#mare’s nest

[rococospade]

time to rework the mare’s nest outline again

did not think my wildest theories weren’t wild enough before today

[jt1674]

[themaresnest-dumblr]

Happy New Year From The Mare’s Nest (And WHAT A Year THAT Was!)

And somehow we still managed to get eleven episodes of 'Raiders' done amid all the chaos, life changes, squirrels and mice ... We'd not have missed any of it for the world. See you all next year - and keep on Simming!

[sarahisslytherin]

on the kingsroad.

cregan stark x reader

summary: you try not to let your feelings for lord stark show as you travel to king's landing together.

contains: forced proximity, fluff.

a/n: there was only one bed!!

word count: 1.2k

You struggled to keep your heavy eyes open as your mare clopped down the dirt road. You trotted alongside Cregan, whose gaze was now fixed on the inn that grew closer with each passing moment. “Almost there, my Lady.” The young lord of Winterfell addressed you gently. He was as weary as you were, and longed just as much for the warmth of a bed. You tugged feebly on the fur lining your cloak as you neared the inn. It had been a few days on the Kingsroad in the company of Cregan Stark. 

You both had business to attend to down in King’s Landing and the noble lord deemed it necessary that you be accompanied. Though you were merely a lady of his court, you had never been able to deny the part of you that longed for something more than polite manners from Cregan. The look in his icy blue eyes as he strode down the halls of Winterfell had put you in a trance more times than you cared to admit. Equally culpable for this were the stolen glances during feasts, the electricity you felt at his touch when he would help you out of a carriage. These small moments provided you with enough warmth to survive the longest of winters. 

Soon enough, you were at the inn’s doors. Cregan dismounted first before aiding you as you did the same, his strong, leather-covered hands holding your weight as your boots hit the snowy ground. You thanked him for the help as he led the way inside. The innkeeper marveled at the sight of him. Tall, wide, commanding; a young wolf.

“Forgive me, Lord Stark.” the man stuttered. “But there are simply not enough rooms left to accommodate both yourself and the young lady.” At this, Cregan looked over his shoulder to meet your gaze. Something in your expression must have given away that you didn’t mind sharing chambers for the night, because he swiftly turned to the innkeeper and paid for the remaining room.

You tried to suppress the churning feeling in your stomach at the thought of such proximity to Cregan, thankful you could blame the pink hue of your cheeks on the biting northern cold. You followed Cregan up the stairs, the wooden boards creaking under his steps. The hallway was lit by torches, the warm light leading you to your chambers. “After you.” Cregan bowed his head ever so slightly as you stepped into the room, the stone and wooden walls encapsulating the heat from the fireplace. 

“Gods, how I’ve longed for the comfort of a bed.” you chuckled as you shrugged off your furs, leaving you in your gown. You felt Cregan’s heavy gaze as you undid your simple braid and let your hair cascade down your shoulders. “You must know your company has been a great comfort to me, Lord Stark.” you confessed, offering him a sheepish smile as your eyes met his. He too was in the process of removing his cloak, his thinner garments capturing your attention more than could be deemed fitting of a proper young lady. 

“I am glad to hear it. I must admit that when I heard you would be traveling to the capital on your own, I couldn’t help but worry for your safety. I shall stay close to you at King’s Landing as well. It is truly a viper’s nest, no place for an innocent lady.”

“My Lord, you underestimate me.” you smirked as you stood up from your place by the crackling fire. “Surely the vicious men of King’s Landing cannot be much worse than the brutes back home.”

Cregan laughed at that, a good hearty laugh. “Is your opinion of Northmen truly so low?”

You felt heat begin to creep into your face once again. “I- I meant no offense, my Lord. The men I speak of are nothing like you.” You were too nervous to be sure, but you were quite certain it was a look of amusement now on Cregan’s face.

“Are they not? I am a man of the North, born and raised. What could possibly save me from your damning opinion?” he teased, but you sensed he truly wished to hear the answer.

“Well,” you sighed as you fiddled with tendrils of your hair, “They are not nearly as handsome, and not one of them has ever made me laugh the way your jests have. And they are unkind, inhumane. They regard me as no more than an object, something to be enjoyed as one enjoys a feast. But you-” you cut yourself off, looking up to meet Cregan’s gaze. The look in his eyes was soft, hopeful even. 

“But I?” he insisted.

“But you are kind. Not only to me, but to your people. You are a rare man of honor, true honor. A man I feel safe with.” you finally said. If Cregan was moved by your confession he tried his best not to show it, his gaze fixed on the ground as if lost in thought. You decided to make yourself busy with the fur covers on the bed. Cregan stood up to help. 

“My Lady, please have the bed.” he said, his voice scratchy from the cool winter air. “I will arrange my furs on the floor.” Your eyes widened at that, your hand reaching up to clutch your heart incredulously.

“Nonsense, I cannot allow you to sleep on the floor when there is a perfectly fine bed large enough for the two of us!” 

Cregan made an effort to suppress his smile, but it was not enough. “Are you absolutely sure? I only wish for you to be comfortable.” he insisted.

“Certainly.” you assured him, allowing your hand to rest gently on his chest. You tried not to focus on the beat of his heart beneath your icy palm. He wasted no time in taking it in his own hands and bringing it to his lips, the gesture awakening butterflies in your stomach. 

You gently stepped away to your side of the bed, slipping in and doing your best to stay on the edge of the bed. You felt the mattress dip where Cregan did the same on the other end. You ensured you were both back to back with room to spare between you. You tried to drown out the thoughts you were having about the Lord of Winterfell as you drifted off to sleep.

It wasn’t until the first rays of dawn began to pour into the chambers that your eyes began to flutter. You were so accustomed to sleeping alone, you didn’t know what to make of the presence you sensed so close to you. Only then did the memories of last night come back to you, and you looked down to your abdomen to find Cregan Stark’s large paw of a hand resting there. You glanced over your shoulder, feeling the warmth of his breath hit the back of your neck. He had pulled you flush against him in his sleep, and it seemed you had done little in protest. The butterflies in your stomach returned as you let your eyes close again and leaned into Lord Stark’s embrace, impatient to continue your journey on the Kingsroad.

tagging: @velvetcloxds @oweninadaydream @spxllcxstxr @lovemesomevesey @shemisseshome @themissgreen24-blog @siriusement @kindgomzeldaquest @gayfordabae @slayis4ever

[gremlingottoosilly]

hi!!! Hope today is treating u good

I was thinking about your ask about the monster141 and readers hobbies, and how gaz tries to be your favorite

In that group dynamic, what would happen if reader started having a favorite? Whether by accident or she just happens to get along with one of them more than the others, how does the 141 pack deal with that?

And even more evil...what if reader was doing it on purpose? Even if she's not being honest about her "favorite" she likes to make them mad/jealous to get what she wants ?

Anyway just wanted to present the thought, please don't stress about answering ❤️

Take care!

Smart reader!! Hehehe!!! Ouf of everyone, Gaz and Soap are the ones with a RAGING praise kink. they might be cocky as hell and receive a lot of praise from the higher-ups, but they still want to get it from you too, their pretty little petmate. They love getting together with you, and they would definitely fight for your attention - especially since, being from a grounded and elevated species, they can give you things that no other duo could. Gaz drags you on the most beautiful flights, while Soap is the softest guy for nesting - they know that you will pick up one eventually, and, despite them being very smart in their military fields, they end up falling for your game...Kyle could be more cunning than anyone else in the pack, but he would still give you the moon and the stars if you would as much as to just give him a bit more attention...and Soap would allow you to go out if you just scratch him behind his ear and call him a good boy. If you ended up liking Gaz more, Soap is the one who is dragging you out, allowing you to walk without a leash and enjoy (somewhat) freedom. If you like Soap more, then Gaz will bring you whole pounds of golden jewelry, of shiny gifts - from candies to little rings. You can play with them for so long, preferring one over the other when it's convenient, but... Oh, neither Price or Ghost are having it. if they can see that you're just a smart little thing who is manipulating them, you'd get a spanking of your life. Price forces you out of every gift you have, making you sleep in a tiny and uncomfortable bed along with other communal pets in the compound - if you want to be a dumb girlie who can't understand what privileges she has as their wife, you might as well see how others are doing. You wouldn't survive a week without fancy fabrics and pretty gifts - and without your favorite snacks, of course. If you're ready to apologize and stop playing favorites, Ghost could sneak up at night and...cool you down before you're finally caving in and begging Price to let you return. As a punishment, you'd lose all of your free roaming privileges - a pretty dumb pet should know her place, and so you are nothing but a little breeding mare for a few weeks - your pussy being pounded by all four of them until the seed takes and you're fucked out dumb, so you'll never pull a scheme like this again.

[louisupdates]

louiespt Algumas fotos que tirei hoje ao Louis, no aeroporto do Porto!!

Ainda nem consigo acreditar que estive tão perto da pessoa que mais amo neste mundo... Está difícil manter a postura 😭😭

-

louiespt Some photos I took of Louis today, at Porto airport!!

I still can't believe I was so close to the person I love most in this world... It's hard to maintain my posture 😭😭

Louis Tomlinson meets fans ahead of the MEO Mares Vivas Festival [20.7.2024]

[ladytesla]

Cowboy Halsin

I saw @aerynwrites musing about how Halsin would be as a cowboy or rancher. I thought I'd throw in my two cents, since I live on a farm myself.

There's more to it than just seeing Halsin speaking softly to horses, as awesome a sight as that would be. There's more to living out in the country than horses, believe me. This kind of morphed into Country Halsin and not Cowboy Halsin, but I hope y'all like it anyway. Let's go through a day in the life, shall we?

Halsin would probably be up before dawn, kissing your cheek before getting out of bed as carefully as possible, trying not to wake you. You have your own goals to accomplish today, he wants to let you wake up on your own.

Besides, he loves the stillness just before the sun rises. The nocturnal creatures are seeking their nests and burrows, the diurnal ones have yet to wake. This solitary commune with nature is one of the highlights of his day, listening to the wind in the leaves, the crickets and the frogs. It is a very referent time of morning that seems to stretch for ages and at the same time end far too soon.

As he reaches the barn, the day officially begins. Animals need to be fed. Mostly they graze in the pasture, but some need special treatment. An old swaybacked mare needs a little something extra to keep her weight up. Maybe there's a colt who managed to hurt himself somehow, and the wound needs to be tended to. Maybe it's cold outside, so he throws out alfalfa with the hay. Alfalfa is also called 'hot hay' because it raises an animal's body temperature, which is a great trick for winter.

He speaks to the horses as he works, maybe fondly berating the colt for being so clumsy in his excitement, or encouraging the mare to eat everything he's set out for her, smoothing a large hand down her side and smiling to himself when he feels her ribs much more faintly than he used to. One of the horses who is usually waiting in the mornings isn't there... that's a bit odd. He'll turn up eventually. The chickens milling around outside have heard his voice and know The One Who Feeds Them has arrived, so they peek around and wander into the barn themselves, waiting very impatiently. The goats in another small paddock nearby are just as impatient. They start yelling and bleating as if they're starving to death and He Is A Cruel And Unjust Father And They Are Going To Scream.

He likes hearing the chickens chatter as he scatters out feed for them. They don't have anything of real importance to say, but they never stop talking. Mostly it's "Food! Food! Food! Bug? Food! Scratch. Peck. Scratch. Bug!" in a dozen warbling little voices. He brought a bag of veggie scraps from last night's dinner with him to throw to the goats, which stops them yelling. "I don't think the neighbors heard you yet," he would say dryly as he throws hay to them as well. Sometimes they headbutt each other for access to the best morsels, and while he wants to prevent this to keep anyone from getting injured, he knows it's in their nature. He keeps an eye on the smallest and oldest, however, making sure they get their fair share. The twin kids born last week toddle after their mother like baby ducks. It seems like she has enough milk for both of them, though he still has powdered formula and bottles from the last kidding season, just in case they're needed once more.

Now that everyone's been fed, it's time to walk the fences, looking for that missing horse in the process. A lesser known but very important job when it comes to country life. Any breaks could not only let animals out, but predators in. He'd keep an eye out for signs of predators nearby. He hasn't seen any today, but he heard coyotes crying out in the darkness the night before. By this time of morning, though, he has company. You've made your appearance, bleary-eyed and handing him an insulated cup of coffee. You're already on your second.

The fog from earlier hasn't been burned off completely by the sun yet. It's a quiet time for the two of you to walk the property lines together. Halsin is a bit concerned about that horse. He hasn't shown up yet. Soon, though, he sees a silhouette in the last bits of fog, and sighs with relief. The horse isn't lying down from illness, he's just... trapped. The two of you look at this big strong chestnut gelding, eyes rolling and sides heaving, barricaded in the corner of the pasture because... there's a rabbit in the way. A fat little gray-brown bunny, nibbling delicately at the grass without a care in the world. Truly a terrifying sight to behold.

"Arthur we've spoken about this," Halsin sighs as he walks closer to the horse. "Rabbits can't hurt you. They eat plants, and they're tiny. Look!"

Still, Arthur isn't convinced. Halsin soothes him, stroking his nose and smiling to himself at the absurdity of it.

"My heart," he glances to you, "please convince our visitor to release Arthur."

You smile as you shuffle closer to the rabbit, gently shooing it back through the fence. Now that Arthur is out of mortal peril, he happily walks off towards the barn.

"They're majestic creatures," Halsin admits, "but sometimes..." He shakes his head, then keeps walking the fence. "Come on, my love... we're only halfway."

~~~

A round bale is delivered around lunchtime. The thing is as tall as you and just as wide and weighs an ungodly amount. But it needs to go out into the pasture somehow. Moving a round bale is a two-person job. Your job is to hold the gate open and keep the curious horses at bay... and to watch as Halsin, sleeves rolled up and muscles bulging, easily rolls it into the paddock as though it weighs nothing. He barely has time to set the feeder ring around it before the horses are nosing greedily at the fresh hay.

"I wish I could help more," you say as you close the gate.

"You help plenty," he replies, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Besides..." There's a faint glint of mischief in his eyes. "I've flattered myself into thinking you like to watch."

You grin and say he's being ridiculous, but you both know the truth.

~~~

As active a man as he is, Halsin isn't content to spend the heat of the day indoors. There are still so many things to be done. Bird feeders to fill. Eggs to collect from the chickens. The vegetable garden to water and weed. Water troughs to top up. Finally, there's a little time to take a break. Sometimes you have other things on your schedule, but today you decide to join him. The two of you find a shady spot under a tree and settle in with a book, some whittling, perhaps a snack, and you let yourselves get lost in nature. The afternoon sounds are different from the early morning ones. There are no crickets or frogs, no reverent stillness. Now there are raucous little songbirds fighting over birdseed, the chatter of a squirrel, the crow of the rooster, maybe even the far-off braying of a neighbor's donkey a quarter mile away. The windchimes you hung from the back porch. And underneath it all, the wind humming in the trees. Halsin leans back against the rough bark of the tree, closes his eyes, and feels the undercurrent of life running through all things. You can't help but admire the sheer expression of peace and happiness on his face, and set your little diversions aside to lean your head on his shoulder. His arm instictively wraps around you to pull you closer against him, and you enjoy simply existing as part of nature for a while.

~~~

The sun is about to set, casting mile-long shadows and lighting up the fields like gold. It's nearing time to go inside and help make dinner. But first the old mare and the colt need to be tended to once more. Another helping of special feed for the mare, sequestering her in her stall so that she can eat in peace without a certain someone (whose name may or may not be Arthur} attempting to share. The colt's wound is healing nicely, and Halsin digs in his pocket for a cookie in exchange for the colt standing still enough to be treated. He tosses another cookie to Arthur who protests that he too needs special food because he is a special boy.

He comes inside to clean up and help with dinner. He'll need to go back out in an hour or so to let the mare out of her stall, but in the meantime he's happy to be in your company as you maneuver around each other in the kitchen. If you're cooking, it may be a bit difficult with those big arms around you from behind. The two of you have been busy all day, and now that you're done with your work, he has decided to make things a little difficult.

"Love, please, I need to get to the spice cabinet." "I can reach it just fine. Tell me what you need."

"Halsin, I can't work with you right behind me like this!" "I fail to see how this is a problem, my heart. I'm having a wonderful time."

Halsin is normally a mild-mannered type, but his sense of humor sneaks out in sly ways from time to time. At least he hasn't broken out the horrible puns yet. And you have to admit, it's nice to be able to feel his deep voice resonate against your back.

Halsin is ready to sleep when it's time for bed (as long as you are too, of course. He's always up for 'extracurricular activities' if the mood is right). "We did well today, my heart," he says quietly in the darkness, pulling you close. "Pleasant dreams." He can hear the faint sounds of frogs and crickets outside your window, and that coupled with your soft breathing is enough to lull him into a deep sleep.

Was it a long day full of hard work? Yes.

Would he trade away any of it? Never.

[unreliablesnake]

High

Note: This... I don't even know what this is. I'm gonna start a series with a reader whose code name is "Mare" (as in the creature that causes nightmares), an interrogator at Shadow Company who joins the 141.

Warnings: afab!reader, oral (f receiving), thoughts about masturbating. MINORS DNI!!!

Someone told him you were on the Shadows' plane, looking for something you had left there. Ghost nodded, already walking towards it when the man he just talked to said something he didn't quite catch. He walked up the ramp, but soon came to a halt when his ears picked up a strange sound.

The lustful moans of a woman.

Moving on quietly, he tried to find the source of the noise out of curiosity. And sure enough, there you were, sitting on a metal table with a man's head nested between your thighs. Head thrown back, eyes closed, you were panting heavily and buried your fingers in the guy's hair, keeping him close to yourself.

"Bloody hell," he muttered to himself before turning around to leave. He shouldn't stick around to watch the scene. As beautiful as you looked in this state, this wasn't something for him.

Yet…

He felt his cock throb from the excitement he felt, the need to unzip his cargo pants to free his aching member and stroke himself as he listened to you clouding his judgment.

"Fuck, right there," you whimpered, out of breath.

Ghost thought about who this guy could be, and what Graves would have to say about two of his own having an affair. But whoever he was, he was surely skilled enough to make you feel this good, sending you up so high that the lieutenant wondered if you could ever come down.

After gulping, he decided to walk away, this time for real. He didn't want to hear you come, because that would surely send him into a spiral. It was already hard to think about anything other than fucking you himself, unknowingly challenging this guy to see who could give you the best orgasm of your life.

[lewmagoo]

Waking up to find your cowboy not in bed with you. His boots aren't by the door but you can see footprints in the freshly fallen snow outside. You follow them to the barn to see Rhett, asleep on a haybale wearing just his jacket. His flannel is now a nest for the barn cat's new kittens with another fleecy blanket added in for extra warmth.

rhett’s a tender soul. always has been. despite the fact that his father tried to quash that part of him, in an effort to “toughen him up”. rhett always kept that tender part of himself when it came to animals. he’s always had a special connection with them. with his mare, june, despite her stubborn tendencies. with the mysterious crow (affectionately named john) that follows him around every time he’s outside. with the cranky barn cat that tolerates only him. he’s the cowboy snow white, as you’ve lovingly dubbed him. there are always animals in his vicinity. he’s always been good about helping animals when they’re in distress. one time, he stayed up all night with june when she developed a sickness that required round the clock care. he nursed john the crow back to health when he injured his wing. he’s been known to raise orphaned baby squirrels and rabbits.

and then there’s the time that misty the cranky barn cat becomes pregnant. rhett watches over her carefully. it’s really a sight to behold. you’ve always loved watching him interact with animals. when you’re working in the stable or going on trail rides you’ll hear the way he talks to june, a low comforting rumble, communicating with her as if she understands every word he’s saying. you suspect she does. and of course there’s the way he’s so loving toward misty. she’ll always linger around his feet when he’s in the stable, and sometimes she’ll even climb up to sit on his shoulder. that happens less and less the more heavily pregnant she becomes. and then there comes the time when she’s going to give birth.

the closer the time gets, the more rhett checks on her throughout the day. and then, one morning, he slips out of bed early, leaving a lingering kiss to your forehead as you sleep peacefully, before he shoves his boots and jacket on and trudges out through the freshly fallen snow. that’s where he finds misty huddled in a corner of the stable, in the beginning stages of labor. he knows he can’t move her into the house, it would put her into distress. so he sets up camp in the barn. all he has is his flannel, so he shrugs out of it and allows misty to lay upon it. he’s a loving and gentle coach as she births her tiny little kittens, and once they come safely into the world, he tucks an extra blanket that he found in the tack room around the litter to keep them all warm as their mama gets settled around them. not wanting to leave her alone, he leans back against some stacked hay bales, but inevitably ends up falling asleep.

that’s where you find him an hour later. after waking up to an empty bed you head out to the stable to find him fast asleep, and there is misty the barn cat on the floor beside his feet, curled up with her new babies. it’s a precious sight, especially when you see he’s given up his shirt in order for misty to have a soft place to lay. you sit beside him on a hay bale and gently coax him awake. “rise and shine, cowboy,” you murmur. he stirs awake, and as he catches you looking at him, he smiles sleepily. “had t’ come help misty give birth,” he mumbles. “i see that,” you reply. “you make a great cat midwife.” he smirks at that. “thank y’. been practicin’ my whole life for this moment.” which is partly true. he’s been involved in plenty of animal births. “well, now that you’ve helped bring kittens into the world, how about some pancakes and coffee for breakfast? i’m sure midwifing made you work up an appetite.”

the promise of pancakes and coffee gets him up and out of his bed of hay, food motivated as he is. “don’t mind if i do,” he says as he pecks your lips. he still checks on misty throughout the day, and if the temperatures drop too low during the night, he will bring her and her babies inside to keep them warm. soon, your house is full of kittens. rhett is attached to each of them, even though he knows you can’t keep them all. before you find homes for each one, this is what he constantly looks like:

he gives one to amy. he keeps the rest, insisting that this is their home and he doesn’t want to uproot them from it. that’s how you end up having four barn cats. at least you can say you won’t ever have a mouse problem with them around 🤷‍♀️

(thank you @laracrofted for bringing up rhett covered in kittens because it’s awakened something i think)

[rococospade]

Shitpost courtesy of Eldy, who draws and paints gorgeous things when they aren’t making memes… and sometimes when they are

[friday411]

May Prompts - Jealousy

“We shall work the case out independently, and leave this fellow Jones to exult over any mare's-nest which he may choose to construct." ~ Sherlock Holmes, The Sign of the Four ✍️

"He is irregular in his methods, and a little quick perhaps in jumping at theories, but, on the whole, I think he would have made a most promising officer, and I don't care who knows it. ~ Athelney Jones, The Sign of the Four ✍️

Sherlock pursues cases zealously. Watson writes them with fidelity. They both reach their goals And everyone knows Lestrade is consumed by jealousy.

-=<+>=-

Holmes is in his ascendancy. Watson's secured his legacy. Jealousy from the Yard They always disregard Athelney Jones especially.

----- See them all on AO3 ----

Thanks for reading, reposting & leaving the love!

Tags in the comments as well. Please LMK if you want on or off the list! @stellacartography @totallysilvergirl @calaisreno @keirgreeneyes @peanitbear @ghostofnuggetspast

[themaresnest-dumblr]

‘And it's so damn cold it's just not true ...’

Don’t you just love days that are so f**king cold outside, you can warm your hands (which were in gloves) when you come back in just by sticking them in the fridge?

[rosewaterandivy]

i. keep the embers blowing

summary: family lore and a new resident to your small seaside town.

pairing: s.h. x witch!reader

w.c.: 2.4k

warnings: my blog is 18+ MDNI; vague allusions to magic and the like, carpenter & flannel-wearing Steve, and a meet-cute

a/n: she finishes one series only to begin another! Oy vey. Hope you like, and if you do - let me know!

Nota bene: Reblogging, commenting, and liking my work is always appreciated! Reposting, however, is not. Enjoy! 💜

Series Masterlist | Playlist | Currently spinning:

For nearly three hundred years, the Callahan women were blamed for everything that went wrong in town. A summer drought and a ruined harvest, a mare and colt lost while she was in foal, a long winter, an outbreak of chicken pox— it didn’t matter if such phenomena could be explained by science or logic, it all ended up with the Callahans as personae non gratae.

Inside the white, two-storey house at the end of the Willow Lane lived an orphaned girl grown into a woman under her aunt’s guiding hands; Kelly and Moira never had children of their own, and when you turned up on their doorstep that fateful day, they welcomed you with open arms and never even batted an eye. In time, they would tell you of the curse that took your father from you and left your mother to die of a broken heart.

Childhood, for you, was filled with a series of small slights and mortifications. No one would touch a pencil or crayon if it was held by you. No one sat with you in the lunchroom. Teachers and parents regarded you with a silent derision and did nothing to temper the taunts of the other children. Boys looked at you like something to be conquered and girls feared you, not that it stymied any of their mean girl behavior.

“Fuck ‘em all,” Kelly would say, throwing more cayenne into the vegetarian chili on the stove. “You’re better off without them, sweets.”

A mantra that sustained you from that day forward.

Sailing through high school to graduate at the top of your class, you fully intended to attend a prestigious university on a full-ride scholarship. The aunts encouraged you to fly the nest and chase your dreams— but then Moira fell sick. You deferred your enrollment for a year, which turned into two and eventually the scholarship was awarded to someone else. Moira’s care fell to you and Kelly, tag-teaming on chauffeur duty and going to doctor’s appointments.

You worked odd jobs around town, entirely dependent on the few townsfolk that would hire you— an abjectly miserable situation. Save for the twist of fate that brought Tracy your way. One day, Moira and Kelly sat you down in front of a large, dusty tome. Sputtering a cough, you batted at the dust motes floating in front of you.

“This,” Kelly said, sliding the book toward you, “Is the family grimoire.”

“It’s well past time you were told, dear heart,” Moira added, with a kind smile.

Tentatively, you brushed a finger against the worn cover of the grimoire tracing the looping ‘C’ of your last name, the gold embossing as bright as if it was newly pressed. They regaled you with the tales of your ancestors, Mary who built this house and worked the curse out of heartbreak and desperation, Sybil who worked the people of the town into an uneasy truce— supplying women with love spells and fertility potions, all the way up to your mother, who fell in love despite knowing the dangers and brought you into the world.

It wasn’t as if they had kept magic from you, far from it, in fact. Kelly and Moira kept up Sybil’s business, as the generations of Callahans before them had. Some years, business was better than others— but the aunts were crafty and seemingly always had something saved for a rainy day. Aside from one small spell in your childhood, you’d simply never expressed an interest in learning the craft. Not wanting to push you, they’d never pressed the issue and assumed you would come to them when, and if, you pleased.

“You were spellbound when you came to us,” Moira says sadly, “Your mother’s handiwork.”

“A bitch and a half to undo,” Kelly adds, taking a long sip from her wine. “You’re free as a bird now though.”

“You showed great promise when you were younger,” Moira smiles, “And I hope we’re not too remiss in beginning your education now.”

She pushes a creased piece of paper your way. You unfold it carefully, the overwhelming scent of cotton blossom and denim invading your nostrils. Reading over your tween-age loopy script in gel pen, a smile blooms on your face.

He will hear my call miles away. He’ll whistle my favorite tune. He always checks his blind spot. He can flip pancakes in the air. He’ll be marvellously kind. He’ll let me map constellations on his skin. His eyes will be as warm as honey and glinting like emeralds.

“What is this?”

Kelly smiles knowingly, “Your half-assed attempt at Amas Veritas.” She plucks the paper from your lax grasp, “If I remember correctly, you were under the impression that if you dreamed up a guy who couldn’t possibly exist, then you wouldn’t be hurt.”

“That the curse would end with me.” Your voice is hushed, recalling how naively you hoped all those years ago. “So, why now?”

It was Moira who answered you with a mischievous grin, “Well, my dear, why not?”

That was a decade ago. In that time, Moira had recovered from her illness, and together with Kelly, they had molded you into quite the talented witch. And after putting yourself through college, you’d opened a shop downtown— Bell, Book, & Candle. Your clientele ranged from tourists to townies and even your childhood tormentors. In time, the Callahan curse had faded from a vindictive tool used by school-yard bullies or "good families" with something to prove, to merely a piece of local lore— In a bind? See the Callahan girl at her shop or take the bluestone path to the back of the old white house on Willow Lane and knock twice on the whitewashed backdoor.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Tracy called from the tea shelves where she perched on a rolling ladder on the wall. “But we’re completely out of the Assam tea for Mrs. Collins’ Irish Breakfast blend and she’s already called twice about it.” She unceremoniously shoves the empty container back on the shelf and propels herself down to the register.

Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, you sigh and search for a pencil in your haphazard topknot. “I’ve called our supplier and he swears it was sent in the current replen.” Finding a pencil, you make a note in the fliofax as your hair cascades down past your shoulders. With another sigh, you finished jotting down necessities. “I trust Frank when he says it was shipped, but we normally don’t have these delays before the first snow of the year.” You glance up to see Tracy shrug. “I’ll make a trip down there sometime this week,” you conclude as the front door chimes.

Several customers poured in as Tracy greeted them, “Welcome in! What can we help you with today?” You went back to the paperwork as the customers dispersed across the store. You could hear Tracy in her conversation with someone about the latest town gossip. (“Are you sure it was the Blakely house? Holy hell!”) You shook your head and smiled, that will spread across town like wildfire in no time, you muse. Busying yourself with tidying the cash wrap, you notice a customer ready to check out.

“I don’t know how you do it!” The newly married Mrs. Smith gushed, “I always walk in here thinking I won’t need anything and I come out with a treasure every time.” You smile politely and ring up her purchases. Pushing the memory of her shouting at you, as you cowered behind Kelly, She started it!

“Well, you’re walking away with some of my favorites,” you say. “I found these scarves when I was in Milan, aren’t they lovely?” Carefully wrapping the scarves, candles, and salve, you continue with the small talk. “With the salve,” you say seriously, “Use it on your lower abdominal area, no more than twice a day.”

Mrs. Smith nodded, mentally making a note. “I can always call you if I have questions, right?”

You nod, “Of course, that’s what I’m here for! Your total comes to 45 dollars today.”

Mrs. Smith paid for her purchases and thanked you and Tracy as she left the store. Tracy eyes you warily, “Was that the salve I think it was?”

Rolling your eyes and stepping out from behind the counter, you laugh, “I think you know the answer to that.”

Tracy scoffs, “God! The last thing this town needs is more kids, damn it Callahan.”

A wind blew softly through the trees, resplendent in their golden yellow hues. A black lab padded among the pine needles while a steady crack sounded down the street. Further up the lane, a young man was bent over to split firewood. His maul slung over his shoulder as he stood to wipe his brow. The weather hadn’t yet turned its frosty shoulder as it was still early in the season, but, nevertheless, preparations must be made.

Turning back to his task, he set a block of wood down on a stump and took a step back. As he was about to begin again, he noticed a car turning toward the Callahan house. Brows furrowed, he placed his maul down and let out a clear whistle, “Lucy!” Ears perked, the dog bounded up from the glen to his side. With a smile, he gave her a nice head scritch and watched as a Subaru ambled up the drive to the white house at the end of the lane.

Later, after a motor-mouth blonde and lean brunet had arrived, the town’s newest resident stepped out for a stroll. Throwing on a flannel to combat the early evening’s chill, he poked his head into the kitchen.

“Lucy’s been fed and walked Rob,” he says to the woman at the stovetop. “Don’t let her fool you.”

She turns with a bemused smile, “I know Steve, s’not like I was born yesterday.”

“Same goes for Eds,” he concludes with a nod before slipping out the door.

Just as you and Tracy were making closing preparations, the bell on the door chimed and a pink-cheeked brunet man walked in. Tracy, eyeing the stranger up and down, let out a low wolf whistle as you jabbed her in the side.

“Hi, welcome in!” You greeted, giving Tracy the eye while she petulantly rubbed at her side. “Is there anything, in particular, I can help you with today?”

The stranger made eye contact with you, his eyes a lovely shade of hazel, and smiled. “Actually, I think I’m looking for you.” He took a step toward her, “Callahan, right?” Tracy snorted and turned to busy herself with something.

You hesitated, never having seen this man in your life, “Um, yes?” You held out your hand to shake, “And you are?” His hand met yours, igniting a tingle at the base of your spine— a firm shake of the hand, his skin surprisingly warm.

“Steve, Steve Harrington. I just bought the property down the way from yours.” His hands were rough, he probably worked with them a lot. He smelled of freshly split wood, towing in a cloud of a pleasant, sappy aroma— warm and inviting.

You dropped hands and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, “Oh, I think I heard something about that. Well, congratulations! It’s a lovely property.”

He nodded in agreement and surveyed the store and its proprietor. You were casual in blue jeans and brown leather boots, paired with a light sweater. Hair slightly wavy and a lovely shade. Soft and feminine features, but your energy radiated strength.

“Yeah, well,” Steve cleared his throat, “I’m really excited to have a place by the water now.”

You smiled, “No place I’d rather be.” Steve, huh? You tried to place him, he seemed so familiar, and yet…

He definitely wasn’t a beach bum, he lacked the sloping posture. Maybe he was one of those rich summer vacationers? “Well, if you need anything please, don’t hesitate to ask!” Glancing around, you hoped to find Tracy, but she had made herself scarce. Damn.

Steve mused a minute before speaking, “Thanks, think I’ll just browse around for now.”

Robin had sent him out with strict instructions and a list— myrtle, myrrh, a tea of some kind, and then, of course, Eddie had chocked in his items as well: devil’s nettle, a very specific type of coffee bean, along with a few other odds and ends.

Luckily, he could find most of the items with practiced ease and sauntered back to the counter. Making idle chit-chat, you rang up the purchase and recommended a few local cafes and stores for his consideration.

“So, what brings you to our neck of the woods?”

“Oh, me?” He smiles as you bag up the purchases, “I’m just some guy with a carpentry business.” Passing the bag to him along with a receipt he thanks you and turns to leave, but not before sliding a card on the counter that reads: ‘H & M Design and Construction: REMODELS, DRYWALL, CARPENTRY, PAINTING, INSTALLATION, ELECTRICAL, REPAIR - WE FIX THINGS.’

Before the bell can chime to signal his leave, he glances to the built-in bookshelves gracing one wall of the store, ladder docked near the register where Tracy left it.

“Your teak could do with a good oiling,” he nods to the built-ins in questions, “Think about it.” And stepped out of the store with a wave, into the indigo night.

Tracy, seemingly coming from nowhere, wore the contented grin of a cat who caught the canary. “Babe,” she said sweetly, “Do you have any idea who that was?”

Distracted by reorganizing the front of the store, you shrugged, “Said his name was Steve, just bought the old Blakely property.”

Tracy hummed and busied herself with tallying up the till eyes falling to the cream-colored business card. She pocketed it, making a mental note to call for an estimate for the store later that week.

In the early morning, a cool breeze swept through the open second-floor window of the Callahan house. Quilts half on the floor, you shiver slightly and roll on to your side throwing an arm over your eyes. All was silent. The moonlight illuminated the photo of your late mother. The woman appeared to smile graciously at the photographer, her husband and your father. A slight breeze too swept through the photograph; the older woman laughed warmly.

This breeze continued down the to the old Blakely house. A picture window was opened slightly for the wind to slip through. Steve, dozing on the couch with a blanket half covering his torso, sighed in his sleep. The sea air was doing him some good. The breeze tousled his hair before it gracefully dissipated.

Unbeknownst to the two residents in the realm of dreams, a change was carried on that breeze. Slow and gradual, but still a change. It was coming swiftly and with intent. Just as a mother once promised her daughter it would.

[monstersandmaw]

Laces for a Lady - 18th century, poly, shifters x human romance - Chapter Five (sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me. 

Here's chapter five! I've been blown away by your reaction and love for this story so far, and the fact that I've got two lots of fan art out of it as well has just totally humbled me. Thank you! You can find them here and here, by the way, as well as my own doodles of Locryn and Ned.

Anyway, here we have the Harvest Festival Dance, where all bets are off, and there's some angst and a sprinkling of drama for some *spice*...

Wordcount: 4203

Part One (sfw), Part Two (sfw), Part Three (sfw), Part Four (sfw)

The night of the Lammas Festival dance ticked around in no time, and even though the focus of the festivities was the great barn and the yard outside, the whole of Heath Top House itself came alive.

The staff spent the entire day scouring the stone floor of the barn and setting out the long tables in the barn and preparing the feast, while Winnie and Nel tried not to get in their way while weaving and hanging decorative wreaths and festoons along the walls, and tying ribbons in bows on the huge doors.

As promised, Aggie had come to the house a few days before to teach the two ladies how to weave the traditional corn dollies, or Nests as they were called in these parts, much to Nel’s confusion. Her own hadn’t turned out too bad, despite her lack of skill with an embroidery needle, while Winnie’s was decidedly lumpy and misshapen. Still, they laughed and hung them in pride of place in the drawing room window, and Aggie had even managed a kind word about their efforts while gossipping about everyone in the village.

“Little Betsie Carne is going to get a proposal from Arthur, you can count on that, and Meg has been leading poor Jack on something dreadful. If he can get a word out without turning red as an autumn apple to ask her to dance on Lammas night, I’ll eat this whole Neck with gravy and turnips!” she cackled, waving her own intricate corn dolly at them like a cook with a wooden spoon while they all laughed.

Nel refrained from asking about whether Edmund Nancarrow or Locryn Trevethan would be seen with anyone, though she was curious if the older woman had noticed their seemingly obvious adoration for one another. Perhaps it was one of those things that everyone knew about and simply didn’t mention in case it brought unwanted attention down on them, much like the smuggling and Free Trade in the area. Nel was not one to rock the proverbial boat, and kept her focus on the plaited strand of corn in her fingers, all the while remembering the way Locryn had crowded close to Edmund on the quayside and the sound of his smouldering voice as he’d growled soft endearments at him under his breath.

On the night of the dance itself, the trestle tables in the barn stretched all the way down its length, and were flanked by long benches for seating, and the stall doors of the stables along the edges of the barn each sported a different wreath and a coloured ribbon.

Blackthorn immediately ate the enormous sunflower that had been at the top of her wreath with great relish, and Nel fell about laughing while the black mare blithely scattered yellow petals all over the floor while Winnie looked honestly heartbroken. The stable hand nearby chuckled too, and Nel moved the remainder of the wreath to a spot where Blackthorn’s pincer teeth couldn't reach.

As dusk fell and the lanterns were lit around the yard and in the barn, Nel continued to help the staff where she could until Winnie emerged and called her name into the dying afternoon. It was so unlike her that Nel nearly dropped the basket of hazelnuts she’d been carrying. Liddy, a kitchen servant, gently took it from her and chirped, “Best see what she wants, Miss Nel.”

The slight glow of affection that she felt whenever the household called her ‘Miss Nel’ instead of ‘Miss Bywater’ or even ‘Miss Eleanor’ hadn’t faded since she’d first heard them start it up, and she offered Liddy a quick smile and her thanks as she handed the basket over and scuttled over to Winnie on the threshold of the manor house.

Winnie laughed and dragged her by the wrist through the house as though they were both barely fourteen, not twenty-five and thirty. “Come on! The guests will start arriving any minute and you’re still wearing that horrible brown dress! And it’ll take me at least an hour to style your hair properly…”

In the end, her hair only took twenty minutes, though that was more because Nel’s wild tresses refused to be properly curled and even Winnie simply gave up, but it was a good couple of hours before they were both fully dressed and ready, and dusk had well and truly fallen outside.

Winnie led her arm-in-arm across the hallway to the front door of the hall, where her father and mother in law were standing and smiling. “You both look beautiful,” Lady Mary said, speaking first to Winnie but surprising Nel by including the young woman in her gaze too.

“Shall we go?” Lady Mary asked her husband, who nodded and a servant opened the door for them.

Nel’s breath caught when she saw how the staff had finished off the decorations, with lamps settled on the ground all around the courtyard, candles glinting within them, and festoons of foliage and flowers around the edges of the open space. The shrill piping of a tin whistle and the steady, heartbeat rhythm of a drum kept a leaping fiddle carefully in time as the music rose above the chatter and laughter in the barn beyond, and she walked with Winnie towards the celebrations that were already kicking off by the sound of things.

Nel recognised many of the faces from the farm and estate workers, as well as a few from the village, and she caught Agatha’s eye as the old woman beamed at her while laughing with the man beside her. Nel grinned at her and slipped away from Winnie to hug the woman.

“Dearie, you look right lovely,” Agatha said as she released her and gazed up and down at her embroidered green dress. “Doesn’t she, Martin?” she asked, and her husband nodded enthusiastically.

They glanced around the great barn and smiled at the sight of all the horses poking their noses over their stall doors, clearly wondering what the fuss was all about. Blackthorn had a piece of hay in her dark forelock, and Nel had just thought about going over to pick it out for her when Lord Penrose cleared his throat and tapped a knife against the edge of his glass, calling for silence.

Although he wasn’t as popular with the local folk as Winnie herself was, people fell silent quickly to listen to him. Just as he opened his mouth to begin, however, one of the carthorses near the back of the barn broke wind and let rip an enormous noise that made everyone go completely still and then burst out laughing. Once one person started, the cacophony rose and people slapped the table and guffawed, and even Blackthorn joined in with a shrill neigh of her own before things eventually sputtered back to quiet.

Nel covered her mouth with her hand and turned her face into Agatha’s shoulder, still shaking with silent laughter, but just as she shut her eyes, she saw Edmund Nancarrow standing nearby, biting his own lips together to keep from laughing. When their gaze met, it was all over for Nel and she whickered out a shuddering breath that was just the right side of decent to escape Lord Penrose’s attention as everyone else gained control of themselves.

“Yes, well… quite,” the older man chirped around a tight smile of his own. “Well, after such a crude reminder from Old Flint there for me to keep things brief, I would just like to thank all of you for your hard work and dedication this year. I believe this was a record harvest for us, and I hope you know how valued you all are as my tenants. None of this would be possible without your daily hard work. Providing a feast like this is a truly inadequate way of thanking you, but I hope you enjoy it all the same. Please…”

And with a gesture and a wordless toast, he raised his glass and everyone cheered.

Nel glanced back at Edmund, who was then looking in the other direction and speaking to a young woman in a dark blue dress, so Nel used the brief opportunity to take in the slender lines of his body in the wine red coat he wore. Angular and handsome, he was quick to laugh, and he ducked his head shyly as he ushered his companion forward ahead of him to the trestle table to help herself before him.

The motion left him standing alone, and Nel slipped free of Agatha to join him.

He watched her approach and bowed his head as she joined him. “Miss Bywater,” he said in his quiet tenor.

“Mr. Nancarrow,” she said. “Old Flint got things off to a good start,” she giggled, and Edmund snickered like a schoolboy again.

 She could see an endless well of mirth in the depths of his brown eyes and didn’t trust herself not to laugh along with him if he started up again in earnest.

“And here I thought it was going to be my dear Blackthorn causing all the trouble,” she went on, nodding at the black mare as she popped her head curiously over her stable and sniffed curiously at the tankard of cider someone was holding in their hand while talking and facing in the opposite direction. “She’s a bit of a menace, but she’s a sweetheart too.”

Edmund looked very much as though he wanted to talk, to say something in response, but perhaps his innate shyness got in the way and he just swallowed thickly and he smiled one of those devastating, dimpled smiles instead.

“No Locryn tonight?” she asked quietly, and he smiled to show he wasn’t anxious about the topic.

“He said he might come later,” he said. “He doesn’t tend to have much to do with the village, even at big events like this one.” He finished the statement with another bashful smile that lit him up from the inside out, and she fought down a wave of selfish jealousy; she would have been lying if she’d said she didn’t want someone to smile like that at the thought of her.

“Can’t say I imagine him being overly comfortable at a gathering like this,” she ventured, and Edmund snorted.

“No. It’s a shame though,” he added with a glance at the musicians near the back of the barn. “He loves music.”

“Let’s hope he shows up then,” she said. “I’ve been to my fair share of gatherings and balls in London, but this is already ten times more fun.”

A hand at her elbow made her start and she looked round just as Winnie giggled and squeezed her arm. “There you are,” she said, and then her eyes fell on Edmund and her smile grew. “Oh.”

She clearly recognised him, but didn’t know his name, so Nel turned and said, “Winnie, this is Mr. Edmund Nancarrow. He is assistant to Mr. Fordyce.”

“Oh, a tailor!” she beamed, with a rosy flush in her cheeks. “How talented! You must never, ever be allowed to see my embroidery, Mr. Nancarrow,” she said with the perfect sincerity of the very tipsy. “Nel’s isn’t much better though. Dreadful, actually, but you didn't hear it from me.”

Nel gave a laugh through her nose and began to steer Winnie towards the table, and towards a glass of water. With a look back over her shoulder, she said to Edmund, “Will you excuse us before Winnie drops any more embarrassing truths about my shortcomings? Give her another glass of Mr. Meddlar’s cider, and she’ll be telling everyone how bad I am at the fortepiano too. At least I can speak French to a passable degree. Come on, Winnie…”

Edmund was smiling again as if she’d told him the world’s funniest secret, and when the young woman who’d been with him earlier joined and immediately led him away by the elbow with the air of a close friend who needs to know every detail of recent events, he shook his head fondly and indulged her.

Nel lost track of him after that. She and Winnie sat down together near the head of the table to enjoy the glorious roast beef and pork pie and boiled vegetables that had been prepared for the feast.

“Who was that young man you were talking to?” Winnie asked about an hour into the festivities, having soaked up a little of the cider with some supper. “He was rather handsome…”

Shaking her head, Nel reached for her own wine glass and sipped from it. “His name is Edmund Nancarrow. He’s Mr. Fordyce’s assistant.”

“You told me that,” Winnie said flatly. “That wasn’t what I meant. You seemed…”

“Don’t,” she sighed, and whatever bitter, sad undertone carried in the single word, Winnie caught it and let the matter lie.

Instead, the young widow closed her hand around Nel’s forearm and leaned in close. “Make sure you dance with whomever you like tonight, mmm? There are no rules at the Harvest Dance, and no one will think anything of whatever happens tonight.”

She didn’t reply, but she mulled her friend’s words over while they ate dessert, and when the merry drone of the bagpipes started up outside in the courtyard and the people began to line up, Nel followed Winnie and tried to take part as best she could. Nel had never danced most of the country dances they all seemed to know there though, and after embarrassing herself by stumbling through a few sets under Winnie’s rather chaotic directions on the fly, she slipped away and strolled along the barn towards Blackthorn’s stall, snagging an apple from the table on the way.

The horse whickered, low and warm when she opened the door and slipped inside the dark stall, and while the heat of the dancing faded a little from her cheeks, she stroked the mare’s velvet nose and fed her chunks of apple until it was all gone.

The mare’s ears pricked forwards suddenly and Nel turned to see Edmund slowly sinking down onto one of the long, empty benches outside the stall.

He had a tight expression of pain on his face and he seemed to be breathing carefully through the sharp discomfort in his leg with the practised pattern of someone who deals with chronic pain on a daily basis.

Aware that she was intruding on his privacy, she had just begun to turn back to the mare when she heard Edmund laugh quietly and she glanced over her shoulder again to see Locryn’s massive form sliding onto the bench beside him.

He wore an undyed linen shirt that was open a little at the neck, and simple brown trousers and boots, but somehow he had the presence of a lord in a great hall, and she found herself transfixed. He pulled Edmund against his side for a moment and then, from what she could see from her limited angle, he appeared to lay his big hand quietly on Edmund’s painful hip. After a few long, measured breaths, Edmund simply melted into his supportive touch, allowing the bulk of the bigger man to buttress him up entirely, and he half closed his eyes in the relative privacy of the shadowed barn.

The noises of dancing and merriment drifted down the empty table, over the abandoned plates and tankards, and for a time, everything stayed perfectly, timelessly still.

Nel hardly dared breathe, let alone turn around, in case her skirts dragged on the straw and disturbed the couple by alerting them to her presence.

Blackthorn scraped her hoof along the stall floor a few moments later, shattering the silence with the jarring sound, and she nudged at Nel’s hand for more apple. Using the shuffling of the horse to mask her own movements, she turned her back on the two men to breathe in the scent of the mare’s glossy coat.

She rubbed her cheek against the silky hair on Blackthorn’s neck and slowly buried her fingers in the dense, dark coat that was starting to grow as the year turned colder. Tears prickled hot around her eyes as she was struck starkly by the force of her loneliness, despite her friendship with Winnie. The sting of knowing she would probably never curl up with a man in bed, never feel his hand resting on her hip, never hear him sigh with pleasure or feel his lips brush over her neck, suddenly seemed all the sharper with the knowledge that just outside the stable were two people who meant the world to each other.

With a huge sigh, she pressed a kiss to Blackthorn’s neck and prepared to walk out with her head held at a dignified angle, politely ignoring Edmund and Locryn as she left and went back to the manor house for the night.

Instead, she turned around and found Locryn leaning his huge, bare forearms on the stable door immediately behind her, and nearly leapt out of her skin. How on earth he’d moved so silently, she couldn’t fathom.

He offered her a lopsided grin and opened the door for her as she approached. “Not hiding in there, are you, Miss?” he asked as he stepped back, and, comically, both Nel and the mare made to leave the stall together.

Nel turned around and glared pointedly at the horse, who tossed her head, snorted, and then promptly turned her quarters around and stuck her nose in the hay trough on the back wall without so much as a farewell nicker for the apple.  

“No?” Nel grimaced at Locryn, nodding her thanks as he secured the door behind her. “Truth be told, I got fed up with tripping over my own feet in dances I don’t really know, and I wanted to make sure Blackthorn didn’t feel too left out. You’re not dancing either, I take it?”

“Me?” he laughed, the oddly delighted sound carrying easily over the deserted table and echoing around the otherwise empty barn. “You think anyone wants to partner up with me?”

“Why ever wouldn't they?” she asked with a frown, stopping abruptly and staring up at him. He was nearly a foot taller than her, and so broad and muscular in the confines of the dimly-lit barn that he seemed almost like a giant out of a fairytale.

“You saying you would?” he countered, one thick, steel-grey eyebrow rising.

“I —” her gaze flickered to Edmund, who was sitting on the bench and watching the exchange with a wry twist to his lips that made his dark eyes glitter. “If I were halfway decent at dancing, and if you asked me, I might,” she told Locryn archly. “But I didn’t think you liked anyone else here enough to want to dance with them, let alone me.”

At that, a little of the playful laughter faded from his green eyes and he took half a step back. “Now why would you think I don’t like you, Miss?” he asked, arms folding across his chest. The movement pulled the fabric of his undyed shirt across his shoulders and accentuated the enormous muscles of his arms and chest, and she looked down at the ground before answering him. Some of the heat from her earlier dancing returned to her cheeks and refused to leave a second time.

“Well,” she mumbled, “For starters… you glowered at me something fierce the first time I came to Polgarrack, and you nearly knocked me flying off the cliff when you brought Mr. Nancarrow up from the sands. You didn't even check to see if you’d toppled me over the edge in your haste.”

“Forgive me for caring about —” he hissed and stopped himself from saying what Edmund truly meant to him and ground his teeth. “You weren’t in any danger,” he said with a clenched jaw.

“Perhaps not,” she conceded, “And you did redeem yourself somewhat by helping me onto Blackthorn afterwards.” The way his huge hand had lingered around her ankle joint had lived far longer in her mind than it had any right to. “Fine. Are you saying you would genuinely dance with me?”

“You saying you want to? Thought you weren’t enjoying the dancing… Two left feet and all…”

She rolled her eyes and flapped her hands a little in frustration. “Oh, you’re impossible. Forget the whole thing. I was going to call it a night anyway.” She looked over at Edmund, who was just barely holding back a laugh at his lover’s antics. “Mr. Nancarrow, I wish you good night. I hope you and Locryn enjoy the music. God knows, I think I’ve had quite enough of all of it.” Her cheeks were stinging and it had nothing to do with the exertion after dancing.

With that, she turned and walked briskly towards the open doors of the barn, her chest churning with the strange and unsettling feeling that she’d either been flirted with or made a fool of, and she couldn’t tell which it was. Perhaps it was a bit of both.

“Wait!” Locryn's bass voice was soft, and she almost missed it over the shrill piping and rapid-fire scraping of the fiddler outside, but she stopped all the same.

Slowly, she turned and found him walking towards her with a completely new expression on his face. With his green eyes wide and dark, he looked contrite and abashed, and behind him she could just make out Edmund, leaning his elbow against the table while he drank deeply from a wine goblet as if to hide a smile.

“If I asked you, would you dance with me?” Locryn asked in a low rumble.

A little suspicious, she frowned and jutted her chin back towards Edmund. “What about…?” she asked carefully.

Locryn shook his head. “He asked me to ask you. He knows I like dancing, and it’s not something he’s comfortable doing.”

“You like dancing?”

The mountain of a man just nodded.

“And you’re not making fun of me?” she asked.

“No,” he breathed. “I’m sorry if I made you think I was just now. I was just having a laugh with you. You give as good as you get, and I like that.”

She smiled and held out her hand, palm down. “Alright then. One dance. And if I tread on your feet or trip over, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I won’t let you trip over,” he said with a smile that showed his thick canines and made his eyes glint. Despite all that, she trusted him, and let him lead her out of the barn and towards the dancing.

A few people looked at them as they joined the end of the line for the next set, but true to his word, Locryn neither embarrassed her nor let her embarrass herself. His big, rough hands were gentle as he turned her under his arm, and he moved with surprising lightness of foot for someone his size. And he really did enjoy the music. She saw it in the way his eyes lit up and his lips curved into an attractive, heartfelt smile. He picked her up by the hips and floated her down to the ground again in a turn that left her dizzy, with two points of heat searing into her skin where his hands had been, if only for a second or two.

The set passed in a blur of lines weaving in and out of each other; of steel grey hair and dark green eyes and wolfish smiles that lit her up inside. From time to time, since they were on the end of the line, she caught glimpses of Edmund’s pale face watching from the shadows of the barn, and each time she saw him, he was smiling.

And then it was over almost before she’d even realised it.

They stared in breathless silence at each other for several pounding heartbeats while the rest of the dancers cheered and applauded the musicians, but Nel couldn’t tear her eyes from his. They were as green as the sea on a summer evening, and there was an otherworldly glow about him that drew her in like the promise of soothing waves after a long and thirsty day in the sun.

For some reason she could almost taste saltwater on her tongue.

There was a pounding in her ears like the thunder of distant surf and she couldn’t catch her breath.

Locryn leaned down and she watched the very tip of his tongue move to wet his upper lip. For a wild, wonderful moment, she thought he was going to kiss her.

Someone bumped into her from behind, sending her lurching a step towards him and he steadied her where he still held her hands in his rough, rope-callused fingers.

The moment vanished like sea foam and she swallowed, looking up at him. He looked as stunned as she did.

“No wonder he’s so in love with you,” she whispered, blinking back tears. She bobbed a tiny, stiff curtsy. “I thank you for the dance, Mr. Trevethan.”

Without waiting long enough for him to react, she turned and walked as quickly as she dared back to the house.

__

Uh-oh... :)

Next chapter ->

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[gremlingottoosilly]

Hello! I just spent a good chunk of time binging your blog, and I love it! I have since developed a brain worm regarding monster!Konig and his "wife," specifically how he would treat them if they were to get hurt/sick due to the actions of another. Like, what if a monster poisoned his pet (and subsequent brood) to strike a low blow against him? Forcing him to confront his bizarre version of affection for them, would he care for them gently? Cast them out if they can no longer carry eggs?

Please feel free to ignore this if you wish absolutely no pressure to reply. I'm just a simp for hurt/comfort! - 🐍

Monster!Konig would have very complicated feelings if you're rendered unable to be bred anymore, and every egg clutch he is giving you is going to get rejected and unfertilized ( For every one of his recruits, he is telling the story of simply using you as a breeder, as an incubator for his new soldiers, just so no one would ever dare to think he truly cares about that pathetic, fragile little human. In reality, he truly does love you, as much as he is capable of loving something as fragile and sweet as you. He was able to kill the monster who tried to poison you, yes, but not he has to confront his feelings about you - ultimately, as his breeding mare, you're useless now. Yet, he can't bare to really think about letting you go, you're too perfect for him to do this!! Even though you're fragile now, barely even get up from the nest he made for you, too sick after the effects of poison, he will cling to your body, his tentacles gently holding you as you're too delirious to comprehend he is actually being soft. Konig will declare that you're still useful to him, that you're an example for every other human they capture - you're so sweet and obedient, so fragile, he has to be very careful with you now, only filling you with empty eggs and making sure you're healthy before every new clutch...he hates being so soft with someone, but what can he do if you're simply so cute? The poison situation actually made you so much warmer for Konig, you have learned to recognize him as your savior, and he can't be happier. Even though he will never show it.