#no one told me fabric dye was so cheap

[dykephan]

having an extremely phil lester afternoon (felt lonely so i dyed some of my clothes but had to stop because i got a migraine)

[momolady]

Ellis the Selkie

Another long story! A sort of slow burn as a selkie learns to trust, and an exuberant elf who tries to win them over. Old clothes made new. swamps. House boats! It's a queer romance to help with your holiday woes.

Female Main Character (Trans) x Female Monster (cis)

It was disgusting. This ratty, almost skin like thing that I had found. I guess it had gotten kicked up from the gutter or tossed out from the trash bin, but it had found its way onto my stoop. It may have been a coat at one time, I’m not sure. It certainly had all the characteristics of clothing, it had just been through everything by the looks of it.

I’m not sure why I felt so bad for it. After all it should have just been garbage to me. But there was this little- I’m not sure what I would call it, maybe a spark. I felt a spark for this discarded piece of trash, and that spark told me to keep it around. I left it to soak in some soapy water while I went out for groceries, hoping it would help with some of the ick that permeated it.

When I got home the sink was completely brown, I almost thought that the thing has dissolved. Once I pulled it out I was surprised to see it was almost black. There were still spots where it was patchy and dirty, but all the grime on it had it looking gray and crusty. I gave it a good hand wash, afraid of what putting it through the washing machine would do.

Once it was dried, I was relieved I kept it. Something told me that someone was missing this discarded piece of clothing. I only hoped that I could find whoever it belonged to so I could return it. I washed it again a couple of days later and gave it a good box dye. The black looked so faded and sun damaged I thought it could use a refresher.  I hung it out on my porch so it could get some sun, and in the light it looked so much prettier, although I noticed some spots where it would have to be patched and fixed. I had an old coat I never wore anymore anyways, I rarely wore much black these days. I could probably just take the lining out of it and sew it into this coat and it would look good as new.

Once this thought came to me I was a bit confused. Why was I taking on this extra project that posed so much work and effort? I said before I didn’t want anymore black clothing, I barely wore it! Why was I fixing and renewing this coat I found in the gutter when my only driving force was because I thought someone might want it back.

“You’ve always been a bit odd,” I told myself. “But this really takes the cake.” I rubbed the fabric of the worn coat between my fingers. “Maybe I’m trying to distract myself from something.” I brushed it aside with a huff. I was already so deep into the project, why stop now?

It was a while after I had found the old coat, when I was in the process of sewing the new lining into it, that a friend of mine had to come stay for a few days. Sam was a goblin, and her basement apartment had flooded during the last rainstorm.

“You need to move out of that place,” I fussed at her.

“What for?” She asked. “It’s cheap.”

I wished I could have burnt a hole through her skull so I could find the part of her brain that would make it make sense. “Because it floods! How is that not clicking?”

Sam shrugged. “I’ll just get new carpeting.”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, you can stay here until it dries out again.”

“I was supposed to have a game night tonight. Is it okay if I hold it here?”

I turned back around and eyed her up and down. “Did you...did you already invite people over?”

“Only a few.”

I scoffed. “Every damn time, Sam. Every damn time.” I shook my head as I wandered back into the kitchen.

“You’ll love it. Just like last time.”

“Last time you tried setting me up. Are you planning to do that again?” I scoffed at her. When she said nothing I came back out of the kitchen to glare at her. “Why do you make it hard to love you?”

“You still do,” Sam with a proud grin. “I’ll handle everything. I’ll even clean up. Don’t worry your pretty, purple head about it Viv.”

I pointed a finger of judgement at her. “Remember those words.”

That evening, some of Sam’s friends filled my apartment. I knew some of them, but there were a couple who were new, and probably one of the people she intended to set me up with. I really didn’t mind that. I liked meeting new people. I was a romantic at heart; I did want to find love, I did want to be swept off my feet by someone amazing. I wanted someone who loved me for who I was, and I wanted to love them in return. But sometimes Sam could miss the mark, so it wasn’t like I was daydreaming about meeting the perfect one tonight. Not much at least.

I was bringing out snacks when I noticed a corner of the room seemed darker than usual. That’s when I saw there was a girl standing there, dressed in all black and scowling out towards the window. She wasn’t really joining in with anything.

“Did someone wander in?” I whispered to Sam.

“That’s Ellis,” Sam replied simply. “She’s cool.”

Ellis appeared like my exact opposite, everything about her was dark, black, and mysterious, meanwhile I was dressed like I was like a Jem and the Holograms doll. Her eyes were entirely black and glossy, and there was a doll-like quality to her stare. I think she felt me watching her because her glance sliced through the air on a razor sharp blade and met mine with hawk-like precision. I stood there frozen, afraid she was going to turn me into a newt.

Instead, Ellis’ lip just curled and she walked away. I let out a slow, long breath. I had escaped danger for another day!

Midway through a game, I got up to go use the bathroom and fetch more drinks. I went through my bedroom to get to my bathroom and I saw someone standing in my room. I was terrified at first until I saw Ellis turn and look at me. She was holding the sleeve of the coat in her hand.

“Oh gosh, you scared me!” I laughed it off, despite the fact I was still a bit perturbed. “I haven’t had a chance to say howdy. You’re Ellis right? I’m Viv it’s nice to-”

“Where did you get this?” Ellis asked, still holding the coat.

I watched her expression, trying to figure it out. Her brows were pinched, her lips set into a firm line. I couldn’t tell if she was upset or angry. “I found it,” I stated simply. “Outside.”

“Outside?” She definitely seemed angry now, but why she was I had no idea.

I nodded. “Yeah, but don’t worry! I didn’t steal it, I ‘jacket’!”

Ellis looked at me like I was crazy.

“Get it?” I watched her expression go unchanged. “Get it? Because I...I...jacket like I...like I jacked it…” I cleared my throat. “It was in the gutter.”

Ellis looked back at the coat, I suspect to keep from staring at me like a lunatic. “You found a coat in the gutter and decided to keep it?”

“Well,” I murmured and shrugged. “I felt bad for the poor thing.”

Ellis let go of the coat and chuckled. “It’s a coat. Why would you feel bad for it?”

“Okay,” I sighed. “So it is weird.”

Her eyes narrowed on me. “Yeah, a little.”

I chuckled and let a smile bloom. “I know it sounds silly, but I really did feel sorry for it. Something about it made me think that someone was looking for it. I thought if I fixed it up, made it nice and waited, someone would come looking for it. And then I would be able to see how happy and excited they were to have it back. Especially after it had almost been too far gone to get back again.”

Ellis’ expression had changed, it was soft, even beautiful. There was something about her eyes, that once cruel, all black, now seemed like an endless sea. There was so much in all that black, it made me like the color again. “Well, whoever it belongs to, I’m sure they’ll be happy.” She pressed her lips into a tight line. “But what will you do if no one claims it?”

“Oh,” I murmured. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Really?” Her expression was cross again. “You thought the owner would magically appear?”

I looked at her with a blank expression. “Kind of.”

Ellis scoffed. “What are you, a puppy?”

I pointed to my ears. “No, I’m an elf! See?”

Ellis sucked her lips into her mouth and held an expression that looked like she stubbed her toe. “Sam said you were sweet.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Aww, she did?”

Ellis sighed, turning away from the coat. “So, what will you do if no one comes to claim the coat?”

I thought for a second. “Do you like it?”

Ellis’ eyes widened. “You’d give it to me?”

“If you like it, why not? You’ve been alone with it in my room, so unless you were doing something else weird-”

Ellis’ cheeks turned bright red and blurted out, “I wasn’t!”

I smiled again. “How about this? If someone doesn’t come by the end of the month, I’ll give it to you. I think it would suit you.”

Ellis had a sad pout then. “I don’t want anyone just giving me a coat.”

What a weird way to say that. “I’m not just anyone, I’m Viv.”

“Yes, you’ve said that,” Ellis huffed. “Do what you want with that coat.” She walked by me, brushing our shoulders together. “I wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

“Wear it?” I murmured, but she was already down the hall.

The following morning, I was up and about getting ready for my day. I was just getting out of the shower when I saw the coat from the corner of my eye. I almost scared myself, thinking Ellis was standing there. I went out in my robe to the kitchen to start coffee, and Sam was already doing dishes.

“Did you get a chance to meet Ellis last night?” Sam asked.

I stopped from opening the fridge. “Was she the set up?”

“Cute right?” Sam glanced up from the sink with a grin on her face. She was having to stand on a bucket in order to reach.

“I mean,” I huffed. “I guess? She seemed kind of...like a feral cat.”

“Yeah cute! Like a cat.”

I’m not sure how Sam meets these people. “I met her, but I don’t think you’re going to be playing cupid this time, Sam,” I told her bluntly. “I don’t think I’m her type at all.”

“But is she yours?” Sam had me in the trap then.

“She’s cute, sure. But I think most people are.” I get out the coffee and start the percolator. “I told her I could give her that coat though.”

Sam almost dropped a glass. “You would what?”

I’m not sure why she had such a reaction. “That coat I’m fixing. She seemed to like it, so I’m gonna give it to her.”

“You’re going to give a selkie a coat?” Sam asked.

“No, I’m giving it to Ellis.”

Sam set the dish aside and came down off the bucket. “Ellis is a selkie. She’s one of the swamp selkies that lives just outside of downtown. That’s how I know her, because she saved me that one time I almost got eaten by that kelpie.”

“You almost got what?”

Sam waved it off like what she said was nothing. “It’s fine now, don’t worry your pretty purple head about it. But you do know what happens when you give a selkie a coat? It’s basically a marriage proposal.”

“I’m sorry, I’m still stuck on you almost being eaten by a kelpie.”

Sam scoffed. “I said it’s fine! Me and Caleb are friends now. We laugh about it. But seriously, really think about giving Ellis that coat. It could be a sticky situation for both of you if you do.”

“Caleb?” I balked.

Sam gave you an exhausted look. “I told you, move on! I have. We’re talking about Ellis here and how she’s a selkie. Look, I wanted you two to click, but even I think proposing right away is crazy.”

“I wasn’t! I didn’t know-” I huffed. “It’s not even a selkie coat. I know how that works. I have to give her back her own coat! This is just some random coat I found in the garbage.”

Sam hopped back up onto the bucket. “You need to find a better way to describe that coat.”

“I’m not awake enough for any of this.” I reach for my favorite mug to pour my coffee. “I’m still trying to process this Caleb information.”

“It’s fine, he apologized.”

“No. I’m not arguing this anymore.” I went back to my room to put on my makeup and get ready for the day.

I got out of my robe once the door was closed and I stood in front of a mirror naked. I’ve had troubles with being naked, and it really had nothing to do with being transgender. I didn’t like being naked alone, so I had read online somewhere that standing by myself in front of a mirror and listing off at least three things I liked about myself would help me with this.

I turned to the side, back again, watching myself in the mirror as I tried to think of three things. “Okay,” I huffed. “Boobs look pretty good.” I lay my hand over them. “My thighs look cute today.” I pat my hands over them. “And three-” I murmured. “What’s three?” I looked up. “Oh! Hair is always good.” I stroked the long purple locks. I had wanted long purple hair ever since I was little.

“Okay then!” I grabbed my clothes. “The day begins.”

Many days like that went by. Eventually Sam went back home and I had the apartment to myself again. It was around this time that I decided to take the coat to Ellis. It was the end of the month anyways, and I had promised her. I just hoped she remembered me.

I drove down to the swamp. I had gotten Ellis’ address from Sam. When I got there, along the dock, there were several houseboats lined up. Ellis was number thirteen. I found it, almost near the end save for another boat that was sunk under the water.

“Howdy!” I called out. “Is Ellis there? I have something to give her!”

There was silence aside from the sloshing of the swamp water on the houseboat. I stilled waited, looking around as if Caleb was gonna jump out of the water and eat me.

“Howdy!” I shouted again, only this time a door opened. Ellis stepped out, wearing nothing but a loose fitting tank top and underwear. My breath was knocked out of me. Her skin was covered in tattoos, dark ones that wrapped around her arms and legs, that crawled up under her clothes hiding where I’m sure there was more. Her hair was messy, tousled curls that looked as if they had made sweet love to a pillow. Her grouchy face squished and squinted, but as she opened her eyes, those black pools caught the sun. They looked like dark honey in the light. I realized I hadn’t breathed in a minute so I caught my breath and swallowed hard.

“Oh my god,” Ellis grumbled. “The puppy.”

I smiled. “So you do remember me!”

Ellis looked around, reaching up under her shirt to scratch her belly. “What are you doing here? How’d you find me?”

“I sniffed you out.”

Ellis walked back to the door.

“Wait! Wait! Wait!” I called out. “Sam told me!”

Ellis turned back around and glared me down. How was she so pretty here compared to at the party a while back? Was it because of the sunlight? Was it because she wasn’t forced somewhere she didn’t want to be?

“And why are you here?” Ellis asked.

“Oh!” I gasped. “I brought that coat I promised you.”

Ellis eyes widened, looking even more like dripping honey. “What for?” She snapped at me.

“I thought it suited you,” I whimpered.

Ellis frowned then she kicked down a set of stairs that fell from the boat and down onto the dock. “I should put on pants. Come on up.”

I’d never been on a houseboat before, so I was a bit excited. I climbed up and stood on deck. “Thank you for inviting me! I should have brought a coffee cake or something too.”

Ellis stepped into a pair of pajama pants right in the doorway. “You shouldn’t have even brought that thing back.”

“I wanted to! You seemed to like it and I thought it suited you so I-” I stopped. Her wording had me confused. “Back?”

Ellis scowled. “It’s my coat. I got rid of it.”

It struck me through the heart. I did find the person this coat belonged to! “You’re joking!” I gasped.

“If I was joking it’d suck. But no. Somehow you got ahold of it.” Ellis frowned.

I hugged the coat close to me. “But I thought selkies needed their coats. Why would you throw it away?”

“It’s none of your business,” Ellis grumbled.

I looked down at the coat in my arms. “So if this is yours then-” My heart rumbled in my chest. It grew from a tiny cloud into a raging thunderstorm. “If I give this to you.”

“Just drop it in the water! Let it rot there for all I care.” Ellis looked away.

“No. I worked really hard on this!”

Ellis continued to pout. “Then give it to someone else.”

“That’s like telling someone to wear someone else’s skin. I can’t do that, that’s weird as hell.” Without thinking I thrust the coat into her arms. “Just hang it in your closet!”

A look came over Ellis’ face. She looked at me, her eyes wide, her mouth open. She then lost balance and I followed after her. We fell to the ground and I landed on top of her.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!” I sat up and the coat was splayed open over her. “Ellis I didn’t mean to-”

Ellis’s hands touched my face and she pulled me down, kissing me passionately. I struggled at first, trying to get off her. But slowly I melted into that kiss. It had been so long, and it felt so good. I kissed Ellis back and she moaned sweetly.

“You’re going to wish you never gave me that coat,” she whispered into my ear.

“Huh?” My body was melting wax.

Ellis kissed my neck and threw me down upon the ground. She licked her lips and smiled for the first time. “Because I’m going to eat you up.”

////

I had lost my breath upon that first kiss. I hadn’t expected it, and it was still a shock to the system. I knew I should have moved or done anything else, but I just kept going back for those kisses as if Ellis lips were water and I was lost in a desert. Now she was on top of me, looking down upon me like the cat with the canary. I really should have moved then, but I was curious to see what she meant by ‘eat me up’.

But then there was a knock on the boat.

“Hey, I heard yelling, everything okay?”

Ellis reared back and turned to see who the intruder was. “Fuck off, Caleb!” She shouted heatedly.

“Okay geez,” the kelpie went back into the water with a loud splash.

This must have been the clarity that Ellis needed. She huffed and cupped her hands around her face. “Oh my god what am I doing?”

I kept myself there on the ground waiting. “Are we gonna keep making out? Because I was enjoying that.”

Ellis stood up, tossing the coat aside and then stumbling out onto the deck of her house boat. She grasped onto the edge and rocked herself back and forth. Meanwhile I got myself up and had a quick look at her place, it seemed a bit messy. I joined her on the deck and stood beside her.

“Why are you still here?” Ellis grumbled.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

Ellis glared up at me, the sun catching her eyes and turning them to honey again. “No, I’m not! I got rid of that stupid trash coat for this exact reason! I don’t want anybody fucking up my life again! I didn’t want that stupid thing back!”

I shook my head slowly. “I don’t want to fuck anything up.” I tried to keep my tone as gentle as possible. “I don’t want to make you upset, Ellis.”

Ellis huffed and turned away from me, I heard her sniffle and though I was sure she’d never show it to me, I’m sure she was crying. “Why did you have to bring that thing back?”

“I didn’t know it was yours.” I lowered my head, feeling chastened even though I was inches away from horny a minute ago. I fidgeted with my fingers, almost chipping at the fresh coat of nail polish. “I couldn’t let that coat just go, I knew it was loved.”

“Well it’s not,” Ellis replied sternly. She turned and looked at me with a glare on her face. “It brings nothing but trouble.”

It was an ice pick to my heart, although I’m not sure why. “I’m usually not that troublesome.”

Ellis clenched her jaw. “I want to kiss you again,” she said through her teeth. “God, I hate this!” She turned and kicked over a bucket on the desk.

“Am I a bad kisser?”

“No!” She snapped at me. “Yes-” she growled and stomped her foot. “I don’t want to want to kiss you! I want to be alone! I want to lick your stupid face I-” She huffed loudly and raked her fingers through her hair. “I don’t want to feel this way!”

“You can lick my face,” I shrugged. “You’re not going to bother me with all that. But-” I reached out to comfort her. I touched her shoulder then slid my hand up her arm, slowly untangling her fingers from her hair. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but I’d like to listen. Even Sam says I am a good listener.”

Ellis looked at her wrist clutched in my hand. She looked near tears but I doubt she would ever allow me to see her cry. Her eyes flicked up to mine and her mouth set in a firm pout. “I don’t want to be in love again.”

“I don’t-” I shook my head then gave her a small smile. “I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have come here. I really thought it would make you happy.” Now I was the one near tears, which usually only took a gentle breeze to push me over that threshold.

Ellis’ hand tugged down until her palm was touching mine. She held my hand and squeezed tightly. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry, it makes me feel crazy!” She pulled me close, wrapping her arms around me and kissing me passionately. It felt so good to have someone that close to me and holding me so tight. I cupped her face in my hands, moaning softly against her lips. Ellis’s lips parted and she licked the tears from my cheek, it made me want to cry even more. She kissed my ear and neck then buried her face there against my shoulder.

I placed my hands upon her back, rubbing gently as I tried to calm her. “It’s okay. Lets go inside and talk.”

She said something muffled against my shoulder, so I led her back inside anyway. I sat her down upon her bed. She was still struggling to keep from showing me anything vulnerable, so her jaw was set tight and her body was all tensed up.

I pulled up a chair and sat down across from her. “So uhm-” I wasn’t really sure what to say in a situation like this. “Viv is short for Genevive,” I started.

Ellis snapped her head up to glare at me which made me shut my mouth. “That’s cute,” she grumbled and looked down again.

I smiled brightly and held my fingertips together. “Aww! Thank you! I like your name too. It’s really pretty and mature. Does anyone call you Ellie?”

“Not for long,” she huffed.

“Oh.” I fidgeted in the chair again. “You know, it’s been a long time since I’ve dated too. The last person I went out with was really kind of a jerk.” I moved my hands to my knees, rubbing them as I tried to find a way that Ellis and I could open up a bit to each other. “Not kind of. They were a jerk.” I glanced back towards Ellis who was still keeping her eyes down and away from me. “They used to make fun of me, put me down and claim it was all a joke. You know?”

Ellis huffed. “Yeah well, you’re not a joke.”

I smiled. “Thank you!” I then went back to being somber. “It’s been a while, but I’ve always kind of hoped for that fairy tale romance still. It may be unrealistic, but sometimes you have to know what you deserve.”

Ellis shifted and she began to raise her head.

“You know, us ladies have to know when to put our foot down and demand what we want. We don’t have to put up with everything the world says we should!” I try to sound uplifting, but I know I must sound really corny.

“Why would you want a fairy tale?” Ellis grumbled. “Most of them deal with being rescued or abused. Or God forbid necrophilia to some degree.”

“Well-” I’m not sure what to say, she had a point.

“Happily ever after is so open ended. What happens? What makes it so happy?” Ellis took in a breath then raised her head. “It’s not enough to be happy is it?”

“If it’s a goal you work towards together,” I murmured.

Ellis’ eyes focused hard upon me. Here in the house they were pitch black again. “Giving me that coat has opened up a world of trouble for me. I can’t control these-” She patted her hands to her chest. “These urges and feelings. It’s not like you. I don’t control who I fall in love with. The coat does this shit. It’s like the story of the red shoes. You put on those damn shoes and you dance yourself to death. And what hurts most is you do want to dance! You love to dance! But those shoes make you kill yourself doing it and-” Ellis stopped herself, catching herself in a vulnerable moment.

Ellis jumped up from her seat and sniffled. “Just go! You’ve done your damage!”

I stood as well, approaching her gingerly. “I don’t want to leave if you’re-”

“Go! Please!” I saw tears on the rims of her eyes.

I backed away again shyly, nodding as I went to the door. “You can get my number from Sam if you want to talk or anything.”

Ellis was silent as I left. I walked back to my car before I ever looked back. I could see the rear of her house boat bobbing in the water. I really hoped she was okay.

For the next couple of days, I really tried to keep my mind off of it. If Ellis didn’t want to talk, then there was nothing I could do to make her want to talk. But I couldn’t help thinking about it. The kisses we shared, the way she held me, it made it very hard to sleep some nights. Then, one evening, as I was just about to tuck myself in for the night, a text appeared on my phone from a number I didn’t recognize.

“Sam said we should talk.” The message said.

I sat up in bed to answer. “Who is this?”

“Ellis,” was the simple reply.

My heart skipped a beat and I fidgeted a bit. I had just been thinking about how soft her hands had felt, and how sweet her kisses were. “I’m glad you messaged me!”

“Sure.” Another simple reply.

I thought for a moment, chewing on my lip as I looked at the screen. So many things I could type, so many words that could be said. “I’ve been thinking about you,” is what I chose to text.

“Don’t say things like that.” The first message blipped on and another was instantly being typed out. “I’m going crazy.”

“How come?”

There was a long pause of no activity. Then another long wait as the three dots revealed she was typing. “I want to see you.”

“I’d love that!” I sent along with a bunch of excited emojis.

“Stop.” Her simple way of replying was effective.

“Are you still nervous?” I asked.

She didn’t reply for another long pause. “I don’t want to see you, without at least having some small understanding of my own feelings. I thought with time I could get over it. But I still have all this crap inside me.”

“Do you want some laxative?” I thought I was being cute and funny. But when she didn’t reply back right away I felt grim.

“You are really this way, aren’t you?”

“Is that bad?”

“No. I just thought, maybe, it was some sort of cutesy girly act. But Sam says you’ve always been this way.”

I furrowed my brow a bit. “Why would I be faking anything?”

“Because lots of people do.”

My heart ached, and once again there was a plethora of words I wanted to type out, but I really had no idea how to narrow it down. “What are you wearing?”

“Are you kidding?”

“Sorry, I just wanted to make you laugh.”

“LOL,” was her simple reply this type, and it was the most effective. My heart skipped excitedly at those three silly letters. But even more exciting than that were the three bouncing dots saying she was typing. “If you want to know what I am wearing, you gotta start first.”

I got really excited, like to a point I could have grown a tail just to have it wag. “I am wearing panties and an oversized t-shirt.”

“What kind?”

“It’s something I found in a thrift store. It’s like this really bad tye-dye with a fish store logo on it.”

Another pause. “I hope to god you mean the t-shirt.”

I broke into a big grin. “Yes! The t-shirt! My panties are purple. Now you have to tell me what you’re wearing.”

“Nothing.” It was the most devastating simple reply of them all.

“Don’t kid with me like that.”

“I sleep naked. What?”

I bit my lip as I couldn't stop smiling. “Do you sleep hot?”

“Sleeping in lava could be cold for me.”

I couldn’t have been more excited. “Say more things.”

“Do you sleep cold?”

My heart was thrumming, I felt too overjoyed by this conversation to even care that I had an early morning. “I do.” I was on pins and needles waiting for her reply. I really had been longing to see her and talk to her. I suppose text was the missing link.

“What do you do to stay warm?”

“I have blankets and pillows, also some stuffed animals to cuddle with. If it’s too cold I’ll wear socks to bed. But I can’t sleep wearing pants. I don’t know why.”

“That’s good to know.”

Why was that so sexy? She probably didn’t mean it to be sexy at all! And yet if she wanted to I could be seduced in a matter of moments.

“I should probably go to bed. I’ll get myself in trouble.”

“What do you mean?”

“The crap, remember? I don’t want this to go too fast.”

My heart was already going wild, but now nerves and anticipation were added to the mix. “Want what?”

“The next time I see you, I want to know I actually like you.”

I was so happy. I giggled and kicked in bed, so overjoyed I couldn’t contain it. I had to flail and roll around for a while before I could type anything else out. “Is it okay if I say I like you?”

“I suppose.”

“I like you, Ellis.”

“Lame,” she sent this simple reply with a blushing emoji.

“When I see you again, can I kiss you?”

“Sure.”

I kicked and flailed again.

“Now goodnight! Seriously!”

“Goodnight! Sweet dreams.”

I was so excited and buzzing, it took me forever to fall asleep. I sent her a good morning text when I woke up, then went about my business until I had to go. I saw she had replied with only a “morning.”

“I hope you slept well. I’ll be busy today, so if you text I might not be able to reply until I get home.”

“Okay.”

I was busy at work, but all day I couldn’t help but think about my phone. I wanted to know if she messaged me, if she had anything to share. When it was time to clock out for the day I was exhausted. I gathered my things and headed out to my car where I tried to think of something I wanted to eat.  I pulled out my phone to search when I saw she had messaged me a few times.

“Hope works goes well,” was the first message. “I put on my coat for the first time. You did a really great job.” My heart was surging. “I can’t wait to see what you’re wearing to bed tonight.”

My heart flopped and plopped down into my gullet. See? Did she really mean to write ‘see’? I texted back. “Work was busy. I’m glad the coat fits.”

“Are you home?”

“Not yet. Just going to get something to eat.” I cranked my car.

“Then do that. Message me when you get home so you’re not texting and driving.”

I smiled. “Will do!”

I got something quick so I could make it home. I sat down to eat, and messaged her. “What are you doing?”

“Just getting out of the shower. You?”

“Thinking about you getting out of the shower,” is what I had originally typed, but I decided to delete it and answered with: “Eating dinner.”

“What are your evening plans?”

“Shower is all I can imagine right now.”

“Busy day?” Ellis asked.

I took a bite of my food as I replied. “Very busy. What about you?”

“I thought a lot.”

I smirked, seeing my opportunity for a kill. “Did it hurt?”

“I will get you for that.”

“I hope you do.” I bit back my grin. “What were you thinking about? Anything I could help you with?”

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” she answered back.

Don’t do this to me, I’ll fall in love. “So good,” I told her.

“Actually, I thought a lot about you. I mean, trying to sort out what the trash coat is doing and what my own head is doing.”

“How’s your head?” I asked. I wasn’t ready to face the idea of her thinking about me. I still was reeling from her ‘see’ earlier.

“Do you ever stop?”

“It’s a compulsion. You want to stop me, you have to come and make me stop, or else I’m just that energizer bunny.”

“My head is great, by the way. Maybe if you’re good you’ll find out one day.”

I choked on my food and quickly had to guzzle something down.

“See? We can both play this game.”

“Don’t tease me! I’m so susceptible!”

“I like that,” she replied.

We talked for a bit more until I took a shower. Once I was out I changed into my bedtime clothes, which was just another oversized shirt and panties.When I sat down in bed I saw Ellis had sent another message.

“Do you mind if we share pictures?” She asked.

“What’d you have in mind?” I asked.

“Nothing dirty. Not yet anyways. Kidding. I was just curious to see your bed clothes.”

“That sounds dirty.” I smirked. I then took forever to pose, trying to look cute but not like I was trying. I sent the picture and anxiously awaited.

“Your legs look incredible by the way. I hope that doesn’t sound creepy or anything.”

“Not at all. Thank you!”

“You really like purple, huh?”

I smiled dreamily at the phone. Why did I have to be so easily affected by Cupid’s arrows? “It’s the best.”

“I mostly deal in shades of black.”

“There are shades.”

“Don’t get me started. There are so many shades of black!”

“Like your eyes?”

“What?”

I was beginning to realize that her simple replies were a response to her being shy or touched in some way. “Your eyes are black in shadows, but when you’re in the sun they look like honey. They’re so beautiful.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“Talk like what?”

“Romantic.”

I smiled, that simple reply told me she liked it. “Has no one ever told you that? Because I’m telling you now, your eyes are beautiful. The color, the long lashes, they’re gorgeous.”

“Viv!”

I smiled. “You have beautiful hair too. All those curls and waves, the way it falls against your skin. Which, oh my god, I could talk about your skin forever. It’s so soft, and all those tattoos are just so beautiful! I want to trace every line of them with my finger tips.”

“Seriously.”

“I want to touch you again.”

There was no reply for so long so I continued.

“I want to kiss you. I keep thinking about you. I know I like you because lately I can’t think of anything else.”

“Why?”

My heart ached and I so wanted to put my arms around her. “I don’t think there is a ‘why’ right now. Right now it’s just new and exciting. You’re so interesting, and even with your wall up I still feel so drawn to you. Is that okay? Can I like you this much?”

“I still don’t know why though.”

“When can I see you again?”

There was another long wait, I considered sending another message, but I decided to stay quiet. Then, a picture came through. It was of her in only a long tank top with opened sides. I could see all her tattoos. “Where would you kiss first?”

“I’m going to pass out.”

“Tell me.”

“You want the truth?”

“Yes.”

I took a deep breath. “Your neck.”

“Then?”

Was this really happening? “What happened to nothing dirty?”

“Is this dirty?”

“Not yet.”

“Then tell me where you’d kiss next. If it’s dirty, we’ll see.”

I bite my lip again. “I’d keep kissing your neck just so I could breathe in the scent of your hair. Then I would kiss down your arm like I was Gomez Addams.”

“Then?”

“You’re killing me!” I flailed in bed. “Then I would kiss each fingertip.”

“Then?”

“I would wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“For you to breathe again so I could your lips.”

No reply.

“Was that too corny?”

“Can I see you tomorrow?”

And that was the story of how I died. My heart exploded and I was never heard from again. I was so excited I couldn’t even breathe. “Yeah,” was all I could think to say. Dead and breathless I waited for her reply to bring me back to life.

“What time?”

“I’m off tomorrow, so whenever you want to come over I’m yours.”

“Is that a promise?” She sent another picture, this time of her pulling the tank top so more of her breasts were exposed.

“You’re really going to make me die! But yes.”

“I’ll message you when I get up. Don’t die tonight. Okay?”

“I’ll try.” I flop back in bed. “I’m so excited to see you.”

“Me too. I’m scared.”

I licked my lips. “It’ll be okay. We’ll talk if you want. We can just hang out and I can make lunch or whatever.”

“What if I can’t control myself?”

“I’ll keep my wits, I promise.”

“Can I ask for another picture?”

I smiled. “Of course. What would you like?”

“Something cute but steamy. If that’s okay?”

I happily sit up to prepare myself. “Taking your order right now.” I pull my shirt up just enough for the underboob to show, clenching the shirt in my teeth so my lips look sexy. I feel silly, even a bit shy. But she sent me something ten times better than anything I could send, so it was the least I could do.

“Purple again.” Was all she said. I grew worried she didn’t like it. “I can’t wait to kiss you whenever I find purple.”

I died twice in one night. How oddly strange and miraculous.

“Are you blushing?”

“I’m exploding.”

“Me too,” she responded. “Maybe I should go to sleep now so I can get over there faster.”

“I’m glad to hear you sound excited,” I replied. “You seemed so terrified the last time I saw you.”

“I still am, Viv.” I loved when she typed my name. “But, I think I know something. I just need to see you to really know.”

I smiled at my phone screen, wishing she was right in front of me then and there. I had so much I wanted to tell her, show her. I wanted to hear her voice and be able to respond in kind. “I understand. I’ll make sure you know before anything happens.”

“You’re sweet. You deserve better.”

My heart ached. “Don’t say that, Ellis.”

“But you do. Don’t argue with me.”

“I’ll argue if I want to, young lady. I know where you live, I could find you right now if I wanted to.”

“Part of me wishes you would.”

“But I know you need the night, so I’ll behave for you.”

“If you’re like this in person tomorrow, I fear what I’ll do. I want you so badly, I have to confess that. But I think it’s more than the coat making me feel that way. I think I do like you. That’s what scares me.”

“I know I like you. I like you a lot. So I promise to take care of you.”

“I should go.”

“Don’t cry.”

“You don’t know me!”

I broke into a smile. “Can I kiss you goodnight then?”

“Where would you start?”

“Don’t do this again!”

“You make me laugh. Thank you, Viv. Kiss goodnight?”

I sent so many kiss emojis I knew it had to be obnoxious. “How’s that?”

“That might be enough.” She sent some emojis back. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” It was as if she was making sure she had permission.

“You’ll see a lot of me tomorrow. Goodnight, Ellis.”

“Goodnight.”

I fell back in bed, so overcome with so many emotions I wasn’t sure how to handle myself. I rolled around and flopped, hugged onto a stuffed animal then took a deep breath and grinned from ear to ear. I would see her tomorrow.

///

Was it a dream? It was too good a conversation to have been real. Right? I must have been dreaming about it. But when I check my phone, I see everything there. Every word that I could remember was there as clear as day. The pictures too. Such lovely pictures.

I fell back in bed, rereading everything with a giddy excitement. It had probably been the best conversation of my life. Now all I had to do was wait for Ellis to text. I felt so anxious about it, I wanted to just sit and wait but I knew it would drive me crazy if I did. I decided to keep busy until then, turning the volume all the way up just to be sure the message wasn’t missed. I got coffee then changed the sheets on my bed.

As I was getting a laundry basket together, my phone chimed. I dropped the basket and dashed to my phone on the table.

“I only just got up. I’m afraid I didn’t sleep much.”

A pit grew in my stomach, worried she might have to cancel. “That’s okay, take your time. I’m just doing chores until you want to come over.”

“It’s not horrible, I overslept more than usual. I’ll be over soon, just gotta get going.”

“Okay. I’m still very excited.” I then look at what I’m wearing. I only slapped on some shorts in order to do chores. I decided to change and freshen up before she got there. After stripping down I put on some body spray. I wanted to smell good, so if we ended up cuddling or something my scent would stick with her. A trick I learned from a movie ages ago that always stuck with me for some reason. I put on cute shorts, since Ellis said she liked my legs. I also popped on my favorite top, since it seemed casual enough but had a really cute heart shaped window at the chest. I struggled with the idea of putting on makeup, wondering if I should remain casual. The call of eyeliner was too strong though, so I had on my usual cat eye.

I was attempting to gather up my laundry basket again, the doorbell rang. I hopped up and answered the intercom. “Hello?”

“It’s me,” Ellis’ voice made my knees go weak. “Can I come up?”

I hit the button for the lock. “Please!”

I unlocked my door and waited excitedly for her to knock. I fidgeted in place, stroking my hair then wondering if I should have done something with it. Then she knocked. I opened the door, trying to keep from slamming it in my face.

“Howdy!” I said breathlessly.

Ellis had a caution smile on. “You really do say that.”

I beamed, so happy to finally see her in person again. “I do! Come in.” I stepped aside to let her in. She was wearing all black again, save for the white lace on her shirt. “You look really nice.”

“Thanks,” she said shyly. She set a handled box on the table. “A friend once described my fashion sense as a Victorian ghost who had an emo phase,” she chuckled unsurely, looking nervous as she stood there.

I wanted to make her feel welcome and comfortable, but I also wanted to kiss her so bad. “What’d you bring?” I distracted by motioning to the box.

“Coffee and fancy parfait fruit things. I wanted to get donuts but figured I would impress you by getting something healthy.” Her cheeks turned bright pink. “I didn’t know if you had eaten anything.”

“Not yet, I usually just have coffee until I get hungry. Not healthy or impressive,” I laughed.

Ellis pulled cups out from inside the box, setting them on the table. “I do that too.”

I came up beside her, gently placing my hand upon her back as I reached over to pick up a coffee. I felt her body tense under my touch while she also moved to lean further into it. “This smells good. Do you want cream or anything?”

“You smell good,” she muttered under her breath.

“Hm?” I leaned closer to her. “Did you say something?”

Ellis pressed her lips together then licked them. “I said that you smelled good.” Her black eyes cut up to me. “It smells sweet.”

“Aw thank you!” It was working!

“I thought you said you were doing chores.” Ellis took her coffee cup and sipped. I was impressed by her drinking it black. “You look like you are about to go buy cute shoes at the mall.”

I blushed and bit my lip. “Just something comfy really.”

Ellis’ eyes trailed over my body. I liked the way she was looking; It brought a rosy hue to her cheeks that made me want to nibble on them. Once her eyes lifted back up I saw them linger upon my lips before she met my eyes. “It’s cute.”

It was quiet for a beat. I really wasn’t sure what to say, I was so excited and nervous it was turning my brain to pudding. Ellis distracted herself by drinking her coffee and opening one of the parfaits. She stuck her finger into the creamy yogurt inside then licked it off her finger. My eyes opened wide and watched her lips upon her finger. She caught me staring and a small smirk appeared.

“Would you like a taste?” She offered.

I looked at her lips and finger, but not at the parfait. “Sure,” I answered breathlessly. I leaned down, kissing her softly. Ellis put her hand on my shoulder at first but slowly moved it up to my neck and then cupping the back of my head.

When our lips parted she ducked her head down. “Dammit,” she whispered.

“Did I overstep?”

Ellis shook her head. “That’s what I wanted. I just feel silly.” She peered back up at me. “I do like you.”

I couldn’t have been any happier or more elated. “You do?”

Ellis nodded, setting everything aside. “I thought it was the coat. And yeah, in part it was. But I think it was enhancing what I felt. Making everything feel so much more than that.” She placed her hand back upon my cheek. “More than I was ready for.”

I smiled and leaned into her palm. “Can I kiss you again?”

Ellis leaned in. “Will you do it like you said last night?”

I had to catch my breath. “Are you ready for that? I may have to sit down to withstand it,” I chuckled.

Ellis lightly touched my lips with hers in a teasing way. “I was up so late because I kept daydreaming about it. I must have read those messages twenty times.”

“Me too!” I gasped. I led her over to the sofa, sitting down beside her. I brushed her hair aside then smoothed my finger along the lace of her high collar. “This is in the way.”

Ellis removed the brooch on her collar then opened the first few buttons. She pushed it aside so her bare skin was exposed for me. I swallowed nervously. Sure, I talked a big game last night. Who doesn’t over text? I leaned in, breathing softly against her skin. I pressed my lips there and I felt less nervous. I kissed again and put my hand around her waist. Ellis whimpered and that sweet sound got tangled in my brain. I kissed again, opening my mouth so my tongue darted over her.

“Viv,” it was the first time I heard her say my name out loud. I lifted my eyes, looking into honey. I was so weak I could have been talked into anything. “That feels so good, give me a moment.” Ellis clutched her collar closed. “I don’t want to uhm...get ahead of myself,” she chuckled.

“Yeah, I suppose I should cool off too.” I sat back against the sofa and rubbed my knees. I was getting more excited than I bargained for, both in my heart and a little further south. It was one thing talking to her through text messages. Being in her presence was a whole other thing. Her body was warm and soft. I could hear the emotion and desire in her voice. It was driving me crazy, I wanted so much more of her to myself.

“Phew,” Ellis cupped her hand over her face. “That was really something.” She put her hand upon my leg, letting her shirt fall open again. She was trying to kill me. That’s fine, if anyone was going to kill me I was glad it was going to be her. I glanced at her hand then up to her chest. I could see her tattoos, the top of her breast. I looked away so I could keep myself calm. “What would you like to do now?”

“Don’t ask me that now.” I had too many thoughts in my head, none of them exactly chaste. “Maybe a walk or-” My mind trailed off as her hand on my leg began to move. “What are you doing?”

“Sorry, is that too much?” Ellis had a sneaky smile on her face.

My eyes widened and I scooted back closer to her. “Not exactly. It’s just, I thought you would want to talk before we did anything.” I put my hand around her waist again.

“It’s harder to think around you than I bargained for. Texting is easy, it’s safe. I can think before I send. But being with you...it’s so much more fraught with danger than I expected.” She swallowed and her fingers went under my shorts a little, and I liked it. “You’re so cute and sexy.” She pulled her fingers back out. “From what I’ve learned and from things Sam has shared.”

“That worries me,” I laughed.

Ellis eyes drifted again. “I have so much I want to say to you and I don’t think there are enough words to share it. My mind is just noise right now. The more I’m with you it somehow gets louder and quieter at the same time.”

“I get that,” I smiled. “It’s so crowded in my mind. All these thoughts and ideas, they crowd together and it’s like they talk over one another, but they drown themselves out as well.”

“That’s it exactly!” Ellis swallowed again. “I don’t want to rush things, but at the same time, if I am not careful, I will give in and do-” her voice flickered out.

I leaned in, brushing my lips against her cheek and combing my fingers through her hair. I kissed her jaw and ear. “Do what?”

Ellis turned my head so we kissed. She pulled me close, making me straddle her lap. I whimpered in surprise, not used to such a position. I was so tall, it really wasn’t comfortable. But Ellis was tall too, and sitting like this with her I felt suddenly delicate and fragile. Ellis’ hands stroked up my thighs then grabbed around my waist. Her hands pushed up under my shirt, touching bare skin. I giggled against her lips as it tickled.

Ellis’s lips parted and her tongue caressed over my skin. She knelt down, biting my neck. I cried out loudly, which made her pull back.

“Did I hurt you?” She looked terrified.

I shook my head and wriggled in her lap. “I like it too much.”

Ellis smiled softly with relief. “You like that?” She leaned in again, biting my shoulder. “You like a little nibble?”

I whimpered again, trying to keep from yelling again.

Ellis moaned against my skin. “Where else do you like it?” Her hands under my shirt were going further up. She bit my neck again and I couldn’t help exclaiming loudly. Ellis giggled, slowly moving her hands down and smirking up at me.

“Don’t make it sound like I’m torturing you.”

“It feels good I swear,” I panted.

“You’re sensitive aren’t you?” Ellis licked her lips as she looked at me. “I bet no matter where I touched you, you would tremble and moan like that.”

If I could have blushed anymore, I would have. “Maybe.”

Ellis laughed cutely then smoothed her palms along my back. “Is this okay?” She asked. “Can this be our day?”

“What?” I licked my lips. “Making out and touching?”

Ellis looked guilty. “Maybe.”

I leaned back down, lifting her face up so I could kiss her. Ellis moaned again and her hands crawled up my back. “I didn’t have any plans so-”

Ellis watched me, making sure I was genuine. She took a breath and nodded gently. “Okay.” She then pulled up at my shirt. “Can I take this off?”

I felt a bit nervous about that. “If you tell me what for.”

“So I can see what’s underneath. So I can touch it. The picture you sent last night drove me crazy. Just enough to see, but not enough to know.” She then got a serious look. “I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

“I know it’s silly, I just get a bit anxious being naked, even when it’s just me.” I wrapped my arms around her neck.

“You’re perfect,” Ellis assured me. “From what I’ve been lucky enough to touch, I can’t imagine anything more inviting than your body.”

I bit my lip and made a weepy face.

Ellis giggled. “You really look like a puppy.” She kissed my neck and cheek slowly. “But you must be made of heaven.”

I nodded sheepishly. “Okay. I'll take it off.” I pulled back just enough and pulled my shirt over my head. I freed my hair, then placed the shirt on the sofa. Ellis was breathless as she gazed at me.

“Oh wow,” she breathed.

“Hush,” I said with a smile.

“Oh wow!” Ellis’s fingers brushed up along the side of my breast. “I love boobs so much.” She face planted between them, snuggling up close.

I snickered and tried to suppress my guffaws, but it became too much. Her touch and her actions made me cackle. I hugged her head to my chest, feeling her start to laugh as well. She lifted her head, kissing me while we both giggled and snorted together.

“Seriously, lovely pair.” Ellis kissed my cheek. “Best I’ve ever seen.”

I moaned softly, tangling my fingers into her curls. “You’re just saying that because they’re right there.”

“No, Viv. I mean it.” Her hand then cupped one. “C cup?” She giggled.

“You’re good.”

Ellis dipped down again, kissing down my chest before her lips pressed to my breast. Her mouth then opened and her hot, wet tongue overtook my nipple. I pulled her hair a bit too hard, but she retaliated by nipping. I cried out and she moaned.

“Unfair advantage,” I panted.

Ellis lifted her head and giggled. “Get up then. Let’s make this equal.”

I slowly moved aside and when I did, Ellis removed her coat then her blouse. I watched with an open mouth as her chest became exposed. Her hair fell down so beautifully over her that she reminded me of a work of art. I reached for her, gently touching bare skin, feeling how soft and warm she was.

“Maybe the bed would be comfier?” I suggested.

Ellis grinned. “The bed huh?”

“Not that we-” I watched her skin, her breasts, her waist. “We can keep our underwear on.”

Ellis shook her head. “It’s too late for that. I want you.”

I swallowed down my throbbing heart. “I want you too.”

Ellis stood up and extended her hand to me. “Take me to bed then.”

I was glad I changed the sheets now. The bed would smell nice and the sheets would be soft. Ellis had me lay down first and she crawled on top of me. She kissed down my body, making me squirm with excitement. Ellis then unzipped my shorts and sighed.

“I did promise to kiss where it was purple.” She pressed her lips over my panties, and I could feel her heat right against me. I whimpered, cupping my hand over my mouth.

“I can tell you’re excited, but I didn’t know how excited.” Ellis’ tongue then lapped over the silky fabric. “Can I take these off for you?”

My breath shuddered as I tried to speak. “I-if you’d like.”

Ellis tugged down my short and panties. I covered my face with my hands, both nervous and joyful. I hadn’t wanted to be naked before someone in such a long time. I then felt Ellis’ fingers around me, I cried out against my palms. She licked at the base, her warm lips suckling there.

“Fuck!” I exclaimed. “Your mouth is so hot.”

“Is it okay?” Ellis asked again.

I reached down, cupping the back of her head. “Please. But just know, I’ll pay you back.”

Ellis looked up at me as her tongue went over the length of me. It felt so hot and wet, I felt like sugar dissolving in tea.

“You’re beautiful everywhere, Viv,” Ellis moaned. “So cute.”

I bit my fingers as she took me into her mouth, sucking luxuriously. “Ellis,” I breathed.

She moaned against me, kneading her hands into my thighs. It felt so good I thought I might pass out. Her hand then stroked up my chest, touching my breast. Another soft moan and she lifted her head.

“You’re making so much noise,” she teased.

“Sorry, I’m loud.”

Ellis crawled back up, kissing as she went. She stretched her arms up, grabbing my wrists. “I want you to touch me.”

“Anywhere you want!” I exclaimed all too willingly.

Ellis laid beside me, her breasts pressed up to my side. “You have my permission to touch me however you’d like.”

“Really?” I rolled over to face her. “You don’t mind?”

“Please?” She pleaded under a whisper. “I don’t care, I just want it.”

I kissed her, taking my time to slowly pet my hands down her body. I felt her shiver, but she said she never felt cold. I reached below, slowly stroking the interior of her thighs. She was soaking wet already and it had seeped down her thighs.

“Holy shit,” I moaned.

“I didn’t want to drown you just yet,” she whimpered. “Selkie things.”

I kissed her again, taking my fingers right to the apex. I felt her pump vulva squish for me, conforming to the contours of my hand. “It’s so soft.”

Ellis had her lip firmly gripped between her teeth and she grunted in reply.

I leaned close to her ear. “I can’t wait to feel how hot it is.” I slowly dipped a finger inside her and heard her moan. “Fuck,” I gasped. “You feel amazing.”

Ellis gripped my arm. “More.”

“Oh my,” I chuckled. I placed another finger inside then moved my thumb so it landed on her wanting clit. “Like this?”

“Viv, please,” she begged and moved her hips.

I rubbed my thumb against her, watching her body become more and more responsive. She was breathing deeply, and was moving her body honestly. It was a beautiful display, I could have watched her for hours.

“Wait-” I pulled out my fingers then sucked them clean. She watched me, her eyes wide and lips parted. “I wouldn’t have minded drowning for that.”

Ellis grabbed me and kissed me, forcing me back down upon the bed. She climbed on top of me and I felt that molten core rub against me.

“Easy now, I’m not going anywhere.” I put my hands around her hips. “Easy.”

Ellis moaned softly. “Sorry, I got too excited.” She squeezed her thighs around my hips. “But I need you now.”

I kissed her lovingly. “I can’t wait much longer either.”

Ellis sat up, towering over me. “I love seeing you like this.” She raised her hips then took hold of me. “I just hope I get to see more of it.” She guided me inside her and I lost my breath. She felt so hot, so wet, I was overwhelmed by the desire.

“Genevive,” she whimpered. “Hold my hand.”

I took hold of both of them, lacing my fingers with hers. “You feel amazing.”

“So do you.” She rose up on her knees and panted out loudly. “It’s been so long.”

I’m not sure where time went. I lost the hours with her. It became such a desperate thing between us, it was like we couldn't separate from each other. We would breathe and then we would collide again.

I suppose at some point we fell asleep, because I woke up to the sound of rain outside. I looked beside me, seeing Ellis curled up and hugging my pillow. I smiled, feeling like I was caught up in some dream. I brushed my knuckles against her shoulder and watched her sleep. I liked the way her hair looked, all curly and mussed up. She reminded me of a wild fairy.  I got up, nearly falling over as I went to open the window. It let in a cool breeze, and the scent of the rain cleared my foggy brain.

“Don’t go.”

I looked back at Ellis pouting in bed.

“I was just letting some fresh air in.” I crawled back in bed and snuggled into her arms. “I thought you were sleeping.” I kissed her cheek.

“I thought I was dreaming.” She peered up at me. “There was no way I could wake up to all that having been true.”

“It’s true.”

Ellis laid her head down against the pillow. “Now I’m even more scared.”

My heart leapt. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Now this is all-” She huffed and turned her head further into the pillow.

She had been trying so hard to hide parts of herself, the parts that were fragile and vulnerable. She had nowhere to hide here, and I knew it must have been killing her. She wanted to cry, but she also wanted to run. “Don’t cry,” I gasped. “It’s okay.” I reached for her, but her hands stopped me.

Ellis sniffled and kept trying to hide her tears. “It’s too good! There’s no way I can be allowed to keep it.” She whimpered and shook her head.

I stroked her hair aside and gently turned her head back towards me. I saw her tears for the first time. “I’m here,” I whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don’t look at me.” She pushed her palms against my face. “Don’t! I’m ugly when I cry.”

I kiss her palms, then her arm, then her lips. “Tell me what you’re so afraid of?”

“Of you!” She huffed. “Of this.” She sniffled. “Last time I felt this way I was abandoned. They threw away my coat and just vanished-” She hiccuped.

“I could never...I don’t even have the heart to think about hurting anything. And as long as you have that coat, there’s no chance I’d ever take it away.” I smoothed my fingers down her cheek. “Look at me.”

Ellis turned her gaze upon me again, an adorable pout on her lips. Tears hung upon her eyelashes and they fell away as she blinked. I smiled seeing this, wanting to remember this, but also wanting to make her smile. “It’s still terrifying, Viv. I don’t know what to do.”

I kissed her softly to reassure her. “Talk to me.” I laid back and held her hand. “That’s all you have to do. Any time you’re afraid, I’ll listen and I’ll hold you. You don’t have to feel alone in this. I’m here, I’m eager, all I want to do is be with you right now. It may sound silly to you, but it’s true.”

Ellis sniffled and squeezed my hand. “What can I do for you?”

I smiled brightly. “Let me.”

Her eyes brightened and sunshine came through the rain, turning her eyes to honey again. Ellis smiled and kissed my hand. “When can I take you out on a date then?”

I kissed her. “Now that the rain is stopping, I know a little place.”

[hes-writer]

Reign (3)

Summary: harry sees something he's supposed to have

Warnings:  angst in the beginning, angst in the middle, angst near the end

Word Count: 4881 words

A/N: @devilinbetweenthesheet-s : dont cheat and don’t do drugs, kids

Tarnish (1)  .  Halo (2)  . Reign (3) . Trial (4) .

Errors (5) . Ruin (6) . Crumble (7)

Error Taglist

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A writer that cannot write is dead.

When one loses the ability to tell their stories and anecdotes through the mere action of swirling words together to create an imaginable atmosphere of real-world fantasy; they are dead. A writer recovering from the mundane and mediocre way of penning experiences to bounce back into what they used to be is difficult. It is easier to free fall and drown in the depths of despair. The moment thoughts and rumination fog up to form a blurry image of conviction is a warning sign, blaring at the back of their minds and sometimes even in their faces.

Harry is a writer--or, he was. Picking up the pen to style the words lingering in his head used to be as easy as blinking; quick and natural. Now, the words claw at the swell of his throat, trying to spit an adjective to describe the way he felt. It was at the tip of his tongue, waiting to be lathed into existence. It did not matter if his cognition was mingled with various chemicals aimed to be able to feel happiness.

He was sober but he had trouble placing his finger on why it was so strenuous to narrate his feelings throughout the breakup. Being high or drunk was never the answer for him. Weed made him tired and made him have a case of cottonmouth. Harry learned from a young age that he should only ever engage with alcohol if he was in a mindset and setting that catered to increase existing good vibes. He thought that maybe he was in an odd phase of perceiving the opposite, and so he intoxicated himself enough to understand that it didn’t matter if he was soaked head-to-toe in sobriety or whizzed out of his mind by the amber liquid swirling in the glass in his hand. But that wasn’t the circumstance. It also didn’t matter if he was grasping his favourite pen to write--because it was comfortable--or tapping his calloused thumbs against his phone keypad. Hell, it didn’t make a difference when he sat down and prepared his typewriter to indulge in a headspace of vintage songwriting. Maybe that would help.

It didn’t.

He had stories to tell. Everything was laid out in misty overcast yet Harry’s great ideas morphed into gentle mistakes, harsh mistakes and discoveries that had him almost ripping his hair out of the roots of his scalp. When he felt the wave of his ocean-thoughts rise and peek where the sand shifted, his fingers were ready to move and discern for the eyes to see. But with each fritter, he couldn’t seem to get even two paragraphs in to decide that it was utter shit.

Harry was old enough to understand that slumping on the wet sand was a part of life. Sometimes picking up a fistful of grains and throwing them back to the sea was a great way to release frustration. But it seemed like this plunge of his ability to write was a hole of quicksand. He was trying his hardest to displace himself as swiftly as possible but it only made his scenario worse. The muddy sand clung unto his legs like sticky glue, heftier with each effort to leave. He wanted to move on. He wanted to forget everything that occurred in the past four years. Harry wanted to erase Y/N from his life because she wasn’t around anymore to bring those memories back to sparkly existence.

What he needed to do was nestle himself into a certain depth, calmly, in order to pull a limb out and ensure that his progress on the so-called ‘moving on’ did not have any drawbacks. Until then, he cannot possibly create songs that he was well-known for if he wasn’t patient enough.

He wanted so badly to tell his side of the story. Harry craved to think as clearly as he did when he told Y/N about his plan for their future. Admitting to his feelings was a hard route. Sure, he can be vulnerable but it took a great deal of convincing on his part to immerse himself in the deepest parts of his brain to understand why he felt the way he did. He usually had the means of songwriting to help him out but that obviously wasn’t working out that good for him.

___

Harry was packing the rest of Y/N’s things in boxes to be picked up later in the afternoon. He was annoyed at first at how she depended on him to fold her clothes properly instead of doing the bundle of the work herself. But he guessed that she didn’t want to be around him for longer than she had to. To be frank, he also did not want to indulge in what might turn into an argument if they spoke about the reason for their breakup. It was just a bit confusing because he had an urge to still want her around despite their less than likely situation.

Torture. If Harry had one chance to describe the way he felt right now; it was torture. With every nook of Y/N’s side of the closet emptying into brown, cardboard boxes--he physically how much she had integrated her life with his. How much space she took up in his life. How his clothes and her clothes were so interchanged between them that he couldn’t decide if the gray pull-over was actually his or hers. And in a moment of selfishness did he tuck it away for his safe-keeping despite seeing the tag imprinted on the inside; a shop that he hadn’t set foot in so it was a guarantee that it was hers.

Her scent embedded in the thin threads of each fabric wafted to his nose; each with a new wave of memories engulfing his senses as if each piece garnered a specific scent tailored to a specific event. Like her sunflower sundress--it smelled of fresh flowers as if the print was a scratch and sniff that released a fragrance. Or their DIY-ed tie-dye shirt of pastel blue and cotton candy pink. It was a matching piece made out of the cheap dye and a simple white tee but it was theirs. Things like these made Harry want to yell in frustration because every time he thought that he was completely over her-- Y/N appears out of visibly nowhere and towers over him.

Seeing her for the first time in days was a breath of relief. She looked fine. Glowing even, and Harry did not know what to make of it. As sadistic as it sounded, he was expecting dry-stained tears and a birds’ nest of hair trampling her head. Instead, Y/N was dressed for comfort in her baggy jeans and an even looser sweater covering her body. Her lips were drawn in a thin line, giving him a nod in greeting as he gestured to the boxes littering the floor.

Harry offered to help--it was the least he could do. And somehow, silence protruded from the tense atmosphere, begging to be cut by a knife yielded through their voices nipping at each others’ emotions.

“Let go of my damn hand,” Y/N stated, her hard stare could turn Harry into stone. He just wanted her to listen before she left.

He shook his head in denial of her request, tightening his grip further. “No. Listen to me, Y/N,”

“What do you possibly have to say that will change anything between us?”

And maybe it was her fault for assuming that he wanted to fix things. The sliver of hope thinly dressed behind closed lids enabled her to think that maybe he was going to say that he wanted to make things work again. That he had broken up with Camille and he realized what a stupid he had done throwing away everything they built up to for the past four years for an affair that couldn’t quench the thirst of his desire to have a family.

Harry sighed, a shadow of mischievous smirk painted on his lips. But maybe it was Y/N’s sight in deception because she could never see Harry as anything other than sweet and kind Harry incapable of hurting a fly.

“What? I don’t intend to. We’re broken. We’re beyond fixing,”

The hitch in her breath was as sharp as the stare he was searing her with. Forcing her to please understand that this would be their last conversation--if time and fate were on their side. “You’re not something I would take the time to handle,”

“Stop saying shit you don’t mean, Harry” Y/N rolled her eyes in annoyance. His macho act was barely an act and more like a stage curtain easily pushed with a flick of a wrist.

“Things I don’t mean?”

“You heard me,” She crossed her arms over his chest in defence, leaning against the closed trunk. “Say what you will but our love was real. Don’t make me seem like I’m crazy. Don’t tell me that I’m a mistake,” Her voice was filled with confidence because she knew the affection that Harry diffused.

The cradles of his palm at the small of her back when they had to walk past a crowd. The subtle graze of the back of his fingers caressing the bare skin of her arm. Kisses pressed to her temple as she read a novel and swirling fingertips twirling her hair. These were acts of love that happened nearly every day in their relationship. A routine that felt different if it wasn’t done to or with each other.

Exasperatedly, Harry felt the same itching crawling up his spine. His ego ballooning into a delicate size and one more word from Y/N’s lush lips would have him on his hands and knees, begging for her back.

“This, us, was a fuckin’ mistake,” Harry’s accent thunked heavily in her cochlea, practically spitting the words out of his mouth as if they were poisonous. Ringed fingers gesticulated the space between them to emphasize how much of a misunderstanding they truly were. “I should’ve known the second things went further than planned,”

Y/N felt her heart drop to her full stomach. The feeling so nauseating that she instinctively palmed her belly over the fabric to protect her little baby from his harsh words. Even though they weren’t directed towards anyone but Y/N. She didn’t think that their unborn child deserved scrutiny from their own father.

“You don’t mean that, Harry.”

Because how could he? Not when he emulated sincerity through his syrupy voice. Not when he spent hours loving on her tummy and spoke to it like he would if she were pregnant. Especially not when every kiss from him felt like a buzz of electricity coursing through her veins because he was the main distributor of her happiness.

Harry truly was an asshole for making her hope and wonder of what the future held when he was unsure himself. He did want a family. That was a statement in all its truthfulness. What he wasn’t sure about was if he wanted a family with Y/N. He could have a family; kids of his own in his own time. But Y/N didn’t have to necessarily be the mother. So was he besotted with the concept of family and marriage regardless of who it was with?

“But I do,”

The rain started drizzling in frequent spurts, planting a fat droplet on her cheek that could be argued as a tear escaping Y/N’s eye. It hurt a lot to hear that from him. The man of her dreams blatantly denying each sugary word because his plans had changed.

“You’re a goddamn mistake is what you are,’

“Why are you. . .saying all these things to me? Are you trying to hurt me?” The shakiness of Y/N’s tone had Harry swallowing his words down his strep throat.

He shook his head in disagreement, “No, I’m not. ‘M just tryna make you see my side. So you can understand,” His head dipped to the side, softening his tone yet stern as though he was speaking to a child.

And that was one of the reasons why Y/N didn’t believe his all-too stoic demeanour about her. Harry was great at making others see his side regardless of how much in the wrong he was.

So why was he struggling?

___

Needless to say, he wasn’t very respectful towards Y/N any other time afterwards. He had unblocked her number months after blocking it at one point and demanded answers that he didn’t have the right to know. In retrospect, Harry was embarrassed by the way he acted. He did cheat on her and suddenly he was a saint because she moved on quicker than he thought she would? Unbelievable.

In his defence, the night he became the drunk caller was the same night he fought with Camille about having children; having a family they can call their own. Ever since that discussion did Harry notice a dispatch in their relationship. It was like they were aware of a missing link that had disappeared in their connection, but neither one of them wanted to be the one to bring it up. Harry supposed that now that Camille knew what he wanted (and vice versa)--she was feeling the pressure of giving in to him. Don’t get him wrong, Harry absolutely wanted a family and he thought that Camille was the right partner to build it with. However, he couldn’t help the voice at the back of his mind slyly whispering that he had forced her to give him what he wanted for the sake of saving their failing relationship.

___

It had been two and a half years since he mildly and miserably accepted that his dream family was being erased like a pencil on paper.

The first year; Harry still clung to the obscure hope that Camille might change her mind of having kids. Many fights sprouted between the two of them concluding in them sleeping at different places for weeks on end until they eventually crawled back to each other like an invisible string. The second-year; Harry brought up the idea of adoption. It was a hard choice for him as he desperately wanted kids of his own. A boy that looked like him and his love or a little girl that smiled at him with deep dimples mirroring his own.

And Harry liked to think that he was just on the edge of convincing Camille to consider the option when his tour was scheduled a few months after. A new dealbreaker was that Harry wasn’t going to be around much to watch and nurture the little bub they might’ve adopted. It was a sudden intrusion to think about since Harry was good with kids. He knew that. That was why he had three godchildren of his own. But what hit him the most was how sure Camille sounded when she yelled at him about leaving for months at a time and returning for a bit, only to leave again. Now, Harry hadn’t considered that part. But surely he will be ready to choose between a family and his career, right? When the time comes, he thought.

___

It pained Harry to admit that his relationship with Camille was dwindling down the drain. The knowledge that there was no future--the one that Harry envisioned--for them was getting more and more real each passing day. 

A late-night grocery trip was one of the many examples that had Harry rethinking his actions for the past couple of years. It was the time period where night owls arose and barely any customers littered the aisles. Still, Harry made sure to keep his hoodie up to shield his face.

Camille had an early flight to Milan in just a few hours later that day and she wanted to purchase some things to bring with her; in case they weren’t available in the country. So here they were at three in the morning.

As Camille walked ahead of him in her sweatpants and a plain tee, Harry couldn’t help but let his eyes flicker to the clothing section to his right The first-floor space was decorated with pastel blues and pinks; a stroller was displayed with a price would not make a dent in Harry’s bank account.

“‘M just gonna grab somethin’ over here, Cam,” Harry muttered as he pointed a thumb behind him. She nodded, “Meet me at the produce? Need to get you some fruits,”

Harry felt guilt thudding his chest because although he was losing feelings he thought were written in stone, Camille appeared to care for him the same way she always had.

He walked to the brightly lit area, puffing his cheek as a cute onesie caught his eye, “You’re so golden” with the word ‘golden’ printed in a shiny, yellow glimmer. He smiled at the thought of baby angel cooing at him as he tickled her tummy. Harry passed by the shoes next, picking up a pair barely the size of his palm. His mind flashed back to a conversation with Y/N years ago,

___

“I’m just saying,” Y/N took a bite of a pickle she held on her left hand, “Baby shoes have no business being that expensive,”

Harry chuckled from his place across the counter, “Babies need shoes too, love,’

She grabbed her fork and stabbed a piece of strawberry from her bowl, “I didn’t say the don’t need shoes. For tiny things, they could at least be a bit cheaper,”

Harry watched as she munched on a pickle on her left and took a bite of a strawberry on the other. His tongue poked out in a gag at the odd combination, resorting in glare and a huff from Y/N.

“You should try it instead of judging me,’

“No, thank you. Watching you eat it is enough for me,’

___

Harry craned his head at each aisle, hoping to find Camille and to distract himself from the endless Y/N related thoughts that somehow returned to his brain. He needed his girlfriend to remind him that he cannot just knock on Y/N’s door and ask her about the baby she has. If he could hold them for a bit because his baby fever was through the roof.

Locating the produce section, Harry whistled mindlessly as he searched for a blonde head of hair, failing to notice that there was a basket in front of his feet. He had kicked it, jolting him out of his thoughts in a hurry.

A man with brown hair sporting an outfit similar to his (sweats and a hoodie), chuckled at him as Harry leaned down to retrieve the gray basket filled with a jar of pickles.

“Sorry man,” Harry muttered, holding the handles up for the man to carry.

“It’s alright, it happens,” The guy had not seen his face yet, too busy inspecting the carton of strawberries.

He decided to continue the conversation, “Strawberries and pickles? Odd combo, huh,” Harry was briefly reminded of Y/N’s obsession with the two rival products.

“Yeah, m’lady loves ‘em. Had a craving in the middle of the night. She’s in the car right now with our lil bubba,”

Harry’s heart fluttered at the mention of a baby. He needed to get his rails in check. He cannot keep having his heart bursting with adoration at the mere mention of a baby.

“I’m Connor,” He said, finally facing Harry after choosing the best carton.

“I'm--,”

“Harry!” Both men turned their heads towards Camille carrying a basket full fruits and green veggies, “Got you some stuff to blend for your smoothies,”

Connor squinted his eyes at the couple and Harry internally screamed because he knew that he and Camille had been recognized. “Harry. Yeah, I know you,” The sudden hostility made Harry confused as Connor grasped his basket from him in a harsh manner, heading towards the checkout.

The rest of the time inside the store was filled with curiosities as Harry carried the paper bags towards the car, barely recognizing Connor’s figure heading towards his own vehicle. Luckily, Harry has parked only a few slots away and could inconspicuously watch Connor and his so-called ‘lady’.

Except, Camille was ushering him to hurry up as she still had a few things to pack at home.

___

On most days, Harry was used to waking up alone. Used to feeling the shiver crawling up his side, used to seeing the indent left by Camille’s body instead of her. He had grown familiar with the sudden cast of loneliness blanketing him thicker than the duvet on top of his body.

The early morning trip to the store had tired him out, paired with the overthinking of the man named ‘Connor’ that flipped his attitude towards him quicker than he could kick the grey basket with his feet. He flopped back to the mattress after washing his face and brushing his teeth. It was noon when he jolted out of bed again at the sound of his front door opening, voices filling the empty space that had Harry running towards the foyer in case there was an intruder.

His tense shoulders sagged in relief when he caught sight of his mum and Gemma, “Oh, s’just you guys,”

Both women looked up at him at the top of the stairs, “You forgot we were coming over for the weekend, didn’t you?” Gemma teased as she headed to the living room. Harry followed, walking down the stairs.

He scratched the nape of his neck nervously, “No. . . “

“Can you help me reach this, H?” Anne called out from the kitchen.

His mum gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, “Yes, you did, by the way. Slept through the whole morning. Good thing Camille let us in before she left,”

At the sound of a bag crumpling and squeals echoing the hollow house, Harry scrunched his nose in curiosity, briskly walking where Gemm was currently holding up tiny baby clothes in front of her. “Who’s that for?” He thought of any possible friends that had had a baby recently but couldn’t recall any.

She immediately stuffed the clothing into the bag, nervously placing a hand on her chest, “Gosh, Harry, you scared me,” Her brows went high on her forehead in alarm, sharing a look with her mum trailing behind Harry.

“Well? Did I miss something?”

“Oh, it’s for one of my friends,”

Harry contemplated on his next words, “D-did you know that Y/N had a baby?” It couldn’t be right if his sister and mum knew about his exes baby and not him, right? That’s just plain odd to still be in touch with an ex's family. His brows furrowed in suspicion as both of them declined his question.

“What? Nooo,”

Awkward silence filtered through the air as Anne sipped water from her mug and Harry was slowly putting the pieces together. Gemme dove to the centre of the couch where her phone was when it rang suddenly, surprising all three of them. Harry was quicker, eyeing his mum and sister and inspecting the emoji substituting as a name before sliding his thumb to answer it.

"Hey, Gems! Are you coming to the park? We're waiting for you,”

Harry felt his heart drop to his stomach just as the phone nearly slipped from his clutch. That voice. He could recognize it from everywhere having spent nearly every morning for the four years that they were together hearing it lulling him out of sleep. It was Y/N’s voice calling his sister who was looking extremely anxious.

He tapped on the ‘mute’ button, “What does she mean ‘we’?”

“Nothing! Give me my phone back,” Gemma tried to reach for the device but Harry held it high beyond her reach.

“I saw the picture you sent me. I told you that you and Anne didn’t have to get me anything,” Harry felt dizzy. “Connor and I got some things a few weeks ago. But that skirt is so adorable!”

One part of him was glad to hear her voice. In fact, Harry found himself smiling too, despite what he just heard. Connor. “Harry, won’t be there right? Hello? Have I been talking to myself this whole time,” Y/N laughed a little; she had a habit of talking endlessly when she was excited. It made Harry more sombre, letting his guards down and his arm in reach for Gemma to grasp.

“Hey! I'm just organizing the clothes, see you soon!" Gemma jammed her finger on the red end call, anxiously glancing at her brother, piecing everything together.

“Who's Connor?" Could it be that the Connor he met last night was the same as Y/N’s? The one who bought pickles and strawberries--one of Y/N favourite food combinations? He mentioned that he had a little girl and Y/N just called to meet his sister and his mum at the park. And baby clothes?

Anne and Gemma looked at each other, quickly deciding that for the benefit of Harry that they should tell him at least a little bit. He was looking as if he was going insane, especially with his bed head pointing his hair out in different directions.

“He’s Y/N’s partner”

Harry gulped, reeling his thoughts to a halt, “Partner? And the baby is...?” The last bit of confirmation was all he needed to lash his feelings out.

“Is... waiting for us at the park! Sorry H gotta go,” Gemma was swift enough to gather all the bags without having Harry chase after her. His state of confusion and shock was enough to render him partially speechless and immobile.

“Hey wait!”

Anne garnered his attention, “Oh, Mrs. Q from next door wants me over for dinner. I’m sure wants to see us both. Why don’t you get ready, Harry?” Anne tugged his arm in the direction of the staircase pushing him to stumble up a couple of steps.

Harry was confused. He made the sounds of his footsteps creeping up the wooden stairs, hearing his mum quietly talking to Gemma on the phone, “Elmsway Park, you said? How long till you're home? I’m not sure how long I can keep him occupied,”

With that being said, Harry was out of his house, silently unlocking and locking the door. He was dressed in some basketball shorts and a graphic tee, slipping on the first pair of sneakers he had tossed aside. Harry jogged to his car, typing in the name of the park on his phones’ GPS. The route was only a few minutes away so he decided to take his time, gathering his scattered thoughts along the way.

He parked just beside the playground scouting the trees around the premises. Harry decided that it was the perfect day. The sun was out. It wasn’t too humid and the birds were chirping on the branches. He could see why the playground was full of children running around in delight. The green patches of grass were partially filled with picnic blankets and food to be shared. Families laughed with each other as one in particular caught his eye.

It made him smile at first, seeing just how adorable the couple was with their baby. He exited the car, making sure to lock the vehicle. With his hands jammed deep in the pockets of his shorts, Harry could feel the tethered grass rubbing against his legs. As he got closer, he couldn’t help the twinge of familiarity spark in his chest, recognizing that what he was staring at was Connor playfully chasing a little girl of about two-years-old as she squealed at how close he was getting to tagging her.

Harry stood by a tree, shielding him away from view. He tried to appear invisible without seeming too creepy. He knew that it was only a matter of seconds before his eyes found the woman he had been missing, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

Connor picked up the little girl in his arms, dotting pecks all over the girls’ cheeks, causing her to giggle and push his face away with a tiny palm. And there she was standing outside the raised platform of the playground, coming up to the both of them with a juice box in hand to hydrate the little angel. Connor turned his attention to Y/N, planting the most adoring kiss on her lips that made her smile so wide and the baby cover her eyes. They laughed together, looking like a picture-perfect family.

Gemma sat on the bench, flickering her gaze to the precious family in front of her and to the figure of her brother walking away from the scene. Her heart broke for Harry, and it cracked, even more, when he turned back. This time, watching Connor and Y/N cheer on baby angel to go down the slide. Both of them clapped their hands in enthusiasm as the girl hesitantly slid down the plastic slide. The smile on her face was infectious.

It almost made Harry smile, too.

___

Let us know what you thought!

Trial aka pt 4 is already up on Patreon! (link in bio)

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Permanent Taglist: @splendidsunsetx @swagmoneymaya @textingharry @arypesanchez @theresthingsthatwellneverknow @mellamolayla

[kyotakumrau]

2021.04.06 a talk event at Meguro Rock-May-Kan film screening at Namba Hatch with Kyo and Shinya - PART 2

Report by とあ on twitter (topics are not reported in order things happened, I followed the order they posted, 1st and 2nd session are mixed)

"What is Shinya's hair colour called? Is it okay to copy you [and dye my hair the same colour]?"

Shinya: Violet rose.

Fujieda: How about copying?

Shinya: It's fine.

Kyo: ... Violet rose?! It's called violet rose? (laughing)

Fujieda: It's sounds like a song title.

Kyo: Like our next song? Doesn't sound exciting at all (laughing).

Kyo: Did you name it Violet rose yourself?

Shinya: No, when I requested pink shade I got this colour, when I asked what colour is it I got told it's Violet rose.

Kyo: It's not pink at all.

"Which place is painful to get tattooed on?"

Kyo: It's said that the hand's palm and back of the foot. The one on this hand was done by the person who did the tattoo on my back, but she lives in Germany. She told me it's easy for the colour to fade on the palm. That's why she told me she will use an ink that's not approved in Japan but will not fade, and she did it for me.

Fujieda: It's really not fading.

Kyo: That's why she used some weird ink. Suspicious one, with something bad for people in it.

There are four small tattoos on this hand

(during this talk Kyo was showing his palm almost all the time)

Shift of conversation to the topic of tattooing a giraffe on Fujieda's back.

Kyo: A giraffe going all over your back to your thighs.

Fujieda: And the head would be on the neck?

Kyo: No, on the shoulder. So when you move your arm the giraffe's head would move as well. If I had a machine I could do it on you.

Fujieda: When there's a chance.

Kyo: Eh, if there's a machine?

(*there's a brilliant word play here with 機械・machine and 機会・opportunity both being read as 'kikai'🤣)

Kyo: Then I'm going to get the machine and tattoo you. Using that not approved ink from Germany.

Fujieda: No no no, we're talking about different 'kikai'.

Fujieda: "I'm in trouble eating too much. What should I do?"

Kyo: Eat!

"What do you drink when you wake up?"

Shinya: Cola.

"What lip balm do you use?"

Kyo: Cola flavour.

"A drink you like"

Kyo: Ehm... Dekavita, Oronamin C, things like that. But it's not good to drink those too much.

"Favorite chocolate sweets"

Kyo: Ehm... there are too many. ...Ah, but I love cheap sweets.

"When you eating a candy do you suck it till the end or do you crunch it?

Kyo: I crunch it from the start.

"Your favorite Japanese sweets"

Shinya: Ichigo daifuku (rice cake with a strawberry)

"Anything special about Namba Hatch, first time in a while?"

Shinya: Not really. First time since we played here and not for a show. It's feels quite empty.

Kyo: I have something I buy every time I come to Osaka, but I'm annoyed because they weren't sold. Half of me is made of sweets! I always buy 3 or 4 flavours of Curl before going back but I couldn't find them.

(*Curl is a corn puff snack)

Kyo: I never talk to the shop clerk, but this time I checked the shop few times and couldn't find it so I asked. I got told they only have cheese flavour so I got it and left.

Kyo: But don't send me Curl. It'd be troublesome to start receiving so many Curl packs. I'd get them myself.

Before I bought 4 packs to take home but by the time I was home I only had one left.

"What type of dogs do you like?"

Kyo: It's a secret. You'll know eventually.

Shinya: small dogs.

"What colours do you like besides members colours?"

Takavayashi: How were those colours decided? By the hair colour?

Kyo: That's what I think?

Shinya: They were decided without my knowledge.

Takabayashi: it's pink for you, right? Although it doesn't really match you?

What colour do you like best?

Shinya: Black.

(two if them look at each other in silence and laugh)

Takabayashi: How about you Kyo?

Kyo: Pink!

"Merchandise item you like"

Shinya: I guess the travel pouch.

Fujieda: Are you using it?

Shinya: Today I brought a smaller one.

Fujieda: Eh? You use it...

Kyo: He said he doesn't. The size is wrong.

Fujieda: Btw where's your bag from?

Shinya: It's from MUJI.

Fujieda: How was the hot pack? It's warm!

Handed it to Kyo

Kyo: Yeah, it's warm... but it was supposed to be released last time.

Fujieda: Eh? Saying that does it mean it was your idea??!

Kyo: Yup. Actually I wanted to have it last year, last year end was cold right? But the design wasn't done in time.

That's why it didn't come that time, just now. Niw it's not needed anymore. ...I hope you can use it next winter.

(*aaaaah so that's why he was poking at Fujieda so much about it☹️ it'd have been great last December!😆 but it'd definitely be useful next winter!!😊)

Fujieda: That's true, let's use it next winter. And it can also be used as a power bank so that can be used now.

Power strip.

Fujieda: Before this event Shinya was using this backstage. There aren't enough outlets backstage.

Kyo: Lol... is there really that few outlets backstage?

Fujieda: Well... not that few. But he was using it.

Kyo: Huhm.

Kyo (looks at Shinya): what is that, drawn on it?

Shinya got the power strip in his hands.

Shinya: That is cats who got electrocuted.

Kyo: Those are cats? Why cats?

Shinya: Who knows.

Fujieda: But isn't it cute?

Kyo: Yup, ...I guess it is.

Kyo likes the hoodie.

Kyo: The design in the back was drawn by the person who is my tattoo artist after I asked.

Fujieda: Why a hoodie?

Kyo: Eh?If its something to use it at home... you can't use a heat pack at home. Only a loony would use a heat pack at home. It's better to just turn on the heating. So it'd be crazy to use heat packs at home.

Kyo: and then you also won't use the pass case. And no use for the travel pouch at home nor the sticker...

Fujieda: What about the tote bag? Shinya is using it, for his shoes etc.

Shinya: I'm using it. I didn't bring it today though.

"In an old interview you said that because you couldn't afford to stay in a hotel you slept in the car and thought of sleeping position like yoga, what kind of position was it?"

Kyo: I said that?

Takabayashi: In a magazine interview I think? Didn't you said you didn't stay in a hotel?

Kyo: Saying I slept in the car, it must have been when traveling?

Kyo: You're sitting, right? There's someone next to you so totally no space. Saying it's like yoga, so like this, your head goes down and your legs go up, kinda have to turn around

Shinya: I thought then Kyo had a great idea, when I tried it, it was comfortable.

Kyo: I've put a plastic box in the legs and used it for my head, rose my legs, like L shape.

Fujieda: Is that really comfortable?

Kyo: Yup.

Takabayashi: There won't be any swelling, if you raise your legs.

Kyo: But in the past, when we got to the venue I was in that position some fan suddenly opened our car's door. I was so upset she saw the L shape position.

Fujieda: It's also hard to believe someone would just suddenly open your car door.

"How do you like your meat cooked?"

Kyo: rary rare

Fujieda: You mean to grill it only a little bit? Like sizzle siz..done?

Kyo: Yup.

Fujieda: How about you Shinya?

Shinya: Medium rare.

Kyo: You don't eat Yukhoe? (*dish similar to tartare steak)

Kyo: Isn't it rary rare?

Shinya: But that's special.

"A song you just hum"

Kyo: the '♪gohan ga susumu gohan ga susumu♪' one

"Do you look at the needle when you get an injection?"

Kyo: Fixedly. I also watch when I'm getting tattooed.

"You should know that ZARAME DONUTS bacon donuts will come back, so don't worry."

Kyo: .......? What? How do you know that?

Fujieda: When we were in Nagoya we got told the same. That for now they are gone but they will be available again.

Kyo: Uhm... Who are they? Why do they know this? Are you the shop's spy or something??

"A vegetable you like"

Kyo: what spring veg are there?

Fujieda: Bamboo shoots and so on.

Kyo: Bamboo shoots!

"What are you into right now."

Kyo: Sneakers and Bugs Bunny.

Fujieda: Batsu Bani?!

Kyo: Batsu Bani lol

Fujieda: What's that? Batsu Bani?

Kyo: It's a character...

Fujieda: Eh? Do you know it?

Takabayashi: Of course.

Fujieda: Batsu Bani... I have no idea. I didn't bring my phone so I can't check... What kind of character is it?

Kyo: I said.

Fujieda: Baksu Bani?? ...ah! Bunny! It's a rabbit?

"What fabric softener do you use?"

Shinya: No preference. Something smooth

Takabayashi: Not the pods?

Shinya: No. Water... should rather say liquid.

Takabayashi: I'll look for it next time.

Kyo: Any softener would be okay for me, but there's Fafa, isn't the bear super cute? Have you seen that commercial? Where the bear falls on the towels. It's very cute. Watch it. It's on the net. It makes me feel better even when I'm irritated.

Fujieda: So at the moment you like two characters, FaFa bear and Bugs Bunny.... !!! Bugs Bunny! You meant Bugs Bunny!

Kyo: You finally got it 😆

[fairykukla]

What sort of pressing cloth do you use? My grandma taught me just a piece of unbleached muslin, and later Sheila L. told me to use wool for really delicate stuff and velvet turned over when pressing velvet (so as not to crush the pile).

The truth is that you can use anything in a natural fiber that you want for a pressing cloth, so I have several.

The trick is that the pressing cloth might get scorched, stained, or stuck with adhesive, so don't use fabric you plan to use for something else. Also don't use something that has transferrable dye or print. (No cotton with metallic prints, no laminated fabric.)

Muslin is traditional, because muslin is very inexpensive woven cotton. If it gets gunked up, throw it out. Whether or not it's bleached muslin is dependant on which one of those is cheap and plentiful. Your Grandma probably remembers when unbleached muslin was literally the cheapest possible fabric.

I don't use a pressing cloth for everything, but I do use it on strange fabric, or when I'm pressing adhesive, or if I have concerns about melting. I also use one when pressing embroidery to set the stitches.

My current one is actually a scrap of yellow gingham left over from a costume project.

For crushable fabrics, I actually use a different trick: press velvets face down on a plush towel and press lightly. But I familiar with velvet-on-velvet pressing, I just don't always have velvet to spare. 😁

I've never used a wool pressing cloth, but I have a wool pad that goes on my ironing surface, and I love that. (And if I'm not using steam, a wool pressing pad turns *any* surface into a pressing surface...) I know the woman who pioneered the modern pressing pad; she developed it for embroidery based on her wool pressing ham, and started selling them to defray the costs of developing and producing them for her embroidery shop. She sells out if them everywhere she goes, and now there are a bunch of brands carrying them.

I'm on the lookout for a proper wool pressing ham, too; those are fantastic for pressing curved seams, but all the new ones are made of something else and the old ones are expensive or hard to find.

[silverwings22]

Let Me Go: Prologue

Trying my hand at Tumblr fanfiction! I absolutely ADORE The Mandalorian, and Din Djarin especially. I hope anyone who reads this enjoys, and I'll be updating as I edit the draft I have.

This is canon-compliant (for the most part) and following the show as we eagerly await season 3.

This fic will be mature, so please if you're under 18 click away.

It will also be featured on my AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/31770277/chapters/78641761

Series Warnings: SMUT, reference to character deaths, canon-typical violence, some dom/sub aspects if you squint, Force ghosts, adult language, Order 66, PTSD, reference to child abuse and childhood trauma, and possible misunderstandings on the writers part of how the Force works.

Chapter Warnings: Reference to severe injury, Force ghosts, childhood trauma, adult language, mentions of past sex (no description)

Next chapter: https://silverwings22.tumblr.com/post/653223455177818112/let-me-go-chapter-1

Title is based on the 3 Doors Down song "Let Me Go" and every chapter is titled with a lyric from the song.

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Prologue: One More Kiss Could Be the Best Thing

Starting over was easy.

Clumpy black goop dripped on the gray durasteel sink inside a tiny closet sized ‘fresher, the young woman inside rubbing it onto her head with gloved hands and carefully dabbing it onto her eyebrows in neat lines. Her eyes were a cool gray blue, staring into the mirror to make sure she got every bit of her short hair with the dye she worked through. The pale platinum blonde at the roots vanished, and as she worked it to the tips the faded grayish undertone darked to jet.

Once she was satisfied with her hair she wrapped it in a sheet of thin duraplastoid to keep it from dripping. She was too practiced at this by now to let the tell-tale gray marks on her skin give her away. She wiped down her hairline and ears, then stepped out into her tiny little apartment to carry on with her day. The apartment was cheap, a single room with a fresher and kitchenette attached. She’d gotten lucky, it was above a little storefront she’d managed to buy to keep herself afloat by growing and selling medicinal plants and salves made from them. She was off work for the afternoon, there was no reason to rush or see anyone, and she needed to do laundry and clean up. The grocery list needed finishing too, and she could go to the market once her hair was done.

She had been in Nevarro since just after the fall of the Empire. It was the longest she’d ever stayed in one place since she was a child, she’d actually started to know people and be recognized around town. She wouldn’t exactly call anyone friends, but it was familiar and solid as the volcanic earth beneath her feet. Almost like putting down roots... It felt odd to have those again, even if the people she interacted with didn’t know the truth from the lie. That was the beauty of the aftermath of war, though. Everything was displaced, with lives so easily wrecked there was no one to say she wasn’t exactly who she claimed to be. More importantly, there was always a handy unspoken reason to not want to talk about the past.

Speaking of which….

“How long are you going to stay here? You have obligations.” A man was standing in the corner of her apartment, in a creme colored tabard and a brown robe. He had ginger hair and a neat beard, and was faintly transparent. And not so faintly grouchy, the irritation bleeding through his cultured Coruscanti accent.

“As long as I want. Forever sounds good.” She stretched lazily out on her battered couch, curling expertly to avoid the broken spring that always wanted to dig itself into her left hip. She still had a sizeable bruise there from falling asleep on the couch a few days before, instead of going to her equally battered but less uncomfortable bed after a long day drying jorgan fruits to sweeten her medicinal teas.

“Zenaria…” He huffed. “You should have long since returned to-”

“I will rot before I go back there.'' She cut him off. “And don’t you dare think you can pull him in here to guilt me. Do you know how long it took me to stop panicking last time? I lost three days of work.” She rolled up the edge of the shorts she was wearing around the house, eying the fading circle of purple and yellow on her hip and trying to ignore her spectral guest. Her pale skin marked up so easily with the least little pressure, scars lingered for years in bright pink before they finally faded to silvery white. Her arms were more scarred than her legs from years in heavy duraweave pants and boots, and the constant exposure to some kind of danger or another.

“I’m sorry, it was never my intention to frighten you my darling.” He murmured. “I thought you needed to... Talk.”

“I don’t mind the fact that you’re haunting me, if a little confused as to why you’re bothering to waste your afterlife on my banthashit. But I never want to see him again. Not even dead. Not redeemed or whatever happened.” she said sourly, looking away from him to disguise a panicked expression with petulance. “I don’t owe him my forgiveness. I don’t owe him shit.” Her teeth gritted. “And I can’t pay you what I owe you so I don’t understand why you don’t go somewhere you’re treated nicer.”

“Dear one, aren’t you tired of running from your destiny?” his voice was so kind, actually considered for a moment the enormity of what he was asking her. Sometimes she was tired of running… but she was more tired of failing every time she tried to be anything more than mediocre.

Zena sighed, tugging up her loose shirt a little more. A round, still pinkish scar sat between her navel and sternum, about as big around as her looped index and thumb could circle. “Would you look at that? It’s still here… so nope.”

The ghostly face looked sad, and walked over to her. Well, he made the motion of walking, but he sort of glided like a holo recording until he was in front of her. “I’m so sorry, my dear girl.” She closed her eyes, feeling a cool tingling on her forehead when the spirit pressed a kiss to it. “I’ll be back to check on you soon… there’s so much you’re capable of, when you’re ready. And I’ll be here until you are.” He faded away as she opened her eyes, leaving her deflating on the couch with her hand over the ugly scar on her middle.

She looked down and eyed it again. It was a horrible reminder, but she doubted anyone she decided to let see her body would really notice; her experience with most men told her they rarely looked anywhere but the chest and apex of her thighs. Not that her sex life hadn’t been one long dry spell for the last few years… noone got laid when being haunted by a father figure. The very air turned to parental disapproval and even those who weren’t Force sensitive still noted something was off.

Pity about it, too. She’d always thought she had a nice face. Not exactly vanity, but she could admit it was symmetrical and soft featured, with expressive eyes. She kept her hair short, never longer than her shoulders, so as not to bring too much attention to it, though she couldn’t help but play around with scraps of fabric until she’d made false flowers to decorate a headband, and wore that almost every day. The bright colors stood out on her midnight black hair that she religiously touched up with dye.

She sighed, stretching herself out again and pulling her shirt down again. She found a million reasons to complain when the ghost was there… but she missed him the second he was gone. Or maybe… she missed when he’d been alive. She missed the closeness they’d shared until she’d fucked everything up. She missed making him proud of her, instead of knowing he was spending his precious afterlife waiting for her to get her shit together. And she was refusing to.

She’d spent all her life running away from what she wished she could hold in her hands one more time.

Yes, starting over was easy. It was the constant fight to destroy who you used to be that was hard.

[ask-de-writer]

THE LUCK OF BLACK CATS : MLP Fan Fiction

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THE LUCK OF BLACK CATS

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

1441 words

© 2017 by Glen Ten-Eyck

Writing begun 10/21/17

All rights reserved.  This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

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

Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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

It is well known that Black Cats bring bad luck.  It may be that it is not QUITE true.

Sugar Maple was playing outside, in her Grandmare's neatly fenced yard. Sugar loved to visit Grandmare but her mom really didn't like to bring her this far into the Everfree Forest.

Sugar climbed onto the platform of Grandmare's swing set and began to shift her weight to make the swing swoop back and forth!  It was fun!  The wind made her light brown mane and tail fly about as the butter colored foal swept from one end of the swing to the other and back!

The swing was almost as much fun as playing with Grandmare's cats!  They were all pure, silky black and over half of them had wings like a bat!  They could fly really well, too!  Sugar bailed off the swing at the top of its swoop and spread her own young wings!  Her glide was inexpert but enthusiastic, as she sailed about Grandmare's cottage! She almost made it all the way around, back to the swing set!  Her hooves hit the lawn sod only about ten feet short of her goal!

Little hooves clattering on the stone of the front steps, Sugar dashed into Grandmare's little house!  “Mom!  Grandmare!  I glided almost all the way around the house!  I made it almost all the way back to the swing!”

Her mother set her teacup down firmly and began, “SUGAR MAPLE, what have I told you about unsupervised flying!?”

Grandmare raised an admonitory black furred wing and used the other to scoop Sugar into a welcoming hug!  Taking a moment to preen a few small tangles from Sugar's mane with her razor sharp fangs, Grandmare said gently, “You did very well.  Did you flap at all or was it a pure glide?”

Giving her leaf brown mother a slightly fearful glance, Sugar replied, “I glided the whole way!  I did cup my wings up to land!  I came down real gentle.”

The hug was pulled tighter as Grandmare smiled, showing her fangs. Shifting her voice up, beyond the hearing of most ponies, Grandmare asked, “[How is your chirping coming along?]”

Answering the same way, Sugar replied, “[It is going really good!  Mom can't hear it, so I practice it a lot!]”

“[Tell me, Sugar, what you chirp in my bedroom?]”

Excitedly, Sugar exclaimed, “You got a dress horse with a costume on it!  It is too small for Mom or you, so it must be for me!”

Nodding, Grandmare agreed, “It is, Dear.  Go and try it on.  Later, we will practice flying our way.”

Sugar dashed for the back room!  

Granmare returned her attention to Sugar's mom.  “Hazel, I thought that I made it perfectly clear that Sugar must be allowed to develop!  Look at you!  You play the part of a crippled pegasus!  You do it so well that you have lost the ability to fly or even hear chirping!

“THAT is too high a price to pay for 'fitting in'!”

Hazel looked down and fiddled with her teacup before trying, “If anypony ever saw my extended wing, or Sugar's for that matter, they would scream THESTRAL!  There could be a mob!  I don't want Sugar hurt!”

Grandmare softened, “In that, we are agreed.  Caramel Treat's is always a safe place.  Those Werewolves do understand the problem and will protect us.  So will Reverend Smallflower at the Assembly.”

Their discussion was ended by the return of Sugar.  She was wearing the costume as a thestral witch!  Two of Grandmare's cats were riding her shoulders, purring happily.  One casually lifted a furry, bat like wing to scratch under it.

Grandmare was delighted.  Hazel was less so, but agreed that it was a great costume.

Grandmare led Sugar outside, the cats following.  Soon Sugar was fluttering short distances and landing properly.  The cats were 'helping.'  They thought that the fluttering filly was a great toy!  Conversely, Sugar, dodging their mock attacks thought that the cats were great teachers!  It only took a few hours before she was swooping and dodging with them in a game of aerial tag!  Happy foal's laughter pealed down from the October sky.

Grandmare nodded serenely, “She takes to the sky as naturally as breathing. A true thestral if ever there was one.”

Hazel agreed sadly, “I know.  I hope that Ponyville will be better to her than it was to me.”

Grandmare turned Sympathetic eyes to Hazel.  “I do know what you mean, dear. You half breeds have it rougher than we full bloods.  The unicorns have never forgiven our service to the Nightmare Throne, 2000 years ago, in the Nightmare Wars.  The only thing that shows Maple to be a partial breed is her color.”

Sighing, Hazel glanced at the sun's angle and suggested, “We must return home, Grandmare.  It has actually been a good visit.”

Hazel and Sugar Maple trotted back along the nearly overgrown trail that led from Grandmare's to behind the Duchess O' Red Hoof's land.  It joined the trail leading from Brightmane's cottage.  It became far better and more traveled after that.

They reached Ponyville proper and went into their snug little cottage home without incident.  The two cats that had ridden Sugar's shoulder all the way, immediately flew from her shoulder, circling about the room, high and low.  They perched on the sofa back and began to preen.

Evening fell and with it began Nightmare Night.  Gathering together her loot bag and a “Witch's Staff”, Maple set out.  Both cats riding her shoulders.

She joined a group making the rounds of homes and small businesses.

“Wow! That is a neat thestral witch costume!  How did you turn your fur black, Sugar?”

She smiled and replied, “Just a cheap brush in dye.  It will wash out.”

“Gee, I wish that I had a cat like yours to go with my witch costume! Aren't you afraid of bad luck?  Yours are pure black.”

The mare in charge of the small herd was in a silly looking deer costume with phony horns on a spring gripper across her head!

Of course, they dropped in on Caramel Treat's Sweets for their famous Nightmare Night display and fabulous foal bowl!  It did not disappoint!  There were the very real Werewolves, Caramel and Fangrin in their Everfree Ridgeback Wolf forms, a black gryphon, several games and the foal bowl hidden under mists in a big cauldron.

The party went on toward the more residential parts of town, followed by a pegasus in a skull like mask and a costume of bones painted onto black cloth.  His wings could slide out through reinforced cuts in the fabric.  It hid his cutie mark.

Sugar chirped to the cats in a voice too high for ponies to hear, “[Dark Sky, New Moon, could you go back and cross his path a few times?  I do not like him following us!]”

In answer, both cats hopped from her shoulder, gliding to the ground and scampering back!  They paraded across his path repeatedly. Undeterred, he continued to follow the herd of foals.

The cats returned to Sugar's shoulder.  The foal herd was approaching Drastin Park and its big unobstructed hoof ball pitch.  He charged toward the hapless foals!

He tripped over two cats that had been watching him for any such stunt! He faceplanted, in a most embarrassing way!  The whole herd of foals heard him fall and stopped to watch!

Climbing back to his hooves, he charged again!  Bowling the foals over like ninepins, he grabbed two foal loot bags and leaped for the night sky!

Two cats and Sugar were on his tail, almost immediately!  The cats snagged his left wing, causing him to spiral out of control!  Before he could do anything to get rid of the cats, Sugar slammed her head in between his hind legs from above and power dived, flipping him over onto his back!

Fluttering and flailing helplessly, he hit the ground with a crunch!  Sugar landed lightly beside him and gathered up the stolen loot bags.  She was still picking up spilled treats when the rest of the group swarmed around her!

As Sugar was returning the stolen bags, one of the colts said admiringly, “We could see the whole thing!  The moon lit up those thin clouds and we saw it all!!  You really are a thestral!  That was so neat how you took him down!”

One of the fillies came and got her loot bag.  She petted the cats and said, “I guess that the thing about black cats and bad luck is true!”  Giggling, she pointed to the fallen pegasus thief.  “It sure was for him!”

~THE END~

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[rosethornewrites]

Fic: the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break, ch. 5

Relationships: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī & Wēn Qíng, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Wēn Qíng, Wēn Níng | Wēn Qiónglín, Granny Wēn, Lán Yuàn | Lán Sīzhuī

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Secrets, Crying, Masks, Soulmates, Truth, Self-Esteem Issues, Regret, It was supposed to be a one-shot, Fix-It, Eventual Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, wwx needs a hug, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Filial Piety, Handfasting, Phobias, Sleeping Together, Fear, Panic Attacks

Summary: The visit to the market, the special dinner, and an unwelcome surprise.

Note: Meilin’s name means “plum jade.” Wen Qing seems to refer to Fourth Uncle as shifu, but I did excessive research and it can also be jifu, so I went with that. Yes, I brought in the concept of zhiyin, which has historical origins and has been talked about as a word that could have been used in The Untamed, a missed opportunity that means both “soulmate” and more literally “understanding the music,” as in of the heart/soul. Which, given that Lan WangJi wrote Wei WuXian a love song and they play a duet of it near the end of CQL, like omg. I did far too much research on shit like dying cloth and what plants grow best in poor soil, etc. Some dialog is adapted from episode 29 of CQL.

AO3 link

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

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The trip to town is blessedly uneventful. Wen Qing sends one of the older aunties, who had introduced herself as Meilin-jie at breakfast and who is put in charge of the money, and Wen QiongLin, who insists Lan WangJi call him Wen Ning.

He sends the missive to XiChen first, then does his best to distract himself from what must follow before his brother’s arrival: a long overdue conversation with Wei Ying. After his musings of the morning, Lan WangJi had realized perhaps the best way to minimize damage and protect his zhiji was to, with his consent, formalize the handfasting from years ago.

He only hopes the idea does not upset or offend Wei Ying; Lan WangJi himself has no scruples on the matter. His understanding of his feelings toward his soulmate have cleared since coming to Burial Mounds.

With the letter sent, Lan WangJi has only days to approach him.

Wei Ying is, unsurprisingly, easily sidetracked in each shop, flitting around to browse while Meilin selects supplies for sewing blankets and fibers for the making of bedding. Lan WangJi is pleased when she asks his opinion when it comes to fabrics for the more practical robes the aunties will sew for him, letting her explain the benefits of certain fabrics. Ultimately the choice is simply a matter of color.

Lan WangJi is practical, and chooses the least expensive option, an undyed fabric that’s a mottled cream. His choice receives a nod of approval from Meilin. She easily haggles the price down further by buying a bulk amount, clearly planning to make more robes.

“On the way home, we’ll harvest bamboo leaves,” she tells him, and pats his arm with a smile. “We can use them to dye the fabric a pale green for you. Very light, but it will even out the color, make it look nicer. We’ll get a cheap mordant in the market.”

Her thoughtfulness toward him, when he’s foisted himself on the refugees, is touching.

Wei Ying chooses that moment to wander over. “Light colors stain so easily, though.”

Meilin only laughs at him. “Not everyone is like you, young master. There are other dyes we can create for you, darker ones. I was once a seamstress, you know!”

Lan WangJi had never considered the art of fabric dying to be something he would learn, but he is willing to help the aunties if needed; any learning is worthwhile.

She chooses other, heavier fabrics for use creating blankets and bedding, haggling ruthlessly but buying in large enough quantities that the shop owner is satisfied.

A bookstore is nearby, giving Lan WangJi the opportunity to quickly peruse books about plants and farming.

“Carrots, beets, squash, beans, tomatoes,” he reports when he rejoins them outside. 

He feels mildly guilty for perusing without purchase, but practicality dictates his actions now.

“There are a lot of v-varieties of squash,” Wen Ning contributes. “So we can t-try to grow several?”

“Not potatoes?” Wei Ying asks, sounding a bit put-out.

“Wen Qing is correct in that they are not as easy to grow,” Lan WangJi tells him.

Wei Ying just sighs. “Well, at least it’s something other than radishes.”

Meilin insists they have a bit of lunch to tide them over, purchasing inexpensive food from street vendors. Wen Ning does not require food, and Lan WangJi claims to be practicing inedia and insists Wei Ying eat his share. And with the three of them watching expectantly, he for once doesn’t argue.

Since they expect XiChen in the coming week, Wen Qing had given them leave to purchase a small amount of tea. Lan WangJi selects based on scent, choosing one he is certain his brother has never tried, but is likely to enjoy.

After some time in the market purchasing plants, seeds, herbs, produce, meat, and building material, it becomes easily apparent that bringing their purchases back to Burial Mounds will not be a simple endeavor. Meilin’s suggestion that they buy a cart, which will also be useful during farming and building, is a welcome one.

By the time they head back toward Burial Mounds, Wen Ning pushing the laden cart, the sun is starting to set, and dusk is fast approaching when they reach its borders. The trek to the small settlement leaves them nearing twilight. Though it is still hours until hai shi, Lan WangJi’s day has been full, and he looks forward to rest. He can only imagine Wei Ying, whose body is weakened by prolonged lack of food, is exhausted.

Wen Qing seems to agree. She takes one look at him and tells him to go lay down “before I make you,” holding up a needle.

While Lan WangJi prefers she not threaten him, he also knows his stubborn nature likely has made that a necessity. Wen Qing waits until Wei Ying is past her on his way to the cave, then looks at him pointedly and jerks her head subtly in a silent order to go with him.

He leaves the rest of the settlement to unload the cart, his mind turning once again to the need to address their relationship, the need to address what he knows Wei Ying does not understand about what happened in the Cold Spring cave those years ago.

A-Yuan’s interference, running for Wei Ying the moment he sees him and insisting upon being picked up, allows Lan WangJi to catch up. Popo is lagging behind the boy, looking quite tired.

“Ah, Wei-gongzi, a-Yuan hasn’t taken his nap yet. He was too excited waiting for you.”

The slight smile on her face tells Lan WangJi that the elder had made sure of that; it’s nice to know these people are also trying to care for Wei Ying however possible.

Wei Ying doesn’t seem to notice the smile, swinging a-Yuan around in his arms. “Okay, my little radish, let’s get you a nap before dinner.”

Lan WangJi offers a short, polite bow to popo who waves it off in embarrassment, and follows them to the cave.

“I will play ‘Rest,’ so he may sleep easier.”

That gets a sideways glance from Wei Ying, but he seems to accept that Lan WangJi isn’t going to yield.

While they nap, Lan WangJi attempts meditation, but is kept from it by his own thoughts, his own fears. Instead he finds himself watching them, Wei Ying curled around the boy protectively, a-Yuan’s face snuggled against his chest.

He expects Wei Ying will be angry he never told him of the handfasting, but he also fears he will be against the very idea. Lan WangJi feels as though they have danced around defining their relationship for years. During the Phoenix Mountain hunt, he thought perhaps that had changed when Wei Ying called him zhiji.

But there were different types of zhiji, and he has never asked what Wei Ying means by it. Lan WangJi would be happy for Wei Ying to be his zhiji, his zhiyin, and beyond. His everything. 

He longs to be the same to Wei Ying.

He fears his regard for Wei Ying surpasses Wei Ying’s regard for him, that he will regard Lan WangJi with disgust.

It is an old fear, one he is well-acquainted with, and one he can no longer allow to control him.

He also hopes to convince Wei Ying to confide in XiChen about his golden core—at least about no longer having one, if not how.

Lan WangJi does not usually keep secrets from XiChen—the handfasting is the exception. But even though Wei Ying had not asked Lan WangJi to keep his secret, he will not reveal it to XiChen himself.

Lan WangJi has already done so much to lose Wei Ying’s trust, and he never wishes to give him reason to doubt him again.

Eventually Wen Qing comes to summon them for dinner. They exit the cave to find red lanterns hung on the trees and structures, and only then does Lan WangJi remember her comment about a “special dinner” the night before. 

Wei Ying looks surprised to see the Wen remnants waiting in the communal area. They stand and gather around when he walks in.

“Ah, you’re all still awake? Isn’t it late?”

Lan WangJi realizes that they probably retire shortly after dark, keeping to the schedule of farmers.

“All these lanterns… Aren’t the lanterns too costly?” Wei Ying asks.

“We made them, of course,” Wen Qing replies, carrying in a plate of food and setting it on one of the tables. “We’ll hang more along the mountain path. The last thing we need is you slipping and breaking a leg, making more work for me.”

Wei Ying laughs softly, and sits at a table. None of the others move.

“What, you haven’t started dinner yet?”

“No. We were waiting for you.”

Wei Ying blinks at Wen Qing.

“Why did you wait for me?”

She offers him a cup, acting as a proper hostess. 

“You’ve worked hard,” she tells him.

Though he takes the cup, Wei Ying looks uncomfortable. Lan WangJi knows he’s never been comfortable with gratitude, even though he’s often earned it, almost as though he still feels unworthy. When he thanks others, it’s often in a self-effacing way, as though he is undeserving of the kindness he has received.

“You’re suddenly talking so nicely to me,” he comments, grinning. “I’m a little scared.”

His voice is undeniably fond, and another laugh ripples through the small group. There’s a camaraderie among these people, one Lan WangJi hopes he might be able to join. These months and their struggles have made them close, though he doubts Wei Ying allows himself to feel a part of it.

This dinner, he realizes, is the way they have chosen to let him know he truly is family. Wei Ying adopted them when he saved them from certain death, and they have adopted him in return.

Wen Qing smiles. “In fact, they all wished to have dinner with you. To thank you. But you’re always running around and busy, or shutting yourself in your cave for days on end not letting anyone disturb you, and they didn’t want to disrupt your work and annoy you.”

Lan WangJi watches Wei Ying, the way his face slackens from the smiling expression he usually maintains, the words of gratitude making it hard to maintain the mask he presents to the world.

“They thought you didn’t like interacting with others and didn’t want to talk to them,” Wen Qing scolds gently, “so they were too embarrassed to protest.”

A murmur of agreement rises among the Wens.

Surprise crosses Wei Ying’s face, and Lan WangJi realizes he had probably kept his distance believing the Wens would want little to do with him. Regardless of the unconcerned face he presents to the world when he’s criticized and when crass and slanderous stories about him are shared, he knows his zhiji feels them deeply. The smiling mask he presents to the world hides the pain of all the traumas and ills he has suffered.

And with Wei Ying’s role in the war, he had probably assumed despite having saved them they would fear him. So he had kept his distance, had split from his adopted clan to appease cultivation politics, and had accepted loneliness as his only companion all these months.

Lan WangJi’s heart aches for him, remembering his reaction over lunch just yesterday to the news of his shijie’s impending wedding, the excitement so quickly followed by a forlorn dejection as he realized he would never see it, that he had sacrificed that ability through his choice to remain true to his sense of justice and righteousness.

Wen Qing smiles at him again with a soft sigh, the expression gentle as though she too knows Wei Ying’s pain.

“Now a-Ning woke up, and we’ve been busy celebrating. Hanguang-Jun’s decision to stay, we’ve been busy with arrangements. Meilin-jie said you had a nice lunch in town, but even if you’re not hungry, please sit with us and chat and have a few drinks.”

The Wens take this as a call to disperse to the gathered tables to eat, and Lan WangJi takes a seat at Wei Ying’s table, along with popo, a-Yuan, Wen Qing, and jifu.

Wei Ying’s expression is momentarily reflective, but then perks up.

“Drinks? There’s liquor here?” 

He is clearly excited, as though Lan WangJi hadn’t bought him wine during lunch just the previous day. Wei Ying’s obsession with alcohol, combined with his mental state, worries him.

Someone brings over a jar, and jifu opens it, smiling widely.

“Fruit wine,” he clarifies. “Made from the wild fruit growing on the mountain.”

Lan WangJi focuses on filling his bowl, not commenting as he would like that perhaps the fruit would have been better for Wei Ying to eat, given his emaciated state. But this is not his celebration, and the Wens are obviously elated to be able to offer a luxury to their benefactor.

But given the spread of food on the tables now, the fact that there are still funds remaining, the comments he’d heard over breakfast about the impending radish harvest, he can focus on helping ensure Wei Ying gains health again.

These refugees and Wei Ying deserve a bit of luxury in the face of all they have lost. Such small luxuries offer slivers of hope in the darkness they have faced.

“Jifu likes drinking. He knows how to brew, and he made it especially for you,” Wen Qing tells him. “He’s been trying for a while.”

“Really? I’ll have to try some!” 

Wei Ying sounds excited and eager, the first Lan WangJi has seen since Yiling the previous day, and his excitement only grows when he tastes and deems the wine delicious. Jifu watches, laughing, his expression one of paternal affection.

When jifu offers some to Lan WangJi, he thanks him but declines. Wei Ying’s laugh is unexpected, his eyes turning to half-moons with glee.

“Lan Zhan has no tolerance for liquor!” His smile is true and beautiful, the kind he hasn’t seen from him in what might be years now, since before the war perhaps. “I once tricked him into drinking and he passed out after only one cup! If all Lans have such low tolerance, no wonder alcohol is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses!”

Gentle laughs rise up from the tables around them, but Lan WangJi isn’t offended. Though he had submitted himself for punishment, that the memory gives Wei Ying joy now is enough compensation for him.

“Ah, I was a brat,” he comments. “But somehow we became close anyway.”

“You still are a brat,” Wen Qing tells him.

Wei Ying makes a show of being offended, but is quickly distracted when Wen Ning brings out more food and jifu pours him another bowl of wine.

Through the conversation, Lan WangJi learns Wen Ning has cooked all the dishes, is a proficient chef. He gathers the food is better prepared than they are used to, with a wider variety of flavors. He doesn’t contribute to the conversation while eating, and Wei Ying explains that Lan principles prohibit speaking while eating, and the Wens nod in acceptance. They still speak to him, but don’t expect a response.

A-Yuan giggles at Wen Ning’s appearance, as he has streaks of charcoal across his face from cooking, and calls him Coal-gege, to the laughter of the group. Wen Qing stands to wipe his face gently, in a motherly way.

Wei Ying’s eyes grow distant at that, the smile fading a bit, and Lan WangJi knows he is thinking about what he lost. He starts filling his zhiji’s bowl, taking care to avoid radishes, and it has the desired effect of distraction.

“You’re spoiling me, Lan Zhan,” he murmurs, his smile still dimmed, but firmly in the present again.

“You’re too thin,” popo tells him. “Always giving your food to a-Yuan.”

“Mn,” Lan WangJi agrees, skirting the line of the principle about speech without directly violating it.

He is, after all, not in the Cloud Recesses, even if he chooses to follow the rules regardless.

“And no one wants to have to carry you drunk to bed,” Wen Qing adds, “so you need to eat if you’re going to drink more.”

More soft laughter follows, along with a toast to “Wei-gongzi.” Lan WangJi joins with his cup of water. The atmosphere of the meal, the soft chatter at each table, is wholesome and comfortable, and very different to what he is used to, lacking the silence of Cloud Recesses or the strained feeling of banquets.

Distinctly distant from his own experiences, a sort of controlled chaos, and yet he finds it soothing.

Too soon, it seems, it is hai shi. Lan WangJi bids the room goodnight. Wei Ying waves as he heads out, still engaged in lively banter and drinking with several of the uncles, including jifu. Popo carries a sleepy a-Yuan from the area, accompanying him partway to the cave.

“Goodnight, Rich-gege,” the boy murmurs, half asleep. “I’m glad you’re staying.”

“I am as well.”

He pats the boy’s head before retiring to the cave.

Lan WangJi is still only somewhat familiar with life on Burial Mounds, and though he would normally wash his face before sleeping he will need to learn where to go for water in the morning instead.

Hours later, he’s woken by a shout of panic and a thump, followed by Wei Ying tripping over him blindly. He lights a talisman to find him plastered against the wall, his eyes wide and wild.

“Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying barely glances in his direction, then back to the center of the chamber, his flute held out like a shield. 

“Dog. Dog, Lan Zhan.”

His voice is filled with more panic than Lan WangJi has ever heard from him, even in the midst of the worst battles in the war.

A growl catches his attention and elicits a whimper from Wei Ying.

Near the boulder Wei Ying uses as a bed, Lan WangJi can make out a pair of glowing red eyes. As he focuses, he can see the outline of a large dog, its body made of and leaking resentful energy. Animal ghosts aren’t uncommon, but this one seems especially hostile.

The normal protocol is to attempt liberation first, followed by suppression or elimination if necessary, but Wei Ying is pressed against the wall, curled in on himself, his voice a hoarse croak.

And so Lan WangJi does not feel guilt manifesting his guqin and using Chord Assassination to eliminate immediately, rending the resentful energy into wisps that dissipate into the shadows. He dismisses the instrument, and turns to Wei Ying, who is shaking, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

“Wei Ying, it’s gone.”

Wei Ying looks his way again, and Lan WangJi realizes he’s beyond words, his pupils blown wide in terror. He’s beyond even speaking, just mouthing “dog.”

Lan WangJi worries that manifesting his guqin again could send him into a full panic, that he could hurt himself. So instead he imbues his spiritual energy into his voice and hums “Clarity,” letting the song reach out to him to soothe.

It takes a couple of verses before Wei Ying’s tension starts to ease, the flute lowering. But his shaking doesn’t stop. Lan WangJi reaches for him slowly, pulling him away from the wall, closer to him. 

“It’s gone, Wei Ying,” he repeats.

“Gone?” 

His voice cracks in the middle of the word.

“Eliminated,” he clarifies. “It won’t come back.”

The sound Wei Ying makes in response is almost a sob, and he goes almost boneless in relief on the cave floor. Even now, he’s trembling, his breathing erratic, and Lan WangJi recognizes he’s having a mild panic attack.

He didn’t know Wei Ying was so afraid of dogs, never expected a phobia of this intensity—he’s seen him face down some of the most terrifying monsters with barely a blink, but he’s been sent into a state of near-hysteria by a ghost dog.

But Wei Ying is in no condition to explain, and he’s still in the throes of panic; he shouldn’t be alone. He doesn’t resist when Lan WangJi pulls him closer, shifting on the bedroll to share it, covering them both with the blanket, barely reacts at all. Wei Ying’s breath smells of alcohol, and he’s certain it made his fear worse.

Lan WangJi imbues his voice again and hums “Rest,” letting his zhiji settle against him. When he’s still, his breathing even, he softly sings “WangXian” to him somewhat self-indulgently, then listens to Wei Ying’s breathing until he, too, has fallen back to sleep.

[angrylizardjacket]

Holding Court In A Crown {Roger Taylor}

Sequel to And All The Queen’s Men {Roger Taylor}

A/N: 3630 words. Giselle is fun to write and I love her. Another article style, based off of many conversations between @ginghampearlsnsweettea and I. Let me know what you think.

[And All The Queen’s Men ‘verse masterpost]

HOLDING COURT IN A CROWN - GISELLE TAYLOR in conversation with Vogue UK about her fashion evolution through the decades. (Published June, 1991)

When stepping into the Taylor home, it becomes immediately apparent that this is a home in which public image has always been very important. Gold and Platinum albums alike line the front foyer, shining reminders of the achievements of both artists who reside here. It’s surprisingly modern, hardwood floors and large windows that allow light to stream in, though the house itself is smaller than one might expect. Giselle herself greets me in the front hall, looking carefully casual in a flattering, warm yellow summer dress, that hits just above her knees, and a pair of matching yellow slip on shoes.

I’m lead through the house, past closed doors, one of which I’m told is a personal recording studio, into a open-planned kitchen-dining area. It’s a strange marriage of two aesthetics, no pun intended, the German-inspired open planned living with the dark counters, appliances, and features that make the space feel a little smaller, though it comes together to make something modern and chic, and perfectly suited to both Giselle and her husband’s images.

“Roger’s with the girls,” she tells me, referring to her daughters, pouring us both a glass of water in some of the fanciest crystal glasses I’ve ever seen, “not that he wouldn’t jump at the chance to talk about his “fashion choices”,” her air quotes, not mine, “but I thought I’d spare you the half hour argument about the wine stain, and all the other, sundry fashion choices of mine that he likes to take credit for.”

Giselle herself admits that she’s always been very fortunate in terms of fashion, “I mean, I look good in everything,” though there’s an air of self deprecation about it, “Actually, I’ve had a certain liberty with my work attire that not a lot of people have, unless you’re in the entertainment industry.” What began with a rented cocktail dress bloomed into one of the most influential fashion timelines of the 70s and 80s.

Beginning her career in an establishment modeled after American prohibition-era speakeasies, Giselle started off wearing cocktail dresses rented from the pub itself. “I actually did start off as a waitress, but for that you just had to provide your own black pants and white top, you know, wait-staff attire.” When the pub’s regular singer leaves, Giselle auditions to be her replacement, “they were just grateful I could fit into her dress, I could lipsync for all they cared.” Except, as well all know, Giselle can sing, and begun to make a name for herself in the community that frequented the pub.

Pulling out a polaroid of herself and music industry giant Ray Forrester, she shows me the only proof she has of the dress that started it all. It’s a rather ill-fitting, wine-coloured, sateen slip dress, it looks cheap, and according to Giselle, “it itched like crazy, it was cleaned once a week, and I was just glad that I was the only singer, some of the members of the jazz band had interchangeable costumes.” We both shudder at that, and she puts the photo on the counter.

As soon as she was given some modicum of control over her wardrobe, she took full advantage of it. Without a coherent aesthetic solidified by the release of her first album, Giselle admits she used the tour for Velvet Roses to experiment with both fabrics and styles. I personally have always favoured the midnight blue, velvet bouffant-style dress she wore during her stops in Belfast and Paris, but she goes on to praise the white, silk slip dress she had during her stop in West Berlin.

“Silk! Oh the silk, I dream about that dress sometimes,” she laughs a little, and now that we’ve begun to discuss her tour outfits, she leads me upstairs, “at the time it was the most comfortable thing I’d worn… ever; being able to work, to perform in something so luxury? It was a blessing.”

Her closet, at least the closet she stores her tour garments in, is separate from her bedroom, and locked. She’s got the key in her pocket, prepared, of course, for the interview, and as we step in I can hear the hum of a dehumidifier, and feel the chill of the air conditioning.

“It’s my one real extravagance.” As she turns on the lights, we’re greeted to the sight of a room, approximately four meters deep and half as wide, lined with railings that are practically stuffed with garment bags of varying sizes, and the end of the little room has a built in area for her jewel toned and bejewelled shoes alike. Three mannequins pose in the ample amount of space in the centre of the room, each wearing one of her most iconic outfits.

Each section of the racks around the side are carefully labelled by year, and it takes only a moment for Giselle to go through the section labelled 1971 before she’s pulling that same white dress from a garment bag. It still looks pristine, and when she offers for me to feel it, I understand what she’s saying.

“I’ve always tried to keep a very high standard in term of the materials I wear,” it was the first part of her aesthetic identity that was formed. “I’d never really had access to luxury on this scale before; I’d lived in sweaters and jeans for most of my [university] days; I was one of those girls in the little skirts and beaded tops at clubs- I lived my life in gogo boots every weekend of my first year.” Apparently she still has her favourite pair in the back of her personal closet, but seems hesitant to show me.

When asked what prompted her aesthetic shift, she reveals her passion for luxury stage-wear was only part of the decision. “I’d go on stage in silk pyjamas like Hugh Hefner if I could, but it’s not my brand.” Forrester was a big motivating force behind her solidification as the picture of elegance.

We get to the first of the mannequin dresses now, the fitted, black, off the shoulder cocktail dress, shining with sequins and beads, a perfect frozen reminder of her performance on Top of the Pops. To see it in person, still pristine, I get hit with just a hint of nostalgia, as does Giselle herself it seems. Marvelling at it with arms crossed over her chest, I’m granted a closer look at what was quite possibly the most iconic outfit of the 1972 lineup on the hit British musical program. The gloves themselves are more intricate than first imagined; what was assumed to just be red glitter is actually hand stitched, red sequins from the tips of the finger all the way to the wrist where it fades to chunky, red glitter, glued on and somehow width standing the test of time, to then dissolve into fine and sparsely scattered red glitter from the mid-forearm to the elbow. The beads and sequins on the dress itself are affixed with barely noticeable, shiny red thread, that gives the dress dimension up close. Giselle cites Gothic Romanticism as an inspiration to add depth to her jazz-bar persona, as well as the theatrics of musical theatre, going so far as to called the dress the ‘Merry Murderess’ despite the fact that the musical Chicago premiered almost three years after the dress’ initial debut.

Despite this look being regarded as one of her classics, and therefore setting the standard for her public image for the years to come, there’s no denying that Giselle didn’t enjoy experimenting with her outfits.

“I’ve never technically worn pants on stage,” as we move further into the room, she begins to pull various garment bags from the racks seemingly at random, “skirts, skorts, shorts - which some might argue are close enough - dresses, and even full jumpsuits, but never actual pants; I’ve always been worried that they were too masculinising for my act.” Moving on to the rack labeled 1975, she pulls out a particularly slim bag, and from it she pulls a pair of shorts made of what looks like liquid gold, but I know is made of velvet, with suspenders to match. It hangs over a sheer, flowing, cream crop-top with bell sleeves.

This outfit is cited as the first time she had deviated from her skirts and dresses, though the outfit itself is still exquisite and has an air of regality. “I was in Phoenix in ‘74 when I wore this; I’d had it included in my repertoire for the Hand Held Heart tour in case it became especially hot,  which, being Arizona in the summertime, it was.” It’s here we start to see the influence of other artists bleed into her work; the occasional feathery flamboyance borrowed from Elton John, the avant-garde pattern and makeup work popularised by David Bow, and of course, the extravagance and glitz of Queen’s Freddie Mercury.

“You always have to specify that it’s [Freddie Mercury],” she’s very serious on this point, holding up her iconic, short, incredibly sheer white, long-sleeved fitted dress, marbled with red sequins to protect her modesty. It’s reminiscent of the red and white shorts Mercury had been known to favour on tours. “The others, while, yes, they could be well dressed on occasion, [Roger Taylor]’s lime green jeans aside, they never had the flair or audacity that Freddie had to be truly influential.”

After recording a cover of Queen’s Jesus for her third album, Giselle entered into an unofficial partnership with the band, which she tells me included a collaboration with Mercury himself on their costumes.

“I’d spent a long time trying to merge my style and my musical origins with modern aesthetics; I worked very closely with a designer, since it’s not technically my strong suit.” She pauses for a moment, and we make our way to the mannequins again, this time to the second, a floor-length, evening-gown style dress in lilac, capped sleeves, looking as though it’s tie-dyed with blackcurrant glass beads instead of fabric dye. “Getting to collaborate with the band was easy enough; I did talk with [Jim Beach] regarding the use of the song, but he ultimately he ruled that it was up to them, and so once that connection was established, I actually asked Freddie to help me with some tour outfit designs.”

People often assume Giselle is referring to her team contacting Queen’s lawyer, but she goes on record now to explain that it’s not true. “I’m a lawyer, my own lawyer, and I also work for several big-name bands in the music industry today. EMI picked me up halfway through my final year, but I still continued to go to [university], and I did actually intern under (sic) [Beach] while writing my second album. “ I’m assured that she had just regular suits in her personal closet; three, in grey, black, and cream, well fitted, ‘but not why you’re here’ she adds with a self-deprecating smile.

The lavender and blackberry dress was one designed by Mercury himself, the pale lavender representative of elegance and femininity, while the darker blackcurrant is used to bring depth to the dress the same way Giselle’s unwavering, calculated persona brings depth to her performances. It was Mercury’s idea to interweave the two in the tie-dyed style, keeping Giselle’s traditional aesthetic through the glass beads and the cut of the dress.

As we continue along the timeline, it’s clear to see the effect Mercury had on Giselle’s stage wardrobe, the use of geometric patterns coupled with bold colours, and more glitter and sequins than you can shake a stick at becoming more prominent throughout the late 70s, somehow still managing to keep in line with her traditional aesthetic simultaneously.

“I refuse to wear print.” She’s adamant about it when the possibility of wearing a garment like Mercury’s vest with his cats painted on it comes up. “Geometric doesn’t count; the texture in my wardrobe is always going to be,” she pauses for a moment, searching for the right word, fingers brushing through the fur of the fur-cuffs of a long-sleeved purple velvet number, “diegetic.” She settles on, and it’s clear what she means; patterns on her clothes are always wrought through beads or diamonds or fur or other things attached. “It’s the reason I have it locked, [Lilith Taylor, 7] has left the ‘indiscriminately grabbing things that feel nice’ stage a few years ago, but Rosie [Rosemary Taylor, 4] is just at the tail end of it. They’ll have free reign of this place one day,” she looks around at the fashion legacy she has built for herself, she wears an expression of pride, though it’s more focused on her daughters than the clothes themselves, “but for now I want to keep choking hazards and expensive furs out of danger.”

Around the very end of the 70s to the beginning of the 80s we see a return to form, with the resurgence of her form-fitted cocktail dresses. “There was a lot of change happening in my life at that time, and as much as I enjoy experimenting with my looks, it helped me feel secure to know I was in what was objectively my strong suit, pun not intended.”  According to her, she’d just begun seeing Roger Taylor, and she used her fashion choices to exercise control in her life that she felt she was losing.

“My private life has always been very private, now here I am with the man who trashes drum kits and throws TVs out window; I was so afraid that every time people took a photo of me, or even looked at me, they’d think I was compromising my morals or integrity - which I’m not, and I wasn’t then.” She quickly clarifies. “Our personal history is not void because of where we are now, but Roger and I have also changed as people, and we’re allowed to have our feelings change. I’m honestly a little offended people think I we would have gone through all we did for mere publicity.”

Speaking of Roger, I’m a little surprised her wedding dress isn’t one of those on the mannequins, but I understand her choice, and we’ll certainly get to that soon. Her wedding dress sits at the back of one of the racks, carefully distant from any of the year labels. As she removes it from the garment bag, she gives it a softly nostalgic smile, brushing the fabric gently. “This should really go in my own closet.” It’s unlike most of her other outfits here, such a pale cream it’s almost white, floor-length and sleeveless with a Roman-inspired cinched waist topped with what I hesitate to even call ruffles, their drapings so loose it’s reminiscent of curled hair rather than a traditional ruffle. The material is so soft and light that even on a hanger it looks a little ethereal. It’s simple, elegant, and the very sight of it brings joy to her face.

“’81.” The year is surprising, as is the revelation she shares about how they celebrated their tenth anniversary a few months prior. Putting the dress away, we move to the early eighties, and it’s almost cyclical the way we’re brought back to the ‘Merry Murderess’ aesthetic with the lineup from her ‘The Bend Before The Break’ tour. 

“Everyone and their mother seems to have read the article [All The Queen’s Men, Rolling Stone, 1985] and figured out I was in a shaky place at the time; it’s again about having that modicum (sic) of control. Part of me reverted to portraying myself in the way when I felt like I was at the height of control in my relationships and career. It’s a pretty aesthetic,” she gently pulls a velvet, wine-coloured cocktail dress from the rack, giving it a gentle pat, “it made my stage presence feel good, honestly.” It doesn’t sound bitter, but she puts the dress back. 

Apologising for a moment, she explains the large gap between ‘82 and ‘84, with her Finally, Sunlight tour. “After coming home from the [The Bend Before The Break] tour, I took some time to myself; I was, of course, still writing, but I couldn’t really perform or make any big public appearances after like, July in ‘83, because I was quite pregnant, and, again, I’m a private person.” The Finally, Sunlight tour is known for two things, Giselle wearing gold, silver, and copper, in any and every way she could, and the Atlanta Breakdown.

“I wore metallics because Finally, Sunshine is about my baby girls, and they are so precious to me.” As was made clear in the Rolling Stone article, Giselle and Roger lost one of their twin daughters to illness in Autumn of 1984, though Lilith survived, it took a devastating toll on the couple. Moving past that, we’re finally brought to the crown jewel of the collection; her Live Aid dress.

It’s almost the antithesis to the ‘Merry Murderess’, though it shares a similar neckline and off-the-shoulder style. The Live Aid dress, which Giselle calls ‘Queen Midas’ for reasons I’ll get into later, has a white, crushed velvet bodice with an inbuilt corset, and basque waistline. Beneath the waist is a enough layers of thin and flowing georgette to become completely opaque, like a waterfall from the waistline, the colours fading from a bright, sunshine yellow at the hip, to a rich, sunset orange by the knee, and finally to a smokey, warm-toned charcoal where it brushes the ground, with gold jewels dotted around the bottom and creeping almost to the knee in some sporadic places, reminiscent of embers in a fire. Her gloves are white velvet, and just like with the first of her most iconic outfits, it’s gold sequinned fading to actual glitter and diamonds. 

“I took a hard look at where I was and what I had achieved, and... whether or not I can help it, I effect people, through my music, my actions, through what I wear, and can be a double edged sword. Sometimes it can hurt, or I can hurt others by saying or doing the wrong thing, but sometimes I find myself wanting for nothing; everything I’ve held close has turned to gold. I wanted to show that, to be able to be a part of something that gives back to the world where it’s given me so much.”

With all her most well-known outfits having been covered, there’s one more that comes to the top of my head; the jacket of 1980. The tabloids had a field day with her choice of wardrobe as she stepped out of a car with the rest of Queen wearing a salmon and green floral, double breasted suit jacket, with silver buttons and silver stilettos, with sheer, thigh high white socks held up by a garter belt, hair fashionably messy, but makeup pristine. The deviation from her usual pristine image had shocked both paparazzi and public alike, however the daring outfit had quickly been lauded as one of her best, many publications who ran photos even citing it as the entertainment industry’s hottest innovative look of the decade. Even since it has stood the test of time, and has been attributed to the rise of patterned and bold suit jacket purchases by men and women alike, with the outfit have been cited as inspiration for more than one celebrity’s red carpet look. 

Now, however, something, possibly amusement, possibly annoyance, crosses her face, and she tells me it’s not here. The jacket is Mercury’s. “We were on our way to a party being hosted by [Elton John], and I’d only been with Rog for a few months at this point; so we’re in the back of the limo with the other [members of Queen] and Roger’s spilled his wine on my nice, white cocktail dress.” It seems like a bittersweet memory, and she reminds me of her earlier comment about the ‘wine stain argument’. “In hindsight, everything worked out, but at the time I was absolutely livid; very nearly killed him in that backseat. Poor [John Deacon] literally had to drag me off of him. [It] took both him and Freddie to hold me back when Roger got out once we arrived, and they had the driver circle the block again so I could change into Freddie’s jacket, which he so kindly lent to me.”

From her tone, and her following comments about how her husband likes to bring it up, it seems as though it’s a well worn argument of how Roger Taylor enjoys taking credit for the look, though Giselle doesn’t seem like she enjoys giving him the satisfaction.

“My image has always been about how much I can control what people see of me, and to have that control taken away by a careless action, it really hurt. A man like Roger, in the entertainment industry, is never going to face the kind of scrutiny that I do, it’s the reason you’re here at all, talking to me about fashion rather than say, how difficult it is to be a practicing lawyer in the music industry while raising two beautiful daughters. And I still write music on occasion. But people remember what you show them, how you present yourself; my tour wardrobe is a reflection of the persona I let interact with the world, and it’s beautiful, and a legacy that will probably outlive me to some extent. 

“Do I regret any of my fashion choices? I don’t really have the liberty to, do I? And either way, they’re part of the reason I’m where I am today; I made a niche for myself that was built initially on my aesthetic, if I’m being generous, so I suppose I’ll always be grateful to it.”

[laurabercebal]

FOR CRIMES FORGOTTEN - WEEKLY RECAP (WEEK 9 | 14 - 20 MARCH)

On Monday, Cameron and I went to the bar to check that everything was ready for the pub quiz. The next day, we had a meeting in the morning to go over stuff about the fundraiser mainly. So, in the afternoon, it was finally time for the pub quiz. Surprisingly, it went really well!!! I didn’t have a lot of faith on this event, but a lot of people came. Everyone seemed to have fun, and we actually raised a lot of money. Also, the group did an amazing job. Cameron led the entire thing and also encouraged people to buy raffle tickets constantly, Juno made a cake as one of the raffle prizes, Ethan and Dan stood at the entrance of the bar to try and get more people to come… Like, we all put a lot of effort into this, and it paid off. Here’s a picture of the crew after the quiz:

On Wednesday, we had a meeting to talk about how much money we raised and how it could be spent. Maddy and Cameron also told us about the auditions they organised for Thursday to finally choose our cast. Having done that, Maddy told me if I would be up to have fittings later in the week, which I’m not sure if I will be able to do because the costumes might not be ready by then. However, she said that it was okay if I needed to do it the week after.

In terms of production design, I received the padlock, which looks great:

Juno also told me that we couldn’t use the poles in their back garden because they are stuck in the concrete, so there’s no way we could move them. Luckily, after some searches, I found some fence posts at B&Q which were quite cheap. I’ll paint one of those to make it look rusty and hope for the best. We also decided to buy some fake plastic weights that I found at the costume shop for the prisoner. Juno and I talked about what we could do with those, and the plan is to make a hole, fill them up with a material like rice to make them heavy, and then sand, paint and varnish them. And good news… THE ROBES ARRIVED ON THURSDAY!!! Much earlier than what I was expecting, which is great. After spending some days finalising it, I sent my complete production design spreadsheet to Cameron so he could have a look at it and tell me if all the costs were okay or not because I didn’t want to spend too much money.

Sunday morning, Juno came to town to give me their huge pot to dye two of the robes grey (because I don’t have a big enough pot). They explained to me the dyeing process, since they’ve already dyed some fabric for the other film they’re working on. While the robes were being dyed, I started working on the books. Basically, I got a few books at a charity shop for £10. Then, I ripped apart the cover of each book, I stained them with coffee and tea to give them that kind of antique look, I scratched the spine (I think that’s the right word?) of the books, and let them dry. Once they were dry, I burnt a bit the corners, some parts of the front pages, etc. I wrapped some ropes around them that I also soaked with tea and coffee and burnt a little to add some detail to them and make them look less dull. I also did it with a few pages for the first half of the film, where everything has changed due to the passage of time, so the books have become some scraps of faded paper. Here are some photos of how the books looked when I bought them and how they look now:

Here you have photos of the robes while I was dyeing them, and a comparison photo to see the colour difference:

Cameron got back to me on Sunday and told me the bad news. Long story short, due to the increase of the price of petrol, most of the money we raised needs to be spent on that, which means that the accommodation and production design costs are now an issue. He told me that all the costs made sense and that it wasn’t an insane amount of money having in mind the amount of materials we were getting for production design, but asked me if I could wait to buy the rest of the items because he thought it would be better to have a meeting with the rest of the crew to discuss the situation. So, I agreed, and I waited until our next meeting on Monday after the tutorial.

[nyrator]

somehow my friends talked me into doing another cosplay

and by talked me into they said “hey do you want to have a halloween party”

So, my entire day today was just getting ideas together. But here’s what I’m thinking.

good ol’ Mew

so, what do I need

Dark Teal Wig in that style

Prop headphones with an antenna

Makeup/facepaint

Teal tunic

Faux fur (and something to attach it, probably sewing)

Shirt decals for name / back screw (probably will use fabric paint)

Striped tights

Inline skates, probably painted and with a tube stuck on the back

It seems simple, but nothing I found is exactly what I need which is a shame.

For the wig, probably an arda wig. I don’t want to go through the hassle of rit dyeing one the right color, so either their Dark Green or Mako Green most likely. No wigs they have in that style are close to hers, meaning I’ll have to style it myself, which scares me.

For the top, I managed to find a tunic, at least. Will probably go shopping in person to find the fur and probably sew it on, that seems like an easier thing. The decals I’m not too worried if it looks messy, give it that graffiti feel I think.

The legs are giving me sadness- First I was thinking thigh highs/stockings, but I think my thighs would end up being exposed in a tunic, so hmm.

Either way, impossible to find that exact color stripe in anything. Heck, not even just one of the colors and white. Or white/gray that I could try to tint with dyes, or anything really useful. So most likely, I’ll have to paint them on, and that scares me too. Not sure how it’ll look, painting stretchy fabric like that, but time to experiment. Maybe I’ll get the tunic first and then see if stockings or tights would be better, since I found one pair of stockings that I might be able to just use some rit dye and hope it dyes nicely. If not, then fabric paint it is.

So with that, that’s at least three colors of fabric paint- Black for the outlines, a reddish pink for the center (may have to get two colors to mix), and the legs, probably should do the darker color on top. So about four-five colors, and that can be expensive at like 7 dollars a bottle, hm. Will have to keep looking around.

Skates and headphones I haven’t bothered with too much, I couldn’t skate even as a kid, but I’m willing to learn- Get some used inlines, paint them up, remove the middle wheels probably, and bam. Otherwise though, probably just some kind of boot, I’m thinking. Headphones, I feel there’s something I could use and just stick a hairband into it (it’s basically a box with three stripes), so I’ll have to look and see what I can find.

Not to mention personal self conscious body/face issues but nyeh.

Need to act fast though, usually I like to start around August for Halloween, so time is tight, especially with the virus delaying everything. Not sure if I’ll go through with it, but here’s hoping.

... and man I really wish I could find tights in that color, wondering how wearing sheer blue tights over black/white tights would look... probably not that good.

In other news, I got told my rent- Since my unemployment ran out and I have no job, I have zero income... which is apparently a-okay and the apartment’s still income based. Aka, disgustingly cheap, aka too cheap for me to probably even mention, but let’s just say it’s definitely affordable.

Otherwise, got my mother stuff mostly situated- All that’s left is the burial, and that’s whenever we can get a time that’s good for everyone interested. Then it’s just getting rid of her belongings, and yeah.

Been having tough issues with other things, but it’s only a matter of time until it gets better, I hope.

Been neglecting cleaning my room and doing laundry, though. Haven’t even done Ring Fit in a while. At the very least, spent time cleaning everything that wasn’t my room, though still needs work.

But yeah, got a new project, maybe.

[apollo-zero-one]

I'm having a lot of feelings reading the tags on things (details I had forgotten) and looking into my past self's eyes. Look at him... This was the second pride he'd ever attended. That was the first pronoun pin he'd ever worn in his whole life. That was feeling more like he belonged when he got lost in the crowd than did with the people he came with.

If I remember correctly, I came out to my parents that same day. I came out to them on the way to Pride because I thought, that way they couldn't be as mad about it, because we were at Pride and you can't get mad at your son for being trans while *at Pride.* I remember getting dressed in my denim shortalls and my cheap Amazon pride tee shirt and being so proud of how my hair dye turned out and I remember how my hand was shaking as I used my glittery eye shadow to draw a trans flag on my cheek, and I remember looked at it in the mirror for a minute before going downstairs, and I remember waiting for my mom to ask 'what pride flag is that?' and I remember I spoke too fast and too quietly when I said it's the transgender flag, and, by the way, maybe you could call me Felix as that's what I've been going by at school, I like that name and also I'm a boy okay let's all get in the car now-- and I remember the shaky awkward laugh that was the only defence I had when her response was 'You can't be a boy, you don't even like boys' and I joke about that line now because it's objectively hilarious but I remember how *bad* it felt at that moment. I remember the sinking feeling like, oh, my mother really doesn't know me that well, does she? And I remember on the drive to the parade I thought about how she'd told my crisis councillor that she felt there was a wedge between us, and how she'd blamed it on my depression, and that felt relevant to something about the moment.

I remember we got to pride and my mom was trying hard to be cool with her suddenly-more-queer-than-previously-thought kid, and she gave me a tiny trans pride flag instead of the rainbow ones she got for the rest of our family, and I knew she meant well but I remember not liking something about how she'd said 'they have *your* flag too'. I remember we walked in the parade with our UU church and when the parade dissolved at the end, I got lost the first time, and I sat intone grass and opened my phone and told my best friend that I was having a great time and I wished that I actually was. And I remember in the actual pride celebration, I passed someone who looked kind of like me, wearing a flag as a cape. Lots of people here had flags as capes. And I wanted more than anything to wrap myself in it too, to feel safe and secure within the fabric while loudly announcing that I wasn't going to have my mind changed about it or whatever.

I do remember looking through the pronoun pins at the booth. And I remember how I was scared to take the he/him pin, I remember watching my mom grab three she/her pins, then looking at me holding a different one, and putting one back. And I remembered going to the NaNoWriMo kickoff event with my mom and how they'd asked us to write our preferred names and pronouns on our name tags and how it had felt so, so, so painfully wrong to write she/her on mine in a space that was trying to be inclusive, and how guilty I'd felt that I was upset about it, because if only my mom hadn't been there it would have been so nice to be referred to correctly in the real world, but she was and the inclusivity forced me to misgender myself because I wasn't ready for her to know yet. I wanted the strangers to know, though. ...I remember beating myself up about coming out to my family because they're so supportive, because my mom has always had gay friends and said how she loves gay people, but I remembered one offhand comment about her trans friend Parker who was 'so confusing' and I remembered when I tried to give myself a nickname in middle school and she would never use it and would make comments to my friends and teachers about how she didn't like it, and a part of me was scared because I would be confusing. Complicated. Hard to talk about. And I'd have a name she didn't know. Didn't like. (And I was right. The name was the hardest part, and she did bully me about it for a year, and in a moment of weakness I asked her to give me a new one, and in a act of defeat I accepted it. But I try not to worry about it. My friends call me Apollo, or Felix, and that's enough for me.)

I remember I took my $20 I'd saved since my birthday and I dragged my family to three different stalls before buying that flag. I wore it for the rest of the day, and it lives on my bedroom door most of the time, that's where it is right now. And I remember passing that same young person with their flag as a cape and I remember I smiled at them and tried to communicate in silence, in passing, that we were the same, and I remember they smiled back at me. The whole interaction was less than a second but it's burned into my memory as some crucial milestone. I remember the car ride home was awkward but I don't remember why. I remembered I cried in my room, still wrapped in my flag, and I told anyone who would listen that I'd finally come out to my family and they'd taken it... well? And I remember thinking, nothing bad even happened, why was I crying about it?

That was three years ago. As of today I've been on T for over a year and a half, changed my legal name and gender markers one year ago, had top surgery six months ago, and have begun embracing my asexuality after years of on and off denial. My family rarely misgenders me and when they do it's on accident and I've taught them to not acknowledge it when it happens (my personal preference, I know it was an accident and apologising makes it uncomfortable for everyone). Last year I went to pride with just my friends and it was fun for all of us. This year I'm going alone, because I still don't want my family there with me, but that's okay. They're supportive in their own ways, I just don't want to bring them into queer spaces with me. This year at Pride I'm going to be myself, talk to strangers, make new friends, and not have to police myself to avoid making my family uncomfortable (I can't say the word 'deadname' in front of them, for example). I'm 20 years old now and I know which colours represent me and I'm not afraid of showing them- I'm looking forward to it. This is the first year I feel fully myself, fully comfortable in my own skin. And this is just the beginning.

Happy Pride!

Happy pride!

[letspretendfictionpressworks]

body language 16

When I wake up, Trevor is doing crunches on the floor. His face is flushed and he has a light sheen of sweat on his skin.

 “What time is it?” I mumble.

 He pauses to pull out his phone and check the time. “Seven-thirty,” he says as he resumes his crunches.

 “How long have you been up?” I stretch and try to shake off the desire to curl up and fall back asleep.

 “Since four,” he says.

 I’m momentarily confused before I remember. Trevor has the odd routine of waking up before dawn to sprint around town like he takes part in a daily Olympics competition.

 Trevor seems content to finish his daily workout without much comment, so I slip into the bathroom to use the toilet and swipe a finger across my teeth with some toothpaste. And because I know Trevor is likely to forget about the laundry, I return to the washer to throw the clothes into the dryer. While I’m not fond of the idea of playing maid, I’m less fond of the idea of returning to visit Trevor’s apartment if it’s covered in trash, dirty dishes, and dirty laundry.

 I don’t like how many options the dryer has. Instead of a crank nob, there are numerous push buttons. I notice that when I press one of the buttons, it lights up a different option or a different setting.

 I have no idea what the settings or options mean, though I can’t imagine it makes a difference which I use, so I select one at random and turn it on. Then, I load up the washer with another load of dirty clothes and do the same.

 I have no idea what to do with myself, so I go into the living. And I stop in my tracks.

 “What are you doing?”

 “Well, we never did finish that game of Monopoly,” Trevor tells me, clicking a house onto a tile of the game board. “Figured we could try to finish it. I… think I remember how the board looked?” But he doesn’t sound completely sure and peers down at it. “Did you own Pennsylvania Avenue, or was that one mine?”

 I am not prepared for another round of that game. I will never be prepared for another round of that game. I act swiftly.

 “What are you…?” Trevor asks when I advance.

 I kiss him. Trevor makes an appreciative noise and his hands come up to pull me closer. I let him. His mouth moves from my lips to my jaw and I tilt my head to encourage him. His lips go down my neck and I return the favor, mirroring what he does as best as I can, unwilling to let him break free of my distraction.

 It works. He guides me away from the living room, into his bedroom. He pushes me gently onto the bed, and we pull ourselves free of clothing. I may have been disgruntled at Trevor’s lack of sexual knowledge before, but he proves to be a quick study. He manages the condom and lube much better this time.

 And after, Trevor nuzzles against me, kissing my forehead. “Was it good?”

 I nod, feeling slimy and gross.

 “Should I do something differently or anything?” he asks.

 I’m confused. I shake my head.

 “But it was good?” he presses.

 “It was fine,” I tell him.

 “But I…” He drifts off, a contemplative expression on his face. “Actually, hang on,” he mutters.

 Trevor gets out of bed, puts his boxers on, and leaves the bedroom for a moment. When he returns, he has a paper in one and a pen in the other. He hands them to me.

 I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with either.

 “For you,” Trevor clarifies.

 I look down. The paper reads “Your satisfaction is the number one priority” at the top. Below that are a series of questions. It looks like someone scribbled out certain words and wrote a new one to replace it over the original.

 What can be improved on your next visit encounter? Did you receive special attention from an employee Trevor? What is your overall satisfaction level? On a scale of 1 (not very likely) to 10 (very likely), how likely are you to recommend our brand want a repeat performance?

Am I supposed to answer these?

 Trevor must notice my baffled expression. He clears his throat. “Well, I don’t know much about this gay sex stuff, but I want you to be happy, you know, in bed. This one product we sell is American and comes with a questionnaire and people usually fill it out and I was just thinking… maybe I could tweak it so I could give it to you to fill out? About our”—his face turns a rosy shade—“you know… Maybe it was stupid. But I’d like you to try to fill it out.”

 I do not even know what to say. Trevor is looking at me expectantly. I fumble with the pen. When Trevor doesn’t look away, I awkwardly scratch out some answers to the questions and hand the paper back to him. He takes it excitedly, smiling as his eyes scan over it.

 His smile slowly drops away.

 “What can be improved… you said ‘no.’”

 I did, yes.

 “And for the question about ‘did you receive special attention,’ you just wrote in ‘yes.’”

 I’m not sure why he’s reading my answers off to me.

 “That’s all?” he asks. “Just ‘yes’? You could put something specific that you liked, though.”

 He looks at me pleadingly. I shrug, feeling awkward and on the spot. After a moment, he drops that issue to move onto the next question on the paper.

 “Your overall satisfaction level is yes?” he asks.

 “I was satisfied,” I tell him, in case he needs clarification.

 “And I scored an 8.” He pauses. He looks up at me, wounded. “What did I do wrong?”

 “Well,” I fumble. “Um. Always room for improvement, right?”

 “But what did I do wrong?” he presses. “What should I do differently? Do you want me to—” He cuts himself off to gesture towards my lower half. I frown, confused, and he says, “I can, you know, go down on you or something.”

 Oh. I shake my head quickly. “No, it’s not that. It was good.”

 Trevor is more and more distressed. “But good should always be improved to ‘great’ or ‘excellent.’”

 This conversation is exhausting me.

 “We should shower,” I cut in, trying to derail this mess as quickly as I can.

 “Will you at least think on it?” Trevor asks as I stand up. He still sounds distressed. “So I can find things to improve on?”

 “Sure,” I reply, though I’m not sure at all. I just want to dive out of this conversation as fast as possible.

 “Okay,” Trevor relaxes. “You go ahead and shower and I’ll go get some clean clothes. You can borrow some of mine, if you want?”

 Normally, I’m not sure I’d like to wear someone else’s clothes. But my mind whispers the word boyfriend, and I remember I’m not really strangers with Trevor anymore.

 “Yeah, that’s fine,” I say.

 I take a quick shower and towel off. Trevor slipped in at some point and put some clothes on the closed toilet for me. I’m relieved he didn’t ask to join me this time. I’m not sure what boyfriends are supposed to do with each other, but I still like taking a shower by myself. I’m also relieved that they aren’t the workout shorts and sleeveless top he tossed at me last time. These shorts are looser, more comfortable looking, and the shirt is a simple T-shirt that’s well worn and soft.

 When I come out of the bathroom, I find Trevor in the open area of his living room. He’s flexing his arms and admiring himself.

 Why?

 “What are you doing?” I ask.

 He stops and turns to me. “My shirts shrank,” he says.

 “How?” I ask, frowning.

 “I think there’s some kind of setting the dryer has to be on to dry cotton. Lower heat or something? Otherwise, I guess it all shrinks down. Or maybe it was that the washer was supposed to be on a certain setting, so it uses cooler water? Or both?” He screws his face up as he thinks. “I’m not sure. But everything shrank.”

 I feel a sense of horror.

 “Also, all my white clothes are pink,” he goes on. He says it rather casually, but…

 I feel my sense of horror increase.

 “The… shirt you’re wearing,” I say, “was it always pink?”

 “It was white before we washed it,” Trevor says, looking down at his shirt in question, which is now a soft rosy shade.

 “I…”

 It’s too little, too late, but I now remember being told at some point that it’s imperative to separate white clothes from those with color—especially red—to keep the white clothes from soaking up loose dye while they’re washing together.

 “How many shirts did I ruin?” I ask, my horror morphing into stress.

 Trevor shrugs. “You didn’t really ruin them. I think they’ll stretch out again and besides—”

 “But how many?” I ask again.

 He shrugs again. “Maybe a dozen? I got most of them cheap on sale or something, and I can get more. I’m not worried about it, though.”

 I cast him a dubious look.

 “Well, look,” he says, flexing his arm again. “They’re super tight now. I can show off all this muscle I’m building!”

 I’m not sure why I didn’t expect this type of reaction from the guy who has such a ridiculous daily exercise routine.

 “I’ll still replace them,” I say. “They’re pink.”

 “It’s just my workout shirts that were white,” Trevor says. “Besides, you missed the part where they shrunk down so much that they show off my muscles!”

 He flexes his arm again. I suppose if I were a vainer person, I would actually appreciate what I’m looking at. The shirt is very tight on Trevor’s body, and if I hadn’t known he liked to work out, I would definitely know it after seeing him in this shirt. The fabric is pulled so tight over his stomach that I can see the grooves of his abdominal muscles.

 Trevor raises an arm to flex again and offers me a sly smirk. “I look good, right? Half the joy in getting muscles like these is showing them off. Best thing for that is tight clothes.”

 Despite my agitation, I give him a small, amused smile.

 “It should only take a thousand pushups or so to stretch it out, anyway,” he goes on casually. “That’s pretty easy.”

 “A thousand pushups?” I echo, horrified at the sheer immensity of the number. “You do that many?”

 “Oh, yes,” Trevor says. “Wanna see?”

 I can only stare, still not sure he’s serious.

 “Hey,” Trevor says, “if you want to see what a thousand pushups look like, I’ll happily show you. No need to be shy about it.”

 “I… I guess,” I say. I’m less interested in seeing someone do a thousand pushups than I am being able to say that I know someone who could do a thousand pushups in one session.

 Trevor wastes no time. Immediately he starts, counting off as he goes.

 “How do you have the energy to do that many?” I mutter, more to myself.

 Trevor hears and answers anyway. “I’m not sure that—sixteen—it has anything to do with—seventeen—energy, honestly. Once you—eighteen—have the upper body strength—nineteen—to do pushups, it’s—twenty—easy to do a lot—twenty-one—at once.”

 I’m amazed how he can speak, do his pushups, and keep count of them all at once.

 “This isn’t actually—twenty-five—much of a challenge—twenty-six—and I like a—twenty-seven—challenge. You could—twenty-eight—sit on my back—twenty-nine—if you want.”

 I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous.

 I must say that out loud, because Trevor says. “Not really—thirty-two—ridiculous, honestly. I—thirty-three—see people do it—thirty-four—all the time for—thirty-five—strength training.”

 I’m still not sure.

 “Well, we could—forty-one—figure out who had—forty-two—Pennsylvania Avenue—forty-three—and play Monopoly—forty-four—if you prefer.”

 I do not prefer. I quickly step towards him and watch as his rises and falls, rises and falls.

 “Just… climb on your back?” I ask to make sure.

 “Yeah, just—fifty-seven—climb abord the—fifty-eight—flex-machine.”

 I snort at the term and tentatively sit on Trevor’s back. At first, I sit like he’s a bench. It’s not very comfortable, so I shift my position to find something that is.

 In the end, I’m laying across his back, my head tucked between his neck and shoulder, my hands folded on my stomach. Below me, Trevor continues his pushups, keeping count of them.

 I don’t really have a lot more to say to him, so I stay mostly quiet. He says a few things, mostly near the beginning of his routine.

 “Counting aloud also—eighty-eight—helps with lung—eighty-nine—capacity and—ninety—breathing technique.”

 I’m not sure I understand how, but I don’t argue the point. I’ve never seriously worked out a day in my life. I’m a scrap of a person, thin and slender. Who am I to question Trevor’s logic?

 By three hundred, he falls quiet, save his counting.

 By five hundred, I’m dozing off and on.

 By eight hundred, my stomach growls and it helps keep me awake.

 When Trevor hits a thousand, he lets his body drop to the ground, lying on his stomach, arms spread around his head in a loose circle.

 “Not so hard, see?” he says. His breathing isn’t labored, but it also isn’t quite unaffected.

 “Only took an hour and a half,” I tease, rolling off of him to lay next to him on the ground.

 “What?” Trevor looks at me in offense. “I thought it took closer to an hour.”

 I shake my head and Trevor mutters a curse.

 “Guess my new goal is a thousand in an hour,” he tells me.

 The idea seems ridiculous to me. “Seems impressive enough to me that you can do it at all.”

 Trevor rolls over onto his back and looks at me. “I’ve never tried before,” he admits, “but like I said, once you have the upper body strength to do a pushup, it’s just a matter of endurance to be able to do so many at once. But I think I might’ve overdone it.”

 “You think?” I mutter.

 He smiles. “I can already feel my muscles getting sore.”

 “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

 “Well, that’s just my muscles’ way of talking to me, right? I'm just flattered they put forth the effort to communicate with me.”

 I’m not sure about that.

 “Take out for early lunch?” he asks me.

 “Same as ever,” I agree.

[aninconvenientwardrobe]

AN INTERVIEW WITH MARY BEMIS, FOUNDER & DESIGNER OF ECO&ETHICAL ACTIVEWEAR BRAND REPRISE

Happy Holidays to us: What a treat to have the chance to pick the mind of the gorgeously talented and passionate eco-advocate Mary Bemis. Mary is the founder, creative director, and product developer behind the upcoming eco-conscious and ethically-made athletic brand Reprise Activewear. She is also the brains behind Reconsider Blog, a chronicling of her efforts at environmentally friendly living. Somehow, despite managing these two ventures in addition to her job as a financial & marketing analyst, she found the time to tell us about her foray into sustainable fashion design. Read on...

AIW: Your blog (which is so awesome) says you've been a proponent for sustainability for a long time. How did eco-friendliness get on your radar? In what ways did your education growing up inspire that sort of consciousness? Why do you think it registers in some people and less in others? 

MB: Thank you! The blog has just been a fun way for me to share what I've been learning on this journey to become a more sustainable person. At times I don't feel like I know enough to be giving advice, but I felt that if I started putting what I was learning out there maybe more people would be inspired as well. My favorite outcome of it so far was when my almost-90-year-old grandmother who occasionally reads it told me that she hadn't thought about how her use of plastic utensils was wasteful and she was going to try to stop using them! I find it upsetting that sustainable living has a stigma for being uncool and inconvenient, so my biggest goal with my blog is to share how easy it can be to make small changes without compromising current lifestyle. 

My interest in this did start when I was young though; I grew up in an environmentally conscious family, so while I didn't pay attention to it at the time, living sustainably was ingrained in me from a very early age. Growing up, I was the one running around the house turning off the unused lights and turning down the heat a few degrees. It drove my family crazy but I couldn't stand the thought of being wasteful. 

AIW: What did you study during undergrad? While in college, did you prioritize sustainability in any way? 

MB: I was an Economics major and Mathematics minor in college (I went to Occidental College) and my goal at the time was to move to New York and work on Wall Street. My vision was incredibly narrow at that time of my life, because I wasn't aware of how many different career choices there are, but I'm thankful for these experiences that have pushed me towards eventually finding a more meaningful and fulfilling life. I didn't necessarily prioritize sustainability during my time there except I was in the first round of students to help pioneer the reusable takeout containers in the dining hall!

AIW: When did sustainable fashion become something you thought about, became passionate about, and then actually decide to quit your job for? 

MB: There's sort of a chain of events that really lead me to this path. I had quit my job in banking because I was totally burned out and was looking for more satisfaction out of life. On my way out of my job, a coworker at the time had recommended this book to me: 'I Could do Anything if I Only Knew What it Was' by Barbara Sher. It is filled with self-reflection exercises on things like, if you could pursue anything—even as crazy as quitting your office job to become a professional dog sled racer (a true story from the book)—what would you do? It allowed me to get my creative juices flowing and realize that my two passions were design and sustainability [I was doing all of the exercises from my family's ranch in Wyoming completely surrounded by nature so I think that might have had an influence too ;)]. Shortly after, I watched the movie 'The True Cost' about all of the unethical and unsustainable practices in the fashion industry and at that point I knew I had to do something.

AIW: Tell me about your big decision to launch your line! How did that start? How has the process been? How have you done research to get the best fabrics, and how has your experience sourcing and sewing been? 

MB: To continue on from the question above, once I had seen this documentary I knew I wanted to make a change somehow. I was also in the middle of a move and was going through my closet and realized that a large part of my closet was made from polyester or Nylon (which are both plastic-based fabrics made from petroleum). I was also starting to get into holistic healthcare and natural beauty (there were a LOT of changes to my life during this time!) and it just didn't sit right with me that while we're making great advances in beauty and skincare, we're still dressing ourselves in synthetics, which also touch our skin—especially when we workout. 

I decided to take classes at FIT because they have a Sustainable Design Entrepreneurs certificate so I could learn more. I started connecting with people there and realizing that despite my background being in Finance, I was totally capable of creating a better product for the athleticwear market. I finally decided to commit this last spring and joined Factory45—an online accelerator program for entrepreneurs who want to start a sustainable fashion line.

AIW: What are the main ways you will implement sustainability into your clothes and brand? 

MB: I'm most interested in the materials we use. Nowadays SO much of what we wear is made with polyester, which was invented as a cheap synthetic alternative to natural fibers. There are many issues with polyester but some of the main being it's made from non-renewable crude oil, it’s manufactured in a non-environmentally friendly way, and it's coated in chemicals to give it the specialized properties that we seek for certain clothing. I did a ton of research on fabric options and eventually decided to work with Tencel—it's an amazing fabric that's renewable, plant-based, and much better for our skin. One other part that's been important for me to ensure I implement is ethics. I've decided to manufacture everything in NYC for a few reasons, but to ensure that I'm paying a fair wage and to be able to have a personal relationship with the people making the clothing.

source: instagram.com/repriseactivewear

AIW: In what ways are you still unable to be sustainable? 

MB: I'd love to start exploring more sustainable fabric dye technologies, but a lot of the challenges come down to scale and cost justification. It's tough when you're just starting out because things are twice as expensive when you're only producing 100 instead of 1,000+ for example.  I'm also hoping that there will be more eco-friendly spandex options available on the market soon because it's very hard to create leggings that support you without it, but it's not a very sustainable material to work with. 

AIW: Which companies do you most admire—and are you able to shop from them? 

MB: Reformation is a company I really look up to and try to emulate in everything that I do when developing Reprise. I love that they've made sustainable fashion really cool, while challenging the consumer's idea of what sustainable fashion looks like. I love everything they create and end up buying a lot of it on Poshmark to help with the higher price point of their items. I also love this company called Vetta—they're another product of the Factory45 program mentioned above—and they create these beautiful pieces to form a capsule wardrobe. I love the idea that you just have to own 5 pieces but could create 15 very different outfits from them.

AIW: What are some of your favorite hacks for living a more green lifestyle? 

MB: I try to find things that are really easy to implement so that I can seamlessly transition as I'm super busy these days! Things like my set of metal silverware that I bring with me to work and the compost bin that is along my daily commute help me incorporate green practices, without really any effort. I also really look up to Lauren Singer from 'Trash is for Tossers' and always look to her for inspiration for my next sustainable habit.

AIW: What are the biggest challenges you are facing as a designer trying to be conscious in her design and production process?  

MB: I have the issue that I want to fix every problem. For a long time I debated whether or not to start a label because I knew I'd feel guilty if it wasn't made ethically, with sustainable/biodegradeable materials, dyed with non-toxic dyes, producing zero waste, using reusable shipping, etc. One of my teachers at FIT helped me realize that doing all of this wouldn't be possible if I wanted to have a profitable business and that it was best to stick to one, but keep aspirations to incorporate the rest over time. I really welcomed this advice and so I've chosen to focus on working with the best sustainable materials as possible and producing locally in New York as ethical production and non-toxic materials are the two issues I'm most passionate about.

xo Mary. You inspire us and we can’t wait for the launch of Reprise. 

[ask-de-writer]

THE LUCK OF BLACK CATS (1 Part) : MLP Fan Fiction : Tales to Read AFTER the Lights are OUT!

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THE LUCK OF BLACK CATS

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

1441 words

© 2017 by Glen Ten-Eyck

Writing begun 10/21/17

All rights reserved.  This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

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

Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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It is well known that Black Cats bring bad luck. It may be that it is not QUITE true.

Sugar Maple was playing outside, in her Grandmare's neatly fenced yard. Sugar loved to visit Grandmare but her mom really didn't like to bring her this far into the Everfree Forest.

Sugar climbed onto the platform of Grandmare's swing set and began to shift her weight to make the swing swoop back and forth! It was fun! The wind made her light brown mane and tail fly about as the butter colored foal swept from one end of the swing to the other and back!

The swing was almost as much fun as playing with Grandmare's cats! They were all pure, silky black and over half of them had wings like a bat! They could fly really well, too! Sugar bailed off the swing at the top of its swoop and spread her own young wings! Her glide was inexpert but enthusiastic, as she sailed about Grandmare's cottage! She almost made it all the way around, back to the swing set! Her hooves hit the lawn sod only about ten feet short of her goal!

Little hooves clattering on the stone of the front steps, Sugar dashed into Grandmare's little house! “Mom! Grandmare! I glided almost all the way around the house! I made it almost all the way back to the swing!”

Her mother set her teacup down firmly and began, “SUGAR MAPLE, what have I told you about unsupervised flying!?”

Grandmare raised an admonitory black furred wing and used the other to scoop Sugar into a welcoming hug! Taking a moment to preen a few small tangles from Sugar's mane with her razor sharp fangs, Grandmare said gently, “You did very well. Did you flap at all or was it a pure glide?”

Giving her leaf brown mother a slightly fearful glance, Sugar replied, “I glided the whole way! I did cup my wings up to land! I came down real gentle.”

The hug was pulled tighter as Grandmare smiled, showing her fangs. Shifting her voice up, beyond the hearing of most ponies, Grandmare asked, “[How is your chirping coming along?]”

Answering the same way, Sugar replied, “[It is going really good! Mom can't hear it, so I practice it a lot!]”

“[Tell me, Sugar, what you chirp in my bedroom?]”

Excitedly, Sugar exclaimed, “You got a dress horse with a costume on it! It is too small for Mom or you, so it must be for me!”

Nodding, Grandmare agreed, “It is, Dear. Go and try it on. Later, we will practice flying our way.”

Sugar dashed for the back room!

Granmare returned her attention to Sugar's mom. “Hazel, I thought that I made it perfectly clear that Sugar must be allowed to develop! Look at you! You play the part of a crippled pegasus! You do it so well that you have lost the ability to fly or even hear chirping!

“THAT is too high a price to pay for 'fitting in'!”

Hazel looked down and fiddled with her teacup before trying, “If anypony ever saw my extended wing, or Sugar's for that matter, they would scream THESTRAL! There could be a mob! I don't want Sugar hurt!”

Grandmare softened, “In that, we are agreed. Caramel Treat's is always a safe place. Those Werewolves do understand the problem and will protect us. So will Reverend Smallflower at the Assembly.”

Their discussion was ended by the return of Sugar. She was wearing the costume as a thestral witch! Two of Grandmare's cats were riding her shoulders, purring happily. One casually lifted a furry, bat like wing to scratch under it.

Grandmare was delighted. Hazel was less so, but agreed that it was a great costume.

Grandmare led Sugar outside, the cats following. Soon Sugar was fluttering short distances and landing properly. The cats were 'helping.' They thought that the fluttering filly was a great toy! Conversely, Sugar, dodging their mock attacks thought that the cats were great teachers! It only took a few hours before she was swooping and dodging with them in a game of aerial tag! Happy foal's laughter pealed down from the October sky.

Grandmare nodded serenely, “She takes to the sky as naturally as breathing. A true thestral if ever there was one.”

Hazel agreed sadly, “I know. I hope that Ponyville will be better to her than it was to me.”

Grandmare turned Sympathetic eyes to Hazel. “I do know what you mean, dear. You half breeds have it rougher than we full bloods. The unicorns have never forgiven our service to the Nightmare Throne, 2000 years ago, in the Nightmare Wars. The only thing that shows Maple to be a partial breed is her color.”

Sighing, Hazel glanced at the sun's angle and suggested, “We must return home, Grandmare. It has actually been a good visit.”

Hazel and Sugar Maple trotted back along the nearly overgrown trail that led from Grandmare's to behind the Duchess O' Red Hoof's land. It joined the trail leading from Brightmane's cottage. It became far better and more traveled after that.

They reached Ponyville proper and went into their snug little cottage home without incident. The two cats that had ridden Sugar's shoulder all the way, immediately flew from her shoulder, circling about the room, high and low. They perched on the sofa back and began to preen.

Evening fell and with it began Nightmare Night. Gathering together her loot bag and a “Witch's Staff”, Maple set out. Both cats riding her shoulders.

She joined a group making the rounds of homes and small businesses.

“Wow! That is a neat thestral witch costume! How did you turn your fur black, Sugar?”

She smiled and replied, “Just a cheap brush in dye. It will wash out.”

“Gee, I wish that I had a cat like yours to go with my witch costume! Aren't you afraid of bad luck? Yours are pure black.”

The mare in charge of the small herd was in a silly looking deer costume with phony horns on a spring gripper across her head!

Of course, they dropped in on Caramel Treat's Sweets for their famous Nightmare Night display and fabulous foal bowl! It did not disappoint! There were the very real Werewolves, Caramel and Fangrin in their Everfree Ridgeback Wolf forms, a black gryphon, several games and the foal bowl hidden under mists in a big cauldron.

The party went on toward the more residential parts of town, followed by a pegasus in a skull like mask and a costume of bones painted onto black cloth. His wings could slide out through reinforced cuts in the fabric. It hid his cutie mark.

Sugar chirped to the cats in a voice too high for ponies to hear, “[Dark Sky, New Moon, could you go back and cross his path a few times? I do not like him following us!]”

In answer, both cats hopped from her shoulder, gliding to the ground and scampering back! They paraded across his path repeatedly. Undeterred, he continued to follow the herd of foals.

The cats returned to Sugar's shoulder. The foal herd was approaching Drastin Park and its big unobstructed hoof ball pitch. He charged toward the hapless foals!

He tripped over two cats that had been watching him for any such stunt! He faceplanted, in a most embarrassing way! The whole herd of foals heard him fall and stopped to watch!

Climbing back to his hooves, he charged again! Bowling the foals over like ninepins, he grabbed two foal loot bags and leaped for the night sky!

Two cats and Sugar were on his tail, almost immediately! The cats snagged his left wing, causing him to spiral out of control! Before he could do anything to get rid of the cats, Sugar slammed her head in between his hind legs from above and power dived, flipping him over onto his back!

Fluttering and flailing helplessly, he hit the ground with a crunch! Sugar landed lightly beside him and gathered up the stolen loot bags. She was still picking up spilled treats when the rest of the group swarmed around her!

As Sugar was returning the stolen bags, one of the colts said admiringly, “We could see the whole thing! The moon lit up those thin clouds and we saw it all!! You really are a thestral! That was so neat how you took him down!”

One of the fillies came and got her loot bag. She petted the cats and said, “I guess that the thing about black cats and bad luck is true!” Giggling, she pointed to the fallen pegasus thief. “It sure was for him!”

~THE END~

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[chaoticgoodtwin]

Working With Thermal Plastics

So this panel has a story before I get to the notes (I’m really just typing them up for a friend/friends feel free to block “chaotictwin notes”). Costuming track panels at Dragon*Con are usually packed. When I saw the “Thermal Plastics Demonstration” on the app schedule, I was all hell yeah, sign me up. My brother and my friends all wanted to come. We get to the costuming area with plenty of time to spare because, like I said, packed. There’s a little confusion about what line to be in because there are two panels simultaneously and one line for both . . . oookaaaay. This line is going out of the hallway and it’s wrapping past the staircase (Hilton 3rd floor). They tell us to start entering the rooms and we find out like 20 people in the room is full BECAUSE THEY DIDN’T PUT IT IN THE BIG ROOM. We’re being told it’s maxed out. We all turn around to wander away in disappointment, and I hear, wafting on the air conditioned breeze, “standing room.” I flipped around squeezed through the door AND GOT IN. My bro and buds were standing outside, like, “where’d she go.” I got a text about it. They were jealous; I was enlightened. Moral of this story, being short and petite has its advantages. The notes are below the line.

Products/Plastics List

Worbla (comes in a clear variety)

Wonderflex

EVA foam

InstaMorph (a pebble plastic)

Kydex

PVC

Flexbond - the plastic version of plastidip

There are other plastics (like Sentra), but the above were the kinds focused on in the panel.

Tools

Welding gloves (there are special thermal plastic ones, but welding gloves are just fine)

Protective eye-gear (in case of dremeling and/or fumes)

Respirator (again, fumes)

Heat gun (variable preferred)

Dremel

Stainless steel pot (only for plastic use, never cook w/ it)

metal clay shaping tools

silicone finger tips (available at craft stores near the hot glue)

Cricut machine (optional, for making stencils, but they’re hella expensive)

Cuffs/bracelets jewelry stand

Hot knife

Rather than do a play by play of instructions because this shit is on the internet, I’m gonna go over some of the tips and tricks that I took away from the panel. They’re in no particular order.

DO NOT HEAT FORM ON YOUR OWN BODY. Use a cast for body pieces. For bracers, you can start on top of welding gloves to get a LITTLE curve, but finish it on a jewelry stand like the one listed above.

The “sandwich method for thermal plastic” is something you’re gonna want to google.

If you need to make symmetrical pieces, don’t cut out two patterns. Use one and then flip it over.

Don’t throw away your Worbla scraps. You can use that shit.

Only the rough side of Kydex will take paint.

You can color pebble plastics with acrylic paint, cheap food coloring, or commercial fabric dyes.

If you need to oven-heat your plastic, use an Easy Bake Oven, or a toaster oven that you don’t ever use for anything else EVER.

Kydex bends AWAY from heat.

Worbla bends TOWARDS heat.

Wonderflex has a fabric backing. You can’t cut it any which way, it’s directional. Google the terms warp, weft, grain line, selvedge, and how to cut out fabric. They will help you.

Use wire armatures for delicate/intricate pieces you want to sculpt. Think crowns and headdresses.

Plastic binds to plastic. Consider this when choosing tools.

Metal rolling pins are good for getting bubbles out.

Remember that metal holds heat. Be safe.

Be aware of your surroundings. You don’t want to burn someone. Or set anything on fire.

Hi-temp glue guns are your friends.

You can dremel excess hi-temp hot glue and plastic, but it takes forever.

Keep your cutting tools sharp. Hot knives can usually fit x-acto blades. Get a sharpener for your scissors.

Clear Worbla can be heat formed over E.L./E.I. wire to form a casing.

PVC can be heat formed, but its fumes are toxic. Use your respirator.

Protective eye gear is just a good idea.

This shit’s expensive. Do your research, but . . .

You’re gonna mess up anyway. It’s okay. Just breathe.

Personal knowledge that I think can be helpful:

Valspar spray paints are kind of soft and chip easily. Not great for pieces that are gonna get worn. Rustoleum and Krylon are good brands.

Don’t go for the cheapest acrylic craft paints. They’re cheap for a reason.

When it comes to plastics, resins, and dyes: if you can smell it, you’re dying (yes that’s spelled correctly). USE THAT RESPIRATOR.

Distressing your pieces makes them look more realistic and lived in.