#Customized tailoring workshops
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Etitech supplier of personalised garment labels, specialised in printed fabric labels, care labels, brand name and other custom clothing labels for sewing. Usualy care labels assist the brand label in subtly reminding the consumer of who theyâre wearing, long after the swing tag has been removed. Care labels are usually printed either on a satin material or a more natural looking cotton material.
#labels#carelabels#care labels#label#brandlabel#brand labels#apparel#clothes#clothing#tailor#mode#fashion#print#fabric#polyester#custom#workshop#factory#textile#satin#satinlabels
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Discover timeless craftsmanship at Samson's Bespoke Workshop. Our custom tailors create enduring quality garments that fit you perfectly. With meticulous attention to detail, we craft suits, shirts, and more that exude elegance and sophistication. With an online shopping app, www.Planet-Tailored.com men will know how to talk with tailors. Elevate your style with us.
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pincushion - jww
pairing: tailor!jeon wonwoo x bookbinder!reader genre: 1960's, romance, angst, fluff, smut (MDNI 18+) warnings: swearing, alcohol, smut (p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex), no use of y/n, afab reader, an overabundance of 60's references oops word count: 19.9k summary: when a newly appointed tailor stops into your shop one autumn morning, you're unaware the impact he would have on your life for better or for worse.
1963, Autumn. The small knife in hand cuts through the thin leather with relative ease, stopping at the point youâd marked with a small piece of chalk, you switch to cut the other end of the material. You eye the coffee sitting on the opposite end of your work bench, watching the steam rise from the cup that youâd barely taken a drink from. Itâs only nine in the morning and you hadnât slept well the night before, had there not been any orders to fill you would have slept in a while longer.Â
With the leather finally cut into its allotted pieces you go to move to the bound paper you were trying to cover before you hear someone walk in. The chimes above the door at the front of your shop sound off with a soft resonance, the same sound that had echoed the room for years. Footsteps tread carefully into the center of your shop, you canât eye the stranger from your closed off workshop unless you open the heavy wooden door.Â
A quiet âHello?â rings out, they sound apprehensive and unfamiliar to you. Thereâs a tinged worry that treads on the lone word, leaving you all the more perplexed as you set down the leather and the semicircular knife onto your workshop table and head out into the main gallery of your shop.Â
âCan I help you?â Question falling from your lips as soon as you begin to push open the oak door, finding a taller man looking down at one of the fabric laden books on one of the display tables.Â
âOh,â his attention turns to you from the book, to the doorway youâd entered from and then back to you. The horn-rimmed glasses adorning his face slipping down the bridge of his nose. âIâm here to pick up an order for Seungcheol Choi.â His slender hand moves from its once stagnant position to push the glasses back up before moving to his right-side front pocket, âI can show you the receipt if you need itââ
âThereâs no need,â you shake your head and raise your hand. Seungcheol had been a longtime customer of your familyâs shop, you assume itâs mostly because of a mutual acquaintance with the Hong clan, but you would never be the one to edge into that conversation unprovoked. âIâll go and grab your order,â a short smile and youâre turning on your heels and striding into your storeroom/workshop once more.Â
When you walk back out a few moments later, the books wrapped in brown paper to protect their covers, the stranger is once again looking down at the assortment of books atop your display tables.Â
âSo,â you begin as you hold out the bound books to him, âare you new? I donât think Seungcheol has sent you before.â
He takes the books gingerly, his gaze returning to the soft leather-bound journal after he gives you a short nod in thanks. As if it took him a moment to process the question he blinks and turns back to you, âSorryâ My nameâs Wonwoo Jeon. I started working for Seungcheol last week.â
âItâs nice to meet you,â you nod, trying to register the face with the name as comprehensively as you could. âTell him to give me a ring when he needs his next order, I know he goes through those fairly quickly.â
âI will,â Wonwoo smiles, âBefore I go do you think I could buy this?â His head nods down to the maroon colored leather-bound journal heâd been eyeing earlier, âItâs absolutely gorgeous.â
A small smile gracing your lips, âOf course, itâs unlined though. Is that alright?â
âItâs perfect, thank you,â he says as you pick up the book as his hands were already burdened with his bossâ order. âHow much do I owe you?â
âNo charge,â you shake your head, fingers tightening along the spine. Itâs smooth but the ridges of the leather run coarse under your touch, âThink of it as a congratulatory gift for getting a job under Choi. I know he has a reputation for being a bit of aââ
âHard-ass?â Wonwoo muses, eyes widening as he realizes how heâs just insulted his boss. âAnd really, I can pay for that, Iâm sure it mustâve taken you a while to make it.âÂ
âIâm not sure if thatâs the exact term I was looking for, but it does fit,â you laugh, raising the book up. âDonât worry about it, do you want me to wrap it?âÂ
âIf you could,â he offers a smile as you move to the roll of brown paper atop the register table.Â
It only takes a minute for you to cover it, youâd done hundreds, if not thousands, of wrappings for novels and books. Once you finish tying the twine bow atop the journal, you gently stack it on the books Wonwoo holds.Â
âI hope to see you here again, Mr. Jeon. That is, if Seungcheol doesnât scare you off.â
âHeâs like a weird mix of my dad and what Iâd expect Hardy Amies to be,â you werenât sure exactly who Amies is or what Wonwooâs father was like, but you did know Seungcheol. Oddities and all. âAnd donât worry, I have a stronger resolve than most,â he shoots you a wink before spinning on his heels and heading towards the door. He calls out, âThanks again for the book!â before shoving the door open with his hip and losing himself in the crowd of the street outside.
1963, Winter There was nothing quite like the holiday season in New York. Shops elevated the grandeur of their storefronts to catch the eye of window shoppers. Your own shop had seen an influx of patrons, as was typically the case around this time of year. But the demands were great, your hands had the slew of papercuts and hastily put on bandages to show it. Not that you minded it all too much, it was great revenue and it had paid for the camel hair coat you donned this evening.Â
The city was abuzz with life and festivities along almost every street, and while the excitement from Hanukkah and Christmas had died down over the last few weeks, most now looked towards the reining in of a New Year as December thirty first arrived.Â
âWeâre going to be late,â Vernonâs arm slides under yours, the crux of his arm locking into yours as his pace quickens along the dimly lit street. The sound of his derbies clicking against the pavement reverberating around the nearly empty row of houses.Â
âItâs ten and weâre going to a New Yearâs Eve party, I doubt weâll be late, Vernon.â You let out a scoff, fumbling with your bag for a moment, not sure what you were searching for in the first place. The streetlampâs orange glow does not aid you in deciphering the numbers etched into the doorways of the homes.Â
âSays the person who took five years to pick out a jacket, Iâm surprised we got out of your apartment before my hair turned grayâ Wait a minute,â his fingers of his free hand trailing up to the dyed platinum locks on his head as he turns back to shoot you a glare, âIt did.â
âYouâre such a drama queen,â eyes rolling, you nudge him with your shoulder âItâs not my fault your stylist bleached you instead of dyeing you.â
âI feel like an idiot, they canât even see me to fix it for another week.â He groans as the pair of you make your way to a brownstone tucked away neatly into one of the cityâs streets. It would be innocuous from the others aligning the strip had you not been able to hear the gentle buzz of chatter and the occasional laugh drift out from the screened door.Â
âDid Hong invite the whole block?â Vernon murmurs as he lets go of your arm so that he can jump up the short handful of stairs to the front door two by two.Â
âIt would explain how dead the rest of the street seems,â Musing, you follow him, more carefully as youâd always seemed prone to falling up stairs. The voices grow in volume and now you can even hear the scratchy sound of some music floating from the door. Thereâs no one at the door to greet you when you walk in, just an array of faces that you seem to recognize while others are brand new acquaintances, Vernon and you drop off your coats in a nearby closet and shuffle your way inside in search for the nearest drink station.
âIâd say his house is beautiful, but I can barely see anything. How does he know this many people?â Vernon questions as he slides out of the way of someoneâs elbow almost hitting him in the stomach. âAll I want is to get slightly drunk tonight but I bet the alcoholâs already gone.âÂ
âItâs the Hong household you know thatâs not going to happen,â a snicker leaves you before you feel a gentle tapping on your shoulder. Stopping in your tracks youâre fully ready to meet Joshua Hongâs smirk and subsequent banter, but it takes you a minute to realize that it wasnât your childhood friend that had garnered your attention at all; instead, itâs a somewhat less familiar face.
âFancy seeing you here.â Wonwooâs cheeks are slightly flushed with a smile, the contents of his champagne glass half-empty as he poses the question, âCan I get you a drink?â
âOh, sure.â You return his smile, nodding your head as he begins to walk off, only stopped by someone calling out to him.
âI didnât know Pincushion would be here,â Vernonâs voice draws nearer behind you, it seems like he realized you werenât trailing after him anymore. You feel his hand land on your shoulder as he continues to talk to Wonwoo, âHow are you?â
âIâm good, thanks.â He taps his shoe on the floor, only stepping forward a little bit to let someone pass by behind him.
âPincushion?â You question, looking from Vernon to Wonwoo with a quizzical look on your brow.
âThat thing he wears around his wrist every time he comes in?â Vernon shrugs, âI couldnât remember his name the first time I saw him, but I could remember that. Hence: Pincushion.âÂ
âIs that what itâs called?â You recall the ball of velvety looking green fabric youâd seen on Wonwooâs wrist the last handful of times heâd come to pick up the tailor shopâs orders.Â
âYeah my grandma used to have one and I stole the needles from it to use as swords for my toys when I was a kid,â his shoulders shrug as he looks past Wonwoo and spots something beyond him. âI see one of those guys with a tray of drinks, Iâll get back to you in a bit.â And with that heâs off, sliding around you and Wonwoo to brush his way through the crowd in a frantic sprint to grab himself a glass.
âDoes he know that thereâs an open bar in the other room?â Wonwoo asks aloud as he watches your friend disappear into the crowd.
âNot yet but give him twenty minutes and Iâm sure heâll be all over it.â Vernon wasnât one to drink heavily often, it was more of a holiday thing where he only did it if he knew he wasnât going into work for the next few days. Needless to say, Christmas and New Years are binge drinking galore for him.Â
âSo, book binding? Howâd you get into that line of work?â Youâd been so concentrated on looking for your friendâs brightly colored hair that you almost didnât hear Wonwoo when he asked.Â
âFamily business, dadâs too sick to come in.â Your eyes flickering over to him, a small shrug of your shoulders.
âIâm sorry to hear that,â his brow contorts into worry for a moment, as if heâd offended you somehow.Â
âDonât be, if anything I think heâs playing it up a bit just so mom has to be around more often,â You smile, it was really only minor back issues but the doctor had prescribed bed rest and your father had been milking it for months now.Â
âSmart man,â a short laugh into his drink before he takes a sip from his glass. âSo, how do you know Joshua?â
âOld family friend, plus heâs as rich as all get out so itâs nice to see what itâs like.â You note, looking up to the chandelier overhead. If it were anything but Tiffany youâd be surprised. âWhat about you?â
âYou didnât hear this from me but Seungcheol might be secretly dating one of his sisters and she invited the whole shop just as an excuse to see him.â The two of you lock eyes, a playful smirk on his lips dancing in the warm glow of the room. âIâm not complaining.â
âI donât doubt it,â chuckling for a moment, you then look up as if youâve realized something. âI should probably go and greet the host; can you imagine how rude of a guest Iâd be if I didnât?â
A ceding nod as he steps away from you, gesturing with his glass towards a side room off the main hall, âI think I saw him in there a few minutes ago.â
âThanks, Wonwoo,â you move to pass him, heading towards the doorway before you stop for a moment, your head tilting in question, âWant to meet back up later?â
âIâd love that,â a gentle thud in your chest as you nod at him, beginning to move again and question the feeling that had plagued you enough to ask him that.Â
You donât find Joshua in that room, or the next, or even upstairs in his own bedroom. You do, however, find him on the second-floor fire escape, the butts of several cigarettes at his feet and a glass of whiskey in his hand. Itâs cold, had you known this would be where youâd speak you wouldâve brought your coat with you.
âJoshua Hong,â You begin, crouching down to duck through the open window, catching him as heâs begun to lean against the brick exterior of his home, âHiding away from your party again?â
âThe guest of the hour,â A grin as you walk towards him, âHow are you? I havenât seen you at all in the past few months.â
âIâm good, good⊠Itâs been so hectic with the seasonal shopping and all, who knew journals were a hot commodity for gift-giving?â You sigh, elbows resting against the cold fence of the escape. The time between now and the last youâd seen him had been great, but it had always been far and few in between when it came to his jet setting tendencies.Â
âSounds hellish for sure,â Musing, he takes a sip from his glass, the scent of whisky hitting your nose as it nears. His other hand rests atop the rusted metal of the fire escape, impatiently tapping as he looks out into the backyard of his home.
âAnd what about you, Mr. Start-Up? Tear down any more conglomerates recently?â You query, noticing that he was on one of his inward treks again. Something mustâve come up with his family. Â
A snicker, as he offers out his glass to you, noticing that your hands were painfully empty, âNo, but weâre working on a pretty big acquisition right now. Itâs all mind games and if I didnât make a shitload of money Iâd be out of this business.âÂ
âLucky you though, youâre able to retire at thirty-five if you really wanted to,â musing as you swirl around the contents of the glass, the ice inside clinking around.Â
He laughs, the cold air mixing with his breath in plumes of white that spiral into the nighttime. You push yourself from the wall, bringing the glass to your lips and downing the rest of the contents as quickly as you can, âThis isnât the time to be hard on yourself, Joshua. I think the countdownâs about to start,â a look at the small wrist watch on your wrist, the time indicating that you had about five minutes until the new year began.
âShit,â the word elongated exasperatedly as he leans over to catch a glance at the clock face, âLetâs get back out there.â
The two of you amble inside, your cheeks cold with the winter air and hands a little stiff from holding the glass for too long. You set it down on one of the various demilunes scattered around the hall as you make your way back into Joshuaâs living room. Heâs lost along the way, pulled into a group of businessmen to talk or fawning girls to cajole with, youâre not sure which at this point. All youâre trying to do is find someone you know.Â
You can try to push through the crowds to find Joshua, but at this point itâd be like trying to part the Red Sea with your own two hands and it was infeasible to say the least. Or you could head to one of the drink stations around the house in hopes to find Vernon, but he was as elusive as a snake and itâd be a miracle if you could find him before the clock struck midnight.
âSixty!â A choir of voices ring out from a nearby room, you think you can hear Joshuaâs voice rising above them all, but it might also be your ears playing tricks on you.
âAre they really counting down the entire minute?â The voice next to you startled you so much that you jumped, turned, and saw Jeon Wonwoo looking off in the direction of the countdown. His brow furrowing in confusion, âI at least thought itâd be the last ten seconds or something.â
âJesus Wonwoo,â hand over your heart as you try and catch your breath, âYou almost scared me to death.â
A laugh, âSorry about that, Iâm a little light on my feet.â
It also didnât help that you could barely hear with the throng of people surrounding you. The gaiety electrifies the room, as it does the entire world when on the eve of a brand-new start.Â
âDid you want me to help you find one of your friends? Iâm sure they couldnât have gone too far,â his height somewhat advantageous to him as he scans the crowd, not seeing you shake your head as the countdown reaches thirty.
âI think Iâm fine just staying with you,â you donât notice the way he tenses ever so slightly at your words, a more rouge tint to his cheeks as he looks back to you with a sheepish smile.
âAre you sure?â Eyes widening as your gazesâ lock and you feel the familiar warmth creeping up the back of your neck.
âIf thatâs okay with you?â You question, the countdown hitting fifteen.
âThatâs greatâ fine, itâsâ yeah,â he trips and stumbles over his words, trying to find solid ground somewhere on the confab plain. Itâs at that moment the countdown comes to ten, and the pair of you join in for the last seconds of 1963.
Five, four, three, two âÂ
âHappy New Year!âÂ
The clock had struck midnight and he was the closest one to you, you canât remember if it was you or him that pulled the other closer to share a kiss. The kiss was chaste, but it resounded around your ribcage like the booming of the fireworks being shot off a distant skyscraper. A smile on your lips as you mouth back your own, âHappy New Year!â Despite it being innocent in nature, you know with the way the feeling buzzes on your lips you yearn for something more.
1964, Early Spring. The two of youâd spent time together since that evening, outside of that transactional relationship formed in the commerce of you selling your journals and him picking them up for Seungcheol whenever he could. It was outside of that realm, more personal as the days, weeks and months had transgressed.Â
By some miraculous circumstance, and no less of your incessant mentioning, you and Wonwoo had been seeing each other on a regular basisÂ
âSeungcheol?â The door of the tailor shop opens with nothing short of a struggle. The heavy oak pressing back against your foot as you pry it open, your hands too full to push it.Â
âNeed some help?â A voice behind you, startling you so much that you almost drop the large stack of books in your hand. You look over your shoulder to see Wonwoo standing behind you, his head tilted as if to question how youâd made it this far on your own.
âThanks,â allowing him to brush past you, he steps into the shop and holds the door open wider as you enter. âWhere is everyone?â Noticing that the usual handful of other tailors didnât seem to be aimlessly roaming the store waiting for a customer to arrive.
âBusy,â He notes, motioning for you to hand him the plethora of journals. Obliging willingly, you hand them off and stretch your arms, surely the strain from the hardbacks would pull your finger muscles. âThereâs been an emergency tailoring session, some big shotâs in town and needs alterations done for some party theyâre throwing tomorrow night.â
âExplains why no one came to pick up the order today,â you muse, âShouldnât you be helping with that?â
âI will be in about an hour,â he sighs as if heâs already imagining the work that heâll need to put in this evening. âBut someone had to watch over the shop today.âÂ
âDo you want company while you wait?â
Youâre not sure how youâd gotten roped into staying with Wonwoo until well after the sun had set and the last customer had come in for the day. The lights of the shop are off, save for the small lamp that sits above Wonwooâs workstation. He sits at his little desk in the back corner of the shop as he sews and hems away. His eyes scan the notes the patron had given when theyâd dropped off the clothes, you had to squint to try and read the messy scrawl etched onto the parchment. You sit some desks away, flipping through some editorial detailing the up and coming designers of the fashion world but nothing was particularly catching your eye.
âThree alterations in one night, Seungcheolâs really trying to work us to the bone,â Wonwoo sighs exasperatedly, his hands falling atop his desk, a needle held between his right index and thumb while his other hand holds the garment heâd been attending to.
âDoesnât it take a week to do something for just one piece?â You ask, not too versed on the schematics of it all, just acutely aware of when your father had needed suits adjusted as he aged.
âNormally,â he glances over to you, a hazy impatience settling behind his brow as he thinks to the two other pieces he was set to mend. âBut itâs nine-thirty now and the guy wants them done by noon tomorrow,â Wonwoo almost barks out a laugh at the absurdity of it all, âI didnât even get the roughest pieces, Mingyuâll be up all night and finish five minutes beforehand if heâs lucky.â
âWhat are they making him do?â Magazine set aside as you stand to stretch, your legs numb with the fuzziness of pinched nerves.
âSome simple inseam stuff like Iâm doing, but also taking in a few jacket sleeves and fixing shoulder divots,â He says as if you know what heâs talking about, upon seeing the puzzled expression that paints itself on your face he explains a little more, âItâs nearly impossible to do with the amount of time weâve been given.â
âWhyâd Seungcheol accept this job then?â Pins and needles poking through your skin as you walk over to him to take a look at what he was working on.
âBecause the clientâs paying us a fortune,â setting the needle down he pulls a pin from the cushion around his wrist to situate it into an odd angle in the fabric in front of him, âI might actually be able to take you on a real date if I finish this in time.â
âIâve kind of liked the ice cream socials,â you shrug your shoulders, as he turns to look at you, âAnd all of the gritty little dives, itâs more memorable that way. Plus, it makes me a cheap date.â
A small âtchâ leaving him as he turns back to his work, âYou deserve more than that.â
âAs long as youâre there Iâll be fine,â you lean down to press a kiss on his cheek, âNow Iâll stop distracting you, Iâll make dinner or lunch or something because I know youâll be dead on your feet tomorrow.â
âTry and get to bed early,â he says as you go to grab your things from where youâd left them up front, âI know you like to overwork yourself too.â
1964, Summer When youâd been invited to Wonwooâs small apartment, youâd expected a small dinner and then maybe youâd go and watch television or explore the city afterwards. What you hadnât expected was to see dark plumes of smoke emitting from under the doorway. You donât knock, instead you barge into the apartment to find Wonwoo unlatching his windows and opening them to let the smoke escape, the source of the plumes coming from his small kitchen.Â
âWhat happened?â You call out as he turns to you, your hand rising to your face as if it could vanquish the putrid smell.Â
âI cooked,â the last window opens with a struggle, Wonwooâs arms ache with how much force he had to exert when opening it. He shuffles over to you, seeing that youâd walked into the kitchen to find the source of it all.
âYou⊠cookedâŠ.â A charred, black entity sits in a pan that Wonwoo had presumably pulled from the oven minutes prior. âWonwoo what is that?â
âA loaf!â An almost excited tone cutting through your confusion as you turn and tilt your head at him.
âA⊠loaf of?â
âMeat!â At least heâs trying to sound cheerful, but that was his disposition most of the time. His hand guides your gaze over to a handwritten recipe atop the counter, he mustâve gotten it from some program. âI followed Julia Childâs recipe.âÂ
âIâm not trying to be mean but that looks like a brick.â Gaze flickering back to the meat-brick.Â
âYeah,â a sigh as he picks up a nearby spatula, grazing it atop the burnt meat, it scrapes atop it rather than giving way at all, âItâs about as hard as one too.â
The utter exasperation breaking through in his voice cause enough for you to laugh, the absurdity of it all pricking tears into the corners of your eyes. âWe can try and salvage it,â you offer once you calm yourself down enough, the occasional chuckle flitting like a bird around your ribcage.
âLetâs just go to Le Pavilion or something, thereâs also a new movie out too, we can try and catch it if we eat fast enough.â
And you do. For some reason Wonwoo orders the most expensive dish on the menu and doesnât even like it, offering it to you instead with an abysmal pout that almost has you reeling in the small interior of the restaurant. The atmosphere is warm and jovial, met by the sinking sun as the two of you exit the venue, hands interlocked with a faint tightness as if you never wanted to be without him in your grasp again. Wonwoo and you then walk to a theater some blocks away, hands still held and a bubbling silence between you.
The film that Wonwoo had mentioned earlier had been Mary Poppins, some Disney film starring Julie Andrews and Dick Van Dyke; youâre sure youâd heard Andrews somewhere before, but you couldnât quite put your finger on it.Â
âI didnât realize they could combine live action and cartoons like that,â Wonwooâs voice full of childlike wonder as the pair of you exit the cinema. The smell of popcorn wafts out of the theaterâs doors and the bright bulbs of the marquee overhead creates a strange glow contrasted to the nighttime sky.Â
âI didnât either,â you note as a few kids brush past you and begin to race down the street, their voices carrying off into the night. It brings a small smile to your lips as you watch them gallivant around, not a care in the world as they continue to chase one another.
âDo you want me to walk with you back to your place?â Wonwoo offers, extending his hand out to you. You donât answer aloud, instead just take his hand into yours and begin to walk the steadily emptying streets.
âHave you always lived in the city, Wonwoo?â It takes a moment for you to speak again, instead of just admiring the way that the lights glint off of passing windows and the rumblings of the cars that pass to your left drown out in the other amblings of the city.
âNo, my family actually lives up north a little way away.â He hums to himself as he thinks, âI thought Iâd always be stuck up there too, but I got the offer from Seungcheol and moved here as fast as I could. Although Iâd be lying if I said I didnât miss it at times.â
âI see,â you mutter, not knowing the feeling of leaving your home. It was a foreign concept to say the least, for almost the entirety of your life youâd known you were going to take over your fatherâs shop one day, and youâd been complacent in the matter. Youâd had your hobbies that you dabbled in, but this was a nostalgic comfort that would and had transitioned into your livelihood that would take you nowhere other than the little shop you call your own. âWould you want to move back?â
âMaybe when Iâm older, sure. But I want to see the world first,â he nods his head, a twitch in his hand as he holds yours, âthereâs so much I havenât done or seen.â
It was a reckless ambition, but Wonwoo lived in that fantasy of the unknown, he had for all of his life. That was what he knew and all he abided by. Youâd be fooling yourself if you didnât worry for him at times, but heâd made it so far and you were curious to see where he was going. There was a creative longing, a desire to make, within him that no one else youâd come across had.
âI love you.â The words arenât romantic when they fall from your mouth, when theyâre swept up in the humidity of the summer air and ring around both his and your ears. This was more of a reckoning, a realization of the culmination of your growing feelings towards him since youâd met him almost a year ago now. A weight you hadnât realized was there lifting from your chest, a songbird free from a gilded cage.
Wonwoo pauses, his feet stopping on the concrete as you continue to walk, only pulled back when you meet resistance. So, you stop yourself, turning back to look at him, a little âoâ on his lips and a confused look gracing his features. Had you said it too early? Or did he not reciprocate your feelings?
âYou beat me to it,â a small pout emerges onto his lower lip, âI love you too.â
1964, Autumn âI canât imagine those are comfortable.â Youâre sure the clacking of your shoes could be heard miles away, with the obnoxious way they hit the sidewalk. They were pinching your toes too, and you might as well have put a band-aid on the backs of your heels because they were definitely going to be blistered tomorrow morning.
âThey most certainly arenât, but they are cute.â You note, standing on your toes so you can click the red slippers together three times at the heel. â
Wonwoo stands at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to your apartment, offering out his hand for you to grasp when you carefully make your way down the steps. As opposed to the cool air that had begun to settle into the city, his hand offers warmth against your bare skin as his fingers intertwined with yours.
âWhich way is Vernon's?â He questions, looking over your costume for the evening.
âHe lives over in Flatiron, kind of near the shop so it wonât be too far of a walk.â You notice him looking at the checkered dress and bright shoes. âWas Dorthey not a good idea, Mr. Holmes?â Noting his outfit of choice, the pipe held in his free hand, the detective cap as well as the cape to match.
âI think you look cute,â Looking away from you and towards the street youâd begun to walk down.
Vernonâs apartment was small, it being so led to more intimate parties than one would find at Joshua Hongâs home, in a way you appreciated it a little more. Bigger parties with unfamiliar faces made you feel as if you had to act less like yourself and more robotic in your interactions.
âIâll let you in if you promise not to chuck my house to Oz,â Vernon asks as he jokingly cracks open his front door as the two of you stand in front of it, âAnd Pincushion here doesnât try and solve a murder or two.â
âHmm I guess thatâs doable, right?â You play along, turning to Wonwoo to confirm.
âIt might take some restraint but Iâm sure I can manage.â Hand under his chin as if heâs deep in thought.
âIâll take what I can get,â Vernon sighs and swings the door open, âDrinks in the kitchen, I think Chanâs trying to do a comedy-musical routine in the living room. Iâd steer clear because heâs trying out âaudience participationâ tonight.â
âThanks for the heads up,â You laugh as you walk inside, the warmth of the room exacerbated by the sheer number of people crammed into the tiny space. âI actually kind of want to check out Chanâs thing,â You mention to Wonwoo after you find a space where the two of you can stand unimpeded.
âI donât know if I can stomach that quite yet, want me to grab you a drink in the meantime?â Wonwoo asks, looking towards the kitchen and the few people filtering in and out of it.
ïżœïżœThatâd be great,â a smile and then Wonwooâs off to struggle his way through the packed room.
Lip bitten, you try to look through the crowd, but the drawls of laughter tell you almost exactly where Chanâs giving his tri-annual standup show. Itâs shoulder to shoulder and you can barely hear him over the other going-ons of the party but from what you can ascertain itâs pretty funny.
âHappy Halloween!â A hand on your side as they call out, you turn, and it takes you a moment to recognize the face under the Gomez Addamsâ mustache and wig.
âJoshua!â A smile as you move to hug him for a moment, pulling away with your hands resting on his forearms, âI thought you were overseas?â
âI was supposed to be, a nasty storm delayed us by a few days over in Spain so Iâm not leaving until Wednesday.â He says, looking over your outfit. âDidnât you wear this like two Halloweens ago?â
âWhat no one knows wonât hurt them,â a playful nudge on his shoulder, âAnd if I were to remember, this wig looks very Elvis of you.â
âYou might be able to remember correctly,â The black strands of hair that were pulled back are still reminiscent of the shape they once held. âHey, I was wondering if I could talk to you alone?â Joshua smiles, a nervous tinge to his voice as he continues, âItâs a little loud in here and I canât really hear.â
âOh, yeah,â brow furrowing at the attitude shift, âBut first I should tellâ Wonwoo!â The confused expression on Joshuaâs face is somewhat laughable as you wave your boyfriend over, spotting him exiting the kitchen with two drinks in hand.
âThere you are,â Wonwoo says as he walks over, placing a kiss on your cheek as he hands you a glass. Youâre not too sure what the contents are, but itâs warm and smells spiced and oddly autumnal. âHey Joshua,â he greets with a small nod of his head as you take a small sip from your glass.
âHey Wonwoo,â a return of the nod, âI should probably let the two of you go, I just remembered I have some calls I need to make.â
âWhat did you want to talk about?â You ask as Joshua begins to turn on his heels. It freezes him, he looks back to you before offering you a warm smile once again.
âItâs nothing important, Iâll catch up with you some other time, yeah?â
The party goes one without much note after, the most affable thing being that routine that Chan had been preparing. At one point you and Wonwoo had slipped out citing an acute tiredness as an excuse to just walk the city some more. By this time of night, the kids that had gone out in search of candy were slowly waning, now only the belligerently drunk wandered the streets in search of the home they probably lived in.
âYou have to admit that the joke about Red Skelton was pretty funny though,â insisting that Chan wasnât the worst comedian you had ever seen. Sure, his act could be cleaned up a little but there was definitely potential.
âWhat was itâ I know a guy who bought a $99 color TV set. Now every Tuesday night he watches Green Skelton?â Chuckling as he recalls the joke, Wonwoo shakes his head âThat was pretty good.â
âThatâs the one, heâs no Jerry Lewis but heâs trying his best,â you laugh as you arrive at the entrance of your apartment, âDid you want to come in?â
âIâd love to,â he says, and your heart skips several beats, âbut Iâve got a client coming in early tomorrow.â And then your heart drops, âIâll come by tomorrow after Iâm done?â
âAlright,â you nod and you say your good nights, he places a kiss on your cheek before turning on his heels and walking into the darkness of night.Â
You fumble with your hands, trying to unlatch the small picnic basket that had acted as your purse for the evening, in search of your keys.Â
âActually, do you have room for one more?â Youâd been too distracted trying to get your keys that you hadnât heard or seen Wonwoo come back to your stoop.Â
âI thought you said you had work tomorrow,â a wayward glance to him.
âI do, but itâs dark and Iâm kind of afraid to walk home alone, I mean what if a ghost or vampire gets me? Iâm too pretty to die right now,â he states, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waits for you to invite him in.Â
âA big baby, more like it,â you scoff, once again turning to look at your door and stating, âIf you are coming inside, can you lend me my own spare? I think I dropped my keys at Vernonâs.â
âYeah I think Iâve got it on my ring,â he rummages around his pockets for a moment until you hear the familiar jingle of his keys. There are only four that adorn the metal hoop; his apartmentâs, his mailboxâs, Seungcheolâs shop, and the most recent addition: yours.Â
âRoommate not home?â He questions as the two of you make your way inside, kicking off your shoes as you beeline to your kitchen.
âAt some B. Altman holiday extravaganza with her beau,â pulling two glasses from a cabinet and grabbing a nearby bottle from the small section of your kitchen dedicated to alcohol, âNightcap?â
âA small one,â Wonwoo nods as you come into the room, heâs standing over your record player, turning it on and beginning to play whatever was on the platter. You set the glasses down onto the coffee table and pry the cork out of the bottle, pouring two small glasses as he falls into the sofa beside you.
âI hope Delamainâll do?â You set down the bottle and pass a glass to Wonwoo, only settling down on the couch once your own glass is in hand.
âItâs perfectly fine,â he sips at his glass, setting it down on the settee as he muses some more, âWhat record is this?â
âElla Fitzgerald, mom gave it to me for my birthday last year, itâs one of her favorites.â Sipping from your own glass steadily turns into you just downing the liquid in one go. The glass hits the end table with a clink when you set it down, Wonwooâs free hand resting on your thigh as he listens to the music wafting through the air.
âItâs lovely,â he sighs out as you rest your head on his shoulder, the scent of his Pour Monsieur cologne invading your senses as you settle. The meticulous grazing of his fingers over your thigh causes you to sigh, wanting to sink further into him.
âCan you kiss me?â The words fall breathlessly from your lips, as his fingers trace the hem of your dress. And he does, turning his head to crash against you with such voraciousness that your teeth click against each other before he steadies and falls into motion with you. The pair of you stay like that for a moment, before you feel his hand slip under your leg, urging you to sit atop him.Â
You straddle his waist, feeling a hardness beginning to strain against his trousers as you grind down onto his lap. He lets out a moan, probably the sweetest thing youâd ever heard, his eyelids fluttering as you do it again. A smirk graces your lips, your hands trailing from his chest to the button on the front of his pants, the fabric coarse under your touch as you move to unfasten it. Before you could, you feel a pair of warm hands atop yours, you looked up to see a wide-eyed Wonwoo.Â
âI didnât think Iâd be doing this today, so my underwear isnât exactly mood appropriateââ He says all too quickly for you to comprehend fully, âJust donât judge me too hard.â
âThey canât beâ Is that Mickey Mouse?â You catch the name on the waistband of his underwear, hesitating on releasing any more of the animated character for your eyes to see.Â
âAnd I think youâve just killed the mood,â he groans, his head falling onto the back pillow as his hands fall atop the couch cushions.Â
âNo, I didnât,â you lean down for a kiss, rolling your hips over him, feeling that he was almost fully erect. His hands fly back to your sides, guiding you along as he lifts his pelvis to meet yours. âI think theyâre cute but maybe leave them home next time.â
âNext time?â He mused, looking up at you through clouded eyes, a joking tinge added to his voice âWhat makes you think thereâs going to be a next time?â
âCall it foresight,â shoulders shrugging as you look down at him, your head tilted ever so slightly âand you donât seem like the hit it and quit it type, baby.â Heâd slept over at your apartment before, maybe youâd had a few drunken makeout sessions but nothing ever this sobering, this far. In hindsight maybe you shouldâve been nervous, let the butterflies in your stomach take over and calm you down. Youâre not sure why youâd taken such a confident route with him, it just seems like he needed it.Â
âBaby,â the word fell out as a whisper as you saw the faint pinkness of his cheeks in the glow that emanates from the lamp to his right, âCan you spare me any further embarrassment and just take them off already?â
âIt doesnât feel like youâve got anything to be embarrassed about,â your hand brushing his away from the front of his pants, you sit up on your knees, âMind kicking them off for me?â
He readily began to comply as you tried to maneuver without inhibiting him, you noticed him watching you, a hunger in his gaze that sent shivers down your spine. His hands still for a moment and his head twists to look towards the kitchen where the entryway is.Â
âFuckâ is someone else here?â He asks and you listen to the familiar sound of your front door unlocking; it doesnât open but you can hear loud footfalls and an even louder voice talking outside of the door.Â
âSooyoung?â You call out after you were sure the voices had stopped, walking to the kitchen when you hear your roommate's keys hitting the kitchen counter âI thought you were staying at your boyfriendâs?â
âThe asshole broke up with me because he wanted to be Holly Golightly. Him! He might have astoundingly good looks for it but I think Iâm a little prettier, donât you think?â The door of the fridge slamming shut, a rustle around the utensil drawer as she looks for a spoon. She did look stunning as the Hepburn character; you have to admit. âTheyâre re-airing that episode of Perry Mason if you want to watch it.â
âWonwooâs actually over so I think Iâm just going to call it a night,â You say, leaning against the doorframe, watching her begin to dig into a tub of ice cream. âIâll be sure to rant about your ex with you tomorrow.â
âYouâd really do that?â A sigh as she shoves the spook into her mouth, âIâll try not to wake you guys up when I get up for work tomorrow.â
âThanks, Sooyoung,â a smile before you slip away and head back into the living room. âAlright Woo, itâs time for bed.â
âAlright,â Wonwoo pushes himself off of the couch, buttoning his pants and shouting out a âGoodnight Sooyoung!â before ducking into your room. With his long strides he walks to your bed and subsequently falls into it as you turn to close the door behind the two of you.
âDonât you want to change, Dr. Holmes?â You note his still costumed self as you look at his sprawling figure on the bed, âI think Iâve got your bed clothes from the last time you were here⊠Not sure if I cleaned them though.â
He huffs, âForget it, Iâm going to sleep.â He crawls to his side, blanketing himself with your duvet as you go into your bathroom to remove your makeup and change.Â
You can hear him softly snoring as you exit the restroom, your face still a little damp and the scent of your cleanser tingling your nose. Sooyoungâs turned off the music in the living room, the garbled sounds of the small black and white tv quietly floating in under your door. It takes a moment, but you climb into bed next to Wonwoo, pulling the duvet up to your chin before you shut your eyes and fall into a dreamless slumber.
It isnât sunny out when you wake up, you donât want to look at your clock for fear that your alarm was about to go off and youâd miss the opportunity to sleep in a few minutes more. An arm draped over you, even in sleep Wonwoo was a cuddler. Normally you werenât opposed unless it was the summertime and it was unbearably hot outside.Â
âYou know,â you hear him mumble tiredly, as if he senses that youâve woken up too, âI always thought your apartment would be much more⊠bookier.â With the way his voice rasps with fatigue youâre not sure if heâs fully awake or half asleep.Â
âWhat were you expecting? Books wall to wall?â eyes still closed as you pull your duvet closer to you, feeling his arm tense around your waist.Â
âKind of, something akin to a fairytale library,â his breath hot on your back, the hairs on the back of your neck raising at the sensation. âLike uhmâ some Grimm story⊠Oh,â voice perking, âCan we go for that Halloween next year? You didnât even tell me what you were going as until I saw you tonight.â
âYou want to have a coupleâs costume?â
âYeah,â breathing slowly as if heâs falling back asleep again,âMaybe Lucy and Ricardo, thatâd be fun.â
The next time you wake up, the sunâs blaring into your eyes with an intensity you had never asked for.
âShit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,â Wonwooâs mumbling and shuffling around your room, sunlight was pouring in from your windows and he looked heavenly even in his manic state.
âWhatâs wrong?â Stifling a yawn behind your hand as you watch him frantically feel his pockets.
âItâs nine-thirty, Weâ I overslept,â another string of curses escaping him as he looks around your room, âDo you have a phone I can use?â
âItâs on the dresser.â You point lazily to the red rotary.
You hear the dial tone ring a few times before someone on the other end picks up, âMingyu can you put my client on the line?â A pause, âYes I know Iâm late.â Another pause before Wonwoo speaks again, âHello Mr. Smith? Yes, this is Wonwoo Jeon. I'm running a little late for our appointment, I had bit of an emergency andâ Huh? Oh, yes, of course. Iâll be there as soon as I can.â
âAre you in trouble?â
âOnly minorly,â he frowns, âYou wouldnât happen to have a suit perfectly tailored for me to wear, would you?â
âCanât say that I do, why donât you just go in what youâre wearing?â
âI am not going dressed up as Sherlock Holmes for this client. I have some pride, you know.âÂ
âYouâre literally wearing Mickey Mouse underwear,â you snort, âit doesnât look that bad anyway, just donât wear the hat and lose the pipe. Maybe the cloak too but itâs kind of sexy.âÂ
âDonât try to tempt me,â he groans, buttoning and zipping his pants, âIâm late enough as is.âÂ
âIâd offer you an iron if Sooyoung hadnât broken mine, that shirt looks super wrinkly now that I see it in the sunlight,â you note, he still looked nice though. He would probably look nice in anything he wore.
âUgh, really?â Hands running over the wrinkled fabric he sighs to himself, âIâd say Iâve looked worse, but I normally have myself together.âÂ
âGood luck. I, for one, am going back to sleep.â You sigh and fall back into your blankets, not wanting to leave the sanctuary of warmth quite yet.
âNow whoâs the baby?â He scoffs and you hear him tread to the side of the bed, a kiss planted on your forehead as you crinkle your nose up at him. âIâll call you later today?â
âIâll talk to you then.â
1964, Late Autumn. The rain began only a few minutes into your trek to the cafe, your umbrella weeping with the droplets as they roll off its surface as you trudge down the street. Thereâs a rumble in the distance but youâre not sure if itâs the local train station or thunder somewhere off beyond the city. Your other hand in your pocket, running your finger along the ridges of your shopâs key. While you know youâd locked it, you canât help but have the underlying fear that youâd left the door wide open so that anyone could just walk in. Although youâre not quite sure what theyâd take, a few blank notebooks donât seem like itâd do too well in any sort of underground market.Â
By the time you pull yourself from your thoughts, youâre standing in front of a small cafe that feels more like a second home to you than your own apartment did at this point. The door swings open, you stand in the entranceway so that you can close your umbrella and leave it in the small stand upfront before you head fully inside. It smells like autumn, or at least the coffeeâd variant of it. Pumpkin, nutmeg, and a few other scents you canât quite pinpoint wafting through the air as you walk up to the counter to place your order. You pick out a few pastries as well and ask that theyâre brought out when your coffee is ready. A hand to remove the paper-wrapped book under your arm so you can reach for your wallet, realizing then that the water had soaked into the leather. The wrapping paper now a little damp from where itâd brushed against your coat, you pick it back up as well as grab the receipt from the barista before scouring the cafe for what youâd come here to do in the first place.
Wonwooâs dozing off when you find him in the back corner of the coffee shop. His jacket slung on the chair beside him, a scarf thrown haphazardly atop it as he leans with his head tilting backwards, pretty much dead to the world. Had the two of you not been frequent customers youâre sure that he wouldâve been kicked out by now. But there he was, black turtleneck, tailored pants, and the cartoon bandages he loves so much wrapped tightly around his fingertips.
He doesnât wake up when you accidentally scrape your chair on the ground when you pull it back to sit across from him nor does he wake when you drop the paper-bound book atop the table with a loud thud. Wonwoo does, however, wake when you brush your hand gently atop his, nearly falling out of his chair as his eyes open wider than youâd ever seen someoneâs do.Â
âThat wasnât funny,â he frowns as you snicker, glancing over to the counter trying to act as if heâs regained his composure, âdid you already order?â
âFor me? Yes,â you place your bag in the chair adjacent to you, shrug off your raincoat and hang it on the back of your chair. âFor you, what is it that you get? Flat white, two sugars, low fat milk?â
âThatâs it,â he hums, leaning his head back once more. It mustâve been another sleepless night for him.
âYou should be thankful Iâve got an exceptional memory,â you frown as he canât see you, he overworks himself too much and if you ever try to bring it up he brushes it off with a wave and an excuse of âIâm just doing what I loveâ.Â
âYou know,â he begins, leaning his head back up, opening his eyes to look at you. There was something shining behind them that youâd only seen on a handful of occasions; he has an idea and heâs not sure that youâll like it, âI was wondering if youâd model a dress for me? Not for a fashion show or anything. I just think itâd look good on you.â
His gaze breaks from yours to look at the aisle behind you, you turn and see the barista coming with your drinks and assortment of baked goods. After a few repetitious âthank youâs she leaves and the pair of you are left alone once more.Â
âAre you flirting with me?â An eyebrow piqued as you looked at him. Heâd asked you to do some of the strangest things before, going from the mundane âI think we need to get annual tickets to the opera just in case I forget your birthday and itâll be a birthday presentâ to âI swear to god if we donât rescue this cat right now Iâm never calling you againâ. But it was two am and a sorely inebriated Wonwoo had thought that a raccoon was a cat as it rummaged through the garbage. That had also been the night where heâd serenaded you with his own rendition of Blossom Dearies âDance Only With Meâ and Sinatraâs âIâm a Fool to Want Youâ; heâd broken down crying at the latter and youâd forced him to go to bed early. He only went on the condition that youâd hug him as he slept. It was certainly an interesting way to spend your first date together.Â
âDo you want me to be? Iâd say itâs fairly doable,â He winks as he drinks from his mug, blowing on its contents beforehand to cool the brew.Â
A laugh, the brown paper under your fingertips wrinkling as you strain your fingers and push it towards him. It slides across the wood with relative ease, your finger partially tearing the paper where it had been dampened by the rain.Â
âI brought you your book.â
âUnlined and all?â He asks as he sets down his cup, shifting himself forward to get a better look.
âUnlined, flexible binding, the works.âÂ
âYouâre a lifesaver,â he sighs, taking the still wrapped book into his grasp.Â
âI know,â you smile, watching as his fingers toy with the twine that kept it together.Â
âHello? Paging Ms. Bookbinder, you there?â Wonwooâs hand waves in front of your face, suddenly youâre back in reality and trying to remember the conversation. You didnât realize youâd zoned out that hard.
âYes Mr. Reichelt?â You question, looking down as his fingerâs unlace the twine youâd wrapped around the paper packaging.Â
âDonât call me that I am much cooler than Franz Reichelt, and less dead, for that matter.â
âCan you say that after you drink your coffee?â You poke jokingly while he eyes his mug with a wary glance.
âAnyway, were you even listening to me?â He leans towards you, elbows resting on the tabletop and a slight curvature to his smile that looked far too playful for the current moment. It stilled your heart for a second before you shake your head at him.Â
âNot really, no.â You confess, sipping from your cup, âWhat is it?â
âI was asking if you would let me make a dress for you. Iâve had this idea in my mind for weeks and I finally got this mulberry silk imported from Lyon and itâs too good not to use immediately.â
âI donât even need a dress like that, Wonwoo.â You frown, picking at one of the pastries in front of you, pinching off a piece before stuffing it into your mouth. âIâm not exactly the type that goes to parties where Iâd need a silk dress.â You think that the last party youâd attended youâd worn a sweater and a dress from your roommateâs closet, nothing remotely close to what he was proposing.Â
âYou donât even know what it looks like,â he pouts, âAll I need are your measurements, you wonât even have to see the thing if you donât want to.âÂ
A sigh, âFine. When do you want me to drop by?â
âDoes Tuesday around ten work for you?â
âI should be able to get Vernon to look over the shop while Iâm gone.â
1964, Winter. The ringing of your shopâs bells draws you to the front room, your hands wrought with binding glue, you try to rub them on the apron you wear to rid yourself of the sensation. Before you can ask what the customer needs you stop in your tracks, head tilting to the side, âIsnât it your day off?â
âIt is,â Wonwooâs voice is cheery as he walks in further, looking at the array of newly bound books sitting out on display.
âWhat are you doing here?â
âAm I not allowed to want to see you?â You fluster at the words, hard to hide the small smile that forms on your lips.
âI mean, you can, itâs just that Iâm working.â You motion to the store, to the few customers browsing the items.
âYouâve spent however many nights watching me hem skirts and taper jackets; I think itâs time I return the favor.â A nod of his head as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, âWhat can I do to help?â
âWhat the hellâs Pincushion doing here?â Before youâre able to open your mouth, Vernon comes out of the back room with a stack of books in his grasp, âI thought youâd be holed up in your shop by now.â
âItâs my day off.â
âAnd youâre spending it⊠hereâŠâ The thud of books landing on a nearby table as the skepticism in Vernonâs voice rises.
âYep.â
âHe must really like you,â Vernon scoffs, going to grab a different selection of books off of another shelf. He turns to you and asks, âCan you grab me the leather samples from the back? I think Maiselâs coming in today and you know how he gets.â
âShouldnât I be asking you that?â You shake your head and head to the back room to search for the swatches.
While he waits, Wonwoo notices a small web lingering in the intersection of two walls, the sunlight glinting off its strands having been what alerted him to his presence in the first place. At first, he thinks to sweep it away with a broom he knows is hidden somewhere in your storeroom. You werenât the biggest fan of bugs or arachnids; he was surprised you hadnât rid your shop of it by now. But he canât find it within himself to brush the web asunder. It had worked hard to build and craft its home; he knew firsthand how difficult creating something from nothing was.Â
âHer name is JorĆgumo.â Vernon had walked up behind Wonwoo with little announcement. The younger jumps, turning his head to look at the other. âI offered to kill her⊠himâŠ? For her but she said it was eating the bugs and to let it be.â
Wonwoo eyes the fat-bodied spider, âWhy is it named that?â
âItâs a fairytale from Japan, thereâs a spider that looks like a woman. It entices men to follow her and then eats them while theyâre distracted,â Vernon explains, the sound of the storeroom opening behind him.
âAre you bullying Arachne again?â You frown, handing the swatches to Vernon and looking up to the small web in the corner.
âI am not bullying JorĆgumo.â
âIf Iâm keeping a spider in my shop, I am not naming it after a monster.â
âAnd a heretic is better?â Vernon scoffs, tapping Wonwoo on the shoulder, âWhat do you think, Pincushion?â
âIâm just wondering why both the myths have to be women,â he shrugs his shoulders and looks to you, âDo you think youâd be free this evening so I can take your measurements? I finally have some free time to start working on that dress.â
âI think so,â a nod as you look at Vernon, âMind looking after the shop for a bit?â
1965, Early Spring âDidnât you already measure me?â Wonwooâs hands hold a rolling measuring tape as he holds it up to your forearm as you ask.
âYeah, but I want to make sure this is perfect.â Tape lowered; he writes down the number into one of the journals heâd brought with him to your apartment. Trailing away from that your eyes look to the bouquet he brought when heâd come over.
âWhatâs the deal?â Brow furrowing at the pink, red and white blooms, âYou never give me flowers.â
âItâs a special occasion,â Beaming, heâs as bright as the sun. A jilted visage against the cool tones of your apartmentâs interior. He looks up to you with a vividness in his eyes, âYour boyfriendâs going to Paris.â
âWhat do you mean Paris?â A hitch in your voice as you ask, a strange and warped confusion overcoming you.
âSeungcheol got me an apprenticeship with one of his friends, heâs going to be in town in a few weeks to talk about it with me and I want to show off the dress there.â Heâs speaking at a mile a minute, a clear excitement as he beams.
âDonât fall for some mysterious Parisian woman while youâre there,â You poke, still unsure about how you even feel about this.
âI doubt Iâll have time to even wander the city. With all of the workshops and sessions weâll have. Itâs going to be the opportunity of a lifeâ owââ he says as you gently hit his shoulder. âI wonât fall for some other girl, I promise,â He laughs and continues to take your measurements.
1965, Late Spring âDid you have a good time tonight?â The lock clicking into place as he asks, your footsteps falling on the floor as you make your way to his workbench in the center of what wouldâve been his living room had he not made it into a makeshift workshop.Â
You note the tools, the fabrics and array of swatches that litter his home, the pincushion he wears on his wrist as he works settled onto the tabletop. Itâs as if the apartment is a representation of him, messy in ambition but persevering through the struggles as he tries to find the limelight of his own. A smile forming as he walks over to you.
âI had a wonderful time, thank you for inviting me.â
It had been a small gathering at the tailor shop, a small dinner with Seungcheol, Wonwoo, Seungcheolâs friend and Wonwooâs future mentor Jeonghan, and yourself. The entirety of the night youâd felt a knot forming in your stomach, the anxiety of Wonwooâs future endeavors weighing heavily on your shoulders. You want to be happy for him but the closer it gets to Wonwooâs departure for Paris leaves you feeling more and more despair at the event of it all.
âThank you for coming,â Wonwooâs hands find your sides as you lean your backside against the rough wooden edge of the table. âYou made it all the more bearable,â smiling softly in the dim lighting of the apartment, he leans forward and places a soft kiss on your lips. The wine from earlier lingers on his breath, youâre sure it does the same to yours, the darkness of the red already making you warm and your body feeling weightless, almost as if you were floating in a pool of water.Â
You part, staring into each otherâs eyes, a silent conversation before heâs leaning in again to find your lips. His kiss seems as if it seeks to steal the breath from your lungs. To devour you entirely until all you can think of is his closeness, the softness of his lips atop yours, of just him. The woolen fabric of his overcoat is rough under your fingertips as you move your hands from the workshop table to his shoulders, gently pulling at the cloth to urge him to discard the garment. His hands leave your sides momentarily as he shrugs the jacket off, the fabric falling and pooling on the floor at his feet. A metallic clang echoing around the space as he leans forward to lock his lips with yours.
âWonwoo,â you breathe, soft pants escaping the both of you as you turn your head from him, your eyes trailing to the sewing scissors that had clattered onto the floor. Another rustling of fabric and you realize heâs discarded his suit jacket as well.
âLet it be,â a hand under your chin, guiding you back to the comfort of his lips. He presses himself into your touch, the way your fingers dance along the smooth cotton of his starched shirt, fiddle with the buttons and run your fingertips atop the small engravings adorning them.Â
âAre we really going to do this in your workspace?â You look up to his darkened gaze, your voice caught in your throat as his own fingers move to toy with the neckline of your dress. Gentle, electric touches that have you reeling.
âDoes that bother you?â His lips leave yours once more as he places soft, yearning kisses to your cheek, trailing down your jaw and then to your neck. He raises a hand to pull away the neckline of the dress to allow him better access to the apogee of nerves nestled at the point where your shoulder and neck meet. Teeth biting ever so gently that you would have mistaken it as a light graze had you not felt the sharp pinch. It pulls an almost whining sound from your vocal cords, causing your head to tilt to allow him more space to roam.Â
Lips curling into a smile as he pulls away, his hand sliding from the table to your arm, then raising and gently pulling at your hair, âYou didnât answer me.âÂ
âGod, fuck, no it doesnât bother me,â you trap his lips in yours, tilting your head up so the orange glow of the street lamps outside shine into your eyes before you shut them, finding yourself lost in the entity of your lover. The slowest ministrations of your hips trying to roll against his, to seek out friction and closeness and the yearning of him to once again be a part of you, âWonwoo.â Your tone is darker, needier, wanting as he presses his clothed self flush against you.Â
A huff of air escaping you as he once again pulls his lips away from you, and then the gentle rolling of his hips against yours ceases as well. Eyes opening to find him looking over you, not scrutinizing, it seems as if he was rather admiring the picture that sat before him.
Head tilting, the presence of desire absent for a moment as he muses, âI think it looks amazing.â He hums as he lowers himself to his knees, somehow the softness of his voice makes you want to comply with every word uttered, âCan you sit on the table for me?â
Hands brushing against tulle and satin and a plethora of other fabrics you could care less about at this moment in time as you find your hold on the table as you move to sit atop its surface, your heeled shoes clattering to the floor as you do so. Wonwooâs fingers caress your calves as he leans himself closer to your core, his warm breath making your mind conjure some of the most unspeakable thoughts.Â
âIâll have to let the designer know he did an amazing job,â you smile, involuntarily shivering as he slides his hands upwards, the hem of your dress inching towards your stomach the further he ascends.Â
His face merely inches from your core now, your hips squirming at the proximity. âI think heâd be appreciative of the feedback,â Wonwoo smiles, his face now obscured from vision due to the collection of fabric, you have half a mind to tear it off of you, not that you ever realistically would. Itâs far too precious.Â
The rip of fabric, the coolness of the air hitting your now exposed sex, you whine in protest as he begins to slide the now torn fabric of your underwear away from you.Â
âIâll get you some more,â his right hand hovers over you, he uses his middle finger to swipe up the length of your slit, causing you to draw in a sharp breath.Â
âAre you a lingerie atelier nowâ Fuck,â you begin to joke before he begins to tease your clit with the tip of his finger. He moves his middle finger slowly, languidly as he draws deep breaths and stifled moans from your lips.
After a moment, your own hand moves to your breast, trying to fondle the flesh through several layers of fabric. He changes his approach, moving lover to tease your entrance before he slips his finger inside of you and with a moan you roll your hips to try and meet him halfway.Â
Itâs not until he eases in another finger and begins to slowly draw them in and out of you as well as latch his lips to your clit that your vocalizations rise in volume. The digits curl inside of you, his tongue swirls around the sensitive bundle of nerves and your head finds itself lost in the euphoria of the moment, your hand falling away from your breast to find itself running through Wonwooâs locks. He hums against you as your fingers tighten their hold, nearly sending you over the edge.
âAre you close?â You look at him, lips coated with the sheen of you, a tinge to his voice that straddles between curiosity and a carnal question.Â
Hand moving from his hair to his cheek you can only nod, trying to roll your hips to the increasing speed of his fingers inside of you. His eyes watching you as you do finally reach your climax, chortled breaths escaping you as well as a slew of incoherent words and his name. Wonwoo can feel the way your walls spasm around his fingers and sighs to himself as he pulls them from you, wishing that it had been more than just his digits that had made you cum.
You sit up, a little dazed and a lot more aroused than you were when youâd first stepped into the apartment. Wonwoo rises to greet you, your lips clash together and you can taste yourself on his tongue as you vie for dominance.Â
âSwitch with me?â You ask, parting for air, voice whispering as your hands move to once again toy with the hem of his collared shirt.
And he does, backing away from you enough so you can land your feet on the floor and trade places with him. Your turn to take control for a moment, you feel the hardness of his cock through his pants as you tentatively palm it, trying to elicit some sort of sound from him.Â
âCome on, Woo, I know youâve got it in you,â you tease, running your hand up and down the etching of his member, slowly and meticulously trying to draw him out of his shell.Â
âHave whatââ he cuts himself off as you run your fingers over his cockhead, a low groan as if he hadnât wanted you to hear it.Â
âHave that,â you lean forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek. The taste of salt greeting you, the sheen of sweat on his face glittering in the lights dimly illuminating his apartment. You fall to your knees, sending shivers down your spine as the cool air that balloons the skirt of your dress as your knees hit the floor with a dull thud. Hands sliding up his thighs, you move to his belt to hastily unfasten it.
It falls away, as do his pants and underwear, you were going to mention the lack of cartoon characters adorning it, but you were too preoccupied taking him into your mouth to comment.Â
Tongue running over the slit on his head, it draws the sweetest sounds from him, saccharine-like honey that drips from his moans and rings around your ears. His hand running through his hair, his other gripping the table as he tries to stop himself from bucking into your mouth as you take him further.Â
Your knees ache from the rough floor, the pain not deterrent enough for you to forget about the wetness between your legs. Fidgeting as your head bobs up and down on his length, you donât think he takes notice. Yet Wonwoo was more perceptive than he let on at times, considering his hand now rests upon your hollowing cheek.Â
âGet up,â Wonwoo urges, his voice hoarse as he tries to gently nudge you away from his cock. âI want to cum inside of you.â When you do let him leave your mouth, a thin line of spittle trailing from his head to your lips you hear him sigh out again. It was so easy to get a reaction out of him, he almost feels like putty in the palm of your hand.Â
The indents from the wood settle into the flesh of your thighs as he helps you stand and lightly pushes you back onto the table. His belt clattering onto the floor as he fully kicks off his pants, his shoes, and briefs.Â
You wonder at this point if you should take off the dress, but as your hand begins to reach for the zipper, he stops you, âNo, keep it on.â
He kisses you again, taking his hands to gently pry your legs open so he can align himself with your core. Lips parting, you feel his cock brush up against your entrance before he pushes himself into you, his hands moving to trail up the sides of your legs. Slowly, feeling every inch enveloping him as his fingers tighten their hold on the skin of your hips.Â
âFuck,â he moans, fully sheathing himself inside of you. His brown eyes meeting yours, tongue darting out to wetten his lips, âDo you need a minute?â
When you shake your head no you fully expect him to start rutting into you with reckless abandon as he did most nights you stayed together. But he doesnât, instead he starts to roll his hips into you, not trying to fuck the life out of you, rather trying to gauge how and what made you feel good.
âWoo,â you mutter with half-lidded eyes, hands trailing up his arms and to his shoulders, your nails digging into the now exposed skin. It was sure to leave marks, but only small crescent moons that would fade away come morning.Â
Itâs whispered âI love youâsâ that fall from his lips as your forearms wrap around his neck to pull you up and draw him in closer, a thrumming in your chest each time he says it. And you repeat it back to the best of your ability, to find a constancy in him that hadnât ever made itself presentable to you in a lover or significant other before.Â
For a moment youâre able to lose yourself in him, to forget that heâd be leaving you soon and your heart along with it. Youâre enveloped in the presence of him and you wouldnât have it any other way, you wouldnât let it be any other way.Â
Wonwooâs thrusts become more sporadic as he reaches his end, one of his hands leaving your side and moving to your clit to try and bring you over with him one more time. Youâre sensitive and strung out on him, legs tensing as they try to close, stopping around his waist as you press your forehead to his shoulder.Â
He cums with little warning, other than his hand moving from your clit and back to your side as he stills himself within you. The sweat collected on both of your bows intermingles when he presses his forehead against yours. His breathing slows as he regains his composer, kissing you as he slides himself out of you. When he pulls away to slide on his briefs you land your feet on the ground with shaky legs, holding the edge to balance yourself.
Wonwoo turns back to you and almost has to stifle a short laugh, your face contorting to the feel of his essence leaving you, itâs strange but not overtly bad. Just not something youâre fully accustomed to.
âLetâs wash up, hm?â Hand taking yours, he leads you to his small bedroom, only stopping midway so he can help you out of your clothes. He unzips the dress, the cool air of his apartment fully encasing you as he pulls the fabric off your shoulders. You feel his lips press a soft kiss onto the nape of your neck and he catches the scent of the perfume youâd applied earlier in the evening. The dress falls, pooling at your feet and you step from its depths and onto the hardwood floor. Before youâre able to reach for the dress, Wonwooâs swept it up, already moving to hang it in his closet.Â
The two of you shower together, reminiscing on a handful of occasions with him that youâd fully devoted to memory but also of the future as well. Wonwoo was excited to leave, every mention of it fractalizing your heart just a little bit more, not that youâd let him know, you just put on a smile and tell him how happy you are for him.
You borrow a shirt from him to wear to bed, exiting the bathroom while he brushes his teeth and combs his hair. While he does, you wander his room, looking at the shelves that adorn the space. Most books atop them are about tailoring or sewing, things that wouldnât typically draw your attention. You then spot a few that are familiar, the bindings nostalgic under your fingertips as you trace them, no names or words that address their titles.
âI never realized I made you so many,â You muse, looking at Wonwoo whoâs just exited the bathroom.
âI have been your loyal customer for a while now, you know.â He notes, falling into his bed and collecting the blankets, he pats the mattress beside him to beckon you closer.Â
You fall back into the bed beside him after you saunter over, encased in the blankets for a moment by the duvet he tosses atop you before you look at him, âI donât want you to go.â Itâs a simple statement that carries all too much weight for those six words alone, they lie heavily in your chest, saying them aloud does nothing to stop that.Â
âI know, I know,â Thereâs a hurt in his voice as he knows just how difficult itâll be to part from you. âWeâve still got almost two months left before I go though, letâs try to make the most of it, okay?â
1965, Summer It had only been a month since Wonwoo landed in Paris. His French is awful, and he only knows how to call things pretty, cute or something lewder thanks to the teachings of his fellow apprentices. There are bags under his eyes from another sleepless night, a cigarette hanging from his lips (a terrible habit heâs picked up as of late), and the mute sounds of some song playing out of the bar heâd just crawled out of. Itâs probably Bridget Bardot but he canât tell from his position, not that he can understand anyway, heâs barely been able to comprehend his own thoughts.
His fingers ache, only nude bandages that are a little too pink wrapped around them because he canât find the cartoon ones that youâd given him tucked away in his things. His eyes feel strained, tired, and pulsing from overanalyzing stitching and searching cloth for tears, pulls or other impurities. Montmartre was beautiful, not that he was able to see it often as he was constantly working. And if he wasnât working, he was probably trying to catch up on lost rest.
This was his dream, a part of it though, the other half had you somewhere tucked away in the echelons of his fantasy life. Although he was doing what he wanted, what he loved, there was something about you being in absentia that had him feeling empty. Heâd written countless letters but only signed and sent a handful, worried of saying too much and worried of saying too little. To you and his father, his father that had sent him on this path at a young age. âMake something of yourself,â heâd said when Wonwoo was seven, âyouâre too ambitious not to.â
If he could laugh at him now, he would. But his father was an ocean away, retreated somewhere in the depths of Wonwooâs childhood that heâd rather leave behind.Â
Yet on the other hand, heâd written you what felt like every day and struggled with each composition. Wonwoo had never missed someoneâs voice as much as yours, the gentle feel of your hand intertwined with his or even the sounds of your footsteps trailing through your shop. Heâs supposed to be happy, why isnât he happy?
The cigarette burns, the acrid smoke filtering into his mouth as he inhales, a plume of whatâs left leaving him when he huffs out, the cigarette dropped onto the ground, smoldering away. Hand flitting through his knotted locks, the dampness of sweat clinging to the pads of his fingertips as he brushes over his brow.Â
Most people had dropped everything to work under Jeonghan, a certified maestro of their craft. And Wonwoo had dropped everything, not begrudgingly at first, but as the dog days of the beginning of summer and the end of spring drew near there was a rising anxiety within his chest. If you had asked him not to leave as he was standing at the terminalâs gates, he probably wouldnât have gone at all.Â
Heâs been giving up more and more lately; sleep, adequate meals, a solitary living space. Wonwooâs worried when this serpent of work will seek out to devour you away too. Itâs not that he wants to let you go, but if heâs to make something of himself he might have to, as cruel and malicious it may seem. In that you waiting for him was burdensome, not to him but to yourself. While heâs off gallivanting in an ancient city youâre in your shop, was he just supposed to expect you to idly sit by and wait for him? Heâs not sadistic enough to tether you down to the unknown. Â
1965, Late Autumn. Youâd come home that morning with a new record tucked under your arm, the words âRubber Soulâ peeking over the paper sheath that the store had given you as you set it down on your countertop after discarding your shoes and jacket by the door. You hum to yourself, shedding your bag, reaching for the new record, and bringing it over to your player, Sooyoungâs worn copy of one of Billie Holidayâs albums resting on the platter. With gentle hands you remove it from the spindle, tucking it away in its cover before releasing Rubber Soul from its own and setting it onto the player. System turned on, you place the needle on the record and adjust the volume so the first few riffs of âDrive My Carâ begin playing through the speakers.Â
Nodding your head to the rhythm, you set down the cover and make your way to the kitchen, noticing the small pile of postcards and letters youâd received from Wonwoo over the last few months. Heâd been so busy he hadnât really had the time to call or write a lot for that matter. But it wasnât like calling was free, especially an international connection. With each new card that he sent to you, there seemed to be less that he wrote of and more empty space adorning it.Â
âHey,â You hear Sooyoung say as she exits her room, her purse in hand as she heads to the hall tree to grab a coat, âIâve gotta head in, someone completely ruined the display for the winter collection.â
âI thought you were in charge of that?â A tilt of your head as she passes by. Sooyoungâs one of the floor managers of the flagship B. Altman some blocks away, and that left her unnecessarily stressed by the minute details of the store.Â
âI am, but I let one of the new girls try and set it up,â a frown as she opens the door, âThatâs what I get for trying to take on a protegee. Iâll be back around dinnertime, okay?âÂ
âIâll see you then,â waving her off with a hand as the door slams shut, the sound of your friendâs key locking the door before the apartment falls into silence once more, the only sound coming from the next song on the vinyl.Â
Stifling a yawn with your hand you head to the living room, plopping down onto the sofa as you reach for a magazine atop the table. It was one of your roommateâs detailing a plethora of fashion information, this seemed something like Wonwoo could take to more so than yourself. Before youâre able to get lost in the pit of missing him again the phone on the table next to the sofa begins to ring.Â
âHello?â Magazine tossed aside, you reach for the phone, pulling it to your ear as you lay reclined on the couch. Fully expecting a family member or one of Sooyoungâs friends over the line you sound a little more crass than normal.
âWhoa,â a familiar, achingly distant voice calls out, âDid I do something wrong?âÂ
âWonwoo?â Eyes widening, your grip on the phone tightening before your brow furrows and you sit up, âWhere are you?â
âIâm actually in a phone booth outside of Jeonghanâs shop right now,â A short laugh, thereâs something quiet about it, âI feel like Iâm in some sort of film.â
âIt sure sounds like you are,â distancing yourself from the line for a moment as the connection pops and crackles. Ear returning to the phone you feel your heart swell as you lean against your wall, âIâve missed you.â
âIâve missed you too,â He sounds apprehensive, as if thereâs something ruminating behind his lips, but he was too afraid to say it. âIâm sorry for not calling sooner, itâs just been extremely busy here.â
Twirling the phone cord absentmindedly with your finger you shake your head, not that he could see you, âItâs alright.â The disquiet in his voice puts you on edge, âWhatâs wrong?âÂ
âIâve been thinking,â Heâs holding his breath, and you donât realize that you are too.
âOf?â
âEnding this. Us.â Thereâs a pause, a bated breath, and a clearing of his throat before he begins to speak again. It sounds robotic, rehearsed, even. âI donât want to leave you waiting for me when I donât even know when Iâll be back.â
âIf you donât think Iâd wait for you youâre ridiculous,â A confused tone to your voice, you blink several times as if that were the cure-all to comprehend what he was suggesting. âIs there someone else?â
âGod, no, of course not. Itâs justââ A break in the facade for a moment before it turns static again, âYou deserve constancy. I donât want you waiting around for me when you could be happier somewhere else with someone else whoâs actually there for you.âÂ
âAre you serious?â With the thought of him being an ocean away you could barely go as kicking and screaming as you wanted to, but you canât. Itâs hard to collect your thoughts with so many jumbling around your head.Â
âIâll get Seungcheol or someone to stop by and get my things,â voice muffled, there was a small banging coming from the other end, as if someoneâs hitting the outside of the phone booth that Wonwoo is situated in.Â
âNo,â you frown, a heavy feeling settling into your stomach. âIâll drop the dress and your things off at the shop.â
âKeep the dress, it was a gift,â his voice insists, sounding defeated and tired.Â
âI donât want it, I want you, Wonwoo.â
He would rather watch the stars flicker and die from their sepulchered facades in the expanse above, watch the oceans shrivel and continents shrink, than be the source of your privation. Itâs as if he can hear your heart break over the line. It isnât loud, it isnât ear shatteringâ itâs a hairline fracture that webs out and settles into every fiber of your being. He knows it because itâs the same thing heâs afflicted upon himself.Â
âIâm sorry, I love you but thereâs no feasible way that I canââ he pauses, and you hear a voice tinned by the crackling line. Itâs French, sounds angry and causes Wonwoo to speak into the phone once more, âIâ I have to go. Iâll call you back later so we can talk about this, okay?â
âOkay,â the word is lifeless as it leaves your mouth, you hang up and pull the phone away from your ear as if you could still hear his voice after youâd killed the call.Â
You are a bag of bones, skin, and whatever else deigned itself rotted enough to crawl its way inside of you and flourish. Amber leaves looking more titian as you leave your apartment, a muted tone as you walk the streets and to your shop. The lights inside arenât as bright as they once were, sounds far too muffled by the blood rushing to your ears as Vernon asks you whatâs wrong. Â
1966, Winter âTry this one,â The bartender standing in front of you sets down another glass. Heâd been talking to you on and off the whole night trying to get your opinions on different drinks heâd been concocting to try and get put on the menu.
âWhat is it?â Amber liquid swirled around what looked like a dried slice of orange. The whiff of something floral and reminiscent of anise hits your nose, causing your face to scrunch. âThatâs not straight absinthe and cognac, is it?â
âCognac Tesseron, Peychaudâs Bitters, simple syrup, and just the smallest taste of absinthe,â Carefully crafted and delicately handled you pick up the glass and observe it some more. âIâm thinking about calling it the Forget Me Not, but weâll see what management thinks of that name.â Voice tinged with that oddly specific Brooklyn accent he turns to his other clientele, leaving you with the newest cocktail. Lips carefully pressed to the glass you drink, mulling over the flavors as you do so. After thinking about it you set the glass down, lips pursed together, it wasnât a bad taste you just wished there were more acidic notes to it.
Alone. You sit alone in the dimly lit bar that denoted itself as La FĂȘte. Why, you arenât sure, but the cacophony of spirits mixed into the glass between your fingers is the only thing that has made you feel well the entire evening. Some comedian stands on the stage a few meters away, giving off a routine that isnât hitting as well as it should be. Thereâs muffled laughs and chortles from the audience in front of him, yet youâve barely heard a word heâs said.
âMind if I join you?â A voice rings out to your right; youâre unable to see who it is until they take a seat next to you.
âMr. Hong,â Eyebrows raised as Joshua turns to face you, âWhat brings you here?â You hadnât seen him in a month or so, not after that had happened.
âVernon told me I could probably find you here, and Sooyoung also told me about trying to cheer you up since the gifts she got you werenât working,â A smirk playfully bouncing on his lips. âYou look awful.â Hands folding atop each other as he adjusts himself in the seat.
âWhat makes you say that?â Scoffing as you bring your glass to your lips, taking a sip of your drink before setting it back down.
âVernon did say you were going through something heavy.â His tone lowers, becoming more sympathetic and less lighthearted than itâd been a moment before.
The gentle ambiance of the bar around you, as well as the slew of alcohol in your drink, mellows your inhibitions and voice. It was the calmest youâd felt the entire night. âI just needed a break from all of this,â hand motioning towards your head.Â
âI can understand thatâ Pausing for a moment he opens a nearby menu, perusing the selections. âI just came from a conference in D.C., arenât you going to ask why?â
âHmm, why?â You pose, head tilting as you turn to look at him.
âWeâre acquiring some major stock in Marriott,â He says with a playful lilt, âForcing a bunch of bigwigs to give up their assets is an adrenaline rush I wonât get anywhere else but there.â
âSounds⊠fun?â
âIn reality itâs just a bunch of stuffy old men with their own hands up their asses,â he hums, âAlthough I guess I have to get used to it; Iâll be one of those men someday.â
âJoshua Hong you will never be like any of those men,â sigh losing itself in your glass as you bring it back to your lips.
âI appreciate the sentiment,â as he closes his menu, he calls the bartender over, ordering some drink that sounds all too extravagant for your taste.
The pair of you sit in silence for a few moments, your glass now set atop the marble bar as your eyes wander around the warm, eclectic interior. âAre you merging them with that Canadian group? I canât remember their name.â Snapping your fingers together as you try and recall. You look back to Joshua, who was beginning to take a drink of another one of the bartenderâs creations.
The glass now moved away, and he frowns into the back of his hand; you wonder if itâs due to the alcohol. Head shaking in the negative he answers, âI actually left that partnership a year or so ago, decided I didnât want any of âDaddyâs Helpâ and tried my own hand at it.â Leaning back, he adjusts the lapels of his suit jacket, âAnd Iâve been doing a pretty good job if I do say so myself.â His confidence is a manic beast at times, but it never fails to make you roll your eyes. âWhat about you? Gonna commercialize your shop anytime soon?â
âAs if,â You snort and look towards the darkened windows of the venue, âIâm perfectly fine in my shop,â Elbow resting on the counter, you lay your cheek atop your hand as your hair falls around your face, looking up at Joshua as your cheeks warm with embarrassment, âItâs all I can manage.â
Joshua laughs, itâs hearty and you feel your pulse rise along with the heat in your cheeks, âDonât sell yourself short.â Shoulder shrugging, he returns to his drink while you sit up, rubbing your cheek.
âWeâll see when I get there,â smirk showing itself again as his fingers trace circles on the light marble of the bar. âOh, weird, crazy question really,â His hand moves to his jacket, fumbling around one of the inside pockets for a moment as he searches for something.Â
âWant to go to a wedding with me?â A piece of elegantly cut cardstock tossed down onto the bar, you donât recognize the names scrawled onto the front of it in some pretentious calligraphy.
âArenât you dating that girl?â Fingers pulling the card closer, trying to recall the name, âYoona or something? Why donât you take her?â
Joshua almost chokes on his water as you speak, hitting his hand against his chest to get some air. âGod no,â He coughed, setting his water glass down. âYoonaâs just a family friend, more like my big sister than anything else. If anything, my sister will get married before me.â
You nod your head in understanding, âAh, is she still dating Seungcheol?â
âYeah, I wouldnât trust them to tell me if it was raining outside or not,â he muses. Suddenly his demeanor turns mischievous, youâre not sure how to properly describe it as he leans in towards you, the smirk back with a vengeance. âBut why were you interested in who Iâm dating? Are you curious?â
It takes most of your willpower to lean back away from him and roll your eyes as you scoff out, âAs if.â He only increasingly gets closer before you put a hand on his shoulder and playfully push him back.
âAnd what about you?â Does he seem nervous? You hear a genuine interest in his voice, but you arenât sure if youâre exaggerating it due to the miasma of spirits clouding your senses. âHas any prince charming come up and swept you off your feet yet?â
âDoes it look like it?â Eyebrow raised, you motion to yourself, âVernon told you why Iâm here, didnât he?â Frown settling onto your lips you finish your drink, setting it down back onto the bar with an audible clink.Â
âHe may have mentioned it in passing,â Joshua mutters, finger rubbing along the rim of his glass.
âI havenât spoken to him in weeks, months even and he has the audacity to send in an order?â You try your best to sound indignant, but the truth was that itâd felt like a stab to your heart to see the hastily signed âWonwoo Jeonâ adorning the invoice. Your heart had almost stopped then, youâd thought that you and he were, at that point, separate entities once more. âHe made it blatantly clear he wants nothing to do with me anymore, he can go woo as many Parisians as heâd like, Iâm over it.â Not yet, you arenât. But maybe repeating it enough will make it a reality.
âYou know what I think?â Joshua asks, finishing the rest of his drink as you look at your empty glass.
âIâm not drunk enough?â
âI think youâre plenty gone. But I donât think youâve ever let anything destroy you this much, or if you have, Iâm a terrible friend for not realizing it. And with that being said, I will personally take up the reins to try and get you out of this slump,â
âAny other thoughts, O wise and wonderful mood maker?âÂ
âYeah, this comedianâs garbage. Iâll take you to a Lenny Bruce set one day and youâll laugh your ass off.â
âI appreciate it,â a snicker leaves you. âAnyway,â your eyes move to your watch, checking the time, âI should probably head back to my place, itâs getting late and Iâve got an early morning tomorrow.â You rummage around your bag for a crumpled mess of bills that you toss onto the counter in front of you.
You stand and begin moving towards the exit when Joshua speaks up, âWant me to walk with you?â
âIf you want to,â pausing, you turn back to him and offer a smirk of your own, âitâs not too far away.â The two of you walk in silence through the winding interior of the bar as you make your way to the front entrance, you see through the large wooden doors that it is pitch black outside, thankfully the streetlights adorning the sidewalks keep things fairly visible. When the doors open and the two of you step outside you canât help but let out a âShit, it got cold.âÂ
âHere,â Joshua shrugs off his already unbuttoned suit jacket and hands it to you, you can see the thin dress shirt heâs wearing, and you wonder how heâs not shivering himself. âDid you leave your jacket inside?â He asks as you drape the soft fabric over your shoulders.
âAt the shop,â Standing outside, your toes on the edge of the sidewalk, your head cranes, trying to remember which way youâd walked here. âItâsâŠâ you look at the signs at the end of the street, âthat way,â hand motioning towards your abode once you recognize the names. âItâs about a fifteen-minute walk, I can always call a cab or something, so you donât have to worry about it.â
âItâs alright,â His shoulders shrug as the two of you begin walking, âItâll help the alcohol get out of your system.â Had he seen you stumbling on your feet on your way out? If he did, he doesnât say as the two of you walk the uneven streets, pushing through masses of tourists and civilians parading around the city. Itâs not long until the crowds wear thin, leaving you, Joshua, and the occasional pedestrian roaming the streets. âIâve always loved this city,â Joshua muses as the two of you stroll through one of the many parks dotting the town.
Nodding, âItâs lively for sure.â Your hands move to close his jacket tighter around your bare shoulders, âI donât think I could imagine leaving it.â
âMaybe for a summer home though?â Joshua laughs, moving his hands to his pockets. âI remember how youâd stay inside whenever it snowed or went below thirty when we were kids.â
Biting the inside of your cheek, âI wouldnât say itâs that much of a problem anymore, Iâm just a big fan of the sun in all its glory, not when itâs obscured behind a wall of clââ Perhaps you wouldâve finished that sentence had the heel of your, admittedly too high-heeled shoe not gotten caught between one of the junctures of the sidewalk, causing you to fall forward. You feel a pair of hands on you, one wrapped around your waist and one on your shoulder, as the ground rapidly rises to meet you.
Eyes closed you hear, âAre you alright?â as youâre hoisted back up onto your feet, never feeling the impact of the ground.Â
âIâm fine.â Once his hands had left you, you raise your hands to your cheeks, feeling the rushing blood warm your palms, âI guess Iâm a little tipsier than I thought.â
Joshua looks at you for a moment, and then down to your feet, âI think you broke a heel.â Finger raised; you follow it downwards to look at the heel almost completely detached from the sole. âHere,â voice quickening as if to distract you from it, he takes your arm and puts it over his shoulder so you can lean some of your weight onto him, âwouldnât want you to fall over again.â After offering him a quick smile and a small âthanksâ of gratitude you begin to walk again.
After a minute or so of walking, the pair of you take a turn onto one of the main drags of the city, the cool air soaking into you. âDo you mind if we stop for a second?â You ask, thinking you may have twisted your ankle when you tripped.
âOf course,â the two of you make your way to a bench along the sidewalk, you sit while Joshua stands next to you. Itâs a moment of quiet before he speaks up again, âAre you feeling alright?â
You can only shake your head in the negative, for fear that you may explode should you open your mouth.
âWhatâs wrong?â He questions, sitting down next to you, his hand falling atop yours in an act of subtle comfort.
Everything. Your throat becomes dry as you lean forward and embrace him, unable to vocalize the horrid deluge of hopelessness and heartbreak washing over you.Â
You had seen the shop where Wonwoo was apprenticing when youâd gone into Seungcheolâs one morning, it had been featured in some editorial that he subscribed to. Seeing that it was a beautiful boutique and was quite revered among local and international audiences hadnât dampened the blow at all. Wonwoo hadnât been lying when he said it was the opportunity of a lifetime.
It still hurts. Youâd been selfish in trying to make things work, too absorbed in it you hadnât felt him slipping away until it was too late. Vernon had sat you down one day and told you to shape up. Wonwoo wasnât coming back and the sooner you realized it the sooner youâd get over him. You donât remember how long you cried into his shoulder for. For the eidolon of him was beginning to fade now, the lingering remnants of it still striking you to the core whenever you catch a glimpse of it.
âI just want to go home,â you try your best to sound strong, hating that the veneer you usually kept was able to slip so easily. Pulling away from the other you move to stand, kicking off your shoes and moving to hold them before you begin to walk.
âArenât your feet going to get cold? Itâs nearly the middle of winter,â Joshua calls out after you as he catches up, unsure of how to go about comforting you.
âIâll be fine,â your toes cold on the concrete, âItâs only a few blocks away.â
Itâs silence once more as the pair of you two amble to your apartment, the windows dark when you approach, Sooyoung must be out again. A sigh leaving you, alone again.
âThanks for walking with me, Shua.â You stop, turning to your accompaniment and smiling softly at him.
âShua?â His brow raises at that, âAre you sure youâre not still drunk? I donât think youâve called me that since we were twelve.â
âYeah, I know. But I mean it, thank you.â Your other friends had tried to console you but Joshuaâs attempt had been the most successful so far that had gotten you to even budge ever so slightly from the slump youâd found yourself in.
1967, Summer. The sparkler hisses as Joshua hands it to you, the bright end flickering with every centimeter the flame engulfs. A smile on your lips as you look at him, an equally bemused smile gracing his face as he steps away and begins handing out sparklers to a few other guests. After the host finishes handing out the sticks a large chorus of âHappy Birthdayâ begins to ring out, directed at Jihoon Lee.Â
You didnât really know the guy, but Joshua said he was hosting a birthday bash at a lake house up in the Catskills this weekend and it was a good excuse to get away from the city for a bit. It was a work friend of his, not sure from which endeavor but you arenât complaining. Work at the shop had been far too busy to manage with just Vernon and you, youâd been looking at several applicants, but you had a difficult time sifting through the resumes. This was a much needed, and much deserved, break away from it all.Â
Before the sparkler has a chance to burn down to your fingertips you blow it out and set it onto one of the porcelain plates atop the table in front of you. A small crowd had gathered to sing and with the rapidly setting sun it was difficult to see familiar faces among the crowd.
âLooking for someone?â A pair of hands placed on your hips as the question sounds out, the familiarity of it making you smile a little brighter.
âJust you,â You turn, looking at Joshua.
âOh?â He questions, leaning in for a brief kiss before pulling away, âYouâve got that look on your face.â
âWhat look?â
âThe one that means youâre thinking of something,â A sparkle in his eye, the light from the nearby dock casting a green glow onto the lawn.
âJust work things,â you admit, âEven if Iâm miles away from the shop itâs still on my mind.â
âWorkâs a sickness, isnât it?â He mutters, âWell, theyâve already started to cut the cake, want to head in and grab a slice?â
âSure,â you say as his hands leave your sides, taking one of your hands in his and heading through the lawn and into the brightly lit interior of the home.
âSeungcheol said heâd be arriving a little later, my sisterâs ready to blow a gasket but, when isnât she?â Joshua laughs as you make your way to a nearby table, grabbing a plate with a precut slice of cake on it before turning back to him.
âIs this from the same bakery who made my cake last year?â You ask with nearly a mouthful of cake.
âI told you I made that cake,â he says jokingly, grabbing his own slice, âAnd if it were, would you say yea or nay for them making the wedding cake?â
âYea. Definitely, this is by far the best buttercream Iâve ever had,â you nod, âAlthough I do need a drink.â
âAmaretto sour?â Questioning as he sets down his plate, ready to go off and mix your drink himself.
âYou know I canât,â a frown settling on your lips as you take another bite, âJust water.â
âIâll be back in a sec,â Joshua says and heads to the bar in the next room over.
You move out of the way of the other partygoers looking for food and make your way to a window that looks out at the road in front of the house. As you watch, you see the bright headlights of a car pulling into the drive, trying to careen past the other vehicles lined up there. It must be Seungcheol.
Itâd been a while since youâd last seen him, having to mail his orders to him now that youâd moved shop locations. So, you head to the front door, anxious to see an old friend. The door opens with a swing of grandeur, Seungcheol Choi stepping inside with a clear look of panic on his face.
Seungcheol spots you as he enters, rushing over to you, âSheâs not angry, is she?â
âYour wife?â You question, putting a finger under your chin in thought, âSheâs only told half of the people here how upset she is, so I think you still have time to save yourself.â
âIâd better get in there then,â he sighs, almost brushing past you before he stops, âI should also tell you thatââ
You donât hear what he says, though. Because you hadnât realized that there was someone standing behind him until they step through the dark entranceway and into the bright lights of the foyer. For a moment it feels like time has stopped, the plate in your hand straining from the pressure your fingers now exert on it as you lock eyes with someone you hadnât ever expected to see again.
Itâs you who breaks away first, mumbling about needing to find Joshua while it feels as if your heart seizes upon itself in your chest. Before youâre able to rejoin the party, you feel a hand gently grasp your arm, âCan we talk?â The question is quiet, almost lost in the atmosphere of the celebration as Wonwoo asks.
A strangled gulp as you nod, setting the plate down on a small mail-table before you brush past him exit out of the front door. He follows you wordlessly, from the gravel path that wraps around the house and to the backyard that overlooks the lake. You keep walking, wading through grass that comes up to your knees until youâre standing on the wooden dock, the gentle sloshing of water hitting the posts giving you something else to focus on.
Face green in the glow of the dock light overhead, it beams around the soft fog rising from the water as you hope it would swallow you up instead of you having this conversation with Wonwoo.Â
âYou never returned my calls,â he says, standing several feet away. His tone isnât accusatory, it sounds hurt.
âI kept forgetting.â Liar. Nails digging into your palms as your hands clench with an anxiety that hadnât riddled you for two years. âAnd you only called four times.â
âFive.â
âFour.â Resolution in your voice as you try and stand as firmly as you can. The shoes youâre wearing are pinching your heels and you want nothing more than to kick them off into the water. You turn to look at him, trying to stay calm. âWould you have picked up even if I did call back?â A tangle in your stomach as you recall having Sooyoung answer the phone for the next handful of weeks after the two of you had parted, each time heâd called Sooyoung would say you werenât home.
He hesitates, at least his body does, the words, âOf course I would have,â escaping him before he could prepare himself with a more eloquent response. Â
âYou seem to be doing well,â Itâs silent until you break it, noting the suit he was wearing was from a higher end retailer.
âSo, do you,â a break in his voice as he notices the crack in your demeanor, âI didnât see you at Seungcheolâs wedding, I thought he would have invited you.â
âMy mother got sick, so I missed it,â you recall having to forgo the event last year. Did that mean Wonwoo had been back that soon?
âYou still have the dress.â There had been a melancholy deep set into your bones that had lasted for what seemed like lifetimes, now resurfacing more and more the longer you look at him. Youâd forgotten about what you were wearing, the same dress that the tailor had labored unknown hours over and that had been the figurative wedge between you and him. Maybe this was some deityâs cruel sense of irony. âI still think itâs one of the best Iâve ever made,âÂ
âItâs a little tighter now but itâs still one of my favorites,â you canât lie. Be it from the laborious love that was sewn into every stitch or the bygone memories associated with it, it was and still is one of the best pieces you own.
âI really was an idiot for letting you go, wasnât I?â Hands shoved into pockets, heâs not sure what to do with himself.
âYou did what you had to.â Brow hardening, a remembrance of the last time youâd spoken.
âDonât say it like that,â a soft plea, heâd never meant to hurt you.
âThen how should I say it?â Bitterness you thought forgotten riddles every word you pose.Â
âYou know I tried to visit your shop when I first came back,â Deterrent of the conversation, he looks across the water to the distant shore. âBut it was empty, some guy passing by had said you packed up months earlier and just left.â
âThere was a water main break, ruined most of our inventory and we had to rebuild from scratch in a new place.â You still remember the dread youâd felt that morning, walking in to find everything in shambles.
âWith Joshuaâs help?â
âJoshua helped.â
âCongratulations on your engagement, by the way,â eyes flickering to the ring on your finger, the light of the dock glinting off the main stone. âHeâs a lucky man.â
Wonwoo sounds bitter, you can understand why but you canât understand one thing. âWhy did you come? Iâm sure that Seungcheol said that I was going to be here.â
âI donât know.â The answer is simple, but thereâs a heaviness to it that you can feel. âIâm supposed to be flying out to Milan tomorrow. I guess I just wanted to see you again.â
âDid you expect me to fall into your arms, Wonwoo? To take you back?â Lip bitten, youâre sure you were going to draw blood if you kept at it any longer.
âMaybe I did when I came back last year, when Iâd tried to see you.â He frowns, âI think now I want to make sure youâre happy.â
Happy. It feels as if that word dances off of the water behind you, across the sound and into the forest. Were you? The encroaching despair that had taken aim and marked you when Wonwoo had left was gone, a memory overwritten by the years that had followed, by the people who had followed. The shedding of yourself that came when he left took a while but without a doubt you can truly say this is the most complacent youâve ever been.
The door to the lake house opens some ways behind Wonwoo, the lights from inside spreading across the lawn in an obscene spotlight on the two of you. A silhouette stands in the doorway, itâs easy to tell who the figure is as he leans against the door frame. You smile as you look at the outline of Joshua, heart swelling as it once had for the other man in front of you.
âYeah, Wonwoo, Iâm happy.â
enjoy what you read? leave a comment! it helps with motivating us writers to keep producing content for our lovely readers â€
#seventeen imagines#seventeen x reader#seventeen x you#svt x reader#svt imagines#wonwoo x reader#wonwoo smut#wonwoo fluff#jeon wonwoo x reader#jeon wonwoo smut#jeon wonwoo imagines#jeon wonwoo fluff#jeon wonwoo x you#svt smut#svt fluff#svt fanfic#seventeen fanfic#svt x you
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Have you ever looked at Copia's fabulous jackets and wondered "damn, I wonder who his tailor is"
Well wonder no more as I have the answer!
Let me introduce you to Sir Tom Baker. He's a renouned stylist that combines classy and high end outwear with the scene's edgy fashion sense.
Here are some of my favourite jackets, the man in question and his workshop, situated in London.
Copia's jackets are all custom made but here are a few from his shop that look like the ones we're familiar with :
He's always open to some more custom work if anyonr would like to purchase an exact replica from him.
(If I ever win the lottery, I won't tell anyone but there will be signs)
This is simply a speculation on my part but his work might have inspired the devil skull that the ghouls' wear on their ascot as he does sell a metal skull for this exact purpose.
#the band ghost#ghost bc#nameless ghoul#nameless ghouls#papa copia#papa emeritus the fourth#papa emeritus iv#copia#meerkat talks about ghost costumes
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New BioWare journal entry:
"Journal #7 Progression & Companions An inside look into Rook & Companionsâ progression Hello everyone, Itâs September already! Today, we want to dive deeper into Progression, Items, and Companions with this blog and accompanying videos (minor spoilers in the video). Hopefully after today, players will have a better sense of how to customize Rook and unite the Veilguard. SKILL TREE PROGRESSION Reaching a max level of 50, Rook will be able to have a unique playstyle tuned to deliver coordinated attacks alongside their Companions. The largest experience boosts come from completing quests. The bigger and more momentous the quest the better the bonus will be. Rook also gains experience from killing enemies and exploring, but gaining levels is most efficient when helping the people of Thedas or taking time to deepen Rookâs bond with the Veilguard. After enough experience points, Rook will level up and be awarded with a Skill Point to place in the Skill Tree. The Constellation Skill Tree lays out all the possible areas of growth, with the types of skills denoted by the shape:"
"- Large circle: Class (core skills and weapon proficiencies) - Diamond: Ability (can be assigned to an Ability slot) - Medium circle: Major Passive or Ability Upgrade (adds effects or modifies existing Abilities or stats, like guaranteeing a critical hit on knockdown or extending range) - Small hexagon: Trait (modifies existing class skill, like counter-attack, extending an attack combo or missile block/return) - Small circle: Minor Passive or Stat Boost (increases efficacy of Abilities, Passive, or stats) Node selections are designed to harmonize into cohesive builds. This ensures that Rookâs strength is always growing as the playstyle is being refined. Still, if another path calls to the player instead, Skill Points can be refunded (individually or the entire skill tree) at any time, with no resource costs, and spent elsewhere. Each Class will also have access to three Specialization Areas, outlined in our Combat blog. Rook can gain powerful Abilities tuned to the theme of that Specialization, after unlocking it. While the Specialization Areas are themed by Faction, they are not restricted to a Rook of that Faction. For example, a Grey Warden Rook can still take the Veil Ranger Specialization if they are a Rogue. ITEM PROGRESSION There will be a plethora of equipment to find or buy throughout Thedas, including weapons, armor, and accessories. Each item will have its own stats and properties. With respect to weapon and armor advancement, duplicate items empower them to increase stats and unlock additional properties. For more upgrades, Rook will find the Caretakerâs Workshop in the Lighthouse, as seen in the screenshot, where equipment can be upgraded and enchanted to unlock additional effects for Rook and their Companions. Upgraded equipment will receive increased stats. There will be a list of basic enchantments to start with, but each time Rook upgrades the rank of the Caretakerâs Workshop, more enchantments will become available. Each item or Ability can have a single enchantment applied to it, and each enchantment can only be used on a single item or Ability at a time. Rook will be aligned with a Faction of the playerâs choosing from the beginning of the game. The chosen Faction will influence the initial appearance of Rook, particularly when dressed in casual wear. However, donât worry about getting locked into any specific style since any visible armor can be âtransmogrify-edâ to resemble another that has been collected, via the Wardrobe in the Lighthouse. There will also be appearance-only armors, such as the Blood Dragon Armor for pre-orders, and casual outfits. You can find these at some merchants and found by exploring over time. This gives the player the ability to tailor Rookâs appearance independent of tantalizing stat boosts and upgrades. COMPANIONS' PROGRESSION"
"Rookâs Companions are equally important to success as the player endeavors to save Thedas. Members of the Veilguard each have their own Levels and each level gained grants them 2 Skill Points. Each companion will have quests to deepen Rookâs bond with them, and this is one of the main ways for them to gain experience. Companions also can gain experience through unique conversations and decisions with them. These quests and bonds are not limited to romantic interests; platonic friendships are just as important and in focus in Dragon Age: The Veilguard. Rook will be able to take two Companions on missions. Each Companion has their own set of gear to manage, which can be upgraded and enchanted at the Caretakerâs Workshop, as well. Companions also have Primer and Detonator abilities that can combine with each other or Rook in combat. Each Primer has a matching Detonator. Using the correct combination, a Detonation will trigger - dealing increased damage across an area and increased stagger. For example, as seen in the video, Rook can use Toxic Dash to prime the target with the Sundered status, and Neve detonates it with her Icebreaker Ability.  These videos have highlighted the three main areas of Progression in Dragon Age: The Veilguard. Rook and the Veilguard will grow throughout the game, and thereâs plenty of builds to explore. Weâve put the videos all together; so they can be watched uninterrupted! Check out the full video below. As Rook journeys through Thedas, overcoming challenges, forging alliances, and facing down the corrupt Elven gods, their strength and power will grow. It will be up to the player to define what kind of Rook and Veilguard will emerge from this conflict. Will you be the hero? Weâre in the thick of it now; so weâll be back soon with more details on missions and exploration! This month, IGN will also be releasing exclusive content; so keep an eye out. Chat soon! - The Dragon Age Community Team"
[source]
#dragon age: the veilguard#dragon age the veilguard spoilers#dragon age: dreadwolf#dragon age 4#the dread wolf rises#da4#dragon age#bioware#video games#long post#longpost
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I was wondering if you could answer a question about armor, especially the solid/articulated types - how much did it need to be personalized or fitted? I ask because I often see people criticizing fantasy/gaming armor for being too heavy or cumbersome, but rarely for perfectly fitting everyone between five and seven feet tall regardless of whether they're built like Legolas or Gimli.
So I'm curious about whether and what kinds of armor might have been mass produced vs what needed to be customized. Was it easier to produce broadly applicable armor or to recruit your army by height and weight?
Non-custom-fitted mass-produced armour ("munition grade" as some modern repro makers call it) started becoming more common when workshops where everything ran on muscle-power became ones whose hammers, grinders and polishers were powered by a water-wheel.
Making armour to fit a range of average sizes now took less time, effort and wages, so could be sold for less and be afforded by more people.
It would have been made in the period equivalent of S, M, L and maybe XL, with buyers either paying extra for custom adjustments, or DIY-ing for better fit with padded liners to make it snug or extra holes punched into straps for more space.
*****
Top grade plate armour on the other hand was almost like a second skin - a common term is "exoskeleton".
This post from a few years back has a lot more information, including what was done to ensure a good fit when the wearer couldn't be measured in person: for instance sending close-fitting garments or even wax model limbs to the armourer.
It definitely wouldn't have fitted anyone but the original owner anything like as well. In particular, if a non-original wearer was longer or shorter in arm or leg, the armour's knee and elbow joints might pinch at distracting moments or simply not flex through their full range.
"Is increased protection better than reduced mobility?" was a question where the wrong answer could prove fatal.
*****
Perhaps that's why medieval art shows a lot of partial armour being worn:
arm-harness - sometimes just vambraces on the forearms, often all the parts from gauntlets to pauldrons (hands to shoulders);
brigandine - a cloth or leather jacket with small metal plates riveted inside; this wasn't concealed armour, the rivets arranged in rows or patterns were an obvious decorative feature;
haubergeon (or byrnie, though that's more a Saxon / Viking term IMO) - a short-sleeved, short-bodied mail shirt, usually worn under something else;
plackart - front or sometimes front-and-rear lower-abdomen torso plates;
poleyns - knee-guards, worn on otherwise unarmoured legs.
The one thing everyone wore is the first thing Hollywood armour leaves off - a helmet - while the archer below has not just a helmet, haubergeon, brigandine and poleyns, but also something equally important, a brayette or breech...
...which is a pair - or at least the front half where It Matters Most - of well-padded mail and indeed male underpants.
Full plate armours had full plate ones which were even more emphatic. Boob-plates may be (mostly) fantasy, but obvious gendered armour was A Real Thing.
*****
Flexible armour like mail, scale and lamellar wasn't tailored for fit; being flexible it didn't need to be. That said, if the size was really wrong one way or the other, it could be reduced or enlarged by removing or adding sections, similar to a modern tailor taking in or letting out a garment.
I have a vague recollection of a photo showing a late medieval haubergeon with tailoring darts inserted under the arms, but I can't remember where or when, so "vague" has more weight than "recollection". ;-P
Genuine mail is rarer in museums than plate armour, because at the end of its working life mail armour was often chopped into pot-scrubbers for the kitchen. You can buy the same sort of thing today.
Finally, while some looted high-grade armour, or at least parts of it, might fit the looter straight away, it's more likely that after any battle there was probably a brisk trade in swapping what didn't fit for what did.
Hope This Helps! :->
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Leave it All on the Dance Floor! Part 2 | Alastor x Overlord! Reader
Platonic! Alastor + Best Friend! Reader who's also an overlord.
Description: After having his coat ripped, Alastor enlists the help of his best friend and tailor.
(Notes: CW Alastor, mentions of cannibalism) (Part 2/5 of Leave it All on the Dance Floor!)
Words: 2508
Part 1
"That new fabric order you wanted just got in, boss!" Joan chirped as she entered your work room; a clipboard in hand. Hearing that made you smile and you looked up from where you'd been drawing out concepts for some new clothes.
"Wonderful!" You exclaimed, "I know you know where to store it for now. I'll get to work on adding that to the new line later." Joan nodded as she crossed the item off her well-organized list. "And how are the newbies doing down there?" You asked, referring to the recently-hired demons currently being trained to work the boutique while you focused on designing.Â
You'd hoped they wouldn't end up causing much trouble when you took them in; needing the extra employees, but Joan's expression immediately made you lower your hopes.Â
"They're...Working on it." She replied finally, "But don't worry; I've been dealing with all the customer complaints the way you told me to. We'll get those sinners up to par soon enough, and then you'll be back to having the most well-run boutique in hell!"Â
At that, you sighed. You were just glad to have Joan to deal with them so you wouldn't have to; after all, you'd been very busy lately.Â
"Are you still designing the new line?" the feline asked with a hint of concern in her voice. You'd been working on it for the last week almost nonstop, and you knew she was probably a little worried about you. Still, she knew better than to comment about it openly.Â
"Yes," you replied, setting the drawings on your desk now, "But I should have some solid concepts soon." Joan was still frowning but you ignored her worry as you leaned back in your chair and stretched. You'd been at this all day so you had to admit; it might be a good time to take a short break.Â
"I'm sure these new designs will be even more lovely than your last ones," you assistant finally spoke as she took another step forward, "But...Uh, there's one other item that could use your attention right now." At that, you raised an eyebrow.Â
"Oh? What is it?" You asked. Based on her nervous expression, you weren't sure you wanted to hear the answer.Â
She drew in a breath before glancing back down at her clipboard. "We have a client here who requires repairs on some of their clothes."Â
"I thought I said I wasn't going to be taking any clients this week?" You replied now, crossing your arms, "Can't one of the apprentices handle it?"Â
"The client has insisted only your expertise will do," Joan told you, "And frankly, I don't think it's quite my place to refuse." She had a look of fear on her face at that that piqued your interest even more. Who could this client be to have scared even your own assistant so badly? You had a few ideas, and if they turned out to be true, then you almost wanted to smile in delight.
"Alright," you pretended to sigh now, knowing what was up, "Send them in and I'll handle it." Joan nodded quickly before heading over to the door of your workshop, which she opened to reveal a very familiar sinner standing on the other side with a huge smile on his face.Â
"Why, thank you, my dear!" Alastor told Joan as he took a step into the room. She nodded quickly before leaving and closing the door behind her. Meanwhile, you grinned and stood from your desk.Â
"Al, what brings you back here already?" You asked, though you couldn't have been more glad to see your best friend back in the Swing Sector visiting you, "Miss me already?" The Radio Demon's smile widened at that and he came over to pull you into a hug.Â
"Lovely to see you too, my friend!" He exclaimed as you chuckled. "I'm afraid I've come to request your assistance mending some of my clothing, if it's not too much trouble!" You let go of your friend now, raising an eyebrow at his words.Â
"Of course it's no trouble, but...Surely it's not these clothes you need repaired, right...?" You asked, a dark shadow beginning to form across your face, "After all, I just made this suit for you a couple of weeks ago." Your tone was calm but extremely threatening and despite being the Radio Demon himself, Alastor had to fight the urge to step back. When it came to the clothes you created, you could always be a little...murderous. He almost didn't want to continue with the look in your eye, but nevertheless, he did so.
"Unfortunately, it is," he replied carefully and with a solemn nod of his head. When he saw your expression darken even further though, he quickly continued. "But I assure you, dear, I did everything in my power to avoid letting any harm come to these clothes! This is the result of an...Unfortunate turn of events."Â
"Who did it?" You asked in a tone so unlike you that it would have made anyone living in your sector shake with fear.Â
"Alas, I do not remember his name; the forgettable sort." Alastor replied, glad to have shifted the blame off of himself now, "But I assure you, I plan to make him pay for his transgressions." His own expression became scarier now as his eyes began to shift into radio dials and glow red; even more so than normal.
"Give Joan a description of this demon on the way out," you ordered, "I'd also like to have a go at anyone who thinks they can damage my designs and get away with it." Alastor nodded at that, even if only to calm your rising anger.Â
"Now," you said, taking a deep breath in order to pull yourself from your murderous rage, "Show me the damage." You turned back to grab a tape measure and some sewing pins as Alastor held up the end of his coat, which had been clearly been ripped. Of course, it always gave that appearance, but in this case, the tears weren't how you'd designed them, and therefore, gave a rattier appearance.
You felt your anger nearly flare up again at the sight but calmed yourself as you nodded and then got to work measuring and pinning wherever necessary.Â
"Good thing I always keep your fabric on-hand," you spoke while holding one of the sewing pins between your teeth, "Otherwise, you'd have had to wait a few weeks for it to get in, and we certainly couldn't have you walking around like this for so long." The Radio Demon nodded, assuming the pose you always had him hold as he let you work.
You'd been his personal tailer ever since the two of you became friends shortly after your own arrival in hell. Before them, he'd had some random sinner off the street make all of his clothes, and as you'd told him the night you ran into each other at that party, it had showed. Luckily, he now had a best friend who was always willing to ensure he was well-dressed; making him a top priority whenever he came in.Â
For a few minutes, you pinned the fabric in silence as he took in the sights of your workroom. It hadn't changed much in the years since he'd last visited; a realization that was somehow heartwarming.Â
It was as messy as ever; with various designs lining the walls, fabric strewn about, and several trunks of other sewing supplies pushed up against the tall windows. Your desk was even worse with pins and needles all over it that had been entangled in string, and Alastor knew if he were to ever bring someone like Nifty here, she would have had a field day.Â
Also resting on your desk, though, were several framed photos. There was one picturing you and Rosie, probably taken sometime after the Radio Demon's disappearance, along with several photos of your various owned souls that had been taken at the parties you hosted. Alastor's smile widened, though, when he noticed several old photos of you and him rested among the rest. Even after all this time, they were well-taken-care-of and free from dust or dirt. The sight was very sweet.
"Did I overhear that you were working on a new line?" He finally asked, breaking the silence as you threaded some red string through a needle like it was nothing.Â
"Of course," you told him with a grin before kneeling to hand-sew the new fabric of his coat to the ripped area. "I have to stay up to date, don't I? And plus, runway season is coming up."Â
"Well, then I hope to be in attendance at many of your upcoming fashion shows." Alastor told you and you nodded as you started stitching.Â
"You'll be the first one invited, of course," you said with a playful eye roll, "Who better than my best friend to witness as I crush Velvette; fashionably?" This made the other overlord's smile widen even more.
"I have no doubt in your creative mind," he replied, "In fact, I daresay her own designs are nowhere near your level, so where's the competition in the first place?" He gave a loud laugh at that and you shook your head with a smile.
"Thanks, Alastor," You said as took out another sewing pin; not needing it anymore, "But it turns out there might actually be some competition this season. The Overlord Gala is being held a month earlier due to the next extermination being moved up- will you be attending, by the way?" You glance dup at your deer-like friend, who immediately nodded.
"But of course! I wouldn't miss such an entertaining event for the world," he replied, placing a hand where his heart should have been, "And I suppose I'll have to be requesting your services for my clothing then, as well." You nodded, turning back to your work.Â
"Well, anyway," you continued, "The gala is supposed to be competitive as far as fashion this year, and I intend to have the best designs by a landslide. But that all starts with the line I'll be releasing shortly beforehand, so it has to be perfect."Â
"Of course," Alastor nodded knowingly, "Do let me know if there is anything I can do to assist! Any endeavor that involves putting those arrogant V's in their place is worth supporting. Though, I hardly think you'll require my help schooling Velvette on the runway." You chuckled at that, finally finishing sewing Alastor's coat and tying it off.
"Thanks, Al." You told him now as you stood and brushed yourself off, "I always appreciate your support. And...Your coat is done!" You stepped away now, letting him inspect your work as you began putting away the rest of your materials. The Radio Demon took a second to look it over before his smile widened (somehow), seeming satisfied.
"Perfect as usual, my dear!" He told you as he gave a brief spin for emphasis. "Thank you kindly!"Â
"Anytime." You replied once you'd put everything away, "Oh, and by the way, are you planning to attend that meeting next week? The one Carmilla sent information about?" A part of you was a little nervous he hadn't been invited for a second, considering the other overlord had never been particularly fond of Alastor, but then his eyes shone with recognition.Â
"Yes, indeed!" He told you as the two of you started heading out of your workshop now, "Am I correct to assume you'll be there as well?" You nodded and his smile brightened, "Splendid! Then I shall see you at the meeting!"Â
"Sounds good," you replied, "But before then, make sure you let Rosie know you're back! If you show up to the meeting with no warning she might bite you." You shivered, remembering the last time Alastor had done something to make the kind cannibal overlord angry. You hadn't had bandages on-hand at the time and had had to use whatever fabric you could find just to wrap his wound.Â
"Of course, of course!" Alastor waved a hand dismissively, which told you he most likely would not be telling Rosie in advance. He always had liked to keep everyone guessing, hadn't he? "Now, I would love to stay longer, but I must be on my way, darling!" He headed over to the counter of your boutique, where one of your newer recruits immediately shrunk away in fear. "And I'd better let you get back to work if you're to show everyone up at the gala!"Â
You grinned and made your way over to the register, but instead of punching in any amount, you simply leaned your elbows onto it with a smile. "Al, you know I wouldn't make you pay for a simple repair like this," you told him, "if anything, the one paying will be whichever demon ripped your coat in the first place." You were still smiling but your voice got significantly more sinister and your eyes darkened as you spoke the last sentence. The rest of the shop's employees cowered but Alastor just laughed.Â
"A true gentleman pays his friend for their services, dear." He reminded you but as he spoke, his gaze shifted to the street outside, where a TV in the store across the street happened to be running Vox's broadcast. His smile didn't drop but you could instantly see the shift in his eyes from joy to annoyance at the sight.Â
And you could understand why. It seemed Vox had caught wind of the fact that the Radio Demon was back, because he was going on and on about Alastor's return and what it meant for the future of hell. You supposed that obsession of his still hadn't died out.Â
"On second thought, it seems I'll have to be on my way." Alastor practically spat before turning back to you with a joyful expression again, "But do let me know when you're next free, and I'll be sure to treat you to lunch as thanks for your kindness this fine day." You gave him a look so he added, "with vegetarian options, of course." Your grin widened.
Even though you were best friends with both Rosie and Alastor, two of hell's most well-known cannibal demons, you had no interest in partaking in said acts yourself and he could respect that.Â
"Alright." You said finally as Alastor adjusted his bow tie once more and then turned towards the door. "Nice to see you again!"Â
"Bye now, dear!" He called back, "Oh, and if you've got the time, consider tuning in to my next broadcast! It's sure to be quite...Entertaining." With that, he was out the door and you shook your head, still smiling. He was no doubt going to clap back at Vox by going on-air for the first time in years, and of course, you weren't about to miss that for anything.Â
"Joan!" You called, heading back up the stairs to your workshop now, "Would you bring the radio up? I have a feeling this afternoon's work is going to get much more entertaining!"
âŠâŠâŠ.
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
#hazbin hotel#hazbin alastor#platonic relationships#platonic x reader#hazbin alastor x reader#hazbin hotel alastor#alastor best friend reader#alastor#alastor x best friend reader#alastor x friend reader#platonic alastor x reader#platonic hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin x reader#gender neutral reader#reader insert#fanfic
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Ticking Springs
(A Yandere Pinocchio X fem!Reader fic from Lies of P)
PÉÉŸt 1; SluɱbeÉŸ
capitolo uno
here is: capitolo due
capitolo tre
capitolo quattro
capitolo cinque
capitolo sei
capitolo sette
Capitolo otto
Capitolo nove
Capitolo dieci
PÉÉŸt 2; AwÉÆeÆiÆÆ
It was a privilege to share the same blood as Giuseppe Geppetto. To be his family, his niece and take part in the marvelous worlds of puppets. The privilege to learn from him as his apprentice. The privilege to care for the things he cares for and to have the things he cares for, care deeply for you.
Tag list:
@greeknerd007 , @mitsureigen , @kame11a , @thirdblogsacharm , @sarah22447 , @blueberryhitosh1 , @written1nthest4rs , @huicitawrites
TW in general: Yandere behaviour, creepy and still puppet, dubious intentions and relationship, still in WIP more warnings may occurr in time
TW here are: Geppetto being motivating and discouraging, anxious reader, mysoginy?, a boy is calling girls stupid
The sun had shown her face seldomly on Krat this morning.
Gepetto laughed at his own thought as he stretched. Already clothed for the day with his usual white shirt, reddish-brown vest and striped pants, he went over his usual routine. His old legs carried him over from the bedroom, to the kitchen and straight to his office without hesitation â yet this morning he halted and leaned back at the sight he was seeing.
He observed silently before sucking in a breath. âI doubt you got a good nightâs sleep, yet judging from your work on the butlers,â His head nodded as he eyed the two automated puppets standing as still and tall as candles with toothy, almost cartoon-y smiles. Their teeth, though exaggerated to radiate an ridicouless amount of politeness, shown so brightly it was an almost uplifting sight. The black suits that adorned their mechanical forms were mended and ironed and the paint redone before they were even put in their new clothes. Their eyes and brows, tailored after the customerâs request, almost looked real â warm and inviting even though all their purpose was to serve and obey to noble families at home.
Nobody would truly care whether or not their puppet butlers were physically pleasing to look at â thatâs what Geppetto believed as he introduced them to the Workshop Union so many years ago though his marketer colleagues quickly proved how delighted so many families would become. From the wife to the children, to the busy family head that would return home and would greet the puppet first. He himself had grown fond of them and was glad that he let his creative side show when creating puppets personifying entertainment.
ââŠYou were as busy as a bee, dear.â You couldnât help but turn your head and smile at him, your eyes shining as bright as a star to him. âThank you, Uncle.â You say, âBut this doesnât prove itself difficult anymore. I believe Iâve learned a lot.â Your eyes would flicker between the puppets and him. Geppetto nodded in return. âSeems like you have. You always had a talent for the art.â âIt always impressed me, Uncle. I honestly never thought youâd ever take me in as your apprentice when I was younger.â
His smile broke for a moment before he replaced with pressed lips. He took a breath before looking at you again. ââŠI always hoped this craft would be staying in the family. Or at least, be carried by it with interest. Your father was never too keen on it as I was and am.â
You nodded along, knowing of his intentions. It was no secret to you either that your old man never showed interest, even in your younger days. Geppetto continued, sounding higher, âBut you do, dear. And that is gift enough.â Leaning back, the man took a sip of his warm coffee. âStill, I wasnât sure to take you in. Youâre young and inexperienced compared to most people of Krat.â
âI can learn.â You intervened yet with another smile. âI have so far, havenât I?â You turn back to gesture to the two butler puppets, their appearance almost as good as new â impeccable if Geppetto didnât know that they were once broken. Malfunctioning one and two times too much until they tumbled down the stairs with all the trays of wine and juice tainting them and their system.
The older man nodded as he swallowed his drink. âI will not lie. Still, theyâll have to be looked at by me first before anyone else in the public can even see them.â
Your breath hitched slightly in your throat as Geppetto put away his coffee and started a puppet up. Taking a step back, your hands fiddled in a closed position. âIâŠâ You began but felt your mouth too dry for any words and as the springs reacted and ticked, any chance at expressing yourself was out the window.
With a swung, the butler stood straight, its head crooked to the side. The arm bent to a sharp 90°degree, the fingers twitched as if longing to hold a wine glass. As flawless as its toothy smile was, it could barely open its jaw. âGood morning to you, Sir. How ma-may I s-se-serve â serve-â
It tried to repeat its sentence again but could only manage buzzing noise. You winced at the high pitch.
ââŠThe coats and paint are no problem,â You gingerly stepped closer, ââŠbut IâŠI am afraid I still need some time, and, and lessons on how to repair and set the voice boxâŠand maybe repair the automationâŠâ Your voice grew quieter. Geppetto stood up without a word.
ââŠYou are getting there.â He dusted his vest off, âBut do not dive with your head first in. Itâs early, go fetch us some fresh bread.â Clumsily you agreed and quickly shut off the puppet. Carefully setting it aside, you could glance from the corner of your eye Uncle leaving the room with his cold coffee in hand.
The door was closed shut with one hand as the other arm tunneled into the sleeve of your old jacket. Skipping over the puddles from last night, you patted yourself down on the way to the bakery. While the road was a skip away, you still hurried over and found yourself glad to be early enough for no other customers to be in there.
The small bell rang as you opened and closed the glass door again and were quickly greeted by the cabinet displaying various loafs. It always surprised you how much variety a bakery as this one offers and had to keep yourself from buying the delicious-looking buns always as well. You had to spend your pocket money wisely here in Krat.
Your eyes scanned the assortment and unwittingly caught your reflection in the glass cabinet. Hair untidy and bags unfortunately showing under your eyes â it left you a bit annoyed yet ashamed that someone like you already managed to look like a mess in the morning â and even more unfortunate was it that the good baker had already spotted you.
âMorning to you, young lady!â
Turning to the voice, your thinly pressed lips turned upwards. âHow may I serve you today?â The mechanical replica of a bakerâs hat first feigned to fall â before it was quickly set up on round tin. The puppet had a set of extra rosy and round cheeks that suited his crinkled eyes and bright smile. It fit the picture-book image of a kind baker and you noted that this model seemed to have a wavy mustache alongside a yellow-striped apron.
You couldnât hold back your giggle as you pointed at your order. With another gleeful and automated response, the tray under the loaves moved akin to an assembly line and the baker puppet took each bread and packed them full of vim and vigor.
The ribbon tied to the paper bag was impeccable as expected. And charming as well, to you at least.
Yet as your eyes fell to the register as you handed the money, another round of irregular footsteps entered the small room. Hurrying from around the corner came yet another figure, made out of flesh and bone as her green eyes darted over to you. She strode forward to the puppet and your shoulders fell. âFour sixty-five, was it not?â Adjusting her glasses, her gaze went up from the goods in your arms to the puppet and back to the register. She tucked a strand hair behind her ear. âSo sorry for the interruption, this fella once miscalculated the price of the Ciabatta and, wellâŠâ Trailing off, she opened the register herself, took the money out the puppetâs palm forcefully before handing you back the change. âThis all, right? The usual?â
Her low tone snapped you back from your trance. âOh!â You let out and stuck the money back into your pocket, âOh, yes. Yes, it is, I think. For breakfast.â
âYou buy that often, donât you? For the past month now or so?â Her low voice grew as she shifted her weight to the side, her blue apron swinging as she rested her hand to her hips. She watched you carefully as she waited for an answer.
The baker girl could see your eyes darting to the bread. âOh, I suppose so. A month now, has it been that long?â You stuttered out and finished with a strained laugh. âFelt short to me.â
âYouâre not from here.â Finally, she cracked a sneaky smile, âI can tell.â âOh,â Again, you laugh as you eye the paper bag. âI am notâŠyou got me.â
Quickly you gazed back to the still and smiling puppet. âThe good baker here just served me most of the timeâŠI never noticed any miscalculations or getting less change.â Lips quirking upwards briefly, you looked back to the girl. âI would have said something as well if I got too much change, of course.â
âNo worries, Iâm sure youâd do. Good olâ Panetti just started getting math wrongâŠI have to confess there was a wee accident with flour and water a few days ago.â She gave him a few good pats on his shoulder, the metal resounding, âWeâd have to send him to the Workshop Union soon or else Iâll come strolling down every time he deals with a customer.â
âSuch things are easy to readjust.â You spoke up, âItâs just to rearrange the number system and have him test out a few math problems. As if he was a school boy.â
As she cocked a brow, you inhaled sharply and licked your lips.
With a quick nod, you stepped towards the exit. âWhy, anyway, I must head back. Uncle is waiting for his favorite loaves and Iâd best deliver while they are warm.â A fast excuse and you were half-way through the door, holding it open with one foot. Thankfully it was the puppet that approached and held the door open for you. The tiny bell resounded again.
A chuckle was heard shortly after and you turned back to see the girl waving at you. âWe are looking forward to your patronage again, good puppet maker!â
Your heart jumped at the title. Yet you could not decipher if it was out of anxiety or excitement.
Yet before your lips could quirk up, a small force bumped into your side.
Looking down, you were met with furrowed, dark eyes glancing up to you before snapping to the voice behind. âRoberto!â A woman called out. âRoberto, I told you to take your sister with you!â
As the young boyâs eyes and yours followed to where she was pointing, both of you saw an even smaller, younger little girl struggling to keep up. The weight of the doll that was half her size kept her back but with the way she fiddled and played with its dark curls, you could deduce that she insisted on taking it with her.
âRoberto!â
âI know, Ma!â
The boy suddenly and vehemently shouted out, you couldnât help but startle. Those dark eyes that seemed simply brooding when on you, were now actively in a glare at his mother and sister.
âI told you though, I donât wanna! Girls are stupid!â
Instead of quirking up in a nervous smile, your mouth was pressed into a thin line and your glare mimicked the boyâs. He noticed and let out a much softer âSorry, miss.â before begrudgingly waving his younger sister to follow. Without another glance, you marched back to the workshop.
The latest event left a sour taste in your mouth.
You tried to hide it when entering the kitchen, Geppetto raising a brow as he prepared you two cups of coffee.
when you wanna post the yandere but have to establish setting and characters first
#lies of p#yandere lies of p#lies of p x reader#lies of p pinocchio#bro why do i have so many scenes for character establishment in my head#BUT NOT FOR THE ACTUAL YANDERE I CREATED THIS FOR#part of me just wants to go wooosh with the plot#but it also has to be nice :( when not nice why write?#pinocchio x reader#yandere pinocchio x reader#fem!reader#pinocchio#can u tell i threw the three italian words i know into this haha#ticking springs
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break the rules
â you're there for business and that's all. however, after your presentation, you meet a mysterious man who makes you question all your convictions.
â word count: 3,8k
â warnings: strip club environment, alcohol consumption, mentions of smut
â authorâs note:Â this was an idea that appeared suddenly and that was stored for some time in my drafts. after finishing my last one shot, i took the courage to finish this story. definitely not my best, but I still find it interesting and, in a way, mysterious.
The wind whipped your hair against your face as you walked down the narrow street. Winter hadn't officially arrived in Vienna, but that didn't stop you from feeling a bone-chilling cold under the thick coat and red scarf you had chosen to leave the house that late afternoon.
The movement at that time of day in the Innere Stadt was intense, cars roaming the alleys near St. Stephen's Cathedral, sharing the tight space with buses, bicycles, motorbikes and pedestrians, many pedestrians. Residents and tourists, adults and children, all mixed together, heading to their homes, apartments and hotel rooms to rest after a long day in the City of Dreams. Walking in the opposite direction, however, you weren't going home or to the hotel, like them.
You were going to work.
The fact that you had a night job was not surprising, considering that that was a city that had tourism as its main economic asset. There were countless bars, restaurants and cafes that were open, waiting anxiously for customers, especially after a complicated period related to the Covid-19 pandemic.
But the surprising part of your job was that you weren't a waitress, a cook, or a bartender, even though you'd served countless flutes of champagne and glasses of whiskey, with and without ice.
You were a stripper.
It wasn't the most conventional job there was in Vienna, especially considering the city's nightlife. However, it was the only one that, in addition to paying well enough to cover the expenses of the PhD in psychology you were doing, was flexible with the timing of the workshops and seminars you needed to attend, as well as making it possible for you to work on your dissertation during the week.
Your family didn't know, let alone your classmates or teachers. The official version was that you worked in a high-end bar and received some generous tips from customers. Nobody needed to know what you did or said for them to pay you so well.
Stopping briefly to see an interesting shoe that was in the Midanis window, you headed towards the brown door next to the gold tiled wall where the club's name was placed. Stopping in front of the intercom, you quickly typed in the employee passcode, a simple sequence that caused the lock to squeak open.
Descending the stairs leading to the lounge, you came across one of the security guards, who was smartly dressed in a well-tailored suit.
â Good evening, Layla.
â Good evening, Marc â you replied, smiling.
That wasn't your real name. As soon as you were hired by the club, you were given a new name, of Arabic origin, in order to protect your privacy and offer more security against clients who wanted to cross the line that was firmly delimited in your contract. Unlike other girls, you had refused to join the club's list of available escorts.
You were there to dance, and only to dance.
As you entered the main hall, you found the place being carefully prepared for the night. Two female employees were bent over tables, wiping them down, while the bartender arranged drinks on the bar. Greeting them with a smile, you crossed the room towards a door at the back of the room, which led to the dressing rooms.
As she opened the door, your nostrils were filled with the scent of hairspray, women's perfume, and nail polish remover. In the speakers, a lively beat mingled with the conversations and laughter of the other women who worked there, who were already getting ready for the night.
â Good evening, Layla â a blonde girl, who was modeling a curl with a curling iron, greeted you.
â Good evening, Fatin â you answered, as you went towards the lockers and opened yours to put your purse in â Curls today?
â Aisha heard that there is a big table reserved tonight â Fatin replied, letting go of the strand she'd just styled and picking up another one â Looks like it's a big guy's birthday party. And you know what it means, right?
â Tips? â you replied, looking over your shoulder as you removed the coat you were wearing, revealing the black top you were wearing underneath. Then it was the turn of the jeans to slide down your legs, revealing your panties in the same color.
â Exactly â she smiled, releasing another curl â And the good ones. The kind ones that pay bills.
â I hope so, I still have to pay my apartmentâs rent this week â you chuckled, as you folded your coat and put it in your locker. Then you pulled the black tulle top and shorts out of your bag, putting them on right there. There was no point in feigning modesty considering the women there were dressed even less discreetly than you. Finally, you put on your favorite heels, with transparent and vertiginous platforms, perfect for the choreography you would be doing that night.
Sitting in front of the mirror, you were just finishing gluing on your false eyelashes when Theresia, the club manager, walked into the dressing room with a wide smile on her face.
â Good evening, girls â she said, receiving a chorus of positive responses â Today we are hosting a large group for a birthday celebration, so I ask that you put your all into your choreographies and be nice to them.
â Do you have the setlists? â one of the girls, a brunette whose name there was Huda, asked.
â You start, Huda, followed by Iman, Layla, Malika and Karima closes the first round â the woman replied, making you release the air that was trapped in your throat. You hated being the first one to perform, as your choreography was more rhythmic, and generally, the audience appreciated more lively opening numbers â Any other questions? No? Great. Girls who want to go to the bar are free to do so.
Theresia walked out with a few girls behind her. However, you remained seated, staring at your own shoes.
â Layla? â someone called you. You looked up to find Fatin standing in front of you with a smile on his red lips â Are you going to stick around?
â Yeah. I want to stretch and concentrate for the performance.
â Want me to take a look at the guys to give you a preview?
You smiled.
â I do.
â Okay, I'm going there and I'll be right back, okay?
Fatin left the dressing room towards the clubâs bar, while you remained seated, staring at your own reflection. You were wearing strong makeup, your eyes lined with eyeliner, almost cat-like. A perfect parallel with the choreography you had chosen for that night, which had something wild and mysterious about it.
As you mentally recalled the steps, following the beat of the music in your head, you imagined how your movements would look to the eyes of the men who should be walking into the club at that hour, ordering their drinks and talking about business and other banal things before enjoying the women who would walk onstage and make them put their hands in their wallets and pockets.
Still thinking about one of the moves you would make, your eyes met Fatin's, who was returning to the room with a wide smile on her face.
â Did you like what you saw? â you asked, stifling a laugh.
â There are some interesting guys out there. Apparently they're here to celebrate the 50th birthday of one of them. But if you ask me, they don't look 50 years old...
â Did you ask their age?
â No, but, you know, these guys always have friends the same age.
You laughed.
â Everyone from here?
â Doesnât look like it, as they're speaking English. There must be foreigners with them.
â Americans?
â Don't think so. Too handsome to be 50-year-old guys from America.
â There are 50-year-old guys from America who are handsome.
â But those are too handsome, Layla. And, let's face it, the only good looking guy in America at that age must be Ben Affleck and I'm pretty sure he's not out there.
â Of course heâs not, he got married this year.
â Married? â Fatin asked, incredulous.
â Yeah, with Jennifer Lopez â you replied. It wasn't like you followed celebrity news, in fact, you found out after a customer commented on your butt being similar to the singer's and lamented for long minutes about her marriage.
â Shit â she muttered, taking a seat in a chair beside her, facing the mirror.
â Don't worry, you'll find your Ben soon, Fatin.
The two of you continued talking, commenting about the choreography you were working on and the song you were dancing to that night. When showing a video that you had made in a rehearsal, your colleague gave a mischievous smile.
â The guys out there are going to love it.
â You think so?
â I'm sure â she replied, as you caught sight of Theresia's face in the dressing room doorway, a slightly worried expression on her face.
â Layla, youâre up.
â Why?
â Iman's with a client and the guy paid for an hour with her. I can't get her out of there now.
You sighed, getting up from your chair.
â The show must go on â you said, pushing past Fatin and heading for the door.
The way to the stage was always a moment of introspection for you. It was as if you stripped yourself of all the labels you occupied in the lives of the people around you. You abandoned your daughter, granddaughter, friend, student, psychologist and future doctor to become just Layla. Your sensual and confident alter-ego, who looked each of those men in the eye and made them feel much more than sexually desired, but understood and welcomed as well.
Standing at the entrance to the stage, you took a deep breath, clenching and unclenching your hands, relaxing the muscles in your shoulders. âIt's showtimeâ, you thought, before looking up and wiggling your feet to check that your shoes were securely fastened to your feet.
And then you entered the stage, slowly.
The room seemed to quieten as you walked to the center of the stage, the voices becoming whispers inside your head. Leaning your back against the pole, you waited for the woman's voice to come through the speakers before looking up. The club was full, men and women mixed up, liquor bottles, champagne flutes and whiskey glasses strewn across the tables.
The soft beat guided your movements. Lifting one leg a few times, soon you were pulling yourself up onto the pole, spinning as your body slid down. Your muscle memory took you through the music as if it were something natural that you had done hundreds of times. Every step came naturally, every sigh, every lust-filled gaze you directed at the audience.
After a few steps on the ground and spinning around the pole to get up again, you finished the choreography looking back at the audience, while the song ended in a whisper from the interpreter. The silence that followed made the corners of your lips curl. The mission had been accomplished.
Taking a deep breath, you waited for the spotlight that illuminated you to go out so that you left the stage in quick steps, hurrying to make room for the next girl who would perform there. At the backstage door, Fatin was waiting for you with a wide smile on her face.
â Another perfect performance, Layla â she said, as she escorted you back to the dressing room â The guys were completely mesmerized.
â I hope you didn't notice that I missed one of the footprints on the pole â you replied, walking back into the dressing room.
â Honestly, I didn't even notice â Fatin murmured, while you took one of the small glasses of water and took a long drink â Now drink this and let's go back to the hall.
After a quick look in the mirror to confirm that your hair was still acceptable and that your makeup still looked fresh, you followed Fatin to the bar, which was, indeed, very busy. Smiling, you waved towards the bar, where the bartender, Farah, was making another Old Fashioned for one of the men sitting across from her.
â Layla â you heard Theresia call out to you from a corner of the hall, near the hallway that led to the private rooms. Giving Fatin's shoulder a knowing squeeze, you walked over to the manager with a smile on your face.
â Yeah?
â There's a guy waiting for you inside.
You blinked.
â Who?
â Does it matter?
â Well, it's just that I haven't talked to anyone yet...
â And you don't even have to, just move that ass of yours and these guys are happy â she said sharply â Now go, he's in room three.
Nodding, somewhat resigned, you entered the hallway in silence. Taking a deep breath, you were concentrating on putting the mask back on, on being the mysterious, seductive woman that man had seen onstage. âFocusâ, you thought, before exhaling and putting your hand on the doorknob.
The private rooms always had the same layout, with a pole placed in the center of the room while a large black velvet sofa took up three of the walls of the room. Sitting right in the middle of it, tugging at the sleeves of his white shirt, was the man who had requested your presence.
He had dark hair and eyes, as well as a strong jaw. His shoulders were broad and, even sitting down, he looked very tall. Upon noticing his presence, he straightened his posture, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.
â Good night â you said, slowly approaching the pole in the middle of the room, your eyes locked on his.
â Good night â he replied, his deep voice running through your body like a caress and a shiver â Layla, isn't it?
â Yeah â you said, placing a hand on the cold metal, leaning almost nonchalantly, even though you were feeling just the opposite. However, the rule was clear: it didn't matter to you who he was. It only mattered that he was willing to pay to have you for his eyes alone, if only for a few minutes.
â I liked your performance â he said, resting his elbows on his thighs â Have you been dancing long?
â A few years already â you replied, as you walked around the pole, your fingers slipping along it.
â And you like it, I presume.
â Well, yes â you said, smiling as you practiced a few laps on the pole â It pays my bills, so I can't complain.
The corners of his lips curled up as he leaned back on the couch.
â I guess I can say the same about my work.
â What do you do? â you asked, before mentally condemning yourself. It didn't matter to you what he did, you were just there to be a pleasant sight and nothing more. However, your curiosity did not anger the man in front of you.
â A curious girl, I see â he murmured, giving her a small smile.
â Someone needs to be â you hesitated, after all, you didn't know his name. And, realizing this, he hastened to complete.
â You can call me Torger.
A strong name. Powerful. Unusual. Something tingled on his skin.
â And what do you do for a living, Torger?
â Business â he replied, punctually.
â That we all do, don't we? â you returned, leaning against the pole.
â Indeed. But in my case, it's real business. Finance.
â Banker? Or investor?
â Neither of them. I own a business.
You snorted, looking unimpressed.
â Ah, crypto, eh? â you said â I hope you're not thinking of paying me that way, I won't accept it.
Your comment made Torger chuckle, throwing his head back. Stopping suddenly, your heart was pounding in your chest as something warm spread through your body.
â No, no, I've learned my lesson regarding cryptocurrency, I don't even want to think about putting money into that.
â Did you already try and lose money?
â Enough for me to regret thinking it would work â the man replied, running a hand through his hair â The point is, my job is related to finance, and before you ask, it's not illegal at all.
â I'm relieved â you murmured, allowing yourself to hook one leg over the pole for a quick spin.
â And you?
â What about me?
â What do you do? â Torger asked.
â You see what I do â you answered â I dance.
â I'm asking out of here. Do you work with something else? Study?
You pressed your lips together as you put your feet back on the ground. The moment you stepped there, Y/N didn't exist, the woman who was fighting for a postdoctoral degree didn't exist, neither the daughter, or the sister or the granddaughter that you were.
There was only Layla. And only she could be there, inside that room.
â I can't say anything.
â Why not? â he asked, raising an eyebrow.
â Because it's in the rules â you said, leaning against the pole again.
That was an outright lie. There were no rules within the club regarding what you could and could not say about yourself to the customers. The choice was entirely yours and you always chose not to say it so as to protect yourself from potential stalkers. Yet even following your own directive, something told you that you could trust Torger.
â Rules?
â From the club. I can't say anything about myself.
â Anything?
â Anything.
â Not even if I want to know more?
â Not if I wanted to tell you more â you said, stopping in front of the pole. Staring at you, Torger had the shadow of a smile on his face, as if he sensed that you wanted to say more. âAm I that transparent?â, you asked yourself as you took careful steps towards him.
â And are there any other rules here that you need to follow?
â Well, there are some â you murmured.
â Do you mind telling me?
You took a few seconds to think as you allowed your back to slide down the pole, coming to a stop on your knees in front of it.
â I can't use my real name or any information that identifies me, and I can't drink or smoke during working hours.
â Layla isn't your name then?
â No â you replied with a smile, as you slowly rose from the ground â And I didn't even mention the rules you have to followâŠ
â Are you serious?
You chuckled as you walked to the front of him.
â Yeah. You can't pressure me for information about her private life, not even take me out of the club during working hours... And you can't, under any circumstances, make physical contact.
â You mean I can't touch you? â he asked, a gleam of mischief in his eyes.
â No, you can't â you replied, looking down at his hands. They were big, with long fingers and not a ring in sight. Perfect to touch you.
â Not even if I asked?
â No.
â No one would know.
â They would.
â Only if you tell â he returned, in a mischievous tone.
Moving closer, you crouched down in front of him, your eyes wandering over his expression, trying to unravel what was behind the mischievous smile and curious look. He was completely magnetic, drawing you into his orbit in an almost natural way.
â And you want to touch me? â you finally asked.
â Yes, I do.
Looking into his dark eyes, you took a deep breath before taking his hand and bringing it to his face, your fingers lightly touching his skin. You felt as if your entire body was pulsing, heat spreading inside your chest. The feeling of doing it for the first time was both frightening and delicious.
â You're beautiful â Torger murmured, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek.
â You're rather handsome yourself â you replied, making him chuckle.
â Thanks, I donât hear that often.
â Seriously?
â Yeah. I've never been successful with girls.
â I donât believe you.
â Why not?
â Because you're making me want to break all of my rules â you replied, instinctively bringing your face closer to his â And I never break rules.
â But you're breaking them now.
â For you.
â I guess I should feel special.
â Maybe you are â you whispered, your face close enough that your nose was brushing his. His touch on your face made anticipation swell below your navel â Maybe you are that much more than specialâŠ
You knew the moment you kissed him, you were lost. This was your last chance to back off, to avoid doing something you would bitterly regret. But at the same time, you wanted to jump into that abyss, you wanted to do that.
And when you kissed him, it was glorious.
It was a chaste, subtle touch. It was the first time you'd kissed a customer, and in a way, you wanted it to be the last. You wanted to kiss that man forever if that was possible. You wanted to taste him, wanted to feel his skin under your fingers. I wanted to feel his strength and delicacy mixing with his desire between the sheets.
â Torger â you whispered as he pulled away slightly. However, the answer came through his hands, which helped you up and placed you on one of his legs. Wrapping one of his arms around his neck, he didn't wait to bring your lips together again, this time in a more intense kiss.
It was strange to be in that position, completely surrendered to a customer, tasting alcohol on his tongue and his fingers squeezing your thigh. But, it was a good-type stranger. A stranger who made you understand why other girls had their favorite customers, who they offered more than attention and affection.
â I've never seen a woman like you â he growled, nibbling her neck, the hand that was on her thigh slowly moving up her body, burning you with desire â So beautiful, so perfect...
Your fingers dug into his dark hair, pressing his face against your skin, as if it could give you a crumb of pleasure. And, considering the path his lips made towards your breasts, you were pretty sure it was close.
Until the lights in the room turned white, and the music suddenly stopped.
That change in the environment had him looking up at you as sadness invaded your chest, your lips pressed into a thin line.
â What happened?
â Your time is up â you muttered.
â But⊠If I want, I can request more time, right?
You sighed, getting up from his lap. It was like waking up from a really good dream and realizing it never really happened. You couldn't have a guy like him all to yourself, you never could. You could never have more of him, however much you wanted.
â No, Torger. The limit is 30 minutes per girl, per night.
â Shit â he said quietly, running a hand over his face.
The silence that followed was uncomfortable, not to say painful. You didn't want to go, but you knew you needed to get on with your night, just like he did.
But how to continue working after that?
âThe show must go onâ, you said to yourself mentally, before sighing and turning towards the door. However, something wrapped around your wrist, preventing you from following. Turning your face, you found Torger's dark eyes fixed on yours.
â Are you going to be here tomorrow?
â Yeah. I perform every night here.
â So I'll see you tomorrow, okay?
â Okay â you replied with a little smile â See you tomorrow, Torger.
Bringing your hand to his lips, he placed a kiss on your knuckles.
â See you tomorrow, Layla.
#toto wolff#formula 1 fic#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1 x reader#toto wolff x reader#wlffog#formula 1 one shot#f1 one shot#formula one fic#formula one fanfic#f1 x reader#oneshotwlff
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Summary: Reader is a tailor and gets a frisky request that Venti models for them.
Starring: Venti, reader
Genre: smut, handjobs, dirty talk, light nipple play
Warnings: Venti and reader are somewhat under the influence of alcohol
Authorâs note: This was NOT proofread and it's been sitting in my âto editâ list for long enough so here you go. If you know me, no you donât. (Iâm serious đ§ââïž) likes, reblogs, comments and new followers will always be appreciated. This is a side blog so I don't post often here AT ALL.
Word count: 1.4k (even i donât understand how or why i wrote that many words of smut)
You were a well known tailor in Mondstat and it wasnât surprising that you got the favour of a well known bard that frequented Dilucâs tavern, Venti.
For years, you and him had been the best of friends and often bonded through him modelling some of your new ideas and designs so you could see if they were as good in person as they were in drawing
He was an excellent model and very professional. On top of that, he had a sense of artistic expression youâd expect from a bard and he was able to execute that skill when it came to commenting on your work and helping you fix design issues.
You often went to the same tavern every time to celebrate successful designs and making customers happy, to Dilucâs dismay, to drink the night away but you did have a single problem⊠though could you really call it a problem?
Venti got very flirtatious when drunk and it wasnât with just anyone he came across when drunk, it was only with you.
Odd? Yes. Did you mind? No. Especially after developing a small (not small) crush on him.
It was one of those nights where youâd celebrate a successful design with Venti over bottle upon bottles of dandelion wine and Venti was flirting with you, as usual, but got interrupted when a regular customer spotted you in the bar with an anxious expression before stating they needed a design by the next morning.
You then found yourself with a drunk Venti in your shop, running around to grab materials for the design.
âYou didnât look at the design, did you?â Venti voiced from where he was seated behind you on your desk, legs crossed and design clutched in his nimble fingers. With a silent curse, you rushed to where he sat while nursing an assortment of random materials; you remembered grabbing polyester during your panicked state of searching for materials but that polyester was deemed useless by the design in Ventiâs hands.
From over his shoulder, the delicate design of nightwear glared at you with its gorgeous frills and obscene disposure. Oh god, would that be able to cover anything important?
âThatâs quiteâŠâ You trailed off, blood rushing to the surface of your skin.
âScandalous?â Venti breathed. Opting to steal a glance at him to see his reaction, you shifted your eyes to his teal ones that were already on you as they glowed under the dim light of your workshop. His attention to you encouraged your heart to beat faster than the design made it beat.
You could only nod and when you turned to him his teal eyes were already focused on you, his cheeks reddened by what you could only hope was the dandelion wine.
âDo you⊠need a model for this design?â His voice was soft and hesitant like he was afraid they would shatter the tension that was created between you, the same tension that increased in correspondence with the decreasing distance between your lips,
âI do,â your voice was quiet, âI have never made anything like this before so naturally, I need guidance from a model.â
âThen should I⊠strip?â Venti said, his eyes on your lips and the design now crushed slightly in his tightened hold. Your thoughts descended with any sense of decency you normally managed to maintain around Venti because of his word choice. Why did he use âstripâ like heâll need to be naked for you to make this piece? He had a body suit he would wear whenever heâd model for you and this time didnât need to be any different. It wasnât rational to believe otherwise because it was just a poor word choice. That poor word choice, however, had wrapped itself around your mind just like Ventiâs legs which were now wrapped around your waist. The design was now discarded on your desk and his hands opted for clutching the material of your shirt.
Your hands were over his in an instant as you attempted to loosen his grip on you. âI think I should reject the design while I still can.â Venti protested by pulling you closer with his legs around your waste, you sighed. The dandelion wine was still in effect.
âComplete the design.â He demanded and despite your previous observation, his speech was clear of any mistakes unlike other nights youâd spend drunk together.
âLetâs go get some rest, weâre drunk.â Your words were breathless and half hearted just like your attempt to step away from Venti. He grabbed a hold of your wrist.
âBut I want to model for you.â He stated, the hand around your wrist used your hand as an anchor to bring your bodies together. Your heart fluttered at this.
âVenti youâre wasted,â
His hold on your wrist tightened and your eyes were locked together like magnets. âPlease.â
The tips of his fingers traced the skin from the wrist of your hand past your elbow to your exposed shoulder as his lips remained hairâs width away from yours, building your anticipation.
His hand grabbed a fistful of your shirt and pulled you toward him before your lips locked together.
His cold fingers latched themselves around your wrist for the second time that night before he guided your hand to the warm skin underneath his shirt; this gave you enough incentive to slowly trail your hand up his abdomen;
âTouch me.â His lips caressed your own with every word before he locked them together, it was inevitable for you were opposing forces bound to comverge. His lips burned against yours with an ardent flame that fed on the desperation you both emitted into the kiss. Ventiâs back arched into you when the tips of your fingers skimmed his left nipple with a feather-like touch. He sighed against your lips as you circled his nipple with the aim to engrave the feeling of his skin on your fingers, the pathetic broken words that fell from Ventiâs lips, which had now parted from yours, when you tugged on his nipple left you lightheaded and itching for more of his reactions.
After giving half-hearted and rushed attention to his other nipple. Venti protested but he dropped it when your hand descended from his chest down his abdomen to the waistline of his pants.
As you took your time handling buttons of his pants, Venti took your preoccupation as an opportunity to leave open mouthed kisses along the edge of your jawline and down to your neck; His lips were the paintbrush to the canvas of your skin and like a skilled artist he relished the purples and reds scattered on your skin and while they were not in any particular pattern, they conveyed an important message to him and anyone (archonâs forbid) who would dare cast their eyes on you. You were his.
While lost in his mastery of staining the skin of your neck with love bites, Venti snapped his hips into the palm of your hand with a sound of surprise. You had managed to work your hand into his pants, your fingers now wrapped firmly around his dick. Your other hand had its own firm grip on his thigh to discourage Venti from grinding against your hand as he did when he felt your warmth against his erection. âDonât move.â
Venti chuckled, his head still buried in your neck. âAnyone would move if someone had their hand on their dick.â His words danced between the skin of your neck and soft lips grazed your neck with every syllable; it was enough to make you shiver but you didnât forget the task at hand.
Soon enough you had Venti muffling his moans in the crook of your neck as you worked your hand on his dick; your wrist ached with how long you had been at it but the rising pitch in Ventiâs pleas spurred you on. His fingers were curled into the material of your shirt as if you were his only anchor as he drowned in the vast ocean of pleasure you brought him with just your hand.
âIâm⊠so close.â He gasped, vision blurred by tears.
You ran your thumb over his tip causing him to whimper pathetically into your neck, his grip on your shirt tightening as your pace increased.
His hips began to move involuntarily despite your grip on his thigh and Venti was in hysterics.
âPlease, please, please,â He moaned repeatedly like it was a prayer, like begging for release was the only thing he could remember to do because his orgasm and your hand were the centre of his thoughts and those prayers were answered through a mind numbing orgasm.
It was the first of many that night.
#genshin impact#genshin x you#genshin impact smut#iâm not okay#venti x reader#genshin impact venti#genshin venti#venti the bard#genshin x reader#genshin smut#venti smut#venti x you#why did i make this
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Can you provide more information about RideBoom's mentorship programs for women drivers?
RideBoom's mentorship programs for women drivers are designed to provide them with the necessary skills, knowledge, and support to succeed in the ride-hailing industry. The programs are structured to address the unique challenges that women drivers face and aim to empower them to achieve their professional and personal goals. Here are some key aspects of RideBoom's mentorship programs for women drivers:
One-on-One Mentoring: RideBoom offers one-on-one mentoring sessions between experienced women drivers and new women drivers. These sessions provide an opportunity for new drivers to ask questions, seek guidance, and receive feedback on their driving skills, customer service, and business acumen.
Regular Workshops: RideBoom organizes regular workshops and training sessions for women drivers, covering various topics such as safe driving practices, customer service, and business management. These workshops provide a platform for women drivers to learn from industry experts, share their experiences, and build their skills and confidence.
Online Resources: RideBoom provides online resources and webinars for women drivers, offering them access to a wealth of information and knowledge. These resources cover various aspects of the ride-hailing industry, including marketing strategies, financial management, and time management.
Mentorship Network: RideBoom has established a mentorship network of experienced women drivers who can provide guidance, support, and encouragement to new women drivers. This network enables women drivers to connect with one another, share their experiences, and build lasting relationships.
Leadership Development: RideBoom's mentorship programs also focus on leadership development, equipping women drivers with the skills and knowledge necessary to take on leadership roles within the company. This includes training on effective communication, problem-solving, and decision-making skills, empowering women to become leaders and mentors themselves.
Collaboration with NGOs: RideBoom collaborates with non-governmental organizations (NGOs) that support women's empowerment and gender equality. These partnerships enable RideBoom to reach a broader pool of women candidates, provide additional resources and support, and promote gender diversity in the ride-hailing industry.
Flexible Learning: RideBoom's mentorship programs are designed to accommodate the busy schedules of women drivers. The programs offer flexible learning options, including online courses, webinars, and in-person training sessions, allowing women drivers to learn at their own pace and according to their schedules.
Continuous Support: RideBoom's mentorship programs are not limited to a specific period. The company provides continuous support to women drivers throughout their journey, ensuring they have access to resources, guidance, and mentorship as they grow and develop their skills.
Feedback and Evaluation: RideBoom regularly seeks feedback from women drivers to evaluate the effectiveness of their mentorship programs. This feedback helps the company identify areas for improvement, tailor their programs to meet the unique needs of women drivers, and ensure the programs' continued relevance and impact.
Inclusive Growth: RideBoom's mentorship programs aim to promote inclusive growth within the ride-hailing industry. The company's initiatives help women drivers overcome barriers to entry, create new opportunities for themselves and other women, and contribute to the industry's growth and success.
By providing these mentorship programs, RideBoom demonstrates its commitment to supporting women drivers and promoting gender diversity in the ride-hailing industry. The company's efforts aim to create a more inclusive and equitable work environment, ensuring that women drivers have equal opportunities to succeed and achieve their professional goals.
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satin care labels
Soft satin care labels, made to your design. Personalized garment labels, ideal for clothes or any textile product, printed on satin as brand labels.
#labels#carelabels#brandlabels#satinlabels#satin#apparel#clothes#textile#fashion#mode#tailor#print#factory#workshop#fabric#tape#custom#poliester#polyester
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Count Dooku x Dressmaker Fem Reader
One shot | 3368 words | Smut & Romance | Age Gap
A/N: Bestie @dookuswifey has a lot of big feelings about the Old Man, so I had to write here a little treat using The Prompt List.
Prompts:
11. "Spend the night with me." 28. "Each of my thoughts about you are important." 34. "I'm afraid I can no longer remain professional." 38. "I'll let you do anything if you just touch me now."
It'd been some time since you arrived in Serenno to work as a tailor. Fresh out from the University of Naboo, you caught the eye of the person in charge of looking for new personnel for the palace. They noticed the love and care you put into each of your designs and your attention to detail and immediately contacted your teacher about an open position in the palace. You didn't expect an offer like that at all, humble as you were about your craft. But the last thing you thought was that you would be serving the one and only Count Dooku.
He had been a Jedi and was a respected politician and aristocrat. Those were the things you knew about him before flying to your new planet. In his public appearances, he was always elegant and well-spoken, and maybe you thought he was actually a very attractive man. But from what you knew, you would be just one of the numerous tailors and seamstresses working for him. You probably won't meet him ever.
At your arrival, your anxiety about fitting in with the other personnel of the palace spiked, but everyone was so nice to you. Being the youngest on the staff, soon you felt welcomed and everyone tried to help you. The palace was indeed beautiful and your quarters were quite decent for a servant, with lots of natural light and a soft bed. You wondered how your working day would look while unpacking your belongings.
The next day, a protocol droid showed up at your door to walk you to your workshop. It was a huge room with lots of sewing machines. Some of your coworkers were already starting with the sewing projects they had in hand. Then the droid showed you where everything you needed was, and you could admire the fine materials you would be working with. In the centre of the room, there was a circular platform surrounded by ornate mirrors to make the fittings. Everything looked classy and expensive there, from the wood flooring to the chandelier. Finally, you were shown to your personal workstation, and the droid went through every tool there and the sewing patterns that were most used. You also noticed a huge sewing mannequin that was obviously custom-made, since it wasn't the standard menâs one. The droid gave you a notebook with a thorough compilation of measurements and sketches from the previous dressmaker. It told you they had to retire due to arthritis and you felt bad for them since they looked like an organised person who had put a lot of thought into their craft.
The droid bowed to you and excused itself after explaining everything everything you asked, and shortly you were left on your own. You introduced yourself to the seamstresses and explored a bit on your own until a different droid came to you.
"Master Dooku requests your presence in the breakfast room." Your blood froze inside your veins, absolutely not expecting that. Checking your hair in one of the mirrors, you rapidly gathered pins, measuring tape and the notebook the previous tailor left for you. But for your confusion, the droid said that such tools won't be needed. You felt like throwing up while you followed it through the quiet corridors under the morning light.
The holos didn't do him justice, it was your first thought entering the room. The was sitting with a display of various choices of breakfast, the place service being the most delicate you had ever seen. His gorgeous side profile looked godly illuminated by the morning, and you had to actively hide your admiration for your new employer. He left the holopad he was reading when he noticed you, and stood up to his full height to receive you.
"Good morning young lady, it's a pleasure to have someone of your skill joining my team." His voice was deep and he had constant eye contact with you. You thought you'd break under his gaze like one of the delicate glasses on the table.
"The pleasure is mine, Count Dooku. I'm honoured to have joined the palace staff." You didn't know how you had put together so many words, but he nodded satisfied with your answer.
"Please, sit with me and serve yourself." He indicated with a broad hand. "Coffee or tea?"Â
"I actually prefer hot cocoa, thank you." Your brain must had glitched, because how the hell you were commenting on your personal preferences to an aristocrat who happened to be your boss? You started to panic, but he surprised you with a belly laugh.
"Our new dressmaker has a sweet tooth." And someone in the way he said it made you feel things you shouldn't about your boss. A droid appeared with a actual pot of fresh hot cocoa for you and you thanked it thoroughly, enjoying the warm beverage in silence while your heart was beating like a crazy horse.
"Now that we've eaten, let's talk about your job requirements." He said after finishing his breakfast, cleaning his moustache with a cloth napkin. You listened attentively while he communicated to you his main preferences and necessities regarding his wardrobe. You couldn't stop wondering about why his valet wasn't the person meeting you for this, but maybe Count Dooku was the kind of man that wanted to attend to all his business personally. He definitely looked like that.
He needed a new cape, three tunics and a special outfit for the upcoming Life Day gala, so you will be busy. He told you that he trusted your fabric choices and that you would be able to comment with his valet his preferred silhouettes and the dress code of the gala.
"Let me walk you to the workshop." He offered after both of you were down commenting on the specifics of your job. In your stroll until there, he commented on some architectural facts that you found really interesting.Â
"Again, it's a pleasure to have such a skilled young woman as my personal dressmaker." You had been guessing it by now, but he had made it clear. Anyone had told you before accepting the job there you'll be his personal tailor. Maybe they thought that you could be intimidated by it, you couldn't know.Â
"The pleasure is mine sir, I hope my work fulfils your likes and needs." You responded politely in a small voice. Then to your surprise, Count Dooku kissed your hand as a farewell, and left you at the door in a twirl of his cape.
What had just happened? and why was your heart beating that fast?
The first fitting
You had busted your ass to create something incredible to Count Dooku and now the first fiting was here. You haven't seen him since your breakfast together, but maybe it was for the better. The man had the capacity to make you feel weak on the knees and you needed a cold head to fulfil this project. The reality was that you recalled that first encounter every day, sighing like a teenager and imagining the big mannequin was him. Pathetic, you thought.
But the day arrived and he was there in his full glory. The other tailors and seamstress were on their time off and it was just the two of you. He smiled widely at your sight and then stepped on the room. You first showed him the cape and the tunics, the less complicated projects, and he was delighted with your progress.Â
"You're working at an amazing pace young lady, I hope you're not overdoing it though." He commented, a frown of worry adorning his forehead. You laughed tired, it was true you had been working extra hard.
"Don't worry about me sir, my only goal is to have your suit in time, the rest is important."
"Each of my thoughts about you are important," he responded in a commanding, but gentle voice. You stopped what you were doing absolutely stunned. You knew you shouldn't be looking at him like that but you had turned to stone. He then cleared his throat. "What I mean is that I care for your well-being and I wouldn't want you overworking yourself." His clarification didn't make much to stop your crazy heart and you didn't know how to act now.
"That's very kind of you, sir." You responded submissively, not looking at him in the eye. His presence was everywhere, but it was only going to get worse. Your throat was dry. "Could you try your suit now sir?" Your petition came in the smallest voice, but he nodded and went up the fitting platform obediently.
You were actively trying not to touch him too much, but Maker, you were his tailor. From the expanse of his chest to his strong arms you started to learn every part of his clothed body so well. You could see your reflection and your cheekbones were burning. He now was silent and observed you working around. The platform made you even tinier next to him, and that was exactly how you felt.
"Do you like it, sir?" You asked shyly after the full suit was finally on display over his broad body.Â
"Is perfect dear," he responded turning around to admire your design. By now all your face was a violent red, but it became even worse "Good job." Just the two words of praise made you melt and you were sure right now he had noticed.
"I'm happy to serve you in any way I can, sir," you responded, and you'd swear you saw his gaze darkening for a moment.
"I'll just need you to adjust the design to be able to hang my sabre, if that is okay." He asked with a deeper voice than before.
"Of course! Just tell me where." You responded, eager to improve your design to his needs. To fulfil the strong need you felt to please this man.Â
What happened next just made your brain glitch. Dooku grabbed your hand and slowly, positioned it in the part of his hip where he preferred his lightsaber to be. Your mouth went dry.Â
"There." He indicated, and you nodded flustered, running to make annotations to position the holster. Your hand burnt.
While you did so, he redressed and your firing session was over.
"I can have the design change in one week."
"Don't overwork yourself though." He was adjusting his cape but wasn't getting it well so you helped with it standing on your tippy toes.
"Thanks, dear," his gaze was fixated on you, between his lashes his pupils won't stop registering your little hands going over the cape clasp.
Ready to go sir, is there something more you need?" Your big doe eyes are so eager to help that you have been messing with Count Dookz that's the only explanation to his petition.
"Spend the night with me," he blurted and you opened your mouth in disbelief. Had you heard wrong? "I mean, the gala, would you accompany me, miss?" He clarified, and you sighed in relief because it couldn't be what you first thought.
"I can't see how you would want to be accompanied by a plain dressmaker sir, even though I'll accompany you if that's your wish." You responded in your most diplomatic way, trying to not scream internally. "Nevertheless, I don't have a gown to wear to such an event." Your pout made Dooku's heart shiver and that's the only explanation for why he caressed your cheek next for a brief moment.
"Don't worry about that, darling." And after kissing your hand like he did the first time, he disappeared followed by his cape.
You had to take the rest of your day free to assimilate what had just happened between both of you.
The second fitting
To say you were nervous was the understatement of the cycle. As expected, you didnât listen to him and busted your ass to create the perfect suit. That day, you even did your hair in a fancier updo and put your favourite dress on. Both of you had been coinciding briefly here and there, but in the end, you were staff so your routines were so different. Heâd always smile at you during those encounters and even stop a moment even though he had important meetings to attend. Â
You were daydreaming looking through your roomâs window, thinking about your next fitting session with him, when you saw it. You knew he had been a Jedi and you talked about his sabre, but you didnât actually think he engaged in combat. That was until that day, your jaw dropped at the sight of Count Dooku training in the gardens with the sabre. The vision was magnetic. He looked so agile and strong going through the different feints he was practising. You noticed he was wearing one of the tunics you had designed for him. The garment fit him like a glove. You were mesmerized by the sight until you noticed he had stopped working out. And he was looking in your direction. It was impossible that he could see you in this distance but you felt weird, like he was just there with you. With your heartbeat spiking, you moved away from the window and continued preparing yourself for the day.
It was still soon in the morning when the protocol droid announced that Coun Dooku would be coming for his second fitting session that afternoon. You swallowed hard, eager to have a private moment with him again and even realized your perfume. A part of you felt silly because why an aristocrat would want to mess with you? But on the other hand, under his gaze, it was the first time you had felt truly seen. And then it was that strange moment this morning. You didnât want to give it more thought, but it had felt weirdly intimate.
The afternoon arrived and your coworkers left and you started getting more and more nervous until the door finally opened.
âItâs nice to see you again young lady.â He had changed from the tunic you saw him with this morning and smelled incredible. You stood immediately and bowed in respect, but your hands were already trembling slightly.
âWelcome to the workshop sir. Shall we start the fitting?â He then eyed you from head to toe lazily, not moving an inch from where he was standing. The thing was that you were eager to have your hands all over him, even though it was supposed to be in a professional way.
âI canât wait,â he responded in a raspy voice, and you wondered for one second if he was waiting for you to touch him too, but rapidly discarded that thought. This was strictly a professional physical touch and Count Dooku was just being nice. He went up the round platform and you rushed to get the suit and the pins. But this time, he wasnât undressing and you looked at him quizically for a moment.Â
âWould you allow me, sir?â You asked, pointing at his cape, and he nodded. On your tiptoes, you found the clasp, and with the corner of your eye, you saw the reflection of you both and thought how good you looked together.
âHave you thought about my invitation, dear?â He asked as if he could read your mind. Moving away, you folded carefully the heavy cape and put it on a chair.
âI donât have anything to wear to an event like that,â you responded carefully, turning again to face him.Â
âIâll have the most beautiful dress crafted for you, sweet girl.âÂ
Your eyes opened widely and your head started spiralling. Did he really want to bring you to the Gala as his companion? Why? You were a girl from a good Nabooian family, but nothing worthy of an aristocrat like him. While your brain was working on overdrive, he had been removing his tunic and was now only in a high-neck undershirt. You swallowed hard and it took all the self-restraint in yourself to not look at him like the eye candy he was.
âWhy me?â You asked finally, your gaze fixated on your task of helping him with his new tunic. It fitted him perfectly, and you would be proud if it wasn't for the incessant pounding of your heart. Next, you went to grab the new belt to close his tunic and hang the lightsaber, trying to remain professional at all times. You offered it to him, but he just lifted his arms, indicating that he wanted you to put it.Â
âYou have caught my eye, little lady.â You blushed incapable of looking at him. It wasnât anything you already knew, but hearing it was a different deal.
âCan I put your belt now, sir?â You asked approximating him, feeling hotter and hotter. Count Dooku leaned over your shoulder and you felt his hot breath when he spoke.
"I'll let you do anything if you just touch me now." You actually squeaked at his words. Your eyes finally met his and they were dark and inviting, but you had a job to do. Putting your arms around his waist, you adjusted the new belt, but this time you didnât avoid touching him but the contrary. Then, with trembling hands, you adjusted the tunic around it. Your hands started to travel to his ample chest and you looked at him in search of reassurance. He was looking at you with his mouth agape, eyes semi-opened and the most adoring look. It was the yes you needed before letting your hands roam through the expanse of his chest and shoulders. It was adorable how he let a deep sigh leave his lips as if he had been waiting for this as much as you. His desire fueled yours and made you feel bold, hands travelling south to the new belt again.
âI think everything fits well sir, do you feel comfortable?â You asked, keeping the illusion of professionalism. âIs the belt appropriate for your lightsaber?â With doe eyes, you looked at him while tugging at the belt casually, when you noticed how hard he was and your jaw dropped.
âTo be honest, my pants are feeling a bit tight miss.â He purred and your mouth went completely dry.Â
âLet me fix that for you, sir,â and you actually put the little act of pretending you were adjusting his pants, even dropping to your knees. You could see his Adamâs apple move when he swallowed, his gaze not leaving yours for a moment. âI think Iâve found the problem,â you cooed and slowly stood up again caressing his outer thighs while doing it.
âOh, yeah? And was is it dearn?â
You tilted your head and looked through your long lashes coquettish. Your little hands travelled again to find the waistband of his pants. Maker, he was even harder.
âThe problem isâŠâ You started tracing patterns with your thumbs over his hipbones. "I'm afraid I can no longer remain professional, Mr Dooku."
Your boss groaned and all hell broke loose. In a moment, he had manhandled you into the ample pattern table. He was nestled between your tights, your skirt hiked up and he looked so manly while needy over you.
âIs this what you want, little one?â He asked while kissing that soft spot behind your ear.
âYes, oh yes, sir.·
Thanks to the Maker, the old piece of furniture was sturdy enough to endure the rest of the passionate fitting session.
You ended up accompanying Count Dooku to the Life Day gala, both of you looking radiant together in your tailor-made garments. All the eyes were on you, but you only could see the gorgeous man who was holding your arm the entire soiree. When the first notes of music started, he was fast to bow and ask you a dance, and you complied happily. That was only the first of the many events you would attend together. For every one of them, you would design the most amazing suit and he would gift you the prettiest gown. Everyone would talk behind your back, but the thing was you only had eyes for each other.
#count dooku#dooku#count dooku x reader#dooku x you#count dooku fanfiction#count dooku smut#count dooku x you#count dooku x female reader
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Mystic Smith Mystic (Mystic Alternate Class Feature)
(art by TheGentlemanCupcake on DeviantArt)
The magical crafter, be it a brewer of potions, a blacksmith that forges magical weapons and armor, or the intricate crafters of complex wonder, has long been a staple of fantasy, but while there are plenty of examples in classical fantasy, one usually doesnât think of them in a far-future science fantasy setting. After all, most magitech is either assumed to have been made in some far-off factory or is a relic of a bygone age, with only a rare few creating custom works with the help of material printers and detailed instructions.
But does that mean they donât have a place? Certainly when it comes to magical or hybrid tech items in Starfinder, one might naturally think of the technomancer given their focus on blending science and magic, but I feel thereâs plenty of opportunity for other casters to get in on the action, and itâs clear that may agree with the mystic smith!
Whether you consider them a natural evolution of the magical craftspersons of old or simply mystics blending a bit of technomancy into their arsenal to keep themselves and their allies outfitted, these mystics forgo some of their healing and telepathic power in favor of mastering the art of binding magic to material.
Due to their specialization, these smiths are able to access and craft items of greater potency than others, and of course their mastery at such skills grows faster than others.
Additionally, they can apply fusion seals to weapons much faster and get them working similarly quickly.
Naturally, they also add repair magic to their arsenal, and gain a special reserve of energy to perform especially drastic repairs.
With a surge of power, they can flood their technomagical weapons (be they inherently hybrid tech or have fusions) with energy that helps guide their strikes and pierce defenses.
Conversely, they can also disperse the energy of a nearby foeâs weapon seals, rendering them temporarily inoperable.
While the crafting side of this optionâs abilities isnât exactly flashy, it is functional, and their combat ability to buff their own attacks with their creations and disrupt any weapon fusions the foe has, making for some good options for a more combat-focused mystic that youâre probably used to seeing. It also can inspire characters to actually create and utilize weapon fusions more often, so there is that as well, tailoring theirs and allied weaponry to the situation on the relative fly.
The workshop of a technomantic crafter in the far future no doubt looks very different than the traditional fantasy workshop, and an option like this is the perfect excuse to explore that. Consider a dwarven mystic that is content to let the machines create the alloys, but would rather personally shape the metal themselves with a hammer and anvil, or a shimreen crystal-crafter that literally cuts stones by ear, feeling the subtle changes in resonance to know when theyâre just right.
Normally mustyotal agathions prefer to steal and redirect the weapons of oppressors against them, but when there seems no recourse for change that a war against oppressive upper classes, they sometimes seek out those that can provide. Such is the case with Lost Purse, who successfully managed to rescue a famed craftsmanâs daughter and get her offworld where the corporation couldnât reach her, and in return, said craftsman is churning out powerful magitech weapons in preparation for revolution. Lost Purse only hopes it can be a bloodless one.
The Golden Coins seem impossible to track down, the criminal organization covering their trail with bribes, filing off serial numbers on all their equipment, using potent amnesiac toxins and suicide pills, and the works, but the party catches a break when they find a powerful magitech plasma pistol with a distinctive makerâs mark, dropped by one of the groupâs lesser lieutenants.
While a talented coral-crafter in their own right, Bak-Shuga has found themselves in a predicament when a visiting alien noble becomes enamored with their work and mistakes them for a genius and grand master of the craft. Now, the young copaxi is facing a lot of pressure to accept an invitation to craft for this noble, one they feel ill-prepared to actually live up to.
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Portrait of the pale elf (1) - Torn Satin and other things ruined
Chapter Summary : Astarion has opened his tailor shop in the higher city, Carmine Red. There he welcomes all sorts of customers, but more often than not, his clients cross the threshold of his shop for all the wrong reasons ⊠or the most delighting ones.
Warnings : Mention of past abuse. Fear of intimacy. Blood drinking. Biting. Fetish.
Word count : 2,5k
Author's note : This is the first time I'm sharing something I've written, but my love for Astarion as a character has surpassed my fear of posting. So here I am :) You can also find this story on my Ao3, thank you so much for giving this story a chance !
Astarion had always had hands that could either make or unmake, create or destroy.
Hands that were made to kill.Â
Hands that had killed so many people that, sometimes, he could still smell the faint perfume of gore on them.
Hands that longed to kill when thirst turned him into a slave once again.
But also, fingers that knew all the secrets of a âlittle deathâ.
Fingers that remembered how to caress and hold bodies, until they were all but flushed with unshed blood.
Fingers that could raise someone to the height of such pleasure, that they would ineluctably shatter when falling down from it.Â
Those very fingertips now strangely belonged to the most successful tailor in all of FaerĂ»n.Â
After all of his adventures, Astarion had unexpectedly decided to dedicate his nights to creating the finest garments in all of Baldurâs Gate and beyond.Â
Heâd opened a luxurious tailor shop in one of the biggest avenues of the higher city. It was a place where Astarion could put to use his wonderful talents for sewing and stitching, ones he had one practiced during centuries on the only pair of miserable clothes heâd ever been allowed to own by Cazador.
Itâs name, Carmine Red, was beautifully painted on the storefront in the bloodiest of color. In the window display below, one could marvel at countless shiny and beautiful things.Â
Astarion often saw little kids dragging their mothers towards the shop, with sparkly eyes, and wide smiles that had a few missing teeth. "I want this princess dress, please mother !" the little girls would always say, pointing at the most expensive piece heâd ever sewn, all but made of pearls, crystals and shimmery silk. Heâd laugh at the way the mothers tried talk them out of such unreasonable idea, before finally pulling away the pouty and frustrated child.Â
Other times, there would be a charming lady or a young adonis, shyly approaching his shop window in the dim street lights. Their eyes would wistfully linger on a satin corset, or on gold thread embroided doublets, as if they suddenly entertained the illusion of wearing it. But then, soon enough, they would notice the small price tags attached to the garments. It was always hilarious the way theyâd squint their eyes, as if to double check because such outrageous amount of money couldnât possibly be the true price. And yet, alas, it was, and the beautiful strangers would furiously blush and turn on their heels. They would hastily disappear into the night, as if the fact that theyâd even entertained the idea of owning one of Astarionâs creations was ludicrous.
It was one of the reasons why his designs were exclusively coveted by nobles, princesses and even kings. Theyâd all come late at night in his shop, discreetly pushing the door of his workshop, to order the finest tailored outfits.
Nobody had ever seen anything like it before : the way he would cut dresses in a slightly provocative, yet elegant way. Heâd always loved dancing on fine lines, after all, it was his signature.Â
Delicate lace would effortlessly fall a little lower than acceptable on the cleavage of a lady. The pale skin of her breast tentatively, yet barely, outlined through the fabric. He would make puffy yet see-through petticoats, just enough for onlookers to make out the shadows of long legs through the modesty of a womanâs attire. The doublets he imagined were always more fitted than they usually would have been in other shops. The cinched waist highlighted menâs small hips while casting light on the width of their shoulders, the fabric all but holding their bodies in the right places.Â
There was always something impossibly sensual about the silhouettes Astarion imagined.Â
He had one day realized that, the centuries heâd unwillingly spent perfecting his mastery of the sensual arts, had bestowed upon him an incredible knowledge of body anatomy. One small compensation for all his sufferings, but one nonetheless.Â
Every good tailor, to excel at his work, needed to first be knowledgable on bodies, on their curves and bones, on their proportions and mesures. Thatâs exactly what Astarion was : a contemplator of physical forms, and a master of sublimed physionomies. He only had to look at someone once to know what part of their body was the most magnificent, and how to pin, stitch, drape, or sew the finest of silks around it.Â
Needless to say that his little business, was doing more than well. He spent most of his nights working on  attires for bals, masquerades, and soirees alike. His payment usually included an heavy purse of money, but also endless invitations to said parties, to admire his creations in the dim lights of ballrooms and palaces.
His new friends were baronesses, duchesses, or dukes, kings or princesses, and he only truly felt at peace in wide reception rooms, eased by the sound of violins, laughters and champaign glasses colliding.
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That night, Astarion was sitting at his workshop table, working by the candlelights, when someone entered the shop. The little bell on the doorframe rang, and a rush of cold perfumed air entered the room with his guest.Â
Jasmine and wood. He already knew who it was without having to turn around.Â
Clarissa Tillerturn.Â
"What owes me this impromptu visit, darling ?" he asked with his back to her, his eyes never leaving the delicate needlework he was focused on.Â
Her dress and cloak shifted around her as she approached him to sit on one of his red velvet meridienne.Â
"I need a new ball gown, Asti", she dramatically sighed, lying down on the plush cushions.Â
He thanked the god that he was not facing her, otherwise she wouldâve seen the way his face involuntarily contorted into one of pure annoyance. The pet name that she had unilaterally decided to give him was atrocious. Each time he heard it, the most vile retorts crossed his mind, but then he remembered what type of client she was.Â
She was high nobility and one of his most generous customers, in more ways than one.
So if Clarissa Tillerturn wanted to call him "Asti", then "Asti" it was.Â
"For what occasion, love ?"
"Oh but Duke Ravengardâs masquerade, of course ! It will take place in a tenday or so in his manor!", she exclaimed in her usual child-like tone, all but leaning on one of his shoulder with her gloved hand, "I need you to make me look angelic."
Ah yes, that masquerade, he dully thought, the one he was also supposed to attend.Â
"That wonât require a lot of work on my part. You already do."
He heard her giggle behind him, her high pitched and annoying voice sounding uncomfortably loud in small space that was his shop.Â
When he finally turned, his tape measure in hand, he was once again reminded of the reasons why he didnât like her in the first place. Everything about her, from her long blond hair to her heady perfume, reminded him of the people he used to seduce for his master.Â
She was the perfect kind of gullible, feeble and vain, noble girl that he wouldâve easily lured into the dark with nothing but a bag of sweets and empty promises. These days, he was luring her all the same, but for his own benefit, and that knowledge made it almost bearable.
Predators hunt to eat, vampires seduce to drink blood, it was the old ways of this world. Who was he to even try and escape this vicious circle of hunger ?
"Do we really need to measure everything again ? I would argue that you know my body quite well by now."
Stupid girl, he thought, fighting the urge to not so kindly send her on her merry way. He was far too thirsty for that, and far too greedy to deny her heavy purse of money. Astarion forced a smile on his face and took her gloved hand in his to bring her to a stand.Â
"I only need to take your waistâs measurements, darling."
When he bent over to glide the lace the tape around her, she pressed a clumsy kiss on his neck, right on his scars of all places. He braced himself before straightening up, and indulged her with a languid kiss he despised every second of. It was a small price to pay, just a little amuse-bouche so to speak, for her to give him what he needed.Â
Sweet oblivious Clarissa melted into his arms anyways, pressing herself onto his chest and mewling with each slow and deliberate motion of his tongue.
"Are you sure you are only here to order a dress from me, lady Tillerturn ?" he breathed on her flushed cheek, as she made quick work of getting her out of her cloak, to bare her neck and dĂ©colletĂ© to his eyes.Â
Say you want me to feed, he silently begged as he looked into her wide blue eyes, I need to feed.Â
"Do it, Asti. I want it."
Clarissa Tillerturn had a secret, you see.Â
She had a vampire fetish, like a lot of other nobles in Baldurâs Gate. Â
Between a few tailored dresses orders, she would regularly let him feed on her as a form of sexual gratification.
It never included anything other than a bite, and perhaps a kiss, on Astarionâs part however.Â
"Not on your neck", he frowned, not willing to leave a mark in such a visible place, "Lie down for me, love"
And as though she was spellbound, she did.Â
She settled on the scarlet velvet once again, hiked her skirts up her legs, and offered her pale thigh for him to feast on. It was already littered with faint scars near her groin, little punctured wounds heâd left the previous times sheâd asked him to feed on her in the last months.Â
Her hand shakily reached out of the pink ribbons holding her knee high stocking and she swiftly untied it to reveal more skin.Â
"How scandalous darling âŠ", he cooed in this irresistible silky tone heâd practiced for centuries, "What if anyone walked in on us and witnessed me debauching you in such way ?"
Clarissa bit her lips and furiously blushed, her hair pooling around her like a crown of gold.Â
He didnât need any further invitation and quickly kneeled at her feet, expertly bracing her leg on his shoulder to pepper kisses near her femoral artery.Â
Her pulse raced under his lips, and he felt like he couldnât play pretend any longer.Â
The moment Astarion bit her thigh, her warm and sweet blood coating his mouth and throat, she moaned obscenely loud. It was the kind of noise people would expect to hear near brothels, not in tailor shops. If he still had a mind to himself, it wouldâve worried him, but each and every one of his concern was drowned by the euphoria of feeding.Â
Well, almost every single one âŠÂ
Each time he fed, from silly clients with vampiric fetishes, or from faceless strangers that offered their blood to him in parties or balls, Astarion was always reminded of her.Â
Tav.Â
The memory of the first time heâd fed her flashed in his mind. He sometimes wondered if the taste of her was somehow sublimed in his memory, glorified by the longing he would always feel for the only woman heâd ever loved.Â
No one had ever tasted as wonderful as her. Some part of him seethed at the fact that no matter who he bit or touched, the ghost of her still visited him. Even after all this time.Â
It was better than to be haunted by the memory of Cazador, of course, but he had a special place in his heart for kind of suffering the thought of her revived in him.
A beautiful thorny flower he couldn't help but sting his fingers on. A bittersweet remembrance.
Heâd bared himself in front of her, in every possible way, admitting that he could not easily be intimate with someone anymore. And as expected, because he could not pleasure her with his body, she had denied him, rejected him, to offer a mere âfriendshipâ, instead of patiently staying by his side. What a fool heâd been to think that what they had was special âŠ
In the end, he would always be just a body to use for the people around him. Nothing more.
Astarionâs fangs involuntarily dug deeper into Clarissaâs flesh as he got lost in his memories. Her hands gripped her petticoat hard, her knuckles all white near his forehead, when he rhythmically sucked on her. From the corner of his eyes, he saw her accidentally rip the precious satin fabric it was made of. It tore and crumpled between her shaky fingers, as she moaned harder and harder.Â
"Itâs enough darling, I wouldnât want you to go home bloodless", he mumbled from between her legs, lips and chin dripping with wasted delicacies.Â
He carefully licked the wound, before grabbing a scrap of blue satin lying on a table next to him. Methodically securing it around her leg to stop the bleeding, he then quickly covered her with what was left of her skirt, as if nothing had ever happened in the first place.Â
"Are you alright ? I could make you some tea if youâd like."Â
Heâd once learnt from Shadowheart, back when they were camping, how to brew herbs to make Tav feel better after heâd fed on her. It was now a generosity he liked to extend to his very satisfied "victims".Â
She was still pink all over, and the scent of arousal lingered around her, but it inspired nothing in him but disgust.Â
"No, Asti, I need to be on my way. I have a dinner tonight" she groaned as she sat, and collected herself.Â
She hastily arranged her head of golden curls, put her cloak back on, and extended a heavy purse of money that he gladly accepted.Â
"Iâd like for the dress to be ready on wednesday, is that quite alright ?"Â
"Of course, darling. Itâs a pleasure to deal with you, as always", he purred, placing a chaste kiss on her hand.Â
And with with that she was out in the streets once again. To any oblivious onlooker she was simply out and about, but the faint limp with which she walked made Astarion smirk.Â
His smile fell when he looked at the purse of money that was still in his hands.Â
Donât be mistaken, he warned himself, youâre no prostitute, the money is for the dress.Â
For a few seconds, the nagging thought that nothing had really changed came back to plague him.Â
It often did, when he was all alone with himself, sewing, trancing, or lying in a warm bath. A constant source of doubt and despair.Â
He was free, or as free as a slave to vampiric urges can be. His master was long gone. He could roam wherever he pleased, feed from whoever he pleased, make use of his time however he pleased ...
And yet, he was still begging, performing, seducing, in exchange for a few drops of blood, and indirectly, for a purse of coins.Â
Some crueler part of his mind even mocked himself, wondering if anyone had ever crossed the threshold of his tailor shop because they were interested in his designs in the first place.Â
The voice in his head morphed and merged with the one of his master, and as he sat before the unfinished doublet on his table to start working on it once again, it whispered :
"Still loveless, still used, you pathetic child who never amounted to anything... You are nothing without me, I told you so."
#astarion fic#astarion bg3#astarion fanfiction#astarion fanfic#astarion smut#astarion x female oc#astarion x f!tav#astarion x female reader#baldur's gate 3 smut#Portrait of the pale elf
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On Mando'a and Goran'e
In a discord server, some friends and I got to talking about the way goran'e would get apprentices, what those apprenticeships may look like, and the appropriate terminology! Here's my hour-plus rant, condensed into a more rational discussion. Long post under the cut!
The word cabur is often taken to mean 'teacher' (It's why many fics refer to the Jedi Masters as Jett'cabur.), but it technically means more along the lines of 'guardian' or 'protector', and while a Master would be responsible for their apprentice(s), this term didn't quite feel right to me.
Historically, an apprentice didnât have much distance from their masters. Often, they lived with their Master and their family, usually from about the age of 10-13, up until they were an adult and/or completed their apprenticeship. At that point, they became Journeymen, and would typically live in a lodging or boardinghouse and continue to practice and improve their craft.
A Master was your teacher and guardian. They were responsible for your education, room, board, health and upbringing. If an apprentice did something that broke the law, the Master could even be held partially responsible, much like a child's parent.
A goran, like a historical Master craftsperson, would likely take on one apprentice at first, and later in their career, once they've gotten used to teaching, will take on more. There were such things as junior and senior apprentices as well. A junior apprentice goran would be left the more dull menial tasks. Cleaning the workshop, maintaining tools, fueling the forge, running errands, etc. A senior apprentice would be given the more menial tasks of armor making, like wiring the HUD and smoothing out the edges of the work, and eventually the simpler armor pieces. Journeymen would be given slightly more complicated work, shaping and tailoring the armor to the Mando'ad and doing the repairs and small adjustemnts that would be brought in, which would be the majority of the work of an armor smith regardless of time or setting.
Crafting new armor would be the tasks of the goran, as the most intense and skilled work. In the Great Forges of Sundari and Keldabe, where there were multiple goran'e working at their individual forges and anvils, there would also have been a step above the goran'e, the forge master, which I would write as goran'alor. They would be an extremely experienced and skilled goran who most likely would have trained at least three or four goran'e in their time, some of whom may even have worked in the Great Forge with them!
Now, that aside, an important aspect to keep in mind is that, for Mando'ade, a goran is more than just a craftsperson. They're spiritual and cultural leaders as well. So, becoming an apprentice goran means that not only are you doing the dumb chores that no one likes (cleaning the forge, polishing the finished armor, maintaining tools, running errands, maybe cooking, etc.) you're doing a LOT of studying! Learning history, religion, and philosophy, sociopolitical situations - there's a LOT to cover, and you can't slack off either. You're expected to someday be able to wisely advise the leaders of your people in a lot of subjects. Senior apprentices would have handled things like accepting and signing for deliveries, delivering orders, or handling customers and any important mail that arrived.
As for becoming an apprentice, I really can't imagine kids submitting applications to be an apprentice goran. A goran was typically the one in charge of the verd'goten, after which you reached a cultural age of self-determination (think of it like first communion or a bat/bar/b'nai mitzvah. Not a legal or cultural adult, but old enough to start making certain religious and cultural choices yourself.). I can only imagine that finding an apprentice would be done by watching the community and observing the kids, seeing who has potential. Then it would involve talking to them a few months after their verd'goten, once they've had time to adjust to their new status to make the offer, which would likely include the parent(s) as a courtesy.
There's also a very real chance that to become a goran, you would have to either move across or off planet, or renounce your Clan and House. Yes, tribe is one of the six actions, but at the same time, a goran must be entirely impartial and unbiased. Historically, priests and nuns basically cut themselves from their families to better devote themselves to their studies and charity work. Noble and royal bastards often entered the church to avoid political chaos, as the church was SUPPOSED to be a neutral party.
Now, for the terminology! I'm using Mando'a Dictionary for this part.
While the word cabur means 'guardian' or 'protector', hibir means 'student' and hibirar means 'learn'. Combining hibir with goran, we would get the general term for an apprentice armorer, gor'hibir. We can also include the usual ori and ika to indicate senior and junior apprentices, ori'gor'hibir for senior and gor'hibir'ika for junior.
Looking again to Mando'a dictionary, we can also kinda extrapolate the word for 'teacher' from these two words:
It looks like bajur is the general cultural concept, while bajir is the verb for 'to teach'. That 'ar' suffix at the end of hibirar is all that seperates the word for 'learn', likely a verb, and 'one who learns', a descriptive. We can then combine that 'ar' suffix with our words related to teaching, giving us either bajurar (one who teaches) or bajirar (one who partakes in the cultural concept). I would go with bajurar for a general teacher, like a school teacher or professor; but the word for a Master over your apprenticeship may be different due to the intensity of that relationship. Remember, an apprentice lived with their Master from their *early* teens until adulthood.
There's two options here, it could be connected to the word for parent, buir, or the word for best, jatne. I went with buir for this, while jatne could be used to indicate mastery. So, working with buir and bajurar, we get buir'jurar, meaning the Master of an apprenticeship!
There was more involved in this discussion, mostly me ranting about journeymen, guilds and their purposes, and my own intense hyperfixation on Mando'a in general.
These terms are all free for people to use if you want, Mando'a is mostly fan-made so sharing is vital to fleshing out the language. I just ask that if you use them for a fic you credit my A03 (Lilnome).
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