#Women's Black Dress Casual Shoes

[ofoohshoes]

Ofooh Leather Shoes: Elevating Style with Black Shoes for Women and Men's Formal Elegance in the UAE

In the heart of the UAE's thriving fashion scene, Ofooh Leather Shoes emerges as a beacon of sophistication, offering an exquisite range that includes black shoes for women, men's formal shoes, timeless brown loafers, and classic brown Oxford shoes. Let's delve into why Ofooh is the epitome of luxury and style in the world of leather footwear.

1. Black Elegance: Ofooh's Signature Shoes for Women

Ofooh's collection of black shoes for women is a testament to timeless elegance. Crafted with precision and an eye for detail, each pair embodies sophistication, ensuring that women make a statement with every step. From sleek pumps to chic flats, Ofooh's black shoe range caters to various styles, making it the ultimate destination for those seeking refined, versatile footwear.

2. Men's Formal Mastery: Ofooh's Impeccable Collection

For men who understand the importance of making a lasting impression, Ofooh's range of formal shoes is unparalleled. From boardroom meetings to black-tie events, Ofooh's men's formal shoes in the UAE redefine elegance. Impeccable craftsmanship and attention to detail set these shoes apart, offering a perfect blend of comfort and sophistication for the modern gentleman.

3. Brown Loafers: Effortless Style for Every Occasion

Ofooh's brown loafers for men capture the essence of casual sophistication. Whether it's a weekend brunch or a relaxed office environment, these loafers seamlessly bridge the gap between comfort and style. Crafted from high-quality leather, Ofooh's brown loafers are a wardrobe essential for those who appreciate laid-back luxury.

4. Classic Brown Oxford Shoes: A Timeless Wardrobe Staple

The brown Oxford shoes from Ofooh are a nod to tradition with a modern twist. Combining classic design with contemporary flair, these shoes effortlessly elevate any formal or semi-formal ensemble. Ofooh ensures that every pair of brown Oxford shoes is a testament to enduring style and craftsmanship.

In conclusion, Ofooh Leather Shoes stands as a bastion of quality and style in the UAE's fashion landscape. With a diverse collection encompassing black shoes for women, men's formal shoes, brown loafers, and classic brown Oxford shoes, Ofooh ensures that individuals can stride with confidence and grace on every occasion. Explore the world of Ofooh Leather Shoes today – where luxury meets craftsmanship for an unparalleled footwear experience.

[browngirl-inthering]

decade accurate marauders era wardrobes - sirius black

hair: black, wavy, and shoulder length.

while long hair for both women and men was popular in the 70s, the trend carried over from the later years of the 60s.

the 1960s was a decade characterized by youth rebellion and societal revolution. the decade was rife with countercultural movements such as racial equality, women's liberation, and queer rights. pushed largely by baby boomers, the young people of the 60s rejected the conservative values of their parents and the generations before them and instead valued equality, individuality, and self-expression. these values inspired the fashion of the 60s, which is why later 60s fashion trends consist of brighter colors, shorter hemlines, non-western influences, and long hair on men.

i'm not sure if sirius having long hair while he was younger is canon, but even if not it makes sense for his character. sirius practically embodies the larger societal reckonings of the time as he struggles with separating himself from his long, bigoted family history and subverts the expectations for him by actively fighting against it and carving out his own self image free from his familial legacy.

clothes: consist mainly of blacks, purples, reds, and silvers. leather, velvet, furs, and fishnets. ripped tops, colored pants, slogan tees, and a copious amount of band t-shirts.

glam rock is a british fashion subculture that emerged in the early 70s and was pioneered by various musicians such as marc bolan and david bowie. glam rock fashion allowed participants to play with gender norms with the men wearing typically "flamboyant" feminine clothing made with velvets, silks, furs, and glitter.

punk rock is also a british fashion subculture that came about in the mid 70. although having its roots in glam rock, punk rock visually seems like the exact opposite with its fashion pieces consisting of leather pants and jackets, combat boots, altered t-shirts, and body modifications such as tattoos and piercings.

for the longest time i haven't been able to choose between whether i think sirius would dress glam or punk. i think he'd like certain elements of both so i tried my best to combine them together.

he'd love t-shirts. they seem common today but before the 60s they were worn as underwear. during this decade t-shirt printing became easier and more accessible, and thus began the trend that was the slogan tee. you could get t-shirts with almost anything printed on them, short phrases, crude jokes, and band logos.

shoes: platform shoes, combat boots, and converse.

platforms platforms platforms

combat boots, specifically doc martens, were a staple in punk fashion

the converse are for casual wear

accessories: motorcycle gloves, star shaped belt buckle, buttons, patches, and sunglasses.

i couldn't find any good pictures or an actual belt that i liked but i feel sirius would love statement belts with a big buckle that has some sort of design on it

the patches and pins are for his infamous leather jacket™ i'm pretty sure his leather jacket isn't canon but it might as well be anyways 🤷🏿‍♀️

[empresskylo]

beneath the mask ✩ chapter 8 ⬅ch.7

➠𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈; 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓; 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ➠SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X AFAB!READER ➠CHAPTER TAGS | afab!reader. alcohol. nsfw. wc 4.8k ➠AUTHOR'S NOTE | had the pleasure of writing this chapter... also the fic is at 27k words already! whoo, this is officially my longest fic.

𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐜𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“we’re all meetin’ down at the local pub, if you’d care t’join,” soap said, leaning against the doorway of the infirmary with his arms crossed over his chest. 

you looked up from your clipboard and raised a brow. “oh, yeah?”

“yeah. the men could use a load off.”

he was right. it had been a tense week at base as the men worked on tracking down hassan and going out on missions but turning up with no luck. it was frustrating and tiring. you could see it in their drained faces. 

the infirmary was empty for the night, no one having any substantial injuries that required overnight care, so you figured it’d be alright to go with them.

“yeah, okay,” you said, nodding your head in agreement.

“sweet!” soap’s reply made you smile. he always made you feel wanted. 

something in you yearned to ask if ghost was going to be there, but that would just raise alarms. and as daft as johnny could be, you didn’t want to risk him finding out about your little… crush . ghost’s words rang in your head and you quickly abandoned that thought process, a flush rising on your face and chest.

you stood in your room feeling like an imposter. you glanced at yourself in the mirror and debated multiple times on removing your dress, but you really had nothing else nice to wear. 

all you had in your wardrobe was workout wear and your uniform. you just never found yourself needing much more than that. you mentioned your lack of a wardrobe to your friend in the infirmary and she immediately offered her assistance. “i have the cutest little dress you can wear! i think you’re my size…” she said as she looked between the two of you. 

you felt your face warm. “a dress? oh, i don’t know,” you said with a nervous laugh. “don’t you think that will be a bit much for a bar?”

“no! we’re always in these drab clothes,” – she gestured between the two of you – “it will feel good to put on something feminine for once. trust me.”

“oh, are you saying i don’t look feminine?” you teased, gesturing to your outfit which was a dark shirt, cargo pants, and boots. 

she rolled her eyes and grabbed her bag, ready to head back to her room. “shut up and follow me.”

now you were standing alone in your room and rethinking everything. the dress was simple: black, just short enough, and flattered your figure. but you still felt odd in it. after seeing yourself in your uniform for so long, this felt completely out of the ordinary. 

you played with the hem and debated changing. but what would you change into? sweatpants? 

you made a note to get some casual wear – jeans, a simple top, a sweater maybe – just things to wear on your off days. 

before you could talk yourself out of it more, you slid on the flats your friend has also let you borrow and you fumbled out of your room. 

it was nice enough out, and the bar was pretty close, so you decided to walk, your friend beside you. “you look hot,” she said. a smile was dragged out of you, not used to such compliments. she sported a similar outfit: a shorter dress, simple shoes, her hair down in waves. 

she hooked her arm around yours and you both giggled. maybe it would be nice to feel normal for a bit. to go out like most women your age do on the weekends.

you wondered if johnny and the others were already there. maybe you should have told him to wait for you so you could go together. 

you pushed your hair out of your face as the wind blew and looked up at the stars. it was such a beautiful night. you deserved this . you deserved to have a little fun. 

and you knew the men did this rather often. but that was before you had become friends with johnny and slowly with the others as well. now you were officially invited to things like this and it made your chest flutter with acceptance. 

the bar was a bit grungier than you expected, its windows blacked out, the sign light flickering, a group of motorcyclists outside smoking. your friend looked the men outside up and down, intrigued, and you heard them whistle back at her. “let's go,” you said, pulling her along with you.

you both pushed your way inside and were greeted with the smell of sweat, alcohol, too much cologne, and burning wood. the bar was dimly lit and there was already a crowd of people inside. 

you felt nervous as you scanned the room for someone you knew. you spotted soap and gaz in the corner and you smiled. your friend slipped away from you, seeing her friends at the bar, but not before making sure you were okay. you nodded to her then made your way towards soap. 

“soap!” you said cheerfully, making the man spin to face you. 

his face lit up, looking you up and down. “you clean up nice.”

“wish I could say the same,” you laughed. he gave you a cheeky grin in return.

your growing smile faltered when you saw a looming figure behind soap at the table. ghost . 

shit. shit. shit .

you could feel his eyes on you and you shifted uncomfortably on the heels of your feet. 

soap noticed your empty hand. “let me get you a drink,” he said over the noise and slipped off to the bar. 

you awkwardly turned to the table and greeted gaz who was talking with a few other men you recognized but couldn’t remember their names. 

you couldn’t stop your eyes from wandering over to where ghost was sitting he wore a black hoodie that he had pulled over his head, his balaclava mask, and dark jeans and boots. his hands rested on the table and he was still staring at you. 

letting him win, you turned away. why did things have to be so weird between you two? were you the one making things uncomfortable?

before you could wallow in your thoughts, soap appeared beside you again and handed you a beer. 

“i’m not supposed to take drinks from strange men,” you teased. 

“ha. ha. very funny, lass.”

you nudged him in the shoulder.

“hey,” a voice said beside you. you looked up and saw commander graves approaching your table. “fuck,” he said, taking you in. “i didn’t recognize you. you look great,” he complimented. 

you thanked him a bit awkwardly. soap reached over you and wrapped an arm over your shoulders protectively. “i don’t like the way you’re lookin’ at her,” johnny said towards graves. 

graves laughed, raising his hands in surrender. you rolled your eyes at the nonsense of these two men. “i can do my own bidding,” you said up to soap. 

“you heard her, she can turn me down herself,” graves teased. 

you smiled, all three of you laughing, however, your smile broke when ghost got up and left the table. 

“what’s his problem?” you asked soap, trying to sound casual, taking a sip of the cold beer. 

“honestly, m’not sure. he’s been like this all week.”

you nodded, wanting to pry more, but that would be a bit conspicuous, so you just drank your beer and fell into conversation with the men around you.

three beers and three shots later, you were slurring your words slightly as you argued with the table about how you had the ability to multiply any set of numbers in your head. 

“you’ve got a calculator under there,” gaz said, referring to your hands conveniently placed under the table. 

you held your hands up, “go ahead. ask me another.”

soap laughed and spewed off a random combination of numbers, “four hundred eighty-six, times three thousand five hundred and seven.” gaz quickly punched the numbers into his phone's calculator.

you took a moment, the gears in your head turning, before answering. “one million, seven hundred four thousand, four hundred and two.”

the other two men beside gaz leaned over to look at his phone screen to read the correct answer.

“well, i’ll be fucked,” gaz said astonished, all the men gaping up at you. 

you smiled and did a little twirl in victory. “i believe you owe me a drink, kyle.”

gaz nodded before standing. “honestly, i’m not even mad,” he said before passing you and going to the bar. 

you turned to soap, “i’m going to the restroom. i’ll be right back. make sure gaz doesn’t spit in my drink.”

he smirked and nodded then focused back on the guys who were now spewing out nonsense about who could down a beer the quickest. personally, your bet was on soap.

you laughed to yourself and made your way through the moving bodies. once you made it through the crowd, there was a small, dark hallway in the corner of the bar with two bathrooms at the end. it was a lot less busy over here and the music rang far quieter in your ears, you were thankful for the reprieve. 

as you edged around the corner you tripped and stumbled, laughing to yourself as you did. two arms caught you and you giggled at how drunk you were. “t-thank you,” you muttered. you finally focused on the person’s arms and spotted tattoos peeking out of their rolled-up sleeves. your eyes went wide and you quickly snapped your head up. simon . 

“s-sorry,” you said, trying to get untangled from his grip and lock yourself away in the bathroom out of embarrassment. 

“wait,” he clutched your arm and pulled you back to him. it was easy for him to move you, like you weighed nothing to him. that sent both a thrill of fear and excitement through your body. 

you clashed into his chest and immediately tried to gain a bit of space between you two. you hesitated but looked up at him as he loomed over you. to anyone else, they would be terrified to be faced with a man in a dark hallway, his hood pulled, his face covered, and his stance over six feet. but you knew ghost. knew he wouldn’t hurt you. 

“what?” you asked, a bit more snippy than you intended. 

his hands lingered on your arm, tightening briefly before letting go. “are you with johnny?” the seriousness in his tone surprised you. 

you scoffed. “what?” you were certainly taken aback. then you got a bit annoyed. “is there something wrong if i was?” you rolled your eyes and bit the inside of your lip. “I’ll have you know, there’s nothing forbidden about soap and i. there’d be no conflict of interest. so really, you have no right t-to ask.” you hiccuped on your last sentence and crossed your arms over your chest, trying to look assertive.

“how much have you had to drink?” he demanded. 

“ god, ghost,” you threw your hands up in defeat. “what does it matter? why do you care? me being drunk or s-sleeping with soap has nothing t’do with you. and my intoxication level has nothing to d-do with what i’m feeling.”

“so, you are with him, then?” his eyes darkened as he glared at you from beneath his mask. a smudge of his black face paint was still circled around his eyes, making him appear cynical and slightly terrifying. 

you laughed, he was missing the point. “no. jesus . i’m not with soap. we’re friends ,” you dragged out the ‘s’. 

you stared at him, waiting for him to say something. you decided if he didn’t answer in the next few seconds, you were going to turn around and walk away. this outing was supposed to be fun.

just as you were about to sidestep him, he took a step towards you. you actually had to crane your head back now to look at him. “you know why i care? why i’m askin’ you all this?” you could smell the whiskey on him and it sent a shiver through you.

you shook your head. “no. that’s what i’ve been asking you ,” you whined in mental exhaustion, your voice was far quieter than mere moments ago. the anger behind your words seemed to have left you. “enlighten me. tell me why you’ve been so hot n’ cold lately,” you whispered, losing all your momentum as his eyes flickered between yours. “do you hate me, or n-not?!”

one of ghost’s hands came up and tucked a tendril of your hair behind your ear. your lips parted in a silent gasp. his fingers tickled as they barely brushed over your skin. you swallowed and his hand cupped the side of your face, his fingers slipping into your hair. he leaned forward and you felt your breath get caught in your throat, your eyes widening in surprise. all sane thoughts left your body. all that filled your senses was him. simon.

he used his free hand to snake up between your bodies and push his mask up to his nose, exposing his stubble and scars. “ i’m going to kiss you now ,” he mumbled. he lingered a moment, giving you enough time to escape his hold, but you stayed rooted in place. 

in a painfully slow motion, simon leaned forward, hunching over and pulling your face up to meet him, and placed his lips on yours. 

your eyes fluttered shut and you felt a race of adrenaline pump through you. his hand was gentle as he caressed your face, pulling you further and further into him. you couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

your lips moved out of sync for a moment but you quickly learned how to flow together. your hands instinctively reached out and fisted his shirt, allowing you to extend higher up into him and also keep your balance. 

he turned you so your back hit the wall, making a squealing noise sound in the back of your throat, his free hand going to your hip, pushing you backward. he pressed his body into yours, his tongue tracing along your bottom lip and then slipping into your mouth. 

you groaned into the kiss as he consumed you, his body shielding you completely. if someone saw ghost from behind, they’d have no idea you were pinned underneath him. 

you gasped as he pulled away, his mouth still dangerously close to yours. 

“simon… i—“ you began, panting as you spoke, trying to catch your breath. 

your hands were still lost in his shirt, his hand still on your hip, but his other one was now on the wall beside your head. “don’t talk.” he kissed you again before you could protest. his lips felt so soft against yours, his stubble tickling you. his hand on the wall couldn’t stop itself from coming back to the side of your cheek, wanting to kiss you as deep as he possibly could. he was truly stealing the breath away from you.

your body rolled into his and you heard him grunt in the back of his throat. it was one of the hottest sounds you’ve ever heard. you felt like you were getting high off him, as he attacked your mouth with such fervor and heady need.

when he pulled away again, you gaped up at him. his eyes danced between yours, appraising you. trying to cypher through your thoughts. you looked at him through your eyelashes, waiting for him to speak or to move. you felt frozen in time. like if you moved, the illusion of him would fade away into a puff of smoke. 

then he moved you in a haze, your eyes focused solely on his silhouette. he grabbed your hand, engulfing it with his own, and pulled you into one of the single-person bathrooms. 

“what’re you—?” 

he shut the door behind the two of you, locked it, and pushed you up against it, your feet rising so you were standing on the tips of your toes. he was panting again, completely succumbing to what he explicitly told himself not to do. the alcohol gave him just strength to suppress the voice yelling at him in his head.

then he kissed you again. this time rough and hungry. your body fell limp as you let him hold you up, his mouth moving against yours in sync. your arms reached up and draped across his shoulders, both of you fighting for dominance, but you gave up rather quickly and let him win. 

simon’s hands roamed your body like he couldn’t get enough of you. any rational thought about pushing him away vanished. you knew you needed to talk about things — to figure out what he wanted from you. but right now, all you wanted was whatever this was. 

“this goddamn dress ,” he murmured in between kisses, his voice husky and low. your chest rushed with flames at his words, knowing that you were affecting him by simply wearing a short dress, and it made you clench your thighs together. 

simon’s hands went to the hem of your dress and he pushed it up, your body hot and clammy as his hand gilded along your skin. he nipped at your lip, his hand slowly descending between your legs. when he got to the apex of your thighs, he softly dragged his fingers across you, forcing you to moan into his mouth. 

“i fuckin’ hate seeing you with other guys,” he said hoarsely. 

you looked at him, a bit dazed, and still intoxicated — but now by more than just alcohol. “what?” you said breathlessly.

“soap. gaz,” he said flatly. “graves,” he said the commander's name with more anger, his fingers beginning to slide up and down you above your underwear. 

you gripped his shoulders. “okay,” you hastily spoke, still not understanding him, but also not wanting him to stop. 

he pushed your underwear to the side and you were thankful you wore one of your skimpier pairs tonight. as his fingers glidded across you, his fingers getting coated with your arousal, he spoke again. “jus’ with me,” he said. 

just with him? what the fuck was he talking about? you nodded anyway. “just with you,” you repeated. 

“ good girl .” your heart fluttered in your chest at his praise. you never knew those two words could sound so heavenly. but when ghost’s thick accent growled them out breathlessly, you found your core warming more than you thought possible. 

simon pressed two fingers against your entrance, his lips now attacking your neck. you were trying to catch your breath, your mind fogged, your body limp, your heart racing. 

when he pushed them both in, you gasped rather loudly. “ ohmygod ,” you slurred. you were beginning to pant wildly.

you could feel him smile ever so slightly against you. “ mmm ,” he hummed. 

he slowly began to move his fingers, your body ready for him and letting him move with ease. “ so fuckin’ wet for me ,” he mumbled. 

you clutched onto his shoulders, your eyes squeezing shut as you focused on the feeling of him inside you. he curled his fingers slightly as he went, pumping them in and out at a decent speed, your body squelching with each thrust. 

normally, you might be a bit self-conscious about being vocal the first time you were intimate with a new person, but you literally could not contain your sounds. you moaned and mewled, crying out when he sped up, his palm bumping your clit each time his fingers went in as far as they could. 

he felt you clenching around him and he marveled at how fast you were approaching your orgasm. it’s not that he had any doubts in his ability, but he’s never made a woman come quite this fast. and you had never had a man make you come this fast either. it was new for both of you.

one of your legs hooked around simon’s thigh, wanting to take him as deep as you could. “fuck,” he grunted, his free hand palming your breast over your dress. “you gonna come for me already, pet?” 

you nodded your head repeatedly, raspy breaths the only response you could vocalize. 

“go on then,” he commanded, keeping his speed. 

your walls spasmed around his fingers and your head buried against his chest. your legs began to shake as you felt yourself reach your high. “fuck, fuck, oh fuck !” ghost engulfed you, holding you up and into him while you clutched him in desperation.

you moaned into his chest and you could hear him panting above you — as if he had just climaxed too. 

he kept moving his fingers, making sure to bump your clit, letting you ride out your orgasm to completion.

when you stopped shaking and were trying to catch your breath, he slowed and eased his fingers out of you. 

neither of you moved. you were still clinging to him and he still had his hands around you, your leg propped on his waist. 

after several beats of silence while you both gasped for air, your hands snaked down his body and fiddled with his belt. you felt simon straighten slightly at your touch, his hand slipping into your hair and making you look at him. 

you succeeded in undoing his belt and you let him tilt your head up toward him. “you don’t have t—“ your hand slid into his pants and grabbed him, cutting him off. he was painfully hard and he groaned the second he felt your fingers on him. 

simon cleared his throat, trying to concentrate as you slowly began to stroke his length. “i’m serious. you d-don’t have to,” he stuttered.

a lazy smile filled your lips knowing how intensely you were affecting him. “i wanna,” you whispered. 

simon’s eyes opened and searched yours, looking for any sign of… displeasure? 

you let your leg fall to your side and you both untangled your bodies. you pushed his chest, baking him up against the sink so he was half sitting on the counter. you pried his pants down enough to free him completely. he watched you intently as you fell to your knees. he was thankful he had the counter for support because seeing you drop to your knees before him made him want to do the same.

god, he wasn’t sure how long he was going to last. he was already impossibly hard from hearing you moan at his touch. and now you were on your knees, begging to suck him off. he was absolutely fucked. 

you gulped, realizing how big he was. simon murmured your name and you immediately took him in your mouth. 

“ugh— fuck —!” he cried. one of your hands grabbed his base where your mouth couldn’t reach and you started a steady rhythm, bobbing your head up and down. your hand made twisting motions and your tongue pressed against his cock as you sucked. 

“jus’ like that,” he groaned, his hand coming out to tangle in your hair. his other hand gripped the countertop, holding it so harshly he thought he might crack the porcelain. 

you came up for a breath and a bit of spit dribbled out of your mouth and onto his cock. simon groaned, his hips begging to buck forward. 

you took him in again and simon’s grip in your hair tightened. “not gonna last much— f-fuck —longer,” he said through bated breaths. 

you hummed against him and the vibrations made his cock twitch. he gently bucked his hips forward and you gagged. the noises you were making were so obscene, and simon wanted them ingrained in his brain forever. 

“god, pet. you feel so fuckin’ good .” 

you sucked at the tip of his cock and began to stroke him at a more erratic pace. then you slipped him back in and his cock hit the back of your throat, making you gag again. 

“if you d-don’t want me to come in your mouth, you better stop n-now,” he moaned, his head tilting back slightly in pure ecstasy. 

you continued to work him, wanting to taste him. and with a few more bobs of your head and jerk of your hands, simon came in your mouth. 

the hoarse moan he made sent a wave of pleasure between your legs, making you ache to fully have him. you held your mouth in place but continued to suck, making simon’s legs shake slightly. his hand in your hair was now painfully grasping at you but you didn’t mind. 

simon moaned your name as he slowly came back to earth. you popped him out of your mouth and caught your breath, looking up at him. his cheeks were flushed where his mask was pushed up and he was looking at you in astonishment. 

you were kneeling before him, swallowing his come, blinking at him through your eyelashes, your dress still hiked up a bit too high and you’d hair disheveled. you were a fucking work of art and simon was so fucking screwed. 

reality came crashing down on him and he let go of your hair and stood up from the counter, pulling his pants up and redoing his belt. 

he pulled his mask down and you rose in apprehension at his sudden shift. 

“i’m sorry,” he said.

you furrowed your bows. “for what?” 

simon cleared his throat, trying to gain some distance from you. “i shouldnt have taken advantage of you.” 

you gave a mirthless smile. “i told you i wanted to. you didn’t take advantage—“

he breathed your name. “you want something i can’t give.”

“you don’t know what i want,” you said with more merit, but you hugged your arms over your body which said the opposite.

“you’re not the kinda girl for a quick fuck. and i can’t do all the–” he gestured around him with his hands, “– strings.” 

you looked at him with hurt in your eyes. simon wished he could take back what he said. but he kept going anyway, sabotaging himself. 

“you looked good in your dress. that’s all. m’sorry.” 

you gulped, nodding your head but averting your eyes. you swallowed back tears and stood there dumbfounded for a moment. 

you turned to leave the bathroom. you wanted to get as far away as possible from him. 

he called out your name and reached for your arm. 

“don’t!” you shouted, shrugging him off and storming out of the bathroom and back into the bar. 

ghost cursed under his breath as the door slowly shut. he turned and put both hands on the sink’s counter and hung his head. why was he this fucking stupid? why did he hurt you like that? 

why did he lie to you ?

it was true — he didn’t think he could do a proper relationship — but what wasn’t true was that you were simply a warm body to him. no. he had never wanted anyone the way he wanted you. he had been thinking about you against his will for weeks now. and seeing you in that dress, looking up at him with such soft eyes, he was done for. 

he had never had butterflies when he kissed someone. but with you, his stomach did flips and his heart raced in his chest. he should have stopped then. he couldn’t give you what you wanted. and he couldn’t give himself what he wanted.

it was like he thrived on punishing himself. he didn’t deserve good things. and good things never last. the way you pulled at him led him to believe that he wouldn’t fully recover if he let you get close just to leave him. so he couldn’t let himself get to that point with you. 

and you were innocent and full of hope. you’d hate him once you got to know him. he’d been hurt too many times to count and he thought he had forgotten what it was like to love — to have someone you care about. he wasn’t sure he even knew how to love anymore. he’d hurt you. and he was your superior. it was a disaster waiting to unravel. 

but bloody fuckin’ hell, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to feel what he just felt in that shitty bar bathroom with anyone else. and that scared him. 

he could chase after you. you probably hadn’t gotten very far. he could explain everything. tell you upfront about his concerns. you could discuss this like adults. he could let himself have something good for once in his life. but he didn’t feel like he deserved it… deserved you.

he stayed in the bathroom, sick of his face, and punished his reflection, slamming his fist against the mirror, and shattering it. his knuckles coated with blood and he growled. he threw the bathroom door open and startled the two people waiting outside it. 

“what the fuck—you okay, man?” the stranger asked noticing ghost’s hand. 

ghost pushed past them and left the bar, but not before spotting you with soap. you were drunk and he needed to be sure you’d get back safely. 

he saw tears staining your cheeks and a pang of guilt filled him as he stormed out of the bar. 

chapter 9 ➡

[geekynightowl1997]

Thinking about how the Leverage Team dresses. (Again.)

How they dress describes them so perfectly and it makes me SO happy.

Like;

Nate- he wears black or dark colors most of the time. He's still mourning the loss of his son and probably his divorce. However he doesn't dress sloppy. He wants people to believe that he has it all together- even if he really doesn't. His hair his a mess of curls that looks like it was brushed with his hands. Well kept, but still devilish looking. (A good indicator that he doesn't have life put together.

Sophie- she never dresses sloppy. All high-end/ semi- high end clothes. She's all about shoes and shopping. Probably for the next grift. She looks flawless in whatever she is given. Most of the time it gives her confidence to look the mark in the eye and pull it all off. High heels are her best friend and her hair is always spot on.

Parker- she pulls of the grundgy look. It's a mix of dull and colors- that blend in. Like she's a rebellious teenager. Of course on the job (unless she's grifting,) she's in all black. But nobody would question a young women who looks rebellious. Most just blink and walk past- something she picked up on the street probably.

Hardison- he dresses like he's chill. Relaxed. T-shirts and pants. (Again, unless he's grifting.) He doesn't have to mask up most of the time- and his clothes are usually muted, but there's colors. He too looks like a teenager whose up to no good- just in a different way.

Eliot- (I've posted about him before,) but he's a weird mix of Parker and Hardison- with his own style. Maybe it's from his years of being a hit-man. But he blends in with any situation. Between his leather jacket or his button ups. Him and Sophie probably have the most color in the way they dress- constantly changing with what the con needs. Again, reds are a good shade for Eliot. And he really does pull off the country bumpkin when needed.

Harry- dresses like Sophie. (Of course he's a lawyer so that's probably a lot of it,) but it's almost like he needs to dress nice. He needs respect- and he dresses like it.

Breanna- she dresses like a modern teenager/almost adult. Casual and comfy.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

JOHN WICK WIPS (INSPO FROM THE BRILLIANT @scarlettspectra) ; READ TW 🕊️

──────── #1 SAVE ME, JW

“You want me to leave you alone, don’t you?” You’re willing to let this one slide, despite the trouble you’ll get in later for it. Maybe a few bruising slaps, nothing you can’t handle. 

“You can’t now.” 

You look at him strangely. “I can.”

“Your boss is expecting you to deliver.” 

You wonder how he knows all this, how he can be casual about it. 

“Look at me.” You grin, unbothered, only a little frightened of consequences and repercussions. “You think I’m not used to losing?” 

He does look at you, really, and it makes you shudder. Underneath all that grief is slaughter. Bodies piled and burning. Your mouth runs dry and the grin falls. “What are you here for?” 

He wipes alcohol from his bottom lip. “Your boss.” 

You prickle. “Please.” He betrays no sympathy, so you try again. “Please don’t. I need to protect them.” 

“Den mother?” He asks.

You look over your shoulder to the oblivious family you’ve grown to love. Men and women in scantily clad outfits just trying to live in this fucked up world.

“Yeah,” you nod, taking a huge drink of alcohol to numb the future.

It doesn’t help. 

He puts his hand on your arm, steadying the shakes. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

You find yourself laughing despite the gravity of the situation. “You’re one man. He’ll have you killed, and we’ll get caught in the crossfire.” 

He tips down the last of his drink. “Get them out.”

“And then he’ll come looking for me,” you hiss, leaning on the table with your head in your hands.

He says, without a crumb of doubt: “no he won’t.” 

──────── #2 NONCON ; DEAD DOVE ; DARK DARK DARK JW

There’s black hellfire in his eyes, a dark promise to make you sorry for your miserable little John-free existence, and, for a second, you resign to the notion that he is going to keep his iron grip around your suffocating throat until you pass out. Your vision is already blurring and darkening, claws scratching pitifully at his arms. A little woodland creature in a big bear trap. 

But, he lets you go, dropping you right on the hard floor, and you land on your ass, gasping for air, face soaked from tears, dress ripped down the middle. He jams his pointy shoe in between your legs, pressing the tip into your cunt, hurting you. 

“John, please,” you whimper through gritty teeth, trying to push his leg away and only getting a big black dress shoe crushing your pussy as reward. 

Your head flips back, neck craning just enough to put agonizing tension on your scalp and spine. His fist nets what feels like every tearing hair on your head, and you can’t help but screech in pain. 

“Please,” he repeats, voice eerily calm even as he’s shoving his fingers down your throat and making you choke. He pulls out and leaves thick white spit dripping onto your pouty lips and chin. He smears the excess on your cheek and smiles down at you - almost lovingly - “you’re begging already? Fucking pathetic.” His foot digs deeper into your sensitive pussy and you let out a cry, proving his point. 

“Oh, I missed this tight little cunt,” he sighs and closes his eyes as if talking to himself. “Thought about her every fucking day.” 

“John, I’m sorry, I-“ 

“Shut up.” He slaps you on the cheek, hard enough to leave a big red welt, then lugs you up by your hair. He doesn’t bother to move his leg, so your bare skin scrapes raw on the rough fabric of his pants. “The only thing that’s gonna come out of that pretty mouth from now on is ‘yes, John.’”

He spins you around, manhandles you onto the counter, presses his cock into the cotton of your panties and slaps your ass harder than he had done to your face. He watches your plump jiggle and retract, wets his lips, grunts. “Did you hear me, baby?” He slaps the same spot, and you yelp and claw at the counter. 

“Yes, John.” The phone is right beside your head, you see the screen light up with worried texts from your friends, asking if you’re home yet. You could try and pick it up, call someone, dial 911, but this is John, and you know there’s not a chance in hell you could touch that phone without him crushing it in one grip. 

“Oh?” He sees where your eyes are, of course he does. He’s a fucking lethal predator, and you’re just a stupid girl. “You wanna call somebody to come save you? Do it. Call them. But you’re gonna watch attentively while I kill them all, I can promise you that, honey.”

──────── #3 HOUSE PET

The cute baby blue collar around your squishy, bruised neck - and how can he help but mark you up? It’s so easy to dig his teeth into your skin and latch on.

The cream-pink cheeky underwear nestled tight to your flesh, hidden under a mid thigh denim skirt. 

The delicate bralette, useless in caging your heavy, bouncing breasts - even with the aid of the tight pink camisole.

Just for him, an opaque, creamy white, mock garter hugging your thighs and making the fat bulge and jiggle over the snug tops. 

John wants to lap at that flesh like you would with melting ice cream from the cone. 

He tugs on your little leather leash. The one accessory on your body that’s not pastel and sickly feminine. This shiny lead indicates that the tether between your neck and his hand belongs solely to him.

Adorable cuffs around your wrists and ankles - color made to match collar. 

His hands, so steady and thick, inching up your inner thighs and making you giggle and twitch. 

He knows you’re so very ticklish right in the crease of your thighs. So adorable trying to squirm away from him even though you know it’s completely useless. 

“Johnny, stop it,” you gurgle, slapping at his plucking and pinching fingers. 

His mouth contradicts his rough hands, giving you tiny, loving kisses all over your hot face. His smile melts you into a pliant doll, ready to be played with.

At his total mercy - eager to be at his total mercy - not one vulnerability he doesn’t see and latch onto, yet so completely safe and sheltered under him. Like standing in the eye of a tornado, or being a sucker fish on the side of a big great white. 

You card your hands through his silky hair, pushing it out of his face and pushing your caged cunt up into his teasing thumb. “I love you.” 

“I love you.” He licks at your lips and you open for him, ready to be devoured and left breathless from his mouth.

──────── #4 THAT FUCKIN WHITE HENLEY

“Good boy,” I say, “good boy. Who’s my good boy, huh?” 

The tiny Italian greyhound bounces high enough to kiss my face, and I’m giggling in delight. “Yes! You’re my good boy. Go get it!” I throw the ball and he’s gone in a flash, fast a lightning, legs moving so swift I can’t even see them under his little body. 

I turn back to the house, where John is situated on our little deck and fixing the grill up.

Instead of coming to me, Oz runs to Dad, and drops the ball at his feet. 

My husband picks it up, shows it to Oz, then shows it to me, still leaning down, the upper half of his torso partially obscured by porch rails. 

He smiles at me, eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, yeah,” I call over, giggling, “you throw better than me!”

He looks back at the dog. “Don’t be mean to your mom, Oz. It’s not her fault she sucked at gym class.”

Ozzie barks, uninterested in our banter, all eyes for his toy, and I laugh, mouth popping open in mock offensive gesture. “I’m sorry we can’t all be built for high impact sports.” I stick my tongue out at John, and earn a soft chuckle.

He stands up, brushes his blue jeans off and - oh - I haven’t seen this shirt before. 

It’s just a damn shirt, and I’ve seen this man at least more than a couple times completely naked, so why am I salivating while he saunters up to me to hand me the ball. Oz, blissfully ignorant to the tension between us, happily trots after him.

He puts the ball in my hand, grins at me. “Thought you’d never wake up, sunshine.” 

“I-uh-had a long night.” My cunt gives a diabolical throb. The thick fingers handing me the toy were the same ones scissor fucking my sopping cunt only a few hours ago. 

“Poor baby,” he tsks, leaning down to kiss my head. 

That fucking shirt. White, marled Henley with the v cut out so his chest can wink teasingly at me. Something about it makes me pulse in more places than my loving heart. 

“Wear’d you get this shirt?” I ask him.

“You like it?” He says, twisting around so that I can see the taut bend in his waist and the way the fabric rumples and clings against his sinew and tendon.

I feel the urge to chomp down on my knuckle to avoid screaming. 

“You look good,” I say, treading carefully, salivating. Jesus Christ to lord 

His smile is all knowing, mischievous, awful, going straight to my pussy.

“I’m thinking barbecue chicken for lunch,” he says. “Would you like that?”

I’m not crazy, that last sentence is 100% dipped in sin and low toned. My cunt puckers. “Sounds good.” 

He goes back to fixing the grill while I play with Oz. My throws are even worse now that I’m entirely distracted by watching his muscles move under creamy fabric.

Before I know it, he’s got my back pressed up against his front again, big body engulfing me. “Bad news, baby,” he murmurs, kissing my neck.

I giggle as his beard tickles my skin. 

“The grill is out of commission. Let me take you out.” His smile is warm against my shoulder. 

My stomach gives a little growl. “What’d you have in mind?” I ask.

“Whatever you want,” he tells me. 

“Want you,” I tell him, reaching around to feel for the hard bulge under his denim.

He grabs my hand, spins me around, kisses my fingers and then sucks them into his mouth while I make an absolutely fool of myself and moan involuntarily. 

“So impatient,” he tsks, “do I have to spank you again, needy little girl?” 

This isn’t fucking fair.

[paleprincessturtle]

harvey fic request! :) maybe they get in a spat about harvey getting jealous or a miscommunication but then they fix it and then super fluffy

Hiiii!!! Thank you so much for the request and I'm so so so so sorry it took so long for me to continue writing here. Life been tough but here I am. Enjoy❤️

The Greenest

When Harvey received a phone call from Mike, he was happy, to say the least. But upon hearing what he had to say, Harvey sighed. There was this charity in Seattle, and both Mike and Rachel invited him. Harvey dodged the question by saying that he had to ask his wife. It wasn't that Harvey didn't want to donate his money for a good cause, but he rarely spent time with his wife now. He just wanted to stay home and do absolutely nothing with his wife in his arms. He could just write a check for it and make up some excuse later.

Harvey got home to Pink Floyd blasted through the house. He couldn't help but hum along with the song. It would be useless, he thought, to call out for his wife. He found her in their bedroom, a few dresses draped on the bed as she stood in front of her kingdom of shoes. "Are we going somewhere?" Harvey asked casually as he took off his suit. She jumped at his voice, eyes wide. "You scared the living hell out of me," she said, reaching for her phone to turn down the volume of the speaker. "Well, I suggest you shouldn't give your husband a spare key, then." Harvey rolled up his sleeves as he observed the dresses. "We're going somewhere?" Harvey asked again. "Oh yes! Mike and Rachel invited us to this charity gala. It's for abused women and children. Can you imagine?" Harvey watched as his wife's face scrunched in sadness. He swore this woman wouldn't even hurt a fly. "It's in Seattle?" Harvey asked again as she earned an eager nod. Well played, Mike, Harvey thought. Going straight to his wife. Well played. "We sure can come, yes?" Harvey looked at his wife, knowing damn well it wasn't a question. He nodded and smiled. 

Harvey's favorite thing to do whenever he went out with his wife was to watch her get ready. He watched his wife put on matching underwear in black, all lacey. He stole a glance at his watch as his brain raced at the possibility of tempting his goddess of a wife for a little fun activity. "Don't think about it, Harvey." His wife scolded him as she watched him from the unreasonably huge mirror in their hotel room. "Think about what?" Harvey asked, pretending to be clueless. "Think about taking off my underwear, bending me over, having your way with me, being late, and what excuse should you give Mike for being late?" Harvey smirked at the sultry way his wife said it. "We've been in this dance before, Harvey. I will not fall for it again. Now, why won't you be a nice gentleman and zip my dress?"

"Jeez, Harvey. Didn't you arrive at the hotel yesterday? This whole thing started an hour ago!" Mike scolded Harvey, who gave him a knowing look. "Seriously?" Mike gave him a disgusted look, and not long after, his wife came along. Mike hugged her and thanked her for coming. He then managed to explain this charity he and Rachel are now part of. He also said it would be good for the charity to know two successful New York lawyers are here, siding with the charity. It just meant more money for the charity. Which was great.

Not long after, Rachel came, and she gave them brief hugs. She managed the whole event, so Rachel was running around as she made sure that nothing went awry. The three of them were having a good time. They talked about what was going on in their lives. Harvey probably would have to admit that this wasn't an entirely bad idea to come. Mike nudged Harvey, "There, that's the city attorney. Let's put that pretty face to good use." Harvey looked back at his wife, signaling for her to come along. "I need to go to pee; I'll look for you later." Harvey smiled at her as he followed Mike.

Harvey just realized that his wife was never to find him. It had been 20 minutes; surely she didn't need that long. Harvey tried to look around. He squinted his eyes at the sight of his wife, who happened to look way too comfortable with a man he had never seen before but was somewhat familiar. A man her age. Harvey frowned as he hurriedly excused himself. He made a beeline to where his wife stood but slowed down his pace when he was near. "Oh Jackson, you know how it is in New York," Harvey heard his wife laugh not long after. "Well, then maybe you should consider moving here." Before he could hear what his wife's reply would be, Harvey stood beside her, an arm wrapped around her hip. Harvey didn't miss the way this Jackson guy's eyes followed where Harvey's hand rested. "Won't you introduce us, sweetheart?" Harvey asked a rhetorical question. She sensed something wasn't quite right with Harvey's attitude. "Jackson, this is Harvey, my husband." Harvey extended his free hand. "Harvey, this is Jackson ...." Before she could finish her sentence, he jumped in. "I'm her ex-fiance," Jackson said, shaking Harvey's hand. Harvey gave him a curt smile. "Who would have thought that Harvey Specter is your husband?" Jackson said to her, but his eyes never left Harvey's. Again, before she could say anything, Harvey said, "What can I say, Jackson? I'm immaculate, and my wife has an immaculate taste." They looked at each other for quite some time, trapped in an uncomfortable silence as the two men tried to intimidate one another. Harvey then remembered that he once went against him in court. Harvey won, of course. "Well, it was nice to meet the two of you," he was about to leave when he stopped in front of her, "especially you; I'll give you a call when I visit New York." Before he left, he touched her bare arm. And Harvey was seething. Harvey took her hand to make them face-to-face. "What the fuck was that?" Harvey said, his jaw tightening. "What the fuck was that? What the fuck was what? I was just trying to get him to donate, Harvey!" Harvey scoffed, "By flirting with your ex-fiance, who suggested you move here?" She looked at him, exasperated. "We're going back to the hotel," Harvey said quietly. He took her elbow as he guided her out of the crowd. "Harvey, we are invited here to help them raise the donation," he said, shaking his head. "We're going back to the hotel." Harvey's voice left no room for argument. Before exiting the venue, she caught a glimpse of a confused Mike. She shook her head in silence before Mike became out of view. 

The two of them were silent during the ride back to the hotel. "We're back now at the hotel, happy?" she said sharply as she took off her heels. "We could've helped more if you weren't being so childish and being all jealous!" She raised her voice, both hands on her hips. She looked at Harvey's back, and he poured himself some scotch. "If you weren't flirting like a high school girl, we would still be there." Venom laced his voice. He turned to face his wife. "Do I need to pack your things and send them here so you can get back with Jackson?" His wife shook her head in disbelief at his words. He finished the glass in seconds, opened the door, and slammed it hard. She sighed and prepared herself a bubble bath. There is no use in arguing with him now.

She woke up with the curtain open. She squinted her eyes. She was greeted with the sight of Harvey sitting in a chair just beside the bed. "Hey, sunny," Harvey said softly. She didn't say anything or react; she just stared at him. "I'm sorry," he said genuinely, she could tell. "I shouldn't have reacted the way I did; I'm really working on my issues. She nodded, she knew he tried. "Did I hurt you?" he asked as he took her hand in his. He did so as if he might break her, so gently. "You did," she answered quietly. "I'm really sorry," he kissed her hand softly. "It's okay, Harvey. Just try to work on yourself harder, okay? I'm here ready to help if you need anything, but no more lashing out," she said as she caressed his cheeks. Harvey leaned into the touch and closed his eyes. "What did I ever do to deserve you?" Without answering, she moved over and signed for Harvey to lay beside her. 

[writtenbymisunderstoodnerds]

Blind date (Tierna Davidson x Reader)

This is barely edited and I'm not sure if a museum like this even exists, but use your imagination. Hope you enjoy :)

Words: 2.5k

"Oi dumbass, get up," Tobin called from the bathroom before throwing a shoe at me when I didn't respond.

"Fuck off Tobin." I growled trying to go back to my nap.

"No, you have to get up."

"Why? There is literally nothing happening today."

"You have a date in a couple of hours that you need to plan."

I sat up, looking at her like she was crazy. A date was the last thing on my mind at the moment, the last thing I wanted to do, "What? With who?"

"You'll find out later."

Tobin didn't know who I had feelings for, but she knew they existed. Normally I would tell Tobin everything, but seeing as the person was her teammate, I decided against it for the time being,  "Tobin what the hell? You know I have feelings for someone, why the hell would you set me up?"

"Because you've been pining after this person for almost a year without any thought of asking her out. Either you ask her out or you go on this date."

"I don't want to do either. One will make things awkward and the other will make me lead a poor girl on."

She rolled her eyes, "Suck it up, it's one date. You'll live."

"How do I even know where to take her? I have no plan, I know nothing about her, not even her name. You could have given me more then a couple hours notice."

"She likes art, museums, photography, music and Italian food. That should help, you have to make a real effort on this. As for more warning, that would have given you more chance to make up an excuse to get out of it."

There was no getting out of this. Tobin was stubborn just like me, there was no way she was going to cancel and this mystery women was going to show up regardless. It wasn't the mystery girls fault, so with that little bit of information I started to make a plan, "Okay fine. Tell her to wear something nice, but casual." 

There was only an hour and a half until my date arrived, she was coming here first so Tobin could introduce us. I quickly made a call to one of my friends who happened to work at a nice Italian restaurant, there was a very slim chance of getting a reservation this late. Thankfully, my friend managed to come through and got the last reservation at her place.

After showering I got dressed changed into black skinny jeans, a maroon long sleeve button up, my black leather jacket and Chelsea ankle boots. As much as I didn't want this date I was going to put some effort in, after all it wasn't her idea so why take it out on her. Once dressed I moved onto my hair. My hair was shoulder length, red dyed hair. I was never one to put effort into my hair so I just went with a simple braid. There was a knock on the door as I was half way through the braid. Tobin yelled for me, "Hold your horses, I'll be out in a minute." I quickly finished the braid before heading back into the room. To my utter surprise, Tierna was standing next to Tobin. She was wearing light blue skinny jeans, a relaxed white blouse and a casual black blazer. 

Tierna was the girl I had developed feelings for. Being team photographer, I had spent a fair amount of time with her and the team which had led to many friendships formed. Though my feelings had developed fairly quickly which had stopped me from building much of a friendship with Tierna out of fear and awkwardness. I didn't know if Tobin knew about my feelings for Tierna, but it would be one hell of a coincidence if she didn't. 

I cleared my throat realising I had been staring for too long, "Uh hey Tierna."

Tierna smiled shyly, "Hi Y/n."

After a minute of slightly awkward silence, Tierna and I left the hotel. The slightly awkward silence continued as we walked down the street. Despite knowing Tierna, I had no idea where to even start a conversation. I struggled when not on a date with her, but I was even more nervous than normal. I had no idea if Tierna even liked me or if Tobin had set her up as well. 

"So um how did Tobin get you to agree to this?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Tiernas cheeks flush red. She always was adorable when she blushed. "She called me out for liking you which was terrifying because she's your older sister and I was worried about being murdered."

I laughed a bit at that. Tobin was only protective when she needed to be, she never cared about me dating, but as soon as I got hurt, you should be afraid. "Oh no, Tobin doesn't care until someone hurts me. Wait, you like me? How?"

"Uh yeah. You were just so genuine and funny when we first met, it just kind of happened. I thought I was hiding it pretty well by not interacting with you much when we were alone, but apparently she caught be staring and blushing a lot. How did you get roped into this?"

"Well Tobin told me about 2 hours ago about this date and I had no choice. I didn't think she knew about my feelings for you, I'm starting to question that though. Did she say anything about it?"

"She said you liked me. I didn't really believe her, but I figured I would take the chance and come up with something later if it backfired. I'm sorry you were put on the spot."

"It's okay, I'm not mad about it. Well not anymore anyway. Just kinda nervous that this will be a crap date given my time constraints. If I had known it was you, I would have tried harder to make it what you deserve."

Tiernas cheeks flushed once again as she looked anywhere, but at me, "Honestly, I've been wanting this for a while now so I'm sure whatever you planned will be perfect because it's with you. What are we doing anyway?"

My heart fluttered at her confession. I never would have imagined Tierna ever feeling the same way. I wanted it to be a surprise though, "You'll see."

We made small talk while we walked. I was still being slightly awkward, it was to be expected. I hadn't been on a date in over a year, even before that it didn't happen often. My focus was for a long time on getting my career where it is now. "So you own your own photography company right? You're just contracted to us?"

I started out as a low level photographer at some pet photography place, I worked incredibly hard and managed to book a few non pet related shoots. Things just grew from there, soon enough I was opening my own photography business, doing shoots from birthdays to weddings to pretty much anything people wanted. I had grown to have a few people working for me so when I got approached about working with the USWNT I decided to take the position because it meant getting more time with my sister. I was a little bit surprised when they did approach because normally they just hire someone. Tobin had confessed a few months later that she had showed them my work and hyped me up.

"That's amazing, your family must be proud."

"My parents took a while to come to terms with it, I wouldn't say they're proud though. Tobin is proud, but thinks I need to get out more, that there's more to life than a job."

"It's more than just a job for you though, isn't it? You created something from the ground up, the way you talked about it's clear you love what you do."

"For the longest time I had no idea what I wanted to do. I was always envious of Tobin for knowing exactly what she wanted. I studied business because that's what my parents wanted, but I hated it, guess it came in handy though."

Tierna stopped walking to look at me, curiosity covering her face, "Why photography? That's a big jump from business."

I started walking again, we had to get to the museum so we had time to have a proper look around before dinner. Also, spending too much time looking at Tierna made me even more nervous. This was probably the longest we had spent alone or spoken to each other. "I know right. There's not some big story behind it. One of my friends was an arts major and needed help with a photo one day. It was fun and I guess I was hooked. From there I just started doing it. To say the least, my parents didn't necessarily approve at first which in a way drove me to where I am now. Oh we're here."

The museum was a very large glass building, lit up on the outside by white lights. Tiernas expression instantly lit up with excitement as she kind of bounced up and down, "It's beautiful. I love museums. This is the one that just opened right?"

"Yup." I took her hand dragging her inside. What could I say? I was super excited. Once we were inside I became painfully aware that I was still holding her hand. She didn't make any move to pull it away though so I didn't either. Our hands remained joined as we walked around though as we walked we continued to get closer. At one point, Tierna ended up cuddled against my side as I rambled about something random. I don't think I've ever felt so flustered yet excited and comfortable at the same time. All I knew was I wanted that to happen more often.

This museum had a lot of different areas to it. It was pretty much all the different types in one. Science, space, history and art all in one. I'm pretty sure there was also a marine mammal section which for me is a close second to the space section. At heart I was a giant nerd, I loved it all especially space. The look on Tiernas face told me she loved it. It was a relief. This date didn't mean much it the beginning, it was just a forced thing. Now that I knew it was Tierna, I kind of wish I had done more. 

"While I could stay here all night, we have to go." Tierna pouted, I knocked her shoulder gently with mine to get her to stop, "Nope, stop that. We have dinner reservations so if you don't want to eat we can stay."

"Hmm fine, I guess I am hungry."

We left the museum, hands still intertwined. Walking down the street I listened to Tierna talk about all her favourite parts of the museum. She was rambling again, I didn't mind though. I liked listening to her talk. Her voice was soft and soothing yet slightly raspy. Yup, I didn't mind at all. We came to a stop outside the restaurant. It was a small family run Italian place, that had amazing food.

"No way, I love this place. Didn't Tobin only tell you about our date like 2 hours before? How did you get a reservation? This place is usually booked out on a Friday."

"My friend works here, she managed to get us in."

The awkwardness had long disappeared and conversation became easier. During dinner I got to know Tierna better. Anyone who knew Tierna knew she was on the more quiet side, but she easily talked about her childhood, likes, dislikes, hobbies and pretty much anything else. Turns out I loved listening to her talk. I was also paying special attention to her likes, dislikes and hobbies for future dates or gifts. I had every intention of spoiling Tierna if we our relationship developed. Tierna deserved the world and I would do my best to give it to her if she let me.  

Eventually our reservation time came to an end so we made our way outside. Tierna started shivering instantly so I slipped my jacket off and wrapped it around her shoulders, "Here."

"You're going to be cold," Tierna protested.

"I'm fine, I don't get cold that easily. You need it more than me."

"Thank you. I know you didn't really want this, but I've had an amazing time tonight Y/n/n."

Tierna stepped closer as I retook her hand, lacing our fingers together. She pulled me closer so we were almost touching. "I've wanted this since we met T. This just wasn't how I wanted it to happen, but I'm also glad it did because I don't think I would have told you anytime soon."

I made the last move, pulling her in and connecting our lips in a slow kiss. It was tentative at first, both slightly unsure and nervous. After a few seconds, Tiernas hand cupped the back of my neck, deepening the kiss. My confidence rose with that, my arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her against me. Normally, kissing someone like this on a public sidewalk was not something I would ever do, PDA made me incredibly uncomfortable, but I was finally kissing the girl I've wanted for almost a year. Let's just say it felt incredible. When air became a problem, we slowly pulled away, a smile spread across my face as a giggle slipped out. There wasn't anything else planned for tonight, though I really didn't want the night to end yet. 

I racked my mind for anything that we could do when I remembered an ice cream shop that was open late, "Do you want to get ice cream and walk along the pier? I know a place that's still open."

Tierna cuddled against my side as we started walking again, "I would love to."

"Good because I don't want tonight to end yet."

Tobin smirked as I flopped down on my bed with a no doubt dopey smile. It was well after midnight so I was slightly hoping Tobin was asleep. I didn't want to deal with her smugness, not when there was still some resentment there.

"So how was the date?"

"How long have you known about my feelings?"

"A little while now. You're not really shy unless feelings are involved and normally you will talk to anyone, but you always got shy around T, you never really interacted much with her, always looking at her when she wasn't paying attention. Now how was the date?"

"It was really good. Thank you Toby."

"Anytime."

"No, literally never do this again. You have no idea how pissed I was at you, then how nervous I was that my plan wasn't good enough for Tierna. I know she liked it, but if I ever got the chance I wanted to make it really special. Like she deserves."

"I'm sorry, I just didn't think you would believe me if I told you she like you. It went well though? Did you make your move?"

I recounted our night as I got ready for bed, already knowing I would be too excited to sleep. Tierna and I were going out for brunch tomorrow. While I used to try my best to not be alone with her, now I couldn't wait to see her again. I couldn't wait to see how our relationship developed. 

[seeingteacupsindragons]

I keep thinking about this photo and the way Miyoshi characterized them with their new, modern outfits so well.

Miyoshi has talked actually quite a bit about the character designs for the characters in this series, and it's very obvious how much thought and care was put into each of them--to the point of having Billy designed before chapter one.

And I think that's really reflective here, even in these normally impossible outfit choices.

Let's start with Louis: He's the only brother wearing color (blue jacket, orangey-brown boots), as William and Albert are both in head-to-toe neutrals. Louis has a lot of that, too, but Louis has this thing going on where...none...of his clothes...quite...go...together.

He's wearing what looks to be joggers??? With a very nice ribbed turtleneck sweater. Just wildly clashing formality levels here. And a nice hooded duffle jacket, which falls in a weird formality level between those two extremes and doesn't quite work with the turtleneck. A hooded jacket and turtleneck is, ah, not what one would consider a particularly "fashionable" choice. And then's he wearing what looks like hiking work boots. Those are not fashion boots, either, and they're not sneakers.

My point is, what even is this combo? He looks like he got dressed in the first things his hands grabbed out of the closet and then shoved the only pair of shoes by the door on his feet on his way out of the door--his pants are tucked into them, but lazily. The shoes have fake elastic laces, which look childish and are also lazy. He does not care.

And Louis has never been one for looks over practicality: he scarred his own face because it was expedient and useful. And yet there's a pop of color and life to him that his brothers and their mental issues don't quite have. A childishness to the rushed mismatch of things and the most casual clothes any of the brothers have.

William will be quicker, mostly because I already talked about the fact that's he's dressed like a beatnik, a subculture known for its focus on art, anti-commercialism, and equality. So. Yeah.

But William also looks a little like Louis in that he probably doesn't care much about his appearance: he probably has a closet just full of all black clothing he can always match and a neutral, plain trench with no adornment.

He's also dressed to attract as little attention as possible. He's attractive, of course, and his clothes look nice and fit well. But they're incredibly unremarkable, with no accessories or styling to them. No sparks of bright colors. Just there, fitting in, going unnoticed, much like his regular ol' suit in the main canon. If he dressed like Louis, it would attract attention by being different so he puts a little more effort in.

And last, Albert. Albert is the only one of his brothers wearing accessories: that scarf is a fashion scarf, not a functional one (for all that it seems a little chilly, as they're all wearing coats over what appear to be sweaters). He has gloves. I think I've seen those fashion booties in the Women's department. His collar is popped and his pants are cuffed.

But none of those are flashy, expensive accessories. He's not got a 2k dollar watch or cufflinks or furs or even any color. He's in neutrals just like William, and his clothes are rather plain. But the focus with him is on the way he wears them: he's put effort into the scarf and gloves and making sure those very closely fitting pants go OVER the boots and then cuffed them to show off the boots even though they don't appear long enough to need the cuffing for height (and he's mfing tall, like, finding pants for those legs must be hard enough). He looks nice, he looks fashionable and neat and well-cared for...but he doesn't look like a dandy. He's not trying to peacock around. It's a very subtle, classy way to look well-dressed without feeling like a misuse of funds or rubbing it in anyone's face.

None of Louis's items of clothing go together, but it's all very practical and it functions, and that's what matters, right?

All of William's clothing goes together because he bought the blandest items possible because he doesn't want to think about himself or have other people think about him. He's busy thinking about Math and Sherlock.

Albert wants to be classy and subtly fashionable without being an ostentatious asshole.

And it all just works really for their personalities, and I just love the attention and care put into things like that to make sure you can really feel and recognize the characters from a glance (like when Miyoshi was discussing the importance of giving William and Sherlock such distinct silhouettes despite being the same size and width).

It's a lot of work, and work well done, so I want to appreciate it all with you.

[xxstraymoonchildxx]

This Couple is Unusual

Prologue / Next

Chapter 1: This Couple, negotiating

cw: none

As Charles Dickens once put it: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times”.

The both of you sat in a horse carriage, cars being still not too common around that day, and looked outside the busy street.

England in the nineteenth century was a sight to behold. In awe you watched the people walking down the streets, clad in Victorian fashion - the men in suits, top hats (hopefully without mercury), and walking canes; women in long modest dresses with hoop skirts or bustles underneath giving a distinct shape and various little hats on skillfully made hair. You fit in perfectly with the clothes Asmodeus provided you with. Satan was dressed to the nines, the striped pine green waistcoat over the pristine white, high-collared shirt hugged his muscular frame nicely; the dark coat he wore fluttered slightly behind him when he walked (he couldn’t help himself and only wore one sleeve, the other draped over his shoulder casually). The ascot around his neck matched his black pants and shiny dress shoes. You matched him well - the bodice underneath the dress - white with pine green stripes - emphasized your waist but wasn’t too tight; the long-sleeved waistcoat had frills in the front that opened under the bust like a curtain and ended in your back with a large bow. Around your neck was a necklace with a cat pendant Satan gifted you for your last birthday. 

All that being said sadly didn't distract you from the fact that it smelled so bad. 

Occasionally little boys ran onto the bumpy roads, scooping up what the horses left behind. (You hoped none of those children would get themselves hurt or worse.) Not only that, the industrial smoke carried over from the factories, and people still threw things into the Thames that didn’t belong there (mainly human and industrial waste, and unsurprisingly the occasional corpse)

“I am grateful we didn’t visit London during the summer of 1858,” Satan stated after he saw you wrinkle your nose in displeasure ”I've read about it recently, it was labeled the Great Stink. There were various artists depicting their idea of a shinigami riding along the Thames during that time.”

“Guess it was easier to drop everything into the river. I can’t believe the working class had to bathe in that polluted water, like, eww. Bet Barbatos would've gotten a heart attack from those rats running around if he was with us.” 

Satan hummed in response, looking back outside the window.

You passed the central street that had various shops aligned next to each other.  Somewhere had to be one of the subsidiaries of the sorcerer's society where you would meet one of your teacher’s acquaintances, Viscount Laurent Cavendish who was responsible for the finances there. He was the son of a vineyard owner who made business with high society and offered wine tastings, perfect for making strong connections.

Satan helped you out of the carriage, the strong grip he had on your waist made your cheeks turn pink. The coachman handed you your luggage and wished you a nice day. 

The subsidiary looked like every other building in the business area, disguised as a bank (and also functioning like one for cover). You went inside, walking to the front desk of the entrance hall. An elderly gentleman sat behind the oak table.

“Good afternoon, how may I help you?” he asked politely. You took out the letter from Solomon stored inside your bag, handing it over while introducing Satan and yourself. The man’s eyes widened, looking at the demon in surprise, then back to you. “We need to speak to Viscount Cavendish as soon as possible.” He nodded and made a quick phone call with a hushed voice. Not even a minute later you were escorted to Cavendish’s office.

You expected Laurent Cavendish to be a middle-aged man but you were mildly surprised to have someone sitting in an office chair who can’t be older than thirty. Auburn hair framed his oval in a style that reminded you of Mephistopheles and dark blue eyes looked up from his paperwork to eye you thoroughly. Come to think of it, the way he looks at you, judgingly, reminds you a bit too much of the aristocrat demon. He signed you to take the two seats in front of his desk.

“I’ve never expected this shady man to get himself an apprentice. Say, is his cooking still as horrendous?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Nearly killed me once.”

Cavendish sent you a crooked smile, just for a split second, before leaning back in his armchair, folding his slender hands. Back to business. “So, what brings you here? I assume you aren’t interested in opening a bank account.”

“We are interested in the Whitechapel Murders. We plan on acting as reporters from a foreign country. Unfortunately, we don’t have the proper connections in the Londoner scene,” Satan answered and you continued “But my teacher recommended you, Viscount, saying you’re a powerful man in the Sorcerer’s Society and Londoner Underworld”

You hoped to tickle his ego to the best of your abilities. To drive it home, you opened your suitcase - enchanted so you can put as much as you want in it like in the RPGs Leviathan often plays with you; basically unlimited inventory space - and brought out a gift box, addressed towards the man in front of you and put it on his desk. “We can pay you for your troubles, of course”

Curiously Cavendish opened the present, hummed with a twinkle in his eyes, and closed it again. 

“Very well. The murders are all over the newspapers but Scotland Yard is, unsurprisingly, still clueless. Our Society isn’t interested in the case per se, but of course, we are up to date about everything even if we don’t involve ourselves in such … events. The victims are brought to the funeral parlor Undertaker; the owner is involved with the underworld as well and is a reliable informant, despite his unique personality. I’m also acquaintances with one of the Yard’s chief staff, Sir Redcliff. Although I’d advise you strictly to be discrete with any valuable information.”

Satan looked at you and nodded. Cavendish took a sip of his tea after this long monologue. “I’ll provide you with the necessities and wish you all the best. Please wait in the entrance hall. My secretary will bring it to you once I am finished.”

After shaking hands with him, or rather with Satan, you were escorted outside. But not without his calling something out to you right before the door closes:

“Beware the Queens Watchdog, Earl Phantomhive!”

“Well, that went smoothly,” Satan said, guiding you inside the called carriage. The Viscount supplied you with a hotel reservation as well as various objects for bribing purposes - like a bottle of expensive wine for the Yard and credentials. “He must be quiet in debt with Solomon to go for such length. I wonder what was in the present you gave him” You thought about it for a moment “Eh, I guess some rare ingredients or magical items. I didn’t look inside.” The blond demon let out a laugh “I am surprised, by how noisy you usually are”

“Hey!”

Half an hour later, you arrived at the hotel. It was nothing too fancy from the outside, a two-star equivalent from your own time maybe? You stood before the entrance door when you suddenly heard a gentle meowing noise. 

Satan was quick as always, crouching down to pet the little creature in front of him “Are you all alone?” he cooed, petting the few-month-old kitten. In the blink of an eye, not two, but three and four emerged around the corner. You watched it with a grin. 

//What magnificent creatures. What an adorable little family~// Blushing, he played with the litter of cats. He didn’t hear the sound of protest from around the corner.

It wasn’t until another set of hands appeared in his line of sight. He looked up, staring into a pair of reddish-brown eyes. 

Bonus:

Earlier that day:  Y/N: Okay, we should change into more time period-appropriate clothes *takes off top* Satan: HOLD U-!

__________________________________________________

Finally done it. Had like no time to write last week thanks to being short-staffed.I might edit something in case I notice spelling mistakes. I usually use Grammarly but it doesn't catch everything.

[desertdollranch]

Getting dressed in 1774 with Felicity and Elizabeth

Getting dressed in the 18th century was a lot of work for women and girls! They used many layers of clothing to create a fashionable outfit. Felicity Merriman and her best friend Elizabeth Cole are here today to show you how it's done.

I made everything seen here, excluding both of their dresses, shoes, stockings, garters, Felicity's shift, and Felicity's nightgown and cap.

Felicity wears a comfy white night shift to bed, and her lappet cap ties under her chin.

But for everyday use, Felicity starts with a simple shift as the first layer of clothing.

For good posture, she wears laced stays.

The stays lace up tightly in the back.

Next is a full-length petticoat, to provide more shape to her skirt.

Pocket hoops give her dresses the right fullness.

They're called pocket hoops because the have slits at the top so that they can be used as pocket.

Felicity usually just puts things in this pretty embroidered pocket, which she can reach through the slits in the sides of her dresses.

That's the last of her undergarments. Now for the finishing touches!

She ties back her hair with a white satin ribbon, and puts on her lucky coral bead necklace.

She wears knee-length white wool stockings held up with garters that her mother wove with a sweet message. Her black leather shoes are single lasted, meaning they fit on either foot.

She puts on her white round-eared cap for modesty, ties her drawstring purse around her wrist, puts on her favorite gown, and she's all done! Now to go out in the world and cause some absolutely hilarious chaos with.......

.... her best friend, Elizabeth!

Elizabeth's undergarments are pretty similar to Felicity's, but there are a few differences.

Instead of hoops, Elizabeth wears a bumroll tied around her waist, to achieve lift at the back of the skirt. And her stays go over the shoulder as well.

She wears knitted white stockings and a pair of white shoes that match her prettiest gown.

Instead of a round eared cap like Felicity's, Elizabeth wears this lacy pinner cap with a pink bow.

She's dressed up for her sister Annabelle's engagement party. I do wish she had been given a more casual dress for her meet outfit, like she wears in all of Felicity's books. But even this dress is improved with the bulk and shape of her undergarments!

[pyramidsoul]

Oxford apartments neighbor speaking about Jeffrey Dahmer

One evening in June of 1990, I held my first conversation with our neighbor who lived across the hall. I introduced myself to him as Vern and he introduced himself to me as Jeff.

He appeared to be very polite as he and I stood in the hall in front of our apartments. He stated he was leaving to go to the corner store to buy a pack of cigarettes and when he saw I had a pack in my shirt pocket he asked if I had a cigarette I could spare.

Of all the times I had seen this guy he was always casually dressed in faded jeans, a flannel shirt and casual shoes. He wore glasses and his hair was cut medium length always looking well groomed. He had the appearance of a college student or someone who had been to college. He was clean shaven and had boyish look.

I guess the word I would choose to describe my impression of him is intelligent, highly intelligent. He had a slim built appearing to be 6 feet tall, weighing maybe 165 pounds. I'd guess his age to be 30 or 31 years old.

Through the times that I'd see him our conversations would mainly be small talk about my car, my job, the weather, his job and the building or something of that nature. He always appeared to be soft spoken as we would stop in the hall on his way in or out of his apartment.

Never did he give me any impression that he had hang ups about living in a dominantly black building or living in the neighborhood which also was dominantly black. As time went on Pam also had begun to have small conversations with him. She also thought that he was pretty pleasant to talk to. We were neighborly with all the tenants living in the building.

Being that I was the only black man at my place of employment and Pam being raised in Madison where blacks were few, neither she nor I had a problem with him being white. Our typical conversations went something like this whenever we would talk to each other in the hall.

"What's happening?"

"Hey Vern, not much."

He would notice that I would be just getting in from work most of the evenings when we'd see each other...

"How was your day?"

"Not too bad," I'd reply. From earlier conversations in our passing, I had informed him that I was a Draftsman. He like-wise told me he worked 3rd shift at a chocolate factory downtown and that he's been employed there for a couple of years.

"Do you have to punch in tonight?"

"Yeah, got to pay rent."

"Talk to you later," I'd respond. His reply was... "yeah, take care."

There had been various other conversations and I must admit talking to him made me feel appreciative of our small conversations. I felt sad for the guy living alone, never seeing him associate with anyone or have friends visit him at his apartment.

Amongst all of the tenants in the building Jeff stood out the most, not only because he was white but to me because he never had visitors or a girlfriend which to me appeared strange but not the type of out of the way strange. He was always alone.

He didn't own a car therefore, his means of transportation was the city bus. After becoming acquainted with him, we'd see Jeff standing on the bus stop or getting off the bus walking towards the apartment building.

He appeared to be weird to the other tenants but I never thought of him as such because of the fact that the area where we lived was nothing but a danger zone and keeping to himself was a safe thing to do. It was not safe for anyone walking that didn't fit in.

It was no surprise to see Jeff wearing his light gray jacket walking at 9:00pm through someone's backyard or taking a short cut through the alley headed towards the Oxford Building. He'd walk among dope peddlers to have them approach him and ask him "you looking..?" "You straight..?"

Meaning do you want to buy drugs but He would either shake his head negatively or ignore the peddlers all together.

He would be approached by addicts trying to con him in any way possible for money and women working the streets would confront him with offers of sexual pleasures for money but he would ignore them all.

I recall once telling Pam that I thought he had a lot of heart to live in this area. He never showed any sign of being fearful, he didn't have a kick ass type of attitude. It was more of an "I don't bother you and you don't bother me" type of attitude.

In June there was a series of burglaries and apartments in our building were broken into. Everyone was on lookout for any strangers walking through the halls. The police were called and they questioned everyone that lived in the building to see if anyone may have seen anyone or knew anything. Two apartments were broken into and everyone in the Oxford Apartments had high concerns about the break-ins.

The tenants began to look out for each other's apartments when the tenant was away. I had two of my nearest neighbor's phone numbers and I had also given them our number to inform each other when we were going to be out of our apartments. Our neighbor Jeff had gotten a phone but said he had it for only a week or so because he couldn't afford the bill.

"Hey Jeff, we're starting to look out for each other's apartment due to the break-ins. Give me your telephone number so that we can call you to just let you know when we're not going to be in so that you can keep an eye on our apartment."

"Vern, my phone was turned off because I'm having a hard enough time paying my rent and feeding myself, so there's no reason to give me your phone number. I do however intend to get a burglar alarm for when I'm away at nights working. There's no way I can afford to have my stuff ripped off and there's no real security around here that I trust."

"Yeah, it's getting pretty tough around here." I said.

"Yeah Vern I know what you mean. Any news about the guys' stuff that was stolen?"

"None! You know how that goes."

"Well I'll talk to you later."

"Sure Jeff, later."

Extract from Vernell Bass’ book “Across the Hall”, chapter 2. If you’re interested to know more support the author and get the book!

[gingerminx75]

Consequences. Part 1

With my new shape comes new attention. Catcalls that I never heard before. The hotter weather means shorter shorts and a minimal tank top. I am not dressing for them, I am dressing for me. It appears that the men in my neighbourhood didn’t get that memo. My schedule too tight for me to vary when I run, and not wanting to drive, where I run. It’s safe to say I have become predictable.

The calls are becoming more difficult to ignore. Shouts of, “leave your door open, I know where you live”. Them “accidentally” blocking my path and leaving me stammering as I ask them to move. As I blush and lower my gaze, they laugh at me, reminding me that I am smaller, weaker and regardless of my running, slower.

I return home and while soaking in a nice hot salt bath a see an advertisement on my feed. Women’s self defence classes. This might be exactly what I need. An opportunity to learn how to defend myself and hopefully gain the confidence to put these guys in their place.

Unfortunately the course is not local, but there is a one week condensed program. I can take a week off work, have a mini vacation and return a who new person.

I contact the instructor, he seems a bit aloof, but that should not matter. I just need him to teach me how to defend myself. As a retired LEO, he should have a lot of experience with deviant minds and how they pick their prey.

I pack, excited for my adventure. Shoes, running shorts (but not too short), white tank top and white cotton panties. Just in case the class doesn’t wear me right out I pack a few casual clothes and my favourite little black dress.

My flight was uneventful, arriving in the south it’s a bit warmer than I am used to, but very beautiful. I’m glad I didn’t bring sweat pants, I will sweat enough as it is.

As I was travelling to attend the course, he had kindly offered to pick me up at the airport and take me to my hotel. A short cab ride in the morning and we will begin.

I was pleasantly surprised by his appearance. 6’2, piercing eyes and wonderful broad shoulders. He watched me approach, quietly confident. No smile, yet he didn’t appear displeased. His commitment to fitness was evident. I can only hope my training is as thorough.

I get to bed early, get up, quick shower and a light breakfast. Before I leave my room, I do a quick turn around and like what I see. Simple, comfortable but practical.

I go outside and have to take a few pictures, the landscape, even within the city is so pretty. I am not used to the hills, but it might help my conditioning. I turn to look back at the hotel to see if my cab has arrived, but to my surprise I see my instructor.

He explained to me that the other two participants had canceled, and I could reschedule or train one on one. I couldn’t rationalize travelling and taking time off twice, and while he was slightly intimidating, I really wanted to do this.

I hopped in his car, and after a short while we arrived at his house. With the lack of students, he explained that we would use his garage gym, rather than rent an area. Odd, but logical.

The gym was well setup, primarily free weights, with a few machines. The best part was the wide open door and quietly humming fans that kept the space fresh and comfortable. His house being set back from the road, and nicely treed, we were able to keep music playing and not disrupt the neighborhood.

We quickly got to work. Physical assessment first. Taking my measurements, testing my flexibility. Gently, but firmly assisting me to get the fullest stretch. Next came the weights. Setup so that I wasn’t working to failure, but able to complete ten good reps. Form being more important than moving a heavy load. He explained to me that if I don’t push myself and find out what I’m capable of, I will never know my limitations. That knowing what I can handle is the best way to boost my confidence.

I’m not sure what I was expecting, but his “warmup” felt a lot like my workout. A quick break for water while we discussed the day’s workout.

Weights first, then an introduction to hand to hand training. The weights progressively heavier, as I grew tireder. Quickly and sharply corrected, I quickly realized that there was one right way to do things…. His way.

I appreciated the attention to detail, even as some as the criticism stung. I wanted to do well, I just didn’t know what to do. Frustrated with my failures. He didn’t appear to notice, continuing to correct me as he saw fit.

Watching me squat. Nudging my feet into proper position. Slightly wider. Toes out. Correcting the arch in my back with a firm hand. Close enough that his voice sounded like a whisper in my ear. “Yes, that’s it”. “Deeper now”.

That simple affirmation, after so many struggles, felt so good. Re-energized, I wanted more. I wanted his praise. Trying extra hard, legs starting to tremble as I descend. Him gently supporting the weight and allowing me to collect myself. Taking away his support feels like the weight doubled as I rise. The pause at the bottom ruined the momentum. I struggle to return to my start position. This time he allows me to struggle. For the first time, I see a hint of a smile.

I rack the weights and catch my breath. He leads me to the bench press. I assume the position. Feet flat, legs parted. Squared up to the bar. Standing behind me, he helps me unrack the weight. Light enough to not need a spotter yet, he stands and the end of the bench. Watching, guiding me with simple instructions. I’m concentrating on my technique, but distracted by his voice. I like it.

His whole demeanour authoritative, but confident. Self assured, with no need to be cocky. Quite obviously used to giving directions, rather than taking them. We watches me, arms crossed over his chest. Unintentionally showing off those gorgeous arms.

I don’t notice that he is watching me too. Watching both my form and my reactions. Watching my shorts ride up a bit as my back arches. Careful to stay in contact with the bench, unaware that my shorts have adjusted. The white cotton of my panties gleaming against the black silkiness of my shorts. Legs rolling outward, the damp spot on my panties that very likely isn’t sweat.

———-

I finish the set, get up and adjust my clothes. Riding up and exposing more than I’d like. Ready to wrap up for the day, I’m ready to go back to my room and relax.

My day isn’t over yet though, on the drive back to the hotel I receive a stern lecture about the importance of situational awareness. Learning to unconsciously scan my surroundings for threats. Being aware of what is present, and what can hurt me. I have been accused of being naive before. I want to believe that people are not all bad. And that kindness is not weakness.

Back in my room, I slowly strip. Enjoying the tightness of my hard worked muscles. Enjoying the sheen of sweat. Shyly wishing that someone was there to taste it. Running a bath, sipping a glass of wine. Strolling lazily around my room. Not a care in the world.

Morning arrives too early and I am outside and waiting before he arrives. Dreading the workout to come, but looking forward to it at the same time. I expect to see changes in myself by the end of the week. Wondering if anyone else will notice as well.

He picks me up, and today drives in the opposite direction of his home. I enjoy the scenery and wonder where we are off to. He pulls into a gorgeous wooded drive. Parks the car and takes two water bottles from the backseat.

I follow curiously as he walks down the path. His steps longer than mine, I have to run/walk to keep up. No small talk, no wasted energy. A man on a mission, but unwilling to share the plan with me.

We pass the free space area of the park and enter the trail system. Here he gets a bit more talkative. Asking me what I’m seeing, what I’m feeling and telling me to let him know if I get nervous. The last question seems odd. I don’t imagine anyone bothering us, not with his size and demeanour.

Today’s workout involves functional strength. Dead arm hangs from convenient overhanging branches. Some too tall for me to reach. He easily boosts me up and helps me down.

Hill climbing, wind sprints, pushups and skip rope. Oddly thrilled with the praise for something especially well done. The day is hard, but enjoyable. The sunshine, the dedicated attention of someone willing to help me grow better and stronger.

He seems very concerned for my comfort, always checking in to make sure that I am okay. Making sure that I am not afraid. As the day draws on, he seems almost frustrated with my answers. I’m not afraid, I am enjoying the adventure. I’m learning, I am growing and I am having a great time. This day is everything I wanted and more.

We stop to break a water break and sit in a lightly shaded clearing. I take a moment to rub a cramp out of my shoulder. I’m beginning to feel the effects of the past days’ efforts. He suggests that I sit up straight, back against the tree. Reaching my arms up high above my head. He stands in front of me, awkwardly close. Taking both my wrists in one hand and helping me stretch. It feels so good as the tension rises, then is released.

One more stretch he says, this time raising me to my feet. Arms up stretched above my head. Pulling me onto my tip toes. When I expected him to of release the pressure and let me down, he asked once more, “what are you feeling?”, “are you afraid?” I answer again, “I am nervous, but safe. I feel safe with you”.

Instead of reassuring him, I see a flash of anger across his face. He grips my wrists tighter and lifts me, dangling from his grip. He leans into me, pressing my body against the rough bark of the tree. Whispering in my ear, “you don’t understand, it’s me you should be afraid of”.

[firecooking]

A fun piece that took me WAY too long to complete!

I wanted to draw out the Z stacks for my humanoid au and do something fun with the outfits and the posing. I almost always draw them in some form of work uniform or in their formal gear and while that's pretty accurate for most situations they also have non work good clothes, of course in shades of Zero Marine Bigg City approved browns and blacks.

I also wanted to highlight more personal styles with them as well as keeping the context of the 1920s in mind! I also gave them all weapons for fun!

Zip has a VERY stylish youthful way of dressing for the 1920s, his bow tie would be seen as rather formal in contrast to his outfit which would be very youthful and in matching, shorts don't match with sweaters, boots don't match short sleeves, young men often dressed 'eclectically' to 'stand out'. Zip Carries a rather standard hunting rifle, he doesn't much like to use it, but it lets him stay away from danger while protecting himself. He's a small guy and doesn't like to be in the action, the gun lets him keep his distance, and he quite likes that. He does know how to use it and will if necessary.

Zug wears a pretty average day suit, it's pants cut is a little big and the coat is a sport cut, he'd been seen as basically a lousy dresser, sorta like a used car sales man. Zug carries a Tommy Gun, he's a small guy and it gets the job done.

Zorran dresses in a modern for the time business suit, the cut is straight on the pants and jacket and the bi coloured pants and jacket would be seen as a more relaxed choice and he's forgone the vest of old. Winged saddle shoes complete the look, he would be a snazzy dresser in the eclectic sense like Zip. Zorran is a resourceful man and will fight with anything at hand, but a good old fashioned lead pipe is easy enough to carry and conceal and even easier to ditch without suspicion

Zebedee forgoes convention, instead going for comfort and a relaxed fit. The Zoot Suit is still two decades out but the smoking suit is making its debut, considered a wasteful use of fabric Zebedee is on the cutting edge of fashion, even if he just wanted something comfortable. He is a fan of brass knuckles, if he has to fight he'd rather brawl fair and square

Zak, like Zorran, forgoes a piece of the standard business suit, However his piece of choice is the Vest, which sets him firmly into casual. With a dark grey shirt and matching tie, pants, hat and shoes, Zak is scrubbing against the grain of fashion conventions of the time, Zak would be kicked out of a fancy restaurant on sight in such an outfit. Zak keeps a switch blade on him at all times, he's a big fan of stiletto style knives, they make quick work of any target

Zaffre opts to forgo feminine dress but doesn't abandon women's wear. The Blazer is in its second decade as women wear, note the lack of collar notches on the blazer and the single button, and the loose fitting light fabric pants are the trend with young flappers for day wear. Her shirt and tie are what step back into men's wear but are not unheard of anymore. She's young and a great example of a second generation suffragette, the right to vote is just the first step, you know. Zaffre hasn't opted for any weapons yet, the hat pins and batons of days past are not needed when you are ready and willing to beat someone to death with your bare hands. Maybe she'll find something someday

Also have a high chart because I am terrible at drawing them to scale, by 1920s average heights they are all pretty average, Zug and Zaff being extreme but not unheard of, by today's average heights literally all of them are average and below with Zug being unheard of as a 'normal' hight

[ashintheairlikesnow]

To Unchain Me

Sigh Not So | Secrets Hid Away | Shed Tears Aplenty | Fire Down Below | Rolling Down | Won't You Go My Way? | The Seas No More | The Nightingale's Song | Bones in the Ocean | For She Was Afraid | Time for Us to Leave Her | To Unchain Me |

@whumptober 24 & 25, Neglect & Storm

CW: Gender dysphoria, captivity, nonhuman whumpee...

-

One hundred and fifty-one years later...

*

The last thing Kiraya Losna did before she left the boarding house was a little bit of magic.

Standing before the mirror in her walking shoes in a blue casual dress and with her straight black hair caught at her neck and pinned in place with a small stylish cloche to top it off, she still had to swallow back the depth of unease she felt at her reflection. This body simply had never felt fully her own, without help.

So she took in a deep breath and drew a symbol on the silver-backed glass, crafting a spell that was sent back out and smoothed itself into her skin.

She did it every day, the way some women dressed using complicated undergarments to enhance busts and hips or layered cosmetics to make their lips look like perfect bows.

Kiraya Losna needed a little more assistance than that to feel at home in her own body. 

It wasn’t an optical illusion, either, and this was what she was most proud of. It was a true modification, and it never felt like a waste of the power the spell took to cast.

She had painstakingly created the symbols for it herself during her time in apprenticeship, a spell that existed entirely for her and would work on no other. Even as she looked at herself, she watched the magic create a shift at the bodice of the dress and a corresponding change beneath - the slight change in weight and shape felt like slipping into her real body. She exhaled, then, a smile playing around suddenly fuller lips. She added new curves to her hips, removed the unwelcome between her legs. Her center of gravity shifted, the line of her jaw softened. She even took the time to widen her eyes and smooth the skin on her hands.

The Kiraya in the mirror now reflected the one within her mind, and she felt finally at ease. 

The spell didn't last after she slept, so it had to be redone each day. One day her continued research would unlock the secret to permanence, but she hadn't discovered it yet. Once she did, though, she would offer the spell to anyone who wanted it, throwing happiness around like paper pieces in a parade, and her name would be known.

Once the spell settled, she leaned forward to check her teeth, then rechecked her hair and her hat just to be sure. Everything looked good, and she felt good, and today was going to be a very, very good day that ended with a handful of very good gold coins in the jingling bag she kept hidden in the secret pockets within her skirt.

Coin by coin, she was headed towards riches.

Already she’d gone from boarding in ramshackle homes where supper consisted of thin soup and hard bread to the nicer ones with new paint only just starting to peel in sea air, the kinds of homes that often had fresh vegetables alongside the main dish.

Kiraya took a deep breath, fixed her usual slight smile on her face, and stepped out of her room, giving the woman who ran the boardinghouse a kiss on each cheek before she walked out the door, down the steps, and into the hustle and bustle of the city. The streets were muddy, but her skirt was a little scandalously high and so her hem stayed clean. Her boots she could spell clean, once she made it to her destination - no point in doing so before that. 

People nodded, sometimes, and she nodded in return. Butchers hung fresh cuts of meat in the window, a man set fresh fish on pallets of magicked ice to keep them cold. Two women argued over which one was truly married to their shared husband while a handful of children watched with wide eyes. 

Why such a high-in-the-world man as her new employer would choose to live in the largest city on the Continent was beyond Kira’s understanding, but she didn’t have to understand it. She only had to do her job, take the incredibly large payout he offered, and then come back in ten years if she wished.

She caught a cab, the man pulling his horses up short when she raised her hand to get his attention. When she gave him the address she had been given, he whistled through the gap in his front teeth. “His Lordship? That’s a fancy place to be going for someone coming from this part of town, Miss.”

As always, hearing herself called miss made her feel warm in ways she could never have fully explained. It made her smile wider and she sat back against the padded back of the cab’s seat and inhaled the smoke-smell of the city air. “He’s a very fancy man, so I’ve been told.”

“That he is. What’s he calling on you for?” His voice held a note of suspicion, and she nearly laughed at the idea that he thought she - with her sensible dress and shoes - might be a woman of some impure trade out here at barely midmorning. "Not meant to offend, Miss, just curiosity."

“No offense taken. I am a magician,” She answered, closing her eyes and pulling the slight, curved brim of her cloche down to block the morning sun from shining right on her eyelids. “His Lordship requires magic, I require his money, and so we both benefit handsomely."

The driver hummed, but he slapped the reins down slightly on his horses’ rumps and they began to walk, picking up speed until the cab bumped cheerfully along at something slightly less than a trot. 

Kira smoothed at her skirt, taking the occasional glance at the endless ocean of people they passed. Her look was maybe a little too casual for an audience with his Lordship, but those she'd spoken to when asking around had said Lord Wentworth was too preoccupied with his obscene wealth to trouble himself with such things as propriety, and she wasn't exactly going there to look and act like some simpering noble lady.

Kiraya Losna had work to do.

She was going to write magic into the skin of a vicious sea serpent, and she was going to drown in money as a result.

She couldn't wait.

-

Lord Guilford Wentworth - he was the fourth of his name, a family much given to repetition, Kira supposed - lived in an enormous manor house.

His grounds took up two entire blocks of the city, his estate larger than most parks. Supposedly, his own great-grandfather, the first Lord Wentworth, had bought up acres of land and simply razed the buildings already there to the ground, scattering the inhabitants to the winds so he could cart in new trees and bushes and flowers and builders. Even, supposedly, wild animals for him or his houseguests to hunt.

Kira could see, as the cab made its way along the winding, tree-lined lane - the damn thing was paved, not cobblestoned, and the cab ride smoothed out into new realms of comfort - towards the enormous house slowly rising before her, where the scars of what had once been busy city streets could still be seen, if you knew what you were looking for.

Magic wound in and out of it all, and her fingers twitched, itching to jump down and touch each and every tree. She wanted to read the signature of the magic used to grow them so quickly, so that each seemed centuries old, even if she knew they couldn’t be. There had been strong magic used here, it must have taken a whole team of magicians hard at work to make it happen. What sort of payment had the Lord offered, to make it worth draining themselves so thoroughly?

As they traveled, clouds had begun to gather, wiping away the warm sunlight that had met her this morning. She shivered a little as the wind picked up a chill, casting a spell of subtle warmth that brought her back to what comfort could be found in a cab with an open top on such a day. 

Finally, the cab driver pulled his horses to a stop in front of a huge house. It had two stories, but it spread out on each side like a great bird spreading its wings. Kiraya swallowed back a sudden rise of nervousness, clutching the leather strap of her bag, and took a deep breath.

When the driver held his hand out, she took it, and carefully stepped down from the cab and onto a well-paved driveway. A few coins, plus an extra couple, ensured he would return before the evening meal to take her back home. He tipped his own hat to her and she watched the cab’s horses make their meandering way back down the lane, leaving her feeling oddly like someone who had been dropped alone in the middle of a forest rather than standing in a busy city whose inhabitants were only a few treetops away.

Funny, how quiet it was here, right in the heart of the city. If she hadn’t known where she was, she’d never have guessed. 

Then she turned, her eyes moving up to take in her new place of employment. 

The house was white, with columns in the classical style over wide, shallow steps. A man with his hands behind his back, standing tall and straight, met her at the bottom of them. “Miss Losna?” He asked, his voice rich but somehow still without warmth. 

“Yes, sir.” She let her gaze wander, just a little. The door behind him was wooden, with stained glass insets that showed mermaids leaping from water. It was beautiful work, and yet something about it made her instincts prickle with unease. “I am Kiraya Losna, the magician."

“Excellent.” The man stepped slightly to the side. “I am Heinri Babbage, His Lordship’s head of house. His Lordship is working on some correspondence of much importance now, but if you would follow me inside, I can see to your comfort until he is available.”

Kira fought back a frown. He had been the one to tell her to come at this time, and now he could not see her without making her wait? It seemed like a rich man’s trick, something to make him at ease and her uncertain. Why he would bother, she didn’t know - she wasn’t another noble, she was just someone hoping to work for him. 

Still, she smoothed out her expression into something blandly pleasant and nodded. “Of course. I don’t suppose I could see the creature I am meant to work with-”

“Not yet.” Babbage - the butler, she supposed the head of house would be a butler, she hadn’t had all that much truck with the wealthier families who had handfuls of servants doing all the work for them - cleared his throat. “Apologies for interrupting you, Miss Losna. It is only that… well… it took some time to find someone able to take on the task, and…”

Kira waited. Then, when he didn’t finish his sentence, she frowned. “Is there something wrong with it?”

“... in a manner of speaking. The creature’s welfare has been... neglected of late. The magic must be settled once every ten years, and it has been eleven since our last magician tendered her resignation… The creature has become… unpredictable.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and she held up a hand, looking up at the clouds, but no rain yet fell. 

Her eyes narrowed, looking over Babbage’s stern expression. Whatever his true feelings were he kept them well hidden. She nodded, slowly. “I understand. I should still like to see it, Mr. Babbage. If His Lordship wouldn’t mind, of course. I can spell protection for us both, and whatever has happened to it, it cannot harm us.”

“He… might mind.” Babbage winced, but after a moment’s hesitation, something flickered in his eyes and he nodded and moved up the steps, Kiraya following him. The door swung open with hardly a whisper, and she took a step forward into the grandest entryway she had ever seen.

Before her, a double staircase wound upwards to the second floor, with a chandelier hanging in crystalline grandeur from the high ceiling. Beneath her feet was expensive black-and-white tile. Even just the entryway seemed like a ballroom in size and magnificence. The sheer amount it must cost to maintain such a home nearly took her breath away, and made her heart beat faster at the promise of just how much this man could afford to pay her for her work. 

Babbage led her not up the stairs but off to the right, and she followed, hurrying along. Around her, servants were hard at work. Again, everything seemed normal for the home of a rich man, and yet something in her intuition was ringing alarm bells at high pitch inside her mind. 

It was something about how damn happy everyone here looked, maybe. They were all smiling and chatting and walking as if heading to a happy holiday. It wasn't at all like they were working a hard, laborious job. Something… something was wrong.

They moved down a long hallway, lined with portraits of the various Lords Guilford Wentworth and their families. The Guilfords all looked more or less identical to one another, and only the names and faces of the wives and children seemed to change. The wives caught her eye first.

Eliza, Neandra, Liselle, Marguerite… All of them had the same identical, dreamy smile on their faces, and all the children seemed oddly solemn and unsmiling by comparison. Kiraya found herself pausing by the most recent of the family portraits, the one where the wife was named Marguerite. This showed a young Guilford Wentworth the Fifth, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old at most.

Magic, coiled inside Kiraya, sparked at the sight of the young man’s flat eyes. She inhaled sharply. “Do... any of His Lordship’s children live here?” Kira asked, hoping it sounded like idle curiosity. 

Babbage smiled, a little ruefully, where he walked beside her. “Sadly, no. His Lordship’s children are prone to flights of fancy, and he is far too indulgent after the death of their mother. I believe the eldest, Guilford Wentworth the Fifth - he turned eighteen this past September, you know - is in the isles looking after his father’s financial interests in the colonies. Her Ladyship Miss Nathalie, sixteen, is staying at the Lord’s home in Yawnee City at the Howe estate, and the twins are just now eleven and are still away at finishing school. It is a large and very lonely home His Lordship lives in, if you’ll forgive me the sentiment, since Madam Marguerite passed away.”

“No forgiveness needed,” She murmured. When she glanced sidelong at him, Babbage had tears in his eyes. What hired man had ever cared enough to cry over their employer’s sad family life? Her sense of unease grew. “May I ask what happened?”

“She-...” Babbage’s voice caught. He swallowed, his throat bobbing. “She took terribly ill… She did not recover. Tuberculosis. It is a family curse, I think at times."

Her sense of unease grew. “And he has no interest in remarrying?”

“No, the Wentworth fortune requires that each Lord marries just once to bear children, and not again.”

“... Huh. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of such specific standards for the inheritance of money, it’s quite common for men to remarry-”

“Not the Lords Wentworth.” Babbage stopped before a heavy set of double doors, locked with a chain and padlocked as well. “This is where the monster dwells. It has been too dangerous for any of us to step inside, it has become increasingly aggressive and prone to violence. Miss Losna, I must caution you against-”

“I want to see it,” Kira said, faking a strength she didn’t quite feel. Something about a locked door had always made her feel a stubborn need to see what was being kept from her. She’d been in trouble plenty as a child for learning to pick the lock to her father’s study, but eventually he’d learned if he didn’t lock the door, she lost interest. 

“Miss, it could do you great harm-”

“It won’t.” She swallowed, and then drew a symbol over her own chest, pulling magic not only from within herself but from the very air around her. When it settled, she felt it - a film as thin as gossamer silk and impenetrable as heavy steel, yet equally invisible to the naked eye. “Open the door, please. I want to see what I am working with.” 

“I am sorry, Miss Losna,” Babbage said, and he sounded so achingly sincere she couldn’t even be annoyed with him about it. “I… I must admit, I find the thing quite terrifying. We all do, none of us can bear to be in the room with it. If you go in…”

“I go in alone. I understand.” She squared her shoulders, reached up to set her hat just so again, and then folded her hands in front of her. “Unlock the door, Babbage, if you will.”

The butler paused, and then slowly nodded. He pulled a ring of keys out, searching through them until he found the one he was looking for. It scraped going into the padlock and took some serious fiddling - long enough, she noticed, for Babbage to flush with a hint of embarrassment - and then the padlock popped open. He pulled it away, rapidly unwinding the chain, and then opened the door. “Quickly, miss-”

“Of course.” She stepped inside, feeling humidity hit her like a brick to the face as soon as she did. The door closed behind her, the chain scraped back into place, and she exhaled slowly, heart pounding when she heard the click of the padlock closing again. 

In front of her was an enormous swimming pool.

Well, no. It wasn’t a swimming pool - it was more like a perfectly rectangular pond, with lily pads and flowers, and dozens of ferns lining the walkway around it. Ferns, flowers, even small fruit trees in big pots, their fruits dropped to the ground, a little rotten. The smell made her nose wrinkle, but she licked her lips, looking slowly around.

There were windows, taller than she was and narrow, lining each side. They were fogged-over, and she saw nothing through them but a hint of light and shadows moving when wind blew through nearby trees. She thought there might have been a flash of lightning, and nodded when a few seconds later the rumble of thunder followed it.

The room was otherwise utterly silent and still. 

“Hello?” She called. Her voice seemed swallowed by the greenery.

There was no answer, not at first, and she turned to look back at the door she’d come through.

She gasped as she realized the inside of the door was covered in scratches.

Kira swallowed, unease blooming for the first time into genuine fear. 

The scratches dug deep, the marks of some animal having tried desperately to claw its way out. Old blood had dried here, too, in splotches and spots. When Kira followed the sight of the dried droplets down, she discovered there were stains beneath her very boots on the floor, leading right back to the edge of the pool. 

She skittered to one side, staring at a bare footprint pressed in blood beneath her, gripping her bag of supplies more tightly. 

What kind of sea creature was housed here? What sort of serpent had human feet and could try to break back down the door to get out?

There was a splash, and she spun back around, looking back at the pool of water. There was no movement, no ripple along the surface, no sign anything had been there at all. Kiraya took a breath, and then another, trying to calm her racing heart. 

The water was utterly still, and yet she felt eyes on her like a heavy weight against her skin. Something, in here, was watching her - and yet she couldn’t see any sign of what. 

“... who’s there?” She asked, and then winced. Stupid. Like it could, or would, answer her. She looked like quite the idiot being frightened of something that could do her no harm, not with the spell on her skin. What was the point of learning magic if she didn’t trust it?

Thunder rolled, and it seemed to last forever. Like kittens gamboling around the sky, playing with the ball of yarn that was the earth itself. 

Kiraya steadied her voice.

“Come out, please. I want to see you. I am the magician here to care for you."

Plants rustled off to her right. She turned too quickly, tripping over her own feet and stumbling backwards, struggling to right herself. For just one second, she nearly had herself back in balance-

Then she slipped on a puddle. 

There was a sudden pattering of footsteps on the stone. 

She looked up as she fell backwards, arms thrown out to catch herself, to discover something leaping at her, its terrible maw was open wide.

She smacked hard onto her arse on the stone floor and threw her arms up before her face as she screamed.  The sound echoed in the room, bouncing off the walls and around her mind. 

It lunged at her throat and she jerked backwards, head knocking back against the floor.

The world around her spun, pain spiking where she struck, and she groaned. Clawed fingers closed around her wrists, not painfully tight but inevitable, and shoved her wrists back down at her sides. She tensed, head turned to the side and eyes closed tightly, waiting for the bite, the claws digging into her belly and pulling out her intestines for a meal, but…

But nothing happened.

She cracked open one eye, and then another. Some of her hair was stuck at the corner of her mouth and she had no hands to dislodge it.

The monster loomed over her.

Its breath came hot and heavy, panting against her neck, but her protection spell held. 

Its rows of sharp teeth were an inch from her throat, but it could not bite. Its clawed, webbed fingers held her wrists but the tips did not even break the skin, they couldn’t break the skin. Its eyes were huge and dark, pools of ocean water too dark for light to penetrate. Its hair hung in tangled, matted clumps that reached past its shoulders. 

It looked human, except for the parts that so clearly weren’t, and somehow that was more frightening than any sea serpent could ever have been. 

It hissed in frustrated anger while Kira exhaled in slow relief.

“Let me go,” She whispered, voice trembling, barely audible. Her heart was in her throat, and she worried the creature could see her pulse fluttering, a whole new temptation.

Those dark eyes moved over her face, and she saw something about it changing. Something seemed to… smooth out, and the monster seemed even more fully a man. Its mouth closed and then reopened to show flat human teeth. She saw no rage or hunger in its face, but instead… 

A kind of resigned and awful despair as it pulled away from her. 

She saw now the magic symbols that ran down its neck, to its shoulder and arm and side, recognizing many of the symbols that had been so carefully painted into its skin. All the way down the right side of its body, fading with time and needing reinforced, to be sure, but still entirely visible. 

She could see how they had begun to lose the crispness of their edges, bleeding back into its skin. It had hoped it could attack her, and it likely could have if not for her protection spell. Another year and those symbols would fade away entirely. Once that happened, the spellwork that kept any human safe from the creature’s teeth and claws would be gone with it. 

Already, it could attack the defenseless, those without the magic to protect themselves. Another year, and even magicians would fall under tooth and claw. 

And yet… she found herself caught by the look in its eyes. She saw one piece of this puzzle move into position, even if the rest of it was still a haze in her head. 

“You’re afraid of me,” She whispered. "You’re not hungry, or dangerous. I mean, you are dangerous, but… you’re scared.”

It met her eyes. 

She found herself looking at the single most beautiful man she had ever seen.

“Of course I am scared,” It said with a melodic, sibilant accent she had never heard before. When she jumped at the sound of its voice, it snorted, derisive, and looked away from her. “The monster speaks, hm? What a trick it can do. I know what you are. You have come to hurt me. Like all of them do.” She followed its gaze to the bag with her magic supplies inside. It looked at the kit with even more trepidation and disgust than it had looked at her. “They all come to hurt me, the ones like you. Every ten years… and yet you never let me die. Pain like that should end in death, but not for me.”

She hadn’t expected the creature to speak. But its voice was beautiful, thick and rich, mesmerizing, melodic. It shook its head - no. It was male. 

He shook his head. 

She thought of the portraits of the various Lords Guilford Wentworth, and the magic that crackled around her in the air, smelling like ozone as rain fell just outside the windows. How close they were to the ocean, and yet it was an impossible distance for something kept in a cage.

Even one full of water.

“What’s your name?” She asked. Names had power, names could be power with the inhuman peoples of the world.

“Areyto,” He spat, half-snarling the word. “He named me Areyto, because I dance to his tune. I had another name.”

“What-... what was it?”

“I don’t know.” There was a world of frustrated pain and rage and fear in his voice that she could hardly stand. She felt it shudder through her, and she found herself reaching her hand up to touch him without thinking.

Her fingertips brushed the line of his jaw, and felt warm, living skin beneath.

He flinched violently backwards as if she had struck him. “No!”

“Wait! Areyto-...”

“Don’t touch me!”

“Please, wait-” He scrambled away, and she tried to follow him - but pursuit only made him flee her more frantically. “Wait, whose tune? What are you? Why do you-... please, I need to know-... please! Areyto!”

He ignored her, and dove back into the pool as quickly as he had appeared in the first place. 

He didn’t resurface, even as she stayed on her hands and knees, feeling the damp soak through her skirt, staring into the water, panting. The thunder cracked outside the fogged-up windows, and rain fell, slapping windblown against the windows as if the ocean itself had switched places with the sky to fall on them and drown the world. 

“Miss Losna?” Babbage called, in a voice lined with panic, just outside. “Miss Losna, are you quite all right?”

“I’m fine,” She called back, getting back to her feet with some effort, smoothing at her skirts and staring at the place in the water where the creature had vanished. She had a sense, one that came from magic and not sight, that he lingered just beneath the surface of the slightly murky water, watching her right back. But she saw nothing. “Would you let me back out, please?”

She listened to Babbage hurriedly pulling at the chain and fled the room as soon as the door opened, cool air immediately making her skin tacky after her time in the humidity of the creature’s lovely, plant-lined and miserable cage. 

She met Babbage’s gaze, some of her hair falling over her forehead. His look of concern seemed entirely sincere, and when he held out a handkerchief she gratefully wiped sweat from her forehead and used her hands to try and tuck her hair back into place. "Mr. Babbage, I was called to reset the spell on a sea monster,” She said, voice breathy. “A sea monster.”

“Yes…” Babbage trailed off, concern becoming confusion. “Did you not see it? When you screamed, I thought you most certainly had, it is a fearsome thing.”

“What? No, I mean. Yes. I saw him.” Kiraya went to shift her hat back into place, only to realize it must have fallen off her head when she fell and was still inside. She decided to leave it there, she’d have to go back in to work on him later. It wasn’t like he would have any use for a lady’s hat. “What I saw was no sea serpent, no monster.”

Babbage blinked. “Miss?”

Within the room, the creature screamed, thunder crashing around them, rattling the windows. Even the scream sounded like a harmony, as if even in his terrible rage and fear the creature kept here, who had been so frightened of merely a touch of her hand, could not be anything but song. They both jumped at the thud as he threw himself at the locked door. They turned to stare at the sound of scratching from the other side of the door. 

The chains held. For now. 

If those spells on his skin fully faded, and his full strength was something he could use again, she wasn’t sure that they would hold for long. 

There was only one kind of sea creature the gods had crafted from melody. The children of the moon’s anger at men for trying to tame the tide. Kiraya knew all the old mythologies, the stories told to explain the way the moon pulled at the water and how sailors went down so often in deep water, never to be seen again.

She knew, now, what she had been called to work on. 

Babbage’s mouth twisted with distaste and disgust at the noise, and he led Kiraya back down the hall the way they had come. This time, she let her eyes linger on the portraits of the Guilfords Wentworth.

They were all entirely identical-looking men. Only the style of their clothing and the family surrounding them changed. 

Entirely. Exactly. Identical.

“Babbage, speak true to me,” Kira said, laying a hand on his arm. He stopped, looking back at her, and she saw - somewhere deep within him - a flicker of something other than the contentment that had been written on every inch of him. With the touch, she could feel magic wrapped around him, too. 

She pulled her hand back as if burned.

“Miss Losna?” Babbage blinked at her. “Speak true about what?”

Kira would have run into the rain if it weren’t for the promise of the coins this job would give her, and the fact that she suspected if she did, the Lord Wentworth would only send men to find her, men driven by magical compulsion not to stop until she was brought right back for knowing too much. 

Kira hesitated, trying to decide how to ask the question. “There has only ever been… one Lord Guilford Wentworth, hasn’t there?”

He swallowed. His eyes darted away and then back to her, tension rising in his shoulders. “I could not possibly understand what you’re implying, Miss. Guilford Wentworth is a family name…”

“Quite, because it’s the same damn man, isn’t it? What happens to his sons? There’s always a son named for him, what-... what happens to that firstborn son?”

A muscle twitched in Babbage’s jaw. “The lord’s eldest is away in the island colonies seeing to the management of certain properties…”

“Right, now he is. But… later…”

“I have no idea,” Babbage said smoothly, but he did. He knew exactly what would happen, and Kiraya knew it.

She pressed on. “That room I just came out of doesn’t hold a sea monster or a serpent, does it? It holds a siren. There are rumors about what you can do with a siren spelled to your willpower-... is that what he has hired me for?”

“His Lordship keeps a most fearsome serpent,” Babbage replied, and there was something strange and fuzzy about the quality of his voice. For a moment, his eyes seemed to cloud over, graying his brown irises. “Most fearsome… but His Lordship stands between us and the serpent…” Then he blinked, and the fog was gone. His calm and cheerful smile returned. “He does indeed. I should go and fetch him.”

Kira shivered with a sudden chill. “Mr. Babbage?...Heinri? Are you quite all right?”

“Of course.” Babbage simply walked away from her as if she hadn’t spoken. “I will go and see if His Lordship can see you now.” It was like she had never asked any questions at all. As if that flicker of some other man beneath the magic that wrapped his mind had never been. 

As if she had imagined it. 

Kiraya Losna had woken this morning in a lovely mood, knowing that things were going her way. Now, with the wind howling like the siren in the room behind her and her heart pounding, she thought about how the butler had mentioned the spellwork was done every decade, like clockwork, and yet this time it had been eleven years.

The spellwork, and what bound the siren, was fading fast.  

Kira needed to find out why. 

-

Tag list: @grizzlie70  @burtlederp   @finder-of-rings   @theelvishcowgirl   @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump   @bloodinkandashes   @squishablesunbeam   @mj-or-say10  @apokolyps  @wildfaewhump  @shrimpwritings @there-will-always-be-blood

[rugtopper]

Wedding Night Surprises

By Rugtopper

I have always been traditional or old fashioned by nature.  For as long as I could remember growing up at the orphanage, all of us under Father Carmine's care and instruction were taught good principles, good ethics, and good deportment.  For the few of us who were never adopted, some would rebel and veer from the path laid out by Father Carmine.  I stayed the course.  Once we reached our teen years, all the boys were expected to wear dress pants, shirts and ties, and shoes polished to high gloss every day.  As such, we were required to also don certain undergarments.  Some of the boys hated the mundane medallion or diamond patterned boxer shorts.  The sleeveless undershirts, or tank tops, were somewhat popular among most.  They were back in fashion again after an absence.  The one thing that a lot of the young men hated were the sock garters.  Father Carmine said that a proper gentleman never pulled up his socks in public.  I didn't mind any of it.  In fact, I really liked it.  It made me feel like a grown up man instead of a teenage boy.  Personally, I think he just liked seeing all of us dressed like that every morning as we got ready for school.  

At one point Father Carmine thought I would follow him and take Holy Orders, but I didn't want to follow that strict path. 

By law, at age 18, the state required me to leave the orphanage.  For whatever reason, I was never adopted.  Father Carmine helped me find a small room to rent a few blocks from the orphanage.  I was allowed to continue to help out in the office at the orphanage.  In truth, I was the de facto bookkeeper for the orphanage and the parish.  I started night school to get a proper degree in accounting.  That's when I met Julie.

Julie Hatfield was extraordinarily gorgeous, and yet painfully shy.  Slowly, over the course of that first term of school I got to know her.  I was shy to some extent, but I had also learned to be open enough as a kid in the likelihood I might get adopted.  In short, we were both looking for someone to love.  Less than a year later, we were dating on a regular basis.  Despite our blatant differences in background, we found we had some things in common.  She was rather old fashioned, as well.  Unlike most young women, she wore skirts or dresses.  I don't think I ever saw her in pants.  She always had her hair beautifully styled.  On our first real dinner date, I swear she wore an elegant little black dress, a string of simple pearls, with her hair in a French twist.  I was so mesmerized I couldn't even say her name.

After two months of dating, I thought we were getting serious.  I had casually brought up marriage.  We had already talked about so many things.  There were minor disagreements over silly issues, but on many principles we were of one mind in our views of things.  This was beyond an issue of politics or religion, but rather an approach to many esthetics of life that most everyone of our generation hated or thoroughly dismissed.

One night when we were dining at our favorite restaurant, she said something that startled me.  As we were eating our little dinner salads, she asked me if I was losing my hair.  I had never been asked that before, much less seriously given it any thought.

"I don't think so," I told her.  "Why do you ask?"

"It looks like you are receding a bit in the front.  Plus, you are thinning in the back."

I was more interested in why she brought it up than in if it might be true or not.  Over the next week she mentioned it a few more times.  Finally, I confronted her about it.  That's when we had our first real 'adult' conversation.  We shared our interests.  Nowadays, people call them kinks.  Back then, you didn't talk about those things.  Still it was enlightening, and even vulgarly titillating, to say the least.

I asked her why my hair was suddenly such an issue for her.  She told me that she really hated bald men, and that she didn't want me to go bald.  I told her that I didn't think there was a chance of that.  That's when she brought up my empty history.

"You're an orphan, Bryan Murphy.  You don't know who your parents are.  You don't know if your maternal grandfather was totally bald or anything.  I couldn't live with a bald man.  I just couldn't.  I know it sounds silly."

"But, Julie, I'm not losing my hair at all.  Yes, it's receding a bit like you said, but it's nothing drastic."

"I just couldn't stand it.  That's all."

"What would you want me to do, get a hairpiece?"

She got this odd look on her face.

"Would you?  For me?" She asked, almost childlike.

"What?" I retorted.

"Would you get a hairpiece?  I mean, you are slowly losing your hair as it is.  If you got a hairpiece now, no one would know."

"Julie, if I get a hairpiece, I would be bald underneath it.  Wouldn't that bother you?  I mean, eventually we are going to get married.  We have decided to wait until our wedding night to make love.  Won't it upset you when I take it off that first time?"

"That's different, Bryan."

"How is that different, Julie?  You just said how much you hate bald men.  Would you hate me?"

"No, Bryan.  I love you.  It's just that . . ."

"Well.  It's just what?  You say you love me but hate bald men, yet you want me to be bald.  I don't understand."

"Neither do I, to tell the truth."

"Okay.  Now, I'm confused."

"I really can't explain it.  With all the little quirks we have shared, I left one out.  I have this really odd bent for men who wear rugs."

I laughed.  She got upset.

"I'm sorry.  Don't be mad, Julie.  I'm sorry.  So, let me get this straight, a man in a cheap toupee makes you hot?"

"Yes."

"I guess it makes him hot, too." I sarcastically said.  She just gave me this certain smirk I had grown accustomed to over the months I had known her.

"I'm sorry, Julie."

"Just forget it.  You said you wanted to know."

"Would you really want me to do that?  Would it make you happy?"

"Yes.  Would you really do it for me?  I mean, would you put yourself through that?"

"I have never known of someone doing something like that for someone else.  I mean, yes, people have done other things for someone they love, but this is really unusual.  I don't even know a barber who could help me."

Suddenly she had this look on her face.

"You know someone, don't you?" I asked her.  "You have been planning this haven't you?"

"No, not really, but I have a third cousin who owns a little old fashioned barbershop about forty miles from here.  I think if I talked to him, he would do it without any questions."

"Do you know how much those things cost, especially over the years?  I will be 20 in a month.  My job doesn't pay much and then there is school tuition, I couldn't afford the added expense."

"Let me talk to Ronnie.  I'll tell him your situation and what I want.  He's a nice guy and a highly respected barber.  Do you know that he is the mayor's barber?"

Mayor Llewellyn was the nicest man you would ever want to meet with a blatantly obvious pewter toupee perched on his head.

I swallowed and said, "if that's what you want, sure."

Little did I know just how traditional and old-fashioned I was about to be.

Ronnie Blevins was a bit of a throwback.  When I got to his shop, he was sitting in this huge red leather and chrome barber's chair reading a magazine.  He was wearing a white barber's smock over his husky frame.  He looked like so many of those guys who had once played football, but had just let things go since graduation. The top of his head was this flat cocoa brown, wavy hairpiece in an early 1980s brushed back style.  The sides and back were not the same shade of brown and quite sparser with some gray in it.

"You must be Bryan.  I'm Ronnie.  Julie has told me all about you," Ronnie said as he got up and shook my hair.  "Have a seat," he gestured.

"So, you've spoken with Julie?  You know why I'm here."

"It's okay, Bryan.  Julie and I are third cousins, but she and I are very close.  She is like one of my sisters.  I have three."

"Must be nice.  I guess Julie told you that I'm an orphan."

"Yes, but I know it hasn't stopped you in any way.  Julie has told me how you graduated in the top ten percent of your class in high school, and how you're working your way through college at night.  Now, let's get down to business.  I can tell you have some receding in front and thinning in the crown." Ronnie said this as he took a comb out of his smock and started combing through my hair.

"I really don't think I need a hairpiece, Ronnie.  I think Julie is overreacting."

"I didn't think I did either, Bryan.  Still after every Friday night game, I'd find more and more hair in the drain.  Finally I couldn't handle it.  When I messed up my knee during the last game of the season I knew college ball, and any other kind of sports, was no longer a part of my future.  I went to barber school, and came to work for my dad here.  A year later he had a stroke and died."

"I'm sorry to hear that.  At least you had that time with him."

"Julie has given me some instructions.  Do you trust her?  Do you trust me?"

"Well . . . I love her.  That's what's important.  If this is what she wants, I can't say no.  In all the time we have known each other, she has never asked anything of me."

"Okay then.  Let's get started."

Ronnie grabbed some clippers and slowly began to remove the hair on the top of my head.  As he did it, I could suddenly see just how much of my scalp was starting to show.  Maybe I was losing my hair and was just in denial.

Ronnie made several passes from the front of my head to the top of my occipital bone.  Pass after pass, I looked more and more like a forty year old man, as opposed to a twenty year old man.

When Ronnie put down those clippers, the hair on the top of my head was so short and sparse that I couldn't even see them in the mirror across from me.

Ronnie picked up a small orange tube and put some pale opalescence cream on my scalp.  It was very thick and quite cold. He began to spread it over the newly shaved area.  As he massaged the cream into my scalp, it began to get warmer and warmer.  When he finished, he washed his hands and rolled a small heat lamp over to the barber's chair.  The lamp was even warmer than the cream, but it never seemed to burn.  The longer that heat lamp was on, the cream changed from the opalescence shade to totally clear.  Once the cream was completely clear, it suddenly began to shine and almost glow.  When that happened, Ronnie turned off the lamp.  He had me move to a sink in the corner where he rinsed off the loose hair and the cream.

When I sat back down in the huge barber's chair, Ronnie removed the hand towel that was my head.  I made a slight gasp.  I was so incredibly bald.  I had this small ring of hair around the sides and back of my head.

Ronnie left me staring at my pasty scalp.  He came back a moment later with an old leather wig stand with a hairpiece pinned to it.  It was a much lighter shade of brown than the hair that had been on the top of my head.

"Let's get to work helping you to look like the young man that Julie wants to marry," Ronnie said as he took the hairpiece off  the stand.  He put tape around the perimeter.  I watched how he only used four pieces of tape.  Each was specifically designed for certain places.  Two pieces were shaped like parentheses  for the front and back.  The other two were straighter for the sides.  He put the toupee on my bald head.  I felt the tape adhere at all four places.  More importantly, I saw the sudden transformation of my overall appearance.  Ronnie began combining the piece on the back and sides.  With scissors, he trimmed the longer tendrils.  There was a left-sided part already established.  It was very stark.  He gently combed the front of the toupee. It looked like it was swept up off my forehead.  It was the same style the mayor had, as well as several other prominent men around town.  I was torn between embarrassment and delight.  I was too busy marveling at what was on my head to fully grasp the artificiality of it.  Finally, I looked at Ronnie via the mirror and asked him, "how much does this cost?"

"Usually I charge $50, but this first one is like a wedding gift.  I know that money is tight for you.  A lot of men are like you.  They don't want to be bald, but they can't afford the very expensive human hairpieces that are on the market."

"But I'm not really bald.  You just made me temporarily bald for the toupee to please Julie.  Didn't you?"

"Well, yes, Bryan.  But, that cream I used is a high acting formula depilatory.  With the heat lamp, it kills the hair follicle for up to six weeks.  After I used it for six months,  my hair never grew back.   Neither will yours."

"You mean I'm . . . bald?"

"Technically, yes, but you have a great toupee, Bryan.  This is what Julie picked out for you."

I drove back home, a completely new man. A week later, Julie and I had planned to go to a fundraiser for the mayor's upcoming campaign.  I wore a retro 1950s tuxedo that was midnight blue.  Julie wore an emerald cocktail dress that matched her eyes perfectly.

The entire evening, I was so self-conscious.  I thought everyone in the room was staring at my new hair.  In truth they were.  It didn't help that I seemed to be acutely aware of the microscopic space between my bald scalp and the quite noticeable toupee taped to it.  Strangely, it wasn't uncomfortable or itchy.  I just felt like I was the center of attention.  I had realized before I left Ronnie's shop that the hairpiece was rather thick and full.  When Julie and I were introduced to the mayor and his wife, his eyes immediately drifted upwards to my upswept, hard hairline, and he smiled.  Later on after he had finished greeting his guests, he made his way to our table.  He asked if he could have a private word with me in the lobby of the hotel where the fundraiser was being held.

"Young man, I hear you managed to survive 18 years under Father Carmine's tutelage  at the orphanage."

I was rather taken back.  I hadn't expected that opening gambit.

"Yes, sir, Mr.  Mayor.  I guess no one was willing to take me on, sir."

"How old are you, son?"

"I'll be 20 in a few weeks, sir."

He moved a little closer to me and dropped his voice.  "It looks like Ronnie did an excellent job on your hair, son.  His Dad helped me out with my problem when I was about your age.  Trust me, I know how tough it can be."

"Thank you, sir," was about all I could say.

"Be proud of it.  There's nothing to be self-conscious about or embarrassed by.  It is far better than the hidden reality.  Am I right?"

A soft "yes sir" was all I could muster.

"Father Carmine tells me you have been his bookkeeper since you were a teen.  I could use someone like you in my office.  A raise in salary certainly would help you and Julie get started in life.  Come by my office on Thursday.  We'll talk.  I'll go talk to Father Carmine a little later and see if I can steal you away from him."

With that, the mayor walked back into the banquet hall as Julie was walking out.

"What did he want, Bryan?" Julie asked as she got closer to me.

"He wanted to offer me a job!"

She looked up at my rug and asked, "did he mention your hairpiece?"

"He just told me that he thought your cousin Ronnie did an excellent job."

"See?  I knew it might help you in more ways than you thought.  With this new job, maybe we can get married."

"Really?  Are you sure?"

"Of course.  I don't want a big wedding.  You don't have any family.  I only have Ronnie and his three sisters.  We could get married tomorrow afternoon at the courthouse if we wanted."

"Wait?  I thought you wanted a very traditional church wedding.  Don't most women want that?"

"Well, I'd love it, but I can't afford it; we can't afford it.  I'd love for Ronnie to walk me down the aisle, and his youngest sister be my flower girl, and his other sisters be my bridesmaids.  I'd want to see you standing there at the altar beside Father Carmine looking so handsome and mature with your . . .  Never mind."

I whispered, "you mean my new hair?"

"Yes, Bryan."

"Do you really like it?  I feel a bit awkward.  Still after Ronnie's and the mayor's little pep talks, I do feel a lot more comfortable.  Wait here just a moment.  I have an idea."

I left Julie standing perplexed in the hotel lobby.  I went back to the banquet hall and found Father Carmine.  He just finished talking with the mayor.

"So, Bryan, the mayor says he wants to hire you away from me to work with his campaign.  Is that what you would like?"

"Possibly, Father, but that's not what I wanted to ask you.  Julie and I want to get married properly in church with you officiating.  The trouble is, we can't afford it."

"Bryan, why don't you let me give you the wedding as a gift?  I've known you since you were nine days old.  You are the closest thing I'll ever have to a son.  Let it be my wedding present."

I guess the look of surprise on my face was a bit over the top.  I felt the toupee tape slightly lift in the front.  If Father Carmine noticed, he didn't say anything.  Of course, he hadn't said anything to me all night about my hair.  Maybe he hadn't noticed.  I hope he has not.  Alas, his eyes drifted upwards and then back down.  He only smiled and walked away.

I went back to Julie and told her the good news.  She cried and kissed me, and then she felt the back of my head at the occipital bone where my toupee was taped.  She only lightly touched it, but didn't pull it.

"You look so handsome and mature," she whispered.  "Thank you for doing that for me."

No wedding had ever come together so quickly in our community.  Everyone at the parish helped out.  Two of the nuns worked all week transforming Ronnie's mother's wedding gown to fit Julie.

We were married the next Saturday at St. Michael's.

The honeymoon was two nights at an Inn three blocks from Ronnie's barbershop.  That was a gift from Ronnie's older sisters.

After I carried Julie across the threshold, I walked back to the hall and got our two suitcases.  I closed the door and we looked at each other.

"So, I guess this is the magic moment," I said.

We had that little talk a few months ago," she began.  "Are we ready?"

I nodded in the affirmative.

We both began to undress.

We had changed from our wedding clothes into more traditional attire.  She was wearing a pale blue dress with a square neck.  I was wearing a dark navy suit.

I took off my coat for her.  My crisp white shirt was tightly tucked into my trousers.  You could clearly see my undershirt through the dress shirt.  I loosened and removed my tie.

She reached up and unclasped the top of her dress.  She turned around and indicated for me to unzip it.  She let it fall to the floor.  She was wearing an ivory slip.  She reached up and slid the straps off her shoulders letting the slip fall on top of her dress.  She stepped out of it and turned to face me.  She was standing there in her bra.  Clearly, it contained more than just what nature had given her.  She had told me that.  It wasn't vulgar and pointy like Jayne Mansfield, but it did evoke a certain Jane Russell flair.  Her open bottom girdle with garters and stockings sent shivers up my spine and a tingle in my trousers.  She stepped forward and unbuttoned my shirt revealing the straps and scoop of my classic ribbed undershirt.  She then undid my belt.  I knew what was about to happen.  She unbuttoned my pants and unzipped my fly.  My trousers fell to my ankles.  I was wearing the white boxer shorts with pink roses and red hearts that she had sent to me that morning.  I stood there with my matching navy socks and double-grip pink garters.  I started to reach up to remove my toupee.  She stopped me.  She sat on the edge of the bed and unfastened her garters.  She slowly removed her stockings.  Then she got up, turned around for me to unhook her bra.  Her breasts were almost non-existent, but I never said anything.  I was too aroused to speak.  I was also nervous.  I must have been perspiring.  I leaned in to kiss her.  I could tell my toupee tape was slightly loose.  I leaned up and put my hands up to remove it as I had done on my own every night since I had gotten it.  She sensuously slid off her girdle.  She helped me as I took off my toupee.  She gasped as we connected and completed our union.  We felt old and young, ugly and beautiful, exposed and yet complete.

The End.

[archivomeow]

some spy shit. [ series ]

read on ao3 | master post

description; yelena and ava meet.

warnings; swearing, mentions of alcohol, slight usage of knifes (no one gets cut) and little to literally no fighting

a/n: this is a part of a series and i cannot wait to explore ava’s and yelena’s dynamic more! got extra hyped when i saw what florence has posted and i will write about yel cutting her hair def

— NOT PROOFREAD.

Yelena was headed to the address Valentina gave her, she wasn’t sure what she was getting herself into, she was told to stay put there, she just assumed there was another target for her to take care of nearby or a bigger mission she was supposed to take care of. She had to walk on foot for good half an hour before finally reaching the destination, it was a two story mansion… in the middle of nowhere.

Yelena’s hand intuitively reached for her gun as she walked into the house with it in her hand, the house was pretty, there was a mix of old furniture and new furniture, but it all worked pretty well together, she stopped as she noticed another person in the house, she pointed the gun at the woman, as she approached her slowly. As soon as the brunette caught onto Yelena she disappeared, quite literally turned into fucking air.

What. The. Fuck.

That was all Yelena thought of at the moment, she turned around, just to see the strangers shoe, the force she kicked her stomach with, made Yelena fall onto the floor. Her green eyes scanned the woman, she was dressed casually, except for the belt, it was a gray, heavy looking belt with a red glowing… something…. on the side of it.

The power source..?

Yelena grabbed the knife, from her pocket and got up swiftly as she broke, what she assumed was the power source.

“Fuck!” The woman exclaimed as she moved back, her powers weren’t gone, but out of control, she kept shifting between nothing and everything, anger and resentment was painted on her face as she was about to throw herself onto Yelena, but both heard the familiar pair of heels approaching — Valentina.

“Well, you two definitely know each other now…” Her black hair was in a tight bun and she was wearing a purple coat. “Yelena, what did I say about being early? This…” Her eyes shifted to the belt. “Oh for fucks sake… You’re lucky I made two.”

The brunette scoffed at Valentina, but remained in her place.

“Right, right! Ava, this is Yelena. Yelena, this is Ava.” A smile briefly creeped onto her face, she walked into the kitchen as she pulled out a wine bottle and poured herself a drink.

“Mhmm…This is the worst wine I’ve ever drank…” She made a disgusted face as she placed the glass down.

Yelena approached Valentina, her annoyance was rising with each second, her stomach was still in pain after the kick and she didn’t feel like playing some stupid game that Valentina made up, she needed specifics.

“Why did you send me here?”

Valentina looked between two women. “Did I not tell you?” She frowned as she continued. “About the team… You know? The Avengers 2.0 or whatever we will call it…” She sighed.

“You guys are standing in the mansion of the team, quite frankly you’re the leader Yelena… However Ava here was faster and easier to persuade to come here…”

“Why exactly should I do this?” Ava asked an amazing question, why should they…

“I pay you, don’t I?” Valentina rolled her eyes as she walked back to the entry. “Have fun, I’ll be back, with someone new or a job to do!”

“For fuck sake.” Yelena mumbled under her breath as she leaned against the white kitchen counter. Ava just gave her a glance and left the room.