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whump-a-la-mode · 3 years ago

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Would you continue the villain nausea whumpee? To show how he is after he is removed from the chair? Do they set him free since he won’t be violent anymore ?

I loved the idea of Villain being set free, and ran with it a bit! I hope you enjoy! Thank you so much for the ask!!

This is a continuation from here, and, once again, the story below is below a read-more to prevent any accidental viewing of content that could trigger emetophobia very badly. I would hate for anyone to see it as they scroll past.

However, this time, the first scene is shown, as it contains no potentially triggering content.

CW//Emetophobia, graphic description of vomit, self-hatred, medical malpractice, low self esteem, hatred of former friends, Stockholm syndrome, whumpee liking whumper, minor eye whump mention, nausea

The auditorium crackled with the feedback of a thousand microphones, shoved towards the stage, frequencies battling and screeching against one another in chaotic choir. From a mass of bodies, of cameras and clattering boom mics, the wire spheres emerged in their dozens, all pointed centrally.

All pointed at the stage, and the podium that lived upon it, glistening in freshly-polished hardwood and media attention.

Behind the platform stood a figure, as equally basking in fame, and equally as glimmering. Upon their face, perfect white teeth glowed as freshly-fallen snow, pressed together in a wide grin.

In Hero’s eyes, it was pride that shone. The pride that came with accomplishment, with recognition, with glory, with perfect hair and thousand-dollar suits and the attention of the world, all upon their face. Their words.

“Thank you, everyone, for being here.” With a greeting alone, the world tucked back in hushed quiet. “Now, we will have plenty of time for questions later, but I wanted to start off with what has surely found itself on every headline this morning.”

A pause. The expected clamor erupted from the horde of media, incoherent shouting and stomping. A rioting crowd.

“Now, now.” It was a practiced ritual, between lion and tamer. “I will be taking all of your questions at the end, but let an old guy speak a little, first.”

Laughter queued.

“Well, then. I’m sure you’ve all seen the headlines-- you guys especially, you wrote them! But, for everyone at home, yes, the rumors are true. A villain is now loose in the city.”

A practiced gasp.

“And it’s a good thing! You see, for years, now, our in-house villainous psychology research has been working on a technique that they have dubbed Reaction-Based Morality Rehabilitation. Now, I’ll let you in on a little secret.”

The hero leaned forward, hand cupping the microphone, playful smile clear upon their face.

“They gave me this paper, and it was like, 100 pages long. And I didn’t know half the words in it.” They backed up, smile remaining. “But, trust me when I say, those guys in R&D? They’re amazing. They know exactly what they’re doing, even if I don’t.

But, I won’t leave you hanging. I do understand the just of the procedure, even if I’m not so sure on the jargon.

It’s a very simple solution to a very complicated problem. I am a firm believer in the fact that people are not born as villains. We are all born as heroes. Some of us, through unfortunate means, however, turn rotten. Through this technique, however, me and Organization believe to have found a way to separate the villain from the person inside.

By using innovative methods of therapy, our psychologists are able to help villains reject their evil ways, all the way at the center of their neurology! We have heard many concerns about the possibility of relapses, of a villain turning sides upon their release. Yet, with this technique, changing sides is not a conscious choice. It is as much a thought process as it is a carefully embedded instinct.

Of course.” They straightened momentarily. “That does not mean we are simply allowing once of those who have harmed you return to our beautiful city unsupervised. We ensure you, multiple surveillance methods have been put in place. This is only a trial run.

We at Organization wish to think each and every one for your cooperation and participating in the beta test of this revolutionary new technique. If this run receives positive results, you can all think of villainy as a thing of the past!”

From the crowd emerged a cheer. A cheer for glory, for fame, for progress!

For the destruction of a foe.

For unquestioned success. A villain defeated!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Villain’s fingers brushed over the top of the kitchen’s oak-stained counter, kicking up enough dust to suffocate, even as their tightly pursed lips protected them from such.

This was a house.

Their fatigued, half-haunted gaze turned to move over the surrounding interior. The kitchen was fully-featured, oak accented with shimmering, mottled granite. Not that anyone had bothered to clean in the place. Beyond the room and its attached dining area, a step lower, a carpeted area was positioned, furnished in felt couches and a television.

But this was not a home.

With a scratching nail to their neck, the villain moved forward numbly, to the base of the stairs and up them. Beneath their skin, the tracking chip was an awful feeling. Buried just deep beneath that it could not be seen, yet shallow to the point that its presence was unyielding and unignorable. A constant itch, embedded between twitching folds of muscle.

Maybe they could take it out. Maybe with the right kitchen utensil-

Halfway up the stairs, they dropped, keeled over themself with sickly pea soup filling in the space behind their eyes. In an instant, their mind retreated desperately from the thought, or any semblance of it, even as their stomach heaved with the residual ghost of it.

The tracking chip was fine and they didn’t care about it and they wanted it to stay there forever because it wasn’t coming out.

Legs now taking on an appearance that ever so slightly more resembled gelatin, the villain leaned upon the railing, ascending with a considerable additional difficulty up the stairs. In the very brief tour they had been given, their bedroom had been identified as the dark spruce door at the hall’s end.

Moving to it was a struggle on its own, insides still twitching and squelching with the remnants of acute nausea. Yet, their agony was only internal. They made it, and, all the way, kept their mind empty. Thoughts clear.

Not thinking of anything that could make them fall.

The bedroom was a bedroom. A dust-coated vanity. A small attached restroom. A nightstand. A bed.

At the very least, the quilts had some color to them.

Struggling in an attempt not to clutch their own stomach-- an action that they had learned, time and time again, only made the organ flip-- Villain shuffled to the piece of furniture that had been designed for use when they slept. Dust coughed from beneath the covers as they lifted them, crawling under.

Laying down helped, at least in some slight way that may or may not have been a placebo. It meant they could close their eyes. Make unwise thoughts that much less likely to happen.

For a moment, Villain succeeded in blackness. A blank mind. A world unmarred by the horrible jolts within their brain, the firings of neurons, the innate jostling of their frontal cortex.

Yet, it only lasted a moment.

With a jerk, they curled to a fetal position, legs bent and tucked beneath arms. Their body struggled as though weeping, though they had long ago learned not to cry. It was terribly difficult to produce tears, after all, when the metal drew their eyes to unbroken wakefulness.

This was a nightmare. They were certain of it.

That had been their first thought, of course, when the news of their liberation had been shared with them-- after it had been shared with the wider public. Things did not reach their cell very quickly. They had believed it to be a dream, for there was no other possible explanation.

Villains did not deserve freedom. They knew that. Violent little scumbags.

When they had been driven to the house, that was when the orinique connotations in their mind had flipped-- when dream turned to nightmare.

It was their home. Such had been stated clearly, so many times. Upon a thousand channels of media syndication. They had been given the keys, had stared at them for an agonizing moment. Watched them dangle between their fingers.

Hero had practically had to shove them through the doors, and even so, their attempts at escape ceased only after the fourth time they had been reprimanded for them.

Somewhere, something mechanical twitched. Moved. Buzzed. One of the cameras. They knew they were here, obvious, blocky, black eyes. At the very least, they provided some semblance of comfort.

Of home.

Of safety.

Oh, how desperately Villain wanted to go home. Everything had made so much sense there! Was so fantastically, wonderfully simple! If they were placed in their cell, they stayed in their cell. If offered food, they ate. When seated in their chair, they watched.

It was so easy. So invariable. Strict and stringently controlled, as the life of any vile beast who called themself a villain should be. Not a chance they could make a mistake, that they could do anything wrong. Only the slightest opportunities for their mind to slip, their thoughts to wander, to go somewhere bad.

Somewhere that would send them to their hands and knees, heaving and retching.

Food came often, with how difficult it was to keep it down. They’d counted once. Certainly the chefs must have become tired after preparing thirteens meals in a single day. Yet, in the end, they had only managed to fully digest one.

Especially since that was only the day on which they had counted-- it certainly wasn’t notable.

Now, there were no chefs. No cells. No chairs. No screens to watch. Order was gone, and chaos reigned.

Terrible, bloody chaos.

The house was far too large. So many times, Villain had begged for a schedule. For orders. For what they were meant to do-- when to get up, when to go to sleep, what to do inbetween.

Yet, the answers always came the same: A shrug, and four terrible words. “Whatever you want to.”

That which they wanted was not that which should be carried out! They were a villain! A terrible, retched thing! A monster! A devil! Their thoughts deserved no attention, their wants deserved only the click of the IV.

The sickness.

Somehow, despite the inherent maleficence that it most certainly carried with it, an idea manged to work its way through the folds of their brain. A thought. A plan.

A good one. One that did not incite their stomach to heaving.

Certainly, if they laid here, in this bed, then their freedom could not lead to the harm of anyone else. The world would remain safe, regardless of their liberty. And, when the cameras at last noticed, the heroes would be forced to return. To bring them back to the cell and the chair. To return them to where they belonged.

It was perfect-- though that wasn’t to say that anything they created could possibly be good.

Thus, they put the plan into action. Beneath the chains that were covers, upon the chair that was a bed, Villain waited.

Their plan worked for perhaps an hour.

An hour. Then the door was kicked in. This time, that which seized their chest had nothing to do with nausea, nothing to do with conditioning. Everything to do with terror.

Even their wildest dreams, their most optimistic ambitions, did not expect that the heroes would have come so soon. If they had, they would have knocked.

They curled tighter into their fetal position, fingers gripping skin until both turned white. Desperation and willpower, even together, could not stop their mind from tracking the noises as they moved through the house. Through the kitchen. The living room. Up the stairs. To the hallway outside.

Certainly, they would have noticed the lack of dust on the bedroom’s doorknob.

Perhaps it was a member of the public, come to take their righteous revenge. Such would certainly be deserved. Or, perhaps, a wayward hero, disliking the arrangement that had been made. Having decided to take the matter to their own hands. They deserved that, as well.

But, when the voice came, Villain knew that their hopes were as far as could be from the truth.

“Villain?”

Blank mind. Don’t think. Blank mind. Don’t think. Blank mind don’t think.

Beneath the blanket, they twitched.

“Oh, thank goodness.” Footsteps dashed to the bedside. Hands upon them. There was such a wholehearted relief to the voice, an unimaginable burden relieved.

Yet, such was impossible, as villains did not have hearts.

“We were so worried, so, so worried. You have no idea! Come on, come on.”

A hand, to the top of the blanket.

“There’s about a thousand cameras in here, buddy, so we need to get going. Everyone at base has been so nervous, all day. Ever since we heard... My car’s just outside, we need to go, quick.”

Villain’s only solace was torn away.

“Buddy? What’s wrong?” The voice was practically a whisper. “It’s me. It’s-

Supervillain.”

A blank mind, filled with thoughts.

The initial strike of nausea was enough to make them wail, even as they had no ability to. They hardly remembered getting to their hands and knees, hardly remembered as they began to heave. No. They registered only the horrid, green-and-brown mess that exploded upon the pale white bedspread.

Again, again, a thousand exhausting times, the heaving struck them, until chunky vomit was spilling off the side of the bed, ruining the antique carpeting. It only ceased to spill when their insides were well and truly empty.

That was when they were picked up.

It was a caring, warm hold, tucking them close to the chest of a vile demon. Yet, they had not the slightest ounce of energy to resist. Any muscles not exhausted by fatigue went back to work, heaving and coughing, even as nothing more emerged.

“I’m sorry.” With a broken voice, Supervillain spoke. “I’m so, so sorry. Let’s go back to base, okay? Everything’s going to be okay, I promise, I promise, buddy.”

No.

With evil like this in the world, nothing was even going to be okay again.

#villain whumpee #whump #whumpblr #medical whump #doctor whumper #hero whumper #hero x villain #hero villain whump #whump community

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5uptic · 3 years ago

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crewfu: fanfic spotlight :)

Angel of Life, Bringer of Death by woofles1990 (5up/Steve, teen rating, gen | 377 words, chaptered WIP)

Summary: Steve and Dk just wanted to explore a dungeon. That's all they wanted! A certain angel clearly had other plans.

flashover by Anonymous (Apollo & 5up, teen rating, gen | 853 words)

Summary: n. the moment a conversation becomes real and alive, which occurs when a spark of trust shorts out the delicate circuits you keep insulated under layers of irony, momentarily grounding the static emotional charge you've built up through decades of friction with the world. OR: it's pretty stupid to sleep on the tiles of a subway station, even though you are well aware you have a home. It's also quite embarrassing to have a friend pick you up from there.

Sparks Fly by Rocketro (5up/Fundy, gen rating, m/m | 863 words)

Summary: 5up and Fundy watch fireworks together.

you're holding back (shut up and dance with me) by lytriis (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1.2k words)

Summary: 5up and steve dance.

what happens in Vegas by aphilologicalbatman (Apollo/Steve, explicit rating, m/m | 1.4k words)

Summary: "I'm pretty sure this is a bad idea, Steve." "Nah, this is a great idea, dude." (Or: the one where they hook up in Vegas.)

quiet when i'm coming home by homeward_bound (5up/Hafu/David, teen rating, gen & multi | 1.4k words)

Summary: 5up comes home from LA.

i could peel it for you by sweetlikesugr (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 2k words)

Summary: One appletini at a time, 5up ponders about oranges, buttons and celestial bodies.

from blossoms by 5280ft (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 2k words)

Summary: “O, to take what we love inside, to carry within us an orchard, to eat not only the skin, but the shade, not only the sugar, but the days, to hold the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into the round jubilance of peach. There are days we live as if death were nowhere in the background; from joy to joy to joy, from wing to wing, from blossom to blossom to impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.” -Li-Young Lee, From Blossoms

you think that i'm foolish now by amsves (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 2.1k words)

Summary: “Is everything okay?” That’s a stupid question and Steve knows it. If everything was okay, Five wouldn’t be randomly appearing at his hotel room at—Steve checks his phone—2:37 in the morning. Their group had split up for the night a few hours ago, uncharacteristically early for them, but Five had had plans to talk to—

Like you wouldn't notice by Anonymous (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 2.1k words)

Summary: Apollo is having feelings, so he pushes them down and hopes Steve doesn't notice. Avoiding Steve was never going to end well. "From that moment on, Apollo becomes hyper-aware of all things Steve. The way his long leg touches his, hip-to-knee, in the bar booth when they're drinking overpriced cocktails."

Vegas Lights by amethystvxidwalker (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 2.3k words)

Summary: “You were planning on actually swimming with me, right?” Steve faced him, brown eyes and dopey grin almost making Five swoon. He forced himself to focus on Steve’s face rather than the black ink above his hip, small, blocky text that read ‘SUGR?’ because of course it did.

ice-cream-covered screaming hyperactive thought by cj__writes (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 2.5k words)

Summary: Apollo isn’t sure when, exactly, he fell in love with Steve. Maybe, just maybe, he thinks, he never really fell. Maybe, he’s been falling. He’s still falling.

u spilled orange on u by SmearedWords (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 3.1k words)

Summary: Five times Dumbdog thinks Steve is illegally attractive and the one time he tries to admit that to him. Keyword: tries.

My love is the evening breeze touching your skin by tumtummeke (Apollo & Steve, general rating, gen | 5.2k words)

Summary: Steve's love language is physical touch. Dumbdog's is... not that. A day at the beach with Steve and Dumbdog (and background crewfu), told in five touches.

be like the love that discovered sin by Qupid (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 5.6k words)

Summary: It’s annoying because Apollo even left for work a whole hour early today, which should be enough time to get to his shitty office job like everyone else on the train, but unlike everyone else, Apollo also has a second job. Which leads to the last reason why Apollo is having a bad day: being pinned under an overturned car while a villain monologues at him. Well, that last reason isn’t really part of Apollo’s bad day, but sue him if he wants to include the misfortunes of his hero identity Dumbdog while listing the reasons for his bad mood. “I don’t have time for this, Suptic,” Apollo grits out, interrupting the villain’s monologue.

friends in this town by 5280ft (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 6.1k words)

Summary: Five only realizes he’s bitten his nails down to the quick when the sting of pain catches up to him. He’s probably overthinking. He just needs to talk to Hafu. That’s all. ...He doesn’t want to. He’s worried he will only hear an answer he’ll hate. Out back, putting off talking to his sister really gives Five a sense of deja vu. All he needs to complete the feeling is Steve. “You need to relax, man.” Speak of the devil.

this party's just another haunted house by cj__writes (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 7.7k words, chaptered WIP)

Summary: On December 31st, Apollo wakes up in his hotel in Vegas. The problem is, it's always December 31st.

call me by your name (i don't know that's pretty gay) by Qupid (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 10k words)

Summary: “Oh!” The human suddenly exclaimed, “You probably want my name!” Five had no interest in holding the power of a name over a human, it always seemed more trouble than it was worth, “Not particu-” “I’m Steve! It’s a pleasure to meet someone as cute as you.” The human, Steve, interrupted before 5up could finish. 5up’s eyes widened as he felt the power of gaining a name rush through him. It was intoxicating and he could see why some fae would frequently come to the human realm just to trick humans into giving up their names. Five hadn’t needed to trick Steve, the man had given up his name freely and Five couldn’t believe how goddamn stupid he was to do it. “Ohhhh my god you’re an idiot.”

you'll hear me howling outside your door by Qupid (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 22.2k words)

Summary: Something warm blew against Steve’s face and, distantly, he heard a high pitched whine. A nudge, and when Steve ignored it, a more insistent push had him opening his eyes to the face of a wolf mere inches from his own. Steve laughed. How delightful! He was hallucinating animals now. The wolf’s fur looked bright to him, but even with as dark as it was Steve could tell it wasn’t white. Maybe it was more of a sandy color. Not that it mattered when all Steve could focus on was its piercing gaze and how its eyes seemed to bore into his soul. The wolf whined again and nudged Steve in the shoulder with its nose, making the man rear back when he realized that this might actually be a real wolf and not a hallucination at all.

kinda good for my love by sweetlikesugr (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 44.7k words, chaptered)

Summary: 5up can’t really recall the exact moment when dares became his and Steve’s thing and he is not sure if he even wants to try - after all, why would you mess with something that feels so natural, that feels so right? Why not just let it take its course and see where it might lead them?

Also: mangoedges‘s 5up the human impostor collection!

FAQ:

Wait what is this: pretty straight to the point! i’ll regularly share crewfu-related fanfictions to this blog :)

How regularly is “regularly”?: great question! LOL. it depends on the flow of fanfics that get uploaded, which i do not have any control over, but i’m looking forward to do this twice a month. after all, it’s only me doing this and i often run on a tight schedule.

What’s the format like?:

[title of fic with link] by [author of the fic with link] ([main pairing(s)], [fic rating: eg, general rating], [relationship: eg, m/m] | [word count in k], [added prompt to specify if it’s complete or not])

Summary: [summary provided by the author. if it doesn’t have a summary, a “No summary” prompt will be put instead]

(What does WIP mean again?): Work In Progress :)

Why are you doing this?: from the beginning, my blog has hosted conversations about RPF (real people fiction) and crewfu pairings. this has evolved into people sending me updates about certain fics in the crewfu tags every now and then, but i wanna take the next step and just do these things myself. after all, i’m already lurking in the tags often to see the fics that get posted. as someone who is both a writer and a reader, i wanna appreciate fanfic writers and help out other people that want to read fanfic and consume more fandom content!

Will it be AO3 only?: well, ao3 has a very helpful tag system that makes finding fics incredibly easy, as well as allowing people with no accounts to like and comment on fics, so that’s the site i will personally look in for fanworks. but if there are any fics you’ve written or liked in any other platforms, such as wattpad, you can always contact me through my inbox (send an ask or a dm!), and i’ll make sure to include for the next fanfic spotlight :)

Does it mean you won’t reply to fic asks anymore?: yeah, i guess. since i’ll be doing the searching myself it seems counterproductive. but if i ever skip a fic or again, it’s in another platform, or you’ve posted/read the fic a while ago and you want to get more traction on it, hit me up and i’ll take it into consideration!

Will you read every single one of the fics on your list?: oh no. again, i run on a tight schedule, and also i have my own taste when it comes to fics. i won’t be reviewing fics or any of the sort, and my intention extends to simply sharing these fics to this page so people will have easier access to them :) that’s where ao3 tagging becomes SUPER useful!!!

So what’s the criteria for the way you’ll sort out the fics in your list?: word count, going from lowest to highest. in case of fics in other platforms, i guess i’ll put them at the top of the list. i’ll also be looking for fairly recent fics, so let me know if you want any old-ish fic to be included.

I see you talking mostly about 5up/Steve and Steve/Apollo. Can I still send/see other crewfu fics?: why yes absolutely! my goal is to push every fic which heavily features regular crewfu characters - 5uptic and supdog just happen to be very popular pairings. so, to give you a list: core 4 (5up, hafu, dk, steve), apollo, aipha, annie, janet, kimi, ellum, koji… you know the drill. it doesn’t have to be centered on a relationship, or about 5up in specific, etc. my only requirement is that any of the previously mentioned members are a central part of the fic or are HEAVILY featured in it (sorry, minecraft fics with 50+ tags who only mention 5up as an afterthought won’t make the cut :/).

Isn’t shipping Bad™?: well, it’s a little more nuanced than that. i will go out of my way to discourage and shame people who often violate CCs’ boundaries by acting like so and so has a crush on this person, or that this and that are Actually Into Each Other or secretly dating. any sort of tinhat bullshit is a big nono (think larries). but i run on the assumption that people who write rpf understand that what they’re doing is simply write a completely fictional story using real life personalities, and understand the boundaries necessary to do it - aka they’re not tinhats, they understand they can’t assume everything about CCs’ thoughts and personalities, they understand that what they’re writing is strictly fiction, they keep these works only in fandom circles, etc. (but again, it’s only one me doing this, so please be kind if i don’t happen to know that this person is Actually a tinhat or whatever).

show fic: NO. (seriously. i don’t feel comfortable putting my ao3 account out there. please respect my privacy on these trying times <3)

I REALLY don’t care about your rpf/fic talk: fair! i’ll be tagging every single one of these posts as “fanfic spotlight”, so just mute the tag using tumblr settings so you’ll never have to look at these! likewise, you can follow the tag if you want to keep up with it, or search it on my blog to look at the other entries you might have missed.

Hey, my fic is here and I don’t feel comfortable with it being shared over here: no problem! let me know as soon as you can and i’ll take it down <3

#crewfu #fanfic spotlight #very lenghty ones for this list!!!#also the first e rating oh boy oh boy

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jamiemackenziefraser · 4 years ago

Text

All That Was Fair

Chapter 7: Under His Protection

Work Summary: Jamie Fraser is hiking near some strange stones when he comes across an unconscious lass. Determined to help her, Jamie’s life is turned completely upside down as he takes her in. The only issue... she’s not human.

Chapter 7 Summary: Claire confronts various emotions; tensions rise.

Read on AO3

Read chp 7 below the cut

Previous , Next

A/n: Hold onto your hats, we’re taking a dive into Claire’s POV!

Chapter 7: Under His Protection

***

Claire woke slowly, her brain struggling against the mire of unconsciousness, swimming lazily to the surface. As she cracked her eyes open and took in the darkness, confusion and anxiety gripped her like vines coiling around her ankles.

Where was she?

The material under her cheek was strange, and she certainly wasn’t on the ground with the familiar feeling of brush and grass against her cheek. Whatever she was lying on was soft and had a lot of give.

She nearly started to panic, but then she became aware of the feeling of arms wrapped around her and her body securely anchored to that of the warm one behind her.

While her brain, still clouded with sleep, struggled to identify who the arms belonged to, it was her heart that fondly sighed, “Jamie.”

And then she felt it.

Safety— warring against the uncertainty.

Awareness came back to her with that, and she remembered all the events of the previous few days. Here she was, in this strange human’s house, in his arms even, forever cut off from her home.

The grief washed over her anew. Her whole world had been tilted upside down in mere minutes, the repercussions of touching the stones still revealing themselves. But she could feel in her bones that she was lost, never to return.

The thought terrified her.

Tears pricked at her eyes and her heart leapt suddenly to her throat. She tried to swallow the lump, to force it back down, but she felt the pressure inside her building— fit to burst into another meltdown over all she’d lost.

So she turned to the one thing she could— both figuratively and literally.

She rolled over so she was facing Jamie. In sleep, his arms instinctively shifted with her so he was still holding on to her, clutching her body to himself. As he settled back in, his breathing a reassuring rhythm, he pulled her even closer with a soft hum.

He looked so peaceful that she hesitated to wake him. But tears were dripping from her eyes now, and she felt so alone that she wanted him— awake with all his gentleness and quick reassurances— desperately. In a tremulous, barely there voice, she whispered, “Jamie?”

It took only a second for his eyes to open and fix on her. They were beautiful eyes, she thought— blue like the sky on a sunny day. Those eyes held such kindness, such soft compassion. They had been one of the first things that made Claire know he was a good man.

As soon as Jamie saw her face, which must have been wet with tears by now, he let out a pained sound. His big hands let go of her and untwined from her body so that he could lift them to cup her cheeks, the thumbs swiping at the falling tears.

“What’s wrong, mo nighean donn?” he asked, his face soft with concern.

The tenderness there made Claire’s breath hitch and the silent tears fall even faster.

“I— I’m sorry—” she suddenly felt very foolish to have woken him, without even a good reason, “I just… woke up scared. And then I remembered...”

There was a mere second for her to berate herself over her behavior before understanding crossed Jamie’s face and assuaged Claire’s embarrassment. Jamie had an amazing knack for making her feel that he understood and hurt with her without making her feel pitied. This kind of empathy was something Claire had never really experienced before she met him.

It was with that empathy that he met the tide of her grief.

“Come here,” he said softly.

He pulled her closer and his hand settled on the back of her head to press her face into the crook of his neck. She went willingly. The skin of his neck felt warm and silky under her teary eyes, and she let more drops fall onto the offered canvas of his body. She wasn’t actively crying like she had the previous day when the realization hit her, just quietly addressing her loss, releasing pent up tears that seemed to have been inside her all night. The nighttime was when fears always preyed, darkness and loneliness reminding one of their greatest insecurities, but she was lucky not to be alone.

Both of his arms encircled her, but one of his hands was free enough to rub comforting circles into her back. His hands were so big, she marveled at the feeling and strength of them— so reassuring. Grounding her.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. Her lips barely brushed the skin of his collarbone as she spoke.

“Dinna be sorry,” his deep voice was a vibration in his chest that she could feel from how she laid on him, pressed so tightly against his body, “I’m here.”

That made her feel a thousand times better. As much turmoil as she’d been through in the past couple of days, he was her light— her anchor. She somehow trusted him with everything inside her.

She’d known him to be trustworthy from the first time she touched him. Before that, when he’d knelt a short ways away from her on the moor, she’d noticed the kindness in his eyes, the truth in his words, and the deference in his posture that indicated he meant her no harm. That all made her less wary. But the first time she’d truly known was when she’d touched his face and felt that warm rush of security and gentleness, more powerful than she’d ever felt before. There was a connection between them that was completely novel to Claire but nonetheless reassuring. From that second on, Jamie had been hers, and she his.

As she wept against him now, she couldn’t help but believe his earnest words. Everything would be okay. As long as he was there to hold her, to protect her, she could survive.

Comfort.

He continued to embrace her long after her tears had dried. With infinite patience, he simply offered his body to her, wrapping himself around her as if he could block out her pain. She was loathe to move away from him and the safety he provided, but the sun was up— light was filtering through the window indicating late morning— and she needed to face the day.

She lifted her face from his shoulder and locked eyes with him.

“Thank you,” she said softly. She hoped he knew all the unspoken things those words held— thank you for saving me, for caring for me, for holding together my broken pieces, for letting me drop into your life like this and never complaining once…

He must have known, because he gave her a smile that made her knees feel like jelly and said simply but with a weight of regard, “ye’re welcome.”

They got up slowly. Claire parted from Jamie reluctantly, but sat up nonetheless, allowing him to stretch and then set off. Watching him, all the high emotions from the night before seemed to dissipate, and she was left feeling more like herself again. Jamie seemed to have a routine that he followed every morning, and Claire followed him, interested to watch what exactly he was doing.

First, he padded sleepily to the little place with the “shower”, scratching the back of his head where some of his beautiful red curls were sticking up adorably. He’d left the “door” open, but Claire wasn’t entirely sure he knew she was there as he made the water appear (she still had no idea how it did that!) and put a small stick thing under it. Then, he raised the stick and started to rub it inside his mouth. She recoiled a little in disgust, wondering if this was something like “eating”, but upon closer inspection, it seemed to be something different entirely. It lasted only another few seconds before he leaned down and washed his face under the little waterfall. When he straightened up again, his eyes met hers in the strange reflective surface, and he turned suddenly toward her.

“Claire!” he exclaimed, “I didna realize ye were there. Ehm… I hafta take a shower. Would you mind givin’ me a bit of time?” His eyebrows were raised apologetically as he thrust a thumb in the direction of the “shower.”

With a nod and a smile she hoped looked reassuring, she said, “Of course!”

She didn’t want to impose on him, and he’d been spending nearly every second with her. He was obviously reluctant to leave her on her own, but she wanted him to know that she’d be fine.

He gave her a nod, still looking a bit guilty, and then shut the bathroom door, separating them. A second later, she heard the sound of rain and figured he was beginning the shower.

Left to her own devices, she headed down. She was still a little hesitant about descending the odd hill that led down to the other level— the blocky shapes on it seemed easy to slip on— but she held tightly to the little trees that lined either side.

When she’d finally made it down, the grey “cheetie” Adso was sitting in the middle of the place Jamie called “the living room” and looking up at her with big green eyes.

“Hello my friend!” she exclaimed happily as she sat down to run her fingers through his soft fur. He rumbled beneath her hands, making her giggle a little, and she spent a few moments completely absorbed with Jamie’s companion. He must have been loyal to Jamie— she thought— to choose to spend all his time inside with him instead of out on the moors.

As she stroked his soft fur, thoughts of her future crept into her mind, unbidden. Thinking more than a few days ahead was complete madness, so she limited herself to worrying about this day and its troubles. Jamie would honor his promise and take care of her, but if she was going to be here for any amount of time, she needed to really start learning about this world. She didn’t particularly care for the feeling of helplessness that was her ever-present companion; she wanted to become competent and hopefully one day reciprocate Jamie’s care. With a hardening resolve, she decided that today she would be brave. She would learn everything Jamie would teach her and take as many steps as she could toward her new life.

It wasn’t long before Adso grew bored of her. Just as she had made up her mind, he abruptly hopped to his feet and pranced off, tail flicking in goodbye.

Claire wasn’t sure what to do next. She would have liked to go back and feel the warm wind (what was it Jamie had called it— “space heater”?), but she wasn’t sure how much heat it could possibly have trapped inside of it and thought probably best to save it. Glancing around the room in search of inspiration, her gaze fell on the window.

It was a beautiful day— the sun illuminating the terrain with its bright colors, not even a hint of the usual Scottish greys of clouds and drizzle. It was the perfect opportunity to tend to Jamie’s plants (which were sorely in need of a good touch). And if doing something she was good at helped her to feel more competent and useful in this world, all the better for it.

She headed outside right away. Kneeling down in the dirt, the slight tension inside her eased. She was in her element. Her hands instinctively reached for the plants, classifying to herself, cataloguing their needs in her brain, and simply touching in order to better sense them.

It wasn’t long before she grew lost in her endeavors. There were some invasive plants— dreadful, malicious things that didn’t even belong in Scotland, she knew— that she began to pull up and toss aside. Their roots were strong, but she could feel them choking the life from the others and pulled hard. Her hands grew dirty in her efforts but she didn’t mind; it was only evidence of her making a difference. The sun rose even higher in the sky as she worked, but she was paying no attention to anything around her. She finally felt a sense of value again as she freed the plants from the choking hold of the invaders.

Her tranquility was suddenly shattered when a loud bang came from the direction of the house. Claire jolted upright, dropping her weeds, and her head whipped toward it.

Jamie stood just outside, his fiery hair aglow in the sun but beautiful blue eyes blown wide in panic and fixed on her. Seeing his tension, she thought for an instant that something was terribly wrong. Was something after him? Come to harm them? She had no idea the dangers of the human world.

But then he was suddenly racing toward her, eyes never leaving her the whole time. He fell on his knees beside her and scooped her into an embrace. Bewildered, she didn’t resist as he clutched her to his chest, hugging so tightly it was nearly hard to breathe.

“Christ, lass!” he burst out, “I looked everywhere for ye and couldna find ye. I thought maybe ye’d run off or somethin’d happened and—” He was breathless as he spoke, and Claire could feel his chest heaving against her as he tried to calm himself down.

“I was only out here,” was all she could think to say.

Jamie pulled back a little so he could look down at her, but made no move to let her go. She didn’t particularly mind— she liked being in his arms and wished he’d hold her all the time, but she was disturbed by how upset he seemed. He studied her for a long moment, eyes sweeping over her as if ensuring she was alright.

“Ifrinn,” he muttered suddenly, face softening from an expression of frantic worry into a more gentle concern, “ye’re shakin’ like a leaf. How long have ye been out here, a nighean? And wi’ out a coat? Ye’re cold as ice.”

Claire wasn’t sure what a “coat” was, but at his words, she realized that she was freezing. He was right— her whole body trembled in that odd way it had ever since she’d touched the stones. She furrowed her brow in discomfort. The cold was the worst.

Jamie was muttering something under his breath and rubbing his hands up and down her arms. On one pass, they traveled further down and caught her hands in his, heedless of the dirt caked on them. He squeezed, and Claire was taken aback at just how warm they were.

“Come now. Inside,” he told her, his tone indicating there was no room for argument.

He all but hauled her up and tugged her toward the house. Her hand was clasped in his, so the tension that lingered in his body was apparent to her.

The moment they were inside, Jamie whirled to face her. He snagged the soft fabric (what was it called again— blankit?) from the couch and, facing her all the while, raised his arms over her head to wrap it around her shoulders. The forceful movement of him swaddling her brought her closer to him, and he pulled the edges tight together so she was wrapped completely. Her trembling hadn’t eased in the slightest, if anything it was getting worse now that she was back in the warmth of the house, so she was grateful for the comfort.

But that sense of gratitude didn’t stay long.

“Christ, lass,” Jamie was saying, voice giving way to frustration, “ye canna go wanderin’ like that.”

His hands waved wildly in a grand gesture of “wandering”, as if she had walked all the way back to her forest instead of just out back.

“I was only just outside,” Claire protested.

She took a step backward so Jamie wasn’t so close to her. She didn’t like the emotions radiating from him. He seemed red to her, like the heat of the sun— energy roaring within.

“Aye, but ye didna say a word about it tae me first. Anythin’ could have happened to ye,” Jamie shot back.

Claire felt her nerves fraying at the tone of his voice.

“I’m capable of taking care of myself,” she spat, bristling.

“Are ye, then?” His tone teetering just into the realm of mocking, “Because—”

That put her over the edge. She dropped the blanket from her shoulders and stalked back toward him, fire in her belly.

“You treat me like I’m just some foolish child! Like I’m this fragile thing about to break if I’m alone for one moment. I may not know everything about your world, but I’ve taken care of myself my whole life. I don’t need you!” The last words burst from her mouth in her fury, lashing out with a shot aimed right at his heart.

But the moment she said them, she wished she could grab them out of the air and shove them back in. Jamie seemed to instantly crumple. It was as if she’d struck him with her fists rather than her words, the “I don’t need you” a killing blow. He deflated, all the tight muscles in his shoulders uncoiling as he slumped back against the couch heavily and slid a little further down to sit on it. His big blue eyes looked up at her with the most heartbroken expression she’d seem in her life. And it tore her to pieces.

Even worse… to know it was her that had caused him such anguish.

“I ken ye can take care of yerself…” he said, very softly, all the fight completely gone out of him, “I’m sorry that I made ye feel like I didna think that. It’s jes’ that I was sae worrit when I couldna find ye, I thought I’d maybe lost ye forever and… I overreacted.”

Nearly the exact same way Jamie had gone limp after her words tore through him, his soft confession knocked all the air from her lungs. Any remaining fight in her was gone, leaving only the hollow feeling of regret.

She hesitantly knelt down in front of him. After his declaration, he’d braced his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. As she settled herself between his legs, she gently took both of his wrists and forced him to raise his head to look at her.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, that being the most important thing that she was dying to ensure he knew, “I overreacted too. The truth is... it scares me how much I do need you—”

His beautiful eyes peered searchingly into hers, as if desperate for a confirmation on her face that she was telling him the truth. She couldn’t help but reach a hand up and lightly cup his cheek, caressing his face softly. Her touch was fueled by a yearning to feel close to him again as much as to comfort him.

From the second she’d met him, she’d felt a connection to him down to her very soul. They were bonded, the two of them. And now she’d found herself falling for him. And in the face of that— and the desperate need for him that scared her to her core— she’d lashed out.

“I dinna ken why…” Jamie started, very slowly, “but ever since I found ye on that hill, I’ve felt this… compulsion… to keep ye safe. To care for ye and protect ye from anythin’ that might steal that bonny smile from yer face. I’m sorry that I went too far. I wish I could jes’ tuck ye into my coat like a wee cheetie and carry ye with me against my chest, but I ken that’s no’ what ye need. I’ve been selfish, Sassenach. If I coddled ye, it was only because I needed it, not you. But I wasna lookin’ to see how it hurt you. Ye’re incredibly brave, mo nighean donn, and strong. Dinna ever believe otherwise, or think that I believe otherwise…”

Tears shimmered in his eyes, and she felt a matching sheen in her own. The pressure was building inside her, a lump in her throat matching the coil in her belly.

It surprised her when the next words came tumbling out of her mouth, a hasty confession she hadn’t meant to see the light of day—

“I don’t feel very brave.”

It was the truth, of course. She’d been a mess this whole time. Unable to bear the weight of separation from her people, clinging to Jamie as her lifeline. Without him, she would have surely shattered…

She was interrupted from these thoughts by Jamie sliding down onto the floor in front of her so they knelt face-to-face. His big hands came up to cradle her jaw, forcing her to meet his eyes. Then, he began to speak, somehow achieving the perfect balance of firm conviction and gentleness.

“But ye are, a nighean. Ye are here, and ye’re still goin’. That’s brave.”

His words hung in the air— short, simple, but as poignant as a stone throw.

She nodded, too choked up to give any further reply.

It was then that he hugged her. Smashed her to his chest, his arms wrapping around her middle, solid as trees, and holding her to him as if he was scared she would disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough. Her own arms had been trapped between them during his sudden movement, but she managed to wriggle them free to bring them around his shoulders and embrace him in return.

She felt anchored suddenly— as if she’d been floating in the sky, subject to the fancies of the wind, before this strange man had suddenly reached up and pulled her back down to solid ground.

All thoughts of the home that had been lost suddenly disappeared from her mind as Jamie held her. Because it was thoughts of her new home— her home with him— and the hope that accompanied them that filled her mind instead.

“You know… I think I’d actually quite like to be a cheetie wrapped in your coat,” she tremulously joked, her voice muffled from how her mouth was pressed into the fabric at his shoulder.

Jamie let out a laugh that vibrated through him and into her— a clear, unrestrained sound like the way the loch ripples when a stone plunks into it. She wished to herself that she could hear it forever— to spare him from any pain like the kind she’d just inflicted upon him.

In that moment, she knew she loved him.

***

#the photo shoot is 1000% fae Claire which is why I’ve interrupted my regularly scheduled mood board #just wait the mood board will be revamped when we get to arc II #All That Was Fair #update #claire x jamie #outlander fanfiction #claire/jamie #fae!claire

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lesbianlovelanguage · 4 years ago

Note

YOUTUBER AU I’m such a fucking sucker for those. It can be anything you want really. Maybe they are friends doing a challenge or something and they end up kissing (or more ;)) or they could meet each other at like a creator even and take a pic together and everyone starts to ship them... :)

HI! Anon I am so sorry, life has been *general handwaving* a MESS. But, I’ve finally gotten most of my shit together and look! A fic! Finally!!! I hope you enjoy two ridiculous boys being ridiculous.

---

“You guys asked for it, and here it is. The explanation to Bendy and the Ink Machine! Now, I’ve watched a ton of playthroughs of this, especially The RatKing’s, as well as played through it myself, and I think I’ve got it.”

Such a simple statement, it made it through both of the editors as well as Steve and Dustin themselves without raising any red flags. But as with everything, once it had been released on the internet it became fuel for fans to break apart and over analyze.

The comments started pouring in, the standard mix of support and people trying to break apart his theory. But one comment in particular would stand out and begin something so much bigger than itself.

Twenty minutes after Steve had pressed upload, someone with the username Random Hoe posted a comment saying Awe! A collab between you and Billy would be totes amazing!! While an innocent comment in itself, it began to pick up steam as people ranted and demanded for the two popular youtubers to interact more. It turned from video ideas to outright shipping within two hours, and only five hours after the video had been up, people began tagging Steve on Twitter with everything from edited screen grabs to fanart and video edits, all about Steve and Billy’s secret yet undying love for each other.

Steve had almost quit Youtube as the fanbase for what had been dubbed “Stilly” steadily grew and became all the more ravenous. There were less and less comments and reactions to his theories, whether movie, video game, or even book related, and more and more comments about how he needed to do a collab with Billy ASAP, and how he’s queerbaiting, and how it’s okay to come out, it was 20Gayteen after all. He had tried to do damage control, but it only made things worse.

And then someone showed Billy, and Steve not only wanted to quit Youtube, but also crawl under a rock.

Billy’s only reaction to someone sending him a picture of Steve and Billy during a live stream was “Nice art, like the hair,” but Steve could have sworn his mouth twitched down in a grimace before Billy recovered his composure.

But Dustin had convinced Steve to keep going, and with two months of no recognition or new content, the frenzy of Stilly shipping died down. It never disappeared, but no one sent anymore art to Billy and stopped tagging Steve in all of their posts. That had been in February.

Vidcon was in June, and Stilly was the least of Steve’s worries. He’d been asked to host a panel on the new game show he and Dustin had begun hosting on Youtube TV about pop culture trivia, and then host a live episode with various Youtube guests as competitors. It promised to be relatively simple, a simple explanation of the origin and behind-the-scenes and a simple Q&A session followed by what he spent every Thursday doing for the past two months. And it was, him and Dustin breezing through the panel bouncing off of each other and the first round of Did You Know? You Don’t Say? flying by as the famed beauty guru aced almost every question. But once the second guest stepped on stage, Steve knew it was all going to go to shit.

Because Billy Hargrove, The Rat King himself, swaggered out on the stage in flip flops and an Everlast crop top and flopped into the contestant’s chair with a smirk. Steve froze, mouth suddenly drier than a desert.

Luckily, Dustin didn’t even stutter. “Ah! The next victim. Should we go easy on him?” He waggled his eyebrows as he asked the audience. The audience shouting brought Steve out of his daze, and with a shake of his head, he turned and spread his arms out wide.

“Well then, let’s begin. So, Billy, Do you know what the rarest MnM color is?”

The cocky smirk melted off of Billy’s face, replaced by one of thoughtful determination. He’s silent for only a moment before he looks up and says, “Brown, like your eyes, Pretty Boy.” Steve feels his pale skin flush with heat, but he coughs and tries to play it off.

“Quite the charmer there, Rat King. Luckily, your lines are actually true. One point! Let’s see it!” He calls out and then looks behind him to the television screen currently displaying the scoreboard. A large blocky 1 appears and the audience cheers.

“Alrighty then,” Dustin says after the crowd dies down. “Next question. Billy, Do you know the original name of Istanbul?” Billy chuckles, and shakes his head.

“Easy. Constantinople.”

Dustin fake pouts and looks over to Billy. “None of that Rat King charm for me?” The audience laughs, and Billy chuckles before throwing a wink at Dustin.

“Not quite old enough to ride this ride, bud.”

Dustin scoffs and shakes his head, making the curls bounce around wildly. “Whatever you say, old man. You did get it right by the way. Let me see another point!” Dustin mimics Steve and gestures towards the scoreboard which now shows a big, white 2.

“Your turn, Pretty Boy. Give me something hard.”

“Alright. Let’s see.” Steve pretends to look over his notes before seeing the perfect question. “So, Billy, Do you know which two American states don’t observe daylight savings time?” Billy stares blankly at Steve. This was the final question in their lineup, but he had asked for a hard question.

Luckily, Billy recovers quickly and clears his throat before giving another chuckle. “Damn, I know I said give me a hard one, but I wasn’t expecting that. I’m gonna go with Hawaii and Alaska?” Steve shakes his head and gives a small sigh.

Dustin gives a little cheer, and then runs over to a table off to the side of the stage where they have a cue card that the contestant has to read off of if they lose. It was Dustin’s idea, the You don’t say? part of the title. It’s his favorite part of the show, because they get to see their contestants say some ridiculous things.

“Well, unfortunately, that was incorrect,” Steve announces over the booing audience. “And, following the rules, you now have to read whatever is on this card.” Dustin hands Billy the cue card with a wicked grin.

Billy sighs and flips over the card. There’s a moment of silence as he reads over what the card says, and then he looks up at Steve and clears his throat.

“Would a Pretty Boy want to go out with me?” He says in a clear voice, gaze never leaving Steve’s.

Suddenly too many things for Steve to process happen at once. He feels the heat return to his cheeks and his mouth dry out again, the audience goes wild, and a buzzer sounds, signaling that they were out of time for Did You Know? You Don’t Say? Dustin comes through and pushes a frozen Steve off-stage, where Billy is waiting in the wings. With the audience’s weighty gaze gone, the feeling returns to Steve all at once.

“What the hell man? What was that out there?” He hissed at Billy. The man simply shrugs and gives another one of his trademark smirks.

“Just giving the people what they want, Princess. Try to keep up.” And then he turns around, and walks away. Simple as that. Nothing to it.

Steve wants to scream. Fortunately, he and Dustin have been friends for years, and he knows all of Steve’s tics by now. The stagehands shoo them from the wings, and he pulls Steve through one of the backdoors to outside the convention center. Somehow, he also procures a water bottle in the hustle, and hands it to Steve once they’re both sitting on the steps outside. Steve takes the water bottle gratefully and chugs half of it in one long gulp. He pulls it away and wipes at his face before sighing. He seems to deflate, like a balloon losing all of its helium at once, and Dustin puts an arm around him. It’s awkward because he’s shorter than Steve, but it’s still comforting nonetheless.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Dustin asks quietly.

“I- I’m so stupid. For just a second I thought it was real, but why would it be? What would someone like him see in someone like me?” Dustin lets out a huff before pulling away and turning towards Steve.

“Steve, buddy, pal o’ mine. You’re an idiot. If anything, he doesn’t deserve you. He’s a pompous ass for pulling a stunt like that. It’s bullshit.”

“He could have anyone. Between his paycheck and his pecs, he’s one of Youtube’s hottest content creators.”

“Yeah, sure. But for the sake of alliteration, he also lacks personality. The guy’s a huge dick! And he proved it today. He knew that you wouldn’t shut him down and bitch him out on stage, so he thought it would be funny to pull that shit.”

“Yeah, he is kind of just a publicity-seeking asshole, you’re right,” Steve admits, feeling a little better, and a lot angrier. “You know what, Dusty-Poo? I’m gonna find him, and give him a piece of my mind.” He stands up, itching for a fight and knowing who to go find for one.

“Tha-that’s not exactly what I meant but sure! Go knock him down a peg.” Dustin stands up as well and follows Steve back onto the main showfloor.

It takes about twenty minutes to find Billy amongst the crowd but Steve sees him, and locks in like a tiger stalking his prey. Or something cool like that. Thankfully, Steve doesn’t have to make a huge scene as he walks up to Billy and gets in his face.

“You. Me. Conference Room 3. Now,” Steve says, poking a finger in the middle of Billy’s chest to emphasize his point. Billy chuckles, but still follows along as they walk into the empty conference room. Once they clear the doors and Steve hears them swing shut behind them, he turns to Billy.

“Explain. What the fuck was the point of that little,” he wavs his hand around, “stunt you pulled during the game show?”

Billy raises an eyebrow. “Told you Pretty Boy. I gave the people what they wanted.

“So that’s it? It was a publicity stunt?”

“You tell me. You’re the one who started the whole thing,” Billy shoots back, still holding on to an air of nonchalance, but Steve can his patience waning.

“You- you mean the stuff from February? When I happened to mention you in one video? You think I meant for that shitstorm to start, for fun and publicity?”

Billy only shrugs again.

“Okay. Nope. Again, I mentioned your channel one time, as a source. Gave credit where credit was due. I do it for all the channels I watch! I’ve mentioned Nancy’s channel like 8 times, and Jonathan’s too. Never had this shit started with them.”

“They’re married, Steve. Like super married. Of course it wouldn’t. We’re both single, queer youtubers. Of course shit’s gonna stop. Didn’t your agent or whoever look over your video?”

Steve huffs. “Oh yeah, let me just go hire an agent, cause I have such a need for someone to monitor my every move,” Steve snarked. Billy just looked at him like he had failed to add 2 and 3.

“You’re telling me you, part of one of the biggest channels on Youtube, don’t have an agent?”

“We’re not one of the biggest channels, and we’ve never needed one! We’ve got our team of editors and assistants, no need for some agent.”

“Steve,” Billy says patiently, like he was explaining something to a child, “You have over 4 million subscribers. That’s a big channel.”

“We’re still not one of the biggest channels, dipshit.”

“Oh, I'm the dipshit? I didn’t start a fucking fandom frenzy apparently by accident. Because I was smart and got a fucking agent.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“Whatever you say Princess.”

“Stop fucking calling me a princess!” Steve screams, voice booming in the silent conference room. “Why do you do that? Pretty Boy, Princess, Stevie? Just- just stop with the fucking nicknames. It’s not fair.” The second part of his outburst comes out as a whisper, sounding almost desperate.

Billy was at a loss for words, but then again, he had always been more of a man of action.

So he says nothing, only gives a seconds’ thought of what he was going to do, before lunging forward and doing it.

Steve’s next words are muffled as Billy crashes their lips together with absolutely no finesse, teeth clacking. It probably constituted as the worst kiss Billy has ever had, but as he moves back, Steve grabs a fist full of blond locks and pulls him forward. Their

second kiss is far better. By no means is it soft, but that was just par for the course with them wasn’t it?

The kiss comes to a natural ending as they both pull back to breath, before Steve starts to giggle.

“You really need to work on your pick-up lines, Rat King.”

A soft gasp from the doorway cuts off Billy’s retort, and they both turn to see a girl decked out in Youtube merch, including a jacket with the Upside Down Theories logo on it. She had dropped her backpack, and was open-mouthed gaping at the two. Her eyes are as wide as dinner plates as she frantically gathers up her backpack and shoots out of the conference room.

“Chances that this blows up online by tomorrow?” Steve asks, turning to the blond next to him.

“I’m betting in the next two hours, Pretty Boy,” Billy replies.

A wicked smirk creeps onto Steve’s lips as he shrugs and says, “Oops. What was that about getting an agent to help with this stuff?”

---

Aside from this taking FOREVER, I hope you guys enjoy this! It was tons of fun to write.

tag team: @lostnoise @gideongrace @stevefuckingharrington @a-magey @catharrington @trashycatarcade @myboyfriendsteve @thesummerof84 @lightsupinthenorth @smashmouth-hargrove (lmk if you would like to be added/removed from the list!)

#tay writes #AGAIN FINALLY #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #youtuber au #anon asks #tons of fun to write!!!

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cheliceraekisses · 4 years ago

Text

Vintage Voidcraft

F/F - android/mechanic - nsfw 18+

A mechanic from the frontier of space gets her dream girl and her dream ship, all in one day.

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26112583

The bell over the door of the hangar rung, pulling Jay’s attention away from the magazine she’d been poring over. She sighed. Customers were good, but she’d been hoping to spend the rest of her day with the latest issue of Vintage Voidcraft. Hopefully they’d at least driven something interesting into her shop, and not another one of those boring, sterile ships Rekko kept putting out. She tossed her magazine on the table, putting on her best customer service smile before leaving the office.

She rounded the corner to the lobby area she’d set up in the hangar and froze, looking at the prettiest girl she’d seen since, well, since coming to Ceres Station, this backwater in the middle of nowhere. Her practised smile fell away immediately. She was short, maybe five feet, and dressed all in pastels, a leather choker with a heart shaped ring at the front topping it off. Her blue skirt went down to mid-thigh, with pink knee socks and plain white flats. Her long white hair, streaked with pink and blue, fell over her shoulders, framing a lacy white blouse. Really, in every way, the opposite of Jay’s black tank, red flannel and half undone overalls. She would have done up the other side, if she knew where the button had gotten to. The pretty girl was looking up at the bell with an amused smile on her face.

Jay cleared her throat to get the girl’s attention, but before she could launch into her usual welcome, she was cut off with a giggle.

“Why do you have a bell on a sliding door?” The girl asked, her voice melodic and sweet and just as pretty as she was.

“Huh? Oh, that. My parents owned a mechanic shop back on Earth, I guess it reminds me of home?” She looked at the work she’d done, attaching a short rod to the door to hit the bell on its way past. “It’s kinda silly but it didn’t feel right in here without it.” She gave an embarrassed chuckle, blushing furiously.

Desperately searching for something to say, her eyes landed on the empty hangar. “So, what brings you in today?” She asked. “Don’t see a ship in here, did you fly in?”

“My ship broke down in an asteroid field a couple parsecs out,” came the reply from behind her. “Had to hitchhike here. I heard you could give me a tow, so here I am.”

“Yeah, sure, give me a minute to bring my ship around and we can go. You can wait in the office if you like.” She gestured to the small building she’d set up in the corner and, trying to hide her blush, fled the hangar far faster than she’d meant to. The dingle of the bell as she left did nothing to help her embarrassment.

The second the door was closed, she pulled out her phone, pulling up the camera and checking to see how obvious her blush had been. Very obvious, apparently, her cheeks almost as red as the old flannel shirt her dad had given her. No way the girl didn’t know she was totally smitten. Worse yet, she realized she’d forgotten to even ask for her customer’s name. Smooth. This run was going to be the death of her.

She took her time starting up her ship, checking the cockpit to make sure she hadn’t left anything embarrassing around. The ship was old and reliable, and she made sure to keep it in good shape despite it’s age. She’d had it since she left earth and never had a problem she couldn’t fix. She was saving up to buy herself a second, personal ship and leave this one for work, but nothing on the market now interested her and vintage craft were always expensive.

The engine sputtered to life, roaring in the commercial hangar full of silent, modern ships. Jay never understood the point, every engine was silent once you got it into space anyway. Besides, how could you drive a ship when you couldn’t hear what it was doing? She just couldn’t get the hang of looking to the screens for every little thing. It took too long, and half the time it didn’t tell her what she wanted to know anyway. She hoped the pretty girl waiting in her office agreed.

The drive around Ceres station took around ten minutes, but it was another five before Jay worked up the courage to step off the ship and find the mystery woman. She found her in the office, reading her copy of Vintage Voidcraft and smiling to herself. She looked up when Jay walked in, dropping the magazine where it was, open to a page on N.A.I.A.D. class ships.

“Paper? Not digital?” She asked, gesturing to the magazine.

“Oh, yeah, the relays out here suck, half the time it’s quicker to get the paper copies in.” It really was, the slow sub-FTL connections completely flooded with the station admin’s traffic. God knows when your data would get through. “Plus, this way I’ve got stuff to leave out for customers to read. It just, uh, you know.”

“Feels like home?” Her voice had taken on a teasing lilt that made Jay’s heart jump into her throat.

“Yeah, that,” she finally managed. This girl was gonna kill her. “By the way, I forgot to ask your name before?”

For the first time, Jay felt like she’d gotten the upper hand, the question making the girl start. “Um, my name? It’s, er,” she floundered for a moment. “Nadia. It’s Nadia.”

“Mine’s Jay,” Jay replied easily, still basking in having made the gorgeous woman flustered. Nadia, pretty. It suited her.

“I know,” Nadia said, the smile returning to her face. She knew? Well, it was on the door, Jay supposed, and it’s not like she had any employees.

“Well, tow’s here. Should we get going?”

“Sure,” Nadia said, moving to the door and ending up very close to Jay. Too close, she thought, looking down at the other girl. Her eyes really were gorgeous, a bright, coppery brown with a vertical line of pale gold cutting through the irises. Definitely robotic.

Her staring was cut off after several seconds by a gentle cough. “Are we going?” She asked, fully recovered and back to teasing by now. Jay jumped, spluttering out an apology and leading the way to the ship.

Jay prepared herself for the worst as Nadia came back out to the hangar, looking at her old beater of a ship. Surprisingly though, Nadia just smiled at it. “You take good care of her, huh?” Was all she said, running her hand over the paint before boarding. Jay beamed, her whole month made by just one bit of praise from a pretty girl.

“So,” Jay said, dropping into the captain’s chair and pulling up a map, “where did you say you left your ship?”

“Just over here,” Nadia said, pointing to the screen.

“Just over here” turned out to be several hours out, and Jay groaned inwardly, realizing how long she’d be spending in close proximity to the prettiest woman she’d ever met. They’d barely met an hour ago, and already she could barely contain herself. The next six hours were going to be rough.

Thankfully, Nadia opened up the conversation and saved her. “So, you like vintage ships too, huh?” She asked with a warm smile.

“Too?” Jay asked hopefully.

“Yeah, spaceflight used to be so much more classy. New ships just feel so cold?”

Jay was over the moon. Not only was this girl damn near exactly her type, she loved old ships. They slipped into conversation easily, swapping stories about the coolest old ships they’d gotten to drive, repair, and even just see in the wild. Before Jay noticed two hours were gone and they’d nearly reached the asteroid field.

“So,” she asked, slipping back into work mode. “What kind of ship are we looking for out here, anyway?”

“Don’t freak out too bad,” Nadia said with a smug grin. “It’s a N.A.I.A.D.-3.”

Jay freaked out. How could she not, the N.A.I.A.D.-3 was her dream ship, the one that cost way more than a frontier system mechanic would ever see and made her consider a career shift to piracy whenever she’d gotten to work on one. That settled it, she had to marry this girl. Guiltily, she hoped the ship would be more than a little damaged, so Nadia would stay around Ceres station for a while. There wasn’t much at the station, but she figured she could pull a decent date together if she tried.

Sadly —no, happily, she reminded herself— the ship appeared perfectly fine from a distance, floating safely behind an asteroid. She pulled her ship up next to it, feeling more than a little jealous parking her blocky old tow ship next to the gorgeous little dart. The N.A.I.A.D.-3 was built for speed, with an engine that purred like a cheetah and a beautiful, sleek profile. Nadia’s ship was in perfect condition too, clearly well-loved and taken care of.

“Before you get the tow hooked up, wanna go over and look around? Engine’s busted but the ship itself is still working fine,” Nadia said, with an easy smile. Not waiting for an answer, she turned on Jay’s short range boarding system and jumped across. Jay didn’t hesitate, jumping out of her chair to follow.

The interior was just as gorgeous as the outside, clearly redone recently. Every surface was polished, onyx panels with gold controls laid out before a black leather captain’s chair. The lighting was warm, easy on the eyes but bright enough to see everything. Standing next to the chair, Nadia threw a jokey salute. “Have a seat, Captain,” she practically purred, laughing. So this was what love felt like, Jay thought, relaxing into the comfiest chair she’d probably ever sat in.

Nadia bit her bottom lip, moving the second Jay’s eyes were off of her. She casually crossed the small cockpit, climbing into the chair and dropping into Jay’s lap, facing her. Jay’s eyes went wide, her cheeks glowing. “Nadia? What are you—”

“Shush,” Nadia whispered, leaning in to kiss her.

Jay returned the kiss enthusiastically, almost immediately realizing something. Nadia wasn’t human. More than just the natural excitement of kissing the prettiest girl she’d ever seen, Nadia’s tongue made her’s tingle, like licking a battery. So she was an android then. Jay spared a thought for a few of the magazines she ordered that didn’t make it to the rack in her lobby. That was just fine with her.

What was quickly becoming a problem however, was that Nadia clearly had no need for oxygen. Jay pulled away from the kiss to breathe, feeling light headed, and before she could gasp down a single breath Nadia was chasing her down, pinning her head to the chair and sucking her tongue, hard. Jay finally had to push her back, just for a moment, to catch her breath.

Nadia laughed, watching Jay intently and worrying her lip while Jay breathed. Idly, Jay wondered if she was one of those androids who were just, well, into humans. She certainly seemed to be enjoying the show.

After a moment, seeing Jay wasn’t going to be done soon, Nadia spoke. “I should apologize, I told you a couple lies earlier.” She reached behind Jay, pressing a couple buttons on the control panel, and the ship’s engine roared to life. “The ship’s not broken at all. I...” She paused, looking nervous. “I brought it here to give it to you. As a gift.”

Jay just stared, all thoughts of catching her breath gone. After a moment, Nadia continued. “I... I fell in love with you a while back. So I brought you this...” She laughed awkwardly, waiting for Jay to say something.

“Do we... Have we met before?” Jay asked quietly. She figured she would have remembered meeting someone so exactly her type.

“Not exactly,” Nadia sighed. She took a moment to gather her courage. “Nadia isn’t my name. I’m the N.A.I.A.D.’s control system. Er, not just this one. All of them.”

Jay had stars in her eyes. She’d met androids before, of course, and she knew the N.A.I.A.D. class ships had a networked control system, but for a whole system like that to wake up as an A.I. was the kind of thing you only ever heard rumours about. “Wait so, how did you fall— No wait, better question. Your name’s Naiad and for your fake name you went with Nadia?”

Naiad pouted, looking away to the side. “Look I... Set all this up, bought this body,” She indicated herself. Er, her android self. “Picked one of my ships, had the whole thing refitted for you, came up with this whole story, I had a lot on my plate. I forgot you humans cared so much about names anyway, and when you asked me I—”

“You panicked,” Jay said, stifling a laugh. Naiad’s pout deepened, and Jay threw her arms around her with a laugh. “So, can we kiss some more?” She asked.

Naiad didn’t bother responding, instead diving right in, shoving her tongue in the butch girl’s mouth. The shocking feeling was stronger this time, nearly making Jay’s tongue numb. She moaned into the kiss. She could get used to this.

At length, they stopped kissing, just sitting together comfortably. “So,” Jay started, “What did make you fall in love with me then?”

“I... My bodies... That is, the ships, obviously they’ve been to a lot of mechanics. Most of them hated working on such old ships, or they were just... Rough on me, or sometimes they’d recommend scrapping the ship entirely and buying a new one. But every time someone brought one to Ceres, they’d get directed to your place, and you always took such good care of me.” Naiad looked embarrassed, and if she could have blushed, she probably would have. “Perfect replacement parts, pretty new paint jobs, I could feel how much you love your job every time I visited. Pretty soon... I guess I wanted to return the favour, and take care of you as well,” she said, her tone making it clear exactly how she wanted to return the favour.

Jay could feel herself getting harder by the second, as Naiad’s tone steadily turned to honey. Of course, she wouldn’t deny being taken care of, but... “Naiad,” she whispered, “How do I take care of you too? Do I just have to do maintenance on the ship while we fuck?” She laughed at the image. She’d never been with an android before, and even if she had she imagined Naiad would be a special case.

Naiad quietly took Jay’s hands, raising them to her breasts. They felt surprisingly real, and the moan she let out was genuine, the hottest sound Jay had ever heard. Her body must have cost a small fortune. All to fuck a mechanic from the backwaters of the frontier. She couldn’t help but laugh.

“Well,” Naiad began, pausing to gasp loudly as Jay groped her. “I can feel everything you do to this body.” She started to slowly roll her hips, ghosting her apparently uncovered slit over Jay’s growing bulge. The light tingle between her legs told Jay Naiad had the same electricity coursing through her pussy as through her tongue, and her cock twitched, spurting pre at the thought. “But maybe I bought a few special upgrades for the ship as well,” she gave Jay a lustful look, biting her lip as she slid herself back off the chair and onto the floor, palming Jay’s cock through her overalls. As she did so, a flash of silver pulled Jay’s attention upwards, to a pair of steel tentacles extending from the cabin’s roof. Tenderly, they pushed her flannel off her shoulders hooking their way into the arms and gently pulling it away to fall behind the chair. Naiad smiled up at her, a mischievous glint in her eye, and popped the button on her overalls, pulling them down while the tentacles hooked through the straps of her tank top, tugging it off as well. Naiad’s fingers played softly across her abs, watching in wonder as the muscles tensed under her touch.

It took Jay a moment to realize how quickly she’d been stripped, only registering as she felt the cool air of the cabin on the head of her cock. She looked back down to see Naiad playing with her, bringing her the rest of the way to attention. She smiled up at her lover, searching her face for any signs of discomfort before giving the same half salute she’d given before. “You’re so big, Captain,” she drawled, kissing her way up and down the shaft in front of her, eyes widening with every twitch.

Meanwhile, with a soft sound of metal scraping, the tentacles opened, revealing something akin to suction cups. One attached itself to Jay’s breast, and the other went to her neck, suckling, sure to leave an enormous bruise. She closed her eyes, focusing on the pleasure, trying to think how she could repay the favour.

She got her answer when something bumped against her lips. Opening her eyes in shock, she saw a third tentacle had descended from the roof, this one with an artificial dick not unlike the one she kept by her bed at home on the end. Except for that this one likely cost several thousand dollars more, judging by the sound Naiad made as she excitedly leaned forward, taking it into her mouth as deep as she could and swallowing around it. So she could feel through the tentacles then. She raised a hand to rub the tentacle, matching pace with her bobbing head, trying to draw more noises from the beautiful girl in front of her.

Jay’s pace broke when Naiad’s tongue touched the tip of her length, sending a jolt coursing through her. She bucked her hips, hard, accidentally sinking the head of her cock into Naiad’s mouth fully, locking up, fearing the stimulation would overwhelm her. After several seconds of somehow managing to hold back, her lover turned up the power, flicking her tongue over the head of her cock and driving her over the edge, cum flooding Naiad’s mouth and spurting past her lips, falling down her chin and splattering onto her blouse. She kept sucking, doing her best to draw forth every drop, before sitting back, proud of her work, watching her tentacles roughly handle her love.

Jay pulled the tentacle out of her mouth, giving it a long, wet lick, and reached a hand out towards the android. “Come up here,” she said with a smirk, “Let me undress you.” She pulled the girl into her lap, kissing her passionately, moaning at the taste of her own cum and the tingling sensation that accompanied kissing Naiad. Her hands went to her hips, sliding under the blouse and lifting up, fingers dancing up along her back before pulling the blouse over her head, smearing more than a little cum on her face and hair in the process. Naiad didn’t seem to mind, laughing and running her finger through the cum splattered on her cheek, slowly licking it off.

Next went her skirt, shimmying it down her hips, revealing a cute little patch of artificial hair, pastel pink and blue split down the middle, over a very realistic looking pussy, wet and inviting enough to have Jay stiffening all over again, despite how sore her cock felt. Having the girl of her dreams in her lap and the tentacles, now both on her small tits, sucking away was certainly helping. Naiad’s shoes hit the floor at some point while she was staring, but when the android reached to remove her knee socks Jay reached out to gently push her hands away. Naiad cocked an eyebrow at her, moving her hands to gently tug at Jay’s cock instead.

As Jay relaxed into the feeling of Naiad preparing her cock for another round, she felt a pressure from below her, coming out of the chair she sat in. A moment later, sure enough, a fourth tentacle slipped through the chair, pushing itself up against her ass, already lubed. It wormed its way, slowly opening her up but barely going inside her. Meanwhile, a fifth tentacle slid out, fondling at her balls and the base of her cock. She moaned, grabbing the tentacle still waiting near her mouth and sucking it down into her throat, hoping to provoke some action out of her new girlfriend. Well, hopefully girlfriend.

Naiad moaned, falling forwards to lay her head against Jay’s neck. Fine, if she wanted it so bad, she could have it. All at once, she slid her tentacle inside her lover while dropping her hips down in one smooth motion, taking her right to the base. Rather than waiting for the girl to get used to it, she started bouncing, timing the sucking and thrusting of her tentacles perfectly with the roll of her hips. For the first few seconds anyway. Riding in a body she wasn’t used to yet turned out to be harder than she’d anticipated, and she quickly found herself falling forwards, only for the mechanic’s strong arms to catch her. Jay tried to look as smug as she could with a tentacle-cock in her mouth, moving her arms around Naiad’s hips and steadying her, guiding the roll of her hips and showing her exactly how to move.

A particularly deep thrust had Naiad moaning lewdly again, only this time she moaned through the ship’s speakers as well. She gripped tightly to Jay’s arms, seemingly taking as much pleasure from the mechanic’s manhandling of her as from the fucking. The lights flickered, the tentacles perfect rhythm faltered, and the noises of Naiad’s pleasure came out of the speakers at ever increasing volumes. Several of the monitors around the room flashed warnings, as various safety features, convinced the ship was suffering a catastrophic core meltdown, fired off. Through it all, Naiad refused to give her lover even a second of rest, pulling the tentacle from her mouth and stuffing it between their joined breasts, pushing the suckling tentacles to tug at Jay’s neck and pulling her into a passionately violent kiss.

Naiad finally came with an explosion of sound, as her final cries of “Don’t stop” and “I love you” blasted over the speakers. The tentacles jerkily continued their assault, spraying thick, white simulated cum over the two of them, the power in her body ratcheting up further, the shock coursing through Jay and dragging her over the edge as well, her cock spasming and flooding Naiad’s cunt with her seed. The thought of getting the android knocked up flashed through her mind, pulling her back to the brink, and it seemed the same had occurred to Naiad as she moaned the words into Jay’s mouth, redoubling her efforts despite the orgasm only just finished tearing through her. Relying entirely on Jay’s arms to guide her, Naiad slammed her hips up and down, milking a final orgasm out of each of them before her body’s safety features kicked in to prevent her from literally fucking her lover to death.

Naiad collapsed onto Jay, lying still against her chest. Jay breathed heavily, finally having the opportunity to breathe easily again. She watched as the tentacles retracted, pulled Naiad close in her arms, and let herself drift off.

---

Jay woke up looking around to find she was in her bed at home. She briefly panicked, thinking perhaps the whole experience was a dream, before catching sight of pink and blue through the door to her room. She dragged herself out of bed, finding Naiad on her couch, playing with her collection of old video games. She smiled, plopping down on the couch next to her and hugging her close.

“Morning sleepy,” Naiad said, looking slightly embarrassed at having the mechanic’s arms holding her again. “Sorry, some of us don’t need to sleep,” she shrugged, missing an easy jump for a moon and falling to her death. Cute, they’d have to work on that.

“Nah, it’s okay.” Jay blinked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “So, like, uh... What... Happens now?” She was too tired for this discussion, but she wanted to know sooner than later.

“The ship’s yours to keep, like I said. It’s a courting gift,” Naiad shrugged. “I got it all registered to you when we got home. As for me,” she turned her head to the side, ignoring the sounds of her character getting knocked off the stage by an enemy. “I’m yours to keep as well, assuming earlier meant as much to you as it did to me,” she said, hopefully.

Jay kissed her, deeply, quietly reaching over to move her character out of the way of another pointless death. She pulled back, looking into her gorgeous, coppery eyes, a satisfied, easy smile on her face. “Of course, beautiful. I love you too.”

#terato #monster girlfriend #robot #exophilia #monster wlw #OC - Naiad & Jay

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korpuskat · 5 years ago

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Summary: It was a tabloid craze for a while. A short-lived fever that brought an uneasy fact to public knowledge: serial killers had soulmarks, too. Rating: Teen (? - Background character death, Michael is Michael, no sexual content) WC: 2,272 Warnings: Violence against Reader (mild), Stalking, background character death, Soulmate AU obviously

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It’s late already. You stretch languidly, resign yourself to bed. Tomorrow, maybe, you’ll get lucky and it’ll happen. Hope still lingers, uninvited, deep inside. You turn to leave your living room- your heart catches in your throat.

There’s a man standing in your hallway, face obscured by a white latex mask. Something glints in his hand- flashes as the TV switches to a commercial. A knife. He stands there, the only noise in the room is the humming of your laptop as it shuts down and his heavy, low breathing. Your eyes flick between the blade and the expressionless white mask, try to decipher what’s going on. You already know deep down.

He steps towards you. You have nowhere to go, he blocks the only exit. He raises the knife, loosens and tightens his bloodstained fingers rhythmically over the black handle. He comes even closer, his long legs crossing your room quicker than you want. You stumble back until you’re pressed against the wall, fingers sliding over paint in hope to find, what? A weapon? An escape?

You find nothing, and are left only with the intruder who dominates your living room, who steps ever closer-

“You’re that serial killer, aren’t you?” The words slip from your mouth. It’s stupid to ask, even stupider when you almost expect a reply. And yet- he stops. He’s close enough you can feel the heat radiate off his body, close enough you can smell the blood that stains his clothes. Slowly, tortuously slow, the mask skews off to the side as he tips his head to the right. Your heart slams in your chest and you don’t know if piquing his curiosity is a good thing. His hold on the knife loosens and by inches, his arm lowers down to his side once more.

You watch, fight the lightheaded panic that threatens to make you faint. Your intruder comes no closer, just stares down at you through darkened eyeholes. His breathing is even, not even the thrill of scaring you has registered in his chest. The same cannot be said of yours; your chest heaves in frantic gasps- the noise nearly drowning out the man’s inhuman calm.

The mask dips and looks you over; the unexpected scrutiny makes you shiver, but fear keeps you pressed to the wall. He stops when he reaches your wrist. The knife lifts- you whimper, look away- the tip digs into your arm. You turn your arm with the pressure, gasp at stinging pain as it leaves a shallow cut in its wake. You keep your eyes screwed shut, strangle sobs before they can leave your lips. You don’t move, can hardly breathe-

The knifepoint leaves your skin, blood drips down your arm, slides warm and slick over your palm. The floorboards creaks only once, you never hear the bootsteps.

You don’t know how long you wait, but long after the chill has set in over your skin you slide down the wall and sob.

The police came when you called, took down notes on your strange encounter. But in truth, they didn’t seem to believe you. One officer dismisses you, “A copycat. Probably got too scared to go through with it. The guy we’re looking for has no mercy, he’d never just leave.”

You nod, mutely. Sure. Makes sense.

The other one- Is that a dog? curled over the right side of his face- clicks his pen closed and hesitates. His partner rolls his eyes. “Just to be sure, did you say anything to him?”

You stare up at them, consider the weight of his words. You shake your head, dispel the possibility from your mind.

The woman on the television drones on, her voice near monotonous, the inflection not changing as she recounts the tragedy behind her. Ambulances’ and police cars’ lights flash blue and red over her face. In high definition you can make out the beginning of text that trails down the center of her neck, between her clavicles, and below the line of her shirt. You tip your head sideways, struggle to read as she speaks: Quite a fa, “The murder was one of several in a spree last night, the perpetrator still at large…”

Your eyes linger on the black text on her neck. It’s fancy, a serif type, but a little loose; the tail of the q has a curvy bounce to it. You wonder if they’ve met yet.

Your skin is warm under your fingertips, the edges of your soulmark raised softly, the cut from the intruder's knife nearly healed. The text over the inside of your left forearm haunts you. The letters span from nearly the crease of your elbow to your wrist. Everyone’s soulmarks are unique, should be something meaningful and poetic: the first words someone who loves you will say to you.

They aren’t always easy. Some people have multiple, one for all the people who love them, who have some cosmic connection to their soul. They don’t always match up, those are the ones that get lots of attention- people whose love is unrequited, will always be unrequited. But at least they usually have multiple marks.

You only have one. You don’t mind that. It’s simple, you only have to worry about one person loving you.

But the lines are heavy and bold, huge patches of inky black covering your skin. The font is plain and blocky, sans serif and shaky- like its handwritten, but thick and dark. ”That means they really care for you.” Your babysitter had told you when you were young. She was littered with tiny marks, her hands almost jealous as she touched your arm again. ”You must be very special to them. A love like that will last.”

And yet, you can’t find the elation that other people feel when you touch the letters. You don’t listen attentively each day for the special words, don’t get excited each time you meet a new person.

Because your soulmark is your own name.

No special clue given to you to help you figure out when you’d meet them.

For a few years you tried introducing yourself first, cheerful and excited for the first person to respond with your name. Only your name. Nothing else. But each time you’d see the soft fall of the other person’s face, knowing exactly what you were trying for, and the hesitant smile before “That’s a nice name.”

You’ve lost hope. It would have to be your lover’s mark that’s identifiable. You hope at least your first words to whoever it is are something memorable, something better than their name. You follow the letters with your fingers, wonder for the millionth time why they would already know your name.

You worry more about the real nightmare: you’ve already met them and didn’t know it. If you were too young to really understand, too young to start keeping track of who you’d spoken to before.

The news plays on, switches over to a policeman. There’s a curfew in place while the craziness plays out. But that wasn’t anyone you know, something far away and strange. Absolutely foreign in your tiny town.

You don’t need to hear the description of the murderer to know what has happened.

He isn’t here now, or at least you can’t feel him. You’d seen him- a week after he’d broken into your house. From your window he stood at your back fence. He lingers, uninvited, in your neighborhood- you catch glimpses of a white mask pressed close to trees, of the empty black eyes staring at you from your neighbor’s yard.

He hasn’t tried to break in again- as far as you know. But he would soon enough and you needed to know for sure.

It was a tabloid craze for a while. A short-lived fever that brought an uneasy fact to public knowledge: serial killers had soulmarks, too.

Most killers’ marks could be accounted for. Spouses and partners were all identified- so rarely would a mark go unsolved after they were apprehended.

So rarely did they help keep children incarcerated.

Your hands shake as you click through links, read page after page until you find a clip of an interview. An older man’s voice plays in your headphones, laid over the mug shot pictures from an arrest.

“We’re not quite sure, actually. He was not a true serial killer until 1978, so we don’t believe he could have met them before that. I have a theory an orderly or nurse may be it, but is too ashamed to come forward. He’s been in captivity for such a long time, they may have even taken the secret to their grave. If the meeting has happened, Michael will never tell us, I know that for certain.”

The man in the picture stares blankly at the camera, betrays no emotion- even with a gauze pad taped over his left eye, another taped to his neck. He’s gorgeous. Brown curls fall around his face haphazardly, nearly hiding his pristine icy blue iris. You stare at it, wish to feel something for the face on your screen. The picture changes- and shows a young man’s chest, the photographic evidence of his identifying mark.

He waits for you. You know as your fingers turn on the lock to your front door that you are not alone in the house. It’s already too late.

You turn- and get a glimpse of white latex. You have just enough time to gasp before huge hands wrap around your upper arms. You drop your bag and he spins you, slams you against the wall so hard you see stars. You blink them away, fight to stay focused on the cracked, dirty mask.

He doesn’t move, only holds you there- it gives you enough time to gather your strength. “It’s me, isn’t it?” A cold chill races over your skin. Another stupid question. You know it already- you saw the photo, the reports, the theories.

Michael Myers doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge your question at all. His hands dig bruises into the flesh of your upper arms, but he makes no further move to hurt you. Even unarmed, you know well enough he’s dangerous. He’s bigger than you, stronger- the text on his chest is the only thing preventing him from killing you now.

You hold your chin up, steel yourself and hope you sound impressive. “Let me see it.”

The mask tilts slowly. You want to know what expression hides behind the latex, but the articles had made it clear enough. There’s nothing at all under that mask. This is not a man.

One hand leaves you, raises up to his chest- your breath catches behind your ribcage. You swallow and watch as he pulls the zipper down halfway. He touches the black shirt under the coveralls and begins to lift. Your eyes flick up to the mask and find him watching you, head still tilted as he waits for your reaction.

Your eyes burn, threaten to break into tears as the same text you’d seen before slides into view. They don’t age, soulmarks- don’t fade or stretch like tattoos. It’s perfectly preserved, the same first phrase photographed on his chest back in 1963. You raise your hand to touch it, instinctively- to feel the raised edges of black fate.

It’s broken into three lines, set over his left pectoral. The font is shaky, hand-written, but dark. Not nearly as wide as yours, but its existence alone was traitorous enough.

You’re that serial killer aren’t you?

Undeniable proof, somehow- somehow you loved him. Would love him.

You touch the edge of the question mark- you cry out as your wrist is slammed back to the wall, pain shoots up your arm. His shirt falls back down, obscuring the writing once more. You don’t bother looking to the mask, just close your eyes and let your head hang in defeat. You would love him, you were cosmically destined to-

His thumb slides over the last letter on your arm. You look up and find him staring at your arm again- reading your own name over and over.

He hasn’t spoken to you yet. Alertness returns all at once, a rush of adrenaline makes you inhale sharply. You might love him, but that doesn’t mean-

“It might not be you.” You say before you can think better of it. The words tumble freely, wetness blurring your eyes. “Please, please, don’t. I could still… It could be someone else, please.”

He keeps your wrist pinned to the wall- his other hand raises to his throat. He hooks his thumb under the mask and pulls.

He’s aged since his mug shot. Gray stubble covers his neck and chin. He lifts further and reveals pink lips and a large, strong nose. Another tug and it finally comes off entirely, Michael drops the mask to the floor- and you can only stare at his eyes. Through tears you can make out the same icy blue as his mug shot, the left one half-lidded and scarred, a faint ring of blue visible under the milk white scar of his cornea.

He’s expressionless, utterly blank as he leans in close.

“Please,” You beg, feel the tears slip past your eyelashes and run hot over your cheeks. Michael does not acknowledge them.

His stubble scratches your cheek, his breathe hot on your ear as he breathes. A knot forms in your belly, you twist your fingers into the loose material of his coveralls, his arms raising to bracket you tightly between them. There’s no escape- he inhales slowly.

His voice is low and hoarse and scratchy as you begin to sob.

#Michael Myers #michael myers x reader #Michael myers x you #slasher x you #soulmate au #slasher x reader #this is the tamest shit ive written in so long dkhdsg #i actually do not like how it turned out but idk gabby liked it so here it is :)

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mollymauk-teafleak · 4 years ago

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A Gentleman’s Guide to Dancing (chapter three)

I am so very sorry this has been such a long time coming. It’s a Taakitz Austen/Little Women style AU in case anyone’s forgot, I wouldn’t blame you!

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Please comment on Ao3!

Chapters: 1, 2, 3

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“You know he actually invited you, right?”

Taako looked up from fussing with his lapels. Caught between dressing overly formally and overly casually, he’d ended up with an outfit that was a bastardisation of both, trousers with a hole in the knee on the bottom and a poet’s shirt with an absurd amount of ruffles on top. He was trying not to think about how ridiculous he looked, trying to convince himself that if he could get the lapels of his jacket to lie flat, that would fix it.

“What?” his amber eyes were sharp as they faced his sister, sat on the stairs and watching him pace by the door. Too sharp but she’d hit right at the heart of him and it stung. Easier to pretend he didn’t know that and act affronted.

“Kravitz invited you over to the manor,” Lup said patiently, like she was explaining one of the spells she’d mastered and he hadn’t gotten yet, “You don’t have to be so nervous about it. He wants you there.”

“Who says I’m nervous?” Taako sniffed though he knew fne well it was his shaking hands and his restless feet and the twenty minutes he’d spent pacing in front of the door that all said it, loud and clear.

Lup only sat forward, her chin resting on her knuckles and her elbows resting on her knees. Her smile was lopsided, the one they shared.

“What is it you’re going over to do?”

“He...he said we’d have tea,” Taako mumbled, back to fussing with his jacket, “He’d teach me chess. And...and he mentioned something about composing his own music when he was hear the other day. He said he’d play me some.”

Lup’s face lit up with a knowing delight Taako didn’t like at all. He was starting to regret telling her about how the Countess’ ward had come to visit him, how they’d baked together. He’d known she’d read things on it that weren’t really there.

You want her to, a sly, truthful part of his mind he’d never gotten along with chimed in, you want to know she sees it too, so you can tell yourself you’re not going crazy.

“Don’t,” Taako said, to Lup and to the voice, turning away to the leaded glass in the door, the blocky, poor painting it made of the country beyond it.

“I didn’t say anything, Koko,” Lup hummed, the smile still in her voice, “I just think it’s nice how you’ve made friends with this guy. You haven’t really clicked with anyone since you first met Merle and Magnus. Poor Barry thought you hated him for a full year.”

Taako grunted, “I never hated him…” If the blacksmith courting his sister had read any animosity in his face whenever he’d return her hime far past dark or would kiss her hand when he thought no one was looking, that was his prerogative.

But, he had to admit, he’d softened on the guy lately. It was hard to stay so cold with someone who made your other half smile in a way you’d thought you’d never see again.

“I know that,” Lup said, “It’s just good to see you letting someone else in. And Kravitz seems really nice. Not like you at all but...nice.”

Taako bristled a little, like a cat being petted against the grain of his fur, “Since when is he Kravitz to you?”

“Since we spoke,” Lup shrugged airily, “Just yesterday actually.”

“What?” he whirled, sending his enormous hat slipping over one eye and leaving him to find some dignified way to fix it.

Lup ignored his tone, examining a small hole in her skirt, “I was going to take Barry some lunch at the shop and he was coming back from the post office. I was worried he’d thought I was you but he knew immediately. Thought that was strange, no one’s been able to do that on sight since Auntie. He was jumping at every cart and carriage going past like an owl in daylight, bless his heart, but he stopped and talked to me for a while. Managed to mention you a few more times than was strictly necessary.”

The corner of her mouth quirked up at that, like a rising inflection, turning it into a trailing thread. Taako scrunched up his nose in response.

“I mean...yeah, he’s nice. He just seems lonely and he was nice enough to visit so I’m returning the favour. Probably be so bored stiff I won’t ever go back but I have to take him up on the invitation at least once. It’s courtesy. That’s all.”

“No one ever said it wasn’t,” Lup replied with maddening patience. Have fun. When you eventually get past the threshold. Which looks like it will be sometime around...never?”

Taako made a strangled noise of exasperation and indignance, sticking his nose in the air and whirling out of the door, just to show that he could. It was only when he was halfway down the path, their Auntie’s lavender plants grown so tall they were tickling his fingertips, that he realised what his sister had done to goad him out of his spiral.

Lup only grinned at him and fluttered her fingers when he made a very rude gesture at her through the window before stomping off in the direction of the big manor. Her smile didn’t fade when the tip of his ridiculous hat had disappeared below the rise of the valley. It just shifted, changed slightly, softened into something that was no less of a smile but felt deeper and sadder.

She remembered how it had felt for her, right at the start. The defensiveness and the doubting and the uncertainty. Dodging and diverting when thoughts strayed too close to where you didn’t want them to go. And then, finally, when you were cornered and had nowhere to go, the crushing realisation that you were falling for someone you weren’t supposed to.

She could only hope it wouldn’t hurt her brother too badly.

It had been so long since Taako had lived somewhere with servants that he jumped a little when someone who wasn’t Kravitz answered the door to the manor. Already on the back foot, he stammered out that he’d been invited, sounding more unconvincing with every word. There was a chilly silence, while the elven butler looked him up and down, taking in his mismatched outfit and the blush rising on his skin, before eventually admitting in a slow, sonorous voice that Master Raven was expecting him. Everything about his expression told Taako loudly and clearly that, if this weren’t the case, he would have been gladly tossed off the premises as soon as he stepped on their porch.

He was shown to the same library from the night of the party, tucked cunningly away so it could never be found unless the flat oaken door was pointed out to you. Or unless you staggered in on pure, desperate happenstance.

“Taako!” Kravitz got to his feet as soon as he walked in, his face lit up so brightly it was hard for the elf to tell himself he wasn’t genuinely delighted to see him.

“Hey there,” he grinned back, it was hard not to, and grasped his forearm in greeting, “Sorry, I know we said midday, I got caught up with, ah…”

“Oh it’s absolutely fine,” Kravitz tilted his head, saving Taako from having to come up with something that delayed him that wasn’t his own anxiety, “You’re here now and I don’t have to crawl the walls with boredom any more. At least, not by myself.”

As before, his easy humour and earnestness had Taako relaxing despite himself. Enough that, after tea had been sent for and Kravitz had turned the blinds to gentle the afternoon sun into a pleasing ambery gold glow in the library, he was actually glad he’d come.

“You spend a lot of time here, huh?” Taako sank into the same chair he’d occupied at the party, “That’s the second time you’ve talked about being bored.”

Kravitz shrugged, sitting back down, lounging in a very unlordly way. It gave Taako the confidence to tuck his own legs underneath him and sprawl in the way he liked to do, very different from the stiff backed position he had to hold himself in around the other gentry.

“I sound like I’m complaining, don’t I?” he sighed, “I don’t mean to, it’s only that Mistress never leaves the manor and I’d walked the length of the village in less than a morning. The fault is mine, most likely, I’m struggling to adjust to a...well, a quieter pace of life than the cities.”

Taako blinked curiously, plucking a horse from the chess set between them and fidgeting with it, “So...you’ve been to Goldcliff? And Rockport? All those places?”

Kravitz nodded, ��All of them. It’s wonderful being in amongst so many people, this messy tangle of so many different lives. You could meet a hundred different stories just by walking through the squares. And they’re unique too, each one has its own rhythm. When you’re there, you know there’s nowhere else like it in the world. Nowhere has ale like you find in Rockport, only in Goldcliff can you find that kind of architecture, it’s amazing. But it isn’t just the cities! There’s wonders all between them, like the elven forests and the red canyons and the deserts and thousands of little villages and towns between, unlike anywhere else. And even though you’re sad to leave each one, you get the excitement of knowing you’ll experience it all again, finding somewhere new. And…” his ears darkened and his smile slipped, “And I’ve been talking for too long, haven’t I?”

Taako blinked, shaking himself out of the visions Kravitz’s words had been painting around him, “No, no, it’s fine. I...I was enjoying listening to you. I’ve never been anywhere like that myself, after all. I’ve never been beyond the valley.” It made him feel foolish to say so, in front of someone so travelled.

Kravitz smiled softly, “You’d love it Taako. And they’d love you.”

That was so absurd, he snorted aloud, before blushing and covering his mouth behind a hand, as if that would erase the embarrassment.

But Kravitz didn’t seem concerned by the social faux pas, though something was creasing his brow and deepening his dark eyes, “You don’t believe me.”

Taako’s ears came down to bracket his face, “It’s just...people can maybe take a few hours with me at the most and then the shine kind of comes off the old penny. You know, words like ‘acerbic’ and ‘vexing’ start coming out, the polite, high society ways of saying I’m annoying. And then I normally do something ridiculous to make them out and out hate me before everything can just fall apart in that slow, agonising kind of way. Don’t want to even think about how I’d embarrass myself in somewhere like Goldcliff.”

Kravitz was still and silent, long enough that Taako was worried he’d just gone and done that ‘something ridiculous’ without even realising it. They both jumped out of their skins when the knock at the door sounded, the servant with their tea. As it was all laid out before them, piece by black enamelled piece, agonisingly slow, Taako sank further and further into the chair, feeling his skin take flame and wondering if he could bolt out of the door left open by the butler. But the whole time, those dark eyes were fixed on him, curious and impossible to read beyond that.

When the door closed again after Kravitz’s quiet thank you, he spoke in his same soft tones and Taako realised he’d only been choosing his words with a careful exactness.

“But what about me, Taako? I enjoy your company more and more each time I see you. And I can’t imagine my opinion ever changing, when I know you better.”

Taako felt for a moment as if he couldn’t breathe. His hands fluttered anxiously, reaching for a teacup then thinking better of it, going to the sugar, the milk, even with nothing to put them in. After a moment, they found Kravitz’s own, bumping into each other like it was a simple coincidence. But then Kravitz squeezed his gently, allowing them to shake in his sure grip. It could be a gesture of comfort from one friend to another.

Or it could not.

What about you indeed?

Taako swallowed, risking a glance up at Kravitz who still had that gentle smile on his face, like all he wanted to do was help. Like he meant it all with a pure earnestness Taako had never encountered with anyone else. It was what relaxed him when he’d first stepped into the library, this time and the last, but now he felt like what was going to break him apart.

He could have said so many things when his mouth fell open but good sense finally prevailed and in a slightly hysteric voice he barked out, “So chess, huh?”

Kravitz blinked, looking dismayed for a fraction of a second when the elf snatched his hands back.

“Gonna teach me how to play?” he grinned, practised at throwing up smiles to mask panic and distress, “You promised.”

“I...I did, didn’t I?” Kravitz followed his lead, though his smile wasn’t as practised, some of the confusion and maybe even a little bit of hurt showing around the edges, “Though you must promise not to get better than me, let me keep my dignity for a few days at least?”

Taako tilted his head, smirking, “Well, we’ll just have to see. I’m making no promises…”

He didn’t have to, not at the start. For a few games, he was beaten fairly resoundingly while the rules sank in. Taako was grateful for it, as much as he didn’t like losing. The strategy and remembering all the rules through a sugary fog of strong tea helped keep his mind off how soft Kravitz’s skin had felt against his own, how cool and pleasant it had been, how just an inch would have slid their fingers through each other in such a perfectly fitting pattern than nothing could have made them let go, not if they didn’t want to.

But thoughts like that were unacceptable. So he thought of knights and rooks and little black and white squares and how to mage hand Kravitz’s pieces off the board and to his side so he might believe he’d taken more than he had. The last never worked, Kravitz would only laugh and steal his pieces back with quick and clever hands when Taako was distracted.

And before too long, only one and a half games in, it was as if it had never happened. Almost. A traitorous part of Taako’s mind was still thinking how the cool ebony of his pieces didn’t feel all that different from Kravitz’s hand. But almost was good enough.

Eventually, when the tea was just black speckled dregs in the bottom of their cups, Taako got to his feet.

“I should head back,” he noted the colour of the sky, far darker than he’d meant to let it get, “My sister will be wondering where I am. She’s a terrible grump when she gets hungry.”

“Of course,” Kravitz nodded politely, rising to show him to the door like a good gentleman, “Will I...I mean, you know you’re welcome any time?”

There was a nervousness in his voice that he wasn’t even trying to hide, a careful hopefulness like he was telling himself not to get too excited. And Taako knew he was thinking about that moment where their hands had touched and he’d spoken so tenderly, worrying and wondering if it had been too much. Wondering if he’d ruined something good.

Taako knew that feeling. He straightened the front of his jacket and smiled, fully, so the gap in his teeth would show.

“Of course I’ve got to come back. I almost had you at the end there, I’m not giving up until I have victory.”

The relief that flooded over Kravitz’s face was so genuine and real it was hard for Taako to look for a moment, “Then I shall have to practise…”

Taako very deliberately didn’t think about what that meant as they made their polite, formal goodbyes and he was turned back out into the air, grown cold and thick now evening had fallen and stolen the thin warmth of the winter sun. The walk back to their house felt longer now than it had in the opposite direction.

And as he walked Taako thought of what he would make for their supper with what little was left in the pantry, he thought of checks and pawns and how white always moved first, he thought of stalemates.

But that annoying little part still whispered what about him?

Taako did go back, every day for the next week and every time it got easier. Worryingly, maddeningly easier.

The next time, Kravitz presented him with a small, elegantly decorated package with the stamp of a Goldcliff bakery on the top. Inside were perfectly baked, exquisitely formed macarons, shining with sugar and even coloured coal black. Taako laughed aloud at that and quickly comforted Kravitz when his expression turned stricken, he’d only been appreciating his commitment to a theme.

Taako had read about the high class bakeries and lauded restaurants you could find across the continent, mostly from his cookery books. But he’d never thought to actually taste anything from one of them before, their wares were expensive. Taako didn’t even want to think about what it would have cost to have even these few cookies sent to their little valley. There was a lot of it he didn’t want to think about.

He didn’t want to bite into it and break the magic of that perfect almond scented shell but he was so glad when he eventually did, blackberries thick and rich on his tongue. High on joy and sugar, he’d gone on for nearly an hour about flavour balance and texture and how recipes travelled from place to place and shifted from being only for the rich to being everyday staples. A hundred times he told himself to shut up, that he’d gone on for far too long and Kravitz was bored stiff. But somehow he didn’t think so, seeing how he still leaned forward with his eyes wide and open, his mouth turned up in an admiring smile.

And when he brought one of the macarons home for Lup, she’d given him a smirk that had made him blush and make an excuse to leave the room.

The next time Taako turned up at the door holding a folder that looked like moths had been at it for decades. It wouldn’t be far wrong, give or take a few years. As soon as Kravitz saw it, the apologies came tumbling from Taako’s lips, it was stupid, it was just some old trash, he’d happily throw it in the fire right now if he wanted. But slowly, surely, Kravitz got out of him that it was a collection of sheet music he’d found in the attic, it had belonged to his Auntie. She’d loved to play piano, he said, eyes firmly fixed on his feet, drenched in snowmelt. And now she was gone, Taako had just thought he might like them. Most of the songs were in Elvish, it was old and probably boring and, gods, he’d never even asked what instrument you play…

He’d been well and truly worked up when Kravitz had gasped, the folder open in his lap. His eyes had been wide as a child presented with a jar full of sweets, his jaw dropped, fingers gentle as he stroked the yellowed pages with their carefully printed notes. He’d thanked Taako so sincerely and softly, like those brittle sheafs of songs waiting to be wrought in pulls and snaps of those clever fingers were a gift worth every bit as much as those macarons, maybe even more.

And Taako had suddenly been so glad he’d spent the entire morning digging the music out and had turned up to tea late and with dust clumps in his braid, just for the look on his face.

Kravitz had given him something of the world beyond their valley so Taako gave him something wholly from it, from a part that meant a lot to him. Kravitz’s gift said there is a place for you out there, Taako’s said there is a place for you here. And both learned something more about themselves.

The next day, Kravtiz brought it together so beautifully by finally playing for Taako.

The answer to what instrument he played was apparently all of them, there was a room of the manor entirely given over to them all. A sleek black grand piano ruled as king but it had a flock of attendants, a flute, a violin, a chello, even instruments Taako couldn’t name. It was practically a museum to every form and shape of music all over the world, as much a testament to where Kravitz had travelled as his stories.

Kravitz watched his face carefully, his grin spreading as he saw his awe. And then he’d guided Taako to sit on the piano bench, lovingly taken the violin down from it’s stand and stood before him, not like someone would if they were performing for an audience but something softer and more vulnerable, more intimate. That word, even spoken in Taako’s own mind, made him tense a little but there was just no other word for it. He was being let in to something that used to be a secret, doors opening to him that hadn’t opened before. Just like when Kravitz had stumbled into his kitchen and he’d allowed him to stay, this was Kravitz showing a part of himself that had grown so comfortable in hiding.

This was what let Kravitz be himself in a world that told him he couldn’t.

And he did it so well. Taako knew his Auntie had loved music, she’d played the guitar out on the porch on soft summer nights while Taako and Lup would chase each other through the meadows out the back of the house. Listening to Kravitz made him feel a way that was the same and different, all at once. The notes and instrument and hands were different but it was the same feeling of his chest opening wide enough to hold anything it wanted. The same feeling that this moment would go on forever and there would never need to be anything else.

But Taako didn’t want this moment to go on forever. As he sat and listened to the high, swooping notes shivering on their strings and melting together into something beautiful as Kravitz flexed his fingers and drew his bow back and forth, he wanted it to grow. He wanted more.

The song ended before Taako was ready and there were a few reasons his eyes were wet, some he’d be willing to say and some he’d rather die than speak out loud. Kravitz looked at him shyly, a man with his heart on display as recklessly as a child, and asked what he thought. Taako smiled, wiped his eyes on his sleeve and asked why Kravitz bothered studying magic when he could do something more magical than he’d ever seen in a book. He blushed the way he did everything, handsomely, and grinned in delight. They didn’t move from the music room for the rest of the day, Kravitz explaining how each instrument works and showing more of his compositions, excitedly taking Taako through nearly every note and why he’d placed it that way, showing him the thought and care in every song. Taako didn’t leave the manor until the sun had gone down, far later than was strictly socially acceptable for two young men to be alone together.

Taako had fallen asleep that night with soft, beautiful music wandering around his mind rather than worries and uncertain deadlines and murky futures.

Through it all, every day, there were chess games, around their moments of growing closeness. Taako got better quickly, picking up the rules and seeing strategies and plays he wouldn’t have noticed before. He learned Kravitz’s style, clever and strategic but predictable, and started to answer with his own, slightly manic, high risk high reward approach. With this he began to see ways to win, though few and far between, openings and paths and attacks he could nudge into motion and steal his first victory.

But he never did. Not once. And every game would end with the same joke, that he’d just have to come back tomorrow, that he wouldn’t give up until he’d won a game.

Their days together were full of ways out that neither of them took.

Taako wondered how the old black manor house had ever made him nervous. When it decided to remind him, it came as a nasty shock.

He no longer felt the need to be ferried from place to place by the sour elven butler, when he needed the bathroom, he just got up, announced the fact and flounced out of the door. Kravitz hadn’t minded, sat in the window seat to get the best of the pale afternoon sunlight and wiping rosin off his violin strings, only made him promise not to get in trouble on the way there and back.

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Taako snorted, golden hair bouncing as he shook his head.

He managed to be half right, nothing happened on the way there, despite him happily wandering through a mansion that wasn’t his own in just his socks, his shirt opened two buttons from the top because he liked to sit close to the fire like a cat but despised sweating, humming one of Kravitz’s songs. It was on the way back that he ran into the trouble.

One moment Taako was wandering the halls, eager to get back to Kravitz and hear him tune. He loved that part, even though it wasn’t music, he loved listening to Kravitz find the notes in the discord and steer it towards something perfect and clear and pure. He loved listening to the journey.

One moment he was walking. And the next moment, there was a ghost at the end of the corridor he’d just walked into. He only just managed not to scream and was proud of himself for that but he did jump noticeably.

“Master Taco,” the ghost took a slow step forward and became an almost impossibly tall woman in what seemed to be a flowing mourning dress and a gossamer thin veil covering her face. Except it wasn’t her face. It was a perfectly circular, bright white china mask, painted with a delicately beautiful but otherworldly face. There was no ornament to her except a silver bird skull worn around her cloth wrapped throat, “How wonderful to finally meet you.”

“Countess Raven…” Taako stammered. Now that a few seconds had passed, he was honestly less disturbed by her appearance than her seeing the hole in his sock that one toe was poking through. It was hard to find someone who dressed like this intimidating when you spent all of your free time with your new best friend who wore black silks and rings with silvered skulls set into them.

“I have heard much about you from my ward,” Actually no, it was a little spooky to hear a voice and see no lips moving as she walked towards him, seeming to hover across the carpet because her skirt covered her shoes and there was barely a whisper in it, “I only regret how long it has taken us to meet in person. Please, join me in my parlour if you would.”

She moved to a door just between them, a gloved hand appearing from the folds of her dress to turn the handle. Taako shivered, what were the chances they just happened to meet right outside the room she wanted him to enter? Had she been watching him? All of a sudden the rumours that surrounded this sorceress and the possibility of eyes in the walls prickled the wrong way up his spine.

But then he told himself he was being foolish. He reminded himself of what this woman was to Kravitz and everything she’d done for him. And he followed her through the door.

It was a surprisingly cosy room, for it’s darkness. There was a fire, like there was in every one of these high ceilinged rooms, filling the space with it’s merrily crackling voice. There were books lining the walls in towering shelves, the spines showing a multitude of languages. There were candles, their scents of clove and citrus peel buoying the smell of burning wood into something very pleasant. All the furniture was in dark wood, expensive and ornate. And of course there was a chess set, old and dented, set on a side table. Taako imagined the countess teaching a younger Kravitz to play and smiled.

“I promise I won’t keep you from my ward for very long,” her voice was smooth and not marred at all by age, “I simply felt it improper that we hadn’t been formally introduced yet, with you spending so much time with him.”

Taako flushed and didn’t take a seat when she did, standing and holding one arm like a schoolboy dragged before the headmaster. The word ‘improper’ was what stopped him in his tracks, pinned him awkwardly like a butterfly under glass, one of a host of words that pricked him in his nightmares. There was a lot about how he thought of Kravitz that fit the description, only in his own head of course though he was wondering just how much those hidden eyes could know.

“I mean...he has become a good friend to me, my lady,” Taako cleared his throat, one hand going to his throat to hold his shirt together but there was nothing he could do about his lack of shoes, “I am simply...we share some interests and…”

“I think you have misunderstood me, Master Tacco,” she saved him from his miserably stumbling, politely interjecting, “I brought you here to thank you.”

Taako blinked, uncertain he’d heard her, “Thank me?”

She seemed to choose her words carefully, just as Kravitz always did. The longer he was in her presence, the more similarities Taako could see between them.

“My ward is a very accomplished gentleman,” the countess said, the tone in her voice barely shifting, “Witty and talented and kind natured. Powerful too, gifted in his magic. And yet he struggles to connect with people, to make friends as it were. I fear this is something he inherited from myself, or else something I neglected to teach him. There is a natural loneliness to him that easily turns to sadness on his darker days.”

Taako could see that. It was the same sadness inside him, though Kravitz clearly preferred to turn inwards to it, whereas Taako grew louder and louder to drown it out. He suspected neither of them were very successful.

“I will not tell you how he came to be my ward, that is his own tale to tell. I haven’t told you anything you didn’t already know, I think,” something behind the arctic cold mask sparkled that might have been her eyes, it was hard to say, “But I worry about him. I worry there are things I cannot save him from. Though, Master Tacco, you seem to have that power.”

Taako felt his face redden more, clearing his throat, “I...I wouldn’t call it a power, my lady, I just...I just care about him. There is no effort in it.”

“Even one such as me can see that. And this is why I wanted to thank you, Taako. I wanted to thank you for seeing him, as he is, and letting him in.”

“Ah, well…” Taako felt like those painted eyes were staring into him, past his skin, seeing things that he hadn’t wanted anyone to see. And yet she didn’t seem angry or disgusted or even surprised.

“And if I may be so bold, as I often am...I encourage you to let him do the same. I have seen the way he looks at you, I have heard how he speaks of you. Forgive an old lady dispensing wisdom where it hasn’t been asked for but I do wonder if you both couldn’t find a deal of happiness in each other. Or at least...a fulfilment. An understanding. Something to fill a need you share.”

Taako didn’t know how much more he could take, his pulse racing and palms sweating. Was he reading too much into it? Making ridiculous leaps and bounds between her words? Gods, what did she want him to say?

“But I am rambling. I’ve kept you from him for too long, you may return to the library, Master Tacco. Thank you for indulging me and...think on what I’ve said or dismiss it as you see fit,” with a movement of her hand, the door swung open again.

Most of Taako wanted to flee through it as soon as it revealed itself, some wanting to keep running right out the door and back to his safe, familiar house and his safe, familiar hiding places, to check the king and win the game. But there was still that one little bit...and wasn’t it always that which got him into trouble?

Instead of running, he bowed poliety and summoned up every scrap of bravery he had, which really wasn’t very much at all but proved just enough to say, “I will think about it, my lady. I promise.” And to mean it.

The smooth, bone mask inclined in a satisfied nod, “Then return to your chess, Master Tacco. I hope you and Kravitz can find what you seek.”

With a nod, Taako ducked out of the Countess’ parlour and continued down the halls, taking a few wrong turns in his distraction and ending up somewhere he didn’t mean to be. It was only because the sound of his footfalls changed so much when he stumbled out onto the polished wood that he noticed he was standing in the ballroom from the night of the rout not that long ago.

It was jarring to see it empty, at first, when last time it had been so full and rich with music, fine silk and candlelight. It was like a chest with no heart and lungs, bare and empty and devoid of its purpose. For a moment, Taako was frozen by the horror of being somewhere he wasn’t meant to be.

But he was also alone, no one to scorn him or cast him out. So he gave himself a moment, stepping across the parquet flooring, looking up at the grand chandelier with it’s drips of wax frozen in time and the black, sleek arches of the ceiling. He’d run from it before so it was nice to be able to appreciate it, away from the eyes and cold, cruel, polite smiles that had driven him away.

Some of the bravery still lingering, Taako made slow, spiraling circles and imagined a very different party in the same hall. He imagined Lup there, in her best dress but brand new and with no subtle mending, Barry on her arm, the two of them dancing happily. He imagined his friends, Magnus and Merle and Lucretia and Davenport, laughing and making their jokes, louder and far more fun than would ever normally be allowed somewhere like that. The Countess Raven perhaps, if she wanted, sitting in a chair and watching it all from behind her mask.

And Kravitz. Kravitz smiling and holding himself proudly, his eyes bright as Taako took his arm and adoration clear on his handsome face. The two of them dancing, the way a man would with a woman, openly and freely with no need to hide, to music Kravitz had written, everyone able to see how beautiful it was. And how beautiful they were.

Taako stopped, suddenly finding his lower lip trembling and needing to focus so he could hold it at bay. The music faded in his ears and the faces of his friends dissipated, like snow on a breeze. He was alone again, in his socks and threadbare clothes playing at being luxury, with his two large ears and the gap in his front teeth.

He could think about it all he wanted, that much he’d promised. But it wouldn’t change the fact that he could want and want until his heart broke and it would never mean he would have it. Wanting couldn’t change the world, not in his experience. Wouldn’t it have happened by now, if it could? He’d been wanting for a long damn time, after all.

Taako gave a shuddery sigh and turned himself around, following the same route he’d taken that night to get back to the library, back to Kravitz and chess.

Because that much he was allowed.

A week. That was as long as they were allowed even that small happiness.

Because the end of the seventh day was when Taako shut the front door of Auntie’s house against the winter wind and gathering night, whistling as he unwound his scarf and hung it with his coat on the peg. He smiled, content and happy and full of warm tea and sugar, stepping out of his shoes and thinking of supper and how he would read by the fire, Lup’s feet in his lap and her fingers weaving a braid into his hair. And how another day just like it would be waiting for him tomorrow.

He knew something was wrong as he stepped into the kitchen. There was no fire in the hearth, it was cold and ashy. There was no light, no heat, no life in the house that hadn’t even lost its heart after Auntie died. Everything was quiet, the silence the ringing sort that filled the space, like the few seconds after being struck with a blow so hard it made everything rock and tip.

Lup was sat at the table, her eyes red and raw, her hands shaking as she folded and unfolded the letter with its stiff official paper and stark black type.

“Lulu?” Taako murmured, voice hollow already, even not knowing. But he could guess.

His sister slid the letter across to him, her chin setting in misery as that small action brought fresh tears. He picked it up and read, an action he struggled with at the best of times but even more so when his heart was hammering sickeningly and the words were ones he didn’t want to read.

The bank had run out of patience. They had a week to come up with the full amount to purchase the house before it became the property of the bank and they were trespassing on the floorboards they’d walked every day for the best years of their lives. The figure still left to pay was so far out of what they currently had, it may as well have been the number of stars in the sky.

“Taako,” Lup’s voice trembled, “What are we going to do?”

He couldn’t answer. He looked for those ways out now, the move he’d need to make to win this game but he couldn’t see it, it was impossible. He’d been doomed to fail from the start, doomed by his hesitance, his recklessness, his selfishness. He and his sister would be right back where they’d started their lives, homeless and without safety, scared and alone and exactly where he’d promised her they would never be again.

And what was he going to do?

Taako let the letter fall, looking at Lup helplessly, seeing the five minutes that made him the oldest stretch to an impossible distance between them, littered with all his broken promises. But not so far he couldn’t see the terror in her eyes.

What he did was what he’d always done when things had become difficult.

Taako turned on his heel and he ran.

#taakitz #taako #kravitz #lup #lup/barry #regency au #aggtd #please comment!#angst #its getting sad guys #taz balance #the adventure zone

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bluejayblueskies · 4 years ago

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precipice

Part 20 of Whumptober 2020

Fandom: The Magnus Archives Characters: Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood, Annabelle Cane Tags: Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Character Death

Jon really isn’t sure what he’s expecting when he allows the crack that runs through the basement of Hilltop Road to swallow him whole, his hand clasped tight with Martin’s lest they be separated. Maybe a terrifying fall through space and time, pulled along by spiderweb strings and released at a whim into a place that Jon hopes, upon all hopes, could allow him to fix things. Maybe absolutely nothing, yet another disappointment in a journey littered with more wrong answers than Jon thought were even possible now that he’s quite omniscient.

Maybe it would kill him.

The thought makes him loosen his grip on Martin’s hand reflexively, an instinct to push him away and out of danger coming over Jon for just a moment.

The darkness takes ahold of him and pulls, and Martin’s fingers are ripped free from Jon’s. And then there’s nothing.

Jon wakes with a splitting headache, something small and smooth clutched in his hand, and the burning sensation at the back of his mind that something is very, very wrong.

The headache:

Beholding still exists in this reality. Jon can feel it at the back of his mind, those ocean waves that had, as Jonah’s statement tore free from his mouth, become a tsunami. But where before, it had been knowledge almost to the point of suffocation, and fear that oozed into his subconscious from every direction, and a world that knew only fear, now it’s barely a drip through the cracks that the fears push through into this reality, still sealed almost-tightly against their influence.

The Archivist still exists in this reality, and he’s both standing in the dusty, abandoned living room of Hilltop Road and sitting in an equally as dusty Archives, and Jon Knows that they’re both developing that same excruciating, paradoxical headache.

The small and the smooth:

A gift, Annabelle Cane had said with a smile. For you to find your way back. Once you get what you need, of course. It’s unique to this reality—quite special. Isn’t it wonderful that we’re working together now, Jon? I do think we’re going to be friends.

The compass spins, its slender white needle flashing against a golden spiderweb design behind it, and finally settles. It’s not pointing North. There aren’t any markers on the compass at all. But Jon Knows where it leads. The problem isn’t the knowing; it’s the trusting.

But what other choice does he have?

The wrong:

Jon’s all alone in Hilltop Road. And this reality has never known a man named Martin Blackwood.

Martin wakes to complete darkness, and something scuttling over the exposed skin of his face.

With a yelp, he sits up, and the thing that Martin is 98% sure is a spider falls onto his hand. He brushes it off, perhaps a bit too forcefully due more to shock than to anger, and tries and fails to let his eyes adjust to the black.

“Oh, god,” Martin says, a dizzying nausea rising within him. “Am- am I dead? Is- is this what happens when you die now? Just- just nothing, forever?”

“I mean,” a voice says, too-close, “I suppose?”

With a significantly higher-pitched yelp, Martin scrambles backward and feels his back solidly connect with something rough and hard that nearly knocks the wind out of him.

There’s light laughter, gratingly familiar as it cuts through a second wave of shock, and the voice continues, “Dying would be nothing forever, if I had to guess. But this is far from nothing.”

His heart still beating at the approximate rate of a hummingbird’s, Martin snaps, “Christ, Annabelle, you scared the life out of me.” Then, as shock makes way for terrified realization: “Oh, god. Where’s Jon? Where- where am I? Is he all right?”

“He’s fine,” Annabelle says, sounding amused. “Don’t worry; it could be worse. I could have not caught you as you fell. You could be in an entirely different reality right now, stranded and lost and alone.”

“Yeah, great. Thanks,” Martin says sourly. “And Jon? Is. He. All right?”

“Oh, come now Martin.” Her voice is closer now, and Martin flinches back a bit more into the wall. “A little faith. It’s not like I can see where he’s gone, anyway.”

“What?” Just like that, the terror is back, turning Martin’s hands slick with sweat. “How- how can you not see where he’s gone, you’re the one who sent him—”

“The Mother sent him,” Annabelle corrects with something between a snap and a sigh. “I am not my patron, Martin, just as Jon is not his.”

“Then how,” Martin grinds out, “do you know he’s going to make it back?”

A pause. Then: “I don’t. But, unlike you, I do have faith. In my patron, and in the web we’ve woven.” A small laugh. “Even in Jon, I suppose. And I suggest you do the same.”

Then, she falls silent, and nothing Martin says can get her to speak again. So he sits, leaning against what he’s pretty sure is a wall, and tries. To have faith.

He just feels so very, very alone.

Four weeks later, Jon stands in the basement of Hilltop Road, clutching the compass in one hand and a small red volume in the other, and stares at a floor unmarred by cracks. His headache had become unbearable by the end of the first week, nearly bringing him to his knees as he reluctantly made his way to the Magnus Institute.

Slitting Elias’s throat was easy. Finding out he hadn’t been lying was harder. But at least Jon’s head no longer throbbed in pain. And he hadn’t yet found what he was looking for.

And then, at the end of week three, he had. The book was so small, just large enough that it wouldn’t fit in Jon’s pockets but barely bigger than his hand. Its title was in small, blocky letters pressed onto the front of crimson leather, emblazoned in gold: LOCKE AND KEAY.

The fact that this was a reality where Gerard Keay had been just a bit too successful at following in his mother’s footsteps probably should have bothered Jon more, as he slipped out of a library burgeoning with newly-written books spun from the hands of a master bookbinder who was, himself, bound. But he thought of Martin, and of how he couldn’t sense him no matter how hard he looked, and tried not to look back as he left.

And now there’s nothing left to do but stare at a floor unfractured, through which no other realities bleed and writhe and scream, and to find himself, for the first time in so very, very long, completely ignorant.

The compass needle points stubbornly at the floor below Jon’s feet, and he wants to scream. He doesn’t drop to his knees so much as slump in sudden exhaustion, four weeks of little sleep and a constant, thrumming anxiety at the loss of someone who had been beside him for so, so long catching up to him as one. The compass makes a soft click as it hits the floor, the book a softer thud, and Jon begins to beg.

“Please, I- I have what I need,” he says, voice ragged from the choked tears that so very badly want to spring to the surface. “I’ve done what you asked. Everything you asked. I- I did so many things, and I just- I need to be able to come back.” His voice hitches slightly. “I can’t be stuck here forever, I- I can’t.” His eyes slip closed, as they so often have, and he reflects upon the only image of Martin he has left. “I can’t,” he repeats, barely more than a whisper.

“Always so dramatic with you two,” a voice says.

Jon’s eyes snap open to complete darkness. And then the floor drops out from underneath him, and he plummets.

It feels a bit odd, Martin thinks. Sliding the small red volume that contains the entirety of humanity’s fear made manifest in between a battered anthology of Keats’ poetry that Martin had picked up at a charity shop and a near-pristine Agatha Christie novel that Jon kept saying he meant to read. It pulses slightly under Martin’s fingers as he slots it into place and takes a quick step back, waiting for… well, for something bad to happen, he supposes.

There’s nothing. And Martin begins to believe, finally, that it’s over.

“It’s not an airtight prison, of course,” Annabelle Cane had said, when darkness had bled into too-bright light and Jon had tumbled out of it, turning the book over in her hands with a mild smile. “They’ll still be able to influence this world, as they could before, but we’ll all be just a bit less… watched.”

Martin was squeezing Jon to him like his life depended on it, trying and failing to stop the tears that dripped from the corners of his eyes that were equal parts relief and lingering terror. Ten days he’d been trapped there, in that darkness that had almost driven him mad. Ten days for him, and four weeks for Jon.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Martin sobbed, burying his face in the space between Jon’s shoulder and his neck and gripping the back of his shirt with white knuckles. “I- I was alone, I was so alone, and- and I didn’t know if you were alive, or- or dead, or—”

“It’s. It’s okay, Martin,” Jon said, but Martin could hear that small hitch in his voice, feel him shake slightly against him, and he knew that it was very much not okay. “I- god, I thought I’d lost you too. That… that you’d been stranded somewhere, in a different reality, and that if I’d just held on tighter, I could have—”

“No, no, Jon, it’s not your fault.” Martin squeezed Jon tighter, probably a bit too hard, but he was still trying to convince himself that this was real. There had been a lot of… hallucinations there, at the end, in that place between realities where Annabelle had said, in a mild voice that made Martin want to scream, “We wait, of course. Don’t want to leave too soon—it’s quite difficult to find the same reality twice, you know, and once we’ve closed this passage, well. It would be a shame to have to start all over again.”

Martin squeezed Jon tightly, and laced their fingers together, and reminded himself through every touch that this was real.

A gentle hand comes to rest on Martin’s back as he stares at the bookcase, and he startles under its touch.

“Ah. Sorry,” Jon says sheepishly, withdrawing his hand slightly. “Is… is it safe?”

“Yeah,” Martin says, still staring at the books. Then, with a small smile, because he just can’t help himself: “It’s under Locke and Keay.”

The look Jon gives him is plainly exasperated, but undercut with a fondness that makes Martin’s heart flutter in his chest. “Really?” he says with a small smile.

Martin takes his eyes, finally, from the books and studies Jon’s face instead. It’s still lined with worry and weariness, and probably will be for a long, long time, but underneath, there’s a warmth—a burgeoning, peaceful happiness—that makes a warmth of its own bloom within Martin. “Too soon?” he says.

“Mmm,” Jon says, his eyes alighting on the small red volume and sticking there, almost subconsciously. “I can still feel it in there. The Eye.”

Martin pauses, and finds it true when he says, quietly, “Me too.”

He laces his fingers through Jon’s, and they let their gazes linger upon the bookcase for another long moment, upon the spiderwebs that are already eagerly lacing their way up the wooden shelves, upon an end that seems altogether too easy and kind to be quite real.

Red leather slowly becomes caked with dust and cobwebs, and the world begins to recall a time when it was not Watched.

#whumptober2020 #no.20 #toto i have a feeling we're not in kansas anymore #the magnus archives #fic

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years ago

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Humans are Space Orcs, “For Science pt. 2″

IMPORTANT: This is a very important story in regards to the plot-line of everything. I know I posted the first part of the story on the 4th so a lot of people were busy, so here is the link

https://starr-fall-knight-rise.tumblr.com/post/186052173240/humans-are-space-orcs-for-science

BOOK: as for this, I hope to get the first chapter out by tomorrow. Tomorrow is sort of a special day for me, so putting it out would be a present from me to me. I WILL let you all know where it is and provide the link for you. The platform will be wattpad for those of you wondering.

Sunny looked on in helpless horror as her human friends slumped to the ground and grew still. There was nothing she could do, the window remained unbroken by her attack, and no matter how hard she hit it, or what she hit it with, it would not break. Krill, likewise stood staring on helpless unable to help. She wasn’t sure which one of them suffered more. Her for her emotional attachment to them or him because, as a doctor, he knew what might just happen to their bodies.

Between the two of them it couldn’t have been worse. She turned from the window ran out the door, pushing past Connn, who floated like a useless sack of garbage staring off into space with nothing but a vacant expression.

She made it to the place where the intake room had been locked down jamming her fingers under the door and began to pull. If she pulled hard enough, than maybe…

“STOP!”

She didn’t stop.

“I said STOP.”

A body dropped in front of her between her in the door obscuring her vision and stopping her progress. She reacted suddenly and violently jolting upwards and grabbing the distraction about the throat. Ribbons of white billowed around her as she moved.

Conn almost died right there and then. Had she pushed him any harder against the wal his entire body would have shattered. But you couldn’t tell just by looking at him such a thing had taken place. He stared at her defiantly, his unnervingly human face pulled into an expression of annoyance rather than fear. Slim fingers raised towards his head, and his hands began moving quickly translating his words into speech that she could hear, “You will only get them Killed. If you run in there now they surely have cameras and sensors. We are lucky if they have not noticed us yet.”

“I won’t let them die.” She snarled

“Oh yes, and getting yourself killed heroically while you attempt to save them and fail is even better.” The sarcasm was thick, layered on like butter. She was reminded how human Conn was compared to the rest of them. It almost made her jealous at times, and she wondered if that may have been one of the reasons she couldn’t stand the smug creature.

But he continued speaking, “I can hear them, you’re humans. They are not dead yet, but we must remember that, somehow they managed to defeat two teams of humans on the insides and two teams of humans on the outside. They have all our men, what do YOU think you can do? If you storm in now they WILL die.”

“But Ada-”

“Is still alive.” The straborn signed exaggeratedly, “And dreaming cute fluffy dreams about bunnies.” He mocked. With one hand he reached out and pushed her away. As weak as he was it wouldn’t have done anything if she had been trying to resist him, but she stepped off and ran back onto the observation deck, leaving Conn floating behind her massaging his throat.

Krill was still there waiting and watching in wide eyed horror as doors opened up in the sides of the room leaving six cavernous black spaces from which nightmarish things poured.

Large, blocky, black robots gilded their way onto the floor. They were tall slabs of black with blocky mechanical arms resembling no species that she knew of, simply wide rectangles with blinking lights and a set of arms. She would assume they had originally been used as autonomous guards when the prison was still under friendly hands.

But now, they were busy picking up the fallen humans, taking their weapons and stripping them of some of their gear. Helmets rolled across the floor and vests were sliced off to be piled against one corner. The robot that held Adam turned in a wide circle and then proffered the body in a random direction as if it was asking someone’s opinion on the specimen it had collected.

“Fascinating, truly fascinating.” The robot spun the limp body about in its arms, “Show me the leg.” A loud ripping noise broke through the silence as fabric was sliced, and a single knee guard was torn off and tossed away. The glittering blue of her carapace glowed slightly in the ambient light. The prosthetic itself was dead, and unmoving just like the brain up to which it was synched. “How FASCINATING.” The scientist repeated, “I wonder….. How many parts can you remove before it stops being a human…. This one already has a leg and an eye missing. Shouldn’t be an issue to see what else I can take. Sure humans are powerful all by themselves, but the MIND of a human integrated with the body of a machine…… GLORIOUS. Take the other leg, and the arms, then that eye of course. Oh, and then destroy the ears, implant something a bit better.”

The scientist paused for a long moment as Sunny stood hands pressed against the glass in despair.

“What else could I remove….. The pump system is fine, and so is the waste system I suppose. Probably want to keep its ability to breed if I want more of them….. Does it need a tongue? Well I suppose it does if I still want it to eat. You know, on second thought, can we just replace the entire rib cage, I want it to be stronger. The soul of the human, body of a machine. I mean of course I could just remove the brain and put that into a robot, but….. I don’t know what that would do to the soul….. Besides the trauma might just kill the poor creature. That’s why the human’s haven't made full cyborgs after all the brain doesn't like it.”

A soft keening broke into the quiet of the observation booth, and she suddenly realized the sound was coming from her. Adam was carried away through the black door and into darkness.

“Mmm, I was also thinking soe biological weapons. Humans are nasty little creatures aren't they, just chalk full of delightful diseases.” One of the female marines was being held up now, “An epidemic here a plague there Viral Hyperactive Ectomucsacytosis,for the Gromm, it already destroyed them once, so it will do it again, not a human disease per say, but they are glorious carriers. For the rundi? Well they seem to be rather susceptible to the human flu, I am thinking Influenza A H7N9. Of course I have most of the starborn under my control, so that won't be much of an issue. Oh but the Vrul…. The ONE good thing about those annoying creatures is that they don’t get sick very easily….. Perhaps I will just send the painless in to deal with them. Their limbs are big enough for the humans to just rip off.

The last of the humans was being dragged away through the doors. The last one to be carried through the door, Ramirez, head lolling arms dangling down towards the floor completely unresponsive.

Then the doors slid shut, and they were left in complete darkness.

Sunny leaned her head against the glass with a soft keening. She pounded her first halfheartedly against the glass. That crazy scientist was going to rip them apart, and there was nothing she could do about it.

That’s when she heard it, “Slimy little bastard.” She turned just then to find Krill floating at the control panel. As he did, a wall of holographic projections leaped to life before him, the cameras for the entire facility. The little doctor muttered something low in his throat and began cycling through the screens. Behind he, the convict floated his slow way into the room hands clasped lightly behind his back weaving through the ribbon-like strips that streamed from his back.

Krill turned to look at Sunny, “Asshole just gave me access to the entire facility, so maybe we can do something after all.”

Suny walked over leaning against the control panel to look at the screens, “That doesn’t exactly seem in character for you. I thought you would want to do something logical.” The Vrul went silent, and she looked down to find him glowering up at her, “Now listen to me little missy, saving our friends IS logical. You forget that I have been with them MUCH longer than you have, and I am just as attached as you are…… I have kept them alive for this long, and I am not about to fail….. Just because you…” He paused here and then trailed off

Her eyes narrowed, “Just because I what.”

“Nothing, It doesn’t matter. We have to get going if we want to save them. Conn floated up just behind them peering over sunny’s shoulder, “I can hear them now…. A lot of deranged souls here, a lot of sick starborn…. There are many. This will not be easy.”

“Yeah, no shit.” She said keeping with her back to him.

The star born made a gurgling noise deep in his throat, “I find it interesting how you haven't liked me from day one even though you have never openly spoken to me. I may not be able to read the inside of your head completely, but I have this theory that you don’t like me because I can see inside your precious human’s head, and that rankles you because you wish you knew how h-” This time she was very much intending to kill him when her hand went around his throat. His hands were dropped as they went to her wrists.

“BOTH OF YOU, KNOCK IT OFF!” The anger in Krill’s voice stopped sunny, and she turned to look at him where he was leaning up close to the projections, “This is hardly the time for childish insults and name calling. Conn, quit being an absolute dick, and Sunny, I get that you are upset, but Killing your allies isn’t exactly an appropriate reaction.” He flipped through a few more screens then stopped, “This is hardly the time because things are only going to get worse.”

Sunny leaned closer to the feed and her eyes widened when she saw a familiar figure. He was short, not as short as Krill, but not as tall as Adam. he had a furry tan body and large bat ears. He had thrown a guard's uniform jacket over his prison jumpsuit, but was leaning back against the warden’s desk like he owned the place.

“Noctus.” She breathed quietly, before Krill could answer she shoved further forward, “Can we get audio?”

“Yes…. hold on.” He played around for a few moments before pressing on the projected image. The other cameras fled towards the corners of their vision growing smaller and dimmer. The selected image grew large in their vision and audio, both hearing, and radio began to leak out into the room.

“Calm yourself my battle hungry friend. Give the scientist time to work. He may be a little bit crazy, but I guarantee he does good work.” He raised his arms and waved them about the room, “I mean look at everything he has already done for us.” He leaned back a little further in his chair brushing down the fur on the top of his head which was slicked back in a way that wasn’t particularly Tesraki in nature. “You just need to calm yourself and wait your turn.”

Sunny gasped as the figure came into the photo slamming her fists down on the desk, “I did not agree to this plan to be bossed about by a furry little maggot.” General Cosma, hissed leaning over the little creature in all her terrible glory.

To his credit, the Tesraki didn’t even flinch, simple flicked one of his large ears, “Please you shiny beetle, you aren't going to hurt me. I think by now you have realized that, while you are perhaps good at war, you are completely garbage at politics and economics.” He motioned to himself with two thumbs and hopped down from the over-sized desk…. Perhaps once belonging to a Rundi or even a human.

He walked around the side of the desk and out of frame leaving General cosma standing alone by herself in the center of the room, “Look, Iet it. You are out for revenge against the race that killed your mate, corrupted your daughter, adopted your traitorous son, and turned your entire race into a spineless lot of peace loving pacifists, but let me tell you one thing, even in the new world empire, philosophy doesn’t run nations. Economics does. We give the people what they want, and they will fall into line. Once the humans are taken care of, than the rest of the galaxy should come quietly.”

General cosma remained quiet for a long moment before turning away, “I don’t care what you do maggot, as long as I get what is my due.”

“Yeah yeah, princess I’m right with yah.”

General cosma didn’t grace the last comment with a response, nd turned away and off camera. The feed was silent after that, and Sunny felt her bones grow cold. Krill, knowing what had just happened turned to look at Sunny, “I didn’t know your mother was here.”

Sunny shook her head, “I had no idea either. I didn’t pay attention after I heard she was locked away….. This is very very bad.”

“Mm angry at you.” Sunny turned around to look at Conn, who had his head tilted to the side. His usual blank ace was dusted with a distant heir of concentration. She assumed that meant he was concentrating very hard.

“ You can hear them.” She demanded

“Not easily, not their thoughts per say, but their feelings. She is bright with anger like a star that burns in the blackness. She doesn’t intend to work with either of them. Once she has control of the troops, she intends to take over completely….. The same goes for that Tesraki. He’s only working for her as long as she is useful, and then he intends to cause an accident. He is willing to wait longer though…… Your mother, she doesn’t like that human of yours. Let’s hope she doesn't find out that he’s here.”

Great, great, things couldn’t get much worse now, could they.

Krill flipped through a few more screens before turning back to them, “I’ve got it.”

“Got it…. Got what?”

“The floor plan.” He muttered in annoyance

“But this prison is huge, you couldn’t have just…..” She trailed off at the look he shot her

“Of course I can JUST. Perhaps you don’t pay enough attention to notice, but I WAS one of the greatest doctors in the galaxy before this mess for EVERY species, and I have four separate cortical hemispheres that can work separately or in tandem, so yes of course it wouldn’t take me that long to memorize a floor plan.”

Sunny frowned, “What is your problem.”

Another incredulous look, “Oh, so now your the only one who is allowed to be upset that our friends are missing, but I have to be nice calm and collected, is that it.”

“Well no I-”

“Just because your Adam’s best friend does not give you the right to act all special.” He turned away towards the monitors and began working furiously.

“Wait….. Are you jealous.” Conn wondered aloud from the other side of the room.

There was a long silence, and Sunny turned to look at rill who stood ramrod straight still working, “I wouldn’t call it jealous. I am logical enough to understand that you two have a lot more in common as friends, and have a lot of the same hobbies that I cannot participate in, but I find it rather unfair that he seems to spend all of his time lavished upon you when there are others of us that he has known longer and gone through more with.”

“So he is jealous.” Conn hooted from the other side of the room, “I knew it.”

“SHUT UP.” Sunny and Krill snarled at the same time.

“Krill I…. Didn’t mean-”

The doctor held up one of his three hands and with a sigh shook his head, “This isn’t the time or the place. The only thing I will say is I consider the entire crew my family, my clan, my people, and I worry about them. Things are changing, and I am not particularly known for enjoying change.”

“But.”

“Ah, there it is.” He turned around and scuttled past her, “I have dissabled the feeds for as long as I can. Hopefully that will give us enough time to make it through without he guards noticing. Sunny, I need you to pry open that door.” He glanced back towards Conn, “And you… well, think helpful thoughts I suppose .”

Sunny did as told eager to be doing something again, fitting her nails under the door and pushing with all of her might. It was tough, and on any other day she might have given up. But today was not that day. She shoved and shoved and shoved, until something gave, and the door began to slowly slide open.

Krill was the first to make it under followed by Conn before sunny was able to fit her massive bulk under the door and let it slide closed.

They were left in almost complete blackness. The Drev weren’t exactly known for their night vision. With the volcanic activity on their planet, there was always light at night, but with the help from Krill, she was able to make it across the room and past the stacks of discarded equipment. On second thought, she grabbed two of the guns as she went past. She knew it wasn’t much, but one of the marines would be happy to have it when they finally found them.

She tried to keep her thoughts positive as they pushed their way into the dark building, but it was hard when she thought of what might be being done to her friends…. Adam, at that very moment. Were they cutting off his limbs? Ripping out his rib-cage? The thoughts were just too horrible to fathom, and she tried to keep her mind clear as they stalked through the darkness.

She did her best to keep quiet, but with her size and carapace, it was rather more difficult. Of course the motor on the back of krill’s backpack made a quiet whirring, but the thing was battery/ solar powered, so wasn’t much more than that. And Conn, well he was completely silent simply floating through the air unhindered by the weight of gravity and propelled by the stored energy on the small solar cells along the ribbons on his back.

They came around the corner and were met by a dim illumination. Now that she was able to see, her sealth improved remarkably, and she took point keeping the other two behind her back as she stalked forward. The other two would be worse than useless in a fight, so things were left to her to keep everything going well. Reaching the end of the hallway, they came across a juncture, and Kril indicated the need to turn left.

Holding her staff out before her, she took the corner eyes wide in anticipation, but saw nothing. The hallway was much lighter than before, almost blindingly so. The source turned out to be a wide row of windows just to her right.

From the angle she stood, she was unable to see through the windows, and slowly she began to push forward ignoring Krill’s warnings from behind her. As her angle grew closer, she began to see snatches through the window. What once must have been a massive prison block towering thousands of feet into the air and lined with rows upon rows of glass fronted cells, was now plastered with medical equipment. Large, white tarps lay over the floor of the cell block, while each and every one of the prison cells housed either some sort of experimental unit, or one of the test subjects.

They came in all shapes sizes and species. There were Drev, and Tesrkai, and Rundi and Tvek, and the list went on. The “researchers” themselves wore the same prison garb as many of their own subjects, but the glittering tools in their hands separated them from their counterparts. There were many species among them as well. There were Drev, Tesraki, Gromm, Tvek, and maybe one Vrul. The Rundi were conspicuously on display only as prisoners and not as scientists. Of course, they didn’t wear the garb of prisoners which made Sunny suspect that they weren’t originally prisoners, but were, in fact, the old prison guards.

The Rundi would never allow their government structure to collapse/

No one seemed to notice her as she starred in at their experiments most gruesome, some painful, and all wildly unethical.

She turned back and motioned the other two forward.

They came a little hesitantly, but kept at her heels as she hurried up the hallway trying to keep to the far right side to avoid as much notice as possible.

Krill directed them down a few more hallways, before they came to a hallway much like the one they had seen originally. There was another large viewing bay onto an upgraded cell block, accept this time, there was one big difference.

All the subjects were humans.

They were kept in the small cages, sometimes packed together. One of the humans was strapped down and screaming as an apparatus was secured about his head. From behind her, Sunny listened as Conn whispered, “Don’t worry, human, it will hurt for a second, and then never look again.” Sunny wanted to look away, but kept her eyes riveted. Krill made an involuntary squeaking noise.

Out on the table, the human went still before a slow grin began to spread across his face, and he began laughing maniacally.

“By Sanctum’s rings.” She heard Krill whisper

“What are they doing to them.” Sunny hissed.

“Making their army.” Conn muttered. Krill and sunny both turned to look at the starborn who was staring off into the distance with a blank expression on his face, “They are creating an army. They will use biological weapons, humans that carry diseases, they will use the ones who don’t feel pain, they will see how far they can push project steel eye, and turn their humans into machines.” He turned in a slow circle as if he was trying to catch a better signal, “They are testing weapons viruses, chemicals, things that will incapacitate and kill humans. They will have some so that even their saliva causes burns. They can send a sweating human into a peace conference and kill all those with a water intolerance. Man can be turned into an enemy against everyone, and a friend to no one but their master. I hear them speaking, they feel no human emotions….. They are no longer human.”

Sunny shivered at the words, and went to move forward when the doors at one end of the massive room opened, and the large black robots filed themselves into the room carrying their human prizes.

One of the Terasaki doctors stepped forward to inspect the humans. It looked Adam over, “The boss wishes to see this one. Project steel eye.” Conn’s voice was oddly eerie in the long hallway. Sunny watched as the man was carried down the length of the floor unconscious.

She didn’t bother trying to break the glass.

“This next ones will be in the carrier project. They look strong enough to hold off a virus for a little while.”

Ramirez was dragged up afterwards. He looked strange dangling in the arms of a robot despite how large he was. His short, dark hair was matted with sweat and his head lolled back uncomfortably.

“A good specimen for the painless, I think. Can get him done in a few minutes.”

At the other end of the room, the door had closed, and Adam was gone, the others were brought into cages and locked inside lying on the floor, on their sides, unmoving.

The human test subjects screamed in agony.

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fashionreplacementtherapy-blog · 5 years ago

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Clothing tips for trans men

Ever found clothing you like but when you put it on it just doesn’t look or feel great at all? If you’re trans like me that probably happens way too much. With these tips I hope make choosing clothes easier for those who might not fit into the limited body types off the rack men’s clothes are made for.

Mainly I’m going to talk about how to dress more masculine with a feminine body shape like mine. I’ll talk about what I look for in clothes and how to hide or emphasise aspects of your body for a more ‘traditionally masculine’ look.

Maybe you’ve already found pieces you love, but do you know exactly why they work so well? If you do, it makes finding more like it much easier.

First, a disclaimer:

One of the most important clothing tips I can give trans men is that you like what you wear. It should make you feel more confident and true to who you are. People are able to tell when you like your clothes, that you belong in them, so to speak.

I talk about masculine and feminine looks or clothes, but that’s purely about how that’s generally perceived. Not at all to say what you ‘should’ wear as a man, or anything along those lines. Wear whatever you like. If it’s from the men’s or women’s section of the shop doesn’t matter, as long as it works for you. My personal style goal is on the masculine side, for now.

Above all, it should make you feel better about yourself. I’m two years into transitioning medically and am still misgendered 99% of the time. But I’ve reached the point where people are starting to read me as male at first glance. My face and voice give me away, which I doubt will change until I can grow a beard or my voice deepens enough, no matter what clothes I wear. Finding the right clothes that make me closer to what I want to see in the mirror helps an awful lot in how I feel, however.

Body shape

That first glance where people read me as male for a split second is in part based on my silhouette. Whether my body shape is instinctively assumed to be male or female.

In general men tend to have a more top heavy, blocky or rectangular silhouette than women. Think wide shoulders and a body that tapers down to the waist, like an inverted triangle. Others are more straight up and down, or carry more weight in the stomach area, above the waist. Women tend to have narrower shoulders and wider hips. They tend to carry more weight around the hips and thighs.

Now broad shoulders and narrow hips may be the male ideal for some, but a blocky, more rectangular silhouette is easier (and plenty) to aim for using clothing. You can emphasise your shoulders and de-emphasise hips, for example, with the type and fit of clothing you pick. Use them to create a more blocky, ‘male’ silhouette.

I have narrow shoulders, a short upper body and wider hips. I carry weight mostly on my hips, bum and thighs. These are also the parts of my body I’m most self-conscious about. So what I aim for is to create a more rectangular silhouette by adding bulk around my shoulders, creating straight lines to my hips, de-emphasising my hips and lengthening my upper body. I also would like to look taller. While I’m not particularly short (5′8″), I do live in the Netherlands where a lot of people are Very Tall.

So, what do we need to pay attention to?

Fit

A good fit is hugely important. It’s easy to go for baggy hoodies and jumpers because they’re comfy and hide you, but baggy clothes also tend to make people look smaller and younger. We trans guys often look young enough already! If you’re a larger person, baggy clothes might make you look like you’re carrying more weight.

Clothes that fit well don’t need to be tight or uncomfortable either, they just need to be proportionate to you. If they fit well and are proportionate to your body you’ll avoid looking like you borrowed dad’s clothes. A feeling I’ve had far too often!

As my goal is a more masculine look, I tend to go for clothes from the men’s section. This isn’t always necessary (the blue hoody below is from the women’s section), but women’s clothing tends to be tailored to make people look cute and small. It tends to emphasise curves and a narrower waist. Of course this does depend on the style that’s trendy at the moment.

Here are some questions I ask when I’m trying on clothes:

Shirts, jumpers, jackets etc.

Do the shoulders fit? This is often the most important as the shoulder area is hard to adjust.

Is it loose enough around the chest / waist that it doesn’t emphasise curves? Masking the hourglass dip of a slim waist will do a lot to de-emphasise wider hips.

But is it still slim enough that it’s not baggy?

If going for oversized, does it look deliberately oversized and not just baggy?

Is the length right? If it ends at the widest part of the hips it will emphasise that width.

Are the sleeves fitted; not too tight or too loose? Baggy sleeves make arms look smaller, too tight and they’ll be either be constricting or emphasise skinniness as well.

For example, this blue hoody fits me well. The shoulders fit, it’s not too long with the hemline sitting on my hips. It’s not tight around the hips either. The band at the bottom of the hoody doesn’t cinch in like other hoodies do. It doesn’t emphasise the width of my hips, or bunch up around the stomach. I like to push the sleeves up because it makes it look like there’s more bulk up towards my shoulders.

This black tunnel neck sweater is a little too small. It fits just fine around the shoulders but is too tight around my hips, which means it has a tendency to creep up and bunch up around my middle. The body of this sweater isn’t roomy enough to hang free, so it doesn’t create as straight a line down as the blue hoody above.

This knit hoody is too big and too long. It makes me look shorter and does little to de-emphasise my hips. The bottom hem cinches in a little and with the pockets there it adds bulk around the hips. Exactly what I try to avoid.

This Star Wars sweater is deliberately blocky. The design is relatively wide with shoulder seams off the shoulder, but it’s not too long. The bottom hem falls above the widest part of my hips and overall this sweater gives the impression of bulk to my upper body, especially with the sleeves rolled up.

Trousers, jeans etc.

Are they streamlined around the hips & bum, but not too tight? I want to minimise bulk around the hips, but also not have them be so tight that everything’s on show.

Do the trouser legs give the silhouette I want? Personally I like trousers to be snug around the thighs and calves, and tapered below the knee. They follow the lines of my legs but don’t cling to every curve.

Does the position of the waistband make my upper body look right in proportion with my legs? Low rise trousers with a shirt tucked in makes my upper body look longer.

If going for oversized, does it look deliberately oversized and not just baggy?

The trousers on the left fit around the waist and hips, but the legs are too baggy. On the right a pair of the same trousers in a different colour where I took in the legs a bit. They look more slim and tidy.

These are my favourite jeans. They’re low rise, slim fit with only a little stretch and tapered towards the ankle. Snug around my hips, upper legs and calves but don’t cling anywhere else. They’re comfortable and minimise curves without drowning my legs.

These skinny biker jeans hide little in terms of silhouette, but they get away with it as they’re a dark black, not too stretchy, have added detailing above the knee, and don’t cling to my skinny ankles.

Skinny jeans by themselves aren’t ‘feminine’ or ‘masculine’, but they do show off curves, which I am self-conscious about sometimes.

Structure

By structure I mean how well a piece of clothing holds its shape. This has a lot to do with the fabric. A denim jacket for example is far more structured than a hoody, because denim is a stiff fabric that holds its shape well.

A hoody made from a thicker fabric that holds its shape a bit is more structured than a hoody made from a thinner fabric that just hangs off you. Even a little bit can make a difference.

More structured clothes make for cleaner lines and make it easier to mask bumps and curves.

This green hoody on the left, for example, is too large and made of a thin stretchy fabric. The blue hoody on the right is a little large but is made of a thicker fabric which holds its shape better. It does a better job at bulking up my shoulders a little and masking my waist.

Woven fabrics are more structured than knits as they tend to have little to no stretch. Denim jackets are more structured than hoodies because of this. And it’s why button up shirts tend to be better at hiding the curve of a waist or binder than t-shirts.

Colour

I’m not going to talk about what colours might be more ‘masculine’ than others because that’s subjective and not useful. Wear what colours you like and suit you! I do have some tips on how to use them to your advantage.

Darker colours hide the shadows of dips and curves better and make you look more slim:

If you’d like to look taller, like I do, then try not to wear contrasting colours on the upper and lower parts of your body. That divides your body into clear sections horizontally, rather than drawing the eye up all the way. The same goes for shoes and belts.

For this example I’m wearing the same trousers and two t-shirts of the same size.

Patterns & prints

Patterns can draw they eye to certain parts of the body. You can use this to your advantage to emphasise and de-emphasise what you want. Blocks of colour at the shoulders, for example, can make your shoulders look wider and draw attention away from the chest area.

This t-shirt does that with the floral print at the shoulders.

Regular patterns such as stripes and checks are best avoided when you don’t want curves to show. Regular patterns make any bump stand out. Irregular patterns on the other hand (floral prints!) mask any irregularity they might be hiding.

The print on this hoody masks whatever is going on in the chest area a bit.

This shirt’s pattern is also irregular enough to work. It’s important to keep the pattern in proportion with your body. Too large a pattern may make you look smaller than you are.

Layering

As you probably know, layering is a trans guy’s best friend. Layer a shirt or an open hoody over a t-shirt and you’re creating straight lines down the front of your body. It masks your chest and any curves you may want to hide. Do this with more structured jackets, such as denim, and those lines will be cleaner.

You’re also adding bulk to your upper body as well. Push up the sleeves to give more emphasis to your shoulders. Make sure the bottom layer isn’t oversized or too bulky, however. That can make it look messy or bunch up around the hips or waist, adding size where you may not want it to.

Tailoring

Everyone you see on TV or in magazines whose clothing always looks great will almost certainly have had their clothes tailored. Since that’s an added expense not everyone can afford, I’ll talk about making do with off the rack clothing as much as possible.

I will however let you know what is possible to have tailored if it’s an option. In the future I’ll write about how to make some adjustments yourself as well.

How to find what works for you

I hope these tips help you find clothes that work for you. The best advice I can give is to try clothes from different shops and brands. Hopefully you’ll come across one where the sizing and fit is somewhat consistently right for you.

Also look for fashion bloggers or vloggers who are a similar size and body shape to you. That way you can see what you like on them before spending any money and they’ll likely be showing clothes that are available in the shops right then.

Feel free to send me an ask if you have any questions or requests!

See my original article with links to some of the clothes I’m wearing, their sizes and my measurements for comparison, here: Clothing tips for trans men

I have some articles that go into more detail published there already as well.

#ftm fashion #ftm #trans man #mens fashion #fashion advice #trans tips #transmasculine #trans blogger #fashion blogger #trans #thisiswhattranslookslike

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lets-talk-appella · 6 years ago

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i’m nobody’s but yours

Chapter 10/25 - Chloe

Summary: Beca is straight as an arrow. 100%, totally, completely straight. Except for one problem that 100%, totally, completely changes everything: Chloe Beale.

Title borrowed from Calum Scott’s “If Our Love Is Wrong.”

Word Count: 5k

Rating: M (for dark themes, homophobia, masturbation, and eventual smut in later chapters)

AO3, FFN, and below.

Chloe comes to awareness leisurely, stretching her limbs and inhaling slowly through her nose. She doesn’t open her eyes yet, preferring to bask in the joy of having nowhere to be on a Friday morning now that she’s graduated and has enough in her savings to not have to work the summer away.

She rolls to her side, movements languid. As usual, her first fully-formed thought of the day is of Beca. And as usual, she imagines how it would feel to wake up like this with Beca in her bed with her. That brown hair sleep-tousled, blue eyes hooded and unfocused from sleep, soft, warm skin pressed against Chloe’s where their bodies lie wrapped in one another. She thinks about how easy it would be to kiss Beca in that moment, how simple it would be to tangle their limbs and wake each other up properly, in a way that involves gasps and broken breaths and fingers dipping below the sheets...

No. She can’t think like this.

Chloe’s eyes open, shutting down her imagination.

Even now that Beca is officially not straight – which she’d called Aubrey to squeal over almost as soon she’d been able the day Beca had come out – it still feels inappropriate to think of her like this – naked, in bed – when they’re not dating.

And yet.

Chloe can’t help but wonder if today will be the day.

It has been sixteen days since Beca came out as something other than straight. Today will make seventeen. It’s not like Chloe’s some sort of stalker who keeps track of these things; the only reason she knows that is because for every single one of those days, she has been trying to muster the courage to make the first move and ask Beca on a date.

There’s an impatient monster living in her chest threatening to blurt out, “Date me!” or anything similar. It requires all of Chloe’s willpower to restrain it.

She wishes more than anything she could ask Beca on a date. It’s something she’s been envisioning doing since she first saw Beca in that red tank and gray top at the Activities Fair. Yet, even now that she knows Beca would potentially be interested in dating women, she can’t ask her. It’s too soon, it seems. After knowing Beca for as long as she has, Chloe understands that Beca needs time to process change.

And this seems like a big change.

It had never really occurred to Chloe that Beca might struggle with the realization that she’s not straight. To Chloe, it’s just something that is. It’s not something to be scared of, and it’s certainly not something to ever be ashamed of, but still Beca doesn’t seem totally comfortable with herself yet.

Chloe can see it in the way Beca blushes when Amy elbows her in the ribs whenever an attractive actress comes on screen. She sees it in how Beca has asked pretty much all of the Bellas if “it’s okay” that she likes girls (it’s almost insulting that Beca would ever think it wouldn’t be okay). Chloe even saw it in the way Beca seemed awkward and nervous when, a few days after the Treble party, Jesse had come to visit for the last time before moving to LA.

It’s hard to watch, and even harder to fully understand.

What Chloe does understand perfectly well, though, is that it’s not her place to push. So, she’s forcing herself to wait until Beca’s ready and comfortable. Then she’ll ask her out. Maybe.

Someone knocks on Chloe’s bedroom door, startling her from her thoughts.

“It’s open,” she calls, throat a little raspy from sleep.

The door clicks open and Chloe lifts her head from her pillow to see Jessica peeking in. “Chloe? It’s on, and it looks like they might announce it today,” she says, excitement in her voice.

Chloe takes a moment to process, her brain still fuzzy. When it hits, though, excitement kindles in her chest and she bolts upright in bed, her sheets falling down around her waist.

“Oh, God, sorry!” Jessica cringes, pulls back, and slams the door.

“What? Why?” Chloe asks loudly, alarmed by her exit.

“I – you’re – I didn’t know!” Jessica’s panicked voice sounds from the other side of the door. “Sorry!”

Chloe stares at the door, totally confused. That’s when cool air hits her skin and she remembers. Face warming, she winces and yanks the sheets back up to her chin, even though Jessica’s already gone from the room.

“Uh, sorry!” she calls out. “I forgot!”

“You forgot you sleep naked?” Jessica asks, incredulous.

“Yep!” Chloe replies honestly. “I do it all the time, so. Slips my mind.”

“I wish I could slip that from my mind,” Jessica mutters.

Chloe grins and teases, “You like it.”

“With the amount of boob I’ve seen in this house, honestly…” Jessica trails off, then clears her throat. “So. Anyway. It looks like they’re announcing today. Any minute now.”

“Oh yeah!” Chloe replies, rocketing out of bed to get dressed frantically. “I thought they were going to wait until Monday?”

“Well, now it looks like today.”

Chloe moves rapidly, impatiently throwing her hair up into a messy bun. Excitement courses through her veins, tinged with nerves. If it happens… if it’s passed…

She crosses her room in a few quick strides and throws the door wide, startling Jessica waiting outside.

“That was quick,” she says, looking impressed.

Chloe grins. “Big day.”

Jessica half-shrugs. “Maybe.”

By the way she says it, Chloe can tell she’s trying not to get her hopes up. Just in case.

“One way to find out,” Chloe replies bracingly, and together they make their way down the stairs.

The other Bellas are gathered and spread around the sitting room, all watching the livestream of the decision being broadcasted from Ashley’s (or maybe Jessica’s) laptop. Cynthia Rose sits slightly off to the side on a phone call – likely to her girlfriend – with Amy sitting next to her, for once not teasing but rubbing a hand up her back soothingly. Beyond them, Beca sits off to the side in her own corner, but still watching the screen. Flo and Emily sprawl on the floor, Flo’s head resting on Emily’s stomach.

When they enter the room, Jessica moves to the couch and joins Ashley, Stacie, and Lilly (who is flicking a lighter on and off as a nervous tick). Chloe wants to join Beca in her lonely-looking corner, but knows that she wants space. She instead sits on the floor with Emily and Flo.

“Did I miss it?” she asks, suddenly tense. Seeing them all gathered together and hearing Cynthia Rose murmur to her fiancée on the phone has made everything very real.

“Not yet,” Emily replies, her eyes never leaving the screen. “But it should be any second now. I think they said at 10.”

Chloe glances at the time on the laptop: 9:57am. On the livestream, the camera focuses on the crowds in front of the Supreme Court Building, from which Pride and Equality flags wave. The newscast banner on the bottom of the screen displays, “Supreme Court Decision on Marriage Equality Pending,” in bold, blocky letters.

Chloe’s stomach flutters with nervous anticipation. She supposes it won’t change anything if it doesn’t pass; things will stay as they are now. But if it does pass, it opens new doors for her and for countless others.

The tension in the Bella house is palpable, as if the very structure of the house is holding its breath right along with its occupants. It’s completely silent in the sitting room apart from the voices of the newscasters on the livestream; even Cynthia Rose and her fiancée on the phone wait in silence.

For a terrifyingly perfect instant, Chloe allows herself to imagine a future with Beca in which they could become legally married in any state across the country. She shoves the thought aside almost as soon as it forms, though; It’s dangerous to think like that with so many variables outside of her control.

“It’s starting,” Flo’s terse tone jolts Chloe’s stomach.

The Bellas draw a collective breath as the votes pop up on screen.

“The first is marriage,” Chloe hears herself say shakily.

“It’s down to Kennedy’s opinion,” Cynthia Rose whispers, but whether to the room at large or to her fiancée on the phone, it’s unclear.

The next second is perhaps the longest of Chloe’s life.

Then, something on the screen shifts and the Bellas are exploding around her in a flurry of cheers, laughter, and excited yells, and Chloe doesn’t – can’t – comprehend what’s happening even as she reads over and over the lines scrolling across the screen.

BREAKING: Fourteenth Amendment requires a state to license a marriage between two people of the same sex, and to recognize a marriage between two people of the same sex when a marriage was lawfully licensed and performed out of state.

It doesn’t make sense, those words don’t mean anything, so why is everyone celebrating? And then Stacie, Flo, and Emily are tackling her in a massive hug and yelling at her in excitement and meaning and sound return gradually until Chloe finally, finally understands.

They won. Marriage equality passed across the country.

And now Chloe’s yelling and screaming too, incomprehensible syllables falling from her lips and she doesn’t even realize she’s crying until Stacie pulls a tissue out of nowhere and shoves it into her hand with a watery smile of her own.

Around her, the Bellas are in chaos. Flo, Emily, and Stacie are still in a heap on the floor; on the couch, Ashley, Jessica, and Amy pass around a bottle of rum, taking swigs directly from it; Lilly has the flame on her lighter going full blast while she stares into it with a terrifyingly large smile; Cynthia Rose cries openly and yells into her phone, “We’re legal now, baby. We don’t have to go to Maine to get married! Our relationship is legal! Your grandma can come to the wedding.”; and in the corner, Beca sits alone and quiet, her eyes wide and stunned as she takes in the scene in front of her.

As Chloe watches, Beca blinks rapidly and looks up toward the ceiling, her chin trembling and jaw clenching. Chloe winces in sympathy; she counts to 30 silently to give Beca time, then extracts herself from Stacie, Emily, and Flo. She stands slowly, taking the time to stretch out her limbs, and makes her way over to Beca.

Thankfully, Beca doesn’t turn away as she approaches. She stares in the direction of the laptop, glancing up at Chloe and smiling a little in greeting, but Chloe can still tell she’s fighting to hold herself together.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Chloe asks, settling down next to Beca without touching her, though she desperately wants to reach out.

“Yeah,” Beca clears her throat. “It’s… awesome.”

Chloe waits for her to say more, but she doesn’t. It’s clear, though, that Beca wants to talk; she’s tapping her fingers in the way she always does when she’s trying to connect the words in her mind. Chloe watches her hands move, almost as if she’s mixing together her thoughts as she would music.

“Did you see it was pretty close?” Beca mutters after a moment.

It takes Chloe a moment, before she realizes Beca’s referring to the vote passing 5 to 4.

Speaking slowly, Chloe says, “Yeah, but we won.”

“Yeah,” nods Beca with a shrug. “I guess.” Then she exhales, shaking her head. “It’s just… I don’t know, Chlo. There are still people out there who’d – they’d stop others from being happy because of their own, stupid reasons.”

“Bec…” Chloe trails off, not knowing what to say.

“Sheila,” Beca continues, her hands clenching into fists in her lap, “is one of those people. The step-monster,” she clarifies when Chloe doesn’t say anything.

“Yeah, I know who you mean,” Chloe reminds her, “but I didn’t know she was... like that. I’m sorry,” she says, and she means it. She can’t imagine what that must feel like.

Beca shrugs in acknowledgment but doesn’t reply.

Chloe draws her lower lip between her teeth; she’s burning to ask if Beca’s come out Sheila or her dad, but she knows Beca will tell her if and when she wants to.

Instead, she sighs and says, “Listen. Those people who – they don’t like us, oh well. Forget those people. They’re angry, and full of hate, and…” Chloe has to cut herself off so she doesn’t start ranting. That wouldn’t help Beca. After a moment, she continues, “They’re the ones who are wrong, not us. And the fact that we won today… that says something. Yeah?” she asks.

After a second, Beca nods, looking the tiniest bit happier. “Yeah,” she says. Then, “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Chloe answers. “And… any thing. You know that.”

Beca smiles at that, then her expression shifts to something Chloe can’t quite identify. Her eyebrows draw together and she takes a deep breath, her eyes darting around the room. For some reason, it makes Chloe’s heart pound in her ears and she suddenly feels nervous for whatever Beca has to say. Beca opens her mouth, eyes huge and scared.

“Chloe? Would –”

“Hey!” Amy’s loud voice cuts over her. “Champ’s has a special for the announcement! They just tweeted,” declares Amy, gesturing to her phone.

Chloe doesn’t bother to wonder why of all of them, Amy’s the one to follow the nearest gay bar on Twitter.

“Ooh, haven’t been there in ages!” Stacie says.

Amy grins at her. “Well, first three drinks are free starting at, uh, noon, so...”

“Wow, noon?” says Flo instantly. “Count me in.”

“Same!” Chloe replies excitedly.

“Me too,” Cynthia Rose adds, putting her phone away and wiping her eyes.

Stacie, Ashley, and Jessica look at each other and shrug. “Might as well,” Stacie speaks for all three of them.

“Twist my arm, I’ll go,” Amy says to no one in particular. “Though I’m not gonna be meeting any sexy men…”

“There’s free booze,” Emily reminds her, looking envious, and Chloe remembers that she’s not old enough to get into the bars yet.

“I can show you a dead body instead,” Lilly suggests to Emily in a whisper.

“Legacy, that was actually a good point coming from your dumb mouth,” Amy says approvingly, ignoring Lilly.

Chloe looks sideways at Beca, who stares at the floor with something like annoyance. Briefly, Chloe considers asking her what she’d wanted to say earlier, but the moment passed.

“Bec?” Chloe prompts instead. “Wanna come to Champ’s?”

Beca blinks and looks up at her. “I… it’s a gay bar?” she asks, a little uncertain.

Chloe nods in a way she hopes is reassuring.

“Just gay men or...?”

“Usually both,” Chloe replies quietly, sensing Beca’s discomfort.

Beca shifts in her seat, her eyes flicking over to where Cynthia Rose and Stacie are already planning their outfits. “Is it okay if I’ve never been there?”

“Totes,” Chloe promises. Usually, she, Stacie, and Cynthia Rose are the only ones who go to Champ’s. The others prefer to stay home and party or go to other bars. “You’re not the only one who’s never been before.”

“Oh, uh,” Beca hesitates, before making up her mind. “Yeah. Let’s do it. Free drinks right?” she says more loudly, getting the others’ attention.

“Woo!” Flo cheers. “Plus, you never know, Beca,” she adds with a wink. “You might meet some foxy lady.”

Chloe’s stomach flips.

Beca turns a little pink but doesn’t protest the statement. “Uh, we’ll see.”

“Eat some pineapple first!” Stacie calls out. “It’ll make you, uh, taste good, if you know what I mean.”

Chloe wants to strangle her for saying that. Um. No. That’s… no.

“Just don’t bring any girls back to our room,” Amy says, looking disturbed. “I don’t want your lesbian activity all over my stuff.”

Beca wrinkles her nose and says something in return, but Chloe can’t quite make it out over the buzzing in her ears. The image of Beca and some stranger getting together is… nauseating.

Chloe can feel Stacie’s and Cynthia Rose’s eyes on her but she refuses to look at them. It’ll only confirm what they already know.

Maybe taking Beca to a gay bar isn’t a good idea after all.

*******************

Chloe’s drunk. She hadn’t meant to drink as much as she had – she’s got a little bit of a cold and isn’t sure how cold medicine and alcohol mix – but she’s had at least six, maybe seven shots in the past hour.

It’s not her fault; both Stacie and the guy she just met keep buying her them. And she keeps drinking them.

The night wasn’t supposed to happen like this. It was supposed to be just her, Stacie, and Beca out for a girl’s night. They’re the last three Bellas in town for the Friday before Spring Break, and Chloe had been beyond excited to hit the bars.

And then they ran into Jesse, which was apparently a surprise, as Beca thought he’d already gone out of town for break. Before Chloe can spit out a comment about how great their communication is after nearly two years of dating, Stacie’s ordered her a shot of Fireball.

Beca and Jesse step aside, into the corner of the bar to have what looks like a serious discussion. Chloe knows they haven’t been doing very well lately, and she watches them argue with no small amount of satisfaction. She finds herself hoping the floor where Jesse stands is sticky.

“I think I know what that’s about,” Stacie muses out loud, nodding to Beca and Jesse.

Chloe glances at her, and Stacie elaborates, “She told me the sex isn’t very good, so she hasn’t been offering much.”

There’s a weird pounding in Chloe’s ears.

For an instant, she’s angry at both Jesse and Stacie; Jesse for not treating Beca like she deserves, and Stacie for being privy to that information, but then the moment passes and Chloe’s back to being just disgusted with Jesse in general. She doesn’t want to hear anything else about how Beca’s being subjected to bad sex while she’s with him. She doesn’t want to think about Beca having sex with Jesse at all.

Chloe reaches for the shot of Fireball that Stacie bought for her and downs it. Stacie smiles at her sympathetically and buys another.

Chloe drinks the second one as she stands there, watching Beca and her useless boyfriend talk. A moment later, though, she wonders if she’s misread the situation because suddenly Jesse’s lips are on Beca’s and Chloe has to look away, her stomach churning.

With a solemn grimace, Stacie buys her two more shots, tequila this time. Chloe downs them instantly, ignoring both the proffered lime and the worried expression on Stacie’s face.

The night turns into a blur, and she’s suddenly dancing in the middle of the bar’s overcrowded dance floor, Stacie nearby. “Dancing” may be a loose term; Chloe’s swaying and twisting her hips sensually, arms raised into the air as she grinds – not drops, grinds – low. She’s giving it her everything, doing as best as she can to forget Beca and Jesse dancing only feet away. Jesse’s standing behind Beca, arms wrapped around her waist to hold her hips close to his.

Out of nowhere, a strange body fits itself behind Chloe’s, pressing into her ass, and she can instantly tell it’s a male. She glances once at Stacie, getting an uncertain nod in return; the boy must be passably attractive. With a quick breath of air, Chloe rolls her hips backward with purpose, feeling his immediate approval.

Chloe never does this. Never. She’s left bars for something like this before. But tonight, with Jesse grinding into Beca, sharing kisses with her that pierce Chloe’s heart like a knife, Chloe pushes herself further into the stranger behind her.

His hands wander without shame over her body, starting at her hips and roaming up over her stomach, almost to her breasts, then down to her thighs before repeating the cycle. The fourth time he does it, he does reach her breasts, cupping them roughly.

Stacie steps forward at the exact moment Chloe turns around, breaking the guy’s hold on her.

“Hey, don’t!” she shouts over the music, supported by Stacie’s, “Back off, moron!”

The guy – a tall blonde about their age – drops his hands but doesn’t move away.

“I thought you were into it,” he slurs back, eyes unfocused, and Chloe can already tell he won’t remember any of this tomorrow.

Automatically, Chloe risks a look toward Beca. Her breath catches in her throat; Beca’s still dancing with Jesse, turned around now with her arms around his neck. She hasn’t even noticed the guy all over Chloe.

It sends a new wave of vengefulness coursing through Chloe’s veins. She gives Stacie a significant look, then grabs the random boy’s hand and drags him off the dance floor to the bar, purposely knocking into Jesse as they go. She only hears Beca’s confused, “Chloe?” before she walks faster, stranger in tow and Stacie on their heels. They reach the bar in seconds.

“Buy me a drink first,” she says to the blonde guy over the ringing in her ears. “Or maybe two.”

His entire face lights up at the prospect; he looks at Stacie questioningly, but she shakes her head with a frown, so he asks the bartender for four tequila shots.

By the time the shots arrive, Beca and Jesse are stood there awkwardly, having followed from the dance floor. Jesse looks confused and annoyed, and keeps trying to talk to Beca, but Beca’s attention is all on Chloe; Chloe can feel her eyes focused on the back of her head.

Good, she thinks savagely as she reaches for the first shot. She downs it as the boy drinks his own, then immediately goes for her second. He’s slower to react but matches her. As soon as he plops his empty glass on the bar, she reaches forward, grabs the back of his neck, and pulls him into a sloppy, alcohol-infused kiss that makes her stomach want to revolt.

She deepens the kiss, imagining it’s Beca, imagining everything she would do to make Beca feel good, knowing she’s a better kisser than Jesse will ever be, telling herself it’s Beca while she’s tasting tequila on this stranger’s lips. She doesn’t feel a single thing.

She hopes to God that Beca’s seeing this.

*******************

Taking Beca to a gay bar was the worst idea Chloe has ever had.

Well. Okay. Maybe deciding on the gold tracksuits for the Convention Performance was the worst idea she’s ever had. But taking her best friend (who she has much more than a little crush on) to a gay bar filled with single women looking for other single women is definitely high on the list of “Chloe’s Beale’s Worst Ideas.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Stacie yells to her over the deafening throb of ABBA’s “Dancing Queen.” “Stop staring at her and have some fun!”

“I’m having fun!” Chloe insists at the top of her voice, tearing her eyes away from where Beca stands at the bar chatting up some blonde. Her second blonde in the fifteen minutes they’ve been at Champ’s.

Chloe would be impressed if she wasn’t too busy trying not to scream. Somehow, with Jesse out of the way, she’d failed to consider that Beca might start dating anyone else. It hadn’t seemed like a possibility.

The blonde laughs at something Beca says and Beca grins shyly in response, taking a sip from her drink. Chloe doesn’t even realize she’s glaring until Stacie snaps her fingers in front of her face.

“Hey,” Stacie says. “You’re gonna give yourself an aneurysm.”

“Sorry,” Chloe sighs. “It’s just – I didn’t expect that. And did you really have to make that pineapple comment earlier?”

Stacie cringes, looking apologetic. “I didn’t think before I said it,” she says, then glances over at Beca and the blonde disapprovingly. “And, yeah, well. Let’s find the others.”

Everyone else had made a beeline for the dance floor as soon as they’d gotten their first free drink from the bar. Chloe had wanted to wait for Beca, and Stacie had stood by her side. However, as time goes on, it seems like Beca won’t be leaving the bar anytime soon.

Chloe shakes her head frantically. “I’m not leaving her. It’s her first time,” she insists.

Stacie rolls her eyes but doesn’t comment even though they both know that’s not the only reason Chloe doesn’t want to let Beca out of her sight. She stands on her tiptoes and scans the bar; after a moment, she waves at someone, and Chloe knows she must be flagging down Amy, Cynthia Rose, Flo, Jessica, and Ashley on the dance floor.

Once she’s done, she turns to Chloe and shouts, “Let’s take a picture!”

It’s barely 1:00pm, and yet, with the free drink special starting at noon, the bar is packed with people. The place is so crowded that Chloe barely has the room to extract her phone from her jeans to take a selfie with Stacie. She smiles at Aubrey’s congratulatory text about Supreme Court decision, then pulls Stacie in with an arm around her shoulder and snaps the selfie.

When she lowers her phone, her stomach twists; the blonde next to Beca has been replaced by yet another girl. This one has red hair.

Chloe is shocked; even for a Friday, the girls seem to be more outgoing than usual. Some nights, Chloe will go to Champ’s in her best outfits, and not a single girl will talk to her, and yet, in the span of only a few minutes Beca has had three different ones. Chloe tries to chalk it up to the free booze and the good news for marriage equality.

The fact that Beca looks absolutely stunning in boots, skinny jeans, and a dark red top that gives clear view of her cleavage might also have something to do with it.

The red-haired girl now talking to Beca leans forward, very much into Beca’s space. Chloe expects Beca to pull back, and she does, but only slightly. Then, instead of walking away, Beca reaches to touch the girl’s shoulder and laughs at something she’s said.

Chloe’s jaw just about hits the floor. She has half a mind to go over there and demand that Beca get a different drink – clearly the strange girl had put something in hers – when an arm throws itself over her shoulders.

“Whew!” Amy says, following her gaze. “Looks like Shorty’s gonna get some tonight.”

“Absolutely not,” Chloe says, icily. “She’s not ready to get some of anything. She’s still getting comfortable with herself.”

Amy stares at her, eyebrows raised. “Um, I don’t know about that. Looks more like she’s getting comfortable with that chick.”

Some sort of snarl tears itself free from Chloe’s throat and Amy reclaims her arm, looking terrified. Forcing herself to turn away from the nauseating image of Beca with The Red Slut, Chloe pivots on the spot and urges her body into her usual grinding, hip rolling dance. If Beca can meet some new people, then so can she.

Her bravado lasts approximately fifteen seconds. Chloe catches a very pretty Asian-looking girl eyeing her hopefully from the edge of the dance floor. Ordinarily, Chloe would have smiled back, maybe even winked at the girl. The second the thought occurs, though, Chloe realizes she doesn’t really want to do that.

So, to ease the awkwardness, she puts her arm around Stacie’s waist and tugs her close, smiling gently at the girl at the dance floor. Her eyes widen in understanding and she nods politely. Chloe watches as her eyes roam over the crowded bar to land… directly on Beca.

Of course.

Chloe’s stomach sours and she drops her arm from Stacie’s waist. She can’t stop herself from glancing over to Beca as well, just in time to see the red-haired girl reach forward to slip a piece of paper into Beca’s shirt, tucking it under her bra strap. She starts to lean in, as if to kiss Beca.

Chloe has to look away, a hot pain searing through her chest. She doesn’t see if Beca allows the girl to kiss her.

“Chloe? You good?” Flo asks, frowning.

Before Chloe can answer, though, Beca appears out of nowhere, looking slightly ruffled. Chloe pointedly ignores the scrap of paper she can see poking from her shirt.

Beca’s mouth moves, but Chloe can’t hear it over the bar’s remix of George Michael’s “Freedom ‘90.”

“What?” she asks, leaning her ear closer to Beca’s mouth. She struggles to ignore how hot Beca’s breath feels on her neck.

“This is a lot,” Beca shouts into her ear. “Can we please leave?”

Relief crashes over Chloe; she’d wanted to leave almost as soon as they’d arrived.

She doesn’t bother replying verbally because of the music. Instead, she just nods, grabs Beca’s hand (trying and failing to ignore the typical zing that comes with touching Beca), and leads her toward the exit. She makes eye contact with Stacie as they push past, and Stacie nods in understanding – she and Beca will have privacy for a few minutes until Stacie manages to round up the others.

As Chloe moves to the exit, Beca in tow, she locks eyes with one of the blondes who’d tried chatting up Beca earlier; the girl sends her a nasty glare when she sees Beca’s hand in hers, and Chloe returns the glare with a petty smile. It’s immature, and what’s happening between her and Beca isn’t what the blonde thinks, but it sure feels good to let her think that way.

They finally break free of the crowd and push their way outside, blinking in the midday light. Chloe pulls Beca around to the side of the building, where it’s quieter and they’ll have space from the line waiting for entry out front. As soon as they’re out, Chloe drops Beca’s hand and takes a half-step away, giving her room to breathe after the crush of people in the bar.

Beca sighs and leans her back against the brick building, closing her eyes and tilting her head up.

“You okay?” Chloe asks after a moment.

Beca inhales deeply, then nods and opens her eyes. “Yeah, just… it was kind of a lot.”

“You mentioned,” Chloe smiles tentatively.

Beca grins back. A second later, though, she frowns and looks down at her chest; she reaches inside her shirt and plucks the paper from under her bra strap. She stares at it wordlessly for a minute before crumpling it and tossing it into the wastebasket at the corner of the building.

Chloe takes that as a good sign. She partly wants to ask if Beca kissed that girl, but it’s really none of her business.

Beca looks down at the ground, covered in litter despite the presence of the wastebasket. She shuffles her feet, and Chloe can again detect that same nervous energy she’d been emitting earlier, back in the Bella house.

And when Beca looks up at her, more scared than Chloe’s ever seen her, she already knows what she’s going to ask half a heartbeat before the words leave her lips.

“Chloe? Will you go out with me, please?”

#bechloe #bechloe fic #my writing #beca mitchell #chloe beale #the rest of the bellas are in this one too #pitch perfect fanfic #i'm nobody's but yours #chapter ten #ends on a bit of a cliffhanger #sort of

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andaleduardo · 6 years ago

Text

Rooftop N.7

Ao3 N.6 N.8

Tuesday 18.05.1993

“I'm gonna fuckin get ya, four-eyes!”

That’s the third time Henry spats those same exact words behind their backs, Eddie thinks to himself as he hears Richie throwing some lost response in shallow breaths.

“How’s that working- fuck! How’s that working for you, dude?”

To feel their sweaty hands intertwined, tight enough to stop blood circulation, would have been great if they were not trying to stop Henry Bowers from catching them and start throwing punches. They had been running for a bit now, and false respiratory complications aside, Richie knew that Eddie could go for longer than him, so he really hoped their chaser would have given up by the time he fell in utter exhaustion.

Running with a backpack is the weirdest fucking thing to do, Richie notices. And if he wasn't about to puke out a lung at the moment, he would have joked around, telling Eddie how ridiculous they must look. Like the backpack was doing them from behind or something.

Nah, he scratches off that option. That's way too bad, even for me.

So, he settles on running, because that's all he can do at the moment. Not even breathing. No, he doesn't think he can breathe, automatic mode at its best.

His clammy hand grasps tighter onto Eddie's to pull him forward along. Since his legs are smaller, it leaves him behind some steps, long enough to keep their arms stretched between them. Just as Richie was about to allow his body to pass out, a frustrated grunt was heard from behind them. A small reminder that they were still being chased.

See, things were going pretty regular today, at least for Eddie. As for Richie… well, let’s just say he had a few plans.

This morning, when they woke up to the sound of Eddie’s alarm an hour earlier than normal so as to avoid Sonia discovering the bedroom’s door locked, Eddie expected everything to be worse. And by worse he means more awkward. More tense between them than what it had been the day after the quarry, more distant from each other in opposition from last night’s events. But Richie woke up and threw his body on top of Eddie’s, and he had to turn on his ‘totally annoyed mode’ in order to keep things on the regular track.

After pushing Richie out of bed and onto the floor, he waited until the (apparently energetic in the morning) boy got dressed and left through the window. Then, in the room all by himself, Eddie unlocked the door carefully, attempting to keep the noise down, and got dressed and ready for school.

His mother, unsuspicious as ever, sat with him in the kitchen table to watch him eat breakfast and complain about life in general. Luckily, she didn’t come in time to see Eddie shove two plastic-wrapped peanut butter sandwiches on the outer pocket of his school bag.

When asked why he was leaving earlier than usual, Eddie answered with a simple

“I want to talk to the teacher about my work project before class starts.”

And off he went, mocking her naivety.

Richie was sitting on the sidewalk some houses away, just enough to be hidden from the Kaspbrak’s living room window. When Eddie approached him, bike by his side, he tossed the two sandwiches to his face, startling him out of his existence when one collided with his ear.

“Ouch, Eds! You sure know how to woo a guy.” Eddie watched as thankfulness made its way on Richie’s eyes as he grabbed the two sandwiches, now on his lap, and stuffed one in the pocket of his jacket.

Their ride to school was comfortingly quiet, the town was still waking up. They could see stores opening up, adults leaving their houses and entering their cars. There were no kids around, yet. And there wouldn’t be many until half an hour later, when they’d start their path to school. The morning air was vaguely chill, the rain from last night gave the asphalt a glossy touch and the sidewalks were slippery, along with the small patches of dirt and front backyards that looked alive and muddy.

Derry. What else could they say about a town that is heavily rained upon in the beginning of summer. Just Derry.

It wasn’t until they were stuck going around the school building to pass the 30 minutes left until their friends would arrive, that the awkwardness seemed to settle.

Eddie could easily say he was feeling terrified of what he allowed his body to do some hours prior. Did it happen? He couldn’t wrap is head around the reality of it, couldn’t distinguish if it was a dream or not. He wished it was. Did it really happen? He thinks again.

Did I make things harder for us? If he weren’t so preoccupied, he would have laughed out loud for the innuendo of his question.

Oh God. He thinks. Fuck, no. This is so wrong on so many levels. There’s definitely nothing funny about the double meanings of that.

Embarrassed was an understatement for how he felt. Eddie was ready to turn around right now and leave Richie walking alone. He would run in any other direction, as long as it didn’t have Richie standing at the end of those.

Wrong paths they would have been.

On the other hand, Richie was sure it had been a dream. Pffff, yeah sure. Eddie gets a boner rutting against me?

Yowza! That’s the funniest joke I’ve heard since diapers.

But that didn’t explain why his cheeks felt warm, or why Eddie’s looked pink. That didn’t explain why Richie could feel his skin prickle where he can faintly remake the images of being in touch with another body.

Funny!

By the time their whole group was present by the bike rack, Beverly got the pleasure to announce, as she opened the zipper of her bag and shoved a hand inside it, that their party was still on. And then, as if it was the world’s most natural gesture, she took out a thick stack of purple … paper sheets?

“What’s that?” Ben had asked while leaning over Bev’s figure to read the words on the top paper.

Overexcited, Richie removed the whole stack from Bev’s hands and shook his arms in the middle of the group while grasping the papers. “These? There are flyers, baby!” Bev’s aunt works in a stationary store, it was easy for her to print a hundred of them while working one of her single shifts.

Stan rolled his eyes and turned around to start walking towards the building, everyone subconsciously started following along.

“Flyers? Are you serious right now?” Eddie asked no one in particular. Bill, who was by his side, agreed to his surprised tone.

“Isn’t that a buh-bit ex-exss-” He struggled with the word, frustrated momentarily while the group kept walking but waiting for him to succeed. “-Excessive...?” He spoke carefully.

“No sir, no sir!” Richie took one of the flyers from his arms and stuck it in Bill’s face. Eddie peered over to see it for himself, too.

It was a fairly small piece of purple paper, with big blocky yellow letters announcing “PARTY”. Creative. Above that was some information like the date, which Eddie noticed was next Friday, the address to Mike’s barn, and, surrounded by musical notes’ doodles standing in a stupidly flashy neon font:

“LIVE MUSIC!”

“Live music?” Bill must have been reading the same part along with Eddie, because they both asked the same thing together, stuttering tossed aside.

Eddie and Bill shared a glance, then looked straight to the party organizers. Eddie mocked them. “Who’d you get to play there? Some shitty group with low percussion skills?”

Richie flashes him a grin. “That’s up to you to find out ain’t it?”

With a scoff, Eddie tore his eyes away to instead look around the school halls as if they were any interesting. “Yeah, right.”

“You promised!” Richie shrieked, surprised.

“I promised my ass, Richie!” He retorted back.

“I’ll take that, too, then.”

Bev rolled her eyes and bumped Richie’s elbow, he smiled sheepishly at her.

Trying to ignore the burning sensation on most of his skin, Eddie tore the flyer from Bill’s grip to read it over better while the others started handing out the rest of them throughout students.

That’s when he read it.

everyone invited except Mullet Bowers and Greta-st Face Disaster

Oh man.

And here they are, unwillingly skipping last period because it took Henry that long to understand why he was being laughed at in class. Nonetheless, he found out. Eddie had been walking to his chemistry lab along with Ben and Richie when the bull came out of nowhere, fumbling with rage (was it even necessary?). By the time Richie spotted Henry at the end of the hall, he had grabbed Eddie’s hand and started off in the opposite direction.

Ben stood there, confused, and Eddie stumbled to try to keep up. He fell as soon as Richie began running, which took him three seconds, but their hands had been clasped together which meant Richie was pushed towards the floor, too.

That’s when Henry screams reached them. (seriously is it really necessary?) But Eddie’s thoughts were pushed out of his head when both of them stumbled to their feet, fingers still intertwined, and resumed properly running this time, still with a long advantage over the older bully.

Here they are now, long left school ground. Bowers was still after them and Eddie was trying to overlook past his burning muscles to think ‘Why did you drag me along, Richie?’ But maybe Eddie should be asking himself why he had let Richie drag him in the first place.

“Holy fuck…” Richie’s lungs were on fire. “No way- ugh! I need to-”

Eddie kept throwing glances behind his back, snapping his neck in weird angles. He couldn’t find any trace of Henry. He was about to warn Richie about it when suddenly he collided into the latter’s backpack. With a surprised grunt and an aching nose, Eddie let go of Richie’s hand and clasped both of his on his face. You could have warned me, dickhead! Eddie thought, but he was too busy panting to find enough oxygen to speak at the moment. He turned around once again just to make sure they were free of danger and lowered one of his hands to grab his backpack straps, an old habit he has.

They stared at each other in the middle of the street. Panting and harsh breathing. Aching legs and nose. They laughed. They laughed so much it started to hurt. They were slowly becoming two bundles of pain. Maybe they could merge together and become a single one. That sounded nice.

There wasn’t a coherent conversation after they stood there like panting idiots. Something along the lines of:

“Should we…?” Richie heaved through his words while pointing a thumb in the direction of which they had come. Should we go back to school? That’s what he meant to ask.

“No.” Eddie said. “Should we…?” He panted heavily, pointing to the other end of the road. Should we go home?

Richie nodded and planted both hands on his knees, curving his body so that he could bend his back in different angles. Man, running with a backpack is harder than it should be. He straightened himself out again. “Yours or-”

“Mine.” Eddie answered.

It was a silent agreement that they were meant to spend the rest of the day together.

They walked together, there wasn’t one moment that Eddie worried about his lungs. Running felt great, freeing, perhaps. So, when they were approaching the street where his house stood, he did something un-Eddie like. He shoved Richie with his elbow, he might have used more strength than needed. He blamed the adrenaline still running through him. Funny, the adrenaline runs too. With Richie’s suspicious attention on him, Eddie grinned, but didn’t bother to look in his direction. “I’ll race you to the front door.” And then proceeded to take off, the burning in his legs returning, but that wasn’t going to stop him.

He heard Richie complain behind him, but Eddie knew he had started running too by the sounds of his sneakers hitting the ground.

Eddie rounded the fence of the house next to his and crossed the grass that his mother called “front yard”. His mother. Eddie’s throat tightened and he stopped abruptly. For what felt like the twentieth time today, Richie and Eddie collapsed against each other. Richie tried to stop, he did, but he was almost catching up to Eddie, and the grass was still wet, still muddy. His feet slipped against Eddie’s and he fell on his butt into the cold surface, something inside the backpack pressed into his ribs.

“Fuck, Eddie!” He groaned on, hands digging into the dirt. “What the hell was that for?”

But Eddie didn’t turn around, he just gaped at the front door and whispered. “My mom, Richie. I can’t be home before school ends.” With that, he faced the boy on the ground, his worried frown deepened at the sight. “Can’t you even stay on your feet for one minute? You’re all dirty!” His whispers were staged, just in case Sonia was in ear-range.

Frustrated, and helplessly mad (although he didn’t want to be) Richie laughed ironically, way too loud for Eddie’s liking. “Excuse me, will you? You stopped out of fucking nowhere, Eds!” He scrambled to his feet, already feeling his pants glued to his legs where the wetness installed itself.

“Lower your voice-”

“Your mom’s not home.” He shrugged while adjusting his clothes into place. Eddie stared with furrowed eyebrows.

“And how do you know that?”

“Her car’s missing.”

Gaping slightly, Eddie snapped his neck to stare at the spot where his mother parks the car, it wasn’t, in fact, there.

Richie passed through Eddie while flicking his forehead. “Dummie. Lend me your shower.” Eddie followed him with his eyes, noticing pieces of grass stuck to Richie’s hair, and his soaked clothes, the backpack too.

“Don’t you dare step a foot in my house!”

After the bathroom door closed, Eddie allowed himself to sit on his bed and capture every sound that made its way to him. Richie's barefoot steps on the tiles, the ruffling of clothes against skin, the squeaks that his faucet does every time someone turns it on, the water hitting the bottom of the tub. His mind goes back in time, years ago when both of them had enough innocence (yes, even Richie) to take showers together.

11-year olds would be playing outside, usually with Stan and Bill, and they'd get dirty. Well, Eddie couldn't, or his mother would be upset. She always sounded angry and sad after Eddie came home with stains and messy hair. Eddie didn't want to make her feel that way so, most times, he came home sweaty.

One time, Richie and him went over to his place and played on the streets until his parents allowed. Back when they cared. Then they had stumbled inside in a fit of giggles, knees and hands dirty, clothes slightly smudged in greys and browns. Eddie didn't care about it. Richie had asked his mother if Eddie could bath in his house and stay for dinner. Maggie had smiled at the boys and ush them upstairs.

Maybe she didn't realize that Richie would be joining the said shower, Eddie thinks so, years later.

But the boys didn't think too much at the time, they just struggled out of their clothes in chuckles and pushes and got under the water. If memory doesn't fail him, Richie had joked about 'Eddie's pickle', saying it was smaller, but that it was okay because Eddie was small all over and Richie liked him like that.

Remembering this now, while Richie was in next room showering, made Eddie's cheeks crimson and his heart stammer.

He recalls, among those years of innocence, that both of them had asked the same to Sonia one time. Eddie doesn't know if he ever saw his mom freak out like that ever before. At the moment, neither of them could grasp her reasons, they just stood there, mouths gaping like fishes and ears red from being scowled, while she threatened to call Richie's parents. Now things were different. He supposed that if he went to join Richie right now, something ought to go wrong, even if he recognised a subtle wish to do just so. But then there’s an image on his head of all those solo times Eddie has in his shower, the exact same place where Richie is now, and he groans. Rubbing his face to shake away those images, he feels embarrassed. What is it about Richie that everything involving him leaves Eddie embarrassing himself?

To use his time better, Eddie tidied up the room and searched for the clothes Richie sometimes forgets. He ended up finding some in the back of his closet. He placed them neatly on top of his bed, the footprint was still there.

The kitchen sink was a mess of pilled up dishes from breakfast and his mother’s lunch, so he settled on taking care of that and arranging something for both of them to eat. Mid way from getting two glasses of orange juice on the table, Richie burst through the kitchen entry, already dressed, with a towel on his hand. Eddie didn’t hear him coming down the stairs, so when Richie asked: “Hey, where’d you want me to leave this?” - he almost spilled one glass on the floor, but managed to salvage it.

Before Eddie could say anything at all, he heard a voice that wasn’t Richie’s.

“I knew it.”

He faintly recognized his mother’s way of spatting out words in disapproval. Not even settling the glasses down, he turned to lock eyes with Richie, who was torn between glaring at Eddie with huge eyes, and looking at Sonia, who was out of Eddie’s view but certainly not out of his. The way Richie’s throat moved while he dry swallowed didn’t went unnoticed.

“Mrs. Kaspbrak!” He exclaimed, faking amusement. “Long time no see!”

Eddie’s heartbeat was everywhere, in his hands holding the cups for dear life, in his ears, in the back of his head and the sides of his neck.

Almost like a barrier between Eddie and his own mother, stood Richie. The kitchen entry occupied by his body, Sonia by the front door. Richie watched as the woman’s eyes studied his face, maybe his damp hair, then lowered down to the towel in both his hands. In a slow-motion-like movement, Richie watched Mrs. Kaspbrak’s expression turn into one of recognition.

“Did you just shower in my house?!”

Eddie’s breathing stopped for a second, still haven’t laid an eye on her. He could see Richie’s fists grasp the towel harder and his smile twitch. Suddenly, he feared what may happen in the next seconds.

There was anger in his movements as Richie moved one hand to his own hip and cocked an eyebrow at the woman in front of him. “Ridiculous idea, ma’am!” He pressed down the R’s. “Eddie licked my hair nice and wet-”

She didn’t give him time to finish, horror in her face as she grabbed Richie by the ear, obliging the boy to bent down so as to not get any body part ripped out of him. Eddie’s eyes widened, finally seeing his mom there to make things real. Richie dropped the towel and grabbed her wrist, hissing in pain and squeezing his eyes.

“Mom, cut it out!” They made eye contact, then, but she didn’t let go.

“We have a lot to discuss, Eddie.” Before he could talk again, Richie was barking out a laugh, a very sarcastic and angry one.

“Listen, lady, I’m trying my best to not lose my shit right now. So, would you kindly let go of my fucking ear?”

“Mom, let him go.” Even Eddie himself was surprised at the bravery in his tone. Mrs. Kaspbrak lifted her head to look at her son in disbelief, nonetheless, she let Richie’s ear alone but pushed him to enter the kitchen properly, following him inside. Richie stumbled with the push but managed to get a grip on the towel before making his way to Eddie’s side.

“So, dryer?” He lifted an eyebrow while pointing, with the soft fabric, to the machine under the kitchen counter.

“Not right now, Richie.” Richie’s intentions were certainly not comical, Eddie knew it was his coping mechanism but he couldn’t help and turn him down. He stared at his mom again, who was standing in front of him with an unreadable expression. “What do we have to talk about?”

He tried so hard to keep it together, hell, he did. But as soon as a paper bag was pushed to his hands, Eddie knew it was only a matter of seconds for him to lose it. Carefully, and finally, placing the full glasses on the table, Eddie grabbed the bag shakily. He peered inside.

A wave of shock ran his spine when he saw Richie’s lighter inside, along with a pharmaceutic box he too well recognised.

“Mom?” he whimpered. There were tears fogging up his vision. “Care to explain?” Behind him, he could hear Richie walking in circles and trying not to peer over and see for himself.

“Explain it, Eddie?” Aggressively, she tore the paper bag from her son’s hands and turned it upside down, letting its contents fall on the kitchen table. Richie was there in a minute. My lighter. He thought. And then he remembered the sound that took them both by surprise last night.

“You went looking through Eddie’s bedroom?” He spat those words to her, on the corner of his eye, he saw Eddie’s shoulders slump. Neither of them answered him, so he scoffed and started pacing again, not even noticing the other half of the bag’s contents.

Eddie stared at the box until he couldn’t restrain himself from blinking any longer. When he opened his eyes again, it was still there.

“If you give me reasons, Eddie, I will do what I have to. Think I haven’t noticed you coughing around and trying to cover it up? And then what do I find, Eddie?” He didn’t answer, eyes on the ground. “If you think it’s funny to go smoking behind my back, I hope you find this funny too-

“Smoking? Are you serious?” He finally looked up at her in disbelief, voice strained and cheeks stained. “Do you think I’d go around smoking?!”

“I don’t care, Eddie!” Her voice echoed. Eddie sniffled, feeling helpless and ashamed that Richie had to be here while this argument happened. “You’re going to carry your inhaler around again-”

Richie’s mouth fell opened at those words, watching Eddie shake his head frantically from side to side. He was choking up on his tears while trying to speak. “N-no! D-don’t make me!”

But she answered him by shoving the white and blue carton box in his chest, and Eddie took it sheepishly. That’s when Richie snapped.

“Mrs. Kaspbrak,” He approached her carefully. “I don’t think this is reasonable, Eddie doesn’t need it and besides, the lighter is mine not his-”

“Great, then he’ll stop being around you, too. You can start by leaving.” Then she made her way to the fridge, like nothing had happened, and started taking out various things needed to prepare dinner. Eddie stood there, listening as Richie’s politeness left his body in a second and started hitting her with words and curses. He stood there, getting angrier and angrier every time his mother had the audacity to attack Richie back, like she was some kind of superior being who had the right to do so. She’s not, Eddie realises.

She doesn’t have the right to be doing this.

“You’re a worthless prick, woman. I bet you were waiting for your chance to get Eddie under your thumb again!”

“Congrats, boy!” She tossed the tub of butter she took out of the fridge onto the counter. “You’ve got me all figured, a shame you can’t seem to understand your own mother as well.”

With all the strength he could find, although Eddie doesn’t know where it came from, maybe from the adrenaline, he screamed for them to stop while tossing the box onto the wall in front of him. There was a snapping sound once it fell to the floor, and since Eddie wasn’t so sure if it broke, he walked over and stepped on it forcefully while his throat squeezed out grunts of frustration.

Sonia spoke carefully to him, nonetheless threateningly. “Edward-

“I am not asthmatic, and I do not smoke.” He wasn’t lying, but there was still a pang of guilt living in his chest. He sniffled once more, and locked eyes with Richie, who was looking at him like he’d found his hero. “And I won’t certainly stop seeing Richie.”

On his way out of the kitchen, Richie bumped shoulders with Sonia, a childish act, yeah, but damn it if he didn’t want to push her more. For the next hour, Eddie expected his mom to burst through his bedroom door and make Richie leave, but strangely, she didn’t even make her presence noticeable while Eddie tried to stop crying and Richie apologized for what felt like the millionth time.

“It’s okay.” Eddie told him. “I think she needed a second reminder, you know?”

Richie knew, but that didn’t stop him from feeling guilty.

By dinner time, Richie had to leave and Eddie went downstairs with him to carry him to the door. Once it was closed, his mother walked closer to him.

“Dinner is ready.”

And when Eddie followed her to the kitchen, ice cold quietness, he took a glance at the spot where his inhaler stood moments ago, it wasn’t laying there anymore. The silence in which they ate felt different this time, as if, somehow, Eddie finally let his mother know who he truly was.

He hoped that she could take it better this time.

rooftop taglist: @richietoaster @rainydayriots @reddieloves @thetrashmouthclub @lemonboi03 @noodleboyshane @pillsandglasses @studpuffin @dandelion-stan @reddiesetrichie @squishynonbinarytwink @itschunky @burymestanding @duderrific @its-rye @salty-kaspbrak @youtubequeens @reddieseggrolls @addimagination @pastelstozier @sleepysirenprincess @constantreaderfool @mrs-vh @eds-trashmouth

perma taglist: @constantreaderfool @mrs-vh @eds-trashmouth @girasol-eddie

#reddie #fanfic #writing #rooftop #ao3 #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #ben hanscom #beverly marsh #mike hanlon #stanley kubrick #bill denbrough #henry bowers #pennywise happened but certainly dead #ao3 isn't working #original

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mutanitys · 7 years ago

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part 2/? of my stucky post-its series! (i can’t believe i’m making this a thing). also i am having so much fun writing shuri, she is truly my precious baby princess. (part 1 here)

This time he wakes up gasping, like he’s being starved of air. Bucky’s hand acts on its own accord—it’s scrabbling against the glass, like he’s a trapped animal begging to be let out. The cryo pod hisses as the air pressure dwindles and it becomes easier to breathe again. He stops struggling, and only when he blinks once or twice does Bucky realise he’s staring at nothing but an expanse of blue.

“Sorry, sorry, Sergeant!” winces Shuri as soon as the pod slides open. “We’re still trying to get the optimum settings for you—your body is in constant change.”

“No, it’s alright, it wasn’t the pod. I think I was just—unprepared,” he realises how silly this sounds. How does you prepare yourself mid-freeze, anyway? “And a little surprised. I couldn’t see the room when I woke up.”

At this, Shuri skips a little on the spot and clutches her tablet close to her chest.

“Ah, yes! You may want to slide the window down—someone left a message for you while you were out,” she chuckles, swiping her screen with a smile on her face.

Bucky’s starting to think her little suggestions of ‘you may want to’ are less suggestions and more orders. He has a niggling suspicion of what’s waiting for him—he does, after all, retain memories prior to his unconscious state—but doesn’t let his hopes get too high. Pulling the window down, he finds two square pieces of post-its stuck on the glass; blue and yellow, messages written in black ink on both squares.

Okay. Maybe he can get his hopes up just a little bit.

Did you like the pie? I hope you did. It’s my favourite, back when I first got out of the ice. I was always craving for some comfort food and I’d always stop by that bakery on my way to the gym.

Then, on the next one, because even with Steve’s neat, blocky handwriting he manages to run out of space:

Shuri said the second time they let you out went okay. That’s awesome. You’ll get better real quick, don’t worry.

Your pal,

Steve

When Bucky flips the post-it, there’s a small doodle of a lattice-crusted pie with steam rising from it, and Bucky’s lips twist unconsciously into a smile. It takes him a bit of effort, stretching out of his restrains to put the post-its back on a table next to the pod, but even as Shuri and a nurse guide him to the examination bed the smile doesn’t leave Bucky's face.

Of course, Shuri isn’t a genius for nothing. “No pie this time, but you’re still grinning like this?” she shakes her head. “You’re an easy man to please, Searge.”

Bucky splutters, but comes up with no retort. Instead, he turns to her and asks, “Do you have a pen or pencil? And post-its?”

She raises an eyebrow. “We certainly do. But this isn’t the cryo that the Rus—this isn’t the kind of cryogenic procedure you were previously exposed to. This entire process is meant to mentally and physically relax you, to put it simply, to the point where your body and mind will have to learn everything from scratch. Kind of like a rebooting a computer, but gentler.”

A few seconds pass as the information sinks in before Bucky blinks in response. “I’ve never... rebooted a... computer.”

Shuri places a hand on her forehead, but continues, “Anyway, it means you may not have the motor coordination required to write. Are you sure you don’t prefer typing out a message that I can show him instead?”

Bucky wants to ask how she knows what he intends to do with the post-its and pens, but realises he’s not exactly being subtle. “I appreciate the offer but I—it’s. It’s only right. To write back, I mean,” he mumbles, feeling slightly embarrassed but full of conviction nonetheless.

Shuri glances up from her tablet, taps on it a couple of times before stepping closer to him. “Are you sure? I don’t recommend physical over-exertion so early in this stage—we were only planning to exercise your hands and arms in a week or so—“

“I’m sure,” he says, voice firm, and Shuri laughs once again.

“Stubborn men,” she says as she walks over to her desk, most likely in search of Bucky’s wanted items. “I’m constantly surrounded by stubborn men. They are everywhere.”

Bucky’s session out of cryo was supposed to only last a maximum of two hours, but after adequate nourishment Shuri lets Bucky settle into a reclining bed, propped him up on pillows and let him settle down with a pen and a sketchpad. Before long, Bucky realises that he should probably take Shuri’s warnings more seriously—the pen feels awkward in his right hand, and the sketchpad moves around too much without the help of his left. His grip is weak, the pen often rolls out of his hand without his permission and he can’t seem to connect the beginnings and ends of his Os, Ds, or any other letter, for that matter.

Bucky. James. James Buchanan Barnes. Sergeant Barnes. Tuesday. Hello. Wakanda. Steve Rogers. Steve.

His wrist cramps up twice and both times Shuri chides him for overworking himself, but he tells her he’s feeling swell and continues until his handwriting can pass for legible. Bucky’s never been an artist, so he doesn’t even try practicing anything beyond the alphabets. Once he’s got the letters small enough to fit a post-it, he asks for a stack of it from Shuri, who gladly hands them over to Bucky.

“Finally, you are almost done,” she huffs, but there’s fondness in her voice that makes Bucky smile.

It takes him five tries, the discarded four crumpled up into balls he throws over the edge of his bed. The handwriting still resembles a scrawl more than anything, but Bucky thinks it’ll do. Shuri reads it with a grin.

“You’re quickly becoming one of my favourite people on this planet, Sergeant Barnes."

He asks the nurse to stick it on the window of his cryo pod, trying to subdue the blush creeping up his neck and face—and spectacularly failing. Of course, the nurse reads it as she sticks it on—her eyes light up and she gives Bucky a wink, tells him he’s making amazing progress. It makes Bucky feel a hundred times better.

He goes under with a smile, imagining Steve’s expression when he finds the note.

(Drop the ‘pal’. I know who you are, punk.

Thanks for the pie. We should eat it together sometime.)

#stucky #stevebucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #marvel #fanfic #mcu #shuri #captain america #winter soldier #drabble #pre-infinity war #white wolf #scribbles #stucky post it series

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shinobicyrus · 7 years ago

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“Familiar Face”

My submission for Phanniemay Day 8: Clones. Surprising myself, instead of Danielle I decided to write a short with my oc Samuel, loosely inspired by kikaiz’s Reverse Trio AU.

Those first fleeting moments of consciousness as she was spilled out on a cold floor felt less like being born and more like falling into a drugged sleep. A brief moment of lucidity for a life more felt than half-remembered. Crowded halls lined with locker banks, homework, tests, the pressure to fit in and failing, hormones and a quiet heartache. A boy with glasses, a NASA cap, and a goofy-shy smile like a-

She grasped for it and failed, floating through the lab in a fog of numb unreality. Sterile walls, chemical smells in her nose and soakinghher hair, too-bright light blurring away details in a wash of intense white. White walls. White floors. The thin white rubber mat that was her bed. The white leotard that left the pale, white skin of her arms and legs bared and accessible for masked figures in white surgical garb.

Strapped to an examination table. To a chair that reminded her of the dentist (what does it mean if you dream about going to the dentist? Jaz...someone she knew dabbled in those stupid dream interpretation books)

The inquiries of metal. Little prods and cuts. Needles slipping in and watching her own blood fill a glass syringe; sometimes ruby red, other times viscous and glowing witchlight green.

The tests hurt. She knew that intellectually, but not in that bone-deep, animal panic way. She was numb to it but still hoped it would clear the fog and wake her, but they didn't dig deep enough. She suspected in some back corner of her brain that it had something to do with the things they kept injecting into her, burning numbness through her veins and ink biting into her wrist. The side of her head (shaved recently, but she can’t remember when). Two blocky, jet black digits etched to partner with the crisscrossing red lines on the white canvas of her limbs.

Mom always said she’d kill me if I got a tatto-

She never felt tired but slept when they told her to- a hope somewhere at the bottom of this well of drugged haze that if she did, she would finally wake up in a home she’d nearly forgotten, back in her room, going downstairs to a cooked breakfast and leaving the dream of the lab on her pillow to dissolve like a broken cobweb.

Sleeping in too late. They were waiting for her. The one with dark dreadlocks and the other with a smile that lit up when he saw the stars.

Danny?

“Sir, I’m reading unusual theta-wave fluctuations.”

“Adjust the dosage.”

They made their voices clear through the fog with punctuation of scalpel and shocks. She obeyed because the metal was the only time things felt real.

“Float one meter above the deck. Now, point-five more.”

“Phase your hand through this wall- hold it there. Push it further in.”

“Hold your invisibility and remain perfectly still during the scan.”

“Fire at those targets. Good. Control: increase their speed by thirty percent. I want faster acquisition.”

They were testing her limits. Training her for something. Like in the basement of her mom and dad’s labr-

“Transform.”

“I said do it, Four. Comply.”

I’m...going...ghostly?

(Tucker’s laugh. Maybe we should work on that, Sam.)

Tucker?

“Up the dosage. Twenty milligrams. Just do it.”

Tucker?

A few times she caught sight of a boy she didn’t know in the polished metal of an instrument tray, or in the glass of a window. Young. Short haired. A backwards number four inked into the side of his head. The face floated, ghostlike and unseen, between two men watching her in the window. One in a pristine white white white always white I’m drowning in white suit and dark sunglasses with another man in green fatigues and a chest crowded with ribbons.

“My God, I have a son that age.”

“Respectfully Colonel, you don’t. Four was decanted less than four months ago. Don’t let it fool you into thinking it’s human.”

“But the briefing said it’s...a hybrid? Half ectoplasm and half human DNA?”

“Humans share seventy percent of their genes with slugs. Mathematically, the menu at a French restaurant is more human than that thing.”

(”Not human, not ghost...” Spectra crooned.)

“Uncle Sam isn’t paying you a hundred million dollars for escargot, Director.”

“No he is not, Colonel. Control: release the specimens.”

A section of the plain white wall slides open and a pack of three creatures float out, swimming in empty air and bombing with swishing tendrils and demented smiles. A lesson enforced at the end of a needle: Class One Malefactors “Oh come on Sam, ectopusses is the perfect name for th-”, circling around the room with the aimlessness of animals set loose in a space larger than they’d been held in.

The intercom crackles. “Four: You are cleared to engage.”

The fight felt so familiar, a moment of lucidity in the violence cutting through the perpetual fog. She flew towards one faster than it expected and punched it hard into the wall, another roared a challenge and charged at her. Instead of dodging she willed herself intangible and let it fly through her, going solid just as it passed so she can grab a bundle of its tentacles, swing it around, and slam it into the third.

They crashed in a confused tangle of babbling shrieks and too-many limbs. She raised a hand a fired a bolt of raw power- splattering the pair into a steaming mess of green goo over the white walls. The first she’d hit launches off the wall towards her, and her intangible feet slipped down through the floor, still leaving of her top-half solid enough to grab the ectopuss Malefactor and slam it on the floor once, twice, and the third time bursting it into a steaming mess.

The streaks of green ruining the sterile white is satisfying in a way she could not articulate. She thought it was the first time she remembers smiling ever in a long time.

“Well I’ll be damned. That’s one scrappy little slug.”

The intercom again. “Release Subject Two.”

A new section of wall opens behind her. This time with the suggestion of something wrapped in glowing blue chains and a white tarp. A buzzing, electronic click powers down the chains, and the medical tarp reserved for cadavers was shredded by a glowing green skeleton, everything below the ribs missing, save for a pair of upsettingly familiar eyes crammed into two sockets.

“Two. Four. You are cleared to engage.”

They both look at the spot on the wall where the voice came from, then each other. The skeleton moves first, faster without the extra mass slowing it down and more comfortable in the air. It’s voice is a wail echoing in empty bones, slashing wildly with bony talons.

One slashed across her side, tearing the leotard. Her blood is green today, leftovers glistening on the skeleton's clawtips. It cut through the fog, and she laughed as she dodged the follow-up strikes.

“Come on, dazzle me!”

It’s fast but reckless, vicious but too simplistic. It’s easy as learning combos in Immortal Kombat, her boys groaning as she performs yet another fatality to learn its patterns, catch it by the wrist in the middle of a wide slash, and tear the bony arm out of its socket.

The bone of its skull had a 02 etched into it in the same font as her tattoo. She learned this because she saw it before her boot crushed it like a piece of old pottery.

“Sir, I think we should halt the test here. We’re showing elevated-”

“If it can’t handle the stress here, it’s not good to us in the field. Release Subject Three.”

At first she’s not sure what she’s seeing. A darting green light that could fit in her palm, darting in erratic patterns that leave little neon trails in the air. It doesn’t wait for an order to attack- she saw nothing but the afterimage of a streak and is hit with a fastball, dense like a dwarf star

“Red dwarfs make up most of the stars in the galaxy” he’d said, laying down on the ground next to her and pointed at the sky. “It’s actually pretty amazing just how rare our sun i-...”

Another hit in the solar plexus drove the wind out of her, it blinks like a firefly, bobbing away lighting-fast and going for her head.

She lifted her hand and fired a burst of green, wide and imprecise but enough to stun it, she backhands it and it scatters into a dim green mist.

At first she thought it was over, but the mist still hungin the air, swirling and collecting itself until it formed the shape of a young girl in a lime-green jumpsuit, white haired, green eyed and-

That. That face.

She knew that face.

The girl in the mist wavered like a mirage, her face distorted like a funhouse mirror. It hissed wordlessly at her with bulging, mismatched eyes, face sloughing like runny paint.

There’s no strategy, no clever follow-up. She roared and tackled Three, driving it into the ground with an inhuman shriek.

Whatever flimsy consistency held it together collapses under his fists. Ectoplasm singed his knuckles, each blow molding the creature’s into something blissfully unrecognizable until the shifting, bubbling mass of green- began to reshape itself back into-

“STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT!”

Straddling on top of it, holding it down and phasing with it whenever it tried to slip away, she kept pounding the notmenotmenotme until the mist condenses into the consistency of abused wax, a vaguely human-shaped puddle of bubbling green.

“Four! Stand down! That’s an order, Four!”

She shoved away the melted arm that tried to reach for her and saw something in the puddle. Another person looking at her, in the reflection of the puddle of what used to be Three.

That boy again. Young. Too young. Hair chopped short for the backwards tattoo on the side of his head. His face contorted into disgust and horror and fury.

She punches it again. “YOU.”

Again. “AREN’T.”

“ME.”

Pain explodes in Samuel’s fist and he tumbles backwards, clutching it close and biting back a scream in his teeth even as he lands badly. Blind and in the dark.

A light clicks on and he winces, squinting. Legs kicking, trying to push himself upright with only his feet and elbows.

“Sammy! Sammy!”

A pair of hands on his shoulders, steadying him. His eyes adjust enough to see Danny, looking strange and bare without his glasses. “Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay. You’re okay. Just breathe.”

He does his best to follow the advice. He looks around, everything coming back as the last of the haze clears. He’s on the floor in Tucker’s room. It was...it was just a guys’ night: pizza and video games and bad sci-fi movies and talking about thoughts and fears in the safety of the dark.

Tucker’s standing next to his desk lamp in boxer shorts with cute Lovecraftian monsters on them, blinking owlishly without his contacts. “What’s going on?”

“I...” Samuel looks up and sees a massive crack in the mirror above Tucker’s dresser. A fractured, spiderweb pattern with flecks of green in the center. “I think I was sleepwalking.”

“More like nightmare-punching.” Danny holds out his hand, palm up. “Show me.”

Samuel agrees without thinking, taken off balance by his sudden assertiveness. Danny’s in pajama pants and a hole-ridden Star Trek t-shirt that probably should have been thrown out two years ago. His injured hand is an imitation of a dead spider- curled and twitching. He tries not to jump when Danny’s warm hands take his and turns it over.

“You’re bleeding.”

“I’ll be fine. I heal fast.”

“You should still put it in like...ice or something,” his brow furrows with worry. “Does it hurt?”

“I’ve had worse.” He says, and doesn’t miss the way Danny is looking at the scars on his arm.

Tucker crouches next to them. Samuel is so crowded by well-meaning concern he is simultaneously chafing under it and willing to do anything to keep them from leaving. “I’m sorry about your mirror.”

He shrugs. “It’ll probably be weeks before either of my parents notice. If they ask I’ll just say I did in like, a fit of hardcore protest against our bullshit appearance-obsessed culture, or something.”

“Does this mean you won’t be wearing make-up, then?” Samuel asks.

Tucker rolls his eyes and pulls out a black compact from somewhere, which is a feat because he’s still only wearing boxers and it is distracting.”My makeup isn’t to look pretty it’s to rage against the Man, Sammy. Huge dif.”

“Sam?”

Amazingly, Samuel doesn’t wince. “Yeah?”

Danny is still cradling his hurt hand. “Do you want to talk about it?”

From his angle on the floor the mirror is just showing a fractured, broken image of Tucker’s room all thrown in lamplight and midnight shadows. He’s not entirely sure what he’d see if he stood up and looked into it- but he’s grateful that if he had to have a horrible nightmarish flashback, he didn’t do it someplace where the first thing he’d see when he woke up was Samantha’s face.

“Can we just...stay up for the rest of the night? I don’t really think I can manage sleeping, anymore.”

“Yeah, sure.” Danny smiles at him. “Of course. Anything you want.”

Tucker puts a reassuring hand on Samuel’s shoulder...and using it so he can push himself up and announces. “Welp. In that case, I should probably put on some pants.”

#phanniemay #phanniemay18 #danny phantom #samuel manson #reverse trio au #tucker foley #danny fenton #clones #bones #sparks #guys in white #warnings for ghost goop #and violence i guess?#not sure where this came from but i have been neglecting my son #so i'm just glad that i actually wrote *anything* at this point #my writing #my fanfiction

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himluv · 7 years ago

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The Princesa and the Smuggler

Day One of MEHalloween, “Halloween Throwback”

@joufancyhuh @vorchagirl and @joz-stankovich because an art piece of hers may have inspired this. Hope you don’t mind ;)

Reyes stared at the invitation , at once confused and intrigued.

To: Reyes Vidal From: Sara Ryder

If you could be anyone or anything for one night, who/what would you be? 10/31/2821

Attached were coordinates for a club on Meridian. He read the message half a dozen times in quick succession, trying to guess what his girlfriend was up to. They’d arrived back in Heleus only three weeks ago, but they’d been apart almost the entire time. Sara had Initiative bureaucracy to contend with, and Reyes had his leak in the Collective. Interrogating Meritus had proved exhausting and highly unpleasant. Reyes could use a distraction. He was familiar with the Halloween tradition, although his devout family had never celebrated the holiday. After they died, his two years with a mercenary gang, and another six years with the Alliance hadn’t really offered many opportunities to play dress up. But, this was only Meridian’s second Halloween, and now that the majority of the human colonists called it home, it was bound to be a night to remember. He reclined into his sofa in the room on the upper level of Tartarus and pulled up his omnitool. He needed to do some research on the club and its planned festivities. “Throwback Halloween,” he read aloud. The club was hosting a costume party, and the theme was th Century earth.

To: Sara Ryder From: Reyes Vidal

And who would you be? I’d like to coordinate.

Her reply was almost instantaneous. It was just like her to be so excited about something like this, and the thought of her messaging him, a grin on her face, made his chest tighten with longing. After so many months together, these past weeks without her had been hard.

To: Reyes Vidal From: Sara Ryder

This is your only hint: “Someone has to save our skins! Into the garbage chute, fly boy!”

Reyes grinned. He’d have to do some research; the party was only two weeks away, but he could work with that.

The music thundered through the bar, bass thumping in some electronic dance song he didn’t recognize. The amount of bodies, all in strange, archaic costumes actually gave him pause. He hadn’t been in a bar that crowded since the night before the Nexus had left the Milky Way. Out of nervous habit his hand dropped to the pistol holstered at his hip. He took comfort in its familiar weight, and took a deep, settling breath. He waded through the crowd, his old habits taking over as he let the undulating bodies direct him to where he wanted to be. As he moved he searched the crowd for his Princesa. There were a lot of variations o their costumes, and though he saw a number of rebel princesses in flowing white robes, none of them wore it was well as he was sure his Sarita did. He approached the crowded bar and noticed Scott first. The younger Ryder twin wore a pale beige tunic with a thick leather belt. His pants were only slightly darker than his shirt, and his tall, knee high boots were a deep tan color. The hilt of a plastic lightsaber hung from his hip. Beside him stood someone in all black, a long cape flowing from his shoulders and a blocky black helmet on his head. Reyes sidled up to the pair, resting his elbows on the bar. “Haven’t seen your twin around lately, have you Luke?” Scott turned and grinned as he took in Reyes’ costume. “Sara is gonna flip,” he shouted over the music. “Oh! That’s just perfect,” Darth Vader said. Though the mask deepened his voice and added the trademark respirator sound, Reyes could tell it was Gil underneath the helmet. He grinned at them both before turning his attention back to the bar to flag down the bartender. He ordered a glass of their best whiskey and only once it was safely in hand did he turn to face the dance floor, leaning casually with his elbows on the bar-top. “So, where’s he princess?” Scott shrugged. “Last I saw she was dancing with Peebee.” “Please tell me she’s a twi’lek!” Gil leaned over Scott’s shoulder to yell, “her and Jaal both!” Reyes let out a full belly laugh before knocking back his drink. He clapped Scott on the shoulder. “I’m off to find Leia.” “Good luck,” her twin shouted as Reyes moved off toward the dance floor. He waded through the crowd once more, feeling more at ease thanks to the whiskey. But, one glass of fine whiskey wasn’t nearly enough to keep him from reaching for his gun when a hand gripped his shoulder. “Han!” Liam shouted over the din. Reyes spun to look at the man, and burst out laughing. Liam wore the flat blue uniform and cape of Lando Calrissian. Because, of course he would want to be Lando. “Lookin’ for Leia?” Reyes nodded. “Look for the Wookie,” he said. “Did she get everyone to participate?” “Pretty much!” Liam grinned. “Even Suvi and Kallo are the droids!” Reyes shook his head in awe of his girlfriend’s power of persuasion, and moved further into the crowd as Liam attached himself to a new dance partner. As the crowd jostled him, ebbing and flowing with the music like an angry sea, Reyes kept his eyes at the top of the crowd. Sure enough, after a few moments of drifting, he saw a furry brown head standing about a foot above the rest of the dancers. He made his way slowly, not forcing his way through even though the urge to lay eyes on Sara was nearly overwhelming him. Three weeks was too long, even after months together after a year apart, three weeks was a painfully long time to go without hearing her laugh, or seeing the way her blue eyes sparkled brighter green when they were on him. The crowd parted as the Wookie’s dance moves got a little wilder, and at the center of it all was Peebee, Jaal, and Sara, laughing as they danced in a circle. Reyes kept back, prowling through the crowd to keep Sara in view as he enjoyed the sight of her. She wore the expected flowing white robes, her long pale brown hair pulled up into the iconic buns and braid. Her cheeks were flushed, whether from the heat of dancing, the force of her laughter, or alcohol, he couldn’t be sure. Probably a mixture of all three. Her outfit was modest, much more so than the other Leias in the club, but hers was much more accurate. Besides, Reyes didn’t need to see her skin to know what perfection lay in wait underneath the robes. The song reached a crescendo, paused, and then dropped into an even more intense beat. Sara whooped and let the music move through her, her arms above her head as she twirled, the robes flaring out, revealing tall white boots and soft skin. Her head bounced back and forth before falling back. Reyes caught a glimpse of her face, and saw her pull at her lip with her teeth. With her eyes closed, moving to the relentless beat of the music, he knew he couldn’t stay away from her any longer. He wove through the crowd, ducked behind the Wookie, who he had a sneaking suspicion was Vetra, and pressed himself flush to Sara’s back, his hands on her hips and his lips at her ear. “Waiting for someone?” he said. She stilled against him, and then spun his arms, launching herself at him. He caught her with a huff, and when one leg clung to his hip he obliged her by lifting her up to wrap her legs around him. Her mouth was on his, and he knew now that alcohol had a least a little to do with her demeanor; he tasted the sugary sweetness of the mixed drinks, which she preferred at social gatherings, on her tongue. But, that didn’t matter just then, all that mattered was that she was there, in his arms once more, and that she had obviously missed him as much as he had missed her. “Get a room!” Peebee shouted. Sara untangled one arm from around Reyes’ neck to give the asari her middle finger, but never took her mouth from his. Finally, he broke the kiss, and once his panting breaths had settled, he chuckled against her lips. “Miss me?” She groaned, and her legs tightened around his waist. “You have no idea.” He caught her bottom lip in his teeth, and his fingers dug into her shoulder blades. “I have some idea,” he promised. The song changed and Sara perked up. “I love this song!” She wriggled against him, and it took Reyes a moment to realize she was trying to get down. He released her, and she immediately started dancing, even more fervently than before. Reyes grinned and joined her; it wasn’t often they had the liberty of drinking and dancing the night away. After the track ended she turned to him and gave him a critical glance. Black pants, white shirt, those had been easy to find. Even the old-school hip holster had been relatively easy to come by. But the tall black boots and the vest? Those had been a bitch, which meant they’d been expensive. “You look amazing,” she said. “I was worried my hint wasn’t clear enough.” He shook his head. “It was perfect!” He looked around the club, spotting Kallo as C-3PO, Suvi in a cute dress that looked like R2D2, and even Lexi in an Obi Wan Kenobi costume. The three were lounging in a large booth, probably reserved for the Pathfinder and her entourage. His suspicions were confirmed a moment later when Scott and Gil arrived, joining the less energetic members of their group. Another dance song started and the Wookie reappeared from a short jaunt through the roiling crowd, pausing to dance with a quarian in a black hooded robe. Then the pair moved off to join the others in the booth. Sure enough, Vetra appeared from under the large, furry mask looking more than a bit tipsy herself. Scott said something to her, and the whole booth laughed. He looked back to Sara to find her grinning up at him. “Wanna get out of here?” She called over the song. His smile took on something predatory as he nodded. Keema had promised him his apartment had been maintained in his absence, and it was only a few minutes walk from the club. He took her hand and led the way out of the bar, not missing the cheers and jeers from their friends. Sara giggled as they met with fresh, cool air once they were outside. She pulled up her white hood, then linked her arm through his. She had to hurry to keep up with his brisk pace, her boots clicking on the metal walkways. She paused slightly as he punched in the code to unlock his door. “This is your place?” She asked. He nodded. “On Meridian, at least.” He pulled her into the flat after him, and wasted no time pinning her to the door. His mouth couldn’t get enough of her, he couldn’t seem to sate his tongue’s desire to taste her skin, no matter how much of it he peppered in feathery kisses or long swathes of wet heat. She gasped and her fingers coiled in his hair. Then she pulled his face up to look at hers. Her skin was flushed, more from his attentions now than any effect of the alcohol, and her eyes were bright and clear. “I love you, Reyes,” she whispered. He blinked at her for a moment, absorbing the words. Though she’d said them before, they still seemed so unreal to him. Then he smirked at her. “I know.”

#MEHalloween #Santa Sarita #f!reyder #me:a #star wars #meridian knows how to partaaay #why did this get so long #i have a problem

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