#new providence wharf

[haxanbroker]

New Providence Wharf, East London, May 2023.

#city photography #east london #iphone photography #london #new providence wharf #original photographers #photographers on tumblr #photography #river thames #thames path #urban photography

[ourladyofomega]

The Ukiah Drag’s Dirt Trip.

🖌️: ZZ Ramirez

#Ukiah Drag #Providence #devils #snakes #post-punk #d.i.y. #Wharf Cat #NYC #New York City #BK #Brooklyn #omeg #our lady omega #wings #crowns #maroon #yellow

[nestofrmnics]

Aqua hues, around town.

#nassau #new providence #the bahamas #bahamas #wharf #junkanoo beach #ocean #bridge #street #photography

[feeshies]

An assortment of cases I studied this semester which I will never forget (they're all for torts)

Guy sees some boys on one of his many sheds so he throws a stick at one of the boys to get him off his shed but he accidentally hits the wrong boy who was sitting on his shed

Guy is upset that a bar is closed for the night so he reacts reasonably by attacking the front door with a hatchet

A woman in a cult finally convinces the cult leader to let her leave, so they sail back to America on his yacht and when they arrive he keeps the yacht in the harbor and doesn't let her sail to shore

A grocery store employee told an old lady “if you want to know the price, you’ll have to find out the best way you can…you stink to me.” Personally, I find this statement incomprehensible. But apparently she found it offensive enough that she sued for emotional distress.

Internet service provider can't get this spam email company to stop harassing its customers with unwanted emails. People are unsubscribing because of them. ISP creates a software to filter through spam. Spam email company makes another software to get around new software. 50K enemies to lovers slow burn.

Guy broke into what he thought was an abandoned house, only to discover that the owner had a spring-loaded shotgun trap set up

Women went to doctor for ear surgery. While under anesthesia, the doctor realized that her other ear was a bigger concern, so he operated on the other ear.

Woman and husband discover that the doctor's assistant they let into their home was "just some guy." (Actual wording was "an unmarried, young unprofessional man." Which is going in my Tinder bio.)

It was the Great Fire of 1853 and this dude's house had to be demolished to prevent the fire from getting worse.

Taxi driver was held at gunpoint but he managed to jump out of the cab but the cab sped off without a driver and hit someone. Also the judge decided to write about it in the weirdest possible way.

Guy went to get a urethral swab done and they had him stand the entire time?

Someone slips on banana

Someone slips on banana

Someone slips on banana

Someone slips on milk

Someone slips on pizza

Someone slips on grapes

Barrel of flour falls from top story window and onto guy's head

Guy carrying package is running through train station and trips, but the package is full of fireworks and the package explodes and the explosion causes a giant clock to fall onto a woman.

A plank falls off of a loading dock and creates a spark that causes an explosion

Oil spills onto the water, but some cotton got onto the oil and that was enough for the oil to go up in flames and burn an entire ship and wharf

Vibrations from an explosion cause a minx to eat her babies

Woman goes to use her outhouse and falls through the floor. Landlord tries to say that she assumed the risk because "she could clearly see the outhouse was in bad condition!"

[allisas]

[Original Blog Post]

FAMILY MATTERS IN THE SIMS 4 GROWING TOGETHER EXPANSION PACK Baby proof your house, The Sims 4 frees the infants

Family tales are those beloved stories and memories you pass on to future generations. Some stories can fill our hearts. Some stories are teachable moments that can leave you with a house full of drama. No matter the scenario, a strong family bond can provide you with the support needed to make it through life’s toughest moments. 

In The Sims™ 4 Growing Together Expansion Pack, players will have the opportunity to explore that familial bond through various Sim dynamics, watching as their Sims grow up–beginning at a new infant life stage–and grow old and hitting new precious milestones within their families. 

Pull up a chair, have we got a story for you!

SAN SEQUOIA, THE BAYFRONT TOWN OF THE SIMS 4

Hello neighbors.  Welcome to the picturesque world of San Sequoia! This coastal region is located along a beautiful ocean bay, perfect for families and packed with a ton of outdoor open space for family gatherings and for children to play. Sims can explore three neighborhoods in San Sequoia: Anchorpoint Wharf, Gilbert Gardens and a relaxed residential locale, Hopewell Hills, which has a slower pace that seamlessly mixes elements of modern and traditional craftsman-style homes. We certainly love the beautiful and elegant design of a craftsman-style home!

With so much to do, your Sims’ family will have the perfect outing at the Urban Park where they can walk in a group, learn to ride a bicycle, jog or even hike on a nature path along the Gilbert Garden's lake. Your Sim can enjoy the views, play on a playground, take it slow and go fishing with the grandparents, watch a movie at the wharf's refurbished theater, grab a bite to eat along the pier, visit the library filled with children’s books, or even splish and splash at Whalebert's public splash pad play area.

INFANTS, INFANTS, INFANTS

We’ve heard and seen all of your requests for new infants, and we are elated to deliver on this new life stage that will offer true cross-generational gameplay. In this free base game update, you will have the chance to create and modify infants in CAS with the opportunity to show off a wide range of clothing, accessories and hairstyles, adopt an infant, age up from a newborn to an infant to a toddler, change an infant’s diaper, give the infant a nap, put the infant to sleep and more! Infants will also have the ability to express needs, emotions and sentiments. Caring for an infant is intense, and just like real life, there's little time or energy for your Sim’s own needs!

Adding more depth and gameplay to the lifestage, among other life stages including toddler and children, The Sims 4 Growing Together Expansion Pack will add more choice and opportunity for your growing Sims by bringing up a Sim through new infant milestones. These milestones both highlight the way your Sims are growing up, as well as gain new abilities that open up the world around them for social interaction and exploration. Caregivers will have new ways of playing and caring for their infants with the Changing Station and Infant Playmat, as well as being able to carry them on their backs out into our family-friendly urban world. So let’s celebrate our new infants with a baby shower event! 

We are also adding 18 discoverable Infant Quirks that change an infant’s behavior. With three Quirks per infant, each infant is bound to be unique! Some quirks include: Self-soother, Early Rise, Messy Eater, Frequently Hiccups, Gassy, Good Appetite, Snuggly Sleeper, Happy Spitter, Free-Air Tinkler and more. 

You can learn more about Infants, the brand new age coming to all players in The Sims 4 base game update, as well as how the Growing Together Expansion Pack adds even more that will fundamentally change the way you'll play with Infants on Friday, March 3, 2023 at 11am PDT on Twitch and YouTube.

MORE FAMILY INTERACTIONS

There are plenty of new ways to interact with all the members of your family and lots of new content for different age groups. Most Sim Elders enjoy a good power walk around the park, a puzzle at the Recreation Center, or their role as caretaker of the family Keepsake Box. They're the best at Giving Life Lessons, Reminiscing on Good Times, and sneaking treats. Sometimes they even have a favorite grandchild! Speaking of grandchildren...

Toddlers are getting quite the update in this pack. As with Infants, we are adding 18 discoverable Toddler Quirks that change a Toddler’s behavior. These are discovered over time and make each Toddler unique, beyond their traits! Some examples include: Aggressive, Picky Eater, Early Riser, Little Singer, Good Appetite, Loves Water, Hates Bedtime, Loves being Carried and more.

Children also are getting a lot of attention! For the first time, Children have received four new Aspirations: Slumber Party Animal, Mind and Body, Playtime Captain and Creative Genius. With all the new content for kids in this pack (the Treehouse, Splash Pad, Bike, Sleeping Bag, Slumber Parties, Friendship Bracelets, and more) there's plenty to aspire towards. Just make sure to keep their confidence high! Or don't, but we know you'd never hurt a child's confidence. Right. Riiight? Because just like lost teeth, Childhood Confidence is also an aspect of growing up that every Child Sim faces in this pack!

GROWTH IN MILESTONES

Through Sims’ experiences and relationships, players will begin to encounter Milestones, which will provide a way of showing players their Sims’ current growth, as well as their lifelong touchstones that continue to impact them as they age. These include overcoming a career obstacle, getting let go from a job, having a midlife crisis, having the family move in and so much more. 

Bringing up new Sims will be filled with new Infant Milestones that highlight the ways in which your Sims grow up and provide a guide for players through the new infancy gameplay - making each Milestone feel like a brand new and exciting experience every time.

FAMILY DYNAMICS

Our Growing Together Expansion Pack also includes a new social compatibility feature, which introduces new ways of socializing that will feel different with each Sim, leading to deeper, more meaningful relationships with family and friends. Maybe specific family members are jokesters together or maybe they are competitive. Your Sims’ family tree will now reflect more complex family relationships.

Your Sim will now have preferences that determine who they are socially compatible with and who are their sworn enemies! As your Sim experiences life, there will be opportunities for both drama and unity that will ultimately affect family dynamics and your Sims’ relationships.

If you purchase the Growing Together Expansion Pack anytime from February 2 - April 27, you’ll have access to our Outdoor Playtime Digital Content, where you can help your parent or child Sims have fun and active lives with a swing set, toddler slide and infant carrier.

#the sims 4 #sims 4 news #sims 4 growing together

[thatndginger]

I'm still exhausted all the time (yay 50 hour workweeks) but I've finally had a bit of my creative spark return this week. So have a few page spreads from the Idiot's Guide to Moressau that I polished up over the last few days.

Two more sections to go (this whole thing would go a lot quicker if I wasn't making up 90% of it as I go :P)

Transcript under the cut.

First image:

The Idiot's Guide to Moressau

Provided Courtesy of Portia Beckham and The Pack

Second Image:

Shopping That Won’t Bankrupt You If you want to find some shopping that’s reasonably priced and not forced to keep up a bright and happy facade for the city’s ‘image’, then you’re going to want to check out the street markets. All local, usually handmade, and you’re far less likely to run into a stuck-up asshole. The really good ones don’t advertise their existence, you just have to know. Best practice: check the Arts or Lonewood districts on a weekend evening. You’ll find something that makes the entire trip worth it. Guaranteed.

Not in the mood for a stall crawl? There are a ton of unique stores around Moressau worth your time. But like most things, you’ll have to put in a little footwork for them. My personal suggestions are The Salt Well - a secondhand store covering three stories in the Arts - and Thistle & Rue - a local artist co-op that never fails to lighten my wallet with every visit.

Local Food Worth Your Time Moressau is far from an haute cuisine destination, but since you’re here you’re better off checking out some of the local offerings than settling for fast food. Trust me. Check out Jax’s Diner down in the industrial side of town. Open twenty-four-seven and the best breakfast plate you’ll ever eat in your life. Or if you want something fishy The Queen’s Catch on the Old Wharf is by far the best place to sample some of the sea’s bounty. Finally, if you’re looking for somewhere with both good booze and good food, you can’t go wrong with Island Goat or the Salt Beard Tavern. Just don’t ask to try the chef’s special at the tavern. Trust me.

The Historical and Creepy Look. All of Moressau is creepy. Or at least that’s what I’ve been told. It’s dark and gloomy and you’re just as likely to get mauled by a creep as you are to get scared by a dumpster rat. If you don’t know what you’re doing, stick to the shit all the brochures tout. You’re less likely to die that way. There’s museums and tour guides for all of you nerds, too. That tour of Augustus Laroche’s mansion is actually pretty fun. They have paid actors and everything, but frown on self-guided tours outside of the usual routes. Just FYI.

I’ve heard of some walking tours that have popped up recently that seem safe, if you’re into that kind of thing. Word to the wise, though: avoid anything that mentions the Montrose Syndicate. They aren’t dead, and they don’t like being talked about. Whoever started that tour is going to end up at the bottom of the bay sooner or later.

Seaside Attractions (And Then Some) This is another one the brochures can handle for you. The boardwalk and lighthouse are safe enough, and there are parts of the preserved old wharves that aren’t too bad either. They were made with old shipwreck lumber. The founders were thrifty and morbid like that. Stick to the North Docks and Downtown if you want to explore more of Moressau’s seaside attractions. The Old Docks aren’t the safest place anymore, day or night. If you’re up for a bit of a hike, check out the original lighthouse just north of the city. It was abandoned in favor of the new lighthouse in the early 1900's, but whatever they made it with keeps it standing, even if the rocks around it have eroded away. It’s not as fun since the city took out the bridge connecting the lighthouse to land, but you’re brave (and stupid) you can still make it across the gap. Ask me how I know.

For some modern entertainment - or modern-ish - it’s worth it to check out Saltshock, the amusement park right off Harbor Boardwalk. It’s got some of those old wooden rollercoasters that are actually terrifying. The modern steel coasters have nothing on those rickety old things. The prices aren’t too bad, but definitely don’t bother buying any souvenirs there. That’s where they get you.

Oh, and since you’ll be in the area, keep an eye on the street art. I know a guy who paints some really cool murals around the Docks and Southside neighborhoods. Some of them disappear pretty quickly, since he never asks permission to decorate someone’s wall. He says there’s an internet group or something dedicated to finding his latest work. He’s usually full of shit, though, so I’ll believe it when I see it. Maybe he’s right. His art is good. So keep an eye out for anything signed “W S”.

Third Image:

VAMPIRES

If your entire reason for coming to Moressau is to meet a vampire then I have two questions for you: What the hell is wrong with you, and why bother coming here at all? Statistically, there is at least one vampire in or near where you live now. Chances are that if you’re only here to be a bloodbag, you won’t listen to my advice, so I’m going to write this for those of you who want to avoid some unpleasant new scars around the neck region.

How to Spot a Vampire Let’s get something straight right now. Vampires don’t sparkle. They aren’t incredibly pale. They aren’t indestructible. A freshly-fed vampire isn’t much different from a human actually. Warm to the touch - never hot - and no paler than the average person, just without the heartbeat that makes a human…. human.

That said, there are some tell-tale aspects of a vampire that are impossible to hide. You’ll know a vampire as soon as they open their mouth. Their fangs don’t do that stupid retraction thing like some movies claim. Vampires also have reflective eyes, like most supernaturals. A vampire’s eyes don’t glow, they aren’t blood red, they’re just eyes. But they’ll shine in the passing light of a car or a camera flash, that’s for certain. Lastly, vampires lack both a shadow and a reflection.

A vampire who hasn’t fed in a few days will have a chill to them like any other dead body. But a hungry vampire is faster, stronger, and much easier to piss off. A hungry vampire is more likely to drink you down to the last drop, too.

Where to Find a Vampire Typically, vampires can only come out at night. They tend to burn to a crisp within an hour if they’re exposed to full sunlight. It’s not a pretty sight. Luckily for the vampires of Moressau, the sun only comes out about 30 days of the year, so they can be out at nearly any time. Most of them keep to the night hours though. They’re nocturnal creatures by nature. They also tend to hang out in the Midnight Quarter. There are some vampires who’ve lived there since the city was founded, and if you’re looking for ‘night life’ then the Midnight Quarter is exactly where you want to be. Don’t let your guard down for a second there. The only places where regulations on vampire feeding are enforced are donation centers, and even those are iffy. Sure, the city says they oversee vampire parlors to ‘ensure safe conditions for both mundanes and supernaturals’ but they’re lying through their teeth.

Not all vampire parlors and clubs are terrible. Just most of them. Club Nomad caters primarily to vampires, but they’ll welcome anyone looking for a night out. The bouncers there are better than most about keeping an eye on the crowds. If you want exclusivity, then L’Sourire en Sang run by the Société de Keres is as old and exclusive as you can get. They’re pretty strict about who they let in - mundane and vampire both - but I’ve heard that almost every human visitor has left alive.

Last but not least, there’s Cameo. It hasn’t been around very long, but it’s already pissed off all the old, mouldy vampires in the city so it has my vote of confidence. I heard it’s run by a new coalition in town called the Strix Assembly, and they’re very concerned about keeping their bloodbags alive and well. Pampered, even. They don’t mind the occasional shifter or supernatural drifting through, either.

Finding Good Mosquito Repellent Vampires might be some of the deadliest supernaturals out there, but lucky for us mortals there are some tried and true ways to keep them off your neck. Or kill one, if you need to.

First, sunlight. We’ve covered this. Keep up.

Second, rowan wood. I don’t know what it is about rowan specifically, but it’ll burn any vampire who touches it. They hate the smell of it too, if you’re in the market for new cologne.

Vampires have an aversion to garlic, but it’s not going to stop a determined one. Pepper spray is useful if you can make a quick getaway. Don’t bother with religious iconography or silver unless you want to be laughed at before you die.

And finally… I talk a lot of shit, but most vampires are just like everyone else. Common sense and a nice attitude will go a long way. This guide is so you know how to handle the dangerous ones.

Shapeshifter taglist: @sunset-a-story @touloserlautrec

#wip: shapeshifter #having much fun with this #can't wait for it to be fully finished and printed

[neutron-stars-collision]

Deadlines & Commitments

Neil x F!Reader

Chapter 5 - Canary Wharf Underground Station

Masterlist; Chapter 4 Summary: The premiere of Don Quixote is here and you're very much not fine. Luckily, Neil know how to deal with that. Or does he? Warnings: Swearing, E-rated language, a decisive step into E-rated content at the very end :) Author's Notes: Apparently this new chapter is whole novel of 14.4k words because I cannot control myself whatsoever 🤷🏻‍♀️ And it's not even all of what was planned in the outline, so excuse the rather rude cliffhanger there. I promise though, a detailed continuation is coming ;) This chapter opens up the section of this fic that haunts my waking hours and sleepless nights so... brace yourselves ✨ As always, they're still very stupid and very into each other. And, as always, I only have an illusion of control over them. Without further ado - I hope you enjoy this nonsense and let me know what you think? 💕 Taglist: @hollandorks, @kristevstewart, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added)

Every strike of the clock hand, bringing you mercilessly closer to the 6 pm curtain call, felt like a miniature heart attack, tightening the deadly loop around your stumbling heart. After you had stumbled back into the apartment close to 1 am after that fateful rendezvous at the studio, you foolishly hoped to get some sleep. But no such grace was deemed deserved for you.

Instead, you tossed and turned until 5 am before giving up entirely and focusing the restless energy on breaking in the pointe shoes for the evening and not messaging Neil. In that exact order.

You only succeeded at that first task.

When there was nothing left to do but show up at the Opera House later that afternoon, and the watch still proved the time did not want to willingly hurry the fuck up, you left the house with just enough minutes to spare to hop on the Jubilee line train as on every Wednesday morning. As if you had somewhere to be.

You drowned out the reasonable part of your brain, which helpfully reminded you how stupid this was, with a Don Quixote score blasting at full volume through your headphones and hurried through the walk with the usual brisque pace. You were not keen to admit that meeting Neil would offer peace of mind that nothing else seemed to provide. Or that ever since the night before, you could hardly get rid of him from your thoughts for longer than fifteen minutes at best.

Most importantly, perhaps, you did not want to think about the fact that whatever was happening between you had an expiration date. It always did. The only question was when and how far it would go before fate came knocking.

You only paused the music and took off the headphones when you stepped aboard the train and spotted Neil. He did not notice you, entirely engrossed by staring out the window, his pair of headphones perched atop his head. With the backdrop noise of beeping train doors closing behind your back, you allowed yourself another long look. Mostly admiring the fluffy golden strands falling over his eyes and the elegant curve of his profile, so striking in the harsh light of the overhead blinking fluorescents. A pathetic, dreamy sigh had to be swallowed for the sake of your dwindling pride as you crossed the remaining space and leaned over the empty seat next to Neil to give his head a light pat. He flinched, instantly taking off his headphones and turning towards you with wide eyes, poised to flee. You shot him an apologetic look, softened with another one of those fond smiles Neil seemed to have an ease of bringing out on your face.

“Why are you here?” the question was placed with that tint of a shocked gasp still present.

The confusion marred his features as Neil’s eyes wandered over your face as if not yet believing you were there.

“Ouch, I was hoping for a warmer welcome,” you shot him your best faux wounded look, following it with an arched eyebrow and a meaningful glance with an addition, “All things considered,”

It was impossible to stop the sudden influx of memories from flashing before your eyes as your brain helpfully offered highlights from the night before. How it felt to have Neil kiss your neck with all the devotion of a classical scholar. What it was like to be wanted by him.

If his responding blush was anything to go by, you were not the only one bombarded by memories. Neil dropped your gaze and swallowed hard, already making room for you to join him in the vacant seat. Only once you were sat snugly next to him, he raised his head again and spoke:

“You know what I mean. It’s early, and I-” he shook his head and reached out to grasp your hand, giving it a light squeeze, “Sorry,” it was paired with an innocent smile, the light of it making his blue eyes sparkle.

After that, there was no choice but to forgive him. Not that there was anything to forgive.

“You’re excused, sweetheart,” you returned the squeeze and enlaced your fingers, pressing your hands palm to palm. The skin contact was almost soothing, validating the very reasons why you had come there in the first place, “Answering your question: generalised anxiety disorder, stress, insomnia. You name it,” unsuccessfully shrugging off the unease, you broke the eye contact to stare at the stray eyelash, dotting his cheek. Without thinking, you reached out to brush it away, earning yourself another bloom of pink on his face and a wonderous gasp. It was a good enough encouragement to say what might yet be the most revealing truth of all, “I could barely stand still, so I figured I might as well get on the train and bother you,” by the end of the admission, you have dropped your gaze to the floor.

That was much better than seeing in real-time the effect of your confession on Neil. That plain understanding in the blue eyes always made you feel a little too seen. A little too transparent.

The weight of his hand within yours offered enough comfort for now. You could feel him trace small circles at the back of your palm, soothing and anchoring you in the present moment.

“I’d happily be bothered by you,” the hint of a smile in Neil’s voice acted like bait, drawing you out of the hiding.

You raised your head with caution, only allowing yourself to relax once you spotted a harmless grin on his face.

“Good,” you let go of his hand with reluctance, trying hard not to let yourself dwell too much on that flash of something close to disappointment on Neil’s face.

Sometimes, you still fooled yourself that those attempts at minimising the intimacy level could change things. That it could somehow make you more immune to his charms or less likely to get used to something that could never be permanent.

“Are you nervous about tonight?” the question offered a needed reprieve from the mess in your head.

As did the earnestness in Neil’s eyes, the desire to hear the answer and interest in what you had to say. Even if the mere reminder about the pre-premiere tightened the knot in your stomach and made you nauseous. You took a fortifying breath and sighed. The sound acted like the perfect preamble:

“God, yeah… It’s like, realistically, I know it’ll be fine. Probably. But I’m just freaking out” another frustrated groan resounded between you as you threw your restless hands and let them fall weightless in your lap.

The tapping foot was much more difficult to wrestle into obedience. So much so that you only stilted when you felt the heavy weight of Neil’s hand touching your knee with a dose of care. You glanced at him, aware of the deer-in-headlights look painted on your face. But, as usual, there were no cheeky puns to lighten the mood.

“It’ll be better than fine,” Neil squeezed your knee before lifting his hand and placing it back in his lap.

You tried not to ponder the devoid feeling left behind as the warmth of his touch faded from your skin. Instead, you turned towards him with an arched eyebrow and a provocative tone, hiding the insecurities:

“And how do you know that?” there it was again, that same desire for someone else to validate the fears and tell you what you have always suspected.

That you were not good enough for this. For anything at all. That it was best you stopped trying. That the only talent you possessed was talking shit and pretending to be someone you were not.

The depths of affection in Neil’s eyes did not seem to offer that type of honesty, however.

“Because you’re better than fine” the conviction in his voice tugged at the remains of sanity in your head as Neil mirrored your position and continued, the heated tone only growing stronger “You’re brilliant. Breathtakingly amazing and fucking incredible” you knew that battle was lost the moment you met his gaze, for now it was impossible to look away. You had been caught back in his orbit, as always, unable to move as Neil delivered the final sentiment, “And because I’m ninety per cent sure your brain is being a lying little bitch. Nothing more” then, just as you had begun to hope you could maybe look away from him or wake up from the spell, Neil leaned in to place a peck on your forehead.

Quick as lightning. It still made your heart pound with renewed energy. Still made you freeze with the wide-eyed look pasted onto your face. Still made you blush like an idiot.

Only after what felt like a solid five minutes you managed to shake it off, working hard to get past the blue screen of death in your brain and twist your lips into a sardonic smirk:

“You should become a PT,” the sparks in Neil’s eyes felt like instant gratification for the attempt at a joke, “People would pay a fortune for pep talks like this,” you hoped he would notice the gratitude shining through the mask you had put up.

That Neil would know just how much it meant.

“That’s more like it,” the answering grin told you that perhaps he did know.

Ever so carefully, he knocked your chin with his knuckles and shot you a wink, offering an out from the conversation you had hoped would show up.

You did not waste a chance like that.

“Are you coming on Friday?” it was another question you just had to ask.

Because, yes, he had technically said yes. Even accepted the PDF of a ticket you had sent him a few days before. But that didn’t mean anything. As far as you were concerned, Neil could still decide he had better things to do than attend a ballet performance on a Friday evening.

You did not dare look at him until you heard a reply.

“Obviously,” chancing a glance, you noticed the minor look of offence slowly transforming into a deadly smirk. Always too easily drawn in, you could feel its power of destruction as Neil added, “I’m even going to wear a suit. With a tie,” the pointed look following the sentence was meant only for you.

And was yours to interpret. There was heat there, blazing up his irises and making it too easy to drown in the blue. You watched as Neil glanced at your mouth, at how your teeth worried at the tender skin. You briefly wondered whether he wanted to know how it would taste on his tongue. You briefly considered asking him to try it.

Except that you didn’t. Because you did not think you had the right. Not yet.

Instead, you let out a low whistle and allowed your eyes to show exactly how this little bit of information made you feel.

“Damn… And you expect me to act normal?” the deadpan look could not erase the want easily seen on your face.

Even with just your imagination to rely upon, you knew the effect would be deadly. That seeing Neil on Friday might crumble your resolve into ashes and kickstart a chain of events you had tried to delay as long as possible. It would be a lie to say you were not anticipating it.

Neil only smiled, undeniably pleased about the effect of his words and your inability to pretend that you were unbothered. He leaned in closer, just enough so you would have no choice but to catch the smell of his intoxicating cologne, and replied:

“During the show? Sure,” the breath got caught in your throat, awaiting the second part of that answer as you stared back at him. The perfect pause executed with a flourish only Neil could be capable of, “After?” only half-aware of what was happening outside his blue eyes, you felt Neil’s hand cup your cheek. You stared as he carefully stroked your feverish skin and delivered the punchline, “We’ll see,” his touch was gone just as fast as you had felt it.

Yet the sentiment sent along with it would remain for much longer. You were sure of it.

“I’m holding you to that,” you held his gaze for a beat, cementing the hope that perhaps this time, those words would end up as something much more substantial than that – than words.

The responding nod was all you could hope for. And more. It opened a space for a comfortable silence, which settled over you like a blanket of ease. It soothed the nerves plaguing you since the moment you tried going to sleep.

After two stops, you broke the silence with a sudden thought:

“Actually, I’ve got an adjacent question that I’ve realised I never asked,” dropping the lead, you chanced a look at Neil.

As if sensing your gaze, he offered you a smile.

“Shoot, sweetheart,” the nickname rolled off his mouth with ease as if he was meant to call you that.

As if it came naturally. You still held a soft spot for ‘Cupid’, but this was something else. Something different.

“What station do you get off at?” ignoring the thoughts, you raised your head to stare at the Jubilee line graphic above the door on the opposite side of the carriage.

It was tricky to guess as you only knew Neil went further down the line than you, further than Southwark. The desire to know has been sparked by the same thing as usual. The sudden realisation that while you knew so much about him – the details of his childhood, the way he took coffee and how much he doubted his importance on the daily (idiot) – you did not know something that simple. It itched and scratched at your conscience almost as much as the mystery of his occupation did. And you felt this would be much easier to get out of Neil.

“Really deep, existential questions, I see,” his chuckle brightened your horizons, effortlessly getting rid of the sudden melancholy, “Canary Wharf,” you turned to him just as Neil offered the information.

Oh. Right. It was impossible not to perk up, lightening up like a dog that just got thrown a treat after hours of perceived starvation. Isle of Dogs painted a picture that fit what you thought of Neil. Except that it also didn’t.

The high-rise buildings and men in suits chasing after the colourful plastic bills. That wasn’t him. But the elegance, the perchance for dreamers to wander into the district searching for their salvation. Yeah, that seemed just about right.

“Ooh, fancy,” the cheeky smile had to do in place of a different comment. You immediately followed it with a question that needed courage to be asked: “Can I accompany you there?”

That was the crux of the issue. The fact upon which the fate of your soul was hanging. Not to be dramatic, that is.

“You know I can’t deny you anything if I tried,” Neil’s reply was strengthened by the look in his eyes, yet again boring into the depths of your soul in search of something he seemed desperate to find.

The soft smile painted upon his lips was hard to ignore, immediately drawing yours from its hiding place. The weight had been lifted off your shoulders, even if just by a fraction.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you met his gaze for once not scared of what you could find there.

All that mattered was the promise held within the unspoken. Now, Friday evening had an importance that went beyond the curtain call and final bows at the end. Now, you could hardly wait for the night to come.

The rest of the journey passed in peace, filled with light conversations and laughter that you hoped would stay with you for a while after you had parted. That it would be enough to keep the fears at bay during the upcoming evening.

Just as you had discussed, when the PA system called in Canary Wharf, and the view outside got transformed into the steely, brutalist sci-fi wet dream that the station was, Neil shot you a quick smile, grabbed your hand and got up from the seat, urging you to follow his steps. You did what he asked, stuck in a daze that only faded when the first rays of sunlight hit your face on the escalator to the ground level. You did not want to say goodbye. As much as it was obvious to you, it was still something you did not want to admit. Not out loud, anyway.

Instead, you tightened the hold on Neil’s hand and pulled him to a stop as soon as you were both standing in the ticket hall, far from the crowds. His questioning gaze was full of fondness. It fuelled the bravery you desperately sought as you placed your free hand on his shoulder and rose on your tiptoes to close the remaining gap. Pressing a tender kiss to his lips was the easiest of fates as you sighed into his mouth and allowed yourself to soften in the embrace Neil willingly reciprocated with only a second of delay. He let go of your hand to place both his palms around your waist, pulling you closer. Without you needing to be the forward one, Neil deepened the kiss with a quiet gasp, betraying the need underlining his moves.

Yet again, the kiss felt ground-breaking. Almost revolutionary in a way you could hardly describe. But, above all else, it felt important.

It was disappointing to discover that you both still needed oxygen after a kiss like that. With reluctance, you pulled back and took half a step away. Your hand stayed clasped over his shoulder, maintaining the precious contact and giving you an excuse to stay close. That first hesitancy to let go was sweetened by the look on Neil’s face, the dazed haze clouding his gaze. Despite the sudden nerves, the multiplying questions about whether you had not just fucked it all up beyond repair, you could not help but smile in the face of his puzzlement.

It took Neil an additional minute to squeeze your waist lightly and ask the question with all the innocence of a confused blonde puppy:

“Is this something that we do now?” his unfairly long eyelashes bated, the blue of his eyes flickering in and out from view in the emphasis of his befuddlement.

You did your best to ignore the pounding heart in favour of owning up to the rash decisions. The truth was you had no clue whether you did that now. It was never discussed. But, considering the implications of half the conversations you have had since the first meeting, it did not seem entirely out of place. Kinda.

So, instead of running away like the cowardice suggested, you shrugged and met his wandering gaze with something resembling composure:

“That’s up to you,” it was something you were sure of.

Something you tried to stick to when in doubt. Only this was the first time you brought it up and stated the rules of the play so Neil would be in on the secret. That haze in his eyes had faded by now, leaving watchful curiosity in its place.

“Why?” the caution in his tone made you swallow past the rising uncertainty and press forward.

Just fucking say it. You took a deep breath and dove in.

“Because I know what I want, but I don’t want that to determine what happens to us” the sentence felt clunky and graceless, but the understanding dawned in his eyes all the same.

Neil studied you in silence for what felt like ages before he placed another question. This one was devoid of confusion:

“And what do you want?” it was the simplest of questions anyone could ask.

But also one that you did not feel the need to answer. He knew it already. You offered him a signature cheeky grin and leaned in again to place a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“Bye, Neil,” you let go of him with the farewell replacing your careful touch. This time, you did not want to look back, so you let the addition carry on the wind as you started walking away, “I’ll text you later,”

***

The pre-premiere night was a relative success. By that, you mostly meant that no one died; you managed to step onto the stage and more or less performed the choreography without fuck ups. None of these things meant that the anxiety had somehow disappeared before Friday evening and the official opening night. It was still present, making you jittery with nerves. Still, lowkey made you wonder what would happen if you bailed and made the second Cupid take up your share of shows.

Because the fact that you were given both openings did not escape your attention. You were painfully aware of the responsibility weighing down your shoulders. The heaviness settled in your bones as you went through the motions of the Friday morning. The only light in the tunnel came from Neil’s texts, reassuring and distracting, as always. You did your best not to dwell too much on what could happen after the show. In this case, your best was hardly enough.

By the time the clock struck 4 pm, you had just finished the final on-stage rehearsal. The sweat trickled down your temples as you escaped the company for a moment of peace. The silence was found in the backrooms, the dusty corridors not yet filled with stagehands, prop masters or assistants. But it wasn’t long now.

You slid down the wall into sitting and sighed. The restless mind already going through the itinerary:

4:25 pm – light lunch

4:50 pm – costume change

5:30 - in-costume rehearsal (short)

6:00 – make-up and hair

6:30 – be ready

7:00 – fucking showtime.

The schedule was simple; it offered no space for doubts. But doubts still came because that was a first. A first role of such a calibre. The first time you desperately wanted it to go well while also fearing that it never would.

And then, there was also that part concerning your addition to the guest list. That one ticket you had requested and a top-tier seat reserved in one of the red velvet boxes. That pair of eyes you wanted to impress the most despite logic and sense. With a tired sigh, you unlocked the phone and started typing a message:

/ 🏹, 4:07 pm/ I genuinely don’t think I’ll make it till curtain call.

/✝️, 4:09 pm/ You better survive. I’ve got plans, you know.

/✝️, 4:09 pm/ And before you try it – those plans require your presence, Cupid.

/✝️, 4:10 pm/ So get your shit together, sweetheart.

/ 🏹, 4:11 pm/ See, you did it again! Pep talks guru in the making.

/ 🏹, 4:11 pm/ I’ll try, no promises, however.

/ 🏹, 4:11 pm/ Are you actually going to wear a suit?

/✝️, 4:13 pm/ Yes. I’m getting ready as we speak.

/✝️, 4:15 pm/ And considering how brave you are, I’m going to be very generous right now.

What? You stared at the last message until the screen on your phone turned black. A thousand possibilities knocked around your head, leaving nothing but confusion in their wake. Because while the brief conversation already did what you expected it to, leaving you just a little calmer, that was not an outcome you expected. It was not anything you expected.

When your phone flashed with the notification of a new message, you lurched forward to unlock it with enough haste to mess up the code twice before finally typing it correctly. The messaging app opened first, already foreseeing your needs. Yet nothing, no conscious thought or expectation, prepared you for the sight. For the one photo without a word of caption. A photo of Neil, standing in what appeared to be his bedroom, judging by the background, sans a shirt.

The trademark smirk on his face, the eyes staring at the phone screen, undoubtedly fully aware of the effect this would have on you. And he wasn’t wrong.

You stared, feeling your face heat up. Gaze shamelessly wandered over the planes of his chest and stomach, displayed in the photo for your perusal. You could already feel yourself going crazy, could feel the arousal pool in between your legs. All because of a photo. Just a photo.

You could try arguing with yourself that this was some anomaly. That you were acting up due to stress and tension, only that you knew it was none of those things. It was just Neil. Neil, and his seemingly perfect body you desperately wanted to get your hands on. And mouth, too.

Fuck. You groaned for the third time within the last fifteen minutes and lightly bumped your head into the wall behind you. Now, a trip to the bathroom before lunch was not only recommended but also mandatory. Slowly, you got up and stared at the screen.

It would be rude not to respond. Or so you dared think.

/ 🏹, 4:19 pm/ Thank you.

/ 🏹, 4:19 pm/ And fuck you.

/✝️, 4:20 pm/ You never know, you might.

/✝️, 4:20 pm/ Good luck and give them hell.

***

In the last few months, Neil has pretty much gotten used to that constant feeling of confusion. To the fact that if his brain could transmit one thought to him, it would be a question. What the fuck? Just so. Just that.

Some days, like on that particular Friday evening, the question would perhaps gain two more words. Precisely: What the fuck are you doing? He did not know. Apart from the fact that, somehow, at some vague point, the friendship with Cupid transformed into something else. Something that had him going insane, sending her photos without a shirt on and potentially letting himself be led into some sort of an arrangement. A situationship that would most likely involve sex, but not love. Not feelings. That much was clear from the start. And that was fine. It really was. Neil didn’t love her; he only… liked her. A lot. And he wanted her.

A lot.

Enough so to ask no questions and agree to whatever fate offered him. It would be fine. And, perhaps most importantly, he already had a friendship out of it, which… was always good. Worth it. Probably.

Neil shook his head against the idiotic thoughts and picked up the pace as he left the station and hurried towards the opera house. The thin coat did nothing against the biting wind, so he attempted to undo the damage by tightening the olive scarf around his neck. Although there was still time left till curtain call, Neil could hardly slow down the pace. The strange sense of anticipation would not let that happen. Oh, so carefully, he adjusted the loose hold over the bouquet of roses. A dozen flowers, equally split between pink and red ones. While Neil knew she would still appreciate him showing up without the bouquet, coming empty-handed seemed wrong.

And then, there was the whole bit about coming to see her after the show. The instructions were relatively simple: leave the main building and walk around the side to Stage Door. There, drop her name to a scary usher, asking for permission to come backstage. It’ll be fine. She said. Neil wasn’t sure it would be fine.

But whatever. For that, he definitely needed flowers.

Only once the glass, grand front of the Royal Opera House appeared in his view, it was easier to breathe. To assure himself that he arrived right on time. Ahead of it, even. Following the stream of elegant theatregoers, Neil liked to tell himself that he fit in. That the attempt at looking like he belonged was successful. In truth, he had twice considered changing out of the suit and only followed the plan because of the very vivid memory of Cupid and the teeth worrying at the fragile skin of her lips that he had come to love kissing. She was worth the pain.

The reality of the evening only dawned once Neil had managed to find the correct box and his seat, a fortifying glass of Prosecco sparkling in the glass flute held in his hand. The ballet programme, acquired at the price of a small donation, opened in his lap. The cast list had snatched his attention first as his eyes unconsciously scanned the character list for the one that mattered the most. His gaze stopped at her name, the betraying finger coming up to trace the letters like the idiot that Neil is.

With a sigh of frustration, he turned the page, revealing a photograph. A still from the ballet itself. Most importantly, a still portraying Cupid in the garden of the Nyads, the painted trees behind her back making up the scene. Except that Neil could barely look away from her to register anything or anyone else in the photo. She was ethereal, the white costume looking ablaze in the cold light of the scene. Feeling his pulse pick up again, Neil snapped the programme shut with a decisive move and dropped it on the tiny shelf by the box edge.

One last time, he checked whether the roses were still alive (thankfully) and took out the phone from his pocket. There were no new messages, but he opened the conversation with her all the same. Without letting himself think about it too long, Neil typed out a simple text:

/✝️, 6:55 pm/ I’ll see you after the show. Good luck, sunshine.

He hit send and exited the app without a second thought. Cupid would see it after, but that hardly mattered. Neil made sure his phone was on mute before he pocketed it again, and turned his gaze towards the stage. The curtain was still down, the red material heavy and embroidered with golden thread. It fitted in with the grand interior of the opera house, the splendour of every spot he laid his gaze upon. Including the dome ceiling with a crystal chandelier hanging down. Neil no longer wondered why Cupid seemed so terrified of this evening, why the weight on her shoulders was so intense. Even the theatre itself was scary in its grandeur.

Before he could follow that line of thought, the door behind clicked open, and a flurry of voices rushed in, followed by the patrons themselves. An elegant, older couple shot him a friendly smile as they took the remaining seats in the box and settled in for the evening. A second bell rang out in the auditorium as theatregoers filled the seats. The night was sold out, as the billing in the foyer informed him. That, too, only made sympathy for her fears stronger. A quick, insane thought crossed his mind that Neil wished he could hug her. Wished he had more reassurance to offer than platitudes in texts that never provided true comfort. But it hardly mattered.

Neil downed the remaining prosecco with the third bell and leaned back in the seat. Fucking showtime.

***

By the end of Act 1, his hands were shaking. He dug his sweaty palms into the armrests and closed his eyes against the bustle of patrons getting up from their seats. And that was before the scene.

Because, sure, Neil knew Cupid would be present during some of the group scenes in the other two acts because she had told him so. But knowing and seeing were two different things. Seeing her right there on the stage, being just as incredible, stunning, and brilliant as he knew she was, was something else entirely. Cupid shone like a beacon, drawing his attention no matter what. Hell, half the time she was present in the scene, Neil was not sure he even registered what was happening. Talk about tunnel vision or whatever.

He had a feeling it would get only worse when her moment came. The solo that started it all. So, while the saner patrons visited the toilets and mingled in the bar, Neil sat frozen through the intermission, staring at the red curtain and hoping the twenty minutes would pass quickly. It was not even something he could explain, not an emotion he had been familiar with before. Sure, there had been crushes. Both fleeting, childish things and passion that made him believe love existed if he could feel so much for another person. But this was neither of those things.

It was endless admiration combined with enough fascination and passion to make Neil want to do stupid things. Like taking her home after and fulfilling all the flirtations he had indulged in since they met. Like placing his hands back on her waist and discovering what it’s like to touch her bare skin. Like hearing her- Yeah, that.

It was exhilarating to remember that an ending to the night of this kind was not necessarily out of the picture. Quite on the contrary.

As the curtain rose for the second act and the events of the plot got him, Don Quixote, and Sancho Panza closer to the Garden and Cupid in all her glory, Neil knew he was fucked. Utterly, hopelessly fucked.

Then, she stepped out. All in white save for the embroidered garland of blue flowers on the bodice and the skirt. She danced each step with grace and confidence Neil never once doubted she possessed. It made the breath catch in his throat and his heart stumble. She was perfect. She leapt and turned with each note, just as in that video she showed him at the start. The joy filled every cell of her body, visible in how she danced. The cheeky smile gracing her lips was a sight Neil was used to, yet still, it made him blush. Even from his vantage point, he could tell no one else could look away from her. From the force of her beauty, knocking down everyone within striking distance. Like the goddess she was.

 The minute was over before he was aware of it, staring as Cupid completed the final set of leaps. She landed in the set pose and froze. The music was soon replaced with thunderous clapping. The heart palpitations in Neil’s chest had been replaced by glee, a stupid grin present on his face on its own accord. There it was again, that pride flaring up in his heart as he watched Cupid smile.

Yeah, he was decidedly fucked. And there was still the third act left. Terrifyingly aware of the company, Neil swallowed hard and dug his fingers into the armrests again. He briefly wondered whether the cubicle walls in the toilets were sanitary enough so he could faceplant into one during the second intermission. He quickly concluded that it hardly mattered. A man’s gotta do, what a man’s gotta do. Or something.

***

The applause was a sound you could get used to. It filled every cavern of your soul and made you forget about the burning in your muscles and the tiredness that made you feel you were close to fainting. All of that vanished when the orchestra finished the final notes of the score, and the principal dancers stepped in, bowing to the crowds. Even from your spot at the back, you could see the patrons rise from their seats and applaud the dancers with faces full of awe. The feeling got stronger once it was your turn to bow before the audience, legs shaking from exertion and a wide grin impossible to wipe off.

Because, somehow, you actually did it. Survived. Thrived, even. Everything went better than you hoped. Better than you dared dream. The conviction, anchored in your heart with that first dose of thunderous applause after you finished the Cupid variation, began to grow roots. It did not vanish as soon as the curtain fell, and you had all begun to disperse, half-limping from exhaustion towards the dressing rooms. It stayed as you chatted and laughed with the girls, letting the costume assistants help you out of the corset.

Perhaps, most importantly, the exhilaration stayed because you could still remember the text you saw right before scene one. A short, good luck message also showed you were wrong to doubt him. Neil showed up. He was in the audience, watching you excel at the role and perform like never before. That thought alone made you smile.

You got as far as changing into the black dress, perfect for both the celebratory banquet after the premiere and whatever else the night would have in store before the commotion at the door to the dressing room made you pause taking off the stage makeup. You looked up just in time to see Carol, the costume assistant, call your name from the doorway:

“You’ve got company, sweetie” the smirk present on her face was unnerving, almost making the horror drown out the joy you felt at that one sentence, “A handsome boy asked Derek about you,” she added, the smile only widening, highlighting the conclusion you would have easily reached yourself by now.

As you felt the eyes of half a dozen girls turn in your direction, you knew you had fucked it. Inviting Neil backstage felt like a good idea until this moment. Until the reminder that you were not going to be alone. Not with the eager, bright gazes of corps du ballet following your every move like a little clan of hyenas. Swallowing past the frown, you let the used makeup wipe fall onto the dressing table as you stood up. In haste, almost knocking over the stool.

“I was waiting for him, actually” you crossed the space, hiding the sudden nerves with an over-confident grin.

For whatever reason, the shyness had returned. It sped up the beat of your heart as you waited for Carol to turn towards the corridor she came from and fetch Neil. Ignoring the desire to leap into the hallway like an idiot, you rooted your feet in the floor and stared down. Right until you heard Carol come back. This time, she was not alone. You leaned out the doorway, your gaze finding Neil with ease. He stood out among the crowd of dancers, dressed in a dark grey suit with a burgundy tie. It was impossible not to let your jaw hang open as your eyes took him in. The expensive suit jacket fitted perfectly. Beneath, you could make out the matching vest as if a two-piece wasn’t enough.

Annoyed by the lack of flaws to pick out, your gaze flicked up to his face. Just in time to see the familiar smirk telling you all you needed to know about where Neil was. But there was no time to dwell on it.

“You’re in luck, Sir” you could see curiosity in Carol’s gaze as she patted Neil’s arm and threw you a look that promised serious questioning next time. Which would be tomorrow. Fuck “I’ll leave you two to it” throwing you a goddamn wink, she turned away and started walking back down the corridor.

“Thanks, Carol” your gratitude got half choked up by the wave of annoyance, but you smothered it to ashes and turned to Neil with a shy smile, “Hi,”

It was nearly impossible not to be dazed by his beauty, even after only two days apart. His blue eyes looked back at you with enough affection to make you quiver. The hard lights of the backstage caught the gold in his hair, making it look almost ablaze. You blinked against the striking picture, but the brief respite did nothing. Neil still looked too good to be true. Which was why you knew that the moment the girls saw him, all hell would unleash. You steeled your spine against the assault and gently steered him towards the room you had just left. He went willingly.

“Hello” at a moment unknown to you, Neil has placed his arm around your shoulder. He went as far as coupling the greeting with a brief squeeze of your bicep before the touch disappeared, and he came to a standstill next to you, “There’s a lot of staring happening right now,” the remark was whispered, yet it roared in the pin-drop silence of the dressing room.

It took no genius on your side to understand what Neil meant even before you raised your head and faced six equally shocked faces of the ballerinas in various stages of grief.

“I know, I’m sorry,” aware that acting on the desire to hold his hand would only backfire, you glared at the girls with a warning, “They can’t behave” you hoped it would convey enough annoyance to make them snap out of it.

Whatever it even was. Because they had seen the men (and women) you have been with. They knew your shtick. And yet.

“Not our fault you haven’t told us you’re going to have a handsome fellow over” Jemima, the only one not to break the stare under your glare, raised her eyebrow in an accusation.

She was always the feisty one. It was a characteristic you admired in her just as much as you disdained it. Especially now, with Neil’s awkwardness coming off in waves and your sudden desire to disappear growing stronger by the minute.

“Would that change anything?” you countered her allegation with a cold question.

Or, at least, you sure hoped your cool was still intact. The reasons for the embarrassment and shyness were impossible to understand. Not without internal analysis you did not want nor could undergo with the audience present. The soul-searching had to wait. Indefinitely.

“Only that we’d bother you about him earlier,” especially now when no remorse was to be found from the girls.

Rolling your eyes skywards, you muttered:

“Figures,” a sigh had to do as a preamble as you risked taking hold of his hand and squeezing it quickly, “This is Neil, guys. Be nice” one glance at Neil, at the silent panic, was enough to make you add “And stop staring” when he squeezed back, you briefly felt victorious.

Very briefly.

“Easier said than done, babe” Jemima shot you an overconfident wink and took those two paces to walk up to Neil. Her dark eyes piercing and inquisitive “Has anyone told you that you’re stunning, Neil?” she studied him, gaze treading the path over his features that you were overly familiar with.

A strange stab of insecurity at the centre of your heart threw you off the kilter. That was… strange. Unprecedented. Unacceptable.

“Once or twice,” Neil’s reply was the necessary anchor to bring you back from the depths of worrying thoughts.

As was the growing horror on his face. You had to step in. 

“Jesus Ch-” choking past the litany of curses, you used the hold over his hand to drag Neil to your dressing table. You could still feel their stares but hoped they would get the hint, “You actually came” unable to keep the wonder out of your voice, you allowed yourself to look at Neil for the first time since the mess started.

He seemed more relaxed now that you have gotten rid of the onlookers. In his gaze, you could only see conviction, as if you never should have doubted him. And you didn’t! Just… needed to see it to believe it. Or something along those lines.

“Of course. These are for you” only now you noticed the bouquet of roses as Neil held it out to you with a smile. Yet it was difficult to pay attention to the flowers when he continued, “You were incredible, Cupid. Blew them all away. Just like I knew you would,” you could feel your cheeks heat up at the attention and the praise.

It was one thing to feel it but another to have someone lay it upon you. Especially Neil.

Neil, with his bright blue eyes and beautiful smile, that always felt like a benediction of sorts.

“Thanks” gingerly, you put down the bouquet on the dressing table and offered him a shy smile, “It’s still sinking in, but I think it was good. It certainly felt good” the promise to elaborate on your feelings was there; implied, and ready for Neil to take on. He did it with an understanding nod, allowing you to switch the topic with minimal clumsiness, “Anyways, I’m just going to finish here, and then I should show up at this banquet thingy upstairs for fifteen minutes, and I’m done” your restless hands played out their choreography, gesturing towards your half wiped off stage makeup and the hair that desperately needed an out from the tight bun.

You hoped the gestures would compensate for the awkwardness you could still feel. For the doubts that kept springing back up like freshly sown flowers in a fertile ground. Except that they didn’t.

“Sounds good” now that you were back at the table, you could see Neil in the mirror reflection.

He nodded, seemingly at ease with the situation and the scenario you had just painted for him. But-

“Unless you’ve got plans and I’ve just-” your anxious voice jumped into action when you let down your guard, voicing all that would not shut up inside your head.

Because you have never talked about his plans. You have never discussed the technicalities of what would be happening after the premiere. Not really. For all you knew, Neil might have just stopped by to say goodbye.

Before you could spiral further, you felt a careful touch at the nape of your neck. Gentle fingers brushing the tender skin and bringing out the shivers. You raised your head to see Neil looking back at you with a soft smile on his face:

“I’m only yours tonight” his hand skimmed lower, ghostly touch brushing over the shoulder blade.

It was gone before you blinked. But the sensation stayed, making you push the uncertainties to the back of your head and lock them away. For now, they were irrelevant.

The flowers, the suit, the photo – it all seemed like maybe tonight you could get what you really wanted. And what you wanted-

“Is that a promise?” picking up the fresh cotton bud, you bated your eyelashes at Neil.

Hoping (praying) he would ignore the crisis that unfolded before his eyes seconds before.

“We’ll see” Neil only smirked as he leaned against the wall closest to your dressing table and crossed his arms over his chest.

All yours, apparently.

***

It turned out that the key to getting more attention when entering the banquet at the Royal Opera House was to have Neil by your side. You could feel the gazes of fellow dancers and their plus ones follow you as you breezed through the hall, rushing towards the table filled with champagne flutes. You did not need to glance behind to know Neil was following you like a shadow. Once a pair of glasses was secured, you turned to him with a victorious smile and wordlessly motioned towards one of the high tables by the wall. It looked like the perfect place to linger until the speeches had been said and toasts raised. After that, you were good to go.

Once that first incomprehensible crisis was over, and you continued with the dressing table tasks, with the addition of Neil’s presence and comments, the strange anxiety has almost dispersed. Its place was taken by the anticipation of what would happen next. It was reflected in Neil’s gaze, the bright blue eyes watching with something akin to enchantment. Almost as if he could not and did not want to look away. It felt empowering in ways you could barely understand.

Now, as you set down both glasses and leaned on the table with a smile, Neil was ready. He mirrored your relaxed pose with ease. The tips of his black oxfords touched your shoes.

“Are you sure I’m allowed to be here?” the question was brought forward with a nervous chuckle and a cursory look around the room.

You could see the remains of restless energy in his movements. How his gaze skimmed through the crowd, searching for reasons why he did not belong. You knew the feeling too well. Tapping your shoe against his to capture the attention, you shot Neil a reassuring smile:

“Perfectly sure. You fit right in” without letting yourself think about it, you shuffled around the high table to stand right next to Neil.

Your shoulders were touching. When you turned to face him, you were struck breathless at the proximity. Up this close, Neil’s eyes felt boundless.

“Is that- Are you just complimenting me?” the baffled pout of his was something else to wonder at.

Something else to ignore if you did not want to make a spectacle in the middle of the banquet hall. Which you didn’t.

Instead, you focused on the disbelief you could see in his eyes, that familiar shade of shyness and insecurity telling you that despite his inherent coolness, Neil was anything but. Nudging your hip against his, you leaned in close:

“I’m also saying that you look very hot right now” your tone dropped to the seductive timbre that, while unnecessary, had a history of making Neil blush.

It was not different this time. You looked up in time to see the pink hue tint on his cheeks as Neil swallowed hard. He glanced at your mouth, clearly weighing the options like you just did. He must have come to the same conclusion, for he looked up again, nervous tongue swiping over the dry lips. Making you itch for a hit.

“How very?” he asked, quietly enough that you had to invade his personal space to hear the question.

Once you got that close, you did not want to increase the distance again. So, you stayed, eyes peering into Neil’s as you rested your chin on his shoulder and whispered the reply into his ear:

“Very” the curious stares of fellow banqueters hardly mattered as you pressed your hand to his suit lapel, “The suit was a top-notch choice. And now that I know what you look like without that shirt… Yeah, very hot” you waited until Neil was brave enough to face you to shoot him a wink.

By now, the picture was burned onto your eyelids. Yet, without a doubt, the photo never held a candle to the real thing. You were sure the hunger for it was clear as day on your face as Neil studied it for a long moment. That same thoughtful look in his eyes always made you feel half a step closer to insanity. Because it was impossible to tell what he thought then.

Remembering your daring gesture, you raised your hand from where it stayed pressed to his chest and folded your palms on the tabletop. For good measure, you took half a step away from him as well. Just so you did not tempt fate. A quick gulp from the champagne flute was also in order.

“So, I take it you liked the photo?” the innocence of Neil’s question made it clear that you were not allowed to let go of the conversation yet.

Not that you minded it. This sort of chat offered an easy space to share all that plagued your mind and soul, consensually and without a dose of awkwardness. Because he asked. And if he asked, then he was bound to know. Slowly, you turned your face again to look at Neil. He was one step ahead, the blue gaze already boring into yours. The hard edge of it softened by a cheeky smile.

“Oh, I did. I just wish you’d sent it earlier when I would have had time to process it in peace” aware that the words would do their job, you returned Neil’s smirk and took another swig from the glass.

If only so that you had something to do until he reacted to your confession. Your eyes scouted the horizon, taking note of the arriving dancers and the ballet directory gathering by the platform. It was not long now before the official part began.

It wasn’t long till you could leave.

“Process it how, exactly?” when your gaze returned to Neil, you found him just as expected.

Blue eyes wide, the magnificent jaw hanging open as his brain evidently pushed at him numerous versions of what your answer could imply. That would explain the dark blush creeping over his cheeks. And, for a beat, you considered it. Considered showing your cards and telling him exactly how he made you feel daily.

But where would be fun with that?

“Ladies don’t disclose their secrets,” you mimicked locking your lips shut with a key and rose on your toes to press a quick peck to Neil’s cheek.

When you leaned back again, he nodded:

“Noted” you could see the questions multiply in his gaze, but Neil seemingly pushed them all back, for when he spoke again, that topic was over, “What do you want to do after this?”

That was a question you needed no time to answer.

“A walk around Soho sounds nice” by now, your post-performance walks were a tradition.

A chance to breathe and decompress after the rollercoaster of preparations followed by the ballet. A chance to remind yourself that it was real. That you were real. Although, usually, you were alone, the concept of having Neil as a companion did not seem off-putting.

Quite the contrary.

“Got you,” his reply offered a chance to breathe out and relax by a fraction.

You shot Neil a grateful smile just as the commotion by the stage caught your attention. It was finally starting.

“Great, now shush” on its own accord, your hand found his on the tabletop and squeezed it once.

When Neil returned the squeeze, you grinned and buried the smile in the champagne glass.

***

The chilly autumn air cooled your cheeks as you adjusted the scarf around your neck, turned the corner of Long Acre Street and glanced at Neil. On the horizon, you could just about make out the Seven Dials pillar, marking the gateway into Soho. Although it was well past 11 pm, you knew that the streets would be full of people. With each step, the tension of the evening melted away, now only anchored by the tiredness set deep in your bones. You would still need a long sleep and a relaxing Saturday to manage tomorrow’s performance. But that, like most things, had to wait.

For now, all that mattered were the golden reflections in Neil’s hair and the tune he hummed as he matched your leisurely pace. Whatever would happen after the walk was very much undecided, so you made sure to banish the uncertainties to the back of your head and focus on the present. For the first time since leaving the opera house, you broke the comfortable silence:

“So… Be honest and tell me what you thought” that infuriating hesitation in your voice was hard to get rid of.

It tinted the sentence with unease and worry, making it abundantly clear that despite your attempts at nonchalance, you were everything but. Worst of all, you knew Neil would pick up on it instantly, too. He was good at reading you like that.

Lost in your head again, you never noticed you had been wringing your hands until you felt his touch, gently stopping the anxious gestures. Your head shot up just in time to see the small smile grace his lips as Neil looked away again and replied:

“I meant what I said earlier. You were incredible. And although my knowledge of ballet comes from Black Swan almost exclusively… Yeah, so fucking cool, Cupid” his eyes were full of admiration you could hear in the praise.

It made your cheeks heat up as the wave of bashfulness threatened to overtake any other part of your being. You swallowed hard against it, briefly tracing the cracks in the pavement to buy some time. Soon, you did what you always do.

“Well, I sure wish there was more gay sex with Mila Kunis at work” Neil’s loud laughter at your attempt at a joke made you grin despite the sudden shyness, “But thank you. As much as I was terrified, it’s all kind of disappeared before I came on for my bit. And then I just tried to do the best I could” shrugging, you allowed yourself a moment to relish in the rare feeling of pride.

That did not happen often. And when compliments came, they hardly held any substance to them. Unlike this, where you could tell Neil meant and believed what he said. The surge of affection was hard to deny, even if you tried to bury it beneath a shrug and a noncommittal smile. It burned through your chest like an ember. It was only a matter of time before it would catch fire.

“You were stellar. I couldn’t look away from you” mindless of your crisis, Neil kept speaking, “Not for a moment” once you made the mistake of turning to glance at him, the softness of his gaze felt like a trigger you did not know you had been waiting for.

Stopping in the middle of the pavement was the easiest part. You reached out towards Neil and grabbed his hand, making him stop as well. The surprise on his face was evident as he closed the space between you and asked:

“Everything alright?” the genuine worry was all but a metaphorical nail to the coffin.

It softened the edges of your raging soul and made you take the decisive step to cup his face between your palms and press your mouth to his. Somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, Neil pulled you closer with his hands on your waist, instantly returning the kiss with equal ferocity. You could imagine the picture you painted to the outside souls. The all-consuming desire was written in every gesture and move. The inability to separate until you had to. The easy conclusions anyone would draw at the sight of you.

The conclusions which at any other time would terrify you.

But none of that mattered when you broke the kiss with the taste of Neil’s gasp on your tongue and caught his dreamy gaze. The long eyelashes fluttered as he slowly came to. The pink cheeks and glossy lips were something you could never quite get over. So, instead of surrendering to the foolish wants and stupid desires, you whispered the only other thing that made sense:

“Thank you” sliding your hand down the length of his arm to entangle your fingers together, you offered Neil a smile.

Grinning, he tugged at your joined hands to resume the walk. With the background of Wonderwall playing inside the pub you passed, he spoke:

“My pleasure. Now I expect to be given tickets to every premiere” the cockiness in his tone was a welcomed change.

It helped to close the door on the inconvenient softness and put your focus back on what mattered. Like the support and friendship of someone who seemed genuinely interested in you. That, too, was out of the ordinary for the relationships with men you wanted to fuck.

Not to be crude or anything.

“I’ll think about it,” you quipped, mind already venturing onto the prospects, mulling over what could happen after ‘Don Quixote’. Not without anxiety, “Next there’s this tiny, teeny off-chance they cast me in The Nutcracker… and that’s a really big deal” even saying the words you had thought of before was enough to make your heart rate speed up.

Because that was a possibility. An idea bolstered by the whispers among the girls and the ballet repertoire announced at the beginning of the winter season. But as much as it was possible, you did not dare hope. Not after the disappointments of the past.

“Like crippling anxiety kinda big deal?” as always, Neil had struck the goldmine without trying.

His talent at seeing through your bullshit and all that you tried to leave unsaid was terrifying. Hardly anyone was capable of that. And historically, those that did were most likely to become someone you could not get rid of. Not even if you tried. That, like many things, was a reason to push against the alarms in your head and offer Neil a grin so bright it looked plastic fake.

“Precisely that,” you nodded, mindlessly synching your pace to Neil’s and raising your head to look around the streets.

The warm streetlights cast a cosy glow around the alleys and shop windows, occasionally replaced with a neon or two, ablaze in the night. A million different songs could be heard from the windows and doorways of the pubs and clubs you passed. The chaos of the area was almost peaceful to you in its disarray. The beautiful mess that had no place in your daily world, in the carefully styled ballet buns and perfectly positioned pointe shoes. It was the antithesis of everything you lived and breathed, yet somehow more true to your nature than order could ever be.

The wonder must have shown on your face, for Neil broke the silence with a question:

“Why Soho?” the curiosity was impossible to ignore.

But when so often it would spark your annoyance and inspire the inherent desire to remain a mystery to all but yourself, here and now, it was almost welcomed. Because it came from someone who gave a fuck.

“Because it makes me feel the most at home, I guess. It’s like life can be shit and awful, but as soon as I get here and lose myself between those streets, nothing matters anymore” the weight of the words hung between you as your finger caressed the back of Neil’s hand, unconsciously drawing patterns. Only when the heaviness and sincerity began to feel too stifling, you added, “It must be that unique appeal of queerness, bondage and flashy lights. All at once” as if on a cue, you looked to the right to see one of the many sex shops scattered across Soho.

A classy, black leather harness lured the interested parties from the shop window. A giggle arose in your throat and spilt outward, tinting the night with a new shade of unforgettability. The feeling increased when you turned to see Neil’s grin:

“Must be” the joy in his face blinded you to everything else.

The comfortable silence stretched as you walked around Soho Square. Within the dimly lit park, you could make out the statue of King Charles II. That late at night, the iron gates were closed, leaving you to trace the perimeter of the square. The red brick tower of St Patrick’s watchfully traced your steps as you passed through the common and continued down one of many busy streets.

The wistful silence felt inspiring in ways you could hardly explain. Before you knew what you were doing, the question was out of your mouth:

“Can I ask you another inappropriate question?” at this point, the opener was a tradition.

It always got a smile out of Neil, so you did not consider ditching it.

“Shoot,” he squeezed your hand and peeked inside the pub you passed.

This one’s choice of music was not any less predictable. With the sounds of Mr Brightside, you asked:

“What are you most afraid of?” the origin of a question was hard to trace.

You only knew that it had been waiting for the right moment for quite a while. Perhaps it was because you barely had anyone else to talk about things like these that most people would rather stay unsaid. Perhaps it was that you were tired of ignoring the complex subjects and shutting the door on the uncomfortable.

Perhaps it was just that you wanted to know Neil better.

“Damn, that’s inappropriate indeed,” his low whistle told you even that sort of question was not too close for comfort.

You were yet to find the limit, which was both an exciting prospect and a terrifying concept.

“You know me,” you shrugged, hoping that gesture alone would help you ignore the implications of the sentence.

Yet the look Neil shot you as you risked a glance at him rendered the attempt useless.

“I do know you” the simple confirmation felt like a punch to the face, but you had no time to react. Neil followed the thought with the answer you had asked for, “Okay… It used to be something like being forgotten or not achieving my dreams, but now, I think it’s just that I’m scared of waking up one day and realising that I’ve nothing to live for. It’s that fear of failure, combined with the real chance of no one ever loving me for who I am” each of his words felt like that pinprick of pain in the molecules of your existence. As did the tiredness in his voice, almost emotionless except for the resignation you were well familiar with. It was the same tone of someone so used to the reality of their situation that it hardly made them feel anything anymore. It was a tone you knew well, “Fuck, that sounds depressing” sighing upon the conclusion, Neil slowed down your pace to look at the display of an indie boutique.

You knew that tactic. Understood that it was just a part of the ploy to shift the subject away from his troubles. But, in the light of all he said, you could not stay silent. You stepped close enough to show your intent in the movement and said what you knew was obvious:

“I think people would be stupid not to love you” despite your history with love, you knew that much.

If love existed, Neil was more than worth the pain of it. And anyone who was blind to it was not worth him.

Slowly, he turned to face you. The impassive face let you know that this time Neil would not be willing to get into the polemics over something he did not believe in. Instead, you got a neutral smile and a tender touch, brushing the stray lock of hair behind your ear:

“I wish, sweetheart” the mournful edge to his smile felt unsettling in a way you desperately wanted to ignore. As if sensing your discomfort, he quickly transformed it into a sardonic grin, “There’s also the fear of the world ending, but that’s just millennial quirks, I guess” before you could react to the mood shift, the invisible mic was extended towards you “Anyway, your turn,”

While you always knew that opening this topic would mean you would also have to bear your soul to Neil, the moment it came, you found yourself struggling for words. The truths were there, but they did not want to be released into the night like this. Without a promise that nothing would change after.

Wordlessly, you extended your hand to Neil and waited for him to take it before resuming the walk. It took you another two or three minutes of silence to start speaking:

“It was always the fear of growing old. And I don’t mean like a teenager shaking at the prospect of being thirty someday. I mean me right now, scared out of my mind for the day I realise I’m old. Because there’s no future for ballerinas past forty, if even that” once the words came, it was hard to stop them. They flowed, empowered by years of awful thoughts you could not permanently get rid of and the paralysing knowledge that they were correct. That this was the future awaiting you, “And I know that for all my talk of not needing other people for anything else than a good time, it’s going to bite me in the ass. When that youth fades, I’ll be a below-average woman who doesn’t have anything to offer” the conclusions came upon a weary sigh, with the burdens not at all lessened but only voiced.

For the first time ever, possibly.

The warmth of Neil’s hand in yours was a spark of comfort, urging you to let go of the thoughts and keep walking. You knew that if you stopped, there would be nothing to pick up from the pieces you would become.

“I don’t think you’re below average” although you did not dare look at him, you could feel Neil’s gaze on you.

Those knowing blue eyes wandered over your features like a tender touch you never deemed yourself worthy of. Although seemingly nonconsequential, his protest was not something you could brush over. It reverberated in your head until you felt like you had to shake it out with another pointless shrug:

“The point still stands, though” unsurprisingly, it was the shame that followed, forcing you to look his way and whisper a needed apology, “Anyway, I’m so sorry I asked that. I don’t know what overcame me,”

The most accurate guess would be the demons of hell or your lack of self-preservation.

“It’s okay. I want to know you more, and what better way to do that than through questions you’d ask at a sleepover in Year 9,” the judgement was not present on Neil’s face as he offered you a hand squeeze and a bright smile.

It almost looked like he was back to normal, having put the strange conversation behind you. You sure hoped that was the case.

“True” returning his smile with a degree of hesitation, you took the phone from your pocket to check the time. It was late, almost midnight, and you still had to get home. That sobering thought helped you decide the best course of events, “Should we get on the tube at Oxford Circus? We could then change at Baker Street,”

To deny that you hoped you would not get off at St. John’s Wood alone would be to lie, so you stayed quiet. The idea was slowly simmering in your mind, hoping to come to fruition through luck or the powers that be.

“Sounds good” Neil nodded, already picking up the pace to lead you towards the mentioned station. After a beat, he asked, “Cupid?”

“Hmm?” too occupied with your thoughts, you only made a noncommittal noise.

“You’re worth more than you know” that fondness in his voice was old news by now.

Yet it still punched the air out of your guts, like always. It still made you swallow hard against the inconvenient revelations and focus on what mattered the most.

Which, in this case, was to get Neil to come home with you. Easy.

***

It was impossible to tell which one was the deciding moment. When the course had been set, except that sometime between getting on the Bakerloo at the Oxford Circus and St. John’s Wood, the dice had been cast. Metaphorically, that is.

Somewhere between Baker Street and your station, with your lips formed into an almost permanent smile, you turned to Neil. Noticing the creases around his beautiful eyes and the fond grin on his face, you chanced an invitation that had been rattling around your brain for hours and days:

“Do you want to come to mine for a glass of wine?” miraculously, the tremors did appear in your voice.

As soon as Neil registered the question, you could see something in his eyes shift. Without a doubt, he understood where it was going. Or where you hoped it would go. He glanced at your mouth, almost as if on an unconscious instinct. Your hand resting in his loose hold on your lap twitched, making him tighten the grasp. The silenced stretched, thick, and substantial in the empty carriage. Empty save for the two of you.

It felt like aeons later when Neil finally met your gaze again and offered you a lazy smile.

“I’d love to,” that wolfish glint in his eyes told you he knew what you had been thinking.

It also assured you that this, like many things, was something you shared.

That awareness did nothing to eliminate the giddiness set in your bones, which only grew in strength as you led Neil through the streets of St. John’s towards the outskirts of Maida Vale. Once you arrived at your apartment and somehow opened the door without dropping your keys (a feat indeed), that giddy feeling transformed into nervousness coursing in your veins. It stayed as you opened the door, letting Neil through and following behind him. It was always a strange feeling to let someone else into your world, into that private space, so separate from the grandness of ROH. Unconsciously, you always expected critique or worse – ridicule.

But none came as you walked past Neil in the hallway and took off your shoes with caution. His eyes roamed over the walls and the furniture with interest, taking in every feature with curiosity. Trying the hardest to discard the awkwardness, you walked down the hall towards the living room and the kitchen, knowing he would follow. It was once you had welcomed Neil into the living space that you could no longer maintain the suffocating silence:

“I know it’s not Buckingham Palace, but…” gesturing weakly towards the room at large, you shot him a tight smile.

It was almost as if Neil going off the script and not being a judgmental guest threw you off to the point where you had trouble acting normally. It must have been visible in your body language, for he grinned and replied:

“No, it’s cosy” another broad look around the living room must have satisfied him as Neil took off his coat and scarf and draped them over the highchair by the breakfast bar, “Fits you,” meeting your gaze, he winked.

Instant warmth spread over your body, replacing the uncertainty with something different. Something dangerous.

“Whatever that means” returning his grin, you stalked into the kitchen and threw open the cupboard doors with a simple question, “Red or white wine?”

Settling the two wine glasses on the countertop, you turned to Neil. Only to find him browsing the bookshelves lining your walls between the windows.

“Red. Thanks” he put down the book he had been inspecting and turned to gaze through the windows down the street below, glancing your way in between.

Procuring the bottle of semi-dry Primitivo from the shelf, you recovered the corkscrew from one of the messy drawers. Only when that was done, and the wine could breathe a little (impressing the snobbish people on TV), you turned back to Neil. He was still perusing the bookcase, clearly doing his best to accommodate your strange shyness. Lucky for him, the worst had passed.

“You can have a look around. Just you know, don’t peek into my bedside drawers or go through my underwear” when Neil glanced at you with a scandalous gasp, hand clutching at his chest, you smirked.

That was familiar. Safe. A trustworthy dynamic to settle upon when looking for pointers for whatever would come next.

“As if I would,” the affronted look on his face made you giggle as Neil finished the living room tour and joined you in the kitchen, “Though now my curiosity has piqued. What do you keep in the bedside drawer?”

Sure, you could give him the answer he so desperately sought. But that would’ve been too easy.

“Maybe one day you’ll see” shrugging off his advances, you winked, hoping it would show how much you meant it.

Admittedly, if everything went how you wanted it to, you hoped that vague one day would come. For some reason, when staring at his broad back as Neil picked up your invitation and walked down the hall towards the bedroom, you knew he could never disappoint you. Not in that way. Somehow, it felt like once you crossed that line, which was constantly getting closer, it would be impossible to go back. And in a good way, too. In a way that would make you want to keep going back, again and again. Neil already was like a special kind of drug for you. Nothing could change that.

When he completed the self-guided tour, you were waiting on the sofa with a carefully chosen soundtrack running in the background and two glasses of red wine. As always, it was not difficult to keep the conversations running, ranging from topics such as how you became a ballerina to how the fuck did Neil manage to make his hair look so goddamn soft all the time.

For the sake of the argument you tried to make, you shifted across the cushions closer to Neil and buried your fingers in his dirty-blonde tresses. It did not escape your attention that as soon as you started intently combing through the strands and lightly pulling at them Neil closed his eyes with a telling exhale. Or that his body tensed, betraying wants and needs he probably tried to keep secret. Willing to spare him some shame (for now), you focused on the silkiness of his locks, staring as the colour reflected the warm lighting of the room.

“I seriously need tips on conditioners” with reluctance, you let go after something close to a minute and leaned back.

Just a fraction. Now that you had lessened the distance, you did not want to leave his side again. Without even trying to be exceptionally smooth, you lounged towards your old spot to move the wine glass and settled back against the cushions. The warmth of his body radiated across the minimal space. Some time ago, probably midway through the second glass, Neil has ditched the suit jacket. The vest underneath only did his body more favours, making it impossible for you to stop staring for most of the evening.

“Will do,” Neil nodded, seemingly having recovered his composure. He took another swig from the glass and regarded you with curiosity in his eyes, “Does that do it for you?”

You did not need to ask for clarification. Not with the way you had always seemed particularly fixated on his hair. Or how your hands always betrayed you when you kissed, taking every opportunity to touch them again. With that sort of transparency, you might as well embrace it.

“Definitely” offering him a shameless smile, you picked up the wine glass to down the remains.

That pleasant alcoholic buzz in your head smoothed out the edges of your vision and drowned out the remaining anxiety. Until all you could feel was warmth and contentment.

Only sometime later, after discussing the intricacies of your home lives growing up and the likelihood of you meeting Neil’s work friends (and getting along with them), the mood began to shift. It was hard to tell at first, smoothly falling into your usual dynamic. It was that sudden desire to lean your head over his shoulder and Neil’s inexplicable tendency to touch your knee with every other gesture during a particularly complex story.

One of those was just ending, with Neil describing in detail that one time as a teenager when he accidentally dyed his hair seaweed green when that uninvited voice inside your head would not keep quiet any longer.

“Can I tell you something?” blurting out the question was the easiest part, although its placement at the end of his story was clumsy.

The abruptness made Neil start, his hand hovering right over your thigh twitched. The blue eyes met yours with curiosity shining through.

“Always,” the dusting of pink along his cheekbones confirmed that you were not the only one feeling the effects of that bottle of Primitivo, now empty on the coffee table.

“I’m so glad you came tonight. And that you stayed, too” the earnestness in your voice was something you did not want to get rid of.

It strengthened the sentiment, showing that you meant it more than anything. Although the gratitude was there from the moment Neil stepped into the dressing room, it only increased with every passing hour. Because as he sat there, listening to your bullshit, one understanding came to the forefront of your mind. Something obvious, yet not at all. No one has ever taken their time like this. No one at all.

“Of course, I’ve told you I had fun. I’m beginning to see how incredible it is what you guys do on the stage” the sparks in his eyes drew you in like a moth to a flame as Neil added, “All of those years of practice and perfect technique. I could never” the admiration was another fatal blow to the remains of your composure.

It shone through his words, making it abundantly clear that Neil meant what he said, too. The fuzziness in your head got stronger the moment you tried to comprehend it. Shaking it off with a shrug, you shifted in the seat and leaned away from him enough so you could breathe. Or, at least, get an illusion of clarity back.

“Well, it is tough, I won’t lie” as always, your mouth kept on running before you could get a hold of your tongue, spilling all the facts and observations you had kept to yourself, “But that’s the thing. You came, and you actually watched, and now you’re here, listening to me waffle on about ballet and pointe shoes and all that bullshit, when you could just… I don’t know, leave?” the groan of frustration tore at your vocal cords as you finished the rant on a particularly bitter note “Or you could do what everyone else had when I dared invite them to one of my shows,”

Even the memory of it stung, making you drop your gaze to the drying burgundy spot on the table. In all your naivety, you hoped that would be it. That another topic would come up and make you forget about it.

But Neil had other plans. Not that you blamed him for it.

“Which is?” his question was the epitome of carefulness, with even the tone of his voice doing everything in his might not to startle you and make you clam up amidst the rare moment of extreme sincerity.

It when then and there that you decided Neil was worth a little discomfort.

“Spend the ballet on their phone, tune me out afterwards and only wait as far as coming here or going to theirs to ask me to be a good girl and suck them off” rolling your eyes against the reminder, your fingers restlessly picked at the loose thread in the hem of your dress. The ghost of that familiar dissatisfaction burned through your system almost as if it had just happened, “Because apparently I’m such a turn-on in those tights it’s impossible to pay attention” the attempt at an impression of that compliment never quite landed because of the venom in your voice.

The warmth of Neil’s hand enveloped yours as he stopped your anxious fiddling. You risked looking back up at him and instantly were struck by the heat in his gaze. It sparked something buried beneath the annoyance and incomprehensible feelings. Something you should have never ignored.

“It’s definitely a turn-on, but so is this” unaware of your ongoing spiral, Neil’s hand slid to your knee and squeezed it, “Hearing you talk about things that matter to you” the heat from his touch seeped through your skin, emphasizing the growing derealisation.

Because how could this be real? How could he be real? Neil, with his beautiful blue eyes and the ability to say the right thing when you needed it most. The breath hitched in your throat as you swallowed hard and channelled the storm inside your soul into words:

“Not according to most men” if asked about it later, you knew you would barely recollect what you said, having surrendered into the inherent ability to bullshit your way into everything ever, “And then they never even try to make me feel good. Well, they do, but not… selflessly” you could tell Neil caught the meaning with the way his eyes widened “When after every show I do all I want is for someone to take care of me” you did not get much time to wallow in the misery.

Not with the way Neil took approximately ten seconds to decide before his gaze turned back to you with breath-taking focus. His palm moved inward from your knee to slide between your thighs. The warmth of it encircled your leg as he leaned in close, nosing at your pulse point without a shadow of hesitation. Your abrupt gasp rang in the sudden silence, legs already parting to let him in without the conscious thought taking part in the action.

All the thoughts you could have had perished from your head as Neil pressed a kiss to the side of your neck and whispered against your skin:

“Like this?” the tenderness of his touch was overwhelming in the best of ways.

It took over your senses as he hitched up your dress and continued the slow journey up your thighs to the space between your legs. You could feel the arousal seeping into your underwear, making the material cling to your skin. It would be so easy to let him do whatever he wanted. Only-

“Yeah, but- Do you want to?” the breathlessness of your voice was bound to be an embarrassing memory.

But only once you had recovered the sanity, which was nowhere to be found. Still, you had to ask. There was no question about what you wanted. Not with the need coursing in your veins, begging you to stop fretting and just let go. Begging you to act like you always did.

But Neil was not like anyone you had ever been with. And that meant you cared. Too much, probably.

Leaning back far enough to meet your gaze, Neil tipped your chin so you were forced to look at him and smiled. The hungry determination was still there, only now interlaced with subtle reassurance. For your sake.

“Oh, trust me, I want to” without giving you time to reply, he kissed you quickly and stood up from the sofa, dropping to his knees before you without a word of warning, “I’ve been thinking about this for weeks” that devilish grin tugged at your insides as tilted his head, silently asking for permission.

Permission to change your relationship forever. You took a deep breath, already aware of the mess between your thighs and the insanity in your eyes.

You nodded, saving the voice for later.

Somehow, you knew soon enough you’d need it. Neil grinned like Lucifer himself. You were certainly fucked.

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[tceesgamingworld]

Discover TCee's New World: The Save File - San Sequoia

Greetings fellow Simmer's and welcome to TCee's World! Today, we embark on a journey through San Sequoia for my Family Playstyle Save File.

San Sequoia, once a humble fishing village, burgeoned into a bustling center of the fishing and canning trade under the entrepreneurial spirit of local fisherman-turned-mogul, Bayani Robles. Even as the town expanded, the Robles family's influence endured, aided by the contributions of Gilbert Gilberts. Presently, San Sequoia exudes charm with its quaint streets, serene parklands, and peaceful suburban enclaves—a quintessential setting for nurturing a family.

Our initial destination within San Sequoia is the idyllic neighborhood of Hopewell Hills. Nestled away from the urban clamor, Hopewell Hills offers ample space, catering to those who cherish tranquility amidst suburban bliss. Here, four delightful residences beckon: the grandeur of 7 Eucalyptus Lane and the coziness of 23 Eucalyptus Lane, 36 Bayani Place, and Sequoia Cottage. Each home boasts proximity to fishing spots and pocket parks, enhancing the neighborhood's allure.

Venturing onward, we arrive at Anchorpoint Wharf, once the epicenter of maritime industry, now a lively downtown district adorned with a cinema, pocket parks, and more. Two exquisite waterfront abodes, Robles Point and the maritime-themed Manzanita Terrace, grace this area. Meanwhile, Anchorpoint Library invites you to indulge in literary pursuits or engage in a strategic game of chess, complemented by healthy fare from The Health Food Hut.

Our final destination leads us to Gilbert Gardens, where verdant landscapes once owned by the visionary Gilbert Gilberts now offer an enchanting backdrop for family outings. Amidst the serene ambiance, Sims can wander along one of three picturesque lake paths or frolic in the Splash Pad play area. Parkside Place provides a cozy start for budding families, while 13 Acacia Avenue caters to larger households. The modern yet inviting Celebration Center promises a plethora of recreational activities, fostering community camaraderie. Additionally, the quaint Celebration Way Chapel stands as a testament to generations of matrimonial bliss within San Sequoia.

Thank you for embarking on this tour of San Sequoia with me. Join me next time as we traverse the dusty trails of Chestnut Ridge.

#tcee's world #sims #tceesworld #sims 4 #sims4 #youtube #tceesnewworld #showusyoursims #showusyourbuilds #san sequoia #sims 4 san sequoia #TCee's New World #TCee's Gaming World #Youtube

[sjofn-lofnsdottr]

Alright, I am going to TRY to do a BRIEF overview of Dusk's backstory, I guess. Just hit the highlights, up until he started actually adventuring. I will tell myself I can expand on everything later. Later!

Here's a picture that has nothing to do with anything, just because I like having a picture above the fold:

Alright, first off, Dusk's real name is Bellinor, and his sister is Oriane. Their father, when they were very small, started calling them Dusk and Dawn for reasons he never explained, and it stuck. Their grandparents use their given names, and basically no one else does.

He was born in Ishgard. I have thought a lot about his family and where they were in the Ishgardian hierarchy, but I am being BRIEF, so suffice to say, the fanciest of his relatives is his maternal grandmother, who was a knight in service to house Haillenarte.

His father is a spearman, and when Dusk and Dawn were eight or so, he began to train them how to use it. Their mother, a chirurgeon who was starting to break under the strain of being a healer in a Forever War, was still taken by surprise by how visceral a negative reaction she had to this. After talking it over with her husband, they began to plot an extreeeeemely slow desertion from the city. The timing turned out pretty good ... they were finally intending to leave for good when the twins were ten (who had no idea, of course) and during their very last trip outside of the city as a sort of dry run ... the Gates closed, and they couldn't go back, even if they had wanted to.

Dusk never thought of himself as not-Ishgardian, in spite of spending so much more of his life outside of the city than inside it, and he understands why his parents left, even if it was confusing and scary at the time. Unfortunately, part of why it was scary was ... they had fled to Gridania. I have a lot to say about his adolescence being spent in pre-Calamity Gridania and the stresses involved, but suffice to say ... sure, there were no dragons trying to kill them, but at least the dragons were somewhat predictable. The elementals were not.

Dusk and Dawn's parents never wanted them to have to fight, even though their father did continue their training with spears. Just in case. After the Calamity, the twins travelled to Limsa Lominsa. The plan had been for Dusk - who was already a fairly good carpenter - to train as a blacksmith there to supplement his skills. Dawn, a botanist, went with him for company, and just to spread her wings a little, the Calamity giving her an urge to travel while she could. Neither intended to adventure, although they were certainly dressed the part, the whole family still in the habit of being Ever Vigilant. None of them want to be caught unarmed when shit hits the fan, if you will.

As a result, though, while they were bumbling around the city trying to figure out who to even talk to, H'naanza spotted them, and thought they were new adventurers. She called them over and asked them to kill some wharf rats. Dusk agreed to it without correcting her, which made Dawn feel too awkward to correct her herself, and it all kind of spiraled from there.

It all worked out, at least.

I generally follow canon as far as his actual WoL career goes, filling in headcanon in the spaces the narrative itself provides. The biggest 'change' that isn't really a change regards his twin. Dawn, who also has the Echo, did not want to be a Scion, but she is extremely protective of her brother. So when it makes sense in my mind for her to be around, being very clear she is helping him and not the Scions, she's there. The big exception is Shadowbringers ... she's stuck at home and hating every second of it.

He was 30 when the Calamity hit, and was 35 when ARR began. I'm a one expansion = one year person ... except again for Shadowbringers, which in the Source timeline I think of only having happened in a couple of weeks. Which means he'll be turning 40 when 7.0 hits, I'm sure he's excited.

#ffxiv #ffxiv oc #just dusk #character ramblings #I meant it when I said he will Always Help #Dawn's kind of in denial on the Scion front

[forpiratereasons]

Coin (for the one word prompt!) 💚

there's a legend the lads hear in port sometimes, about blackbeard. that his fury can darken the skies, chop up the sea. that his bloodthirsty intent can call up a storm to ride in at his back, lashing the decks of any good ship with torrents of rain and waves so high they could overturn a vessel.

that would be handy trick, ed thinks, but unfortunately he's just a man.

he stands at the stern of the ship, waiting to see if the gloomy skies are going to form the storm after all. the revenge is still cutting an easy pace through the swell for now, but he feels tense, anxious. his knee is aching.

they're gonna die. it's gonna be your fault.

it had been storming that night on the wharf. it had been storming that night with the ropes in his hands. it had been storming that night when he'd boarded his first ship, too afraid to go home, too afraid to bring death back to his mother.

hurry, you're gonna lose all your men. all their blood is going to be on your hands.

it had been storming that night on the revenge, after stede, after barbados. he'd climbed back on board alone to blue skies and had driven her into a squall so fierce it had made his chest ache. it had made his knee buckle. when his crew had survived, it hadn't been his doing.

it's going to be your fault!

"penny for your thoughts?"

the sun cuts in.

stede is damp with sea spray when ed turns to him, half-desperate for a lifeline, already reaching out to find his hand blindly in the growing shadows. he's been out to the bowsprit, helping oluwande with the forestays--and his hair is windswept, coming loose from the dark ribbon he's using to tie it back these days, and he takes ed's hand in his own rough ones and holds tight.

"got you," stede says, and he smiles at ed like he doesn't see the storm coming, even though ed knows that he knows better these days. he slips an arm around ed's waist, easy as pudding and pie, and presses a kiss to his cheekbone. "hello there."

"gonna have a storm on our hands, mate," ed says. he gestures to the water, to the dark clouds forming on the horizon. his hand is shaking, a bit. "can't outrun this one."

"no," stede agrees, "i expect not."

"could be a bad one."

"could be. the crew's preparing for it."

stede looks at him sidelong, and ed knows he can feel the tension in his body. ed knows he can see the tremble in his hand. he tightens his hold on ed's hand, just the tiniest bit, and ed knows he can feel the fear making room for itself in ed's chest.

he doesn't mention it, though. instead he says, "roach is making something i think you'll really enjoy with the booty we took off that spanish merchant last week. have you ever had hot drinking chocolate?"

ed shakes his head. he's never even tasted chocolate--the beans, a few times, sure, but not the rich, indulgent thing the spanish do with it. the thought of stede going through their cargo, picking out select pieces for no other reason than to bring them and their crew a spot of comfort, soothes the churn building inside ed's belly.

that chocolate would have fetched them a fortune in new providence, but this isn't the first time stede has found his treasure in his crew instead.

in his co-captain.

could be, he thinks, that stede doesn't mind if he's a pirate without a stomach for storms.

ed turns into his hold a little, burrowing himself into the deliberate sort of tenderness that speaks of love with every brush of fingers and press of palm. he's still getting used to the ease of it, to the apparent limitlessness of it; he finds himself uncertain, sometimes, where the edges are to what he can ask for.

but stede has lost the skill, it seems, for denying him. ed turns, and stede brings his arm tighter around his waist automatically, pulling him closer. touches him, gently, at the wrist. nuzzles at his hair. "all right?"

if blackbeard can call up a storm, that's only one half the story. any ship caught in a storm--captained by the kraken or otherwise--must weather it.

stede bonnet is the one who sees ed through.

"yeah," ed says, letting his head drop to stede's shoulder. "it will be."

#ofmd #gentlebeard #blackbonnet #our flag means death #darcy writes pirates

[what-the--curtains]

Fire & Ice

Chapter 1 - A Political Affair

(Robb Stark x f!Targaryen!reader)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The reader hears voices brought on by magic. This may be triggering for people who experience psychosis. Please take care.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Synopsis: A ghost from your past returns, changing the course of your future forever.

Authors note: Oh boy back at the start! This is a fic Ive wanted to write since I first read the books at 14. Think of it as a “What if…” scenario. I’ve tried to abide by the rules of the world best I can. As always, comments are always welcome but be nice! Most importantly I hope you enjoy 💕

Tw: Physical/verbal abuse, kidnapping, hunting, blood

Tag list: @kittykylax , @winxschester , @mihrimahsultan03 , @stargaryenx , @the-desilittle-bird

Playlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Moat Cailin

The wind blows cold, prickling the hairs on Catelyn's neck. Winter was coming. The words hold meaning now, more than ever. Gloved hands clutch an envelope written in haste, any desire for perfection dissipating upon the arrival of urgent news an hour prior. Her husband was dead, the Lannister’s to blame, and with her daughters still in their clutches debts were owed to her. Debts that would not be repaid unless Robb bent the knee, but any notions of peace had vanished the moment the blade struck her husband's neck. Ned’s final note to her was the cause for her movements tonight, revealing a secret, a secret kept across the narrow sea for nearly twenty years. The information was too sensitive to share, and a decision was made without consultation. Better to ask for forgiveness. The frost crunches beneath her boots, the first breath of winter moving south with her son's siege. She jolts as hurried steps sound out on the old wooden wharf. Clutching a smaller dagger close to her chest, she turns towards the noise.

“Were you followed?” she whispers urgently.

“No,” the man replies calmly, hood cloaking his identity. His hand reaches out causing Catelyn's gaze to flit down towards the open palm.

“This must be received by its recipient,” she stresses, “do you understand me? Protect it with your life, dock your ship, await their answer. If this succeeds you will be paid out in triple of what has already been given,”

“Money is not my influence, my Lady,” the man replies

“Most men say as much, until the correct price is offered,'' she replies, placing the letter firmly into his palm. Her husband's sigil stares back up at her, the running wolf illuminated by the moon, and she releases her grasp. “May the winds be with you,” she whispers.

“And the winter with you,” the man replies, bowing. She watches him stride down the dock, others appear from the shadows joining him, slipping seamlessly from the darkness onto the ship before them. She was told he was the fastest sailor in Braavos, one who held his own resentment towards the Lannisters, though those details he provided sparingly. She watches the vessel disappear over the horizon, leaving her alone with the moon. She prayed to the old gods and the new, that her words reached the intended ears. Her family's survival hung in the balance, the letter was their key to salvation. A salvation yet to be discussed with her eldest, but hesitation was a risk she was not willing to take, not with her daughter's lives on the line. If Ned's letter had been intercepted others will already be on their way to destroy what she sought. Robb was older now, more sure of himself, but she would force him on this path, it was the only way, and he would see that one way or another.

Norvos

A smile spreads across Visery Targaryens face, as his manicured nails rapp against the wood desk. He clutches the yellowed paper flimsily between his thin fingers. Across the sea, havoc reigned, he wondered how many more would declare themselves kings.

“One more at least,” He declares, looking into the cracked mirror. “Renly and Stannis Baratheon argue over rights, the Lannister’s clutch on with all the gold in the world boosting the inbred Joffrey, while the newly declared king in the north, moves further south each day. Yet to lose a battle, or so his mother would have me believe.” Visery scoffs. If what he read was true, he had an army awaiting him. The only caveat being his traitorous little sister. It should have been him leading the Dothraki towards the narrow sea, pillaging Westeros and reclaiming the iron throne in the name of his ancestors. But he had been unjustly banished by his sister's pompous husband Khal Drogo over nothing more than a petty squabble. An accidental blade and a ridiculous primitive custom that had led him to his current shit stained accommodation. He tilts the note closer to the light, the writing is rushed, but the wax seal is legitimate, the Starks insignia pressed into it, the letter was short, to the point, leaving no room for misunderstandings.

Catlynn Stark wanted a marriage, a fast alliance between two houses, securing both the north and the south under one roof. The benefits were clearly laid out, for the Starks, a legitimate claim to the throne, a way to rally those in King's Landing sick of the Lannisters domination and cruelty. For him nothing less than the seven kingdoms, or at least the six. The north would remain free in accordance with her demands, but that was a bridge easily burned when reached. A proclaimed king in the north would be easily taken down. The Northerners were brutes after all, easily distracted and easily pleased.

The timing of the request was nothing short of impeccable. News had spread of Khal Drogo's passing, killed by an infected blade no more than a year prior. Curious how those things happen. His child was born early, deformed and dead, rumours of a monster summoned by a witch, but Visery knew the truth. Drogo’s bloodline was evidently not strong enough to create a true Targaryen. Perhaps the king in the north would prove different. His sister was once again a fresh slate, a sow ready to be resold, all he needed to do was find her. His eyes turned to the small chest of coins he had saved precisely for this moment. Two sellswords should do the trick, the rest would follow with ease. You will not have forgotten your place, even after spending so much time amongst the Dothraki ranks. You were not a khaleesi, not a ruler, but you were a Targaryen, and he was your king by right of blood. He would make sure you remember that, and your duty to your family.

Vaes Dothrak

The sun rises over the great plains and you stare out across the grass fields, swaying as the sea breeze blows through them. You were closing in on the coast, the air saltier with each passing day. The dark blue sky turns to bright yellow as the sun rises in the east, its unchanging nature mocking you. Still each day you came and watched, waiting for a miracle. Mirri’s cackle followed you around, not even the sound of her screams as she burnt could replace the laugh that came before. No comfort to you was her death. Nor was the smell of charred flesh that filled the air as you watched the pyre burn through tear stained eyes. A warm breeze blows, and your hand absentmindedly rests on your stomach, gently running over what could have been. Time would not heal these wounds, but you could not yield yet. You had come too far to turn back now. Your ancestors' voices grew louder with each mile, they echoed from Dragonstone calling you home. The narrow sea was close, the Iron throne well within your grasp now a fully fledged khalasar stood behind you. Though whether they would brave the poisoned water was another question, one that would be answered by nightfall.

Khaleesi, yer hash yatholat. Jif anha afazhi ale eveth? * Khaleesi, you are up. Should I warm some water? * Irri states softly, having followed your trail out towards the ledge. You smile, as she rubs the sleep from her eyes.

“Vo anna hrazef, anha Fonas jin aena” *No get my horse, I hunt this morning* you reply.

“Yer hash haqe tat yer remekat” *You are tired, did you sleep?* she asks, hands tracing under your eyes before interlocking her hand with yours. Irri was your most trusted confidante. She had held you when Drogo had died and stood by you when others left, managing to convince one of his bloodriders to remain. Cohallo had placed you under his protection stating that Drogos final act was to cross the narrow sea, and that he would see that it was done for the blood of his blood. You hoped his promise still held true, but you sensed the mens nerves as you approached the coast. Jorah said there was no need to worry, the promise of greatness, gold and conquest would be enough to drive the Dothraki forward, though you were aware that their cooperation would come with contingencies. Jorah believed it would be asked that you marry Cohallo once King’s landing was seized. You doubted the seven kingdoms would bend to two foreigners, though with enough force even the strongest will could yield. A fact you had learnt on the battlefield as you became intimately familiar with the price of victory. You had become acquainted with the smell of death, and the havoc of a siege. You had lived it, eventually earning the mens respect by bleeding alongside them.

“Not well, I dreamt snow came to the plains. It rotted the crops and froze the young and old, and there was nothing I could do to stop it, no matter how much fire I made, the ice kept coming,” you reply, nodding to the horse handlers as you approach your mare.

“It cannot snow here khaleesi. This is known,” she states, lifting down your leather armour.

“I know, it just felt like a…” you hesitate for a moment, searching for the right word.

“Mel attirarido?” *Bad Dream* Irri offers, boosting you up onto the horses back.

“An omen,” You reply, looking down, feeling her fear, you offer a reassuring smile “but you’re right it's impossible,”

Sweat beads beneath the thick leather armour as Irri hands you your bow, engraved with a golden dragon. It had been given to you on your wedding day by your husband. You hear his voice carry in on the wind “Rakh ki tor laz addrivat ha hrazef save sekke laz yeri “ *Boys of four learn to kill, you can too *

“san athchomari yeraan” *thank you* you state fixing it across your chest, placing your arrows into their quiver.

“khaleesi, yer eth nakho ha jin mithri ki mahrazhi” *My Queen you must wait for the rest of the men* she relays.

“Anha tat vo jin qeshah, anha tih jin deer. Anha eth vo assilat me, astat jorah anha'll tikh irge hatif jin shekh” *I do not fear this land, I saw a deer. I do not wish to lose it, tell Jorah I will return before day break to plan on our next move*

You kick off into a canter, the wind stings your face as you ride towards where you had last seen the stag. You slow to a trott as the tracks come into view, etched into the dirt, hardened from a recent drought. Trees appear along a small stream, fighting against nature to survive. The dead wood creaks in the wind, barren but still growing upwards. Perhaps this was once a great forest, perhaps this is why the deer still came. You stall and drop down from your horse, quietly moving between the trees settling behind a patch of tall grass, the only thing able to survive the aridity. Your eyes follow the tracks forward until you see the herd standing in the distance. The grass sways in the wind covering the noise you make as you pull a quill from its carrier. The string creaks as you pull it back, waiting, eyes locked on the stag standing boldly amongst the herd. The breeze blows from behind you, you fire, striking it directly between the eyes. You thank the seven for the food as you stand, the rest of the herd bounding off, you lead your mare through the woods tying her to a tree as you begin processing the deer’s body. You hear a creak behind you, ignoring it until it grows louder, heavier, human like. Brandishing your knife you turn towards the noise, coming face to face with a ghost.

“Visery,” you murmur, the knife falling from your fingers.

“Hello sister, you look afraid to see me, perhaps you should be,” He replies, you note the two men standing behind him, swords in hand.

“You will be killed if you are found here you must leave,” you state, holding your voice level slowly backing towards where you had left your bow rested against a tree.

“I do not think I will be killed now that the Khal is dead. Or does the Queen of the sheepherders believe herself judge, jury and executioner in his stead,” he queeries following your footing.

“You did not think they were so common when you married me off to them on my 18th name day” you reply

“You are lucky I did not marry you off younger,” he spits “Your husband is dead, for what now almost a year? And what reason do you give for not bringing me back? Allowing me the army I bought with you,”

“He is not,” you begin

“Do not lie to me!” he shouts, eyes shutting in rage, allowing you to put a hand on your weapon “It’s never worked out for you,”

‘I am not the same little girl you left here,” you reply, taking your bow and aiming it at him, his eyes going black.

“Eddard Stark is dead. The Lannisters hold Kings Landing captive,” he effortlessly relays the information you had known for months, “the young wolf wages war from the north. He is the fourth person to declare himself a king. You, now widowed, will fulfil your duty to me, and our family by ensuring I take back the iron throne, and reinstate the greatest lineage westeros has ever seen,”

“And how shall I fulfil such a duty?” you spit, the arrow string pulling on your hand. “I have already procured my army, what else of mine would you try and take,”

“An army” he laughs “you would be lucky if half didn't die of fright on the passage over”

“They have more courage than you ever had,”

“Not enough to take back what I want, nor would they do it for me, No I need an army that fights for me, not you,”

“I will not leave my Khalasar behind, after everything? This is my…”

“Your home,” he mocks, but you keep your aim true “very well if you must be difficult, men,” he calls out, as another two sell swords appear with Irri bound.

“Irri” you whisper, dropping your bow,

“Khaleesi,” she cries out softly

“Let her go,” you threatened retaking your stance

“Her fate is in your hands my dear sister, drop your weapon and come with me now, and I will return this whore to your tribe,”

“What trust of mine have you earned,” you retort , fingers itching to release

“When have I ever lied to you,” Visery says sickeningly sweet , hand tracing along Irris cheek.

You lower your bow, as you hear the brush rustle behind you, something flies by grazing your neck. Your hand reaches up feeling a quil embedded in your skin, you bring your fingers into view a deep blue mixed with crimson, staining purple on your fingers. You look at Irri, her eyes are the last thing you see before dropping to the ground.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Water drips down splattering nearby, the dull thunk slowly rousing you from your dreamless sleep. Mould, salt and damp fill your senses, as the dryness of your mouth finally causes your eyes to open. The world is blurry as you push yourself up from the bed taking in your surroundings, a bucket in the corner, water speckling the floor, but no other indication as to where you were. You retch as you stand, but force the bile back down. Your legs wobble as you move towards the door, feeling the ground shift beneath you with each step the effects of the poison still coursing through your veins. You push open the door, only to be greeted by further darkness, cracks of light seeping out from the door at the top of the staircase guiding you forward. You grip a damp pillar as you shuffle towards the stairs. Each step you take breathes new life into a theory you prayed was not true. Your vision tunnels and your heart beats up into your ears as you push the door open.

Water breaks loudly against wood, the shouts of men follow, only to die out on the wind. You look up trying to steady your breath as the world around you spins. Lightning breaks between the clouds, rain falling down onto cracked lips, as the gulls cry out above. You return your gaze to the horizon, land was nowhere to be seen, everything consumed by the great blue vastness. You look around at the crew working to keep the vessel upright, lightning catches Viserys silver hair, as the thunder rumbles above. The sounds had never scared you, you were born from a storm. Lightning ran through your veins.

“Why?” you ask voice straining, as you turn him around to face you. The rain falling down your face mixing with the tears forming in your eyes.

“We are heading at this very moment to Westeros, sweet sister. Come now, this is the least you owe me after banishing me,’ he replies calmly, guiding you back down below the deck.

“They were going to kill you, I spared your life, was that not enough, or do I owe you mine as well?” You enunciate clearly. He raises his hand causing you to flinch, but he brings it down to caress your face.

“We're going home, where we belong, where our kingdom awaits us” he replies, you search for sense in his eyes, but delusions of grandeur masked reality.

“We are not safe in Westeros. Need I remind you dear brother that Robert Baratheon ordered us killed, and had Jorah not intervened I would be dead, poisoned by wine,” you relay, hoping he sees sense.

“Look at me sister everything has been leading to this very moment. Robert Baratheon, traitorous usurper he is, is dead and rumours grow that his bloodline is not his own, born of incest,”

“The Targaryens…”, you begin.

“Don’t lecture me on our family's history. That's not the point, do you know what is, or has being amongst the horse breeders made you dim?” He spits. Being amongst the Dothraki had left you more skilled, and more capable than ever. Readings of your youth had left you with a strategic ability that had helped Drogo with his conquests. His teaching you to ride and use a bow allowed you to fight alongside him, as your foremothers once had on dragon back. You were not the same child Visery pushed around two years prior. You knew of loss and grief and anguish. Of honour and power, and manipulation, of respect and how to command it. More importantly you had learnt how to survive in a world built for men.

“It means that we… that you are now the only person with a viable claim to the throne,”

“Exactly,” he replies smiling once again.

“Then why take me, I had an army I could have raised and fought for you across the sea,” He scoffs “You can hardly raise your husband from the dead,”

“Careful” you reply, fist clenching, you legs finally adjusted to the sea's movements.

“Or what?” He asks. Taking a step forward, and you calm yourself, “That's what I thought, you may not be a true dragon, but you can be married off as one,” he explains.

“Again,” you scoff, “I doubt anyone in Westeros has need for a used bride from a dying lineage”

“An ancestral lineage, a martyred lineage, but a forgotten lineage? No, that we are not. Those in King's Landing despise the Lannister’s, and with Robert no longer present they want them dead, gone, they want us on the throne,” he relays, blindly optimistic, unable to see the naivety in his beliefs.

“And you believe that, that they will rejoice for a family that burnt innocents, ” you question

“They love us,” he emphasises, the look in his eyes leaving no room for argument.

“And you wish to marry me to one of these supposed allies in King's Landing?” you press.

“Don’t be dense I received a letter two weeks back from lady Catelyn Stark,”

“The Starks” you laugh shaking your head, “who betrayed us in the war? Whose house was cut down by our father,”

“And who protected our lineage afterwards. Eddard Stark hid us, sent us here to be safe, he never told a soul of the hand he played in our escape until now upon his death. The recent attempt on your life, he tried to stop Robert and his small council, lest he allow the two children he risked his honour to save perish anyways,”

“How do you know this is true,” you ask as he hands you the letter

“I assume you remember how to read,”

“I spent most of my childhood reading for the maesters, it's not something you forget overnight,” you murmur, scanning the note, the seal was true, but broken. Perhaps you were the trading piece necessary for Lady Stark's daughter's return, the last of the Targaryens given to the Lannisters to finish the job started by the kingslayer.

“Eddard voted against our murder, Robert for them, and now both are dead. Those left behind are at war with each other. Fortunately it has presented us with a great opportunity to unite our house and seek revenge on the Lannister’s who have taken everything from us, and who threaten to take everything from them. The eldest, Robb Stark, wages war in honour of his father, and to regain his sister from the deadly claws of the lion and unlike the other kings at war, he remains unmarried,” Visery continues, as you look up from the letter.

“So you wish me to sail halfway across the world to try to entice him,” you remark.

“He need not be enticed. The letter confirms it, you will be married once you arrive so long as you are deemed fit. As such, there will be no mention of your life here, Drogo never existed, your child never existed. You will show no signs of the brutish activities of war that you have carelessly partaken in. You are to act pure, untouched do you understand me,” he asks, any gentleness, or mocking, had dissolved into vitriol. You meet his gaze, fury painted across your brow.

“So nothing of my life prior existed? Everything I accomplished, everything I was and am and everyone I love ceases to exist, and for what,” you pose.

“They were nothing, nothing important,” he soothes, “mere pawns in the grand scheme of things, You will forget them once I sit on the throne,” he states wiping the tear from your cheek, as you stare daggers at him. You would never forget them, not even in death. “Do not weep, I have allowed one thing from your past on board, third door to the right, don’t say I never do anything for you,” he shouts walking back up the stairs barking orders at the crew. You push the door open and Jorah looks up from his hands.

“Tell me you did not plot this behind my back,” you ask calmly, as he comes to kneel before you.

“Khaleesi, never in a thousand life times would I betray you. My loyalty to you runs thicker than any other. I was preparing for our meeting when my spies returned information of your brother's re-appearance. I went to the docks, but by the time I learnt of his intention It was too late, In that way I have failed you, but I have never plotted against you,” he relays eyes on the floor.

“You have never given me reason for doubt, rise Ser Mormont, what scene did you happen upon at the docks,” you ask and he stands,

“Four sell swords, two carried you, one kept Irri in chains, the other lead the path towards the boat, it was premeditated, and i was ill informed of his whereabouts,”

“Irri?” you question

“They were taking her to Slaver's Bay, but I managed to intervene, with luck she returned safely to the Khalasaar on your mare. Visery was adamant on you getting onto the boat. He told me to depart or to join, and I swore to protect you, until you sat on the iron throne. I remain loyal in that vow to you. I will not allow you to go into uncharted territories with no one but Visery to guide you. Though you need little guidance these days, and you are more a leader than he,”

“Do not let him hear that, best I remain helpless, less reason for my head on a spike. I am glad you are here with me Jorah,” you state taking his hands in yours “I will need at least one ally as I wander into the wilderness,” you finish dropping them gently. “What do you know of him, the self proclaimed king in the north,”

“I hear that he is anything but self- proclaimed that his men elected him, and that is he is undefeated in the battlefield. I have heard he rides a dire wolf to battle, and that if the timing is right, he himself can turn into one,” he replies, smiling as you laugh at the supposed mythos. “In truth, if the young wolf is anything like his father, he will be a strong ally, and a good man”

“Despite his banishing you,” you ask.

“I deserved the banishment, I deserved more than that, he could have sent me to the wall, or had my head,”

“He still does if you return, you understand the risk of coming here with me,”

“I know you will convince them to spare me, I trust you with my life Khaleesi,”

“Well it eases my mind at least that he has your approval, and what of the rest of the north's allies? I find it hard to believe we are not to be targeted the moment our feet hit the soil,”

“You were a target in Essos, you are a target anywhere Khaleesi. Anyone with a reliable claim to the throne is,”

“Robert Baratheon's bastards included?” you question

“I would say they take precedent in the Lannisters kill list considering the small council believes you dead,” he replies, a bitterness on hig tongue for the role he played in informing them of your survival, your movements and until the very last minute your death.

“At least for now,” you reply.

“I have something for you, from the market, I managed to retrieve them before we left,” he turns, pulling a set of five books, covered in light silvers and purple, bound in leather. “Three are the histories of the great houses in the north, one is of the dragon age, and the last is in ancient warfare. The strategies may help you gain footing with the king in the North, I have heard he appreciates a woman with an opinion,”

“For all our sakes, I hope that is true. I fear I won't last long in a docile role,” you reply, hands running over the indents of the titles. Jorah bows and you exit his room, books in hand. Planning on sharpening the only weapon you had left in hopes of impressing the Northerners.

White Harbour

Your boat sits in the harbour, cold air seeps through the wood, a cold you had not felt in your lifetime. Your blood ran warm, but even you shivered here. You had managed to read two of the books “Great Houses of the North,” and “Strategies of the First Age,” during the journey, currently reading the “Northern Myths, Religion and Customs”.

The luxury of language was a privilege many were not afforded. When you were under the care of the Maesters in Essos they had taught you to transcribe documents while Visery trained with a blade, a craft he had never managed to master, useless as he was at most things. Where he failed you had flourished, learning High Valyrian, Braavosi, Volanteen and myrish, along with the common tongue, it was one of the reasons Dothraki came so easily to you. Hours were spent learning histories of the land, every folk tale and true account, the great strategies and failed takeovers, instances of magic and fraud, all of it had passed your irises.

Learning was a habit you’d never quit even after Visery forced you to run away in the middle of the night with whispers of better things. You remember, the look in the Maesters eye as he watched you go, Visery threatening to kill you if he didn’t let you pass. He handed you a book titled “the dragon age,” whispering “Valar Morghulis” as Visery pulled you away into the night. Written in high valyrian Visery saw no use for it, and sold it before you could finish the history of your family. The money was enough to buy a ticket to Pentos where you lived with Illyrio Mopatis who groomed you for marriage and sold you to Drogo as soon as he could to secure Visery an army. An army that had turned to you. Your readings had helped you with Drogo, helped you show your usefulness besides a womb. Perhaps it would do the same for the king in the north.

You're deep in the history of Winterfell, reading the mythos of the old gods, and the children of the forest, you run your fingers over the paper, shadowed figures hiding between the trees that seemingly stare back at you unblinking, blue orbs for eyes that glow bright in the dark. You jump when the door opens, turning to see Visery.

“Cease your senseless readings, no amount of time with the words of intellectuals will make you as such. You should have spent more time making yourself look acceptable, but this will have to do,” Visery sighs as you painstakingly look up from your book.

“Is there any other reason for your pleasant company or did you drop in to hurl insults at me,” you query.

“She is here, awaiting you,” he states, gesturing for you to stand. You close your book, dropping it to the side allowing him to smooth the fabric of your dress. You follow him out up towards the main deck, the waters are calm now, the rain turned to a mist, fogging the limited light provided. His hand digs into your arm as you reach the last step, “do not fail me,” he whispers.

“When have I ever failed this family,” you retort, eyes meeting his, knowing his hand would not raise prior to such an important meeting. You shake free of his grasp and walk slowly towards a cloaked figure, who turns to face you. The lanterns' flames illuminate orange hair bright against the deep blue fabric of her cloak. Gloved hands reached up pulling down her hood, her head was held high despite the weight you felt pressing down on her, strength for her children wielding her on through sorrow. A sorrow you knew well enough to identify in others.

“Lady Stark” you curtsey “it is my great honour to be in your presence. Thank you for your hospitality and your courage. Welcoming us is a brave thing to do,” you state, rising to full height.

“Such times call for a risk. May I have a moment alone with her,” she asks, and her guards step out. Perhaps this was all a clever ploy, a way to pull the two remaining Targaryens from hiding, and finally be rid of them. She circles you, eyeing your every movement. You wonder if she hears your heart race.

“Well he cannot fault your beauty, and for most men that is enough, but I fear my son is not exhilarated at the notion of an arranged marriage,’ She replies, a smile tight on her lips.

‘I understand my lady,’ you state as she comes to stand before you again.

‘Do you?” she questions, brows knitting together.

“I have long been aware of the hardships of marriage, I know many are not made for love. Love is not what I expect,” you relay, watching for a reaction, any reaction, but she remains neutral.

“And what do you expect, Lady Targaryen?” she presses, this marriage was a critical step towards victory, but even so, she would not risk her son's life.

“Respect,” you state “I am capable my lady, in more ways than one, and I expect to be treated as an equal,”

“Capabilities, and what such talents do you possess?” She asks

“I am a capable horse rider, tracker and hunter. I am fluent in six languages, and have used these skills to study the history of our world. Most importantly the great strategists, just in case I ever longed to return to the west. Your late husband was amongst them. I am sorry for your loss from what my brother says he was a good man, and that we owe him our lives. I am only sorry I was too late to thank him in person,” you relay earnestly.

“He was a great man,” she corrects, emotion finally coming through, “strong, honourable, fiercely loyal and I will not have the Lannister’s paint him out to be anything but that,” she replies, a fury sparking beneath her words.

“Upon that we have common footing, the Lannisters have taken those we love from us Lady Stark, unjustly, and without retributions,” you reply

“If you succeed and the iron throne is won, what happens then?” She presses

“My brother will take his rightful place as ruler of the kingdoms, my Lady,”

“You do not want it for yourself?”

“Even if I did, he is the eldest male heir, it is not mine to lose. When we succeed I will return to the north and aid in any way I can as a repayment to your current kindness, and the kindness shown by your husband in saving my life,”

“Jorah Mormont, banished for a time by my husband now serves you,”

“I am aware of his previous misgivings, but he has changed in my opinion. I have witnessed him free many men and woman whilst in my presence, and his loyalty to me has proven unshakable, I would trust him with my life,”

“He is your responsibility,”

“One I do not take lightly, he is a reflection of me, I have no army to offer Lady Stark, no great riches, but I have a name, and that has often been enough for victory,”

“And what of the North?” She asks, eyes meeting yours.

“The North will remain free if that is what you wish, you have my word,” you relay.

“Guards,” She calls out, finally breaking eye contact with you “help lady Targaryen pack her things, and bring her some warm clothes, she’ll freeze in the gauze she’s wearing, escort her and her brother to the camp” she states, watching you curtsey once again, you movements exact, precise planned. There was a confidence behind your violet eyes, as was a sentiment of loss, and sorrow that had been cleverly masked by strength and an aura that captured a room. One she had noted by the change in her own guards posture as you walked out.

“Thank you my lady from myself and my brother,” you smile, turning to follow her guards below deck. Perhaps it was your natural ability to dictate a moving speech to her, or the skills you had listed, but she felt you were hiding behind something. Your walls were high, despite your apparent openness something lay beneath the surface, whether good or bad she had yet to decipher. Any unfounded doubts must be pushed aside, but kept under a watchful eye, this marriage must first be secured.

“Bring them at night, we don't want them to be seen just yet,” she whispers to a guard, looking over her shoulder to see Visery, whose sickly charming smile from earlier had faded to a scowl.

The night is dark as you wander across frosted grass towards your tent, illuminated in a faint glow by a circular hearth the sits beside a small bed. Visery barges in just as you enter.

“You cannot possibly be here to complain, considering the success of that meeting,” you relay, already tiring of his energy.

“Oh I have plenty to complain about, insolence was rife, I am shocked Lady Stark did not pick up on it. Though with each passing hour the northmen prove true to their description of wild beasts,” he spits

“You should not speak ill of those showing kindness, nor should you say it so freely and loudly with such ease,” you whisper pointedly.

“Oh they will be well convinced after your promise to maintain a free north,” he shoots back, the reason for his mood finally exposed.

“It was written in her letter I assumed it was agreed upon,” you argue calmly.

“Everything is agreed upon, until it is not,” he replies inches away from you now.

“I have been here for an hour and can see they will not relinquish their stronghold, they are far too proud for that,” you reply, eyes staring into the hearth, ignoring his proximity to you.

“Insolence against,” spittle hitting your face.

“A woman having sense is insolence,” you retorted, gaze finally meeting his.

“You made a promise on my behalf, it is my kingdom I make the rulings,” he shouts petulantly.

“She would not allow…”

“You have no right to state what is and is not allowed! I am the king,” he roars, grabbing you by the throat, and throwing you down to the ground. Perhaps you should have allowed Drogo to kill your brother when he had the chance. The thought pases through your mind as you turn back towards him, skin burning as you push up onto your elbows. “For twenty years we have remained hidden across the sea, kept a secret from Westeros while the man who murdered our entire lineage sat upon the iron throne ruling the seven kingdoms when it should have been me. I will not give up even one tree to the northmen when I have claimed what is mine, and you will stand by me, or you will burn,” he whispers viciously, pushing you back down and striding out of your tent, as you watch from the floor.

#robb stark x oc #robb stark fic #robb stark x reader #robb stark x you #robb stark x y/n #robb x reader #game of thrones fic #game of thrones fanfiction #robb stark au #robb stark fanfiction #robb stark

[haxanbroker]

New Providence Wharf, East London, May 2023.

#apartments #city photography #flats #hotel #iphone photography #london #new providence wharf #original photographers #photographers on tumblr #photography #river thames #thames path #urban photography

[aaronburrdaily]

October 21, 1809

Helsingborg, October 21, 1809. Supped again last night with the beautiful family of Barque c. d. Pres. des tribunaux soes. en Pomerania.¹ Drank tro. de vin, seeing that I had dined with the Governor; was, in consequence, obliged to sit up till 3, smoking, and reading, and writing. Having resolved to be up early and off at 9, slept sound till 1/2 p. 10! Pas tro. bien.² At 1/2 p. 11 called on Colonel ———, the Commandant, who comports with the utmost politeness. Will order a boat at any hour. Desired it might be at 2; but the passports of Hendrick not having arrived, shall be obliged to go stark alone. At 1/2 p. 12 got my breakfast, and went to packing up. In the midst of it, came in a very gentlemanly-looking man, who introduced himself to me as the Prussian consul at Elsinore. Gave me much useful information. Had a special favor to ask, to which agreed. Had just done packing, when came in the visiting officer, whose duty it is to inspect baggage, &c. Was sent by the Governor, that I might not have the trouble of sending my trunks to the custom-house, or opening them on the wharf. The examination consisted in opening my trunks, and without moving an article, he standing six yards off, and then he received from me 1/2 dollar; very pleasant. How fortunate is my long sleeping. The Commandant came in at 1/2 p. 2. "Good news for you. The passport of Hendrick is arrived, and he shall receive mine in fifteen minutes." A few minutes after he brought it, and waited to eschort³ me to the landing, and see me safe aboard. Heighho! for another, and, nominally, a hostile kingdom. Drizzling, fog, and brisk gale.

Elsinore, October 21, 1809. We crossed in an hour in a small open boat, though the wind was strong ahead; the distance 1,331 toises.⁴ Before leaving the Danish shore the sky cleared, and the sun shone brilliant; weather mild. At about 100 yards from the Danish shore were met by the Danish flag of truce, another boat like ours; for the Swedish boat is not allowed to approach nearer the shore. Each boat has a white flag to manifest the pacific intent. In the Danish boat we and our baggage embarked, and were presently ashore. Another boat took our passports to the Danish Commandant at the castle. The castle which has for ——— levied tribute on all Europe. We landed, leaving our baggage, and went under guard to the custom-house, where an officer examined our passports, endorsed them, and transmitted us, under guards to the castle, about half a mile, where we were exhibited to the Commandant, an elderly man of grave but courteous deportment. He asked in French, if I were Colonel Burr. I replied that I had no claim to a military title, but was commonly so called. Ask me to sit; inquired when I proposed to go to Copenhagen. "To-morrow." Said my passports should be transmitted to me that evening. Went then to our proposed lodgings, Madame Jeuel's. At the door saw carts loaded with furniture and much bustle. The good lady had sold out, and was in the act of moving. In this dilemma a sprightly young man interposed; supposed we were Americans addressed to his house; offered to provide us lodgings, and in ten minutes we were splendidly lodged chez Oder, a confectioner. Our new friend then went with us to see after our baggage. Found it at the custom-house. Our trunks were barely opened and shut. He paid the necessary (customary) douceurs.⁵ Our baggage being lodged, he ordered tea, at which we had the pleasure of his company. Inquired what hour we should sup, and ordered supper. Told us the wines were excellent, and ordered claret and port. It being a mild, brilliant, moonlight evening, he proposed to walk to the King's Garden and park adjoining the town, and thither we went. The Palace small, but neat and good taste. About twenty or thirty statues in a circular area in front, prettily disposed. The hill and terrace in the rear, something higher than the top of the Palace, extends a considerable length, perhaps half a mile, and affords a magnificent and varied view of the town, the castle, the ocean, the Baltic, the Swedish coast, and the town of Helsingborg. Paused at the tomb of Hamlet. It is on this terrace; a square pillar, about four feet high, and without inscription; the only monument. I would willingly have passed an hour alone on this terrace. Returned by another gate. The town very quiet. Our supper served at 9. Eels and mutton, both excellent, and the wines did justice to his recommendation, as he did to them. At 1/2 p. 10 he left us, first inquiring at what hour in the morning he should call to go and show us the church, which I had expressed a curiosity to see. I appointed 1/2 p. 8. My companion, Hendrick, went to bed, and I sat till past 12, smoking the segars which our young friend had given me.

1 Formerly President of the Swedish tribunals in Pomerania. (Soes. probably for suédois.) 2 [Feeling] none too well. 3 So throughout the MS. 4 A toise is a French measure of slightly more than six feet. 5 Literally sweetnesses or softnesses; hence the wherewithal to soften the custom-house officers.

#aaron burr #the private journal of aaron burr

[people-are-strange-87]

David Misses Max

He spent 90 years with Max, learning and growing as a person before Max decided he was old enough to cope on his own. David is permanently 21, sure he was an adult but he stilled needed his father from time to time. And of course Max wasn't his actual father but they had spent so long together that the bond was there.

David thought that things would be better in 1964 when Max asked him to move to Vienna. He said that they would be a proper family but it just ended up in him working to support the household. They rarely saw each other as they were either at work or asleep, missing the other by mere minutes.

1968 repaired their relationship, somewhat. Max had purchased a store on the Santa Carla Wharf. He sold televisions and radios before eventually expanding to VHS tapes. Whilst David lived and worked with Max, Paul had found a place for him, Marko, and Laddie to stay. They would join Max and David on their hunts, always trying to convince him to move in with them.

By 1975, Max had convinced him to move in with them. It would ensure the order of the pack remained secure. It also allowed them to both work on their new projects. David would create a reputation for the group of twenty-year-olds as a gang. He was to create gang wars as a sustainable source of food. Max would focus on the Video Store whilst he looked for a mate.

When Dwayne and Star finally joined the pack, the hierarchy was cemented. Max was the priority, he protected them from the hunters and they provided him with kills. David came next, his role was to ensure Max's orders were acted out. He also had the authority to challenge him. Dwayne had the most experience so he followed David. He was the protector, not matter what form that came in. Paul and Marko were the same rank, they were hunters. They would entice the prey or cause a fight. It was their job to ensure the pack fed. Laddie was above Star - He had been a halfling for longer and had more control. They were both to be protected by the pack. Halflings could be a liability but it would be worth it.

Once Star arrived, Max arranged weekly dinners with her and David. He wanted to check in with his children and to soothe any disagreements, especially between the two. Instability could cause their whole system to collapse. If family evenings were the way to ensure their safety then David didn't mind, he missed Max when they were apart.

#david williams #david tlb #david the lost boys #the lost boys david #the lost boys max #max the lost boys #max tlb #max lawrence #paul lost boys #paul tlb #the lost boys paul #paul the lost boys #marko thompson #marko the lost boys #the lost boys marko #marko tlb #paul harris #laddie thompson #laddie tlb #laddie the lost boys #the lost boys laddie #dwayne tlb #dwayne the lost boys #the lost boys dwayne #dwayne stephens #star tlb #star the lost boys #the lost boys star #star fuchs #the lost boys

[dustedmagazine]

Bush Tetras — They Live in My Head (Wharf Cat)

Photo by Godlis

Cynthia Sley remains a charismatic front woman, Pat Place’s guitar still jags and spits. The rhythm section of bassist RB Korbet (King Missile) and drummer/ producer Steve Shelley (Sonic Youth) provide muscular foundation, but this not the Bush Tetras of the early 1980s. They look back, yes, but they don’t stand still. Fans hoping another “Too Many Creeps” or “Cowboys in Africa” may be disappointed but taken on its merits They Live in My Head is a worthy addition to the band’s discography.

If at times, the songs approach mainstream rock, Place, a singular and underrated musician, provides the edge. Her distinctive style, influenced by Andy Gill, and incorporating space and phrasing of reggae players, developed as she mastered her instrument with The Contortions and the original Bush Tetras. Here, she twists new shapes from classic rock tropes whilst providing links to her familiar sound. Sley’s lyrics explore the disruptions of the pandemic, engaging with social and political upheaval, memory and the loss of indominable drummer Dee Pop who passed in 2021 during the initial writing of the album.

The sludgy big beat of “Bird on a Wire” only takes off when Place, alternating between block chords and scratchy discordant runs, is to the fore. “Tout Est Meilleur” thumps along like a classic metallic boogie, think Angus Young doing the Nutbush, energetic enough and enlivened further by Sley’s strong delivery which sells the song’s French lyrics. Place interrupts her straight ahead riffing on the punkish “I Am Not a Member” with the opening chords of “To Hell With Poverty” to good effect. After a rough patch through the middle section of the album, “Ghosts of People” is a highlight that begins as slow acoustic ballad, Sley’s voice is wreathed in regret with Shelley and Korbet providing the dynamic shifts and Place building an ascending crescendo of controlled distortion. They save the best for last. “The End” rides on Shelley’s martial beat and Korbet’s rolling bass line with Sley sounding as powerful as Grace Slick in her ascendancy and Place squalling sheets of sound with Rowland S. Howard level intensity. They Live in My Head doesn’t always work. Their take on classic guitar rock sometimes lapses into a mid-tempo morass but Bush Tetras have been a constant state of evolving for nearly four decades. Sley and Place are still compelling presences, and it’s good to have them back.

Andrew Forell

#bush tetras #they live in my head #wharf cat #andrew forell #albumreview #dusted magazine #punk #post-punk #steve shelley #new york city #Youtube

[lboogie1906]

The Pearl Incident in 1848 was the single largest recorded escape attempt by enslaved people in US history. On April 15, 1848, 77 enslaved attempted to flee DC by sailing away on a schooner called The Pearl. They planned to sail south along the Potomac River and north up the Chesapeake Bay and to the free state of New Jersey.

The mass escape attempt was organized by both Black and white abolitionists in DC. Paul Jennings, the former enslaved of President James Madison, and Paul Edmonson, whose wife and 14 children were still enslaved, were the initiators of the escape. They enlisted the help of William Chaplin, a DC white abolitionist who in turn contacted Philadelphia abolitionist Daniel Drayton, Captain and owner of The Pearl, and pilot Edward Sayres. Abolitionist Gerrit Smith of New York provided financial backing for the escape.

With the help of numerous members of DC’s free Black community, slipped away from their places of work or residence on the evening of April 15 and made their way to The Pearl at a wharf on the Potomac. They boarded the ship which set sail. After realizing their enslaved and The Pearl were missing, sent out an armed posse of 35 men on the steamboat Salem. They caught up with The Pearl near Point Lookout, Maryland, boarded the vessel, and took the enslaved and the ship back.

An angry mob formed and for the next three days lashed out at suspected white abolitionists and the entire free Black community of DC in what would be known as the first DC Riot. The mob focused much of its wrath on Gamaliel Bailey and his antislavery newspaper The New Era.

Once the DC Riot ended, the slaveowners sold the attempted escapees to slave traders from Georgia and Louisiana, who took them to New Orleans. Two of the Edmonson children, Mary and Emily, were purchased and freed.

A provision of the Compromise of 1850 enacted by Congress ended the slave trade in DC although it did not abolish slavery. The Pearl incident is said to have inspired Harriet Beecher Stowe in her writing of Uncle Tom’s Cabin. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence