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haveatthee83 · 4 months ago

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Under My Skin (Monkey D. Luffy/Reader) 3/7

Inspo: Under My Skin by Jukebox the Ghost

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Word Count: ~4.5k

Warnings: Angst, arguing, cursing, angry Luffy, discussion of death and dead relatives, descriptions of violence.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The storm had let up during that night, and you all made quick work of digging out your house from the dunes, you were adamant about taking care of your chickens, jogging off to a large shack. There the whole crew got to see the marvel that was your six-foot chickens, all three sprinting up to you, practically purring as they came up and rubbed against you. You cooed and collected their eggs, making sure their feed was full before ushering the crew away from them, letting them loose in your high fenced property.

Zoro’s eyes sparkled as he saw you hop up on one’s back, resting a special beak bit into its mouth. Zoro was going to ride one of those chickens. And so, the swordsman was positively useless the whole rest of the day, too busy chasing down your most stubborn hen.

You used your hen to trot around your property, checking on your greenhouse, your workshop, and checking the fencing around the perimeter, and all was well. Robin and Nami were inside already helping you pack up your things, taking care to grab as many photographs as they could find.

You were hoisting a fence post back into place in the shifting sand when your eyes fell onto Luffy, he was helping Usopp and Sanji cut some of your mega-flora logs you had into firewood, lugging the massive logs onto your chopping block. He was a little grimy, sweat dripping from his brow, but he had a bright smile on his face, and that was the first time you got to see his unabashed joy that the crew spoke of. Your heart skipped a beat, an image of Ace’s sunny grin crashing through your mind, “You’ll love him!”. Your mouth went dry as you tried to rip your eyes from Luffy’s infectious, beaming grin, but you couldn’t. You wanted to soak in the image of him so happy. Your breath was stolen from you when the sound of his loud cackle met your ears. Usopp had dropped a log on his foot, and Luffy thought it was hilarious. ‘I want to make him laugh like that one day.’ You thought wistfully, ‘I really hope we can be friends.’

Just as the thought rattled through your mind, Luffy’s eyes met yours and you sucked in a gasp but gave him a small smile and wave. Luffy’s smile shrank a bit, making guilt rake over your heart, but he waved back.

That evening, the crew all moved to take you and your stuff to the Thousand Sunny, you and Robin on your hen, Usopp and Chopper having a ball using your dune buggy, Nami was fearfully clinging to the back, Sanji crammed into its side car you attached that morning, and Zoro proudly riding your other hen bareback, Luffy cackling right behind him as the chicken sprinted over the sand dunes.

When you got to the ship, Franky and Brook welcomed you with open arms, and you got right to moving in, unpacking in the girls’ room.

You heard a light knock on the door, Sanji’s voice asking to come in. You permitted him, continuing to mill about the space and place your belongings around the room. “I have a question.�� He said simply.

“Shoot.”

“What do your chickens need to stay healthy?” he asked, pursing his lips.

You looked at the man, bewildered, but you laid out all of the numbers for him, feed, water, space, and cleaning.

“Mhmm, could they live on a ship?”

You gawked at the cook, “I mean I guess; I don’t know why you’d want them to.”

“You’ve seen how much food Luffy can put away! Those massive eggs could really help curve food costs, which is a shocking amount of our ship’s budget.” He explained, already dropping to his knees to beg, “Please, beautiful! I need you to say yes! I’ll take care of them! You don’t understand how much of a monster that boy’s appetite can be!”

“Fine!” you trilled incredulously. “Just-just don’t grovel like that anymore!”

Sanji popped up quickly, “Works every time.” He said resolutely, turning on his heel and walking back toward his kitchen, “Later, Beautiful!”

You gawked for a little while longer but returned to your unpacking, the rest of the process going rather smoothly.

The whole rest of the week went smoothly, to be frank. All until the day you all had decided to set sail. Because of course that’s when something would happen.

You and Usopp were taking inventory of the ship on the dock, discussing a few necessities that you didn’t have on the island, so you’d need to get them at the next stop. A siren blared on the docks, your blood running ice cold, making you usher Usopp onto the Thousand Sunny, practically shoving him onto the ship. “We gotta go! WE GOTTA GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!” you called out, pushing Usopp toward anchor, “Raise anchor! Hurry!” You sprinted over the deck, looking for any damned crewmate who knew how to steer this fucking ship, all the while yelling your head off, “WE GOTTA GO! C’MON!”

The first person to hear your shouts was Nami, popping out of the girl’s room, eyes wide with panic, “What’s going on?”

“Marines spotted headed toward the island!” you exclaimed, “We need to leave!” you urged, grabbing her by the wrist, dragging her up to the hull.

“Go find the boys!” Nami called, taking action and steering accordingly.

You nodded and sprinted back down into the guts of the ship, yelling at the top of your lungs all down the hallways until finally, Zoro, Sanji, and Franky popped out, bewildered. “GET US THE FUCK OUTTA HERE! MARINES INCOMING!” You exclaimed, pointing them up toward the dock.

“Find Luffy.” Zoro grunted, all three men pushing past you to the top deck.

You groaned at the command, but continued to dart around the ship, finally coming across your new captain in the aquarium, heaving with your hands on your knees, “Marines! We-we gotta go!” you wheezed.

Luffy looked at you like you had two heads, “Okay, but why are you dying?”

Your eye twitched a bit, “I’ve been looking for you!” you called out, practically collapsing onto the cool floor under you.

Luffy swallowed the awkward feeling he still got around you and rose, extending a hand to hoist you back up, ushering you up through the ship to the top deck, the ship already in motion away from the island.

You recovered from your fatigue and swiftly made your way to the crow’s nest, quickly blowing into your fist, forming a makeshift telescope, letting it cool and holding it to your eye. The Marines weren’t far behind, you realized with a curse. You went partway down the ladder, cupping your mouth with one hand, calling out, “MARINES AT THE STERN! EITHER SPEED UP OR GET READY FOR A FIGHT!”

Your crewmates nodded and got in their positions, Franky running to ready the rabbit screw. You quickly made your way to the back of the ship, watching the ship with a ready glare.

“Screw’s screwed!” Franky called out, “I need time to get it back in order!”

You hopped onto the railing at the back of the ship and readied yourself for a fight. ‘If those asshats make it within two hundred feet of this ship, I’m bubbling their asses.’ You thought, feeling a familiar spark flaming through you. Whispers of the word Haki swirled around you. You didn’t fully understand this sparking power, but you knew how to use it. You felt your power radiate, hot, heavy, and yellow. This deep, primal rage flowed over you, and you were reminded of your bounty moniker, The Glass Dragon.

The Monster Trio tensed; the air knocked out of the crew as your overwhelming energy drove off you in waves. Luffy snapped his head up to look at where the source of the sudden flow of Haki came from, eyes locking onto you, alone at the back of the ship, the image of your bounty poster flashing through his mind. Shivers ran up the spines of the whole crew. This was you in battle, pure rage and bloodlust radiating out from your very being.

Luffy stretched his arm up to hoist himself up onto one of the masts, gaze flitting between you and the rapidly approaching Marine vessel.

‘Too close.’ You thought with a snarl.

Luffy watched, frozen, with bated breath as you raised both of your hands to your lips in wide circle, blowing out massive yellow flames, a large molten bubble blowing out. The glowing orb grew rapidly, when the edge of the glass was just about to touch the figurehead of the ship, you let out a quick pop of breath, allowing for a hole to clear to other side, blowing more stably to make the bubble bigger and bigger, the ship having no choice but to steer straight into your trap.

When you enveloped the ship in glass, the bottom of the bubble hissed and steamed in the water, the inside unbearably hot. Luffy watched as a few Marines jumped overboard in hopes of escaping out of the hole you left, but you would allow no such thing, unable to make himself move to stop you.

You pinched off the bubble from your mouth and rolled your glowing hands over the surface of the bubble, and the other hole closed faster than Luffy thought to be possible at such a scale. They were trapped, and the water inside the bubble was steaming up, boiling, fogging up the glass as it cooled. If there was any hope of survival or escape for the Marines, you snuffed it out quickly, leaping onto your glass from the ship’s railing. You used your glowing hot hands to hold onto the smooth clear glass, climbing to the top of it.

When you hit the peak of the sphere, Luffy felt a deep pull of fear for a moment, still frozen where he hung. You dug your hands into the glass and opened up a hole in your sphere, blowing white hot flames into it, catching pieces of the ship on fire before closing up the glass again, the fire quickly stealing all the oxygen inside. You had just taken out an entire ship of Marines on your own, barely breaking a sweat.

You kicked off of the sphere, blowing flames onto your arm as you reached out, the limb turning into molten glass, wrapping back around the Thousand Sunny’s railing, leaving char in your wake. You stepped back onto the back deck, heaving with the weight of your Haki and rage, flames licking at your reformed arm and shoulders. You let out a furious roar, clutching your middle as you fell to your knees, one last push of power knocking the Straw-Hats back, making Luffy clutch his hat in place. When the weight lifted, all was still, you were still kneeling with heavy breaths, and the crew frankly was afraid to move, not processing what they had born witness to.

Slowly the shock faded, and all of the pieces fell into place in Luffy’s mind. Again, Luffy felt white hot rage fill his chest. You would not be allowed to take lives under his Jolly Roger. That was not how Luffy rolled.

Nonetheless, Luffy swung down to where you were trying to catch your breath, “What the hell did you do?” he yelled, storming up to you, the quick steps of his crew shortly behind him.

You spoke with gravel in your voice, panic and confusion in your eyes, “I defended the ship.” You huffed, scrambling onto your back.

“We don’t fucking kill people!” He hissed, hovering over you with a snarl. “That’s not what we do here!”

You shook and blinked exasperated, “How was I supposed to know?” you shrank back, crawling away from your captain’s anger. “That’s not exactly run of the mill piracy!”

“You didn’t even wait for orders!”

“You didn’t give any!”

“I never got the chance to because you jumped in too fast!”

You tensed and began to shake, defensively spitting out, “Maybe you weren’t fast enough!” you exclaimed without thinking, slapping your hand over your mouth as soon as you processed what you did.

Luffy’s rage flared, “Zoro! Take her to the women’s quarters and keep her there.” He barked, fists shaking at his side. “I need to decide a few things.”

Zoro winced back a bit at Luffy’s harsh tone, “Captain, I don’t-“

“NOW.”

The swordsman swallowed his protest and hoisted you to your feet, guiding you carefully towards the women’s quarters.

“Robin.” Luffy met her gaze with a piercing glare, “We need to talk. Meet me in the Dining Hall.”

“Captain, don’t you think-“

“I wasn’t asking.” He said resolutely. Robin nodded and zipped her lips into a tight line, walking to the dining hall. Luffy turned and growled out a few orders to the rest of the crew before following.

You sat on your new bed, hugging your knees to your chest, your hat sitting low on your head, tears stinging at your eyes, “I didn’t know.”

Zoro sighed and cradled his head in his hands, sitting across from you in one of the plush chairs from the room. “I know, but…that was…a lot,”

You clenched your jaw and threw your arms out, “You all knew that I’ve done this before! I know you went through my scrap book! What did you think I had my bounty for? My chickens?”

“No, but…Marines are people,” Zoro reasoned, taking his head out of his hands, “You didn’t even blink when you killed them, and that doesn’t sit well with Luffy.”

You shook as tears fell, “Why would I? Marines have taken everything from me! They killed my parents, making me an orphan when I was three weeks old! They killed my Uncle who raised me. They killed my brother, and my entire crew! They killed Portgas. And that’s just my direct ties. They’ve killed entire bloodlines on my island, they’ve hunted my family for generations. Because of them, I’m older than my older brother now. I’ll be older than both of my parents by my next birthday.” You ranted, feeling the tears fall faster.

Zoro felt a little pang of horror stab him in the chest, “How old are you, kid?”

“Same age as Luffy. I’m nineteen.” You spat, roughly trying to wipe the tears out of your eyes.

Zoro nodded, taking a deep breath, “You’re nineteen with how many bodies behind you?” Zoro asked pointedly.

Your eyes looked hollow when you answered, “Stopped counting after 176.” You muttered. “All Marines.”

“That’s not okay.” Zoro said simply, “You’re just a kid. You shouldn’t have had to kill anyone, let alone too many for you to keep track of. That’s fucked up, and you know it.”

“You used to be a bounty hunter! And Robin used to be an assassin! You two were the only ones on this whole crew that I’ve heard of, mostly because you’ve killed people too.” You insisted, crawling to the foot of your bed, “I don’t like it. It’s just the world we live in, and you know it!”

Zoro eyed you silently for a little while, taking in your frantic form. “You don’t have to anymore. We don’t kill unless it’s absolutely necessary and frankly, me, Luffy, and the cook take care of it most of the time.” He said calmly, “You can just be a kid, sail, fight with us and see the world. One day, Luffy’s going to find that damned One Piece and I truly believe that day will be the last any of us have to worry about Marines.”

You sobbed, “I don’t want to hurt people.” You whimpered, swiping at your eyes.

“Then don’t.”

You avoided Zoro’s eyes and whispered, “I don’t know if I’ll have a chance to try.” You curled back up into yourself, “I can’t seem to do anything right when I’m around him. He’s the last thing I have of Portgas, and he hates me. I thought we were alright, that we could even be friends eventually, and I went and fucked it all up!”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“He doesn’t look at any of you the way he looks at me.” You mumbled, “He hates me.”

Zoro grit his teeth, “He’s just working through some shit.”

You shook your head, “Zoro, I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned me in for my bounty if I so much as sneeze out of line, and at this point…I don’t think I could blame him.” You sobbed, hugging your knees tighter. “I’m a fucking monster. I-I don’t even deserve my place here. Maybe you should just leave me at the next port.”

“Bullshit.” Zoro spat, rolling his eyes, “We’re all fucked up. That’s why we’re here. Luffy finds fucked up people and he makes us better. Not perfect, but better.” You didn’t respond. Zoro sighed, “Take a nap, woman. I’ll be here, I’m gonna tell Luffy to decide what he wants to do when you wake up. He’ll have cooled off by then.”

Robin sat at her seat in the dining hall, her leg bouncing up and down as she stared deep into the wood grain of the table, and she couldn’t help but think of the letter burning a hole in her pocket.

Luffy swung the door open, stomping to the opposite end of the table, sitting across from Robin. “What are we gonna do about your little protégé in there?” Luffy asked bitterly, “Cause I’m one sneeze out of line from kicking her off the ship at the next port.”

Robin straightened her posture, speaking clearly, “I will take responsibility for not informing her of the…differences of how we do things compared to other pirate crews.” She stated, “And I do not think she will make the same mistake ever again. She is young and stuck to what she knew. Unfortunately, that had a high cost today.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

Robin winced but went on, “Please, Luffy. As your crewmate and your friend…don’t give up on her. Give her another chance.”

Luffy took a deep breath, centering himself, “I’ll let her stay, but she needs to prove that I made the right choice to keep her every day.”

Robin nodded and mulled over the conditions in her mind. She could work with that. But first, she had to come clean, “Luffy.” He hummed in acknowledgement, setting his elbows onto the table. “I have something you need to see.” She sighed deeply and took the envelope out of her pocket, sliding it across the table to her captain, “I found it lodged in one of the bunk beds at her house, and I-I read it. I shouldn’t have, but I just…I didn’t want to give it to you right away if it was going to have something in it that would…hurt you.”

Luffy’s brow knit in confusion, but he took the envelope and read the back of it.

‘To: Little Bro From: Ace’

Luffy’s heart dropped to his feet as he processed those words. Ace left him a letter? And left it in your house?

Luffy carefully took out the papers from the envelope and started to read.

‘Hey, lil dude! I’m so glad you found my favorite sibling duo other than us! These two mean a lot to me, and I’m sure you’ll love both of them. Cap is my best friend, and his little sister is a rocking pirate. (She’s the same age as you by the way) I found their little island and fell in love with the place! I’m sure you’ll love it too. The music, the fashion, the food, the girls, it’s all so cool!

I’m sorry I hid these two from you, but I swear it was for a good reason! Or...good enough, I guess? Cap’s a bit protective, and while I’m ready to be the best man at your wedding, he’s less keen on you meeting his sister. He thinks you’d be as bad as I am with keeping a girl, even though I keep telling him you’d treat any girl right, so he wanted to keep you two separated for as long as possible. Hilarious, I know. You and I both know fate works in weird ways, hence why I’m writing this! I’m sure you’ll find them both and I’m sure you’ll find this.

Now about that sister, you’re gonna love her! She’s a great cook, best I’ve ever had, and she’s the same age as you! She made me a feast for my birthday this year with all of our favorites. She’s always asking about you, worried about you off with the Dadan’s and you training on your own. She’s all caring and stuff like that. She’s super funny too! Makes my sides hurt from laughing at some of the stupid shit she’ll say. She’s also a strong fighter and can kick ass. Now, she’s not my type, and she’s way too young for me, but she is very pretty, and I think you’ll like her, and I will say I told you so at your wedding.

Hope you don’t take my little secret paradise in a bad way. Frankly, by the time you’re eighteen, I’ll probably have already taken you here. Man, I’d love to retire here. See you soon if I’m not there now, lil bro! Love ya!

-Ace.’

Luffy’s hands shook a little as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. “That’s so stupid!” he sobbed, a chuckle forcing through the shock and sorrow.

Robin winced with a smile, giggling as she said, “There’s more in the envelope.”

Luffy scoffed, but opened back up the envelope, grabbing out the square instant photo. He swallowed a bit of air when he saw what it was, coughing with red cheeks that he’d blame on the hacking fit.

Another false assumption people made about Luffy is that he was entirely uninterested in girls, dating, all of that. He was only human. And as much as you still bothered him, you were very pretty, and the photo was…kind of revealing.

Robin chuckled into her hand at his shocked hacking fit. “Alright there, Captain?” she chided. Luffy waved her off, fighting down the coughs. “Why don’t you go see her in the women’s quarters and tell her what you’ve decided. Maybe she’d like to see the letter too?” she offered softly, trying to move the captain down a new track. One with far less bumps and loops.

Luffy frowned a bit but agreed, padding out of the kitchen door and making his way to where you were being watched by his first mate. Luffy got to the door and was about to knock when he heard you speak.

“I don’t want to hurt people.”

Luffy paused, letting his hand hang at his side, his grip on the letter tightening.

“I can’t seem to do anything right when I’m around him. He’s the last thing I have of Portgas, and he hates me. I thought we were alright, that we could even be friends eventually, and I went and fucked it all up!”

Luffy recoiled a bit. Hate was…a strong word. And you really thought he was a piece of Ace? You wanted…to be friends?

“Zoro, I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned me in for my bounty if I so much as sneeze out of line, and at this point…I don’t think I could blame him.”

You were crying then, fully sobbing, making Luffy want to walk in and intervene. He was mad, but he was ready to give you another chance. The sneeze comment did give him pause though, that was kinda freaky.

“I’m a fucking monster. I-I don’t even deserve my place here. Maybe you should leave me at the next port.”

You weren’t a monster. You just did some fucked up shit. A bit of annoyance at your negative self-talk bit at Luffy’s ankles.

“Bullshit. We’re all fucked up. That’s why we’re here. Luffy finds fucked up people and he makes us better. Not perfect, but better.”

You were quiet, just a few sniffles coming through the door. Luffy heard movement in the room, making him take a step back.

“Take a nap, woman. I’ll be here, I’m gonna tell Luffy to decide when you wake up what he wants to do. He’ll have cooled off by then.”

Luffy heard Zoro’s footsteps approaching the door, a deep sigh coming from his first mate. When Zoro came through the door, his brow perked up at the sight of his captain, but he closed the door silently. Luffy grabbed Zoro’s sleeve and led him away from the door, dragging him to the lawn deck.

“How much did you hear?” Zoro muttered when their feet hit grass.

“I came up at ‘I don’t want to hurt people’.” Luffy said with a huff, handing Zoro the letter. “Robin found that in her house.”

Zoro looked confused but started reading, talking through it, “You have to let her stay.”

“She can stay.”

“She’s been through a lot, and she deserves a second chance.”

“She can stay.”

“I’m serious, she fucked up but she’s willing to change.”

“Zoro.”

“What?”

“She can stay.” Luffy over annunciated.

Zoro blinked a few times to process the lack of an argument, then to process the weird ass letter he had just read. “So, your brother kept them a secret because his buddy was convinced that you’d fuck his little sister?” he asked, exasperated.

“Apparently.”

Zoro’s face blanched a bit at the photo, “Damn Ace wanted you two to bone.” He grimaced.

Luffy’s ears went red, “It’s weird, right?”

“Very.” Zoro confirmed, shoving the envelope and its contents into his captain’s hands. “Were you going to talk to her about the letter?” Luffy nodded. “Let her sleep for a little while. She looks exhausted.” Luffy itched with the need to fulfill his intended goal, but he relented, tucking the letter into his pocket. Luffy went to separate from his first mate, but Zoro stopped him, holding onto Luffy’s shirt sleeve, “Why does she bother you so much?”

Luffy was taken aback for a moment, thinking hard to find his words. “You know I don’t like needless killing.”

Zoro scoffed, rolling his eyes, “I know that. I’m not talking about that, that was justified. You’re allowed to be upset about that kind of thing, obviously. But-just…” Zoro huffed as he tried to articulate his bouncing thoughts, “Take that out of the equation entirely, even after you two kinda chilled out, you just…you look at her like she’s the one who killed Ace. It’s eating her up. She wants to be your friend.”

Luffy sighed, “She’s just-I don’t-ugh!” he stammered, “Something about her just…she gets under my skin, and I don’t know why anymore.” Luffy went on, using his hands to illustrate his frustration, “At first, I knew why I didn’t like her, I had a reason.”

“A stupid reason.”

“But I had a reason! Then we…talked and I felt like that reason was in the past, that I could move on, but now I still feel this same…anger when I look at her. It’s like if she breathes too hard, I’ll snap and yell at somebody, and I don’t know why.” Luffy explained, knocking his fist against his forehead, “I don’t like the way she makes me feel.”

Zoro frowned, thinking, “Could you…try and get along with her? I mean, it’s not even like how me and the cook are. Like, you’re her captain now and captains shouldn’t be beefing with their crew when they’re just…being themselves.” He said, perking up when an idea popped into his head, “Let’s make a deal, okay?”

Luffy’s face scrunched in confusion, “Eh?”

“Make a deal with me.” Zoro went on, clapping a hand onto his captain’s shoulder, “If she starts to piss you off, walk away, find me or-or Robin or something and we’ll help you calm down, you can rant and complain, or whatever you need and we’ll be there and listen until you’re ready to go back out and do your thing, okay?”

Luffy mulled it over, “Okay,” he agreed, head bobbing as he thought, “Even if it’s stupid?” “Even if it’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard.”

#one piece #monkey d. luffy #one piece luffy #luffy #straw hat luffy #strawhats #straw hat pirates #fanfic #reader insert #fem reader #monkey d luffy x reader #monkey d luffy x you #enemies to friends to lovers #portgas d ace #opla #haveatthee83

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rebirthgarments · 3 months ago

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Rhinestone sunglasses rahffle for disabled mom Nara and her kiddos! Dough-nate at gofundme.com/disablednara to enter, every $5 is an entry!

send in your receipts to @StonedStonerStoning you have until Friday August 16 at 11:59 pm CDT! @StonedStonerStoning has told me that she can stone a pair of sunglasses you already have (for example if you have prescription sunglasses!), or you can alternatively have a custom lighter cover! Any color rhinestones on any shape of sunglasses! Nara has become one of my best friends! We are only one year apart in age, and we really get each other (especially because of overlapping symptoms). Nara’s kids are the cutest ever and they are obsessed with @FriedChickenDoglet ! Please support Nara even if you are not entering the rahffle! Everyone there needs consistent support for survival, displacement, medicine, clean food/ water! We have all noticed a sharp decline in support this week across all the GFM’s (I’m guessing because of the DNC coming up! Do not forget to build consistent support into your weekly budget!)! [Image Description: Sky is modeling @StonedStonerStoning rectangular frames sunglasses with lavender lenses + arms. The front is stoned on top with lavender and on the bottom with neon pink rhinestones, both colors of rhinestones have an iridescent shine. Sky has paired the sunglasses with a V neck zip front Rebirth Garments crop top in sheer neon pink, neon pink iridescent snake print with lavender trims. Xey are wearing lavender lipstick and geometric @NinkaPop_ earrings to top off the look. Right now Sky has brown short curly hair on top and shorter sides with long sideburns. Behind Sky is a hot pink disco ball and a circular acrylic on birchwood tondo @MichMillerPrint painting called “shiny things are for you too” that is reminiscent of a warped disco ball in pinks, blues, oranges and greens, overlapping grids and stripes. The walls are pastel pink and there are queercrip love symbol stickers on top of the photograph with some sporty 90’s font in mint text that reads : gofundme.com/disablednara sunglasses rahffle for Nara There is a pink and white QR code in the top right corner that goes to the link!]

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copperbadge · 1 year ago

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mreisse

As a newish cat owner, I have to ask what you do when you travel. Do you have a sitter come in? Leave food and water, they'll be fine? So far I've been lucky, my family takes care of the fluffbutts, but inquiring minds want to know your process

Figured I’d pull this out and reply to it on main :D If it’s only a day or two I generally don’t bother with a sitter -- like if I’m gone Friday night through Sunday afternoon or something like that. Mine are pretty self-sufficient and not super food-driven so in theory I could leave a bowl of food out with a few bowls of water and they’d be fine for 3-4 days, but two days is about the longest they can go without having their litterbox cleaned (if you have multiple boxes this is less of an issue but mine really only use one, and they share it, so it gets full fast). So if I’m gone any longer -- like this time, when I left Thursday and returned Monday -- I like to have someone come in daily. Yes, some of it is the litterbox, but also it’s just good to have someone looking to make sure they’re not hurt or sick.

I used to ask friends to do it and depending on the situation I sometimes still will, but part of it was that I couldn’t find a good sitting agency (or individual sitter) who I felt I could trust, because I’d reach out to them and never hear back, which does not inspire confidence. I finally did find a really good agency, Purr Inc, which only handles cats (a lot of petsitters will only sit for cats if you also have a dog). They’re a local Chicago outfit and they’ve been fantastic every time. They send out reminders to “book care now!” before major travel holidays, they do booking entirely online, and you get an email daily with photographs and a little blurb about how the visit went. When I was delayed getting home because of the blizzard last December, I messaged them in a panic like “I’m stuck because of the Southwest meltdown, please can you send someone out for one more day; I know it’s a busy time and I’m happy to pay extra” and they got back to me within half an hour, got someone out there for the extra day, and didn’t charge extra for it. The daily fee isn’t insignificant, I think for the “standard” visit it’s $28/day, but worth it for the peace of mind, and I just budget for that when I travel.

I found them just by googling “cat sitter chicago” and going through the various service sites until I found one that would come to my neighborhood, didn’t look shady, and responded to me when I asked for more information.

#mreisse #dearborn and polk #cats #catsitting

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cheezbites · 1 year ago

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Hi can you do a Chris McLean x Short!Reader?

Chris McLean x Short Reader

✎: MY FIRST EVER REQUEST I’M SO GEEKED RN. Thank you guys, keep these requests coming!! 💓🥲

♡Summary: Chris McLean dating someone short.

Bf!Chris always attended press conferences and award ceremonies where crowds towered over you, which was nothing new. He insisted on guiding you through the hordes of people with his hand on your shoulder or waist.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"What, is that Ruby Rosewood?" someone in the crowd exclaimed.

"Wait, where is she? Chris, lead us to her. Oh my god, I need to see her," you held onto his guiding hand resting on your shoulder.

He acted like a GPS tracker, swiftly locating her, and you enjoyed a short and sweet conversation with one of your idols.

Bf!Chris appreciates your shorter figure. Despite his past relationships with taller women, often models who added onto their height with expensive heels, your height, ranging from 5'0 to 5'4, actually makes him appear much taller when photographed or standing together. How could he not love that?

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The event was busting with activity; flashing cameras, chattering voices, and a sea of well-dressed attendees. Chris, dressed in his tuxedo with a charming smile, navigated through the elegant crowd.

You, stood by his side, unbeknownst to the unique effect your presence had on Chris. He couldn't help but beam with pride as photographers captured the two of you together. You had a way of making him appear even more tall in comparison to you.

As you mingled with the guests, you picked up on a hushed whisper across the room, "Isn't that Chris? who's the lady with him?"

A nearby couple overheard and joined in, "That's his girlfriend, the one who makes him look even more impressive."

Chris, overhearing the conversation, couldn't help but chuckle.

Bf!Chris hired security guards for you with his immense budget, they followed you around everywhere. Even at times when it seemed a bit redundant.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Your chauffeur was driving you around the city as the security guards were sitting around in their own seats, making small talk with one another. You were texting Chris on your way to run errands:

“You sure I need the guards to go shopping for groceries?”

“Yes. Anything can happen, remember what happened on the news?” he replied shortly after seeing your message, you chuckled at his response. Chris was a bit paranoid at times, but maybe it was for the best.

Bf!Chris had to lean over to kiss you, which was one of his favourite aspects of the kiss.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Chris leaned over to meet your lips, and that simple act added an extra layer of sweetness to the moment. It was one of his favorite things about your kisses – the way he had to lean in to reach you.

As your lips met, you both felt the electric connection that never decayed. In that tender embrace, you shared a kiss that spoke volumes without words, reaffirming your love in the most beautiful way.

Bf!Chris was your weighted blanket at times; instead of you cuddling up to him it would be the opposite. He wouldn’t put his full weight on you; but enough for you both to be comfy.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

A cozy blanket draped over you as you both lounged on the couch. Chris had a mischievous glint in his eye. He shifted his position slightly, and before you knew it, he was gently draping himself over you, like a living weighted blanket.

You giggled at the unexpected move, making him grin down at you, his arms propped up, supporting his weight just enough to make you both feel snug and comfortable. You settled into the embrace, feeling the warmth and security of his presence.

Bf!Chris is the human trash can of the relationship. If you both went out to eat, he finished your leftovers you couldn’t finish.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

You sat in a cozy corner of your favorite restaurant, savoring a delicious meal with Chris. The plates were stacked with delectable food, but as always, your eyes were bigger than your stomach.

Chris, on the other hand, seemed to have an appetite when it came to your leftovers. With a playful smile, you pushed your plate toward him, knowing he'd happily accept the offer.

He chuckled between mouthfuls, "Someone's got to make sure nothing goes to waste,"

As you continued to eat together, you couldn't help but appreciate how Chris's appetite perfectly complimented your tendency to order more than you could finish. It was just one of the many ways your relationship seemed to fit together seamlessly, like a jigsaw puzzle.

Bf!Chris often gave you piggyback rides at concerts, convinced that you'd struggle to see anything. You didn't mind at all, secretly enjoying the elevated view for your Instagram story. After all, it was a win-win – a better view and a cute moment to share with your followers.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The concert’s music thumped through the air as the crowd around you jumped and swayed to the beat. Chris, always attentive to your needs, leaned down with a grin.

"You ready?"

You reached for your phone and nodded, "Absolutely!"

Without hesitation, Chris knelt down, and you hopped onto his back. He effortlessly lifted you, and you clung onto him as he stood up, your legs wrapping around his waist.

The stage came into view, the lights and the artist gracefully performed around you.

You couldn't help capturing the moment. You snapped an Instagram story, the music pulsing in the background, while the crowd's energy surged around you. You couldn't resist but to feel grateful for Chris's thoughtfulness and the incredible view he provided, both in real life and on social media.

Bf!Chris took notice of your affinity for high-heels. Either in your online cart or when you’re window shopping, you were undoubtably drawn to them. It wasn't solely because of your height, although that might have played a role in your heel obsession. You simply loved the feeling they gave you – They were so simple yet so feminine. So expensive, too.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"Close your eyes, love," he cooed playfully.

Curiosity piqued, but you complied, covering your eyes with both hands. You could hear him moving about the room, and a sense of anticipation built within you.

"Okay, you can open them now,"

As you removed your hands, you were met with the sight of a beautifully wrapped box with the ANAPHORA etched onto its elegant surface. Excitement and surprise washed over you as you carefully unwrapped the gift. Inside, you discovered a pair of exquisite high heels, the same pair that’s been sitting in your online cart for a few months now.

"Oh my God... Chris, you didn't have to!" you exclaimed, your eyes sparkling with gratitude.

Chris grinned and replied, "Well, now you don't have to tip-toe as much," he teased, alluding to the times he had to adjust his height difference with you.

Bf!Chris noticed you taking his over sized t-shirts from his cupboard, he was used to your thief antics and so he let it slide. But on your figure, they looked like flowy dresses.

Bf!Chris loved when you asked him to get something out of your reach for you, it made him feel useful in a way.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

You stood in the kitchen, eyeing a high shelf where your favourite cookbook was. The shelf was just out of your reach, and you knew exactly what to do. With a playful grin, you turned to Chris,

"Babe, could you do me a favor?" you asked, your tone sweet and soft.

He looked at you with a quirked eyebrow, a smile playing at his lips. "Of course, what do you need?"

You gestured to the cookbook on the shelf. "Could you grab that for me, please?"

His smile widened, and he sauntered over to the shelf, breezily retrieving the cookbook. As he handed it to you, he couldn't hide his sense of fulfillment. "Here, anything else?"

You chuckled, touched by his eagerness to help. "No, that's perfect, thank you."

A/N: Thank you so much (again) for requesting!!! This was very fun to write <3

Masterlist

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gothhabiba · 1 year ago

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Forgive me if this is a bad take but like. If one wanted to like. Do outfits based on where you're going. Why not just buy some when you get there? Like. Surely that's in budget for "go to a country across the world", gets you something more authentic, does the "supports the economy" thing people always claim tourism does (without exclusively supporting the tourism economy, in this case) and like. Isn't just broadcasting your preconceived notions.

I get what you're saying! I do think buying clothing in a specific place makes sense. though there are drawbacks to that plan for anyone who has really specific needs with regards to what clothing they wear.

I'd question what "authenticity" really is or means, though. the thing is that there are malls in Morocco (and a lot of other places) that sell clothing from major global brands. for better or for worse, the global export of "Western" fashion has impacted what people wear almost everywhere on Earth. you could buy blue jeans and a moto jacket from any random Zara in the US or Europe and you would look more "Moroccan" than someone chasing a made-up idea of "Moroccan"-ness, whether they're purchasing those clothes inside or outside of Morocco.

"authenticity" is a trap that destroys what it searches for. it can only ever chase after the ideal, the stagnant, the atavistic. if it cannot find what it searches for (because tourists and industry, in encroaching further into areas they deem "remote" to find the "untouched" and "authentic," by their own logic deplete the exhaustible resource of "authenticity" that they imagine exists), it creates it—there's a "race to the bottom" where anything familiar is deemed inauthentic (even if it "really" represents the lives of people in a certain location), and anything bizarre, odd, strange, or gross is deemed authentic (even if it really doesn't). people in "remote" villages in Africa straight-up invent fake weird rituals to satiate this desire amongst Western tourists and photographers. you see a similar pattern with food culture.

there's this idea that you travel to "explore," that there's something daring and intrepid about going specifically to certain locales, because you're encountering the unfamiliar and becoming "cultured" and learning more about different people. yet in order for this self-concept of "daring" and "intrepid" to hold, what you encounter must be sufficiently shocking. white / Western people will travel to a "third-world" country supposedly in order to expand or challenge their own expectations, and then get angry and complain whenever they don't find exactly what they already expected!

to return to the question at hand—you're going to be able to find kaftan and gndourat and djellabat and blaghi in the souaaq of any city, yes. whether these are "authentic" "Moroccan" garments is a more philosophical question, as many of these shops primarily cater to tourists and sell garments in a Moroccan style that have in fact been imported from China... and, because the shops stock what sells, and tourists buy what they like, and they like what they already expected to see, the shops are geared towards what Westerners associate with "Morocco"... meanwhile, many of the garments that e.g. Zara stocks in their European stores were in fact assembled in Morocco! so what constitutes an "authentic," "Moroccan" garment, exactly?

#to be clear I'm not implying that any of this is news to you #just following my train of thought #travel #authenticity #mine

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bhujerban · 5 months ago

Text

Open Seat, Open Road (intro)

AN: Long time no see, friends 💕 I haven't written anything in a hot minute, so I wanted to do something fun to get back into it. My partner and I have been taking a ton of road trips lately, and so I was inspired to write a little Choose-Your-Own-Adventure road trip adventure! There isn't a choice in this introduction, but we'll get there in the next update.

“The annual budget was leaked before they could do damage control,” Zelda announces as she strides into the garage. “I thought maybe one of his cabinet members had been having an affair or something.”

“That’s why they booked you a first-class ticket back to Castletown?” Link’s voice is slightly muffled as he slides out from under his car.

“Yep,” Zelda tosses him the morning newspaper, ignoring his soft exhale as it hits him. “Urgent, apparently, because they booked my return early tomorrow morning.”

Link scans the newspaper. “Front page news.”

Zelda tugs a hair tie off her wrist with more force than strictly necessary. “I don’t know why I expected anything different. This is just my father’s standard operating procedure.”

Link doesn’t respond, but his eyes flit up from the newspaper to meet hers.

“I expect that he’ll send me to a children’s hospital or maybe a food bank,” she continues bitterly. “The place will be full up with photographers, of course, and I won’t be allowed to actually lift a finger to help with anything.” She pulls her hair back, but hisses as the hair tie snaps under the forceful stretch. She tosses the broken hair tie to the side. “But given the backlash, I think they’re setting up a scandalous date for me as we speak.”

Link’s fingers tighten nearly imperceptibly on the newspaper as he stands up from the creeper.

Zelda manages to use another hair tie to put her hair up and lays down on the creeper. As she slides beneath the car, she asks, “What’s wrong with it now?”

“Nothing, I think.” She hears his footsteps move away and then back. “I was just checking on the skid plate. I thought I heard a sound the other day when I was driving along the Dragon’s Exile trail.”

Zelda fishes her small flashlight from her pocket and looks. “You’re fine.” She tugs at the zip-tie she’d used to reattach the skid plate after the screws were lost. “I secured it myself.”

Link is squatting near the back of the car when she slides back out. He gives her a small, crooked smile. “I shouldn’t have doubted you, Zel.”

She can’t help but return the smile, but her response is laced with frustration. “You’d be the only one that doesn’t.”

He pulls her up from the creeper and wheels it back to its spot under his work bench. “It doesn’t really seem fair to you…this whole thing.”

“It is what it is. It’s just Governor Rhoam’s way: province and politics over people.”

“Even his daughter?” Link asks with a raised brow.

“Especially his daughter.”

Zelda watches quietly as Link moves around the car. There’s a cargo box already attached to the roof rack and he is tossing things into the trunk carelessly: his sleeping pad, his sleeping bag, the nice tent she gifted him for his birthday last year.

“When do you leave again?” she asks.

“Tomorrow morning. I’m trying to get out at first light so that I can get to the Palu trading post by noon. I want to spend the afternoon hiking around the Seven Heroines.”

Zelda has to swallow the tide of jealousy that rises within her. “That sounds wonderful.”

“Yeah.” Link hesitates, glancing at her briefly. “It’ll be good.”

She stares at the collection of park stickers adorning the car’s window. “Sometimes I wish…”

He stops his movements to wait for her to finish her thought.

Zelda shakes her head and pulls her hair tie off. Her hair streams down her neck and shoulders like a golden river. “Nevermind. I just wish things could be different. I wish I could go on a road trip too.”

“You could join me,” Link says lightly. “The passenger’s seat is open and an extra driver makes the trip easier.”

“Sure,” she agrees sarcastically. “I’ll just bail on the flight tomorrow.”

But as she watches him gather the rest of his supplies, her thoughts begin to whirl. She couldn't just bail on the flight...right?

She couldn't just not show up at the airport tomorrow right?

Well, it wasn't as if there was going to be someone waiting for her at the airport. She'd be expected to get herself home and await further instructions.

So...

Why couldn’t she go on this road trip?

Why did she have to rush back to Castletown at her father’s beck and call? Why was it her responsibility to divert attention from her father’s political blunders? She always had to be Governor Rhoam’s golden daughter, getting in and out of trouble.

She leans heavily against one of the garage work benches. Hadn’t she held up her end of the bargain? It is supposed to be a moment of celebration for her. The first year of her MBA at Gerudo Town University had been a roaring success. Her coursework and network had flourished; just as she had promised her father it would.

She didn’t even get to study engineering as she’d wanted—the MBA was already a compromise!

Link was right, it isn’t fair that she has to rush back to Castletown to take the heat off the bungled budget. She wasn’t even a politician! She’d never wanted to be a politician! Yet she’s the one that has to go out there for some photo-ops and be seen with the latest hot and scandalous celebrity. She’s the one that has to deal with the whispers about her man-eating ways and her fake charity. And why? Because someone from her father’s inner circle messed up?

No!

Zelda jumps to her feet. “Link!”

He pokes his head out from behind the car. “What?” Then he does a double take at the fire in her expression. “...What?” he repeats warily.

“I’m going to do it.”

“You’re going to do what?”

“I’m going to bail on the flight tomorrow.” She tightens her hands into fists. “I’m going to come on this road trip.”

Link stares at her. “Won’t you get in trouble with your dad?”

Zelda meets his eyes with resolution. “Definitely, but I…don’t think I care anymore.”

Understanding dawns across Link’s face. He nods. “Okay.”

“Okay,” she echoes.

He leaves the garage for a moment and returns with another sleeping pad and sleeping bag. “I haven’t booked any hotels for the trip,” he warns her. “My plan was to camp as much as possible.”

“Of course!” A laugh bubbles out of her—it’s equal parts excitement and anxiety. “I wouldn’t expect anything else from you.”

Link’s responding grin warms her like the Gerudo sun. “You’d better go home and pack then,” he says. “We’re leaving at dawn.”

Zelda nearly vaults out of Link’s garage and hurries home. She flutters around her apartment, shoving clothing into her duffel bag haphazardly: her sun protection shirts, hiking pants, comfortable clothes for driving, shirts, sandals, sneakers, shorts, and one nice dress, just in case. She doesn’t stop moving, just in case she loses her nerve.

But that night, as she is washing up, she eyes her bag. Is she really going to do this? Father is going to be furious. She is and has been independent from him for years, but the idea of so overtly going against her father’s wishes is…daunting, now that she has had a moment to think.

Zelda looks at herself in the mirror. Her green eyes are still sparkling with excitement, despite her apprehensions. Her cheeks are flushed pink, and there’s a joy in her expression that she hardly recognizes. But her gaze settles on her long, blonde hair. It has become a signature look, of sorts, for her.

The golden, beautiful daughter of Governor Rhoam.

The moniker was assigned to her by the media and she is often identified by her hair. She had been proud of it—her mother was famous for her long gold strands–and spent considerable time and effort into the maintenance. But right now it feels heavy on her shoulders, chains that seem to shackle her to her family’s reputation.

She ponders this for a moment.

From the corner of her eye, Zelda spots the scissors she uses to trim her bangs. She seizes them impulsively.

She isn’t certain that people would recognize her. But her father is a an important figure in Hylian politics and, as a result, she's been in and out of the media spotlight. Even as a minor celebrity, her image is known to the public.

So it might be safer if she…

Snip…Snip…Snip…

She begins cutting her hair in a frenzy. By the time she actively remembers to draw breath, it’s done.

Zelda glances back into the mirror and the girl staring back at her is the same, but different. Her waist-length hair now hits just at her nape. The ends are choppy and uneven, a little wild. But somehow it works.

She looks down at the floor littered with her hair. It feels like a weight has been lifted.

She smiles at her reflection. Ready for a road trip.

#zelink #zelink fanfiction #botw zelink #bhujerbanwrites #legend of zelda #zelink road trip au

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calciseptinefic · 2 years ago

Text

a luxury few can afford

Marvel || Wade Wilson/Peter Parker || Part 1 notes: i cannot believe this is what gets me back on tumblr. jfc. this fic is also available on ao3 warnings: discussion of blowjobs?

Peter has exhausted his resources.

Correction: he has exhausted most of his resources. Which are... limited to begin with, as he is a broke college student slash vigilante slash part-time photographer running on little more than fumes and cheap pizza slices. He could maybe find another solution to his problem given more time, energy, and money, but he has none of those things. Zero. Zippo. Nada. And the man he's been tracking—some mid-level goon working for Kingpin—is going to leave the country in less than three days. If Peter doesn't want to waste several months of stake-outs and information gathering, then he needs to resort to his last resort:

Asking a favor of Wade 'Merc with a Mouth' Wilson.

"Sounds like I'm gonna get shot at," Wade says contemplatively around a mouthful of masticated Mexican mush. As is usual, they're sitting on the ledge of a building, feet dangling a dozen stories above a dimly lit alley. "And I charge extra for being shot at. I mean, it's not like being shot at is gonna do anything except temporarily make me look even more like swiss cheese, but..." He takes another massive bite of his food, finishing it. "It's the principle of the thing."

"And what's the going rate for swiss cheese?" Peter asks as casually as possible.

Wade names a price with a few more zeroes on it than Peter can afford.

"Ah," Peter says.

"But for you, baby boy, I can give a discount!"

Peter has a feeling that even a discount would still be wildly outside his budget.

"Let's pretend I don't have any money," Peter says instead of asking, picking at the tinfoil keeping his burrito warm. His late dinner (early breakfast?) is starting to look a little sad, the congealed cheese greasy and the shredded lettuce limp. "Let's pretend the food truck took the last of my already meager paycheck, and that the only thing I have to offer is a favor."

"Ah, the favor," says Wade wisely. "Ye ol' tit for tat. The mutual scratching of mutual backs. The amorphous, ambiguous assumption that sometime in the unknown future, I will need you to do something for me that I am unable to do for myself, for whatever contrived reason the author thinks of."

"Umm, yes?"

"Umm, let me think about this." Wade bunches up the leftover mess of tinfoil and parchment paper from his own meal and tosses it over the side of the building. Amazingly, a few seconds later, there's a soft plink as the ball makes it into an open dumpster. "And my answer is... no."

"Why not?" asks Peter, voice rising.

"Because there's not a whole lot you can do that I can't." Wade shrugs.

"That's not true!" Peter protests.

"It isn't?" The smile Wade gives him is wry, an unexpected flash of straight white teeth against angry, pockmarked skin. "I can't think of much that would require your superhero spidery-ness that I cannot accomplish with a) my distinct lack of morality and b) my god-tier ninja skills. Oh, and c) this pesky inability to die. That's super duper helpful, in the right contexts."

Peter exhales slowly. Usually, he and Wade get along annoyingly well, but sometimes, Wade just annoys. So he tries again, attempting to keep his tone level as he says, reasonably, "Well, maybe there isn't anything you can think of now, at this particular moment—"

Wade interrupts him with a shake of his head. "I'm going to stop you right there, baby boy. This fic is only five k and it ain't tagged for fake dating shenanigans, so... No. I don't think that temporality is the name of the game here."

"It will be two hours of your time," Peter says.

"Ooo, a new angle!" Wade crows. "Still temporal, but okay. Lay it on me."

"Two hours, Deadpool. I need to put this guy away. Now. He's leaving for Germany soon to arrange another shipment, and the new drugs they're flooding our community with have already killed 17 people."

"Firstly, 'our community'? Really? Going for the empathetic, inclusionist vibe?" Then, without pause, Wade points out, "Fisk's men aren't the only bastards dealing. Not exactly going to solve the problem."

"No, it won't," Peter admits. "But I can't keep webbing up random dealers, because it doesn't do anything, because someone else from Kingpin's gang just replaces him. And Kingpin's operation is the biggest provider. If I can get this last bit of proof, then I can hand it over to Matt and get the actual operation shut down. Legally. The supply will be choked. Sure, some random dealers will get the trickle down from the outside, but those guys I can web up."

Wade is quiet. Peter hopes, for a moment, that Wade will sigh, say 'fuck it', and do what Peter wants in exchange for that favor he mocked. Instead, Wade says,

"Still a no, baby boy."

Peter's low-simmering irritation flares into real anger. He knows Wade isn't altruistic and that there are plenty of good reasons he has a darker view of the world. Most of the time, it doesn't bother Peter; in the years he's been Spiderman, he's grown more pragmatic, and he understands the worlds in deeper shades of gray than some of his other superhero counterparts. It's one of the reasons why he gets along with Wade when most people don't.

Right now, however, Wade's apathy for something Peter's struggling with feels like a betrayal. It stings. Deeply. Peter had been trepid about asking Wade because Wade is a wild card with a fondness for explosions and mayhem, but he had been so sure that Wade would say yes. He thought that their friendship—as odd as it was—was beginning to feel like... like... like something else. Like something more. Something that would make Wade sling an arm around Peter's shoulders and say, Okay, baby boy. Anything for you.

But Wade said no. Such sharp, sudden hurt—this needling reminder that Wade comes with a price, even for Peter—makes Peter mean, and he snarls, "Fine, then. If you won't do it because it's the right thing to do, and you won't do it in exchange for a favor, then what do you want? A blowjob?"

Peter knows he's crossed a line the moment it leaves his mouth. The whites of Wade's mask go round in shock and his mouth goes slack. Soft. A moment later, his tongue slides, searching, across his bottom lip. Peter feels a lightning strike of awareness race down his spine and pool in his gut.

"Peter."

"Wade." Peter bristles. "I told you not to use my name when we're—"

"Peter," Wade says again. Lower. Unyielding. "Shut the fuck up for two seconds. Now."

Peter closes his mouth so quickly his teeth click together. The line of Wade's shoulders is so rigid that it looks brittle, as though one quick movement would make him physically snap apart. Peter rarely sees such seriousness from Wade and, truthfully, it worries him, quietly bleeding the last of his irritation from him as two seconds becomes two minutes, becomes two more.

Together, they sit in silence stretched thick and tense, Peter still clutching his half-eaten burrito, Wade with his fists balled atop his thighs. Wade's eyes are open but unseeing, and the rise and fall of his chest is deep and rhythmic. Peter's seen him do it before, a few times, when the voices in Wade's head start screaming so loud he can't think past them; it's an attempt to put himself back into his brain's driver's seat.

A small amount of guilt wriggles beneath Peter's worry. He folds the excess tinfoil over his food and sets it aside. He isn't hungry anymore.

"I am going to give you the opportunity to take that back," Wade says, after a time. His words fall down into his lap; he hasn't looked up since he told Peter to shut up. "Because if you're fucking with me, you tell me, right now. Tell me it's a joke, and we'll laugh about it. Because if you're not serious—"

"I am." Peter interrupts. "Wade, look at me."

Because the thing is.

The thing is.

Peter's thought about it.

About Wade's mouth, his hands, his cock.

Everything about Wade is big. And Peter—who is shorter than the national average and leaner than most—cannot help but be keenly aware of the difference in their sizes. He's thought about it for years, imagining how Wade could completely box him in, how heavy Wade's weight would be atop him, how full Wade's dick would stuff him. Sure, Peter could lift Wade above him with one hand, but it's less about being overpowered and more about being engulfed, cradled or grounded by nothing more than Wade's bulk.

Peter's well aware of the obsession. He's pretty sure it's mutual, considering Wade's preoccupation with his ass and the insane amount of flirting that normally occurs between them, but he's never been sure enough. He hates that it came out like this: something meant to hurt instead of something meant to heal.

"I shouldn't have said it like that," Peter says when Wade tilts his head to the side. Not looking at him directly, no, but enough so Peter can see how carefully blank his expression is. "It wasn't a joke, but I was angry. I mean, I am angry. This means a lot to me and I do need your help, but I shouldn't've... put that out there, like that."

"Well, why not?" Wade says. His voice is still heartbreakingly even. "A little blowie for a little job. Better than a bar of gold to me, baby boy. You know I'm fucking gagging for it."

"In this case I think I'm the one who would be gagging for it," Peter jokes. Then, "Wade. Please. Look at me."

Wade does.

Peter leans towards him and places a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. Wade's textured skin is warm beneath Peter's lips. It isn't how he imagined their first kiss, but it's as dangerous as he knew it would be. Such a small movement, lasting less than a heartbeat, sending a disproportionate wave of heat through Peter's entire body. He begins to pull away and—

One of Wade's hands reaches out and—

Grabs the nape of Peter's neck and—

Hauls him back and—

Wade's mouth is unforgiving on his, closed, pressing so hard that Peter's lips are crushed against his teeth. It's a graceless kiss, bruising. A thin whine rises in Peter's throat as he turns the rest of his body into it, grabbing the straps of Wade's shoulder holsters, fingers desperate to find something to hold onto, to keep him grounded. Just a few, frantic seconds, and Peter already feels undone. Hungry. He shifts his hips, slipping his leans thighs over Wade's legs to crawl into the other man's lap, to bring their bodies close—

Wade yanks himself away, breathing hard.

"No," Wade says, hoarsely. "No no no, not now. Not when you're mad at me though—Jesus fucking Christ, don't think I'm not like, half-chubbed up in my fucking cup thinking about you glaring at me while you blow me. Holy shit, that's like, at least twenty percent of my credit line at the spank bank."

"Wade," Peter begs, his head spinning.

"I know, baby boy, I know," Wade croons. He pushes a thumb to the indent beneath Peter's swollen lip, other fingers curled under Peter's chin. "But if we're gonna do this, we're gonna do it later, after the job, when we can get a pillow under your knees and I can see your pretty eyes. You understand?"

"You want me to take my mask off," Peter elaborates.

"I want you naked," Wade clarifies, his voice going low again. "Wanna see how cute you are, how far those freckles go down. Wanna see how red your cheeks get and how you cry when you choke on my cock. Those are my terms. Capice?"

Peter inhales shakily at the mental image, eyes fluttering shut. Him, on his knees, between Wade's massive thighs, struggling to take Wade's cock while Wade's scarred fingers fist in his hair. It will be the first time Wade will see him completely; not just the lower half of his face, mask pulled over his nose, or his bare hand when he takes off his glove to fine tune his web-shooter, but all of him. It's a daunting prospect. Of course it is. Only a handful of people know that Peter Parker and Spiderman are the same person. Can he trust Wade Wilson to be one of those people?

The answer comes quickly.

Yes.

He can.

In truth, over the past five years, Peter has been giving Wade small pieces of himself. Pieces of Spiderman and pieces of Peter. He finds that he's not actually scared of letting Wade see the whole of him. He might still be wary of owing Deadpool a favor—sensibility is not the mercenary's most well-known character trait—but he knows, to his bones, that he can trust Wade, the man, with this. With him.

This is not how I expected tonight to go, Peter thinks mirthfully. Aloud, he says, "When I get what I need, and I get it to Matt, I'll text you my address."

"Fuck me, baby boy," Wade hisses. His big hands, still on Peter's body, tighten briefly, then relax. "Are you absolutely, red-100-underline-underline emoji sure?"

"Been thinking about it, for awhile. Haven't you?"

"Since the day you swung into my life."

"Then you have your answer." Bravely, Peter leans in to bump his nose against Wade's. "I'll text you the details."

Wade rubs their noses together before pulling away. Peter unhooks his fingers from Wade's shoulder holsters and climbs out of Wade's lap, standing on the ledge and taking a step back. The places where they had been touching are unexpectedly cold. Peter quickly tugs his mask back down over his mouth and throat before he's tempted to do something foolish, like climb right back into Wade's arms.

"Tomorrow night," Peter says.

"Tomorrow," Wade answers.

Peter salutes as he lets himself fall off the rooftop. Gravity tugs him down and—fleetingly—he experiences the exhilarating weightlessness of free fall. Then he fires his web-shooter and swings away, the rush of air around him unable to disguise Wade's loud whoop of triumph.

Behind his mask, Peter smiles.

Part 2

#spideypool #spiderman #deadpool #peter parker #wade wilson #rating: e #pairing: wade wilson/peter parker

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mattnben-bennmatt · 5 months ago

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Matt Damon: 'You're a better actor the less people know about you'

The Guardian (27 September 2015)

By Elizabeth Day

He is Hollywood’s ultimate everyman. Matt Damon talks about The Martian, missing Robin Williams – and the theory that he and Ben Affleck were gay

I am sitting opposite Matt Damon and he is saying he’s sorry for being a bad movie star. He can’t help it, he says. He’s simply too dull.

“I think people just leave a room I’m in and they’re like: Well that guy wasn’t a movie star,” he explains. “Jesus! Anybody could do that.”

We are sitting in a gloomy hotel room, at a large round conference table which is too big for the two of us. Damon is dressed like a father on the school run: sensible navy blue polo shirt, trousers with practical pockets down the side. He has a smattering of facial hair. The most film-starry thing about him is his muscle tone: he has arms that look like they’ve been drawn by a Popeye animator.

Other than this, Damon insists he’s entirely normal. He has a wife, Luciana, whom he met while filming in Miami in 2003 when she was working behind a bar, and the couple have four daughters ranging in age from four to 16 – Alexia, from Luciana’s previous relationship, Isabella, Gia and Stella. Damon is a self-confessed family man. He has a rule that they will never be apart for more than two weeks while he’s filming. His daily life is so average even the paparazzi have decamped from outside his home in Los Angeles because he never does anything that merits a photograph.

“You know, a guy who’s married happily with four kids is not quite a story,” Damon says with a sorry-but-what-can-you-do smile. “And so they’ll come back and they’ll take an occasional picture… but it’s kind of just updating the file.”

I’m not entirely buying this. At 44, Damon is smart enough to know that his supposed “normality” is his stock in trade. His approachability on-screen, combined with a sense of nuance and depth, has lent his performances a likeable, everyman-ish quality that has proved to be box-office catnip.

In 2007, Forbes magazine named Damon as Hollywood’s most bankable actor, averaging $29 in takings for every dollar he earned in a movie. From Good Will Hunting (which Damon co-wrote with Ben Affleck, winning the 1997 Oscar for best screenplay) and Saving Private Ryan to the big-budget Bourne movie franchise or the dystopian sci-fi fantasy Elysium, he has a capacity to hint at a character’s inner complexity without ever veering into pretension. According to Manohla Dargis of the New York Times, Damon’s power lies in his ability “to recede into a film while also being fully present”.

His latest project is no exception. In The Martian, directed by Ridley Scott and co-starring Jeff Daniels, Chiwetel Ejiofor and Kristen Wiig, Damon plays Mark Watney, a Nasa astronaut who finds himself stranded on Mars after he is injured in a fierce storm and presumed dead by his crew.

Admittedly, an astronaut is hardly your average kind of Joe, but Damon manages to imbue the role with his classic down-to-earth sensibility. When Watney is confronted with a problem, he solves it through the power of science and logical thinking. Despite forever teetering on the verge of an existential crisis, Watney remains quick-witted and optimistic. When he runs out of food, he simply starts growing potatoes in his own vacuum-packed faecal matter. That kind of thing.

I wonder if filming The Martian made Damon contemplate his own resourcefulness. Would he be good in a similar situation?

“Probably not, no. I have too many connections that matter to me. It might be fun for a day, you know, but no. I’d probably go a little bonkers.”

Even as a small boy, he never wanted to be an astronaut, preferring instead the world of superheroes. When he was growing up in Cambridge, Massachusetts, with his older brother Kyle, his mother would put out a dressing-up box and he would choose either a red or blue floral towel, safety-pinning it round his neck like a cape. The red towel was for Superman. Blue was for Shazam, the teenage hero of a 70s TV series who could transform into Captain Marvel.

“That was how I broke my ankle,” Damon recalls. “When I was three, I climbed to the top of the jungle gym in my Shazam cape and I shouted ‘Shazam!’ And I tried to fly and I fell.”

He remembers his stockbroker father, Kent, running across from the other side of the playground to come to his aid and what stuck in Damon’s mind was not the pain in his ankle but the way his father was running – like an athlete, with pumping arms and a long, fluid pace.

“I remember afterwards, when I healed, months later, trying to jog [like him]. So I would jog pumping my fists to the ground. I was trying to ape the movement, but I wasn’t quite pulling it off.” He shakes his head, laughs.

He was three, he’d just broken his ankle, but Damon’s focus was already on how another person was behaving and how he could best mimic it.

His parents later divorced and the boys lived with their mother, Nancy Carlsson-Paige, a university professor specialising in early education. Apparently, she always knew he was going to be an actor because of his love of costume and role-playing, and his ability to entertain himself for long stretches of time.

But Damon found fame as one-half of a long-term collaboration. Ben Affleck was his childhood best friend – the two of them met when they were eight and attended the same high school. Damon went to Harvard, Affleck to the University of Vermont, but both dropped out before getting their degrees and worked together on the script for Good Will Hunting, which drew on their own experiences growing up in Cambridge. The script was bought by Castle Rock in 1994. Three years later it became a huge critical and commercial success starring Damon as undiscovered genius Will Hunting, with Affleck as his childhood friend, and Robin Williams as the psychologist who helps Hunting come to terms with his talent.

“I laughed the entire time we wrote,” Damon says now. “It was a really joyful experience.” He was less enamoured of his sudden celebrity. “You wake up one morning and the world is entirely the same and you know, actually, all the things that mattered yesterday are the same today, except the world is forever going to be a totally different place for you,” he says.

“That’s the mind-fuck and it takes a few years to even get your head around what’s happening… I remember my brother said: ‘How are you doing?’ And I was, like, ‘I’m the fucking same, but everyone else is different.’”

He credits his “really solid childhood” with getting him through. But for people who lack a support network, or whose fame reaches absurdly overblown levels, it is a different story. We are meeting almost exactly a year after his Good Will Hunting co-star, Robin Williams, took his own life. Williams suffered from severe depression. I ask Damon if he worries about the pressures fame can put on an individual’s mental health.

“Of course,” he says quietly. “Peter Farrelly, who is a friend of mine, the director, he was talking about suicide and he said something really lovely, which was: ‘Whenever that happens to a friend of mine [suicide], I feel like they’re just in a house on fire and they have to get out.’ I hoped that it [Williams’s death] could lead to a wider discussion about mental health because if somebody that incredible and wonderful – just such a light – could be living with that, hopefully it could give other people permission to talk about this to people around them. So that at least something positive came out of something so horrible.”

It’s nice, talking to Damon. Unlike many actors, he answers questions with a reflective openness. There is a feeling that nothing is out of bounds. He is politically engaged – a Democrat, but also a critic of Barack Obama (he has spoken out about Obama’s education policies and questioned the legality of drone strikes) and says he’s deeply worried about the chasm between rich and poor in America in the aftermath of the economic crisis.

“That anger did not go away because none of these guys [the bankers] got prosecuted and they all have our money, and these houses in the Hamptons they live in – that they claim to have earned – are paid for with our money. I mean, that’s what happened! And so, I don’t know what the consequences for that kind of thing are.”

He maintains a steady eye contact and has a dry sense of humour. When I ask, in the middle of a discussion about directors, whether he would ever consider being directed by Affleck, he replies deadpan: “Sure, if the right thing came along.” Pause. “I mean, he usually gives himself the main role in the thing he’s directing, so it would need to probably be a two-hander.”

He says that when picking projects, he is entirely guided by the quality of the director: “That’s all that matters in film. The rest of it is utter bullshit. A mediocre director will ruin a great piece of material.” Has he worked with mediocre directors in the past? “Yes.”

He won’t name names. But for every big-budget blockbuster he has been attached to, Damon has put in a quieter, more complex performance in films like Anthony Minghella’s The Talented Mr. Ripley or The Good Shepherd, directed by Robert de Niro, or Martin Scorsese’s The Departed. In 2013, he starred as Liberace’s lover, Scott Thorson, in the Steven Soderbergh television drama film Behind the Candelabra.

Damon was a straight man playing gay. Is it harder for actors to be openly gay in Hollywood? “I’m sure. When Ben and I first came on the scene there were rumours that we were gay because it was two guys who wrote a script together.”

Really?

“I know. It’s just like any piece of gossip… and it put us in a weird position of having to answer, you know what I mean? Which was then really deeply offensive. I don’t want to, like [imply] it’s some sort of disease – then it’s like I’m throwing my friends under the bus. But at the time, I remember thinking and saying, Rupert Everett was openly gay and this guy – more handsome than anybody, a classically trained actor – it’s tough to make the argument that he didn’t take a hit for being out.”

He thinks attitudes are changing, and welcomes the introduction of same-sex marriage in California in 2008. “I think it must be really hard for actors to be out publicly,” he continues. “But in terms of actors, I think you’re a better actor the less people know about you period. And sexuality is a huge part of that. Whether you’re straight or gay, people shouldn’t know anything about your sexuality because that’s one of the mysteries that you should be able to play.”

So is Matt Damon just a normal guy, adept at pretending to be mysterious? I don’t think so. He’s cleverer than that: he’s worked out that the appearance of averageness affords the greatest opportunity for privacy and creative space.

How would he describe himself as an actor? There is a long pause. “I don’t know,” he says. “Subtle, hopefully.”

The arms though. The arms give him away.

#matt damon #the martian #ben affleck #robin williams #kent damon #peter farrelly #rupert everett #on privacy #on homosexuality #on rumors #on acting #on politics #early childhood #on writing together #on fame #on mental health #interview #2015 #originals

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fabrickind · 8 months ago

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Discovering Cosplay Photoshoot Locations Part 4: Location Permissions and Costs

📸Discovering Cosplay Photoshoot Locations Part 4: Location Permissions and Costs 📸 Part 4 of the cosplay shoot location tutorial covers how to get permission for doing shoots in a location and budgeting for any associated costs. Remember, kids: trespassing is bad! YMMV on some of this, depending on your region, so remember that it's always good to ask first if you are unsure or if a website is unclear. You don't want to get yourself in trouble or ruin a location for other cosplayers. Part 5 will cover how to behave when on location, so look out for that.

Before doing a photoshoot, make sure you have permission to do a photoshoot in that location! This process will be different for different location types, and may vary depending on region. Anecdotally, West Coast US, for example, tends to be fairly lax about shoots in public locations, but East Coast US tends to have stricter regulations. This guide is largely USA-centric, since that's where I'm mostly familiar with, so check your own country's rules, regulations, and culture, especially if planning to shoot in a foreign country.

Public Locations

Most of my cosplay photoshoots are in public locations such as parks and public beaches. Many publicly-owned parks allow for non-commercial photoshoots on the property without a permit or payment. Be sure to check the website of the specific park you are looking to shoot at for any special rules they may have and if you need a permit or not. Keep in mind that some places classify a photoshoot with a paid photographer to be a commercial shoot and some only classify photos taken for commercial purposes. The location website would also have the application itself and list any fees you would need to pay, as well as qualifications for different fee tier levels. The vast majority of cosplay shoots would be in the lowest tier if permits and fees are required, as they have few people and little in the way of equipment.

Respect your location and avoid certain types of locations, even if they are technically public. Religious buildings may disallow photography on their property, government buildings (especially during business hours) might find your shoot distracting or disrespectful to government business, and locations like war memorials may be in poor taste.

Private Locations

If you rent a location such as a studio, you already have permission to shoot there. The same goes for your own property or where you live, and if you ask a friend or family member to shoot on their property or in their home. If you want to shoot at a private business, such as a bar or restaurant, be sure to ask permission ahead of time, offer to pay for the use of the location, and purchase goods or services (such as food or drinks) from the business as thanks. Ask ahead of time what kind of equipment you can bring, what times would be good (usually off times for the business), and be sure to tag them on social media posts of the photos later to help advertise their business. You may also want to look into having a location release form, which grants you written permission for the shoot and waives liability for the location, which can help give them peace of mind. Being kind and courteous can go a long way.

If you really want an indoor location such as a bar but can't get a local business to agree, try shooting at a hotel that is hosting a con while the con is going on. Be courteous, ask permission, and don't photograph other guests. Often, there are out of the way areas of fancy hotel lobbies that you can take photos in during a con without having to pay for a permit. If you get creative, you can get some stunning shots in these locations!

Sometimes other private businesses or locations will host events that allow you to wear a costume and take photographs. This might be a Halloween party at a local aquarium, a pop-up museum where they encourage people to take photos for social media, or other types of events. Be sure to check the rules for this type of event in advance. Some locations may ban specific costume elements -- full face masks, props, trailing elements, and skin coverage are common restrictions -- and some may ban certain types of equipment, with DSLRs, lighting equipment, and tripods or monopods commonly banned. For example, when I shot at the Monterey Bay Aquarium Halloween member night, I added opaque tights and a skirt to a leotard costume, kept my prop put away, and couldn't use any external lighting or tripods, as it would lighting is dangerous to the fish and other equipment would impede other guests.

Budgeting

When making your shoot budget, the location itself isn't the only cost! Factor in travel time and costs, parking costs, any incidentals that may arise such as food or emergency costs, and also plan to budget these things for your photographer. If your photographer is yourself or a photo trade with another cosplayer, these costs will be lower, but if you are hiring a photographer, you will need to pay for their travel as well. Also decide how far you are willing to travel for a particular location. Most of my shoots are local within an hour drive, but if I'm already going to be in an area that has a nice location and also have room in my luggage to pack a suitable cosplay, I will take the opportunity. I've done this in places as far as Rome!

If you are looking to reduce costs, you can split a shoot with other cosplayers. While the costs might be higher when adding more cosplayers, such as paying more for a photographer's time or paying for a longer time at a studio, the additional cost usually won't outstrip the savings when splitting the cost evenly between all the cosplayers. This can be a cosplay group all shooting together, or separate cosplays doing separate shoots at the same location. Make sure the location can accommodate the number of cosplayers attending, and make sure you don't tip over into being a large enough gathering to tip over into needing a permit or a higher tier of permit because it legally becomes an event.

Links to other parts: 1 Location Types, 2 Discovering Locations, 3 Indoor vs Outdoor Locations, 4 Location Permissions, 5 Location Logistics

#cosplay photography #cosplay tutorial #cosplay tips #cosplay advice #cosplay help #helpful things

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innytoes · 2 years ago

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"girl help I already have so much headcanons for this au I'm never gonna write" .... show us the dystopian headcanons, Inny

Okay so this dystopia was percolating in my brain for a day or two before I could get it out. It's inspired by a lot of different sci-fi things, the biggest being Neal Stephenson's The Diamond Age and that lovely tumblr story about the 100 point children.

It's set on a big-ass space ship colony, and you need credits for everything. Like, your basic needs will technically be met (large dormitories in your assigned work department/orphanage, fabricated Nutritionally Perfect food but not very tasty food, standard issue clothing, etc.) but if you want more, it costs credits. Credits are earned by working and possibly citizenship points, like that creepy Black Mirror episode.

So having your own place costs credits, but so does having kids, like a child tax. Don't think about the horrifying implications of that if you're not able to pay, don't do it, it's a dystopia remember.

Reggie's parents were just barely keeping their head above water, possibly due to spending their credits unwisely, possibly due to it being a fucking dystopia and they need to keep a bunch of people in poverty for the system to run. You know... like capitalism.

It’s not like spaces are officially segregated and all, but if you try to go to a park in a richer area as a kid in the standard issue (free) gray uniform... you’re gonna get picked on. Reggie learns early on where he’s ‘allowed’ to be and where he isn’t. Besides, after he starts going to work with his dad it doesn’t matter much anyway. Sometimes he sneaks out to the parks in the evenings or mornings (when normal kids are at school or in bed and his dad’s shift hasn’t started yet) so he can play on the Good Swings and stuff.

Rose and Ray both have pretty well-paying jobs (Ray watches the radar for asteroids and stuff on the bridge, as well as being a photographer, and Rose reviews and translates station-wide communications as well as being a private music teacher). Their kids want for nothing, they have a nice house, they have enough credits in savings that they’re ready for pretty much anything.

So at the end of the month Rose browses the internal logs, looking for places to donate credits. Regular donations go to the orphaned kids, so they can go to school, and she’s been known to pay off bullshit fines (“a teenager played their music too loud in the park and now the parents are facing downsizing their unit size to pay for it? That’s bullshit!”)

She kind of stumbles on Reggie by accident, thinking someone messed up the age from 31 to 13 on Reassignment Job Board. (She’s a reviewer after all, she can send a quick message through Internal Comms and get it fixed before someone is reprimanded and loses credits for a typo.) Until she reads his profile and his answers and is horrified. She talks to Ray, and then to Julie and Carlos, and oops, guess they have a new son.

Carlos is stoked to have an older brother. Julie is kind of horrified to learn there are kids who don’t get to go to school at all because their parents don’t have the credits for it, so of course she says yes.

-As soon as Rose and Ray have convinced Reggie that no, they did not take him in as some kind of live-in butler or cleaning service, but as a kid, they sit him down with a Pad and get him to pick out some stuff that costs actual credits for the fabricator to make. Reggie is very concerned, so he sorts from lowest-price and works his way up until he balks at the amount of credits. (Which is... pretty much anything that isn’t the standard issue uniform but in like a nice colour.)

When Rose catches on, she tells the Pad to hide the prices, take out the ‘sort by price’ option, and take out anything that doesn’t fit into ‘budget - kids’. Then she hands the Pad back to Reggie and tells him to try again. He can still sort by colour and style and stuff, but he can’t see prices. If he hits his budget, the things that cost too much turn red.

(He only figures that out because he adds something he knows is really expensive, like a hoverboard, to his basket, just to see where the limits of this ‘budget’ lie. And is then very flustered because hoverboards are very very expensive, so he’s allowed to pick out a hoverboard plus like, seven sets of pants worth of stuff?)

In the end, he picks out a lot of black. Because it hides stains, unless you’re cleaning with bleach, and also it’s what the pilots wear as their uniform and pilots are really cool. Black jeans (Ray and Carlos are wearing jeans.) Black shirts. Black shoes. But then he stumbles on a very soft looking red plaid shirt, and there’s an option to have the fabricator make a square inch of test fabric for free. And it’s so very, very soft. He rubs the fabric between his fingers while he selects that shirt, and follows the ‘more like this’ links to several more items. A hoodie. Some pairs of thick socks. A little black leather bracelet, which feels like the height of luxury.

His room already has a non-standard issue bed, desk, and dresser, but Ray reassures him that he can pick something else and they can feed these to the fabricator to get back some of the credits if he doesn’t like them. (He does like them. They look like wood, and the mattress on the bed is so comfortable.) He picks out a thick blanket that’s fuzzy on the inside, and a lamp that looks like a floating moon, and then, because there’s still budget left, a little statue of a horse, just to have something to put on the dresser.

He picks out a nice soft green for his walls, with a picture of rolling plains with long grass and a forest to cover one wall. He and Carlos sit on his bed and watch as the nanobots convert the boring gray walls, and that’s pretty cool too.

-Yes he gets his own stocking and it’s full of fun things (Carlos is mad at his parents they got Reggie socks, but Reggie loves his new socks. They have little pizzas on them!). His favourite is the little cube that projects stars on his ceiling, though.

-Of course Rose and Ray get him a dog for Christmas. It’s been haunting Rose ever since she read his answer on the questionnaire. It’s the last present of the day, and when Reggie opens his eyes, he immediately starts crying.

Carlos is very worried that he picked the wrong puppy, but Reggie assures him these are good tears, even though he can’t stop crying. They end up in a family group hug for like an hour, the puppy crawling from lap to lap.

Reggie names him Cosmo and he’s all ready to get a part-time job to make sure he has enough credits to feed him until Rose says no, the dog is family too, you don’t need to worry about that, Reggie.

-Reggie gets to go to school and it’s kind of terrifying but also really interesting. His reading and writing classes are mostly with adults and older teens who are going through apprenticeships, so thankfully he’s not stuck with the four and five year olds like he was worried he’d be. His math classes are with other freshmen, since he’s needed numbers for his job and he already knows basic math.

He meets Luke and Alex and Bobby in math class, and Luke immediately grabs him to be their fourth on the little pod of tables, because he’s new and thus interesting and otherwise Nick might have asked to join their group.

-Reggie has no idea what’s supposed to be wrong with Nick. He seems nice. Later, Bobby whispers it’s because Luke is jealous of Nick because his crush likes Nick more than she likes Luke. Luke threatens to stab him with a stylus while Alex rolls his eyes and discusses the next question with Reggie.

-Reggie likes his new friends, even if he doesn’t always understand their references.

-Julie introduces Reggie to her friends as well. He and Flynn get along great, since she takes everything he knows and doesn’t know and says in stride. Flynn only sees Cool Opportunities to introduce him to stuff like ‘mixing 4 soda powders together before putting them in the hydrator’ and ‘hiphop’.

Carrie kind of scares him. She’s one of those people who has enough credits to shoot Reggie out of an airlock and still get away scot free, and sometimes she looks like she’s contemplating just that. She sometimes scoffs when he doesn’t know something or says something ignorant (or poor), but usually a glare for Julie or Flynn mellows her out.

But she’s also the first to absolutely destroy some jerk who tries to make fun of Reggie for not knowing how to read. And when she learns that the clothes Reggie is wearing are his first non-free fabricator clothes, she drags him and Julie and Flynn to something called a ‘thrift store’. It has stuff that either wasn’t fabricated at all, but was brought here from colonies or even Earth. It had stuff that was limited edition and thus couldn’t be fed back into the fabricator. And stuff that was donated by people who either didn’t need to feed stuff back into the fabricator, or for some reason didn’t want to. Lots of designers apparently donated their collections to the Thrift Store.

And yeah, Rose and Ray gave Reggie an allowance but it wasn’t like he had a lot saved up. And what he did, some part of him still thought he should hold on to, even though he was pretty convinced Rose and Ray weren’t sending him back.

To which Carrie scoffed and was like ‘please my dad won’t even notice if I buy out this whole store, we are getting you a statement piece and that is final’.

They have a great time trying on all kinds of weird and wonderful and silly clothes, though. Flynn and Julie make him wear a fuzzy neon orange bucket hat and try to convince Carrie that This Is It This Is His Statement Piece, until she threatens to buy it for him and he scrambles to convince her he was just joking. The way she laughs at him doesn’t feel mean, and he lets himself laugh too.

He ends up falling in love with an actual, real, non-fabricator leather jacket that fits him like a glove. He even loves the smell of it, real and earthy. Carrie refuses to let him see the price as she scans the tag and pays for it, and he thanks her over and over. He even, in his best penmanship, writes her a thank you note (which he’s seen Carlos and Julie do to their grandparents on a colony when they sent Christmas presents) and gives it to her at school the next day.

He pretends not to see her tear up, and she pretends not to notice he spelled her name wrong.

-Reggie tries to contact his mom through the messaging system but all his messages get denied. He’s worried she’s maybe in trouble, so one day he puts on his old standard issue uniform and sneaks into the kitchens, only to find that his mom doesn’t work there anymore. She got a better job, one of her old coworkers says, and has a nice unit for herself now. Last time he saw her, she was eating out wearing some nice non-standard issue clothing, having cocktails with her new friends.

He doesn’t try and find her after that. He goes to his room and uses some of his pocket money to make the room soundproof and cries and cries until he can’t cry anymore. And then lies to Rose when she comes home and says he just had a frustrating homework assignment.

Ray sits with him that night and helps him sound out his reading, and doesn’t comment when Reggie maybe leans in a little. He even wraps his arm around him, giving him a little squeeze and a ‘proud of you, mijo’ when he finishes the chapter.

-Rose teaches him piano, and in his music class, he learns guitar. Luke is incredibly excited about that, and will let him practice on Luke’s guitar for hours, helping him adjust his fingers and showing him chords.

-Later he switches to bass, because Luke has talked about wanting to start a band, and they don’t have a bass player yet. He likes the deep tones, and Rose and Ray get him a bass guitar for his birthday.

-Birthdays! Who knew there was more to them than a little free cupcake from the fabricator? Not Reggie!

#julie and the phantoms #reggie peters #the dystopian space station au #fanfic #I wrote a thing #not!fic #sci-fi #dystopias #make reggie a molina 2kalways #look it's another au I'm never going to write #I am not writing a thing

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