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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years ago

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I’m not sure if you have something planned for this already but wouldn’t it be the height of irony if Tooley got monched on by a starved Chris when he forgot to drug him? Just opens the door and whoops! He eaten!

CW: Whumper death, drunkenness, some dehumanization, blood drinking, bit of gore, vampirism, some very light catholicism

New York City, 1936

KING EDWARD VIII ABDICATES THRONE British Monarch to Wed American Socialite Wallis Simpson

Tooley kicks at the sodden, half-frozen newspaper stuck to his shoe, grunting with the effort it takes to dislodge it. His hands are buried deep in the pockets of his thick woolen coat, and he ignores the envious stares of others whose threadbare outfits are patched, whose gloves are little more than rags wrapped around their not-quite-frostbitten fingers.

Instead, he pulls his scarf up higher, tucks his chin beneath its knitted warmth, and finally manages to send the scrap of paper with its water-stained black-and-white image of a stern-faced soon-to-be ex-king and his Baltimore lover into the street, where it sticks in a puddle and soaks clean through.

The old-timers say a heavy rain is coming, citing their aching joints and bones. It's been a wet winter already, and the absolute last thing New York needs is more rain.

Tooley plans to be holed up in his nice warm little house for the whole of it. He's sold three paintings in a month, and he can spend the next few weeks on the next one until his hands want to drop right off his wrists without having to distract himself with petty concerns like money.

The liquor bubbles warm inside him, and even with the frigid air he's broken a sweat along his back, trickling to his waistband, almost a tickle. He stumbles a little, catches himself, coughs out a laugh as the cold air burns deep into his lungs. It can't penetrate the hazy heat of the drink, though.

Mel's always has the best whiskey, and Tooley has the green these days to pay for the very best indeed. He's spent what might be a whole month's pay - if he weren't the luckiest artist in New York - in a single night.

You might say he's made a deal with the devil.

He pulls the brim of his fedora down, shielding his brow from the bit of freezing moisture speckling his cheeks. He struggles not to giggle like a child.

"Got a bit to spare for a hungry man?" A rasping voice calls out from an alley as he passes. "Help me feed my family, sir? I'm out of work, sir! Got three little ones with hungry bellies!"

Tooley ignores him.

There are crowds like that everywhere these days, always pressing for help, for a little something more and more and more. Men out of work, men in bread lines, women with tired faces and sad children. He's had just about enough of it.

They're calling it a depression, and he finds the term apt enough, considering it seems the whole country's been tumbled into a hole and can't find its way out.

He'd take his muse to Europe and paint there if it weren't for the echoing tension that bleeds over across the sea. Every nation he's idolized for their arts is trying to posture at each other. Rattling sabers while the people sigh heavily and keep washing their laundry, like always.

Tooley was a child when the Great War tore his own family apart - losing an older half-brother to the pointless trenches, a father to the mustard gas that ate his lungs to pieces, a mother to her desperate, sharp grief at her husband and stepson's loss.

The War had rendered him alone in the world before he was even twenty, though he'd been too young to hardly understand it and it had had nothing to do with him.

Wars were for rich men to send poor men to fight in, and Tooley is hoping to have enough wealth to maybe just float right past a new one, if the rumors beginning to swirl came true and Europe is going to erupt. Surely, though, no one would let a second war as horrible as the last happen.

Surely not.

Still, even so, he can simply disappear if they try to call him up to fight. He has no one left to lose, after all. No one to fight for, no one to care for. No one but his pretty little model, all locked away, his to keep.

Tooley takes a sharp left and the streets begin to change from the harsher gray of the city proper into neighborhoods, houses crammed tightly together. It's not the best part of town - Tooley's parents weren't the wealthiest, and he doesn't live like a gentleman, he's got no need to, it's not how he thinks a proper artist should live anyway. Have to keep up the image of the nearly-starving creative genius, after all.

There are still lights in some windows, despite the late hour. Tooley isn't the only one drunk at midnight and still moving.

It's a mile or so from the start of his street to where his house is nestled between two others, close enough he could reach out his kitchen window and touch the brick of the home next door. He smiles a little. His nose aches with the cold at the tip of it, but that's nothing to worry himself over.

He's home.

It takes him four tries to unlock his front door, the key jabbing into wood and brass too far to one side or the other. He laughs, breath puffing white clouds into the air, his ears burning with the cold where his hat doesn't quite cover them.

Good thing he's not with a woman, tonight, if his aim's so bad with just his hands.

The thought makes him laugh harder, nearly a guffaw, loud enough that he's sure he's woken a neighbor or two. It's not the first time.

Finally, the key slides home and the lock clicks and Tooley moves inside. The house is chilled in the entryroom, but as he slides his coat and fedora off to leave them on the coat rack and moves into the kitchen, towards the back, he can feel the warmth slowly trickling from the ticking radiators along the walls.

He's due for a coal delivery in the next couple of days, and boy, he's going to need it with the weather the way it's been.

Tooley heads for his perfect little secret, the vampire held in the backroom, once a sort of servant's bedroom for some family that had owned the home even before his own parents did. It's his studio, now, and the place where the little vampire boy is kept.

He unlocks that door, too. A key, a deadbolt, a little sliding lock at the top for added safety.

"Here, kitty kitty kitty," He slurs, and laughs again, delighted at his own little joke.

There's a scrape and a rustle, and Tooley steps back to let the vampire boy move forward, out of the freezing unheated room - Tooley only turns the radiator on in there when he himself is working, it's not like dead things care about being warm after all - and into the kitchen proper, with its little two-person table.

The boy is looking dirty - he's due for a bath, long overdue honestly. Good things he doesn't sweat enough to stink.

His hair hangs lank in his eyes, closer to dark copper than the new-penny shine Tooley prefers. There are smudges along his cheeks, marring his perfect freckles. He's draped in a sweater patched badly where his elbows have worn holes right through, pants that are tied with a rope since Tooley sure isn't going to waste money on a belt for a corpse.

"Is, did, did you, um, did you bring me food?" The vampire boy looks up at him, eyes glinting a little in the dimness, that unsettling cat-like glow-in-the-dark effect. His little fangs flash, too. "I'm... I'm, I'm hungry, Tooley."

"I know you are, bloodsucker."

"It's, it's been, um, it's been weeks, Tooley-"

"I know, I know. Shut your trap." Tooley ruffles his hair, then pulls his hand back with a grimace as he remembers how dirty and greasy it's gotten, walking away to go to the sink and wash his hands. "We'll get t'that. I met with someone very important at th' bar tonight, and first things first, you and I are going to celebrate."

The boy moves slowly, staying half-crouched - he's been hit before, when Tooley didn't want him to stand all the way up. He settles himself against the wall, head tilted to the side. His cheekbones cut sharp angles in his face, edging down to his narrow chin.

Those big green eyes follow Tooley everywhere he goes.

"Celebrate what?" He asks, and Tooley wonders just how old the ridiculous little thing is. He'd said early aughts, hadn't he, on when he was turned? So he'd be, what, in his forties really?

Funny.

Was he locked up during the Great War?

He's still a pretty teenager, but he's probably closing in on fifty. Tooley's twenty-some years younger and looks infinitely older, in his own estimation.

Tooley should look into vampirism, seems an excellent way to hold onto your looks, doesn't it? He wonders if the boy knows how to turn him. They could make beautiful work forever...

Hm.

Something to ruminate over when he's hungover in the morning.

"New commission. I'm taking a few weeks off, give us both a break, but I've got the basic details. I'll pick up a broad, get her all set up for modeling, we'll make us a mint, sweetheart." He moves to the counter, picking up the half-full bottle of gin he keeps there, taking a swig and grimacing, coughing. There's a rattle in his lungs these days he doesn't like much.

"You'll, you'll kill her?" The vampire watches him. He looks hungry, with all those sharp lines emphasized, as though he were a painting himself still in progress, with the outline still written in graphite showing through the colors. He's pale, painted in wash, not yet turned to vivid velvet intensity with oils.

"'Course. You think any of my models would stay alive anywhere near you?" He laughs at the very idea, missing the vampire's little flinch as he turns away. He pulls a loaf of bread from the breadbox, already starting to stale but that's all right, he's going to toast it over the stove anyway. The world swims around him from the liquor, and he catches the counter with one hand to keep himself upright.

The feeling brings another laugh out of him.

The little vampire smiles faintly in echo of it. He has to work to get the stove to gas, narrowing his eyes as it struggles, sputters, before finally a little flame flares up. Just enough to give off a little heat for the toast.

"Fuck. Drank too much. Or not enough." He laughs again, and pulls a knife from the knifeblock, the sharp serrated thin blade best for slicing through the heavy sourdough he buys from a woman down the block. Bit of toast, pat of salted butter, that'll get him through to morning when he can head down for eggs and bacon at Paulie's diner.

Maybe he'll even buy some extra for the hungry men who hound around the doors. He can be a philanthropist.

As he slices, the knife slips off the stale, hard crust and cuts right through the back of his hand, a long line immediately welling with bright red blood. He groans, irritated, and sets the knife down, turning to run cold water over it as the pain flares bright, but slightly muted from his drunkenness.

There's a rustle behind him, and Tooley's mind only belatedly begins to allow alarm to trickle through the warm fuzz of the gin and whiskey. He slowly turns around.

Where the vampire boy had been curled against the wall, a bundle of skinny bones and too-big clothes, there's... nothing.

Tooley glances to one side and sees the boy crouched on the floor by the edge of the lower cabinets, his hands pressed into the ground. He moved five feet in less than a second.

His eyes are flared, wide and with pupils burying the iris in black. He clicks, softly, tongue against teeth in an inhuman way.

Click-click-click-click.

click-click-click.

How'd he move so fast?

"Shit," Tooley whispers. "When's the last time I fed you?"

The vampire doesn't answer, only stares, unblinking, muscles tensing and relaxing, tensing and relaxing. He clicks again.

His lips pull back from his teeth and those fangs that seem so cute and little on every other day suddenly look long, like daggers, dripping a shimmering venom to the ground.

Tooley tries not to blink, too, but his eyes dry and dry and dry and eventually he can't help it. His eyes close, a fraction of a second, and flare open right away.

Not fast enough.

The vampire leaps and Tooley grunts at the impact of the small bony body against his own, his lower back smacking into the line of the counter with a flash of pain. The bread and knife both clatter to the ground.

Panic comes, but it doesn't help. He's still groping to get at another knife when the vampire's fingernails dig into his scalp, grip into his hair and jerk his head to the side to bare his throat.

"Hungry," The vampire boy hisses. "Hungry, Tooley. Hungry."

"I-I know, just, just don't blow your wig, gimmee a minute, I can get you something, just hold on-" Tooley's voice is thin from the harsh angle his neck is being held at, and he swallows, seeing in a bleary haze the way the vampire's huge eyes are focused on the movement of his adam's apple, the bob of his throat.

Can he see the blood pulsing there?

He puts his hands up against the vampire's chest to try and push him off, but it's like pushing against rock. He thinks about painting the vampire as a kind of young Prometheus for a dandy from Boston, tied naked to a rock to be pecked at by eagles, and wonders if the mythological man ever tried to push the rock itself, and if it failed as miserably for him as it does for Tooley now.

"There's blood in the shed out back, just let me go and I'll grab it for you." He pitches his voice soothing and slightly patronizing, like speaking to a whining dog. "Okay, kitten? Just two minutes and you'll be fed, right as rain."

The vampire pauses, hesitates, and Tooley feels his hands working at Tooley's hair and one shoulder, like a cat kneading into your lap before they settle. His little stray. His breathing starts to ease, his heart to slow down, the first rush of panic subsiding.

The world still spins a little, but the rush of adrenaline is settling things into something more solid, wiping away the liquor.

"I'll put you back in your room and go get it for you, it's right outside, good and cold," Tooley coos, and realizes too late it isn't what he should have said.

"There's blood right here, and and and, and, and it's living," The vampire boy says, eyes wide and inhuman, and he's absolutely gorgeous. "Your, your, yours is hot."

Tooley would paint him like this, all feral instinct overwriting the living corpse of an anonymous Irish immigrant who died dozens of years ago. A metaphor, maybe, for the way some of the children who come here lose all their European culture and get boorishly American, and-

The vampire bites down, and all thoughts of art and culture flee from Tooley's mind.

The liquor holds off the pain so long the venom hits before he even feels the way those sharp teeth have breached his skin. He goes limp, dropping in a heap to the floor. He thinks he hits his head on the loaf of bread before it knocks into the floor.

They feel about the same level of hardness.

The knife is right next to his head, lying there, shining in the yellowed lamplight, with its carved wooden handle.

All he has to do is move his hand a few inches to reach it.

Just a few inches.

He tries, desperately, to tell his fingers where to go.

The vampire sucks hard at the wound in his neck, pulling blood from his veins like a man drinking an egg cream after a long hot day's work, and Tooley groans. He can feel the press and pull without the pain, and it's the strangest thing he's ever felt. Stranger than those he's gone to bed with.

The venom makes his limbs feel like stones, weighed down to motionless. He struggles even to swallow saliva, to take a deep breath. His heart never races again with panic. He isn't able to feel it any longer.

Those sharp little fingernails dig hard into his shoulders, the weight of the vampire settled on him, straddling him. A little flirty thought - at least buy me dinner first - makes its way across his mind, barely coherent, slow as molasses.

The vampire starts up his soft rumble, the vibration filtering in through into Tooley's body. It seems like it makes him feel even more frozen, heavy as the ocean and weightless at once.

His eyes are on the ceiling, and he realizes how long it's been since anyone cleaned the corners where cobwebs have grown and grown. They need swept away.

Funny how he never noticed before. Too busy with his art.

There's a moment where Tooley is surprised to look down at himself, as if he's floating somewhere near the ceiling staring down at his own open eyes. When he needed not to blink, he couldn't stop himself, but now the body he is looking at just stares and stares and stares, unseeing, unblinking, unbreathing-

Oh.

As soon as the realization hits, Tooley's awareness of himself as a body he can observe is gone.

There is darkness, and then a point of terrible final light. He feels the grasping of bloodied hands.

And he's gone.

The vampire drinks until the blood stops pumping, until the heart beneath his kneading hand is still. Then a rough tongue laps at the wounds, finding the last few droplets there that still sing with life.

The vampire pulls back, skin flush with life, no longer white as snow. His freckles stand out, scattered like constellations of stars over his skin. The dead man beneath him has all the paleness he had before, they are switched, swapped death for life.

He wipes the blood from around his mouth and looks slowly upwards, breathing in deep gulps he doesn't need but which feel so, so good.

He moves to the stove, to turn it off, but he doesn't quite turn it off all the way. An odd smell fills his nose and the vampire's nostrils wrinkle, but he doesn't know what the scent is, and he simply pulls Tooley's coat on before he leaves, door unlocked.

A few minutes later, a man with his hands over a barrel fire looks up to see a redheaded teenager in a woolen coat far too large for him move under a streetlamp, pausing to look up at it as if surprised by how bright its light is.

He blinks, and the man squints.

The young man's mouth is open, as if scenting the air by letting it roll over his tongue. Before the man can quite understand what he is looking at, the boy's mouth closes and he turns to look at the man. As his eyes shift from being lit by the lamp to draped in shadow, though...

They glow.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," The man whispers, crossing himself hurriedly. "Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle, b-be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil-"

The boy looks right at him, head tilted. The flames of the barrel flicker, hissing a little when raindrops start to fall. His lips pull back from his teeth and there are an animal's fangs there, plain as day.

The man feels pure horror at the sight of a demon walking free and unfettered in New York City. He grabs at the cross he wears around his neck and holds it out, his voice trembling. "May G-God... rebuke him, we humbly pray-"

"I, I, I hope that works for you," The boy says, and his voice is soft, and there's almost a lilt of the old country there that the man recognizes, not quite his own but not far off. "It never d-did for, um, for me. Don't worry. I'm... I'm full. You're, you're, you're in no danger from me. When, when, when, when... when did you come here? To this place?"

The man swallows around a lump in his throat, and yet he finds himself compelled to answer honestly. "Two years past, give or take. Came with m'wife and baby girl."

"From where?"

"... Kerry," He says, against his will. He can't seem to hold back the words. "And my wife grew up in County Cork."

The boy smiles, and his horrid teeth disappear when his lips press together. He looks for all the world like any other young man, a bit skinny perhaps and in need of a good meal or three, but no danger to anyone.

But the man has seen the demon that he is, and he finds himself grateful for the fire between them and the cross still in his hand, the shield of St. Michael and the cloak of Christ Himself.

"My, my, my, my parents were from County Cork," The demon boy says, lightly. His lilt is slightly stronger. "Wonder if we're cousins, your your wife and I. Maybe so. Stay home, um, after dark. Don't, don't, don't work when the sun is, um, is down."

The boy turns and walks away.

The man realizes with a start that in the midst of a chilly December night, the boy's feet are utterly bare. He steps over ice like he could walk on water.

There was blood smeared on the back of his coat.

The man flinches as he hears a sudden boom, close enough that he feels it in his chest as well as hearing the sound. A moment later a woman runs by shouting that a house has caught flame, to call for help.

The man looks back at the way the boy went.

He's gone.

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

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pendragonsandbuckleys · 3 years ago

Text

Reclaiming that broken youth.

Summary: Michael had made it his mission to relive a small piece of the past with Alex. First he tried with the rings, two chunky black and silver things that he’d claimed had been left at the junkyard during his one of his shifts. Alex had simply joked that they weren’t his style anymore and left it at that.

The eyeliner had been a much harder sell and still Alex had refused.

And now, as he was ambling his way up the driveway, he was starting to think that maybe his third attempt would not be so lucky.

aka. Michael convinces Alex to let him dye his hair.

Word Count: 4,949

[Also on AO3]

Was it embarrassing the number of excuses he’d found to come and see Alex? Yes.

Was he going to stop anytime soon? Not likely.

Nostalgia had been rearing its ugly head again leaving him craving a time long since passed and he’d been coming up with whatever reason he could to justify seeing Alex. Going to his house, or the Project Shepard bunker, or the Crashdown where he just happened to bump into him.

The photo of the two of them had been moved from the cardboard box to the desk along with the few other pictures he treasured of Max and Isobel - he couldn’t make it too obvious after all. But seeing the two of them together like that often made him miss what they used to have. Things were so much simpler back then, until they weren’t.

The problem with nostalgia though was that the feelings weren’t real. They were an echo of what used to be that tended to leave an uncomfortable emptiness the longer you thought about it.

That time had passed and there was no getting it back. Unless?

Surely they didn’t need to be seventeen again to get that feeling back. That soft, carefree feeling that used to settle on their skin as they kissed in the desert.

That’s why he had made it his mission to relive a small piece of the past with Alex. First he tried with the rings, two chunky black and silver things that he’d claimed had been left at the junkyard during one of his shifts. Alex had simply joked that they weren’t his style anymore and left it at that.

The eyeliner had been a much harder sell and still Alex had refused.

And now, as he was ambling his way up the driveway, he was starting to think that maybe his third attempt would not be so lucky.

Three quick taps on the wood brought Alex to the door and he was so focused on the sight of him that Michael barely noticed the smile it brought to his own face. He was in full casual wear, t-shirt, jogging bottoms, matching bed hair sticking up in a perfect mess.

“Hey.” Alex welcomed him with a bright smile. If he was at all surprised to see Michael on his doorstep on an early Saturday morning with absolutely no warning, he hid it very well. His eyes darted over to see where the truck had been parked comfortably on the driveway, before flitting back to Michael.

“I thought we could have some fun.” Michael spoke with a smirk, forgoing any formal greeting, eyes already glistening with mischief. And oh how differently that sentence would have been taken when they were seventeen.

Alex was about to step aside without hesitation when he noticed the box held gently in Michael’s grip. He eyed it warily, already sensing the reasoning for the visit. “What is that?”

“Fun!”

“Um no, I believe that’s called hair dye.”

“Just hear me out.” Michael grinned as he confidently side-stepped his way through the doorway and into the house. “We haven’t hung out properly in a while and we both have the day off…”

Alex shook his head as he pushed the door closed behind him and followed Michael towards the living room. He never would have denied Michael entry, but there was something about him making himself at home that gave Alex a warm feeling in his chest. “See, you keep saying we but I don’t see a box of dye for your hair anywhere.”

“Yeah, well I never had an emo phase, did I?”

“The important word there being phase.” Alex crossed his arms against his chest as he peered down at Michael’s hands again. It was a white box with a bunch of writing on it, but the guy on the front was very clearly modelling the black dye inside. “You know I never actually used to dye my hair back then, right?”

Michael shrugged and waved his hand in the air as if to say whatever, we’re doing it anyway and handed the box over for Alex to get a better look. “You vetoed my other options so I’m stepping up my game.”

Alex watched him closely, noting how he squirmed slightly under his gaze. At first, when Michael had started dropping by a few weeks ago, always at odd hours, always unannounced, Alex had been worried. The ‘hanging out’ excuse could easily have been a guise, an easy escape from any problems he was avoiding and Alex didn’t know how long was best to let Michael hide from whatever was going on.

But seeing him now, wide eyes filled with an innocent sort of playfulness, it looked like Michael really did just want to spend time with him. Even if he did have the most random idea for a pass time. “Why are you so desperate for me to dress all emo again?”

“For…fun?”

Alex chewed his bottom lip to hide the small smile threatening to emerge. “I’m only off work for a week, you know.”

“That’s why it’s temporary.” Michael turned the box around in Alex’s hand and tapped at the words printed clearly on the back. “Three washes and it’s gone.”

“You’ve got an answer for everything, haven’t you?”

Michael wasted no time in getting them set up. He grabbed a spare plastic bowl from the kitchen cupboard, an old towel that Alex didn’t care about dirtying and set Alex’s shower stool in front of the large bathroom mirror.

He should have been embarrassed by how excited he was getting, but he was far too busy being filled with said excitement to care. Against all odds, Alex had actually agreed to do this with very little persuasion required and there was no way he was letting him change his mind.

Alex didn’t interrupt as Michael rummaged his way around the house, finding what he needed and he certainly didn’t show his bemusement at how Michael seemed to know exactly where everything was. And once everything was ready, he took his place in the designated seat, strangely nervous at the thought of Michael dyeing his hair.

Though maybe it wasn’t nerves. He certainly had butterflies, though it could be from the thought of engaging in this teenage sleepover-esque activity. For the boy he liked to come over to his house and willingly run his fingers through his hair for the next hour? Seventeen year old Alex would have done anything for this.

“Right, tell me what to do.” Michael said as he pulled the instructions from the box and handed them to Alex before emptying the rest of the contents next to the sink. He’d probably end up doing it his own way, but he just wanted to give Alex an excuse to stop staring at him as he worked.

As Alex unravelled the instructions a small packet of gloves fell out onto his lap. They didn’t look the sturdiest but it was better than nothing. “There’s the gloves so make sure you wear them,” he said as he placed them next to the bowl.

He gave a quick skim read of the words to get a general idea of what do. There was a lot of writing and he doubted Michael would be patient for long enough to get through it all. “Oh okay, this sounds pretty easy, literally just brush it evenly through my hair.”

Michael nodded distractedly as he carefully fiddled with the lid of the tube. The room wasn’t exactly big and he’d already elbowed a wall with one arm and knocked the empty bowl to the floor with the other. Tripping over the towel had been an added bonus that Alex had enjoyed far too much. He had no idea where this clumsiness had suddenly come from, but now he was being extra careful with everything.

“Put it in gently. We don’t want it going everywhere.” Alex instructed him as he squeezed the dye into the bowl. The coal-black cream squelched as it left the tube and a small drop splattered onto the white tile wall which Michael hastily wiped with the back of his hand. It smeared across the wall at first until he managed to clean it all off.

With everything set up, he clamped Alex’s towel covered shoulders and beamed at him through the mirror’s reflection. “You ready?”

“Go for it.” Alex rolled his eyes at the enthusiasm radiating off Michael. Yep, he definitely felt like a teenager right now.

Michael started out slow. The dye was cool against his fingers as he scooped a blob into his palm. He knew Alex would be able to wash it out almost instantly if it ended up looking terrible, but still, he didn’t want to get it wrong.

He took a breath before reaching for Alex’s hair. Only now did it click just how intimate this activity was for two people who had barely done more than stand a few feet away from each other recently. He thought it would be a bit of fun, getting Alex to dress up in his old high school persona that they both used to love. But now, with the dye in his hand, he realised that meant running his fingers through Alex’s hair. An action that he used to love whenever they kissed. The smooth strands under his fingertips, pulling him closer when he could no longer control his urges.

But they were friends now. And friends dyed each other’s hair, right? Friends helped each other put on makeup or decided outfits if one was going on a date, so doing each other’s hair was no different from all of that.

The strands of hair slid across his palm easily, turning from dark brown to black with a single touch. It felt just as soft as it did ten years ago.

The room was silent as he worked save for Michael’s movements and the occasional hmm from Alex. Michael wasn’t sure if Alex realised that he was making the little noises but he was just glad he was finding it relaxing. The casual glances over Alex’s head and into the mirror showed that his eyes were closed, his lips curled into a small smile.

Michael was surprised by how much he was enjoying it himself. He was used to working with his hands all day, but this was different. Working on the cars was methodical, a heavy-handed muscle memory from years of experience, but this? This was gentle, personal.

It took about as long as would be expected to cover hair of Alex’s length and as Michael moved to the front so he could finish up the fringe, Alex opened his eyes to watch him work, “So really, what’s with all the emo stuff?”

Michael avoided the eye contact as he concentrated on turning the remaining brown into black. How could he explain that he was feeling nostalgic without it sounding sappy?

“It’s probably just some misguided attempt at reclaiming my youth.” He answered as he scooped more dye onto his fingers.

“Okay, but it seems more like we’re reclaiming my youth.”

“Yeah, well, this part of your youth was the best part of mine.” Michael replied without thinking, feeling the heat instantly rise up his cheeks at the honest answer.

The mortification was written so clear on his face that Alex forced himself to hold back a chuckle. They were still working on getting that openness back to their friendship, so for it to come out so easily every now and then was a nice step in the right direction.

“I actually always wanted to dye my hair back then.” Alex spoke up, steering into a new conversation to save Michael’s embarrassment. “It seemed like the next logical step for my fashion choice.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“Getting the eyeliner passed dad was enough of a challenge and even then it was something I could take off pretty instantly if need be. I think the dye would have been too much of a risk.”

Michael felt a pang of sympathy for all Alex had to endure back then, he’d seen it firsthand several times all the way up until Jesse Manes’ death after all. But no. They weren’t going to dwell on that today. If they were reclaiming their youth then all unwanted memories were unwelcome and henceforth banned from all thoughts.

He nudged Alex’s shoulder playfully as he moved back to the bowl. “And you didn’t have an expert hairdresser to do it for you.”

“That too.” Alex laughed, rolling his eyes as he heard the sound of yet another blob of dye dropping to the floor, “Though I didn’t expect my hairdresser to get it everywhere but my hair.”

Michael gritted his teeth with a frown as he looked down at the small black splatter, a glaringly obvious stain against the white. “Hey, that’s only the third time.”

He ran his hands through Alex’s hair for the last time, being careful to check that every strand was covered. The dye had already started doing its job beautifully and emo Alex was very much taking hold.

It was as he was stepping back to inspect his finished work did he notice just how much of a mess he’d actually made, sheepishly pointing out to Alex that there was some on the edge of the sink, a few blobs in the shower and it was on the wall in about four different places.

“How the hell did it get there, I didn’t even go near that wall.” Michael exclaimed, utterly confounded at the mess he’d managed to create. Had he been in his own head so much that his hands had taken on a life of their own?

“It’s fine,” Alex laughed fondly as he nudged the bin closer with his foot. “Just put the gloves in there before you touch anything else.”

“…wait, there were gloves?”

Alex turned around this time to look at Michael properly. He hadn’t noticed the lack of gloves on the hands in his hair, but looking at them now he could see they were completely covered not by the plastic, but by a creamy black gunk. Michael had a mischievous look on his face, tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek as he tried not to snigger and Alex could feel himself doing the same. “What is the first thing I said to you?”

“Put it in gently?”

They couldn’t hold back their laughter. Scrubbing his hands removed all but the faint grey tint now dyed into his skin, but Michael didn’t care. Maybe it was all the dye fumes, but it felt like he was on a weird kind of high. Here they were, two boys giggling away like they’d been caught making out in the supply closet at school and in that moment everything felt right with the world.

Leaning back against the sink Michael crossed his arms as he admired Alex’s hair from the front. Even slicked back against his head it was looking good but they still had twenty minutes to fill before it was ready. “So, what should we do while we wait?”

Alex slyly leant over to the bowl, still filled a quarter of the way with leftover dye and waggled his eyebrows impishly at the horrified look Michael was now giving him. “Come on Guerin, it washes out.”

It really was quite a small bathroom with nowhere to run so as Alex stood up to get closer, Michael backed away so much he practically fell into the shower. The laughter returned as he tried to hide as much of his hair as he could with his arms. “Nope. These curls are sacred and there’s no way you’re turning them black. The most you’d ever get on me is the eyeliner.”

Alex gasped gleefully, eyes wide with excitement as he watched it dawn on Michael what he’d just said. He opened the bathroom cabinet and there, at the back of the bottom shelf, was Michael’s latest gift to him. Still unused, he’d only kept it for sentimental reasons, a fond reminder of his past self, but now Michael had no excuse.

“Take a seat.” Alex batted his eyelids innocently as he gestured to the stool he had vacated and Michael had no choice but to comply. He always found it hard to deny Alex anything, but right now, he’d do anything to keep that joy in his eyes.

Alex hadn’t used eyeliner in over ten years. At age seventeen it had taken him weeks to perfect the art without smudging it or poking himself in the eye and when he first joined the military he often missed the soothing action of it. But now, a decade on, he still held the pencil with the hands of someone who would never forget how to use it.

Michael looked up at him expectantly from the seat, a slight tingling rushing through him as Alex held his chin to tilt it upwards. He’d never worn any kind of makeup before, never really had the urge to, but there was always a first time for everything.

There was something quite sexy about Alex knowing exactly what to do, telling him when to look up, when to blink, pressing the pencil down just enough to leave the colour on his skin, but not too soft that it tickled. His hands were very gentle as they held Michael’s face and he felt his mind wandering as he let Alex work.

“Guerin, stay still or it’s going in your eye.” Alex admonished lightly, tongue poking out as he concentrated. He was surprised by how steady his hand was being and he didn’t want to mess it up now.

He gave a few more strokes before stepping away, tapping the pencil against his chin as he admired his work with a grin. An eyeliner-wearing Michael was never a look he’d imagined before, but it sure was a look he was appreciating. It was a subtle change, but one that made Alex want to dress him in a leather jacket and start a rock band with him. “All done.”

Mourning the loss of Alex’s touch, Michael sighed as he got to his feet, knees popping as he stood up and leaned in close to the mirror.

He looked…different. Not a bad different, maybe even a good different. It made his eyes seem brighter and his lashes look darker and the longer he looked in the mirror the wider he could see Alex’s smile getting.

“Alright, I’ll give you this one. It doesn’t look too bad.”

“Right!” Alex was practically giddy as he stepped closer to look at Michael’s eyes through the mirror. Their hands brushed lightly as they both leaned against the sink. “I didn’t think it would look this good, but now I’m starting to wish you’d had this look in high school.”

Michael turned to face him then, bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes roamed over Alex’s face. Maybe this whole nostalgia thing wasn’t so bad when you had someone to share it with.

He grabbed the eyeliner from Alex’s hand before he could be stopped and held it above his head with an eager grin as if Alex couldn’t reach it easily. “Your turn.”

Michael had been banished to the sofa while Alex washed out the dye. He’d willingly volunteered to help but Alex wanted the finished look to be a surprise. Not that he could blame him. If it looked terrible at least it would give Alex the chance to kick Michael out of the house before he even saw it.

Not that that would actually happen, Michael had done an excellent job and the finished article would prove just that, thank you very much.

The muffled noise of the shower turning on and off filtered through the walls as he peered around the room. He’d seen the inside of Alex’s house enough times now to know the layout but not enough to know its contents.

The colourful spines of the neat pile of books stood out against the brown of the table they were sitting on. Their titles were too small to read from across the room but it made Michael wonder what kind of books Alex read now. He’d never thought to ask in all the time he’d been back in Roswell. Did he still read fantasy books like the ones Michael used to see him get lost in for hours at a time? Or were they non-fiction, filled with facts about a world that Alex had always longed to explore.

There were a few plants dotted around the room which Michael was nerdy enough to know the names of. They weren’t the type that required much watering though Michael could almost picture a green-thumbed Alex taking care to provide them what they needed.

But taking up most of the space was a whole range of musical items. A turntable alongside a crowded box of records, because of course that’s how Alex liked to listen to his music. A pair of speakers on either of side of his keyboard, a thick black pair of headphones sitting atop the black and white keys. And guitars. So many guitars.

I mean come on, four of them in one room? Alex was practically begging him to pick one up.

Three of them were next to the keyboard, held neatly on their individual stands, but it was the guitar standing alone that caught his attention. It was leaning almost precariously against the wall, looking like it could slide to the floor at the smallest touch but he had a feeling it had been there for a while. It was the one Alex had tried to gift to him all those months ago, after all.

Before he could stop himself, he pushed off the sofa and edged towards the guitar. Its case had been unzipped just enough at the top to show the dark brown wood poking through and Michael didn’t hesitate to unzip it the rest of the way.

Plucking a few of the strings made Michael wonder if maybe Alex had played it recently. It seemed to be perfectly in tune. It had been a little while now since he’d held a guitar, let alone played one, but this one seemed to fit so naturally in his hands.

The faint whirring of the hair dryer could now be heard through the bedroom door and Michael couldn’t help himself. His fingers fell into place effortlessly and played a tune that he once played for Alex all those years ago. It wasn’t hard to remember, it was one of the only songs he actually knew by heart and the muscle memory of the notes hadn’t failed him yet.

As the strings vibrated under his fingertips, the rest of the world fell away, the soft melody filling the room. He’d missed this, the calm that would wash over him whenever he used to play and for a brief moment as his fingers slipped between the C and G chords he wondered why he ever gave the guitar back.

“Suits you.” Alex’s quiet voice interrupted the notes and Michael almost dropped the guitar in his surprise. He hadn’t heard the hairdryer stop, hadn’t heard the door creaking open but the way Alex was smiling at him told him he had nothing to feel embarrassed about.

The smile wasn’t what he was focused on though.

The inky black hair had turned out so much better than he’d ever imagined. The dark strands contrasted his lightly tanned skin so starkly and Michael could tell that he had taken a few extra minutes to style it a little.

His eyeliner was mismatched and uneven - one eye having been done badly by Michael before Alex, fearing the idea of getting poked in the eye again, had confiscated the pencil and finished the second eye perfectly by himself.

He looked like his innocent seventeen year old self.

But also not. His features were matured enough to set the illusion off-kilter just slightly.

He looked incredible.

Michael wasn’t sure when his legs had made the decision to stand up, but here he was, two feet away from Alex, staring at him with his mouth half open. Alex took the silence the wrong way though as he gave a nervous laugh, feeling his cheeks redden.

He anxiously rubbed the back of his neck and the movement knocked Michael out of his daze. He slowly dragged his eyes away from Alex’s hair and down to his lips, watching them form the words as he spoke. “It looks terrible, doesn’t it?”

Had Alex even looked in the mirror? Had he not seen what Michael was seeing right now?

And it’s not even like the hair and makeup changed him that much. He’s looked beautiful the entire time Michael has known him, he just looked beautiful with his old style right this second rather than his new one.

Maybe Michael just always thought Alex looked most comfortable in his seventeen-year-old style, it was a look he had precisely crafted for himself to best represent the person he was. The black jumpers with bold patterns, the makeup, the piercings. It was the look of a rebellious kid who didn’t want to fit in.

His current style was created through circumstance, through being forced to take on a duty that he never chose but has now made his own. And his style was his own now too, the muted colours much more reserved, but still his choice.

But now standing before him was a beautiful combination of both of those people and oh dear, he’s never really stopped thinking about Alex this way, has he? And more important, how long has he been staring at him without saying a single word?

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and his throat had gone strangely dry.

“No.” He whispered in reply as he stepped closer, his feet making their own decisions again and he suddenly couldn’t stop himself. In that moment he couldn’t remember why he had been holding back for all of these months when the person he wanted most in the world was standing right in front of him.

He kissed him before he could stop himself, hands gently grabbing Alex’s face, feeling soft lips against his own. It felt like he was seventeen again, kissing for the first time in the darkened rooms of the UFO Emporium but as his hands crept up into Alex’s hair the sound of a distant car horn through the open kitchen window broke through his dream-filled haze and he realised what he had just done.

“Oh god, I’m sorry.” Michael stuttered out as he pulled away with a gasp, instantly embarrassed at how impulsive he had been. He bit his bottom lip as his eyes stayed trained on Alex’s chest, not daring to lift them any higher. In one tiny moment of weakness he had broken their agreement and he wanted to kick himself for how stupid that had been.

It had been decided that they would just be friends. No drama, no fighting and definitely no sex. The relationship between them would be strictly supportive and platonic and as much as Michael had longed for them to be something, he had agreed for the sake of keeping any kind of connection with Alex. And turns out, he couldn’t even give him that.

If he had looked up he would have seen the surprise on Alex’s face. Surprise that Michael had kissed him - sure - but more the surprise that Michael had pulled away so abruptly. And far too soon for that matter.

Before Alex could talk himself out of it, he took Michael’s face in his hands and kissed him right back. His heart fluttered as Michael instantly pulled him closer, softer this time, as if they both knew in that moment that there was no rush.

Michael’s entire body tingled, heat filling his chest as Alex lips parted with a tiny breath. He was hardly aware of what his own hands were doing, so desperate to never let go, his knees almost giving out as the rest of the world fell away, leaving them in their intimate, almost forbidden, moment.

As his fingers ran through the soft strands of the freshly dyed hair, Michael was reminded of every other time they had performed this same action, how natural this felt, how safe, like coming home.

“I would have let you dye my hair weeks ago if I’d known that’s all it would take.” Alex sighed as they parted, still only inches from Michael’s face, not daring to move any further lest the spell be broken. He hadn’t seen the day going this way when Michael had turned up on his doorstep with his mischievous grin but he wasn’t about to complain.

Michael gave a small huff of laughter at the unexpected comment, his hands itching to pull Alex closer. He had been wanting to do that for a long time, but he’d been good. He’d stuck to their agreement and given Alex the space to move on, no matter how many times he’d wanted to rebuild that abandoned bridge between them. But it seems the long awaited move had now finally been made and he didn’t have to hold back anymore.

Because here Alex was, black hair, dark eyeliner, standing in front of him with that nervous post-kiss smile that Michael had missed for far too long and now he never wanted to let this moment go.

It seems today had definitely been third time lucky.

Very lucky indeed.

Thank you for reading 💜✨

#roswell new mexico #alex manes fic #michael guerin fic #malex fic #alex manes #michael guerin #malex #my fic

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sserpente · 4 years ago

Photo

A/N: Request from @holacherrycola90. Finally! Here’s my Prince Nuada Imagine! Enjoy! ♥

Words: 2346 Warnings: angst, mentions of blood and corpses

He had come out of nowhere, seemingly. No, this wasn’t right. He had come bursting through the window. Burglary and assaults were common this way in your humble town, not however, when you were based on the sixteenth floor. There was blood, screams, debris and repulsion; a convulsion of pain, horror and violence, all senses mixing to a dizzying thick blanket that threatened to steal away your consciousness.

They were all dead. He had killed them. Nausea clawed at your guts and throat when you realised the gravity of what it was like to have witnessed murder, to have witnessed someone die right in front of your eyes.

The blood you were covered in was not yours. It was theirs. And he was still here, treading over the mangled corpses like he would overcome a rocky path.

He had white hair, so white it almost blinded you, his skin as pale as the moonlight. And his eyes… his eyes were red… orange… of a colour defying the beauty of a sunset. He was alien. Never before had you seen something so beautiful and horrifying at the very same time.

He could not possibly have spared you on purpose. You had been buried under two dead bodies during his killing spree, unable to and too terrified to sit up and flee. Now, you cowered there, on the ground in midst a pool of blood, wishing you had called in sick and stayed home. Was this the end? Would you be murdered by a man seemingly not of this world? You were by no means superstitious but you had long accepted that humans could not be the only intelligent species in this universe. If only the proof of this mindset of yours had come peacefully instead of violently.

His clothes were strange too, you realised when you dared another timid glare. Scars and fine lines defined his sharp face. He was wearing battle armour. Battle armour from another world, so it appeared.

“It is not here?”

His accent was otherworldly. Like he spoke a strange language long forgotten by mankind. You could not see the creature he was speaking to until it stepped into the light—an already broken light bulb already emitting sparks; a death trap for the puddle right underneath its weak beam.

Holding back a scream when you took in the creature’s appearance, you resisted, with all your willpower, to flinch back, yet you could not stop the subtle movement of your right hand subconsciously grabbing the shoulder of a dead body next to you.

You held your breath when the strange warrior spun around with a start, facing your trembling form on the ground and pointing his large spear directly at your panic-stricken face.

“Where is it?” It was a question. Directed at you. Your heart skipped a beat. “The crown piece of Bethmora. It was here.”

Any moment now he would dash forward and pierce your throat with the pointy tip of the spear—you would join the corpses surrounding you, bleeding to death and choking on your own blood within a matter of seconds. Your lower lip was shaking when you opened your mouth.

The crown piece. It had been taken away for an auction only yesterday morning. Your supervisor had approved of it after your examination. It was of unspeakable value, made of pure gold with an ancient crafting technique. It would sell for millions.

“It’s not here,” you whispered, unable to raise your voice out of fear of imminent death. “Not anymore. It was taken yesterday.” The warrior snarled. You forced your eyes shut. Darkness was more welcome than your murderer glaring at you through cold, blood-orange eyes as he killed you. But the fateful blow never came.

He was staring at you when you risked another peek up at him, your body still shaking like dry autumn leaves in the wind.

“Where is it?”

Swallowing thickly, you stuttered the name of the location, unable to form another functioning sentence. Not until he stepped closer.

“Don’t kill me… please…”

He crouched down and tilted his head. What was it that stopped him from chopping your head off like he had with all the other meagre and now massacred humans around you? Was it your trembling lips? Would they be soft if he ran his thumb over them? Would he feel the salty tears on his finger and smear them all over your mouth as he did?

You radiated innocence like a blooming flower. “Mr Wink,” he started, never taking his blood-orange gaze off of you as his smooth voice echoed over the murder scene. “Locate the crown piece.” The creature nodded—out of obedience, companionship or respect, you could not tell—and disappeared in the shadows. You did not dare let out a relieved breath though.

“I am Prince Nuada Silverlance.” He introduced himself then. “I am here to claim what is rightfully mine and I will not rest until it is in my possession.”

You dreaded asking what it was he was looking for. Treasure? Heirs? Political power?

“The annihilation of the human race.” He said, without so much as blinking. Your blood ran cold. So he would kill you. “The crown pieces, once re-matched, will allow me to awaken the Golden Army… and destroy human kind once and for all.”

“W-What… what are you?”

“I am an Elf.”

Your lips parted. Elves had looked so different in your fairy tales and stories from when you were a child. Cheerful and happy, not malicious and cruel.

“B-but why?” You regretted the words as soon as they escaped your lips. Nuada narrowed his eerie eyes at you.

“Why? My race was slaughtered by your people. We have been in hiding ever since, like pets in a cage. Your kind deserves death.” Your eyes widened, your mind unwilling to process his words.

“So you will kill me now?” You chirped. Nuada had noticed your tears before you had. They were streaming down your cheeks in a seemingly endless waterfall, worsening your sight. Yet, his response surprised you.

“No. I will not kill you.”

Nuada spent two weeks in hiding. The humans had learned about the incident and the murders, of course, and the police had been searching for the culprit ever since. You had read it in a newspaper a businessman must have abandoned at the station.

You were still alive, living, breathing. The question had been burning on your tongue ever since. Why? Why hadn’t he killed you? And most importantly… why had he kept you with him?

You were still afraid of him, of course—if only a little bit. Just enough to avoid asking him why he had not ended your life. He knew you had been awake the night he had taken you, on the edge of consciousness for your mind had soon shut down to not become a victim of madness. When he had told you—vowed—to keep you safe from his conquering.

You remembered it so well you could still feel his cool fingertips lingering on your cheeks and even your lips. He had watched you sleep for most of the cold night, wondering intently why he had kept you alive. Was it so he would have a reminder of what he would have accomplished soon, if he kept the last remaining human to himself? Was it so, if he so desired, he could mix his race with yours to humiliate humanity even further or was it to keep a trophy, a pet?

Blinking, you rose from the makeshift bed. It was no less than a collection of old pillows and a blanket on a handful of cardboard. There was no luxury underground. The place Nuada had chosen for his preparations was ghastly, yet it was perfect for his dark schemes.

He was training, practicing. His spear, so you learned, could shrink to an arm-sized knife if he wanted to. Gracefully, he whirled around half on the ground, half in the air, fighting invisible enemies. His bare body—pale und inhuman like his face—was covered in battle scars. There was a part of you that longed to trace every single one of them with your fingertips.

Prince Nuada was beauty. Not in the conventional meaning of the word and not in the way magazines would rave about make-up and models. Nuada was beautiful in his very own way. He was… fascinating. It scared you how much he enchanted you despite his racist nature, his wish to kill your kind because of humanity’s own cruelty towards his people. No one was just the victim here.

“It is almost time.” He said without turning around to face you. The sound of metal scratching echoed through the dark and moist underground station as he shrunk his spear back to a handy knife. Time for what? You thought. The ultimate destruction of this planet?

“Did you sleep well?”

“Uh… yes. It was a little cold.” You replied timidly.

“I can ask Mr Wink to obtain another blanket for you.” Finally, he spun around, his warm eyes boring into yours. “But it will not be much longer now. I am taking you to my home where you will be safe from the Golden Army.”

“W-where… where is your home?”

“Somewhere underneath New York City, approximately six miles underground.” Six miles. No wonder he found comfort and peace in being down here. But the thought of spending even more time in the dark, away from light and the outside world made you both anxious and nauseous.

“No… Nuada, I can’t… you can’t expect me to live under the Earth. Let me return to—“

“No. As soon as I give the order, the Army will slaughter mankind like my father should have ordered them to a long time ago. They will make no exceptions and spare you like I did.”

“What if I don’t want them to spare me? What if I don’t want to live like this?”

“I vowed to keep you safe, is that not enough?” He spat, sheathing his knife away.

“But why? Why did you do this? You keep me here, away from my life, claiming you are protecting me. Nuada… I am grateful you spared me… but you can’t keep me locked up in here with you forever.”

“Not forever,” he retorted quickly. “Once the last crown piece is mine, I will rise in this place as its new king. You will be by my side, safe.”

“You mean after you’ve extinguished my race?” You chirped. No, no tears. You had been crying so often lately. And you were worried Nuada would grow tired of your tears. “What is my life worth if I spend it in solitude?”

“You will not be alone. I will care for you.”

“Nuada. Don’t. I beg you.”

He snorted. “The humans must pay for what they did to us.”

“I am human too!”

“You are an innocent.”

“So are billions of others! Billions! Mothers and fathers and children and elders who don’t even know your race exists and who didn’t make the decision to harm you in any way!” You shrieked, blinking frantically to scare away the tears.

“You are testing my patience. There is always a price to pay. That is the burden of ruling.”

“I don’t think that’s how kings should act.”

“Silence now!”

“You don’t get to silence me! What is the point of all of this, Nuada? My begging tires you it seems but what would you do if an elf threatened to wipe out your entire race? Life as you know it? Friends and family?!”

“It is no less than what my people had to endure, (Y/N).” You shivered when he spoke your name. It was always special for he did not do it often. And he was calm—eerily calm. After you had lashed out at him like this, you should have worried for your life. Strangely though… you didn’t. Not even when he backed you against a destroyed pillar, his face only inches from yours—close enough to study every single unique line on his white face.

“I should abandon you,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “What is it about you? You are only human.” If the situation hadn’t been so tense, you would have joked with him—flirted with him even, for you had definitely heard better compliments. In a twisted way, you were flattered by the way he treated you, wanting to keep you from any harm as if you were a princess of a faraway realm. But you were not. You were you, a young woman building a career in archaeology and antique trade.

“You are so fragile,” he continued hoarsely. “I cannot let them harm you.”

“Why? Nuada, why?” Your voice was but a mere whisper. You could feel his hot and moist breath on your lips. But you already knew the answer. He had feelings for you, had been growing them since he had laid his eyes on you in between puddles of blood and dead bodies, terrified and alone. Like a white flower they were blooming in his heart, mocking his motives and what he had in store for humanity.

A barely audible gasp escaped you when his cold lips brushed against yours lightly, like the gentle touch of a butterfly’s wings. Perhaps you had become his conscious all those days back upon your first encounter. Perhaps you had become his very own way of living with the horrible deed he was about to do. However, there was also a glimmer of hope. There was a reason your heart had pounded like a steam hammer upon his tender touch on your cheek; a reason for why his proximity did not repulse but excite you.

Before you could stop yourself, you brought your palms to his bare chest, feeling his hard muscles and those unique scars against your skin, allowing him, no, inviting him to kiss you properly. There was still hope he would spare humanity, you were sure of it—for you.

A/N: Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate it so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

#prince nuada #prince nuada imagine #prince nuada x you #prince nuada x reader #hellboy #hellboy imagine #hellboy 2 #hellboy 2 imagine #hellboy the golden army #hellboy the golden army imagine #luke goss #nuada silverlance #nuada silverlance imagine #nuada silverlance x you #nuada silverlance x reader

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evanstarff · 5 years ago

Text

Test Drive

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2300

Summary: Bucky Barnes catches feelings after a mission. There is one bed.

Warnings: Language. Bits of smut and lots of longing. Mostly fluff – disgusting, I know.

A/N: This is for the lovely @sourpatchkidsandacokecan's Little Darlin’s All Things Fall Writing Challenge – I'm about 84 weeks behind thanks to Real Life™ I'M SO SORRY. My prompt was "At least we're cozy now." which is in bold and italics below. 🖤

Masterlist here, lovers.

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Frost stretched long, cool fingers across the windshield and Bucky was just about to eat his goddamn limbs to stem the cold from seeping in.

The light was getting smaller, quieter, soft falling snow swirled about outside, all sound cottoned out and the warmth sparse in the vehicle as it rattled along the asphalt. The radiator of the old, apparently nondescript box of metal some called a car had just about heaved its last, warm breath – unsurprising, considering the 1965 model in the deepest shade of fuck you blue probably groaned its way through half the most momentous events of the last fifty odd years.

"Seriously, can't you drive any faster?" you asked, feet jammed beneath your weight in some pitiful attempt to warm them.

"You wanna drive, darlin'?" he shot back, an impish grin lighting up the inky shade of night in the car.

"Nah, I reckon you're doing just fine, darlin'." A lilt on the second to last syllable and Bucky had half a mind to kiss that sly, delicious smile off your face.

You watched his eyes gleam and glow in the dim light of the dashboard, licked your lips slowly, quietly, bit your bottom lip just because you wanted to. Leather knuckles gripped the wheel a little tighter, the accelerator floored a little harder and you huffed a laugh, breath casting fog on the windowpane. Bucky zeroed in, took half a turn, then another, trying to focus on the drive – the drive, the radiator, and the hundred or so minutes he still had to clear before Wilson started harassing his ass for not being able to keep the damn time.

"Knew we should've left earlier," you mumbled, words clattering cold and fingers going numb.

Your breath was coming slower now, air coming easier too, anxiety trodden down and assuaged in slow motion as the distance between the finished mission and the semblance of home grew closer. Exhaustion seeped through tired muscles, aching in a way that felt good, but not so good that a month-long nap wouldn't be welcomed with open arms.

Bucky glanced over to the passenger side as the light of the moon crept higher into the inky night sky. The odometer ticked along as the minutes crept by and for a little while, the sound of your breathing, your steady heartbeat all curled up in the seat beside him was the calmest thing in the small hours of the world.

---

The car pulled up to the safehouse in about half an hour less than he bargained, the dim light of the street casting a sickly pale glow amidst the humble little home before him. Bucky flicked off the engine, pulled the leather from his fingers with this teeth and looked over to the passenger side.

You were still sound asleep, carefully folded like origami into the seat, your hands tucked beneath your arms. The stark light painted you all aglow, and the effect seeped through his heart with some strange, unspoken feeling. The radiator had held out as long as it could, but it seemed you ran cold while he ran hot.

A quiet kind of heat seemed to flood Bucky's chest and he swallowed, ignoring it as he ignored all your pleasantries throughout the mission – half a tease here, the gleam of a grin there, then came the flirting you often traced through conversation with the target before the flash of gunshots and the crunch of a broken bone told them otherwise.

It was a simple one – one target, one location, recon was quick and easy, location a little further from the perimeter than you'd initially planned. Simple at least if not for the training marathon he'd put you through the week before. He knew you were exhausted, and he was half-sorry for it – perhaps more than he wanted to admit.

No matter, Bucky decided, flicking a quick message to Sam to confirm you'd both arrived. The dim glow of a pin number and 4-digit room followed soon after and Bucky paused at the car door, conscious of the creak that would come when he opened it.

"Afraid of waking me?" came your voice, thick from sleep despite the cold, thin air outside, and Bucky stilled, face a little too close, too warm from your own and you swallowed, sure he had noticed the mild spike in your heartbeat.

"You broke the target's collarbone," he deadpanned, though his eyes glimmered, full of mirth. "Can't be too careful."

"I'm sure you've seen worse," you replied, shivering in spite of yourself, and pulled your comms device out.

"It's alright," Bucky said unprompted and unclipped your seatbelt, the warmth of his body, his presence all musk and heat too close to contain as he moved away again. "Already checked in with Sam. He gave us the room number."

"Number," you repeated carefully. "Us."

"One room," he replied, gathering his things and exited the car, not thinking to wait for your reply.

Bucky started towards the designated room for the evening, autumn leaves crunching beneath his boots. You watched him for a while, the strong line of his shoulders, hair cropped and cornered, silhouette in shades of darkness as he drew closer toward the building. Shaking your head, you took stock of your own things and chose to ignore the growing sense of yearning, hot anxiety – adrenaline, fear, astonishment and then some, the feeling sinking deeper into your heart.

---

"One room," you repeated, surveying the space. One bed, you chose not to say as you dumped your things by the desk and began to peel off your tactical gear. Boots by the door, locked and tacked shut – a habit from a different past, percolated with fear of being tracked by anyone but those closest to you.

Bucky was silent, deciding not to state the obvious and made for the bathroom. He unravelled himself from his own suit and couldn't hold back the groan as he peeled the jacket from his waist.

"You alright?" came your voice, mild concern and Bucky winced as he cleared the fabric from his skin.

"Fine," he replied, tried to shove the bathroom door closed, but you had other ideas.

"You're hurt," you said, face materialising in the doorframe, full of concern and a small part of him liked it, the way your voice grew firm and small in equal measure. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Too busy driving," Bucky replied, his smile grim. "I'm fine."

"Sure you are," you answered, eyeing him warily, trying to decide whether to keep your distance, try to stem the building affection clean off your face – or embrace him wholly, completely, with everything you held back from the days before to the seconds now.

"It's fine," he repeated, a little more firmly this time – a way to keep you at arm's length, moreso to keep the growing tension from entering the only space he might be able to have for himself for the night.

"It's fine, it'll heal by morning – I'm 101 years old, not dead," you riffed off and Bucky half-yelped as cool fingers touched the skin of his pelvis, decision made now and you huffed a chuckle. "That's what you always say."

"What would you have me say?" he asked, though he was grinning now, heart going wild, a little stupid as you brought your face closer to his waist, hands careful, with careful eyes inspecting the graze.

"That you're hurt?"

"Except that I'm not," he breathed, hands of skin and metal closing over your own. Bucky pulled you up to eye-level, quiet now, breath going slow as he stopped, waited, then spoke at last.

"Are you worried?"

"I'm always worried," you answered before you could stop yourself, voice going small and soft and nervous. "I know you can take care of yourself, but sometimes I think–" and you shivered in spite of yourself.

"You're cold," Bucky said, noting your goose-prickled skin beneath the undershirt you wore.

"It's cold outside," you laughed as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Why, aren't you?"

"I was once," he replied, the softest smile on those sweetest lips. "Not so much these days."

"Right," you answered, the word simple and dumb in your mouth, trying your best not to swallow your tongue and focus on swallowing the growing emotions in your throat instead.

Silence stretched longer than it probably should have, making the room feel larger, more hollow and speaking volumes more than either of you would admit to say. The fluorescent light did little to hide the tired lines in his handsome face, pretty cheekbones carved to the touch, prettier eyes like a simmering sea, and that mouth you couldn't stop thinking about as the days with him grew more and more.

You were acutely aware of how close he was and Bucky was too, the warmth almost radiating from his skin, hemline of his shirt pulled back down over the graze, down to something more akin to sensibility, until he broke the reverie and spoke again.

"See?" Bucky touched your hands again, the warm enclosure doing little to stem the fuzzy kind of feeling that set off from your fingers to your face, spreading through you, melting your insides so that you almost felt grateful for it. "All healed."

He pressed your hands to his wound, clean skin beneath your palm smooth and hot and you were sure the space seemed to grow smaller in these few moments.

You bit your lip, habit, stupidity, maybe both, and glanced at him, so sure your face was the spitting image of confessions made raw.

"Listen," he started, finding the right words, felt his brain go a little foggy. "Thank you," he stemmed the laugh in his throat. "For worrying, I mean."

"Anytime," you replied, tilting your face to his own, taking in those eyes, all blue and full and affection brimming. You meant to step away, give him some semblance of privacy, but of course, desire took you elsewhere, kept you planted, made you bite your lips again, lick them like some broken, nervous record on repeat to keep yourself busy.

Bucky was looking at you now, really looking like he was seeing you for the first time in a long time. His hands left your own now, fingers tracing the line of your jaw, your cheek, a single breath for luck and then his mouth was on yours or yours were on his, bodies pressing closer to each other, hot, hot heat, and pushing his lower back against the stupid bathroom vanity.

He reached for you, metal on your hips and you broke the kiss, against your better, your worse judgement, angling away just a little, words shaped in your mouth. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–"

And where did that sharp, tenacious creature he adored from the mission just gone, he wondered. You were unguarded now, glancing at him, lips full and wanting, eyes unsure, and Bucky kissed you again.

"Don't be," he breathed, chest, heart, skin all giddy and sparking bliss through his entire body. Legs wrapped about his waist and he swallowed your giggles with his hungry mouth, his body hard and smooth against yours, clothes pushed to your knees, up past your wrists as you half-stumbled to the one bed and Bucky almost laughed at the thought.

"What," you asked somewhere in between his kisses against your throat and the motion of his long, lean, delightful body rubbing all hot against yours.

"Nothing," he replied, kissing your cheek, nose, mouth, then down, down, down between your thighs until you were shaking, your hands making short work of his chestnut strands, and you a shivery mess he took pride in pulling apart for the very first time.

It was too hot now, covers thrown clean off, sheets tangled through your legs as Bucky moved you, with you, inside you, then you him, fixing him between your legs, straddled him just how you wanted it before he was a solid pillar made warm and pliant beneath you. His clever mouth went everywhere, hands of skin and metal hot everywhere else, sliding a hand just there, the other cupping your cheek, drifting to your throat, just there – yes, oh god yes, right there. A thumb pressed just so, held you just right, all coiled tight and sweet, and he kissed you rough and desperate, so deeply, full of longing and tenderness, trying to pour every ounce of desire into this moment where the edges seemed to blur. The feeling seemed to climb, higher and higher, brighter and hotter, until it was too much, too hot, the feel of him engulfing you, and you were crying pleasure, biting the metal of his hard, clever fingers.

---

Much later now, the lingering frost trapped outside with nowhere to go for the night when you mumbled from beneath the sheets. "At least we're cozy now."

Bucky laughed, the sound almost hazy, a little worn, but full of delight as he tucked his face into the warm hollow of your pretty throat, peppered kisses on your skin.

"Thanks to you or me?" he asked, shifting against his better judgement, lifting his face to match your own.

"Why not both, darlin'?" you answered, tempting and teasing, feeling the vibrations of his chest against yours as Bucky laughed, the heat of him so wonderful, so loving and sweet, lazy pleasure spreading through his skin.

"Sure, darlin'," he replied. "Whatever you want," and then he kissed you, slow and sweet with the promise of the morning and all the ones after too.

---

Feel free to send an Ask for all yelling and good vibes! 🖤

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draken-rotzi · 4 years ago

Text

Bug Man x Reader Part One*

Read on AO3

SO, wanted to write something of this topic bc we all need some more Musical!BJ in our lives, it’s a nice comfort ngl, I enjoyed writing it and hope you do too c:

(Got carried away so here's the first half while I edit the second one in the meantime, it takes a bit to get to the main part we all want to read forgive mE it's better in th next one believeme)

I'd love some feedback since I haven't written anything since 2019 ;v; some wordings might seem odd since my brain speaks spanish first english second

Summary; Old boring university life and a broken but hopeful heart meet the supernatural and whacky demon/ghost with the most, reader-chan needs to get out from a toxic relationship and what's a better help than a magic dead man? Cutting ties might seem easier when someone else arrives and flips your world upside down with no warning.

Mostly fluff, bits of angst l8r

Female reader, but tried to not give any other specifics to the character themselves, OCs appear

It was a fresh autumn afternoon, birds still chirped before migrating to warmer areas for the winter, the wind was cold but nice, not yet freezing but enough for people to wear light coats. You sit on a school desk, a class about taxes and fees, you drift off a bit looking at the window while half-listening.

You lived in a medium but popular city, it was a great place, with nice, kind people for the most part, huge malls, restaurants and lots of places to go out with friends or alone.

...

"Miss ___? Care to answer this equation here for the class?" The teacher asks, a tall, slender woman that radiated authority, it made some students shiver in times like this with a direct question.

"Oh? Yeah- sure miss Adams" You replied, while trying not to look confused since you just missed the topic, hopefully you remembered from the last lesson by the time you walked up to the blackboard and took the marker to write.

...

After class, you were walking with your friends to the cafeteria next to the main exit to wait for an uber to arrive; your side job as a freelance wasn't good enough yet to afford a car, but it helped pay the bills and to have enough for a bit more more than the basic needs.

Your two best friends at college were Itai and Rob. Itai was a funny dude, with a darker tone on his skin, not so tall and full of charisma. Rob was a bit more collected, but still a lot of fun to be around, being the voice of reason for you three most of the time, emphasis in most, because sometimes he got carried away too.

"Man I hate that class, I don't understand a thing! Why do we even need math?" Itai tells the group, sounding annoyed as usual, he was a simple guy, but simple guys need a degree too, to secure a better job.

"Well if you paid attention instead of eating that cold baguette in class you won't be that confused my man" Rob replies, laughing a bit at the end

"At least you weren't asked to do math in front of the class" You sigh, putting down your backpack and sitting on a table next to the building's exit, looking at your phone to know how much time was left for the driver to arrive, around 10 minutes.

"Yeah everyone felt so bad for you, but hey, if you’ll be daydreaming at least look at the front instead of the window next time, it might help you" Rob said while opening a bottle of apple juice, his favorite, he wouldn't drink any other thing, he was probably 60% apple juice after years of drinking it that often.

A few minutes passed by, the three friends chatting about the day's events, their plans for the weekend, and how to get the next assignment done. A figure appeared behind you putting a hand on your shoulders.

"Well hello ladies!" A man chirped, you turned around laughing softly

"Hey yourself!" you replied "Already off?"

"Yeah I've got the last hour free so I'm gonna head out to Kris' place, we'll play some games and work on that big project I told you the other day"

"Great, have fun! You say hi to Kris from me yeah?"

"Sure thing, see you later!" He says with a squeeze of his hand on your shoulder, then a quick pat on the head, turning around to leave.

"Bye, take care Nick!" you say as the man walks out of the cafeteria's door waving a hand.

Silence lingers for a bit until Itai breaks it

"Hey so, you're still going out with him?" He says with a crooked smile and a nervous look, Rob has a similar expression

"Yeeeah... it's been okay for some time now, you know? Hah" You look down for a second, pondering "Maybe this time is the good run?" Uncertainty fills the question, but you still smile to your friends.

Nikolas wasn't the model boyfriend, at least not for your friends; he was full of sweet words, hugs and kisses, only in private places though. When it came to the campus he treated you just like any other friend.

There was a small reason, according to him, he wanted to wait a bit more to make it public, get to know each other better, just to be certain from both sides.

That was the excuse a year ago.

It wasn't like he was out and flirting with other people, not at all, but one could expect to be treated like a love partner after so much time and moments together, you’ve gone to the movies, to dinner, to each other's houses, hell your families knew you two were dating, it just wasn't more than the bare minimum from him, seemed more like a thing someone does if they have free time, not make time for that thing, the thing being the relationship.

It seemed to be only a problem of neglect and apathy, probably, though you were so dumbly in love with him at first, you have been hoping and asking for a change since the relationship escalated to more than just holding hands and light kisses.

"I don't think anything's gonna change, he's been stalling for a whole year now" Itai mumbled, looking at Rob, he nodded in agreement

"Yeah, just dump him already, you deserve way better, you give him everything you got and he just throws the leftovers at you."

"I guess, but we're going out this weekend! You know he doesn't like going out often"

"With you" Rob adds

You hesitate a reply, it was true, most of the times you asked him to go out for a change, he was either too busy or decided to change the event the same day, turning it into a make out session in his house every time. Even though you saw each other 2 days every week, you have seen him go out with his friends more often, on actual enrichment outside activities.

"I know..." you sigh " I'll think about it, I'll try to talk with him about it next time”

Both of your friends let out a small groan of annoyance, they knew you weren't gonna do it, or that he'll just brush it off as always, between the lines of 'oh you're overreacting'

"Ah my ride's here!" You got up from the table and grabbed your backpack, tossing it over one shoulder.

"See he can't even give you a lift to your place!" Itai teased, they knew how you felt about the whole situation, but joking around sometimes made it a bit less bitter.

"Ha-ha, you know we live in opposite ends of the city! Besides none of you give me a ride either" you said while sticking a tongue out on your way outside the cafeteria

"Yeah because you live at the ends of the earth for some weird reason!" Rob joked back

Everyone said their quick goodbyes, and after a calm ride back home you remembered something just as you were locking the door, tossing your backpack into the living room’s couch you walked over to your room.

You flopped onto the bed, looking at your phone you opened some pending messages on the family group chat, apparently a distant relative of yours had died, and the family was gonna hold a small funeral tomorrow morning on the local cemetery, you didn’t enjoy those kind of events since you’d get really emotional, but since it was something really small, no more than 20 people, it was private and most likely no strangers would see you cry over someone you barely knew.

Tomorrow was saturday so it was okay to spend one free morning humoring your family.

After some mindless browsing on your phone, it was already 12:30am, you haven’t even got off your sneakers since you got home, you did a quick self-cleanup in the bathroom, tossing today’s clothes to the side to change into an oversized shirt with no pants as a makeup pijamas, it got a bit warmer in the afternoon so you wanted to enjoy wearing something light before winter fully arrived, getting under the sheets and you were out fast, maybe from all the overthinking of what’d tomorrow might bring, you’ve forgotten what are funerals like.

But there was certainly no way you’d know what would happen at all the next day

...

The event was simple, thankfully there was not much crying, seemed like everyone accepted already what had happened, some kind of illness you heard, at least they weren’t suffering anymore and they’ve come to terms with everyone close to them, that was nice you thought, it sure felt a bit heavy in there, as usual for funerals. After the ceremony, the family offered a barbeque in the departed’s honor to bright up the mood a bit; right at the cementery, maybe it was cheaper than renting a place for it.

Free tasty food was something only an idiot would decline, so you spent some time doing small talk with the relatives you knew best, but still you mostly just listened and ate in silence.

You saw a glimpse of color and movement out of the corner of your eye, since everyone was wearing dark tones it stood out, turning your head there was just an empty plastic table with some half-full plates and glasses, still, you felt a shiver up your spine, it was probably the weather.

When you looked back at your phone's clock it was already 6 pm, guess dad jokes and food made time fly, you said your goodbyes and condolences to everyone and headed out, you were still at the cemetery, so you had to call a ride back home, the driver dropped you near a convenience store just around the corner of your apartment, since you needed to buy a snack for dinner, on sundays you usually had takeout, so no need to worry much about it right now.

_______________________________________________________

“I know I didn’t imagine anything, that breather saw me at the cemetery! we even locked eyes for a second! It may work this time, just gotta get closer while they're alone”

_______________________________________________________

…

Walking down the street, humming a bit to some music and a bag of snacks in hand, dusk started to set, some stars could be seen and the sky was a beautiful fuchsia tone with oranges and purples mixed in the clouds. On instinct, you took your phone out of your jeans pocket to take a picture of the cute sky.

Just as you took a couple of pictures, to make sure at least one was good to share, something caught your attention out of the corner of your eye again

You felt a shiver like a cold wind out of nowhere, similar as to when a car drives a bit too close to someone on winter, but there was not even one driving car on the street.

"Oof, should get back now, it's getting colder" picking up the peace to get home faster-

A piece of paper slapped you in the face

“EW- wind trash” you muttered while grabbing what seemed to be a flyer, and it flew indeed.

You naturally took a closer look at it when you took it into your hands and out of your face, it was a very faded print, with an image of an… insect? man? holding a hammer over a small house and people, you chuckled, it was a funny irony cartoon, a bug crushing people.

Half of the flyer was unreadable because of some liquid or dirt, already dry but you couldn’t read what was supposed to be, written under the drawing was the end of an ad;

“Ghostly services one name away!

RESIDENTIAL - INDUSTRIAL - COMMERCIAL

Call BETELGEUSE

BETELGEUSE

BETELGEUSE!”

“Betelgeuse? ...Like that one star?” There was that shiver again, Halloween was a week ago, so this kind of paper seemed normal to be hanging around with the wind.

As you walked down the street, some lights started flickering, the cold wind seemed stronger and the sky was a deep dark purple now, strange, it was supposed to be clear dark blue by now, fall nights came quickly this time of the year, still it didn't feel like the usual night. You were just around the corner of your street when the closest light bulb exploded and zapped with a loud 'CRASH', making you stop for a second cowering from the shards

"What the-!? No one told me we'd be getting winter thunderstorms sooner what the eff" muttering swears you made a run to your apartment, scurrying for the door keys in the process, lights kept flashing and the wind made windows sing a high 'oooo' noise, you have seen this kind of weather before but no one would like to be outside when it happened, nervously and quickly you finally fit the key in the lock and opened the door, hurrying inside and closing it behind, a loud bang thundered through the silent room, the unexpected storm slamming against the walls and windows, you left the lights on before going out.

After a minute it seemed to calm down, wind turning into a breeze and the sky now it's usual black, no stars in the sky.

You let out a sigh and walked to the counter to drop your keys, the phone and your purse, you had to make sure all the windows were closed for the night, luckily it was Saturday, so no need to go out tomorrow on that crazy weather.

Windows secured, you changed into your winter pajamas, a gray pair of pants with a pattern of a cat on toast and eggs, with a pastel blue loose shirt. Making your way to the kitchen you decided a light snack would be enough for tonight, after that run and emotion on the way back home you had no energy to cook a proper dinner, not even microwave, it was also too late for it anyways you thought.

You put the snack bowl and a cup of water on the kitchen counter, looking to grab your phone. You noticed you still had the dirty flyer, forgot to drop it between the commotion maybe?

Placing it aside and unlocking your phone screen, you opened the ‘best friend's’ chat group

You. 'Hey guys, did you get any of that weird winter storm action today after school?'

Rob. 'Nah, it was a clear sky for me'

Itai. 'Same, also I was asleep all afternoon'

You. 'Strange, I got caught on this whirlwind on my way back home from the store, just my luck I guess >:('

Both of the boys. 'Lol yea'

Putting the phone down and chomping on some of the snacks, you thought about the events, it was indeed a clear sky earlier, only a couple of common clouds you took pictures of before it. You grabbed the phone again, quickly to see if any of the photos looked good.

"Pleasepleaseplease" you muttered in excitement, it was a very cute view, hopefully one picture captured it nicely.

And they did, a couple looked stunning, you smiled, thinking at least it was worth getting your hair all messed up by the wind, you were about to delete one picture it since it was blurry when you noticed a different kind of blur, it was gray with splashes of green in the corner, similar to what you saw at the funeral.

"There was nothing green on the other pictures, was it?" you looked through the other photos and they were pretty normal, full of pink, purple and blue from the sunset.

You looked back at the flyer

"Betelgeuse, betelgeuse, betelgeuse huh" You said in a playful tone, grabbing the torn paper from the counter, you felt a shiver, a strong one this time, well that was the opposite of a calming experience, but still the word felt strange when you said it, it wasn't like you hadn't said before, Orion was a popular constellation, and the Betelgeuse star was on it; but this time the air inside had a tense feeling.

All the lights went off after a second "Now a blackout? What's with today ugh" picking up your phone to use as a flashlight, after a couple of seconds before you could turn it on, all the lights came back again, but you almost had a heart attack when you saw someone standing in the center of the living room, enveloped in a green mist.

"FUCK wh- WHO THE FUCK-" you stuttered before turning around and grabbing the closest thing to use as a weapon, a wooden spoon used for beating eggs this morning "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE? WHO ARE YOU? GET OUT!"

The figure was a man, taller than you, dressed in a striped black and white suit, dark hair with green tints at the end, a wicked smile plastered on his face, he took a look around, then back to you, endless chills went down your spine when you met his eyes, you could feel the tense aura from before growing stronger, anticipating, colder.

"Well who might I be? You should know, you called my name baby! Glad to make some business with you tonight!" He said as he extended a hand and walked, floated? quickly towards a paralized you, frozen in place, you only managed to put the spoon up in self defense from whomever this man could be, the lights were out for just a few seconds, was he inside the apartment all this time?

"S-stop right there you!" tried to threaten the man with the wooden tool, he didn't seem to notice nor care, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, then placing a sloppy kiss in your face, petrified, you shivered and gripped the spoon harder, he felt oddly cold.

...Did he just kiss you? Who does he think he is??

"No no, no stopping now! We just got started cakes, and now that you said my name three times, I can finally interact with you and everything here in the world of the living! Gotta say thanks it's been real boring being invisible for so long lemme tell ya-"

*WHACK*

You hit the man in the head with the wooden spoon as hard as you could.

...the spoon broke.

The man's smile grew wider

#hope it's o k a y #I'll reblob this tomorrow with tags it's 2am help me #fanfic #fanfiction #beetlejuice #betelgeuse #beetlejuice x reader #beetlejuice x you #musical beetlejuice #draft #female reader #could be both Blum or Alex I love them both sm #or any other that u seem fit #I need a name for this jhfdsdfj #is 'whack' the correct sound?#sorry for the cliff #might edit later

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papermoonloveslucy · 3 years ago

Text

INDOMINATABLE LIFESTYLE

July 16, 1972

HOLLYWOOD - Indomitable funny girl Lucille Ball, with a messy scoop hair the color of an orange popsicle, flashes on the scene in a sad predicament.

She's got a lame leg.

Lucy hobbled from her sleek silver Rolls Royce and into the yellow cubbyhole dressing room which is a sunny retreat near the Lucy set which Is crawling with rehearsal activity.

On the surface, everything's ha-ha-ha. But the fact is that surgeons have inserted pins into the shattered leg bone suffered last year in a Snowmass Peak, Colo., skiing accident. The leg brace is a semi-intolerable ball and chain. But, as always, crippling situations must be mastered. Lucy's inextinguishable spirit pulsates despite the physical handicap.

Lucy Is showing a smiling color photograph of herself in a flowing white hooded cape coat rimmed in fluffy fox. The picture, radiating exterior happiness, doesn't reflect the inner pain. Lucy's leg, in a hip cast, is disguised under a blanket.

You know the familiar Lucy grin? She's grinning it and saying hell no, baby, she's not ever going to ski again. She couldn't stomach another goddam ordeal like that. Besides, on the immediate horizon is an operation to remove the pins.

Lucy, being Lucy, bears the cross with humor: "Honey," she says, "skiing is just getting into those nice winter clothes and being a show off." The burdensome subject of broken bones is dismissed with frivolity.

Brainy Lucy, now 60 and president of a $30 million corporation, is an American institution.

But, like all super-successful females, she vibrates complex contradictions. The fashion plate - who initiated her career as a Hattie Carnegie hat model - is a winsome dumb broad on the tube. In reality she's tough executive who barks orders left and right. Staffers instantly do like the lady says. God has spoken. Lucy runs a tight ship, but she is more respected than feared.

Yet Lucy is softie with a heart of spun sugar. Trappings, which she has in predictable abundance, aren't a psychic crutch.

"Success is knowing that if everything were wiped away tomorrow, it wouldn't really matter. I wouldn't die if I lost my things," she says. Then the awesome simplicity: "Dear, I still go home and let the cat out"

Lucy has always run her home life with a liberal hand.

Desi Arnaz, Jr. is currently Involved in well-publicized liaison with Liza Minnelli. There was a previous Desi scandal regarding Patty Duke. People gossip a lot here because they live in a city where the major industry is make-believe and fact and fiction become blurred.

Lucy isn't deaf to the talk about her son's romances:

"What the hell, they're having a fine spree. I just hope it lasts for Desi and Liza. They don't have time to get married. Their scene is the world and they're swinging in there. I'm the one who talked marriage to them. One night I said: Look, kids, don't get married too soon. They were upset. Desi countered with the observation that you don't have to settle down when you get married. So I go - well, that's true son! The subject of marriage just never came up again. They're a nice couple. They present themselves well without becoming asses. I've told the kids to do as they wish."

Lucy, who was a good friend to Judy Garland, makes no bones about her affection for Liza. And once Lucy loves, the feeling lasts. After 20 years of marriage to Desi Arnaz, there was the divorce. Still Lucy looks people straight in the eyes and says the present Mrs. Desi Arnaz is a "wonderful woman." And she can see it in her heart to rent ex-husband Desi studio space on her lot so that he can work in the shadow of a success they initiated together.

When Liza Minnelli was a child, Lucy kept a scrapbook of Liza's activities at play, in ballet school, attending birthday parties. There, in a battered old photo album, are the precious pictures. Liza didn't know about the book until recently. Desi brought Liza home and Lucy accidentally-on-purpose left the book on a coffee table. "Oh! Wow!" exclaimed Liza through a flow of uncontrollable tears.

Lucy; "And I said to Liza, honey-baby, I told you I've known you for a long time. Didn't you believe me?" Lucille Ball speaks in an affectionate aside about Liza and the loyalty is simultaneously visible and audible:

"That kid is liable to explode any minute. I just hope I'm around to pick up the pieces. No one knows why she works so hard. She's made it her objective to clear her mother financially. Those b--- lawyers took her --- really took her. But she's paying back every damn cent herself."

Life is, of course, an inexplicable mixture of tears and laughter. Buoyant Lucy can see the funnies in everything. Love, she says, is looking beyond someone's minor faults and caring passionately despite the irritations. Lucy's 80-year-old mom, Dede (Desiree Ball) lives near Lucy's sprawling colonial house in Beverly Hills. Dede has a longstanding idiosyncrasy which used to drive Lucy wild but is now an amusement.

In that familiar screechy scratchy soprano voice oozing feigned stupidity, Lucy sing-songs the dialogue;

"I say to Dede: Hey Dede, I've got a pain in my elbow. Dede always says: 'stupid, it's because you're not eating right!" Honest to God, if you've got a pain in your big toe, it's not because someone stepped on it it's the food. Drives you nuts! Dede really has a thing about food. The other day I went home and cooked a batch of chicken. 'Chicken!!" says Dede, 'you know it's gonna make me sick.' Of course Dede eats more chicken than anybody. Next day I say: Dede you been up all night throwin', huh? Naw," says Dede, the chicken wasn't half bad.'"

The ridiculous story illustrates two things Dede taught Lucy early in life. One: That without good health you've got nothing. Two; That without a non-pliant, thoroughly independent attitude, you've got less than nothing because show business kills the weak.

Lucy is in constant awe of Dede. When Lucy built the five-story ski chalet 9,800 feet on the side of a Colorado mountain she was certain Dede couldn't take either the long trip or the altitude. Besides, once you get to Lucy's place, there are a million icy steps to climb before you make the front door. "Even the dogs stop to get their breath," says Lucy. "But when I start huffing, Dede looks over her shoulder and sorta snaps: Aw, Lucy, you're a sissy!' That woman is my challenge."

Does Lucy ever get down? Do the burdens of crushing disappointments halt her enthusiasm even temporarily? "Jesus," she says, "I cry. I cry a lot. Then anger sets in. When I'm angry, I become a fighter. And I always fight to win."

When Lucy talks to you, she taps your knee in a natural gesture of intimacy. Her gaze is through black fringed x-ray eyes that sear through trivia. She smokes her cigarette twirled ceremoniously between her thumb and forefinger. Lucy always spews gut honesty:

"Love is a great peace of mind. There's no panic in the relationship. It's never having to prove yourself. Love is not playing games. Baby, some women have to put up with mysterious absenteeism. That's always a sign of hanky panky-ism. Christ, I never have to worry where Gary is."

Gary is Gary Morton, Lucy's husband and executive producer. Suddenly he bursts into the dressing room and asks for the afternoon off. Lucy's going to work the full day. Her answer is affirmative, but she doesn't use the word "yes"; "Just don't forget to tell the cook to get out the steaks and have a big salad ready."

The show is all in the family. Lucy's sister, Cleo Smith, is another producer. Lucy is having the talk-about twosome of Desi Jr. and Liza written into a script. Little Lucy, who has been Mrs. Phil Vandervort for a year, is a regular. She, too, bursts into the dressing room to use the john. The jeans are already embarrassingly unzipped. As she whizzes by she comments only to her famous mama: "Jeez, I though you were alone!"

But an emergency is an emergency. Lucy, quick to seize the humor, quips: "Our togetherness is only occasionally splintered."

In retrospect, Lucy is pleased with her real-life mother role. "I've been one hell of a mom," she says. "I always knew where they were every minute." Lucille Ball is a profound woman who often uses great simplicities to get her points across.

Once, when the kids were small, a nurse observed to Lucy that Little Lucy was calling Desi Jr., "fatso," and jabbing him in the stomach-when no one was looking. Desi didn't hit back because mama had said never to hit defenseless little girls. Lucy relives the old conversation with her daughter, first announcing each "part" and changing voices to portray the back-and-forth swing of conversation:

Big Lucy: "Got a problem, Little Lucy?"

Little Lucy: "Me? No."

Big Lucy: "Let's talk. Whose fault is it? No, actually it doesn't matter whose fault it is. Next time one of you is hurt, I'm going to hit the one who is hurt."

Little Lucy: "What does that mean, ma?"

Big Lucy: "You'll see."

Soon there was another battle. As usual, Little Lucy elbowed Desi in the stomach and he howled, Lucy illogically whacked Desi hard on the rear and his screams got louder. Little Lucy immediately became hysterical: "Mom, don't hit him! For God's sake, why are you hitting HIM?"

Lucy delivered the punch line which is the credo of their life: "I hit Desi because you let things go too far. Never let things go too far. Someone innocent always suffers. Do you understand?"

That was the end of sibling squabbling. Forever.

Once, before her chorus girl days, New York-born Lucy worked as a fashion mannequin for various Seventh Ave. houses. She's still got a clotheshorse figure but she won't splurge on couture: "I'm just one of those normal working women who doesn't go in for hifalutin’ fashion."

Lucy haunts three fabric shops in Beverly Hills and has local movie set seamstresses make all her clothes. "I'm not the type who dresses and goes out," says Lucy who long ago graduated from the silly-but-necessary movie star game of being seen in the right places.

"Once when I was in Paris, I bought a designer dress grey flannel, I think and wore it out from the salon to my car. When I sat down the damn thing was so strictly constructed that the neckline popped up to my nose. I was on my way to Switzerland and I mumbled to my driver, God, did that designer expect me to stand up on the plane?" Lucy can afford emergencies. When she got to Orly, she bought a dress from an airport boutique and changed in the ladies room.

And, so, the sweet saga of Lucy continues, there are no plans to quit. The word - retirement - isn't in her vocabulary. "I can't imagine doing nothing," she says. "If you don't keep moving, you're buried."

The beauty is still there. The complexion is like alabaster. Lucy confesses that she washes her face with Ivory soap, colors her own hair and occasionally gives herself offbeat facials."

"Honey, the idiot who said to put honey on your face never explained that it has to be mixed with cream," she says. The face melts into that wonderful famous grin. "I put honey on straight from the goddamn jar and it closed my pores for a month."

That's lovable Lucy.

[Ed. Note: The original photographs were degraded by copying so similar shots were substituted as close to the originals as possible.]

# # #

#Lucille Ball #Desi Arnaz #Gary Morton #Wildcat #Dede Ball #Lucie Arnaz #Desi Arnaz Jr.#Liza Minnelli

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plush-rabbit · 4 years ago

Text

We’ll Be Okay

Word Count: 2.6

A/N: Broski,,, I've literally been sitting on this idea for such a long time you have no idea

In all your years of living, you never thought you'd enjoy living in Devildom and living with demons- and not just any old, run of the mill ones either- the ones who held status and made people cower with a glance and want to themselves at them and saw it as an opportunity and gift. You grew to love the demons who fell from the Celestial Realm and who became the Avatars of the Seven Sins.

They were feared. They garnered respect just because of who they were. They were powerful and imposing- even the so called weakest one could wipe out humanity if given the chance. But they were also dorky and teased each other often. They were nervous and held insecurities in their iron grip. You were able to stand up to them in times where you felt like you would have collapsed onto your knees. You've been in hell and felt like hell in certain times but the good outweighed the bad. They were ironically, the good in this quite literal hellish place.

You never thought that you would have become attached to them, never thought that you would seek out the comfort from the demons, snuggle next to them and have your face peppered with kisses and hands held. You never thought they would become attached to you, holding your hand in the late of nights, fighting over to dance with you during a ball. When you first arrived you were in shock and couldn’t utter a sentence without trembling or tripping over your words, but now, you consider them as family- you speak freely to them and joke around.

You love them, you'd do anything for them. They're your family. But all good things must come to an end. Your year here is almost up, the exchange program is almost over in a few months and you'll return back home. You won't have the brothers around to pull you into their antics, you won't have the angels who hold too polite of smiles and hand you tasty sweets in cute little boxes. You won't have the sorcerer come in and tease you, having his magic dance around you in an attempt to make you smile and a slight smirk when a brother notices and pulls a frown. You won’t have a Prince who smiles brightly and speaks earnestly and a butler who holds so much power and poise.

You're going to go home and all of this is going to become a memory. You won't live in it, you won't wake up and have to rush down to the table before your food is all gone. You won't have someone read to you or go into depth about the latest show. You won't be pulled into snuggles, won't have a self care day, you won't be scolded or fretted over. You won't have your stuff gone through and have someone be your protector.

None of them want to admit that you're leaving. Lucifer stating it during breakfast and you nodding your head, the weight of the words hitting you like a ton of bricks. You knew the day was- is coming. But you could never expect that it would hold so much weight and power over you and your emotions- that one single date could make your stomach churn and heart ache. The other brothers ignore the words- ignore the warning- and they wave off the words and take you shopping or eating or watching something- anything as long as they get to forget that you're leaving. They get stuck to you like glue, just wanting you near them even if all you do is sit in silence or listen to them tell a story. You get to pretend that you aren't leaving- that the upcoming date is still far away and will never come up. But it does and it will. And the time to tell a certain demon how you truly feel is ticking closer to zero.

You've fallen in love with one of them. Become smitten with a literal demon with the horns and wings and fangs and all. Someone so greedy that he wanted and craved all. A demon who self proclaimed that he's your first and that you're his human. Who became so greedy for your attention and love and confided that you were the only one to ever treat him with love and praise without anything else icky and mean laced in your words and touch. Who held strong feelings towards you but when teased about it would deny and stutter and only be teased further.

And now you lay in bed next to him- your favorite one but you can never say those words aloud lest you want to witness a fight and petty comments- while you listen to your playlist in silence.

He sits next to you with closed eyes. Slow, deep breathing that could be mistaken for sleep if not for the fact that he keeps drumming his fingers and with a burning face when the lyrics to the song turn romantic.

Pinkies ghost each other, the warmth that he gives off is an intense heat, always burning and consuming. The song in the background fades slowly and is picked up by another with a similar tempo. You thank your lucky stars that you picked a playlist that held similar music genres. You don’t know how the atmosphere would have differed if you hadn’t.

“You know I’m leaving soon, right?” You breathe out in a low whisper, your fingers curling slightly inwards. “I’m going back to the human world.”

“Yeah,’ he whispers back with a broken breath, “I know.”

“I’m gonna miss you all.” You pause. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“Of course you will. I’m-”

“You’re the Great Mammom,” you giggle. “How could I ever forget?”

It’s silent afterwards, the lyrics, not registering to your brain, fill the dark room lit up only by the light from your D.D.D. and the fairy lights you put up so long ago.

“You know,” you start, “it feels like I’ve been here forever. I uh,” you chuckle, “I remember putting up the fairy lights-” you point to the lights hanging on the walls, a few bulbs flickered out months ago, lifetimes ago- “and I was so scared that Lucifer was going to get mad at me for ruining the room or something.”

“He did. Blew a fuse while Levi had you holed up in his room.” His laugh is rich, loud and has a bit of a cackle to it. “I think he almost tore them down but Asmo started defendin’ them, callin’ them pretty and stuff.”

You turn your head to face him. “How come I didn’t know?”

He gives you a side glance and shrugs. “I don’t know. Didn’t seem important at the time, I guess.”

You nod slowly and look back up at the ceiling. “It seems so long ago now. Everything you know? Remember when you didn’t want to babysit me? Said all sorts of things and complained too,” you smirk and stretch out your fingers, flinching when you make contact with his hand. “Remember when Levi and I stuck Goldie in a microwave?”

You hear him growl. “You coulda ruined the poor girl!” He slaps your side, letting the back of his hand linger on you for a second longer. “Still haven’t forgiven you,” he grumbles.

“I’ve forgiven you for things,” you mutter, crawling your hands over to hold his. He tenses underneath your touch for a moment before relaxing.

“Like what? I’ve been nothin’ but nice to ya since you’ve been here!” He pulls his hand away and rises on his elbows, a playful glare directed your way as you stifle your laughter behind your now free hand.

“Remember when you broke into my room while I was with Solomon and started looking through my stuff to pawn off?” His mouth pulls into a thin and his hand clenches into fists.

“Who told you that?” His eyes shift around and he collapses back to his back with eyes shut tight and nose scrunched up.

“Beel,” you chuckle, rolling over onto your side and admiring his features. “I think we’re even.”

He really is handsome. He’s a model for a reason after all. Your hand reaches over and you run your fingers through his silvery hair. He sighs slowly, eyes fluttering to a close and neck craning further into your touch.

“Even’s fine,” he whispers, a tongue peeking out to wet his lips.

The song ends and it's followed by a silence that is unbroken. Your eyes follow the fairy lights' trail, and you watch as another dimly lit bulb blinks out of existence.

"I think," you chew nervously on your bottom lip and your fingers scratch lightly as his scalp, "I'm hungry." You rise from the bed and wait on your knees with palms on your thighs. "Wanna come get something with me?"

He groans and rises, running a manicured hand through his hair. "It's late. All the food is probably gone by now."

You shrug and motion with your hands for him to move. "We can still check. You can stay here if you'd like," you offer, crawling out of bed after him.

"Tch. And let you go alone," he rolls his eyes, "as if." He punches your shoulder lightly and opens the door, stepping aside to let you go before him.

Out in the hallway, you immediately latch onto his hand, fingers interlacing and he starts to stutter, his voice tight and broken.

"You know," you start, cutting him off from his unintelligible words, "I'm going to miss holding your hand," you swallow nervously, face heating up and you tighten your grasp on his hand, palm already starting to clam up. "You're always so warm, ya know?"

You give him a side glance and give a sigh when his lips are pulled tight and his face is flushed. You think you can even feel the heat radiate off of him but that might just be from you.

"You don't have to go," he says quietly, face turned away. When you arrive at the kitchen, he lets go of your hand and opens the fridge. He's hunched over and jars full of jelly and other various things that look a bit too unsettling are shoved and clink around with each other. "You could just stay. You're- I'm your first after all."

You sit at a stool and watch him with sad eyes. "I wish I could," you whisper, "but this was always meant to last a year." You can feel tears form and you have to blink them back.

The fridge door is slammed shut and in his hand is a paper bag decorated with orchids. It crinkles in his hand and he places the bag in front of you, taking a seat next to you.

"Found some macaroons," he opens the bag and pulls out a pink treat. "Think they might be Asmo's but if ya ate them, he won't be as mad," he shrugs, taking a bite out of the snack.

"So you're letting me take the blame?" You joke, shaking your head and pulling out a yellow treat. "To think you'd throw your human under the bus,” you say with a mock offended gasp, a hand clutching your chest.

"Either you or me," he flashes his teeth in a smile. "Sorry about that doll."

"You know if he thinks I ate them, he'll probably ask for something in exchange like taking me out to help him choose an outfit or," you take a bite out of the pastry, "a kiss."

Mammon chokes on the last bite of his macaron, a hand coming to pat himself on the chest. Your eyes go wide and you rise from the stool, the wood making a harsh sound against the tile. Your hands come to pat rapidly against his back, cursing under your breath until his coughs turn into deep breathing.

"You okay Mammon?" You go this side, one of your arms snaking around to touch his rapidly beating heart and the other staying settled on his back. "Just take deep breaths, okay?" You tell him softly, rubbing his back. You tilt your head and rest it on his shoulder.

He jerks up straight and you're able to move before his shoulder collides with your cheek.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," he repeats, shaking his head.

"Yeah?"

He nods his head, mouth parted slightly open as he breathes. During his coughing fit, his hand came up to clutch your hand above his chest and he holds it firmly.

"You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you like holding my hand."

"What makes you say that?"

"The fact that you're holding onto my hand right now is a pretty good indicator," you tease, twitching the hand that is held between his chest and hand.

"We-Well you're my human after all! And you made me choke so-"

"Mammon?"

He falters and looks at you with wide eyes. "Hm?"

"Let me sit down?" You slowly slide your hands away from him, your touch slow and desperate not to part from his. "We can still hold hands," you tell him as you grab the stool and pull it closer to him. You sit swiftly, your palm left facing up and open. Its empty for only a few seconds before his hand comes in and holds onto yours. Its limp before it folds and squeezes your hand.

"You leave in a couple of months, yeah?"

"Yeah," there's a lump in your throat that makes it hard to swallow, "in a couple."

"We still got things we can do," he says softly, turning to look at you.

"Lots of things," you agree. You smile when his thumb begins to stroke your hand.

"And then," he clears his throat and looks into your eyes, "when you're gone…," he trails off, not finding the correct words as his tongue darts and points through his cheeks.

"When I'm gone," you start, "we'll still be okay." You raise your hand still interlocked with his, "We're in a pact. We'll be okay," you tell him. You want to press a kiss against his knuckles, and keep him close to you but you can’t muster up the courage to do so.

"'Course we will. You just summon me and I'll be there."

It's a nice thought to have- something to help keep you grounded and imagine the future. You'll be up in the human realm and you'll be able to summon him first and get to hear him and feel him. He won't be entirely gone. Only for just a moment. And he's lived for eons. It'll be a blink for him. But it’ll feel like forever for you. It will always be forever for you.

"Hey, mind doing me a favor?"

"What is it?"

"Can you tell me a story about something cool you did? I think I just wanna hear you talk a bit more."

Maybe you won't confess tonight. Maybe you'll wait until tomorrow or the night before you leave. Maybe you won't ever tell him. The thought of parting makes your heart hurt. But for right now as he talks and waves his hand around telling his story, a wide grin and spark in his eyes, his other hand still holding tightly onto yours, you think you'll be okay.

You'll be okay staring at his bright blue eyes with hints of gold, at his snow colored hair which holds the rays of sun in between tufts. You’ll live in the moment and you’ll think about holding him without second guessing, you’ll hold his hand until you both start to get clammy and he’ll make an excuse about why he can’t go to his bed and you’ll wake up in his arms tomorrow. It’ll be enough for now.

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twistedsinews · 3 years ago

Text

Like Rabbits Seeking Buried Treasure Under the Moonlight

Cyberpunk 2077; Jackie/V, T-Bug, assorted others; PG-13 (AO3 Flavor)

“...point being, I think we deserve a bonus.”

The woman in the swank suit stared at her, an icy fury boiling her eyes.

“But, hey,” V remarked, the shard dangling between her fingertips, “if you don’t wanna comp us what it’s worth, we can always put it back and you can find another team willing and capable not only to take on a corp but also work outside of a fixer.”

Expression still fixed in a scowl, Lavigne glanced off. Then she turned back to the table, credit chip pinched between her thumb and forefinger. She placed it flat, and slid it across the table.

V nudged Jackie. He tore his attention away from the dancefloor below, and reached for the chip over V’s shoulder to give it a scan.

“Looks clean,” he told V.

“Of course it’s clean.” Lavigne huffed. Rising from her seat, she leaned forward to snatch the shard from V, who amicably let it slip away and brushed her thumb against her fingertips instead. “I never want to hear from you again.”

“Feeling’s mutual,” V told her quietly, as the woman faded into the crowd without a backward word.

Behind her, Jackie started to snigger. Smirking, V raised her hand and he clasped it tightly; she squeezed back before letting go. Her head lolled back against the chair, and she smiled at him before rolling to her feet.

The night was young, and they’d just gotten paid overtime.

“How the hell do you do that, anyway?” Jackie asked, as they made their way down from the balcony.

“Do what?”

“Put ideas into peoples’ heads without even saying ‘em. You had her thinking exactly what you wanted her to think.”

“I told the truth; it was her own goddamn paranoia did her in.”

“Fuck, how’d you know she’d think it was worth extra?”

“Educated guess. She was willing to go outside of a fixer to get it. And she was so worried that I’d read it she didn’t even think of you as anything but dumb hustle. Just ‘cause someone can make it in the corpo life doesn’t make ‘em any less of a gonk.”

“...you ever do that to me?”

At the bottom stair, V paused to look up at him. “Huh?”

“You know – make me think shit that’s not true.”

Staring down at her, Jackie wasn’t even offended by the notion.

Just openly curious.

V thought about it, and shrugged. “Can’t remember a time I ever needed to.”

Jackie snorted.

“What?” V scoffed. “That was a no.”

“Mhhm,” Jackie intoned.

He reached for her hand, and his fingers tangled with hers as he took the lead.

Dancing in Night City was nothing like in the badlands, V had learned early on. Even different districts, different clubs could have their own unique flair. Melding them together gave her a distinct style all her own, that shifted and changed with the mood and the music.

Jackie wasn’t quite as fluid in style, but nevertheless he improvised as best as he could and kept up with her all the same. They shared a kind of synchronicity that transferred smoothly from the battlefield to the dance floor.

A woman drifted along the far wall, circling inward as she watched them. As the night wore on, she moved right into V’s orbit.

It was almost too subtle to be called a dance, the way they circled one another on the floor. The woman moved with a refined kind of elegance, her cream-colored dress splashed with the colorful lights of the club. V found herself entranced by the pale glow of the strangers eyes.

And when Jackie got too close, the stranger stared at him icily.

Taken aback, he offered the woman a nod of understanding and a repentant smile. Meeting V’s eyes, he stepped away.

Just because they had an arrangement, didn’t make them exclusive; just because they shared didn’t mean every hookup worked out that way.

They ended up along the dark edge of the room. Pushed up against the wall, V found the peculiar glow of the woman’s eyes seemed even brighter, with the light of the bar shining like a halo behind her. Her own eyes slid closed, she tilted her face lower...

And then...

What she’d been expecting to happen, didn’t.

V blinked, at a loss, as the stranger stared at her, equally so.

Then, the woman simply turned to walk away.

V reached for her, and the woman shrugged her off. She cast a cold, blank stare over her shoulder, to which V raised her hands in a gesture of amicable peace.

The stranger slipped off into the crowd.

V cut her own path, her focus shifting back towards the dance floor, and the beating heart of the bar. There was plenty of delight left to be had, but the strangeness of the encounter, never mind the sting of the rebuff, left her feeling distant.

Instead, she made her way towards the outer landing, following the Exit sign. From there, she cast a perfunctory scan of the room.

At last, she caught sight of Jackie at the bar, a woman on either arm, each as different, at a cursory glance, as night and day, but complementing one another to a glitz perfection. He was splitting his attention between them, for all that Jackie had made himself the center of theirs; V couldn’t be sure what subject they might’ve been on, but he was energetic in telling some story or a joke while they hung off his every word in rapt attention.

With a soft sigh, V glanced away.

When she looked again, Jackie was staring right at her, vibrant expression faded.

Managing a faint smile, she held up a hand in a lackadaisical wave, meant to impart: Goodnight. Good luck. ‘Til tomorrow.

Jackie stared a moment longer, an inscrutable expression on his face as he watched her across the room, before seeming to remember he had company. He turned his mind back to them, twice as lively as before.

V tore herself away as he was kissing the brighter one’s hand.

Stepping out of the warm embrace of the bar and onto the chill night street, she breathed out a long, measured breath. Holograms and billboards cast bright shadows over the world, blotting out both the darkness and the moonlight, and despite the hour there were still a colorful assortment of people going about their business – legitimate and not.

With no destination in mind, V started down the street.

She’d only made it past a few buildings when a message flickered at the edge of her display, demanding attention.

Hold up.

Lifting her head, V blinked, and glanced behind her to find Jackie jogging to catch up. She waited for him, and only starting walking again once he’d fallen into step beside her. Quietly, at first, but when she didn’t say anything at first, he opted to fill the silence.

“After all that, didn’t work out, huh?”

V shrugged.

“Too bad. She’d been watching you the entire time we were negotiating with Lavigne, you know?”

“Since we walked in. But... hey, maybe all she wanted was a dance.” Not wanting to dwell on it, she veered onto a convergent path, “Anyway, why’d you split? Looked like you were having all the luck tonight.”

“Tch.” Jackie nudged her shoulder with his own. “Really, V, what kinda guy’d I be if I got off with twice the good fortune and let a choom walk home all by her lonesome?”

“‘Sides,” he added, “this is nearer my neighborhood, you may as well drop in.”

They walked along in comfortable silence. V’s gaze was drawn to Jackie as he moved with a confident, capable ease, though he was nevertheless weighing up every thin shadow between the buildings they passed.

Her eyes flicked lower, and her fingers brushed his hand.

All at once he was staring at her, a warm curiosity in his expression.

Casually, V glanced off.

As though the shadows between the buildings were that much more interesting than the warmth radiating from his hand, so close to hers. Movement caught in the corner of her eye, and her gaze drifted that way.

Jackie slipped away from her as her pace slowed, and he paused to turn back.

V’s sneakers scuffed the sidewalk as she stopped and blinked.

“Are rabbits common in Night City?”

“Not... that I know of. Why?”

V stared at the white little bunny rabbit, eating lettuce without a care in the goddamn world. Jackie stared at her like she'd lost her mind, or maybe dropped a tab of something she shouldn't have. “Nothing; no big deal.”

It was a bit of an absurd question. But when she looked again, the rabbit was cleaning its face, a pace or two from where it had been a moment ago. V took a step towards it, and it nonchalantly hopped away from her.

With a backwards glance at Jackie – who was still staring at her, at a loss – she took another step, and the rabbit stretched and pulled itself forward.

“You’re really not seeing this?”

With every cautious step V took behind it, the rabbit continued its leisurely way down the alley. Always, it seemed, the same distance away.

Still – she didn’t want to spook it and send it running.

Halfway down to a dead end, the rabbit turned towards the brick wall. The last V saw of it was a flash of its fluffy tail as it wriggled and vanished into the dark. Nearing where it had disappeared, she crouched down; at the base of the wall, bricks had been broken and removed, or had perhaps more simply fallen apart, and she found herself peering into a jagged hole close to the ground.

She couldn’t see into it, and scanning it turned up nothing. And so, without a second thought, V reached down into it.

“What’d you find?” Jackie asked.

V blinked up at him; he’d followed her step for step, even if he hadn’t seen the rabbit. But all she could do was shake her head.

She had no idea what it was.

Rather than soft, warm fur, her fingers found roughened, cold canvas – an old, faded military jacket stuffed in the gap. It was weighed down, and as V pulled it loose from its hiding place, the cloth unraveled around an older-style cyberdeck, at a glance not unlike the antique model she’d had to trade in when hers had stopped working.

But it was in good condition – better than hers had been. Finding its wire, she shrugged up at Jackie, and plugged it in.

A display booted across her lens, but all she could make of it endless stream of garbled data.

“It’s encrypted,” she told Jackie.

“Ah,” she winced, as her further poking around provoked a cautionary counter-spike. “Really, really encrypted.”

Tugging the wire free of her port, V handed the deck up before moving on to check the pockets of the jacket, and came up with an unlabeled shard. Slotting it gave her a momentary sense of... something as it connected and powered on, but... there was nothing on it. Nothing at all.

There was nothing else in the stash, and no sign of the rabbit at all.

Pushing up to her feet, V met Jackie’s inquisitive stare.

He flipped the deck over in his hands, and offered it back to her. Taking it, she wrapped it back up in the jacket.

“Maybe that’s enough mystery for tonight?” Jackie reasoned out loud, as V cast about the alley for anything that would give them any sort of a clue. “Already been a long day.”

V opened her mouth, but she couldn’t argue.

Not when Jackie brushed his fingers down the traces adorning her cheek. Particularly not when he brushed his thumb across her lip, and not in the least when he followed it with his mouth.

~*~

There was a squeak in the third stair from the top she hadn’t kept in mind. By some stroke of luck, it didn’t give her away as she padded down to the family room.

Jackie was sprawled on the couch, thumb pressed to his cheek and a contemplative pout on his lips as he stared off into space.

Stepping lightly, V edged around the sharp angles of the table. Her fingers slid over Jackie’s shoulder for balance as she helped herself to his lap; he roused with a soft groan, turning his head blindly towards her as his hands first skimmed her hips, then slid behind her, and his arms settled about her waist. Jackie blinked twice, the glimmer across his lens fading, only for his eyes to flutter shut as V sought his mouth with her own for a languid, unhurried kiss.

Jackie shifted beneath her, allowing her to settle more firmly against him and drawing a croon of appreciation from her throat.

The kiss broke, and V immediately claimed another – softer, shallower, but no less sweet – before they drifted apart. Opening her eyes, she found herself lost in his, and absently traced her fingers up his neck, her thumb brushing lightly over the mismatched texture of metal and skin behind his ear.

Jackie breathed in deep, and sighed a gentle little, “Oh.”

“Mmm,” V agreed. “Mornin’.”

“Afternoon, more like. You slept half the day away.”

“Mmm? What’re you reading? Anything interesting?”

“Sure.” Jackie shrugged, thinking to add, “If you enjoy poetry.”

“Frost?”

“Blake.”

“Huh.”

Pulling her lip between her teeth, V tangled her fingers in the hem of his shirt, giving it a gentle tug to free it from being tucked. Jackie chuckled, catching one of her hands to stop her from fussing with his belt, and braced her with his other arm as he sat up straighter.

“Alright, how about,” he suggested, with a soft kiss to the heel of her palm to sweeten the deal, “I go and I make you breakfast ‘fore we go and we get started on dessert, hmm?”

With his arm still around her, V held on as he stood, and dropped gracefully to her feet to pad after him as he made his way into the kitchen.

The kitchen was kept, clean, and stocked as it always was. V watched with rapt attention as Jackie dug out and set to work on a selection of fresh vegetables – how Señora managed that feat, V felt she would never know – and tofu protein.

Jackie glanced her way but didn’t admonish her when she stole a slice of toast from a half-built plate, and nibbling kept V occupied long enough for him to finish. She followed him right back out to the family room, where he set the food down on the table for her.

Almost burning her mouth on the first bite, V hissed sharply, and Jackie paused on his way back to the kitchen.

“Jesús, V,” he chuckled. “Give it a moment to cool, yeah?”

She picked away at it, blowing on bites even while it was almost too hot, and he was back again soon enough – a soy drink in one hand and a bottle capped with a shotglass in the other. Seating himself beside her, Jackie slid the first her way, keeping the latter for himself.

Realizing the discrepancy, V blinked.

“You’re not having any?”

“Already ate, chica.”

She jabbed a forkful towards him. “You want some?”

“Nope,” he assured her. “All for you.”

Shoving the food into her mouth, V murmured something around it that might’ve been intended as a word. Jackie smirked at her, pouring himself a shot of tequila.

“So... uh... this thing with seeing rabbits...”

“It was one rabbit.” V stabbed a cube of fried potato. “Maybe I was drunk.”

“Didn’t see you touch a drop last night; how drunk could you have gotten?”

“Maybe I was high.”

“And were you high, V?”

“...no.” V pushed food around on her plate before taking another bite. “Maybe it was just a rabbit.”

“In Night City?” Jackie sighed. “Just thinkin’ out loud here, but maybe it’s time you oughta drop in on Vik. Make sure everything’s workin’ as it should be.”

She stilled, staring at him.

Then swallowed.

“Yeah... maybe,” she assented. “After dessert, though.”

Jackie paused, with the glass barely having tipped towards his mouth.

“Claro que sí,” he acquiesced.

~*~

“Hmm.”

Fidgeting on his table, V rolled her head towards him. Vik had just gotten done telling her how unlikely a problem seemed, and now it was Hmm?

He glanced over at her, then back to his display, and shook his head.

“There’s some garbled data in your system.”

“Meaning...?”

“I’m not sure. Doesn’t look like it could be much of anything.”

Her eyebrows drew together as V stared at him.

“Think in terms of script at its most basic. Binary. Ones and zeros. It looks like some of the zeros got flipped to ones, but at complete random. No pattern behind it. There’s not even enough of it to make anything – a few bytes at most. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“So it’s... not a virus or some daemon that put it there, it’s just... a glitch?”

“There’s nothing else in your software or your hardware. Everything came back running as it should be.” Viktor’s mouth pulled into a frown as he thought about it, “It might indicate your cyberdeck is starting to deteriorate, but the odds on that are long. Militech makes good hardware, and this deck is still practically new.”

“Yeah, and I still got a warranty, right?”

His expression softened, and Vik didn’t quite smile at the joke.

“I could delete it for you? See if it comes back?”

“I could delete it myself, if it turns out to be nothing. Now that I know it’s there.”

“You sure?”

“I kinda wanna know what it is. What it means... if anything.”

Vik conceded with a subtle nod. V reached to pull her link cable free, and he shut down his display. He slid his hand behind her back to support her as she started to sit up.

“If I had to guess, I’d say what it means is be more careful when jacking into random, unmarked terminals.”

She had one foot on the ground, and his hand lingered on her arm as she met his stare, head cocked.

“What about that cyberdeck I found?”

“It’s encrypted. Whatever’s on it, I don’t have the means to decrypt it. Best I could do is reset it for you. It’s in good shape, I’m sure I could get it working like new, but anything on it – if it’s anything of value – would be gone.”

“And the rabbit...?”

Vik shrugged.

“Maybe you saw a rabbit.”

“That Jackie didn’t. And that led me right to the deck and then disappeared.”

“It’s not impossible.”

“Sounds a little like Alice in Wonderland.”

V blinked.

Vik’s eyebrows raised.

Both of them glanced at Misty, who draped herself over the arm of Vik’s table and flicked her eyes between them.

“By Lewis Carroll? Jackie has a copy.” She thought about it, leaning her cheek against her hand, and added, “Or he used to. He let me borrow it once.”

Thinking on it a moment longer, V sighed deeply, then turned her attention back to Vik.

“What do I owe you?”

“Peace of mind,” Vik replied. “But scans are always free.”

~*~

“Misty usually knows what she’s talking about,” Jackie told her.

They sat at a stall in Kabuki market over lunch, and V absorbed half of what he was saying, but she was full of good food and the sun was warm on her skin. And if Vik had said it was next to nothing to worry about, well... why worry.

Propping her chin on her knuckles, V glanced off into the thick of the it, gaze wandering across the colorful assortment of stalls and goods for sale. Nothing she felt obligated to buy, but an eclectic selection all the same.

Her eyes narrowed.

“...uh, V?”

She heard him.

Barely.

But her eyes were locked on the rabbit. A scan came up empty, and as it hopped around the corner of the nearest stall, V slipped out of her seat.

With carefree ease, it made its way through the market.

V crept after it, her pace slowed by the bustle of the crowd.

The rabbit ignored her and continued on, disappearing up a walkway without her when she got caught in a particularly thick crowd. Working her way through, she hurried up a level to catch up with it – only to see it’s tail disappear around the curve of the building once she reached the top.

On the upper level of the rotunda, V found the rabbit sitting in front of a door, scrubbing its face with its paws.

“This?” V asked.

The rabbit offered no response, and she glanced up at the sign. She looked down again, and around; the rabbit was nowhere in sight.

Waving her hand over the panel, she opened the door and stepped through.

It was a small shop, but majestic by market standards – a pair of netrunner chairs for public rent in the back, a selection of arcade games... and all the goods that must have been kept behind the counter, or in cyberspace.

The woman manning the counter regarded V coolly as she wandered in. Endeavoring to put up a good front and act, at least, less lost than she felt, V marched right up to the counter. Placing her hands flat, she leaned into it, smiling brightly.

“I’m here to pick something up,” V said. “For...” a rabbit, “...someone. I think.”

The woman behind the counter merely continued to stare at her.

V scratched the back of her neck.

“For... Alice?” she ventured, “Like in Wonderland?”

The woman’s eyes flicked over V’s shoulder, and V followed her gaze to find Jackie moving to stand close behind her.

“Try White Rabbit?” he suggested. “Dinah? Dormouse? Jabberwocky?”

“Maybe...” V tried, “Lewis Carroll?”

It was like attempting to figure out someone’s password. The woman’s bland customer service stare had begun to slip into a look of irritation, as though they were playing some kind of joke.

“Cheshire Cat?” Jackie guessed.

Several uncomfortable seconds ticked by. V dropped to her elbows against the counter, at a complete loss, with the woman now glaring outright, and Jackie slipped his fingers around V’s arm.

“Ah. Apologies, señorita, I think we got the wrong ‘runner shop.”

With a gentle tug, he pulled V away from the counter, and she trailed along after him as he led her out of the shop. He only let go once they were outside, a few paces down the catwalk.

There, he stared down at her, mouth quirked in less of a smile than in complete bewilderment.

“Mind me askin’, What the fuck?”

“Not in the least; I’ve been asking myself that all morning.”

~*~

Her console flickered on. A black screen and a blinking white command line cursor, and nothing else. Lifting her head from her desk, V stared at it, blearily.

Words flashed across the screen.

Who are you?

V sat up a little straighter in her chair, and scrubbed her eyes.

Curiosity won over confusion.

Tentatively, she typed a reply.

The first thing to come to mind.

Who is anybody?

A pause, then followed,

Neither a rhetorical question, nor a riddle. Tell me your name.

Just V.

Link in.

V stared at the words on the screen.

This was the part of her life where being reckless often got her into trouble.

Sometimes, at least, she was aware of it.

In the pause that followed, another word appeared.

Please.

V swallowed. She pulled her neural link free of its cradle, and jacked it into the terminal’s port. She felt... something. A little like linking in to another person and a lot like getting scanned.

You’ll have to do.

“Um. Thanks?” V ventured out loud. She left the cable linked in, for all that she opted to type her replies.

What is going on?

I need you to go to Kabuki market. There’s a netrunner kiosk there. There’s data in their servers I need you to retrieve.

If you’re the one that’s been jerking me around, I was there this afternoon. I don’t think they like me very much.

I’m not jerking anyone around.

Before V could reply, the next line jolted down her back like ice.

I need help.

I have access codes. No one should be there.

Do not trust anyone.

V’s next sentences came slow.

You should know, that’s going to be difficult for me.

I don’t work alone. I have a partner. I trust him very much.

There was a pause before the mystery answered.

Valentino?

Yes.

Don’t involve him.

“Fuck you,” V told the screen, incredulously.

Please.

I need you to find me.

I can’t hold out much longer.

V rubbed her eyes. When she opened them, peering over the back of her hand, there was a single word on the screen.

Help.

“Yeah.” V sighed. “Alright. I heard you.”

Back to Kabuki?

~*~

Kabuki at night only resembled Kabuki during the day.

The merchandise had changed over completely in the hours between, and in the darkness there was much the illusion – if not the reality – that one could find anything.

A distinct flourish of color caught her eye as she turned a corner – an older man, selling nothing less than flowers out of a stall. On another, more leisurely night, V might have stopped and browsed. It wasn’t the first thing to catch her eye, but it was perhaps the most eye-catching.

Tonight, she wove through the evening crowd, once more making her way to the upper rotunda.

The door was locked, its indicator dim.

Narrowing her eyes, V cracked the lock, and the door slid open.

She slipped inside, intuitively pressing herself into the shadows once she was past the threshold. The shop was empty at this hour, and, creeping through the dark, V vaulted over the counter and cracked the door to the back room.

There were several servers running, assorted status lights and screens casting a soft glow over the room. A console drew her attention, and V found a jack to plug into.

For several long moments, she sat still – watching her display and listening to the soft hum of the mainframe as she waited for some connection to be made.

At long last, V fidgeted.

A data packet uploaded to her system.

She didn’t have time to unpack and go over it in detail before a sound got her attention. Another door whispering open, different to the one she’d come in, and V slipped out before whoever it was could stumble across her.

Slipping quickly as she could the long way around the counter, a step ahead of them, V bolted out the shop’s door, onto the rotunda catwalk, and kept on running.

~*~

Her door slid open.

Jolted from her thoughts, V sat up straight.

Jackie poked his head through, offering her a wave and a bright smile when he found her at her desk before stepping through. V pulled herself up from her chair, and stepped around the partition that separated her desk from the rest of the room to meet him.

“¿Qué onda?”

The words that slipped out of her mouth were first that came to mind.

“I was not expecting you here tonight.”

They were overtly blunt, and did nothing to cover her. It was obvious in the way that Jackie cocked his head, eyebrows knit together.

“Had a thing with Vik. Figured while I was in the neighborhood I may as well drop by.”

Smile blooming in full splendor, Jackie offered her a rose.

Taken aback, V blinked at it.

Eyes narrowing at him, she reached for it slowly.

Not a real rose, not up close – the silky petals were made of some kind of synthetic micro-velvet, in an striking array of red and blue, overlapping into one another. Its green leaves and stem hewn closer to the illusion of a plant, but nonetheless still soft under her fingertips.

And even synthetic, the rose still had thorns, for all that they were encased in velvet.

“What’s this you’re working on?”

“Ah.” V turned to find him staring at her terminal screen.

Fuck.

“It’s... something... I was looking into. For someone. Asked me to.”

“Looks familiar...” Jackie mused. He glanced back at her, “Hey, isn’t this the place we broke into the other day?”

V’s gaze was drawn to the map.

“...is it?”

“Maybe not the same floor, but I think that’s the same address.”

He’d barely finished the sentence before V killed the display with a flick of her fingers.

Which only served to bring the full weight of Jackie’s perplexed stare down on her.

V’s gaze fell to the flower in her hands. She twisted it by the stem between her fingertips, watching the petals shiver as they moved.

A small piece of art.

Jackie’s fingers brushed against her temple, and her breath caught in her throat. V leaned into the soft touch as he threaded her hair back behind her ear.

“You know, I...” She breathed out a shaky little sigh. “I’m glad you stopped by. Everything was feeling all...”

It was an honest truth.

Even if it was only a fraction of another.

A deep chuckle rumbled in Jackie’s chest. V dragged her gaze up to meet his.

“For a moment there, thought you were gonna say...” His smirk faded, and he glanced off. “Uh. Yeah. No matter.”

Reaching for his fingers, V let the rose slip from her hand into a glass on the desk. His other hand was already sliding over her hip as she pressed his palm to her mouth, eyes drifting closed, and his fingers skimmed down her chin to tilt her face upward.

Her eyes cracked open again to find him staring, mouth set in a solemn expression that seemed far out of place as he studied her face. Before she could read too far into it, the corner of his mouth quirked, and a slow smile spread across his.

Smiling now herself, V blinked as he kissed her forehead, which was followed by a kiss to her cheek, and another to her chin. He yanked her closer, and she gave a sharp gasp of surprise right against his mouth.

~*~

She was comfortable and warm, and a slow, rhythmic breathing lulled her heart gently.

A small spike of electricity jolted up her spine.

Fuck!

V hadn’t intended to fall asleep.

Squirming, she tried to extricate herself from his embrace without jostling Jackie awake, only for her arm to get held back by a taut pressure on her wrist. Reaching behind her, she followed the tension in her link cable to unplug it from his neural port by touch.

Perceiving a glimpse of the data it was feeding her just before it vanished from her display, V froze, her cable retracting with a soft, audible click as though to punctuate the snag.

Jackie’s arms tightened around her, his mouth soft against the back of her neck sending a shiver coursing through her.

His vitals were hot.

He was wide awake.

“You gonna tell me what it is that’s going on,” he murmured, “or... I gotta make you scream s’more for that?”

“Fuck.”

“Mmm.”

Jackie was warm.

Her bed was warm.

His breath was warm.

That little flutter in her belly in response to his gently scraping across the apex of her jaw with his teeth was warm.

Someone out there needed her help.

“Can’t,” V mumbled at last, wiggling her way out of his grip. She slid her legs out over the edge of the bed, and pressed her hands into her face. “Shit to do.”

“Está bien,” Jackie sighed. He eased past her out of bed, and started picking through their clothes get dressed. “Guess I get to find out when we get there. No es gran cosa.”

“We?”

“You gonna run off into the wild blue yonder chasing rabbits, I’m sure as fuck gonna tag along make sure you don’t trip and disappear down any rabbit holes.”

V rose to her feet as he stepped into his pants.

“Look. I’ve been in Night City long enough – and you’ve taught me enough – that I know what I’m doing. I can take care of myself.”

“Mira. And do you know what it is what you’re doing?”

V stated evenly, and with full confidence, “Not in the fucking least.”

“Exactly my point, V.”

Staring at the floor, V swallowed.

Grabbing up her clothes, one by one, from where they’d fallen, she retreated into her storage room to get dressed. And, more importantly, to strap together her kit.

Stepping out again, she went straight for her terminal, ignoring Jackie as he lurked around behind her.

The shard was missing from the computer’s port.

With a slow, meticulous sigh, V straightened up. She held her hand open over her shoulder, and Jackie pressed the shard into her palm.

“Someone asked for my help,” she told him. “Kept anonymous so far. I really don’t know anything more than that. Just what you saw, and coordinates.”

“They offering you any money?”

“No.”

She slotted the shard. No better place for it, really.

“Sounds suspicious as hell.” Jackie waited until she’d turned around to face him to ask, “Do you really wanna walk into this alone?”

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” V stated. But that wasn’t the whole conflicting truth. “And I’d feel better having you at my back.”

“¿Cuánto mejor?”

“A lot.”

“Eso lo resuelve. We rollin’ or what?”

~*~

V’s coordinates, once they untangled the right set from the jumble of data, led them out to the badlands.

Straight to a worn hatch dug in the rock beneath their feet, under the moonlight.

“I don’t have any idea of what we’re gonna find down there.”

“No sense standing around, then, is there?” Jackie told her. “Let’s go down and find out.”

V sighed.

Then nodded.

The hatch opened smoothly, without a sound. Down the ladder hidden below it, it opened into an empty, well-lit security checkpoint, guarding a lone door.

Stepping up to the door, V happened to glance down, only to find the rabbit sitting at her feet.

On impulse, she crouched down beside it, thinking it might hop away... but it didn’t. She expected her fingers to pass right through it, like a hologram. Instead, its fur was soft under her fingertips. It scrubbed its face and sat up on its haunches, and for the first time seemed to take notice of the fact that she was there next to it.

Incredulous, V smiled.

Then she remembered Jackie was standing right there beside her. Staring down at her like she might’ve lost it; a mix of confusion and concern playing across his face that he was struggling to keep in check. Straightening up, she looked at him, and shrugged.

“I guess... this is our place.”

Jackie glanced up the ladder, and around at the guard station around them. No one had followed them down, not that they expected that; but stranger still, no one was down here already and no alarms had been tripped.

None that they knew of.

V glanced at the rabbit, still there. She reached for the door’s panel; it slid open, and the rabbit meandered through ahead of them.

Strange, how it wasn’t even locked.

Beyond the door was a dimly lit corridor.

Ahead of them, the rabbit wove from wall to wall, leading them onward into the warren of hallways beyond.

Or leading V onward, as Jackie merely followed her.

A more grim discovery lurked within the darkened halls, where they stumbled across a body – armored, but lifeless. And soon enough another. After a few more, clustered together, one of which might’ve been a scientist or a board director, Jackie stopped to inspect one of them more closely.

“These people can’t have been dead longer than a couple of days.” He wondered out loud, “I know life is cheap, but isn’t it kinda weird that no one came down here to check on any of them?”

V didn’t have an answer for him.

Not a real one, anyhow.

Ahead of them, the rabbit sat and cleaned its face.

Their path wound still deeper into the complex.

V’s thoughts turned inward.

What was there here for them to find?

Who would it help, and how?

What were they even doing down here?

The rabbit thumped.

An illusory warning, which nevertheless brought V up short. She saw the danger the moment she did, only for Jackie to wrap his arms around her and pull her out of harm’s potential way. The rabbit had bolted for cover behind one of the elaborate planters posted at intervals along the hallway, opposite the one were now crouched behind.

Ahead of them, a crew of maybe a dozen heavily armored soldiers, clustered at the end of the hall. One was working on a security door with a torch. Two were standing by. The rest were milling about uneasily

Looks like they’re trying to cut through to whatever’s in there., V flicked to the man over her shoulder.

Bet you it’s the same thing we’re after, whatever that is., hit her display a moment later. You got a map of this place, too? Flick me a copy.

V did as he asked, and almost imperceptible, Jackie shifted beside her, obscuring his eyes to hide the glow of his lens. He gave her shoulder an amicable pat, and stepped out into the corridor.

“Wait, what...?” V tried to ask, the words a breath on her lips and spoken to late.

“¡Cogé a cada una de tus madres y a tus padres cogé dos veces!”

Having brought all due attention down on his head, Jackie turned and bolted back the way they had come, bellowing a boisterous laugh as he did.

It was only luck and timing with which V slipped around the planter, out from under the gaze of a soldier glancing back, and as two men left behind – the one cutting through, the other his guard – turned their attention back to the door.

Great plan, Jack, V was tempted to send after him.

Not that she had a better one.

She stifled it, focusing on the task at hand.

Stepping up silently behind the guard, V caught her arm around his throat and prayed he would go down before he could send a message to his buddies.

He went slack in her arms, and the other man didn’t seem to notice.

A good sign.

The power tool posed a challenge – scanning it, V found a weak link and short-circuited its connection to the powercell. When the man stood, she leapt at him out of the darkness to slam his forehead against the door, knocking him cold as well.

V sighed.

The rabbit crouched at the door as she pulled the battery from the cutting tool, and used it to restore emergency power to the keypad. Whatever programs had been loaded onto the Kabuki packet autobooted to work their magic, and the door slid open with a screech of warped metal.

Dim light spilled out.

When she looked down, the rabbit was gone again.

The room beyond was half-powered. Emergency lights still hummed above her head, brighter than the ones in the hall, as she passed under them, but there was also the deeper hum of more sensitive electronics. Taking it in, V found herself standing in a netrunner station – a single chair in the center of the room, surrounding by an array of databanks and consoles and screens, with even more databanks stacked deep along the walls.

There was a woman in the netrunner chair, eyes closed and inert.

Biting her lip, V concentrated on what looked to be the main console. She linked in to it, and whatever command or access she was carrying seemed to... do... something, as some of the screens flashed to life, and the fluorescent lights overhead buzzed to life.

An unmarked text message flickered across her display, demanding her attention.

Retaining bolt.

“Um?”

As V stood there, at a loss, another message appeared.

Back of the chair. Slides across.

She glanced at the woman in the chair as she circled it, examining closer. Finding what she thought must have been it, she fussed with the lateral bolt until it scratched and slid from one side of its mooring to the other.

Something disconnected, and as soon as V had pulled the bolt, the netrunner stirred. She groaned as she struggled to sit up, and V sprung to her feet to support her as she detached one wire after the next. Fully disconnected, she wavered a bit in V’s hold, and perhaps thinking better of it, sank back into the chair.

“...water?”

V frowned.

She hadn’t thought to bring water.

But had she...?

Stepping back, she dug through her bag in search of any that might have happened along for the trip. Instead, she unearthed a soft nutrient packet. Unsealing it and uncapping the built-in straw, she pressed into the woman’s hands, letting go only when she was certain it wouldn’t fall from them once she did.

Raising it to her mouth without even looking at it, the woman pulled a tentative sip. She pulled a face at the flavor, side-eyeing V as she did, but continued to drink the thick mixture anyway.

“It’s pomegranate black cherry,” V stated helpfully.

“It’s goddamn corn syrup,” the woman groused back.

“Yeah...” V agreed cheerfully, “But it’s artificially sweetened to taste like what some corpo-mandated algorithm has determined pomegranate and black cherry mixed together tastes like. And the date’s still good – ‘cause that shit’ll last well into the next century.”

The woman rolled her eyes.

“And, uh...” V pulled the jacket she’d found out of her bag, along with the cyberdeck. “I think this is yours?”

She offered it to the woman, who stared at it coolly.

“...yeah,” she said after a moment, taking it from V. “Thanks.”

With a distinct lack of enthusiasm, she left the entire thing in her lap as she focused instead on sucking down the fruity meal replacement corn syrup.

Moments ticked by in awkward silence. V walked along the perimeter marked off by the consoles, drumming her fingers on the metal casings, and the woman eyed her all the while.

Before V could think of a suitable topic to broach the silence, a message flickered on her lens.

Hope you’ve found what you’re looking for, chica, ‘cause I could use a hand whenever you got a moment.

Her blood ran cold.

“Fuck,” she swore out loud.

Jackie wasn’t asking for help, he was just... asking for help.

That didn’t bode well.

Finding the woman staring at her, V explained, “I gotta delta – my partner might be in trouble.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “The guy I explicitly told you not to bring along?”

“Yeah, well – he’s stubborn,” V defended. “And to be fair I don’t think I could have gotten down here without him; we ran into another team down here trying to get to you and he opted to run a decoy. On his behalf, You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Motherfucker.”

Taking a thick slurp off the packet, the woman sought out of the cyberdeck in her lap. She plugged them into the jack on her arm, and strapped the cuff around her wrist.

“So, yeah,” V said, starting for the door, “gotta go.”

After a thought, V paused to turn back. “And... um, I guess you should know where my apartment is; Megabuilding H-Ten, oh-seven-sixteen – feel free to grab whatever you need out of it once you get out of here.”

“Wait.” Patting down her pockets until she found it, the woman pulled the blank shard from her jacket. She slotted it, and V hesitated, glancing at the door.

A handful of moments later, she slipped the shard free, and held it out.

“Take this.”

“What is it?”

“Trust me.” The netrunner shrugged. “Or don’t.”

~*~

V dashed down the halls, following Jackie’s signal. She barely slowed coming around the corner where he was pinned down, and slid her knife free from its sheath.

None of the soldiers were paying her any mind, too focused on the displaced Valentino in their midst.

Jackie was kicking up a fuss: machete in one hand, gun in the other, with a modicum of cover in an old office and a barrage of increasingly petty insults.

They might’ve wanted him alive. To know how he knew about this place, or whatever intel Corporate liked to know about trespassers on their top-secret bases.

V held no such regard for their benefit.

Their armor was comprehensive, so she focused on the weakest spot she could fathom, and jammed her knife into the soft gap between the helmet and the shoulders of the first man she reached. He went down in a gurgle of blood, and her sudden arrival caught the rest of the lot by surprise.

As soon as he realized she was there, Jackie leapt into the fray with her, firing at one of the men and bringing another to his knees with enough force to crack bone as he twisted between them to reach her.

Between the two of them, an easy half of the soldiers were down before they wound up back to back, surrounded in the cramped hallway. The rest began to spasm and collapse one after the other around them as their implants seized up and overloaded, burning them from within.

For Jackie, the fight went on a moment longer, until he realized for good there wasn’t anyone else left standing. He raised an eyebrow at the still-twitching bodies.

“Ah...” He turned to V. “Neat trick. Hope you got what you came here for,” he told her again, adding, “‘cause I think they called for backup.”

“Reinforcements are on their way, I suggest you find an exit now.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right.” V answered them, one after the next, “Hey, what about you?”

Jackie blinked at her, before the realization dawned on his face that she wasn’t talking to him.

“Already way ahead of you.”

“Yeah, alright,” V replied, before glancing up at Jackie. “Time to leave.”

“Pase,” Jackie agreed, with a sweep of his arm.

With no rabbit to guide them, they followed the map. It cut them a swift path to the security gate, and they escaped back into the desert.

~*~

The closest thing to a rendezvous was V’s apartment, and the netrunner wasn’t there waiting for them.

For a few moments, V thought she might have been. The door glitched, refusing at first to open, but everything seemed as she and Jackie had left it – the bed unmade, the room lived in, in a hurry.

In the end, it might have been wishful thinking. V realized she wouldn’t have been able to tell, one way or the other.

Once it was obvious they were alone, Jackie had shed his machete and made himself right at home on her couch.

V followed him, slowly, and was still trying to determine if – maybe – that one can of cream tangerine dream in particular had been open and empty when they’d left when he leaned forward to wrap his arms around her and pull her onto his lap.

“All’s well that ends well, huh?”

V shifted around in his arms, and he kept her steady as she found her balance, knees to one side of him as she draped across his chest, leaning into his shoulder.

“Has it ended well?” she asked.

Jackie’s eyebrows raised in question. Her fidgeting stopped. “I thought... you might be pissed off.”

“You kidding?”

“Not really, no.”

“V, you tried to seduce me as a means to a deception. That’s like somethin’ I would do. I love it to think that I might be a bad influence on you.”

V snorted. “Other way around, maybe.”

“Maybe. But, uh....” Shifting under her, Jackie shrugged. “Anything else you might wanna let me in on, while we’re on the subject?” He brushed her cheek with his thumb, then his hand dropped lower, where he toyed with the neck of her shirt. “Little secrets? Heartfelt confessions?” Smirking, he flicked his gaze up to meet her eyes. “Any other shit you might’ve been holding out on me?”

V pressed her tongue into the corner of her mouth as she considered the question.

“I thought it must be obvious,” she remarked.

“Hrmm?”

Dipping her head, she nuzzled his jaw.

He tilted his face towards her and their lips brushed together as she pulled only near enough away that their eyes again met. Stretching just that far, Jackie enticed her back down until her mouth was pressed firmly against his, with his fingers tangled her hair.

The television screen flickered to life, emitting a soft, crackling hum.

V paid it little mind; Jackie, even less.

“...am I interrupting?”

They broke apart, V casting about for the source of the voice and Jackie tensing outright, his fingers digging into her shoulder as he assessed the danger of a threat that wasn’t there.

Or... was maybe not a threat to them, anyway.

“Mmm, tal vez un poco,” Jackie answered her, while V stared mutely at the screen. “Wanna try back in an hour?”

The woman depicted on it hrrmphed.

“The name’s T-Bug. I wanted to thank you for your assistance earlier.”

“I’m happy we got there in time.”

“Trust me, so am I.” In the brief pause that followed, the woman seemed to arrange her thoughts. “Listen, I...” she explained, haltingly guarded, “Recently... I’ve hit upon some hard times, and my resources are limited right now. I can’t exactly pay you back for what you’ve done for me, but I’d still like to find a way to even things out.”

“Sometimes it’s not about the payoff.”

V started to slide off Jackie’s chest as he jolted up straighter. Eyes locked on the screen, he slipped an arm over her to catch her on reflex, and she got a hand on the couch to prop herself back up.

“Hey... you...” he jabbed a finger at the screen, eyes narrow. “Not to interrupt, but I feel like I know you from somewhere. Did we, uh... Have we... met... before all this?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.” Jackie fidgeted beneath her, and V followed the conversation raptly between him and the woman on the screen. “Sorry, if I, uh... can’t remember every little detail...”

“I was hired on for cybersecurity. Consulting job. You showed up out of literal nowhere and punched my client in the jaw. Tracking you down after the fact wasn’t really worth anyone’s time or money.”

“¡Ay! That... must’ve been it. Now that you bring it up.” Under his breath, he breathed a quieter, “Gracias a Dios.”

T-Bug seemed to regard him for moment more, then her attention visibly shifted.

“V.”

“Mhhm?”

“I’ll contact you later when I’m better situated.”

“Guess you already know where to find me.”

“Yeah. In the meanwhile, I’ll let you get back to... what you were doing.”

The television screen flickered off again.

Jackie continued to stare at it, until V combed her fingertips through his hair and she felt him start beneath her.

“Ah. Right.” Jackie cleared his throat. “What were we doin’ again?”

Biting back a smirk, V offered a hapless shrug. “Not sure I remember.”

“Guess we’ll just have to do this, then.”

The way his arm tightened around her was all the warning she got when all at once he twisted, rolling her onto the couch beneath him with a deep chuckle at her surprised squeak.

~*~

“Where’s your friend?”

“Honest?” V answered wryly, “In hiding.”

“...in hiding?”

T-Bug met her easy smile with open skepticism.

It only made V’s smile grow deeper.

“I think he might be worried that you’re gonna hack his dick.”

Hands slowing as she worked, T-Bug regarded V for a long moment, then scoffed with a shake her head.

V leaned over the chair, watching her wire her space. The apartment was barely more than a room, smaller than V’s, and the assorted half-built array of netrunning equipment took up half the floor space, and a sliding partition wall separating the net space from the rest of the living space made it feel even smaller.

“Isn’t this place a little cramped?”

“You don’t need much space when you’ve got cyberspace.”

Sitting back, T-Bug scratched her eyebrow. “So, I managed to, uh... I called in some old favors, scraped together a few eddies; it’s not much, but it should cover the food I took from your apartment. It’s on the counter.”

“From the looks of things, I think you need it more than I do.”

T-Bug’s eyes widened, a glance slowly pulled V’s way. “Generous of you.”

She sighed, brushing off her hands as she got to her feet, and fixed her stare on V.

“Hey. Who are you, really?” she asked. “The letter V alone is impossible to find a data trail on; what’s the real name?”

“V is my real name. In its entirety. I rode with the Bakkers, before the clan fell apart.”

“And now you do mercwork in Night City?”

“It’s a living. And I occasionally rescue netrunners from...” V trailed off as her gaze fell on the chair, and she realized she still didn’t know. “What the hell was all that, anyway? Why did they have you locked in like that?”

The expression on T-Bug’s face soured.

“From what I managed to piece together when I was in their network, some kind of AI research,” T-Bug indulged her, “I don’t know the detes. Typical corpo overlord wanna-be bullshit.”

“You don’t think anyone’ll come after you?”

“I hope they’ll have learned their lesson the first time. And, with respect? I’m trying to put it behind me.”

V took the hint.

And felt a twinge of regret for having asked

Standing straighter, she gave the chair a pat.

“Guess I should let you... finish... setting up all this...”

It looked pretty set up, but V didn’t know much about netrunning tech, aside from the few tricks she’d picked up in trade.

“Mmm,” T-Bug intoned.

V started for the door, pausing at the threshold as T-Bug’s drifted after her.

“Hey, V?”

V looked back to find screens flickering on. Standing amidst the cluttered display of cyber-tech that was her element, T-Bug smiled at her... for all that it looked a little forced. “I’ll be in touch.”

Smiling back, V nodded a goodbye.

The door slid closed behind her; the indicator on the panel reading it to be locked.

V followed the faded carpet running the length of the hallway towards the stairs, to make her way out onto the streets. There, she rolled her shoulders as she picked a direction at random, her smile had faded a touch, but didn’t vanish.

She had no destination in mind.

It was nearing midnight, and the city was still wide awake.

#cyberpunk 2077 #nomad!v #jackie welles #t-bug #misty olszewski #viktor vektor #fanfiction #please take this away from me now #it is a long fic for me you probably wanna read it on ao3

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love-dreams · 4 years ago

Text

pairing: hoshi x fem!reader

content: based off of the netflix show, the queen’s gambit, with different character names (check the masterlist!) - please note the original time period means lots of racism and sexism; adoption; drug misuse; anxiety and stress

wc: 5,897

note: this took awhile to finish, but i have a feeling that this will turn out to be a trilogy! hoshi and y/n finally are crossing paths next chapter :)) please let me know if you’d like to be tagged! HAPPY NEW YEARS YALL

recap: (Y/N) is a genius prodigy chess player who learned from Mr. Jihoon Lee, the orphanage janitor. The orphanage, Methuen, feeds the girls tranquilizers that help (Y/N) hallucinate chess moves. This allows her to “play inside her head.” At the end of the last chapter, (Y/N) had broken into the cafeteria’s storage and overdosed on drugs.

the queen’s gambit masterlist: 1 2

Soapy water dripped off the mop’s wool locks to the cold, cement floor, leaving a bubbly wet trail on the floor. You cautiously avoided the reflected areas.

“Mr. Lee?” you meekly greeted. Your voice was low and hesitant as you inched toward his stout, hunched over figure. He kept on mopping, seemingly paying no attention to you. “I can’t play chess anymore. Kim said so.”

He paused for a moment, turning his head toward her. His cold eyes raked over your figure, but Mr. Lee still didn’t respond, choosing instead to return his attention back to cleaning the floor.

Your chest tightened in remorse from your actions, but eventually, you took the hint and walked back to the moving train of students, disappearing into the masses.

That would be the last time you and Mr. Lee ever spoke.

Soonyoung remembered when he first played against the country’s champion.

His name was Yoon Jeonghan.

At the time, Soonyoung was still in high school, and Jeonghan was twice his age. He still looked as young as Soonyoung did, though, he noted sullenly. His younger step-brother, Chan, idolized Jeonghan, and for good measure. He was the undefeated champion for three consecutive years.

They played at the eye of a hurricane of onlookers. Reporters weren’t allowed to take photos, in fear of disturbing the duo chess players, but Soonyoung wouldn’t have heard the shutters snapping anyway.

The rush of blood to his head would have drowned out anything else.

The first time Soonyoung played Jeonghan, he lost. Quite terribly, he remembers, but Chan assures him it was a close game.

All he could remember was Jeonghan’s poise. His confidence. It radiated from him and into the fingers that moved his pieces. His intellect was far superior to Soonyoung’s at the time, honed by years of experience and studying. To Soonyoung, it felt like playing in front of a god, someone who was on a completely different level.

It was awe-inspiring.

Soonyoung played him two more times in two years. And then he won him in the third.

In the middle of the day, seemingly out of nowhere, Mr. Jun interrupted your class, calling for you to follow him. Everyone in the classroom, including the teacher, stared at you expectantly.

It’s not like you had any other choice.

Your heart rate gathered speed as Mr. Jun motioned for you at the doorway of the office. You cautiously ambled through the narrow hallway until you caught sight of two other people. One male, and one female.

“Mr. and Mrs. Park, this is (Y/N)!” You had never heard the Headmaster’s voice sound so friendly. You almost reeled back in shock at her change in tone and demeanor. What a joke... you thought darkly.

The two adults turned to face her. “Yes, (Y/N) is thirteen years old,” Headmaster Kim paused for affirmation glaring straight into your eyes.

“Actually, I’m fiftee-” you trailed off, seeing the expression on Kim’s face. You cleared your throat to cough over your previous sentence, straightening up your back. “Yes, I’m thirteen. I’m thirteen years old.”

Kim smiled and the foreign scene caused you to shiver. If you found Headmaster Kim’s punishments scary before, you found her act of friendliness simply unnerving. “(Y/N) is at the top of her class in English, reading, and geography. She also assists with the local chapel.” You nodded along. “(Y/N) truly is the model Methuen girl.”

You let your face be effortlessly played by your puppet master, painting on an innocent smile and crossing your hands formally. The woman, Mrs. Park, had a bright smile on her face that made you feel automatically welcomed and safe. The man, on the other hand, refused to even look at you. He had a newspaper outstretched in front of him, and his aura was just as cold as Headmaster Kim’s.

The two opposites puzzled you, but you tried to keep your thoughts from showing on your face. You let your eyes take small peeks down at the couple as you continued to stand trough their talking.

After what seemed like hours of negotiations and paperwork being passed from one person to another, Headmaster Kim finally let you go. You waited patiently outside the office, saying small greetings to the students passing you in the hallway. Just as you were trying to figure out what to make of the couple, the Headmaster, followed by the duo exited the office.

You watched as they walked straight through the doors and to the car parked on the driveway in astonishment before noticing the tall figure walking toward her.

Suddenly, you realized that the hall outside the cafeteria was deserted, except for you. Everyone else was inside, enjoying themselves.

Headmaster Kim bent down slightly so her face was closer to yours. You withheld the urge to flee on sight and retch in front of her.

“You should go pack.”

“You know it’s highly irregular for someone to be armed with a knife regularly, you know?”

“I have it for self-defense.”

“Against who?”

“Anyone.”

“You’re crazy, Soons. That’s not a legitimate answer.”

He shrugged. “I like control, like on the chess board. Having this knife with me is part of that, I guess.”

“So you’re a control freak.”

Soonyoung laughed, touching your shoulder gently. “I guess I am.”

That night was the same as all the ones before it. The sky was dark and so was the room. It felt too quiet to you, like there was an absence of something. The other Methuen girls hadn’t finished with class yet, but Kim had dismissed you early from school, not that you were complaining about that.

It might’ve been the one nice thing she’d done for you.

You found Ruth in her adjacent bed, lying on her side. From the way she was acting, you’d guess that she hadn’t gone to class all day.

You set your open suitcase on the wrinkled bed sheets and started to fold all of your clothes with moderate care. You packed your shirts, your skirts, and of course, your chess books. The latter being the most important possession you ever owned.

You ran a fingertip down the old spine of the book lovingly, creasing over any parts that were starting to jut out. You did this to every single book, running your own hands over the letters imprinted onto the leather

Slowly, the stack of books shrank until one last book was sitting on your bed. Your heart erupted into anxiety as you started to shuffle through your stacked clothes, opening all the drawers in the small bedside table.

“Have you seen my book?” you asked impatiently, panic slowly dripping into your voice.

Ruth cracked open one brown, chocolate eye, huffing as she pushed herself up. “Which book, cracker? You’ve got a dozen of ‘em.”

Your fists clenched in stress. “Modern Chess Openings, have you seen it?” you clipped, short and curt.

“Now don’t you go accusing me,” Ruth snipped back in annoyance. “I ain’t got any use for no book like that.” You sighed in defeat, letting your hands go loose. “Plus,” Ruth added. “You don’t need a book to play anyway.”

Your eyes dropped in shame to the ground, diverting your gaze. Your heart felt heavy all of a sudden: guilty. You hesitantly seated yourself beside Ruth’s still figure, letting your hand rest on top of your friend’s hip.

“You know, I’m sorry.”

Ruth scoffed, but you could hear the raw huskiness of her voice. “Sorry for what?”

“That nobody wanted to adopt you,” you replied.

Your friend didn’t respond for a few moments.

“No one wants to adopt a black kid as old as me anyway,” Ruth finally said.

“If you ever have kids, do you think they’d have to learn chess?”

“Well, I already have a kid and he plays just fine! Not as good as me, I guess, but he’s alright.”

Chan looked over his hamburger, cheeks slightly rounded as he chewed. “Wait, who is it?”

“I think you mean ‘who is he,’ right?”

Chan rolled his eyes and swallowed. “Yes.”

Soonyoung winked and rummaged through his coat pocket. “I think I have a picture of him somewhere...”

Chan craned his neck and body to see the small, pixelated picture on his cell phone.

“Oh, screw you, Soons. I’m not a damn kid.”

Soonyoung laughed, letting his voice roll over his vocal chords. He winked once more for good measure, feeling very pleased over Chan’s reaction.

“That, you are, kid brother.”

It was your first time riding in a car since you were nine years old, driving to the high school to play your first tournament of chess. You couldn’t help your fascination with the scenery outside of the black gates. Green strips of landscape flew by in a blur and color exploded in your retinas.

It was breathtakingly beautiful. So much so that you didn’t even have the capacity to respond to it.

As the car entered the suburban neighborhood, you took time to study each individual house’s features: the window shapes, door colors, everything. You saw kids on front porches with their parents, people were everywhere. Unlike Methuen, the women wore colorful skirts and they were all different.

When Mr. Park finally pulled up to the driveway, the whole situation’s magnitude hadn’t settled on your shoulders yet. Mrs. Park exited the car first, closing the door behind her and opening the door for you. She’s nice to do that for you, you thought.

You followed Mrs. Park into the house, eyes scanning everything around you in pure fascination.

It was when you were in the front living room of the house that you felt out of place with your dreary Methuen uniform. The windows were decorated with lace drapes so only a few bars of golden sunlight were shining on a muted primary rug that sat underneath a grand piano.

“Well? Home sweet home,” said Mrs. Park breathlessly. She did a small twirl in the living room with her arms outstretched. You felt the small inklings of a smile.

Mr. Park cleared his throat behind you, startling you. Sensing his prickly displeasure, you moved aside hurriedly as the man walked past both women to a velvet maroon arm-chair.

Jimin was a practical man, you could tell. He wore glasses when reading and a tie with his suit. He never seemed to take particular interest in being welcoming or loving to you unlike Chaeyoung. He seemed cold and disconnected to his wife and you and his stares were often condescending. You didn’t fear Jimin like Headmaster Kim, but you definitely didn’t like him as much as Chaeyoung.

“Ah,” Mrs. Park nodded. She clapped her hands together. “(Y/N), we should get you acquainted with your room!”

Chaeyoung quickly whisked you away from the living room, guiding you up the carpeted stairs. You tentatively grabbed your suitcase, sending one last curious glance at Jimin before following Chaeyoung upstairs.

Upstairs had more than one bedroom, much to your amazement. Methuen never had walls in between bedrooms. Chaeyoung kept walking down the hallway until stopping at the very last open doorway.

She gestured toward the inside as you moved to stand by her side. Your neck craned as you peered over the edge of the door frame.

“You have no idea how hard it is to find good chestnut furniture,” commented Mrs. Park from the doorway.

You took small, shy steps into the interior of the room. Then, you whipped around to face Mrs. Park. “Is this.. Is this all for me?”

“Why of course!” Chaeyoung replied. “I should leave you alone for now. If you need any help, just call!”

Your heart swelled as she stood in the bedroom alone. The room was entirely covered in pink. Your bed covers were pink and on top, there was a light pink veil covering it. The carpets were fluffy salmon-colored. You set her suitcase down near the doorway before flinging your body onto the bed, bouncing upward slightly.

You laughed in amazement, scrunching your eyes in disbelief. You had a family, you had her own room. It was like life was repaying every loss you ever had, like something had finally gone your way.

“You’re leaving for two weeks?”

Chaeyoung’s voice woke you up from your sleep. You looked out the window to see the married couple out on the driveway. Chaeyoung seemed to just have gotten up as well, dressed only in her nightgown and dyed hair still unruly. Jimin was in his normal attire and it seemed like they were in some sort of argument. You decided to eavesdrop a little, pressing your face to the glass pane.

“Yes. I’ve got some business in the Midwest, apparently. I could be there for weeks. Maybe a month.” Jimin got into the car promptly, shutting the door in front of Chaeyoung.

“Do you have to take the car?” Chaeyoung desperately asked.

“How the hell would I get anywhere without a car? You’re a terrible driver anyway.”

“You could get a rental,” she suggested.

“I’m taking the car with me, Chaeyoung.” He started the engine. “Remember what the doctor said?” His head turned to look his wife up and down. “Some exercise will do you good.”

Then, the engine rumbled to life, carrying the car and Mr. Park away from the house. Mrs. Park physically sighed before slipping out of your sight.

As you got dressed, there was a different sound replacing the cold voice of Mr. Park: the melancholy melody of an instrument. You let your feet drop on each stair step, your ears savoring the beautiful tune. A head of dyed hair appeared over the staircase railing and the piano. You held your breath, sitting down gently on the carpeted stairs.

“Stop staring over there, you’re making me nervous.”

Chaeyoung’s voice cut through the piano’s noise. You broke out of your trance. You quickly walked down the stairs and into the living room normally.

“You play beautifully.”

Chaeyoung’s lips upturned for a moment, but dropped soon after. The smile did not reach her eyes. Instead, it seemed broken and hollow, a deep sadness filling the woman.

“I used to want to become a professional pianist.” Her fingers twitched into movement and music flowed from the belly of the piano. “But I had terrible stage fright, not the best for an aspiring professional,” she laughed dryly. You stood stationery, transfixed with Alma. “And then I got pregnant.”

“You had a child?” You blurted out, too shocked to even think through your question.

Chaeyoung’s finger slipped and dissonance jarred the entire piece into chaos. This time, she did not continue. Her eyes were downcast and her misery spread throughout the room. “We did,” she answered.

You felt your throat close up. Maybe life just had a grudge with you after all. There was obviously conflict between Chaeyoung and Jimin and now you were in the middle of it.

Suddenly, Chaeyoung lifted herself and the same melancholy smile was directed toward you. “Would you like some tuna casserole? We have some left over.”

You shook her head, adamantly. The recent tsunami of new information was making you nauseous. “I’m good.”

“Do you want me to walk you to school?” she tried again.

“I think I’ll be alright,” you answered curtly. Chaeyoung sighed but didn’t force herself upon you. You had never been the most sociable person and you had no intention of creating more trouble for yourself.

The school was a short walk away from home. Along the way there, the few straggler students walking on the sidewalk grew into an entire flock. Noise erupted from the open doors of the school building and you vaguely felt the hints of deja vu from her first encounter with outside students.

During your free block, you got to work inspecting the school’s library.

Your head turned left and right while watching some of the other students hurrying around in the room. There were sounds of giggling laughter between shelves and the light rustling of paper pages. Then, your attention turned toward the librarian in front of you.

“Do you have any books on chess?” you rushed out, uncomfortable in the swarms of people.

She looked up at you through her rounded glasses. The librarian slowly took them off to study you. “Sorry?”

You tapped your foot impatiently, feeling all sorts of embarrassed and shy. “Books on chess.”

“I don’t believe we do,” she pondered. “Oh! But if we do have any, they’ll be at the back shelf over there.” Your body instinctively started to move toward the direction she pointed, desperate to get out of this awkward situation. “There should be some books on Xu Minghao too.”

That name caught your ear.

“Who’s that?”

The librarian smiled, but looked at you quizzically. “Why he’s a grandmaster, of course.”

“What’s a grandmaster?”

“A very, very good chess player.”

“(Y/N), would you be a dear and run down to the local pharmacy? I need to fulfill a prescription.”

You automatically stood up from your bed and walked a few steps to the adjacent bedroom. Chaeyoung looked awful with her dry, dirty hair and blotchy red features.

She sniffled a little bit before reaching to her bedside table. “Here’s a note.”

Her hands were weak and skin and fat clung to the bones of her arm. You nodded with sympathy and carefully slipped the note from in between Chaeyoung’s frail fingers.

You left the Park house shortly, hurrying down the street toward the town center. There were a few people there along with cars bustling down the road. Spotting the pharmacy’s sign over the store, you quickly crossed the street towards it. The door bell jingled as you stepped into the store.

Catching the owner’s attention, you slid the prescription note over the counter, tapping your fingers on the wood as he disappeared behind a shelf.

You then took the liberty to look around the store while he was gone. You rotated your body until you found something on the side of the brick wall.

“TIMES: CHESS MASTERS”

“And this is it,” he muttered. A small pill bottle was sitting on top of the wooden counter. You grabbed it, pocketing it in your dress. Your eyes were still fixated on the magazine.

Reaching to grab it, a gruff voice suddenly stopped you.

“Hey.” It was the store owner. “Buying only,” he said, pointing to the sign above the magazine holders. Then, he turned his back onto you.

You nodded and on your way out, reached for a newspaper beside the magazine. You dropped a few coins onto the counter and strode with long confident paces.

The red outline of the magazine peeked from the pages of the newspaper.

“I think I might start giving you allowance.”

“Hm?” You murmured over the pages of the Times magazine.

“An allowance,” Chaeyoung repeated. “It’s good for young girls like you to start learning how to manage your finances.”

You blinked up at her. “Okay.” You rose from your spot and hurried up the staircase. “Can I go buy a chess board then? I think I might want to attend a tournament this weekend and I need to practice.”

Chaeyoung scrunched her brow, she was displeased. “I don’t want to discourage you from social events, but don’t you think there are better opportunities for girls like you to meet new friends? Like dance classes or something,” she suggested.

You sighed and looked down at Mrs. Park from the railing. “What did you do to socialize when you were my age?”

You didn’t wait for her response and ran into your room. Hope fluttered in your chest as you opened the magazine again.

“KENTUCKY CHAMPIONSHIP THIS WEEKEND. 10$ ADMISSION FEE.”

“I’ll be there,” you murmured to yourself. You rolled over onto your back to stare at the two green speckled pills on your bedside table. You swallowed them and waited.

And waited.

Nothing was happening.

Finally, you jumped up on your bed and ripped off the pink canopy. Huffing in frustration, you threw the remaining, scratchy fabric onto the ground. You let your head rest on your pillow as transcendence settled over your body.

Familiar shapes soon began to fade into reality onto the ceiling.

The address on the magazine was a high school. People were bustling everywhere in the forum. You quickly found the registration table and walked towards it, careful not to bump into anyone along the way.

Two young-looking men were conversing when you walked up.

“Excuse me,” you said.

They looked up at you. When they noticed your gender, they immediately smirked, clearly sleazy about a woman being in front of them. One of them leaned forward towards you.

“Lost your way, lady?”

You internally groaned at his condescending tone, wanting nothing but to walk straight out of the building. You let out a breath of annoyance.

“I’m here for the chess tournament?”

The two males glance at each other.

“Well, do you have a ranking?”

This time, the other man spoke. They looked like twins with their nearly identical outfits and slicked back, brown hair.

You shook your head. “This is the first tournament I’ve joined.”

Twin #1 scoffed and shook his head. “Then you’ll join the beginners bracket.”

What?

“But I’m not a beginner.”

Twin #2 chimed in, his voice firm and unyielding. “Doesn’t matter, no ranking means you’re start as a beginner.”

Cooling yourself down, you started to think. “How long does it take for me to get a ranking?” you inquired.

“3-6 months,” Twin #2 answered.

Then, the perfect idea settled into your head. You started rummaging through your bag for the spare change.

“Put me in the open then.”

“What?” sputtered Twin #1. “Are you crazy? There are professional players in that open. Lee Chan is going to be playing.”

“Who’s Lee Chan?” You ignored them and finally fished out the ten dollar bill.

The both looked at each other again, sharing some kind of secret message in between them.

Twin #1 sighed. “Do you have a clock?”

A clock?

“No,” you answered faithfully.

“We have a clock sharing system. If you don’t have a clock, your partner will have one for you.”

You nodded in response, still confused about what a clock was supposed to be doing in chess.

Twin #2 slid a sheet of paper to you. “Here’s your first round.”

You took it and promptly left the desk, feeling relieved that it was over.

“So.. do they usually put the girls together like this?”

“Huh?”

There was another girl sitting in front of you. The only one, as far as you could tell. She had pretty curled brown hair and she introduced herself as Oh Seunghee.

“I don’t know, are they supposed to put the girls together like this?”

You looked around the empty gym filled with tables of chess players. You were seated right next to the coffee station.

“Well, they’re not supposed to,” she responded.

Seunghee had an innocent smile and pretty, dainty fingers.

“The chessboard is a battlefield,” Mr. Lee’s words rang through your head. “Naivety gets you killed.”

You nodded and looked over at the wooden framed clock to your right. “So, how does that work?”

“Oh, right!” Seunghee clapped her hands together excitedly. “So, once you make a move, I hit the button up there and your time starts to count down. Once the red flag falls, your time is up and you lose.”

“Seems simple,” you murmured. “And this thing?” You tapped the sheet of paper you got from the registration desk.

“To track your moves. Afterwards, you circle the winner.”

You nodded and picked up the pencil to write your name in. “So I can start your clock now, right?”

Seunghee waved her hands, “Go ahead!”

You carefully clicked the metal button down, testing it. Immediately, the clock started ticking off the seconds.

Seunghee moved her pawn forward and leaned on her clasped hands. Her big brown eyes stared at you with a hint of mischief. You nodded awkwardly at her gawking.

“Um, aren’t you supposed to hit the clock?”

“Oh, yes! Sorry. It’s just.. I’ve never played against a girl before.”

Your steps up were fast, the adrenaline rush from the chess game creating the perfect haze for you. You missed this.

When you got to the top, you turned a sharp corner to the registration desk. The two sleazy men were still there.

“What do I do with this?”

You waved around the heavy card paper for dramatics.

The twins looked around together.

“That fast?”

“Mhm.” You didn’t felt the need to verbally respond to the sleazeballs.

“Just put it into the basket,” they sighed.

Having nothing to do, you went back downstairs. Your eyes scanned over the empty tables and chairs that held only a few scarce players, a complete change from a couple minutes ago.

Noticing a crowd, you walked closer towards a divider that had a sign reading, “QUIET PLEASE.”

You weaved your way through sweaty backs and chests until you could somewhat make out what was in the middle of all the commotion.

A chess game.

In the middle was a table with two chairs and two players. Two male players, you noted. The setting seemed to be no different than any of the other games that played around you, making you wonder why this one attracted such a crowd.

You nudged someone close to you. “Who are those people?”

The man looked down at you in amusement mixed in with surprise. “That’s Lee Chan, the current state championship holder. And that’s Park Jisung, a rising chess player. Jisung’s the best of his town and his university.”

You nodded. Lee Chan.. you had heard that name before. At the registration desk.

“Is he a grandmaster?” you pointed abruptly.

Chan’s eyes narrowed at you. “Sorry, could you quiet down over there?”

You flushed with embarrassment and gauged the man’s reaction as well. He had a small small on his face when he glanced down at you as well.

He leaned closer to you to whisper, ““Not yet. He’s working towards it though.”

“I want to play against him.”

“Not everyone can play him. You need to win all of your rounds and so does he.”

You remembered the book you’d checked out from the library. Then you remembered the Times magazine and Mr. Choi. And of course, Mr. Lee.

A grandmaster...

“You want to play Lee Chan?”

The twins had names: Hyunjin and Jinyuh. They reminded you of the high school players you beat during your time of at the orphanage.

You nodded, not understanding why Jinyuh seemed so flabbergasted. “Is there anything wrong?”

Hyunjin scoffed, “You know you’d have to win all of your rounds in order to do that right?”

You remained nonchalant. “And I will.”

“No you won’t,” Jinyuh cut in. “You’d have to go through Joshua!”

“Forget Joshua,” Hyunjin chuckled humorlessly. “Your next round is Seungkwan and he’s way underestimated. He’s the captain of his college chess team and his team hasn’t lost a single tournament this year!”

You let out a sigh and grabbed the score card, leaving the twins speechless. Your pace was brisk as you walked toward the designated table for your round. Being doubted constantly was starting to get onto your nerves.

You tapped your fingers impatiently on the wooden table before a familiar face made you halt your motion.

“So I guess I’m your next round.”

It was the man from before. The one who was with you when Lee Chan was playing. This was Seungkwan?

“Um, yeah, I guess so,” you stuttered out.

His smile was just as mischievous as before, however, this time it had a streak of competitiveness.

Seungkwan adjusted his cuff sleeves and settled into his chair. His brief case rested next to him, leaning against the legs of his chair.

He motioned for you to start his clock and you did. Leaning over slightly to push the rusty metal button down.

The game was on.

The clock was still ticking down the time. There were roughly twenty tables set out around you, all of which were holding chess games.

You didn’t waste time trying to count the tables exactly though. The man in front of you was providing enough entertainment.

Seungkwan’s brows furrowed as he studied the board, cautiously making a move and hitting the clock.

Your hand moved automatically, pushing a chess piece toward its designated position in your mind. Seungkwan huffed. You grinned.

“Jesus, (Y/N), you’re humiliating my rook.”

“He won’t have to suffer for much longer,” you murmured.

Seungkwan’s eyebrow arched up as if coaxing you to tell him your strategy. You shook your head and motioned for him to return his move.

He sighed and slowly, slowly, tipped the white crown of his king to the board.

“Alright, you got me there, (Y/N). I lose.”

You blinked. He forfeited?

All of a sudden, a rush of deja vu hit you. You were reminded of one of the first games you had played with Mr. Lee. How ironic, you thought. Now I’m on the other side of the board.

Seungkwan extended a hand out to you. You daintily shook his hand, feeling shy from his act of sportsmanship.

He bowed slightly and picked up his briefcase. “I wish you luck on your next rounds, (Y/N).” Seungkwan winked and then left in a blink.

You followed him toward the cork board announcing all the pairings. You watched in satisfaction as your name went from the bottom of the board, to the top.

It was getting slightly tiring playing four consecutive chess matches, but as you walked up the stairs toward registration, you figured that it was all worth it to see the look of pure shock on Hyunjin and Jinyuh’s faces.

You stared at them expectantly, tapping your foot impatiently as you waited for your next pairing to be announced.

“You’re done,” Jinyuh sputtered.

Your brow raised. You had won all your games, how was that possible? “What do you mean?”

“The games are done for today. The finals are tomorrow,” Hyunjin said.

You nodded, satisfied with today’s results. “Thank you,” you replied and walked out of the forum, feeling even more confident when you realized that everyone’s eyes in the room were on you.

The clock ticked away as your fingers tapped against the table. Your eyes were everywhere in search, looking at every person standing around the chess board. Lee Chan was not here yet.

You let out a sigh and kept tapping away. The empty chair in front of you taunted you. Your gaze kept darting to the clock mounted on the wall, the red seconds hand traveling in rotations.

“Sorry about that,” Chan huffed.

You turned your heads toward him, your gaze sharp and burning. If he was bothered by it, he didn’t show it.

Chan shuffled in his chair for a few seconds before leaning in on his elbows. “Ready?” he asked, a grin on his face.

You let out a small scoff and leaned to start his clock.

It was a long game and long made you stressed. You weren’t used to this level of competition and it was starting to get to your head. It was harder to predict Lee Chan’s moves and counter them, almost like your eyesight was fogging up and blurring.

“Excuse me,” you gasped out before racing towards the bathroom. The crowd parted like the sea when you moved.

You splashed water all over your face before reaching into your pocket for your reassurance. Your tranquility. Your fingers fumbled with the pill bottle before tipping it forward. Pills tumbled into the palm of your hand.

You dumped all of them back in except for one and swallowed the green pill without a second thought. You let out a relieved pant and let your breathing stead.

As you slowly raised your head at the mirror, you stared at the reflection, memorizing each flutter of movement on the bathroom ceiling.

When you exited the bathroom doors, your sight was back, zeroing in on the chess board. You sat down in the chair and moved your piece swiftly.

Chan’s brows raised in concentration as he leaned further in.

The next few moves were all just as swift as the first one. Your strategy was played with no hesitation and as the end game drew near, Chan was starting to catch up.

Unfortunately, his pieces were still too behind.

“You see it don’t you?” you murmured, staring at him with widened eyes.

Chan was sweating now. He kept shifting in his seat and breathing heavily. “I can get out of this.”

“No you can’t. If you avoid my bishop, I’ll just take with the r-”

“Move!” Chan spit out.

You sighed, rolling your eyes, but complied.

The game played on into the end game. As you closed in on the king, you were two steps away from it. Your heart sped up in giddiness, feeling the sweetness of adrenaline on your tongue.

Chan’s voice broke through the illusion.

“Draw?” he whispered.

Your heart stopped. A draw? Your eyes whirled to the bystanders around you, some of which were now muttering underneath their breath. Your eyes rested on the familiar face of Seungkwan. His eyes were swirling with a mischievous mirth.

“No,” he mouthed at you, shaking his head.

You nodded, a smile returning to your face. “No way.”

Chan huffed, bracing himself against the table. He threw down his king.

The crowd erupted into applause as Chan walked away from the board.

You had won the state championship.

“So, I heard you lost your… whatever tournament that was.”

Chan sighs, “It was the state championship, damn it. What the hell are you doing here?”

Soonyoung grins and leans back in his chair. “C’mon, Chan. We’re family, remember? Don’t big brothers check up on their siblings’ interests and stuff?”

Chan glances up at him bemusedly. “Is chess the only interesting thing you ask about?”

“Hm,” Soonyoung pondered. “I don’t know about you, but it sure is for me. Say, what was her name? I think I saw it in the newspaper somewhere…”

“(Y/N) (L/N),” Chan grits. It was an embarrassing defeat on his part and celebrating his loss with the country’s champion wasn’t helping. Smirking, Chan decides to take a little bit of petty revenge. “I think she might beat you.”

“Oh ho!” This caught Soonyoung’s attention. “The girl who beat you?” He immediately sits up straighter, his eyes ablaze with competition. “Hm, is she coming to Vegas?”

“Probably.”

“Well then, we’ll just have to see. All in due time, right?”

Chan chuckles, “She might not go, though. You never know. And if she does go, I hope she beats your ass. Jeonghan’s always saying you got it coming.”

Soonyoung lets out a dry chuckle. “Now I’m intrigued by this mystery lady. However,” he pauses and contemplates his next words.

Chan looks up at him suspiciously, “However, what?”

Soonyoung grinned.

“I don’t plan on losing my title just yet.”

Chess was a game of delicacy. Like a pyramid of stacked cards, there was a method and a strategy to complete it. Missing a step meant a pile of lost cards on the table.

“You were too caught up with double pawns last game. You’ll win this one, (Y/N). You have to.”

previous part: here

next part: here (unavailable)

tag list: @haotheheckk @gryffindor-jun

#caratwritersclub #seventeen/reader #hoshi/reader #soonyoung/reader #seventeen hoshi #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #svt fluff #svt angst #hoshi fluff #hoshi angst #soonyoung fluff #soonyoung angst #g:seventeen

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maythefandomsbwithu · 4 years ago

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Hey I decided to post this on Tumblr cuz why not

tattoo artist Geralt/florist jaskier 1

It was just another day for Jaskier. It was June and business was booming. Or should he say blooming, he was a florist after all. The wedding season was well under way and orders were coming flooding in. He couldn’t wait for Ciri to finish her exams so she could help out in the shop more but for now he had to manage on his own.

He owned a quaint little shop called Dandelions Aren’t Weeds in a reasonably quiet part of town. It didn’t seem like much to an outsider but to Jaskier it was his pride and joy. He spent his days tending the plants and catering to his customers’ needs, often with a fresh bloom tucked behind his ear. He took pride not only in his business but in his appearance as well, dressing in fine, brightly coloured clothes that complimented his complexion, with just a light smear of makeup, the boldest on a day to day basis being a dark streak of liner under each eye. He looked as pretty and delicate as the flowers he sold but appearances could be deceiving.

The only thing out of the ordinary in the past weeks was all the work that had been going on the renovate the shop next door. Rumours had been doing the rounds of what it would be when it was finished. By the look of it, the one that proved to be right was that it was going to be a tattoo shop. Jaskier hoped it wouldn’t be off putting to some of his customers with more…traditional values. By the looks of it, it was due to open any day. He hoped his new neighbours would be nicer than the last ones. He sighed and continued putting together an arrangement. He had too much work to do to worry about that right now.

Another few weeks passed and Ciri finished her exams. He was definitely grateful to have an extra pair of hands; his niece was marvellous. She’d been helping him out at the weekends while she was in school. He’d decided to take her on full time over the summer, he needed the help and she was saving for a car. He definitely appreciated having someone to talk to with Ciri’s sharp wit and general good humour. Most people didn’t realise they were related though, they couldn’t see past Ciri’s blond tresses and paler skin. However, if one observed her carefully, her mannerisms were similar to Jaskier’s and she had the same glint in her eye just before she made a smart-assed comment.

The tattoo shop next door had opened too, a steady stream of people going in and out. Jaskier has yet to meet his new neighbours though. Oh well, he presumes they are busy with their opening week or something like that. He’d bump into them eventually.

Jaskier had been doing a bit of tidying up one evening. Even though they technically weren’t closed because the door was still open, it was too late for any more customers so he had sent Ciri to go and get them both a coffee from the café down the road and popped in his headphones. He hummed and bopped his way around the floor, cleaning as he went. He was so distracted that he didn’t notice the man who’d come in until he walked straight into him.

Jaskier snapped out of his day dream to find a man who was basically a blonde, tattooed superman standing in his flower shop. His long hair was drawn back from his face in a bun, accentuating a jawline Jaskier could cut himself on and, holy shit! Did he have gold eyes?!? He thought this stranger looked fantastic. Oh shit, he was staring at Jaskier, he should probably snap out of it and say something.

* Bad Jaskier! * He internally chided himself. *No ogling! *

“Can I help you mister….?” Jaskier asked, clearing his throat and yanking out his headphones. He had to be professional.

“Geralt, Geralt Rivia. I own the tattoo shop next door.” The man, Geralt, offered his hand. Jaskier noted then that if he wanted to, this guy could probably break his entire hand. However, while firm, the handshake bore no ill intent. Good.

“Ah! My new neighbour! Julian Alfred Pankratz, at your service, but I prefer Jaskier.” He gave a flourishing bow. When he said he’d bump into the neighbours eventually he hadn’t meant literally. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your presence this evening?” *Nothing like laying it on thick Jaskier* he thought to himself, inwardly cringing at his own eagerness.

~~ time rewind~~

Geralt was relieved the day that White Wolf Tattoos finally opened for business. The renovations and paper work of starting out on his own had caused him mountains of stress. But he had known it would all be worth it once he got up and running, and away from her.

Her being his ex-girlfriend and ex-boss Renfri. He knew from the start that mixing work and pleasure would be a bad idea but at the time he’d been too loved up to care. Everything had seemed fine at the start but she gradually showed her true colours, growing more manipulative and egotistical as their relationship progressed. It was stifling. He had no reprieve, even when they’d split, he’d see her at work every day. He couldn’t take it anymore.

That was how he came to leave Cursed Princess Tattoos to start up on his own. Well, not completely alone. He had Yennefer. Granted, she was his ex too, a long time ago, but they’d parted as friends and continued as such ever since. She had been his rock during the aftermath of his break up with Renfri. She let him live with her until he found his feet again, she’d become his business partner and done the lion’s share of the paper work while he nursed his broken heart. He didn’t know what he’d do without her.

It had taken months but his shop was finally about to take off, he could feel it. A number of his old clients had followed him when he’d left Renfri’s shop, insistent that he was the only reason they ever went near the place. There were new clients too, as expected in a new part of town, that flocked to his shop. Thanks to Yennefer, social media pages had acted as some of his best advertising. He was finally making a real name for himself.

The first week had flown by. He and Yennefer had been run off their feet constantly but he assumed things would calm down after a while. Thankfully a short period of calm came on Saturday evening, his last appointment finished sooner than expected so he could take a break and do some exploring in the neighbourhood. Yennefer assured him she could hold the fort, allowing him to take a walk.

As he’d wandered out of the shop his gaze fell on the florist’s next door. A client he had consulted earlier that day had mentioned wanting a floral piece, a flower shop was a great place to find inspiration. At first, he’d thought they might be closed but the door was open. As he entered his eyes fell on the most gorgeous man sweeping the floor. His brown hair looked soft and artfully styled; a yellow flower perched behind his ear. His dark eyeliner only emphasised how bright the blue of his eyes was, matched by his stylish blue shirt and jeans. He was stunning. Geralt was smitten. He’d realised long ago that he liked men and women but he hadn’t come across a man that he found so attractive in years.

He snapped out of his daze and cleared his throat hoping to get the man’s attention. No response. He tried again and still nothing. He stepped forward to tap the man on the shoulder only for him to turn around and walk straight into Geralt’s chest.

They stood for a moment, both dazed and staring at each other before the florist broke their silence.

“Can I help you mister…?” He’d trailed off while he yanked is headphones out. *Ah,* thought Geralt, *that’s why he didn’t notice me come in.* Geralt immediately offered his hand.

“Geralt, Geralt Rivia. I own the tattoo shop next door.” He shook the florist’s hand firmly, a hint of a smile going unnoticed in his eyes. He generally kept a very stoic outward demeanour.

“Ah! My new neighbour! Julian Alfred Pankratz, at your service, but I prefer Jaskier.”

So that was his name. Jaskier. He quirked an eyebrow at the flamboyant bow he received and resisted the urge to scoff. This was a lively one, he could tell. He practically radiated positive energy.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your presence this evening?” Jaskier asked him. Another eyebrow quirk, his presence was a pleasure then, was it?

~~~Back to presnt~~~

“I came for inspiration.” He stated simply. It was the truth. He watched Jaskier’s face split into a grin.

“Oh really?” the florist, “In that case, I can very much help you. How do you want me?” With that he struck a ridiculous pose and made what Geralt could only presume he thought to be a model face, which was more of an exaggerated pout. He could only scoff and roll his eyes at the antics, ignoring any possible subtext of the latter comment.

“For a floral tattoo.” He clarified, watching as Jaskier’s smile never faltered.

Okay, maybe Jaskier was being a little too flirtatious with the ‘how do you want me’ thing but in his defence, Geralt never even flinched, merely rolled his eyes and moved on. He’d take that as a good sign.

“Ah! That I can help with too.” He gestured grandly around the shop. “See anything you like the look of?” He knew he certainly did, watching Geralt like a hawk as he had a glance around the shop. That man was something to behold.

Geralt shrugged, and moved to browse around the shop. If he was honest, the thing he most liked the look of was the owner, not his wares. He pushed that thought from his head and thought about his client. What had they discussed before?

“Sunflowers.” He said aloud, “My client said something about sunflowers.” He cast his gaze over the room searching for a bright flash of yellow, but although there were plenty of yellow flowers, there seemed to be no sunflowers. He frowned.

Jaskier noticed the frown. “I’m sorry. They’re quite popular at this time of the year, we sold out some time this afternoon.” It was just then that a flash of brilliance struck his brain. “Although, we’ll be getting more in first thing on Monday morning, if you would like to come by then?” He suggested, trying to mask the eagerness in his voice at the opportunity to see the tattoo artist again. He hadn’t known the man for more than five minutes but he felt drawn to him, despite the intimidating aura he gave off. He wanted to get to know him.

Geralt gave a deep, non-committal “Hmm.” As he glanced around the shop once more, before returning his gaze to the florist. He considered it. His client definitely said sunflowers specifically. And he certainly would not be opposed to seeing Jaskier again. He almost shook his head physically as he rid himself of that thought. *Stop it, its far too soon after her to be thinking about someone in that way* he reasoned with himself. While yes, the man was attractive, he knew nothing about him. They might have absolutely nothing in common. He might be just another heartbreak waiting to happen. With his stupid grin, and his stupid hair and his stupid, pretty eyes. *Fuck. * He needed to get a grip. Still, it wouldn’t do any harm to come back, with his customer’s best interests in mind, of course;

“Sure, I can find time.” That’s it Geralt, play it cool. He didn’t need to go rushing into anything. Besides it was basically just business and there’s no harm in being civil to the guy. Who knows, they might end up friends. Well, maybe acquaintances.

Jaskier tried to quell the traitorous swell of hope in his chest that he might have something resembling a chance with this guy. But, hey, if not maybe they could be friends at least. But for now, he must remain calm.

“Great, we open at nine.” He beamed. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Was that the time? “Also, we’re technically closed at the minute so….” He trailed off hoping Geralt would take the hint. While he would love to stand and chat all night, he had things to do.

Geralt answered with another “Hmm.”, this one more amused than the last. The smaller man certainly wasn’t behind the door. Normally most people would be more intimidated and would not try to get rid of his in such an unsubtle way.

“I’ll see you Monday then.” And with that he turned on his heel and left without another word.

“Nice meeting you!” Jaskier called after him with a wave. He was dumbfounded by the tattoo artist next door. He was so brooding and mysterious. A man of very few words and yet Jaskier was hanging off every “hmm”, let alone word. He needed to snap out of this. It was just a silly crush. And he could only imagine the stick he’d get if Ciri copped on. Speaking of, where was she with his iced latte? He needed to cool off.

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier #geralt z rivii #jaskier #tattoo artist/florist au #geraskier #tattoo geralt/ florist jaskier

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ford-ye-fiji · 4 years ago

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@honeybeesblr okay so here is the AU, finally! (For anyone who wants to know what the heck is going on in fallout- i made a really quick summary here)

Nuclear War happens- the Hargreeves have a vault bc Reggie is rich. Reggie is also super shady. When the nukes hit, Reggie isn’t home. Everyone in the house, the kids, Pogo, and Grace get to the vault. Reggie doesn’t.

Pogo, without Reggie, follows his “emergency orders” for what to do if something like this happened

Thus we have the cryogenic freezing situation

Five is kidnapped by, instead of Kellogg- by the Handler (Ben is either shot here in the process or his powers absolutely do not mesh well with freezing and he ends up dying. It could go either way)

Everyone gets put under again

They wake up later when a malfunction happens to find out that Pogo has been dead for years and Grace, a now 200 ish year old robot, isn’t exactly functioning well. She insists the radiation is terrible outside and that everyone is dead. They all want to go after Five but also they’re thirteen. Plus, to them it hasn’t been 200 years. It might as well have been yesterday.

A couple of years pass in the vault? Finally, they just all leave I presume at 18 ish one by one (bc they can’t stick together to save their lives I swear.) Thus, activities happen until we get to the seventeen year mark since Five’s disappearance. Diego is one of the last minutemen because he totally would be. He still checks up on Grace, who putters around the vault. Allison ends up in the Underground Railroad which, instead of there being an Institute- fights the Commission- Diego occasionally helps Allison out. Vanya, I think, would be a sort of traveling bard/occasional help because the apocalypse world would eat up that type of access to new music and knowledge. (There is, of course, a particular farm that she passes by very often). Without access to her pills, she’s discovered her powers and gone through all this growth and character development on her own so when her siblings eventually meet up with her again, she’s grown into herself and is also, “sup I have powers now sweet right”. Klaus ends up becoming a ghoul. He totally becomes the Hancock. He’s in charge of Good Neighbor, Ben is responsible for most of his good decisions. Luther leaves the vault last, but without Reggie he has to find his own path. He joins the Brotherhood of Steel. They provide the structure and responsibility that he felt empty without.

They sort of all keep vague tabs on each other. Until Allison gets word of a woman with a kid in Diamond City. The woman matches the description of the lady she remembers stealing Five. Plus she was seen with a thirteen year old boy who could vanish on command.

Allison loses it, contacts her siblings, they meet up in Diamond City and she’s all “FIVE IS FREAKING ALIVE” and they attribute his still being thirteen thing to him figuring out how to time travel. Maybe he escaped his captors temporarily by time traveling?

Allison and Luther have some tensions because Luther is BoS and Allison is Railroad. Diego literally has no time for either of them. He’s chill with Allison, but won’t really go out of his way for the synth cause. He has no patience for the BoS agenda and constantly spits in the face of authority because he can and he’s Diego and that’s what he does.

When Luther finds out Klaus is a ghoul he has a massive crisis. This is the first crack in the BoS propaganda when he doesn’t shoot his brother for being what he is.

Instead of Nick Valentine (sorry Nick I still love u I swear) we have detective Patch who helps them find their way to Kellogg/The Handler. They find out the Commission told her to kidnap Five. Why? They don’t know.

Plot progresses pretty much evenly in comparison to the game except faster because super powers. When they find out you have to teleport into the Commission, they collectively lose their minds.

They teleport into the Commission-Institute. I think they’d follow the Minuteman route up to this point. Allison still gives the railroad info, but because the minutemen are neutral ground with Diego, they do all the stuff there. Anyway, so they get to the Commisstitute and find little Number Five. This is where I’m changing things. Five knows them. He’s awfully confused stating that they are “dead” and “how can they possibly be here”- which is when he just shuts down, and Father walks in.

The sibs take their turns threatening him obviously, demanding to know what he’s done to Five, and that’s when Father reveals that he is Number Five. That it’s been way longer than 17 years for him.

The Father Five timeline is this. The Handler kidnaps him from his family. She takes him to the Commission, which is basically just the Institute but with Reggie. Reggie convinces Five to stay. They need him because he hasn’t been tainted by the radiation, thus he’s the perfect model for the human synth that they’re creating. Reggie is super freaking old. Because he’s an alien and he can live longer than most people. (Yes aliens exists in Fallout this would totally still work). The Institute in Fallout was initially under the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. I’ll go with that same premise here. He was in a similar type of place when the bombs fell, took shelter there and ended up creating the Commission. He is old and dying and desperate for solutions in returning the earth to normal, he thinks human synths are it, and of course, knew where some perfect untainted subjects were. So we have Five who is raised solely by Reggie until he dies and then is guided by the Handler. This Five loves his family, yes, but he’s lost sight of his original goal. He’s always been capable of terrible things, but now it’s worse, he isn’t concerned only with their happiness. Their survival yes, and also the survival of the world, but in a much crueler and colder manner.

His family is creeped out by this, especially by prototype child Five who Father Five states is their newest model. He has lots of kinks to work out, but he’s the first synth that they’ve successfully integrated his teleportation powers into.

Luther is having the biggest crisis of his life. Not only is one of his brother’s a ghoul, the other one is the leader of the evil organization that his organization is fighting. And then another version of him is also a synth.

Cue them being led around the Commission, meeting everyone etc. Lila is a synth there. Diego obviously gets her to flip and join the Railroad. They spend a lot of time with synth!Five who is, y’all guessed it, more the Five that we know and love and not this warped version that Father Five is.

Everyone is agreed on one thing though. The Commission needs to go. Which is where the railroad and the minutemen start tag teaming it. Luther has to make his decision to join his family or stay with the BoS. Of course, he chooses his family, but there’s a lot of struggle there. Taking down the Commission seems easy until they face Father Five. This a Five not afraid of harming his siblings, this is a Five who is doing this all for “their own good” this is a Fovd with years of experience under his belt, who has prepared himself for this exact scenario. It looks bad. But, of course, there’s one factor he didn’t take into account.

The synths are sentient. And, there is one person who knows him the best. Himself. Little synth!Five gives the siblings the edge they need to defeat Father Five. They don’t want to kill him. But they’ve got him under control. He’s sitting there beaten, broken, and tells them it doesn’t matter. He’s dying anyway. Some sort of cancer. (In accordance to the actual game). He tells them they might as well just leave him and move on. He’ll be dead soon anyways. (Cue crisis of faith and, even though he was literally just their enemy, sad boy hours for everyone)

The sibs depart bc they are on a time limit and blow up the Commission. Of course, there’s also them having to fight the Brotherhood of Steel later but I’ll just leave it there for now. Father Five, the original Five, ends up dying. Synth!Five is with them though. He was made with the blueprint of the original Five’s mind, so that paired with the year or so he’s had with the Commission leaves him cynical, bloodthirsty, and with pretty flexible morals, but he still has that deep love for his siblings, that desperate need to protect them. With synth!Five, the siblings find that they have a second chance with their brother.

#tua #The Umbrella Academy #Number Five #Fallout 4 #long post #And of course the summary is rudimentary #highly recommend a play through if you want it #Five #this got long and involved ughhh #also I’ve reread a million timss #but There are probably still mistakes rip #tua fallout au

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and-they-were-crewmates · 4 years ago

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Room For Three | Deleted Scenes

Hi friends! Have you read my fic Room For Three? If not, and you’re looking for Holden/Amos/Naomi fic, go check that out first, because it’s better than this.

The following are a few deleted scenes from Chapter 20. These scenes did not actually occur in the universe of the fic. They were deleted in part because they weren’t relevant to anything, so they added too much superfluous bulk to an already superfluous and bulky fic, and in part because I wasn’t very confident with my characterization of Camina’s family or the way I communicated their dialect. I do love the idea of giving Drummer some closure with Naomi, though I don’t think that Room For Three is the place to explore that concept. That being said, this was a fun little scene, so I’d like to share!

Very mildly NSFW text below. This is from a rated E fic, but is not explicitly sexual. CW recreational drug use (marijuana)

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” said Naomi into her hand terminal. The small window in the corner reflected her own image, alone in the room while Jim either finished up his therapy or got started on his way to lunch with Fred, and Amos journeyed to pick up food for the two of them. The larger window, the focus of her attention, showed Drummer’s full face and half of another woman’s, whose shoulder acted as a pillow for Camina’s tilted head. Her friend looked more at peace than Naomi had ever seen her.

“Nah, we insist. Whole crew will be happy to meet The Naomi Nagata. Plus, your Earther boys obviously need a lesson in family. Double date.”

“Is it still called a double date if there’s nine people at the table?”

“Nonuple date, then. Come. Josep good cook, Bertold good advice, Oksana good to look at,” she said. The body next to her stuck out an elbow in playful defense, and a loving giggle filled the speaker. “Good in bed, too,” Camina added to appease her, and they both laughed together.

“Alright, alright. I guess I’d rather get polyam lessons from you lot than from Jim’s eight parents.”

“Soyá. One Holden is more than enough for me.” Naomi didn’t say it, but she agreed. The Holden family was a lot to handle. She knew there might be a discussion with them in her future, in which she and Amos would undoubtedly have to stand under their mild-mannered scrutiny and well-meant condescension, but she hoped to put it off as long as possible.

“Be nice to him tonight,” Naomi implored, Camina rolled her eyes.

“To ta ge im, bosmang. I will try. No promises ‘bout Serge though. Discriminate, im does.”

“Ah, pashang fong, ‘Mina,” a man’s voice bellowed, the pejorative softened by his loving tone. His head appeared on Naomi’s device, upside down at the top of the frame. “Mi behave, promise.” They all three laughed together, a contagious sound that put a smile on Naomi’s face.

Camina’s family was as affectionate as it was functional, and any jealousy was squandered as soon as it sprouted through open networks of communication. They didn’t all sleep in the same bed, or all have sex at the same time, or spend every waking hour together, the six of them, but they loved each other equally just the same. They didn’t all keep score of their ‘wins’ and ‘losses’— surely Michio didn’t feel left out if Oksana got milkshakes with Josep one day, and Drummer didn’t pout if Serge chose to shower with Bertold instead of her. They found a balance together, where everyone was included, even in the moments when they weren’t. They’d be good role models.

“Alright, we’ll be there,” Naomi said, excitement written on her face. When the phone call was over, she turned her attention to the door. Amos was taking longer than anticipated. She supposed she’d have to find some way to occupy herself until he returned.

***

Josep’s cooking was so spicy that it felt like a targeted attack. Holden was the only one who seemed to notice— which only furthered his suspicions that it was a deliberate poisoning— though he knew he was just wimpier than anyone else in the room. Otherwise, Holden, Naomi, and Amos were welcomed warmly into Drummer’s home like members of the family.

They each had their own unique flavor of advice, ranging from categorically unhelpful to actually something to think about, spoken in different degrees of broken English or part-English part-Belter. Holden appreciated the great effort they went to to be understood by him. They probably had very little use for pure English in their day-to-day lives, and the grammar of Lang Belta was very different, more efficient. It made some of their translations a little hard for Holden to process, but if they could make the effort, so could he.

“Da pashang gut?” Serge asked. In the time it took Holden to decide if he was comfortable answering whether they had good sex, Amos and Naomi had already given their yesses. “Gut. The rest figure itself out.”

“That’s terrible advice,” interjected Michio.

“Work for me an’ Josep this morning,” he shrugged. “Take too long in shower. Mi angry. Join him in shower, mi na so angry.” Michio rolled her eyes.

“It’s not about sex,” she said. “You can have good sex and no love for each other.”

“Like in Camina dream about Holden,” Serge contributed. Holden didn’t know what to do with that information. Naomi seemed to like it.

“I’ve had that dream,” Amos added. Holden elbowed him.

“Sure, like that,” dismissed Michio. “It’s not about sex; it’s about trust. You trust your family will never hurt you on purpose?” she asked. The three of them nodded. “You forgive your family when they make a mistake?” she asked. They nodded. “Then you can forgive your family for anything.” That was pretty solid advice, but nothing Holden didn’t already know. They were good at forgiving each other. Had practice.

“How do you keep everything…” Holden searched for the word, “...equal?”

“Equal? Who cares equal?” replied Bertold. “Not equal. Camina in charge. Like Naomi for you.”

“Naomi’s not—” Holden said, then backed down. It was true enough.

“Ya. No need for equal.”

“Is there ever jealousy? Like, if you spend more time with one person than another.” A couple of them, including Amos, looked at him like that was the stupidest question ever asked.

“That’s baby shit, kopeng,” Bertold said. “Need comfort, ask Oksana. Need tough love, ask Camina. Need fix problem, ask Michio. Need laugh, ask Josep. Need blow job, ask Serge.”

“Hey,” Serge defended. “I’m funny, too.”

“Ya, baby,” Bertold consoled. “I just simplify for explain. Different for others, or depend on the day. Point is, na equal. Need comfort four time, tough love one, then go Oksana four time, Camina one. ‘Mina no cry ‘bout it. Because adult. Knows mi love im the same.” Drummer smiled at him. Holden had never seen Drummer smile as bright or as often as he had that night. “End of day, eat dinner as family, go bed happy.”

“Huh,” said Holden. “That… makes a lot of sense, thank you.”

“Try not to think so hard, Jimmy,” said Drummer. “Have some cake. Not so spicy.”

“Gee, thanks.”

***

The third or fourth time it was passed to her, Naomi took another long, luxurious puff off of Drummer’s vaporizer. She tried to pass it behind her to Jim (whose lap she didn’t think she’d been sitting in when Camina first pulled out the device) but he declined as always. Naomi presumed the captain was afraid of what slutty business he might get up to under the influence of high-grade synthetic cannabis in a room full of incredibly hot people. She couldn’t blame him, but it wouldn’t stop her from having a good time. Amos also clearly had no such reservations.

“So,” he said between two smaller puffs (Earthers with their puff, puff, pass bullshit), “what’s the sex like?”

“Amos, you can’t just ask people that,” Jim scolded. In rebuttal, Amos took his second puff and blew it in Jim’s face. Soberly, Naomi might’ve been on Jim’s side of that argument, but she was high and curious. Amos looked at Serge, who seemed the most likely to answer the question rather than flip him off.

“All six of you screw together, or is it a Noah’s Ark kinda deal?” Amos asked. Serge shrugged.

“Sometimes all six, sometimes three, sometimes two,” he said.

“Maybe sometimes nine,” added Josep lewdly, eyeing the three guests. Amos smiled salaciously, while scattered laughter filled the room. Camina cleared her throat and shook her head.

“What did I say?” she chided.

“Dinner, not orgy,” Josep said.

“Don’t see why it can’t be both,” said Amos. Jim elbowed him.

As her Earther lovers mingled with her Belter friends, new and old, Naomi felt a sense of wholeness. Her worlds were colliding— this time in a harmonious way, not an explosive one. She didn’t know if it was the THC in her lungs or the love in her life, but she was on top of the world.

Michio was teaching Amos and Jim an old Belter card game when Naomi was overcome with a powerful urge to speak privately with Camina. Several faces quirked suggestively as she pulled her friend from the mass of cuddling bodies on the living room floor. Apparently Amos wasn’t the only one with preconceived notions about their friendship. She ignored them and guided Camina into the next room, which only happened to be the bedroom.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy, Camina,” she said once they were in another room. Camina hummed and nodded, the corners of her mouth quirking up into a small smile. The weed seemed to unburden her considerably, though a deeper happiness radiated from her even before they’d smoked. Her hair was down, and it felt to Naomi like a metaphor.

“Don’t think I ever have been,” she said. Naomi took her hand and squeezed it, beaming with pride. Camina’s expression soured almost imperceptibly; her smile was still present, though it spoke of an old, tired sadness, or perhaps just a more reluctant version of joy. “Spent a long time wanting something I could not have.” She looked Naomi up and down, and the message was heard loud and clear. That bitter-sweet smile. The harbinger of closure.

“Ended up with something better, no?”

“Think so,” Camina answered. Her eyes widened as she asked, and there was a youthfulness in her face that Naomi hadn’t seen before, like a child seeking approval. Naomi didn’t think Camina needed her approval, but she gave it readily.

“I know so. Oksana looks at you like you painted the stars in the sky. You deserve that.”

“Same way Jimmy looks at you.”

“Same way Amos looks at my boobs,” Naomi countered. They both laughed. “You deserve to be happy, Camina Drummer. Are you?”

“Ya, Naomi Nagata. Have everything I ever wanted, and more. Could not have imagined having something this good until it happened.”

“I know what you mean,” Naomi said wistfully, thinking of Amos and Jim.

“You happy, too?” Camina asked.

“Ya,” answered Naomi, easily and honestly. Have everything I ever wanted, and more. “Mi xush.” Naomi pressed her forehead to Camina’s, and they shared their happiness together for a moment.

“Gut.”

“So... what’s this dream you had about Jim?”

“Oh hush.”

***

“You think they’re fooling around?” Amos asked the group of people whose names he didn’t know. Holden elbowed him for the third time that night. “Bug, at some point, you’re gonna have to realize jabbing me in the ribs ain’t gonna stop me from sayin’ shit.”

“What will?” Holden asked. Amos didn’t answer, just pointed his eyes down at Holden’s crotch, and figured he got the message when he received yet another nudge to his side. He laughed, took his turn in the card game, and hit the vape when it came around again.

“Could I ask you something, big man?” asked the guy with the triangle tattoos beside his eyes. Amos shrugged his permission. The guy took a second to say anything else, like he was trying to word his question. He whispered something to the man at his side.

“Ah,” the second man said, “wants to know if you have Earther cock.” Amos didn’t know what that meant. “You know, like…” he gave an inscrutable gesture, like jerking off, but not quite. “No skin.”

“Josep,” came a scolding female voice. Amos didn’t mind.

“Oh. Yeah, I’m circumcised.” The two men, one of whom must’ve been Josep, not that Amos would retain that information, seemed fascinated by that. He was about to ask if they wanted to see it when Naomi and her girlfriend came back. Another time, then.

#my ficlet #my fic #deleted scene

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