#and i think its convenient that they get one suit for formal occasions and can be done but i do like dresses sometimes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nordickies · 26 days ago

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Remember when I used to make headcanon masterposts? Yeah, me neither, but here we go again! I don’t often get the chance to talk about Norway in depth, but he has been at the forefront of my mind lately. So I thought, why not bring my thoughts together in the form of a very long masterpost? This masterpost is packed with big and small ideas about his character that shape the way I personally write him.

I tried to gather everything I could think of, though I’m sure I’ve forgotten something along the way. I’ll happily update the list later. If people are interested, I’d love to finish similar posts for the rest of the Nordics as well as revisit some of the older ones!

So, without further ado, brace yourself and read the whole list below!

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Introduction

Norway’s human name is Sigurd Nordvik, and Mr. Norway (Herr Norge) is the title by which he is formally addressed. However, he doesn’t really care about official titles and prefers people to call him Norway or Norge. Sometimes his closest friends may use the human nickname "Sigge." In the past, he was called Sigurðr — or Siward in English. Sjur Ødegård has often been his go-to alias.

His chosen birthday is the 17th of May (Norway’s Constitution Day), but he has never been the type to celebrate himself. He prefers to keep the day as a celebration for his country and its people. He likes rotating the type of bunad he wears every year, and he heads to the streets to celebrate together with his people.

He speaks Norwegian and English, and due to his close relationship with his neighbors, he can speak Swedish and Danish too — though hesitantly, only when necessary. In the past, he spoke Old Norse, Latin, German, and French. However, he has since forgotten most of these languages and is no longer able to communicate through them efficiently.

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Appearance

Sigurd has light grey eyes, reminiscent of mountain bedrock or morning fog. His head is long and narrow. He has a slightly bumpy, downturned nose, hollow cheeks, and a relaxed, expressionless face. His lips are thin, his eyes narrow, and his wavy, light blonde hair falls just to his neck, a little unkempt. A modest amount of facial and body hair adds to his understated ruggedness. His skin is pale but reactive, quick to flush in the cold wind, burn in the sun, or betray his mysterious image during heightened emotions. He's naturally quite thin and in fit shape due to his hobbies. He's tall, around 185 cm.

Sigurd doesn't outshine with his sense of fashion, dressing for convenience rather than looks. While he owns plenty of well-fitted suits and tailored longer coats for the occasions that call for them, he feels most like himself in chunky wool sweaters and hiking trousers, fit for the weather for the majority of the year. He seems to avoid bright colors, except red, but he loves detailed colorwork knits. He's frugal when it comes to many things and thus still knits his own sweaters. He claims he doesn't want to waste money on items he could easily make himself, and he certainly has similar sweaters in many variations in his closet. But, in contradictory fashion, he'll wear insanely expensive outdoor gear, technical boots, and windproof jackets without seeing any problem in subtly flexing through them.

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Personality

Sigurd is a reliable, composed, and trustworthy person in any situation — the kind of friend you want to keep in your life. His honest yet genuine demeanor tends to leave a lasting impression, and he’s generally viewed in a very positive light. Though Sigurd is quiet and mysterious, his presence tends to spark curiosity rather than intimidation. Everyone wants to claim him as their best friend.

Naturally reserved, he can sometimes come across as distant or emotionally cold. However, he simply prefers to keep to himself, avoid bothering others, and not stand out too much. Sigurd makes a conscious effort to be respectful, often avoiding situations that could feel awkward for either party, so he tends to keep his social interactions formal and brief. Social settings overwhelm him easily, and if given the chance, he’ll quietly slip away before anyone even notices or makes a big deal out of it.

Emotionally, Sigurd is guarded. He struggles to express his feelings out loud, fearing they’ll be used against him or cause worry for others. He's used to being the sensible one, calming others down or offering a voice of reason. Sigurd being in a position where he’s the one needing help feels foreign to him. But once he’s drunk, he’ll open up more than usual, only to be hit with crushing embarrassment the next day for letting his guard down. He’s painfully shy around strangers and tends to overthink social interactions, worrying he’ll reveal too much. But to those who earn his trust, he reveals a gentler, more thoughtful side. He’s among the first to notice when someone is unwell, silently checking in—even if his concern comes out as awkward teasing. He cares deeply about his family and friends.

Still, beneath the stoic surface lies a playful spirit. Sigurd is a subtle trickster — fond of poking or teasing those he's close to, and dropping dry, sarcastic remarks with perfect timing. He pretends not to care, but he thrives on attention, especially after years of feeling like the forgotten player in their group. He secretly loves being talked about, praised, and even admired, though he quickly shuts down compliments. Still, he tends to view himself through his flaws rather than his strengths. Sigurd believes there are only a few things he’s truly talented at. When he falls short of his impossibly high standards, it feels like a crushing failure of his entire being. Despite his insecurities, Sigurd takes pride in his achievements. He’ll brag (modestly, but often) when things go well, especially if he wins something. He does his job well, always on time, and with quiet perfectionism that is often underappreciated.

Sigurd lives at his own pace, content without chasing flashy or grand goals. He’s outdoorsy, self-reliant, and focused on himself. You could say he's health-conscious due to many health-related issues in the past. But sometimes, he becomes overly fixated on it, especially during times of stress, to the point of overworking or limiting himself harshly. His relationship with money is also complicated. He’s used to surviving on very little, so even spending on small comforts can feel indulgent. He sometimes gets uncomfortable when people comment on his country’s wealth, fearing they’ll judge him personally because of it. As a result, he often steers the conversation away from the topic. Sigurd is snarky and elusive, the kind of person who could lie with a straight face if he wanted to. He's particularly skilled at keeping things about himself tightly under wraps, making him incredibly hard to read. He often projects calm and composure even when he’s unraveling inside. If anyone were built to be a manipulator, it would be Sigurd. But thankfully for those around him, he’s not malicious.

Sigurd’s emotional world is buried deep, shaped by experiences he rarely speaks of — tucked behind layers of dry humor and thoughtful silence. Perhaps because of this, he often drifts from the present, dissociating, his mind slipping into daydreams. Sometimes, he imagines fantastical scenes, far removed from the noise of everyday life. When faced with complicated emotions, Sigurd retreats into his head, withdrawing from others. Without a healthy outlet, his bottled-up feelings tend to leak out sideways — through excessive sarcasm, bullying, or self-sabotage. Left to his own devices for too long, Sigurd can grow apathetic and cynical, sinking into depression. That’s why he needs people who won’t give up on him, people who keep reaching out, even when his instinct is to push them away.

Sigurd’s emotional wounds surface in his relationships. He has trust issues, and his first instinct is to build walls when he fears getting hurt. Letting people in doesn’t come naturally to him. His past unions weren’t exactly unhappy, but they lacked mutual respect, leaving him feeling unimportant. His opinions and feelings were rarely considered in decision-making. Those experiences left a mark, making him doubt the idea of real love for someone like him. In his eyes, marriage between Nations has always been more political than personal.

Mysterious, humble, and sincere could all be words to describe Sigurd. He brings a calming presence but with a layer of sharp wit. His kindness is subtle but ever-present, tucked beneath layers of sarcasm, shy smiles, and a masked desire to be seen.

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Lifestyle

Sigurd resides in Oslo due to the capital's role as the center of politics and entertainment, but he has previously lived in Bergen and Nidaros (Trondheim). When he has time off, he retreats to his mountain cabin to recharge. However, he sometimes has to deal with unexpected guests when his family also wants to enjoy a picturesque cabin weekend. It’s partly Sigurd’s own fault for wanting to be nice and offering the cabin for others to use whenever they want.

Sigurd's house is a bit chilly and serene, to the point where you can hear the old clock ticking through the halls or the walls cracking on the coldest winter days. The muted colors, a rocking chair, and large wooden cupboards all add to the tranquil atmosphere. He has a lot of old furniture he’s either kept or discovered in vintage shops. Both his house and cabin are filled with books and worn-down furniture he hasn’t dared to get rid of. He rarely buys new things as long as the old ones still work. When the silence stretches too long, he finds himself showing up unannounced at Björn’s or Magnus’ place (and raiding their pantries, calling it harrytur). The trio jokes that Sigurd is like a household cat — aloof and low-maintenance, but always returning when he wants warmth or food.

Still, Sigurd’s adventurous side doesn’t let him stay a hermit at home for too long. He’s well-traveled and deeply curious about other cultures. If he disappears for a while, he’s likely off-grid, hiking in jungles or trekking through remote landscapes. There’s hardly a place left on Earth he hasn’t visited — not even Antarctica. He’s terrible at keeping in touch or letting people know when he’s leaving, but they trust he’ll return home safely with new stories and the same worn backpack.

Sigurd has a strong, almost spiritual connection to nature. It means everything to him, and he’ll go stir-crazy if forced to stay indoors — even when he’s sick or injured. He genuinely believes in folkloric creatures like trolls, fairies, and elves, and he’s careful not to disturb rocks or trees out of respect for them. He’s passionate about environmental preservation and fascinated by Norse mythology and sagas. While he doesn’t publicly identify as a practicing pagan, he occasionally dabbles in folk magic. These interests, along with his deeply introverted habits and daydreaming nature, make him feel like someone stuck in another time. His brothers don't waste the opportunity to call him plain odd because of it, though.

Sigurd lives an active lifestyle. He skis, runs marathons, sails, and fishes — again subtly flexing with his high-quality fishing and hiking gear and regularly making trips to the northern wilderness. Back home, he goes for morning runs before sunrise, wearing reflective gear and a headlamp, preferring the peace of empty trails. In winter, he swaps running shoes for skis. Sigurd is sometimes seen as a kind of patron of sports, being the face of campaigns encouraging people of all ages to stay active. He loves attending sporting events and is always touched when asked to present awards and give speeches. He’s especially proud of working with youth sports organizations and anti-bullying campaigns.

Despite appearing like the poster boy for healthy living, Sigurd’s diet is another story. He survives on a strange mix of comfort foods — sugar-free cola, tacos, waffles, and frozen pizza, to name a few. He’s a decent cook but rarely strays from the few meals he enjoys. He’s not big on sweets, but he won’t turn down a piece of kransekake or anything almond-flavored. However, during hikes, he must carry a chocolate bar with him, which he'll open at the top of the mountain, resting for a moment and taking in the stunning view.

Sigurd also has a rich musical side — he plays the violin. In his youth, he would entertain others with his fiddle, providing atmosphere for celebrations. But most importantly, the instrument was a tool through which he could hone his skills and earn recognition. These days, he’s fascinated by electric violins. Sigurd enjoys emotional rock ballads and epic instrumental music. But once he’s drunk, he’ll sing along to Norwegian party songs with all his heart. He can become quite the loud party animal when intoxicated — but firmly denies it if teased.

Sigurd’s speaking voice is calm and airy, and he has a beautiful, soft singing voice. He has even been asked to narrate audiobooks of Norwegian literature classics. In quieter moments, he enjoys knitting and watching odd TV shows while curled up in his chilly living room. He developed an interest in roleplay and fantasy games in the 1970s and would gladly do it more often with the right group of friends. He’s also a cat person and adores kittens. He has two Norwegian Forest cats named Olaf and Mons.

As the youngest of the three brothers, Sigurd sometimes struggles with being compared to Magnus or Björn, becoming visibly upset and defensive about it. During his childhood, he had to fight for attention just to be seen and valued, but he rarely received the recognition that his brothers often did. Maybe that’s why he’s so fiercely competitive. Sigurd is always ready to join a friendly sports match — so long as he thinks he has a shot at winning. Even the most peaceful beach day tends to turn into a spontaneous contest, with Sigurd pestering someone to time his swim to settle once and for all whether he’s faster than Magnus or Björn. The same applies to chess, which Sigurd is insanely good at, or other strategic board games. Game nights in their family can thus turn rather chaotic very fast.

Sigurd isn’t particularly tidy either. After long fishing or hiking trips, he’ll barge into Björn’s place and flop onto the couch without a second thought, opening a bag of chips, still covered in travel grime. Naturally, Björn whines at him about it. But in true Sigurd fashion, he just shrugs and grins, teasing his way out of the scolding.

Sigurd’s view of his own immortality has shifted over the years, but his role as a representative of Norway has always given him a sense of purpose and motivation. He’s had bad experiences with other immortals, so he tends to seek meaning and comfort in his work — representing something he truly values. He wants to focus on what matters to him, finally pursuing his own goals instead of being held back by others. His job has strengthened his sense of self and purpose. While his responsibilities can feel limiting at times, he can recognize his immortality's nuances and appreciate the good sides of it.

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Relationships

Sigurd is a reserved guy who doesn't have many deep friendships outside of his family. Most of the time, he hangs out with Björn — which is maybe a bit embarrassing for him. Sigurd doesn't like parties or big social gatherings, as he feels most people end up invading his personal space, thus making him uncomfortable. Also, his social battery runs out extremely fast. While he prefers to keep to himself, he has a strange kind of charm that draws people to him.

With such a massive coastline, Sigurd sees the Atlantic as his home and has good relations with fellow Atlantic nations. He has traveled far and wide, and generally, the Commonwealth countries have been friendly toward him, often allying with him on various matters. He sometimes goes on skiing trips with Switzerland, Liechtenstein, or Austria, as they bond over mountains and ski-related sports. They get along surprisingly well, as long as Sigurd’s silence doesn’t bother them. New Zealand is another outdoor enthusiast Sigurd gets along with — an unlikely friend from the other side of the globe.

Sigurd is usually the first to point out that Björn and Magnus have gotten old and aren't nearly as fun as they used to be. Perhaps he just doesn’t like being reminded of the passage of time or of how comfortably others have settled into ordinary lives. He feels like he’s only just now gotten his own life on track! The idea of having children or getting married doesn’t appeal to him at all. These days, he cherishes his freedom and self-reliance, which he desperately aspired for so long.

Sweden / Björn The core aspect of Sigurd's and Björn's dynamic is the love-hate relationship. They love to annoy the hell out of their söta bror, their sweet brother. They’ll nag each other nonstop and drive one another crazy all day, yet still spend the night talking, braiding each other's hair, and falling asleep in the same bed. At the same time, they constantly mock each other for being copycats, always blaming the other for mimicking their style or stealing their stuff. After all, what’s worse than being constantly compared to your sibling? Björn and Sigurd grew relatively close and spent a lot of time together growing up. They were just as competitive then as they are now; it’s definitely a trait that developed in their childhood. Both had to make do with limited resources, so competition was sometimes necessary, maybe even encouraged. Nowadays, they’ll compare anything: who has the better car, the greener yard, more birthday wishes on social media. They never seem to tire of the comparisons, though everyone else around them certainly does. But truthfully, they’d do anything for one another if it came down to it; their nagging is just a weird combination of their love languages. While they complain about the other’s incompetence and lack of brains, they still show up when needed, no questions asked. They just can’t bring themselves to admit they care; it’s too corny, not their style at all. They’ve been in various unions throughout history, though rarely by choice. Those unions have definitely left a mark, and there have been times when their relationship was seriously strained. While Sigurd usually ends up being the voice of reason around Magnus and keeps an eye on him, with Björn, he lets himself be unapologetically bothersome. Björn sometimes calls Sigurd slow and out of touch, like he’s stuck a few centuries behind. Björn can be nitpicky and meticulous, which drives Sigurd crazy. To Sigurd, Björn is a perfectionist who’s always trying to keep up appearances, even during the worst of times. Even now, Björn has a tendency to meddle in other people’s business; Björn might scold Sigurd for how he treats his little brother Eiríkur, but Sigurd will snap back and tell him it’s none of his business. On the flip side, Sigurd’s free-spirited nature and lack of structure drive Björn mad. Sigurd is strong-willed and hard to cooperate with once his mind is set on something. He’s opinionated but keeps things bottled up, which leads to spiteful and inconsiderate behavior when things don’t go his way. His antisocial tendencies and bluntness can be frustrating and even embarrassing for Björn, especially since Björn himself is so conflict-avoidant and tries to keep everyone happy. Despite those unions, however strained, they have created a strange dependency between them. Even when they’re at odds, they try to understand what the other is going through, comforting each other at their worst. Their interests and hobbies are pretty similar, so it’s no surprise they spend so much of their free time together. Neither of them does well in big crowds, and they both deeply appreciate the calm, casual atmosphere they share when it’s just the two of them. They can sit in silence doing nothing, and that’s more than enough. Though Sigurd still occasionally tries to inject a little adventure into his brother’s routine. Nature is their shared escape, and they go hiking, skiing, or kayaking when they can. ─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Denmark / Magnus Magnus and Sigurd still share a deep emotional bond that's unique to them. They’re able to speak rather openly about their worries and offer each other genuine advice. Magnus relies on Sigurd and holds him in high regard, being the best friend Magnus would trust with his life. Sigurd, on the other hand, doesn’t quite share the same enthusiastic view. He keeps his distance when he can and doesn't always give in to Magnus’s wild proposals. Still, Magnus sees Sigurd as a constant in his life, someone who always has his back, no matter what. Magnus can get lost in his own world at times, forgetting things or getting distracted, so Sigurd ends up following behind to clean up the mess — just as he always has. It annoys Sigurd, but he knows Magnus doesn’t do it out of selfishness, and he’s learned to live with it. Together, Magnus and Sigurd are something of a comedic duo. Magnus's wild schemes test Sigurd's patience every single time and put them on some kind of adventure. Sigurd has learned to say "Magnus, no" almost instinctively to everything, but if nothing else, he keeps an eye to ensure Magnus doesn't get into too much trouble. Whenever Sigurd helps him out of a mess, Magnus showers him with gratitude—until he inevitably drags Sigurd back into his mess again. That’s probably why Magnus instinctively turns to Sigurd with every problem, even when it would make more sense to ask Björn. Only Sigurd seems to know how to talk him down and help him understand even the messiest of situations. Magnus tends to worry on Sigurd’s behalf — a habit Sigurd doesn’t appreciate due to past experiences with Magnus’s more controlling tendencies. But Magnus’s intentions are good; he simply wants to help and offer support. Accepting that help, though, is a real challenge for Sigurd. Magnus knows Sigurd has a tendency to bottle things up and fall into depressive episodes, and it’s something he’s quietly concerned about. He tries to keep Sigurd’s spirits up and remind him of the brighter side of life. They often visit each other’s places, though for entirely different reasons, and as a result, they end up spending a lot of time together. Sigurd often thinks Magnus’s way of doing things is ridiculous — but he gets a good laugh when he puts Magnus on skis or drags him up a mountain, watching him struggle through the harsh winter terrain. Magnus, for his part, is just happy to be entertaining. Sigurd cares about Magnus, too, in his own quiet way. He’s just learned to set boundaries so Magnus doesn’t walk all over him. He knows how much he means to Magnus, so he can’t bring himself to be too cold or dismissive. He’ll help when asked but won’t hesitate to scold Magnus to keep him in check. Magnus knows he wasn’t always the best to Sigurd in the past, so he tends to be pretty laid-back when Sigurd teases or mocks him. As much as Sigurd has had to put up with Magnus, he doesn’t hold a grudge—not even when he easily could. They’ve worked through their past issues more than once and, for the most part, moved on. And no matter how much Sigurd complains about Magnus’s constant presence in his life, he always answers the phone when Magnus calls—and always shows up when asked. ─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Finland / Timo Sigurd and Timo get along remarkably well, sharing a number of common interests, like winter sports and music, that give them easy ground to bond over. Sigurd is unusually generous with Timo, often lending him gear or bringing him over-the-top gifts, which Magnus and Björn find unfair, as they’re not given such privileges. Sigurd insists that Timo is simply more trustworthy, and he trusts Timo to handle his stuff with care. Sigurd and Timo tend to drift to the sidelines during gatherings, content to sit with a cup of coffee and talk quietly. They have been through similar experiences they can both relate to, and thus far, they haven’t provoked one another too badly, making their friendship rather drama-free. Timo has always admired Sigurd, ever since they were young. There was something distant and mysterious about him that made Timo want to get closer, mimicking Sigurd in little ways, trying to be more like him. That admiration hasn’t really faded; Timo still sees Sigurd as someone effortlessly cool, someone worth looking up to. He follows his lead with almost blind loyalty, always ready to join him on hikes or fishing trips with eager enthusiasm. Sigurd, in turn, finds Timo’s stories amusing and his quiet resilience endearing. They’re not each other’s first pick when it comes to social plans, but when they do spend time together, they genuinely enjoy it. Sigurd appreciates how easy it is to be around Timo, how he laughs at his dry jabs about Björn or follows along with his plans without needing to be convinced. Sometimes, though, Timo’s passivity and eagerness to please clash with Sigurd’s snarkiness and competitive streak. He feels a bit guilty if he's being too sarcastic with him. Timo’s too kind to push back, and more often than not, the sass may go completely over his head. Because of that, Sigurd holds back more than he does with others. ─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Iceland / Eiríkur Sigurd has never been good at parenting or taking responsibility for others, so he has a lot of regrets concerning Eiríkur. He has always known Eiríkur is his brother but has never been able to connect with him. That doesn't mean he doesn't care about the kid, but Sigurd just never found a way to claim that big brother status. They're very similar in nature, but that also means they're both bad at communicating and prefer to keep everything in. Nowadays, Eiríkur sometimes insists on his independence with the same stubborn pride Sigurd once had, insisting he doesn’t need anyone fussing over him. Sigurd respects that space, but his distance can unintentionally reinforce Eiríkur’s fears regarding Sigurd. The irony isn’t lost as each is trying, in their own clumsy way, to protect the other from disappointment. Sigurd's attempt to reclaim their lost bond is sometimes irritating to Eiríkur, even though he knows it shouldn't be. He just has lots of disappointing memories when it comes to his brother, which is the reason for his underlying insecurities between them, like the lingering fear that Sigurd might disappear again, as he has before. On the other hand, Sigurd has always given Eiríkur the freedom Magnus never knew how to give. He took Eiríkur on long trips and taught him necessary life skills that gave him the critical tools to survive on his own. Eiríkur adored Sigurd growing up, always choosing him over anyone else. He used to light up at the mere mention of Sigurd’s name and grew jealous if someone else claimed his brother’s attention. When Eiríkur was nervous or unsure as a child, Sigurd would tell him fantastical stories and restore hope in him, uniting them through their shared love for stories and imagination. When Sigurd was bedridden by the plague, little Eiríkur stood by him. He would sit by his bed, read books, and talk to him, as they'd tell each other stories. Eiríkur could bring Sigurd messages and meals while occasionally spying on Magnus and Björn, reporting back what they were planning. But other days, Sigurd was too ashamed or tired to even let Eiríkur into his room, giving the poor kid mixed signals on what he was supposed to do. Many times, Sigurd's own need for autonomy took precedence over his responsibilities to Eiríkur — desperate attempts to hold on to the few meaningful tasks that gave him a sense of purpose. Sometimes, the choices weren’t even Sigurd’s to make, as orders from above pulled him away. There were days when Eiríkur expected Sigurd to come and visit him, waiting patiently at the harbor, watching every ship that came in, expecting his brother to step off the deck from one of them. But he didn’t. Eventually, Eiríkur learned not to get his hopes up, but the disappointment carved itself into him, leaving a quiet scar that never fully faded. Sigurd feels immense regret for not being there when Eiríkur was small, left alone on a harsh island during his most formative years. But Sigurd was only a teenager himself then. Even if he had been there, he doubts he would’ve been the role model Eiríkur needed. Still, the guilt lingers, and he tries to make up for it in the present. They go camping and fishing when time allows, returning to the wild places where they feel most at ease. Around the campfire, they talk about the past. Eiríkur is endlessly curious about their roots and history, and Sigurd does his best to help, though time has eroded many of his memories. Sigurd wants to make sure his brother has what he needs, that he’s equipped to live better, freer, and more fulfilled than Sigurd ever was. But expressing love has never come easily to him, so instead of words, he keeps buying things for Eiríkur, always asking if he has everything he needs, which Eiríkur insists he does. Both Sigurd and Eiríkur have regrets and disappointments regarding their shared past, but they will always have that unique family bond no one can take away from them. ─•~❉᯽❉~•─

England / Arthur Both Sigurd and Arthur are old friends who go way back, bound by years of cooperation. Both are ambitious by nature and aware of what they want, yet not always the best at being emotionally present or vulnerable. In many ways, their similarities make their friendship feel effortless. Sigurd has always seen Arthur as a respectable peer, someone who understands and sees Sigurd’s effort. Over the years, Arthur has supported Sigurd during some of the most difficult periods of his life, offering help when people wouldn’t expect him to. While Arthur has managed to get on many people's wrong sides and people's opinion isn't always favorable of him, Sigurd has gotten rare glimpses of a softer Arthur that very few get to see. They often collaborate closely, especially in matters of work, and there's a warmth to their friendship that shows most in small gestures. Sigurd, for instance, never misses the chance to go all out with Christmas gifts. And while Arthur is often busy and hard to pin down, he never turns down the chance to share a drink with his quiet old friend. However, sometimes Sigurd is faced with an awkward position due to Arthur’s and Eiríkur’s disinterest in one another, as he doesn’t want to seem like he’s siding with one over the other. Arthur and Eiríkur just don't really get along, but for the sake of Sigurd, they try to at least pretend. ─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Ireland / Saoirse Saoirse's and Sigurd's histories are deeply intertwined, shaped by tensions and collaborations between their former peers. Saoirse, sharp-tongued and quick-witted, didn’t exactly warm up to the Norseman right away. But even back then, she had a sense of humor that cut through his cold exterior. She also had a fearless spark that challenged him in ways few others could. When he pushed her, she pushed back. When he played rough, she returned the energy with twice the force. Saoirse, too, has always loved storytelling and music, talents that Sigurd has long admired from a distance. Her creativity and charisma drew him in, even if he didn’t always know how to say it. During their time in America, the two reconnected as adults, finding more common ground than before. The noisy rivalry of childhood gave way to a friendship marked by loyalty and a shared determination to survive in a new harsh situation. Nowadays, Saoirse teases Sigurd every now and then, especially when he’s in the presence of Arthur or Alasdair. This is to remind them he’s an old friend of hers too! Unfortunately, Saoirse has a knack for sniffing out gossip, so Sigurd has to keep his guard up around her to make sure his secrets stay buried, for now. ─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Scotland / Alasdair Alasdair and Sigurd have known each other for as long as either of them can remember. From the very beginning, their relationship was shaped by the tensions from deep-rooted rivalries. First impressions were tainted by prejudice but also riddled by a persistent curiosity. As children, they played together despite the tension — sometimes too rough, ending in scratches and one of them running off in tears. And yet, no matter how many times they separated, that pull toward one another never quite faded. In those early days, Sigurd was bolder, at times impossible to handle. A menace in the eyes of many, especially during the chaos of the Middle Ages. Alasdair, by contrast, was already brimming with pride and an unshakable sense of confidence, always standing tall even when others tried to cut him down. His fierce spirit and charisma fascinated Sigurd, while Alasdair was equally intrigued by Sigurd’s mysteriousness. But Sigurd's path got complicated. Tied down by the demands of centralized rule and weakened by the plague, he found himself trapped within constraining unions and a loss of influence that left him weak and apathetic. During the Kalmar Union, his failing health and desperation to retain a sliver of autonomy left him too afraid to meet many of his peers, feeling like a shadow of his former self. And yet, when Alasdair reappeared in his life, something shifted. The Scot’s energy offered Sigurd comfort and relief, giving him a brief escapism from his state. In another timeline, perhaps they would have worked together more, built something lasting through alliances, but history had other plans. Even when political duties kept them apart, they remained close via handwritten letters, with something unspoken lingering between them. During occasional meetings, whether by trade or diplomatic visits, their connection only deepened. A quiet, persistent yearning began to take root, romantic in nature but carefully concealed beneath layers of duty, uncertainty, and timing that never quite lined up. It wasn’t until the 19th century that they found themselves drawn together again — both of them older, hardened by experience. Sigurd, now part of yet another union, was fighting more fiercely than ever to carve out his independence, while Alasdair was navigating his own path through the tides of industrialization and being more tightly cooperative (or controlled) through his siblings. The two of them crossed paths more frequently, and this time, their bond became something unapologetically intimate, though still kept from public view. Their relationship became a quiet rebellion, a way to find solace while being drowned by decisions made above their heads. Neither of them asked for the roles they inherited, but in each other, they found a rare compassion and freedom. Even now, they continue to see one another — no longer as secretive as they once were, but still careful. Their relationship is unconventional, perhaps even unserious to some, but it works. Neither is in a rush to settle down. Sometimes, they both wish history had been kinder to them. But then again, they've never let fate stop them from trying. After all, it’s a rare privilege to love someone since childhood and still have eternity to figure it all out.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

#wow i said everything there is to say about him. i'll never talk about norway again /j #i wanted to write a detailed history section but the post was getting too long. enjoy these ~8K words for now #hws norway #hetalia #hetalia headcanons

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mercurygray · 1 year ago

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oc asks: can I request "motion" for Connie, "texture" and "change" for Joan, and "formal" for Marj? please and thank you!

motion: How does your OC move? How does their clothing help or hinder their range of motion? Are they flexible, coordinated, clumsy?

Connie grew up on a farm - she's aware of her body and its limitations and power because she's used to using it. I don't know that coordinated is necessarily the best word, but she moves with a kind of confidence. Connie choses her clothes for comfort and convenience, and they're often a little baggy, just for that ease of motion. (She is not trying to get the most fashionable silhouette here.)

texture: Does your OC favor any specific kinds of cloth or textures? Is there anything they can’t wear or don’t like? What sort of fabrics do they prefer?

Joan loves well-made clothes - her mother is a fiend about dressing well, her aunt is a Parisian in all but name. I see her in a lot of smooth wool suitings and silk shirts, but she's also not immune to wearing a flannel shirt and jeans for working on her father's ranch. Joan is very much someone who wears her clothes, rather than letting her clothes wear her. I don't know that there's anything she wouldn't wear from a texture perspective.

change: Has your OC ever drastically changed their appearance? Significant haircuts, big tattoos, complete wardrobe swap, etc? Why? How do they feel about the change?

I'm sure that when Joan joined the army she changed her haircut just a little, to make it more manageable. I think that the biggest change might be when she returns to her pre-war look after the war is over - if you're used to seeing someone look a certain way for a long time, you get to thinking that's their normal, and it's really not, for her.

I do have a headcanon for Joan and tattoos - it's a very 1950s classic style flash of a Fairburn-Sykes fighting knife with Noli Me Tangere wrapped around the handle. I'm not sure what timeline she'd get that in, though. It's a little out of character for 1940s Joan, to have a tattoo.

formal: What’s your OC’s formal look? Do they like dressing up? Do they have different looks for different occasions?

Marj cleans up pretty well. I don't think it's her favorite thing to do, but I think she enjoys the frivolity of a good dinner-dance- datenight combo. Marj has one really nice pearl set that her parents got her for graduating college, which she wears very regularly for more formal things. I tend to think of her really nice dresses being on the sky-blue end of the spectrum, to bring out the color of her hair - probably strapless, since she can pull that off, and nice big voluminous 50s skirts.

#asked and answered #tortoisesshells #joan warren #connie schmidt #marjorie gordon

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cleverhottubmiracle · 23 days ago

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With all of its different variations, the men’s shirt is without a doubt the most versatile article of dress there is. If you have the right styles, getting ready in the morning can be as easy as throwing one on and looking fresh. But with so many endless options of shirt brands out there, which types of shirts should you stock your wardrobe with to ensure you have all bases stylishly covered? Choosing which shirt type to wear for each occasion is as important as having them in the first place. A Hawaiian shirt has no place in the office, and that’s a hot take we’ll stand by.From the classic office button-up shirt, to the casual weekend tee, these are the 15 essential types of shirts for men that you’ll want to have on hand.Sharing its name with the Oxford cloth from which it’s cut, the Oxford shirt is a menswear classic that’s been serving as the bedrock of many stylish outfits for well over 120 years. The fabric is quite thick compared to most others in shirting, giving it a casual edge. A button-down collar and hanger loop to the back of the yoke are common design traits that also make this top easy to store.If ever there was a true, essential type of shirt for men, the Oxford button-down shirt is it. This timeless piece serves as a sartorial building block that works for a range of dress codes, making it one of the most versatile pieces in any wardrobe. For a modern flair (that is, a convenience factor) find a non iron dress shirt for dressing ease.“I like a button-down worn open collar with jeans, corduroys, or chinos but not with a suit, as I think the casual style clashes with the formality of the tailoring,” says master shirtmaker Emma Willis. This type of shirt works well for any event, like a wedding or to the office. They come in a variety of colors to complete any outfit.To start your collection of Oxford button-down shirts, consider the Ralph Lauren Custom Fit Oxford Shirt. This timeless choice offers a tailored fit and high-quality cotton fabric, making it a versatile addition to any wardrobe.Another excellent option is the Tommy Hilfiger Men’s Long Sleeve Button Down Oxford Shirt. Affordable yet stylish, this shirt is perfect for both casual and semi-formal occasions, providing a classic look that can be dressed up or down. Whether you’re a fan of getting suited and booted or not, society dictates that you’re probably going to have to shoehorn yourself into a tuxedo at least a handful of times over the course of your existence. If you didn’t already know, black-tie requires a tuxedo shirt, so it’s best to have one handy for your next formal event. A classic evening or dress shirt will typically be cut from pique (AKA Marcella) fabric, which was originally chosen for its ability to hold starch and keep the fabric crisp and stiff. There is also usually a bib, where the fabric is reinforced, a wing, pointed, or cutaway collar, and double cuffs, which require cufflinks to be worn. For those of you constantly on the move, there are also several performance dress shirt options. In terms of styling, Willis suggests keeping things low key with the dress shirt. “I prefer simplicity for the evening,” she says. “A marcella bib front evening shirt with stud front and tiny jet or pearl studs and cufflinks, a cutaway collar – wing is only for white tie – and a black silk barathea bow tie.” Remember to keep you dress shirt tucked in, preferably with a pair of shirt stays. Products To Get You Started: When building your dress shirt collection, the Hawes & Curtis 110th Anniversary Poplin Slim Shirt is a must-have. Renowned for its quality and durability, this shirt is ideal for professional settings and ensures you look sharp all day. Additionally, the Charles Tyrwhitt Classic Fit Dress Shirt offers a range of styles and fits, ensuring comfort and elegance for any formal event. Cuban Collar Shirt This breezy summer staple has always looked good, and thanks to the current fifties-fashion revival, it’s right on trend at the moment too. The ‘Cuban’ part refers to the shirt’s open collar, which makes it ideal for putting some air on your chest like your inner hairy-chested Colombian drug lord. The typical cuban collar shirt features a fairly boxy fit, straight hem, and button-up front. This is one of those casual shirts for men that’s a must-have, but there are a few considerations to be made. “Approach with caution,” warns personal stylist Daniel Johnson. “This style is not for the thicker necked bloke. The golden rule, as ever with short sleeves is to make them fit to the arm – baggy sleeves make arms look skinnier and skinny arms make a chest look smaller – not great.” You’ll be able to find these summer shirts in a huge range of colors and patterns. Don’t be afraid to be bold with your cuban collar shirt choice, but stay away from anything that looks like something your uncle would wear to the casino. Best for laid-back events, pair this type of shirt with a pair of well-tailored chinos for a dressed up look, or go with shorts or jeans if you’re keeping it casual. Products To Get You Started: For a stylish Cuban collar shirt, the Reiss Cuban Collar Shirt features high-quality material and a sleek design, making it perfect for summer evenings. Overshirt Too warm for a coat, yet too cold for a T-shirt. That troublesome transitional period between the two meteorological extremes is notorious for throwing a wrench in the works where getting dressed is concerned. Luckily, though, we have overshirts. The overshirt’s beauty lies in its versatility. It makes for a perfectly suitable light jacket when the weather is warmer. Or, you can layer things up on colder days and even wear a coat over the top in winter. The overshirt can be dressed up or down. Light shades are typically more casual, where darker-colored overshirts can be worn professionally or to more fancy occasions. Hint, they’re also ideal for covering up tattoos for men who are hoping to be more discreet. Styling-wise, simplicity is the key with this type of shirt. “A dark blue overshirt with a white T-shirt works great,” adds Johnson. “But a shabby overshirt and a detailed tee looks like a sloppy teenager’s get-up.” Team it up with some raw denim and a pair of lace-up work boots and you’re good to go. Products To Get You Started: For a minimalist design, the Woolrich Garment-Dyed Corduroy Overshirt offers a comfortable fit and is suitable for everyday wear, combining practicality with style. Flannel Shirt Whether you’re chopping logs in rural Canadian woodland, or simply nipping out for a latte in mid-December, the humble flannel shirt is an absolute must in a wardrobe full of different shirt types. This thick, soft flannel fabric is essential when the mercury drops and it’s versatile too, whether you opt for a plaid or plain version. “A mid-weight or heavy flannel shirt is an absolute must for when the weather turns cooler,” says Alex Field, head of menswear at Reiss. “This classic piece is great for layering and can be worn open over a T-shirt or buttoned up so it mimics a light outerwear piece in the summer, or even in the winter under a parka when the cold needs to be kept at bay. Top it off with some dark denim jeans and a pair of sturdy boots and you’re all set to brave the elements in style.” Products To Get You Started: To stay warm and stylish, consider the L.L.Bean Scotch Plaid Flannel Shirt, which is soft and cozy, made from high-quality cotton flannel for maximum comfort. Office Shirt It’s a horrible term, but the advent of business casual dress codes has meant that you can probably clock into your workplace in a much broader range of clothing than your father ever dared to. We think that’s a good thing, but there’s still room for wardrobe workhorses like the classic work shirt, especially if your boss still expects you to wear a tie. Out of all the different types of shirts for men, the work shirt is one you’ll likely get the most wear out of. “There is nothing like the smooth, formal appearance of good quality two-fold poplin cotton for an everyday work shirt,” says Willis. “Textures such as twills, oxfords, and herringbones are perfect for a more casual shirt giving interest without a tie, but for that immaculate, clean, no-nonsense business look, a plain white or palest blue gleaming-with-quality poplin shirt and tie cannot be beaten.” Look for a breathable poplin weave for stuffy days handcuffed to your inbox, and choose between a pointed or cutaway collar, depending on how much you want people to notice your tie. Some retailers will offer stretchy and anti-wrinkle fabrics, too. Light blues and pinks are solid team members but for its versatility, a white button up shirt will go home with the employee of the month award. Products To Get You Started: Upgrade your office wardrobe with the Luca Faloni Brushed Cotton Shirt. This refined option offers a tailored fit and a luxurious feel, making it perfect for professional settings. Additionally, the Besnard Piqué Spread Collar Shirt combines style and comfort, making it suitable for daily office wear while ensuring you maintain a polished appearance. Chambray Shirt No, it’s not denim. Chambray uses a plain weave in its construction, which results in a lighter fabric than the twill weave used for its jean-making cousin. This makes a chambray shirt a great option if you like the look of denim but find it a bit too much. This type of shirt looks fantastic with almost everything too, making it nothing short of a style staple. Chambray shirts can be dressed up or down, worn to a business-casual office, date night or to the bar for a night out. Because of this versatility, the chambray men’s shirt couldn’t be easier to style. One of the main considerations is to ensure it doesn’t match too closely with your jeans. “Just vary the shade a bit,” says Sarah Gilfillan, founder of men’s personal styling service SartoriaLab. “Otherwise, wear it with chinos. Or you could put one with a light suit to make it look a bit more casual.” Products To Get You Started: For a versatile chambray shirt, the Drake’s Chambray Long Point Collar Shirt offers a blend of casual and rugged styles, making it ideal for everyday wear. Classic Short Sleeve T-Shirt It wasn’t so long ago that the the short sleeve shirt was a style crime reserved for delivery drivers, bible salesmen, and scary men in nightclubs with pupils the size of coffee cups. Fortunately, designers have reclaimed the basic t-shirt style for its versatility and warm-weather practicality. In recent years, the perfect t-shirt has become a vehicle for broader summer trends, from tropical prints and geometric patterns to pastel colors and vertical stripes. Whatever your preferred mode of turning heads, a basic t-shirt works with most summer legwear from shorts and chinos to lighter denim and linen trousers. Wear casually, usually without tucking it in. The perfect t-shirt will have sleeve ends no higher than mid-bicep and be sure to never wear it with a suit. Products To Get You Started: When it comes to essential T-shirts, the Everlane Organic Cotton Crew is a great starting point. Known for its high-quality basics and sustainable approach, this T-shirt is perfect for everyday use. Polo Shirt A step up from the basic t-shirt, solid color polo shirts are a must-have for both casual wear and more dressed up occasions. Who knew a simple collar could make a world of difference? With dozens of well revered names to choose from, the polo shirt has been perfected over decades by the likes of Ralph Lauren, Lacoste and other classic players in the men’s fashion game. Polos work well on a variety of body shapes and come in a huge range of colors. As far as men’s casual shirts go, this is one you don’t want to skip out on. Products To Get You Started: The Lacoste Petit Piqué Cotton Polo is an iconic and versatile choice, suitable for both casual and semi-formal occasions. Denim Shirt Don’t be too quick to write the denim shirt off as a fashion faux pas. Worn right, this classic workwear item can give your outfit an added dose of masculinity and lend a casual edge when worn with an unstructured blazer, or even a full suit if you’re feeling brave. The fashion police seem to have an eternal arrest warrant out for double denim too, which is one thing that might put a lot of men off wearing these types of shirts. However, if you’re clever about it, embracing the Canadian tuxedo can offer a way to inject some texture into your wardrobe. “Never be scared of doubling up quality denim,” advises Danny Hodgson, owner of London-based premium denim shop Rivet and Hide. “It’s when the denim is of poor quality that you can make a bad situation worse. “Styling-wise, it’s good to wear a crispy new raw denim shirt with broken in and faded raw denim jeans, or vice versa.” The key lies in the contrast. Products To Get You Started: A durable and stylish option, the Levi’s Classic Western Shirt is perfect for both casual and rugged looks. Linen Shirt Is there anything worse than being crammed into a train carriage on a summer commute with some bloke’s soaking wet armpit so close to your face that you can almost taste the salt? Probably not. Don’t be that guy and swap out your Oxfords for linens when the mercury begins to rise. There are different types of shirts for summer, but linen is the breezy answer to all of your warm-weather woes. It’s light, it’s airy and it gives you the chance to experiment with some pastel shades that you may not ordinarily go for. “Nothing says summer like a linen shirt,” says Gilfillan. “Airy and breathable, I love a linen shirt with jeans or chinos, or you can roll up the sleeves and wear casually with shorts. I feel like you can be braver with color in a linen shirt too, though a white or pale blue is always a classic to have in your wardrobe.” Products To Get You Started: For warm weather, the Luca Faloni Portofino Linen Shirt is a lightweight and breathable option that keeps you cool and stylish. Another excellent choice is the Billy Reid Linen Shirt, which is both sophisticated and versatile, making it suitable for casual and semi-formal events alike. Mandarin Collar/Band Collar Shirt A mandarin-collar shirt is a classy option for formal events when the idea of wearing a collared shirt and tie makes you want to stay home. It’s a modern style of men’s shirt that will keep you free of frills and bow ties, but you’ll still look great. A versatile shirt option for any guy’s wardrobe, wear your band collar shirt with chinos or fitted black jeans for a more dressed-up version, or pair it with your favorite blue jeans for a more dressed-down vibe. Pair with a pair of dress shoes to look like the Alpha you are at any social event. Roll up the sleeves for an added air of swagger. Products To Get You Started: The Velasca Allerona Mandarin collar shirt offers a minimalist design with a modern fit, perfect for contemporary styles and a sleek look. If you’re looking for something trendy and affordable, the Oliver Spencer Grandad Shirt is a great option, suitable for both casual and smart-casual occasions. Henley Shirt The henley shirt is a casual shirt that’s a step above a plain tee, below a polo, but smarter than a crewneck sweatshirt. It’s the menswear equivalent of Goldilocks – this one fits just right. Whether you’re chilling at home watching Netflix all day, or grabbing a casual drink with friends, the henley tee is an irresistible addition to any dude’s closet. Pair it with jeans, joggers, or chinos in one of the most all-purpose tops there is. It’s hard to make a henley very dressy, but it’ll work for all casual occasions and any event where there will be guys wearing shorts. Usually in a thicker knit, henleys are a great transition piece from summer to winter, and we’re willing to bet you’ll reach for yours again and again. Products To Get You Started: For a comfortable and stylish Henley shirt, the Taylor Stitch The Organic Cotton Henley is a soft and versatile choice, ideal for layering or wearing on its own. Another great option is the Banana Republic Mattia Merino Wool Henley Shirt, which features high-quality material and a great fit, perfect for everyday use. FAQs What are types of shirts for men? Men’s shirts come in many different varieties. Depending on the event, types of shirts for men could be an Oxford, a dress shirt, a flannel, a henley or a polo. What type of shirts looks best on men? Know your body type, because therein lies the answer. The truth is there’s no one type of men’s shirt that looks best on all guys. Try some different types out, and make sure you master the sizing. A slim fit is traditionally most flattering. You don’t want the shirt to be too tight around the chest and arms where it restricts your movement. Opt for something tailored and smart to look your best. What are different shirt styles? There are dozens of different types of shirts for men, but some of the best men’s shirts include the smart Oxford collar shirt, the casual Cuban-collar shirt, the laid-back Mandarin collar shirt, the casual flannel shirt or chambray shirt, the uber-casual polo, tee-shirt or henley shirt, or the smart-casual linen shirt. Whatever style you choose, a collar stay will help your shirt always look sharp. Source link

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norajworld · 23 days ago

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chilimili212 · 23 days ago

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writerpeach · 4 years ago

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Hot & Cold

LOOΠΔ Kim Lip x Male Reader

9836 words

---

Read on AFF

Read on AO3

masterlist

The stars shined bright as you wandered through the downtown streets aimlessly, taking in the cool crisp air of the nighttime sky. Music filled the streets and your ears as you passed through a variety of stores, each one with its best wares on display to tempt you.

You were searching for a gift for Choi Yerim’s upcoming birthday, clueless on where to even start looking for ideas. It had been several weeks since you had been introduced to her, and while you knew a little about what her likes and dislikes were, buying the perfect gift that would make her special day seemed a daunting challenge.

The three of you were inseparable lately, spending most of your time outside of work at your favorite lunar themed cafe and the cutest barista that worked there who always threw in free drinks. Lately though, Hyejoo had spent more time than usual preoccupied with her new job until the late hours of the night, leaving you without her help and on your own for your quest.

There were the obvious choices of flowers and candy, and while you had to start somewhere those were boring choices. You wanted your gift to be special and worthy of the girl who you had spent so much time with lately, a girl who brought nothing but happiness and positivity into your life.

Walking past dozens of places, you waited for a store to catch your attention as most failed to offer anything substantial. One in particular caught your eye. Maybe it was the mannequins in the window wearing cute dresses that you easily pictured Yerim wearing, but this place spoke to you.

There wasn’t anything special or out of the ordinary as you walked in, a small looking boutique with high ceilings and bright lights, shelves filled with meticulously folded shirts and pants in diverse sets of colors, while plentiful dresses and accessories lined the walls.

You carefully looked around, not wanting to knock anything out of place as you browsed, unsure where to even begin. There didn’t seem to be anyone else in the store, which wasn’t surprising given it was rather late in the evening, approaching nearer to closing time than you expected.

“Oh, hello, sir! Welcome to Lippington’s Exquisite Clothing,” you heard a soft husky voice call out in the distance, breaking the silence as you craned your head to see a slim blonde heading in your direction.

The clack of high heels on the wooden floor grew louder with each step as she approached, her hips swaying as she sauntered through the clothing store to close the distance, forming a small smile on her lips.

When the blonde woman stepped into frame you were met with her beauty at point-blank range. It was fairly unmistakable that her golden locks weren’t natural, not that it made her any less beautiful, not a hair out of place and there must have been a lot of effort put into maintaining such a wondrous shade. You didn’t know a thing about fashion, but the black sequin dress she had on sparkled in the light, doing her small body wonders and fitting perfectly.

It seemed a little risque for a place of employment, showing off bare shoulders and barely covering up her upper chest, but you weren’t one to judge, especially when she pulled it off flawlessly. It wasn’t too tight nor was it or too short, leaving part of her body to the imagination and above else it looked expensive. You’re pretty sure it wasn’t something that could have been picked up off one of the many racks.

Her fingernails were painted dark black, something you always loved on a woman as the color matched her dress, topping it all off with a light shade of red lipstick that made her small lips pop out.

You had to snap out of your haze as you caught yourself staring, frantically darting your eyes around the store in an attempt to not appear rude.

“My name is Jungeun, can I help you find anything?”

“Ah, actually, yes. I’m looking for a present for a woman. She’s young, about your age.”

“Of course, I’d be happy to help. Is she your girlfriend?”

“Uh, not exactly. She’s a good friend of mine,” you said, stumbling over your words as true as they were. You still hadn’t formed any type of relationship with Yerim, and hearing those words out loud brought out several feelings.

The beautiful woman sensed your hesitation in answering her simple question but was eagerly happy to help anyways.

“We have several sections for women to choose from. Is there a style that you think she would be interested in?”

You found yourself caught unprepared by all her questions, even though they were just to help out. Now, whereas Hyejoo was often a sweatpants and t-shirt type of girl, Yerim loved to put in effort into her outfits, even if it was a simple trip to a convenience store.

“She wears dresses a lot. Mostly cute ones.”

“I see. Let me show you some dresses that I can help you pick out that you think she would like.”

The woman led the way as you followed, trying not to focus your attention on her backside as much as you would have liked, stopping at the front of the store in a section with several racks of dresses surrounding a giant mirror.

“Do you know what size your...friend is?” she asked, and you’re pretty sure she was teasing you. You definitely didn’t know Yerim’s size. Hell, you didn’t even know how dress sizes worked.

“No, I don’t,” you said, having a brief moment of panic. You could have asked Hyejoo, but calling her at work was an option if you could have gotten ahold of her.

“I could show you a picture of her, would that help?”

“It’s a start,” she coldly said. You grabbed your phone and looked through several pictures trying to find a suitable one that showed her body off the best, making sure to not accidentally click on the folder of private pictures Yerim had sent for your eyes only.

You came across one of your favorite pictures of Yerim, wearing a cute white flowery dress standing in front of the mirror, looking adorable as usual. You handed Jungeun your phone who stared at it intently for several moments as if she had just seen a ghost.

“Yerim…” she muttered under her breath.

“Oh, do you know her?”

“Yes,” she simply stated, handing you back her phone. “We met at Girl Front Academy and studied together for three years until we went our separate ways. I haven’t talked to her since then, but it seems she’s still sickeningly cute,” Jungeun said, and you couldn’t tell if her reaction was of annoyance or not.

“Her body isn’t too far from mine, but she’s much curvier than I am. She always had better thighs than me,” she said, and this time you could definitely tell she was annoyed as if she were lacking in the body department.

“I’ll show you a few things that should fit her.”

The smile faded from her lips as she went through several clothing racks, picking out a dress from each one that stood out in a completely different look.

“Some of these may not be her style. This one is a little frilly, and this one is maybe a little too revealing,” Jungeun said, letting you see them all. They all had their appeal, and while you could have just gone overboard and bought them all, you didn’t want to seem desperate. You needed to find the perfect dress and had confidence that this woman would help you do just that.

“I like these two,” you said, choosing one that was casual and one that was formal. Jungeun was right, one was too skimpy, too gaudy, and one was too...you couldn’t find the words but there were much better choices. They all looked nice, but the dresses left behind didn't really didn’t match Yerim’s style.

“Both excellent choices,” Jungeun said, holding them up side by side. To her left was a simple purple cocktail dress with a wide neckline and thin straps, which seemed to be about knee-length, ruffled and slightly see-thru at the base. You selfishly wanted it to be much shorter, knowing her luscious thighs being covered up was a crime but remembered this was a gift for her and not you.

The other dress Jungeun held was colorful to say the least. Lace with black at the top, dark red at the end and woven colorful fabric in the middle, equipped with a multitude of gemstones. The dress was much longer than the previous one, given Yerim’s height it would practically be touching the floor, but also had a more elegant touch to it.

To say you had trouble deciding between the two would be an understatement. Given your ignorance, you would have picked the dress on your left based on color alone.

It was a good thing you had someone who seemed to be rather informed on the subject of clothing given that it was her job as she sensed your indecisiveness as your eyes wandered back and forth.

“This one would be good for any occasion, it's thin and comfortable without being too skimpy,” Jungeun said as she held it up higher than the other.

“Now, this one is better suited to dinner parties, weddings, ceremonies, that type of thing. It’ll flatter her body more but she’ll look out of place at a cafe obviously.”

“You have a knack for this, Jungeun.”

“Ah, well, thank you,” she shyly said. “You don’t own your own store for several years without knowing a little something about fashion.”

“You own this place?”

“I do. This’ll be the third year running this place. It’s been a little dead lately, but it’ll kick back up when spring comes.”

Jungeun let out another small smile, and you’re pretty sure her arms were getting tired from holding both dresses up.

“They’re both really nice dresses, but if you still can’t decide I could help out and try them on. I may not have the body that Yerim does, but it’ll look better on me than on a mannequin.”

“You’d do that? That seems like a lot of trouble, you really don’t have to, I’m sure you have plenty of other things to do.”

“It’s not that much trouble, there’s not much else to do as you can see. Might just close up early tonight if nobody else shows up.”

“Thank you, that would be appreciated.”

“It’s no problem. I’ll be back in a bit,” she said, heading towards the fitting room in the corner, taking both dresses with her. You waited just outside the door, taking a seat on the bench not unlike the same way you had for both Hyejoo and Yerim the dozens of times you were dragged away shopping with them.

She didn’t take that long to change into the first dress, walking out of the dressing room looking ready to take the runaway.

“What do you think?” she asked, as she spun around, letting you see every aspect of her in the casual dress.

“It’ll hug her body better, but it fits me nicely. It’ll look nicer with heels of course,” she said, taking note of the fact that she was barefoot. She did look rather nice in it, the dark color offset the brightness of her blonde hair, giving a glimpse at her luscious long legs as she modeled it for you.

“I like it.”

“Don’t choose until you see the other one. I’ll be right back.”

You gave a gentle nod as she disappeared back into the dressing room, and you eagerly waited for her return wanting to see a more close up look of the other dress. You had all but chosen this dress already, the formal dress had its work cut out for it and had some stiff competition.

More time passed than was expected while you waited for her to try on the other dress, not that you felt the need to complain. Maybe she was doing something different with the second dress that required more time as you sat there patiently, wasting time on your phone.

“Hey, uh. I could use some help,” you heard her call through the dressing room stall. You got out of your seat and headed over to her direction to check it out.

“What do you need?” you asked through the other side of the door.

The woman took a second of hesitation to respond. “I think the zipper’s stuck. It won’t budge. It’s unlocked, you can come in. I won’t bite.”

You’re not sure why she added that last part, but you opened the door and stepped inside to see her back to you, the zipper caught at the top of the dress. You grabbed it carefully and inspected it, pulling it down several times to no avail as it refused to work with you, unable to move like when you woke up in the mornings. Nothing worked, and you didn’t want to be too forceful with it.

“It’s not moving.”

Jungeun sighed loudly. “I should have designed this one better.”

“You designed this dress?”

“Yes, most of the clothing in this store is my own design. Anything that’s not is from other designers I know or collaborations.”

“That’s impressive.”

“It’s nothing really, I’ve been doing this my whole life,” she said nonchalantly. “Now, if it’s not going to unstuck itself you’re just going to rip it open.”

“You want me to rip it? There has to be something here we can fix it with.”

“It’ll take too long. Just be suck it up and rip it, I can fix it later.”

“If you insist,” you said, holding on to both sides of the dress you tugged hard on it, tearing the zipper down the middle as the sounds of fabric being torn filled the room as the dress became collateral damage.

“Impressive,” Jungeun said as your attention was on the now ruined dress, the zipper all the way down and dangling off to expose her back.

“Thanks, now let’s hope this other dress doesn’t give us the same type of trouble.”

“I’ll step out,” you said, heading towards the door when Jungeun’s eyes stopped you.

”What, have you’ve never seen a woman undress before?”

“Of course I have, but-”

“But what? It’s not a big deal, but if you’d prefer to wait outside, be my guest. I won’t be long.”

Well, you couldn’t let this opportunity pass you by now.

“I’ll stay then.”

“Good. Enjoy the show.”

With your back flat against the wall Jungeun began undressing, pulling the purple thin straps down her shoulders and hesitating, teasing you for a moment as your eyes met. Taking her time, she slipped her arms out of the purple cocktail dress and slowly peeling it down her body just past her waist, exposing her tight toned midriff.

Jungeun never kept her eyes off you, inching the rest of the dress off her body and wiggling her hips until gravity did the rest. The discarded garment draped around her ankles, leaving her in an alluring pair of simple white underwear, sheer in enough places that still let your imagination run wild. It was quite an unexpected sight.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, trying your best to keep your mouth closed as you let out an audible deep exhale at such a gorgeous woman. Her complexion was beautiful, her skin fair and immaculate and you desperately wanted to reach out and touch her body.

“Judging by the way you can’t stop drooling over me, I’m going to guess you like what you see?”

If seeing her tight body on display wasn’t enough, she had positioned herself (perhaps even strategically so), in front of the mirror, giving you the perfect view of the white thong nestled in between her firm buttcheeks.

“Your turn,” Jungeun said, snapping you out of your trance as she placed her hands on her hips.

“What?”

“It’s not very fair for me to be the only one who’s undressed is it? Come on, I wanna see what you’re packing,” she said, her lips curling into a smirk as she crossed her arms.

Things had certainly escalated. When you walked into this store you hadn’t expected to be seeing the owner in her bra and panties, and you certainly didn’t expect you were about to match her level of nudity.

If you needed any further encouragement, her round dark eyes let you know that she wasn’t joking, and when a woman in her underwear tells you to do something you didn’t dare disappoint.

Taking a deep breath you began unbuttoning your shirt, removing each button until you had stripped it off and tossed it on the ground. Jungeun eyed your bare chest like you were a piece of meat, not unlike the way you had gawked over her earlier.

“Keep going,” she urged, and bit her lip deeply, showing her approval as you unbuckled your belt and unzipped your pants, not wasting time in yanking them off and kicked them away. It was difficult to process. There you were, standing across from a beautiful woman that owned the clothing store you had spontaneously picked, obviously ogling your mostly naked body while you were doing the same in return.

The whole series of events had gotten you so aroused that you hadn’t realized that your shaft had become full mast, sporting an unavoidable bulge through your boxers.

“Do you usually get this hard just by seeing a woman in her underwear?” she teased, as you looked down in embarrassment as your package dying to poke through, your cheeks instantly reddening.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, it’s perfectly natural,” Jungeun said as she approached your side of the small changing room, closing the distance and cupped your crotch, causing your body to tense up.

“I’d be a little disappointed if you weren’t getting excited,” she said, continuing to squeeze your crotch through your boxers.

"How would you like it if I took everything off?" Jungeun asked, using her free hand to run her hands through her golden locks, ruffling her perfectly styled hair seductively.

“I’m not that easy, you’ll have to at least buy me a drink to get my panties off. But I’ll give you a little something to hold you over,” she said as she slowly dropped to her knees on the stack of clothes that had piled up in the middle of the floor.

Jungeun wanted one thing as she grabbed your boxers and swiftly yanked them down to your ankles, your hard cock throbbing as it was released from its frustrating restraints. Her eyes lit up in excitement as she grabbed your cock and squeezed it with a gentle pressure, delivering slow pleasurable strokes as her thumb rubbed your sensitive swollen tip, making you leak over her slim fingers.

“It’s been so long since I’ve had some good cock. Too long,” Jungeun said as she flattened her tongue against the base of your shaft, slowly drawing upward and taking her time. You let out a soft moan as her pink tongue reached your swollen cockhead, swirling around and planting a wet kiss on your tip that made you shiver in delight.

“You’re so fucking hard,” she said as her wet tongue explored every inch, lapping up every drop that escaped from your leaking slit. Her lips pressed deeply against your throbbing shaft, moving from base to tip and not letting a spot go without a wet kiss that sent tingles up your spine.

“You did this to me,” you replied, and Jungeun answered not with words but with actions as her pouty lips parted with your shaft as it entered her warm mouth, her soft lips squeezing tight around your throbbing flesh as her cheeks hollowed.

“F-fuck, that’s good,” you moaned, leaning back into the dressing room’s wooden wall, as you watched Jungeun work your cock, bobbing her head up and down as her tongue followed, playing with your sensitive underside.

Jungeun’s mouth felt heavenly, her soft cherry lips wrapped tightly around your cock as she pleasured you, focusing on the first few inches of your flesh as she enveloped it with warm and wet sensations that overwhelmed you.

“That feels amazing, d-don’t stop,” you said, as the blonde woman who was practically still a stranger never ceased her oral assault on your cock. Her warm lips left a trail of warm saliva as you felt more of her throat, watching the deep lust in her eyes as she slowly sucked you off.

Shortly after you felt Jungeun’s mouth pushing deeper, her full lips sliding down your wet shaft with ease, distracting you and making you forget everything else. Jungeun wasn’t kidding as she seemed to be deprived of the taste of cock as she hungrily slurped on your shaft, voicing her satisfaction in giving you such a wonderful blowjob.

You couldn’t just stand there and watch the action unfold as you ran your fingers through Jungeun’s pretty blonde hair, guiding her movements as you placed a hand on the back of her head. She took the hint in stride, taking more of you down her throat as she gave your shaft deep satisfying strokes from base to tip, sticking her tongue out to please every inch of you she could.

“Jungeun…fuck,” you moaned, unable to control yourself any longer and grabbed a handful of hair, forming a tight fist around a makeshift ponytail as you used it to assist her into a faster rhythm that she didn’t seem to mind.

You kept Jungeun’s mouth busy, using her ponytail as your personal set of reins to force her mouth to the very end of your base repeatedly, using her mouth without mercy. She gave no sounds of discomfort, if anything she voiced the opposite as she slobbered all over your needy shaft, covering it with her messy drool as her throat was kept filled.

You kept this up for as long as you could, savoring Jungeun’s wet and hot mouth and occasionally gave glances towards the mirror to distract you with her delicious backside as the sounds of her slurping on your cock filled the room that caused you to moan even louder.

“F-fuck, Jungeun, I’m about to cum,” you said, releasing the tight grip you held on her hair as it fell back onto her beautiful shoulders.

“I wonder what you’ll taste like,” Jungeun said as she withdrew your cock from her wet mouth with a loud pop, using her tongue to frantically trace around your swollen tip, pushing you even more over the edge.

Jungeun could sense your climax wasn’t backing down as she took control of your cock, furiously stroking it as she opened her mouth and stuck her pink tongue out as she prepared to finish what she started.

You were almost there as your breathing shallowed, every long stroke from base to tip Jungeun gave your shaft made your balls tighten even more, her tongue flicking against your dripping slit to expedite your impending orgasm.

“J-Jungeun, I’m cumming!” you cried out as her grip tightened, her eyes laser-focused onto you as your throbbing cock shot cum directly onto her wet tongue and into the back of her mouth as she emptied you.

Multiple thick spurts of cum fired from your tip that caused you to moan with need, each feeling better than the last as a milky white pool collected on Jungeun's wet tongue as she worked your shaft, making sure to drain your balls thoroughly.

Jungeun made sure she squeezed out every drop as she kept her mouth open, making a show of swirling your fresh load, sloshing it around before she closed her mouth. You watched the beautiful sight of Jungeun's throat gulping as she swallowed it all.

“Not bad, I guess,” she said, displaying her now empty pink tongue and licked her lips, sucking the sensitive tip of your depleted shaft to make sure there were no more remnants left, forcing a reaction that made your entire body shake.

Jungeun stood back up and gave your cock a few final strokes, making sure she kept a tight grip with every twist that drove you crazy.

"Okay, get out,” she abruptly said, as you leaned back against the wall in exhaustion.

“W-what?” you replied, trying to catch your breath as you picked out which clothes were yours from the discarded pile.

“I have to close this place up, it’s late and there are a lot of things that have to get done. You can leave after you get dressed.”

“What about the dress? I still need to buy Yerim something.”

“You can pick it up tomorrow, I'll hold it for you. You wanted this one didn’t you?”

“Y-yes, it’ll look good on her.”

“No, it’ll look great on her. We close at ten, show up anytime before that.”

“Can I at least get your number?”

“Ugh, fine I guess,” she said as you dug your phone out of your pants that you hadn’t bothered to put back on.

“Hope you enjoyed that. I don’t do that often, I just felt bad,” she said as she keyed in her number into your phone.

“You felt bad? That must be why I can see that wet spot on the front of your panties, Jungeun,” you said, and she quickly broke eye contact, embarrassed by her obvious enjoyment.

“You can let yourself out.”

Jungeun grabbed her clothes and left without another word, giving you one last glance at her perfect rear as she left the dressing room. You got dressed in a rush, not wanting to stay any longer and excited the clothing store, still feeling the fatigue setting in.

✦✦

Work kept you at the office longer than you had planned to be, which always seemed to always be the case, something that couldn’t be helped. After finishing tedious paperwork and last minute preparations for the next day you didn’t step out of the building until roughly after nine p.m and headed straight towards Jungeun’s clothing store, not bothering to change your clothes.

You made your entrance as quiet as possible, which wasn’t that difficult given she was finishing ringing up a customer as patiently waited for their transaction to finish up, casually browsing the clothing selection in the meantime.

“Didn’t think you were going to show up,” you heard, the unmistakable husky voice of Jungeun as she approached your area of the store. Her outfit was a little less flashy today, wearing a tight white top that showed off the outline of her breasts and very short jean shorts that showed off her amazingly long legs.

“Had a lot of work to finish before I could come here.”

“I know that feeling,” she said as she grabbed the purple dress you had decided on from behind the register.

“Don’t worry, this isn’t the same dress from yesterday, that one has been repurposed. This size should fit her, but if it doesn’t feel free to return it.”

“I’m sure it’ll fit her just fine. You know what you’re doing,” you said.

“I’d like to think so. You can go ahead and swipe your card now.”

“It’s cheaper than the price tag was yesterday,” you said as you inserted your card back into your wallet, putting in your pin number and completing the transaction.

“I threw in a discount. Think of it as a present from me to Yerim,” she said, batting her eyelashes as her lips formed a sweet smile.

“Thank you, Jungeun. That was very generous of you.”

“It’s not what you think. I’m just doing this as a favor, I don’t like you or anything,” Jungeun said as she bagged your gift for Yerim and handed it to you.

“I’m sure she’ll love it. Have a good night, Jungeun.”

You took your next step but before you could even finish placing your foot down Jungeun grabbed your wrist, keeping you in place.

“Aren’t you going to buy me that drink?” she asked, gently squeezing your arm with her small hand as you looked down at her pretty fingernails.

You didn’t typically drink on a Thursday night, but you also didn’t typically get a blowjob in a dressing room from a beautiful woman. It’s not like you couldn’t use it either, work continued to pile up and you hadn’t even had a chance to depressurize from it all.

“Okay, I’d like to buy you a drink, Jungeun.”

“Good, because I could certainly use one. Maybe even two.”

“I know the perfect place.”

“I’ll need to finish up here, looks like nobody else is showing up so I can get started on closing. Send me the address, I’ll meet you there in an hour.”

✦✦

Just a little over an hour later you pulled up a chair in a familiar place, taking a seat at the counter in your favorite dive bar you had been to dozens of times - both yourself and with the company of Yerim and Hyejoo. Taking a look around there was both familiarity and a lack thereof to the place.

New paintings had been hung, the walls painted with a fresh coat paint that made the place pop, and the rickety wooden stools had been replaced with fancier black ones, adding a hint of sophistication to the joint. It still needed tons of work but it was a start.

“Hey stranger. Haven’t seen you in a while,” you heard a distinctive deep voice speak out, one that could only belong to your favorite bartender Heejin. Your eyes met as she flashed a beautiful smile as she wiped down the counter.

“Work has kept me away from this place,” you said, as Heejin’s lips formed a deep out on her features. It was difficult to see in the dim lights, but her hair had been dyed a lighter shade of brown, making her more beautiful than the last time you came here.

“You here alone? I’m used to seeing you with those two cute girls,” she said, putting up bottles of alcohol and restocking clear straws on the counter.

“I’m waiting for someone. Met her yesterday.”

“Ooh, how exciting. Tell me all about her,” Heejin said as she leaned forward, capturing your attention.

“I don’t know that much about her yet other than she’s a fashion designer. She owns her own clothing store downtown by the pier.”

“Wow, that’s impressive. I’m sure she’s lovely. Can I get you started on anything while you wait?”

“I’ll just take a beer for now.”

“Coming right up!”

No more than a few seconds later Heejin placed down an ice cold mug directly in front of you filled to the brim with just a touch of foam. You slipped a few dollars in her stuffed tip jar, earning an ear to ear grin as she excused herself.

Moments later the seat next to you became occupied, the familiar perfume wafting through your nostrils that could be one person, Jungeun.

“Sorry I’m late, I had some last minute customers I had to deal with,” she said, placing her large purse on the bar counter in front of her.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m glad you could make it,” you said, taking your first sip of beer and wiping the foam from your lips.

“This place is a bit of a dump, isn’t it?” Jungeun bluntly said, not mincing her words.

“I don’t come here for the atmosphere.”

“Why do you come here then?” she asked, as Heejin came back and bent over to grab something off of the lower shelf, her tight pants doing her body justice as she flashed a smile as she rose up.

“Oh I see why,” she said, letting out a loud chuckle as she covered her mouth with her hand.

“That’s not it,” you insisted. “I like the drinks here. It’s not as bad as it used to be.”

“Well, I’d hate to see how bad it looked before,” she said, rolling her eyes as she signaled Heejin over.

“Hi there! What can I get you?”

“A glass of red wine please.”

Heejin was nothing but diligent and before you could blink Jungeun was inspecting her half-filled glass of dark red wine, determined to find something wrong with it before indulging. For some reason she didn’t seem like a wine girl to you, but to be fair you didn’t know much about her other than she gave a spectacular blowjob.

“You’ve slept with her, haven’t you?” Jungeun said out of the blue, swirling her glass around before taking her first taste.

“What?” you said, nearly choking on your malty beverage.

“The cute girl with the brown hair. The way she looks at you makes me think she’s done more than serve you a drink,” Jungeun teased, crossing her legs.

You sighed loudly. “What are you a mind reader? Yes, I may have seen her naked on an occasion...or three.”

“No, it just seemed rather obvious. Who you sleep with isn’t my business though,” Jungeun said, and you swore there was a hint of jealousy in her tone as she swirled her drink in the dim light and watched the red liquid sloshing around.

Jungeun looked around, unsatisfied at what she saw. Clearly she was used to a higher stand of establishment. Her wine glass was already half-finished, she quickly threw her head back and poured the rest down her mouth, and you can’t say you ever saw someone drink wine like that.

“I’m tired of this place. Let’s get out of here.”

“We just got here-”

“And I know a better place we can go that doesn’t have bad music. ”

“Where exactly would that be?”

“My apartment,” Jungeun replied, flashing seductive bedroom eyes.

“If you were that eager we could have just skipped this part.”

“What, and miss out on a free drink? That’s the only reason I showed up.”

“Oh, and here I was thinking it was because you enjoyed my company.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I-It’s not like I wanted you to fuck me,” Jungeun said, making a show out of fixing her hair as she left her chair and grabbed her purse.

“I’ll meet you outside, thanks for the drink.”

Jungeun became harder to read with every minute you knew her. One minute she was batting her eyes and flirting with you and touching your shoulder, the next she barely seemed interested in you. It didn’t matter too much as you just had a personal invitation to her place and that was your golden ticket. You had barely touched your drink but that didn’t seem as important anymore as you paid your tab and left Heejin a generous tip as always.

“Guess someones getting lucky tonight,” Heejin teased as she waved goodbye, and you weren’t quick sure what you were getting yourself into.

A short ten minute taxi ride and you were following Jungeun up a set of stairs and waiting for her to unlock her apartment door.

“It’s not much, but it’s cozy,” she said as she bent down to remove her heels as you slipped your own shoes off and gently placed them carefully on the ground.

“I’ll give you a quick tour,” she said, gesturing for you to follow her as you took a quick look around. The living room was small but decorated with various paintings and a white leather couch big enough for multiple people, with small black throw pillows on either end. Underneath the glass coffee table was a huge blue rug and a pink makeup pouch left behind.

“Here’s the kitchen. I don’t cook much,” she said as her bare feet walked through black marble tile floors that looked spotless. It wasn’t the fanciest kitchen, but you would have loved to make a meal here sometime. In the center was a small kitchen island and a few stools, the counter wiped clean and a bowl of delicious looking fruit that you couldn’t tell was fake or not.

Jungeun led you past the kitchen as you looked at the various appliances she had gathered, a high-end blender caught your eye that rivaled those you had seen at cafes.

“Here's the bathroom,” she said, a huge assortment of various types of makeup lined the counter, once again perfectly clean as if she was expecting a visitor. Her shower was quite spacious, it was definitely the first time you’d seen one large enough to have two showerheads. The wall was patterned with black tile that contrasted nicely with the rest of the white bathroom.

“Last stop,” Jungeun said as she took several steps ahead of you, giving you the chance to take in her body as her hips swayed and you watched her long legs.

“And this is where you’ll be fucking me,” Jungeun bluntly said as she stopped at her bedroom.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Miss Jungeun.”

“And why’s that?” Jungeun asked as she took a step towards you, closing the distance as she placed her hands on your shoulder.

“Who says I’m going to fuck you here? You’ve got a nice kitchen, a living room…”

Jungeun leaned in and planted a deep kiss on your lips, the taste of her lingering as she pulled back and you could see the lust in her eyes.

“You’re convincing me.”

“Then let me convince you a little more,” she said as she spun around on her heels and walked away from you, disappearing into the bathroom and shutting the door, leaving her out of sight. She didn’t spend much time inside, dramatically opening the door and came out in a luxurious white bathrobe as she appeared back in view.

“You should have a seat for this,” Jungeun said with a mischievous smile on her features as you did as instructed, taking a seat on her bed and feeling her silk sheets as you leaned back.

Jungeun made sure she had your full attention as she slowly began to untie the cotton belt around her waist, opening up as she draped it off her broad shoulders as it fell to the carpet underneath her.

The sight displayed in front of you was nothing but breathtaking, causing your jaw to drop as Jungeun’s perfect tight body was dressed in the sexiest pair of lacy red lingerie that left very little to the imagination.

“Red looks amazing on you.”

“It happens to be my favorite color,” Jungeun said, as your eyes feasted on her stunning body, unable, nothing could lose your focus. The dark red color contrasted perfectly with her milky skin. Her breasts were pushed up nicely, showing off her wide hips and delicious legs that never seemed to end.

“Are you just going to sit there and stare, or are you going to come touch me?”

That was the only invitation as you lifted your body off the mattress as your hands were practically magnetized to her body. You started at her thighs, feeling how soft they felt against your palms as you moved to her deadly hips, nothing but satisfied at how good they felt to grip.

You couldn’t help yourself one bit as you snaked around her waist and squeezed her ass with both hands, pulling her towards you and grabbing as much as you could, thankful for the fact that Jungeun loved to wear skimpy thongs. Your palms were full of her soft flesh as you kneaded them, giving her beautiful backside a loud slap that echoed and made her gasp.

“F-fuck,” Jungeun said, her words light and airy as you moved to the front of her body, up her toned midriff and up to her chest, squeezing her perky breasts through the annoying piece of fabric keeping you from them.

“Jungeun,” you said with a lowered voice as you tempted her with the idea of kiss, tilting your head as you licked her neck and whispered in her ear.

“I’m dying to fuck you.”

“P-please. You’re making me so wet,” she whimpered desperately as you buried yourself in the crook of her neck, sucking on the soft skin there with no intention to stop. Jungeun was giving herself to you in no time, letting out soft erotic moans as you nibbled on her beautiful neck.

“God, you’re so gorgeous.”

“T-thank you,” Jungeun replied as her cheeks blushed a shade of faded red as she anticipated what was next.

“Can I take this off?” you asked as you slipped a finger underneath one of her bra straps, as it practically screamed to be let loose.

“Y-yes, please take everything off me. I want you to see every inch of me.”

Her voice was just the ticket you needed as you found the clasp of her bra and unhooked it, keeping eye contact with Jungeun as you slipped the thin straps off her shoulders and tossed it out of view.

Your pants tightened as you saw Jungeun’s exposed breasts for the first time, small yet powerfully perky, not unlike Yerim. You gave several teasing licks on her nipples, causing a series of whiny moans to leave her lips as you focused on one breast, pinching the other as your lips slurped and nibbled freely.

“G-god, just fuck me already,” Jungeun begged, and it seemed she didn’t share your patience in wanting to take your time with her.

“You need it that bad?”

“Y-yes. I want you to ruin me,” she said as she looked at you doe-eyed, lips quivering as she wanted to give herself to you fully.

“I’ll be happy to then,” you said as you tilted her chin up and gave her lips one deep tender embrace, rubbing your hand across her soft cheek.

“Hold on, one more thing,” Jungeun said as scurred into her huge walk-in closet and disappeared inside it. She emerged after a few moments with something unseen in her hands as she came back into view.

Jungeun grabbed your wrist and flipped it around, dropping a bundle of red braided rope onto your palm as she shyly smiled.

“What do you expect me to do with this?” you asked, playing dumb as you felt the soft fabric of the rope.

“I want to be tied up and fucked. What else would you do with it?” she asked, biting her lip in anticipation.

“Only if you want to of course,” she added.

“I want to,” you said. You definitely wanted to. You had Heejin to mostly blame for unlocking this side out of you.

You stared into her eyes intently for one intense moment before abruptly grabbing her hips and spinning her around, admiring her naked back and her barely covered asscheeks. Jungeun’s breath hitched as you grabbed her delicate wrists and pulled them behind her back, wrapping them both in beautiful red rope as you bound them together tightly,

“Too tight?” you asked, resting a hand against her toned back and caressing her skin.

“Not at all,” she replied as you spun her back around as your eyes met, and you couldn’t help but smile that Jungeun was now at your mercy. You took advantage of this right away and roamed her body with your hands, squeezing her breasts and moving downward as you brought two fingers against her clothed heat, confirming the wetness of her cunt that was soaking through her panties.

“Safe word?” you asked as pressed two fingers against her clothed core as her legs twitched.

“Eclipse.”

“Good, then let’s get started,” you said as you helped her lower to her knees as she pressed into the carpet as you began undressing, scattering clothes around Jungeun’s body until you were left in your boxers. Your bulge poked through the material desperate to be freed, a stark reminder of the previous day

“Look what you did, Jungeun,” you said with a smirk on your lips, admiring her half-naked body as she was at your whims. Her skin grew warmer as she knelt patiently as you removed your underwear, slick dripping down her thighs and making the only piece of clothing left on even wetter.

Jungeun admired your cock with a hunger like no other as you grabbed it and slapped her pretty face with it, letting her suck your swollen tip for several seconds before removing it, causing a cute pout to form on her features.

“Don’t be greedy,” you said, caressing the side of her cheek and watching the need in her eyes.

You couldn’t help admire how pretty Jungeun was as you rubbed her soft lips with one finger, and without asking she instinctively sucked on your fingers sensually. She had a wanton need for anything inside her mouth as her lips and tongue wrapped around your fingers with the same amount of desire she had given to your cock.

Jungeun slurped hungrily on your fingers as you pushed them in deeper, moving past both knuckles and creating a slow rhythm as she gagged but her eyes begged for more as you felt her warm messy saliva seeping everywhere, making a mess everywhere.

You waited just a little longer, letting Jungeun continuously suckle on your fingers until you felt she had enough, wiping her leftover saliva down her neck and chest as you gave her stiffened rosy nipples one more pinch.

“That’s all you get for now,” you said as you helped her stand upright and lifted her frame onto the bed. Jungeun did what she could to assist as you positioned her on her knees with her ass raised as her face plopped down on the sheets, resting her chin on the mattress.

You took your position behind Jungeun’s bent over body, the thin piece of fabric nestled between her ass being the only barrier between you and nirvana. The flimsy piece of underwear was almost as dark as blood but did little to hide the wet spot soaking through, and it was hard to focus your eyes on a single part of her tight body, or the way her hands were tied behind her back.

Your hands explored Jungeun’s backside, her skimpy thong was a poor excuse to cover up any skin as you fondled her cheeks. You almost didn’t want to remove such a daring garment from her body, it looked too good on her. The thought occurred to push it to the side, giving you the best of both worlds but your animalistic urges took over instead as you grabbed the thin piece of fabric and tore it right off her body.

Jungeun gasped loudly as you tossed the ruined pair of underwear away, every inch of her body now exposed for you and all it took was one look down at her beautiful pink pussy to make your erection even stronger than you thought was possible.

Taking one more look down, Jungeun had already spread her legs for you as you grabbed your shaft and lined it with her entrance, rubbing her pink pussy lips with your swollen tip as you felt her wetness collecting on it.

“P-please, just fuck me, already. Use me!” Jungeun begged, which only motivated you to keep up the teasing, slipping yourself dangerously close to entering her and withdrawing at the last moment just to hear her whimpering moans.

“F-fuck, please!” Jungeun continued to plead, and you felt a hint of pity for her desperation and nudged yourself against her pussy, the heat radiating off her body begging you to enter her.

Just a few more seconds of teasing was all you could take - you needed her just as bad, and in one perfectly smooth movement you popped your hips and entered her, both of you overwhelmed by a hundred different sensations.

“Oh god,” Jungeun said as you moaned simultaneously, watching your tip being swallowed up by her suffocatingly tight pussy. You took a moment to let it all sink in before moving, the initial warmth and wetness surrounding your cock taking your breath away.

You didn’t remember how long you took, it could have been just a few seconds or several minutes to get used to the intense sensations as you started thrusting inside Jungeun, her silky warm flesh clinging tight as you grabbed her hips and found a rhythm, picking up speed gradually.

“F-fuck, your cock feels so good, stretch my pussy out, p-please ruin me!” Jungeun begged, her naked body at your mercy. There wasn’t much point in taking your time when both of you wanted the opposite, Jungeun’s intoxicating warmth enticing you to not keep your sluggish pace for long.

With a bruising grip on her satisfying hips, you no longer felt the need to be gentle with her and intensified your pace with every stroke, bottoming her out every time as her delicious cunt squeezed your throbbing shaft, keeping her pussy plenty filled.

The rhythm grew and grew as did the lust and desire in the room as your hips hurled against Jungeun’s ass, leaving the harsh sounds of flesh smacking against flesh that was music to your ears.

“P-pound me, f-fucking pound my pussy,” Jungeun said, her words now muffled into her pillows as your pistoning hips gave powerful thrusts as deep as you could fit your cock.

“I need to hear you, Jungeun. You’re so wet, you like being fucked like this?” you asked, grabbing a rough handful of golden hair and tangling it around your fingers, tugging back on it harshly to free her head from the comfort of her pillows.

“F-fuck yes, please keep using me!”

Her lustful words washed away any worries you were being too rough with her as you gripped a fistful of hair tighter, keeping her head upright as her pussy clenched in approval. Jungeun moaned even louder as your vigorous thrusts continued, her juices spilling out of her cunt so freely as the arousal was heavy in the air.

Jungeun’s moans turned into loud husky screams as you kept a handful of pretty hair clenched, pounding into her hole carelessly as you glanced down at her bound wrists and releasing one of your hands from her hips and without warning slapped her tight ass.

Her flesh rippled hypnotically, encouraging another slap to her behind on the other side as her walls pulsated in response.

“Harder, make it hurt,” Jungeun said, a mixture of demanding and begging and you weren’t going to back down as you winded back your arm and swung hard against her cheeks, the delicious echo of your palm striking her cheeks until the color began to match the restraints around her tied wrist.

Jungeun let out deep satisfied moans after each smack against her now tender flesh, the clench of her cunt matching the rhythm of your forceful strikes of her backside. The color of her cheeks grew darker and tears formed in her eyes from such pleasurable pain. WIth every few slaps you gave her sensitive red flesh a squeeze, rubbing out the sting until you upped the impact of flesh on flesh.

Your only regret was you were unable to see the satisfaction in Jungeun’s gorgeous eyes, but if the way her pussy was dripping all over your cock you knew she was loving every second of it.

Giving Jungeun’s bright red cheeks a break, you used your hands to explore what skin you had access to, running your hands up and down her back, feeling the sweat dripping off it as you fucked her mercilessly, the hard smack of the headboard slamming into the wall with every thrust.

“Does that feel good, Jungeun? Do you like being fucked like a little slut?”

“Y-yes, I love when you fuck me like a toy, please don’t stop,” Jungeun said with strangled words, too lost in the pleasure to think of anything else.

You released the grip on her hair, letting strands fall to her shoulders that stuck to her sweaty back as you prepared for your next step, grabbing her hips and pushing her down until she was flat on her stomach and her knees pressed into the sheets.

Your thrusts came fast and loose as your legs were spread onto either side of Jungeun's body as you fucked her senseless in this position, able to achieve a deeper sense of penetration that drove you crazy.

It didn't take long to become unhinged, your pace wild and reckless as you held on to the sides of her ass for leverage, slamming repeatedly without any concern as the room filled up with her needy moans.

"Oh my god, you're so deep! Fuck me just like this, please fuck me just this, oh fuck, oh fuck!"

Jungeun's cries threw gasoline on the flames of passion as you used more power in your hips, and you were content to make sure she couldn't walk for a week as you railed her into the mattress.

You swore the bed was about to give out, and you didn't give a damn and only focused on the hot dripping flesh you were spearing yourself into.

"You fuck me so well, holy shit! I'm so close!"

“Good, cum for me you greedy slut. Cum all over this fucking cock,” you said, as sweat drenched your forehead, the air in the room growing harder to take in. Jungeun could barely remember where she was, her mouth constantly agape as drool spilled out of her lips, moaning breathlessly as the fire in her abdomen grew and grew.

“Ah! I-I’m cumming!” Jungeun said, barely able to form words at this point, powerless to do anything else. Her pussy pulsated uncontrollably around your shaft as you kept the same relentless pace as she creamed all over you, the warm flood of juices spilling onto your crotch as she came hard, toes curling behind you and her thighs visibly shaking.

Jungeun let out a slew of profanities as her orgasm hit her like a train, and you didn’t let up one second and fucked her through every intense second, the loss of her limbs to grab hold of anything drove her insane as her labored breathing filled your eardrums, every moment of pleasure almost causing her to black out.

“H-holy shit,” Jungeun managed to say as her high gradually faded, the aftershocks in her body firing off every so often that she could hardly catch a breath, her thighs flushed and stained with slick, overflowing on her silk sheets underneath your sweaty bodies.

Jungeun’s wonderful orgasm came to a close, and now it was your turn as you grabbed her bound wrists and held them tight, steering yourself towards your much needed bliss as you gave it your all. Her pussy was so deliciously wet after her climax, lubricating your harsh movements inside her thoroughly fucked cunt and sending spikes of pleasure everywhere throughout your body.

You gave her the final pounding she deserved, her pussy stuffed with every inch of hard flesh as you moved furiously inside her, wringing out all the pleasure out of her body that you could take until you felt that familiar and welcome tightness in your core that signaled the end.

“Jungeun, I’m about to fucking cum,” you growled, endlessly fucking into her warm hole to coerce your orgasm on a path to pleasure with no brakes.

“Cum wherever, on me or in me, please just cum for me,” Jungeun said, and you took no time to figure out just where you wanted to do that.

Savoring the final moments, you gave a few more hammering thrusts into Jungeun’s body before you withdrew from her warmth, pulling her up and helping her off to the side of the bed as she took position on her knees, her arms still tied behind her as she anxiously awaited the finale.

You had Jungeun just where you wanted her as she had the biggest grin on her features as you stroked your cock from base to tip, and she knew just where your load was going and licked her lips.

“Are you going to paint my face?” she asked, already knowing the answer as you stroked furiously in response, planning on using her as your canvas.

“Give me your cum, please cum on my face, please. Cover me in your thick load, please please please, cum all over my face, I need it so fucking bad,” Jungeun desperately begged, her needy words being the one last thing that set you off.

It took less than a few strokes for you to erupt as you unloaded all over Jungeun’s gorgeous face. You let out loud satisfied groans and fired your first thick shot of cum that landed on her forehead, ending up in her disheveled hair.

You emptied your balls all over her cheeks, her full lips, her cute nose and chin as you squeezed out every last drop, not letting anything go to waste as her face was covered in pearly white, the look of satisfaction in her eyes as you were drained.

Jungeun licked what she could, frustrated with her hands still tied up and out of commission as the mess you had just deposited on her stunning face began to drip down slowly, spilling off her chin and onto her chest as you collected yourself and tried to regain your breath.

She had never looked more beautiful.

Jungeun leaned forward as you guided your cock one more time into her mouth as she cleaned you off, gently sucking your sensitive tip dry with your load staining her face. You took one more moment to admire your handiwork before untying her wrists.

“You okay?” you asked as she regained the use of her hands, the first thing she did with them was to stroke your softening cock, giving one more wet kiss.

“I’m great now,” she said, heavily breathing as you exchanged tired smiles.

“You really covered me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt such a huge load,” Jungeun giggled as you sat on the edge of the bed, nearly collapsing on it.

“I only have you to blame for that,” you said.

“I’ll go get cleaned up. You can join me if you want, or you can rest here. Either way you better be ready for another round,” she said, slow to stand upright as she turned into her now ever familiar pose, her hands on her hips with a stern look in her eyes.

“You’re insatiable, Jungeun,” you said, still struggling to find your breath again.

“N-no, I’m not. It’s not like I enjoyed your cock inside me,” she scoffed, spinning on her heels as she disappeared into her bathroom.

You still felt the tingles of your intense climax as you looked around the room, sinking into the sheets and wondered what else she Jungeun wanted, or rather what she wanted you to do to her.

You’d just have to be patient and find out.

#loona smut #kim lip smut #loona #kim lip #reader insert #kpop smut #male reader #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #kim jungeun #kimberly lippington

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the-dreamer-traveller · 4 years ago

Text

NSM (New Sound Music)

I must have been landed in an alternate universe of the game No Straight Roads, because the entire plot of the dream bears too much resemblance to the game that I must have been in it.

Taking place in a highly futuristic version of London city, taking possible around several decades from the present and into the future. London is the seated location of NSM (New Sound Music Inc.), a megacorp that is described as incorporating elements of NSR (from No Straight Roads) and with strong cyberpunk elements, essentially making NSM the NSR in this futuristic of London. The city is built with a mixture of modern architecture with cyberpunk aesthetics, and many of the roofs in the buildings are in dark color such as dark burgundy.

NSM is composed of six EMD megastars, just like its main and canonical counterpart. Because the dream doesn’t go into detail of who these people are, I’m giving them names for the convenience.

AKIRA (or 明) is a singing android whose overall appearance is basically a tacky Oiran. She wears a bright red kimono top in a furisode-style, but the lower section of her dress is a giant, frilly one like a ballgown, in which it is bright red in color. She also has an exquisite headdress, with blue and red flowers and golden pins over her black bobbed hair. She is literally white skinned, as she is an android. Her representative music genre is assumed to be traditional Japanese folk music with soft-sounding EDM.

Xavis is a NSM megastar who looks like a bad guy-like, futuristic megacorp soldier or secret police officer, his design bears greet resemblance to many of them in various cyberpunk works. It consists with a helmet with futuristic combat lenses that leaves the lower half of his face exposed, making him look cold. He also wears a black futuristic armored suit with blue futuristic lines and pieces of hard metallic guards in his outfit such as shoulder pads, knee pads and hip pads. Because of his appearance, I think of him as represented by harder and aggressive types of EDM, like dubstep.

UNION is a five-person band, which consists of three men and two women. They are dressed in mainly black and red suits and plants, they resemble like matadors or bullfighters, down to looking like them. Despite this, they function as some sort of a hybrid band-styles like American boy bands and Korean pop bands, due to their incredibly flamboyant poses in promotional images. It is easy for me to think of them as taking the styles and inspirations of both sides.

Sonya Alice reminds me of SAYU, a virtual idol. In this case, Sonya Alice seems to be a vTuber with J-Pop and K-Pop elements, though it can be an educational guess of her being a vTuber. She wears a black and red outfit, which is a jacket, buttoned seifuku, plaited skirt, knee length socks and shoes along with a sling bag, headphones, a ribbon head accessory and earrings. As such of her inspiration, her music genre covers pop music, with touches of EDM such as anything that has -core in it.

Snow White is a megastar child prodigy, not like YINU. Just like YINU, White wears a black and red outfit, just like her fellow megastars UNION and Sonya Alice, which consists of a swallowtail suit, red undershirt, slacks and formal shoes. Very unusually, her hair is also styled like a bundle of rose just like YINU, which would make her like a parallel universe version of YINU herself. Her genre, unsurprisingly, would be guessed to be neoclassical, or artcore in the real world, and I wouldn’t mind if she turns out to be Deemo incarnate.

The main head of NSM is… DJ Subatomic Supernova??? I was honestly surprised to see that he is the CEO of NSM. He is visually unchanged and so is his music.

All of these NSM megastars are seen in various posters and promotional images of London, even when I am having what appears to be browsing on a computer. NSM has complete control of the city, and most of its superstars are even champions in battle.

Speaking of battle…

o----------------------------------------------------------------------o

BATTLE:

This dream does not lie that majority of the NSM megastars are capable of combat.

Taking place in a battlefield of an unknown location, AKIRA and Xavis are fighting against waves of invading forces that are trying to dismantle the system set upon by NSM, and is pretty much represented by robots, creatures and humanoids. Leading a group of black armored futuristic soldiers with neon blue Tron-lines, AKIRA and Xavis lead their troops into combat. AKIRA wields a ridiculously sharp katana that can slice anything in one hit. Xavis doesn’t seem to fight and is more of leading and teamworking with a personal squad of his own, with rifles and shields ready.

The enemies are mostly robots, tin-can variants, along with some other versions such as a pendulum-shaped robot and miniature ships. They are based in and contain various sounds of other music genres, such as EDM, Jazz, Country, Rock and Pop, so it is like the plot of No Straight Roads, but with the alternate-universe NSR named NSM as the main protagonists. They emit soundwaves that can “disrupt the harmonical heartwaves”, or something like that, and are to be disposed off as soon as possible. Every time one of these musical assassin robots get defeated, they will fling off and explode, with a short sound of their representative music genre being emitted for a final time.

So far, AKIRA gets a lot of action, running through the battlefield and slicing up invading robots, which causes me to hear some sounds from Jazz and Country. Meanwhile, Xavis orders his troops to split and scatter around, pointing to various robots that were in his sight.

o----------------------------------------------------------------------o

NON-BATTLE:

When they are not fighting, the NSM megastars would do their own musical business, but there is an interesting occasion when they aren’t making their own music, holding concerts or getting into fights.

Somewhere in one of the many lakes of this version of London, in a much farther part of the outskirts where there are still nature around it, the megastars of NSM are in a large island in a lake, which is shielded by mountains. The ones present are Sonya Alice, UNION, Xavis and DJSS, where the rest of the superstars are unknown for this dream.

I get to hear some of their conversation. Apparently, they are planning to create another arena in this island, transforming it into another futuristic arena, which is in reminiscent of the Coliseum-like design, amphitheater and containing a giant water sphere floating in the center. This level of dedication of creating an artistic building surprises me, especially since I haven’t heard of giant water sphere stadium since 2001. Perhaps they are trying to top it all out with their music, grand performances and artistic porn (obscenely detailed and ornate background, performance, art performance, etc.)?

#dream #dream journal #no straight roads #fanfiction

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hidetheteaspoons · 5 years ago

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Secret Moments (In a Crowded Room) - Newtina

For @katisfania for the 2019 Newtina Gift Exchange! Apologies for the late post! This fic is based in part on Katy’s artwork found here. Happy New Year, Katy!

Newt and Tina have kept their relationship private for months following the events of Paris. When an invitation to a Ministry ball arrives, Newt must decide whether or not to share with the world that Tina is his one and only. Lots of pining, fluff, and kissing.

Our secret moments in a crowded room They've got no idea about me and you

Newt and Tina had been inseparable for over three months. In the days and weeks following the tragedy at Père Lachaise, they, along with the rest of their group, had been broken beyond repair. Tina had graciously accepted a spare bedroom in Newt's London flat, while Jacob remained with Theseus. Yusef Kama and the young Maledictus, Nagini, had taken up temporary residence in Paris with Nicolas Flamel and his wife, Perenelle. Everyone had someone; no one was left alone in their grief.

Their initial weeks together in Newt's humble, but comfortable apartment had been torture for both of them. Tina spent quite a bit of time crying behind closed doors. When she did come out of her room, her eyes were red and her skin was pale. For the better part of a week, neither of them had an appetite. Meals were spent sitting at the table in silence, alternating stolen glances, and pushing food around their plates. Newt was perceptive enough to understand that if Tina wanted to talk to him, she would do so on her own terms, when she was ready. After everything they had been through together, Newt considered himself lucky to be in her presence. That was more than enough for him, for the time being.

Slowly, as the weeks dragged on, and everything seemed...slightly less horrible, Tina opened herself up to Newt. They cried together, went for walks together, and took care of his creatures together. Every waking moment was spent in each other’s presence, and neither of them would have things any other way. It was only a matter of time before their true feelings were revealed to each other and their relationship began. Newt was amazed that despite all the trials they faced, from the ashes, something wonderful grew between them. Things escalated rather quickly and the couple spent as much time as they could together, under the assumption that life was unpredictable and any moment could tear them apart. They wasted no time, but also kept their relationship to themselves, for now.

Tina had received a permit from MACUSA to remain and work in London and consult with Theseus’ team at the Ministry. Tina reported directly to Theseus regarding all matters directly tied to Grindelwald, Queenie, and Credence. By mid-December, there had been no new information. Tina threw herself into her work. Between searching for answers and spending time with Newt, she had little time to think of that September day when her life had changed for the worse.

One night just before the holidays, she pushed open the front door to Newt’s flat and shivered, letting the deep winter chill melt away from her clothes and her body. With a flick of her wand, her Auror coat flew to dry by the roaring fire in Newt’s cozy living room. Tina smiled when she saw the Niffler sniffing about in the hallway; the creature stopped and looked up to her, quickly scampering toward her in an excited greeting. “Hello you,” she cooed, taking the creature into her arms. “Where’s your mummy, hmm?”

Newt smiled warmly from the kitchen doorway, gazing at Tina with nothing but affection and admiration. He was reminded of the morning after Père Lachaise, when he and his companions had gathered at the fountain and Tina had so lovingly cradled the injured creature in her arms, as she would a small child.

Newt cleared his throat gently so as not to startle Tina, “I believe I was summoned?”

She smiled instantly when she heard his voice and approached him before placing a small peck on his cheek in greeting. She felt herself glowing from the inside out and reached a hand to her lips, where his warm skin had left a pleasant sensation.

Up until this point, Newt and Tina’s relationship had been less physical and more emotional. Though their relationship progressed quickly, they had explored other aspects on their own terms. Newt relished the feeling of Tina’s hand in his when they apparated to the Ministry together. Sometimes, they held on for just a bit longer than necessary. Tina would always greet Newt with a kiss on the cheek and he would affectionately push her hair away from her face, just as he’d done at the docks in New York. Yes, the physical aspect of their relationship was progressing nicely, but at times, they both wondered what it would be like to start something more; this was made difficult by the secrecy of their relationship. Their displays of affection were always private, and rarely public, so neither Jacob, Theseus, nor anyone else at the Ministry was aware of the true nature of their relationship.

“Hello there,” Tina greeted, placing the Niffler into Newt’s outstretched arms. “This fella was here to greet me when I got home.”

Home. Newt and Tina had been occupying the same space for weeks and yet he still shivered slightly whenever she referred to his flat as ‘home’. He’d never get tired of hearing that word on her lips.

“So I see…” he smirked, ushering the furry creature down the stairs toward his basement menagerie.

Tina noticed a gleam in Newt’s eyes that indicated that mischief was afoot. She placed her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at him, tapping her foot impatiently. “Alright, Mister Scamander, out with it,” Newt felt a ripple of pleasure work its way down his spine when she addressed him by his surname in that commanding tone of voice.

Newt smiled shyly and threw his hands up, feigning innocence. Tina knew better. “I haven’t the foggiest-”

“Don’t you ‘I haven’t the foggiest’ me, you know exactly what I’m talking about. What are you not telling me?” She demanded to know, taking a step closer.

Newt sighed and pulled a rolled up piece of parchment from his pocket, “We’ve received an invitation,” he informed her.

“Mercy Lewis, an invitation to what?”

“Read it,” he implored, handing the parchment to her.

Tina murmured quietly as she read the invitation aloud, “Mr. Newton Artemis Fido (she quirked an eyebrow at him as she read his full name...they’d talk about that later) Scamander and Miss Porpentina Esther Goldstein...presence requested...formal attire...a New Year’s ball?!”

Newt simply nodded as Tina rolled the parchment and handed it back to him. “So the ministry is throwing a party and we’re all required to attend, is this what I’m gathering?”

He once again nodded in affirmation.

“Does this happen frequently?” Tina asked, referring to the invitation.

“More often than I’d like,” Newt responded through gritted teeth.

“I suppose I’ll need to find a dress for this occasion then…”

Briefly lost in the image of Tina in a glimmering ball gown, Newt simply smiled and nodded in response.

She once again narrowed her eyes at him and shook her head, laughing gently. “Come on Mister Scamander. Let’s see if we can scrounge up some dinner, shall we?”

***

The days followed quickly and the holidays passed in the blink of an eye. Newt and Tina secretly couldn’t wait for the last day of the year, as this would be their first official public event together. Though, for the sake of convenience, the couple had agreed to keep their interactions to a minimum so as not to arouse the suspicion of their coworkers and friends.

The night of the event, Newt dressed at Theseus’ house so that Tina could get ready and arrive on her own. With assistance from Jacob and his older brother, Newt dressed in a slim-fitting tuxedo and slicked back his unruly auburn locks. While giving his appearance a once-over in the mirror, Theseus came up behind Newt and clapped his hands down onto Newt’s shoulders. “She’s gonna love it mate,” Theseus said with a wink.

Newt turned to his brother, “What do you mean she…?”

“Don’t overthink it Newt, just trust me.”

Newt shook his head and the brothers turned to Jacob. “Alright youse guys, have lots of fun okay? I’ll just be sittin’ here, by myself, not enjoyin’ the festivities or nothin’.”

Newt matter-of-factly addressed their friend: “Jacob, did you really think you weren’t invited?”

The No-Maj nodded.

“You’re our guest Jacob, of course you’re invited,” Theseus chimed in. With that, the Scamander brothers outfitted their friend in a finely-tailored suit and the three men apparated to the Ministry.

***

At the same time, Tina was seated in her room at Newt’s apartment, wishing that Queenie was there to help her get ready. She wiped the tears from her eyes and took a deep breath. With a wordless spell, she charmed the dress hanging before her to make its way over her head and down her lean body. Once the dress was in place, she tied the back, smoothed it out, and applied the finishing touches: a hairpiece, rouge, and dark lipstick. When she was finally pleased with her appearance, Tina apparated away, eagerly anticipating the moment when she would see her beau.

Tina gasped as she entered the Ministry, which had been transfigured into a stunning ballroom filled with chandeliers, candles, and beautifully dressed witches and wizards of all shapes and sizes. The Auror took in the sights, the sounds, and the smells as she sauntered through the crowd, in search of one man in particular. She smiled when she saw him from a distance. He was turned away from her, but she could clearly make out the forms of the older Scamander brother and Jacob facing her direction. When Jacob’s eyes settled on Tina, his jaw dropped open in surprise, while Theseus jabbed him in the ribs.

Tina approached the group of men and made her presence known to Newt by clearing her throat. “Evening gentlemen,” she paused, smiling affectionately at the three men in front of her.

It felt like an eternity before Newt finally turned around to face her. The look on his face was worth every galleon she’d spent on the dress...and more. The magizoologist looked at her with stunned silence while his companions greeted Tina and slowly moved away from the couple. Newt was nursing a glass of red wine but nearly dropped it upon seeing the love of his life. He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and whisk her away from this place, away from the prying eyes of the other men in the room.

Newt would be lying if he said he hadn’t looked Tina up and down, but look at her he did. He worked his way from her hair, which was neatly coiffed with a red headband that matched her dress. Her eyes were dark and smoky and her lips were stained the darkest of reds; she was vixen-like. He then fully appreciated the dress she wore. It was fiery crimson in color and tied around her neck. Newt couldn’t believe that a simple set of strings was the only thing holding the dress to her long, lean body. It clung in all the right places, accentuating her breasts, her hips, and her exquisite legs. The dress fell low, low, low on her back and drew his attention to other parts of her anatomy that he’d not yet had the pleasure of being introduced to. Finally, the slinky number draped to the floor and skimmed over a pair of matching T-strap heels that only made Tina’s legs appear longer and more elegant. She was a masterpiece.

The Auror blushed profusely and her gaze fell to the floor in anticipation of Newt’s reaction. For a brief moment, she felt self-conscious, unsure if she should have taken things this far. After all, they’d been building up to more intense interactions, but never anything like this. Her head snapped back up when she heard Newt clear his throat several times before he could articulate his thoughts. “Tina you...you look...I can’t…bugger…”. Upon realizing what he’d said, Newt quickly covered his tracks so as to avoid trouble. “No Tina, that wasn’t directed at you...it was me...I...Merlin, Tina, you look stunning.”

Tina stepped closer, boldly placing a hand on his chest and placing a gentle kiss on his cheek in greeting. She whispered in his ear as she did so, her breath warm against his skin, “You don’t look so bad yourself.” Upon pulling away from him, Tina noted the lopsided grin and the pink blush that overtook his cheeks, causing his freckles to pop more than usual. Tina turned to walk away, but Newt quickly grabbed her hand and whispered to her, “I know we agreed to minimal public interactions tonight, but I’m not sure I’m going to be able to keep my hands off of you so long as you’re near me.”

“Shall we put that theory to the test Mister Scamander?” Tina asked coyly.

“What do you mean?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Well, I suppose I could just -”. Tina was cut off by an unexpected voice from behind her.

“‘Scuse me, Miss Tina. I was wondering if I might be able to ask you for a dance?” A polished young man from the Auror department requested.

‘There was music playing? Bloody hell’, thought Newt. He had been so focused on Tina and her grand entrance, that he hadn’t even noticed the dancing that was taking place. Tina looked to Newt, eyes wide and questioning, waiting for him to make his move. Did he take charge and claim his lover? Or did he let the night slip away from them, with her in the arms of another man?

Newt broke eye contact with Tina and turned toward the gentleman. “I apologize, but Miss Goldstein is otherwise occupied this evening,” he stated matter-of-factly, as he gently slid his arm around her waist possessively, making sure to avoid contact with her bare skin. He firmly grasped her opposite hip and pulled her closer to him. Tina stared at him in awed surprise.

“So sorry Mister Scamander, I didn’t know,” the young man apologized, taking a step back from the couple.

“That’s quite alright...neither did I,” he responded as he turned to look at his love.

The young man faded back into the crowd without a second thought from Tina and Newt.

“Newt,” Tina whispered, “What about…”

“Shhh,” Newt responded, cutting her off. He moved a step closer, his arm still around her waist. His opposite hand reached up to gently cup her cheek. “I don’t want to hide anymore Tina. You’re not a prize to be won, but Merlin’s beard, I want to be the only man that gets the pleasure of dancing with you tonight. Especially when you look like...this…”

Tina smiled, and whispered back, “I don’t want to hide either...you’re the only one whose arms I want to be in tonight. Especially when you look like this…” she giggled, reaching up to run a hand over his gelled hair.

With that, Newt placed a hand on her lower back and guided her to the dance floor. Tina stood up straight and shivered when she felt his warm hand pressed against her bare skin. Other parts of her became keenly aware of the contact between them. Just like that, they danced, drank, and laughed the night away together, without a care in the world.

The end of the evening quickly approached and the countdown began. Just before all the muggle church bells clanged at midnight to usher in the new year, Tina led Newt to a quiet corner and apparated them to the front porch of Newt’s flat.

“Home,” she whispered as the bells sounded their last note, cheers of happy people rang out in the distance, and colorful lights filled the sky. There, in front of the space they shared, the couple had their very first (and certainly not their last) kiss. Newt leaned in and pecked Tina gently on the lips and pulled away to gauge her reaction. Tina’s eyes had grown dark and wanting as her arms wound their way around Newt’s neck and she pulled him back in for a longer, more passionate kiss.

Newt responded in kind and followed her lead. Ever the gentleman, he stopped and started again when she did. This went on for quite some time before Tina broke away breathlessly and murmured, “That was…”

Newt smiled and responded, “Wasn’t it?”, recalling a similar moment that had occurred not so long ago.

Tina laughed gently and leaned her forehead against his, letting her eyes fall closed. She felt the vibration in his chest as he spoke in a low rumble, “Happy New Year, my love.”

She kissed him gently and smiled as she did. As she pulled away, she responded, “Happy New Year, Newt.” He kissed her forehead in response.

“Now for the love of Mercy, will you PLEASE get me out of this dress, Mister Scamander?”

“I think that can be arranged, Miss Goldstein,” Newt said with a smile.

With that, he scooped her up, dress and all. He carried her to his bed, where they spent the rest of the evening getting lost in each other in the best possible way.

Say my name and everything just stops I don't want you like a best friend Only bought this dress so you could take it off

*NSFW sequel is a strong possibility? Let me know your thoughts!*

#2019 newtina gift exchange #newtina fanfiction #newtina fluff #newtina #newt scamander #tina goldstein #fantastic beasts #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fbawtft #post-cog #katisfania

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gyromitra-esculenta · 5 years ago

Text

Even If the Waters Rise 1/3

Talked myself into Mermay. But it’s Shadowrun based mermay with (something that resembles) plot. Mermaids are now metahuman, and, boy, do I have the issues with Sea Dragon’s design. It got 6k words on the first chapter.

Also, warnings for the whole planned thing: blood, gore, and violence; cannibalism (human on metahuman); questionable jokes and questionable totem choices; ambiguous relationships; referenced limb loss/cybernetics/etc; mating cycles.

(...)

Later, the deep throbbing bites on his back, shoulders, and neck almost manage to take his mind off the itching under the sleeves, the kind anything but scratching the skin off whole does nothing for. The bites, they should bother him more but feel only right, as does the thumb following the line of his spine, up and down each bump, ceaseless, building the pressure up and then letting go. Jack has to wonder as he drifts off if it's one of those times Gabriel will stay until he wakes.

He does. Looking with the usual neutral expression when Jack gulps for the air, the lingering vague memory of drowning but not sinking while something gorges itself on his flesh with little bites tearing him apart fading slowly.

(...)

Coming off the sedation after being cut was always a mixed bag. This time, though, the bustle of the street outside filters in slowly, rising like a wave over the ocean of static and breaking when the stims start doing their job.

The first breath is always the hardest, some kink in the lungs that kicks them into filtration mode each time the loss of consciousness occurs and demands focus from Jack to consciously switch back into the atmospheric intake.

"With us again?"

"You tell me, you're in my brain."

"Being obstinate will net you no points," Sombra mentally scoffs. "The pain?"

"No worse than usual."

"Arms up. Good, neural's working with no lag. And thank you very much for that kick, the legs are doing fine too."

"All?" Jack looks over the utilitarian metal surfaces of his limbs, the make and the model different from anything else he has seen on the market.

"Now, yeah," Sombra winces, pulling the plug out. She doesn’t need it but had told him once there were times she felt safer working with one. "For final calibrations, I need more data, so let's slap synthskin on those."

"What are they, anyway?"

"Scrubbed milspec, last year's model, or so I'd been told."

Sombra directs the assistant. Each applied sheet of layered synthskin gives Jack a lurch of unpleasant sensations before settling into annoyance, tension, and oversensitivity. A dance he's familiar with - a day or two before the brain puts a dampener on the sensory input when it integrates properly.

"I know why you're doing this for free, but why is he spending so much on this?"

Sombra flinches.

"The last batch you got rid of was worth more than those."

"It won't stop the demand, only the price of the meat went up."

"And the ability to process it for consumption went down. You know what's my take on it," she signs something on her pad. "Anyway, have fun tonight. I'll get in touch with you tomorrow to finish the calibrations."

"Not seeing much of a difference now," Jack pulls on his clothes, mindful of the temporary sleeves making sure the skin stays in place. "Tell me I won’t control and crush anyone."

"Implemented mental blocks. No limiters, so they can over-perform and get bricked, too."

"Taking bets on when I brick them?"

"Honestly!" Sombra throws the pad at him and Jack deflects it into the wall - looking back to her with a sheepish grin as it falls to the ground. "Too slow. Also, I don't want to see you in the professional capacity for at least half a year, but I'm giving you a month."

"Not very generous, and you're making me think you don't like it in my head."

"I don't, it's a jumble there since..." She stops herself, glaring daggers at the assistant who, granted with the rare ability to read the room, makes himself scarce - finding something urgent to do in the back.

"Since the glorified accident at work I don't even remember, seriously, five years, it's enough to stop treating me like I'm going to break about it." Jack pulls up the hood. Sombra's thinking about something, her brows drawn together in a worried frown.

"Aren't you curious?"

"Not really. Nightmares are a clue enough that something took out a lot of bites, and really, can't blame them, can I?"

"That's enough." She sends him a slightly nauseated look. "Scram now, have fun."

"Do you think he will tell me where he got milspec from?"

"He didn't tell me, so he's not going to tell you."

"But you've got an inkling how he got it."

"Maybe." She waves him off and Jack rolls his eyes, shrugging. Needling her for information has never worked before, anyway, and probably never will.

"See you when I wreck those."

"Fuck off!"

In less than an hour, there will be no trace left of her inside - and of Jack himself - the room is already being stripped down as he makes his way out of the basement up the concrete stairs with walls covered with dangerous amounts of mildew. Pushing past a corner stall encroaching on the doorway, he picks up a wrapped piece of barely seared meat waiting for him and waves his bracelet at the chit reader.

The air is wet and salty, like waves on the harbor, not even the smells of the market drown it out. The corners of his lips curl up at the thought tomorrow, or the day after, he'll be back out there, out on the sea, taking a dive into its depths, water everywhere, below and above, invisible current carrying him on its whims. Jack hails down the cab, the smile still on his face.

It remains there even twenty minutes later as he gets off by the hotel, both far too expensive and far too cheap at the same time. Too expensive for his own tastes, too cheap for Gabe to rent a room in it. Alas, here they are - and he sends a quick text.

'I'm coming up.'

Almost to the top, feeling vaguely claustrophobic in the humming elevator thankfully bereft of the usual muzak (apparently some taste did come with the money, but not enough for the interior to keep consistent style), he gets the customary message back. 'Open.'

Jack lets out the breath he's been inadvertently holding in when the doors open and he's left in the corridor, looking for the right entrance. A suite, of course, worth a chuckle as he walks inside, the only source of light the city's glow coming in through the windows.

And Gabriel, of course - again - standing with his back to the window, the only discernible features of his in the dim the almost glowing red irises and the white markings creating a vague outline of some animal face. Dramatic asshole, as usual.

"Show me."

The tone of authority and ownership demanding obedience - the order itself - coming from anyone else but the man who one way or another did own everything that made him, would have Jack snarling and pouncing whoever dared to speak to him like that. Hearing it from Gabe, though...

"Not even 'hi, how are you' or 'greetings, mortal'?"

Jack rolls his eyes, stripping down completely out of his clothes, leaving them lying on the plush carpet as Gabriel comes closer. Always smelling faintly of the deep ocean, or rather, of how Jack would imagine it to smell if it did.

Fingers dig around the edges of the sleeves on his shoulders, feeling the joints underneath, moving down to repeat the same around his hips. Synthskin sends confusing signals, not quite the pain yet, and a pinch of irritation.

"Looks fine."

"Will you tell me how you got your hands on last generation's milspec?" Gabriel ignores the question - no acknowledgment of it being asked even - as he's wont to do. Instead, he picks up a pillbox from the dresser. "I still got them."

"I know. You're dosing too low."

"Orgasm in a pill seems a bit too convenient." Jack massages the joint of his shoulder, moving to the bedroom. The carpet, probably soft on any other occasion, scratches his soles. "And a bit awkward."

"A fortunate coincidence of it interacting with your physiology."

"Yeah, coincidence. You're sure it's not another leash to keep me on?"

"If it were, you wouldn't be able to skip a dose. I'd make sure of it."

"I'm pulling your leg. I rather suspect you wouldn't do that, or would you?" Jack climbs the bed and props himself on the pillows - eyes focused on the single pill held between Gabriel's fingers, tracking it as he puts it in his mouth advancing - crawling over the covers, and Jack himself, with the grace of a predator playfully stalking a prey he knows cannot flee, the kill only a formality decided beforehand.

Drowning, always drowning in those eyes, black sclera and red irises blurring together into one, always looking too deep into him until he feels they don’t see him at all, his tongue brushing against sharp pointed teeth in an open-mouthed kiss, electricity traveling back and forth the nerves of phantom limbs with the speed of light coming to stop in a single burst leaving him breathless and shaking under Gabriel.

"Dutiful boy. You deserve a prize."

Jack chuckles at the first trace of any emotion in Gabriel's voice. The possessiveness is never truly gone, it's as much an integral part of him as are his looks, but there's a note of fondness giving Jack the incontestable impulse to almost preen: lower his lashes and incline back his head, hand sliding along dark red lines on Gabriel's arm.

"She's going to touch up off this."

"Are you worried about your privacy?"

"I'm used to having none with her. That was," he inhales sharply, feeling the bite on his collarbone, "for your benefit. I can see now you don't mind."

"I do not."

Jack merely snorts, rolling over and promising himself again to figure out Gabriel's trick with the clothes, there one moment and gone in the next, probably magic, but if he ever had any spark himself it was long lost with all the work done on him since the accident. Blunt as a troll's fist, this one.

Not that he has the ability to dwell on it while getting drilled into the mattress.

Later, the deep throbbing bites on his back, shoulders, and neck almost manage to take his mind off the itching under the sleeves, the kind anything but scratching the skin off whole does nothing for. The bites, they should bother him more but feel only right, as does the thumb following the line of his spine, up and down each bump, ceaseless, building the pressure and then letting go. Jack has to wonder as he drifts off if it's one of those times Gabriel will stay until he wakes.

"Lungs are still giving you problems."

Bathed in the sunlight, Gabriel looks as striking as in the darkness - minutely less dangerous now, however surface and not representative of his true nature the impression is. Regal. Focused on the multitude of holoscreens floating in the air before him.

"No. Not really."

"You were choking."

"Only a bit." Jack stretches, still feeling relatively boneless and exhausted, sticky with perspiration, too tired yet to consider the shower to be a genuine need right now. He slips off the bed only to retrieve the wrapped meat from the pile of discarded clothes in the other room and climbs right back into it.

"It's almost raw," Gabriel mentions when Jack's well into a third of his snack.

"Yeah. I'm finding it's not that bad at all, all things considered. Are you going to comment on my obviously poor dietary choices?"

"No. I'm rather curious about why would you consume it raw." A note of amusement, rare as it is, floats in Gabriel's voice. Jack shrugs.

"Started as a fucked up way to get closer and understand them better, and it grew on me. Not like I'm doing it a lot, wanted to treat myself tonight. Want some?"

To his astonishment, it does take Gabriel's attention away from the screens, as if he's considering the offer seriously - not that Jack would mind - and he leans in, hand trailing on Jack's shoulder for a moment and coming away with blood on the fingertips. Which he licks off.

One of the bites must’ve opened.

"No."

"Shit," Jack chuckles, pulling knees closer to his chest, resting his arms on them, just looking. "Could you just tell me what you are?"

"No. Probably never will."

"Suit yourself then, Knife-ears."

Soon afterward, Gabriel disappears in the bathroom and emerges back fully clothed, the suit so plain and unassuming it has to be worth its weight in diamonds, at least - and leaves without a word. Nothing about it bothers Jack, really, that's the only way he has ever known him to be: someone who's either rich or influential enough to never have had to conform to any social standards so they're like an alien concept to him. If anything, it tickles Jack's ego, the fact Gabriel spends both money and time on him regardless of his inscrutable reasons for it. And even if the time is scarce, the money comes in sums so high Jack’s not going to bother trying to figure the specific amounts out.

With a sigh, Jack plugs into his own pad, trying to ignore momentary vertigo any kind of connection, even the shallow one, gives him - waiting for Sombra to get to him. If she wanted anything from him, she always found him the second he jacked in.

The mental equivalent of a giggle has him rolling his eyes.

"You can say it."

"Boy, did you get screwed silly."

"I feel like I got some of my brain matter fucked out, that one's a freebie."

"What the hell are you eating now? Feedback from your tastebuds is giving me shivers."

"You too?" He bites off another chunk.

"What are you eating?" Sombra repeats, the tone akin to the one used towards a pet that definitely got into trash or picked up something suspect on the way.

"Almost raw meat."

"Interesting," she says after a pause. "Anyway, I'm done."

Jack flexes the free hand, clenching and unclenching his fist a few times.

"Not seeing any difference."

"You shouldn't because I know how to do my job. Also uploaded keys to the blocks, the data on the job, and you've got incoming charter on the roof in five hours."

"So I do have time for a bath then," he hums, smiling.

"Knock yourself out, I'm leaving you alone, you get weird in water."

"Thanks, Som."

"No biggie." Her presence warms up before blinking out, leaving Jack to sort through everything she's left behind both in, and on the pad. Processing plant, the floor plans from several flybys, one drone shot down by a spirit, two points of entrance, Genji on the spot, Jesse and him coming from the water with a few hours to spare, full carnage.

Jack smirks, pulling out the plug. Just how he likes it. He moves to the bathroom, the alarm set for two hours.

The bathtub is nothing spectacular, at best a tight fit for more than two people - still a fancy one with an array of controls barely anyone bothers to use. He picks the temperature and plays a bit with oxygenation and flow. Jack lowers himself into the water slowly, the cold playing havoc on the still sensitive synthskin. The nonexistent heat regulation of milspec freezes his joints with pain. All par for the course as he exhales before submerging in full.

And then, he breathes the water in.

The surface breaks with the remnants of the air pushed from his lungs. It's a poor man's substitute for the real thing but the pressure and the dampened hum of the surroundings, however dissimilar to a swim in the ocean, bring his mind some respite.

Running down the pier barefooted with the warmth of the sun on his back - jumping - the whiplash of the impact - diving deep, to look back from below at the light glimmering on the waves, the rays reaching for him - the hands reaching for him from the depths and pulling down.

With the sound of the alarm, Jack jolts up to a sitting position, coughing out the water. Another bout gets rid of the rest of it from the lungs, and he changes the temperature. The bath heats almost immediately.

The dream changes, but the ending remains always the same.

Head leaning against the rim of the tub, before properly washing, he spends minutes motionless except for the occasional shiver until his core warms up. Remaining two hours Jack idles away eating a late breakfast and not really watching some show on the holo while sprawled in the bed still smelling of sex.

Moving to the pad grants him some suspicious looks he can't fault people for because he does stick out here in his clothes like a sore thumb - and then surprise as his bracelet lets him pass through the gate and into the waiting Osprey with rotors running hot. A waste to use the craft fitted for carrying almost forty personnel merely for him, but he's not the one paying. At least, there's room enough to stretch his legs and to think very hard on how much he's unafraid of flying, his stomach doing backflips as it takes off.

The fact the crash might have been involved had occurred to him long ago.

Fifteen minutes in, Jack gives up and reaches out to Sombra, for which she ridicules him mercilessly but keeps him company. Getting angry helps to take his mind off of how fucking terrified he is. Even if he could run fucking laps inside the cabin, the changing tilt reminds him he's in the air, and the moment Osprey touches down three hours later, Jack's out like there's a pack of devil rats on his heels, relieved to have solid ground back under his feet.

Jesse, holding his hat down against the draft waves at him. The coyote stitched on his serape seems to stretch and yawn with the fabric moving, probably does so in truth, but Jack can never tell.

"Lúcio's finishing on the sub, we're going to drink tonight, coming too?"

Jack looks to the harbor and shakes his head.

"Not this time. I'll check the gear and maybe go for the swim."

"Dude, no, not in this water, trust me. Too much industrial, and many critters out here. Best case, you'd break out in boils after a dip."

"Can't be that bad."

"Well, Lúcio says that a pyramid had been hit hard some months back, there's been some runoff and an uptick in critters. Really want to chance it with whatever's in the water now?"

"Guess not." Jack shrugs, walking away from the powered down craft towards the only building on the pier.

"So how's about that drink?" The coyote on the red cloth sits down and scratches its ear. If he were to associate Jesse with any other spirit than it, he would be hard-pressed to find anything fitting.

"Pass. Just don't get in trouble with the locals. Or old pals."

"Hey, don't bring up my stalker vampire ex, the next time I see 'er, I have a stake with her name on it." Jesse throws his hands into the air, pausing in the doorway, letting Jack pass him.

"You know it doesn't work on her."

"It will slow her down."

"If you manage to stake anything vital."

"Oh, I will, because this," Jesse points to himself with a wide smile, "is absolutely irresistible to her."

Jack laughs, eyeing the crates set up inside.

"Yeah, there's no accounting for taste."

"Dude, harsh. Anyway, that's yours."

"Everything's in here?"

"I wouldn't know, I try not to touch your shit," Jesse gives an exasperated sigh while digging in his pockets for a cigar, the coyote snapping at it as he puts it between his lips. "Well, see you in the morning, dude," he adds before turning around. Jack nods, moving his attention to the boxes and working his way through their contents.

The story behind the coyote Jesse tells is as outlandish as the man himself, and a question for the ages of how he wasn't rad-insane or sporting another head. Yet.

In the German wasteland (the only place on earth one could be a real cowboy anymore, Jesse insisted), drunk off two shit beers because his ex fed off him earlier, and high on some local shrooms, staring at the dying campfire, the coyote came to him and took him on the trip. Jack would gladly chalk it up to alcohol, hallucinogenics, radiation, and exsanguination, all working in synergy - if not for the hard fact the coyote itself was very real, and as helpful as it turned out to be an impediment, or a bother, the other half of the time.

Methodically, Jack picks out the gear - the rest going back to their crates - and then he double-checks the selection, looking for any identifiable problems and defects. When he's finished and satisfied, it's well into the wee morning hours. He drags a random deck chair to the end of the pier and lays down in it. The city, as small as it is comparable to the majority on the coast, doesn't sleep - there is no escaping the lights and the sounds - but in his chosen spot overlooking more water than the land he can doze off.

If either Jesse or Lúcio notices him gasping for breath as they finish loading the sub, they don't mention it.

"I'm not hauling your shit," Jesse gestures to the container Jack left outside, by his chair.

"Hi, man," Lúcio smiles. "Also, I dig your new set, what's the specs?"

"You'd have to ask Sombra for technicalities, I'm only using them." Jack stretches, there's a kink below his left shoulder blade he tries to work out by rolling it. Almost manages to, too.

"Cool, will do. By the way, he tried to throw hands only once."

"Dude. Squeal much?"

"It's called being the responsible one," Lúcio shrugs and Jesse groans in response, muttering something sounding suspiciously like 'don't need a chaperone'.

"Sub's all ready?"

"She's right up purring now, the lady she is." Lúcio's eyes light up. "Nothing left to squeeze out."

"I'll hold you up to it." Jack gets up and drags the container to the sub, the box grating on the concrete, and brings it into the cabin, pushing it behind the seats.

"Oh, man, do that, love to see the data after you push her."

"Will do on the way back. Jesse, inside."

"That wasn't me sleeping when me and Lúcio were breaking our backs," Jesse snarks sliding into the pilot's seat, knowing well Jack's impatience and what they will use the spare time for. He doesn't mind, usually.

"Good hunting, guys." Lúcio mock-salutes as the hatch seals.

Before they're out of the harbor and submerged completely, Jack's out of his clothes, save for the boxers. Despite the sub being state-of-the art, with two people in it gets hot inside in less than an hour.

He starts on the sleeves, peeling them off slowly.

The synthskin underneath is still oversensitive, but no longer tries to overload his brain with conflicting or extreme stimuli. It just feels like blanched with boiling water and any negligible otherwise touch almost painfully tickles.

"Kinda creepy, like a snake's molt."

"Note to self, I look better with my skin falling off my frame."

"Hey, I'm just stating the bare facts. Fuck, ew!" Jesse leans away to evade the sleeve Jack waves in his direction. "Dude. No. That's uncalled for. I'm driving, I could crash us."

"Into what?"

"I'd find something!" It's either a threat, a promise, or a commentary on the nature of Karma.

"Out of the two of us, I'm the one who can breathe underwater, so..." Jack lets his voice hang as he reaches for the pillbox he left on the shelf earlier. It's a short debate if he should take one because even if he could take them as he felt like otherwise, risking going into implant rejection on the job was far from reasonable. As soon as the aftershocks fade, Jack leans back into the seat, lazily watching the water on the screen.

"And that's also creepy as fuck," Jesse comments, sounding a bit more somber. "You look like you just got your dick sucked off, every time."

"Honestly? Feels like it, every time."

"And you know what makes it even fucking creepier?"

"You're going to tell me and I can't stop it."

"Because this shit looks goddamn miraculous and I may have helped myself to some," Jesse begins, waving one arm in the air and Jack mutters that of course Jesse fucking did, "and they fucking don't work. And you know what's in them?"

"Not that interested as long as they work."

"It's people, dude."

Jack sends him a blase look.

"And you ate it."

"Yeah, but I didn't go looking like I creamed my pants after that."

"It's for implant rejection, so it only makes sense it has reconfigured genetic material in it. Also, do not eat my drugs, it's people."

Jesse grimaces.

"Dude, you made it sound weird."

"I made you getting into my stash of pharmaceutical drugs you personally can't get high off sound weird?"

"Dude, it's even weirder now. How do you do it?"

"What?" Jack chuckles. "You mean, use my brain, sometimes?"

Jesse mutters some expletive under his breath and Jack closes his eyes leaving it without comment as the whole chat makes him revisit more or less cloudy memories of the first months he's spent either half-conscious because of pain, or half-conscious because of drugs and pain.

At least, until the pill, and the moment when the pain finally went below the...

"Amida Bongo Christ Almighty!" Jack turns immediately at the sound of the genuine panic in the voice to see Jesse try to become one with his seat, pushing back with his feet against the floor, pointing at the screen where a shadow in the water comes into focus, massive, gliding with deliberation. "Of all the fucking things to run into, the Sea-Fucking-Dragon... we're all gonna die."

Jack kills the engine in his stead and swipes at the screen, focusing the image. He can't deny his own heart is hammering in his chest when he lets out the sigh of slight relief while trying to ignore Jesse's doom-saying.

"It's not her."

"What?"

"It's not her. Doesn't look like her, and it's much bigger."

"That's supposed to help us exactly how!?"

"Take her five hundred to the left," Jack, already climbing over the back of his seat and almost falling in a hapless heap on the container in the process, barks at him. "I'm going out."

"Are you fucking serious, dude? Of-fucking-course, you are!"

"Chance like this isn't going to repeat itself!"

"A chance to get fucking eaten by a dragon?"

"That too!" Jack locks the airlock behind himself and fits the propulsion module as it fills with water. There's no time to wait for the slow pressurization. When there's no air left inside, he forces the emergency release, pulling himself to the outside, and pushes away from the body of the sub.

"Dude." Jesse, switched to the comms, sounds appalled compared to the earlier panic, which is considerably better for the situation. "Did you just lewd a dragon?"

"Maybe possibly." Jack smiles, cutting across at an angle. "Remember, five hundred, match speed, if I do get eaten, go silent and wait, rendezvous with Genji, do the site rep, and then decide what you do."

"You're literally the last person who should give orders."

"Next to last. You're even less qualified."

"True what they say, the truth hurts."

The dragon is massive, its form much more suited to the open ocean than what footage of Sea Dragon there is shows of her. He's yet too far to discern if it has limbs or only the fins. It moves with a misleading slow grace, the powerful twists of the wide tail propelling it forward. Getting caught in the vortex of the currents pushed with each beat could be - is - deathly dangerous.

Smaller shapes swim with it, congregating around the middle part of its body.

At first, Jack takes them for merrows, they're known to attach themselves to big predators and form codependent relationships, but it's the perspective lying to him. They're bigger, more agile, gleam occasionally with reflective scales. A brood of young, maybe? If yes, the endeavor is even more foolish than in the beginning, but even that won’t deter him from undertaking it.

Two of the smaller creatures break away from the formation as he gets closer and approach, their tails swishing wildly in the water. Mermaids. Mermaids traveling in a pack with a dragon. Not something he had expected.

They're coming both from the above and the below, a male and an older female, judging by the scars and veils, still colorful but ripped and missing pieces. It's hard to keep up with their rapid movements. Jack curls his hands and legs to his body as they circle him.

"Please, don't bite," he tells them. "There's almost no meat and you will probably break your teeth on me."

The mermaids observe him warily. The female chirps once and turns back, the male following in her tow. She's green and yellow, the pattern reminiscent of the stripes on a perch or other fish known to thrive in greenery. When no light catches on her scales she blends with the deep green agate hue of the water, but Jack wonders if she's maybe better suited to sargassum forests. Her partner, on the other hand, with his solid canary yellow, stands out like a sore thumb - at least until both of them gain distance and rejoin the group amid some agitation from the closest mermaids, the reactions playing out like a change of direction in a school of fish.

It's his first close encounter with live mermaids since the accident, and he has been judged as neither a threat nor a meal. In this moment, Jack feels some of the rush bleed away, allowing him to slip into simple sensations, focus on them, and appreciate them: the steady pressure of water against every inch of his skin, the additional tension in his scalp when his hair, however short, drag with each movement, the cold seeping into him from the inside, the weightlessness - even if he knows his limbs would pull him much further down.

The ocean is far from silent - never silent - full of sounds he can hear with his ears, and the ones he cannot - he hears with his whole body - the symphony of the dulled hum of static and single notes played on different instruments, not unlike the sounds of traffic in its structure.

His eyes drift back to the dragon.

It's foolish. It's not borderline suicidal, it's just plain old suicidal. And he won't let a moment like this slip like air between his fingers.

Hand on the controls of the drive, Jack resumes the approach.

The dragon looms closer, its body at least thirty meters long from the tip to the tail, probably more. He can now see its limbs tucked close to the underbelly - the fins reminiscent of underdeveloped wings.

He swims parallel to its head, advancing.

Bone-like white crest covers its front. The black scales, even if they seem to have an inner shine to them, appear to consume the light voraciously. The dark red lines streaking along the sides twist and mold with each move of the powerful muscles hidden underneath.

Jack's heart does not fit into his chest, so hard it hammers against his ribs from the inside - with fear, with excitement, with awe - and that's before the low rumble resonates within him as the dragon opens its eyes, one after another, five of them on the side he's facing - each an abyss of darkness ringed with glowing red slowly focusing on him: an insignificant speck in comparison.

"God. You're beautiful."

No. It was a worthless descriptor when applied to the apex predator wrought with raw power both physical and not.

Sublime.

The dragon disregards him - its eyes swivel to look forward - he cannot fathom expecting to keep such creature's interest for longer than this. But it's also an invitation, he's considered to be harmless, hence nothing to bother with, and Jack slows slightly while swimming up. Above its bulk, he notices some mermaids just clinging to the body, clawed fingers curled around the edges of the scales. Stupid, again, but he is going to try the same: hitch a ride on a dragon.

The thought is intoxicating, sends his mind reeling with unsuppressed glee.

He dives forward, his fingertips brush the hard surface - with caution he digs his fingers underneath the scale - the other palm he lays flat against it as the propulsion module switches off.

Jack pulls himself closer against the current, that rush of underwater wind. Never has he wished for his limbs back more than now, to touch and feel with his real skin, not even when the bones that aren't his anymore burn with that deep ache that sends all the thoughts skittering away with no control. Instead, he pulls flush against its body, forehead pressed into the scales, each contraction of the muscle below them felt intimately.

At the moment, he doesn't count time, not until another rumble, one he feels against his skin, makes him realize almost two hours have passed.

He looks back to see the mermaids otherwise swimming try to grab onto scales as it continues. In the front, what he took for vestigial wings - the fins - slowly unfold to reveal skeletal-like frame filled in with dark ethereal filigree straining on the currents.

It's a profound kind of sadness Jack feels loosening his grip. Drifting - falling - sinking - away.

The wings spread and angle. The dragon's back winds up like a spring.

Then it soars underwater, deep in the ocean, each beat of the wings carrying it further away into darkness.

The rush of water pushed by the dragon sends him spinning. Jack instinctively curls his limbs to his core to wait it out, losing all sense of direction in resulting vertigo. When it stops, it takes him a while to orient himself, the leviathan nowhere to be seen anymore.

"Jesse, it's safe to approach. Can you get to my signal because I'm fucking lost?"

"I see you," the response comes with a delay. "Coming from your general six. Dude, do you know how much is the footage worth?"

"It's worthless." Jack turns around with a few kicks.

"All would kill..."

"You can't put a price on it, it will put a price on your life." He can see the incoming lights blinking for his benefit as they draw near. "And you want to put out there a proof of a dragon that had remained away from the public knowledge until now?"

"Fair, even I'm not that stupid. I think. With the way you put it."

Jack swims towards the sub and grabs one of the railings, pulling himself towards the airlock. Minutes later, he climbs into his seat, dripping water everywhere.

"Got what you wanted outta that one? Besides getting eaten?"

"I think I've found god," Jack smiles, genuinely. It's a memory he's going to treasure, one unlikely to be eclipsed by any other in the foreseeable future.

"You going to be one of them dragon-worshipping freaks? I've heard things, and none good, I say."

"Not like that."

"So," Jesse turns his head to look at him. "You want to dick down a dragon."

"When you get down to it," Jack starts carefully, eyeing Jesse with a certain degree of suspicion, "yeah, basically."

"Heard about that one club you can meet one, violet eyes and..."

"I don't want to dick down a dragon, I want to dick down this one."

"Okay. It's important to have goals in one's life. I'm not judging."

It's at this point that something about a much earlier conversation occurs to Jack and he stills before covering his eyes with his palm.

"Jesse?"

"Mhm?"

"When you said you have a stake with her name on it... Did you mean your dick?"

Jesse raises his eyebrows, makes finger-guns with his hands, and goes for a pithy imitation of 'badum-tss' sound.

"You fucking moron." And Jack can only laugh.

#sometimes I write #reaper76 #r76 #mermay

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tearystarlight · 6 years ago

Text

Undertale: Appearances

Grillster. Underswap!

I've wanted to attempt this AU for awhile, with the beautiful Underswap art out there. Seeing as Gaster is male, he's known as the Riverman, not as the Riverperson.

I’ve also wanted to try the Underswap AU where Gaster is perpetually the Royal Scientist in spite of everyone else being switched around, but I might re-purpose that idea for something in the classic universe.

There was nothing inherently crazy about a monster riding the Riverman's boat. Monsters did so with good frequency; the Riverman provided the most convenient transport between the different areas of the Underground, adjusting his speed of travel if he sensed urgency from his passengers. Shimmering translucent hands would appear to the sides of the boat, simultaneously pushing and pulling the boat to cross distance with greater speed. He was a pleasant enough conversationalist even in such situations, though his unusual speech was a bit jarring for the youngsters who had never met skeletons.

It was understandable nowadays. The Riverman was the last known skeleton in the Underground.

No one knew with certainty if the Riverman was the same monster that originated the myths of a creature ferrying along the souls of the dead. He was an old monster, having known the surface and its wonders once upon a time, but there were rumors that he was still younger than the king and queen and old Gerson. They remained rumors; it seemed impolite to badger the monster who was taking you to your destination for a nominal fee.

Anyway. There was nothing inherently crazy about riding the Riverman's boat.

A fire monster riding the Riverman's boat, though? That required a certain amount of daring. Or something else.

The fire monster in question -- one Mr. Grillby -- had a level of notoriety in Hotland. He was a businessman of noticeable charm, supervising a small army of fire monsters and providing them a steady stream of work as couriers, cooks, and (for the especially brave) trash collectors. He was a job creator for the little ones, giving them opportunities to be curious and leave the comforts of the heat vents and lava rivers to see the rest of the Underground. Mutterings around the capital alluded to the fire monster's eccentric style being a mask for a cunning mind; some even whispered that he conspired to overthrow the king with his growing influence in Hotland and Home.

But there were others that saw the tycoon whiling away his time on the edge of Hotland, opaque glasses turned to the river. He would greet the Riverman with a princely flourish, bowing low and offering his fare with a crackling smile before boarding the boat. The Riverman, expression hidden by the folds of his hood, never said anything.

Mr. Grillby rarely had anywhere he had to go. Observers never saw him disembark in Snowdin, and only in Waterfall on occasion. He would depart from Hotland only to return to Hotland. And he would happily pay the Riverman's fee each and every time.

He was most certainly crazy.

~~~

“My little ones thought you would like this. Sweet potato.”

Skeletal hands delicately took the package, rustling the paper to uncover the cuts of battered and fried vegetable. An appraising hum floated from the depths of the hood as the Riverman ate the proffered food.

“It’s better than the mushrooms. The onion is still my favorite.”

Grillby chuckled as he took a fry for himself, crossing his legs to make himself comfortable on the boat. “I swear, you are doing this on purpose, my sweet. The onion was the first variant I shared with you.”

A gentle snort. “On purpose? Fried onion just happens to taste good.” Nonetheless, he continued eating the fried sweet potato, his attention carefully split between his guest, his food, and keeping the boat levitated above the water.

“Regardless, I value your opinion! If you believe it passes muster, it shall go on the menu. My little ones will be pleased.”

“I wish for your continued success.”

Grillby’s smile lacked the jagged edges of his usual excitement, reflecting a calm that few others saw. It was rarely a good sign. “So formal today. Shall I go full aristocratic for His Lordship Wingdings Gaster III of the Houses Ornamental?”

The Riverman dropped the package—and almost dropped the boat. “I would prefer you didn’t.” His voice warbled as he slipped out of Common and into his natural font, even more incomprehensible in that brief moment.

Laughter bounced along the stretch of tunnel that made up part of the water journey from Snowdin to Waterfall. The cold air from Snowdin kept the tunnel generally safe from the condensation that would gather on stalactites and drip water onto unsuspecting passersby below.

There was a tentative rustle of cloth before the Riverman pushed back his hood, pale eyelights pinning Grillby with an admonishing glare. “Sometimes I think you have a death wish.” The fire monster was still laughing in a raucous way, despite his tight grip on the edges of the boat. A focused breath and tense couple of seconds were soon followed by the boat being gently set back down onto the water by blue magic hands.

“Not at all.” Grillby didn’t miss a beat, his fiery fingers releasing the boat to instead reach for the skeleton’s. “I just enjoy flaunting how well I know you.” He might as well flaunt it to the only person he could tell, right?

The next silence was more companionable, hands laced together. The Riverman did not comment on the slight tremor in the other’s hands. Despite the bravado, a monster of flame still had much to fear from the river.

“Note to self: Do not use Gaster’s full name when he can drop the boat. He’s easily startled by facts.”

An annoyed huff was all the Riverman said in reply, his thumbs moving in apologetic circles on Grillby’s knuckles. A pleasant warmth soon returned to the cramped space as they sat facing each other.

“…Let’s get you back on solid ground, you fool.”

Grillby’s headflame burned slightly lower, a dull orange of reluctance. “Not yet.” He continued a little louder, his hands regaining their confidence and anchoring the other’s in place. “I just got here.”

He was probably a little crazy.

But his actions earned him an affectionate look from the skeleton, as well as a quiet laugh. They earned him these moments, with uncovered eyelights and clasped hands and memories of a time long before ceilings were their skies and their stars flickered false above glowing water.

So craziness suited him just fine.

#underswap #grillster #w.d. gaster #grillby #swap!grillby #swap!gaster #my fics and drabbles #undertale

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science-lings · 6 years ago

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Peter Parker’s Parental Support Group Part 2

Pepper had met Peter sure, she understood why her fiance was so protective and caring towards him, the kid was like a mini version of Tony. Unfortunately, that included his self-care habits. Needless to say, he had none.

In some ways, Peter was worse than Tony. Peter had school to deal with as well as the incessant need to impress his mentor. (Which he already did on multiple occasions, judging by the way Tony talked about him and all of his little accomplishments.) Peter also spent all of his free time being a vigilante and saving cats for old ladies. This all meant that Peter never slept and after a while, it was affecting him.

Pepper had been working on some paperwork in her office at the tower and was honestly sick of it and ready to go a few floors up to pass out in her big comfy bed next to Tony, who was likely not even sleeping and just playing with some over-the-top idea on a Stark brand tablet if he wasn’t in the workshop.

Thankfully, F.R.I.D.A.Y. gave her a reason to leave her office. It wasn’t the reason she had expected though.

“Boss? I am programmed to inform you that my creator and the spider-ling have fallen asleep in the workshop. Due to them having panic disorders or heightened senses, I am not allowed to wake them up. I would advise checking up on them.” The AI said calmly.

“Save a few pictures in our personal database. I’ll be right there.” Pepper automatically smiled at the image that she imagined.

“I’m already ahead of you boss.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. sounded like she was smiling if she had a face. Pepper made her way back to her penthouse and said goodbye to the rest of the late night workers on her way there.

The workshop attached to the top private floors for Tony’s convenience. It made it incredibly easy for Pepper to get to as it was practically its own floor. Pepper tried to be as quiet as she could as to not disturb the sleeping genius’ and her curiosity was a little bit overwhelming.

Pepper was not disappointed. Although they weren’t immediately visible, it didn’t take long to find them. Tony was slumped over a desk with his head in his arms, slightly tilted to one side. This was the side where Peter was leaning against him. Peter’s hair was a little wild, indicating that he didn’t fall asleep attached to Tony, he just got there. In any case, it was adorable.

While Tony and Peter snoozed in unison, Pepper made the picture F.R.I.D.A.Y. took her cellphone background and she debated whether to let them sleep or wake them up so they don’t get sore. Pepper compromised by bringing in a few blankets and pillows from the nearby home theater and set them up to make sure her boys wouldn’t wake up with full body cramps.

Peter adjusted himself and blinked his eyes half open and miles away from awake. He looked at her with a confused expression but seemed oblivious to his closeness to Tony.

“MsPotts?” Peter slurred only a little louder than a whisper.

“You can go back to sleep Peter. You looked kind of tired,” Pepper said as she gave into the urge to comb her fingers through his hair. His eyes fluttered for a moment, obviously too out of it to really process anything.

“Okay…” Peter sighed and went back to his place resting on Tony’s side. Pepper smiled a bit and kissed both of her boys on their scalps before leaving to have some well needed alone time.

Neither Tony nor Peter had to know that she had kept an eye on them through F.R.I.D.A.Y. and she saw when Tony woke up and carried Peter to his bedroom in the tower. She also saw, in HD, Tony tuck the kid in with heart-crushing gentleness.

Needless to say, she saved the video and planned on watching it every time Tony tried to convinse the world of his heartlessness.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

New Messages

To: May Parker

From: Pepper Potts

Pepper: I think you would apreciate this.

Pepper sent Naptime.png

May: Holy fuck. I have a new phone background.

Pepper: Too bad, I’m already having it framed. I’m hanging several copies around the tower tomorrow.

May: You should get a painting commissioned of it.

Pepper: I like the way you think…

May: Hang it in your office at the tower.

Pepper: I was thinking about the lobby instead. There's a picture of Howard that I want to replace.

May: Tony's father always looks grumpy anyway.

Pepper: Haven’t you been working all day? It’s late, you should get some sleep.

May: You’re literally the CEO of a massive company. You should get sleep too.

Pepper: You literally work 12 hours a day. Go to sleep.

May: no u

Pepper: Fine. goodnight.

May: wait no

Pepper formally joined the club of Peter’s parental figures when he made her almost have her first heart attack.

Tony was gone, figuring out some Avengers things, and Pepper just had to keep an eye on Peter’s suit status on the edge of her screen while she worked. Easy peasy. It was only easy peasy for the first two days.

Then Peter got stabbed. And Pepper was too far away to have Happy drive her. So she did something that she didn’t believe she would need to do in a less than apocalyptic scenario. She activated the rescue protocol.

During one of his tech binges, Tony had made her a suit that he assured would just be for emergencies. He didn’t plan on her doing what he did but he wanted to do all he could to protect her if something bad happened. Instead of using it to protect her, Pepper decided to use it to help the kid that had slowly become part of her family.

She had been in her office at the time, not really working on something terribly important or urgent when F.R.I.D.A.Y. informed her of the situation. Because of course, Peter wouldn’t want help and his AI would be required to go behind his back. Pepper was thankful for the tattletale protocol.

“-said not to call- oh hey Ms. Potts...” Peter said nervously through her earpiece.

“Cut the shit Pete, what happened.” She said quickly, not wanting to waste any time. Peter was silent for a moment before he answered timidly.

“I got stabbed… “

“How much blood have you lost?” Pepper asked as she got out of her chair and started to run towards where the emergency suit was held behind a secret door.

“It’s not that bad… I’m fine…”

“Karen?”

“Peter has lost twelve ounces of blood so far.”

“Come on-” Peter protested.

“Hang tight, I’m on my way.” Pepper hung up and let the red and white suit fold around her body. She wasn’t used to it but it wasn’t as weird as it had once been. Thankfully Tony had given her a crash course in the suit when he made it so she wasn’t a complete amateur on flying in metal suits.

She shot out of an opened hatch in the wall and followed the information on her visor. The information was kind of overwhelming and chaotic but Pepper was used to chaos and a lot of information at once so this wasn’t much of a change for her. She flew for about a mile before diving into an ally where Peter had taken shelter.

Pepper’s helmet folded back as she looked worriedly at the teenager. He had bled a lot but not completely horrifyingly so. She could patch up a knife wound… probably. She knew basic first aid and with Peter’s healing factor, it wouldn’t be too hard of a problem to fix. The wound was small and not even that deep, it didn’t touch any of his organs and the only problem seemed to be the blood loss and the pain.

Peter may have yelped a bit when Pepper picked him up bridal style but didn’t seem outwardly in horrible pain after a moment of getting settled in her arms. Pepper took off quickly with plenty of soft reassurances to the kid.

In no time she flew them to the med bay of the tower and put him on one of the medical beds. Pepper got out of her suit and rushed to the medical supplies. Thankfully the injury wasn’t too serious because she had no idea what she was doing. She did assume that she was doing better than anything the reckless teenager could come up with.

Peter kept apologizing but Pepper brushed it off. She wrapped his wound in black medical bandages that constricted enough to stop or slow the bleeding but not too much.

Pepper gave Peter some strong painkillers that were a product of Doctor Cho’s medical genius. The painkillers made Peter tired enough to pass out which gave Pepper the opportunity to notify May and Tony of what happened in a new group chat. She sent a picture to prove that Peter was fine.

The birth of the group chat began something that none of them could have expected. A sort of comradery over Peter was created and it led to some pretty great moments.

But that was another story.

#pepper potts #peter parker #pepperony #irondad #ironmom #fic rec

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nataliesewell · 7 years ago

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i’ll admit, i’m a fool for you ;

MORGAN & DETECTIVE; the wayhaven chronicles. the agency hosts a ball. you and unit bravo are invited. this is just a convenient excuse to write morgan in a suit.

this fic was originally supposed to have sexual content, but i decided to write two versions. this one is the tame one lmao, but there’s still some suggestive content. tread carefully!

You smooth a hand down over your clothes, turning this way and that as you stand before the mirror. The Agency supposedly hosts its fair share of balls which, as the new—and first—human liaison of Wayhaven, you must attend. Which is why you’re currently wearing the nicest formal attire you own, trying to tamp down your nervousness. Who knows how the night will go?

At least Unit Bravo will be there, you tell yourself. The thought makes you feel better, if only slightly. It’s not like you’re being thrown to the wolves—even if it is likely that there will be werewolves present at the ball. You snort. Farah’s clearly been rubbing off on you.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a doorbell. It sounds once, twice, three times in succession. Someone’s impatient.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” you call out, somewhat annoyed, as you walk to the front door. You open it to see Morgan on the other side, who’s sporting an impressive scowl.

“Finally,” she says. “Let’s go. The others are already at the venue.” You aren’t sure if she was going to say more, because then her eyes take in your figure. Morgan’s brows raise at the sight of your attire. A wolfish smile lifts her lips. “Well. Don’t you clean up nice.”

You flush despite yourself. “Thanks. I think. And you’re…” you begin, examining her outfit. When you heard the ball was a black tie event, you were unsure what to expect from Morgan. She isn’t the type to dress up. At all. To your surprise, she did.

Morgan’s wearing a deep maroon suit, the material fitted and almost clinging to her figure in some places. The suit jacket is unbuttoned, showing off the white dress shirt she’s wearing beneath. You can just glimpse the black cord of her crystal necklace, tucked underneath the shirt, out of sight. Her dark hair falls in waves around her face, not styled a particular way but neat and combed.

In short, Morgan looks good… if it hadn’t been for the fact that her dress shirt is rumpled and untucked, and her matching maroon tie isn’t tied. You resist the urge to sigh. That’s more in line with the Morgan you know.

“What?” she says rudely, having noticed your expression.

“You couldn’t tie your tie? Or tuck your shirt in, at least?” you ask, brow held aloft.

She rolls her eyes. “I’m wearing a suit. That’s enough.”

You decide not to push further, instead moving back so she can enter. “I’m almost ready. I just need a few more minutes.”

Morgan frowns at the response, but she steps inside. You close the door behind her. “You’re still not ready?”

“It’s a ball, Morgan. It takes time to dress appropriately for this type of event,” you sigh, walking past her. You step into your bedroom to put on the accessories you’ve picked out for the occasion. As you do, you spot Morgan in the dresser mirror.

She’s settled against the door frame, watching you with a bored expression. Nothing out of the ordinary. But the pose causes her halfway buttoned shirt to stretch wider, giving you a glimpse of the black bra she’s wearing underneath. Your mouth is suddenly dry.

Grey eyes meet yours in the mirror, catching you looking. Morgan’s lips widen into a smirk. “See something you like, Detective?” she all but purrs.

You startle. You hadn’t even realized how long you’d been staring at her. Glancing away quickly, you clear your throat and say, “I-I’m almost done.”

“You know,” Morgan says, tilting her head. The tips of her hair ghosts along her collarbone, a trail you wish you could follow. You can almost feel her gaze raking over your form, slow as molasses. “No one would notice if we showed up a little later…”

You sputter, feeling heat crawl up your neck. “I—no—we’re going,” you manage to say. “Right now.” You slip on your shoes, which you had grabbed from your closet. “There. All done.”

Morgan huffs. “Whatever,” she mutters. Her tone, which had previously been sultry, returns to its usual cold drawl. You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

You make your way to the door, where Morgan’s waiting, when your gaze lands on her tie. It looks pitiful around her neck, the ends crumpled and limp. You cast your eyes up at the ceiling, sighing, before you stalk forward.

“About damn time.” Morgan pushes off the door frame, expecting you to move past her. She blinks when you stop in front of her instead, momentarily taken aback. Then she grins. “What, you change your—”

“It hurts to look at you,” is all you say, before you reach out. Your fingers grasp a plastic button, one of the ones Morgan hadn’t fastened. You expect her to step back, or push your hands away, but she only scoffs. You take that to mean she doesn’t mind.

You begin buttoning up her shirt. You make sure not to linger long on a button, or ogle the exposed skin that is covered up, inch by inch. Morgan already caught you staring; you’d rather not be embarrassed twice. You fasten the last button and move onto her tie.

As you do, you finally register how quiet it is. Morgan has yet to shift and complain about how long it’s been, or even say a word. She just breathes, her chest moving slightly under your ministrations.

You peek up at her, curious. And nearly jolt when you realize how close she is. You’d been so intent on fixing her suit that you hadn’t noticed.

What’s more startling, however, is the look on her face. Morgan’s brow is furrowed, and she’s staring at you with a strangely serious expression. It’s almost as if she’s studying you. Trying to figure you out.

You gaze into her stormy grey eyes, your hands still grasping her tie, task forgotten. You find it difficult to look away, as if her stare is the only thing tethering you to Earth. The smell of cigarette smoke settles over you, and underneath it, sandalwood. Your body sways closer to her, being pulled into her orbit; your stomach brushes hers, a whisper of a touch.

Morgan blinks, frowning, at the touch. It seems to snap her out of her thoughts, whatever they were. Her expression shutters closed instantly, becoming inscrutable. The pull you’d felt, suddenly, is gone.

“Morgan---” you say, tongue thick and clumsy in your mouth. Only to cut yourself off when she yanks her tie out of your grip.

“We’re getting late,” Morgan bites out, her eyes cold and hard. She turns on her heel and walks away, leaving behind the scent of sandalwood. For a moment, your eyes slip closed. You gather yourself, feeling oddly exposed by the wordless exchange.

Then you sigh, open your eyes, and follow after her. You have a ball to attend, after all.

#the wayhaven chronicles #wayhaven chronicles fic #morgan #i'm not completely satisfied with this #but the length's good? at least? djfmdak #maria writes #long post for ts

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princessweddingdresssweetheartne · 5 years ago

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Princess Wedding Invitations For A Fairy Tale Wedding

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duhragonball · 8 years ago

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[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (58/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation. This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: About 1000 years before the events of Dragon Ball Z.

Previous chapters conveniently available here.

[26 July 236 Before Age. Interstellar Space]

The wedding had gone smoothly, more or less. Neither Luffa nor Zatte had any real interest in jewelry, so there were no rings. The only physical symbol of their union was an unremarkable printout of a marriage certificate issued by the county clerk of Hobstot III’s capital city. On the bridge of Luffa’s ship, Zatte sat at one of the crew stations with her feet on the console, and admired the paper copy with a contented grin.

The trip back to Luffasworld had been quiet. Dr. Topsas had retired to his guest quarters several hours ago. Keda had gone to bed as well, although she lived on the ship’s bridge, so she had curled up in the sleeping bag she had laid along one of the edges of the deck. She had planned to stay up longer and talk, but the long day had taken its toll on the young Dorlun.

This left Zatte alone with one of the only other guests for the ceremony. Wampaaan’riix was a Yetitan, a humanoid nine feet in height, covered in a thick coat of long white hair. He was a friend of Luffa’s, although Zatte had never met him. Now that he was here for a visit, she was determined to make up for lost time.

"I meant to ask about your garment?" he asked from his seat at the adjacent station. The chair was comically small for a creature of his size, but he seemed well-accustomed to such accommodations. "Is it traditional Dorlun attire?"

Zatte glanced down at the tailcoat she had laid on the floor. She had loosened her tie and unbuttoned her waistcoat, having intended to change clothes hours ago, but somehow she had never gotten around to it. None of it had been particularly comfortable, although she had to admit that it looked good.

"It’s traditional wedding attire on Hobstot," Zatte said. "Same as that big white dress Luffa had on. Fact is, Dorluns have a utilitarian attitude about clothing. I thought Saiyans were the same, but the wedding planner we went to showed us some pictures and Luffa just *had* to do it too."

"Interesting," Wampaaan’riix said. "I wouldn’t have thought her to be so sentimental."

"It always seems to come out when you least expect it," Zatte said. She looked at her marriage certificate again, running her finger over the embossed seal left by the notary public. "I guess I’m one to talk. I’ve been staring at this thing all night like I married it instead of her."

"It’s a token of a prize well-earned," Wampaaan’riix said. "We each cherish such triumphs in our own way. It would be more troubling if you didn’t."

"I suppose you’re right," Zatte said. "Listen, I want to thank you both for coming. Luffa was really excited to have you here for this."

"The honor is mine," Wampaaan’riix said solemnly. "And I had been promising to introduce my son to her for some time now. This seemed to be a perfect occasion."

"Introduce?" Zatte was confused. She had been under the impression that they had met before. "The way Luffa talked about your son, I thought they had known each other a long time."

"In a manner of speaking," Wampaaan’riix explained. "Earlier, we were discussing the time she and I fought, and how she inadvertently read my mind."

"Right, that was how she first found out she could do that sort of thing," Zatte said. "She’s gotten a lot better at it since then."

"Well, in that moment, she experienced a great deal of my memories firsthand," Wampaaan’riix said. "This left a lasting impression upon her. In a sense, she may feel very strongly about my family, as if they were her own..."

********

Below, in the yacht's dining hall, Luffa was surrounded by to-go boxes supplied by the company that had catered her wedding. Using a large spoon from the galley, she scooped portions from each one onto her plate, gobbled them down with relish, then grabbed a fistful of carved fowl to follow it up. She repeated this routine several times, occasionally pausing to drink from a large stein of ale. Every so often, she would lift one of the large swaths of fabric from her wedding gown and wipe sauce from her face.

Sitting beside her, Dewbaaac'nogg watched with admiration. Luffa had set a place for him and piled several servings of leftovers on his plate, but he had barely touched it.

"Are you sure you're not hungry, boy?" Luffa asked with her mouth full. "The reception was seven hours ago."

"Like, negatory," he said, doing his best to make a good impression. "I'm still stuffed from before, you dig?"

Luffa shrugged and continued eating. "Suit yourself, Dewbaaac'nogg. I don't see how anybody as big as you gets by on so little nourishment." She pointed her spoon at him and gave him a knowing look. "Especially when you're as strong as you are. Your old man told me how far along you've gotten in your training, but now that I can sense your ki for myself, I'm starting to think he was selling you short."

"Hey, no need to be so formal," he said. "I gave you the scoop when we met on Hobstot, chickadee," he said. "'Dewbaaac'nogg' is my A-plus appellation, but all my friends call me Dewbie!"

Her face had the same puzzled expression as the last three times he had told her this. "I'm still getting used to that," she said. "Same way I'm still getting used to the way you talk now, and all that yellow junk you put in your hair."

Dewbie reached into the fur on his shoulder and produced a small plastic comb, which he used on the tuft of hair on his scalp. "Don't dis the 'do, sister. This is the *style* on Yetitan. And it's a hip trend on a heapin' helpin' of other happenin' planets."

"I know," Luffa said, trying to contain her embarrassment. "I led a band of Extraligans into battle a few months back, and they all dyed their crest feathers bright yellow."

"Outta sight!" Dewbie exclaimed. "I heard about that, but I thought somebody was pullin' ol' Dewbie's leg!"

Luffa's exploits had earned her a fan following over the past two years. They seemed to come from all walks of life. Soldiers, athletes, activists, and anyone else looking for a symbol would adopt pieces of her appearance or mannerisms. The ones with hair on their heads would style it and color it to resemble her Super Saiyan form. Those with tails would use fluorescent dye to resemble the way her own tail glowed in the transformed state. People would adopt various catchphrases and inspirational quotes that were attributed to Luffa, even if she had never actually said them.

For his part, Dewbaaac'nogg had gotten in on the ground floor. His father had been absent for much of his life, preferring to seek his fortune on other worlds as a martial artist. By chance, a random encounter with Luffa had forced Wampaaan'riix to rethink his priorities. She defeated him with ease, but when she accidentally read his mind, she chose to spare his life. His vulnerabilities laid bare, Wampaaan'riix chose to reconnect with his family, and Dewbie had been grateful to Luffa ever since. When she became a celebrity, he became her number one fan on Yetitan. Not all of his friends believed him when he claimed she was a friend of his father, but he couldn't really blame them for being skeptical.

He had wanted to meet Luffa in person ever since, but he had to admit that she wasn't what he had expected. She looked very much like any ordinary Saiyan. Attending her wedding ceremony had been a great honor, but it also reminded Dewbie of his great aunt's third wedding last year. At least this time Dewbie hadn't been required to perform the role of standard bearer, but it still felt more like time spent with an obscure relative than a great hero. All Saiyans looked small to the giant Yetitans, but Luffa was even smaller still. Her hands would tremble sometimes, to the point where she would tuck them under her armpits or between her knees.

"Sorry," she said. "Most of what I know about you is from when I absorbed your dad's memories, and that's all two years out of date. A lot's changed since then, and I wasn't around to see it, so I'm still getting used to how you are now... Dewbie."

"No worries," Dewbie said, trying his best to stay casual. "Pops filled me in on that particular factoid on the way to Hobstot. Must be real gone to see me rocking this killer look and using all this hep lingo. I guess I used to be kind of a square back then."

"Hell no," Luffa said, her voice suddenly becoming serious. "The young man you used to be, well, he saved me once. You might look and talk different, and you've got a silly nickname, but what's important hasn't changed. Hah! Your heart's the same. That's what I need. That's why I'm hoping you'll be able to help me again."

He wanted to ask her what she meant by that, but he was too stunned to speak. She was asking for his help?

Perhaps sensing his confusion, Luffa lowered her head and focused on her meal. "Skip it," she said. "This is a special occasion. I don't want to bring down the mood. We'll have plenty of time to go over it tomorrow, after your lesson."

There was something ominous about the way she used the word 'lesson'. That was the whole reason Dewbie had been excited for this trip. His father had kept up with Luffa through subspace correspondence, and she had asked to spar with Dewbie when his father thought he was ready. Her exact words had been: "Maybe I can give the kid some pointers." He had memorized that entire letter, but those eight words felt like they were etched onto his soul. His hero, the Legendary Super Saiyan, the most famous warrior in the galaxy was going to give him a private lesson. It was too good to be true.

And yet, now that he had finally heard her say the word aloud, Dewbie couldn't help but feel a sense of dread...

*******

[26 July 236 Before Age. Luffasworld.]

Luffa used an entire planet for her training ground. Since Planet Yetitan had a very cold climate, she had chosen a region near Luffasworld's southern pole for her session with Dewbie.

While there had only been six people aboard the star-yacht during its trip to and from the wedding, by mid-morning it had filled with all sorts of people, most of them either looking for Luffa or the ship's bridge. On his way to the galley for breakfast, he had passed a man in a wizard's cloak, two Plantians, and a crustacean-looking fellow in a military dress uniform. Eventually, he became frustrated with the crowds and his own anxious anticipation, so he flew to the rendezvous point a full hour ahead of schedule. He stretched and warmed up and meditated. An hour and twenty minutes later, Luffa arrived to meet him.

She was very apologetic about being late, and this bothered Dewbie far more than he lateness itself. It was almost as though she was his biggest fan, and not the other way around. His generation of Yetitans knew better than to get hung up on timetables, and he wasn't the sort of killjoy who would get bent out of shape over a twenty minute delay. Besides, she was a busy woman. It was an honor that she had set this time aside for him at all. He tried to tell her as much, but the message never seemed to get across. Also, she was still in her wedding gown from the night before, which seemed odd to him.

"Why not?" Luffa said with a shrug as she rotated her shoulder to limber up. "This getup looks good on me. Besides, I paid enough for the damn thing."

Once they began sparring, however, things fell more in line with his expectations. Dewbie's father had tried to prepare him for the Saiyan fighting style as best as he could, but ultimately the best advice Wampaaan'riix could give him was that there wasn't much use in seeking advice. The only way to truly understand was to experience it firsthand, and now Dewbie could see what he meant.

Luffa sparred in her base form, which was still more than powerful enough to kill Dewbie instantly. He knew she was holding back the vast majority of her strength for his sake, but even so, he still felt as though he was in a real fight and not a friendly exhibition. When she found an opening in his guard, she seized on it with almost sadistic glee. When he landed a punch on her solar plexus, he knew she had allowed him to do so, but she still glared at him as if he had tried to kill her, only to smile proudly at him an instant later.

"Do you trust me, Dewbie?" she asked between strikes.

Dewbie could only nod as he struggled to block. Little by little, she had turned up the pressure on him, forcing him to use more and more of his strength to keep up. As much as it had seemed like a real fight, she was only toying with him, but now Dewbie was fighting as hard as he would have been in actual combat.

He had seen her transform before. Not in person, of course, but a handful of lucky spectators had managed to record her in the act, and their blurry, grainy footage had become an instant hit among the Luffa enthusiasts across the galaxy. He expected her to build up to it, but instead she simply grunted and flashed bright yellow without breaking the rhythm of her strikes. One second she was dark haired with brown eyes, and in the next she was blonde with green eyes. Only it wasn't exactly blonde and green. The colors were more vivid. It was unsettling to look at her, and Dewbie was unprepared for how strange it was up close.

He forced himself to stay focused, and as they continued, he realized to his amazement that she was staying focused too. He could feel how much stronger her ki had become, but she was still holding her strength to the same level she had been using before. Dewbie's father had suggested to him that she didn't have this sort of fine control over her forms, but that must have changed.

"Don't slow down now, boy," she said with a grin. "This was how you wanted it, right?"

It was. Before, he thought she was using her base form for his safety, but now he could see that she could have sparred with him this way from the start. The thrill and the honor was greater, but she wanted him to work for it, and now that she had transformed, she wanted him to push himself harder to extend the experience. He didn't know how much longer he could keep going, but he was determined to find out.

And then, after what seemed like an eternity, he succumbed to fatigue. When he could no longer block Luffa's strikes, she landed five blows to his midsection and shoulders. They felt surprisingly gentle, but they somehow managed to disrupt all the ki energy in his body, and he collapsed to his knees onto the glacier that had been their battlefield. He leaned forward and planted his hands on the ice as well, struggling to catch his breath.

"Well done," Luffa said. He thought she might have been smiling, but all he could see at the moment were the toes of her black combat boots peeking out from under her wedding dress. He tried to raise his head to look up at her, and then she cried out. "Hey, don't move!"

Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his abdomen, like a muscle spasm. Dewbie clutched at his gut, wondering what had happened, though he suspected that there was some sort of delayed effect to the last attack Luffa had used on him.

"Are you okay?" Luffa asked, kneeling down to check on him. "Dammit, that was just supposed to knock you down, but if I used too much pressure I might have hurt a vital organ--"

"I'm... aces, honest," Dewbie assured her. "Just need... a sec to... get my groove back."

"Don't try to tough it out, son" she scolded him. "I can get you back to the ship in no time, and Doc can... can..."

She had put her hand on his massive shoulder, and now he could feel it begin to tremble. She drew it back quickly and held it tightly in her other hand.

"You... almost sounded... like Daddio there, champ," Dewbie said. "I guess when you read... my pop's noggin, some of the pages must have rubbed off on you."

Luffa sighed and sat down on the ice. "You don't know how right you are," she said. "Thanks to that botched mind link with your father, I sort of think of you as my own kid. I mean, not really. I know better, but I have to keep reminding myself you're not a child. Hell, you're only a few years younger than me. You're old enough to decide if you need medical treatment."

"Hey, no problemo," Dewbie said. "I figured that might have had something to do with you invitin' me out to your pad. Me and my pops are like family."

"It's more than that," Luffa said. "You saved me."

"Whuh-huh?"

She hesitated, then gritted her teeth and just started blurting it all out. "When I first fought your father, Dewbie... well, I was pregnant. Not very far along, of course. I didn't know about it myself at the time. By the time I found out, the Tikosi were experimenting on me. It would have been a boy. Your father helped me escape, but by the time he got there, the Tikosi had already removed the fetus."

"Pops never told me that part," Dewbie said solemnly. "That's heavy. I'm sorry."

"I never told your father. It's... not something I talk about much. It's painful to think about. That's why the Makyans tried to use it against me."

"Wait, wait. Time out. The which?" Dewbie asked.

"A race of demons," Luffa explained. "They used a magic potion to try to control me. It played on my most selfish desire, which was to forget about the pain and shame of losing my baby. I was strong enough resist it, but I couldn't make myself want to."

"Farrrrr out... Well, how'd you squeeze out of that one?"

Luffa looked at him and smiled. "As much as I wanted to, I couldn't just forget what had happened to me. That boy would have grown up to be a mighty Saiyan, and my soul wouldn't rest until I had avenged him. So my most selfish desire was to have my son back, and the Makyans couldn't give him to me. They could only make me forget. It started to drive me nuts. I started seeing hallucinations of my friends, all of 'em trying to convince me to snap out of it. Instead, I... well, I killed them all. Then I hallucinated you. I tried to kill you too, only I couldn't go through with it."

"Because once you got an eyeful of my handsome mug, it reminded you of your unborn son," Dewbie realized.

"Exactly," Luffa said. "Once I came to my senses... Let's just say it'll be a long time before the Makyans try to pull that crap with anyone else."

Dewbie was curious about details of Luffa's wrath, but something told him it was better that he didn't ask.

"After that, I was kind of upset about killing those hallucinations," Luffa went on. "I got in touch with your old man, just so I could sleep better. He told me that the two of you had gone on a mission to save his old martial arts master. It was for your rite of ascension. Way I hear it, you did really well."

"Well, I couldn't let pops take all the risk for himself," Dewbie said modestly. "I mean, what kind of a swingin' son would I be then?"

"That's why I invited you here, Dewbie," Luffa said. "I need you to help me with something. I think you're the only one I can turn to."

"You gave me that rap before," Dewbie said. "And ol' Dewbie's keen to lend a hand, but I don't see what good I can do."

Luffa stood up and balled her fists. "I'll show you," she said. "First I have to raise my power level."

With that, she began to scream, and a golden aura flashed around her body.

********

For a moment, bright yellow light was all Dewbie could see. When it finally faded, he looked around and couldn't believe his eyes.

They had been alone on the glacier, he was sure of that, but now they were surrounded by hundreds--no, thousands--of alien beings. They were grey, androgynous humanoids covered in blue and purple markings. They carried unfamiliar tools and rode strange vehicles along the surface of the glacier and through the sky. In the distance, he could see a fortress. Dewbie had never seen a species like them before, but there was no mistaking their behavior.

They were fighting a war.

In spite of their fierce combat, he couldn't really tell if there was any malice to their actions. It was hard to interpret their body language at all. That was when Dewbie finally realized that he couldn't hear them. For all their activity, there was no sound at all.

A pair of the creatures ran right up to him. One was chasing the other. At last the one being pursued turned and made what Dewbie thought could have been a desperate last stand. Before he could bring his weapon to bear, his enemy opened fire, and he fell silently to the ice. A pale grey liquid oozed from his still-smoking wound, but before the fallen warrior died, he managed to return fire with his own weapon, and killed his pursuer in turn. Then a bomb fell from the sky, and their corpses were disintegrated where they lay.

None of it made a sound. The only thing Dewbie could hear was the wind, and the constant, steady thrum of Luffa's Super Saiyan aura. He turned and saw her standing stoically in the center of it all. A troop convoy drove by and passed right through her. She looked at him, and seemed visibly relieved.

"Good," she said. You can see them too. I was afraid I'd be the only one. I never told the others about them. They worry about me enough as it is. If they heard me talking about ghosts, they'd think I was completely crazy."

"Wh-what's the dillio?" Dewbie asked.

"On this planet, when I increase my power to a certain level, all of this appears," she said, gesturing at the battle surrounding them. "At first, I thought I was just seeing things. My powers kind of tie into my emotions, and I've been pushing things pretty hard since I got here. Eventually, I figured out that it's not my imagination. They only show up on this planet, and only for as long as I raise my ki to this point. Early on, this level was near my absolute limit, so I'd only catch glimpses of them. As I trained and got stronger, I was able to hold this level for a long time, and then I could see them whenever I wanted, for as long as I wanted."

Dewbie reached out to touch another creature that had approached them. His hand passed through its chest, but it seemed to stare right at him, as if it could see him. "What are they?" he asked. "Why are they fighting?"

"They're robots," Luffa said. "Well, that's my best guess. They move like machines, and there's something artificial about their faces, like someone was trying to make them look like flesh-and-blood people, but not too closely.

"They were soldiers. Could be that someone created them to fight their battles for them, but they're not just automated weapons. I've been watching them for a while, and I can tell they're intelligent. I don't know what they're fighting over, but they did it all over the world. Every time I see them, they're always fighting some giant battle. It's different everywhere I go. When I'm over the oceans, they've got boats and planes. When I'm in the desert, they have tanks. In the mountains, they've got snipers. Out here, it's mostly infantry. I guess they don't mind the cold, so it's easier for them to travel in the snow on foot than to use any vehicles."

"But what good's it do 'em to fight over a planet they can't even touch?" Dewbie asked. He pointed at the area where the phantom bomb had exploded. It had destroyed the robots, but the ice they were laying upon was untouched.

"They're all dead," Luffa said darkly. "Those two you saw kill each other a minute ago? I've been here before, and I've seen them do that a dozen times or more. They all look a lot alike, but I can tell by the markings on their bodies. They indicate their ranks and identifications somehow. They look alike, but they're still individuals. You can tell them apart if you know what to look for.

"What we're seeing is a war they fought on this planet a long time ago. They all died, and for whatever reason their ghosts are still playing out the same battles over and over again. At least, that's all I've managed to find out from them."

"You mean you're hip to their lingo?"

"Not exactly," Luffa said. She tapped her finger against the side of her head. Normal Saiyans have some telepathic abilities, but ever since I first met your father, I've been finding new ways to use them. When I'm ramped up enough to see these guys, I start to sense their energy, too. And when I really concentrate, it's like I can feel their emotions. But it's really faint, and I can't make much sense out of it. There's so many of them, and they're so... well, different."

"Different?"

"They don't seem to feel the same things that you or I would. You and I are aliens to each other, and there's other life forms that are even stranger, but we all know what it's like to be hungry or tired or scared. These robots, whatever they are, they're not like that at all. I can't really tell how they feel. They're just sort of... dissatisfied."

By now, other robots had abandoned their endless battle to approach Luffa and Dewbie. Dewbie tried to see what Luffa was talking about in their expressions, but it was useless. They simply looked at him blankly with their enigmatic blue eyes. One of them had a large wound on its head, and grey liquid was seeping out of it at an alarming rate, but it paid no heed to this. Was the injury just not that serious, or did the robot somehow know that it was already dead? Did it mind?

"I got interested in their battle, so I started exploring the planet, looking for clues," Luffa said. "The people who sold me this place said it was uninhabited, and there was no sign of even an ancient civilization. But I saw them using a huge aircraft carrier in the ocean once, and when I went diving in the same place, I found a coral reef about the same size and shape. In the desert, I turned up some scrap metal that could have been those pikes some of them carry around. So I'm pretty sure this war they fought happened a really long time ago. Like, hundreds of thousands of years. Plenty of time for nature to recover from the damage they did, and erase any evidence of the battle."

She smiled sadly. "It's beautiful, really. These guys really tore this place up. They fought like true warriors, every last one of them, and they're still fighting, long after their cause was forgotten. It's been an honor to watch them go at it, but I'm not sure they feel the same way. That's why I need your help.

"The trouble is that I think these guys want

help, but I'm not sure what I should do. I just know they're dissatisfied, but I don't know why. Maybe they just didn't like how the war turned out, or they want the universe to remember them for their bravery. One night I was talking to my wife about how Doc doesn't like to fight, and I wondered if maybe these robots are the same way. What if they were forced into this, and now they're stuck reliving this same battle over and over?"

"Heavy..." was all Dewbie could say.

"Or maybe they're like the Dorluns, and they're just grateful that they somehow managed to continue to exist. For all I know, they're not dead, and this is totally normal for them. Maybe they're like me, and they're being forced into some new form they don't understand. It might be good for them, and they don't even know it."

The creatures continued to stare at them, their expressions as mysterious as ever. What had Dewbie's attention now was the troubled look on Luffa's face when she looked at them. She didn't look like any Saiyan he'd ever seen.

"I... envy you guys, you know?" she finally said.

"Come back?" Dewbie asked.

"Doc’s not even a fighter, but he’s done braver things than I’ll ever do. And Keda and Zatte, and you and your father, you all earned the power you have."

She pointed at her hair and shook her head. "I didn’t do anything to end up like this. It just happened. Maybe the Tikosi forced my body to evolve, or I was born with this ability, but either way it was dumb luck. I have the power to decide the fate of these ghosts, but I don’t think I have the right."

She took Dewbie’s hand in both of hers. "I know about the Yetitan rites. You had to prove yourself as an adult warrior. It’s mostly ceremony, but it’s still proof. I’m proud of you for that. I guess that’s why I’m asking for your help."

Luffa pointed at the spirits that had gathered around her aura. "I have the power to disperse these phantoms, but I don't know whether or not I should. Tell me what you think I should do with these guys, and I’ll do it."

"That’s a real heavy load, pal-o-mine," Dewbie said. "I dig that you don’t want to make that call by your lonesome. Makes sense to get an extra pair of peepers on the scene, and make sure you’re on the beam, but what good does it do to have me take the wheel?"

"I know it’s a lot to ask," Luffa said. "And there’s no way to know if you’ll be making the right decision, but I know you and I know your heart's in the right place. Whatever you come up with, right or wrong, at least it'll be honorable."

"Heavy," Dewbie muttered. "I mean real heavy. I hope you’re not in a rush, ’cause this little Yetitan’s gonna have to do some first-class thinkin’ on this one. Like, real Grade A, you dig?"

"Take your time, Dewbie." Luffa said. "I can hold this power level for a while. I can do that much at least, no problem."

Dewbie nodded and sat down on the ground. As he considered the dilemma, the ghosts continued to gather around them, and some of them started to lose their shape. They floated and swirled around Dewbie and Luffa, making gestures he could not begin to understand. Beside him, Luffa grimaced and her aura continued to flash and hum.

*******

Some time later, Dewbie broke his silence to ask a question: "Luffa, you need to take five?"

"I’m fine," she said.

"Roger that, mama bear, I know my fave can handle anything, but I’ve been at this a while..."

She shook her head. "I told you to take your time, boy. It’s.... important."

"I dig, but my noggin’ can tackle this without the visuals for a while."

"No," Luffa said. "It’s bad enough I’m asking you to decide this for me. The least I can do for these people is make them visible, so you can see what’s on the line."

"No kiddin’, huh? This must be that Saiyan pride I heard so much about."

She looked at him and smiled. "You’re damned right," she growled.

He looked at her, and considered the grim determination on her face. He had no idea what her limits were. The only being in the galaxy stronger than Luffa was the Shockmaster, and she was determined to surpass him. For all Dewbie knew, she already had. He didn't know how much longer she could maintain her current power level, but sooner or later she would succumb to fatigue just as he had done during their sparring session. The point Luffa wanted to impress upon him then was not to hold out forever, but simply to last as long as he could, and then a little bit longer, and then a little bit longer than that.

That was why Saiyans like Luffa seemed to treat their sparring matches like genuine combat. Luffa vs. Dewbie was a complete mismatch, but that wasn't the point. The point was to force Dewbie to confront himself, and Dewbie vs. Dewbie was a lifelong rivalry. In the long run, it was the only rivalry that really mattered for him.

"You'd do this all day long if you had to," Dewbie observed.

Luffa's only reply was to scrunch up her face and ball her fists tighter.

"Well, you can cool it," Dewbie said, "because I’m all through thinkin’. It’s decision time, and ol’ Judge Dewbie’s ready to rule."

Luffa sighed with relief, but didn't relax her energy. "Thanks," she said. "What’ll it be?"

Dewbie rose to his feet and took a deep breath. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I’m leavin’ it up to you." he said.

She glared at him, her face revealing some of the fatigue she had been trying to conceal. "Dewbie, I’m serious--"

"Well that makes two of us, ’cause I'm serious too."

"Dammit!" she shouted, and her aura flared up in size. The ground shook beneath Dewbie’s feet. He wobbled slightly, but maintained his footing, and kept his eyes on Luffa. He didn’t expect her to attack, and there wasn't much he could do about it if she actually did, but he was trained to anticipate the possibility regardless.

She waved her hands at the silent images that were watching them. "Don’t you get it?" she demanded. "These people need an answer, Dewbie! They’ve been waiting for one long enough, haven’t they? Can’t you see that?!"

"Course I can. Like, twenty-twenty, even."

Her hands were trembling as she gestured wildly at him. "Don’t you care what happens to them?!"

"Totally, my dude."

"Then why won’t you decide?" Luffa demanded. Dewbie could see tears welling up in her eyes.

"Because you care about ’em even more than I do."

Luffa was stunned to hear this. "What?"

"You’ve been pushin’ yourself to the limit this whole time, just so you could find out what was wrong with these peeps," Dewbie explained. "And you were so worried about checkin’ the wrong box on what to do for ’em, you stood here and strained yourself for an hour while you waited for me to figure somethin’ out."

"I’m not straining myself," Luffa insisted. "I told you I can keep this level up for--"

"--for as long as it takes, yeah, I heard this song before, mama bear," Dewbie said. "But why should you lift the proverbial finger, unless you were worried about these guys?"

"I just... I feel bad for them, okay?" Luffa said. "And I need the workout anyway, so what’s the harm?"

"You wanted me to make the call because you thought I’d make an honorable decision," Dewbie said, "But *nobody’s* honored these far out groovy ghoulies more than you. If anyone’s got the right to decide their fate, it’s you, lady."

"But... I’m not... You were the one who..."

He shook his head. "I know you had that real bad trip, and you got back into your groove when you had a way-out vision of me," Dewbie said. "But I’m thinkin’ what you really saw back then wasn't me, or even your own son. What you saw was your conscience."

"My...?"

"Sure," Dewbie said. He raised an eyebrow and began to stroke his hairy chin. "Every cat and kitten in the universe has one, you know. Just so happens your conscience just looks a little handsomer than most folks’."

"What if you’re wrong?!" Luffa asked.

"You brought me in on this because you trusted me to make the best call, didn’t you?" Dewbie said with a shrug. "Well my call is for you to trust your lonesome. My call is that you’ve known that from the get-go, but maybe you needed to hear someone else say it."

Luffa turned away from him. "Maybe I did," she said. "No matter what I do, we’ll never know for sure if it was right. I just have to do the best I can."

"Sounds like the sort of rap I had to learn for the manhood rites on Yetitan," Dewbie said. "Maybe you had it wrong, and you really did earn your power somewhere along the way. You might've took a different route, but your boots are just as worn as mine. Well, I don't wear kicks myself. Ol' Dewbie likes to keep things natural, if you know what I mean."

She looked at her hands, then clenched them into fists. "Brace yourself," she said. "This shouldn’t take long."

"What are you gonna do?" Dewbie asked.

"What I should have done from the start," Luffa said. "Thanks, boy. Thanks for giving me a swift kick in the butt."

She summoned her ki, and Dewbie crossed his arms in front of his face as her aura produced a terrible wind. Around them, the spirits streaked through the air, wailing silently, and making their incomprehensible gestures.

In the center of it all, Luffa screamed. She put her fingers against her head, and Dewbie suspected that she was in pain. In spite of his advice, he still had an impulse to reach out, to try and help her somehow, but he knew better. Even if he knew what to do for her, even if he had the power, it was better this way.

So instead he concentrated his ki on protecting himself, and he admired his hero, his father’s friend, his friend, who loved him like a son.

And when she was finished, and she powered down her her normal form, and the ghosts vanished, and she fell to her hands and knees, only then did Dewbaaac’nogg rush to her aid, scooping her up like a Yetitan cub in his massive arms.

*******

Thousands of miles away, Luffa lay on a beach, massaging her scalp. She opened her eyes and found Dewbie looming over her, his white fur soggy from swimming. With all of his hair matted down, he looked much slimmer than usual. The hair on his head had gone limp, but the dye had somehow managed to resist the effects of the seawater. In his hand he held a large fish.

"Figured you'd want some chow," he said cordially.

Luffa sat up and ripped the fish out of his hand, then started ripping it to pieces with her hands and teeth. Dewbie was unnerved, but pleased to see he his fishing expedition had been worth the trouble. In a matter of minutes there was nothing left of his catch but bones and sraps of connective tissue.

"Thanks," Luffa said. She grabbed the hem of her wedding gown and wiped the blood from her mouth. “Thanks for everything.”

"What's your twenty?" Dewbie asked. "Feelin' any better?"

"My head is killing me," Luffa groaned. "I'm starting to think I only held off for so long because I knew how hard it would be."

"But it did the trick, right?" Dewbie asked hopefully. "That crazy psychic power you used fed the bulldog, didn't it?"

"I think so," Luffa said wearily. She snapped a small rib bone off the fish's skeleton and started picking her teeth with it. "I used something similar when I broke the spell the Makyans used on me. As I pushed against the robots to destroy them, I could get a better connection with their emotions. So at least I got a better understanding of them."

She turned her head and spit on the sand. "I'm not gonna pretend I have all the answers, but I think they understood what I was doing and why. It may not have been what they needed, but I think they knew this was the best ending they could get. Someone else might have come along who could really help them, but who knows how long they'd have to wait. I'm pretty sure they were tired of waiting. I don't know."

"Maybe we oughta boogie on back to your ship," Dewbie suggested. "We both went through the ringer today. Even if it's nothing serious, might not be bad to have Doc Topsas give us the once-over."

Luffa nodded, and opened her mouth as if to agree, and then she stopped short. "No," she said. "We can't do that. Not for a while, anyway. Doc's... uh... well, he's busy."

"Busy?"

Luffa's face and ears had turned red. "That's why I was late meeting up with you," she said. "We had a situation back at the house, and..."

*******

Aboard Luffa’s star-yacht, Dr. Topsas carefully ran his fingers over Zatte’s left hand. Satisfied with the tactile examination, he moved on to her thoracic wall, then consulted a set of scans of her skeleton.

"Fortunately, the Plantians have stocked the ship's sickbay with a generous supply of superpolymorphic unleashing gel," he said cheerfully. "So if something like this ever happens in the future, you can repair a cracked rib or a sprained wrist in a fraction of the time it would normally take."

Gingerly, Zatte sat up from the examination tabled and sighed. "I'll keep that in mind, doctor," she said.

"Are you feeling all right, Ms. Zatte?" he asked.

"Still a little sore, but a lot better than I was two hours ago," she said. "Uh... thanks for not asking how this happened. The whole thing’s silly and Luffa’s even more embarrassed about it than I am... "

"Say no more, Ms. Zatte” Topsas said. “I was a young newlywed myself once..."

NEXT: Shock to the System.

#dragon ball #fanfiction #super saiyan #luffa #dewbaaac'nogg #wampaaan'riix #zatte #dr topsas #luffasworld #lssjluffafic

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zacknano17 · 8 years ago

Text

Day 3: words 5092 - 7633

In which, Taako makes a friend. (No, he doesn’t.)

“You can put 'em in the corner over there,” Taako says, gesturing. He's sitting on the bed, paging through the room service catalog, not really paying Magnus any mind.

Magnus does so, and he thinks he ought to leave the room now. Instead, he pauses. “You're not still mad about me not wanting to think we were a thing, are you?” he asks.

“Nah, homie.” Taako still isn't looking at him. “We're not a thing, so why would I be mad? I just didn't like the implication that I'm an undatable hellion.”

“You're -- what? No. That isn't what I meant!”

“Yeah, I got that.” Taako doesn't sound angry, but he does seem a little miffed. “It's fine, dude. I ain't even mad.”

“I'm sure you could get like a hundred people to agree to marry you, just by giving them a little glance. You're like, the prettiest elf in the world.”

Taako pushes his hat up a little bit, an almost subconscious motion. There's only the smallest change in his expression, but Magnus can tell he's improved Taako's mood a little. “Top five percent, I'd say,” he agrees. “Really, though, don't worry about it, big guy. Ch'boy's not exactly the marrying type either.”

“Oh.” Magnus is. Was.

Taako's eyes focus on Magnus' hand for a moment, and he adds, “...anymore?”

Magnus runs his thumb over the groove in his ring finger absently. So Taako had noticed.

He never really intended to keep Julia a secret. He just doesn't really relish the idea of talking about her. He had lost her a few years ago now, but it still feels like an open wound on his heart. Talking about her, thinking about her, all of that -- it is still painful.

“Yeah. I, uh. She died,” he says.

He can almost see the light bulb go on over Taako's head. “Julia,” he says.

Oh, shit. Does he talk in his sleep or something? “How did you -- ”

“You asked Kravitz to tell Julia you loved her,” Taako explains, shrugging. “I was thinking sister at the time for some reason. I guess wife would make as much sense.”

For as dumb as Taako pretends to be sometimes, he sure is good at putting things together.

Magnus sits down on the bed next to Taako. “I used to be a carpenter,” he explains, knotting his fingers together. “I had a mentor, and he had a daughter. Julia. Then the, ah, the village got attacked while I was gone once, and when I came back, I...didn't have either of them anymore.”

Taako is quiet for a long moment. “...sucks, dude,” he says.

Magnus laughs. It's not a happy laugh, just a sort of rueful sound, acknowledging the truth in Taako's words. “Yeah,” he agrees.

They sit in silence for a moment, and Magnus thinks again that he ought to leave. He doesn't. Instead, he asks, “What about you? You could have anybody you wanted, probably, but I don't see you go on many dates.”

“Eh, been out of the dating scene for a while. My last relationship ended...bad,” Taako says. “I haven't been real eager to jump aboard that train again. There's a lot of trust issues with that sort of shit. Namely, I don't trust anybody.”

“I can see that being a problem, yeah,” Magnus agrees. “You don't even trust me and Merle?”

“Hell no,” Taako replies emphatically. “Everybody up and leaves eventually. It's just the way things are. You either get left behind, or you're the one who leaves. No way around it, homie.”

“You really think I'm gonna just up and leave you behind someday?” Magnus asks.

Taako gives him a look. Magnus isn't sure what emotion is meant to be conveyed by it. He looks irritated, but there's another part of him that just looks...very old and withered. “You're a human. You've got like, what, a hundred years left?” he asks.

“Well, uh, no, more like fifty, actually,” Magnus says, but he gets the point. Sometimes he forgets that Taako is well over a hundred years old.

Taako stands up and makes his way over to the suitcases, very clearly done with the conversation, and drags it over to the bed. “I guess with the asshole brigade backing me up, we're going to be staying a while, huh?” he comments as he opens it up. “Might as well unpack.”

It's a dismissal if Magnus ever heard one, and he's not sure how much more of Taako's depressing world view he can stomach right now anyway, so he stands up. His thumb rubs away at that groove on his ring finger again, and he considers.

“You know, if I had known I was going to lose Julia so soon...I think I'd have held on more tightly,” he says.

“Yeah,” Taako says flippantly, “cause you're an idiot.”

In spite of being a current hot spot for aspiring spouses all over Faerun, the building that houses Wedding Wonders is modest and in a rather obscure location. The three of them have had no trouble finding it, however. It seems as though everyone knows where it is and how to get there, even people who would seem to have no use for a wedding planner.

Wedding Wonders is run out of a large, old fashioned house just off the business district of Waterdeep. Ms. Joiner works and lives in the same building, it seems; she has not bothered to move to a more convenient location, although she surely has the means to do so, with how well her business is doing.

The people of Waterdeep are more than happy to spread rumors about the business and its proprietor. They learn quickly that Ms. Joiner has so many clients that she has to turn down people frequently. There seems to be no rhyme or reason how she picks her patrons. Oftentimes wealthy families will offer her higher payments and other benefits, and she will turn them down in favor of a poorer couple without any explanation.

Upon further discussion, the Tres Horny Boys have decided that Merle's job hunt bluff is as good a story as any. The only other idea they have come up with involves a lot of stealth, and none of them are really looking forward to trying that one, even the Ruff Boi and Level 2 Rogue himself, Magnus Burnsides.

Taako's last job interview had involved getting punched so hard by an ogre that he had nearly died. He hopes that this one will be less strenuous.

He has dressed for the occasion in purples and blues, with a flowing skirt that reaches his ankles and a loose, translucent blouse over a form fitting long sleeved black shirt, and silver pumps with three inch heels. He fancies up his hair with some elaborate braiding techniques that Magnus is very good at for some reason and puts on his best set of silver jewelry. He looks positively dashing. Too bad he has to hide it a bit by using the umbra staff, this time as a sunbrella. It is still not a great idea to get recognized.

Merle is wearing a Fantasy Hawaiian t-shirt with a small stain right in the front that isn't quite hidden by his beard. He is wearing what he calls “capris,” but look as though they are actually just a pair of Magnus' old cargo shorts that have been repurposed for dwarf legs. He is wearing socks with sandals. This is his normal look. The only difference between this and their trip to Goldcliffe is that he has his X-treme Teen Bible in hand rather than tucked away safely in his pack until it is needed.

Magnus is wearing the same thing he wore yesterday, unless he packed an identical outfit. He has buttoned an extra button at the top, for...respectability, maybe? He is even carrying his shield and axe still, and Steven bumps along at his hip. Charming.

They reach the old house and Taako leads the way within, the umbra staff now doubling as a very fancy cane. The front door leads into a room that seems to have been repurposed from a sitting room. The room is papered in a lovely rose decal, garnished by heavy velvet curtains that block view of the adjoining rooms. The floor is a dark wood, covered by a large, tasseled rug. The walls display pictures in heavy golden frames of various couples in formal clothing, presumably couples that have been married through the Wedding Wonders company.

At the far end of the room is an intricately carved wooden desk, stained a dark color to match the floor. It is covered in neat stacks of paper, a few books, an ink well, and a large feather quill. Behind the desk sits the fanciest orcish man Taako has ever seen, complete with neatly combed hair, a neat suit jacket and tie, and a pince-nez on his nose, attached to his vest pocket with a slender golden chain.

He stands up from the desk when he sees the three of them enter in. He is easily seven feet tall and makes even Magnus look very small. “Greetings, and welcome to Wedding Wonders,” he says, his voice thick with a pleasant accent that Taako can't quite place. “My name is Salvatore. How might I assist you today?”

“Hello, darling, a pleasure to meet you,” Taako rattles off. This orc seems to be dripping with his very brand of fake charm, and he appreciates that. “My name is Taako -- you might recognize me from TV -- and we're here to offer you a once in a lifetime premium offer. That's right, my good man, I am offering you the chance to have my fabulous self -- and these two imbeciles as well, I suppose -- help you staff the newly anticipated expansion to your lovely business.

“As I mentioned, you may already recognize me from my show? On TV? You know the one. I'm absolutely certain I could bring in a number of promising clientele. Your quaint little business here fills a very specific niche, but one our society didn't know needed filling. And I am proposing you open up a branch in -- wait for it -- Neverwinter. That's right, the capital of the world. My man, Wedding Wonders is going places, and I, Taako, plan to take you there.

“Now, could you be a dear and let Ms. Jer -- J...um, the lady in charge here?”

“Ms. Joiner,” Salvatore says.

“Yes, yes. Of course. You'll have to excuse me, I meet so many people. Ms. Joiner. If you could just let her know I'm here to see her? Me, Taako, from TV? Thank you, sweetheart. I'll wait right here.”

Salvatore has not changed his mild, politely interested expression through the entire speech. He merely inclines his head slightly when Taako finishes. “We here at Wedding Wonders do sincerely appreciate your enthusiasm,” he says, “but I'm afraid Ms. Joiner only meets with potential business partners by appointment. Even ones as undoubtedly important as you are, good sir.”

“I think you might be underestimating how much Ms. J is going to want to -- ”

“Furthermore, sir, I know of no such plans to expand the business. As much as the 'niche' we fill requires that filling, Ms. Joiner can hardly take on more clients than she already does. As it is, people travel from all over Faerun for our services, and another branch, even one in a lucrative location such as Neverwinter, would only serve to disappoint the many, many clients we cannot accommodate.”

“I'm sorry, perhaps I didn't make myself clear, but I'm Taako? You know, from -- ”

“And it is fantastic to meet you in person, sir, but I'm afraid you will have to schedule an appointment, like everyone else,” Salvatore continues. He sits down again at the desk and pulls out a book labeled 'Appointments.' He flips through it, and continues to flip, and continues for a few moments. “Here we are, we have an opening for three months from now, in -- ”

Taako slams a hand down on the book. “Taako. From TV. I want an appointment this afternoon. Make it happen.” He will not be outdone by this fucker. He will not.

“If you give me your Stone of Farspeech frequency, I can alert you if we have an opening this afternoon, but I'm very sorry. Ms. Joiner won't even return to the office until -- ”

“I will wait, then.”

“Very well, sir.” Salvatore closes the appointment book and goes back to the stack of papers he had been regarding when the three of them had entered.

“Um, excuse me, sir -- ” Magnus tries.

“Shut it, Mango, I've got this,” Taako snaps. “Listen. My good man. My entourage here and I will need a place to...rest until the Lady J-dawg makes it back from her...whatever she's doing, at which time you'll of course let her know I'm here. Do you have a sitting room or something?”

Taako feels a rush of satisfaction as he notices that the orc's eyebrow is twitching, just a little. At fucking last, he is finally getting to this guy.

“Yes, of course,” Salvatore says, standing again. “Right this way, gentlemen.”

He leads the three of them to one of the curtained off rooms and pulls back the drape. Within is a sitting room, fancy as the rest of the house that they had seen thus far. It contains two uncomfortable looking sofas facing one another with a low coffee table in between and two chairs on the far end, all matching. The walls here have more portraits with more couples at their weddings.

“Feel free to make yourselves comfortable. We do not offer a tea service or anything, I'm afraid,” Salvatore says, gesturing into the room.

“Barbarians,” Taako mutters under his breath as he glides within. He has the satisfaction of seeing that eyebrow twitch yet again. Now it's personal, Salvatore.

“Fat load of good that did us,” Merle grumbles in a stage whisper, once Salvatore is out of direct hearing distance.

“Yeah. I mean, that was some nice fast talking there, Taako, but there's no way he's actually going to tell us when she gets back,” Magnus says, sitting down on one of the sofas.

“Exactly,” Taako remarks. He settles down demurely in one of the chairs, crossing his ankle over his knee. “We learned two things here today. First of all, the big lady in charge isn't currently in the building, which means right now might be an optimal time to scope out the place.”

“Oooh, sounds like a job for Mr. Level 2 Stealthy here,” Merle suggests.

“That's good and all, but that Salvatore guy is still out front,” Magnus points out. “That dude's even more stacked than I am, which is sayin' something. How'm I gonna get past him?”

“Oh, I'm sure I can distract him,” Taako snorts.

“Okay, okay, this sounds pretty good. I can help Taako out a bit too, buy Magnus some time,” Merle says. “But there's just one thing. What's the second thing? You said we learned two things.”

Taako shrugs. “Guys, I don't think they're hiring.”

#tying the nano

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