#sorry this is just Lucretia Is Useless And Gay: The Fic

[softshelltaakos]

for ficlet requests, permhaps a little lupcretia on the starblaster?

Lucretia has kept a journal on her crewmates since day one. That’s to be expected. She’s the chronicler of this mission, dedicated to taking down as much information as she can. She writes with both hands in two different journals, and things don’t escape her sight easily. There are paragraphs written about each of them in days -- in-depth physical descriptions that fade into first impressions that give way to intimate details most people would miss. By the end of their first cycle she’s run out of paper in her journals.

By the end of the sixth cycle she’s filled nineteen journals on one crewmate in particular. She writes descriptions, writes notes, writes odes and lyric poetry and scribbles her name all over the pages-- she’s in too deep. It can’t be helped, not with Lup around. She’s electric, lightning striking Lucretia daily. She’s a wild laugh and a bright-eyed wink. She’s the most beautiful woman Lucretia has ever seen. Being around her is overwhelming.

(Being around most people is overwhelming for Lucretia. But it’s different with Lup. It’s social anxiety multiplied by ten, mitigated by the fact that it’s butterflies in her stomach and the fact that Lup is kind. She’s so kind, and it isn’t obvious at first, but then you catch her: she puts blankets on Barry when he falls asleep at his desk. She holds Taako so tightly at the beginning of each cycle. She wipes Magnus’s tears and makes him laugh when circumstances are getting him down. She ribs Davenport and makes him crack a grin like no one else. She even gardens with Merle, a task the rest of them have sworn off of as entirely as possible.)

Lucretia was never prone to having her head in the clouds before Lup, but that’s where she operates half the time now. It’s not entirely conducive to writing, as evidenced by the fact that currently, Lucretia is reclining in a chair on the deck of the Starblaster with a journal in hand writing more of a diary than anything else.

Taako is sick, so Lup cooked breakfast this morning. Nothing fancy, just omelettes, but as always they were delicious. She’s worried about him -- it just looks like a cold right now, but after last cycle, we’re all on edge about illness. It’s brought her soft side out like hell; she’s in his room more often than not, and I can hear her singing from inside. From what I can tell it’s an old Elvish lullaby. I’ve heard the two of them singing it together sometimes. It’s beautiful. Her voice is beautiful, just like everything else about her god Lucretia you have to calm down this is getting absurd

“Hey!” comes Lup’s voice from behind her, and Lucretia splatters ink across the page in surprise before immediately slamming her journal shut.

“Yes?” Lucretia asks, sitting up further and turning to look at Lup, who’s standing in the doorway, hands on her hips, uniform absent in favor of smart black trousers and a button-up shirt. She looks incredible (she always looks incredible.)

“I need to go shopping. You wanna come with?”

“Of course,” Lucretia says, trying not to sound too eager. She stands. “Let me just drop this in my room and, uh, change, then I’ll be ready to go.”

“Sweet,” Lup says. She walks past Lucretia and flops into the chair she’s just vacated. “Get me when you’re ready.”

Lucretia nods and hurries back to her room, hiding this particular journal under her mattress. It’s a childish precaution, one she knows that any of her crewmates could figure out in under five minutes, but she’s not one for much subterfuge. She spends longer than she’d like trying to pick out civvies to wear, settling on a blue sundress and silver slippers and then rushing out to the deck as she pins her braids up. “Ready,” she says, doing her best not to sneak up on Lup. (She doesn’t like to be startled, as much as she likes startling others.)

“Great,” Lup says, swinging herself out of the chair and offering Lucretia her arm. Lucretia feels her cheeks heat up, but she takes it, trying to stop the dreamy smile that threatens to overtake her face. “We gotta hit that farmer’s market, and Cap’nport wanted me to look for some engine type thing if we can find a scrapyard or something. Can I tell you a secret, though?” she asks, looking up at Lucretia conspiratorially.

“Of course,” she replies. It’s a struggle not to sound breathless at the idea of sharing a secret with Lup.

“I gotta get the fuck off the boat for a minute,” she exhales. “I’m getting cabin fever. The boys are killin’ me.”

Lucretia chuckles. “Understandable,” she says.

“It’s just nice to, you know, get some girl time.” She bumps her hip into Lucretia’s.

“Y-- yeah, it is,” Lucretia agrees. She thinks that some god must be playing with her. This is too much. She and Lup spend time together, sure, but not often alone, and it doesn’t usually entail so much physical contact. Lucretia wouldn’t describe herself as touch-starved, exactly, but

well, alright, it’s been seven years. Magnus is a hugger and the twins drape themselves over each other at any given opportunity, but the rest of them are a little more reticent about touch. Or, in Lucretia’s case, hungry for it and entirely unsure of how to initiate contact. She tries to relax, not to be so stiff next to Lup, whose movements are fluid and easy. She’s so confident.

They look for a scrapyard first, although not especially hard (“it’s not like we need the part,” Lup assures her, “Dav just wants to tinker.”) before heading to the farmer’s market. Lup is in her element, practically glowing in the sunlight as she flits from booth to booth, inspecting vegetables and haggling the shopkeeps down. Lucretia wishes she had something to write on. Not that she’d be able to do it subtly. All the same, she wants to chronicle every piece of Lup she sees.

Lup weighs her down with bags of produce and then claps. “Alright, I think we’re good!” she chirps. “Anything else you wanna check out planetside before we head back up?”

“Not off the top of my head,” Lucretia says.

“You sure? I’m literally looking for an excuse to spend more time down here with you.”

With you. Lucretia’s heart skips a beat. Twelve beats. It stops beating entirely and then dances a waltz set to the sappiest music imaginable.

“Luc? You good?”

“Oh-- yes, of course. Um. There was that little main street, right? We could look over there.”

“Fuck yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.” Lup grins up at her and holds her arm out. “Gimme some of those bags back, I shouldn’t make you carry ‘em all.”

Lucretia does, and they make their way to the street in question. It’s narrow with cobblestone paths -- not entirely unlike their home planet, and Lucretia feels a sick pang of nostalgia that she wonders if Lup is feeling too. “Oh, look at that dress,” Lup says, taking hold of Lucretia’s free hand with her own, sending shocks through Lucretia’s body as she’s pulled along to a window. The dress is made of some light, floaty fabric. It’s white with deep violet flowers embroidered along the trim. It doesn’t look like anything Lup would ever wear, and for a moment, Lucretia doesn’t understand why she pointed it out. Then: “This would look so pretty on you,” Lup says, letting go of Lucretia’s hand to look up at her appraisingly.

Pretty. Lup thinks she’s pretty. Or at least, Lup thinks she would look good in one specific dress. Lucretia tries not to let her mind run wild, but it’s hard. “You think so?” she asks sheepishly.

“Fuck yeah. Let’s get it.”

“What?”

“Come on! You have to at least try it on,” she says, pulling Lucretia into the store. “Hi, can we try on this dress in the window?” she asks, breezing her way to an employee. Lucretia stands awkwardly, clutching the bag she’s holding tight until the clerk nods and pulls the dress out of the window. Lup holds her hand out. “Let me hold that while you change,” she says, and Lucretia complies.

She steps into a dressing room and immediately has to sit down, pressing her palms against her face, heartbeat racing. Social anxiety times ten mitigated by Lup being kind plus the brand new information that Lup thinks she’s pretty is a lot to handle. She exhales and looks at herself in the mirror, unable to contain that dreamy smile anymore. She must be so transparent. God, she hopes that’s not awkward -- she’s trying so hard to stay professional.

She changes quickly, giving herself a once-over in the mirror before she steps out of the dressing room.

“Oh, fuck, Luc!” Lup says, grinning broadly. “You know how I’m always right? I was right. You look… you look great.”

“Thanks,” Lucretia says breathlessly.

They buy the dress.

That night as Lup chases Taako out of the kitchen (“you’re gonna fuckin’ cough in the stew, fuck off, bubbeleh!”) Lucretia lays on her bed, scribbling in her private journal.

She thinks I’m pretty. She thinks I’m pretty.

And for once, she doesn’t know what else to write.