Second set: the overbust steampunk ones! Again, Corset-Story offers more styles, and there are even more corset websites who offer steampunk style corsets, but these are just the few that are currently tempting me. Click for style numbers!
FUCKING CORSETS
Fucking corsets indeed.
Words cannot express how badly I want the first two.
I don’t need more corsets …
“No!” She flung herself down on the beanbag. “Don’t call me that. Don’t ever. I’m not a lady. I’m not special. You wanted company, you wanted to play at desire, and that was fine, okay. Don’t play with my emotions. I’ll give you desire, I’ll give you mischief, hell, I’ll even drive off your monsters, but don’t /play/ with my heart, mister.”
“You misunderstand,” Loki furrows his brow, confused. Here was a being who took flight with her emotions more than even he had, before…He waved those thoughts away.
“I have heard of your kind, Summer. Fire child. I have heard whispers of belittling words, ideas in the backs of minds of your inferiority. Your weaknesses. Do not think me ignorant to them.”
He wrapped his hands around her arms, gripping her tightly, forcing her to look at him.
“But do not think I listen to such things. I don’t give a damn what you are born being, each of us can choose what we become ourselves.” He faltered for a moment. Can’t we?
Wanting to bury her face in her hands, Summer settled for closing her eyes for a moment. “I … jumped to a conclusion, there. Sorry.” She tried to laugh. “I thought you knew all my weaknesses before we started, Loki. Isn’t that what you said?”
She looked back, green eyes to green eyes. “Can you care for someone who will always know if you truly do or not? That’s the sticking point for so many, you see, luv.”
Loki took her hand in both of his and gently lifted it to his heart. He pressed her fingers to him and held her gaze as steadily as he could. It was often hard for him to maintain eye contact, considering he was usually being deceitful.
Not this time, though.
“Feel it, then. Sift through my lies. What do you see, fire child?”
Her eyes went half-lidded and distant, fingers flexing against his hold. “Loneliness,” she breathed. “Hope, such hope. Relief … and gratitude.” A silence that seemed long, but truly lasted only a few swift breaths. “Love.”
The word was almost inaudible.
“You do care. Why?”
Sigyn listened silently, letting her hands play up and down his spine while he talked. Dusk deepened to true night before he finished, and the little valley was hushed with the sounds of darkness. When Loki trailed off finally, she gently freed herself from his hold and stepped over to the stream.
It was the work of just a moment to fashion a cup from a borrowed leaf. “Drink, my lord,” she said softly, holding it out. There was something else in his past, she could sense it in the way he had stopped, but that would keep for another time. She understood, now, his constant tension, his amazement at her responses, and yet she could not help but feel sympathy for him, struggling so hard to be … what?
To live up to others’ expectations? How familiar a feeling, that.
“My prince, these are painful memories. Will you not put them aside for now?” she asked, voice soft.
He felt a little vulnerable when she pulled away from his arms. His mind raced. Had he said too much? Did she judge him unworthy by his past actions? Would she shun him now, as the others had? He clenched his jaw and cursed that small flame of hope that had been allowed to take root in his heart. Here was the let down. He should have expected this.
When Sigyn offered him the water, he took it, glad for the opportunity to wet his lips. He nodded silently at her words and turned away from her bringing his knees up to his elbows. He looked up into the stars again and wondered when she would drop the final axe. He hoped it would be sooner rather than later so he could carry on and chalk this up to an unfortunate lapse in judgement.
The line of his profile was sharp and pure in the moonlight, and Sigyn found her heart aching. Loki so clearly expected further condemnation, and yet all she felt was sympathy. Did they not all make mistakes? He had acted in good faith, of love for king and realm, and only a cruel fate had twisted it awry.
Deliberately, she knelt before his huddled body. “I will not let thee go,” she repeated, watching him with grave violet eyes, sliding into a familiar mode of speech, and added, “alone. Wilt not turn and speak to me?”
He turned his head at her voice and was met by her beautiful eyes. He stared hard at her, looking for the vilification, the doubt, the blame but found only… sympathy. Was it sympathy? Was it damnable pity? Was it regret at having made his acquaintance the night before?
Her words spoke volumes and made his heart ache as the hope violently rekindled itself, refusing to die.
He swallowed hard.
Oh, this man! Why did he tug at her heart so? Barely a day since they met, and she wanted to shield him from all the slings and arrows of a cruel universe. But he was proud, so proud. She thought perhaps even offering would wound that pride. Even speaking her sympathy would hurt him more.
Trying to keep her breathing calm, her bearing open, she returned him look for look under the stars, and hoped the darkness would conceal the desperate clenching of her hands in her lap. Patience. Let him come to her.
British gymnast Jennifer Pinches representing Nerdfighteria at the London 2012 Olympics
edited from [x]
I will stop reblogging this when NEVER.
Tucking her head under Loki’s chin, Sigyn carefully stroked his back, humming softly under her breath. As his muscles loosened, soothing strokes morphed into lazy tracing of the bones under his skin, and she sighed longingly. The falling light, so similar to her own magic, made her feel safe, at peace, and a little bold.
“My lord?” she whispered against his throat. “Will you not tell me what troubles you so?”
Loki sat silently for a moment, then started to relay his tale to Sigyn. He kept his eyes on the night sky, voice low, arms around her and breath as even as he was able.
He told her of Thor’s coronation day and the disaster that came from his ruse to wreck the day. He tried to tell her he had not wanted things to turn out as they had, but had trouble articulating the feelings. He told her of the destruction of the bifrost, the last words his father had spoken to him and his voice trailed off.
He swallowed hard against the memories of the Abyss and shook his head. He could not speak of it. The horrors of that time were still too painful, too real. He relived them when he had an unguarded moment and he wandered into that part of his mind where he had tried to bury the memories.
He shifted slightly and let out another sigh.
Sigyn listened silently, letting her hands play up and down his spine while he talked. Dusk deepened to true night before he finished, and the little valley was hushed with the sounds of darkness. When Loki trailed off finally, she gently freed herself from his hold and stepped over to the stream.
It was the work of just a moment to fashion a cup from a borrowed leaf. “Drink, my lord,” she said softly, holding it out. There was something else in his past, she could sense it in the way he had stopped, but that would keep for another time. She understood, now, his constant tension, his amazement at her responses, and yet she could not help but feel sympathy for him, struggling so hard to be … what?
To live up to others’ expectations? How familiar a feeling, that.
“My prince, these are painful memories. Will you not put them aside for now?” she asked, voice soft.
He felt a little vulnerable when she pulled away from his arms. His mind raced. Had he said too much? Did she judge him unworthy by his past actions? Would she shun him now, as the others had? He clenched his jaw and cursed that small flame of hope that had been allowed to take root in his heart. Here was the let down. He should have expected this.
When Sigyn offered him the water, he took it, glad for the opportunity to wet his lips. He nodded silently at her words and turned away from her bringing his knees up to his elbows. He looked up into the stars again and wondered when she would drop the final axe. He hoped it would be sooner rather than later so he could carry on and chalk this up to an unfortunate lapse in judgement.
The line of his profile was sharp and pure in the moonlight, and Sigyn found her heart aching. Loki so clearly expected further condemnation, and yet all she felt was sympathy. Did they not all make mistakes? He had acted in good faith, of love for king and realm, and only a cruel fate had twisted it awry.
Deliberately, she knelt before his huddled body. “I will not let thee go,” she repeated, watching him with grave violet eyes, sliding into a familiar mode of speech, and added, “alone. Wilt not turn and speak to me?”
Tom in Cologne, Germany
“Why ever not?” he said, pulling back and looking her in the eye. ”Why shouldn’t I?” He felt all at once very out of control. Was that dawn, fading in behind the sky? “My lady…” He stepped away, paced anxiously as he smoothed his features back under control.
“No!” She flung herself down on the beanbag. “Don’t call me that. Don’t ever. I’m not a lady. I’m not special. You wanted company, you wanted to play at desire, and that was fine, okay. Don’t play with my emotions. I’ll give you desire, I’ll give you mischief, hell, I’ll even drive off your monsters, but don’t /play/ with my heart, mister.”
“You misunderstand,” Loki furrows his brow, confused. Here was a being who took flight with her emotions more than even he had, before…He waved those thoughts away.
“I have heard of your kind, Summer. Fire child. I have heard whispers of belittling words, ideas in the backs of minds of your inferiority. Your weaknesses. Do not think me ignorant to them.”
He wrapped his hands around her arms, gripping her tightly, forcing her to look at him.
“But do not think I listen to such things. I don’t give a damn what you are born being, each of us can choose what we become ourselves.” He faltered for a moment. Can’t we?
Wanting to bury her face in her hands, Summer settled for closing her eyes for a moment. “I … jumped to a conclusion, there. Sorry.” She tried to laugh. “I thought you knew all my weaknesses before we started, Loki. Isn’t that what you said?”
She looked back, green eyes to green eyes. “Can you care for someone who will always know if you truly do or not? That’s the sticking point for so many, you see, luv.”
Sigyn blinked, deeply troubled by Loki’s silence and the way he was clinging to her. Although it was she who was wrapped in his arms as in a cocoon, she felt he was clinging to her for comfort. “Please, my lord,” she whispered, insinuating her arms about his waist, “I will not let you go.”
Sigyn’s words washed over him like a soft, comfortable wave of relief. He let out a gentle sigh and continued to hold her as the sun went down and twilight set in, bringing out the first stars of the night.
Tucking her head under Loki’s chin, Sigyn carefully stroked his back, humming softly under her breath. As his muscles loosened, soothing strokes morphed into lazy tracing of the bones under his skin, and she sighed longingly. The falling light, so similar to her own magic, made her feel safe, at peace, and a little bold.
“My lord?” she whispered against his throat. “Will you not tell me what troubles you so?”
Loki sat silently for a moment, then started to relay his tale to Sigyn. He kept his eyes on the night sky, voice low, arms around her and breath as even as he was able.
He told her of Thor’s coronation day and the disaster that came from his ruse to wreck the day. He tried to tell her he had not wanted things to turn out as they had, but had trouble articulating the feelings. He told her of the destruction of the bifrost, the last words his father had spoken to him and his voice trailed off.
He swallowed hard against the memories of the Abyss and shook his head. He could not speak of it. The horrors of that time were still too painful, too real. He relived them when he had an unguarded moment and he wandered into that part of his mind where he had tried to bury the memories.
He shifted slightly and let out another sigh.
Sigyn listened silently, letting her hands play up and down his spine while he talked. Dusk deepened to true night before he finished, and the little valley was hushed with the sounds of darkness. When Loki trailed off finally, she gently freed herself from his hold and stepped over to the stream.
It was the work of just a moment to fashion a cup from a borrowed leaf. “Drink, my lord,” she said softly, holding it out. There was something else in his past, she could sense it in the way he had stopped, but that would keep for another time. She understood, now, his constant tension, his amazement at her responses, and yet she could not help but feel sympathy for him, struggling so hard to be … what?
To live up to others’ expectations? How familiar a feeling, that.
“My prince, these are painful memories. Will you not put them aside for now?” she asked, voice soft.
“An empath, you idiot,” Summer shot back, leaning on her hands. “Did you not pay any attention the first time we met?”
Loki didn’t stop, jerking the door open without breaking stride.
“I will not hear such things from the mouth of a human.”
“You have changed.” Summer let her voice turn cutting, mocking. “Time was, you’d not run away from a mere mortal, a human. From mere words. You want me to fear you, yet you’re the one fleeing!”
Loki’s laugh was the only thing she heard, even as the door banged shut behind him.
Several days later, Summer hesitated, then tapped firmly on Loki’s door. She’d wrangled with herself for most of those days, in between dreaming in code and setting things, virtual and actual, on fire, and finally concluded that regardless of anything else, she owed him an apology.
The fact that said apology consisted mostly of supplies for Macrowafter was utterly irrelevant.
Heart pounding, trying to look suitably contrite, she waited.
