#sailboat dance

[captainamorysailing]

Visiting The Red Frog Marina Island | Sailing Bocas Del Toro Panama | S02:EP26

Are you looking to embark on a mesmerizing journey through the vibrant waters of Bocas Del Toro, Panama? Join us in our latest sailing episode as we visiting the Red Frog Marina Island in Bocas Del Toro, Panama. Our latest episode is filled with adventure, fun, and unforgettable moments as we set sail with my sailing partner Winnie and dance on the boat party!

Experience the natural beauty of the Red Frog Marina and its pristine beaches as we dock our sailboat and delve into the island's wonders. From the rhythmic beats of music to the soothing sounds of applause, every moment is a celebration of life and love.

As we navigate through the azure waters, Winnie showcases her dance moves, bringing joy and laughter to our sailing journey. When it's time to unwind, we head ashore to explore the local scene, indulging in refreshing beverages and soaking in the laid-back atmosphere.

But our adventure doesn't stop there! From encounters with friendly locals to unexpected twists and turns, our sailing series is filled with excitement at every turn.

So, come aboard and join the fun as we sail through the Red Frog Marina, dance on the boat, and create memories to last a lifetime. Don't miss out on the ultimate boat dance party – an experience you won't forget!

[suguwu]

MOON EATER I TWO

"But truly, Master Diluc—why am I here?"

"I would wed you," he says, flexing his hands in his lap. "If you are amenable to it."

minors and ageless blogs do not interact.

masterlist

pairing: diluc ragnvindr x f!reader

notes: hopefully this posts bc dividers are giving me trouble but mostly i hope you enjoy!

content: marriage of convenience, politics, some manipulation, pining, jealousy, some blood and gore.

wc: 5k

You take the Ragnvindr name on a mild autumn day.

It’s a simple thing, Diluc thinks. Two signatures side by side, yours jagged like a cliff face, his flowing like a peaceful river current. He watches the ink sink into the paper as Jean clears her throat.

He glances up at his old friend; her eyes—the gentle blue of the early morning sky—soften. He stiffens. Jean has always worn her heart on her sleeve and now, the smile that curves her lips is a dandelion thing, delicate and fleeting. There’s something melancholic to it.

“Congratulations,” she says, quiet but firm. “May the breeze bring its blessings to your union.”

The wind curls in through the window, catching against the marriage certificate, the edges of it fluttering in the sudden puff of air. The breeze swirls through the office, tugging at your simple dress with cheeky fingers, sending your earrings dancing. You laugh, free and delighted, and Diluc’s chest tightens. 

(Your little sailboat spun around in the current, small enough that the water churned around it like a storm-struck sea. 

“I’ll get it!” Diluc called as he rolled his pant legs up, exposing skin as pale as the moon, dusted with freckles, cinnamon on top of cream. He waded into the river before you could protest. The water was cold, eddying around his legs, and he grunted as he reached for the toy. It drifted away from his grasping fingertips like a crystalfly rising to the sky, just out of reach. He reached out further, stretching as far as he could over the deeper water, where the current grew teeth. He grit his teeth as the boat bobbed along, buffeted on all sides by the rippling water. He stretched further, rising to the tip of his toes, a stubborn ballerina.

“Be careful!” Kaeya called from the shore.

Diluc startled. He tumbled into the deeper water, yelping as it swallowed him in its frostbitten mouth. The current spun around him, sinking its teeth into him, but he sputtered his way to the surface. It tugged at him as he treaded water. Diluc spat his soaked hair out of his mouth as he looked for your boat, but it was long gone.

Kaeya and you met him in the shallows. Diluc stood, grimacing as his clothes suckered to him, still heavy with cold water. 

“Are you okay?” Kaeya asked.

“Yeah,” Diluc said. He looked at you. “Sorry about your boat.” 

You stared at him for a moment, eyes wide. Then you laughed, loud and echoing, as bright as the sunlight reflecting off the river’s surface. Diluc’s heart fluttered against his ribcage. 

“You’re an idiot,” you said, but there was almost something fond in your voice. “I’m glad you’re okay.” 

Diluc beamed.)

The wind dances around Jean’s office for a moment more. It undulates around you, ruffling the pristine cecilia pinned sweetly into your hair, and your laugh billows out like campfire smoke once more. The breeze plays over Diluc’s neck, tugging at the crimson strands of his hair, making them dance like flames. 

Finally, the breeze dies out, but only after it makes the marriage certificate flutter once more.

“Well, well,” Lisa purrs from her place beside Jean, gazing out from beneath the rim of her hat with a bemused expression. “A blessed union indeed.” 

“You think so?” you ask, and you’re back to that rosebud smile.

Lisa nods. “Of course, cutie. With that timing? There’s hardly anything else it could be.”

Diluc meets Jean’s wide eyes. He thinks of fish mouthing along the top of a pond, but the expression is quickly gone as Jean gathers herself. 

“Well,” you say, glancing over to Diluc, your eyes shining, reflecting his own image back at him. Your ability to be unreadable has plagued Diluc over these last few months; he supposes he shouldn’t be surprised you give nothing away now. “An auspicious start to our union, husband.” 

“Yes,” he says, unable to conjure up any other words, too caught on being called husband by you. 

Lisa chuckles before reaching out for the certificate. She signs as a witness with a flourish, even though her handwriting is atrocious. Jean takes it next; her signature is looping and beautiful, curling like sweet pea tendrils.

You tilt your head. “Is there anything else needed?” you ask Jean. 

“No,” she says, handing off the certificate to the Knight’s clerk that has just appeared at the ring of a bell. “You’re legally married. Congratulations again.”

“Thank you,” you say. “You’ll be at the party, yes?”

Jean nods.

“Wonderful,” you say. “We’ll see you then.”

“Actually,” Jean says, “I was hoping to speak to Sir Diluc for a moment.”

He blinks.

“Of course,” you say, before murmuring a goodbye. You sweep out of the office, brushing past Diluc as you do. He breathes in and the scent of you fills his lungs, with the sweet addition of the cecilia’s pollen. The door closes behind you. 

“What is it?” he asks Jean roughly. 

“Sir—”

“I’m not a knight anymore.”

She flushes, the apples of her cheeks pinkening like ripening strawberries. The air goes ozone heavy, the breath before a lightning strike. He glances at Lisa; she smiles sweetly despite the static electricity crackling around her. Jean lays a hand on her shoulder. 

“Of course,” Jean says to Diluc as the ozone starts to fade away. “My apologies, Master Diluc.”

“What is it?”

She coughs. “I understand that you don’t like the Knights, Master Diluc, but it’s important that they’re present at your wedding celebration.”

He stiffens. “Why?”

“There will be several diplomats attending, including representatives of the Qixing,” she says, looking mournful. “The Knights will need to be present as a protective measure.”

“My staff are—”

“Not Knights of Favonius,” Lisa says. Diluc frowns at her; she flashes her teeth in a lazy smile. “It needs to be the Ordo, not civilians.” 

“Won’t the Qixing have their own people?”

“Yes. But the Knights will need to provide an escort anyway.” 

Diluc grits his teeth.

“Master Diluc,” Jean says, far too gently. “It is only for a night.”

He bristles. “One night is one too many,” he snaps. 

Jean’s face hardens. “This is a matter of national importance. It is not a suggestion, Master Diluc. There will be Knights present as security at your wedding celebration.” 

(The blood on his face was still hot. 

It dripped down his cheek, but Diluc paid it no mind. He reached out with a shaking hand to his father, his body propped up against the carriage like a broken puppet. The gash on his father’s side was deep enough that Diluc could see the white glint of bone, like teeth in the crimson mouth of the wound. 

“Father,” he gasped. 

His father grabbed his wrist as he reached for the wound to put pressure on it. “Diluc,” he wheezed, his rich voice breaking over the syllables. “Please.”

Something opened in Diluc’s chest; it poured, and poured, and poured.

He knew what he had to do.)

Leather creaks as he clenches his hand into a fist at his side. Jean’s eyes dart to it, but she stays firm, her lips set into a thin line. In this moment, he realizes she looks every inch the Grand Master, with her head held high and her blue eyes burning like a comet through the sky.

“I’m sorry, Master Diluc,” she says. “We cannot budge on this. And your wife has agreed.”

“Fine,” he snaps. “But only for the celebration, not before or after.” 

Lisa opens her mouth, but Jean holds out a staying hand. “Very well,” she acquiesces.

“Is that all?”

“Yes, Master Diluc,” Jean says, her voice soft and a little bit sad. “That’s all.”

He strides from the room without a goodbye. The door clicks shut behind him, the guard outside it coming to attention. Diluc pays no attention to him, heading towards the exit.

He’s almost to it when he realizes there’s no sign of you. He halts, glancing around with a furrowed brow. There’s not even a hint of your scent to guide his way. He closes his eyes for a second, resigned to his fate, but before he can ask the guard if he’s seen where you went—

“My, my,” a velvet voice purrs out. “Lost your new wife already, Master Diluc? Impressive.”

He sighs. He turns around to face Kaeya, meeting his pale lilac eye with a scowl. The other man smiles, an indolent curve of his lips, a fat cat lounging in a golden patch of sunlight. 

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Kaeya asks, raising a perfect brow. “I’ve barely said anything.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” 

Kaeya laughs. “I’ll keep your wife’s message to myself, then, shall I?”

“Didn’t know you were a delivery boy now.”

Kaeya’s eye crinkles with his smile. “I made an exception for her.” 

Diluc takes a deep breath and ignores that. “What’s the message?”

“Oh? I can talk now?”

“Sir Kaeya.” 

The knight hums. “She’s at Good Hunter. She says you should join her for lunch. And surely you won’t keep a lady waiting, will you?”

Diluc turns on his heel. Behind him, Kaeya laughs, an airy puff of sound. 

“You’re welcome!” 

Diluc ignores him and makes his way to Good Hunter. Most of the townspeople leave him be as he strides through town. He takes the long way around, trying to give himself time to shake off the remnants of his conversation with Jean. He comes to Good Hunter from the opposite side, and he catches sight of you from the terrace above the little plaza. You’re chatting with Sara, a small smile on your lips. He pauses to watch you for a moment. The afternoon sun is casting shadows around the plaza, but it haloes you, burnishes you gold.

Sara laughs, barely audible over the hubbub of the plaza. Your smile quirks at the edges, picking up on her joy, and Diluc thinks of how the moon has no light of its own, that it only reflects what it’s given.

As if sensing his gaze, you glance towards him. You wave, elegant and sure, and Diluc nods back to you before he realizes that the two Fatui stationed just beside the terrace are waving back. He grits his teeth. He stalks past them on his way to the stairs; they quail before the scowl he knows is carved into his face.

By the time he reaches you and Sara, though, he’s managed to calm himself. He comes up beside you and tries to ignore the soft heat of you. 

“Master Diluc,” Sara says. “We were just discussing some menu possibilities for your reception.” 

Diluc raises a brow. “I thought Adelinde was taking care of the preparations?”

“She is,” you say smoothly. “I told her I’d bring some of her notes to Sara when we went into town today.”

“I see.”

“Is that all you need?” Sara asks.

“Actually, I was thinking we would get lunch here. What do you think?” you ask, turning to Diluc with a little smile.

“I had intended to go to the Angel’s Share to check in,” he says. 

“Oh,” you say. “Let’s get something to bring there, then.” 

Diluc sighs. He wonders briefly if Adelinde had put you up to this—she’s always vexed by how often he forgets to eat while he is working. 

“Very well,” he says. “Sara, we’ll have an order to go.”

She nods and takes your order. As she steps away to prepare it, you and Diluc step to the side as well. The two of you are quiet for a few long moments. Diluc tugs on his glove, fixing the way it sits on his wrist, the buttery leather sliding back into place. 

“I had hoped to return to the winery by midafternoon,” you say. “Will your work be finished by then?”

“You don’t need to wait for me,” he says. “I can take a horse if you wish to take the carriage.” 

You blink slowly, a gentle sweep of your eyelashes. They catch the sunlight, the fan of them casting sweet shadows on the top of your cheeks. “I don’t mind waiting for you.”

“Oh.”

You smile, a slow bloom of your lips. “Besides,” you say, “I should think it would be interesting to see exactly how Master Diluc runs his tavern. I’ve heard you bartend. And that you’re good at it.”

He can feel the tips of his ears start to heat. “I do bartend on occasion.”

“You’ll have to make me a drink sometime.”

“As you wish.” 

Sara calls out for you then, her voice a sharp, bright chirp that cuts through all the plaza’s noise. You hum, stepping back to the counter. Diluc follows you quickly, pulling a pouch of mora free from his belt. He reaches around you to hand it to Sara.

“Thank you, Master Diluc,” she says, sounding amused. She starts to count out his change as you whip around to look at him. 

“I could have paid,” you say, nose scrunching up the smallest bit.

(“Don’t do that,” you said, nose scrunched up into something crinkled and ugly as you batted Diluc’s hand away. 

“Sorry,” he said softly, drooping like a wilting flower. You glanced up at him. Sighed. 

“Just sit,” you said. “You can watch.”

“Okay!” 

Diluc plopped down beside you. You were pressed shoulder to shoulder; you were a long line of cool skin against the pyro-enhanced heat of him. He leaned into you to better see what you were doing and grinned when you didn’t pull away.)

“I’m aware.”

You examine him for a moment before shaking your head. “Thank you,” you say to him. “I suppose.” 

Diluc accepts his change from Sara, leaving a hefty tip, and then hoists the basket of packaged food onto one arm. Tentatively, he offers the other to you; you tuck your hand into the crook of his elbow without hesitation. He catches himself before he makes a sound.

The walk to Angel’s Share is quiet. You return any greetings you receive, but you don’t stop, allowing Diluc to continue leading you. He’s deeply aware of your hand on him; it feels as if you’ve sunk beneath his skin, singed a mark into his bones. You give a little squeeze that makes his breath stutter. He walks a little faster, but you don’t seem to notice, matching his pace unconsciously. 

“Morning, sir,” Charles says as the two of you slip inside Angel’s Share. He pauses for a moment as he takes in your presence. “Miss.”

“Good morning, Charles,” Diluc says as he locks the door behind him; he’s long learned that people will try to come in no matter the posted hours. “How is set up going?”

“Business as usual, sir. Is there something I can do for you? Wasn’t expecting you today. Didn’t realize you were in town.”

Diluc clears his throat. “We had an errand to run,” he says. “I thought I’d take a look at the books while I was here. I’ll—we’ll be in the office.”

“‘Course.”

Diluc starts to head towards the office. You follow him after a moment, calling out a quiet goodbye to Charles. The door to the office sticks a bit; as always, Diluc makes a note to get it fixed. You watch him force it open with a little smile on your lips, but you don’t say a word. He watches you take in the small, meticulously organized office before you cross the threshold and settle in one of the chairs before the desk. Somehow, you make it look like a throne. 

He sets the basket of food on the desk, careful to avoid the few papers lying on it. “I’ll get some utensils,” he says. 

You nod. He stands there for a moment, unsure if he should say anything else, but you’re starting to unpack the basket, carefully moving the papers to the side. He steps out of the room and blows out a quiet breath. It takes him a moment to realize that he’s rubbing at the crook of his elbow, where your hand had rested. 

When he comes back to the office, you’re settled in the chair, the basket fully unpacked. You’re pursuing one of the books that had been stacked in the corner, your brow crinkled as you read. You glance up as he steps through the door and smile. It’s that rosebud smile of yours. Something in Diluc aches, deep in his bones.

(Kaeya’s smile was tentative as you tugged him along, your fingers laced together. Diluc frowned at the sight, running up to meet the two of you. 

“Where have you been?” he demanded.

“We just went to the sandbearer tree, Luc,” Kaeya said, his violet eye wide.

“You didn’t wait for me!”

“You were taking too long,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “And we’re back now, aren’t we?”

“I guess,” Diluc said, kicking at the dirt of the courtyard. “Did you climb it?”

“Yeah!” Kaeya chirped. “We went really high, too!”

Diluc frowned, his brow thunderous. “I wanted to climb too.”

“Okay,” you said. “Let’s go, then.”

Diluc perked up. “Really?”

“Uh-huh.” 

“Great!” 

You smiled at him, as sharp and golden as the amber mountains of Liyue, and his heart pounded.)

You tilt your head in question. Diluc shakes himself out of the cobwebs of memory and steps closer.

“Shall we eat?” you ask.

“Yes,” he says, rougher than he means to be. “Let’s.”

You smile, flower petals yet unfolded.

He wonders if he’ll ever see you smile for real again.

—

This is, Diluc decides, worse than any battle with the Abyss has ever been. 

Your wedding reception is in full swing, the music rising to the winery’s rafters, carried by the light breeze winding through the open doors. Beyond them, the sunset is pouring across the horizon, dotted with bruised clouds that are limned with orange, a fiery kiss on a painter’s palette. The crowd spills out into the vineyards like wine, pooling together in small groups. Several people are well on their way to drunk, and Diluc watches them with a frown, glad the harvest is already done. 

The Knights, of course, are doing nothing. They’re stationed around the vineyard and the winery itself, but most of them are watching the festivities with wistful expressions on their faces. They’d be useless if they were needed. Diluc’s staff, on the other hand, are casually moving through the crowds, light on their feet, their eyes sharp. Someone shifts in the shadows at the top of the stairs; Diluc doesn’t need to look to know it’s Adelinde surveying the winery from above with shrewd jade eyes. 

(“Young Master Diluc,” Adelinde said. “Young Master Kaeya.”

Both boys flinched. When they glanced up at her, she was watching with sharp, verdant eyes, the green of them gone to seaglass in the low light, washed out into something softer. 

Diluc and Kaeya exchanged a glance. They’d been careful when they sneaked out the balcony door, tired of the never-ending parade of guests, desperate to loosen their starched cuffs. No one was looking their way.

Somehow, Adelinde always knew. 

“Hi Adelinde,” Diluc chirped. “We were just getting some air!”

“Right,” Kaeya said, after Diluc jabbed him with an elbow. “It was…stuffy in there…”

Adelinde stared down at them before her stern face softened. “You shouldn’t be out here alone,” she chided. 

“Please, Addy?” 

She sighed. 

“Alright,” she said. “But I’m staying out with you.”

“Okay!”

She melted into the shadows. In time, Diluc forgot she was even there at all.)

Adelinde shifts again, stepping further back in the shadows, her eyes gleaming in the candlelight. Diluc watches, but she moves again, and she’s gone. Even with his discerning eye, if she’s there, he can’t tell. 

He refocuses when you touch his hand. It’s a ghost of a thing, a gentle brush of your fingers over the back of his glove, but it scorches through him like a forest fire. He glances at you.

You’re resplendent in the candlelight, your skin aglow and your painted lips curving like the crescent moon. There are cecilias pinned in your hair again, the cream petals dainty as they catch in the breeze, revealing golden stamen tucked between the petals like treasure. He’s sure that if he touched one silken petal, it would bruise under his fingertips. 

You wear them like they’re made for you, nature’s finest crown. The breeze ruffles the delicate petals once more, loosening a flower. The bloom threatens to fall, a collapsing ballerina, and Diluc reaches out without thought, pressing it back into place with careful fingers. 

“Ah, the sweetness of youth,” someone says, and Diluc jerks back as if burned. 

It’s a Liyuen who carries himself with the quiet confidence of someone with influence. He’s older, his hair gone gray as riverstones, but he stands tall. He speaks in Liyuen for a brief moment, the phrase just familiar enough that Diluc can recognize it as a formal greeting. 

You smile, your eyes crinkling with it. 

“Zhiming,” you say, bowing slightly. “Thank you for coming. I know the journey is long.”

The older man inclines his head. “Not nearly long enough to keep me away from something as important as this.”

You laugh, covering your mouth behind your hand. Your wedding ring flashes in the candlelight. “You’re too kind,” you say. “Diluc, may I introduce Zhiming of the Liyue Qixing? We work together on trade policy.” 

Diluc gathers himself at the mention of the Qixing, though he’s very aware that the tips of his ears must be bright red. “A pleasure,” he says, nodding to the older man. “Diluc Ragnvindr. The Dawn Winery is very grateful for our continued partnership with the trading unions.” 

The other man eyes him for a moment, his deep brown eyes keen. A hawk’s assessment. Diluc meets his gaze. 

“As are we,” Zhiming finally says. “May it continue for many years.”

Diluc nods.

“Are you staying long?” you ask lightly.

“For quite a few days,” he says. “The Knights of Favonius have kindly agreed to provide me an escort around Mondstadt during my stay. Hilichurls have been gathering of late, apparently.”

Diluc can’t help his scoff. 

Your smile ripples as Zhiming raises a brow. “Is this news to you?” he asks.

“No,” Diluc says. “My staff works hard to keep the road to the winery clear of them.”

“Not the Knights?”

“The Knights are inefficient at best,” Diluc says. “My staff is much more capable.”

“I see,” Zhiming says thoughtfully. His gaze darts to you for a moment, a lightning strike glance. “How unfortunate.” 

“Diluc exaggerates,” you say with a little laugh, resting your hand on Diluc’s forearm. You squeeze and he stiffens. “He simply prefers his staff, since they’re handpicked. Now please, Zhiming, go enjoy yourself. Yumei is here.” 

A flush settles onto the older man’s cheeks, darkening them. “Oh. It would be rude to not say hello, wouldn’t it?”

“Very,” you say, a smile curling on your lips. Zhiming dips his head in farewell before disappearing into the crowd.

Your smile shifts as you turn to face Diluc. He finds that you’re once again unreadable, a still, serene pond with murky depths. You lean in close; his heart skips. He can smell the cecilias, can smell the delicate notes of your perfume, the salt of your skin. He catches himself before he sways forward to be even closer. 

“What was that about the Knights?” you ask.

“The truth.”

“I understand that you’re upset—”

“You understand nothing.”

You take in a breath. Your eyes gleam in the candlelight, knife-edged. Your mouth tilts, lips thinning into a gash, and Diluc thinks of the way the crab broke beneath your hands all those years ago.

“Your quarrel with the Knights is your own,” you say softly. “I will do nothing to involve myself in it. You may have your opinion of them, and have it freely, but you will never disparage them in front of a foreign guest. Do you understand me?”

Diluc sets his jaw.

“It is hard to have my opinion freely when you constrict it so.” 

“Master Diluc—”

“I have a right to speak my mind on the Knights and their poor performance.”

“Do you truly have no thought for their image?”

“If the Knights are so concerned about their image, they should do something about it. Perhaps if they tried being competent—”

“Shut up,” you bite out, and Diluc is so taken aback that he actually does.

You meet his stunned gaze steadily, and suddenly, he is back in the dark of a thick pine forest, the crunch of fresh snow under his boots, the endless, unyielding cold sinking its teeth into his very bones.

He thinks he sees why the Harbinger likes you so much, now. You must remind him of home.

“I would ask that you think of the consequences of saying such a thing,” you say, voice frostbitten, so different from your usual careful tones. “Of what it means to dismiss our country’s protectors in front of a foreign agent.”

That gives Diluc pause.  “I—”

“Hadn’t thought that far? Yes, that much is clear to me.”

Someone coughs. Diluc glances up and the grin he sees makes him want to groan. Kaeya tilts his head, his navy hair flowing down his shoulder like the night sky chases the sunset. His smile sharpens into something sly. 

“Out of the honeymoon stage so soon? Such a shame,” he says.

Diluc resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “What do you want, Kaeya?”

Kaeya hums. In the candlelight, his lilac eye has darkened to the color of a fresh bruise. It glitters like frost. “Why, nothing from you, Master Diluc.” 

Diluc frowns.

Kaeya turns to you. “From the bride, however—a dance?”

He holds out a hand, his long fingers unfurling like petals. He bows too, ever-dramatic; a smile flutters to life on your lips.  

“Of course, Sir Kaeya,” you say, placing your hand in his. He curls his fingers around yours delicately and Diluc thinks of trailing ivy, how it swallows everything it touches. 

He watches Kaeya lead you through the crowd, artfully spinning you through it, a thread through the needle’s eye. There aren’t many people dancing, but the musicians strike up a tune for the two of you. You murmur something to Kaeya; the man’s smile grows sharp, a fishhook grin. He whirls you away, your skirt flaring like a blossom. The two of you move like silk, rippling and flowing together. You laugh as Kaeya bends you back over his arm. 

Diluc looks away. 

—

It’s late by the time the reception begins to wind down, the silver moon a lonely mirror hanging high in the velvet sky. Diluc watches from the courtyard as people begin to drift home, laughing their way along the road to Springvale and the city, their joy spiraling to the sky like smoke.

You’re laughing too. He watches as you bid goodbye to a couple in Liyuen clothing, bowing slightly to them as they start down the path. The next group to leave is a group of merry-makers, their cheeks flushed with alcohol and their voices booming. He loses sight of you among them and takes a single step forward before he catches himself. 

“I hadn’t thought of you as a worrywart,” Lisa says as she sweeps up beside him. He wrinkles his nose as the scent of the roses she’s wearing woven into her hair reaches him; they’re cloying, the aroma heavy in the air. 

“I’m not.” 

She laughs. “If you say so.” 

He stares out into the vineyard again. The group has moved on, a few laughs coming from them as one of Diluc’s workers corrals them away from the vines and back onto the path. You have apparently had enough, as you’re coming back up to the winery, tugging at your dress to keep the hem off the ground.

(“Maybe we shouldn’t,” Kaeya said as he eyed the path up the mountain. It had churned into a thick, oozing mud with the rain that trapped the three of you inside yesterday. “If we get dirty—”

“It’s just clothing,” you said, already hopping over the worst of the mud.

Diluc hesitated. His father would scold them if they got too dirty. But you glanced back at him, a challenge burning in your gaze, and he scrambled after you.)

“Hi,” you say, a little bit breathless. “Is that everyone?”

“There’s a few more stragglers inside, darling,” Lisa says.

“Including you?” you ask, but you’re smiling.

Lisa’s lips quirk. “Including me. Jean’s helping clean up.”

Diluc frowns. “She doesn’t need to do that—”

“Oh, I know,” Lisa says. “But you know how she gets. I’ll convince her in a few minutes. I just wanted to see Master Diluc carry his bride over the threshold.” 

Diluc starts. He glances at Lisa and for the first time, he notices the tipsy flush in her cheeks, the way her bright green eyes are hazy, a morning mist over a lush valley. Her smile is a little bit wicked. 

“We hadn’t intended to—”

“Oh?” she says. “But it’s tradition, Master Diluc.” 

“We’ve hardly been traditional,” you say wryly. “Stop trying to get a rise out of him, Lisa.” 

The mage pouts. “You’re no fun.”

You smile serenely. “So you say.” 

“I suppose I’ll go get Jean,” she says, “before she starts washing dishes.”

She sweeps off without another word. The scent of roses lingers behind her, sweetening the air. You sigh. “Sorry,” you tell Diluc.

“Is that something you would want?” he blurts out. 

You blink. Light from inside slants golden through the windows; it highlights your eyes, makes them gleam. “Pardon me?”

“Being carried over the threshold,” he says. There’s warmth rising in his cheeks and he can only hope that his blush isn’t as crimson as his hair. “I can do that. If you want it.” 

A smile unfurls on your lips. “It’s fine,” you say. “But it was kind of you to offer.” 

Diluc nods, tugging at the cuff of his glove. 

You tilt your head, that same little smile on your lips, but you don’t say anything. Diluc glances away, taking in the way the crystalflies are fluttering through the vines, glowing softly. They’re flecked through the darkness like stars. When he glances back, you’ve gathered your dress and are making your way towards the doors to the winery. He flexes his hand and casts his gaze back to the vineyard.

“Diluc,” you call. “Are you coming?”

He glances at you. You’re haloed by the light of the winery’s open door; it limns you with gold. Your face is hidden in a broad stroke of shadow, but Diluc thinks he sees the starlight gleam of your smile before you turn to step into the winery. 

Diluc does the only thing he can.

He follows.

[the-kr8tor]

Seafoam on the shore

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 2.8k

Tags: Use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), CW drinking, CW food mentions, TW injury.

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

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CHAPTER 1 >>> CHAPTER 2

You run as fast as you can, your feet flying off the muddy uneven streets. Huffing while a local copper yells at you to stop, his yells get more exhausted every second he chases after you. So far he isn't even near you, one of the few benefits of staying at a provincial fishing town is that the police are either too out of shape to catch you, their bellies round, definitely full of ale. Or they simply don't give a damn about a pickpocket, muttering to themselves how they're not paid enough to do a city cop's job.

Losing your balance, you silently curse at your worn down work boots. Sliding off the ground, skidding off down the streets, disturbing the hustle and bustle of the market. You hit a vegetable cart along the way, wood splintering, scratching your arms. Cabbages and carrots fly off, there's yelling and screaming around you and your legs are aching from the impact.

“Sorry!” You yell back to a disgruntled vendor.

He curses at you and your entire family for ruining his sale. You take a mental note to pay him back somehow when you're not currently occupied.

Digging your heels in, you come to a halt, you're lucky enough to get a hold on a lamp post. Glancing behind, you don't see the cop running after you but you're not taking any chances so you enter a tight alleyway. You know this village like the back of your hand, you have to or else seeing the inside of the jail would be waiting for you in the future.

Knowing there’s a pipe somewhere along the walls, you run your muddy hands along the bricks, the cramp walls touching your back and chest, you stop when your nail hits something metallic.

Your ears perk up at someone snitching, “fuck” without hesitation, you climb up the rusty pipe.

Hands digging into the metal. It creaks and groans, but it seems like lady luck is on your side when you reach the top with no problems.

Hearing hurried footsteps down below, you immediately lie low on the roof. Hiding yourself from his gaze. The cop glances around the alley, scratching his head, confused as to how you escaped without a trace.

“Damn” he mutters, completely winded.

You smile to yourself as he leaves. The sun bares at your back, cotton blouse sticking to your skin. Needing a bath is an understatement.

Standing up, you carefully tread the roof, avoiding floors that look damaged. You definitely don't want a repeat incident of what happened six villages ago. You can never get used to the view from up high, the sea blends in with the orange sky, melting together, blues, greens and reds mingle in harmony. The setting sun paints a picturesque scenery, draping everything it touches in its heavenly light.

Ships and fishing boats float above the waves as if they're dancing to the sound of the water splashing on its wooden sides.

Your hands instinctively reach for the necklace hidden under your blouse. Fingers tracing the etching of a flying bird that you know like the back of your hand.

Despite the open sea, you can't help but feel trapped. The docks beckon you over to somewhere you can't remember, somewhere where you can rest in peace, somewhere across the deep dark treacherous sea are people you can call your home. People who may have been looking for you all this time. Their faces are but a blur in your mind, voices a mere echo lingering in your heart. The pendant leaves a circular indent on your palms as you grip it tight.

Is it possible to miss someone you don't even remember?

Your train of thought gets interrupted by movement from a ship floating along the dock, a large sailboat whose wood differs from each one of its structures. You can tell from how some of it is painted gold and silver like the ones on royal ships, it looks like it was hastily hammered into regular oak with intricate carvings. Some wood blends better together, dark timber melding with ashen wood. Three cannons are lined on the sides, its metal having seen better days, no longer glimmering in the sunlight.

From where you're standing, the figurehead on the bow looks peculiar, like nothing you've ever seen traveling along coastal towns. A fierce creature with sharp teeth opening its jaws, eyes wide and alert. Its red scaly skin adds to its terrifying image. What's more peculiar is the lack of flag flying on its mast. An unknown ship from an unknown place tickles your curiosity.

You slink back down on the roof when a woman emerges from below deck, her blond hair shining under the sun. Another much taller one follows behind her. Raven colored hair flowing in the soft wind. They seem to be arguing, but you're completely bewildered as to how they're allowed to sail. All this time, you can't believe that you can actually step foot inside a boat, moreso sail on it.

This changes everything, you suppose.

You leave the roof, letting the women argue amongst themselves. Expertly hopping from awning to canopy, you land at your final destination, the White Salmon pub.

Jumping down, you land on a cart full of broken fishing nets, it's a miracle that you weren't tangled under all the mess.

Entering the rowdy pub, the smell of ale and pickled fish enters your nostrils. A bunch of sailors sing off key in the middle, too drunk to care about the ruckus they're making. You try to blend in with the drunk crowd, hiding behind people, weaving around them to sneak past the bar and upto the stairs leading up to your room.

“Oi! did ya think I wouldn't notice ya?”

You stop just about the foot of the stairs. Groaning in exasperation, quickly taking off the bandana tied around your face to conceal half of your face. You try your best to put your best smile, turning your charm up to a hundred.

“Hi, aunty Janet” you walk towards her like a child caught with their hands inside the cookie jar. “I got the butter you asked”

Janet huffs, eyes narrowed, her brows furrowed. You place the stick of butter in front of her like an offering to appease an angry God.

“Please don't tell me the coppers will be knocking on my doors again”

“That was one time! Besides I actually paid for this one” you push the butter towards her with your finger. She stares at it like you're giving her contraband.

You give her one charming smile, she sighs, taking the butter from the counter. “You're on thin ice, Y/N. Don't make me regret taking you in.”

“That was a year ago and look, I'm still here!”

“A year and a half, I counted because with every shit ya manage to pull, a strand of my hair turns white.” she points at her hair that's almost completely white. “This used to be black”

“I know, I'm sorry. I just need to–”

“To what? It always seems like you're hiding shit from me and Thena” She tries to hold your hand on the counter but you flinch away.

“Won't happen again, I promise.” A clear lie on your part, you'll just have to be better at sneaking. You vault over the counter to roll up your sleeves, clean yourself up and put on your apron.

“When will you learn, girl?”

“When the king sentences me to death himself!” grabbing an empty tray, you start clearing a nearby table. Janet pinches the bridge of her nose.

After dodging rowdy customers and a flying pint, Thena takes a break with you in the tiny corner of the tavern. She unabashedly sighs loudly, smelling of ale and lavender she hastily rubbed on to mask the scent of alcohol.

You side eye her with a tired smile, Thena sighs again, louder this time, a few patrons gaze your way.

“Alright, what's wrong?”

“Oh nothin' it's just Arthur's back again and he hasn't even glanced my way”

You flick your eyes towards the blonde patron nursing a pint, his green eyes meet yours, he smiles with his yellow teeth and you look away immediately, not from embarrassment, no, but from how you don't want his eyes on you.

Why in the world is Thena so smitten by someone like Arthur who comes and goes into the pub more than he goes inside a bathroom?

“You could do better, Thena. One that actually brings in coins instead of using them all in the pub or a brothel.”

“I know,” she sighs once again. Leaning closer to your side so you slide further away. “But he's the fittest bloke here though” whining, she puffs out her cheeks.

As if some divine comedy, Arthur beckons you over with a twist of his hand. You internally cringe.

Thena gasps, “I think he's finally taking notice of me!” She stands up, sauntering over to his table with the confidence of a newborn deer.

Before you could rescue her though, Janet yells at you from the other side of the room. “Get back to work, Y/N!” She signals with head, pointing towards a table by the corner.

You groan, lumbering your way towards the customers. His large back is turned away from you, brown hair neatly slicked back, clothes looking too neat and expensive for a dingy pub like the white salmon. His companion thumps her head on the wall lightly like she's trying to get water out of her ears. Her hair is cut short, glasses over her almond shaped eyes, clothes equally looking expensive but less neat than her large companion.

Her lips turn upwards once she sees you. “Finally some service” she stretches her legs out, noting how she's wearing trousers instead of the usual frilly skirts rich women wear.

“Sorry, what can I do for you?” You put on your customer service voice that's laced with mild annoyance. The man sits still like a rock, his back still turned away from you.

“Fish and chips, some pickled eggs and a pint.” She glances at her friend before groaning with a sly smirk. “And he'll have plain porridge, no seasoning, just porridge. It's better if it's days old. Right, Miguel?”

The man huffs, craning his neck to look over his shoulder. The single candle light on the table illuminates his chiseled face, turning his eyes crimson.

“A pint will do” his voice is gruff yet calm.

There's alarm bells ringing in your head, the tray falls from your shaking hands. Your heart thumps louder than the clanking metal.

“Careful there, it's bad to drink on the job” His friend’s comment falls on deaf ears as you stare at the man before you. His expression doesn't change except for how his eyebrows lift slightly.

It's been years, surely he doesn't recognize me as an adult, right?

You clear your throat, mustering the best smile you can do. “Sorry about that, I'll get your orders right away” leaning down to take the tray from the sticky floors, your necklace slips out of your blouse, the gold shimmering in the candle light.

He could burn you with just his stare.

Walking briskly, clutching the tray, its metal is uncomfortably cold on your skin. The pub seems to get louder and louder with every footstep, the laughter and rowdy singing makes you dizzy. Janet calls after you as you run up the stairs to your room.

Thinking fast, you lock the door, pushing your dresser to further lock it. Your mind races to the floorboards beneath your threadbare bed. With your bare hands you hastily take the wood out revealing a hollow hole containing your possessions.

There's loud booming footsteps climbing up the stairs. Followed by his voice calling your name.

“Fuck” without thinking, you take the bag from its hiding place, slinging it over your shoulder before you cross the small space to the window.

“Y/N, Please!” He keeps calling after you. “Let me just,” thump, “fuck!”

That's your signal to jump down.

Landing on your heels, you feel your knees aching from the fall. You hear your bedroom door slam open with a force that surely broke its hinges.

You run like you've ran from him like last time.

Suddenly, you're thirteen years old, weaving through the forest, vines prickling your legs as you wade through the thicket. White lilies are but a blur as tears flow freely from your eyes as you keep running without a destination.

Why? Aren't you enough? Did she not love you like you thought she did? What did you do to deserve being abandoned twice?

You're back to the present when he yells your name again. Your heart pounds loudly on your ribcage, lungs burning, you feel like you're about to collapse.

His companion also runs after you, screaming your name desperately.

But you have the upperhand. Using the moon as your guide, you climb up a house, its bricks protruding out of the walls, the place you used to climb to practice, but now you climb it to save your own skin.

Running from roof to roof, you feel a presence behind you. His thunderous footsteps echo into the cold night. You don't dare look behind.

The woman follows you from the ground, her heels clicking on the uneven sidewalk. “Y/N! Wait up–shit!” Without looking down, you hear her fall.

He screams your name again, the same one she called you back then.

You run furiously, jumping off the side only to keep running towards the docks. Panicking, you see a ship leaving the docks, its fishing net left hanging on the side. Without thinking, you make a break for it.

Sprinting on the old docks, you leap the huge gap. Miraculously, you take hold of the net, clinging to it with all your might. Entering the net, you ignore the smell of fish, watching as the place you once called home gets smaller and smaller.

You say goodbye to Janet, who kindly took you in without asking for anything in return. Who gave you a job and a room so you don't freeze and starve outside. Who took care of you when you fell ill to the cold.

You say goodbye to Thena, the only friend you've ever had, the longest friend you've ever had. The same Thena who taught you how to sew and mend your own clothes. Thena who taught you how to throw a punch when a handsy sailor tries to touch you.

Thena whom you've grown accustomed to calling you her sister.

You say goodbye to the fishing town you've only recently called your home.

You say goodbye to the man at the docks who's staring at your fleeing form, whose eyes are narrowed, almost pleading for you to come back.

A/N: There's no Hobie appearance in this chapter yet :( (next chapter though 👀)

Hope you like it, thank you for reading!

[hereghostslive]

bucktommy angst, come and get it!!

sail away with me

"What about this one?"

Tommy points to a neatly drawn sketch of a sailboat. Its lines are intricate, the shading beautiful. Small enough to fit on their wrists.

He looks over at Evan and sees a small, knowing smile on his face. Tommy wishes he had a polaroid camera so he could capture it and keep it in his pocket forever.

Evan nods, and says, "Yeah. That one."

--

Tommy's never gotten a tattoo before. He never felt the need for them. They're too permanent, for him. How do you decide which one is the right one? His therapist might say it's a manifestation of his commitment issues, but Tommy argues that's a baseless claim. Plenty of people who don't have tattoos are happily married.

It doesn't hurt as much as he thought it would. Considering how thin the skin is on the wrist, that's saying something. The buzzing of the tattoo gun is almost comforting. If anything, it quiets his mind. Lets him imagine floating on the ocean and staring up at the night sky, watching the stars dance, letting the waves take him wherever they want.

Evan sits in a chair next to the tattoo artist, waiting his turn. He's not looking at Tommy but seems to be laser focused on watching the lines come together on Tommy's wrist. His brow is furrowed, though, like he's thinking of something else.

"Hey," Tommy says.

Evan looks up and their eyes lock. A last check-in, Tommy supposes.

"Too late to turn back now, yeah?" he asks Evan.

He's asking about the tattoos but also something else. About today. Evan seems to know it, too. He's the one that filed the paperwork this morning.

Before Evan can answer, the tattoo artist chimes in. "Celebrating anything special today?"

Evan gives a strained laugh. "Yeah, you could say that."

The artist raises his eyebrow at Tommy, looking for clarification.

"We're getting divorced today," Tommy tells him.

The artist pauses for a few seconds but then goes right back to tattooing Tommy's wrist. "Interesting time to get a tattoo," he says.

"Yeah," Evan replies, looking straight at Tommy. "Too late to turn back, I think."

Tommy holds Evan's stare for a moment longer, then sighs, closing his eyes again. "Whatever you say, Evan."

The thing about sailboats is they depend on the wind. The ever-changing wind that at first brought he and Evan together, and also tore them apart.

The buzzing of the tattoo gun grows louder in his head. The night sky stretches across his mind. He watches the stars continue their dance as he sinks beneath the waves.

And waits for the wind to change again.

[chaos-bites]

🌱 Subtle Freyr Worship 🐗

Take a hike/walk out in nature

Meditate in nature; ground yourself

Take frequent breaks from technology to get some fresh air or go outside

Take care of yourself physically; exercise, if able

Have a candle that reminds you of him (no altar needed)

Wear jewelry that reminds you of him

Keep a picture of him in your wallet

Start a garden; tend to plants

Grow your own herbs, fruits, or vegetables

Pick flowers (not from someone's garden!!!)

Make flower crowns

Have a stuffed animal horse or boar

Have imagery of plants, fruits, sailboats/Viking ships, or antlers

Dance to music that makes you feel lively and free

Allow yourself to romanticize life

Be open to love; be compassionate towards others and yourself

Be kind to young children; play with them if offered

Keep a self-care/self-love journal

At the beginning of the harvest or spring season, cook a hardy, good meal for yourself; cook a feast for your loved ones

Spend time with loved ones

Spend time with pets; play with or walk them

Support animal shelters or environmental preservation organizations

Volunteer at an animal shelter

Visit a zoo or wildlife refuge/sanctuary

Learn about nature; watch nature documentaries, learn about animals, etc.

Learn how to forage safely; picking berries, mushrooms, etc.

Eat three meals a day

Learn how to cook or bake

Drink herbal teas, vegetable juice, or fruit juice, especially if it's homemade

Feed neighborhood dogs, cats, or birds

Wear naturally scented perfumes/colognes

Pick up trash in the environment

Focus on self improvement

Lead a project, group, etc.

Engage in activities that you feel passionate about

Drink water; stay hydrated

Play in the rain

Ground yourself regularly; focus on healthy coping skills

Cook a warm meal for someone in need

-

I might add more to this later on! For the time being, this is my list of discreet ways to worship Freyr. I hope you enjoy this, and take care! 💚

Link to my Subtle Worship Master list

[fafnir19]

Sailing the other way

Lauritz' sister's fiance Samuel and him were very different. Samuel, the suave and sophisticated heir to a wealthy family, always seemed to have the world at his fingertips.

Lauritz, on the other hand, was a rebellious and free-spirited punker who didn't quite fit in with the conventional lifestyle his family wanted for him.

Despite their differences, Samuel and Lauritz got along surprisingly well. Their interactions were a peculiar blend of class and nonconformity that created a magnetic dynamic between them. It was on the cusp of Samuel's impending wedding that an unconventional idea began to take shape.

"Ey, Sam, let's do something wild before your wedding, mate," Lauritz proposed with a glint of mischief in his eyes. Samuel raised an eyebrow, unsure of what adventure Lauritz had in mind this time. "What did you have in mind, Lauritz? Last time your 'wild' idea led to us spending a night in a police cell in Amsterdam." Lauritz replied: “Vegas would be cool, but at the end of the day it’s your bachelor party. I'll do whatever you want!" Flashing a boyish grin, Samuel draped an arm around Lauritz's shoulders. "I want to take our boat out and sail across the Baltic Sea. It'll be an epic journey filled with freedom and salt-kissed air. You in?" Lauritz, with his unconventional mohawk and punk attire, looked askance at Samuel. "Sailing? That's a bit, you know, bourgeois for my taste," he quipped, adjusting the studded leather jacket slung over his shoulder. Smirking, Samuel continued, "Nonsense! It's summer, and what better way to enjoy some fresh sea air? Besides, it’ll be an adventure, and it'll please the in-laws to see you refining your tastes." Lauritz's parents, along with Samuel's family, were indeed relieved by the prospect. "Better than if you were hanging out with those punkers," his mother had remarked with a grateful smile. With their bags packed and spirits high, Samuel and Lauritz boarded Samuel's family's mahogany sailboat bound for Helsinki.

The sun's golden gaze kissed the cerulean waves, casting a mesmerizing glow upon the Baltic Sea. "Ah, this is the life, isn't it?" Samuel exclaimed, his gaze sweeping over the glittering expanse of the sea. Lauritz nodded, a wry smile playing on his lips. "It's not as terrible as I imagined. But still, wouldn't you rather be planning your wedding festivities than gallivanting with me?" Samuel chuckled, adjusting his nautical cap. "Oh, come now, my dear Lauritz. We have the rest of our lives for all that. Let's revel in the freedom while we can. Besides, you're not so bad to have around, even for a punker." Lauritz feigned offense, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously. "You wound me with your words, Samuel," he teased. As the ship cuts through the gentle waves, Samuel took Lauritz under his wing, teaching him the art of sailing. Despite his initial skepticism, Lauritz found himself unexpectedly enjoying the experience, reveling in the salty breeze and the rhythmic lull of the waves against the hull. Their journey led them to the enchanting city of St. Petersburg, where the juxtaposition of baroque architecture and Soviet-era relics offered a feast for the eyes.

As they wandered through the labyrinthine streets, the allure of the city enticed Lauritz to explore the more unconventional facets. "I've been thinking," Lauritz began, his voice laced with determination. "I want an eyelet in my ear, like the punks back home. It's about time I made my mark, don't you think?" he declared, pointing to a trendy piercing found amongst the punk subculture.

Samuel's face turned a shade of pale as he frantically tried to dissuade him, envisioning the cocktail of disapproving glares from his in-laws. "Lauritz, you can't just waltz back to the family estate with a hole in your ear. What would my in-laws think? Besides, piercings can lead to infections. How about something more inconspicuous? Like a nipple piercing?" Lauritz let out a laugh, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Oh, Samuel, always thinking about appearances. But where's the fun in that? I want something that screams independence! Something bold." Their banter was interrupted by a raspy cackle that seemed to echo through the narrow alley they were passing. They turned to see an old woman, draped in shawls and adorned with clinking trinkets. Her eyes glittered with an unsettling intensity as she fixed her gaze on the two friends. "You just have to hold him tight, then we'll circumcise him and I'll make a silver ring out of his foreskin," the old woman mused, her eyes glinting with whimsical certainty. "All you have to do is put this ring on your penis and Lauritz will visually adapt to your taste as long as you wear the ring." Samuel gasped, his mind reeling from the outlandish suggestion. But to his surprise, Lauritz entertained the idea, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "We'll do that, Samuel," Lauritz proclaimed, casting a challenging grin. "After all, you wanted me to do something inconspicuous. What's more inconspicuous than a circumcision?" Despite Samuel's vehement protests, Lauritz remained resolute, and before long, the old woman performed the peculiar ritual, and to their astonishment, the excised foreskin transformed into a shimmering silver ring, which she bestowed upon Lauritz.

Back on the sailboat, Lauritz couldn't contain his mischievous glee as he gazed at the ring. "Now, it's your turn, Samuel. Put the ring over your... You-know-what," he demanded with a sly smirk. Reluctantly, Samuel acquiesced, only to find that, to his bewilderment, nothing seemed to happen.

As the mahogany sailboat gently cut through the azure waves, Samuel and Lauritz lounged on the deck, basking in the warm embrace of the sun. The sea stretched out around them, a shimmering expanse as far as the eye could see, carrying them toward the next port of their Baltic odyssey, the enchanting city of Tallinn. Lauritz sprawled out on the deck, his eyes half-lidded and gazing at the sprawling cityscape of Tallinn ahead, the gentle sea breeze ruffling his hair. Lauritz raised a hand to his shock of green mohawk, only to find something unexpected. Instead of the vibrant strands he had known for years, his fingertips grazed a neat, blonde faded cut with shaved sides.

He let out a surprised chuckle, turning to Samuel with an air of amusement. "Samuel, can you believe it? The old woman's prediction must have come true!" Lauritz proclaimed, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. "This silver ring has really worked its magic. Look at this hair!" Samuel's eyes widened, examining Lauritz's transformed hairstyle with disbelief. "But I saw your green hair this morning. You must have cut it just to fool me," Samuel elucidated, struggling to reconcile the inexplicable transformation before his eyes.

Their banter was interrupted by the sight of Tallinn's spires unfolding on the horizon, a tapestry of architectural marvels rising from the coastline. The allure of the city's winding streets beckoned them, and they eagerly embraced the promise of new adventures. In the heart of Tallinn, the cobblestone streets echoed with the lilt of their footsteps as they wandered through the centuries-old alleys adorned with vibrant blooms. They eventually settled into a quaint street café, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the gentle breeze. Lauritz, donning a sailing jacket, leaned back against his chair, relishing the warmth of the sun's embrace. With a casual air, he began unbuttoning his jacket, revealing the absence of his usual body hair, a curious discovery that piqued Samuel's interest.

"Lauritz, your... your hair! It's gone," Samuel exclaimed, his eyes widening in incredulity. Lauritz chuckled, his voice laced with a roguish charm. "The magic strikes again, my friend. Behold the power of belief and a touch of enchantment." Samuel watched in awe as the revelation unfolded before him, unable to completely dismiss the inexplicable occurrences that seemed to dance around Lauritz like a whimsical symphony. "You must've shaved this morning to jest with me," Samuel suggested, his tone tinged with skepticism. "This can't be real." "Ah, always the skeptic," Lauritz teased. "But I assure you, this is the handiwork of the ring. It's brought a dash of transformation to my life, hasn't it?"

As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting hues of amethyst across the sky, they sailed toward Stockholm. The promise of new adventures and unexpected marvels beckoned them as they set sail toward the Swedish capital. The following morning, Lauritz awoke to the gentle lull of the ship, the rays of the rising sun casting a golden glow upon the skyline.

As he prepared for the day's exploration, his reflection in the mirror above the sink evoked a bout of bewilderment. His eccentric punk ensemble had been replaced by an impeccably tailored ensemble—an unbuttoned shirt and sleek olive-colored pants that exuded an air of refinement and sophistication.

"What in the world?" Lauritz muttered, his eyes widening in sheer disbelief. "Samuel, you won't believe this!" Samuel emerged from the cabin, his eyes immediately falling upon Lauritz's stupefying transformation.

"Samuel, it's happened again! This silver ring is truly astounding," Lauritz exclaimed, his spirit alight with unadulterated glee. "Look at these clothes! I didn't expect the magic to work on my outfit too!" Samuel's incredulity was palpable as he regarded the sight before him. "Lauritz, you must have changed into this outfit while I wasn't looking," Samuel reasoned, his tone laced with skepticism. "It's impossible for a ring to cause all this. Whatsoever, I still think it’s good that you dressed more refined today. After all, we want to have breakfast today at the Grand Hotel, where the Nobel Peace Prizes are usually awarded.”

The mahogany sailboat bobbed gently as it sliced ​​through Stockholm's sun-kissed archipelago en route to Visby on Gotland. Samuel manned the helm, while Lauritz was standing at the bow, his gaze trailing horizon. Suddenly Lauritz went through another unexpected transformation. Lauritz's black jeans and baggy T-shirt shifted seamlessly into a wide-open shirt and tight red shorts, his physique now exuding an athleticism that caught Samuel off guard.

Samuel's breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening in disbelief as he beheld the improbable evolution unfurling before him. "Lauritz, what... what in the world is happening? This—this isn't right," Samuel stammered, his voice trembling with an amalgamation of astonishment and concern. "I... I need to put a stop to this. I need to get rid of that ring." Lauritz, amusement dancing in his gaze, placed a supportive hand on Samuel's shoulder. "Come on, Samuel, don't be so quick to stifle the mystery. Embrace the uncertainty," he encouraged, a playful glint in his eyes. "Let's see what more this whimsical journey has in store for us."

As the sailboat glided toward the shores of Gotland, the island exuded an alluring mystique, its ancient ruins and labyrinthine streets promising an adventure both whimsical and enigmatic. Their footsteps echoed through the quaint streets of Visby, framed by structures that stood as timeless testaments to ancient grandeur. The island cast its spell upon them, ensnaring their senses with the echoes of bygone eras and the whimsy of forgotten legends. As they ambled through the cobbled pathways, Lauritz noticed a peculiar shift in the way the islanders regarded him. Warm smiles and nods of acknowledgment replaced the guarded glances that typically followed his punk façade.

"Lauritz, did you notice that?" Samuel inquired, his tone laced with a tinge of wonder. Lauritz nodded, a spark of amazement gleaming in his gaze. "It seems the residents of Visby have taken a shining to me, haven't they? The magic of the ring... it's a wonder indeed." The day waned into a resplendent evening, the sun casting its golden embrace upon the island as a symphony of stars unfurled across the heavens. Samuel and Lauritz reveled in the evening's enchanting tapestry, their thoughts drifting toward the next leg of their Baltic odyssey

The melding of disbelief and marvel lingered in the air, enveloping them in a veil of intrigue, as they embarked on their final leg of the journey toward Copenhagen. Clad in polished tuxedos, they reveled in opulent indulgence. Since Samuel had studied in Copenhagen, he knew how to gain access to the most exclusive establishments with a practiced ease.

Amidst the effervescent allure of the Danish capital, the two friends embraced the revelry of their adventure indulging in the opulence that enveloped them. Their boisterous laughter and animated conversations resounded through the hallowed halls of the city's elite establishments, the allure of upscale soirées and lavish gatherings capturing their spirits in a whirlwind of decadence. "Ah, Copenhagen has a certain allure, doesn't it?" Samuel remarked, a smirk playing on his lips as they strolled through the city's resplendent evening. Lauritz nodded, the vibrant tapestry of revelry and sophistication intoxicating his senses. "It seems your world has its own brand of enchantment, Samuel. I can't deny its appeal."

Samuel watched with an inexplicable mix of astonishment and fascination as the vivacious Lauritz seamlessly embraced the lavish lifestyle that had once appeared incompatible with his punk ethos.

The morning of their departure from Copenhagen arrived, and the sailboat set sail once more, carrying them toward Helsingborg where Samuel will marry Lauritz’ sister. As the sailboat rocked gently over the calm water, Samuel brought up the topic that had been bothering him. “Lauritz, I think it’s time to take the ring off. After all, your sister expects you to look like a punk – even though I prefer your current, charming look,” Samuel announced with solemn weight in his words. Venturing into the cabin, Samuel endeavored to remove the ring, only to be met with an unforeseen predicament.

His fervent words reverberated with unrestrained urgency, "Lauritz, I can't... It won't... It's... I can't remove it! Lauritz, I can't seem to get it off," he called out in distress, his voice wrought with urgency.  "It's stuck, and I don't know what to do." Lauritz sprang into action, his touch eliciting a peculiar sensation in Samuel, who found himself thrown off balance by an unexpected surge of arousal - Samuel sported a boner. Before their bewildered eyes, Lauritz's demeanor underwent a subtle shift, his gaze now infused with an alluring allure that took Samuel by surprise. As the unexpected surge of desire enveloped them, Lauritz dropped his shorts, parting his legs with a provocative air.

"Take this opportunity, Samuel. Let's embrace the unexpected," Lauritz uttered with a newfound confidence, the air thick with unspoken desires that coursed between them. Samuel was drawn by the sight and couldn't resist and took the opportunity to penetrate Lauritz.   After they made love Lauritz turned to Samuel, a solemn glimmer in his eyes, and whispered, "Samuel, I... I want to stay like this. I don’t want to become a sleazy punker again." Samuel’s breath caught in his throat, his gaze locked with Lauritz's. "What are you saying, Lauritz?" In an unexpected twist of fate, the ring tightened around Samuel's cock, seamlessly merging with his flesh. As the transformation took hold, a sense of undeniable euphoria washed over him. Gazing at Lauritz, a knowing smile curled Samuel's lips. "Tomorrow, I will marry my dream girl. And as her dowry, I received her brother to have fun with. I couldn't be happier." Lauritz chuckled and teased, "I guess even a trip to Las Vegas couldn't have been wilder. Seems like your gay sailing trip turned us both bi.”

The following day, as Samuel stood at the altar, he exchanged vows with his beloved, the echoes of a union hitherto unforeseen threading through the tender fabric of his heart.

And in Lauritz, he found a cherished confidant—a companion bound by the threads of an unexpected journey that would endure far beyond the veil of tradition. As the evening unfurled in all its opulent splendor, Samuel orchestrated a future endowed with an unforeseen serenity. With unwavering determination, he ensured that Lauritz was granted a place at an elite university and provided the resources necessary to flourish—a life enraptured by boundless opportunity.

In the wake of unforeseen revelations, Lauritz embraced the life of a typical, self-assured scion, reveling in the embrace of newfound passions and embarking on an uncharted journey tinged with the allure of possibility.

[kataang-week]

Round 3 Voting is Now Open!

You can vote for your favorite seven prompts HERE.

Thank you to everyone who voted in Round 2!  There are 35 prompts remaining to choose from.  

Round 3 Voting will close at the end of the day on Friday, May 17th!

Please reblog and spread the word!

- The Mods

The 48 prompts cut after Round 2 are listed below.

Prompts that received 5 or fewer votes were unfortunately cut.

So we had to say goodbye to the following prompts:

Anger

Captive Audience

Clapping

Date Night/Double Date

Death/Loss

Decisions

Doctor/Healer Katara

Hanging Out

Heartbroken

Homemaking/Building a Home

Inspired by a Quote

Interrupted Naps

Long Distance

Lost and Found

Mealtime

Meeting

Memories

Mid-Battle

Music

Mythical Creature

Nightmares

Note Passing

One Umbrella

Past Lives

Penguin Sledding

Rebirth

Regret

Revenge

River Rafting

Rock Climbing

Rocky Coastline

Sailboat

Sea Legs

Sea Sickness/Swaying Ship

Sheepdog/Highland Herding

Sheep Shearing 

Showing Off

Sightseeing

Soft Wool

Spring

Storm

Sweet Nothings

Sweet Tooth/Dessert

Tea Time

Tears

The Headband Dance

Times Are Changing

Young

And please do not be discouraged if prompts you submitted or voted for get cut - as always, there will be a free/AU/crossover day in addition to the 7 main prompts. This means you can use any of the prompts that were initially listed - or come up with your own ideas!

[iboatedhere]

I just read 'Savasana' 🧘‍♀️🐶 - and I loved it !! And now I'd like to send you a prompt for June, just like you asked. 😍 It were actually three wordings that piqued my interest, if you don't mind.

the smell of sunscreen + the warmth on your naked skin + sailboat

Maybe it'll fit and inspiration will strike !! Thank you. 🙏✨️

“I’ve decided to sue “The Daily Mirror.””

“Cool,” Alex says as he folds his arms behind his head. “Give me a few years, and I can represent you.”

“No,” Henry says, “you’re suing them with me. You’re a plaintiff, too.”

“Am I now?”

Henry heaves a sigh, and even though Alex’s eyes are closed behind his sunglasses, he knows how Henry is standing: hands on his hips, chin out, with a crease between his brows.

“They’re printing lies about you. About us. That photo is incredibly out of context, and I don’t know how you are just sitting here and taking it—.”

“Sweetheart,” Alex interrupts, pushing himself up on one elbow as he slides his sunglasses onto the top of his head. Henry is standing just as Alex had imagined, but now one foot is tapping impatiently against the boat's deck, a conflicting rhythm to the gentle waves slapping against the hull. “Everyone prints lies about us, weekly if not daily. If we sued everyone who did it, we’d never find time to live our lives. Plus, I’m not sitting here and taking it. I’m lying here.” He falls back and lowers his glasses. “On the deck of this beautiful sailing yacht you’ve rented, in the middle of Lake Como, and I’d really like it if you joined me.”

Henry’s foot taps three more times before he drops down onto the deck, not close enough to touch but close enough that Alex can feel the heat rolling off his bare skin.

Alex understands Henry’s anger because he knows exactly what photo he’s talking about.

Last night, they docked in Bellagio and ate dinner on a terrace with stunning views, fresh seafood, and an extensive wine menu.

They were a bit tipsy after, and the streets back to the docks were narrow and cobblestone, causing them to go single file at one point.

Henry, ever the gentleman, let Alex go first, and Alex, after three glasses of wine, had to concentrate on the sidewalk in front of him.

The photo sold to “The Mirror” was a split-second shot of Alex frowning and Henry walking behind him, making it look like they had a huge argument. Or at least that's how the tabloids are framing it.

A photo snapped a second earlier or later would show Alex’s hand in Henry’s and Henry’s face tipped down to whisper into Alex’s ear, a smile on both their faces.

But happiness doesn’t sell.

It sucks, but Alex isn’t going to let it ruin their vacation.

They’ve been on the lake for nearly two weeks now, practically a lifetime, considering they still live an ocean apart and only see each other in grainy FaceTime calls.

Alex knows they’re on borrowed time. Soon, The Crown will call Henry home under the guise of some bullshit Royal obligation, and Zahra will have an aneurysm when she sees another shirtless photo of Alex online, and they’ll be called back to their separate corners of the world.

For now, though, they have warm weather, clear water, and a completely private cabin on their sixty-foot sailer.

“C’mere,” Alex says, holding his arm out for Henry to fall into.

“You know we’re not really alone,” Henry says, eyes flitting to the coastline. Amy, Cash, and Henry’s personal security on nearby vessels can keep people from getting too close physically, but they’re helpless against telephoto lenses.

“I know. I guess we’ll have to be all over each other all the time so they don’t have a chance to say that we hate each other. What a hardship.”

Henry rolls his eyes but shifts to stretch out beside Alex, his head pillowed on his bicep.

Alex turns and kisses Henry's forehead, breathing in sweat and the sweet coconut scent of his sunscreen. Henry’s gone from pale to burnt to peeling to a deep golden, like one of the sculptures they danced around at the V&A.

“It just feels like an act,” Henry starts, his fingers playing with the key on Alex’s chest. “Not that I don’t love this—but to be on every second of every day, being afraid of what will be said about you if the truth slips through…I thought I left that life. I’m still in it.”

“I get that,” Alex says, counting the freckles across Henry’s nose. “But you’re not alone in it anymore. I’m right here.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Henry says, his lips brushing Alex’s bare shoulder. “And I do suppose you have a point.”

He pushes himself up and over Alex, catching his mouth in a kiss and tasting the sun in his smile.

[brunchbitch]

Hi! I was wondering, if you feel comfortable, if you could give an update as to how the wedding went and what your honeymoon was like? Only if you'd like to and it's not too private to share. It's more that I (and I'm sure others) were excited for you in the lead up to your wedding, and you mentioned it was a lovely day so would be keen to hear more :)

hi!! i would love to! it means a lot that people would be interested :)

overall, the wedding was amazing. the weather was perfect on the island. the ceremony garden overlooked the salish sea:

at the ceremony, we chose to do quiet vows so the crowd couldn't hear. at one point, i had put a silly pun in mine and it made A throw his head back and laugh, which made everyone laugh, and that was a really special moment. my niece read wild geese, which G had given me a copy of when i was at 3E so it was really sweet to have her there for that. A's dad officiated the ceremony (he's a unitarian minister) so that was really special. he did such an amazing job - i can't wait for the video!

the two of us went back to the room after the ceremony to just be with each other for a few minutes. we were both laughing and crying at the same time - it was an overflow of emotions!

after the ceremony, we had cocktail hour in the garden with oysters, apps, and special drinks based on our cats:

(the goats loved getting fed by the kids!)

then we headed over to the barn where we had our very cool seating chart, designed to look like a bookshelf with people's names and table numbers on the spine:

we ate dinner outside in the shadow of the barn:

my best friend (the MOH) and A's brother (best man) gave hilarious toasts. then we went inside and had our first dance! i was sooooooo nervous (it was choreographed) but one of the sweet memories i'll have from the wedding is practicing in our bathroom the night before the wedding at like midnight. did not get much sleep that whole weekend!

it was an amazingly special day, one that i will never forget.

the honeymoon was also wonderful, but VERY hot. i do not do well in the heat lol so i was kind of crabby (also going through weed withdrawal which didn't help), but it cooled down a bit the second week so we did some more exploring.

(this was our view from the hotel)

we visited an old castle, an art museum in palma, a hammam (arab baths), took a sailboat for a sunset cruise (i got sick off the back of the boat lol but it was a beautiful sight while i was retching hahahaha), and went out for dinner pretty much every night. there have been a lot of anti-tourism protests in mallorca (many people come on cruise ships and/or stay at all inclusive resorts so they're not really contributing to the local economy) so we did our best to spend money at smaller restaurants and stores. we went out for a nice dinner the final night. it was a fun trip but we were both very ready to get back home, see the girls, and enjoy as much ice water as we wanted!!!

[amaretigris]

Toe the Line

Taglist: @hopeisrising @mylittlemermaid221 @notagreekgal28 @daydreamerwithnohobbies @luna2034 @freyagallileaevans @justagirlthatlovedtoread

A/n: I was given this other lovely idea from my dear friend. I'm not quite sure how many chapters this will be, but we'll see! Enjoy 💙

༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄

Ch. 1 | 1.1k words | Fluff

༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄

It was another beautiful day at the castle when you finally saw him. The prince that you'd heard so much about. Though you'd only recently started your job as a handmaiden to the Queen here, you heard stories involving Prince Eric all the time. All the staff spoke fondly of him, and the Queen herself gushed about him all the time.

You could see why. He was a kind, strong, and handsome young man. Though you never expected to be acknowledged by him, you were pleasantly surprised when he fixed you with those bright blue eyes in the courtyard one morning.

"Good morning. I don't believe we've met. I'm Eric. What's your name?"

You immediately curtseyed.

"Oh, that's not necessary. My mother is not here at the present," Eric assured, reaching out to help you up.

You felt yourself blush immediately.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty. My name's (Y/N)."

Eric smiled at you. You'd never seen a more beautiful smile. You hoped to be graced with it at least once more in your life.

"That's a beautiful name. You're new here at the castle, yes?"

You nodded.

"Lovely. How are your accommodations? If you need anything, simply say the word."

"They're wonderful. Thank you," you smiled.

A beat of silence passed as you examined each other.

"Well, I must be going. Please do let me know if you need anything," Eric excused himself.

You watched his retreating form.

𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ𖠳 ᐝ

Day after day, you saw Eric come to and fro the docks. Apparently, his mother had given him strict orders not to sail. The prince, as clever as he is charming, strove to find ways around her wishes. He seemed to be taken with the sea. You often wondered what it would be like to go exploring alongside him. Who knew what treasures he had discovered out there?

You yourself had never set foot on a sailboat. Not for lack of desire, but simply lack of opportunity. You were born to a poor family who had been in service your whole life. It seemed only logical that you would follow suit to become a handmaiden. When your mother saw a chance for you to become a handmaiden to the Queen, she sent you off without question.

"You will have a better life serving royalty, my darling," she explained.

You knew better than to question her decision. You were destined to a life of servitude before your conception, after all. It never bothered you. You knew your place in the world.

You were enjoying working at the palace so far, especially since it was situated on the beach. You could walk down in the evenings, and listen to the waves. The seafoam tickling your toes was another added benefit. One evening, as it grew dark, you even got bold enough to shed your dress on the shore. Clothed only in your undergarments, you walked out into the water. The motion of the waves calmed you. You swam and floated on your back for a while, simply letting the water rock you. It was getting close to pitch black, and you saw the stars dotting the sky. Reluctantly swimming ashore, you slipped your dress back on, and carried your shoes up the sandy stairs.

Your hair was wavy and wet, but you didn't mind. Smiling to yourself, you crossed the courtyard to retire to your room for the night. The huge bay window that you passed to your quarters was normally dark and empty, but tonight it was illuminated. Your curiosity got the better of you, and you couldn't help but peak inside.

You watched Eric's form twirl round and round the expansive ballroom with Lashana. They were laughing as they glided across the marble tile. Frozen in fascination, you observed the two for a few minutes. You'd never seen dancing like this. It was so regal. It wasn't until your shoe dropped out of your hand and onto the pavement at your feet that the two of them stopped. Cursing and grabbing your shoe, you made the move to turn away from the door.

"(Y/N), is that you?"

Eric's voice pierced the serene silence of the night. You gulped and turned back to face him.

"Yes, I apologize Your Majesty. I didn't mean to intrude," you curtseyed out of habit.

Eric was already walking towards you.

"None of that, remember? Why are you soaking wet? Are you alright?"

Your eyes glanced up at his, and you saw his furrowed brow.

"Yes, sire. I went for a swim is all," you wrung your hands, feeling a tinge of pink on your cheeks.

Eric smiled at you.

"Did you? At this time of night? How wonderful," he laughed.

Looking back to him in confusion, you had been expecting to get reprimanded. Eric noticed your flustered look.

"What you do in your free time is your own, (Y/N). I'm sorry if we disturbed you. Lashana was making sure that my ballroom dancing is as adequate as ever. Mother is hosting a ball in two weeks."

You nodded.

"That's magnificent. I think I heard mention of it."

"Will you be attending?"

Again, you were surprised by the prince's words. No one ever cared if you showed up.

"I should be working."

"No," Eric shook his head.

"You should not be working. You should be enjoying the ball with everyone else," he stated simply.

You looked to Lashana who stood in the corner with her hands crossed over her abdomen. She smiled at you. Looking back to Eric, you were overwhelmed with his piercing blue eyes. You looked back down at your feet.

"Doesn't someone have to work the ball, sire?"

"Yes, well, we all take turns. Right, Lashana?"

Lashana nodded and smiled, but still didn't speak.

"There. It is settled. You will be coming to the ball," Eric smiled again.

You chanced another glance at his blue orbs.

"I'm afraid I have no dress fancy enough for a ball, Your Grace."

"Really? Well we'll have to mend that, won't we?"

Eric turned his head back to Lashana.

"Lashana, please take (Y/N) to the market sometime this week. Let her pick out a dress. Whatever she likes."

Lashana bowed her head.

"Yes, Your Majesty," she finally spoke.

She wore a smirk on her face after that. You wondered why.

"I couldn't accept that-" you started.

"You must accept it," Eric scrunched his brow.

You couldn't withstand his scrutinous gaze on you, and quickly nodded your agreement. A smug expression stamped his features.

"There is one other thing, Your Majesty," you trailed off, looking to the window beside you.

"What's that?"

"I don't know how to dance."

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

Madonna’s biggest-ever concert transforms Rio’s Copacabana beach into a massive dance floor

Madonna put on a free concert on Copacabana beach Saturday night, turning Rio de Janeiro’s vast stretch of sand into an enormous dance floor teeming with a multitude of her fans.

It was the last show of The Celebration Tour, her first retrospective, which kicked off in October in London.

The “Queen of Pop” began the show with her 1998 hit “Nothing Really Matters.” Huge cheers rose from the buzzing, tightly packed crowd, pressed up against the barriers. Others held house parties in brightly lighted apartments and hotels overlooking the beachfront. Helicopters and drones flew overhead, and motorboats and sailboats anchored off the beach filled the bay.

“Here we are in the most beautiful place in the world,” Madonna, 65, told the crowd. Pointing out the ocean view, the mountains and the Christ the Redeemer statue overlooking the city, she added: “This place is magic.”

Continue reading.

[suguwu]

gothic romance au, hints of vampire!zhongli, gender neutral reader.

wc: 1.4k

minors and ageless blogs dni. divider by @/cafekitsune.

there is a house upon the hill.

the garden it sits in is lush, though the roses are ruined now, their petals dashed against the dirt. they eddy in the rainwater, pearly pink and swirling around like little sailboats caught in the wind. the house cranes towards the weeping sky, the parapets gone dark with the rain, all slick, old stone. it should be a hulking beast, massive as it is, but there's an elegance to it, the curve of a dancer's back.

and there is a light in the window.

you step carefully over the puddles, dancing between the little ponds of them. the scent of wet loam washes over you as you make your way through the garden, thick and earthy. your pace slows as the house draws near; something flickers through you, a guttering candle. still, you move onwards, ducking into the entryway that frames an imposing door. you search but there is no doorbell.

you rap your knuckles against the old wood instead, the sound deep and hollow. you've just barely withdrawn your hand when the door swings open, a golden hue spilling forth, a baptism of light.

it matches the eyes of the man in the doorway.

they're the color of amber shot through by sunlight, striking in a way that makes you ache. they're beautiful. he's beautiful, you realize, as he blinks slowly at your bedraggled form.

"hi," you say, heat rising to your cheeks. "my car broke down, a bit down the road. i was hoping i could use your phone?"

"you must have come far," he says, looking out into the rain, where the trees have become mere shadows in the gloom. "and in this rain, too."

you shift. "uh, yeah, i guess," you say.

he hums and you think of the crash of waves upon the shore, the whisper of the pebbles it carries back into the mouth of the sea. "i see."

"could—could i use your phone?"

he focuses on you, his golden eyes knife-edged, the type of gaze that flays you down to your marrow, and a shiver curls up your spine.

"my apologies. please come inside."

"oh, i could just use your cell phone—"

"i'm afraid i only keep a landline," he says.

you falter for a moment. he meets your gaze again and a small smile flickers on his lips, a sickle moon curve. his eyes gleam.

you step over the threshold.

he closes the door behind you; it clicks into place quietly, but it echoes through you like the toll of a dour bell.

"this way," he says.

you follow him deeper into the house.

"my name is zhongli," he tells you. you give him your own name in return, and he says it, rolls each syllable of it over his tongue as if he's tasting it. a hint of a smile settles in the corner of his lips, tucked away like a secret. "it's a lovely name."

"um, thanks."

he sweeps down the hallway; you quicken your pace to match his long legs. you glance around as you go, taking in the thick wallpaper, lushly patterned with swooping swallows, and the portraits in their elegant frames, their eyes glistening in the low light. you shiver and push a little closer to zhongli.

he comes to a halt before a door and gestures you in. "i'll fetch you a towel," he says. "you must be cold."

a shiver runs through you as he says it, the chill of the house finally sinking through your skin. "thanks," you say. "i appreciate it."

he nods. "of course."

you watch as he strides down the hallway, elegant and purposeful, like each movement is thought out. the tail of his jacket disappears and you turn back to the door he'd left you in front of.

the handle is ornate and crystalline; it reminds you of a spider's web in moonlight. you twist it and come away with a pattern pressed into your skin; you trace your thumb over it as you step inside.

the room is cavernous, a maw of a thing. something unfurls inside you. the phone—a rotary phone, of all things—is tucked away on a writing desk, next to a rolodex. you flip through it, the sound of the paper loud in the quiet room, and find a tow truck company.

you trace your fingers along the desk as the phone rings. you wince as you knock a few papers loose, but can't help but peek at the elegant handwriting staining the page. you read a few lines of it—a beautiful poem, with a few words slashed out of existence with an angry pen—before the line clicks on.

the tow truck dispatcher is kind, but it will be hours before anyone can make it to you.

you tell zhongli as much when he returns.

"ah," he says, handing you a towel, a huge, fluffy cloud of material. "i was afraid that might be the case. you must stay until they arrive."

"i don't want to put you ou—"

"it is no trouble," he says, his eyes gleaming. "stay."

he guides you to the chaise, a large hand cupped over the small of your back. you can't feel the heat of him through your damp clothing, but you can feel the weight of his touch, an anchor dragging through the depths.

"i'm afraid i'm unused to having guests," he says, settling down on the chair across from you. "but i may be able to provide some sustenance if i look hard enough."

"it's fine," you say. "thank you, though."

"of course."

you play with the edge of a nearby pillow; it's silken and slips through your fingers like water.

"the poem," you say. "did you write it?"

he raises a brow.

your cheeks heat. "sorry," you say. "i saw it when i was on the phone."

he smiles softly. "you need not apologize," he says. "but yes, i wrote it. would you like to hear more about it?"

you blink. his amber eyes shine in the light, a firefly flicker. "sure," you say. "if you don't mind."

"i do not."

he spins out his poem, each word perfectly placed, and starts to explain his thoughts behind it. his voice is calm and sonorous; it echoes through you, settles into your bones. you blink, eyelids drooping, and see the smallest flash of teeth across the way.

you don't remember falling asleep.

zhongli wakes you when the tow truck arrives. his touch is gentle, but it flashes through you like cold fire, sending you jolting up. he steadies you with one large hand.

"i apologize," he says. "i didn't mean to frighten you."

"oh my god," you say. "i fell asleep?"

"you did."

"i am so sorry," you say, cheeks hot. "that was so rude of me—"

"it's of little consequence," he says. "you were exhausted from the rain and the walk. i do not mind."

"i'm still sorry."

he smiles. "come," he says. "the truck is out front."

the two of you pause in the hallway, at the threshold of the door. zhongli watches you, his honey-gold eyes glowing like the sunset.

"thank you," you say. "i don't know what i would have done without you."

"you're welcome," he says. "go on, now. the truck won't wait forever, i'm afraid."

"thank you again," you say, pulling on your shoes.

he says something, low and rumbling, but you can't quite grasp it.

"what?"

"good luck," he says. you blink. "with your car."

"thanks," you say, and then you're out into the rain, darting into the tow truck's cab.

as the truck pulls out, you glance back at the doorway.

there's a flash of gold.

you turn around and direct the driver to your car.

the next night, you dream.

you dream of the burning silver of a shooting star; of the slate-gray teeth of the hungry sea. of a house that pierces the sky like a blade. of amber shot through with sunlight.

you're damp when you wake, the dream having seared through you, and you are up far before the sun.

you start the car with no destination in mind. the road is empty; the signs flash by like streaks of lightning, until they give way to the woods.

the air is cool and scented with petrichor; it nips at you, a warning bite. you ignore it and gaze ahead of you.

there is a house upon the hill.

you start up the path.

[violettduchess]

no requests for #10?? a travesty!! can i get #10 with silvio? thanks!

A/N: Here you go anon!

@ikemen-writer you asked for #12 with Silvio so I combined your request with anon's here to get a soft and unsure + gentle, then deeper kiss with the Prince

Silvio x female Reader

WC: 2546

You’ve been to grand balls before. A ball in the Rhodolite palace is a glittering confection of gold and white, walls dripping with roses, guests dripping with jewels. But here in Benitoite, you are surrounded by smooth marbled floors of gray and white, silver chandeliers holding elegant taper candles, and guests in clothing made of expensive silks, thinner than the heavier satins and velvet of Rhodolite fashion. Your own gown is a diaphanous confection of pale pink shot through with glistening silver.  A bejeweled red rose pin rests above your heart, a gift from King Leon and a sign of your new status as ambassador. Stepping through the double doors of the ballroom, your heart skips a beat as it takes in the sea of people already drinking from crystal flutes, tinkling with laughter and spinning across the dance floor, skirts floating in the air with every twirl. It is an impressive sight. And it is an overwhelming sight. 

Every single doubt you’ve had about coming here, about taking on the responsibility Leon entrusted you with, about your own capability to handle what this job entails suddenly comes crashing down on you. Your lungs freeze within your chest, ambient sounds grow louder and mesh together, the lively language of Benitoite now stabbing your ears. How could you believe a simple woman like you, a bookstore clerk with no diplomatic experience, could take on the responsibility of handling diplomacy. Yes, you managed well with the Rhodolite princes but here, you are a fish out of water, at a disadvantage with the customs, the language, the folk, no matter how many books you’ve read.  When a nobleman comes over, greeting you in the local language, rapid fire and unintelligible, you feel ill. You manage a weak nod of your head before making your way to the edge of the crowd, pressing your back against the white walls, wanting nothing more to press yourself into the cool stone and disappear. 

I’m failing Leon. I’m failing Rhodolite. 

You catch sight of the open double doors that lead out to the gardens and the paths that take you further, down to the docks. With the music throbbing in your head you slink your way through the dazzling crowd until you feel the cool breeze of escape, of freedom.

Just a few minutes, you tell yourself as you step outside. You’ll step away for just a few minutes. Just to gather your bearings.

Your silver slippers take you away from the bright ballroom and the noise and with every step you feel yourself torn. The cool air, the night sky, they ease the tight band that has taken hold of your lungs, allowing you to breathe without feeling constricted. But every step away is a step further from your job, from what you swore to Leon you could do. Strengthen the ties with your allies. Convince the king and queen to sign the new treaty of protection. Convince Prince Silvio to come stay at the palace as a sign of good faith and friendship between your nations. All of these important, if one is to believe the reports coming out of Obsidian, the rumblings of a gathering army and an uptick in weapon shipments.

Before you know it, you’ve passed the gardens and find your feet traveling over wooden boards. You’ve reached the palace docks. The larger royal vessels are all at home in Benitoite’s vast harbor. Here you find only the smaller vessels for the royal family's private use. You stop, taking in the sight of a small, streamlined sailboat on your left, bobbing in the calm, dark water. How would it feel to  just…sail away from it all? Nothing but dark sea below and a sky full of stars above, leaving you floating somewhere in the eternity in between.

“This ain’t the ballroom.”

You gasp, turning at the sound of Silvio’s voice. He’s at the dock’s edge, watching you, hands on his hips, dressed in a suit of navy blue and glittering gold and cloud-white. With a confidence you don’t really have, you square your shoulders and smooth down the front of your gown. What did Clavis once tell you? Confidence is ninety-nine percent illusion and only one percent actual mettle. You can muster up one percent.

“I needed some air.”

“All the way out here?” He walks closer, the gold of his adorning jewelry jangling audibly in the light evening breeze. 

He stops when he is standing in front of you and you turn away from him, not wanting him to guess your other secret, the other reason you are unsure you will be able to fulfill all of Leon’s expectations. Because somewhere along the way of arriving in Benitoite, of meeting the royals and nobles, and spending time with Silvio during city tours and accompanying him to royal engagements, you have fallen head over heels in love. Suddenly and unexpectedly and maybe even unfortunately. But you are drawn to the prince like a moth to a flame. Yes, he is frustrating and temperamental and materialistic and snotty and far too handsome for his own good. But he is also intelligent and funny and honest and thoughtful and you , against all odds and all reason, have fallen hard. 

He can’t know. It would be terrible for so many reasons. So you keep your gaze on the sailboat, breathing in slowly to calm your skittish heart.

You feel his gaze on you, the silence at his unanswered questions curling around both of you until Silvio snaps it, stopping it before it can choke you.

“C’mon.” And then his hand is wrapped around yours and he’s pulling you towards the boat. You stop when the tips of your slippers kiss the edge of the dock, looking at the gap of dark water between it and the boat. Silvio releases your hand and with a graceful leap, lands on the boat’s deck with the agility of a skilled sailor. He disappears a moment, only to return with a wooden board which he slides forward until it is resting on the dock, then places one midnight-colored boot on the end and holds out his hand.

“C’mon. You got this.”

It’s only a few steps but the black water looks ominous, lapping at the sides of the boat like it wants to come aboard too. Silvio makes an impatient motion with his hand, his gaze searching yours in the silvery wash of moonlight.

“I said you got this, woman. Now come here.”

And you do. You lift your skirts and one step after the other make your way across the plank until you feel the secure clasp of his fingers around your wrist. He pulls you towards him and for a moment, you are pressed against his tall body, breathing in the scent of the sea and something else.. something exotic and alluring, salt and spice. 

He releases you as if stung, turning sharply and busying himself with pulling the board back onto the boat. Your wrist is imprinted with the feel of his strong fingers and a part of you aches at the loss of his touch.

He motions for you to follow him as he makes his way to the bow of the ship. 

“Oh…..” It’s more a sigh than a word as you look forward, across the open expanse of sea that the sailboat faces, seemingly ready at any moment to push off from the dock and go bravely forth across that endless stretch of gently rolling water.  The argent moonlight twinkles across the water’s surface, more breathtaking than any jewel in the ballroom. Your fingers wrap around the steel railing as you lean forward, feeling the way the fetters of  insecurity and worry and anxiety snap.

“Knew this would work.” 

Silvio is watching you, arms crossed, a self-satisfied smile on his attractive face. He steps a bit closer, gesturing towards the water. “I never found a problem the sea couldn’t fix.”

Something akin to shame dims the newfound light in your eyes, drops your gaze to the deck.

“I didn’t know it was that obvious…..” Your voice feels small, especially out here.

He shrugs his shoulder. “You left that ballroom…..not quite like a bat outta hell, but definitely like someone who didn’t wanna fucking be there.”

That gets a small, mirthless laugh out of you. “Truer words…..” You sigh now, turning back to the water. “I’ve had a wonderful time here. You and your family have been the most generous hosts but…..I don’t know if I am made for this. Benitoite is our ally but what happens when I have to travel to Jade or another foreign country that isn’t so friendly? I don’t know if I can handle the pressure.”

Silvio joins you now at the railing. You feel the soft material of his jacket against your bare arm and swallow at the contact, telling your heart to rein itself in. It’s only silk. (Silk that’s touching his skin, your heart whispers in reply. Silk that’s warm from his body…..)

He doesn’t speak and you can hear the faint music from the ballroom floating through the air. After a few moments of quieted melody accompanied by the sounds of the gently lapping water, he breaks the silence.

“The way I see it, either way you’re right.”

You glance at him. “How so?”

“You tell yourself, you can’t, then you can’t. You tell yourself you can, then you can.”

“If only it were that simple.”

“It is. And besides,” he says as he shifts his stance, turning to face you. “I ain’t seen anythin’ yet that convinces me you can’t do whatever you damn well want to.”

Something warm and fizzy corkscrews its way through you at his words, your stomach turning in excited, dizzying circles.

“You really think that about me?”

He looks away so quickly his pale hair whips across his forehead and cheeks. 

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” he mutters, suddenly finding the railing incredibly interesting and worth examining. 

You tell yourself you can, then you can….

His words echo through your mind, buoyed by the music and the moonlight and the water and Silvio’s flustered expression. You reach up, touching his shoulder, curling your hand into the soft material of his jacket.

“Silvio.”

He is forced to look at you and that’s when you rise up onto your toes and, without giving yourself even a second to hesitate, kiss him. It’s a soft press of your lips against his and once you’ve done it, your nerves alight with uncertainty. He isn’t moving. His lips are stiff and unyielding, his hands remain at his sides. Part of you wants to pull away and run, leap off the boat and dash across the docks and back into the sheltered darkness of the gardens, away from what may very well be your biggest misstep ever. 

But there is another part of you, one that is louder, one that fights the desire to run. It’s the one that remembers his raucous laughter at your jokes, the way his gaze lingers on your face when you smile, the feel of his strong hand whenever it takes yours. That part of your heart knows that you are not alone in what you are feeling and it is what guides your hand up to cup his face and move your lips, pressing another soft kiss to his. You kiss him slowly, holding his face delicately in your palm, coaxing him to please, come out from behind that wall he’s hiding himself behind and join you. It feels like an eternity before you feel him respond, his lips becoming pliant against your kisses. His cheek feels warm to the touch and if you could see him, you would notice the sweep of color across it, pink as coral. His hands rise, holding onto your waist, grounding himself. 

He’s kissed people before. Of course he has. But this….this isn’t satisfying some carnal need or urge to indulge. This kiss has strings that are gently tying themselves around his heart. This is emotions and feelings and all those things Silvio keeps locked up, a pirate’s treasure buried deep inside. But you have stumbled your way to his hiding place, your smile the breeze that blows the sand off the treasure chest, your touch the key clicking into place. And now this kiss is lifting the lid, exposing his secrets. He should be terrified. But somehow…..

He shifts, pulling you closer, his hand sliding around to press against your back. You hold onto the nape of his neck, stretching upwards to meet the movement of his mouth. He’s so much gentler than you expected, leaving space amid lingering kisses to appreciate the way your lips fit together, to feel the swell of your lower lip between his. Your breath is sweet and warm against him as you turn your head, trying a different angle. He adjusts expertly, a sailor used to reading the wind and making instinctual calculations of which way to steer.

You break apart only to rest your forehead against his, eyes closed as you revel in the feel of his strong embrace, the faint music from the ballroom drifting along the air, the melody over the thunderous beating of your heart. If you could freeze time and live in this moment, you would. It feels newborn and fragile but oh so beautiful, a protostar bound for the heavens to take its place as a diamond in the sky. The hand on the back of his neck shifts to stroke his silvery hair, marveling that it really does feel as silky as it looks.

He huffs out a breath. Dio, what is happening to him?

“Silvio….”

He’s not ready for words. Not ready to vocalize what all this means. Instead of answering, he leans down and kisses you again, holding your lips captive with his. You don’t protest. Each passing second has you melting slowly into his arms. He feels your softness, the warmth of your body through your gown, and it ignites something inside of him, a flare rising up into the darkest of skies. His fingers slide down your back, back across your waist and then down to the curve of your hips where he takes hold, pulling you hard against him. You’re not startled, you don’t stiffen in his arms the way he thought you might. Yet again you surprise him, not shy in the face of your own desire but welcoming it. You wrap your arms around his neck and your lips part, opening for him like a moonflower on a silver-bright night. 

The storm that hits him at the taste of your mouth sends his heart reeling. It careens overboard, sinking deeper and deeper with every taste of your lips, every sweep of your tongue against his. The surface grows darker and darker, further and further away, no matter how often he gasps for air. There is no escape. He cannot fight the sea of desire you have unleashed upon him. He lifts you, strong hands gripping you, your arms and legs wrapping around him like the sweetest of chains, cementing his fate . 

His heart is already so entangled, there is no hope of ever being free again.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @tele86 @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly

[velvet4510]

Is it just me, or do y’all also sorta wish that Jackson had filmed Appendix B as the actual ending of ROTK? Clearly, as you’ll see, I have relatively normal feelings about this.

I understand and appreciate the movie having the same ending as the actual book. But the STORY itself doesn’t end with the last chapter; it ends with Appendix B.

Imagine a 2-minute montage, fading in after Sam comes home from the Grey Havens:

An unfamiliar female voice narrates over these images:

Sam & Rosie raising their children at Bag End; Sam reading the Red Book aloud to the children.

Sam making a speech as Mayor.

Sam sitting in Bag End’s study, reading a letter signed ‘Frodo,’ which Frodo clearly left for him.

Pippin & Diamond’s wedding.

Merry & Estella’s wedding.

Aragorn & Arwen with their children in Minas Tirith.

Aragorn dedicating and unveiling a tall statue of Frodo & Sam in Minas Tirith.

Legolas restoring the destroyed forests.

Gimli bringing the dwarves to Helm’s Deep.

Faramir & Éowyn with their children in Ithilien.

Teenage Elanor reading the Red Book by herself and reading a letter or poem that Frodo wrote for her before he sailed away (because, come on, he was a 2nd dad to her. he literally named her. he adored her, so of course he left something for her since she was too young to actually remember him).

Aragorn & Arwen visiting Sam, Merry, Pippin and their wives & children at the Brandywine Bridge.

The Gardner, Took & Brandybuck families all celebrating Yule together.

Time passing … the Travellers aging … the children growing up.

Teenage Elanor introducing Fastred to her parents.

Faramir Took and Goldilocks Gardner dancing at a party, transitioning to a dance at their wedding.

Sam and his son Frodo teaching Frodo’s own young son how to work in the garden.

The seasons in the Shire changing as more years go by…

Elderly Sam and his now-adult children gathered around elderly Rosie’s deathbed.

Elderly Sam sitting alone in Bag End’s beautiful, flourishing garden with a faraway look on his face, pulling Frodo’s now-wrinkled letter out of his pocket and reading it again.

Elderly Sam, Merry & Pippin sharing one last drink at the Green Dragon, followed by a tearful group embrace.

(I know the following messes up the book’s timeline, but for dramatic effect, I think this order of events would work better as a close for the film):

Elderly Merry & elderly Pippin hugging their adult sons goodbye and riding out of the Shire together.

Merry & Pippin shaking hands with elderly Éomer in Rohan.

Merry & Pippin’s gravestones in Gondor, with a statue of them standing above their tomb.

Aragorn’s tomb now beside theirs, years later.

Arwen hugging Eldarion goodbye in his throne room, with Eldarion now wearing the king’s crown.

Arwen entering Lothlórien alone.

Legolas hopping into a small sailboat and helping an aged Gimli onboard before they drift off into the sunset.

Sam placing the Red Book in adult Elanor’s hands and embracing her tightly.

A ship pulling away from the Grey Havens.

Elanor standing on the quayside and tearfully waving as the ship disappears into the horizon. She composes herself and her narration says “And that day, my dear Sam-dad passed over the Sea … the last of the Ring-bearers.”

Her words lead into the very last shot, fading from her face into a flash of white, and then fade-in to a distant view of an island, with greenery on one side and a sparkling beach on the other. Two hobbits, their backs to us, are strolling along the coastline, hand-in-hand.

THE END.

[iseos]

: RETROUVAILLE

(n.) the joy of meeting or finding someone again after a long separation; rediscovery

wc. 588 archive. pairing. lee heeseung x mermaid!fm!r synopsis. a lifelong yearning fulfilled beneath the waves genre. fantasy, fluff now playing. mood by dpr ian note. happy halloween!

  the sun kissed the waves in the early morning as they rhythmically washed against the shore. heeseung's days were filled with the salty breeze and the song of seagulls filling his ears as he sat at the end of a creaky, wooden dock with his feet grazing the water's surface

heeseung's nights, however, were different from his days. once the sun dipped below the horizon and stars lit up the sky, he instead found himself in a small boat out in the vast, endless ocean. it was during these moonlit hours that he found solace in the enchanting songs of the sea; it seemed like its haunting melodies echoed the same longing he felt in his heart.

he had been no older than five when he first saw her. during a relaxing boat trip out on the water with his family, his eyes were drawn to her like a magnet. long, wet hair framing a face that was as enchanting as a moonbeam reflecting on the water. her sparking eyes had connected with his for just a brief, magical moment before she vanished beneath the waves.

  unfortunately, it seemed he was the only one graced with the chance to see her, as the rest of his family brushed it off as his childhood imagination running wild.

that fleeting encounter had imprinted itself upon heeseung's heart, leaving him with a yearning that became stronger with each year that passed. he would convince his family to sail back out into the water frequently, hoping he'd be lucky enough to catch another glimpse of her, but it seemed she would remain as elusive as a dream.

eventually, the boy continued to be haunted by her memory as he became a man. his obsession for what he described as a "mermaid" worried his friends and family, but heeseung couldn't shake the feeling that she was the piece of his soul that was missing. he knew he had to find her, no matter the cost.

on a moonlit night similar to any other, he was once again out in the dark waters, his old sailboat bobbing on the gentle waves, staring out into the boundless ocean. suddenly she appears, her voice weaving a melody that held the promise of a love that could move mountains and dispel doubts.

it was like he lost all control of his mind and body as he dove overboard into the sea. the waters embraced him, and for a moment, he felt weightless, like the mermaid herself.

  their eyes locked in profound understanding, but before he could get close enough, she quickly swam away,

  he struggled to keep up as he swam against the waves. the salt water stung his eyes and his lungs burned as he held his breath but he kept swimming after her through the rocks.

eventually, he resurfaced from the water and found himself in a hidden cove, bathed in an otherworldly light. and there she was, in the crystal-clear water — the mermaid, as beautiful as he remembered his childhood.

their eyes locked again, and it was like the world stood still. the longing that he carried in his heart for all those years immediately washed away, replaced by a profound sense of belonging.

she reached out a hand, and without hesitation, he dove back into the water towards her once more.

and as they embraced in the depths of the sea, surrounded by an enchanting world of dancing fish and vibrant coral, heeseung realized that his longing had finally found its home.

“as we’re drowning in the deepest seas bring down the sirens ill give you all of me”

© iseos

[bethanydelleman]

Jane fairfax anon here with another question 😭 I'm curious as to how secret engagements actually worked? I can understand for edward and lucy that they lived in the same house and were cousins, there must have been some moments when they were alone, just the two of them. But how did jane and frank manage it without attracting the notice of the Campbells and their other acquaintances? If they spent too much time with each other they would have attracted attention. Also, from Sense and Sensibility I understood that it was impossible to receive a letter without the whole household knowing about it. The only plausible explanation is that Jane sneaked out at night lmao but that doesn't really sit with her character? I'm curious about what you think, how do you think they managed to meet in private, often and enough to get into and arrange a secret engagement?

Hey! So quick correction first, Edward and Lucy are not cousins (Mrs. Jennings and Lucy are allegedly cousins, I wouldn't put it past Lucy to make that up). But yes, she would visit her uncle while Edward was at school and then when he was hanging out after graduating. They had a lot of time possibly alone.

On to Jane Fairfax! We actually have some clues as to how they met and fell in love. Firstly, the Campbells might know a lot more than they let on:

With regard to her not accompanying them to Ireland, her account to her aunt contained nothing but truth, though there might be some truths not told. It was her own choice to give the time of their absence to Highbury; to spend, perhaps, her last months of perfect liberty with those kind relations to whom she was so very dear: and the Campbells, whatever might be their motive or motives, whether single, or double, or treble, gave the arrangement their ready sanction, and said, that they depended more on a few months spent in her native air, for the recovery of her health, than on any thing else.

This is about Jane not accompanying the family to Ireland, where obviously it would be hard for her to meet with Frank. I will be bold enough to say that the Campbells probably have strong suspicions of an attachment, if not outright knowledge of the engagement. Maybe Frank was going to try and go with them but he was denied by his aunt?

Next, some hints, mostly dropped by Frank Churchill:

I met her frequently at Weymouth. I had known the Campbells a little in town; and at Weymouth we were very much in the same set.... I have been used to hear her’s admired; and I remember one proof of her being thought to play well:—a man [Mr. Dixon], a very musical man, and in love with another woman [Miss Campbell]—engaged to her—on the point of marriage—would yet never ask that other woman [Jane] to sit down to the instrument, if the lady in question could sit down instead—never seemed to like to hear one if he could hear the other.

Now this last statement from Frank gives Emma suspicions, but there is an easy second explanation. By having Jane play, Mr. Dixon could talk in confidence to Miss Campbell. But we know Frank can't stay away from the instrument, he was no doubt there, turning her music pages and singing duets. Also, sounds like they hung out at Weymouth a lot. We know they both danced and sang duets at Weymouth.

The early letter from Jane to her grandmother also gives me suspicions:

and as Jane used to be very often walking out with them—for Colonel and Mrs. Campbell were very particular about their daughter’s not walking out often with only Mr. Dixon, for which I do not at all blame them

So either Frank (who seems to have a lot of autonomy to travel within England) is meeting them during these walks in London or Miss Campbell is taking Jane to the post office. Sneaky sneaks!!!

I also suspect that it was Frank, not Mr. Dixon, who saved Jane from falling off the sailboat. This would be perfect actually because Emma's suspicions that Jane fell in love with Mr. Dixon also stem from this dramatic episode.

I do think it is a whirlwind engagement, but the key really seems to be Weymouth and I have strong suspicions that Miss Campbell was playing matchmaker.