#but i like to braid bread and then put it in a loaf tin so it still has a pretty braid on top but its more forgiving <3 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

everlarkficexchange · 4 years

Text

A Simple Choice

Written by: @justajjfan

Beta’d by: @sunsetsrmydreams

Prompt 83: Katniss is whipped instead of Gale in Catching Fire, Peeta’s the one who’s there to take care of her after. [submitted by anonymous].

Prompt 116: Peeta braids Katniss’ hair to soothe her. [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: Mature

Warning: Mention of whipping. Use of coarse language.

A/N: We’re half-way…ish there. Thanks again @everlarkficexchange ; @javistg and @xerxia31 for continuing to post my really late submission. @sunsetsrmydreams 💚

~~~

Chapter 4

Back in the kitchen I make quick work of preparing breakfast by slicing two thick pieces of bread and while I wait for them to toast lightly, I scoop a few teaspoons of home-made strawberry jam into a small dish before placing everything on the serving tray. Once the kettle has boiled, I pour the hot water into the tea pot and inhale the fragrant steam from the herbal tea leaves.

These are the things I know Katniss likes so I hope it will entice her enough to eat.

I had planned on running over to Katniss’ house earlier to grab a nightgown or something loose fitting for her to change into while her wounds healed but with my unexpected visitor, there isn’t time so it will have to wait until after she’s had something to eat.

Balancing the tray carefully, I approach my bedroom door to find it slightly open. I was positive I closed it before I came downstairs this morning so I wouldn’t wake Katniss from what looked like a peaceful sleep. But as I nudge the door gently open all the way with my foot, I am surprised to see Katniss standing by the window wrapped loosely in the thin bedsheet I draped over her yesterday, starring out towards the pathway and beyond the gate.

I take careful steps so I don’t startle her but the rattle from the empty teacup on top of its saucer ruins any attempt at me being quiet. Needless to say, Katniss doesn’t appear to have noticed me entering the room and seems caught in a trance clutching a separate piece of cloth close to her chest.

I know I shouldn’t be thinking this way about her but even draped in something as plain as a bedsheet and seeing the contours of her body as she stands in the morning light, Katniss is still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on and the urge to sketch her image is overwhelming. But any urges I feel right now are quickly supressed with a more pressing need to check on her wounds.

With that thought in mind, my eyes dart straight to the part of Katniss’ back not covered by the sheet and what I see…or rather don’t see, causes me to loosen my grip on the tray. Luckily, I make a quick recovery of my senses and save her freshly made breakfast from ending up in a messy heap on the carpeted floor.

“Oh my God Katniss,” I announce, my voice choked with elation. “Your wounds…they’re so much better,” I manage to say as I gawk at her bare back in amazement.

The criss-cross of jagged and bloodied welts of flesh that were spread across her back and shoulders yesterday have been replaced by faint pink lines. If I hadn’t cleaned and dressed her wounds myself, I wouldn’t have known they were there.

She nods, bringing the cloth to her face and rubbing it lightly against her cheek, clearly not startled and being completely aware of my presence the whole time, “because you took good care of me,” she replies in a soft tone.

“I think it had a lot to do with Madge Undersee’s miracle salve…not me.”

Katniss shakes her head, “it was you…even after everything. You saved me and cleaned my wounds and—” her words fade as she tries to keep her emotions in check.

She’s always been so strong but seeing her like this surprises me and it hurts in ways I cannot even describe, “it’s what we do…you and me. Protect each other…no matter what,” I concede.

“She was right.”

“Who was?” I ask but she shakes her head again before burying her face in the cloth. Whether she meant her mother or maybe her sister I don’t want to press the issue. Katniss must still be a little groggy from the pain medication and having an empty stomach isn’t helping.

Still holding onto that mysterious cloth as if her life depended on it, Katniss steps away from the window and walks slowly towards the bed and sits, “when I woke I couldn’t find you and I called out but you didn’t answer,” she tells me, her eyes slowly cast to the armchair beside the bed.

“Did you sleep there all night?” she questions, raising her head to look at me. I nod in silent reply. “It must have been uncomfortable for you.”

“I’ve slept in worse places,” I say as I edge closer, recalling our nights in the cave and I wonder if Katniss remembers too.

Our eyes lock onto each other and I have to clench my fists tighter around the handles of the breakfast tray to fight the strong desire to wrap my arms around her and kiss her deeply on the lips. The mere thought is threatening to engulf me like a burning ring of fire.

I’m setting myself for heartbreak all over again and I need to shake these feelings away. Katniss will leave as soon as she has her strength back and when that happens, I’ll be resigned to living the rest of my lonely and pathetic life with only her memory to keep me company.

Clearing my throat, I move to the bedside table and rest the tray on top, “I’m used to waking early and I didn’t want to disturb you…and what looked like a happy dream, so I went downstairs to make a start on preparing breakfast and some broth for lunch,” I say. “I’m sorry I didn’t hear you call out for me. I tend to get a little distracted when I’m kneading bread and I wanted to make sure you had a fresh loaf for toast and of course, strawberry jam. It’s still your favourite, right?”

She smiles shyly and nods, “you remembered.”

“I’d never forget something as important as that.”

Our eyes meet again and for a few seconds, neither of us utter a word. I clear my throat to break the silence and nervously reach for the breakfast tray, placing it carefully between us and pour the tea as Katniss watches on, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ears.

I guess my hair braiding skills leave a lot to be desired.

“Mmmm…peppermint tea,” Katniss says before taking a careful sip from the steaming cup. “Won’t your mother be angry with you for not turning up for work this morning?” she adds a moment later.

“I don’t care if she is,” I say, breaking a piece of toast and holding it out for her to take.

Katniss straightens up and looks at me before her eyes fall on the piece of toast then she draws in a deep breath before taking a bite straight from my hands. When her lips brush against my fingers, my breath hitches at the sensation and I struggle to stay focused.

“I-I’m part owner of the bakery now and I decide my own hours…n-not my mother,” I say as Katniss chews slowly, her grey eyes never leaving mine.

“Looking after you will always be my first priority,” I blurt out without thinking. I should probably apologies for my forwardness but I’m so transfixed on her mouth as she chews and swallows the first piece of toast, I’d only end up saying something even more stupid.

Katniss places the teacup back on the tray and breaks a piece of toast. Good, I think to myself, she’s hungry. But instead of taking a bite herself, she brings it to my lips in offering and I open my mouth wide and gently take it from her delicate fingers.

“Yes,” she whispers as I roll the toasted bread around in my mouth. Caught under a magical spell I want to live in forever, I find myself repeating it but as soon as the word leaves my lips, the smile on my face drops when Katniss brings the cloth close to her chest.

It’s the shirt I wore yesterday.

I get up from the bed a little too quickly and spill some tea on the tray but I don’t care. I’m annoyed and angry with myself for leaving the shirt on the bathroom floor. I meant to take it with me after I showered to throw it in the trash but my mind was happily tossing on what kind of bread I would bake for Katniss, it completely slipped my mind.

Katniss doesn’t say anything as I walk over to the dresser and pull out a clean white shirt from the top drawer which I think will do until we can get something of hers.

“I always forget to pick up after myself,” I laugh, trying to make light of the situation. “Here…let me take that from you and give you this to put on instead of that bedsheet,” I say, holding out my hand with the clean shirt. “We can go to your house later to grab some of your clothes, if you’re up to it,” I suggest.

Katniss nods and takes it with one hand but still clings to the shirt I carelessly left on the floor with the other. “The bread…it smelt so familiar and I was about to come downstairs to find you but I needed to use the bathroom first and…” she says looking down at the crumbled and soiled shirt still clutched tightly in her hand. “I never meant for any of this to happen…not to you.”

“And I wished with all my heart none of this happened to you, but here we both are.”

“How many?” Katniss asks, lifting her head to look at me.

I know what she’s asking and consider lying by giving her some lame explanation but how can I when she’s been holding onto the truth so tightly in her hands all this time, “just the one but I hardly think it matters…not compared to yours.”

“It matters to me!” Katniss says in a raised voice, her chin quivering. “The salve…you used some on yourself and it’s healed just like mine, right?” There’s a desperate look on her face as she waits for my confirmation.

“Peeta?”

I feel a huge lump in my throat and swallow hard, “you needed every bit of that salve and I wasn’t about to waste a drop of it on me. Besides, I hardly feel a thing now,” I admit truthfully.

“Take off your shirt!” Katniss demands as she turns to the bedside table and reaches frantically for the tin box containing what I know sits an empty jar inside. “There’s got to be a little left for you. Your shirt Peeta…please,” she pleads, trying to scrape any remnant of salve that I know isn’t there on her finger.

I take a hold of her dainty wrist and gently remove the jar from her fingers and place it back on the bedside table, “it’s okay Katniss…it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“But you need some too. We look after each other…you said so yourself.”

Katniss places her trembling hands on my chest and guides them down my shirt and I don’t resist. Neither do I when she starts to undo each button one by one then gently pushes the fabric over my shoulders and down my arms. I stay silent the whole time and watch her face intently as she kneels on the bed and begins to trace her fingers ever-so softly over the single welt splayed mostly across my shoulder. My heart skips a beat and I let out a hiss but it’s not from any discomfort I’m feeling.

“Why is it every time I try to protect you, all I seem to do is cause you nothing but pain,” she sniffs, stopping her tender touch. “It was stupid of you to try and stop Thread. You should have stayed away.”

“Both us know I wasn’t about to stand back and watch Thread try to kill you. What were you thinking sneaking back to Twelve after you escaped with Gale and your family? That was pretty stupid too,” I counter, pulling my shirt back over my shoulders. “Why did you do that…come back I mean?”

“I-I already told you,” she answers as she helps me rebutton my shirt.

“You weren’t making much sense,” I admit. “You mentioned something about coming back for me but I’m sure that can’t be true. It was just the medicine talking,” I say as my mind replayed her slurred and sleepy words from yesterday.

“It is true Peeta. I came back for you.”

Her words are clear and precise and this time there’s no mistaking them.

…tbc

#Springtime Edition 2020 #submission #justajjfan #prompt 83 #prompt 116

47 notes · View notes

theladyofdeath · 4 years

Text

Rags & Riches {10}

Summary: An A Court of Thorns and Roses Fanfiction. 19th century AU. Based on the prompt sent in by @cat5313 All characters belong to SJM, I am just a fan with a plot.

Warning: Mature content strung throughout.

A/N: 2 chapters in 1 day? Sure did. You all know how I feel about a cliche rain scene.

Leave a comment to be tagged & tell me what you think! :)

The days after Feyre had met Isobel and Mor passed in a blur. She had not seen Rhysand at all, but he had written, saying that his mother was not doing well and he would be taking care of her.

The thought saddened Feyre, and it had become all she could think about. She had only met Isobel once, but she was a lovely woman who made Feyre feel cherished and made her laugh harder than she had in a long time.

She also couldn’t bear to see Rhysand hurting, watching his mother grow more and more sick as the days passed.

So, when she woke three days after Rhysand’s last letter, she decided that she should pay them a visit. After hurrying to the library and grabbing a book, she wandered to the kitchen, where she found the cook rustling about, making lunch preparations.

“Arnie, could I have a loaf of bread? And, perhaps, some lemonade?”

Arnie made the best lemonade. Feyre had asked him for it countless times throughout the fifteen years he’d been with them.

Arnie smiled, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening as he did so. “Of course, dear. All for yourself?”

“Thought I’d visit some friends in the village,” Feyre said, adjusting the hat on her head.

“Very well, my dear,” he smiled,and got a canvas bag where he placed a fresh loaf of bread and a tin canister of freshly-squeezed lemonade.

“Thank you, Arnie,” she smiled, graciously, before hurrying out the back door of the kitchen.

“Be safe, my dear!” he called after her, waving her off.

Feyre remembered when she was a child, loving being with Arnie in the kitchen. He would always sneak her cookies and let her lick the spoon every time he made cakes or muffins.

Her mother had caught her once, sitting on the counter in one of her finest gowns, licking a spoon covered in chocolate dough. She looked at Feyre, then at Arnie, and whispered, “Your secret is safe with me.” She left and never spoke of it again. Feyre couldn’t have been more than seven.

The memory still brought a smile to her lips.

It was late morning, and the clouds were gathering in front of the sun, but it was warm. Feyre decided to walk her normal route through the woods. She tossed the canvas bag over her shoulder and held up her skirt as she made her way inside. There was a soft breeze that was calming.

Feyre loved being in nature. She loved the way the leaves rustled with the wind, loved the way the path was uneven, forcing her to climb over logs and through dirt. It was peaceful. It was real, far from their heavy golden curtains and marble floors. Even in her dress, Feyre felt more at home in the woods than she did in their manor. Perhaps one day, when she’s old and no one has a say in what she does anymore, she could have a little log cabin in the woods.

She wondered if perhaps Rhysand longed for such things.

Once the inn was within view, a soft rain began to fall. It was mostly blocked by the trees until she fell out of the woods and onto the cobblestone street. She hurried inside of the inn before she could get too wet.

The inn was quiet, and Feyre saw no one as she walked up the stairs, down the hall, and to the final door. She knocked, softly.

A moment later, it creaked open, and Rhysand stood their, brows raised. “Feyre?”

“I’m sorry to just drop by, I hope I’m not intruding,” she said, in equal quietness.

Rhysand smiled, opening the door further. She had never seen him so casual, in nothing but his shirt sleeves and loose trousers. His feet were bare. Even his hair was in disarray, as if he had woken up and immediately come to his mother’s side. “You could never intrude. Come in, please.”

“Do we have a guest?” A soft voice came from inside. “Is it Feyre?”

Rhysand looked from inside of the room then back to Feyre, his grin widening. “She’s asked a lot about you these past few days.”

“And you told her all good things, I hope?” Feyre asked, raising a brow.

Rhysand chuckled. “I never lie to my mother, Feyre.”

He stepped aside and, with a laugh of her own, Feyre swept into the room. Isobel was indeed looking worse than she had the other day. Her skin was pale, clammy, her hair braided back to reveal dark circles beneath her eyes. She wore a nightgown and was bundled in blankets.

“Hello, darling,” Isobel smiled. “Do excuse me. I am not made for company.”

“Oh, not at all,” Feyre said, sitting in the chair by her bedside. “Pardon my intrusion. I heard you were feeling unwell and wanted to see how you were fairing.”

“Not an intrusion at all,” she smiled, as Rhysand walked to the other side of the room and sat in an armchair, watching the two of them thoughtfully. “I’m feeling quite alright. Except for Mor had to go into town and leave me all alone with this one.” She gestured to Rhysand, who rolled his eyes dramatically.

Feyre grinned. “Well, Arnie, my cook, made you some fresh bread and lemonade.”

“How thoughtful,” Isobel smiled, as Feyre put the canister and wrapped bread on the table near Rhysand before walking back to the chair by the bed and sitting down. “I also brought some poetry, if you wish to be read to. I….do not know if that is strange or not, but my mother used to read poetry to me when I was unwell, and now when me or my sisters are unwell, we read to each other. I always found it comforting.”

Isobel reached out a shaky hand to where Feyre sat and patted her knee. “That sounds lovely.”

Feyre nodded and took the book out of the bag. “Do you enjoy John Keats? I have always enjoyed his work.”

“Quite so,” Isobel said, thoughtfully, as she leaned further back into her pillows. “Ode to a Nightingale has always been my favorite.”

Feyre knew Rhysand was staring at her, and she suddenly felt nervous. She did not often read in front of others, never those who were not a part of her family. It had never been a strength of hers.

Feyre cleared her throat, and began to read one of Keats’ most famous pieces. “My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness,— That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.”

She finished and moved on to Modern Love and by the time she had finished that, Isobel had drifted into a comfortable sleep. Feyre slowly closed her book then looked to Rhysand where he sat on the opposite side of the room.

His lips were parted, his chin perched in his palm on the armrest, one bare ankle tossed over the other, his legs outstretched.

He was watching her with such intensity and adoration that Feyre suddenly felt nude. She couldn’t breath, couldn’t think of a word to say. Instead, she took the canvas bag and put the book inside, then rose from her chair.

“I should go,” she whispered. “Let her rest.”

Rhysand, as if just realizing he was staring, cleared his throat and shot to his feet. “It’s raining, you should wait.”

Feyre glanced out the window and, sure enough, the sprinkling had turned into a downpour. “Not to worry. I came through the woods, the trees will block the worst of it.”

Rhysand smiled, softly. “I should have known.”

Feyre met him with a smile of her own. “I do hope she gets well soon.”

He nodded. He still wore the smile, but it no longer met his eyes. “Thank you for the lemonade, and the bread. And for reading. She enjoyed that quite a bit. Allowed her to forget about the circumstances enough that she could rest. For that, I am grateful.”

Feyre nodded, and before she could convince herself otherwise, she leaned up on the tips of her toes and pressed a kiss to Rhysand’s tanned cheek. “Until next time, then.”

Rhysand had frozen in place, and it was not until she was nearly out the door that she heard him say, “Until next time.”

She went back down the hall, and down the stairs, and still saw no one else as she got to the threshold. She looked from the edge of the woods, then up to the sky where thick droplets were falling from dark clouds.

It would be a quick run.

Feyre tossed the bag over her shoulder, now lighter due to lack of contents, and held up her skirt before hauling herself into the downpour. But she had barely made it a quarter of the way to the trees before the door of the inn burst open and Rhysand, still without socks or shoes, was running toward her.

His ivory shirt was already soaked by the time he made it to where she stood, his dark hair matted to his tanned skin.

Feyre opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong, but she didn’t have time. The moment she opened her mouth, it was met with his.

She instantly fell into him, one arm wrapping around his neck, one hand pressed softly against his smooth cheek.

He gathered her close to him, those broad arms holding her tightly by her waist. She didn’t have to say a word as he put one arm beneath her knees and the other beneath her arms, lifting her in the air, her face in the crook of his neck as he walked back toward the inn.

She had wondered what it would be like to kiss there, but that curiosity faded and turned to delight as she did so. His skin was warm, smelling of lavender. The moment her mouth touched the sensitive spot just above his collarbone, she could feel his breathing shift.

He took her up the stairs and down the hallway, stopping at the same room in which she had cleaned his wound.

He whispered her name as they tumbled inside, the door closing behind them. Feyre dropped her bag and undid the ribbon that held her hat as he pressed her up against the inside of the door. Her green skirt inched up to her thighs as she changed her position, her legs wrapping around his waist.

She felt wild.

Improper.

Irresponsible.

And she let it all consume her.

Rhysand’s violet eyes were bright as he took his lips from hers. They stared at each other a moment, both breathing heavily, until Feyre reached up and undid the top button of his shirt, then the next, and the next, until his chest was bare. He held onto her thighs, only letting go when each sleeve went down his arm, his drenched shirt ending up on the wooden floorboards.

Feyre traced his chest muscles, his abdomen muscles, his biceps, his forearms. She ran her fingers gently back up his arms, and over his shoulders. Rhysand shuttered beneath her touch.

“Feyre,” he whispered. She could feel his heart pounding through his chest.

“Let me down,” she breathed.

He obliged, and the moment her boots hit the floor, she turned her back to him and moved her hair out of the way.

Rhysand hesitated before running his fingers down the buttons of her dress. “Feyre…”

“You have brought me to this inn on multiple occasions,” Feyre began, voice quiet, shaking. “Do not tell me you are worried about jeopardizing my virtue, now.”

He laughed, breathily, and dropped his hand. “I want to, Feyre. You don’t know how badly I want to, but-”

“I want to, too,” she said, turning to face him. There was no more sarcastic mask, no more snarky remarks or humor dancing in his eyes. He looked at her, completely raw as she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his bare chest.

He let loose a long, deep breath, one that completely halted when Feyre unbuttoned his trousers. He didn’t breath until the last button faded away and they were hanging loosely around his hips.

“Do you intend to kill me?” he muttered.

With a grin, she turned her back to him, once again, and pulled her hair aside.

Rhysand undid the buttons, one by one.

~~~~~

Cassian hadn’t seen Nesta since they were by the lake, days before. They had finished, and once she had caught her breath, she pulled back on her undergarments, straightened out her dress, and hurried away, leaving Cassian with his chest bare and his trousers halfway down his thighs.

She had been blatantly ignoring him since, so he didn’t push.

He stayed in his own little world. If she wanted to ignore what happened, then he would, too.

Morning had turned into afternoon by the time Cassian had finished his chores, and he was packing up when his roommate showed up in the stables.

Cassian raised his brows. “Troubled?”

Azriel hesitated, then rubbed the back of his neck as he said, “I need your help.”

“Okay,” Cassian said. “Of course. What do you need?”

He hesitated again, which told Cassian that this was no small request. “Know what? Nevermind. I’ll figure something out.”

He nodded his thanks and began to walk away, but Cassian quickly caught up to him.

Azriel looked unnerved.

“What’s going on?” Cassian asked, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder.

Azriel could have put up a good fight, but he didn’t bother. He stopped, and turned to face him. “I have to get away.”

Cassian blinked. “What?”

“Okay,” Azriel began, taking a deep breath. “I’m...we’re leaving tonight, but no one can know. And I need your help.”

“We?” Cassian repeated. “As in you and me?”

“No,” Azriel said, closing his eyes. “Elain and myself.”

“Elain,” Cassian repeated. Azriel nodded. “As in Lady Elain?”

“I will answer all your questions, okay? Just...I need your help.”

Cassian did not hesitate. “Okay.”

~~~~~

Elain looked at the small travel case she had on her bed. Not much would fit inside.

She had thought of what she would like to bring with her, what to pack if she were never to come back to the manor.

After a deep breath and a lot of deliberation, Elain selected some jewels and put them inside. She gathered her journal and all the notes she had saved from Azriel and put them inside of the case, too. A second day dress and a nightgown went in, and her hairbrush.

And just with that, it was full.

She looked around at the rest of her belongings, of things so expensive but so insignificant. If belongings were what she was leaving behind to be with Azriel, then it was all worth it.

She wrote a letter to each of her sisters, in which she had given Azriel to give to his roommate, so that he could give them to Nesta and Feyre.

Azriel trusted Cassian. So Elain did, too.

She was excited, but she was equally terrified. She couldn’t sleep the night before, and every second that passed seemed to take far too long.

By dawn the next day, they would be gone, far away from the manor, ready to start their new life.

Elain would no longer be a Lady.

Instead, she would become Azriel’s wife.

~~~~~

Nesta hated the very sight of him.

She watched him out the library window, discussing something with the handsome butler. When the butler walked away, Cassian looked up to see her sitting in the window.

He raised a brow.

Nesta’s book snapped shut and she stormed through the manor until she reached the side door, closest to the stables. She threw it open and stalked his direction, finding him leaning against the door of the stables, eating an apple.

“Done ignoring me?” he asked, mouth full.

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Stop watching me.”

“Pardon?” he asked, taking another bite.

“I’ve noticed you looking at me the past few days and I want you to stop,” she snapped.

Cassian watched Nesta as he swallowed his bite of apple and set it down on the post next to him. When he said nothing, it seemed to anger her more.

Throwing her hands in the air, Nesta said, “What happened between you and I will not happen again. Therefore, stop looking at me as if it will.”

“Okay,” Cassian said, crossing his arms. “Anything else?”

Nesta blinked. “You are absolutely filthy.”

“Well, I do work with horses,” he said, shrugging. “Shall I bathe in the lake again? You’re more than welcome to join.”

Nesta stepped close to him and pressed her finger against his chest. “You will not speak to me like that. I am a Lady.”

“Are you?” Cassian asked, amused. “You could have fooled me.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed even more. “You are foul. I loathe you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” he promised, then added, “my Lady.”

She went to pull her hand away, but he caught her wrist. “Leaving so soon? And here I thought we were having a moment. Is hateful talk not your love language?”

There was no one else outside, but Nesta could not risk someone approaching. They were standing far too close. They were touching.

She snatched her arm out of his grasp and took a step back, fixing her posture. She lifted her chin high and said, “I assume you have not told anyone about what occurred the other day.”

Cassian walked into the stables and began cleaning up supplies as he said, “Do you truly think me so careless?”

Nesta huffed as she followed him. “I don’t know. I don’t know you.”

“Don’t you? We’ve shared some interesting moments since my employment,” he said, grinning over his shoulder as he put a brush away.

Nesta shook her head. “I am not in the mood for games, Cassian.” It was such a rarity that she used his true name. “You mustn’t tell anyone. Swear to me.”

Cassian sighed as he turned around to face her. He saw the fear she had, the fear that came from realizing that she was not perfect and hating herself for it. “Fine. I swear it.”

After a curt nod, Nesta turned her back to him and hurried away, back toward the house. She stopped, just outside of the stables. “Meet me by the lake. Just before midnight.”

When she looked back over her shoulder, his hazel eyes held a mischievous glint.

She could feel him watching her until she disappeared through the door.

~~~~~

Feyre had not known what to expect when it all began. All she knew was that if pleasuring herself was invigorating, the pleasure of sex must surely feel the same.

But it was so much greater.

Rhysand was gentle with her, at first.

He laid her down atop his bed and trailed gentle kisses down her body before guiding her toward him, and pushing himself inside.

It had been beautiful. Sweet. Romantic.

Her heart had never been so full of emotion as they made love for the first time, and once they were done, and he asked if she was okay, she just laughed.

“I am better than okay,” she promised, and he kissed her, softly.

The second time was not gentle, at all.

Feyre found it even better than the first.

Which could be seen from the marks she had made across his back with her nails.

“I’m exhausted,” he said, flinging himself back against the pillows. “You exhaust me.”

“Perhaps I should go then?” Feyre asked, climbing up his body and resting her chin atop his chest.

Rhysand laughed, his smile glorious. “Please, do not. If you did, I’d be afraid-”

A loud knock came on his door. “Rhysand?” it was Mor. “Auntie and I are preparing for dinner. Will you be joining us?”

“Er,” Rhysand hesitated. Feyre had to put her hands over her mouth to keep from laughing. “I am getting ready to go out for a bit. I’ll be back soon.”

“Very well,” she called. “Don’t get into too much trouble.”

Feyre waited for her footsteps to sound down the hall before she asked, “You’d be afraid of what?”

Rhysand lifted a brow, gently rubbing her back with the tips of his fingers. “What?”

“You said that if I left, you’d be afraid. Afraid of what?”

Rhysand’s fingers slowed, but he didn’t stop. “That you wouldn’t come back.”

Feyre chuckled. “I just made love to you twice. Why would I not come back?”

Rhysand took her face into his hands and brushed back her hair. “You are too good a woman, Feyre Archeron. Too good for any man, especially me.”

“Although I agree,” Feyre began, making Rhysand laugh, “you do not give yourself much credit. I have seen the truth of your heart, and I quite like what I see.”

Rhysand’s brows went up. “Is that so?”

“It is,” Feyre confirmed. “Which is good, if I am to be your wife, after all.”

Rhysand’s body stopped, every part of him coming to a halt. “Say that again, I’m sure I misheard it.”

Feyre’s smile widened as she began, once more, “If I am to be your wife-”

“Stop,” he said, putting his hand over her mouth. “No.”

Feyre rolled her eyes. “You are the most dramatic man I have ever known,” she said, muffled through his hand.

Rhysand flipped Feyre onto her back and hovered over her. She trailed her fingers along his chest as he leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I have no ring,” he said, kissing her nose. “And we are at an inn.” He kissed her lips. “And I am nude.”

“As am I,” she said, giggling as his head dipped down to trail his tongue along one of her breasts, then the other.

“I’ve noticed,” he said, the tone of his voice causing her toes to curl. “I must propose to you properly. You mustn’t know it’s coming. Besides, you could change your mind. You hated me up until today.”

Feyre shook her head, taking his face into her hands and pulling him down, so that her lips touched his. “I never hated you, Rhys.”

His eyes softened.

“But I’m going to know it’s coming,” she grinned. “Were I not always meant to become your wife?”

Rhysand let his body fall against hers. He rested an elbow on each side of her face. “From the very first moment I saw you.”

The third time they made love that afternoon, all the walls had come down.

~~~~~

@throne-of-ashes-and-beauty @mariamuses @a-happybird @amusicalbookworm @manoncrochanblackbeak @alifletcher2012 @candid-confetti @fandoms-everywhere-united @mis-lil-red @littlehoneyybee @abillionlittlepieces @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @awesomelena555 @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @tswaney17 @jemma-nessian-and-elriel @rhysandsrightknee @gendryaforthemasses @dayanna-hatter @thebluemartini @welcometothespeaknowworldtour @julemmaes @christiashadows @sleeping-and-books @itsme-malin @agnez312 @cat5313 @amren-courtofdreams @chemica @empress-ofbloodshed @islamonna @illyrianbeauty @sleeping-and-books @queenofxhearts @sleeping-and-books @aedionashryver-wolfofthenorth @queenofillea1 @mynewdreamwasyou @levivlio @hellolenas @burritowithfeels @that-other-pineapple @girl-who-reads-the-books @raghad-50725 @musicmaam @rowaelinforeverworld @negativenesta @welcometothespeaknowworldtour @gloriouspaintercreatorbandit @sannelovesreading @nerdperson524 @ireallyshouldsleeprn @nerdperson524 @mariamuses @gorl-power

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #nessian #feysand #elriel #sjm #fanfic #fanfiction #period au #tacmc r&r

231 notes · View notes

ozsaill · 7 years

Text

Easy bread to feed a hungry crew

A well-fed crew is a happy crew: this is no secret. Food is a love language for many, myself included. Feeding people, seeing their pleasure in something I’ve made, makes me so happy. I dug the minor challenge to create a yummy and totally gluten free dinner from our dwindling provisions for friends last week (who knew quinoa could make a tender chocolate cake?!). In the Chesapeake last fall, it was pull-apart bread (garlic herb deliciousness, dunked in soup) that made several nights with friends extra memorable: at Camp Quigley, soaking up the good vibes from Mary Marie, getting to meet her Frank, and catching up with the R Sea Kat crew… on Totem with friends from Annapolis as the main cabin on Totem filled not just with warm yeasty yummy aromas but with laughter and signing and the strumming of a guitar and ukulele. Food gets inextricably woven with wonderful memories. Another night, helping a boy-child-turning-man make the same recipe, I felt like I got to pass a baton of understanding how good it feels to see people appreciate the floury work of your hands.

Eleanor Q, Totem, and R Sea Cat at Camp Quigley

Yesterday I made that pull-apart bread kind of at last minute as a way to fuel our crew up before a trip back to Dean’s Blue Hole on Long Island. This natural wonder is one of the deepest known blue holes (sinkholes in the world); when we visited a few days prior, there was a busy class of learners. A lot of expensive gear being used for the first time. We kept to the fringe and hoped to come back for a quieter visit. Help with a ride (neighboring SV Akira had a rental car) made it a lock!

Cliffs… 30ish feet off the water? High enough to get adrenalin pumping on the way down!

There was going to be swimming, and blue-hole-diving, and cliff jumping, and possibly a longish walk back to town afterwards. Fuel for humans required! The bread packs along well, it’s an easy recipe (OK, maybe it takes a little attention the first time), and how many fantastic yeast breads take less than two hours from start to finish? I started while sipping my morning coffee, and it hot out of the oven before our mid-morning dinghy ride to shore.

Slightly fuzzy screengrab from the video of Niall’s jump

This recipe is often called “Monkey Bread” (why? because you can easily eat it with your hands, I guess, pulling at hunks that peel effortlessly away from the loaf?) and typically prepared as a sweet cinnamon bread– but the same basic recipe and method, just a few ingredient tweaks, makes a killer garlic bread. Unable to choose between sweet and salty, I just made a loaf of each (doubling the recipe below).

I couldn’t resist posting a picture as we departed for our swim/hike/explore:this is for everyone that requested the recipe! When I looked it up to pass along, and realized just how different Real Boat Life can be in a step-by-step retelling of the recipe. Enjoy the “hardships” (not really) of cruising.

Monkey Bread

Ingredients

Bread 1/4 cup warm water 1 package (2 ¼ tsp) yeast 2 tablespoons softened butter, plus more for pan and bowl 3/4 cup milk, warmed 1/4 cup granulated sugar, plus pinch for yeast 1 teaspoon salt 1 large egg 3 1/4 cups flour

Coating Choose either…

Sweet: ½ c butter, ½ c chopped nuts, 2 tsp cinnamon (or whatever! I pounded a couple of teaspons of cardamom seeds in my little mortar yesterday, because I love all things cardamom), ¾ c sugar

Savory: ½ c butter, 2 cloves crushed garlic, herbs of choice, ¾ tsp salt

…or do as I did, double the recipe and make a loaf of each of sweet and savory!

Real recipe instructions Boatlife version 1. Proof yeast: in a small bowl, sprinkle yeast over warm water to which a pinch of sugar has been added. Stir; let the yeast soften and dissolve, about 5 minutes. 1. Water in kettle still warm from morning coffee. No fresh milk, will add some milk powder later, so start with a big mixing bowl and use a full cup of warm water now to take make up for that liquid. Stir in a bit of sugar, then sprinkle a spoonful of yeast on the top.

This is done from muscle memory as coffee has not yet hit bloodstream and exact measurements aren’t critical here.

2. In a mixer bowl, combine butter, warm milk, sugar, salt, and egg. Grease Bundt pan and a medium bowl. 2. Skip milk; add veg oil instead of butter because it’s easier and less precious, and nobody can tell in the recipe. Crack the egg in a separate bowl first, because you got the eggs from a roadside island stand and it’s not 100% clear that it’s fresh and unfertilized.

Stir mixture by hand, because a mixer is a waste of space on board. Don’t bother to grease pan, and absolutely skip the step of greasing another bowl! The dough will have plenty of melted butter or oil on it later and we don’t need more dirty dishes to expend fresh water on.

3. When the yeast is foamy, add it to mixer bowl; mix well with dough hook, then slowly add flour. Knead on medium-low 1 minute. Place in the greased bowl; cover with plastic. Set dough in warm place and let rest 20 minutes. 3. Ingestion of coffee times nicely with yeast proofing. Over the top of the yeast, add about 2 cups of flour, salt, and about 3 tablespoons of powdered milk. If making sweet (instead of savory) bread, add ¼ sugar too.

Stir to make a thick batter, then gradually knead in additional flour until dough is ready . It MIGHT be the 3 ¼ cups specified, but different flours and different climates mean variable moisture-absorption qualities; you have to do this bit a little by feel. Sorry/Notsorry. When dough is soft, a tiny bit sticky, and springs softly back from a poke- it’s ready.

No sane (power/water conscious) cruiser would dirty a second bowl, so clean dough bits off the sides, glug in a few tablespoons of veg oil, roll the dough ball to coat, and set it aside to rise… under a TEA TOWEL, because hello, we are not into single-use plastic. Turtles and whales and the future of the planet and all.

4. Make coating: Melt butter and put it in a bowl. In another bowl, mix brown sugar, cinnamon, and nuts; sprinkle 2 tablespoons of nut mixture in Bundt pan. 4. Melt butter. It really is better with butter, but in a pinch (ran out of the last canned butter from Tahiti? Not lucky enough to have subsidized Kerrygold Irish creamy buttery goodness in the Bahamas?) Vegetable oil is fine. Making sweet bread? Put ingredients in a separate bowl. I never include nuts, because the kids object with interference from the sugar/spice mix, and we often don’t have brown sugar—just white. Whatever. I never measure this, either, just keep making a sugar/spice ratio that seems right. Making savory bread? Stir garlic, salt, and herbs into the butter, no need for a second bowl. 5. Cut dough into 1/2-inch pieces. Roll into balls. Dip balls in butter, then roll in nut mixture; place in prepared Bundt pan.

5. CUT? What a waste of time and dishes! Just grab a golf ball sized glob. For sweet bread, dunk it in the butter (or oil), roll that slippery lump in the flavor bomb sugar/spice mix and toss in your pan. Savory bread is easier still with the all-in-one-bowl combo!

Perfection here is highly overrated; irregular globs offer more places to grab seasoning. Did you really think this was carefully braided or trimmed? Ha!!! This is dead easy and creates a beautiful, delicious results.

I like our trusty bread tins, but break out the bundt if we’re feeling fancy.

6. Cover with plastic wrap; let rise about 1 hour or until doubled in size. 6. Again, not with the plastic. Dish towels are your friend. If you’ve been motoring, the engine compartment is a great place to set the bowl. If it’s sunny out, a warm spot in the cockpit well is too. 7. Bake 30 to 35 minutes in oven preheated to 350 degrees. Let cool 15 minutes in pan when done.

7. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! AS IF A BOAT OVEN COULD HIT AN EXACT TEMP! Crank it up, set pan on a rack and hope for the best. If your oven is uneven (what, a boat oven uneven?!) rotate partway through as needed. Don’t worry about time so much, I mean, we’re not even sure what temp this is hitting! Just watch it. 8. Turn bread out of pan; cool 20 minutes on rack or plate. 8. You think I can keep anyone on board out of this when the boat is permeated with the tantalizing aroma of warm fresh bread? It doesn’t matter if you go sweet or savory, it’s irresistible. I can usually get them to wait till it’s been turned out onto a plate, and maybe a little longer if we have guests, but that’s it.

from Sailing Totem http://ift.tt/2ri9sBm via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Sailing Totem

0 notes