#RIP nay you boring flops

[innytoes]

Chaos! 20, Reggie x Flynn

Reggie wasn't sure what the big deal was, really. He'd worn a suit! To a red carpet! So what if it was the same suit he'd worn to the last three red carpets, the pretty red one with the butterflies. It was a good suit. His favourite, in fact.

Okay, so it was also his only suit. But nobody ragged on all the other male celebrities for wearing boring black tuxes at every event.

So why was he the one who became a meme? And why did the some of them have to be so mean about it? Luke had dragged him away from his computer before he could start a twitter fight with some youtuber who said butterflies were overrated. And that thinkpiece about Reggie re-wearing his suit because he'd grown up poor had hurt, okay? They'd even gone after his ripped skinny jeans. Those were cool! He could afford normal jeans if he wanted to!

The label hadn't been too amused by his 'guess I'll wear the red butterfly suit' meme. Even though the ones on tumblr were pretty funny. He especially liked the one of him photoshopped into disasters like the Titanic and Godzilla attacking LA.

"Just go meet with a stylist, dude," Luke said. Luke was one to talk. Stylists loved him and his stupid biceps and his stupid sleeveless shirts. Nobody ever called Luke poor for his ratty-ass shirts that didn't even have sleeves. Maybe if his knees were really swole, people would leave him alone about the skinny jeans.

"I don't want to," he whined, flopping over and putting his head in Alex' lap. Alex looked a little disgruntled, before sighing a little resigned 'okay' at him and petting his hair. Victory. "Stylists are mean. The last one tried to get me to give up my flannel. My flannel, guys!"

Alex looked down at him, putting on his Stern Face. "If you want the tiktok youths to stop bullying you, you gotta wear a different suit to the next event," he said. "It's a big one."

"But I like my red suit!" he whined some more. Alex always looked hot at red carpets, but he had ten-plus years of gay spite fueling his fashion decisions. "How am I ever gonna find something as cool as that? I don't want to show up in some boring-ass black and white tux because people can't understand sustainable fashion." That was what one of the nicer blogs had said. He was eco-friendly, okay, not poor or uninspired.

"What if you talk to a friend of mine?" Julie offered. "My friend Flynn is super fashionable, but she's not a professional stylist, she's a DJ. We always try to go shopping together for events."

Reggie thought about it. Nobody ever had something bad to say about Julie's outfits. She was always 'cool' and 'fresh' and a 'slay it queen'. "Fine," he pouted. "I'll meet your cool friend. But if she tries to take away my flannel, I'm running, I don't care if it's rude."

Julie rolled her eyes, leaning over to fist-bump him. "Deal."

Which was why, a week before their next red carpet, he got a text from an unknown number to meet him at a vintage store tucked away in a back alley somewhere. (Yes, he did check with Julie if it was her friend Flynn. He was a himbo, he wasn't an idiot.)

When he rounded the corner and saw what he assumed was Flynn standing there waiting for him, his first thought was 'wow, she really is fashionable'. His second thought, when she turned to look at him, was 'oh no, she's hot'.

His crush only grew throughout the day. Flynn was funny, and cool, and smart. She actually listened to what he had to say, and she totally agreed that his red butterfly suit was cool. She even suggested he wear something different to this event, and then wear the red suit the next time just as a big 'screw you' to the media.

He tried on a bunch of different stuff at the first store, Flynn yay-ing and nay-ing on some indecipherable scale that Reggie didn't understand. He did kind of like coming out of the dressing room and hearing her wolf-whistle at the red plaid suit, though. And if his face turned red to match when Flynn called him 'eye candy', well, all she did was wink at him.

They took a break after a few hours, getting cinnamon rolls and coffee at a local café. Flynn was so easy to talk to, Reggie could have stayed there for hours. They talked about fashion, but also music, and their childhoods. Flynn shared some incredibly funny stories about her and Julie that Reggie couldn't wait to bring up to her at some later point. Especially when she was ragging on them for being dumb.

The afternoon flew by as well. Especially when Flynn looked at him with a glint in her eyes and asked him what he thought about dresses. If the Fashion Police and the label were gonna drag him for being boring, that would be a great way to get them off his back.

Reggie had never felt prettier in his goddamn life, okay? The gown was floofy and flowly and huge, black with beautiful sparkles. The train was long and reminded him of storm clouds, rustling behind him. And it had a split at the front so he could show off 'those pretty gams of yours', as Flynn had joked. He was going to beat Alex at his own game. Hell, he was going to beat Julie. He was going to Win this red carpet.

Flynn even arranged for an Uber to meet them so Reggie could practice getting in and out of a car in it without flashing anyone or tripping on the train. He tipped the driver fifty bucks and sent her on her way. Once he was back in his ripped skinny jeans and flannel (which Flynn had said were fine, by the way, take that, stupid stylist), he met Flynn outside the store again.

"Okay, so just tell Julie to let you borrow her silver star necklace, and you should be good to go," Flynn said, checking her phone. They'd gotten shoes, found him a cool couple of rings and a bracelet, and discussed make-up. He had two new suits in a bag and the gown ready to be sent to his apartment after being steamed.

"I was thinking, maybe we could meet up some time?" Reggie asked, as they were saying their goodbyes. He didn't really want this day to end, but it was getting late and Flynn had plans.

"You need me to walk you through putting on the eyeliner?" Flynn asked, smiling.

"I was thinking more... dinner and a movie?" he said, trailing off hopefully. Flynn looked back at him, her mouth a surprised 'oh'. "If you don't- I'm sorry, if you're not interested that's cool, too, but I've never had as much fun clothes shopping as I did with you, and you're so cool and fun and funny and-"

"Dinner and a movie sounds great," Flynn said, cutting him off before he could list all the things that were great about Flynn.

A few months later, he was on the red carpet again, in his red and black butterfly suit, with the most beautiful woman in the world on his arm, wearing a matching black and red dress.

Suck it, Stylists.

[tehlaen]

Day 20: “Conclusions” (pt. 1 of 3)

Day 20 of the 30 Day Star Wars OC Challenge from @smuggler-captain that I’m doing with @lessdenied! Previous posts are tagged with #30dayswchallenge.

[tl;dr: Teh, age 21, closes the book on a particular chapter of her life.]

“Come see me.”

Teh’laen frowned as she turned the dirty sheet of flimsy over in her fingers. Somebody had paid a street kid to bring it to the Stormriders’ hangar and asked for the Twi’lek pilot by name. Even if the three-word message weren’t encrypted with a scheme known to precisely two people in the galaxy, she’d have recognized the elegant handwriting in an instant. She knew who sent it; what she couldn’t figure out was why. Teh’laen and Zi’eta hadn’t spoken in nearly a year, and the last words between them had not exactly been civil.

A long, weary sigh escaped her lips. The irritating voice in the back of her head was telling her that she owed Zi at least a conversation—and frankly quite a bit more if she were being uncharacteristically honest with herself—and her curiosity was undeniably piqued.

“Nay?” she called, and the sound of rushing water in her tiny quarters’ refresher shut off a couple seconds later. The Bothan stepped out of the shower and stood in the doorway, not having bothered with a towel, and Teh’laen’s lips curved up in a mischievous grin. Three long strides took her into the circle of his arms. The Lethan Twi’lek stood head and shoulders taller than the Bothan, and she leaned down to kiss the tip of his nose.

“I gotta go take care of somethin’,” she murmured. His hands started getting adventurous, and she playfully swatted at them. “Also, you’re dripping.”

His large yellow eyes searched her face. “Teh? Is everything alright?”

She shrugged, giving him another quick kiss. “No idea.”

“Alright. Just… be careful.”

Teh’laen acknowledged the warning with a small smile and let him go. Nalo watched her silently as she tugged on her boots and tied the holster of her blaster pistol down to her thigh. She blew him a kiss from the doorway, and it slid shut behind her.

Zi’eta’s apartment wasn’t far from the club where she worked in one of Nar Shaddaa’s wealthier—but no less disreputable—sectors. Teh’laen scanned the streets with narrowed eyes, and she muttered to her droid, “Essix? Keep an eye out for anything suspicious.”

The derisive response Essix blatted startled a laugh from her. “Okay, yeah, that’s a little ambiguous. Just, ya know. Be ready.”

He whistled an acknowledgement and shot skyward on his repulsors, zipping in a lazy circuit around the apartment block. Teh gave one last wary look about, then ducked inside.

The unwashed façade of the building stood in stark contrast to the tidy, well-maintained interior. Teh’laen stepped into the lift and was pleasantly surprised when  it proved to actually function. She snorted to herself. Gotta be the only working lift on this hemisphere.

Her thoughts raced in circles as she pondered the cryptic note. Her mind barely registered when the lift announced Zi’s floor, but her feet knew the way. They navigated her through the maze of corridors as if she’d been there just yesterday. By the time her awareness caught up to her physical location, she was standing in front of a familiar door, finger hanging in space scant centimeters from the doorcom.

She froze as an unusual mix of dread, anxiety and anticipation flooded her. Maybe I should just turn around. In the moment of distraction as she considered simply leaving, her curiosity and inherent impulsiveness seized control of her motor functions. Her finger stabbed the button with a vehemence.

Seventeen seconds passed. They gave her reluctance time to wrest control of her thoughts again. This was a mistake. In the space between her brain instructing her legs to simply say, “fuck it,” and them complying, the door slid open with a whisper.

Teh’laen and the shorter Twi’lek regarded one each other for a long moment, their features set in nearly identical, guarded expressions.

Teh broke the silence first. “You look good.”

And she did; Zi’eta always seemed to, even in a rumpled hoodie and too-small pajamas that Teh recognized instantly as Zi’s “laundry day” apparel. She fought to keep a smirk off her face. One of Teh’laen’s favorite ways to tease the otherwise-fastidious Zi had always been pointing out that the sweater-and-PJs combination had been balled up and shoved under her bed since the last time she’d done laundry. She’d never been able to figure out why the jibe unfailingly got a rise out of her then-girlfriend… but that never stopped her from teasing her about it.

Emerald eyes narrowed, and honey lips in a coral-skinned face twisted as they fought back a grin. “Shut up.”

“Didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it.” One narrow eyebrow arched, daring Teh’laen to deny it.

Teh grinned broadly. “Of course I was. Can I come in?”

Zi stood aside and beckoned Teh’laen inside with a lazy wave of the hand. Teh stepped inside, making a beeline for the sofa and flopping down bonelessly, the same way she’d done a hundred times. She refused to let herself think about the familiarity it implied—or how their “familiarity” had ended more than a year ago.

Zi’eta watched her through half-lidded eyes, then shrugged and sat cross-legged on a pile of pillows heaped in the middle of the floor.

Teh’s eyes wandered around the spacious apartment. “You redecorated.”

“Yeah.”

“Got bored?”

“Needed a change.”

Teh’laen ripped her eyes off the decor and focused on Zi. The two locked eyes and Teh peered intently at her ex, scrutinizing her expression and her words for hidden meaning. Zi stared back unwaveringly.

It was the orange-skinned Twi’lek’s turn to break the silence. “No Essix today?”

“He’s keeping an eye out for me.”

The corner of Zi’eta’s mouth twitched in a smile. “He’s a good boy.”

Teh snorted a laugh, then mirrored Zi’s tiny smile. “Yeah. He is. How’s work?”

“Good. You?”

“Same.”

“Great.”

“Yeah.” Teh let the word fade into the air, then she swung her legs down off the arm of the couch and sat upright. “So. The message. What’s going on, Zi?”

Zi’eta’s eyes fluttered closed, and her lips parted in a soft sigh. “I’ve got something for you.”

Teh’s lips parted, but before she could voice the question, Zi was already springing to her feet and moving purposefully into her bedroom. Violet eyes opened wide in bewildered surprise.

…What? Her mind replayed everything, from the note to her arrival to the guarded back-and-forth.  Sure, Zi had seemed happy enough to see her—and she had reached out to Teh; did this mean…? Was she supposed…?

Teh rose from her seat, her focus so intently locked on Zi’eta’s open bedroom door that she clipped her shin on the edge of the low cafe table. She cursed softly and reached down to rub the sore spot. She straightened up and took another two strides toward Zi’s room—

—and was brought up short by a near collision with the petite, graceful Twi’lek emerging from it.

Zi’eta craned her neck to peer up at Teh’laen and gave her a wry grin. “Throttle down, space jockey. You have grossly misread the situation.” Small, slender fingers closed around Teh’s wrist, gently rotating her palm to face upward. Zi’s other hand pressed something small, cool and circular into Teh’laen’s hand and closed the Lethan’s fingers around the object.

Curiosity won out over her desire to keep staring into those emerald orbs. Teh’laen tore her eyes away and opened her hand.

“What’s this?”

“A holodisc.”

Teh’laen looked back to Zi’eta and gave her a mock-glare. “Very helpful. I mean, what’s on it?”

The mirth left the other woman’s expression, and she cut her eyes down and away. “Just read it, alright?”

Teh’s eyes narrowed warily, but she reached into her jacket pocket for a datapad.  She slipped the holodisc into the slot on the side and sat down on the couch to read.

When she finished, the water for Zi’s tea had finished boiling, and the other Twi’lek emerged from the kitchen with the teapot and two cups. She set them on the low table, one in front of her place and one for Teh’laen.

“Zi. This…” The teapot froze in the air, tilted to pour. “I told you about this— I mean, we broke up— It’s been over a year, Zi. I didn’t think you’d…” Teh’laen trailed off and swallowed hard around the lump in her throat.

Her green eyes remained locked on the teacup as she poured with a trembling hand. Zi’eta filled Teh’s cup, then her own. Teh suspected she was stalling to collect her thoughts; she didn’t begrudge her ex that pause, especially since she didn’t know what she thought herself.

The teapot thunked heavily on the tabletop, and the thud sloshed tea over the lip of her cup. Teh’laen stared at the spill, and when she looked up, Zi was watching her face with a piercing stare. “Teh’laen… Just because someone’s gone, doesn’t mean they stop mattering to you.”