giant's eye

lovely ; songs i listen to when i’m so full of love that i feel like i could burst.

1. cherry wine - hozier // 2. nothing - lewis watson // 3. you - keaton henson // 4. only love - ben howard // 5. holocene- bon iver // 6. slow dancing in a burning room - john mayer // 7. bones - ben howard // 8. work song - hozier // 9. sweetheart, what have you done to us? - keaton henson // 10. stay - lewis watson // 11. from afar - vance joy // 12. first day of my life - bright eyes // 13. we all die trying to get it right - vance joy // 14. latch (acoustic) - sam smith // 15. cough syrup - young the giant // 16. for emma - bon iver // 17. we found each other in the dark - city and colour // 18.  make it to me (stripped) - sam smith // 19. skinny love (cover) - ed sheeran // 20. let it go - james bay // 21. tenerife sea - ed sheeran // 22. your body is a wonderland - john mayer // 23. hold back the river - james bay

anonymous asked:

*shyly whispers* do u think u could do another Greek Mythology story~

“Your tapestries are so fine,” the merchant says in wonder, “that you must be blessed by the goddess Athena.”

Arachne tosses her head, braided hair falling over her shoulder like an obsidian waterfall, “What’s Athena got to do with it? My hands wove these, not hers.”

The merchant blanches and looks to the sky, as if expecting Zeus himself to smite them for blasphemy. Personally, she thinks the king of the gods has better thing to do with his time. “Ah,” he says weakly, “I suppose.”

He pays her for her wares and she leaves, almost immediately bumping into a hunched old woman with grey eyes. “Do you not owe Athena thanks for your talent?” she croaks, gnarled hands curled over a cane.

Arachne is not stupid, but she is foolish. They will tell tales of it. She looks into those grey eyes and declares, “Athena should thank me, since my talents earn her so much praise.”

She pushes past her and keeps walking, ignoring the goddess in humans skin as she disappears into the crowd.

They will tell tales of her hubris. They will all be true.

~

The next day she bumps into the same old woman at the market. Everything goes downhill from there.

“Know your place, mortal,” Athena says, grey eyes narrowed. There is a crowd around them, and Arachne could save herself, could walk away unscathed, and all she has to do is say her weaving is inferior to that of a goddess.

She will not lie.

“I do,” she says coolly, “and in this matter, it is above you.”

She is not honest as a virtue, but as a vice.

Athena challengers her to a weaving contest. She accepts.

~

Gods are not so hard to find, if you know where to look.

“It’s a volcano,” the baker repeats, looking down at her coins, as if he feels guilty for taking money from someone who’s clearly not all there.

She grabs her bag of sweet breads and adds it to her pack before swinging it over her shoulders, “Yes, I know. Half a day’s walk, you said?”

“A volcano,” he insists, as if she did not hear him perfectly well the first dozen times.

“Thank you for your help,” she says. He’s shaking his head at her, but she knows what she’s doing.

She walks. She grows hungry, but does not touch the bread she paid for, and walks some more. The sun’s begun to set by the time she makes it to the base of the volcano. It’s tall, impossibly large, and for a moment the promise of defeat threatens to overwhelm her.

But Arachne does not believe in defeat, in loss. They will tell tales of her hubris. Those tales will be true.

She ties a scarf around her braids then hikes her skirt up and ties the material so it falls only to her thighs. She fits work roughened hands into the divots of cooled magma and begins her slow ascent.

~

The muscles in her legs and arms shake, and her hunger pains are almost as distracting. Her once white dress is dirt smeared and torn and sweat makes her itch as it covers her body and drips down her back.

“What are you doing?”

Arachne turns her head and bites back a scream, looking into one giant eye. The cyclops holds easily to the volcano’s edges, even though her hands are torn and bleeding. She swallows and says, “I heard you like honeyed bread. Is it true?”

The creature tilts his head to the side, baring his long fanged teeth at her. She thinks he might be smiling. “You’ve been climbing for hours. What do you want?”

“Is it true?” she repeats, refusing to flinch.

“Yes,” he says, looking at her the same way the baker had, “it’s true.”

“There’s some sweet bread in my pack, baked this morning,” she says, “it should still be soft.”

His hands are big enough and strong enough that it could probably squeeze her head like a grape. Instead he gently undoes her pack and reaches inside. The honey buns look comically small in his large hands, and he swallows half of them in one bite. He licks his fingers clean when he’s done, and his smile is just as terrifying the second time around. “I am Brontes. Why are you climbing my master’s volcano?”

“I’m the weaver Arachne,” she takes a deep breath, “I need your master’s help.”

~

They tell tales of Hephaestus’s ugliness.

They are not true.

He’s got a broad, angular face and short brown hair. His eyes are like amber set into his face, and his arms are huge, and he’s rippling muscle from the waist up. He has legs only to his knees. From there down his legs are bronze gears and golden wire, replacements for the legs destroyed when Hera threw him from Mount Olympus.

“Had your look, girl?” he asks, voice rough like he’s always a moment away from breaking into a coughing fit.

“Yes,” she says, and doesn’t turn away, keeps looking.

His lips quirk up at the corners, so it was the right move. The heat is even more oppressive inside the volcano, and all around him cyclopses work, forging oddly shaped metal that she can’t hope to understand. “You’ve gone to an awful lot of trouble to find me, girl. What do you want?”

She slides her pack off her shoulders and holds it out to the god, “I have a gift for your wife. I have woven her a cloak.”

He raises an eyebrow and doesn’t reach for the bag, “You believe something made with mortal hands could be worthy of the goddess of beauty?”

They will tell tales of her hubris.

“Yes.”

They will all be true.

With a gust of wind the oppressive heat of the volcano is swept away, leaving her chilled. In its place stands a woman – more than a woman. Aphrodite has skin like the copper of her husband’s machines and hair dark and thick and long. Her eyes are deepest, richest brown, piercing in their intelligence. People don’t tell tales of Aphrodite’s cleverness. That is because people are stupid.

“Let’s see it then,” she says, reaching inside the pack and pulling the cloak from its depths.

It unrolls beautifully. It’s made from the finest silks, and it shimmers in the light from the forges. The hem of the cloak is sea foam, speaking of Aphrodite’s beginning, and up along the cloak is intricate patterns it tells of her life, of her marriage and her worshippers and escapades, all with the detail of the most experienced artist and the reverence of her most devoted followers.

Her lips part in surprise and she slides it on, twirling like a child. “Gorgeous,” Hephaestus says, though Arachne knows he does not speak of the cloak. She doesn’t take offense.

The goddess smiles and Arachne’s heart pounds in her chest. She does her best to ignore it – Aphrodite is the goddess of love, after all. It is only expected. “Very well,” the goddess says, “you have my attention.”

Arachne swallows. Aphrodite’s attention is a heavy thing. “I have offended Athena,” she says, “She has challenged me to a weaving contest.”

Their faces somber. Hephaestus rubs the edge of a sleeve between his fingers and says, “Athena will lose such a contest, if judged fairly. She does not take loss well.”

“I know,” she says, “you are friendly with Hades, are you not?”

There are no tales of their friendship. But she’s staking her life on its existence, because why wouldn’t it exist – both of them even tempered, both shunned by Olympus, both happily married.

Gods hate being made to feel lesser. It is why they say Persephone was kidnapped, why they say Aphrodite cheats with Ares. It is why Athena will crush her when Arachne wins the weaving contest.

“Clever girl,” Hephaestus says, smiling.

Aphrodite stares at her reflection in a convenient piece of polished silver. Arachne assumes Hephaestus left if lying there for that express purpose. “Very well!” the goddess says, not looking at her, “when Athena sends you to the underworld, we will entrench upon our uncle for your release.” She turns on her heel and points a finger at her. Arachne blushes for no reason she can think of. “In return, you will weave me a gown, one equal to my own beauty.”

A gown as exquisite as the goddess of beauty. An impossible task.

They will tell tales of her hubris.

“I accept.”

They will all be true.

~

The contest goes as expected. Athena’s tapestry is lovely, but Arachne’s is lovelier.

The goddess’s face goes red in rage, and her grey eyes narrow. Arachne stands tall, ready to accept the death blow coming for her.

The blow comes.

Death does not.

~

She is an insect. Even if she can make it back to Hephaestus’s volcano, even if they can help her, they will not know it is her. She has no hope left, no course of action, she should just give up. But –

She doesn’t believe in defeat, in loss.

It was a terribly long journey on foot, that first time. It is even longer this time, although now she has eight legs instead of two. She makes it to the volcano, and creeps in between crevices, until she finds out a hollowed room, one with a sliver of sunlight and plenty of bugs to keep her fed.

Athena’s cruel joke of allowing her to weave will be her downfall. Her silk comes out a golden yellow color – it will look exquisite against Aphrodite’s copper skin.

~

It takes seven years for her to complete it. She hasn’t left this room in the volcano in all that time, and as soon as it’s done she scurries out back toward the village. She’s a large insect, but not that large.

She arrives just as the sun begins to rise, and leaves before the first rays have even touched the earth, her prize tied to her back with her own silk.

Arachne doesn’t return to her room. Instead she goes to the more popular parts of the volcano, hurries and runs around terrifying stomping feet until she finds who she’s looking for and scurries up his leg and onto his shoulder.

“Huh,” Brontes looks onto his shoulder and blinks. “What on earth are you?”

She cautiously skitters down his arm, waiting. He bends closer and lightly touches her back. “Is – is that a piece of a honey bun?”

She looks up at him, waiting. It’s her only chance, if he doesn’t remember, if he doesn’t understand –

His face slowly fills with a cautious kind of wonder. “Arachne?”  She jumps in place, being unable to nod, and Brontes cautiously cradles her in his massive hands, “We must find the Master immediately!”

She jumps down, landing in front of him and running forward. “Wait!” he calls, and she makes sure he’s running after her before skittering back to her corner of the cave. It’s almost too small for him to enter but he squeezes inside and breathes, “Oh.” He stares for several moments, and Arachne climbs her web and waits. Brontes shakes himself out of his reverie and uses his powerful wings to bellow, “MISTRESS APHRODITE!”

There’s that same breeze and she’s in the crevice with them, “What was so important, Brontes, that you had to yell?”

Arachne sees the exact moment that the goddess sees the gown, golden yellow and glimmering, made entirely of spider silk. “Beautiful,” she says, reaching out a hand to brush down the bodice. Her head then snaps up, “Brontes, where’s Arachne?”

She warms at that, that Aphrodite knew it was her weaving even though she hasn’t been seen in seven years.

They’ve told tales of her hubris.

They are all true.

Brontes points at the web, and Aphrodite steps over and holds out her hands. Arachne crawls onto the goddess’s palms. “Athena is more powerful than I am, I cannot undo her work,” she says, “but I know someone who can.”

Then they are in front of a river. A handsome young man stands there waiting with a boat. “Goddess Aphrodite,” he says, “we weren’t expecting you.”

“Thanatos,” she returns, “I need to see Persephone.”

The man’s face stays cool, and for a moment Arachne fears they will be refused and she will be stuck in this form forever. Then he smiles and says, “My lady is of course available for her favored niece.” He holds out a hand to help her onto the boat, “Please come with me.”

~

Arachne weaves a dress for Hades’s wife as a thank you, and returns to her volcano.

“I can take you somewhere else,” Aphrodite says, “you don’t have to hide here.”

Arachne pauses at her loom. She has lived in this volcano for seven years. It’s her home. “Would you like me to leave?” she asks instead.

Aphrodite scoffs, “Of course not! How could I dress myself without you here?” She’s wearing the spider silk dress Arachne spun for her, and she’s working on another for the goddess now. Aphrodite runs a gentle finger down Arachne’s cheek and for a moment she forgets to breathe. “You are the finest weaver to ever exist.”

She looks up at the goddess, “Then as the god of crafts and goddess of beautiful things, where else would I belong besides with you and Hephaestus?”

To declare your company equal to that of gods is the height of arrogance and blasphemy.

They tell tales of her hubris.

“An excellent point,” Aphrodite murmurs, and tucks a stray braid behind Arachne’s ear.

They are all true.

gods and monsters series part iii

2

Agents of H.E.A.R.T.E.Y.E.S.  😍 😍 😍

The United States of Horror

Things that fucked me up in The Foxhole Court series (warning: spoilers):

  • Every single time Andrew did something just because Neil asked
  • “He pressed Andrew’s palm to the ugly scarring across Neil’s abdomen” 
  • Dan’s entire existence as the biggest boss in the galaxy
  • “You are a pipe dream.”
  • “I am not a pipe dream.  I’m not going anywhere.”
  • Renee saving Jean
  • Renee doing literally anything
  • Wymack hating that Neil flinches away from him and doing everything he can to prove he’s the good male role model Neil deserves???
  • RESPONSIBLE AND CARING ADULTS
  • “You hate me, remember?” “Every inch of you,” Andrew said.  “That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t blow you.” ANDREW LMAO
  • SHOWER BLOW JOB/CODDLING/ANDREW FINALLY LETTING GO ENOUGH TO LET NEIL SEE HIM FEEL PLEASURE (partly because he can’t bear to leave Neil’s side to take care of it alone FUCK)
  • “Yes or no?”
  • VIGOROUS CONSENT and Andreil knowing each other well enough to tell when the other isn’t in a good enough place to consent even when they think they are??
  • Neil calling Andrew a “drama queen” behind his back
  • Nicky getting the happiness he deserves in Erik
  • “Who’s humanizing who in that relationship, anyway?” NICKY OMFG
  • Andrew needing to map every single scar/wound on Neil’s body and Neil letting him
  • Andrew saying “I told you not to look at me like that” after Neil stares at him with fucking giant anime heart eyes when the sunlight hits his hair
  • Matt and his spikey hair (/everything)
  • Casual 3 hour bus chats where Andreil loses track of time smh
  • How fucking short Andreil is???  5 foot **nothing*** is right
  • Neil saying he wants a vacation and Andrew almost cutting Kevin’s dick off when he tries to get in the way of it
  • BED SHARING IN THE CABIN ffs
  • Honestly that whole woodland retreat with team bonding took me the fuck out
  • “The only one I’m interested in is you.”  Demi!Neil is watering every crop in my field??
  • “Thank you.  You were amazing.”  (aka me @ Nora Sakavic)

Meika Woollard @ IMG models Worldwide @ GIANT Model Management by @kyliesouthwoodphotography
Hair & Makeup by Lidiya Kaplun
Meika’s wearing a dress from Little Miss Aoki

2

The results from last night’s NITW requests stream! 

  1. Outfit swap between Mae and Gregg!
  2. Adina Astra from Lost Constellation (which I still haven’t played)
  3. Gregg and Angus being cute together!
  4. Ghostly Casey comforting Mae
  5. Ladder stack with the whole gang!
  6. Mae and Bea playing Undertale!
  7. …Aaand aftermath of the previous request
  8. Germ!
  9. And Mae with the big giant wibbly eyes a la Puss in Boots

Thanks to everyone who came by!

I know a lot of people are upset that we didn’t get to see Dean carry Cas’s body into the house—and don’t get me wrong, I wanted to see it too; but can you imagine them actually trying to film that scene? It would’ve been impossible!



Attempt 1:

“Okay—just jump up here” Jensen says, squatting down some and holding out his arms.

“No way!” Misha yelps instantly, backing up a few paces.

“Why not?”

“You’re gonna drop me!”

“I won’t drop you!” Jensen scoffs, opening his arms wider now and motioning for Misha to move.

“Hell no! As soon as I jump, you’ll drop me.”

“I’ve carried you before, man. Did I drop you then?”

“That was for photos and shit—two seconds tops. This is a whole scene!” Misha argues, putting his hands on his hips.

“C’mon, guys! Are we doing this or what?” Phil calls out from somewhere behind the monitors.

“Yep!” Jensen answers quickly and then motions to Misha again—this time, with an urgent look on his face.

Misha rolls his eyes but eventually moves in closer, bracing one hand on Jensen’s shoulder before throwing his own body into the air.

Jensen grunts.

They both immediately tumble to the ground.


Attempt 2:

“Dude—why are your arms around my neck?”

“I don’t want to fall again!” Misha whines, looking warily towards the gravel as Jensen scoots along.

Jensen breathes out a strained laugh at that . “Yeah, but you’re supposed to be dead. This is kinda killing the illusion.”

“I don’t think so” Misha mutters, obviously choosing to be difficult now.

“Seriously, dude? I can’t carry dead-Cas inside, bridal-style!” Jensen huffs, shifting his arms a little to try and keep Misha’s weight in the air.

“Why not? You carrying me to my death bed is pretty much the same as you carrying me to the marriage bed … especially on this show.”

Jensen quickly drops Misha again.


Attempt 3:

Jensen is out of breath—and his back is hurting like a mother fucker, but he hunkers down to lift Misha up once more.

And this time—Misha slumps his body backwards and completely relaxes his muscles, which nearly breaks Jensen in two.

Oof! God—damn!” Jensen grunts, trying desperately to step forward across the dirt and grass. “It’s like—ugh—carrying a—agh—a sack of wet leather!”

Misha slits one eye open and smirks at his costar. “You’re so sweet, Dean. This is why I fell for you in the first place.”

He’s prepared to be dropped this time, and he laughs as he rolls out of Jensen’s arms.

“What’s goin’ on, guys?” Phil yells out across the clearing.

“Nothin’!” Jensen wheezes, bending his body over his knees as he tries to catch his breath. “Just—just need a minute!”

A second later, Jared is bounding up to them. “Hey, y’all okay?”

Misha chuckles and goes over to pat Jensen on the back. “Yeah—someone just needs to spend more time lifting weights.”

Jensen immediately sneers up at the other man. “And someone else needs to lay off the pizza!”

“How about I be the one to carry him in?” Jared says suddenly—loud enough for Phil to hear it too.

“We could try that” Phil says, sounding frustrated and just eager to get this scene over with.

“What?” Misha yelps. “No way! No, no, no, no, no! No way Jared is carrying me!”

“Wha—why?” Jared asks, feigning some puppy dog innocence that is damn near Oscar worthy.

“You know exactly why!” Misha insists, taking several steps backwards to be out of the moose’s long reach. “Phil! You can’t be serious! Jared is just going to throw me in the lake if we do it this way!”

Jared’s face bursts into a giant grin, and his eyes sparkle like a Disney character whose wish just came true. “The lake! I didn’t even think of that!”

Misha groans loudly, and Jensen is laughing– all while Phil is angrily rubbing his temples behind the monitor.


Attempt 4:

“Are we ready yet?”

“One more sec, Phil!” Misha answers, turning back to look at Jared and Jensen with a face of warning.

“How about we both carry him in?” Jared suggests, and it sounds genuine but Misha still isn’t falling for it.

“No! Not gonna happen! Then you’ll both just throw me into the lake!”

Jensen rolls his eyes but he can’t stop himself from smiling. “No we won’t, man. Seriously—we’re losing the light here. We need to get this done.”

“I know that! Don’t you think I know that? But this is my dead body we’re talking about and I need to make sure it’s respected!”

“We’ll respect it” Jared insists.

“Since when have you ever respected it?” Misha counters.

“Okay! Alright! Just… Jared, get back there—we’re gonna try this again the way it’s scripted, okay?”

Jared holds up his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine, but I’ll be over here if you need me.”

“We won’t need you” Misha warns, knowing Jared’s deviousness all too well and it’s starting to make him break out in hives.

Jared laughs but finally backs away, until he’s far off on the other side of the set.

Jensen then takes a deep breath. “Okay, man. Let’s go. Let’s do this.”

Misha nods, and they both seem determined now.

With a heave and some careful balancing, Misha is once again in Jensen’s arms and Jensen is once again, huffing his way to the front door of the cabin. He’s huffing a lot … he sounds like he’s in pain.

“You okay?” Misha whispers, trying not to look up or move his mouth much—because, he is dead after all.

“Fine” Jensen wheezes shortly, but he doesn’t sound very convincing.

“You sure?” Misha asks again.

“Shh!” Jensen snips, trying to concentrate.

Misha finally peeks up at him. “Your face is really red.”

Jensen doesn’t answer, he just strains to keep Misha in his grasp.

“And your veins are popping out of your neck.”

“I’m acting” Jensen finally grunts.

Acting—constipated?” Misha asks.

“Shut up!”

“Ow—okay, now you’re pinching my ass!”

“Well, I need to hold onto something!”

“You need to hold onto my ass?”

“It’s got the most grip.”

“Okay … okay … now that just tickles!” Misha starts to laugh, squirming a little and it eventually  throws Jensen off balance.

“F—fu—fuck!” Jensen wobbles to one side and sends Misha rolling dramatically  onto the ground.

“I can help!” Jared yells out, sounding so excited, he might just burst.

“No … no, that’s alright, Jared” Phil cuts in, just as Misha is lifting himself from the dirt. “We’ve been talking and we think we’re just going to cut this scene. It’s uh … it’s not working out.”

With that, Misha throws his fist into the air victoriously, and Jensen drops exhaustively to the ground with the overwhelming relief—and Jared’s disappointed moans can be heard all the way on the other side of the lake; echoing out “Aw, man!”  and “Damnit” and lamenting all the glorious opportunity that he’s just lost.

Every time I see these I miss that the images represent ‘100’ and I just think it says the National Park Service Is Turning, which is ominous and exciting, especially when paired with a giant reptilian eye.

Harry Hook - Best Friend

Originally posted by adisneylover92things

Requested By: Anon and @starwarsphantomlover

Request: Jealous Harry.

Authors Note: To the Anon that requested it end in fluff, I hope you’re okay with the ending! It’s not all that fluffy, but it’s all I could come up with, especially with putting two similar requests together! But I still hope you enjoy! Also, I’m very aware that the ending of this is kind of rushed and I apologize!

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“Thank you SO much Gil! I really appreciate you taking over my shift!” You exclaimed, your hand reaching out and taking your friends hand as you made your way off the lower part of the dock.

“No problem, Y/N!” He smiled, his voice so full of enthusiasm that it sounded as though he was going to burst. “You’ve been put on watch every night this past week. I think you could use a break.”

You laughed, your shoulders bouncing in a ‘what can you do’ type shrug before slouching in acknowledgement. “Well, I guess that’s what happens when you start a fight with Uma.” 

Gil let out a giant laugh, his eyes lighting up in childlike innocence before nudging you in the side.

“Yeah, I guess.” He agreed, quickly taking his sword out of his belt and laying it on his chair. “But you better be careful. She might try to throw you overboard next time, and I don’t think Harry would be able to stop her.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, the image of Harry even trying to stand up to Uma roaming your mind and making you laugh. 

“Harry would let Uma throw me overboard without a second thought.” You joked, not once meaning your words, but knowing that Gil would find them hilarious. 

Gil let out a small giggle, his shoulder nudging yours once again as he led you back into Ursulas Fish and Chips and toward your dorm. 

“Anyway, thanks again, Gil! I really do appreciate this!” You proclaimed, your arms wrapping around Gils’ waist in a friendly hug. “I promise I’ll pay you back somehow.” You playfully winked, the joking nature of your friendship with Gil as innocent as it was flirty. 

“With what? Candy? Popcorn? Candy AND popcorn?” 

“All of it you can eat.” You replied, a small laugh escaping your lips before gently pulling away from him and making your way into your room.

You let out an exhausted sigh, the air heavy against your skin as it warmed you from the cold wetness of the dock. Breathing in deeply, you removed your belt and walked towards your drawer, your hands reaching down and removing you shirt as you prepared to change out of your ‘watch’ clothes. 

Then, suddenly and without any type of warning, a loud bang rang through your room, the sound catching you off guard and making you stop in your tracks. Lifting your shirt so that it covered your barley covered chest, you reached down and grabbed your sword, immedietly pointing towards the entrance and at whoever dared to barge into your room without a reason. That’s when you saw your best friend Harry standing at your door, his eyes staring straight into yours as he completely disregarded the fact that he had walked in on you in a personal state. 

“What the hell, Harry!? I could have killed you!” You shreiked, immedietly throwing down your sword and putting on your shirt.

“C’mon, love. You and I both know that that would never happen.” He slurred, his accent thick and rich in your ears as he made his way inside and shut the door behind him.

You rolled your eyes, quickly making your way over to your bed in order to take off your shoes. 

“Yeah, whatever. What are you doing here?” 

Harry breathed in deeply before making his way closer to you, his eyes showing an intense amount of anger that you weren’t used to seeing from him. 

“What’s your problem?” You questioned, a light giggle leaving your lips as you assumed he came to rant about something Uma made him do.

Harry cocked his head to the side, his lips curling into a playful smile as he stood mere inches from you. 

“Are you and Gil dating now?” He questioned, anger and sarcasm heavy on his voice as his darlky outlined eyes bored straight into yours. 

“No.” You laughed, immedietly pushing him out of your way and heading to your closet to put away your shoes. 

You had never even considered the idea of you and Gil dating, and you didn’t understand why anyone else would either. Gil was one of your best friends, and you did seem to playfully flirt with him a lot, but still. Everyone on the Isle knew that you’ve had a thing for Harry for years now. You were in love with him and it was completely obvious.

To everyone but Harry, that is.

“Really?” Harry suddenly continued to question, the glare from his hook bouncing off the wall and shining into your eyes as he made his way over to you. “Then what’s with all the hugging, huh? And the flirty comments?” He asked, leaning against the wall beside you. “I saw you just now, and people don’t talk like that with people that are just friends.”

“Then you obviously don’t have very many friends, do ya stud?” You joked, a small shrug leaving your shoulders as you heard him give you an angry sigh. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Harry. Gil and I aren’t dating.” You continued, not understanding why he would care so much about it in the first place. “Besides, why is it any of your business who I date?”

Harry looked at you in disbelief, his eyebrows furrowed in a strange mixture of shock and anger before he leaned away from the wall and hovered over you.

“Damn, Y/N. Are you really that blind?” He seethed, his voice so full of venom that you felt as though you’d been bitten.

“Hey, back off.” You demanded, completely confused as to what had made Harry so mad at you all of a sudden. You and Harry had had plenty of fights during your friendship, but he had never been angry at you. Not like this. 

But the fact that he was angry at you wasn’t even the problem. It was what he was angry about. He had no reason to question you about your completely non-romantic relationship with Gil, and if anyone had a right to be mad, it was you for his complete inability to see that the only person you wanted to date was standing right in front of you.

“What the hell’s your problem, Harry? Why are you questioning me all of a sudden?” You asked, quickly walking over to him and poking him in the chest. “Besides, you may be my best friend, but you don’t have the right to get angry with me about something as personal as dating. That’s none of your business.”

“Best friend? Just…seriously, Y/N? Don’t you see that that’s the problem!” He scoffed, his eyes becoming glassy as his anger turned into disbelief.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You asked, confusion filling your face as you questioned why your friendship was suddenly a problem for him.

“Because…” He started loudly, his voice fading to a whisper as he realized what he was about to say. “Because I just…” He continued, not being able to find the right words as his eyes traveled across your confused stricken face. “Oh, screw it.” He breathed, his hands suddenly reaching out and bringing his face towards yours.

Letting out a surprised squeal, you couldn’t help the shock that crossed your face as Harry’s lips connected with yours. You were frozen for a moment, your eyes wide open and looking into space before you finally gave in and kissed him back.

The kiss was slow at first, the deep flavor of sweat and saltwater heavy on your tongue as you pulled him closer to you. Harry pressed against you softly, his hands quickly leaving your face and wrapping around your waist as he lightly dug his hook into your lower back.

Giving you a relieved sigh, Harry removed his hook from behind your back and pressed you against the wall, his hot tongue immedietely making its way towards your lips as your nails ran diligently down his sides.

Letting out a gasp, you pulled away, the need for air becoming too strong as your mind tried to register what exactly was going on. 

“I…I um…” You started, your speech completely gone as you tried to figure out what to say.  “I..I -”

“That,” Harry interrupted, his face mere inches from yours as he continued to press against you. “That’s why I wanted to know.”