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wri0thesley · 4 years ago

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Tight - Prosciutto x Fem! Reader (Kinktober Day #5: Corset)

NSFW. 18+ ONLY. AFAB reader, fem pronouns. Breathplay via a corset and tight-lacing. 4.5k.

Prosciutto likes the classics. You surprise him one evening by going classic-style.

Your boyfriend is the kind of man who likes the classic things in life. The furniture in his apartment is antique (some of it, you gather, is heirloom furniture from a family that considers buying declasse - Prosciutto tells you, with a curl in his lip, that his parents think that it’s a horrible shame if a person doesn’t have furniture they stand to inherit). His drinks cupboard is well-stocked with old scotch and cognac and whiskeys, all of which he can tell you the full pedigree of - he drinks those, too, from cut glass in all shapes and sizes that he also inherited. His clothes are impeccably cut, carefully pressed - he has a tailor who calls out to him by name and greets him with a smile.

His cigarettes are expensive. He has a gramophone that sits in the corner of the living room, that he asks you often to put an old record in and simply closes his eyes, beckoning you to come sit on his lap. You teasingly call him ‘old man’, and tug at the ascot about his neck and he smiles a lazy, crooked smile at you that sends butterflies careening into each other in the pit of your stomach.

“Perhaps,” he says, that smile on his face. “But with all of this around me, and you by my side . . . can you blame me for wanting to enjoy it, amore?”

You can’t. You also can’t fault him for wanting to unwind at home - though you are not privy to what goes on whilst he’s at work (“For your own good, innamorata,” he sighs, kissing your forehead, as you pointedly do not stare at a bloodstain on his lapel), you know that Prosciutto is tangled in shady business, as were the family he inherited so many expensive antiques from. It runs in his blood, you think - and you see that in him, sometimes, when someone cuts in front of him in a line or drives recklessly or hits on you when he’s beside you. You see how his icy blue eyes harden and his jaw sets, his face frighteningly severe - and every time, you press yourself closer against him, grounding him, and he softens. He tries to leave his ice at work - for you, he’s all fire.

You live a domestic life, together - as domestic as a life can be with someone like him. You take turns cooking dinner and doing the housework - you good-naturedly argue about where the best restaurant in town is (Prosciutto’s presence is always enough to get you a good table). You budget together, continuously surprised by how good he is at finding deals and bargains for a man with such excessive and expensive taste. You sit beside him on your slightly threadbare sofa - it needs to be taken to an upholsterer, but the last one hadn’t wanted to touch something made so long ago - and watch Prosciutto’s favourite old films together.

It’s the films that give you the idea, really.

Prosciutto’s eyes watch the women on screen with their perfectly coiffed hair and their neat dark lipstick, their waists impossibly small. He likes old-fashioned musicals in technicolour with swinging skirts and petticoats and neat blouses and cardigans - but he also likes gritty film noirs, femme fatales in lingerie and feather-trimmed robes, seamed stockings visible beneath skirts that cling tight to a perfect hourglass. You poke at him, teasing him for it - and he shrugs, unconcerned.

“People knew how to dress then,” he tells you. He doesn’t say that he doesn’t like how you already dress - he knows what practicality is, after all. But it’s his eyes as he watches those silver screen sirens that really make you think that, just once, you’d like to surprise him. And it’s that thought which leads you to do a little covert shopping without him.

You’re meticulous in your planning. You always are - it’s one of the things that Prosciutto loves about you. You plan. His life is so chaotic, that it’s pleasant for him to have one constant he can count on - and you are only too happy to be his. You make sure it’s on a day that he should be home from work fairly early (he does not tell you exactly what he does, of course, but you pick up from his questions and queries and vague remarks about what you’re having for dinner the nights that he won’t come home until dawn). You lay out everything you have on your shared bed, watch videos about things you don’t know how to put on, painstakingly check sizing and shade matching. You want everything to be absolutely perfect for Prosciutto.

Your boyfriend has an eye for detail, and though you know he won’t actually complain if the hue of your underwear doesn’t match, you want him to see you as a perfectly finished full experience.

You’re enjoying seeing it all laid out like this, too.

It’s supposed to be Prosciutto’s turn to cook dinner - that’s one of the reasons that you’d known he’d definitely be coming home tonight. When Prosciutto cooks, you generally have your meals later in the evening - thankfully, his favourite dish takes time to prepare, and as you gently step out of your clothes and look at the outfit laid out on the bed, the oven is doing its merry work.

You allow yourself to be slow putting it on, knowing that you have ample time - you’d needed ample time, as you battled into the garter belt and stockings. How did people do this every day, you wonder, as yet another one of the little buckles unclipped itself from the back of the thin nylon and you twisted your body into an unnatural position to fix it.

Once it is properly on, you have another little fuss as you ensure that the back-seams of the stockings line up neatly. Prosciutto might not care, you think, but he’ll appreciate it even more if not a single hair is out of place. There. You do up the bra, the shape of it a little rounder than you’re used to - overwire seems to have been more popular, and the overall effect changes your figure dramatically.

But not as dramatically as the last part of your underpinnings. You pick up the corset with trembling hands. The helpful young woman in the shop who had fitted it for you had shown you how to put it on, showing you which of the laces to pull to ensure that it tightened in the right place, how to pull them around to your front so that you could do your own lacing up. She’d told you how to always do up the busk in order, from bottom to top or top to bottom (never start with a middle catch) - she’d told you to make sure that the gap at the back ran perfectly parallel.

You don’t feel like you manage to get it quite as tight as she did when she did up the garment for you, but as you tie the laces up and look at the full effect in the mirror, you still feel amazed by just how different you look. It’s not merely the newer, smaller waist you’re sporting - but also how it makes your hips seem more dramatic, the other curves of your body - how it straightens your spine, improving your posture, making you look prouder and more present.

You can’t help but run your fingers over it, amazed at how different you both look and feel. You’d worried it would feel tight like a vice, like all of the uncomfortable corset stories you hear people mention when they talk about the Victorians (about displaced organs and fainting) - but, although it is tight against your skin, it’s not uncomfortable. It’s more like the feeling of being tightly held by a lover than it is your ribcage and organs being squeezed beyond repair.

The dress you bought is black, because it seemed simpler and classier than choosing a hue that Prosciutto might not like as much - a simple v-neck with three quarter sleeves and a full skirt made of a light stretch fabric, that fitted you well when you’d tried it on without the underpinnings but looks even better with everything else.

The makeup, carefully - red lipstick, winged eyeliner. The hair, brushed out, gently pinned into place. The small amount of jewellery - a rope of pearls that Prosciutto had given you.

There. That’s everything.

You almost don’t recognise yourself in the mirror this time - you feel . . . transformed. Like you’ve stepped right out of the scenes in one of the movies you and Prosciutto spend lazy evenings watching. You hope that he appreciates it - as you leave the bedroom, a little anxiety begins to make itself present low in your stomach that perhaps you have misread him entirely and he’ll hate it. But you have spent too long getting this surprise ready, now. There’s no time to grow nervous - you have to be like Prosciutto himself. Stern, exacting, determined in what you decide to do.

Besides, if you take the corset off now, dinner will burn.

Prosciutto swallows as he looks at you, the bob in his throat evident even below the ascot. His blue eyes take you in, crawling down the length of you as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“Welcome home,” you say to him, a little breathless. “Dinner’s on the table.”

“Dinner’s right in front of me,” he says, his tone dark. You repress a shiver at the possessiveness in his tone - you needn’t have worried. It’s very obvious from the way he’s staring at you that he likes his surprise very much, and the hunger that he shows in just his expression and his voice already has you squirming to press your thighs together. “But if you really want me to eat the food first . . .”

You pout a little, for show.

“I’ve spent all evening preparing for you,” you say, biting your lip. One of your hands comes up to play with the rope of pearls about your throat, Prosciutto watching you with all of the intensity of a hungry wolf watching a rabbit. “You’re not going to enjoy it and make me feel like a perfect little housewife?”

“You’re perfect for more than that, amore,” he says, but he still steps inside, peeling off his jacket and hanging it on one of the coat hooks.

His eyes do not leave you for a moment as you dish up - as your hips wiggle, just a little, when you bend to pick things up and move them around. As you pour his drink for him. Prosciutto is never shy about how much he watches you, how much he wants you - but this is even more than that, and it makes you feel heady and breathless with need. And the fact is, too, that you feel incredibly desirable dressed like this for him, and you wonder if he sees your proud head and your squared shoulders and the confidence makes him want you more.

The dinner is torture. The two of you are both clearly distracted - and although the food is cooked well enough (perhaps a little overdone, you think, admitting to yourself you spent quite a lot of time in front of the mirror just admiring the change in yourself), it is obvious that the both of you are hungry for other things. When you take the dishes away and leave them in the kitchen sink to soak, Prosciutto is behind you in moments, arms wrapping about your waist.

“That can wait,” he breathes against the shell of your ear, and you feel your body clench and throb in desire for him. “I think right now, the bedroom is a more suitable place for you to be.”

You are hardly going to complain. You don’t complain, either, about how when his hands slide off you, he palms at your body, feeling the shape of you beneath the dress’ fabric. You are breathless ascending the stairs to the bedroom, and you do not think it is entirely because of the corset.

He kisses you, hungrily, as the door to the bedroom closes behind you both - teeth digging into your bottom lip, uncaring of how it will mess your lipstick. His other hand comes to tangle in your hair, pulling out the carefully arranged pins - you’d been expecting that. Prosciutto loves making a mess of you. In return, you untie his ascot and toss it to one side, fingers running down his shirt to pull at the buttons.

He growls against you, pressing you bodily against the door so that the handle bites into your spine. You gasp at the feel of him grasping the zip of your dress and tugging, and his full lips curl into a smile.

��Step out of it, cara,” he says. “Let me look at you, after you got dressed up all pretty for me.”

You do. Shrugging out of the sleeves, you let the fabric pool around your feet, stepping out of it still in your neat heels. Prosciutto’s gaze lingers over the shape of you, drinking you in - throat bobbing once more at the corset and stockings and garter belt.

“D-do you like it?” You ask him, a little shyly. He raises his eyebrows in surprise - he grabs hold of one of your hands and guides it to his crotch, pressing it against the expensive fabric - his cock presses hot and heavy there, practically pulsing beneath even the lightest graze of your skin.

“I love it, tesoro,” he says. “You couldn’t guess?”

“I guess it’s nice to get some affirmation in words,” you say. Prosciutto smiles at you again, a smile that makes your knees feel like they are about to go from beneath you.

“I could talk about you all day,” he tells you. “But first . . .” He crooks a finger, moving across the room until he’s stood by the mirror. “Come here.”

You follow him, standing in front as he directs. His hands come to rest on the curve of your hips, tracing the lines of your body, hot. They send trails of fire wherever he touches, even through the fabric of what you’re wearing. Your heart almost skips a beat at how they look on your waist - and he growls low at that, too.

“You look very nice,” he breathes into the shell of your ear, sending gooseflesh all down your neck and shoulders. “But I think this could be laced a little tighter if you had some help, hmm?” Deft hands undo the knot, taking hold of the laces in either fist. “I’m sure it can’t be all that easy alone . . . but I might be able to assist.”

He tugs slightly, and the corset constricts a little more. You breathe in, surprised - and Prosciutto chuckles.

“I think,” he murmurs, “I’d like it on you if it were a little too tight.”

Prosciutto dominates in the bedroom, and you’re only too happy to let him - there’s a subtle shift in his tone as he speaks that remind you that he’s in charge, and you swallow the sudden lump of need in your throat. Prosciutto’s cock, clothed but prominent, pokes you in the small of your back as he says;

“Tell me when it’s too much.”

“Okay.” Your voice shakes only a little, and you see Prosciutto smirk in the mirror as he steps back and tugs again, this time for longer. The corset squeezes you about the waist, the hug getting tighter and tighter.

Prosciutto gets another few inches of compression, easy, winning little gasps from you until you say, breathlessly--

“I don’t think I can take any more.”

The voice comes from higher than it usually does, your body not quite able to echo in the same places that you’ve grown familiar with. You’re still perfectly able to breathe, but you find yourself unable to take a deep, shuddering breath of the kind that you’d like to when Prosciutto’s hands dip between your thighs, caressing the skin that’s touchable between the garters.

“You put this on last, didn’t you?” He purrs into your ear, his clever fingers sliding over your closed slit. “You’re so good to me.”

You had, after having read that if you put underwear on last, it was simpler for your lover to fuck you with the stockings and garter belt and all the other accoutrements still taut against your body. You hadn’t wanted to get dressed up for Prosciutto only for him to immediately rip it all off of you - your boyfriend, you knew, would appreciate the show of you coming apart underneath him still in your neatly turned out costume.

You hadn’t bargained on just how the corset would enhance your other senses. You hadn’t realised that, with that pressure at your waist, his fingers on your thighs would feel so all-consuming. That when your body clenched around nothing, you’d feel even needier for touches than usual - that every brush of his lips over your collarbone would feel like his mouth were on fire.

“Come on,” Prosciutto says, tugging on your arm. You allow yourself to be manipulated by him, your head swimming with need the more he touches you, your breath coming in short little pants. You let him push you softly onto the bed on your front, as he helps you get into position on your hands and knees.

You feel dizzy like this, worrying all of the blood will be rushing to your head and that you’ll pass out - but then Prosciutto is moving pillows, putting them beneath your head, getting you as comfortable as you can be.

“Not that I don’t like you on your front, amore,” he says, as you feel his hands grip your hip, sliding up to your waist and then down again so that they brush over your ass - almost bare, aside from the garters that stretch down to keep your stockings taut. “But taking hold of your waist in this position . . . Mm, you’re shaped like a heart like this, you know.”

Fingers slide up your inner thighs, making you jump and whimper, your body bucking backwards in search of more of his fingers. He makes a chastising noise, clicking his tongue.

“All in good time,” he says to you.

The silk pillow feels cool against your hot cheek, and you try and concentrate on that as Prosciutto takes his sweet time. Every brush of his slacks against the back of your thighs or touch of his fingers and hands makes you feel like you’re about to pass out - and he can tell, you know he can. You know he must see the tremble in your body and hear the soft sighs and pants falling from your mouth, as fingers glide over your slick folds but don’t go further than that. He’s enjoying seeing you lose yourself.

You’re not enjoying being denied.

“I’m enjoying my surprise,” he tells you, and you can sense the smirk in his voice as his thumbs spread open your sex and you feel cool air on your heated skin. “You’re enjoying my enjoyment too, aren’t you?”

“I want you to touch me,” you mumble, half-dazed from the position you’re in and the lack of air that you’re getting. “Prosciutto . . .”

You know you’re whining, and so does he.

“I am touching you,” he says, his tone calm. A thumb slides up the slit, between the plumpness of your lips - and you whimper again as he brushes your clit, uselessly rocking your hips backwards. “Is it not good enough?”

“Please,” you say, a little desperately, as he shifts on the bed and you hear his zipper. Hope flares in your heart - and then, the heat of his cock, slick with his precome, is against your thigh, smearing wetness there.

“You’re cute when you beg,” he tells you. You moan uselessly, as he moves again - this time, he presses the head of his cock between the lips of your sex, and you feel yourself tense in preparation for the feeling of him pushing it inside you. Oh, you can’t wait to feel filled up by him - you know how deep he’ll go when you’re in this position from past nights spent in bed together, and you know that the tightness of the corset will just enhance how good he feels inside you--

He doesn’t fuck into you. His hips move, but they don’t sink into the hot confines of your heat - instead, he rocks his hips forward with a silky glide, and the head bumps at your swollen clit, making you moan aloud again, the sound breaking in the air. You feel pathetic with how much you want him.

“I could fuck you like this,” he muses, pulling his hips back and rutting against your folds again, using the slickness of your thighs and labia lips like a cocksleeve. “It feels good - and you look so pretty, amore.” You moan out his name, frustrated, and you win a chuckle that’s like dark velvet. “And if I’m perfectly honest, principessa - knowing how badly you want me inside you makes me want to deny you even longer.”

A hand trails up your thighs, round the curve of your ass and hip, to cling to your waist. You fit in his grip well, fingers pressing against the spiral steel boning. He squeezes, and it makes the corset feel like it squeezes you a little tighter too, a choked moan falling past your lips as his cockhead brushes your clit again.

“D-don’t you want to hold onto my waist and fuck me into next week more, though?” You manage. Every word feels like a challenge, past the way the corset clings to the lines of your body and the way that Prosciutto’s cock makes you struggle to think of anything but the pleasure that’s being dangled in front of you.

Prosciutto laughs. Another hand comes up to hold the other side of your waist. You feel small in his grip - you haven’t always felt like that, but it’s amazing what a tightly laced corset and a cloudy mind and the haze of lusty need can do to one.

“Alright,” he breathes into your ear, the head of his cock catching against your entrance. “You’ve got me there.”

Your brain entirely whites out as Prosciutto’s cock begins to stretch you out, filling you up inexorably, pinning you to the bed beneath him. You realise the groan of enjoyment you let out is not at all befitting to the pretty, demure fifties housewife you’re pretending to be - but then again, you’ve never watched a movie where one of their handsome husbands fucks them into the mattress in their corset so deeply that their toes curl, so perhaps they do make those noises and you’ve just never heard them.

He goes impossible deep like this, making you feel like he’s never going to bottom out - but bottom out he does, your entire lower body singing out in need, your breath coming in pants and gasps.

“Good,” he coos, “you’re taking me so well, principessa - how do I feel?”

You can’t do words right now. Instead, you moan brokenly, dragging your hips forward, begging him to begin vigorously fucking you instead of just leaving his cock sheathed inside of you. This gets a hiss from him, the tightening of his hands on your hips - but it also drives him into action, and as he pulls out and drives his cock straight back into the silky clutches of your sex, you see stars.

He groans at how easily you take him, how your hips snap back into his, how you feel in his grip - and there’s nothing in the room for minutes but the slap of his thighs and hips against yours, the plunging wetness of his cock inside you, your broken moans and gasps. The shortness of breath that the corset is causing makes every stroke seem that much more frenetic, every press of his body against yours like electrical impulses firing in your brain. You’re helpless to do anything but rock, moaning and whimpering--

And your facilities are not much improved by one of Prosciutto’s hands sliding about your waist, fingers between you and the bedsheets, finding your clit to gently rub at it in firm little circles.

It’s too much.

Not being able to breathe properly, the sensitivity of your skin, the way that Prosciutto seems to be looming over you in every sense of the word - the pressure about your middle, and now the calloused finger coaxing your walls to pulse and flutter around Prosciutto’s cock. Your vision blurs, fingers tightening in the fabric beneath them, thighs trembling as you try and push your orgasm away lest you pass out completely - but it is impossible.

All at once, the orgasm hits, your walls pulsing wildly about Prosciutto’s cock, sucking him in deeper and tighter than you think he’s ever been. Prosciutto himself lets out a strangled groan, surprised by how sudden and intensely your peak has hit you - the feel of your walls hugging him so tightly must push him over the edge, too, because his cock twitches wildly inside you and you feel the surprising rush of hot come paint your inner walls with his seed.

He does not still his hips as he pumps out his last few drops, and it helps ease you over your orgasm - your vision flashes, your chest tight, breath seeming to become all stuck in your throat instead of in the air as the force of your body’s response hits you, white noise licking at your consciousness. Before, orgasms have felt like tides against a sandy shore, coming up and covering your body - this one is lightning flashes, overwhelming, leaving you gasping brokenly as aftershocks still leave you reeling.

The fingers on your waist move, and you feel a pressure ease, Prosciutto pulling out of your dripping sex at the same time as he loosens the corset and you’re able to take a great gulping breath of air, collapsing entirely in a mess on the bed, uncaring of how Prosciutto’s come and your own slick are sliding down your thighs.

Feather lights kisses down your spine, as the fabric is lifted away from you and your back is bare for Prosciutto’s kisses. You know that there must be marks from the corset marring your skin, and Prosciutto kisses every place you think they must be, his body hot and hard and comforting.

Heat settles beside you, arms drawing you into an embrace that you tiredly accept. The brutal pace of the fucking and the days of preparation leading up to today catch up to you, your eyelids sagging.

“Did you like it?” You mumble, sleepily, into the crook of your boyfriend’s arm. Prosciutto makes a little noise, dispelling a puff of air that might be a laugh.

“I’d like you in anything,” he says to you, dropping a kiss on the top of your head. “But yes . . . yes, I liked it.” His eyes look at where the corset lays discarded, unlaced on the bed after he’d loosened it for you. “It was expensive, hmm? I’ve seen the prices of that kind of thing.”

You stifle a yawn.

“Yeah,” you say, snuggling into him. “Kinda. I know you hate to waste money. I think I should wear it again.”

Prosciutto chuckles.

“You took the words out of my mouth. Yes,” he murmurs. “I think so too.”

#not sfw #writing #this is PURE self indulgence but i couldnt resist #prosciutto #afab reader #fem pronouns #corsets #breathplay for ts #jjba #kinktober collection

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butmakeitgayblog · 4 years ago

Note

Clexa engagement please!! I’m also very excited to see Lexa be a bitch to Bellamy, but that one shot of Clexa going to Abbys and talking about how much they want to marry one another is definitely one of my faves. I’m excited to see how the proposal will go 💛

Ok, here's for you sweet anon. Bear in mind it's still rough and unedited but here ya go. A sneak peek of CoA Clexa engagement

///////////

"No!"

Lexa startled at the yelp, hand hovering over the bag she had been reaching for.

"... What?"

Her friend shifted in her seat under Lexa's wide eyed gaze, shrugging lightly as she glanced down at her phone.

Again.

"Nothin'. Just, ya know. Stay for a little longer."

"I'm tired, Cos," she breathed, wrapping her fingers around the bag at her feet and lifting. "I had an 8 o'clock class and work all afternoon. Besides, Clarke said she was going to have to stay late and I want to have dinner done when she gets home."

Strained brown eyes swung back down to the phone for a second, lips twisting in thought before she looked back up. "Just… ten more minutes?"

"Costia?" Lexa smiled, hitching her bag securely over her shoulder and standing. "I'm going home. You can awkwardly flirt with Luna over refills all by yourself."

"No, that's not- dammit, hang on," Lexa heard as she passed, patting Costia's shoulder on her way to the coffee shop door.

"Night, Lu," she called to her coworker and stepped outside, stumbling slightly as a body collided with her back. "Jesus, Cos, what the hell?"

"Sorry," her friend mumbled after they righted themselves, fingers flying over the keyboard as she shook her head in apology. "Didn't see you."

"Yeah, I got that. You've had your nose in your phone all night."

Costia's head whipped up at that, eyebrows lifted on her forehead as she stared blankly for a moment.

"... No I haven't."

Lexa snorted at that, giving a patronizing smile and nod of agreement as she slowly started walking backwards. "Suuure… I mean I don't mind, except you were the one who asked me to hang out."

"Oh my god, will stop just walking off. Seriously, who raised you?"

"Wolves," Lexa grinned as Costia caught up, turning to walk correctly once she had pulled even.

"Lexa, babe, stop trying to be funny. You're not funny."

"Shut up," she laughed, lightly shoving her friend as they walked. "Why are you even following me? And I mean that as politely as possible," she hurried to finish at the frown being thrown at her.

"Is it a crime to make sure my friend gets home safe?"

"No, but this would literally be the first time you've ever actually done that."

"It's a nice night," Costia shrugged. "Speaking of which, slow down."

"I told you I want to get home-"

"I know, but just, like, slow down."

"Why are you being so weird?" Lexa frowned as they rounded the block of her apartment, gently shrugging off the hand that kept pulling on the back of her shirt.

"I'm not, I just… Just walk slower. Jeez."

"We're like ten feet from my apartment, why are you- what is happen-"

"Oh, you know what?" Costia interrupted, Lexa halting in place at the sharp tug to her arm as Costia hurriedly unlocked her phone.

Holding a finger up, she clicked a few times on the screen and smiled before stuffing it back in her pocket.

"Actually? I just realized I have somewhere to be."

"... What the fu-"

"Yeah, it's crazy. Have a good night, boo."

With that she wrapped Lexa in a quick one armed hug before spinning on her heel and started walking away.

Lexa stood staring at the retreating figure, mouth slack and eyes wide with confusion. "... What the hell was that?" she called out, finally finding her voice when the woman was a half a block away.

"You said you wanted to go home," Costia hollered back with a flick of her hand, not even bothering to turn around. "Night, Lex."

With an unseen half-hearted wave back to the lifted arm of her friend, Lexa silently took in the blasé farewell as she turned to walk the final steps to her building.

Mindlessly punching in the code and settling into the elevator, Lexa played over how fucking bizarre her friend had behaved.

Because while, yes, it seemed that just about everyone one in their friend group was a bit… eccentric in their own ways, whatever that was impressively befuddling. But as the doors slid open on the floor to their apartment, Lexa's stomach still rolling a bit as it always did on the final lurch of the elevator (stupid human equilibrium), she decided to chalk the odd behavior up to the woman's residual nerves.

It was kind of sweet, actually. How Costia had tried so nonchalantly to ask about Luna. Though Lexa thanked God everyday for being spared from the horrifying prospect of ever having to wander the earth searching for her potential love, she really had enjoyed teasing the hell out of her friend over it.

And with the amount of heckles her and Clarke had had to endure over the past four years, honestly she felt the reversal of power was long overdue.

Mind deep in thoughts of watching her friend trying and failing to effectively shoot her shot with the laid-back barista that had a propensity for getting under her girlfriend's skin, Lexa turned the key in the lock and shuffled into the apartment…

Only to hear music softly playing down the hall.

"Clarke?" she called as her brow furrowed, not getting a response while she toed off her shoes and hung her bag on the hook. Raising her voice a bit, Lexa started walking further into the apartment. "I thought you said you had to work…late..."

Her words died on her tongue as she took in the room around her.

Every surface was littered in candles made up of every shape and size. Flames swayed in flickering dances, splashing the walls of their living room with the soft golden pearl of artificial dusk. The air smelled of primrose and fresh rain, the usual musky-woody scent of their apartment now a pleasant undertone. But still there.

Still them.

Lexa's eyes wandered the room, blinking in the shimmering glow as her feet slowly dragged over the floor of their living room, the residual warmth of the numerous candles wrapping her skin in comforting heat.

It was a bit overwhelming standing in the middle of the display, mind sluggishly tumbling over itself trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

"Welcome home, baby."

Lexa wheeled around at the quiet words, feeling the air catch and swell in her throat at the sight before her.

The black and white tile of their kitchen glowed in the spill of soft fiery orange, equally as adorned with a smattering of candlelight as the living room. It was dim, yet brilliantly lit in an aura of swirling warmth. And stood bathed in a wash of its heavenly glow, was Clarke.

Grey eyes slid from the luminescent crown of golden hair, the locks looking more bronzed and supple in the wavering light, to the relaxed set of her lips, tilted with the ghost of a secret smile.

And then she let her eyes slide down further, heart roaring in her ears at the sight of-

"My coat."

The dark black material hung heavy over Clarke's shoulders, the sleeves a touch too long and the length cutting more toward her ankles than mid calf. It would have been a sweetly hilarious sort of picture if seeing it after so long didn't have the breath rushing from Lexa's lungs.

She'd thought it was gone.

Whether taken back to its maker or possibly, and Lexa had felt so sick at the thought she'd never gathered the courage to ask, thrown away during Clarke's few heartbroken days. But… there it was. Looking exactly as she remembered it, though the effect of its weight feeling so different wrapped yet again around the woman she loved.

"I uh, yeah," Clarke smiled, bringing a hand up to fiddle with the collar before smoothing down and over her chest with a soft sigh. "Surprise."

Lexa swallowed a thick lump in her throat before forcing out words with an air of confusion. "I didn't… I thought it was gone. I- I haven't seen that since…"

"Since you visited me that night?" Clarke supplied, nodding with a wry smile at the memory. "Yeah. I mean, I was pretty sure you were there that night. On some level, I knew… but I still just wanted to be completely enveloped in you… I remember arguing with myself about needing it to fall asleep."

"But you never-- Where was it?"

"I'd hid it from myself the next morning," Clarke said, shaking her head as she spoke. "Or maybe from you. I don't know. My head was such a fucking mess… I'd convinced myself I needed to let you go and move on, but... The idea of getting rid of it or- or you taking it back just made me so--... I couldn't handle it. So I stuck it in a garment bag and buried it in the back of my closet."

Despite the very serious air between them, the weight of emotion vibrating through her system, Lexa really couldn't help the grin that slid across her lips.

"Ya dirty little thief."

/////////////////////

#CoA feels #CoA #anon #clexa #don't get mad at me I'm saving the actual nitty gritty of the engagement for the fic 🥺#but the feels are there #hopefully

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iamtwilighttrash · 5 years ago

Text

My Breaking Dawn

BACKGROUND: I am rewriting Breaking Dawn the way I think it should have been written. To preface, please note that in my Twilight universe:

1) Jacob and Bella were never anything more than friends. In New Moon, they were nothing more than brother/sister-ish friends. In Eclipse, Jake and Edward actually became good friends, and he was ecstatic to hear about the wedding. (NO KISS EVER OCCURRED)

2) Angela is more present in Bella’s life. This is very important to me.

3) Edward and Bella have basically the same relationship: he still left her in New Moon, they’re still the classic/mushy/everlasting romance type, etc. BUT they also are young, they have more fun with one another, and Bella knows how to hold her own a little bit.

4) Bella is much more integrated into Cullen life/family. She, Jasper, and Emmett are closer, and there is no tension between her and Rosalie after Eclipse.

5) Edward does not buy Bella a new car. I like her truck, and so does she, and Jacob and Rosalie are around to fix it up.

6) Please assume that Charlie found out about the engagement in the same way as in the original. I don’t feel like rewriting that, and I thought that it fit the narrative well.

7) Jacob has long hair. This might seem insignificant, but it isn’t, and it means something to me.

Anyway, I’m going to jump right in! I hope you enjoy my Breaking Dawn.

(Stephenie Meyer OBVIOUSLY owns these characters and the saga. I’m just adding my creative aesthetic spin to it. Some elements will be incredibly similar in wording to the original, but for the most part I am entirely rewriting it)

CHAPTER ONE

I was getting married. I was getting married. I was getting married. Tomorrow. So soon, my head spun.

I paced around Alice’s bedroom, the sound of my socked feet just whispers to my own ears; to my vampire family, I probably sounded like an entire marching band. Alice was perched on the edge of her bed, Rosalie beside her, both of them bemused and statue-still. Esme flitted anxiously by my side. Her soft, sincere face broke my firm resolve to bolt from the door.

“Bella, honey, you’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” she murmured gently, slender fingers framing my face to stop me. I met her gaze, certain I appeared frantic.

I’m getting married! This was the final fitting. I would have to look at myself in the mirror, in the elegant gown of eggshell white, and see a stranger looking back. “Esme, what if its all...wrong?” Before Esme could answer, Alice surged to her feet and gripped my hands. Her touch was stone-cold, hard, but gentle. It soothed me marginally.

“It will be fine Bella, go to your happy place.” Rosalie sashayed to the corner, a vision of grace, to grab the satin dress. The color complimented her skin and hair beautifully. She would make a stunning bride. But what of me, silly, insignificant, young, human girl? Would the fabric turn my skin translucent; would the guests be able to see right through me?

I closed my eyes, trying to listen to Alice. If I couldn’t shut off the ramblings of my mind, perhaps I could redirect my thought. My happy place. The nerve-wracking wedding done and behind me. I had married Edward, fulfilled my end of our life-altering bargain. It would be his turn. Our final adventure together with me as a human. So soon, I would become just like him. The eternity that I had long-hoped for would begin. But, before that, there was just one more thing...

Our honeymoon.

Sex was not so scary to think about in the grand scheme of things, even if I would be having it with a vampire. I trusted Edward entirely. In fact, my only worries stemmed from insecurity. How would either of us know what...to do? Edward had his brothers around to help him. I supposed that I could ask Alice or Rosalie, but then...but then what if Edward heard them think about what I asked? The thought was so mortifying that, in the moment, I blushed.

Okay, so maybe I couldn’t go to my happy place with company in the room. Even barring my embarrassment at having him know I asked his sisters how to have sex, there was still the inevitability of my heart racing at the thought of being with him in that way. If Esme could hear the evidence of how much I enjoyed my happy place...

So, instead, I focused the slip and glide of the satin gown over my skin and the cool brushes of Esme and Rosalie’s hands as they held the garment in place for Alice’s minor sewing adjustments. My weight hadn’t fluctuated much, so there was little that needed to be altered from the last fitting. Just a little bit taken in in the back, I thought, judging by the pinch of the fabric. Esme hummed while Alice worked, and the melody worked to soothe the nerves that threatened to fray.

“Oh, Bella...” It was Rosalie speaking. I opened my eyes to look at her, concerned by the tone.

“What? Is something wrong?” She was looking at me, at the dress, at me in the dress. Oh, god, I’m hideous! I’m too human. Esme had stepped back to join Rosalie, and she daintily covered her mouth with her hands. The only person seemingly unaffected was Alice, who had seen me in the dress many times.

“No, Bella, you��re...”

All wrong?

“Stunning.” The word shocked me. Stunning? Me? Coming from Rosalie’s mouth, Rosalie the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on, that word was like an expletive. I shuddered beneath the weight of her praise.

“You...you think so?” I had yet to turn around and look at myself in the mirror. I was frightened. Would I be able to recognize myself, Bella the bride?

“Oh, sweetie, you look beautiful!” Esme reached out and hugged me; she smelled like lavender, and orange blossom, and breakfast tea. Her body was like ice and yet, as she gave me a little squeeze, my whole body felt like it had been basking beneath the Arizona sun. I hugged her back automatically. In her, I had found a mother in the areas that my own was lacking. Unwanted tears sprung along my lower lash line. On a day such as this, my mom should have been there. I was reminded once again that my choice— becoming a vampire— would effect more than one aspect of my life.

Esme pulled back and wiped away the moisture with steady hands. Alice, sensing my unraveling, was quick to change the subject.

“Alright, Bella. Go ahead, look at yourself.” Simple enough task, but my feet felt like they were buried in cement. Look at myself? How? With an uneven breath, I forced myself to turn and face the long mirror on the wall.

The dress was so...Edward. Even on my body, I could tell it was designed for him. I panicked, trying to see myself in the timeless shape, the Calla Lily folds; even the lace of the sleeves mocked me. I was far too plain, too ordinary. Was I all wrong for him? They had spoken of how beautiful I was, but where? I noticed the splotches on my cheeks from crying, the puffiness under my tired eyes, the unevenness of my body’s proportions: human. Mortal. Meant to end.

“Well?” beamed Alice. I turned back, and three pairs of golden honey eyes appraised me warily, waiting for my response.

“I love it,” I choked out. Esme’s smile vanished. Alice and Rosalie pursed their lips. I could not fool them. I was an awful liar.

“What’s wrong?” The dam broke; I came, at last, undone. Esme was quick to usher me towards Alice’s bed, folding me into a marble embrace. I was glad Edward wasn’t home; the sound of my distress would have roused him to check on me, regardless of Alice’s stern warning to mind his business and stay out of her room.

“I’m not,” a hiccup broke the sentence, “good enough for him. I’m all wrong.” Rosalie— I knew it was Rosalie from her feather soft touch— rubbed my back while Alice touched my hair.

“Isabella Swan,” it was her stern voice that jolted me. I sniffled, conscious of the fact that I was staining Esme’s lilac blouse with my tears, and pulled back to meet her gaze. One strand of spiky black hair had escaped its polished, messy spikes and was drooping over her left eye. She brushed it back, so quickly that my eyes barely registered the gesture. “Edward loves you, you silly girl. He wouldn’t go through all this trouble for just anybody.” It was teasing, but truthful.

“Okay.” Yes, she was right. He loved me. I loved him. It would be okay. I took a deep breath, mortified that I had started sobbing. “Sorry, sorry.” The knee-jerk reaction made me sniffle. Had Jacob been there, he would’ve made me laugh, told me to get over myself— maybe I should call him. As if on cue, my phone buzzed on Alice’s antique vanity, the sound like a beehive. Sometimes, I swore, Jacob could sense my sadness from miles away.

Esme released me so I could answer my best friend. His voice, husky and warm, assaulted my ears before I could say a single syllable.

“Bells, you better not be crying you idiot. I can hear you from outside. I’m here to spring you.” I rushed to the window to pull back the sheer curtains, and indeed he was there, leaning against his bike with my spare helmet tucked under his arm. He waved.

“I have to get out of my dress you jerk. I’ll be down in a sec.” As I spoke, Alice started undoing the pearl buttons on my back.

“Cool. I’m letting myself in and grabbing a snack.” Esme heard that and her soft, soothing laugh began when I snapped the phone shut.

“I’ll go down and keep him company. I’ve been meaning to ask him about the progress on his new car. Oh, and Bella dear,” she said, reaching out to cup my cheek. I gave her my full attention. “Edward might not be biologically mine, but he’s still my son. I know how much he loves you. He smiles so much more now, and I can tell his happiness is due to you. You are so incredibly right for him, Bella. And I—” there was a little catch in the back of her throat, “I’m so happy you’re joining our family.” With that, she kissed my cheek and all but danced from the room.

I couldn’t help but smile. I told myself to relax— all that mattered was that I loved Edward, and he loved me back. The rest— the dress, the wedding, the guests, the honeymoon— was unimportant. I stepped out of the gown, and Rosalie gave me a firm look.

“Bella, this is your wedding. I thought the dress was lovely on you, but if you’d rather wear something else, the choice is yours.”

“Of course, Bella,” said Alice, though her brows furrowed slightly. Visions of me prancing down the aisle in my sweatpants likely plagued her thoughts. “We can come up with something, anything you want, in time for tomorrow. I’ll hand sew a dress myself if I have to.” I looked at them, my sisters, and felt so loved I choked. Forgetting my partial nudity, I wrapped both of my arms around them in a tight hug.

“I love you guys.” They both laughed. “Tomorrow is going to perfect. I’m just nervous.”

“Well of course you are,” Rosalie chuckled. I pulled back to dress myself in my jeans and one of Edward’s hoodies. It smelled like him— I inhaled deeply. “It is your wedding day, after all. I’ve been married so many times and I still get butterflies.” I was so excited to get to attend one of Emmett and Rosalie’s weddings in the future; Emmett promised me that their next one would be ridiculously themed, as it was his turn to decide.

“Okay. I’m going to go spend time with the Best Man before Edward steals him for the Bachelor Party.” That thought put a little knot in my stomach, though Jasper had promised me he would keep it under control. It would just be Edward, his brothers, Jacob, and Seth. 3 vampires and 2 werewolves walk into a strip club sounded like the start to a bad joke, and two of them were underage anyway.

“Don’t forget, your Bachelorette starts at 8:00.” Alice’s tone was stern, but she was smiling.

“Yes ma’am,” I joked, saluting playfully as a ducked through the door. On the way down, I could hear Jacob and Esme talking. After the battle that had rid us of Victoria, Jacob had spent a great deal of time recuperating at the Cullens. He and Esme bonded; I knew he saw some of his own mother in her features, and that warmed my heart.

“Hey Bells!” cheered Jacob. He draped one bulky arm over my shoulder as he finished up his conversation with my almost mother-in-law. In his opposite hand, he held a soda. Esme had started stocking food and drink for the wolves, and for my human father, the latter of the two having only ever braved the threshold once since finding out about my engagement.

“You two should get out of here before Edward shows up and ruins the tradition. I’ll see you both tomorrow.” Esme kissed both of my cheeks, and then stood on her tiptoes to do the same to Jacob, before shooing us from the kitchen.

“You wanna ride on my bike, pretty girl?” asked Jacob, wagging his brows at me while he offered me the helmet. I snorted and shoved him a little.

“My mom always told me to say no to creeps.” But I took the helmet, securing the thick strap beneath my chin. “Why aren’t we running?” Riding on Jacob in his wolf form took days of practice, but I had finally gotten the hang of it. Emmett had even taken his fair share of turns, much to everyone’s amusement at the time. Jacob revved the bike.

“I figured we better do something just a little dangerous. It’s your last night as a free woman, Bells. And its the last time I’ll get to spend a full day with human- you.” I swallowed hard at the reminder. I had no regrets, of course, about the impending wedding or my decision to join Edward’s family permanently. Even setting the Volturi aside, I knew I was meant for vampire life. I could feel it in my bones, in my heart— an eternity with Edward was what I wanted. I was almost there.

Jacob started to drive; the bike didn’t go very fast, but it felt like we were flying. I clung to him, watching the forest blur, as the wind whipped my skin. There wasn’t much room for conversation, so my mind— predictably— wandered. I thought of the passed summer, my last human summer, which was coming to its glorious end. I thought of staying out late to build card empires with Jasper and Alice, infuriating chess games, and movie nights with Emmett. I pictured Edward sprawled out in the sun, body engulfed in a see of purple wildflowers, as his diamond skin refracted endless light; they swore that my memories would fade, but I swore that nothing in the whole world could make me forget that. Even then, in the present, I could feel the hard planes of his cool chest as we swam in the hidden lake he’d taken me too in July, could see the way those amber eyes glittered in the moonlight streaming through his open bedroom windows on late June nights.

I would remember more of my last mortal summer than just the Cullens, of course, as I knew they would be mine forever. Going fishing with Charlie— who had begged me to go just one time with him— and hearing the way his surprised laughter echoed in the cab of his cruiser as I told a joke about fish (Why did the trout leave the cult? They were too sacrifishal). Roasting marshmallows with Jacob and the rest of his pack while Billy and Sam raced around the yard; of course, Billy had won. Buying books with Angela. Walking the beach with Jacob. Spending one last weekend in Florida with Renee, painting our nails and listening to rock.

But my human life was soon to be over. I had said goodbye to the possibility of having any more memories like that, as being a bloodthirsty newborn would ensure that I was too dangerous to have those moments again.

Just as thoughts began to somber, Jacob cut the engine. I realized I had closed my eyes— when I opened them, we were on the beach. We both dismounted and stretched, me removing the stuffy helmet so I could gulp in salty air and him tidying up his windblown locks. We headed down to the shoreline in silence. The quiet was comfortable; in it, I could hear the waves crashing against the rocky cliffs and the rhythm of our feet on the damp earth. It was an overcast day, but the sun promised to poke through the cloud cover at any moment.

“I’m going to miss this,” I said after a few minutes of us slipping off our shoes and wiggling our toes in the sand. Jacob nodded. His eyes were on the waves.

“Me too, Bells. It’s gonna be weird, after you...well, when I see you next.”

“I won’t be able to show my face in public for a long time. I’m gonna be a walking freak show.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, teasing. “You’ll be a real circus act.” He took my hand as we continued to walk. With Jacob, there was nothing romantic about the action; he had always just been my sunshine, my best friend. I hadn’t realized until then just how much our friendship would be effected. No more beach trips, or dinner with Angela in Forks, or watching TV on his couch during lazy Saturday mornings. I would be a vampire. Though the pack and the Cullens were on good terms, there would be something in our biology pushing us apart. I was going to be, genetically, his enemy.

“Will you still be my friend, Jake, after all this is over?” There was a lump in my throat. It wasn’t time to say goodbye yet, but it would be the last time I would get to see him alone. He pulled us to a stop and studied my face.

“Bella, how many times have I told you? What you are doesn’t matter to me. You’ll still be Bells. Just a little more creeptastic.” The fake word made me giggle despite the fact that tears threatened to surface. He gave me a goofy smile— when he hugged me, though, I could tell that he held on just a little bit tighter than he would have had this been any other day.

#twilight saga #breaking dawn #breaking dawn rewrite #twilight #twilight universe #meyer #bella swan #cullens #quilieute #jacob black #au #please be nice to me I worked very hard on this

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satonthelotuspier · 5 years ago

Note

I'm seeing prompts on your site and does that mean you are accepting them right now? I've never requested a prompt before and I don't know what to do? But if I'm doing it right I'd really like to see 13 for XueXiao from the bodyguard au prompt list? Fluffy or angsty, as you please. Am I doing this right?

OK so Im being obvious, but this contains XueXiao.

Modern Bodyguard AU so none of the complications of canon apply.

Now the disclaimers are out of the way, I have to apologise to the very patient @amaskinamirror bc this took so much longer to write than I expected. The reason being most of my prompt fics end up around the 1k-1.4k word mark and this kept going and kept going because there was a story there. It came in around the 4.5k work mark. Think of it as added value, unless you hate it in which case it’s not ;)

Pompts from this post here

Part 2 now available here

Xue Yang is the enfant terrible of the music world and his manager has pretty much had enough of his shitty behaviour. Features a thorny Xue Yang shaped by the worlds opinions of him, and a hardass yet caring Xiao Xingchen who maybe might just start to see beyond the lies.

Possible triggers/warnings: Also features swearing, man-handling, use of a date rape drug, minor injury and blood. Luckily XXC is there to save the day in all situations.

Xue Yang was woken up from a deep, no doubt alcohol-induced, sleep to the feeling of cold water being splashed in his face.

He shot upright coughing and spluttering and wiping water out of his eyes, trying to process what the hell had happened. The unconscious bodies around him all started to stir and groan back to lucidity.

Xue Yang followed the long line of the leg in front of him up to eventually meet a pair of dark eyes staring down at him without expression.

“What the fuck?” he demanded and tried to get up but someone he didn’t even remember the name of was laid across his legs.

It had been another party. One where they’d drunk hard and passed out before dawn some time; he didn’t know half the people here. That had never stopped him. Being the enfant terrible of the music industry took both time, effort and commitment.

The tall man bent down to extricate him, then yanked him to his feet.

“You have rehearsals in ninety minutes. Get showered, you smell like a brewery” a garment bag was pushed into his hands then he was waved in the direction of the hotel suite’s bathroom.

“Excuse me, but just who the fuck are you?” honestly his head felt a little woolly still from the after-effect of the alcohol he’d been drinking, but he was sure he didn’t know who this man was or what he was doing in his hotel suite.

“Your Fairy Godmother, Cinderella, now go get a shower, you’re wasting time”

Xue Yang grabbed hold of the collar of his jacket, “Don’t bullshit me”

The hand that clamped around his wrist was steel-like, “Your new security. Your manager sends his regards. I won’t tell you to go and shower again”

“Firstly, if you are security you are not my boss, so you can stop with the ordering me around like I’m your little bitch, secondly, you are my security? I’m sure if a duckling gets too close you’ll do a great job, otherwise…” he was going to push the other away, sure because of his willowy frame it would be easy. Quite how he ended up in an armlock and being dragged to the bathroom he didn’t know. He bit his tongue to stifle the cry of pain; no way would he utter the noise aloud. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” he snarled as the other kept going into the bathroom.

“I’ve already explained. I’m not going to repeat myself” the man opened the shower door, pushed Xue Yang into the cubicle and pushed the on button.

Of course Xue Yang never learned his lesson; he launched himself at the other only to bounce off the cubicle door as the other shut it behind him, holding it closed.

“New world order, xiao-Xue, get used to being my little bitch” the other grinned as Xue Yang punched the glass then yelled at the pain in his hand, “Clean up, I don’t want to be forced to come in there and clean you up myself”

***

Xue Yang curled himself up as small as possible on the back seat of the car; he was in high sulk. After calling his manager to demand an explanation of what was going on Jin Guangyao had told him in no uncertain terms he’d better get used to the idea of Xiao Xingchen being around. His new security was not only there to provide for his personal safety after a spate of disturbing mail (more disturbing than the usual run of the mill threats at least), but to whip him into some kind of shape as Jin Guangyao was convinced his terrible behaviour, bad reputation and general personality was about to lose them some very large contracts.

Everyone loved a bad boy in theory, but when it began to affect his ability to make his management company money then they were definitely going to act to protect their asset.

And that had come in the form of Xiao Xingchen, who looked as gentle and fragile as an orchid but who had already handed Xue Yang his ass once today already.

“A-Qing, I need breakfast” Xue Yang whined at his assistant as his stomach rumbled for the fourth time.

“You shouldn’t have upset the new bodyguard then” she mocked him quietly, and he retreated even more, pulling the hood of his jacket up and wrapping his arms around his knees as A-Qing took pity on him and leaned forward to ask the driver to stop at a nearby coffee shop.

They did, and A-Qing and the driver returned with coffees for all and a bag full of muffins.

Lao-Xia, the driver, and A-Qing had been with Xue Yang long enough to not meet his gaze as they started on their own food; Xiao Xingchen had no such warning; he was too busy goggling at Xue Yang who had made his own muffin disappear like a magician with a rabbit.

“Are you going to eat that?” Xue Yang asked, pointing at the baked bun in Xiao Xingchen’s hand.

He simply offered it over; perhaps surprised at the demonstration of the speed at which a muffin could be demolished without trace.

The second one followed the first in quick order and Xue Yang froze as the other reached over to brush the crumbs that had stuck to the corner of his mouth away with a thumb.

“You don’t want the Paparazzi to catch that” he said simply before turning in his seat to look out of the windscreen and sip at his coffee.

Xue Yang curled back in on himself and held his ridiculously sweet iced coffee to his chest.

“You eat too much sugar” Xiao Xingchen told him as Lao-Xia started the car and set off driving to the studio, “You need something to give you energy for the first meal of the day”

“Good luck with that, he functions on pure sugar and supplements” A-Qing mocked and Xue Yang shot her an annoyed look.

***

Xue Yang didn’t know why he was surprised the next morning when he was awoken by a solid shake to the shoulder.

He hadn’t been able to avoid the other to sneak off to party last night so he wasn’t hung over but that didn’t mean he was any more amenable to the idea of waking up.

“Come on Sleeping Beauty, you have to be at your first interview in an hour”

Interviews. His mortal enemy. The thing he hated most in the world. And he was still no better at dealing with them than he had been as a fresh face on the music scene, where the press had crucified him, thrown every painful fact of his past in his face and then painted him as a troubled bad boy with a temper; a role he’d eventually just given up fighting against and embraced.

He threw the blankets over his head; maybe if he just went back to sleep the interview would disappear.

The blankets were thrown back.

“Dude, what the fuck?” he demanded, was he allowed no privacy at all anymore?

“Get up” Xiao Xingchen jerked his head towards the bathroom.

“Fuck off. I’m not going” he reached out to push the other away.

It went about as well as yesterday had for him; he ended up face down on the bed with his arm locked up between his shoulder blades.

“Are you going to learn any time soon? I mean, kudos for persistence but lose points for stupidity. Now, last chance to get up on your own, otherwise I’ll throw you over my shoulder and you can go dressed like that”

Xue Yang wasn’t sure he believed the other was strong enough to actually carry him out of the hotel room, but he daren’t take the chance he might be dragged out kicking and screaming and dressed in his ratty old t-shirt and shorts.

“Fine, yes, I’m getting up. Let me go, please” as a street child he’d learned to beg prettily and it wasn’t a skill he was averse to using if he needed to, to survive. It didn’t need to be sincere, it just needed to sound it, to be calculated to pull on the other’s heart strings.

It didn’t seem to affect Xiao Xingchen, but he was released nonetheless.

***

Xue Yang of course arrived on time for his first interview, (there were three in total scheduled for today), as far as they went it wasn’t particularly gruelling for him, but he was fully aware he was a mess by the end of it; he’d probably come across like he was on drugs, but it wasn’t like that would be the first, second or third time the rumour would circulate in relation to him.

He knew Xiao Xingchen eyed him in consideration, but he ignored it; he didn’t have the presence of mind to survive the next two interviews and worry about what his new security agent was judging him for today.

He was much worse by the end of the second; he had been left alone a sitting room of the hotel the interview’s had been arranged at and he lowered his head into his hands, trying to even out his breathing and calm himself. His professionalism would be questioned even further if he failed to complete the last interview, or screwed up during it.

He felt the couch dip next to him, “Here” he looked up, poison on his tongue ready to be spit at Xiao Xingchen when he realised the other held out one of those large chocolate chip cookies in a napkin. There was also iced coffee sat on the table in front of him.

“Just relax, empty your head, and focus on the cookie” Xiao Xingchen informed him; raising an eyebrow as Xue Yang didn’t immediately accept the confectionery from him.

He took it with tentative thanks; and it vanished almost immediately once he’d decided to accept the gesture. Once he’d gotten the sugary coffee inside him too he felt much better.

***

Despite his trash reputation he wasn’t late for a single appointment over the next weeks; Jin Guangyao assured him it was perfectly alright to project the rebel for the masses but when you played the brat with the people in the business you’d soon be blacklisted; a risk he wasn’t willing to take with Xue Yang.

Xue Yang hadn’t managed to get near alcohol or a party in that time due to Xiao Xingchen’s hawk eyes and iron control.

Since the second morning though instead of being woken up with a bucket of water to the face or bickering the other had started showing up with a sweet pastry and a staggeringly sugary iced coffee which he traded off for Xue Yang eating better at other mealtimes.

Overall it didn’t seem Xue Yang had a moment of time where the other wasn’t somewhere close, controlling everything, keeping a watchful eye out.

And it bothered Xue Yang; he didn’t get used to the feeling of Xiao Xingchen being there like he’d been assured he would. He was still hyper aware of him, and he didn’t necessarily think it was because he was intimidated, despite the fact they’d had a few more altercations, none of which ended well for Xue Yang.

***

He tried to ditch his new security for his monthly visit to the orphanage his charity had built and ran; the less people who knew about it the better. Of course he couldn’t shake the other off so he had to attend followed by Xiao Xingchen, and explain to the children who the tall ge was. He was a great hit with them, and although Xue Yang pretended to be annoyed at Xiao Xingchen getting all the attention that the youngsters usually showered on him secretly he was entertained as he watched the other romp with the rough kids, or play softly with the quieter ones.

“This is the first time you’ve brought a bodyguard” he turned slightly at the sound of Tian Ying, the matron of the orphanage and the woman who’d helped bring him up in a similar institution when he had been a boy had come up beside him. “Are you in danger, xiao-Xue?”

“Of course not” he didn’t consider the crazy mail Jin Guangyao was filtering from him any more of a threat than any of the other mail he’d received in the last few years, and he definitely didn’t want her to worry about him, “They just decided I needed someone to carry my bags for me”

He didn’t have time to say much more as he was dragged into an impromptu game of football in the yard, where he and Xiao Xingchen were on opposite teams.

They played around half-heartedly until a Xiao Xingchen who was grace incarnate except apparently on a football pitch, stuck his foot out and took Xue Yang’s feet from under him and he tumbled. The fall itself wasn’t bad but he was a little grazed as they played on the yard and not grass.

Xiao Xingchen was unusually all apologies and personally saw to tending the grazes Xue Yang’s tumble had caused, despite his assurances he was absolutely fine. The touch of the other still made his pulse flutter in some odd emotion and the way Xiao Xingchen kept glancing up at him, like he’d discovered a rare and new species, was disconcerting. And pissed him off, because he could guess what it was about.

“Just don’t” he said through his teeth so no one around them could hear.

“Don’t what? Congratulate you on what you’ve built here? On what you’re doing for these kids?”

“Yes, don’t. I don’t want to hear it” he sucked a breath in at the sting of the antiseptic where Xiao Xingchen applied it to his grazes.

“Alright, whatever you want” Xiao Xingchen let it drop but he still looked at Xue Yang with something approaching admiration in his eyes.

And it was addictive, to have someone look at him like that, and not like he was trash. But then it had never bothered him before. Was it purely because it was Xiao Xingchen and he wanted to be more than trash in that man’s eyes?

“I guess you read too many gossip rags” Xue Yang sniped, “I’m not on drugs, in any weird cults, or a complete slut either”

Instead of bullshitting him and denying he’d thought anything of the kind Xiao Xingchen agreed instead, “I’m beginning to see that. Of course that doesn’t mean you don’t have a vile temper, that you don’t ever learn your lessons, or that you don’t sulk like a baby when I tell you no”

He was about to make one of his usual responses when the game of football moved closer and he clamped his lips closed on the curse.

There was a knowing, teasing look in the other’s eyes and as Xue Yang looked down into that finely-boned face he realised why the other’s good opinion had meant so much to him; why he was on tenterhooks whenever Xiao Xingchen was near, which was all the time at the moment, and why his pulse fluttered like his veins were full of butterflies whenever the other touched him. He was in love with Xiao Xingchen.

Well fuck.

***

Xue Yang paced around his hotel bedroom, feeling like a caged tiger. He wanted to destroy something. No, he really wanted a stiff drink.

Was he a masochist? What had made him fall in love with a man who knocked him around for fun? No of course that was unfair, Xiao Xingchen only ever restrained him and only when Xue Yang attacked first. Still, it must definitely be masochism.

Or Stockholm Syndrome; he had been at the mercy of the other, a virtual prisoner, for weeks now.

“I need a drink” he exclaimed aloud; and so he formulated a plan.

He took a quick shower and changed into something black and sexy and flashy, then he he called reception and asked for a taxi cab, and that they ring up to let him know when it had arrived.

He waited by his bedroom door, peeping through the tiniest opening for the phone to ring back; and as Xiao Xingchen got up from the couch to answer it he dashed out and past as silently as possible to give himself as much of a head-start as he could manage.

The doors of the elevator were closing just as he saw Xiao Xingchen enter the hallway and yell at him in rage.

He was in the taxi and away; his freedom all the sweeter for being carefully wrought.

***

Xue Yang was beginning to feel pleasantly buzzed and he was chatting quite happily with the guy who stood next to him at the bar of the VIP lounge. He’d been greeted by the usual crowd who hadn’t seen him around for the weeks he’d been kept prisoner, (OK maybe that was a little dramatic), but he’d never seen this guy before and new people were interesting.

Although he was beginning to get uncomfortable at how the other stared at him intently after he’d finished his drink.

He excused himself to “visit the bathroom” when life finally caught up with him. Life of course being Xiao Xingchen.

He pushed Xue Yang up against the wall of the corridor to the bathrooms, which was surprisingly currently empty.

“Hey” Xue Yang protested, although with alcohol relaxing his muscles it hadn’t really hurt as he hadn’t tensed for impact. Actually being pinned against the wall by the man you’d fallen in love with was quite nice. He had zero experience, bar some awkward kisses with a girl who’d known as little as him when he was younger, but apparently being manhandled was beginning to be something he enjoyed. Maybe because it was Xiao Xingchen though.

“I’d advise you to keep really quiet, I’m this close to spanking the living hell out of you” and really he’d never seen Xiao Xingchen’s deceptively delicate face so twisted in anger.

But of course alcohol impaired one’s judgement; to dangerous levels sometimes.

“Is that what you like?” he asked.

“What?” Xiao Xingchen was confused, his hand tightened on Xue Yang’s collar as if he suspected the other was planning something.

“Spanking, do you get off on it?”

“You really have no fucking self-preservation instincts do you?” Xiao Xingchen demanded and if Xue Yang hadn’t been so muddled due to the reaction of his body to the other, and the alcohol humming through his bloodstream he might have realised how much trouble he was in; he had never heard the other curse before in all their weeks together.

Instead he gave in to the urge pounding at the base of his brain, unable to control it anymore. He threw his arms around Xiao Xingchen’s neck and kissed him.

Well, it was clumsy and unskilled, but it probably still counted as a kiss.

He was pushed back against the wall unceremoniously, “What do you think you’re doing? You are my client. You are drunk. You are so out of line right now”

Of course he hadn’t really expected a different response. He somehow managed to pull himself free and stumbled back out into the VIP lounge.

Actually he seemed to be more drunk than he’d realised. He was suddenly barely able to control his body and he felt like his head was full of cotton wool. A hand touched his back, “Oh, you look terrible. Do you need to lie down? Should we get you out of here?” he was vaguely aware the voice wasn’t Xiao Xingchen’s, it belonged to the guy he’d been talking to at the bar, as he was guided towards the door but he really did need to lie down right now. He was about to nod his agreement when the supporting hand was violently removed.

“What the fuck did you give him?” that was Xiao Xingchen, although he couldn’t work out what the question meant. He felt the iron-grip of his security’s hand and he was pulled close to the other; he recognised the familiar scent of his aftershave and it set his mind at rest.

***

It had been days since the nightclub incident; and he’d managed to act completely clueless about the entire evening. In honesty there were huge swathes of Xue Yang’s memory that were completely blank, but he was cursed with vague recollection of him kissing Xiao Xingchen.

He wanted to die from embarrassment. He wanted to mope around at the rejection. He had to pretend like he was completely clueless about everything that happened though and let the other just write it off as a side effect of the Flunitrazepam the random guy at the nightclub had put in his drink.

He had been in touch with Jin Guangyao and begged the other to find him new security. He couldn’t carry on being around Xiao Xingchen all the time, feeling like he did, and scared to death he’d do something stupid to reveal his feelings in a way that couldn’t be pretended away like that stupid kiss.

He had faithfully promised he’d keep up the good behaviour Xiao Xingchen had bullied into him so long as Jin Guangyao replaced him with someone who wouldn’t cause Xue Yang such pain to have close.

His manager had promised to at least look into it.

Xue Yang didn’t realise he’d been wool-gathering in his head and managed to separate slightly from Xiao Xingchen and A-Qing until he saw a face in the crowd that made him uncomfortable.

He didn’t recognise the man but the fear that skittered down his spine was very real; he turned to try and get closer to Xiao Xingchen who called his name and dashed over; the flash he caught from the corner of his eye had him raising his arm in self-protection. He was dragged out of the way and thrown to the floor, catching nothing but a glancing blow as Xiao Xingchen took out the threat.

It was all very chaotic after that as the crowd helped keep the attacker captive until the police could arrive, and ambulance was also called as both he and Xiao Xingchen had taken knife wounds.

His was a cut to the arm that didn’t particularly bother him, it was the wound on Xiao Xingchen’s side that scared the life out of him. He used his folded jacket to keep pressure on the injury.

A-Qing fluttered around trying to get him to let someone else take over so they could do the same for his arm but he just waved her off; it was nothing.

“You really have no fucking self-preservation instincts” Xiao Xingchen told him in annoyance; luckily he seemed fully conscious at the moment.

“I know. I‘m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll be better from now on” he felt close to tears but fought them back brutally.

Xiao Xingchen nodded at what he said and looked into his eyes, “At least you’ll get your new bodyguard now, silver linings right?” he reached out with his left hand to thumb away one of the tears that Xue Yang hadn’t realised had escaped.

Fucking Jin Guangyao and his stupid big mouth.

“It’s for the best, xiao-Xue, in light of everything”

Which meant Xiao Xingchen was aware of his feelings and agreed the best way to deal with it was to move on. Well there went his dignity.

“You’re too precious for this cruel world in the limelight, anyway” Xue Yang tried to mock, his voice a little strangled.

“Which of us do you mean?” Xiao Xingchen asked and it was both an arrow to his heart and salve to his ego to hear such an opinion from the other.

He was glad when the paramedics had arrived and he was shuffled away to have his own wound dealt with so he could save some face. If the paramedic thought the tears were a reaction to the pain or shock of being attacked then good.

They were taken to a nearby hospital to be treated. Xue Yang’s cut needed a few stitches so he was ready to be sent away reasonably quickly, but he stayed in the waiting room until A-Qing came back to report Xiao Xingchen was fine, he’d be kept in for a few days as his would was deeper and nastier but he was stable and in no danger.

“Aren’t you going to visit before we go?” she asked, but he shook his head. And honestly she was smart enough that she probably knew what was going on and why he didn’t want to impose on the other. “Alright, lets get you back to the hotel. I think Jin Guangyao will be waiting, unfortunately, I can’t do anything to put him off this time”

Xue Yang sighed and accepted his fate.

One Month Later

The stage lights faded for the last time and he was finally able to slip offstage. He was lathered with sweat and completely exhausted. Xue Yang’s knife wound hadn’t been particularly deep or damaging but it was surprising how much it had knocked him down. He still tired out so much more easily than he was used to, but he hadn’t wanted to put this concert off, preferring to get it out of the way so he could take a holiday for a couple of weeks and use it to think about the next steps in his career, and indeed life, with nothing hanging over his head.

The man who had attacked them had been the same who had drugged his drink in the nightclub, although due to the effects Xue Yang couldn’t identify him; it had been lucky his subconscious had reacted to the man though, or it could have been so much worse.

He accepted the towel A-Qing held out for him as he met his entourage in the back stage passages and dried off, pulling on the coat she had also brought him.

There was an oddly smug look on her face and he questioned her.

“Nothing, just something funny is all” she refused to be drawn on what caused her to smile so.

They made it back to the dressing rooms and he was bundled inside.

He wondered, uncharitably, if she was on drugs.

“No rush, your car won’t be here for quite some time yet” A-Qing told him as she shut the door behind him and he turned to find his street clothes. Except he wasn’t alone.

Oh.

Suddenly he daren’t move from the doorway, not sure whether to tear it open and flee or move into the room and act like he wasn’t bothered in the slightest.

In the end he compromised, did nothing and stayed exactly where he was.

“Why are you here?” he tried to keep his voice steady, and luckily it didn’t shake too much.

“Why do you think?” Xiao Xingchen asked him.

#mdzs #mdzs fanfic #mdzs fic #xuexiao #xue yang #xiao xingchen #Modern AU #Bodyguard AU #Blood cw #injury cw #date-rape-drug cw #pining #one-sided feelings?

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awesometheydontknowiamhere · 6 years ago

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Store Bought Hugs

Diego Hargreeves X Plus Sized Female!Reader

Requested: Yes, by the lovely @reblogserpent

“ Idk if your requests are open If you write for Diego Hargreeves could you do a Diego x plus size reader where they are dating and he offers his sweatshirt to her but she doesn’t wanna wear it cause she’s scared you know cause afraid it’ll stretch or afraid it’ll look bad cause he’s so fit but in reality it would fit her fine and she starts to panic trying to like push him away when he’s trying to help idk just some fluff maybe his stutter in it idk. Thank you in advance”

Summary: Diego and his girlfriend go out on a long due date under the night sky when a cold breeze blows their way. Diego offers his sweatshirt like the true gentleman he is but his lady love is adamant and tries her best to not wear it lest it’s too small for her frame. A heartfelt conversation and a words of encouragement follow. Fluffy date night ends in smut with body positivity peppered in.

A/N: I hard for this one and I really hope that you like it. Writing request based fics is new to me but it’s also a healthy exercise for my writing muscles. Looking forward to your feedback.

Body image issues is something I am all too familiar with, so all my lovely girls and boys, we come in all size and shapes because each of us are crafted and not printed from moulds. Stay proud of your mortal shells, but always remember it’s the inside that counts.

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy

Pairing: Diego Hargreaves X Plus Size Reader

Word count: 1484

Warning: None, really. Just mentions of insecurity, slight body image issues. Kissing and nothing more. Mentions of smut (very brief)

Taglist: @wh3n-1t-ra1ns-1t-p0urs @imultifandomstuff @w0nder-marie @chloemac86 @theladywholivesonthemoon @hemogobllin @pansexualpaperdragons @gorgeourrific-nerd @purplezebra68 @vividholland @bands-and-shietz @onlydeanandjensen @slither-in-a-half @reblogserpent @missscarlett1802 @lovelyheadrush @mrsdiegohargreeves @mrsdiegohargreeves @katylovescats @vividholland @lilithsweetghost @ynm1505 @siriusjohnpotter @ratfuckb0y @loulouloueh

________________________________________________________________

You looked around you, soaking up the sight of your stunning boyfriend and the star-studded night sky. You were well-fed, well-loved and incredibly happy in that moment.

"What are you thinking about?"

Diego kissed your knuckles as he waited for your answer.

"Just looking for words to express my gratitude," you said smiling softly at him. He had truly gone above and beyond with the planning an dexecution of your highly anticipated date night. His dark, leathered exterior was in stark contrast to the plaid sheet and the wicker basket which had held an assortment of fruits coated in chocolate, quiche and a decadent chocolate cake.

"Just tell me you're happy and that's all the thanks I could ever want. After not seeing enough of you for nearly month, this is the least I could do. Maybe you could pay me with that body of yours," he said with a wink. You bit your lip and blushed.

"How did you even discover this place?"

"Being a vigilante comes with a few perks. I get to explore every nook and cranny of the city and that's how I stumbled upon this gem," he said motioning his hand towards the trees around you and the cloud-free night sky above you.

"It's breathtaking, but not as breathtaking as you," you said with a smile.

A quick blush crept up his cheecks. "Oh, th-thanks, Y/N. Tha-that's sweet of you," he stammered.

Compliments sometimes caught him off-guard and you loved that yu could see the effect of your words so directly on him.

You leaned into him to kiss him and he met you halfway, burrowing his hands in your hair. Your palms rested against his firm chest as his tongue snaked into your mouth. A cold breeze caressed your skin and you mentally kicked yourself for wearing a flimsy sundress. It had seemed like a wise choice in the evening, the idea of a picnic in the moonlight with your dress flowing softly around your thighs.

"Baby, are you cold?"

Diego rubbed his warm palms over your exposed arms and you basked in his heat before sitting up straight. You shook your head side to side to indicate no. Another wave of cold air hit you and your skin broke out in goosebumps.

Diego raised his eyebrow at that, an all-knowing grin playing at his lips.

"Let me get something for you," he said as he dove into the duffel bag containing all the picnic supplies.

To your utter dismay, he fished out his midnight blue sweatshirt. You controlled your face to not give away your worries, but that was proving harder than you had anticipated. You simply could not ignore your body and how it would either mess up his sweatshirt or worse, not fit at all.

You were larger than most girls depicted in media and you had made peace with it. Your curves defined you, your softness an added charm to your personality. Sadly, on some occasions the cruel voice of societal beauty standards crept into your mind, filling you with doubt and a sliver of shame. It was the same voice which forbade from wearing swimsuits during pool parties in college, that told you to wear dark colours because they have a slimming effect and stopped you from ordering anything that wasn't a salad. It was currently telling you that there was no way in hell you were going to fit into Diego's sweatshirt.

Diego scooted over to you, laying the garment on your lap.

"Umm, thanks but it's okay Diego, I am not cold anymore," you said through imperceptibly gritted teeth.

"Come on babe, you know I am not letting my angel freeze in the cold night air," he said sticking to his guns.

You looked up at the sky and begged the universe to keep you tears-free.

"I am fine, I don't need your sweatshirt," you said trying to be a little rough with him so that he would quit it.

It would have worked, it really would had you not subconcioulsy wrapped your arms around yourself.

"Y/N, angel, I know for a fact that you're cold right now. Why won't you take this?" He sounded genuinely upset and curious, but there was no possible way for you to explain your apprehension without him thinking you were an insecure mess.

You took in a deep breath and closed your eyes.

"I don't think it will fit," you said in a low voice. He was silent and you wondered if he hadn't heard you. You weren't going to repeat yourself, that was for sure.

He lifted you chin up and fixed his eyes on your face.

“Is that what this is about? You’re sitting here, shivering, and freezing your butt off because you think you might not fit into my clothes?”

You winced as you heard him say it out loud, your insecurity laid bare in front of you. You started backing away from him, removing his hand from your face.

“Baby, I am not done here,” he said, firmly planting his knee on the edge of your dress.

“Let it go, Diego. It’s not going to fit, I know my body. It’s not the first time and it’s definitely not the last,” you said, accepting defeat.

He held your hand and tucked your hair behind your ear.

“You’re being silly, angel. I know your body too and I promise it will fit. I am going to turn around and you’re going to put this on. If you want to keep it on or take it of regardless of it fits or not is up to you. Just please, try it,” he said, almost begging.

With that he turned around, facing the trees. You understood his desperate attempt to build your confidence and you just wanted to make him smile.

You glanced at the garment lying beside you. A lifetime passed and you picked it up. Your heart was pounding, fighting for dominance against the voices in your head. You quelled them both and slipped it over your head. You were shocked as it flowed smoothly over your curves not finding resistance anywhere.

It smelled of Diego, a heavenly cocktail of all things manly and intense. It felt warm and soft over your prickled skin, almost like a store-bought hug from him.

“Diego,” you called out to him, a quiver in your voice.

He turned and looked at you, his eyes lighting up with a smile. His hands went up to your neck and pulled out your hair from inside the neckline. He placed a quick kiss on your lips and leaned back to admire you.

“Thank you,” you said, thanking for both, the garment and the borrowed confidence.

“Thank you for trusting me, angel,” he said, toying with a chunk of your hair.

“Can I ask you something? You can tell to piss of if you don’t want to answer.”

You nodded with a smile.

“What happened to you just now? I have never seen you like this. Where did all the doubt come from, angel?”

I don’t know, I just realized I wasn’t as tiny or as petite as most girls, so I thought I didn’t want to ruin or stretch out your clothes,” you said, not quite meeting is eyes.

“Okay, first of all, not everybody is built the same. And where you’re using the term not tiny, I prefer words lush, addictive, inviting and sinfully sensual. Where would I be with your soft cuddles and warm heat to come home to?”

You felt a smile tugging at your lips and you moved with him to lie down on your backs, looking up at the sky.

“Let me hit you with facts now. I easily tower over you and my shoulders are any day broader than yours. Simple math, angle,” he said, tapping you on the nose.

“I am sorry I dampened the mood,” you whispered, a wave of guilt passing over you.

“You couldn’t do that even if you tried. Don’t you know, you’re too adorable for that?” he said turning to face you.

His thumb brushed your cheek as both of looked at each other. You bit your lip and he whispered, “Have I told you how incredible you look in my clothes?”

He rose up on his elbows and kissed your pulse point on the neck. “The things I want to do to you, knowing that you’re wearing my clothes. It’s almost like you’re declaring yourself mine all over again.”

His tongue continued to explore your neck as he hooked your legs at his waist. Your breath hitched and you let out a whimper as he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth. His hands went to your full hips, stroking your curve over the soft fabric.

As he bunched up the fabric over your hips, you realized maybe wearing a dress wasn’t such a bad idea.

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imaginationlane · 5 years ago

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The Assistant [Part 7 of ? // Bill Skarsgard x Reader Imagine]

Warnings: Adult Language / Themes, Angst, Sexually Suggestive References & Minimal Gore References (in relation to a dream / nightmare sequence).

Author’s Notes: Because I know that a lot of you have been waiting forever for this, I am back and I am so sorry for the wait. This chapter was supposed to be posted a little while ago, but I wanted to tweak it as this chapter will be important, and has major plot developments -- that will have an effect on future chapters. Plus, the wonderful, talented and amazing @andthereisawoman just recently created a new cover for this fic for me -- that I can’t stop marveling at! How wonderful is this new cover, guys? I’m in love, and I’ve officially found my forever cover lol.

As for this chapter: I will say this, it opens up with a dream / nightmare sequence in Bill's POV -- and the nightmare sequence alone has given me the most hell with this chapter. You guys have no earthly idea how much of a fight that this one scene gave me, for an entire year lol.

Also, the nightmare sequence sort of plays into the fact that Bill admitted shortly after the first IT movie came out, that he had nightmares for a few weeks after filming. While this nightmare will not be centric to the IT film in any way, I can say that the stress of playing such a complex character, and well... an affair, are heavily contributing factors in this scene in the story.

Finally, I’d like to give a big “thank you” to @theswedishblonde for her time in translating several of these dialog lines into Swedish for me. I really and truly, couldn’t do this without their help, and I sincerely appreciate the time they afford to me, whenever I need their help!

I’d also like to publicly thank @poeedamerons & @greenofallshades for literally putting up with my incessant back and forth on this nightmare sequence -- for the past year on Whatsapp lol. Also not tagged (because she’s not here on Tumblr), but no less important, Tav!

Musical Inspiration: I Still Wait For You by: XYLO

Missed the previous chapters and need to catch up? Please check out The Assistant -- Masterlist, here.

Summary:

A night out on the town for a few drinks, was all I had signed up for. But in reality… I got way more than I had ever bargained for when my boss and close personal friend, Bill Skarsgard, asked me to join him during a wrap party that the crew was hosting that night. In hindsight, I should have seen this coming. After all, we were both having issues in our own respective relationships and for some reason, we had found it easier to just confide in each other – rather than in our own significant others. Yet in the end, do the reasons ever truly matter when you begin an affair with your friend who also happens to be your boss? I often ask myself just how selfish could we be; he and I? The answer is: we’re completely selfish and neither of us really cares if this secret burns us alive – because it’s within each other, that we have finally found the things we had been looking for the whole time…

___

Stockholm, Sweden --

Feather-light kisses sprinkled themselves carelessly, all over Bill's shoulders and chest, as he began to stir out of his sleep. Gently luring him out of his serene slumber, a pressing weight could be felt on top of him, as he shifted his body to stretch out on the mattress slightly. Soon enough though, those sweet innocent kisses that he felt tickling against his skin, turned into open-mouthed pecks; leaving a small trail of saliva exposed to the open air. Closer and closer, the affectionate kisses drifted towards his mouth before finally -- Bill opened one eye and peeked at the woman who was adorning his body so tenderly with affection, this morning. Y/N's hair was marginally messy, but in spite of that minuscule detail, she was still a vision of absolute beauty to him. A content sigh filtered through his nose, while a peaceful smile inched its way across his face.

"Good morning to you too," he mumbled gingerly, as she peered up at him and returned his smile with one of her own.

"Mmmm... Good morning baby."

He could tell by her voice that she was perfectly happy, and had probably been awake a little longer than he had. In this perfect moment, there were no worries and absolutely no stress; it was just tranquil bliss. Everything with her was so easy. It always had been, and he was legitimately sorry that it had taken him so long to see it; yet, it was undeniable to him that he was happy that he had finally gotten out of his own way -- and made her his.

Streams of golden sunlight poured through the flimsy and airy curtains, while a gentle breeze blew into the room from the cracked bedroom window. Their home was one he didn't completely recognize, but instinctively, he knew it was theirs. It was a perfect late spring morning, and he could almost smell the scent of freshly cut grass lingering in the air. The tranquilizing sound from the wind chimes outside, meandered throughout the room, as he took a deep breath in from his nostrils; feeling the air expand in his chest. He could smell her faint perfume from the night before; and it instantly made him want her in the worst way -- all over again. Judging from her actions, however, he deduced that he wasn't the only one in the mood again this morning.

Grabbing her face with both hands, he pulled Y/N up towards him -- closing the gap between them and kissed her ever so affectionately. Bill could feel her relax into his warm embrace; coxing out a renewed spark of passion from him. Her breathy little moan, virtually undid him right then and there as his tongue intertwined with hers. Before he knew it, he pushed her down on the bed and hovered over her perfect body that he couldn't get nearly enough of. Y/N broke the kiss just long enough to pull her tank top over her, and Bill was more than pleased to assess that she wasn't wearing a bra. For a moment, he closely contemplated telling her that there was a new rule between them: She was no longer allowed to wear any bras. It had to be considered a crime against nature to keep something as magnificent as her breasts, hidden under such an annoying and burdensome garment.

Returning his attention to the task at hand, Bill's lust-filled eyes wandered back to the gorgeous woman in his arms; a woman he simply couldn't function without -- no matter how hard he tried. Her breath came out as ragged pants and gasps, as he continued kissing her neck and working his way down to her perfectly shaped peaks.

"As much as I'm enjoying this attention, and trust me Bill, I'm enjoying the hell out of this -- I did leave our breakfast on the stove," she hummed softly, hoping to divert his attention away from his task.

Begrudgingly, he pulled away; not wanting to actually stop just yet -- but willing to do so if she insisted.

"Is it still cooking or is it already made, and just waiting on us? Because if it's already done, I don't see why we just can't keep going," he chuckled lightly, causing her to giggle as well. Gingerly, she pushed him back once more.

"It's still cooking, babe. I just came in here to wake you up. But I'll make you a deal... I'll go finish preparing the rest of our breakfast, without my top on -- and you can even watch. Deal?"

He had to admit, the promise of watching her prepare breakfast topless, was a tempting prospect indeed.

"Fine," he sighed tiredly, moving off towards the side and allowing her to get up. Y/N slid off of the bed, leaving her shirt abandoned on the floor; just as she had previously promised with a wicked little glint in her eyes.

"Get up slowpoke, you don't want to miss out on this..." She teased back, hoping to coax him out of bed faster.

Bill smirked at her; stretching his long limbs across the bed as he watched her tiptoe out of the bedroom. The muscles in her back flexed elegantly, while she made her way out the door and into the hallway -- closing the bedroom door behind her. Running a hand over his face, he laid there for a moment trying to collect himself before heading out to join her. After all, she did leave him in a semi-hard state, and he was tempted to follow her out there and bend her over the kitchen counter to take care of this pesky problem. Smirking to himself, he couldn't get over how lucky he felt in that moment. She was here, with him, and there was nothing in this world that could kill this joyous feeling he felt. Everything felt whole and right within the world.

Y/N was perfect in every single way, and she was finally his. He had been waiting for what seemed like an eternity for this; and If the rest of his life would play out this way, then Bill found himself hard-pressed to find anything to complain about...

Throwing the covers off of his slender, yet muscular body, he sat straight up and tossed his legs off the side of his bed -- running his right hand through his messy bed hair. The moment his bare feet touched the floor, it was only then that he noticed the entire floor was soaked through with murky water. Finding himself absolutely perplexed by this, he leaned his head off to the side -- trying to discern what exactly was going on.

"Y/N? Why is the floor all wet?" He curiously called out to his lover.

However a moment or two went by, and there was no response at all; which was highly unusual.

"Y/N?" He hollered out once more, hoping to grab her attention. And yet again, there was no reply.

Now, Bill was finding himself feeling apprehensive at the situation.

Where the hell was she?

Soon thereafter, he gave up hope that she would even return to their room; so he stood up and proceeded to walk over towards the bedroom door; all the while, dirty water sloshed around his feet -- causing him to grimace. But it wasn't until the very second, once he opened that wooden bedroom door, that he knew something was inherently and terribly wrong.

It took more than a moment for the sights, sounds and smells to genuinely register within his mind; regardless, once they did – there was truly no mistaking the atrociously horrifying scene that laid before him. Everything that had once resembled the hallway in their shared home, was gone. Instead, it looked as if either a bomb had gone off, or a storm had come through and ripped their home to shreds. Large parts of the wall were either cracked, knocked over and completely blackened. Broken picture frames were either smashed on the floor, with glass shattered like intricate spider webs in the frames or hanging lopsided on the only parts of the walls that were left standing. Wires that were once hidden away, out of sight and out of mind, were now exposed and dangling carelessly from the ceiling; and randomly placed holes seemed to have appeared in different parts of that very same roof -- from out of nowhere. Electrical sparks shot freely from the exposed wires and flew only a few precious feet ahead; their loud pops and bright flashes caused him to jump back violently and turn his face away momentarily.

For the life of him, he couldn't figure out what had happened or even how he had even missed it happening. He should have heard the unmistakable sounds of his house being ripped apart, shouldn’t he? None of it made any sense, and he was left second-guessing himself on if he was actually seeing all of this.

"What the f..."

He couldn't even finish his sentence before the shock finally began to set in, and the bone-crushing chill in the air made the hairs on his arms stand at attention. Something wasn't right about this, and now, he was beginning to feel afraid for both himself and Y/N. Eventually, he took a hesitant step forward, causing the water that swished around his bare feet to echo slightly in the darkened and damaged corridor. Once he took another step ahead though, the bedroom door that he had just walked out of slammed shut behind him with a resounding and thunderous bang -- causing him to leap back into the nearest wall. With his heart hammering wildly within his chest, his eyes glanced back at the door in wide-eyed surprise. After he managed to take a brief moment to calm his nerves, he rushed back over to the door trying to open it, only to discover that it wouldn't budge. It was well and truly stuck; almost as if someone had sealed it shut -- from the inside.

No matter how hard he tugged, pushed, pulled or rammed his shoulder against the door -- it refused to give. Bill soon found himself surrendering hope on the idea of trying to get the door to open for him again, and instead, he turned his attention back to the eerily dark and smelly hallway before him. The odors that hit him were rancid and offensive; practically singeing off his nose hairs, and if he had to take a guess, he wouldn't be surprised if the wastewater from the sewer had managed to get backed up into the house -- thanks to whatever had caused all of the damage that he saw all around him. Treading lightly and thoughtfully, he decided to press on and try to locate Y/N and find out what exactly happened here.

"Alright, pull your shit together," his quiet words, served as the only other sound around him with the obvious exception of the electrical pops being thrown off from the nearby wires. Without a shadow of a doubt, he swiftly figured out that he needed to get his bearings in order if he had any hope of making it out of here alive. "You're going to find Y/N, and you're going to get the hell out of here." Yet, in the grand scheme of it all, he wasn't entirely sure if his words were meant to convince himself that things weren't as bad as they looked -- or if they were meant to be a source of self-comfort instead.

Large chunks of knocked over drywall, littered and blocked his path; meaning he would have to crawl over certain spots in order to make it to the other parts of the house. To make matters worse, a haze of smoke filled the small area, making it increasingly more difficult to breathe or see. Nor was that even mentioning the fact that he carefully needed to navigate around the loosing and hanging wires, that were in his way. One wrong move and he could either get a cut on his foot from something hidden in the water, accidentally electrocute himself, or potentially fall over something laying across the walkway. Nevertheless, with his mind made up, he gently prodded his foot forward in order to feel around before taking his next step; hoping that nothing would nic or cut himself in the process.

More statically charged, popping noises exploded from the looming and threatening wires nearby. Just when he thought the situation couldn't get any worse, he noticed how low one of the wires on his left, was hanging dangerously close to the wet floor. Refusing to take any chances at becoming electrocuted, he hastened his efforts to make it past the first piece of wall that was blocking his path. Luckily for him, it was only slanted against the other wall that sat on the opposite side. And as it turned out, this piece would be a lot easier to get by, because all he had to do was duck down and crawl underneath it.

He felt his stomach grow queasy at the idea of crawling through potential wastewater, but the fear of potential death was an excellent motivator in getting Bill to tough it out and complete the simple task that laid before him.

Once his hands hit the water, he had to stop for a minute to give his shaky limbs time to adjust to the temperature. The water felt frigid to the touch, and it was a miracle that his feet hadn't gone numb already. Determination propelled him forward, and steadily, he slid his hands onward under the water; mindfully looking out for any objects that could likely injure him. As soon as he emerged out from under the large piece of drywall, he stood back up and attempted to wipe the gunk from his hands and on his soaked, flannel pajama pants. Of course, it had been in vain, but he couldn't think about that at the moment; there other more pressing matters to worry about.

Coincidentally, there weren't as many exposed wires the further he drifted down the hall, but there were more fragments of burnt cream-colored drywall and wood, that was obstructing the pathway. The next two pieces were large, cracked and sitting side by side, and they required him to meticulously crawl over them -- without possibly falling through and hurting himself on whatever lied underneath. Parts of the insulation were strewn about all over the place, and the smoke was making it harder to breathe. It was a painstakingly slow process, but he managed to lay his body flat against the piece of plaster and wood; pulling himself across the planks with ease.

After he made it over the obstacles and back on his feet, the film of unforgiving smoke started to miraculously dissipate; thankfully allowing him to see a boldly, extravagant tree -- standing right in front of him. Bill stood there with his mouth gaping, feeling dumbfounded and transfixed at the mighty and wondrous sign of life before him; all the while trying to specifically figure out how a fully grown tree -- managed to grow in the middle of his fucking house. It stood there vibrantly, with its dark green leaves standing out brilliantly in a perfect juxtaposition to the wasted wreckage that laid all around him. Instantly giving in to his more inquisitive nature, he seemingly forgot the need to be conscious of where he stepped, as he made his way over towards the tree. It was only after he stepped closer to it, that he realized that it was actually an apple tree.

The magnificent apple tree had have been just over 30 feet tall, with ripe fruit good for the taking. In a moment of all-encompassing awe, he reached out with his right hand and plucked down the first captivating apple that caught his eye. The fruit was a beautiful scarlet red in color, and heavy to the touch. Without even thinking, he was overwhelmed with the urge to take a bite; but before he could -- another apple also snagged his wayward attention. Suddenly, he extended his left hand up and picked off the fruit from the branch as well. This particular one may have been smaller in size, but it was no less pretty or appealing to him.

He stared in fascination, at the apples in both of his hands, utterly blown away by the fact that something so amazing could survive whatever happened here.

It was only after he let out a sigh, that he finally heard it. A noise so uncharacteristic and out of place, that he had to wonder if he had only imagined it.

Quietly, he listened to the sounds that were taking place all around him -- noticing that something was off in the atmosphere. It took a few seconds, but he finally heard that peculiar noise again. It sounded as if something was weakly tapping against a hallowed surface. Curiosity got the better of him, effectively causing him to turn his head to look over his right shoulder. Sure enough, sitting behind the dark, overcast shadows of the room, there was a closed-door that appeared to slightly jolt forward against the frame -- every time the knocking was heard. Inching closer to it, he tried to remain as silent as possible while straining to hear the sound once more. He couldn't be certain if there was a person in there or not. Just as he arrived in front of the door, a loud whisper broke through the intense silence of the room; forcing him to halt in his tracks.

"Don't look back."

The whispered command startled him; causing him to turn his gaze downward in an attempt to subtly peek back over his shoulder. The energy in the room had changed ominously, whilst the air began cackling all around him; practically demanding him to fight against the urge to shut his own eyes. However, the millisecond his glossy eyes drifted down, it was then that he saw the haunting sight that he never expected to encounter. There, in his own hands were no longer two lovely apples he had picked earlier, but instead -- were two warm, slimy and crimson-stained human hearts. A terrified scream tore from his lips; causing him to drop the bloodied hearts into the murky water below -- and turn back around to find the most horrific display he had ever seen in his life...

The once pristine apple tree he was staring at not only one minute ago, was now dead. The leaves and apples had fallen off and onto the greywater saturated floor; instead, what was hanging on two strongest branches in their place -- were the deceased bodies of Y/N and Natalia. Both women looked to be hanging by their necks. Their chests appeared to be hacked open and exposed, with blood still dripping down the front of their white-colored dresses. Horrified by what was happening, Bill quickly stepped back; unable to comprehend the ghastly situation that was playing out in front of his very eyes. His left foot, caught on one of the hearts that was laying behind him, causing him to lose his footing and topple backward; landing harshly on his backside in the filthy water. The confusion and despair that shot through his mind, was raw and unparalleled.

This felt real, too real; and he was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack as he realized that when he took what he thought to be apples from this tree -- he was actually ripping their hearts directly from their chests.

Thanks to the horrendous vision in front of him, he couldn't breathe -- much less process what was happening. His eyes filled with tears, as the numbness silently crept in. The skin on both ladies was pale and void of any signs of life, plus their hair was matted to their heads. If he had to take a guess at how long they had been displayed in that tree, Bill would have assumed they had been dead for hours. Blood was splattered haphazardly across their faces, as their toes were tipped and pointed to the ground. He felt his own stomach bile beginning to rise up to his mouth; leaving an unpleasant burning sensation, scratching at the back of his throat -- yearning for an impromptu escape. The tragically twisted view before him had robbed him of all rational, and sensible thought, as he peered up at their lifeless bodies -- and screamed out once more.

Abruptly, and with next to no warning whatsoever, Natalia's eyes snapped open; causing Bill to jump back and let out another scared and confused yelp. Her light grey, cataracted eyes, drew his attention away from the gaping hole in her chest where her heart used to be.

"Come back to me, Bill."

Her voice was strained, while she struggled to call out to him.

He inched closer to her bruised and battered body, whilst wondering how just how on Earth she could even be alive. Those few precious steps, though, were all it took; allowing Natalia to finally reach out and grab his shoulder in her vice-like, death grip -- causing him to cry out in pain, as her nails embedded themselves deep within his tender flesh.

"Come back!"

___

Sitting in her living room, Natalia was calmly smoking a cigarette and watching the smoke waft around, silently drifting deftly out of the window -- and into the cool and dampened, pre-dawn air. She rarely smoked inside her home, but at the moment she didn't particularly care about abiding by her day to day rules. If anything, she needed the preferred release that only nicotine could provide for her nerves. While she snuggled further down comfortably in her favorite chair, she watched the glowing purple and pink hues, light up the early morning skies above her.

A huge part of her plan, would be going into effect today; and depending upon Bill's reaction to what she had coming -- it would also determine if she managed to adequately see the rest of her plan through or not. There was a relatively sizeable chance, that after she enacted this crucial part of her plan -- he could end up splitting up with her. However, it didn't matter because this was a risk she had to take. Admittedly, some part of her, sincerely wondered if he would even do such a thing. He had been home for well over a week and a half now, and he hadn't bothered to end things with her yet. She couldn't help but wonder why.

Why was he dragging ass on this?

It was a question that had been burning in the back of her mind lately. In her view, it was obvious to her from the start, that he had always had long-buried feelings for Y/N. The fact that he hadn't mentioned one measly thing to her about taking a break, being unfaithful, or splitting up for good since he had been back home -- had made her insanely curious into his reasons on why he was staying quiet about this.

Was there a part of him that had legitimately grown to love her? Was he having trouble coming to grips with what he had done to their relationship? Was he feeling guilty about what had happened, and was it eating him alive? She pettily hoped so. More importantly, did he have hidden doubts about Y/N? There had to be a reason, some semblance of an explanation there, and he was doing a great job at leaving her in the dark -- which was not something Natalia appreciated in the slightest.

These days, she had elected to sleep on the couch; pretending to be catching up with her work and wanting to get things done while she had the chance to do so. Thus, in the process, giving herself ample time and space away from Bill -- in order to sort herself out. Actually attaining any sleep though, was practically impossible; and these days, it was beginning to show. However, she was talented enough at masking the dark circles under eyes with concealer and other makeup products, all the while maintaining her regular schedule of activities and appearances. Ever since the first night he arrived back to her shared apartment, and she had attempted to lightly seduce him into bed and he shot the idea down, only for her to discover the reasons why in Ace's email to her after he left their apartment -- she had decided to distance herself from the idea of being intimate with him anyway. It would only put both of them in an awkward position; one that not even she was ready to face herself. Natalia knew he would possibly rebuff her advances if she made any further attempts, making them both feel uncomfortable and embarrassed; plus, she was no longer in a frame of mind to allow him to touch her. He had betrayed her trust, and while she wasn't entirely innocent over the course of their relationship and she acknowledged that to herself privately -- she didn't exactly feel right about rewarding his shitty behavior with sex either.

Not to mention, he wasn't even fucking smart enough to not get himself caught.

The thought alone, caused her to roll her eyes in annoyance.

Over the past several days, her mentally exhausting anguish was beginning to morph into silent fury and anger. If she could get through the rest of this day, with their relationship still intact, then she stood a chance of making sure that she could end this bullshit affair of his -- once and for all. By the time she would be done, Bill's choice would be made for him. And if she were lucky, she would be getting Y/N out of the picture for good.

From across the hall, it was the sound of strained moaning coming from the bedroom, startled her out of her perpetual trance-like state. Remarkably, the noises had sounded as though Bill were distressed. Natalia quickly stubbed out her half-smoked cigarette, tossing it outside and closing her window, as she silently tip-toed over to their shared bedroom door. Leaning her head against the door, her eyes fluttered shut as she concentrated on listening to what was going on inside the bedroom. The moans were becoming progressively more distressed. Going against her better judgment, she slowly clasped the brass handle within her small hand and opened the door -- taking in the scene before her. Bill was laying on their bed, tossing and thrashing about, almost as if he were trapped inside of another hellish nightmare. He had been having them a lot more frequently over the past week. For a second, she wondered just how much his role of playing a psychopathic, child-eating clown in a horror movie -- had potentially messed with his head.

If that were the case, it could certainly explain some of the changes in his behavior recently...

Thinking quickly on her feet, she briskly walked over to his side of the bed and snapped on the bedside lamp sitting neatly on top of her black nightstand. She reached out timidly and slowly began to rub his shoulder; calling out his name.

"Baby, wake up. You're having a bad dream," she mumbled quietly, trying not to startle him out of his dream. It took a few moments, but it finally worked.

Bill shot straight up in the bed, gasping for much-needed air and clawing at his chest. His heart thundered wildly against the breastplate of his chest, and he felt beads of sweat pouring down his face. Off to his left, he saw her... Natalia. And thankfully, she was alive and well.

"Hey, it's me! Calm down! Du har bara haft en mardröm, du kommer bli bra," Natalia tenderly assured him as she pulled herself closer to him, if only in order to help him realize that he wasn't dreaming anymore. Noticing that he was squinting while he attempted to look over at her, she reached back over to the lamp -- quickly snapping it back off as to not hurt his delicate, sleep-ridden eyes.

As furious as Natalia had been with Bill over the past few days, since she found out about his affair with his assistant, she did feel some slight remorse that he was having recurring nightmares over the past several nights. It was obvious to her that his role, of playing Pennywise, had taken a lot out of him -- both mentally and physically.

A part of her, felt a tad bit silly for even caring about his comfort at the moment; particularly given what she had just found out only a week or so prior. But the other half of her, even through the indescribable anger she felt churning away below the surface, did still care about him. At the moment, however, she had to push those warring feelings to the side, because it was imperative that she keep up the appearance -- at all costs.

"Baby, it's okay. Du är säker," she cooed faintly, pulling him into her embrace.

Bill, on the other hand, didn't catch onto her conflicting temperament. His mind was still racing, from the awful things he had experienced, and his breathing was still erratic. He felt her rubbing relaxing circles against his back, as his head rested against her shoulder; graciously taking a free moment of the peaceful serenity she offered to him.

"I'm sorry, Nat."

If she weren't paying attention at the time, she would have nearly missed his softly whispered apology. It was so faint that for a second -- she began to second guess her own hearing. His apology startled her; capturing her completely off guard and totally unaware. Her eyes widened in shock and surprise, causing her hand that was continuously rubbing soothing circles on his back -- to falter for a moment.

"Allt är bra, kom tillbaka till mig."

Almost as if on cue, a sweeping feeling of guilt started to creep into the deepest recesses of his very mind. As much as he cared for her, she wasn't Y/N. And it began to feel wrong to even take comfort in Natalia's reassuring arms. Taking solace in her embrace, wouldn't make what he needed to do, any easier -- in fact, it would be much harder on them both. In spite of that though, he couldn't deny that they did have a complex history together too.

Natalia had surprised him at a time when he least suspected it was possible. She had conveniently arrived in a disastrously messy period in his life, when he had all but given up on the idea of being able to find someone to take his mind off of the one woman he couldn't seem to have. Back then Y/N had John, who was an utter fool that couldn't even appreciate how good he genuinely had it with her, and even though that bastard didn't deserve her for a number of reasons, some that she wasn't even aware of yet, she appeared to be happy with him at that point in her life. It wasn't until shortly after he had gotten with Natalia, that he figured out just how wrong he was in that assessment on Y/N and John's relationship. Even with that knowledge, however, he couldn't bring himself to be selfish with her back then because her happiness actually meant something to him. But somehow, that managed to change for him recently. Now that things had changed and he had Y/N's affections, he knew it wouldn't be able to give it up. She was like a drink of fresh water, on a hot summer's day. There was no way in hell, he was passing up this opportunity to make her his.

When Natalia had shown up at that holiday party he was reluctantly attending, it had seemed like fate had opened up a new door full of opportunities and possibilities. Slowly, but ever so surely -- Bill found himself captivated by her charm and opening himself up to her. It was remarkable in the wonderfully unpredictable way that she managed to weave herself into his life. He couldn't lie, in the beginning, it felt as easy as breathing and he felt as if maybe he could finally get over the fact that he would never have Y/N. Admittedly, he would pull back at times, in the beginning, owing to the fact that it kind of freaked him out just how easy it was to turn to her in his moments of weakness. It was a feeling he wasn't quite used to with anyone else, outside of Y/N. But Natalia wasn't deterred by his reluctance, and she knew exactly how to push him out of his more elusive shell. It was something he had found himself respecting about her... At first.

As time went on though, certain things began to shift between them and it took a while for him to notice the things he had either never observed before -- or had simply overlooked during the time. While it was no secret that Natalia had an unrelenting Type-A personality, and it worked to her favor because she was smart enough to hone in on her emotions, it was also something that Bill really wasn't about on his own individual level. He gravitated more towards being a little more laid back, but also kept himself astonishingly well-organized. He went with the flow of the situations around him, whilst respecting the fluidity that life naturally offered; plus he liked to rationalize his decisions prior to making them, while quickly improvising and thinking on his feet when things changed -- much like Y/N did. It was a major reason why they worked together on both a professional and personal level. Their temperaments and approaches in life, were synced up and matched on a staggering level. Natalia, on the other hand, was incredibly analytical and tactical in her thinking, so when plans changed, she didn't like it as she generally strived to have control over a situation. Surprises tended to make her quite moody. In fact, just about two weeks ago, he had to talk her out of taking him on an impromptu trip to Greece -- when he had gotten back home.

She wanted a take him on a romantic getaway, just for the two of them with no distractions, within a day of him flying back home. It should have been obvious that it may have been cutting it a little close, however, the thought of that flew right over Natalia's head -- or she didn't care. On the other side of this proverbial two-headed coin, while he acknowledged that it was a sweet gesture, Bill had also wanted to spend time with his friends and family at home; catching up with the people he had missed for the past few months, due to his filming schedule. When he told her he was unsure about her idea to travel so far away from home, she didn't exactly take it too well. Of course, it should have gone without saying that the conversation had broken down into another strenuously heated argument between them. It was commonplace at this point. Natalia needed to have control over every situation; and it was something that, more often than not -- had rubbed Bill the wrong way over the past year. At times, he felt her incessant need to have total control over every minuscule aspect of their daily lives and activities, became downright disrespectful; made him feel kind of like his voice shouldn't fundamentally matter. Moreover, it was getting especially annoying since their disagreements almost always were dissolving into screaming matches; matches that left him feeling drained and where he would have to be the first one to apologize -- even when it wasn't his fault. It felt as if she couldn't accept any faults in the issues at hand, and it had been taking its toll on him.

His problem though, was that he hadn't properly communicated any of this. The only time he had said anything to her, was in the middle of their epic meltdowns. Bill was now realizing just how badly he fucked up, and it wasn't a smooth pill to swallow or digest.

This wasn't even counting the times she tried to ask him to get rid of Y/N as an assistant, or to essentially break their ties of friendship altogether. Those requests alone, back in the beginning when Natalia sincerely didn't have anything to worry about back then seeing as Y/N was wrapped up in a committed relationship, damn near drove him up a wall.

Nor, was he even mentioning the fact that over the past few months, she had been putting an astronomical amount of pressure on him to start house hunting with her; as if he didn't already have a jam-packed schedule as it was -- this new issue began to spark off new arguments too. Since their engagement, which was quickly becoming the biggest regret he had in all of this, getting him to commit to buying a new home with her had become her top priority recently and her reasoning was solid on the surface: If they would be getting married, it made perfect sense for them to buy a house together.

Bill understood that, on the surface level. It was the logical next step after all. And he would also be lying if he didn't admit that something was holding him back. He wasn't committing to it, even before things with Y/N started evolving to where they were right now.

Had they really both inherently doomed their relationship, from the start? Bill was beginning to suspect they had. His role, however, was entirely on him. His reluctance to pull the trigger, put his foot down and be more open with his himself, his emotions and face every single little thing he was thinking, feeling and experiencing in between -- that was all on him. That part, would never be on Natalia or Y/N. He needed to own up to that, or else he was doomed to repeat the same mistakes.

He knew what he had to do, but as he thought back to his hellish nightmare -- he felt afraid. He didn't want to hurt Natalia, even though he had quickly been noticing that they wanted two very different things out of life. They may have had contradictory viewpoints with how they each carried themselves within their personal lives, or within their own personal goals and aspirations, but he didn't want to hurt her either.

As soon as Natalia pulled back from his embrace, Bill looked in deep into her pale blueish-grey eyes and noticed for the very first time -- just how tired she looked. There were bags and dark circles under her eyes, and she looked like she hadn't gotten a proper nights sleep in days. Remorse filled his soul, whilst he absorbed her rough appearance. Could she not see that she was miserable too? In a stunning moment of pure clarity, he sadly knew that if they continued down this road that they would end up resentful and potentially even hateful towards one another; and it was in realizing that agonizing fact, that he knew what had to be done. It was time to end this with her. And he would do it tonight, after their joint annual family dinner. Once they arrived back here, in the privacy of her apartment, he would sit her down and talk to her about everything.

He just prayed that she wouldn't hate him forever because of this...

_____

Laughter, merriment and mumbled sounds of social chatter could be heard, floating throughout the air of the Holm's country house -- as Bill and Natalia's family members conversed smoothly with one another in the light and airy dining room. Natalia knew that Bill had always appreciated this little ritual that both of their families came together for. Since he was gone quite a bit to North America, filming for projects, auditioning for others, or even doing press junkets -- Natalia enjoyed being able to pull their families together so they could catch up once Bill was back in town.

Candles were set up all around the dining room, bathing the room in a mild ethereal glow. The wine was flowing generously, and the ostentatious table was covered with a luscious satin white table cloth; proudly displaying a bountiful amount of culinary dishes that made her mouth water. The delicious aroma's caused her stomach to rumble; forcing her to acknowledge the fact that she hadn't eaten properly in days. She was surviving off coffee, water, cigarettes, and the occasional snack. Soon though, that would potentially be behind her -- if, of course, everything went accordingly to her plan. Being seated in front of such a feast, finally got her in the mood to fill up her plate and actually eat a decent meal for the first time in a week and a half.

Natalia's older sister, Agnes, was located across the table from her; holding her six-month-old daughter in her arms -- while her husband William sat to her left. Their younger brother Max, was seated off to the other side of William; thankfully engaging in a conversation with Bill's younger brother Valter. Both young men were in their prime, and not looking to settle down anytime soon; which meant they had more in common with each other -- than they did with anyone else at the table. Bill's younger sister Eija, sat off to Valter's right, with her long-time boyfriend. Both of them were enjoying a tender conversation together, and paying no attention to anyone else at the moment. Natalia smiled at them, as they looked so happy and in love with one another. And beside Eija’s boyfriend, was her own mother -- Monica Holm. Bill's mother, My, was seated to the right side of her father, Viktor Holm who sat at the head of the table. Gustaf and his new girlfriend were both seated on the left side of Bill, and right beside Gustaf's lovely lady, was Bill's eldest brother Alexander -- who also took his place beside their mother.

Opportunities to get everyone together like this, were exceptionally rare. And for a nervous Natalia, it all came down to this. The festivities were beginning to wind down, and soon, her father would begin the round of toasts to congratulate everyone on their newest accomplishments. Her parents were sticklers for positive reinforcement as they were growing up, so it was only natural that they not only continued their tradition after their children had all flown the nest -- but that they also brought the partners of their children on it as well.

Like clockwork, Natalia had just taken her third bite of the jordgubbstårta, that her mother had prepared as a dessert, before she heard the light tapping of a polished silver fork, knocking on a dazzling crystal wine glass -- coming from the head of the table. She smiled adoringly up at her father, as he stood up and locked eyes with her; giving her a wink to let her know he wouldn't mind if she wanted to continue eating. She had truly been the apple of his eye, and he always made sure that his children knew how much he loved them.

"I would like to propose a toast," Viktor began confidently. "For some time now, our two families have gotten together to catch up, enjoy delicious food and to spend quality time with the people we hold most dear to us. Monica and I, always enjoy when it’s our turn to host these dinners and we’re grateful for having you all here." He paused, taking a quick moment to glance adoringly towards his wife of over thirty years. "Bill, son, thank you for introducing all of us to your beautiful family who we have grown to care for as an extension of our own. To my wife, thank you for putting up with me as I destroy our kitchen trying to help you prepare for these gatherings," he gently lamented, as everyone else began to chuckle. "And to my children, you continue to make me proud with each passing day. Skål!"

Everyone raised their glasses, echoing his hospitable sentiments and clinking them together lightly with their neighbors -- before taking a sip at the contents within each of their cups. Time passed, and a few more toasts were given around the table. It turned out, that Max had come prepared to this specific gathering -- as he announced to their parents that he had been accepted into law school. Witnessing their father beam with pride, and their mother's jaw drop -- had been worth the wait on telling them. It was an astonishment, that their mother didn't scream after he told them. It was a universally known fact, that their parents had been worried about what Max would decide to do with his future. Being bestowed with the knowledge that he had an overall direction now, had possibly put them at ease. It was a moment, that had made her immensely proud of her younger brother.

Once everyone had settled back down, however, the moment she had been waiting and psyching herself up for -- had arrived. Natalia cautiously looked around, scanning the room and watching everyone sharing their support for Max as they set glasses back on the table. Now, all she needed was to fester up her courage and get this show on the road. It was time to put those acting chops to good use, and appear more confident than she actually felt at the moment. One wrong move, and she was convinced she would lose her nerve. So she reached for her glass, gulped down a rather large swallow of wine, before taking a deep breath and steeling her frayed nerves...

"Well, I hope you all don't mind but I wanted to share some news with everyone -- since we're all together and it feels like we never get together enough these days," Natalia declared shyly, as she pushed back her chair and decided to begin her speech.

It's now or never. May God have mercy on me, if this shit goes sideways...

"I'd like to propose a toast of my own." She spoke more confidently this time, as she pushed her chin forward in a show of conviction. Bill, however, briefly looked confused by this sudden development, as he caught his brother Valter's eyes from across the table. Turning his focus back to Natalia, he noticed that she was looking down at him with her hand held out for his. Graciously, he smiled back at her and laced his larger hand through hers.

"For a while, I often wondered when I would find someone who would be special enough to love me for who I am; at the same time, I also questioned if I would ever be in a place that would allow me to recognize and accept that person for everything that they were -- once they managed to appear in my life. Alla vet redan att jag kan vara ganska jobbig ibland," her confession caused her siblings to chuckle and nod vigorously in a show of silent agreement. "Yet, when that special someone comes into your life, så vet du bara. With Bill," she paused momentarily, as she stared back at him. "I always knew he was special and unique. He's kind, caring, and compassionate; but he's also devoted, hard-working and best of all -- he's incredibly loyal." Bill felt his heart skip a beat, as he gulped. If there was ever a moment in his life, where he felt like the shittiest person on the planet -- this was quite possibly it. He didn't miss it as Gustaf choked on his wine, causing the elder Skarsgard to apologize and make an excuse about it 'going down the wrong pipe,' before Natalia methodically continued.

"I am so proud of each and every one of his new milestones, and while the road may get bumpy sometimes, I know that he will always be there -- no matter how difficult things may get."

Bill could hear her sister and mother, murmuring their agreements with Natalia comments in the background. The battle within him though was only just beginning; he could feel the pressure beginning to rise, whilst his anxiety stirred to life deep in the pit of his gut. Something didn't feel quite right about this, but nevertheless, he felt like shit as he listened to her sing his praises to everyone in the room. She had absolutely no idea what was coming later tonight, and she was inadvertently making him feel even worse without even meaning to.

"Therefore, I would like to privately announce to our families,"

Without warning, a foreboding feeling slammed into him at full force. The wheels in his head worked overtime, as he tried to piece together her end game here, when abruptly -- it all snapped into place.

Oh no...

Time slowed down to snail's pace. Seconds felt like several agonizing minutes, causing him to hear every beat of his own heart pounding away furiously in his ears. He wasn't an idiot, and he figured out exactly what she was about to do. His stomach felt like it was doing somersaults in his throat, and before he could think of a way to stop her...

"Bill and I are now engaged!" she gushed excitedly, as she pulled out the Ruby and Diamond engagement ring from her pocket, that he had previously given her -- leaving Bill sitting there in stunned silence. Gasps filled the air, as both families happiness caused them to erupt with celebratory rounds of "congratulations," being showered on the couple. The rest of her family stood up to give them hugs while Bill sat there in barely concealed shock; his composure, sloppily falling away momentarily as he absorbed the reality of what had just happened.

Suddenly, he felt the impact of a stiff kick on his shin from underneath the table, as his older brother Gustaf watched him intently. His lip curled up, signaling to Bill to smile. Once more, his mask of indifference slipped it's way back onto his face, as he stood up and accepted hugs and handshakes from her family members that began to surround them.

It was not as if he had any choice in the matter; what the hell else could he do? Just stand up and say, "I’m sorry everyone, but there seems to be some sort of mistake. I actually planned to break up with Natalia later tonight," and believe that it wouldn't cause a massive scene? Unfortunately, he knew that wouldn't go over well. Moreover, he didn't want to subject his mother to the needless drama either. He had too much respect for her, and even for Natalia's own parents, to legitimately consider doing that to them. Besides, when it boiled down to it -- Natalia didn't deserve to be humiliated like that either. Bill was well and truly stuck, with no other choice but to pretend that he was the happy and doting fiance.

In the end, he gracefully acted the role of dutiful fiance and leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. It was a brazen move, Natalia would give him that. Deep in her heart, she knew that the real test would be the one that took place later on tonight -- when they were both away from the prying eyes of their families and finally by themselves.

Tactically, Bill took a subtle peek around the table and noticed his own siblings watching the interaction intently. Each of them knew that this wasn't what their brother had wanted anymore. It seemed that even his own sister was giving him the side-eye. Her stern look, conveying a simple message: We're going to talk about this later, you fucking idiot.

Briefly, he wondered if his brothers had told her about his time with Y/N because she certainly didn't seem to be too impressed with him at all; and neither were his brothers. Regrettably, while Bill didn't want to make their judgments any worse, he knew it was coming when he felt his mother wrap her arms around him -- telling him just how proud of him she was. His green eyes glazed over and shut, as he hugged her back. Even though his eyes were shut, he could still feel the piercing stares of his siblings; harshly and silently criticizing him for not standing up and putting a stop to this.

His hands were tied, and there was very obviously nothing he could do, presently, to stop or curb the situation. So with that in mind, he sat back down in his seat and waited for the festivities to come to the inevitable end.

Natalia had well and truly fucked him and his plans up tonight, and there was a part of him that was a little bit angry about it; more so with himself for getting himself into this mess. His plan to end their relationship tonight, was effectively shot to hell. He literally could not leave her right now -- not after this grand little display of hers.

Fuck.

Bill shifted uncomfortably in his seat, knowing that his older brothers Alexander and Gustaf were probably waiting on what their younger brother's next move would be. They were already well aware of what had happened, between Y/N and Bill, since he had already told them about it -- once he made back home.

On his first night back in town, he had gone to meet up with his younger brother Valter at the local pub -- only to realize that his two older brothers, Alexander and Gustaf, were joining him as a surprise. It was a welcomed reprieve to just be able to sit down and catch up with each of them individually. A few hours and several drinks later, he ended up confessing about the affair to his brothers. None of the men were even remotely surprised by the turn of events; even going as far as to tell him as they all had seen it coming. Valter and Gustaf both cherished Y/N already, and while Alex also thought she was perfect for his younger brother -- he also didn't exactly like the situation they had both gotten themselves into. He was leary of the fact that Natalia would just accept Bill breaking up with her. Of course, Alex was simply speaking from personal experience with that particular subject. It was no secret that he wasn't exactly considered any kind of saint in some of his former relationships. But it was those relationships alone, that had taught him how to spot the signs of trouble yet to come. It was because of that, that Bill tried to take Alex's advice to tread carefully, to heart.

Now, Natalia had him by the balls and if Y/N found out -- any potential future they may have together could be ruined. He had to think, and fast. Because if the looks on his siblings' faces were something to go by, they weren’t going to let this go; if anything -- there was going to be severe consequences for this.

------

Headlights flashed ahead, as the dark grey Audi A3 sedan pulled into the small parking spot located just underneath the decently sized and sturdy white apartment building. The silence in the air was thick and palpable, with anticipation and suspense. Natalia was unsure of what to expect next, as Bill hadn't said a word to her since they both left the dinner party.

If she were lucky, Bill would simply go inside and simply feign sleepiness in order to get out of the discussion with her; but somehow -- she highly doubted that was about to happen. She was far from stupid, and she didn't miss the look of complete shock on his face when she told everyone of their engagement tonight. Of course, he straightened up and smiled; even going as far as thanking people for their well-wishes that they showered upon them -- yet his hesitation was certainly not missed by her clever and observant eyes.

Nervousness seemed to be settling deep within her spirit, at an almost rapid pace. In her defense, this felt like a good idea in her head at the time; back when she had gotten Ace's email, and learned about Bill's affair with Y/N. Hindsight was fifty-fifty though, and she was wondering if her impromptu announcement at the dinner party would push him over the edge -- causing him to leave her for good. If it did, she could conclusively kiss her revenge plan goodbye. To be fair, she knew there was a high likelihood of her getting an adverse reaction from him when she went into it; but when you're wrapped so tightly within the welcoming embrace of pure, uninhibited fury -- you tend to lose sight of the things are that should be undeniable. And although she wouldn't admit her fears so openly, due to her own anger and pride, she was particularly petrified of the possibility of him leaving her for doing this. Of course, when she sat back and thought about it, in the middle of those lonely nights recently, it was definitely considered downright pathetic to be worried about something like that. After all, without a shadow of a doubt, she should be the one leaving him. Yet, when it came down to it, she couldn't seem to pull the proverbial trigger. The love she felt for him, while wounded in the worst possible way -- was still there for him. How it was surviving, was beyond her own comprehension.

It was too late now though. Once her decision was acted upon, she knew she needed to see it all the way through; regardless of the repercussions. Ironically, it was the image of Bill kissing Y/N, which felt permanently seared into her mind -- that propelled her forward with her plan.

Neither of them said a word after she killed the engine to the car. She sat back in her leather seat, anxiously fiddling with her keys as she trained her eyes down towards her lap. A feeling of restlessness surged through her veins and Natalia had no idea why she was so nervous. In her opinion, it should be Bill who should be over there sweating bullets. There was no way he could get out of this, without having to come clean. Yet, even knowing that, didn't calm her down at all. If anything, it just put her on edge even more.

Why wasn't he saying anything?

The longer he sat there quietly, the more jittery she became. Realizing that she didn't plan to spend all night simply sitting in the car waiting for him to finally address her -- she lifted her hand to the silver door handle and propped open the driver's side door. They had some leftovers, in a couple of wrapped up dishes which sitting on the back floorboards, so she went ahead and opened the back door to grab them and bring them inside.

Bill exhaled deeply, as he too, finally opened his door and decided to help her get the food inside.

His mind was in a much different place than Natalia's, and it was consistently swimming between anger and fear. Luckily for Natalia, it was predominately aimed at himself at the moment; well, with the notable exception of his anger at her for once again -- going off and doing something, without consulting with him beforehand. This seemed to be an ever-repeating pattern among them, and quite frankly, it felt as if they could never find themselves sitting on the same page. It was annoying, and bothersome, to say the least.

Upon opening the front door to her apartment, Natalia quietly thanked him for his help as she pushed her way inside and Bill flipped the kitchen light switch on for them. He never said a word, as he took off his jacket, brushed a hand through his thick brown hair, and watched her put the leftover food on the stove in order to pull out her Tupperware dishes. He simply watched her work her way around the kitchen, just as he had always seen her do over the past year and a half -- and thought about how to approach the rather big elephant in the room. As he stood on the other side of the counter, he pulled out a stool and continued to watch her work.

"Nat, can you stop doing that and come here, please? We need to talk."

He noticed the way her back froze, the moment he uttered those words. Setting aside the aluminum foil package, she turned around and took off her own jacket; hanging it on the coat hanger she had next to the door. For the first time, since they left her parents house, he observed that her engagement ring was still sitting on her ring finger. She hadn't taken it off, since leaving the dinner party. The way the bright light in the kitchen hit the diamonds, causing them to sparkle and shine -- had caught his eye.

Instantly, he lost focus and remembered back to the night when he had asked her to marry him. Oddly enough, he proposed to her right here, in this very room of her apartment -- right after they had made dinner together. At the time, he was focused on doing anything that made her feel happy. And he knew, without a shadow of a doubt from their numerous pillow talks, that an engagement was something she certainly looked forward to having in their future. Natalia didn't know it, but he had purchased the ring a few weeks prior. Bill knew she adored rubies and thought they were stunning. It had taken him a little bit of time, but he was able to track down the ring that appeared to be perfect for her. A single teardrop-shaped, two and a half-carat Ruby, surrounded by a halo of diamonds -- with a plentiful amount of diamonds adorning the white gold, crisscrossed double band.

In retrospect, even he had to admit that was quite foolish of him to do that simply to keep her happy. It was dawning on him now, that it was a mistake because he wasn't actually ready to commit himself to a marriage; yet -- that didn't stop the fact that he still felt bad about causing this dysfunction in the first place.

"You're upset."

It wasn't a question, it was merely an observation and it hung in the air like a knife, causing him to momentarily flinch at her accusation. Was she wrong? No. He just didn't want this to turn into another row between them either. Enough damage had already been accomplished for one night.

Carefully selecting his next words would be imperative, and he knew it.

"I'm simply wondering why you chose to tell our families about the engagement; jag trodde att vi hade en överenskommelse."

Natalia slid into the barstool, just on the other side of Bill and folded her hands neatly in front of her. Her quiet demeanor only enhanced his sense of dismay, even further. And strangely, the sigh that exited her chest, sounded like one of defeat; leaving him wondering about what was to come next.

It wasn't that long ago, when she used to bring him happiness and a ray of hope to his future. When he thought about it, it was just after he had agreed to start seeing Natalia exclusively, that he began to start seeing a chance of happiness outside of Y/N and Natalia had a lot do with that. She made him feel comfortable, at least during that brief period in time; yet he couldn't lie to himself -- because the idea of fully giving up on his feelings for Y/N never fully resonated in his heart either. Those feelings only sat idly by, like the embers of once raging fire, threatening to reignite once again at the sign of any change in the environment.

And that was exactly what they did; those emotions reignited in a big, fiery and all-consuming way. It was something, he wouldn't let go off.

This was his fault, and he knew it.

"Since you're asking for my honesty, here it is; I'm tired of hiding something like this from our families. I agreed to be your wife the moment you asked me. I'm in this for the long haul. But asking me to keep it quiet, hasn't really settled well with me either. I want to be able to share this with our mothers, my mother -- even my own sister." She exclaimed wistfully; her ice-blue eyes bore into his, imploring him to see reason and understand her valid emotions.

"I have been so incredibly excited just to tell my own mother about this. And you..." She paused briefly, before looking down at the bar; unable to maintain eye contact any longer. "You asked me not to tell anybody about it. Do you realize how hard that is? Or even how unfair it is? To make me keep this news all to myself, that I just truly want to be happy about? And recently, I've been thinking about that; you do know that it feels a little silly to be hiding something this major from our own friends and family -- right? I'm not asking to announce it to the whole world yet Bill, I just wanted to privately tell our families."

Bill exhaled calmly, trying not to let his grip on his patience slip from him. Of course, he understood why she wanted to tell them all; he certainly wasn't impractical or uncaring in that sense. However, there were other underlying issues at the center of why they had both agreed to keep it quiet.

"I get that, I truly do. But Nat, we talked about this and you even agreed to it. You said that you understood the reasons we needed to keep it quiet. I told you, that with IT coming out -- things are going to change. If everything goes the way I hope they do, my career could be taking off. That means more offers, more auditions, more projects, more locations and with that comes more attention. Not all of that attention is going to be good either. If news about the engagement gets out, even through an accidental post on social media from one of our friends or family members, you could be dealing with a hoard of female fans talking massive shit about you, stalking you online, or following you around in real life -- and making your life absolutely miserable. And all of it, would be because you're with me! That's not even including the fact that we've been fighting more over the past almost several months. If I'm being perfectly honest here," he sighed, before turning back to her and grabbing her left hand in his right one. "I'm not sure if that would be something we would survive, because we have more than enough issues without that being added on top of our plates."

Natalia sat back in stunned silence, unable to fathom that he genuinely said that out loud to her. Her act of telling their families, couldn't have happened at a better time, as it became increasingly more evident that he really was planning on ending things with her. All she knew in that instant, was that she had to turn the tide of this conversation, back in her favor and quickly -- or entire plan would only dissolve from here.

"Are you --" her eyes filled with tears, threatening to spill over and down her lightly blushed cheeks, while she sniffled. "Are you ashamed of me?" Quickly, she pulled her hand back from his and stood up from her seat. Anger surged throughout her body, causing her cheeks to heat up in embarrassment and tears began to shine through her eyes, as Bill was left with emotional whiplash at what was happening.

"What? Natalia, no! That's not what I'm saying," he swiftly attempted to explain, but he knew it would be no use.

"That's what it feels like you're saying! It feels like you're saying that you don't think I know what lies ahead, or that I'm even strong enough to handle it! Do you really think so little of me?" Turning on her heel, she briskly walked back into the kitchen area and picked up the aluminum foil again -- trying her hardest to hold it together and finish her task of re-wrapping their leftovers.

"Where the hell did you even get the idea that I was ashamed of you? I never said that at all," Bill's frustrations were growing by the millisecond, as he stood up from his own spot at the bar. "I explain to you that I'm afraid of something, and suddenly that somehow means I'm ashamed of you? You always manage to do this! Every single fucking time, Natalia! You run off and do something on your own, never ask me how I may feel about it before you do it -- and then you get pissed off when I don't react the way you think I should. You did it right before I came back home too!" He finished accusingly, as he pointed a finger at her.

Just like that, the fuse was ignited and neither of them was prepared to back down from this long-overdue fight.

Propriety could be damned, he didn't care if his voice was starting to elevate anymore, because this thing right here -- was exactly what the main problem was between them. And honestly, Bill was at his wit's end with the drama she brought to the table in this relationship.

"So that's what this is about! You're still mad at the fact that I tried to book a private getaway for us, for when you got back home from Toronto? Jesus Christ, Bill!" She slammed the plastic see-through dish on the stove, as she shook her head and began to laugh sarcastically. "Excuse the fuck out of me, for trying to spend time with my fiance after not being able to see him for three fucking months!"

"Actually, I wasn't upset about that incident anymore and was more or less using that as an example; but yes -- you go off and do things, all the while, you don't even bother to include me in the equation at all! It's like I've become an afterthought to you! Did it ever occur to you, that I wanted to come home, see my family and actually spend some time with my mother? She's getting older, Natalia! I won't have her around forever!" He leaned across the bar carefully, both arms stretched out with his palms braced across the surface; narrowing his eyes at her.

Natalia pressed her lips together, as she pulled out a sheet of aluminum foil from the pack and set it off to the side.

"You’ve been acting like a jackass, since you've been away." The moment that allegation left her lips, Bill scoffed.

"Me being gone for work has nothing to do with this. We’ve been at each other’s throats even before I left. Have you ever tried considering the fact, that I may be annoyed by the continuous fighting we do all of the time? We fight over the most ridiculous bullshit! And if we’re not fighting, we’re fucking. I told you over the phone a few weeks ago, this shit needed to stop and here we are -- right back at it again!”

The sound of a wooden spoon scraping against the ceramic plate filled the room, as she finally set it down and wiped her hands on the hand towel that was hanging off the oven door.

"Let me ask you a question, do you even love me anymore? Because I love you, Bill! But Jesus fucking Christ, I really feel like you don't love me at all."

That one question managed to hit him dead center in his chest, almost knocking the wind right out of him. Just then, it was as if he were transported back to that nightmare with Natalia and Y/N both hanging in the tree, with their chests cut open and their hearts were laid out his hands. He was fearful of answering that question, because he didn't want to essentially rip the proverbial heart out of her chest and destroy her like this.

Now, it was Bill's turn to sound defeated. Without another word, he didn't wait for her reaction as he turned around and began walking down the hallway. Taking a couple of minutes to clear her own head, she finished wrapping the plastic bowl and stuck it on the bottom shelf in the refrigerator; wondering if she finally pushed everything too far.

Finally, she pushed herself away from the large appliance and decided to follow him down the hallway. If she were expecting to see him feeling defeated, she was in for a rude awakening; instead -- she found him packing his bags again.

"Bill, what are you doing?" The hesitation caused her voice to slightly crack, as she watched him continue to put more clothes into his suitcase.

He never spoke a word, as he ignored and pushed past her. Instead, he moved into their shared bathroom. Once he collected what he needed, he snapped the light back off and made his way back to the bedroom -- packing his toiletries away. After he was finished a few moments later, he belatedly glanced over at her. For the first time since this argument began, he noticed her silently crying as she watched him.

"I fell for you before I ever put that ring on your finger," he stated carefully. "I didn't think I could ever find someone who could potentially make me happy, and for a while -- you did. But we're changing Natalia, and I don't like the people we're changing into."

"So you want to run away, instead of facing our problems? Vad är det som du inte berättar för mig?" Her lips trembled, as she stood there -- waiting for an answer.

"Natalia," there was a delay, as he tried to take a step towards her. Natalia, on the other hand, took a quick step back. Her eyeliner and mascara were running carelessly down her cheeks, creating dark streaks which made him feel even worse.

"I'm saying we should use the time while I'm away in California working, to think about what we both want. Because we cannot keep going like this. It’s not fair to either of us. I’m not saying it’s over right now, I’m saying let’s take this time apart while I’m gone, to think and once I come back -- we can sit down and decide once and for all where we go from here.”

With that, he grabbed the handle of his large rolling suitcase and walked out of their shared apartment. Leaving a shocked and struggling Natalia behind.

He hadn’t ended it with her, but he did let her know that they needed time apart. And that was the opening a reeling and emotional Natalia needed, to enact the next step in her plan.

____

[Extended Author's Notes: Trust me, I'm shaking my head at Bill too! Bonehead! You should have just ended it with her while you had the chance!

I get why he didn't, because that's got to be a mind fuck where you're feeling your back against the wall, flashing back to a nightmare where you think you've ripped out her heart already and you don't want to hurt someone...

But man, I have to hand it to Natalia, the girl knows how to manipulate a situation when things are going off the rails. She saw what was coming, and threw a massive roadblock in Bill's path. She is not the one to play with, and Bill may have bitten off more than he can chew with her. He's obviously figured out, that he's backed into a wall; so it'll be interesting to see how if he's able to keep up the facade and find a way out of the mess he created -- or if things are going to blow up in his face.

One small part of me, feels a tiny bit bad that Bill is in this conundrum. After all, he started dating Natalia, because he was attempting to get over his feelings for Y/N in the first place; which he felt were always going to remain unrequited on the readers end. He and Natalia have had a bumpy road, but overall he did care about her and even asked her to marry him -- only for everything to finally come together with Y/N (who doesn't know about his engagement)... And now, it's all a big mess.

Now, our boy finally has the woman he's wanted all along and had finally mustered up the courage to tell Natalia it was over -- and she blew his plans all to hell!

Speaking of Bill though, I wonder where he's running off to after failing to completely break it off with Nattie... Guess you'll have to wait until the next chapter to find out lol.

____

And finally: If you've enjoyed this chapter, please don't forget to (kindly) leave a vote and/or comment! Each vote and comment helps more people see this story; so please be kind and submit a vote/comment before you leave.

And if you don't want to leave a vote on this particular chapter, just go back and leave on the chapters you liked the most.

I hope you're having a wonderful day/evening/night.

Take care lovelies, see you in two weeks (or less) with the next chapter! --ImaginationLane xoxo]

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intergalactic-zoo · 5 years ago

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Today we're tackling the most recent version of Superman's origin, as told in Superman Year One. Creative Team: Frank Miller, John Romita, Jr., Danny Miki, and Alex Sinclair. All-Star Summary: Doomed planet. Terrified parents. Last hope. Mesmerized farmer.

Key Elements: As the planet Krypton explodes, a scientist and his wife place their young son in a rocket and launch him into space. He lands on Earth and is found by Jonathan Kent, who brings him home to his wife Martha, and they adopt him. From the start, he has a dense body and superhuman abilities, and these grow as he gets older. He begins using his powers to punish bullies, but learns quickly that his actions sometimes have unintended consequences. When he saves Lana Lang from an attack, he reveals his powers to her and takes her for a flight. He uses his abilities to excel in sports, to Pa's dismay. He decides he needs to leave and see the world. Ma uses the super-durable blankets from his ship to make him a garment.

Interesting Deviations: Baby Kal is old enough to be standing and walking when he arrives on Earth. Jonathan Kent is alone when he finds Kal. It's heavily implied that Kal has some kind of psychic ability, and that he uses it to influence Jonathan to take him home. The Smallville High team is the Wolves here, which is an interesting choice. I don't think that one's been done before. They were the Crows on the "Smallville" TV series and the Spartans in "Man of Steel" as a nod to the director.

Additional Commentary: I know it's probably cliché to criticize Miller's overwrought narration, but it's laid on pretty thick here, switching from baby Kal's perspective to third-person narration of various degrees of omniscience on a page-by-page basis. Ma and Pa Kent talk like a very stereotypical, old-timey kind of farmer.

It's pretty clear that Frank Miller doesn't know what age high school freshmen are, since both the class and the kids are written as though they're in elementary school (when they're not being written as bizarrely anachronistic old men).

Later we see that Clark and Lana are conversant in Plato and Aristotle and Freud and Jung, none of whom are commonly read in high school courses. We know that Clark uses his abilities to speed-read, but it's Lana who brings up the topic. Also, I would have killed for a forty-five minute lunch period.

It's nice to see Clark being friends with a bunch of outcasts and misfits, though it would be nicer if Lana were part of the friend circle, since she's introduced as being somehow connected with Clark, but we don't actually see them interacting until considerably later, as a prelude to...well, to the unpleasantness that really didn't need to happen. I appreciate having thought balloons here, but it's a really strange lettering choice not to make them into the typical scalloped thought balloon shape. And this is John Workman on letters!

And all the sound effects in this comic look like this, which is...a choice, for sure.

Speaking of strange choices: green oatmeal?

It's also a strange choice for Clark Kent to be reading Doc Savage. I suppose there hasn't been a clear indication of when this story is taking place, but there's no time I'm aware of when both goths and 1930s pulp fiction were commonplace. It's one of many places where this book feels adrift in time, not contemporary enough to feel like a modern retelling, not classic enough to feel like a period piece. I could have done without Clark Kent peeing, but I guess this is a Black Label book, so. The bit of this that got the most pre-release controversy is the idea that Clark would join the military (here, the Navy). Jonathan is surprised that he's decided not to go to college, but Martha expresses quite reasonably a fear of his prodigious power being turned toward war. That's still contrasted with Clark's glee at seeing an F-35 flying overhead—complete with a "Look! Up in the sky!" caption—when he arrives on base.

The F-35 is an interesting choice to compare so directly with Superman, one originally intended to be the super-powerful champion of the oppressed, the other a bloated, ineffectual example of government waste and the military industrial complex run amok. As with the Superman in the military angle, it'll be interesting to see how much of this is intentional commentary and how much...isn't. As a bit of a final thought here, people were (justifiably) skeptical of this book before it was released. Frank Miller hasn't exactly had a great track record for the last (checks watch) eighteen years or so, and "the origin of Superman" is such well-worn territory that some chuckleheads have dedicated whole blog series to examining it. Heck, we just had a problematic dude writing a new, modernized exploration of Superman's origins four years ago. When the previews showed Clark joining the military, it's no surprise that there was some backlash. Awareness of the problems with the military—in how it's used, how its members are treated, and how it uses pop culture and superhero media as a recruitment tool—is at a high point in the last couple of decades, and people were uncertain how the guy who wrote Holy Terror was going to handle that relatively sensitive topic. And one issue in, we still don't really have an idea. There's a definite "recruitment commercial" feel to the last few pages of the book, but Martha's vocalization of a lot of fans' fears gives me some hope that it won't all be rah-rah jingoism. As to the rest of the book? I'm interested to see where it goes as a fan of the character, but there's just...not a lot here. From the writing to the art to the letters and coloring, everything about this book feels phoned in. Miller and Romita in particular feel like they're parodies of themselves, and if you'd told me that this was lettered by someone brand new to the industry and not the legend who put words to Simonson's Thor run, I'd believe you. For the "definitive origin of Superman," this just kind of...exists. What's interesting isn't new, and what's new isn't interesting.

The Rocket: We don't get a really clear glimpse of it, but what we see is nonsense.

Not only does it look like a knockoff of some landspeeder from The Phantom Menace, but it looks an awful lot like it should be large enough to hold more than a baby. It's implied that there's some kind of on-board AI teaching Clark along the way, as in "Superman: The Motion Picture," but the overwrought narration and constant perspective-shifts obscure whether that's intended to be the case. Not a fan. One exploding Krypton for this rocket.

#IFTTT #Blogger #TheFortressOfSoliloquy

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tales-from-exo-planet · 6 years ago

Text

BERLIN || PATHCODES VOL. II

ACT I. - Part II -“Benign”

Length - 5,971

Mood - Interdependent, Augmented

Pairing - Minseok x Reader

“Instead of becoming someone’s “Yes man”

I’ll open the path myself, building my own world

Getting stronger every time I recover from injuries

Ain’t nobody can tell me what to do

Anytime we connect with other people

Our own world extends more

Spread the words and spread the love

If you’re satisfied, don’t turn around

Just continue believing like this”

“KING AND QUEEN” by EXO-CBX

______________________________

“That was a horribly solemn affair. We looked like we were going to a funeral, not a New Years Eve blowout,” _______ (Marseille Reader) snorted as she tied up her hair into a knot atop her head.

_______ (Lyon Reader) rolled her eyes, as she removed her earrings where she sat at the vanity, and placed them in the velvet pouch she had brought. She like all of you had changed from your gowns as soon as you arrived, placing them in their assigned garment bag in the closet provided, and now sat in a perfumed silk rouge red robe.

“Most of the guys wore black, and it was the same uniform suit. So yea, it looked like a funeral,” you chimed in, unafraid to poke fun now that the whole thing was over.

The hum of ambient music piped through the room. Elsewhere within the spa you could hear the trickle of the fountain, and the soft whir of the air conditioning overhead.

The walls of the room were a marbled crystal blue while the floors and doors were coated in a decadent stone gold.

______ (London Reader,) entered the salon then, bundled up in her robes, the door through which you’d heard Jongin’s voice humming a husky “이따보자” before it clicked closed behind her.

She lilted shyly past you all, pulling the collar of her robes higher to close and conceal her neck, and mouth as she went, as if she could hide the puffy kiss-bruised lips she was pressing together, and the scarlet blush creeping up her neck.

_______ (Almaty Reader) peered over the notes in the slim black notebook she had brought to review as she reclined on the earthen chaise, pursing her lips as she watched her go by with a raised freshly sugared eyebrow.

“So adorable,” she mouthed to you, miming a chuckle before ducking behind her notes once again.

The door whisked open as ______ (Colorado Reader) entered.

She gave a small smile as she entered, inclining her head toward you all as she came to sit beside ______ (Lyon Reader) at the vanity, her expression somewhat wistful.

“I can tie your hair up if you’d like?” _____ (Lyon Reader) offered to her, and ______ (Colorado Reader) considered it for a moment, startling at suddenly being addressed.

“I don’t have a hair tie-” She began but ______ (Lyon Reader) held up a tie between her fingers.

______ (Colorado Reader) turned then, whispering “thank you,” to which ______ (Lyon Reader) only shrugged, smiling at her in the mirror once she was finished.

“You’ve always had it together, but honestly becoming a Mom has you scarily prepared for everything,” _______ (Marseille Reader) chuckled as she came to sit beside you on the loveseat where you were sipping the cabbage juice you’d requested, adjusting the snowy white goose feather pillows as she got comfortable .

She eyed the cabbage juice you slowly sipped from once again, before pouring herself a cup of the hearty dark evergreen mixture. The color churned and sloshed as she poured it, hurrying to fill the glass.

You gestured to her to stir it with the straws laid beside the pitcher on the gold platter. She reached down as you instructed, stirring slowly as she watched the contents spin at her urging. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” you said as she took a breath, pinched her nose, and sipped the juice.

She hesitated to swallow for a moment, appearing for a moment to concern spitting it back into the glass but resolutely covered her mouth and swallowed audibly. She shivered as she took a deep breath.

“How is YunHee?” _______ (London Reader) asked as she came from the dressing closet to sit on the opposing loveseat where ________ (Edinburgh Reader) placed her bag before joining Sehun in the hallway to talk.

He had come looking for her as soon as your troupe arrived at Türkisches Hamam Berlin, the premier Turkish Spa in Berlin.

You heard Sehun’s raspy whisper as she opened, and smoothly let the door close behind her, “can we talk for a minute _______ (Edinburgh Reader)?”

_______ (Lyon Reader) had watched her go quietly but you knew that between you both, there were many things left unsaid to the both of them.

But that’s what had inspired this brief pause.

The need to address the things you had all been putting away and hiding from one another, and yourselves.

_______ (Arizona Reader) had been one of the first to change and was also seated beside ______ (Almaty Reader) reviewing the latest catalogue she scheduled for release later this spring in the afterglow of your shared new year celebrations.

The two spoke in unpretentious, languid tones in time, with unhurried plucking of the sitar, to one another as they had since reuniting. It had been some time since you, ______(Almaty Reader,) and ______ (Arizona Reader) all met one another during your collegiate exchange seminar.

It was then in those days that one by one you had introduced one another to one another until this unit, within the passage of significant time, had bloomed into the substantial governing body you were today.

While you had exceeded the dreams of those youthful years, you were still the same snarky troupe.

And you knew by the way they kept their inflection level, even bordering on indifferent that they were discussing their observations of the newest additions to your tighter band.

As well as their opportunities for foolishness.

“Well let’s not all stare at the door until she comes back,” you sighed as a silence settled into the room as everyone awaited ______ (Edinburgh Reader’s) return.

“But we are worried, are we not...I mean they sat beside each other in the planning meetings and rehearsals earlier this week without really looking at each other and talking…? If they did it was very cordial, and unlike them,” (Marseille Reader) whispered between sips of water. She took her time between sips, exhaling hotly as if to slow the effects of brain freeze.

“But still. Let’s give her some privacy all the same. It is awkward enough already,” you advised, eyeing where ______ (Yunnan Reader) sat quietly still, not involved nor separate from the current conversation.

She sat upon the loveseat farthest from you in the oval shaped room, waiting and withdrawn. Her hands periodically shifted the slivers of hair she tucked, and untucked from behind her ear as she took slow, unhurried breaths with her eyes on her own lap. Whenever her phone chimed her hands would spring to action, her fingers flying across the screen before all flurry of activity ceased to begin again.

Yixing had entreated upon her behalf to Minseok, yourself, and ______ (Almaty Reader) to allow her to take part in the preparations for the upcoming winter events a couple of months following her return to her position.

“It’s become harder for us now, Minseok. I don’t know if you can help, but…” Yixing had begun, a definite hesitation in the pace of his words. He had been conferenced in some weeks prior to your planning visit while you, ______ (Almaty Reader) and _______ (Arizona Reader) met in the cafe on Minseok’s private level of Erhabenheit.

Minseok took the rotary dial phone from its speaker phone display after setting down the kettle while you poured cups of tea for everyone, and spoke confidentially into the mouthpiece as he turned his back, “just tell me what you need.”

Needs.

Desires.

Lusts.

What we all need is honesty.

She remained soundless on her loveseat, breaking her resolute posture briefly to reach towards the coffee table in front of her, thumbing through the spa’s slim brochure of packages and the self care tips following the presentation you just received from your tellak though you had already chosen your packages well ahead of this retreat.

You thought maybe it had been difficult for her because of the stairs at the entrance.

Yixing had offered to carry her up the stairs himself so that she wouldn’t strain herself, but she had blanched almost parchment white at that, and accepted his hand instead.

It had taken _______ (Barcelona Reader) some time as well to gain her bearings once staff had escorted you all to your dressing area before you went further into the Hamam.

At the entry she had been gathered into _____ (Edinburgh Reader’s) grasp as Tao let her go to follow the men to their separate dressing room.

_____ (Edinburgh Reader) had helped her to undress to her underwear privately, as everyone had also done, looking after her diligently as any elder sister would. She took care to cover her shoulders in a robe as she sat waiting for her to return, her feet shifting in her sandals.

But _______(Barcelona Reader) had eventually relaxed even without (Edinburgh Reader’s) return as she listened to the murmurings of the women surrounding her. She’d even giggled when _______ (Almaty Reader) scolded you for offering her cabbage juice first instead of water.

“Oh goodness! What are you trying to do to the poor girl? Enough!” She’d exclaimed, pulling the glass from your hands that you had offered in good will to _______ (Barcelona Reader’s) open hands.

And yet ______ (Yunnan Reader) only shyly laughed as if she wasn’t meant to hear the joke.

But if any of the ladies felt burdened by her chilly anxiousness even here within this tempered Hamam, they didn’t let on and focused instead on tying the checked stark white and baby blue peştemals about themselves and one another.

Just as ________ (Colorado Reader) stood to allow ______ (Lyon Reader) to tie her peştemal across her chest, your tellak entered the room with _____ (Edinburgh Reader) on her heels, her eyes misty and downcast.

“Ladies if you’ll follow me? We will now begin,” the tellak inclined her head towards the entrance of your private dressing area which would be locked behind you all in your absence.

____ (Edinburgh Reader) went to ______ (Barcelona Reader’s) side immediately, taking her hand in a familiar clasp as Tao had, intertwining their fingers securely.

The tellak led the way with you in the rear, while you tried without speaking a word to gesture ______ (Yunnan Reader) up further towards the innermost core of the line of ladies.

She acknowledged your gesture, and apologized that she may still need to take her time walking.

You shook your head.

“We have all the time we need here. Please, if you would.”

The tellak led you deeper through the soğukluk, the ornate halls into the Hamam where you would first enter the hararet.

“There is enough room for everyone to lie upon the göbektaşı if you wish? Please take a moment here before we proceed,” the tellak gestured to the raised platform at the center of the white smokey marble domed room where the heat was amplified the closer you moved towards the platform. The steam swirling through the space provided an atmospheric curtain. You wondered if the women around felt a shift in their breathing pace, as if the curtain of steam was pressing upon your chest.

The closer you moved towards the heat of the raised platform, the more unsteady you felt on your feet but you pressed forward where the ladies had gathered and now laid down beside one another.

“Such a breathtaking space,” ______ (London Reader) observed aloud and the throng of you ladies hummed in unison with her as the heat from the göbektaşı seeped into your skin.

It was quiet within the space as you all laid there, everyone careful to remain still so as not to disturb each other.

“We’re still not used to each other or else I guess we would chat more,” _______ (Marseille Reader) chuckled after another minute passed in silence.

“It’s too hot to think,” ______ (Lyon Reader) choked out a weak laugh from her place on the göbektaşı.

“Or even fart...can you imagine a bad smell happening in this room and how rank it would be? Everyone would vomit!” _______ (Almaty Reader) heartily laughed aloud earning nervous giggles and surprised guffaws.

“We’re all piled on here together like sausages roasting so it would be the next worst thing to happen!” ____ (Arizona Reader) snickered.

“I can’t breathe to laugh anymore! Oh my head…” _____ (London Reader sighed) as she struggled to sit up.

“Oh my! Sorry!” ____ (Colorado Reader) called out as ______ (London Reader) rustled beside her.

You sat up just to catch the flush of cherry red spreading across her face as she pulled her checked peştemal back to its original tied position.

“I’m alright! Really! Nothing to get my knickers in a twist over” She blushed even deeper as _____ (Colorado Reader) sat up to apologize.

“...wait what?” ______ (Barcelona Reader) asked aloud suddenly from beside _____ (Edinburgh Reader) whose misty expression broke at the sudden question.

“Now we’re rolling,” ______ (Almaty Reader) laughed aloud amongst the muggy confusion and stuttering laughter as your tellak returned with two additional women flanking her on either side.

“Ladies, it’s good to hear that you’re more relaxed. Let’s begin,” at the close of her statement the staff moved to the sides of the raised platform where you and the ladies sat, your giggles subsiding to humored murmurings as the staff began to soak each of you with warm water, and rose water soap suds.

Between latherings the masseurs would help you each to lie upon the platform to deliver one massage at a time.

The pain of their persistent pressing and smoothing hands, fingers and knuckles was difficult to withstand at first. There were many beside you who moaned aloud at their aggressive, yet therapeutic touch.

Ever in sync, once you finished your lathering and massage, you were shifted in pairs for scrubbing with the hand-knitted washcloths each of you had tucked into the knot of the checked cloth at your chests.

You moaned consistently throughout the scrubbing, startling only when you heard ______ (Marseille Reader) cry out during her cold wash up.

“I’m so sorry! I’m not trying to be dramatic! You did warn me. Sorry,” she apologized to her masseur once she got over the shock, and quieted down to finish her washing.

But the shock was enough to return you all to the familiar comfort you were beginning to share when the masseurs had first entered.

Your tellak waited until everyone had completed their last cycle of washing before announcing that, “you are in no rush to leave. We have refreshments available to you in the salon when you return there to dress. There are additional towels and wraps for all ready to shower as well.”

You all waited until they left the room before gathering the towels and taking turns to shower.

_____ (Barcelona Reader) was shy at first to enter with ______ (Edinburgh Reader.)

“It’s up to you what you’d like to do. I can just walk you through and tell you where everything is. I can wait right outside,” _____ (Edinburgh Reader) spoke to her softly, holding her hand in both of hers.

_______ (Barcelona Reader) nodded, “if you could just show me where everything is. And just...outside is fine. If you stand right outside the curtain. If you don’t mind.”

The rest of you showered one at a time, waiting and politely acknowledging those who were ready to shower until you all were done.

“No one wants to stay right? I want to take a nap I’m so exhausted from all that scrubbing”

“I was nervous for a moment that they were going to start scrubbing elsewhere but then I remembered ______ told us that that does not happen ever.”

“Oh goodness, could you imagine?”

“You thought I was screaming before at the cold water...Junmyeon would have been banging the door down trying to get to me to find out what was going on…”

“I wonder how they’re doing with the bathing”

“How they’re doing or how they’re looking”

*Sputtering*

“I mean, well this is a different cultural experience for me. I’ve never been to a public bath house before”

“Well I think for most of them, visiting a public bath house is a little more natural than it is for some of us.”

“Ah you have a point there”

“So is it just water on the menu?” ______ (Arizona Reader) asked as she entered your salon once again,

“There is that horrid cabbage juice ______ keeps insisting is good for us,” _____ (Almaty Reader) rolled her eyes at your expense, winning laughter even from you.

The voiceless gaps of space you’d waited to see burst upon your entrance at the hamam were filled with effervescent laughter as the ladies dressed again.

______ (Lyon Reader) was again helping _______ (Colorado Reader) with her hair while ______ (Barcelona Reader) helped ________ (Edinburgh Reader) to brush out her hair.

The two girls sat side by side, while ______ (Barcelona Reader) carefully guided her hands, gently fingering through the tendrils of her hair with the small oval detangling brush held poised until she reached the top of ______ (Edinburgh Reader’s) head, and smoothed the hair down again. ______ (Edinburgh Reader) sat patiently, her misty eyes closed for now while ______ (Barcelona Reader) worried over her.

“Another glass of cabbage juice?” ______ (Yunnan Reader) suddenly offered to you, approaching you with the tray the tellak had just delivered while you were preoccupied with dressing and finding a space to lie down while you waited.

“Yes, thank you. I have no idea why everyone thinks it’s so horrible-”

“But we can say that you smell terrible after you drink it. Remember when we came on holiday after a school trip?” _______ (Almaty Reader) eyed you and you threw an unused hand knitted cloth at her head that she dodged.

“So that’s why you brought up the farting before! Ugh! You’re just-”

______ (London Reader) laughed in shock at the final connection she’d made while _______ (Barcelona Reader) dipped into _______ (Edinburgh Reader’s) shoulder where they both giggled softly together.

“We told you that you couldn’t live it down. It’s your fault for ordering that disgusting juice again!” _____ (Almaty Reader) explained through tearful gasps as _______ (Arizona Reader) high fived her.

“Ahem, speaking of healthy...I wanted to gather us all here to talk anyway,” you coughed and cleared your throat as you fanned the flames from your cheeks in between sips of cabbage juice.

“I can’t believe that you can still drink that,” ______ (Arizona Reader) continued but you shooed her comment off.

“Stop. Really,” you said failing to not dissolve into giggles as the rest of the ladies continued to laugh while _____ (Almaty Reader) held her nose as you begun speaking.

_____ (Lyon Reader) and _____ (Colorado Reader) joined you on your loveseat just as ______ (Almaty Reader) whispered “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

“Oh would you just quit!” You exclaimed tossing your head back as laughter overtook you all again.

_____ (Yunnan Reader) had shakily returned the tray to the center table in front of you all and sat on the loveseat beside _____ (Barcelona Reader) and ______ (Edinburgh Reader) as the two swapped the detangling brush, the three of them vibrating with laughter.

“Healthy living begins with letting it all out though doesn’t it?” _____ (Almaty Reader) quipped once more between gasps and snorts.

Everyone doubled over at that with _______ (London Reader) patting her face dry of tears.

You glared at _____ (Almaty Reader) over everyone’s heads as ______ (Arizona Reader) murmured, “I think we’re ready to start now.”

A cool flourish of air lifted the trim of the curtains at the windows of the salon where the windows were slightly opened.

“Healthy release as ______ (Almaty Reader) brings up is something that’s become much more important in my life recently. I know that Minseok and I don’t really share a lot. We delegate a lot and we share what our plans are but because of some health concerns that have come to light for me….I have to be better about sharing. I have to be better about release. I have to be better about being open and transparent,” the tonal shift wasn’t heavy nor did it harden the light in the open eyes of all the women surrounding you.

If anything, they leaned closer.

“I just want to be more open. I want to be healthy. And because of that I privately messaged you all asking you to bring a single photo to base your vision boards on. I’d like for us to complete them throughout the new year, and display them in our home offices,” you stated, pausing to lean forward to pick up your briefcase from the floor to reveal the small photo envelope you brought with you. As you righted yourself back into your seat, you looked pointedly at everyone and waited for them to go and bring their photo envelopes as well.

They each moved slowly around one another, smiling genuinely at each other as they excused themselves to their separate corners of the oval room before returning together.

You gestured for everyone to open their envelopes and reveal their photos to one another in your circle.

Your eyes caught at the ages represented in their photographs and wondered at all the anecdotes that everyone would share.

“So our topic today is healthy living,” you began waiting for everyone to come to attention once again.

In front of you for everyone to see, you tenderly held a picture of yourself at four years old between your grandfather and grandmother outside their farm home in front of your favorite cream white and pale yellow tulips. Your overalls and apron were smudged with dirt while your grinning grandparents’ cheeks were smudged with dirt from your thin hands.

“Healthy living for me would be being able to go home to see my grandmother more,” you confessed breathily as you looked back into their astonished faces.

“Grandmother…?” you thought you heard someone whisper.

“I was raised by my grandparents following my third birthday when my parents found out that I had leukemia. From what I remember at the time, my family and I did not come from much. We lived in a very, very small rural town built, and maintained by my grandfather and his father and his father before him when my family immigrated to the states. My parents were very young when they married, and were very very devout in their faith. They dreamed of opening a church in our town that could welcome so many blessings to the people who lived there as well as bringing together a community of devout followers. But when my parents found out that I was sick, I think they thought that maybe it was a sign that they were not meant to be parents and instead should follow their missionary dreams,” the admission was no longer shocking to you nor was it painful to hear yourself speak it aloud despite the varying degrees of intimacy within this group of women.

You hadn’t known your parents faces since you were young, and that’s just the way that it had been.

Your father had hoped that your grandfather would erect the church in an identical fervor of devout passion as he built the bridges that led into your town, and City Hall at its center, but your grandfather admitted to you often that he was disappointed that your parents did not treasure you the way they had been treasured as children.

“You’re a fool to leave behind a child. Our children are our future,” you remembered your grandmother recounting to you the few times you’d asked her to retell the story.

“My grandparents decided from then on to raise me, and took me to the research hospital in the next state over where we settled down to live. I remember being in my hospital bed, and when I could stay awake my grandfather would tell me about the world. ‘I want you to know everything there is in this world because one day you will be old enough and strong enough to be part of it. One day you’ll be able to go further than any of us ever dreamed. You will do it, my child.’”

“He read to me often about architecture, and finance, and politics...he taught me everything he possibly could.”

You felt a hitch catching in your throat but you breathed past it.

“In so many ways Minseok reminds me of him, and I told him that when we first met as well back in school. I think that’s one of the things that honestly attracted me to the business. I see it as my opportunity to make my grandfather, and my grandmother proud of me-”

“Will she ever be able to visit you here? Your grandmother?” ______ (Edinburgh Reader) asked suddenly, and you shrugged as you shook your head.

“No, she prefers that I come to visit. I’m not sure that she’s comfortable traveling really long distances from her garden, and from Papa since he’s buried on the farm as well. She’s in great health...I think it’s just too much for her,” you said as ______ (Colorado Reader) took your hand.

“I can really identify with what you said,” she began it seemed before she even realized that she was speaking. Her picture was in her lap face down as she spoke, and ______ (Lyon Reader) picked it up for her, turning it over where the circle could see it.

In her picture was her, and Kyungsoo at what looked like a modern day jazz club. A younger Kyungsoo sat at the poker table while she sat on his lap in a beaded drop waist dress, her arms draped around Kyungsoo’s neck as she bashfully turned into his embrace where he held her securely around the waist against his chest, his smile prouder and brighter than you could ever remember having seen it. It looked like this picture had been saved from years ago when they had first met one another.

“I…” she started, and stopped as she looked at the picture again.

“I have been going to therapy because Kyungsoo and I have been trying to eat well. I have even taken a step back from work. I have done all these things but I still have not been able to have a baby. And that is something that for the life of me, I really want to be able to do. It is just that as Kyungsoo’s wife, as his partner, we have done so much together. Well, we...we got married without our families. We did not do it I guess in a way that a lot of other people would and that already made me feel anxious about our future and then now for me to not able to get pregnant and for us to not be able to be the family that I thought we were going to be...it makes me feel like the healthy life that I thought I was living where you know I am with this man that I love so much...is not healthy at all.”

She looked at the photo held in ______ (Lyon Reader’s) hands, smiling a small smile as she took it into her hands as she let your hands go.

“I love Kyungsoo more than anything. And I just never want to fail him. I never want for him to not be proud of me. I never want to embarrass him…” the ardor with which she spoke told you that she took what she thought of as failure extremely personal.

Throughout this year she admitted that she had isolated herself in her failure.

That it had become so internal, and so personal, so emotional, so painful and so physical.

“I just did not want him to be part of that. I felt like...that would fail him even more to be part of that than I already have,” she breathed out warily.

“He firmly requested that I go to therapy, and I have been for awhile independently. And I feel like there is so much that we need to do. We are here today with everyone, and finally I am really getting to meet all of you. And it is nice to be here. But um...you know I feel like I want more time with my husband. I have taken so much time from us and our relationship because I just could not get out of my spiral. I risked so much and I am realizing that now…” her words were strong as she spoke them, and you felt ______ (Lyon Reader) shift beside her as she reached for her picture that she had placed on the table.

“If I may,” she began, answering the pregnant pause, _______ (Colorado Reader) birthed.

“Just continuing on this thread of health, and what it means to be healthy,” and she turned her photo over to reveal to you all.

It was your dearest YunHee, the princess acknowledged by most of the women sitting beside you.

It was a recent photo taken from her second birthday party. She was posed in her signature tutu upon the floor of her bedroom with her newest friend, Mongryeong, a Welsh corgi recently adopted into their family. YunHee faced her parents’ camera with her chin in her hand smiling with head tilted to the side as Mongryeong sat up beside her, his chin also tilted in the same direction.

“Baekhyun and I….you know I can understand where you all are coming from. My daughter um…” she sniffed as if not expecting the tears pooling in her eyes.

“I...I have had a lot of anxiety about my daughter, and about what’s going to happen to her. What if she never learns how to talk,” and her voice broke on “never.”

“What if she is never able to communicate with me, and tell me ‘maman ma couleur préférée est.’ What if she’s never able to say mom? Who is going to take care of her? Who is going to protect her?”

“I wish that Baekhyun and I could come to an agreement on what we are going to do as parents for our child. We just go back and forth on whether to put her in this therapy or to wait. We have pushed back our wedding date and have not even gone back to our wedding book that his mother, and my mother helped me to make. We have not talked about the wedding. We have not talked about getting married…” she let out a frustrated groan as she wiped more tears away and placed her photo gently down on the table, face up beside yours and ______ (Colorado Reader’s.)

“I am so happy to be here with you all. I am happy for us to get face to face time together. We have been popping in and out of retreats. We have spent so much time focused on our events and our ideas and talking on and on about that that we have not gotten time to truly get to know each other,” she looked around at you all then, and you nodded in encouragement thankful that she was taking you even further forward as spontaneous tears had begun budding in your eyes, and a bothersome welling building in your throat.

“You know...we are not...I’m connected with my mother and everything but I know for some of us we’re far away from our families and so this enterprise for us ladies can be a place where we come together and we create yet again another family and a network and support system. I know for _____ (Colorado Reader) we have been talking back and forth about everything because she was there for me when I was really sick at the hospital and she helped me to take care of my daughter. So we have developed a relationship. I have not been able to form relationships with everyone and,” the look in her eyes said that she wanted to go on and that there was more that she wanted to share but she stopped herself nonetheless.

_______ (Marseille Reader) reached over the table to pat her hand.

“You know sometimes with Baekhyun and I….I love him and we have been together for a long time. We have loved each other for such a long time but we have isolated ourselves in our own little castle and our own little universe. And since it is just us...when you are having issues coming together with the person you have built this beautiful castle with it is miserable...it is horrible,” she exhaled finally shaking her head as she ran her hands along her cheeks where tears had trailed.

Everyone seemed to crouch a little closer together as the waves of release began to break over you all.

“I am...I am really happy to be here too,” _____ (London Reader) started, her breath rustling out of her as she began.

“I have never had a true consistent group of friends. I have had loads of colleagues and classmates, but I am a reserved person for the most part so it only goes so far for me. I have gotten on being in a work environment and interacting with others. I have been really working at it and em…” there was an excited pause as she pulled out her photos.

From the vantage point of it, it seemed that Jongin had caught her by surprise from behind her while they were on an evening walk together. She was looking into the lens over her shoulder, her eyes sparkling and her smile confident as she held Jjangah to her chest while her other hand was in Jongin’s.

The other was Jongin holding her up high, her hands on the tops of his shoulders looking down into his eyes as he gazed up into hers where they stood outside of her new dance and movement therapy program’s building.

“I want to do amazing things and I am so happy to be here and to be amongst all of these ladies. I am gobsmacked, truly. This is who I want to be. I want to be this wicked, brilliant person that I see in so many of you when I look at you. And on top of that, something I am anxious about but I am excited about is my relationship with Jongin…” she grew pinker, and pinker still as she went on.

“I am falling in love with him. But because I do not have that network that you are mentioning now I feel like I am closed off. And _____ (Lyon Reader) has been such a dear and a friend by talking to me and helping me to understand who I want to be as a woman and in a relationship. This is my first time being in utter love with this person and I do think that I love him...I have not told him but I am always trying to figure out whether this is the right relationship for me..or whether I am moving too fast or too slow... “ she looked away at her pictures as ____ (Lyon Reader) gave a knowing glance at the timing of her pause to which _____ (Almaty Reader) squinted in curiosity.

“Jongin is….?”

“Gallant. A dancer. A charming smile, and darling laugh. A champion for animals. Beloved of children everywhere. In short, a teddy bear,” _____ (Marseille Reader) answered immediately.

________ (Arizona Reader’s) eyebrows raised in approval as she looked at ______ (London Reader) who was growing ever the more rosy at the descriptions given.

#exo au #human realm #universe gamma #pathcode au #exo fan fiction #berlin

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unholyhelbiglinked · 6 years ago

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Artifice | Chapter Three

CHECK OUT THE STORY FROM THE START HERE

Everything was silent, not even the birds daring to make a sound in the scalding summer day. Beca's ears usually rung, a sharp and shrill sound that she had grown used to- almost like she couldn't' exactly hear it anymore. A background noise that only became apparent in situations like this one; situations where she could feel the body heat of another- smell the salty brine of sweat that came off a stranger's body.

Now, it was quiet.

Chloe stood there in a bit of a stalemate, the young painter's heart pounding in her chest like she was faced with someone well into lunacy. Perhaps she was, perhaps this woman made up in looks for what she lacked in sanity.

Beca refused to shift her eyes, to let the tension in her body relax. This wasn't the type of painting that she had signed up for or even considered. It made an edge of heat press against her core as she reached blindly for the garment that had been discarded on the large queen-sized mattress to her right.

She shoved it into Chloe's hands, the ginger lifting her eyebrows in amusement as she grasped it, effectively covering herself up like a child at a getaway camp. "While we are both adults, Miss Beale." Beca finally allowed herself to make eye contact. "I do not believe this is what your husband had in mind when he asked me to capture your likeness."

Chloe drew in a sharp breath, one that was laced with disappointment, as far as Beca could tell. She couldn't be quite sure, her focus drawn to the blush that flooded the woman's complexion. "I'm um," She murmured. "I apologize, that was crass. That is the only type of art that has been created so far and-"

She was rambling at this point, a different side of her that made Beca's stomach flutter. Since the second the artist had laid eyes on Chloe Beale, she had been confident; holding her chin high and shoulders measured upon a level. But now, now she was a bumbling mess. One that made a slight smirk pull close to Beca's lips.

"Cálmate Chloe" The brunette eased out softly, raising her palm up to the woman's jawline, it was soft, if not heated. She brought eyes a new shade of navy to her own. "Perhaps this is why they were all fired."

Chloe's stare was wide, mouth propped open in a bit of shock. Beca's touch was gentle, something Garret never possessed. Her movements weren't rushed or seeping with a different motive. They were intentional, every second thought through.

She took a steadying breath, throat raw and stare kind. "Maybe it would be better if we start over, then." Her words soft, barely above a whisper "Something tells me you're not keen on learning about me in this nature."

"You're a married woman, Chloe." Beca gave her a slight wink "I know who not to cross."

Beca took a step back, giving her an encouraging smile before heading towards the large mahogany doors that had grown on her since she stepped into the room. They seemed too extravagant at first, almost like the entirety of the house. The metal cold against her palm as she hurried into the hallway.

It closed with a light thud as she pressed her back quickly against the wood, clenching her eye shut, so hard that little bright shapes danced across her eyelids in a vibrant irony. Beca let the breath she was holding in, out. That familiar ringing returning to her ears as she struggled to catch her composure.

She dug her nails into the mahogany, not paying much attention to the craftsmanship, or the way the wood folded under a slight touch. Instead, she swallowed roughly, enjoying the cold contrast of an unlikely draft.

"She's not always like that, you know." Beca's eyes shot open, greeted by the harsh light that streamed in from the large bay windows at the end of the landing- expertly assembled. It was Aubrey, Aubrey who had her nose pointed high in the air for more than half of their earlier conversation.

Beca watched her carefully, cautiously.

"You are the first to turn her down." Aubrey dipped her chin slightly, running her fingers menacingly against the nearby banister. She had showered herself, dressed in a pair of slacks and a pinstriped blouse, a tied knot at her throat. "Unless you're just quick with your recovery time-"

"I don't see how that's any of your concern." The brunette's voice broke despite her confidence.

"Oh, but it is." Aubrey turned to face her slightly "Miss Mitchell, do you know how hard it is to see Chloe tramp around with any man brought into this place? Part of me thinks it's because of Garret's lack of attention, but it very well may be Chloe's craving for it."

Beca let out a scoff as she pushed herself away from the door, walking towards the first set of stairs that would get her down to her quarters, or at least the kitchen. Something told the young woman that Stacie's presence was enough to lull the blonde demon into dropping delicate subjects.

"I was hired to do a job," Beca held herself firm, not slowing her pace as the woman caught up with her- stairs wide enough for the two of them to walk hand and hand. The smaller of the two stopping right by the main railing, hand placed simply on the wood as she turned to face her in quickness. "The way Miss Beale presents herself to me and any other artist is not my position to judge."

"So she did try it then?" Aubrey lifted a pointed brow. "You must understand that this is not healthy behavior, and I am just looking out for her."

"I am no threat." Beca sounded out with ease. "Garret want's a painting. I intend to give him one and go back to the Pacific, with all due respect, you're disgruntled because she threw herself at me?"

The logic didn't make much sense to Beca, it almost confirmed her thoughts about wealth. Money made you bored, and expectant of many things. It also made you hollow, that was something that the young girl never saw a need for, the emptiness that clouded painter's judgments and warped them cynically.

"No," Aubrey drew in a careful breath "I am concerned because no man or woman has ever succeeded in turning her down before."

"Does she usually get what she wants?" The brunette asked her simply, Aubrey's dull grey eyes flashing with recognition before she nodded slowly, a hesitant one, afraid of giving too much away about her friend. "Ah, well, that's too bad then."

Night had fallen quickly, the bright blues of the sky fading out to a sharp grey before trickling into the everlasting darkness. The type of darkness that made crickets stir from their nocturnal slumber.

It was a southern thing, the sound of crickets mixing with those of frogs. Big frogs that were slime covered and angry each time you got too close to them. The large estate bordered a swamp- the thick willow trees creating dark shadows against lanterns that stretched and morphed their colors.

Beca pushed her back further into the little metal bench, staring out at the murky water graced with lily pads and duckweeds. Even in the black of night, it was easy to see their vibrant effect.

She barely looked up as the soft scent of lavender filled her lungs, palm resting on her leg as an edge of sweat collected against her collarbone. It was hot- humid even. The bench shifting the second the girl lowered herself onto it- listening to the quiet.

"You don't have fireflies here." Beca finally mumbled, running her fingers over the seam of her pants silently, air heavy against her throat. "The swamp it, uh, it's darker than it should be."

Chloe shifted her lapis stare shifting to look at the aloof gaze on Beca's face. She hadn't noticed the small leather-bound book in the girl's lap until now, it's pages worn and even water stained. Her thumb held the charcoal pencil to the cover like glue.

She redhead had never seen fireflies, her mind wandering.

"Usually there are these little specks of light," Beca continued with ease. "They kind of dance, like a waltz. You know? Makes the place look a little less murdery."

"That is not a word," Chloe cracked a smile, voice humorous. Beca chuckled took, turning her head to get a good look at the woman. If it was possible, she had grown even more alluring over the process of the night.

The moonlight was pale and dominating compared to that of the lantern, it's flames stretching her features and shadowing them with soft edges. "It's true, you could perish in this place."

"It's easy for you to say that," Chloe nudged her softly "You're not the one living here."

"Oh, but I am." Beca joked, lifting her hand to point at some random tree as she tilted her head. "You're telling me, that tree doesn't look like something an ax murderer could hide behind?"

"Well, now it does!" Chloe exclaimed, grasping the girl's hand and shoving it down into her lap. The two of them breaking out into another round of laughter- quiet, as if not to disturb the nature around them. Finally dulling down to a small bout of silence.

"Can I see?" Chloe finally asked, lifting her chin towards the journal that was in Beca's grasp. She instinctively tightened her fingers around it before they loosened a bit. Her sketchbook was never something that she had shown anyone, her work special, and messy, and evolving every single time she was taught a new method.

She pulled the pages open to a random one, not sure what part of her travels it would open to. This wasn't her first book, and it wouldn't' be her last, but something told her Chloe didn't care either way. As long as she could see the lines drawn.

The pages were painted with a city, large and looming over cobblestone streets. You could see the depth of the multi-window buildings, clotheslines stretching between structures while large trolleys rushed past on established train tracks. The sky was colored with the parchment that rested under it.

Chloe let out an audible gasp, gently shifting the book further into her gaze, running her fingertips over the indentations on the paper. Her eyes twinkling as she flashed the towards Beca for a split second before returning her attention to the page.

"Barcelona in 1910," Beca said, scooting closer to run her finger down the stain of the page close to the edge. "I was sitting in some random apartment window when the guy caught me, he had a terrible aim- but his coffee cup didn't."

"It's gorgeous," Chloe husked, "Is that how you learned Spanish? By squatting in Barcelona."

"I didn't squat." Beca leaned back, letting her arm outstretched behind the woman to her side for pure comfort, the bench small and her warmth overwhelming. "I simply found the best view. Aprendí por necesidad."

"Right," Chloe sounded out her words carefully, running her fingers down the pages, "May I?"

"Go ahead." Beca gave her a nod of approval, the girl not wasting much time as she flipped to the next page. It was a picture of clear water, icy corners that revealed a dark cavernous bottom. A girl sat by the edge, her complexion dark and muddy as hair fell into her eyes.

"Is this Barcelona too?" Chloe asked, stare questioning.

"Jordan, actually." Beca shifted her stance once more, scooting closer as Chloe's shoulder leaned against her side, her sweet scent meshing with that of a swamp. "The dead sea."

"The what?" Her voice was innocent, filled with wonder as she made sharp eye contact with Beca.

"The dead sea," She reiterated with a gentle quiet. "It's the lowest part of the world. It's filled with salt and is probably one of the most therapeutic places I have ever been to. Calming."

Chloe swallowed thickly, pressing the pad of her touch right under the woman in the picture. "And her?"

"A stranger." The brunette whispered. "No one special."

Chloe breathed out softly, pressing her back further into the bench, stare focusing on the lines and curves that Beca's pencil had made years ago, her touch toying at the edge of the leather. She was quiet, mouth dry and senseless as the heat continued to press against her cheeks. Not jealousy, never jealousy. Not even discomfort.

It was a yearning, a yearning that both Beca Mitchell and Chloe Beale felt in this desolate moment.

#Beca Mitchell #Chloe Beale #Bechloe #fanfiction #bechloe fic rec

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kitterscosplay-blog · 7 years ago

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Patterning Princess Allura

Below the cut is my very long and picture filled explanation of how exactly I went about patterning my Allura costume (the tag for Allura, including photos of the finished look, can be found here!). So hopefully you might find this helpful, and later on there will be another post about the constructing of the costume (plus wigs, make up and prosthetics), but it’s best to start with the basics.

Behold the very fat pattern pocket used for this costume--this is mostly because the patterns for the very large skirts had to be folded up about a million times to fit, but also just because the costume had a lot of individual panels and pieces that had to be made.

The Dress Bodice

The bodice on the white under dress was a relatively simple patterning process--all it required was a few simple measurements. Mostly for the length--measuring from where I wanted the neckline to be to where I wanted the bodice to end and the skirts to begin--but also for fit. I didn’t make the under dress terribly tight fitting, particularly when taking my bust measurement because Allura is a rather regal, refined sort of person--and also because she’s from a children’s cartoon. The bodice required the following measurements be taken;

length (neckline to waist)

waist

bust

neckline

After taking the measurements it more or less became a matter of drawing some lines on a piece of paper and connecting the dots. The end result for the front bodice panel was this;

The back was very similar--the only significant changes were a slight raising of the neckline at the back, and patterning to allow for a center back seam for the invisible zip to be put in. As such, the pattern looked like this;

In the end, despite the neckline of the bodice being hidden by the cape, the unfinished edge of it bothered me--and finishing it with bias binding was proving very tedious. So I ended up adding a collar to it. Because this was more for my own peace of mind than visual effect, the collar was literally a long thin strip which was folded, sewn and turned inside out. I measured along the edge of the neckline of the bodice once it had been assembled and used that as length, then made it approximately three inches wide so when folded over, the collar would be around one and a half inches, which I thought seemed like enough.

All in all probably the most boring pattern piece in the project.

The Skirts

The skirts attached to the dress proved to be one of the largest challenges of the project--simply because they were very large. While a lot of people when making Allura costumes add a strip of pink fabric to the bottom of the white skirt, this wasn’t going to work out well given the fabric that I had and how much of it I had due to the bias. So instead, I patterned a three tier skirt--the bottom two tiers (one a sheer blue, glittery star print to show off only when I twirled, and the other a beautiful pink chiffon) were the same length--approximately floor length on me which isn’t very far. A separate pattern was made for the white skirt--which would be essentially the same, only about five inches shorter to allow the pink to show at the bottom.

This is the pattern piece for the two longer skirts, and below is a photo of this with the shorter pattern piece laid over the top for reference.

These skirts are all half circle skirts; a waist measurement was taken (one that approximately matched up with the waist measurement used for the bodice), and while some might have gone for full circles, as I’m quite petite, this was more than enough to look very full and luxurious on me. After the waist measurement was worked out, a tape measure was held at where the “point” of the triangle would have been (if the semi circle of the waist hadn’t been cut out, where the point of this triangle shape would have been), and then moved it around making small markings at the same measurement along different points. When done, the dots were connected and the pattern was ready to go. Both pattern pieces were exactly the same, sans a few inches in length.

The Loincloth/Sash

I hate the word “loincloth’ but that is more or less what it is. The strip of light blue fabric that sits at the front of Allura’s gown. This was literally just a very long rectangle when patterning. I measured approximately how wide I wanted it to be--just by measuring on myself at the front and how wide I thought was appropriate--then added the length of the longer of the two skirt patterns.

The Sleeves

The sleeves were made in two parts, as there is a puffy capped sleeve attached to the armhole of the bodice, and a blue sleeve which begins around mid bicep. I designed these pattern pieces to have significant overlap, as I hoped it would give the shoulders a little more ‘puff’.

The white sleeve pattern was made by rather simple measurements. I measured how long I wanted it to be--taking the measurement from where the bodice armhole would be to just below my elbow--then I measured around my arm at about where my armpit is, so the widest part of the sleeve pattern, just below the sleeve cap, and then around my arm where the sleeve would end, just below my elbow. The sleeve cap was patterned using the measurements I used to make the bodice’s armhole--for both I really recommend a french curve, or even just pinching the shape from a commercial pattern and tracing it--no one will know!

The blue sleeve pattern was a lot simpler. I measured around my bicep, where the pattern piece would start, and then around my knuckle--never the rest, or you’ll have a lot of problems getting your hand into the sleeve. Always do the bottom measurement or the ‘wrist’ of the sleeve as the measurement of the widest part of your hand--the knuckle.

Essentially this just created a trapezoid.

The Corset

Patterning the corset was done using the tried and true method of glad wrapping and then duct taping my torso--through the help of my lovely friend (who would be my Shiro while I was in costume!), a cast of my torso was created, which we could then draw on to get the shape of the corset we wanted--fitted to my body. Once this was drawn on the cast and cut out, it was transferred to paper, creating these three pattern pieces:

Which obviously look incredibly strange and like they don’t fit at all--because human bodies are decidedly not flat or made of straight lines, and so don’t always translate to paper well. However, this pattern worked perfectly with some finnicky sewing around the edges. When tracing on the cast, be sure to account for the neckline of the corset--I gave Allura’s a very gentle sweetheart neckline, as well as a point at the bottom where my hips were, and then allowed the back of the corset to sit slightly lower at the back than the front. It’s worth noting that this corset had no boning in it and was purely for aesthetic purposes, and not shaping.

The Cape

Patterning the cape posed minor problems as initially, the back upper panel was patterned to be far too small for my shoulders--but at the time the tails of the cape had already been made, so the back panel is at the top wide enough for my shoulders and tapers down to the appropriate width for the tails to be attached and sit as they should.

The one at the top was the original pattern piece, and the one at the bottom was the redrafted (and final!) one. The piece was made by measuring shoulder to shoulder, and using that as the point of greatest width, and then the measurement for the bottom ‘tapered down’ part was taken from measuring the tails width at the top when they were positioned as they would be in the final garment--slightly overlapping. All in all, this addition of the tapering down actually looked quite good, and when on the body was almost unnoticeable.

The front was simply made by measuring across my collarbone, halving the measurement and adding a slight dip in to account for the neckline.

The outside of the tails was taken by measuring approximately where I wanted the cape to fall--how long I wanted it to be--along my back, and then measuring how wide I wanted the ‘bulb’ of the tail to be--making it the widest point, as well as the width of the top of the tail where it attached to the back piece.

The inside of the tails was essentially this same pattern piece cut up to account for the white and pink segmenting.

The Crown & The Crest

The crest attached to the front of the corset wasn’t something I patterned--instead I simply googled the Voltron symbol and printed it out at the right size and used it as a pattern piece.

The crown was incredibly easy--once I had my wig on, I measured from temple to temple, then added an allowance of about half an inch for where the crown would sit under the wig to be sewn into it. At the middle point, I added a small triangle and that was that!

And that’s more or less how I patterned my Allura costume--if anyone has any questions or anything was unclear, please feel free to let me know, send me an ask and I’d be happy to walk you through it more clearly. Possibly with diagrams--we shall see.

#costume: allura #Costume Write Up #Patterning #Cosplay How To #princess allura #vldallura #voltron legendary defender #voltron cosplay

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no-ns-en-si-ca-l · 5 years ago

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ROMAN PANTS • Geirþrúður Finnbogadóttir Hjörvar

(s)Part(a) 1

Fabric is a network of lines that forms a grid.

The manual loom produces rolls of fabric in indefinite quantities.

Restrictions do however apply, to the width of fabric.

This is because the weave of fabric is restricted to the breadth of human arms, performed from a stationary position, either sitting or standing. It is therefore that when buying fabric, you buy it by the length.

The substance of these lines can be made of silk, cotton, and wool.

Modern-day industrial machines still function the same as manual looms—only on a larger and faster scale. The size—or more specifically the width of the planes they produce—is necessarily restricted to the sizes of those machines. Meanwhile, the span of a fabric's length is subject to no such restrictions.

The substance of these lines can be made of organic or non-organic material. Often they are blended.

Being a network of lines that form a grid, fabric is a closer relative to the pure abstraction of a 3-dimensional plane than most other plane-shaped materials.

This lack of mass may present new aspects to its structure: It may run the risk of losing a dimension.

When a plane is laid down on its side, it may then appear from a frontal position of perspective, merely as a line. At least, if you imagine a full roll of fabric unrolled into space, it certainly would, relatively speaking, look and behave more like a line than a plane—that is, as long as it is perceived from certain angles.

Though in "real" life, any plane tends to have some depth, structural integrity, or just stiffness that allows it to persist in its plane-like behavior.

Yet, fabric tends to bypass the pure plane for the more practical alternative of becoming a mass in physical space. It does this by functioning as a parasitic form that reproduces itself as a shell—one that covers any mass that is its host.

Draped, hung, folded, or stitched together, its nature is to imitate those forms that are capable of supporting its weight. Thereby does it camouflage its lack of mass, which it does by wrapping itself around everything with which it comes into contact—or at least has the formal ability to do so.

So far, fabric has preferred the human body. It is the topographic surface that tends to be closest to people, forming a second skin, even to the extent that it functions as prosthetic fur or feathers.

(s)Part(a) 2

A certain artistic excellence was achieved amongst Greek sculptors. What makes the alignment between humanism and Greek sculpture visible is the representation of the naked human form.

This placed Greek sculpture as a staple of Western aesthetic appreciation.

The Romans were a more consumer-based society. Their workshops specialized in imitations of classical works and commissioned portraiture—ones that tended to compliment the decorative components of an estate, or else at functioned as state and/or religious propaganda—none of which were mutually exclusive to the other.

The Roman statue is generally separated into two components: The head and the body.

The head is either a portrait, or it is a standard representation of an idealized face—one that denotes generative beauty.

The body is rarely a specific likeness. It would typically be mass-produced and made to fit the commissioned head.

The mass of the sculpture’s body is complimented by a gesture and a garment. Such a garment tends either be held or cover that body in Greek-styled apparel.

This depiction of fabric in stone is a problematic procedure.

The contours of fabric are added the statue’s mass, much like a texture would be added to a digital structure. Only the folds of fabric on a Roman statue take the form of a relief, chiseled onto a mass.

This involves its own tradition of conformity, whereby the contradiction of stone and fabric melts away.

(s)Part(a) 3

These statues were clothed in wholly contemporaneous apparel.

When it came to wearing fabric, Greco-Roman culture did favor variations of wholly uncut cloth.

Appearing as a series of unbroken planes that fold, twist, or hang in alternating layers, Greco-Roman clothing is as a series of two-dimensional surfaces that wrap themselves around 3-dimensional bodies.

Such fabrics are held in place by the force of their own weight. With minimal help from pins and cords, the look of dignified antiquity is attained by manipulating large pieces of fabric (up to 6 meters long) in relatively complex ways.

What may once have had its origins in an ideology of self-sufficiency shifted towards a hierarchy of affected simplicity—otherwise known as decadence—where an element of hierarchy is embedded into its folds.

The higher a person might be on the socio-economic ladder, the more cumbersome the apparel would be in restricting the movements of the wearer.

This complexity of dress was also effective in making transparent the relationship between the labor of dressing and of the number of servants needed to achieve it.

One only need apply imagination to the pragmatic schema involved in calculating the quantity of fabric and the ease of dressing embedded in the dress code of a lower-class citizen.

On the other side of the scale would be official slave apparel. It exhibits this same logic of class hierarchy, both through an ease of dressing, as well as in the freedom of movement within fabric.

(s)Part(a) 4

Barbarians, however, were stereotyped by their penchant for stitched fabric.

To the classical mind, tailored clothing implied sewing as a kind of violence to the ontological superstructure of fabric.

The result is the translation of an autonomous plane into a custom-made shell—one that forms an independent infrastructure of thread, capable of re-producing and maintaining the shape of the human form.

Pants were therefore barbarous because they were stitched together. No longer held in place by the logic of their own weight, they are the result of coercion, formed by a series of punctures to their surfaces.

Cut and refashioned, when fabric is forced to take on human shape, it leaves little space to articulate an ontological distance between body and cloth.

What it implies is that the work of the needle is not just an act of violence toward the substance of the fabric, but that the needle's violence is also carried out by hindering fabric from expressing itself in its natural state, as an unbroken plane or through the logic of its own folds.

On closer inspection, there is also the sensation of looking at stiches. One can sympathize with this interpretation when realizing the crude way one piece of fabric remains suspended in forced collaboration with other, equally mutilated, pieces of fabric. A strange abuse of plane-ness that thrives even today.

Greeks and Romans therefore both displayed a certain disdain towards sewn clothing—a disdain that was characterized by the usual racial undertones towards cultures outside their respective empires.

One can however quickly deduct the possibility of a democratic do-it-yourself logic within the pants culture: Even a chieftain might choose to put on his own pants—thereby minimizing the labor intensity of dressing implied by servants.

Or at least, it is a style that trivializes the work of servants who may dress another body—their labor no longer legible when determining a social hierarchy of dress within a given tribe. Though for sure, other elements may re-introduce those elements in the form of embellishment or perhaps of buckles in the back.

(s)Part(a) 5

From the Roman standpoint, nature must be imitated. Yet when it came to the barbarian habit of respecting phenomena in nature, this same coin can be turned the other way.

Despite the blood-soaked march that typified the Roman legions, there was nothing that terrified a Roman soldier as much as a dark forest. What the forest represented was the heightened chance of defeat due to the guerrilla tactics practiced against Romans under those environmental conditions.

One can only wonder about how closely this fear may have been due to a mental association between the agricultural land that soldiers were promised at the end of their tours and the barbarians' insistence on living with nature rather than breaking it down into measurable plots of land.

Another thing that typified a barbarian was their relative inability to follow neoliberal tactics of social dominance within a patriarchal hierarchy. Some traits that may indicate barbarism would include granting political status to women, not letting the sick, the poor, widows, or orphans die, and a somewhat religious respect for nature.

Such views would be considered by the Romans to be naïve at best. At worst, it would be associated with the sinister practices of human sacrifice rumored to be part of the religious practices of Celtic Druids, as well as of tree-worshipping Germanic tribes.

Indeed, the whole of North Europe seems to have littered with the bodies testifying to the practice of human sacrifice. It seems to have been a bit of a habit in the north.

However, the problem with an ideological framework of moral condemnation is that it points to a startling contradiction. What is interesting about this particular alignment of associations is how the ideological language of the economy of death, defined as barbarian, has the twisted contours of a lost argument.

A close symbiosis with nature may indeed present a more brutal form of material scarcity, but the victims of those remaining bodies—those thought to be "bog executions"—were generally of high social position. They were well fed and manicured.

According to the popular theory of king-sacrifice, the social status of the victim is precisely what gives value to the act of sacrifice. It gives the practitioners bonus points in appeasing the gods, and in theory, towards averting catastrophe in times of crisis.

This contrasts sharply with the Roman model, wherein the processes of nature are paid homage to by having the bottom ranks of economic classes suffer disproportionately in times of famine. A social order is thereby upheld through an imitation of natural processes, wherein starvation helps society gain its “natural” equilibrium.

By continuation of that train of thought, it dictates that upholding social contracts from a humanitarian basis, as was the custom among barbarian tribes, may be considered a form of ecological blasphemy to a Roman.

For instance, in how such a tribe when faced with an upcoming famine, may resolve an upcoming death toll from a position of sober decision. Those to fall under may then be taken from within a larger spectrum of social classes.

(s)Part(a) 6

Furthermore, the Romans viewed human sacrifice as a step in the evolutionary progress of civilization that they themselves had already abandoned.

The success of this cultural evolution is presumed to rely on the symbolic sublimation of that drive through the use of animals in their sacrifices—so much so that animal sacrifice became a staple of religious ceremonies in the Greco-Roman world.

The type of animal to be chosen for sacrifice depended on the animal’s symbolic association.

The bull would rise in status as the most prestigious of sacrifices. Its economic value and its general sense of grandeur would align it to the most important ceremonies—ones that involved the proxy of chieftains that would later to be consolidated into the sole figure of Caesar.

In the next step of this evolution, skeletons of sacrificed bulls would become fixed as decorative motifs, along with garlands of flowers.

This arrangement of bull-heads made its way into the architectural reliefs of the Ara Pacis. It records the process by which Augustus observes the ritual sacrifice of a bull, chiseled onto an architectural structure that takes the form of an altar—one which remains standing to this day.

It can be speculated that having a process of sublimation rooted in communal ceremony fixed in stone may effectively have undermined the possibility of its continued practice.

Indeed, it may even have sublimated the very need to displace imperial chieftains at all (well, at least by the people). They would more-or-less be deified from thereon, though immune neither to competitors, nor generals of war, nor high-ranking agents within their own secret service—nor to family members, for that matter. That, however, is just how it goes.

(s)Part(a) 7

The Ara Pacis, made at the absolute pinnacle of Roman imperial power, commemorates the peace made possible after, and thanks to, the economic benefits that followed the conquest of Greater Gaul.

To the Roman mind, it may even have had some thanks due to the symbolic transferal of power reaped in the ritualistic murder of the Gaul's leader—the one who had momentarily unified a loose configuration of tribes into something akin to a temporary state of nationhood.

A ritualistic murder of the enemy may have some affinity with human sacrifice, but departs from its logic on several levels.

This is because the life of the enemy has after all no intrinsic value—less so to Romans who feel that a prisoner of war suffers from a moral debauchery in the failure to suicide. Added to the fact that, though Vercingetorix's execution was of symbolic significance, being a foreigner, his life was already a priori disposable to that community. Hence no sacrifice in the traditional sense.

Thus did there evolve a rhetoric within Rome that upheld the belief that barbarianism had been defeated by eradicating the Druids who were rumored to practice human sacrifice. So was honor and glory re-appropriated for the expanding empire of Rome. As was Gaul's resources.

Meanwhile, a similar twist in the contours of a moral code was reinforced when it came time for the masses to be entertained. Romans would now crowd the Colosseum to watch armies of men meet their deaths. Not to appease a god but to appease the general population. A notorious episode in what passed for entertainment was the burning and the feeding of Christians to lions, notably in the time of Nero.

It may thus be surmised that the ceremonies that tied the ritual sacrifice of chieftains over a fixed group of citizens had by then been replaced, first by the animal, then by an arena of anonymous people—ones who, for reasons such as non-Roman-ness, criminality, or religion, were not granted the status of human beings, i.e. citizens. It seems that quantity made up for quality.

This, the general ambiance of moral debauchery brought about in observing the hysterical mob of the Colosseum, could well account for the fashionable surge in asceticism that later followed. There being something about this air of transgression gone haywire, that may very well have mainstreamed one relatively insignificant cult amongst a plethora of others in Rome, i.e. the cult of Christ.

It may also explain why the early sects adopted the death logic of the sacrifice as its main component. It cast light on the fact that the ceremony of sacrifice cannot be neglected. An inclusion that may perversely have led to an air of competition toward the Roman cult of death.

Since it was gods demanding all these sacrifices in the first place, they made sure that this element of ceremonial sacrifice remained present. Not necessarily a purposeful one, but nonetheless one that remained inevitable via the prophesy of betrayal.

But the Christians played a trump card. They announced that they had made the ultimate sacrifice—they simply killed their god. The Christians then go: “Ha-ha-ha. Take that you petty throw-them-to-the-lion Romans. We sacrificed god instead of a bunch of petty criminals.”

In the hierarchy of sacrifice, this card remains like that of 4 aces. What follows thereafter is the weird logic of a spell of appeasement in which the world would eventually be theirs for the taking.

(s)Part(a) 8

In magic, any act may take place by proxy of the thing meant to be affected.

If at one point, the ritual killing of an animal was the sublimated displacement of violence towards a fellow human, then at another, the arena of Rome may be celebrated as a return to the natural instinct of the human spirit. But ever so twisted in its logic.

Because, the thing about nature is that it injects a logic of itself on several different levels.

There always remains both nature and culture, where each tribe picks and chooses the degree to which it wants to conform to the idealizing principle of one over the other.

One moment, it is culture that is the temporary cessation of chaos brought on by nature. Form will then be subjugated to entropy when it is reclaimed by nature.

As is the case when the same gesture that the Romans interpreted as the sublimation of nature would be re-interpreted by the Christian cult as a degeneration into nature; the decay of form. They would then re-invent its symbolism so that the same signifier may be transported back into the realm of metaphysics.

Magic lies precisely in the coordinated change to the significance of a thing. That is to say, in the ontological shift by which a thing is suddenly, and collectively, perceived differently. Furthermore, the potency of such shifts in perception tend more aptly to be harvested, the more a collective responsible for them had sought self-definition for itself and its aims when it had affected them.

Once altered, a progression of actions may follow thereafter.

This logic also works the other way around: To acknowledge an underlying capacity for meaning to shift so that reality itself may be altered, is also to acknowledge the potency of unified action.

(s)Part(a) 9

Collective superstructures are organized to thwart off domination from outside its own predefined bounds.

Formed around collective action, such structures are conceived to overcome the inevitability of Darwinian logic so that it may stand against the delicate tissue of self-service that makes collective action impossible. Specifically, they are designed to halt, even if temporarily, a sense of competition amongst each member of the species towards every other member of that same species.

This would apply to any socially cohesive unit.

They include formal and informal unions, guilds of medieval times, the Freemasons, APAC, fire brigades, unions, municipal and national governments, armies, girl scouts, those companies that give out logos to mark ecologically-produced food, political parties, and housing associations.

Their construction is built on a simple understanding incarnated by Vikings planning coordinated attacks with a miniscule army. The failure of said Vikings may rely on the social cohesion of the group against which their attacks are mounted. That is their ability to organize collective emergency protocol in the void of state intervention.

A whole village could, for example, strategically and collectively disappear with all the valuables it could carry. Such temporary disappearances are made possible with intense know-how of ecological conditions. A forest to one tribe may be dunes to another. Thus could attacks could be thwarted with collective action.

Yet, any number of alliances may be equally capable of playing offense as of defense.

This is troubling ground—implying a host of interchangeable signifiers that contribute to the ontological status of collectivity.

Vikings did, for example, wear pants.

Not only that, each structure may take on an autonomy that mimics the processes of an individual—each in competition with the other. What had once been the temporary cessation of individual wills may eventually become fully optimized institutions. Rather than being in service to those humans who had dreamt them up, they may instead be geared towards securing their own survival.

Or, in taking into account the ecological element, any collective may evolve to cultivate new areas by which oppression may be exercised—irrelevant of the original intent in its formation.

Even if others had been dreamt up solely to oppress.

The element of evolution may function simply to safeguard the ontological existence of the collective structure. Each partnership of joint intention may therefore face the inevitability of being brought into the mechanism by which the ideology of competition functions.

But then on the structural level, wherein each human-made structure is in competition with other such structures, institutions may additionally evolve to stand against those human members they had been meant to service.

A simple example is when mid-ranking bureaucrats take over systems by which collectives are organized so as to make their structural logic illegible to anyone but themselves. As would be the case when the funds of a union are divested from institutions that are based on collective self-determination, and directed instead towards corporate structures of top-down management. A more realistic process by which a collective structure is undermined would be a conflation between those two processes. The first being that of management styles and the second that of divested capital.

(s)Part(a) 10

In daily parlance, the systems by which power is distributed falls under a broad category of human behavior called politics.

A concept that has an unresolved relationship with reason, it is sometimes described as a will embedded within humans, while at other times as that of a force unto itself.

To the degree that politics is given the upper hand in this equation between it and humankind, it may, in its most logical reading, imply that nature is not the survival of the fittest, but the conquest of nature over humans.

The gist of its general understanding falls broadly under the assumption that good intention, and collective collaboration for the sake of a better-ordered society, can never really work out.

Or as Machiavelli would say, honoring institutional contracts is generally a good idea so as to produce the good faith necessary for the formation of alliances. But when the opportunity arises, it is better to break any bond for the sake of self-interest.

On a practical level, this is the case of the prisoner’s dilemma. Because one must at all time bear in mind that the other side might not only betray you, too, but may feel morally obliged to do so, thereby upholding the policy by which the fittest of the species may survive as it is meant to. The most politically agile of animals are thereby chiseled into existence.

Machiavelli goes on to say that being part of a union and to then to break one's oath to it is better than never having been part of a union at all. Because, there are equal advantages to being within a union as there are payoffs for joining the next one in the aftermath of betrayal. In the logic of competition, the next union would necessarily, if only temporarily, be in a stronger position when key players had changed sides.

Politics is the understanding of these mechanisms. And the logic of such maneuvers are valued for their paradoxical ability to keep a less refined sense of brute force at bay.

It being something like the sublimation of force—in which structures are aimed towards the creation of ever more complicated systems of dominance. Ones that eventually grow stronger than what the maneuvers of simple brute force may ever have dreamed of creating.

(s)Part(a) 11

Yet, the current mood of political thought overlooks such lucid insights on the pros and cons of collective engagements—and even the betrayal thereof.

Such an order seems to imply a paranoid outlook towards anyone who had decided to put their individualistic desires aside for the benefit of a collective whole.

This seems mainly due to an alignment between "individualism" and that of a liberal social organization.

A train of thought that has for a time taken such hold of the collective psyche, that to talk about a clash between different interests of different collective entities has been considered conspiratorial. At least considered so by those who have established advantageous positions within a given order.

To negate interpersonal competition is, however, not just a conspiracy against the ruling order of a status quo. The official narrative of the neoliberal era dictates that force is meant to be exercised specifically through interpersonal politics.

This is meant to safeguard a "natural" order through its theoretical capacity for negating the structural dominance of institutions over humanity. If not, the danger in subsuming the will of an individual to an entity that is not an official part of the system of capitalist competition would lead to fascism.

By association, any level of collective action would be a conspiracy against a "natural" order, and by connotation, to neglect the practice of self-interest is considered blasphemy to the ideological order by which the rule of "nature" is upheld.

(s)Part(a) 12

It is especially within the neoliberal regime that we are made to understand the implicit necessity of individual behavior to mimic the animal universe as closely as possible.

Dogs eat dogs, lions eat giraffes, and different individual animals of the same species must exhibit their fitness by competing—firstly for the same limited amounts of resources and secondly for mating opportunities. Lest institutions start taking on those roles.

One may speculate that the reason we must follow this regime is precisely because, as stated above, the historical imagination has been curated so as to teach us about the dangers of fascism.

Yet, within that ideological alignment, corporations are not considered de facto fascist.

One can only speculate about why, in face of the brand loyalty its employees are meant to exhibit towards the well-being of such institution, they tend not to be considered so.

Perhaps it is because when employees are subsumed as components within the structural integrity of such institutions, the transferal of those individuals' loyalty is somehow offset by the institutional motivation of those structures.

By copying the process of other (competing) superstructures such as a nation-state, they too conform to the logic of imitation towards natural processes. That is to say that the corporation is placed within the ontological pre-existence of global capitalism.

It is therefore already defined through an ideology of competition—a model in which "natural" drives are sublimated by, well, acting out those drives.

(s)Part(a) 13

Another facet of contradiction from within the assumptions of integrity in the formulation of competitive superstructures is how much it takes for granted the ruling body of the nation-state.

A state of affairs fixed by a convention, their position—their physical boundaries—had originally arisen from a truce between armed clashes. Or at least the risk thereof.

Yet, the idea that the strongest country might at any time take over another country on account of its military strength is considered morally reprehensible—at least on a superficial level—until someone does it, and then most of the time, everyone looks the other way. Until their aggression has been beaten down for a while. Then it's morally reprehensible again.

This is where the citizens of the world have accepted the logic whereby the rule of might is the inevitable logic of evolution, which in turn allows the rule of political division implied by nationhood to be naturalized.

(s)Part(a) 14

A modern-day suit is not altogether different from a toga.

European culture, too, speaks of the uncanny naturalization of a ruling ideology.

A suit and a tie—does anything say elegance better than well-tailored suit? By the standards of the 20th century, the suit is a form of sophistication, routed, first in commerce and then in the work of bureaucrats of the neoliberal regime—that is, in the corporation.

It is a style. Embedded in the philosophy of its fabric is the alignment between nature and the cultural imperative to imitate and sublimate nature in turn. Because, naturally, the business suit is the evolution of fabric's form, elevated to perfection.

Like the toga, it allows form to speak a language that seeks to naturalize the rule of the strong (conqueror) over the weak (conquered), yet remains selective about what a natural process may mean.

This equivalence is noteworthy for a piece of historical data: In relation to gold, the worth of a toga, a nice pair of sandals, and whatever accessories go with it in Roman times is of approximately the same value as what a well tailored suit, shoes, and accompanying wristwatch would be today.

(s)Part(a) 15

Yet, toga just has that wink of self-acknowledgement that pants lack.

Worn specifically by those most deeply invested in upholding the cultural norms by which their own tribe may prevail, has the toga not always been worn within the halls of Europe’s educational system, and in direct proportion to the degree to which those are in ideological alignment with the ruling class? Allowing fraternity boys too, to pick and choose what it is about classical times that they had wanted to associate themselves with.

More importantly, they will have learned which interpretation best serves their interests. That is very classical, too.

(s)Part(a) 16

Yet, however the farcical imitation of antiquity by neoliberal practitioners, the toga may prove an interesting point: This laissez-faire logic of the toga exists through a set of visual associations.

Perhaps even to the degree a relationship between style and fabric may reveal the extent to which so-called neoclassical economics is practically synonymous with neo-liberalism.

This narrative unfolds within the interplay of fabric that clashes not just against itself, but also against the material basis by which its structure is supported—the human body.

In so doing, it implies the interplay between the inevitable and the unexpected, between weight and chance collision, wherein the survival-of-the-fittest is manifested within the complex folds of cloth.

It is then placed in diametrical opposition to stitched fabric, and to the willfulness of the needle. Wherein an internal architecture of fabric (tailoring it to the human body) would ruin the transparency attributed to the toga for its ability to display the interaction between culture (human) and nature (a plane of cloth).

Yet, to engage with the reality of nature is to acknowledge its capacity for collective forms of empowerment. Social cohesion is after all natural to animals, too.

Strength being that thing that lions have when colluding to attack a giraffe.

Power being what the herd has when collaborating to hunt down the weakest gazelle in the group.

Who in their turn, tend to ward off attacks through coordinated maneuvers.

All power to the gazelle!

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onenightandgone · 8 years ago

Text

Gone - Chapter Thirteen (M)

Sometimes you let go of the past, but it doesn’t let go of you.

Reader x Sehun Smut, Angst

Halfway through the night, your bones complained loudly from sleeping on the floor. You tried to ignore it, but eventually you couldn’t take it anymore. You woke the sleeping giant Sehun to show him to the one piece of furniture you did own.

Sehun sleepily wrapped his arms around your waist before dipping backwards onto the bed, taking you down with him. You giggled as he adjusted you to be perpendicular to the headboard.

He propped himself up to look down at you, then leaned down to kiss you with a sigh.

You felt him smile into the kiss as he started to pull at the hem of your shirt. He nimbly slid the thin cotton over your shoulders. His hands carefully skated over every small detail of your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake as he threw it aside. Your leggings came off just as gently.

He settled down behind you, bare chest against your bare back. Sehun idly traced the outline of your ribcage, running up and down the curve of your waist.

The light touches made you shiver.

Sehun chuckled softly and did it again, gauging your reaction.

You sighed begrudgingly and tried to close your eyes to sleep, but he scooted his hand down your arm and moved to rest his head on your upper arm. Sehun studied your fingers, every knuckle and dimension, every line of your palm.

Your wrist now sported a purple bruise as a reminder of your sin. He touched it gingerly, his breath hitching before he laid chapped lips on your neck.

You rolled over to look at him. Sehun smiled softly when your eyes met. His fingers danced circles on your stomach.

Your lips met his in an unavoidable yet tired kiss. Sehun swayed forward to lean against you. As the contact deepened and his tongue slipped inside your mouth to explore, you felt the tiny flame inside you reignite. His hands roamed over your body, increasing the pressure of his touch.

You pulled away briefly and watched him carefully as you reached underneath you to rid yourself of your remaining garments.

Sehun’s breath hitched as he took you in, his hands shyly claiming new territory. He slowly felt your shapes, discovered your growing desire before his own overcame him.

You found yourself on your back, Sehun’s weight sinking onto you completely. You might have minded if it wasn't for the solid heat pressing against your thigh. He inhaled sharply before bringing his lips to yours.

The fire caught inside you.

You wrapped your legs around his waist. It took all your strength to guide him to hover on top of you.

‘Y/N-ah?’ he said lowly. Sehun gazed at you questioningly as he sought your consent to continue. His hips that hovered tantalizingly over yours lowered as you nodded.

His breath blew hotly along the surface of your skin as he intertwined his fingers with yours above your head. Your heart raced when he lowered his other hand downward between your bodies.

Sehun gazed into your eyes intensely, his own dark ones filled with nothing but pure love. The air was electric around you and erupted just like the fireworks you had watched together as he entered you softly, his every motion filled with tenderness.

The sensation of being joined to him, of feeling every part of him, every vein and bump, made you gasp and throw your head back. His heavy exhale wavered and shook as he felt you constrict around him.

Your fingers tightened desperately around his as he started to move, joining and rejoining. You moaned and motioned your hips up to meet him, a satisfying duet of want and wanting to give the other pleasure.

‘Y/N-ah!’ Sehun groaned passionately in your ear.

The speed of his movements increased and your center reflexively convulsed around him, clinging to him as he exited. Your back arched as Sehun anchored deeply inside you over and over. Each of his strokes felt like a tidal wave washing up the shoreline, each pulse growing stronger as you began to succumb to the ocean within you.

The noises coming from his throat multiplied as he fell prey to the same alluring waters. One hand let go of yours to find purchase on your waist, pinning you in place as he began to lose control.

Sehun rested his forehead on yours, the air from both your lungs heavy with passion.

‘Look at me,’ he whispered between grunts and moans.

You obeyed, the instant bond intensifying the charge in your center.

Your thighs began to quiver and burn from the continued stretch, but the euphoria named Sehun that filled you also fueled you, feverishly driving you over the edge.

You heard yourself call his name as the fiery tide finally consumed you, your toes curling and your thighs clenching shut around his waist. Next you heard Sehun swear as he surged urgently inside for a final time and reached his climax with a load groan.

His sinewy limbs finally gave out as he collapsed onto you, expended and heaving. Somehow Sehun still found the will to lay gentle kisses on your neck before rolling over with a contented sigh.

Your eyes met before he softly brushed his lips against yours, kissing you sweetly as your climaxes subsided.

‘I love you,’ you whispered as you parted. Sehun smiled as his eyes searched yours.

‘You don’t know how much I love you.’

His words prompted you to curl against his chest, relishing in the feeling of safety he provided. Sehun’s arms met you, encasing you in warmth even as the steam, sweat, and heat evaporated off your flushed skin.

You traced the lines of his muscles as you waited for sleep to claim you. Your eyes fluttered closed and you drifted off with a sigh.

Daylight felt like it came all too soon.

You stirred from where you were pasted to Sehun’s side when you heard the racket coming from the living room. The sleeping giant carefully pushed you off of him, slipping out of the sheets and onto his feet.

You unabashedly cracked your eyes open to watch him walk out of the room, a secret smile on your face as you took in his form.

‘Hello?’ you heard him say hazily. ‘Who is this? Wait a moment.’

The slapping sounds of Sehun’s bare feet on the floor approached again and you felt him poke your shoulder.

‘Y/N-ah, phone!’ he kissed your cheek.

You yawned and took the evil device from him, sitting up to sound less sleepy.

‘Hello?’ you said.

Sehun placed himself behind you and situated you between his legs with arms around you snugly. His cheek brushed against your unoccupied ear.

‘Y/N?’ said a familiar voice on the other end. ‘Can you come down to the studio? Like right now?’

‘JB,’ you confirmed. ‘What’s wrong?’

You heard him exhale loudly.

‘I don’t even know. Please - please just get down here,’ his voice filled with urgency. You had never heard him like this before.

‘I’m on my way,’ you said while trying to sound composed for him.

You hung up and tried to peel yourself off of the restrictive teddy bear behind you.

‘Mmm,’ he whined. ‘No, stay.’

‘Sehun, I have to go, I’m sorry,’ you insisted.

He sat back with his bottom lip sticking out. His hands toyed with long strands of your hair.

You got out of bed in a hurry, picking out your clothes from the accumulation on the floor. Sehun flopped over dramatically, sprawling his long form across the whole bed and watching you upside down.

‘You could come with me,’ you suggested as you shimmied into your leggings.

He rolled over, wiggling his bare ass in his own version of seduction.

‘That way we can still technically spend the morning together,’ you tried to sell him on the idea.

‘Better than nothing,’ Sehun grinned as he finally stood. He kissed you lovingly before getting dressed himself.

It was a 15-minute train ride from your new apartment to JB’s studio that had become a second home of sorts.

‘Y/N-ah!’ JB called as you walked up to the door with Sehun in tow.

You felt Sehun tighten his grip on your hand, bristling at JB being so informal with his girlfriend.

JB paused in the doorway to look your companion over from head to toe.

‘Y/N-ah, what’s this? You and… Sehun?’ he asked, standing up as tall as he could.

You could have slapped yourself. You had mentioned JB to Sehun, but never mentioned Sehun to JB. Every second you were in the studio with him was precious time and you had never considered that your relationship was something worth discussing. But now you realized that maybe you should have after all.

You glanced back to see the familiar brow solidify into a hard line. A storm brewed behind his eyes.

Sehun wasn’t the reactive type, not a fighter, but that wouldn’t stop him from standing his ground.

JB was the opposite, his very nature was explosive. He felt everything deeply and personally.

‘You called me here for a reason?’ you asked, trying to bring JB back down to calm. You felt Sehun’s hand on your shoulder.

‘Right,’ JB said, shaking his head as he seemed to snap out of his mood. Your words had their desired effect. ‘You need to see this.’

JB turned on his heel to lead you inside. You did what you could to squeeze the large hand that surrounded yours.

You followed JB into your creative haven to see that it had been destroyed.

Your jaw dropped open as you surveyed the damage. Countless crumpled and torn sheets of paper littered the carpet like snow over the music stands that had been thrown around the room. JB’s precious iMac had been smashed, like someone had put their foot through it. The several guitars, including your own, that had been so neatly placed back on the rack had been obliterated. Pieces of wood, metal, and plastic were scattered across the room. Your eyes struggled to comprehend the vast musical graveyard.

‘What happened?’ Your eyes filled with tears.

‘I don't know,’ JB said, shaking his head. ‘The police should be here soon. I just thought you should see this.’

Sehun walked up behind you, his hand squeezing your shoulder.

‘Who would do this?’ JB asked.

You walked the perimeter of the room, surveying the damage cautiously. The debris wasn't just random. Th way that that the guitars and the computer were targeted to never be able to be repaired even spoke to a maliciousness, a personal vendetta.

The intention behind the destruction felt horribly familiar.

‘Y/N-ah?’ JB approached you, his eyes searching your face. ‘What are you thinking?’

Seeing the hurt in his face up close felt so much worse than you could have anticipated.

‘This feels like-’ you began, but trailed off.

JB took your shoulders to look at you directly.

‘No, Y/N-ah, please,’ he pleaded. ‘If you have any idea, please. Finish that sentence.’

Sehun came up beside you with serious eyes, daring JB to continue touching you.

‘It- it feels like something Ryan would do,’ you muttered, scuffing your shoe at a piece of debris.

‘Your brother?’ Sehun asked, puzzled.

‘What would he want with you?’ JB interjected

You shook your head.

‘I don't know exactly. I just know he has a hard time letting go of things,’ you looked up at Sehun with concern. ‘if he's still mad about SM, I wouldn't put this past him.’

You heard the loud chirp of the police siren outside.

They had sent two officers, that was it. Both of them asked all of you to wait outside while they examined the scene.

Outside in the sheltered driveway, you made to wrap your arms around Sehun, but he pulled back. You heart fell without the lack of support he normally offered.

‘What's wrong?’ you asked quickly. Your forehead creased with worry.

‘Nothing,’ he replied quietly, out of JB’s earshot. ‘I just need to go check on something, ok?’

Sehun leaned down and hugged you rapidly, leaving a loving kiss on your lips.

‘Wait, where are you going?’ You yelled and tried to run after him, but Sehun was quick with his long legs, darting and disappearing through a crowd on the sidewalk.

And then he was gone.

Your continued puzzling and trying to figure out what you did wrong, how you managed to suddenly chase him off was paused as the police finished looking around the mess and taking their pictures to document the incident for the record.

They asked both you and JB questions about people who you might suspect. You briefly mentioned Ryan, but there were no surveillance cameras in the small studio.It wasn't something JB thought he would ever need.

You thought you knew, and you were doubting less and less as time went on.

With the passing of time you also grew more and more concerned with Sehun’s sudden disappearance. You tried to text, but he wouldn't answer. Your calls were immediately put through to voicemail.

Where had Sehun gone and why?

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paulashelton · 8 years ago

Text

A completed project blurb that reflects my project and practice. explaining research and production processes.

Initial Research The 1930′s

I started my research with the period between the Great Depression in 1929 through to 1939 (the outbreak of the first World War in Europe).

This time period was considered a ‘technical revolution’ with changes and improvements made to manufacturing, they accelerated at a pace far beyond that achieved in any similar time spans in modern history. There was a form of escapism needed by many people both in the UK and in America to cope with the effects of the first world war and the subsequent economic downturn together with a new found interest in Hollywood films, Cars, Fashion, Holidays abroad and both watching and participating in sport. Many activities were now accessible thanks to the relaxed rules with getting credit for the working classes.

My main focus initially was Fashion from this era

In fashion a new technical revolution was taking place with many manmade fabrics being invented. nylon - used for tights and stockings. Zips - was invented making clothing easier to wear especially with the new stretchy fabrics.

There was a surge in subscriptions to Vogue magazine both in the UK and overseas, many people saw the glamorous images of models and film stars as a distraction from the economic times of the 30’s.

I started to look at fashion in more detail, there was a return to more refined sophisticated glamour from the boyish and shapeless look of the previous decade, dresses were designed to show off curves, accentuate the waist and lower backs were exposed for the first time.

I looked at the designs of three prominent fashion designers at the time

Charles James Elsa Schiaparelli Madeleine Vionnet

All three took inspiration from the fabrics they were using rather than constructing traditional patterns, both James and Schiaparelli had no formal training with pattern construction taking inspiration from the fabrics and how they worked in conjunction with the female form.

The designer that interested me the most was Charles James. He briefly trained as an architect before training as a milliner. He used his experience working with millinery fabrics to support his sculptural shapes made into clothing for the rich and famous. He used complicated structures that had complex seaming arrangements, many shapes lacked any symmetry combined with geometric forms taking inspiration from his architectural drawings.

I chose 3 of his dresses that I found the most interesting from the 1930’s to look at in more detail for a better understanding of how he designed.

La Sirene dress A dress made from silk crepe that drapes over the body, made from a gathered tube cut on the grain apart from gathering over the bust and the back bodice. The dress was created using a series of horizontal tucks sewn onto a central padded spine.

Taxi dress Made from black wool ribbed knitted fabric the Taxi dress was called this because it was an easy to wear garment and could be reportedly slipped on in the back of a taxi. It was incredibly difficult to manufacture, one side of the top and the spiral wrap-over skirt were made without seams.

Coq Noir dress A dress made from black silk without any side seams, it is asymmetrical and all the excess fabric created by having no side seams is incorporated into a flute at the right back hip accentuated with the use of buckram.

Initial experimenting 

Pleats, Tucks, Layering, Gathering

I started to experiment making toiles with cotton canvas fabric and a size 8/10 mannequin.

Using a medium weight cotton canvas material I overlapped panels and top stitched the seams so they were flat, then the panels were pinned to the mannequin and cut to the shape of the curves.

The material was used to make embellishments reminiscent of the 1930′s that were pinned in place around the neck line of the mannequin and down the centre front.

When the designs were discussed with my peers and lecturer the consensus was to be more ‘extreme’ with my ideas and create larger and more exaggerated forms.

Charles James used Buckram for adding shape to his hats, he also used it as to ‘pad out’ the material and create his unusual shapes for many of his designs. I started to experiment with Buckram but instead of using the material as a means of making the outer material shapes, I decided to use it as an outer material.

Buckram has quite interesting properties...

Its coated with starch so when sprayed with water can be shaped and then if its left to dry it will retain this shape. It can also be further stiffened with the use of glue. The texture has a grid like appearance that changes when more than one layer is overlapped, also when light is shone through it the starch can be clearly seen

My first experiment making a garment I laid a piece of Buckram on the front of the mannequin and lightly sprayed it with water. When the material was shaped it could be smoothed into place but still has a wavy appearance, I wanted the clean cut appearance reminiscent of the 1930’s and didn't think the bodice achieved this. There is also a limited time span to shape the material due to it drying out after initially being sprayed with water and if it is ‘overworked’ the material will lose its elasticity, starting to fray - which can’t be undone. I found that Buckram is fine for creating simple forms for example when it is pulled over a traditional hat block but is less pliable when pulled in different shapes and directions. I preferred the appearance of the skirt as this is Buckram in its simplest form, cut to shape and curled at the edges, it also takes on a new appearance when the material overlaps and the light shines through it.

Research fashion inspired by architecture

Rosie Assoulin A fashion designer influenced by architecture who is known for her feminine structured garments. She was influenced by a cemetery in Italy for her Autumn/Winter 2015 collection by Italian architect Carlo Scarpa. The designer used the angles, lines, triangles, squares, and rectangles, of the building blending them all together for her collection.

Cinema Thinking about the decade I am working with I started to look at the architecture and found the interiors of cinemas really interesting. Their curves and shapes mimicked the fashions of the time. They were a very important cultural influence of people with many going to see films twice a week. Inside the cinema you could be transported to another world of glamour and luxury with swirling carpets and decorative banisters. I started to put some sketches together taking inspiration from the interiors and using Buckram to create shapes that suggested the elegance of this era.

Prologue Show/Work in Progress I have made two side panels out of 10mm MDF taking the measurements from the template for the “ideal women”. I am unsure whether the choice of material works so will consider this after the show. My initial ideas are to cover the shape with the Buckram so only the outline would be seen as the Buckram will drape over it. I need to think about how to connect the pieces together - one idea is to use “hook and eyes” which were widely used in the 1930′s. My main focus is the Buckram and I am happy at this stage with the range of shapes I have made, how to display them will need more thought and I will wait for feedback after the show.

I need to do further research into 1930′s interiors, looking at the way they are styled in conjunction with the fashions of the same era. I have contacted a cinema museum in London which has photographs of original 1930′s cinema interiors.

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martin9395 · 5 years ago

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Every Little Thing You Ever Before Required to Learn about Males's and also Female's Shirts

Guy's t shirts have actually been actually around for a lengthy opportunity, nevertheless, till the 18th century guys's t shirts were actually merely put on under external garments. Today, these have actually developed to end up being the professional as well as laid-back guys's t shirts and also girls tees our experts understand today. zizeeba.com

Guy's and also females: cloth weaves as well as washouts

Best males's t-shirts are actually 100% cotton which guarantees they are actually gentle, breathable as well as long lasting. Right here are actually a number of the cotton material interweaves, cleans and also types you'll locate in official and also laid-back tee shirts that are actually readily available today.

Poplin Crisp, refreshing as well as comfy, poplin is actually the traditional cotton tee shirt material that is actually perfect throughout the year, for lots of affairs.

Oxford

A t-shirt along with an Oxford weave is actually normally a little bit of bigger and also warmer than a cotton poplin interweave so it is actually optimal in the cooler fall as well as cold weather. Oxford fabric typically has a blend of colored as well as undyed strings to offer a much more kicked back laid-back t shirt.

Pinpoint

The determine weave is actually a mixture of each cotton poplin as well as Oxford. It is actually interweaved utilizing lengthy staple cotton (for added gentleness) and also, similar to the Oxford t-shirt interweave, simply the warp thread is actually colored.

Herringbone and also cloth

These are actually distinctive guys's weaves that generate an angled framework and also provides the tshirts exciting emphases. Each weaves are actually warmer than timeless poplin therefore are actually favoured in the cold times.

Peach coating

A tee along with a mango coating has actually often gone through a procedure through which the cloth has actually been actually quite softly troubled - this provides it an additional smooth sense. Male's as well as females tee shirts along with a mango or even carbon dioxide coating are actually commonly informal t-shirts.

Classic washout

Classic clean males's and also girls's garments are actually quite comparable to those along with mango appearances. They are actually extremely delicate to the flair and also possess a 'worn-in' appearance which is actually incredibly pleasant, cosy and also rested.

Guy's as well as gals t-shirts: exactly how to fold up a t-shirt appropriately

Essentially, guys's as well as females tee shirts must be actually maintained on wall mounts in the outfit, however there are actually events when t shirts require to be actually folded up. Regular for the various other edge so the t shirt develops a rectangular shape. Fold up the tee shirt in fifty percent so the base piping contacts the dog collar V3B 7H6.

Guy's t-shirts

Male's tshirts: exactly how to locate the appropriate tee for your develop

Plump create

Wide creates must decide on traditional match tshirts along with creases, essentially along with upright red stripes. Decide for traditional dog collars which are actually sizable sufficient to attract interest away coming from the midsection.

Quick develop

Brief and also slim males must use equipped or even semi-fitted tee shirts as timeless toned guys's tee shirts are going to simply sink all of them. Bigger males appear most effectively in timeless match tshirts along with upright red stripes to assist slim the framework.

Tall

If you are actually high and also slim pick a garment along with exploded view dog collars, or even spreading dog collars, to assist you appear wider. If you are actually high as well as muscle, an equipped t shirt can easily aid you appear a lot more effective.

Powerful create

Powerful bodies may manage equipped or even semi-fitted guys's outfits somewhat properly. Opt for little dog collars (like exploded view dog collars) if you possess a quick back.

Why every male needs to possess a white colored t-shirt

Up until completion of the 19th century the white colored best signified wide range due to the fact that simply a guy along with sufficient amount of money might pay for to have his cleaning carried out often - as well as white colored appeals unclean the quickest. Today, guys's professional white colored t-shirts are actually still deemed a classy choice. Certainly not merely carries out a white colored tee shirt fit every male, it is actually effortless to use a male's white colored tshirt as it are going to pick almost just about anything and also pertain for numerous events.

Ladies t shirts

Ladies t shirts: a record

It is actually assumed that females to begin with started to put on t-shirts around 1890 when liberty boxers wore reddish woollen tshirts under the appealing Giuseppe Garibaldi. Today, girls t shirts have actually progressed right into several types featuring shirts, sleeveless tee shirts, informal t-shirts and also even more, in an assortment of cloths. Just like males's t-shirts, one of the most well-known selection are actually females's tee shirts in 100% cotton as they're smooth, long lasting and also could be quickly spruced up for job or even told off for the weekend break V3B 7H6.

Tee Shirts - Common Terms Explained

Numerous started to examine the Puritanism of the past times, Victorian buttoned-down tips of virtue were actually beginning to offer means to scantier as well as scantier bathing suits, ankle-bearing skirts, as well as short-sleeved tshirts. As World War One neared upon the perspective, the tee was actually regarding to be actually conscripted to the military Port Coquitlam.

In 1975 Vivienne Westwood creates her smudge at 430 King's Road, London at the "Sex" specialty shop along with her brand-new Punk-style shirts, featuring her notorious "God Save The Queen" style. Ruffian presented a blast of individual designer and also specifically tee shirt developers. To today a lot of present day concepts commemorate the "grunge-look" of this particular defiant as well as anarchic time period of Western society.

The Definitive History of the T-Shirt.

Shirt Design Secret # 1: Choosing the Right Font

If you're making an attractive t tee, pick a font style that possesses a seductive feeling to it. As well as if you're creating a t tee for a major, expert rule company, you most likely do not prefer to utilize that font style along with characters formed like kittycats.

Which's It!

As you can easily observe, expert t tee content concept is actually definitely simply an issue of producing content that certainly not simply assists your information, yet likewise provides it in such a way that is actually creatively well balanced as well as well spaced. Through effectively using these t tee layout recommendations, your t tee shirt text message are going to be actually a lot better to examine, simpler to check out, as well as kilometers in front of all those amateur t t-shirt styles attacking the marketplace. As well as, very most significantly, your hilarious t tee layouts are going to ultimately be actually comical in an excellent way.

When a t tee trademark is actually typed in right into a personal computer plan, it usually begins along with a little bit of way too much room in between free throw lines. This aids bring in the content appeal incredibly "fonty" as opposed to organic, along with creating the t t-shirt layout (and also the developer) seem to be extremely amateur. Along with only a chump change to the leading, nevertheless, that very same t tshirt content could be brought in to appear really strict as well as expert.

No concern just how fantastic your great t t-shirt layouts are actually when you envision all of them, if your message is actually improperly created, your tee shirts will definitely regularly appear incompetent. Along with these 5 secrets of qualified visuals developers, you may promptly transform those amateur customized t shirts right into ideal as well as sleek jobs of t tshirt fine art Canada.

While there is actually no actual regulation of finger for the appropriate quantity of room in between lines, a t tshirt developer that starts changing the leading are going to rapidly know to "experience" when it is actually. When it appears all-natural and also reviews properly, your t t-shirt mantra is actually one measure more detailed to the major opportunity BC.

At the quite starting the tee was actually bit even more than an item of undergarments, an exceptionally pragmatic one at that. The styles pièce de résistance included a fall cover in the spine for simplicity of make use of in the outdated privy. As cotton came to be much more and also even more commonly offered, undergarments producers confiscated the second to produce a substitute to this pillar as well as instead awkward layout.

Check out your style inverted. If you observe any kind of rooms that appear irregular or even irregular, correct all of them.

Consider your layout showed in a looking glass. If you find any type of rooms that appear unequal or even irregular, correct all of them.

Publish out your layout on a paper, support it around a light, and afterwards consider your content coming from the rear of the webpage. If you view any type of areas that appear unequal or even irregular-- you thought it-- correct all of them.

Through performing any sort of or even each of these 3 weird factors, you require your eyes and also your human brain to observe the voids in between the characters instead of attempting to read through words on their own. Words come to be theoretical designs to your human brain, as well as you, the t tee shirt musician, are actually free of cost to adequately determine the voids in between words Port Coquitlam.

In the course of the 80's and also 90's T-Shirt manufacturing and also publishing innovations greatly strengthened, featuring very early kinds of D.T.G (Direct to Garment Transfer) publishing, improved the intensity and also schedule. Whilst in economic groups, the planet's stock exchange saw as the American T-Shirt was actually identified as an asset product in the fashion industry.

Over one thousand folks walked in to London using a large assortment of anti - battle, anti - Bush as well as anti - Blair T shirts at the anti - Iraq rally. Very Soon after Vivienne Westwood reappears in the T-shirt globe along with her brand-new mantra T-shirt "I am actually certainly not a terrorist, feel free to do not jail me". Once more, Catherine has actually just recently been actually quotationed as stating political trademark t-shirts make it possible for the buyer to "experience they have actually gotten involved in autonomous activity", when in truth all they have actually performed is actually a little bit of outfits purchasing.

Even more as well as extra famous T-shirts were actually made as well as made throughout the Psychedelic time, featuring even more and also much more home-made practices. Band T-shirts ended up being an additional very well-known kind of T t-shirt, at low costs imprinted and also offered at online jobs as well as shows of the time, the custom proceeds to the existing, band T shirts are actually as prominent as ever before, nevertheless the rate of all of them has actually increased considerably.

Shirt Design Secret # 4: Leading, also known as "Line Spacing"

Leading-- which is actually verbalized like the steel "top" somewhat than like a "forerunner" taking folks someplace-- goes back to the times of the publishing media, when an individual will really utilize little, slim items of top to make upright area in between the collections of kind. When it happens to t t-shirt content, they usually manage it improperly.

Over the years the designs, photos, and also addition to free of charge community that T-shirts have actually offered are actually taken as given, the T-shirt is actually right now a necessary accompaniment for any type of trendy outfit, no issue what component of the globe. Seasons alter, nonetheless coming from opportunity to time the women market accepts much more tight-fitting "mown" T-shirt types, reduced quick adequate to expose the stomach.

While this might seem like sound judgment, lots of brand new t tshirt professionals and also potential t tee shirt business owners avoid this measure as well as simply decide on any sort of conventional typeface they may possess existing around. It is actually noticeable in their end results; what could possibly possess been actually an exciting t tee shirt concept finishes up being actually dull as well as amateur-looking. If you're cautious to opt for a typeface that embodies the web content of your words, nevertheless, you can easily prevent this destiny and also your tee shirts will definitely regularly be actually one action ahead of time of your competitors.

An entire brand-new creation of T-shirt layouts overloaded the market, ensuring willingness as well as loyalty to a company title, such as Nike, somewhat than a phrase of uniqueness. This somewhat boring practice still proceeds to this time, the right now famous "Vintage 82" T-shirt coming from "Next".

Sherry started company in 1948, the manager as well as owner, Quinton Sandler, was actually fast to record onto the brand new T-shirt style, and also promptly broadened the monitor printing headscarf firm in to the most extensive display screen printing accredited clothing manufacturer in the United States. In 1955 James Dean offered the T-Shirt road trustworthiness in the timeless film "Rebel Without A Cause".

Shirts makers utilize several phrases to illustrate their items. The phrases are actually certainly not constantly regular and also it assists to possess a recommendation resource.

Generally, the very best method is actually to make use of tracking to acquire the whole series of characters in a t tshirt trademark to appear decent, and after that utilize kerning to tweak the space in between character sets till your t tee shirt content appears best.

T Shirt Design Secret # 6: A Bonus Tip (Because I Like You).

The moment you've administered these 5 techniques of the t tee layout specialists, you'll locate that your t t-shirt text message actually seems a lot far better and also much more expert than it performed when you began. Such is actually the lifestyle of a t tshirt performer!

Trademark T-shirts were actually acquiring attraction once more, "Choose Life" was actually created to advertise the launching cd of George Micheal's band "Wham", whilst "Frankie Says" aided press a cord of very disputable single people to the leading of the UK graphes for Liverpool located band "Frankie Goes to Hollywood". One distinguished exemption of the opportunity was actually the right now famous "Feed the World" T-shirt, generated to increase funds as well as recognition of the authentic and also cutting-edge Band Aid charitable organization occasion.

Kerning is actually incredibly identical to monitoring, however along with one essential variation: rather than changing the normal space throughout a whole variety of characters, kerning simply changes the space in between pair of characters at once. This makes it possible for a better level of command than monitoring, and also enables a t tshirt performer to tweak the space in between solitary character sets that still do not appear very best, also after the text message has actually been actually tracked.

Shirt Design Secret # 2: Tracking and also Kerning

Many of the amount of time, when font style content is actually keyed in to a computer system system, the areas in between the characters as well as phrases are actually a little bit of unequal, and also typically a little bit of also vast. This additional as well as unequal room certainly not just creates your message appear a little uncomfortable as well as less than professional, it additionally creates it a little harder to review since words do not aesthetically keep with each other as devices. Even though the customer does not discover it, the eye and also the human brain must operate a little bit harder which additional little bit of problem offers the audience a subconsciousness emotion of anxiousness Canada.

In the very first couple of years after World War Two, the European style for putting on T-shirts as an exterior garment, motivated primarily through brand-new United States military attires, infected the noncombatant populace of America. In 1948 the New York Times disclosed a brand-new as well as one-of-a-kind advertising and marketing device for that year's advocate New York Governor Thomas E. Dewey. It was actually the initial videotaped "motto T-Shirt", the notification reviewed "Dew It for Dewey", carefully duplicated due to the even more popular "I Like Ike" T-shirts in Dwight D. Eisenhower's governmental project.

In the very early 1950s resourceful business located in Miami, Florida, started to embellish tee t-shirts along with Floridian hotel titles and also animation personalities. Later on various other business increased right into the tee t shirt publishing company that consisted of Sherry Manufacturing Company likewise located in Miami.

Tee Design Secret # 3: Word Spacing

As soon as the characters of a t t-shirt motto have actually been actually appropriately tracked and also kerned, the upcoming vital action is actually to change the space in between words. Readjusting term space is actually incredibly identical to monitoring as well as kerning-- in reality, it is actually carried out precisely similarly as kerning and also is actually definitely simply kerning the rooms in between phrases as opposed to characters-- however the general rule for suitable space in between phrases is actually a bit various, consequently phrase space is actually an entire measure unto on its own BC.

To check out the space of your t tshirt message as well as ensure that it is actually absolutely excellent, you can easily:.

In the 60's individuals started to connect color and also screenprint the standard cotton T-Shirt creating it an also greater industrial excellence. Advancements in publishing and also perishing permitted extra wide array as well as the Tank Top, Muscle Shirt, Scoop Neck, V-Neck, as well as a lot of various other varieties of the T-Shirt happened in to manner.

Historic analysts specify the initial tape-recorded event of the intro of the T-shirt to the United States took place throughout World War One when United States soldiers pointed out upon the sunny cotton underwears European soldiers were actually released as conventional attire. The United States soldiers might certainly not have actually responded as swiftly as their soldiers will possess ased if, however the extremely useful as well as lightweight tee shirt will very soon create its own method back to the conventional American individual.

In 1959, "Plastisol", an extra long lasting as well as elastic ink, was actually created, making it possible for a lot even more wide array in shirt concepts. As fabric modern technologies strengthened, brand-new T-shirt designs were actually quickly offered, consisting of the container leading, the A-shirt (infamously recognized as the "spouse beater"), the muscle mass tee shirt, gather backs, as well as of program V-necks.

Today the present day T-shirt has actually generated an extensive fabric as well as apparel industry, worth over two-billion bucks to the globe's retail exchange. The extremely unlikely childbirth of the shirt was actually an instead unimpressive celebration, nonetheless this simple part of outfit was actually readied to modify the designs as well as manners of societies for age groups ahead. Inevitably the T-Shirt would certainly be actually made use of as a political device for demonstration as well as in particular opportunities and also areas in record, an icon of reformation as well as modification.

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