into their orbits. Of wishing she could. Just. Stop. Feeling. At least she had never let her guard down, always sliding out of those tense moments before anything could happen. She'd never promised either of them anything - no kisses or dates and certainly no relationships. It would be better for everyone if it all just stopped.

And yet the smiles keep coming, as does the heartbreak.

[jargyles]

jeddie - the one where they don't break up

j&e have an epic summer of love and can't wait to finish highschool together (au where the byers don't move to cali. yet), but jonathan's insecurities get in the way of their outness. they don't break up about it. | ship: jonathan byers/eddie munson | bg characters: will byers (mentioned), wayne munson (mentioned) | words: ~3.4k | warnings: mentions of drinking, recreational drug use, references past alcoholism, internalized homophobia, period-typical attitudes around queerness, jonathan-typical relationship problems. lotsa angst

summer happened.

jonathan and eddie kissed for the first time, a whip of teeth and tongue that left jonathan hopped up on a new strand of endorphins and eddie- well, the same, but back then- newly obsessed with his club member's brother. jonathan hadn't anticipated them kissing more after that, chalking it up to some hazy frolic into dying grass, a firework that left a smell. he figured that would be the case especially when the fourth of july came and eddie kissed him again, and a handful of times between then and their first kiss, and another handful of times after that.

jonathan didn't think anything of it; having eddie around, getting high, going to shows and kissing in the dark, getting drunk, kissing after long walks home, all of it seemed like something that fit into eddie's idea of "a summer you'll never forget, byers". he didn't think anything about the way eddie looked, or spoke, or played guitar, or even held him in between moments they weren't doing anything. he didn't think about any of that, but… there was something. something that drove them to where they are now, something that made jonathan fully aware of what they meant to each other, even if it took a while.

it'd be the way eddie beamed at him every time they met, thin lips brandishing wide smiles and folding into the slight chub of his cheeks. it'd be the way jonathan didn't understand what it meant to feel empty when he didn't see him smiling. it'd be the way his hair would fall in stringy curls in front of his big brown eyes during a show, or after, or before, when they'd spent a good thirty minutes trying to wrestle a blunt they were sharing away from one another. the way his eyes would linger on the bend of eddie's knuckles underneath his silver rings. sometimes it'd be his scent, his laugh, even his touch- but really it'd be the lack of it all that drove jonathan to places he never thought he'd park at. especially with eddie munson.

neither one of them expected the other to say 'i love you', but they both did, and they were both shocked and didn't know what would come after that, but then they just kind of dealt with it. they would kiss, and get high, and go to shows, and hold each other, and spend days with jonathan's family and wayne, or the party, or the rest of eddie's band, and they would smile and say 'i love you' somewhere in between all that. they didn't even question it, and after about two months or so, they just accepted it. they were dating. boyfriends, even.

summer happened and the rest of their relationship became interwoven with trips to scoops and reading comic books in the woods and making out while listening to queen, a middle ground. the theatrics and vibrato were for eddie, and the music, the lyrics, and the familiarity of it all were for jonathan. lyrics became dates of the week, and theatrics became sweat-stained t-shirts under fizzling leds. they were trapped there for a while.

eddie had to repeat his senior year (again), and jonathan was starting his. both of these milestones, so to speak, took place after summer, and they hadn't thought about that.

jonathan was mostly excited for will; getting to drive to school together, showing him where his classes were, helping him with extracurriculars and homework, not even thinking for a second that his little brother would be attending the same school as his boyfriend. eddie didn't think about that either; he was stoked to have his byers and his mini byers with him, rambling on about how 'awesome' hellfire campaigns would be, how they'd drive him to the hideout- to which jonathan immediately shot that down- and how will's freshman year would be his favorite year because 'me and big byers are gonna make you never forget it, kid' and that's all the two of them cared about, really.

they didn't think about what would happen after they showed up at school together.

will decided that he'd rather walk with the rest of his friends to school that day, and have a proper meet-up-and-recap before they all settled into new classes and opportunities, so jonathan and eddie rode to school together. in eddie's van.

the thing they don't tell most people about having a boyfriend in hawkins is that most people in hawkins who have boyfriends are girls, and most boys who date have girlfriends, and so little couple-y things like showing up to school in the same van and fixing each other's jackets would earn strange and unsettling looks from fellow student passersby. things like that, when done without a girl present or involved in the straightening or light dusting of jackets, often got someone spat on or shoved into a toilet or trash can or locker of some kind, accompanied with a brand new word for "gay" written in permanent marker somewhere on your exposed skin for everyone to see.

they have the same first period, but they don't walk to class together.

they have the same last period too, but eddie can't wait that long.

during lunch, when jonathan is washing his hands before making the trek to the parking lot to eat alone in his car, a handful of boys enter and exit their respective stalls. most of them ignore him (thankfully) and the ones that don't just stare, and it could be due to his brother- the zombie- attending school with him now, it could be the way some people definitely saw him exit the same van as eddie munson, and it could be the way it's taking him so long to raise his hands above the sink to dry them off. all in all, they're still staring. there's a rolodex of reasons to stare at jonathan byers, and none of them are good, and all of them make sense, to a certain degree.

at least jonathan can wash his hands about it. he's getting better at moving his arms past his elbows, and he's grateful for being able to wash his hands under five minutes, even if his fingers still jitter or the water feels like- something he's bound to wash away again, maybe, if he isn't careful about eddie. about will. at least he can look forward to walking by eddie's table with the rest of the hellfire club as he makes his way into peaceful (albeit, regretful) solitude. maybe eddie will shoot him a wink mid speech, or smile at him and act like he's smiling at someone else during one of his elaborate public disruptions.

instead, jonathan hears a loud, swinging screech and flinches, his arms tensing up down to the laddering of his spine, and his first instinct is to reach for something but instead he just ducks his head down and mutters an apology, as if he was the one barging in on an innocent sink-dweller. instead of barking back at him, or spitting a venom-slick synonym for 'queer' and shoving him into the nearest stall, the interrupter pulls him in for a tight hug. it startles jonathan, until he realizes the only person to hug him by lifting him a foot above the ground is-

"can't fucking do this-" and eddie’s wrapping constrictor-tight arms around him one moment, then pushing the two of them into the nearest stall the next, and holding him by the face with both hands to kiss him right after that, "can't fucking do this, byers- i can't-"

"hey, listen-" jonathan melts, and couldn't think of a way to reciprocate eddie's intensity if he tried, becoming fully swept up in words stitched in between layers of kissing, "listen, eds-"

eddie stops, because he knows when to stop, when jonathan feels like it's becoming too much, too much acting and not enough savoring, or too much closeness when he needs air. jonathan expected eddie to ramble himself into a corner, or have a smile cutting its way across his mouth, something familiar to soothe his yearning. what jonathan doesn't expect is eddie looking back at him with eyes so wet, so red, that it looks like he'd been punched everywhere but south from the time he swung that door open to the first kiss he planted on jonathan's face.

"do you- do you know?" eddie's hand is on the spot next to jonathan's head. he's practically hunched over, his lips scrunched into a frown. "do you know how hard it is to act like i don't fuckin' miss you like crazy?"

"i know, hey, i know-" and jonathan is cradling eddie's head in his shoulder like he did during the summer, when they'd open up about things like this, that left them hoveling and wrecked for hours on end. he smooths over his stringy mass of hair, pushing it out of his face while eddie tried to replace the air in his lungs with whatever jonathan had going on at the top of his neck.

"i can't fucking do this." he snaps, his voice as wet as his eyes when he yanks himself from underneath jonathan's hold.

"i know." jonathan is prepared for the worst; he's ready to kiss eddie one last time in that stall and walk out with a wrinkled shirt that's bound to turn heads. he figures it's the end of summer and eddie has a breakable heart, and it must break his heart to not be around jonathan like how he used to, so jonathan figures it's time. he sighs, putting on a brave, stoic face while giving eddie a firm squeeze on his shoulder.

eddie isn't having any of it.

"i can't fucking live like this, byers." eddie says it- live- in a way that jonathan would've easily missed had he been focused on the mess of teeth and tongue sliding its way up and down his neck, dancing just above his collarbone.

it weighs on him, the idea of eddie not being able to live without him, or the idea of eddie not being able to live without being with him, whichever idea made the most sense. jonathan knows this is nonsensical, from every angle, because eddie doesn't mean that, and jonathan shouldn't just assume things out of people he dates for a month or two, or three, or… however long it's been since their first kiss. just because eddie kissed him back then the exact same way he's kissing him now- sporadic movements and bumps of teeth, both of their skin clammy and sundried at the same time- doesn't mean they should exist in a world where hawkins isn't hawkins. it's hard for him to imagine it, a world where he and eddie could step out of the same van or even hold hands in the halls, and if he tries hard enough he can convince himself that that isn't actually what he wanted from all this, no way, no how. it's hard to convince himself of that when eddie is taking his zipper down.

"eddie, wait-" he manages to cough out, having had every cognitive thought kissed right out of him, and his featherlight wrist tries to pick at eddie's heavily accessorized one. "really, wait. c'mon, eds- we gotta- gotta talk this out, okay? talk."

eddie exhales, long and heavy through his nose, with a pleased chuckle rumbling somewhere underneath all that. jonathan is relieved, even if eddie starts pressing quiet kisses up his neck again, at least jonathan knows he's listening.

"i missed you too." jonathan leans into it, resting his palm on eddie's cheek. he does miss him, even now, but he won't say it. eddie doesn't have to know that this is hard for him too, that he wants to be doing this- kissing, no judgemental eyes or poisonous words- out in the open, with all their peers, with everyone and anyone who could see.

eddie makes a noise, disgruntled, perished, wrecked inside, and he’s pressing the flesh of his cheek into jonathan's hand, nuzzling him with a ferocity that shouldn't be described as a "nuzzle". his arms come around jonathan's waist, tight, like he's protesting the bulldozing of the place that doesn't card for cigarettes, or trying to break him in half.

"i'm serious, eds," jonathan hears himself break, for a second, in a voice crack that borders on a wheeze, "i missed you. a lot."

"yeah, no, i- i know." eddie closes his leaking eyes tight, breathing him in again. "which is why i- i can't. i can't not be with you, or around you, or act like i don't even… like we don't even… know each other? does that make sense? i don't- i don't know what i'm saying here, jonny. something in there might make sense-"

"eddie." jonathan scoffs with endearment, then his heart sinks when he thinks about not getting to hear his boyfriend ramble anymore. "i know what you mean."

they pause, silence wrapping around them like a wool blanket. they're just limbs at this point; eddie's lips still wandering aimlessly on however much skin he could find on jonathan's neck, jonathan's head curled towards him, both of their arms folded around each other as they breathed, speaking in bumps of noses and sighs of gratitude.

"we just have to be careful, okay?" jonathan is the first to pull them back to reality, as unwilling as he was. "just for the year, yeah? so people don't think… y’know."

"god," eddie groans, his forehead thumping against the wall behind them, and he chuckles again, until it bleeds into a whine. "since when do we care about what people think? since when did we have to start acting like fucking…" both of them know what that silence means, and both of them knew how to not get caught over the summer, except for when they didn't, "ugh! this fucking sucks. this sucks, byers. why do we have to pretend that we're-"

"we won't be pretending," jonathan's face feels blank, and he tightens his fingers around eddie's bicep, "we'd still be together, just… we won't tell anyone. not because of what they'll say, but because it isn't their business."

there were a lot of things jonathan was scared of, and a lot of reasons to be scared of them. for a long time, he was scared of having to hurt someone he loved, and he was prepared for the inevitability of it happening, because ever since will first went missing, he knew he'd shut himself off more. what he wasn't prepared for, in the event of letting down a person he loved, was for that person to be eddie. he especially, never in his life, would've thought to prepare for the look on eddie's face after he said that.

eddie backs off completely, unashamed tears fully streaming down his face, his hands forgetting jonathan's zipper entirely, latching onto his shoulders like jonathan would go missing without them being wound together. he shrugs, and then his head is down and jonathan hears the starts to a lot of sentences that never get finished, or even have a first word to begin with. his hands tremble, his ring-clad fingers digging dent marks into jonathan's bare ones. he sniffles, hard, and it breaks jonathan's heart right down the middle.

he knows he should say something. he knows he should pull eddie closer, tell him he didn't mean it, that they'll just float through their senior year together and it'll be a breeze, or the best year of will's life, or whatever else eddie said, but he can't. he can't bring himself to do anything when he knows that lunch period will be over soon, and someone might see them leave this stall together and assume the worst- the truth- and make their lives a living hell. eddie doesn't deserve that. he should be able to graduate in one piece without jonathan dragging him down.

"i didn't know you were-" eddie is the first to speak, because jonathan is busy holding in his own tears at seeing him like this, "i didn't think you still cared about this stuff, y'know?" he squeezes jonathan's hands in his palms, "other people seeing us, whatever, all that shit. i didn't know it mattered so much to you."

"it doesn't." jonathan's lips crinkle into a frown. eddie didn't know what he was talking about.

"yeah?" eddie meets his eyes, and they're worse than jonathan could've imagined them being. his face is flushed, and his lips are red from having kissed jonathan so much, and his mouth twitches as it opens and closes, words dying off his tongue before he could form them. "because you really seem to give a shit about being seen with me, or even fucking knowing me, actually, so what gives? what changed with you, byers? what made you make up this- this fucking game plan on how we're supposed to act now, huh?"

"nothing." jonathan's voice is tight, and his fingers feel small and dry in eddie's hands.

"bullshit." eddie's grip is more firm, more secure, but still soft. his eyes scan jonathan's face, and his eyebrows have that arch in them that jonathan had only seen when he was learning a new song on guitar. he used to admire it, found it cute, but now it terrifies him. "what, are you, like… embarrassed of me? ashamed or- or something?"

"that's not-" jonathan feels a single tear fall, and he realizes he might've been holding in a breath this entire time. he knew how eddie worked; all it took was one missed idea, or misconstrued thought, and eddie would be in his dark hole of self pity once again, and they'd done so well with his progressing sobriety over the summer that jonathan doesn't want to see what'll happen when eddie gets down there again. “i’m not.”

"you don't like me anymore, then?" that crack in his voice- jonathan hates it- makes eddie sound like a rejected kid, and even he starts to shake his head at how ridiculous it might sound. "are we not, like, clicking like we used to? is it someone else?"

"eddie-" jonathan knows he's helpless to stop this spiral, and he starts his own series of unfinished sentences that come out as shortenings of breath and hollow grunts.

"did i do something?" eddie has his shoulders fully slumped now. "i know i'm not, like, the best boyfriend in the world or anything, but, you- you gotta tell me if i mess up, y’know? so we can-"

the bell rings. jonathan swore he wouldn't miss lunch, swore to himself he wouldn't make a scene on the first day back, for everyone's sake, and here they were. eddie is stood frozen in front of him, his body solid in it's hunched stance while his eyes bug out, racing around every corner of their shared space. when jonathan snaps his fingers in front of his face, eddie heaves, his posture loosening almost instantly.

"go." jonathan wishes he didn't sound so quick to get eddie to leave, but he has to get them apart before people see, and eddie still isn't getting the picture. he grabs him by the arm, and the way eddie won't even look at him is blunt enough to crack a bone. "you have go, eds, right now, or-"

"yeah." eddie snatches his arm away, sniffs hard as he wipes his face with one hand, and pushes the stall door open to properly storm out. "already ahead of you."

jonathan watches him leave, knowing (or at least assuming to know) that they'll talk later, and that they both need to get a grip before shit gets heavier than it needs to be. it'd have to be at his trailer after school, without will tagging along or, hopefully, without wayne to mistakenly wander in on their conversation. jonathan would have to think, long and hard, about what that talk would even mean for them. worst case scenario, they break up and hate each other for the rest of their lives.

jonathan can't think of another scenario.

[ang3lik]

now.. hear me out..

HEARING YOU SO VERY LOUD AND CLEAR, V!!

[thedeadthree]

ub / natey: send mason an angel, the nicest angel you have 🥀🥺

eirini dimitriou:

[the-californicationist]

Excerpt from Gunslinger - "Appaloosa"

OMG!! I commissioned this artwork from the incredible @captain-natey who RETURNED TO ME WITH THIS MASTERPIECE!!!! I just wanted to plug their work (their commissions are OPEN! visit their website here!!) and I wanted to post the chapter excerpt from "Gunslinger" (Price/Reader) that it belongs to. Hope you enjoy! Please go show Nate some love! Thanks for reading. TW: reference to past domestic abuse, Reader has call sign and speaks Spanish

Price sat beside you and pulled your chair closer to his, looping an arm around the back of it,

“Look, love, you don’t have to do anything you don’t -”

“Capitán! Quit whispering your sugary words into her ear. This is the woman who survived Miguel ‘El Matador’ Moreno for diez pinche años. She may look like a little lady, but she’s done nastier work than all four of you perritos combined. She is the reason why the infamous Jefe Luis Villagomez doesn’t travel north of the Rio Grande. Charon doesn’t ferry the living very often, amigos. She only takes the dead. Porfa,” Alejandro waved a hand in the air dismissively, unamused by Price’s coddling tones. 

Ale may have been embellishing a bit, but he wasn’t wrong. You didn’t need your hand to be held.

“I can’t leave the animals,” you said, checking to see how far these men had thought this plan through. 

“Laswell called Tony, and he’ll be here Wednesday,” Gaz told you. 

Tony had watched the ranch for you once before. He was a sharp-witted veteran that had run his own ranch for decades, so you felt good about leaving the farm to him. Tony could take care of himself. He did tend to spoil the goats, but there were worse things. 

“How long?” Your question hung in the air like a balloon losing its air, floating, surrounded by silence. 

Vargas and Price shared a look. Price repositioned himself in his chair, not thrilled about having to answer you,

“Not sure, love. Is that alright?” 

It was a test. What were you willing to sacrifice for this man and his makeshift band of brothers? Your peace? You’d fought so damn hard for that peace. You’d survived a devil of a man in order to sleep warm and safe and knowing you could take care of your damn business unaided. After giving up years of your life to unrest and fear, your reward had been the reconstruction of your independence. Price was asking you for your hard-fought freedom. You weren’t ready to give that up. You weren’t ready for sleeping on floors and reloading guns. You weren’t ready to face more devil-men. 

But what else could you do? Price had you, threatening your heart. If you woke up tomorrow to his empty bed, you didn’t know if you could take that pain. You imagined that Kahlo’s Wounded Deer felt much the same; shot through the chest with nowhere to run, stuck between the cliff’s edge and your lover - your hunter - both promising suffering in different ways. No escape. 

The captain studied you like a heeler dog studied its herd, watching for even the slightest movement to strike, to react. He witnessed the fear flash in your face, and in turn, you saw the despair shadow his. It was so slight, that change in his expression, but to you, it was like he was screaming. You, too, were screaming. 

“Okay, but just for this mission. Then, I need to get back to my life,” you decided, making your limitations known, quietly but firmly. 

The relief that washed through Price’s eyes was palpable. 

Vargas served dinner in his chaotic way, family style, sharing plates. Everyone was eating with their hands, cradling the homemade tortillas like little flowers, using them to scoop up meat and sauce that dripped down their palms like nectar, spicy and sweet. 

Ghost didn’t take his food into the other room this time, feeling secure enough to flip up the mouth of his painted mask to eat. It was like seeing him naked; he was always covered up, so any skin was somehow too much. Soap crowded Ghost from his corner of the table, trying to steal more asada, laughing and joking with Ale. Gaz and Price were huddled, murmuring about something, talking with full mouths in low tones. 

It was almost too serene. There were times in life where you understood that you were in a moment you could never return to. You may have similar ones in your future, but somehow, you knew when certain wrinkles in time were singular. As you watched your guests, you knew that this was definitely one of those moments. 

Price had his arm draped across your chair, keeping you near him. You crafted a bite for him in your hand, pinching the soft tortilla until it held the perfect amount of Ale’s asada. 

You nudged Price with your free hand,

“Toma, come esto, papi.” Here, have a bite, daddy.

He turned away from Gaz and found you there, his bite of food in your hands, and his face lit up like a flame. Bending his head down to meet your hand, he grabbed your wrist in his huge fist, trapping your arm. Then, slowly, he put his mouth around the morsel, lips touching the pads of your fingers, tongue licking the sauce from them. 

Vargas watched your interaction from the other side of the table, open-mouthed. Soap smacked him on the shoulder as if to cash in a bet.

“No, animales! Not at the table!”

The men shared a lighthearted groan and laughed good-naturedly, giving you and their captain a hard time about your little display of affection. 

You smirked, feeling accomplished. Price had wanted to tell them, so you thought a dropped hint or two would be alright. To your relief, he laughed with them, chewing his food before making a comment,

“Sabe buena.” Tastes good. His voice, still badly accented, was mirthful and suggestive, dragging out another round of playful jeering. 

Then, to your surprise, the captain pulled your chair back away from the table, leaning it on its rear legs, holding it at an angle, and kissed you deeply. You let out a little cry of shock, silenced by his mouth. But, you recovered, kissing him back, wrapping one hand around his jaw and the other running through his hair. 

It was all in good fun. Normal. Just a couple flirting with each other, but for Price, you could tell it meant more. It was one thing to bare your souls to each other in front of the farm animals, or to sneak off and rediscover original sins in the quiet of your room, but it was something else to show the world that you chose him. To show his men that you were committed to their captain. That you weren’t just a rest-stop on their long journey. You got the sense that by committing to him, you were also committing to them: his family. 

The rest of the meal passed in that same warmth, filled with laughter and jokes, stories and questions about each other. Intimacy. The whole time, Price couldn’t keep his hands off of you. Your thigh, your hand, the nape of your neck - he was grabbing you like a lifeline. He shared his food, making you try his chili relleno, giving you sips of his drink when yours ran dry, doting on you. 

“Okay, time for dessert, yes?” You asked the others, picking up dirty dishes as you retreated back to the kitchen. 

You heard exasperated groaning, their bellies full and struggling, but you didn’t hear a no. Vargas followed you into the kitchen, pretending to help,

“Dios mío, necesito un cigarrillo después de verlos a ustedes.” My God, I need a cigarette after watching you two. 

“Cállate, cerdito.” Shut up, piglet. You smiled to yourself, cutting up what was left of the cheesecake, giving Price’s plate the largest piece. 

“¿Estas enamorado, morena?” Are you in love, darling? His voice was a quiet whisper. It felt like a gunshot wound in your chest. 

“I don’t know,” you said, in English, not trusting yourself to tell such a lie in your native tongue. 

Your old friend covered his mouth with his hand, eyebrows heading skyward, giving you an obvious look. He replied in English, understanding the secret you’d been trying to conceal,

“You know better, Charon. We are not men who should be loved. I hope you know what you’re doing, mija. ”

You didn’t reply out loud, but on the inside, you heard yourself say, “Me, too.”

Even though they lived in the shadows, you weren’t sold on the idea that they should be priests for their causes. Men like Price typically followed two paths. The love of a woman, if she becomes his family, could break his heart, making him forget his purpose, distracting him from his quest for justice. Or, she would light a fire in him, turning him into a dragon. You were afraid to find out which path he would choose.

You wondered if he loved you. 

You delivered the cake and poured more tequila into all the little cups that were thirsty for it. 

John was rolling a cigar in his fingers absentmindedly, and you could tell he was aching to smoke it. 

“You wanna come outside with me, love?” Price invited you, rubbing your thighs in big, sweeping strokes, making your blood rush through them, somehow knowing what you wanted. 

Everyone else was chatting, or watching Gaz play that video game of his, backseat driving, telling him where to hide and who to shoot. Which gun to use. You slipped out onto the porch with Price, avoiding any more ribbing. 

You stood against the porch railing, facing the yard, staring out at the darkness of the night, the rain finally dying out to a drizzle, casting little blue galaxies in the flooded grass, reflecting the light from a huge moon. Price stood directly behind you, pressed against your body, wrapping one hand around the railing, closing you in. He held his cigar in the other hand, smoking it in circles, trying to make the ashes burn evenly. 

“You surprised me at dinner,” he commented, obviously looking for a response. 

You feigned ignorance,

“Oh, why?”

“Feeding me by hand like that. Can’t be doing that in public. Makes me go a bit hard, love.” His voice was right next to your ear, gravelly and delightfully threatening. 

You smiled sweetly, your words coated in pretend innocence, playing with him,

“What do you mean? I just wanted you to have a bite. One little bite can’t hurt, can it, John?” 

“It’s bloody mental, the way you make me feel,” he took a long drag from his cigar and let the smoke tumble out as he spoke, leaning over you, “I’d fuck you right here, pretty girl, given half a chance.”

He took a deep breath along the side of your neck, smelling your skin beneath your hair, and when he exhaled, a moan was wrapped quietly inside it.

You pressed your ass into his crotch, finding him nearly hard. Touching his hand gently, you took his cigar and stuck it in your mouth, the wet leaves tasting like him. You curled the smoke with your tongue, locking eyes with him over your shoulder, watching him suffer deliciously,

“I dunno about ‘mental’, John. But it seems like you have an oral fixation.

You punctuated your last two words, saying them with a soft, sultry undertone. His eyes narrowed as he smiled down at you in a sinister grin,

“Do I ever.”

He stole the stick back from you and smiled even wider, teeth gleaming, his incisors seeming like fangs in his wolfy smile. 

“Think they’re watching us?” You let your eyes turn over to the window, covered with a sheer curtain, fully aware that the view outside was more visible than your view into the house. Trick of the light. 

He shrugged,

“Not if they know what’s good for them.”

Price’s cock had fully hardened now, and he thrust it up into your body ever so slightly, rubbing himself through layers of clothes, rocking his hips once and then twice like a promise of things to come. It made you feel a deep, primal lust, understanding his need without his words, your bodies engaging in an ancient art that had remained untainted by eons of time. You returned his invitation, rolling your hips back onto him, your ass pressing soundly into his pinned shaft. 

“We should get some sleep. Early start tomorrow. It’s five hours to El Ojo,” Price groaned, whispering, rutting against you mindlessly, burying his face in your hair, staining your scent with his smoke. 

You turned around to face him; he didn’t stop his idle grinding, looking tranquilized by his heady tobacco. Hypnotizing you with his casual eroticism. 

“You don’t seem sleepy,” you commented, letting your hands roam over his chest and belly, tracing his nipples beneath his smooth shirt. He shuddered at your touch, sighing deeply. 

With his cigar perched carefully between his fingers, he grabbed your jawbone, and you could feel the wet end press into your cheek. You could sense the warmth of the ash on your skin. He began to kiss you, all of the smoke and musky scents of him blended together, and his strong, masculine cologne made your head spin. His kisses were controlling and long, moving your head where he wanted it to be, sucking your lips and tongue, keeping them from exploring on their own. He was the guide for your passion, showing you all the ways he would be able to please.

He broke away, but only far enough to keep your lips from touching, his breath hot as it warmed your mouth when he spoke,

“Early. Tomorrow. We have to get up early. We should sleep.”

“Okay,” you sighed, a little dramatically, easing past his grip, removing yourself from him, untangling his vines from your bones, “if you say so, John. Buenas noches.” 

You walked inside, swaying your hips a little more than you needed to, knowing he was looking, his blue eyes burning into your curves. Just before you went through the door, you glanced over at him. In the darkness of the porch, cast in shadow, the smoldering tip of his cigar glowed in his open mouth, the light from it gleaming off of his teeth and coloring his lips and beard a fiery orange. He was grinning, like a fox in a henhouse. When he saw you looking, he made a small show of readjusting himself, pawing at his swollen rod to release it from where it was trapped, and in the dimness, you could see its threatening outline. 

You shut the door behind you, hands shaking. The other men mostly ignored you, but you caught them glancing your way, trying to sneak looks. Soap was not as sneaky as the rest, staring blankly as if he had a secret he shouldn't have.

As you wished them good night, they returned the sentiment casually, but it was then that you noticed the window. Price was still at the railing - in full, clear view, smoking. Blood rushed to your cheeks, and you could feel the flush tingle against your skin with embarrassment. 

An hour or so later, you were already asleep when Price came upstairs. His heavy footsteps pulled you from your slumber. He was pacing in his room, packing perhaps. You went to the bathroom and pulled open the door. Upon hearing you, he opened his as well.

“Hey,” you whispered, squinting from sleep. 

“Hey,” he was breathing heavily, dressed in nothing but the jeans and boots he had worn that day. 

The captain watched as your eyes feasted upon his skin, gazing longingly at his thick waist where his pants were slung low on his hips, showing off just a bit of hair from below his belt line. One of his giant hands gripped the door frame, high on the plank, stretching his chest into a sweeping display of muscle. His armpit, arms, and torso were covered in the thick, dark hair you had let your hands roam across last night during your joining, and you knew how it would feel to touch. 

Price slid his hand down the frame, making a slow scraping noise, stepping fully into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a click, his icy eyes never leaving yours. 

He was enormous in the small space. His body was a powerhouse of visible strength. The meat of him hung heavy on his large bones, and he seemed, in the clean white tile of the bathroom, as if he was a specimen in some sort of display. Some museum exhibit, showing off, in sterile composition, the ideal form of Man. Built to fuck, to kill, to dominate the beasts of Eden from the lamb to the lion. Top of the food chain. 

Still a little shy from realizing you’d given his team quite the show earlier on the porch, you averted your gaze, turning toward the sink. Before you could run the water, he was behind you, quick, crowding your space exactly as he had on the porch.

He positioned himself behind you and, much more luridly this time, began to kiss and lick your neck, grinding himself into you as he did so, slipping a warm hand under your loose top, finding your soft flesh waiting for his touch. You could feel the roughness of his denim jeans through your cotton shorts, and the contrast between his soft, melting kiss and the hard, unforgiving feeling of him trying to fuck you through your clothes was too much to handle. Your body was trying to reconcile the two, splitting your thoughts, making you love-drunk on his ministrations. 

Price pulled off your shirt, raking it over your head, tossing it to the floor. He laced his hand through your hair and began to tug your head back, forcing you to look at yourself, bare to him, in the mirror. There was only the nightlight, more like a small Christmas bulb attached to a plug, so the room lacked any harsh contrast. Your bodies, your faces, the walls - everything began to swirl together, all colorized in the same, peachy glow. 

You felt his hands on your breasts, and you watched him touch you in the mirror. Seeing yourself being pulled and manipulated by such a large man was gratifying. His hands massaged into your softness, leaving warm trails on your skin, the tell-tale feeling of where he had touched and where he still had left to go. The captain saw himself in the mirror for the first time, then, looking up from leaving erotic kisses on your neck and shoulders. 

He sighed, locking eyes with you in the glass. That sigh trailed off into a groan, a ghost of the one he’d given you last night in the midst of his ecstasy. 

“Fucking hell, look at you,” he said in his lowest tone.

Suddenly, he was tugging at the button of his jeans and unzipping the fly, freeing himself and stroking his cock to attention using your plump ass. Through your flimsy shorts, you could feel the burning heat that radiated from him. Reaching behind you, his hardness fell into your palm and you watched the sensation crawl its way through his expression in the reflection. He gasped, resting his head against yours, whispering - yes, yes, yes - into your ear in a hiss through clenched teeth. 

John’s hand found your pantyline and pried it away from your skin with a confident finger, traveling down into your folds, searching for the swelling bundle nestled in the crest of your slit, rubbing it in long, loose ovals.

It wasn’t feverish; it was measured. His was the hand of a practiced man. As he worked, you joined him, rolling your wrist to rub his foreskin up and down in achingly long pulls, letting his wet head graze your skin as you teased him. The thick length was drooling with precome, and you could feel its stickiness on your palm. 

It didn’t take him long to find your particular rhythm, the one you used when staring at Pinterest photos on your phone of Keanu Reeves in his John Wick era; sweaty, bloody, and great with a gun. Price’s movements felt personal, like he’d read about what you wanted in your diary somewhere, as if he was in on the secret. It brought you to the summit very quickly, and he noticed the flush in your cheeks and breasts, only then increasing his intensity. 

You tried to continue to stroke him, but as you began to come in Price’s hand, you could only hold onto his cock, grasping it like the handle in a car driving too fast, careening downhill, rushing to its inevitable crash. 

“Yeah, love, come for me. Just like that, you gorgeous fucking thing,” he watched you tumble over the edge, crumpling in the mirror, reaching for him. 

“John! Please,” you cried.

You felt the tension burst inside of you like a mortar, hot and molten, pouring out of your core and into your body in waves of climactic pleasure. No one had ever made you come that hard, that quickly. It was hard for you to stand. Price steadied you, using his talented hand to hold you to him while you remembered your legs. 

Once you regained your senses, you removed your hand from him to pull down your shorts and panties, letting them pool at the floor beneath your feet. You returned to his cock, now swollen and throbbing, and fed it into you. Your come made his entry smooth and slippery, and he filled you up, your body celebrating his return.

He returned to his slow, grinding dance on the porch, thrusting himself into you rhythmically in aching, rolling motions. It was not the slamming pugilism of two people trying to find release. This was a concerted effort for him to fuck your walls into his memory, rubbing his dick along them to sense every ridge and sweet spot, and to find the ones that made you scream. 

When you let slip a desperate moan, he would pause, reflect, and return, hitting it again and again, watching you writhe and begging for him to help you.

“You feel so good in me,” you admitted, talking to him in the looking-glass. 

His eyes were full of mismanaged control, and his grip on reality was slipping, 

“Bloody beautiful. So warm and wet for me. Goddamnit, I’m not gonna last.”

But, he did. Your beast had stamina. He returned to your clit as he thrust in and out of you, dragging his fat cock through your body, ripping two more orgasms from your lips before he surrendered. 

You watched him come, crying out darkly in his reflection. He had pulled himself from you and was painting your generous ass cheeks with his load. The tacky fluid was searingly hot, and it ran down your skin in drips. 

You smiled, bending back to kiss him,

“Messy boy,” you chided playfully, a naughty tone in your voice. 

“Wanna clean you up,” Price sighed, satisfied and spent.

Do you want 30 more chapters of these two? Read "Gunslinger" here.

Reblogs and comments deeply appreciated!

[neiima-marin]

MY LOVER BOY

I love you so much natey poo

Nate your everything to me. You has this way of making the world feel brighter, like everything just falls into place when your around. It’s not even about the big moments, but the small ones—the way you listens, the way you smiles, the comfort I feel just being near you. There’s a calmness in your presence that makes everything feel safe, like I can be completely myself without any judgment. You sees me in a way no one else does, and I love how easy it is to just be with you. You make every day better, and I honestly can’t picture my life without you in it. I love you handsome boy. @nathan-doe

(ChatGPT wrote this cause I can’t fucking type and I can’t express my feelings into words for you)

@brooklyncameron @madisonb44r @nick-sturniolo @matthewsturrniolo @almondmilkhunniii @chasekeithh @nick-stuxniolos-hg @neiima-marin @christophersturnn @xxdemitrakalogerasx @carringtonbestmodell @tarayummysbloggg @tarayummyy @zarbruhhh @urdademery @christophersturniolowhatt @kenzieeluby @quenblackwell @chrissturnioloo @matthewsturnioloo @jakewebss12 @astoria-rios @madiifilipowicz @madifilipowiczz @curlysw1rlywurly @naileadevoraaa @xxxnoahrislingxxx @centrallceee @carringtonxx @nathan-doe @neiimamarin

[comfyklok]

anyway! i love nickles oh boy snb era pickles with natey

[itsmistyeyedbi]

of plants and dresses

Pairing: F!Detective/Farah Hauville

Word Count: 1,4k

Prompt: Fix (and Fall)

Warnings: There's nsft content in the last half of this. Nothing crazy I think, but it's there.

Tags: @happyhauvillebday

Summary: One of Zuri’s plant pots fell somehow, and Farah decided to fix it. This is nsft so minors dni!

Zuri’s apartment is full of plants.

Seriously, they're everywhere.

Farah remembers the first time she saw it. After Zuri found out about the supernatural world and the truth about Murphy, Unit Bravo were put on watch duty.

They spent ages squished into her tiny, silver hatchback with her and Nate sitting up front, giggling at her fighting for space in the back with Adam and Morgan. And once they were free of that hell, they went up two floors, took a left and spent a good minute going back and forth over house rules while Zuri psyched herself up to open the door.

When she finally did it was nothing but greenery.

They lined the windowsills, sat on counters and tables and her bookshelf, hung off the walls and ceiling. They're in the kitchen, the living room, her bedroom, her bathroom. One day Farah asked for a tour and got to learn some of their names. She even got to name some of the new ones!

Humans love to talk about the afterlife. If there’s one for plants, Zuri’s apartment was it.

She just needs to… rethink where she puts some of them. Or the type of pots she puts them in at least.

Farah is in the living room, sitting cross legged on the floor and staring at the pieces of an orange, ceramic plant pot on the coffee table. They are glinting in the light from the lamp she turned on - she doesn't need it to see better but it doesn't hurt to be extra careful.

The pieces have been cleaned and I did a test run on what Frankensteining them together will be like. Now to glue.

Nate glances over the top of his book, eyeing the super glue in her hands from his seat on the couch. “Perhaps you should put more newspaper underneath the pot. Just in case.”

“No way! What if it gets stuck on it? I won't be able to rinse it off, it'll ruin it. Besides, you,” she narrows her eyes at him and purses her lips, “are supposed to be reading and not hovering over me.”

“I'm not hovering, I just-”

“Don't worry, Natey, I won't mess up your precious, antique coffee table. Now shush, I wanna have this done before she gets here.”

She turns her attention back to the task at hand, ignoring Nate's sigh and waiting for him to turn a page before taking off the lid of the tube in her hand.

She reaches for the biggest piece, turns it delicately in her hand. She can do this, she knows she can do it. There aren't that many pieces. She just needs to take it nice and slow. With a deep breath she squeezes the tube and applies the glue on the jagged edge; she puts it down, picks up the piece that aligns with and holds them together for a few seconds.

And that's it.

Well then.

That was easier than expected. She didn't even realise she stopped breathing.

It's fixed in less than an hour. Nothing broke, nothing got stuck to things it shouldn't and she managed to add a little pizzazz to it too. After a final inspection, she stands over the ceramic pot and dusts off her hands.

“Done at last,” she grins and puts her hands on her hips. She looks over at Nate and bends at the waist to catch his eye. “And your table survived. It got a little decorated, but survived.”

Thud.

Huh. That's the fastest she's seen him close a book.

“Excuse me!?” Nate puts the book down beside him with some force and stands up to make his way to the table. “Decorated? Why would you do- oh.”

He gives her a deadpan look. Farah laughs and nudges him with her elbow.

“Come on, you've gotta have more faith in me than that. I've just gotta remove the newspapers and it'll be squeaky clean.”

He huffs and shakes his head before looking at the plant pot. He tilts his head a bit, smiling softly while nodding in approval, “It looks good. The stitching detail you added makes the cracks look intentional.”

“I know, right? I really hope she likes it.”

Their heads swivel towards the direction of the entrance as their ears catch the sound of Zuri’s car slowing to a stop outside the warehouse. A thrill of excitement runs through her. Just in time.

Nate returns to his seat, leaning back with his book in hand as he raises a brow and asks the questions she's been trying her best to prevent him from asking. “How did it break, anyway? Did something happen?”

“Oh, well, something would have to happen for it to fall over wouldn't it? It wouldn't fall by itself,” her voice pitches up as she speaks and she takes a few, frantic steps away from the coffee table. She laughs sheepishly and rubs the back of her neck with her hand. “So yeah, something happened. Obviously, but it wasn't bad…”

-

“Keep this on.”

Farah shudders as Zuri whispers in her ear, brushing her lips against it before sucking gently. The hands on her waist trail down to her hips, gripping them tightly and pulling her in, keeping them firmly against hers.

Farah can barely remember how they got here, the events of the day are all lost in a haze. She can vaguely recall going shopping and sending Zuri pictures of herself in a new sundress, some of them were steamy… It hardly matters now. All she wants to do right now is to get as close to her as possible. She wants her kisses, her hands, her.

She wants her. And she wants her to show her just how much she appreciates those pictures.

Farah lets out a breathless laugh and cups the base of her head. “I don't think I'll ever take it off with you reacting to it like this.”

“Oh, I'd like it off at some point,” Zuri walks her backwards until the back of her knees hit the window seat, her nose brushing against her skin as she slowly moves down to the place her neck meets her shoulder. Her lips tickle her skin while she speaks. “It's gorgeous, especially on you, but I don't think I could stand having anything between us for long.”

“Then you'll have to make the most of me wearing it now.”

“I plan to.”

She slowly coaxes her to sit down. Farah keeps her arms around her to pull her down with her. She doesn't want anything between them either. But the dress can stay for now, it's just thin enough for it to not really be in the way. Zuri’s touch is just as effective at turning her into a puddle with it on.

Her feet are off the floor the moment her ass touches the seat. She spreads her legs and just as she goes to wrap them around Zuri, her knee knocks into something and-

Crash.

From the wall to the seat to the floor, a potted plant falls.

They freeze, eyes darting from the broken plant pot to each other. Shit, she didn't mean to do that. Aren't those plants usually mounted higher up on the wall? She swears it wasn't there before. Farah braces herself for some kind of scolding or an expression of disappointment, but instead-

Zuri’s shoulders shake with laughter she's trying to keep in, and then her face scrunches up and she wheezes.

Farah must make a funny face at that because she bursts into laughter, and she can't help but join her. Zuri rests her forehead against hers, braids falling onto Farah's chest. She lets her laughter peter out and watches her with a grin. She's always thought Zuri was beautiful but she always manages to stun her into silence in moments like this, where she's laughing and smiling and happy, genuinely happy. And she'll never get over the fact that she's the reason she is.

Eventually her laughter stops and Farah takes the opportunity to say something. “Sheesh. I forget how flexible I am sometimes. Sorry, babe.”

“Don't worry about it,” Zuri giggles, shaking her head and cupping Farah's face. “That's hardly something to apologise for. And it's not too bad, I can fix it later.”

“Or you could leave that to me.”

“Hmm?”

Farah shrugs, wrapping her legs around her and putting her hands on her back. “I could fix it for you. Like you said, it's not too bad.”

“That's sweet, but you don't have to.”

“I know, but I want to.”

Zuri strokes her cheeks with her thumbs, pursing her lips in thought before smiling at her with a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Okay. But you'll have to let me show you how thankful I am for that at some point, in whatever way you want.”

“Deal.”

[toasttt11]

moose

July 31, 2011

Sidney has been training with a trainer in Cole Harbor who is also training a younger player Nate Mackinnon.

Nate seemed in awe of Sidney but also respectful enough to treat him normally and just continue training.

Sidney knew Nate would be in the NHL very soon and Nate had just been drafted in the QMHJHL but in two years would be able to get drafted.

Cameron joined Sidney at his training session today, she usually spends the time with her grandparents while her dad work outs.

Cameron is almost five, in a week it was her fifth birthday.

Cameron held her stuffed penguin in one hand that is from her godfather Flower, and her other hand held tightly on her dad.

“Nate!” Sidney called out to the fifteen year old player, Nate looked over and saw Sidney walking in with his young daughter.

“Can bug this is Nate. Nate this is my Cameron.” Sidney softly greeted and rubbed a hand over the back of her head smiling proudly at her. Nate smiled softly noticing how much softer Sidney was at Cameron.

“Hello Cameron.” Nate kneeled down in front of her and sent her a soft smile.

“hello.” Cameron shyly smiled clinging onto Sidney tighter but giving Nate a hesitant smile.

Sidney smiled softly and guided Cameron to the mat that they don’t use and let her sit down and helped her take off her backpack.

Sidney kneeled down in front of her and opened her back pack that is filled with things for her to use, when he has meetings, long car rides or plane rides. Her backpack goes with her everywhere and they always pack a few snacks in there for her.

“What do you wanna go my Cam bug.” Sidney gently questioned as he looked through her bag.

“Color.” Cameron quietly spoke, she wanted to draw a picture for Nate.

“Ok.” Sidney nodded and grabbed her sketch book and her pencil bag filled with coloring items and set them down in front of her, “Be good my love.” Sidney pressed a kiss to the side of her head as she nodded in reply.

Sidney stood up and headed over to his trainer and Nate.

Cameron was happily content to draw for the next few hours and munching on some oat protein bars Sidney makes for her and Sidney checked on her during all of his water breaks.

Cameron started packing up her bag as Sidney had finished his session but held a piece of paper in her hand still and her penguin stuff animal.

“Ready to go Cam Bug?” Sidney asked as he ran his hands through her hair.

“One second please.” Cameron softly mumbled and walked a few steps over to Nate and held out a paper towards him, “Here you go.” Cameron softly smiled up at him.

Nate blinked in surprise and gently took the paper from her and smiled softly at the paper, she drew a larger and smaller penguin and a moose.

“Dad said you were drafted to the moosehead, So you are a moose.” Cameron spoke with a small sweet smile.

“Thank you, i love it.” Nate beamed and held the paper to him closely.

“You are welcome.” Cameron nodded, “Bye Natey.” Cameron smiled and turned around walking right to her dad and taking his outstretched hand.

“Bye.” Nate smiled back as he watched the two walk away.

[lovestarrecords]

Nateybeats, Love Star Records

Portland, Oregon

[sugarcandydoll]

had to remove poor corybaby from my homescreen cause dad needs love hehe!! ♡🥺💕 but natey stays cause he my hero!! ♡

[barnacles-incarnate]

Hey Natey!! So uh,,, have you ever felt love for someone before? Or, well, I don’t think it’s love?? It’s weird fluttering, but it’s not strong enough to be anything substantial. But it’s not friendship??? I-I dunno. I need help with this.

- Cords <3 🌊 (@dip-n-drown)

Unusual question from you there, Cords,, hmm yeah probably? Outside of just family and friends I assume you mean. I probably had a few crushes or whatever growing up, if I had a partner before the cluster found me they no longer exist in my mind.

Is there any kind of advice you're looking for though? I might still be able to help you, I want to help you

[loominggaia]

I wonder how Cerulea's kids would get along with Oberon's kids? Or Marghan?

Good question! I doubt Cerulea allows her kids to interact with foreign nobles in their leisure time, but I'm sure they do interact sometimes at international royal galas. These galas can take place anywhere on Gaia, most often at castles or convention centers. They're opportunities for nobles to network with eachother, find spouses for their heirs, and show off their wealth.

Lazuline: Would probably get along well with Winnie because they're both quiet, nerdy, and bookish. Marghan would annoy her and Hestal would absolutely disgust her.

Saphirra: Would totally go clubbing with Blomi and Marghan. Thinks Jaq is hot and tries to slob his knob every time she sees him, but he's not having it. One, because he's not really attracted to women. Two, because she's creepy in an uncanny "Stepford Wives" kind of way. Three, because he heard what happened to her eight ex-husbands and is smart enough to realize this ho is straight up radioactive lol.

Teal: Refuses to get chummy with any of these dirty barbaric foreigners because Mommy Dearest(tm) wouldn't like it. Makes a show of acting really rude to them at galas, but only when Cerulea is watching. It's only a matter of time before she triggers Hestal's bad temper and he upends a whole feast table on top of her. Not "if", but "when".

Cyana: She's intrigued by Marghan because he has the wild, free, adolescence she wishes she had. I could see her naively following him around and getting into trouble because of it. She'd also get along with OJ because they're both misunderstood and have a ton of parental pressure on them. Also, a couple different people have said they think OJ is nonbinary (he must have a vibe or something lol), and if that's the case then Cyana might relate to him on that level, as Oberon would not accept OJ's gender identity just like Cerulea wouldn't accept Cyana's homosexuality.

Marine: She and Trista would be BFFs. Trista has a dominant, manipulative personality and Marine is more of a naïve follower, so I imagine they have a "Rocky and Mugsy" dynamic going on. They're destructive enough alone, but together they become an unstoppable storm of chaos. They cause a scene at every royal gala they attend, and their antics destroyed an entire convention center at least once. Trista would try to convince Marine to help her kill her little brother Nate, and Marine is so desperate for friendship that she'd probably agree to it. (But of course Marine fucks up everything she does, so she sabotages Trista's plans and Natey Potatey lives to see another day!)

Skylie: Skylie is a friendly and polite girl who gets along with just about everyone she meets (or at least tries to). She finds foreign people fascinating because she's always sheltered in her little palace life. She would be particularly interested in Winnie because they both love reading. Skylie would want to help Blomi solve the Mystery of the Wailing Halls in Folkvar Castle, and together they might just free Sygbarne from her tower. One person Skylie doesn't get along with is the little brat Trista, and she would try to protect Nate from her. She would like to know the other royal offspring too, but since she's just a little girl, most of them aren't interested in talking to her...except Goryx, that evil fuck. He's a huge book nerd and so is Skylie, so I could imagine him preying on that to lure her into joining the Crescent Cult. Promising her unlimited knowledge and power, and she gets to wear a pretty mask! Skylie's read too many fantasy books about evil wizards to fall for his bullshit though. She probably kicks him in the nuts, tells security, and gets him booted from the function lol.

Cobalt: Nate and Trista are the only ones remotely close to Cobalt's age, but I don't think he'd get along with them because they actually act like kids, and he acts like...well, a highly neurotic adult. This kid's anxiety is so bad and his childhood is so strict. Especially since his mother and grandmother scare him with Lindist scripture, telling him how evil non-commoners and foreigners are, so he'd be terrified of everyone he encountered.

*

Questions/Comments?

Lore Masterpost

Read the Series

[winniemaywebber]

What do you think of the idea of Nate Mann playing Francesca's love interest in whatever season of "Bridgerton" she will star in?

Start a petition, manifest it, and pray for it! If it works, Nate will portray Michael Stirling. Here's what Wikipedia says about Michael:

"After a lifetime of chasing women, of smiling slyly as they chased him, of allowing himself to be caught but never permitting his heart to become engaged, he took one look at Francesca Bridgerton and fell so fast and hard into love it was a wonder he managed to remain standing. Unfortunately for Michael, however, Francesca's surname was to remain Bridgerton for only a mere thirty-six hours longer—the occasion of their meeting was, lamentably, a supper celebrating her imminent wedding to his cousin.

But that was then… Now Michael is the earl and Francesca is free, but still she thinks of him as nothing other than her dear friend and confidant. Michael dares not speak to her of his love… until one dangerous night, when she steps innocently into his arms, and passion proves stronger than even the most wicked of secrets…"

Just imagine Nate in this role! Him wearing Regency period clothes, speaking in his deep husky voice ! And if everything they can make his character American , he doesn’t need a British accent.

oh I would LOVE this!!!!! also this is a reminder for myself to start watching Bridgerton because I absolutely need to catch up before this new season

Natey would look WONDERFUL in period clothing ugh I need this so bad <3