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lookingforhappy · 3 months

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credit to prop maker Mikela Barnes. transcript:

THE ENCYCLOPEDIA INFINITUM STANDARD REFERENCE K KENNEDY SIX THE KENNEDY SIX THE KENNEDY SIX is a group of communists said to have orchestrated the assassination of John F. Kennedy, 35th President of The United States, on November 22nd, 1963. HARGREEVES, VANYA: A Soviet spy and founding member of the The Kennedy Six, a group of Communist said to have orchestrated the assignation of John F. Kennedy, 35th President of The United States, on November 22nd, 1963. Though no date of birth is known, education and medical records place Vanya Hargreeves in Saint Petersburg, Russia, as early as 1947. Official reports released by the CIA, FBI, and U.S. Department of Defense provide evidence of Ms. Hargreeves' involvement in the establishment of Sovier Satellite Stats, during which time she is said to have contact with American Double Agent and member of The Kennedy Six, Luther Hargreeves. The extent of their familial relationship remains unconfirmed.

HARGREEVES, DIEGO: A known Communist sympathiser with ties to the Cuban government and a founding member of The Kennedy Six, a group of terrorists believed to be responsible for the assassination of John F. Kennedy, 35th President of The United States, on November 22nd, 1963. Once thought to be a sleeper agent for the Cuban government who was smuggled into the country as a baby and raised to become radicalized against U.S. democracy from an early age, his true origin remains unknown due to a lack of official records of his birth or origin. The FBI can only officially place him in the United States as [picture of Allison protesting in the 60s] Allison Hargreeves, a Communist Sympathiser who infiltrated the American Civil Rights Movement. Infinitm Archive 230 [picture of Viktor and Diego's mugshots from the 60s, Diego is edited to have an eyepatch on his left eye] Vanya Hargreeves (left) and Diego Hargreeves (right) were previously arrested for suspicious activity. Infinitum Archive early as 1963. According to official reports from the CIA, he is believe to have been an expert in covert radio communication and a disgraced former high-ranking intelligence officer for the Cuban government. It is rumoured that he lost an eye in Cuba in a cigar attack as punishment for compromising an intelligence operation. His association with The Kennedy Six is believed to be on behalf of the Cuban government and their interest in removing Kennedy from office by whatever means necessary. While the FBI and other federal law enforcement agencies have been unable to prove this connects, unofficial reports place him in Cuba shortly before his arrival in Dallas and eventual rendezvous with his co-conspirators. His whereabouts to this day are unknown, though he is widely believed to be in hiding in Cuba. HARGREEVES, ALLISON: as an American born civil agitator recruited by radical terror groups to infiltrate the American Civil Rights Movement in an attempt to disrupt and discredit the country's Federal Government. A hairdresser by trade, Allison Hargreeves sought to use her position in local politics to lure John F. Kennedy to Texas, setting up the 35th President for assasssination on November 22nd, 1963. Though any direct involvement with The Kennedy Six remains unsubstantiated, photos and letters exchanged between Hargreeves and prominent African-American militant groups have been used by Federal Authorities to establish a teritary connection to several known domestic terror cells that had been operating within The United States between 1961 and 1963. Allison Hargreeves is believed to have been captured by the CIA in 1979, after serving only one year of her 45-year prison sentence she was released for unknown reasons. To this day, her whereabouts remain unknown.

KENNEDY SIX NUMBER FIVE: Known only by his KGB Code name, Number Five is assumed to be the youngest member of the Kennedy Six, a group of Communist said to have orchestrated the assassination of John F. Kennedy, 35th President of the United States, on November 22nd, 1963. Though existing records remain seal uner the US Espionage Act, Number Five is widelt known to have been hand-picked by First Secretary of The USSR, Nikia Khrushchev, to recruit American citizens in the effort to collect sensitive political and military information as relating to the United States policy of Communist Containment. A Federal Grand Jury issued and indictment for Number Five's arrest in December 1963. The indictment remains open.

HARGREEVES, KLAUS: A prominent religious leader of an influential cult movement and believed to be a member of The Kennedy Six, which is said to have orchestrated the assassination of John F. Kennedy, 35th President of the United States, on November 22nd, 1963. Initially beleived to be a recruitment camo and training facility for potential radicals, his religious movements was investigated by federal authroities, and while no evidence of the latter was ever obtained, the organistation was levied with heavy fines amidst numerous charges of mail fraud, wire fraud, and conspiracy to commit wire fraud, and conspiracy to commit wire fraud. Despite being an enigmatic public figure, very little is known about Hargreeves beyond the eccentrics peculiatrites of his public life. At one point, he was believed to be in possession of the largest private collection of Cadillacs in the world. According to FBI reports, his vast amount of resources and influence made him a prime candidate to recruit, radicalise and mobilise potential enemires of the state. It is not known at what point or how he first began working with The Kennedy Six, and his whereabouts remain unknown to this day. HARGREEVES, LUTHER: An American double agent and former boxer with connections to several mafia crime families, and a member of the Kennedy Six, a group of terrorists believed to be responsible for the assassination of John F. Kennedy, 35th President of the United States, on November 22nd, 1963. According to reports from the FBI, CIA and U.S. Department of Defense, Luther Hargreeves was an agent and known associate of Jack Ruby, and his involvement in the Kennedy Six is believed to be on behalf [picture of Five, edited to be dressed in military uniform] One of the only known images of KGB codename "Number Five", the youngest member of the Kennedy Sic. Infinitum Archive. of organised crime interests, which at the time stood in stark contrast to Kennedy's priorities. Pictured here with his signature firearm, he was known as a brutal killer with a penchant for violence. He spent several years on the FBI's most wanted list and is believed by the CIA to have worked with Soviet spies. While his motives remain a mystery to this day, his connection to known Soviet spy, Vanya Hargreeves, has lead historians to a consensus on the prevailing theory surrounding his involvement of the Kennedy assassination: A coordination of mutual interests shared between Soviers and the American mafia. Authorities remain in pursuit of him to this day, though he was rumoured to have perished in a robbery near his Argentinian hideout sometime in the mid 1980's. [picture of Luther and Klaus' mugshots, likely edited] Luther Hargreeves (left) an American double agent and Klaus Hargreeves (right) a prominent religous leader. Infinitum Archive 231

KENOSHA COOPER, SISSY: A known associate of The Kennedy Six. Believed to have been recruited by Soviet spy, Vanya Hargreeves, in the effort to assassinate John F. Kennedy, 35th President of the United States, on November 22nd, 1963. While her exact role in the assassination plot remains unknown, she is suspected of becoming radicalised through manipulation or coercian by Vanya Hargreeves and her terrorist co-conspirators. Having lived a relatively normal suburban life before the assassination, Cooper's life took a dramatic turn around the time Kennedy was killed, Cooper appeared on the FBI's most wanted list for the murder of her husband, Carl Cooper, in 1963 and her alleged connection to the Kennedy assassination. Sissy Cooprt died in Oakland, California under a false name. -- KENOSHA, Wisconsin (pop. 62,899, met. area 100,615; alt. 610ft) is a manufactoring center on the western shore of LAke Michigan. Kenosha lies about 8 miles north of the Wisconsin-Illinois boundary line. The city is about 35 miles south of Milwaukee, and about 55 miles north of Chicago. For location, see WISCONSIN (politcal map). KENSICO DAM stores water for the water-supply system of New York City. It is cheifly an emergency resevoir, The dam extends across the Bronx River about 20 miles north of New York city. It is a concrete gravity-type structure, standing 307 feet high, 233 feer thick at the base, and 1,843 feet long, Kensico Dam can hold 93,905 acre-feet of water. A highway across the top of the dam leads to the aeration (ventilation) plant, which has 3,00 fountains. The dam was built on 1915 by the New York City Department of Water Supply. KENSINGTON RUNE STONE is a slab of stone bearing an inscription in Scandinacion runic letters (see RUNE). Olof Ohman, a Swedish farmer, found the stone on his farm near Kensington, Minn, in 1898, this inscription tells of a party of Swedish and Norweigan vikings who ser out from their settlements in Vinland (America) on an exploration journey westward. The inscription is dated 1362, or 130 years before Columbus discovered America. Some scholars have regarded the stone as a forgery, while others have defended it as genuine. The rune stone is still a 232 [picture of Sissy from 1963] Sissy Cooper manged to evade the law until her death in Oakland, California. Infinitum Archive subject of controversy. It is in the possession of the Alexandria (Minn.) Chamber of Commerce. A replica appears on exhibit in the National Museum in Washington, D.C. KENTUCKY is one of the border states that lie between the North and the South. Its long northern border is formed by the Ohio River, on of the traditional boundaries between the Northern States and the Southern States. Kentucky also forms a link between two of the great land features of the United STates, its eastern border touches the Appalachian Mountains. About 350 miles to the west, Kentucky touches the Mississippi Ricer, Kentucky was admitted into the UUnion as the 19th state on June 1, 1792, splitting from Virginia in the process. It is known as the "Bluegrass State", a nickname based on Kentucky bluegrass, a species of grass found in many of its pastures, which has supported the thoroughbred horse industry in the center of the state. It is home to the world's longest cave syste,: Mammoth Cave National Park, as well as the greatest length of navigable waterways and streams in the contiguous United States and the two largest man-made lakes east of th Mississippi River, located within the southeastern interior portion of Nother America, Kentucky has a slimate that is best described as a humid subtropical climate, only small higher areas

#tua #the umbrella academy #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves #ben hargreeves #viktor hargreeves #sissy cooper #the kennedy six #transcript

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code-es · 2 years

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The women who laid the foundation of tech

EDIT: I noticed that this post ended up being reblogged by terfs. If you're transphobic this post is not for you to reblog. I want to celebrate everyone who is not a cis man in this industry, including trans women and nonbinary people in tech, and it was my mistake to only include cis women in this post when there are so many trans women and nonbinary people who have done great things in tech as well. Trans women are women and just as important.

Here you can read about trans ppl in tech, and please do:

https://www.thecodingspace.com/blog/2022-03-01-six-trans-programmers-who-shattered-the-lavender-ceiling/

https://abcnews.go.com/Business/transgender-tech-visibility-obstacles-remain/story?id=76374628

The morning of women's day i attended a super inspiring seminar about being a woman in tech at a large tech company in my city, and now I'm inspired to share what I learned with all of you!

I didn't have time to finish this post on women's day, but it's not too late to post now: every day is a day to celebrate women!

Women actually laid the foundation for a lot of the tech industry.

For example, the first computer, ENIAC, was programmed completely by women! While men were the behind the scenes engineers, it was women who did all the actual programming of ENIAC.

The women who made up the team responsible for programming it were called Jean Bartik, Kay McNulty, Betty Holberton, Marlyn Wescoff, Frances V. Spence and Ruth Teitelbaum.

I think one woman who is finally getting her overdue recognition is Ada Lovelace. She was a mathematician (also often referred to as the first programmer) who created the first algorithm in 1842, which wasn't recognized until 1953! However, since none of her machines were ever completed it was never tested in practice during her time.

She has since been celebrated by giants such as google, and she has given name to a programming language (Ada). She was also the first person to write about what is today known as AI. Back when she was practicing, computers were simply thought of as calculators. But she had an idea that if computers can understand numbers, then that can be translated to letters, and in turn that can lead to computers being able to handle words, and eventually even write, draw and create music.

Hedy Lamarr was a famous Hollywood actress in the 40's, but she was also an inventor who laid ground for what we use today for Wi-Fi, Bluetooth and GPS services.

During WW2 she wanted to contribute positviely to the military efforts against the Nazis, and she tried to figure out how to radio control torpedoes. In 1942 she patented her technology "Secret Communications System", also known as frequency hopping, which laid the foundation for the technology we use today for Wi-Fi, GPS and Bluetooth. It wasn't until 1962 that it was first used for its intended purpose, during the cuban missile crisis.

Grace Hopper invented the first compiler, called A-0, in 1955, and was also part of the Univac team, which was the company also responsible for building ENIAC. She also initiated work on the COBOL programming language.

She was also the one to coin the term "bug" in 1947. Computers back then had lights to visualize their working process (which was also a womans idea to implement btw) and bugs would be attracted to the lights, but usually that was no issue - until a bug made its way into a tube which caused the computer to stop working. Hopper taped the bug to a piece of paper and logged what caused the crash - a bug.

Dorothy Vaughan (left), alongside colleagues such as Katherine Johnson (middle) and Mary Jackson (right), was a mathematician at NASA (called NACA when she started) who worked on the orbit for the first ever manned spaceflight and later also on Apollo 11 that would take humanity to the moon!

When Vaughan started at what was then called NACA, segregation was still prevalent in the US and she was not allowed in the same areas in the office as her white colleagues. Another department was formed for the black staff, and when the director of said department unexpectedly died, she was appointed as the new director and thus became the first ever black woman at that position at NACA/NASA. In 1958 when NACA becomes NASA segregation is forbidden, and that is when Vaughan and her colleagues Johnson and Jackson started working on programming the orbit and later also Apollo 11.

Continuing on the same track of NASA and space, Margaret Hamilton was the Apollo project's first actual programmer. Hamilton became the director of software engineering at NASA in 1965, and she was also the person to first coin the term !

In the image above, she stands next to all the handwritten code that was used to send humanity to the moon. During the early stages of the project when she would speak of "sofware engineering", software development was not taken as seriously as other forms of engineering, and it wasn't regarded as a science, either. She wanted to legitimize software development as an engineering discipline, and overtime the term "software engineering" gained the same respect as any other technical discipline.

And lastly, if you're a woman in STEM, I want to highlight and celebrate you! Being a woman in a male dominated industry is not easy, we often suffer from sterotype threat and are not seen as our own individuals, but rather "the woman" in a room full of men. But just as these women, I'm sure you will achieve greatness!!

Here are some additional resources if you'd like to learn more:

https://www.history.com/news/coding-used-to-be-a-womans-job-so-it-was-paid-less-and-undervalued

https://digitalfuturesociety.com/programming-when-did-womens-work-become-a-mans-world/

And this was mainly my source for this post, but it's unfortunately only available in Swedish:

Thank you for reading ✨

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thenetherlord · 7 months

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All The Aromantic and Asexual Characters from Media I could find (Part 2!) (Books!)

Since ya'll sent me a whole load of characters, here's a part 2, with no images tho cuz that would be too long :(

Novels:

The Summer of Bitter and Sweet - Jen Fergusen

Demisexual Rep - Lou, a Métis Indigenous Canadian teen

Percy Jackson & Other Companion Series - Rick Riordan

Asexual Rep - Thalia Grace, an American Hunter of Artemis Lieutenant

AroAce Rep - Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano, a Puerto Rican Hunter of Artemis and past Praetor of the Twelfth Legion in Camp Jupiter

AroAce Rep - Artemis, Greek Goddess of the Hunt

AroAce Rep - Hestia, Greek Goddess of the Hearth

Asexual Rep - Athena, Greek Goddess of Wisdom

Sal & Gabi Duology - Carlos Hernandez

Asexual Rep - Sal Vidón, a Cuban teen and self-proclaimed magician

The Foxhole Court Series - Nora Sakavic

Demisexual Rep - Neil Josten, an American striker for the Palmetto State Foxes Exy Team, who is probably bisexual

Demisexual/Asexual/AroAce Rep - Andrew Minyard, an American goalie for the Palmetto State Foxes Exy Team, who is gay

Loveless - Alice Oseman

AroAce Rep - Georgia Warr, a young adult going through university

Asexual Rep - Sunil Jha, a young adult going through university that is homoromantic

Aromantic Rep - Jess, a young adult going through university who is bisexual

Radio Silence - Alice Oseman

Demisexual Rep - Aled Last, the creator of a hit fantasy podcast, who is gay

Solitaire - Alice Oseman

AroAce Rep - Tori Spring, a teen going through high school, and a young adult later in Party Girls by the same author

Tarnished Are the Stars - Rosiee Thor

AroAce Rep - Nathaniel Fremont, the son of the Commissioner

Funeral Songs for Dying Girls - Cherie Dimaline

Asexual/Demisexual Rep - Winifred, a Georgia Bay Métis teen, who has an affinity for the undead and has befriended a ghost, who is some flavour of queer

Graphic Novels/Manga:

My Hero Academia - Kōhei Horikoshi

Demiromantic(?) Rep - Mina Ashido, a Japanese student training to be a Pro Hero, with an Acid Quirk

Is Love the Answer? - Isaki Uta

AroAce Rep - Chika, a young adult going through high school and college

Our Dreams at Dusk - Yuhki Kamatani

Asexual Rep - Dareka-San, a person of indeterminate gender who uses any/all pronouns, who also appears to magical

Across a Field of Starlight - Blue Delliquanti

Asexual Rep - Lu, a non-binary mechanic who is in a relationship with Fassen

Asexual Rep - Fassen, a non-binary ex-soldier who is in a relationship with Lu

I will make a part 3 soon with characters from TV shows and movies!

#asexual #aromantic #aroace #pjo #the foxhole court #alice oseman #mha #loveless alice oseman #thalia grace #reyna avila ramirez arellano #aftg #all for the game #neil josten #andrew minyard

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hh0320 · 2 years

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໑ — stars in the ceiling. pt I

pair. solo singer! felix x fem! reader (+ mentions of hyunjin)

genre. set in the 90’s, childhood friends to strangers, moving back, struggle with fame, angst, romance, smut.

warnings. profanity, smoking, alcohol/drug abuse, use of pet names, flawed characters, harsh language at times, dark themes, unprotected sex, oral sex, dirty talk, mental health issues.

word count. 6.2k

a/n. hi my loves! this is going to be a mini series, though i’m still not sure how many parts it will contain. nevertheless, pls treat this idea kindly, and don’t judge its characters too hard, they’ve gone through a lot. feedback and reblogs are always much appreciated and will be replied to! enjoy xx

‘Felix will be going back to Australia for a much needed break, sources close to him reveal. The twenty-three year old alt rock singer just concluded his second world tour, Doll, earlier this week in Los Angeles, with news of his breakup with supermodel Hwang Hyunjin coming out at the same time.

The two had been dating since the Aussie’s rise to fame in 1994.’

New South Wales had remained the same, despite the unshakeable change in Felix’s chest. Barina Road had the same houses standing, fifty-year-old trees stretching, widening into the sky, hiding his parent’s garage from view, the stairs leading up to the front door. He’d paid off the mortgage, bought them a new car.

The sun was beaming, February in full display. His manager greeted his mom, and introduced his assistant, explaining they would be staying at a hotel not too far from there. His father had a beard now, his sister looked taller, and wore glasses.

Your house was around the corner. He could see the rose bushes along the hill, the white shutters with the black outlines. Felix could close his eyes and go back to your room, 1992, the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling, The Cure and The Smiths’ posters on pastel pink walls, lace trimming on your sheets, makeshift forts and flashlights at midnight, notebooks with hearts drawn on folded ends, his name and yours written next to each other, hand over hand. ‘Girl Afraid’ playing softly through a cassette in a beat down radio. Your dad’s homemade chocolate chip cookies, and the determination that rushed through Felix’s veins the moment he tasted them, the promise he’d made to himself to make those same cookies for you one day, to learn how.

He never did. His demo got picked up from a record label that would later refer him to the one he belongs to now, and he had to fly out to Melbourne right before your eighteenth birthday. From then on it’s been a shooting star.

He blinks to find his mother teary eyed, arms open. He doesn’t walk—he runs. Washed out silvery blonde locks long enough to be pulled in a ponytail, brown eyes the color of wild thyme honey, hands tired, heart broken. A boy coming home is a very old story, one that will never stop being written. And even though it feels strange to be back after five years of palm trees, everything and nothing—Hollywood, with its golden gates and trophies and nightmare people— it is exactly what he needed. It’s where he has to be.

“You look so tired, baby, so frail,” his mom sobs, pressing her mouth on his temple. “Did no one take care of you? Did no one care?”

Felix didn’t answer. He brought chocolates and clothes for his sisters, jewelry for his mother, Cuban cigars for his father, and his first ever Grammy for you, because none of this would’ve been possible if you hadn’t befriended him all those years ago in the playground. If your voice hadn’t guided him away from those swings and into the forest. If he hadn’t played hide and seek with the girl that wore ribbons in her hair, dark cherries for eyes. And what does he say knowing this?

I left behind the one person that did. That mattered that it did. And when I found something similar, I couldn’t hold it in my hands, I couldn’t get close to it no matter how much I tried.

“I missed you, mom,” he mumbles instead, and grinds his teeth to keep from crying. “I should’ve called more. I should’ve visited.”

The shorter woman sniffles and rubs her son’s back soothingly, shushing him only a mother knows how to. He breathes in her familiar scent, her cooking imprinted on her purple shirt, and smiles sadly. Hyunjin would’ve loved her; he wanted to meet her the most, wanted to hear all the stories when they were in bed together, what few times they were both sober, capable of adventure and conversation till the early hours of the next day. “I never had a mom,” he’d tell him, brown strands of hair escaping his staple bun. “Cherish your mom for me, Yongbokie. Love her terribly.”

“Come inside,” she tells him, waving away the rest. “Stay forever if you need to.”

“It means happiness,” he’d explained on that first meeting with the boy shining more brightly than the chandelier lighting the entire theater. “Yongbok.”

The boy had smiled and it’d made all the difference. His lips reminded Felix of black cherries, of the girl in the room with the window overlooking the trees. “I know what it means. It’s about time I met you.”

Time away from chaos felt empty. The hours passed by slowly, serenity made him paranoid, like it couldn’t possibly last, even there, in a different continent, across the globe. Getting on an airplane didn’t guarantee you’d get away, he realized soon enough. It wasn’t possible, because you can’t outrun yourself.

And it was that Felix was trying to escape. How known he’d become, how aware of his own shadow he was. At first, he’d thought of it as a mountain to climb, something to be achieved, and then something else. It was a ladder leading up, up, up and nowhere specific, but he climbed it anyway. The little prize in his hands was the ultimate show, that one last thing he had to do that would grant him access to more of the same everything and nothing everyone else seemed to be so desperately after. After he’d won it, the decision to leave it all behind became clearer than ever.

A lot of the people he admired had died. And it didn’t matter which way you looked, destruction came in the form of white powder, accompanied by a spoon or a syringe if you were brave enough and had much to lose. “Take your pick, there’s many ways to kill yourself,” a girl had told him once at an afterparty. Young and impressionable as he was he chose by what he saw and picked up the bottle of champagne in front of him. The least harmful, he’d thought. But the sneakiest one of all. And then he saw Hyunjin smoking cigarettes after one of his fashion shows, and thought to try that too. Then it felt like something they could share, so Felix kept smoking until the cough subsided and his fingers smelled of tobacco.

One thing the model never tried to do was shield him from the horrible ways of the industry, and the blonde still can’t find it in himself to castrate him for it. Now, so many thousands of miles away as he was, the habits seemed to follow, like supportive friends. The world is a fucked up place, but it doesn’t seem so bad from where he sits on the rooftop of his childhood house. He could drop the stick from his hand, or break the golden trophy and even deny the existence of evil altogether.

How easy, how vulnerable fame is. You could be no one in particular if you made all the right choices. Felix wasn’t sure why he seemed to do the opposite, walk the other way, the reason for his selective blindness. When something shiny has your name on it you hold it close to your chest and sing to it. It’s precious because it reflects light off it.

Until when?

Your light was on.

He looked for it, looked for a car coming up the hill, watched the sun set, the blending of colors, how majestic it can all get before it fades to black, but you showed up right in the blue of it. You still drove the same Jeep your dad had gifted you for graduation, but your hair was longer, you’d grown a bit. Felix saw how your white dress danced in the summer breeze, ran his eyes down your tanned legs as you walked from your driveway inside your house, and finally, about ten minutes after that, the light through your curtains.

His mother hadn’t mentioned he was back.

He smiles down at his burning cigarette. How would he ever face you with the way he left? He never called, only wrote to you on your birthday, and released a song about a starry girl that visited his dreams, knowing very well that girl waited for him for years to return, even if just for a little while. The guilt of never doing so, and instead loving someone else so all consumingly, while that same song went on to become his best selling single, the song he’d be known for for years to come? It crippled him.

He never wanted to see your face stare back at him. He would rather die, and he admits this to himself bravely. You were his first girl, his only girl. No one would ever come close to you, because you’re clean—you have his innocence, his first time, before he knew anything about anything, and how despite it, he loved you stupidly, earnestly, because it made sense, because it felt right.

“Starry girl, will you burn bright, for me tonight? Oh, will you stay a little while, darling girl…”

How hypocritical. If Chan was around he’d be calling him out, or pushing him down the fucking roof. Felix wouldn’t even mention the broken leg or the dislocated shoulder, because it’d serve him right. Perhaps he needs a solid reminder of his aliveness, of how doing wrong by someone and paying for it feels like. La La Land doesn’t have that, it couldn’t possibly understand that. There, people look up and never down. There, they would push, and keep pushing; they would climb over, step on your neck, tear you apart at the seams for a chance to just keep.looking.up. That climb is all there is.

It’s empty too, but you learn how to miss it.

Felix thinks he might’ve sold his fucking soul, somehow, because as he gets back in the house, his mind won’t stop screaming for him to run away from there as well.

Not a place that could hold someone that’s had everything and then more of it.

Chan hates his guts twice as much as you possibly ever could, but Felix calls him anyway.

“Hello?”

“Chris. It’s me.”

A long pause. The singer falters, thinks he’s made a mistake, curses himself for ever thinking anyone would want anything to do with him after—

“You’re a fucking cunt, Felix, and I hope you burn in Hell. Sincerely.” The blonde nods, his chest tight, his throat dry. “How are you?”

He smiles. “Terrible. Fucking awful, mate, thanks for asking.”

“Good.”

“I’m in Australia.”

“Son of a bitch.”

Your white dress flows in his dreams. It folds and stretches like the wings of a butterfly. The pages of his journal stare at him, his eyes heavy with sleep, but for once nothing pours out. He thinks he’s meant to keep that to himself, and perhaps that’s okay.

Instead he writes about a broken boy that smiles for the cameras but never for his love.

His older sister works as an intern for a law firm. He didn’t know that, because he never asked. The sting of it burns all the same.

She has a fiance, is preparing to buy a house, and tells him of his mom’s sickness at a private restaurant. He didn’t know that either, but in all fairness, as his sister pointed out, no one is supposed to know. At least not yet. It’s treatable, she quickly adds, but it’s been eating her from the inside out for a couple years now. She tells him this with a straight face, probably because she’s had time to sit with it, but also because Rachel is great at keeping her feelings in check, when she knows someone else isn’t—Felix definitely fucking isn’t.

What was the saying? The artist is haunted by his own heart? Day and night. There’s never an escape, it seems, from anything.

“Tell me what I need to do,” he pleads after he calms down. “Money is not a problem.”

The older sibling grimaces at that. “It’s not about that, Lix. She has medication, she never misses a doctor’s appointment. Her body is weak.”

“She’s not dying.”

“It’s not something we can exactly stop because we want to.”

Felix clenches his fists on the table, and looks at his sister straight on. “She’s not dying.”

Rachel wipes her mouth and sips from her wine, alerting the waiter for the check. People are starting to stare. No matter where they go, eyes follow her little brother incessantly, whichever measures they take. It’s a lifestyle she cannot comprehend.

Felix doesn’t seem to notice, or care. It’s a strange thing, like a zoo animal being at peace with its captivity, despite its true nature.

“Maybe not now,” she replies softly. “But we all must face this one impending doom sooner or later, Lix. Even you. Even our mom. Death is a natural thing.”

Most people run from the inevitable, because it’s scary. Somehow, it’s believed that the end, too, could be overturned if we stall it, or cheat it. Felix never thought he’d have to worry about it, because of the invisibility of youth, and money, and having everything else at his beck and call. It was only when Kurt Cobain and Jeff Buckley died that he was touched by the cruelty of it, the dark shadows and the claws attacking through them any moving thing, at any given time. Even legends passed, even history.

It was because life was so impossibly fleeting, water held with two hands, that he decided to knock on your door. In a single moment of liquid luck, he wished to see the stars in your ceiling again. To feel the warmth of your skin near his. Chan would shake his head and call him an idiot for it, but Felix never claimed to be reasonable. Or smart.

No other car was in your driveway.

God, his blood is rushing. You’d open the door and then what? What would he say?

He didn’t want his mom to die. He didn’t want you to hate him forever. He came back with a false sense of ego—no one gave a flying fuck if he was famous, or best friends with Hope Sandoval and Chris Cornell, hell, even Jesus Christ himself. None of it mattered outside of the bubble he’d created for himself in America. He’s not from there. These people would follow him nowhere.

He feels stranded and alone, and it’s entitled and pathetic, and he’s fucking terrified.

Who is he besides his name and his money? Why does it matter so much?

The door opens. He’s holding his breath.

You gape. Then blink.

Another moment passes. He has to say something. Goddamnit, anything!

“(Y/N).”

You seem to snap out of it, then. As if you realize it’s, indeed, not a dream. Felix is really standing right in front of you, blonde hair, round honey eyes, constellations on his cheeks as prominent as ever.

It’s confusion you feel more than anything else. Anger has long passed.

“How long have you been here?” is the first thing you ask him, and you’re still not allowing him inside.

He doesn’t expect you to.

“On your doorstep? An hour.”

You blink again, and lean forward, surprised. He thinks that must not be what you asked him. His ears burn. Your chest rises and falls deeply.

“In Australia, Lix,” you elaborate, but he focuses on the way your voice sounds like saying his childhood nickname, a silly little thing that stuck and makes him feel eight all over again.

You’d fallen in the rose bushes with your bike, the thorns pricking your arms, and you’d called out for him, crying. Lix, Lix, Lix… The sweetest sound, a person worthy to help you. A different time. He’d spent the rest of his afternoon picking thorns out of your skin and tending to your cuts with his mom. Afterwards, you watched Home Alone 2: Lost in New York and ate a bowl full of caramel popcorn. His dad dropped you off, and Felix had insisted on sticking his head out of his bedroom window to shout a final goodnight to you.

You’d done the same, laughing. His bestest friend in the whole world.

He didn’t feel like that person anymore. He didn’t feel like anything anymore. Just a name, just a body.

“Fourteen days,” he replies, and he’s ashamed of it, because it should’ve been easier to come to you. It should’ve never been difficult, not with you.

It was you, for fuck’s sake.

And then you ask him the one thing he has no answer to.

“Are you okay?”

You move for him to enter. It’s what he wanted, but his legs have no strength in them, he’s unable to lift them. He just stands in front of you, staring in those eyes he’s wanted to look into for so long, and it reminds him of all the times he laid in hotel beds trying to bring forward his memories of your features, writing them all down so he doesn’t forget. He wrote those songs to remember you, is what he wants to tell you, but he can’t, because it’d make him a coward, and he doesn’t think he can handle anymore truths tonight.

They call him an angel because of his face, but you’re the angelic one, you’ve always been, because there’s forgiveness in your tone. There’s warmth for him in you still, and it takes everything in him not to sweep you in his arms and cry out for you, for your heart.

He wants to tell you about Hyunjin, too, about his garden and his flowers. He wants to tell you he named one after you, the most beautiful. He kept that for himself as well.

Instead—

“I wanted to watch the stars on your ceiling.”

The possibility that you might’ve taken them down is devastating. He hopes inevitably.

His voice sounds rough, and the bags under his eyes are more pronounced than ever. You’ve never seen Felix like that, he looked so sickly. Paper thin, too. You wonder if that life over there caught up to him, if he allowed it to wash over everything you loved about him. He’s such a stripped down, quiet version of him right now, in front of you.

“I’ll make some milkshakes,” you nod towards the kitchen.

He finally lifts one leg, then the other. He enters, his heart dusting off, kickstarting.

They still taste the same. The furniture is the same, the pictures of him and you and your siblings are still on the wall. You haven’t erased him, you didn’t scorn him. It means everything to him.

It’s easier to find yourself if someone already knows who you are. If they’ve kept that image of you, and look at it from time to time. Felix never sees himself in photos, never actively seeks himself out. He just gives, and gives, and gives, hoping it’s enough, hoping that’s it, the one, we got it, thank you very much.

Perhaps it’s why he feels so drained nowadays. Perhaps that’s how Hyunjin felt.

“How are your parents?” he asks, hoping to make conversation, hoping to hear more of that voice he’s missed so fucking much.

You round the kitchen island, strawberry shake in hand, and sit right next to him, knee brushing his. Your legs are bare again, smooth. You’re wearing an olive green skirt and an oversized T-shirt. You look beautiful. You, the starry girl. You, the darling girl. You, the only version of girl he’s had in his mind since the dawn of time. Ring pop in the fifth grade, backyard wedding with a veil and all. His mother had cried, yours had baked the cake. His sister had married you.

There’s a question in your eyes now.

“They’re fine. Out celebrating their thirtieth anniversary or something crazy like that.”

It’s a wild thing, the laugh that escapes him. It stretches his face and curves his lips. It surprises both of you. He quickly looks at his chocolate milkshake, at the half eaten whipped cream at the top. He hears your soft exhale, the straw between your teeth.

“Good for them,” he says after a beat, and he means it.

“You…” Felix doesn’t dare look. He won’t. Your counter is marble, there are fresh lilies on top of it. “Are you staying a while?”

He nods. Struggles to swallow.

Then you sigh. The pretenses are down. He stiffens, wraps his fingers tighter around the glass. He braces, but he doesn’t know for what. Anything, he supposes. You could say anything, ask anything.

He just doesn’t know if he has any answers for you.

“Congrats on that Grammy,” you bump him with your elbow, your tone light. His eyes rise slightly to meet yours. You’re smiling.

He wants nothing more than to fall apart, right there. He doesn’t deserve any of it.

“It’s yours,” he mutters. “I was going to give it to you.”

“Me?” you ask incredulously. “It’s your song, Lix.”

He shakes his head once. “But it’s for you. I’d be nothing without you.”

The room goes silent. Felix thinks he’s done it, he’s said the wrong thing, pushed too much, you’re going to kick him out, once and for all, and he’s going to have to look at you from his rooftop for the rest of his stay, he’s going to have to live with himself, whatever’s left, whatever’s there, never to hear your voice, never a third chance—

“Do you usually say intense things like that?” You huff out a breath, and his own gets stuck in his throat. “I’m— No one’s ever said that to me before, Lix. Don’t just say stuff like that.”

Suddenly, six years have passed, and you’re both adults. Felix has had a whole other life, has met thousands and thousands of people, is a celebrity of great importance, a Grammy winner, a million seller, with more money than he will ever need, this unbelievable thing has happened to him, a dream, a fucking rainbow bubble, and you’ve stayed here.

You’re still the same. And you don’t think that’s worth mentioning. Worth praising. He wants to shake you awake, make you see why he’s dead inside, why he’s come back, why he’s lost his fucking mind.

“I’ve never lied to you,” he replies, his gaze meeting yours. “If I’d never met you, I would have never gone to America. I would’ve never left.”

Somehow, you’ve become a curse and a miracle.

“Let’s go see the stars, Felix.”

Your room is the exact same, too. Not a single damn thing moved, the lace on your bed, the pink all around, the fairy lights by your window, the pictures above your desk, and then finally, if he lifts his head—

The hundreds of tiny stars sprinkled on your entire ceiling. Your dad had stuck them up there for you, after you’d gone to their bed crying, afraid of the dark and the storm outside. Now, with the lights off, you didn’t seem afraid anymore, but more so melancholic. It felt unreal to stand in this room with you.

First time he’d made love to you was on that bed. First sleepover, first fort, first kiss, first song ever written.

He didn’t even realize he’d been crying, not until he felt your fingers wipe the wetness away, your hand slipping in his, pulling him towards the mattress. Before coming back, he didn’t have a bed of his own. Hotel’s have been temporary homes for him, the tour bus his sleepovers.

His chest hurt, his sadness so heavy it pulled him down. There was no fight left in him, no other reason not to fall on that bed with you, lay next to you just like all those years before.

They shone neon green, alien little stars where they didn’t belong. Like him. He blinked up at them and they greeted him every time. He held your hand tightly on his own, his vision blurry, shoulders touching yours. If it was hot, Felix couldn’t tell. His heartbeat was deafening, the magnitude of the moment swallowing him whole.

No matter what he did, what had happened, you took his hand and showed him the stars of his childhood. There’s no words to describe what that had felt like for someone like him, someone that had once been something entirely different, and had somehow reduced himself down to this, whatever it was.

Three versions of oneself is two versions too many. He hates himself for what he’s done.

“Are you okay, Lix?” you ask once more, nothing but a mere whisper, but he hears you.

He thinks he might even have an answer for you.

“I don’t think so, beautiful girl. I think I’ve made a mistake.”

“What do you mean?”

Felix sighs, puts an arm over his eyes. It’s enough, what he saw. It’s enough for a lifetime.

“Leaving you behind. Giving all of me away. Falling in love with a broken boy thinking I’ll be able to fix him. I can’t fix anyone, (Y/N). I can’t even fix my fucking self.”

You nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck. The connection is still there, the tension in his gut. He’d love nothing more than to get you naked and have you whisper his name back, over and over, until he gets some sort of sense of reality back. But it wouldn’t be fair to you. He doesn’t even know if you’re single.

“No one’s holding anything over your head, Lix. Forgive yourself before it’s too late,” you mumble against his skin, raising goosebumps all over. Then you continue, “I’d be lying if I said I don’t still hate you sometimes. You’re going to leave again, anyway. It doesn’t matter.”

He turns to that immediately. Places a palm over your cheek and makes you look at him.

“It does matter. I don’t want you to hate me. I fucked up and I’ll regret it my whole life. There’s no amount of sorry’s I can say to you, sweet girl, that’ll make it all better. I know that. But I don’t want you to hate me.”

Quiet. Your pulse against his thigh. “You left.”

“I did.”

“That hurt me. All of us.”

Felix nodded, again and again. One truth harsher than the other. “I know.”

“To go fuck some model in New York and sing your little heart out to people that’ll never know who you truly are and how much you matter.”

There it was. The sacrifice of it all. Has it been worth it? Yes and no. Mostly no.

His lips curved with bitterness. “Yes,” he rasped.

“But now your songs are out there. Your beautiful voice is recognized.”

“Thank you.”

You buried your face in the mattress, crying onto strawberry sheets. He turned his body towards you, fingers tangling in your hair.

“You sold your own name.”

Dying would be less painful than you speaking all of his fears and wrong decisions outloud, in the one place untouched by misery.

“And I pay for that every day.”

“You’re not happy.”

He smiles when you search for his eyes. There are crystals on your cheeks, the cosmos hanging from your lips. “Not particularly, starry girl,” he retorts sadly.

“I’m not happy, either. What’s the point, then?”

It tore at him to know this. He imagined you were when he was far away. That you’d put him behind you, and continued on with your life, shining just as brightly as you always had. Lies are always easier in the moment. Just enough to get you through to the next. But never long term.

“Come with me,” he whispers in your hair. “See for yourself.”

“And get lost, too?” you snap back.

He shut his eyes tight, bit his tongue to lessen the blow. “Three months. I want to take you with me.”

“To the City of Angels.” A lyric of his, coming from your mouth. His heart leaped, and blossomed. You listen to his music. The music he’s written for you.

“You’ll fit right in,” he finishes, leaning into you. “You’ll find many like you, none like you.”

He felt your hesitancy, the need to pull away. He would do it for you, if he wasn’t so completely under your spell, willing to do anything for one more taste of you. Years in a place where he’s had to learn to get his way, have made him somewhat persuasive, a trait he’s not proud of, like many others.

The only girl he’s ever truly wanted is you. Burn him alive, then.

“God, I’m about to make a mistake,” you mutter before his mouth takes yours.

Hyunjin had asked about you. He wanted to know who you were, why you still had such a hold on him. Hyunjin had been possessive and jealous and sensitive with Felix. He felt deeply, loved deeply, and was very stubborn. He loved getting his way. The blonde tried to love him, gave him all he had, obliged to his every request, but ultimately—

Whatever was wrong with him ran too deep. It was impossible to love someone like him, yet so easy to fall, so easy to lose yourself. They’d done some work together, traveled to Paris and visited art museums. Hyunjin was a magnificent artist, a lonely soul. Felix could recognize that in him and still admit it was scary to be around him, scary in the way a rope feels under your bare feet, no ground underneath, no sense of security.

They broke up on a bench outside Sacré-Cœur, the decision to go back to Australia for an indefinite amount of time being too much for the model. There was still love there, there’d always be. Hyunjin taught him about the life he’d entered, how to navigate through it, to get what you want, and how to love unconditionally, how to become a slave for love, to seek it and to breathe it, and to feel it deep in your gut, with everything in you.

But it shouldn’t feel like that. It shouldn’t be all encompassing, choking, tying. It should feel like freedom, and this much Felix knew, because he’d felt it before.

Undressing you right now felt like that, the pearly gates welcoming him, the wings growing in his back. A map outlined but not quite yet explored, though he plans to change that. If you accept. If you agree to his proposal. His hands caress, his mouth following the fabric leaving your body, your breast, down to your stomach, your navel, your hip bone.

He pulls your skirt down, revealing cotton, and lays you gently back down, his own body over yours, hiding you from view. Your fingers unzip and push, and Felix removes his shirt for you. He knows he’s not much to look at, but there’s lean muscle and a solid chest where you touch, making heat bloom right under your fingertips. He could write odes about how soft your skin is, how tender you’re treating him, as if he never left, as if he’s never done wrong by you, and for a minute he pretends.

Then your hand wraps around his cock and he loses all restrain.

“You can’t possibly be real, my girl, are you?” he mumbles against your cunt, before he hooks his arms underneath your legs and digs right into your wetness.

You moan and writhe, and he never complies. He holds you tighter, keeps you in place and has his way with you until you’re begging him to stop, crying for him to keep going, nails digging into his scalp, his shoulders, anywhere you can reach. Felix hasn’t eaten pussy in six months, hasn’t had yours in over five years, and he’s not about to give it up for anything in the fucking world.

His tongue laps, it fucks you slowly, it makes sure to get you proper wet for him, his lips slurping on your clit afterwards, finding a pattern you seem to enjoy, sucking to bring your orgasm forward and licking to settle you down, to tease you, until finally you have enough of it, and you come all over his mouth, breathlessly, your thighs trapping his head between your legs.

“Just for me, for me, for me…” he repeats peppering kisses all over you, his arms pushing him up towards your mouth, meeting you halfway for an open mouthed kiss. “Will you come?” he asks, pumping his cock in his fist, aligning it with your entrance. “My sweet fucking girl, will you come?”

“I have,” you say, hiding your face in embarrassment. “I did.”

“Let me look at you,” as he pushes in. “Let me see you, baby.”

His hips start moving, his cock reaching deep inside you, the stretch incredible. He needs you near, closer, so he lifts you up and repositions himself, having you sit on him, fucking yourself on him how you like. You find a rhythm as he wraps himself around you, kissing your breast, sucking on your nipples, tugging at the ends of your hair. Anything he can touch, all for you. Your voice breaks, his name cut in half, and he thinks he likes it best like that, not one thing but two, muttered by you, the death of him once and for all.

“Will you come with me to California?” he asks again, clearer this time. “Will you let me have you like this under their sun?”

“Lix…” you collapse as he takes charge, pistoling up into your soaking cunt, his cock so deep inside, so fucking good. “Fuck, please. Just please.”

“You need to tell me,” he groans. “I need to know. You need to tell me.”

He pushes you forward again, not once unsticking you from himself, and fucks you into the mattress, hard and fast. He’s after your high, he needs to see you, needs to witness you fall apart because of him, the same way he does for you, his muse, his girl, under your stars. You kiss him and hold him near, sharing his breath, his chest rapidly falling and rising, cock ready to burst, heart ready to explode, and you’re near too, he can feel it in his gut, he can see how your back arches, how your breath hitches, how your eyes open wide, head thrown back—

“That’s it, there it is, do it. Do it, beautiful, come for me, come on, let me feel you, God, fuck—I’ll bust, too, I’ll—”

“Inside,” you moan, shaking in his arms. “Inside me.”

Felix growls and does as you say, fingers digging into your waist, cock buried, and his head falls on your stomach. He’s pretty sure he’s having a heart attack, but nothing matters. You’re underneath him, naked. You still love him. You haven’t said it but you don’t have to; he can feel it, he can feel it like his own pulse.

He fucks you through the ripples of your orgasm, and then he pulls out, kissing your temple, your breast on his chest. Whatever dreams are made out of, he’s convinced you’re it. His dream, a girl just for him, a girl he could pick out blindfolded from a crowd of thousands. He would always come back to you, because there’s simply no beginning to him if you’re not part of it.

And no end if you don’t come with him.

“Don’t be afraid to tell me no,” he whispers into the dark, the stars staring back. “I’ll understand. I’ll make it work, there’s no question about it. Not anymore.”

You’re quiet for a long time, but your lips kiss his jaw, his neck, his ear. He holds onto sanity because of that. Because he’s lying through his teeth, for the first time. He won’t understand. If you don’t come, he’s not sure he’ll be able to carry on with this persona he’s built. It will destroy him, take him down under.

That he’s sure of.

But he thinks of your precious heart. What it would be like to leave it all behind.

“I’ll come,” you say incredibly small, almost inaudible. “I’ll come if you want me there.”

Felix closes his eyes, relief washing over him. No more suffering, endless tossing and turning. He could finally have a life, maybe buy some property, make a house out of you. With you. With you. It sounded unachievable. A wish unable to be granted. Merely anything.

You’re breathing it all back to him.

“I need you there, starry girl. I love you.”

He feels you nod, but you don’t say it back. It cuts through him, but he understands. He doesn’t need to hear it, despite how desperate he is for it. It pours out of you, it started when you opened the door, and it continues to pour out now, with his cum gushing out of your cunt, your arm hugging him tightly, afraid to let go.

“Three months,” you say. “Please don’t make me regret it, Lix.”

tags. @ughbehavior, @cb97percent, @streetlight-s, @j-0ne25.

#straykidsland #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #felix scenarios #felix smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #skz felix #stray kids felix #felix skz #stray kids #kpop scenarios #kpop smut #felix x reader #skz fanfic #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #hyunlix #mine.

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gotham-ruaidh · 7 months

Text

Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I’m So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) || Chapter 13b (She’s My Addiction) || Chapter 13c (Patience) || Chapter 14a (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14b (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14c (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 15a (Dreams) || Chapter 15b (I Sing A Song of Love) || Chapter 15c (You Can Do This If You Try) || Chapter 16 (Let That Feeling Grab You Deep Inside || Chapter 17A: Never Tear Us Apart || Chapter 17B: It’s Tough To Be Somebody, And It’s Hard Not To Fall Apart || Chapter 17C: I'm Wishing, Lord, That I Was Stoned ||| Also posted at AO3

Chapter 18: Turn The Page

New York City || September 1988

So you walk into this restaurant All strung out from the road And you feel the eyes upon you As you're shakin' off the cold You pretend it doesn't bother you But you just want to explode

-- “Turn The Page,” Bob Seger (1971) [click here to listen]

Claire Fraser took a long drink from the glass of water beside the bathroom sink. Closed her eyes. Counted five deep breaths.

Bob Seger’s voice flowed through the tiny portable radio that she and Jamie took everywhere on the road.

Here I am, on the road again There I am, up on the stage There I go playin' the star again There I go, turn the page

She opened her eyes. Listened to the man sing so passionately, so desperately, about his exhaustion and heartbreak from living in the spotlight. Touring relentlessly. Feeling displaced in his own life.

“Claire?”

Jamie poked his head around the door, humming along with the song.

Not for the first time, Claire was grateful that the tour had wildly exceeded all expectations – the private plane instead of tour buses; limos to and from the gig; and hotel suites that were so large they typically had two bathrooms.

Not that they minded sharing, of course – but living on top of each other could be hard sometimes. On nights like these, she needed her own space.

And now, Jamie met her eyes in the mirror.

Enjoyed his surprise.

“What…you…”

She turned to face him. Took a moment to admire him in all black – the dress shirt that she had ironed for him this morning, black jeans, black belt with silver studs, boots. The leather jacket whose inside pocket she tucked a love note into every morning.

She raised her arms. “What do you think?”

The red dress wasn’t something she had intended to buy, that afternoon in Miami when the band needed a few hours with Colum to discuss the European leg of next year’s tour (“the leg owed to the fans, after the shit Jamie pulled last year before he got clean,” he had reminded them). She had kindly suggested to Charlotte and Molly – Angus’ groupie girlfriends – that rather than spend another afternoon inside, they explore the shopping mall attached to the hotel. Jamie had insisted that one of the roadies go with them, to deal with any photographers or aggressive fans – but Claire had only smiled and said that it would be fine.

She had been correct, of course. It was such a breath of fresh air to walk up and down the long corridors, eat Cuban sandwiches in the food court, browse the selections in the department stores and specialty boutiques. Anonymous. To interact with sales clerks not as the wife/girlfriend of the biggest rock musicians in the world – but simply as three women having a nice afternoon out together.

And, truth be told, it was good to get some time with Charlotte and Molly. They asked – respectfully – about her relationship with Jamie, and she in turn asked – respectfully – about their relationship with Angus. Watched them tear up when Charlotte started talking about the uncertainty before them when the tour ended, and when Molly wondered whether they would ever be enough.

Not quite knowing what to say, Claire absently pulled through a clearance rack – and then…

“Ohmygod Claire!” Molly exclaimed. “You have to try that one on!”

Startled, Claire focused on the sleeveless, ankle-length red dress.

“Jamie will freak when he sees that on you!” Charlotte smiled, shifting an armful of lingerie to look closer.

Claire pursed her lips. Thinking.

“Come on, Claire! You need to look like the rockstar wife you are.” Molly grabbed the dress. “Let’s go try it on. Come on!”

Initially she had only wanted to placate Molly. But when she saw herself in the dressing room mirror, she immediately knew how Jamie would react.

Three weeks later, she was correct.

She swirled slightly, enjoying the feel of the fabric swishing around her calves. The bite of cold air on her bare chest and belly. And the incredulous look on Jamie’s face, eyes dark.

“It’s very…red,” he stammered. “Are you wearing a bra?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s our first event as a couple. And as husband and wife. We need to make a splash.”

He swallowed. Stepped closer to take her elbows, thumbs stroking the soft skin.

“I suppose. Every man will have his eyes on you tonight.”

She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll only feel yours.”

His eyes darkened. “I like knowing, that at any time tonight, I can just do this…” One hand trailed across the fabric of the dress, over her breast, until it reached the strip of exposed skin spanning her neck to her navel. “And then this…” His thumb edged under the flap, teasing the underside of her breast, in the way he knew would drive her absolutely crazy.

Her lips parted. His eyes locked on hers – taking in the red tones sweeping her eyes and cheeks, and her scarlet lipstick, and the silver hoops hanging in her ears.

“Can we just stay here tonight?” he asked softly, not exactly joking.

She shook her head. “Jamie, Lou fucking Reed came to the show at Madison Square Garden last night and not only insisted on meeting you and complimenting your music, he invited us to his party tonight. He’s had his own addiction issues, he’s not a dummy. And we’ve talked about this, we can’t avoid parties forever. It will be good for all those people to see you.”

He removed his thumb from her breast, and bridged the gap between them to lean his forehead against hers. Without words, their hands found each other, twining and grasping.

As was their habit now, he pressed their thumbs together. The C she had tattooed at the base of his thumb, mingling with the J he had tattooed at the base of her thumb.

“It’s going to be so hard, Claire. Not that I don’t want to see people, or show you off, or help you get to know them.” He swallowed. “I’ve been to these kinds of parties before. Huge open bar. Waitresses in low cut dresses handing around trays of drugs like it was a tray of snacks. People doing lines on the tables. People…fucking in the bathroom.”

She swallowed. “I’ll stay with you the whole time. You can be my excuse to stop talking to someone if it gets too awkward. Or to say no, if something like that is offered to you. You know I don’t care, right?”

He nodded. Hands shaking.

“Do you want to call Raymond?”

He shook his head. “Not right now. Tomorrow, definitely. Let me see how I get through this. Maybe we agree on a few points for tonight?”

“Anything. I love you.”

He smiled. “OK. I’ve got gum in my pocket – that will keep us from getting too thirsty. And if we need something to drink, we’ll ask for club soda, and we’ll watch the drink poured in front of us. I don’t care if it’s awkward. I can’t trust.”

She released one hand from his grip, and slid it into the back pocket of his jeans. “Got it. And you know it’s easier if we touch, right? Hold my hand. Put your hand on my hip. I don’t care. I’ll be right there with you. And you’ll be right there for me.”

He stepped closer, and she parted her legs, and he stood between them. Pressing her hips against the bathroom counter.

“If we get separated, Jamie, I promise I’ll stay true to my sobriety, and to you.”

“I promise the same. I only want you.”

“I’ll touch my letter on you. Will you?”

“Yes,” he swallowed. Kissing the arch of her eyebrow. “That will help. But let’s also agree on a signal, if one of us feels need for love. And the need to go.”

She rubbed the tip of her nose against his. Breath so warm on his lips. “How about…” She tapped the center of his chest. “Touch here. Close to your heart. That’s where I feel need, when I want to love you. Is that where you feel it, too?”

“Yes,” he breathed. “It pools here. Like fire. God, I need to kiss you, Claire. Please let me kiss you.”

She turned her face away, smiling. “I don’t want you to smudge my lipstick. And I want you to hold that thought all night, Jamie. Hold on to that pool of fire. Can you do that for me?”

She felt his smile against her jaw. “Gonna be so, so good when we get back here,” he growled.

“I know, baby. It will keep us strong and true tonight. I love you.”

He pulled back a bit. Raised her hand to his lips. Kissed her wedding ring.

“I love you, Dr. Mrs. Fraser.”

She smiled. “I love you, you idiot. Come on. The limo should be waiting.”

#outlander #outlander fanfic #little bit better than i used to be #jamie and claire

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