#swatching is a great way to fail and if i were better at doing it there would be several projects i didn't make/made significantly better | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

generallybrontidefeelings · 3 years

Text

Stressed

Rating: NC-17

A/N: Brought to you by this post. I'm tired and sleepy and don't want to make any decisions. The degree is an actual MS you can get from American University in DC. U of Tennessee’s anthropology dept. hosts what’s called a body farm. It's a lab for forensic pathology students. Do NOT I repeat DO NOT look up pictures.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader, Marcus Pike x you

Summary: Marcus Pike is an associate faculty member at your forensics college. You ask him to be your second reader for your thesis, even though you have a huge crush on him. Nothing is better than something, right? By the time you pass your exam, you're so pent up you could scream.

Warnings: cadaver talk, pining, age difference, some power dynamics?, annoying college talk, sex, dirty talk, a God awful metaphor curtesy of Blanche Devereaux, 39

“Take a deep breath.”

You huff in a small shallow breath. Then let it out, and take in a longer, fuller one.

“Now let it out.” You let your cheeks puff up as cool air streams past your lips. “You’ve made huge improvements, and you’ve studied hard. The paper exam will be easy, and the oral will be a cinch.”

You gulp. “I know. It’s just...pre-show jitters, you know?”

He gives you a full smile, and flips the document shut. You hand him the binder clip, accidentally brushing his fingers when you do.

"Anything else I can do for you?"

You swallow, fiddling with your paper edge. God you feel like a twelve year old. You're fucking twenty-seven and about to apply for the FBI, why are you such a sap? He’s not available. Not even remotely. He will be gone in a year, back to the Bureau. There is no reason to nurse a crush. And you curse yourself for asking a man you’re attracted to - you, idiot, idiot! - to spend more time with you. Even if it is reading your dull chapter.

"No, I have everything I need, thanks."

"Then scoot. I have to read like...thirty pages of Tanner's chapter before he gets here."

You pull your bag to your shoulder. "you're not going to get that far," you scoff. The tensing in your shoulders relaxes a little when you stand to leave.

"We'll see," he says. He opens the door of his office for you. You glance back once more, and he's still in the doorway watching you go. "See you tomorrow."

"See you." Your mind swirls back and forth between thoughts of Mr. Pike, your thesis, Pike, your oral defence, your paper exam in two days, Marcus crossing his ankles in his reading chair. And you walk. Straight ahead, not looking back. But when you get to the door handle you turn around. And he's still there. Watching.

You've never been so stressed in your life.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

You met Marcus Pike on a muggy afternoon in August deep in the heart of Tennessee. The air warped off the pavement as you drove together to the School of Anthropology to visit your cadaver lying relaxed and prostrate in the middle of a fenced field. The air is already warm, then lightning flashes in the clouds to your right, and plopping rain drops scatter across the lawn, and dampens A-0017’s second hand suit. His raisinette hands lie against the grass almost like he’s communing with the earth. You watched the water hit his face, and permanently closed eyelids, and shaved head.

You had no business being so fidgety while kneeling next to a cadaver. Agent Marcus Pike and the facility director chat a couple feet away, leaving you to your business with A-0017. Pike had never been to the school’s mysterious forensics lab, even though he had plenty of time to when he was earning his own masters. That’s what he said in his email to you three weeks earlier. He’d heard a first-year student was running a fibrous material experiment and asked to tag along. And you said yes. Why not? He was faculty. It wasn’t unheard of. His email was so polite too, letting you know if you weren’t comfortable he understood. Pike. The name rattled a memory somewhere. So you emailed him back, and the next morning he sent you his itinerary: he would meet you in Tennessee. He’d even pay for the rental car.

You sent your advisor a quick text to ask if he was ‘crazy.’ She’d sent back the laughing emoji. No, she said, Marcus Pike isn’t a crazy. You’ll like him.

You did like him. He was waiting for you at the Hertz desk, and heat licked up your skin when you realized - he was striking. He was the type of man you’d make eyes at in a bar without any hope of even getting a number. His brown hair was neatly trimmed, and he had a softness brought on by a light scruff that didn’t hide his dimples. You barely registered that he was apologizing for not getting to introduce himself before flying out, but promised he was who he said he was. Even pulled out his credentials.

“Bureau?” you said to his badge. “I thought you were an associate professor?” You want to smack yourself.

Oh, “I am,” he replied. He dug in his wallet and pulled out a campus ID that matched yours. “I’m taking an interim year. I thought teaching would be a nice way to ease into DC life.”

Now he was here, sweating under the storm clouds while watching you unbutton A-0017’s shirt, and half listening to the director tell him all about how they kept the lawn looking green despite, ahem, fluids. You sternly told A-0017 to be on their best behavior while you pulled their shirt back to examine some fiber swatches stapled to his rubbery chest.

On the flight back Pike asked you all about your thesis plans. You stuttered as you began. He waited, patient. You were writing on how the FBI could contribute to cultural repatriation efforts internationally by returning art pieces. Do you know what it could do to boost scholarly opportunities? The doors it could open! Why put it in cold storage when it could revitalize movements? Art breathes, after all. You were exhausted by the time the plane landed. Both from answering questions, and from keeping a steadily building tension under wraps. You hoped he didn’t notice how you crossed your legs.

“I’d love to read it.” He handed your backpack down from the overhead bin.

“Maybe you should be my second reader.” You got serious when his face perked up. “I still need one.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------

That was nine months ago.

Your exams are in a week, and instead of thinking about preparing, all you can think of is that once everything is turned in, you probably won’t see Marcus again. He’s been your anchor these last months, and you’ve gotten used to his solid presence and encouraging platitudes. You cup your hot cheeks because it’s a dirty thought.

He lets you work in his office for a couple hours a week every week. The crammed little space is tight quarters, but he makes room for your laptop anyway. Sometimes you worked together heads bent for full time. Sometimes he read pages from your thesis, and you help him grade some papers from his first-year art history course. And sometimes you drink three pm coffee together and don’t work at all. It’s your favorite time of the week. The glow his praise gives you is embarrassing. And he’s an easy companion - nope, colleague. Your heart beats and your mouth waters every time you’re fifteen feet from his office door. The cold door knob jolts you took. You harbor a secret. Keep it warm in your belly. It swirls hungrily deep in you.

But now it’s a problem. You’re so distracted. Every time you leave his office, you’re tense from want. Your body is already over-caffeinated and achy from sitting in hard library chairs so long. But you keep going. Every time an anxious heat lights up the alarms in your head your instinct is to ask him what to do. You have to rest your hands in your head and remind yourself: he isn’t your babysitter, he’s a grown man who doesn’t have boundless time to tell you what to do. You have to figure it out yourself. Even if you really just want him to tell you what this or that section needs, is the title here misleading, is it lunch time, do you think the tone here is condescending?

What do you think? What do you want it to look like?

You think you want to grab his dumb button down collars and bite his lip. You want it to look flushed and tousled and desperate. You want to ride him in his reading chair with the door locked. It just isn’t fair.

The night before your first exam you take z-quil, drink lavender tea, and read a chapter of your favorite book to relax. Your phone buzzes at nine. It’s Marcus: good luck! You’re going to do great! Well. Better take some more Z-quill now that your heart is palpitating.

You pass both tests in excellent standing - MS in International Relations: complete. Pike attends the oral exam. Your skin goes hot when he smiles at you when the committee declares you exceed expectations. He invites you for a celebratory drink in the next couple days, which means you have two days to sternly wrangle your crush back into the dirty corner she came from.

You fail miserably.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

“Look,” he says, setting his beer down on the glass bar counter. “I know it’s not my business, but you still look stressed out. Are your grades bothering you?”

The rim of your gin and tonic is wet with condensation from where your finger circles it. “No, they’re great.”

He bumps your shoulder with his. “Then what’s the damage? You’re jumpier than a…” he trails off thinking a good metaphor. He squints at you a little.

“A virgin at a prison rodeo?” you supply. He inhales sharply, eyes wide. “You can laugh.”

“I didn’t know you watched ‘The Golden Girls,” he says. His tone is admiring. “I was going to say jumpier than a graduate student giving their defense.” You purse your lips when he raises his eyebrows at you. “Can I help at all?”

You watch his Adam’s apple bob when he takes another sip of his beer. The soft orange lights in the bar spill around his jaw and throat, they flicker in his irises. His face in three quarter profile is august. You’re utterly exhausted from the polite ‘student mentor’ dance you’ve had to do for months while keeping your desire at bay. And more than that, you didn’t want to answer. You wanted to show him and let him decide. The sultry washboard and piano music give you that last boost.

You make sure he’s watching you, then you slowly reach out and wrap your fingers around his wrist.

Then you wait.

Marcus pauses from lifting his beer bottle, eyes glued to your hand on his wrist. It’s petite against him. He stares at your baby blue fingernails pairing beautifully with his Stirling watch - and he feels himself harden.

All the skin on your body stands at attention when he meets your eyes. Everything in them tells you he wants you just as bad. There’s a hesitant curve above his eyebrow though. You get it. You were his student - he’s such a sweet man he wouldn’t even dream of using a power dynamic like that to get laid. Your breath comes in short heaves.

“The semester ended thirty-six minutes ago,” you say over the music. He takes a deep breath. You aren’t his student anymore. Not according to the school, anyway.

You want him to decide. If he doesn’t, you’ll go home and fall apart under your fingertips thinking about how hot it would have been to lift your dress and sit on his cock while wearing your thigh highs.

“Do you want to leave?” You nod, resisting the urge to bite your lip.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Marcus’s apartment is homey. Streetlights flood the floor of the living room through the street facing windows. You turn this way and that to inspect the dark areas that look like bookshelves while he hangs up your coat. You squeeze your hands at your sides, because this is happening. You’re in his house. The hardwood floor is cold under your stocking feet.

You jump when he puts his hands on your shoulders from behind you, holding you a mere inch from his body. You bite your lip when his nose bumps into the back of your head.

“Are you sure about this?”

“You already asked me that,” you reply, letting your head fall back on his shoulder. You want so badly to tell him to tell you what to do. That you don’t want to make any decisions. Brain is worn out. That you want to please him, and not think. Oh, to be a freshmen simply sponging up information.

“I know,” he slides his hands to your biceps and turns you around. “I can check in again, can’t I? He cups your face when you nod. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes, please,” you have to stop yourself from saying something incriminating, like mister Pike, or sir, or professor.

You clutch the front of his button down to anchor yourself when his lips brush yours. His mouth is soft. It coaxes you to open so he can dive into you, his tongue swipes your bottom lip, and you respond by pressing into him. You stay pliant under him, letting him lead. Your legs feel on the verge of collapse when you break away. You can’t stand it anymore.

“I want to suck your cock.”

Both of you freeze. For a second you wonder if you’ve given him a heart attack. But you watched his thighs on the car ride back and couldn’t stop thinking about kneeling between them. Your mouth waters. Marcus can’t breathe. He’s straining against his zipper. After your declaration he wants it too.

“Okay, honey,” he breathes. He brushes your ear with his thumb. “If that’s what you want, we’ll do that.”

He tries to draw you backward toward his room where he can turn on a lamp and properly pay tribute to your body, but you pull him back. You tug him to his mid-century armchair - he has the twin to it in his office. His mouth goes dry. You have to know. He looks into your face, and from the way you’ve averted your eyes, you know.

“Please?” you say. It sounds like a sob.

From this close you can smell the vanilla and bergamot of his soap. He sits, waiting for you. When you don’t move he holds his hand out for you to take.

“Come here, honey,” he draws you close. The top of your dress swings a little and he groans when he sees the break of your dress to what he thought were tights. Marcus studies your face in the second hand street light - your mouth parted, your eyes blown wide. Your hand in his is hot. “Hey, if this is overwhelming, or not what you want-”

“It is,” you correct him.

“Tell me what’s wrong then,” he requests. You feel pained. If you don’t say it now you never will.

“Tell me what to do.” Your head aches from the stress of carrying it for so long. “I’ve had to make my own decisions for months, and I don’t want to anymore. Just - for five minutes-” you bring your hands to your cheeks and press them against your hot skin. You watch as he realizes what you want. He nods in slow motion.

“Okay,” he says. “Kneel for me.” He gets even harder when you sink to your knees. Your hands rest in your lap. Waiting. He can’t believe this is happening. Thank goodness he’s going back to the Bureau in three months. He couldn’t face the other faculty - fuck, your advisor - after this. Leaning forward he cups your chin and kisses you. You squeeze your thighs together. He kisses your ear and says lowly, “take my cock out, honey. I want you to suck me off.”

When you take him in your mouth as far as you can, you look into his face. His mouth has fallen open. His ears have turned red from flushing. It’s indescribable. It makes your mouth water further around his hard length. It’s heavy on your tongue. You move up and down his shaft leisurely, trying to savor it. Letting saliva run down onto his skin as your tongue works the spongy head. You reach up to work the base with your hand when he tells you ‘no’.

“Just your mouth.” Fuck. You moan around him as a ripple pulls from deep in your core. The vibrations of you moaning make him jolt and heave. For a few moments he apologies while you breathe deeply, then resume. You take a mouthful of him. It’s feasting. It’s mindless.

His fingers brush the side of your face, and tenderly cups the back of your head. You want to make him understand this is what you want. So you slide down as far as you can comfortably, and wait. Swallowing thickly around his length

“Fuck, honey,” he groans. He gets it, taking both hands and moving your head the pace he wants. You can tell he hasn’t been asked for this often. Maybe ever. You close your eyes and just feel. His cock filling your mouth. Aches forming around your jaw. Tears leaking out of your eyes from your concentration. Your pussy wetting through your underwear. Marcus pulling your hair. You swallow hard, then he stops. And pushes you off.

You whine in protest.

“I hear you, honey,” he says softly. His voice is hoarse. “Another time. I want you to unwind right now.” Your pussy clenches.

He takes you back to his bedroom and helps you undress. He lifts your dress over your head, and kneels to help you out of your thigh highs. One day, if you’ll let him, he’ll fuck you with them on, but he likes to see all of a woman the first time he does anything to her. He kisses the bit of skin above the waistband of your panties before standing to kiss your lips. Your help him push them down your hips until they fall to your ankles. The soft gasp he lets out at the sight of your underwear and bare body is nothing short of gluttonous.

“Lay down.”

He strips while you watch. He does it without taking his eyes off of you. There’s hunger in them. This man has an appetite, you know it. The fabric rustles pleasantly between the sound of both of you breathing. Far away, ambulance sirens blare in another neighborhood, but here in his apartment the wet sound of cars passing in the rainy street are the closest accompaniment.

“I want to touch you here,” he tells you, palming your sex and making you squeak. It’s so forward.

“Do it,” you breathe, and part your legs further for him. He leans in and kisses your temple, murmuring ‘good girl’ and you swear you could black out.

You’re already so wet when his fingers part your folds to greet the new territory. “Did sucking my cock get you wet?” He sounds amazed. He tastes one fingertip before putting it back to tease your folds. “I wonder how wet you would be just holding it in your mouth while you read.”

“Oh-” a ripple works down your spine. He smirks. The tip of his finger brushes just inside your lips to tease your entrance.

“I’m going to put my fingers in you. You,” he pauses to kiss your cheek, “relax. You earned it.” He rubs his nose up and down yours, and you nudge him back just as he slips one long finger into you. You’re glad he’s being sweet like this. It’s the perfect blend of firmness and care. You want him to dominate you one someday, maybe, but right here and now, the combination of his low voice and steady fingers is ideal. Marcus kisses your cheek and mouth as he works his finger in and out of you. It’s thick and reaches further than you ever could. You spread your legs even further to tell him, more.

Without removing his hand he moves down your body to lick your clit. He sucks and flicks it as he coaxes more wetness out of your leaking cunt. Carefully he pulls the finger out and presses his wet hand to the inside of your thigh to keep you open. He laps into you, covering the muscles with lubricant because you’re going to need it. You see his face just as he decides you’re ready; it’s contemplative, like he’s concentrating. Then he slides two fingers deep into you.

“Oh, fuck, that’s so fucking good,” your voice crescendos. You reach for his shoulder as he comes up to lie beside you. His skin is warm under your palm. You buck your hips looking for something else, seeking, wanting-

“Stay still.” You still immediately. “Just feel it, baby. I want you to be ready for me.” You know what he means. His cock is thick and smearing against your hip. He was big in your mouth, he’s going to be big while pushing into you. His fingers keep moving while he kisses the tips of your nipples. When he takes one between his teeth and tugs you break. Your mouth opens, and your legs clamp reflexively around his wrist. Your pussy gushes around his fingers - you can feel it. You can feel how his movements change from a drag as a slide. He keeps pumping. He doesn’t give up until he’s sure you’ve felt every aftershock. He’d love to take his time and work a third in one day - if he can - but tonight, he wants to move on. After you swallowed his cock in his sitting room chair he’s been thinking of rewarding you.

You feel him slip his fingers out, and roll away to the nightstand. He looks back at you, and his eyes soften a little before he asks, “do you want me to use a condom?”

“No,” you say and reach for his bicep to pull him back toward you. He comes willingly. “I have an IUD. And I’m clean.” He smiles, flinging the packet over his shoulder. It makes you giggle, but it sounds hysterical to your ears. You watch him reach down and pump his cock with the hand that was just inside you. You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

“Look at me,” he orders. Your eyes snap open. Marcus crashes his lips on yours. The hand not dripping from your cunt cups the back of your head. “I want to see your eyes while I fuck you.”

His blunt head breaks into you, you lose all thought. He sinks further in, until you’re squirming on his length because he’s stretching you. You suck air in and will your body will stay still like he suggested for his fingers. You look into Marcus’s eyes the whole time, trying to tell him how good he feels. You can’t make the words leave your throat. He pulls your head to him, kisses your mouth until you compose yourself and lie still. Then he gets to work. The breadth of him stills you anew. For the first time in months you fully relax, hardly making a sound as he thrusts steadily. You stare into Marcus’s eyes while your mouth falls open as he slides into you, and listen to the wet sounds of your pussy and the bed frame creaking.

Then he starts talking.

“Do you know how good you look in those blue trousers? I want to grab your ass every time you wear them,” he rumbles. His pace picks up a hair, and he feels harder in you somehow. He drops to his forearm. “I love watching it when you walk out of my office.” You knew it. “And that damn cardigan you never wear a shirt under? Those buttons slip right open, don’t they?” He punctuates it with a deep thrust that makes you squeak. “Answer me.”

“Yes.”

“Wear it over for dinner. I’ll bite your tits through it.”

He fucks into you harder, sending shivers up your spine with every thrust. It moves you up the bed until you have to reach a hand up and press back against the headboard. You clutch him with the other, looping around his shoulder to feel the muscles in his arms pull and tug as he moves in you, working you up to another release Soon enough, the coil in your belly tightens and he reaches to worry your clit with deft fingers. His eyes never leave you. You think this man could make the hardest fuck feel like making love.

“I need more,” you tell him. You’re too embarrassed to ask for what you want. A tear leaks out of your eye because his thickness is so good, but you want something else too. You always underestimate him. He grins because he knows - he’s a detective. He figured it out. He leans down to rest his forehead on your temple.

“You’re doing so well,” he says. You arch up into him, your breasts brush his chest. “Your wet pussy is so sweet. It’s taking me so well. Are you gonna be respectful? Gonna listen?” You have to hold your breath as your hips tense. “Be good and come on my cock.” Oh fuck. “Say it.”

Your voice is wet with joy. “Yes, sir.”

“Such a good girl.”

Sparks lick up your back and through your cunt, forcing Marcus deeper into when you lift your lips. He slows to let you enjoy all your release. He kisses your neck, your jaw, your lips. Then when he hears your content sigh, he buries his face in your neck and chases his own release. He comes with an accompanying rumble from deep in his chest. You moan in return and lift your lips to catch him as he slumps, barely holding his weight off of you.

Water runs in the washroom as you tug the sheets back. The light clicks off, and Marcus appears with a washcloth. His dimple appears when you lean back and let him clean your tender flesh. He sits on the edge of the bed next to your hips, running his knuckles on the soft side of your breast.

“Stay the night,” says. “I’ll cook you breakfast.”

“Hm,” you say, mock contemplative. You run your fingers down his chest. He preens under the affection. “I will. I feel really good.” Your cheeks tingle at the admission. He smiles wide and bright.

He comes back from putting the cloth in the hamper. You roll so he can run his hands the length of your side

“Thank you,” you murmur. He lifts his face from where he’s been peppering your waist with kisses. His brow is furrowed in amused confusion. “For being good to me. For caring about what happened to me.” You’ll tell him the horror stories your friends have from their college another time.

He sighs and cups your cheek. “I like doing it. You’re bright. Supporting you is a privilege. Especially when I know that brain is going to put us all to shame one day.” You could cry.

“I’ve liked you since the body farm,” you admit. He wrinkles his nose. “I know. Not very romantic.”

“I liked you since you thought my campus ID was more official than my FBI badge.”

“I didn’t think that!”

“Get some sleep,” he says. A wicked glint comes to his eye. “I am going to wear you out before lunch.” You wiggle to get comfortable in the sheets and he curls over your back to hold you to his chest.

Orange light peeks through the gap in his blackout drapes. You eye him over your shoulder then settle into the pillow. All the tension in your shoulders is gone.

part 2

#marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #reader insert #fanfiction #writing #the mentalist fanfiction #I took some liberties with UT's school of anthros forensics lab #it does exist #DO NOT LOOK UP PICTURES #IF YOU ARE SQUEAMISH #DON'T DO IT #I AM NOT SQUEAMISH AND DO RESEARCH WITH CADAVERS #BUT IF YOU ARE SQUEAMISH #DONT #DO #IT

526 notes · View notes

starbornvalkyrie · 3 years

Text

paper rings [a nessian one-shot]

a/n: hey besties!! here’s some fluff for this fine saturday. i wrote this for my mate, my besta @vanserrasvalkyrie bc i love her to death and she deserves everything. i wrote this based on paper rings by taylor swift. enjoy!

acotar masterlist || masterlist of masterlists

When the sunlight hit his face, Cassian stretched with a groan and reached for his girlfriend. Girlfriend. Three years and he was still shocked that was the title he could call Nesta Archeron. When they met all those years ago, he could have sworn she hated him. He thought it might have been his high clouding his mind but no.

Nesta gave him the cold shoulder every time they hung out, though he never failed to sense her eyes on him when they were out with his friends. There was something about Nesta that always drew him to her. Some sort of gravitational pull that made her irresistible--even as she pushed him away.

Cassian frowned when he found that the other side of the bed was cold, his girlfriend long gone for the day. Blinking slowly, he wondered if she told him what she was up to today. Not that she needs to, but she usually gives him a heads up. His thoughts were pulled away when his phone chimed.

A single text message from Nesta read, Morning, babe. I’m out running errands with Feyre today. I’ll see you later. Xx

Cassian couldn’t help the grin that formed on his lips at her use of the word babe, and he used that energy to get out of bed and prepare for the day. The day that he hopes will bring him one step closer to calling Nesta his wife.

He dialed Rhys, putting the phone to his ear as he fastened his watch around his wrist. He smiled fondly at it, remembering the day Nesta gave it to him saying, “Your old watch is too loud. Use this.”

Rhys answered on the last ring with a labored, “Hello?” followed by a female yelp and giggle. His brother shushed her, but Cassian’s brows furrowed.

“Is that Feyre?”

Rhys cleared his throat, “Yeah, of course, why?”

“I just thought…” He trailed off. “Nevermind, brother. Is everything still set for tonight?”

He could practically hear Rhys rolling his eyes when he replied, “Yes, brother, we’ve been over it a thousand times. It’s going to be great.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll leave you two to… whatever I interrupted.” Cassian almost gagged hearing Rhys’ stifled groan of a goodbye as he hung up, patting his jacket pocket to feel for the ring one more time. He was about to grab his keys when he noticed a note on their side table, the elegant script telling him who left it. Smiling, he picked it up and read.

Cassian,

Do you remember the night we first met? I remember it vividly, probably because I wasn’t as stoned as you. But what I haven’t told you is that I went home and stalked you on the internet. Full on FBI mode. If you tell anyone, I will not hesitate to kill you. Sometimes I think about how I tried so hard to learn every detail I could about you without actually talking to you, but now I feel like I know more than I should.

We’ve shared a lot these past three years, and I have to say that one of my favorite hobbies to share with you is reading. The days we spend wasting away in bed reading side by side are the days I hope we will continue to share for the foreseeable future. While they aren’t my favorite, I do enjoy the war novels and thrillers you keep beside your bed. I think I’ve read all of them by now.

I skimmed Catch 22 this morning and was particularly intrigued by page 143.

It wasn’t signed, but Nesta’s perfume lingered on the page, igniting Cassian’s senses. The memories she wrote of came to the forefront of his mind. She was shy at first, not wanting him to know the sort of books she enjoyed reading with her friends. But one night he snuck one off her nightstand. Needless to say, they’ve had their fair share of experimentation based on a few of her novels. And when she read his books and talked excitedly with him, he thought he’d propose on the spot.

Cassian rushed to his bedside table and, sure enough, Catch 22 is on top. He flipped to the page she mentioned. Another note fell out along with a blue paint swatch. The color looked familiar, but he couldn’t figure out where he knew it from. Shrugging, he read the note.

Cassian,

Do you remember when Azriel made us all help him paint his room? My favorite memory of that day was the fact that there was more paint on us and our friends than there was on the walls. You, of course, had the brilliant idea of jumping into the pool of Az’s apartment complex. At 8PM. On a January evening. No one wanted to join you, for obvious reasons. I still think you’re an idiot for suggesting it. I still think you’re an idiot for actually doing it.

But then again, I followed. You may have jumped first, but I went in, too. I will always follow you, Cass, to the ends of the earth.

Will you follow me, too?

Yes. One hundred percent, yes. Cassian would follow Nesta to the ends of the earth and back. He’d slay dragons for her or just sit back while she conquered them herself. He couldn’t think of a time when his world didn’t revolve around Nesta. While they played games of cat and mouse when they first met, it was always Nesta. For him, he would always follow Nesta.

Will you follow me, too? He absolutely would. There were no other directions on the note, but Cassian knew exactly where he needed to go. Carefully folding the notes, he placed them in his pocket next to the ring. Giving the pocket another pat, he grabbed the keys to his truck and made his way through town. Azriel moved out long ago to live with his girlfriend, but Cassian still knew how to get to his old apartment complex.

That night was one of the best nights of Cassian’s life, but not for the reasons Nesta might be thinking. It was fun, definitely, swimming in that freezing pool, alcohol the only reason they didn’t feel the icy bite of the water. But that was the first night Nesta laughed and smiled with only him. Sure, before then, he had seen her radiant smile and heard her mesmerizing laugh with their friends. But with no one else around them in the pool, Cassian had relished in the fact that he was the reason for her happiness. It was the first time he had dared to hope for something more.

The apartment complex wasn’t gated, so Cassian drove right in, straight to the clubhouse pool. He hopped out of his truck, leaving it running idle, as he searched the area. He searched the chaise lounge chairs and tables but only saw a towel and duffel bag that someone left behind. He walked the perimeter of the pool itself. Still nothing. Did he get it wrong? Was he supposed to go somewhere else? Confused and frustrated, Cassian was about to give up when something at the bottom of the pool caught his eye: a ziploc bag anchored by a can of paint.

“You have got to be kidding me, Nes,” he mumbled to himself. Cassian went back to inspect the duffel bag, cursing his cruel girlfriend the whole way. When he unzipped the bag, a note was on top. Have fun getting wet, was all it said. Underneath was a pair of Cassian’s swim trunks and an extra pair of clothes. Accepting his fate, he changed in the restroom, and dove into the pool.

Pulling the paint can--the same color they painted Az’s room--to the surface was harder than he thought it would be, but eventually he was sitting on the edge of the pool, feet dangling in the water that was a lot warmer than it was that night. Shaking the moisture from the bag and his hands, he took out the note, slightly shorter than the rest. Nesta knows he’d be impatient and nearly irritable by now, and he loved her even more for thinking about that detail.

Nice day for a swim, right? I wish I could have been there to see it, but don’t worry, I’ll have you wet and shirtless in no time later. But in all seriousness, I had a lot of fun that night. Getting to know you better in the pool is one of the highlights of our relationship and it’s something I will never forget.

But let’s go back to the beginning. Meet me in the place it all began. I’ll always be waiting for you.

Cassian grinned and pushed himself up to dry off and change. He grabbed the clothes Nesta packed for him, pleased to know she knew his style, and meticulously transferred the small box from his jacket pocket to the front of his jeans.

Knowing exactly where to go, Cassian made his way to meet his future wife.

---

Nesta waited nervously on the dock of a lake just outside of Velaris. She clutched the final envelope in her hands, reminding herself every few minutes not to ruin it. She sat on a blanket, a basket filled with Cassian’s favorite foods. She tried to push doubt from snaking its way into her brain, but she couldn’t help it.

She had been dropping hints to Cassian for months now but to no avail. After Rhys proposed to Feyre six months ago, Nesta felt that tug in her heart that told her she was ready. She practically told Cassian as much. She made it a point to talk about Feyre’s wedding prep every day, asking what he would want if he was in their position. She even went as far as showing him rings.

But Cassian hasn’t made a single move. Nesta knows he loves her, but does he not see her as wife material? Does he only love her for now? Nesta didn’t think so, and she didn’t let herself believe that, but the seed of doubt is still there, waiting to grow. To counteract the doubt, she decided to take things into her own hands.

Hence the basket and the notes.

Her phone chimed with a text from Az telling her that Cassian just jumped into the pool. He got it on video. She laughed and asked him to let her know when Cassian left the apartment complex. While all of their friends were in on the event, Azriel was the only one she trusted to trail Cassian without being caught. Everyone else was tasked to decorate their apartment for a party after Cassian left on her scavenger hunt.

Nesta stood as she heard the sound of tires on gravel and braced herself as she watched Cassian step out of his truck and make his way towards her. Much to her amusement, she realized his hair was still a little damp from his impromptu swim, but he was also wearing the jeans and button down shirt she had packed for him as well. Nesta still counted herself lucky, praying to the Cauldron every day that this was the man that crashed into her life all those years ago.

Cassian stopped in front of her, surveying her from head to toe. His gaze sent shivers down her spine, but she stayed still as he scanned her set up on the dock, a smile gracing his lips as he most likely remembered what they’ve done out here. Multiple times.

Finally, he turned back to her and greeted her, “Hi, Nes.”

“Hey,” she said, voice low.

“What is all this?” He started to move towards her, but she held up her hand, nerves getting the best of her.

“I-- uh, we’ll get to that. But first,” she held up the note she held in her hand. “Last one.”

This time, he did step closer to her, but didn’t touch her yet. Ever observant, he knew she needed her space right now while her nerves went haywire. He stopped just in front of her, though, and asked, “Will you read it to me?”

Nesta’s eyes went wide, scanning the hazel ones she’d come to love so much. She saw only love and a hint of amusement staring back at her, so she whispered, “Okay,” and opened the envelope. With a few deep breaths, she began to read.

“Cassian. My best friend, my love. The biggest brute on the planet.

I don’t know how else to put this, but when I think about who I was when we first met, I can’t help but feel that I fell in love with you by accident. Don’t get me wrong, I am so glad that I did. But you know me, I hate accidents. I hate when things don’t go the way I want them to. And that’s you in a nutshell. I never know what’s going to happen, but I’m here for it, along for the ride for the rest of my life.

You know my past better than anyone else, even my sisters. All of the things that happened with Tomas… if none of that had happened, I wouldn’t have found you. I can even say I’m thankful for your past girlfriends, knowing that you wouldn’t be the man I know without them. We may fight, we may not be perfect, but that doesn’t stop me from loving you and hoping you love me in return.

Because I want it all, Cassian. I want you and all the complications you may come with. I want to kiss you randomly just because I can. I want to brighten your dreary Mondays, for you to wrap your arms around me while I cook, and everything in between.

You’re the one I want, Cass, in any way you’ll have me. Picture frames, dirty dreams, you name it.”

Nesta paused, steadying herself for the next part. She wiped the tears that started to fall from her eyes as she read. When she looked at Cassian, she could see the silver lining his own eyes as he gave her a watery smile. The smile she can’t imagine living without ever again. Steeling herself, she asked, “Are you going to make me do the knee thing?”

The corner of Cassian’s mouth turned up higher at that, decorating his face with that smirk that’s gotten him into so much trouble in the past. “You know how I like to see you on your knees in front of me, Nes,” he teased, making Nesta’s heart stutter.

“Brute,” she mumbled. “Fine.” Nesta adjusted her dress as she got down on one knee, holding the note in her palms. “I know this isn’t a shiny ring or anything fancy, but I don’t need any of that. I only need you, Cass. You’re the one I want until we’re taken to the next life and every moment after that as well. Will you marry me?”

Cassian hesitated for only a split second before he was on his knees in front of her, her face in his hands. “You stole my thunder,” he accused, his voice playful. When Nesta only stared at him with a cocked brow, he chuckled. She watched as he reached into his jean pocket and pulled out a small velvet, black box. Nesta couldn’t contain her gasp as he opened it to reveal a perfectly cut ruby set on a simple silver band. “You’re the only one for me, Nes. You’ve always been the only one for me.”

Nesta stared at the ring. “Cass…” she whispered.

“Are you sure you don’t want the shiny things? I can return this…”

“Don’t you dare,” she snapped. “Ring me.” Nesta stuck her left hand in Cassian’s face. He laughed but removed the ring from the box to slip it onto her ring finger.

They both watched in silence, the air buzzing with anticipation, as Cassian pushed the ring past her first knuckle then the second. Until it metaphorically clicked into place at the bottom of her finger.

A perfect fit.

Nesta launched herself at Cassian, tackling him to the deck with a searing kiss. Her heart thundered wildly, their tongues tangling as the words engaged, fiance, and future husband played on repeat in her mind like her favorite song. She pulled back to look down at her best friend, her everything, his eyes shining right back at her.

“I love you, Nes,” he said, voice low but thick with emotion.

“Until the end of time,” she replied with another kiss.

---

Thanks for reading! If you’d like to be added to/taken off my general SJM tag list just send me an ask and be sure to include the fandom! i’m very good at losing them in the comments. love y’all!

@maddymelv || @lucy617 || @tillyrubes10 || @faerie-queen-fireheart || @tottenhamboys20 || @the-third-me || @superspiritfestival || @rolltide7 || @courtofjurdan || @sleeping-and-books || @aelinchocolatelover || @julemmaes || @sorrehnotsorryy || @acourtofaelinbryceandfeyre || @darlinminds || @lucieisabooknerd || @queen-of-glass || @jlinez || @abookishfreak || @stardelia || @ladywitchling || @rockgirl321 || @sjmships || @thewayshedreamed || @mamakramer || @meowsekai || @vanserrasvalkyrie || @sanakapoor || @ireallyshouldsleeprn || @over300books || @marvuders || @silentquartz || @theoceanfaewriter || @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx || @cassianscool || @danaanruhn || @fuzzypineapples-blog || @dawninlatin || @thegoddessofyou || @chieflemming || @star-books-snow || @alinaleksanders || @rowaelinismyotp || @swankii-art-teacher || @perseusannabeth || @chloepereyra || @patelkhushin

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acotar fanfic #fluff #nessian fanfic #fanfiction #usermegs

121 notes · View notes

punkandsnacks · 4 years

Text

Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter Fifteen; Anticipation.

Author: @punk-in-docs & @adamsnackdriver

Also on AO3-

Masterlist-

Trigger Warnings: No warnings in this chap- animal shapeshifting but thas about it really-

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

The very next days seemed to crawl by. As if time itself was dragging through claggy thick treacle.

Nothing moved quickly and Iris knows it’s because she’s anticipating the weeks-end more than any other event she’s ever awaited on in her life.

More than Yuletide morning. More than her birthday. More than buying a new book or taking an early morning walk all to herself. More than a sunny frosted morning where everything seems to glimmer as if crafted from gold, or seeing wildflowers dot the woods with their colour in spring.

She’s waiting on that much anticipated midnight with baited breath. Every second closer to it is both torture and sweet blessed relief.

She fulfils her remaining days with a permanent smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Even her acetous mother remarks upon it. She tells her daughter the fine manner of her engagement must be bringing her joy. Iris bites her lip to keep from grinning.

She clutched her romantic secret all that tighter to her chest. Moulded it like warm clay to clasp around her glad heart.

Mother and Maratella insist on setting a date. And getting her whole ‘bouquet’ of daughters measured for their gowns.

Posy and Flora for they are of course to be bridesmaids, and Iris, of course, for her bridal gown. They get up a merry party to Pembleton one fine clear morning.

The snow and frost govern the landscape once more. Ebbing back in after the recent rain. The brown frost-hardened hills and trees and fields. Governed under the fierce cyclops of a mustard sun blazing in the effortless blue of the cobalt sky. It made Iris think of robins eggs, and the golden buttery buds of spring. When the bulbs and shoots blossom up through the earth with their sickly scent and colour.

It is a fine clear day and it indicates that the end of the long bitter winter approaches. The cold is as ferocious as ever so Maratella insists upon them not catching a chill in the vile icy winds. Shes most kind as to stop to collect the Misses Ashton’s in the Hux’s second largest coach. They are all bid to the dressmakers in the high street. Along the medieval shamble of barrel window and oak timber shops.

The news of her engagement spread far and wide. Before her boots have even touched the cobbles, stepping out the coach, their party is virtually mobbed by matrons and ladies of their acquaintance.

Iris had in mind a silly image of them prowling at the pavements like baying wolves, chasing after the muddy churn of the carriage wheels; anything for to first seize that newest scrap of gossip.

Posy and Flora ladle up all the attention. As does Mama. Proudly boasting - along with Maratella - of the suitability of such a fine match. Iris wants to roll her eyes as Flora greatly exaggerated the romantic manner of Hux’s proposition. She gabbled about a room full of red roses and how Iris wept tears of delight as he swept her into his arms.

The ravenous eyes turn toward her. “May we see the ring, Miss Ashton?” Comes out of numerous smiling mouths like a chorus of cawing seagulls. Iris feels like they’ll rip her glove off themselves if she doesn’t.

Unused to such attention, she blushes as she slips off her grey calfskin glove. Wrenching it off her hand. There is a troupe of awed gasps as they admire the diamond set in the gold band.

Iris feels as if she’s sticking her hand into a dangerous animals maw. Like some exhibit at a zoo. Feeding her hand to the rabid starving tiger’s. There’s so much gasping and in taking of breath it’s a wonder they don’t suck her up. And take half the street with them.

Luckily, Maratella fusses that they’ll be late if they don’t make haste. She then proudly utters that the ladies five, their happy little bridal party, are off to Madame Larousse’s dressmaking parlour for a wedding gown. And Mrs Ashton and Mrs Hux are to see to both having new hats to mark such a happy occasion.

The flock of ravenous ladies ceases. Satisfied with their mauling of Iris and her news and her engagement ring. The party is able to proceed along the pavement unhindered.

They slip into Madame Larousse’s. Greeted by the lanky, heavily perfumed proprietor herself. She was a tall, ungainly woman with poky shoulders and an always over-rouged complexion. And will always, without fail, exaggerate a mildly French accent to gild her words. For she believes that all the best dressmakers and seamstresses were French.

The tall stretch of Madame claps excitedly and demands to see Iris’ hand when she hears they are here to purchase ribbons and lace and all things fit for a bride. She is whisked away by a very efficient assistant. And stood on a pedestal for the next hour and half.

Iris spends that time with swatches pinned to her. Flapped around her ears. Tucked under her collar. There’s so many back and forth decisions from her mother, it makes her quite dizzy. A tape drawn tight around her so many times to squeeze the stuffing out her. Eventually, they stumble to a conclusion. It was to be a saffron orange.

Flora remarked it made her rather look like a carrot.

Around her they lounge on the chaises provided, clutched around the mirror and the box she’s on, and they drink sweet tea. Brown sugar sprinkled and stirred into the earl grey.

They all pose interjections and opinions and preferences on her. Iris just stands there like a tailors doll. Only half there.

She’s caught sight of a swatch of ruby-wine velvet near her thigh and is stroking it fondly. Remembering Lord Rens exquisite bed coverlet. How it felt under her fingers, it took her ricocheting back to that moment. And it calmed her.

That’s how she can stand all this grousing and prodding. It reminds her of her secret and she nearly faints off that box pedestal.

They settle on a pallid frothy blue silk instead. To better bring out the excellence of her mud and twigs hair. Mama chooses the best silk madame has in stock. Says she will have to fetch more in from her supplier especially. From London.

That causes much excitement for Flora and Posy. They’d never had a dress made from material fetched as far nor from a city as grand as London, before.

Posy had selected a teasing slip of pink silk. Flora, for her more fiery hair, chose a delicate pastel pea green. Iris thinks they’ll look like a platter of French fancy cakes.

Then a pang of something hits through her heart with all the intensity of an arrowhead studding there - she hopes Mama lets Posy and Flora keep their new gowns after she’s gone. She hopes very much. They are the stillest girls in existence but they do deserve nicer things than what they get.

By Madame’s husky drawl of a smoky voice is she brought back into the room, the awful pink pink pink room. Stuffed with velvet chaises and bolster cushions and trimmed fringed oil lamps. Great big fat rosebuds sprout up the wallpaper and flourish across the fabric of the pillows on the settee.

It’s as if the whole room is the summoning of the evil fairy in sleeping beauty. Who commanded swarms of brambles and thorns and swamping plants to take over. That was this room to the last pink thread - only it was instead summoned to contain every incarnation of pink roses as far as the eye could see.

Her ears burn hot and pink as Madame talks of London. Relating the gossip back to someone in the village. Matter of fact, a certain Lord-

“Apparantly, you know he sent that tall turbaned butler of his up to London just yesterday...” Madame hushes to them in her hazy terribly-affected French.

“Sent him to Mayfair.” She grins crookedly as she measures from Iris’s hip to her hem. Barking orders at Suzy, her ever suffering assistant.

Maratella seems most diverted. “Pray whatever for?” She leans forwards. Perching her half eaten violet macaroon on her saucer.

“He sent him to Bond Street. You know there is an establishment there that supplies jewels to the palace. Apparantly he came back having purchased something.” Madame says.

“Pray why would be send his butler all that way?” Flora asks.

“Why, Miss Smith told me so this morning; she suspects Lord Ren has left his heart behind in Bavaria. He is soon to quit Hellford. She heard Clarence Pennington’s butler say that his housekeeper, Mrs Jones states that half his house is shut. And the staff vacated.” Maratella excites them all. Flora and Posy are mortified at such news.

“The house is emptying. And Lord Ren shall soon be gone.” She adds.

Mrs Ashton smiles gladly. “He is journeying back home to his castle I wager...” She delights. The spitting smug nature of her tone was clear. Good riddance.

“Who must he be besotted with I wonder?” Posy asks indelicately.

Iris tries not to be twice as smug. Thinking that she is that very woman.

He goes back to his castle and I will gladly go with him, she thinks.

The giddiness and joy roils in her stomach like golden champagne. Fizzes through her veins and she has to hide a smile. Biting her cheek hard.

“Well. if he is shortly to leave our shores. I’m willing to bet he’ll break a fair few maidens hearts in this county and the next over. Such a striking gentleman. The young ladies will certainly feel his loss most keenly.” Maratella comments in sadness for all the female admirers he’d amassed. They’d all be heart sore now he’s going away.

“You’re blushing Iris.” Flora sing-songs at her. Pointing it out. “Thoughts of your intended sweetheart?” She ribs her sister.

“You are a colossal pest. Flora.” Iris smiles at her. Matter of fact. Her little bug of a sister is quite right. She is thinking about the man she’ll marry.

Only another agonising hour whilst Mama and Maratella select their hats for the occasion. But Iris can atleast sit down and drink some much too sweet earl grey tea. Doesn’t have to stand on that wretched box for another hour.

Eventually their purchases were rung up and settled. Flora and Posy love Iris very much because she buys them two new ribbons each and some velvet buttons for their bonnets. They’re singing her praises as they quit the shop. Trilling like a pair of canaries about their gowns. Iris was glad to spend some of her pin money on them before she leaves for good.

She’s fully appraised of the weight of her actions. And the serious consequence of them. It would be ruinous for her mother and father. It would be a disaster for her sisters. But atleast she was of age and she could marry. Whatever else others might say of her - she fully believes Lord Ren’s intentions are honourable.

They can’t scandalise her for marrying Kylo. Just censure her for running away from Hux and jilting him. She’s certain he’ll recover amicably enough. He doesn’t love her. And his mother is suitably well connected. She could snap her fingers and summon another willing bride. She’s only sorry it can’t be her.

She’s despondent to remark upon the pain she’ll be causing hers and Hux’s family. But in time, they will recover. Posy would do well and Flora will follow in her footsteps. Mother will see to it they catch fine husbands when the time is right. Their mother is most skilled in that area.

The party journeys along Pembleton street. Maratella stops by the haberdashers to seek after some ribbons. Mama is in the milliners seeking after a new pair of occasion gloves. Posy and Flora amble slowly along the street with their sister. Watching the carriages and coaches trundle by. Various riders on horseback too.

A loud nickering snort behind her makes her turn. She can hardly hide the smile that quickly grows across her face when she catches sight of a lone rider on a huge stocky black stallion. Both man and his mount are furiously muscled beasts.

His Lordly attire is its usual. All black. Save for his white shirt and red cravat. The great overcoat frames his wide shoulders and his bulky chest. His boots gleam in the meagre sun. His grin tips up when he catches sight of her.

He looks terribly smug and Iris’s heart feels like it’s trying to ram out the cage of her ribs. This handsome lordly man who stole it away, sets it pounding freely and rampant in her chest.

She tries not to arouse the suspicion of her sisters. They were much too curious and meddling for their own good. She wants to protect her secret and she thinks she’s a proficient enough liar to accomplish it.

They burst into fits of giggles on seeing him. He rides Erland closer to where they are stood and dismounts. His strong boots thud into the frosty mud. His wool coat laps and swathes his body. He tethered himself to Erland. Massive gloved hand gripping the reins. The creature didn’t seem to have any care for wandering off. He just wished to see Iris - Kylo empathises with the horse. He rather feels the exact same.

Iris, Posy and Flora all curtsey to him. He bids them all a greeting. She bows her neck and when she looks up. His eyes fondly fix on her. Warm in the sun. The contrast of him is astonishing. Milky creamy complexion, bordered by the onyx shadow of his hair and eyes. Utter opposites in the juxtaposition.

“Miss Ashton. A pleasure to see you again. I trust you are still well recovered. You look very radiant this morning.” He comments. Walking Erland just that tiny step closer.

The obstinate animal his stallion is, reaches his nose out and snorts into her hand. Nudges her glove for pats and scritches of affection behind his ears. She doesn’t care that she’ll get horse hair on her. She strokes him.

“You are most kind. Your lordship. I am very well.” She smiles slightly. The pretty kiss of rose on her cheeks.

“I need not tell you Erland is pleased to make your acquaintance once more.” He remarks starkly. Hint of irony not lost on her. Erland almost nudges her to fall over with his big strong head. She laughs.

“Your ears must’ve been burning. Lord Ren. For we were just discussing you...” Posy flirts. Batting her lashes at the man.

Hands crossed in front of her. Like she was a genteel little doe. Iris glares narrowed silver dagger eyes at her sister to stop displaying herself so readily. As ever, the little vexation pays no attention. Not when there was a hot blooded male around.

Kylo tilts his head. Intrigued. “Is that so, Miss Posy?” He asks.

“We we’re discussing how heart sore all the young ladies hereabouts will be when you quit Hampshire...” Flora tells him.

Kylo takes her confession in his stride. “It’s true. And I am sorry more than I can exclaim to be leaving such carnage and desolation in my wake. But sadly I do return to Bavaria shortly.”

That handsome expression barely betrays a thing. The cold wind flounces and ruffles that wild hair. A tuft of it drifts in his face and tangled in his dark eyeline.

Iris decides in that moment he truly might be an angel sculpted by gods own hand; or a demon designed by the devil himself. She isn’t sure which of those creatures is all the more tempting.

One thing she’s certain of; He’d win that draw of most handsome, every time.

She quivers when those eyes gaze at her. Peels her right out her clothes and down to her goose pimpled skin. Then Posy has to go and open her foolhardy mouth some more...

“We were just helping Iris shop for her bridal gown.” She preens. “And our bridesmaids dresses.” She comments. Speaking as if she wants Kylo to snatch her up and steal her away to Bavaria. Stuff her in his pocket and run off with her.

“I had heard rumour of your engagement...” He lies. Iris is biting the inside of her lip and smiling genially to hide how wide her excitement wishes to make her smile grow.

“Show Lord Ren your engagement ring, Iris!” Flora bounces excitedly. Iris glares. Reminding her of the inappropriate nature of her words.

“Flora. Lord Ren is not interested in such matters. And I’m afraid we’ve already impressed upon too much of his time...” She insists.

Kylo holds out his hand to her. Steps closer so she has to crane her head back just to keep sight of his eyes. “I am certainly interested. And I might add, most eager to see the bauble that decorates such a fine, pretty hand.” He teases.

She decides he was designed by the devil. And lucifer gave him a silver tongue to boot-

Iris slips off her grey glove and gently lays her palm in his.

The way his fingers curl around hers is criminal. She tips her eyes up to his as he shifts closer and admires her ring. A soft smile tugs at his mouth. The gold winks at him in the sun. It’s a pretty delicate morsel. He can’t deny. But plain. Much too plain. Entirely humble as decoration went.

-it’s certainly nothing to the one he’d had Jomar go all the way to London to fetch for her from Bentley & Skinner on Bond Street.

“It is a fine ring. Miss Ashton. Sergeant Hux is the most fortunate man in England to have you as his intended bride. I’m quite envious of his fortuity.” He says. Bowing to lay a kiss on the back of her palm.

His eyes electrify her. He winks at her and she flushes with heat. Blood pressing up in her face.

“I’m sorry to hear of your leaving England. Lord Ren. Such a shame Hellford Park should be quitted before the summer.” She tells him.

Her palm leaving his. Sliding away from the touch of his hand would have made her wretched were it not for the heat in his bronzed eyes. Made a warmer melting shade by the shimmer of the buttery sun. And their shared secret lifts her heart.

“It is a great shame. But I’m eager to return to Ranlor. I’ve missed my homeland a great deal.”

“The rumour in circulation is that you have a certain lady in mind to return home too.” Posy dares most outlandishly. Iris chides her for her brash rudeness.

“Posy!” Iris calls out.

Kylo seems amused by it. “That would he telling. Miss Posy. Not to mention betraying the confidence of the most honourable lady in question.” He smirks at her sister.

Who giggles and blushes like it’s no ones business. His vampiric charms seeping out of his every pore, truly intoxicating to them, Iris can see it’s influence.

“Is she a great beauty? I imagine she is most elegant indeed and very superior and titled in rank and manner. And of great fortune...” Posy digs for more details. Kylo will reveal none.

“Pray. Don’t be impertinent twice-over.” Iris corrects. Posy pulls a vexed face. Shoves her tongue out at her sister.

Kylo’s chuckling. They were entertaining little chits. Relentless. But he admires something about that sparky quality. Iris had the same sense about her - only more sensible and humble.

“She is the singularly, most beautiful creature I’ve ever beheld in all my years.” He promises. “And I cannot wait to have her hand in marriage. She will make me a very blessed and lucky man.” He declares.

“How romantic.” Posy declares in a sigh. Flora dreamily agrees. They’re both veritably Moony eyed. Gazing up at him in wonder as a consequence. A silly girls kryptonite. A handsome and dark romantic man. A Byronic figure to set all the foolish girls swooning at the knees.

Kylo’s eyes sweep across to Iris at a passing glance. He smiles. And it almost undoes her.

“We must be on our way. We’ve availed ourselves of too much of your time. Lord Ren.” Iris says in parting. Trying to herd her vapid sisters away before they flirt anymore.

“We must go. For we are bid to the Hux’s tonight for a celebratory engagement supper.” Posy curtsies boasting as she’s bobbing away.

“Give the Sergeant and his family my warmest regards.” Kylo insists. Knowing what a barb that would be to Hux’s temper.

Iris turns and meets his eyes. Giving him a polite bowed head in parting. When Posy and Flora are otherwise looking elsewhere. She turns back and gives him such a look of longing and delight it makes him grin at her as she walks off down the cobbled pavement.

“Very good to see you again. Your Lordship. Have a pleasant rest of your day.” She insists.

Cajoling her sisters along the path and away before they get any notions. Erland snorts at her as she moved away. She smiles and gladly rubs the flat bone of his nose before she goes. Lord Ren stays standing until she does move away.

Kylo pats his neck, and hauls himself up on his strong stallions back once again. Booted feet in the stirrups. He adjusts on the saddle. Scanning the tumbled windows of the high street proprietors.

In the milliners, he sees a face like sour lemons and thunder glaring out at him. Mrs Ashton’s stony face peering outwards through the glass. Having seen his exchange with all her daughters.

He coaxes Erland into a slow walk. A little nudge in his side. He gives the foul Caroline Ashton his most winning enigmatic smile. And nods civilly in greeting at her as he rides off.

He sees it makes her lips purse in irritation.

Iris can’t resist glancing back at him. She knows those eyes watch her all the way down the street. She can feel them. Two pinpricks of heat, like candles, burning into her shoulder-blades.

It makes her too giddy for words.

They soon catch up with the rest of their party and are whisked away in the Hux carriage. Soaring across the dirty English roads. Mud churning in their wake as cold air and sunshine bounces off the roof.

Mama asks them what Lord Ren. Iris told them he was just politely passing the time of day. She seems satisfied with the answer. Iris fights not to squirm into shivers of desire at the merest intimation and memory of him.

Posy and Flora sing-song his romantic praises all the way home. Mother soon shuts them up with a cross cold stare.

The afternoon seems to fly her by. No sooner than she’s home and she’s readying herself for the dinner they’ll take at the Hux’s residence. Cavenham House.

The not so modest estate in the border of the next county. A gorgeous house if she’s being perfectly honest. Terracotta red bricked exterior, of modern Georgian design. Huge arched white windows. Rococo interior. All gilded with cherubs frolicking on the murky painted ceilings and baroque trim on every door. Rolling scrolls. Frescoes and pastel colours. Gilding, moulding and trompe l’oeils giving the illusion of motion and drama. Raining down from every ceiling.

A handsomely kept garden was also what it was resolutely famous for. Though it would not be pictured to its best quality in this dead winter. Spring will liven it soon. The hardy bright bulbs will crop up through the frost. But for now it remains speckled in snow with only the evergreens surviving.

Iris can see it all as they pull up the long stretch of the torch lit drive. In the coach Maratella was kind enough to send to collect them all.

Once again she was wedged beside Posy and Flora, and their shrill gossiping. Mother and Father opposite. Noiseless and as disagreeing as ever. Silence blazed between them as somber as a churchyard. They were about as animated with each other as two gravestones.

Iris dressed in her navy silk gown with 3/4 sleeves and a sheer white chemisette swirled with stitched white flowers, decorating her shoulders and neck. Meg cleverly weaves that teal ribbon into her hair coiffure again. She finishes the look with pearl droplet earrings and white satin gloves up to her elbows.

They are welcomed inside by stony faced servants in the blue Cavenham livery. Taken into the drawing room to meet their hosts. Maratella had invited some local flavour along also. Everyone’s merry and mingling. Posy offers to play a Handel piece on the Pianoforte before dinner is announced. She does so rather well. Thunks the opening notes in shocking volume but she picks up from that point onwards.

Iris is admiring the scenery from the drawing room window. Even in the dark she can see how lovely the gardens are. It doesn’t dissolve the fact that this house would still be a prison to her. There weren’t bars on the window and she won’t exactly be stitching mailbags - but it will still be her cage.

A handsome cage, she won’t deny. But a cage nonetheless as she mothers the children and lives for planning fine parties to boast of her and her husbands excellence. And slowly becomes a woman of high rank and no substance.

Hux moves to stand by her side, hands folded behind his back. A tall lean column of red, black and white in his ceremonial dress. Medals shining. Hair groomed. Perfectly respectable. Infuriatingly loveless, as always.

“You shall like the gardens in summer. I should think.” He remarks.

“They are most handsome.” She comments. “A fine prospect indeed.” She agrees.

They perfectly form the vision of lovers conversing by candlelight. She can hear Mama and Mrs. Hux cooing proudly behind them. It’s infuriating. Iris can’t spend the rest of her life in a manner such as this; being prodded and manoeuvred and gossiped over like a chess piece on a board.

“I care little for being out of doors. Save for riding with my regiment.” He impresses.

Iris nods. “I am perhaps overfond of walking. I take an excursion each day if I can.” She tells him.

He sniffs. And coldly watches the view before them. “Well. You shall have to make allowances and sacrifices when we are wed. I can’t have you scampering around the countryside when you are with my heir.” He insists.

Iris’s mouth turns dry. She makes little response to his words. He turns away to speak to someone else but she catches his arm to stop him.

“Please I just want to say-“ she starts.

She looks up into his face. The bright copper of his hair and the steel of his eyes. The surety of his rigid auburn brow. She doesn’t dislike him. He’s not an unpleasant man. Just, misguided.

She says what she’s thinking now before she loses the chance. No doubt he’ll think very badly of her when all is done.

“I think well of you. You know. You are a gallant man. Not lacking in honour or credibility. I admire that about you. Hux.” She says. Even if I can’t marry you for it.

He nods. Accepting her words. Then their granite faced butler coughs dryly and announces dinner to the room.

Maratella lets the engaged couple be seated next to each other at dinner. Wanting to encourage the tepid affection brewing between them. Iris doesn’t know what the woman expects from them. They weren’t matched for love but it’s as if that’s what she’s hoping to see blossom.

Maratella is hoping for romance to pass betwixt them.

It could and never will be that. Iris thinks.

Iris remarks inwardly to herself as she sips down her soup a la reine. Served alongside several large golden Bouchée à la reine’s.

The next course is of stewed beef and venison steaks, and a whole champagne poached salmon with slithers of white and black truffles decorating the cooked fish acting as scales.

More seafood came served in the form of fried then boiled sole, heaped in a terrine and a whole platter of pickled crab. A haricott of vegetables and mashed turnips. There was enough food spread on this very grand table, to keep them dining for a fortnight. Mrs Hux organised a feast intended to show off.

She gets everyone to toast to the newlyweds. The gentleman stand to raise their glasses and the ladies stay seated.

The pudding banquet is brought out and quite rightly enough, as she suspected, the whole table is flouncing in ruched fancy french sugar concoctions.

Silken French pies. Syllabubs of lemon and rose and brandy. Ice’s of all flavours. Custard tarts smothered with fat ripe fruit drowning steeped in syrup. Sugar plums and cinnamon and mace laced apple tartlets with baked custard. Iris indulged in some of the tarts and the fruits.

Posy and Flora fall upon creams and dainty fancies like hungry wolves. And eat until they are stuffed.

The ladies retire to the parlour for music and snifters of sweet ruby port wine. Iris indulges in a glass as her sisters and various other young accomplished ladies take to the pianoforte to sing and show off. Posy drags a reluctant Iris up to sing whilst she plays. She grumbles but bends to her sisters will.

She gives a shortly sweet chorus of ‘Let no man steal your thyme’ for it was the only song she could sing comfortably well.

She never much liked performing for amusement. Some girls were a glutton for it. Iris is no such a one. She stands with one hand on the pianoforte and the other folded behind her hip. She sings her choruses and smiles meekly at the small scattering of applause offered for her when she is done.

She heads back to her spot on the settee. Maratella is remarking to her mother how divine it will be to have a songbird in the house once again. Iris sits back in her seat and spends the rest of her evening in silence. Though she wants to say a great deal.

The evening slips past well enough. Night spills past her relatively quick. Another day gone. Another day closer to her happiness. She’s almost too giddy to contain it.

Then the time comes to bid goodnight to their hosts;

Iris watches as Hux fondly kisses her hand. Seeing her off out the rich gilded foyer out into the black black night. Sky so dark it’s a whole void studded with freckling stars. Cold shudders at the shivering trees.

She wants to say something impactful and veiled. To speak of her regard for him. She cannot think how best to do so. She swallows down her thick tongue. Remains a coward.

She can only hope in time, after the wake of her scandal settles. That Hux will find someone better suited than her. Maybe even find someone that he can love? She prays deeply for that little happy happenstance.

She is not so unfeeling as to wish a joyless life on the man who just wasn’t correct for her.

Her teeth grits with all the things unsaid. “I hope you’ll be happy.” She smiles lightly. He thinks her to be referring to the engagement that stands between them.

“I’m sure.” He comments. “Goodnight.” Is his curt response.

It doesn’t incense her. Tonight it vexed her. Caused a tiny crease between her brows. It seemed such fickle words to part on. But she leaves them be-

Let’s those words spirit up into the quiet undisturb of the night. The heavens can have those words. Iris wishes it could have been more. But how appropriate is it that even his parting words are found wanting.

She gets into the coach after curtseying a polite goodbye to Brendol and Maratella. She says something sweet to Iris about her singing. Iris cringes a smile. She won’t be thinking such good things about her shortly. She imagines she’ll curse her name for all of hell and heaven to hear. She’ll wake the sleeping dead cursing the day Iris was born.

Iris thanks her. For her hospitality. For her kindness. Under all her airs and graves, she’s a fairly nice woman and she should find a more amicable daughter-in-law to crow over.

She slots herself into the coach beside her sisters. Listens to the door slam shut. The rattle and crunch of it shifts on the gravel. Rumbled away up the long elegant curve of the drive.

Iris twists to look back. She isn’t sure why she wanted too. But they weren’t a dismal family. And she’s sorry for the pain and offence she’ll cause to them all.

She watches Hux’s stiffly-posed, regimented figure. Shadowed against the night. The scarlet of his blood coat. The ice white of his breeches stained blue, glowing in the night. The stars glimmer off his shining boots and off the pierce of his pale eyes. She wishes him well. She truly does.

They trundle on home. Full of food and as usual with Posy and Flora spouting gossip on and on endlessly. Mother chiming in. Father and Iris retain their silence. Eyes cross firing in a glance when they all agree on something cruel and senseless.

Westwell’s windows emerge gold out the dark. Surrounded by the bustling trees. All of the landscape is merely dark moulded shapes. Looming and shifting in the shadows. The moon casts washy film of silver to try and spill over the cover of smeared clouds.

They are just to the drive when a small dark shape flits overhead. Iris looks upwards, and sees the definable shape of a bird landing on her windowsill. She smiles giddily.

She exits the coach quick. Bidding them goodnight and rushing off up to her room. Her skirts picked up in her hands. Mama remarks how odd it is. Posy shrugs and supposes she’s got a secret missive to read from Hux.

Iris absolutely flies for her door. Twists the handle and launches herself in the room. Shutting the door firmly after herself. Pressing it with both hands flat to the wood.

The warmth of the fire hits her. She doesn’t even pay mind to the tiny crack of her open window. Or her swaying curtains that shift on the breeze.

She can only focus on the huge frame of a dashing vampire stood fireside. One elbow resting on the mantel as he gazes into the flames.

His big frame swallows up the whole room and strangled out all the air. The ochre of the blazing flames captured his skin. Turned that milky-cream of his complexion into pale fire.

She smiles and he does too. “Thank goodness it’s you. I was worried I’d scare seven shades out of your maid.” He drawls softly so his voice doesn’t carry. Smirk curling at the corners.

She crosses the distance. Her feet eat up the floorboards quick. She avails herself of an embrace. Throws herself into his arms.

The cloak of his fire warmed clothing envelopes her as his arms do. He smells like the damp snap of frosty woodland and the acid tang of woodsmoke. The night air of wild outdoors clings to every inch and fibre of his clothes. Swirls about him like a clouding tempest.

He chuckles as she gets herself in his hold. The deep bass of his voice rumbled through her skin and sinking to her bones. Her cheek mashed to his sternum. His arms close around her. Stroking her body through the rasping silk of her dress.

One big warmed hand clasps the back of her neck as the other holds the back of her waist. His nose nudges into the crush of her muddy hair. Her scent teases him just as much as his had, to her. Lavender and sage. The plain spice and calm floral scent.

“I could feel the happiness pouring off you as you alighted the stairs.” He smiles. She steps back and gazed up at him.

“How pretty you look tonight. Dove. You’re exquisite in silk.” He remarks when she steps away. Hand toying with the loose tawny curl at her ear. The sapphire dark of her dress suits her very well. Throws her complexion into brilliance. Does something to make the tones of her hair look rich.

She always looks ravishing to him.

She blushes. “I missed you all day. Isn’t that mad?” She asks.

“If missing is madness, then I’m out of my sane mind whenever you’re not in my sight.” He promises gently.

Big hands cupping her hot silken neck as he leans down to plant a firm, slanting kiss to her lips. His mouth is cold and he tastes of frosty air and wine.

Kissing him is like kissing someone who just stepped inside, taking shelter from a bitter cold wind.

She’s beginning to wonder if there is some clever addiction woven into his lips. One kiss never seems to be enough. She holds his wrists as he grabs her. Makes her feel small in his arms. She’s lost in his hold. It’s powerfully thrilling.

He breaks the kiss and his thumbs stroke at her cheeks. Her eyes glitter keenly at him. He spies the ring on her finger. The one that doesn’t belong there. It makes him smile.

“I’d like to surmise you snuck in here just to steal a kiss. But I suspect a different motive altogether?” She asks.

He broke into a grin that creases his eyes and bares his teeth in a smile. She was no thoughtless woman; his darling Iris.

She’s always thinking. Always fretting. Always mulling over things in her head.

That was one of the first things that that came to his notice about her. She tended to be introspective about all manner of things in comparison to her acetous mother who spewed vile words. And her daft sisters who spouted out their every dangerously silly thought.

He kisses her for that clever remark- slow and paced and soft. Languid like melting warm honey. Lips curling to hers.

“I do have some news. But kissing you will always my first priority.” He husks against her rosy lips. Her warm cheeks blaze from under his icy fingers.

“The date is set. We must leave tomorrow eve.” He tells her with a smirk.

Her stomach completely soars in giddiness. She doesn’t have to hide her grin here.

“It feels as if I’ve been waiting at eternity to hear those blessed words.” She cries in happiness.

“Slip away to me after everyone’s gone to bed.” He instructs. She agrees.

“Mother has been pleased with my conduct of late. She’ll have let her guard down over tonight. I’ll leave once everyone is abed. Even the maids.” She tells him.

Stroking her fingers down the finery of his waistcoat where they’re still stood close to each other. The material was so soft. The softest grain of velvet she’s ever felt.

“You don’t have to bring too much. I can buy you everything you may ever need.” He leers. Cupping her cheek. Feeling the smooth of her skin. Right up her jaw.

His eyes carve flinty paths down her neck as he strokes his fingers there. Her pulse quickens. He can feel and hear her blood slushing hot through her veins.

She shrugs. “I cherish very few possessions. Posy and Flora can have the rest.” She insists. Her hand coming up to stroke over his thick crook of elbow with the hand that’s touching her neck.

He drags the edge of the chemisette down and strokes along the flat of her collarbone. His eyes turn into a palette of bittersweet autumn. Orange and gold swirled with flecks of russet brown.

“Is it difficult?” She asks suddenly.

“Restraining from the need to...” Her face fixed on his. Words trailing away. Air bursting with heat and lust. His eyes snap from her neck to her face. Her cheeks bloom rose petal red. Blood red and hot.

“To feed?” He asks her. She swallows and nods.

His other hand catches the back of her hips reels her right in close. She gasps. Air around them thick and full of snapping sparking static. Her hands press to his cavernous chest.

“I have got several hundred years of restraint up my sleeve.” He crooks a smirk.

His eyes flicker to watch her jugular pulse. The thrum of her little timpani heart makes his mouth wet. He knows she’d taste like salt and sickly Turkish roses and warm bronze coins.

He presses the chemisette aside again and nudges his nose against her pulse point. Right at the epicentre of his life’s greatest desire. He hums a kiss against her neck and she almost faints-

“You shake all those very hard learnt lessons right down to their very foundations.” He promises.

“Iris my love, you are the hardest thing, I’ve ever had to resist.” He tells.

Swooping upwards to kiss at her cheek. Sighing in need against her hot warm skin. If he indulges the temptation of tasting her blood. He doesn’t even want to fathom what the raw animal in him will do to her. Such debauchery he’d surely scandalise her innocence to tipping point.

He will have her on their wedding night and not a second before.

Though the rogue in him does think how goddamn glorious it would be to have her on that bed of hers right now, torn out of that gown. Screeching his name for the whole house to hear. And they can listen to her rapture and whimper, and beg and writhe under the man who really does love her.

Bite her neck as he pumps deep into her slick heat. Gather up every groan as she opens those sweet pink thighs for him and claws at his back. He’d kiss her neck until she yanks her fingers into his hair and tugs. Opens that sweet songbird mouth and calls for him in her bliss, with that ambrosial voice.

He holds the backs of her hips and strokes the silk there with arcing curves of his thumbs. Drawing shapes on that stiff silk.

“I must tell you-“ She starts. “I never was much good at resisting you either. Even after knowing what you are. It shocked me I won’t deny. But it somehow in its twisted way, it made all the sense in the world. It didn’t alter me for my knowledge of it. It didn’t even begin to change the severity my feelings for you.” She tells him. Reaching up and stroking along the handsome plain jaw.

Wholly, un-confinably, remarkably handsome.

“My love-“ He begins warmly. “If I had to, I would throw you over my shoulder to carry you up the aisle to marry me. Even if I had to tear you from your bed and steal you away in the dark of night to be mine. I would have done it. Because this, what we share, it cannot and will never be undone. Can never be ignored.” He promises her.

“Vampires love more deeply than any mortal longing. What I feel for you, it is not fickle. It will never fade. Never wane. We love each other and that will last for as long as we exist on this earth. I thought I had better edify you with these clear facts about my nature, before we are to be bound in matrimony.” He pledges to her. Declaring his undying devotion to her.

Iris rather wants to swoon into his chest - if she had ever been inclined to be a swooning sort of woman. Instead she just beams. A smile so glad it touches the frosty barren place his dead heart inhabited.

“These last few hours will be such a torture.” She comments seriously. But giddy. So giddy it felt like her sides would split open. And molten happy gold would pour out.

His eyes turn promiscuous. As does his domineering smile.

“I can safely offer you nothing but pleasure once the torture is done.” He filthily promises.

She blushes. He wants to lift her up and devour her in a kiss again. Taste those saccharine sweet lips in an animalistic kiss. He savours holding her instead.

Tomorrow he can let the animal roam free over his delicate dove. Tonight is the last night it must be caged.

“Not long to wait now. The last of my household servants left today. I sent Jomar and Jones off to London to make passage to France. Erland and Kana remain to take us to Scotland with one driver, and the coach.” He tells.

She liked that he’s bringing Erland to their elopement. It’s quite fitting when the creature loves her almost as much as he does.

“Then it’s just us. Riding into the wild of the Highland. Roaming over the Scottish moors, and glens and lochs, as a Lord and his Lady.” He paints a vivid picture for her.

She sighs a smile. “Us, has never sounded so splendid.” And she beams brighter than the sun.

He clutches her close for another kiss before he slips away.

The appointed hour loometh. And Iris won’t sleep a wink for thinking of his sharp smile or those savage eyes.

She eventually dreams. And thinks of kissing his soft plush lips once more. Like kissing pink rose petals.

The next time she will, they’ll be well on their way to being man and wife.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

#kylo ren #kylo ren x oc #vampire au #vampire!kylo #vampirelovestory #very wolves and doves #adam driver #Iris vibes 🕊#Draegan vibes 🥀#Lord Ren vibes 🐺#vampire #demon #ao3 fanfic #more swooning #secret lovers

21 notes · View notes

storysims · 5 years

Photo

DISCOVER UNIVERSITY - CAS REVIEW 📚📝

Did anyone else see videos from Sims Camp exclaiming that this was literally the best create-a-sim EVER? I definitely saw a few float across my YouTube homepage, and was kind of like... Sure Jan. We’ll see about that.

They weren’t entirely wrong... It’s pretty damn good y’all. There’s still some definite flaws, but major props to the sims team for a seriously awesome bunch of new content. 👏

I was provided with an early access copy of Discover University to review via the EA Game Changers program!

I actually had to stop myself while writing this and close photoshop, because I took ENTIRELY too many pictures. (Over 100, if you must know). Without my self control, we’d be here all day while I showed off my favorites from every angle and yelled in all caps about textures.

So, obviously, I’m not going to show everything. It’s better this way, I swear. 😂

I know a lot of people were really excited about the hair in this pack. And I like it! It wasn’t life changing for me, by any means. But there’s some awesome hairs in here that I’ll definitely get a lot of use out of.

Nothing was too stylized, so it’s all great for the everyday, average sim to wear.

I swear to god, EA hired a CC creator. Fess up, whoever you are. I know you’re out there. I’M ONTO YOU.

So many items, especially in female CAS, look like they were created by the community. And I mean that in the best way possible. It all looks... Cool. Which, sorry, is just not EA’s usual style, bless their hearts.

I’m always looking to cut down on how much CC I need in my game, and this pack alone took easily half of my content out.

This is university, so obviously we’re going to get some branded swag. I’m a giant sucker for stuff like this, so it’s right up my alley. GO FOXBURY! 🦞

The best part though is that all of these have plain swatches. Don’t want to rep your school? No problem! There’s solids for the poor losers who go to Britechester and are afraid to show it.

Guys, as usual, seem to get the short end of the stick. Sure, they can look cute in their little cardigan and blazer, but as @wildlyminiaturesandwich said - “how is my poor male sim supposed to rep his uni while he's out for a morning jog?“

Apparently, he’s just not.

It’s worth noting that there are some clothes that have a color scheme clearly inspired by the two universities, but inspiration doesn’t make for a perfect match.

Someone at EA heard we needed jeans, and my god did they deliver.

They managed to give us 4 new pairs of jeans for the ladies (and another 2 for men, but they actually fit the female frame!), that are all different. Even down to the pockets, texture, and detailing - they’re all unique.

We’ve gotten a lot of jeans that have the same mesh with a new texture on top, and these are definitely not that. It honestly might be my favorite part of CAS. Finally, some variety in the denim department!

Sorry, but I hate the new piercings. I hate them so much. Outside of looking at them when I first loaded into CAS, I’ve refused to touch them. The thought of putting them on a sim to take pretty review pictures was... Not great. Hence the ugly CAS screen of poor Lilith above.

Not only was there a serious missed opportunity to give us a wider variety of maybe more popular piercings (ex: septum, nose ring, etc), the nose studs are glitchy as hell.

Unless your sim has a perfectly formed little CAS preset nose, they’re going to have a lovely metal SPIKE sticking out of their piercing. I feel like this gets said every pack, but who was responsible for QA testing these? They failed.

And to all of my fellow piercing wearers out there, I pose the question - do you take your nose ring out when you sleep? Work out? Go outside in hot or cold weather? That’s right - the wearability tags on these are freaking bonkers.

You can, of course, adjust the filters so all the piercings show up all the time. But good grief, it’s just annoying and unnecessary.

Total CAS items in Discover University:

four male hairs, seven female, and two unisex

five hats and eight piercings

two school themed facepaint options

fourteen tattoos - at the wrist, arms, ankles, and back of neck

eighteen female tops, seventeen for males

ten female bottoms, three male, seven unisex

eleven full body outfits for females, one for males, two unisex

I feel like it goes without saying, but there’s no new content for toddlers or children in this pack.

I’m personally okay with that - like it or not, this pack isn’t about them. But I’d sure as hell love an education revamp for the little ones, EA. Please and thank you.

While I’d never recommend buying a pack, especially an EP, purely for the CAS items... This is the closest I’d ever come to saying it.

tldr; this pack’s CAS is a major win from me. 👏

#the sims 4 #ts4 #ts4 discover university #eagamechangers #review

350 notes · View notes

ganda4ever · 4 years

Text

The Story He Wanted

She is now living on her own and she doesn’t need a man to get what she wants. As helpful as her dad, brothers, and friends would be; Analía Reneé Delgado de La Cruz was determined to build her door sign herself. After being recently hired as parental educator and case manager for teenage parents, Anie wanted to create a way for her families to know if it was okay to drop in and visit her; while they were in the building for other courses with a cute door sign she made herself. “You are strong. You are powerful. You are capable of making the impossible; your possibilities,” Anie repeats to herself as she sits in her Toyota Corolla in the late August heat of Los Angeles. These 3 simple, but most meaningful, sentences are what her grand-dad and abuelo have for her for the last 21 years of her life.

As soon as she walks into Home Depot, Anie could feel her anxiety wash over her by all of the overwhelming sounds and insights in front of her. For years, her behavior therapist have always encouraged her to go out into the world and overcome her sensory issues; but today should not have been the day she thought she could handle it. Anie swallows forcefully and marches over to the wood section to ask an employee what types of materials she should buy.

“It’s okay. Thanks for trying to help. Have a good day” Anie sights to herself as she repeats the same generic sentences to the 9th employee that said, “uhh...sorry I don’t really know. You could try asking so and so” as they point lazily toward another general white guy with an orange apron on. She puts her hand on her temples to soothe the anxiety and headache coming on. “You are strong. You are powerful. You are capable of making the impossible; your possibilities'' Anie repeats once again to herself. She looks around to see if she can find another employee, but this guy with short, slightly frizzy hair starts walking up to her.

Anie tries to walk away as fast as possible but the young hottie catches her and says, “Hey, do you need help?” as his brown eyes catch the dim lighting in aisle 9 of this Home Depot.

“Yea, I could use some help. Do you work here?” Anie says with the breath she didn’t realize she was holding in.

“Haha!!” he booms out of his mouth a little louder than the average person. “No, I don’t; but they really should look into hiring me. May quit my day job for it” he says a little quieter and flashes you a full grin showcasing his pearly white teeth.

Anie smiles at this kind and good looking stranger and says, “You know what they say, ‘don’t quit your day job,’” she says trying to be funny, and failing miserably at. “Well if you aren’t busy, I really could use some help. I have no clue what I’m doing,” she says, feeling as desperate as they came. “I’m Analía by the way” as she extends her hand to shake his.

“Grayson, but you can call me Gray,” he says as he meets her hand.

She shows him the picture and explains her vision, so they are able to work together. For 3 hours, they go up and down every aisle in the store picking out woods and screws. Every once in a while Anie catches herself staring at Grayson, no Gray, a little longer than she probably should. When she isn’t staring at him or trying to pick the right screw and hinge color, Anie is answering one of the many questions Gray has asked her. She tells him about her new job, starting graduate school in a week, and little details about herself. Normally, Anie would never respond in that fashion; especially after what happened with her ex. Anie always told herself, “no one cares. just smile, nod, and look pretty. that’s what you do.” But Gray has made her feel welcomed and safe. Every question he asks makes what she says the most important thing in the world. She tells herself , “he is just being nice. Maybe looking for a quick hook-up in the parking lot.”

By the time Anie is able to convince herself Gray may just be a nice guy, they find themselves in the paint aisle. “Okay, if you go with this brand in any color; it shouldn’t fade or chip for a long time. That way you won’t need to come to this scary place for some time” Grayson says as he points to the BEHR selection on the swatch display.

“Okay, perfect. Thank you so much for all of your help. Is there any way I could prepaid you? Seriously, I was ready to completely give up.”

Grayson shakes his head no and says, “Nothing, really. Just knowing you got everything you need and that’s right; is all the payment I need. Also if you need a power drill you can rent one at customer services. It’s pretty cheap and probably a better option for a one time project.”

“That’s great! Thanks again for all of your help.” Anie smiles at Gray, hoping it will show him she is interested in him; as he flashes a little grin to her. To not make it awkward Anie says, “well, I’m sure you came here for a reason and I think I could be here for hours; so thanks again. Have a nice day.”

“Oh, yea. Yea. Of course, no problem. Have a good day and good luck with work and school,” he says with a little wave and a wink. And with that Anie watched him walk away. She frowns with the disappointment that she couldn’t get the courage to ask this beautiful man out.

The Gods or her brain must have known Analie has been in this overwhelming situation for far too long and needs to get home; because she picked the 2 paint colors she needed in record time for someone that took 5 days just to pick a mattress. She grabs her paint for the employee after they mixed it and places it in the cart. As she is pushing her heavier load up to the front, she can’t tell where a line starts and where one ends. Analie puts herself into what she thought was an okay spot until she hears, “Sweetheart. You may be able to push pass all of the ugly girls in high school, but here you always go behind the men.”

Analie starts to turn around when she realizes the man was talking to her; but then she hears in a harsher , but still very deep and sexy tone, a voice that memorized her all day says, “Dude. Calm the fuck down. She’s with me. Babe! Analie, I am over here. Did you get the paint we needed?” As Anie finishes her turn around she feels a strong, but still gentle, hand pulling her over to the check-out line to her left.

“Oh. I am so sorry. Guess I didn’t see you sir. I’m so sorry again.” She turns to Gray and says, “Yea, I did. Only took 10 minutes after all.” She smiles at Gray as to say, “Thank you for saving me from the dick over there.”

“Yea. Well ‘dude’, just keep your bitch in line and she won’t have any problems.” Anie can visibly see how upset Grayson is getting the more and more this man tries to speak and how he thinks it’s funny to verbally disrespect a woman in public. Anie thinks about her dad and brothers and tries to get in between this guy and Grayson to prevent a fight from breaking out; except Grayson just smiles and tells the guy, “Why don’t you just get in front of us and I’ll pay for your materials? Since being in line any longer is such a big deal for you.”

The dick of a man, just stares at Grayson like he is seeing a ghost. When Grayson pushes you and your cart back to allow the man to get over, the man practically runs over. After the man is finished checking out and Grayson finishes paying. He starts to put your materials on the belt and mixes your things together.

“Oh, no. You have done plenty for me. Seriously, I need to pay for our things.” Anie says as she tries to get passed Grayson to the card reader, but he bets her to it by sticking his credit card into the chip reader. He smiles as to tell her, “It’s okay. Please let me do this.” After the cashier puts all of Anie’s things back into her cart and Grayson grabs his bags, they start to walk out to their cars. Anie tried to think of a moment to thank Grayson for all of his help, but the silence feels so much better. As they reach the point where Anie needs to go one way and Gray takes the other, they both start trying to speak. Secretly both of them were hoping the other would give a sign of wanting to continue their day together, but it never happened. When they both start speaking at the same time, neither one understands the other. Grayson motions to Anie that she can talk first. She blushes and says, “I forgot about renting the drill. I’ll just go back in after loading my car. But thank you so much again for literally saving me.” She smiles at him, hoping he will get what she is putting off.

“No problem whatsoever. But what if I can get your number, we can build it at my place. This way you know it will be done right and I have all of the tools needed.” Grayson is pulling out his phone so fast, Anie doesn’t can’t even remember where she put her phone.

“I mean I would love that, because you can tell I struggle in the whole building aspect of life. But seriously only if you have some time, it can wait a minute before I really need it,” Anie says the whole time she is typing in her number and checking to make sure she spelt and wrote everything completely right; because it would be her luck to give him the wrong number by accident.

Grayson looks at her and sees the way her blue eyes shimmer in the L.A. pink and purple sunset behind them. “Actually, I was just going to grab some dinner and then head home. My brother’s girlfriend is over, so I would be all alone for the rest of the night. Why don’t we load up your car, and you follow me over to my favorite restaurant and afterwards we build.” Anie had no idea what to say, she just nodded her head. Saying a prayer thanking God something finally worked out okay for her.

“Yeah. That sounds really fun and a good way to spend our time. I mean building my sign, cause you know that has been my priority today,” Anie wants to run and hide by her cringy comment, but Grayson just laughs and agrees with her. Together they load up Anie’s car with everything she just bought and drives over to Grayson’s car. Before Grayson pulls out, Anie knows tonight is only going to end one of two ways: the biggest regret and mistake of her 21 years of life or she may have just found her eternal soulmate. Considering her previous relationship, Anie is really hoping for the latter to happen tonight. She could use a good gentleman in her life; and the possibility of this god of a man as her husband, doesn’t sound too bad.

#grayson dolan #dolan twins #ganda4ever

7 notes · View notes

this-is-a-love-story-fleabag · 4 years

Text

The Wedding Planner (1/4)

An AU in which Fleabag is a wedding planner, and Klare and Claire have found the perfect Catholic church to get hitched in... 2510 words. Also on ao3.

"Do you want some of the communion wine?" he blurted out, wanting her to stick around for a little longer. "I can't throw it away because it's holy," he explained, "and I probably shouldn't finish the bottle by myself. It's a good vintage."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Is this the part where I say 'Sorry, Daddy, I've been a bad girl'?"

He coughed and nearly dropped the bottle. "'Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned' is more traditional," he managed, fishing out two glasses and pouring them both a liberal serving.

The priest was beginning to think that officiating a wedding for the first time was going to be more trouble than it was worth.

"I realise that there are certain things that are unavoidable in a Catholic wedding ceremony," the bride was saying in clipped tones, "but if you could just tone it down a bit on the... incense."

"Right," said the priest with an uneasy half smile.

"And maybe try to keep the prayers snappy and efficient. These are very busy people, you understand."

"OK." He shifted in his seat. "If you don't mind me asking, is there some reason you've chosen my church in particular?"

"It's the only Catholic church within five minutes' walk of the company's offices," answered Claire without hesitation, sweeping her immaculate dark hair behind one ear and frowning at her Blackberry.

"And it's beautiful!" beamed her effusive fiancé, who was inexplicably also named Klare. He seemed to have a positive opinion on everything he encountered, so the priest didn't judge the compliment as holding much weight.

"Oh," said Claire, clearly not having considered the attractiveness of the venue in her calculations. She smiled warmly at Klare, her brusque exterior melting away for a moment. "Yes, of course, it's..." she looked around the chapel as though she hadn't paid it any attention before. "It is beautiful," she said more softly, taking a private moment with Klare as she met his eye.

It was this, more than anything else, that convinced the priest to go ahead with the planning. To be able to celebrate love and to mark the key occasions in people's lives were the shining bright points in his quiet, peaceful career, and the love between these two was easy to see.

"I'm sure we can create a lovely ceremony together," he said with his most winning smile. "Are your family Catholic?"

She scoffed in a way that he was fairly sure she didn't mean to be offensive. "God, no."

"My family are old Catholic, very old," said Klare delightedly. "Many, too!"

"Yes, there are so very many of them," said Claire tightly, giving the priest a significant look that her blithe fiancé entirely failed to notice.

"The whole Korhonen family!" rhapsodised Klare. "So much blond hair that it will look like the sun!"

Suddenly, a matching his-and-hers cacophony of phone alerts began to chime. Claire and Klare both consulted their PDAs.

"It was so wonderful to meet you," said Klare earnestly, shaking the priest's hand in both of his as he rose to his feet. "I am so sorry that we have to leave!"

"Yes, right," said Claire briskly, pulling a small business card from her pocket. "I'm too busy and important to deal with this at the moment so you'll mostly be dealing with my sister," she said, handing it to him.

The card was emblazoned with the name "Hillary's Events", some contact information and, incongruously, an illustration of a guinea pig.

"She has my explicit instructions, so she should be able to handle it," continued Claire, pulling more cards from her purse, "but if anything goes wrong here's my work number, and here's my mobile, and this one's for my secretary."

"Oh, your sister's a wedding planner?"

"Yes, she is wonderful!" said Klare.

"She's good enough," said Claire with a tight smile. It was impossible to tell whether that was the highest praise that she was capable of giving or if her reticence betrayed genuine misgivings. "If she tells you anything about the hen do, it's not true."

"Well, congratulations on your engagement," said the priest politely, following them to the front door. "You must be excited to begin your marriage."

"It's a vestigial patriarchal tradition based on the handing down of women as property from father to husband," said Claire vaguely, looking at her phone again, "but it's what you do."

She flashed him another smile and they left. The priest managed to summon up a dazed smile in response to Klare's effusive waving, and then repaired back inside to find a stiff drink.

The CEO, customer service representative, creative director, office manager, head of human resources, tsar of morale, and sole employee of Hillary's Events was hiding under the desk in her office.

"M'lady!" hollered the lawyer through the keyhole. She burrowed further underneath the table, pushing a pair of shoes, a surprising amount of paperwork, and half a Mars bar out of her way.

A lunchtime quickie had seemed like an excellent idea at 3am when she'd sent him the original text, but the cold harsh light of day and one rapid but effective wank had dispelled the urge, and the prospect of trading half an hour of his loathsome company for some admittedly excellent sex no longer appealed.

A better adult, she reflected as she gave the Mars bar a sniff and began to eat it, would probably have simply cancelled their meeting and apologised, but if a successful businesswoman who ate a salad earlier couldn't do something grossly immature, who could?

Her desk phone began to ring and she groped blindly above her head to grab the receiver.

"Hillary's Events," she hissed into the phone. The lawyer continued his relentless pounding at the door.

"Uh, hi," said a voice on the other end, sounding confused. "I'm, uh, I'm calling about Claire's wedding? I'm the priest?"

Fantastic timing. "Great, thanks for calling," she whispered. "I'd like to send you over some bits about the ceremony to go over when you've got a moment."

There was a long pause. "I'm sorry, but why the fuck are you whispering and what the fuck is that noise?"

"Get back out here, you little minx!" shouted the lawyer at possibly the worst moment.

"If you're in the middle of something, I can call back some other time," said the priest, radiating discomfort over the phone.

"That's just a... colleague," she breezed, settling more comfortably in her hideout. "He usually tires himself out in a couple of minutes."

"Do you need me to call someone? The police, or..."

"No, Father, it's fine." She scrabbled around on her desk again and retrieved a pen. "What's your email address?" She uncapped the pen with her mouth and made assenting noises as she scribbled it down. Thankfully, the lawyer got bored at this point and left.

"AOL?" she teased gently, reading the address back to him. "I thought the Catholics were stuck in the 1690s, not the 1990s."

"Oh, fuck you," he laughed.

"I hope you're going to swear this much during the ceremony. It would certainly liven things up."

"I'll try to keep a lid on it. I get the impression your sister wants it to be... efficient."

"Yes, she was very specific. Brides don't usually give me binders that are colour-coded and have bullet points and subheadings."

The main instructions that Claire had left her with, other than the binder, were "don't fuck this up," and "the priest is quite hot, don't make it weird." She had to admit, he did have a nice voice.

"How long have you been in the wedding planning business?"

"A few years. I started it with my best friend, but she's... it's just me now." She paused for a minute and let the wave of grief hit her and then recede. "I need to come and check out the space sometime," she said, businesslike. "When's good for you?"

"I've some time this afternoon after Mass?"

"Great, I'll meet you there at four."

It was a few moments after she hung up the phone that it occurred to her that she could emerge from under her desk and sit in a real chair. Hillary and Stephanie had the run of her desk at the moment while she refreshed the sawdust in their cage, and they were enthusiastically nibbling on Mr. and Mrs. Dollner's silver wedding anniversary invitations.

"Let's put you back," she murmured to them, brushing some tiny rodent poops off a stack of place cards. "Mama's got to get to work."

The priest was just saying his farewells to the last few stragglers when Claire's sister walked through the door. She was easily recognisable, both due to family resemblance and the fact that, strangely, she looked exactly how she sounded on the phone.

"You must be the wedding planner," he said, greeting her with a handshake.

"You must be the priest."

"I guess this is a bit of a give-away," he said, gesturing to his robes.

"You're either a member of the clergy or you've got a very specific fetish," she breezed, walking past him to survey the church. He gaped at her for a moment and then shook his head and let out a laugh. She looked back at him over her shoulder, a pleased twinkle in her eye.

She strode along the aisle, gesturing around with an assessing air. "It's a pretty straightforward set-up. Flowers at the ends of the pews, videographer here, photographers here and here, string quartet up here. One bridesmaid, one groomsman."

"You've got this down to a science, wow."

"I've learned through trial and error that you can half-ass up to 80% of a wedding before anyone notices."

"That's... good to know."

"Do you have any of these," - she gestured up and down at his robes - "in some other colours? The scheme has a lot of purple in it."

"I have just the thing," he said, ushering her through into his office. He pulled his favourite purple robes out of the wardrobe and held them up for inspection. Drawing a card of swatches from her handbag, she squinted at them and then gave an assenting nod.

"Right, I think that's all I-"

She cocked an eyebrow. "Is this the part where I say 'Sorry, Daddy, I've been a bad girl'?"

He coughed and nearly dropped the bottle. "'Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned' is more traditional," he managed, fishing out two glasses and pouring them both a liberal serving.

"I defy you to tell me the difference."

Sitting down on an ancient chair and gesturing for her to do the same, he chuckled. "Well, fuck, you've got me there. You only have to say that if you want to confess your sins to me, anyway. Which you're welcome to do, if it helps."

"Can't," she said wryly, taking a sip and relaxing onto a chair. "I've sworn a blood oath to never reveal what happened on Claire's hen do."

"Lots of sinning?"

"Tons." She swirled the wine in her glass and held it up to the light. "The blood of our lord and saviour is pretty tasty."

"I take it you're not religious."

"Afraid not. I won't burst into flames, will I?"

"I don't think He would mind," said the priest, making a vague gesture at the ceiling. "You're doing God's work, after all."

"Wedding planning?"

"He's quite into marriage, on the whole."

She snorted. "Makes one of us."

He leaned back in his chair and stifled a laugh, enjoying the enigma of this contradictory woman. "You made a fucking strange choice in profession, then."

"I find that the fact that I don't believe at all in the institution of marriage really helps calm people down."

"You know, the Bible says that-"

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Yes, the Bible is very clear that marriage is a sacred and beautiful union between a man and one or many women."

"So cynical!" he crowed, throwing his head back in laughter. "I was going to say that it says that a cord of three strands is not easily broken."

"Are you inviting me to a threesome, Father?" she smirked, her lips stained a tempting red from the wine. "Because I'm not saying no."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I'm saying that the way you help to join people together makes them stronger."

"On average, marriage knocks 1.4 years from a woman's lifespan, and adds 1.7 years to a man's."

"So that's a net gain of," he waved a hand vaguely, "0.3 years!"

"That's one way to look at it."

"Don't you see anything wonderful in what you do? You're helping people to celebrate their love!"

"In the most meaningful and legally binding way. Tell me, why do people choose to make the most significant expression of their love predicated on a legal construct that the government can take away from them at the drop of a hat?"

"The protections that marriage can afford are-"

"If I fell in love with a woman and wanted to marry her, there are only 28 countries in which that marriage would be legally recognised. If I'd fallen in love with someone of a different race, that marriage would have been illegal in some countries until the late 20th Century."

"You've put a lot of thought into this, haven't you?"

She put a foot up on the wooden chest in front of her, really getting into her stride. "That's not even taking into account the children who are forcibly married off to men twice their age, the women killed for not being virgins on their wedding night, and the fact that spousal rape was technically legal in this country until 1991." She took a gulp of her drink. "This isn't some abstract philosophical problem from the past, this is something that's happening to real people right now."

"So why-"

"I guess... I grew up thinking that marriage was some bizarre thing from the olden days that we didn't have to do any more, but then when I was an adult all my friends started getting married, and it meant something to them."

She looked down at her hands, clasped around the glass. "I think the thing that it means to them is beautiful."

"So you do believe in love."

"Absolutely, it's just that it sometimes feels like I'm shoving a princess into a white dress so I can send her off to live in a dragon-guarded castle."

"That sounds fucking amazing."

"Sorry, that was a bad example."

"Don't you find it beautiful that for thousands of years, people have chosen to celebrate their commitment to each other in front of their community?"

"If you think it's so beautiful, why have you chosen a profession which forbids you from getting married yourself?"

"I am married... to God," he mumbled, aware of just how that sentence sounded.

She screwed up her face. "Ugh."

He buried his face in his hands. "I know!"

"Just... ugh."

"Fuck, I can't believe I said that out loud. I really wanted you to think I was cool."

"Sorry, Father, I think that train has sailed."

"No, no, no, no, the wedding's not for another few weeks, I have time to convince you."

"I'll drink to that," she murmured, and then she did.

#fleabag #my fics #the wedding planner #au

27 notes · View notes

lifebeginsbyleaving · 4 years

Text

Your Eyes Shine Like Christmas

Fuck you it’s still Christmas I can post this on tumblr on January 13th if I want. I was still a day after Christmas for wattpad I don’t see why this should be different. So it’s a sterek blurb. Like 2,000yish words and just a big ol pile of Christmas soft snuggly cheesy mush.

***********************************************************************

It was cold outside and Stiles was enjoying every bit of heat he was sucking from Derek. They had been lazily dozing for hours barely getting up, only moving to change position. Several hours ago, they had moved from their bed to the couch, but that was about it. Now Stiles was happily snoring while laying chest to chest on top of Derek.

Stiles woke up from their nap before Derek. He let out a soft yawn even though all they had done the entire day was sleep. He blinked as he orientated himself to his surroundings. There was still a half empty box of stuff they ordered for the now finished kitchen strewn about the living room floor and the paint swatches for Derek's old room were in a mess on the coffee table. There was gentle light coming through the drawn curtains and everything around them had a soft stillness to it other than the faint whistle of the cold wind safely barricaded outside by the windows and various layers of fluffy clothing and blankets they had. He could feel the beginnings of the stickiness of sweat gathering on the back of his neck. Derek was like a furnace. He flipped of layer after layer until there was only a thin blanket left. He moved his head to rest on his hands as he looked up at Derek.

"Der." Stiles whispered. "Der." "Deeeeer." Stiles then moved one of his hands up to lightly stroke his face.

"It's rude to stare. Ruder still to wake someone up in the middle of a great dream." Derek spoke even though it looked and sounded as though sleep was still clinging to his closed eyelids and rough voice.

"And what was I wearing in this oh so wonderful dream?"

"Ha, ha. You were in it though." Derek cleared his throat. "You were wearing your light red flash tee with a flannel over it and tight black jeans. You looked stunning. You changed later though, but you still looked stunning." Derek still wasn't opening his eyes.

"Hey." Stiles started brushing his fingertips over his cheek.

"Hey."

"Open your eyes." Stiles started stroking under Derek's eyes with feather light touches.

"Why?"

Stiles tilted his head down and kissed his chest. "Please."

Derek fluttered his eyes open, blinking and squinting in even the soft lighting. "What for?"

Stiles looked breathless. "You're eyes are beautiful, that's what for."

Derek scoffed. "Which ones?" He flashed his red eyes.

"All of them. I love all the colors I've ever seen you have. When you were young even though they didn't recognize me they were like home. Your alpha red eyes feel like safety. The beta gold shine you had warmed me as equally as your coldness terrified me. And God don't get me started on your green eyes. I would fight every battle for those eyes and the only fight I would loose is the right to my heart which you steal with just a glance."

"Someone is feeling poetic and lovey." Derek said with a snort.

Stiles' fingers started to go further up on the sides of his eyes. "Can't help it. Your eyes remind me of Christmas."

Derek raised an eyebrow. "Just because of the green, red, and gold?"

"And because your eyes make me feel like I'm home, and safe, and warm, and in love, and loved, and every other wonderful thing."

Sadness bled out of his eyes. "Even my blue ones?"

"Especially your blue ones. They remind me pretty things can be sharp. Like the icicles hanging from the house. They show me that even if something is cold and dangerous it can still be the kind of beautiful that makes you want to stay out in the cold longer just to look at something to be warmed from the inside out."

"Stiles Stilinski-Hale!!!" Derek tried for indifference as he rolled his eyes, but failed miserably.

He had a coy smile "Not yet I'm not." He looked at the ring on his hand and then to where Derek's was absent.

"Is that a threat?" Derek looked concerned.

Stiles snuggled closer and hugged him. "No. A promise." He kissed Derek's neck and he could feel him relax in his hold.

"Although some would view that particular promise as a threat."

Derek pulled back to kiss him then nuzzled the side of Stiles' face "Not me. Never me." Derek hooked his arms around Stiles' to hug him back.

"Good. Now I don't want to move, but I'm bored. Will you tell me about your dream? Pretty please with curly fries on top?"

Derek tucked Stiles' head underneath his chin. "The curly fries thing works on you, not me."

Derek sighed and without even seeing his face Stiles knew exactly how it was scrunched up in a mixture of confusion, focus, and uncertainty. "It was me and you in our living room, but it looked like it used to, not like now. Like when I was growing up. Cora and Laura were there, but they both were older than when we were kids. And my aunt was there. We were having Christmas, everyone had just finished trying your hot chocolate and they loved it. I don't remember why I was so nervous, but they just had to love your hot chocolate for some reason."

Derek started rubbing Stiles' back soothingly.

"And we were already married."

Derek felt the head resting underneath his shift ever so slightly before a voice spoke sleepily and like it was already thinking about the most lovely of dreams. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, we were." Derek's left hand had never felt this bare, like the dream was closer to reality than any that he hadn't already started to spend the rest of his life with Stiles. "And- and. Well um th- there was something else."

Stiles' curiosity was hardly piqued and the slowing heartbeat told him that he would soon be asleep on top of him again. "Oh? Tell me about it sourwolf."

"We- uh we had kids."

Just like that his love's heartbeat was at its normal rabbiting speed.

The silence between them was as frozen and frosty as the windowpanes.

"Isn't that weird? I mean we haven't even talked much about kids yet. I mean we did, but we both just kinda agreed we weren't in the right place for them. But that was back when we were still figuring things out so it's like we haven't. So it's crazy. Me having dreams about us having kids. I mean-"

"Do you know you do that?" Stiles didn't even need to look up to know his fiance's expression. He had heard his mouth click shut and could practically feel the warmth from his cheeks.

"Do what?"

He seemed more in control again.

"Say 'I mean' a lot when you already said what you mean, but you don't want someone to misinterpret your meaning."

Derek thought for a moment. "No, I didn't."

Stiles heard the caution in his voice.

Derek heard the silence, it seemed to stretch on and on almost as far as Stiles did at every snack break they took in between naps. It was choking and he didn't know what to say. How could he convey just how much he yearned to have small little ones with big brown eyes just like their father. How could he say I want that so much, but I want you so much more so if that isn't what you want, okay. One set of bambi browns was more than he ever thought he'd get, ever thought he deserved. He hated not knowing what to say. The silence felt like a giant hole in all they'd been working to fill and he ached to know how to fill it.

But he was forgetting something. Silence wasn't something he ever had to worry about. He had found someone perfect for him, perfect for filling the voids he hid inside of him, and someone that trusted him to fill theirs.

"What were we doing?"

Derek was lost. "What? When?"

"In your dream." Stiles sounded calm.

Derek settled, even with him trying to desperately stamp down the memory of tiny giggles he could still hear the echo, but he was glad to have the soothingness of Stiles' voice. He wouldn't bring up how Stiles' eyes held so much love for the tiny children.

"We were opening presents. I don't remember what any of them were, I just remember how we all looked. You had a stain on your pjs from where you spilled hot chocolate. I was wearing those ridiculous antlers you tried to get me to wear last year."

Derek could hear his smile when he spoke. "Were we wearing the matching ugly sweaters too?"

"We all were." Derek wouldn't mention how adorable and unmistakably theirs the children looked in their smaller matching sweaters. He didn't want Stiles to feel any kind of pressure or discomfort.

"I can see it." He could still hear Stiles' smile, but this time it was so much wider and deeper that it reverberated down and he felt it swell in his chest.

"There's just one thing," Stiles looked up at Derek. "Please tell me they had your eyes."

It felt like all the breath left Derek as the happiness deep in his gut finally translated onto his face. "They had the most beautiful eyes in the world, they had yours."

He had that soft look on his face that Derek didn't see often, but, it was one of the things he was looking forward to spending every day of his life with Stiles looking for.

"Oh god, we aren't going to be those parents that fight about the gender of their baby. We're going to fight about whose eyes it should have. So lame sourwolf!"

Happiness felt like it was about to burst out of him, so Derek poured it all into a passionate clumsy kiss.

Stiles looked back at him with another soft look. "I love you Derek Hale- Stilinski."

"I thought we couldn't do that yet?"

"True, but we need to figure out which way sounds better so we know for the children, if that's something we both want. I think Stilinski- Hale."

Stiles had an overly obvious teasing tone as he suggested it, but as long as Stiles was in his family he didn't care.

"Yes." Derek said it as easy as breathing.

"What?" He looked shocked.

Derek kissed him on the cheek, "I-" then the other. "said-" Next on his forehead, "yes." then his chin. Derek pulled back to look him in the eyes. "If it's what you want, then to all of it I say yes." Derek leaned down and kissed him after leaving a ghost of a whisper upon his lips. "I say yes to you Stiles. Forever and always. For anything and everything as long as you want it."

Stiles had tears in his eyes as he kissed Derek, and Derek felt them fall down on to his cheeks.

Derek moved the hand that had been holding Stiles' head to brush the tears from his eyes. "Hey, what's wrong? Why are you crying?" Derek looked at him with concern as his rough thumbs traced light lines back and forth under his eyes just as Stiles' had.

"Nothing's wrong. You're crying too."

"What?" He became aware of the wetness of his eyes and smiled. "I am."

Stiles leaned his forehead against Derek's and looked into his eyes. He smiled. "We are. Because we are happy. You have no idea how long I've been wanting little me and yous, but we talked about it and I didn't think you wa-"

Derek shut him up with a kiss.

"I want. God how much I want. I want it all with you." After Derek finished he leaned his forehead against Stiles' again.

They laid like that until their peace was interrupted by a vicious growl.

Stiles had wide eyes as his hands flew to his stomach.

Derek's mouth hung wide. It then stretched into a smile. "Good god I have never heard someone's stomach gurgle that loudly. Especially since you had three cookies earlier."

Stiles glared at him. "That was like four hours ago!"

Derek turned his head to look at the clock to confirm that he was not exaggerating.

"And my stomach wouldn't be that loud if you wouldn't have been too lazy to stay up longer to make food and hadn't dragged me to the couch!"

"Okay fine."

Stiles' anger eased and he pouted instead. "Will you make me a sandwich?"

Derek huffed as he turned them and got off the couch. "I take back everything I said before."

Stiles' mind flashed with hurt that came with such an easy dismissal of a promise that meant so much to him.

"They under no circumstances, can have your eyes. If I see tiny little eyes, just like yours, brimmed with tears I'll let them get away with murder."

Stiles smiled as Derek leaned down to kiss him on the forehead. "Turkey wit-"

"With lettuce, tomato, mayo and bacon if we have it. I know what you like."

"And served with?"

"Tea?"

"Nope." He took pleasure in popping the P and the confused wiggle Derek's eyebrows did.

"More cookies?"

Stiles opened his mouth then briefly shut it. "Yes, but no."

There were more wiggles. "What then?"

"A kiss from my amazing and hot wonderful fiance."

Derek rolled his eyes.

9 notes · View notes

brightingales · 6 years

Text

Mr Nightingale (5k)

Rated: T, No Warnings Read on AO3 here

Harry and James decide that breaking up and moving on is the right thing to do. Harry is fine with it; until he really, really isn’t.

Or – James steals one of Mr Rochester’s schemes from Jane Eyre to try and drive Harry wild with jealousy. Spoiler: it works.

#Wedding Planning #Anglst with a Happy Ending #Jane Eyre References #Pining

“Ah, Harry!” James says as he sits down at the coffee table. “Just the man I wanted to see!”

Harry finds that hard to believe; ever since their break-up they’ve been doing a very good job of ignoring each other. Harry has finally been able to build a life for himself – no longer in Ste’s shadow or held within James’s clutches. He’s mending his relationship with his family. He’s enrolled in a course at a University in Liverpool. He’s got his own place (or, at least, he’s living off his student loan and sharing a house with four other lads who are all even younger than him).

“I can’t,” he says, trying to disappear into his Tort Law textbook, “I’m waiting for Dad. Dee Dee’s last chemo treatment is today, and I wanted to take him for coffee afterwards.”

“A noble idea,” James says with a smile. “It’s only a quick question that I need your help with.” James is using that tone of voice that means he’s just going to sit and badger on until he gets his way. Harry sighs and closes his book.

“You have a sort of… youthful flair with fashion,” James says, “and you’ve always dressed better than your peers. You’ve got quite the eye for design, actually, when you put your mind to it. Anyway, I was wondering if you would give me your opinion on this.”

James reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a file which he opens to reveal a collection of scraps of paper. It takes Harry a while to piece together what he is looking at.

“Is this a mood board?” Harry asks. The thought of James flicking through magazines, cutting things out, and painstakingly sticking them down is so unlike any image he has of James in his head that he briefly wonders if he has somehow gained a concussion in the last few seconds.

“No. Well, I suppose it is in a roundabout way.”

“Are you decorating?”

“No! It’s for the wedding, of course!”

The entire world stops for Harry.

James is getting married. He’s really moved on. Harry has lost his final chance to win him back. He chokes down the bile rising in his throat and takes a deep breath to cover the fact that he feels like he might burst into tears like some scolded schoolboy.

“Oh… Cool…” Harry can only say one word at a time. “Wedding… Wow…”

James seems amused by Harry’s mental breakdown but thankfully allows him time to process the information.

“Yes, well, it was a bit of a shock to me. I’ve never been the marrying kind. But this is the right thing to do! I love him, I want to commit to him, and I plan to give him the kind of security that he’s never had before.”

Hearing James declare his love for someone else is like a knife in Harry’s chest. Everything else is just salt in the wound.

“I want every detail to be perfect for him,” James continues not noticing the way Harry is wincing every time James mentions his fiancé. “Which is why I need your help picking the colour scheme.”

Harry would literally rather do anything else. But he knows James: he’s not going to let this drop. It’s better to give him a quick answer and escape the situation than spend ages arguing about it. He takes the folder in his hands and tries to hide his face with it so that James won’t see the angry blush colouring his cheeks. James has shown a surprising amount of artistic flair here: there are colour swatches, photographs of different suit cuts, even a peacock feather stuck to the page labelled ‘for inspiration’.

“Emerald,” Harry eventually chokes out. “It will match your eyes. Then maybe a lighter green for him. Or Purple for you both. And white. Everyone wants white at their wedding.”

“And the flowers? Roses or…”

“I’ve got to go,” Harry interrupts, utterly desperate to get away. “Good luck with the wedding planning,” he says as he haphazardly packs up his things and throws himself towards the exit.

It’s the least sincere thing he’s ever said.

There’s a sort of commotion coming from around the corner and Harry alters the path he is jogging on so that he can find out what the cause is. It becomes immediately clear. A gang of the village’s teenagers is ‘ooohing’ and ‘ahhhing’ over a dark silver Aston Martin parked outside James’s flat.

The car is gorgeous. So is the man standing beside it. James is perfectly matched to the sleek and beautiful machine. The curves of his body, that Harry once knew so well, are hugged by a new charcoal coloured suit. James’s favourite chequered pattern is delicately woven into the material and a blood red tie bringing together the whole scene with an elaborate flourish.

Harry aches at the sight of him.

“Harry!” Damn James and his ability to spot Harry in a crowd. “Just the man I wanted to see! What do you think of my new wheels?”

“Yeah, they’re great,” Harry admits through gritted teeth. “Who doesn’t like an Aston Martin?”

“Who indeed?” James says with a wry smile. “So, you think this will make an acceptable carriage for the new Mr Nightingale?” Another mention of James’s fiancé is another bruise on Harry’s heart. James either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “Won’t we look good together, driving off to the wedding venue?”

“Yes, of course,” Harry replies.

“Of course, you’ll look good; you look good in everything,” remains unsaid.

The only way he can avoid James is to spend as much time as he can away from the village. Which is fine; he doesn’t really have any reason to be there except for the occasional cautious visit home. He’s doing well for himself in Liverpool. Sure, making friends is a bit difficult; he’s not yet found anyone who he shares any ‘common life experiences’ with. But that’s ok. He’s got his law books to curl up with in the evening and a new city to explore in the day. Harry’s even challenged himself if he can find a new coffee shop to go to whenever he needs a caffeine fix.

So how is it possible, that out of literally hundreds of different coffee shops in this city, Harry walks into the only one where James Nightingale is sitting. He almost turns on his heal and storms out. James hasn’t seen him yet. It would be so easy to just quietly slip away and pretend that none of this has happened.

“Coward” a voice within him calls.

Harry could move to Timbuktu and he would still look for James around every corner. He would still dream of bumping into him and seeing him smile once more. He would still find things that made him think of James and made him want to talk to him, even if they were living thousands of miles apart. Separation clearly isn’t helping him get over James. He needs another approach. Perhaps, if they can’t be lovers, they can at least try to be friends?

“James,” Harry says. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Oh! Harry!” James looks up from the magazine he’s flicking through. “You’re looking well! Law school must suit you.”

Harry knows that he must be blushing. Coming from James, this is high praise indeed.

“Do you want a drink?” James asks.

Harry feels like he is on the precipice of something. Sure, he has just had a full-on argument with himself about whether or not he should try being friends with James. But letting James buy him coffee feels like a line in the sand somehow. Still, Harry knows himself well enough to realise that he can’t walk away from James. Especially when the older man is looking up at him with a wide and genuine smile.

So, they have coffee as James listens to Harry talk about his University course. They compare the differences in their training and tell silly jokes about how Harry’s “experiences” with the legal system have given him an edge over his fellow students. Harry confesses that he doesn’t think he’ll ever understand Property Law and James swears him to secrecy when he admits that he once failed an exam and had to work the whole way through summer to retake it before any of his friends noticed that he was behind.

It’s so easy, it’s almost scary. Falling back into friendship with James is like rediscovering a favourite album. Everything feels familiar, Harry still remembers all the lyrical parts of the man sitting in front of him, even the tiny details that he thought he had long forgotten – like the crease at the corner of his eye or the precise tone of his sigh. He knows that he will be singing James in his head for the rest of the day.

“What are you doing in Liverpool, then?” Harry eventually asks.

“Well, this might be old fashioned, but I was at the travel agents. I know: I’m a dinosaur. But I wanted some advice on Honeymoon destinations and it’s so much easier to talk to a real person about these sorts of things.”

Harry nearly chokes on his coffee. That warm and fuzzy feeling that has settled so nicely over their conversation suddenly turns lukewarm. The spectre of this hated fiancé hovers behind James and Harry curses himself for not running away when he had the chance.

“Anyway, I left the shop more confused than when I started,” James continues. “What do you think of Ibiza? I know I’d probably stick out like a sore thumb, but I’m sure the new Mr Nightingale will enjoy it immensely, and I just want to see him happy.”

Harry doesn’t know much about Ibiza, but he does know that he’s going to be sick. Still, it would be rude to throw up the coffee James has just bought him all over the man’s expensive leather shoes, so he gets a hold of himself. After all, James had to watch him swan about the village planning his disastrous wedding to Ste. Some might say this is Karma. He picks up some of the glossy brochures lying across the table. The bright colours and photoshopped pictures proclaim that the holidays featured inside are “great deals” that are “perfect for two!” He flicks through the pages trying not to imagine that he is the one James wants to take backpacking in Eastern Europe, or on a cruise around the frozen fjords of Norway, or on the road trip of a lifetime along the north-California coast.

Harry knows that he will dream of this tonight – a perfect nightmare where James leads him around the globe by the hand and shows him off as Mr Nightingale to every person that they meet.

Now is not the time for fantasy. He needs to give James his answer or risk appearing sullen and ungrateful. He’s too ashamed of himself and his continued pathetic crush on James to admit that he was wrong when he said that they should end things, that he couldn’t see a future for the two of them, that he was fine with James moving on and seeing other people.

“Your fiancé will enjoy the beaches,” Harry says eventually. He doesn’t actually know if this is true; he’s never met the man. But he has seen James hanging around with a tall, slim, boy who has a toned body, a snappy dress sense, and impeccably groomed facial hair. Harry shouldn’t judge –especially when he is hurt and wounded and looking for an excuse to hate something – but the boy seems to be the sort that would go on holiday just to display his body and work on his tan.

“But…” Harry continues, “You’ll get bored. And sunburnt. You should go somewhere romantic. Classic. Somewhere where you can show off exactly how much you know about the local art or the architecture…”

“Won’t that be a bit boring for him…?” James asks with a strange sort of smile.

“Not if he loves you!” Harry says, almost too quickly. “I mean… healthy relationships are about compromise, right? You told me that once. He should want to let you soak up all the culture you can, and I know you’ll prioritise his wants without sacrificing your own because that’s how you always were with me…”

It’s a stupid thing to say.

Harry might as well have just carved his own heart out of his chest and laid it, still beating and bleeding, on the table in front of them. This isn’t fair. He wants James. And it was only through his own stupidity that he lost him. But that doesn’t mean that James should be miserable too. The least Harry can do is give James and his new lover his blessing.

He finds exactly the right page and hands it back over to James.

“Genoa?” the older man questions. “It’s a bit unusual.”

“It’s perfect. I thought of maybe Barcelona or Venice but they’re both too touristy. Genoa has the best of everything you want. Sun. Great food. Loads of things that you can do together…”

“This is perfect Harry,” James tells him. That strange smile Harry has noticed before blooms over James’s lips again and Harry aches to reach out and kiss him. James looks so pleased with the thought of marrying his lover and taking him off to Italy, but there’s something else there too. The gleam in James’s eye that he only ever gets when a plan starts forming in his head. The confident posture that James only relaxes into when he is sure that he has done the right thing. The blush on his neck that only appears when James is imagining something filled with pleasure and passion.

Harry is about to tear out his own hair with envy. But thankfully, before he can go completely mad, something distracts James.

“Christ is that the time?” James says. “Sorry, Harry. I’ve got an important appointment and I have to run. It was nice to see you. And thanks for the help – this honeymoon will be perfect!”

Harry doesn’t watch him leave. He just stares at the floor and wishes that it will swallow him whole.

He stays there for ages, too paralyzed with jealousy to move. He knows he’s been there too long when one of the waitresses comes over to the table and pointedly asks him whether he’s going to finish the last dregs of cold coffee in his mug. He shakes his head but doesn’t get out of the way even when she starts to tidy up around him. He knows he’s being childish, but he needs to sit and sulk for just a little while longer.

“Oh! Your friend left his wallet on the table,” the waitress says. “Can you tell him we’ve put it behind the counter for him?”

Harry’s never been much of a masochist, but he must be in the mood for it today. Because before he can realise what a bad idea this is he’s saying: “No need. James and I live in the same village. I’ll take it back to his place now.”

He grabs the wallet – maybe a little too forcefully – out of her hand. For a second, she looks like she is going to argue with him, and Harry realises that he probably looks quite suspicious. “If he comes back, tell him Harry has his wallet,’ he says to reassure her before throwing his coat on and rushing out of the shop.

The whole journey back to Hollyoaks is spent worrying that he has made a massive mistake. After that disastrous attempt at friendship, Harry knows now more than ever that if he wants to get over James he needs to stay away. But Harry feels just as desperate to see James as he did back in the early days of their affair. It’s like there is thread suspended between the two of them, one end tied around the bones of Harry’s ribcage, the other clasped in James’s hand for him to pull and tug on however he wishes. If James lets go, Harry will drift away, like a balloon caught in the breeze, unable to find his way back to safety, drifting aimlessly away from everything he once called ‘home’.

James is in the flat; the light from the living room window tells Harry that. He should probably just post the wallet back through the letterbox of the front door, and for a moment that seems like the most elegant solution. But, of course, the wallet is too swollen with cash and ticket stubs to fit through. Harry will have to be brave.

He knocks.

For once, James looks surprised.

“Youleftyourwallet” comes out all in one word. Harry holds it out to James, who takes it. But rather than simply closing the door on him, as Harry half hoped that he would, James moves aside, implicitly inviting him in. Harry is helpless but to follow him.

“Thanks for this,” James says as he places the wallet on the breakfast bar. “You’ve saved me the journey back into Liverpool.”

“It’s the least I could do,” Harry mutters, ducking his head so that he won’t have to see the peculiar way James is looking at him. Something is off with him tonight. As he turns his head, Harry notices a pair of suits laid out across the back of the sofa. James catches him looking.

“They’re nice, aren’t they?”

“Special occasion?” Harry asks, half knowing the answer already.

“What else!” James replies. He goes over to unzip one of the suits out of its protective cover. The suit jacket he pulls out is a rich and deep purple. Harry can tell, just by looking, that it is made out of the finest quality wool. James holds it out to Harry as if he can see Harry’s fingers itch to touch it.

“I took your advice, with some adaptations, of course,” James tells him. “Purple for the wedding suits, emerald accents where possible. A darker shirt for me, something lighter and more youthful for him. I’d make a joke about that reflecting our personalities, but it would probably be too crass,” he says with a sly chuckle. “Here, help me with this.”

James seems to suddenly grow eight arms, because before Harry can even register what’s happening, James has taken him out of his coat and slipped the suit jacket onto Harry’s shoulders. He moves quickly, pulling the fabric this way and that, checking the fit and smoothing out non-existent creases. He drags Harry further into the living room, looking at him intensely under the light and circling him like a vulture.

“Stay there. I just need to check something,” James tells Harry, heading off into the bedroom and leaving Harry shocked and alone. He doesn’t even have the time to process what has happened before James is back, a large mirror in his hands. He holds it up so that Harry can take a good look at himself.

The suit fits. It shouldn’t – for all that Harry has always been a bit petite, there’s a breadth to his shoulders and a thickness to his chest that doesn’t match the scrawny frame of James’s new lover. It should be far too small for him, but instead, every dart, every seam, every fold, hits the perfect angle on his torso. The shade of purple is beautiful. Royal in its richness, Harry has never seen a colour that suits his skin so well or makes him look as elegant and as refined as this. The wool is just as heavy as he thought it would be. But rather than feeling like a comfort, the weight that presses down on his shoulders and hugs around his torso feels like it may suffocate him at any moment.

Finally, he stares his reflection in the eye. He looks like a dream. Like an impossible fantasy of the life he so wishes he could live.

“James…” he says, his voice thick with tears. “James, this has to stop.”

James has been admiring the suit from where he is holding the mirror. But when he sees the tears in Harry’s eyes his expression changes from one of pride to one of horror.

“You are many things, James,” Harry continues. “You are spiteful, and egotistical, and conniving. But you’ve never been cruel. At least not to me.” The tears flow freely, and Harry gives in to the urge to sob, “so why are you being so cruel now?”

“Harry… I….”

Harry tries to wipe some of the tears away ignoring James’s pity-filled eyes: “Look. I get it. I deserve this for what I put you through with Ste. And I thought I could handle it. Talking about colours, and flowers, and venues. It hurt but it was fine. I guessed it was karma. That I deserved it after all the pain I caused you. But this! Dressing me up like your fiancé, making me wear the clothes that he is going to marry you in, dangling the future I could have had in front of me and then snatching it away…? How could you be so vindictive? Don’t you feel anything for me?”

Harry’s knees buckle under him and he falls onto the sofa. He hides his face in his hands and, for the first time in months, lets all of the hurt and disappointment flow out of him. The sleeves of the suit jacket are wet with tears. His face is red and blotchy. He must look so disgusting to James.

“I guess you just feel contempt,” Harry murmurs through his sobs. “It’s all I deserve but… this is too much. I can’t stand being so jealous. And I can’t bear for you to be out in the world hating me as much as you do now.”

Through the tightness in his chest and the throbbing pain in his head from crying too much too fast, Harry becomes aware of the fact that James has moved and is now standing in front of him. Harry looks up at James looking down at him, so perfect and so handsome and so utterly out of his reach.

“James… Please…” Harry begs.

James’s expression is unreadable: “What are you asking for, Harry?”

“I don’t know…!” it comes out almost like a wail and Harry has to hide his face again; he’s so embarrassed.

The sofa dips beside him and James rests a hand softly on Harry’s back as if he is trying to soothe the sobs that still wrack his body. It’s a kindness that tastes too vicious for words.

“Come on now, no more tears,” James says quietly. “I’ve never liked seeing you upset.”

Harry does his best to pull himself together. James offers him a tissue and he does what he can to mop his face up and look a bit more presentable. He’s sure he looks a wreck though; he feels like the tears he has cried have left a trail of blisters down his cheeks.

“Harry, I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to give me an honest answer, ok?” James eventually says. “What do you actually think of my fiancé?”

“Oh James, come on.”

“I know. Just answer me. What do you think of him?”

Harry tries to conjure an image of the young man in his head. “I don’t know him well enough. He’s handsome I guess. Young. Even younger than me…”

“And how do you feel when you see me touch him, or kiss him?”

“James…”

“Just answer,” James says, his voice still quiet and soothing.

Harry knows that watching James be with someone else makes him overwhelmed with jealousy and he opens his mouth to tell James that. But then… then he realises he’s actually never seen the two of them do more but walk around the village chatting, or sometimes sit and have a coffee together.

“I haven’t seen you,” Harry admits. “I thought you were trying to spare my feelings.”

“Even after all the things you’ve just accused me of doing?”

Harry shakes his head, utterly ashamed of himself.

“Look,” James says reaching over to take a photo frame off the coffee table. The picture is a selfie of James and his young man, smiling gently in the winter sunshine. “This boy here – his name is Romeo. He’s not my fiancé.”

Harry needs a moment to let the news sink in. He spent so long obsessed with the idea that this boy will one day marry his James that he’d never even considered the fact that he’s not actually seen them be affectionate in public.

“He’s my son,” James explains.

Really, it’s just made the whole scenario much more confusing. But the relief Harry feels is enough to make him accept the news without questioning it. Much.

“How?” he manages to say.

James shrugs. “It’s a long, complicated, and not particularly pleasant story. I’ve only known about him for 6 months or so and we’re still trying to figure out what kind of relationship we want to have. But that’s why I’ve been spending so much time with him. Nothing else.”

“But if he’s not your fiancé, who is…?”

James sighs. He gets up and goes to the kitchen where he pours two glasses of whiskey.

“You’ve accused me of being cruel, and you’re right,” James admits as he hands one of the glasses over to Harry. “I’m not proud of myself, but it was the only way I could think of to get through to you. You weren’t answering my calls. You were hardly ever in the village. I needed to be sure that you still wanted me, and I didn’t trust you to be honest with me if I asked.”

“James, what are you talking about?”

“I thought you might get the hint after the colours. Or that, maybe, you had figured it out when I asked about the honeymoon….”

“You’re not making any sense, James,” Harry interrupts.

“It’s you, Harry. You’re the man I’m going to marry.”

Harry pauses. And then: “Are you joking? Aren’t I upset enough for you, now you have to dig the knife in even more? Christ, when did you become such a sadist?” He knows he has to leave so he pushes the whiskey glass away from him and tears himself out of the suit throwing it at James’s head.

“You’ve never read Jane Eyre have you?” James asks.

“And now you’re taking the piss!”

“I’m not Harry!” James shouts. “I’m not. I promise. I’m just explaining myself badly. Please, hear me out.”

Harry considers his options. He can’t help but feel that he’s the centre of some massive cruel joke. But he also can’t say no to James when he is looking at him with such hope in his eyes.

“Fine,” Harry concedes. “But I need you to be clear with me, ok? What exactly is going on?”

James goes over to where Harry is hovering by the door unsure of whether he should cut his losses and run. They stand toe-to-toe and Harry’s vision is suddenly full of green eyes and rose-pink skin.

“I wanted you to be jealous. I shouldn’t have done. But I didn’t know how else to get your attention. I thought if you realised I had moved on you might try and fight to get me back. So, I sat down, I imagined what it would be like to marry you, and I constructed this fake engagement in my head so that I could ask you all sorts of questions about it and find out if you had really let me go. But then, you gave me such good advice. You were so thoughtful and so selfless. And I realised that I couldn’t deceive you like this anymore, that I was wrong to try and manipulate you like that. I was actually, just now, on my way out to come to find you and tell you the truth.”

“All of this,” Harry asks, “just to make me think you were marrying someone else? Just to make me admit that I want it to be me that you marry?”

“Do you?” James asks, his voice cracking with hope. “Do you still want that?”

After all the angst – the upsets, and the envy, and the bone-crushing agony of thinking that he had lost James for good – he knows now more than ever that whatever mistake James has made Harry will always find it within himself to forgive him.

He tells him so with a kiss. Harry reaches up and caresses the back of James’s neck. He pulls him down and presses their lips together, the touch as light as a pair of butterfly wings.

“Harry,” James sounds utterly broken when they pull apart.

“I love you, James,” Harry says to reassure him. “These last weeks have been hell, and I’m still cross that you put me through them, but I love you more than anything. And I’m so strangely flattered that you went to all this effort just to make me jealous. I mean – you ordered suits.”

James smiles at that. “I had your one made to your measurements. I couldn’t wait to see you in it, and when you turned up today I couldn’t resist. We can take them back though if you want to.”

“I’m not sure they’ll take them back; not with my snot all over the sleeves.” That, at least, causes James to laugh and helps him relax a little bit more. “Anyway. I love my suit. And I want to marry you in it.”

“Really?” James gasps.

Harry wraps his arms around James’s middle, pulls him closer so that he can rest his head against James’s chest and listen to his heartbeat there.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about this recently. And there’s one thing I know for sure now. I want to be Mr Nightingale. I want all of the things you described to me. I want the security and the commitment. I want a ring on my finger that shows the world that you love me. I want to be part of your family. I want to belong to you, legally, and I want you to be mine.”

“Harry Thompson, are you proposing to me?” James asks with so much joy in his voice that Harry thinks he might burst.

“Mr Nightingale, are you saying yes?”

It’s James’s turn to kiss him now. Which he does. Over and over and over again.

#jarry #writing tag #long post #crikey thats a lot of words

44 notes · View notes

maiji · 6 years

Photo

@logicheartsoul Thank you so much for the kind words ^^ And certainly - thank you for your interest and for asking! I love working with ink so I’m happy to talk about it :D

How I got into it

It's only been in the last maybe five or so years that I've actually started to pay more attention to art supplies. In the case of ink, it really started with fountain pens. Long story short, one of my professors was really into them and let me try one of his vintage pens, and I was vaguely interested. Then my best friend really got into them, and I tagged along to a fountain pen show (shoutout to Scriptus Toronto!!). From there it was a slow burn over a period of months from “this is neat” to “WOWWW OKAY I GUESS I’M REALLY INTO THIS NOW”. It was a (relatively, for me) quick entry once I discovered the online fountain pen community. These people are incredibly passionate, highly articulate, and best of all, document EVERYTHING. I found the ink reviews especially spectacular and that’s probably what hooked me the most.

A few other things that helped in the appeal factor:

I have a tendency to grip writing implements excessively hard and exert a lot of unnecessary pressure when writing or drawing with more conventional pens (ballpoints etc.) A number of people mentioned that fountain pens helped them to alleviate this because generally you don’t need/want to apply pressure when using them. I’ve found it has helped.

I've always been interested in forms that combine words and images, and this merges literary and artistic worlds in a very clear way.

I’ve been on a long personal journey of wanting to incorporate much more Chinese/Taiwanese/East Asian heritage and cultural traditions into my work. Thus, I've been gravitating towards things emphasizing brush, ink, water, elements of calligraphy and... not sure if spontaneity is the word I want, but things that help me overthink less when I draw, and get better at letting go.

How I work with ink

My (main) tools

Fude de mannen: This is basically a fountain pen that mimics a brush for Asian calligraphy. It has a bent nib that enables you to change stroke thickness by varying your hand angle. I love this pen so much I got a second one so I could have a different colour; the washi tape helps me tell which one it is. You can see more of it in the video interview I did with PindotPress.

Brush pen: A pen that is a brush. lol. A number of companies make them; I use the Pentel Pocket Brush because it's the first one I tried and I liked it a lot. It's smooth, has great line variation, and the tip has yet to fail me. (Although the cap started falling apart, hence all the tape on my first one lol.) I currently have three: one for permanent black, one for permanent red, and one because I couldn’t resist buying a coloured version of the pen (I have Diamine Earl Grey in it right now).

Glass dip pen: These dip pens are pretty but what is super awesome is that they are super easy and fast to clean. I can quickly switch between multiple colours of bottled inks. The grooves in the nib hold ink, so you need to slightly turn the pen as you go to access all the ink. You can also get a wider stroke by slanting the pen and using the side of the glass nib. It's not that easy to control your lines, but I actually like this because it creates a lot of happy accidents. And “oops well damn" accidents, but like I said I’m trying to cultivate the whole “learn to let go" mindset.

Waterbrush: Basically a brush that carries its own water reservoir. I’ve used a few different brands but I find I like the Pentel Aquash small the best. Some people fill them with ink like a brush pen, but I’ve not really done that. (I did it once with a different brand that was harder to open/refill and I got mad.) I use it to paint with the inks.

Pencil I got for free: Unless I really am just doodling, I usually draw base pencils of some sort, even if it’s just a very rough, light sketch or a quick thumbnail on another sheet of paper. Every so often I get an inquiry asking what special kind of pencil I use, but I’m afraid they’re just normal pencils rolled with recycled newsprint. I got free samples like a million years ago and I have been using them forever. (I think I’m finally down to my last three.)

Eraser: I’ve been trying a few different ones but it takes me forever to work through an eraser. You want it to be able to pick up the lines without requiring you to scrub and take the ink too or destroying the fibres of your paper. This one actually works pretty well. If you’re really curious you can see the non-destroyed packaging here! lol

Toilet or tissue paper: Something to pick up the water. This is my "undo button” in real life when I’m painting/using the waterbrush. Also I drown everything with water so it’s very important.

Ink swatches: Every time I get a new ink I make a sample and add it here. It’s great for colour palettes and when I’m looking at other inks and trying to decide whether to get it or not (e.g., is it different from everything I already have? My definition of “different” is very generous...). I don’t actually have all these inks; some were samples from friends. I’ve found I tend to gravitate towards very complex, nuanced neutrals. (This sounds so sophisticated but when you see them all it once it's like. Oh. Apparently I like shades of grey, brown, and other hard to classify "muddy" or in-between colours lmao. But more on that in a bit.) Lately I've been getting glittery inks because they're fun and they add a magical dimension to the physical piece.

Here is my current selection of inks - on the shelf to the immediate left of my laptop and my head as I am typing this right now. The box at the bottom left is all the samples.

My approach

In my mind, I broadly classify my approach into two categories: “dry” and “wet”.

"Dry" - ink only, no water. I have pretty unsteady hands and hate "inking" - if we think of inking as an exercise in achieving a "clean", controlled line drawing with consistent line width/stroke thickness, neatness, etc. So I love pens that support me in what I think of as controlled loss of control - wide variations in brush width and stroke character. Brush pens and fude de mannen pens are perfect for this. They have lines that offer a wide range of dynamic, organic, and textural opportunity. My Inktober illustrations fall into this category. A few examples below, followed by links to the full set.

Inktober 2017 - fude de mannen

Inktober 2018 - brush pen

"Wet" - Basically I blob water around. Depending on when I do it (before, with/during, after the application of the ink), you can get different results. The water causes the ink to bleed, semi-watercolour-like, and can be used for shading, environmental effects etc. For obvious reasons, this works best with non-waterproof inks (which the vast majority of fountain pen inks are), but you can do this even with waterproof inks. Just let the ink hit water before it has a chance to soak into the paper and you can get cool effects :D. And you can also do it with other pens too, not just fountain pen inks. Examples:

Tiles of Toronto urban sketch series

Raizen and Hokushin doodles

Arikoto from Ooku

As you might imagine, this is really great for on-the-go drawings, because you just need a pen (or a couple of pens) and a waterbrush.

The “wet” approach is also where the very complex inks that look "boring" (greys, taupes etc.) are just complete magic. When the dye elements separate, other colours emerge, and you get really wonderful textural effects and rings of colour where the ink pools and dries. Diamine Earl Grey is a colour I've mentioned several times that I LOOOVE because it separates into blues, browns, purples, even pinkish tones. It's a gorgeous ink. You can see some examples and closeups here.

Another colour that does this really powerfully is Sailor Rikyucha. It’s a dark tea brown-green that separates very easily into pale blue-greens and more and has amazing tonal and textural qualities. The Tendril Wreath illustration here really shows this.

For the most part I look at things I like and then experiment to figure out what happens. After working with the same tools for a while, you get a sense of how the different elements might react and respond naturally. The Genjimonogatari series employs both dry and wet extensively and is an example of the experimenting and playing I’m doing - I keep finding new aspects to the inks I thought I knew, and making “interesting” mistakes. And trying to fix them as I go with varying levels of success, haha. But I’m always learning!

One more thing about this hobby

I feel compelled to finish with some talk about the pure aesthetic appeal, or the MULTIPLE LEVELS OF FUN I get out of these inks. Not just the colour, not just how the ink behaves, but... the name of the ink as well! Some inks do this more effectively than others. Similar to how the presentation of a dish is part of the experience, the name of an ink adds so much to my enjoyment of it. My least favourite ink names are [standard adjective]+[standard colour name]. My favourite ones are really convoluted with literary and poetic references, I just love them hahaha. Asian fountain pen inks I find tend to do this especially well - partly because of how much you can pack into how few syllables, I suppose. It makes me sad that a lot of sites don’t include the original names, often referencing them with just a number, though I understand it is difficult to translate. But I learn a lot with these names as a starting point! For example, Zhenjing, which I mentioned recently in the Kurama “Light” illustration, took a bit of back and forth with my parents to look up the source and then to interpret the complex line of poetry. It was a fun and fascinating exercise.

A great name can’t save an ink I don’t like, but a good name elevates an ink I do like even more, and it can be really inspiring for making stuff. For example, take Pen BBS Mirrorflower Watermoon. I adore the colour of this ink - it's a very subtle grey-pale green with silver flakes. I used it heavily in the Hokushin fanart “Northern Deity” (you can see it here with photos of the sparkly).

The name is actually highly recognizable if you're familiar with classic East Asian literature/poetry. I read it out loud to my parents with no context other than "this is the name of one of my favourite ink colours" while they were eating dinner and they both said at the same time, "I know this! DREAM OF THE RED CHAMBER!" lmao. It's a very Buddhist idiom or phrase referring to the illusory nature of things, likening it to the reflection of a flower in a mirror or the reflection of the moon in water.

I hope this was interesting and helpful! ^^

#art supplies #logicheartsoul #replies #reply #fountain pen ink #ink #waterbrush #brush pen #fude de mannen #art by Maiji/Mary Huang #how I work #process

21 notes · View notes

gaiyofanfiction · 6 years

Text

Lost in the Dream: The Accident

Shownu - Wonho - Minhyuk - Kihyun - Hyungwon - Jooheon - IM

Hyungwon x Reader

Drama/Tragedy

Lost in the Dream Mini Series

A/N: Hey all. Here’s the first fic in my mini series! It’s very heart wrenching, I actually cried while writing it. I hope you enjoy this mini series I’m writing! ~Yosei

Trigger Warning: Mentions of depression and character death.

“Hyungwonnie, don’t fall asleep yet. The movie just started!”

You look behind you at your Fiancé, whom you’re leaning against. He shakes his head and smiles at you.

“I would never do that, Y/N. How dare you accuse me of such things!”

You giggle and swat him on the shoulder, settling back into his body. “Yeah right, liar. You always fall asleep no matter what movie we watch!”

He wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you close into his body from behind. “Jagiya, I promise I won’t fall asleep this time.”

You smile and peck him on the lips, turning your attention towards the TV in front of the two of you. The opening to Jurassic World starts and immediately you’re so engrossed in the movie, you don’t even notice Hyungwon drifting in and out of consciousness.

Once the movie was over, you turned your attention to your Fiancé who was, of course, fast asleep. You roll your eyes and groan, shaking him awake.

“Hyungwonnie! You promise you wouldn’t fall asleep this time!” You pout.

He jolts awake from the sound of your whining and rubs his eyes. he gives you a sleepy, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, my Love. I’m just so tired.”

“You’re always tired,” you mumble, your arms crossed.

He grabs you by the face and pulls you in for a deep kiss. You happily kiss back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“I love you so much, Hyungwon. I can’t wait to be married.”

Hyungwon runs a finger down your cheek, smiling at you.

The boys stare down at you in your hospital bed. Everything is silent, nothing to be heard other than the beeping of the monitors. Hoseok walks up to the side of the bed and brushes your hair out of your face. It almost seemed like you were just sleeping, easily able to be woken up by a single touch. But they all knew better.

“Do you ever think she’s going to wake up?” Changkyun mumbles, his voice cracking.

Hoseok sighs and sits down in the chair next to your bed. “I don’t know, Changkyun-ah. It’s been over a month.”

Jooheon clenches his fists, anger taking over. “The LAST person who ever deserved any of this is the one person who has the most pain out of any of us. We couldn’t save her either.”

Minhyuk buries his head in his heads, a sob escaping him. Kihyun rubs his back, trying to sooth him and shoots a glare towards Jooheon.

“That’s clearly not helping the situation, Jooheon.”

Hyunwoo raises his hands, trying to get everyone to settle down. “Hey, it’s not over yet. She’s still alive, she may wake up.”

Just then a nurse walks in with a clipboard and bows to the boys. “Hello, my name is Dr. Lee. I’ll be Ms. Y/L/N’s nurse for her time here in the hospital. Could any of you explain to me what has happened?”

Jooheon turns to the nurse, gritting his teeth. “First of all, it’s Mrs. Chae. That’s her name, official wedding or not. Second of all, she’s been in this room, in this exact same state for a month. Where is her other nurse now? When is she going to get some help?! Third, we’ve told the story over and over again. Don’t you know it by now? Shouldn’t it be in her file?! How many times are you going to make us relive it?!”

Hyunwoo puts a hand on Jooheon’s shoulder to calm him down. He turns towards the nurse. “I apologize for my friend’s outburst. It’s been quite a trying time for all of us. We’ll tell you what happened. Would anyone care to explain it?”

Minhyuk looks up from his hands, wiping his tears away. He glances up at the nurse, taking the lead. “Y/N and her fiancé, Hyungwon, we’re out driving. They were on their way back from the movies when-” He stops, his throat choking up.

“-when car ran a red light and T-boned them, right in the passenger's side door.” Hoseok continues, not taking his eyes off you. “Y/N survived, barely. She had broken her leg and arm, 2nd degree burns and a severe concussion. However, Hyungwon...” He swallows the lump in his throat and closes his eyes. “Hyungwon died instantly. He was in the passenger's side of the car, Y/N was driving.”

Changkyun walks up to you, taking your limp hand in his. “When Y/N found out, she was devastated. She fell into a deep depression, wanted nothing to do with anyone, even us. She blamed herself for Hyungwon’s death,” he squeezes your hand. “I’ve never seen someone break in front of me before.”

“I guess Y/N finally couldn’t take it anymore and deiced to overdose. However, thank god Kihyun showed up to her door when he did because he practically saved her life. He found her unconscious on her bathroom floor, a bottle of pills spilled over.” Shownu nods to Kihyun, who nods back. The 5 boys are forever thankful for Kihyun being at the right place at the right time. “However, she still hasn’t woken up from the overdose.”

The nurse stays silent, taking in everything the boys told her. She takes a look at all your vitals, making sure everything is still fine other than you being in a coma. “I’m so very sorry to hear that. We’re hopeful that she’ll wake up soon, but we can’t promise anything. We’re keeping a close eye on her hoping for a sign of consciousness.”

The nurse nods and leaves the boys to their visit with you. They all sigh, suddenly reliving everything that had happened. Hoseok bends down, his face close to yours.

“Please wake up Y/N. We can’t lose you too.”

“Y/N.”

“Here, Hyungwonnie. What do you think of yellows and greens for the color scheme for the wedding? I think it would go great with the spring theme!”

“Y/N, Baby.”

You hold up color swatches to show your Fiance. “Take a look, I personally like Sundance and Tea.”

“Jagi, you need to wake up.”

You shake you head, chuckling. “What are you talking about? I’m not asleep! Silly.”

Hyungwon sighs and sits down on the chair across from you. He takes your hands in his, forcing you to look at him. “Y/N. This isn’t real. You’re in a coma.”

You tilt your head, brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean this isn’t real? It seems very real to me. Why would I be in a coma?”

Hyungwon lifts a hand and brushes it over your ear. “Baby, there was an accident. A car ran a red light and we were T-boned. You survived and I...” He drifts off.

Suddenly, a vision flashes through your eyes. You’re driving your car with Hyungwon next to you, talking about the new movie you saw. The next thing you knew, you saw head lights coming closer, closer than they should. Then, nothing but pain and blackness.

You jolt back to Hyungwon, anxiety and fear suddenly taking over your entire body. You shake your head, eye wide.

“N-No! That means, y-you’re dead. Oh my god, I killed you. No this can’t be real! THIS CAN’T BE REAL!” You hit your head with your fists, trying to make the vision of the accident disappear.

Hyungwon grabs your hands, holding them tightly for you to stop. “Y/N! Please stop! I can’t bare to see you hurting yourself like this!”

“BUT I KILLED YOU! I DON’T DESERVE ANYTHING BUT PAIN FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE!” The tears stream down your cheeks.

Hyungwon pulls you into a tight hug. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It wasn’t your fault. You need to go back, Jagi.“

“No! No I can’t go back! If I go back, you’re gone forever! Please, let me stay here with you!”

“Baby, you need to go back. You need to live your life. Please.”

You hold on tighter to his body. “I can’t do back without you! Please, don’t make me leave! DON’T MAKE ME GO BACK WITHOUT YOU!” Your eyes start to sting from the salty tears pooling up.

Hyungwon pulls you off of him and pushes you an arms length away. He stares into your eyes with a smile. “You can’t stay here, Y/N. You’re needed back in the real world. Please, I need you to look after the boys for me. They would be lost without the two of us.”

You shakes your head and look down at the floor, your tears creating a puddle underneath you. “How am I supposed to do this without you? You’re my fiancé. You’re my future husband. And now...you’re gone.” Your voice is nothing but a squeak now.

Hyungwon puts a finger under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. He gives you a sad smile. “I’m never going to truly leave you, Y/N. I love you with all my heart. I’ll still be watching over you forever. I promise.”

You try to smile back but you fail miserably. “Will you at least come visit me in my dreams? Just like this?”

He shakes his head. “I will only come visit if you promise one thing. You HAVE to always return to reality once your dream is over. You can’t stay with me in here.”

You wish you could stay with him forever, whether it be a dream or in death, but you knew he was right. You knew the other boys were waiting for you to come back and you knew that they would be there to support you no matter what.

You reluctantly nod, “okay. I promise.”

Hyungwon’s sad smile turns into a happier one. “Good. Thank you, baby. Now, you need to go back home, okay? I’ll wait for you here when you go back to sleep. I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

He pulls you into one last tight squeeze. “Please tell the boys I love them and miss them. I love you so much, Jagi. Never forget that, okay?”

You nod. “I love you too, Hyungwon. I will be back. I will always come back to you.” You kiss him one last time on the lips, savoring the moment, the memory.

Once you break the kiss, your body swirls into a black emptiness, leaving Hyungwon behind.

You groan and shift your body, being so stiff from doing nothing but laying down for a month. You open your eyes slowly and blink away the blurriness. The only sound in the room is the beeping of the machines you were hooked up to.

You take a look around to see your boys all sleeping in different positions across the room. Hoseok and Minhyuk are on either side of you, their heads resting on the bed. Changkyun and Jooheon and sitting on the floor leaning against each other. Kihyun is sleeping in a chair in the corning.

“H-hyunwoo?” God, did your voice sound like shit.

Hyunwoo is staring at his phone, leaning against the wall. His head immediately shoots up in attention when he hears your voice.

“Y/N, oh my god!”

The sound of Hyunwoo’s loud voice wakes up the rest of the boys. They all stare at you before jumping up and running to your side.

“Oh my god, Y/N, you’re awake!”

“Y/N, thank god you’re okay!”

“How are you feeling?!”

They boys are all crouding you and talking at once. You wish you could smile and tell them you’re alright. You wish you could pretend like nothing happened. But that was definatly not the case.

“I was with him.” You mumbled out.

The boys stop talking, their eyes wide. Minhyuk brushes your sweat stained hair out of your face. “You were with who?”

“Hyungwon. I was with Hyungwon.” The sound of his name activated a switch in all of them. They immediately listened to what you had to say. “I wanted to stay with him. I didn’t want to wake up. But he made me. He said I needed to look after you guys.”

Kihyun cracks a small smile, “sounds like something he would do. Always selfless, that boy.

“We’re happy he told you to come home. We wouldn’t know what to do if we lost both of you,” Changkyun squeezes your hand.

“He told me to tell you guys that he loves you. And that he misses you.” Hoseok and Jooheon gasp a little, trying to hold in their tears.

You look around at all the boys. The tears in your eyes slowly start to come back. “I’m so sorry I did this. I didn’t mean to get him killed.”

Shownu furrows his brows, “you have nothing to apologize for, Y/N. This isn’t your fault.”

“We aren’t mad at you! We never were.” Jooheon adds.

You close your eyes. “I can’t believe he’s gone. He’s really gone. I don’t know what to do now.” You bury your head in Hoseok’s chest and let the tears fall freely.

He holds onto you tightly, not being able to hold in his tears any longer. “We’ll get through this together. All of us. We won’t let you be alone. We promise.”

If anyone were to pass the hospital room, the only sound they would hear would be the beeping of the monitors and the crying of a group of friends who have just lost the most important person in their lives.

[Masterlist]

#monsta x #monsta x reactions #monsta x scenarios #monsta x fanfiction #monsta x mini series #lost in the dream #lost in the dream hyungwon #hyungwon x reader #chae hyungwon #kpop reactions #kpop scenarios #kpop fanfiction #gaiyo fanfiction #hyungwon angst #tragedy #kpop angst #monsta x angst

136 notes · View notes

juvinadelgreko · 6 years

Text

“Lucky”: An Olicity Future Fic by JuvinaDelGreko

Summary-

With their first baby on the way, Oliver and Felicity know they must begin preparations for her arrival. They face challenges, however, when William insists on accompanying them to Home Depot to look at nursery paint swatches—They’ve chosen to keep the baby’s gender a secret between themselves. Will they be able to keep their secret, or will the cat slip out of the bag?

Read on AO3

It hadn’t really hit Oliver until she’d started showing. It hadn’t really hit him that, Oh my God, there’s a baby coming in a few months and we haven’t even looked at a nursery yet until he’d woken up one morning to find her looking sideways at herself in a mirror, and he’d just been able to see the rise of her stomach over their child. He’d snuck up behind her that morning and kissed her cheek, their hands resting on her stomach, and smiled a smile bright enough to light up Star City their reflection in the mirror. They’d stayed that way until they heard William emerge from his room, doubtless in search of breakfast.

Oliver had been chomping at the bit to get started with the nursery; but had refused to even entertain the prospect of doing even one second of it without his wife. Smoak Tech had been devouring all of her waking hours recently, and as excited as he was to enjoy their domestic life together, he couldn’t help the swell of pride and joy he felt for her. It was her dream come true, after all.

Perhaps the only thing nearly as amazing as Oliver’s reaction to her being pregnant was William’s reaction. The poor boy had been waiting anxiously for years for such an announcement, and he had been ecstatic when they’d shared the news. But when he’d asked the gender of the baby, or when the rest of their friends, for that matter, had asked after the gender of Baby Queen—Coming Fall 2021—they’d simply pled the parental fifth and kept it a secret. From everyone except Donna and Raisa, that was. They knew better than to try and keep anything from either of those women.

So here they were, weeks later, about to hop in the car for Home Depot to look at paint colors when William scurried into the front of the loft.

“Where ya goin’?” He’d asked.

“Felicity and I were just going to run to Home Depot to look at possible paint colors for the nursery.” Oliver had answered, one hand already on the doorknob. He’d anticipated this.

“Oh. Can I come?” William inquired hopefully. Oliver glanced to his wife before trying to formulate an answer to his question. Felicity turned to answer him.

“We were kind of hoping to keep the colors under wraps as long as possible...you know...certain colors might hint at certain genders...not that all girls have pink rooms or all boys have blue ones, anyone can have whatever they want, but you know, stereotypes and stuff.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “But... I think we’d be able to let you help us look without spilling any beans, hm?” She looks up at Oliver. He mulls it over for a moment before nodding.

“Ok, buddy. You can tag along. Grab your shoes.”

——

Oliver hadn’t truly understood how many shades of one color could possibly exist until he and Felicity had visited a hardware store for the first time in Ivy Town while shopping for their house there. Now, he was even more impressed with the selections as they browsed youthful, happy colors for their child’s bedroom. He and Felicity had sent William off to the other end of the aisle of swatches to maintain the secrecy of their baby girl. As Oliver poked through various pink shades with Felicity, she made a suggestion to him.

“Let’s pick a variety of colors just to throw him off.” She says with a smirk. And so they begin. Oliver and Felicity root through a whole block of swatches, laughing at their interesting names. “What about—‘Harmonious Rose!’” Felicity reads in a sing-song voice before collapsing into giggles. Oliver just shakes his head, smiling as he plucks “Sassy Violet” from the rack and holds it up for her.

“Or... ‘Sassy Violet’.” He whispers quietly to her, and this time they both can’t help but laugh. Oliver then spares a glance down at William, and he thinks he sees his son pondering the merits of a few different shades of green.

A very versatile color, Oliver thinks. Smart kid. It’s also his color. But he doesn’t need to have it in his nursery, he’s decided. He’s pulled out of his thoughts when Felicity pushes a swatch of three blues towards him.

He compares them to his own.

She smiles at the one dubbed “Blue Eyes.”

“My liking this color has nothing to do with its name,” Oliver states, “it’s just... well... aesthetically pleasing.” Felicity nods, her eyebrows crinkling as she examines the swatch closely. She tucks it in her back pocket and pulls out the set of pinks she likes.

“Those are...intense?” Oliver supplies. The lightest shade on the swatch is the only one he could get on board with. The other two just seem too loud for a nursery. Felicity shrugs and tucks the swatch away again. She spies the set of pinks Oliver had picked out. They’re slightly tamer than hers, and she likes them at first sight.

“I really like the one in the middle,” Felicity says, “it’s not to pale, but it’s not too loud either. It’s a pink, but when I look at it long enough I can’t help but think at one point...” she turns to him with a sparkle in her eyes and finishes her phrase. “It was red.”

And Good God, he almost loses his mind right there as they laugh together in the middle of the paint aisle at Home Depot. She tucks the swatch in her purse along with the “Blue Eyes” one for further deliberating later. They call William down to them, saying that they’re ready to head home. He jogs down to them, and Felicity inspects the blue-green pallet he presents them with.

“Those are nice, Will,” Felicity says with a smile. “They’re a smart choice. They’d be great for either a boy or a girl.” Oliver has to hold back a chuckle at the barely detectable dismay in William’s face as his attempt to trick Felicity into giving away their secret fails. He glances again at the first swatch of greens he’d seen William with, and this time he’s close enough to read the name on the middle one.

“Lucky Clover”

It’s not Green Arrow green. It’s the green of spring, of fresh starts and new beginnings. Of growth and light and hope.

They poke around the hardware store for a few more minutes, gathering brushes and paint trays for their project. They decide to take the swatches home for further deliberation with the council of Donna and Raisa.

When Oliver and Felicity arrive home later that night and lay the swatches out on the empty floor of the nursery and share a quiet kiss in the midday sun through their open windows; they are reminded again, as they are every day, of just how lucky they are.

The End

#arrow #oliver queen #felicity smoak #olicity #olicity fic #olicity fanfic #william clayton #olicity and william #olicity fluff #olicity future fic

2 notes · View notes

paybackraid · 7 years

Text

Hero of Ishval

HEY GUESS WHAT I FINALLY DID!! Remember that Ishvalan!Elric AU teaser I wrote a while back for FMA AU Week? Well, I finally got around to posting the first chapter!! I’d appreciate if y’all could read and reblog, or go to my FFN or AO3 pages and review!

Summary: There are many reasons that Roy Mustang is known as the Hero of Ishval. But the very first reason is one that most people in the military don’t even know about. Ishvalan!Elric AU. Big Brother Roy.

Words: 3004

Warnings: War themes, strong language

The men came into the district, all with not-red eyes and not-white hair but not without an intent to kill.

“No!” screamed a boy, standing before his mother and little brother because there was no father to protect them, not anymore, and the boy refused to listen to his mother when she said to get back. “Stay away! You dirty Amestrians don’t belong here, go back to your cities! Leave Mom alone!”

“Oh?” said the man with the long hair and the grey eyes. “Little Ishvalan scum has a little life to him, does he?”

“Don’t call me little!” said the boy with fire in his eyes.

“I wonder… how quickly can we drain the life from you? You’re coming with me!”

The little Ishvalan boy was dragged away from his mother’s arms like a common criminal, dragged kicking and screaming through the district, and loaded onto a truck.

None of the Ishvalans could stop the man who made explosions from his palms, most were too frightened to try. The only one who did, the mother, quickly had a gun pointed to her forehead and had to be held back by her fellow countrymen. The truck drove off, a child still calling for his mother from the back while his mother cried for him.

“ZEDEKIAH!!!”

Chapter 1

When Roy Mustang was 18, and he joined the Military Academy, his naivety had him dreaming glorious dreams about going to war. Yes, people died he knew, but they died with honor, fighting for their people and their country. He had never really dreamed of becoming a war hero (although some nights the thought would flash through his mind for a fraction of a moment), but he dreamed of going to war and returning alive.

His foolish self, of course, had never experienced the true horror of war, all the blood and death. He had been surrounded by war all his life—the military was in at least one almost every day of the year for the past fifty years. It was something that most everyone was a part of in one way or another, and the military was the biggest employer in all of Amestris, so imagining himself in the military wasn’t so odd or unnatural. There wasn’t one boy or girl that he knew of that didn’t imagine that in one way or another, they would be part of a war.

Even imagining being in the military, his thoughts could never come close to the real thing.

Death was in the air, death and dying, at all hours. He feared his enemies, he feared his comrades.

He feared himself.

This was why Master Hawkeye hadn’t wanted to share the secret of flame alchemy with him. Somehow, Master Hawkeye had known the ruin that Roy would bring with a snap of his fingers.

“Yo! Mustang! Move your ass!”

Roy kicked at the desert sand beneath his feet, heat bearing down on his neck relentlessly. He looked toward the voice—Hughes was hailing him forward. It was mealtime, they were just returned from a mission in one of the southern districts, and even though he was damn hungry, he didn’t even want to think of eating.

“What do you want, Hughes?”

Hughes, Roy’s academy buddy and longtime rival, jerked his head toward the wash station. Roy rolled his eyes, assuming a new batch of nurses or some such nonsense had come in. Hughes was happily taken, but he never hesitated to attempt to set up Roy, or one of the others in their squad. The man made sport out of watching them fail, Roy was sure of it.

Still. Hughes was obnoxious when someone paid him attention, but worse when they ignored him. He walked slowly to the man, glancing at whatever had caught Hughes’ attention.

A crowd of men surrounded one of the flagpoles, all of them jeering and laughing. Roy sneered at them; that was rarely anything good.

“What do you think they got ahold of, a nice t-bone?” Hughes wondered loftily, turning to Roy.

“I don’t know, man, I was on the same mission as you. Come on. If they’re all busy with this, I bet the line’s clear and we get first pick.”

Hughes grinned and laughed, hooked an arm around Roy, and lead him toward the mess.

Roy and Hughes beat a hasty retreat when the mess started filling. Most of the men had appeared to grow bored of whatever had kept their attention, and now wanted to appease their angry stomachs. Hughes carried a napkin full of what could best be called dry gruel. It was the sort of junk you could only stomach a little at a time; Roy hadn’t been able to finish his, and it got too crowded for Hughes to finish. They chatted as they walked—well, Hughes chatted, while Roy walked alongside and listened halfheartedly.

Roy glanced back to the flagpole as they walked past, the same place all those men had been crowding around earlier. A few remained, but most had disappeared into the mess. Somewhere near the ground there was a red swatch of fabric and a little foot, but Roy couldn’t make much out of that. Some of the guys made a habit of bullying some of the younger ones. Maybe they had got ahold of some poor bastard who made some small mistake. It wouldn’t be the first time.

There were some quick words from the crowd, words that he didn’t recognize and when he glanced at Hughes, he found that he hadn’t either. He knew some of the others spoke Aerugan, Cretan, or even the occasional Drachman—since they were surrounded on all sides by these great nations, it made sense for someone on their side to speak it. It was possible that it was one of those who spoke foreign tongue being tormented, but Roy doubted it. Some of those words sounded sort of like Xingese.

Then, a loud call, a sharp cry, and a child’s voice: “No, No!! Mama!!”

Beside him, Hughes stiffened, his eyes narrowing, and Roy felt a shudder pass through him. What was a child doing here? No one in their right mind would sneak their child into the middle of an active warzone. The only other possibility was—

Yes, they realized as they approached. A little, Ishvalan child. No more than six.

It was a boy, very small. He had shaggy white hair and piercing red eyes, skin darker than the sand around them. He was covered in a red shawl, and wore no shoes on his little feet. His eyes darted all over the place, looking for an escape, but Roy quickly realized that the poor child had been bound to the flagpole.

What the hell was he doing here?

“Awww, what’s the matter, you baby? Are you gonna cryyyy for your mooommmyyyyy? Go ahead, see if she can hear you.”

Oh, and of course, why was Roy not surprised? Solf J. Kimblee, the truest psychopath in the entire military, was leading the show.

The kid blinked his eyes hard and sniffed hugely, swallowing back any tears that were left. He looked like he was trying damn hard not to cry—like he was trying to be stronger than Kimblee, stronger than what was happening.

“Kimblee,” Roy said, grabbing the Crimson Alchemist’s shoulder and tearing him from his victim. “Leave him alone, he’s just a kid.”

Kimblee tore his shoulder from Roy’s hand, glaring at him. “What do you want, sand-fucker? You’re apart of this war too, what’s one brat to you?” Kimblee scuffed his boot into the sand, kicking some up right into the kid’s face. The boy squeezed his eyes shut in a vain attempt to stop the sand from getting into his eyes, grimacing and turning away.

Roy scoffed, but didn’t otherwise react to the insult. He’d been called it before, and it had stopped affecting him. It first started in the military academy, when he’d been surrounded by people hardly out of high school (if they had even gone) who were still practically children. He came to the aide of his now-friend Heathcliff Erbe, and from then on, became known as a sand-fucker—an Ishvalan sympathizer.

If the opposite of being a ‘sand-fucker’, was being Kimblee, then he didn’t mind being a sand-fucker at all.

“Where did you get the kid? He doesn’t belong here.”

“Plucked the brat fresh from his mommy’s arms. He had a couple things to say, and I wanted to, uh…” Kimblee laughed, “teach him about his betters.”

“His betters? Who do you think—”

“Mustang! Kimblee!”

Roy flinched and glanced over his shoulder to see a general approaching looking unamused. Roy and Hughes snapped into a salute, and with a little reluctance, Kimblee did too. General Raven inspected the boy bound to the flagpole, then ignored him and turned on the two soldiers. “What are you doing, lollygagging? If you’ve got time to start arguments, you’ve got time to clear the ten o’clockers for a lunch break. March! Both of you!”

Mustang scowled inwardly but kept his face impressively blank. Seven o’clock guard. Was there anything less interesting? He glanced down to the kid, who glared all around at everyone he could see, offering no warmth or anything. Roy smirked to himself just a little. He was quite the kid. “Yes, sir.”

Once night rolled around, the entire camp fell into almost total silence. The only ones still awake and about were the night guards, who only watched the perimeter and had no care for the happenings inside its borders, and the boy, who was silent with his tormentors no longer about.

It was this fact alone that allowed Roy to sneak out of his tent at half past pain-in-the-ass o’clock, canteen around his neck and napkin of not-so-goodies in hand. His tent wasn’t far from the flagpole, so it only took ten silent seconds to creep across the camp to the little boy.

He couldn’t, in his heart, leave this boy to his fate. He knew that no one had fed the poor thing, or even let him off to relieve himself, and no one had tried to shade him from the unrelenting desert sun. If he wasn’t sunstroked when Roy got to him, he would be surprised.

“Kid. Hey… kid, wake up,” Roy said under his breath, crouching beside the boy. The kid’s neck was craned awkwardly forward, like he had fallen asleep like that. He had reason to suspect that the kid wasn’t asleep at all, but he didn’t want to startle him.

Indeed, the kid quickly shot his head up, eyes bleary. He pressed back against the flagpole and glared at him weakly. “Go away.”

Roy chuckled a little and sat beside him, crossing his legs to try and appear as friendly as possible. The poor kid had had enough fright in this place. “You won’t say that when you see what I’ve got for you.”

That piqued the kid’s interest for a moment, nervous curiosity flooding into those crimson depths. He flickered his eyes from the ground up to Roy, lowered his head to his toes, then hesitantly wondered, “...what?”

“Shh, you have to stay quiet. We could both get in trouble if we’re not careful. Are you hungry?”

The boy nodded blearily, and Roy knew with the flush in his cheeks that this was true. He was probably starving. He didn’t know when the kid had been collected, but it was probably at least since then when he last ate.

Roy set the napkin down in front of the kid, revealing its contents. It wasn’t the best stuff, and if he had better he’d give it to him, but it really was all he had for today, and he couldn’t go stealing rations, not just for a little kid. “Here. Open your mouth.”

“Do…” The kid coughed and opened his mouth, licking his dry lips. “D’you have any water…? Please…”

“They… haven’t even given you water? All day?”

“No…” the boy croaked. “You have some, right?”

Roy’s heart constricted for a moment, then he sighed and stooped his head, grabbing for the strap of his canteen. “Yeah. I have some. Move your head away from the pole.”

The boy did, so Roy unscrewed the canteen and cupped his head. He pressed the canteen to his lips and tilted back. Water spilled from the corners of his lips, but he didn’t seem to mind, drinking greedily. When the canteen was pulled away, he licked at the water on his face.

“Ready for food?”

“Yeah.” The boy opened his mouth as he had asked earlier, and Roy patiently fed him everything that Hughes, bless his soul, had saved.

The night passed on in silence while Roy stayed by the boy’s side. He noticed halfway through what barely constituted a meal that the kid was shivering mightily. The kid must have been freezing cold after he spent all day burning to a crisp in the sun, and then hastily being introduced to the chill of the night air. Whatever skin was burnt, which had to be everything exposed, had to be horribly irritated.

“Are you cold?”

The boy shivered again, and through the shiver Roy noticed a very small nod. Yeah, the poor kid had to be freezing.

He slowly unbuttoned his jacket and slid it off his shoulders, pulling it around to lay over the boy. His little naked toes stuck out of the bottom, but he wiggled around a little and crossed his legs beneath the fabric, covering his chilled toes.

“...Thank you,” he said. His voice sounded better now that he got some water in him, at least. More like a kid and less like a decrepit old person.

Roy shrugged awkwardly; he had never been good at taking thanks and he doubted that he ever would be. “Sure,” he said, finding his feet. The kid was taken care of, at least, and Roy couldn’t do anything more for him without running the risk of getting in trouble. He could check on him again in the morning.

“W—wait!” the boy cried when Roy stood, looking up at him with nervous red eyes. When Roy looked back, he looked down to his feet, as if he was ashamed of his outburst.

“...What?”

“Don’t…” The kid struggled with his reservations for a moment, kicking at the fabric of the coat. “Don’t go.”

Roy stood by, blinked once, twice, three times. He didn’t know… what to say. An Ishvalan kid asking an Amestrian soldier to stay by him? He supposed that he had only been mistreated since he had arrived, and Roy was probably the first friendly face he’d seen all day.

But he didn't really have much of a choice. He was already pushing it, being out here past night bell without direct orders. He couldn’t stay out here much longer without facing possible consequences.

He opened his mouth to respond truthfully—I have to, I can’t stay, go to sleep, you’ll be fine—just in time for the child to whisper, “please, please don’t go. Please don’t leave me alone. The other soldiers, they’ll come back, they don’t like me. They… they hurt me and spit on me, and what if they come back and do it again? Please…”

Roy felt each separate word like a slap to the face, and looking to his face, desperate and frightened but willing to trust him, might as well have been a sucker punch. Roy had always been a sucker for the underdog, a sucker for kids like this one. He was no good with them—being raised in a brothel didn’t help matters, especially since when he did go to school, he stuck out like a sore thumb because of his slanted eyes and his upbringing, and it set him very far from kids his own age—but that didn’t stop him from sympathizing with them, from wanting to protect them and from never wanting to see the exact face this little boy was making…

He cursed to himself, quietly enough the child didn’t hear. His mind was made up before he was even aware of it. And screw anyone who said even a word of it in the morning.

He turned back to his tent without a word to the boy. If he was going to be sitting outside all night long, he might as well make himself comfortable, make it more bearable.

He collected his sleepsack and pillow, ignored the grunt of confusion from one of the bunks on the other side of the tent, and stepped back outside. He ignored all thoughts of foreboding and instead looked to the child, who looked even more defeated than before. Perhaps a word in before he left would have been good…

Oh well. Perhaps next time. It was too late now. He approached the boy who stared down at his toes, still cloaked in Roy’s blue jacket, and scuffed a little sand by him so he knew he was there.

The boy started and looking up to him, clearly expecting some sort of reprimand judging by the fright filling his eyes. The fear in them dulled and surprise flitted in when he recognized Roy again and saw the sack in his arms. He didn’t say a word when Roy turned and sat beside the boy, leaning as much of his shoulder into the pole as he dared, and he didn’t say a word when Roy shook out his sleep sack and laid it over both their laps, nor when he fitted his pillow behind him against the pole to act as a cushion.

In fact, he didn’t even say a word when Roy put his arm around the kid and told him, “go on to sleep, kid” and then leaned his head back like he would fall asleep right then.

The only other movement, then, that passed between them was when the boy, oh so cautiously, leaned his head into his companion’s side, and when Roy couldn’t fight back the smile in response.

#creative aces #fma #fmafanfic #roy mustang #yes zedekiah is ed #ishvalan elric au #my writing #tw war themes #tw language #this is gonna be about sixteen chapters if everything works out right #my second chapter isnt written yet but its planned #im moving this week so idk how soon ill be able to update #before thanksgiving is my goal #please reblog #hope you like it #lmk if the links dont work i hate tumblr

44 notes · View notes

kazynsims · 4 years

Text

February 2020 Patch Notes

To mark the 20th Anniversary of The Sims, Maxis released a big patch, fixing a lot of issues and bringing new content. As a birthday celebration, players were gifted a new hot tub and a new selection of songs, whist console players were gifted the Child Statue, which for some was a slight disappointment after the hype that surrounded this patch. Many of those players had paid for the Perfect Patio stuff pack, specifically for the hot tub, so I understand the frustration. On a personal level, I’m happy with the hot tub, the swatches a really nice and I can see myself using it a lot, however I do wonder whether bringing back some classic items from previous games would have been better received by the community. There was a lot of speculation around making babies actual sims, rather than objects, and whilst this would have been great, having a games designer husband, I know that there are engine limitations and the sheer amount of work that this would take is huge. All in all, the patch was ok, but missed the mark by some distance. Maybe another time.

Anyway, here are the patch notes, courtesy of EA:

The Child Statue makes its grand appearance across consoles

The Music

The following music has been added to the alternative station:

“Nicknames”

Performed by Dayglow

Written by Sloan Struble

Recording courtesy of AWAL Digital Ltd.

“4am”

Performed by girl in red

Written by Marie Ulven

Recording courtesy of AWAL Recordings

“prom dress”

Performed by mxmtoon

Produced by Robin Skinner & mxmtoon

Written by Maia M-T

Published by Songtrust Music Publishing

Recording courtesy of mxmtoon LLC under exclusive license to House Arrest/The Orchard

By Arrangement with Bank Robber Music

“Win You Over”

Performed by Whethan & Bearson feat. SOAK

Written by Ethan Snoreck, Jakob Bjørn Hansen, Birdie Monds-Watson, Anthony Whiting and Emily Phillips

Published by Whethan Publishing/These Are Pulse Songs (BMI) c/o Pulse Publishing Administration, Next Wave Music Publishing, Universal - PolyGram Int. Tunes, Inc. on behalf of Universal Music Publishing Ltd., Universal Music Corp. on behalf of itself and PW Arrangements, and Domino Publishing Company USA (ASCAP)

Whethan appears courtesy of Atlantic Recording Corp.

SOAK appears courtesy of Rough Trade Records

Recording courtesy of Ultra Records LLC

General Issues

Fixed an issue where Nice or High Quality harvestables would disappear from Sims’ inventories after Travel or Save/Load.

Fixed an issue where Freelancer Career tasks would not complete after Sims would Travel.

Fixed an issue in which the game would jump to Ultra Speed randomly when some Service NPC, specifically Maids, were on the Lot. Talk about speed cleaning!

Photo frames used within Gallery Uploads would not retain their chosen color once those lots were downloaded from The Gallery. They’ve been properly chastised and will listen to you now.

Freelancer gigs can now complete and/or update accordingly while on Vacation. So if you want to work while you vacay I guess you can now. Sucker.

Fixed an issue where two “Tuck In” interactions were able to be selected when Children slept on any bed.

Sims that were seated at a 6 seat round table can now clean up the dishes.

Child Sims will now be able to enjoy Quick Meals again!

Fixed an issue where Sims didn’t write a genre book when “Write Genre Book” was selected.

Multiple duplicate interactions should no longer appear in pie menus when you have certain objects in your inventory.

The Jet Set Luxury Bath was listed as being Unbreakable when but Sims took that as a challenge and broke it. It has been recalled and fixed so now it truly is unbreakable.

Speaking of Unbreakable, we fixed an issue with Hot Tubs and Stereos where unbreakable upgrades would not work if these objects were in use when upgrading them.

Fixed an issue in which some Sims could stand on, or walk through solid objects.

Adding a Sim to an existing household via the Create a Sim Stories feature will no longer subtract Simoleons from the household.

You can now extinguish a fire, even if the fire is within another object.

Sims can now Scrap the unfinished paintings of visiting Sims

Light intensity will no longer reset when setting Auto Lights options

Fixed an issue which made the item Tiny Globe & Sycee of the Prosperous Moon appear twice in Build Mode

Half Wall Trim can now be applied to half walls on all levels of your lot

Fixed an issue that caused Lots downloaded from The Gallery to be placed backwards and not being able to rotate them to an appropriate view

Households downloaded from The Gallery should now have their starting funds set to the correct amount, and not just the base 20,000 Simoleons

Child Sims will no longer receive Whims related to workouts

Walls no longer disappear when Taking a Photo in a Basement level room that does not have a staircase

Fixed an issue in which Hygiene was not being resolved when Taking a Shower on any Bathtub and Shower Combo

Bookshelves will no longer have the option to purchase University books if you do not own Discover University

Sims will no longer flicker on and off the landing pad, when in the Rocket Ship using the WooHoo or Try for Baby interactions

Sims in the Supreme Villain career working on the mischief interaction task can now use the Slablet to Troll the Forums to complete the task

Small rugs can no longer be placed over the cutouts created by stairs

Caterer Sims will now be able to make a Cake and complete their Party event goals

Some example interactions that were reported: “Play Fetch”, ”Give Potion”, “Blackmail”, “Scan Here”. The LastException related to this issue should also be fixed.

Still not sure a stereo and hot tub are the best combo from a safety perspective

Specifically Baby Bassinets…

This could occur if a large object caught fire. You would have to wait until the fire spread outside the bounds of the large object in order to extinguish it.

Artistic types can be so rude, just leaving their unfinished work for you to clear up

Get Together

Toddlers will now route appropriately when selecting ‘Plan Outfit’ on Closets. Well, as appropriately as those slow little Sims move anyway

Get To Work

Aliens will now display selected options for Eyebrows and Beards accurately in Create A Sim.

Fixed an issue where Scientist Sims would record their findings in Notebooks twice.

We addressed an issue that could prevent Sims from not being able to ring up customers who attempt to purchase from the warming rack.

Some boots, along with the Sims feet, were disappearing when the camera was zoomed all the way out. This should no longer occur.

The "Refer for Surgical Treatment" interaction is now available on surgery tables that have had their color altered with the bb.enablefreebuild cheat.

Oh wait, now I see where they picked up that habit.

City Living

There were a number of confusing situations that arose as a result of Invites your Sims would receive. In some cases these would appear as two invites for the same event, one that was the “hey, I just wanted you to know” invite, and the other would be the real invite.

Sims with the Shrewd reward trait weren’t as shrewd as they thought they were. We have restored their shrewd’ness and they should now actually receive the money they so rightfully shrewded away at the end of each week.

Fixed an issue in which some shirts in Create A Sim would not tuck in appropriately into skinny jeans.

Some Sims just want you to know that their invite was coming by sending a pre-invite I guess.

We blame it on bad investments, the cd market apparently didn’t mean compact discs.

Seasons

Sims can now complete New Year resolutions on any lot, and not just their home lots.

The Lottery Holiday is back in your calendars! It should not be a surprise disappearing act any longer.

Solved an issue with swimwear that made it display incorrectly and no one wants a swimsuit malfunction!

We spoke to the Holiday Gnomes and they have agreed to stop dropping seed packets if your Sims are not on Lot when the Holiday ends.

Fixed an issue where Weather would affect items inside buildings.

Flower Bunny’s contract has been renewed for them to appear on any Holiday or Tradition that they are scheduled to.

Mandrake and Valerian Root plants are now able to be planted indoors when it is Too Cold if Simmers have Realm of Magic installed.

Holiday Gnomes will no longer break Unbreakable objects when having a negative relationship with them.

The pedestal gnome will no longer spawn as part of the Harvestfest gnomes tradition.

They wanted to spread holiday cheer… or they were attempting to bring about the end of Simanity, and usher in a new world order. Tomayto, tomahto.

We don’t know what was done to make them angry, but even as magical as they are, they should not be breaking the Unbreakable.

Get Famous

Married Celebrity Sim Couples will no longer React in Disgust with each other then they enter the same room.

Household members will no longer react to members with Pristine Reputation every time they travel together.

Fixed an issue that caused Recording a Product Review to fail if the Sim had previously interrupted a review by traveling to another Lot.

The Well Suited and G.R.A.N. talent agencies are back in business! Gigs from these agencies will now display appropriately.

Super Speed 3 should now work when Sims sleep in their Sleeping Pods and have a pet.

Actor Sims can now Check Open Auditions properly when returning from Work. Get that bread! Be a starving artist no more!

Sims’ Acting Gigs Career Panel will now get updated properly on performing tasks. Credit for your work? Imagine that!

They are just B-list celebrities though, can you blame them?

Island Living

Fixed an issue where Odd Jobs tasks were not able to be completed.

Fixed an issue where Conch Shells were not able to be put in Sims’ Inventories.

Sims can now see their recorded findings in the Notification Wall when performing “Examine Water Thoughtfully” on the Fishing Board.

Released Fish will actually be released back into the water and not be stored in Sims’ Inventory.

Discover University

Sims will no longer be accused of cheating on their coursework or homework if they don’t actually cheat.

Term Presentations should not have missing interactions any longer

We addressed some feedback that getting A’s was too easy. Please be aware that your Sim will have to complete the coursework in order to consistently get good grades

Students will no longer autonomously taunt each other about University Superiority unless they're at the Game Day organization event or have one of these traits: Childish, Evil, Hot-Headed, and Bro

Please be aware that a Sim’s hunger, energy, and bladder motives will no longer refill on their own just before class

Fixed an issue in which Enhancing Utility Bots would get cancelled inappropriately

Roommates should no longer Bring Food home every time they return

Sims can now Turn Off Computer Glasses when moving to other neighborhoods

Sims that complete the debate showdown, will once again be able to change into their other outfits

Term Papers will now always count toward the course’s final grades

Fixed an issue where the following Build Mode items were not able to be placed on the LearnWell Desk: Lex Light By Dex Pix, Q-Bik Tabletop Mood Light, and Great Gramps’ Light can now be placed properly

Fixed an issue where “The Secret Society Masks” were not being unlocked in Create A Sim

The shower wall will no longer turn on when a Sim attempts to repair it

Active Sims should no longer get the “Not Enough Exercise” tense buff if they have enrolled in the Soccer Fútbol after school activity, or choose to juggle a soccer fútbol ball

Sims must now meet all of the promotion requirements in order to be promoted in the Education Career

Attempting to interact with a bike rider should no longer cause your Sim to route fail when performing the interaction

The Make Offering to Sprites interaction should no longer be unavailable if you only have harvestables in your inventory

Reaching level 5 of the Law Career now correctly unlocks the lawyer suits for your Sim in Create a Sim

Bots enhanced to level 3 will no longer automatically enhance to level 4 upon activation

Interacting with a Sim riding a bike will no longer cause the Sim, your Sim, the bike, parts of the world, or any other potential object or thing to disappear

Inviting your professor to hangout will now actually have the professor arrive to hangout

Servo can now complete the StrangerVille story

Servo Fun and Social motive descriptions no longer incorrectly refer to Servo as a Sim

Bicycles can now be searched for in Build Mode by using the term “bike”

ExoMech suit can be worn by teen Sims, and are visible too

Sims already wearing a helmet, will no longer change into another helmet to ride a bike

Sims in the same household will now automatically know the others degree program

Sims will no longer receive multiple signing bonuses from degree relevant careers. Only one signing bonus is awarded in any seven day period

Woohoo in Shower will no longer give fame

“Chat About Scandalous Lawsuit” now provides fun

Choosing to cancel the Practice Presentation interaction will now cancel the interaction

Servos can no longer get sick

Servos can no longer purchase the Seldom Sleepy reward trait

Sims on probation can now be asked to study with

Sims should no longer route fail when attempting to take a Pregnancy test in a bathroom stall

Asking the Repo Person to not take your stuff will now provide you a Text Notification as to whether or not you had an impact on the Repo Person’s decision

Sprites no longer appear around the Sim after the buff expires after leaving the Secret Society

Sims will no longer see the option to remove Robo Arm when choosing to remove Computer Glasses

Fixed an issue in which the option to Pay Student Loans was available even though students had enough Simoleons to cover their Tuition

Sims can now be warned about losing scholarships if they choose to withdraw from the term

Some lots were unloadable in Britechester and made the game unresponsive. That should no longer be the case

Although I wouldn’t turn it down if they did

Outdoor Retreat

Sims can now roast at a campfire without needing a seating object nearby

A visual issue was resolved where highlighting the Granite Falls Blossom would result in a strange texture for Simmers who had StrangerVille installed.

Spa Day

Fixed an issue where Sims did not have the option to “Take Bath with Soaks” and “Take Mud Bath” on Showertubs.

Sims can now again get massages autonomously at Spas.

Dine Out

NPC Sims will now eat more at Restaurants.

Photos taken of Experimental Foods will now display correctly when put into frames.

Food was sometimes not able to be ordered or delivered when the game was exited or reloaded from the Main Menu.

Vampires

“Influence Emotions” interaction will no longer be available to Vampires that have not yet unlocked this perk

Jungle Adventure

Several objects were not properly being found when using color filters. These should be filterable now

StrangerVille

StrangerVille music has been added to the Lin-Z Smart Speaker

Realm of Magic

Two ‘Inferniate’ interactions display on some rugs. As much as some hate those rugs’ patterns, only one ‘Inferniate’ is more than enough

Fixed an issue where Occult eyes would not properly apply to Spellcasters

Unplayed NPCs not living in Glimmerbrook will no longer appear in Glimmerbrook performing Magic

“Challenge to Magic Duel at Dueling Grounds” performed by a broom and non-broom using duelist will now take place at the dueling grounds

Spellcasters with the “Knowledge is Magic” Perk will now be able to complete the “Finish Reading 3 Books” aspiration goal

Fixed an issue where some Spellcasters would not complete the “Learn a Spell” goal, even though they would learn a Spell

Spellcasters will now be able to Do Laundry while having “Always Transportalate” enabled

Fixed an issue in which Pet Familiars would not stop foraging, never bringing back their findings.

Sages now can be chosen to Play With for a game of Chess

Random non Spellcaster Sims no longer will show up as being Sages

Fixed an issue in which Cauldron made food was not able to be eaten as leftovers when looking at the refrigerator

Sims on cursed lots will no longer always catch fire in all attempts while using the Fireplace or the Stove

Fixed an issue in which sounds from The Magic Realm could be heard in Del Sol Valley if you had Get Famous installed

Fixed an issue in which some shirts in Create A Sim would not tuck in appropriately

Spellcaster Sims can now clean potty messes, child messes, and kitty litter messes by casting Scruberoo

Spellcasters will no longer have duplicate makeup options in CAS

Spellcasters should no longer land in unroutable locations when using the “Always Use Brooms” spell

Spellcasters that cast Mischief Spells will now get awarded Mischief Skill when doing so

Male spellcasters will no longer have a chance of going bald after performing Rite of Dissolution

yfHair_GP08Braids now properly appears within the Afro-Textured texture filter

Mischief spells are now counted towards the Criminal Career daily task Mischief Interaction

Spellcasters with the Spellcraft and Sorcery aspiration will no longer reset or cause a LastException after writing songs

Perfect Patio

We fixed an issue where hired Maids would often change into Swimwear and use the Hot Tub instead of completing their tasks.

It can be so difficult to find good help these days

Romantic Garden

Sims in the Freelance careers, including freelance photography, will no longer be able to Wish for Promotion using the Wishing Well

Sims in Conservationist, Educator, Actor, Style Influencer, Military, Critic, Social Media, or Politician careers will now be able to Wish for a Promotion using the Wishing Well.

Since they are freelance, they can promote themselves without wishing for it. They just need to update their business card.

Backyard

Fixed an issue in which some shirts in Create A Sim would not tuck in appropriately into skinny jeans

Vintage Glamour

Addressed several issues that caused the Butler to fail to perform their assigned tasks

Fixed an issue that prevented Butlers to help put Toddler Sims to Bed

The Butler should no longer make food for themselves when they are not hungry

Laundry Day

Clothes moved to the clothing line to dry were not getting dry. We’ve reduced the moisture in the air and it should work now

Moschino

Emotional auras in photographs can now be toggled on/off

Fixed an issue where some photos were taken were a bit blurry when placed in frames in Live Mode

Tripods placed on floors other than 1, 2, or 3, should no longer cause the camera to change floors when attempting to take a photo

Ask to Pose interaction should no longer fail if the Sim attempts to run the interaction from the Open Street

yfHair_SP15SlickedBackLong was displaying with a grey line.

“Take Photo Of” was allowed to target unmet NPC Sims. Creepy and awkward for sure. Go meet them first for goodness sake like a normal Sim

Freelance Photographer Sims can now see all proper tasks for gigs ‘Genius Professor Outdoor Wear Study’ and ‘Everyday Activities Fashion Shoot.’

Freelance Fashion Photography Gigs ‘Finding the Essence of Efficiency with Everyday Style’ and ‘Fantastic Formula for Formal Style’ now display the correct information for Pay, Due Date, and/or Required Skill Level.

The Amp Stack now functions as a Stereo, living to its full potential. Rock on!

Burnt photos would not be charred anymore once placed outside Sims’ inventory.

Happy simming folks!

#thesims4

0 notes

theeurekaproject · 4 years

Text

Sex Gradus

"All right, Christ, I'm coming!" Athena begrudgingly got out of bed, though she took the topmost blanket with her, wrapping it around her shoulders like a cape. Whoever was at the door would just have to deal with seeing her in her pajamas; after about 22:00, she got dressed for nobody and nothing. The apocalypse could happen and she'd show up wearing a onesie; she simply couldn't be bothered.

She padded over to the door blearily, rubbing at sleep-clouded eyes. It was probably a package she'd ordered when she was drunk and decided to go on an online shopping spree. Those were always exciting, though they threatened to get her evicted for not paying rent when she spent her entire paycheck on whatever she thought looked good at 4 AM when she was wasted.

To her surprise, there was no package or envelope waiting for her. Another loud, frantic knock sounded, followed by a panicked voice. "Athena? Athena, let me in!"

"Carina?" Athena opened the door, blinking. "What the hell?" She looked like someone had decided to practice painting using her face as a canvas. Makeup swatches in very pale shades dotted her neck, and she wore foundation that was much too light to match her skin with fluorescent red lipstick that belonged on an underground meretrix more than it belonged on a Scientia. Somebody had tried to braid her hair, but her severe, shoulder-length haircut was too short for it to work, so the half-braided tendrils fell limply next to her ears. Her entire body, from head to toe, was covered in glitter.

Athena blinked. "You look like an eight year old's arts-and-craft project gone wrong."

"Yeah, I know. I know. I—" She cut herself off. "You know what? That doesn't matter. I have to talk to you. Right now."

Athena sucked in some air. "Are you in trouble? Wait, am I in trouble?"

"Maybe."

"Shit. If they ask who I am, you don't know me!" Athena didn't think they'd actually go after her for her comments, but that was foolish in retrospect—they could go after her for whatever they wanted. The Magistratum could be chasing her for any number of reasons, actually, ranging from underage drinking to movie pirating to saying things she wasn't supposed to about Alestra and her family.

"No, the police aren't after you or me or anyone, yet," Carina said, reading Athena's mind. She took a deep breath to calm herself and sat down at the edge of the messy, unmade bed, wearing an anxious expression.

"Okay." Athena felt a surge of relief, though her heart still pounded in her chest. If the police weren't involved, she was fine… probably. Now that she thought about it, Carina had a tendency to get like this. She'd done something similar last year when they took their calculus final; she came to Athena's room, panicking, at about two AM, stressing about how she'd fail and crash and burn. She took the test the next day and passed with a 98, while Athena, who hadn't even bothered to study, slid by with a 66 and a lot of notes written stealthily on her hand. Knowing Carina, this anxiety was probably because of something equally as dumb.

But she'd also just spoken with royalty earlier that day, so it was also not out of the question that she'd received bad news.

"What did Cipher want?" Athena asked, preparing herself for the worst, but expecting something mind-numbingly dull.

Carina bit her lip. "Not here. There could be bugs." "Bugs? Who would bug a Scientia's quarters?" Athena scoffed. "I'm definitely not that important." "We might be more important than you think we are."

Athena narrowed her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just… don't trust this place. Don't trust any place where someone could possibly hide something."

"Okay, well, if there are cameras here, you're acting super shady and that's bound to raise some red flags," Athena said. "But if it'll make you feel better to go someplace else…" She was half-hoping that Carina would feel guilty about dragging her out of bed and rescind her plead to leave the apartment, but there was no such luck.

"Yes. Yes, it would." Beads of sweat rose around Carina's hairline.

Athena was surprised at that. Ordinarily, Carina was polite almost to a fault; if she was making someone get up in the middle of the night to go galavanting around all Eleutheria, there had to be a damn good reason for it. And if that reason involved the royal family—which it probably did, seeing as Carina spent all day at their oversized mansion—Athena didn't want to miss it.

"Hold on," she said, kicking off her slippers to put on more sensible sneakers. She could only find one sock, so she disregarded the thought of wearing them and figured that she'd just deal with the blisters later. "I know where we can go." "Do you, uh, want to change first?" Carina asked, eyeing Athena's stained pajamas. They were covered in the visages of the titular characters from Freep and Wuggle, a children's show featuring adorable talking aliens who taught young Scientias about the wonders and horrors of science. Athena had started watching it again semi-ironically, but she'd quickly found herself unable to stop quoting Freep's soliloquies about the nature of entropy, and her enjoyment of the show had gone from ironic to dead serious.

"You're the one who looks like a little kid who had way too much fun playing in Mommy's makeup bag, and you're asking me to change?" she asked, partially because Carina really did look that stupid, and partially she could pry Freep and Wuggle from Athena's cold, dead hands.

"Fair enough." Carina sighed. "Then let's go, quickly. It's important."

It was late enough that the lobby was almost deserted, save for occasional smatterings of nightshift workers and busied staff. A few young girls who'd clearly snuck out of the educational facility on level 361 stood in the corner, giggling and whispering; they scrambled off when Athena and Carina passed. Athena smiled at them, remembering how it felt to sneak away when she was that young—exciting, adventurous, bold. Now it was just routine.

"Okay," she said, "first, we gotta get to that creepy abandoned biologics lab a little ways down from the blood pharm on level 228 of the Trinity lab building. It's pretty dangerous there, so we're gonna have to go fast." Carina's eyes widened.

"Dangerous?"

"Yeah, there are all sorts of horrible diseases there that nobody ever thought to clean up. Don't worry too much about it, though—I've been there a bunch of times, and I only got anthrax twice."

"Anthrax?!"

"It's treatable with phage therapy, whatever that is," Athena shrugged. "Anyway, the cameras there don't work too great, since everyone's been too scared to go in and replace them since the Ebola breached containment. But I don't really want to stick around there, because bleeding out of my face holes doesn't sound fun." \

"I… I don't even want to know," Carina said, shaking her head.

"Then we have to take a different elevator all the way down to level…" She counted quickly on her fingers. "31, 30, 29, 28… 21. We have to go down to level 21. You'll see."

"That's really dangerous," Carina said shakily.

"We'll be fine. Kalyn showed me the way around."

"Okay, but do you trust Kalyn?"

"Listen, do you want to get someplace without cameras or not?" Athena asked. "Because you sure as hell won't find anywhere that's totally safe up here. Sure, the lower levels are risky, but isn't it riskier if we just stay up here and just hope and pray that nobody's watching?"

"Fine," Carina conceded. "Can't we at least wear, I don't know, masks or something? This seems—"

"Come on." Athena grabbed her arm and practically dragged her into the elevator. She stopped protesting momentarily, her features turning from irritated to worried again. Athena's heart skipped a beat. She knew she shouldn't be taking advantage of her friend's stress, but at the same time, the anticipation was impossible to ignore. If this turned out to be big, this could be her golden ticket into power and importance.

She barely breathed as she ran through the abandoned lab, primarily because she didn't want to catch super-anthrax, but also because she wanted to hear what Carina had to say so badly she found it difficult to focus on anything else. Seconds dragged on like minutes; running at top speed wasn't fast enough. By the time they piled into the dingy old elevator on the lowermost floor of the ancient complex and began plummeting down to the surface of the Earth, Athena felt like she'd burst at the seams from the stress of waiting. It took all her strength to put a finger to her lips and say "no, not yet!" when Carina opened her glittery, lip-glossy mouth.

The whole carriage shook as they sank towards the Underground, sending a rush of adrenaline through Athena's entire body and turning Carina's face a sickly green. They landed at an awkward angle in between two floors, exactly where Athena had expected. She kicked the door open—she wasn't very strong, but it was extremely corroded—and jumped out, a fall of about five feet. Carina followed hesitantly.

"This way." Athena pointed to a doorway half-covered by boxes and bright yellow tape. An illegible sign written in ancient English hung on the doorway, held to the wood with faded silvery-gray adhesive strips.

The interior of the building was a maze. It had been a functioning office once, then a historical display, then the decrepit mess it was now, a ruin smattered with crumbled walls and gaping holes where bombs had hit. It was a relic of a war that had happened a long time ago, something about the country of Arcadia; Athena hadn't paid enough attention in history class to remember the specifics. It was hallowed and hollow, burned down and burnt out, and that was all that mattered.

Through a passageway half-blocked by shards of broken glass and crushed metal pipes was the target. It was a tight squeeze, though both Scientias were short. Carina breathed sharp, claustrophobic breaths as she dodged sharp pieces of shrapnel that nobody had ever bothered to clear away after the facility was shut down. Athena remained steadfast, eyes on the reward of finally getting Carina to spill the beans.

"All right," she said, emerging from the capillary-sized passage into a larger, hollowed out space. "We're here."

"Where's here?" Carina demanded, looking afraid. She stared at the sparkling lights that surrounded them—they were cocooned in a swathe of blinking electrodes and exposed electronics, most of which were entirely nonfunctional.

"Kalyn and I found it one day when we were exploring," Athena explained. "These are the bombed-out remains of a supercomputer from like an eon ago. It was called Timotheus."

"The Timothy Davis supercomputer?" Carina asked, eyes wide. Of course she knows what that is, Athena thought. Nerd.

"Yeah, whatever you want to call it," Athena shrugged. "Anyway, Kalyn swears to me that it's totally safe in here. I don't think the government even knows this place still exists. They'd have torn it down years ago if they knew. So…." Carina opened her mouth and shut it again.

"Come on," Athena whined. "I'm dying!"

"Okay," she said, "but you have to swear not to tell anyone. It doesn't matter if what I tell you is right or not, it could get us both killed if someone found out that I knew and I told you."

"Damn, this must be pretty important." Athena tried to sound chill, but inside she was quivering.

"So all that elaborate stuff was just, well, Aleskynn being Aleskynn," Carina began. "You know how she is—well, you've never met her, but she acts exactly like how you'd expect a princess with all the money in the world and absolutely no responsibilities to act. Like–"

"Like a spoiled brat."

"Yeah. I mean, she has some redeeming qualities, but—okay, wait, I'm gonna ramble again." Carina took another steadying breath. "So, we were talking, and she kind of offhandedly mentioned that everyone in the royal court hates Acidalia. And apparently she's not exaggerating; they really, really, really dislike her, to the point where most if not all of them want her dead."

Athena was, admittedly, slightly surprised by that. "Really? Most people I know don't hate her, even if they don't love her, either. She's better than her mother, supposedly."

"Well, according to Aleskynn, they absolutely detest her. I don't know if you knew this, but she's not legitimate—at least not in the purest sense of the word. She has a claim to the throne under the Code, but it breaks tradition, and they do not like that. And she's also half-Martian."

"I did know that." Athena thought back to a few months ago when someone had called her a tinfoil hatter because she'd made a comment about it. Screw you, Maevyx from Biologics, she thought. I'll show you.

"But that's not all of it," Carina continued. "Aleskynn also said that nearly every noble house is planning to kill her at some point—"

"Aren't they always threatening to kill each other?"

"Yes, but this is different. Since when has Generalis gotten along with Vulgaris and Communia? Agrestis hates every other noble house in the court, yet somehow they're in agreement with everyone else about hating a Cipher, but just this one specific Cipher. That sounds weird, doesn't it?" Athena nodded, feeling gears turn in her head. Truth be told, she didn't know half as much about the intricacies of the court as Carina did; she always envisioned herself among the nouveau-riche rather than with the stuffy old-money aristocrats someday. But if any of the (admittedly terrible) fantasy films she'd seen were right, it was rare for every noble house to suddenly agree with each other. That just didn't happen when people were constantly grappling for power.

"That's very weird," Athena said. "And suspicious."

"So I sort of, kind of mentioned that to Aleskynn—how strange it is, I mean. And she all but admitted that nearly everyone with the court is working with the Novagenetica."

"What." Athena said it flatly, like it wasn't a question.

"And they're going to assassinate Acidalia sometime this week," Carina added, her voice dropping to a whisper. "House Generalis—the same house that pulled a gun on her at the coronation—says she'll be dead in two days."

"Wait, you mean there's an actual plot to assassinate her right now?" Athena asked, eyes wide. "And Aleskynn told you about this, like it was nothing?!"

"Not just a plot to kill her, a plot to do it and pin it on someone else, just like they did with that soldier boy. And I was very much not supposed to tell you about anything. I'm still questioning whether telling you was even a good idea, but I figured you're the only person I know who has some ability to help me."

"That's fair. For all my shortcomings, I am pretty well-connected." Athena smirked. She felt like a side character in a cyberpunk movie, like a badass hacker the protagonist would just happen to come across after receiving a tip from a shady guy in a bar. She knew absolutely nothing whatsoever about hacking—she could barely make her laptop run a simple word processor—but it was still a nice feeling, so she relished it as much as possible. "Did she tell you anything else?"

Carina shook her head. "I don't think she honestly knew much else. I mean, she's Aleskynn Cipher, she's not well-known for being perceptive and shady."

"Ain't that the truth." Athena recalled an interview of Aleskynn that she'd read in a gossip magazine once. They kept asking her about political issues and her sister's ascent to the throne, and she'd responded with nonsense every time. It was like when Athena was a little kid and she answered every science question with some bullshit about photosynthesis—she had no idea what it meant, but it sounded like sufficiently big word. The whole interview was like that, but Aleskynn used words like "antidisestablishmentarialism" instead.

"She did, however, tell me that she'd make me a royal advisor if—when—she took the throne, though," Carina added. "I'm not sure if she'd ever actually do that, or if her mother would let her."

"A bunch of Nova maniacs letting a Scientia into a position of power?" Athena asked, suspicious. "Something tells me that wouldn't happen."

"Something tells me you're right," Carina agreed. "I don't think she really realizes the consequences of what they're planning on doing. Talking to her is like talking to someone who's lived in a bubble their whole life. She was going on and on about how great it would be when she became the Imperatrix, but had no idea what she'd actually do once the crown was hers. She literally told me 'well, that's what advisors are for, isn't it?' As far as assassinating her older sister... she acts like it's totally normal and consequence-free."

"Wow, either she's a total sociopath or they had a really shitty relationship." Athena said.

"I think it's the second one... well, I don't know if I'd define it as shitty. More like nonexistent. Aleskynn thinks Acidalia is a 'Martian whore,' and I don't know what Acidalia thinks of her because I've never seen them interact with each other."

"Well, if someone called me a Martian whore, I probably wouldn't want to talk to her, either." Athena suddenly felt bad for the Imperatrix—both because seemingly everyone wanted her dead, and because growing up with someone as annoying as Aleskynn Cipher sounded horrific.

Carina sighed. "I suppose that's besides the point now, though. All I know is that they're going to kill Acidalia, and they're going to do it soon. And that means seven more years of Alestra—"

"Yikes."

"And then Aleskynn will be on the throne with her for God knows how long," Carina finished. "And even though I don't hate Aleskynn, she would be an awful empress."

"Agreed." Athena didn't know Acidalia whatsoever, but she had to be better than her mother or her sister—not that the bar was set very high. Still, having a semi-competent Imperatrix was far better than having a bunch of Nova fascists and one stupid tween at the helm of the solar system's biggest empire. There had to be some way to stop her from dying.

Athena racked her brain for a solution. It was as simple as letting Acidalia know somehow what her family was planning—if she knew the lengths they were willing to go to get her out of the line of succession, she might be able to get the hell out of there before someone put a bullet through her brain. But how on Terra could they just talk to the Imperatrix Ceasarina of Eleutheria like that? Athena didn't really know how royalty really worked, but she was pretty sure Acidalia-Planitia Cipher didn't just have a phone number or email address to send a warning to.

She thought briefly of direct messaging her on social media, then immediately dismissed that as a stupid idea. Acidalia probably got trillions of messages a day—she would never notice anything Athena sent. Besides, she probably didn't even manage her own accounts.

No, it would have to be someone close to her—someone who could walk up to her and be listened to. A noblewoman, probably, or some insanely high-ranking soldier or police chief. Even then, they'd have to be friendly with her. Otherwise she'd be wary of listening to them—if so many people truly wanted her dead, she wouldn't be willing to take what a stranger told her at face value. (That is, if she had an IQ higher than 4, which Athena somewhat doubted, seeing as she was related to Aleskynn.)

But who was high-ranking, had direct access to the palace, and had a friendly relationship with Acidalia Cipher? Athena couldn't think of anyone, especially not anyone she knew.

"I don't know what we're supposed to do," Carina confessed, looking lost. "I don't even know why I told you. It's not like we can change anything."

"No, I'll come up with something." Athena suddenly remembered a concept she'd learned in a communications class they'd made her take in eighth year. She'd thought it was so stupid at the time—why would an Astrophysica need a communications class? But they had told her one useful thing—the theory of six degrees of separation. No one person was really separated from another; the world was a network. If person A was trying to reach person B, there was a virtually guaranteed chance that A knew someone who knew someone who knew someone and so on, all the way until someone knew someone who knew person B. If you knew the right people, you could reach anyone in a relatively small amount of steps.

But who were the right people?

Athena thought of the most important people she knew. Most of them were work bosses, people who only slightly higher ranking than she was. She knew Carina, who knew Aleskynn, who knew Acidalia, but there was no way she could go that route when Aleskynn was actively trying to kill her own sister.

But, outside of the normal chain of command, there were other ways to gain power. They were less legitimate, less common, and less legal, but those pathways still existed. And Athena knew Kalyn, whose mother was supposedly a leader in some criminal enterprise. If she truly was as powerful as Kalyn made her sound, she'd probably made bribes with some wealthy Magistratum, who probably knew politicians, who knew more politicians... and the chain continued, all the way until someone knew the highest-ranking politician ever.

"Okay," Athena said. "This is a long shot, but I have a plan."

#eurekaproject #on the edge of eureka #POV Carina #Athena #fun fact: I changed the name to SIX Gradus like the number on some sites #because I was afraid it would get flagged for inappropriate content #if I kept sex in the name #even though it literally is the number six #anyway #writing problems

0 notes