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forestwater87 · 3 years

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Chapter 15: Grand Gesture

Summary: GRAND GESTURE: He or she must be willing to put it all on the line now or risk losing the one thing they need to become whole-hearted. It’s life or death now.

CW: Smut in the last third of the chapter. Questionable quality.

Summer 2017

“Fuck!” Gwen felt her center of gravity shift as she leaned forward, overbalancing on the rickety chair she’d been using to reach the ceiling. It tipped perilously on two legs, then lost the fight with physics and sent her sprawling with a crash that shook the dozens of tiny papers taped around the room. She hit the ground with her hip and the side of her face, one of them making a disturbing crunch sound and both shooting bright white pain down her entire right side. “Shit!”

She was halfway to her feet, wondering if the crossed-eyes dizzy feeling was from lack of sleep, hitting her head, or marker fumes, when fingers closed around her upper arm and she was hauled upright. “Gwen! Goodness, are you okay?” David let go of her, his gaze roving around the room as he took a step back. “What happened in here?”

She looked around, taking a deep breath and noticing for the first time in hours the thick perfume of tacky glue and paint, as though David walking in had turned her senses back on. It was done, mostly. Well, no — it’d never really be done, but it was enough to prove her point.

She hoped.

While she was panicking, David had wandered over to the center of the room, ducking to avoid a string of origami animals dangling from the ceiling. “Is this for camp?”

“Yes — I mean, no, it’s from camp, and maybe we can reuse some of it but no, it’s . . . not really . . .” She’d planned this, during her mad crafting frenzy: how David would come home, wonder what she was doing, and she’d carefully tour him through everything — or maybe she’d let him get on with his morning routine while she added a few more things, made it just a bit closer to perfect.

But his presence had pulled her to a halt. She’d been like a shark all night, afraid to stop moving or she’d die, but now that he was here she felt drained, the giddy, terrified adrenaline that’d been keeping her going evaporating in an instant.

Though hey. At least she had a good reason to be tired, for once.

He frowned at her discarded supplies strewn carelessly around the room. “Are these from Art Camp?”

The question jolted her into action, and she stumbled forward jerkily, like the Tin Man without oil. “Yeah, but I already took it out of my paycheck, it’s fine. I’ll go shopping tomorrow for new stuff.” She wanted him to hear what she really meant, what she was trying to put together through exhausted babbling: that this was important, that it was worth sacrificing sleep and money for, that she loved him and she respected him and she wanted him to know that.

Finally, finally, he turned his attention to the walls. “Gwen, what is all this?”

“It’s you,” she blurted out, then winced and rested her forehead in her palm. “No, that’s not — it’s — some of the stuff you’ve taught me, look . . .” She took his hand, her nerves trembling at the brush of his fingers against her own, and pulled him toward the doorway. She’d made a messy semicircle around the room, right to left like a supermarket. Dropping his hand, she took a step back, steepling her fingers like she was praying and pressing them to her lips with another steadying breath.

She had one chance.

“Okay,” she began. “So . . .”

---

Gwen looked like she was on the verge of falling over, listing dangerously to the side as she led him across the room. There were feathers in her hair, and scraps of paper; she was speckled with color, marker and paint and even a smear of glitter glue on the tip of her nose, the pads of her fingers nearly black with a rainbow of ink that stained his hand as she held it. It was obvious she hadn’t slept, even more obvious that she desperately needed to.

But her eyes were bright even if the circles under them were dark, and she thrummed with an energy and animation David hadn’t seen all summer.

And he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt her, not when it finally felt like she’d returned to him.

“— song you taught me last year,” she said, and he felt a flash of guilt that he hadn’t been listening. She tapped the paper she’d stuck to the wall, the lyrics of his Camp Campbell song scrawled across it in uneven lines. “All the camp activities, remember? At least the most important ones.”

(It was really just the ones that fit best into the rhyme scheme, but he didn’t correct her as she moved on to a second piece of paper.)

“This is a list of all the facts about nature I’ve learned since I started here,” she continued, gesturing. This one was crammed so tightly with writing that he could barely read it, bullet points snaking in all directions and increasingly smaller handwriting as it moved down the page, until finally Gwen had started attaching sticky notes to the wall below and around the list. “I had to keep going back and adding things as I thought of them. I know I’m forgetting something, but I can’t —” She gestured around her head in a classic “scatterbrained” motion, chuckling weakly. “I’m kind of all over the place right now.”

Next: a bullseye, a pencil stuck point-first into the wall. “I couldn’t really shoot an arrow,” Gwen explained, “but remember that summer you taught me archery? I’m still pretty good at it — we went to a shooting range for Claire’s birthday last year and I was the only one who hit the target every time.”

Next: a messy drawing of a forest, a little stick figure kneeling next to a moss-covered rock. “That one time we got lost in the woods trying to find a good place for bug-catching, you got us out because you knew how to find north. You’d be pretty great in a zombie apocalypse.”

Next: a sheet of black construction paper poked through with holes, hastily taped to the back window so light from the lamp outside shone through in little pinpricks. He leaned closer and realized that they were in the rough shape of the constellations visible above Lake Lilac. “I didn't know much about stars and shit outside of, like, horoscope stuff — I mean, in the city you can’t even see them — but you always pointed out which constellations and planets were out during the summer and now I know them all too.”

And on, and on. Scale models of the crafts and activities they’d done at Camp Campbell, nature facts, and on one wall she’d tacked up a typewritten letter to the Director of Admissions at Queen’s University Belfast. Skimming it quickly, it looked to David like an application.

“I was trying to get into their Environmental Science program. I wrote about Sleepy Peak Peak and Lake Lilac,” she admitted, looking almost embarrassed. “I got in. And I mean, they’re not the best program out there, but they’re still in the top 300 worldwide so that’s pretty cool, I guess —”

“Belfast?” He leaned in closer, confirming that he’d read correctly. “Isn’t that in England?”

“Yeah.” She looked impressed, and he suppressed a weary smirk; yes, he did know a bit about the world outside of Camp Campbell. But she surprised him by adding, “I had to look that up, actually.” She shrugged. “Guess I should’ve just asked you, huh?

“Anyway, that was a couple years ago. I didn’t go, obviously,” she added, responding to his unspoken question. “International travel’s a bitch. I needed a scholarship, and my grades weren’t good enough. I think I only got in at all because of my letter.” She gestured at it, not quite meeting his eyes. “Which I never thanked you for. Or most of the stuff I’ve learned from you. I’ve been . . . kinda taking all that for granted. So, uh . . . thanks, David.”

He wanted to tell her she was welcome, that she didn’t need to thank him at all. That sharing these things with her had been the highlight of his life since they’d met, even if it hadn’t seemed like she cared about any of it. But there was a lump quivering dangerously in his throat and he didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nodded.

After a second she cleared her throat awkwardly and led him over to a row of stick figures hanging from the ceiling. “Some of these are from Yoga Camp,” she said, pointing at a few of the ones contorted into uncomfortable shapes, “but also all that other stuff you do. Like smile exercises —” and yes, one of the stick figures had a big pink smiley face, “— and breathing techniques and stuff. I use those sometimes when I’m having a panic attack. They really help, even if smile exercises still make me feel like a dumbass most of the time.”

The decorations started to get more abstract as they made their way around the room, simple crafts and trivia giving way to colorful scribbles and symbols, representing things he’d said to her about her relationship with her parents, her love life. “You have really good advice, you know that? You could be the next Dear Abby or something, seriously. I think that’s still running.”

(It was; he read it every morning with his pre-breakfast tea.)

“These get worse, sorry . . . I was getting tired.” Gwen jerked her chin up at a wobbly butterfly — or was it a bird? — dangling over their heads. “I use your advice about hummingbird-ing all the time. With writing, mostly, but sometimes at work or something, too.”

He gently reached up and touched the bird’s feet, watching it spin in a lazy circle. Technically the idea had been his mother’s, a way to avoid burnout by flitting from one project to another and adding just a little bit to each, instead of devoting all energy and resources to one thing and slogging through until it was done. The whole idea was part of his ethos of being a counselor — wasn’t Camp Campbell a place to get a little taste of everything, after all? He remembered explaining it to Gwen during her first week at camp, just over five years ago.

He wouldn’t have ever imagined that she’d actually remembered.

He didn’t think she remembered any of this.

But the evidence was all around him — on the walls, hanging from the ceiling, dozens of examples, mementos of the tiny moments that meant everything to him. Immortalized, remembered, in increasingly sloppy handwriting and doodles.

In the corner was a bright red card that looked familiar. David moved over to it and laughed in recognition: it was one he’d sent her after her first or second summer at Camp Campbell, when he’d seen on Facebook that she was looking for work. He tugged it off the wall, careful not to damage the cheap cardstock, and smiled down at the deer wearing a plaid hunting cap, which he’d made out of tissue paper and markers (he’d gotten much better since then, thanks to a few years of Decoupage Camps).

‘Good luck on your job HUNT! I know you’ll slay the interview!’

“I’ve kept that for years to show my friends,” Gwen said, making him jump; he hadn’t realized she’d come up behind him, but she was close enough to nearly rest her head against his. “I felt like it really captured the kind of guy you were.”

Her breath prickled the side of his neck, and he distracted himself by opening the card — ‘oh deer, is this joke going on too long? I feel like it’s overkill!’ — noticing how worn the crease was, like she’d opened and closed it hundreds of times. “Does it?”

He felt her shake her head without having to face her, stray wisps of hair that’d escaped her ponytail tickling his cheek. “Not even close.”

Unable to resist, he looked back at her over his shoulder, and she took his arm, turning him around the rest of the way. He thought she was going to kiss him — she was close enough that he could see a smeary glue thumbprint on her cheek and what looked like half a smiley-face sticker in her hair — but she just took the card from him, setting it carefully on the couch before taking hold of both his hands. Her expression was grave, shining faint with hope, and between the craft debris and her naked earnestness, she looked incredibly young and vulnerable.

“There’s more,” she said, gesturing with her chin toward the far wall, “and I’ll let — I want you to look at it, but . . . I just had to tell you, I’ve been taking you for granted and it’s not right. I’ve been pretending I still think of you as this —” Pulling one of her hands away, she picked up the card again, her fingers shaking so the deer’s toothpick antlers clacked together, “— sweet, silly, kinda childish David, who belongs with someone sweet, and silly, and kinda childish. And I tried to be that and . . . I mean I sucked at it,” she said, breaking off with a weak laugh, dropping her eyes to their joined hands. “And it . . . kind of broke me. But I didn’t even think to ask if that was what you wanted, because I thought I knew what you needed, and that was — so, really fucked.” She looked back up at him, her eyes dancing with purple fire, her grip on his hand tightening. “And I — I don’t, you know so much that I don’t — I could fill the entire cabin with stuff I’ve learned from you, this doesn’t even scratch the surface.”

She paused, like she was waiting for him to interject, but David felt like he’d been turned to stone, paralyzed and unblinking while his brain whirled.

“But none of it matters if it doesn’t show . . . if you don’t know —” Her voice cracked, and she dropped his other hand, pressing a fist to her mouth. “— h-how amazing you are, how much you matter to this camp and to me and . . . and I didn’t know people could actually be happy 'til I met you. I mean, I guess I knew technically, but not that it was a real thing people actually were. But you figured it out. You’ve known what you wanted since you were a kid and then you got it and I’ve never done anything without second-guessing myself a million times but you just did it, and it meant making so many decisions about your life that could’ve turned out wrong but they didn’t because they were the right ones for you. And you knew it. You always have.” She swiped at her eyes with the heels of her hands, crying in earnest now. “You’re a marvel, David. I should’ve said that every fucking day. And I know it’s probably too little, too late, but I’m sorry. For not telling you and — and for everything.

“And I . . .” She swallowed hard, taking a few heaving breaths before continuing, and he knew she was trying to hold onto her composure even as tears poured down her cheeks, “I don’t know what you wanna do. With — with us, I mean. But you’re right, I haven’t been a good girlfriend to you, and if you don’t want to . . . if you want me to leave right now or after the summer ends or if you just wanna be friends or whatever , that’s fine. A-and — if you do . . . y’know . . .” Her face crumpled, her shoulders curling in on themselves. “I love you so much,” she managed, her words harder to make out through damp, hiccuping breaths. “Whatever — whatever you want — I — I — I trust you.”

Understanding pierced his chest, a small pinhole that allowed light to pour, warm and white, into his heart.

“I trust you.”

David hadn’t realized how desperately he’d needed to hear those words until that moment.

He stepped forward, plucking the card from her hand and tossing it onto the floor (he could make her another one, dozens if she wanted, hundreds) and tilting her chin up so he could kiss her. Her cheeks were wet under his palms, her mouth salty and acidic with the taste of not-quite-morning breath, and each brush of his lips against hers was broken by her pulling back to drag in a sobbing gasp, her mouth moving clumsily like she was as close to fainting from exhaustion and emotion as she looked.

It was, without question, the best kiss of his life.

He broke away to press his forehead against hers, sliding his hands from her face to cup the back of her neck and closing his eyes. “I love you too, Gwen,” he murmured, his heart fluttering at the giddily-incredulous, teary laugh she gave in response. “And I think you need to go to bed.”

She leaned back, and the bleary confusion on her face was so precious he rose up on his toes to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Huh? But what about . . .”

“I’ve got some stuff to think about,” he said, then gestured at the crafts she hadn’t shown him yet, “and look at. And after that . . . we should talk. But it won’t be a very good talk if you fall asleep,” he added with a laugh as her eyes drifted closed.

She opened them halfway, just enough to glare at him, but the effect would’ve been more intimidating if she hadn’t been swaying slightly. “’m fine.” The adrenaline that’d been keeping her going was clearly wearing off fast, and David was a little worried she wouldn’t make it to bed, that he’d just find her unconscious on the floor of the hallway. “You didn’t sleep either,” she accused, pointing at him with a finger stained silvery with graphite.

Goodness, he loved her so much he couldn’t stand it. “I had a nap.” Not a long one, but he was used to not sleeping much. “Get some rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“It’s already the morning,” she complained, but like a sleepy robot she turned and shuffled back toward the front of the cabin. “I’m gonna brush my teeth and shower and stuff. So I look less like a sludge goblin.”

“You do that, Gwen.” He waited until the bathroom door had clicked shut before turning back to the mess she’d made of their living room. It was almost hard to tell the difference between what was art and what was trash left over, there was so much of both; it looked like an explosion had hit a crafts store.

Gwen wasn’t someone who put a lot of effort into things she didn’t care about. It was one of the most frustrating things about having her as a coworker, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love how unabashedly honest she was, how he could read her feelings just by looking at her work.

There was the soft sound of tape unsticking and one of the decorations sagged, a corner curling away from the wall and drooping down. He pushed it carefully back into place and fumbled for his phone, setting it to camera mode.

This was worth remembering.

---

Gwen was positive she’d never be able to fall asleep; how could she, when things were still so up in the air? But she wasn’t twenty anymore, and after the exhaustion and emotional turmoil of the last few hours — days, weeks; hell, if she was being honest it’d been years since she’d truly felt well-rested — and despite the anxiety buzzing inside her skull she was out in moments.

Soft fingers in her hair drew her back to earth, and when she opened her eyes David came into focus, crouching next to her bed so they were at eye level. He smiled as she blinked at him, warmth and sunshine he probably didn’t even know he was emitting. “Goooood morning, Gwen!” he chirped, his voice way too loud for how close they were, and she winced. “Sorry,” he added, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Habit.”

“It’s fine,” she said, because she’d missed his morning bellow so much more than she could ever miss having non-punctured eardrums. She sat up, clumsily swiping at her face to double-check for drool or errant eye gunk. “Morning.”

“How are you feeling?” He hopped onto the bed, making her and everything else on the mattress bounce. He was being so . . . normal, like all the drama last night had been a dream.

Fuck it. They had some hard, painful conversations coming; she could enjoy a little bit of normalcy while her brain booted back up. “Good,” she replied, yawning. “I mean, tired, but I’m always tired so —” Her blood chilled, and suddenly she was wide awake.

There went normal. All because she had to remind him of what an unloveable disaster she was.

But when she looked back up he didn’t seem annoyed. He leaned against the wall, stretching his legs out so they dangled off the edge of the bed. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” She scoffed before she could stop herself, and his gaze flicked up to hers, taking her breath away. (God, how she’d functioned for almost four years without feeling more than a flicker of attraction to this man was unfathomable.) “Really. I want to know what’s going on with you.” His hand landed on her knee, light as a bird but blazingly warm even through her blankets. “All I want is for you to let me in.”

A swell of emotion swept up from somewhere in her chest, causing her eyes to prick with tears for the thousandth time. She looked away and sniffed as discreetly as possible — which wasn’t very, she assumed, since he immediately reached over and handed her a tissue from the pack he kept stashed in his pockets. “I mean, if you want me to complain, I can do that,” she muttered, tamping down another flow of tears through willpower. “I can complain about fucking anything.”

David’s laugh made her turn back toward him, because it didn’t have a trace of sadness or pity or anything she’d expected. It was so purely, entirely delighted , more than even he could fake, and he was looking at her like she’d said something surprising and wonderful.

“You really like it,” she blurted out, unable to hide the awe in her voice. “That I’m like this. Whiny and —” she waved vaguely “— bitchy, and whatever.”

“I don’t.” He shook his head and her stomach plummeted. But as she took a breath to respond he shifted closer, gently cupping the back of her neck so he could tap his forehead against hers. “I love it, Gwen. I love everything about you.”

A laugh burbled out of her before she could stop it, and she pulled away to hide her face. “Oh my god. You bastard. You’re so cheesy.”

His fingers closed around her wrists, tugging her palms away from her face. “I love you,” he said, kissing the skin she’d covered with her hands — the tip of her nose, each cheek, her top and bottom lip, her eyebrows.

“I love you, too.” She could already tell that if he was going to keep saying that to her she’d spontaneously combust, because this was all too cute and romantic and lovely and she still didn’t fully understand how this was happening, why he didn’t hate her.

But she’d promised she wouldn’t question his decision, whatever it was. She owed him that much.

His smile faded slightly, a faint line appearing between his eyebrows. “What’re you thinking?”

“Nothing,” she lied automatically, and when that only made him sigh she added, “I said I was going to trust you,” hating the note of defensiveness in her voice, because of the two of them she didn’t have much grounds for righteous indignation.

“Then trust me with how you feel.” It should’ve sounded too much like a cliche, something she’d tease him for, but he was right and they both knew it.

She’d put him through hell by not telling him the truth, and they both knew that, too.

Gwen closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and forcing herself to relax. Things were — they seemed okay, didn’t they? Almost normal, but better, because all her ugliness was out there for him to see and he knew about it and he didn’t seem to mind. And wasn’t that something she’d never thought she’d ever actually find? “I don’t get it,” she admitted, her voice sounding small and stupid. “I keep feeling like . . . like I tricked you somehow. Like I didn’t explain well enough why you shouldn’t want me, because if you really got it you wouldn’t be here. Not because I think you’re stupid,” she added quickly, desperately, “because I don’t, really! But — but even smart people can be . . . I don’t know, manipulated?”

The confusion in her voice made her pause, sit back. Manipulated? That couldn’t be right, could it? She wasn’t trying to manipulate anyone, and she was pretty sure you couldn’t manipulate someone by accident.

Or maybe you could; she hadn’t always paid a ton of attention to her psych classes in college.

“I’m sorry,” she managed after a few deeply uncomfortable moments of silence. “I’m trying, I promise, but I understand if . . . you know. Whatever.” (She still hated saying it, especially now that it seemed like it might not happen. Breaking up with David was hard enough without having to say it.)

He put his arm around her shoulders, tugging her into his side and kissing her temple. “Thank you for telling me, Gwen.”

“You’re not mad?”

She felt him shake his head as she rested hers on his shoulder, scooting down to make up for their (lack of) height difference. “I wasn’t really mad when I came back this morning,” he said, “even before I saw everything you’d made. I had some time to cool down, and I . . . started thinking, I guess.”

Gwen wanted to look up at him, but she wanted to soak in his warmth more so she nuzzled into the curve of his neck, inhaling the smells of floral detergent and piney-woodsy cologne left over from the day before. “About what?” she asked, like there could possibly be more than one answer. Like maybe he’d been pondering the sociopolitics of Malaysia or something.

He let out a little huff of laughter, and she knew without looking that he’d glanced up at the ceiling in a slow blink (that he insisted was less rude than rolling his eyes outright, even though it was just as obvious). “You. Everything that’s happened this summer — and before it.” His shoulder shifted slightly under her cheek, a shrug aborted halfway through so she’d be comfortable. “Things started making more sense after everything we talked about tonight. Like the day we . . . well, when you told me about that gentleman you . . . almost took home.”

“He wasn’t a gentleman, he was a douchebag,” she interrupted, immediately feeling like an asshole. But David chuckled and squeezed her closer, like he enjoyed her company even when she was being annoying (which he did; somehow he actually did) and she let herself relax against his side, believe that maybe things were going to be okay after all.

“I’ve thought about the stuff you said a lot since that day. Mostly the parts that made me feel the worst.”

She flinched. “I’m so sorry —” she began, but he cut her off with a kiss to her forehead.

“I have trouble with . . . rejection,” he continued, sounding embarrassed. Like that minor character flaw even came close to the millions of ways she was fucked up. “I — I guess you could call it ‘abandonment issues’? But at first, and for a while, all I could hear were the ways you didn’t . . . seem to want me around anymore.”

“But I did —”

“I know.” Another soft kiss, and she wasn’t sure if it was to reassure her or himself. “I know that now. And I think, knowing that . . . it made what you said sound different.

“You were drunk — I know, you downplayed it, and it wouldn’t have excused . . . but your judgment was still impaired. And you didn’t kiss him. Thinking back, it didn’t even sound like you really wanted to. Did you?” She shook her head, not willing to look up at him because no matter how gently he tried to frame this she still felt like it was her fault. “And I just couldn’t stop thinking, how if this had happened a few years ago you would’ve told that story so much differently. If we were still just friends, maybe. You would’ve stormed into the cabin raging about how some jerk had ‘put his mitts all over you’ —”

Gwen couldn’t help it; she burst out laughing, pushing away from him and resting her head in her hands. “That can’t be how you think I talk!”

“It was an edited version,” he admitted, flushing. His smile was wide enough to illuminate the room, catching and refracting the dreary dawn light. “Please come back?”

She snuggled into his outstretched arms, her heart panging at the plaintive note in his voice. She wrapped herself around him, legs entangled with his and arms squeezing his waist; she’d missed him just as much. “Your impression of me is really bad,” she said with an uncontrollable giggle that made her feel like she was fourteen.

“I’ll work on it.” For a moment he just held her, soaking in the relief of being together and being okay. (At least, that's what she was doing.) “Why did it bother you so much?” he asked after a minute or so. “It doesn’t . . . well, it just doesn’t sound like you did anything wrong.”

“I guess — yeah, maybe not, technically anyway. But you’d just visited and saw how terrible my life is, and I was having an even harder time being a less-shitty version of myself . . .” He made a soft noise, almost pained, and pulled her closer. “So when this asshole showed up and was, like, exactly the type of guy I usually go for, it felt like . . . I don’t know. Like the universe was telling me we didn’t belong together. That sounds stupid. Never mind.” She pressed her face against his chest with an embarrassed groan. “Pretend I said something that doesn’t make me sound like I write horoscopes for a living.”

“I like horoscopes!” he replied, because of course he did. After a moment he added, “Thank you for telling me. It . . . helps confirm some things I was thinking earlier, when I left. Because what you said, and what you’ve been saying for a long time . . . I’ve been hearing it the way that’d hurt me the most, but I think you meant it to make me hate you.” He paused for a second, then added, “Do you think I’m right?”

Gwen shrugged, feeling more than a little like one of his campers receiving an aggressively pacifist talking-to. “Yeah. I don’t . . . like myself all that much.”

“I’ve noticed.” And David pressed another kiss to the top of her head, like he was rewarding her for being honest. Or like he just couldn’t help himself. “You haven’t treated me very well lately, Gwen. And I was — am very unhappy about that. But I don’t think it holds a candle to how you treat yourself.”

She wriggled away enough to sit up and look at him, frowning. “So you’re, what? Willing to come back to a shitty relationship because you feel sorrier for me than for you?” she demanded, even though it would’ve been smarter to just not say anything and enjoy his pity while she still had it.

But again, she said she’d be honest. And the true Gwen was kind of a bitch.

His smile turned sad, and he carefully tucked a flyaway hair behind her ear. “See, that’s what I mean. You never give yourself the benefit of the doubt.” When she frowned, not understanding, he took her hand and began playing with it, wiggling her fingers and twining them with his. “I understand better, now. How you’re feeling and what you’re thinking. And I’m not going to let you treat me like I’m a kid, or — or stupid, or whatever. I know you don’t really think that,” he added as she opened her mouth to argue. “There’s a whole cabin’s worth of proof in the living room that you don’t really think that. That’s why I wanna try again. Miscommunications, misunderstandings . . . those are fixable. And now that I know what’s been going through your head, I don’t think you’ve done anything I can’t forgive.”

Her eyes filled with tears — again, and she was going to die of dehydration if she didn’t get ahold of herself — but this time she couldn’t resent them too much, not when it felt like she was brimming over with hope that was eager to burst free. “What’re you saying, David?”

He shifted back, turning so he was sitting cross-legged facing her, and took both her hands in his. “I keep . . . trying to find a way to say it,” he admitted, looking down at their twined fingers and flushing pink, “because ‘do you want to be my girlfriend again?’ is maybe too middle-school, but ‘dating’ sounds too casual, and —”

Gwen pulled out of his grasp and closed the distance between them, straddling his lap and taking his chin in one hand. His face lifted toward her before his eyes did, darting from her chest to over her shoulder before finally meeting her gaze. She wound her free arm around his shoulders, sliding her fingers into the short, soft hair at the nape of his neck. With the hand cupping his jaw she gently swiped her thumb across his lower lip, slightly chapped but still warm and softer than it looked, each breath skating across her skin feather-light and making her skin prickle. “Yeah,” she said, closing her eyes and pressing her forehead to his, holding back a laugh — or maybe a sob, she wasn’t quite sure; the emotions roiling inside her were too much to separate between happy and sad. “Whatever you’re asking, yes, I want it.”

She felt his smile spread under her thumb before he brushed her hand away, tilting his head so he could kiss her. “Good,” he murmured with a breathless chuckle, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. “I mean, I was pretty sure you’d say that, but still — that’s a relief.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You idiot.” Her blood turned to ice, and she pulled away from him, stricken. For fuck’s sake, couldn’t she be anything but herself for five minutes? “I didn’t mean — !”

David smiled, far more fondly than she deserved. “I know, Gwen.”

Groaning, she buried her face in his shoulder. “I’m trying, really I am.”

“Don’t.” He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back until she was upright, looking down at him again. “Please don’t try so hard to be what you think I want. Just be you.”

“Right.” She forced her shoulders to relax, tilting her head back and rolling her neck until it cracked. “I’m . . . gonna have a hard time with that. ‘Just me’ is kind of the worst.”

“I know you think that,” he said, pressing his half-open mouth to the hollow of her collarbone and making her shiver. “And I’ll keep reminding you until you don’t think it anymore.”

She managed a weak chuckle, leaning into his lips as he moved up her neck. “Good luck with that.”

His answering laugh rolled over her skin, warm and teasing. “Haven’t you heard, Gwen? I like projects.”

Jesus. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, she tugged him upright, taking a moment to appreciate his gasp that wasn’t just surprise. “I love you,” she said, loosening her grip and kissing his forehead, petting away the furrows her fingers left in his fluffy red hair.

His expression softened. “I love —” he began, and Gwen tightened her hold on his hair and pulled back, just so she could watch his eyes flutter shut and his breath catch, “— y-you too.”

Dragging her palm down the side of his neck, she settled her thumb on his throat, feeling his pulse flutter rapidly, and bent to kiss him again. She hadn’t necessarily meant to turn it into anything, just wanted to feel his lips against hers, but her fingers tightened involuntarily in his hair and he moaned, and it was a lit match dropped down her throat to a stomach full of gasoline, a whoosh of heat blazing to life in the pit of her belly. “David,” she breathed, not so much because she had anything to say but because she needed to say it, to roll the sound of his name around in her mouth, let it melt like chocolate on her tongue and infuse her whole body with sweetness.

“Gwen,” he said, and she thought he was doing the same thing, saying her name just because he could, but then his hands were on her shoulders and he was pushing her away, gentle but firm. “Gwen, wait, we should — talk about this —”

“Oh, shit, yeah. Okay. Sorry.” She sat back, her face warming. But as she settled her weight more firmly in his lap he jolted; and if she’d thought she was embarrassed it was nothing to the way his already-flushed cheeks flamed pink, spreading in blotches up to his hairline and the tips of his ears, down to disappear underneath his bandana. He stammered out an apology, avoiding her eyes even as his cock twitched, like bashfulness could disguise how hard he was against her. She quickly rose back up — the last thing she wanted was to make him feel ashamed, or pressured; everything between them was as tremulous and new as the first time — but realized almost instantly when David squeaked that this just shoved her chest in his face.

She hovered there for an awkward second, the two of them staring at each other in mortified horror. Then his whole expression wavered, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth before quickly flattening into a thin line, and the break in his composure took hers out too. She snorted, and they both burst out laughing. “I’ll just sit over here,” she said through giggles, rolling off his lap and settling on the other side of the bed with her feet curled under her so they were no longer touching. He made a small sad sound like a squeeze toy deflating, and Gwen rolled her eyes and stretched out one leg until her foot brushed his knee. “Here, hold my foot if you’re that lonely. It’s practically holding hands.”

His eyes widened, hands closing around her ankle and setting it on his thigh with something like reverence. “Thank you,” he murmured, gently tracing the outline of her foot with his fingertips. “That was very sweet, you know.”

God, she was blushing, wasn’t she? She had to be. “Yeah,” she agreed, trying to ignore the ticklish feeling as he kept playing with her foot like it was a toy doll. “Felt weird, too. I kinda wanted to insult you or something, just to balance it out.”

He smiled, wiggling her big toe like he was playing that little piggies game she used to do with her nieces when they were babies. “That’s my Gwen.” And he sounded pleased, almost proud, like she’d done something wonderful.

But that was David; even though sometimes he was completely oblivious, sometimes he noticed and appreciated the tiniest, most inconsequential things. That’s my David, she thought, her heart swelling like it was going to burst. “You wanted to talk about something?” she reminded him, waggling her toes to get his attention.

“Oh! Right.” He gently took her foot and set it on the bed next to him, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to his chest. “Sorry, I was getting distracted, and that was the whole point of you moving over there.” (He said it with a pout, like she’d gone to Spain instead of just out of arms’ reach.)

“I thought the whole point of me moving over here was so you could cool down, tiger,” she teased. But when he didn’t respond except to flush darker, his gaze firmly on a fraying edge of the pillowcase in his arms, something weird and hilarious clicked in her head. “Oh my god, are you into feet?”

“No!” He lifted his head to give her a tragically betrayed expression. “Not a weird amount!”

She grinned, poking his thigh with her outstretched foot. “What’s a weird amount?” she asked.

He shrugged, not quite able to maintain the kicked-puppy look when a smile kept trying to break through. “I don’t know. Watching people in heels step on fruit. I don’t like that sort of thing, I’ll have you know,” he added defensively, and for a second Gwen was sure he’d stick his tongue out at her.

“Sure, but you’re into them enough to know those videos exist.”

“I think I’d like to go back to you being nice to me,” he muttered, and she felt a stab of panic before he gently patted her ankle and met her gaze with a slight smile. Like he knew what she was thinking.

So she shoved past her nervousness and said, “But I thought you wanted me to be myself. And as myself, I can’t believe you never told me you were a foot guy!”

“I’m a you guy. And . . . you know. All of you. You’re perfect.”

“Yeah, but the feet are a thing, huh? At least a little bit.” When he didn’t answer she laughed, shaking her head. “So do you, like, want a footjob or something?”

“I really don’t.”

“How have we been dating this long and I didn’t know about this? What other freaky sex things are you hiding?”

“Nothing!” he said, hugging the pillow tighter. After a moment he looked away and added, “I didn’t want you to think I was weird.”

“David.” She leaned forward, waiting for him to look at her and see in her expression just how ridiculous that was. “You can’t get weirder than I am. You know that.” When the color in his face receded just a little bit, and his eyes flicked back toward her hopefully, she sighed and attempted to dredge up one of the strangest kinks in her vast library. “I’d totally fuck Drogon.”

He frowned thoughtfully. “From Game of Thrones? So would I- Iiiiiii mean, s-so would most people.”

“No, not Khal Drogo, Drogon. The dragon. Not like a humanized version, either — just full lizard.”

“Oh.” He smiled a little, almost a smirk, and Gwen felt distinctly, lovingly judged. “That does make me feel better. Thank you.”

“No problem. And tomorrow I’m gonna go into town and get a pedicure, just for you.” She wiggled her toes at him, grinning. “I’m thinking something slutty, like hot pink.”

“Gwen!” He shoved her foot away, laughing. “I was trying to have a serious conversation before you started talking about — about slutty toes and dragons!”

She cracked up too, falling over onto her side and nearly toppling off the bed. “Slutty toes,” she repeated breathlessly, and it took a few minutes to recover; every time they tried to make eye contact they burst out laughing again.

“Okay, okay.” Gwen finally sat back up, trying in vain to smooth her hair out of its mass of tangled bedhead. “I’m sorry, you were trying to say something serious. What’s up?”

“Right.” He took a deep breath, fingers knotting in her blankets until his knuckles were white. “It’s just . . . it was starting to seem like we were going to — um, you know. Be intimate.”

She resisted the urge to tease him for his word choice. “I was open to it, yeah.”

“M-me too! That’s why . . . well. Okay.” He took a deep breath, dragging his hands down his face, and Gwen noticed for the first time how tired he looked.

“Hey, we don’t have to do anything,” she said, shifting closer so she could put her hand on his shoulder. “You know that, right?”

He nodded, patting her hand before brushing it away so she didn’t feel rejected, and once again she felt a rush of love so intense it almost brought tears to her eyes. He could be so simply, effortlessly kind, without even thinking about it. “I do. At least, I think I do. I- I mean, I know I do, but it’s hard to . . .” He waved his hand around his head like his thoughts were scattering birds.

“The night before we . . . well. Ended things.” He flinched at his own words, and she felt the same pain flicker over the surface of her heart.

It’s okay, she reminded herself, wishing she could sweep him up in her arms and block out all the bad memories she’d put there. It still hurts, but we’re going to be okay.

Like he’d been thinking the same thing, David stretched out his hand to find hers, squeezing her fingers. “I said I didn’t want to,” he continued in a rush, “you know. Be together like that. And you . . . seemed to get mad — at me. And then the next day you broke up with me.” He squeezed his eyes shut, taking a shuddering breath that had tears behind it, and she tightened her grip on his hand. “It’s okay,” he said, opening his eyes and giving her a slightly-watery smile. “I’m okay. But I just need to know . . .”

“God, no,” she jumped in, taking up the thread of his question as it trailed off into nothingness. “David, no, it had nothing to do with — I freaked out, but I was already — I mean, I was gonna fall apart over anything, it didn’t have to be that. You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise.” She couldn’t stand it anymore, so she pulled his hand to her lips, kissing his knuckles because she wanted to respect his need for space but she had to touch him or she was going to die.

He swallowed, watching their joined hands for a moment before looking away. “You — that really hurt me, Gwen. I just needed to tell you that.”

All the anger he’d thrown at her in the past several hours, all the pain and frustration, and it was those small, matter-of-fact words that slashed her heart in two. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

She hated apologizing — it always felt weak, or dangerous, or something. Like it was an opening for someone to hate her even more, like she was handing them a weapon to hold over her head for the rest of her life. (It was why she hated receiving them, too; she could be spiteful and vindictive as anyone, but it was uncomfortable watching someone flay themselves in front of her.)

But with David . . . it didn’t feel like she was giving him leverage when she told him she was sorry. She wasn’t scared he’d hold onto it and throw it back in her face someday. She wasn’t resentful of him, and she wasn’t worried about how he’d react.

She wasn’t anything but truly, genuinely sorry.

And he didn’t brush it aside, act like she had no reason to apologize the way she’d half-expected. Either she hadn’t been giving him enough credit, or he’d grown up while she wasn’t paying attention. Maybe a little of both. But whatever the cause, he just stroked her cheek with the backs of his knuckles and nodded, a ghost of his smile returning for a second. “It’s okay,” he said, looking at her like she was — god, like he loved her. “Hearing it helps.”

She wasn’t sure if he needed more than that, but she wasn’t going to let a single doubt linger in his mind. “Seriously, David, you can — I won’t ever be mad at you for saying no, ever. For any reason, or no reason or . . . whatever. It’s okay. It’ll always be okay.”

“I — um, I had a reason.” He spoke fast, his eyes wide like he’d surprised himself. Still, he pressed his lips together into a flat line and met her gaze, clearly nervous but just as clearly not intending to end the conversation until they’d said everything they needed to. He was so brave. “I should’ve mentioned it at the time, but I guess I was scared.”

Gwen snorted, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, I can relate to that.”

He rewarded her with a small, soft smile before continuing, “The thing is, everything had just been so gosh-darned strange between us, and it felt like you were avoiding me all the time — except when we were together like that.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. “It sounds silly, but I couldn’t help but worry that maybe that was . . . all you were interested in me for.”

Her stomach sank. “And then when you said no, and I freaked . . .”

David nodded, his throat moving as he swallowed again. “Yeah,” he murmured, looking away. “It — it sure felt like you only wanted me for that one thing, all of a sudden, and when you couldn’t get it . . .”

“I dumped you,” she finished, covering her mouth in horror. “Oh, David.”

“I was a little nervous to tell you to stop.” He pulled his hands from hers so he could fidget, twisting his long fingers together. “Earlier — just now. A minute ago. So we could talk. I — I know it wasn’t fair, but I couldn’t stop thinking you might get mad at me again.”

“I wasn’t mad,” she replied, her hands shaking with how badly she wanted to hug him. (And god, what a change from their normal paradigm, that she was the one who had to hold herself back from a hug.) “I mean, I was, but never at you. I was mad at me, for screwing things up. I — you’re right, I was avoiding you, or avoiding talking to you, I guess. Because I didn’t know how to talk to you, how to act so you wouldn’t find out that I’m . . .” Her throat closed, thick and gummy with tears, and she took a deep breath and swallowed them back. “Rotten,” she finished, which was a stupid, melodramatic word but it felt right; it described the way she still felt despite everything, squishy and overripe and putrid. “It was getting harder to hide, once we were together all the time. And when we were fucking —” She couldn’t tiptoe around the words like David, not when she could just say it and watch him flush red. Even her rotted heart skipped a beat whenever he smiled. “It felt like I didn’t have to try so hard. I couldn’t be amazing, but I could make you feel amazing. And if I could do that . . .” She sniffed, looking away and wiping her face clean. “I thought I was letting you know how much you mean to me,” she admitted, the realization coming right on the heels of the words. “I mean, obviously I wasn’t — add that to the list of things I suck at — but when you didn’t want to have sex, it . . . I took it really hard.”

Her face was turned away, so his hand on her shoulder made her jump. “It felt like I was rejecting the only thing you had to offer,” he guessed, his voice soft and sad but no longer on the verge of tears. “Gwen . . .”

“It’s fine,” she said, shaking her head like she could rattle her self-pity out of her head. “That was just me being stupid, I know that. More importantly — seriously.” She looked back at him, at his beautiful open face, at the way he was watching her like she could possibly have something to say that mattered. “It’s never been about sex with you, David,” she said. Felt the encroaching tears yet again and decided to ignore them. If they came, they came; they weren’t going to stop her, because it was the most essential thing in the world that he knew, that he believed her. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, the sex is really good —” He chuckled, blushing exactly the way she’d hoped he would, and it gave her a little glowing spark of strength, “— but it doesn’t even come close to being what I love most about you. None of that stuff —” She gestured toward her bedroom door, and the mess of crafts cluttering their common room. “— comes close. It’s — everything, a billion other things I don’t know how to explain or describe or show you but I love you, so much, more than I’ve ever loved anyone and it scares me, and — I’m rambling. Sorry.” She shrank back, feeling like an idiot again. “I just wanted you to know that. It . . . we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, ever, and I’ll never be mad at you, or disappointed, or anything like that.”

“Thank you, Gwen.” He was quiet for a minute, and she felt the tension ratcheting up in her shoulders with each long, spiraling second. Part of her wanted to snap at him to just say something, finish the damn thought before he gave her a heart attack, but that was her anxiety and regret talking, and she never wanted to take her own issues out on him ever again.

(She probably would, considering what a mess she was. But she sure as hell wasn’t going to do it on purpose.)

“You’re right, though.” David’s voice was a surprise, as was the soft laugh accompanying his words. He was sitting with his head tilted back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling like he could see through it to the fading stars and brightening sky. His gaze dropped to meet hers, and he immediately looked down and away, biting his lip to try and hide a smile. “We are pretty darn great together.”

A massive weight dropped from Gwen’s chest, rolling away like a stone. “Yeah,” she agreed. Then, to test the waters: “I taught you well.”

It worked; he turned back toward her, his shyness replaced with half-serious indignation. “I like to think some of it was natural talent!”

“Ehh,” she teased, holding her hand out flat and seesawing it back and forth in a “so-so” motion. “Pretty sure enthusiasm was doing most of the heavy lifting in the beginning there.”

He crossed his arms over his chest with a disbelieving scoff. “Well, I never!”

She pressed her lips together to keep from giggling. What a dork. “Y’know, I should say we were insanely good. But I dunno, for all I know you’ve totally lost it.” Shaking her head mournfully, she quickly glanced over to make sure he wasn’t actually offended.

His mouth dropped open, his eyes growing wide before narrowing. “I haven’t lost anything!” he snapped, and — oh, the playful irritation in his voice made her stomach twist. Not in the awful sick way she’d been tied up in knots earlier, but with a flush of heat that took her breath away.

Managing a smirk, she laid back on her elbows, a warm glow of satisfaction blooming in her chest as his gaze dropped to her stomach, to the narrow strip of skin where her camisole had ridden up. She waited until he dragged his eyes back up to her, dark and intense like the ocean in a storm, then grinned at him.

“Wanna bet?”

His face lit up — or, not quite. Because his smile was bright and warm as sunshine, but underneath the tenderness was a sharp competitive edge that he almost never turned on her. It was almost intimidating, but the shiver it sent down her spine had nothing to do with fear. “Always,” he replied.

Before she could respond he’d pushed himself to his knees and grabbed her just above her calves; a quick tug forward and Gwen was pulled flat on her back, dragged down the bed until her body was sprawled out beneath him. He let go of her, bracing his hands on either side of her head and bending down to capture her mouth in a kiss.

She curled one hand around the back of his neck and pulled him closer, bending her knees so he was caged between her legs and arching her back to bring as much of her skin against his as possible. He was warm, almost uncomfortably so — her furnace, her own personal sun, and she wanted nothing more than to melt into him. When he abandoned her mouth in favor of trailing long, suckling kisses down her neck she pressed her lips together, biting hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from making a sound.

“You could’ve —” A gasp, too sudden for her to swallow it back, and she felt David’s satisfied smirk against the base of her throat as he bit down again. “— given me a concussion, you asshole.”

He hummed in assent, his lips skating up to her ear and his tongue lapping at the sensitive spot just behind it. “I know,” he said mildly, “but I didn’t.”

He gently took her earlobe between his teeth, and she couldn’t help the strangled noise that was somewhere between a moan and a sigh. Grabbing his hair again, she dragged his mouth back for another kiss, enjoying the shudder that rolled down his spine and made him tremble everywhere his body was touching hers. For a few dizzying minutes she held him there, barely allowing either of them to draw breath. His mouth was blood-hot, warmer than even her fevered skin, and she didn’t know exactly where she wanted it because she wanted it everywhere — against hers, his tongue lapping at the roof of her mouth and making her shiver; around one of her nipples, his teeth catching on the pebbled skin; sucking bruises into her inner thighs, closing around her clit, dipping inside her cunt, her asshole, along the sensitive strip of skin between the two. She wanted him to kiss her places that weren’t even close to erotic but she knew would burst into flame if he so much as brushed his lips over them: the bone jutting out from her ankle, the ticklish spot inside her elbow, wherever the fuck he wanted to press the gorgeous wet heat of his mouth she wanted to let him, because from the very first kiss he’d been good, better than he’d had any right to be but time and experience had worked their magic and now his mouth could ruin her; without even trying he could reduce her to twitching, shuddering goo.

“Take this off,” she gasped, not sure if she meant her clothes or his because she was wriggling out from under him and trying to remove both at the same time, her fingers clumsy and shaking with how badly she needed to touch him without any fabric in the way. She struggled to her knees, practically yanking her camisole off and throwing it across the room before hooking her fingers in his belt loops and dragging him close enough for her to undo the buckle. “Come on —”

“So I won?” He laughed breathlessly, untucking his shirt and pulling it over his head in one fluid motion, smugness making him unfairly graceful like he was trying to show off.

“Sure, whatever,” she muttered, because who cared about some bet when he was kneeling half-naked in front of her? They’d had silly, jokey sex but that was not this, not when he was so beautiful she was having trouble looking directly at him, hair mussed and lips damp and swollen and pink blooming in blotches under the light constellations of freckles across his skin. He looked debauched, flushed and obscene even with half his clothes still on, and there wasn’t room in her brain for humor when all she could feel was clawing shaking need. She dropped onto all fours, leaning down to trace the hard outline of his cock with her tongue, and even through his shorts he was burning warm. He sucked in a sharp breath, his pulse spiking under her mouth, and Gwen couldn’t resist closing her lips around the shape of his erection, breathing in the salty-ammonia smell of precome and feeling her mouth water. “David,” she began, but there was no end to that sentence so she lifted her head slightly, bit the delicate ridge of his hipbone where it peeked out from the waist of his shorts, caught him as his hips stuttered forward. She kept him steady, one hand splayed across his lower back, as she rose to her knees without lifting her mouth from his skin: over the barely-there softness of his stomach (no werewolf six-pack here, despite his lean strength), tongue swirling among the faint red hair below his belly button, following the curve of his ribs, just barely brushing one nipple — he made a small, strung-out noise in the back of his throat, almost despairing as she moved on up to his neck — until she found his lips again, dragging him into a bruising, breathless kiss.

When she pulled away David’s smile was gone, drawn out of his mouth and leaving him panting. “Okay,” he murmured, soft and almost reverent, but before she could figure out what specifically was okay he hauled her forward like she weighed nothing, capturing her lips for a second before trailing down her throat, pausing at a sensitive place above her pulse point and biting down hard, sucking the skin between his teeth.

Pain bloomed under his mouth, rippling out into shockwaves of cold-hot pleasure, and when he bit her again she couldn’t hold back a moan. “You’re gonna — leave a mark,” she gasped, gently shoving his head away and running her fingers over the damp skin. It was already tender, and judging by David’s expression, contrite and amused and darkly heated, it was going to be a hell of a hickey. “I can’t hide this!”

“I’m sorry!” he tried, but it wasn’t close to convincing when he couldn’t hide his grin. His eyes drifted down to the mark again and he licked his lips, expression growing dazed for a moment before he snapped back up to look at her face. “I can make you a bandana, if you want. Just until it fades.”

“Fucker.” Gwen laughed, not so much because it was funny but because it was him, and she loved him more than she could possibly stand. Tired of the overheated, confining clothes she was still wearing, she shimmied out of them, tossing her pajama shorts and half-soaked underwear without bothering to see where they landed. “Come here,” she said, pressing her legs together and shivering at the wet slide of her inner thighs and labia, a thousand nerve endings sparking to glistening life. “You can make it up to me.”

She swore she could almost see his mouth water, his gaze dropping between her legs as he took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “Yes, ma’am,” he said — and they’d never tried that before, but judging by the way his cock twitched and his eyes jumped sheepishly to hers, it was something he’d thought about a lot. Filing the information away for later, she held out her hand and pulled him closer when he took it, resting her forehead against his. It took just the slightest shift in the angle of her head to kiss him again so she did it without thinking, her hand sliding between their bodies to curl loosely around the outline of his erection.

He gasped shakily against her mouth, his hands fluttering up and down her waist like he couldn’t decide where to touch her. One of them dropped to her ass, a light, almost hesitant touch, and she rewarded it with a soft groan; he made a weak noise in the back of his throat and pulled her closer, kneading her ass before slipping lower, between her legs. The heel of his hand brushed teasingly against her clit as he pressed two fingers into her, and she mimicked his pace, gliding her palm down the length of his clothed cock and relishing the way his fingers twitched against her inner walls.

He fingered her like that, slow and steady, for — she didn’t know how long. Lost track of the strokes that sent warmly buzzing tendrils up her spine, lost count of the breaths gasped raggedly between their lips, of the kisses that melted into one another until she wasn’t entirely sure where she was, she was hyper aware of the heartbeat pounding in her clit and every too-gentle drag of his hand but numb to literally everything else that wasn’t right here, wasn’t David —

“Fuck,” she breathed, pressing her forehead against his shoulder with a shuddering sigh. She turned her head and lapped at his throat, sucking his skin into her mouth and biting down hard enough to make his fingers jolt inside her, pressing against her g-spot for one delicious moment. “God, I -- please, David, just make me come, please --”

Another shiver, another twitch of his fingers that took her breath away. “Okay,” he said, his voice strangled and hoarse. He pulled out of her and sat back on his heels. “Lay down, all right?”

Yes, yes, whatever he was thinking was 100% all right with her. She almost kneed him as she scrambled into position, but her embarrassed giggle evaporated as he lowered himself onto his elbows, scooching her up the bed like she weighed nothing and settling between her legs. Alarm cut through her arousal, her mind immediately trying to calculate the last time she’d showered, let alone shaved --

His eyes flicked up to hers, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I know,” he replied before she’d even opened her mouth. “I promise, I really want to.”

Oh, god. She covered her face to muffle a squeak, flopping onto her back and looking up at the ceiling. “I’m that predictable, huh?”

David hummed thoughtfully, the sound vibrating up the inside of her thigh. “Only with some things. Other times you surprise me quite a bit.”

“Yeah?” He kissed the top of her mound, his tongue dipping into the V formed by her lips and just brushing her clit — a teasing touch, his mouth moving away even as she lifted her hips instinctively. “I’m surprising?”

“You are,” he said, the camp-counselor cheer in his voice making what he was doing feel even more obscene. He traced the line of her cunt with his mouth before gently fingering her open. “The first time you did this, for example. That surprised me quite a bit!”

“This?” She knew exactly what he meant — her stomach still dipped and swooped at the memory of kneeling on the floor of his shower, the heady rush of confidence and vulnerability she’d felt looking up at him with his cock at her lips — but she tilted her head back with a sigh and breathed, “Pretty sure I’ve never eaten you out before. Not that I wouldn’t be into that, just saying.”

He gasped and spluttered, pulling back to wipe his mouth and staring at her with wide, shocked eyes, then coughed, tapping his chest with his other hand. “Excuse —?!”

When he lowered his head to cough again and take an unsteady breath, Gwen sat up on her elbows, not sure if she should be amused, worried, or mortified. “Oh my god, please tell me you did not just choke on cunt juice!”

David gave her a disgusted look, shaking his head and clearing his throat. “There had to be another way to word that,” he said, as primly as he could while still struggling to catch his breath. “But — um, you didn’t…w-was a joke, or…?”

“I meant it,” she admitted, “but I get it if you don’t want to, don’t feel pressured either way —”

“No — I want to.” He looked startled by his own words, and immediately dropped his gaze, smoothing his palms down her thighs like he could disguise how his fingers trembled. “Sometime. If — if you do.”

Gwen let the awkward silence linger for another moment, not quite sure how to move forward. “Good. That’s…something to put on the to-do list.”

“Y-yes. Okay.” He did meet her eyes then, brightening. “See, you did it again!”

She frowned. “Did what?”

“Surprised me.” He leaned over her body to tug her into a slow, sweet kiss. When she pulled back to breathe he cupped the back of her neck, holding her close and brushing his nose against hers. “You’re an adventure every day, Gwen,” he murmured.

“Yeah, I’m a real goddamn roller coaster,” she grumbled, shifting her hips upward in a blind search for his touch. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d fucking ride me already.”

David laughed softly against her mouth before turning his attention to her jaw, throat, collarbone — a damp, shivery brush of his tongue against her skin moving down her body. “Well goodness, Gwen, now I’m confused.” She both hated and loved the smug, teasing tone he got whenever her composure cracked. “I could make love to you,” he continued, nipping the skin just below her bellybutton and making her jump, “but I thought you wanted me to do this first.”

He closed his lips around her clit and sucked gently, catching her with an arm behind her back as she arched toward the maddening wet heat of his mouth. Lowering her hips back to the bed with infuriating tenderness, he paused, resting his cheek on her inner thigh and looking up the length of her body. When she met his eyes he smiled, pausing to press a chaste kiss to her leg before returning her gaze.

“What do you want, Gwen?” And he asked it untauntingly. Seriously. Like he wanted nothing more than for her to tell him what to do, and like he’d do it without question.

His sincerity was going to be the death of her, she decided with a groan, burying her hands in her hair and shielding her face from his view with her arms. “Fuck. I don’t know. Everything.”

When it came to David, she always wanted everything.

“That’s a real swell coincidence, then!” He traced the seam where her hip and leg met, then dipped down, dragging his fingertips through the wetness smearing her thighs before swiping them up to circle her clitoris. “Because ‘everything’ is exactly what I’d like to give you.”

She barely had time to absorb the statement before his mouth was on her again, sliding the hood back with his lips before swirling his tongue beneath it and around the exposed clit. It was almost too much, too sensitive, bordering on painful and if he stopped she might actually die; she knotted her fingers in the flimsy sheets to keep from pushing his face harder against her, vaguely aware that she was mumbling nonsensical pleas, an incoherent litany of “oh god yes please fuck don’t stop” —

He didn’t. Without lifting his mouth he braced one hand under her knee and pushed it toward her chest, bending her leg and using two fingers of his other hand to enter her. It took him a second but when he found her g-spot he pressed up hard, stroking with the same rapid pace of his flicking tongue. It was more pressure than she was used to, strangely achy but pleasurably so, and it was impossible not to writhe under his touch as the need to come coiled tighter, dragged her higher, kept her suspended on the brink for a frustrating, dizzying, electrifying moment that stretched like a rubber band…

Then it snapped — a dam breaking, a wave cresting and finally letting gravity take over — and she curled forward with a sob of relief, pleasure rippling through her limbs and turning her bones to liquid, trembling through the aftershocks.

The shift from overwhelmingly perfect to just plain overwhelming was a split second. “Nngh, stop, stop —” She pawed weakly at his head, just barely smacking the edge of his fringe with her fingertips, but he lifted his mouth from her with a look of concern. “You’re fine,” she added quickly, struggling to catch her breath and shivering from the buzz of overstimulation, “s’just too much.”

David nodded, relieved, and sat back, wiping his face with the back of his arm. “Wow,” he murmured, eyes wide and awed. “Wowzers. Gwen, have you ever done that before?”

She sat up, frowning. “Come like a train? Like every time we — whoa.”

The sheets between her legs were wet. Not damp, wet like she’d spilled a glass of water (and cooling rapidly, she realized with a grimace, shifting to avoid the blotchy patch). Presumably the same wetness dripping down David’s chin.

“Oh my god.” She groaned, hiding her face in her hands like if she couldn’t see it, it would disappear. Or feel it slicking her inner thighs. “And uh, not really,” she finally muttered, a belated answer to his question. “Once or twice, but you’ve really gotta work over the g-spot to make it happ --” She glanced up just in time to catch his expression, a flash of recognition mixed with pleased sheepishness. “Which you were.” David quickly looked away, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and flushing pink. “On purpose?”

“I -- I’d read about it, that’s all!” he said, meeting her gaze defensively. “I knew it was, well . . . a thing. That some wom- people can do. And I was -- I’ve seen -- I was curious!” Gwen tried to stifle a laugh and failed, turning it into a choking snort, and he blushed even darker. “I know I should’ve just asked, but I couldn’t figure out how to say . . .”

She waited for him to finish the sentence, but when it became clear he had no intention of doing so, she injected as much demented cheer into her voice as possible and chirped, “‘Golly gee, Gwen, could I try making you squirt sometime?’”

Her imitation of his voice was passable -- she’d spent enough years making fun of him to get good at it -- and though he turned his head away she was positive he rolled his eyes at her. “I don’t know if that counts as bad language or not.”

“Oh no. It’d be so shocking if I said one of the no-no words.”

He chuckled, trying and failing to disguise it as a sigh, and climbed out of bed, tugging the rest of his clothes off. (As he picked up his shirt and wiped his face clean, Gwen quickly bent forward and sniffed the damp spot on the mattress. A little like saline, mostly like nothing. Good to know.)

“So how often do you trawl the internet for sex tips?” she asked, grinning. “Or -- god, tell me you’re not checking out books from the library.”

“Of course not!” He looked horrified at the thought. “And . . . sometimes. More often, after we started dating. I . . .” He paused, looking like he was reconsidering the rest of that sentence, and joined her on the bed to lean back against the headboard. “The time you visited, when I -- used my mouth on you for the first time.” (And what was it about his delicate tiptoeing that made it sound so much more filthy than if he’d said it outright?) “I thought -- or, well, I hoped . . . anyway, I did a little reading. Online, obviously. Just in case.”

So that was how he’d been so goddamn good right off the fucking bat. Always prepared, her boy scout. “Well, I appreciate it,” she said, and sat up, throwing one leg over his lap and draping her arms around his shoulders. “Can I please fuck you now, Mr. Greenwood?”

He sucked in an unsteady breath, his cock twitching up against her; the tip of his head slipped between her outer folds, making them both gasp. “C-condom,” he breathed, his voice raspy and uneven, and she scrambled off his lap before she could give in to the voice in the back of her head insisting they didn’t need to stop and get anything, he was right there , if she’d angled her hips right he could’ve been inside her already --

Her fingers were shaking as she retrieved the foil packet and brought it over, letting him take it with relief. (There was no way she wouldn’t have ripped it, with the way her whole body was trembling like the room had dropped ten degrees.) She watched him roll the latex down his cock, unable to tear her eyes away from how beautifully flushed it was, precome beading at the tip and slicking the inside of the condom.

God, she needed him inside her. Immediately.

David caught her with a breathless laugh as she vaulted back up onto the bed, curling his fingers around her hips and holding her steady. “Careful,” he murmured, and she rolled her eyes, fumbling blindly between her legs to line him up. “Have I- hhha --” He cut off, squeezing his eyes shut with a sigh as the head of his cock pressed into her, “t- told you how beautiful you are?”

Gwen frowned. It was kind of hard to focus on the question when her body was fluttering and pulsing as it adjusted to the welcome intrusion. “A lot?” she guessed, sinking down the last few inches too fast and bottoming out with an electric shock of pain and pleasure. “Fuck.”

“No. Not like that.” He slid one arm between their bodies, parting her folds to see the way she stretched around him. “I -- think you’re so pretty,” he managed, gently tracing her inner labia with his fingertips. “I like your colors. And how we -- um, contrast.”

No one had ever told her that her cunt was pretty before. It was just the kind of stupid, romantic thing David would do. And he was right; his cock looked so pale against her, where she faded from shocking pink into a dark purplish-brown that lightened as it blended into her normal skin tone. There was something about it that reminded her of a sunset -- which was just the kind of stupid, romantic thing David made her think.

“You’re an idiot,” she said, pressing her forehead against his and raising up a few inches, “and I love you so much.”

“I — love you too.” Suddenly he froze, his eyes widening and his grip tightening around her waist, keeping her from moving.

“David? Everything okay?” God, he wasn’t having some kind of terrible flashback, was he? Maybe they shouldn’t be doing this.

His eyes flicked up to hers, and a wide, sunny smile spread across his face like spilled honey. “This is just like the first time.”

It took her a moment to understand what he was talking about, but then it hit her: this was like the night they’d first had sex, from the position to the location to the dizzying, giddy strangeness of it.

God, he was perfect.

“Sort of.” She pressed a hard, quick kiss to his lips before grabbing a fistful of his hair and tugging his head to the side so she could reach his neck; he whimpered and twitched twice, each pulse against her inner walls taking her breath away. “Except I know you way better now.” She punctuated the statement by licking a wide stripe up the side of his throat, then sucked a mark right beside his Adam’s apple, where it’d be safely hidden by his bandana. “All your weak points.”

“I—” He swallowed, tilting his head obediently as she trailed a line of open-mouthed kisses up to his ear, “d-don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She just hummed; that wasn’t worth dignifying with a real response, and the vibrations against his damp skin made him shiver. Instead she toyed with him: tracing the shell of his ear with her tongue, nipping at his earlobe with just a hint of teeth, exploring the delicate area around his ear and neck she knew so well, had staked her claim to a hundred times before.

David’s breathing quickened, roughened, and she had to tighten her grip on his hair to keep him from squirming. Her hips weren’t moving but his were, minute jolts she was positive he couldn’t control. “Gwen,” he gasped, “please, I -- hhit's too much, I can’t --”

“Could you come like this?” she asked, fighting to keep her own voice level. She could feel his pulse pounding in his cock and in his throat, under her lips; her clit throbbed in response, a metronome perfectly attuned to him. “Without me even moving? Or just . . .” She squeezed her internal muscles, clenching around him in a quick staccato pattern, and lapped her tongue against his neck in time.

“Nnno. Or -- yes?” His fingers tightened around her hips, a helpless spasm. “I don’t know. It’d . . . be torture.”

His voice was so low, wrecked, and Gwen’s stomach went into a dizzying, delicious free-fall. “Good,” she said before she could stop herself, think it through and reject it as sounding weird and freaky. David successfully pulled back from her, his eyes wide and blown out with arousal, and he looked so beautiful she couldn’t stop herself from blurting out, “I want to torture you sometime. Nothing you’re not okay with -- and not now, but . . .”

“Yes,” he breathed, and the word was barely out of his mouth before his hand curled around the back of her neck and he was dragging her mouth to his, a kiss made of teeth and desperation with words gasped out against her lips: “yes, god, whatever you want Gwen please I love you --” His other hand slid to cup the curve of her thigh, urge her up onto her knees so he could fuck her properly, pull her back down to set a rhythm that bordered on frantic.

She couldn’t help but laugh, even as she braced her palms against the headboard for better leverage to ride him faster, harder. “Told you,” she teased, biting his lower lip hard enough to drag a breathy whine from him. “Weak.”

That made him moan, drawn-out and broken, and he slipped one hand between their bodies; curling it into a loose fist, he splayed his index and middle fingers just enough for her clit to glide between them, adding an extra jolt of friction every time she moved her hips. Gwen gasped, clutching at his back with one hand as her second orgasm coiled tighter at the base of her spine.

She bit his shoulder because she could, because she had to, because he’d like it and because it was that or scream loud enough to wake the entire camp. “Fuck, god, David --”

He shuddered and buried his face in her hair, his breath hot with a stream of pleasured mumbles beginning and ending in her name --

Gwen didn’t know which of them came first. It didn’t matter, really, because they dragged each other over the edge. His cock was almost painfully hard, unyielding as iron as her muscles tightened and fluttered around it, and the sudden snap upward of his hips as he came nearly knocked her breathless.

She was going to be sore tomorrow. Or . . . later today. She turned her head and mouthed at David’s neck, relishing the sweet-salt taste of his sweat, and let him hold her up as they caught their breath.

“I love you too,” she whispered belatedly. David huffed a weak laugh into her hair, stroking her back with a touch that was light and ticklish. “But we’re sleeping in your room tonight. I don’t wanna deal with the wet spot.”

Yeah, she was going to be sore, and exhausted, and facing a hell of a cleanup both in her bedroom and outside of it.

David groaned and gently pushed her upright, sliding out from under her and taking her hand, like she was a camper who needed to be ushered back to bed. “Phone,” she bleated, weakly reaching for it as they walked past, and he paused to pick it up for her, and in that second she loved him even more, more than she’d ever thought possible.

Worth it.

#campcamp #camp camp roosterteeth #gwenvid #cc gwen #cc david #this ending is too awkward to put in the main tags but fuck it #i spent weeks working on this okay #maybe even months #i am exhausted and cannot look at this anymore #hope y'all like your smut interspersed with pages upon pages of talking #because that's what you're getting #the only reason this isn't a total disaster is raenbows and don't anyone forget it #forestwriting

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karimac · 3 years

Text

…in the details, Part 3

A/N: Warning for this series: 18+ audience (minors DNI), some cinematic level violence, some fluff and angst. Doubt that smut will be involved, but it may be implied. I’ll make sure that is noted clearly if it pops up.

All relationships, at this point anyway, are platonic.

Please do not repost or translate my work. Likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

A bit about the OC Kari

Part 1

Part 2

All mistakes are my own.

Word count: 3,556

Well, that was not exactly the best idea, was it?

Dr. Darcy Lewis, unlike her colleague, Dr. Erik Selvig, was not a big fan nor an authority on any form of mythology. And the Irish history ask was a longshot at best.

So, here you were, in the coffee shop smack dab in the middle of Westview, talking to Dr. Lewis and getting nowhere fast.

“And, that’s not happening,” the astrophysicist grumbled as she set down her phone and took another sip of her beverage. It was some weirdly sweet concoction that looked like what humans thought rainbow-colored unicorn poop looked like. This world was not ready for what real magical beasts looked like. Most authors had not gotten all of that right in their books. No surprise there. No human really needed to see such things on a daily basis, and whoever had been the muses for those authors had covered up a lot.

“I take it Dr. Selvig has no clue on the Celtic Pantheon?” you asked as you sipped your very boring, light, non-sweet hot coffee. The barista probably wanted to laugh when you ordered it, but he did his best to stifle his snicker. “It was a very long reach on my part, Dr. Lewis. I’m sorry I roped you into this.”

“You can call me Darcy because you actually acknowledge my academic status,” the brunette said as she flipped her phone over again. “So, Thor is off in space. You don’t want me calling Falcon or his pal with the metal arm. Captain Marvel isn’t on your contact list. Ant Man and The Wasp? They can be sort of science geeks, right? Wait. Banner? Is he OK to call?”

Before you could open your mouth, Darcy was texting Banner off her own phone. “You know Bruce?”

“I met him at some meet and greet at MIT before the world went poof,” Darcy replied as she set her phone back down and seemed to be praying Banner would actually return her text. “Stark was there, too, but Banner was the one I got coffee with. Sweet guy, you know, even if he gets all green sometimes.”

As you sipped your coffee, you noticed a few people giving you odd looks. It made you very nervous. “Maybe we should finish up and get back on the road?” you asked Darcy as you quietly motioned toward the other patrons getting their daily fix of caffeine.

“Yeah, bubbe isn’t answering me anyway,” Darcy said as she picked up her phone and got up from her chair. By now there were several residents blocking the exit. “What is your problem? We paid. We’re busing our table. Then we’re leaving.”

“Are The Avengers going to hunt her down?” one woman in the back of the group asked as Darcy looked back toward you and mouthed the word “Help” before turning back to the crowd. The questioner was loud, but you couldn’t see her because of the big delivery man standing in front of her with a huge pile of Amazon packages. “Why did you come back?”

It was time to vamp. With an apparently faulty memory, this was going to be interesting.

“Before you all ask about what is going to happen regarding Wanda Maximoff, I want you all to know I have no authority to speak for The Avengers. I have never been a true member of the team. I helped them at a time when things were beyond bleak for this world. It was an honor and a privilege. But I am not a spokesperson. I am not a team leader.”

“Then why did you come here?” a man with glasses, holding a briefcase, asked from the line where he was waiting for his order. “Then and now?”

“I came the first time because I was looking for my friend. I was pulled into that nightmare just like you were. I wish I had been able to help her before any of this happened.”

“But you have powers, right? Couldn’t you have shut her down, hot stuff?” the first woman added as she moved to the front. Then you recognized her. Agatha Harkness. If Wanda kept her alive, there was a reason for it, and all the pain you had rising in your core had to be tamped down fast. Harkness had hurt Wanda, and that would have to be addressed one day. You were good at playing the long game.

“Taking her out in any sort of power stunt could have jeopardized your lives. I was not sure what she did to make it all happen, and I was not going to risk your lives. I’m sorry it wasn’t put to an end sooner. Now, if you will excuse us, we need to get to a meeting regarding the incident here,” you said as you and Darcy pushed through the crowd and back out to the street.

“OK, what was all that? Spin? Or are you remembering something?” Darcy asked as you got back into her car. You had left your rental on the outskirts of town. Better to travel as a unit until your business here was concluded.

“I remember a couple of things from that mess,” you said as you tried to keep your hands from shaking. “I remember Wanda and Vision’s sons. Billy and Tommy. I remember the house where I lived. Can we drive out to where Wanda had her house? Maybe that will help?”

Darcy pulled out of the parking space and made the lefts and rights to the lot where Wanda’s house had been. The one you were living in was in a lot right next to it. It was empty now, too, but you got out of the car anyway and stood in the center of the patch of dirt. You closed your eyes and held your breath as you tried to piece together what had happened. And then you started to cry as you fell to your knees.

“Whoa, slow down,” Darcy said as she ran and knelt beside you. “What did you see?”

“It’s weird. Wanda came over one day and more or less apologized to me because she couldn’t give me my real happy ending. I can show you, if you’ll let me…”

“Go into my mind?” Darcy protested before you could wave her off the idea. “No Vulcan mind melds for me today, thanks.”

“No, I carry this mirror, and you can see memories in it. Trust me, I do not use telepathy as a first line of anything. I tried it once, to help a friend, but it just caused more problems,” you groaned as you pulled the mirror out of your backpack. You waved your hand over it, and Darcy could now see what had happened with Wanda.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t find them and bring them here,” the Sokovian said quietly as she walked around the 1980s version of what was your living room. It was way too pastel for your liking, but the hints of fuchsia, orchid and teal in the overall cream and light gray design weren’t so bad. You had a couple of cats there with you. One was an orange tabby with a penchant for eating tuna at any given moment. He was warm and affectionate and just a ray of sunshine dressed in fur. The other was as white as the driven snow, but his own cuddly disposition came through. He was the one who would leave you weird gifts every morning. Rocks, feathers, and yes, the occasional dead mouse would be at the foot of your bed each sunrise. You’d find out at the end of that nightmare that the cats were only constructs of Wanda’s chaos magic.

“I know you miss the three of them,” she continued as she pointed to a framed picture of Steve, Bucky and Sam, all decked out in appropriate 1980s clothes that made them look like they ran away from some cop drama. “It’s probably better that there aren’t too many Avengers here anyway. Vis is getting concerned. And this way, well, no one needs to know which one you would have chosen. I know. You know. So you can always talk to me. Like we did before. But I gave you the wedding ring to make sure no one came on to you. Just in case I can get him here soon.”

As you showed Darcy the memory, a tiny part of you was screaming that this whole scenario seemed wrong. You watched Wanda’s crimson glow float around you as she spoke. You vaguely remembered The Morrigan trying to kick some sense back into your addled brain, but Wanda’s world was much too enticing to let your other self come to the fore. You wanted the damned happily ever after with the husband and the house and everything that meant in the modern American ethos. You had rationalized things for years in such a way that you’d never let yourself get it. That was why no one was here to hug you at night like Wanda had Vision. Maybe that fact alone was enough to crack Wanda’s hold on you a bit more than she realized?

But you also had to admit that you wanted to be there for Wanda in case things went south. That much was clear from the moment you showed up in Westview the first time.

“How come you didn’t just zap her? Fight back?” Darcy asked as you fully shifted to the present day and paused the memory.

“Because she wasn’t wrong. I did miss Bucky, Steve and Sam. I missed Banner, too, because they were, in the end, the ones still here that cared if I lived or died. And Spider-Man. Which is random and weird, but he did. And frankly, what I said in the coffee shop was true. I had no idea what my powers would do to her spell. I could have leveled the town. That was not an option.”

“So, that Agatha woman…” Darcy started to say and then stopped. “Wait. That was her? In the coffee shop? That was why you were acting so weird?”

“Yeah. Wanda could have killed her or taken Agatha away with her to imprison her. She didn’t. After what Agatha tried to do to Wanda, to try and take her powers, Wanda had every right to finish her off. But Wanda doesn’t likely know all that yet. There are rules set up from ages ago. Things witches can and can’t do to each other under specific circumstances. So Wanda left her trapped here—for now anyway. But, whatever happened with them, it affected me, too. I got hit with stray magic blasts. I’m betting it messed up my powers in ways I didn’t realize. And maybe my memories as well.”

As Darcy knelt there, her phone finally chimed. It was some weird little R2-D2 chirpy beep, and she looked elated as she showed you the message. “Seems Bruce still cares if you are OK or not. I don’t think bringing him here is such a great idea…”

“Did anyone send him data about what happened here?” you asked as you got to your feet, pocketing some of the dirt from the lot before you stood up. “Air and soil samples? Readings from the residents?”

“I can get them for him. Trust me, Jimmy Woo and Monica Rambeau would be more than happy to help. I’m glad that loon Hayward seems to have gone into hiding or was hauled away to The Raft,” Darcy noted as she checked her phone again. “Seems the doc is working out of a Stark lab here in Jersey. Road trip?”

You really didn’t want to go see Bruce. You had no idea how you’d explain any of what you did to him.

++++++++++

You rehearsed what you planned to tell Bruce a million times in your mind as Darcy drove along the Garden State Parkway to a place called Woodcliff Lake. Stark Industries did indeed have a lab there, and it made you want to scream as you walked into the facility. You did not need yet another reminder that you could not save Tony Stark’s life at the end of that final battle with Thanos. That was part of why you were in this mess in the first place. It was also why you had a screaming fight with Stephen Strange, but no one else knew about that yet.

“Dr. Banner? We’re here!” Darcy yelled as you walked toward what had to be the research wing. The lack of security in the place was a bit disturbing, but then again, there were probably booby traps built into every square inch of the place. You could just hear Tony now as you got closer to the lab area. It would likely have been close to the speech you got the first time he talked to you at the compound.

“Hey! Lucky Charms! Don’t touch any of the expensive stuff. I guess that means don’t touch anything. I still have no idea why you are hanging around the team except that Steve wants you here for some reason. Maybe you’re tied to…his friend…and I just don’t want to face that? Still have issues with all of that, even if the man is dead. Pepper and Morgan said I should be nice to you, but I’m not quite there yet after what happened in Berlin. They are better people than I’ll ever be.”

“Earth to Kari?” you finally heard Bruce say as he waved his massive green hand in front of your face. Then he realized why you were likely spacing out. "Dr. Lewis, can we have a minute?”

“You can call me Darcy, if I can call you Bruce?” Lewis said as Banner nodded to her. “Cool. I’ll go find the little scientist’s room and be right back,” she added as she left the lab.

“So,” Bruce started as he pointed you toward a set of chairs at one side of the lab, “Darcy filled me in via text. I have no idea what happened with Wanda, and I know none of us know where she is. I did call a friend who wants to help,” he noted as a swirling circle of yellow light formed near the window that looked out over the parking lot. “I figured you’d listen to him, and he knows more about this stuff than I do.”

“What did you do?” Wong shouted as he exited the portal. “You usually listen to reason. Why did you go after Wanda all alone?”

“I went to help Wanda. She was hurting. She watched Vision die twice. She lost Pietro. I can relate to all that very, very well. My twin Branan died in front of my eyes, too, and I’ve buried two husbands. Both died in battle. I just wanted her to know she wasn’t alone. But she…she hit all my vulnerable points. And she was under attack at the same time. From a woman named Agatha Harkness and from the director of SWORD. Some martinet named Hayward. He built another Vision. I think Hayward was using Wanda’s powers to bring him to life. Darcy is going to check in with some of the people who worked with her to get you more intel, Bruce.”

“Another version of Vision? Great,” Bruce muttered as he looked over at Wong. “As for this Harkness person…”

“The name rings very small bells, so I’ll need to do some research,” Wong noted as you bumped your left fist against your forehead. “What?”

“Harkness is a succubus. And she is old. Not as old as I am, but she is still a good 400 years old, give or take a day. She apparently survived the Salem Witch Trials. Wanda spelled her and left her in Westview. I think she is, at least in small ways, aware that her world is all wrong. I didn’t want to press it when I saw her in that coffee shop. We do not need an angry succubus flying around. Wong, they got into an aerial battle, and Wanda was using sigils, runes, whatever you want to call them, to focus her power. I think she picked that up from good old Aggie. I never showed her anything like that on purpose. I always suspected she had magic in her bones, but it wasn’t my place to start that fire. The bigger issue is that Wanda conjured up two children while she was there. She created cats for me, so anything is possible. I got knocked out by the end of the fight, so I have no idea what exactly happened in the end other than Wanda running off and Agatha being left behind for some reason.”

“And?” Wong asked as he started to look you up and down. “You did a spell? And it went bad? Your aura is all messed up.”

“I…I tried to do a spell so The Avengers would think of me less and less, and then eventually I’d just be a fleeting memory. I felt walking away in the dead of night, the thing I usually do when I am leaving town, would not be good enough. The spell got botched, and now I’m connected in some fashion to Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes. Looking back at it, I spent more time with them in the days leading up to my departure. Steve and Bruce were there the day I left, and so were Sam and Bucky. And…I’m carrying a lot of guilt about Bucky after his accident in 1943.”

“All this on top of the magical circus Wanda made? Are you insane?” Wong yelled as he started to pace.

“And the fight I had with Stephen on the day of the battle. Yeah, I guess I am insane,” you replied as Wong threw up his hands. Bruce had gotten extremely quiet, and that was not a good thing.

“Before we get to dissecting your spell, Kari, was this because of what Tony said? About you not being an Avenger because you were…?”

“Unstable? Yes. And the fact I could not bring anyone back from the grave, especially during that last battle. And the fact about who killed his parents. Buck did while under Hydra control. Steve found out and never told Tony. I ran into The Winter Soldier a few times over the decades, so there was the chance I could have prevented their deaths, too. Tony really had no reason to ask me to join the band.”

“Once we get your spell problem sorted, then we will address this, too,” Bruce said as he looked toward Wong and shook his head. “I loved Tony like a brother, but he was wrong…”

You winced a few times as you tried to listen to Bruce and Wong, now joined once again by Darcy, as they tried to figure out how to fix or reverse that spell, and they hashed out what might have happened to you during that first trip to Westview. You were really trying to focus on their questions, but you felt a tug that no one else could ever have possibly felt.

“Baltimore,” you mumbled as you pulled out your cellphone and debated texting the person you felt tugging at that damned invisible string. No. That would have ended badly, especially since your original spell had gone haywire.

“Bucky Barnes was arrested?” Darcy asked as she showed you her phone alert. “I bet he punched that new fake Cap in the nose. Sorry, but that guy looks like he has no clue. I saw him on Good Morning America. Total cheese fest.”

“Wait. What?” you asked as you took her phone. “Sam didn’t keep the shield? I just hope Bucky didn’t punch Sam and wind up in jail for that!” You gave Darcy back her phone and looked at yours again. It was buzzing. “Anyone here know who the hell is Christina Raynor?” you asked the trio in front of you. No one had any clue about that. You hit the speaker button as you answered the call.

“Hello? Ms. MacOrish. I’m James Barnes’ therapist, Christina Raynor. Sam Wilson said I should give you a call and ask you to join us in Baltimore. As quickly as possible, if you can. I don’t think Mr. Barnes wants to spend the night in a holding cell.”

“Oh no, you are not going to Baltimore,” Wong said as he crossed his arms and got a stern look on his face. “Not while your head is all over the place. You could portal to Baltimore in the 1800s for all you know. You could end up eating lunch with Lord Baltimore in the 1700s. You really shouldn’t do this.”

“Wong, what better place for me to go than to see a therapist?” you said with a smirk as you opened your own portal, this one a lovely shade of emerald green, that went to where Raynor was waiting for you—outside an interrogation room at the city jail.

“Mr. Wilson said you’d be fast. He did not tell me you were one of the powered class,” Raynor said as you went through the portal, looking back to wave briefly as you heard Darcy’s last comment.

“What about your rental car?”

#avengers x oc #bucky barnes x oc #sam wilson x oc #bruce banner x oc #wong x oc #darcy lewis x oc #avengers #bucky barnes #sam wilson #bruce banner #wong mcu #darcy lewis #my mcu oc #my ocs are my babies #my oc writing

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writing-the-end · 3 years

Text

LoL Chapter 49- The Underground

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

Ecto belongs to @cooler-cactus-block (new computer and I still can’t fuckin at you)

Turns out the hermits aren’t the only ones who wish to get rid of Magistrate Dolios.

____________________________________

Etho drops into the canal below, water rippling without a single drop to disturb the silent cave. Heterochromatic eyes rove across the dark, dank tunnel, waving one hand for the others to follow. Scar comes next, much less gracefully as he misses the last rung and tumbles into the canal with a heavy splash.

They were beneath the noble district of the city. Grown above the canals like most of Milliara, they built up beyond the lifeblood of Lairyon. Left it behind, to pass through in these underwater canals, until they lead to a fountain, messenger canal, or the rest of the city.

Once Xisuma’s boots are in the water, he sloshes forward without pause. He knows who he saw, he’s just not sure if he believes it. Ex never gets involved with anything. He always waits, watches from the sidelines. When X wanted to fight, it was Ex that stayed behind. When X wanted to be a guild, Ex went on his own.

He continues on, following the distance sound of scraping and scuffling, harsh against the soft patter of water and trickle of running water. Xisuma rounds the corner, white light reflecting in the distance off the damp walls. He’s so focused on the light at the end he doesn’t notice the movement in the shadows. At least, not until it’s too late.

A warm hand claps over Xisuma’s mouth, muffling any attempt for him to cry out. Another arm drags him into the darkness, and a wave of fear keeps Xisuma from trying to escape. A warm, low voice growls in his ear, full of menace. “You had your chance, now let the big kids play.”

“Tris, we’re just supposed to stop the guard, not-” A second, similar voice fractures through the darkness, and Xisuma notices a lock of pink hair, bright against the stone wall.

“I’m Nightshade!” The one holding Xisuma snaps, loosening his grip on him. “Do you want half the city to know who we are?”

Xisuma manages to wriggle free, and instead the twin faces wrestle each other into the water. Tackling and pulling hair, calling each other names that grow louder and louder. Loud enough for the other hermits to find them.

Stress realizes who she’s looking at first. “King Sor?”

“What am I, chopped liver?” one of the two growls, his blue scarf soaked.

“The king?” Tango splutters, snapping his fingers. A flame appears in his hand, and he raises it higher. Sure enough, wrestling in the muck and mud of the swampwater was the King of Lairyon and his twin brother. Yin and yang, dark and light. Their tan skin and rainbow hair- though the king’s much brighter- was instantly recognizable, even if the all white and black suits weren’t enough.

Grand Advisor Tris, currently holding King Sor in a headlock, glares at the hermits. “Do you mind?”

“We are in the middle of something.” Sor adds, looking at their audience as he grabs hold of Tris’s fingers and yanks.

“What are you-” Xisuma starts, confusion clouding his prerogative. Why is the Twin King, monarch of Lairyon, in the canals beneath his own city, tackling his brother and arguing over codenames? Xisuma shakes his head, trying to avoid the fact that he’s standing in front of the king. “Where did he go? My brother?”

“Where’s Doc?” BDubs adds, bouncing from foot to foot. They have to find their friend. Is he still alive? What do the kings want with a criminal? Why all this, when King Sor has more power than even Dolios?

“Three lefts then a right, there’s a staircase carved into the wall. It’ll take you to-” Sor has gained the upper hand, sitting on top of Tris, but the advisor isn’t afraid to kick his brother into silence.

“You are, by far, the worst spy ever.” Tris hisses, but the hermits leave the twins to their squabble in the sewer. Following Sor’s directions, they wind through the secret caves, Tango, Grian, Ren, and Iskall illuminating the darkness. Jevin can’t help but think about when they first began this journey, way back in Gildara. How they wandered dark, wet caves like this. Only to become enraptured into something so much bigger than they could ever have known.

But rather than a corrupted crystal at the end of this dive, they find the carved steps Sor had mentioned.

They also find the trail of blood up the rough hewn stairs. Every step up is slick with the ochre, a different size and shape from the one before. At the top of the stairs, a hatch remains closed. Xisuma presses up against the metal hatch, but finds it too heavy to lift. Looking up, he notices a symbol burnt into the metal.

Ex still uses their shared mark. Even after their estrangement, the swirl and the star remain easily visible. Not like how Xisuma scratched it off everything he owned. “It’s blocked. Stress?”

“Not a problem, dearie.” The ice mage squeezes her small, limber body between Xisuma and TFC, rolling up her sleeves. Without even breaking a sweat, she forces the hatch open. Light blinds them for a second time, though this much softer than before. Lamplight, enough to illuminate the wooden building, but still soft enough to cast shadow. A chest full of books has been tossed aside, the rug covering the hidden hatch flipped over.

The hermits crawl out, like an army of ants from the seams in the wood, filling the small bookstore. Ex’s arrival surprises no one, and neither does the twenty something mages in his bookshop. The twin brother of Xisuma looks up, purple eyes meeting the hermits. A lock of pure white hair covers over one eye, and the red fabric of the cloak covers Ex from the nose down. But even with his face covered, the hermits can see the discontent in his expression.

“He’s in the back. I’d… I’d be prepared.” Ex’s voice remains low and tempered, a bit deeper than Xisuma’s own. He turns away, running fingers across the shelves of books around him, before pulling free an encyclopedia of medicines.

Scar doesn’t wait, bursting through the curtain into Ex’s living quarters. He follows the trail of ash and blood, until he stops dead. The other hermits crowd in behind him, desperate to see their friend. For a week, he’s been in jail. Just being able to be in the same room was a blessing.

Doc was rested on a cot, bandages covering his legs, his arms, his chest, his face. Blackened skin beneath white gauze. He lays still, eyes closed, clothes in burnt tatters. For a minute, everyone holds their breath, waiting to see Doc breathe his own. When a shallow rise of his chest, followed by whisper of an exhale, escapes from the puppeteer, relief floods the hermits.

Doc is alive. Hanging on by a thread, but alive. Scar grabs Grian, yanking him to the front and shoving him into the room. “Fix him!”

“Don’t need to tell me twice.” Grian may be rivals with Doc, but they’re still friends. Family. He walks across the silent room, each step a loud creak through the wooden building. The hermits follow in after, a concave audience watching, hoping for a miracle.

Grian’s eyes begin to glow, and another set of wings appear from his back, and another. A halo rings above Grian’s blond hair, sharp shafts of light piercing the air around him. The archangel kneels beside Doc, lost in the overwhelming power of his magic. A mere pass of his hand over the unconscious criminal begins to heal him. An angelic miracle, Grian simply brushes a wing, and it eases the blackened burns across their friend.

Doc’s breathing deepens, though he doesn’t wake. Brought back from the brink, from the precipice of death. Mumbo carefully sidles up beside Grian, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Grian, you can let go of your aura.”

The soothing voice does the trick, as light fades and wings disappear. Grian’s exhausted but forces the glow and sleep from his eyes to see his success. Doc was alive. Doc was stable.

Doc was safe, with his family again.

Ex appears in the doorway, hands full of books, potions, herbs, and crystals. But when he sees his patient, no longer bleeding out and struggling to hang on for dear life. He looks at Doc, then Grian, then Xisuma. Dropping his armful of supplies, he waves his hand. “You really have one of everything, don’t you?”

Xisuma takes a deep breath. He hasn’t spoken a word to Ex in years. What does he say, after so long? What does he tell him, or yell at him, or cry to him? But only one word manages to escape from X’s lips, through his mask. “Thanks.”

The word surprises both twins, blinking back in surprise. Ex’s lips press into a thin line, and he turns his head away. A white ponytail of hair cascades over his shoulder. “Never say I didn’t do anything for you, brother.”

“Xisuma, this is your brother?” Keralis questions. They were almost identical twins, in fact. From the structure of their face, the intensity in their eyes. The only difference between the two was Ex’s snow white hair. Hell, they even had them both in ponytails.

“If he still considers me a brother.” Ex snips, picking up the mess on the floor and carefully placing the books in a stack.

“I thought you said getting into things would only lead to trouble.” Xisuma looks down at his friend, then to Ex.

“And by the looks of it, I was right.”

“But you saved Doc. You used your magic in front of half the city, to save him from burning at the stake.” Xisuma shakes his head, still in disbelief. “Why?”

Ex stops moving, going silent. His shoulder tense forward, until his head drops. “Because he means so much to you. You may not consider me a brother, but I still care about you. Whether or not this disaster could have been avoided, we’re all in on it now.”

“We?” Cub picks up on Ex’s words, raising an eyebrow. Of course, there were the royals, but he also remembers the water magic appearing from nowhere, the cactus growing from the woodwork, the black wings in the smoke.

Ex snorts. “What, you think you guys have been this lucky the whole time? That it was only you idiots taking on the magistrate?”

He turns, walking out of the room. Assuming the hermits will follow. He assumed correctly. Only a few stay behind to keep watch over Doc, the others squeezing through the aged wooden shop, up the rickety stairs and into a dining room.

They aren’t alone. Inside, three people are sitting. One with short brown hair, cropped to the side and laying on the top of the table, earthy colored clothes and scarves wrapped around her. Sitting crosslegged in the seat is a small kipling, rocking in place with curious eyes as he looks upon the large group entering into Ex’s study. Finned ears flick against black and orange locks, a slight glow appearing under the kipling’s clothes in the dark room. And in the corner, perched on the flat booth’s backrest, a blonde mane drapes around a serious face, and a pair of jet black wings rustle against the wooden walls.

The last faces they expected to see were those of the Wanderers.

“Red? Ecto?” Zedaph tips his head to the side, surprised. The last time they saw the three of them, it was before the labyrinth challenge. When the hermits celebrated with Team Crafted, they had already left. Disappeared just as fast as they appeared. And now, they’ve reappeared. Sitting in the middle of Ex’s kitchen, sipping on tea. As comfortable there as they were in that ratty old inn. ‘How do you guys know Xisuma’s brother?”

“It was you three who rescued Doc.” Scar whispers, his voice soft and almost reverent. Water, desert, and dragon.

“Ex approached us while you and Team Crafted were within the labyrinth. He told us about things we already had suspicion of, but no connected dots.” Avon tips her head back, looking down her nose at the hermits. “We decided the best way we could help Lairyon was to cause as much nuisance to the magistrate as possible, as well as handle certain missions.”

“This entire time, you were helping us?” Xisuma turns, looking at his brother. They’re the exact same height, purple eyes locked in some years long argument.

Ex snorts. “What, you think you idiots did that all on your own? But it wasn’t just the wanderers that have been helping. Team Crafted has had their hand in this underground rebellion as well. Turns out, they make a lot of trouble all over the place for the arcane guard to deal with, as well as encourage people to tell their stories and speak out against the magistrate.”

“But then that leaves…” Mumbo trails off, and he turns around at the sound of bickering behind them. Sure enough, the twin rulers are still arguing over their codenames. Mumbo bows, his hands shaking as he remembers all the rules he was taught when in presence of the king.

King Sor presses one hand over his twin’s mouth to shut him up, and uses the other to wave off Mumbo’s bow. “Please, there’s no-” Sor’s interrupted when Tris retaliates, licking his hand. The king curses, rubbing the spit on his white outfit. “You’re disgusting, brother.”

“Go on, finish the story. Don’t forget to tell them who’s idea it was to reach out to the mysterious white haired man with connections to Eremita.” Tris scoots in beside Red, and Ecto pours tea for the royal advisor.

“It was Tris’s idea to contact Ex. I honestly don’t know how he found out about him, but he’s been the conductor of it all. We help fund in any way we can, and he does the research before sending the wanderers and Team Crafted to play support roles.” King Sor doesn’t look like the man the hermits are used to seeing. The king, the ruler of Lairyon. He’s thriving with people, just another person, another friend.

“But...you’re the king. Why can’t you just depose of Dolios?” Beef questions, the confusion in his voice matched by all of the hermits. Only Ex and the wanderers act as if this was evident.

They expected Sor to answer, being the king, but with a loud crash of a metal teacup against the wooden table, all attention is turned to Tris. “That monster, that....bastard has been using us all against Sor. Especially me.” Tris grits his teeth hard, jaw tight and set. “You’re too damn soft, Sor.”

“Soft?! Tris, he was going to kill you!” Sor gasps, tears beginning to streak from teal eyes, across tanned cheeks. His breath hiccups and catches in his throat. “Dolios made sure he had control over everything, including me. In order to do that, he… he tortured Tris. My brother. Threatened both our families. Hurt our closest friends in the royal guard. Sometimes… I had no choice but to let it happen. The things he would have done to the kingdom were so much worse but...at what cost? Did I make the right decision, letting him do that to my own brother?”

Sor’s knees fall out from under him, and in the aged wooden floor of a bookstore, the King of Lairyon is brought to kneel. Tears fall, all he’s been forced to endure breaking down. And the hermits, despite hardly knowing King Sor, understand and sympathize with him all the same. His family is at risk, the same way their own is. Dolios will stop at nothing to tear both families apart, all for his gain and rise to power.

Red clambers over Tris’s lap, breaking every taboo and rite to approach the king. She runs over, and hugs the king tight and close. A warm hug, like a mother’s embrace, just enough to calm down the monarch. Such a young man, forced to make so many horrible decisions. After a moment, the king recollects himself. Through puffy, tearstained eyes, he looks to the hermits. “Lairyon needs a hero. There are no chosen ones, there is no prophecy. No knights in shining armor, no kings and our awesome power. This time, the heroes need to be made. And you, the Order of Hermits, were the brave souls to choose to be heroes.”

“Dolios is using his darkness to gain power. After what you dealt with, we were sure you’d give up.” Tris adds, standing and placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Now, the scars on the royal advisor’s body are clear as day. “But you really are the heroes that will bring back the Light of Lairyon.”

Silence falls over the room. The hermits, heroes? Just for wanting to help, to do what no one else knew to do? They were caught up in all of this, and multiple times death waited to claim them- if Dolios had his way. They weren’t heroes, just people who chose to fight back. Who chose to make the stand.

“Dark magic isn’t new.” Ex breaks the silence, hefting a massive, ancient book onto the table. The wood rocks, dumping Avon off it and into Ecto’s lap. “There have been insurgences all throughout history, though the past thousand years have been relatively quiet. Unfortunately about that, almost all information how the dark magic was defeated has been… lost to time. To make matters worse, no reported insurgence has ever been so prolific as this time around.”

“Alright, how does this help with anything?” Xisuma rolls his eyes. His brother always has such a flair for the dramatics, always getting way too deep into history and his books. Next to the massive tome that Ex is flipping through, Avon stops pestering Ecto. She goes still, even when the desert wizard dumps her onto the floor. A look of fear spreads from her eyes, rippling like a drop of water across a lake.

“Well, if this happened before with the ancient ones, then it’s likely the answer may lie with the history of Lairyon itself. Perhaps if you-” Ex is interrupted when a massive black pair of wings extends, one smacking him in the face.

“The spirit dragons are in danger.”

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft au #hermitcraft fanfic #light of lairyon #wizard au #wizard hermits #lol #wizard grian #wizard ex #wizard doc #wizard scar #wizard bdubs #wizard etho #grianmc #evil xisuma #docm77 #gtwscar #bdoubleo100 #ethoslab

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bd-supershop · 2 years

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All the products that are sold in the super shops

With the new physical product feature, bd-supershop aims to make your solo enterprise booming with increased sales and revenue. Perfect for sellers operating on both micro and macro scale, the platform provides a unique ecosystem for the creatives of the most different caliber.

Merch items, one-off novelties, knit-work, or even a new record pressed on vinyl – using bd-supershop as your platform for selling physical goods broadens your creative possibilities and paves the way to the acquisition of new audiences.

Following, are 15 amazing physical product ideas that you can turn into reality and sell with bd-supershop.

1. Vinyl records

Want to celebrate the release of your brand-new EP? With the ongoing renaissance of vinyl records, selling your music in a limited-edition physical format is the right way to catch the attention of your existing and future fan bases.

Having a run of limited-edition vinyl pressings is a surefire way to earn more with the initial sales, as the most hardcore fans will be eager to get their hands on a physical, perhaps even signed copy of your brand-new album.

Nothing compares to the sensation of putting a freshly unwrapped vinyl on a turntable for the first time. From the cover art to the design of liner notes – create an artwork that organically complements your music, offering your fans a complete audiovisual package.

2. Books and planners

Sellfy has always been a great platform to sell PDF-format books featuring your original stories, poetry, and any other type of literary fiction. Now, next to your digital books, you can list the physical versions of your work as well.

Feel free to experiment with the format and content, whether it’s a multi-part novella, beautifully illustrated children’s book, or a uniquely branded pocketbook with specially curated motivational lines.

You can even build an entire merch universe around the book you’ve released. A case in point – the creative approach by bd-supershop user Gerard Leiser who released a coin of fictional currency alongside his book. The list of merch ideas is nearly endless and can vary with each unique storyline.

3. Tote bags

Going hand in hand with the sustainable lifestyle ethos, tote bags are a great way to avoid the use of plastic bags while sporting an eco-friendly attitude with style. But more importantly – according to Google Trends, the interest in tote bags is constantly high for years, which means that this practical accessory just never goes out of fashion.

Tote bags are also a frequently utilized tool when it comes to raising brand awareness and self-promotion. Think about it – totes are reliable allies both on a grocery store visit and festival grounds, making them genuinely practical items as much as they’re accessories.

4. Custom mugs

Create and sell the much-loved personalized mugs – whether you go with all the colors of the rainbow or a simple, irresistibly funny one-liner. Releasing your line of creatively designed mugs is likely to catapult you into eCommerce heaven.

The wildly popular lifestyle accessory can now bear your unique design making it a perfect collector’s item. Create a line of collectible mugs and make your followers go wild from hype with every new release on the line. When it comes to tried-and-tested merch ideas, it’s hard to miss it with this one.

5. Stickers

Stickers – who doesn’t love them! With sticker-covered laptops seemingly forever in vogue, the medium is a cheap and cheerful way to personalize your everyday accessories.

Moreover, they’ve become one of the most effective and widely used ways to carry out DIY promotional activities. Although Guerilla marketing campaigns with stickers distributed in a variety of odd spots have been around for a long time, the medium hasn’t lost any of its former power. As such, it’s still widely used to promote brands, events, and many other types of creative projects.

Selling bundles of unique sticker designs is a clever way to promote your artistic output since every laptop bearing your insignia brings your name to new audiences. And that happens every time the owner enters another co-working office space or coffee shop!

6.bd-supershop

Anyone with experience in the world of DJing will attest – having unique slipmat matters big time. So, why not distribute your unique take on the theme to selectors and DJs across the world?

Providing a smooth and delightful spinning experience and ensuring your equipment stands out from the rest of the bunch, slipmats are a niche product that’s highly sought-after among the industry professionals.

Don’t overlook the opportunity to tap into a small albeit active and dedicated market niche of DJ accessories!

7. Pin badges

An increasingly popular way of clothing customization, pin badges are known as a tiny accessory with a great impact. Just look at all the folks spearheading the current wave of urban fashion – pin badges are the mainstay of the next generation wardrobe.

Just recently, Pinterest looked at the biggest trends in search and found that the interest in retro, pop culture pins has increased by 800%. If that doesn’t mean this accessory is experiencing its comeback, then we don’t know what does.

Additionally, it’s another ingenious way to popularize your brand. Your logo or mascot is a perfect material for a pin-badge makeover. Having a group of individuals wearing your brand’s insignia is bound to raise interest in your creative output.

8. Socks

Long gone are the days when socks were worn purely to support and warm up your feet. Today a pair of flashy, highly-personalized socks is a crucial element to the look of every fashion-savvy individual out there.

Turn that pattern you’ve been sketching in your notebook into a stylish, real-life entity with a series of limited-edition socks. With numerous brands tackling the socks market with unique and often hilarious design patterns, it’s the right time to contribute with your creations.

Still doubtful? Happy Socks is a great example that proves – you can build a successful, highly profitable business by just selling socks!

9. Greeting cards

Whether it’s your friend’s birthday, the Holiday season, or any other festivity on the line – a funny and original greeting card that pokes fun at the traditional greeting card formula is what saves even the worst last-minute gift ideas out there. People are aware of this and, as a consequence, unconventional greeting card designs have become a highly sought-after commodity.

Have a set of quirky one-liners and original design concepts up your sleeve? Can you turn your existing digital products – like poster print files or photos – into postcards? Do it and revolutionize the greeting card game for good!

10. DIY VR Headsets

With VR making waves for a couple of years now, the groundwork for selling branded, ready-made cardboard VR headsets is already there. Google Cardboard Viewer proved that technology can be playful and affordable. There’s nothing that can stop you from repeating the same simple and super successful formula.

Create and sell your own uniquely-branded VR headset – whether coming already folded or offering your audience a kit of all the necessary components. Cardboard VR glasses are sure to find a high demand thanks to their accessibility and simplicity of the premise.

Have you developed an app or mobile game that supports VR format? Looking for product ideas to brand it more uniquely? Sell both the game and the headset for an unstoppable bundle of goods.

11. Cassette tapes

Is there anything more vinyl than the vinyl itself? If your sole being is dedicated to staying out of the mainstream waters as much as possible, you’re probably already informed about the next big thing – the resurgence of cassette tape records.

A nod to the era of home-made mixtapes, and early Walkmans, the renewal of interest in the medium has resulted in increasing numbers of musicians releasing limited edition runs of their latest drops in the cassette format along with vinyl and digital releases.

Jump on the hype train and don’t miss the opportunity to earn some money off it!

12. Canvas prints

It’s hard to imagine a true millennial apartment without one of these things hanging on the wall. Whether bearing an inspirational quote, quirky illustration or reimagined movie poster, canvas prints and other types of individualized wall art have become the go-to option when it comes to cost-effective and stylish means of customizing your living space.

bd-supershop already has plenty of visual artists who use different types of wall décor items to popularize their artworks. For example, TheErvinM brings his knowledge of LUTs to the masses in the form of aluminum wall art prints.

His use of wall art prints shows that it’s a great way to give passion and talent a physical form.

visit new

#bd-supershop #physical-product

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boopypastaissalty · 4 years

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Here sre some of my Sanders Sides theories. Long post btw so yee

Roman and Remus were originally one all-encompassing creativity, then they split and become the two different sides of creativity, or the "Creativitwins". Their names seem to follow a theme: Ancient Rome, specifically the legend surrounding the creation/beginning of Rome. I think that the original creativity's name was Romulus. Here's why: Remus killed Romulus over a land dispute and then started the city of Rome in his brother's name. Citizens of Rome are called Romans. Though it could be argued that Thomas's moral sense as a concept, not necessarily Patton, separated the two, thus "killing" the original creativity.

Patton may have suffered from anxiety and could have created Virgil as a way to relieve some of his stress, therefore making him Virgil's "dad" in a sense, in Patton's mind warranting him calling Virgil "kiddo" all the time.

We all know that Patton is allergic to cats, but what about the others? What are their weaknesses? My speculations are that Virgil is iron deficient, as he doesn't like to rise up because it makes him dizzy, he is also described by Roman to be the "fairest of them all" and then admitting it was a pale joke in Virgil's expense. Roman is lactose intolerant, as when Patton is feeding him cream of broccoli soup, Logan says that it will "upset Princey's stomach". Logan is OCD: Always planning and organizing things. He gets upset when things don't go exactly as he plans it. He also feels the need to always be right and to make sure everyone else is kept in line. Also: Patton seems to suffer from depression. Oftentimes depressed people crack jokes and give people the general idea that they are happy. They also try to make other people happy. Patton also sometimes gets into these sad funks and even says "I had this problem where I'd hide my less than awesome feelings, so when I would feel like sobbing I'd just smile and crack jokes. I thought that was coping, only joking, never showing sadness, hoping it would just go away".

The thumbnail for "Putting Others First - Selfishness v. Selflessness Redux" has a character selection screen telling the viewer to "select a side", but one thing I noticed is that there is a blank box, indicating a locked character or a character who hasn't been revealed yet. Another thing I noticed is that the sides have a rainbow theme going on. Thomas even says that he is "full rainbow all the time" as an allusion to his sexuality, and possibly even the sides in general. Roman is red, there is no known orange side, Janus is yellow, Remus is green, Patton is light blue, Logan is indigo, and Virgil is violet/purple. Red is the color of physical strength, power, confidence, and passion, which suits Roman's personality. Yellow can be happiness and joy, but also directly means cowardice and deceit, which is self explanatory. Green is a color of healing, life, and vitality, but the flip side being greed, jealousy, pessimism, and superficially. Blue is the color of trust, loyalty, faith, wisdom, truth, patience, and understanding, which sums Patton up pretty well. Indigo resembles wisdom, integrity, fairness, impartiality, and justice, which is all right up Logan's alley. Violet is the color of ambition, dignity, devotion, pride, mystery, independence, magic, being cynical, and mourning, which all makes sense in Virgil's case. Now to orange, which resembles joy, sunshine, risk taking, adventure, enthusiasm, creativity, attraction, success, rudeness, frivolity, and untrustworthiness, which is a balance of traits that both Roman and Remus have and directly resembles creativity, so orange could be a fusion of Roman and Remus, the original creativity before they split. Another possibility for the next side is someone who resembles ethos, as we have pathos and logos (Patton and Logan).

All the sides have an ancient Rome theme going on. Roman and Remus, after the legend surrounding the beginning of Rome. Virgil, after the Roman poet Publius Vergilius Maro, who is often called Virgil. Janus (formerly known as Deceit) after the Roman god of the same name (Janus is the god of new beginnings and transitions, often depicted with two faces facing in opposite directions, one for the past and one for the future). All of the sides except for Patton and Logan, whose names are derived from pathos and logos, an ancient Greek concept proposed by Aristotle. And have you noticed that they mirror each other in almost every way, suggesting that, much like Roman and Remus, they are brothers, possibly even twins?

Dukes tend to not be a part of the royal family, but if so they are princes who have gotten married. Does this mean that Remus is married?!?!? If so to whoooo?

Welcome to me overthinking things again! What if Roman has control over the other sides? Like he's creativity and the sides are figments of Thomas' imagination, so like what if one day he was just done with Logan's nonstop fact train he just (this is extreme) went: "Fuck you, Logan, you're dead now" and Logan straight up dies? Like where would his power end if he could do that? Overthinking things can be scary kids, let me do it for you.

If you overthink it: Patton basically just was like "Nah" in POF SvSR. So he said in SvS that going to the wedding would make Thomas feel good, something that he basically controls because he is Thomas' moral sense and at the center of most of his feelings. Basically Thomas went to the wedding and Patton was like: "This is nice and all and you did the right thing, but uhmmm about those happy feelings. No." And then got all sorts of frustrated about being wrong. So yee. I am just doing the overthinking things thing again.

What if creativity split solely as a big "Fuck you, Logan"? Like I just imagine: C: "Hey Logan, I'm performing mitosis"

L: "Yes, your cells- *he looks up* Whaaaaa?"

R&R: "Cha cha real smooth, Logan"

And thus the twins were "born"

Logan thinks feelings are bad and claims to not have feelings, even though he clearly does (cough, cough, Crofters the Musical? Getting angry in some episodes? Logan, you're a bad liar, bud). So he bottles up most of his feelings, for all practical purposes making him a ticking time bomb. Something's probably going to happen and he won't be able to hold it all in and he'll have an emotional breakdown of sorts. Another thing is he will not duck out. He knows he's too important to Thomas' mental wellbeing for that. He is also getting progressively more angry as the others listen to him less, so he's probably going to overwork himself trying to get everyone to listen to the point where he physically can't be there for Thomas. Cuz like I suspect Logan leaving would have the same effect as Thomas having a massive stroke: The right side of his body wouldn't work, he wouldn't be able to talk/communicate, and his reasoning skills would be gone.

Janus just loves philosophy. Every episode in the main timeline, he makes references to famous philosophers to get his point across.

Patton is always the first of the light sides to accept the dark sides. First with Virgil and then with Janus. He may be taking them in as his troubled but lovable children who he will defend under almost any circumstance.

Virgil's name is not Virgil. People think his full name is Virgilius, though Thomas and Joan have previously stated that it isn’t. Bc of that, some people have theorized that Virgil was lying about his name, or that when he moved to the “light sides” he changed/used a different name, and maybe they’re going to reveal that sometime. Like the scene with Remus and Vee where Re goes, “I would never hide anything from you” looks pointedly at Virgil, and you assume it’s bc he took forever to tell Thomas, but what if it’s bc he was lying about his name from the moment he told Thomas??? And also the moment when Janus says "It takes a liar to know a liar" and Virgil says "Don't" and the response was "What? I'm only talking about your name" I think his name could be Acanthus

Ya know, Patton probably has an indirect role in how the other sides look. Not like "But you're anxiety, you wear the hoodie" but closer to Thomas beliefs of stuff like lying is bad and the fact that Janus often plays devils advocate, so he has a snake face

Random thoughts:

Virgil has the most ace/demi aesthetic and I love that

SvS: Multi part episode, "bad/evil/dark" side gets accepted, the FEELS, angst. Hmmm…

The twins getting along and just like sitting at a table causing minor chaos.

Patton randomly hugs everyone. He just does.

Janus and Patton: animal bros

#long post #sanders sides theories #bc why not #yee #noodles speaks #noodles theorizes

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qqueenofhades · 5 years

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I know she wasnt one of your favorite characters and you dont watch the show anymore but what is your opinion on this whole mad queen Dany thing from a storytelling perspective? I personally hate it. But I am really attached to her character.

Short answer: It’s an idiotic giant pile of steaming bullshit.

Longer answer: It’s an IDIOTIC GIANT PILE OF STEAMING BULLSHIT BY A COUPLE OF MEDIOCRE-ASS FAKE-WOKE MISOGYNISTIC RACIST WHITE MALE HACKS WITH ABSOLUTELY NO STORY-TELLING OR COHERENT NARRATIVE ABILITY WHO THINK THEY ARE BEING ~LE RISQUE AND IN FACT ARE ACTUALLY JUST FUCKING DUMBER THAN A BOX OF TRUMPS.

(Deep breaths. Deeeeeeep breaths.)

Obviously, the question of whether Dany was going to be “mad queen Dany” was played with a little and could have been thoughtfully or subtly done (if these hacks possessed any writing ability, which as noted, they do not). But (again, bearing in mind that I don’t watch the show), from what I saw, she went evil in the span of like… an episode and a half? After Jorah, Missandei, and Rhaegal died, and she is justifiably upset and fucked into a corner by illogical plot decisions and contrived writing, apparently these misogynist fuckburglars were just like “oooohh that would Drive a Bitch Crazy!!! UNLEASH THE KRAKEN OF CRAZY!!!” Which perhaps isn’t unique to Dany, since they busily destroyed everyone’s character arcs and 7 seasons of development, but wow.

(Plus I have heard spoilers/hints about Jon having to kill her next episode, which is a whole new LEVEL of Yikes. We knew they were misogynistic asshats and the treatment of female characters had always been gross, BUT WOW.)

Dany’s arc, both in books and show, has had some other problems. I.e. the very cringy “white saviour” business and how POC were generally reduced to props for her story, whether “savage” or as “noble savages” or slaves who needed saving – as usual, the show made that much worse, because again, they cannot write and their entire ethos has been to hammer home Shock Value Grimdark as much as possible. Especially since they apparently claimed that Dany’s turn into madness was foreshadowed in season 1 when she had a “chilly” reaction to Viserys’ death. You know, the brother who mentally, physically, and sexually abused her and sold her into an arranged marriage for his political ambitions. According to these monumental crapsacks, that definitely means a woman is Crazy, if she doesn’t break down in tears over her abuser’s death. They have managed to send a fuckton of gross messages about women throughout the show in general, but that’s a new one.

Dany has, at this point, struggled for seven-plus seasons in show canon to make the right choices, to realize how hard it is to be a ruler, to deal with her Targaryen heritage, to help the entire North in the Long Night (honestly, why didn’t they end the show after that? It’s been nothing but downhill since). They already forced her to act irrational and to play up the Dany-Sansa feud, rather than acknowledging two complicated female characters and their different philosophies and allowing them to find actual common ground. So having us believe (again, when apparently the takeaway here is to kill everyone she cares about Because Bitches Be Cray and then have that drive her into murderous insanity) that within like…. 1.5 episodes, she’s supposed to be the End Level Boss is… wow. (After Cersei got killed by…. a falling ceiling, and don’t even get me started on Jaime and Brienne.)

As far as I can tell, these bogglingly incompetent hacks either got bored with the season/project (since they were offered the budget for 10 episodes but were like “nah we’re good with six!”) or indeed, this was the plan all along. I would not be surprised. They have been absolutely wedded to ham-handed Shock Value as their main plot tactic all along (it was one of the many reasons I quit several seasons ago) and mistake gruesome mistreatment of their female characters as Gritty Medieval Realism ™ or Strong Female Characterness ™. So we can’t say they weren’t on brand until the end. The assumption here is clearly that we were all chumps to “expect a happy ending from Game of Thrones!” …. which, I seriously doubt anyone was. In my version of the ending (TNR), it’s genuinely bittersweet. Not all the favorites make it, in the epilogue it’s clear that the post-war years have been difficult, and so forth. But it’s also not a pointless, nihilistic bloodbath of eight seasons of audience investment masquerading as Woke Postmodern Grimdark Super Smart Cutting Edge Ending.

(Also in my version, Dany melts down the Iron Throne to help fight the Others, survives the final battle, forgives the fake Aegon, becomes Queen of the South, eventually gets married and has a son, deals with the death of her dragons and the contestations to her rule long-term, and doesn’t go goddamn crazy.)

I don’t care how Realistically Grimdark your media is (and I have written many posts on how I would like this whole trend to die with fire and I blame GOT for making other franchises think this is the way to go). In no universe is your audience going to think that sending everything to hell within less than 2 episodes of the final season is a satisfying and meaningful ending, and if you think so, you really have no idea how fiction works and should not be writing it. A GOOD ending does not need to be a rainbow-fluffy-bunnies one. But in no realm, as evidenced by the uproar that my entire dash is in, does this one qualify. The paranoid terror of social media and spoilers is making them go so far as to gaslight actors, film false endings, and then break their hearts when they find that a decade of their hard work is going up in smoke like this.

As far as I know, Emilia Clarke had at least two serious health scares while working on GOT, and when she found out this ending, she left the house and just wandered aimlessly for three hours and tried to drink her sorrows away. How is that acceptable to do on a professional level, far less what you may think of Dany or her character or anything else? When again, the takeaway from this is that anyone who ever identified with Dany or her struggle to overcome abuse, enslavement, helplessness, etc, and admired anything about her, was a chump to do that. Sure. “Mad Queen Dany” was one narrative possibility. But if they were going to pull it off (which, again, I cannot emphasize enough how bad they are at writing) this needed to happen way before. Not out of the blue in the last two episodes of the show, because Women Are Emotional LOL, Must Be Stopped.

I am so sorry to everyone who loved her, or any character on this show, but I honestly, deeply am not surprised. As bad as it is, I have… known for a long time that they were capable of ruining this on a fundamental level, have never actually understood the characters or cared about narrative coherency, and their treatment of women is disgusting on just about every level. But even I am gobsmacked at how badly they managed to fuck it up. That should tell you something.

Me to D&D, every time they have or will open their mouths for the rest of time:

#got critical #got spoilers #daenerys targaryen #anonymous #ask

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inkribbon796 · 4 years

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Orange Side Theory/Craze Rant

Taking a break from story writing to put this down on the record. I apologize in advance for this long and lengthy rant post, I had to get my thoughts out before the next Sander Asides. There’s no angsty discourse or anger. I’ve just got a lot on my mind about this character. This is about our mysterious friend Orange:

I held my opinion back because I wasn’t sure how to word it and thought we were farther out from Deceit’s name and we’re probably a year or two out from seeing Agent Orange for the first time (I hope it’s sooner, cause I want to find out if I’m wrong or not). First off I’ll admit I was wrong about Janus’s name, I did the research I typed in Roman Gods and saw Janus as a name. I wrote it down on a list of names and immediately dismissed it because I put more stock in the Logos-Pathos-Ethos theory. I was wrong, I thought it would be Ethan for that same reason.

Now my entire discourse could be totally malarkey. In fact I expect most of it to be completely false but I wanted to get my thoughts out in the open before Agent Orange showed up.

Personally I think Orange will be more than one thing. Orange will be Thomas’s dark side, he will be a representation of everything Thomas stands for, turned on its head. He will be what Thomas sees when he looks in the mirror: his self worth. Virgil is anxiety but he’s how the world impacts Thomas. Orange will be something more dangerous that Thomas has to combat. Because every episode also has a lesson we can relate to.

Onto the Agent Orange discourse. Who is Orange? Hell if I know. But I do think we have some hints with the Others and we also have another good tool: Thomas (or character Thomas at least).

First thing’s first: the Color Wheel theory. The idea that there is a Side for all the colors and we mostly have that. I looked up at Thomas’s website and found this nifty shirt as of July 27 (the day I wrote this, may it forever be dated)

This shows our favorite Sides with a new addition. Each of the flowers have symbolic ties to the Sides we know but there’s also a white flower which I think symbolizes Thomas since it’s placed behind the others as well, and an orange marigold. Which is interesting because marigolds can be used to symbolize cruelty, grief and jealousy; as well as passion, bravery, and courage. If you’ve seen the movie Coco, it’s the orange flowers that cover the movie.

Now, do I think that Orange is a symbol for Thomas’s fear of death? No, of course not, even if Virgil wasn’t anxiety he’d fight for that title with fang and nail. No but I do think that Orange is an escalation that has been present with the Dark Sides. Virgil is his anxiety, the flight or fight response that to this point can only really keep Thomas from meeting new people and leaving his house. A real “bark is worse than his bite” type (in Thomas’s case at least). Janus is a social threat where if Thomas gives Janus full control Thomas could turn into a compulsive liar and take advantage of those around him. Remus is more physical, even though if Thomas gives him no head he’s really harmless. But the insistence to scream in public (almost a near constant for me) or jump out of a moving car. It’s the threat the pose that made Thomas fear them.

But what about Orange? I think Orange is a threat to Thomas’s sense of self. Something that Thomas has buried so deep he hasn’t been mentioned yet. Something that might change with Roman’s sullen exit and Thomas’s acceptance of Janus. Before Janus and Remus’s dramatic entrances there were small nods that all was not sunshine and rainbows.

In Moving On part 2 we have the charming picture frame in Thomas’s living room. Which I think from left to right is Janus, Remus, and Virgil. Janus silences, Remus screams, and Virgil blinded everyone in the Embarrassing Phrases episode.

And then this throw away line:

That was a bit more important than we thought since we ran into someone else’s brother who had the a similar thought just with blunt force trauma instead:

Then there’s the little hints like despite all the Dark Sides acting like certain animals: the cat (Virgil), the snake (Janus), and the rat/raccoon (Remus). All of them have symbols with multiple arms. Virgil’s cobweb and spider-themed room, Janus’s multiple arms, and the Ursula tentacles on Remus’s insignia which mean that whatever Orange winds up, being he will most likely have the same theme.

The multiple arms could be a reference to a wide-reaching impact they have on Thomas. Although given Thomas’s Catholic background that makes occasional re-occurrences in the show Orange could also have a goat motif in someway. That and I like goats so that could be fueling that.

Onto another thought and my biggest speculation. My question for a long time on where Orange would wind up standing was actually answered when Remus showed up. My thought is that Orange will take the couch behind Thomas, since Thomas has had his back to Orange and the part of him he’s locked and hidden so far down that his intrusive thoughts showed up before Orange did. Coincidentally that area is almost always colored in oranges and browns.

Now this could have nothing to do with Orange and I admit that, but I also state that the Sanders Team could change that at anytime and I don’t have much else to go on.

He can’t be on the stairs because Logan’s already been kicked off the stairs by Virgil, which descends up into the unknown. Patton and Janus have gotten comfortable by the window, fitting since they are both in control of how Thomas sees the world and how the world sees Thomas. And finally Roman and Remus have the T.V because they’re actors and Thomas’s creativity. I originally thought it would be the stairs because Logan has effortlessly handled all the Dark Sides up to this point but that leaves one person without a foil: Thomas. And Thomas needs to face himself one of these days.

#Sanders Sides #thomas sanders #Orange #Orange side #Im making a lengthy post that will probably be out of date in a couple months #rant post #no clear direction just rambling #behold my shotty evidence #I just want a goat Side #I know Remus can probably eat cans but hes a sinky rat boy and I want my cute goat baby Side #watch Orange is probably going to be dog which will be cute but think of the goat jokes everyone but Logan could make

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davey-dammit · 4 years

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Fashion often changes in broad, pendulum-like swings, and this is a good example of the phenomenon. But while the question is deceptively simple, the answer is complex, because it involves explaining several social and historical convergences. Bear with me, if you will, and I hope all will become clear: In the early 70's, there came about, pretty abruptly, a strong visual backlash against the electric, high-chroma,"psychedelic" colour palette that was such an iconic feature of the late 60's hippie culture; in short, the style got old very fast. The reasons were multiple: America was now deep in a quagmire of war; thousands were being drafted and returning home in coffins, mere weeks after their induction; protesters were being beaten and jailed; every day, the newspapers (!) revealed our leaders to be ever more egregiously stupid crooks, liars and fools. Madness and anarchy seemed to lie around every corner. Somehow all that celebratory, fun, acid-saturated colour now seemed ... silly and self-indulgent. It became as inappropriate as wearing a "Smile" t-shirt to a schoolbus rollover. And all the gentle social upheaval and genial questioning of institutional values that those bright colours once cheekily promised? Well, they no longer carried much appeal. In fact, they seemed frightening - just more uncertainty and conflict, in already uncertain and conflicted times. People were suddenly in the visual mood for something more muted, contemplative and restrained. The faintly mournful "autumn" colour palette - dark orange, oxblood, copper, brown, harvest gold, avocado green - filled that need so well that, as you point out, it literally became symbolic of the decade. Perhaps simply because it reminded folks of a less complex time, when subtle, visually digestible, vegetable-based dyes coloured our surroundings, rather than incomprehensible, knock-your-eyes-out chemical pigments (whose colours were actually meant to approximate the livelier visual effects of a hallucinogenic experience!). Concurrently with the shift in colour preferences, smaller, meticulously repeated patterns once again began to appear on fabrics and wallpapers, as sharp stylistic counterpoint to the free-form, Yellow Submarine-esque, "supergraphic rainbow" visuals that had overwhelmed every available wall surface during the previous decade. Those autumn colours also thematically supported, and were cross-fertilized by, the decade's nascent "natural" movement. Still inspired by the lofty ideals of their older siblings' recently failed hippie paradigm, and boosted by the first vague stirrings of the modern ecology movement, '70s boomers forsook (at least temporarily) their parents' blatant consumerim, and instead embraced the generationally dormant, homespun handicrafts of their grandparents: macramé, crochet, bargello, weaving, leatherworking, cutting down old beer bottles into drinking glasses. The handicrafts they created and proudly decorated their homes with were mostly made from organic materials, so they just looked better when surrounded with earth-tone colours. Chromatic colour was out, because it detracted from the workmanship - which was, after all, what differentiated handmade-and-unique from factory-extruded and common. This attitudinal shift towards muted, "homemade" colour and texture, and away from slick, obviously industrial colours and finishes was, at least in part, probably a subconscious side-effect of the 70's generation's fast-growing resentment of both the politician-buying industrial complex, and its ongoing material support for a war they despised. (Yes, the war ended in '75, but resentments lingered.) It was, if you will, a form of protest, or boycott: a generation's tentative, somewhat pathetic attempt to re-exert control over their own visual destiny, and to wrest whatever tiny part of their environment they still could, away from the overbearing and apparently malignant industrial and commercial forces that were threatening to overwhelm them socially, financially and politically. At the same time as these colour and design changes took hold in home decor, people began gradually shifting their wardrobes back to natural wools and cottons. After a decade and a half of collecting increasingly slinky, shiny, uncomfortable, odiferous and obviously synthetic garments - which were themselves a pendulum-swing away from the ossified white-cotton-shirt, gray-flannel-suit ethos of the two decades following WWII, the fabric-choice pendulum was again swinging back. And in clothing, as in interior design, autumnal, natural colours were generally seen to be more complementary to natural materials than chromatic colours. That all being said (whew!), the prevalence of the autumnal palette wasn't really as all-encompasing as retro media like That 70's Show would have us believe. (Btw, what was up with the anachronistic, so-90's, industrial loft-tech, cheese-grater kitchen lights? Obvious clanger.) Designers frequently go kind of over-the-top when they try to recreate a period look, a generation or more later. Frankly, even Mad Men, though certainly very well researched, is visually a little overbearing in its representation of the period; after all, not everything in the Sixties was of the Sixties; some of it hailed from the Fifties and Forties, even the Thirties. Just as we still occasionally see an 80's wood panelled Buick land-shark station wagon in the Walmart parking lot, or a suitcase-sized VCR parked under a friend's tube TV, I long to see a cheap postwar suit on some poor agency schlub who supervises the steno pool. Instead, everybody wears Brooks Brothers. All the time. It is also instructive to realize that within any fashion era "look" you'd care to examine, competing visual ideas constantly jousted with one another for dominance. Visual style is a roiling river, not a still pond. Remember that the "natural, homespun" 70's were also the era that gave birth to platform boots for men, polyester lounge suits, "designer" jeans, disco, the New York Dolls, foil wallpaper, smoked glass coffee tables, naugahyde sofas, spherical stereo speakers, shag carpet, gold-veined mirror tiles, chrome overhead lamps, and pink Christmas trees; and may God forgive my generation for those particular stylistic trespasses. For further proof, take another look at Goodfellas, with an eye to the set decoration and costumes; it is a veritable omnibus of questionable 70's design. (And a showcase for some very clever designers!) Next instalment: why the theme colours of the late '50s and early '60s were red, pastel green, chrome yellow and teal, and why commercial printers suddenly stopped putting type into straight lines. Source: Lived through it all. Also, history of design in theatre school.

theartfulcodger (reddit post from 2014)

A really well thought out and interesting answer to the question “Does anyone really know why brown and orange were so popular in the 70s?”

#70s fashion #70s #70s style #retro 70s #observational insight #sociological take on 70s fashion

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outfitandtrend · 2 years

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[ad_1] It's February 2020 and the world has yet to be upended by the coronavirus pandemic. While designers, in the throes of New York Fashion Week, are sending stone-faced models down the runway, Susan Alexandra (née Korn) is staging a musical. There's lively dancing, acting, and singing, peppered by a chorus of laughs from the usually stoic audience. Both onstage and in the crowd, you can see a splattering of her famous beaded bags: in rainbow checkered print, in watermelon colors, littered with cherries or clouds or butterflies. This burst of unadulterated joy — at a time before we even knew we needed it — is a core part of Susan Alexandra's brand ethos. Launched in 2017, her beaded purses are widely considered collector's items. Rendered in animal print or kaleidoscopic color, they're loved by everyday shoppers, influencers, and celebrities alike, even popping up on supermodels like Gigi Hadid. Her beaded jewelry gets the same praise and adoration: Pete Davidson wears his Susan Alexandra "Pete" pearl necklace regularly. "To have that validation from celebrities is really exciting. I'm a huge pop culture fanatic," she tells POPSUGAR over Zoom. "There are quite a few people from Euphoria that have pieces, which is really exciting to me because I think that they're what's next." "What I love about the metaverse is there's no restrictions on what's possible. I could just make it total fantasy and that's a dream as a designer." Susan Alexandra lives on the cusp of what's next, perennially one step ahead of the rest of the industry. Consider this: several designers are still skeptical of the metaverse, but Alexandra is diving right in. Her latest career move is creating NFT wearables for Absolut's Coachella project. The digital fashion accessories live in Absolut.Land where fans (21+) are encouraged to connect over shared virtual drinks and outfit their avatars in custom festival fashion pieces. Among Alexandra's digital designs, you'll find a pair of watermelon earrings with an Absolut cocktail charm, resembling her favorite drink: a dirty martini. "What I love about the metaverse is there's no restrictions on what's possible," she says. "If it's a shoe, it doesn't have to be comfortable. If it's an earring, it doesn't have to be lightweight. I could just make it total fantasy and that's a dream as a designer." Fantasy could soon transcend into real life: Susan Alexandra now plans to foray into the shoe category. "For the metaverse [project], I made these shoes and they have an Absolut cocktail heel," she says. "And I'm like, 'OK, I'm dying to do shoes now.'" Clothing is on her radar as well, and she's thrilled for how street style — particularly at festivals — is evolving. "Something that's happening right now is a lot of people just showing their bodies regardless of size," she says, naming cutouts as a festival fashion trend she loves. "I feel there's this unselfconscious way that people are dressing now. And there's this openness and acceptance. And I really love the idea of genderless fashion; I think that's something that's really exciting, too." Ahead of Coachella Weekend 1, Susan Alexandra chatted with POPSUGAR about designing for the metaverse, expanding her beloved brand, and the one celebrity she really wants to work with. Read our full interview ahead. window.fbAsyncInit = function() FB.init( appId : '175338224756', status : true, // check login status xfbml : true, // parse XFBML version : 'v8.0' ); ONSUGAR.Event.fire('fb:loaded'); ; // Load the SDK Asynchronously (function(d) var id = 'facebook-jssdk'; if (d.getElementById(id)) return; if (typeof scriptsList !== "undefined") scriptsList.push('src': 'https://connect.facebook.net/en_US/sdk.js', 'attrs': 'id':id, 'async': true); (document)); [ad_2] Source link

#FASHIONSTUDIO

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walkerartcenter · 7 years

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The Edgeless & Ever-Shifting Gradient: An Encyclopaedic and Evolving Spectrum of Gradient Knowledge A gradient, without restriction, is edgeless and ever-shifting. A gradient moves, transitions, progresses, defies being defined as one thing. It formalizes difference across a distance. It’s a spectrum. It’s a spectral smearing. It’s an optical phenomenon occurring in nature. It can be the gradual process of acquiring knowledge. It can be a concept. It can be a graphic expression. It can be all of the above, but likely it’s somewhere in between.

A gradient, in all of it’s varied forms, becomes a catalyst in it’s ability to seamlessly blend one distinct thing/idea/color, to the next distinct thing/idea/color, to the next, etc.

In this sense, it is the gradient and the way it performs that has become a model and an underlying ethos, naturally, for this online publishing initiative that we call The Gradient.

Similarly, it’s our hope that this post—an attempt to survey gradients of all forms and to expand our own understanding of gradients—will also be edgeless and ever-shifting. This post will evolve and be progressively added to in an effort to create, as the subtitle says, an encyclopaedic and evolving spectrum of gradient knowledge. (Rainbow seen at Jasper National Park, Alberta, Canada Photo by Wing-Chi Poon)

#The Gradient #gradients #gradient knowledge #spectrum

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resultnorth1-blog · 5 years

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Self-Care Interview Series: Erin Lovell Verinder

Erin Lovell Verinder is a herbalist, nutritionist and energetic healer living in the wilds of the Byron Bay hinterland in Australia, working with clients locally in her Sydney clinic and worldwide via Skype.

Routine

— Is routine important to you or do you like things to be more open and free?

I honestly love both. I keep certain parts of my day very structured especially around work days and where I can, I claim open space. I follow structure to bring in the foundations of support that are essential for me to thrive and maintain my balance. Like slow mornings, connecting to nature, enjoying a whole nourishing breakfast. But then I open up my days where possible to flow & allow spontaneity.

— What do your mornings look like? If they differ from day to day, describe your ideal morning.

I keep my mornings slow and sacred, it’s been a very intentional movement towards this over the years. I wake with the sunlight pouring into our bedroom, we live in an old church and the light in here is just next level serene. I always keep the blinds open to allow my body rhythms to harmonize with the sun and moon cycle. This regulates your cortisol and melatonin in such a fundamental way. I allow myself to wake slowly, no rush, no jump out of bed, no alarms, no startle response! I will then take time to do some stretching sequences with conscious breath, and then sit for a 20 minute meditation. Followed by a morning dog walk around our very green country town. Other mornings it’s a swim in the ocean with my husband and a lazy lay on the sand. After this, it’s breakfast time. I brew a tea, or make a tonic and take that out into the garden. I really feel it’s so important to have a whole breakfast, and we really honour that in our household, we sit and chat and connect over a meal before the day unfolds. I do my absolute best to only engage in anything work related after 8am and completely screen free before then is the daily goal.

— Do you have any bedtime rituals that help you sleep well?

Yes! I am super ritualistic about the evening wind down. I ensure I am off all screens at least two hours before sleep. I feel this is so greatly important to allow our bodies to align and flow into the yin cycle of the night. I switch off all overhead lights and only use very warm low light lamps as the sun sets. This is another trick to converse with your body to wind down, let go of any tasks and prep for rest. I read, write, listen to music and savour evenings for creative flow and conversation with my husband.

— Do you have any kind of mindfulness practice?

Many. I practice conscious breath and meditation as my main allies. But I also spend A LOT of time with plants, growing, making, conversing and in nature scapes. This is for me the ultimate mindfulness practice of oneness, presence and connection.

Sustenance

— Describe your typical or ideal meal for each of these:

Breakfast – Scrambled eggs with turmeric, garlic and greens, avocado and some home fermented veggies on the side.

Lunch – Wild caught Mahi Mahi with tarragon, parsley, lemon and garlic cooked in ghee, on top of a bed of greens with some roasted sweet potato on the side. (Literally one of my favourite dishes ever)

Snack – I love smoothies. Often a smoothie, my current fav is Strawberries, cashew nut butter, cashew nut mylk, collagen, hemp seeds, tocos, cinnamon, vanilla powder & ashwaganda powder.

Dinner – San choy bow, with a rainbow of veggies & lots of bold ginger flavour in vibrant cos lettuce cups.

— Do you do caffeine and in what form? If not, what is your drink of choice in the morning?

I actually do not, I am completely stimulant free. I have not always been, but just find myself so very sensitive to any stimulants these days. I used to love love love a great spicy black chai tea but since going caffeine free I have replaced it with a dandelion chai blend I make myself that is just so warming and grounding I adore it. Plus no crazy energy spikes and lows, so thats a plus!

— Do you have a sweet tooth and do you take any measures to keep it in check?

At the same time when I let go of stimulants, I completely let go of sweets- even natural sweeteners. In the past I have been an avid lover of raw chocolate and quite the connoisseur (ha) but these days I make my own carob chocolate that has no sweetener in it at all. I love carob as it’s very sweet naturally so you can get away with no added sweeteners. I pair it with vanilla powder and they work synergistically to give a natural sweetness that I find so comforting.

— Are there any particular supplements, herbs, or tinctures/tonics that you take regularly and find to be helpful with your energy level and general wellness?

I do utilize supplement support as needed, this shifts as my body shifts. I love Vitamin C on so many levels but particularly for its adrenally restorative healing elements, so it is absolutely in my daily supplement routine, alongside Magnesium citrate on the daily. With herbs, I will vary what I am taking depending on my needs. I add herbal powders and medicinal mushrooms to my tonics and smoothies. Currently my favourites are Withania (Ashwaganda) and Reishi. I also am a huge lover of infusions (long loose leaf herbal brews) and always have a big jar of an overnight infusion with me to sip throughout my day. My most utilized blend would be Nettle leaf, Oat straw and Hibiscus. Earthy, calming, tangy and nourishing.

Exercise

— Do you exercise and do you have a particular exercise routine that you repeat weekly?

Years go I had a heinous back injury, I herniated multiple discs from overexercising. My approach and relationship to body movement completely shifted after this, from rigorous to gentleness. It is still an area of my life I have to encourage myself back to and approach more as an act of self love. Taking care of my temple. I walk my pups daily, I love pilates and swimming, I have begun the be.come project and absolutely LOVE the approach to body movement with body positivity, inclusivity, no need for any equipment and in the comfort of my own home. This all feels really supportive and a mix of gentle yet effective support for me and my body.

— Do you find exercise to be pleasurable, torturous or perhaps a little of both? How do you put yourself in the right mindset in order to keep up with it?

I am not a natural athlete by any measure! I have recently connected to how emotional it can be to return to body movement when you have been through a big physical injury/body change/life change. So for me the way I psyche myself up to do a session is to come from self love, to know this is a loving act of care for my body. That really helps me so much. Also knowing there are no rules to how you must move your body, allow exercise to meet your vibration- yin, yang and all between. Shifting the type of body movement I do with my menstrual cycle/hormones is so key. Be your own compass.

Beauty

— What is your idea of beauty – external, internal or both?

Authenticity, when someone is just purely themselves and at ease with it. I find it absolutely stunning.

— What is your skincare approach – face and body?

Oils, oils and more oil. I swear by the dewy hydration of oils. I am pretty low maintenance with skin care, and have noticed I need a lot less intervention since moving to the sea and swimming in the ocean most days. The salt magic is so nourishing for the skin. I also find the sun very healing, contrary to the fear of UV rays we have been indoctrinated with! I use a homemade herbal balm for a lot of applications, hair mask, makeup remover, and moisturizer. It is a power packed plant based mix, and such a heavenly blend. I also use Ritual oil, a moringa and blue lotus oil as a body moisturizer. I am in my mid 30’s and really notice my skin responds so well to the dewy goodness of oils. I practice dry body brushing also, which I feel is so wonderful to aid stagnation and lymphatic flow. I use a jade roller which I keep in the fridge for extra lymphatic cooling, and use on my face every few days with oil. I always end my showers with cold water, to add in a hydrotherapy element. I wear very little makeup, but when I do it is always natural, as clean as can be. I love RMS and Ere Perez.

— Are there any foods, herbs or supplements you find to be helpful to your skin/hair/general glow?

The importance of a vibrant whole foods diet and hydration is EVERYTHING! So many compounds in our foods, fruit + veggies are anti aging and collagen boosting anti oxidant heros. I drink 3+ litres of filtered water daily and do my very best to eat a rainbow of seasonal organic fruit/veggies daily and honestly I rely on this to support my health, skin and hair primarily. I do add in a marine based collagen daily to either smoothies or tonics. Also I am in a stage of encouraging my hair to grow, and am using nettle, rosemary and horsetail infusions as a hair rinse. I also massage in olive oil and rosemary oil into my scalp, truly it is so simple and aids hair growth.

— Do you have any beauty tips/tricks you’ve found to be especially useful throughout the years?

A low tox life is key. Keep your stress in check, move your body, eat as clean as possible – mostly plants, organics or pesticide free produce, clean water and clean air. The most incredibly glowy humans I know follow this ethos. This has been my guideline and I am often told I really do not look my age. I am so at ease with ageing but it is always nice to hear you are maintaining a youthful glow!

Stress, etc.

— Do you practice any consistent routines in order to avoid stress?

I really do. I work for myself and direct all of my offerings at this point. This can be demanding and means “work” can have a never-ending feel. There are always so many thoughts, needs and energy streams flowing into my work life. I also feel when you work as a space holder and in the healing realms, your energy output can be hefty. Burn out is high in this line of work, as you truly want to assist so deeply to aid others, we can often throw our needs to the side. I have learnt this many times in my years as a clinician/healer. I implement a lot of consistency with a structured clinic week~ limiting the amount of clients I see weekly to where I feel my energy is at and how many clients I can truly be present for. I balance myself with time off, away from screens, in nature and welcome in receiving energy to counteract my giving energy. My self care practice is the core of how I seek balance. I am actually freakily good at giving back to myself, which I believe enables me to do what I do!

— If stress cannot be avoided, what are your ways of dealing with it?

For me, it is much healthier to come at it head on.. (typical Aries answer!) I do my finest to address the stressors, and clear the way. Whether this means a mountain of admin, which is often a stressor for me as I not a natural lover of admin. I bunker down, switch off all other distractions, play some flute music or chants, burn some incense and get in the zone. When I exit that zone I feel so accomplished and reward myself with an ocean swim, or a nature walk to balance out the mental space I have been in.

— What measures do you take when you sense a cold/general feeling of being under the weather coming on?

First and foremost I rest. Immunity can be a very strong conversation our bodies communicate to us with the message of needed REST. My go to supplement and herbal approach is to take a high dose of Vitamin C consistently in divided doses throughout my day, I also add in zinc supplements. I always have an immune focused liquid herbal tonic in my first aid support cabinet, so I begin this at a high frequent dose to meet the acute presentation of a cold/virus~ generally dosing up to 4 x daily. Usually it will have Echinacea, andrographis, elderberry, manuka, thyme in it. I love medicinal mushrooms to support immunity so I will take a blend of Reishi and Chaga in higher doses. I avoid raw foods and focus on lots of cooked warming nourishing food to feed the cold, congees, broths, soups, stew. I also make fresh oregano, thyme with sliced lemon & ginger tea. If I really honour the rest that is needed, the cold/rundown feelings will shift very swiftly.

— How do you reconcile work-time with free-time? Do those things overlap for you or do you keep them distinctly separate?

The best thing I ever did was to get a separate work phone. I have a dedicated phone that my clients can contact me on, so in my free time it is left at home or on silent. This has helped me enormously create healthy boundaries. I also do not have my work emails on my phone, so I do not check them at all unless I am sitting down at my computer to work. It is so important to be available to your own process and own life, especially when you are in the field of assisting others. These simple interventions help fortify those boundaries greatly for me.

Motivation

— Describe the actions you take or mindset you try to tap into in order to stay on track with your self-care practice and being nice to yourself?

I return to softness with myself if I lose my way a little. I do my best to not judge or engage in negative self talk. I soften and return to my centre. We all have patterns we are cycling. Although I feel I am quite a master of my own self care practice I definitely can get caught up in my workload a fair bit. One thing I do consciously do is to book a treatment in weekly in some form, usually a bodywork-massage session. I find this tactile healing so restorative.

— What do you consider to be the single most important change you’ve made to your routine or lifestyle in terms of wellness?

I recently moved from the mountains to the sea, although they are both completely beautiful nature rich locations I was very much in need a big environment change for my own health and wellbeing. Having lived in a very cold environment mountain side for 10 + years I was craving the warmth, the salt and the sun. Being by the ocean and soaking up the sun rays has been so fundamentally healing for me at this point. Total game changer! The power of changing your environment is so potent when you feel the call to do so.

— How do you deal with periods characterized by a lack of inspiration or procrastination?

I acknowledge that this too shall pass, it is transient. I do my best to trust my own creative genius. I am quite a forward motion person, so when I am feeling uninspired it absolutely can get me down. I am naturally a procrastinator in many ways, which can be so frustrating but saying that I also have the ability to then smash out the tasks in an uncanny way! I often find when I am not in such a wonderful place with myself I feel that sense of stagnation, so I do my very best to get to the roots of that stagnation. Often it takes me getting into nature to be re inspired, crafting out some quiet space to re energize and tackle the task head on. I try to ask myself what is the block, and unpack the block to free up the energy flow.

— A book/movie/class that influenced your view of self-nourishment or self-care.

As cheesy at it sounds I LOVED Practical Magic, the witchy plant potions and the apothecary Sandra Bullock’s character opened was a total inspiration for me as teenager.. & still is now (lol).

Knowledge

— What was your path to becoming a herbalist, nutritionist, and energetic healer? How do all of those practices interweave for you?

I was always drawn to the esoteric realms and the mystery of nature. As a little girl I loved being outside, I loved the flowers, the trees, the plants, the grasses, the oceans, the mountains. I loved being an observer and always felt so held when I was in nature. As soon as I began to understand that plants could have a positive effect on our health, it just fascinated me. Learning about folklore of plant medicine, applications and remedies drew me into a language I wanted to be fluent in. I believe that much of our call to the plant path is remembering, these plants have been with us through our ancestral lines for eons. My career began really at the age of 16 with energetic healing, I met a group of wild women up north in Australia and was welcomed into circles, introduced to the concepts of healing, and recognized as a student of these realms. I learnt reiki which led to crystal healing, then to sound healing, colour therapy, kinesiology.. I went to a college for 2 years to learn energetic healing in depth and graduated by the age of 19 holding full in depth sessions on auric healing and clearing energetic blockages. For me it felt too much too soon. So I went and travelled, met my husband in the USA and studied a whole lot more. When I returned to Australia I wanted to anchor my knowledge of healing with more grounded modalities so I began studying Naturopathic medicine. I forked off into a Bachelor of Western Herbal Medicine and Nutritional Medicine. I loved learning about plants and food as medicine, I loved the union of science and grass roots knowledge. Over years of being in practice, I have found that there is no way or no need to seperate these modalities. I weave them all in together to ultimately support the client in a very holistic way. I approach my practice with this lens of perception. I lead with intuition, and merge functional testing, pathology testing, traditional folk medicine, evidence based plant medicine, nutritional medicine, and energetics all to support. I believe there are always energetics involved in a health presentation, along with the demand for nutritional healing as powerful ally, and herbal medicine to assist, shift and support. Aligning these healing modalities is a potent combination. Essentially the basis of Naturopathic Medicine is individualised care, no one case is the same. This ethos rings true to me, there is not one client I have worked with that is the same as any other. How can we approach health in one way, or believe there is one remedy for one presentation? It goes against the nature of our uniqueness! My practice is about honouring the individuals path, story and health goals.

— You put a lot of emphasis on gut health in your practice and believe it to be the root to all balanced health. Can you talk a little bit about why you see this as such an important aspect of wellbeing?

“All diseases begin in the gut” – Hippocrates had it right!

So many issues stem from the gut, it is the root of our health. With the emergence of continued evolving science we are seeing so much more information come to light around the microbiome/microbiota, which is truly wonderful. Much of our immunity is linked with gut health, it impacts mental health greatly with our “second brain” residing in the gut producing neurotransmitters, it is involved in the auto immune expression, it defines our ability to absorb and produce nutrients/vitamins/minerals, it impacts our metabolism, it is directly connected to our stress response and digestion responds accordingly.. And so much more… I work very closely with digestive healing with each and every one of my clients as I believe this is a key element to balanced health and shifting imbalanced symptoms. Many of my clients present with poor digestion and we dig like detectives to get to the roots, often it is a leaky gut like picture – with parasites, yeast overgrowths or SIBO which we generally detect via functional testing. Once we have a good sense of what is actually happening in the gut, we go in with a supportive treatment plan – lifestyle, supplemental, nutritional and herbal interventions. It always astounds me how health can transform so greatly, from imbalanced to balanced with the right support, intention and dedication. Our bodies are so wise, and so willing to transform.

— What is your favorite way of incorporating herbal medicine into your (or your clients’) everyday life?

I personally incorporate it in so many ways. I make my own products and use them on my skin and in my home on the daily, I drink herbal teas and infusions daily and use tonic herbs to support my body/being. I have a herbal garden that is buzzing right now, so connecting with the plants via gardening is medicine to me. There is something so potent about growing and caring for a plant and utilising her healing, knowing the story of the plants beginnings enhances the healing power I believe. For clients~ it really depends but I do always advise infusions to become a part of their everyday lives. They are so very simple and accessible, basically a long brewed overnight tea! If you are working with me in a session we will touch on many ways to incorporate plant medicine into your life, from the herbs that are suitable for your current process, to cleaning up your skin care with more plant love, to working with herbal tablets/liquid tonics for marked support.

Fun and Inspiration

— What is something you are particularly excited about at the moment?

This next year feels so full of creativity, as I expand and launch multiple new offerings. Right now I am in a potent brewing stage, so I look forward to it all coming to fruition!

— What do you do to unwind or treat yourself?

Days off at the beach, going into the bush, gardening in my medicinal plant patch, reading a great book, screen free days, massages, hugs with my husband & dogs.

— A book/song/movie/piece of art to feed the soul:

Book – Braiding Sweetgrass – Robin Wall Kimmerer Song – Stay – Cat Power/ Ba Movie – Call me by your name Piece of Art – A oil pastel pencil drawing gifted to me by my husband and family by my dear friend and incredible creator Chanel Tobler called “Curves like jam”

— Is there anyone you would like to hear from next in this interview series?

Emily L’ami from Bodha, she is a scent magician.

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Source: http://golubkakitchen.com/self-care-interview-series-erin-lovell-verinder/

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Text

Self-Care Interview Series: Erin Lovell Verinder

Routine

— Is routine important to you or do you like things to be more open and free?

— What do your mornings look like? If they differ from day to day, describe your ideal morning.

— Do you have any bedtime rituals that help you sleep well?

— Do you have any kind of mindfulness practice?

Sustenance

— Describe your typical or ideal meal for each of these:

Breakfast – Scrambled eggs with turmeric, garlic and greens, avocado and some home fermented veggies on the side.

Snack – I love smoothies. Often a smoothie, my current fav is Strawberries, cashew nut butter, cashew nut mylk, collagen, hemp seeds, tocos, cinnamon, vanilla powder & ashwaganda powder.

Dinner – San choy bow, with a rainbow of veggies & lots of bold ginger flavour in vibrant cos lettuce cups.

— Do you do caffeine and in what form? If not, what is your drink of choice in the morning?

— Do you have a sweet tooth and do you take any measures to keep it in check?

— Are there any particular supplements, herbs, or tinctures/tonics that you take regularly and find to be helpful with your energy level and general wellness?

Exercise

— Do you exercise and do you have a particular exercise routine that you repeat weekly?

— Do you find exercise to be pleasurable, torturous or perhaps a little of both? How do you put yourself in the right mindset in order to keep up with it?

Beauty

— What is your idea of beauty – external, internal or both?

Authenticity, when someone is just purely themselves and at ease with it. I find it absolutely stunning.

— What is your skincare approach – face and body?

— Are there any foods, herbs or supplements you find to be helpful to your skin/hair/general glow?

— Do you have any beauty tips/tricks you’ve found to be especially useful throughout the years?

Stress, etc.

— Do you practice any consistent routines in order to avoid stress?

— If stress cannot be avoided, what are your ways of dealing with it?

— What measures do you take when you sense a cold/general feeling of being under the weather coming on?

— How do you reconcile work-time with free-time? Do those things overlap for you or do you keep them distinctly separate?

Motivation

— Describe the actions you take or mindset you try to tap into in order to stay on track with your self-care practice and being nice to yourself?

— What do you consider to be the single most important change you’ve made to your routine or lifestyle in terms of wellness?

— How do you deal with periods characterized by a lack of inspiration or procrastination?

— A book/movie/class that influenced your view of self-nourishment or self-care.

As cheesy at it sounds I LOVED Practical Magic, the witchy plant potions and the apothecary Sandra Bullock’s character opened was a total inspiration for me as teenager.. & still is now (lol).

Knowledge

— What was your path to becoming a herbalist, nutritionist, and energetic healer? How do all of those practices interweave for you?

“All diseases begin in the gut” – Hippocrates had it right!

— What is your favorite way of incorporating herbal medicine into your (or your clients’) everyday life?

Fun and Inspiration

— What is something you are particularly excited about at the moment?

This next year feels so full of creativity, as I expand and launch multiple new offerings. Right now I am in a potent brewing stage, so I look forward to it all coming to fruition!

— What do you do to unwind or treat yourself?

Days off at the beach, going into the bush, gardening in my medicinal plant patch, reading a great book, screen free days, massages, hugs with my husband & dogs.

— A book/song/movie/piece of art to feed the soul:

— Is there anyone you would like to hear from next in this interview series?

Emily L’ami from Bodha, she is a scent magician.

#read more #see more #check it out #interesting #learn more

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