#quarter-length puffed under-sleeves

[gogmstuff]

ca. 1828 German Princess by François Joseph Kinsoen (Bowes Museum - Barnard Castle, Teesdale, County Durham UK). From Wikimedia; fixed crinkles in background with Photoshop 1399X1860 @ 72 971kj.

[guqin-and-flute]

Teach Him a Lesson (The Yiling Laozu adopts Xue Yang)--Chapter 3

[Yes, this thing has chapters now. There's also going to be a visitor, soon. 👁👁]

[Part One & Two] [Ao3 link]

“That one, gege, that one!”

“Are you dumb, that one is way too heavy,” Xue Yang argued. “Pick a better one. Like...this big.” He swiped his sweat and water plastered hair back from his face and held his hands apart about the length of an incense stick.

“No, you can do it! A-Yuan believes in you!” A-Yuan said, confidently, thrusting his fist up into the air from his vantage point perched on the dry top of a boulder.

Wuxian watched as Xue Yang rolled his eyes and grumbled something under his breath, but leaned down anyway and began hauling at the river rock, feet braced wide in the thigh high water. With great difficulty, Xue Yang managed to straighten a bit and lift it a few inches out of the water, puffing. Then, he swung his whole torso and tossed the rock a scant foot or so away with a tremendous clack and splash. A-Yuan cheered, kicking his bare feet in the water in glee. The two had been at it for an amusingly long time--nearly 3 quarters of an hour, he’d say, while he and Wen Ning fished a ways downstream, pants and sleeves rolled up, robes tucked up into their belts. The commotion probably wasn’t helping the fishing, but it was possible any fish might be scared down toward them. And anyway Wuxian had already hand caught about a third of a basket full of palm sized xingkai and small, silvery daiqi that were probably bonier than they were worth--but it was something.

They had discovered that Wen Ning was very good at standing still so the fish approached unawares, but his fine motor coordination still left something to be desired and they often slipped through his closing fingers. When they all got back home, Wuxian promised he’d look into a way to loosen up his finger joints a bit. Wen Ning had only smiled in that slightly awkward, eager way and shaken his head. “It’s alright, gongzi. I’m probably just not as good as you. You grew up doing this.”

“True,” Wuxian allowed as another almighty splash-clack rang out upstream. “Next time I’ll set you up in a pool with a line you can reel in--maybe that would be more your style.”

Enthusiastically, Wen Ning nodded. “I could do that!”

Wuxian nodded back and planted his palms on his butt, bowing himself backward with a wince. “Euuuuugh,” he moaned, stretching his chin up. “My back. This stream is too low, it needs to rain. Soon, I’ll be all bent over permanently like popo.”

The day was warm, verging on hot, despite it being only midmorning, but not terribly humid, closer to Gusu’s climate than Yunmeng’s lush humidity because of their altitude. A-Yuan had begged to come along and wade and Wuxian suspected that Xue Yang had joined them more to avoid chores than for company or play, but had warmed to it quite quickly. When they had arrived, A-Yuan had immediately charged in and had announced that it was ‘freezing’. That had given Xue Yang pause, and he had lurked near the riverbank until A-Yuan had begun to splash him--a challenge that everyone knew must not go unanswered. And so their play had begun, commencing with a splash war that Xue Yang unequivocally won with his borderline aggressive retaliation. Then, they had attempted to catch the minnows investigating their ankle bones. Failing that and now fully numb to the river's cold, they had ventured as a unit farther out to the middle, paddling around until they were soaked to the bone and nearly blue.

There had been a near miss where A-Yuan got swept away, down toward the adults. Xue Yang hadn’t said anything as a warning when it happened, but after Wei Wuxian had darted over and caught the small boy up by his belt before he could go past, he caught Xue Yang poised with his hand outstretched, seemingly frozen in the middle of uncertain action. So that was something. At the time, Wuxian had engaged in some light berating for letting A-Yuan go too deep, but hadn’t really laid into him, as it didn’t seem like malicious indifference.

Currently, though-- “OI! A-Yang, if you throw river slime on his clothes, you’re washing it out!”

“I already wash his clothes, you all make me,” Xue Yang shot back, following through on his windup and splattering a delightedly shrieking A-Yuan with green and brown ooze.

“You are the most disobedient little wretch I’ve ever met! I was going to take you down to town today to see if you wanted to get candy but now I know you don’t listen, so--”

At this, Xue Yang spun around so fast that he slipped on some slimy rock and lost his footing, tumbling back into the stream before popping back just as fast. “Candy? We have to go, I’ll listen, let’s go!”

“Candy!” A-Yuan enthused from behind him, like a particularly peppy echo.

As Wei Wuxian shook his head, looking to the sky for patience, Wen Ning quickly splashed upstream to him, doggedly wading against the current when it deepened momentarily to his thighs. “Are you alright?”

Xue Yang frowned over at him momentarily. “What?”

“Your arm is bleeding!”

Disinterestedly, Xue Yang held it up and glanced down at it. There was a cut up by his elbow, the water on his skin diffusing blood all down his forearm in a bright red rush that made it almost impossible to tell the real severity. “Oh. Whatever. I don’t care.” He was already letting his arm hang back down, eager eyes back on Wei Wuxian, demanding, “Take me, gege, I’ll listen better, I wanna go. Take me there with you.”

When Wen Ning reached him, he picked up the boy’s arm and inspected it, worriedly, as Xue Yang blinked up at him with a baffled annoyance. A-Yuan clambered down from his rock and braved the current to try paddling over to them. For a moment, he began to drift down stream again, but Wuxian, who had been making his way up to them all, caught the back of his shirt and towed him along as he kicked his legs. “Let Wen Ning look at you and I’ll consider it.”

Slowly--obnoxiously slowly--Xue Yang was learning to actually coexist with everyone in the Burial Mounds. Instead of mocking silence or constant hostility, he could now take direction from people other than Wuxian with little more than an annoyed eye roll.

He had even stopped bullying A-Yuan and had seemed to have formed some sort of exasperated older sibling sort of relationship with him--the kind where he insisted A-Yuan was annoying and dumb, but he no longer pushed A-Yuan off when he clung to his leg. He often let him sit next to him at meals, though he seemed to draw the line at sharing food.

Wen Qing had even reported that she had caught sight of him crouched on his heels in front of Wen Ning, chin in his hands and looking on in apathy as the man excitedly explained the rules of Go to him, sketching out a 9 by 9 board in the dirt between them. Apparently, the boy hadn’t been all that polite or interested, but he stayed for the explanation and even placed a few pieces in the form of dark little pebbles before announcing that this was boring and he was leaving. But he had stopped ferreting other people’s possessions behind his bed in the house he shared with Wen Ning and Wen Qing, and he had stopped trying to repeatedly break into Wuxian’s cave (after about 2 dozen times). And so Wuxian had stopped having daydreams about kicking him out. The kid hadn’t stopped his constant demands for Wuxian to teach him Demonic Cultivation, but of all his offenses, this was the easiest to ignore.

It had taken damn near a month, but hey, it was definitely progress.

Even now, he was grudgingly allowing Wen Ning to pull a cloth from his inner pocket and wipe away the flood of diluted blood down his arm so he could get a proper look at the cut. It wasn’t too deep, but it was long and considering he had gotten it on a river rock, it was definitely time to call it quits and head back to clean it. “You listen to what Wen Ning says to do, alright?”

“Gege got an ouchy!”

“Does this hurt, much?” Wen Ning asked anxiously as he carefully wiped around the wound. “I’m sorry, but--but I need to try to clean it, a bit.”

Xue Yang didn’t say anything and instead stood stiffly while Wen Ning began to explain about dirt and wounds and unclean water. Whenever anyone showed him anything bordering on affection, he responded with a sort of barbed distrust. Wei Wuxian had laughed to himself when he had first realized what that closed and wary face reminded him of; Lan Zhan in the Cloud Recesses, back when they were first getting to know each other. No matter how friendly Wuxian had tried to get, he had done just the same thing and clammed up. Maybe Lan Zhan would have a better idea of what to do with the kid? No, probably not, considering how panicked he had looked when A-Yuan had latched onto him crying in the market. Ah well.

“Xian-gege, Xian-gege, I’m cold, pick me up!” A-Yuan cried from where he was still in the water, wrapped around Wuxian’s thigh, just as he had that day.

“Well, you came down from your nice warm rock, silly boy, of course you’re cold.” Leaning down, he hauled him up out of the water, holding him out until he stopped pouring water like a bucket and then yanked on his own lapel a couple times to loosen it, tucking the boy’s legs in as best he could when he perched him on his hip. “You’re right, you’re freezing. Brr. What about you, A-Yang, are you cold? Wen Ning could lend you his overrobe. Let’s all get out of this stupid river or we’ll never warm up. Here, A-Yuan, come get the fish with me.”

“Come get the fish! Come get the fish!” A-Yuan chanted as they clambered out of the river and trekked back down along the root strewn embankment.

Wuxian’s already sore back protested when he bent down with the extra weight of a child on one side, but he readily hefted the basket up. “Look how many fish we have, A-Yuan.”

Leaning across him to peer in at the respectable mound of limp silvery bodies, A-Yuan marveled, “Woooow. So many. Like...fif’y-twen’y-twelve!”

“Oh, at least.”

Stringing the basket closed one handed was a task, but he managed it and looped it, tossing it over his shoulder. When they returned, Wuxian saw that Wen Ning had gotten him and Xue Yang back on shore and was tying his overlarge russet brown overrobe around Xue Yang’s waist with his belt, leaving himself in his plain gray-blue one. The color only accentuated the paleness of his skin and the bruises under his eyes, but he was smiling tentatively down at Xue Yang--who was looking back up at him with enough disbelief that you would have thought Wen Ning was speaking to him in a different language. Meanwhile, the robe swamped the kid, rolled up several times to his wrists and drooping over the belt, pooling on the ground around his feet. It would have been cute if he wasn’t acting like such a harassed cat about it.

When they began their trip back, it became clear pretty quickly that Xue Yang couldn’t walk properly in the robe. He kept tripping over the ends, even as he tried to bunch it up in his hands. “Ugh, this fucking thing is annoying!” he burst out when he nearly stumbled into a tree for the dozenth time.

“Mind your language around A-Yuan, you know he’s like a sponge.”

“Annoying?” A-Yuan parroted, perking up to look into Wuxian’s face for confirmation.

“Yes, A-Yuan, you must never say that word again,” he agreed, solemnly, pinching his cheek.

“I could carry you?” Wen Ning offered. “On my back, if--if you want. So you can relax.”

Xue Yang eyed him, then Wuxian, who only raised his eyebrows at him. Then, slowly, he nodded. Wen Ning could have easily picked him up with one hand and just slung him over his shoulders, but instead he politely knelt down so Xue Yang could climb on--though it became immediately apparent that he never had received a ride before, because he just stood behind him with his arms wrapped in a vise around Wen Ning’s neck. “If you do that, you’re gonna strangle him,” Wuxian said, ignoring the fact that, no, he wouldn’t because Wen Ning couldn’t really be strangled anymore, but for the sake of any future piggy-back ride givers, he had to intervene. “He’s going to hold your legs, so you gotta lay on him.”

Awkwardly, Xue Yang shuffled forward and clambered up until Wen Ning slowly and carefully rose, still bent over, letting him get situated. Then, he hooked his arms under Xue Yang’s knees and straightened. “Comfortable?”

“I guess,” he mumbled, chin on his arm, staring at Wuxian.

Why he had become the boy’s barometer for what was expected, he’d never know, but he gave him an approving nod because he seemed to need it for some reason. And then they all set off again, the adults carrying the damp and chilly children and the basket of dead fish. A-Yuan and he chatted for a little bit, but then the boy began to doze off, his head on Wuxian’s shoulder. River playing took it out of you and he was slowly warming up from the sun filtering down through the leaves. Xue Yang stayed silent, eyes watchful over Wen Ning’s shoulder as he took in the forest, wrapped around him in an iron grip.

It was when they made their way deeper into the mountain and the prickles of resentful energy began to spark over his skin like biting flies that Wuxian handed the sleepy A-Yuan off to an amenable Wen Ning. Through some finagling, he managed to keep Xue Yang up with one arm behind his back.

Then, Wuxian took out ChenQing with a flourish and began to play out safety as they walked back home.

[kaetastic]

STAY LOW

pairing: Luca Changretta x Blue-Eyed!Shelby!Reader

summary: The third oldest of the Shelby’s has been sneaking behind her familys’ backs to be with the man she had loved ever since a kid.

warning: smut

word count: 2.3k

note: i want to see how this one goes so i know i can do more luca changretta stuff hehe

The set, wide legs of the table rattled, quivering as an earthquake caused it to dance to the merciless beats. Wavering in the container, the elongated sticks of pens and other writing materials let out a faint cheer of joy as the walls boxed them all in. Plastered across the floor were the valuable pieces of paper that possessed an impeccably extensive murderer’s key information. It scattered across the table as if raindrops, haphazardly thrown on the surface. Wanton strings of moans and groans trickled in the air as the beating of skin overlapped the sinful noise. 

“Oh, fuck..,” With a hand clutched around his neck, fingers clamped around the skin, her half-lidded eyes rolled to the back of her head, the whites of her orbs claimed victory of the space. Their vapours of heavy exhale poured into each other’s open mouth like gushing of water. “Luca!”

The Italian’s hips thrust, snapping harshly, pelvis gliding across her bundle of nerves, her mewl trickled into his ears like vodka; intoxicating. Their lips tangled with one another, tongue proposing the idea of a dance. Before he pulled away, he trailed chaste kisses from her hollow throat down to the valley between her breasts. The radiating scent of sex and the smell of him smeared across her body was intoxicating. It grew something in him. To know that she has been marked by him, to know that she would be sauntering on the streets after he had been in and over her. 

The simple gesture was enough for tingles to spark in her gut. He stood straight as his arms that had hoisted her legs, bend her knees. His eyes lingered on her pebbly nipples, traces of their sweat and his sloppy kisses while he had given the mounds the attention they deserved, drowned her breasts. Despite their exhausting and sweating activity, the cold air had managed for bumps on her skin to bulge. It was a sight he would sell his entire empire to see, the whole organization that was all the way in America. 

Watching his throbbing, still erected shaft be engulfed and welcomed by her warm walls that had been overflowed after their first round, he let out a hoarse groan. There were streaks around the swollen lip that was his and what a sight. The smeared lines of them rested in her inner thigh, his arousal had stirred with hers’. Although back in his youth, the Italian could last longer with more energy, it seemed years had caught up to his capability.

As he continued to rail his length into him, he could feel her warm thighs quivering, shaking incessantly; her walls clenching tight around him like a vice. Luca let out a guttural groan, one from the bottom of his chest, nearly like a growl which seeped to throb against her thighs. The familiar feeling had caused the man to run his large hands along the valley between her breast before playing with her erected nipples. The cry out for his name was set on the tip of her tongue, ready to spring out into the air; however, the familiar ride of the wave had hit her. Her sharp, diamond-like eyes stared at the ceiling as a staggering breath fell off her lips. Noticing her silence, his hands gripped her hips, not too tight; he was to chase his own release. Luca gently tugged her closer to the edge so she had been down her legs had been hanging off the surface, though, her body had gone limp from the exhausting rounds they had done. If it wasn’t for his grip, she would’ve slumped into the ground. It wasn’t long before he found he found his eternal bliss by pounding into her.

Silence played in the air while the two bodies inhaled the air as if it was luxury. The Italian watched as her eyes flutter beneath the warm smear of yellow light, the eyes he had loved so much had a ring like that of iridescent sparkles of a lake under a bright morning. Y/N’s chest heaved up and down, her lungs pleaded for more supply of air. A trail of bumps shuddered as his calloused fingers trekked along her skin. The irregular path from her sensitive inner-thigh towards her perky nipples was set an antagonizing slow pace. A desperate faint moan seeped through her lips when his hands finally splayed over the mounds, wholly. Kneading it as if dough, Luca rolled it at a painstaking pace, causing a whine to echo into the air. The corners of his lips curled up, he smirked at the power he had over her. His lips were the window to his intentions. It grew wider once her teeth were visible, chewing on her bottom swollen lip.

“Let me hear you.” His silky voice hopped in the sky which nearly caused her to find the intoxicating high once more. A smear of wetness trailed along his lips. As he pinched and rolled the bulging nipples, strings of moans played into his ears. She had listened to him without refuting. It took everything in him to prevent himself from commencing another round he knew he wouldn’t be able to end.

After what seemed to feel like forever, their bodies were no longer connected nor one. Y/N had rolled her stockings up, the sense of clothing warmed her bare, exposed skin. While she quite rapidly covered her body up with the layers that had been peeled away onto the floor, a pair of eyes lingered on her. Although she was not late to the very ‘important’ meeting Thomas had called on (except, all of the meetings are important), it would’ve been a good idea to head on out early to arrive in the acceptable time range without raising suspicion. 

“What?” Her eyes threw a glance at the man who leaned against the wooden table, the exact spot to where she had recently just let go. Luca was the type to sit back and let his eyes wander; however, 

Luca’s loosely covered legs were crossed, his arms nudged his body up as he watched her in silence. The trousers he had yanked on coiled back down, without the support from both of the suspender straps’, the article of clothing had failed to do its purpose. Swinging with his tongue was the match that strayed on his lips. It zoomed left to the right as the wooden taste linger on his tongue, “What are you telling them this time?”

A second passed. The clock cried out in the empty air. After the stockings had rested against her skin smoothly, she stood up to pick up the silk blouse thrown haphazardly on the wooden floor while she pondered of the answer. Without a thought, she had given him a view he could get off on. Her plump curves pointed into the air as her red laced underwear offered him a glimpse of the swollen lips he had railed into.

With her arms in the sleeves of the chilly cloth, Y/N sauntered towards the man. If she had leaned a bit closer, her body would’ve slammed into his. However, her lips hovered over the match on his lips, the hair’s breadth distance caused their breathing to glide over their skin, “Maybe I’ll tell them I had the best fuck of my life.”

A raspy chuckle fell off his lips at her words. It had always amused him to how an innocent face possessed a silver sultry tongue. Luca’s fingers slithered into the open blouse, caressing her waist, the match dangling from the corner of his lips, “Your best fuck is an old man?”

Her tongue stuck out, “You aren’t old.”

Luca rolled his eyes at the lie, he had wanted to believe in her statement. 

“When can I see you again?” The Italian mumbled. With every exhale of breath puffed from his lips, it glistened over her swollen one. As her fingers made way to pop the buttons into their designated slots, her eyes hadn’t quivered away to even take a glance at her task. It was as if she had trusted her hands, and oh she did. And fuck, Luca loved the still line of eye contact between them. It had reminded him of the time she had warmed him without glancing away.

Y/N sighed, her fingers rested over his rigid chest, “Never a certainty,” Luca didn’t say anything. However, he had to not risk what they both had by having her meet up with him a countless amount of times. It would’ve just raised the suspicion of the already paranoid family. “Hm, I feel like I’ll tell them that I met a good-looking man at the east club,” The batting of her eyelids over her crystal, sharp eyes had caused the man to watch her in entertainment; already knowing where this was going to lead to. “He brought me to his house,” The manly scent that radiated from the gangster swirled through her nose as her plump lips partially brushed over his ear. “And he fucked me until I forgot who I was.”

With a squeak, Y/N was thrown onto the soft silk blanket of his bed. The golden cloth had already been bunched up from their first warm-up round, “Yeah? I hope your smart mouth can think of a good excuse to why you can’t walk straight.”

“Where the fuck ya been?” Arthur grumbled once his eyes grazed upon his sister. Glancing at the clock, Y/N cursed in her head as she realized how long she had spent at Luca’s.

“Had to clean out my attic.” Even though Arthur wanted to prod in more, he turned his shoulders away. Her lie that she had thought about meticulously in the ride back home was enough for Arthur. The eldest Shelby accepted it, though, not so much for two pair of eyes. One crystal blue while the other from her Aunt Pol.

“Good fuck?”

Y/N hummed as if to indicate for the woman to repeat, eyes widening slightly as to how she could see through her so easily. Not that it surprised her, Aunt Pol had the ability she hated deeply. The aunt didn’t have to repeat her words, “Yeah.”

Although her cheeks smeared red, Y/N had caught a glimpse of herself through the mirror. Her hair was a mess, the three buttons below had been a mess after the top had missed its slot. As Y/N walked away to the loo to clean her appearance, Polly wore a smug smirk.

“Miss Shelby, it is quarter past three, shall I send in the next appointment?” Throwing a glance at the man who had held the door open, she hummed. While he paced away to call in her next visitor, Y/N’s eyes were quick to flee back towards the line she had left off. The black ink on the newspaper was accompanied by greyscaled photos. With her leg crossed, face covered by the large paper, it was her typical Monday. Except, it wouldn’t be typical.

“This is Mr Victor Holmes, he is from the Trade And Marketing section.” With a mumble thanks towards her assistant, the man shut the door before scurrying away to complete his other pending tasks.

The part of the story was getting peculiar, it had enchanted her. Her eyes zoomed left to the right, she found herself chewing her bottom lip as she read sprung onto the last line. However, before she could read the end phrase, a familiar voice mumbled in the air.

“Not even a glance, amore?” The familiar English splattered with Sicilian accent drummed through her ears. The sound of the newspaper sliced through the hefty air, causing a smirk to crawl onto his lips. Luca’s arms were wide open, theatrically announcing his presence in the suit she had grown to love.

Throwing the newspaper onto the glass coffee table, she stomped towards the man, whispering in a hushed voice as if they were being eavesdropped on, “What are you doing here?”

Luca frowned, “I can’t be here?”

Y/N sighed before she made her way to tug all the shutters to close. The wall that lead to a hallway was covered with windows. The room was darker, a smear of haze from the window to the outdoors and the faint blur from her lamplight. Luca watched her as he bit his bottom lip, eyes trailing on her figure that made way around the room professionally.

“What are you doing here?” Y/N repeated, this time, with a softer tone, her fingers clutched around the lapel of his jacket, brushing the smooth material, hovering in front of him.

“Wanted to see my girl.” Her eyes flickered to gaze into his deep eyes. Oh, the endless path that his eyes possessed could lead her to be stranded, alone. And she would still remain there, in the solace of his orbs. Luca craned his neck down to face her, his ringed fingers brushed over her cheeks.

Y/N uttered with a faint sight, “Not here, Luca, it’s dangerous.”

“Don’t we like that? Dangerous?” Luca inquired before he tugged her into his chest by a hand on her waist. Their lips moulded into one another, like a perfect match to a puzzle piece. A breathy moan fell off her lips when his large hand clasped around the swell of her ass. The Italian was handsy when he wants to be, but what frustrated Y/N more (after she had to learn it herself) was that he can be tortuously teasing.

His fingers kneaded the area, rolling it before harshly tugging it. When her fingers trailed down to palm the straining shaft that poked a bulge, Luca couldn’t help but to grind his hips. He felt the corners of her lips curl up when she had gotten the reaction she wanted, while they kissed. As his fingers hovered over the heat in her pants, his mouth on her hollow throat as her head was thrown back, he smirked before pulling away. “Said it yourself, not here.”

Oh, how bad she wanted to smack that amused smirk off his face, “Fuck you.” The smirk on Luca’s face curled higher.

“Gladly, amore.”

[tamakiamajikistentacles]

Lucky Charms {Eijirou Kirishima}

A/N: So I got this idea earlier this morning for the holiday and wrote it instead of finishing the piece I originally wanted to put out this weekend. I hope you all enjoy because Kirishima as a dad has me weak!

When he was younger, Kirishima was a night owl through and through. Waking up in the morning to attend classes at UA had been a struggle especially before the dorm system was put in place. An earlier time on the train meant an earlier alarm but on campus he had an explosive best friend to quite literally drag him out of bed.

Now two children, a full-time job as a pro hero, a shared agency, and ten years of marriage later, his body took whatever sleep it could get and refused to let him sleep past seven am. Which was fine because it allowed him to get done what he needed before the rest of his family awoke.

It was definitely fine on Mother’s Day because it gave him the time to wake up his two children in preparation for the holiday. Since they had inherited his late-night tendencies and reluctance for mornings, it was often a challenge.

“Chiyo, its time to get up,” he said softly, nudging his daughter’s shoulder lightly. “We’ve got Mother’s Day to celebrate.”

The teenager grumbled, her comforter pulled tight around her curled up form and scrunching up her already rumpled black braid, every minute of her thirteen years evident in the reluctance.

“Don’t make me send your brother in,” he threatened playfully.

“Dad!” she groaned, blinking up at him with her mother’s eyes. Brows furrowed, she rubbed her pajama sleeve across her face before sitting up. “Why can’t we wait another hour?”

He laughed as he walked towards her bedroom door. “We wake mom up with breakfast, she doesn’t come looking for it. You act like you haven’t done this a dozen times before.”

Ignoring her huffs he told her to meet him in the kitchen as he made his way across the hall to his son’s room. Walking into the smaller room, he chuckled at the sight in front of him.

Kazuma was lying on his stomach, his arms and legs star-fished out in all directions. One foot peeked out from beneath his blankets, the blue sock half off and the elastic clinging desperately to his toes. The closer he got, he could also hear the tiny snores escaping his parted lips.

“Wake up, little Riot, its Mother’s Day,” he laughed, grabbing his foot and shaking it.

The boy snuffled and rolled over slightly, blinking up at his father sleepily.

He grinned. “C’mon, we gotta meet your sister in the kitchen to get started!”

“Oh, okay,” he mumbled as he tossed his comforter aside. Just like his sister, his dark hair stuck up in all directions, though the shorter length made him look more like a black-haired version of his favorite uncle.

The Kirishima boys made their way down to the kitchen where Chiyo was waiting for them on one of the breakfast stools, her thumbs flying across her phone’s screen. Her braid had been taken out and her hair laid in wild waves against her shoulders.

“Alright,” Kirishima started as Kazuma took the seat next to his sister, “I’m gonna start on your mom’s breakfast and you two can go get your gifts from the closet, make sure everything’s ready.”

Chiyo set her phone down and gestured back towards their living area. “I grabbed our gifts and everything looks good. We both signed the card last night. The flower and card from you are with the gifts on the kotatsu.”

“Thanks baby girl,” he smiled. “Then let me get her breakfast ready and we can get this show on the road!”

Kazuma giggled. “Dad, you’re just making cereal!”

“Yeah, but that’s Mother’s Day breakfast!” he replied as he pulled a bowl down from the cupboard. He declined to add that breakfast also included coffee, but that wasn’t always the case. “Chiyo, can you grab the milk please?”

She nodded, moving towards the fridge. “He’s right, though, dad. We don’t do much for Mother’s Day breakfast. The Bakubabies were telling us that Uncle Katsuki wakes up super early and makes a big American breakfast for Auntie, then wakes them up to help carry it and give gifts.”

He grabbed the milk from her, dousing the poured cereal as he chuckled lightly to himself. Bakugo should never have made such a big deal about the little nickname for his children.

“Its just sort of tradition,” he said easily, pouring the coffee into a large Red Riot mug from his first official merch line.

“How did it start?” Kazuma asked curiously, kicking his legs absently.

Kirishima paused as he finished putting the coffee and cereal onto the serving tray. He often thought about the first Mother’s Day they had celebrated after Chiyo was born, especially when the holiday approached, but he didn’t think he’d ever really discussed it with his children.

“Well, your mom and I had been dating in high school and after graduation we moved in together. I was just starting out as a hero, doing sidekick work at Fatgum’s agency with Suneater, and your mom had taken a position at Ryukyu’s agency for management. Chiyo was born about a year after we graduated, and even though we both worked fulltime up until then and even after, money was tight,” he admitted.

He didn’t find it shameful that they had struggled when they were just starting out or that having a baby young had been difficult, but he often worried that his children’s confidence in him would wane if he showed too much of the hardship. Old insecurities always died hard.

“The very first Mother’s Day we celebrated, I… I couldn’t afford much,” he murmured. “I got her a card and a pink carnation, but when I went to make her breakfast I realized we didn’t have anything to make a special meal. All we had was an unopened box of Lucky Charms so I went with it; either I brought it to her in bed or she would walk out to the kitchen to get it, you know? If nothing else I could save her a trip down the hallway.”

Glancing up at them, he saw the eagerness to listen to their parents’ beginnings, no trace of pity in either of their gazes. He briefly marveled at how beautiful their eyes were, thankful that they got their mother’s eyes and his dark hair to become perfect little combinations of them both.

“She didn’t mind the cereal and cried when she opened the card,” he continued, smiling at the memory. “She told me that it was the best first Mother’s Day she could imagine, and that she couldn’t wait until Chiyo was older to help carry in the tray of cereal. So that’s just how it’s happened every year since. Even when I became a hero with Fatgum and when your Uncle Katsuki and I started our agency, she told me I should only ever get her a card and maybe flowers, but no gifts. When you two got older it was easier to get gifts because I could just say they were from you, though.”

They all laughed, the tension that the air had held since he began his story gone.

Chiyo bumped Kazuma’s shoulder with her own. “That’s the kind of husband you better be.”

He puffed out his chest and knocked his little fists together in his father’s signature move. “It’s the manliest way to be a husband!”

Kirishima smiled widely, pride filling him at how truly amazing his kids were. He was blessed in every way possible with his family and he wouldn’t trade them for anything.

“C’mon, kiddos, let’s go surprise your mom,” he said, and they ran to the kotatsu to grab their gifts to her, Kazuma handing him the single flower and dusty pink card he had chosen for his wife.

The trio made their way upstairs, presents held in the children’s grasp and him balancing the tray in one hand and his own presents in the other. He was sure his wife was already awake from their laughter in the kitchen, but tradition said they had to wake her up with breakfast in bed.

“Happy Mother’s Day!” they shouted as they entered the bedroom, Chiyo and Kazuma jumping onto the bed with her to give hugs and kisses.

She looked up at him with a beaming smile as he set the food on her bedside table, mouthing “thank you” as she hugged the children close.

Kirishima nodded, his own smile wide, as his eyes drifted to the three frames on the wall behind her. The bottom two displayed each of their children’s pictures from when they were born, the frames a soft purple color with their names engraved under their respective photo. Above them hung a dusty pink frame that read My First Mother’s Day, an open card and a single, dried pink carnation inside.

The carnation represented endurance, and he knew what the writing in the card said by heart, the words he had written so many years ago still true.

“I grew up with two mothers, and I used to think that taught me what motherhood was all about and, in a way, it did. I’m forever thankful to the women who raised me but when it comes to motherhood I look to you as my source for what it truly is. Growing up I didn’t see them struggle but persevere through the hard times. I never came home to see them swaying a sleeping baby in a sling across their chest while they prepared dinner, a laptop on the counter with a business meeting half over where they presented end of the quarter data. They supported my dreams of being a hero, but not by staying home with a newborn daughter while I took extra hours to grow my name and try to earn just a little more than enough money. I love you endlessly for the sacrifices you’ve made for our little family and the way you mother Chiyo. I can’t imagine anyone else by my side during the good times and the difficult ones, and I say difficult because with you they’re never bad. You’re an amazing mother and I can’t wait to see you teach Chiyo even more as time goes on. I love you so much.

Eijirou”

[catfishandthebottlefan]

#13 - Your Room’s on the First Floor

A/N- Hi! I know I haven’t been posting a lot, I’m sorry about that. But here’s a long-ish one for y’all. It’s nearly midnight here so sorry if there’s typos 😂 i love this one, it’s HELLA fluffy :) ~ Anna xxx

You stepped into the warmth of the B&B, quickly removing your sodden coat and hanging it on the free-standing wooden rack in the large hallway. You wiped your black Doc Martens on the doormat before removing them and placing them on the shoe rack to the left of the front door. Mary and Bernie’s B&B felt homely, with family photos hung on the walls, and their own shoes and coats on the racks as well as those of their guests. For example, next to your relatively new black Docs sat an identical (but larger) pair - old and scuffed, but clearly well-loved and worn. You presumed these belonged to the couple’s son, whom you’d never seen or met, but his parents spoke fondly enough of him for you to know he was a nice boy. 

The B&B felt quiet; nobody seemed to be home, which was unusual. However, you had returned at an unusual time compared to most guests, who would usually appear at about 6 or 7pm after having had their dinner, whereas it was only quarter past 2. You were sick of seeing your mum and new step-dad “canoodling” like a pair of sickeningly loved-up teenagers, and were sick of being told to “cheer up, you’re on holiday”. How did they expect you to be full of joy when they’d brought you to the arse-end of Wales? It was nothing like the holidays you went on with your dad, to exotic places like Morocco or Italy. 

“We’ve been through this, Y/N, Steve and I just don’t have money like your dad-” 

“Well if you’d stayed with Dad instead of fucking off with some old git from your shitty job, and somehow dragging me with you, we’d still be able to go on nice holidays!” 

And that was when you’d stormed off back to the B&B, leaving them to hold hands under the sunset, or eat fish and chips on the beach, or buy cheesy fridge magnets for no other reason than to disguise the complete mundaneness of the absolute shit holiday. Well, that’s what you’d presumed they’d end up doing, although you tried to kid yourself that you didn’t care, and that you didn’t cry yourself to sleep at night wishing that you could go back all those years, to when your parents were together and life was less shit. 

In a way, you were glad you’d had the argument, as it meant you had an excuse to go back and have a smoke. Smoking was your guilty pleasure, and, although you didn’t consider yourself addicted, you loved the sense of relief that came with sitting down and having a cigarette, watching the end light up and fall off as you gently sucked on the filter. There was something therapeutic about watching the embers fall off and create ash at your feet, and watch the patterns created in the cloud of smoke that would surround your face. 

Now wearing just your Oasis t-shirt, ripped jeans and fluffy socks, you walked up the carpeted stairs towards your room. However, once you reached the first floor, you stopped in your tracks. Was that a guitar you could hear?

You followed the melody up another flight, and along the second floor landing, until you reached a tiny room right at the very end of the hallway. The door was ever so slightly ajar, and you could now hear the lyrics of the song more clearly - When You Were Young by The Killers. The mystery guitar player clearly had good taste.

You stood outside the door, on the hinge side so the occupants of the room couldn’t see you, listening to the music. However, you decided you had to burst in when the lyric was changed to “he doesn’t look a thing like Larry”, preceded by a crescendo of laughter, part of which was coming from yourself.

“Um, hi,” you said, rather shyly considering the fact that you were the one who’d interrupted them, “I love this song.”

You looked up from your feet to see a long-haired boy sitting cross-legged on the ground, an acoustic guitar in his lap. Like you, he wore ripped jeans and fluffy socks, however he wore a The Streets hoodie. He was accompanied by another equally long-haired boy, however this one’s hair was pushed back by a headband, and he was barefoot, wearing a black Adidas tracksuit. 

“The Killers, absolutely class band, innit.” said Guitar boy, looking up at you, “You look cold.”

After he said that, you realised exactly how drenched you were. As much as you loved your black calf-length trenchcoat, you realised it wasn’t quite waterproof to Welsh standards.

“I did get a bit soaked actually,” you chuckled, “I should go get changed-”

“No, wait, sit down,” Guitar boy instructed, and you did as he said, “What are you doing back so early anyway? Mum said not to expect any guests till 6.”

“Oh, you’re the son, then!” you burst out.

Headband boy laughed. “He’s the son.”

“Sorry, this isn’t the best of introductions is it?” you laughed, aware of your own apparent rudeness, “I’m Y/N, and you are-?”

Both boys spoke up at the same time.

“I’m Van.” said Guitar boy.

“Larry.” said Headband boy.

“It’s nice to meet you both,” you stood up, turning to go back to your own room, “But I actually just came back for a ciggie and I..umm... got a bit lost. I thought this was my room. Anyway, I better get back-”

“Hey, don’t leave so soon!” Van said, seemingly offended, “Look, we have plenty of fags under here!” 

He reached under his bed to pull out a packet of Lambert and Butler Blue. He took one out expertly before handing it to you.

“Got a light?” you asked, “Mine’s in my room, I really don’t mind going and getting my own if you don’t want to share-”

“Just shut up and take the free fag,” Larry interrupted, “What do you smoke anyway?”

“Anything I can get my hands on, but Marlboro Silver at the moment-”

“Marlboro? You’re posh!” Larry teased, “They’re well expensive!”

“I’m not posh!” you laughed, going red in the face.

“She is well posh, have you seen her mum and dad?” Van chipped in.

“Not my dad.” you replied, deftly. The phrase had almost become a reflex now.

“Wait, how do you know my parents? I’ve been here three days and I haven’t seen you once!” 

You leant against Van as he explained how he’d been at Larry’s, which was “just down the road there, then the avenue, opposite the chippy”. You shivered as you puffed the cigarette.

Van put his hand on your arm. “Love, you’re fucking freezing!”

Before you even had time to refuse, Van pulled his hoodie off and put it over your head. You wriggled out of your t-shirt from underneath, and pulled your knees under the cosy jumper. It was still warm from when Van had been wearing it.

You noticed more and more about the boys after you’d warmed up a bit. Van was now wearing a white t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, and used his bare arms as an excuse to sit closer to you, “as you’ve nicked my jumper”. He told you about his band, after you asked about the handwritten lyric sheets strewn across the floor of what you presumed was his bedroom, although the room was tiny.

“Bet your band’s shit,” you teased, Larry joining in.

“Yeah it’s well crap, only sold two tickets and that was to my brother and his mate,” Larry laughed, “And their songs are shite.”

“They’re not!” Van protested, his voice going an octave higher, “Look, I’ll play one to you right now!”

“Go on then, Julian Casablancas.” you retorted.

“Fine, okay, this one’s called ASA-”

“Not that one, it’s proper shit!” Larry objected, “It’s about meeting up to have sex with Ab-”

“Shut the fuck up, Larry.” Van almost growled.

“Who’s Abbie?” you asked, curiously, “Friends with benefits?”

“No!” Van confirmed, “An ex-girlfriend.”

“Basically, all the songs he’s ever written are about her.” Larry whispered in your ear.

“Well, I guess he has someone new to write a song about now.” you said, looking Van in the eyes.

“I guess I do.”

--

The next day, you saw Van helping his parents at breakfast, and he handed you a screwed up piece of paper when he served you. You placed it in your pocket, and, after you’d finished, ran straight up to your room to read it.

Beach, 20 mins, the note read, in scrawled handwriting.

You got dressed hastily, throwing on your black denim skirt, with fishnets underneath, and Van’s hoodie. You told your mum you’d made a friend and could you spend the day with them, so she and Steve could have some alone time. Steve almost looked relieved, nodding his head, and your mum seemed too occupied in reading her Facebook messages to acknowledge the information. 

You took it as a yes.

Just as you put your boots on, Mary appeared from the kitchen.

“Hi, love, where are you off to? Ooh, I like your jumper, our Van has one exactly like that, doesn’t he, Bern?” 

“Just the beach, I’m meeting a friend there for some lunch-”

Bernie appeared from behind her, and patted you on the shoulder reassuringly, “Have fun, love.”

You weren’t too sure if you knew the way to the beach, but you followed the family in front of you and, luckily, they were going there too. You found Van, sitting on the wall separating the gift shops from the sand, acoustic guitar on his lap.

“That’s my fuckin’ jumper!” he greeted you enthusiastically, jumping off the wall to hug you. 

You smiled, pulling the note out of your pocket, “So, explain this.”

Van sat himself back down on the wall.

“Well, I needed a new girl to write a song about, and you were a good excuse.” he smiled, cheekily.

He brushed your blonde fringe out of your eyes.

“Your eyes are well-blue y’know,” he said, dreamily, “like, I dunno, they’re quite delicate, but also brave, like the sea or summit-”

“Shut up,” you chuckled, although your heart felt warm.

“And your hair, I love it,” he continued, “it’s just you. Messy, windswept, but warm and kind - I like the colour.” “My hair isn’t naturally blonde, you know.” you replied quietly, staring at his lips.

He leaned in closer, so your foreheads were almost touching.

“And you have freckles-”

“Shut up and kiss me.” you muttered, pressing your lips against his.

The kiss was a million fireworks, tender yet exciting, lighting up a fire inside your chest that you’d forgotten existed.

As you pulled away, you noticed Van smirking, a glint in his eye.

“That was part of the plan, wasn’t it!” You squealed, outraged, “Compliment her till she kisses you!”

“No!” he replied, his voice once again getting higher in volume and pitch, “I was gonna sing to you first.”

He grabbed your hand, helping you up onto the wall. He strummed the first chord of the song.

I can tell by your grin That you're lying through your fringe again This talk is getting us nowhere Let's set sail for nowhere It was just one night And it was just one time And you looked amazing From what I was taking Keep breathing, keep breathing Settle down in your home It's only rainfall Keep breathing, keep breathing Settle down in your home It's only rainfall You know it's only rainfall

As he strummed the last chord of the somewhat short song, you smiled.

“It’s not finished yet-” 

“Shhh, it was perfect.” you whispered.

“But when exactly did I lie?” you asked, more loudly.

Van chuckled.

“When you said you got lost. Your room’s on the first floor.”

[shiro-ai-writes]

Prompt: Finding a baby in your doorstep on a winter morning (Rebirth scenario test)

A spin off with my OCs so that test out scenes for my other more important stories... I call it a prompt but it’s actually all of the research that I had collected in a fun little side story :D

For this one, I have my first ever OC, Aestia Goldlink

Some additional information (that I had marked for my own benefit, but I thought would be fun to add):

Location: a mansion/estate

Scenario: home alone(ish), she's 27+, her place since she's well to do, finds baby when putting out milk bottles

All that said, enjoy.

She squirmed when the pin prick of light peeking through her blackout curtains reached her eyes. She turned, curling into herself and snuggling into the fluffiness that was her rich cotton sheets before sighing in relief. She chased after the sleep that had threatened to escape her but quickly gave up after what felt like half an hour of half-hearted unconsciousness.

She sat up, eyes still closed, stretching her arms far back with her body contorting into quite the tight arc. With a tiny grunt accompanied by an inelegant series of pops and cracks and a sigh, the woman blinked blearily as she slipped off the bed, yawning as she went.

Only to freeze the moment her bare feet touched the wooden panels that was her floor.

In an action that was almost too quick compared to her stiffened state, she jumped onto the thin rug she had by her bed, any last remnants of sleep batted away into space in her haste. Her toes and feet curled into themselves. So cold! She thought, and she scanned the ground for her slippers.

It took a while—partly because she refused to take even a step out of the square that wasn't the winter-chilled floor—but she finally located her slippers, camouflaged brown puffy ends sticking out from under her disheveled duvet. Idly, she debated putting on a pair of woollen socks but decided to leave the thought for after she freshened up.

So she went about as usual and if she soaked her feet in some hot water in the bathtub, no one can fault her.

Settling down on her dresser, she continued her routine of creams and powder. After swipe of lipstick in a decidedly neutral tone of red, she fished out a pair of long socks from the drawers beside her as well as the accompanying calf garters.

She pulled them on and clasped the last garter right when the grandfather clock down the hall chimed nine, telling her that this morning's milk would be here in another quarter or so. Just enough time for her to change and gather up the bottles she had washed the night before.

First her blouse, thick and soft, lightly starched to perfection. Then her skirt, thicker than she would usually have opted for but at her preferred length with no one able to judge her conservative tastes because of how cold it was. She forgot how soft it was—she hadn't had many opportunities to wear it—as expected of merino wool, softest as wools go. It was really warm too. The more she felt at it the more she was fascinated by it. I really should wear this more, she thinks, humming. This grey really goes well with this particular shade of cream. Wonder if it will look as good with my other blouses.

"Oh! Almost forgot." She muttered and rushed to fix herself and grabbed her dressing gown.

She near-dashed—because dashing is uncivilized—down to the kitchens and picked up the basket filled full with five little glasses packed neatly, thanking past her to have had the presence of mind to have done so last night.

From there, she began to stroll to the front gate, where hopefully she didn't have to wait or make the David, hardworking man he is, wait too long in this dreadful weather. She was halfway there when a small breeze blew by and she began pondering if she should have taken a little longer to grab one of her larger coats. Right now all she had against the frigid air was a warm skirt and a thin dressing gown. Not really ideal for facing the weather that decided to instantly become freezing when just yesterday it had been warm enough for short sleeves.

At least it isn't snowing yet, she sighed.

Upon seeing the the cloud of her breath frosted over, she pulled the gown tighter over her shoulders. She sped up, wincing a little as dry leaves crunched under her boot. Internally, she notes down to tell the gardener after to sweep after she returns. Normally, it would be the butler's job to clear the leaves but John was on holiday, a well deserved one and to visit family overseas, so she'll delegate it to the gardener for the time being. The man hasn't much else to do otherwise with all the plants all shed and ready for winter. Goodness gracious, even the ones in the greenhouse were prepping for the chill... Such thoughts and others of a similar vein kept her occupied that she might have gotten herself a face full of metal bars.

Might have.

If it wasn't for what she saw that stopped her.

Sitting there, right on edge of her gate, was wicker basket. She stepped closer, brows rising slowly on her forehead and head tilting unwittingly.

It wasn't a basket.

But a cradle.

And a baby.

Her hands flew to her face, glass bottles jostling as the basket in the crook of her elbow swung. Warm fingers met cold cheeks and she scrambled to unlock the gate. How long has this poor child been left here? The cold metal bit at her palms when she pulled the gate back but she ignored it in favour of grasping at handle of the cradle.

The chill of the wood handle burned her more than the gate bars did. And the cold air burned her throat as she took in a sharp breath, eyes wide and unseeing. The child, its lips, they were so blue. Its face so pale, it was as if it had no blood. Cold. The child must be so cold. She tore off her dressing gown, tucking the thin bit of additional warmth into the basket. Then she realised something.

There was no cloud.

A strong gust of wind blew.

The child, it...

Her hand stuttered as she reached towards under the baby's nose. Deep inside, she didn't want to for fear that she would be met with the worst possible outcome. Her lips pulled itself thinner and thinner the longer she couldn't feel anything on her chill-reddened digits. She was praying to whatever God there was out there that it was just her fingers and not any other dreadfulness. Finally, a tiny tickle of sensation graced her index, one she would have definitely missed had there been even the smallest of winds. She let out a breath she didn't know she held and pressed her fingers down to the small gap between the loose blanket and the child's neck, checking for a pulse.

When she was suitably satisfied by small and weak but consistent thumps, she scooped up the basket and powered back to the mansion for fear of jostling the wain.

Though her gate was left wide open and the basket of bottles laid messily on the ground, that was the last thing she could be concerned with in this moment. David, he's a good man, he can be trusted to exchange the bottles left out. She would just have to take another trip out to collect them later, is all.

When she burst through the nearest door, she was met with a loud yelp followed by the clatter of something fumbling its way down to the ground. She resisted the urge to look towards the noise, instead focused on making her way to the kitchen where she knows has a fire roaring in its hearth, as it does everyday.

"Milady-" the maid started but stopped short.

"Not now." she called out curtly and marched on.

Legging through the door as much as is allowed, she turned sharply trying her best to not shake the basket.

It took a while, even if she was running with all her might, to get to the kitchens, having had to cross several hallways  before she reached. Maybe she shouldn't have been so hasty to get inside the house. But there was a definite change in temperature when she entered so she deemed it fruitful since the child need not stay in the cold for any longer—few minutes or not. She couldn't bear the thought of circling around to the back door of the kitchens she came out of.

Anywho, there it was, the hearth! She quickly put the cradle by it. And slumped down to the ground, huffing and puffing. Only to then realise that she was being stared at by her chefs and a footman.

"M-milady! What is-" the footman began when a second voice cut in.

"Milady Goldlink! What in the world has possessed you! You ran like the devil himself was after you." The maid sputtered worriedly.

"Sorry Pristine," the Lady said sheepishly, still slightly out of breath. She looked over her at maid, whom was living up to her namesake with not a single hair out of place after what? Running from the front end of the building to the back. She wasn't even out of breath. Why, if it weren't for the faint sheen of sweat decorating her forehead, Lady Goldlink would have thought she had just come in from the storage room next door.

Then again, she could argue that she ran more and harder, and it completely was not because she was utterly out of shape.

With a final intake of warm air that felt like honey being smoothed over her cold burned lungs, she continued.

"Could I get some hot water and towels?"

At the quizzical look on her staff's faces she dragged the basket onto her knee as she took a seat onto a stool one of the chefs drug out for her.

"That's... Milady that's... Is it?" the footman stammered, brows knotted together, seemingly having caught on to what her package was.

"Yes, it is."

She flipped open the flap of the basket.

There was chorus of gasps followed by silence.

Then a flurry of motion to get the things she requested and more.

Amongst the chaos, she found that the baby basket had been relieved from her grasp and a warm cup of tea replaced the spot between her hands. She watched as all the servants present halted all they were doing then to bustle about tending to the near frozen child.

She watched quietly as the footman twirled about the kitchen tending to various things at once and chewed on her lip. She couldn't quite put a name to his face for some reason. Maybe he's a new hire? But at the sight of the young man lifting the baby tenderly out of its icy prison made her decide to pursue the thought later.

The child was wrapped in a makeshift cot of cloths and the head chef was pressing wet towels to the baby's face. And oh, was it such a tiny thing, face growing utterly red and painful looking. In the background, she heard the footman coordinate the maids to prepare a place for the wain as well as to send for a doctor. For a new face, he was so well adjusted to lead, she wondered if she give the man a raise or a recommendation for a butler’s position when the time comes. The young man’s ability would be wasted as a footman… And, any excuse for her to pile more work on John was always a plus in her books.

Somewhere along the line, between sips of her sweeter than usual tea, a blanket had been draped over her shoulders and Pristine leaned over her, saying, “We need to get you all warmed up now, drink up Milady, we have plenty more."

Other than that, she assumed the standing orders the Lady of the house had, which were to sit and look pretty as John liked to nag. And oh, would he be giving her a good lecture if he were here, no doubt for leaving the house in unsuitable attire, without an escort or doing menial tasks on her own instead of being waited on.

She simply didn't see the point of having servants for such frivolous reasons. It's not like she couldn't dress herself well enough and she needed a reason to stretch her legs in the mornings. It wasn't that hard to collect by herself some milk—oh right the milk! She had completely forgotten.

It should be by the gate which was wide open since she left it as is in her haste. Seeing that everyone's attention was on the child, she put down the cup and sneakily turned to get off the tiny stool only to come face to face with Pristine squatting beside her, eyes rapt on the chaos. A basket full of milk resting on the ground

Right. Of cour—

"Green room's ready!" A clean voice called over and the baby was swiftly cradled in the arms of one of the maids and hustled off by the footman. All the maids present, of which there weren't many, followed after swiftly. In an instant, the din was replaced by the deafening ring of silence.

Lady Goldlink made to stand up and Pristine—quick as ever—hooked an arm under hers to help. She looked towards the cooks and began,

“Mrs Ramirez, Cora, Bella. I’ve interrupted your breakfast preparations for your help. I thank you sincerely for you readily assistance a-”

A short cacophony of ‘of course’s and ‘always’s as well as a pat on the shoulder from the cook had her grinning brightly. And the dry ‘being all upright and proper doesn’t suit you at all lassie’ that followed sent her giggling hopelessly and dropping her sad attempt at lady-ing.

“Well, I’m glad to be able to enjoy your continued service, my chefs.”

Nodding at their bows, she made her way out of the kitchen.

She started towards the green room but a certain handmaid of hers still had an iron grip on her elbow.

"Now milady," she started, "you don't have anything on your schedule today, but I suggest you get started on some paperwork. John tasked me to make sure you're done on time."

"John... He…" She sputtered.

"Now now, I'm sure it be quick work.”

“Unbelievable!"

And she was dragged, ahem, assistedly brought—with completely no resistance—to her office.

She sighed when she saw the stack in her tray and then again at the sight of a bigger stack beside it.

Damn you John.

[blustersquall]

Only Make Believe // Chapter 19: Christmas Secrets

Tumblr’s interface is still a butt, so the source link to this post leads to the chapter on AO3 for those who prefer to read on that platform. <3

Warning: this chapter brings up subjects of familial abuse (mental, emotional, and physical), and suicide (not specific in the method). Please be cautious of your own sensitivities and triggers while reading and stay safe. <3

December 25th, Christmas Day

--

The excited shouting of Rowan and Dante woke Cullen abruptly. Their voices echoed up the stairs, calling everyone in the house to the living room to watch them open their Christmas stockings. Within no time, he could hear Josef's voice asking the boys to quiet down, Beau barking, and Liam whining at being awakened so rudely. Ineria's voice was interspersed with the noise, as were the voices of Clotilde and Arienne.

Cullen didn't move. Or rather, didn't want to move. He was comfortable, warm, and for the first time in a long time, had slept almost completely through the night, only waking once and briefly at that. It was fanciful to even consider it was because he was sleeping in the same bed as Nevena - he managed to sleep decently enough with Solona after all - but it was a nice thought. That somehow having her close put the nightmares to rest briefly.

Sleeping with Nevena was an experience in itself. She kicked and moved like no one he'd ever shared a bed with. When he woke it was in part because she was curled up against him, like some lap cat, and had stolen almost all the duvet leaving all but Cullen's right leg open to the elements. He couldn't find it in himself to be irritated by it though. Everyone had their own habits. If their relationship progressed, he would have time to learn more of them.

Rowan and Dante's shouts died down to muffled white noise blocked out, Cullen assumed, by heavy doors and the distance between the living room and the Regency room. A smell of coffee wafted up through the house, mingling with the already prominent scent of roasting food and herbs. Cullen shifted, his limbs waking up gradually. He stretched, groaned and rolled onto his side towards where Nevena was lying on sprawled out on her belly, arms tucked under her pillows, one leg sticking out of the duvet.

"Time to get up." He spoke loud enough to disturb her and while he was tempted to reach out and run his fingers up her bare arm, he held himself back. There was still a divide between them, and just because their interactions the night before verged on intimate did not mean they would now. The darkness might have made her more comfortable, after all, she did kiss him.

One eye opened slowly. Nevena groaned and buried herself into her pillows to hide. "Too early," she mumbled.

"Sounds like everyone else is awake." Cullen reached for his phone to see the time. "It's almost ten."

"Mhmm - don't care."

Cullen laughed. He wouldn't pester her, but he was awake and while lounging in bed with Nevena was tempting, he had the distinct impression they would be unceremoniously disturbed before long. "I'm going to have a shower." He told her and climbed out of bed.

"Have fun."

Cullen took his clothes into the bathroom to save awkward conversations and found Nevena wide awake when he walked out, fully dressed and drying his hair. In the time it took her to shower and change, Cullen styled his hair neatly and packed up his overnight bag. Noise and conversation were louder now, and audible through the door. A faint tinkle of Christmas music came from downstairs. While waiting for Nevena, Cullen checked the weather on his phone. It seemed the bad weather Ineria was so worried about had passed on, leaving only a light spray of snow on the roads. He understood her initial worry but would be happy to return to that cabin that evening.

He heard the bathroom door open and gave the direction of the door a cursory glance. "The snowstorm Ineria worried about didn't happen. If you pack up your stuff, I can put it in the car and it'll be ready for when we leave tonight."

"Okay," Nevena appeared in front of Cullen. "Would you mind zipping me up?" Cullen jerked his head up and dropped his phone into his lap at the same time. Warmth flooded his senses when he realised Nevena's almost totally bare back was facing him. She had most of her hair cleared over one shoulder, a few stray segments still dangled down her back. His mouth went dry and for an instant, he forgot how to form words.

"Uh..." Swallowing hard, Cullen felt his throat bob as he did. "Y-yes, of course." He blinked owlishly, trying to focus on what she asked him. To zip up her dress. Right. He could do that. Not that hard. She'd already got the zip done up about a third of the way, all he needed to do was pull it up to the neckline of her dress. Rising to his feet, he flexed his fingers and grasped a section of fabric beneath the zip between his thumb and forefinger. He held the pull of the zip in his other hand. "It's uhm... a ni-nice dress."

"Thank you."

Inhaling deeply, Cullen dragged the zipper up watching the fabric tighten around Nevena's body as the two sides came together. His breath shuddered when he exhaled, the loose tendrils of her hair wafting out of the way. He could smell the soap she used, intermingled with the fragrance of whatever she used to wash her hair. Something fresh and pleasant, but not overwhelming. The two smells together made Cullen's head swim. His fingertips ghosted over her skin and the strap of her bra as he dragged the zip up. He tried not to notice how smooth and warm her skin was, nor how she gave an involuntary shudder.

Maker, her skin looked kissable. Her neck was so tempting with all her hair pulled over one shoulder and her looking back at him with half-hooded eyes. Cullen wondered what she would do if he did kiss her neck there and then. What would he do if he did that? Probably continue. And potentially undo the zip he just fastened. Maybe slide his hands inside her dress, drag his fingers up over her shoulder blades to peel the sleeves off her shoulders--

Get a grip. He shook his head vigorously from side-to-side to banish the thought and took a purposeful step away to put some space between himself and Nevena. She examined her reflection in the mirror, smoothing her hands down her dress.

"What do you think?" She turned to him, looking uncertain.

Cullen looked her up and down. It was a nice dress, cut just above her knees and form-fitting, flaring out just a little at her hips. A burnished bronze colour, the fabric seemed to change shade whenever the material was touched or stroked in different directions. The neckline was low enough to show off her collarbone and hardly sat on her shoulders. The sleeves were three-quarter length, cutting off part way down her forearm. She'd coupled it with flesh coloured high heels, which gave her an extra three inches of height, at least, and black tights.

"Too much?" Nevena quirked her head to one side, his hesitation clearly causing her concern. "It's too much. I'll change."

"No, no. It..." Cullen shook his head, "Its fine. It's pretty. You look… pretty." She smiled, relieved. "I just didn't realise we were dressing up." Cullen glanced down at himself in his black jeans and jumper.

"We're not. Not really. I mean, we are for my parents’ anniversary dinner, but that's in a couple of days." Nevena shrugged. She began gathering up her belongings from around the room and shoved them, unceremoniously, into her overnight bag. "Roselyn convinced me to buy this months ago and I’ve never worn it. She thought it was kind of Christmas-y, said I should bring it, so I figured... Might as well make the effort, right?" She ran her fingers back through her hair, puffing her cheeks out. "You sure it's not too much?"

Cullen chuckled, "You look lovely."

Nevena laughed nervously, her cheeks flaring red, and continued gathering up her things.

Once they were both packed and certain they had everything they went downstairs. The house was noisy, with Dante and Rowan shouting excitedly from their bedroom about new toys. Christmas music was filtering up from the living room, and there were other voices coming from the kitchen; Ineria giving instructions to whoever was helping her in a sharp tone. After dropping their bags off in the car, Cullen joined Nevena in the living room where Monty and Arienne were also relaxing.

They made conversation for a few minutes until Rowan and Dante charged into the living room, eager to begin opening the gifts under the tree. Matilda followed after them, more subdued. She sat quietly on a footstool while her brothers sat on the floor. Gradually, the remaining members of Nevena's family joined them one-by-one. Ineria wore an apron over her dress and carried a timer with her to alert her when something was ready to come out of the oven, or needed to be turned.

Once everyone was assembled, the gift opening began in earnest and chaos. It was the first time since being around Nevena's family that it felt like a real family gathering. There was no sniping or passive aggression. No long glares or deep sighs. Cullen was surprised by the way her family embraced the gift giving. How they laughed with each other and teased each other about presents they gave or were given. Even Katrin cracked a sincere smile when she was given something Rowan made for her at school. He and Nevena were mostly ignored, the two of them exchanging words when they were spoken to, but the rest of the time their attention was solely focused on each other.

It reminded Cullen, briefly, of his own family. Of his sisters and brother, and what it was like when their parents were still alive. The sounds and mirth of it all. He made a mental note to call his older sister that evening. He had already sent her a cursory text message to wish her 'Happy Christmas' but now he just wanted to hear her voice and sit down to have a long talk with her. To hear about her year and her plans and just talk.

Nevena seemed sincerely appreciative of the small gifts he bought her. The picture frame, in particular, went over well and she gave him a tight, lingering hug when she opened it. He still had the book from Varric he wanted to give her, but that was a more personalised gift and he wanted to give it to her in private, rather than in front of her family who would undoubtedly want to handle the book.

The presents Nevena gave him were surprisingly thoughtful and he got the impression she clearly put more thought into them than he expected. A book on meditation and methods to manage panic attacks would be useful, and he would probably read it several times over. Two key rings; one a replica of the largest of the stained glass windows in Redcliffe cathedral. The other was the constellation from the astrariums that best suited his birth month. She also presented him with a smart, handmade leather-bound journal, with his name embroidered on the cover and the pages gilded in gold leaf.

"I don't know if you'll use it," Nevena said, watching him turn it over in his hands and flick through the blank pages. The paper inside was thick to the touch, and it seemed like each page had been crafted by hand. "But I thought..." She leaned closer from where she sat on the corner of the footstool, clasping her hands together.

"Thank you," Cullen smiled. He put the journal to one side after examining it thoroughly and closed the space between them. "I'll make good use of it, I promise." He kissed her, in part because he knew her family expected it and there was no doubt in his mind that someone was watching them carefully. But he kissed her more because he wanted to. Kissed her because the opportunity arose and he didn’t want to waste it. Kissed her because he enjoyed kissing her, and would happily spend a day doing so if she allowed it. Nevena reciprocated, opening her mouth a fraction, and leaning one of her hands on his knee. Her fingers dug into his jeans and it took all of Cullen's willpower to pull away, the two of them laughing together briefly and then gently bumping foreheads.

The Christmas tree looked rather bare once all the presents were distributed and unwrapped. Cullen took the new items belonging to himself and Nevena to the car, and then helped in tidying up the living room of discarded wrapping paper. Nevena assisted Matilda in setting the table for dinner. Cullen noticed Matilda seemed a little more responsive and talkative than the day before, smiling with Nevena while they playfully bickered over who should sit where.

At just past one o’clock, Ineria informed everyone to take their seats at the table and with all the pomp and ceremony of a royal coronation she began to bring in the different dishes of food with help from Josef and Matilda. The variety of food was immense, and for all her faults, Cullen could not find fault with Ineria's cooking. There were serving bowls of crispy roasted potatoes and other roasted vegetables, sausages wrapped in bacon, sausages and rashers of bacon on their own, a bowl of homemade stuffing, two large gravy boats of homemade gravy, and an assortment of other homemade condiments. The main event was a golden brown turkey that Josef carried in. Cullen found it amusing and a just a little sycophantic when several people applauded its arrival.

Josef carved and handed out plates going around the table in a clockwise manner. Ineria piled up Dante, Rowan, and Matilda's plates with vegetables and other extras, while everyone else picked and chose what was on offer. Cullen's mouth was watering by the time he had a full plate. He offered his genuine thanks to Ineria, though his voice was drowned out by all the others, still Ineria offered a tight smile from the other end of the table.

It was the most relaxed Cullen felt being in the presence of Nevena's family as a whole, and while the noise was slowly bearing down on him, he didn't feel like he needed to get away. Nevena seemed to be handling things well, too. She was smiling, talking, and animated in conversation with Monty who sat across from her. Cullen took her hand on the table when she paused her talking to hear Monty respond, and pressed a brief kiss to the side of her temple. Nevena looked at him as if to ask; 'what was that for?' and he simply smiled. Sitting across from him, Arienne was watching and positively glowing at the display. He quickly averted his gaze down to his plate, his cheeks warm.

The meal went on without incident. There were no underhanded comments, no sniping, or attempts to get under anyone else's skin. Conversation flowed easily between everyone at the table, though most of the discussions were monopolised by Ineria, Nevan, Clotilde, and Katrin. Even though neither Cullen nor Nevena spoke much, he listened attentively and chimed in when he felt he had something to say.

Cullen finished his plate and sat, clasping his hands together in front of him with his elbows leaning on the table. He was pleasantly full and warmed by the food, and was happy to let it all go down and settle before contemplating anymore eating. Nevena was still picking at a few things on her plate, listening to the conversation Ineria and Katrin were having while trying not to be obvious about it. Other conversations going on between different people. Cullen following Nevena's gaze across the table and realised she was staring at Matilda, who had stopped eating altogether and looked pale. He turned his attention fully to the discussion Ineria was having, his sense of quiet contentment turning to a prickling dread in seconds.

"--anyway, you saw the school. There's so much they could be doing with the funds some families give them, but I swear they fritter it all away," Ineria was saying. Katrin nodded her head, the harsh angles of her face making her appear more severe. Nevan had his eyes closed, listening and absorbing. "I keep writing to the board of governors about getting a wing or a building named after you and daddy, but they're so stubborn. You'd think, after all the money our family have funnelled into the place they'd at least give us some kind of notoriety."

"Just keep writing to them," Katrin gave a prim sigh. "They'll give in eventually. After all, your father can withdraw his funding, if they don't do something."

Ineria nodded, "That's what I said." She brushed her fingers back through her hair. "When I went and spoke to the principle about Matilda's miscasting in the school play, I told them in no uncertain terms, that the money the Trevelyan family put into the school could be easily removed. And wouldn't you know, the next day Matilda was given the part she should have got in the first place."

"I... I didn't actually want the part." Matilda's voice was hardly audible over her mother and other conversation, but Cullen heard it. So did Nevena, judging by the way she closed her eyes and grimaced.

Ineria seemed to notice too. Her sharp eyes moved from Katrin and across to Matilda. "What was that, sweetheart?" she asked, her tone over exaggerated in its sweetness. "You know I can't stand it when you mumble your words." Ineria's smile was bordering on dangerous as if challenging Matilda to speak again. Cullen realised all other conversations had lulled into silence and everyone's eyes were trained on Matilda, waiting to see if she would speak again. Even Nevan opened his eyes, sensing the tension. Josef's jaw was set, brows low. Cullen wasn't certain if he was going to leap to the defence of his daughter and tell Ineria to back off, or if he was going to smash his plate.

"I... I said..." Matilda took several long breaths, lifting her head very slowly to meet Ineria's gaze, "I didn't want the part."

Nevena clenched her eyes closed, lifting her hands to put her face in them. Cullen frowned, confused by her reaction, but placed a hand on the small of her back. Most of his attention was fixed on Ineria. She puckered her lips into a tight line and for a moment wore an expression like she could smell rotting fish.

"What are you talking about, darling?" Ineria asked. The way she strained her expression to remain pleasant and her voice to stay level, Cullen could only imagine the anger bubbling inside her. "It was the part you went for. You deserved it. And you were wonderful. Y --"

"I wanted to be backstage," Matilda replied quickly, her cheeks flushing. "The only reason I auditioned for an acting part was because you got so excited when I told you about it. You told me I had to be in the play. That there was no point in you coming to watch it if I wasn't on stage."

"Well..." Ineria's face contorted slightly. "What is the point of watching a school production if you aren't on stage? And you were wonderful! You take after me!"

"I was terrible," Matilda replied. "I was. You know it. I know it. Everyone at school knows it. Abigail would have been so much better than me. I was happy with a chorus part. But that's not good enough for you!" Matilda smacked her hand on the table.

"That's enough, Matilda," Ineria warned.

"Because of you making the principle change the parts around, I have to sit on my own at lunchtime now." Matilda's eyes began to water. "No one wants to talk to me or be my friend because they think I'm spoiled. Because they think I went running to you about not getting the lead role!"

Ineria's nostrils flared. "Honestly, Matilda, what's gotten into you?" She forced a painful smile. "If this carries on, you'll go upstairs for the rest of the day."

"I don't care!" Matilda stood, pulling at the tablecloth as she did. Several wine glasses wobbled and a few drops spattered onto the tablecloth. Josef rose out of his chair. "You never listen! Never! I don't like being on stage! I don't like being the centre of attention!"

"Matilda..."

"I like maths. I like geometry. I like all those boring subjects you think are pointless!" Matilda was crying now. Josef had a hand on her shoulder. "I like them and I'm good at them! But it's not good enough for you! You ignore everything I do unless you care about it!"

"That..." Ineria's eyes blazed, darting around the room and the faces of her family all trained on her. Rowan and Dante were silent, watching their sister sobbing and quaking, barely holding herself together as tears dripped down her cheeks and mucus ran from her nose. "That isn't..." To Cullen, Ineria looked like a cornered animal.

"I got a trophy at school for excelling in maths! You weren't even there to watch me get it!" Matilda wailed. "I went up on to the stage and looked out and I didn't see you. I only saw dad. He took time off work! You couldn't even be bothered!"

Ineria's mouth moved but no sound came out. Josef gently pulled Matilda into his arms. He grabbed a napkin from the table and squatted to Matilda's level, and began to dab her eyes speaking to her softly. Cullen watched everyone else, their expressions of shock and unease. Monty and Owen both tried desperately to avoid making eye contact with anyone. Arienne looked on the verge of tears, rubbing Matilda's back. Clotilde was flushed from the forehead to the neck, while Katrin was wearing a look of soft fury as if outraged that Matilda would speak out. Nevan was the only one with an impassive expression.

"She's kind of right..." Rowan murmured, lifting his voice but not his gaze. He pushed a piece of carrot around his plate. "You only care when we do something you approve of--"

"Go to your rooms," Ineria ordered in a voice that sent a chill down Cullen's spine. Her hands were clenched on the table, knuckles utterly white. "All of you." Rowan pushed his chair out to get down. Dante quickly followed, confused by what was happening. Josef began to usher the quietly crying Matilda towards the door. Ineria followed her daughter with her gaze, which stopped when Cullen and Nevena blocked her view. Ineria's eyes blazed angrily.

"You..." She snarled, rising out of her chair. "This is all your fault." Nevena opened her eyes, realising she was being addressed. She turned her gaze to her sister, expression passive. "I don't know what you said to her, but Matilda never rebelled or spoke out until you talked to her! How dare you fill my daughter's head with this nonsense that I don't love her or appreciate her! You have no right!"

"I didn't do anything, Ineria," Nevena said, getting out of her seat. "I didn't do anything except listen. Something you clearly don't know how to do." Josef, Rowan, Dante, and Matilda had all stopped by the door. "This has been building up for who knows how long. You have no one to blame but yourself."

Ineria bristled. "You are so out of line, Nevena," she growled. "I invite you here, feed you, give you a roof over your head, and you turn my own daughter against me. You--"

"Oh, shut up, Ineria!" Nevena snapped. "You brought this entirely on yourself by trying to live vicariously through your own child, instead of embracing her the way she is. Embracing all of them the way they are. I didn't do anything but offer moral support because you're so overbearing. No wonder Matilda doesn't talk to you, you never listen - just like our parents never listened to us growing up!"

"Don't get mad at Nevena!" Matilda yelled, pushing Josef's hand off her and coming to stand in front of Nevena as if to shield her. "She just talked to me and cared, which is more than you ever do!"

"Matilda, I will not tell you again. Go to your room!" Ineria screamed. 

Matilda cowered, and Nevena gently placed her hands on Matilda's shoulders to steady her. Josef came to stand protectively in front of his daughter, slightly obscuring Nevena from Ineria’s venomous gaze. Cullen slid his hand into Nevena’s. She squeezed, hard, as if putting all her fear into that gesture. He squeezed back in silent reassurance. Liam whined from his high chair, the tense atmosphere and the noise upsetting him. Owen was quick to grab the toddler and excuse himself. A muscle at the side of Ineria's mouth twitched, her face flushing deeply. Every single breath she took seemed deliberate and as if it was taking a monumental effort.

Katrin got up from her chair. "Nevena, you're ruining things," she spoke with intense calmness and strange detachment in her voice. It was like she couldn't even conjure an emotion. Clotilde rose to her feet too, crossing her arms but said nothing. "Why do you always have to make a scene? Why does everything have to revolve around you?"

"Oh!" Nevena laughed, "Is that what you think this is? Me, pulling all the attention?"

"What else could it be?" demanded Ineria. "You have no real life of your own. No husband. No children. Nothing to fill your life with except work and even that must be utterly unfulfilling." She was approaching around the table, hands balled into fists. Nevena gently nudged Matilda out of the way and towards her brothers. Nevena’s hand slipped out of Cullen’s. "You have nothing in your life that is worthwhile, and you're jealous of those around you that do."

"She has me," Cullen spoke up, rising from his chair, heart racing behind his eyes. Ineria's eyes flickered to him as if suddenly remember he was present.

"And you're such a catch." Ineria rolled her eyes and sneered. "What is it you do again?"

"Hey!" Nevena snapped. "Don't you ever speak to him like that! He has more purpose in life than you have ever had. You're nothing but a bully, and the fact it's taken your own daughter to call you out on it just goes to show how long you've been allowed to get away with it!"

Ineria's nostrils flared. She was standing opposite Nevena with barely any space between them. "You have no idea what you're talking about. You never have. You stupid, unwanted mistake." She spoke in a low, dangerous tone and lifted her right hand. Cullen darted forward to try and grab her, but Nevena was quicker, snatching Ineria's arm mid-swing and holding it firmly in the air.

"I am not eight-years-old anymore, Ineria," Nevena said, digging her fingernails into Ineria's arm. "I am not your defenceless little sister who no one will believe when you smack her, or bite her, or yank her hair out. You can't slap me whenever you feel like it and not expect me to react or hit you back anymore. Because I will, and I will make sure it hurts ten times more." She shoved Ineria, hard, sending her reeling against the dining room table. “You are never going to lay another hand on me, ever again.”

Without another word, Nevena eased past Josef, Matilda, and the boys towards the door. Cullen followed her out into the hallway and through to the reception room. He caught her hand before she fled for the front door and pulled her into his chest, wrapping her up in his arms. She was shaking, and he could feel her heart thudding in her chest, reverberating against his.

"Back to the cabin?" Cullen asked, running his fingers up and down the back of her neck.

Nevena nodded, quaking in his embrace. "Yeah."

The hug from Cullen was a connection Nevena didn't know she needed. A few moments of touch and security and she felt a little stronger. Her insides were turning and coiling, making her feel sick, and she was sure a light breeze could knock her over, but he was steadfast and sturdy and his embrace buffered her resolve against any further onslaught from her sister or her parents.

He released her after a few seconds, kept a tight grip on her hand and followed her out of the front door towards the car, fishing his keys from his pocket. Nevena was grateful he'd already packed their belongings in the trunk. They wouldn't need to return for any reason again. Once they returned to the cabin she was going to gather her things and insist they leave. Coming to Haven was a mistake. Getting involved with her family again was a mistake. There was no point to continue this personal torture.

By the time Nevena and Cullen reached the car, Ineria was outside and following them to the vehicle. She marched across the gravel like a charging bull, red-faced and her hair dishevelled. Katrin and Clotilde were on the steps, watching everything unfold while Arienne and Nevan chased after Ineria, and Monty chased after Arienne. Nevena tried to retain a calm outward appearance - she didn't want Ineria to get to her. She didn't want to show her how terrified she was of her own sister. She kept her face as still as possible and breathed hard to quell the anxiety rearing up inside her chest. If she had an attack now it would be disastrous.

"You don't get to leave!" Ineria yelled, slamming her hands against the rear window of the car. "You don't get to go until we're finished!" Her eyes were bloodshot and there were tears on her cheeks. "I hate you!" screamed Ineria, her voice echoing in the empty air. "I HATE YOU!"

"FINE!" Nevena shouted back, clenching her hands at her sides. "At last, you can fucking admit it!"

"You're an ungrateful bitch!" Ineria lunged as if possessed. Nevena tried to dart out of the way but Ineria was able to grab a handful of her hair and yanked. Nevena cried out and began to claw at Ineria's hand while following her footsteps unwillingly. "You've had everything given to you! Everything! And you've never done anything to deserve it!"

"Let go of me!"

“You should never have been born!”

“Let go!”

“Ineria--” Cullen was a few paces behind, his shoulders squared and set as though he was about to rugby tackle her.

"Ineria, let her go!" Arienne yelled. Nevena saw her pulling on Ineria's other arm. Nevan was standing, dumbstruck, watching the scene unfold. "Stop it!" Arienne raised her voice. "Just stop it!" She yelped and Nevena saw her hit the ground. Ineria released her hair, rushing to Arienne's side, joined quickly by Clotilde and Katrin.

“Arienne!” Monty dashed to her and knelt beside her, checking over her frantically.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Ari, I didn't mean to!" sobbed Ineria. "I'm so sorry." Monty waved her away, only just holding onto the rage Nevena could see in his expression.

"It's fine. I'm fine." Arienne held her belly and grimaced. Monty helped her to sit up, ushering Clotilde and Katrin away with firm gestures and quiet, fierce words.

Strong arms wrapped around Nevena's middle, holding her fast. She massaged her head where Ineria pulled her hair and fought the urge to vomit that was beginning to take hold while chasing her breath. She turned to Cullen, putting her back to her family. Cullen kept one arm around her waist, the other he ran up and down her left arm, Nevena wasn't sure if it was for her or for him. After a moment, he cradled her jaw in his hand, meeting her gaze. The concern marring his features was touching. Though any warmth Nevena felt slipped away and was replaced with shame. Shame that he had seen how she reacted to Ineria’s attack. Shame that he had been forced to endure Ineria, and the rest of her families cruelty and unkindness. He didn’t deserve any of it, and she would never be able to apologize to him enough.

Without speaking, they both came to the same decision that leaving was the best option. After pressing a brief kiss to her forehead, he gave her a gentle tug and they started back towards the car.

"See what you made me do?!" Ineria howled like a creature in pain. Her shoes crunched on the gravel as she pursued them. "I could have hurt Arienne because of you!"

"Enough, Ineria," Nevena turned to face her. She was tired, all the fight and adrenaline leaving her in a rush. "Enough."

Ineria's face contorted. "You don't get to leave because you want to," she said, wiping her nose and eyes on her hands, smearing her mascara. "You don't get to have everything given to you on a silver platter and treat us the way you do. You're an ungrateful --"

"Change the record!" Nevena shouted. "I have never had anything handed to me on a silver platter! That's you, Clotilde, and Arienne. I've worked for everything I have. My apartment. My car. My life!" Cullen wrapped a hand around her wrist. "It's mine because I worked for it."

"You don't respect us! You don't respect dad, or what he did for you! What he sacrificed when you ruined a perfectly goo --"

"If you bring Rick up, I swear..."

"What?" Ineria almost doubled back, cackling. "You'll tell us again how he was horrible to you? How he 'stalked' you? More lies, Nevena, really?"

A burning, indignant fury flooded Nevena's veins, deafening her to everything and anything else. She was angry, outraged, quivering with every pent-up emotion she'd been concealing and trying to keep in check since she arrived at Haven. Every terrible thing she wanted to say was stuffing itself onto her tongue, fighting to get out and be spoken. It took every ounce of concentration to find her voice and not simply vomit.

"He was going to kidnap me," Nevena said, her voice painfully still. "He was going to take me somewhere and do who knows what to me. He was going to drug me. He could have if I didn't have friends who looked out for me and cared about me more than you or anyone in this family ever has!" Her chest heaved causing pain to shoot through every nerve. "He tormented me with threats and letters and photographs. He crippled me emotionally. He isolated me from everyone who genuinely cared about me, and I never wanted him in the first place! He hurt me, over and over and over again and I was endlessly walking on eggshells. Afraid of him. Afraid for myself. Afraid of--"

"You took him on willingly enough!"

"Because I was told to!" Nevena's voice was growing hoarse from shouting. The space behind her eyes prickled but she refused to let herself cry. Not in front of everyone. Later, when she was alone, or it was just her and Cullen. Then she would cry and scream until she was sore, but now, she wouldn't allow herself. "I was told to because it would be good for dad's fucking business. It was nothing to do with me, and by the end of it, I wanted to kill myself to get away from him!" Nevena turned her gaze to her father, who was still silent but looked a little pale as he stared at her. "I told you. I tried to tell you over and over again, he was killing me slowly but surely." She kept her eyes on Nevan. "But you never listened... You didn't..." She bit back a shuddering breath, refusing to admit it was a sob.

Ineria's lips curled back and she crossed her arms over her chest. "Stop playing the sympathy card," she sneered. "No one believed you then, and no one believes you now. After all," she smoothed her skirt, "why would anyone believe you when you weren't even wanted in the first place? You were a replacement for my brother, and a sore one at that." She took a step closer to Nevena. "You were a mistake!” She spat, “and you should never have been part of this family."

"Ineria, that's enough," Nevan snapped, speaking for the first time. "You've said your piece."

"No!" Ineria shot her father a dark look. "She should know the truth, don't you think, daddy?"

Nevena sighed. "Just say what you want to say so I can leave, Ineria. And if it's about the fact I'm adopted, don't bother; I already know." Several emotions filtered across Ineria's face, shock, annoyance shifting to anger and then quiet smugness. "So clearly, your ravings about me not being wanted are wrong, otherwise I would have never been adopted."

"When did you find out?" Nevan asked before Ineria could speak, he looked almost grey. Nevena shrugged wearily. "How did you find out?"

"When I was helping you pack up everything in the attic at Ostwick," she explained. "I found the adoption files in one of the cabinets. I didn't say anything because I didn't know how to approach the subject. Then everything happened with Rick, and you chose him over me so it didn’t really matter anymore that I knew. You’d made your allegiance very clear." She shrugged again, wanting nothing more than to collapse into Cullen's chest and bury herself there. Where it was safe.

"Nevena..." Nevan began to walk towards her, "you should have said something."

"It's sweet you think you were adopted because you were wanted," Ineria lifted her voice. There was venom in her tone that set Nevena's teeth on edge. She looked past her father to Ineria, and beyond Ineria she could see Arienne with Monty, Clotilde and Katrin. Katrin's face was stony and cold. Arienne looked fraught and divided between speaking again or not, while Clotilde was almost smiling as if enjoying the drama unfolding. "But you couldn't be more wrong."

"Ineria, stop it," Nevan snapped.

"She deserves to know, daddy." Ineria moved closer. "Honesty is the best policy."

"Ineria..."

Nevena glanced between Ineria and Nevan. She narrowed her eyes at them both. "What should I know?"

"You were adopted because you're our half-sister," Ineria told her, her voice still and almost robotic. "You replaced our brother because you were the result of an affair. Dad's affair. His affair with the woman who killed my brother. The woman who murdered his son! And we got you as a replacement.”

Nevena's mouth fell open and it was as though ice filled her veins. The world carried on moving, but so much slower than before. In her ears, she could hear and feel the blood pounding away like a steady drumbeat as Ineria’s words cut through her like dozens of sharp thorns.

A glimmer of movement caught her eye and she saw Katrin turning to go into the house. Nevan stared down at the gravel, rubbing his face in his hands to avoid making eye contact. Nevena moved away from Cullen towards her father, her mind flooding with questions she was fighting to make sense of. It was like her whole identity and world was coming crashing down all over again, the way it did three years before, like glass being shattered from a window pane.

"Dad?" She grabbed him by the shoulders. "Dad, look at me." She shook him and Nevan brushed her off, turning away. "Dad!"

"You were the reason our family was almost destroyed. Because you were brought in to replace the brother we lost. The brother and son that was loved!" Ineria continued. The cadence of her voice grew more rapid as if she was racing to keep up with the secrets now spilling out of her. "And do you want to know the best bit?"

"Ineria, enough!" Nevan bit out, to no avail. Ineria was on a roll and was not about to stop for anyone.

"Dad only adopted you because your mother killed herself and he felt obligated. She killed herself so you would take my brother’s place. As if you could replace him.” She laughed, almost manically, the wild look in her eyes made all the more wild by her dishevelled appearance. “So, you see? You really were a poor unwanted replacement. A sorry replacement for the life she took.”

Nevena tried to breathe but felt like she was choking. Her throat was closing over and even though she hadn't run, she was painfully short of breath. She reeled back a little as if she'd been slapped and quickly planted her hands on the back of Cullen's car for support. Her legs going shaky and weak underneath her. Cullen was at her side in a moment, hand on her back, stroking up and down her spine in an effort to calm her. She could vaguely hear his voice and saw his lips moving but nothing he was saying could get through.

Looking to one side, she saw Nevan staring at the ground. In the few minutes of this fight, he looked as though he had aged considerably. He stooped, and it was like his clothes had grown three sizes too big. Or maybe it was his body that had shrivelled? Steeling herself, Nevena inhaled deeply, went to him and grabbed his shoulders.

"Is it true?!" she demanded, snarling and glaring at him. "No, don't look at the ground, look at me!" Tears were stinging her eyes and she choked back on the crushing weight in her chest. Nevan lifted his gaze to Nevena's. "Is everything Ineria saying true?" she demanded. When he didn't answer she slapped him, mustering as much strength behind the strike as possible. "Tell me!"

Nevan sighed, rubbed his reddened cheek and took Nevena's hands to hold in his own. His skin was cold and clammy to the touch, like rubber. "It's true," he said softly, nodding. "I never wanted you to find out like this... I…" He reached out to touch Nevena's face and she recoiled.

Bile was rising up her throat. She couldn't breathe. Her eyesight was dimming at the edges as she fought for each shallow breath and to clear her thoughts. The faces and voices around her were contorting into ones she didn't recognise. Hot tears spilt down her cheeks. Someone - something reached out towards her. She wrenched her hand out of their grip and began running.

For those who prefer reading on AO3 click this line of text to be taken to the chapter. 

So, there are the fireworks I promised in the last chapter. Some fireworks, huh? Did any of you guess? Or have an inkling? Let me know. Tough as this chapter is, I hope you enjoyed it.

This will be the last chapter until 2018. I know updates have been ... sporadic, at best recently, I’m trying to work through a block and... eh, I hope taking a few weeks off worrying about it might help. Who knows.

I hope you’ll be back to join me in the next chapter to see what happens from here. 

In the meantime, I wish everyone reading a Happy Holiday, and a prosperous, and safe, NewYear. 

Please make sure you comment/reblog/flail in the tags to let me know what you think. It really does make my day to read reactions. Thank you for joining me for the first year of Only Make Believe, I’ll see you in the next chapter in 2018. <3

[fashioneditswebsite]

New York Fashion Week FALL EXPECTATIONS

FALL EXPECTATIONS Everyone is screaming for sustainability, organic, eco. "We should be wearing organic cotton, hemp, bamboo, and Tencel." said an upset fashionista as she exited one show at Spring Studios because she felt the designer was not sensitive to environmental issues in creating her collection. Yes, it would be nice if all of the designers heed to the call, but that was not the case during New York Fashion Week. Here's some of what caught our attention as we navigated our way through the 100 plus designers, who showcased their Fall/Winter 2020 collections.

NICOLE MILLER

Is one designer who stays in her lane and is not bothered or influenced by what the "others" are doing. In a season where there's a cloud of confusion of which season is coming down the catwalk, Nicole is one of the designers who stayed true to Fall and winter clothes. A well constructed black leather coat came down the catwalk with a 70s bell bottom wool trousers. Great leopard print coats with fur collars, shown with flat knee-high boots looked right for the season. Car coats in blue plaids, floral silk-chiffon dresses under faux-fur coats and a series of black velvet dresses festooned with jewels, fitted into the `Fashion Realness' category. Nicole presented her signature rose print velvet dresses, as well as her sharp pinstripe jacket decorated with little emblems. The designer updated her white shirt with three-quarter puffed sleeves and double row buttons down the front, worn over slinky black leather tights.  

ADEAM

High necklines clinched waistlines with sashed belts, cycle shorts and bomber jackets were the order of the day. There were also Japanese inspired crepe dresses with trendy ruffles and flounces. Creative Director of the line MANAKO MAEDA really brought the drama to the runway. She partnered with young tennis star Naomi Osaka whose capsule collection was included in the Adeam line. Osaka, who was perched front row of the show told reporters backstage that she always loved sketching and sent Manako a bunch of sketches and the collaboration began. CHRISTIAN SIRIANO The Project Runway coach and fashion's new darling transformed the Spring Studios show space into a pink palace. Two huge sculptured hands anchored the runway. The movie "Birds of Prey" inspired Christian for his sexy collection of glamorous dresses, daring cold-shoulders and seductive skirts slashed all the up to the point of no return. He showed them in all sizes of all body types. Christian said: "I like to dress people of all walks of life, from my sister to the Pop-star, to the curvy models on the runway for the first time...Every woman can be her own Superhero, and should work her assets to the hilt, using clothes as an empowerment tool."  

VIVIENNE HU

It is the new `Coat Lady' of New York Fashion Week. She showed the best coats and warn weather wear to rave reviews - kudos to embracing Fall/winter to the max. Easy, warm knit dresses came under big Puffer coats and jackets worn with tall suede boots. A double-breasted Black wool wrapped coat was tied at the waistline and worn over a shiny kilted dress. Vivienne showed a slew of big coats of all kinds; fur, leather, you name it, all over her signature narrow pants with curved-scalloped hemlines, decorated with silver studs.  

CAROLINA HERRERA

Wes Gordon has been designing Carolina Herrera's line for the past few seasons (two years) is truly getting a grip on the creative aspect of this legendary line, benefitting their old grand customers and bringing in the new, young breed of socialites who love the classic flair and refined elegance of this House. His vision for the Fall; "Grand Gesture" shown at The Shed in New York Hudson Yards, the show was a symphony of lavish colors, exuberant ruffles, and flounces, sharp suits and the signature wrapped belts with tasseled ends. Model Kyla Ramsey wore the show-stopper yellow floor-length number with voluminous puffed sleeves with green boots. A bold black and yellow print dress in loose proportions came in long and short dress forms. Long and short capes with the thin leather belts and tassels were key pieces in the collection. This was also the place to see all of the brand new Black model girls walk the catwalk; ACHENRIN MADIT, SHANELLE NYASIASE, ANNIBELIS BAEZ, and AJOK - along with season's regulars: KYLA RAMSEY, LINEISY MONTERO, MANUELA SANCHEZ, and BLESNYA MINHER.    

JASON WU

Autumn shades and cool neutrals paved the way for Jason Wu's 70s themed Fall/winter offering. Abstract print and floral print dresses, cable print sweaters all looked cozy, comfortable and wearable for the season. You cannot forget Jason's beautiful double-faced wool-cashmere coats.

TIA ADIOLA

For her New York Fashion Week big debut at Spring Studios, new designer Tia Adeola, who was born in New York to parents from Nigeria impressed the audience as one with great promise. A diamond in the rough, recognized by wearers of her designs including Gigi Hadid and Sza, said her aim with her namesake line was to make wearable art for women to rewrite history, through the lens of fashion to include people of color in classical visual narrations they've often been left out of, and to pave a new future by empowering women in their community. Tia has an ongoing partnership with Nike and is involved with Teen Vogue's Generation Next and 21 Under 21 Programs. She's already been featured in ID Magazine, Vogue, Glamor and Paper Magazines. Tia was raised in London but now based in New York. Her show was highlighted by sheer beaded gowns and pant ensembles. Puffy leg-o-mutton sleeves, frilly dresses and a long-sleeved knit sweater over a dazzling fringe orange wrap skirt framed the collection. Tia ended with a group of sexy brides all in sheer.

CONCEPT KOREA   

Concept Korea

Concept Korea This label features the best in Korean design. First on the catwalk were the creations of LEE CHUNG CHUNG (LOE) who showed a new way to do shoulders and sleeves. Next up was LEYII who introduced very refined, layered tunics over white long-sleeved sweaters. There were lush fabrics cut in new and innovative ways to form coats and trousers. Beautiful fabrication in mild colors like beige, sand, and grey came in jackets and parkas, all cut and crafted in loose easy shapes and a clean silhouette. Modern menswear was the nucleus of IISE, the next featured designer. It was all about the color black with splashes of white here and there that looked ink stains. Loose hooded coats and a new take on cargo pants, featuring crazy tassel placements, were key components in this collection.   Read the full article

[drunkdragondoes]

If you still take smut suggestions/prompts. Qrowin and Beauty and the Beast Hurt/Comfort smut? It's kind of based of the 'We've been looking for you and rescued you from the lab where they were experimenting on you OMG WHAT HAVE THEY DONE TO YOU' prompt that was running around some time ago 1/2

It was hard to tell where hair ended and feathers began. But once the eyes had traveled well and long down the back of his neck, feathers were all that were until they reached his shoulders. Deep and black, long and stiff, they were as much natural as they were unnatural. They grew like feathers, cascaded like feathers, felt like feathers. And yet they were borne from supple human skin, nurtured by the blood in his veins.

The man that had been responsible for this, a scientist mad with ambition, was long since tried and hanged for his radical ideals. The schism, however, remained undeniable. Qrow Branwen wasn’t quite Qrow Branwen anymore.

And Winter Schnee did not like it. She did not like it anymore than anyone else who was involved with the investigation. Having already been betrothed to him for several months already, for him to have disappeared and then be found chained and tortured and experimented upon-

Qrow Branwen wasn’t quite Qrow Branwen anymore, and she did not like it.

But he tried to be. And watching it was enough to make it hurt. Clothes were made for humans, not the mad hybrid that he had become. His feathers were never fully accommodated, pressing and prickling into his skin. He oft complained about them, how he couldn’t sleep on his back anymore, and all the other myriad of ways where they got in the way.

It was the stares from his fellow colleagues, however, that drove it home the worst. Those who knew him before the change didn’t care about who he had become now. They stared at him with pity, however, as if he was only a shadow of who he once was.

It was the newer ones that truly made it unbearable, though. Their stares behind his back, the pointed fingers, the quiet whispers. He felt it all, enough to the point where he confided with Winter he was afraid he was becoming paranoid.

This could not continue, and Winter sought to change it.

Ozpin had talked Qrow into the Autumn Formal. He told the man that he wouldn’t go, he shouldn’t go, and that Oobleck would have been a far better candidate to help represent their growing academy.

“I won’t tell you to just go and relax, Qrow. This is as much of a diplomatic situation as it is a time to be more comfortable with who you are now. Winter is attending, and I am to believe that she is very invested in seeing you there as well.”

He complained that he would never be comfortable with who he was now. His concept of normal was no longer the same. But in the end he relented. He dressed in a black suit that matched his feathers - so that it would stand out less. His collar was raised with the hopes to shield even more of them, and finally placed upon his head was a silk top hat before tucking his sword by his side.

Moving was uncomfortable. Sitting down equally so. But he was expected to appear and represent Beacon as one of the most able-bodied instructors of hunters, and so he did. As he stepped off of the coach, the rider turning the horses towards to the stables for now. There was no turning back.

As he mingled with the guests, doing his best to introduce himself, Qrow lost count of how many times he was asked about his feathers. Some even had the gall to ask about his time as a captive - something he didn’t want to share with anyone, something that he only shared with Winter after a hard day. It was a conversation ender. There would be no acquaintances - only a lukewarm impression of a man who once was.

And then Winter arrived.

He was expecting her to be in her soldier uniform again. That was what she wore to the last event like this. But instead, she was making a beeline towards him with a dress as black as his hair and feathers, cinched at the waist and puffed by a small bustle. The cloth travelled up to her shoulders, and her sleeves hugged her arms before frilling out at the end.

Yet it was not the dress itself that was catching his attention. There were many women who were similarly dressed, after all. Instead, Winter’s outfit was tailored with black feathers tapering off from the back. A few of them were on her wrists and shoulders, and upon closer look the bustle was topped with them as well.

But the choker on her neck, deep as midnight and full of black feathers coming off from the rear, was when he realized her purpose. It was not a fashion statement. She was hardly shallow enough to stoop to that point. It was instead a declaration of oneness.

He would have been ashamed of himself had she not pulled her body up in front of him and taken away the time for such a thought.

“We are to dance, are we not? It is a formal event, after all.”

The night was still difficult, but Winter saved him some reiteration. At least they talked about her feathers and not his. But as the eve began to draw to a close, Qrow realized that all night long he had been staring at her. Fixated by her.

She was like him, if only for some hours of the night.The feathers would come off when she removed her dress, but for a moment they were the same, if only partially. More importantly, he could forget that he was different.

It was a shame that the event came to an end, he thought. For perhaps the first in a long while, he was reluctant to let go of Winter’s hand for other reasons beyond his inability to cope. So much that he openly cursed when his carriage arrived.

“It would appear that I must part ways with you now, Winter.” His tone was jokingly somber, something that surprised even him.

But as she looked him in the eyes, her blues against his reds, he could see a low, bubbling mirth of sorts coming from her. “Did you wish to part ways here tonight?”

“Truly? Not ever.”

“Then let us not ever part.” And with the smallest bit of hiking her dress, she climbed into his carriage, leaving him dumbstruck outside of it before she beckoned him to join her.

“Won’t your father have something to say about this?” Qrow asked as he pulled himself inside.

“Hardly - I even think he would rather encourage it as this whole engagement has gone for longer than expected. Besides, he is well aware of my predisposition from being a soldier. Life is fleeting, after all.”

The ride back was uneventful beyond talk. The glass of wine after they shared in his study was commonplace. And when she placed a kiss on his cheek, he smiled and returned the favor. It wasn’t anything special - rather, it was as if nothing had changed between now and then. As if the feathers on his neck weren’t there.

But after another drink of wine, a closer hold, a longer kiss, Qrow knew that this was becoming more than just enjoying each other’s company. As she stood up and took hold of his hand, his own heart hammered away at his chest again. This wasn’t the first time they had been intimate with each other, and it showed in how she led the way down the halls, up the stairs, and around bends to reach his quarters.

It was like old times, again, Winter sneaking away from her father’s house to be with him. Times before the mess with the feathers happened.

He felt himself petrify as Winter shut the door behind him. As she moved to embrace him from behind, his own breathing hitched and he struggled to breath, air not reaching his lungs, his vitals.

“W-Winter…” he whimpered, “I-I don’t- I can’t-”

Her covered breasts pressed against his back, where his feathers would have been, and he tensed. “We don’t have to,” she quietly said. Fingers idly drew circles on his chest, on his stomach, sending trails of heat to his loins. “You can say no, and we’ll simply be at rest with each other. We do not have to rush to love. But it would be most pleasing to me if we could.”

He felt ashamed, unworthy to even be in here with her, with anyone anywhere for the matter. “I don’t… I’m not even fully human anymore.”

But it had been so long since he let himself feel her touch, to bask under her fingers, to feel her breath on his skin-

“Take me as you are, Qrow. I want nothing else right now.”

To feel her shake and moan beneath him, to have her grip him in sheer adrenaline-

“Give me every fiber of your being - feathers and flesh combined.”

Her hand dipped to his waist line and below, feeling his hardened length against the cloth. But where she might have begun to undo his clothing previously, instead she walked out in front of him towards the bed, the feathers of her dress and collar shimmering in the low light. And slowly she began to undo the ties that held her dress together.

It was as if a siren’s call had echoed across the quiet between them. He stepped forward, and piece by piece the dress was done away with. First the dress itself, then the inner pieces of it. Soon, she was naked before him except for the collar, pale flesh against his, and he reached to undo it.

But she turned around and her hand grasped his, a half-daring smile on her face. “Let’s leave these feathers alone tonight.” She then placed herself onto his bed, her hips sitting on the edge of it and spreading her legs for him to see everything. It was as if she was suddenly a being of the opposite gender again, and he moved forward, clawing away at his coat and buttons, his own pieces of clothing joining her on the floor.

The first thing he did was kiss her. He threw everything into it, even as she moved upward to allow him space. Their tongues clashed and fought, her hands doing their best to remove the last of his pants and leave him in just his feathers, just like her. Finally it was removed, the offending piece of cloth kicked away onto the floor, just the two of them on the sheets.

Her hands began to feel his chest, feel around his waist, touching everything but his cock in that teasing manner of hers. But he was always the more impatient of the two, and his hand snaked down her body, to the side of her hip and then to the front. With a slow drag across the opening, her body slowly arched as she groaned, her lips breaking away from him.

Qrow dragged his fingers over her again. She was wet. Unbelievably wet.

“Y-You’re feathers,” she managed to gasp. For a moment Qrow was unsure of what she meant and felt himself freeze at her words. But she pushed her soaked crotch against his hand, driving another breath and a tiny laugh out of her.

He ventured to inquire. “What about them?”

“They’re fluff up,” another smile grew across her features, “like a bird in winter.”

He rolled his eyes, but her hands drew him in for another long and hard kiss before pulling away. “It’s beautiful.”

That was a word he had not expected, but it was enough. He felt her hands lining him up against her. With a final glance down, he pushed in, slowly until everything was inside. Her legs widened to make it easier and her arms circled around his neck.

But he saw her collar again, its black feathers standing out against the sheets of his bed and the white of her hair. With a growl, he grasped her arms and held them out in front of him before gently pushing down, pinning them down. He leaned in to whisper into her ear.

“If they’re so beautiful, then try to keep an eye on them.”

He could hear the shiver in her breath. Moving his body away from hers, taking in the entirety of her chest and her face and her neck and her feathers, he began to move. Slowly, their hips began to push and pull. But he was in control, in power, and he determined when they groaned and keened in pleasure. And with each meeting of their hips, if he pushed just hard enough, her body would gently rock from the collision. Her body would bob, her breasts would rise and fall in that tantalizing manner that he liked.

But the collar on her neck would shift in just the tiniest of ways, and in a sense her feathers became alive. As if she really was his sexual opposite, a perfect one-to-one mate of the strange being he had become.

And it drove him into a slow frenzy. Each thrust came sooner, moved faster, sending that enticing tremor across her body. Before long he was pushing hard and fast, lost in a sensation he had nearly forgotten.

There was a yell, something deep echoing within the two of them and he crumpled over. Her legs had long circled his waist, keeping him deep and still, feeling his body pulse and empty its being into her, of her madly squeezing against him for more.

And all the while, the only thing he could pick out across the mess of sensations was how her feathers moved in tandem with her writhing body.

She wouldn’t always wear it. It would be an unreasonable expectation to put upon her. Her body was already more than enough for him. But he could feel a desire to see them shimmer and shiver again, and his body agreed. He started to move once more, burying himself into Winter again and again.

There was a voice, though - her voice - and through his lust-filled haze, he somehow found the will to pause and listen.

“You- Your feathers, when you-” she took a deep breath, but she didn’t finish her sentence.

“What…” he swallowed taking a breath for himself, “What about them?”

Instead, she leaned in to kiss him. “You move them. They become alive.”

“Re-… Really?”

“Yes, my love. And it’s majestic when they do.”

There was a guttural laugh, and from whom it was unknown, as once more Qrow and Winter moved against each other like beasts.

[gogmstuff]

Lady, three-quarter-length, holding a sheet of music by the circle of Jacob Ferdinand Voet (Christie's - 19Oct18 auction Lot 152). Removed spots w P'shop 3037X4066 @150 3.9Mj.

[gogmstuff]

Lady in a silver dress by the circle of Sir Peter Lely (Dreweatts - 26May22 auction Lot 29). From invaluable.com-auction-lot-circle-of-sir-peter-lely-british-1618-1680-portra-c-68e4df7b01 2726X3505 @150 1.6Mj. Removed spots with Photoshop.

ca. 1665 Anne, Philadelphia, and Thomas Wharton attributed to Joan Carlile (Dreawatts 26May22 auction Lot 35). Removed navigation marks & spots w P'shop 3876X3434 @150 2.8Mj.

"1690" Called Pauline de Grignan, Marquise de Simiane en Diane chasseresse attributed to Jean Nocret (location ?). From tumblr.com/blog/view/hildegardavon/681437354612948992; enlarged to fit screen 1178X1400 @72 578kj.