#And I need to add a line of trim around the window so the light doesn't leak so badly

[roisnoir]

Annnnnd (maybe*) done!

(Battery pack arrives Friday (I borrowed one from another project for testing), so I will finalize the wiring and maybe take some staged and styled photos this weekend.) (Maybe.)

in addition to the stripping around the window, i forgot about the paintings for downstairs. although my watercolors are still missing. March starts frantic housecleaning season at my house, so hopefully they'll turn up in the coming weeks. I'm sure I'll think of other things to add. I'm fine with this being an evolving piece. :)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Cause of Action 5

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: this is a bit of a longer chapter so thank you for waiting! Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

The world seeps in through the slits of your fluttering eyes. The car, the street, a door you don’t recognise. You hang from a thick arm, feet clumsy as you try to match the gait that guides you forward. Your head feels like a rock and it isn’t long before you sink back into oblivion.

Only for a moment. You see a lightly, a fuzzy glow above you, the hazy shapes that crowd the room. You’re sat down on a cloud and as you’re let go, you fall onto your back. A heavy sigh gust through the space like a storm swirling in.

You bring your hand up as you try to steady your spinning vision. You smack yourself in the face as your eyes twitch. You furrow your brow, putting all your strength into pinpointing the figure standing above you. He moves, back and forth, pacing ominously as you languish in confusion.

“Where…” your lips form the single world but you can’t finish the question.

You don’t know this place. You’ve never seen these walls or laid on this bed. You don’t know where you are. You’re scared but something keeps your fear from piquing. The shell of numbness that paralyses you adds to the brief spell of horror before just as quickly petering out.

“Lloyd,” a growl permeates the fog of your existence, garbling as the tones hiss lower. You know that voice, your mind clings to it, unwinding the riddle; Andy. “...you give her…” You feel a pulse from within as your ears scratch and buzz, “...do I do?”

The words don’t make sense. You can’t piece together their meaning or who he’s talking to. You let your eyes roll back and weakly drag your arms up to rest across your stomach. Your breath catches in your nose and throat, a snore rising as you toe the line of consciousness.

The world shifts. Your eyes snap open and see the thick trim of Andy’s beard, his arms around you as he moves you up the mattress. You throw your arms out to feel the cushiness all around you. You want to sleep forever. It’s the only thought you can discern; you need to sleep.

“Sweetheart…” a tickle on your cheek as his voice fizzles to a dulled echo.

You close your eyes again, a warmth cocooning around you. You plummet into the depths, spinning on your way down, a distant tugging that follows you down. The lights of the club flicker in your head, then the hum of an engine, capped by the sullen tones of your boss. They all mingle to a muddled drone, a ringing in your ears that underlines your blank unconsciousness.

🎀

The faint smell of something woodsy tugs at your nose, an underlying hint of lemon that rouses your swampy mind. You squirm and fight the weight resting at the base of your skull, the limpness in your shoulders and spine. You groan as it takes effort to just open your eyes.

The sight of your awakening would make you scream if you had the ability to. You don’t know if you can do much in the state you are. Your head pounds, your muscles ache, the light of the sun slipping through the window makes you want to puke. You don’t move or think as you conserve your energy, first clearing away the cobwebs.

You stare at the stubble along Andy’s neck and how it thickens along his jaw. His cologne wafts into your lungs with each breath as you watch the pulse beat in his throat. You don’t understand how this happened. 

Are you so stupid that you got blackout drunk in front of your boss? You’ve never drank more than two drinks at a time. So why that night?

You remember the man with the mustache and his special way of coaxing. You grit your teeth as you focus, trying to delve past the shallow layer of your memories. You barely remember what he and Andy were talking about. Something about a lawsuit but you could guess that given your line of work.

You plant your hand on the mattress between you and Andy and push yourself away, rolling flat on your back with a whimper. You draw your arm up and sling it over your face, blocking out the assault of sunlight. The bed shifts subtly and you wince as a small cough rises from his throat.

“You’re awake,” he says bluntly.

You moan and let your arm slip away from your eyes. Andy sits up as you blink at him, vision glossy at the edges as you focus on the dark tee that strains across his bicep. He leans forward and rubs his eyes.

“What… what happened?” You croak, voice hoarse and painful, “I don’t…”

“You don’t remember? Anything?” It’s almost an accusation.

“I’m sorry… no…”

You look down, noticing how the blanket is wrapped awkwardly around you. The edge of it lets the cool air tickle your side as it appears you fell asleep atop the covers and he pulled the hem over you from the other end. The pure white strap of your bra peeks up above it and the glimpse of your naked side, your panties slightly crumpled around your hip.

Mortified, you pull the blanket to cover yourself fully. Andy raises his head and stretches his neck as he turns his back to you. The tension laces the air and winds around your neck. Oh no, you’ve done something horrid.

“I must’ve drank too much…” you murmur.

“You think?” He stands and rests his hand on the night table, “what you did could get us both in a lot of trouble?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why– I don’t usually drink that much–”

“Sure, you don’t. A girl your age, I’m sure you never touch the stuff,” he says dryly, leaning so his arm cords with tension, veins bulging beneath his skin, “it’s a conflict of interest, to say the least.”

“I don’t… did we–”

“I didn’t do anything. I put you in the guest bed. I was trying to do the right thing but you wouldn’t stay out. You crawled in and I couldn’t get you to leave,” his voice is rough, unlike you’ve ever heard it. You’ve messed this all up. “I laid awake all night. I made sure nothing happened and that’s exactly what you’re going to say if anyone asks; nothing.”

You quiver and try to sit up. You whine at the agony of doing so and you keel forward, bracing your tamping temples. He sighs and shifts his weight. You feel him looking at you.

“Look, I’m all about second chances. Lloyd can be a bad influence, he wasn’t exactly subtle last night. And you were obviously not in your right mind,” he mulls his words and clucks, “you’re obviously suffering the consequences of your behaviour so I won’t add anything else to it.”

“I’m so sorry,” you eke out, your insides churning violently as you struggle to still reality.

You raise your head, bobbling as you fight to get to the edge of the bed. The blanket falls away as you forget all modesty. There’s something wrong with you. Is this really what a hangover feels like? You don’t know, you’ve never had one.

You fold over and heave onto the floor between your feet. You nearly slip off the bed but you feel it dip and Andy’s hand catches your shoulder. He eases you back and lays you across the mattress. His large hand brushes your cheek and he touches your forehead.

“You’re in rough shape,” he tuts.

“I’m sorry,” your tears leak out as you shiver, hugging yourself as his warmth sends a chill through you, “I didn’t…”

“We can move past this,” he says as he moves you gently, laying your head against a pillow, pulling the blanket around you once more. His fingertips graze your stomach and you swear you hear a purr. Does he have a cat? “I can’t in good conscience let you go yet, and I don’t think you could if you tried.”

“But…”

“I’ll work from home. You can bank the hours from last night towards today,” he says matter-of-factly, his hand lingering at the top of the blanket, just above your chest, “I’ll get coffee going.”

“Andy,” you sniff, “Mr. Barber,” you correct yourself.

“We’re moving past it,” he looks you in the face, blue eyes stern but smoky, “right?”

You consider him, not quite sure at first what he’s asking. That you want to forget this or that you want something else? That your drunken actions were more than mindless mistakes? No, he can’t want that, he’s made that obvious.

“I’ll be better, sir.”

His throat bobs and his cheek ticks. His brow slants just slightly and his gaze falls to his hand. He retracts it and backs off the bed. He mutters as he gets to his feet, “coffee…”

He turns and marches away. You watch dumbly, helplessly, as you wallow in his bed. How could this have happened? No, how could you have done this?

[helloitsdusk]

unwanteds rooms

as we already know, the rooms in the mansion do magically adjust to the people living in them. we can see this in the first book where meghan's room has clothing that matches her, the wallpaper changes color, there are instruments, etc.

taking that one step further, i think this magical adjustment continues...forever. the rooms never really stop changing to match the people in them. sure, it takes a little while, but eventually all the rooms are completely customized to the people in them. this can go from wallpaper colors all the way to room location and setup.

these rooms are closer to full on apartments, as evidenced by meghan saying that they're about the size of a necessary house in quill, which can house 4 people at once, even if it's pretty small! so these rooms have a lot of space and a lot of things in them! all of these rooms have 3 rooms automatically: a bathroom, a bedroom, and a living space where the person's blackboard is. they also always have a tube somewhere in the living space.

another thing: i think rooms move around the mansion quite a bit. why would meghan's new room be close to the front of the hallway and lani's near the end? shouldn't they all be added onto the end of the hallway? nope, because the rooms move around! this is especially true because of how the hallways work (moving from single rooms to the family hallways, genders getting removed from the hallways, etc.) and how they're set up (headcanon: the mansion has so many levels of roofs and things and staircases so some places might have higher ceilings vs some having the roof slant down below the ceiling; you know the kind of room im talking about, right?). all of this comes together and makes it so rooms are always moving around the mansion to suit the needs of the people living there!

so let's look at how different characters' rooms look. this is all headcanon, although if anything canon comes in i'll specify that.

a quick thank you to @ithinkthemooniscool as well, because they actually started doing this a long time ago and i'm surely stealing ideas from them.

meghan: we get a lot of description of meghan's room in the first book. she has a sitting area, a bedroom, and a bathroom with "pretty soaps, fluffy towels, and a bubbling waterfall bathtub." her bed is cushiony and raised up off the floor. the walls are blue/green and change with her mood and the time of day. she also has sheet music and a basket of instruments. there's not that much more to add here for headcanons; her room is very soft and cozy and the colors adapt to make her feel better.

lani: the only description we really get of lani's room is that there are several magical things awaiting her, and then she falls asleep in a big overstuffed chair. i think her room gives her bookshelves, more and more as the years go by; the trim is all painted blue around them, and there are little alcoves with beautiful wallpaper. she hangs paintings and sheet music from her friends. she lines the walls with stars, some glow in the dark ones on the ceiling, some painted in gold on the walls, some hung on strings. there are cozy places to sit and read, a fireplace, and big windows for the ultimate rainy reading day. again, the colors in the room change to match the daylight and her mood; sometimes it's bright and sunny in there, but sometimes it's dark and moody, with soft lighting.

alex: alex is interesting because he gets two different rooms: his room in the boys' hallway (which never fully disappears, even after he moves out of it) and the head mage apartment. his room in the boys' hallway is a bit cramped, and because he left it so quickly, it never fully figured out what he wanted from it. he was always avoiding clive's prying eyes, too, meaning he never spent that much time in the living space. -- the head mage apartment, since it was built specifically by and for marcus, also didn't really change to match his tastes. he has a desk and a bedroom and a bathroom, but he rarely uses the desk inside and prefers to work outside in the head mage's office. he has a balcony he can sit on, but that's about it. all in all, kind of a bland place for him, unfortunately.

samheed: samheed's room has huge windows, because he's not a big fan of the dark after his time on warbler. he has a huge closet, filled with old costumes and new clothing. there's a lot of clutter, all things considered; he really likes keeping things that others have made for him, and now that he's the theater instructor, he gets a lot of it from his students. he has a dedicated space away from the clutter, though, slightly raised like a little personal stage, so he can privately choreograph a monologue. he always has a nightlight. there's a few guitars lying around. he has a small bookshelf where he keeps scripts and sheet music and things of the sort.

sky: sky's room is very ocean-themed. whales and dolphins and squids are painted onto the walls. fake clouds cover the ceiling, adding a dreamlike quality to the entire place. there's a big lava lamp in a corner of the bedroom, that faintly glows throughout the night. she doesn't have all that much in it, really; she spends a lot of time out and about. there's a wall of rope with lights tangled into it and paintings hung from them. another wall is covered in old, weathered wood. the bathtub is shaped like a little boat. there's a faint sound of crashing waves.

kaylee: kaylee didn't stay in artimé for very long, and she didn't have much of an attachment to her room back home in america. that said, her room is a small one, with the ceiling slanting and the walls always changing color. the bathroom is the highlight of the place, with beautiful tiles and a huge bathtub. her bed is one of the ones where it's high above the ground with a desk underneath. she even makes a copy of the map of the real world and puts it on the wall down there, with a little pin in massachusetts.

aaron: aaron also didn't spend much time in his room, but we know for a fact that he covered up his mirror. his room ends up looking a lot like his home back in quill, and even mirrors the palace a bit. the windows are almost nonexistent and the walls are always dark. there are plants all over, although he has to move them out when he goes back to the island of shipwrecks. there's a little kitchen, so he can experiment with food without any judgement. there are small clay animals all over. there's a wall of vines and leaves that mirrors the jungle.

[designmaca]

Planning the Perfect Bath

The bathroom can be an expensive room in your home. Regardless of how much you want to spend on your bathrooms, careful and thoughtful design can help create spaces that go well beyond what you have spent on your fixtures and finishes.

Start by clarifying your needs within your overall planning. These days, it’s common to have a master suite and a second primary bathroom to serve other bedrooms. If a bathroom will serve only one bedroom most of the time, then consider making it a suite, as well, with a second door from an adjacent hall. If you are outside a lot, you may wish to put a bathroom just inside the backdoor, near a mudroom. As you locate your bathrooms remember some basic guidelines. Avoid doors opening directly off living areas, especially if the toilet is opposite the door. If your bathroom or powder room is adjacent primary living spaces, try to create a small alcove from which to ente

Determine what fixtures you wish to include in each bathroom. Bathrooms near primary living spaces may only need a lavatory and toilet - unless you have teenagers that all need to shower at the same time. A simple cabinet works well for an informal half bath. For a more formal bathroom or powder room, consider a pedestal sink with some shelving, or a small freestanding cabinet for towels and toilet paper. Provide natural light wherever possible. Powder rooms are often made very small. While a sink and toilet don’t take up much room, it can feel cramped if minimum dimensions are used. A little extra space creates a more relaxed atmosphere and room for additional décor and plants. I am dismayed at how often doors are undersized and placed so close to the bathroom counter that the trim has to be scribed around the countertop.

A bathroom that serves a number of bedrooms will likely need considerable counter space to hold toiletries and incidentals. A second lavatory sink may be a good option with some families. A combined tub/shower usually serves most family needs. Although placing the tub along the end wall is the most efficient layout, it usually negates natural light. If rotating the tub so that it is parallel to the counter isn’t an option, then consider a skylight. These bathrooms need lots of cabinet space and dedicated linen storage. Where the floor plan allows, a laundry chute in or adjacent to the bathroom is a great idea.

Today, concepts in master bathrooms have opened up whole new possibilities in design. And the rooms are getting larger and larger, as many people demand a oversized whirlpool tub and a separate oversized shower. If you desire a separate cubicle for the toilet, the floor area may be equivalent to an average sized bedroom. Of course, the tub works best in a corner location surrounded by windows so that it can have lots of light. Although large jetted tubs are desirable, they use up a lot of water and take up considerable room. While many people like a step, I believe it is more difficult to step down into a tub. Because a soaking or jetted tub is equated with comfort and relaxation, there is a trend to move tubs into the master bedroom itself. The bedroom usually has a softer, warmer ambience and perhaps a fireplace or a spouse relaxing in bed. Whatever you choose, insulate your tub and use a large supply line. Some tubs even are even designed to maintain a desired temperature.

Showers can come as kits or can be custom built and tiled in many creative ways. You can add permanent or fold down benches and steam generators. If space permits, you may be able to configure the shower so it doesn’t need a door. Be sure to recess covey holes for toiletries into the shower walls and make sure there are towel bars within reach. Hand-held or multiple showerheads are an option as are foot spouts for testing the water temperature.

Pedestal sinks can be elegant but usually require additional shelving and cabinet space. A luxury may include ‘his and hers’ double sinks or a lowered makeup counter.

For aesthetic appearances, place the toilet away from bedroom sightlines and consider using low water or quiet flush toilets to minimize noise. Take the time to research the variety of fixtures available. Consider universal design concepts in your bathroom. This may mean choosing lever handles and anti-scald devices on faucets, or installing hand-held shower units.

Free wall space can often be a premium in master bathrooms. Although large opening windows are a wonderful feature, if privacy is an issue, you can use glass block or skylights to bring in additional natural light. Allow plenty of room for towel bars. In regions with severe winter temperatures, you may need to avoid plumbing in exterior walls.

Choose finishes that are sanitary and easy to clean, yet evoke comfort. Because “easy to clean” can mean “hard and shiny”, neutral colors can warm up a cold bathroom. Color will also influence the apparent size of the bathroom as well as the mood. Color can be used to emphasize or downplay fixtures. Light colors such as yellow will tend to make it bright and cheery and larger while dark greens and blues will evoke luxury while making the room appear smaller. Keeping vertical lines to a minimum will expand the sense of space. If you have logs in your bathrooms, consider tiles that are both textured and rustic in appearance. Floor tiles should be large and slip-resistant.

Ventilation is always important in bathrooms. Provide natural ventilation where possible and always provide a high-capacity fan. Fog-free mirrors are available now. If you have forced-air heating, locate the registers in the kick space of a cabinet instead of the walls where they are more obtrusive. Wall-mounted heaters with quiet fans can give extra warmth, but still leave you with a cold floor. If you have hydronic radiant heat in your home, then you will already have a warm floor and the option of towel warmers. If you don’t have hydronic radiant heat, then you can still heat the floor with low voltage mats laid beneath your tile.

Log homes present unique challenges in bathrooms. If your log profile is round on the interior, then there are obvious obstacles in installing showers, tubs and cabinets. This can be compounded by movement of the log. Thus, no fixed element can be attached to the logs without provision for movement. Some designers like to specify a wall independent of the log wall, to which the fixtures and cabinets are attached, or consider a flat log profile flat with plywood mounted to the walls, so that you don’t loose valuable space.

Like any other space in your home, carefully review your bathroom needs, wishes and options. With a little creativity, your bathrooms can be comfortable but and an expression of your creativity as well.

[pinknatural]

the first year anniversary gift is paper. 

dean looked it up something like four months ago, out of curiosity and unsure if he’d have to save up for something like gold. but it’s paper. dean isn’t really sure how to translate paper into a gift cas will like--he tries to fold paper roses, but they come out looking squished every time. claire catches him at it once and tells him they look “mega lame”. so paper roses--or sunflowers, or lilacs, or lavender, or whatever--are out. 

he considers stationary, but does cas want nice stationary? does he need a new notebook? what would he even write? if dean were buying for himself he could get a fancy new sketchbook, but cas can’t draw. he journals, sometimes, so dean looks for a nice journal, but none of them look like enough. a stupid journal--even a nice one--doesn’t fully represent what cas means to dean. so dean’s stumped. what do you get a guy whose true happiness is just being with you?

dean is drawing, one day, peering over the top of his sketchbook to try and capture the straight line of cas’ nose as he sits, facing the TV. cupcake wars is on, which dean likes, but drawing cas is more important. besides, right now they’re only baking so it’s not like he needs to look at the screen. dean likes cas’ nose. it’s straight and pointy. a proud nose. he looks down at his drawing of cas, then at his husband. cas’ hand is resting gently on dean’s socked foot. dean likes cas’ hands, too. 

he turns the page on his sketchbook. instead of starting a new drawing, he writes:

-his nose -his hands (big, warm, good at holding me) -his shoulders -his chest (best pillow) -his hair  -his eyes (the most beautiful color ever)

dean pauses. he nibbles the edge of his eraser, looking at cas contemplatively. cas’ attention finally turns from the TV. “what?” he asks, tilting his head. dean grins. 

“i love you,” he says, sing-songy, and cas’ expression melts. 

“i love you too,” he says. “come here.” dean throws his sketchbook aside and crawls to the other end of the couch, trying to meld him and cas together, but later he takes his sketchbook up again and adds to his list.

-when he squints -when he tilts his head -when he’s a lil bitchy -when he says “hello dean” -his voice

dean keeps adding to the list. he finishes the page of his sketchbook, then he adds to it--a page torn out of notebook paper that lists the ways dean loves cas when cas is at the farmer’s market. a sticky note where dean writes a list of his favorite sweaters of cas’.

(number one is, obviously, the trenchcoat, even if it’s not a sweater).

by the time february rolls around, dean has a sizeable pile. lists, shitty poems, drawings he’s made of cas--his nose, his hair, his hands. the curve of his eyelashes, the bow of his lips. his wings, or at least what dean thinks they might look like. one of his favorite drawings is of cas and jack curled under the fuzziest blanket while they watched tangled together. dean took a yellow colored pencil to that one, trying to capture the way the light from the window had fallen on them. 

on top of the pile he adds a red heart trimmed in lace with happy valentine’s day on top in white glitter glue--jack had helped with that one. some of the papers in dean’s pile are little hearts with dumb valentine’s day puns on them--bee mine, i donut know what i’d do without you, olive you. in the end, he isn’t sure how to present it, so when he wakes up on monday morning, tangled in cas’ arms, he gently extracts himself. cas sleeps like it’s a competition, maybe making up for millions of years without sleep, maybe just cause he likes being cozy. dean sneaks to the kitchen to make heart-shaped pancakes--they turn out a little lopsided, but he figures cas will appreciate them anyway. he plates them all nice, bacon on the side, and returns to their room, setting the tray gently on his side of the bed. he gets out the pile where it’s tucked in the bedside drawer and puts it on top of his nightstand, then crawls, careful as anything, to cas’ side.

he kisses him. cas shifts. 

“wake up, valentine,” dean says against his mouth. 

“don’t wanna,” cas says, voice heavy with sleep. 

“come on, sweetheart,” dean cajoles. cas whines and kisses him, wrapping his arms around dean’s neck. when they break apart, dean says “i made you breakfast in bed.”

“you did?”

dean shifts, sitting properly. he retrieves the tray and puts it on cas’ lap. “happy valentine’s day,” he says, shyly, and cas ignores the food to kiss dean once, twice, thrice before dean laughs and says “your breakfast will get cold!”

“fine,” cas says. he eats, feeding dean bites of pancake between his own, occasionally bestowing syrup-sticky-sweet kisses to dean’s cheeks, to his lips. when the food is gone, dean puts the tray aside and takes a deep breath.  he gathers up the pile and holds it close to his chest. 

“what’s that?” cas asks. dean hands it over. he feels kind of like he’s handing over his heart. but dean is pretty sure if his heart is anywhere, it’s beat-beat-beating inside cas’ ribcage, so it’s not too hard to part with. 

“happy anniversary,” he whispers, and cas sorts through the pile carefully, tenderly. dean curls up against his side, twisting his wedding ring around and around. one year down, he thinks, and forever to go.

“oh, dean,” cas says, running his fingers across a little sketch of a sleeping cas. “oh, my darling husband, my beautiful valentine. i love you more than words can say.”

“i love you more,” dean says. cas gently takes his jaw, tilts it upward. 

“that can’t be true,” he says, and he kisses him again. dean is so glad that jack’s staying with sam and eileen today, cause he doesn’t really think he and cas are gonna get out of bed anytime soon. “if i loved you any more, i would burst.”

“well,” dean says, reaching for the pile of reasons he loves cas, touching it gently. “i kinda already did.”

(hours later, cas bestows a bouquet of perfectly folded paper flowers. dean laughs so hard he cries, then he kisses a confused cas absolutely breathless, and keeps them on his nightstand forever.)

(ao3)

[wedreamedlove]

[MY SWEET JOURNEY IV — WITH EVAN]

I opened the windows for ventilation, wiped clean the dust on the shelves, and I also neatly trimmed a lily, placing it inside a vase.

But, watching the heavy clouds, my interest was lacking by a lot.

[MC]: The weather these days is really strange.

E: Mm, recent weather forecasts haven’t been very accurate either.

[MC]: Yeah, they say it’ll be a clear day but it starts raining after a few steps.

E: It appears that, if we wish to deal with these situations, we still need to make some preparations.

E: I think we can use the space in the entryway and add several items.

Following Evan’s line of sight, the present entryway only had a simple shoe rack.

[MC]: Are you saying... an umbrella stand?

We met each other’s eyes with tacit understanding and Evan nodded with a small smile.

[MC]: Right! On rainy days, once I place an umbrella in the stand, I won’t have to be afraid of wet floorboards.

As I spoke, the rain rushed down and struck the windows.

[MC]: Ah... I wanted to give the flower rack a new layer of paint.

Evan gently held my shoulders and his low and rich timbre pushed aside the torrential downpour, landing in my ears.

E: Just treat it as giving yourself an excuse to slack off.

[MC]: You’ve got a point. Then I have to pull you into slacking off with me.

I moved a small wooden table next to the windows and set cheesecake and earl grey tea on it.

The faint aroma of tea drove away the humidity and, although we chatted about trivial things, there was the happiness of stealing a fleeting half-day of leisure.

Several days later, an umbrella stand and matching entrance mat smoothly entered the workshop.

I pulled Evan’s hand and went around the entryway, looking all over the place.

[MC]: Now, with an umbrella stand, I want to buy all sorts of umbrellas.

[MC]: The human desire to shop is really endless!

Seeing me groan, Evan bent the corners of his mouth and gave a low chuckle.

E: It looks like you’re very satisfied with it.

[MC]: Of course I’m satisfied! After all, you and I chose it together.

[MC]: Finally, I won’t be in a mad scramble on rainy days and the entryway floorboards won’t have water droplets everywhere.

Although there wasn’t much emotion on Evan’s face, the curve of his lips rose higher and he hummed in agreement.

[MC]: Why do you look regretful?

E: If I had to say something, then I certainly have some regret.

E: After all, it’s also cute seeing you occasionally flustered.

[MC]: Cute? Then when will you also be flustered for once and let me experience your cuteness?

He reached out to embrace me and, following that motion, I rubbed against his collar.

There was no scent of wormwood today, only a very, very faint smell of sunshine.

[MC]: But I expect I won’t have this chance, because Evan—CEO Lu is always thoroughly prepared no matter when.

E: Is that so?

Evan’s fingertips gently skimmed over my eyelashes, brushing off a floating piece of fluff.

E: People always have times when they aren’t prepared enough.

E: I wonder if the next time I knock on the door, soaked, will a little lady who loves cleanliness reject me at the door?

[MC]: Of course not.

His thumb, which slid down, stopped at the corner of my mouth. The pad of his finger slowly stroked my lips, giving rise to tingles.

E: Why are you this certain?

[MC]: Because you’re Evan.

[MC]: Even if you come over soaked, I’ll just give you a hug.

Evan froze slightly and then he smiled.

E: Incautious little lady.

[MC]: What caution do I need for you?

[MC]: Besides, why do you need to go out alone on a rainy day?

I gripped his finger that slid back and forth and fluttered my eyelashes at him.

[MC]: Even if you’re on a stroll, then it should also be together with me.

[MC]: We’ll take a slow walk in the rain and then return home together drenched.

After I spoke, he and I laughed at the same time. Although our laughs were light, it ground the light of the setting sun into particles and stored them in our heart.

[cozycryptidcorner]

Avery the Fae/Reader, Lemon

You don’t dress up for Halloween.

Not your fault, though, really, because your professors show no mercy for holidays, especially not ones that don’t land them a day off. Classes go on as usual, and so you wake up the latest you can without risking a tardy and go off in the comfortable clothes you slept in. Except for some cat ears and one superman, everything is perfectly normal, and the day passes like almost every other, save for a ‘spooky drink’ coupon at the local cafe.

I probably don’t even need a costume, anyways, you think as you catch your reflection when passing those special mirror-like windows on one of the campus’ buildings. Frankly, you look like you crawled out of hell itself. Dark circles under your eyes from lack of sleep, hair all askew and uncooperative, mouth in a permanent stressed line.

A zombie, probably, you decide, taking a sip of that hot caffeinated mess you ordered from the cafe. A hot zombie, for sure, but a zombie no less. A part of you wants to skip your next class and take a nap, but you’ve already used up your one absence, and you aren’t in a position to risk your grade for sleep. No rest for the wicked, right? Right. Everything else goes as smoothly as can be expected for being sleep deprived, and the night class seems to drag on for a fully stretched eternity, but you are finally free to go home and do your five hours of homework. Maybe if you’re lucky, you can squeeze in two or three hours of sleep.

It’s because you’re tired, you think, stopping for a hot minute when you realize that you’re lost. You hadn’t been paying attention to campus’ many twists and turns in its paths, and so you must have wandered away from the buildings and onto the forest trail that hugs the dorms, except there’s no cement beneath your feet. Not even a dirt trail marks a way out, and you take a full moment to come to terms with being lost, on your own damn campus, no less. You aren’t any kind of simpering pansy, so you turn around and begin to retrace your steps. Which doesn’t work, unfortunately, because after a couple of minutes of walking, there’s nothing to suggest that you’re only a couple of paces from civilization.

Except a drum beat, behind you. It’s faint, probably a half-mile away, but it’s the closest thing you have to a way back, especially since your phone can’t seem to pick up any signal. Maybe one of the school’s many bands are practicing? Right, you’re just going to stumble out into the football field, twigs in your hair, looking very much like you’ve gotten into a fist-fight with the entire forest…

And… Not a band, you realize, stepping into a clearing, but a party.

A costume party, too, by the looks of it, with everyone in soft, flittery clothing and fitted masks. Interesting how everyone seems to be on the same page with the dress code, there’s usually that one dick who shows up in a hotdog suit, regardless of any previous agreements. Elegant is the word you’re looking for, you decide, running into something tall and solider, correction: running into someone tall and solid.

“Oh, hey, sorry,” you apologize, shifting your weight on either foot, “I’m a little lost.”

“I think that you are right where you want to be,” your stranger says, mouth turning up into a strange, fanged smile. His black mask is trimmed with gold, and it doesn’t seem like he’s costuming as anything specific; rather, it appears to be just for anonymity.

“I think I really want to be in bed,” you say, trying to share a mutual we’re in college and want to die of exhaustion moment, but he doesn’t respond with the same energy.

“Perhaps a drink of wine before you go?” He offers, holding out an actual goblet of some kind. Maybe the metal-working students pitched in? Or accepted a particular commissioned order? It looks like genuine gold, which adds to the whole aesthetic of the party.

“Uh,” don’t accept drinks you haven’t seen made, “I’m good for now, really. Just trying to get back home to study.”

“Hm,” he says, taking a good swig from the goblet he had just offered, “good question. Through the trees from whence you came, most likely.”

Of fucking course, he’s drunk and doesn’t know left from right. Great. What an excellent position you’ve put yourself in. Frustrated and confident he wouldn’t roofie himself, you snatch the goblet from his hand and down several large gulps of shockingly sweet wine, maybe a sangria? Or something sugared up to be palatable?

Swirling the goblet around, to seem sophisticated, you ask, “so is this some kind of rich person party? Like an Illuminati meeting or something?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you speak of.”

“Right.” You draw out the single syllable, landing hard on the t. LARPers, probably, but not unattractive ones. Those masks don’t hide everything, and the shape of his jaw is not something to balk at, and those lips? Not to be forward in your own brain or anything, but they’re certainly decent to look at. This has to be some kind of weird-ass club, or like a rich dumbass ritual or something, definitely not your average frat party with a variety of random drugs mixed into the mystery punch. “Do you go to school here?”

He looks down at your university sweatshirt, cocking his head slightly. “A place of learning, is it? No, I’m afraid I have not attended such an institution, but I must admit that I have been tempted.”

“Well,” you take another sip of wine, “it’s not bad, as far as universities go. With decent financial aid, too.”

“Best not to drink too much of that,” your stranger says, “it’s much stronger than it tastes, and it’s best you stay clear-headed for the evening’s festivities.”

“One cup can’t hurt,” you say, and then realize that he’s just volunteered you to join in on the fun. Which is kind of weird, you guess, but then again, you aren’t going to complain. This is a way more interesting place to spend your evening, but might as well prop your backpack underneath one of the tables, hiding it beneath the skirt of the pale white cloth. You eye the unmarked bottle that one of the party-goers holds, but set your goblet down by the expensive-looking chinaware, flexing your fingers as they begin to tingle with the warmness that comes with alcohol. “What’s the party’s theme?”

He cocks his head, as though confused.

“Like a…” you try to think of a different way to phrase it. “A topic you pick, and everyone has to adhere to it. The people here all look like they’re, like, what Victorian thought the fairies looked like or something. I think it’s the clothes.”

“We are Faeries, though,” he says, the sides of his mouth curving upwards.

“Hm,” you say, “of course you are.”

“Join me for this dance?” Your stranger asks instead of any rebuttals, holding out a hand.

You look over at the band that plays, masks of distinct animal-like features flickering in the light of the bonfire roaring in the center of the clearing, all instruments vaguely familiar, yet not. Some of them you think you’ve seen before, at maybe renaissance-themed festivals, but the others must be from some kind of distinctly obscure genre of music.

The heat from the fire seems to lick out at your fingers, or maybe it’s the alcohol, already making its way through your system, but you stare, transfixed, at the way the lyre player plucks at the strings of their instrument. The quick movement plays too much with your eyes, you barely see anything more than the blurs of fingers, and you suddenly realize that you are swaying in place.

“I don’t know how,” you say, snapping out of whatever trance you had been in.

“It’s rather simple, come here,” he takes one of your hands, shockingly not unwelcome. Perhaps the warmth of his skin against yours brings you a kind of peace that you need during this period of your life. “I will teach you.”

Your stranger is correct; the dance is fairly simple to learn, mostly because there are very few rules. Sway your hips. Let your feet bounce against the soft forest floor. Let him spin you around and around until your head almost feels light. You’ll be honest, he’s the one doing all the work, guiding you, adding more flair to your steps, one hand resting on your waist, the other weaving its fingers with yours. Now, you may not be one to go out and ballroom dance on the fly, but you would be alright admitting that this is kind of fun.

So you dance. And you dance. And you continue dancing, letting the music remove you from time and space, everything else fades away except for the thrumming drumbeat, the wind in the trees, and your partner. You don’t feel the need to gasp for air, nor do your legs give out and collapse, but you aren’t even aware of how much time has passed. You dance out your pain, your stress, and any alcohol that lingers in your system, a layer of sweat keeping your body cool in the autumn night’s air. An eternity, perhaps, a small piece of infinity shared between you and this stranger, or the briefest of moments that still yield the most intimate bit of time that two people can share.

The song ends- or perhaps, the band finally runs out of music to play. You don’t know what time it is, but you aren’t finished with the party, not yet. The stranger sets his hands on both your hips, eyes as red as the fires of hell, and offers you a promising smile, his shirt loosely clinging to his body, having lost the fancily embroidered vest at some point while dancing.

“Do you want to get out of here?” You ask, making a snap decision not to let the night go to waste.

His smile widens.

The trees are your only audience when he brings you away from the rest of the party, the moon staring over the tops of the red and yellow leaves. The chill of the night might have discouraged anyone else, but you are broiling with energy and ready to continue moving wildly to keep warm. Despite barely being out of sight, you’re already working on his clothes, trying to find velcro or snaps of a cheap costume and failing rather miserably. He seems amused with your attempts, guiding your hands to find a variation of ties and buttons. Soon enough, you have his shirt off, his pale skin gleaming in the moonlight, revealing a chest etched in dozens of tattoos, red like blood against his pale skin, though it’s too dark to make out precisely what they are.

He seems to have a destination in mind, even though you steal most of his attention with kisses and touches. Even though you are in a place you’re sure no one would bother finding you in, he still seems determined to herd your desperate body further away from the camp, until the both of you get to a clearing, free of roots strangling the ground. Jupiter and Saturn stare blankly down from their perches in the sky, the stars surrounding them twinkling, as though applauding your conquest.

“I didn’t catch your name,” you gasp after a breathless kiss.

He pauses, almost put off by the request, like he’s startled you would even ask. Before you can even regain the ability to feel nervous, he says, “Avery.”

“Avery,” you repeat, running your fingers through his hair. “That’s a nice name.”

“And what may I call you?”

Like a fool, you give up your first name without much thought, but you are too excited about where the night is going to remember what you said even a second later. It doesn’t seem to matter, though, because his mouth is against yours, and your back is on the cold, dewy grass before you even register that he pulled your legs off balance. He’s a good kisser, you think hazily, his lips traveling down from your mouth to your collarbone. His mouth is nice and hot against your skin, already sending pleasant little shivers down your spine as he works, and you find yourself grasping at the cold, dying grass of the earth in order to pull your spirit back to reality.

The insides of your belly melt as he lifts your shirt up over your breasts, and you’re quick to discard the garment as he sucks at the skin just above the hemline of your pants. He needs help with the button and the zipper, his lithe fingers struggling to figure out the mechanics, so you undo everything for him. After letting out a thankful grunt, he leans forward, pressing his lips right on your stomach, sucking hard enough to leave a red mark that may bruise in the morning.

Then he kisses the skin just above where your underwear ends, a jolting shiver pulsing through your core at the contact. When you glance down at him, the barest light emanating from the roaring bonfire only a few meters away, he seems so… focused, you think, at his task of slowly stripping the last bit of fabric away from your body. Methodically, he tugs, fingers threading through the straps at the side, his eyes glimmering in the light bleeding out from the moon herself.

Slowly, steadily, he presses his mouth where your leg and torso meet, nibbling at a bit of flesh before moving ever so slightly downwards, opening your legs and seemingly liking what he finds down there. Carefully avoiding any of your puckered, wet skin, he instead moves his lips just to the side, clearly enjoying the act of driving you to the brink of insanity. You can feel the smile he wears as he teases you further, switching over to your other thigh.

Almost impatiently, you wrap one of your legs around his shoulder, arching your back when he finally lashes his tongue out to trace the outline of your flower. A heated spark ignites through your nerves, a charge of fiery need flooding your body and into your core. He seems to enjoy the breathless whine you offered in response because he does it again, inching closer and closer to your clit.

Roughly, you tangle your fingers into his long, flowing hair, pulling him closer and begging with no words for him to stop teasing and finally give you the pleasure you need. Avery finally complies, pressing his tongue right up against your clit and tracing little circles on and around it. The heat of his breath only helps further stir the coals in your womb, your back arching against the gentle curve of the world as you cry out.

He seems to deeply enjoy your keening, popping off your puckered flesh in the brief moment it takes for him to smile up at you, like a beast satisfied with the tortured screams of its prey. The way his tongue moves up, around, and down your clit makes you want to die, dirt clinging underneath your fingernails, bits of grass tearing as you claw at the ground. Still, he takes your keening reaction to double his efforts, using his fingers when his mouth is busy elsewhere, rubbing gentle little patterns in the opening of your slit.

There, you can feel your orgasm approaching as he begins to explore your core with his thumb, pushing and rubbing against the throbbing folds with some level of curiosity in his eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, a passing observation.

You’re so beyond the point of return that you could barely even draw in the words to thank him before you’re overcome with shaking trembles emanating from your very core, your insides quick to bend and break at his beckoning. It doesn’t take much more teasing from Avery before you’re crying out for him, voice cracking with pleasure and desperation, your fingers threading through his hair so tightly you don’t know where you end, and he begins.

When you are nothing more than a heaping, teary-eyed mass of trembling flesh on the ground, he crawls up from between your legs, kisses your stomach, your ribs, your breasts, your collarbone, all the way up to your mouth once more. You can taste yourself on his tongue and lips, warmer than the wine and almost twice as intoxicating, and by the wild stare in his eyes, he’s drunk with your nectar. And, quite frankly, ready to devour you, his kisses all teeth and heat, mouth dexterous against the curves, rises, and plateaus of your body, like he knows so very intimately every square centimeter of you.

There’s a hard rock length against your stomach, one that you can feel, almost tragically against your skin as he lavishes your lips and chest with his blessed attention. Even though you walked into this situation expecting a one-night stand, you don’t know, this feels light it could rocket through your life and end up becoming

“More,” you rasp, surprised that your voice is even working, ” more.”

He understands that rough and demanding command, stroking your hair with one of his free hands, mouth offering up a myriad of kisses to your neck and collarbone, an odd, overcoming need to please you emanating off of him, one like you’ve never dealt with before. Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see the familiar masks of those at the party earlier, but Avery turns your wandering gaze back to him with his insistent, feral kiss, his chest trembling with heated need.

“Do you want my cock inside you?” He asks, wanting to hear you say it.

“Please,” you almost snarl, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Hmm,” he almost manages to fool you that he could care less, but by the way his body grinds and presses against yours, he’s so, so close to traveling the radius of the earth itself to comply. You can hear the rustle of fabric as he strips away what’s left of his ensemble, moving away from your body and leaving you almost horrifically cold.

It doesn’t take a lot for him to angle your legs properly, your thigh rubbing up against his throbbing member. He’s at least gentle with how he impales you, his entrance slow and gradual, kaleidoscope eyes staring so intently into your very being that you wonder if you’ll survive the next time pleasure crashes down around you. And he feels so good, the crisp, autumn grass against your back the only thing keeping you from becoming so lost beneath his trembling body.

He must share your thoughts because even though he’s only eased in, his forehead pressed against yours, his breathing is short and shallow like he could hardly believe the pleasure your body gives him. Once he’s fully sheathed, he swears, voice quiet, yet filled to the brim with lust. You wrap your legs around his waist, hoping to feel him further, your voice and your body begging him to continue, to move, but he’s almost in a trance.

You’re impatient for movement, for that slick friction between your thighs, so you quickly take matters into your own hands. With no finesse, fueled only by spite and determination, you shift, switching positions using your legs and arms. Avery simply rolls with it, a ghostly smile on his mouth as you pin his hands to the ground, chest heaving from the effort, a layer of sweat misting your skin despite the chill of the night.

That seems to break whatever space he had retreated to, eyes lit like a roaring forest fire as he beholds your body from beneath your legs. His voice is raspy, but the demand is calm, collected, like he’s waited for thousands of years for this, for you. “Use me.”

You let out a breath, steadying yourself on his body to comply, and grind. His eyes roll back as you do, starting slowly, his back arching off the ground, his chest heaving with pleasure at the loss of control. Careful to control the pace, you let yourself be taken by the pleasure, the joining slick and hot, your core roaring with approval and greed. More, more, more.

Everything is suddenly vibrantly alive, the forest rustling with a wind you don’t feel, crickets singing hymns in the open field, the moon herself licking at your bodies with her soft, precious light. You think you hear chanting in the distance, your brain muddled with his delicious praises and lust that you don’t try to investigate, too focused on feeling his length pulse and move through your folds. Tears prick at your eyes, not from sadness, no, and you couldn’t possibly know their purpose because this feels so good, like his body was made for you.

This climax almost hurts, you felt it approaching and you knew it would be a lot, so you brace yourself, both hands gripping his shoulders like a lifeline. You look into his eyes, and you see… more, than just fundamental attraction, more than pure, unadulterated lust, but you’re so far gone you can’t pinpoint what it is, exactly, before you’re overcome.

Everything in your body is aflame, your core quaking enough to make you think, for just a brief moment, that the earth itself is tearing apart, you cry, you whine, you scream for him, and he’s there, holding onto you for dear life. Telling you that you’re perfect, you’re beautiful, that you’ll never want another man so long as your legs are wrapped around him so tightly like this. You think you believe him, gasping for air, fingernails digging into his skin hard enough to draw blood, though he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

It takes a lot of concentration to bring yourself back into your body, your soul and spirit so besotted with desire, but you manage it, feeling his hands grip your thighs so tightly his fingers may leave bruise marks. You bend forward, letting him take the reins as you try to stay present enough in the moment to kiss and nip at his neck, teeth tugging at his skin, the aftershocks still moving through your nerves like waves on a storming night. Still, though, you want him to feel what you did, to become undone by your hand.

And he does, his thrusts becoming so uneven that you begin to grind, ghosts of your orgasm weaving through your flesh and womb. A crescendo of noise seems to overtake the clearing, the air becoming like static, the hairs on your arms standing on end. Overcome, he curses and snarls in a language you don’t understand, his voice hard and soft at the same time, his hips jerking as something warm and wet pulses out of his member, filling you up and spilling out onto his pelvis.

Avery sits up, still joined within you, shaken, but startlingly and brilliantly alive, chest heaving with the effort of breathing. He presses his mouth against yours in a myriad of kisses, soft, possessive, tender, needy. There is still some amount of desire on his lips, but without the same uncontrollable yearning broiling just beneath his fevered skin like before.

Then he says your name, and a shiver goes down your spine, your very being somehow attentive to whatever he says next, as though your entire universe suddenly floods down and descends on this one, single person. He says it again, rolling it over his tongue like a wine taster, trying out each of the letters as though they offer a different kind of sweetness, his eyes just as wild as they had been when you held him pinned to the grass. A sliver of fear pierces your chest, making you want to push him onto the ground and take him again, but he has other plans.

“I’ll walk you back, dove,” he says, pressing his mouth against your collarbone, though he doesn’t kiss you again, not yet. “The sun will soon be up.”

[luc606]

An Autumn Morning

(by @luc606) Saeyoung feels like he doesn't deserve the life he's built, so you pull him out of it with warm fall drinks and some light yard work.

Saeyoung x MC (MC is referred to as "you" but never by name) 1649 words, FLUFF, a little sadness but not enough to call it angst, just domestic Saeyoung with domestic brother-in-law (to be) Saeran, takes place like a year after SE, roughly based on this ask

also technically goes for mystictober day one: favorite character

Saeyoung was not accustomed to paying attention to the changing seasons.

Before, there were only days, months, and years that were spent mostly in the bunker, the time passing carefully, but not precisely measured, like sand through an hourglass. Saeyoung was used to that kind of life, and once he met you, he had found new insecurity in how well that kind of life had seemed to fit him. Now that he was with you, finding his way into a normal life little by little, there were days where it was all he could do not to retreat back into his dark office and wait for you to inevitably get tired of acclimating him to being average.

Today was one of those days.

He’d woken up before the sun, though he could only tell this by the time programmed sun lamp you had asked him to build. He’d installed them all over the bunker, and it only somewhat made up for the complete lack of windows.

Inexplicably, you’d made the bunker almost cozy. Especially now, as summer turned to fall, you’d gently folded throw blankets over the back of the couch and bought seasonal candles for the kitchen and living room.

On days like this, these touches made Saeyoung’s heart ache. Couldn’t you see that this wasn’t right for you? His love deserved a sweet suburban house or a cheerful cottage with a bay window in the dining room, not a windowless bulletproof box that had once been home to daily illegal activity.

You stir next to him in bed.

“Saeyoung?”

On days like this, he doesn’t think he deserves that name.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he says, rolling over to face you. To make himself face you.

“You didn’t,” you say. And then after a pause, “Are you okay?”

Saeyoung knows that he should tell the truth, tell you that he’s having one of those days where he feels like he doesn’t belong in your light. He doesn’t want to, he wants to lie and say everything is okay.

He says nothing, but his hesitation is enough for you. You’ve spent three years with the man now, you know how to tell when he’s feeling this way.

“Baby,” you say, pulling him into you. “Go back to sleep.”

Despite himself, he does.

In the morning, when the sun emulating lamp has begun to turn subdued shades of orange and pink, he finds that he is alone in the bed. You’d let him sleep in, which he almost never does. He lays for a moment, feeling foggy, but soon the door opens to reveal you in your robe with two cups of coffee. He almost smiles, smelling the pumpkin spice creamer you’ve sweetened the coffees with.

“Good morning,” you greet him with a careful smile, handing him his sweet seasonal drink.

The coffee is in a set of matching mugs that had been an engagement gift from Jaehee. His is red and yours is pink, and there’s a curve in both of them that forms a heart when they’re placed together. He loves that you go out of your way to use these mugs more than any others you own.

Saeyoung takes the coffee from you and takes a sip, it’s warm and almost too sweet. He knows you put just a bit more sugar in his coffee because he likes it better that way, even if he should learn to drink it more plain.

“I hope you slept well,” you take a seat next to him on the bed. “We have some yard work to do.”

“Yard work?” he asks, his surprise coming out as a laugh.

Before, the land surrounding the bunker was unruly. The trees and tall grass camoflauged the entrance, so he’d never felt the need to trim the grass or leaves. Now, though, the yard – he had a yard now – was fully under the jurisdiction of his brother. At the recommendation of his therapist, Saeran had begun the project shortly after you’d moved in as a way to redirect anxious energy. He’d planted flowers and shrubs all around the bunker and had laid a garden path around the front leading around to a small herb and vegetable garden in the back. It was Saeran’s pride and joy, and Saeyoung had stayed mostly out of it. He’d only mowed the lawn once, and even then Saeran had complained about the lines he’d made with the mower not being straight.

“It’s fall,” you say, emphasizing this by raising your mug of pumpkin spice flavored coffee. “The yard is covered in leaves, so you should rake them.”

“Isn’t that Saeran’s job?” Saeyoung asks, incredulous. “I mean he never lets me do anything in the yard, I really shouldn’t–”

You cut him off, “I told him you’d do it for him, I’ll help.”

Saeyoung knows what you’re doing here, you’ve done it before. When he gets down, you’ve found that keeping him busy and out of his thoughts helps him overcome the feeling faster. But yard work? This was a new low.

“It’ll be fun!” you add, taking his silence as dissent.

Saeyoung sighs, but nods. Success.

You and Saeyoung finish your coffees in relative silence, you sit perched in your robe reading something off your phone while your fiancé shivers against the cool morning air, bundled in your large comforter as if it’s a shawl. When he finally finishes his coffee (you suspect he’s sipping extra slowly, putting off getting out of bed) you take the mug from him and tell him to get dressed. He makes no move to get up, but he’s miraculously clothed when you return from the kitchen.

He looks good, it’s not often that your nerdy Saeyoung looks like this – rugged, a little messy. He’s wearing jeans and an old red flannel with the sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms. He’s pushed his hair back, as he’s accustomed to wearing it now, but without any product, a few of his curls are stuck up in the air while a few fall back onto his forehead.

You kiss his cheek gently as you slip past him towards the closet and he offers a small smile.

“Give me just a second and I’ll be ready,” you say, already slipping off your robe in the closet entrance.

Saeyoung pretends he isn’t looking as you change into a pair of jeans.

“Can I wear this?” you ask, holding up a long-sleeve red t-shirt of Saeyoung’s that he normally wears to work out or clean.

“I’m surprised you’re asking,” he jokes.

You do usually steal his clothes without permission, he doesn’t ever mind.

You shrug. “You’re right there, I’m just being polite.”

He laughs, and his face turns just a bit pink.

Once you’re dressed, you take Saeyoung’s hand and pull him out the door, through the living room, and all the way out to the small garden shed he’d built for Saeran as a gift on the twins’ last birthday.

From the shed, in which Saeran has lined up every tool neatly on pegs along one wall, Saeyoung retrieves the rake.

“How are you supposed to help if there’s only one rake?” he asks you.

You laugh, “I’m here for moral and emotional support, of course.”

Saeyoung, feeling lighter already, whips the end of the rake towards you and gently taps your backside with the handle.

“Lazy~”

“Hey!” You laugh, lunging towards him and catching the rake in your hands and pulling your fiancé towards you with it. “Saeyoung!”

Saeyoung laughs easily, and you can feel the waves of his bad mood melting off. His moments of sadness, depression from a life’s worth of grief and anxiety pushed away for years, are fewer and further between now. He’s seen a therapist a few times, a colleague that Saeran’s therapist recommended, but most of his healing was done by seeing his brother survive and learn to thrive outside of the harsh conditions of their childhood and his time spent in Rika’s misguided care.

“And it’s not that much,” you say, “I’ll put all the leaves in Saeran’s mulch pile while you’re raking and we’ll be done in no time.”

You pull the rake towards yourself again, this time catching Saeyoung’s hip to steady him while bringing him in close.

“Are you feeling better?” You ask, voice low. “You look like you’re feeling better.”

Saeyoung startles, like he didn’t expect you to acknowledge out loud that he was feeling any kind of way at all, but quickly recovers before saying, “Yes, actually.”

He smiles as you pull him down into a gentle kiss, you feel him fail to keep the smile off his face as he kisses you back. His face is warm from the last little bit of summer sun that’s pouring down on you both.

“I love you,” you say, finally pulling away.

His eyes are intense as he pulls back to look at you.

“I love you too.”

☆

Later, after the fallen leaves have been relocated to Saeran’s compost and are no longer threatening to ruin the lawn, Saeran thanks his brother for raking the yard, not with words, but with a warm cup of hot chocolate and a soft grin.

Saeyoung’s heart soars when he sees that Saeran has made a cup for you, too. He thinks he’ll never get tired of seeing his two favorite people continue to love and accept one another as family. It’s everything he’s ever wanted.

He finds himself in a completely different state now than when he had awoken this morning. He settles into the couch next to you, able to appreciate the cozy autumn decor that you’ve adorned the bunker with. He no longer feels like this place is stifling you, he understands that you’re grateful for the security the home provides you, and he feels grateful too.

[milkiane]

revelations and confessions

pairings: regulus black x reader

warnings: mentions of food, mention of abuse, manipulative parents, getting tied up, jily, implied wolfstar

word count: 5548

note: for @rcwenaclaw’s writing challenge — this is my favorite fic so far <3 s/o to @iwritesiriusly and @hellounicorn for listening to me rant and and rave about y/n and reggie, u’re the best mwah

“... and you would be married to the crowned heir of grimmauld by the end of the month,” your father declared.

if you have been listening to what you’ve been blindly agreeing to, you would have had the opportunity to assert your own appraisals of the sudden betrothal.

you choked on your food, earning concerned gasps and theatrical pats by the maids, “‘m fine, ‘m fine,”

your parents stared at you with iffy looks as you cleared your throat, “i thought we’ve agreed years ago that i wouldn’t be betrothed to some high-strung bloke i’ve never met before?”

your mother pursed her lips before giving you a well-mannered response, “well, dear, we ought to make some amends with that agreement,”

you just stared at her with a blank expression so she continued, “and we believe that it would be for the amelioration of our country, considering that the blacks are quite exceptional and-”

“and rich?” you smiled derisively, cutting her off.

your father looked around the royal maids and guards around the dining room, “may you excuse us for a moment?” to which they nodded and left.

he sighed, “look, y/n, i’m aware that you’re upset-”

you scoffed, “i am more than upset, father. you agreed that i will be married on my own time, on my own accord,”

“and i am the king, you ought to meet my commands.” your father bellowed, slamming the silver utensils on the table, making you and your mother flinch.

he cleared his throat, calming himself down, “tell your matron to arrange your attire for this week, we must meet the blacks tomorrow evening at the grand chateau, and i shan’t hear any more complaints.”

“yes, father,” you mumbled, excusing yourself from the table to make your way towards your bedroom, eyes becoming glassy from the upcoming tears.

you arrived at the chateau a few hours before the royal gathering with the blacks, meaning you would have enough time to devise an escape plan.

you haven’t spoken to your parents unless you’re absolutely required to, you know that you shouldn’t be disobeying them, but they should have known from just acknowledging your mindset and behavior.

you weren’t the usual prim and proper princess, no. you are your own person, you’re noble when strictly necessary, but, in all honesty, your personality was far from dainty.

you wouldn’t have chosen to have this life if you could. as fun as it was to play dress up in magnificent ball gowns, you would have chosen a life full of adventures, skinny jeans, crop tops, and dyed hair instead.

the matron knocked on your door, bringing in the gorgeous dress robes that you’re supposed to wear for later evening.

you gratefully smiled at her, asking her to give yourself some time to prepare by yourself until the formal reception.

as you hung it over with your other dresses and gowns, you walked towards the balcony, breathing in some fresh air. it had a clear view of the beautiful gardens of the chateau, the same balconies from your left and right.

you flopped yourself down on the queen-sized bed, staring at the ceiling as you thought of possible ways to avoid the betrothal.

none of your ideas sounded good enough, so you turned on the television in front of your bed to distract yourself from the inevitable proposal.

flipping through the channels, you stopped to watch audrey hepburn’s roman holiday.

when you’ve watched the scene where she snuck out of the castle, an idea popped up in your head. you knew it was impossible, of course, but it was worth a shot.

you glanced at the clock, you still had at least an hour and a half before the matron would come back to get you.

grabbing the satchel you’ve bought at a fair once, you made your way towards the elegant bathroom. you shuffled through the things, you knew that if your mother found out about your clandestine possessions, she would go calling you atrocious for merlin knows how long.

you slipped on your cargo shorts and a halter top. you stared at your long hair, you knew that if you wanted to slip away easily from the guards’ line of vision, you had to make some adjustments.

you grabbed the scissors from the corner of the countertop, taking a deep breath before snipping a lengthy portion.

you let out a hushed squeal, laughing as you stared at the chopped-off hair. you continued cropping and trimming until your hair became an uneven bob cut.

not bad, you grinned, cutting a few more strands to add curtain bangs, impeccable.

you scuffled deeper into the bag, your hand retrieving a bagged pink wig. perfect.

you started packing a few essential needs in your satchel.

you looked out the window, the sun had set an hour ago, meaning it was dark out. which also means it would be easier for you to sneak out.

you had at least ten minutes before meeting the blacks so you immediately stared across the room, looking for something to act as a rope.

stopping at the closet of gowns, you groaned in reluctance. you loved your gowns too much but you wouldn’t risk getting married, so you grabbed the scissors, ripping them up and tying them together.

once you’ve ensured that it was tight enough, you fastened it around the huge handles of the door and threw your makeshift rope out the balcony.

when you heard the whispers and footsteps of people coming you hastily grabbed your bag and ran towards the balcony.

you carefully grabbed onto the silk, lowering yourself down.

a noise from your right caught your attention, making you freeze. you snapped your head to the balcony next to you and made eye contact with a boy doing the same thing.

your prolonged eye contact was cut short when the doors to your room burst open, making you yelp in surprise as your rope had a sudden shift.

you could hear your matron holler for the guards, so you briskly lowered yourself faster, the friction of the silk burning against your hands.

you landed on your feet the same time as the mysterious guy did.

he made a run for it, dodging the bushes and flowers across the garden. his trousers not giving him any justice.

you were not too far behind him, thanking merlin that your yoga and workout lessons paid off.

the yells of the guards caught your attention, surrounding you and the man in the middle.

they all pointed their blades at you, making you gulp.

there goes your escape plan.

“which one of you has the princess?” a guard shouted, shifting the lamp between you and him. each one of the men slowly closing in on you.

that’s when you realized that they weren’t your palace guards. they were merely the chateau’s security.

“does it look like we have a princess with us?” the boy beside you refuted, gesturing between the both of you.

ten guards.

one of them asked their superintendent, “what was the description given?”

“long h/c hair, s/c skin, e/c eyes, last seen wearing a peach nightgown,”

they turned their gaze back at you, one of them approaching you to take a good look, “wait a minute,”

you sucked in a breath, but before any of you could make a move, the guy grabbed your hand and ran, swerving through the distracted guards.

“oi!”

but you already had a head start, you were out of the gates and into the forest the moment they called for backup.

you ran, and ran, and ran.

the adrenaline coursing in your veins had done nothing to stop you from running, it made you feel so free, so alleviated.

so alleviated that you didn’t notice the huge rock that made you stumble, but before you could even hit the ground, the man caught your arm, pulling you against him.

and you were certain that time stopped when you finally locked eyes with him. specks of green and blue surrounding his alluring hazel eyes.

they said that when you meet someone for the first time, they would either be nothing more than another face amongst the crowds of memories or a face that would be burning at the back of your mind for a long time.

it was the latter.

the moonlight was shining over the both of you, the soft light making him look so ethereal. his celestial facial structure giving the famed sculptures a run for their money.

regulus looked at you in awe, neglecting the fact that you almost fell flat on your face. his gaze fell onto your gentle e/c eyes, the smooth arch of your nose, and the sleek curve of the cupid’s bow on your lips.

you would’ve loved staying in that position, admiring the young man for the first time every chance you would be given, but alas, the distant shouts of the guards forbade you from doing it any longer.

“who are you, anyway?” the guy asked. after successfully carrying out your escape plan, with your pink wig askew, he offered to buy you a mug of warm butterbeer at the nearby pub; the leaky cauldron.

you removed the wig from your head’s hold, ruffling your hair a bit to soothe the headache. your eyes searched around the room, looking for a possible new name.

“erm,” guest singer, liane moonshine, “miliane…” holyhead harpies quidditch poster, “harper.” you finished, “miliane harper, yeah,”

he eyed you suspiciously as he took a sip from his drink, “alright, miliane harper, what’re you doing sneaking out’f the princess’ bedroom like that?”

“i could ask you the same thing, stranger,” you mused, fiddling with the straps of your satchel.

“regulus,” he said, “call me regulus,”

“what were you doing sneaking out next door, regulus?”

“i asked you first,” he said, shooting you a pointed look.

thinking of a reasonable explanation, you mumbled, “stealing?” you winced, cursing yourself for hesitating.

“a’right, here’s the deal, miliane harper, because i know f’myself that you aren’t who you claim to be and you certainly weren’t there to steal,” he whispered, leaning in ‘til his face was a few inches away from yours, “now, ‘m gonna ask you one last time, who. are. you?”

you gulped, faintly murmuring your answer, “the crowned heiress of diagon.”

“salazar,” regulus cursed, “you’re princess y/n?”

you shushed him, shoving your hand to cover his mouth as a few heads turned to look at the both of you. you were certain that your parents have sent a search team to look for you by now.

“yes, but be quiet, would you?” you hissed, retracting your hand to curtain your face with your hair, avoiding the curious gazes amongst the patrons.

he blinked at you, leaning back on his chair. he observed your appearance for a bit before snorting, “your hair, it’s uneven!”

your face flushed a deep shade of red, your hand automatically clutching your hair. you scowled at him, “how long have you been aching to tell me that?”

he chuckled, “ever since you took off your wig,” seeing that you rolled your eyes, he continued, “don’t worry, y/n, you look quite beauteous, if i must say.”

“i don’t require you to flatter me, regulus,” you scoffed, grabbing your mug to take a drink, though before the rim of the mug reached your lips, regulus set a few galleons down on the table and spoke up, “as fun as it was to meet you, your highness, i’ve got some places to go,”

“what?”

“good luck with this endeavor of yours, but i mustn’t risk being one of your accomplices,” he quipped, wearing his sweater, “fare thee well.”

it took you a moment to finish your drink and grab your things before leaving the low-lit pub. your eyes searched amongst the throng of people, trying to catch the sight of his brunette curls.

you hurried beside him, trying to avoid bumping into the others. you grew quite fond of the handsome lad who ran with you, despite the fact that he was still nothing but an enigma to you.

“mind if i join you?” you sought, clasping your hands in front of you, walking side-by-side with him.

regulus groaned silently, he looked down at you and sarcastically replied, “it’s a free country,”

you rolled your eyes and responded with a retort of your own, “actually, it’s a monarchy occupied by foreign oppressors.”

he ignored your sardonic comment and asked you a question to defuse the gauche atmosphere, “why’d you run away, princess?”

you looked at him, “y’know, i’m not really obliged to answer your question,”

“i… am well aware of that,” he huffed amusingly, “but given the fact that we’re going merlin knows where, i’d rather have a conversation going than walking in utter silence.”

regulus had a gist of why you ran away, assuming that you had the same reason as him.

you laughed softly before staring at your white tennis shoes, “‘ve been betrothed, and i was s’pposed to meet the lucky bloke who’ll have my hand in marriage,”

regulus swallowed the lump in his throat.

“what about you, regulus?” you asked, “why were you running away?”

“oh,” he let out a nervous laugh, “i- stealing.”

you gave him a keen look, “i used that excuse not too long ago, if you’ve forgotten,”

he smiled tensely, “f’real though, the prince owed me something, and i’d be pleased if he returned the favor.”

you huffed, not sure if you’d believe him, but thankfully for regulus, you caught sight of your palace guards questioning some people about your whereabouts, “shit,”

you immediately linked your arm with his and whispered, “palace guards, let’s go. just- act normal,”

he carefully unhooked your hold, opting to snake his arm around your waist instead, evidently making both of you flustered.

you let out a sigh of relief when you passed by them without causing any havoc, though it was short-lived when one of them called out, “excuse me, sir, ma’am?”

the both of you continued walking, slightly hurrying your steps.

regulus hauled a carriage and helped you get in, “godric’s hollow, please,”

the guards left standing behind, one of them writing down the descriptions of the suspicious couple and the carriage they’re in.

“where are we?” you asked, looking up at the lovely cottage amongst the rows of houses.

regulus sighed, “godric’s hollow,” he walked up from the gate and knocked on their doorstep, stepping back to wait for someone to open the door.

you hummed, “alright, but what exactly’re we doing here?”

merlin must’ve been on his side again because before he could even reply, a beautiful red-headed woman opened the door.

she must’ve been taken aback for a moment because her eyebrows shot up and mouth agape. she stuttered, “i- regulus, hey,”

“evans,” he nodded politely, “is, erm, sirius with you?”

she licked her lips, “it’s actually potter now,” she showed her wedding ring, “and uhm, yes, give me a moment.”

she shuffled back inside, letting the door open but didn’t make a move to invite you in.

“she’s lovely,” you jutted out your bottom lip.

“reggie?” another man, another attractive man, whom you were assuming was sirius, inquired.

“sirius,” he greeted.

the tension was so thick that you could feel it enveloping you with warmth. or that may just be because of the additional presence of the bespectacled man behind the redhead.

“i don’t mean to be rude but are we all going to just stand in here,” you awkwardly shuffled on your feet, “or are you gonna let us in?”

sirius looked at you in wonder, “i- oh, yes, yeah!”

the man whose presence was still looming over, blinked at him, a small smile tugging at his lips as he huffed amusingly at his best friend, letting you in. you looked around the house, the atmosphere giving you a sense of comfort and a feeling of home you’ve never felt.

“james potter,” he grinned at you, “and this is my lovely wife, lily.”

“y/n l/n, the heiress of dia--” you paused, “actually, it’s just y/n. sorry, force of habit.” you chuckled sheepishly, fiddling with your fingers as they looked at you in surprise.

you wondered if you could trust that they wouldn’t send you back to your kingdom.

“you’re the crowned princess of diagon?” lily spluttered.

you smiled bashfully, “i may or may not be?”

“merlin, what’re you doing here? guards’re all over the place, knocking on doors n’all,” sirius remarked, his eyes not leaving yours.

“i also may or may not have ran away?” you grinned, scrunching your nose which both the black brothers found quite endearing.

“i would love to continue the chit chat, but d’you mind letting us stay here for a while?” regulus interrupted, but before they could even answer, a knock was heard from the door, “diagon sovereignty wards, we’ve got a couple of questions to ask.”

you cursed silently, sirius and lily quietly ushered you into the living room whilst james went to get the door.

“good evening, sir, we’ve been alerted that you’ve had some contact with these people?” a guard asked, pulling up a sketch of you and regulus.

james smiled warmly, “i’m sorry, but i reckon you’ve got the wrong person. ‘tis just me and my wife, and my best mate in ‘ere,”

they nodded politely, “that’ll be all. thank you, sir, have a great evening.”

as soon as he closed the door, james sauntered back into the living room, looking at the worrying looks on your and regulus’ faces.

he and lily exchanged glances before she smiled softly, “i’ll go prepare the guest room.”

it was deep into the night, the potter household was surrounded by a quiet and serene atmosphere as the people living in it had already dozed off, yet you and regulus were far from drifting off to a dreamy slumber.

both of you had your backs against the headboard of the queen-sized bed you were supposed to share, staring into the void of nothingness as you let the comfortable aura rage around you.

“regulus?” you whispered. as if once you’ve spoken even a tad bit louder, the brittleness of the atmosphere would break.

he turned to look at you, “yeah?”

“what’s your biggest regret in life?” you wondered, voice laced with drowsiness. the adrenaline from a while ago slowly fading away, now being replaced with exhaustion.

regulus pondered for a moment. he had a lot of regrets, letting his parents abuse him and sirius, letting sirius just leave him alone in the dark and lonely castle, not living his best childhood. he had plenty, and lying to you was one of them.

he hummed, “i suppose being a coward,”

you fluffed your pillows and lowered yourself on the bed. you yawned, “i don’t think you’re a coward, regulus. after all, you just ran away with a princess.”

regulus looked at you fondly, watching as you slowly succumbed to sleep. he smiled softly, “yeah,”

your stay with the potters, and sirius, has been wonderful. you’ve felt more at home in godric’s hollow than in your palace. no amount of grandeur wealth would compare to the amount of love and belonging you’ve felt in your sojourn.

regulus has successfully managed to keep their mouths shut about him being a prince as well. the conversation and intention still went unnoticed by you.

you and lily have been the bestest of friends. the sweet girl that made you feel more at home than anyone else could, an evident friendship blossoming into a charming one.

james and sirius welcomed you into their arms as if you were one of their long-lost mates, and quite literally if you must say. they locked you beneath their armpits and ruffled your hair one game night.

you were convinced that james was the human embodiment of a ball of sunshine, never failing to put a smile on your faces. sirius had more of a flirty demeanor, which you’ve brushed off with a quip or two of your own.

“does the princess have a prince charming or do i have to step up?”

“not every prince is charming, sirius.”

and regulus— you’ve grown closer to regulus than you’ve ever had with anyone, getting to know each other more, spending more late nights talking about everything and nothing, and not that any of you would admit it, but inevitably falling in love was part of the list.

you and lily were in her room, she was lending you some clothes to wear as all of you have made a plan to go to the market fair in town.

james was on the phone with remus, asking him to meet up at the place whilst sirius and regulus were in the living room, catching up after a few years of not seeing each other.

sirius has grown quite fond of the princess. not that he was catching feelings, but a date wouldn’t sound too bad, if he must say, so he asked his brother, “d’you reckon y/n would fancy a date w’me? maybe i could bring her to hogsmeade,”

and to say that he was dumbstruck when he heard that was an understatement, “what? no, you can’t,”

sirius looked at him with a confused expression, “how come?”

regulus hesitated, “she’s… betrothed.”

the eldest black brother scoffed, “yeah, t’you, and she doesn’t even know that you’re that bloke,”

regulus shook his head, sitting up straight as he heard your giggles from upstairs, “just- don’t, sirius.”

padfoot grinned at his brother in realization, “by the love of merlin! you love her, don’t you?” he teased, bumping their shoulders together.

“let’s go, handsomes, i’m not getting any younger here!” you laughed. regulus thought you looked angelic, the white dress hugging your curves in the most surreal way possible, the smile on your face proving that any blue day would get better with just a glimpse of it.

“this isn’t over, reggie,” sirius sang mockingly, getting up and linking his arm with yours.

the market fair in godric’s hollow is incredibly enchanting. fairy lights were hanging above the booths, multitudes of colorful stalls, the smell of the amazing street food, and the bubbly spirits of the people mingling around had you in a state of awe.

you went in separate groups, lily with james, sirius went off to find remus, and you were stuck with regulus— not that you were complaining, really.

you dragged regulus by one of the stalls that sold clothes, wanting to buy a few to avoid borrowing more from lily.

you were currently strolling around with him, your shopping bags in his hold as he insisted to carry them for you.

whilst you stopped to look at the fancy daggers, regulus caught sight of a gorgeous necklace. convincing himself that it would only take a few minutes, he left your side and onto the booth to buy the jewelry for you.

once you’ve managed to choose a design, you paid for the dagger and strapped it on your thigh with the holster you bought, “it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

when he didn’t reply, you looked up to where he was standing just a few moments ago to find that he wasn’t by your side.

you crooned your neck to look around but instead of seeing him, you saw your palace guards slowly approaching you.

you cursed, turning around and running away from them, making them step up quickly and ran after you.

“regulus!” you called out, hoping that he’ll hear you.

“regulus!” you tried once more, and he finally heard you. he immediately pocketed the paid necklace and dropped the bags as he tried to run after you, “y/n!” but it was too late.

the guards were already surrounding you, two of them managed to carry you to a carriage while you thrashed around, “let me go! i don’t want to go back, please!” you cried, “regulus!”

regulus was running around the big plaza, trying to figure out where your voice was coming from.

the carriage was already a menacing dot as it continued to advance forward, leaving regulus frustrated and broken.

“what were you thinking running away like that?” your father barked, pacing back and forth on the castle’s lounge, “d’you know how ashamed we were when we found out that you snuck off? even more so whe-”

your father stopped talking when your mother gave him a stern look. an expression you know all too well when they didn’t want you to know something.

“it came to our attention that you ran away with regulus, yes?” your mother asked, giving you a tense smile.

you didn’t answer. looking at your parents with hatred as your eyes blurred with tears.

she sighed, “well, if you must know, he was the one who called for the guards. he knew about the huge amount of payment if someone gave you up. he contacted the palace guards before you even stepped foot in that repugnant marketplace.”

“no,” you let out a teary laughed, “regulus would never do that,”

he would never. especially after all those moments you’ve shared, those constant touches, the sneaky eye contacts. he would never.

“no? then where was he when you called for him?” your mother scoffed, a sly smirk on her face.

you glared at them, taking a shaky breath, “i-”

she tutted, “i’m not done just yet, my dear daughter. you will be married to lord riddle, on the contrary, seeing that the walburga and orion’s son was quite… negligent,”

“i will not be married to anyone!” you objected, “if there’s anyone i’d rather get married to, it would be regulus.”

your mother let out a cackle, “quite amusing if you asked me, dear, because regulus was the prince you were supposed to marry!”

you froze, managing to croak out a small, “what?”

your father chuckled, “oh, don’t tell me he didn’t tell you that?”

you swallowed the forming lump in your throat, “i hope you rot in hell.”

your mother scowled at you, “guards! bring her to the room.”

“i don’t need bodyguards surrounding me all the time, mother,” you spat, “i may be of the royal bloodline, but i am no weakling.”

“... and don’t forget to tie her up,” she smirked.

before you could even react, you were hauled up by your arms, screaming at them to let you go.

you made sure to give them a hard time while they walked up the stairs. once arriving at your room, they threw you on the carpeted floor with a right thump.

you flailed around, whimpering as they tied your arms and legs, “stop, stop, stop. please,” but they paid you no mind, leaving you alone in the dark.

after a few hours of trying to remove the rope from your limbs, and a few chaffings later, you ultimately gave up on trying. you didn’t know what your parents’ plan was but you were quite grateful for the noise and crashing outside your door.

crawling a bit towards your door, your forearm brushed against something rough on your thighs. you cursed yourself for being dense, and lifted your dress a bit, carefully grabbing your new rose gold dagger from its holster.

when you heard the jingling of your door, you hastily tried to cut the rope from your wrists.

you cussed as you dropped it on the floor, you tried to get a hold of it once more when the door suddenly burst open.

“y/n!” regulus breathed out in relief, he rushed by your side, grabbing your fallen dagger and cutting the ropes. your eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, before turning your gaze to the man you’ve fallen in love with, the same man who lied to you.

sirius approached the both of you, trying to tell you to hurry up before the guards caught up with them, “let’s go!”

“are you alright?” regulus asked, cupping your face in his hands.

you glared at him, rubbing your arms to soothe the burning, “don’t touch me.”

you stood up, grabbing the dagger from his hand, and placed it back on your holster. you snatched your satchel from the floor and started packing a few necessities that could fit in.

regulus looked at you in confusion and hurt, standing up as you shuffled around the room, “what’s wrong?”

you ignored him, shoving past him, and made your way towards sirius, who just shrugged at his brother.

the three of you sneaked past the guards and the members of the order, successfully escaping and meeting up with lily and james at the entrance.

“oh, merlin!” lily brought you in a hug, “are you alright, y/n?”

“lily,” you breathed out, hugging her back. you closed your eyes in relief, letting out a teary laugh, “i’m alright, don’t worry,”

“we’ve got to go, they’ll catch up soon enough if we don’t leave,” james said, “‘m sure frank and the rest got ‘em distracted for a while.”

arriving back at the potter household, they let you retire back at the guest room, regulus following in suit.

“hey, y/n, what’s wrong?” regulus asked, grabbing your arm so you’re facing him.

you looked at him in anger and hurt, “you lied to me!”

“wha- what did i lie about? i don’t understand,” regulus was dumbstruck, he didn’t know what you were talking about until he remembered all about the betrothal. he looked down in guilt.

“stop the act, regulus. you were the one i was supposed to marry,” you whispered, “why did you lie to me?”

regulus sighed, sitting down on the bed as he ran a hand through his hair, “i was scared, alright? i was scared because i fell for you, y/n, and when i found out that you didn’t want to marry me, i didn’t know what to do… so i lied because i was afraid that you’d go if i told you that i was the prince.”

“and it’s terrifying how i would’ve given you the stars if you asked,” he chuckled softly, “but i chose to keep that to myself because that’s how much of a coward i am…”

“reg, i didn’t even know that it was you,” you frowned, expression softening as you sat down beside him, “and i frankly don’t care about the stars, or anything at all, honestly, because all i want is you, regulus,”

“don’t be so sure about that, y/n,” he breathed out, “if you’ve known that it was me, you wouldn’t agree to marry me.”

“you’re right,” you nodded, smiling softly, “i wouldn’t marry you because of some stupid betrothal, i’d marry you because i love you, regulus black, and i know f’myself that you’re the man that i would love to spend the rest of my life with.”

he looked at you with adoration and love in his eyes, a small smile adorning his lips.

regulus tucked the loose strand of hair behind your hair, his eyes shifting from your eyes down to your lips, “may i?”

not trusting your words, you nodded instead, slowly leaning in. regulus cupped the side of your face with his hand, your hand running through his brown curls as the both of you drew closer. eyes fluttering close as you felt the soft, warmth of his lips caress your own.

after a few moments, he pulled away slowly, pressing his forehead against your own, smiling softly at the result of the sudden revelations and confessions.

“let’s run away, regulus,” you whispered, “away from here and our wretched parents.”

“yeah?” he chuckled softly, “where’d you want to go, m’love?”

“italy.”

“... and they lived happily ever after.” you smiled softly.

“mum, what happened in italy?” your daughter asked, hugging her teddy bear as she looked up at you and regulus with her doe eyes.

regulus hummed, “they settled down in florence, italy, with the help of the marauders-”

“dad, who are the marauders?” your son questioned, exchanging looks with his sister and his cousin, harry.

“they’re the best friends of the prince and princess, orion,” james grinned, snaking his arm around lily’s waist.

“what happened next, aunt y/n?”

“well, they had a small wedding by the beach, they traveled around the world, had kids, and are now telling their stories to their adorable kids and godson,” you smiled, “and the said kids and godson should be asleep in the next five minutes.”

the three of them let out simultaneous groans. you, regulus, and the marauders had small smiles on your faces, finding the situation amusing.

“good night, my darlings, we love you,” you and regulus kissed their foreheads and tucked them in bed, as lily and james did the same with harry.

after ensuring that they were fast asleep, you and the rest went back down to the living room.

sirius grinned, grabbing the firewhiskeys and crisps out of the bag, “they finally went to sleep?”

“yeah,” you smiled, fiddling with the moonstone necklace regulus bought you from the fair, “guess our story worked perfectly fine as a bedtime tale, didn’t it, reggie?”

“indeed it did, m’love,” he kissed the top of your head, sitting down on the couch for your traditional game night.

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marauders taglist: @sweetnspicysimp @cherie-draco @eunoniaa @acosmis-t @amrtxntias @cedrics-grave @dracosgoodgirl @msmb

[gr-ogu]

Hello! As requested, here is a tutorial on how I make my gifs. I would like to preface this by saying there are many ways to make gifs, and there’s no right or wrong answer imo. This is just how I personally go about doing so!

I will be using PS CC 2017, but as long as you have the video timeline option, it shouldn’t matter too much; on any version of PS, you should be able to adapt anything I mention here! You will also need some kind of screen recording software. I’ll talk a little more about that under the cut.

To start, you need the source material you will be making the gifs from! I get mine from snahp(.)it (avoiding links so tumblr hopefully doesn’t banish this from the tags lmao) and I always opt for either 1080p or 2160p. Not all laptops will support 2160p as it’s 4K, but either works great! You just want your gifs to be the best quality possible.

Next is where the screen recording comes in. I don’t use the screencapping method to make my gifs (where you use a program to cap a clip and then load those caps into a stack in PS). This isn’t for any particular reason… it’s just how my friends, (who very kindly taught me to gif), had always done it, so it’s now how I do it too. Personally, I find the quality to be just as good as the screencapping method, and have never noticed a difference between the two.

As I have a PC, I use the software built into it for screen-recording. If you go here: theverge(.)com/2020/4/21/21222533/record-screen-pc-windows-laptop-xbox-game-bar-how-to – you can see how to use the XBOX screenrecorder to record from files you have d*wnloaded. This also works on some streaming sites, but I think it depends on what browser you use. Personally, I recommend Firefox, as that seems to bypass a lot of the blocking and ads that occur when trying to do this sort of thing.

For MAC users, I have been told handbrake works well, as it converts MKV files to MP4, which can then be used to make gifs. You only need to convert part of the file to MP4 depending on how much you want to gif, and this also bypasses the screenrecording stage, as you can edit MP4 clips on Quicktime. I am told you can split them into smaller clips by going to edit > trim and it saves the new clip!

I have also used anyvideoconverter for small clips, but I can’t say what it does to the quality of your video, or how big of a file it lets you put in! With the XBOX screenrecorder, it doesn’t matter what type of video files you get, as the recording will save to MP4 anyway.

LOADING YOUR FRAMES

Now, go ahead and record whatever clips you want to gif. Make sure you have the video timeline open, by going to window > timeline. Then, go to file > import > video frames to layers.

Next, select and open your clip from where it has saved (with the XBOX recorder, it saves in video > captures). You should see a little window pop up, where you can move the sliders back and forth to clip your recording to whichever part(s) you specifically want to gif. I recommend trying not to load a lot of frames into photoshop at once, but I would be a hypocrite to say that, since I do it a lot lmao. Just be patient if you do!

Once you have chosen the length, click okay. Never, EVER, I repeat NEVER click the button that says “limit to every __ frames”. This really ruins the flow and quality of your gif—it’s better to have shorter, but smoother gifs, I promise. And with tumblr’s new 10 MB limit, it shouldn’t be a problem anyway!

Then, your frames should open up. What we want to do is make them into a smart object, so we can edit all the layers at the same time. To do this, click the small button in the left-hand corner. ALWAYS click this first. If you don’t, it will only convert the first frame to a smart object and the gif won’t work.

Give it a second to sort itself out, then, on the right-hand side, select all your frames at once using the shift key.

Then, go to filter > convert for smart filters. This might take a minute. Don’t click anything else in case PS gets angry lmao, just leave it for a second and it’ll do its thing. The more frames you have, the longer it takes! Now we have our gif, but it needs to be cropped, sharpened and coloured!

CROPPING

You want to start by selecting the rectangular marquee tool on the left-hand side, then drag it across by clicking and highlighting the area you would like to crop your gif to, like so:

What I tend to do is select everything inside the black lines you sometimes get around your gif (this depends on what file you d*wnload), and also the tiniest bit inside the sides. This is because I’ve found if you crop it right up to the edge, you get a tiny bit of transparency on the sides of your gifs, which I’d rather avoid.

Once you have your desired selection, go to image > crop. Now, the dimensions for tumblr are 540px width, so all your gifs have to be that width. However, the length is up to you. I really like big gifs, so sometimes I even make a full square, or even longer. It’s entirely up to you, and what kind of set you want to make.

For the purposes of this gif, I will stick to what I usually go for, 540px by 350 px. This will mean you’ll have to crop some width off, but that’s okay, since Marisa isn’t central anyway. The cropping is always trial and error for me, as sometimes people move out of the frame within in the gif. The best thing to do is just try it, and then move the slider in the timeline window at the bottom to see if the person stays inside the gif, and if not, adjust accordingly.

Next, go to image > image size:

In this box, if I put the width as 540, the gif is a smaller height than I want, as it keeps to the dimensions of the gif when you load it into PS. That’s okay, just put the height you want instead, and we’ll crop off the excess.

Then click OK. Using the rectangular marquee tool again, we need to remove the excess width. Part of the reason I like this version of PS is that it tells you the width of your selection as you do it, but you can always use the ruler as a guide, and check the size of your image by going to image > image size again.

Again, use image > crop, and your gif should now be the correct size!

You can also use the crop tool in the timeline window to crop the length of your gif:

However, I tend to wait until later on to do this (which will be explained further down!)

SHARPENING

Next you want to go to filter > sharpen > smart sharpen.

These are my settings. However, 0.4px is very sharp, too much so, but that’s easily fixed.

Go to filter > blur > Gaussian blur and then set it to 1.0.

Now on the right-hand side, we need to reduce the blur, so double click the little adjustment button, and change the opacity of the blur. I usually go for 20-30%!

Then click OK, and that’s your sharpening done!

COLOURING

I picked this scene on purpose as it’s dark, so good for showing how to colour a gif. I have a base psd which consists of some very basic adjustments, but it mostly exists so I don’t forget what adjustment layers I like to use. I adjust them every time I make a gif, essentially colouring each gif from scratch.

In this case, the psd actually makes it darker. So, what I will do is turn each layer off, and adjust as I go. A lot of people say using lots of adjustment layers ruins the quality of your gif… I have never found this to be true, as long as you are gentle with them. If you whack the brightness right up to the top, it’s going to ruin your gif no matter if you use 1 adjustment layer or 100. I would just say use your common sense, and adjust a little at a time!

I start with a simple black to white gradient map set to soft light, because I think it helps you see depth once you add some brightness to it. I usually do this on about 10%, or more if needed. It’s probably unnecessary, I just like how it looks!

Then, I move onto using curves and levels. This is where things can diverge depending on who you’re colouring. If this person is white, it doesn’t matter too much. If they’re not white, you don’t want to white wash them. My best advice is to play around with it. By adding vibrance and other (usually the red) selective colour settings later, you can ensure you don’t change the person’s skin tone from what it originally was. You can also use layer masks at varying opacities (various shades of grey), on your curves and levels, to remove some brightening so that you’re not changing anyone’s skin colour. Just brighten slowly and check in with yourself honestly about how your gif looks.

Some people don’t like using levels, or curves. It’s completely up to you. I tend to use both because levels are good for bringing depth, even if not brightening (though I like to use them for that as well). 

One thing you can do is use the white point of the gif to make PS adjust the curves itself, however I like to drag the sliders myself and see what it looks like. Just make sure it’s not too bright, as we will be using further layers to brighten more, after.

Next is levels. The slider on the left controls the black point, the one in the middle controls the midtones, and the one on the right controls the white points. The black brings depth, the midtones adjust the overall brightness, and the white points produce stronger highlights. Again, you’ll get a feel for how this works as you practice. Just don’t use the white point excessively, especially if your characters are not white.

Then I add vibrance (+20!), because we’ve removed a lot of it when lightening the gif. Next is exposure, which I find brings out the highlight and shadow areas more effectively:

Then colour balance! This helps with scenes that might be a certain colour, i.e. too blue, too green, too red, etc. Moving the sliders in the opposite direction of the colour your gif is will counteract it. The best thing to do when accounting for different colours, is to make a new layer every time you change colour, so that you don’t get confused. I always add a new layer for colour balance and selective colour if I want to change more than one thing. So one for red, one for yellow, one for pink, etc. 

A layer of brightness just to make the gif pop, and because the scene is extra dark, I added a very gentle extra curves layer:

SAVING YOUR GIF

Time to save the gif. You can go ahead and file > export > save for web (legacy) now, but then you’ll have to reopen the gif to reset the frame rate from 0.07, to 0.05. Instead of doing that, I use a modified action. The original was made by the very talented @elenafisher! So I do not take credit for that at all. You can find the original here: elenafisher(.)tumblr(.)com/post/190817437374/gif-sharpening-action-2-preview-download and in my resources tag. Please reblog it if you’re going to use this!

To use an action, first make sure you have actions turned on in window > actions. To load in your action, go to the little lines circled, and then load the action from your downloads:

Obviously if you don’t want to sharpen your gifs yourself, you can use the action as it is, and it will give you a beautiful glowing effect. If you’d just like to use it to flatten your gif into frames like I do, make sure to take out all the items I have highlighted:

Until it looks like this!

Make sure you have the layer under the file name highlighted, and then click the play button at the bottom! (If you get a screen saying select all frames cannot be found, don’t worry, just click continue!) You can delete the layer that does that if you want, I just keep it in case I realise I’ve forgotten to do something, because you can click cancel and edit your gif before you flatten it. Of course you can undo the steps to get back to the smart object version of your gif, it just takes longer!

And now your gif is in frames and set to 0.05 already, so you don’t have to change the speed! All you need to do now before saving is change the gif cycle to “forever” in the bottom left-hand corner:

Then to save the gif go to file > export > save for web (legacy). Sometimes, the gif is bigger than the tumblr 10MB limit. You’ll be able to see this in the bottom left-hand corner of the gif save settings. If this is the case, I like to preview the gif, to see whether it would be best to cut frames off of the beginning or the end, or both. When you’ve decided, you can select the frames at the bottom, and in the right-hand side panel, and delete them both using the little bins/trash icons.

I keep checking and deleting frames until I get the gif under 10 MB! Just don’t delete frames from the middle, as then you’ll have the same issue as if you selected “every other frame” when making the gif: it won’t flow!

Lastly, these are my save settings:

So that’s it! That’s how I make all my gifs. Blending I do when the gifs are in the grouped, smart filter stage, whereas text I add on during the framing section above! Really hope this is helpful, please feel free to ask any questions you may have! 💖

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

Kiss Me Under the Mistletoe

This is my secret Santa story for @storiesofthefandomlovers​ for the Pedro’s 12 days of Christmas! I hope you love it as much as I loved writing it!

MERRY CHRISTMAS Charlie!!

A/N: Thank you to my darling @yespolkadotkitty​ & @justanotherblonde23​ for beta reading! You guys are the best!!

Pairing: Javier Pena x F! Reader

Warning: 18 + ONLY (Oral M & F receiving, light cum play, p in v sex, language)

Word Count: 3.2 K

My Masterlist

Javier was exhausted. The sweat from the never relenting heat stuck to him like a second skin; he smelled like leather and cigarette smoke. He flicked the butt out the window and rolled it up before turning off the jeep. He sighed; looking at the blinking red numbers on the clock it was well past midnight, and he had missed Christmas Eve.

Although it was late, the city was alive. Candles adorned in red and white flickered against the windows and the church he drove past swelled with the music and life of people attending midnight mass.

He opened the door and gazed up at his apartment. The same flickering candles adorned his own window and he let out a soft smile, thinking of you. How the hell he got so lucky he would never understand. You had met one afternoon at the markets, Javier had been chasing a sicario through the bustling streets and literally crashed head first into you, letting out a frantic apology and taking off again. You had never expected to see him after that, but the next weekend he was there almost waiting, watching for something.

Or as you came to learn someone, you.

He had apologized and asked you out for drinks, which then led to dinner and the most mind-blowing sex of your life. It should have just been a one night stand but you both became addicts like those of the drug he spent his life hunting, in thrall; searching for your next fix.

Javier was not a man that believed he deserved love. One night after another passionate affair, you both lay breathless, and as the curl of smoke from his cigarette lingered in the air, he told you about his job.

The men he hunted, the death and destruction he had seen and even been subjected too. “To catch bad people, you have to do bad things,” he had once said, his arms wrapped around your waist, his face buried in your hair. He quietly inhaled the sweet scent of citrus and flowers that clung to you and left his pillow with the faint scent of your locks. You understood right then that he loved you. That giving up that part of himself he kept so buried and hidden in his heart was his way of showing you that he’d relinquished his heart to you.

Six months into your endeavor and your work was shot up by sicarios going after your boss for making a bad deal with the Narcos. Javier had busted down the door wearing that bulletproof vest and shooting anyone in his path to get to you. He was a man possessed. When his hand intertwined in your own he used his own body to shield you to safety. Not giving a shit about the world watching, he devoured your lips against the side of the van, his hands tangling in your hair and pulling you impossibly closer. “Te amo,” he whispered against your lips.

Murphy’s gentle touch on his shoulder shattered the glass and he pressed his forehead into your own, eyes closed breath hollow. “I love you,” you whispered against his lips and he pulled you tighter to his chest. Almost tight enough to be painful but you wouldn’t have pulled away for the world. How a man who chased down Narcos, carried a gun, could make you feel so safe was a question for another day.

That night he took you home to his place where he reminded you what he struggled so much to say. That he loved you.

His tongue and lips clamped down onto your aching clit as his fingers worked you through your third orgasm. The pleasure was blinding as he sucked and fucked you with his tongue. And when he slid his cock inside you, tears landed gracelessly on your face as he thrust slowly and achingly into you. You reach up and place your hands on his face, neither of you needing to speak;  only needing the gentle touch of the other to ground you. And when he came inside you, groaning as his eyes stayed locked on your own, clenching around him, you knew that this was it. No one in the world would ever compare to Javier Peña.

After that night you didn’t return home to your apartment, except to pack and give your notice. Javi, Steve, and Connie helped you move your things into his apartment and nothing was ever said again.

Javier stared at the flickering candlelight and sighed -  he should have been home hours ago, but paperwork and the never ending bureaucratic bullshit of the embassy had kept him late. Even Steve had gone home early, although he had a child so he had more of a reason - but still. Christmas was the time to be with family and even though it was small, you were his family.

Javier crossed the street and climbed the stairs two at a time, reaching the door in record time. He unlocked the door and quietly stepped inside. Putting his keys in the blue and white ceramic bowl you bought at the market a couple of weeks ago and taking off his shoes next to the small pile. The light flickered from the TV in the living room, sounds of an over the top telenovela wafting through the space. Over the top of the couch sat a red and white novelty Santa hat and Javier smiled until the hat moved. He approached cautiously coming around the couch; breath catching and cock hardening at the site.

You were sprawled out on the couch Santa hat laying precariously on your head. One of his white button-up shirts unbuttoned and underneath peek-a-booed a red lingerie set lined with white fur trim. The crotch missing from the panties, your cunt on full display for him, and glistening in the flickering light from the candles. All clipped carefully into the white garter belt and stockings ending with the sharp black heels with a large gold buckle. The gift you had teased him on the phone with hours ago laid out before him. Waiting to be unwrapped.

He slowly peeled off his leather jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, letting it fall onto the couch, pulling off his socks and tossing them. Javi uncrossed your ankles and gently placed your feet a bit wider giving him room to drop to his knees before you. He licked his lips as he watched your chest rise and fall with each breath. He scooted closer and placed a warm hand on your inner thigh, kissing the skin over the stockings gently. Taking the time to worship your thighs and legs that he adored before moving closer to your heat. Taking one finger he gently ran it through your folds, collecting your slick and putting it in his mouth, sucking it off the moisture, and groaning in delight at the sweetness.

Never taking his eyes off you, he nudged his sharp nose against your clit as he tasted you with his tongue. Flat wide strokes before circling your nub with the tip of his tongue and back again.

*******

You groan in your sleep and move to turn when he grabs hold of your thigh keeping you spread before him. Your eyes snap open and make contact with his own as his lips suck your clit into his mouth while he works one finger into you. Inch by inch until you are quivering beneath him, he adds a second finger and curls them hitting that spongy part inside you that causes you to see stars.

“Javi?” you question as his tongue works you again with wide broad strokes soaking up all your sweetness. His fingers sound obscene with how wet you are as he pumps them into your aching pussy.

He pulls away and grins, “Yes, honey? This is my present, no? It’s Christmas morning after all,” he teases before plundering your cunt with his tongue bringing you closer and closer to the edge. Your eyes roll back into your head when he groans and the vibrations send a shockwave through your body. Your orgasm crashes over you in waves, and Javi works you through it adding a third finger and curling them into you as you pulse and clench around him.

“Javier!” you scream and dig your fingers tugging hard on his short locks. He pulls away and you watch as he sucks all of your juices off his fingers, pulling each one out with a pop.

“Merry Christmas baby,” he grins at you before moving up your body and kissing you gently, tasting the sharp tang of yourself on his tongue. His hands continue running up and down your thighs over the stockings. “Why don’t we move into our bedroom and I can unwrap the rest of my gift?” You can only nod as he takes  your ankles in his hand and flips the clasp on the left heel pulling it off and carelessly throwing it to the floor. He repeats with the other shoe and then he is pulling you up from the couch and tossing you over his shoulder. You squeal in delight and hang on to him, and he chuckles before tossing you onto the bed, your breasts bouncing in the tight fabric. His hands move to unclasp the garter from the stockings and you grab his hand and push it away. Sitting up, you remove his shirt and throw it, taking his jeans in your hands and unbuttoning them, and dragging down the zipper. Your finger runs along his cock as it springs free from the confines of his jeans. Dropping to your knees and looking up at him through your lashes he smiles down at you. “I want to taste you, Javi, is that ok?”

“Shit...cariño that is more than oka-” his voice cracks on the last syllable as you take just the tip past your lips, running your tongue in small circles. You reach for his hands and place them gently on your head and he groans, his head dropping back as he pushes you further down onto his cock. He takes his time and inches himself deeper and deeper into your mouth as his breathing gets heavier. One of your hands comes up to massage his balls and the other grabs his ass tightly as he pants. You hollow your cheeks, tongue running up and down as he hits the back of your throat. Breathing deeply through your nose, you gag a little, tears beginning to pool in the corner of your eyes as he fucks your mouth.

“Fuck, I love your mouth...shit.. I’m close.”

You pull him deeper into your mouth and he whimpers as you press and swirl your tongue around the tip, using your hand to pump him in time with your mouth. His grip on your hair tightens and he pulls you all the way forward, choking you on his cock. His hot, salty cum coats your tongue as he climaxes with a groan.

You swallow every last drop and open your mouth to show him, “Such a good girl,” he praises and lifts you to your feet. He kisses you deeply and you sigh as his hands roam over your skin, warm to the touch. “Sit down on the bed,” he instructs and you do so, “now let’s unwrap the rest of my gift  shall we…”

He moves to his knees and spreads your legs to lay  between them. Hands coming around to unclasp your bra and pull it away. He places gentle kisses on your hard nubs, his mustache scratching lightly against your flesh. “Fuck... this is the greatest gift I’ve ever received cariño.” Taking one nipple in his mouth he bites down gently and pulls out; you gasp at the feeling.

“Javi...please,” you beg, hands running through his hair as he takes his sweet time worshipping your breasts. His other hand kneading the other as he keeps his full attention on your nipples. The way he bites you will for sure have marks in the morning, but Javi loves marking you, claiming you as his own. Especially the visual ones, your neck is  usually covered in love bites, letting all the men at work know who you belonged to.

He switches his attention to the other breast and you drop your head back feeling a familiar rush of slick between your thighs. Javi chuckles against your nub and rubs his face between your breasts, his mustache scratching at the skin before he places a kiss between them. “Look at me, Cariño.” The words like honey on his tongue and you are aching for it.

Slowly, you bring your head back up and watch as he never breaks eye contact, snapping the locks from the garter. He sits back on his ankles and puts your foot against his chest, exposing your dripping pussy for him. He starts from the top and slowly rolls down the white stocking his lips trailing behind pressing wet kisses to your skin as he slides them off and tosses them behind him. He moves to the other leg and repeats the process, taking his time to lightly nip and run his tongue over your flesh.

He digs his fingers into the silky material of the garters and pulls them and your panties off leaving you completely bare before him and at his mercy. “Fuck,” he murmurs staring, “You’re perfect, cariño.”  

Taking your hands, he intertwines your fingers and pulls you down to kiss him. Running his tongue over your bottom lip, asking for entrance. His tongue snakes his way inside your mouth and he licks. You’re drunk off the taste of coffee and cigarettes; it’s distinctly Javi.

“Come with me,” he whispers against your lips and pulls you to stand before him. Taking your hand he leads you to the shower and turns on the water. “I need to shower, and I would really love for you to join me.” You nod and he pulls you in for another deep kiss. He tugs  you under the hot spray of the water, his mouth open as he sucks on your neck, pulling you into his chest. His cock is hard and pushing into your ass. He reaches around you and grabs the body wash squeezing a glob into his hands and working it before he rubs it all over you. Although he is cleaning you, you feel even fucking dirtier as his hands rub between your thighs. You turn in his arms and connect your mouths, biting down on his lower lip as he groans. You take the soap from his hands and run it over his broad shoulders, chest, and lower, taking him in your hands.

His forehead drops to your shoulder and he groans as you pump him a few times. “Turn around,” he groans and pushes your chest into the wall. You shiver at the change in temperature. He gently nudges  your legs apart and you feel him; thick and hot against your leg. “I want to fuck you, cariño,” his voice deep and husky.

“Then do it, mi amor” you whisper, and he wastes no time sliding inside of you, inch by glorious inch. Your forehead lays against the tile, and your hands spread out. His fingers leave imprints on your hips as he pushes all the way in and seats you on his cock.

“Fuck,” he pants, “always so tight for me.” He starts slow dragging almost all the way out before slamming back in, slowly driving you insane as he hits that delicious spot inside of you.

“More, Javi, please,” you beg and he speeds up his thrust. The slap of skin on skin is almost  drowned out by the water still pouring over you. He’s sure to leave bruises as he sets a punishing pace, slamming into you. One hand comes out and he starts rubbing circles on your clit, your hands tightening into fists and biting down hard on your lip to suppress your screams.

“Let go, cariño.  I want to hear you,” you clench tighter around him and he moans cursing and rubbing you in time with each thrust until you are pushing his hand away and screaming against the tile. “That’s it baby, cum on my cock,” he praises in that deep, bedroom voice breaks you and you flood his cock, tightening around him as he cums inside you; his thrusts finally slowing until he’s pulling you back flush against him, cock still nestled inside.

The water turns to ice and you shout as he runs to quickly turn it off, both of you laughing against the wall. He slides out of you and watches as his cum drips out onto the floor, dipping his finger and pushing it back inside. “Come on baby, let’s go to bed,” he grabs two fluffy towels and wraps one around you and the other around his waist, leading you both back to the bed. You dry off as best you can before dropping it and getting back under the covers, pulling Javier closer.

He nuzzles into your neck and inhales deeply before sighing, “I will never get enough of you,” he places a kiss below your ear and envelopes you. “Tomorrow...well today I am going to give you some real Christmas magic, cariño.”

“Oh yeah? What are your plans for me Agent Peña?” you tease.

“I’m going to kiss you under the mistletoe like all those corny Christmas movies you watch, just wait, cariño, this will be a Christmas you won’t soon forget.”

“I love you, Javier,” you whisper into the dark and he returns the sentiment with his arms wrapped tight around you.

The next morning you wake up the same way you did the night before, with Javier’s tongue buried inside your pussy. “Oh my God, Javi!” you scream as his tongue wraps tightly around your clit, two fingers pumping you through your orgasm. You feel yourself shattering around him and gushing on his fingers, his tongue eagerly licking up your juices.

You moan and push at his head, fingers digging into the soft curls of his hair, tugging him off. He smiles at you from between your thighs, his mustache glistening in the low light of the bedroom.

Kissing his way up your chest and nipping at one of your nipples, he reaches for his cigarettes on the nightstand, lighting up and taking a long drag. “You know when you told me you wanted to kiss me under the mistletoe, I thought you might mean in a doorway and my lips,” you tease.

“Well, technically, it was still your lips, just on your pussy not your mouth, and we still did it under the mistletoe.” You laugh as he points up and you see the mistletoe hanging from the ceiling above your bed.

He grins at you and takes another pull, the smoke curling up. “Then … do I also get to kiss you under the mistletoe, Javier?” you reach for his jeans and unbuckling them.

He puts out the cigarette and pushes his jeans off the rest of the way, grinning “Well, tis the season.”

Taglist: @josepedropascal​ @mrschiltoncat​ @mrsparknuts​ @zannemes​​ @ghostwiththemostbitch​​ @oldstuffnewstuff​​ @yespolkadotkitty​​ @heythere-mel​​ @justanotherblonde23​​ @artsymaddie​​ @anetteaneta​​ @a-seeker-of-imagination​​ @aellynera​​

[rein-ette]

If you still fancy a drabble prompt, I've always seen Canada and England having a very warm and comfortable relationship- if it interests you, maybe a prompt could be one going to the other for advice about something?

It does indeed interest me, thank you for the prompt! I've had a bunch of Mattie-Arthur scenarios swimming around in my mind for a long time, so I'm glad to have a chance to put one of them down on paper. As always, this was supposed to be a "drabble" but magically lengthened itself the more I thought about it -- I don't think drabbles are supposed to have historical notes.

"Come in."

Matthew shifted his pile of papers to his other arm and pushed through the door of Arthur's office. Inside, the fading afternoon light illuminated the rich mahogony floor and danced on the spines of the hundreds of books that lined each wall. Remembering the excitement he felt when he was first allowed to peruse these shelves, Matthew couldn't help but smile softly to himself.

Arthur himself sat at his desk, one ankle propped up on his knee as he stared idly out the window. Matthew could just barely see a white trim of bandages that peeked out from underneath his collar. That dimmed his smile. It had been more than two years now since the war had ended in Europe, but Arthur still looked as gaunt as he did during the days when engines still roared over London and — though Matthew had not thought it possible — even more exhausted. The worn smile Arthur offered him said as much, and Matthew pushed away a twinge of guilt.

Arthur jerked his chin at the seat in front of his desk and Matthew sat, stacking his documents in a neat pile in front of him. Instead of immediately going through them, however, he gazed worriedly at his old guardian.

"How are you feeling?"

Arthur sighed and shifted in his seat, dropping his leg and turning to face Matthew. He stared at the ancient, ink-stained wood of his desk for a while, and Matthew could almost see the warring emotions on Arthur's face as his desire to be honest fought with his lingering instinct to conceal and protect Matthew from the worries that plagued him. But because they were past such pretenses, he finally murmured, "Tired."

Matthew hummed sympathetically in response. There wasn't much he could do or say to change that, and he expected the reports he brought would only exhaust Arthur further. So he merely asked, "Are you remembering to apply the salve twice a day?"

Matthew flushed a little when Arthur rolled his eyes at him good-naturedly, realizing he was fussing like Arthur was his child, instead of the other way around. Thankfully, Arthur spared him further embarrasment by only answering a tad dryly that yes, he was actually capable of following simple instructions. Matthew mumbled out a reply before deciding that he might as well get on with what he was actually here for, knowing Arthur had never been one for small talk. Clearing his throat, he slid the top half of his stack of papers across the desk.

"They sent you a copy of Lord Mountbatten's plan, I think with annotations, though I haven't gone through the whole thing. And this part is the proposal for the national flag. Also," he pulled a cream letter from the pile and passed that over as well, "India asked that you be there personally, in August," he finished.

Arthur hummed and rifled through the papers. Matthew couldn't quite read his expression. After a few moments, he stacked them again and placed them to the side, with the letter on top. "Thanks. I'll go through them later."

Matthew nodded. "And here I just summarized the letters and stuff from the others. I've left them back in the box, in case you wanted to read them yourself. There's not too much going on really. That you don't already know."

"Yes. Thank you. This is a great help, Matthew, truly."

"You're welcome," Matthew murmured, and watched Arthur scan the notes before setting them aside as well. His eyes traced the shadows underneath the other nation's eyes, before dropping back down to the cotton bandages around his neck. He wondered if Arthur was sleeping at all.

"Is there anything else I can do? I'm heading back to Ottawa next week, but if you need me to take over some stuff for a bit, I can stay longer —"

"No, no, it's fine," Arthur cut him off. "Like I said, I'm just a little tired, that's all. But all this," he waved a hand at the documents , "isn't anything new."

Matthew frowned. "Isn't it?"

"Hmm?"

"I mean, I know the paperwork isn't new, but, these," he drew a breath, "reforms, and the war, of course. That's — I mean. No one's, you know, had to deal with that, before."

Arthur frowned, and traced a finger along the edge of his desk, before sighing, "No, I guess not." He turned again to look out the window behind him. After several long moments, he said, quietly, "But it's not entirely unexpected, either. I just—" The corner of his lips jerked down, and for a moment it seemed as if he was almost in pain. He drew in a breath, and said, "It's just. Difficult. That's all. To—but." He stopped again, grimaced, as if at his own ineloquence. Finally, he said, slowly, as carefully as if he was embroidering the words onto the air between them, "The world is changing. Let us not stand in the way, lest they make us out to be fools."

Watching him struggle, Matthew found himself at a loss as well. Never had he imagined that Arthur — sharp-tongued, quick-witted Arthur, who could neither be bullied nor silenced, who could quote from more books than Matthew had ever read — would be scrambling for words. But then, as he watched Arthur's shoulders curve in towards himself like Matthew had seen a thousand times before in another stubborn, sandy-haired nation who also seemed to have endless words but never quite the right ones, he knew what he needed to do.

Smiling again, Matthew stood, drawing on Arthur's arm so he would turn to face him and said, "I think you need a hug."

Unnecessarily Long Notes are Unnecessarily Long

I didn't state the specific setting of this scene, but the timing of the historical events mentioned means it has to have been sometime between June and August of 1947. Despite the fact that Mattie says "not much is going on", my lord, a lot was going on in 1947; hence why Artie is doing his best impression of the walking dead. Besides the Indian and Pakistan independence movement, officially achieved in August 1947 which is alluded to (Mountbatten, or 3 June Plan, was the precursor to the Indian Independence Act of 1947), Europe was also going through complete social upheaval. To mention just a couple highlights: Germany was in such ruin it was said to have returned to the Roman ages, Britain was rationing harder than ever despite the war having ended, and of course Mr. Truman and Mr. Stalin were gearing up for the Great Showdown. A quote I like which captures the feeling of the time is from H.G. Wells: "[where] other civilizations rolled and crumbled down, the European civilization was, as it were, blown up." [quoted by Tony Judt, Postwar]. Also directly concerning Arthur was the issue of Palestine, which as we all know was and is contentious, to say the very least.

Arthur's attitude to decolonisation is...complicated. Clearly I went with a softer view here, but certainly not all (or even many) British held the view in 1947 that the Empire should be decolonized at all. Hence Arthur during this time was probably a raging hypocrite and, if he wasn't already, at least 50% psychologically unstable. However, I allowed Arthur a little dignity here, in part because he's 2000 years old and as such should have a tiny more perspective than us humans, and also because the weakness of the Empire was much more evident to those in government and the army. Even if it wasn't popular opinion yet, anyone with half a braincell could see that every day Britian didn't decolonize was costing them more than they could afford. Additionally, Britain did decolonise much, much faster than all the other powers and in a relatively peaceful and orderly manner, though what ensued in the countries they left behind was neither. I should also add that Matthew is not the most objective of narrators either -- Canada, despite being a former colony, was still strongly Anglophilic, especially right after WWII. Still, I hope ya'll won't begrudge Arthur a hug.

[liam-cadmus]

Itachi stares at the black steel kunai in his palm, the moon shining through the window as he tilts the weapon, the metal glinting. He brings his own black irises back to the mirror, mouth pursed as he ponders if he should do this. A pair of eyes stare back at him, the color dull but so very familiar, the same shade of inky obsidian that his brother also possesses, dark and deep, as expected of Izuna’s line.  The slender fingers of his other hand finds the tie holding his ponytail, pulling it off, the strands falling gracefully, his silky hair falling straight, flowing like a curtain. He already did countless hairstyles before; messy bun, complicated braids, half-up half-down, space buns like the girl in the weapons shop, ponytails. The heavy weight on his shoulders and palm ground him to making this position, his other hand fiddling with the current length. It’s fine, right? It’s my hair. He thinks, absentmindedly untangling the knots, not that there’s much of it. Besides, it’s so boring. He’s gotten tired of the repetitive hairstyles, and worrying over his hair getting stuck in branches, only dragging him down in his missions.  He’s internally laughing hysterically at himself, because, what the fuck, he’s never been this impulsive. He should be separated from the sharp edge of this kunai, because he’s gonna ruin the hair he meticulously grown, over a decade’s worth of progress. Not really, he’s always trimmed it, but no higher than his ribcage, the length always dropping until the back of his waist. His other hand encircles his whole hair, the not at all blunt edge of the kunai slicing through, strands separating like butter, cold air hitting the exposed skin of his nape. Oh fuck. I did it. Oh kami. He thought it would look bad, but honestly, he likes it, considering he did this with a kunai. He trims some strands, making his hair layered, instead of the short bob cut, the hair just tickling under his ear.  He lets his mouth turn up, hand ruffling the hair messier, feeling light and free. He leaves the hair he cut off, organized beside the kunai he used. — Itachi lets his breathing calm, as he tugs on his bangs, the fluffy tuft of hair now present on his head a new but accepted change in his wardrobe, although he worries how the others would react, considering he didn’t even hint or warn them somewhat. He prays to kami that everything will go smooth. — 

Fuck that, everything is not going smooth, and thrown out of the window, the moment he stepped in the confines of their dining room. He expected surprise or disappointment, not whatever Shisui is doing, his ears are pulsing because of how loud Shisui is complaining, his movements erratic and panicked and proud and grieving at the loss of his hair.  His mother just choked at the sight of it, but reassured that it did look good, and that she wasn’t expecting it at all. His father woke up fully from where he was blinking slowly, staring at him intently, before passing out on folded arms, deeming it fine.  Shisui, however, is a different story. He barged in the door, enthusiastic in greeting, before stopping on his tracks, brows drawed in confusion, with a mumble of “Did you have visitors Mikoto-san? And where is Itachi?”  Mikoto just sipped at her tea, offering him a tired smile, with no words included.  Before he went through five stages of grief, and denying, that no, that isn’t Itachi-kun. He only rolled his eyes at Shisui’s very dramatic complaining, the other Uchiha wiping a stray tear, and murmuring solemnly, “I need to take a seat, or I might faint,” which is an overestimation of his feelings, but what’s Itachi to judge, he only wanted a hair cut, for fuck’s sake. “THAT’S NOT A HAIRCUT, YOU MIGHT AS WELL HAVE GONE BALD.”  “Shut the fuck up Shisui, now hurry, we need to go to Kakashi and Obito, and I need to buy some dango.” for stress, he wants to add, before looking up to a pale faced Shisui, realization dawning on him.  “YOU’RE GONNA WALK OUT OF THE DISTRICT WITH THAT HAIR?” Shisui wails, he actually wails, the sound echoing through the main house, heard from miles away, the flocks of crows resting on the lines cawing and flying away. — Kakashi is leaning heavily on Obito, questioning his life when he saw Itachi, while the Uchiha stares blankly at the road, mouthing nonsense as they walk, Shisui hiding his face in his hands as Itachi whistles, civilians and shinobi alike staring at them like they’re corpses. — Sasuke is tired, and the fact that everyone seems to be malfunctioning is not helping whatsoever. He’s standing with no sleep, soldier pills and sheer amounts of spite as he lands in the Hokage Office, dropping his report in front of his uncle, Minato, who’s going through his paperwork mechanically, eyes dazed.  He waves his hand in front of the man, only getting a quiet, “You can go home now Sasuke-kun, I’ll call you tomorrow.” He accepts that, shrugging in confusion before jumping out the window, disappearing out of sight.  He nurses the cup of coffee in his hand, stifling a yawn as he walks around the market, buying a few mochi for his mother, and dorayaki for his father. He knows Itachi eats dango at least once every two days so he doesn’t bother with that.  He continues on, shoulders slouched and exhaustion creeping on him, drowsily pushing his bangs out of the way, before stopping in front of team pyro, Kakashi murmuring to Obito’s ear as Shisui looks around quietly, which is so very uncharacteristic, since he knows they should be clingy.  He stares at the man in front of him, looking at the familiar features of his brother, eyes trailing the fluffy hair, making his hair look so soft, but he’s so unfamiliar, that the shock made him freeze in his tracks. He deserves a raise, he murmurs tiredly to his coffee, offering no words of greeting to his team, only standing in the middle of the street with dirt-ridden clothes, flak jacket frayed and the edges of his pants torn.  “Sasuke, are you okay?” Kakashi hesitantly questions, which he responds with a confused tilt of his head, only to be answered by Obito. “....you’re crying kid.”  Oh, he’s crying. That only seemed to make it worse, as a sob tumbles out of his mouth, making Shisui panicked, his hands fluttering, wanting to help, but he doesn’t know how.  Itachi questions his life, wondering if his brother is actually upset by something, or that his hair is so jarring that he brought a fully-grown man, a jōnin to tears, his brother nonetheless. He lets out a noise of worry, stumbling forward to catch his sniffling younger brother, the boy latching on to him with a tight grip, bawling on his shoulder.  He can only rub his brother’s back, feeling a thousand eyes boring into him, feeling glares for making his younger brother cry, which he wholeheartedly agrees with because what the fuck, he just made his younger brother cry. — “At least it’s gonna grow.” Shisui comforts himself, before Sasuke intervenes, the youngest already fiddling with Itachi’s hair, “That’s if he doesn’t cut it again.”  Shisui’s cry echoes again for the second time, the crows frenzied at the shrill voice. inspired by this fic : The day where Wilbur hid all the scissors in the house by @sircantus if you decide to check it out, it’s a sbi fic, and i really recommend you check all their other content. credits to them!! i just thought of this happening to itachi. 

[ashdoesfandomarchieved]

I’m bad at prompts but would love to see varian n Hugo talking abt. More serious things.. opening up tew eachother..angsty fluff

(MARTIE SAID ANGSTY FLUFF HERE U GO BOO <3)

ao3

It’s not like Varian to seek out Hugo.

Despite his initial decision to trust the lanky blond, Varian had his misgivings that were further solidified into annoyances as the other alchemist turned his smarmy act up a few notches into the irritating territory. Hardly a day could go by without Varian being shown up or talked down to by the guy--and always in the most condescending tone.

Today had, in fact, been one of those days--for the most part. Varian had been translating a rune-key to get into the magically sealed temple where Nuru’s next lead was and Hugo had sauntered right in, translated it in under ten minutes, and smugly lead the way in.

Varian kind of wanted to strangle him.

Through the power of Nuru’s glaring at him and Yong’s enthusiastic ramblings distracting him, Varian manges to not kill the latest addition to their group, but it’s only just.

They trek through the winding, stone corridors of the temple ruins, Varian taking notes and Yong excitedly chattering away to Nuru. But as the halls stretch on and don’t come to an end, Varian starts to think that maybe this particular lead was a bust.

Then, it’s too quiet.

Varian turns, about to ask Yong if he’s alright--the child’s murmurings had cut off abruptly mid-sentence--when he realizes that…

Nuru, Hugo and Yong are gone.

_____

Of course they weren’t really gone, Varian realizes lately--way later, after Hugo drags him out of the depths of the inky-black nightmare he was lost in. Nuru, patting his back as he coughs and dry heaves in the bright, afternoon light, quietly explains that the place had a curse on it.

“Nightmare cavern,” Yong says, the only one of them who had been unaffected and, subsequently, the person to get Nuru out who was then able to help Hugo break free.

And then Varian, because of course he was the one deepest in.

“If it makes you feel any better, Nuru started crying when I woke her up,” Yong offers, when Varian finally stops choking.

Nuru shoots him a glare. “Shut up.”

Yong holds his hands up defensively.

Varian tunes them out as the argument escalates. His mind is still focused on the nightmarish horrors he’d be subjected to back there.

Re-subjected to.

Hugo spends the rest of the day being very tentative to Varian. In turn, Varian doesn’t really know how to respond. His mildly antagonist relationship with the blond has him in a place where he doesn’t know how to respond to the sudden kindness.

Hence, why Varian is out in the middle of the night looking for Hugo, who hasn’t been seen since supper.

After wandering around the mostly quiet town for the better part of an hour, he finds the blond, sitting on a slanted rooftop above the town’s apothecary. With a sigh, Varian clumsy climbs up the side of the building, finding his footing in loose bricks and the uneven trimming on the side. It’s nowhere near as graceful as he’d like, considering he almost brains his head on the side of the roof before he even gets on it.

“Hey,” Varian says, once he’s safe on top. He carefully picks his way across the slanted roofing to where Hugo is reclining, arms folded under his head. He glances up in surprise when he hears Varian, eyes unreadable.

“Hey.” His voice is unusually gruff.

Varian settles beside him, stomach dropping when he glances over the edge. Varian’s not one to be nervous around heights, but they are really high up and he doesn’t exactly trust Hugo to catch him.

Maybe.

Hugo had gotten him out of--wherever the hell that place had taken him to. No matter his feelings toward the guy’s general attitude or how much of an arrogant dick he can be, Varian has to give him that.

He could have very easily left him there. But he didn’t, which raises Varian’s opinion of him by a fraction.

A breeze shifts through the town, cutting straight through Varian and his thin jacket. He shivers, wrapping his arms around himself tightly.

It’s a clear autumn night. They’re far enough away from the big cities that Varian can make out the stars, for once. The sky looks different than in Corona--further implementing the realization just how far from home they are.

Well, Varian at least. He’s still not exactly sure where Hugo’s home is. If he has a home.

Something sour settles in the pit of his stomach at the thought.

“Nice view,” he says, instead of voicing any of his many thoughts.

Hugo hums, giving Varian a side-long glance. There’s something heavy in his eyes. “I guess,” is all he says, noncommittally.

Varian picks at one of his nails. “The constellations are different here than at home.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmm-hmm. See that one?” Varian points to a cluster of four stars that don’t quite form a straight line. “Should be curved. In Corona at least,” he adds. He doesn’t ask what the constellations look like where Hugo’s from.

Hugo wouldn’t tell him anyway, he’s pretty sure.

The blond isn’t looking where Varian pointed, however. His eyes are firmly glued to the side of Varian’s head. Varian doesn’t want to meet that gaze for some reason, which is ridiculous, right? He, after all, followed Hugo all the way up here, initiated a mindless conversation that Hugo clearly didn’t want to have.

Varian drops his head back against the rooftop and tries not to sigh.

Then,

“Do any of the constellations look the same?” Hugo asks, softly.

Varian bites his lip. “That one does,” he says, pointing to the string of stars in the shape of a shrimp that Eugene crudely dubbed erecticous constellationous. Hugo doesn’t need to know that though. “And, that one,” he adds, pointing to the stars that form a familiar shape. Only a few stars in them were out of alignment, but it was close enough that Varian could pick it out. “The golden flower.”

Hugo glances up at the constellation. “Is there a story behind it?”

“Probably,” Varian shrugs. “Rapunzel never got around to telling me, though, and my dad wasn’t really one for stories. Just knowing how to find the north star.”

“Well, make one up then,” Hugo says. Varian can hear the grin in his voice and rolls his eyes.

“I’m not making up a story about a flower, Hugo.”

“Why, not manly enough for you?”

Varian considers pushing him off the roof for a moment. “No, just enough stories about magic golden flowers for one lifetime,” he says, before thinking better of it.

Hugo lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Get those often?”

“You have no idea.”

A pause, as Hugo waits. “You aren’t going to tell me.”

Varian considers it. “I don’t think you’d believe me,” he says, honestly.

Hugo knocks his shoulder into Varian’s. “Try me, Goggles.”

Varian huffs, sitting up slightly and drawing his legs up to his chest. He wraps his arms around them and drops his chin onto his knees. “You ever hear the story of the sundrop?”

“Something of it,” Hugo says casually. “Magic sun spit falls from the sky, infects flower, somehow gets transferred to magic princess. Coronian story, if I’m right.”

“Yep. Would you believe me if I told you it was real?”

“Varian, we just walked through a hall of mirrors that trapped us in our worst fears. Yong has sentient firecrackers and you can create every kind of cure known to man through the power of science” There’s a pause. “Yeah, I think I can believe that’s real.”

Varian snorts. “Yeah okay. I do really know the-” he wrinkles his nose, “-magic princess.”

“Was she pretty?” Hugo grins.

“She is my sister, thank you very much,” Varian sniffs, not really linking the idea of Hugo being attracted to Rapunzel in any sense. That would be weird, but Varian can’t really pin his finger on why.

Hugo blinks in surprise. “Wait, really? I thought you were like,” he gestures vaguely with one hand, “an only child. You have those vibes.”

Varian has many things to say to that, but he refrains. “Yeah, well, not all family is through blood,” he settles on, instead of picking a fight.

Hugo twitches, something unpleasant darkening in his gaze. He turns his gaze back to the sky. “Can I ask you something?” he asks, after a few seconds of silence.

“Just did,” Varian instantly replies, earning a light snort from his blond companion.

“Varian.”

“Yeah, yeah, ask away.”

“What happened to you out there?” Hugo says, unknowingly asking the one question Varian has been trying to avoid all evening.

Varian’s heart sinks, his good mood plummeting below the rooftop. He shuts his eyes. “Like you said, hall of mirrors with bad memories.”

“Yeah.” Hugo’s voice is soft. And closer. Varian can feel his shoulder and thigh pressing into his own. “Yeah, I just-you didn’t look so good when you came out.”

Varian lets his legs drop over the edge of the roof as he flops onto his back. The stars stare down at him silently. It’s a familiar view--one that he saw many times through the tiny window in his prison cell.

It’s not exactly comforting most of the time.

Varian throws an arm over his eyes. Huffs loudly into the quiet night. “My dad died when I was fourteen,” he says.

He feels Hugo still next to him.

Varian drops his arm. The moon, phased into a sliver tonight, seems to grin down at him. “It was my fault,” Varian goes on, eyes glued to the white splinter in the sky, “and we-we fixed it, he’s fine now. But. Yeah.”

His eyes cut to Hugo.

Hugo is staring down at him. His eyes are wide and filled with an unreadable emotion. He visibly swallows, eyes darting between Varian’s.

“It wasn’t a great time for me.”

Hugo exhales. Lies down flat against the roof, shoulder to shoulder with Varian. “I don’t remember my dad,” he says, quietly.

Varian stays very still, intensely aware that whatever’s happening right now is not likely to happen again.

“I remember my mom though,” he continues. Varian glances at him, his profile only visible in the dim light. Varian can’t tell what expression he’s wearing, can only guess through the intonation of his voice. “She used to sing to me, I think. And she had brown eyes.”

Varian shifts closer. His head is almost on Hugo’s shoulder. Almost.

“My mom was an alchemist,” Varian says, like it isn’t obvious.

“Yeah, I kinda figured that one, blue eyes,” Hugo says, rolling his green ones. “Do you remember her?”

Varian shakes his head. “No, I was too little when she--yeah.”

“Yeah.”

The two of them lie there in silence.

“Hey, Hugo,” Varian says. The warmth emanating from the other boy is both comforting and anxiety inducing. He’s still trying to pinpoint why, but can’t come up with a conclusive answer.

“Hmm?” the other boy tilts his head in Varian’s direction.

Varian could easily get lost in the brilliant green eyes.

“Thanks for getting me out,” he says, instead of something like your eyes are pretty or I want to touch your hair.

Hugo’s face does something complicated. “Yeah, well. Nuru would have killed me if I left you there.” A pause. “Besides,” he mutters, “you would have done the same for me.”

Accurate assessment, Varian ruefully agrees. Hugo might annoy the ever living shit out of him, but he wouldn’t hesitate to pull the other boy out of danger.

“Still,” he says.

“Well. You’re welcome then,” Hugo says awkwardly, looking anywhere but Varian. If he didn’t know any better, Varian would say Hugo looks a bit guilty, but he can’t figure out why for the life of him.

There’s a pause that’s far too charged that has Varian very aware of how closely they’re pressed together.

“Tell me more about the stars,” Hugo blurts out, just as the silence becomes too much.

The twisting in Varian’s chest releases. “Well, that one’s the cat’s eye,” he says, pointing out a triangle of stars directly above him.

Hugo’s eyes follow where his finger is pointing. As Varian continues to point at various stars and constellations, the tension between the two evaporates. But with Hugo’s warm breath puffing almost against Varian’s ear and the sound of his laughter when he says something particularly witty, the strange fluttering in Varian’s stomach gets worse.

He ignores it.

It probably means nothing.

[frostsoldier]

A Certain Step

No warnings, just fluff except one line of Bucky's injury, but not detailed. Bucky x Reader Regency AU. 4,882 words.

A/N: This is a repost of something I wrote in 2017. Since then I lost most of my work, but was able to find this one and clean it up a bit. I also updated it to use fewer physical descriptions of the reader. Thanks @shreddedparchment ​for encouraging me to repost. Enjoy!

“Y/N! Y/N wake up, child! Captain and Mrs. Wentworth's ball is tonight and we must get ready! Don’t laze about!”

Y/N Y/L/N sat up in bed, ignoring the dizziness that came from moving too quickly. Her mother was right, she had overslept already and needed to prepare.

She pulled on her slip and, as she combed through her closet, thought about how she would like to present herself that evening. As the only daughter of a local gentleman – who earned enough in his mercantile ventures for his wife and child to live comfortably, but not enough for them to attend balls as regularly as their neighbors – she owned few dresses that would be presentable at a captain’s ball. Hiring a coach and horses, purchasing new dresses, and stocking up on ribbons – for who can forget ribbons – add up quickly.

Y/N was certainly considered beautiful, but without a large dowry she was in no danger of wicked men trying to snatch a fortune. She was lucky enough that, whomever she was to marry, her parents encouraged her to marry them for love, as they did.

She decided on a white muslin dress with her favorite lilac ribbon tied around the high, empire waistline. The muslin base was overlaid with a sheer covering with white stars she embroidered herself. She styled her hair up on her head, dotted it with wild forget-me-nots, and allowed some of the locks to escape and frame her face. Her mother came into her room, adjusted her hair to fall more evenly, and nodded in approval at her reflection.

"There. Aren't you lovely? Now, we have a little time before we must leave. Why don't you work on your bonnet you were trimming? Though, I think you and I both know you’re more likely to read that novel you keep going on about!"

"Yes, mother."

Y/N made her way to the parlor to read the latest novel she purchased in town. Her mother was right, she’d rather read than trim the hat she got stuck on three days ago and has refused to touch since.

Too soon it was time to go. She clambered into the small coach along with her mother and father with assistance from the coachman. As the wheels clattered down the dirt roads, her mother couldn't help but gush over the possibilities of the evening. Her father pretended to watch the countryside pass out the window, but Y/N knew he was listening to his wife's excitement. He had a small smile that he hid behind his hand while resting his elbow on the sill.

Her parents loved each other like no other couple she knew; the term wedded bliss seemed to be made for them. She was animated and cheerful, he was reserved and coy; together the two of them could be mischievous if they put their minds to it, which they often did.

She only hoped to have a love like theirs one day, but due to her small dowry she knew there was the possibility that she would marry a local, small-minded land owner who wouldn't encourage reading or dancing.

If there were three things in life she loved, it was reading, laughing, and dancing. No matter the tune or dance, she was a natural. The rises and falls of the music always moved her feet, whether it was a quadrille, a reel, or the slowly dying minuet, she loved all dance. Most young gentlemen that caught her eye were avid dancers.

The coach slowly pulled up to the hall as her family piled out. Her parents greeted the Wentworths, Mrs. Wentworth commenting on how lovely she looked this evening while Captain Wentworth and Mr. Y/L/N promising a drink together later.

As she walked through the doors the familiar feeling of awe and anticipation washed over her. The first dance was already starting on the wooden floors of the wide room. Chaperones were standing and sitting on the sides of the hall, some watching their charges more carefully than others. Men were flowing in and out of the card room, laughing and drinking along to the music. The musicians were in a balcony above the head of the room and several lines of dancers flowed down to the bottom. Young folks chatted and flirted at the ends of the sets while making sure they were ready to hop into the fray when the dance reached them. One young lady was so lost in observing her partner’s uniform that she started to balance when the rest of her set went to moulinet. She rushed to join back in, but the damage was done, and Y/N could see how embarrassed the young woman was.

Her mother came up next to her and entwined their arms as they walked through the room.

“There are many young people here tonight, especially with both the militia and Captain Wentworth’s men in town,” her mother said. “What do you think, has anyone caught your eye yet?”

“Mother! We’ve only just arrived!”

“You can’t blame me for asking, dear. You are my only child and I want nothing more for you than to be swept off your feet in a suitable match.”

“And what do you consider suitable for me, mother?”

“Well,” she started, glancing around the room at the gentlemen. “To start he must be handsome enough to tempt you, but kind and gentle. He must be well-read and – a definite requirement – he must enjoy dancing as you do.”

“I don’t know if anyone enjoys dancing as much as I do,” Y/N said, her mood faltering slightly.

“To be fond of dancing is a certain step toward falling in love, my dear," her mother confided in her. "Why, your father and I met in a ball just like this when I was your age and someday there will be a young gentleman who will love you just as much as he loves me. Who knows; maybe a suitor will make himself known tonight?"

She winked and turned back toward the room to view the ladies in their finery and the gentlemen viewing the ladies as well. Y/N laughed, shook her head, and returned to gazing about the room.

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

As they spoke, two gentlemen entered the assembly. The first to enter was blond with sweeping shoulders and dressed in the scarlet regimentals of the militia. His black boots clicked against the floor as he strutted into the room.

Following him in, the second had long, chocolate hair tied low by his neck and a clean-shaved, sharp jaw. He was dressed in the blue regulations of the Navy and the white lapels of a Lieutenant. His shoulders and arms strained against the sleeves of his embroidered blue coat, which he wore unbuttoned with his white linen shirt and neckcloth showing through. His expansive legs were covered by breeches and stockings, his black leather boots polished as to reflect the lights of the chandeliers above.

“Captain Rogers! Lieutenant Barnes! So glad you both could make it, gentlemen,” Captain Wentworth exclaimed as he approached the two newcomers.

“Thank you for inviting us,” Captain Rogers, the blond gentleman, responded. He gave a short bow to his Naval counterpart.

“Lieutenant Barnes, it’s good to see you out and about again. How’s your arm treating you?”

“As well as it can be, considering,” the lieutenant said in a slightly gruff voice. “I’m just glad to still be here, sir.”

“No need to ‘sir’ me here, we’re not on the Sophie now!”

Lt. Barnes smiled, knowing his former captain will always be his leader, “Sorry, force of habit.”

“No matter,” Captain Wentworth shrugged and gestured to the room. “Please, enjoy yourselves! Anne planned this evening for all to enjoy themselves.”

Captain Rogers and Lt. Barnes made their way through the room, chatting and admiring the general splendor.

It was then that Lt. Barnes heard the most beautiful sound: a laugh rising above the music and chatter. He searched about himself, looking for the source.

He soon found her, her head shaking side to side and loose strands of her Y/H/C locks moving with the motion. Her perfect lips were still curved in the aftermath of her laughter.

As she raised her head to gaze around the room, her Y/E/C eyes caught his stormy blue ones. They stared at each other in shock and the room seemed to lose all sound for a moment until she remembered herself and averted her eyes with heat rising to her cheeks.

He turned back to his friend, who had been admiring a brunette with soft curls from a distance.

“Rogers, do you know who that woman is?” Lt. Barnes said, clasping his friend on the shoulder to bring his attention in the direction of the beautiful creature.

The captain forced his eyes from his prospective partner for the evening and followed his friend’s gaze. He saw the young lady and didn’t recognize her at first, but saw the older woman she was with and inferred her identity.

“Why, that’s Miss Y/N Y/L/N! I’ve known her longer than I’ve known you. We grew up down the lane from one another!”

‘Y/N…’ Lt. Barnes thought, ‘A lovely name for an even lovelier girl. She looks like a doll…’

He shook his head and asked Captain Rogers to describe her.

“Well, she’s accomplished. She can embroider anything, makes hats and pillows, plays the piano forte, not a strong singer, mind you.” He looked back at his friend, and knew exactly what answer he was looking for. “She’s smart and witty too; a bit shy, but when she dances, she really opens up and enjoys herself.”

Lt. Barnes nodded and turned away from Y/N, walking toward the other side of the room. Captain Rogers was left standing in place, wondering what he said to upset his companion.

In truth, he had said everything right. Lt. Barnes may grow to like that girl, maybe even love her if he dared to hope. Only if.

While he has had the opportunity of winning prizes in his Naval career, it hasn’t left him unscarred mentally or physically and it weighed on his mind in the ballroom.

He has killed hundreds of men in the heat of battle. Fathers, husbands, sons, all of them had families they would never return to all in the name of the king and to prevent the tyrant Bonaparte from taking England into his clutches. He knew that if he didn’t do it, someone else would have to, or more English men might have died. It weighed so heavily on his mind some days that sleep eluded him for fear of the nightmares.

No woman deserved to share her marriage bed with a man half in agony.

Physically he was healthy – years of working on a ship has made him strong – but a life on a man of war has its risks. One of the largest causes of injuries on a ship was the shrapnel: pieces of wood that splinter due to cannonballs flying through the ship’s side.

It was one such exchange of cannon fire that caused his injury Captain Wentworth inquired about. He was below deck, assisting a gun crew after a midshipman had been struck, when a cannonball passed just to his left through an already weakened portion of the hull. The shrapnel ripped through his coat and shirt altogether.

The result was a devastating injury to most of his left arm, which remained covered in scars from his wrist up to his shoulder. He remained self-conscious of them long after the wound had healed, and they still bothered him sometimes, especially when it rained.

No woman deserved to be on the arm of a man who couldn’t even stand that arm himself.

As he continued to circle the room, he noticed Y/N again, this time helping a poor young lady off the floor after she was knocked over by a clumsy boy running through the hall. Concern splayed across on her face and her kindness radiated enough to reach him in his dark moment. As the young lady thanked her and went back to her party, Y/N looked up and their eyes met again. He bowed his head and she gave the slightest of a curtsy, the limit of what interaction they could have without being properly introduced.

As she turned back to, who he assumed was her mother, he decided to try to be worthy of her kindness, at least as an acquaintance and even if his heart yearned for more.

He wove through the crowds back toward Captain Rogers. When he met with him, Lt. Barnes leaned close to his ear.

“My friend, would you please introduce me to Miss Y/L/N? I find that I’ve been caught in staring when I cannot look away and am afraid she may think poorly of me before she even knows my name.”

The captain gave a wide, toothy smile at his friend, who was already enthralled with Y/N again.

“Of course. Shall we?”

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

Y/N first saw the young Naval officer when their eyes met after her mother’s cheeky remark. She observed that she was not the only young lady in the room who appreciated his appearance. He, however, didn’t seem to notice them as he appeared to be distracted in his own thoughts. She kept an eye on him to make sure he would be alright. She didn’t know why she felt a yearning to comfort him; it might have been the storms she saw in those eyes.

Suddenly there was a commotion next to her and a young woman was on the floor. She quickly reached down and offered a hand in assistance. After being assured the woman was alright, she turned her attention back to the crowd and found the Naval officer already looking at her. He nodded to her and she ducked a quick curtsy to him; unsure what compelled her to interact with him.

He returned to who she assumed to be his friend, a militia man whose back was to her. All she could see was his close-cut blond hair and his regimentals. The Naval officer said something and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She averted her gaze before seeing who he was talking to and turned back to her mother. Mr. Y/L/N had long left for the card room and Mrs. Y/L/N tried to tell Y/N about how she just saw Mr. and Mrs. Bertram and their daughter.

She forced herself to pay attention to the conversation at hand once more, though some piece of her remained with the bewitching officer.

Her mother was soon distracted from discussing Miss Bertram’s dress by a familiar face approaching them.

"Captain Rogers!" Her mother exclaimed, curtseying as he bowed. "Why, we haven't seen you since the regiment left for Meryton!"

"Well, Mrs. (Y/L/N), the regiment has returned, and at the height of the season too! Did you know that Mr. Knightly and his family arrived not five minutes ago, and we should be expecting Colonel Brandon’s family as well…”

Lt. Barnes and Y/N looked on in the conversation, occasionally glancing at the other when they thought they were not being observed. Finally, Lt. Barnes politely cleared his throat at his friend.

"Oh, my apologies!" Captain Rogers made a slight bow toward him. "Mrs. Y/L/N, Miss Y/L/N, may I introduce Lieutenant James Barnes, my old school mate. Lt. Barnes, this is Mrs. Y/L/N, who was practically a second mother in my youth, and Miss Y/N Y/L/N just as much of a sister to me.”

The ladies curtsied and Lt. Barnes bowed to the women.

“It’s wonderful to meet both of you, though it is shameful that Captain Rogers here,” he said turning to his friend, “hadn’t told me about you before.” He glanced at Y/N at this remark, who lowered her eyes, but had a hint of a smile.

“I certainly have!” the captain said looking comically aghast. “Do not listen to him, Mrs. Y/L/N, I spoke often and fondly of your family while at school.”

“Not to worry, Captain Rogers, I will only cry a little at being forgotten,” Mrs. Y/L/N feigned dabbing at tears. “You had more important things to focus on, like getting into trouble at school, or so I’ve heard.”

“Me, never! A bit of mischief is all.”

“Come now, Captain,” Lt. Barnes said, “I had to get you out of more than one scuffle as I recall.”

“I was only 10! After you enlisted in the Navy, though I did have to rethink my opponents.”

“Who knows how you would have ended up if you hadn’t!” Lt. Barnes said, wagging his finger at his friend as if he was still a school boy. Y/N tried to stifle a laugh when she imagined the bickering the two got into as children. Lt. Barnes, however, heard the small noise and smiled at her.

“And what kinds of mischief did you incur as a little Miss Y/L/N?”

She scoffed slightly at the accusation, “I was nothing but well-behaved I’ll have you know, Lieutenant!”

“Oh, come now, my dear,” her mother interjected. “Why I remember one time you convinced the poor captain here that if he stared long enough at the bark of a tree in the center of town, he could see the outline of a grand ship!”

Y/N blanched, “Mother!”

Lt. Barnes let out a barking laugh which turned into harsh false coughs upon seeing his friend’s warning glare.

“Ahem, yes, well it seems we are all guilty of some infractions of propriety in our youth.” He leaned toward Y/N as if it were a great secret. “I once tricked the captain into thinking it was good luck if he caught up to a fleeing cat and gave it goat’s milk.”

Captain Rogers groaned at the memory.

“I ended up with hoof-shaped bruises, scratches on my hands, and tears in my new clothes. My mother was furious with me!”

Y/N could not suppress her laughter this time, and Lt. Barnes beamed at the sound.

The captain looked between the two, as did her mother. Both arched their brows and then glanced at each other. Captain Rogers cleared his throat and everyone turned to him.

“Well, if we’re done poking fun at my childhood,” he said, “I believe I saw Miss Carter earlier and I must greet her and her cousin. Mrs. Y/L/N, Miss Y/L/N.”

As he departed, Lt. Barnes was left in the company of the women and a silence fell among them. Mrs. Y/L/N said that she believed she saw an old acquaintance too and would like to greet them, but didn’t say who it was. Y/N was about to offer to come with her, but Lt. Barnes interjected.

“Well, Mrs. Y/L/N, if you would not mind,” he said glancing at Y/N, “I would like to ask Miss Y/L/N if she is free for the next dance.”

Y/N, shocked into silence, didn’t say anything at first until her mother not-so-discreetly nudged her arm and she came to her senses.

“I’d be delighted, Lt. Barnes.”

He smiled and offered his hand to lead her to the line of couples preparing to dance.

With the first few notes he bowed and she dipped low in a curtsy, glancing up as she rose and noticing he was looking at her. He smiled as the dance began at the top of the set, where her attention shifted to a few couples away. Y/N watched with a keen eye and smiled as she recognized the figures.

"This is one of my favorites, Lt. Barnes," she said, trying to keep her poise as the dance progressed toward them.

"And why would that be, Miss Y/L/N? Is it the figure when the lady leads through, allowing your figure to appear even more to the greatest advantage? Or perhaps is it the proximity to your partner leading the line of four down the hall?"

She looked at him in amusement for such a speech, especially his barely hidden compliment of her figure. She decided then to risk impropriety and make such a compliment herself.

"No sir, I enjoy this dance as it allows one to test the talents of one's partner," she said, noticing the dance was about to approach them. She had to act fast. "But I must agree with you, sir, that it puts both parties of the couple in a fine light."

When the tune looped again, they reached for each other with their right hands and started to turn. She could feel his warm hand lightly gripping hers through his glove, the strength hidden by long fingers. All too quickly they had to let go, but turned back by the left hand.

As they turned, she looked into his eyes, the irises matching the stormy seas he has sailed for many years, though she didn’t know what troubled him.

"When did you first join the Navy, Lt. Barnes? Were you a small gunner boy running about the deck like a monkey?"

"I was a young gentleman, only about 12, but I learned quickly," he said, seeming to shake off his distraction and remember something funny as they crossed by each other.

"Something other than the dance amusing you Lieutenant?"

He smiled again, as he walked in front of him back to her side and he to his.

"No, I was just thinking of someone you remind me of from when I first joined."

They crossed again and met in the middle of a line, leading down the hall. As they advanced and retreated she gave him a playful glare out of the corner of her eye.

"No one too roguish I hope?"

"No, no, not at all. A most principled fellow, but imaginative," he said as they crossed up and met in their progressed place, starting the dance again.

"Imaginative? You think such of me, Lt. Barnes?"

"Well the second question you asked of me was if I ran about like a monkey! I'm sure you pictured a mop-haired young lad climbing where he shouldn't and getting into trouble!"

"Well knowing Captain Rogers, and knowing that you're friends with him, it wouldn't surprise me in the least if you had a similar penchant for mischief at that age."

She could swear that he smirked at her comment, but the dance required them to turn away from each other at the last second, so she couldn't be quite sure.

"No, actually, it was your dear friend who caused the most mischief. I came to his rescue many times."

Y/N giggled and Lt. Barnes thought it was the sweetest sound he has ever heard.

"Now that I don't doubt at all. He once managed to get one of my family's poor chickens stuck in a tree. It took hours to coax it down. Clearly from your story earlier, he has a way with animals."

He laughed heartily, earning a few glances from the couples around them and making him duck his head bashfully as they casted to place.

Y/N smiled at the now easy-going man and the dance continued for the better part of 15 minutes. They discussed more about his career and found they had a common enjoyment of novels.

As the tune ended, they both honored each other again and prepared for the next piece of their set, which turned out to be his favorite, The Physical Snob. As this particular dance didn't allow for easy conversation due to the fast movements, he instead enjoyed how energetic Y/N was with her dancing and watched her skip around with the other ladies.

They continued to talk at the bottom of the set while waiting to rejoin. After the tune ended, they gave their bow and curtsy and would have continued together, however propriety required that the other be shared among the eligible dancers in the room.

He attempted to come back to Y/N for another two dances later in the evening, however she was already requested by Captain Rogers, who gave his friend an apologetic look before starting to lead the young woman to the sets.

Lt. Barnes leaned down close to her ear before she followed and in a whisper asked if she would be so kind as to save the next two for him. She blushed and with a coy smile said that she would.

The evening ended with the Boulanger, danced into the early hours of the morning with the sun rising above the grove. As the guests started lining up to bid their hosts goodnight, Lt. Barnes and Captain Rogers stood beside Y/N, her mother, and her father once more.

"My dear Captain Rogers," Mrs. Y/L/N started, "we will have to have you for a family dinner, at least three courses!"

The Captain bowed to her, stating that he would be honored to join the Y/L/N family for dinner, while his friend’s gaze caught Y/N's out of the corner of his eye and she saw that barely hidden smirk again.

As her mother and father gushed over the ball with the Wentworths, Captain Rogers made himself scarce as to allow his two friends time to bid their farewells for the evening, knowing there was a spark of something in their meeting.

"I hope your family has a safe trip home, Miss Y/L/N."

"Thank you, and you're staying with Captain Rogers, are you not? I hope you both arrive swiftly and safely as well, though he does only live a short trip away. Not that something couldn’t happen in such a short time, but it’s not likely, is it? Oh, I don’t mean to tempt fate by saying it’s unlikely…"

He grinned at her rambling and could tell she would have continued if the Wentworths hadn't rescued her with the expectation to say goodnight.

As the family and friends made their way outside, Mrs. Y/L/N and Captain Rogers hung back a bit and made tentative plans for a dinner, their hushed voices would have hinted at some conspiracy if Y/N had noticed.

Lt. Barnes bid the Y/L/Ns goodnight and offered his hand to assist Y/N into their coach. She gladly accepted and they both felt that same connection as when they first danced earlier that evening.

"Goodnight, Miss Y/L/N."

"Goodnight, Lt. Barnes."

Their eyes stayed connected as the door closed and the coach started to ramble down the path. He continued to stare after the coach until it was out of view before sighing and turning back. His friend stood there, arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

"It seems you are quite smitten with her, Lieutenant."

Lt. Barnes straightened his back and looked his friend in the eye, but then blushed and his bravado was all but gone.

"When do you think I can see her again?"

Captain Rogers laughed and put an arm around his friend, telling him in a soft voice what the sneaky captain and Mrs. Y/L/N discussed. Lt. Barnes's eyes bulged with the information and finally he chuckled and looked back to where her coach had disappeared.

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

Y/N finally turned back to facing forward in the coach, sighing silently over the loss of Lt. Barnes's company. Her mother noticed this and a flash of a smirk went across her face before she composed herself.

"Well that was a lovely evening, wasn't it, Mr. Y/L/N?"

"Yes," he said, "excellent games of cards, good food and drink, better company, a brilliant evening indeed."

Her mother took this opportunity to catch Y/N's eye.

"Well, my child, what did you think of the ball and its company?" she said arching a brow.

Y/N felt heat in her cheeks again, but controlled her smile.

"Yes, mother, it was a wonderful ball. I will have to write Mrs. Wentworth first thing in the morning to thank her for the invitation."

"And it was so nice seeing Captain Rogers again, and all grown up and in the militia now! Oh, and what was his friend's name... It's on the tip of my tongue..."

Y/N knew what her mother was doing, but decided to play along.

"Lt. Barnes."

"Yes! That was it. A pleasant enough fellow, and quite handsome too. You danced with him, did you not, Y/N? Twice if I remember correctly."

"Yes, mother."

"How was his company during those dances?" Her mother's eye sparkled with mischief as her daughter averted her eyes.

"Like you said, he was quite pleasant. I would not mind seeing him again."

"That's good to hear child, because he and Captain Rogers are joining us later this week for dinner. The captain and I have already set it up, and goodness knows how late that could run. It'd be a shame if they might just have to stay for the evening and enjoy a walk around the gardens the next morning."

Y/N, shocked by the revelation and her mother's audacious planning, could not speak for a moment, but moved her mouth in an attempt. She finally schooled her features and smiled knowingly.

"Yes mother, that would be quite dreadful, but I'm sure we'll make it through somehow."

Her mother turned back to her father and Y/N looked back out the window.

'Dancing is a certain step toward falling in love, indeed,' she thought to herself as the sun rose over the woods of their home.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO “Evidence.”

Still working on the trial arc, and sorry I am late in posting. I had to go to work at seven and am trying to write in between helping guests. 

CREDIT and a THANK YOU to one of my amazing discord community members Eddi, who has been working for the last few months on the audio visual and transcript logs seen here. I did not write them, Eddi wrote them an was kind enough to let me use them in this story. I loved it and thought it brought a lot of authenticity to the story by bringing in an outside voice. 

WARNING: GRAPHIC blood, gore, and bodily mutilation. The Steel eye project development is VERY horrible, so don’t read if that is something that bothers you. 

It was a beautiful day.

The sky was a bright eggshell blue stratified with only the occasional cirrus cloud highlighting the sky with a touch of distant white. The sun was bright though the temperature was moderate only in the mid eighties.

Swimmers could be seen as distant pinpoints of light and froth on the surface of lake Geneva. Voices echoed up from the city coerced mostly by the purring of hover-car engines.

Towering white buildings rose high into the sky adding height instead of width to a city that had not grown outside its own borders for the past thousand years other than to go up.

Itw as a more environmentally efficient way to build, and left the countryside untouched by the scars of infrastructure and humanity.

Adam stared out the window for a long moment wishing for the peaceful embrace of the skies and the roaring of a jet engine. A soft whimper at his leg, and he looked down to see Waffles sitting at his heel, her head tilted back to look up at him. WHen he didn’t immediately respond to her she whined again and scooted closer, her paws making soft clicking sounds on the wood flooring below.

Finally he reached down and scratched her behind the ears.

She could sense his agitation, and it was clear that she didn’t much like it.

He couldn’t blame her.

He didn’t like it either. He sighed and turned his head away from the do and he window, back to the mirror in front of which he now stood. He didn’t see himself.

The man in the mirror was tall, straight backed with sharply trimmed and styled hair, jaw squared and raised. Both eyes were green though one expanded and contracted like the appriture of a camera. The expression on the man’s face was stern and unyielding.

He looked…. Like his father.

He had never seen much of a resemblance between them, but now he could certainly see it.

It didn’t help that the stars on his uniform seemed to add an extra ten years to his age.

With a soft sigh, he pulled his captain’s cap down snuggly onto his head and whistled low for his dog.

She fell into a perfect heel at his side, and he clipped the leash onto her colla.

Her black service vest was strapped on tight with a pair of doggie saddlebags on either side carrying water bottles. Waffles always liked having a job to do, and a little extra work would help to keep her relaxed during the trial rather than antsy.

She was going to have to stay very still for a very long time for the next few days.

“Ready girl.”

Her tail thumped against the floor at his voice.

“At least that makes one of us.”

He transferred her elash to his left end, though he didn’t technically need it, and led her out of the bedroom and into the large living room. It was a lot of hotel room for just one man. He would have been fine enough with a double queen personally, but he supposed if the UNSC was paying there was no reason to argue otherwise.

It felt strange, going to a hotel on the UNSC’s Dime to testify against the UNSC in one of the biggest trials of the century.

His stomach churned.

Waffles nosed his hand.

Dr Krill floated down from his examination of the chandelier, “I admire human artistry, but pragmatism is still my preferred way of living.” he motioned around the room, “A bit opulent.”

Adam nodded his agreement, “You can say that again. I haven’t slept on a bed that big in my life.” In all honesty, he was trying to keep his mind off of what was to come. He didn’t really care about the bed and certainly didn’t know if he had ever slept in a bed that large.

He sort of doubted it, he was in the UNSC after all.

A knock came on the door and he turned reaching for the handle and pulling it open. The driver from yesterday was waiting for him, his suit pristine. He bowed slightly, “The car is waiting for you, sir.”

He nodded, and motioned the other man to lead the way.

The man nodded and thanked him, stepping down the hall and leading them down into the lobby. They got a lot of looks as they made their way down, most likely because of krill, though his uniform might have caught some attention.

He was led out towards the car and slid into the back seat, suddenly surprised to find that he wasn’t alone.

“Admiral Kelly!”

“Good morning, Adam.”

“What are you doing here.”

“I am here to witness the trial. UNSC representatives thought it would be best if some of the newer brass came to oversee proceedings.”

He quickly looked out the window, suddenly remembering which side of the conflict this was on.

A hand rested on his arm, “I’m not here to make you feel bad about your decision, Admiral. You’re doing what needs to be done.”

He sighed and nodded, “I… thank you ma’am.”

“You sure this is something you are ready for.”

He paused and then shook his head, “No… I’m not ready, and I never will be.” She went to open her mouth but he stopped her, “But I’m the only one we have, so I will do what it takes.”

The car went silent as it slowly accelerated into the early morning traffic.

It was going to be a very long day.

Admiral Kelly turned to look at Krill speaking with him quietly while Adam looked out the window.

He wasn’t in the mood for talking right now though he knew how odd that was.

His stomach continued to churn as they drove through the streets heading towards the outskirts of the city where the Geneva court had been built just over 200 years ago.

The last buildings on the outskirts of town  went by and their first view of the court appeared in the car window. It was made in the classic greco-roman style with large white pillars and sloped rooftop and carvings on the top that depicted all the deities of justice ever conceived by historial religion, all cast and depicted in marble.

The thoroughfare up to the building was long and wide with a decorative reflecting pool at the center and a set of daunting steps leading up to the ornate front doors.

The grounds were meticulously kept with hedges shrub and flowering bushes, with what must have been miles and miles of water features and fountains off to the side.

It was a beautiful location, and it seemed that visitors found it a nice spot to rest while they enjoyed touring the sites.

He didn’t see much in the beauty today.

This was the UN supreme court, and the history of Geneva made this place hallowed in ways that made the court case for today all the more poignant.

The car pulled to a stop before the doors and a few gloved attendants stepped forward sharply dressed and opened the doors with almost militaristic precision as Admiral Vir and Admiral Kelly stepped out.

Waffles followed at his heels

He knew as soon as he stepped onto the marble steps that he wanted to leave, an the only thing that kept him there was the memory of those faces…. All the people counting on him back at the house, all the people who had never been given a chance to recover like he had.

He took a deep breath and ford himself up the steps and towards the front doos where a group of people were already congregating.

There were a few reporters there, without cameras, waiting to attend in the audience and record the proceedings for their news stories and daytime television. A few of them snapped discrete photos of him as he passed and was led through the wide double doors into the expansive inner hallway with a beautifully muraled ceiling and a line of decorative plants down the side.

Voices echoed inside the building, rising up around him to bounce off the marble.

The voices themselves were indistinct and difficult to understand as he made his way further into the room.

Men in suits lined the walls.

He eyed them critically wondering if any of them happened to be the defence.

A hand was placed on his shoulder, and he quickly turned to eye another attendant, who had evidently been trying to get his attention, “Right this way sir.”

He nodded and was led through the halls and into a nearby antichamber.

A wand was passed over his body.

“Please hold out your arm , sir.”

He did as ordered and watched as his forearm implant was temporarily deactivated. 

“The room is completely radio proof, sir. No signals go in or out. If you must make a call, I urge you to take it during the court recess.”

“Understood.”

“Please step inside and sit on the second row on the right side behind the prosecution.

He did as ordered, and stepped into another wide curving room.

It was much bigger than he would have thought, two stories high with amphitheater seats, and a massive curving desk at the front where nine Geneva court judges would be seated on their entrance.

There was no jury.

The Geneva court judges would be the jury for trial at this time.

Law practices had changed a lot since world war III but there was still some semblance of the old ways that still lingered on.

He took his seat, waffles grumbling softly as he slid onto the ground beside him.

Two people in suits followed him inside one in a dark blue suit and brown shoes, the other in pinstriped balck.

The one in blue was a woman, dressed sharply, her hair pulled back into a bun so tight you could have strummed out a tune on the hairs. She paused next to Adam and held out a hand, “Admiral Vir, we spoke over the phone.”

“Ms. Trevor.”

She nodded and motioned to the man, “And my partner Mr. Jackson. I trust you understand your purpose here today?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

Jackson lifted his head, “Our case here is solid, admiral. This case isn’t about who is going to be punished for what happened, but about how long they will be punished, not to mention it is likely to set up some new legislation for the ethical creation and use of military hardware. Once we are done, something like this is unlikely to ever happen again.”

He wasn’t entirely sure he believed that, but he nodded and let them take their seats in the desk before him.

Waffles whimpered and prodded at his hands with her nose.

He stroked a hand over her big pointed ears.

The courtroom filled up within the next hour, and, Looking across the room, he saw a line of men and women sitting on the second row of the defence. Something about them put him on edge.

He had a feeling they were the scientists.

They were the ones who had developed the steel eye armor.

“All rise! For the honorable Geneva court judges!”

The entire room took to their feet as the nine judges filed out of a back chamber and stepped onto the floor. All of them wore traditional black robes with white collars as had been tradition for nearly thousand of years. They took their seats with a mass shuffling.

“Please be seated.”

The room shuffled back into place.

The head judge,at the center of the table leaned forward.

“On this day June 24, 4024 we open the Geneva Court case of The People VS UNSC Biomechanics Division. the court will begin by hearing opening statements from the council.”

Council for the prosecution stood, shuffling her papers once before stepping up to the lectern.

“Honorable judges and members of the court, today we are here to present evidence against a faction of the UNSC scientific division for gross ethical violations, torture, and pruposeful endangerment of human life. Evidence suggests over 29 killed, over 21 critically injured, maimed, or permanently crippled, and over 61 with lasting mental trauma. This is not counting over 50 Steel eye soldiers coerced without prior knowledge, into participation in the program, 30 of which are now deceased 15 of which have lasting mental trauma, and five that, while functional, still feel the effects today. Today we will be presenting, written documents, video recordings, and audio files from prior testing as well as first hand witnesses of both the testing and the war as well as expert witness from the scientist who read and compiled the files before trial. What was done to these men and women constitute as war crimes and their victims deserve compensation and closure for what was done to them.”

She stepped back from the podium and nodded.

The defence stood and made their way to the podium in turn, “Your honors, and members of the court, while it is true that some unfortunate incidents happened during testing and development of the steel eye project, there is ample evidence to prove that none of these men or women were coerced against their will into participation. All subjects were volunteer and duly informed before proceedings began. Furthermore, scientific ethics had not advanced far enough at the time to cover weather or not what they were doing was an ethical violation. The Defence is not asking for complete vindication for the accused, but the sum of what happens is surely less than war crimes.” 

They took their seat.

Adam wasn’t a lawyer, but he knew which opening statement he liked more. Now maybe he was biased, but certainly he felt that one presented greater amounts of evidence than the other. Of course it was up to the prosecution to show evidence that would convince the judges, beyond a reasonable doubt, that these men and women were guilty.

He listened to some more speaking, half falling asleep and assuming maybe this would be as bad as he thought it would when one of the prosecution stepped back up to the podium.

“The prosecution presents time stamped dated and logged evidence to the court for consideration. The first testing log we wish to present is from the eighteenth of October 4016 and overseen by Dr. Tato Nkosi written as log number 23.” 

Experimental Log #023:

So far we have not experimented with a human subject, All the sample tests and simulations indicate that there should be no interference with normal function nor create any feedback loops that could induce seizures. This is the first human testing that we will be doing. We have noticed that the animal testing resulted in significant irritation and irrational behavour from the subjects, We however suspect this was because they were unawares of the reason for the implantations.

The subject is unconscious for the process of implantation to prevent movement. 

-recording break-

The subject reacted violently to the implant, removing it in a highly violent manner while screaming and trying to injure any nearby scientists. We expected some level of resistance, but this indicates far more sensitivity than expected. Further testing will be required.

“The council for the prosecution wishes to present the audio/visual log.” A light flickers on as a video clip begins reeling.

Audiovisual Log Transcript:

The subject wakes suddenly, seeming to be woken by extreme pain. Screaming almost instantly and scrabbling at implant on their hand and wrist. Subject seems to be attempting to remove the implant. One of the scientists attempts to calm the subject only to be beaten by the subject who continues screaming. The scientist retreats from the subject just as the subject finally removes the test implant by ripping it from the subjects skin, tearing with it the subjects local nervous system along with large sections of the subjects musculature and ligaments. Seeming relieved at the lack of contact with the implant, the subject sinks to its knees. The subject is losing significant amount of blood, though we suspect the subject is unaware of this as large sections of the nervous system is still attached to the implant. The subject appears to be in shock as it observes its ruined lower arm and hand. The subject has resumed screaming and is now trying to get the scientists attention to fix its ruined lower arm and hand. The subject is sedated and arm treated. The recording ends here. 

Adam throws a hand up over his face feeling bile rise into his mouth at the image seared into his brain. Muscle and ligament dangling uselessly against a steel eye prototype. He felt a bit lightheaded but takes a deep breath in and out to calm his breathing. All around the room there are gasps of shock and disgust. A few people stand to leave the room unable to witness any more.”

The council steps forward, “This was the first log in a recorded series of proceeding logs with similar effects. We know in experimentation that accidents happen all the time, and we might have considered forgiveness if the experimentation had stopped here. Clearly implementation on human test subjects was not ready, as evidenced by the animal’s discomfort. Perhaps if they had stopped here, some measure of understanding might have been allowed. But they continued past this point with full knowledge that this sort of catastrophic event could happen. This test subject will never regain full use of his hand. Instead of stopping the experiment like hey should, the scientists determined that the use of painkillers was in order to make the subject operational. For this the prosecution calls expert witness Dr. Alexander Gladstone to the witness stand.”

On the bench to his side, a man stands slicking back his salt and pepper hair as he moves to sit in the witness stand and is sworn in.

“Dr. Gladstone, tell us a little of your credentials.”

“Of course, I received my PHD in Biomechanical interface and Engineering as well as an additional PHD in Mechanised robotics. I have worked as the head scientist for the UNSC testing division for nearly five years now after my predecessor quit. I helped to re-engineer this project under Iron eye as a step forward from the Steel eye project in a more controlled and ethical environment. I am also the scientists who reviewed these logs and compiled them for analysis today.”

“Thank you Dr. Now, may I ask why these scientists would have chosen to implement a drug dosage?”

“To understand why they had to do this, you must also understand the steel eye project itself. Steel eye was designed to enhance the strength, speed and durability of the wearer. We already have exo suits designed for use in factory and industrial settings, however the main issue we run into in a combat setting is that the machine responds too slow. The nodes detect electrical impulses from the muscles and then have to fire following that meaning the subject has already begun moving almost seconds in advance of the machine. Steel eye was created to integrate the machine directly into the body to intercept nerve impulses before the muscles even fire, thus making the wearer faster, and the augment making them stronger. To do this you have to make a direct interface with the nervous system. They first implemented small microfivers which would wrap themselves around the nerves in question to detect electrical signals. These were designed to cluster primarily along the spine but have additional nodes in the major muscle groups. However, direct stimulation of a nerve or nerve cluster sends signals to the brai nthat are interpreted as…. Unbelievable agony, which is likely the agitation that they were seeing in the animal test subjects. However, with a high enough drug dosage, you can mitigate these effects, or distract the brain enough to keep the wearer functional for some time.”

He sat back in his seat.

“And in iron eye, how did you get around this problem?”

“Subdermal implants that do not require direct contact with the nerve endings themselves.”

“And does Iron eye cause any significant damage to the wearer?”

“No sir, the only danger is an infection of the implants, but that is with almost any implanted medical devise.”

“The subjects have no pain.”

“A general soreness that goes away within two to three days.”

“So in my understanding it is clear that there were alternatives to their original course of action. They could have pulled back and tried to implement a way to mitigate the pain rather than mask it with drug dosages?”

“Certainly.”

“But that isn’t what they did.”

“No.”

“The prosecution presents Transcript 27 to the court for viewing.” 

Experimental log #27:

We have begun testing various drugs to suppress the pain, this test is with acetaminophen, commonly referred to as Codeine. 

As per usual the subject was implanted while unconscious and atop this it was given a high dose of codeine prior to it awaking. 

-recording break-

It appears that while the subject was capable of withstanding the pain from the implant for a longer period of time than our previous subjects However the subject clearly seemed to suffer increasing mental instability as the sensations returned, culminating in the subject violently trying to destroy the implant. Learning from prior experiments and in an attempt to reduce harm to the scientists, the subject was left alone while it was in this state and no attempt was made to aid the subject.

Adam turned his head away unable to stomach what was coming next. His hands were sweating terribly. He felt cold and weak. He had seen horrible things in war and in his time, but watching this… .watching steel eye. It was just too much.

His mouth had gone dry, and his skin was hot as if he had a fever.

The dog nosed his hand but he barely acknowledged her.

Audio-visual log transcript:

The transcript begins once the Codeine begins to wear off. 

The subject begins by itching at the area around the implant, the reaction is far less violent than the prior subjects. After several minutes of ever more irritated scratching and aggressive tugging at the implant and plaintive noises the subject began to violently bash the implant against the wall. Growing ever more violent with the abuse of the implant. This continues till the test implant is mangled and ruined with the subject pulling the mangled chunks of metal off their skin, this however seems not to alleviate the subjects pain and irritation. This is likely due to the destruction of the implant not removing the interfacing needles The subject continued to scratch and pull at its skin, the plaintive noises slowly becoming screams of pain. This action continued without interruption from the scientists till the subject had torn most of the skin of its arm and taken chunks out of its musculature, the subject finally passed out from pain or blood loss after several minutes of self mutilation. 

The room spun around him, and he took a few long, deep breaths hoping that it would stop.

He wast sure he could survive another few hours of this.

He wasn’t sure at all