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prettywordsyouleft · 4 years

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Forsaken | Part 12

Summary: As one of the Forsaken, Jinyoung had no right to covet anything as his own. When he stumbles across you standing in the middle of the village he had plundered, the memories of old make him risk it all, clutching at the past in hopes for a better future.

Pairing: Park Jinyoung x reader

Genre: warrior au / star crossed lovers / angst / romance

Warnings: death, kidnapping, cursing, a myriad of emotions - this is a really sad love story.

Index: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

“You’re not a very pretty thing, are you?” the man who was the leader of this army sneered, leaning in closer to the cell you and Youngjae were held within. He then let out a boom of laughter which startled you enough to bang into Youngjae’s shoulder. “That boy has never had much of a good taste in anything so what to expect really.”

“You’re no great looker yourself,” you couldn’t help but shoot back and the man stopped with his jovial response, his gaze narrowing on your face. “It’s a pity my eyes have to take you in so closely. Have you bathed this month or is that putrid smell your natural odour?”

Youngjae was pinching at the edge of your arm repeatedly to stop. However, you didn’t back down any. If this ogre of a man was going to treat Jackson the way he had and then insult the man who would give up everything for you, then you weren’t afraid to share your thoughts now either.

Perhaps you were too bold for a prisoner but you wouldn’t remain one for long anyway.

He was silent for a moment and then he chuckled. “I like you. Maybe you’ll make a good wife.”

“Don’t you already have enough whores to keep you busy?”

“Y/N!” Youngjae whined and then shook his head. “Please forgive her, My Lord. She comes from a very optimistic lifestyle and has no idea how these lands work.”

“Don’t suck up to me boy, I have no use for you.”

“I think you do,” you corrected firmly and the man looked back at you again, intrigued. “Youngjae here is a mighty fine cook.”

“He is, is he?”

“Oh yes, the finest I’ve ever come across.”

Youngjae was so surprised by your outlandish lie that all he could do was stare at you with his mouth agape. However, you pressed on, maintaining eye contact with your captor. “Surely you would allow us to cook you a meal tonight.”

“You’re not free to move around here. I’m using you as bait. As soon as I sniff out that lousy cat of yours, you’ll be gone from this earth.”

“All the more reason for a chef such as Youngjae and I to make our final meal together. After all, you did see how well-fed the men were back at the camp we come from, didn’t you? That’s all on Youngjae. I’ve been cooking with him since I arrived and honestly, you won’t regret it.”

You could tell the man was a fool. Whilst he had a clever wit about him when it came to being a warrior, he was overruled by the comforts he could lap up within these walls. Scratching at his beard, he let out another laugh. “I suppose I’ve always been envious of that boy’s teamwork. A hearty meal for me and my men will only prepare us further for taking out Jinyoung when he arrives.”

You swallowed back your instant complaint and smiled instead. “Of course. A hearty meal is what you all deserve.”

“What are you playing at?” Youngjae murmured in your ear when you were both transported to their open kitchen area. The two men who threw you into your confinements now shackled you with a rope around your ankles so you couldn’t escape. They then put potatoes in front of you.

“We will need the finest cut of meat you have here,” you instructed to the men, who glanced between each other before going into their storage shed. You looked at Youngjae desperately. “I’m getting us out of here. I still have some of the supplies on me.”

“How are you planning to get us out?”

“I lived with a healing woman. I know a thing or two,” you responded, smiling at the return of the men with a bucket of meat. “Wonderful. Shall we get to work, master?”

“Mas-- er yes. Yes, we shall.”

“A stew is your finest use of potatoes, isn’t it?” you continued and the men seemed content with your conversation and washing of the potatoes to lose some interest in you both. Still, you continued with your talk, just to be sure. “You make a very fragrant blend as your special flavour, don’t you?”

“It’s a unique dish for sure,” Youngjae attempted to sound just as effortless as you were. His hands were shaking and you reached out to calm them with a gentle squeeze and a nod of your head.

When Youngjae had collected the seeds for your travels, you had noticed a large sachet of Nightshade seeds along the wall of the shop. You had slipped them into the purchase without a moment’s thought, out of habit that you would fetch them for your Grandmother when she called for them. Now, they had proven their worth and you were grateful you had pocketed them shortly after leaving the village.

It wouldn’t be enough to truly take out your captors, given how many there were, but it would buy you some time. Thankfully, Youngjae found some herbs within the kitchen that could help with the disagreeable smell, and by the time you were ready to serve it up, the stew boasted a smell that had the men hanging around for it.

“Best thing I’ve smelt in years!”

“Boss made a good decision about letting them feed us!”

“How can a stew smell this tasty?!”

You felt unfortunate towards some of the girls who ate alongside them, knowing they weren’t guilty like the monsters slurping up their dinner were. Still, you needed the best chance of escape.

“Girl, is there more?” the leader, whom you had learned was called Argo, belched, and you smiled, pushing the large pot forward.

“I believe you will lick the bowl clean at this rate.”

“A good meal like this… that boy was living in luxury.”

“You could too if you let us live,” Youngjae offered and Argo chuckled as he threw the remnants of what was in the ladle down his throat. You watched on with bated breath.

“Nice try, boy. But once that lion or tiger or whatever he called himself comes prowling through here, you’ll be seeing the gates of the heavens above.”

“Worth a try,” you lamented dramatically, patting Youngjae’s arm.

It didn’t take long for the effects to settle in. Nightshade in small doses was effective in many ways. You knew of it intimately, as it had been the potion you drank given by your father that saved you. Still, the concentration compared to this one had been stronger and you couldn’t gauge if the men would sleep for hours or days.

It would give you both the head start you would need all the same.

Once the last one dropped into slumber around you both, you reached for the dagger down your leg and as quickly and quietly as you could, cut the rope free from yours and Youngjae’s legs. Nodding at one another, you then started towards the exit near the stables, stopping just before you stepped out.

“What is it?”

“Jinyoung will come here,” you murmured, slicing a shred of your pant cuff off. Hiding it in a crevice that you knew his keen eyes would discover, you then smiled at Youngjae, dashing away as fast as you both could.

“What are you doing?”

Looking at Jinyoung and then at the stack of white stones you held, you smiled. “I’m creating a trail.”

“Yes, but why?”

“In case we get lost. Papa needs to find us.”

“Can’t you just tell the way back from how we travelled it?” he wondered and you shrugged.

“This way I’m not leaving anything to chance.”

“What if a wind picks up and throws your stones away?”

“Then fate wanted us to be lost from this world,” you surmised, scrunching up your face as you gave the boy a playful shove. “Don’t be so frustrating. It’s better to do this than not at all. Say I went for a wander all by myself and got lost. Wouldn’t you want a path to find me with?”

“I’d use my skills from living within woods like these to track you down,” he stubbornly replied, though he reached for the next stone to place on the path for you. You giggled and Jinyoung smiled. “I hope you don’t get lost from my world, Y/N.”

“I know you’ll find me if I do. I’ll leave you a trail just so you know how to find me.”

The light that rose with the new dawn enabled you and Youngjae to move faster over the terrain. It hadn’t been easy to put distance between you and the camp with barely a moon to guide you by, yet you had made some progress.

It wasn’t enough though and once the men woke and found their horses, it would be all too easy to find you on the flat.

You remained climbing into a mountainside in hopes it would lead you away from being captured again.

“It’s cold,” Youngjae mentioned with concern as you hacked another chunk of fabric off your leg. “You should stop doing that now.”

“I can’t, Jinyoung needs to find us.”

“You’re above your knees now, there won’t be much more to give up. Here, take from mine.”

You smiled gratefully at Youngjae and nodded. “For the next marker, I will take your offer.”

“You hold a lot of hope that Jinyoung will find us.”

“If I give up hope, I won’t keep moving. And I have to make my best move.”

“Your best move?”

You nodded again. “I froze in front of danger the first time. If I allow others to control me and not fight myself then I’m not making my best move for us right now.”

“How long do you think until the brew wears off?”

“Maybe we have a couple more hours up our sleeve at most.”

“Then by noon, we may not have much luck.”

“They would have expected us to head towards our camp. They didn’t hold much regard for our smarts.”

“Given that brute believed your story of me being a fine cook.”

“You did enough to make that believable yourself given how long you had been feeding them before I.”

“Perhaps. I got worried when you started mouthing off.”

Your lips curled up fondly. “I was a little spirited.”

“You’re lucky he didn’t kill us then.”

“He couldn’t.” You stared ahead at the dense forest and then sighed. “He needed us to get to Jinyoung.”

“I hope Jackson is okay.”

“I believe Jackson is stronger than he looks.”

“Perhaps it wasn’t a deep wound. It sure stunned him.”

“I believe he will greet us again.”

“Yes, I do too.”

You both fell silent, your true worries unspoken. Neither of you had supplies to prolong your travels any. Once you ran out of energy that would be it unless you could harvest something along the way. All you saw was tree after tree and nothing edible in between.

You had managed to drink from a spring some hours earlier into your travel but as the sun grew hotter in the sky and filtered through the lessening density of the trees, you were becoming a little parched.

Still, you travelled on.

Mid-afternoon arrived and Youngjae’s breathing grew laboured. You stopped to rest, wiping the perspiration from your brows and neck, wondering if you could use it to wet your mouth any. It was too salty and you spat it out, groaning with your lack of resources.

You hadn’t thought far ahead.

“There’s a clearing,” Youngjae pointed and you turned to the direction he was looking in, perking up.

“And a homestead!”

“Water,” Youngjae breathed as you helped him up.

“Food too.”

“Shelter,” you both stated, trying your best to keep Youngjae upright as you both travelled over the ground with the remaining energy you had.

The clearing was flat and your legs relished in it as you jogged across the grassy field, eyes fixated on what you hoped would be your saviour.

And then you heard the thundering of hooves coming upon you.

_________________

Part 13

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emmyrosee · 4 years

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nooooooo 🥺🥺🥺 part 3 part 3 part 3 part 3 part 3 pretty pretty pretty pleeeeeeaaaaaase

part one/part two

tw; descriptions of a deep, unintentional cut and stitching

—-

It’s incredulous to you how hard this is.

How hard anything is at this point.

This was merely day one- no, hour, 12- and you can barely find it in your wiring to function.

The sun was still high in the sky as you finally worked up the courage to stand, though you’re not even sure how long you were stuck in your head for, standing there like a stature, mind stuck in a shrieking match as well as static with silence. It’s funny to you, how difficult this is, and as you shamble over to the sink, another torturous thought wracks against your skull.

Why did it affect you so much?

Why should it?

His loss, it’s not like anyone put a pistol to his head and made him go out with that woman.

Who was she?

Were there any intentions?

Why would he just talk for the sake of hearing himself talk?

Your thoughts are interrupted as a deep, sharp sting courses through you, resonating from your submerged palm. Shakily, you pull it out, the deep crimson water telling you everything you need to know before you see it.

The massive gash in your hand sends watered down droplets of blood everywhere, and as your heart rate increases, you sloppily wrap your hand in a dirty dish towel and scramble to the bathroom. The towel does nothing but sting even more,

“Motherfucking bowl,” you whisper, voice quivering from the shocking amount of blood, as well as the unbelievable sting impaling your hand. You have absolutely not a clue how to patch it up, let alone with using your opposite hand.

What was one more thing to ruin you? What was another thing to add to the list of stupid pieces of shit’s in your life? What was Axel being right about one more bull shit little thing before potentially driving out of your life forever?

What if Axel realizes he’s too good for you? He seems to think you’re the one too good to be with him, but you would argue the opposite, if he were here.

That’s not what’s important right now. You’re losing a lot of fucking blood, worry about Axel later.

If only he were here to patch it for you. Maybe he would even take you to the hospital for how bad it is.

Why the hospital? How bad is it?

Oh. It’s that bad. You need Axel.

You don’t need Axel, you just need help. You’d accept it from anyone-

But no one would be as gentle as Axel-

“SHUT UP!” You shriek suddenly. It’s the first time your brain goes fully silent, and around you, medicine bottles rattle at the intensity of your wail.

The silence howls in despair as you patch yourself up. There’s nothing. No voice in your head dare speak, no thought dare cross your mind. You could only work on patching your hand in a mediocre fashion, adding obscene amounts of gauze and band-aid layers to your skin.

It’ll have to do, you think to yourself, wordlessly grabbing your keys and a sweatshirt before storming out of your apocalyptic, empty house and to your car, not even bothering to lock the door.

———-

It only takes 2 rounds of knocking to make the skeletal-like man fill the door frames height with ease as he looked at you, looking even worse than he did this morning. You wonder if he’s done anything but hide in the small attached apartment, and judging by the pale, ill-looking tone to his skin, you know the answer.

“This is far from a forgivement,” you say firmly. “I don’t want you to think that this is what this is. Because god knows how long it’ll take for this shitty feeling to heal, and for god’s sake, this is not an excuse for your shitty behavior.”

“Yes,” Axel says plainly, eyes wide as he nods in agreement. “Absolutely. Yeah.” You’re unsure if he’s even listening to you, but at this point you don’t even care.

You sigh shakily, “But I hurt my hand really fucking bad and I can’t stitch it back; I can barely look-”

“What did you do?” He yells, voice pinched in worry. Blood’s already soaked through your less-than infallible layers of bandaging, and you angrily shake your head, “will you help me or not!”

He doesn’t say another word; he merely steps to the side and lets you in his office, where he keeps loads and piles of medical equipment. You wonder what OSHA would say about how yes, he has all the materials, they’re just not easily accessible.

If it were any other scenario, you would tease him for it.

The rest of it is a blur; you wonder if your mind just shut off because of the high;y unpleasant burn of the alcohol on your hand, only to then snap back as he wraps an ace bandage around it. You can’t help but watch him as he stays concentrated on your hand; your heart aches as it knows that no one will ever be as gentle, take as good of care of you no matter the scenario, as Alexander Cluney.

“I’d go to the doctor’s tomorrow,” he mumbles, not looking up. “Make sure the stitching is effective or if there are any antibiotics that you’ll need from the towel.”

“I’m sure it just stung because of how open it was.”

“Can never be too sure,” he says flatly. Finally, he looks up at you and sighs, and you finally get a good glimpse of his eyes, exhausted and red. They’re swollen, sunken, he looks like he’s moments away from passing out. He doesn’t look good.

But given the circumstances, you can’t imagine you look like a prize yourself.

You can see it in his face that he’s holding back himself. Wants to smother you in kisses and pull you in for a spine-cracking hug, he wants to make this better. But he’s holding back, giving you control over the situation.

“Are you hungry?” He asks softly. “I was about to whip something up when you came so… you’re welcome to stay, if you’d like.”

You nod, picking at the skin of your lips. The last thing you ate was the bowl of cereal, and your hand throbs at the memory. Shamefully, you twist your arm to nudge your sleeve down, covering the newly stitched wound.

Copying your nod, he steps to the side to allow you his garage, and you slowly pass the threshold of it. It looks the cleanest you’ve ever seen it, cars washed and waxed, the windows spotless and the concrete two different colors, assumed to be from when he stopped sweeping to answer your knocks. In the corner, his mustang, half covered with a tarp; what you can see is smashed, the bumper hanging limply with the hood dented in random patches.

“What.. happened?” You ask, pointing to the demolished vehicle.

Axel sighs, “ya know, I couldn’t tell you. Drove it here, picked up a hood prop to work on it and then suddenly the hood prop was in my hand and she was destroyed.”

You can’t help the giggle that bubbles from your throat. You know it’s a dick move, and that the mustang was the most precious object to him, but you can’t help the giggle of irony that works past your lips. You cover your lips quickly and look at him with wide eyes, but his eyes hold no anger or offense.

Joy, if anything. Joy at hearing your giggle.

“I’m so sorry,” you say behind your palm. “That was not fair of me.”

“No no,” he protests, scratching his beard. “I deserve it, it’s fine.” He sighs and leans against the front desk. “Probably going to scrap ‘er, anyways.”

“But that’s your baby,” you say, pouting your bottom lip out playfully.

“Not my only baby,” he says. From your peripheral, you can see his green eyes fixed on you, sending a shrill down your spine.

“What’s for dinner?”

Silence and crappy game shows on TV seem to be the most comforting soundtrack over your shared dinner of mac n cheese and Pringles, with a dessert of a 3 Musketeers for dessert. He doesn’t dare say a word, though his eyes seldom leave you. Yours, however, stay focused on the small TV propped in his office, desperate to stay glued to Alex Trebek in the third consecutive episode of Jeopardy that plays.

Axel finally sighs, “you still hun-”

“You honestly didn’t think me seeing you with that woman would upset me?” You ask numbly. You voice doesn’t even break. Your eyes refuse to hold tears.

You just want answers.

Clearing his throat, “so you’re not still hungry?”

“Answer me.”

“I don’t want to fight with you.”

“Me either,” you assure. “I just feel like if we have any chance to salvage this, all cards need to be laid. All questions asked.”

“I didn’t expect you to see me with her,” he says flatly.

“Who is she?”

“Charlie’s uncle’s whore. Prissy little asshole; always used to things going her way. So when it came down to me telling her that not only was I not going to be fixing her car but I wasn’t going to pay to get her a new one, I had to be charming.”

“That’s your excuse?”

“It’s not an excuse, it’s the truth. I told you this morning, I couldn’t give you this super dramatic reveal because that’s all that happened. The touching, the flirting, that was all her; I didn’t do anything because it wasn’t you. I don’t want to act like that with anyone else.”

“So why didn’t you just tell me?”

Axel quirks a brow before smirking, “oh yeah, that would’ve ended so much better; ‘Hey baby, gotta go out to a meeting for work- With who? Just Charlie’s uncle’s sugar baby- why yes, I do know that I look like an absolute fuckhead, it’s part of her aesthetic- oh, I’m also taking the Mustang because she won’t like me if she sees me roll up in my Chevy- I have no idea why, this is just the plan Charlie’s uncle gave me- oh, don’t text me either, she might flirt with me to help the deal progress and I need to pretend I’m interested.’”

“I would’ve listened,” you mumble, cheeks heating up as you hide your creeping smile.

“I’ll bet,” he teases, laughing.

Silence fills the room again, although it doesn’t howl in agony against your ears like it did every other time; it’s airy, light, and you physically feel your shoulders ease up at the confession.

After four more episodes, Alex Trebek finally becomes shitty infomercials, and at the sudden switch, Axel stretches and yawns.

“It’s really late; want me to drive you home?”

“I’m a big girl,” you remind him. “I can drive myself.”

Axel chuckles and holds his hands up in defense, “I’m just trying to be polite. Can you just.. text me when you get home then?”

Fiddling with the lint on your sleeves, you avoid his gaze as you shrug. “I can’t spend the night?”

He merely smiles.

——-

“You stay on your side,” you demand, tucking your hair in your hood as he finishes making the small bed in his apartment. It hadn’t been used in years, and it smells stale and thick. Car show memorabilia, broken tools, a pile of cd’s, everything that Axel once held true to him before he met you is in this apartment, it’s like a part of history you find beyond fascinating.

“Hate to break it to you, but I’m a big guy,” he smooths out the sheets as he stands up, eyebrows raised in amusement. “I took up this whole bed two years ago, I’m willing to bet there’s even less to the ‘sides’ now.”

Teasingly, you stick your tongue out at him, only to yelp and hide it back as he reaches out to pinch it.

“Freak,” you mumble affectionately. He waggles his eyebrows at you, and as you reach across the bed to swat at him, your sleeve slips, revealing your heavy injury.

“You ever going to tell me what happened to your paw?” He asks, sliding off his shirt and stripping down to his briefs. You cross your arms and grip your biceps, avoiding his gaze. He snickers, “did you cut yourself on the bowl?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you grumble, though the smile on your face betrays you. He chuckles, “if you seriously want to get it checked out tomorrow, we can do that.”

You hate how much his use of “we” makes your heart flutter. You hate how much better everything feels, back into place almost. What happened happened, and there was nothing to change it. All you could do is slowly mold everything back into place.

“Yeah,” you nod, smiling sleepily. “That’s fine.”

“Come on,” he hums, easing himself in the too-small bed. “I’m fucking tired.”

“You’re tired,” you snort, crawling in after him. You both can’t help but laugh at the arrangement on the bed, causing you to have half of your body on top of his in order to fit almost well enough, and you really, really hate how good it feels to be so close to him.

“Little miss Stay-On-Your-Side,” he teases, resting a massive hand on your hip.

You huff in annoyance, “I will leave this bed and sleep on the couch if you don’t shut up.”

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” he says sleepily, tightening his hold on you.

The same light, airy silence fills the air again, and next to you, Axel’s breathing slowly evens out, and you can’t help but stare at him. He just looks so at peace, so much stronger and better since this he opened the door to you a few hours ago.

He always did call you his perfect remedy.

“Quit staring at me, freak,” he mumbles sleepily. You laugh and shove his chest weakly, drawing shapes on his chest absentmindedly.

“Axel…”

“Yeah baby?”

“I missed you…”

Without missing a beat, he leans over to kiss your head, “I missed you too, pumpkin. More than you could ever know.”

“We’re gonna be okay?”

“We’re gonna be okay, babydoll,” he assures. A small smile cracks over his face again, “now do me a favor and go the fuck to sleep, nerd.”

-----

Tagging (last time I swear don’t hate me)

@gothguitargal @madamaholmes @walkxthexmoon @billofourtime @kathryn-jane @dreamtherapy @jadelynlace @multi-fan-lover @shenevertricks1831 @tabseus @dragsraksllib @hecohansen31

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

wild flower, chapter three (shalaska) 3/10 - freyja

A/N: I keep trying to post once a week, but I also keep forgetting that AQ is one day ahead, so we’ll just have to deal with an odd week-and-a-day schedule. Thank you once again to freykitten for betaing - you are the best and I adore you.

Anyway, chapter three: in which Alaska is forced to realize that outlaws are… tolerable, I suppose.

🌸

“I was happy in the midst of dangers and inconveniences.” – Daniel Boone

🌸

Alaska wakes up to a bucket of water being thrown into her face.

She jolts into consciousness with a gasp, shaking with shock and the cold of the water. She attempts to open her eyes in her haste, but she immediately has to squeeze them shut against the rivulets of water streaming down her face.

“Morning!” Sharon sounds cheerful, a smile clear in her voice. Alaska hates her.

“Fuck you,” she croaks out, throat dry. She’s starting to feel a bit like a broken record, but she’s never been a morning person and Sharon’s wit is hard to keep up with five seconds after waking up.

“Maybe later,” Sharon says, but the response sounds almost automatic. “We’ve got something for you.”

Alaska frowns skeptically. “I’m sure.”

Sharon sighs, and Alaska wants to look at her so badly.

She forces herself to blink her eyes open, now that the water is done running down her face, and takes in the scene, a few droplets clinging to her eyelashes.

Sharon is crouched down next to her, holding a mug of water. A tin plate of eggs and beans sits next to her on an overturned bucket. Alaska’s mouth waters at the sight.

“See?” Sharon asks, raising an eyebrow. “Something. Start talking.”

“You’re denying me food and water to get information,” Alaska asks flatly, disbelieving.

“At least until they’re completely necessary,” Sharon says, shrugging. “We can’t have you die on us too soon.”

Alaska’s mouth feels drier just looking at the water, and she has to swallow several times to speak without coughing. Her stomach growls. It’s only a mild hunger - she hasn’t actually missed a meal yet - but it makes her realize that she’s never missed a meal in her life. She doesn’t know how well she’ll stand against this, and she doesn’t want to be reduced to begging. Her pride won’t let her, not when she knows she can come up with a better proposal.

She just needs to think.

“It won’t work,” she tries, but Sharon just smiles wryly.

“I’ve done this more times than you own dresses,” Sharon says, standing up. “I know what I’m doing.”

The reference is a deliberate dig at her dramatics the previous night, and it hurts a little. “So at least two times,” Alaska drawls, determined to seem unaffected. “I’m impressed.”

Sharon snorts. “Please. I’m sure you have more dresses back wherever you came from,” she says. “Get up.”

Alaska glares up at her from the ground. “I’m a little tired,” she says coldly. “I think I’ll pass.”

Sharon presses her lips together, and Alaska deems herself successful in getting under the other woman’s skin. She gives Sharon the most saccharine smile she can muster. Sharon is unamused.

“Fine,” Sharon says. “I can always come back tomorrow.”

“Thank god.”

It clearly isn’t the response Sharon had wanted, judging by the flicker in her otherwise impassive expression. “I can do this for a long time.”

Alaska raises an eyebrow. “But you can’t, can you?”

Sharon’s eyebrows creep up to her hairline. “I’m sorry?” She grabs Alaska by the arm and pulls, forcing her to stand up. Her arms prickle painfully at the movement, having fallen asleep due to their position behind her. “You know something I don’t?”

“Well, obviously,” Alaska says, and Sharon scowls.

“Do you have a point, or is this just you being a brat?” she snaps, and Alaska meets her gaze as confidently as she can, despite quite literally shaking in her boots. She is the one in control of the situation - the one with the information, and thus can decide where the conversation is going to go - but Sharon is still terrifying. She’s gotten too used to the other woman’s amused attitude - her anger is something else entirely.

“They know you’re onto them,” Alaska says, voice miraculously steady. “You know that. They’re trying to leave, and pretty soon even the escape routes I know will be useless.”

“The last thing you want to be is useless,” Sharon tells her, anger seeming to cool down a little with Alaska’s clarification.

“And the last thing you want is to be knocked back to square one,” Alaska says, thinking fast. She has somewhat of an idea, and she can only pray that Sharon thinks it’s just as good as she does. “I think I have a way to avoid both.”

Sharon steps back, crossing her arms. “Alright,” she says slowly, suspicious. “You’re smart. Tell me.”

“If I tell you what I know,” Alaska says, even as her stomach turns at the thought of betraying her uncle. She tells herself that she betrayed him the minute she memorized the map he’d wanted her to burn - this was going to happen eventually, somehow, some way, and that’s why she’d done it. The damage is already done. “If I tell you what I know, I want to stay here until Solomon is no longer a threat.”

“You want us to protect you?” Sharon asks, surprised.

“If I tell you, I’m on your side,” Alaska says, heart pounding with what she is about to do - what she is about to commit to. “I’ll be a target for Solomon, and I’d rather be here than back home as a sitting duck.”

“Deal,” Sharon says without hesitation. “This is absolutely a fucking deal. But - you’re sure you don’t want to go back?”

“You burned it down, remember?” Alaska says, knowing that Sharon meant New York. She just can’t - she can’t face her father right now. She doesn’t know if she can take his false concern, only to be presented to different men every night like some prize dog just days later.

Living with bandits seems more bearable than that.

Sharon gives her a look, but she lets it drop, the deal seemingly making her merciful. “Just know - we can’t let you leave until it’s all over, not when you can give to Solomon what you’re giving to us.”

“Understood,” Alaska says, and Sharon’s face breaks into a smile.

“Then we have ourselves a deal,” she says, eyes roaming all over Alaska’s face with something like appreciation in her eyes. Alaska wills her blush to go down.

“Something on my face?” she asks, calling back to their first meeting, when Sharon had been the one to catch her staring. Instead of blushing and spluttering out an excuse, however, Sharon just tilts her head.

“Actually,” she says, leaning forwards, “there is.” And suddenly, her hand is on Alaska’s face.

Alaska flinches sharply, startled, but Sharon pays her no heed, gently wiping Alaska’s damp cheek with her thumb. Her hand is gone as quickly as it came, but her touch still lingers, warm against Alaska’s chilled skin. Alaska holds her breath throughout the entire affair, only daring to relax when Sharon steps back, seemingly unaware of the effect she’s having.

She raises her hand for Alaska to see, a piece of grass pinched between her thumb and forefinger. “Piece of hay,” she says, flicking it to the ground, and Alaska exhales harshly.

“How-?” she asks, racking her brain for when that could have appeared. She’s a little embarrassed, feeling disheveled and unseemly because of it. It’s ridiculous, considering who Sharon is, and the fact that her hair and dress are already beyond hope, but something about Sharon’s touch had rattled her.

“We used the horses’ water bucket to wake you up,” Sharon says, eyes twinkling mischievously. Alaska recoils, all memory of Sharon’s touch vanishing in favor of complete disgust.

“What?”

“It was the closest one,” Sharon says, and Alaska narrows her eyes at her, suddenly very aware that her dress is completely soaked with the now warm water.

“The horses are on the opposite side of camp!” she snaps, and Sharon laughs. “Ugh!”

“You can take a bath as soon as you tell me everything,” Sharon says, almost teasingly.

“In what?”

“There’s a creek just off the path.”

“That’s not much better.”

“Well, it’s what you’ll be drinking. Better get used to it.”

“Can’t I at least eat first?”

“I’m not untying you before we can be sure you won’t be difficult,” Sharon says, “and I’m pretty sure you don’t want to be spoon fed, despite the silver one you were born with in your mouth.”

Alaska rolls her eyes at the jab, and Sharon laughs again, before her smile fades into something more serious, although her eyes still hold their perpetual amusement. She smirks a little with her next words: “Now. Spill.”

🌸

“Jesus,” Jinkx says as Alaska and Sharon duck into the main tent, which is really just a piece of canvas strung out over a wooden platform. “What did you do to her?”

“It’s called interrogation,” Sharon says, and Alaska tightens her lips. Her skirts are still wet, having barely dried in the time it took for her to tell Sharon everything and eat the breakfast she’d brough for her, and she’s found a few more pieces of hay on her chest and in her hair. She isn’t in the mood to forgive.

“It’s called being cruel,” Alaska shoots back, plucking another piece of grass off of her corset. Her back is beginning to tire from being in it for so long, but she’s been successful in ignoring it so far. She just needs to keep it off her mind. She flicks the grass at Sharon, pulling the corners of her mouth down to show her disgust. “Unnecessarily so.”

Sharon rolls her eyes, and Jinkx frowns at her.

“And she’s untied because….” Jinkx leads, although she doesn’t seem very alarmed. She leans against the table to the right, a piece of paper in her hands. It looks like a letter, but she puts it to the side before Alaska can get a good look at it.

Alaska looks at Sharon for her response, but she instead goes straight to a rickety desk opposite Jinkx, opening one of the peeling drawers and rustling through it. After a few moments of silence, Alaska looks at Jinkx.

“We’ve come to an agreement,” Alaska says, still a little unsure of her place and surprised that Sharon seems to expect her to fill in Jinkx. She’s staying in the camp for protection, but she’s still unclear on how welcome she is in doing so. Being treated as one of them seems strange, and besides, she isn’t sure she wants to be treated as one of them. “My information for your protection.”

“Our information, now,” Sharon says, pulling a blank sheet of paper out of the second drawer down. She puts it on the desktop, pulling a fountain pen from its stand and holding it out to Alaska. “You can draw a map, right?”

“I can,” Alaska says, a little dryly. “But I already told you everything.”

“A map can’t hurt,” Sharon says, a piece of hair falling into her face, freed from her hat upon entry into the tent. Alaska pretends that her desire to tuck it behind her ear is one born of tidiness and nothing more.

She takes the pen from Sharon after a moment, moving to sit down at the desk. As she bends down, her bun tilts on her head painfully, and after a few tries to correct it she decides to take it down and redo it.

She pulls out the pins, allowing her hair to fall down her back. She runs her fingers through it, wincing as her fingers catch on the tangles.

“You should keep it like that,” Sharon says, just as Alaska begins to gather her hair back up into a bun. “It suits you.”

Alaska looks at her, a smart comment on the tip of her tongue, but it vanishes at the expression on Sharon’s face. It’s thoughtful, warm, the look in her eyes suddenly intense. Her breath catches, face growing warm.

“It tangles,” she manages, quickly looking back down at the map.

“Look at Jinkx’s!” Sharon argues. “She doesn’t care, and it doesn’t even look good.”

“You’re one to talk,” Jinkx snorts, and Alaska bites back her immediate objection.

“Yeah, because it’s tangled,” she shoots back instead, cheeks still flushed. She looks back at Sharon to find the expression gone, but instead of relief, her stomach dips in disappointment. “Half up,” she finds herself saying, just to get that expression back again. She’d seen it before, on the men her father had brought through the house, but it had never brought the flush of pleasure that all of Alaska’s friends had giggled about. To see Sharon look at her like that is rewarding, and it’s so pleasantly surprising that Alaska lets herself feel it without repercussion.

A small smirk tugs at the corner of Sharon’s mouth, her gaze warm. “Perfect,” she says, and Alaska finds herself smiling back, her chest growing warm with the praise.

“Are we drawing a map?” Jinkx says suddenly, jerking Alaska back into reality. “Or are we doing Alaska’s hair?”

“Can’t it be both?” Sharon says, pouting a little, but Alaska feels too flustered to brush it off, quickly looking back down at the desk.

She’s disgusted with herself, for her enamour with Sharon and letting her feelings get the best of her. She can’t - Sharon isn’t an option. She cannot be, for more reasons than one.

She stares hard at the blank sheet of paper, berating herself and battling the lump of tears that has suddenly sprung up in her throat. She rolls her lips between her teeth, trying to bring herself out of the spiral and back into the present, but ironically, the thing that does it is Sharon herself.

“Alaska?” she says gently, and Alaska jumps at the hand that suddenly touches her shoulder.

“I’m fine,” she grits out, jerking her shoulder away from Sharon’s touch. “Just let me focus.”

“Alright,” Sharon says after a moment. “Alright. We’ll be quiet.”

Her response takes Alaska aback, and she nearly looks back at Sharon in her surprise, stopping herself just in time. Again, she wonders what her place here is, if the gang leader herself falls silent at Alaska’s command? She shakes her head at the thought, immediately dismissing it as dramatics. But still. It isn’t quite that drastic, but the fact that Sharon respects her enough to listen is enough to ponder over.

Maybe it’s all in an effort to get the best information possible, even if that reasoning doesn’t fit very well.

As Alaska makes the first line on the paper, she wonders if Sharon sees it as a deal being carried out, or a member just doing her job.

🌸

Almost immediately after Sharon gets the map, she leaves Alaska alone with Jinkx, moving quickly across camp to ‘get this shit started as soon as possible’.

It’s clear why Alaska isn’t in Sharon’s tent with Detox and Willam - her loyalties fresh and wildly self serving - but the fact that Jinkx is the one standing next to her and not someone else is strange, considering how close she and Sharon seem to be.

“Come on,” Jinkx says, her lethargic tone making it clear that she doesn’t share Alaska’s confusion. “I’ll give you a tour of the place.”

Alaska nods, curious to see the other bandits and eager to see the entire camp with fresh eyes, ones not blurred by panic and darkness. She follows Jinkx to the entrance of camp, Jinkx speaking cheerfully.

“We’ll start with the horses - but I suppose you already know where they are.” Jinkx laughs a little, still sounding sleepy and relaxed despite the gravity of what Alaska had tried to do just hours before.

Alaska fights back a blush, even though she really shouldn’t be surprised that Sharon told Jinkx about the previous night, or that Jinkx would tease her about it. The thought just makes Jinkx’s exclusion that much more odd. “So,” Alaska drawls, falling into step besides Jinkx as they reach the horses. “Why are you showing me what I already know, instead of planning over the information you don’t?”

Jinkx looks confused for a moment before her eyes light up in realization. “Well, I betrayed one of our girls to the law a couple years back for money,” she says calmly, patting a chocolate stallion’s neck almost absentmindedly. “Sharon forgave me, but I haven’t had her trust since.”

Alaska stares at her, slack jawed.

Jinkx holds her stare for a few moments, Alaska’s shock and horror growing with every second, before she suddenly breaks into laughter, making Alaska jump.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” she says, and Alaska has to take a moment to process what she’s saying before she’s frowning at the other woman, exaggerated to show her good humor.

“I’m sorry,” Jinkx says, taking deep breaths to calm herself down. She smiles at Alaska good naturedly. “You just looked so suspicious, I couldn’t resist.”

“But I think there’s still some truth to it,” Alaska says, smiling back despite herself. “I don’t think I can trust you after that.”

Jinkx rolls her eyes. “Like you were going to trust me from the start,” she points out, and Alaska shrugs.

“If I had to choose someone to trust,” she says, “it would be you. You’re probably the most trustworthy one in this camp.”

Jinkx sighs, grin fading into something smaller, teeth hidden behind her lips. “That probably has something to do with why I’m not with Sharon right now.”

Alaska quirks an eyebrow in a silent request for Jinkx to continue, and Jinkx smirks a little, turning to stroke the stallion’s nose as he turns his head towards her.

“I love this life,” Jinkx says. “I love Sharon and these girls to death. I really think I would die anywhere else from pure heartache and misery. But I’m not suited for it. I did mess up a mission a while back - I’m the reason Detox even has a wanted poster. I offered to leave out of guilt,” Jinkx’s voice wavers just slightly, “but Sharon begged me to stay. Don’t get me wrong - I’m not here without doing anything. I just tend to stick to the domestic side.”

“How did you mess it up?” Alaska asks, enthralled, and Jinkx gives the stallion a final pat before turning to Alaska, smiling slyly.

“Let’s just say I can’t aim for shit and I ain’t got the stomach for shooting guns anyway,” she says. “Now, let’s go see where we keep the food.” And with that, she starts towards the wagon closest to the entrance, leaving Alaska no choice but to follow.

Alaska wants desperately to probe more, painfully curious about what happened and why Sharon had forgiven her, but it’s clear Jinkx doesn’t want to share. If Alaska had to guess, she still feels guilty, and Alaska is the last person she’d want to confide in about that.

She barely pays attention to Jinkx’s presentation on their food supply - “Canned beans: a real delicacy!” - as lost in her thoughts as she is, which is why she jumps three feet into the air when a heavily accented voice suddenly chimes in.

“Jinkx! Tri– who is she?”

The question is blunt, and Alaska can’t help but feel like it’s a rude way to ask. She turns to face a woman with sharp cheekbones, wild blonde hair, and sparkling eyes. Alaska raises an eyebrow at the bright red lipstick she’s wearing. “I could ask the same question,” she says dryly, but instead of the glare she’s expecting, she gets a wheezing laugh and an insane grin.

“I am an odd one, no?” the woman says. If Alaska had to guess, she would suppose the woman’s accent to be Eastern European, although it’s unlike anything she’s heard.

“This is Katya,” Jinkx says, voice warm. “She’s our doctor and, yes, a bit of an odd duck. Katya, this is Alaska, she–”

“Alaska!” Katya cries, throwing her hands in the air. “So this is our hostage!”

“Actually, we cut a deal,” Jinkx says, looking at Alaska as she says it. “She’s under our protection until Solomon’s no longer a threat.”

Katya’s eyebrows raise, her expression dimming a little, but not completely. “So we know where they are,” she says, and then she snorts. “I guess I’ll start stocking up on supplies - we have the money, right?”

Jinkx laughs, although there’s something like concern in her brow. “I’m sure Sharon will get it somehow,” she says. “Whether she’s smart enough to get it before getting herself hurt is the real question.”

Katya wheezes again, waving her hands with glee. Alaska reluctantly finds herself charmed by such openness.

“Where are you from, if you don’t mind my asking?” she asks, wondering if she even needs to be polite with this group. Katya’s eyes light up.

“Russia!” she says. “Родина! I miss her like I miss my own mother. Which is not at all.”

“So you left to get away from her?” Alaska asks, amused despite herself.

“And to be a doctor,” Katya says eagerly. “I thought I could make a career out in the American west, and I ended up getting picked up by Sharon. Which speaks for my skills, I’m sure.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a positive or a negative,” Alaska laughs, and Jinkx snorts.

“Definitely a negative,” she says. “Sharon just likes picking up strays, and she’s gotten good at coming up with excuses to keep them.”

“No,” Katya begins, mock-offended. “She keeps people who are skilled, and, dare I say, vital to her operation.”

“Oh, come on,” Jinkx groans. She waves at Alaska. “Alaska is living proof!”

Alaska stiffens, all good humor draining out of her body at the implication that she was just another “stray” for Sharon to keep, that she was anything like these criminals. That she’s going to stay longer than completely necessary. “I’d say I’m here for a pretty important reason,” she says, snappier than she intends. “And I doubt Sharon intends to ‘keep’ me.”

Jinkx looks a little surprised. “You’re right,” she says, after a beat. Her expression softens. “I’m sorry.”

Alaska nearly corrects her, a ‘No, I’m sorry’ on the tip of her tongue, but she bites it back. The thought of apologizing for her anger feels too foreign still - she has the right to be angry. Just because she’s starting to like Jinkx doesn’t mean she isn’t running around with the woman who’d burned her uncle’s house down and taken her away from everything familiar.

Just because the anger isn’t as hot anymore doesn’t mean she can’t still feel it burning.

She looks at Katya, slightly embarrassed at her little outburst, to find the smaller woman frowning at her, although it’s not ill-tempered. For a moment, she fears she’s going to ask more questions and Alaska won’t be able to reign her temper in, but instead she grants them all a small mercy by changing the subject.

“Anyway,” she says airily, poking fun at the tense atmosphere. “I came here for your services.” She looks at Jinkx as she says this, who immediately breaks out into a smile.

“Something to do with the letter in your hand?” she asks, tone teasing.

Katya blushes slightly. “I can’t write very well,” she says. “Not in English, and–”

“It needs to be perfect for a certain someone?” Jinkx finishes, and Katya’s smile is small and soft, a stark contrast to her usual blinding grin.

“I was thinking, I could speak it out for you, and you write what I say.”

Jinkx looks hesitant. “My handwriting isn’t great, but if no one else is willing…” She trails off, looking at Alaska thoughtfully. “You had a proper education, right?”

Alaska raises an eyebrow. “My handwriting is good, yes.”

“Could you?”

Alaska takes a moment to think, before shrugging and nodding. She’d done something similar for her friends back home, and she doesn’t see any harm in doing it for Katya.

Katya grins. “Excellent. Thank you - follow me!”

They trail after Katya to a covered wagon, filled with crates, a few loose rolls of bandages lingering in the crevices between boxes. A tarp is stretched out from the roof of it over two bedrolls and a crate serving as a counter, again filled with medical supplies. A few framed pictures litter a smaller crate next to the large one, along with a pen and some papers.

“So,” Alaska says, leaning against the wagon as Jinkx flops herself down onto one of the bedrolls, yawning. “Tell me all about him.”

“Who?” Katya asks, heading over to the desk.

“The guy who’s getting the letter I’m going to slave over,” Alaska says, teasing. “I think I deserve to know at least a little.”

“Oh! No, no,” Katya laughs. “Her name is Trixie, and she’s the prettiest woman I have ever laid eyes on.”

Alaska feels the shock like a punch to her gut, and she just barely manages to school her expression into betraying nothing. She shouldn’t be surprised - these are criminals, outlaws. It makes sense for them to engage in crimes other than violent ones. She shouldn’t be surprised that - that–

“Do you want to read it?” Katya asks, oblivious to the turmoil churning in Alaska’s gut. “She has the loveliest writing. Though yours is wonderful too, I’m sure.”

“Thanks,” Alaska says vaguely, taking the letter without thinking. She looks down at it, reading the first lines.

Dearest Katya,

I suppose this is the place where I tell you all about the man who pissed himself yesterday because he was too drunk to find his way to the outhouse, or about the woman who dragged her husband out by his ear (only thirty seconds after he walked in, too - frankly, I’m impressed), but right now all I can think about is how much I miss talking to you. You don’t have a wife to drag you out of the saloon. At least, I’m pretty sure. I miss the way–

Alaska tears her gaze away, heart pounding. This is too much, too intimate–

“I’m sorry,” she says, straightening abruptly. “I have to go.”

Katya frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” Alaska says again, and sparing a glance at Jinkx, who’s fallen asleep, she walks away as quickly as she can.

The letter was sweet. Romantic, touching, whatever. It doesn’t matter because it is wrong.

She can’t stop thinking of Sharon.

It doesn’t make sense. She hates the woman - hates her. But her face seems to be burned into the backs of Alaska’s eyelids, her strange expression from earlier haunting every word of that letter.

Alaska heads into the woods without thinking, following a little dirt path downhill to a small stream trickling through the trees. She sits down by it, removing her socks and shoes and sticking her feet in, sighing at the blessed cool.

Maybe she doesn’t hate Sharon. Maybe she hates the way Sharon makes her feel, the strange thrall she seems to have over Alaska even despite the burning anger she can still conjure up when she thinks of the fire her uncle’s house had made.

These feelings aren’t new - she’s felt them before, despite the countless men that had evoked nothing more than a tinge of affection. She’d felt them for the girl at the fabric shop, with her curly dark hair and playful smile. She’d felt them for her best friend Courtney, before they’d faded in favor of a suitor’s older sister.

She hated herself with each woman, asked herself why she couldn’t just make life easier and love men. She’d accepted it after a small affair with the older sister, something about knowing people like her existed knocking the self-hatred out of her, but things hadn’t improved in the slightest.

She accepted that she would be miserable for the rest of her life somewhere around the age of twenty.

Nothing had changed that expectation in four years, until fifteen minutes ago.

With Katya’s unabashedness about sharing her letter, sinful in the eyes of the law, came a sort of permission. As an outlaw, it doesn’t matter what she does. She’s already broken one law - what more is a few?

It sends a fission of hope through Alaska, and no matter how hard she tries to squash it, it won’t go away.

These women have the freedom to be who they are, to do what they want. She’s known that - but she’s always associated it with violence and with anger. She’d thought of it as a relief for the things society creates so deeply within the soul.

She’s never thought of the freedom it gave love.

Despite herself, she allows a brief moment to picture herself staying. No more men. No more pressures. The privilege to have something real like Katya has, something that Alaska had resigned herself to never having.

It’s overwhelmingly tempting.

But something in her still resists, her principles and her pride keeping her from fully falling into the opportunity lying before her.

She reminds herself of what she’d have to do to get this freedom. Reminds herself of what Sharon did just to get her to this point.

This last thought succeeds in sparking rage within her, and Alaska vows to run as soon as Solomon hits the ground. She will not be this. She will not steal - will not murder - to serve herself. That’s what makes a criminal, and she refuses to become one.

She’s better than that.

🌸

Jinkx finds her just as the sun starts to set.

Alaska jumps as fingers touch her shoulder, and Jinkx whispers an apology.

“Katya told me what happened,” she says. “Are you okay?”

Alaska resents the lump of tears that immediately arises at the question, touched by the concern in a place where she feels so alone. She swallows it back. “I’m fine.”

“How long have you been here? Sharon’s pissed.”

“A few hours,” Alaska says, standing. “And she’s the one who told me about this creek.”

“I’ll be sure to remind her,” Jinkx says, smiling a little. “Come on. Alyssa’s got dinner going. Also, we need to get you out of that dress.”

“Thank god,” Alaska says, following Jinkx back up the trail. Her ribs are aching now, along with her back, and she’s pretty sure she’ll have some bruises once she finally gets it off. “I need this corset off now.”

“Demanding, aren’t we?” Jinkx says lightly, and Alaska snorts.

“You should see me back home - I’m a monster.” The thought of home tugs at her heart and whatever makes that lump of tears appear in her throat returns with a vengeance. Despite all its restrictions, she finds she still misses her home.

“I don’t doubt it,” Jinkx says.

They make the rest of the five minute walk in silence, Alaska shaking off the homesickness like she would a small chill. There’s no point in missing home, when she knows she’ll likely end up back there by the end of the summer, when she would have returned even without all of this.

But then why does she feel like she’ll never see it again?

She has no reason to think Sharon won’t uphold her end of the deal, and, despite herself, she trusts the other woman to stay honest with this. She puts it toward the fact that she’s just impatient for it all to be over, and then she drops the train of thought before she can overthink it. Overthinking never got her anything nice.

They emerge from the woods and head straight for the fire flickering in the middle of camp, where a lone figure sits.

As they approach the warmth of the fire, welcome on Alaska’s chilled skin - she hadn’t realized how cold Colorado could get at night, even in the middle of June - the lone figure reveals itself to be Sharon, who stands up as soon as they get close enough to see her face in the fire light.

“Where were you?” she demands, expression more intense than Alaska thinks is necessary. Jinkx hadn’t exaggerated - Sharon is clearly upset with her.

“The stream,” Alaska says, trying not to betray her surprise at Sharon’s less than warm welcome. “You know - the one you told me about?”

Sharon clearly isn’t charmed. “You shouldn’t go there alone,” she says. “I meant that I would take you there.”

“I think I can manage a stream on my own,” Alaska says, bristling. She may not be a gun wielding outlaw, but she isn’t helpless.

“Do you?” Sharon says, something sharp entering her tone. “Is that why you wanted our protection? So you could manage on your own?”

“Sharon,” Jinkx says, pressing a warm bowl of soup into Alaska’s hands. Alaska’s stomach growls at the smell - she hadn’t even realized how hungry she was.

“Jinkx,” Sharon says mockingly, and Jinkx rolls her eyes.

“If Solomon is lurking that close to camp, I think you might have some bigger things to worry about,” Alaska says, and Sharon’s eyebrows creep up her forehead.

“Oh, is Solomon himself all I have to worry about?” she asks, tilting her head. “Guess I’ll save my bullets on the cougars that live around here.”

Cougars. She hadn’t even - she suddenly feels stupid, like she’s started an argument she was only going to lose, and it makes anger flare red hot in her chest. “Guess that saves you a lot of trouble,” she snaps, and Sharon laughs bitterly. When she speaks next, there’s a dangerous edge to her voice.

“Jesus, if that’s the case, I’ll–”

“Sharon,” Jinkx says, and this time, Sharon falls silent, mouth snapping shut. She visibly takes a deep breath through her nose, closing her eyes, frowning.

“Just-” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Just, tell me if you leave camp, alright? Eat your fucking stew.”

Alaska finds herself softening, albeit unwillingly. “Yes, ma’am,” she says, tone light, and she feels a rush of pleasure when the corner of Sharon’s mouth twitches into something like a smirk. She turns away, and Alaska is granted the wherewithal to wipe that pleasure away quickly, cheeks flushing.

“So,” Jinkx says from her place on a log, “how soon should I expect to be worried sick, now that you know where Solomon’s got himself wedged?”

“Not for a while - we’ve still got to come up with a solid plan,” Sharon says, letting out a long breath, hands on her hips. “It’s hard, with all the escape routes they have planned.”

“How long until they use one of them?”

“Not for at least a week - they think I don’t know where they are, so they won’t be in any rush. Preferably, when we attack, it’ll be easier with half their shit packed.”

Jinkx still looks worried. “It’ll be easier if you just don’t attack at all.”

Sharon laughs the suggestion away, sitting down next to Jinkx and giving her a quick hug. “I do love my Jinkxie,” she says, resting her head briefly on Jinkx’s shoulder before pulling away. She glances at Alaska as she does so, and Alaska quickly looks into her bowl of soup - this conversation clearly isn’t for her, no matter how fascinated she is by this new side of Sharon, so she takes the opportunity to eat.

The taste isn’t nearly as good as the smell, especially after her first few bites. The meat is stringy and hard to chew, and the vegetables are mushy. She tries not to gag, her stomach not allowing her to throw away food when she’s already had so little, but she still makes a face.

She’s most of the way through her bowl when the mention of her name grabs her attention.

“Alaska needs some clothes,” Jinkx is saying, leaning against Sharon’s side. “I can’t imagine what that corset is doing to her.”

“Jesus,” Sharon says, a little surprised. “I haven’t been in one for so long, I–” she cuts herself off, and Alaska wants so badly to hear the rest of the sentence. What does Sharon not want her to hear? “She’s not going to want to wear a corset for a little while, so Willam’s dresses are out.”

“And Alyssa’s will be too big.”

Sharon suddenly looks at her, and Alaska startles a little, feeling a little like she’s just been caught eavesdropping, despite the conversation being about her.

“Stand up,” Sharon orders, and Alaska obeys before she can think better of it.

Sharon stands with her, eyes running over her body in a way that makes Alaska grow too warm, and she shifts uncomfortably under her gaze. “You’re just so fucking tall,” Sharon bemoans, and Alaska grimaces.

“It’s been a problem,” she admits, and Sharon raises her eyebrows.

“Jesus, I’m sure. Well, I’m the tallest in the camp, so your best bet is with me. You’re finished?” she points at Alaska’s bowl.

“Yes.”

Jinkx yawns, stretching as she stands. “I’m heading to bed. You can handle her on your own?” she asks Sharon, and Sharon smirks.

“I’ve done it before.”

Alaska blushes. “If that’s wh–”

“Follow me!” Sharon interrupts cheerfully, and she’s heading towards her tent before Alaska can recover enough to continue her sentence.

Alaska fumes most of the way there, annoyed with Sharon and reluctant to spend any more time with her, but her anger fades as they near the tent, a small thrill running through her instead, heart pounding.

She’s about to get a glimpse into Sharon’s life - is she messy? Neat? Frugal? Extravagant? Are the walls lined with money? Does she keep some of the jewels the gang steals?

Sharon lifts the flap into the tent, and disappears inside, flap falling shut behind her. Alaska hesitates, unsure if she’s meant to follow.

“Well?” Sharon says, poking her head out. “Are you coming in, or are you planning on changing out here?” She holds the tent flap open for Alaska without waiting for an answer, and Alaska ducks inside, her wariness forgotten in the name of her curiosity.

It’s a tent.

Alaska nearly laughs at herself for building a fantasy in her head and expecting it to be reality, but it’s still disappointing to see two crates pushed together to create a messy table, a small set of old drawers, and a flat bedroll when the expectation was the grandeur of a queen.

“Now, don’t get too jealous,” Sharon says, shedding her overcoat to reveal a loose white shirt, partially unbuttoned. She tosses it carelessly to the floor, her hat quick to follow. “I came by it honestly.”

Alaska quickly averts her eyes, suddenly feeling warm when before she’d been chilly. A woman’s collarbone isn’t anything she hasn’t seen before, but something feels too intimate in the dim candlelight of Sharon’s tent.

The fact that it’s Sharon feels too intimate.

“Two jokes in one go,” Alaska drawls, trying to disguise her fluster by examining a compass with deep interest. “I’m impressed.”

“I’m flattered,” Sharon says, digging into the set of drawers. “But I did come by this shit honestly. It’s hardly worth stealing a bunch of empty crates.” She pulls out a white shirt and a long skirt. She tosses them at Alaska, who catches them instinctively.

“Here,” she says, smirking. “As much as I want you in pants, I don’t really see you in them.”

“Thank you,” Alaska says, and she really is grateful. To give up her dress feels like a surrender already, a way of giving in to this lifestyle, but to wear pants would have sealed the deal. Wearing pants is just another way for Sharon to stick it to the law, and Alaska has no desire to do the same.

But as she watches Sharon run a hand through her dark hair, her lips seemingly in a permanent pout when she’s not smirking, breaking the rules is starting to sound better and better.

Alaska jerks herself out of her thoughts, tearing her eyes away from Sharon’s face and shoulders and hips and landing somewhere around her boots.

“Thank you,” Alaska repeats, because her brain stopped working at some point within the last thirty seconds. “I think I’m ready to change.” She waits for Sharon to leave, to wait outside for her to change, but Sharon doesn’t even shift in that direction.

“Great,” Sharon says, and to Alaska’s horror, she starts coming closer.

“What are you doing?” she snaps out, stepping back. Sharon stops, and when Alaska looks back up at her face, she’s giving her a strange look.

“I figured you needed help with your corset,” she says slowly. “Unless they’ve changed the design sometime in the last six years.” Her tone is dry, teasing, but there’s a hint of uncertainty hidden within that has Alaska’s heart softening, and her curiosity piquing.

Not for the first time, she feels an unbelievable need to know this woman, but she hasn’t got a clue on where to start.

“No,” Alaska says, embarrassed. “They haven’t. Thank you.”

Sharon smirks, and she slips behind Alaska, nearly silent. Alaska shivers.

“Here,” Sharon says, and suddenly her hand is grazing the nape of Alaska’s neck, brushing her hair out of the way. Alaska jumps a little at her touch, goosebumps raising up all over her body. She mouths sorry wordlessly, the air suddenly electric, and she moves her hair so that it lays over her shoulder.

Sharon hums her thanks, and her hand moves to the top button of Alaska’s dress, touch never leaving her skin. Alaska takes a deep breath in through her nose, trying to calm her pounding heart as Sharon unbuttons button after button, fingers painfully slow.

She can feel Sharon’s breath ghost along the skin of her newly exposed back, and she miraculously holds back another shudder.

She feels Sharon tug at the knot at the bottom of her corset a few times, and a huff of frustration soon follows.

“Who tied this fucking knot?” Sharon whispers, seemingly to herself, but Alaska can’t resist replying, relieved at the break from the tension.

“It’s on purpose,” Alaska says, voice quiet. An owl hoots somewhere in the woods. “My uncle’s maidservant was convinced I was going to sleep with every man that my uncle had over, so she did everything in her power to prevent it.”

Sharon laughs softly, still tugging at the knot. “Doesn’t she know the only thing you need is the strength to lift up a skirt?”

Heat crawls up to Alaska’s cheeks, but she laughs despite herself, the shock of the remark blasting past any sort of reserve she had within her. “Jesus Christ!”

Sharon laughs again, and with one final tug, the knot comes loose. “Thank fuck,” she murmurs, loosening the rest of the ribbon. Alaska can’t help but moan at the relief it gives her, and Sharon’s fingers stutter strangely for a moment.

“You okay back there?” Alaska asks, and Sharon snorts.

“Fine.” She sets a hand on Alaska’s back, making her breath catch. “Done,” she says, and then Alaska feels the heat of her lean closer, next to her ear. “I’ll leave you to it.” Her voice is low, sultry, and it makes Alaska’s stomach dip. “Though I’ll be sorry to miss the show.”

She’s out of the tent far too fast for Alaska to even turn around, and Alaska is left to change alone.

If she unbuttons her corset with more vigor than usual, it’s because she’s pissed.

No other reason.

#rpdr fanfiction #sharon needles #alaska thunderfuck #jinkx monsoon #katya zamolodchikova #shalaska #trixya #wild west au #western au #cowboy au #lesbian au #wild flower #freyja #tw interrogation #tw kidnapping #tw internalized homophobia

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thegodshavehorns · 4 years

Text

Come Into My Parlor (3/5)

Chapter 3: Electra and Oedipus Do the Limbo

It’s mid-Scorpio in Istanbul, on a cool overcast afternoon that seems to be considering precipitation but hasn’t decided yet. You are sitting in your hotel room, a five-star accommodation that overlooks the Sea of Marmara. The harbor with its yachts and sailboats is just outside the hotel, and large container ships float beyond like weightless fortresses.

You are here with Eridan on some sort of undisclosed business of his, and he doesn’t require your presence at this moment. Deducing from past field trips, it is likely that he is politicking.

You move to the hotel’s minibar, and rifle through it for its most expensive items. You remove them, and place them on the coffee table, then arrange two plush armchairs into a welcoming layout. And, remembering the fiasco from last time, you unlock the door.

“Vriska Serket?” you say aloud, and your lips curl. “I can assure you that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is nowhere about.”

You sit down in the armchair, sinking several inches into the cushion. Nothing happens, and you sigh. Not this again.

“Vriska Serket, will you make me play this game every time we-”

Movement, something blue, out of the corner of your eye. You turn.

She’s outside your window, hovering in midair, arms crossed and wearing a bored expression.

Suppressing a roll of your eyes, you smile and move to unlatch the window. Are all the gods this overly dramatic? “How do you do, Lady Luck? What brings you to my window? Looking for your shadow?”

The Thief of Light swings into the room as gracefully as might be possible while coming in through a window, folding her wings in as she does. She is not wearing the pirate gear from last time, nor the orange godhood, but rather a long black coat and blue jeans. She looks at you for a moment, eyes scrutinizing, then turns to look around the room.

“Nice block. Definitely an improvement over last time.”

You close the window behind her, then come to the front and indicate the minibar items. “Chocolate liqueur?”

She snorts softly, then says; “Don’t mind if I do.”

You hand her the bottle, and she speaks again as you seat yourself again in the armchair.

“Do you like that old story?”

You smile politely. “The original much more than any of the adaptations. Though I suppose the version with Robin Williams had merit as well.”

“Hm.” The goddess frowns at the bottle in her hand, then flashes her teeth at you in a wide grin. “Then surely you know that I’m not Pupa Pan. Or whatever they call him on this planet.”

“Forgive me for trying to force a metaphor. There wasn’t anything I could think of on the spot that related to Captain Hook.” You pause. “Would you like to have a seat? On the chair, or the bed, or the table, or the floor? Anywhere?”

Vriska does not sit, but rather remains standing, leaning slightly against the intricately patterned wall. She uncorks the bottle and sips the chocolate liqueur, eyeing you. At length, she speaks: “Do you have what I want?”

“Yes,” you say, and smile more genuinely than before. You have prepared for this, as promised. You spoke with Eridan after your previous meeting with the Thief, and told him of Vriska’s odd little information exchange. Interestingly, he showed very little irritation or surprise. Of course, it had occurred to you that Eridan may be displeased if he learned that you were mining another god for information that he was unwilling to divulge, edifying as it was. You knew better than to lie to his face, but you managed to deflect a detailed inquiry with a simple “just trust me.”

You’re still amazed that worked.

Regardless, he gave you information you could share. True enough to satisfy, yet vague enough to conceal.

“It seems that the Prince is grooming me for some kind of leadership position. There is some sort of trouble ahead, or adversity, for which my honesty, pragmatism, and intelligence will be most helpful. I have not been able to figure out much else.”

The goddess purses her lips. “For a guy who prides himself on truth, he sure isn’t telling you much, is he?”

“I don’t recall him ever being described as the god of full and easy disclosures.”

Lady Luck chuckles at that. “No, he’s not.”

You cross one leg on top of your knee. “My turn. As before, I would like you to elaborate on the games you played when you were young. Unless you would prefer not to talk about them?”

Vriska shrugs. “No chitin off my back. They were role-playing games. We would take on personas. Be who we wanted to be.” The goddess finally sat in the offered chair, a contemplative look on her face. “We were kids, just playing around. But it was also practice, of a sort.”

“Practice? For what?”

She frowns. “For adulthood, of course. Playing at what adults did, or at least at what we thought they did. Of course, this was long before I ever thought I’d be a god.”

You smirk at the thought. “I confess, I find it hard to imagine what role-playing games would be like if we treated them as an opportunity to pretend at being adults, rather than sword-wielding magical adventurers in search of gold. Was there a preponderance of Level 8 Bankers? Or did adulthood involve something rather more exciting than that?”

The goddess is smiling. “It was somewhat dramatized. Now it’s my turn.” You nod, and she continues, “Do you want to be this leader, in whatever this future is that Eridan seems to be planning for you?”

You think for a moment. “I do not think I currently have enough information to make a decision. But at present, I do not think that I will be locked into that path by continuing as I am. I will lose nothing by staying here and learning from the Prince until such a time that I must make a decision. But… I may be willing to entertain alternative possibilities, if I judge them superior.” You straighten. “What were your favorite books, before you became a goddess? Or music, or other art form?”

She shrugs. “Easy. My Ancestor’s diary. I had the whole thing memorized, down to the places where the handwriting smeared.”

“Oh? I’d be honored to hear an excerpt, at some point. Or read one.”

“Hm,” the Thief frowns. “Maybe. Does Eridan speak often with the other gods?”

“Some of them,” you reply. “The Mage and the Seer, he talks with reasonably frequently. The Maid and the Witch, occasionally.”

“Do you have any idea what they’re in cahoots about?”

You sigh dramatically. “You know I’m keeping a tally of these questions, right?”

Vriska tosses her hair and rolls her eyes. “Fine. Go.”

“You say you didn’t know you would become a goddess. But what dreams did you have as a youth, in terms of your future?”

“I wanted to be a Gamblignant.” At your confused expression, she clarifies. “An empire-sanctioned pirate. I thought it was fated, actually, considering my Ancestor was one of the most infamous ones, and I was eager to measure up.”

You take mental note of the word empire. “So when you role-played, to prepare for adulthood, you were in effect role-playing as a buccaneer?”

She grins, placing a long nail to her lip. “Hmm. I believe the next question is mine.”

You pause, then nod sheepishly. “Yes, I’m afraid I got ahead of myself, Lady Serket. My apologies. Your question was about the cahoots?”

“Right.”

“The Prince and the Mage appear to be involved in some projects relating to SkaiaCorp. I’m not quite sure what. With the Seer, it’s less clear, though I think he may be consulting her for advice. As for the Witch and the Maid, he generally sees them both at once, and I’m not certain where they go. Though, from my limited observations of their interactions, I believe their relationship may be characterized as ‘Ashen’.”

“What? He’s quadranted with Feferi again? Damn, I’ve been out of the loop.”

You smile politely. “Far be it from me to know every detail of divine gossip.”

“Stick around long enough and you’ll get a real education,” she says, her grin all fangs. “Your question, Lalonde.”

You think for a moment. “Well, so far as I have gathered, you were quite enthralled with your Ancestor as a youth. Did that hero-worship persist into adulthood?”

Vriska pauses, and for a moment looks confused. Her lips part, then seal. She seems almost pensive. Then, “I never got to be an adult, really. I went from kid to god. Nothing in between.”

You blink, at that. So, the Thief was only a child, thrust into godhood, with no room in between to mature or make a life for herself? It’s fitting, considering her personality. But…

“Were all the gods like that?” you ask.

She wags a finger at you. “My turn.” She leans in, and now her grin is almost a leer. “Is Eridan in any other quadrants right now?”

You manage to keep your face straight. “I do not believe so. But I can put in a good word for you, if you like.”

The goddess rolls her eyes. “Get with the program, Lalonde! That’s not what I asked. I’m trying to get all the dirt on Eridan. ALL of it.”

“And I’m sure that is the only reason why you are asking.” You just can’t help it. Your ear for passive-aggressive deadpan has only sharpened while living with a god as sensitive to truth and lies as Eridan, and the Thief is such a rich target.

“Pitch with Eridan’s gotten old, kid. And you won’t catch me red with him again. Eugh.”

All the better to not have competition. The thought pops unbidden into your head as your heartbeat quickens, and you feel the heat rising in your cheeks. Then you finish processing what you just heard, and you stutter embarrassingly on your reply. “A-Again?”

Vriska gestures flippantly. “Yeah. We dated for a while, near the beginning. He’d finally gotten over himself, actually was likable for a change, and not so stuffy as he is now. I think he actually apologized to me; nobody could believe it. It was so utterly pitiable. Last time I show that guy a soft spot though. He was waaaaaaaay too clingy. Like a remora.” She sticks her tongue out in disgust.

“Oh,” you say, looking off to the side. “He’s never struck me as… clingy.”

The Thief snorts. “That’s because these days he values objects more than people. Mortal or otherwise.”

You frown. “No, it’s- he’s not like that at all. I can’t imagine you really know him all that well, if you think that about him.”

“Kid, I’ve known him since before the sun started shining.” At the look on your face, she continues. “What, did you think he cared? Like he was a stand-in for your lusus-father?”

“Don’t be preposterous!” you snap. “Our relationship is that of a mentor and a student. It’s completely p-professional.” Damn, you aren’t keeping your composure near calm enough.

“I don’t have to be a living lie detector to call bullshit on that one, Lalonde.” The Thief leans forward, eyes glittering. “So, did I get it? He’s a father figure to you? Nothing to be ashamed of, he keeps you so close...”

“No, he’s n-not…” Lie. Lie. “Yes, fine, that's right, he’s like the father I never had.”

He keeps you so close, she said. You are blushing pink as a peach.

“No way.” The Thief looks delighted. “You’re flushed for him. Holy shit.”

For a precious few seconds, you are able to distract yourself by wondering which god’s shit could be considered holy.

“I’m right. I’m definitely right. The look on your face, HA!”

So much for distraction. You abandon the attempt at deception, press your face against your notebook, and take a deep breath. You let it out and, with great effort, lift your head and look directly into the Thief’s cerulean eyes. “Yes, Lady Luck. You are quite astute. I’m afraid that I am afflicted with the greatest misfortune to be infatuated with my mentor.”

The Thief giggles. “Oh, you poor kid. Poor, poor kid. You’re not even of age, are you? When do humans mature fully? Twenty, twenty-five? Ha ha ha!”

“I fail to see how any of this is relevant!” you snap.

“Oh, Lalonde, everything is relevant.” The Thief smiles condescendingly. “You need some advice? Stay away from Eridan’s quadrants. No good comes out of his romances, eeeeeeeever.”

You pull your knees up and wrap your arms around them, forming a body language shield against the goddess and her blue words. “It’s my turn to ask, Vriska.”

“You know, on the other frond, you could go tell him your feelings! That would be so hilarious.”

You pick up your pad of paper and, face still crimson, attempt to re-inject some sense of order into the interview. “You made reference to an ‘empire.’ Can you describe this empire in a bit more detail?

“You want to play it off? Alright, sure, but we’re not done there, Lalonde.” The Thief frowns. “Damn, it was so long ago. Our empire was led by an empress, and it stretched over dozens, maybe hundreds of star systems in our galaxy. Subjugated or wiped out everything it met. And there was the caste system. Blood color, you know.”

Blue on the snow. “Blood color?”

“It’s not relevant anymore. No empress, no other Trolls to compare to. It would be stupid to keep that system up when we’re all gods!”

Wait. “Sorry, ‘Trolls?’” You remember old legends and folktales, children's stories and the like, about the world of fairies and trolls, supposedly made by the gods before they made humans. Such apocrypha had never been approved by the Zodiac Church, but...

The Thief smiles and reclines. “How long have you been flushed for Eridan?”

You would really rather not talk about this. But the Thief is starting to get into some really juicy information now, so… “It started about six months after he took me as an apprentice.” Your voice is clipped, reluctant. “We were stargazing. I discovered he liked wizards. I found the notion… agreeable.”

She snorts. “Agreeable. Right. Any of us could have told you he likes wizards.”

Your lips grow thin with irritation. “Okay, enough of that. What did you mean by “Troll?”

“That’s us. We’re Trolls. Or, we were, before we were gods. Would you kiss Eridan, if you had the opportunity and knew no adverse consequences would result?”

“Lady Serket, I find this personal line of questioning highly inappropriate.”

She shrugs “Take it or leave it, kid.”

“….Fine. If I thought he wanted to kiss me as well… yes. I would.”

“You really shouldn’t date Eridan,” the Thief interjects. “You should find a mortal. A human, or whatever else is romantically compatible.”

You cross your arms. “I’m not asking you for relationship advice. I’m asking you what your thoughts were, as a youth, about the Troll Empire you lived within?”

The goddess’ brows furrow, and she looks away. “It was the Alternian Empire, not the Troll Empire. And I was going to excel within it. I had everything figured out, I would overcome everything in my way and glide into success. I was already a blueblood, so it’s not as though it was out of my reach. I wasn’t a diehard imperial loyalist, but I was certain that I could succeed on my own merit without needing to break the system.”

“Hm. So, you had a privileged background, due solely to birth, and believed that your success was due to merit?”

She gives a hard smile. “I earned my luck, kid. Not everything was gold spoons and sweet-meat, you know. I had plenty of shit to deal with. So, are you planning on holding your flushed feelings inside indefinitely? Or are you planning to tell him at some point?

You groan. You should have been better prepared for this. “I- I am not certain. At this point I am simply suffering from a childish infatuation. I doubt that he would reciprocate, or even that reciprocation is deserved. If… in the future, when I am older, if I am still ‘flushed’ for him then… yes. Maybe. But not now.”

“Older? Kid, you’d be like a housefly to him even if you lived a century!” The Thief cackles, and your cheeks burn.

Well, if that’s where this is going, then two can play that game.

“You shouldn’t let these things fester inside,” the Thief continues. “No time like the present! Why not let it out? Take a chance!”

You compose yourself. “Perhaps I will. But in any event, it is my turn to ask a question.”

“Do you want help with it? It’s more Nepeta’s gig than mine, but I think I could lend a frond...”

You take a deep breath. “As I said, Lady Luck, it is my turn.” Before she has a chance to interrupt, you continue. “Who was your first object of romantic attraction?”

The Thief leans back in the chair, sips her liquor, and gazes at you a moment before answering. “When I was very young, I was obsessed with Tavros. You know him as the Page.”

You nod, and lean in. You knew his name, and had heard parables about him and the Thief. Most were conflicting. The thought that you could actually get a straight answer now was quite intriguing.

You wait for her to continue, and your interest must show on your face, because she purses her lips and says; “You ever feel caliginous, Lalonde? No, no I didn’t think so.”

“Describe it?”

She smiles. “Admit to Eridan how you feel, and maybe I’ll tell you more about Tavros when I come back tomorrow. Same time.”

She leaves you with your notebook in your lap. You don’t mention the fact that this time, you weren't the one to invite her back.

#vriska serket #rose lalonde #eridan ampora #homestuck #homestuck fanfiction #godstuck fic #godstuck #the gods have horns #trolls are gods #crushes

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stevieang · 6 years

Text

May I Have This Dance?

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston RPF x Plus-Size Reader Insert

Word Count: 2100

Warnings: If too much sweet fluffiness isn’t your thing, then keep on going. This is full-on no-holds-barred fluff.

Tags: @3dsaunt @andiyholly @averyrogers83 @babybluesunsets @bettercallsabs @brittyevans @brookebarnes @captain-rogers-beard @cecygee @csrfavs @docharleythegeekqueen @dorito-distractions @everythingisoverrated @fabicchi @favhearts @flawless-disaster @gifsbysimplysonia @hazeleyedgirl7 @hennessy0274-blog @inumorph @jaguars2007 @jaamesbbarnes @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @janeyboo @jouhainak @learisa @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @lilylovescomics @lojo83 @lookwhatyoumademequeue @lostinspace33 @madicardi @magellan-88 @mamapeterson @me-a-hopeless-romantic @meyoko10 @mindingmyownbusiness @mizzzpink @neverleturheartshow2 @nomadicpixel @part-time-patronus @patzammit @pinkieandthebrain1 @redqueen1221 @rosiethebaker @sebbytrash @sgtjbuccky @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @stark-spangled-banner-man @st-eve-barnes @stillherebiandabitch @sunriserose1023 @suz-123 @the-real-kellymonster @tutis24 @winterismyfavoriteseason1945 @winters-beauty @yaykitty3

Summary: Two of your best friends are getting married and you have the honor of singing at their wedding. At the reception you’re approached by a famous friend of the groom, Tom Hiddleston. Much polite flirting ensues. Will there be more to come? (That’s not a rhetorical question, I’m honestly asking for your input about whether I should write more.)

A/N: This is my first RPF. I missed writing WAY more than I thought I would, but life had me completely inundated and unable to do anything but get through what I needed to everyday. I missed my Tumblr family, I missed creative thinking, and I hope this lives up to what you’ve come to expect and like from me. Thank you in advance for your time and kindness. Constructive, kind feedback is ALWAYS welcome.

Oh, and endless thanks to @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan for just being there whenever I call. She’s too good for words. Well, my words, anyway.

“Excuse me, but would you care to dance?”

You were fully engrossed in the game you were playing with the ring bearer, flower girl, and other assorted guests’ children and hadn’t bothered to turn at the sound of the voice. By the time you felt the gentle but noticeable tap on your shoulder, you had long-stopped wondering who had asked.

“Excuse me? I’m sorry to bother you, but - “

“5-4-3-2-1 Ready or not here I come!” You slowly and dramatically turned towards the giggles and titters of little voices, slid your hands down over your closed eyes, and widened your stance to catch the little buggers. As you opened your eyes to scan the room and made unconvincing assertions of how quickly you’d win, you barely caught yourself from plowing into the tall, lanky man who did not try in the least to conceal a smirk.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Did I bump into you?” Your momentary distress quickly morphed into nervous laughter as you realized with whom the gods had chosen for you to cross paths with.

“Nope, not even a little. I’m the one who should apologize to you, as I’ve clearly interrupted a highly competitive game of hide-and-seek.” You snickered and shrugged your shoulders as the back of your dress and each of your hands were unceremoniously yanked by little people who had yet to learn that patience is a virtue. Maybe that’s why you enjoyed being around children so much - you hadn’t learned that particular lesson yet, either.

You mouthed “sorry” as you turned your head away, and saw him shake his head, appearing to chuckle as he took off his glasses to clean them. As he turned towards the other guests, you fell back into the seedy underworld of high-stakes hide-and-seek, but you weren’t likely to forget that moment any time soon.

Tom Hiddleston had just asked you to dance.

As the night wore on, you lost the company of your young compatriots as their parents collected their offspring, thanked you profusely, and carried them off. You were grateful to return to the grown-up world and quickly sought out the bar. As you sipped on the best gin-and-tonic you’d ever had, the newlyweds and some members of the bridal party found their way over and a chorus of memories, laughter, and challenges rose up.

“C’mon, please?!??! You can’t say no to us tonight, we’re protected under the “we just got married” statute. Please????” The drunk pleading by the newly Marrieds almost made you snort Bombay Sapphire out of your nose.

“You’d better be grateful that I’m in such a good mood. Give me a minute to go over and introduce myself then I guess I’ll make sure I’m not held in custody on the ‘You Said No To The Marrieds’ statute.”

After a few minutes of getting redirected at each attempt to get away, you took the microphone and cleared your throat.

“Excuse me, folks. I know you may have had your fill of my singing voice after the wedding today, but I’ve been asked by the newlyweds to close out the night by singing one of their favorite songs, which to be honest, is also one of mine. I’m told that I cannot deny this request, as it is part of the canon of newly-married law, and since both of them are lawyers, I guess I have to comply.” As the pianist started the intro, you closed your eyes and swayed. This one earned you lots of applause (and much-needed gigs) in college, and the words poured out without thought.

The very thought of you and I forget to do

The little ordinary things that everyone ought to do

I'm living in a kind of daydream, I'm happy as a king

And foolish though it may seem to me that's everything

The mere idea of you, the longing here for you

You'll never know how slow the moments go till I'm near to you

I see your face in every flower, your eyes in stars above

It's just the thought of you, the very thought of you, my love

When the last notes faded along with your voice, the remaining guests whistled and cheered. Your blush quickly faded as your best friends, including the bride and groom, tackle-hugged you and walked you off the stage in a laughing huddle. You thanked every person that was kind enough to compliment you, and smiled dreamily as you saw the unmistakable frame of the famous actor in the room talking with your best friends.

As he saw you approach, his smile widened and The Marrieds followed his gaze to you. He excused himself, gesturing “one minute” while he visited the bar, and quickly returned on his trajectory to you, now with a bottle of water in his hands. It seemed to roll off his impossibly-long fingers while his other hand gently encircled your wrist. You were feeling the effects of the performance high, your drinks, and the long happy day at the same time, which loosened your tongue.

“Thank you very much. I know etiquette requires me to sip daintily, so you'll need to forgive me while I down this in a less-than-ladylike way. Please don’t tell my mother.” His laugh was a rolling baritone, easy and well-practiced, accompanied by eye contact that would usually make you turn away from its intensity.

You checked him out as you tried not to gulp. Thankfully you didn’t choke or need the Heimlich because drinking bought you a minute to wonder what in the hell Tom Hiddleston wanted with you. Was he trying to return something you dropped? Was he going to compliment your singing? You weren’t quite drunk enough to ask outright, so you capped the plastic bottle and smiled.

“Thank you, that hit the spot. It was nice meeting you, but I think I’m going to head back….” His smile dimmed a bit as he recognized your attempt to leave. Reaching out, he quickly spoke over you so you wouldn’t end the sentence.

“Ummmm, no.”

Awkward silence. Crickets.

“Excuse me?” Tentacles of weirdness raced up your spine. Sweat formed on the back of your neck as you formulated your escape plan.

His nervous laughter caught your attention. “I mean, yes, it’s nice to meet you, too and you’re welcome, but….”

Your eyes followed his as they cast downward and then popped back up with a shyer, smaller smile. “I’d hoped you’d have a dance with me.”

Cue full-on tipsy giggles. “I’d love to, but it seems the band is packing up.”

He let your wrists gently drop and practically leapt over to the bandstand. After a few minutes of bowed heads, covert pointing, and close talking, he returned with the smile you’d seen projected on a 50-foot screen. With a short bow, he held out his hand.

“Problem solved. Now, if you would be so kind as to dance with me?”

You put your hand in his as he led you to the nearby dance floor. You remained completely clueless as to what alternate universe you had fallen into. Maybe you were dreaming. You’d have to pinch yourself to find out, but Tom didn’t give you the time.

He pulled you closer, placed one hand respectfully on your thicker-than-average waist, and, taking your right hand in his left, placed it on his chest. You looked up and could not hold back soft laughter. He quietly asked what you were thinking.

The band was doing a sweet rendition of “Wonderful Tonight,” and you hummed along. As he turned you slowly, the distance between you lessened.

“Nothing, just having a wonderfully unexpected dance with a world-renowned actor. It’s how I normally spend my Saturday nights.” He leaned back to make eye contact, smiled, and returned to twirling. His hand had worked its way further around your waist and your hand that was not on his chest had moved to cup the back of his neck. As the last twangy notes played, you tried to pull away, to quickly gloss over any awkward goodbyes, but he held fast.

“I sound like a broken record, but thank you.” His face quickly changed from dreamy to serious, which was disconcerting.

“What?” Your face belied your urgency to cut to the chase and say goodnight.

He stepped back and moved his hands to your wrists, his light touch giving you goosebumps.

“I’m curious - why do you keep trying to leave? Have I offended you somehow?” His eyes locked on yours, a sincerely curious look on his face.

“No, of course not, but I figured you needed to go and I didn’t want to make anything awkward. I avoid awkward at all costs.”

“If anything, leaving would be bittersweet. I was hoping you’d have a drink with me so we wouldn’t have to broach that subject yet.”

Your neutral expression masked your shock. It was a practiced response after years of suppressing laughter when your students did something hilariously inappropriate. He didn’t press, didn’t ask again, didn’t change his mind. He simply waited and looked, bringing front and center how uncomfortable it made you to be seen.

“Let me freshen up, and I’ll meet you in the bar downstairs in 20 minutes or so?” You giggled, again, as he bowed and kissed your hand, taking your leave and saying goodnight to other guests.

You started to sober up as you took the elevator to your room, took a shower and threw on the outfit you wore to the bachelorette party 3 nights earlier, thanking God you had sent it out to be cleaned. By the time you made your way downstairs, you felt more like yourself, more in control, less starstruck.

You smiled tiredly as he stood to greet you, offering you the outside seat on the banquette. It was late enough that you didn’t need to shout, and you had just the right amount of attention from the waiter and bartender, without attracting fans. You shared your plan to stay in the area for two more weeks, visiting friends and seeing the sights, while he mentioned he was going to be in town for a few days, as well.

You sipped on a delicious champagne Tom suggested and asked him something that had run in and out of your mind since the days of your high school obsession with Phantom of the Opera and Les Miserables.

“Tell me how you split yourself between the real you and the part you’re playing. I’d guess that every part you play contains some small piece of you, but how do you reconcile that with being “just you,” being the person that your family and dearest friends know? Is it difficult to become someone else and then return to everyday life?”

He listened, smiled softly, and sighed. “You’ve just asked the same question that was posed to the very first people to pretend in front of others.” He went on to explain about the psychological work he has done and still does to prepare for roles, the time it takes to transition back and forth between roles and real life, and some funny stories about times when he’s mixed up the two with memorable results.

The familiar chuckle snapped you out of your reverie. You saw his loose curls move side to side and wondered why he had stopped talking, then realized you’d yawned several times in a row. “I’m sorry, I heard what you said, but I think your voice lulled me into another state of consciousness. It’s very soothing.”

His smile was bright, but tired. “Are you saying I put you to sleep? Guess I’m not as captivating as I’ve been led to believe.” He cut off your attempt to explain. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been going on but you’ve struck the mother lode - asking an actor about how they prepare psychologically for their life’s work is a question worthy of a monologue. Didn’t mean to hypnotize you.”

He silently covered your hands with his as you brought out your wallet to pay for your drinks. “Please, let me. I invited you, remember?” Your nod was followed by evidence of your stubbornness. “Thank you, I’ll just leave a tip, then.” He stood as you did, steadying you while you took your leave.

“Thank you for the dance, and the drink, and the conversation, Tom. It made this gorgeous day even better.” You kissed his cheek, noticing he closed his eyes while you did.

“Thank you, as well. Tonight was an unexpected delight. Would it be alright if I asked to see you again?”

You smiled and sighed. “You have my number.”

Chapter 2

#may i have this dance #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston imagine #rpf #plusisze #plus-size reader #reader insert #stevieang

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megastarstrike · 7 years

Text

Five Steps Backwards Into Love

Summary: Shuuichi’s descent into loving this prick happened in five steps.

This was written for the @saioumaexchange for recipient #33. The prompt was: domestic au, university au, anything fluff, so I did the only correct thing and mixed them all together into The Ultimate Fluff. I hope you enjoy it!

Shuuichi knew he didn’t have the best balance, even at the best of times. He could recall one instance when he had tripped over thin air and spilled his textbooks over the floor, the thump of the books landing on the ground echoing in the hallway as everyone turned to stare at him. Luckily, one of the clumsier upperclassmen (a girl with long, choppy purple hair, if he recalled correctly) screamed and tripped over something as well, diverting attention away from him.

But that upperclassman wasn’t with him in his sophomore year of college, and now the cutest boy he had ever seen was on top of him.

The boy blinked a few times before he frowned. “Jeez, do people watch where they’re going these days? It’s like they’re not even trying.”

Shuuichi knew for a fact that it was the boy who had crashed into him, but he apologized anyway. “S-Sorry about that. Can… Can you get off me?”

“Oh, sure!” The boy rolled off and stood up. He pointed at a door a few feet away from them. “Are you moving into that dorm?”

“Yes, room 233,” Shuuichi said, dusting himself off as he regained his footing.

“That’s so cool! Looks like you’re my roommate then!”

Shit.

The boy pouted. “You look scared. What, do you not want me as a roommate? Am I not good enough for you? You’re so mean!” Tears spilled out of his eyes as he wailed.

Guilt caught him by the throat. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“That was a lie.” The tears stopped as soon as they came. “I’m a liar, after all.”

Judging by the ache starting to pound in his head, it was going to be a great year.

“I’m Kokichi Ouma, bowling industry major,” the boy said, grinning and holding a hand out.

Shuuichi took the hand and shook it, his heart skipping a beat at the contact. “I’m Shuuichi Saihara, criminology major.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Shuuichi. Also, I lied about my major. I hate bowling.”

“Then… what’s your real major?”

“Political science. I’m taking a theater minor, too.”

“You’re not lying about that, right?”

“Nishishi! We’ll just have to see!” Kokichi reached up and tapped Shuuichi’s lips with a gentle finger. “Well, I’ve gotta get my stuff from downstairs. Have fun with your mess.”

A new, louder voice interrupted them before Shuuichi could say anything. “Cuckichi, you shitty brat! What the hell did you do to my gorgeous hair?”

Kokichi broke into a run and escaped down the stairs.

A girl in a pink uniform flew past him, stopping at the staircase to rearrange her poorly-dyed gray hair. A few blonde streaks showed through (Maybe her original hair color was blonde?). She took a deep breath before running down the stairs.

Shuuichi stared after them for a moment before picking his boxes up again. His fingers strayed up to his lips, where Kokichi had tapped them with his finger. Did that count as a kiss? What would have been like to kiss his finger? What about his hand? What about—

Shuuichi coughed and pushed the door to his dorm open, hiding his blush behind the pile of boxes. Shut up, Shuuichi, you just met the guy. Don’t scare him off.

So Shuuichi walked into his new dorm, set his boxes on the bed he claimed as his own, and screamed.

Kokichi wasn’t lying about being his roommate, as he learned one month in when Kokichi had invited half the dorm over to their room for a game of Fibbage. Sixteen people were crammed in front of their tiny television set, holding their phones in front of them as they watched the screen dutifully for the next prompt.

Shuuichi was ashamed to admit he was one of those sixteen people.

Shuuichi sat on the couch in between Kokichi and Kaito, the astronomy major next door. He sighed when Kokichi made another jab at Kaito’s score in the game and Kaito threatened him with a clenched fist. “Can you two stop? The next prompt is up.”

“The most popular item at Walmart is blank,” the narrator announced, earning everyone’s attention.

The group sat in silence as everyone inputted their answers. After a few minutes, their answer choices along with a true choice was shown on the screen. They roared with laughter at the answers.

“Who the fuck put up whipped cream and strawberries?” Miu cackled, holding her stomach.

“I’m willing to bet it was a slut like you,” Kokichi said. His grin grew wider as Miu sputtered to defend her choices, incriminating herself in the process.

Rantarou tapped on his phone screen. “I’m putting my bets on the most popular item being apples. It makes the most sense.”

A few other people murmured in agreement, tapping on the answer choice as well.

The group waited with bated breath as the results rolled in. Almost everybody had voted for “apples” as the true answer.

It was a lie.

“Fuck! You god damn shitty ass brat!” Miu cried as Kokichi rolled on the floor in hysterical laughter. “I want my fucking time back!”

Kaito joined in with an “Are you fucking kidding me?”, and other people followed suit as well.

Kokichi’s fit of laughter continued even as he planted his head on Shuuichi’s lap. “Nishishi! What were you thinking, playing Fibbage with a liar? You only have yourselves to blame.” He looked up at Shuuichi with wide, shining eyes. “Isn’t that right, my beloved Shuuichi?”

Shuuichi’s heart pounded, and he could feel his face growing hot. Despite all common sense screaming at him not to, his eyes drifted down to Kokichi’s lips. How would it feel to take Kokichi by surprise for once? How would it feel to kiss the smirk off his face?

No! Stop thinking that! Shuuichi struggled to sputter out his thoughts before his mind short-circuited, and he pushed Kokichi off his lap without thinking.

Kokichi landed on the floor with a thud. He looked back up at Shuuichi with tearful eyes as the people around them laughed. “Shuuichi! How could you do this to me? That really hurt, you know!” He rubbed the side of his head for dramatic effect.

Panic and guilt seized Shuuichi’s chest. He clasped his hands together and bowed his head. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to push you off like that! You just took me by surprise. Are you hurt?”

“Easy solution,” Miu said, pointing a finger up. “Just fuck the pain outta him.”

Kokichi responded by picking a book off the coffee table and throwing it at her. He turned back to Shuuichi with a pout. “Of course, I’m hurt! You pushed me!”

“I really am sorry about that,” Shuuichi said, “Please forgive me.”

“It was the highest form of treason! I can never forgive you!” Kokichi looked up in thought and tapped his chin. “But I guess I can forgive you if you kiss it better.”

“W-What?”

“Hey, stop messing with Shuuichi’s feelings,” Kaede said from the other side of the room, crossing her arms.

But Shuuichi had already grabbed Kokichi’s head and planted a kiss into his hair before hiding his reddening face in his hands.

Kokichi froze, a blush rising to his cheeks. He covered up his embarrassment with a pout. “Eww! Shuuichi got his spit in my hair!”

“What did you expect?” Kaito scolded, leaning over the coffee table to glare at him.

The group eventually moved onto a different conversation topic and decided to take a break from Fibbage, instead opting to play a card game.

Even as Shuuichi laughed at the misfortunes of someone needing to draw twenty cards in one turn, he couldn’t help but bring his fingers up to his lips and smile.

As time passed and the day of the play approached, Kokichi grew more and more frantic. The papers on his desk multiplied as he made increasingly desperate attempts to imprint his lines into his head. Shuuichi couldn’t remember the last time the lamp on Kokichi’s desk had been turned off.

Shuuichi sighed and sat up in his bed. “Kokichi, it’s midnight. You have class tomorrow. Go to sleep.”

Kokichi didn’t seem to notice, his mumbling continuing. His figure was hunched over his desk, and it didn’t seem like he had any intention to move anytime soon.

“Kokichi, I’m serious.”

Again, the figure stayed hunched over the desk. His hands moved up to his face, his body shaking.

Was… Was he crying?

Shuuichi’s voice fell to a whisper. “Kokichi?”

Somehow, Kokichi had managed to hear his whisper above his sobs and turned to him with a strained grin. “What’s up, Shuuichi? Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“You’re the one with the morning class,” Shuuichi said, climbing out of bed and taking a seat next to him. Now that he had a closer look, he could see wet trails shining on Kokichi’s face under the bright light of the lamp. “Are you still practicing your lines?”

“Yup! The play’s in two days, and I have a major role. I gotta practice for that, you know?”

“Are you just afraid you’ll mess up your lines?”

“Of course not! I already know all of my lines.”

“That’s a lie, and you know it.” Shuuichi paused. “Well, not the part about knowing all your lines. I know you know them. Do you want me to help you practice?”

Kokichi hesitated before handing him the script. “I’m playing King Aaron. This is the scene with Hayden pledging his loyalty to the king, so you’ll play him. Don’t screw up.”

Shuuichi nodded and looked down at the page, reading over the lines. “Your Majesty, has my time come yet?”

Kokichi sat up in his seat and turned to him with a stern face Shuuichi had never seen before. “Do not be hasty, Sir Hayden. Being hasty is for the peasants and the traitors, the weak and the unworthy. You, Sir, are deemed worthy of my time. Do not make me change my mind.”

“O-Of course,” Shuuichi said, his skin prickling at the intensity behind the words.

“But yes, your time has come. But first, you must pledge your loyalty. I trust that you have studied that beforehand, yes?”

“For years.” Shuuichi sank to one knee and held a hand over his heart like the script described. “I, Sir Hayden, pledge my utmost loyalty to the kingdom, the royal family, and His Majesty. I will do everything in my power to protect the king and the kingdom for as long as I shall live.”

“Then you and the kingdom are now bound.”

Shuuichi took Kokichi’s hand and pressed his lips against the back of it. “I-It truly is an honor, Your Majesty.”

Kokichi stared at him for a few moments before grinning and snatching the script away. “Okay, that’s enough for tonight! I feel ready now!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yup! Shuuichi’s lips are sooo much softer than the actor’s lips,” Kokichi whined. “Why can’t you be Hayden instead?”

“M-Me?”

“But you’re not a good liar, so you’re stuck just watching us for now.” Kokichi smiled. “Don’t worry, Shuuichi, I’ll teach you all the ins and outs of lying. You’ll be a pro in no time!”

Shuuichi sighed, the 3 AM fatigue weighing down on him. “Anyway, your show is in two days, right? You should get some sleep.”

“That depends. Are you coming to my show? It’s my debut play, you know.”

“Of course.” Shuuichi internally screamed as he remembered the stack of work awaiting him, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care, especially when Kokichi beamed at him with a smile so bright it set his heart ablaze.

The day Kokichi returned to their dorm with a cake mix and a bunch of baking supplies, Shuuichi knew his day would simultaneously get better and worse.

“Hey, Shuuichi, look what I bought!” Kokichi sang, skipping into their kitchen with a bunch of plastic bags in tow.

Shuuichi paled at the cluster of bags on their counter. “Kokichi, how much money did you spend on that?”

“Not too much. I bought it all on sale.” Kokichi held up the box containing a chocolate cake mix. The flavor was written on the top half of the red box in cursive yellow letters while the bottom half was reserved for a picture of a perfect cake that theirs certainly wouldn’t come out as. “That was a lie. The culinary major in the senior dorms had a surplus and was selling all of them for cheap. You’ll be helping me make this.”

“What? I’m sorry but I can’t. I have too much work—“

“No, you don’t.” The stiff tone of his voice told Shuuichi he didn’t have a choice.

So Shuuichi sighed and stood up from his desk, biting back a smile as Kokichi cheered. He really was too weak for him. “Fine. What’s the first step?”

“Preheat the oven to three-hundred-fifty degrees for me.”

Shuuichi pressed a few buttons on the oven and hit enter, starting the preheating. “What next?”

Half an hour later, the kitchen was covered wall-to-wall with flour and sugar from Kokichi’s attempts to “make it interesting” and Shuuichi’s frantic attempts to stop him. The carton of milk and dozen of eggs were forgotten in one of the plastic bags. The box with the original cake mix had gone missing long ago, but neither of them could care less.

Sometime around the twenty-minute mark, Kokichi had gotten bored and started slinging flour at him for reasons Shuuichi was still unsure of. Now, their clothes were covered with flour and sugar, and they both laughed at their half-hearted attempts to clean themselves. Their cake had somehow made it to the oven in one piece.

“Hey, Shuuichi,” Kokichi called. He held up a pinch of sugar. “I think you’re sweet.”

Shuuichi’s heart fluttered as Kokichi laughed at his own joke. “Hold on, there’s some sugar on your nose. Here, I’ll get it off for you.”

Kokichi stepped away from Shuuichi’s raised hand and leaned forward. “You know what would be a better idea? If you licked it off.”

“W-What?”

“It’s sugar, right? It would be sad to just let it go to waste in a trash can, especially with how expensive it was.”

Shuuichi saw the price tag of ten cents on the receipt stuffed in the bag and knew he was lying but couldn’t bring himself to care. He held a hand to the side of Kokichi’s head and leaned in. His lips brushed against the tip of Kokichi’s nose before he backed away.

Kokichi’s face lit up red, but he covered his embarrassment with a pout. “You didn’t even get all the sugar off, Shuuichi! That was useless.”

“Ha, sorry.”

“Don’t lie to my face like that. I’m the liar in this dorm.”

“You sure are.” Shuuichi ripped a sheet off a roll of paper towels and wet it under the sink faucet. “Come here, let me actually get the sugar off your face this time.”

Kokichi smiled as Shuuichi rubbed the towel against him, cleaning the sugar off him. Shuuichi dreaded the cleanup that would inevitably take more than just a few hours but for now, he would savor Kokichi’s bright smile and laughter.

I need to say something about his sleeping habits, Shuuichi decided after waking up for the fifth day in a row from the soft music playing in the living room. The genre changed every day, the first night starting with a metal album one of the seniors had given them and the fourth night with a CD of Romantic-era classical music. Tonight’s music was some kind of generic pop song about love that Shuuichi felt he could recognize if he tried but didn’t care enough to. Shuuichi stepped into the living room, rubbing his eyes. He dropped his hands to his sides. His jaw almost dropped with them at the scene in front of him.

The room was dimmed but not quite dark, a single lamp lit in the corner. Kokichi was dressed in a white t-shirt and long, loose purple pants. His fluffy white socks slid across the floor as he danced. The movements themselves weren’t special, but the person making them certainly was. Finally, he turned to Shuuichi with a bright smile. “Good morning, Shuuichi. Dance with me.”

Shuuichi’s mouth opened to reject the offer in fear of embarrassing himself, but his legs moved on their own. His heart rate sped up when Kokichi locked their fingers together and leaned closer to him. A blush rose to his cheeks upon meeting eyes with the dork he had grown to love.

“Do you like this song?” Kokichi asked as they stepped in time with the music. “Because I sure don’t. I hate it.”

Shuuichi smiled. “Another lie, right? You wouldn’t be dancing to it otherwise.”

“Hm, I don’t know. Would I or would I not? It’s your job to find out.”

My dream job, Shuuichi thought before he could stop himself. He hoped Kokichi couldn’t see his face reddening in the dim light, but the smirk on Kokichi’s face told him his hopes were in vain.

They continued to dance until the song faded out. Silence enveloped the room. Kokichi was positioned directly in front of Shuuichi, his chin only a few centimeters away from Shuuichi’s chest. He stared up at him with a sweet smile and half-lidded eyes filled with so much love and affection it made Shuuichi’s heart hurt.

Shuuichi stared into his eyes for a few more seconds before leaning in, locking their lips together. It was a chaste kiss, long enough to satisfy his desire for a few seconds and short enough to not overwhelm either of them. His senses returned after he pulled away. “I-I’m so sorry! I should have asked beforehand or—”

“Relax, it’s fine,” Kokichi said, “Why do you think I’ve been blasting music in the living room for the past week?”

“You… You planned this, didn’t you?”

“Yup! My beloved Shuuichi caught me again!” Kokichi’s voice dropped to a whisper as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. “My beloved Shuuichi. My beloved…” He rested his head on Shuuichi’s chest as the next song started to play.

“Hey, Kokichi.”

“Yeah?”

“Will you be my boyfriend?”

“Is that even a question? Of course.”

Shuuichi’s heart jumped at the answer, and he couldn’t have been happier.

“Of all the people you could have consulted, you chose us?” Rantarou asked.

“In hindsight, that may have been a bad idea,” Shuuichi said as he watched Miu scroll through a shopping page for vibrators with a stone cold face that revealed nothing. “But you two are Kokichi’s best friends, right?”

Miu rolled her eyes. “Why would you come to us for that brat? Aren’t you supposed to be his boyfriend?”

“Yes, it’s been three months, but that’s exactly the problem.”

“Spit it the fuck out then.”

“It’s… It’s been three months, but he hasn’t kissed me yet,” Shuuichi blurted, his face burning red. He buried his face in his hands and groaned when raucous laughter filled the air.

“Kyahaha! You’re even more of a virgin than I thought!”

“Please, I’m being serious.”

Rantarou answered once he recovered from his laughter. “You know, Shuuichi, I’ve known Kokichi since middle school, and he’s a bit shy too, believe it or not. He just really likes you.”

“I know,” Shuuichi mumbled, tipping his cap over his face. “It’s just… I would really like the confirmation sometimes. I’m always the one initiating the kisses. Although he does hug me…”

“Must be hell having a boyfriend that hugs you. Wow. Such torture,” Miu snickered, clapping him on the shoulder.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate the hugs, I love them. I would just like him to initiate the…” He sighed at Miu’s laughter. “... kisses for once.”

Rantarou blinked slowly and tilted his head with a tight smile. “Hey, Shuuichi… Did you ever, you know, tell Kokichi any of this?”

“Uh…”

Miu’s laughter only grew louder as time passed without him saying anything. “Holy shit, I can’t fucking believe this shitty virgin”—she paused to wipe the tears from her eyes—”This is the best day of my fucking life!”

“I-I should probably talk to him about that, shouldn’t I?” Shuuichi said, chuckling nervously.

Rantarou sighed. “Really? You come to us before you even talk to him? Well, I guess it doesn’t matter now. You promise to at least talk to him?”

“Yeah. Sorry about the trouble.”

“No worries, it was fucking hilarious,” Miu said, a wide smile still on her face. “You wanna get out of my dorm now? Cuntarou and I still have shit to do.”

“Ah, right, excuse me. Thank you for your… advice,” Shuuichi said before walking out of the room as Rantarou saluted him and Miu flipped a middle finger at him. He took a deep breath and scrunched his eyes shut, the steps back to his dorm smaller than his usual stride.

What would Kokichi think about his problem? Was it even a problem? As far as Shuuichi knew, both of them only had either fleeting relationships or hadn’t been in a relationship at all. Maybe he was moving too fast. Or maybe he was too needy? The thoughts piled up until Shuuichi felt like he couldn’t breathe. The waves of doubt washed over him like a tidal wave and oh god, what if Kokichi hated him after—

“Hey, Shuuichi!”

Shuuichi stopped, his thoughts pushed away by the familiar voice. He turned with a smile. “Oh, hey, Kokichi. Were you about to head to our dorm, too?”

“Yeah, but you clearly weren’t,” Kokichi snickered, “The door handle you’re grabbing is Kaede and Maki’s room.”

“... Oh.”

“Wait, did you memorize the route to Kaede and Maki’s dorms but not ours?” Kokichi grabbed at his chest with a dramatic gasp, tears welling in his eyes. “Are you cheating on me? How could you, Shuuichi? Right after you kissed me five times, too! How dishonorable!”

“Actually, Kokichi,” Shuuichi started. He almost froze again at the way Kokichi’s head tilted curiously. “C-Can we talk about that five times thing?”

Kokichi glanced around the hall before grabbing his hand and leading him back to their dorm. “Not in the hallway. No one likes seeing couple drama.”

“I promise it’s not drama, it’s just… a concern I’ve had for some time now.” Shuuichi shut the door behind them and gestured for Kokichi to sit next to him on their living room couch. “So…”

“I’m busy, Shuuichi,” Kokichi said, even though Shuuichi knew he had completed all his due assignments and didn’t have classes tomorrow. “Spit it out or I might just lose interest.”

“I’ve kissed you five times, but you haven’t kissed me once,” Shuuichi blurted. Embarrassment hit him right after the words left his mouth. He covered his reddening face with his hands. “Ugh, I’m sorry, I just—”

“Hey, Shuuichi, look at me.” A warm grip was around both of Shuuichi’s wrists.

Shuuichi hesitated but allowed Kokichi to pry his hands away, only to stare into wide, purple eyes that were too close—

“What? Didn’t you want me to kiss you?” Kokichi said, his voice lilting up into a teasing tone. He leaned back. “And that’s exactly the reason I didn’t.”

It took a moment for Shuuichi to process what he had just said. “B-Because you were worried about my reaction? Not because you don’t love me?”

Kokichi clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “Jeez, where did you get that idea? I wouldn’t be dating you if I didn’t like you.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Shuuichi looked away, anywhere other than his face, twiddling his fingers. “S-So does that mean you wouldn’t be opposed to kissing me?”

“Of course not! I’ve been wanting to do it for a while now.” Kokichi grinned and put a hand on Shuuichi’s cheek. “Are you ready to kiss me? You might just faint if you haven’t prepared enough.”

Shuuichi nodded, holding the hand on his cheek.

Kokichi stared into his eyes, his grin slowly fading. “Are you sure?”

“Kokichi… are you nervous?”

“No way! Supreme leaders like me never get nervous!”

It was Shuuichi’s turn to have a smirk on his face. “Then prove it.”

“Fine!” Kokichi leaned in and planted a short kiss on Shuuichi’s lips before jumping to the other end of the couch, his face red. “Was that enough?”

Shuuichi held a finger to his tingling lips before smiling and holding his arms out. “You’ll always be enough for me, Kokichi.”

“Jeez, you’re such a sap,” Kokichi huffed despite moving into Shuuichi’s arms. He nuzzled his head into his chest. “But for you to ask me that… I must have really stolen your heart, huh?”

“I have to admit you did, but…” Shuuichi traced the outline of Kokichi’s heart on his chest. “I stole yours too, right?”

Kokichi smiled and moved to hide his face. “It’s not stealing if you aren’t a criminal.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“What do you know, STEM major?”

“More than you, social science major.”

Kokichi giggled and pecked him on the cheek. “I love you, Shuuichi.”

Shuuichi’s heart soared. He couldn’t help the smile coming to his face. “I love you too, Kokichi.”

“Would you still love me if I said you have a class right now?”

“You’re ly—” Shuuichi cut himself off, and his eyes went wide. “Shit. You’re not lying.”

“You wanna get up then?”

Shuuichi took a few seconds to stare into the face of his lover and sighed, his body relaxing. “I can get someone to send me the notes. You don’t mind staying here with me, right?”

“Yay! I get to stay with my beloved Shuuichi!” Kokichi wrapped his arms around Shuuichi’s shoulders with a grin and rambled about his last lesson.

Shuuichi nodded along, listening to every word and taking note of the way Kokichi’s eyes sparkled and his smile grew warmer.

Even if their dorm was a temporary house, his home was always by Kokichi’s side.

#saiouma exchange #33 #saiouma #oumasai #ndrv3 #dangan ronpa

65 notes · View notes

joylessholland · 7 years

Text

Shard (Part 3)

PETERPARKERXREADER

(1,784 words)

Warning: Slight violence, Swearing, fluff, my shit 3am writing, It was a dream, people!

A/N: This is part took me a few days to write but I finally got it how I want it, Please send requests I’m running out of ideas!!!!

Masterlist !Requests! Part One Part Two

“How did we get stuck with stakeout” Agent J sighed bringing his binoculars to his eyes, “You said Black widow had a nice ass, I played galaga at my desk again.” Agent H said munching on a chip “All hell has broken loose with that telepath out there, how many agents has she taken” J asks grabbing a chip “3, no one knows why she went all evil.” “I heard Mr. Stark talking, apparently it’s not her. It’s this guy codename Puppetmaster. He made all those creatures last week.” Agent H said with a shutter crumpling up the empty chip bag. Pulling out his phone he flips through it yawning. The silence of the night is shattered along with the driver’s side window, turning Agent H stares in horror as a spike of pure diamond protrudes from his partner neck. The driver’s door opens with a click and agent J is slowly lifted from his seat and laid on the road. Reaching for his gun Agent H finds his body frozen in place. Sitting in the seat next to him is a beautiful woman made of crystal “four agents gone, won’t you please have the info I need.” She coos placing a hard, cold hand on his forehead “I’m not gonna lie Sugar, this is gonna hurt you a lot more than it’s it gonna hurt me” winking she closes her eyes and the night is filled with the loud screams of Agent H.

“Peter, you have to calm down your wound still pretty fresh,” Tony says trying to get Peter back in bed “A week Tony, a fucking week” he snaps pushing past his mentor “Look, kid, I’m sorry” Tony pleads grabbing his arm “Oh, she’s fine Pete. Just recovering Pete. When you’re better she will be too.” Peter yells tearing his arm from Tony’s grasp “Fine, you want to help her come with me and we’ll get you briefed” Tony tries seeing the pure anger on Peter’s features “Fine” he finally sighs walking with Tony to the conference room.

“Agent Fanter, Moulance, and McGregor have all gone missing since Y/n went awol.” Tony says flipping through slides “She didn’t go awol, you know what happened. I could have saved her” Peter snaps flipping through a folder stopping on a photo of you wearing a grey overcoat arm and arm with the Puppetmaster. “What about this dude?” he asks pointing at the man on the screen “Dr. Hugo Shultz, HYDRA, very powerful mentally but physically he can be taken out by my Nana, that’s why he needs Y/n. She’s strong, fast, and powerful” Tony says as the doors fly open and the team funnels in “What’s happening” “Look,” Steve says grabbing the remote and turning to a news channel.

“Hello World, I am…Shard and this is…” you laugh “The Puppet Master” you laugh again through the screen making Peter’s heart drop “Aw, he doesn’t feel very social today…but you know who does? Agent Carlos Hask.” Y/n says moving the screen to show a sweaty man tied to a chair with many cuts and bruises on his face “say Hello” a thick German accent says from the background “Hello” the man chokes “Good boy” you mumble turning the camera back to you “So sorry about your partner by the way” Y/n giggles “This message is for everyone police, military,” you pause for dramatic effect “Avengers. You won’t find us unless we wanna be found, you won’t stop us unless we let you, and you most definitely won’t save me. Thank you for your time, and remember. We’re coming” she snickers again dropping the camera to the ground, the screen goes to white noise and snow before the new returns to the air “Um, what do we do?” the anchor says as the screen goes black

“That wasn’t her,” Peter says forcing the lump in his throat down “How can be sure whatever he did to her isn’t permanent,” Nat says holding up a picture of Agent J “I trained her, I was her handler. I know her, that’s that doctor he’s twisting her” “We believe you kid, it’s just a lot. I know how you felt about her” Steve says putting a hand on Peters' shoulder “That’s not the point, She’s an Avenger. I’m not gonna let her be manipulated by this man any longer” Peter says standing up to fast hissing in pain “See now you’ve done it” Tony snaps lifting his arm “Broke a stitch” he sighs practically dragging him back to the med bay not without protest of course.

“Learned our lesson this time, that won’t open again,” the doctor says patting Peters bare shoulder “Thanks, doc,” he says pulling his shirt over his head, pulling his head out the top he sees you standing in front of him “Get out, now” you whisper the warning. Blinking and shaking his head you disappear. The sound of a loud boom rocks the facility as the alarm begins blaring and red lights flash. “All Avengers to level Six protect the central unit at all costs,” FRIDAY says over the speaker system. Jumping off the table Peter runs out into the hall and sees three large grey skinned men “Hey” Peter yells shooting a web ripping the gun from the man's hand and knocking him out with it. Shooting a few more webs Peter runs past the three men all immobile on the floor. “What’s happening” Peter yells into his coms “She’s here” Tony’s voice is staticky over the coms before it cuts off completely. Jumping over the railing Peter falls five stories catching the railing just in front of the sixth-floor access door. Taking a deep breath, he swings the door open.

The sight of your fingers forming a small blade and plunging into an agent’s side causes Peter to scream out your name. Letting the body hit the floor you slowly turn around “Hey sugar” you smile “Y/n this…” you cut him off by shooting a small shard at him “Don’t even try it bug boy. Dr. Hugo already trained me for this.” You say shooting another shard at his, dodging it he shakes his head “I’m not gonna fight you” he says tears forming in his eyes “Then you’ll die” you shout lunging at him with your hands formed into small diamond blades. Grunting and hissing you try your hardest to slice into Peter “Please stop this” he pleads as you scream out in pain “Stop talking” you snap swiping at him, again flipping out of the way he keeps talking “Y/n I know somewhere in there it’s you, I know deep in your mind you remember me, Peter,,.” He pleads as you fall to one knee “stop” you shout as he keeps talking inching closer and closer. Your skin changes back to flesh as he steps even closer “It hurts Peter” you cry “Why didn’t you save me” you cry again tears falling down your face as he steps closer once again “Y/n I’m so…” pouncing your body shimmers back to crystal and you hold a sharp hand to Peters' throat “You have haunted my dreams, for the longest time. It’s time I end it” you hiss raising your arm “I’m sorry Y/n,” Peter says as a sharp pain radiates through your body, your diamond skin burns and electricity crackle across your skin until it returns to normal and you lose consciousness. Holding you in his arms Peter lets out a small sod tearing the small piece of taser web off your leg “I’m so sorry” he says raising to his feet with you in his arms.

A steady beep annoys you to the point of death as you open your eyes to the bright light of the hospital room. “Y/n?” Peter says next to you grabbing your hand “Peter” you breathe as he kisses you knuckles “You’re back” he says with a sigh of relief “What happen…” the memories of the past week flow through your mind bringing you to tears “Y/n don’t do this to yourself, none of that was you” Peter pleads gripping your hand tightly “I…please go” you sob. “What?” Peter huffs “Please go, send Tony in” you snap between sods.

Looking out at New York from the roof Peter sighs loudly as you tap his shoulder. “I thought you didn’t want to talk to me,” Peter says forcing himself not to look at you “Peter, please,” you say as he reluctantly turns to see your watery eyes, grabbing his face you softly press his lips to yours in a tender loving kiss. “Thank you for stopping me,” you say breaking the kiss lingering above Peters' lips “None of this would have happened if I would have saved you,” He says turning away in shame. Grabbing his chin, you peck his lips “Stop beating yourself up about it, there was nothing you could have done. But there is something you can do for me now” you coo caressing his cheek “just die” you snap grabbing is wrists tearing his web shooters off before kicking him from the roof.

“Peter,” you say waving a hand in front of his face “You spaced out” you smile as he blushes “Sorry um, what” “I asked if you could do something for me.” You say caressing his cheek “What?” he asks as a helicopter land on the other end of the roof “Can you let me go? I can’t stay here Peter, that men he…made me do things I could never forgive myself for.” “But Y/n“ Peter interrupts “I know it wasn’t me but in a way, it was. He controlled me but in the end, it was still me. Peter please just let me go” you plead. Grabbing your arm, he looks to the agent bringing your bags to the aircraft “Y/n I think I might love you and…I can’t lose you again.” He pleads making a tear slip down your face “I think I might love you too, and that’s why I have to go. What if hurt you, again. I couldn’t live with myself. I love you Peter” you say running your hand down his arm you take his hand before walking to the helicopter. Stepping on you blow Peter one last kiss before you fly off. Looking down, in his hand Peter clutches and small diamond heart with a spider on the front. Bringing the small trinket to his lips he presses a small kiss against the smooth crystal.

“So where we headed,” the pilot asks as you sit next to him “Not too far, have a feeling I’ll be back soon enough” you smile raising your hand changing it to diamond “Crystals are my specialty”

@midtownvaledictorian @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked@tiemeupspidey @champagneholland @fangirltopic@marveltomjunkie @kingquackdaddy @panicatttckiss@seilamigliorcosacheabbiamaivisto @casualprincess77 @ging3r-fall@rivedale @holland-osterfield101 @parkerscupcake@lanilovespsychos @clairesrainbow

#tom holland #tom holland fanfictions #tom holland imagine #hollander #peter parker #spider-man: homecoming #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #tom #holland #peter #peter parker x reader #peter parker au #marvel au

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vaguely-concerned · 7 years

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Some Uncharted 3 feels

- My sister and I just finished up Uncharted 3: Drake’s Deception, and let me tell you… she chose the perfect fucking game to introduce me to the series because a) parental substitute stories are my ultimate narrative Jam and I will eat it up with not one spoon, not two spoons, but every spoon made available to me, b) the early parts of the game with Chloe and Charlie are g e n i u s and I loved all these treasure hunting weirdos (Charlie’s interspersed British History info dump while Nate was doing his own Francis Drake info dump was golden) and c) the moment I had to control tiny little bb Nate scrambling over the rooftops every protective instinct rose up in me and I adopted him as my son. He just feels so vulnerable in this one, even as an adult, I want to slap Marlowe’s filthy British gaslighting hands away from him and keep him safe. (‘Sullly hasn’t come back for you yet’ how D A R E you monster)

- I feel a deep eternal spiritual connection with Sully, because we both took one look at this disaster child and went ‘...well nothing for it I must now protect him for as long as I live’. (There were frequently hilarious moments when I was cottoning on to what kind of insane leap the game/Nathan ‘No Trace Of Impulse Control’ Drake wanted me to do next and I was like ‘oh no… no baby child you’ll break your neck I hate this’ and one second later Sully would be like ‘...you sure about this, kid’ and I was like ‘THANK YOU SULLY THIS IS MADNESS’ and then of course Nate would do it anyway while I turned my head so I wouldn’t have to look at the craziness I had wrought with the dual shock controller)

- It’s perfectly understandable why Nate marries Elena in the end and I am very happy for them, but with all objective truth in the universe we must all come to accept that no one in this game is more Marriage Material than Salim. Always there with a freakishly durable horse and a perfectly timed rescue to sweep you off your feet — literally, because you’re an idiot who routinely jumps from your horse onto trucks at breakneck speed and yet he lets you sit behind him on his horse until you find yours again; a Gentleman. Beautiful eyes. Excellent sense of dramatic timing, maybe good hair under the coverings, could immediately feel the cosmic vibrations of hurt puppy, I-am-doing-the-best-I-can-I-swear-everything-just-keeps-happening-to-me energy around Nathan Drake and chose to protect him… truly, the perfect man.

- I sort of got the thing they tried to do at the end with the Talbot/Marlowe bond mirrored with the Nate/Sully one, but I feel like it would have been better if it was built up more before they reach the city? Like at this point your distaste for Talbot is so strong that you’re like ‘well GOOD your mother figure sucked anyway, choke on quicksand assbutt’, and it could have been more gutting if he was just a tiny bit more likeable. Marlowe had some really good indirect characterization going on though, like the fact that after twenty years she STILL hasn’t figured out that the reason Sully suddenly ‘stabbed her in the back’ was that she fucking hit a kid in the face in front of him. (It wasn’t subtle, Katherine, he’s standing there like D: D: D: right behind you)

- GOD the damn shipyard stuff dragged on FOREVER and for no narrative reward whatsoever — if you think about it it could literally be removed from the game completely and… nothing at all would change except Nate would maybe have a few more ribs still intact — and also the gameplay was tiring, but it was tremendously effective in making you feel what Nate feels and so I forgive it. I felt fucking harrowed by the time he wakes up on that beach, enough so that I didn’t even bother to go ‘uh. Sure. sure he washed ashore safely from what looked very much like the open ocean. That’s… likely’. I was just happy he was okay. Ssssh it’s psychological storytelling okay let’s not question it. Also being on a sinking cruise ship was admittedly some of the coolest level design I’ve ever seen, so there’s that.

- On an unrelated note I wonder what the hell Marlowe was paying her goons for them to keep trying to murder me after their employer had set fire to the chateau with them still inside it with no way out and while a plane was getting torn to pieces around them. That’s dedication, I’m actually impressed.

- No one wears a henley shirt quite like Nathan Drake. Like my feelings for him are more parental than anything but damn that boy sure knows how to pull off a Look.

- Talking about parental feelings, who else melts every time he starts expounding on a special interest? He’s such a ditz about everything else and yet… is it English renaissance and/or connected to Francis Drake in even the vaguest possible way? My boy will talk your ear off about it. God bless this ADHD poster child.

- They really did some cool things with his characterization otherwise too — this game feels a little like a coming of age story, despite the fact that he’s like… thirty five, because there’s this childlike quality to him, that slight manic brittleness of an abandoned, hurt child that is both tremendously endearing and slightly unsettling. (He… kills a lot of people in this game, u guise, and while most of it is made out to be basically self defense he, uh, doesn’t seem all that broken up about it) Marlowe revealing his real backstory so off-handedly and leaving you to puzzle together the fact that he has made himself into his own escapist character worked so well and might have hit me even harder if I’d played the first two. From how strongly he reacts to Elena’s comments about it he must realize on some level that Sully is getting older and that would trigger that fear that he’s going to leave the Adventure and by extension him behind, taking the one stable thing he’s had in his life since he was like fifteen away. (Thank you, Sully, for staying alive like a champ even though you’re the resident mentor and Nate’s terrified imagination murdered you like… four times in this game, this is the kind of dedication and survivability I like to see in a father figure)

I love that in the end what lets him heal is feeling safe in the fact that these people love him and won’t leave him even though he’s pulling the most insane shit and that is all that hole in him he tried to fill with adrenaline and Adventure really needed and he can let go enough to have real emotional closeness. Aaaand also he needed to sink a fucking city into the sand in the process b/c of who he is as a person, I guess. Let me reiterate: god bless him.

- Most difficult parts: when they try to make you shoot hallucination!Sully (I’m such a wimp, I couldn’t lol) and when you have to fight Charlie. I failed that fight thrice because I didn’t want to hit him back. Also when they make you think Charlie’s about to die, that was straight up mean

- “*deep sigh* This is why we can’t have nice things” I am Sully and Sully is me. Really though, that man is the true hero of this story. He’s been saying ‘Careful Nate’ and ‘Nate find another way so you won’t fucking die’ and ‘HOLY SHIT KID’ for twenty years and it has never worked and yet he still tries. Inspiring.

- The voice acting was amazing — I have never understood the hype around Nolan North before, he’s just everywhere in games, it would be like noticing the presence of air, but then I heard the way his voice went tiny when he said ‘Sully?’ and everything inside me went !!!!!

I get it now

- My one real complaint: I hope whoever’s responsible for all the ‘running towards the floaty camera’ scenes steps on one Lego annually for the next decade, those parts took years off my life

- Marlowe is a class act on the good old Villain Stuff — I burst out laughing when it turned out she was a member of an ~*ancient secret society*~ because… of course. Of COURSE she is — and I deeply respect that. Quoting T. S. Eliot at you while you’re dying in the desert? They just don’t make ‘em like that anymore, guys.

- This game is the ultimate proof that if you successfully create emotional connection with the characters, your plot can be as openly silly and full of holes as you like and people will roll with it. I mean that ending made no sense whatsoever but I was too busy whimpering through Nate’s hallucination panic attack thingy to care and that is… no one should have that kind of power, Naughty Dog, why u hurt me this way and make me forget what logic is

- Most brilliantly funny and understated moment: baby Nate casually reaching out for Sully’s beer and Sully being like ‘lol no kid’ in the most knowing, already fond way. The physical acting in these games is just phenomenal, which I guess is the upside of all the mocap stuff? (also makes sure they’re quite short and streamlined tho ha ha)

- We got ‘The Lost Legacy’ with the PS4 too so I’m going to start that — I think I will miss Nate but I also love Chloe and her cynical yet caring ass with the passion of a thousand suns so it’ll be okay ha ha

#uncharted 3 drake's deception #uncharted #thinky thoughts #meta #‘Made himself into his own escapist character’ *spots mccree out of the corner of my eye; sweats nervously* I may… have a Type in sons #uncharted 3

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armory-rasa · 8 years

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Leatherworking with gremble: the Anders brigandine

Alright, Anders fans -- let's talk brigandine.

PART I: SEWING

So most of the other Anders cosplays I've seen have done a quilted effect for his coat, which can also come out looking quite nice, but when I look at his outfit, I see brigandine. Brigandine is an armoring technique in the subset called "coat of plates" because it consists of small plates -- metal or heavy leather -- riveted to a garment of leather or heavy fabric. Since that's more in line with my skillset anyway, and considering that I've been hoarding scrap leather like some scrap-leather-hoarding dragon for just such an occasion, brigandine it was.

If Anders' coat is indeed meant to be brigandine, then it wasn't rendered right because it doesn't have enough rivets -- each rectangular plate needs 4 rivets (one in each corner) to attach it to the coat.

It distresses me when I can't be screen-accurate, and distresses me even more when I can't be accurate because their costume doesn't actually make sense, but such is life.

So the first step is to make the coat that will form the backing onto which you rivet your plates. It's pretty basic; I took the pattern from a coat I'd done for an unfinished Thrall cosplay, which I believe had itself been adapted from an inquisitor coat. Original:

Pattern laid out:

Sorry I can't give you something printable, but it's just too big for that. =/ (Not to mention that you'll be adjusting it to fit you anyway.) You shouldn't have too much trouble drafting your own though, and it is a very forgiving pattern.

The piece in the foreground is the front, and the further-away piece is the back. The front looks considerably bigger, but only because I fold the center edges over like three times. Remember that the edges are not actually supposed to meet in the front -- he's got that line of O-rings over his chest, so you're going to be leaving like 3"~4" of space down the center. I think I might also have wound up dropping the neckline a bit, I'm not sure.

It's also worth noting that the hem on this pattern makes a pretty dramatic dip in the front -- rather than being the same length all around, it's shorter in the back and comes to a point in the front. This is not accurate to what Anders wears in-game, his coat is indeed all squared off, but guess what looks better? And guess what gremble cares about more?

Anyway, cut out your fabric:

I used a black microsuede, because I bought a metric fuckton of microsuede when Hancock was going out of business and it was cheaper than dirt, and now I have microsuede for days (weeks. years) and I use it for anything I can. However, you can use any material that is (A) sturdy and (B) fray-resistant. You're going to be putting rivets through it later, so tight, sturdy weaves are your friend.

And even if you can put the back pieces on a fold, cut 'em apart anyway, because we want to put a vent in the back:

Sew the seam down the center back, stopping about 12~14" from the bottom, and crossing over that point a couple times with like your buttonhole function to make the endpoint strong. Seriously, that point is going to have a lot of stress put on it later, you want it to hold.

Fold your seams over:

Stitch your seams down:

And yeah, there's where you can tell that I'm not actually all that good at sewing. Parallel, what is parallel?

Anyway, keep going and attach the front pieces to the back pieces along the sides. I can't remember if I did the same seam as above, or if I did flat felled seams for these. It doesn't really matter, either way:

But considering that I then felt the need to document how to make flat felled seams on the shoulders:

So now you get to try on the coat and make sure that it's not completely off base:

Is good to me.

Next I edged the neckline and the armholes with bias tape. Goddamn do I hate bias tape.

But it makes it pretty tidy:

Alright, now it's time to do the center-front edges. We are making them VERY THICK AND VERY STIFF. I have seen too many Anders costumes where the weight of the O-rings drags down the edges of the coat, it is not a good look, but it's pretty easy to avoid if you plan ahead. So when I was making my coat I (1) folded the edge over twice (2) ironed some interfacing into it and (3) sandwiched a strip of felt into it. And I'm still not sure it was enough -- if I had it to do over again, I'd probably work a strip of 5-6 oz veg-tan in there instead. Truly, I don't think it's possible to make this part TOO stiff, while on the flip side, it's not going to look sexy if your coat is sagging under the weight of the O-rings.

So here is my felt and interfacing, both of which were 1" wide:

Iron on the interfacing:

Fold the felt into the edge:

Pin it, check how much of a gap it leaves down your front:

(This coat, for the record, is not the slightest bit adjustable. You make it, and then you don't gain or lose weight, ever.)

If the sizing is all good, then sew it down.

Time for your O-rings -- three of them are attached to the coat, the fourth one is on the belt, but needs to be spaced proportionally to the other three. Here is the spacing that worked for me (a 5'10" dude):

Test, 1, 2, 3...

You can see how the O-rings are too heavy for the straps holding them up, with more of their weight on the bottom instead of being distributed evenly -- that is okay. For this test I just snipped off some lengths of the bias tape I'd used on the neck & arms, so it's very thin fabric, but for the final version I use Legit Actualfax Leather (tm) and it is sturdy enough to hold the rings correctly.

Okay, time to put the gold edging down the center.

Full disclosure: I HATE bias tape. Like, everyone who knows me has at some point accidentally let themselves get cornered into having to listen to me rant about bias tape, how I hate it, let me count the ways. I get why it's used in cosplay so much -- so many costumes for the small-screen, be it anime or panels in a comic book, where you don't have much space for detail, add visual interest to a costume by putting contrast edging on it -- which, irl, is achieved with bias tape. But look the fuck around you, how many people have bias tape on their clothes?? Fuckin none, is the answer. So when I see bias tape, it feels strikingly cartoonish. It looks like cosplay; it doesn't look like something that anyone would ever actually wear out and about.

...and then there's Anders with his fucking gold bias tape down the center of his fucking coat, and all over the edges of his cute lil bolero jacket.

Sir, you should be ashamed of yourself.

Anyway, I wound up doing gold piping on the jacket--

--because it looks so much less shit than bias tape, but there really was no choice but to do a very wide band of gold fabric for the edging of the coat. This is, strictly speaking, not bias tape since I didn't do it on the bias -- it was wide enough that I thought bias tape might pull weird, and straight enough that I could get away with doing it on the grain, so I did. Oh yeah, and I put interfacing on it to keep it smooth, so I guess the center edges actually have THREE layers of interfacing to keep them sturdy:

Ignore the plates -- I will explain how to do the plates later, but I am encouraging you to do as I say not as I do and put the gold edging on it now, not after you've already riveted the plates, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DO NOT PUT THIS STEP OFF UNTIL YOU'VE ALREADY PUT THE PLATES ON IT.

If you can incorporate the gold-edging step into the hemming-the-edges step you can probably make something tidier than what I came up with. I did a zigzag stitch along the edge to keep it from fraying and then tucked it under and stitched it down by hand, but it was not fast, and the underside is not pretty, so I am not exactly holding this up as the definitive way to do it.

And when it was done, I hated it. It looked like cheap shit, just like all things made of bias tape. So gross, why oh why did I try to make it look like the screencaps instead of doing something more realistic, o god I hate bias tape so much.

Luckily, it turns out that when you pile on the rest of the costume, the bias tape on the coat looks less awful. ‘ “It looks less awful now,” I said grudgingly’ is pretty much the story of this cosplay.

PART II: LEATHER

So now that you've got the garment that's going to be your backing, you need to figure out how the leather plates are supposed to fit. I sized mine based on the screencaps, assuming Anders was my height (5'10"), so the top 7 rows came out to 3.75" L x ~2.5" W and the bottom two rows are 4.5" L x ~2.5" W. (I can't tell what width they were supposed to be, but they come out to about two and five-eighths inches.) Since some of the pieces have to get trimmed to fit around curves, I started by making a bunch rectangles out of graph paper and pinning them where the plates are going to end up:

TAKE A PICTURE OF THIS STEP. You will need it later when you've got your plates all done and you're trying to remember how to arrange them.

I did the front half from beginning to end, and then went back and did the back half later, but it would probably be easier to do it all in one go. I just didn't have proof that it would work as intended, so I was holding off on doing the whole thing.

This is my box of scrap leather that I'd been saving for a rainy day, and since it was literally flooding in Sacramento during this project, I decided to take that for a sign. The coat uses 90 plates of leather, all told, and I managed to get 79 of them out of this box, yay.

This is veg-tan leather in the 8~10 oz range, and you can't really tell once it's all put together, but I was using the werrrrst shit for this project, we're talking the dregs and weird ends that got rejected for everything else. Lumpy leather will mess up your tooling and won't shape well, but guess what, we're not tooling or shaping here! :D

(I think it turned into a false economy, because it was pretty time-consuming to find & fit the scrap leather to the pattern pieces, whereas it's insanely quick to cut strips of rectangles out of a full hide, but hey.)

Tracing the pattern onto the plates. Don't do this, make your pattern out of cardstock, graph paper is too bendy. If you're using a pen/sharpie, trace it onto the BACK of the leather, because we're not beveling the edges down and you don't want pen lines along the edges of your plates.

Edge rounding tool, you can get 'em at Tandy and they will save you so much time and heartbreak:

Time to DYE. I like Angelus alcohol-based dyes, they are versatile and inexpensive and waterproof. Water based dyes will run if they get wet; oil based dyes will bleed and ooze oil onto everything they touch, forever. Alcohol based dyes are great, but Fiebings (the Tandy alcohol-based brand) is prohibited under California's chemical laws so I buy Angelus instead. (And they send me weird swag, it's great.) Dilute it like 1:3 or 1:5 with acetone for dip dyeing:

(Okay so the color I used for this project can't really be replicated, because I went nuts one day and bought a 3 oz bottle of every shade of brown Angelus had, like 15 different colors, made a bunch of test swatches, and went, "Huh, the only one I really like is the dark brown." So I dumped the rest of them all together in a tub and added about three quarts of acetone. Pro-tip: your tubs for dip dyeing HAVE TO be hermetically sealed, because alcohol really really likes to evaporate, it will escape through the crevices and leave you with sludge. Granted, I think I can reconstitute this sludge with more acetone.)

Also note how all my pieces are different colors -- that's the range that natural, undyed veg-tan leather can come in. And they WILL take the dye differently, so if you have a project (not necessarily this one) where the pieces need to match in color, you HAVE TO cut them from the same hide, and ideally dye them at the same time.

So here's them all freshly dyed:

Apparently I didn't take a picture after they'd dried, but they looked awwwwfulllll. Sure enough, the different leathers had wound up different colors, weird and blotchy. Some of them I gave another dunk in the dye bath to make them darker, but mostly I just crossed my fingers and forged ahead.

Good news, they will look much better after you put a clear topcoat on them:

50/50 mix of resolene (which you can buy at Tandy) and water. I've messed with other topcoats before, but this is your best bet. It dries quite water-resistant; one coat will leave you with a matte finish and if you want it shinier you can add more coats.

They will also look better after you add lines along the edges. I forget what this tool is called, but you want one, it is invaluable, lets you put lines parallel to the edges of your leather very quickly and very neatly. The lines I did were 3/8" from the edge:

And now you have also conveniently marked where to punch your rivet holes:

Lay 'em out (I was eyeballing this, not measuring it):

With a gel pen or something, mark where the holes are:

I debated whether I wanted to use small or medium rivet caps, went with medium. These are what's called double-cap rivets, because there is a cap on both ends so it looks clean and finished on both sides of the project, but rapid rivets (the ones where the post end does not have a cap) would work fine here. Tandy sells rivets in lengths XS, S, M, and L -- the post length you need for this is S, but you can mix and match the posts and the caps, so I paired small posts with medium caps, which I felt were better proportioned for this project.

Use a burnishing awl to poke holes in your fabric, wide enough that you can push a rivet through. You will break some threads doing this, which is why you want your base fabric to be fray-resistant:

Add plate:

Add rivet cap:

Grab your rivet setter, apply hammer:

Yessssssss:

That was the point when I said, awww yeah, son, this might actually work. I'd been kinda iffy about it til then.

Alright, doing the rest of it. Here's where the patterning for the plates gets weird, because the coat is not a tube, it's narrower at the chest than at the hem, so some of them are going get cut at angles along the side seam. You can see that I labeled the plates this time because the assembly was getting kind of crazy, but it wound up not mattering because the acetone in the dye bath stripped off my labels. ;_;

So I labeled them again when they came out of the dye:

And repeated the same process as above. Aww yeah:

By the way, I did not make boots for this costume; I bought those boots in Harajuku like ten years ago and they turned out to be one of the best investments I ever made, because I wear them all the time and they blend seamlessly into so many costumes -- including Anders.

Anyway, you're not done yet, time to put the O-rings on it. I cut some tabs out of 5 oz leather and cut stitching grooves about 1/8" from the edge. That is the same tool I used above for creasing the lines along the edges of the plates, you just swap out the head to carve a groove instead of leaving a crease. Also I should have cut the grooves before I dip-dyed them, because I wound up having to go back and put dye in the grooves:

Mark your stitching holes (rolling wheel is great) and punch your stitching holes:

Punch your rivet holes:

I clipped the corners on the underside of the tabs so they wouldn't be poking my chest.

Same MO as attaching rivets to the coat, use your burnishing awl to poke a hole through the front edge and attach your tabs. (Hearkening back to the picture waaaay above, where I measured where you want to attach your O-rings.) While I'm stitching, I hold it in place with a brad, not the actual rivet. Stitching:

This is waxed nylon cord, by the way -- you can buy it at Tandy, or you could probably substitute dental floss, it’s about the same weight.

So one side of tabs is stitched & riveted shut and holds the O-rings, the other side consists of snaps so that they can come on and off the O-rings easily.

I hate snaps almost as much as I hate bias tape, but sometimes they're unavoidable. At Tandy, you have the option of glove snaps, segma snaps, or line 20/line 24 snaps -- they are all terrible, but glove snaps are your best bet for this operation. Segma snaps and the line 20/24 snaps are too heavy-duty for putting in fabric, they will slide sideways when you try to set them and you will have to pull REALLY HARD on them to make them release, and you'll end up stretching your fabric out of shape. Glove snaps will also slide when you try to set them, because all snaps are assholes, but once you get them installed they will work well.

(Except for when it popped off the morning of PAX, and I was out of town so I didn't have access to my workshop, and we had to swing by Tandy with me in my Anders costume to buy a new bag of snaps and beg use of their tools to set it. It took like fifteen minutes of swearing, because snaps are assholes, but I did make some kid's morning ("IT'S A WIZARD!!!") so there's that.)

Snaps:

Bias tape, looking less awful once the O-rings are added:

Here is a picture that better demonstrates how the rings are attached:

You’ll need medium-length posts for the rivets holding the O-rings on.

There are also a couple tabs lower down that are purely decorative. Initially I was going to skip those, but the other story of this costume is me going, "Eh, good enough. .........NO, NOT GOOD ENOUGH, MUST BE PERFECT" so I added them later. I'm glad I did, because anything to break up that line of stupid bias tape is a plus:

And more random rings on the sides:

Technically those should be O-rings, not D-rings, but I have a gratuitous number of brass D-rings just kicking around, so I used them instead of buying more O-rings.

The rings you can buy from Tandy -- solid brass, they look and feel great. The top three are 1.5" interior diameter, the rings on the belt are 2".

And I think that's it. Happy Anders'ing!

(And the glamour shot)

#cosplay #anders #da2 #dragon age #tutorial #leatherworking #brigandine #instructional #gremble's face

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writings-of-a-crazy-lady · 7 years

Text

The Black Heart & Enchanted Tattoo

Chapter Three

We ushered down the platforms, pushing our carts past the many pillars beside us. Vanessa and Dixon were well ahead of us and she was mumbling about our gifts having taken longer to arrive. But she said for us not to worry, that they would arrive at some point. Whatever that meant.

“Come along girls!”

“Aunt Vanessa, we are 22 not freaking 11,” Hazel called out as we ushered after her. Hazel had decided to wear her favorite robes, the ones she wore at the shop in Diagon Alley. I, instead, put on a similar one to mine but it was solid black with a blue cape to give me some ‘color.’

“It doesn’t matter. You are still my babies,” she called back. Eventually we made it to platform 9 and 10, watching as several other people with carts lined up to face the pillar. I was about to ask what was going on when we watched a son and father run toward the pillar and effectively vanishing into it. I felt my jaw drop and noticed Hazel’s doing the same as another student ran through the barrier.

“Nice,” I murmured, getting in line. It didn’t take long for it to come to us and I didn’t hiesitate to run through the barrier, feeling an odd sensation before popping out on the other side. Hazel quickly joined me and we found that the sight before us was something to behold.

A train, that was unlike other trains that we have ever seen, was before us. It was long and almost enchanted looking, with red trim along the sides. A large pillar of smoke came from the stack near the front and we noticed several people standing along the side, loading trunks and bags.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Dixon appeared next to us, followed by Vanessa.

“Yeah, it is,” I bit my bottom lip, a feeling of uncertainty taking over.

“Don’t worry. It’s not so bad. You’ll enjoy it, most definitely. Maybe even get a boyfriend?”

“Really?” Hazel and I both spoke, rolling our eyes. We never considered romance (especially myself) so the idea of even having a romantic relationship at a school for minors was off limits. But Vanessa’s expression told us that she may have other ideas for us. Never bode well for us when she got that look on her face.

“Oh stop being prudes. You still hadn’t had a first yet, have you Iris?” Vanessa said coyly as we loaded my stuff on the train. I sighed as the last of it was loaded before glancing at my Aunt.

“No and I don’t plan on it. Hazel is a better bet. She isn’t even a virgin.”

“Which speaks about the polar opposite of you both. She is experienced in the bedroom. And you haven’t even kissed your first boy.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t know what sex is,” I added, watching with satisfaction at the blush and scowl that took over her face. Vanessa had to tell us the birds and the bees when we were kids. That was a rather uncomfortable experience when she was trying to explain it. I asked far too many questions apparently.

We didn’t speak after that, waiting as Hazel put up her bags. Dixon, then, hugged us both before giving a reassuring nod toward us. Vanessa also took turns to hug us, but she kept her hand on my arm, waiting as Hazel boarded the train. I never said a word until she finally spoke to me, gaining a surprised arch of my brow.

“Keep your sister out of trouble, Iris. And try to mingle with people instead of being a loner,” she advised.

“Why do you need me to protect Hazel?”

“You know your sister, always the one for dramatics,” she smiled but it slowly faded as she added, “and don’t do any duels with her in DADA.”

“Why?” I questioned as she pulled me into another hug, whispering low in my ear.

“Because if you lose your temper, they will know about your arm. And we wouldn’t want that, now would we,” Vanessa stepped back from me, giving a huge smile. “Now have fun.”

I nodded before stepping on the train, giving one last look back. The two who had been my parents for the last few years were smiling brightly at me and I gave one back before looking for my sister. She was in a compartment by herself, staring out the window and giving a wave toward our relatives. A loud whistle sounded and we felt the train begin to move toward our destination.

It was an odd feeling, knowing that we were going to ‘school.’ We were so much older than many of the students on this train and found that much of our other aged classmates were actually here for only a year or two to finish what they never accomplished. So my sister and I were probably the only ones who would be here for over 3 years since we never even started.

“So what did Vanessa tell you?” Hazel asked once we left the station. I felt a smirk pull at the corner of my mouth.

“To keep you out of trouble and not to duel you in DADA classes,” I answered honestly. Hazel braided her thick mass of hair, allowing it to go over her shoulder as she thought on my words.

“Sounds like her. I think I know why too,” she added, glancing at my arm before meeting my eyes. I rolled them to show emphasis before leaning back in the seat.

“So, see any cute guys on the way here?”

“Really, Hazel? Boys already?” I teased, knowing she was trying to lighten the mood. Hazel was well versed in men more so than I was. I never dated, never even thought about it. But Hazel, my goodness. You get her started and your stuck on the subject until she fell asleep. Even then, she practically dreams about them.

“Come on, we aren’t the only adults here,” she quipped. I chuckled, about to say something witty, when a knock broke our reverie. A gentleman was standing in the doorway, giving us a light smile. I heard my sister gasp in excitement, probably finding him attractive in a way. Which he wasn’t bad looking. He had messy, sandy hair and stubble upon his face. He also had a few scars peppered here and there along with these brilliant green eyes.

“Pardon me, but do you mind me joining you? The others are filled with children,” he smiled. We both giggled at the poor joke, Hazel patting the spot next to her. The man did so, leaning back in his seat.

“So, who do I have the pleasure of meeting?”

“Oh, well,” Hazel started, leaning forward to rest her elbows on knees before resting her head in her hands. “I’m Hazel and this is my twin sister, Iris.”

“Twins?” he seemed disbelieving.

“Fraternal,” I allowed the one word to explain it all.

“I see,” he nodded in understanding. “I am Remus Lupin. I’ve been invited to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts again.”

“Again?”

“I had some…personal things to attend to, therefore, had to leave my post,” he explained.

“Oh,” I smiled in understanding.

“Well, my sister and I are starting our 1st and 2nd years in school.”

“First and second year? Have you never attended Hogwarts?” came the question we were expecting. Sis always seemed to make our isolation so painfully obvious to everyone, including ourselves. If only she would shut up about it.

“We had some-“

“Personal things to-“

“Attend to,” we both finished together, watching as a smile broke out on his face.

“I know only one other set of twins that did what you two just did,” he chuckled before adding, “And I understand. Things were hard only a few years ago.”

“Tell me about it,” I mumbled, leaning back in my seat. Hazel gave me a hard stare before going back to the teacher, chatting away with him about whatever she brought up. Which just so happen made me want to reach over and slap her.

“Hazel,” I hissed, suddenly sitting straight in my seat. The professor was staring at me before his gaze locked onto my arm. That’s right. My dear sister brought up my rather “illegal” gift without so much as a hint of remorse showing on her face.

“Well, he is the DADA professor and needs to know as to why you and I can never duel,” she defended.

“Are you trying to get me locked up?”

“May I see?”

The words brought us off guard, my shoulder stiffening before looking at my arm. The sleeves of my robes were lose compared to the other set, so I could easily roll the sleeves up. But I was unsure if I could trust this man, even though my secret was already out. So, after more contemplation, I decided to go ahead and show him.

We both watched as his eyes widened in amazement as my sleeves were brought up as far as they could go. He looked over the designs, seeing many of animals, swirls, and incantations. It also had many other designs here and there to add some more depth. I even allowed him to grab my wrist, placing his other hand under my elbow to get a better look at it.

“Can you-“ he paused, glancing out the window to our little room. I nodded when I was sure no one could see before allowing the magic to flair along my arm. The random colors danced along my skin before extinguishing. Remus seemed rather impressed and amazed as he released my arm.

“Well, that is something you don’t see every day.”

I knew there would be a creak in my neck as I stiffened again, glancing at the doorway. I felt my cheeks darken as I stared up at the man who joined us, my hand fumbling to pull my sleeve down. He had a certain air about him, almost one of being a heart breaker. And of course, he would be someone I was attracted too, which by my sister’s smirk, she noticed.

“Hi,” I mumbled, discreetly checking him out. He had shoulder length dark hair, full on facial hair, and beautiful eyes. They were piercing grey but danced with hidden mirth. He gave a soft laugh then, making me realize that I was staring at him.

“Forgive her, she is just shy,” Hazel came to my defense. “Especially considering her…talent.”

“Ah, well, don’t expect us to be tattling on you. I’m sure there are reasons for your gifts,” the man took a seat next to me, his arms running along the tops. He relaxed in his position, not even noticing that I had scooted closer to the wall. Hazel, however, had a really stupid grin on her face that I wanted to knock off.

“I agree. The war made us do things we had to do, so we can keep this secret for you,” Remus reassured me. I nodded before looking over at the man sitting next to me, my head tilting to the side.

“What?”

“Are you not going to introduce yourself?” I added with a smirk, trying to act indifferent to him. Hazel snickered at my play before joining in on the fun.

“It is rather rude-“

“To just invite yourself-“

“Without proper introductions,” we both smiled when his eyes widened, staring at each of us.

“Twins?” he breathed, looking over at Remus.

“Apparently so. Fraternal,” he answered the other unspoken question. The man suddenly broke out into a laugh, which had the three of us wonder if he was broken.

“Oh this year should be interesting,” he stated before leaning forward, offering his hand to my sister. “Sirius Black.”

“Hazel,” she nodded. He turned to me then, his hand held out to take mine. I slowly placed my hand into his own.

“Iris,” I tried to remain indifferent but instead I felt all oxygen leave my lungs as he brought my hand to his face, placing a kiss to the back of it.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he added, giving me a wink. Yeah, he was a definite heart breaker and someone I could never trust my heart too. Then again, why am I even considering this?

“So, ladies,” the man, Sirius, released me from his spell as he glanced at Remus, “where you from?”

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cyrelia-j · 6 years

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[fic] Invictus IV (Kelas Parmak, past Garak/Parmak)

Which will soon be just Garak/Parmak but don't think it'll stop there because this is going own a pretty dark well. Kidfic turned damn serious, Federation through a warped and bitter lens, and morally bankrupt not nice Garak. This is NOT healthy/cuddly forgiveness Kelim. Written for @guljerry

So for anyone still here, you can catch parts 1, 2, and 3 HERE, HERE, and HERE

Summary: Post Canon Cardassia story (AU from the novels) After The Fire, Kelas Parmak finds himself a father seven times over to orphans left behind keeping an underground clinic and garden going even in this dystopian future. But Vakem Parmak taught him the importance of survival- even if the enemies are his former lover Elim Garak or The Federation itself

This Chapter: Garak is interrogated, though who's really the one with the screws put to them?

Warnings: Language, references to torture, a lot of angst, emotional manipulation, not nice Garak, mental instability

Also you can check my notes on the biology/genders in this AU HERE

There are two things that Kelas Parmak fears most in this world; that’s what Elim Garak would say. Parmak would say that he is afraid for the future, afraid for his children, and perhaps even afraid for the “undesirables” that he treats. Garak would dismiss those as mere worries, not true fear. And perhaps he’s right. There are only two things in this world that can bring Parmak to his knees shaking, screaming, vomiting, blacked out in terror. Those two things are Garak’s eyes and his own reflection.

In Garak’s eyes he sees the souls of the dead that he buried as a child, the lifeless eyes staring at him, some frozen open in horror as he dropped them in the hard ground. He sees the dead coming for him. He sees everyone that he couldn’t save, those who cursed him as a monster, as a harbinger of death. And they always come for him, raging angrily in his head, reaching out from the cold slits of Garak’s pupils. Kelas still dreams of those eyes at night, waking up with a scream dead in his throat, unable to breathe. Before he looked in Garak’s eyes he might have said that there was nothing that he was afraid of. It was easier to forget about the mirror. The mirror had stopped haunting his dreams when the plague came.

Before the plague, there was only one true fear that Parmak held. When he was a child, his mother told him that he was beautiful. She told him that he was precious and perfectly made as he was. In spite of the rest of the village speaking of him and his family with pity for such a poor child, in spite of the taunts of his appearance - his white hair, his “pink little vole eyes”, his “sickening skin”, his “gross” hump - he had never considered his appearance one way or the other. He could breathe, he could move, and he could feel the warmth of the lamps they used to light their camp. He was also born with poor vision that had gone undiagnosed until his sixth year.

Before that he could see the shapes well enough to get by though the world still shook out of focus from time to time. He tried to express it but didn’t understand what was wrong to verbalize. But eventually there came a time when he didn’t need to- when his parents understood what was wrong with him. He never understood the reality of his physical “corruption” as they called it until he happened to glimpse himself once in a large bucket of captured precious rainwater. He had seen the collected water before but this was the first time that he’d though to peer at it closely, the light that day hitting it just right to reflect.

And he saw a monster.

He screamed and backed away, looking frantically around for the monster that he saw in that vision, turning, dizzy, seeing one of the older men walking back to his tent. Kelas remembered the man was Eron and he was always somewhat kind to him. He told Eron about the monster in the water and that was when the old man told him with a sympathetic shake of his head that he wasn’t seeing a monster but his own reflection. His mother would tell him later that it was merely his poor vision coupled with his child’s imagination which conjured the image but he knew she was only being kind. He’d dared to look one other time, at the Placement Center in Central telling himself the same things. He told himself that it wasn’t real. He told himself that he was fine. He was wrong. He requested after that for them to please remove any such objects. He didn’t look again.

Parmak supposes he should be thankful that the fear Garak had put in him supersedes such childish things. Sometimes he almost wonders what it is that he looks like. Sometimes he’s almost tempted to stare into a piece or glass or a cracked window pane, a shiny bit of metal just to see what it is that others see… what men like Michael see when they stroke the side of his face and don’t seem to be afraid. But Garak’s eyes are another matter. He still feels bile rising in the back of his throat and his heart start to race even at the thought. He doesn’t have the fearlessness of his youth but… Perhaps, he thinks, perhaps he can look just for a moment. That would shift the balance of power to his favor. He forces his feet to keep from shuffling so that he doesn’t betray his unease.

Parmak tries. He starts from the bottom, from the floor but there’s a freeze that seizes him when his eyes move up Garak’s body. He can’t go any further once his gaze reaches Garak’s neck. Parmak can feel his heart start to pound even harder as he tries. He feels dizzy. He feels sick. He forces his hand to remain steady with the quickly mixed drug in the vial but he knows any moment it’s going to start shaking. He counts the ridges on Garak’s neck knowing the count moving to his ear, moving to his lips until he almost thinks that it’s close enough that he can fool him. He used to focus on Garak’s chufa before. The lips are better, he thinks. He opens his mouth and closes it again tightly.

“Ya’?” he hears whispered beside him. It’s… especially humiliating to have to rely on his daughter to speak for him. Parmak shuts his eyes and opens them again. He looks down at the vial.

“You’ll have to excuse poor Kelas, I’m afraid he doesn’t respond particularly well to shock. He’s always been sensitive.” Parmak grips the vial tightly when he hears Garak’s biting honeyed words.

“And Elim for his part has always had an amusing habit of talking more than the subjects he was meant to interrogate. I recall hearing it said once that his most effective method of interrogation was to recite Preloc until a subject broke under a wave of overwrought and dramatic verse.”

“Here you told me that you found my recitations enchanting, you wound me, my dear.” Parmak breathes deeply, that specter of Garak the interrogator falling back behind the old banter.

“Ah, I did… Mm, I suppose then you’re not the only one of us proficient with lies.” Parmak holds up the vial knowing that Garak can see it. “Do you remember that I told you once that my father said lying was a disease that would rot the tongue?” Parmak imagines Garak sticking out his tongue in response as he usually would when Parmak would make that remark. “You’re sticking it out now, aren’t you, Elim?” He asks, smiling in spite of himself.

“Perhaps you should look and see for yourself.” There’s a darkness underlying that tone that makes him nearly shiver.

“I’m not going to be playing that game with you today,” Parmak says, barely managing to project his voice above a whisper. He hates it.

“Bet he’s got a thickie, don’t he, ya’?” Roka’s timely interruption nearly makes him jump but it breaks the tension of that moment neatly. “S’always them old’uns with the thickies mess your head up good like that.” Parmak nearly drops the vial.

“Th-that’s… ah… really no one’s concern,” he says blinking a few times.

“Guls with the whore talk,” Parmak hears Yihot muttering on his other side.

“Like ya’ ain’t heard worse from thems come in middle month needing to drop an egg,” Roka declares loudly.

“Doesn’t mean I need to hear it now. Look at him, preening like that. Hey! Why don’t I yank it out and slice it off right now, Obbie!?”

“I’m afraid you’re going to need a bigger knife. Isn’t that right, Kelas?”

Parmak smiles, eyes to Garak’s throat, feeling a morbid satisfaction seeing the chains around his neck.

“Right as always,” he says and walks over in two hasty strides. He grabs a fistful of Garak’s hair just as he imagines the wide grin painting Garak’s face, yanks his head back, and pours the vial into his mouth, sure to press the chains into his throat and force a swallow. Parmak barely steps out of the way as Garak begins to cough. He knows that the dosage is higher than necessary, but he’s tested it enough times over the years to know that even if the entirety of the vial makes it down Garak’s throat there won’t be any ill effects- at least none that he can’t handle, none that he doesn’t deserve. “There we are, now that should take a few moments for the effect but it should work.” He looks to Yihot. “I appreciate your efforts, but you would be wise,” he looks to Roka now as well. “-not to engage him. Although Elim is quite capable in a variety of areas, although he can certainly kill with a myriad of implements, his most potent weapon is his voice.

Roka snorts.

“Ain’t nothin’ impressive ‘bout this old’un yet,” she says not looking intimidated in the slightest.

“All he’s got is his voice, old man. We made sure we searched him thoroughly. Nothin’ on the screens either?” Parmak smiles at them weakly.

“No, nothing, It would seem that he really has come to us unaccompanied. Would you give us a moment, please? We need to discuss a few things and… there are certain subjects I’d rather you weren’t present for. Especially if Elim is going to insist on vulgarity.”

“The only vulgar thing in this world is a common mind,” Garak quotes Iloja of Prim rather nicely.

“You can’t even look at him, old man,” Yihot growls under his breath.

“Mmm, well I don’t expect that to change any time soon,” Parmak agrees.

“We got this. Let me loosen a few of his scales and I don’t care if he names every son of a whore his mother ever made it with I’ll get what we need,” Yihot insists.

“It’s fine,” Parmak says holding up his hands. If one of you would bring me a seat though, that would be the most help you could give right now. It’s been long enough that I’d be at ease if you were to check on the others and start with dinner. Roka looks uncertain as does Yihot but they both agree.

“Anything goes up, ya’ I got something what’ll fix ‘im right.” Parmak laughs softly at that giving her wrist a squeeze.

“Ah, I should have let you know that Order agents are quite immune to most common street drugs, Trap included. But I’m proud of you. You’re strong. Be well both,” he says dismissively, Yihot taking a moment to drag another wooden chair in from an adjacent room. “Facing him is fine,” Parmak says, sitting down once the chair is situated, facing Garak. He waits until he hears them leave before smiling at Garak, focusing his eyes up, on a point on the wall that he’d already decided on. “Well, Elim, I think that you should be sufficiently prepared so shall we begin?”

---

“Nothing could prepare me for glimpsing your loveliness again, my dear. For once my eyes have beheld your glory, I should slay you for fear that my devotion to you might eclipse my life’s duty.” Garak says the line, watching Parmak’s face go still. Still so lovely, Garak thinks. The effect is exactly as he imagined. He sees Parmak unsure if the serum had worked. It hadn’t of course. The nice little drug cocktail that Lok had supplied him – mindful of his current pharmaceutical indiscretions – will easily counter the outdated concoction that Parmak had developed for Tain. But the lie will lead to the truth and it will lead to Parmak’s believing anything that Garak tells him. You’re concerned, Kelas. You know that it should have taken effect by now. It’s been years since you’ve used it or I wouldn’t be able to plant that doubt in you. You’re uncertain. You’re off balance. You should have kept the young ones in here instead of trying to “spare” them the sight of seeing you supplicant on your knees at my feet. They gave you strength, Kelas. It’s unfortunate.

“You can’t lie to me,” Parmak says.

“As I breathe, I lie,” Garak says indifferently, seeing Parmak frown. “Perhaps you should test me like you used to. Remember you once said the true efficacy of any truth serum lie in its ability to trick the truth from my tongue.”

“I used to say a lot of things, Elim,” Parmak says softly. He laughs - a subtle shake of his shoulders - “I used to tell you that I was unbreakable. I used to tell you that you didn’t scare me.”

“I could never be with a man who wasn’t afraid of me,” Garaks offers charitably.

“You were the only one who saw through me even then.” Parmak crosses his arms sitting back, looking at the ceiling. Garak scents the air again pleased to be only tasting him now.

“And now? Do I still see through you, my dear?”

“I’m not going to look at you,” Parmak declares to the ceiling. “I’m going to kill you.”

“For every life you take, you must give back a hundred,” Garak quotes. This time from the old doctor who’d raised Parmak: Vakem Parmak. “But I count eight including yourself, not a hundred.”

“Maybe I’ll kill an eighth of you then,” Parmak retorts defiantly. Garak smiles amused.

“I assure you in spite of your daughter’s colorful commentary my manhood doesn’t quite constitute an eighth of my person.” Parmaks snorts in response to that.

“Mmm… well I’m sure that the serum must be working then, since I recall you once declaring that your everted ch’och easily spanned two regnars end to end.”

“Perhaps I’ve held back for you out of consideration.” Garak feels his tongue thick in his mouth as a result of the drug. It has a bitter taste though he’s certainly swallowed worse. He imagines that Parmak would laugh but instead he sits back up. Garak notices that his eyes fall briefly to Garak’s lap. “Fear not, Kelas, it’s still intact in spite of your hatchlings’ overzealous searching.”

“Why are you here?” Parmak asks looking at Garak’s chest.

“Untie me.”

“Bury me,” Parmak hisses, leaning forward in the chair the anger finally starting to rise to the surface.

“Untie me.”

“Why are you here?!”

“Because of a foolish oversight on my father’s part, same as you, dear Kelas.” That stops him. It’s as good a confession as any but Garak doesn’t take any satisfaction out of it. Parmak’s guilt in Tain’s death was never in any doubt. “But what I don’t understand is how you were able to get close to him a second time. Your holes are sweet, but they’re hardly that magical.” He’s as vulgar as possible in that declaration - another “tell” that the serum is working for Parmak to grab. He sees Parmak’s eyes flash, and he sees an aborted snap of his head. Parmak wants to look him in the eyes but he can’t.

He’s silent again for a long while and Garak is impressed that he isn’t rising to the bait further.

“Oh well, I think that neatly answers any question as to why you’re here, Elim.” Assumptions are the poison of any interrogation. Garak could easily tell him that and he thinks that Parmak should rightly know better. He’s harder after The Fire; that much Garak can tell. But that steel also seems to have come at the expense of his analytics. That would be convenient. Garak would sooner deal with a brave idiot than a smart coward. Still as for his erroneous conclusion, there’s a simplicity to it that’s beneath Parmak. Garak is pleased that he seems to realize it as well. “No, that’s not it,” he amends softly. “You wouldn’t want me to think that either. If you really wanted to kill me, we’d all be dead.”

“Ah but I would also miss an opportunity to acquaint myself with your handsome little brood Kelas. Tell me, are any of them Tain’s?” he asks glibly knowing full well that shouldn’t be possible.

Parmak’s face gives him the answer that his mouth doesn’t.

“For once, you’re not the one asking the questions.” Garak doesn’t need to. He knows. The answer is no.

“Yes, and I find that being in this position affords me an insight into the process that I’ve had little opportunity to experience. I must say if the work of my colleagues to this point had been so frightfully dull and unimaginative… I can see why I was the only one who could break you.” Curiously, Parmak tilts his head at that remark and sighs deeply. He surprises Garak by slowly beginning to unlock the chain from around his neck.

“You didn’t break me, Elim,” he answers softly before moving to the ropes around Garak’s waist and chest. “I was broken long before that.” His hands work the bindings on Garak’s arms. “I just didn’t realize it. Please be silent a moment. I need to untie your legs and your voice grates on me when you’re being particularly smug.”

Garak is obedient. Parmak is supplicant. At least that’s the picture he makes on his knees before him, Garak staring down at his white head, at the obscene slip of a shirt that billows out just enough for Garak to look down it. He looks in silence, scenting the air again, scenting Parmak, scenting his body, scenting that fear, seeing his chest, fragile, soft, the swollen dirty nipples of a live bearing Northerner who’s been wet nursing a little suckling not theirs.

Garak shuts his eyes and breathes in as Parmak moves to his other leg. He wants him. He wants to put his mouth to that chest, he wants to pinch those barbaric mammalian throwback things until Parmak sobs and begs him to stop. He wants to turn him around, drag him onto his lap and fuck every thought of Tain from his body. Which is exactly why he told Lok that he shouldn’t be used for this assignment. It was a foolish objection and he knew it the moment he’d made it. Lok may have also quite perceptively pointed out that one of the strengths that Garak developed over the years was turning his tendencies toward the emotional to good work.

“Why are you here, Elim?” Parmak asks, still on his knees, eyes on the floor and Garak has never felt more powerful or more vulnerable with Parmak in that position. Good work, he hears Lok say to him.

“I’m here for you, Kelas,” he answers honestly.

“Are we back to that again?”

“The Order is back again.”

“The Order should stay dead with the rest of Old Cardassia.”

“The New Order is going to build the New Cardassia, Kelas, and once there was no one more determined to build a new Cardassia than you.” Garak flexes his hands and slowly begins working feeling back into his arms. The tingling, the pain of blood flow is bit of nostalgia.

“And you find yourself in need of a doctor?” Parmak asks with a soft laugh. Surely you can dig out some of the camp relics if you’re willing to track me down. Doctor Medek would suit your purposes far better than I would.” It never fails to amaze Garak how young Parmak always looks no matter how tired, no matter how he slumps or shuffles or whispers quietly to the walls.

“Our beloved Doctor Medek didn’t kill Enabran Tain,” Garak murmurs.

This is where the subject’s heart skips a beat. This is where the subject will either lie or ask-

“How did you know?”

“Because I saw Tain at Internment Camp 371 when he was dying. Shall I list the symptoms, Kelas? Shall I tell you that I knew within a matter of hours that the toxin build up had to have been over the span of months, possibly years to still be in his system? Shall I tell you how I suspected and how my suspicions led me to you upon my return?”

“Mmm… I’m sure if you did you’d weave quite a fanciful tale, Elim.” Parmak bows his head, hands between his knees as small as he can make himself, pillowing his forehead to Garak’s knee. “I’m sure you already have. Ah… I know how you love these grand moments of drama so I should hate to take that from you but… but it was a test, you know,” he hears Parmak say and in a way it’s almost… beautiful. “You and me,” Parmak continues before Garak can say anything else. “That was a test. You breaking me? Was a test. Me returning to Tain after 3 years there…” Garak sees Parmak jump, that laugh he gives because he’s incapable of tears.

“That was a test,” Garak supplies for him glad the drugs already leave him cold.

“That was a test. And then I decided thoughtlessly without consulting you that your life might find some value if you were to be finished with tests.”

“I see…”

“Don’t misunderstand me,” Parmak says, lifting his head and smacking Garak’s knee. “Our relationship wasn’t the test. Mmm, likely Tain saw it as ah… convenient means to begin the test…”

“Tain was fond of his “tests”,” Garak agrees thinking of Palandine, of Doctor Bashir, even so far back as to remember the little regnar. “Clearly, I passed that one,” he observes mildly. Of course he would; especially after seeing Parmak and Tain that night. “So then-”

“This is my interrogation, Elim.” Garak sees Parmak’s hands on his knees with the old familiarity. He holds them apart. He looks up at Garak’s chufa – the closest that he ever comes to looking him in the eyes. “So what will you do if I choose not to dirty my hands for you?” His mouth is set hard. It’s the look of a man who’s had his fill of death.

“I never asked you the first time. That was your decision- your life, your mistake, your assassination. Your hands are already dirty, Kelas.”

Parmak slaps the inside of his thigh hard.

“Then bury me, snake!” He yells standing up and turning away. Garak grabs his wrist tightly, muscles protesting the sudden movement. “Let go of me,” he hisses. Parmak is old, Parmak has always looked weak but he’s always been exceptionally strong. He doesn’t try and pull away.

“I will lay in the dirt with you Kelas,” Garak swears, their eyes almost meeting when Parmak turns back around slowly. “But first, I’m going to tell you a “fanciful tale” as you would say, a tale worthy of a snake.” He can see Parmak’s eyes darting, twitching unconsciously. Parmak easily slips his hold but then hooks his index finger around Garak’s. He keeps looking at his chufa.

“Doctor Parmak use to say the only trust that you can hold in a snake’s tail is that you cannot trust it at all.”

“I can’t lie to you, my dear,” Garak lies. “Not here, not in this honest little patch of darkness.” Parmak really is stunning with the shadows from the dimming light along his ridges. It makes him look stronger, it makes his eyes look bigger behind his spectacles. Garak sees those pupils continue to shake with that albino’s weakness.

“Why are you here?” Parmak whispers, middle finger hooking around Garak’s next. Garak looks at him speculatively, knowing that he has to play this exactly right.

“Perhaps some time when this unpleasant business has passed us we might hear of my adventures upon the dying monument to the Old vanity, but for now, what you need to know. Before The Fire, before the war, before the Occupation, I discovered the Founder home world.” He pauses, seeing a tension in Parmak’s shoulders, feeling it through their fingers. “I was going to destroy it. I could see what was going to happen, it rang in my head more clearly than anything I’ve ever felt. It was one of those visions that I’ve always had.”

“That’s...” Parmak swallows looking down at their link. “That would be genocide, Elim. That would be an unconscionable massacre.”

“One life for a hundred, Kelas. What are our lives worth? What are eight hundred million, what are a billion Cardassian lives worth?”

Parmak doesn’t answer him right away, Garak letting that sink in.

“They stopped me, of course. The Federation, the moral Starfleet like you, could hardly condone such a despicable act.”

“Of course they wouldn’t. That’s one thing I’ve learned about them. They value life.” Parmak stares at the gray wall behind Garak.

“Ah, but we’re not to the end of the story yet, my dear Kelas. For in these classic human tales, I’ve learned there’s always a twist, always a grand unmasking of the villain at the highest moment of tension.” Another finger hooks - the ring this time - he’s getting to him. The last finger follows at Garak’s initiation, the eight digits twining around each other, Parmak looking at the wall like it’s about to come for him looking anxious, uneasy, almost as if he knows what Garak’s is going to say. Garak wants Parmak to look at him. He will- when the moment is right.

“So now we come to the, as the humans say, coup de grâce, that final merciful blow. It should hardly come as a surprise to you that the vaunted Federation works in the shadows same as we do. They call it Section 31, one might say the dark puppet masters really pulling the strings behind that noble front. Shall I tell you what delightful little egg they birthed into existence, Kelas?” Parmak twists his hand holding it tightly. He breathes in hard, closes his eyes, no doubt bracing himself. But there is no brace, Garak thinks, no mercy as he tells him plainly and simply. “A virus. Once the Federation casualties became too great, once too many of theirs had been lost, that’s when Guls damn genocide became acceptable.” And he watches Parmak shutting his eyes with a soft whimper, a tight press of his lips a nearly painful squeeze to Garak’s hand but he revels in it. This is what he needs. This is what Lok had wanted from him. “You told me Kelas, you told me as you sat in that miserable cell that when you looked in my eyes you saw the dead coming for you.”

“Elim-” Frantic, scared, as if Garak with his words alone could force him to look. “Please...”

“How many dead do you think you’ll see now? How many “disposable Northerners” that they deny exist? How many starving Nokarans? Kranessans because of the “evils” of bio mimetic gel that they refuse to give us? How many more have to die to serve their sick self righteous hypocrisy?”

“I don’t... I don’t know what you want from me, Elim. I’m a doctor... I’m not a...”

“I want you to help me eliminate a virus, Kelas. That was your specialization after all. Communicable disease, infection, pathogens, microbes. That’s what the Federation is.”

“A virus...” Parmak whispers, breaths coming faster, more shallow and Garak suppresses the urge to smile.

“Look at me, Kelas, my dear Kelas. I’ve spent these last thirty miserable years dreaming of those enchanting eyes of yours looking into mine.” Sweet, soft, like the thick poisonous honey filling the deadly Elaran bowl flowers; they always trap their butterflies. Garak begs him softly, intoning his Nokaran name as he does. “Pleassse Kelasssar...” slips sibilantly into the air between them like a spell.

And Parmak looks.

#star trek ds9 #star trek deep space nine #ds9 fanfic #post canon cardassia #au #Kelas Parmak #Elim Garak #kelim #dark #angst #Garak is fucked up #But so is Parmak #update #fanfic #cyrelia-j

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markssailingthecrisscolfership · 7 years

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DIYShowOff Fab and over 40 Favorite: Savvy Minerals MakeUp

“Beauty begins the moment you decide to be yourself.” ~Coco Chanel

A little detour from DIY home improvement and decorating today as I share a little about one of my new favorite things! It’s a tad long but very informative and if you wear makeup, please take a minute to scroll through!

“26 seconds after exposure, chemicals are found in measurable amounts in the human body. The average woman applies 300 chemicals to her body a day – 80 before breakfast.”

I still hardly recognize my new round, fuller…mature face in selfies! lol! But hey, I am loving the new Savvy Minerals makeup collection! {Beware: unedited photos! lol}

Our skin is our largest organ and what we put on it matters, including makeup! All of those chemicals over time are going to catch up with us. Time to ditch the toxins in your makeup bag and get your game on because this was Made. For. You!

I’m wearing:

Warm 2 foundation I Do Believe You’re Blushing blush Eyeshadow: Inspired and Residual Jet Setter eyeliner and Determined Eyeshadow (brows) Lipstick: Daydream Lipgloss: Embrace

As I work to rid the chemicals and toxins from my home, one area that I kept putting off was my makeup bag and I knew the facts: Skin is my body’s largest organ. The stats: the average woman applies 300 chemicals to her skin per day, 80 before breakfast. Yikes! But man, I’m the type to not leave the house without makeup. I’m just not that confident in my “natural” beauty. It feels more “natural: scary to all the people to me.

Get your Savvy Minerals makeup collection —> HERE!

Last summer I attended the Young Living convention and got to see the Savvy Minerals makeup line first hand. I ordered a few pieces at a time and despite my initial hesitation at applying mineral makeup, I have grown to love (no… LOVE in capital letters!) my Savvy Minerals makeup collection.

Now, I am (ahem) over 40 with imperfect skin, occasional breakouts (darn you, wacky hormones!), dark circles (thanks thin skin gene) and a few sun spots. Not to mention I’m now looking at a few wrinkles as well. I really didn’t think mineral (powder) makeup was for me. It sounded awfully drying and cake-y! Right? Well, I was wrong!

It’s been about 8 months now and I have to tell you, I wake up and before I head downstairs, I brush my teeth and apply my makeup. It feels good! I did a quick video on my routine. It takes me about 10 minutes from start to finish.

youtube

Get your Savvy Minerals makeup collection —> HERE!

There was a little bit of a learning curve, a little adjustment to go from hiding behind a thick chemical mask of makeup to a pretty natural non toxic application that feels like I’m wearing nothing but I’m SO pleased this this stuff! It’s not difficult! It’s just different! It’s not air brushed/photoshopped/fake looking. It’s real and natural and I don’t know – you really have to experience it to understand. But if you’ve been looking for a makeup without the toxic ingredients, if you have sensitive skin, if you’re embracing a chemical free lifestyle and making healthier choices (and even if none of that applies to you) – THEN Savvy Minerals is worth a shot because what we apply to our skin is absorbed and ingredients DO matter.

Happy to know: Savvy Minerals are not tested on animals.

And ladies, just taking this baby step with me makes me feel like we’re changing the world! Let’s do this! Doesn’t it make you so angry that there are even ALLOWED to be harmful ingredients in products we use and apply to our bodies?! It should!

(Any info on a chemical free hair dye for those grays?! lol)

Savvy Minerals are free from harsh toxins, nano particles, paraben, gluten, fillers, talc and so much more! Wellness never looked so good!

Get your Savvy Minerals makeup collection —> HERE!

Here’s a little more info about the Savvy Minerals makeup collection:

Ingredients matter: What’s not in Savvy Minerals makeup?

What IS in Savvy Minerals makeup?

Ingredients like: Kaolin clay, jojoba oil, mica, aloe, pure essential oils, aspen bark extract, arrow root powder, sweet almond oil, beeswax, sunflower oil, vitamin E.

Young Living not only chose not to put the common “yuck” ingredients inside our makeup, they chose to put the GOOD stuff in there so we can actually have benefits to wearing Savvy Minerals! Check out some of these benefits! No wonder several people have reported calmer, smoother, less irritated skin after wearing Savvy Minerals for a few days!

Want to hear a cool fact about Aspen Bark? Check this out! Not only does Aspen Bark have skin softening properties but it is a natural preservative allowing us to use it instead of those nasty parabens!

Lip Gloss is so trendy right now. Let’s talk about a few things – Did you know that the brighter the color and the longer the wear, the more toxins may be in the formula? And what about those lip glosses that are slick and oily feeling? You can attribute that to the petrochemicals. What?! We lick our lips, eat our food, and sip our drinks all while wearing the stuff. Why would I ever apply anything but the cleanest, more pure ingredients to my MOUTH? Savvy Minerals is made with natural ingredients that you can feel good about licking!

These lip glosses also contain pure peppermint essential oil which gives you a fun little tingle. Wear these alone or layered over your favorite Savvy Mineral lipstick.

What exactly is misting spray? You can see from these benefits that your skin will crave this stuff and you’ll get a better coverage and longer wear from your Savvy Minerals Makeup.

And now you can actually get the Savvy Minerals premium starter kit – an entire collection for just $150! It includes:

1 foundation

1 foundation brush

1 blush

3 eye shadows – Eye shadows are one of the most fun tools in your makeup bag. Savvy Minerals offers a couple of matte as well as shimmery choices for your eyes. Unlike other brands, the shimmery colors are very forgiving on mature skin (ahem). You must give them a try! Apply a little shadow for a natural look or build the color for a more dramatic look, utilize the misting spray for a bolder look.

1 misting spray

1 5 ml lavender essential oil – supports all things healthy skin (and it’s relaxing and calming too!)

1 lipgloss!

Isn’t that an amazing deal?! Of course you also get:

the wholesale membership which means you have lifetime access to wholesale prices with no further obligations. No yearly fees, etc. No need to cancel anything, no automatic charges to your credit card. No products you didn’t order showing up at your doorstep. NO obligations to sell. I think it’s just like my membership to Sam’s Club but lifetime instead of yearly. Both give me access to shop! That’s it.

but…Your girlfriends are going to want in on this secret as well, so when you are a member, you have the option (OPTIONAL) to have them get Savvy Minerals using YOUR member# as enroller/sponsor! Again, you do NOT have to sell. Sharing is optional.

You get pretty excited about makeup or be a makeup enthusiast and you already know you want to share Savvy Minerals with all of your friends. You can totally get your makeup paid for or earn money on the side. Some people have even made Young Living a full time career. The Young Living Compensation Plan is the most generous in all of direct selling and network marketing. You can go here to look at the Income Disclosure Statement to see some of the average monthly paychecks people are getting. Just an FYI, I’m a Young Living Silver leader. I did earn a free trip to the Young Living lavender farm too! It’s amazing!

Get your Savvy Minerals makeup collection —> HERE!

Okay, So there are 4 kits to choose from:

Cool #2

Warm #2 (this is me and I LOVE these colors!) The unscripted is perfect for green eyes and the embrace lip gloss is a shimmery nude shade.

Dark #1

Dark #4

When you purchase your Savvy Minerals makeup collection using enroller/sponsor #1836762 at YoungLiving.com, I also send you a DIYShowOff welcome bundle directly from me to you that includes:

$20 product credit

cute makeup bag

my favorite educational resources

AND you have access to our online community – NEW friends! Yay!

Are you warm or cool?

If you are undecided if you are Warm or Cool, here are some helpful hints from Royal Crown Diamond April Pointer:

1. Check Your Veins — Push your sleeves up and look at the veins on the inside of your wrist. Are they blue or green? If they look more blue, you likely have cool undertones. If the veins look greenish, you’re warm. 2. The Jewelry Trick — Think about whether you look better in silver or gold jewelry Typically, ladies with cool undertones look better in silver and platinum metals, and warm-toned women look better in gold. 3. The Neutral Test — Think about what neutral shades flatter you best. Does your skin, eyes, and face look better in bright white and black hues, or ivory, off-whites, and brown/tan shades? The first means you’re probably cool-toned, and the latter, warm. 4. Eye and Hair Color — Your natural eye and hair colors can help figure out your coloring. Customarily, cool people have eyes that are blue, gray, or green and have blond, brown, or black hair with blue, silver, violet and ash undertones. Conversely, warm-toned women usually have brown, amber, or hazel eyes with strawberry blond, red, brown, or black hair. Their hair tends to have gold, red, orange, or yellow undertones. 5. The Sun’s Effects — When you’re out in the sun, does your skin turn a golden-brown, or does it burn and turn pink first? If you fit into the first category, you’re warm-toned, while cool tones tend to burn.

Still not sure? Here are some more tips from Kathi Glaze Williams: If you know your seasonal colors, then this may help you. Basically, there are light and dark cools and light and dark warms. Light and dark cools are summer and winters. Winters are dark cools and tend to have rich and intense hair and eye colors and look great in bolder shades like black and red. Summers are light cools and look best in pastel shades like rose, periwinkle and sage. Your coloring tends to be more delicate. Autumns are dark warms and look beautiful in the fall colors of moss, rust and terracotta. Think about leaves and spices. Springs are light warms (ME!) Best colors are ones that match our eyes but we love to wear turquoise, watermelon and salmon.

One more tip! Gold is warm and Silver is cool. If you have a piece of fabric, like a shawl, wrap yourself in it and see which one makes you look better. Which color evens out your skin tones and make your eyes stand out?

Do you know what tone you are?

I have a darker sort of olive complexion so I’m ‘warm’.

Get your Savvy Minerals makeup collection —> HERE!

Ps. Young Living also offers a wide range of skin care products all made with the same standards as our Savvy Minerals Makeup. No matter your skin type or your age, there’s something for everyone, for every face! Two of the must haves when using Savvy Minerals is ART Renewal Serum and ART Light Moisturizer – my absolute favorites! Other products I love: Orange Blossom Face Wash and Boswellia Wrinkle Cream!

Get your Savvy Minerals makeup collection —> HERE!

from http://ift.tt/2nYbeb4

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sarahburness · 7 years

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40 Ways to Create Peace of Mind

“Set peace of mind as your highest goal, and organize your life around it.” ~Brian Tracy

There was a time when I thought peace was a destination, in much the same way I imagined I’d eventually arrive at happiness or success.

It seemed like something I needed to chase or find—definitely not something I could experience without dramatically changing my life.

I needed to work less, relax more, and generally revamp my circumstances and relationships in order to be a peaceful person.

Despite seeing peace as an endpoint, I also saw it as something passive; after all, that’s why I was so stressed: I had so much to do.

I’ve since realized that peace is always available, and like any desirable state of mind, it requires effort, even if that effort entails consciously choosing to be still.

Sure, our circumstances affect our mental state, but they don’t have to control them, not if we make tiny choices for our well-being.

Admittedly, it’s not easy to choose peace when we’re going through tough times. I still go through periods when I get caught up in worries and stresses, and it can feel like that’s the only available response to things that have happened.

But it’s not. There are countless things we can do to create peace of mind, both in response to events in our lives, and proactively, everyday.

If you’d also like to develop a greater sense of peace, you may find these suggestions helpful:

Meditation

1. Take five to ten minutes for a simple seated meditation.

2. Take 100 deep breaths, counting “and one,” “and two,” and so on, with “and” on the inhalations and the numbers on the exhalations.

3. Take a meditative walk, focusing solely on the physical sensations of walking—the earth under your feet, the swing of your hips.

4. Find a guided meditation on YouTube and let it lull you into a blissful state of presence.

5. Practice alternate nostril breathing. Hold the left nostril down and inhale through the right; then hold the breath. Release the left nostril, hold the right one down, and exhale through the left. Now start on the left with an inhalation, exhaling on the right. This is one set. Do up to five of them.

Communication

6. Write down everything that’s weighing you down mentally and then burn it as a form of letting go.

7. Write down everything you’ve learned from a difficult experience so you can see it as something useful and empowering instead of something to stress you out.

8. Tell someone how their actions affected you instead of holding it in and building resentment.

9. Call someone you’ve denied forgiveness and tell them you forgive them.

10. Apologize for a mistake instead of rehashing it, and then choose to forgive yourself.

Creativity

11. Engage in a little art therapy; grab some crayons, markers, or paint and put all your feelings on the page.

12. Create a peace collage. Include images that make you feel relaxed and at ease. (Google “peace collage” and you’ll get lots of ideas!)

13. Meditate on your favorite peace quote and then write it in calligraphy for framing.

14. Take a walk with the sole intention of photographing beautiful things that make you feel at peace, like a tree with colorful autumn leaves.

15. Write a blog post about what gives you peace of mind. (This has been a calming experience for me!)

Activity

16. Get up and dance to your favorite song, focusing solely on the music and the movement. Get into your body and get out of your head!

17. Take a long walk on the beach, focusing on the feel of the sand between your toes and the sound of the crashing waves. Cliché, but highly effective!

18. Go for a bike ride in a scenic part of town, and immerse yourself in the calm of your environment.

19. Take five to ten minutes for stretching, syncing your breath with the movements (or if you have an hour, visit a local studio for a yoga class).

20. Declutter a cluttered part of your home, creating a more peaceful space.

Acceptance

21. Muster compassion for someone who hurt you, instead of wallowing in bitterness, which will make it easier to forgive them and set yourself free.

22. Set aside some time to actively enjoy the good things about the present instead of scheming to create a better future.

23. Create a list of things you love about yourself instead of dwelling on how you wish you were different.

24. Focus on what you appreciate about the people in your life instead of wishing they would change (assuming you’re in healthy relationships).

25. Recognize if you’re judging yourself in your head with phrases like “I should have” or “I shouldn’t have.” Replace those thoughts with, “I do the best I can, my best is good enough, and I’m learning and growing every day.”

Solitude

26. Start reading that book you bought about dealing with the challenge you’ve been facing.

27. Schedule a date with yourself, a time when you don’t need to meet anyone else’s requests, and do something that feeds your mind and spirit. Go to a museum or take yourself to your favorite restaurant and simply enjoy your own company.

28. Sit in nature—under a tree, on a mountain—and let yourself simply be.

29. Be your own best friend. Tell yourself what’s on your mind, and then give yourself the advice you’d give a good friend who had the same issue.

30. Repeat some positive affirmations that help you feel present, peaceful, and empowered.

Connection

31. Tell the truth in your relationships. When we hold in our true feelings, we create stress for ourselves. Be kind but honest and share what you really feel.

32. Catch critical, blaming, or self-victimizing thoughts. Instead of ruminating on what someone else did wrong, express yourself and ask yourself what you can do to create the change you’re seeking.

33. Have fun with someone you love. Forget about everything that feels like a problem and do something silly and childlike.

34. Connect with someone online who can relate to what you’re going through and create a mutually supportive relationship by sharing and listening.

35. Let someone into your self-care routine—ask a friend to join a yoga studio with you, or invite your sister to jog with you on the beach.

Contribution

36. Volunteer your time to help a charity you believe in. Put all your energy into helping someone else, and you will inadvertently help yourself.

37. Volunteer at your local animal shelter. Animals are naturally present, and it’s contagious!

38. Do something kind for someone else without expecting anything in return. If they ask what they can do for you, tell them to pay it forward.

39. Leverage your passion to help someone else (i.e.: if you’re an aspiring designer, design a logo for a friend). You get to get in the zone doing something you love; someone else gets support they need. A win/win!

40. Leverage your purpose to serve someone else, not for money—just because. That might mean helping them pursue their passion, or motivating them to reach their fitness goals. Whatever gives your life meaning, give it to someone freely.

As is often the case with these types of list, this can seem a little long and overwhelming. The important thing is that we do at least one tiny thing every day to create mental stillness. What helps you create peace of mind?

Photo by h.koppdelaney. This post was originally published in 2012.

About Lori Deschene

Lori Deschene is the founder of Tiny Buddha and Recreate Your Life Story, an online course that helps you let go of the past and live a life you love. Her latest bookTiny Buddha's Gratitude Journal, which includes 15 coloring pages, is now available for purchase. For daily wisdom, follow Tiny Buddha on Twitter, Facebook & Instagram..

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from Tiny Buddha https://tinybuddha.com/blog/40-ways-to-create-peace-of-mind/

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stevieang · 6 years

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May I Have This Dance?

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston RPF x Plus-Size OFC