Watchmen Kink Meme 3. Weeeeeeee.
Rules of the meme:
1. Anonymously post a pairing and prompt you would like to see written. Since this is a kink meme, there is supposted to be a kink involved, but normal well-written prompts should work just as well.
2. Anonymous will respond to your post and write it for you! Art and such is also acceptable/awesome. Multiple people may respond to ( Read more... )
If she were more naive she would take comfort in the homeliness of her face. Her teeth are crooked, her features are masculine and splashed with freckles. She's no Helen of Troy, that is for certain --- unless those thousand ships are fleeing her presence.
Except one time, in the back stockroom Johnny corners her. He's a garment presser at the factory, and she knows from observation that he likes to think of himself as a ladies man, even though most of the girls, as silly as they are, wisely turn him down.
"Hey, Wanda, whatcha doin?"
"Working," She mutters, digging through a bin of thread spools, looking for something to match her piece of sheer yellow georgette.
"Working... that's cool," He steps in closer to her, and her skin begins to prickle. "What about after work we---"
"Not interested," She informs him curtly, grabbing the spool she wants. She tries to step around him, but he steps in closer, penning her in against the shelves.
"Aw, c'mon baby, most guys, they can't see past your face, but me...," Here he meets her eyes with shining earnestness, even as his hand brushes the outside of her breast. "I see deeper than that."
"Let me go," She demands, angry when her voice shakes slightly. She's alone here in the back room, it's hard to hear over the sound of all the machines, and if she screamed what were the real chances of anyone hearing? Of anyone responding?
"What you got to be so proud of, huh? Not like you've got guys lined up waiting at your door with that mug of yours! If you didn't have such a nice rack---" His hand clutches her breast now, fingers digging into ample flesh and she isn't scared any more, she's furious.
She stomps on the arch of his foot, which causes him to jerk away from her and call her a whore --- He'd have said more if she hadn't kicked him between the legs, before storming out of the room.
She uses that week's paycheck to buy a couple of yards of the fabric she uses to make girdles for wealthy women who want to appear smaller without the effort of actually watching what they eat. If her face won't protect her any more, she'll have to find another way of defending herself.
On a whim, she also purchases some black and white fabric out of the remnant bin, enchanted by how the pattern swirls and changes at her touch.
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By the way, I'm LOVING this fic so far. Can't wait to read more!
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Wider shoulder straps, much like a man's undershirt are the first thing she decides upon. She needs to distribute the weight of her chest evenly across her shoulders. Seaming and reinforcement to shape and control the movements of her breasts. She decides to incorporate a girdle into the pattern to spare the fabric and to make it more comfortable---
Finally, after weeks of hard work, she stares at the fruit of her labor in the speckled mirror that came with her flat. She'd be fired if she dared present it to a customer, with it's bulky stitches and the way it compresses her breasts into one solid lump.
For the first time, however, she notices how broad her shoulders really are, pulled back and straight for the first time in years. She can walk and jump with only the slightest jiggle---
She scrapes her knees and elbows when she falls out of the first cartwheel she's attempted since she was thirteen, before her body betrayed her and became too cumbersome and unbalanced. Her body remembers what to do, and if she had followed her instincts instead of thinking too hard---
For the first time in her life her body is completely hers to master.
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Just don't do it again.
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Oh, and the cleavage will be back, she just can't pretend they don't exist.
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If anyone has noticed her change in appearance, they don't say anything... to her face anyway. Undoubtedly there has been some discussion as she exchanges her long skirts and dresses for trousers and work shirts (which are far more practical), because that's the way of some women.
She has no clue what to do with her newfound powers, until at the end of her shift (that dragged on far later into the night than they'd allow if the shop were unionized). Her hackles are raised as she marches determinedly the last four blocks to her apartment.
The problem with coming home so late at night is that there are several bars in her neighborhood, where local degenerates congregate to push drugs and sex to the inebriated patrons. As soon as saves up enough money she's getting out of this area---
A frightened whimper catches her ear, and against all her New York instincts, she pauses at the entry to an alleyway. Her limbs twitch and tingle as if debating the course of action she should take---
Like it were any contest. She snatches a bottle of booze out of a hand of a vagrant and storms the alleyway.
Her eyes adjust quickly to the dim light and she can pick out the frightened face of a woman, held up against the wall by the larger bulk of a man.
Against all common sense she charges forward, and the man --- monster, has barely turned towards her before she brings the bottle crashing down on his head.
It doesn't knock him out like it does in the movies they used to let them watch back at Charlton... but she's still got a weapon in the broken glass.
He stumbles back in surprise, and she doesn't give him time to recover, slashing out with the bottle. She thinks she might have caught him in the throat, but she doesn't stay to figure it out, grabbing the wrist of the stunned woman and fleeing the scene.
Once they're in the open, she releases the woman. The light reveals an impossibly naive looking brunette. She's too young to be roaming this part of the city alone at night (although she's probably not much older than she was when Charlton dropped her off here four years ago...)
"Thank you---"
She's so rarely thanked for any reason more than mere courtesy that she has no idea what to say. Her body hums with adrenaline, and she feels so alive---
"You should report him to the police," She utters, even though she knows that an 'almost rape' would probably be on the last thing most police officers would want to investigate.
"...Will you stay with me while I make a phone call," The girl asks instead.
She does wait with the woman while she makes a phone call in the phonebooth, exchanging few words as they wait for her ride. An hour later an older gentleman in a car rolls up and scolds the girl even as he shepards her gently into the passenger side.
She walks back home alone and thinks. Crimes are being committed and the police are not interceding, either due to lack of manpower or will. It is only logical that another group should enter the fray to try and solve the problem...
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If not, please link the thread. Thanks.
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