#like this is the most cushy job ive ever had

[jewpaw]

Feeling some kind of way . Wanting to go feral

[thetaoofzoe]

Fic: Syverson the Protector pt 5

*   Syverson The Protector - Part I (pairing Syverson x YOU)

*   Syverson the Protector - Part II (pairing Syverson x YOU)

*   Syverson the Protector - Part III  (pairing Syverson x YOU)

*   Syverson the Protector - Part IV  (pairing Syverson x YOU)

Author note: Finally part 5! Thank you so much for hanging in with me through this delightful journey and I hope that this part quenches your desire.

Summary:  Henry has invited you to spend a few weeks at his cabin in the mountains and of course you agree. 💖NEW💖

Rating for this part:  Sex, fluff, discussion of trauma (minor) Everyone has a good time and Aika is there too :)

I’ve picked ‘Henry’ as Syverson’s first name and he’s grown his hair out :D

Must be read in order, no part can stand alone.

Word count: 7500

Want to read more? Click for my Masterlist

‘Well,’ said your nurse as she watched you sort and pack your belongings. ‘If you want him to know how you feel, you have to tell him.’ 

She folded her arms and leaned against the narrow door frame to your hospital room. You glanced up at her. 

‘I’m not twelve, Barb,’ you scoffed, nevertheless feeling pleased with her observation.

‘Well you were the one asking me to pass notes to him like you were in school.’ 

You raised your brows in surprise and then pointed an accusatory finger at her. You had resorted to note passing because you couldn’t see Henry face to face and communicate with him like an adult. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but you made it work. 

‘You, Nurse Barb,’ you started, about to say something caustic and then relented, deciding to be sweet. ‘Did a great job passing notes, and I thank you.’ 

You flipped closed your small travel case and crossed the hospital room to grab at one of the slowly deflating helium ‘Get Well’ balloons which still listed lazily around the silver weight that held it in place. With a small pair of scissors, you cut the ribbon tether and lanced the mylar in an inconspicuous place. Pressing the balloon to your chest, you squeezed out the remainder of the helium air mix and added the now flat balloon to the pile of other flattened balloons. 

‘So? Then what are you going to do about it?’ Barb continued to press.  ‘Leave and regret never having said anything?’’

You stopped compacting the pile of deflated balloons and turned to look at her. 

This whole budding romance thing between two war torn lovers must have been the most exciting thing that had ever happened to the nurse, you thought pleasantly. It was certainly exciting to you. So, you cut her some slack. 

‘I just happen to know that he’s outside in the pool area right now. And, you have some time before your flight.’ 

The look on her face was both encouraging and infuriating. 

Smiling, you walked to the door and patted Barb’s shoulder. 

‘All right. I’ll go.’

She waggled her brows, turned and walked with you down the narrow corridor and then through the half-empty dayroom. She stopped at the double glass doors that led to the pool area and used her weight to press open one side.

‘I can’t tell if you’re a really good matchmaker or a really bad matchmaker,’ you said absently. 

She shrugged.  

‘Good luck, and don’t be too hard on him.’ 

‘I won’t. Well, I probably won’t. Well...I can’t promise.’ 

She chuckled and quickly gave you a one-armed hug. 

‘I’ll have them bring your bags to the car when it turns up. There are a few people going to the airport with you. So if I don’t see you… keep in touch, ok?’

You nodded and walked through the open door. 

The pool area, as they called it, was really just a collection of beach umbrellas shading colourful inflatable kiddie pools, some blowup flamingos, and an odd assortment of mismatched lawn chairs. There were several men camped out around most of the medium sized pools, with their feet in the water and enjoying each other’s company. You spotted Henry right off the bat, as he was the only one still in a wheelchair and paused a moment to watch him laugh at something the man next to him had just said. You were loath to interrupt them. 

I’ll just leave a note, you thought, turning your back to the men in order to return to the day room. He won’t mind. I’ll leave a note and my business card so he won’t feel pressured to say anything to my face.

A little lost in thought, you lingered there for a moment, with your hand on the door handle when your thoughts were interrupted by a chorus of teasing male voices calling out your name, accompanied by whistles and several coquettish sounding ‘yoo-hoo!’s. 

A wave of heat rushed into your face and you hunched your shoulders in a self-conscious cringe. 

Jesus Christ you hated military men sometimes.

 But you had been caught and you had no other choice but to turn around and face them. 

One of the men kicked out the empty lawn chair closest to Syverson and waved you over. Taking the invitation, you drew the chair close to the circle, lightly rested your hand on Henry’s shoulder and sat down next to him. It was good to see him looking so well. 

‘I read your new article,’ said the man, and by deciphering his medical wristband you learned he was called Solensky. ‘That was a damn brave thing you did.’ 

You shook your head and looked at Syverson, hoping that he didn’t think you were trying to steal glory.

‘I didn’t write it to showcase what I did. I had to tell people what really happened. How heroic the men were. And my partner. The sacrifices that they all made. What I did wasn’t important.’

‘Saving my life wasn’t important?’ 

Syverson sounded a little bit hurt and turning to him you were at a loss to read his suddenly cloudy expression. 

You opened your mouth to protest. 

‘I-- I didn’t mean that you… of course you are important. I just did what I had to.’

You held his incredulous gaze and continued, ‘you know that, Henry.’

Didn’t he believe you?

‘He don’t mean it like that,’ said Solensky. ‘He means that, you doing what you did, was important. Even if you don’t think it was.’ 

Henry obviously agreed with the man’s assessment, for a smile lifted the corner of his mouth and you cut a relieved and fondly exasperated  look at him. Sitting back in the creaky lawn chair you kicked your feet out in front of you and rested them against the cushy rounded pool edge. 

‘Thank you,’ you said finally and nodded to Solensky. ‘I had hoped to get it finished and published before I left.’ 

It felt good to hear some praise from the men you were trying to uplift. 

‘You leaving soon?’ he asked. 

‘Yes. Today. In a few hours in fact.’

You turned to face Henry again. 

‘I wanted to say goodbye before I did.’ 

His face remained unreadable and you feared that you had upset him in some way.

The door to the dayroom opened and Barb called to you. 

‘The car is here early. They have to do more stops, so you’ll have to leave now, I’m sorry.’

You shot Syverson a panicked look. 

Now? But you didn’t say all you wanted to say. You didn’t have time!

‘Ok,’ Henry said finally. ‘You don’t want to keep them waiting or they’re gonna have you walking home.’ 

He pressed himself up and out of the wheelchair and breathing a little hard from the exertion, he faced you when you stood as well.

‘I’m in your debt. Whenever you need me, for whatever reason, I want you to call on me. It don’t matter, you got that?’

‘I got it,’ you answered, feeling a deep pang of agony and regret in your gut. Leaving was harder than you had expected. 

Henry smiled then and curving his arms around you, he pulled you against his sun warmed body. 

And what torture it was for him to hold you like that! 

You put your head on his chest and embraced him in return. And, when you lifted your teary eyes, he leaned in and  kissed your forehead. But that wasn’t good enough. Not nearly enough and you squeezed him when his lips met yours. 

‘Ok… ok,’ you giggled, feeling hot faced and aroused. ‘You gotta stop that or I won’t be able to leave.’ 

He didn’t release you. 

‘You can stay and come home with me,’ he said, moving in for another kiss. 

You ducked your head and stepped out of his embrace. 

‘If you behave, maybe I will.’ 

Barb cleared her throat, a signal that you were out of time, and kissing him quickly, you turned to leave. 

‘Barb’ll give you my card. It’ll have my info on it.’

‘I will?’ she asked, glaring at you and then at him. ‘Boy, I’ll be glad when you leave and I can stop all of this note ferrying back and forth.’ 

‘See ya,’ said Henry. 

‘Soon,’ you promised and went through the day room doors. 

**

It had been six months. Six months of convalescing at home, writing columns and binge watching all of the television shows you missed while you were deployed. It had also been a pleasant six months of regular correspondence with Henry, which culminated in him asking you to come to the mountains with him for a few weeks. He had a little cabin in Montana which he had been renovating and now that Aika was finished with her mandatory quarantine in the States, he was going to go there and relax. 

A few weeks in the fresh mountain air was just what you needed and once you agreed, he made and paid for your travel arrangements. 

 **

It was refreshingly cool when you shuffled into the noise and chaos of the airport arrival terminal on your way to the baggage claim. However, you walked a little more leisurely than the hustling crowd, taking in the sights and idly people watching. As a journalist, although you had trekked through more airports than you cared to count, the peculiar culture of tiny, and expensive indoor pseudo-cities like this was still so compelling. It wouldn’t be strange to see a bleary eyed man chowing down on a stacked burger and swilling his third bourbon on the rocks at 6:30 in the morning. Or seeing a grown woman tucked into an awkward corner, and clutching her carry-on bag protectively in front of her as she tried to catch some sleep during an unexpected flight delay.

You had been both of those people at one point or another in your travels. But there was another reason why you were strolling and taking your time examining the mass produced keychains and tee shirts proclaiming the name of the state you were in. You were nervous and your heart banged painfully against your ribs. You could feel it galloping and straining against its internal tethers and you had to stop occasionally and pretend to look at overpriced pizza slices in order to catch your breath.

You were nervous about seeing him again. That sweet, unfairly handsome Captain Henry Syverson.

The thought of him made you smile but you pressed it into a straight neutral line in the event someone was watching. You didn’t want to seem crazy, grinning down at a display case of heat-lamp warmed slices of cheese pizza. 

When you finally reached baggage claim, a man, dressed in a dark suit and white shirt was waiting for you. He stood  with the rest of the chauffeurs looking bored and holding an open tablet on which your name stood out in bold block letters on the screen. You walked expectantly up to him and he smiled and greeted you by name.

‘How was your trip?’ he asked, as he walked  with you to the baggage carousel.

‘It was fine, thank you.’

And the two of you stood side by side watching the conveyor belt start to move and roll out the luggage.

‘Which one is yours?’ he asked, moving closer to the belt, ready to snag your bag as it tumbled by.

‘The red one, with the white stripe. It has the camera shaped luggage tag.’

He nodded and when that red bag came by, he grabbed it by the side handle. He then put it down, pulled up the telescoped handle and indicated that you follow him to the parking lot. Outside, the cool air woke you from your flight induced stupor and you took in a long cleansing breath. 

‘First time in Montana?’ he asked, grinning as he watched you stretch your arms and back. 

‘Just tired,’ you said. ‘Long flight.’ 

He opened the door to the glossy black SUV and helped you step up into the high spotless interior. Through the back window you watched him stow your suitcase in the trunk and followed him with your eyes until he climbed into the truck.

‘So,’ he said and fiddled with his tablet. ‘It’s going to take a little while to get to the destination. Is it warm enough for you? Too warm? There are snacks in the centre console and water under the seat. Do you mind if I have the radio on?’

The questions seemed rehearsed and you assured him that everything was fine before you sat back into the plush leather seats and he drove off.

Taking out your mobile, you switched it off of airplane mode and it immediately pinged that you had a message.

Making sure you landed safely.

You smiled and replied that you had done just that and were already on your way.

I’ll be waiting. I hope you’re hungry.

The driver was right. It took two and a half hours to get to the cabin and the last mile or so was on a dirt road so pitted and bumpy that you weren’t sure you were going to come out of the ride in one piece.

But it was all made better when you spotted Henry standing with Aika on the broad porch of a gorgeous mountain cabin. When he said that he wanted you to spend time with him at the cabin, you immediately pictured it to be a one or two room Little House on the Prairie type place. Which was absolutely fine with you, as you wouldn’t be there to admire the decor. However, you were not expecting the beautiful structure that stood proudly amongst the trees.

The driver slowed, made an awkward k-turn in the dirt and deposited you directly in front of the tall man approaching the truck.

The sight of Henry made you feel weak and proud to show the driver that you had been chosen by a superior specimen. Henry briefly spoke to the driver through his open window and the trunk popped open. With hands clasped in your lap, you waited. Henry grabbed your suitcase, slammed shut the trunk and then opened your door. He positively beamed at you and when you took his outstretched hand, you felt like a princess being rescued from a high tower.

When the SUV made its way back down the dirt road and the two of you were finally alone, you were faced with one of two decisions.

One: behave in your usual awkward way and shake his hand or pat his shoulder and thank him for letting you come and visit.

Or

Two: press into his arms and give him the biggest hello I fucking missed you, kiss he’d ever received.

With some internal dismay, you found yourself leaning towards option one. You didn’t want to lead him to the wrong impression about you and slowly you extended your hand.

A look of surprise drifted across his face, but he was apparently willing to follow your lead. Before he could take that hand, you had a change of heart and instead ran straight at him and clamped your arms about his waist.

‘Hey, baby,’ he murmured, kissing the top of your head and enveloping you in his strong arms.

Oh God, you thought. I’m gonna start crying.

Tears pricked your eyes and before you could stop yourself, you heaved with a desperate sob.

‘What’s the matter?!’ he asked, sounding alarmed with the sudden change in your attitude.

You clutched him tighter and put your face against him.

‘I’m… I’m so happy to see you standing right here,’ you gasped.

The last time you’d seen him in the flesh, he had still been mostly confined to a wheelchair, still healing from his terrible wounds and unable to look after himself. But there he was now, strong and whole and so warm in your arms that you felt an overwhelming sense of affection for him. 

Henry held you tighter and you felt infinitely safe in his embrace. Everything was right with the world. 

‘I thought about the moment I could do this,’ he said, gently stroking your back. ‘And now I made you cry.’

‘I’m just so happy to see you well,’ you said, pulling back and looking at his wryly smiling face. ‘And not hooked up to wires and IVs.’

‘Ok,’ he drawled. ‘Me too. In that case…’

He curved one hand about your cheek and lifting your face, he kissed you. It took a few more moments of cuddling before you eventually stopped trembling and having an existential crisis. He drew back, bent down and picked up your bag. 

‘You hungry?’ he asked, slipping his hand down to your lower back and guiding you to the glorious cabin. 

‘Famished!’ you announced and stopped at the bottom of the stairs. 

The dog on the porch sat up and wriggled with pleasure, her thick furry tail whapping excitedly on the wooden boards. 

Henry dragged his fingers through the thick brown and black scruff and scratched her angular head. The dog bowed and flattened her ears softly and approached you. You put both hands on her head and massaged her fluffy ears. 

‘I remember you,’ you said to the dog who continued to eagerly lick at your hands.

‘This place is different than where she’s from, but she loves it.’ 

Then to Aika he said, ‘stay on the porch.’

And the dog promptly flopped down on the cushiony bed made from folded quilts and began her surveillance of the surrounding tranquil woods. 

Henry opened the cabin door and ushered you in. 

The inside was just as spectacular as the outside and your mouth came open with surprise. 

‘I know you did all of this, didn’t you. It’s so… beautiful.’

‘I had help,’ he answered modestly. ‘It’s been a work in progress for years. Still got some things to do, but it’s liveable.’

Liveable, you scoffed silently. That was an understatement. The place was an obviously handcrafted masterpiece. From the matte blonde wood flooring and the warm caramel panelling, it was a masculine tribute to a rustic lifestyle. The appliances were new, but understatedly retro and wood burning. The main living room was broad and comfortable with soft couches and homespun appointments. You followed Henry down a narrow hallway to the left. Off of that hallway was a short staircase that led to the upper floor. 

‘There’s a guest bedroom down there,’ he said pointing to the door at the end of the corridor and the master is upstairs.’

He gestured that you go up the stairs and you complied. Opening the door at the top of the stairs, you found yourself walking into a bright warm room with a large bed facing a broad clean window that overlooked the trees and the lake behind the cabin. It smelt of pine and you wondered if he picked that scent because he thought you might like it. You did like it. 

Henry put your bag on the floor by the bed. 

‘This is your room.’ 

He rested a hand on the glossy dresser top which had been pushed against the far wall. 

‘You can put your stuff in here, or hang them up in the closet.’ 

He opened the door next to the dresser to show you the empty closet space. 

‘Bathroom’s over here.’ 

He crossed the room, opened the second door and you poked your head in, pleased to see a full bath and tub.

That tub might come in handy for sexytimes. 

Once the tour was completed you smiled at him, but left the question of where he was going to stay to burn on the tip of your tongue. 

It didn’t stay there long for Henry beat you to it. 

‘I’ll be downstairs… in the guest room.’ 

There was hesitation in his voice and he trailed off seeming suddenly shy and awkward. 

Was he as nervous about your visit as you were?

 He didn’t look at you as he put a hand against the back of his head, which you knew  was an unconscious self-soothing gesture. But you didn’t want to put him out of his misery just yet. You were enjoying it too much. 

‘If… when you need me,’ he finished.  

The implication of needing him, at night, hung heavily in the air and trailing a finger up his bare forearm, you squashed a smile. 

‘And you’ll be downstairs…’ you said, keeping your voice serious and your expression neutral. ‘If… I mean when I need you. You’ll be downstairs? In the guest bedroom? Downstairs?’

He looked at you a moment, his own expression a mild mix of confusion and then that sweet slow bloom of understanding in his eyes. You saw the exact moment that he realised you were teasing him and you couldn’t help laughing. 

‘C’mon you,’ you said, slipping your hand into his. ‘I’m starving.’ 

***

Once downstairs, he packed a big red-topped cooler with vegetables and potatoes and steaks that had been marinating overnight, as well as cutlery, plates and other sundry items. Carrying only a chilled six pack of bottled lager, you followed him down the winding gravel path to the lake. There was a rustic firepit down there flanked by two dark wood adirondack chairs and a picnic table. 

You wondered if he made all of that himself and then chuckled. Of course he did.

 You watched him dump the cooler next to the grated firepit and go to grab a few already split logs from a nearby pile. Clutching the thin cardboard handle of the sixpack in both hands you felt unbearably girly and unwilling to admit that watching him start a fire with a small pile of tinder and a magnesium firestick, aroused the fuck out of you. It didn’t help that his jeans stretched nicely across his thighs when he crouched lower and gently blew onto the young flame before quickly adding additional fuel until the fire was stable enough to tent the logs over it. 

Henry rose and dusted his hands against the seat of his jeans and you cleared your throat. 

‘That was sexy,’ you said and laughed at your own audacity. 

He glanced at you over his shoulder, clearly appreciative of your praise, but instead of addressing it, he pointed to the short pier. 

‘Do you see the green nylon sack over there?’

You looked and nodded. 

‘Take the bottles and put ‘em in the sack and lower it into the water. That’ll keep ‘em cold.’ 

Feeling helpful, you did as you were told. When you returned a few minutes later, you hoisted yourself up onto the top of the picnic table and rested your feet on the bench seat.

‘Do you want some help?’ you asked after a moment. 

‘Nope,’ he answered, and cast another amused look at you over his shoulder. ‘You just sit there and be pretty for me, ok?’

You preened, and lightly patted your face. It was as pretty as you were going to get. 

‘I think I can do that. Sure.’ 

And you sat there thinking about having children with him. You imagined taking them on camping trips and teaching them all of the survival skills they needed to fend for themselves in the event the zombie apocalypse drove your family into the woods. So you asked him if he was prepared for the apocalypse and sat there rapt as he explained his six point plan and how he had been planning and storing for the last three years. 

When dinner was ready, the two of you ate at the picnic table and drank most of the beer and discussed the pros and cons of wasting ammo to achieve a head shot as opposed to just disabling the zombie so that you could escape it. 

‘Yeah, but you are the one who’s gonna get the successful headshots. I’m just out there swinging a rake or something.’ 

‘Can get you a katana if you like.’

You laughed and swigged your beer. Pointing the mouth of the bottle at him you scoffed. 

‘A katana?? I’d more likely slice myself up before I’d do any damage to a zombie.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Henry replied easily and stood up to stoke the fire. 

He helped himself to another few spoonfuls of vegetables, which when offered, you declined. 

‘A little training and some practice, you’d be fine.’ 

‘You have a lot of misplaced faith in me, sir,’ you teased him. 

Henry was quick to answer. 

‘You’re wrong. You already proved to be capable, ingenious and tougher than you think. I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.’

Your chest tightened at the traumatic  memory and you stared down at your empty bottle.  The helpless tears started to threaten again. 

But biting them back, you reached across the table and put your hand over his. Henry took it, curved your fingers over his and brought your hand to his lips.

Henry’s open emotion made you feel just as raw and vulnerable as you had that fateful day. The day that entwined your lives together forever. 

You reached for him with your other hand and stroked his cheek, trailing your fingers through his beard which continued to amaze you with how soft it was to touch. He captured your other hand and kissed that one as well and then held them both. And when he smiled, you smiled in return. It was all right now. 

It was starting to get dark and across the lake,  you could see the setting sun disappearing behind the mountains. Henry got up and began clearing the table. 

 ‘ Go and sit by the fire,’ he instructed you when you tried to help. 

If he wanted to do all of the work, who were you to stop him. You slid onto the cool chair and drew your knees up and to the side to get comfortable just as Aika came trotting out of the woods. She went immediately to you and put her slobbery chin on your thigh. You rubbed her furry head until she was tired of the attention and went to beg scraps from Henry. 

‘Coffee?’ he asked a moment later and lifted an old battered tin percolator to show you that he meant coffee and not anything else. 

‘I could have one, sure.’ 

You had got used to black coffee during your time on the front and really never bothered to change it when you went back to civilian life. The cup he gave you was hot and tasted fresh with a hint of vanilla. 

‘Vanilla,’ you said and he chuckled, seating himself in the chair next to you. 

‘I ah… I got used to it over there, now I can’t drink any other kind.’ 

You didn’t mind it. Not at all and the two of you sat in companionable silence. 

‘It’s a beautiful place, Henry. A beautiful cabin. I am amazed that you did all of this.’

‘My friends helped. This is their place when they want it too.’

Aika flopped down on the space between the chairs and Henry reached down to pat her head. 

‘Are you glad I’m here?’ you asked finally, admittedly fishing a little for compliments. 

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m very glad you’re here.’ 

You were going to say something else but a yawn caught you off guard. Now that you were full and content and safe, sleepiness began to creep in around the corners. 

‘You had a long flight,’ Henry offered as explanation, holding out his hand to take your cup. ‘If you want to go on in to sleep, I’ll take care of things here out here.’ 

‘No! No, I don’t want to leave. I’m not too sleepy.’ 

‘Awright,’ he chuckled and leaned back into the chair. 

Aika yawned then and you did the same. You put the cup on the flat arm of the chair and closed your eyes. You had never felt so happy and before you knew it, you had drifted off. When you woke with a start later, it was dark and the fire had been extinguished. A glimmer of faint stars reflected by the lake was your only anchor point that confirmed where you were. 

But it was the type of dark that could only be achieved when there was no light pollution from nearby cities and you felt a twinge of panic. 

‘Henry?’ you called sitting up. 

He wasn’t in the chair next to you and Aika was gone. 

Shit! What if the killer was still out there?

You heard footsteps approaching on the gravel path. 

‘I’m here.’ 

His voice was warm and steady. 

There was no moon and standing, you blindly searched in front of you as he came closer. He put his hand around you, resting it low on your back then pulled you to him. At his touch, a jolt of welcomed pleasure spread out from your core. 

‘Why are you out here lurking in the dark?’ you giggled softly, pressing your hands flat on his chest.

‘Making sure nothing carries you off,’ he replied just as quietly and gave you a squeeze. 

Henry was clearly feeling for the edges of your boundaries and you deeply appreciated that about him. He hadn’t forced your hand and he was eagerly playing by your rules. 

‘I’m glad to have my big strong protector to save me from the monsters. Are you… gonna take me inside now?’

‘Yeah. C’mon.’ 

God, his voice was so unbearably soft and alluring and you knew that if you weren’t careful, you would find yourself beneath him in his bed tonight. 

You had to be careful, so once inside the cabin, you kissed him and bade him goodnight. Admittedly, that probably wasn’t how he expected the evening to end but you knew you were going to make the wait worth his while.

After showering thoroughly, you changed your clothes and sat down on the edge of the soft bed. The cabin was quiet except for the normal sounds of the woods coming in through the open window and the sounds of Henry moving around downstairs. 

I could get used to this. 

After a moment you heard the shower running downstairs and you immediately worried that you hadn’t left enough hot water for him. Stretching out on top of the quilt you listened and imagined his naked body, his wet, soapy naked body and a tingle raced up your thighs and pooled insistent heat in your groin. You bit your lip and pushed your hand between your legs. You held your hand there, still and unmoving and listened until everything had fallen silent on the lower floor.  

You breathed quietly, in and out and in and out again and relaxed, drawing your hand away and tucking it across your midsection. 

Sleep, you thought. It was all going to be more rational in the morning. 

**

Bright sunlight and sweet bird songs greeted you the next morning. After washing up, you followed the scent of coffee and breakfast downstairs. 

The front room was empty, but there was food and a still steaming coffee pot on the stove. The sound of Aika barking outside led you to the door and then out onto the porch. Henry stood at the bottom of the steps holding a red ball which he launched into the air for the dog to chase. He turned when you came to stand next to him. 

‘Morning,’ he grinned and kissed you when you lifted your face to ask for it. 

‘Hi. How did you sleep?’

‘Yeah, good, good. You?’

You stretched in the warm morning sunlight and fondly watched Aika race back to you. She dropped the ball and danced away, to wait for the next missile. Henry obliged and the dog took off again. 

‘It was better than I expected,’ you admitted happily. ‘It usually takes me a couple of nights before I can get comfortable in a new place.’ 

He nodded and took a drink from his flowered cup. 

‘Good. Hungry?’

‘I love that you’re always feeding me,’ you said joyfully. ‘Can we eat down by the lake?’

‘Anything you want, baby,’ he agreed. 

The air by the lake was warm and fresh and a few metres out on the water was a group of ducks having a morning swim. Basking in the sun with a hearty meal and an intriguing and funny man was the most indulgent thing you could have possibly done. And you held onto the moment for as long as it presented itself. 

You even agreed to a short easy hike after breakfast and in a sun drenched meadow you lay in the sweet smelling grass and talked about nothing in particular. 

The day passed in uneventful bliss and again, Henry prepared dinner over the fire and afterwards the two of you sat side by side on the top porch step to watch some unexpected fireworks in the eastern sky. 

During a lull in the colourful explosions, you went inside to grab a seat cushion.

When you came onto the porch, you were careful not to kick the cup at Henry’s side. Instead you picked up your own cup and gesturing for him to make room, you tossed down the cushion and sat on the step right between his knees. A little smile blossomed on your face, a response to the feeling of peace spreading through you, and you leaned back against Henry using his thighs as arm rests.

‘I like this,’ you said quietly and relaxed into the warm hands gently kneading your shoulders. 

‘Yeah.’

The sound of him, low and husky behind you, filled you with pleasure. You pressed harder between his open legs and he went still. This was the moment of truth.  Your heart thrummed with anticipation against your ribs and when he relaxed, so did you. 

A beat of silence drifted between you and then he spoke. 

‘You wanna go inside with me?’

There was a loud scratching sound of your nails raking along his jeans, evidence of your involuntary reaction to his clear invitation. 

‘Yes. I-- want to.’ 

The breath he let out was audible. 

‘C’mon then.’ 

Henry pushed himself up from the step and effortlessly lifted you in the process. It was like floating on air, reckless yet safe in his strong arms and when your feet finally hit the porch, you were loath to be released. You turned around to face him and slid your arms about his neck. The force of his kiss surprised you, and you clung tighter to him, opening your mouth to take all of him in. Henry pulled you against him and walked backwards towards the cabin door. 

You cried out with delight when he crouched and swept you up into his arms. Just like the charming prince he touted himself to be. 

‘I love this,’ you murmured, nipping at his lower lip and then suckling it between your own. ‘Why don’t you fuck me in your bed.’

‘Fuck,’ he groaned and clutched you to his chest. ‘You’re gonna drive me crazy, baby.’ 

‘I promise I’ll drive you crazy.’ 

Henry didn’t waste time in carrying you to the small bedroom at the end of the hall.  

His room was clean, and quiet. Not as fancy as the master bedroom, but it was  enough with its bed and bureau and the small adjoining shower. Aika, who had been napping on the floor at the foot of the bed perked up and cautiously thumped her tail as if wondering why the hell the two humans were making so much noise. 

‘Aika,’ said Henry desperately. ‘Out!’

With a groan of a petulant child, the dog heaved herself up and reluctantly left the room. Henry booted the door shut behind her and then set you down onto your feet. There was enough gloaming light coming in through the windows for you to see him grin. 

He cupped your face between his hands and kissed you gently, thoroughly and then let his fingers trail down over your shoulders, your arms and then across your waist where he curled his fingers beneath the hem of your baggy tee shirt. Instinctively you raised your arms when he lifted the shirt up and over your head. He tossed the shirt onto the chair in the corner. He then  turned you around and unhooked your bra which was also tossed to join the shirt. And still keeping your back to him, he kissed your shoulder and then the other and then kissed the space between them. The light scratch of his beard on such an unexpectedly tender place made you shiver and your nipples harden. He hummed quietly, a sound of absolute satisfaction and he nipped you lightly where your shoulder sloped down to your collarbone. You sighed voluptuously and leaned into his muscular chest, turning your upper body slightly and reaching back to smooth your hand over his head. 

Henry slipped his hands up from your waist and cupped your bare breasts and kissed you deeply as if trying to drink in every bit of you. You felt utterly possessed, and helpless in the face of his overwhelmingly masculine sexual power. You would give him everything, anything and all he had to do was ask. 

He slid his hands down your belly again and into the elastic waistband of your shorts. He eased them over your hips and chased your curves to the warm, velvety space between your legs. Highly aware of his two thick fingers beginning to work into your wetness you arched and moaned breathlessly, your voice rising sweetly into the warmth of the room. A dark knowing chuckle rumbled behind you and Henry dragged his tongue across your lower lip. 

All of your attention narrowed to that single delicious focal point of those deft fingers stroking your quivering clit and sliding deeper inside you. 

‘I want you,’ Henry murmured and the demand behind his words made you shudder. ‘I want you so bad.’ 

Yes, you thought. I want you. The moment I met you, I wanted you. I’ve always wanted you.

You turned in his arms and a wave of lust crashed over you at the sight of him. He slipped those two previous busy fingers into his mouth and sucked off your juice. You crooked a finger at him, beckoning him closer as you backed towards the bed. Henry whipped off his shirt and took his time unbuckling his belt and shoving down his jeans until he could stand beautifully naked before you, his thick beautiful cock hard and standing at the ready. 

You were ready for him indeed. Henry closed the space between you and grabbing you about the waist, he hoisted you up and sprawled you messily across the bed. You sat up, reached for him and dragged him down atop you. He was heavy, and pressed you steadily into the soft sheets and you never wanted to escape him. Henry kissed you hard, punishingly, muffling your sudden cry of pleasure with his mouth. You hugged and kissed him and swore under your breath, eager for the soft velvety feel of his  blood-hot cock sliding up along your inner thigh. 

‘Come inside me, Henry.’ 

It was all the invitation he needed. 

The newness of him sliding into you hurt just a little, a small but  welcomed reminder of what it meant when two lovers finally joined. Henry stilled then, and breathed quietly, as if fighting his urge to cum. You stroked his shoulders and kissed his face, encouraging him to focus only on you. He lifted his head and held your gaze as he rocked up into you again, then again, slowly and deliberately, stoking that fire smouldering between the two of you. You arched against him, vaguely aware of your own lusty sounds and Henry increased the intensity of his thrusts and in turn heightened the ferocity of your pleasure.

Henry lit your fuse and it consumed you. It crackled over your sensitive flesh and along every nerve ending and you responded eagerly to every slow drag of his cock in and out of you.  He made you feel alive, more alive than ever before and at the moment of your orgasm you closed your eyes and let his name escape your lips, offering it up as a prayer, as praise. As thanks. 

You held onto him when he finally completed the circuit and poured himself inside you. 

It took several moments of panting beneath him before Henry moved off of you and you immediately felt the loss. So you lay there, sweat cooling on your skin and basking in the warm feelings of well being. When your senses returned, you got up and went to the bathroom for  a quick pee and wash up and when you returned, the bed was turned down and you crawled gratefully beneath the soft sheets. 

‘That was fucking amazing,’ you murmured to the man next to you. ‘That was the best sex I have ever had.’ 

Henry chuckled and sounded pleased. 

‘Yeah. I waited a long time for you.’ 

‘Oh yeah? The moment I put my hand in yours outside of the barracks, you what? Wanted to carry me off to fuck me?’

He grunted. 

‘Yeah! Something like that. I would’ve at least got your name first, /then/ put you over my shoulder and carried you off.’ 

You smiled to yourself and imagined the scene and how shocked the men would have been to watch their stoic captain haul off the journalist for a little fun. You closed your eyes, only intending to get more comfortable to continue the conversation. However, again sleep had other ideas. 

Light burst behind your eyelids and the sound of shouting male voices filled your ears. You struggled to open your eyes, but something was holding them sealed shut. Another explosion and then the sound of rocks raining down all around you. I’m on fire, you thought, desperately trying to claw your way out of burning clothes. Your hands were already seared into talons of fused flesh and bone and there was nothing you could do to stop the pain. Sand blasted your vulnerable flesh and you opened your mouth to scream, only to be choked by tiny merciless shards of hot glass. You continued to scream and scream barely aware of the hands on your arms and the voice calling you name. It was Henry and he was shaking you out of your nightmare. 

‘You’re all right, baby. You’re all right,’ he murmured pulling you against him. ‘It’s just a nightmare. You’re all right now. I’m here.’ 

As the dream melted away, you curled up into his arms and burst into tears. Henry gentled you until you quieted and even beyond that until eventually you were able to speak. 

‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry…’ 

‘Don’t be sorry, baby,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t be. I’m here. I’ll protect you.’ 

You lifted your tear wet face and kissed him. Then again and again, rolling onto your back and pulling him with you. 

‘Make love to me, Henry. Please. Make love to me.’

‘I’ll take care of you,’ he promised.

And you trusted him to do just that. 

**

The morning rain kept the two of you inside the snug cabin and in bed where you took your time exploring and delighting in the mystery of each other. 

‘Does it still hurt?’ you asked, pulling back the sheets and stroking your fingers along the thick jagged scar that cut across his lower belly.  

Henry looked down at where you were touching him and shook his head. 

‘No. Not anymore.’ 

You fell silent, listening to the rasp of your dry fingers gliding across his skin. Henry curled an arm about you when you put your head on his shoulder. 

‘You never went to talk to someone about it, did you.’ 

It wasn’t a question and as much as you wanted to feign ignorance, you couldn’t shut down your immediate and visceral reaction to his observation. 

No. You had buried yourself in work the moment you got back to the States and didn’t want to think about the trauma that had befallen you. What was the point? It was over, wasn’t it?

Henry felt your body tense and he rubbed your back. 

‘That’s why you’re still having nightmares.’ 

Your voice was small when you spoke, hoping to be heard against the lashing rain. 

‘I thought I could handle it.’ 

He chuckled. 

‘I know. I thought I could handle it too. They don’t let us go home without group therapy. I fucking hate it, but I do it, because it works.’ 

You stopped the back and forth motion of your hand and just rested it on his scar. It was the thing that drew you together, the thing that reminded him of you.

Henry turned his head and kissed your forehead. 

‘You’re so strong. And you’re carrying this weight. But you gotta let it go, baby.’  

‘I know. I… dream about you dying in the explosion and then burning to death. I can’t stop it. I can’t help you.’

Henry held you close. 

‘You’re alive and I’m alive. I’m right here with you. You don’t have to worry when you’re with me.’

 You slept against his chest for most of the day and dreamed, not of violence in a desolate place but of a bright new future. 

-end part 5 you naughty little things. I love you ;D Please consider helping me to broaden my audience by reblogging this fic and sharing. Thank you. 

Tag list:  @lightsidecalling​​  @omgkatinka​​ @igotkatiepowers​​ @the-soot-sprite​​  @harrysthiccthighss​​ @little-green-love​​ @foxyjwls007​​  @angreav​​ @maizyistrash @liquorlaughslove @supernaturallymarvellous​​ @laketaj24​​ @october505​​ @inlovewithhisblueeyes​​ @foodieforthoughts​​ @wolvesandhoundshowltogether​​ @singeramg​​ @sapphirescrolls​​   @brandycranby​​ @zealoushound​​ @eldarwen333​​ @beck07990​​ @lunedelorient​​ @henrythickcavill​​ @kalesrebellion​​​ @angrythingstarlight​​​ @lavitabella87 @kebabgirl67​ @hail-horror-queen​

[aclosetfan]

8

And Np

(ask game)

haha dude you’re like my new best friend now lmao thanks so much for being interested enough to ask about my dumb ideas!

Eight is titled “Artistic Aspirations” which isn’t a creative title at all. It’s another multi-chapter, no powers au, blues fic!! Personally, I think it's too safe and boring to write. The story spans a few years; I’ve shortened the outline to make it readable, but it still ended up being too long, sorry.

Background on the girls at the start of the story:

Bubbles is 21 and a broke, struggling artist finishing/right out of undergrad. Lives in Cityville. she’s on the verge of having to crawl home to her family with her tail between her legs

BC is 23 and finishing her physical therapy program in Townsville. Still lives with the Professor, but she practically lives full time at her boyfriend's place. She’s semi-neurotic about her relationship, not because it’s unstable, but b/c she thinks it’s too good to be true. Butch, for what it’s worth, doesn’t blink an eye—just a chill dude in this one. VERY into BC.

Blossom is 25 and starting her law career. Lives on the East Coast, working for a successful firm. Would like to move back home at one point, but she hasn’t really had the “right” reason to.

Plot (under the cut!)

It opens with Bubbles at a diner waiting for her sisters at their regular booth. Life isn’t all rainbows and sunshine like she had hoped. At the diner, Buttercup announces that she and her long-term boyfriend are finally engaged! Bubbles has met Butch plenty of time as well as Brick, Butch’s older brother, but she has yet to meet his youngest brother. In fact, Bubbles doesn’t even know his name. Butch just affectionately refers to him as “my dumbass little brother,” which Brick (a defense lawyer here in Townsville) wholeheartedly agrees with. Butch has also said “he’s into all that artsy stuff like you. Draws and shit.”

Until they finally meet at the wedding

He wasn’t there for the wedding rehearsal because his flight was delayed—he was somewhere “fancy” according to Butch b/c of some “art thing, idk, he’ll be here.” “He better be!” Cries HIM, who is one of Butch’s dads, but Bubbles doesn’t really know how exactly b/c everyone is adamant that HIM and Mojo (their other eccentric father) have never once been in a relationship

So when Bubs finally meets the brother she’s walking down the aisle with, she—a person who has an undergrad degree in art (haven’t decided what kind yet lol)—is like WAIT BOOMER JOJO THE BOOMER JOJO?!?! He’s like, “lol sup” and she loses her mind because Butch’s dumbass little brother doesn’t just “draw and shit,” he’s actually an art world prodigy, who despite being very young and very alive, is considered very renowned in major art circles.

(Not Banksy per se, but he’s like one of those Bad Boy artists that would make other artists roll their eyes) (also a man of many projects but doesn’t have the follow-through for a lot of them—which if he wasn’t so good at the stuff he actually finishes, would bite him in the ass; he’s flaky, gets bored easily).

Bubbles is amazed she hasn’t made the connection between the brothers and Boomer just laughs.

There’s, quite predictably, an instant connection between the blues. Butch, who cares for his sister-in-law, is like “Bubs don’t date my brother. He’s not mature enough to be dating anyone.” And Bubbles doesn’t listen!! Because she’s desperate for love and this could also mean she’s finally getting her big break!! Their relationship is really intense and Boomer does end up getting her a nice cushy job at some indie gaming company that he’s dipping his toes in. But just a quick as the flame is lit, it goes out. Boomer gets bored, Bubbles’ art isn’t being taken seriously, and she ends up getting fired for creative differences. Fired and despondent, she gets her break-up text from Boomer the next day. The day after that, he’s dating a model.

Absolutely crushed, Bubbles packs up her bags, leaves his apartment, and moves back in with the Professor. Butch and Buttercup (and Brick—but he’s at work) are ready to kick ass. Bubbles though would rather forget about it and holes up in her childhood bedroom. Eventually, BC gets her out of the room, brings her to Butch and her’s home, and is like “listen I know you’re heartbroken, but ima need you to do something for me—“ and Bubbles is like omg srsly?? Right now?? And BC is like “I need a mural on that wall, something cutesy, ya kno a stork or something?” And Bubbles is about to snap but then, she's like WAIT A STORK!!! And a new baby on the way really brings Bubbles out of her stupor—it gets her painting again. (Bubbles is full of love and you can’t tell me she doesn’t love babies)

So the mural is a hit at the baby shower and Robin (longtime best friend, also pregnant), is like Bubbles please paint me one, and her partner Princess is like MONEY IS NO OBJECT IF ROBIN WANTS IT SHE GETS IT. And then, subsequently, Robin’s (and Princess’s) mural takes off in the rich, white lady community, and soon enough Bubbles is being commissioned for more than just Baby Murals. Princess goes around bragging that she was the one who “discovered her,” and becomes Bubbles' “business agent.”

Basically, Bubbles is on the rise. As opposed to Boomer, who is on the fall. He’s hit an art block. It’s really bad. His melancholy is really bad. Very much plays the “woe is me" card. Hasn’t been back to Townsville in a while, so when his nephew (who he’s met briefly over facetime lol) turns one, he decides to fly in for his birthday.

Plans to mope and bum off his brothers for a bit, but is shocked to see Bubbles, who he then realizes he shouldn’t be so shocked to see. Has a ream “this was a mistake, she’ll make scene” moment, but Bubbles greets him as if nothing between them had ever happened (LIKE A QUEEN). Boomer takes this personally. Then Boomer meets Princess, who gloats about Bubbles, and then, looks at the award-winning boy and goes, “so anyway, who are you again?”

This pisses Boomer off even more and then, over the course of the week he stays with the greens, this anger builds up. He eventually takes it out on Bubbles, like, “you wouldn’t be who you are without me.”

[cue that one blinking gif] Bubbles goes off. Boomer storms off. Romance is in the air.

Jk

[well I guess the reds are hitting it off, but that’s c-plot and who cares]

Princess isn’t privy to this growing resentment and only sees an Opportunity™. She reaches out to Boomer’s agent. Then, she reaches out to a museum, and is like “I’ve got the most BITCHING exhibit for you.” Then, she tells Bubbles about the gig she booked for her.

Bubbles and Boomer are like no way am I doing a collab with them. Boomer’s agent is like “chief ima be real with you, it’s this or nothing.” Princess looks at Bubbles and tells her to suck it up. So, they end up working together, which means Boomer is back in Townsville.

Cue lovers to enemies to friends back to lovers speedrun. Hello yes.

Because they’re forced to collaborate, because Bubbles is more confident, and because Boomer has been knocked down a peg or two, they actually (finally) get to know each other on a personal level. And being closer to family helps Boomer, in some ways, mature. It’s a whole connecting back to your roots “ive grown and im better now” character development for Boomer.

Ends ambiguous ;) but it's happy.

[duhragonball]

[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (155/?)

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: This story takes place about 1000 years before 66 years after the events of Dragon Ball Z.

Hey, it’s the Hero Lab!

[1 July, Age 726.    Planet Plant.]

The latest reports from the frontlines were very encouraging.    The Tuffles were a stubborn enemy, but the Saiyans had managed to drive them out of the north quarter of Orange City, while the Truffle pushback in Cidertown had slowed to a virtual standstill.   Nappa smiled as he laid the report down and enjoyed the view from his new penthouse.    The blood of the previous owner still stained the walls and floors, but he rather enjoyed the scent of dead Tuffles.   It gave the place some much-needed personality.    

"You seem to be in a good mood today."  

Nappa looked up from the balcony and spotted a young Saiyan floating overhead.    He didn't recognize the man, but judged him to be part-alien from the color of his hair and the strange clothes that he wore.    He looked more like a Tuffle than a Saiyan, but the scent was proof enough that he wasn't Nappa's enemy.    Whatever the young man's parentage, his blood was nothing like the kind that decorated his new home.    

"Why wouldn't I be happy?" Nappa asked.   His thin mustache framed his smile as he crossed his arms over his massive chest.    "The Tuffles have been lording over us for years, and now we're finally taking over this planet, just as easily as I took over this apartment.    Before long, the Tuffles will be the ones begging us to let them stay on Planet Plant."

"I guess you're right," the man said.   "At least until someone stronger comes along and takes it all away from you."

"I like you, kid," Nappa said with a gravely laugh.    "You sure do know how to tell a joke.   What brings you here?"

"I had some questions," he said as he alighted on the balcony.  "I need information, and I heard you knew my father, so I thought I'd start with you."

Nappa eyed the man suspiciously.    "I know a lot of fathers," he said.   "None of them wore long black coats, or carried a sword, though.    What's your dad's name, kid?"  

"Vegeta," he said.  

Nappa laughed.    Then he looked at the young man more carefully, doing his best to ignore the blue eyes and the lavender hair that hung around his face.   Then he laughed harder.  

"Something funny about that?" the man asked.    

"I do see a bit of a resemblance," Nappa said.   "Guess King Vegeta II had a few 'unofficial' heirs over the years, huh?   Who knew he had it in him?   So which is it?   You want to blackmail the royal family?    Or were you hoping they'd give you a cushy civil service job?"

"Nothing like that," the man said.   "I just wanted to ask you some questions.    Nothing personal, just general background stuff."

"Yeah?  Well why should I help you?" Nappa asked.    "For that matter, killing you would probably be a smarter play.    One less would-be usurper for the king to worry about, right?  I’m sure your old man would make it worth my while."

"Oh, I probably should have been more specific," the young man said.    "My father isn't Vegeta the Second.    It's Vegeta the Fourth."    

Nappa gave him a sidelong glance.    "There is no Vegeta IV," he said warily.  

"Not yet, anyway," the man said with a knowing smile.  

"That's it, I don't know what your game is, punk, but I'm through playing!" Nappa said.    "You can tell your lies in hell!"  

He drew back his arm and threw a punch that would have killed most Saiyans on contact.    Nappa had made a name for himself on the battlefield for defeating entire companies of Tuffle mechatroops all by himself.    He fully expected to turn the young man's head into a cloud of red mist.    

Instead, the man blocked his strike with such incredible speed that Nappa couldn't even tell that he had moved.   In one instant, the man had been standing with his hands in his pockets.    And then in the next, the man was now gripping Nappa's palm with his thumb and index finger.    He squeezed slightly, and Nappa nearly dropped to his knees from the pain.    

"Nnnghhh!" was the noise he made as he struggled not to show how much it hurt.   His free hand reached up for his scalp, where he tugged at the tuft of thick black hair on his head.

"Look, let's cut to the chase, all right?   For you, this'll only take a few minutes, but I might be doing these interviews all night, so don't waste my time, okay?   Those Tuffles you're fighting might be pushovers, but I'm not.    So now that you know that you can't brute force your way out of this, what'll it be?"

He released Nappa's hand, and Nappa gasped with relief as he cradled it in his other palm.   He stared at his hands for a moment, then at the man.   Then he paused to consider the sword, and how much worse it would get if the young man decided to make use of it.    

"Heh.   Uh, yeah, sorry, Your Majesty.   I-I should have recognized you sooner.    Anything you want, just let me know, Prince... uh... Prince... What'd you say your name was?"

"I didn't," he replied.  "So, let's start with a simple one.    Have you ever heard of a Saiyan named Luffa?"

*******

[1 December Age 893, Earth.]

"Honestly, I didn't expect him to know Luffa.    Nappa didn't recognize her when she faced him on a Time Patrol mission, but he did fill me in on a few things."

By Age 889, the arcade game Super Dragon Ball Heroes had become a popular pastime, and the city of Hero Town became the global headquarters for the craze.    Gaming enthusiasts from around the world traveled to Hero Town to partake in the game, which was based upon actual events from the previous century.   Trunks had logged many hours in front of an SDBH cabinet, though his reasons had nothing to do with recreation.   For all its popularity, the game had a very strange secret.    It was the Capsule Corporation who developed the software, but the world within the game was actually made possible by the Time Patrol.   Deep beneath Hero Tower was the Hero Lab, where the Time Patrol occasionally conducted secret research and reconnaissance.  

"I don't get it, Master," said a teenage girl standing near one of the main computer terminals that surrounded nearly every surface of the Hero Lab.    "You formed the Dragon Ball Heroes Team to help you defeat Sealas, right?   So why didn't you come to us on this Towa situation?"

"Note's right, Trunks!" said a teenage boy eating mochi from a bag.  "I'm Goku's descendant, after all!   It's not fair to leave me out of a case like this."

Trunks deactivated the Hero Switch device and handed it to Anne, one of the scientists who maintained the lab.    His black trenchcoat and sword hung next to several labcoats on a metal rack in the corner, revealing the olive-green sweater he wore underneath.   He smiled at Note and Beat, and then Dr. Leggings, the project director of the Hero Lab, who was programming the next simulation.

"I understand where you're coming from, kids," Trunks said, "and I appreciate the offer, but it's not that simple."  

"Why not?" Beat asked.   "From what you've told us, Luffa's a Saiyan, right?   If that's all you needed, then I could have tackled these missions for you.  I'm a Saiyan, too."

"Oh, here we go..." Note grumbled.  She made sure to roll her eyes dramatically enough for everyone in the room to see.

"What?" Beat asked.    "It's true, isn't it?"

"Beat, even I have Saiyan ancestry," Dr. Leggings said without looking up from her computer terminal.   "After a hundred and thirty years of Saiyans living on Earth, it's not as uncommon as you might think."

"She's right," Trunks said.   "We have a lot of Saiyan-Earthling Time Patrollers back in Toki Toki City from the next century.   A few of the stranger ones call me 'Your Highness', but I try not to hold it against them.      Besides, if all I cared about was Saiyan blood, I'd go to my father for help.   So that's not why I recruited you, or Luffa, for that matter."

"Then why did you recruit Luffa instead of coming to us?" Beat asked.  

"Listen,” Trunks said.   “In my timeline, No. 17 and 18 had destroyed much of the world.   Son Gohan was the only Z-fighter left, and he was reluctant to train me.    He needed the help, but he was worried about me getting hurt.    I think eventually he decided he didn't have a choice.    He knew that if anything happened to him, there would have been no one else to defeat the Cyborgs.   But now I understand how his reluctance.    After he... well.... Later on, when I was on my own, I was determined to defeat them alone.   I wanted no part of my mother's plan to use her Time Machine to get help from Goku."

"But, Master, if you hadn't gone back in time," Note said, then you never would have joined the Time Patrol, or formed the Dragon Ball Heroes Team!"

"Exactly," Trunks said.    "Working with Goku and his friends in the past, I learned how valuable it can be to have allies.   It's not just about having extra hands to help with the hard work.   You can learn from each new friend you make.    And they can learn from you, as well.    I think that's why the Supreme Kai of Time created the Time Patrol in the first place.  So it wouldn't be right to keep turning to the same handful of allies every time.  Besides, I need you guys here, keeping an eye on things in Hero Town."

"Well, yeah," Beat said.   "I guess that makes sense.   But it's been so dull around here lately."

"Tell you what," Trunks offered.   "Once things settle down in Toki Toki City, I'll pull a few strings, maybe bring you guys in on a Time Patrol mission.   How's that sound?"

"Really?!" Note cheered.   She jumped into the air and kicked her heels behind her with excitement.    

"Awesome!" Beat said.  

"Don't get too carried away," Trunks said.    "I can't make any promises.   Ultimately, it's up to the Supreme Kai of Time.    But I think we can manage something."    

"I think we're ready for the next session, sir," Leggings said.   "Assuming these coordinates you gave us are valid.   Are you sure we can trust Nappa?"

"She's right, Master," Note added.    "He's bad news.   Just because you're stronger than he is doesn't mean he would have had any reason to tell you the truth."

"Which is exactly why I'm using Hero Lab to access the game world instead of traveling back in time," Trunks explained.   "Our research teams back in Toki Toki City are constantly using time machines to observe historical events, but they can't interact with anything or ask questions, because it might alter history."

"But the SDBH game is a simulation based upon the Scroll of Eternity itself," Dr. Leggings said.    "Meaning it's a nearly perfect copy of the real world, one that you can tamper with and not have to worry about permanently changing anything."

"Of course!" Note said.   "It's like how Sealas used the game to learn what changes he could make to alter history.   He used the game like a practice run for the real thing."

"Only, instead of changing the way things happened in the past," Beat said, "you're using the game to find out how things are supposed to have turned out.   But how does that help you learn anything about Luffa?"

"I asked Shenron to bring me a powerful ally," Trunks said.    "I should have been more specific about the wish, but I was kind of desperate for the help.   Shenron sent me Luffa, but she had no idea what was going on, and neither of us knows how to get her back where she came from.   She talked to one of our historians, and it's starting to sound like she's from some other part of the universe, or maybe from another timeline.   But wherever she's from, she's still a Saiyan, and not a descendant of Goku or Vegeta, like we are.    So I think if I go far enough into the past, I'll find some historical information we have in common, and maybe I can follow that thread back to her home."

"Phew!" Beat said.   "That sounds like a lot of work!  I'm worn out just thinking about it."

"You're not even doing anything," Note muttered.  

"There's no telling what kind of trouble I might run into in the simulated history," Trunks said.   Dr. Leggings has only ever run the simulation in a very narrow time range.   A few centuries at most.   I may end up taking the simulation into uncharted territory, and everything I know about Saiyans tells me that they had plenty of enemies to fight.    If things get hairy, I'll need some backup, and that's where you two come in.   I can't think of anyone better qualified than my two top students."

"Gosh...!" Note said.

"Yeah!  Now you're talking!" Beat cheered.    

Anne handed the Hero Switch back to Trunks.   The device was a powerful computer, but it looked like a black bracelet covered in glowing blue lights and a Capsule Corp. logo.   Trunks placed it onto his right wrist and prepared to activate it.  

"In the game world," he said, "Nappa told me that "Saiya" was a name for several planets colonized by Saiyans throughout history.   The most recent one was destroyed around four hundred years ago.    Hopefully, someone there will know more about King Rehval, or the Camelian Empire, or this Planet Nagaoka that Luffa once mentioned."

"What if they don't know, sir?" Anne asked.  

"Then I'll have to keep traveling backward until I find someone who does," Trunks said.   "Wish me luck."

"Wait, Trunks, one more thing before you go!" Dr. Leggings said urgently.

"Huh?   What's wrong?" Trunks asked.    He held up the Hero Switch on his wrist and pointed at it.   "Everything looks good on this end."

"It's just... are you sure you don't want to wear the Great Saiyaman 3 outfit for this mission?" she asked.  

"I'm positive," Trunks said.   Before anyone could object, he activated the bracelet, and vanished into the game world.    

*******

[12 May, Age 513.    Planet Saiya.]

"You picked a fine time to ask about the weather, stranger."

The Saiyan’s name was Reeque, and Trunks had no idea how old she was.   The small settlement he found on Saiya was it's largest population center, and they directed him to an old hag who lived in the wastelands.   Trunks found her easily enough, but then the blood-wraiths attacked, and they had to take their conversation on the run.   Powerful as Trunks was, his technology and ki were useless against the intangible creatures, and Reeque's warnings were enough to convince him that he should keep his distance.    

"They become solid every seven months," Reeque told him.   "Then we pay them back a thousandfold, but in the meantime, we run and hide until dawn.    They say the storms left them behind, but I doubt that.   Not even Luffa would be so cruel."

She carried a walking stick carved from some gnarled length of driftwood, but Trunks was impressed with how swiftly she crossed the rough terrain.    Her dark red robes flapped behind her back like the wings of some great ugly hawk.    

"I apologize for not making myself clear, ma'am," Trunks said as he hopped over a rock.    "The Luffa I asked about is a Saiyan, not a storm system."

"Well that's perfectly clear to me, boy," Reeque said, "but it doesn't change the fact that you're mistaken.   Only Luffa I've ever heard of is the one my great grandmother told me about.     Wiped out the entire Kingdom of Saiya in a single day.   The smart ones fled while they could.   The rest stayed, but only the hardiest few survived.   The environment here was harsh before Luffa, and it only got worse from there.    Without the supplies from allied worlds... well, you learn to savor the taste of roast blood-wraith."

"Then where did the Saiyans go when they abandoned this planet?" Trunks asked.

"Hell," Reeque said.   "If there's any justice, they went to hell.  Otherwise they scattered across the galaxy.     There was a kingdom on Sadala, but my life wouldn't be worth a zinc coin on that forsaken place.   My parents were banished, and they joined the usurper kings during the civil wars.    Fifty years ago, they tried to rebuild Saiya, like the name alone would restore their fortunes.   But there's nothing left here.  Nothing but blood-wraiths and ruin."

None of this was surprising to Trunks, since Nappa had told him this planet would eventually be destroyed altogether.   He had tried to arrive on Saiya well before that day, but it seemed like the destruction of Saiya had been set into motion long before whatever warrior finally put it out of its misery.

"And King Rehval?" Trunks asked.    "What became of him?"

"Why should you care, boy?" Reeque asked.    "You've come a long way in search of the dead."

"I think he's my ancestor," Trunks said.    "I, uh, I'm trying to settle a dowry on another planet, and they're very interested in genealogies."

"Social climber, huh?" Reeque said.   "Well, I can't help you with that.   Anything else you wanted to know?"

"The Camelian Empire," Trunks said.   "Do you know where I can find it?   I don't need exact coordinates, just a general idea will do.  Er, is something wrong, ma'am?"

She began to make a sort of rhythmic coughing sound from her throat, and Trunks eventually figured out that it was laughter.    "You're an amusing fellow," Reeque finally said.   "When I saw that purple hair of yours, I thought I might be seeing things, but my imagination isn't wild enough to dream up such silly questions.   Oh, I've spent countless nights like this one, running from bloodwraiths, but I think I'll remember tonight for a long time to come."  

"Then you can't tell me about Camelia either," Trunks said.    

"There's nothing to tell, boy," Reeque said with a rasping chuckle.    "The Camelian Empire fell more than three hundred years ago!"

*******

[23 February, 238 Before Age.    Chai I.]

"The ‘Super Saiyan’?   Now what in the world is that, Trunks?"

"It's a legend I heard when I was a boy," Trunks said.   "According to my father, once every thousand years, there's a Saiyan who surpasses the limits of what Saiyans can do.   They're considered the ultimate warriors.   Powerful, invincible, and with an insatiable craving for battle."

Rehval III considered this tale for a moment while admiring the bouquet of his wine.   At last, he took a sip from his glass, and sampled a bite of his fish entree.  Trunks waited patiently at the other side of the table.   The restaurant looked fancier than any Trunks had ever seen on Earth, in any century.   And this was merely a section of a minor administrative building in the Camelian capitol.      

"I'll be blunt, Trunks,” Rehval finally said.    “You seem like the kind of man who likes to get to the point, so I won’t keep you in suspense.   I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I see," Trunks said.    

"Do you believe in this legend yourself?" Rehval asked.  

"No," Trunks said after a pause.  "In my experience there's no such thing as an invincible warrior.  There are extraordinary Saiyans, but not necessarily one every thousand years.    There could be two or three, or a hundred, or none at all."

"I'll tell you what I think," Rehval said.   "I have heard tall tales of ancient Saiyan heroes.   Chanisp was said to have lived about a thousand years ago.    For all I know, they've been saying "a thousand years ago" for centuries.   I mean, a year ago, was anyone saying Chanisp lived 'nine-hundred and ninety-nine years ago'?   Of course not.   The round numbers make for better storytelling, but I deal in precision."  

Rehval paused his meal to point at a gold watch on his left wrist.    "My summit with the Camelian Imperial College begins in three hours and twenty-two minutes, Trunks.   I can't afford to offend the Camelians by rounding up.    Time can be a strict mistress."

"I take your point," Trunks said.    "And I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me."  

"Not at all," Rehval said.   "There aren't many Saiyans in this part of the galaxy, besides common raiders, I mean.   And you're a man of unusual manners and poise, Trunks.   You're exactly the sort of citizen I want in the Kingdom of Saiya.    I think you'd find life very prosperous under my rule."

"I am... interested in hearing more," Trunks said.    "Let's put it that way."

"Well, then, it's a good thing you found me during this gap in my schedule," Rehval said.    "I have all afternoon to convince you to come home with me."

Trunks smiled as though amused by his remark.    In fact, this had been his third attempt to speak with King Rehval III.   An earlier visit to the Camelian capital world gave him access to important diplomatic records, which showed him the exact date and time of an official visit by the Saiyan King.    Trunks found him on the first try, but he was too busy to talk.    Trunks reset the game world simulation and tried again, approaching Rehval three hours earlier, but wasn't able to catch the man's interest.    This time, he figured out that the key to Rehval's attention was to show interest in joining his cause.   Rehval’s Kingdom was the most powerful Saiyan faction in this era, but his subjects made up less than half of the Saiyan population, and Rehval was very keen on getting more Saiyans to rally to his flag.     Even half-aliens like Trunks were welcome, apparently.    

"Where did you say your mother was from?" Rehval asked.    Trunks was pretty sure Rehval had aims for establishing diplomatic ties with Earth, even if he had no idea where it was or if it was worth his time.

"The Yajirobe System," Trunks lied.  "It's pretty far off the beaten path.     But what were you saying about Chanisp?"

"Well, there are lower classes in every society, Trunks," Rehval explained.   "It's not something Saiyans think about much, but other civilizations have demonstrated it time and time again.    The problem is that, in disorganized societies, these lesser citizens don't understand that they have a duty to follow their betters.    And so, in their confusion, they turn to superstitions."

"Go on..." Trunks said.    He took a bite of his salad and chewed thoroughly.  

"They say Chanisp defeated a mighty demon and liberated the entire Saiyan race from slavery.    Did it actually happen?    Maybe.   Was he one of your father's 'Super Saiyans'?    He might have been.   How does any of that prove that there should be another one like him ten centuries later?   Oh, and the cycle just happens to reset in the present day.   So the tale expects us to believe that, at any moment, any one of us might miraculously transform into an invincible, demon-slaying superhero.   How convenient."  

"Well, when you put it that way..." Trunks said.    

"I'm not one to brag, Trunks, but as far as I know, the strongest Saiyan alive is sitting across the table from you.   That's not a challenge, or a demand for respect, just a statement of fact.   I'd have to be stronger to be the king, or I wouldn't be the king for very long, now would I?"

"Makes sense to me," Trunks lied again.   

He only brought up the legend to gain historical context.   Rehval seemed to enjoy discussing it, so that worked to Trunks’ favor, but what he had truly wanted to know was whether Rehval had heard of a golden-haired cryptid running amok in the galaxy.   He had not, which meant that there had been no Super Saiyan in this era, or that the Super Saiyan hadn’t appeared yet. 

"These legends are just stories people invent to convince themselves that there's a way out of their reality.     When the thousandth year passes, they move the goalpost, or invent a new story to replace the old.   'Oh, the Super Saiyan is real, he's just invisible and working in secret, but he really is here to help us all.'   That sort of thing."

"And that's why you're pursuing diplomatic ties with Camelia," Trunks concluded.  "You can't afford to wait for a messiah."

"The Saiyans are at a crossroads, Trunks," Rehval said.    "If our race is going to survive, we need to follow the same well-tread path as the Camelian Empire.    Statecraft.   National unity.   It's not as romantic as your father's legend, but it works.    It's a path that leads to prosperity.    If we all unite as one kingdom, under one law, then we grow stronger as a people.   That means forming alliances, brokering treaties, and all the other minutiae that goes with it."

"Well, this has been a very interesting discussion, but I'm afraid I need to get going," Trunks said.   He stood up from his chair and gestured to the waiter to bring his coat and sword.    "It's been a pleasure, Your Majesty."

"Wait," Rehval said.   "I thought you wanted to hear more about Planet Saiya.   The great society that I'm building there.   I'd like you to be a part of that society, Trunks."

"I'm sure you would," Trunks said as he put his arms through the sleeves of his coat.    "But I've already seen how Saiya turns out, and I'm already a part of the society you envisioned.   What's left of it, anyway."

"I don't understand."

"It's simple.   Your vision isn't all that visionary, Rehval.   No matter how strong you think you are, there's always someone stronger who'll come along to challenge you.   That's not a leader, that's a gunfighter daring someone to come along and defeat him.   I've grew up in a world ruled by strength alone, and you're half-right.   It is a well-worn path, but it doesn't lead to prosperity."

"What do mean you've already seen Saiya?" Rehval asked.   "Who are you?"

Trunks activated the bracelet on his arm, and vanished from the game world.    The simulated Rehval who existed within it was left with more questions than answers, though he would not ponder them for long.    Soon enough, the simulation would be refreshed, and he would have no memory of this encounter.

NEXT: Burning Questions

[adelaidedrubman]

let’s do one for each of the girls!

🌿 (lela), 🍁 (jenna), 🥀 (jestiny)

AMANDA yay thank you for loving all my children equally <3 jenna and jestiny's below cut and warnings for some discussions of trauma, abuse, and domestic violence. (and possible spoilers for jessie’s backstory.)

🌿 What is something true about your OC that they refuse to admit about themselves? Is there any reason to this besides embarassment?

probably that she has like, hella support systems and privileges and always has. my girl really wants to buy into the "chosen" mindset that she overcame all her physical limitations and regained her strength all on her own because she's special, but... girl you have a loving family back home who financially supported you while you quit your cushy job working at the family business to fuck off to the montana wilderness to convalesce. that's the most bougie shit ive ever heard, fuck off with the rugged individualism pretense.

she also has trouble admitting at the end of the day she's just a very vulnerable and frankly gullible person. she's well aware she wasted time and money on other snake oil before joining eden's gate, but every time she's like "no this one is different." unfortunately one of the many myths she's bought into is that she's always thinking for herself, so she's pretty ignorant to this.

🍁 What is your OC’s most traumatic experience? (If they don’t have just one traumatic experience either pick one or describe them all!)

jenna's trauma is more from general patterns than anything specific, but it revolves around the extremely high standards her parents set for her as a child for academic achievement. it shaped a lot of the coldly result oriented aspects of her personality, as she was taught early on her own wellbeing wasn't as important as her accomplishments. i don't actually know how much she personally considers this traumatic, considering she doesn't really see a problem with the way she lives and treats others at present. (despite the fact she's now like, taken child psychology and development classes and if asked would say "oh yes logically my parents did not use the most effective motivation tactics they risked more psychological damage than the positive outcomes were likely to yield" she hasn't considered she should like... go to therapy about it.)

but if she had to pick one thing in particular her parents did during her childhood that left a mark, it would probably be the time they canceled her 11th birthday party because she got a bad grade on a school project.

🥀 What is something your OC blames themself for and is it really their fault? Does it keep them up at night and is there any lingering trauma?

she blames herself for pretty much every bad thing that ever happened to her mother. she's always somewhat felt responsible for the abuse her mother experienced from her father, primarily because 1) as she grew up, she discerned from overhearing family gossip that it started around the time she was born (not completely accurate, but it did escalate to the point people noticed then); 2) the one time her father actually physically assaulted her mother in front of her, it was actually in response to jessie talking back to him; 3) he literally never even used a socially acceptable level of physical discipline with jessie herself. ever. even once. and he expressed a lot of love and affection for her, always telling her she was too special to him to ever hurt. obviously none of this was actually her fault and if she went! to! therapy! she'd probably learn these are extremely common patterns of family and domestic violence and she's still a victim, but alas. she's never set foot in a therapist's office, and i can't imagine what relevant circumstances she could possibly decide to project all of this onto instead.

similarly, she feels a lot of guilt about the fact that she didn't actually personally go home to take care of her mother when she got sick. she rationalized it as her needing to work to actually afford medical treatment for her instead, but she also knows her mother would have probably preferred to be taken care of by family at the end, and that deep down she stayed away because of her own trauma. (but those traumas are very real and valid and the only thing she should actually be blaming herself for is not going to fucking therapy.)

[hermannsthumb]

So I know you don't really write PRU things but how about PRU averting? Like when Newt starts to realize something is wrong he goes to Hermann for help?

this isn’t exactly what you wanted (at all) but the concept for this fic has been making me laugh all week. sometimes a bitch just wants to write a slightly unhinged jealous ex hermann unknowingly seducing aliens out of newt

safe for work except for some makeouts and implied past banging, but hermann tries very hard for it to not be. also ive definitely written similar plots before but who cares

—————

They send a ranger-in-training to break the news to Hermann. He’s not sure what they expected him to do, really, or how a teenager in oversized khakis might have prevented it in the first place. Rage? Cry? Break things? His relationship with Newton Geiszler has been highly publicized at this point, he supposes, down to every last gory detail; their scientific rivalry, their heated laboratory debates, their–er–rather dramatic love affair, which ended on a deeply sour note when Newton packed his bags and left Hermann for better funding and a swanky flat with more windows than walls seven years ago. As far as gossip is concerned, that is.

“Tomorrow?” Hermann says.

The ranger nods and says nothing. She’s awfully young–too young, Hermann thinks. And awfully afraid of him. Right, of course: he’s crotchety, daft old Dr. Gottlieb, notorious for his short temper and avoidance of socialization at all costs. He furrows his brow an appropriate amount and nods, as if to appear deeply consternated, or perhaps lost in brooding abstraction. “I see,” he says. “Hm. That wretched Dr. Geiszler, here, after so many years. The nerve of him. Thank you.”

The girl doesn’t move.

“Ah,” Hermann says. “Dismissed, I mean.”

Between the bare bones staff and Hermann’s incredibly low rank back in Hong Kong, he still hasn’t quite gotten used to the notion that he has things like interns and underlings again, let alone people who–when sent to deliver him a message, or paperwork, or lab equipment he submitted forms for–need to be explicitly dismissed to leave his presence. Newton would love it. Or, at the very least, he’d love teasing Hermann for it. (Control freak, that was what he’d call Hermann.) 

Back in the safety and solitude of his private laboratory, Hermann brews a fresh pot of tea and mulls the news over. It’ll hardly be the first time Newton’s set foot at the Moyulan Shatterdome. It’ll hardly be the first time Hermann will have seen Newton since the Events of seven years ago, either. It will, however, be the first occasion on which the two collide: Newton always seems to schedule his routine Moyulan visits when Hermann is tucked safely away in some conference or council in some other bloody country, leaving their paths to cross at the most inane social events, banquets and fundraisers and black tie occasions that leave Hermann stifling under his collar and his leg aching from the strain of standing for so long. 

Their words to each other in such situations have always been terse, brief, polite. Newton, after all, is a very important (and very rich) man these days, and he has plenty of elbows to bump and high society buggers to flatter without Hermann getting in his way. It’s pleasantries, is all. Lovely to see you, Dr. Geiszler. How’s work, Dr. Geiszler? The champagne is excellent, isn’t it, Dr. Geiszler? By Jove, it’s maddening. Just once Hermann would like to shout and snap at him like the good old days, to grab hold of that stupid bloody tie and shove him against a wall and kiss him, or bite him, or do anything that isn’t smile and pretend to care when he mentions that–that Alice floozy he’s shacking up with. And now, with Newton finally giving Hermann a window to meet in his own territory…

Hermann keeps a small volume of Newton’s early research on his desk–compiled long before he even knew the man–and he takes it out now, slipping a well-worn polaroid out from between its pages and propping it against his tea mug. Newton smiles out at him. “Horrible little man,” Hermann says, lovingly, and gently brushes his index finger against that handsome face.

He feigns a stomach bug to clock out of work early–fooling no one, of course, but his staff chalks it up sympathetically to the prospect of seeing his notorious ex tomorrow and says nothing–and makes a mad dash into town for a haircut and manicure. After some consideration, he pops into a clothing store for a new button-down, too. A nice one. One that fits him well. (You have a hot bod, dude, Newton would always say, you should be flaunting it. 

No, no raging, or crying, or breaking things. It’s been seven years since Newton walked out on Hermann for a cushy job and designer suits, and Hermann has exactly one course of action in mind: winning him back.

——

Newton is not exactly as Hermann remembered. The changes in him are noticeable, and–for the most part, barring the loss of his glasses and personal sense of style–Hermann feels entirely neutral about them: hair more neatly tamed, stubble more neatly shaved, body ever-so-slightly more toned. Hermann seems to recall Newton saying something about CrossFit or some sort of damned exercise bike he bought at the last banquet they attended–lost ten pounds this past month! New Year’s Resolution, you know, ha, gotta stay in shape for Alice (and this was the point at which Hermann clenched his champagne flute so tightly it burst, and he excused himself to find a napkin with which to tend to his bleeding and a tall glass of whiskey from the open bar with which to tend to his agonies). Whatever it is, it seems to be working.

He manages to lure Newton out from under the thumb of his boss with vague claims of research, though Newton is not happy about it. “I got shit to do, man,” he complains. His eyes are inscrutable behind his expensive sunglasses. “It’s just not a good time. Busy, busy, busy, you know.”

They’ll have the laboratory to themselves, even more so than usual. I’ll need to have a few private words with Dr. Geiszler, Hermann had ominously announced to his staff that morning, and they’d all looked at each other in excitement. An infamous Geiszler-Gottlieb row! Hermann locks the door behind them.

“You poor dear,” Hermann says. “Running yourself ragged. You must be exhausted.”

Newton shrugs. “I am a little. I guess.” He shrugs again, and this time preens a little with it. Good: Hermann wants him nice and flattered. “It’s hard work being as important as I am, you know.”

“I imagine,” Hermann coos sympathetically. He brushes his hand across Newton’s shoulders, then nudges him at the small of his back towards his desk. “Please, Newt, I insist you have a seat. Would you like some coffee?”

“I mean, if you’re offering,” Newton says, waving him off.

The instant coffee is located on the middle shelf of Hermann’s bookcase, between a dusty variety box of Twinings and an elaborate kaiju action figure Newton left in their apartment when he walked out. Hermann spoons some into a chipped blue mug and watches Newton through the man’s reflection on the kettle. He leans back in Hermann’s desk chair; he rolls his shoulders; he pops open a button on his maroon suit coat; he spies something propped up on Hermann’s desk, and picks it up. The polaroid. Hermann ducks his head to hide his smile.

“Good times, huh, dude?” Newton says. He waves it in the air.

“Mm,” Hermann says. 

He hands the mug of coffee over to Newton, who’s yet to put down the polaroid. Milk and plenty of sugar. Exactly the way Newton always used to take it. “There we are, dear,” he says. “Are you hungry? Might I get you anything to eat? I’ve plenty of biscuits, and, er...” He casts a guilty glance around the mess of his workspace. “...Oranges.”

“No thanks,” Newton says, but it’s vague, unconvincing. His eyes are locked on the photograph. “Good times,” he repeats. 

“Nothing to eat at all?” Hermann says.

Newton shakes himself. “Nah,” he says, and pats his stomach. “On a diet. You know, for Alice.”

Ah, of course; Alice. The mystery woman Hermann despises the very existence of. For years after Newton first broke the news to Hermann he was seeing someone new, Hermann used to pour over magazine articles and gossip sites for even a glimpse of what she might look like (and for the chance to do something cathartic, like crop her angrily from a photograph with Newton or scribble over her face with a Sharpie). Probably horrendously ugly; possibly blonde; undoubtedly lacking taste, and humor, and any other sorts of qualities a mate worthy of Newton ought to possess. At the very least, Hermann knows she isn’t at all supportive of Newton in the way she should be. Every banquet and fundraiser, she’s too busy to come, every dinner invitation Hermann finally accepts so he may properly hate the woman, she must cancel at the very last minute due to some strange illness or another. 

Privately, Hermann thinks she feels threatened by him. As she should be. He and Newton have been in each other’s heads, after all, wrote letters in their youth, shared a laboratory for years, shared a bed for longer than that. It’s a simple fact one will ever know Newton like Hermann knows him.

“Of course,” Hermann says, with icy kindness. “For Alice. How is she these days? I was ever so put out when she caught–what was it–influenza, yes, that night we were meant to dine together. And the time before that, with pneumonia. And laryngitis before that. Terrific bloody coincidences, aren’t they.”

(Sorry, dude, Newton said over the phone, not sounding very sorry, but rather quite distracted. She was probably in the room, egging on his lies. She's sick. Can’t see you after all. Rain check?)

“Yeah,” Newton says. He’s started to shake his leg up and down, a nervous tic Hermann is all too aware of, seeing as he’s picked it up himself after their drift. Along with an annoying tendency to hoard sentimental rubbish. “Coincidences. If I’m being honest, Hermann–I’m not too keen on you two–well.” A strange look crosses his face, replaced in a blink of an eye with a toothy smile. “Old flame and the new flame, it’d be awkward for everyone, y’know?”

“Especially for her, I’d imagine,” Hermann says, and then he swings himself down into Newton’s lap.

Newton goes very still; the photograph slips from his fingers and flutters to the floor. “Hermann?” he squeaks.

Dropping his cane, Hermann nuzzles his face into the crook of Newton’s neck and breathes deeply; the Newton of his memories smells of burnt coffee and the sharp tang of preservation chemicals, but the Newton of now smells more of expensive cologne than anything else. Hermann can’t say he likes it much, but he presses a small kiss there anyway, marveling at the lack of the scratchy stubble he remembers so well. “What–what are you doing?” Newton says.

Another kiss. Hermann slips a hand up to caress Newton’s jaw, and Newton shivers. “I should think it’s obvious,” Hermann says. “Mm. Come on, now, love, I know I can’t be the only one of us who’s been aching for this.”

“It’s,” Newton stammers, “I,” and his sturdy fingers grip Hermann’s waist, though he makes no move to shove him away. In fact, he only draws him closer. Marvelous. “I’ve got–someone, dude,” he says, gazing at Hermann between heavy eyelids. “Alice. I have–”

Hermann kisses him, pouring into it every ounce of longing he’s felt for the last seven years, and Newton melts against him with a moan. “But does she make you feel the way I do?” Hermann murmurs. 

“Uh,” Newton says.

He swipes his tongue into Newton’s mouth, enjoying the sharp jolt that shoots through Newton when he brushes against his own tongue, and pulls back with a small bite at his bottom lip. Newton always liked when Hermann kissed him messily. “Do feel free to touch me,” he says.

Newton does: one hand leaves Hermann’s waist and inches up his side instead, pausing to shove one half of his lab coat off, then the other. The coat slips to the floor as well. Newton splays five fingers over Hermann’s right pectoral. “Nice shirt,” he says, sounding rather dazed. “Good color on you.”

“I’d hoped you like it,” Hermann says happily. “Remember what you always used to say, about flaunting it? I thought it was time I’d take your advice.”

“I do,” Newton says. “I do remember. Ha.” His face splits into a grin, one of the first truly Newton-esque ones Hermann’s seen on him in years, and Hermann feels a small flare of triumph. He catches the hand at his chest and draws it to his mouth, brushing a kiss over the knuckles. Newton’s tattoos, vibrant as ever, poke out from beneath one maroon sleeve.

Hermann remembers kissing those tattoos. He remembers tracing the shape of red-yellow waves with his fingertips, of pinching the eyes of the great kaiju splashed across his chest, of teasing Newton for his rather unadorned arse and how pale it was in comparison to the rest of him. You’re one to talk, buddy, Newton would say, and he’d deliver a playful smack to Hermann’s, all skin and bones, dude, I think I bruised my hand. He used to like to keep his glasses on in bed so he could see Hermann. Make sure it’s actually happening, he’d say. His sunglasses are folded uselessly on Hermann’s desk. “I could make you so loud,” Hermann says. “We’d get noise complaints. Remember?”

Newton nods, eyes fixed on the knuckles Hermann kissed.

“I knew exactly where to touch you,” Hermann says, dropping his voice, “and how to touch you. I still do, Newton.” Newton dissolves into whimpers when his neck is kissed, a certain spot by his left thigh pressed on with a thumb; when being made love to, he likes his sides stroked, fingers pressed against his tongue; when doing the love making, he likes his hair pulled, nails raked across his back.

“Please,” Newton says, his voice cracking. “Can you–?”

Hermann shoves that ugly maroon jacket to the floor, then winds that ugly tie around his fingers and gives Newton a sharp tug. Newton moans, twice as loud as before. “Yes, darling, of course.”

They kiss, Hermann making quick work of the buttons of Newton’s shirt, Newton seemingly too shy to do anything beyond grip Hermann’s shoulders. A pink blush is spreading from the tips of his cheeks down to his neck. It’s very sweet. “Hermann,” he says.

“Mm?”

Newton wets his lips. “You like when I do this,” he says, and gives Hermann’s ear a little tug.

(They’re so big, Newton would say, it’s adorable, you’re adorable, and Hermann would swat him away, but then Newton would kiss the shell of his ear, bite his earlobe, and Hermann would gasp, and sensitive! Newton would say, adorable, absolutely adorable.)

“They’re sensitive,” Newton says. “You like when I kiss them.” He grins again, though it slips away after a moment. “I think they’ll be looking for me soon.”

“You are so terribly important, after all,” Hermann says. “It’s a very good thing I’ve locked the door. I haven’t finished having my wicked way with you yet.”

This time, Newton laughs, though it’s an uncertain little thing. “Listen,” he says, strangely urgent, and he squeezes Hermann’s arm. “Don’t let me leave, okay?” Then he shakes his head. “Actually, no. Take me home with you. Away from–from work. And Alice. Yeah. Let’s go now.”

This is unexpected, though Hermann cannot deny it’s not exactly what he hoped would happen when his foolproof plan of seduction worked. He’s suddenly very pleased he made a few more stops after picking up his new shirt: first for a very expensive bottle of wine and the makings of a dinner the Newton of ten years ago loved, the next a rather discreet one for the sort of supplies they’d need to, er, take this one step further. “Oh, yes,” Hermann says. “Oh, darling, absolutely. Er–now now?”

“Now,” Newton says. He plants a series of discoordinated, rapid-fire kisses across Hermann’s mouth and chin. “Now,” he repeats. “Keep talking to me.”

“About what?” Hermann says, frowning.

“Anything,” Newton says. “And touch me. Keep touching me. Hermann–when we get there, I have to tell you–”

“Alright, Newton, alright,” Hermann says. He did forget how needy Newton could get. He’s also missed it. He strokes back some of Newton’s neat hair, gropes around for his cane, and eases himself to his feet with a small groan. (He’s not quite as young or agile as he used to be.) Newton immediately springs to his own feet and latches onto Hermann’s arm. He's not merely needy tonight--a bit on edge, too, it seems. “Off we are, then. Be a dear and get my coat for me.”

[gemurucorn-blog]

It's very possible

It's very possible, but if they do no one has ever said it to my face. I used to be in porn production for big companies, and that was probably the only time I experienced negativity. I told a guy about what I do and he was like I don't agree with porn. These women are being forced to do something they don't want to do. It's degrading. He did bring up some good points but I argued that it was the same as any office job. Your boss is going to fuck you over or you don't get paid, right? It's the same. At least with webcamming, I work for myself and I can choose how much I earned, and if nobody wanted to pay me that [amount], they wouldn't come to me.Basically you get to be your sex-positive self to your full potential.Sometimes self-­regulation regarding finances is the best option for some people: Ive been treated better and more fairly as a Cam Girl and nude model than I was in my last retail job where I, no word of a lie, got fired for looking sad. Yet despite how much control one can have over their career as a Cam Girl there are certainly discrepancies within the industry, including safety issues and issues of future employability, as well as what is considered a fair payment and no guarantee on a basic minimum wage for hours put in. It leaves a lot up to chance.The first time I went private with a guy I freaked the fuck out. All he wrote was get naked. And so far all Id done in a chat room was flash my boobs for an influx of tokens. I froze up in stage ­fright and closed the room. In my group chat I wrote: Sorry, cam froze. And I logged off for the night.

Her conditions at the next studio were bare at best, and at times the most personal privacy she had, while performing for strangers on live camera, were a few hanging sheets separating her from the others walking in and out of some rundown flat. Although she was the frequent victim of what would certainly qualify as flagrant, physical sexual harassment in any other business, Anna stuck through it, priding herself on her ability to talk a path out of a "bad situation" with male employers.As with most sex work, webcamming doesn’t have the best reputation. It’s often seen as exploitation or a last-resort hustle to pay off debt, but Reed Amber, 26, explains how webcam models are just your average self-employed freelancers with the same amount of agency and independence as anyone else.She started in the German porn game at 17, and moved on to cam modelling years later in Bangkok. Two years ago she was the number one rated model on MyFreeCams — meaning her link was at the very top of the site's barren layout — bringing in around $US37,000 per month. These days, girls in those top slots can earn up to an insane $US75,000 per month. The competition is cutthroat. The MFC ratings battle is ruthless, as tips beget more tips: if you're being paid well, you move up the totem pole, ensuring a snowball effect of even more attention and money.One thing that I admittedly dont have control over, proven by the phone conversation that spurred me to write this piece, is the judgment that others will cast on my when they know that I do for money. Even those who know that as well as dancing, I am a student and hold a day job in retail. Its a shame that women are continuously told not to express themselves for fear of judgment and labeling. Why are we told that there are good girls and there are whores? In my life, I want to embrace every aspect that comes with being a woman. I want to be sexy and intelligent. I want to be passionate and headstrong but I want others to know that I feel too.

On her end, the website looks like this. This is where she sits and waits. (Click to expand)Domino has it pretty good — an American with ample property and a cushy career based on sex she enjoys. Not everyone is Domino.But if you don't have this luxury — like a lot of girls across the world — you'll likely work for a "studio". That's basically a euphemism for another person's computer (probably a man), in front of which you'll perform on a tight schedule. You're still working through, say, MyFreeCams, but instead of only giving MFC a cut of your take, the studio owner takes a piece as well. Often a large one. If you don't stick to your mandatory hours, you'll be fired. You'll also be potentially living with strangers in conditions beneath the grimiest motel.Unlike many who work in the sex industry, Sandy Bell does not worry about her own security. CONTINUED BELOW...

[miniwixoide]

survee =)

Have you ever written a love letter to someone as a joke? no!! How many true heart breaks have you had in your lifetime? like two Who last grabbed your ass? cartoon pirate

Do you get a ‘Good Morning’ text from someone every day? no

Do you have any gay family members? not that i know of Where did you get the shirt you are wearing? eva B Do you feel like everything is falling apart around you? i mean yeah on a larger scale Was your first kiss romantic? not romantic just really cute and friendly Do you know anybody whose last name is a color? yes What are you most likely to go to jail for? drug stuff Do you ever feel like life is going by too fast? yes Who was the last person to sleep over at your house? lena Is there someone that always intimidates you? kind of :/ its dumb Have you ever liked anyone that was in a relationship with someone else? yeah Would you ever get a boob job? i fantasize about it but no Did your last relationship end because of you or the other person? idk both? Do you ever ignore texts from some people? yeah Have you ever tried to break up anyone because YOU liked the guy/girl? no!!! When is the last time you felt left out? idk recently When was the last time you flirted with someone? today Yellowcard vs Straylight Run, pick: idk anything about them sooo What would you think if you found out your ex was gay? i don’t really know.. it would feel weird Would you ever take someone back if you found out they cheated on you? lol. i have but never again What does your last text message say? too personal to say :p What color is your hair right now? dark brown Do people ever compliment your eyes? yeah Have you ever lied to your boyfriend/girlfriend? i don’t think so but maybe Do people ever tell you that you’re funny? yess :) Would you be upset if you caught your boyfriend looking at porn? yes because its a fucked up industry not because i’d be jealous How many people has your best friend had sex with? i don’t know What’s the last song you listened to? happy by 2ne1 loooollll Who’s the last person that hung up on you? angry man calling at my workplace Are you a bitch? sometimes Four days from now, will you have sex? (bgc judy maybe so gif) Do you look intimidating? i’ve been told that but i don,t feel that way What does your second to last text say? can,t whip out my phone right now bosses are watchingg :/ What makes you laugh? so many things :D What were you most looking forward to today? yoga class How is your hair? side pompom ponytail What are your initials? MDG What’s your biggest fear? nuclear war Look outside how’s the weather? very cold :( and cloudy Did you ever think someone didn’t like you, but come to find out they really did? yes!!! When was the last time you had a conversation with an ex? i don’t remember Are you worried about anything right now? not really How do you think tomorrow will be? good, relaxing :) fun Do you wish you could take one thing back? yeah Is there a guy who knows everything or almost everything about you? no If you could pack your bags right now and were given a plane ticket, where do you go? japan....... Have you ever given anyone more than three chances? LOL yes im How far away are you from the person you have feelings for? i don’t really have feelings for anyone but like 20km Your last ex calls wanting to hangout, what do you say? no Where were you at 2 this morning? in my bed talking on the foam Have you ever kissed anyone who’s name started with a K? yeah Have you accidentally sent a text to the wrong person? like once..... im a capricorn Last time you were TOTALLY happy? are we ever...... Could you go the rest of your life without drinking alcohol? probably not Ever given your all to someone who walked away? not my all but almost Have you ever done your makeup in class? yes Is there anything currently hurting on your body? yes How old were you when you stopped sleeping with a night light? i don’t remember Ever kissed someone with green eyes? yes Are you a jealous person? not really....sometimes i get jealous but it doesnt last When you are home alone, do you still close the door when you shower? no Are you mad at anyone right now? no Do you like your music loud or at a reasonable level? reasonable Is there anyone you wish you could be spending time with right now? yeah Have you held hands with anyone in the past 30 hours? no Do you have a friend named Ashley? no How often do you sleep in? like once a week at most Will you be in a relationship next month? probably not Do you stay up later than ten o’clock on a week night? yes Who’s the last person you told a secret to? sophie Have you met someone in the last year who turned out to be amazing? yeah :) new friends!! Do you think someone is thinking about you right now? mayyyybe :P Do you miss anyone? yeah Would you rather have big or small dogs? medium size Will you cry tonight? mayyybe Do you have respect for people even if you don’t like them? depends :P What’s one fruit you love in drinks? raspberry! What was the most people you ever tripped in front of? i don’t know hahaha Have you ever tried wine? yes Can heartbreak happen all at once, or over a long period of time? both In your life, do you plan on visiting other countries? well yeah Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance? no. Is there an ex you want to make up with? no Do you take compliments well? yes :)

Does cuddling freak you out? no unless it’s likeee someone i’m uncomfortable with in the first place How much time do you take to get ready in the morning? 15-20mins Do you love where you live? yeah :) What do you label yourself as? labels are for soup cans :) Do you think you will be in a relationship 3 months from now? idk !!! Will your next kiss be drunk or sober? only time will tell Are you a mean person? i don,t think so Do you wear high heels everyday? hell no Do you fall asleep texting every night? no Are you an aunt or an uncle? no Were you texting someone right before you fell asleep last night? no Did you have any unread text messages when you woke up today? How many? yes i don’t remember Name someone who made you smile today? sophie Are you happy? yes :) Are you an alcoholic? no Can you go a day without thinking about the person that’s on your mind now? these days no..... Could you go the rest of your life without a cigarette? absolutely i plan to Does anyone know every little detail about you? no Does it bother you when someone lies to you? well duh What’s one thing you really want right now? many things :p Who all do you have texts from in your phone? a bunch of people Who do you trust most as of now? I like to think myself, but I don’t even know if I trust myself right now.

^^^ oh shit Who was the last person you took a picture with? melissa Do you have a younger sister? no Did anything ���cute” happen today? yeah every time i saw my cute face in a mirror Are you wearing shoes right now? yes Have you ever just laid outside and looked at the stars? yeah :) Do feet gross you out? not really unless they’re gross Are you currently wanting any piercings or tattoos? not really no Do you smile everyday? yes :) Who are you more like, mom or dad? MOM !!!!! Could you date someone shorter than you? yep Where do you wish you were right now? somewhere cushy :) Have a crazy side? LOL? Something you do a lot? werk Angry at anyone? no Describe your life in one word? life :p Who was the last person who gave you a hug? roommate What is your natural hair color? brown How many people have you kissed? can’t be bothered counting

How many of those did you make out with? can’t be bothered counting Ever kissed someone you weren’t dating at the time? yes Ever kissed someone you’d met less than an hour before? yes Of the people you’ve kissed, how many do you regret kissing? right now none cuz it doesnt matter, but a few of them ive regretted right after Were any of them in relationships with someone else at the time? yeah he told me that afterwards :( How old was the oldest person you’ve kissed? 39 How young was the youngest person you’ve kissed? she was like 14 (i was 15) Ever been kissed by a legal adult when you were a minor (or vise-versa)? yep Ever been kissed by someone you didn’t want to kiss? yes Ever been walked in on while you were making out with someone? i think so By your parents?: don’t think so Weirdest place you’ve kissed someone? (geographically, not physically) underwater in the pool and i choked to death Ever kissed someone and had someone else get really mad about it? uhhhh not that i can recall no Ever stopped kissing someone because they had bad breath? EWWW yeah :c Ever not known the name of someone you kissed? yeah Ever kissed someone on a dare/as part of a game? yeah Kissed someone you didn’t really like just to make someone else jealous? no Ever had a really horrible kissing experience? not really Ever been called a bad kisser? no !!! Ever called someone else a bad kisser? no Where’s the most public place you’ve ever made out with someone? the street, the subway, idk Where’s the most private place you’ve ever made out with someone? bathroom Ever kissed some out of pity just so they would stop badgering you? yep :( Ever kissed someone just to forget about someone else? yeah Ever thought of someone else while you were kissing someone? yeah Do you usually kiss on the first date? not usually but it happened

[idolizerp]

LOADING INFORMATION ON NIGHTMARE’S VOCAL, DANCE NAM YURA...

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: N/A CURRENT AGE: 25 DEBUT AGE: 23 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 22 COMPANY: Koala T. SECONDARY SKILL: N/A

IDOL PROFILE

NICKNAME(S): N/A INSPIRATION: None other but the old man himself for raising her with an impeccable work ethic, even if he hates the line of work his only daughter is involved in. It’s managed to get her this far, and if that isn’t something, she doesn’t know what is.   SPECIAL TALENTS:

Can shove her whole fist into her mouth.

Take perfectly angled selfies with her feet.

Demonstrate various taekwondo moves.

NOTABLE FACTS:

Her father is a high ranking officer of the ROK Air Force. 

Particularly skilled in sports as a child: Yura received her first rank black belt at the age of 15; outside of her martial arts focus, she dabbled in track and field as well as basketball.

Graduated from the Korea National Sport University with a Physical Education degree in 2015.

Knows a couple of the well-touted members of the performance demo group, K-Tigers. 

Has her motorcycle license.

IDOL GOALS

SHORT-TERM GOALS:

Increased exposure of Nightmare as a whole through their sub-units. They’re not her cup of tea, but at this point, it’s no brainer that KTM is sharpshooting in hopes that something, anything, will stick and hit bullseye. Once it does, there’ll be relief in going back to the original game plan because that’s what Yura has become comfortable with. She’s been going with the flow since debut, and has no plans of going against the current for now.

Quit sittin’ pretty, because the rest of her members are beginning to make moves into other areas, while she has nothing more but Nightmare activities on her repertoire. Insecure? Hardly, when it only guarantees more free time, but the job description says girl idol, not girl idle, and she signed up for this to do something different, and not nothing at all. Can girl group members moonlight as stuntswomen? She’s beginning to consider it more by the day lately.

LONG-TERM GOALS:

To ride out Nightmare’s name until she has nothing more but her own to rely on, then fade out into the blissful obscurity that is life away from the stage. Being an idol has never been her first, center, or last resort, not when she’d accepted the offer only as a chance to weasel her way out from a restricted, rigid sort of life for however long she can. The idea of eventually being billed as an “action star” down the road started off as a joke-to-self, but with her athletic abilities and with her idol lookalike now cushy in the Chungmuro film industry, maybe it can amount to something a little more serious than that. Safe to say though Yura hasn’t decided just yet, and if all else fails, there’s no problem in working up to finally receiving her 9th rank in taekwondo and / or marrying the model air force officer Daddy Dearest will pick out for her.  

IDOL IMAGE

Knifelike. That’s a good word. The proper word. Down to the teeth of something animal, the line of her jaw, to how her gaze can cut through crowds. Precision, glint, and edge all wrapped into two syllables. Being raised by a military man did her well in that respect, discipline with the square shoulders and a straight spine. Smoke and mirrors are nonexistent in the face of the cold, cold metal. She prefers to leave that up to the other members anyway, as the oldest, and the most unconcerned.

This translates on-stage to: a piercing gaze, sharp moves, a woman unsettled rather than some soft, wicked thing. Power and aggression in each pulse that is impossible to look away from. At the same time, it’s intimidation in spades that can create a sharp divide between themselves and the ones they want to draw in. Which is why show performances and variety appearances are two vastly different rodeos. It’s during the latter, free from dark makeup and costumes, when the comments resurface ( “From that idol group-” “You look just like her, she’s beautiful-” ), which, eerie sense of impostor syndrome aside, she takes without question. For the questions that are raised her way however, Yura keeps things pointed and to the point. Nothing more, nothing less, not because she’s shy, but she knows action always speaks louder than words. So where they cease to exist, she goes above and beyond in being a doer, be it through physical stunts or her avid participation in activities ( no matter how ridiculous ) without complaint.

Off-stage, there isn’t a lot of deviation. She talks little, works more, cruises the most. Doesn’t actively seek people, but takes initiative in leaving some bite of an impression, then doesn’t do much to keep them around. Desperation, hunger, for any of these things the others strive for ( fame, attention, money, love ) feel terribly insignificant; more distractions than direct pathways to a solid destination. Coming from a girl who’s only here for a good time, and not a long one, she’s fairly content with simply seeing this to the very end.

Some noted characters quirks include: Being inactive on social media ( to the point where even their manager has to remind her to post things come promotion time ), never seen to slouch or soften up, and seemingly having an odd aversion to skirts.

IDOL HISTORY

I.

There’s little to life but family. Correction: family is all there is to it. Appa, oppa and baby girl in their well-to-do house in a well-to-do neighborhood in Haeundae-gu, contained and without contempt in the countless ways they mean the world to each other. Ironic, what with a wide ocean view from their windows and a patriarch who’d made a living solely off of flight, but one’s scope is always small from the start. Lullabies, plucked strings, film reels, none of these are woven into Yura’s childhood. Square and center in all early memories sits a round table made of dark elm. As plates were passed along, so were lessons. Shoulders level. Hands crossed over the lap. Chin at that angle. That’s my girl.

II.

A fine line exists between control and discipline. At first, she only learns this because she has to, but soon embraces it in body, mind and spirit. For over a decade, athletics is the forefront of her focus—not dream, mind you—and with the way she pushed forward, the chances of it becoming a formidable future were high. Pressure mounted, never all at once, but just enough for her to feel it with each passing year. Apparently love and passion is supposed to be part of the picture, but all Yura ever feels at the end of each match is the hard pounding in her ears and the wet sheen of sweat at her brow as gold is pressed into her hands. Devotion is practically sewn into every nerve and muscle, but it’s all it ever is. Skin-deep. Physical.

With age, the word “beauty” remains skin-deep as well. Puberty and good genes does wonders, but the pool of pretty people is only so wide. Overlap is expected in hindsight, then, but she doesn’t expect it to include her. The first time someone tells her, Yura admits she doesn’t think the same. The second, that she’s heard that before. It only multiplies and expands from there, with a dash of sweet talk and awe, to the point where it’s deemed fact for her. And of course, there’s the staring. Little does she know that this is  only prep-work for what it’s going to be like all the time.

III.

Inertia stays for as long as one allows it to. Physics allows that much. A uniform, routinely life is fine for the first ten, fifteen, and even twenty years, but somewhere the monotony of it all brings out the first swell of exhaustion. Family, school, sports, then family again; with each rotation, the impulse is harder to fight. Indifference to losses by the first year. A switch to the Phys Ed. department by her second. Trysts found a dime a dozen by her third, through people, places. Positions. An early existential crisis, or a belated attempt at teenage rebellion? Neither actually, not even close. She just wants to move differently, feel what it’s like because it’s all starting to get a little old and she craves a change of pace. It’s that simple.

Luckily for her, the first opportunity wasn’t anything less questionable but a recruiting offer from Koala.T, who’d seen her face on the street in her post-graduated state and conjured the same thought that countless others have made. Of course, making an impulsive decision is always the easy part. Explaining it later that night would be the uphill battle none of the Nams would have seen coming.

IV.

No, she’s not the best. The important thing here is that she’s not entirely the worst, either—for someone who doesn’t have a single artistically inclined bone in her body, that’s not too shabby. Having physical strength, agility, and reflexes has its positives; channeling those assets into dancing, then continuing to improve with time has her getting favorable marks during trainee evaluations eventually. Singing ( to this day ) remains passably decent—so long her voice stays well within its lower range.

It helps that she’s not here to win, not when she’s led a whole twenty-something years dedicated to the idea. It also helps there’s no sweat in being watched, criticized with every blink of an eye. She’s been there too. Despite it all being intense and laborious like trainee life is touted to be, it’s the newness of it Yura marvels at. Everything else is only a matter of adjustment.

V.

When the concept is first introduced, it’s perhaps the most emotion anyone has seen on her face because it’s so damn pretentious. Sopretentious Yura couldn’t help the small snicker that had escaped her lips at the time, incredulous. That this won’t sell is practically written all over, plain as day; then again, she’s not really here to sell anything, really, remember? Instead, she merely bites her tongue and simply goes along with it, because the code of conduct is to be grateful for even a sliver of the spotlight at all, irregardless of one’s intentions. She didn’t expect to come to this point, and not certainly this soon. So let’s take what we can get and make something out of it, shall we?