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endless-ineffabilities · 5 months ago

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sapphire-hearted (part four)

Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

Aemond is not one who shares those which he thinks belong to him. Including you, as you'll soon find out after an eventful little feast.

themes/warnings: jealous!Aemond, third and fourth parties (but not really), Aemond is a stubborn and possesive arse, drunk Aegon - huzzah!

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

a/n: I can't believe it's been a year since I updated this fiery miniseries! Apologies if I couldn't tag everyone who asked from the previous chapter - taglist is now closed 💙

The necklace is perhaps the most beautiful piece of jewelry you've ever seen.

With an intricate interwoven chain of Valyrian steel, and a sapphire pendant inlaid in a burnt bronze frame that glowed dark green in some lights, the frame displaying carvings that resemble Vhagar's scales.

There is no question to it. Not an inkling of doubt.

This gift is from Aemond.

"You simply found this when you arrived?" you asked your lady-in-waiting, as you pick up the necklace from its velvet casing and study it against the faint firelight in your chambers.

"Yes, my lady," she responds promptly. "Shall I fasten it upon you before you depart for the King's feast?"

Your mind forms almost immediately, resolute in your decision. "No, it will not be of any use to me this night. You may keep it away in my boudoir."

The thought of it around your neck is a pleasant one, to be sure. It is such a thing of beauty, fit to be worn to a royal gathering. But what message might it signal to the others?

What purpose might it serve - especially to Aemond - that you wear something that symbolises him?

All while your companion is Ramsay, with whom you hope to be betrothed.

And while Alys is likely draped upon Aemond's arm. That slimy, bastard witch.

You will not give in, and give him what he wants.

The necklace is far from enough to make up for how he has wronged you, so it stays in your chambers, safely tucked away in its casing, not to be worn until Aemond sets things right.

If he ever will.

Ramsay arrives at your door soon enough, accompanied by two of Aegon's guards. The awe in his gaze as he takes you in is so evident, so pure in its apparent innocence. Unlike Aemond's, who would be undressing you with a single passing look.

Unlike Aemond's, who - despite his trangressions - looks at you like he would burn the entire Seven Kingdoms for your hand.

But he has relinquished your hand when he took that witch to bed.

"You look dashing as ever, my Lord," you curtsy in greeting, as Ramsay kisses your hand. He is clad in a tunic in House Beesbury's yellow and paly black, as you are wearing a gown in your own House's hues.

If not the necklace from Aemond, branding you as his, why not something of Beesbury? It would anger Aemond so, but you are feeling petulant. Why can't you take a jab at him after what he had done?

"And what a lovely sash you wear," you say, observing his attire. "Mayhaps I might display this on my person? Have it as a sort of attachment upon my skirts? I would be proud to have everyone at the feast know that we have come together."

"Of course! I would be honoured, my lady." He immediately relinquishes it, handing it to your lady-in-waiting, who then fastens it around your waist. The colour is striking in contrast. The piece of cloth surely will not go unnoticed.

You make your way through the Red Keep, your arm entwined with Ramsay's. Sounds of the revelry make themselves heard as you near Aegon's private dining hall.

As the guards open the doors, you hear your names announced. Almost all the attendees are already sat around the table. Aegon and his host of sycophants, particularly Lord Reyne and Lord Estermont. Helaena and her lady companions. Tyland Lannister and his betrothed. Even Ser Criston Cole, who has never been one to partake in merrymaking, usually standing guard in the corner. There are some others whose names escape you, as you find your seats - among the last ones which remain empty, right next to Aemond and Alys.

"Welcome, dear lovely guests, welcome!" Aegon walks over to you, already on his fifth or sixth goblet of firewine. "Please find your seats, have a drink - or seven drinks, preferably, and... oh! Isn't that something, my lady? Beesbury yellow?" Not giving mind to any boundaries, he toys with the sash tied around your waist.

Aemond twists around in his seat, catching sight of you for the first time.

His pupil dilates considerably, with a single glance at your face, then down to your décolletage... where the necklace is nought to be seen.

What he sees, raking over your figure, is that sickening shade of bright yellow. That Beesbury sash tainting the beauty of your gown.

Tainting the woman who is rightfully his.

His hand instinctively goes to the scabbard in his belt, though his sword remains in his chambers. It matters not, he can just as easily demand one from the Kingsguard.

Because the rat who calls himself Ramsay has surrendered any desire to stay alive.

"So... you here," Aegon guides you to your seat, with his arm loosely draped around your waist. "And you right there," he adds to Ramsay.

If you didn't know any better, you'd think the seating arrangement is accidental. But you know Aegon - he surely planned it to be Ramsay, you, Aemond and Alys beside each other.

Aemond openly stares at you as you settle down to his left.

"My Prince," Ramsay greets from your other side, "Lady Alys."

"Oh, it's just Alys, m'lord," she clarifies, unabashed. "I am no Lady. I am simply here at the behest of my dear Aemond."

"Prince Aemond is fortunate to have you as his companion, Alys," you smile sweetly, concealing any ire you might have. "As I am fortunate to have Lord Beesbury by my side."

Alys nods, raising her cup to you. To anyone, it's an innocent enough gesture, but you see her up close, and you see into the depths of the witch's gaze. She knows about you and Aemond, of course she does.

The attention of your companions are diverted, and Aemond wastes no time in leaning closer to you. He grips your thigh underneath the table, away from any prying eyes.

"My love," he purrs, "you never fail to take my breath away. Although I never thought you would sully yourself by wearing that. I trust you received my gift?"

You cross your legs so that his hand falls off, but it doesn't faze him. He simply finds purchase yet again, this time digging harder into your flesh. So warm, it almost feels as if your skirts do nothing to prevent his encroaching touch.

"Hmm, don't test me, now," he warns, lips curling back in annoyance. His tone is so deep you feel the heat pooling in your core.

"I could say the same to you," you counter. "Do not lay a hand on me, my prince. Especially not in the presence of my betrothed." You push his hand away, and he relents for the moment, reaching for his goblet and downing its contents in one angry swig.

"And by betrothed, you must mean that you have reconsidered my proposal and agree to be wed to me, your only love," he says, daring you to challenge him.

"You are mistaken, Aemond," you respond coolly. "I do appreciate the necklace. It is a marvel, indeed. But there is a reason why I don something of Lord Ramsay's instead of it. I am not yours. I feared the message it would send were I to wear the necklace to this feast."

"What message, my love? The truth? That you are mine and mine alone?"

"That is finished - "

"If you value Lord Beesbury's life by any small measure, you would not speak to me of such vile ideas. He will not have you, lest he wishes his head to no longer rest upon his shoulders."

"Resorting to threats now, are we?" you spit venomously. "You will not harm him. Or I swear to you on my mother's memory that I will never speak with you again."

That shuts him up. He exhales deeply, weighing your words, studying your expression. He wants to fight back and to call your bluff, but it is no use. His gaze is drawn down to your lips, and he moves closer just an inch, his own lips parted in longing and torment.

"Well, it seems we may have more cause for celebration!" Aegon bellows from the head of the table, with a grinning Ramsay standing by his side. You tear your attention away from Aemond, but he lingers on you, until his brother calls out for him. "Aemond! You must have known about this, dear brother, as I understand you and the lady have always been close."

The guests share glances, already assuming what the news might be, but none of them say a word for fear of their Prince Aemond.

"Iderēbagon aōha udra sȳrī, lēkia." Choose your words wisely, brother, Aemond warns him. The mood of the entire room shifts, as it inevitably does whenever Aemond speaks.

"Oh come now, none of that!" Aegon groans, drunk and unamused. Nothing will bring his spirits down, not even his far more intimidating younger brother. "These are happy news. Something about a successful betrothal, I hear?" he declares, nudging Ramsay to make the announcement.

Ramsay locks eyes with you, and you manage to give a stiff smile, aware of the simmering rage of the one seated beside you.

"Allow me," Aemond stands, raising his cup to the entire table.

"Even better," Aegon shrugs, "you have always been excellent at dinner proclamations, lēkia." Brother, he addresses Aemond, his own Valyrian disjointed and careless.

Aegon sits back down and raises his cup. A confused but still smiling Ramsay returns to sit next to you.

Ramsay hurriedly tells you, "I was hoping to share the news myself, my lady, but - "

"Do I not have your attention, Lord Beesbury?" Aemond interrupts.

"O-of course, you do, my prince," Ramsay stammers, reaching for his cup with shaky fingers. You take notice and place your hand atop his to provide comfort.

Someone else takes notice, unfortunately.

"A toast," Aemond voices clearly, and a hush falls over the room, "to a new betrothal."

"Hear, hear," Aegon responds, taking a sip of firewine and waving for the others to do the same.

But Aemond is not finished just yet. "We are not often afforded the privilege to marry for love, and that is what makes this union so exceptional."

You stiffen in your seat, dreading the next words that you know will come out of his mouth. For you know him so well. You know Aemond's design.

"It is an honour to take my love to be my wife," he raises his cup as he gestures to you, and you swear you could hear a pin drop in the deafening silence that ensued. "She is already the keeper of my heart, so the ceremony will only be a formality. But I shall take her as mine in every way that I can. In front of the old gods and the new."

You are unable to drop Aemond's gaze, unable to see the look of betrayal Ramsay is giving you.

"Hear, hear," Ser Criston offers, in an attempt to cut through the tension.

Aegon releases a fit of laughter, prompting his fawners to follow suit.

"Seven hells!" he exclaims. "More wine, more wine for all!"

Aemond rushes to you, pulling you out of your chair, not paying mind to anything or anyone else.

"Come with me," he commands, his fingers tight around your wrist.

You feel powerless as you let him herd you away from the table and out of the hall.

"Oh, would you look at them!" Aegon practically squeals, and calls after you, "It is customary for the bedding to be after the wedding, you two! But then again, who fucking cares?"

taglist: @immyowndefender @bellameshipper @aemondswifeisme @bash1018 @fuck-the-reaper @shessthunderstoms @aemondsbabygirl @melsunshine @youtoldalie @snh96 @noxytopy @ellooo0ooo @brianochka @not-a-glad-gladiator @mac95650 @whitejuliana1204 @midnightmystic @saminalloxo @oh-no-tia @magnificentsapphiresoul @clara-geekhime @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @ananas26t @iloveallmyboys @carriellie @summerposie @verycollectivecreator @toodlesxcuddles @brie-annwyl @dc-marvel-girl96 @bellstwd @bibli0thecary @happinessinthebeing @magnificentsapphiresoul @rorawinters @targaryen-madness @hanula18 @rhaenattargaryen @an0ther-us3r @sugurubabe @theshatteredideal @let-love-bleeds-red @s-we-e-t-t-ea @mydemimonde @the-intjs-dark-academic @heavenly1927 @anehkael @minttea07 @barnes70stark @cheneyq

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #ewan mitchell

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serv0z · 1 month ago

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cant remember if i posted these here yet but !! huzzah !! the refs I made for and before the Phony pmv yapping about it under the cut!!

All of this is based on how I view them and the timeline. Personally I think its: Fredbears opens sometime in the mid-to-late 70s, during this time the fnaf 2 location opens up within a year or two of Fredbears debut. Somewhere between 1982-1983 (pre-bite) Circus Babys opens up and then closes that very same day (Elizabeth dies). Following this is FNaF 4 at Fredbears where the place lasts about another year or 2 before closing in 1985. (Charlie dies in this period of time and the missing childrens incident takes place.) Little note is after SB shuts down the rental reopens !! Thats why its open by the time Michael goes there. FNaF 2 location shuts down 2 years after in 1987 due to the bite + the tampering of the animatronics. Shortly after the FNaF 1 location is properly opened up and deemed 'safer' since they aren't allowed free-roam in the day. Of course everything goes to hell here and the place begins to shut down in 1993 (during which the game takes place). Then SL happens at an unknown time between here (maybe 2 years after? in 1995? not sure) followed by FNaF 3 in 2023 (i do NOT believe ffps takes place in 2023 it doesnt fit at ALL). I think FFPS takes place about 2 or 3 years after in 2025 or 2026. I dont have anything for SB or HW bc it wasnt the focus so nfkjfn hopefully this all makes sense, at some point i may do refs of the missing children but because this was michael centric I mainly drew refs for him. I figured Michael looks more like his dad (especially by SL bc. yk.) and Elizabeth looks more like their mom,, Evan is somewhere inbetween. Michael and Elizabeth got their moms freckles, Evan didn't!! All of them got her darker skin though since Williams a fucking ghost. I am all for the hc of Michael tanning in fnaf 4 its so stupid and def smth a 14 year old boy trying to fit in would do I know I posted some of my Michael ideas like 2 years ago? Specifically post-SL. I feel the scooper wasnt completely centered, aiming more to his left side rather than completely centered. The damage was done, shattering his ribs and spine and really that arm was unsalvagable. I think hes replaced parts of himself with metal, like using it to connect to whats left of his spine to be able to stand properly, making a new arm either alone or with help from Henry or smth as well as needing a cane and/or leg braces to keep himself balanced. It's not farfetched since William in the books literally does something similar and it would help him look "normal". I also made the outfit bright and colorful to help sell the act. FFPS has some pretty bright colors for their front and to tie it in I added pink to his design and made it more fun and interesting, especially since he'd be around and children would be running past him and adults keepig an eye and such and the mask would probably be pretty intimidating if he didnt make it a bit more cute. Yes, that is the bow he was wearing during FNaF 1 btw!! Michaels necklace in fnaf 4 was a gift from his mom. Cant decide if i want her to leave or she passed. I think maybe if she left michael went with her? after 87 i mean. some point during those years she died and he was living on his own before returning to figure out the things his father left behind and try to find him, returnning for fnaf 1 and forward. Michael living with his mother is WHY he never noticed anything with William, he was still grieving his siblings and William would be too focused on his work to support him at all. His mom helped him work through some things, got him into therapy which he promptly dropped a bit after she died because he just. didnt have the motivation. He was alone before ending up back in Hurricane and looking for his father and learning all the atrocities committed.

I feel like Elizabeth being the youngest just. makes sense in my mind? Maybe its a personal preference but. Evan gives me middle child vibes more than youngest. Not to play into stereotypes but; older sibling having to be the 'responsible' one (and then rebelling this idea), the middle child being overlooked or ignored (nobody stopped the bullying.) and the youngest being given her very own animatronic (implimented with things she enjoyed.) side note if u call elizabeth a brat or spoiled im legally allowed to shoot u!!!!!1 Elizabeth also just. sounds very young to me with her voice and how she acts. It all gives off 'young child' rather than 'spoiled brat who gets anything she wants' yk? Her dying first ALSO just makes sense, especially witht he idea Evan saw it. She dies, he witnesses it and nobody believes him and shes just declared missing. the place goes down and its declared a 'gas leak' rather than 'my sister got eaten by an animatronic'. (I figure mrs afton is grieving and thats why she doesnt notice the bullying often.) It also works with the fnaf 4 scenario. William being fed up with him whining, not wanting to be given away by his own child so a plushie he can talk through and monitor him through, as well as setting up the illusion disks inside the room. The nightmares weren't just bad dreams, they are implied (at least from what i recall from the trilogy and ucn lines) to be real. it ties into his fear; animatronics with stomach mouths that have come to swallow him whole for what he saw. tormenting him. Its not just a bad dream to him, these are either based on how he percieves them or how he explained what he saw and William used this against him. The test with illusion disks began here. (it could also explain michael knowing abt them later in via security log book!!! the disks didt just vanish!!) This also curb stomps the idea william only began killing due to the 'loss of his children'. Not even possible. Look at the blueprints of the funtimes and compare. Those things were designed to lure, trap and kill from the very beginning. Circus babys was one of the VERY FIRST buildings to open, it just became a rental cental solely after shutting down where they were tortured and experimented on. He made these LONG before 85. anyways thats just my interpretation of the whole thing up to ffps. I dont remember everything from AR, hw, hw2, sb and ruin enough to make my own opinions on its timeline (i do have strong opinions on whats happened during it and right before but nothing leading up the opening or years and such) I mainly grew up heavily fixated on the base games, nothing really past ffps. as for Henry, he was briefly as bad as William with his work I think. If i picked up anything from the books and even the games, he was heavily focused on his work that he didn't notice his daughter die and had an animatronic watching over her instead of himself or family. i dont know if Sammy would exist in gameverse. If he did I imagine he either died/went missing very early on causing mrs. emily to leave, mrs emily left WITH him or he simply didnt exist bc Henry only focuses on Charlie here so either his son odesnt exist in this world or hes gone in some way shape or form. Henrys design is pulled from the books a bit. I wanted to make him bigger? William is slim and maybe a bit offputting but hes charming enough to get out of things. and Henry is more enthusiastic and rounder, having a loud and happy voice. I think he truly enjoyed making Fredbears happen. Cant decide if I wanna say he was in the Fredbear suit when Charlie died (giving cake) or if he was in a backroom working on things. Whatever it is I also think William tried to pin things on him. Errmm!! thats all i hve to say rn :3 its 8am im so tired so if this makes no sense. mb gang

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taintandviolent · 2 months ago

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Le coup de foudre ; Gambit x Reader

summary: THIS IS PART 3 OF THE TACO TUESDAY SERIES! PART ONE HERE / PART TWO HERE! Reader is suffering, big time. She wants Remy, but he hasn't called. Post-Void, everyone got out alive and everything is fine.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 3.1K | some angst to start things off, smut with some plot (we've got an established relationship, huzzah), French and typing out accents/dialects, pet names (chere, mon ami, mon coeur, etc.), shower sex, dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, no use of y/n, and some fluff at the end, because I went and broke y'all's hearts in the last chapter.

a/n: praying that the gambit fandom hasn't completely died out.... i'm so sorry this took me so long. banner by @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

The first day is the hardest.

The first day is the hardest because by 1:30 PM, you realize that you’re in love with Remy Lebeau. You cry on the couch he kissed you on. Why are you crying? Because you can’t remember the last time you’ve been in love with someone, and you know what comes with love. None of it is good.

The second day sucks too because you go to work, and come home to an apartment that, for the first time since you’ve lived there, really felt empty. There’s nowhere you can sit that he hasn’t touched. His memory lingers everywhere and try as you might, you can’t escape it. You aren’t sure you want to, either, which is troubling in and of itself.

By the third day, your heart is aching, but it’s a dull ache. Something like anger has started to roil in your system, and you’re wondering why he hasn’t called, or stopped by. You can justify it by saying that you don’t know what mutant superheroes go through or what their daily life looks like, but you’re still sour that there’s been nothing but radio silence on his end.

Day four comes and goes, and nothing changes. You’re still sad. You’re still angry. But most of all, you’re still lonely.

Day five… however. Day five comes, you’ve cycled through all the stages of grief and landed somewhere on the spectrum of desperation.

So, after work, you march across the hall to Wade’s, and knock three times in a little melody. After a few moments, the door flies open, revealing a very casual looking Wade. He’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt and grey sweats. You avert your eyes from his groin, out of respect.

“Wade,” you stammer, scratching a non-existent itch on your arm. “Hey.”

“Pookie! How nice of you to stop by. Blind Al and I were just about to partake in some Colombian party powder, care to join us?”

Your pupils dilate. Was he being serious? You couldn’t tell. “Uh… no. No, I’m good.”

You shift uneasily. You aren’t sure how to start this, so you just blurt whatever comes out.

“Wade… um. Look, I’m sorry to ask this of you. I just…. I can’t take it anymore. He doesn’t seem like the type to ghost someone, and I just… I really want to talk to him.”

“You want Gambit’s number?”

You perk up, relieved that you didn’t have to ask the question yourself. Wade was more perceptive than you thought.

“Y-yeah, if you have it.”

“I don’t. Womp-womp. But I gave him yours.”

“Oh…” A beat. “...wait. How did you get my number?”

“Remember that package that was misdelivered?”

“No….”

“Yikes. Well, I do. It had your name and phone number on it. I figured it’d be useful to have so…” He taps the side of his head.

“Why did you… did he ask for it?”

“Boy, did he.”

You frown, feeling an overwhelming flurry of emotions. On one hand, he’s had your number and hasn’t called. On the other hand, he wanted your number. But he hadn’t done a damn thing with it. Your shoulders sink, unconsciously.

“Oh, sweet cheeks. Someone play some Cigarettes After Sex, this is getting emotional.” Wade mock frowns, looking off to the left for a moment before his eyes dart back to you. “He’s probably saving lives or something heroic. Undisclosed mutant drama.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, choosing to ignore his weird commentary. “I appreciate it.”

“What’re you gonna’ do now? Cue the depressed drinking montage.”

“That’s a great idea, actually…”

“No, no… let’s not.”

You interject with a finger in his face. “Yeah, let’s.”

“If you’re going to do that, let’s do it inside. C’mon.” Wade doesn’t give you a moment to reject him, and plants both of his hands on your shoulders, yanking you forward.

Turns out, Wade does have alcohol. He makes you a drink, something that tastes like whiskey. Maybe it's your whiskey, left over. You bring the glass to your lips, sucking the liquid down. It’s strong, but you aren’t complaining.

“Oooohohoh, you’ve got it bad, huh? Heart eyes and all that mushy-gushy shit?”

You throw a glare his way, and take another sip. The liquor burns better than any remark you could’ve come up with.

“It’s okay,” he says, nodding. “I can’t say I blame you. It’s that Southern charm he’s got. Handsome, slick, and he can do magic tricks.” His eyes widen, excitedly. “How could you not fall in love with him?”

“Wade, you’re not helping.”

“Sure I am,” he retorts.

You take a seat on Wade’s couch, looking distraught. You’re thankful that Blind Al is in fact… blind because she can’t see the way that the tears are welling up in your eyes. You look at the chairs that you two sat on, flirting with each other.

“Oh,” Wade says, looking somewhat surprised. “Oh no.”

“She cryin’?” Blind Al asks. Great, she’s perceptive. You swallow back a sob, and bring the glass to your lips again.

“Almost… almost… c’mon, give us a cinematic, single tear.”

You shake your head and suck it up as best you can. You don’t want acknowledgement, that’ll only make it worse, possibly sending you into a fit of sobs. You don’t even know why you’re so upset – it’s not like he told you he never wanted to see you again. He just hadn’t… well, done anything and that was somehow worse.

“Je-sus…!” Wade says suddenly, leaning over to angrily look through the peephole. He stays there for a moment, before leaning back, a sly smile on his face.

And that’s when you hear the dull thudding that has Wade’s attention. It sounds like a knock – a heavy handed one.

You straighten your spine, curious.

“Oh, this is too perfect.” He says under his breath, before taking one step towards you. “Save the waterworks, your Cajun Prince has returned.”

You set the glass on the floor and scramble off the couch, practically on all fours as you run towards the door, pushing Wade out of the way. Standing on your tiptoes to look through the peephole for only a split second, you get a visual. Hurriedly, you twist the knob and throw the door open, wanting to rip it off its hinges. It bumps into the wall behind it, and your breath rushes out.

Remy stands there, facing your door, his fist raised to knock again. He has a duffel bag on his shoulder, which slides off the second he hears your voice.

“Remy?” you call, your voice quivering slightly. He turns abruptly, his coat flaring out behind him. He’s wearing armor now, and looks like he’s just come back from something serious.

“Chere? What’re you –”

You don’t need to answer again, instead, just run across the hall, rushing into his arms. Your body hits him so hard that you let out a little vocalization, a delicate oomph, as you compress yourself to him. He immediately responds by wrapping one arm around your waist, and the other around the back of your head, hand petting your hair gently.

He smells like blood, sweat and ash, but you nuzzle your cheek into the rigid plate of his purple chestplate anyway, wrapping your arms tightly around his torso in a desperate hug.

After a moment, you pull away, just enough to look up at him. He looks down at you, his eyes burning with such an adoration that you can’t help but clench your stomach. He looks like he missed you as much as you missed him.

“Is this your superhero outfit?” Your fingers stroke the ridges in his cowl, admiring it. Slowly, they trail down the length of it, and begin to make their way over his smooth chestplate.

He laughs, looking down at you. “ ‘Spose so.”

“I like it.”

Two smiles later, he pulls you in for a bruising kiss, lifting you up off the ground slightly. You’re on your tiptoes again, smashing your lips against his and tasting him as hungrily as you did the first time – if not hungrier. There’s something extremely erotic about kissing a costumed hero, something to do with uniforms and all that, you assume, but the butterflies in your stomach go wild at the feeling of his armor against you. This time, you don’t try to suppress anything and give into the feeling of it all.

Someone sighs dreamily behind you and Remy breaks the kiss to look knowingly over the top of your head. Wade is leaning against his door frame, hands clasped in front of his chest. Short of having hearts bursting over his head, he’s silently gushing, his brows pulled together in a sappy expression, with a dorky smile curling around his lips.

“Oh, c’mon! Just a peek? Where’s your sense of fan service?!”

“No, Wade.” Remy croons, opening your door and pulling you in with him. He shuts the door with one hand.

“Now before we get to the good stuff, I wanna’ wash this day offa’ me.”

You nod your head, understanding, and reach for his hand. The bathroom is adjacent to your bedroom, so you lead him down the hall.

You flick on the light; it’s all dark tile and cool tones. You head to the sizable shower, and open the glass door, leaning in just enough to turn the knob. The water splashes to life, and steam fills the bathroom quickly.

Watching Remy undress himself is like a strip tease that has you biting your lip. He’s determinate and meticulous, like he knows you’re watching. The jacket and armor pieces come off first, and get set on the edge of the bathroom counter. Then comes the shirt, revealing that delicious torso again, the one that you’ve been longing to run your hands over for almost a week. He quickly unzips his pants and drags them down his legs before setting them atop the rest of the items. The briefs are last – the perfect ending to reveal his heavy, flaccid cock before he turns, and walks into the shower. He’s got a perfect ass, too; muscular and round. You’re pretty sure you could bounce a quarter off of it. The water splashes against the roundness of his freckled shoulders, spattering against the muscle and onto the tile.

“Chere, c’mere…” He reaches for your hand, pulling it inside the shower.

“Wait, wait,” you laugh, and retract your hand. “I’m not coming in there fully dressed.”

“Then get naked, mon amour. We know we done been waitin’ long enough to feel each other again.”

You pull your shirt over your head, and reach around back to undo your bra. Your jean shorts are next, joining the pile on the floor.

The water is warm, but Remy’s naked body is even warmer.

There’s a beautiful, tender familiarity in the way you touch each other, coupled with a hunger that can only be fueled by absence. He hasn’t had you in days, you haven’t had him; the desire has reached a boiling point, and needs to be expelled. He presses you against the tile of the shower, watching as the water pitter-patters against your skin, over your decollete, over your breasts and down the gentle curve of your stomach. He leans down and kisses the hollow of your throat, his hands cupping your hips forcefully.

“I missed you,” he murmurs against your skin.

“I missed you too… maybe more.”

“Ooh, doubt that.”

As his fingers trail along your body with an air of ownership, Remy kisses your wet shoulders, nipping at the warm, slick flesh. Despite the heat, you shiver. He has a real knack for making your body shudder. Your knees feel like jell-o, so you wrap your hands around his strong neck, interlacing your fingers behind it for some support.

His fingers dip down between your legs and teasingly splay out over your folds. His middle finger slips between them, glossing over your center, and slides all the way down, teasing your entrance with the pad of his finger. Everything is wet, but he can feel the slickness that meets his finger. His cock twitches against your thigh.

“‘Dat’s my girl,” he says, low. “Y’know, I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout ‘dis way too much.” His hand cups your cunt, as if to punctuate his sentence and you bite your lip, looking into his eyes. You shift, forcing more friction against his wet palm, the warm water pooling between your legs. “The thought of you been distractin’ me. You a dangerous woman, cher…”

“I’m dangerous? Says the guy who has fucked me in every room, on almost every surface in my apartment…”

Remy chuckles and the sound fills your heart. There it is again – that unyielding feeling of adoration. You’re horny as all get out, but somehow, you still have the capacity to swoon over tiny things like his laugh. This isn’t you, this isn’t what you’re used to. Frustrated, you bump your head against the tile, letting out a small groan.

He notices this, and brings his other hand – still leaving one situated between your legs – up behind your head.

“What’re you doin’? What’s wrong, chere?”

“Nothing...” you huff, looking over at the shower head. It doesn’t sound very convincing, but you aren’t ready to spill your guts to him yet… you’d rather have him rearrange your guts and not think about the feelings.

He smirks, devilishly, like he already knows. If he does, he’s not letting you off the hook.

“Guess I just gon’ have to fuck it outta’ you, huh?”

You avert your gaze back to him, pupils dilating. You know him well enough now that he means what says.

With that, he places a kiss on your forehead, and turns his body towards the stream of water. He begins washing himself, and you watch as the suds slowly trail down the ample curve of his back. You reach forward, spreading them over the indentation of his spine, washing him gently.

“Hoo, the way you touch me…” he murmurs just loud enough for you to hear it.

The shower is intimate and everything is mutual, cue the montage. For the… what? Tenth time that week? You realize that you're in way too deep with Remy. Way too deep, and there’s nothing you can do to change it.

Drying his feet off on the mat and allowing you space to do the same, Gambit then pulls a towel from the rack, and wraps it around your naked body. The droplets absorb into the fibers, and you’re a little less drippy. Well, your body is. The hungry, whining void between your legs isn’t.

When Gambit turns, you catch a glimpse of his half-hard cock and blush. Even though you’ve fucked it, sucked it and everything else, the sight of is still enough to send butterflies erupting in your stomach.

He can’t get you to the bedroom fast enough. His hands are on your hips, directing you towards the bed and you let out a little vocalization, much to his delight.

“C’mere, mon ami… get up on ‘dat bed.”

You obey. Why wouldn’t you? You’ve been waiting for this for almost a week now.

Before he has a chance to stop you, you’re reaching forward to take his cock in your hand. It’s heavy and hot and the feeling of it against your palm makes you clench painfully, twinging with heat. You take your time in stroking him to full hardness, swiping your thumb over the leaking tip and smearing the pre-cum down his veiny length.

Once he’s there, he’s like a freight train. Unstoppable and panting hard. He fucks you hard over the edge of the bed, hard enough to make your breasts bounce back and forth with each bullying thrust, withdrawing it to the tip and bottoming out each time. Your bedroom is filled with the sounds of bodies slapping together, flesh against flesh.

“Tell me,” he grunts. “Ain’t no place for secrets up in here.”

“It’s not important – uuhhh!” Another thrust, deep as he can go.

“Cher,” he growls and thrusts again. “I ain’t gonna’ let you cum ‘till you tell me.”

“No,” you moan, bringing your hands to your tits as they move. “Please, I’m so close, we can — uhhh god!”

He’s relentless.

“Fuck, fuck-fuck, oh my god…!”

With a slick pop, he pulls his cock all the way out. You lift your head up, gazing distraught between your legs; he’s centimeters away from you. The tip is red, glistening and angry as it twitches up, pre-cum leaking from the slit.

“Tell me, cher, or you ain’t gonna’ get ‘dis cock again.” He bucks his hips forward, dragging the fat, wet tip against your swollen cunt. You cry out at the sensation, your clit buzzing with electricity. Despite all that, he doesn’t penetrate you again, and you whimper at the empty sensation. Every time you try to move your hips to get his cock to slip in again, he pulls back just enough to put distance between you two. You whine through gritted teeth.

“Okay!”

He presses the head of his cock against your clit. Waiting. Patiently. So patiently. For a moment, you marvel at the control he has considering that his cock looks red and angry, aching to empty itself inside of you.

“Fine. I think…” You pause to catch your breath. “I think I love you.”

Remy closes his eyes for a second, reveling in the sound of you saying it. He’d wanted to say it to you at breakfast, and he’d wanted to say it before he left.

“Mm.”

“Mm?”

“Mmm-mm. ‘Dat’s what I wanted to hear, chere. An’ it sounds so good comin’ outta’ ‘dat mouth of yours.”

He lines the cockhead up, and bottoms out with another word. He’s said enough, apparently. When he takes hold of your hips, lifting them up slightly to give himself a deeper angle, you wrap your hands around your sheets until the fibers squeak. Your nails dig into the fabric, nearly puncturing holes in them. It’s only a few more earth-shattering thrusts before you cum, and before he fills you with white hot heat, the two of you calling and moaning each other’s names in ecstasy.

After softening inside of you, which is somehow extremely sweet, he withdraws himself from your cunt, and uses the sheet to clean up the mess that leaks out. He carefully lifts you up onto the bed fully, and then crawls next to you, nestling into the same space he did last night.

It’s like he never left.

“I really do, you know. I love you. I know we just met and fucked and that’s all, but I love you.”

“You keep sayin’ ‘dat’s all’ as if what we have is somethin’ casual, cher. You’re gonna’ hurt Remy’s feelings if you keep ‘dat up. So, knock it off, ah?”

“It’s… it’s not casual?”

He shakes his head. “I love you too, mon coeur. I have since I first saw you…”

You hum happily, and nuzzle yourself against his bare chest. “I finally understand that French phrase I learned… C’etait le coup de foudre?” (It was love at first sight.)

“Oui… oui.”

#Gambit #Remy Lebeau #channing tatum #Deadpool and Wolverine Gambit #channing tatum gambit #Gambit x reader #gambit x you #remy lebeau x reader #remy lebeau x you #female reader #Deadpool and Wolverine #Deadpool 3 #x reader fics #myfics

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nyaagolor · 1 year ago

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How do you rank the prosecutors on order of homophobia

forgot about this in my drafts for literally months oops. Anyway. Finished now!!!!

So I made this post a while ago that has some of the prosecutors and antagonists, but if you want a ranking of EVERY prosecutor (not including DGS bc i haven't finished yet) huzzah!!

Simon Blackquill: Not actually homophobic but he gets points docked for siccing Taka (known homophobe) at Klavier (known bisexual) for stealing his pretzels from the office pantry that one time. 3/10

Blaise Debeste: I think he's gay but he made me look at that ugly ass beard for far too long and I consider that disrespectful. out of principle? 8/10

Sebastian Debeste: Just look at him. 0/10

Miles Edgeworth: Bratworth was simultaneously gay, homophobic, and a misogynist, and eventually develops into a man who is only like 1.5 of those things. he's getting better. 5/10

Byrne Faraday: I don't really think he cares much about gay people he's busy being a single father and stealing shit. For the apathy? 2/10

Klavier Gavin: He's extremely gay and does a lot of work for the gay community but making Ema Skye deal with him is explicitly lesbophobic so 4/10

Godot: He has a lovely wife but whatever he was doing with Ron DeLite was probably not osha-compliant. I don't know what that means for his sexuality or stance on gay people and neither does he. ?/10

Ga'ran: I think she has a lot of other problems she should deal with first but considered she's bigoted to defense attorneys I don't think her being homophobic would be that out of pocket. Not sure I want to find out. 7/10

Neil Marshall: Have you ever been a gay bar? This guy would do NUMBERS. Also, real cowboys support gay rights. 0/10

Gaspen Payne: Being homophobic is actually why he got fired by the prosecutor's office and Winston is really fucking embarrassed about it. 10/10

Winston Payne: You'd think he'd be homophobic but you can't work for the Japanifornia Prosecutor's Office and hate gay people or you would actually go insane. He's like that one suburban guy who uses terms from the 60s but has the spirit. However, his ally lapel pin is really ugly so 3/10

Jaques Portman: He was calling Edgeworth slurs even before realizing he was gay. 9/10

Lana Skye: Dated Mia in college but refused to explain that to Ema because she has a lot of internalized homophobia and other weird issues of self. Repressed yuri personified. 1/10

Nahyuta Sahdmadhi: He supports gay people but gets all his talking points from the internet so even though he's supportive he's also incredibly fucking annoying about it and no one wants to invite him to brunch because of it. Stop using twitter for fact-checking you jackass. 2/10

Franziska Von Karma: Despite the fact that her lesbianism is so strong it borders on misandry, I think she has a lot of internalized homophobia so she spends the first 25 years of her life being a judgmental little shit. She'll get better dw about it. I believe she can bring that number down with time. 6/10

Manfred Von Karma: I think when he finds out Edgeworth is gay he starts going to gay bars and picking up dudes just to show Edgeworth he has way more rizz than him. Considering how people in my notes have told me on numerous occasions how much they want him carnally, I think he could actually pull it off. In that respect I think he's done a lot for the gay community. It ends up cancelling out somewhat because I think he'd be kind of an ass about it. 4/10

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bigskydreaming · 5 months ago

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Every Nightwing writer of the last fifteen years: I've taken the guy famous for being regarded as one of the most competent and capable nonsuperhuman heroes of his generation, literally legendary for being one of the only ones every single other hero would not only drop everything to go help but that also pretty much every hero would love to have on speed dial to get HIS help in most any situation ever, and I've either completely isolated him and estranged him from every single member of his family and community, or I've enmeshed him so thoroughly with his family and community to the extent that literally none of the stories in his solo title would be capable of existing without their presences, they're that fundamental to the arcs and more integral to the solutions than he is himself. But why stop there?

I've ALSO taken the guy famous for personally crafting his two most iconic superhero identities, Robin and Nightwing, with the first being made so fundamental and integral to the superhero landscape by him, it became one of the most iconic legacy mantles in the DC Universe. And the second being so larger than life and associated with safety and security and meaning so much to so many people that even complete strangers can not fathom a world without Nightwing anymore and rush to fill the void any time he's not around, the figure of Nightwing is considered that ESSENTIAL. And I've stripped him of his basic sense of identity and autonomy either as a literally faceless and nameless spy or a literally masked and nameless Talon or else taken away his memories or blah blah blah in myriad other ways made it impossible for him to BE the figure who famously turned his sense of identity into not one but two separate icons forever stamped onto the superhero landscape and leaving their marks in untold ways, because what is the guy famous for his sense of identity without....his sense of identity? Just a guy!

Haha! I've done it! I've deconstructed Dick Grayson!

Me: You literally the fuck have not. That is not how deconstruction works. NONE of this is how any of that works. You sound so dumb right now. What did you accomplish, what was any of it for. What insights did it deliver, what did it reveal that was previously unknown about Dick Grayson when he was in the costume or possessed of his usual skillsets that couldn't be known until all of that was stripped away from him? How was he changed by any of these experiences or was he just reset to his default mode at the end of each one and then shoehorned into the next contortion before any actual reflection upon or development from all the preceding events was made possible? What do we know about Dick Grayson, what is new about him, what essential Dick Grayson-isms have been woven into the character due to your work, or did you simply change the set dressings over and over while repeating the same beats and intoning, Huzzah, A Dramatic Transformation Happens Before Your Very Eyes!

Every Nightwing writer of the last fifteen years: No, see, I don't think you get it. My work was transformative. I proved that if you take away Dick Grayson's friends, his superhero speed dial, his memories, his acrobatics, his name, his agency, his literal everything that makes him who he is.....he's just some guy. All those things are what define him! That's who Dick Grayson is!

Me: Right. The friends and colleagues who would all drop everything to help him or pick him as their first choice to Phone A Friend when in crisis because....he's Dick Grayson. His memories of....being Dick Grayson. The acrobatics that are synonymous with....Dick Grayson. The agency that famously lets him rebuild a sense of self and formidable will no matter how many times he's been brainwashed or mentally fucked with because at his core, below the surface of all those manipulations he remains....Dick Grayson. His literal everything that made Robin and Nightwing who and what they came to be known for....because of what he, Dick Grayson, imbued those mantles with to make them iconic in the first place. Yup. You really nailed it. At the end of the day he really is....just some guy. Your insights are just stunning. Incomparable. The stuff of legends. Gosh we'll miss your work but it'll definitely forever be remembered in the Writing Hall Of Fame for being absolutely fundamental to the characterization of.....Just Some Guy, I guess?

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dullahandyke · 3 months ago

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They could've gotten the beans to toast ratio more even tho. Canteen lady I love you but this is simply too few beans

[ID: a plate with two slices of black puddings, two slices of toast, and one ladleful of beans.]

Nvm I love the canteen, no fewer than 3 of the canteen ladies said hi to me bcos they recognised me from last year. Yayyy I am known < guy with such a distinct appearance it would be hard not to

#edit why did it post the id separately. huh #anyway i ate that it was yummy but i had to spoon up the tomato sauce with a fork to cover where there wasnt enough beans on the toast #now off i go to the library to do things! huzzah. idk how long the days gonna b #bcos if i transfer modules ill have a lecture at 2 but idk if ill b transferred by then #and if not im done w lectures for the day and can fuck off if i so choose

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morganas-pendragons · 1 month ago

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stargazing | celebrimbor

HUZZAH A S2 gif

@pentaghasm and I have been playing ideas off each other for a fun project I'm working on, which will be revealed here within the next month. in the meantime, let's clear out the ideas I've had in my drafts for 3 months!

i intended this to be a drabble and it FAILED lol

tag: @celebrimbormylove @thesolarangel @ladyoflindon @erebusbabylon - let me know if you want to be tagged!!

***

Time passes. You find out that the more you and Celebrimbor spend time together, the more comfortable you feel and the more willing you are to initiate the physical contact he so clearly desires. It's so easy with him.

A soft knock at his forge door late in the evening beckons a new idea: Stargazing. Hopefully, it has the intended effect.

"Celebrimbor?"

It takes a moment for him to reach the door and answer to, but when he does, Celebrimbor brightens at the sight of you. "My dear, come in!" He exclaims, ushering you inside and then frowning once he realizes you might not be making a social call. "It's late... are you well? Or has something happened?"

You shake your head. "No no, nothing is wrong. I wanted to ask you something."

He relaxes visibly and smiles. "You may ask me whatever you want."

"The stars are particularly clear outside. Would you-" You shuffle nervously on your feet. "Would you like to come out and gaze with me? I've found a spot over the last few times I've done this. I'd like to share it with you."

He's pleasantly surprised by your request, and his face shows it. "I would be honored to," Celebrimbor remarks. "Lead the way."

Before you approach the door, you extend your hand expectantly. There is a moment when Celebrimbor just stares down at it, his brain working overtime to try and lift his own. His fears and insecurities swirl within his mind, but he finally finds the ability to move his fingers and feel the warmth of your skin on his.

It's heavenly, it is addictive. How has he gone this long without it?

You grin. That's a good step forward. "Come on, I think you'll love this. You may want to grab your cloak." You reach upward to throw the hood of your own over your head, fingertips brushing the holly leaf hairpin he'd helped you craft several months before.

Celebrimbor follows you out of the forge willingly, in the process of unfolding his own cloak so he can put it on. His own holly leaf pin stands proud against his collarbone.

He frowns as he realizes you are heading towards the city gates.

"Wait, wait-" He calls. "Where is this spot?"

"Shhh... You'll see. It's not too far out." You absently wave your hand over your shoulder at the buildings looming about the two of you. "There is no suitable spot in the city to get the view you see out here."

You come to a stop outside of the city gates. Knowing that you are within Celebrimbor's charge, the guards are familiar with you and the fact you are constantly in and out of the city. They know your spot. They know that you frequently leave here in search of quiet, of peace.

They also know you are always armed.

Celebrimbor follows you out of the city, eyes darting around in the darkness. A part of him is yelling that that they should not be out here without guards, and not when it's this dark out. He curses himself for not having thought to bring anything to defend them should the worst happen.

So enveloped in his own worries, Celebrimbor doesn't realize where you are leading him until the two of you come to a stop.

"Hey, we're fine out here. I promise. I come out here almost every night." Whispering softly in Quenya, you lean forward toward the fireflies at your feet who brighten at your command. It is not enough light to hide the view above them, but it provides a dim enough glow for them to see one another. "Look up, Celebrimbor."

Celebrimbor drags himself out of his head and does as you ask. Suddenly, his own fears are the last thing on his mind.

"This..." Celebrimbor falters as he looks over to you, eyes filled with warmth and quiet yearning. "I am honored you share this with me."

Black bleeds into midnight blue that covers an entire canvas of stars above you. The river echoes in the distance, a quiet bubbling of water that flows around Eregion.

You motion to the ground. "The grass is dry and the cloaks are warm. will you lay with me?" The words are out before you can take them back, and your cheeks redden at the implication and how it will likely frighten him. You want him so badly to feel safe like you do around him.

Celebrimbor wills himself to not think of the other ways your words can be interpreted. It was highly irregular for the Lord of Eregion to be out past dark without guards, let alone with an unchaperoned elleth. He quashed any thoughts of propriety by reminding himself you were different.

You settle yourself against his side with comfortable ease, extending your hand for his after resting your head on his shoulder. "Let me see your hand," You said. "I have many tales to tell about these stars, but you cannot leave without being able to recognize them. It would be most unfortunate."

Celebrimbor gives you his hand without question, though he wonders what that has to do with the stars.

You smile down at him and drag your fingers across his palm before asking, "Is this okay? I don't want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable."

Celebrimbor suppresses a shiver and instead smiles at you reassuringly. "I promise you that you never make me feel uncomfortable."

You note his response and lean inward to press a kiss to his cheek before beginning to point out each constellation.

The feel of your fingers against his palm was one thing, but your lips? On his cheek? Celebrimbor isn't sure how to react. Does he kiss you back? On the cheek? Lips?

Does he just smile and shrug it off as you tell him about the stars?

His heart hammers loudly in his chest, which makes it difficult to discern anything you're saying. He swallows hard to regain his control once more.

"Hey," You say softly. You're propped up on your elbow over him, one hand on his chest, brow furrowed in concern. "Where did you go?"

Celebrimbor curses himself inwardly. Of course you noticed. How could you not? You notice everything about him.

"Forgive me," He murmurs, looking up at you. "I sometimes have difficulty getting out of my own mind." He lifts your joined hands and gently kisses the back of your own. "Please, continue."

You frown but settle back down, continuing to use your joined hands to point out the stars. There's a quiet passion behind your words, an aching familiarity for something you can't quite put your finger on.

When your voice falters off, you shiver and tighten your arms around yourself.

"Are you cold?" Celebrimbor asks. He is already sitting up and reaching for his cloak so he can wrap it around you. It's as warm as he is, and it smells like him, and you want nothing more than for him to wrap his arms around you.

A soft sigh breaks past your lips as his fingers press against your shoulders. "Thank you." You murmur, meeting his eyes over your shoulder. "For coming with me."

"I'm honored you thought of me, my dear. It does me well to get out of the city every now and then, I think." He smiles warmly at you. "It is more enjoyable in your company."

You tilt your head at him. "Will you walk me home?" You ask softly.

Celebrimbor lets out a bark of laughter. "As if I would let you walk back alone in the dark of night," There's a mischievous glint in his eyes as he teases you. "You must think me some unfeeling cad."

You smile and wrap your arm through his own. "Oh no," You argue. "You are my heart's protector. You are quite the opposite of unfeeling. Lead me home, love."

He comes to a complete stop.

"L-Love?" Celebrimbor repeats, completely dumbfounded at the endearment. Between the burn of your touch and the ache in him at your obvious deeper affections, he's not sure how to process all of this at once. The two of you haven't spoken at length about deeper feelings yet.

His are anchored to your soul, your existence, your smile.

All of you.

Awe flashes across your face at his confusion. He really does not understand how he too is worthy of the love he so often gives to everyone else. "Celebrimbor," You close the space between the two of you and reach for his hands. "It is a mere term of endearment for someone who knows how much I care about him by now. I could also say sweetheart, or my love if you want."

Your teasing tone eases the pounding of your own heart. It's equally as frightening for you as it is for him.

Celebrimbor clears his throat, pushing back the swelling emotion that threatened to come up his throat, and takes your hand in his. "Forgive me, I was simply unprepared. I will take any endearment you offer." He gestures back toward the city. "Might I escort you home?"

"Always."

He leads you back into Eregion and to your abode that he'd set aside for you in your earliest days of living in the city. It is not far from his own, and that is what you prefer.

When you arrive at your door, you turn and pull your hood down to properly look at him. He is the picture of beauty - all unkempt curls and soft eyes - as he patiently waits for you to go inside.

"I..."

Words fail you for the first time that night. You instead allow your actions to speak for you, stepping into Celebrimbor's space to stand on your tiptoes and cup his jaw with your hand as you kiss his cheek.

You linger just a little bit longer than before. His breath shudders beneath your fingers as you part, and your eyes fall on his parted lips as you step toward the door.

"Would you like me to join you for breakfast tomorrow?" You ask.

His eyes brighten. Celebrimbor is nothing if not one for his routine. "I would love nothing more," He replies, lips parting in that brilliant smile reserved for you that often makes your knees weak. "Sleep well, love."

You watch him go with a fierce ache in your heart.

Love.

#Celebrimbor x Reader #Celebrimbor #Rings of Power fanfiction

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faretheeoscar · 1 month ago

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OH MY FREAKKK?!

Little baby Poe has my heart :(

Would you consider writing something for little Poe and little reader meeting when they're young? Maybe in kindergarten, reader is more 'rough-and-tumble' than Poe is, getting dirty, climbing up trees, not bothered by pain. A shy Poe really wants to make friends with her but one day at kindergarten, he finds that her family have moved, which upsets him, but the two meet again when they're fighting in the rebellion?

Anyways, I fucking adored baby Poe, I love absolutely everything you write, have a great rest of your day! Huzzah!

Hey noonie! First of all thank you so much for your support! Your kind words mean a lot to me! I kinda went crazy with your request and ended up writing an almost 4k thing, but baby Poe just kept speaking to me! This AU has a hold on my brain and doesn’t let it rest. Had lots of fun making this request!

Thanks again and Happy Poevember!

Roots of the Resistance

Join the TagList! • Main Masterlist • Fics Masterlist • Buy me a coffee! • Linktree

Pairing: Poe Dameron x gn!reader

--Warnings: none, just fluffy baby Poe!--

A/N: English is not my first language, so I apologize if there’s any mistakes.

Word count: 4k

In the quiet corner of a little kindergarten on Yavin IV, five-year-old Poe Dameron sits cross-legged, watching as you—the new kid—scale the tallest tree on the playground. Your elbows are scraped, and your knees are dirt-streaked, but you don’t seem to mind at all. You’re perched up high, legs swinging as if you’ve done this a hundred times. With bright eyes and a hint of hesitation, Poe clutches his favourite stuffed tooka doll, Captain Fluff, close to his chest, feeling something between awe and curiosity.

The droid teacher nudges him gently. “You need to make friends Poe, your father gave us instructions for us to encourage you into socialising with the other younglings, why don’t you go say hi?”

Poe glances down, feeling a bit of nervousness, he is not usually the type of kid that’s quiet, or shy around people, he’s always active at home, bouncing eagerly from place to place talking the ears off all the adults he has around, but ever since his mom had been going on missions, he had been having trouble adjusting and talking especially to the other kids that didn’t get him, being enclosed in his fantasy world on fighting for the cause, and just depending on his favourite buddy, Fluff.

Taking a deep breath, he adjusts his grip on Captain Fluff and walks toward the tree. Shyly, he looks up at you, your hair wild and your hands smudged with playground dirt, as you look down with a big, welcoming grin.

“Hi,” he says, his voice small but warm.

“Hi!” you call down, eyes twinkling. You don’t seem surprised to see him, as if you were expecting him to join you, after all you’ve noticed he’d been staring at you for a while now. “You wanna come up?”

Poe’s eyes widen, his cheeks flushing pink as he fumbles for words, his little foot nervously tapping the ground, shifting back and forth. “Oh, I… um, not really I was just… wondering what you were doing up there.” He points up, his head tilted back to see you better. “Doesn’t it, you know… feel kinda high?”

You laugh, swinging your legs as you peer down at him. “It’s awesome up here! You can see everything. Like the ships outside the fence,” you say, pointing excitedly to the sky. “When they fly by, it’s like you’re right there with them! Makes me feel like I’m up close to them.”

Poe’s eyes light up, his fear of talking to you, forgotten for a moment. Ships! A topic he is familiar with and can talk about them for hours. “You can see the spaceships… up close?”

“Uh-huh!” you reply with a proud grin. “Come on up, I’ll show you. It’s easy,” you say, reaching down and motioning him to grab the branch.

Feeling an excited flutter in his stomach, Poe puts Captain Fluff under one arm, holding on tight as he tentatively grabs the lowest branch. He starts climbing, a little unsteady, and hesitates when the tree starts to feel taller. You notice his pause, lean down, and give his arm a firm yank to help him up the next branch. He nearly laughs at your outburst of strength, and, before he knows it, he’s sitting beside you, feet dangling in the air.

“There, see?” You point beyond the playground fence, where ships take off and land in the nearby port, and Poe’s jaw drops, watching with wide eyes. The ships look like little metal birds in the distance, zooming by against the sky.

“Whoa… you were right!” he whispers, barely able to contain his amazement. “I’ve never seen them from here before. You can even see them getting ready for takeoff!”

As Poe settles into his spot next to you on the branch, he glances over, gathering his courage to introduce himself.

“I’m… I’m Poe. Poe Dameron,” he says shyly, his cheeks already turning pink. He glances away, quickly looking back up at you. “What’s your name?”

When you introduce yourself Poe repeats your name quietly to himself, as if savouring it. He whispers, as if it’s the most beautiful name in the world… (besides his mom’s obviously). He smiles, then blushes even more, his cheeks burning as he realises you’re watching him. “I think… I think it’s a really nice name,” he adds, glancing shyly at the leaves overhead.

“Thanks,” you say with a big smile, two of your front baby teeth missing from having fallen out recently. “I think Poe’s a cool name too.” When you take a closer look at him, you notice he’s holding something safely under his arm— a handmade doll with white ears and an orange body.

“Hey, who’s this?” you ask, leaning over to get a closer look at the stuffed tooka doll.

Poe’s shyness returns briefly, but he grins, holding out the doll for you to see. “This is Captain Fluff,” he says, his voice suddenly a little more confident. “He’s, uh… he’s my copilot! He goes on all the missions with me.”

You grin excitedly, “Really? You go on missions with him?” With a serious nod, you reach out and gently shake Captain Fluff’s little paw. “Nice to meet you, Captain Fluff, I bet you’re a great pilot.”

Poe beams, clearly delighted that you took Captain Fluff so seriously. “He’s the best,” he says, hugging the tooka doll close. “He always makes sure I’m safe.”

The two of you sit together in the tree, feet swinging as you trade stories about space adventures you’d both want to go on. He learns that you are all about exploring and learning about “vantage points” or all those big words your dad uses when he works on reconnaissance. Poe feels a new kind of bravery here, sitting high up with his new friend, talking about adventure and far-off galaxies. It’s the start of something he is sure he will remember forever.

The weeks that follow your first meeting turn into a whirlwind of adventures for Poe and you. Poe, who once hovered quietly at the edge of the playground, now spends every recess chasing after you like an eager shadow, his shy smile lighting up whenever you invite him on your latest scheme. Whether it’s scaling the school’s low fences to chase after a lizard crab or daring each other to swing as high as possible, Poe is always at your side, wide-eyed and ready to be brave.

You show him how to climb trees without slipping, leap across muddy puddles without falling, and you help him to face up his fear of leviathan grubs, by using a stick and practically shoving it up to his face for him to see the little worm, you tell him they seem harmless but they are fearless predators when they grow up, but one that’s little as the one on your stick? Your loth cat devours them for lunch. Together, you also build forts out of fallen branches, Poe declares you as his “official lieutenant” of your own makeshift Alliance. Every day with you feels like a new mission, a new world to explore.

One afternoon after school, you and Poe are out exploring, looking for the perfect place to keep on practising “drills”. As you wander near the edge of the old market, you spot some ruins, crumbling and hidden beneath layers of overgrown vines and moss. The walls rise higher than anything you’ve climbed before, making it the ultimate challenge in your eyes.

“This is it,” you say, grinning. “This is going to be the hardest climb yet, Commander Poe. We’ve got to face it if we want to be ready for anything.” You point at the jagged edges of the stone wall, feeling the rush of excitement build up inside you. “It’s going to be tough, but that’s what makes it perfect for ‘recon.’”

Poe hesitates, glancing up at the ruins. His eyes widen with both excitement and nerves. “But… are we allowed to be up there?” he asks, looking around as if expecting someone to stop you.

You give him a sly grin. “Who’s going to stop us? Come on, Poe, don’t chicken out now. This is the ultimate challenge! If we can climb this, then we can face anything.” You nudge him with your shoulder. “I’m doing it—are you?”

Poe looks unsure for a moment but then puffs out his chest, trying to look braver. “I’m not a chicken,” he says, his voice a little shaky but determined.

“Prove it,” you challenge, offering him your hand. “Boost you up first?”

With a deep breath, Poe nodes, taking your hand. You help him up to the first ledge, encouraging him with every step. He climbs higher, using your tips for where to put his hands and feet. When he reaches the top, his eyes widen with pride. “I did it!” he cheers, a bit breathless looking down at you with a grin, lending his hand to you to take, tugging you up towards him, as you did the first time you helped him climb the tree at school. “Told you I was no chicken!”

You both bicker and chuckle for a while, treading dangerously on the ledge of the walls until the path narrows, you both decide to go back, but just as he’s about to climb down first, you both freeze. You hear voices on the other side of the ruins. Slowly, you both peek over the top and spot something unexpected: Kes, Poe’s dad, and your dad, alongside other adults standing together, looking over some papers and talking in hushed voices.

Poe’s face drops as he freezes, realising you’ve stumbled into a place you weren’t supposed to be. The two of you exchange a quick, worried glance, but before you can move, Kes looks up and catches your eye. His expression shifts from surprise to something a little more serious.

“What are you two doing up there?” he calls, crossing his arms.

Caught red-handed, Poe scrambles down, his face flushed with guilt. “We… uh… we were just doing some recon, Dad,”

Kes gives him a pointed look, his eyes narrowing. “Recon? Is that what you’re calling it?” He sighs, shaking his head. “You’re too high up. If you fell… Poe, you’re not just putting yourself at risk, you’re dragging others into trouble too. You know better than this.”

Poe’s shoulders slump, his stomach twisting as the words sink in. “I’m sorry, Dad,” he mutters, his voice barely audible as he avoids eye contact.

With a defiant grin, you think you can make things better, unbothered by the mild scolding of Poe’s dad, you try to speak for the both of you. “We were just training to look out for Empire spies,” you explain with a serious nod. “Poe and I have been training hard to be ready!”

Your dad steps forward, his arms crossed and his face hard with disapproval.“Enough excuses,” he says firmly. “You two. Climb down. Now.” His tone is firm, making it clear he’s not happy about this either.

The weight of his voice leaves no room for argument, and with a sigh, you carefully follow Poe’s lead, your heart heavy as you descend. Once you’re both on the ground, your dad grips your arm, his gaze stern. “We’ll talk about this at home,you’re in deep trouble.” he says evenly, the promise of consequences hanging in the air.

As you’re led away, you glance back at Poe, who lingers for a moment, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his head hanging low. He manages a small, sad smile, lifting a hand in a subdued wave. You return the gesture, your own heart sinking under the weight of guilt and frustration.

Despite everything, the unspoken understanding between you lingers, a quiet reassurance that, no matter the scolding, you’ll both bounce back from this together.

After the incident, the weekend passes, and even though you were both grounded for what you did, Poe knows that he’d continue following you everywhere, eager to learn from you. Even if he’s a little nervous, he finds himself braver each time, when he’s with you, taking bigger leaps, climbing higher places, and facing every little “danger” you point out. For Poe, every scraped knee and every muddy shoe feels worth it, as long as you’re there beside him, his lieutenant and best friend.

When Poe arrives at kindergarten in the morning with a bright smile, he’s very eager to tell you about the spaceship toy his mom had sent him alongside a cargo that came to the rebel post. But when he reaches the classroom, his smile falters. Your usual seat by the window is empty, your backpack and coat nowhere in sight. His heart pounds as he looks around, waiting to see you run in late, maybe with a story about an adventure you had on the way to school, maybe you also have something to show him and are just teasing his nerves, making him wait for your arrival at the last minute.

But… you don’t come.

The teacher eventually explains to him that you and your family had to move away suddenly. The words feel heavy, and Poe’s small hands grip the straps of his jacket as his bottom lip wobbles. He doesn’t fully understand why you had to leave or where exactly “away” is, but he knows it’s far enough that you won’t be coming back.

The following days are quiet. He drifts through recess and playtime without his usual spark, his gaze inevitably straying to the tree where you once perched together, where you’d both laughed and schemed like rebels in training.He thinks about the fact that you’re gone, maybe its his fault? Maybe he could’ve stand up for you in front of your dad, maybe that way you would’ve stayed, if you’d both hadn’t gone snooping around, maybe you’d still be with him.

Poe’s little cheeks are stained with tears and he spends more time holding Captain Fluff close, as if the little tooka doll might somehow fill the gap of your absence. At home, he tries to keep up with the “missions” you once led, braving solo ventures to his backyard and recreating your adventures, but the thrill fades faster than he expects.

In time, Poe will come to recognize these memories as something precious, realising how they’ve embedded a spark of adventure within him, a piece of you that remains despite your absence. The small voice you planted in him—an urge to climb higher, to be braver, and to dream bigger—will stay with him, shaping his path forward. He doesn’t know it now, but those days, even the bittersweet ones, will linger within him for years to come, forming a quiet foundation for the hero he’ll one day become.

Years later, Poe stands in the middle of the busy Resistance base, his mind laser-focused on the upcoming mission briefings, the endless tactical updates, and the hum of pilots and soldiers passing by. He’s been on countless missions, and by now, the routine has become second nature—preparing his X-wing, checking the systems, reviewing the intel. His concentration is unwavering as a Resistance officer details the mission ahead, highlighting enemy positions and strategic points of interest. Poe nods along, mentally mapping out the path, fine-tuning his plan.

But then, across the room, something, no someone, catches his eye.

Amidst the bustle of soldiers and pilots, talking with another Resistance pilot, is someone he feels he recognizes. His gaze sharpens, as he takes in the details—the shape of their features, the fierce but familiar set of their jaw, the gleam in their eyes that’s both determined and a little mischievous. There’s something about them, something he can’t quite place, but it stirs something in him—like the flicker of an old memory, buried deep. He watches for a moment, distracted from the briefing, trying to piece it all together.

It’s only when the officer calls his name, snapping him back to the present, that he realises he’s been staring. He shakes his head, refocusing on the mission details, but the pull of that familiar presence lingers. His curiosity gnaws at him. After a few more moments, he can’t resist and excuses himself and jogs towards the other side of the hangar.

“Hey,” he says, almost breathless, a soft smile growing as he studies your face more closely. And then, with a look of realisation, he knows it—it’s you. It’s really you. “Tree climber, is that you?”

You blink, momentarily surprised, and then a laugh escapes you. “Wait—tooka doll kid?”

Poe’s face goes crimson, his bravado faltering as he clears his throat. “I, uh—yeah, that’d be me,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. “But, hey, I’ve got a name too, you know. Poe Dameron. Just Poe is fine, though.” he adds, his tone half-proud, half-nervous.

You chuckle softly. “Of course, Poe Dameron, I remember,” you tease, because of course you knew who he was. “Can’t believe you’ve gone from the shy, tooka doll kid that used to follow me everywhere, to being the poster boy for the Resistance.” You raise an eyebrow, a smile tugging at your lips. “Guess you really did become all important.”

Poe grins, his face flushing slightly, though he tries to hide it behind a chuckle. “Well, guess someone’s gotta lead the way, right?” he says, the cocky edge creeping back into his voice.

The two of you laugh quietly together, and Poe’s heart feels like it’s soaring, even within the chaos of the base. His gaze lingers on you as he shakes his head in awe. “Wow... look at you,reconnaissance now, huh?” He recognizes the badge on your arm and chuckles, eyes crinkling. “Just like your dad, and it tracks. You always did love exploring the uncharted.”

You smile, leaning in a little closer, your gaze wandering over him as you take in his strong features, the way his dark curls fall just over his forehead, and that lopsided, boyish grin that’s still the same as it was when you were kids. And those dimples—those same little dimples—are still there, deepening as he smiles at you.

“And you, a squad leader,” you counter back with a teasing smirk. “Not bad, Dameron.” You don’t tell him, but ever since you got assigned that week to move to the Yavin base, you’d hoped you’d bump into him somehow—just to admire him in his element, the confident leader of the Resistance.

Poe’s eyes drop for a moment, a small blush creeping up his neck, getting nervous as your steady gaze studies him, same way it did when you were kids, never faltering. Neither of you speak, taking in the almost surreal reunion.

Suddenly, he’s not sure what to do with himself. His gaze drifts over you as if seeing you for the first time. After all, it is the first time he sees you in your adult life. You're standing there, strong, poised in your uniform, that looks somehow both formidable and very fitting on you. But there’s something else—something about the way you carry yourself, the way the light catches your eyes, the quiet confidence in your stance. He catches his breath, his heart racing just a little as he takes you in, the same person from all those years ago but somehow... different. Gorgeous, even.

For a moment, he forgets how to speak. He’s pulled from his thoughts only when he realises he's been staring too long, he shakes himself back into reality, glancing up at you with a slight cough, trying to act nonchalant.

“You… you look good,” he says quickly, his voice a little unsteady. He clears his throat again, adding with a nervous laugh, “I mean—uh, well… you know. For someone in the Resistance uniform, I mean– this is not going very well is it?” His words stutter out as his hand rubs the back of his neck, but it only makes you chuckle.

“Smooth as always.” You shake your head in amusement at his flustered response.

Poe watches you for a moment longer, his heart still racing from the mix of nostalgia and admiration. As you catch his gaze, a warmth spreads across your cheeks, and you quickly look down, suddenly feeling self-conscious. The way he was looking at you made you realise just how much you had missed him—more than you were prepared to admit. But you shake off the fluttering feeling in your chest and decide to change the subject.

"So, uh... are you leaving soon for a mission?" you ask, your voice a little steadier than you feel. You focus on looking at Poe's forehead instead of his eyes, hoping that the lack of eye contact convinces your brain and distracts it enough for you not to make a fool of yourself, and avoid the heat that just started creeping up your cheeks.

Poe, still a little flushed himself, gives you a sheepish grin. "Yeah, actually, in a couple of hours," he says, eyes lingering on your flushed cheeks. "Lots of pre-flight checks and intel stuff to go through before I head out."

You nod, your mind briefly flashing back to the way he used to prepare for missions as a kid, always following your lead, but the first to volunteer for anything daring. "Sounds like you're always on the go," you tease gently.

Poe chuckles, his gaze softening as he looks down, his foot nervously tapping the ground, shifting back and forth, things never change.

"Well, you know me—always got something to do. But hey..." He pauses for a moment, looking at you with a slight hesitation, then asks, “Hey, after the mission and after I’m off patrol… would you want to grab a drink? Maybe catch up?”

You blink in surprise, a smile tugging at your lips, and for a moment, you can’t quite believe this is happening. Poe Dameron, the fearless pilot and Resistance leader, asking you to catch up. You might have been his childhood friend for a hot moment, but this still feels unreal, you shrug off the doubt and look him in the eye. "Actually..." you start, the idea suddenly sparking in your mind, "how about I suggest something a little more fitting?"

You step a little closer to him, eyes gleaming with a playful challenge. You point off into the distance, toward a towering tree at the far end of the base. "You see that tree?" you ask. "Right there, just on the far end of the base. It's pretty tall... you can see it from a long way off."

Poe follows the direction of your finger, his curiosity piqued. "Yeah, I see it. Pretty big for sure. What about it?"

You smile, leaning in just a bit, as if sharing a secret. "Been meaning to climb it," you say. "And I might need help doing it. So, would that be something that interests you?"

Poe grins, the idea instantly catching fire in his mind. "Climbing a tree?" he laughs, "You know, we're not kids anymore. I don't think this is exactly your idea of a good time as an adult, is it?"

You raise an eyebrow, the challenge in your tone still there as you look at him. "Oh, I don't know, what, you’re gonna chicken out on me, Dameron?"

Poe's grin widens, his chest puffing up as he shakes his head. "Not a chance. I’m not a chicken," he says with mock indignation. "I’ll show you just how not a chicken I am."

"Rendezvous by the tallest tree, then?"

Poe’s grin only grows wider as he gives you a mock salute. "Copy that, Lieutenant." He teases and makes you both laugh again. “I gotta go, but I’ll meet you when I get back.” With a quick glance back, he turns to leave, heading off to prepare for the mission ahead.

As he walks away, his heart feels lighter, his steps more purposeful. The collision of his past and present has left him feeling more confident, as if something has shifted in him. He’s reminded of the person he used to be as a kid—the one who faced challenges with a grin and a sense of adventure, rather than the constant tension and weight of responsibility that so often clouded his thoughts.

But now, with you back in his life, that spark of his younger self is rekindled. He finds himself looking forward to returning to base, eager to pick up where you both left off…

Reblogs and comments are kindly appreciated!

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garaksapprentice · 9 months ago

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Sewing Zero Waste Culottes from The Craft of Clothes

Zero Waste Culottes From The Craft of Clothes

Behold! Fancy pants!

The pattern for these pants was one of my Christmas gifts. It comes from Liz at The Craft of Clothes, a zero-waste designer. I've really gravitated towards self-drafting and zero-waste sewing in the last couple of years, and this pattern has been on my list for a good six months, so I was excited to get into it.

Drafting

The first step (after reading the pattern through twice) is drafting the pattern pieces.

My biggest starting hurdle was deciphering "the culottes are designed to sit on your waist" when choosing the correct pattern size. Most designers consider "the waist" to be the teapot - that is, the true waist. (It's easiest to find if you bend to the side and stick your hand in the crease - like you're singing "I'm a little teapot".) But some consider belly button height to be "the waist". I generally wear my pants at the latter height, and there's a good 2" circumference difference between those two for me.

I eventually decided to call my belly button my waist, on the grounds that that's where I prefer to wear my pants. It's also easier to take seams in than out, if I guessed wrong.

Decisions over, it was smooth sailing from there. Pattern drafting is not a technically difficult process, as long as you have good instructions, and Liz's patterns definitely fit that bill. But there's a lot of attention to detail required to make sure the end result is good. That sort of thing always makes me nervous. Fortunately there was only two pattern pieces to draft, and they're 98% straight lines and based off rectangles.

Interestingly, this is the first zero-waste pattern I've tried that has you draft pattern pieces to use. The others I've seen (most by the creator of this pattern - our library had a copy of her book, Zero Waste Sewing) have had you draw directly on your piece of fabric to create the layout. (In fairness, I didn't have to draft my own pieces. The pattern came with the option of self-drafting, printing on A4, or printing on A0.)

I much prefer the direct-draw method to faffing about with pattern pieces. But given that this pattern is designed to have the pieces tesselate, having a set of physical pattern pieces does make more sense. It's also got me wondering if I could successfully make a pair out of old jeans legs, using one leg per pattern piece. But then, I'm always looking for ways to use up my denim pile...

Sewing

I prefer structure rather than flow in my butt coverings, so I was somewhat limited in my fabric choices for this first pair. (I know the fabric I really want to use, but I am being a sensible apprentice and trying things out on a nice-but-less-hideously-expensive fabric first.) Most of my stash acquisition has focused on stuff for shirts, since I wear those out faster than pants. I eventually settled on this nice brick red, 100% cotton, table cloth.

The picture is suffering from sun exposure. It's nowhere near this bright in person.

I laid out the pieces and huzzah! The fabric was just big enough! ... But only if I unpicked the hems (they're monsters, a full 3 cm/1.2" each side) and ironed them flat first. Thus, it was time for a marathon unpicking and ironing session.

After that was done, I checked the pattern fit again. Huzzah! I had enough space for all the pattern pieces, and not very much scrap left over once I'd cut them all out. (Of course, it was late and I wasn't paying as much attention as I should have been, so I didn't add an extra inch when I was forced to cut the waistband in two pieces. There was enough extra fabric that this was only an annoyance and not a complete disaster.)

The fabric at the top is scrap. All but a few inches of the stuff on the right became waist bands and plackets.

Sewing was a fairly straightforward exercise, though it required enough brainpower that I completely forgot to take any progress shots as I went. Almost every step of the pattern comes with a diagram to show you what to do, which helped me immensely. So did having the seam allowances specified at each point, as there's three different ones used in different places.

That's not to say I didn't screw up, of course. While sewing the crotch seam, I somehow managed to close up the front of the pants entirely and leave a gap for the placket open at the back. (That will teach me not to double check the direction the pockets are facing before I pin and sew that seam. Maybe.)

I also made a highly decorative and completely awful to sew with choice for topstitching thread, which I quickly became too stubborn to stop using. So the topstitching is, uh, not great. But it is purple and sparkly, and if I'd had any sense at all I would have left it til last (or even done some sort of hand embroidery with it).

I was tricked by the first line of stitching being so easy. LIES. It was all lies.

Why should I have left it til last? Because it turns out that the culottes are, in fact, designed to sit on one's true waist. Which meant I had a two inch difference between what I needed to fit me, and what the waist measurement was. If I hadn't top stitched the panels, I could have simply ran another line of stitching down the seams that didn't have pockets in the way, and taken the waist in without much fuss or bother. Unfortunately, I didn't do that, so I was left with two choices.

Take out the topstitching and take in all the panels, bitching and moaning about the effort I went to and the number of times the topstitch thread broke while I was sewing the stupid sparkly goodness onto things.

Work out how to take the waist in by the necessary two inches, using only the crotch seam and maybe some darts or pleats or something.

Choice #1 would have been the logical, rational decision, so of course I went with option #2.

An hour and change of basting, pinning and unpinning the waistband, and completely forgetting how seam allowances work later, I managed to get a fit I was happy enough with. I ended up grading in a dart-like object at the centre back. (If I decide later that I'm not happy with the fit after all, I'll try out the modification for adding elastic to the back waistband that the pattern also includes. Probably while questioning my life choices and lamenting the amount of time I spend with a seam ripper in hand.)

The original stitching line is in blue, the new one is in black.

After all that fitting woe, I wasn't in the mood to try buttonholes (my good machine, the one with the automatic buttonholer, is currently out of action). Instead I dove into my snap stash to close the placket.

I love using bright, vivid colours for inner details. It's the sewing equivalent of wearing leopard print underwear.

A nice bonus of using the snaps is that I could put them through just the placket, leaving the fly front clean. This did make the placket pull slightly when I'm wearing the pants, exposing a trace of bright red. I fixed that by invisibly whip-stitching through the placket and outer fabric to hold everything in place. Next time I'll also double check the understitching, and topstitch the edge if needed, before installing the snaps.

Field Test and Adjustments

Trying stuff on as you go is all well and good, but nothing tells you what you really need to fix like being out in the field. I quickly discovered several things:

The waistband needs serious help to stay where it's supposed to be. Which, y'know, I did make a size larger than I should have. This was not surprising.

The crotch needs to either drop a wee bit or (preferably) rise a couple of inches. The latter will likely spoil the skirt-effect somewhat, but it will be far more comfortable for my legs.

I need a loop on the waistband to hold my keys.

For the waist woes, I had a few choices - 1) belt loops, 2) suspenders, or 3) add elastic to the back waistband. Belt loops are fiddly to make and sew on, but would solve the key-hanging issue. Suspenders technically wouldn't need any sewing changes, but the clip-on style are notorious for pulling off when you're doing things. And while the pattern includes instructions for adding elastic to the waistband, I wasn't confident it would do the job I wanted (I stick a fair amount of junk in my pockets and elastic can't always cope with the weight).

After some dithering, I went with the suspender option for this pair. I like the look of them, and the "floating" effect they give when they pull the waistband a bit above where gravity wants it to sit is extremely comfortable. But I didn't want to deal with clips always popping off. So I indulged in a quick side-quest of improving my suspenders, then sewed buttons into the waistband of the culottes.

This used to hold the clips, but the wire was easy to bend flat with needle-nose pliers.

Gee, I wonder which buttonhole I did first?

Fashion Show

Overall, I'm quite happy with how it all came together. I'll definitely be making at least two more pairs - the "men's" version (less flare in the hems), likely out of recycled denim, and a pair in heavyweight stash linen.

The back panel adjustment is basically unnoticeable.

They have great range of movement - maybe I need to make a workout pair?

And I even have somewhere to hang my keys.

This post was originally published on my blog, Garak's Apprentice . I currently syndicate my content at Micro.blog, Tumblr, and Ko-Fi.

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