#yes that veil hat is so beautiful but hOW THE FUCK DO YOU COLOR IT OH GOD IT LOOKS BLUE-ISH AAAH
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#zhou zishu with the veil hat on 🛐
+ bonus: looking at his husband
#山河令#word of honor#shan he ling#word of honor edit#shan he ling edit#zhou zishu#zzs#wenzhou (implied)#yes that veil hat is so beautiful but hOW THE FUCK DO YOU COLOR IT OH GOD IT LOOKS BLUE-ISH AAAH#or kinda purple#im not sure#also at first i was going to do ten gifs but i fucked up three of them </3#so there's just seven#mai gifs#im not proud of these#a xu im sorry#mine: shl
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speak now - luke hemmings
summary - based off of the song speak now by taylor swift -- highly recommend listening before reading for the full experience.
warnings - none? nerves and kind of public speaking
word count - 1.6k - lyrics not included this time, lemme know if you guys prefer that
a/n - im SO sorry ive been MIA, i have had absolutely zero motivation. this is some trash i wrote a while ago and i thought i would post it while im trying to find inspiration to write something better. its the 5th installment of the song series so you can go check those out as well if you want! also, like i said in the word count, i did not include the lyrics this time around. i think i prefer that but im not sure, let me know if you guys want me to include the lyrics next time and i will! thank you for reading, i missed yall.
***
Your mom’s old pale yellow dress didn’t fit as well as you had hoped but you had no other options, formal events were not a common occurrence in your life. The wedges pinched at your toes and the thin dress straps dug into your shoulders but the soft yellow complimented your skin and you liked the ribbon around the waist so it wasn’t a total loss.
You sucked in a sharp breath, adjusting the dress once more in the mirror before grabbing your purse and hustling out the door.
This wasn’t happening. You weren’t actually doing this. The girl who feels like she has to throw up before public speaking and stutters over small talk and avoids eye contact at all costs is supposed to stand up in front of 100 people and declare her love for the boy getting married to someone else? You felt nauseous thinking about it.
But you couldn’t sit idly by and watch the love of your life say “I do,” to the snobby girl that put gum in your hair in middle school. If there was ever a time that you would stand in front of a crowd voluntarily and speak, it would be now.
The venue was beautiful. The church had vaulted ceilings and large stained glass windows that cast colorful shadows on the hardwood flooring. There were cascading white curtains and pale pink tablecloths with little white doilies. It was pretty but humble and you felt a pang of jealousy in your chest.
Concealing yourself in the crowd wasn’t difficult considering she’d invited the county and all its neighbors. Everyone was in the pews standing and mingling and you noticed the only group sitting quietly was the family of the bride herself, all looking around carefully like the normal folk were unevolved cavemen. They wore coordinating lavender outfits with done up hair and hats with little feathers -- something straight out of a period piece.
You rolled your eyes at their judgmental nature and apparent superiority complex before your attention was drawn to the boys in the front row talking seriously among themselves, dread written clearly on their faces.
Calum, Ashton and Michael wore similar black tuxes, looking uncomfortable in the formal getup. You only watched for a few moments before you caught Ashton’s attention. He first looked shocked but his expression quickly became sincere. He gave you an apologetic smile which you returned before heading to the back to avoid any more curious eyes. His family would surely recognize you if they saw you and you didn’t want any extra attention on you until you were subjecting yourself to it.
As you waited for the ceremony to start, you stared fondly out the window at the snowy trees and calm serenity of nature before allowing yourself to be whisked away in a vivid daydream about what it might be like to tell him how you truly feel.
You jumped, pulled from your daydream by dark, heavy chords coming from the church organ. You cringed a little as the horribly ill fitting song continued, but readied yourself for the ceremony to begin.
The silk purple curtains concealed your figure enough in the back of the church and your heart rate began to rise. This was happening. You were about to profess your love to a man who might turn you down in front of everyone and their mother. But it would be worth it. You couldn’t live your whole life wondering “what if?”
You heard a squeak of door hinges from your right and held still. Any sudden movements might give you away.
A young girl came running through with a wicker basket in hand, poorly distributing rose petals along the aisle. Something caught your eye in the front of the room.
Luke stepped out, front and center, and straightened his tie. Your breath caught in your throat. He looked just the same as the last time you’d seen him on that warm summer night. You had expected some drastic change, to not even recognize him. But it was Luke. The same one that picked flowers with you at recess and stopped to wait for you whenever you needed to tie your shoe. The same one that was always there to dry your tears and to watch dumb romantic comedies with you without complaining. He stood there quietly, clean shaven and rosy cheeked, the same Luke you knew and loved.
You pushed away the more upsetting memories, like the one from that warm, sticky night. The image of his tear stained cheeks and pleading eyes.
Moments later, your eyes were pulled from Luke. Courtney came strutting through the open Mahogany doors, waving like she was fucking Queen Elizabeth.
You rolled your eyes at her bedazzled ball gown and fake pageant smile. She didn’t care about Luke, she cared about image and reputation. Which is why you were really about to piss her off.
You looked back towards Luke and tried to read his expression but it was stoic, unmoved. You wish that was me, don’t you?
Courtney reached Luke and shot him a wide smile, to which he returned. Except Luke's was empty, not sincere. Luke had always thought Courtney was beautiful and smart and made the decision from there that marrying her wouldn’t be so bad. After you had turned him down in the glow of the firelight on that July night. It broke him and you hated yourself every day because of it. You weren’t ready to love him then. But you were most certainly ready now.
Ready to risk everything for that blue eyed boy.
The ceremony progressed and the preacher neared the end of the formalities. You felt your time was nearing. Your knees were weak and knocky, your hands shaking.
The preacher paused, and with his booming voice said “if anyone can show just cause why this couple cannot lawfully be joined together in matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.” He looked down, preparing to move on and read the next portion, assuming no one would protest. No sane person ever protested.
Your breath hitched in your throat. It was now or never. If you didn’t find it in you to step forward at this moment, the person you love most in this world might be gone forever.
The room fell silent and you closed your eyes, pushing the sheer curtain aside and taking a shaky step forward. You heard heads turn and a few audible gasps.
When you opened your eyes, everyone had turned to you. Every familiar face, every friend, every stranger.
You caught Courtney’s eye and she looked as if every fiber of her being was on fire. If someone reached out and touched her in that moment, they’d get a 3rd degree burn. She looked like she was trying to strangle you with her eyes.
You flattened your dress once more and looked up, bracing yourself for the look on Luke’s face.
He didn’t look angry or upset, just… confused. And surprised.
You took that as a sign to continue. You softly cleared your throat, speaking directly to the man in front of you. “I am not the kind of girl who should be rudely barging in on a white veil occasion but you are not the kind of boy… who should be marrying the wrong girl.” There were some shocked whispers and appalled gasps but you ignored them.
You walked forward down the aisle to get a clearer look at Luke and stopped at the stairs. You felt like you were alone with him now and it made it easier. “So don’t say yes, let’s run away now. I’ll meet you when you’re out of the church at the back door. Don’t wait or say a single vow, you need to hear me out.” You looked at him with pleading eyes and for the first time, his facade fell. You saw the glint of relief in his eyes and the slump of his once tense shoulders.
Luke looked around once more at all of the people that had gathered there today for him and knew he needed to make a decision. He turned to look at his friends stationed behind him, and to no surprise, their faces were lit up with pure happiness and relief. He couldn’t help but smile back at them. Calum threw him a thumbs up and Michael mouthed “go with her, dumbass.”
Luke turned back to the audience and spotted his mother in the crowd. He tried to read her expression but when she gave him a soft, curt nod, he knew what he had to do.
He quickly grabbed Courtney’s hands and your face immediately fell. He was going to choose her after all.
Then, he whispered something you didn’t expect. “I'm sorry, Court. This is a mistake, you don’t love me and I don’t love you — you and I both know that. We can’t do this. I have to go.” He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek quickly as she stood, frozen.
You felt a pang of guilt. But then you remembered that she would get over it and be marrying someone filthy rich by the time she was 25 and didn’t feel so bad anymore.
Luke then turned back to you. He jogged down the steps and pulled you into a hug. It was so silent in the church now, you could hear a pin drop.
He grabbed your shoulders and kissed your forehead. “Let’s run away now, I’ll meet you when I’m out of my tux at the back door.”
You nodded, tears in your eyes, and ran towards the double doors of the church. This was the best decision you had ever made.
You stood in the crisp, chilly air, waiting for Luke to come out of the door on the side of the church. Snow fell on your hair and eyelashes and you reached out a hand to catch some flakes.
In only three minutes he’d managed to change back into his black skinny jeans, looking like himself again. You could’ve cried at the sight.
“Hi,” you said. What else do you say to someone when you just got them to call off a marriage at the alter?
His smile grew and he ran forward, nearly tackling you in a giant hug. His hands found the back of your head and his eyes searched your face, memorizing every feature, worried that at any second, he might wake up from this amazing dream. “So glad you were around when they said speak now.”
taglist (dm or ask to be added!): @theshyspy
#luke hemmings#luke#luke 5sos#luke hemmings fluff#luke hemmings imagine#luke hemmings fanfic#fanfiction#fanfic#5sos#5 seconds of summer#calum hood#calum 5sos#ashton irwin#ashton 5sos#michael clifford#michael 5sos#calum#ashton#michael#fluff#smut#5 seconds of smut
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A Hand for Mrs. Claus
Rating : T? I think...? Rude humor, some harsh language, and lots of implied sexual content... but I don’t think it actually warrants M? Idk... just be careful?
Words : 2492
Pairing: Anna/Kristoff
Continuation of the ‘Santa Baby’ series.
I will have you all know that I was bullied into writing this... okay not really. I wrote it because I wanted to. But a proposal was mentioned and I love writing my favorite cuties be happy together. This continues along the outrageous ‘Santa’ theme that I started. Merry Christmas to all and all that jazz. Enjoy~
He had the girl. He had the ring.
Those were, apparently, not the two most important things when planning a proposal, Kristoff had found. The most important thing was to, in the words of his loving father who was still getting over his (vicious) cold; “grow a pair and just fucking ask her.” His mother had been absolutely horrified by the language but had agreed with the sentiment.
Alas, there lay the problem, though. He was having some trouble getting up his courage.
It wasn’t that he was worried that she might say no. In fact, he was quite certain she would say ‘yes’. He just couldn’t find the right moment.
He’d been carrying the ring around in his pocket for a full week, just waiting for the opportunity to get down on one knee to present itself… it had not.
And Elsa had been absolutely no help. He’d asked her weeks ago if Anna had ever mentioned a particular way she would like to be proposed to.
“Nope.” Elsa had said, flipping the page of a book and not even looking up at him.
“No, hot air balloons?”
“Nope.”
“No special hikes out to romantic waterfalls or anything?”
“Nope.”
“No butterflies and confetti?”
“Kristoff you are over thinking this.”
He probably was. But how was he supposed to ask the most extraordinary girl in the entire world to marry him. I mean, he was no slouch, he didn’t have any horrible deep dark secrets, and he knew he wasn’t ugly (though he’d never thought he was particularly handsome, his nose always felt too big), but those felt like remarkably small factors when he put them in comparison to everything Anna was.
Gorgeous, funny, brave, absolutely brilliant, and so kind. And feisty. And so, so beautiful.
All he had going for him was that he really loved her.
How was he supposed to do this??
And he needed to do it soon, because he had already shown his mother the ring he’d bought (terrible mistake, really), and if he didn’t ask her by Christmas Eve (in two days), he had no doubt his mother would spoil everything. She might actually just go ahead and ask her for him. And that would be a disaster.
“Oh, Kristoff look!” Anna exclaimed, yanking his hand.
The Christmas light display he and Anna were currently admiring was apparently one of the biggest in the state, and it was immaculate.
Anna was practically vibrating as she pulled him along, ‘oohing’ and ‘ahhing’ at every new display and fixture.
This is what had made the asking so difficult.
It was a romantic, albeit very crowded, place. But Anna was very easily distracted.
“Anna,” he cleared his throat, not for the first time that evening, preparing himself.
“Huh?” She only glanced at him for a second, so as not to miss the synchronized light display to the song ‘Joy to the World’.
“Um…” Kristoff rubbed the back of his neck quickly. “I was just thinking-“
No, that was a horrible way to begin this. ‘I was just thinking’? Who starts a proposal that way?
“You were thinking what?”
“Just that… you look beautiful tonight.”
“Awww.” She said peeling her eyes away from the twinkling lights to look at him. “Well that’s sweet. Thank you.”
“Well it’s true.” He laughed. “You look beautiful every night. Every day, too. All the time, actually. And I’m always going to think that, even when we’re old and gray, and you know, dying.”
“What?” Anna blinked and then laughed.
“I-oh nevermind.” He sighed, tucking her hand around his arm and walking abruptly to the next display.
“Oh, Kristoff, I wasn’t done looking at that- oh my gosh! Look at this!” She bounded forward, pulling him along again.
He waited for his cringeworthy words to wear off, as Anna looked at different displays. Anna was remarkably unbothered, but Kristoff felt shaken to his core. He’d talked about dying… what the hell was wrong with him??
When they came to a bridge that had a lighted archway overtop that blinked, twinkled, and shimmered in all different colors he realized the setting wasn’t going to get much prettier than this.
He took a deep breath.
“Anna.” He said firmly.
He began to lower down on one knee and fish the ring from his pocket.
A few people around them gasped in delight.
And Anna did not notice.
“Kristoff! Look, look, look! Just across the bridge.” Without even turning around she grasped ahold of his hand and jerked him forward.
He stumbled, due to the fact that he had been getting down on one knee, and Anna glanced back at him briefly, but she didn’t see the ring in his hand and continued to pull him along.
He’d blown it.
He spent the rest of their excursion being a bit of a grump (he knew it), because how could he have possibly missed such a golden opportunity? It had been so ideal! In fact, he saw another two people getting proposed to in the same spot as they’d walked around the park again, and he hadn’t been able to use that spot again. He hated those other two couples for some reason.
“Are you okay?” Anna asked as they pulled up in front of their apartment. “You’ve been really quiet.”
“Hm? I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” Her hand rested on his arm.
“Yep. Just fine.”
She didn’t believe him, he could tell. But he pulled the keys out of the ignition and hopped out of his truck without any further prying. He jogged around to Anna’s door and opened it for her, helping her on the slick sidewalk.
As they approached the door, he saw a package resting there.
“What’s that?” Anna asked.
“I don’t know.” Kristoff was surprised that it wasn’t something Anna had ordered for Christmas (her cyber Monday shopping had been intense). “Is it not something you bought?”
“No, all my packages came in already.”
“Huh. It must have been misdelivered or something because I didn’t-“ He started to say then realization hit him. “Oh no!”
He hurried to the door and swiped up the package before Anna could get a good look at it and tucked it behind his back.
“What is it?”
“It’s nothing!” He insisted.
“Kristoff,” Anna raised an eyebrow. “Is it something for me?”
“Um… kinda. I forgot I bought it… late the other night when Elsa and Olaf were over, and we had maybe one too many glasses of eggnog.”
“Well what is it?” Anna giggled, skipping up to put her hands on his chest. “Or can’t you tell me?”
“Uh,” his voice cracked, “it’s um. It’s nothing. I’m going to return it.”
“What!?” Anna pouted. “You can’t return it! Not now that I’ve seen you got me something! Is it a Christmas gift?”
“Well, not exactly-“
“Then why can’t I see it now?”
“I think I bought the wrong size so-“
“The wrong size? So, it’s clothing?” She looked excited. “It’s too small to be a shoe box.”
“Erm… let’s go inside, please. Where the neighbors can’t hear this conversation.”
As Kristoff unlocked the door, and was bombarded by Sven, Anna snuck behind him and swiped the package from his hands.
“Anna!” He scrambled to get the door shut, and untangle himself from Sven’s slobbery dog kisses. “Please don’t!”
It was too late. She’s already ripped the tape off the box and pulled out a very (very) skimpy red lingerie set that had white fur trim and came with a Santa styled hat, and a pair of long red gloves. The plastic packaging that it came in very clearly read “Sexy Mrs. Claus Costume” over the top.
“Oh my god.” Anna said.
“It was meant to be a gag gift,” Kristoff stammered quickly, trying to talk his way out of what a perverted weirdo he must look like. “You know because the other day I was dressed as Santa, it’s just a joke though!”
But when Anna turned, she was giggling, and smiling.
“I can’t believe you bought this!” She squealed with a huge grin. “I’m going to go put this on right now!”
“Anna, you don’t have to!” Kristoff insisted.
“’Santa’ is about to get a real treat!” She arched an eyebrow seductively, then scampered down the hall to their bedroom.
Kristoff looked at Sven, who seemed to be eyeing him saying ‘you didn’t ask her yet did you?’
“Don’t patronize me.” He sighed.
“Kristoff!” Anna called down the hall, sounding far to giddy for her own good. “Put on the Santa hat that’s on the entertainment center.”
“That’s just for decoration, I thought?”
“Just do it!”
Kristoff sighed, taking off his coat and putting it away in the closet. He obediently retrieved the hat as instructed. He jammed it on his head as he sat on the couch and crossed his arms.
This was absolutely ridiculous, and it was his own damn fault.
“Hey google!” Anna’s voice came from the kitchen. “Play ‘A Hand for Mrs. Claus’.”
“’A Hand for Mrs. Claus’ by Idina Menzel, sure. Playing on Spotify.” The disembodied voice echoed through their apartment.
Then Anna came skipping into view.
“I wish I had some thigh-high boots to go with this.” She told him. “But I think it fits pretty well.”
Kristoff’s jaw had gone slack and he was having trouble forming words.
“What do you think, ‘Santa’?” She cocked a thinly veiled hip and raised a gloved arm above her head, striking a pose for him.
“Uh, erm, yeah.” He stuttered, unable to take his eyes off her. “You look… wow you look- you look-”
“Proud of your costume choice, huh?” She giggled, bouncing (so much was bouncing) up to him.
She straddled his hips and draped her arms over his shoulders.
“Mhmm.” Was all he could mumble.
“Has Santa been working so hard this year?” She gave him a little pout.
She had put on red lipstick for this.
“Are you really going to keep up with this ‘Santa’ thing?” He chuckled, his hands going to her hips automatically.
“Well if the hat fits, wear it.” She adjusted the hat on his head to a cocky angle.
“I think that phrase is ‘if the shoe fits, wear it’”
“Semantics.” She waved it off, her lips coming dangerously close to his. “Though I think your feet would be too big for Santa’s boots, honestly.”
“I did actually have to wear my own work boots the other day.”
“See.”
“So, is this something we’re going to do every year now?” He could feel that he had a dopey grin on his face.
“Maybe,” Anna giggled, “I’m honestly having a lot of fun with it.”
“I can tell.” His nose brushed hers. “Thanks for the warning though. It will take a bit of mental preparation to be called ‘Santa’ every year for the rest of my life.”
Anna pulled back slightly.
“What?” Her eyes were wide.
Kristoff realized what he’d done.
When he and Anna talked about the future, it had always been full of promise. There had never been an ‘end’ in sight, so to speak. They had talked about their dreams (Kristoff wanted to own just a little bit of land, and Anna desperately wanted tiny farm animals at some point), they had talked about homes (Kristoff wanted to build one someday, and Anna insisted a secret passageway was necessary), they had talked about kids (They both agreed that lots of kids would be good).
They had taken each day, each week, each month, and each year with hope for the future together, but never had Kristoff so explicitly stated the words ‘for the rest of my life’.
Now he had to do it.
He wasn’t going to get a better opportunity.
“Anna.” He said standing suddenly, taking Anna with him and setting her on her feet in front of him. “You… are the most extraordinary person I have ever met.”
He got down on one knee.
“Kristoff!” She gasped covering her mouth.
“I may not have much.” He took her other free hand. “But Anna, I promise you, for as long as I’m living, I will give you everything I have. I will do everything in my power to be the man that you want.”
“You already are.” She whispered, tears leaking from her eyes.
He smiled.
“Anna, I love you with all that I am.” He fished the ring out of his pocket and held it out to her. “Will you marry me?”
He barely got the words out of his mouth before Anna was attacking him with kisses.
“Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!” She laughed, and cried, and covered his face with red lipstick marks.
He stood to his feet and spun her around. He couldn’t help it. He was too excited to stay kneeling.
She quickly peeled off the long glove on her left hand and let him slip the ring onto her finger.
“We’re engaged!” She shrieked, and he was sure the neighbors would be able to hear her. “We’re going to get married! I have to call everybody! I need to facetime Elsa to show her this ring!”
“Maybe you should change?”
“She already knows we’ve got a weird Santa kink going on.” Anna said leaping out of his arms to find her phone.
“Excuse me, what?”
“OH, and I gotta call your mom!”
“Please…” Kristoff begged. “Whatever you do when you tell this story, do not use the words “Santa kink”.”
“Of course not! I’ll just say you proposed at home in the sweetest way possible.” She came over and planted a giddy kiss on his lips again. “Wait! You had the ring in your pocket already?”
“Yes, I’ve been trying to ask you all week.”
“Really?”
“I was actually nearly down on one knee on that bridge earlier.”
“Oh my gosh!” Anna covered her mouth, her eyes wide with both amusement and pity. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Kristoff insisted, giving her nose a kiss. “This was better.”
Then she kissed him. And again. And then her kiss lingered. He grasped ahold of her waist tightly and pulled her closer. She swiped her tongue against his bottom lip.
“You know, I can wait to call everyone.” She whispered, her voice low.
“Good idea.”
“Gotta make good use of this outfit first.” Her eyes were dark with desire. “I’m gonna be Mrs. Claus, after all.”
“God, I love you so much.” He chuckled moving his kisses to her neck.
He could have proposed in a fancy, flashy way. He could have had it written out in the sky. He could have proclaimed it loudly in front of crowds of people. He could have tried to make it ‘not him’.
But truly, nothing beat asking Anna to marry him when she was wearing nothing but a skimpy bit of see-through fabric and a Santa hat while they were at home. There were some immediate perks that he certainly enjoyed.
#santa baby#I guess i'm kinda doing a kristanna advent thing this year#this setting is so ridiculous but i'm so happy I wrote it#kristanna fanfiction#frozen fanfiction
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“Sergeant Drake! Sergeant Drake, sir!” A little voice calls from the booming, drunken chorus of voices in the pub, and Bennet Drake lifts tired eyes from his pint to see a wee one sneak through the sea of bodies to where he sits, quick as a street cat.
“What’s this now? You know you’re not allowed in here. Off with you.”
The boy ducks under a half-hearted swipe intended to grab his ratty jacket, and tugs on the sergeant’s sleeve.
“But I’ve a message for you, sir! For Inspector Reid too, it’s about the Opium Ghost, sir!”
That gets Bennet’s attention, and he can feel the much earned fog of liquor clear from his mind. They have been after the monster for almost a month now, and too many unfortunate souls have fallen prey to him at the Opium houses in the Chinatown streets of London.
It’s nearly driven Inspector Reid head first into the canal. Not another one—they’ve all dreaded in the privacy of their thoughts— not another Ripper.
“Oy!” He calls one of the lads from their division, and points at the door. “Get word to the Inspector. Tell ‘im there’s been another one.” And to boy, he asks, “Same house as the last one?”
The wee one nods, tugging on Bennet’s sleeve urgently. The sergeant gestures sharply at the young officer and gets his coat and hat, following the little stray cat out the door and through dark alleys to the Opium Den where the last victim was found.
This has been an odd case in more ways than one. Their little stray messengers being the most remarkable thing. Young street boys and girls who showed up at odd times, day and night, to warn them of the tragedies as soon as they took place. Even hand deliver evidence for their American doctor.
Reid suspects an anonymous benefactor, though Bennet knows he fears the motives of someone who’d sway children to do his bidding.
But the little ones look happy enough. Clean and warm despite the winter chill and their ratty clothes, and with a spark in their eyes, full of life.
“He’s in there.” The boy stops in front of an Opium house, the only one in Whitechapel, and as such, the only one their division can investigate. And of course, who should he find at the doorstep but their bloody own Yankee, waving at him obnoxiously from the gate.
“Lurkin’ about a drug house? Why am I not surprised?”
“Good to see you too, Sergeant.” Captain Homer fucking Jackson appears as always, drunk, unwashed and uncaring of the effect he has on the people around him. Bennet in particular. “Where’s Reid?”
“On his way.” The little boy yanks impatiently on Bennet’s sleeve and keeps him from adding more, and Jackson’s eyebrows arch up with amusement, but he seems to get the message.
The American gets his pistol from his holster, and nods at the Opium den. “Reid’ll catch up. Shall we?”
Bennet looks at the impatient little boy, and nods firmly, adjusting his hat, and getting his own pistol from his belt.
“Right.”
The wee one points to a window on the second floor, and tells them to hurry before skittering away into a dark alley.
Bennet meets Jackson’s eyes, and with a nod, they hurry into the building. The poor girls are visibly trying to hold onto their composure and attend to their oblivious customers, but an old Chinese woman stares at them with firm, dark eyes and waves them over to lead the way up a red stairwell and to a hallway. A series of doors that remind him all too much of Long Susan’s pleasure house.
Girls peer at them from some of those doors, and go back into hiding after a sharp word from the old woman. She walks with a limp, confident as a seasoned general, and both men follow her quietly, guns at the ready and attention like a live wire.
A door at the end of the hall opens, and Bennet raises his gun. Jackson’s hand darts up and grips his arm, and he shakes his head. It’s not a john who walks out of the room, though, but a girl. Beautiful. Her skin soft and golden, barely hidden with delicate silks held in place by a sash around her waist, her dark eyes shadowed with kohl, and her lips a rose red.
The old woman clucks affectionately, soft and loving as a mother where she was terse and unforgiving a moment before, and holds out wrinkled, calloused hands to the girl.
She smiles, beautiful and kind, and squeezes the old woman’s hands, before replying in a gentle voice.
A man’s voice.
Bennet freezes, surprised into lowering his weapon. Jackson whistles softly.
“Well, I’ll be. He’s prettier than the girls at Susan’s.” It’s a mutter close to Bennet’s ear, and he can’t be sure that the young man in silks heard, but his conversation with the old woman stops.
“He’s in there.” He doesn’t sound Chinese, his accent perfectly clear, and Bennet blinks again.
“Did he hurt you?” Jackson gets ahead of him, stepping around Bennet to study the beautiful boy with a doctor’s discerning gaze.
“He tried.” The young man smiles, and Jackson could swear there’s a catlike gleam in his eyes. A flash of gold that he will blame on the warm light of the lamps.
It made him even more beautiful, ethereal and magic, there and gone in a moment.
Jackson nods at him, and then at the woman, who waves them on with all her previous tartness before shuffling the beautiful boy down the hall.
The doctor stares (because hot damn), and a smack to the back of the head startles him into swearing. “—Jesus, Drake, what are you, his mother?”
Drake stares at him like he’s gone mad, and Jackson spreads his arms, waiting for an explanation for the smack, but the sergeant shoves past him and into the room without a word.
The doctor mutters under his breath and follows, gun at the ready again, and freezes, eyebrows rising up to his hairline.
“...Christ. Never cross a man in a silk dress.”
The Opium Ghost is a man (of course he is). Plain looking, not particularly large or strong. And his weapons of choice, all his instruments of death, are all helpfully pinned to his person, practically on display.
Syringes half full of opium, sewing needles threaded with colorful silk, and the medical blades he used to cut open his victims, all jabbed into his arms, his neck, his legs. His ankles and wrists are bound to the bed with shimmering silk.
And on his chest, in blue ink, a message for Inspector Reid:
Opium Ghost
“Sweet Jesus...” Bennet whispers, “Is he alive?”
Jackson rushes past him and crouches by the bed, fingers presses to the bastard’s neck, careful of the needle pinned there.
“—Holy shit.” He will take that as a yes.
As though intent on confirming this, the man jolts, suddenly wide awake, white eyed with panic like a spooked horse, his pupils wide as saucers.
“D-did you see him? The devil? The devil—“
“The angel in the silk dress? Yeah, we saw him, now quit moving or you’ll bleed out before I can get you on my table.”
“Please! God, please—get me out of here. The devil and his fuckin’ witch will find me here—”
“What’s he on about?” Bennet asks from the door, frowning at their pinned monster with thinly veiled patience. Jackson can see the urge to shoot him in his blue eyes. He can’t say the thought hasn’t crossed his mind.
“Maybe the boy wasn’t alone.” Jackson shrugs, checking the pincushioned killer’s pupils. “He’s high out of his mind.”
“He came out of the dark.” He mutters madly, eyes lost somewhere neither Drake nor Jackson can see “The witch’s eyes glowed bright, like a cat by a lamp, and the devil stepped out of the dark when he called for him. Tall and pale like the dead, he was. His eyes were so dark, and they promised terrible things—“
“Did he sound English?” A voice interrupts. And Drake and Jackson both turn to the door to find their Inspector Reid, staring intently at the madman on the bed. “This devil you speak of, the tall man, his accent—was he English?”
“He was the devil!” The Opium Ghost whimpers. “The fucking devil himself! And I am damned to a place worse than hell for what I’ve done.”
“Good.” Bennet quips, “God knows you deserve it.”
“But the man—“
“Who the fuck cares, Reid?” Jackson snaps, and the fact that Drake doesn’t glare at him for his lack of respect speaks to how much he agrees with the Yank. “You wanted the Opium Ghost, and you got him. Now’s not the time to be chasing fairytales.”
“With respect, sir—“ Bennet says before Reid can argue. “Jackson’s right.”
“See?” The doctor turns to the muttering madman on the bed, slapping his clammy cheek. “Hey—Pinhead. The witch and the devil, what did they curse you for, huh? What did you do?”
“The girls. The girls...” He’s dissolving into a sobbing mess right before their eyes. “I drugged them, I c—I cut them, I stitched them in colour. I’m damned for it, I didn’t know...” He whimpers. “I didn’t believe.”
“And now the devil’s come in person to deliver an invite to Hell? Must be a good spot he’s saving for ya.” Bennet finishes, like it’s something to be impressed by, and Jackson stifles a grin.
“Sergeant Drake.” Reid scolds with a heavy sigh, but seems to give up on questioning further about the elusive pale devil. “Let’s get this man back to Captain Jackson’s lab.”
“Of course, Mr. Reid.”
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
Captain Homer Jackson stands outside the opium house, rolling a cigarette as the bustle of H Division’s best and brightest take the Opium Ghost out of the building, under Reid and Drake’s supervision.
The two men in question are talking to the Lady of the house, and before he can join them for his own questions, a dash of movement catches his attention.
The little boy who dragged Drake here skitters into the moonlight from the depths of an alley and to the end of the street, keeping out of sight from the busy men in blue.
Curious despite himself, Jackson follows, standing around the corner from where the boy runs towards two men.
The clouds part, and a sliver of moonlight allows him to recognize one of them as the beautiful young man they saw dressed in a Chinese dress. Now in trousers, a long silk shirt, and a dark coat.
Beside him stands a tall man, his skin pale and his bearing that of a noble.
Now, if Jackson had to guess, he’d say he’s looking at the Devil himself.
The little boy stops in front of them with a beaming, toothless grin, and the tall man crouches down in front of him, uncaring of the muck on the streets. His eyes are kind, a smile soft on his face, and it’s only then that Jackson sees how young the man is.
A bright coin glimmers in the night, and the boy holds out a small hand, bouncing in place. The second the gold touches his palm, Jackson could swear sunshine envelops the little tike in a soft glow.
“What the fuck?” He rubs his eyes, but when he looks again, the light is gone, and the boy is throwing skinny arms around his tall benefactor’s neck with a giggle, waving at the other young man before he runs off into the night with a chirp goodbye.
Would you look at that? The Devil and the Witch are Reid’s suspected benefactors. The two unknowns who have aided them in this investigation from the start.
But why remain hidden?
Before he can make any bewildered guesses, the smaller of the two men turns to his partner, features soft with what can only be love. And Jackson watches as the moonlit Devil reaches cradles his jaw in a graceful hand before leaning down to kiss him on the lips.
Oh.
Well, that makes more sense.
Jackson purses his lips, and glances over his shoulder at Reid and Drake.
His lawful friends may be more openminded than every other cop in the city, but Jackson knows Reid won’t take the interference of this pale Devil and his witch lightly. And that he won’t forgive it until he learns every detail.
Reid doesn’t need another ghost to chase.
The loving couple hidden in shadows and streaks of moonlight break away from their kiss, and before his very eyes, they disappear.
He blinks.
What the fuck?
“Or maybe I got a contact high from all the opium.” He mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose, and looks again before turning back towards his friends.
Unbeknownst to him, the Devil and his Witch watch the American doctor grumbling to himself, eyes bright with amusement.
After a pause, Alec holds out a hand for Magnus to take.
“Now, my star — shall we go home?”
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Darksiders: Arthurian Tales
Chapter 2: So Who'd Done It
Strife is eventually passed out on a sofa while Death continues reading. A knock sounds and Death quickly lifts his head from the book. A timid maid, looking a bit young for such a job, comes into the room. Placing the book onto a table, Death then rouses his brother with a swift kick in the shin.
"Ow! Fuck! What the?"
"Wake up." Death says simply as Strife holds his leg.
"The ball is to start within a few moments sirs. If you'd please follow me." The young maid says practically scurrying out the door.
Death and Strife follow her as requested, already hearing the classical style music below in the main halls and ballroom. They see a great many people are there already as the maid shows them two seats.
"Guests of honor sit on the King's right hand. You will have to decide among yourselves which of these two seats you'll sit in."
Death chooses the seat closest to Uther, with Strife taking the other. The maid then places two tags for guests of honor on the plates in front of each seat. Finally she tells them to enjoy the evening and to be prepared for the dinner. As she scurries away, Death asks Strife,
"Think she was scared of us?"
"You maybe. I don't scare the ladies, I'm a magnet for em." Strife says a bit cocky.
"Sure you are. Now let's see about finding some information. Just be subtle and try not to do anything stupid." Death says firmly.
"Yeah yeah. You just make sure ya actively do shit instead of sticking out like a sore thumb in the corners."
Death sighs before his brother walks off, taking said sigh as an affirmative. He then begins to wander a bit, making sure to listen in on conversations. Meandering around tables, looking at paintings, doing anything he can to appear busy while eavesdropping. He groans, not having heard anything interesting yet. However upon reaching a veiled painting, he hears a woman and man speak up about it.
"Was that painting always covered?" The woman asks in a pompous tone.
"No I don't believe so. That painting is of Queen Igraine when she was with her original husband Gorlois." The man said in a similar tone.
"Is it? Why cover it then? King Uther truly adored Queen Igraine didn't he? There was a massive funeral and he gave a speech."
"Maybe he wanted to spare himself the grief of losing her. So he covered her paintings."
Death found his curiosity a bit struck and moved the veil slightly. It slid on it's rack easily as he moved it. After a moment he could see a near uncanny resemblance that this Igraine had to the woman he and Strife rescued earlier. Putting the veil back where it was he began to muse to himself.
"Hmmm...she did say she was family to the King. His sister-in-law perhaps?"
Death eventually noticed the woman from before. Her dress while beautiful to him, didn't quite suit her in his opinion. A bit too showy in the chest region for his liking. Though he could almost see Strife losing it in the back of his mind. As he chuckled at the mental image, he noticed the woman glance to him. Her eyes a deep blue now as she watched him. Death couldn't help but wonder if her gaze meant something as she walked outside. Finally he decided to follow her, ultimately figuring her gaze was a silent request to follow her. He actually lost her in a hedge maze briefly before reaching the center. Within it was a beautiful garden full of flowers, with fireflies dancing among them. A small pagoda was also here, with the woman standing beneath it's roof.
"I see you understood me." She says glancing behind her.
"Seems I was right to follow you then. Do you have something to tell me?" Death asks, not beating around the bush.
"I know who you are. I saw your horses through the glamour. Any Fae with the right amount of magical might can see them as they truly are." She says.
"If you know me and my brother, why not tell anyone? Surely you know what we are capable of?" Death asks her with some intimidation behind his tone.
"Because I know why you're here, and I have every intent to ensure you succeed. But I also know you and your brother are my ticket away from here."
"You wish to leave this place, and in return you'll aid us in our mission?" Death asks.
"Yes." She says with no hesitation.
"I see. Then where might the weapon be?" Death asks her bluntly.
"I could take you, but it won't be nearly that simple. This will take time."
"Unfortunately time is not something your King has. Several Angels and Demons, among other races, have heard rumors of the weapon. You've confirmed to me that it exists. Which means I need to make sure to grab it before anyone else gets any ideas to try the same." Death says with urgency.
"I understand the need for a quick solution, believe me. But I should know how difficult it will be to retrieve the book. And even if another soul did take it, I have precautions against that. Any mage should safeguard such creations." She says a bit firmly.
"Wait...are you saying you created it?" Death asks her.
"I am the one behind it, yes. It is a spellbook, but far from any that most mages typically make. The first I created was the one the rumors were based on. After only one battle, I knew it shouldn't exist. So I destroyed it. Only for Uther to force me to make another. This time however, I had to make sure it could never be destroyed, at least not permanently. So I charmed the book to put itself back together if it should be destroyed. I cannot unmake this, and so I am willing to give it to you Horsemen. I only ask that you place it somewhere where no one can use it. Not even your Council." The woman says, her eyes lowered and black in color. Death could practically taste the fear she was failing to hide.
Death placed a gentle hand to her chin, and lifted her face to gaze upon him. She could see his true eyes within the shadows of the hat and mask. She knew these eyes had to be partially why many feared Death. But to her, these eyes though blazing with fire, were warm and strangely beautiful in their own way. Her thoughts were interrupted by him speaking again,
"On my word, no one will have the book. Once I have it, my brother and I shall see to it that it is hidden away to never be seen or heard of again."
"Thank you Horsemen, now I suppose you should know the name of your confidante. Uther refers to me as Morgana, but I prefer Morgen. Just Morgen will suffice, I won't subject you to calling me Lady or anything similar." Morgen says her eyes now going back to that familiar amethyst purple.
The conversation is suddenly brought to an abrupt end as screaming and yells are heard. The two rush back and find a man dead on the floor. They know he's dead, as another man was knelt beside his body checking for a pulse. He clearly found none as his shaking head seemed to suggest. Morgen nearly rushed over, but Death stopped her.
"He's already dead, there's nothing to be done." He says quietly to her.
However, another man overhears only the final part of Death's words to Morgen. Quickly Death is met with a finger pointing his way.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE'S NOTHING TO BE DONE?! HOW WOULD YOU KNOW THAT?!" A random man asks him accusingly.
"What are you on about? I wasn't even in here at the time. And as for what I said, you missed the part where I told the lady that the man was already dead." Death says in his defense.
"I can attest for him, I was with him in the gardens I swear it. He's done nothing wrong." Morgen says defensively.
Strife sees the crowd gather towards his elder brother, and quickly grows concerned. He begins walking briskly over there, but hears Death tell him telepathically,
"No. Stay where you are. Things will get worse from here, I can already see that much. You just make sure you're not dragged down with me. Go stay out of sight for now. When things have calmed down, find me or the woman beside me."
Strife is already looking for a place to stay put in, and the young maid from before begins ushering him towards her.
"This way sir. The Lady told us to be prepared for trouble tonight. And that we should help you and your brother. Hide here with us in the servants' quarters."
Strife obliges quickly as the sound of angry voices is heard in the ballroom. He can only hope his older brother finds a way out of that mess. Death in the meantime is having accusations thrown his way before a loud voice sounds over everyone.
"SILENCE!!! Now everyone remain calm! There is no need for a lynching!" Uther says stepping forward.
"But my King, Lord Straeg is dead! This man here was seen wandering around the tables earlier! It must've been him! He was poisoned by that bastard there!" One man says.
"I've done nothing that can be proven! Just seeing me walking around means nothing!" Death shouts to the man angrily.
"Enough! Are there any witnesses that saw otherwise?! Any at all that know what we do not?!" Uther shouts as he searches the crowd for answers.
A hand raises among the crowd, but is shoved down by another. It matters not as Uther sees it regardless. He walks over and demands,
"Who was that?! Raise your hand again! I command it as your King!"
The same hand, trembling now, raises up. Uther comes closer to the owner, a noble maiden beside her worried Mother.
"Speak up girl! Tell us what you know!" Uther shouts to her.
"My Lord.....I have seen his eyes. They were like glowing flames....in the darkness of his hat." The girl says trembling badly.
Uther approaches Death again, and in a swift motion raises his hand. Death moves to react but is blindsided by a sudden vast wind. His hat goes flying and his hair flowing freely, save for a bit held back by a simple looking hairpin. Death remains silent, knowing he's screwed at this point. Uther stares at him angrily before shouting in his face,
"WHERE IS YOUR BROTHER?! I WOULD HAVE HIM LOCKED UP ALONG WITH YOU!"
Death smirks behind his mask, not planning on revealing anything to him. Morgen then steps between Uther and himself.
"Uther please reconsider this. He was with me the whole time in the gardens. His brother was only ever speaking with the ladies. Neither of them have done anything."
"STAY OUT THIS GIRL! YOU KNOW NOTHING OF THE MAN BEFORE YOU!"
"I know where he's been, which disproves this witch hunt!"
Suddenly Uther raises his hand as if to smack her, only stopping just short of her face when a few people scream in shock. After a few tense moments, Uther grabs Morgen's arm and pulls her closer to him,
"You and I will discuss this...insubordination later. For now you will go. to. your. chambers. And you are not to come out until I say so." He says, his tone dark and angry.
Death watched as her eyes became black again, and the maids ordered to take her away hurried to do so. Clearly fearing their Master's wrath. Uther then turned back to Death once again. He raised his hand once, and Death was met with a bolt of light Fae magic to his chest. The Horsemen was thrown backwards a long ways before hitting the outside wall hard. His head took out a chunk of the stone as he hit the wall as well. Uther approached him as Death tried to regain himself, his ears ringing and head throbbing massively. However he wouldn't be able to stop himself from being kicked in the face. Once he was out of it, Uther shouted to his guardsman,
"Hurry and get him into a cell! He won't stay out of it for long if the stories I've heard of him are true! And make sure his cuffs are anti-magic!"
Morgen meanwhile was placed in her room, locked away as Death was to be. She watched the scene unfold from her window, feeling awful about what happened to Death. However, she wouldn't have much time to think on it, as Uther's angry footsteps had begun to make their way towards her door.
#Darksiders#Darksiders Fandom#Darksiders Fanfic#Darksiders Arthurian Tales#Implied Mature Themes#Death#Strife
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The Collector
A Solavellan Valentine’s Day piece.
Dorian arranges a date for his favorite fatalistic elf on the tackiest day of the year: Valentine’s Day. Said elf is not amused.
-No warnings apply. Just some Solavellan fun and a little fluff in a modern Thedas.
Happy Valentine’s Day to all! Sorry for any mistakes. It is 3am, whoops. <3
This was to be an unmitigated disaster, he was quite sure of that. For one thing, he was already on his second cup of coffee, having drank the first one much too quickly and scalding his tongue in the process. The café was small, cramped in a way that made Solas feel claustrophobic. Paper hearts were stuck higgledy-piggledy upon the windows and shockingly pink walls while even more hearts hung across the ceiling like banners of war, projecting their tackiness. Even the tables had not escaped the invasion of pink, cups and saucers emblazoned with a heart shot through with an arrow; Solas turned the cup around so the affront would not face him, a nasty taste in his mouth that had nothing to do with the coffee. The coffee was actually quite nice. Black and bitter, just like his love life.
Valentine's Day. Obviously a human creation, seeing how obsessed with love and desire they were. And definitely Orlesian. How else could you justify so much paper bannering? And pink. So much pink.
The couple beside him, a young human pair in their teens, were holding hands, eyes glazed over and looks lingering. As he watched out of the corner of his eye, the boy seemed to sigh longingly. “Your eyes are so beautiful. It's like the stars have fallen into the pool of your eyes.” The girl laughed coyly and blushed a deep crimson.
Solas may vomit if he was forced to endure adolescent drivel for much longer. He checked his watch; she was ten-minutes late. This woman, whoever Dorian had set him up with.
“You'll like her,” the man winked just after Solas had finally digested the news that his friend had found him a date for the tackiest day of the year. Murder seemed a little excessive, but he'd be willing to make an exception just for him. “She's weird, just like you. You can both be weird together and found a club for weirdness with you both as presidents. And then, down the line, you will both produce weird children and be in my debt forever.”
Dorian refused to divulge anything about the mystery woman other than her name: Ellana. No last name, Solas had noted. Probably some shrewd method to prevent him from searching online for his date. With such a name, he'd come to term with the fact that this Ellana was most likely an elf. When he had confronted Dorian about that fact, frustrated, his friend had merely groaned and launched into a lengthy explanation. “Don't take this the wrong way, but you are getting older, not younger. And not ageing gracefully, I must add. The vagabond look? It adds years. The lack of style? Hair? My, you could be a walking corpse and no one would be any the wiser. And really; do you really, truly desire to live the brooding bachelor lifestyle until you die?”
No, he did not. If anything, he feared such a wretched and lonesome existence. It was the unavoidable truth in Dorian's words that finally swayed him to this insane plan that he had hatched without his knowledge.
The door of the café opened with a cheerful tinkle, letting in the freezing air outside, a flurry of snow accompanying. Solas turned around very slightly so that he could look in the large oval mirror set upon the wall opposite, perfectly situated for watching the comings and goings of the customers around him. There; a woman wrapped up in a dark green duffel coat and matching woolly hat and scarf stood there, shoulders flecked with snow. She wrenched her scarf down and revealed bright eyes – what color, he couldn't discern at such a distance – that peered around the room almost timidly, hands clasped before her. Solas blinked and their eyes met in the mirror; he raised a hand in some semblance of a greeting and she smiled, winding her way through the chairs and tables in his direction.
“Goodness me!” the woman exclaimed upon finding her seat opposite, brushing the dusting of snow from her shoulders. Not so timid after all, then. “I am perished. Just perished. Where did that snowstorm come from? I swear that the weatherman claimed light flurries, not a fuck ton of white.”
Crass already? “It came down from the north, or so they claim. The Free Marches have it especially bad according to the charts I saw this morning. Kirkwall is buried under at least three feet.”
The woman shuddered at his words, removing her coat to reveal a warm blue long-sleeved sweater below. “Gods above, I hope we are not next in line for that. I mean... I love snow and all, but not when I'm out in it. I have the grace of halla on ice. It's painful to watch.” She took the seat at last and finally looked at him.
Ellana was very beautiful, with thick black hair framing her small and rather red face; her cheeks glowed like embers from the cold. Her eyes reminded Solas of dewdrops upon forest leaves with how they were such an intense emerald. The pointed ears sticking out of her slightly disheveled and damp hair confirmed his theories that his date was an elf.
At least she bore no vallaslin. Dorian had gotten that right at least.
Ellana smiled warmly at him, easily meeting his curious gaze. “I'm sorry; I just launched into the weather, didn't I? You are, uh, Solas, right?”
“And you must be Ellana.”
“That I am. You do know Dorian... don't you? I've not been tossed together with a complete stranger? I mean... you could be an axe-wielding murderer for all I know.” She barked out an inelegant laugh.
She was definitely strange, Dorian had been right about that. But there was something strangely endearing about the way she prattled on without pause for thought. He couldn't place his finger upon it. “I do know Dorian Pavus. We have been acquaintances for a number of years.”
“Really? Well... same. He's never mentioned you?” Ellana frowned gently, shucking off her gloves. “I run a bookstore downtown. Lavellan Lit. So, are you a collector like Dorian?”
Dorian had definitely been hiding this one. A bookstore in the city that he'd never been to before? Preposterous. “I collect books of a certain antiquity, yes. Though unlike Dorian's fascination with the ancient histories of Tevinter and the Archon's of old, my tastes run another direction towards the Fade and histories of magical lore and Elvhen theory. And arts, if I can find them.”
At those words, Solas watched the woman's eyes positively light up with childish excitement. “Truly?” she pressed, “you collect books about Elvhen history? And magic?”
How refreshing it was to have someone look at his job, his hobby, with awe and not raised eyebrows and dismissive words. Solas felt himself relax the smallest of fractions in the woman's company. “The books and texts of the Elvhen are spread far and thin, hardly cheap at that, but yes. Tomes of magic are much easier to procure, but just as expensive. And enthusiasts scarce agree to part with them. It takes weeks of, ah, gentle persuading.”
Ellana seemed to blush beneath the windburn. “I have a few books myself. Just a few, given to me by a very generous and rich customer in her will. Lovely lady. Tales of the Dreamers and a number of scrolls and papers that date back to Arlathan, apparently. From the state of them, I believe them to be legit. I have tried to translate the words, but to no avail. No expert, no old Keeper of the Dales could fully translate the scripture. The words are very old indeed.”
Scripture... from the time of Arlathan? That was impossible. It was completely improbable. But if she was telling the truth and these mysterious scrolls were the genuine article...
“Forgive me, but-”
“Yes,” Ellana smiled mischievously, snagging his half empty cup of coffee and taking a generous gulp. “You can come back with me and look at them, if you desire. This place is much too pink for my liking. And the sounds...” she grimaced at the teenage couple next to her, who were kissing across the table now. Kissing? No, Ellana thought in lightly veiled disgust. They were practically eating each other's mouths. It made her feel faintly sick. “I think we'd be much comfortable at my shop, don't you think?”
Such a bright and cheerful spirit. Solas found himself smiling at her words. “I quite agree.”
“Come on then.” Ellana clambered to her feet with all the grace of a newborn halla on ice and yanked her hat back onto her head, stuffing her hair back inside of it. “Into the swirling Void we go. I hope you have a hat because like hell you're having mine. It's soaked. Your head would turn blue and then you'd get ill and die a very painful and cold death, leaving me feeling terribly guilty.”
As he shoved open the heart adorned door and allowed Ellana to walk out first, she flashed him a bright smile from within the woolly confines of her clothes. Solas felt the kindling of something that felt suspiciously like hope spring to life within him. He didn't curse it, but rather welcomed it instead. Maybe, at long last, his weary heart would know some semblance of peace.
#dragon age inquisition#dragon age#dragon age fanfiction#dragon age fanfic#solavellan#solavellan hell#Solavellan valentine's day#I just love these two#fanfiction#da:i#Drabble Age#Lmao
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What We Wore To The Women's March On Washington
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Where Smart Shoppers Shop!
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Today’s Women’s March on Washington was one of the largest demonstrations in American history (and we’re not even counting all the people who attended the sister marches in other cities all over the world). The sheer size of the march makes sense when you consider that its main mission — to promote and defend women’s rights — speaks to America’s single largest “minority” group. Women make up 51% of the American population, and a large part of the fight means showing those in power that this constituency and its needs will be impossible to ignore. It makes sense, then, that we dressed to be seen.
We wore pantsuits and Pussyhats and clear backpacks and puffer coats. We wore saris and hijabs and wigs and weaves. Some of us wore what we wear every day, and some of us wore our nicest things out, but all of us came with the intention to be recognized for our womanhood. The people who attended represent the wide cross-section of the myriad backgrounds, cultures, and ideologies, and the things we picked to wear showcase that variety.
Ahead, we’re showing the women who joined us (and you! and her!) at the march today, and the outfits they chose for it.
Raquel Willis
“I wanted to wear something that was unabashedly feminine, but also powerful. Something that shows that I’m okay being cute, but I will still kick your ass.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Lindsay Arakawa
“I just feel powerful in these clothes in general. This tee is an Alpha Female tee from @SparkleDiva69, and some big pants. My hat is from Korea.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
“My jean jacket is from a thrift store in San Francisco with some pins I got at Refinery29.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Jeni Tanner Jordan
“A friend of mine who is the head escort at one of the independent abortion clinics in Montgomery, Alabama made these earrings. She couldn’t be here, and she wanted me to wear them for her. And my pussy hat; no march is complete without it. My friend made it for me, too — she couldn’t make the trip, either, so that was her way to contribute and be a part of it. I’m a secular feminist who’s disabled in the South. I feel like if people see me, and they see I’m outspoken, they might think they don’t have to be ashamed or afraid.
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
“I’m the legislative liaison for The Greater Birmingham National Organization for Women; I served as president the two previous years. Trump got elected, and our first meeting after was full of people who wanted to make a difference, who were ready to take action now, and I think that’s what’s important. This is the first time since Trump won the electoral college that I have felt hope. Coming here and seeing all these pink pussy hats — I know we’re all going to go back and take action and things are going to start changing, because we see right now just how terrible it is.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Annie Rose
“Oh, this old thing? This was painted on me lovingly by my friend. It says, My fierce, powerful body. My choice.’ I just feel really passionate about not struggling for simply hanging out. We’re fighting for more than just equality. We’re fighting for liberation for all people. I feel beautiful, magical, and strong.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Aurora James
“I’ve had this sweater for a long time, and it says ‘Panther Power’ on it. What I’m wearing actually was my last thought! I’m here because I think it’s so important that we all get out and stand up for what we believe in. We’ve been a little bit of a passive society, and I think we need to actually motivate ourselves to go and support what needs supporting.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
“I designed my purse — it’s Brother Vellies. I think it’s important to carry and wear things I felt my most comfortable in.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Aurora Linnea and Crystal Dyer
“We’re in mourning clothing.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Aurora Linnea
“I really want to be in solidarity with women in this moment. I feel like there are so many threats to all people with this administration, but the threats to women in particular are very real and very harrowing. And I just want to be women right now and feel good about it.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Crystal Dyer
“I’m really inspired by older feminists. I wanted my veil to reference nuns and sisters — my hat is Masonic. On so many levels I’m upset by Trump’s presidency. Like, racially, even economically — I’m pretty much against him in every way.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Betsy Fiory-McCoy
“I’m wearing pink because we think Trump needs to understand that a ‘pussy’ is only intended to be a small cat or a term of love between people who like each other. It’s not something to be grabbed on women he’s never met before.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Paloma Elsesser
“I wanted to look like I’m a SWAT, because I’m here to fight. I’m ready and braced for that.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Marion Zaniello
“I have a business named Marz Denim, and I make painted jeans. This is a Martin Luther King, Jr. quote on front: ‘Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.’ The back has a Rupi Kaur quote, who’s a more contemporary female poet. It says, ‘We all move forward when we recognize how resilient and striking the women around us are.’”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Tenzin
“These are the robes of the Buddha that we wear in our particular tradition. They help us uphold our vows, keep us strong in terms of our being committed to social justice. Our practice is for the benefit of all beings. That includes women, doesn’t it?”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Adama Sow
“I’m from Dakar, Senegal, and I’m American. I got these overalls from a vintage store in Amsterdam, and everything else was my mom’s.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
“I’m here because I couldn’t not be here. Everything else just didn’t feel like it was worth my energy. This is where I want to be, and this is where I need to be.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Amy Hood
“We wanted to represent red, white, blue, and pink — so this femme-patriotic. This is how we dress every day. Everyone thinks we’re wearing a costume, but this is what we wear.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Pussyhat Project caps in action.
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Rachael Wang
“I’m wearing a lot of vintage today, but I had to wear a beret just to throw it back and pay homage to all the movements that have come before us. I’ve got a really good Marilyn Minter button on my beret. It says, ‘Don’t fuck with us, don’t fuck without us.’”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Siobhan Buckley and Jadyn Kist
“We went to the mall yesterday and we wanted to get anything pink there was. It’s a feminist color. We had talked to Code Pink before, and then I was working for The Feminist Majority Foundation, and both use pink.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Nora Mahmoud
“I’m wearing purple for the suffragettes, because that’s the color that they used to wear. And I’m wearing a leather jacket because they’re badass. My purple hijab says freedom and power to me — freedom to determine how others see me, and how I move through the world. We’re here to march and to support everyone who is oppressed and who don’t feel safe, because everyone deserves to feel safe in this country.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Halle Bryant
“I’m wearing this shirt, which I got from my grandma. I’m Native, and it says, ‘Homeland Security, Fighting Against Terrorism since 1492.’ And it has a picture of a bunch of renowned chiefs.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Jessica
“I wanted something with red, white, and blue. And then, my Black Flag shirt for reasons that are obvious. This hat is a Beyoncé lyric. I wanted to be protected — to be warm, safe from pepper spray, and ready to fight. Yeah — fuck this. There are so many reasons to be here.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Susanna
“Donald Trump tries to fight Muslims, and Mexicans, people of all colors and religions. I’m here to support each person that comes here for this rally. The sign says ‘No racism, no hate. Yes for love and peace’ to show that that’s our religion and Islam is peace.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Harriet Sokmensuer
“All my clothes are secondhand, so it’s just kind of roll with the punches. I usually stick with black, because it’s easy — and that’s pretty empowering. This is my most comfortable, badass outfit — it’s vintage Levi’s, my oldest Vans, a comfortable leather jacket, and this little clutch.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
“My back patch is made from a pillowcase.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Danielle Jackson
“This is very warm — I can layer it up.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
“The coat has deep pockets, and I have a fanny pack. You want to be hands-free out here! You want to be able to shout and cheer.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Collette Williams
“My hair shrinks in this kind of weather, so I decided to just tie it. Also, too, I grabbed it should it get risky, and they start firing off the smoky stuff. It’s good to have something to cover your face. It’s [my daughter’s] generation, and her children, if they come after. We hope that this is something they won’t have to do. But if they have to, their mother’s prepared.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Ketchell
“I don’t own pants, and I thought it’d be cold!
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Val Norman
“We gotta make it known that the Blackness and your natural heritage is a beautiful thing, instead of just only white things being beautiful.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Alicia Smith
“I think I feel like my most true self. My hair wrap is activism. I’m trying to brush off stereotypes and what people expect me to be.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Julia Arnsten
“Doctors tend to be listened to, and we have a lot of things to say. We want to take care of everybody — health care is a human right. We believe in the Affordable Care Act.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Dawn Goldworm
“These jackets came partly embellished, and then we added it onto it. We wanted to do a sort of revolutionary military thing, but soften it with love and happiness.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Dawn Goldworm and Katrina Blandino
“We’re matching on purpose! We’re best friends. I think, in a way, all the women here match. They’re trying to divide us, and we have to come together, because we’re all the same.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Nadya Rockefeller
“We wanted to honor all the famous suffrage acts.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Karin Tanabe
“We both attended Vassar College, and Vassar has a history of supporting women’s rights. We wanted to honor that.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Cora Cofield
“I’ve been wearing this shirt at work a lot, because I feel like I’m surrounded by a lot of men. It makes a statement all day long. In my opinion, this is assertiveness — I take a stand.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
“I’m an electrician, so I wear pants all the time. So on Saturdays, I wear a dress.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Zarah Soria, Brittany Carmon, Alicia Castro, and Hazel Diaz
“We weren’t originally dressed like this, and then we saw a vendor with Black Lives Matter hoodies that had the names of all the victims. We were like ‘That is dope, and we need to wear that.’”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Hazel Diaz
“We wanted to make sure women of color were represented here in the march today. Our sign says ‘Not Whores, Not Saints, Just Women,’ in Spanish. My 11- and 9-year-old made this for us. We want to make sure that people understand that women aren’t here to battle each other and compete with each other to the top. Empowering each other is like essential. Like, we do that in our friendships and our relationships with each other, and we show that to our children and our family members, and in our community. We definitely wanted to make sure that there was something that represented the work that we all do together.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Christine
“My clothes don’t symbolize anything. I just wanted to be comfortable. I’m protesting Trump. He’s a menace. When George Bush was elected, we didn’t like it, but we didn’t take to the streets like this. This is trouble. People don’t realize it. He’s duped a lot of people.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Solange Franklin Reed
“Turtlenecks reference Black Panthers. I’m here for intersectional feminism, environmental justice, to be an ally for non-heteronormative and non-racist, and non-homophobic values.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Rachel Manning
“They were giving out Bing Bang pins, so I put them on my hat. I also got a bunch of pins from my grandmother and my mother that I wanted to wear.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
“I also wore all pink, because obviously.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Irisa, Patty Patton, Marie Antoinette, Samy, Kareema, Lorenzo
Kareema:
“Pink represents women, and is synonymous with women. We just wanted something that spoke to power, unity, and something that would represent a collective whole — so we wore berets. The black leather jackets are just a necessity, because it’s cold! We match because that’s strength. We’re all family and we wanted to unite for this cause.”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
Samy
“I trained my kids to be activists since they were knee-high. My first protest was in New York. I was a transit advocate. I was called ‘The Mad Lady of the A Train.’”
Photographed by Michelle Groskopf
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