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codename-adler · 3 years

Text

foxes + onesies (1/9)

based off of that one post i saw and don’t remember, where people once caught Allison wandering around Fox Tower in a giraffe onesie, and i absolutely melted for her. here is the Foxes’ journey to getting a onesie each!

Allison

in the aftermath of the “mob war”, Allison still sees Betsy for counselling, mostly to cope with Seth’s death still, her ED and to process her childhood and teenage trauma

Betsy teaches her a lot about self-care (and not in Allison’s traditionnal definitions of self-care, which are: bottle it up, act out, burn through 500$ in clothes, repeat)

all in all, Allison has a lot to come to terms with by the end of the semester, and Betsy won’t be there as much in the summer, so she leaves her with a little list of self-care tips to look at when Ally feels overwhelmed

- pick a time to make yourself some tea, or try out some new ones and tell me about it next time

- try drawing with those wonderful pencils of yours, but in different art styles (because yes, Allison does have a fashion sketchbook. but silly doodles? abstract drawings? anatomy sketches? she never tried)

- watch movies by yourself, and for yourself, Allison

- since you love shopping and spending so much, find yourself a cozy thing, a soft thing that will only be for yourself, when you need to be reminded to love yourself and be gentle with yourself

those were the suggestions that stuck to Ally the most

so the next time she goes out to the mall with Dan and Renee, she doesn’t expect to find anything like Betsy suggested

she does look for some herbal tea at David’s Tea, and ends up getting some hibiscus + rose water green tea

but then they go to Walmart (she wants to gag)

fucking Walmart

the girls need some pads and tampons, and the gatorades are on sale (because all the Foxes, as a treat for winning the Championship and bc they all want to stay close after the hard year they endured, got to stay on campus for the whole summer (idc if it’s unrealistic, sue me, that’s how i roll))

for once, Allison follows Dan and Renee, without looking at anything, without touching anything (what if she catches it??)

then Renee wants to look for socks

that’s when Ally passes a rack of colorful onesies

one brushes the tip of her elbow, and wow it’s so soft

not at all the quality material she expected

she stops in her tracks, lets the girls go on to the underwear section, and really looks at the pajamas

there are lots of unicorns, and pandas, a few mouses, and two giraffes

bright yellow, light-spotted giraffes, with their little ears and antlers and all

the sewn-on eyes are closed and have cute little lashes details

Allison imagines herself wearing it and feels utterly stupid

but- she keeps running her fingers through the synthetic velvety material, mesmerized by its softness

she thinks back on Betsy’s list

the folks would absolutely loathe it. the high school bitches too. God, even Seth would say it’s fucking stupid. Nobody should ever be seen wearing that…

But I wouldn’t have to worry about my man-shoulders in it… or my stomach… or my thighs… I could even go braless, or wear just that cute little bralette I haven’t got the courage to wear yet… and I think Renee would agree it’s cute…

then she hears Betsy’s soothing voice in her head

But do you like it?

Yes. Yes I do.

and that’s how Allison takes down the onesie, cashes out and waits for the two other girls outside the Walmart entrance, feeling silly, and jitty, yet quite happy with herself

back at Fox Tower, she washes it immediately, only to stuff it back under her bed

it stays there for quite a few weeks, until it’s almost time for school to start again, her last year at PSU

the boys are out at the beach, Andrew and Neil are God-knows-where, Renee is meeting a friend, and Dan is out shopping with her Sisters

Ally is alone, and lonely

she’s craving something, something that feels close to how one of her nanny used to take care of her hair before bedtime, telling her stories of folklore around the world

guessing that nobody will be back before sundown, she reaches underneath her bed and takes out the giraffe onesie

she gets rid of her high-waisted skinny jeans, her silky cropped blouse and her high-heeled sandals in favor of Seth’s old Marvel boxer shorts, her baby blue bralette she still hasn’t worn, and the infamous onesie

and wow, it’s so baggy

as she buttons up the front, it almost feels like being wrapped up in a giant, fluffy pancake

she giggles to herself, like a little girl

until she goes to look at herself in the mirror, where she straight-up bursts out laughing

she feels so, so light

she puts on a pair of Renee’s fuzzy socks with the sticky soles and leaves her bedhair as it is

she spends the rest of the day on the couch, watching Barbie movies from the hidden collection she has in her closet while painting her real nails in rainbow colors

she makes herself a big cup of the tea she bought, and lights an ocean-breeze candle

between Barbie as the Island Princess and Barbie and the Magic of Pegasus, she even goes so far as going at the end of the hallway to buy some sugar-free gummy bears from the vending machine, completely forgetting herself…

of course, this is when the boys, including Andrew and Neil, are coming back from their day outdoors

she stops dead in her tracks when she turns around and sees them, a *giraffe* caught in the headlights

the boys only notice her because she stops moving so abruptly

she’s speechless

the boys, not so much

Kevin: *oblivious to the onesie situation* So you’re the one hoarding the healthy gummies. Dude give back some.

Matt: Oh, hi Ally… *raises his pointer finger, opens and closes his mouth in awe, lowers his arm back down* Cute?

Andrew: *his face says he doesn’t give a shit, but he’ll let the image make its way to his heart eventually* *very sneakily snaps an adorable pic for the group chat*

Neil: *whispering to Andrew, genuinely confused* I thought these were for babies? Do we qualify as babies? Why is Ally dressed like a baby, Andrew?

Nicky: BITCHHHHHH I shoulda made a bet on THAT!

Aaron: Well fuck. 60 points to Hufflepuff for cuteness. Ugh. I can’t believe I said “cute”. Jesus, I wanna vomit. Eurk.

Allison slowly makes her way back to her dorm room without a word, her cheeks flushed and her eyes to the ground, clutching her bag of gummies

she hasn’t felt this vulnerable since Seth’s passing

an hour later, she’s still hiding under her blankets as Renee and Dan file in

of course, they saw the photo posted to their group chat, and they heard everything from Matt and Nicky

Renee gets under the covers with Ally, and Dan proceeds to show off the goods she got with a very silly runway walk

they don’t say anything, until Neil sends a new picture on the GC

it’s a printed version of Andrew’s picture, pinned to the locker room wall with all the other photos they’ve accumulated

and everybody in the chat is dying of cuteness overload

Ally’s got that look of a toddler caught red handed, so open and genuine and surprised; her mouth is slighlty opened in an “o” shape; her mismatched fuzzy socks are peeking from underneath the bunched up fabric at her ankles; the hood is pulled up and slouching over her head…

but nobody, nobody, is making fun of her

we’re talking about the Foxes here. they never pull their punches.

so this? unexpected. shocking. astounding.

and right at the bottom of the picture, in shaky black marker: Baby Ally

with a poorly drawn heart next to it

in Neil’s unmistakeable handwriting

she cries

and never again is she ashamed of wandering around in her giraffe onesie

and if from then on, many Foxes gifts are soft things for her, well, that is called character development

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thoriffix · 2 years

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I posted 992 times in 2021

481 posts created (48%)

511 posts reblogged (52%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 1.1 posts.

I added 818 tags in 2021

#asks - 244 posts

#rqg - 160 posts

#yelling into the void - 142 posts

#hermitcraft - 54 posts

#grays art stuff - 43 posts

#rqg spoilers - 42 posts

#tma - 42 posts

#sash - 33 posts

#grays sketches - 32 posts

#insp - 26 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#if the next few eps all have nothing happen i may agree more! but i think decrying the entire show as suffering just because one ep had less

My Top Posts in 2021

wanted to draw some of my favs from this post by @chaotic-bi-incarnate bc my god were they accurate

[image description: three memes of rusty quill gaming characters with john mulaney quotes. the first is of sasha, a white woman with dark hair wearing a studded leather jacket. in the first half, she is looking to the side with an eyebrow raised, arms folded and hands tucked into her armpits. she is asking “do you want me to kill that guy for you?” in the second half, her head is lifted and both eyebrows raised, looking in the same direction as before. one of her hands is visible, revealing that she is holding a dagger. she continues with “because it sounds like he sucks, and i can totally kill that guy for you.”

the second is of hamid, an egyptian halfling with slicked back hair and brass scales around his hairline, wearing a green three piece suit and a purple cape. he has his hands thrown up as if explaining something and his eyes closed, face scrunched up. he is saying “i need everybody, all day long, to like me so much.”

the third is of zolf, a fat white dwarf with short white hair and a long braided beard, wearing a brown jacket over a gold breastplate. he has a hand held up and indicating towards his chest. in the first half, he has one eyebrow raised and is looking to the side, slightly disgruntled, saying “i’ll keep all my emotions right here,”. in the second half his eyes are closed and his eyebrows raised, a slight smile on his face. he continues with “and then one day i’ll die.”. end id]

1279 notes • Posted 2021-03-04 15:48:31 GMT

[id: a sketchy doodle of mumbo and grian from last life. mumbo is looking with concern and fear at grian, who is smiling at him sympathetically and reaching out to touch his shoulder, saying "we can still be friends!". grian is hiding a sword behind his back. grians jumper, eyes and antennae are red, while mumbos tie and eyes are yellow, and the rest of the image is black and white. end id]

hey bestie let me murder you dot png

ive barely had time to draw lately but the amount of broken alliances this session... woof! so i wanted to doodle one of them :]

1510 notes • Posted 2021-10-13 16:46:24 GMT

s1 martin. beloved. let him be happy

[image description: several drawings of martin blackwood on a light pink background. the biggest one is a flat coloured drawing from the thighs up. martin is a fat white man, with short, curly brown hair that has a red streak. he also has a moustache and chin scruff. he is wearing red glasses, black stud earrings, a rainbow bracelet, blue jeans and a red t-shirt with a 1up mushroom on it. he is standing with one hand in his pocket, one holding the rim of a white mug, with his eyes closed and his mouth open in a joyful smile.

in the top left is a headshot sketch of the same design, wearing a collared shirt and looking to the side with a big smile. in the bottom left is a simple full body sketch of martin wearing an open hoodie, jeans and converse, with his hands in his pockets. an arrow labels him as 6′2. end id]

1824 notes • Posted 2021-04-10 01:04:07 GMT

melanie and martin were not a duo i expected but theyre the mlm/wlw solidarity we deserve and i Love Them

5713 notes • Posted 2021-01-14 16:17:27 GMT

liking a character but lacking the brainpower to have any real coherent thought or clever analysis of them so your brain just kind of says their name over and over like a teen girl in a cheesy romance writing her crushes name over and over in glittery gel pen surrounded by hearts

70078 notes • Posted 2021-09-02 02:43:03 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #my wapped <33 #why rtf is tumblr doing this #idk if thats a lot of posts or not #but hey kinda cool i guess??#long post

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yespolkadotkitty · 4 years

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PLEASE pluck Ricky from obscurity like you did Zach!!!

Right so you are all fairly keen on this guy because I also got these:

Pick You Up

Ricky Hauk x reader

Word count: 1700 ~ Warnings: None really. Light angst. Kissing.

Lovely gif by @ithinkwehitametaphor

You’ve not lived in this town long. The first time you use the gas station, the tall, skinny guy behind the counter glances at you from under his ball cap, the red brim only serving to bring out the slices of amber in his soulful brown eyes. There’s a crease in his cupid’s bow, the thumb print of a God proud of his work. He rings up your service, gives you a collection time.

When you park up back at home, you see it. A note under your unused windscreen wiper.

Autumn in her eyes

Her hair ropes of burnished gold,

Kissed by corners of the

Falling leaves. Will seasons pass

Before I look upon her

Once more?

The poem was from him. You know it. You know it because the next time you bring your car back, when winter’s starting to bite chunks out of the temperature, you see him write something on your receipt in the same loopy scrawl. He sees you looking. Ricky is embroidered on his navy blue overalls. A flush creeps up his cheeks, and you wonder how old he is. Twenty? You could cry over his perfect cheekbones.

“It should be more than that?” you ask when he rings you up.

The corner of his mouth curves up. “Returning customer discount. No one will miss a few quarts of gas.”

There’s a worn, tattered book propping up a wonky corner of the cash register. A Poem for Every Day of the Year.

And when you arrive home, there’s another scrap of paper under your windscreen wiper.

Winter’s grasp is far-reaching

Fingers dug in tight

But footprints thaw frozen ground,

A smile melts frostbite

Inch by Inch

You fold the paper carefully, tuck it under a magnet on your fridge, next to the one you already have. Wonder what it means. If he writes poetry for all his customers.

iii

Before Winter ends, your exhaust pipe crashes off the end of your car and you narrowly miss swerving off the road in shock at the huge bang it makes. You drive right to the service station, and like a dream, there he is, the huge roller door of the workshop open, and he’s bent over another car, his ball cap on backwards, overalls half-unzipped. Heat is pumping out of the workshop interior and you park your car. As you shut the door, Ricky looks up, and his face goes slack for a second, before he plasters a polite query on the handsome canvas. “Uh, hey. Can I help you?”

“Exhaust pipe fell off on the highway,” you sigh. “I know she’s a hunk of junk, but I just can’t afford to replace her, not yet.”

“I’ll give it my best shot.” Ricky holds out his hand for the keys, a smear of grease on his thumb, and you stare at his palm for a moment, wondering what his hands would feel like on your skin. If he’d leave a fingerprint of grease behind.

You wouldn’t mind much, if he did.

You have to leave the car overnight, eventually. Ricky comes into the tiny office with the noisy watercooler and tiny wall-mounted TV that only shows one God-awful news channel. His hands are shoved into his overall pockets and there’s a streak of engine grease on his cheek.

“Uh, I’m sorry, but she’s gonna have to stay in until tomorrow. My boss has gotta check the weld, and he’s stuck in the snowstorm one state over.”

“Okay.” You’re not cross with him. What would be the point?

Ricky looks from the clock to you. He probably has a hot date you’re keeping him from, you think with a little sadness. “Um, I’ve gotta lock up now. I can drive you home. If you want.” He jerks his thumb at the window to his right. A beaten up red truck sits outside.

“Thank you. That’d be great.”

The snow has started to fall in earnest. Ricky locks up the gas station and pockets the keys as the shutter finally closes up tight. He opens the passenger door for you, waits until you’re safely strapped in before he gets in on his side and starts the engine. “You’ll have to direct me.” He tugs off the ball cap and stuffs it in the glove box.

“Wait,” you say, as his hand hovers over the stick.

He glances at you with an eyebrow raised, that poet’s mouth set solemnly, his tiger iron eyes so large in his face, larger somehow with his thick hair sticking up at all angles, and he looks so young but like he has an old soul. Like he’s seen so much; too much, and he is so tired.

“Why did you write me those poems?”

Ricky looks away, chewing his bottom lip.

“You did, didn’t you?”

“So what?” he throws back, still not looking at you. “I’m sorry, okay? Is that what you wanna hear?”

Your heart cracks down the middle. “No, it isn’t. They were beautiful. I kept them.”

His gaze shoots to yours. “You are beautiful,” he says, very soberly.

And you lift your hand to his cheek and then he’s kissing you, earnestly, his lips soft and sweet and unpracticed. Not that you’re experienced, but you estimate yourself as perhaps half a decade older than him. He groans into your mouth and desire skitters through you. You part your lips for him and he finally touches you, just a hand on your thigh, his palm warm through your worn, old jeans.

The drive to your house is full of thick, syrupy tension. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice the way Ricky subtly adjusts himself during the ten minute trip.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to help him out with that.

He parks outside your building, and you kiss him again before you leave, nipping at his tempting lower lip, making him curse, low and sweet in that sinful, husky voice, still a little thready with youth.

“I’ll work on your car first thing tomorrow?” he half asks, half informs you, as you open the passenger door. The cold wind arcs in, biting at your skin. “I could pick you up. Early. If you want.”

You nod. “Okay. Thanks.”

Ricky catches your hand, tangles your fingers. “Guys like me write poetry about girls like you because it’s the only way we’ll be with you,” he mutters, and there’s something so sad and resigned in the depths of his butterscotch gaze.

You don’t know what to say, and if you kiss him again you run the serious risk of being arrested for indecent behaviour in his truck.

He’s early the next morning. You’re not ready.

“Come up,” you say through the buzzer, and in a matter of moments you’re opening your apartment door to him. He holds the service station ball cap in his hands, wringing it nervously, and his overalls are half-unzipped to reveal a plain white t-shirt. He smells of cheap cologne and minty toothpaste, and his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“Want a coffee?” you ask. “I’ll be five minutes.”

“No, thanks. Uh, I’m fine.” He stands by the door, like he needs permission to sit down.

You rush around, calling your boss to remind him about your car situation. He’s stuck at home anyway due to a snowdrift, so he doesn’t chew you out.

Pulling on your winter boots - hopefully they’ll see you through to March - you step out of the bedroom. Ricky’s leaning over your kitchen counter, scrawling something on a post-it note. He jerks up, guilt sketched on his angular face.

“Sorry.”

“Not at all.”

He folds the paper over. “Don’t read it.. Til later.”

He turns to face you, hesitates, wariness and want and need laid bare in those gorgeous hazelnut eyes.

“Could I… kiss you? Maybe?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, and Ricky cups your face in his broad, callused hands, and lowers his mouth to yours, and the kiss starts soft and sweet, explorative, and then you slide your hands up his shoulders and tangle your fingers in his thick, tattered-silk hair, and he backs you into the wall, his lips urgent on yours, licking into your mouth, and you drink him in like you’re starved for the taste of him. He groans against your lips, one hand slipping down your back to palm your ass, and-

And your phone rings shrilly from your bag. Your work mobile.

You and Ricky spring apart.

“I’d better get that.”

It turns out to be a shitty sales call, but the moment’s been broken. You mostly manage to ignore the distended shape of Ricky’s jeans, but his face is red the whole drive to the garage.

When you arrive, a man who you guess to be Ricky’s boss is already there, opening the shutter. Ricky turns to you, his hand hesitant on your thigh. “Maybe…. Maybe you’d wanna see me again?

You cover his hand with yours, link your fingers. “I’d love to see you again, Ricky.”

His smile lights up the dreary winter day.

*****

Special thanks to @dornish-queen without whose watchlist, this fic would never have happened.

Tagging the Pedro pals! @gamingaquarius @a-seeker-of-imagination @songsformonkeys @alldatalost @dornish-queen @lackofhonor @alienprincesspoop @beccaplaying @cryptkeepersoul @keeper0fthestars @winters-buck @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @jaime1110 @nelba @heatherbel @thewayofthemandalorian @agirllovespasta @seawhisperer @holographic-carmen @mrschiltoncat @mourningbirds1 @emmy-dandiliom918 @trippedmetaldetector @starlight-starwrites @oloreaa @thegreenkid @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @buckstaposition @pedropascallion @pajamasecrets @knittingqueen13 @skdubbs @opheliaelysia

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hermannsthumb · 4 years

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What are your thoughts on those two funky scientists going on an autumn hike and identifying leaves together...

ok blatantly inspired by a convo with @k-sci-janitor and also a hike I took last weekend.....idk when this is set maybe newt and hermann go on a gay hiking retreat during the war or maybe they’re visiting newt’s dad in MA for the weekend post-war. u decide

--------------

The fact that Hermann has special clothing set aside for hiking is, probably, one of the cutest things Newt’s ever heard. He assumes it’s special hiking clothing, anyway, since it’s nothing he’s ever seen Hermann in before, and nothing Hermann would otherwise be caught dead in: long khaki shorts, knee highs, pristine hiking boots, a t-shirt under a windbreaker. Shit--he’s even wearing a goddamn fanny pack, obnoxious and so big that he was able to cram a whole thermos in there. He looks like a Boy Scout troop leader. Or an extra in an 80′s camping comedy. God, who even wears knee highs? “Do try to keep up,” Hermann calls over his shoulder.

Newt is huffing and puffing as he sprints up the hill to catch up to Hermann, and he has to lean against a tree for an embarrassingly long time to catch his breath while Hermann just stands there and smiles. “Jesus Christ, dude,” Newt finally says. “You are one speedy bitch.” His feet are killing him. Maybe doc martens aren’t actually hiking shoes, despite Newt’s decades of treating them as such.

“Walking is good for the heart,” Hermann says, like that means anything. “And to a greater extent, the leg.” He pats the thigh of the leg in question. “Keeps it from getting too stiff on me. Do you need some water?”

That’s probably crammed into his fanny pack too. “Nah,” Newt says. “I’m good to go. You enjoying yourself, then?”

“Most certainly,” Hermann says. It feels like the truth, at least; Newt’s never seen Hermann so...chipper. Or relaxed. They chose a slow, easy hike for today, a little over a mile across a smooth path through the woods, plenty of pretty autumn scenery and squirrels, and--barring that one hill that just about killed Newt, and a single fallen log he had to help Hermann over--entirely even.

Hermann has enjoyed himself in particular by picking up different leaves from the ground and comparing them to a thick index of trees that looks older than the two of them. Every few minutes, he’ll come to a stop, and Newt will see him bend over, start to hum, and then flip methodically through the index pages until he gives a little aha! and carries on his way. It’s kind of fascinating, to be honest. And on par with the knee highs in terms of adorableness. “Oh, look at you,” Hermann murmurs, touching an orange leaf clinging to a branch by a thread, and Newt feels an absurd pang of jealousy as he adds “You’re very pretty, aren’t you?”

He pushes his big librarian glasses up onto his nose and begins to flip through his leaf index. It really does look ancient--Newt would bet anything Hermann’s had it since he was a kid. He can picture little baby Hermann in the same knee highs taking the book on his walks through some picturesque German countryside. “Pretty sure that’s just an oak tree, dude,” Newt says, to save Hermann some time.

“We can’t know until we’ve consulted the index,” Hermann says.

Newt walks over and plucks the leaf off the tree. He traces his finger along the round edges of the leaf, four curves on each side, and then points to the acorns scattered at the bottom of the trunk. “It’s an oak tree,” he says. “It’s literally the most common tree in the world. Okay, not the world, I was being hyperbolic, but--” Hermann snatches the leaf away from him with a scowl. Newt shrugs. "They’re common, is what I mean. Not exactly hard to identify.”

The page Hermann’s settled on features a large, colored sketch of a leaf almost identical to Newt’s, except green; he lays Newt’s leaf overtop it as if to double-check that there’s any possible way he could be wrong. “White oak,” he says icily. He pulls off his glasses and snaps the book shut. “Thank you for your contribution, Newton.”

“Uh. No sweat,” Newt says, a little guiltily; he didn’t mean to ruin Hermann’s fun. He kicks one of the acorns as they walk by.

They reach a small wooden bench--old, and mossy--after another few minutes. Hermann collapses onto it with a groan, hooks his cane over the back, and leans back with his eyes shut. Newt drops down next to him. “Tired?” he says. Hermann can usually manage long walks without a problem, but he imagines the new terrain might be a little harder on his leg.

“Need a bit of a rest, is all,” Hermann says. He shrugs off his windbreaker, giving Newt a better look at his t-shirt--maroon, faded, International Mathematical Olympiad 1999 written across it in yellow. Looking at him makes Newt shiver. It poured last night, a real, legit, freezing autumn rainstorm, and it’s left a chill in the air that’s had Newt bundled up all day. No thank you. He pulls his sweater cuffs over his knuckles.

“Take your time,” Newt says.

He gazes up at the canopy of red, orange, and yellow leaves stretching high above. A broad yellow leaf drifts down lazily towards them; Newt reaches up and catches it before it can land in his hair. “What’s this one?” he says, displaying it to Hermann.

It’s from a tulip tree, which Newt (a natural scientist on like, six different accounts) is well aware of, but he feels bad for being a dick about the oak leaf and wants to make up for it. Plus, it’s kind of cute watching Hermann get excited about this stuff. Hermann cracks an eye open. “Hmm,” he says. He opens the other eye, and pushes his glasses back on. “Hm. I suppose we ought to consult the index, haven’t we?”

His tongue pokes out between his teeth as he flips through page after page, before finally settling on a sketch of an identical leaf. “Here we are,” he says. He runs his fingertip down the margins, past line after line of fun facts. “It’s a tulip tree. Would you like to know about it?”

“Sure,” Newt says.

“It typically grows to be about ninety feet high,” Hermann says. “And--oh, look at it flowers. Aren’t those nice?” He tilts the book towards Newt, giving Newt a better look at the sketch of the large, greenish-orange flowers. “It takes a tree about fifteen years to begin to grow them.”

Newt does a bad job of hiding his smile. “They are nice,” he says. He plucks a leaf off of where it’s fallen on Hermann’s shoulder. It’s narrow and brown--maybe a beech tree. “What’s this one?”

A hum. Flipping through pages. Hermann readjusts his glasses twice. “This one is a bit tricky,” he says. “It’s harder to discern what the edges were meant to look like when it’s in such a state of decay--but I believe beech tree. Seventy feet, on average. Beechnuts are edible, but I don’t imagine they’d taste very good--too bitter. Here, place the leaf between these pages if you’d like, a pressing might be nice.”

Newt obliges. Hermann shuts the book, and pulls his thermos out of his fanny pack. “Coffee,” he announces. He unscrews the lid. It doubles as a small cup, and he pours some coffee into it and offers it out to Newt. “Go on, you look terribly cold. You’ve been shivering all day.”

A few more leaves land on them. Hermann smiles as he sweeps one off his knee, and he smiles again when Newt hands the small cup of coffee back to him. “Thanks for planning ahead and bringing the index,” Newt says as Hermann drinks. He’s pulled his windbreaker back on, over his dumb math shirt. “I don’t know what we’d have done without it.”

Hermann waves him off. “Oh, it was nothing. I’ve brought it on hikes since I was a boy.”

Their hands brush as Hermann passes the coffee back to Newt. Newt returns the smile.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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Revelation Sunshine, Chapter 8 (Courtney/Vixen) - Veronica

A/N: Look, sometimes a story has conflict and narrative tension. And sometimes you just want to write about characters you love wearing fancy clothes and having self-indulgent fun. Thanks as always to @theartificialdane for her help. Previous chapters are here.

Last chapter: Vixen got settled into her new life in LA, and Courtney enlisted Violet’s help for a Met Gala ensemble.

This chapter: A romantic weekend in Paris and a star-studded Gala both bring old friends back into Courtney’s life.

***

The plan was for the Met Gala to be their first public appearance together. A sort of coming-out, as Adore put it.

But all of that went to shit in early April. Vixen had just wrapped up the last of her workshops in Chicago, her friends and family throwing her a huge going-away party, making her promise to visit often. Then, instead of flying to Los Angeles for the Spring term, she found herself sipping champagne on a flight to Paris, where she was meeting Courtney for a Met Gala fitting-turned-romantic-getaway.

And it would have all gone to plan, probably, if not for the crafty French paparazzi, who caught wind of Courtney being in Paris and began to tail them through the city.

It had been a gray, drizzly day, the clouds not breaking until early in the evening as the sun was setting, encouraging them to leave their little café and stroll across the Pont Neuf to Square du Vert Galant, hands clasped together, giggling about Courtney’s attempt to get oat milk in her coffee with broken French.

When Courtney caught Vixen’s face in the warm light, she couldn’t resist pulling her in for a kiss, hands stroking her cheekbones before brushing their lips together, tasting the perfection of the moment, overcome with joy and gratitude for her gorgeous, loving girlfriend.

The nearby paparazzi went nuts, and that’s when they both realized that they’d been followed.

“Oops,” Courtney whispered, biting her lip, still unable to let go of Vixen’s face, unable to tear herself away.

“Cat’s out of the bag, huh?” Vixen said. Fortunately, she didn’t seem too broken up about it.

“Yeah.”

“I guess there’s not much we can do about it now.” A smile played on her lips, and Courtney was overcome with the urge to kiss her again.

It wasn’t until they separated slowly that Courtney thought of a possible solution.

“We could beat them to it…”

She pulled out her phone, taking a series of photos, the setting sun and rain-washed buildings around them doing half the work of making the pictures glowingly beautiful. Vixen’s eyes were bright with happiness, and Courtney couldn’t help gazing at her with total adoration, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

She posted the pictures as they stood right there, captioned with a simple heart, and then put her phone away, taking Vixen’s hand and continuing on their walk like everything was business as usual.

***

Vixen wasn’t sure what to think when they finally arrived at Violet’s on Saturday morning, an ordinary-enough apartment building.

“You’re sure this is a legit designer?” she asked, and Courtney grinned at her, pulling her inside. She held a box of pastries and a Glimmer-branded reusable bag full of swag for Violet’s five-year-old daughter, Melati.

“One of the best I know!”

When Violet opened the door, Courtney greeted her like a long-lost sibling, pulling her into a fierce hug, kissing her cheeks. Violet seemed to tolerate this, but still let out a relieved sigh as Courtney let go.

“Violet, this is Vixen!” Courtney said excitedly.

“Hello. Nice to meet you.” Violet stuck out her hand and shook Vixen’s, very formal and professional.

“Vix, Violet is basically a sorceress with fabric. I can’t wait for you to see her stuff in person,” Courtney told her, sliding off her shoes. She then let out a happy squeal, spotting a tiny face with big dark eyes poking around the corner bashfully. She bounded forward to greet Melati with a happy, “Bonjour, Melati!”

Melati’s eyes widened and she disappeared, hiding under a table.

“Sorry. She’s still processing that Princess Lucie is real, and knows her name. I’ve attempted to explain that you’re an actress, but Sutan keeps sabotaging my attempts,” Violet explained. “Something about keeping the magic alive.”

Courtney giggled, dropping to her knees and peeking at Melati under the table, singing, “Bonjooour, mon petit chou!”

Vixen had removed her shoes by this point, holding them awkwardly in her hands.

“You can put your shoes on the top shelf there,” Violet said kindly. “I’m afraid our dog can’t be trusted with anything. I’m still mourning the loss of a pair of Louboutins.”

Vixen chuckled, placing her shoes (and Courtney’s) carefully onto the shelf, and then followed Violet into the house.

Melati seemed to have gotten over her initial shyness, jumping into Courtney’s arms and laughing joyfully as Courtney swung her around.

“Courtney, not in the living room, please,” Violet said, then to her daughter, “Pas ici.” Melati obeyed, sliding down from Courtney’s arms and clinging to her side.

“Je suis désolé!” Courtney cried dramatically, and Melati giggled. She looked at Vixen and explained, “I know that from Madonna’s ‘Sorry.’”

“Impressive,” Vixen told her, while Violet rolled her eyes.

“Shall we get started?” Violet asked, guiding them quickly through the apartment and up a small flight of stairs.

“Where’s Sutan?”

“In London for the weekend. He sends his regrets.”

“Aww, bummer.”

Violet opened the door to her studio, then turned to them with a stern look on her face, addressing Courtney directly.

“Child rules apply in here. You may look, but don’t touch.”

“Oui madame!” Courtney said with a salute, then walked inside, immediately exclaiming over a bunch of intricate fabric flowers, picking one up to ask, “Did you make this?!”

“Courtney! What did I just say?” Violet snatched the flower out of her hand.

“Sorry. Can’t take her anywhere,” Vixen said.

“Ooh, I love this beading…” Courtney walked towards the wardrobe rack, Violet nearly diving in front of her to stop her from touching that, too.

She put her hands on her hips, making Courtney pout playfully, and then leaned down to tell Melati something in French.

“Viens,” said the little girl, pulling Courtney out of the room by the hand.

“Help, I’m being kidnapped by a tiny little person!”

“I told her to keep you out of trouble!” Violet called after them, then turned to Vixen with an apologetic look on her face. “I’m sorry about that.

“It’s fine,” Vixen laughed. “I live with her, so I’m pretty used to it.”

Violet chuckled under her breath, and walked to the wardrobe rack to unzip a few garment bags.

“If you’ll please disrobe, we can get started. I can give you some hangers for your things if you need.”

“Oh...that’s okay.” Vixen was wearing skinny jeans and a black t-shirt. Not really clothes she’d normally hang. She began to remove them slowly, feeling only slightly awkward.

“I’m sorry that we haven’t had a chance for more consultations, but with the distance, and my job, and my family…”

“Please don’t apologize! I’m so grateful for all the work you’re done.” Vixen turned around, down to her bra and panties.

“The top has a built in bustier, so no bra is needed.” Violet held it out, and Vixen nearly gasped.

The sketches had been lovely, but this was absolutely stunning, a flowing sleeveless top with gorgeous pearl and gold beading in cascading floral patterns. When you looked closer, it became apparent that the beads were in fact pearl buttons, gold cufflinks and other menswear elements.

“Given your desires, and my own aesthetic, it was a bit of a challenge to incorporate the menswear theme, but I did my best. I still have a bit of beading to do, but it’s mostly done.”

“It’s incredible,” Vixen said, unclasping her bra. “Really, so far beyond what I was expecting.”

Violet gave her a satisfied nod, hanging the top and lifting another garment from the rack.

“Shall we try on the trousers?”

‘Trousers’ wouldn’t exactly have been Vixen’s way of describing the bottoms: a pair of draped, beautifully moving pants, with a satin strip down the side reminiscent of a tuxedo. After showing her, Violet quickly turned them inside out and then held them out for Vixen to step into.

It was a very strange experience. This woman that she barely knew dressing her, something she hadn’t experienced since she was a small child and her mom helped her into her clothes for preschool. She tried not to be awkward about it, happy that she’d at least remembered to wear nude panties today.

Violet stepped back, examining her with a critical eye, before picking up a set of pins and kneeling. Vixen stood as still as possible, trying not to be self-conscious. This was Violet’s job; she probably dealt with people’s bodies on a daily basis. The fact that her tits were out surely didn’t faze her, so why should Vixen feel weird?

She worked quickly and carefully, getting up to examine the pants from multiple angles. Her long dark hair was pulled away from her face, into a high ponytail, and as Vixen studied her serious expression, she realized that what could be read as coldness was actually just deep concentration, a passion for her work that made Vixen feel right at home.

They tried on the top next, the heavy and intricate beading telling Vixen that it was by far the most expensive garment she’d even had on her body. It was amazing.

Vixen watched herself in the floor-length mirror, turning slightly, admiring how beautiful the whole ensemble looked. She started fantasizing about what she was gonna do with her hair, when Violet’s voice cut into her thoughts.

“Have you thought about shoes?”

“Oh, um...not really. What do you think?”

“I can give you some suggestions if you like,” Violet offered, and Vixen smiled at her.

“That would be great! Thank you.”

Violet was walking around the room, again examining the look from multiple angles, once in awhile stepping forward to place a pin here or mark something down on her notepad. At one point, she gave a thoughtful nod, then said, “You carry this look well. How do you feel about it?”

“Oh, um...it’s beautiful!” Vixen could tell by the thoughtful way she said it that a compliment like that from Violet must be rare and sincere. She felt comfortable enough to continue, admitting, “I’m a little nervous--not about the clothes! Just...I’ve never been to anything like the Met Gala in my life.”

“That’s understandable, but I wouldn’t worry,” Violet assured her. “The most nerve-wracking part is the red carpet, and you’ll be with Courtney, who I think might actually like it.”

“I know she likes it,” Vixen laughed.

“Right.” Violet shook her head. “I will never understand her.”

***

The rest of their time in Paris (well, the day and a half before they had to fly back to L.A.) was like a dream. Of course, their social media had been blowing up like crazy ever since posting those pictures, and Courtney did nothing to quell the wild speculation, posting more pictures, as well as tweeting mysterious, romantic things like “I get to wake up to her every morning. #gratitude” and “When she’s breathing beside me, I’m home.”

But for the most part, they ignored all of the messages, all of the questions, and simply enjoyed the fresh spring air and the beautiful city, doing their best to avoid the ever-present paparazzi until they realized that it was no use, and just rolled with it.

On Monday, Courtney woke up to clear, blue skies and sunlight filtering in through the gauzy curtains. She rolled over, brushing away a curl that had fallen across Vixen’s face, smiling at her eyes fluttered open.

“Good morning,” she said, placing a soft kiss on Vixen’s cheek.

“Morning…” Vixen rubbed her eyes, yawning, then snuggled against Courtney’s body, seeking out the warmth of her skin.

“You bummed to be going back home today?” Courtney asked, and Vixen shook her head.

“Mm-mm,” she said, voice slightly muffled against Courtney’s neck, then added. “How could I be bummed? I’m going back with you.”

Courtney inhaled sharply, caught off guard by her sleepy sweetness, and pulled her in tighter.

“I love you so much,” she whispered fiercely into her hair, and Vixen gave a small, adorable sigh.

***

There was really no reason to be this nervous, Vixen thought. It wasn’t like she was a real celebrity. The cameras and attention would be on Courtney and Honey, the actual movie stars, not on her.

Nevertheless, she couldn’t deny the rush of butterflies as she sat beside Courtney in the car. The ensemble Violet designed fit her perfectly, and upon her suggestion, she’d paired it with some Miu Miu stilettos, ruby lipstick and a jeweled hair clip in her brand new weave--long, rich, dark brown hair with chestnut highlights, styled in meticulous Marcel waves that made her feel like a goddess. She caught Courtney’s eyes, grinning at her.

Her girlfriend was stunning as usual, her black, high-necked, open-backed tuxedo gown just the right balance of revealing sexiness and teasing modesty. The full skirt had a slit almost the whole way up that you didn’t see until she was in motion, and her blonde hair was tucked under, giving her an almost masculine illusion. Her minimalist jewelry consisted of a simple diamond bracelet, the only splash of color her shiny, short, deep red nails.

“You look very classy,” Vixen commented.

“Yeah?” Courtney asked. “I don’t know how I feel about such an extreme lack of color.”

“No, it’s good.”

“Yeah,” Honey chimed in, from where she sat with her date across from them in the limo. “You need to give the rainbow explosion a break once in awhile.”

“Well...I do have pink and yellow panties on,” Courtney admitted, and they all laughed.

“Of course you do,” Vixen said.

“I mean no one will see them!” she exclaimed. “Probably. Unless the night gets real crazy.”

“Can we make bets?” asked Honey’s date, Michael, making Vixen giggle. She’d only met him a few minutes before, but she already liked him.

“Let’s not,” quipped a woman tersely from the front seat. She was a publicist from Disney whose name Vixen kept forgetting, instead just thinking of her as The Dragon.

“Oh, right,” Courtney said, reaching for Vixen’s hand as they approached the Met. “I guess since we’re here on Disney’s dime, I need to be on good behavior.”

“Only until we get back to the hotel, though, right?” Vixen asked, and Courtney shot her a naughty grin.

“We’ll see…”

Honey and Michael exited the car first, the photographers going nuts over her stunning white pinstripe suit, tailored to perfection.

“Ready?” Courtney asked, and Vixen nodded.

The Dragon was already shooting instructions at them. Well, mostly at Courtney, but it made her head spin a little.

Before they got out, Courtney leaned in and whispered, “If she pulls me away, stick with Michael. He’ll take care of you and make sure you guys stay close.”

Vixen laughed, steeling her nerves, feeling weirdly like she had back in junior high before a basketball game. Here we go...

***

Once Courtney was finally finished with her press obligations, she turned to Vixen with a happy, relieved sigh. She couldn’t help but once again think about just how gorgeous she looked: the cream and ivory ensemble Violet had designed made her dark skin glow, and she’d opted for an understated, barely-there look with her eye makeup--all lashes and just a hint of shimmer. Plus those lips. So red and full and kissable...Courtney could barely wait to get her alone later and just ruin it.

First, though, they had to get through this gala. Courtney took Vixen’s hand and led her inside, where they wandered around together. They looked through the exhibit, and exchanged pleasant, mundane small talk with a mind-boggling number of people. Vixen completely cracked Courtney up with her impression of one of the Vogue editors, and then for a little while, they played a game where they pretended to be museum docents, describing the various pieces to each other with the most pretentious language they could come up with.

While Vixen used the restroom, Courtney found one of the bars and got them a couple of drinks. Champagne always went straight to her head, but she figured that if there was ever a place to get a bit silly, this was it.

“Yes, you heard me. One champagne and a tequila sunrise,” said a familiar voice, and Courtney turned, a big smile on her face.

“Bianca!”

Bianca’s gruff expression melted into a grin as she reached forward to give Courtney a hug.

“Hey there! Nice dress!” she held Courtney by the waist to get a good look. “Siriano, right?”

“Yeah. And I see you really took the menswear theme to heart.”

Bianca was wearing one of her favorite silhouettes: a boat-necked, figure-hugging, floor length gown with a trumpet skirt. It was black and beaded and of course looked great on her, but had nothing whatsoever to do with the theme.

“Listen. Anna Wintour can’t fucking tell me what to wear!” she barked, and Courtney threw back her head with laughter.

“Never change, B.”

“Not much danger of that at this point,” Bianca said, accepting the drinks from the bartender. “I’m glad I ran into you. We found your date, but-”

“We?” Dread filled her stomach like a lead balloon as Bianca directed her gaze to where Vixen stood, talking to none other than Miss Fame herself. Seeing them, Courtney had a lightheaded rush of fear that she hadn’t experienced for almost ten years, and she inhaled sharply.

“What’s the matter?” Bianca asked. “You think Fame’s gonna eat her?”

“I…” Courtney couldn’t explain it. How the anxiety that she felt as a 21-year-old could still return in the presence of that woman. She knew that logically, everything was fine. In recent years, things between her and Fame had gotten downright friendly. And she appeared to be having a perfectly pleasant conversation with Vixen, clad in one of her signature 50-shades-of-white ensembles.

“Relax,” Bianca said, chuckling softly, forearm resting on Courtney’s shoulder. “Our brides are fine. They actually look cute together, don’t you think?”

A laugh bubbled up from Courtney’s chest; they did look awfully bridal, especially standing together. She turned to Bianca, a rush of gratitude coloring her cheeks, thrilled by her tacit approval. She pulled her in for a hug, saying, “They do.”

“Aww, look who else just arrived,” Bianca said, and Courtney turned again.

Raja and Raven, in complementary outfits of royal purple and gray, had joined the little group.

“Okay, now we really do have to save her,” Courtney said, rushing towards them, Bianca laughing behind her.

***

When they finally arrived back at their hotel, the first thing they did was kick off their hideously uncomfortable shoes and strip down. The hotel had sent up a huge basket of luxury bath products, and Courtney suggested filling the jacuzzi tub and dumping all of it in. The result was a fragrant tub with so much bath oil and moisturizing products that their skin immediately became slick and slippery.

Vixen relaxed against the side of the tub, one of the powerful jets aimed at her lower back, and another at her feet. Courtney leaned against her, eyes closed as Vixen’s fingers carded through her hair, slowly removing bobby pin after bobby pin until her hair hung down in stiff waves. She dunked her head under the water, scrubbing to remove the residual mousse and hairspray before coating her hair with a thick layer of conditioning mask and cuddling up once again.

“It was more fun than I thought it would be,” Vixen said, breaking the comfortable silence, fingers trailing up Courtney’s arm.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Less stuffy. Not that I’d want to do it often but, I had a pretty good time.”

Courtney smiled, leaning her head back to rest on Vixen’s shoulder.

“I did too…” she said, then added almost as an afterthought, “Bianca approves of you.”

“Oh yeah? Did you need her approval?” Vixen asked. It was a casual enough question, but it still seemed to make Courtney pause. Did she need Bianca’s approval? Vixen waited for her to respond, realizing that she’d be okay with any answer. After all, Bianca was an important person in her life.

“No...not exactly…but it was still nice.” Courtney smiled sheepishly, and twisted around slightly to tell Vixen, “I guess maybe I didn’t realize how much I didn’t need it until I got it.”

“Fair enough,” Vixen laughed, dropping a kiss to Courtney’s shoulder.

“So...I’m glad you liked it.”

“I did. Although I think I underestimated my ability to wear stilettos for that many hours without dying.”

“Aw, do your feet hurt, baby?” cooed Courtney. She slipped from Vixen’s arms to the opposite side of the tub, where her feet were.

“They’re killing me…”

Courtney took Vixen’s feet into her lap, and began to give them a gentle massage. Vixen’s eyes fell closed blissfully, luxuriating in the warm water and tender caresses. Courtney began with her feet, but after awhile, moved up to her ankles and calves. Vixen nearly fell asleep three times, but finally blinked her eyes open, pulling Courtney towards her for a kiss.

“Can I do something for you now?” she murmured, and Courtney lifted her head to give her a heavy-lidded smirk.

“Let’s get out of here and see…”

“I was thinking like, helping you rinse this shit out of your hair, but...” Vixen touched her hair, still covered with that thick mask.

“Oh fuck,” Courtney giggled. “I guess we better do that first.”

Vixen smiled at her, taking the handheld nozzle off the hook and turning it on. She tested the water with her hand, gesturing for Courtney to turn around, and then quickly rinsed her hair, fingertips scratching at her scalp. When she turned it off, she pressed a kiss to Courtney’s neck.

“Come on. Let’s go get bath oil all over those fancy sheets…”

“Sold!”

***

There was something different in Vixen’s eyes tonight as she hovered over Courtney on the bed. She was usually content to be pampered and guided--not submissive exactly, but certainly leaning in that direction. Tonight though, Courtney shivered in anticipation, looking up at her hungry brown eyes, shining dark in the dim light, every once in awhile catching a glint of gold.

They’d been at it for awhile, having tumbled into bed after their bath, Vixen’s mouth traveling all over Courtney’s heated skin. She’d lost track of time completely as Vixen made her tremble and whimper, getting her all worked up, only to tease her cruelly. Her fingertips now danced up Courtney’s thighs, light as a feather, making her breath catch in her throat. Courtney reached up towards her, one hand on her waist, another one her face, thumb stroking her cheek.

The corner of Vixen’s mouth twitched, becoming a smirk as she looked down at Courtney. One finger began to trace slow patterns along her collarbone, little circles getting bigger and loopier over her chest. Courtesy whimpered, back arching, trying unsuccessfully to pull her body down.

“Trying to tell me something, baby?” The pad of her finger circled one of Courtney’s nipples teasingly.

In response, Courtney arched up again.

“I want you,” she said, failing to suppress the pathetic need in her voice.

Vixen crawled forward slightly, pressing a thigh up against her pussy, giving her something to grind wetly against. It was good, so good that Courtney gasped in pleasure, Vixen’s thigh flexing against her as fingers continued toying with her tits. But soon, it wasn’t enough, and Courtney was pulling Vixen’s hips down, head falling back to expose her throat.

Vixen licked up her neck, layering kisses against her hammering pulse point. Courtney’s legs spread open, the gentle pressure of Vixen’s weight pressing her down into the mattress.

Courtney loved Vixen’s body. She had small tits that fit perfectly in Courtney’s hands, long slender limbs, and the most buttery soft skin she’d ever felt, especially fresh out of the bath. She loved to touch her, to feel her and taste her and kiss her all over.

She was painfully aware, though, that there were things she needed to be sensitive about when they were together. Even though she and Vixen had jumped into bed together on their first date, she’d spent a lot of their excruciating months apart asking gentle, probing questions about what she liked, what she didn’t, if there was anything that made her uncomfortable. Vixen was a bit shy at first, so Courtney didn’t push too hard, but every once in awhile, if she’d had enough wine, she would open up quite a bit, giving Courtney real insight into her fantasies.

And then of course, once they’d been able to really take their time and explore with each other, Courtney discovered a whole world of possibilities. Where she was most sensitive, how her fingers flexed and then curled slowly into fists when she liked something. How she was generally more interested in gentle, loving touches than hard, orgasm-focused penetration.

Courtney was careful to go slowly, and to follow her lead for anything below the waist. She didn’t want to make any assumptions about her body, or make her feel fetishized - but she also wanted to make sure to express how beautiful and sexy she found every part of her. It was a fine line, a balancing act that Courtney wasn’t sure she always got right.

She knew, for example, that Vixen preferred the term “girldick” and was partial to having it treated more like a clit - kissed and licked and rubbed and gently sucked. And Courtney was happy to oblige, loving the feel and the taste of her, how her cum had a faint sweetness to it. But recently, she’d surprised Courtney with a whispered confession in the dark that she wasn’t expecting.

“I’ve been thinking that maybe I want to try...topping,” Vixen said, hiding her face in Courtney’s hair, adorably bashful. “I mean, it’s so hot when you do it, and it doesn’t make me think of you as any less of a woman, and so…”

“You’re 100% woman. Every bit of you,” Courtney whispered back, but she’d also been a tiny bit nervous. After all, the last time anyone had tried penetrating her had been a bit of a disaster, and ever since then, she hadn’t wanted to revisit it. But on the other hand, she loved Vixen so much, and trusted her, and so maybe it was time to rethink her own boundaries.

“I don’t know if I can, though,” Vixen then added. “I mean, it doesn’t get hard the way it used to…”

“We can figure it out,” Courtney had said, kissing her, wrapping her up into a sleepy embrace. But the conversation never went any farther. Vixen hadn’t brought it up again, and Courtney didn’t really think any more about it. Until right now.

And tonight, there was something so fucking sexy about the way Vixen rutted against her, soft little sighs leaving her as she rolled her hips. Courtney grew wetter and wetter, fingers digging into her firm ass, pulling her closer. Vixen lifted her head, interrupting a deep, messy kiss to look into Courtney’s glazed eyes.

“Is this okay? Are you…”

“It’s perfect…You’re perfect.” Courtney could feel the soft tip of her girldick pushing against her, and she arched up, welcomed it deeper with her hand, loving the feel of Vixen getting closer and closer with every thrust.

It was so different from anything Courtney had ever experienced; so flexible and warm. It was a gentle kind of fullness, nothing rigid or demanding or painful like it had been for Courtney in the past. Courtney hugged Vixen’s hips with her thighs, hands sliding up her back, raking over her shoulder blades and back down to her waist.

“Baby, this is so hot,” Courtney whimpered, and then Vixen angled forward so that she was rubbing vigorously against Courtney’s clit, making her moan. “Fuuuck…”

Courtney could feel herself getting close, right on the verge. She captured Vixen’s lips in another kiss, sucking hard on her bottom lip and then tangling their tongues together. She panted into her mouth, snaking one hand down between her ass cheeks to stroke her, eliciting a little gasp from Vixen’s thoat, a familiar sound that told Courtney she was close too.

As Vixen’s hips pumped faster and faster, Courtney tried to hang on, but knuckles brushing over her stiff nipples was the last straw, and suddenly she was racked with ecstatic pleasure, wave after wave hitting her. By the end, she was barely moving, just clinging to Vixen’s body as her muscles convulsed, ankles locked together to keep her as close as possible.

The intense, messy kisses soon turned slow and gentle again as Courtney slowly caught her breath, bodies still sandwiched together.

“Wow…”

“Uh-huh...”

“That was different,” Vixen said, lips brushing against Courtney’s temple.

“Did you like it?” Courtney asked, fingers dancing up Vixen’s spine.

“...that might be an understatement.”

“Yeah, it was pretty...amazing,” Courtney giggled, nodding, catching her gaze. Her brown eyes shone softly in the dim light. “I love you so much.”

“Me too, baby.”

#rpdr fanfiction #revelation sunshine #veronica #the vixen #courtney act #courtney x vixen #trans!vixen #violet chachki #honey mahogany #bianca del rio #fluff #smut #lesbian au #galactica au #black girl magic fic #trans character #background bianca x fame

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mollymauk-teafleak · 4 years

Text

Pigments

Art Teacher Molly! Based on a set of head canons I posted a little while ago

Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment on Ao3!

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Caleb’s school had been a handful of rooms in the town hall building. He and the other children of the village had been roughly divided into two groups by age and taken by either the town’s only cleric, a dwarven priestess of Erathis who’d been sent to Blumenthal years ago to establish a strong faith amongst those people of the earth and had remained despite the local’s pleasant indifference, or the herbalist whenever she left the store with her nephew. Caleb would complete every task set for him within ten minutes and, instead, would be allowed to sit in the corner and read while the other children staggered their way through multiplication and verbs and basic Dwarvish. He read everything that could be found within the building, even staying in during playtime. The herbalist would share her tea with him and bring him scones when she could see that his parents were having a rough month.

Even as everything between who Caleb was now and that small child with unruly red curls and hollow cheeks and big eyes, even as all of it cracked and broke and rotted away for a number of reasons, it wouldn’t take much to bring him back to that little room. The dust motes dancing through the sunlight slanding in through the windows and falling on the blackboard with lines and lines of loopy handwriting that was clearly made to draw intricate sketches of plants and write labels on bottles of strange green liquids. The taste of flour and sugar baked together on his tongue, heavy with cherries, nettle tea, the taste of reassurance that maybe his stomach wouldn’t ache so bad when he went to bed that night, that maybe his mother’s heart wouldn’t break quite so much when she saw him. The promise of new words, so many it felt like he could barely hold them all in his mind, but he’d still always want more. Feeling like maybe one day he would be somewhere that would appreciate him for everything he knew.

It didn’t take much to send Caleb back there, to remind him of his days at school. Any little similarity would do it. But standing here, in an actual school, all he could think was how different it was from his own.

Molly’s hand hadn’t left his own since they’d gotten into the taxi. Caleb thought that meant the date was going well. The thought gave him a happy warmth in the bottom of his stomach, though he was very aware of his own inexperience. He wouldn’t really know if it was going well one way or the other, he had next to no data to fall back on.

But there was something in the way Molly kept stealing glances at him, leaving Caleb to just catch the slightest edge of his glance, the way there would always be a smile on his face whenever it happened. Almost as if just the sight of Caleb still sat beside him was enough to make Molly smile.

The hallways were left by the wide windows to alternate strangely between pitch black and wonky squares of yellow streetlight. The only noises were their own footsteps and the muted rumble of cars and voices outside. Of course, at nearly midnight, there was absolutely no one in the school.

“Are you sure we’re allowed to be here so late?” Caleb finally asked, his voice reverberating off tiles in shadow that he couldn’t even see.

Molly turned a little from where he was determinedly leading the way through the corridors and up the silent stairs, “Of course.” His hand, the one that wasn’t entwined with Caleb’s, reached into his shoulder bag and flashed a red lanyard with a faded, blurry picture of a far younger purple tiefling, “I’m staff. And you’re my guest.”

If he couldn’t see the staff badge for himself, Caleb wouldn’t have been able to believe that the loud, extravagant, naturally hedonistic singer he’d been dating for a month now was a teacher by day. The idea of Molly being an authority figure was like trying to imagine a fish climbing a tree or a shark swimming backwards. Something just wasn’t right about it.

But there was his name on the door they were approaching, Mr Tealeaf, neatly typed out in large, rounded letters surrounded by childish cartoons of paint brushes and easels, clearly added by whoever had made the sign in an attempt to make it brighter. But the stickers that had been placed around it with a heavy, generous hand and the graffiti style doodles done in loud, colourful marker were undoubtedly the work of Molly himself.

“Also I leave stuff in my classroom all the time,” Molly added, a little bashfully, “They gave me a key after the one time they found me trying to climb through the window. Someone called the police.”

Caleb had to smile at the mental image, “What did you forget that time?”

Molly suddenly seemed very interested in his keys as he put them in the door, “Uh, my phone.”

Caleb’s smile grew, “The same thing we’re having to come back here to get right this moment?”

Molly turned and poked him in the chest with a finger tipped by a long, deep red nail, playfully challenging, “What’s your point, Widogast?”

“Nothing at all,” Caleb showed his palms, his grin not fading at all.

Molly flicked his tail at him and disappeared into the classroom, “I wouldn’t bother but it’s got the cinema tickets on my email…”

Caleb nodded along, more absorbed in looking around. Even with the light off, the small space was a riot of muted colour, there wasn’t an inch of the walls that wasn’t covered in an art piece of some description. One was groaning under what looked like three classes worth of crookedly sewn embroidered patches, one dripped with just as many watercolours, one had bunting haphazardly strung up that boughed under a store’s worth of bead bracelets and paper flower garlands. Even things that couldn’t be pinned up found their place; the long banks of sinks that circled the room like a moat had sculptures standing sentinel, frozen in the act of listing slightly to the left or right.

Where there wasn’t displays of work there were boards on different artists and movements, one about Frida Kahlo backed by loud, patterned fabric, one about Van Gough set against a recreation of Starry Night done with twists of blue silk. The others were people Caleb had never heard of but he was sure he’d know everything he needed to after reading all of the carefully typed out squares of information.

Though the colour could only slightly be seen with the lack of light, Caleb could practically smell it. The scent of charcoal and pigment and fresh paper was on nearly everything, buoyed by strong coffee and sugary tea. Less pleasant was the slightest smell of stagnant water, probably left in paint trays and clinging to brushes, though it was mild enough that Caleb didn’t mind.

Molly went straight to his desk while Caleb was still staring, digging around in drawers that looked like they were overflowing until he came up with his phone, “There you are, you bastard. Yasha said she was going to super glue it to my hand if I left it at work again, let’s hope she’s forgotten that...”

Caleb made a soft noise of affirmation, ninety nine percent of his attention still on the room around him.

Molly gave a soft chuckle, “Do you like it? I know it weirds some people out, they can’t imagine me actually doing this as a job.”

Caleb’s eyes flickered over to Molly, managing to pull himself out of a sudden hyperfixation on L. S. Lowry. He allowed himself a long moment just to look at him, standing there in the half light. Though all they’d been planning to do was go to the pictures and get a few drinks afterwards, he was dressed as extravagantly as ever. Enough piercings to make his ears droop a little, a shirt made of nothing but glittering mesh patterned with stars over a tight vest and leather pants tucked into boots that went up to his knees. Not much on display but everything hinted at, his tattoos vibrant even in shadow. He looked as far away from a teacher as anyone could imagine.

But Caleb could see touches of him everywhere in the room they stood in. He saw him in the messiness of the desk but how he clearly knew where everything was regardless. He saw his guiding hand in every single work of art on the wall, he saw him in the gushing praise scribbled in red pen on the front of the pile of test papers near his computer. He saw him in the tin of biscuits right by his elbow, ready to be brought out at a moment’s notice for a child who was having a hard day or who’d achieved something after trying so hard.

Or a child who maybe hadn’t had any breakfast that day.

Caleb felt his lower lip wobble dangerously for a moment but he quickly brought it under control, managing to smile, “I don’t think it’s weird. I can’t imagine a job more perfect for you.”

Molly beamed at that, some pride warming his eyes now as he gently touched a piece of paper lying on his desk, a pencil drawing done in bright colours that was clearly meant to be himself done by a child that had clearly just been introduced to Cubism.

“Well,” he was even blushing a little, around the edges, “I do enjoy it. And that is about the nicest thing anyone’s said to me about my job.”

“Well, it’s true,” Caleb leaned against one of the tables, one hand awkwardly seizing his arm, though the smile on his face was undeniable, spreading across his face the more Molly kept looking at him like that.

Molly twirled his tail between his fingers. Was Caleb thinking wishfully or did he always do that when he was feeling charmed? His eyes roved over his desk, looking like he was trying to decide whether something was a good idea or whether it would come off as dorky.

“I...I have something for you,” he eventually grinned, eyes flickering up to Caleb, “Call it a prize for coming on this rescue mission with me.”

“Oh?” Caleb leaned forward slightly, hoping it might be a kiss.

Molly swept up, ringing slightly as he went with all his adornments, “My students were learning about mosaic and glass work? So we did a little jewellery making and seeing how I have to demo everything, I ended up with this…”

Caleb suddenly found something small and smooth in his hand. He looked to see a bracelet, a simple loop of black string with rounded, oblong beads in alternating sea green and vibrant blue.

“They’ll really bring out the colours of your eyes,” Molly murmured hopefully, “They always remind me of the sea so I guess I must subconsciously have been...thinking of you? While I made it? I must have always meant to give you it, even before I realised it.”

Caleb’s mouth opened, hoping words adequate to express just how much the gift meant to him would just come pouring out. Of course they didn’t, he was just left stammering until he stopped himself and just looked Molly in the eye as he slipped the bracelet over his skinny wrist.

“I love it, Molly. Thank you.”

Judging by Molly’s face, Caleb’s eyes must have said what his words couldn’t. That was when he got his kiss, sweet and gentle, coloured in moonlight.

And the bracelet would stay on his wrist all night. And the many dates they’d have after their slightly delayed trip to the cinema.

And the years they’d have together after that.

#modern au #art teacher molly #mollymauk tealeaf #caleb widogast #widomauk

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milomeepit · 4 years

Text

An Untitled Document (Roman Angst Oneshot)

Ship: Roceit, background Analogical TW: Depression, anxiety, past abuse mention, unhealthy habits, dysphoria mention, brief eating disorder, death mention, bad family past, brief past mention of violence Word Count: 2k AN: ... yep.

Roman groaned as he tapped his fingers against the keyboard of his laptop. The sunlight streaming in through the window left a blinding white glare on the upper half of the screen, but he didn’t quite care enough to be bothered getting up and closing the curtain. He instead angled it down, sinking lower into the wooden dining chair. His back would surely complain later, but a shower would probably fix any aches or pains from the awkward position.

He wondered if he should get up and walk around for a bit, stretch his legs and give himself a break from his (apparently fruitless) efforts to work. But, then again, it seemed wrong to give himself a break when he hadn’t really done anything.

He had eaten breakfast- if cold leftover pizza and too-strong coffee counted as breakfast- and fed his pets. He’d even played with the cats for a while, and that had left a fleeting smile on his face as he sat down at the dining table with another cup of coffee and a bottle of soda to sip at while he worked.

The last dregs of coffee sat untouched in the cup, now cold and cloudy, while the soda was half-gone already. His teeth felt rough and slimy, coated in the absurd amounts of sugar from the unhealthy drink. The document on screen hadn’t changed since he sat down an hour and a half ago, the cursor blinking and taunting him. Sure, he’d written and rewritten and deleted a few hundred words, but nothing he’d written seemed good enough.

Writing was supposed to be his passion, the thing he could still grab and hold close to his chest when things got rough. It was all he had left at this point. He couldn’t dance anymore, not with the weak knees he’d inherited from his mother, and his own growing ankle issues from several years of working on his feet for whole days with no breaks. He couldn’t remember the last time he performed a song or in a play, the foggy memories of hot stage lights and elaborate costumes and giggling, whispered conversations in dressing rooms now leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Drawing and painting was an option, still, but they were never really his, not after the ridicule he’d received through highschool from one particularly sharp-tongued art teacher.

Roman’s stomach growled, and he grimaced, glancing at the clock. Only eleven o’clock. He couldn’t eat until one, at the very least. He couldn’t let himself slip into comfort eating again, not when he still had a generously padded belly, not when flab swung off the bottom of his arms, not when his back fat poked unattractively out of the bottom of his binder, not when-

He shook his head, as if to clear it like one of the Etch A Sketch boards his nephew loved. He was in a bad enough headspace right now without spiralling down into a dysphoric, self-body-hating hellscape.

He instead turned his attention back to his phone, which sat on the table between him and his laptop, and continued scrolling blankly through social media. Memes and posts and videos flashed past his eyes, some of them drawing a faint smirk or an amused huff. He sent a few to Dee. He was well aware that his fiance was at work, but some of them would hopefully give him a smile when he went on break later.

He set his phone down again and took an absentminded swig from the bottle of soda. He winced as it grated against his teeth, the sugar almost hurting his teeth as it swirled down his throat. He ran his tongue over his teeth, prodding at them gently. He hissed sharply as he got to the loose one at the bottom of his mouth. Adults probably weren’t meant to have loose teeth, he thought to himself. He probably needed to see a dentist. When he could afford it. If he could afford it.

11:11am. Roman spent a few seconds trying to think of a wish, but before his mind could grasp a solid thought, the clock ticked over, and the moment was gone. It was all rubbish, anyway. Wishes didn’t come true, and life was cruel to those who didn’t deserve it. Dee was one of the best people he’d ever met, and certainly his favourite, yet he was a ball of anxiety and guilt complexes. He deserved to feel confident about himself, to love his laugh and his soft tummy and his small stature that put him at the perfect height for cuddling, to love his loud way of speaking and his passion for those he cared about. Roman certainly loved them, more than words could say.

He was jolted from his thoughts by his phone buzzing with a message from Dee. He must have been on break already. Roman had yet to pin down the break times scattered throughout his shift, so he never knew exactly when his beloved would be online during the day.

snakememesaremadeofthese [11:16]: good morning darling <3 how did you sleep? cocoa_crowns [11:16]: hi, love <33 alright, how’s work going? snakememesaremadeofthese [11:16]: oh, you know, same old same old. It’s.. a day pft snakememesaremadeofthese [11:17]: what are you up to? cocoa_crowns [11:17]: nothing much really, just dishes and laundry

That was a complete lie, but Roman couldn’t quite face telling Dee he hadn’t touched the chores they discussed last night. He fully intended to do them before Dee got home, that was for certain! Just... not right now.

snakememesaremadeofthese [11:17]: so, are you working this weekend or? cocoa_crowns [11:17]: i havent gotten a shift request yet so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ snakememesaremadeofthese [11:17]: all good, that means we can stay home over my long weekend, do some cleaning and stuff.

Roman let out a soft whine. He’d honestly been hoping that he would get a job request for the weekend, between rough finances and missing his older brother. Logan seemed happy to let them stay at his and Virgil’s house over the weekend when Roman was working, though that was likely because Roman was working for Virgil.

At least Dee usually didn’t seem to mind hanging out at their place while Roman was working. He spent most of his time with Logan and Virgil’s three year old son, Patton. Patton, for his part, adored Dee as if he’d hung the moon and stars in the sky with his own hand. It was cute to see, even if a tiny part of Roman stung with jealousy over being replaced as Patton’s favourite. He genuinely did love seeing the two of them cuddled up on the couch together, playing with toys or watching TV or talking.

It made him excited for the idea of having children, in all honesty. Dee had made his desire to one day have kids clear pretty early on, and Roman had to say he agreed. For a long time, he hated the idea of having children- mostly because he didn’t want to be pregnant, the very idea of it set off his dysphoria like an alarm bell- but he didn’t mind the idea of raising a child with Dee.

Speaking of... he turned back to the computer, squinting at the bright white screen. It was meant to be a story about adoption and found families and unconditional love and hope, but... he just couldn’t get it to click. No matter what he wrote, the tone didn’t feel right for what he was trying to hit. It was just... Wrong, and he hated himself for it.

Writing was meant to be the one thing. His thing. But it just wouldn’t flow, no matter how hard he tried, or what tips and tricks he tested out, or how many breaks he took, or what projects he tried to work on. He loved these stories and characters with his whole heart, and he knew people would be interested in this story- after all, he’d gotten a great reception from the first installment in his planned series. He could talk about them for hours, gush about his plans and ideas and characters, but when it came to actually writing them?

Not a chance.

His heart ached. He felt like he was spinning in the same circles as he had been for months. New house, an (ex boyfriend) friend turned vaguely irritating housemate, new pets, a possible new job that would pay well but he was certain he would loathe- despite Dee’s company during breaks- all of these changes were throwing him off rhythm, and while he was sure that they were for the best, and long term, they would help him live a Happy Life, it was upsetting.

A small, shameful part of him wanted to go home. Not home back to the shared house he had been miserable in, despite only living there for a few short months, not home back to Logan and Virgil’s house, but back to the house he grew up in. It was filthy and toxic, and the people there weren’t much better, but it was familiar. It was regular. He knew how to navigate the treacherous landscape of rotting food left piled in the kitchen, of insults screamed over minute irritations, of the stench from medical issues improperly treated, of prescription medications abused and leaving the mother who was meant to protect him in a drug induced haze, of his father bellowing and throwing things and breaking precious objects and walls (and, in some terrifying cases, people), of the two middle brothers fighting and not understanding why it upset him so. He knew how to try and keep the peace, and how to cope when he failed, as was so often the case in that household. He knew who to talk to and who to avoid in that neighborhood, who to run to if he got in a fight, who to stand up against and who to back down from. The scars from knife wounds in his youth had taught him lessons more valuable than his rundown school ever had.

He didn’t realise that he was crying until a fat tear plopped onto the dining table, narrowly missing his phone screen. He hated that he missed it. He hated that he missed his father, despite swearing off contact with him after coming away from their last conversation with a black eye. He hated that both he and Logan were deliberately keeping their mother at arm’s length, trying to save themselves from the pain of her likely-approaching death. He hated that his other brothers were good people, people he loved, and he couldn’t even go near them anymore out of fear for their parents.

Roman glanced at the clock blinking in the lower corner of his computer screen. An hour and a half had passed since Dee had messaged him, and he hadn’t moved from his slouched position at the dining table. He probably had roughly three hours to do everything else he needed to do before Dee got home. That should be plenty of time. Should be.

He noticed numbly that he hadn’t yet changed out of his pyjamas, just thrown on the cat hoodie he’d bought at a convention a few years ago to show it to the kittens and see if they would cuddle up in the large pocket on the front. He probably needed to shower, as well. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d bathed.

... Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. He knew he’d had a bath at least semi-recently, because he remembered using one of the bath bombs that he and Dee had gotten at the pharmacy near Logan’s house the other weekend.

He twisted a finger into his hair, pulling his fringe down over his eyes to inspect it. It didn’t feel too greasy, and it looked fine. He was probably fine. Though he should at least wash his face, to deal with his blotchy cheeks and red eyes, if nothing else. Maybe slap on some makeup and go for a walk in the pleasant weather outside. Take the dog with him, wander around town a bit.

As he stared out the window at Dee’s dog, who was sprinting wildly up and down her tether, probably chasing some bug or lizard, he felt his heart sink. He knew he wasn’t going to do any of that. Pipe dreams for someone with far more energy and functionality than he possessed lately.

So, instead, trying his best to ignore the looming sense of dread he felt, and the anxiety he could feel building over Dee’s return and subsequent disappointment over his lack of productivity, he turned his still tear-blurred gaze back to the too-bright screen of the laptop, readied his fingers over the keyboard, and attempted once again to write.

Depression, anxiety, past abuse mention, unhealthy habits, dysphoria mention, brief eating disorder, death mention, bad family past, brief past mention of violence

#milo writes #roman sanders #sanders sides #deceit sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roceit #analogical #depression #dysphoria mention #death mention #violence mention #anxiety #fanfic #fanfiction #thomas sanders #fun fact roman cried because i did :)#fun fact the second i pretty much want to die right now :)

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renaroo · 4 years

Text

Some Times (Time and Time Again) (3/8)

Disclaimer: Booster Gold, Blue Beetle, and associated characters are the creative property of DC Comics. Warnings: Canon shaken not stirred, Heavy canon references to Booster Gold (2009-2011) and Blue Beetle (2016-2018) Pairings: Boostle Rating: T Synopsis: Booster Gold and the rest of the Time Masters are still straightening up things in the wake of the most recent universal Rebirth. But Rip Hunter is still missing in the aftermath, leaving Booster in charge with Skeets, Michelle, and Rani. But there’s a distraction for Booster, one he can’t keep himself from ignoring.

Ted Kord, miraculously, is still alive. And that makes everything more complicated than Michael could have ever imagined.

A/N: So look. First of all, I apologize to everyone who were looking forward to this fic before I took a very long hiatus this year. It’s a weird journey to go over, but basically I became a public school teacher and got a job in the middle of this year and the time flew by very fast. Ironically.

Does that mean I want to leave you guys hanging for months like that again? No, but stuff does happen. I’m trying to use my winter break to write as much as possible while still getting stuff ready for my kiddos, but priorities will lie where they lie and I’m sorry if that means leaving you hanging again. I totally get if you want to check out until the final update so that you can read the whole fic. Hopefully I’ll plan out better and write it all before posting to start with. So hindsight is.... 2020 you might say.

Special thanks to @fred-astairs-dark-impulses, @shibascarf, @mcbangle, @spiralcass, sinkburrito, @secretlystephaniebrown, starchaser22. doingsuper, Ithildyn and ivettxwrites for the support and kind words! That means so much to me, and I cannot apologize enough for being one of THOSE fanfic writers which I most certainly am and leaving you hanging for so long.

Little Girl Lost

Rani doesn’t necessarily intend to go against Michael and Michelle’s attempts to get her to sleep. Sometimes, things simply happen and there is no stopping it.

For Rani, it’s the need to make certain her adopted family — her new and most recent adopted family, that is — are still safe, alive, and not leaving her alone again that she cannot stop.

With her eyes only closed for a moment or two after hitting her pillow, Rani springs awake, ignores the colorfully decorated bedroom that is exclusively hers, and barrels out without so much as slippers on her feet.

Huffing and puffing, Rani races down the corridor toward the laboratory and kitchen of Time Lab. She only slows to a stop once reaching the disarray of the laboratory and overhearing the close by sounds of Michael and Michelle talking to one another.

Her heart races despite the calming assurance that she’s not alone. There should be three adults in their home instead of only two, and that causes a pang in her chest she barely knows what to do with.

Taking a deep breath, Rani glances around to the broken up laboratory and thinks about how upset poor Boppy would be if he was still around.

Rani bites her bottom lip until it hurts. She hates thinking of Poppy in the past tense. She hates it. And she can’t stop it.

She has played this game too many times before already despite being so young.

“Rani. I don’t believe you should be wandering around the laboratory. It is still a danger zone for the time being,” the familiar drone of Skeets comes as the tiny bot flies into her vicinity.

Looking to the golden sheen of Michael’s trusty assistant, Rani can’t help but feel that something is off. Something more than usual for Time Lab.

“Skeets, would you know if Boppy came back?” she asks.

“Doctor Hunter would likely make himself known to us if and when the time was right for his return,” the robot answers methodically.

Rani’s brows knit together. “So… you can’t do it?”

“That is not what I said,” he answers without answering anything at all.

Biting her lip once again, only now more in thought than in anxiety, Rani thinks about Boppy — Rip — and how he would make himself known.

With a slight hum in her throat, Rani walks past Skeets and makes her way to the large chalkboard still standing amongst the ruins of the Time Lab. She reaches the board quickly and begins scanning the blank slate for any signs of change — any at all. Her eyes fall, rather quickly, to the bottom right corner where a scribbled message causes her heart to race again. This time not in fear or worry, but in precious joy and excitement.

“Boppy!” she barely musters over her own gasp as she reaches for the board and touches it cautiously with the tips of her fingers.

Ted Kord is the key.

A chill runs down Rani’s spine, a thrill overcomes her pattering heart.

“Boppy wanted me to know…” she surmises. Her eyes squint in thought. It is her corner of the board, where she has been caught a few times sketching unicorns and butterflies. For Boppy to write there out of all the space on the board, surely means the message is for her and her alone in that moment.

And Ted Kord. That is not any name, that is someone very important and special. He is Michael’s most important friend, the one he talks about in his biggest and wildest stories to Rani, and the person whose name comes up the most often in the history books when she searches for information about her dear Mikey.

Rani thinks, just maybe, she understands what she needs to do. And for the first time since the big explosion, Rani feels calm and excited. She has a direction to go in and it means all the world to her.

It probably means the whole universe if it’s important enough for Boppy to leave it on the board for her.

“I should immediately tell Booster about this!” Skeets determines in a flurry, beginning to zip off.

He doesn’t make it far in the direction of the kitchen, however, because once he sees that Rani is going deeper into the lab, he changes course.

“Rani! Please, the laboratory is still very dangerous. We haven’t gotten very far in the cleaning process so… Rani. Rani! Michael would not be happy with this. Please return.”

For the first time, Rani thinks she might understand why Michael ignores so much of what Skeets says.

“It’s not a message for Mikey,” she informs the robot with a prideful huff. “It’s for me. Boppy wanted me to do something so that’s what I’m doing.”

“Whatever this is, I believe it is a terrible idea,” Skeets announces.

Despite her near constant quivering and skittish nature after the explosion of the Flashpoint, Rani is constantly aware of her adopted family around her. As much help as she isn’t in the cleaning and retrieving process, she knows that there are several things Michelle and Mikey have yet to contain.

Like the wormhole in the cupboard.

Rani’s knowledge of theoretical physics was far less than her knowledge about every episode of Zoo Crew Michael had gotten her on DVD. But she did know that one time, while working on the time sphere with Michael, Boppy had shaken a wrench and talked about using wormholes for transport.

And what did Michael and Michelle use to leave the Time Lab when they needed to? Transport.

It only makes sense. Even to her under ten mind.

“Rani,” Skeets is beginning to wind up into yet another speech just as Rani’s fingers brushed the steel frame of the cupboard.

“It’s okay, Skeets,” Rani assures the robot as she opens the door. “Mikey said it would be okay.”

“That is not quite reassuring,” the robot retorts just as they enter into the whitish glow.

Skeets, unfortunately, is wise beyond his years as it turns out.

Rani feels a pressure build up against her body the moment the light engulfs her. It’s pressing on her, stopping her body from breathing or screaming, compacting her, squeezing her. She immediately feels blood flushing to her face, heating up and making her eyes swim in their sockets as tears begin rolling out.

This isn’t even close to what she had been expecting when it came to transport and wormholes. Mikey and Michelle never mentioned it.

“Rani!” Skeets’ electronic voice carries, even as Rani’s ears pop with the pressure.

It’s hard to see with the blurring whiteness, but soon the golden swatch of Skeets is upon her. A silver arm extends out from a slot on his underside and Skeets begins reaching out.

The pressure feels like it is building up behind Rani’s nose and into her mouth, but she focuses just enough to reach out and be snatched by Skeets’ extended hand.

The moment they connect and make contact, the whirling of the wormhole around them comes to a stop.

All the pressure that had built up against Rani releases with a terrifying POP and she not only can scream, but she can hear herself scream as her butt hits a cold concrete floor and slides to a stop.

She’s shaking uncontrollably and her scream is cut short into an unexpected but high pitched wail.

Even with daylight filtering into the room she is in and bulbs on overhead, the new place Rani is in might as well as be a pit with the sudden change from the wormhole’s eerie glow.

Her body is no longer pushing against itself or into places, it feels like jello against her bones, and if it weren’t for Skeets actively holding onto her wrist she might have already collapsed.

All in all, the transport may have taken five seconds. Perhaps not even that.

Rani huffs and chokes on air as her vision adjusts. She knows she’s in a new place, she knows that her transportation experience is over, but everything else is a painful and terrifying reality.

Skeets lowers his hovering and comes close to her line of sight.

“I apologize, Rani,” Skeets says in his familiar robotic tone. “Transporting is not easy on smaller bodies like yours and mine. And without a direct destination somehow directed to it, it can take longer than expected. I am sure with your claustrophobia and neuroticism about destructive forces this was not an easy or simple journey—“

Not even waiting for the tiny robot to finish, Rani flings her arms around his metallic body and draws him in for a a calming hug. She feels his cool siding against her cheek and catches her breath finally.

Skeets seems to sputter in place for a moment, a whirring noise coming from his internal gadgetry.

Then, affectionately, the same metallic clamp that had held Rani by the arm before pats her back.

There is calm between them, if only for a moment.

It ends when a heavy door pushes against its hinges and hit the metal walls on the other side of the room they’re in. The lights immediately turn on, heavy and loud, as a man’s voice carries.

“No, I’m telling you, it was weird,” the voice says as boots walk across the concrete floor. “How weird? I don’t know, Bea, weird enough for me to call you and ask about it.”

The hairs on Rani’s neck prickle and she looks wide eyed into the direction of the noise as she lets go of Skeets. Her heart picks up even more from its already frantic pace as she sees the daunting shadow of the man walking across the room. It has been a very long time since she has been this close to anyone who wasn’t Mikey, Michelle, or Boppy. And the last one had been a Nazi, which means super duper bad person from her understanding.

Her regrets of leaving are building up rather quickly.

“No, I don’t know how you can get a hold of him, it’s just… I’m worried. And…” The man stops and stares right at her and Skeets.

He’s not a tall man compared to everyone else in the Time Lab. Not short like she is, but not as tall. His hair is a mousy brown, sticking up in several places but especially underneath the yellow goggles on his head and over his ears in a way that reminds Rani of Boppy just a bit. His face is full of expression, big eyes and a roundness to his cheeks that makes Rani want to see him smile.

And every wrinkle on his forehead is gaining length as his eyebrows race quicker to his hairline.

“Hey, uh, I’ve gotta go,” the man says into the phone pressed to his head. “Yeah, I know it’s sudden. But there’s like…. A child in my lab. And I’m mildly freaking out about how weird my day is. Tell Tora I said hi.”

After a moment, the phone pressed against the side of the man’s head stops glowing and he’s left in place with a paper bag that smells much better than Mikey’s cooking in the other.

“Okay,” the man says, taking a deep breath, “strange child staring at me in my lab not saying a word…”

“Skeets?” Rani whispers, turning her head ever so slightly toward the robot without taking her eyes off the man.

Skeets whirs in that happy way that seems like a recorder starting before circling in the air once and making it to Rani’s other side. “Rani, this is Theodore Kord, formerly known as the Blue Beetle. He is the CEO and prime technologist of Kord Industries, begun by—“

“Whoa whoa whoa!” the man calls out, holding out his hands with as many fingers as he can spare extended. “First of all: Skeets? What the hell? I just saw you. Second of all: ixnay onyay ethay eetlebay, okayay?” He then lowers his hands as he shifts toward looking squarely at Rani once again. “Of all the third: …hey? Are you okay? You uhh… seem to be a child in my super unsafe and barely halfway managed laboratory. Which is probably as new for you as it is for me.”

Rani, finally catching her breath, pushes up from the floor. The wheels are turning in her head as she holds the gaze of this mystery man. “Blue Beetle…” she gaps in wonder.

He lets out a grunt of frustration and glances at Skeets. “Now, see? You’ve doxxed me, Skeets!”

“It is not a difficult task, Mister Kord,” Skeets retorts shortly.

“Well, I went to a Big Belly Burger dressed like this, so I see your point! BWAH HA HA HA!”

Rani is unsure of herself and concerned until that laughter hits the air.

It’s not like any laugh she’s heard before, like a rumbling explosion from deep inside someone. The kind of laughter that can’t wait to escape someone and infect everyone around them.

One time, while tucking her in, Mikey had told Rani that his best friend Ted had the greatest laugh in the whole world.

And, now, Rani is hearing it.

“Ted Kord is KEY!” she remembers the message out loud.

The former Blue Beetle abruptly ends his rumbling laugh and glances toward Rani curiously. “I’m what? OOF!”

Ted’s question is barely out of his mouth before Rani is crashing into his waist, wrapping herself around him tight and squeezing with all her might. It’s the kind of hug Mikey gives her, and she hopes Ted Kord can tell it. The confusion in his utterances suggests that he probably can’t tell.

“Okay, help me out here, Skeets, I’m mildly freaking out,” Ted says.

“Thank you, Mister Kord,” Rani says with jubilation. “Thank you for having the best laugh in the whole world, and being the bravest man, and for being Mikey’s bestest friend ever!”

“I guess this is where I say… you’re welcome? And then ask you your name or something,” Ted responds.

Looking up, smiling the best she can, Rani answers, “I’m Rani.”

“You’re Rani,” Ted repeats. Suddenly, there’s a glint in his eyes and he sets his bag and his phone down on the floor behind him. “Rani… Rani… Booster’s appointment or whatever earlier. And you’re with Skeets. Who is not being helpful whatsoever, by the by.”

“I apologize, Mister Kord, but I am limited by the… uncertainty of many factors currently,” Skeets admitted. “I do not believe Booster Gold has tested the effects of this meeting yet.”

Ted’s brows squeeze together, causing worry lines to surface on his forehead. “Tested? Booster? I didn’t even think he tested the products he shilled for.” He then puts a steady hand on the top of Rani’s head. “And you, pipsqueak—“

“I’m Rani,” she reminds him firmly.

“I’ve never heard of you before. What’re you doing hanging around with Booster?”

Rani blinks through her confusion. It’s such a strange question. And certainly nothing close to what she has thought of before. She’s with Booster and at Time Lab because… Isn’t that where she belongs now? With no planet and no adopted family and no—

Her breath catches in her throat and she’s shaking slightly. She catches herself doing it, but she can’t stop it.

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Ted says, lowering down to one knee in front of her and getting to her level. His jovial face is all scrunched up in concern now. “Calm down there, kiddo. I didn’t mean to get you worked up.”

“I am afraid she has been through a lot, Mister Kord,” Skeets excuses.

“Apparently,” Ted says, a tinge of something more scrutinizing and suspicious in the corner of his eye.

Taking a deep breath, Rani grabs hold of Ted’s shoulder. When he looks her in the eyes, Rani says gently, “Mikey takes care of me. And… I take care of him.”

Ted looks her over before offering a soft and genuine smile. “Sounds like tough work,” he says solemnly. “But you seem pretty tough.”

Rani considers the ways her teeth chatter and her heart races and her chest tightens so much and so hard. And she thinks that tough is like Boppy or Mikey saving the day or Michelle defending their home. “Really?” she questions.

“Absolutely,” Ted says. “If you’re looking for Booster, Skeets should’ve told you that you’re late by quite a bit.”

Warmth spreads through Rani’s chest and she feels her shoulders roll back more confidently than they’ve been in a while. She is pretty tough when she thinks about it.

“Say, I actually ran through this grease bucket called Big Belly Burger to get the fries with Booster’s stupid pretty face on it,” Ted jokes, throwing a thumb back toward the brown paper bag. “A joke for… whenever he gets back here. I can’t eat that kind of stuff anymore… but something tells me if you’re hanging out with Booster he’s put you on a strict diet of whatever your adorable face asks or something.” He pauses for Rani’s giggles and, with a soft smile, adds, “So do you want something to eat?”

“I didn’t know Mikey was on food…” Rani admits, grabbing for the bag as Ted Kord offers them to her.

“Wow, I feel like that’s the only thing most people do know about him!” Ted laughs at the irony. “For a good minute there, it felt like it was the only thing I knew about him, too.”

Rani downs the fries quicker than even she expected. They’re greasy and gross like a lot of the food from this century that Mikey complains about. But that’s also kind of good about it in a way.

By the time she’s licking her fingers, Ted is on some strange, boxy device, fiddling with the buttons and lights on it.

“What’s that?” she asks.

“My Justice League communicator. The old version,” he admits. “I’m trying to get a hold of Booster and… uh… figure things out.”

Confused herself, Rani tilts her head. “But why don’t you know already, Ted Kord?” she asks him suspiciously. “You’re supposed to be the key!”

“To what?” he asks right back, looking up from the communicator with a brow on high alert. “And what do you mean by this key stuff anyway? Is that something Booster said to you?”

“No, it’s on Boppy’s board,” she answers firmly.

“Caution, Rani,” Skeets chides, floating in on the conversation. “You must remember the rules. Who knows what dangers can be unleashed on all of reality by testing them.”

With a gasp, Rani claps her greasy fingers over her mouth.

“Hey, now, that’s a lot of pressure to put on a kid, Skeets,” Ted argues. “And what are you even going on about?”

Uncertain of what to say back, Rani bites on her bottom lip and looks at Skeets. But the robot does not seem to be all that concerned about answering.

“It will be best if we wait for Booster Gold to answer,” Skeets assures her instead.

“I hope he brings drinks like we promised,” Ted mutters with a roll of his eyes. “After all this excitement today I feel like I earned it.”

Rani’s tiny heart races in her chest for a moment, regret and worry building up as If she had been taking stock for her anxiety to unleash in that moment. Boppy left her his message, she is doing the right thing. Right?

The excitement in her frame doesn’t have time to subside, however, as a large boom and flash occur in the same room as them.

Ted covers his eyes and tries to turn in the direction of the excitement. “Booster?” he calls out.

“For the good of all reality,” a booming, yet hauntingly familiar voice calls from the light as it dulls around them, “and for the survival of the multiverse…”

Once the light is dulled significantly, Rani blinks and can make out the slick black armor of the tall and imposing man across the room from them. And, more importantly, she can make out the shape and direction of the gun he is holding as well.

“Oh, fu—“ Ted says, getting to his feet.

“… Ted Kord, you must die!” Black Beetle snarls before pulling the trigger.

#writing #dc fic #DC: Some Times (Time and Time Again)#Rani #Ted Kord #Blue Beetle #Skeets #Booster Gold #Michael Jon Carter #Black Beetle

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thefloorisbalaclava · 5 years

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All That Really Belongs to Us Is Time - Chapter 1 - Arthur Morgan x Belle Kennedy

A/N: I’ve been so nervous about posting this, but it’s finally happening! I hope someone out there enjoys it! Just a little warning: this will be a very slow burn. There will be little moments here and there, but those moments will leave you wanting. Trust me, I’m angry with myself. I want them together more than anything, but I’m waiting for the perfect time.

Okay, enough blabbing. Enjoy!

Chapter 2

Belle stared out the window, wondering why she ever agreed to stay late and help set up this new exhibit. She was excited about it, but she was tired and just wanted to be in bed.

“Belle, snap out of it. We need your help here.” The curator snapped his fingers and Belle jolted out of her daze. She reached for an item but he stopped her. “Gloves, please. You know better.”

“Yes, sir.” She rolled her eyes and put on her white cloth gloves. “Where's this stuff from anyway?” she asked.

“This stuff is from the Wild West. Well, from the end of an era as we knew it. 1899” He handed her a few things and she was fascinated already. She dug through the boxes, picking up pistols and photographs, some of which had writing on the back. Her boss cleared his throat and she looked at him. “It's not for you to just stare at, Miss Kennedy. Get on with it.”

“You're telling me that none of this interests you? It's from so long ago but not that long ago, you know?” At the bottom of one of the boxes was a journal that was in pretty good shape to be from 1899. The leather was a bit worn and the pages were yellowed, but it wasn't falling apart or anything. She was about to open it when the curator called her name again. “What?”

“Put this over there.” He nodded to a spot near the window and she did as she was told, her eyes constantly going back to that journal.

“Do we know who this journal belonged to?”

“I don't think it matters. What matters is that you put it where it belongs before tomorrow.” She loved her job but her boss could be a dick sometimes.

“You're no fun.” She picked up the journal and placed it on a table with a few other items. Her boss stepped out and looked at the things from outside the window, how guests would be looking at them, and gave her a thumbs up.

“I guess you can go home now,” he said as he walked back into the space. “I know I am. Goodnight. Don't forget to lock up.” He walked out, leaving her alone...with that journal. She couldn't understand why it seemed to call to her. Her curiosity eventually got the best of her and she picked the book up, opening it carefully.

“Hey, Belle, what you got there?” She jumped at the sound of her coworkers voice, putting the book down quickly. “Did that come in with all the rest of this stuff?” he asked.

“Yeah, doesn't look like it though, does it?” She removed the gloves then went to leave the area, looking back at the journal. Her coworker moved in front of it and picked it up. “You gonna read it?”

“I want to but...wouldn't that feel like invading someone's privacy?”

“Whoever that belongs to has been dead for over a hundred years now…” Her friends face changed and she squinted. “What is it?”

“Did you have any ancestors that may have ran with a gang in the Wild West?” he asked, eyeing her strangely then looking back at the pages.

“What? How would I know? Why are you asking?” She walked over to him, her interest piqued.

“Because…” He turned the book so she could see what he was looking at. “...you have quite the doppelganger.” Belle almost reached out to take the book but remembered she wasn't wearing gloves. The likeness was uncanny. It was like she was staring at herself. “This A.M. fella seemed to really be taken with a woman who looked just like you.”

“That's…” She couldn't find the words for it but suddenly she felt flushed and as if the room was spinning. “I need to sit.” She stumbled out of the exhibit and her coworker followed closely.

“I didn't mean to overwhelm you. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. I'm not overwhelmed. It's just...it's been a long day,” she lied. The longer she had looked at that journal, the stranger she had felt but she wouldn't mention that to him. It was more than just seeing someone who looked just like her--it was something else, something deeper.

“You still with me?” He waved in front of her face and she blinked a few times then smiled. “Thought I lost you there.”

“Nope. I'm still here. Not going anywhere. I can't or our boss would lose his mind.” They both laughed then he helped her to her feet. “I'm gonna head home.” But not before getting that journal she thought to herself.

She reassured her coworker that she was fine at least ten times before he finally let her go. Before leaving, she used her key to get back into the exhibit. She looked around before slipping her gloves back on and picking up the book. She put it into a protective carrier and slipped it into her bag. It felt good being bad sometimes. No one would miss it since she would be in before anyone else to get things ready for the big reveal.

----------

The entire way home, Belle couldn't keep her eyes from wandering to her bag sitting on the passenger seat. It was calling to her. She couldn't understand why. Maybe it had something to do with the sketches of the women who looked like her…

No.

She pulled into her parking spot and ran up the stairs to her small flat. She threw her other things on the floor but carried her bag carefully to her room and set it on her bed. Without the gloves, she opened the bag and took out the protective carrier. She opened it and let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. The journal was really here...in her home.

“Gloves,” she whispered, grabbing the gloves and removing the journal carefully, immediately opening it to the pages of sketches. As she flipped the pages, she didn't notice the dried flower that fell to the floor. She touched the sketches lightly and smiled. “Who are you?”

Belle got lost in the pages of this journal. Whoever A.M. was had an amazing story to tell and she was only getting a small piece of it. She had wondered what happened to him and why the last few pages seemed to be written by someone else. There was a connection there but she was too tired to figure it out now.

She placed the book back into the carries then removed the gloves. Standing from her bed, she looked down and spotted the dried flower. “Where did you come from?” As she bent to pick it up, she heard an eerie sound and looked behind her. Nothing. She was being paranoid. There was a rush a freezing air that rushed past her as she touched the flower but before she could react there was nothing but dark.

Cold. Freezing. She was laying in something cold and wet and she didn't like it at all. She opened her eyes slowly only to find that she was surrounded by white. Snow. But it hadn't been snowing when she got home. If she remembered correctly, it had been unseasonably warm.

Sitting up, she held her head which was throbbing for some reason. She looked around and found that she seemed to be in the middle of a forest. How did she get here? She pushed herself up against a tree and stood quietly trying to get her bearings.

“Hello!” she called. “I...I need help!” She listened for footsteps but heard nothing but the wind howling. God, it was cold. She needed to get somewhere warm. She wished she could figure out where she was. The sound of a twig snapping sounded behind her and she turned back with a gasp. It could be a person...or it could be an animal. She was in the middle of a forest after all. She turned away from the sound and hugged herself before walking as quickly as she could.

There were no lights, no sounds of cars passing that could tell her if she was near any kind of road...or civilization. Another sound behind her and now she was running--running and crying. She was just at home. Was she dreaming? Oh God, please let me be dreaming, she thought.

She ran and ran until she heard a horse? No. That couldn't be right. She heard it again and ran towards the sound. “Hello?!” Stupidly, she turned to look back and ran into what felt like a tree. She hit the snow with a thud and focused on what towered over her. Or more like who.

“What the hell?” the man said in a gruff voice, shining his lantern down on her. His eyes widened when he realized just what had hit him. “Miss...are you okay?” He surveyed her and looked even more puzzled. She scooted herself back away from him. “I ain't gonna hurt you…” When he saw that she wasn't going to answer, he sighed and rolled his eyes then began taking his coat off. She stood up quickly, shivering.

“D-don't you even think about it!” she snapped and he stopped to look at her. “I know s-self-defense!”

“What are you talkin’ about, lady?” He shrugged his coat off and held it out to her. “You wanna freeze to death?” Belle looked at the coat then back at him. She walked over slowly until she was standing in front of him. He sighed again and moved closer until she tensed. “I told you I ain't gonna hurt you.” He carefully wrapped the coat around her then backed away.

“W-who are you? Where the hell am I?”

“You're in Colter, ma'am. Now...you wanna tell me what the hell you're doin’ out here in such a strange getup?” He pointed the lantern at her again and she squinted against the light.

“Colter? Where the hell is that?” She pulled the coat around her tighter as the wind blew. “And who the hell are you? Why is there snow? It wasn't snowing when I got home. It's too warm for snow.”

“It feel warm to you?” he asked sarcastically and she glared. “I'm Arthur. Arthur Morgan.” At the time, she didn't have the chance to put two and two together. She was cold, scared, and lost. “And you?”

“I'm Belle.” She let out a shivering breath and hugged herself tighter.

“All right, Miss Belle, we better get you somewhere warm.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

He looked at her, offended. “Fine. Stay here and freeze to death.”

“Arthur, what are you doing?” Another man came into view. He seemed to be a little bigger than this Arthur guy. The new man looked at her, his eyes widening as well. “Who is she?” he asked, “And why is she out here?”

“She's-”

“My name is Belle. Who are you?” This man looked friendly enough, with his gentle looking face and beautiful, black hair.

“I'm Charles. Are you lost?”

“Obviously. I don't even know how I got here. I was at home in bed and then...I was here.” She began to cry and the men got a little uncomfortable. “Wait a minute…” She felt her pockets, her bra, but nothing. “No phone.”

“...we can't just leave her here,” she heard Charles whisper.

“I know that but…” Arthur looked at her and stopped talking when he realized she had been watching the two of them.

“You guys got a car or something? You can just drop me off somewhere. I'll see myself home.”

“Car?”

“I think the cold might be gettin’ to her,” Arthur said to Charles. He turned to her and held out his arm slowly. “We can take you somewhere...at least for tonight. You'll die out here.”

“I gotta get home. I have the new exhibit to premiere tomorrow!” She covered her face and cried some more.

“Just grab her,” Arthur whispered.

“Miss, you need to come with us,” Charles said cautiously. Belle didn't know what to do anymore. She looked at both men through her tears. They were both carrying weapons and even if they weren't they could easily overpower her. They didn't look like they wanted to hurt her but that's how a lot of people get lured in. “We have somewhere warm you can stay and tomorrow we'll see about getting you home.”

“Why should I trust either of you?”

“With all due respect, miss, you'll die if you stay out here. Now, stop bein’ stubborn and come with us,” the man named Arthur said. Charles looked at him and shook his head. “What?”

“Fine, but if either of you try anything I'll kick both your asses.” Charles smirked and Arthur shrugged. “I mean it. I can take both of you down. Doesn't matter how big you are.”

“Whatever you say, little lady,” Arthur said, amused.

“My name is Belle.”

“Alright, alright. Miss Belle. I apologize. Come with us.” She squeezed herself between the two men and tried to keep up with their strides. Her shoes were soaked through and she could hardly feel her feet but she wasn't going to complain to them. She stopped in her tracks when she realized they were leading her to horses.

“Uh...horses in this weather? No car?” She shivered and hugged herself.

“You need help gettin’ on up or what?” Arthur asked standing in front of her. She shrugged and he lifted her easily, placing her toward the back of the saddle and waited for her to swing her leg over to get himself on. He turned his head to look at her. “Hold onto me. Don't want you fallin’ off.”

“I'm not gonna fall,” she said but when the horse began moving she jerked back and she wrapped her arms around Arthur's middle instinctively. He chuckled and clicked his tongue to get the horse moving a little faster. “Shut up,” she mumbled.

Belle had no idea how long they rode before she had fallen asleep. She was pressed to Arthur's back and she noticed that even in the freezing cold, he was warm.

“Charles, get her down from here. Can't move with her wrapped around me like this.”

She felt two strong arms wrap around her and pull her down carefully but even then she jolted awake and almost panicked. “What are you doing?!”

“I'm helping you down. You fell asleep and Arthur was afraid to move while you were holding him,” Charles said quietly.

“I wasn't holding him,” she yawned, pushing away from Charles and getting her bearings.

“You were holdin’ me pretty tight, Miss,” Arthur teased. “And you fell asleep. You got pretty comfortable, huh?”

“I held onto you because I didn't want to fall, you asshole.” Arthur chuckled again and Belle looked around at the dilapidated cabins. “What the hell is this? Where are we?”

“This is...home,” Arthur said. “For now at least.” Belle shook her head in disbelief. She couldn't understand for the life of her what was going on or where she was. “Miss Grimshaw!” Arthur yelled, making her jump. A woman rushed over and took a nice long look at Belle. “Miss Belle here needs a place to stay for tonight. Found her while we were out huntin’.”

“Well, what were you doin’ out there, sweetheart?” the woman asked sympathetically.

“I...don't know, to be honest. I don't even know how I got here,” Belle admitted. “I want to go home.”

“I'm sure you do and we'll help you with that tomorrow. For now, you best come with me and we'll get you warm and dry.” Miss Grimshaw put her arm around Belle and led her to a cabin at the far end of the camp. She looked back for Arthur but he was nowhere to be found.

Miss Grimshaw had helped as much as she could even giving Belle clothes to wear.

“I'll tell Arthur to come and check on you soon,” she said before walking to the door.

“You don't have to do that.” Belle pulled on the dress uncomfortably before speaking again. “Can you tell me something...and this might sound crazy but...this isn't the year 2019, is it?”

“Two thousand!” Miss Grimshaw exclaimed. “My dear, this is 1899. We've come a long way but not that far.” Belle plopped down on the small bed and shook her head. “You sure you're okay? You hit your head or something?”

“No. I'm not okay.”

“You were wearin’ some strange clothes even for 1899. Is this what they wear in the cities or somethin’?” Miss Grimshaw asked.

“Something like that.” Belle was in a daze. 1899. That couldn't possibly be right. How would she even get to 1899?

Miss Grimshaw must have left while she was lost in her thoughts. The wind made the rickety cabin creak and the cold seeped through every crack and crevice. Belle hugged herself and stared off at nothing. She tried but couldn't come to terms with anything that was happening to her right now. Someone knocked on the door and she responded distantly.

“Yeah…”

“Miss...you alright?” Arthur peeked in and she nodded slowly. “You sure? Miss Grimshaw said I should come and check on you.”

“I told her she didn't have to tell you that.” She spoke without looking at him. She heard the door close as Arthur walked in. “What's your full name again?”

“Arthur Morgan, ma'am.”

“Arthur Morgan,” she repeated quietly. “Arthur….” She snapped her head up at him. Arthur Morgan...A.M…the journal she thought. “You. Its you.”

“What?” he asked.

“I...nothing. Sorry.” She held her hand out to him. “I'm Belle Kennedy.” He shook her hand and felt a kind of rush go through her. The way he looked at her made her think he felt it too.

“Where you from? What are you doin’ out here? It ain't safe for...well, for anyone.”

“I'm from...far away. I can't remember how I got here. I'm so scared.” Belle covered her face and sniffled into her hands then turned away from Arthur, embarrassed. “Sorry…”

Arthur grunted awkwardly and tapped her shoulder in a sort of comforting way. “It's all right. We'll get you home. You got family? Anybody that might be lookin’ for you?”

‘Sure do’, she thought, ‘But they don't exist yet and won't for another 120 years.’ This had to be a bad dream that was only going to get worse.

“Miss?” Belle looked at him and he nodded. “Look, I ain't gonna badger you for details about who you are or where you're from but I can't help you ‘less you give me somethin’.”

“I just...I can't say.” She looked away from him again and he sighed in defeat. “Sorry.”

“You ain't gotta be sorry. I get it. Maybe there's something or someone you're runnin’ away from and if that's the case then I guess you're my responsibility now. I found you.”

“I'm no one's responsibility. I can take care of myself.”

“I don't doubt that, ma'am. But I found you alone in the cold and it seems to me that you could use some help.” He held up his hand and put his finger and thumb close together but not touching. “Just a lil bit, hm?”

Belle stood and Arthur watched as she walked to the window. “You're the first friend I've made here, Mr. Morgan.”

“I ain't all that friendly but I'm glad you consider me a friend.” He walked over to where she stood. “If we're gonna be friends you gotta call me Arthur.”

“Okay...Arthur.”

“I should go and let you get some rest.” He walked to the door and turned as though he was going to say something else.

“What is it?” Belle asked.

“Nothin’. I'm gonna get you home, okay? I promise you that.”

“Thank you.”

He tipped his hat and smiled lightly. “Miss Belle.”

#Arthur Morgan #Arthur Morgan x OC #Arthur x Belle #All That Really Belongs to Us Is Time #Red Dead Redemption 2 #RDR2 #headcanon

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witcherislovewitcherislife · 5 years

Text

Steggy Week 2019 - Day 7: Free Choice

I decided to write some smut for Day 7. Shocker. I had a lot of old drafts that had various smut in them so I combined them and added some new stuff to make this. I hope you all enjoy!

What a wonderful experience my first Steggy Week has been too. I loved seeing and reading all the new fanfics, artwork, posts, and edits. I still have a lot to catch up on too! I hope you all have enjoyed my contributions! :D

Paris Nights

Read on AO3

Celebrations were roaming all throughout the city and really all throughout the country. After a week long battle and years long struggle, Paris was free from Nazi control.

The French Resistance, Allied Forces, and the SSR drove back the Nazis, reclaiming the city of Paris.

Everyone was celebrating, people from all walks of life, men and women, children and adults, young and old, rich and poor, none of that mattered. All that mattered was that they were free once again.

Fireworks boomed in the sky and the Eiffel Tower was illuminated bright. Songs were being sung in the streets and taverns alike.

The Commandos were drinking and singing away while playing a rowdy game of cards. Peggy noticed Steve make some goodbyes and sneak out of the room before anyone could stop him. She found Steve sketching away from a balcony atop the hotel the SSR was being stationed at.

“There you are. I thought maybe you’d turned in for the night.”

Steve was startled by the intrusion but he didn’t seem to mind, “Oh, uh, no. Just needed some fresh air.”

“Can I see what you’re drawing?” Peggy asked, nodding her head towards his sketchbook.

Steve walked the few steps over to her and handed the book to her, “Just the Eiffel Tower, there is a great view from here.”

“I see that. This is really lovely, Steve. You have a real talent.”

Steve blushed at her kind words and averted his eyes. Peggy always had that effect on him when she complimented him.

Peggy reached a silky gloved hand to his cheek and turned his face back towards her.

“Seems we’re finally alone.”

“Seems we are.”

Their lips met instantly and the sketchbook fell to the floor as Steve engulfed Peggy’s lithe body with his broad arms.

They pulled back breathless after who knows how long. Both were panting and red faced, Steve had lipstick marks on the corners of his lips that Peggy reached up to rub away with a grin on her face.

“I’m so happy we can do that outside of cramped offices, storage closets, or some old couples farmhouse in the countryside.”

Peggy giggled and it was the most beautiful sound Steve had heard, “Yes, well. We shouldn’t dally out here too long. Someone might come along and ruin our fun.”

“Too late!” A voice piped up from the glass doorway, startling both Steve and Peggy.

“Dugan. How nice of you to join us. Or rather, interrupt us. How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long enough to see any of the good stuff,” he said, earning a sharp glare from Peggy. “Well, I was gonna see if you two lovebirds wanted to play some billiards but I don’t think that’s as fun as what you two are about to do.”

“And what is it that we’re about to do, Timothy?”

“Uh, oh. The full name. That’s never good. I’ll just be going now. You two kids keep it down!” Dugan said, half laughing, adding, “And use protection!” when he was safely out of Peggy’s shooting range.

“Remind me to kick him in the ass,” Peggy joked.

“Will do.”

They grew silent again, just staring into each other’s eyes before Peggy cupped his cheek again. Steve leaned into the touch as Peggy leaned up and brought her mouth to his ear.

“Take me to bed, Steve.”

Steve didn’t need to be asked twice, he took Peggy’s hand and led her off the balcony, down the hall and to his room.

“Is this the honeymoon sweet?” Peggy inquired as she stepped into the room. It was about four times the size of a regular room and had a separate living room area as well as a small kitchen with a breakfast nook. Glass sliding doors at the back of the room led out to another small balcony that had a table and chairs atop it.

To the right, there was a large bathroom with double sinks, a large tub big enough for three at least, a toilet, and a shower adorned with beautiful light brown tiling. Peggy felt that a shower and tub was excessive, seeing as how most homes nor hotels even had showers but she wasn’t going to complain. She’d never gotten to properly enjoy a shower before, only getting to use one at base camps.

In the center of the room there was a large circular bed covered in fluffy pillows and a blood red comforter. Peggy was incredibly looking forward to doing a lot more than just sleeping in it.

“Uh, yeah, the honeymoon sweet. Howard got it for me. He thought it’d be funny.”

“Well, I suppose I should thank him. I think this bed is a lot better than any other in this hotel. Shall we?

Steve didn’t respond, instead opting to act before his words could get in the way of what he wanted to do.

He placed his hands on Peggy’s hips and pulled her close, kissing her with intensity.

Peggy’s mouth moved to his neck, she bit and sucked at it, leaving bruises that she knew would be gone by morning but she liked seeing how his skin looked painted with them.

Peggy bit that spot under his ear and Steve let out a low groan as his head fell back. Peggy leaned up and tugged on his earlobe before she spoke again.

Speaking slowly and quietly, Peggy whispered into his ear, “I’ve thought of you on so many cold nights, Steve.”

Steve swallowed audibly before he choked out, “Tell me.”

“How shall I? With excruciating detail?”

Steve could hardly speak. He found his mouth dry from Peggy’s seduction, “Details. Please. Every last one.”

Peggy spoke slowly and quietly, making sure that Steve’s heightened hearing be put to full use.

“When I lay alone in my bunk, I’d lift my slip up to my waste. Slide my hand down my stomach and under my red cotton panties.

Steve’s mouth went dry, “Keep going.”

Peggy’s hands were keeping occupied by threading through Steve’s hair, massaging his scalp lightly as his hands gripped her waist, sure to leave bruises that she so wanted, “I’d spread my folds, slide my digits into my soaking cunt. Moan your name as I fucked myself.”

‘Fuck, Peggy.”

“I’d cum screaming your name into my pillow. My fingers would be covered in my wetness and I’d suck them dry, imagining your mouth instead of my own.”

“Please, Peggy…” Steve didn’t even know what he was saying please for. All he knew was that his cock was throbbing and needed relief.

Peggy kissed his collarbone and pulled his shirt out of where it was tucked into his trousers and began to unbutton it.

Peggy slid his now unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders and down his muscular arms. Her hands moved to his abs, rubbing them and digging her nails into the toned muscle. She was always amazed at how soft his skin still managed to be despite the muscle. Peggy bent slightly and flicked her tongue over his nipple before taking it in her mouth making Steve yelp and jump in surprise.

She gave each nipple attention before licking a stripe down his abdomen and kneeling down in front of him. This used to be the part when Steve would say “You don’t have to do this.” But after Peggy made it very clear that she wanted and loved to do this to him, he finally shut up saying it.

She eyed up the growing bulge in his pants. The outline of his cock very evident in his tan trousers. Her eyes looked up at him, hers were filled with hunger desire and lust while Steve’s were already struggling to stay open at the sensation she was giving him.

She got the belt undone, the metal making a pleasant sound as it clinked together, and pulled his pants down first, revealing his red and white striped boxer briefs. They were bunched up from being constricted in his trousers the whole day. They were tented slightly but mostly his cock was angled down and nearly hanging out of the bottom. She could see the outline of his shaft and the fabric above the tip was partially damp from his precum. Peggy used the palm of her hand to rub up and down his shaft before she kissed him through the fabric before pulling them down around his ankles as well. He stepped out of both as Peggy took him in hand, giving him a few warm-up strokes before her real fun began.

Her thumb touched his pelvis right above his cock, she rubbed through his short, neatly trimmed pubic hair. She hummed appreciatively, glad that he took care to do so, knowing that she hated too much body hair on a man.

The slit of Steve's cock was shiny and oozing. Peggy licked up the underside of his cock, starting at his balls all the way to the tip, flicking her tongue when she reached the top. She left her tongue on the bottom of the head, twisting and flicking it teasingly. Precum was dripping into her mouth slowly, the same way rain dripped off a gutter after a storm. She loved the taste far more than actual cum and lucky for her, Steve was like a faucet for it.

Peggy took his head into her mouth first, sucking deeply and sharply on it before sliding her mouth down further. She took him as far as she could, keeping her mouth planted firmly on him when he sat sheathed in her mouth. She could feel his cock pulsing and growing to it’s hardest state inside her mouth and it made her panties soak up more than they already were. She reached down and rubbed herself through her skirt, giving her momentary relief from the ache between her legs.

Peggy moaned around his cock and Steve reciprocated one above her, his head lolling back.

She pulled her mouth back agonizingly slow, making sure no part of Steve’s shaft went unloved. Peggy released him with a pop before diving back in quickly. Her mouth moved faster this time, up and down his length in quick succession. She made sure her tongue kept moving, licking the parts of his cock that her lips weren’t touching.

Steve’s hands threaded through her hair, he didn’t pull or yank, they just sat there in her silky brunette curls. She could tell by his sped up labored breathing that he was close. Peggy sped up her ministrations, adding her hand to the end of his length to touch every part of him until he exploded into her mouth. She took every last drop from him, more so to not leave a mess on the hotel room carpet rather than actually enjoying the taste.

Peggy pulled off him again and gave him a few last pumps before rising back to her feet and tilting her head up to kiss Steve. He gave in to the kiss easily, his tongue battling with Peggy’s for control. He tasted himself on her lips and tongue and loved every bit of it.

They kissed for a few minutes before Steve backed Peggy up and pushed her down onto the comfy bed. She couldn’t help but be turned on by his sudden roughness.

She got on his knees and threw Peggy’s legs over his shoulders.

“Wow, Captain. Someone’s hungry.”

Steve response was more of a grunt than words as he wasted no time hooking his finger in the band of her panties..They were red and lacy, see through in parts like right above her center. Peggy had picked them out specifically for the point of seduction and she was glad that Steve took the time to properly appreciate them. He pulled them down and tossed them onto the chair across the room. Peggy was neatly trimmed as well, a simple stripe of brunette hair was neatly manicured above her core.

Steve leaned in and licked a stripe up her core, from her entrance to her clit. Peggy moaned and Steve repeated both motions. He gradually sped up as Peggy’s noises grew louder. It all felt too slow for Peggy and clearly Steve could tell because he dove in, ravaging her cunt like an animal.

Peggy’s whole body quivered as his tongue and mouth devoured her. Her back arched and fell rhythmically. Steve’s hand moved up to cup her breasts but not for long as Peggy’s body was spasming in pleasure uncontrollably. His left hand moved to hold her stomach and his right was on her waist. Holding her in place while his tongue slid deep into her cunt and back out again multiple times. His nose touching her pubic hair, occasionally rubbing against her clit when he sped up his rhythms.

Steve traced the letter “z” along her pussy with his tongue. Starting at the clit and working his way to her entrance, slipping in momentarily and then tracing back up to her clit.

Peggy was getting close, her ragged breaths and raspy moans filling the room and seeping out onto the balcony through the crack where the door was open. If there was any neighbors in the room next door, they were getting quite the audio show.

A wave rumbled through Peggy as she exploded. Her back came flying off the mattress as she let out a shout, cumming hard onto Steve’s eager tongue. She fell back instantly as Steve continued licking her, riding through the waves with her until her body went limp on the red blanket.

Steve crawled up above her on the bed and kissed her passionately, “I love you, Peggy,” he whispered.

“Steve, oh, Steve. I love you.”

They kissed for a long time before Peggy could feel Steve’s growing hardness poking her, “I need you, Steve.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve said in that special voice reserved only for her ears.

Steve gripped his length and slid into Peggy’s warmth. It felt like sliding him after hitting a ball into deep right in the ninth inning.

They both let out low moans as Steve started thrusting slowly. Peggy’s arms wrapped around him and her red nails dug into his flesh.

Steve’s pace sped up slowly until he was fucking into her at a quick pace, Steve knelt back just enough to wrap his mouth around Peggy’s nipple. His hand cupped her other breast and kneaded the soft mound. His thrusts slowed but the pleasure she was getting from him paying her breasts extra attention more than made up for it.

Steve sat up, holding Peggy’s body close to him, her breasts squishing up against his chest as their nipples rubbed together.

He pulled her into a sitting position, her back straight and legs stretched out fully on either side of him. She was fully sitting in his lap.

Peggy began grinding up against him. There was no room for thrusting, it was just rubbing and grinding and having Steve filling her was delicious. The bed shook with their movements and they both moaned into each other’s ears.

Steve kept his arms wrapped tightly around Peggy as he moved to his knees and laid her down on her back. He took her right leg and flipped her. Steve arranged himself between her legs and slid back into her soaking cunt.

Steve began thrusting into her quickly, the sounds of his pelvis slapping into her ass downright filthy and beautiful at the same time.

Peggy made a loud choked sob and sucked in a harsh breathy moan. Steve stopped his motions and reached around to cradle her face in his palm.

“Peggy, I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

“No, no, Steve! Please, keep going! You feel so fucking good,” her words were strained but she got out what she needed to say for him to begin thrusting into her again.

He sped up again and her back arched as if she was a gymnast. She continued making those same moans and groans but this time Steve wasn’t stopping. And she couldn’t be more thrilled.

Her whole body was on fire. She was sore and tired and yet she never wanted to stop. She wanted the ache he gave her. Never wanted his cock to leave her. She wanted him inside always. Wanted him thrusting into her for hours and hours. And with his super-soldier stamina, it was a possibility. She loved the weight of him on top of her. Loved his moans into her ear. Loved the way a bead of sweat would occasionally drip from his forehead and chest onto her back.

She couldn’t explain it. Her relationship with Steve was about so much more than physical attraction. And yet, here they were, naked in a hotel room, and the primal love they had for one another took over.

Steve gripped Peggy’s shoulder and straightened his back, allowing him to fuck deeper into her pussy.

The mattress engulfed Peggy’s choked sobs, her red lipstick smeared on the white pillows and the sheets were stained with evidence of their love.

Steve arched back over Peggy, he was almost laying atop her but was careful not to collapse his wait on her. His mouth moved to her ear and he sucked her earlobe into his mouth before moaning her name.

The second Steve reached his arm around to rub her clit, she screamed his name as her walls clenched, trapping his cock inside her. Her orgasm had a chain reaction, causing Steve to empty himself inside her.

Peggy rolled over in his arms and cupped Steve’s face.

Steve hovered above her, his arm wrapped around her upper back. Both of them were breathing heavily and both were covered in a sheen layer of sweat as well. The moonlight shining in through the window glistened off of Peggy’s skin, Steve thought she looked like an angel in that moment. Well, even more so than usual.

A bead of sweat rolled down Steve’s forehead and dripped onto Peggy’s cheek.

“Sorry,” Steve said, wiping the bead away with the pad of his thumb.

Peggy just smiled and teased, “Steve, I just had your cock in my mouth. I can handle some sweat.”

Steve laid his head down on her chest. She was still breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling every few seconds.

“Gods, look what you do to me, Peg. I can run ten miles without slowing down, But one round with you damn near puts me out.”

“That was a bit more than one round.”

“Guess I lost track after you made me cum the first time.”

Peggy’s hands went into Steve’s sweat soaked hair. Naturally his hair was blonder but now it seemed almost brunette. It was disheveled and soaked and a few thick strands fell over his forehead like they had when he was that little man in basic training.

“We forgot protection, you know.”

“I know. It’s fine, it isn’t my time.”

“Do you think we should have waited? For this, I mean. Until the war was fully over?” Steve asked into the darkness as he rubbed up and down Peggy’s arm.

“We’re young. And we’re alive. We should take all the pleasure we can out of these horrid times. I don’t regret this.---Do you?”

“Not one bit.” Steve said as they drifted off in each other”

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sanderssidesfanfiction · 5 years

Text

We’ll Carry On - Chapter Thirty Four

We’ll Carry On Tag

General Content Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Substance Abuse, Abandonment, Minor Character Death, Transphobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dissociation, Bullying, Homophobia

March 15th, 2017

Logan was having problems. Not with his new name, although it was frustrating him that he couldn’t figure out a good middle name that he liked after finding his first name was a snap. No, he was having problems because he realized he still liked guys.

He wasn’t pretending to like them when he thought he was a girl, but now that he knew he was a guy, that attraction was still there and he wasn’t feeling any attraction to any of the girls at his school. He wasn’t sure how his parents felt about transgender people, but he knew they definitely didn’t like gay people.

It was hard, hiding that he was trans and gay. He just hoped one day he’d be around people who didn’t mind either of those things. And, if he was feeling bold, he hoped there was someone out there who would be romantically interested in him despite being trans.

September 23rd, 2019

Logan walked into Jack’s house with a grin. “Thank you for letting me in, Mister President.”

“It’s my pleasure, Mister Vice President,” Jack said with a laugh, closing the door. The two practically ran up to Jack’s room to hang out and get homework out of the way so they could talk about whatever they wanted. “You know my parents don’t mind us talking about more ‘mature’ things around them, right? We don’t have to hide in my room to hang out and talk about things.”

“Neither do mine, now,” Logan said. “But that doesn’t mean I’m comfortable doing it.”

“All right, fair point,” Jack conceded, walking into his room and sitting on the lower bunk of his bed, while Logan took Jack’s desk chair as they both pulled out homework.

They worked through Calculus, and History, and Logan finished his English while Jack struggled with his Physics homework. When Logan finished the required reading of the night and Jack was still struggling, Logan came over and sat next to him on the bed, ignoring the flutter in his stomach as he did so. “Here, let me help,” Logan said. “You said yourself that you need to visualize the circuit if you ever want to finish this fast, so I can sketch out the circuit for you here and you can do it on the others.”

Jack wordlessly passed over his homework and pencil and Logan made a small drawing of the circuit in the margins. “There you go,” Logan said, passing it back.

“Thanks, man,” Jack said with a grin.

“It’s not a problem,” Logan shrugged off.

“No, really, Lo. Thank you,” Jack insisted.

Logan smiled even as his heart hammered in his chest. He scratched the back of his neck. “Anytime, Jack.”

Jack finished his physics homework quickly after that and the two clambered into the top bunk of Jack’s bed. When Logan was staying with Jack, he always took the bottom bunk to sleep in. But when they were just hanging out, they’d both regularly squeeze themselves into the top bunk. It was a tight fit, but neither of them minded.

Some time passed, and Jack and Logan were still lying in Jack’s bed, laughing at nothing in particular. Jack was scrolling Tumblr, and Logan was staring up at Jack’s ceiling. His stomach fluttered uncomfortably when he looked at Jack and he didn’t fully understand why. Jack was his best friend, and even if Logan developed feelings for Jack, he didn’t want to mess up what they had.

When Jack touched Logan’s wrist lightly, it felt like electricity shot through Logan’s veins. He looked over at Jack, and Jack offered him a grin. “You’ve been stuck in your head all afternoon,” he teased lightly. “And I know you’re not stressing about homework because we finished it all.”

Logan shrugged and said, “You know how it is. Tests coming up, peers being...well, however they choose to be that day, and with the new school year...it’s all a lot to take in.” Jack chuckled and Logan felt his ears get hot. “Something funny?” he asked, voice cracking in the middle of the question.

“Sometimes...you can be so oblivious,” Jack said. “Not in a bad way, but just...you see, but do not observe.”

Logan propped himself up on one arm, tilting his body towards Jack’s. “What don’t I observe, Sherlock?”

Jack’s hand reached out to touch Logan’s free wrist, and it lingered on his pulse point. “My romantic advances,” Jack said softly.

“Wait. You...you like...boys?” Logan asked, brain stuttering to a halt.

“Boys, meh. Men? Hell yes,” Jack said, voice growing deep and somewhat sultry.

Logan’s eyes flickered over Jack. His tousled brown hair, the way his muscles were growing from doing lacrosse at school, the cocky grin he wore, the lips he had been dreaming about kissing for months. He moved forward in an instant, lips colliding with Jack’s until not only sparks, but an entire forest fire grew between them. Logan didn’t have much experience kissing anyone, let alone his best friend, but Jack. Jack knew how to kiss.

His movements were sure, mouth moving in time with Logan’s. Jack had one hand at the nape of Logan’s neck and Logan had a hand on Jack’s hip. Logan could feel the beginning of stubble on Jack’s upper lip, and he felt a small thrill go through him. This was real, this was happening. Jack liked him. He couldn’t believe it.

When they pulled apart, Logan was panting a little and Jack laughed. “Did you forget to breathe?!” he asked.

“For the first ten seconds, maybe,” Logan said. “Um. Does this mean we’re boyfriends?”

“Do you...want to be boyfriends?” Jack asked, running his hand down Logan’s side.

“Yes,” Logan breathed. “Yes, I would love to be your boyfriend.”

Jack grinned. “Then we’re boyfriends,” he said calmly. Firmly. No room for argument. “But seriously. How did you not know I was into men? I’m the president of the GSA, Lo! You’re my vice!”

“I assumed that you were...not an ally, but maybe bisexual, with more of an interest in girls,” Logan said with a shrug. “After all, a lot of the girls at school fawn over you, especially when you’re practicing lacrosse. And you seem to enjoy their attention.”

“Sure, I like attention, and yeah, girls are cute sometimes, but I prefer guys, Logan,” Jack said. “Why do you think I joined lacrosse? I get to have hot guys surround me every day for an hour after school!”

Logan barked out a laugh. “Fair enough, I suppose. So are you bi? Or pan?”

Jack considered. “Pansexual, I guess,” he said. “Though saying I’m bi is easier to understand for most people, so I generally use that.”

“Cool,” Logan said. “I’m gay, I think, but nonbinary people are cool, too. Occasionally feminine-aligned nonbinary people might catch my eye, but for the most part it’s guys and more...not feminine enbies.”

Jack shrugged. “You could be bi, too. Or you could just say you’re gay. And of course, the label queer is always open for you to use.”

“I’ll probably use queer, honestly,” Logan said with a shrug. “It’s easier for me and everyone else.”

A comfortable silence fell over them. Jack looked at Logan and kissed his nose. “Do your dads know you’re queer?”

Logan paused. “If they didn’t, they’re gonna find out when I get back home and tell Roman that he was right, apparently.”

“About me being your boyfriend?” Jack asked with a grin.

“He knew I liked you before I knew I liked you,” Logan said. “He’s probably going to ask when the wedding is.”

“Tell him it’s after we graduate college, provided we’re still together then,” Jack said.

Logan glanced at him. “You serious?”

“Yeah, man. If we can date for six years and not want to break up by the end of it I’d love to marry you,” Jack said with a shrug. “I mean, I assume I would. That’s how that sort of thing generally works, from what I’m told.”

“As a concept, though, marrying someone feels kinda...hazy,” Logan said.

“Yeah, exactly,” Jack said. “Right now, I’m just happy to have you as my boyfriend.”

Logan could feel his cheeks start burning like a wildfire, and Jack grinned, kissing him on the lips, briefly. “Should we get something to drink and tell my parents the good news?”

As they got down off the top bunk, insecurity flared up in the back of Logan’s mind. “Are you sure they’ll approve?”

“They already see you as a son, Lo,” Jack reassured. “They might make jokes about you becoming a son-in-law, but that’s the worst they’ll do. They’ll love to hear that I decided to do something about my pining.”

Logan laughed a little and let himself be led downstairs into the kitchen. When they got there, Misses Harkness was already pouring two glasses of lemonade. One look at the both of them and she grinned. “Logan, honey, your hair’s a little mussed up, and you have a little bit of stuff on your lower lip. If you don’t want the world to know you made out with my son a few minutes ago, you might want to fix that.”

Logan turned deep red and fixed his hair the best he could without a mirror and wiped the bottom of his lip with his thumb. Jack groaned. “Mom,” he said. “You’re gonna make him regret agreeing to be my boyfriend!”

“Jack, if I can stand you, with all your flirting at everyone, your dorky references to shows that I’ve never seen, and your passion for theatre without any desire to actually do something about it, such as trying out for the play or becoming the head sound tech, then I’m pretty sure I can stand your mom teasing me a little,” Logan informed him quickly.

“Well, if I can stand you, with all your obliviousness to anything romantic being shoved your way, your Doctor Who jokes which never ever stop, and your overall emotional threshold being similar to that of a small child before you get overwhelmed and can’t regulate your responses, then I’m pretty sure I can stand anything you and your family will try to throw at me,” Jack responded smugly.

Logan’s jaw dropped open. “Are you seriously trying to outdo me right now?”

Jack shrugged with a grin, accepting lemonade from his mom. “Maybe so,” he said.

Logan huffed and took his offered lemonade, taking a sip before he responded. “This is a battle you’ll lose, Jack Matthew Harkness, don’t test me.”

“Oh, you used my full name, I’m quaking in my boots!” Jack exclaimed, making an exaggerated terrified face.

Logan rolled his eyes and sipped at his lemonade. “You’re still being an a-hole, Jack, and I stand by that sentiment.”

“Well, yeah, but that’s one of the reasons why you like me,” Jack said with a grin.

“If you two are going to continue to flirt, please do it outside the kitchen, I actually need to start making dinner soon,” Misses Harkness said, shooing them away.

“Come to think of it, your folks are probably gonna pick you up soon,” Jack said, sounding a little disappointed.

“Well, I can grab my things and we can sit on your porch drinking lemonade until it’s time for me to go,” Logan offered.

Jack pointed at him with a grin. “You see, this is why I like you, Lo. You’re always trying to make the best out of any situation.”

Logan turned pink and scurried upstairs to get his things before coming back down and letting Jack lead them both out to the porch. They sat on the top step and took sips of their lemonade, just enjoying the silence between them. “So, I’m assuming we’re exclusive,” Logan said.

“Yeah, we’re both monogamous, so we’d be exclusive,” Jack agreed. “I don’t want to share you.”

“Nor I, you,” Logan said, sipping at his lemonade. “Although, if you’re worried about being out at school, and you want to continue letting girls flirt with you, I understand—”

“Hey, Lo, no,” Jack said, draping an arm around Logan’s shoulders. “I don’t care what other people think of me. You go to school every day risking someone getting mad at you, just because you take testosterone and use he and him. Compared to you, I don’t have nearly as big a chance of people insulting me. And if they get offended that I’m dating you, well, it’s their problem. I don’t want us to be a secret if it doesn’t have to be. I want people to know that I love you, and if they have a problem they can come to me and I’ll show them what bigots get when they try to insult either of us.”

Logan smiled softly. “A knuckle sandwich?”

“A knuckle sandwich,” Jack confirmed. “And maybe more, depending on how much they insult you.”

“You don’t have to fight on my account, Jack,” Logan said.

“Maybe not, but I want to,” Jack said. “I want people to know that if they mess with you they’re messing with me.”

Logan smiled and kissed Jack softly, which Jack returned with a little laugh into Logan’s mouth. A moment later they were interrupted by a loud cheer and an, “I knew it!” coming from the driveway.

They jumped apart and Logan turned toward the offender with a glare. “Shut up, Roman! We only started dating today!”

“I knew it! I knew you two would start dating eventually!” Roman crowed. “Come on, Ami’s back home making dinner and I’m sure Dad will want to hear all about your new boyfriend!”

Logan sighed and turned to Jack. “Looks like I have to go.”

“I gathered,” Jack said, giving him a quick peck on the lips and taking his lemonade. “Go on, I’ll see you tomorrow at school.”

“See you tomorrow,” Logan said with a smile on his face.

When he got in the car along with Roman, Dad was sitting there, smiling at him. “What?” Logan asked.

“I just figured...it’s about time that you and Jack got together. Everyone knew you two were pining except for the two of you,” Dad said.

Logan leaned back in his chair and groaned. “Can we please talk about something else?”

“Okay,” Dad said. “Do I need to tell you and Roman about safe sex practices?”

“No!” Logan and Roman exclaimed at once.

Dad laughed the whole way home.

#we'll carry on #sanders sides fanfiction #logan sanders #roman sanders #emile picani #our creations #danger gays

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dietpitt · 5 years

Text

“Red” (Stan Pines x OC)

Hi everyone! Here’s the first of several commissions/trades I’m doing now that I’m back into the groove after months of endless chaos lol

This commission for the sweet and talented @cottoncandy-lion features a post @gfdatingsim reunion between Stan and her awesome Gransona/oc Bri! I had a blast writing it and am still so happy people loved the game enough to want more with their own character/self inserts! If you’re interested in commissioning me as well, shoot me a dm! :) Please enjoy! xx

Bri doesn’t typically have enough time on her hands for her mind to wander. She’s a woman with shit to do: bills to pay, lives to save, birdhouses to paint, people to knit for…

And yet, she finds herself reminiscing on the events of last June more and more as time goes on.

That summer, that oddball Pines family, that weird old Shack she crashed into… it was all so bizarre. Even now, there were times when it felt too surreal, too good to be true; surely, she had to have made it all up in her head.

It wasn’t totally impossible… Unusual, yes, but she did work in a practical fun-house of diseases… a fever dream paired with too much wine, and who knows what could happen?

But the most gripping of memories—ones so clear and persistent they refused to be ignored—all centered around him: the brash yet charming Stan Pines. One thought of his charisma and brazen attitude would have the sounds of his laughter echoing through her head, which was always the start of trouble… Bri’s consciousness would run away from her, lingering on the memory of his strong, sure arms holding her as they danced, the ghost of his hands on her waist, imprint of his lips on her neck sometimes so vivid they seemed seared into her skin—

Needless to say, it could result in a dropped stitch or two.

It wasn’t like she was smitten—she’s had her fair share of love affairs, and with two generations of little ones in her life, she’s seen a hell of a lot. She certainly didn’t expect anything more to come of the fun she had with Stan when they parted ways.

At least… she knew she shouldn’t… but maybe it was okay that she wanted something more? But one certainly couldn’t expect something like last summer to happen to the same person twice.

Bri held onto that sentiment, right up until she received a text one evening that made her jump out of her skin.

< ( Heya Red! )

< ( how’s it hanging doll? )

< ( bet you missed me! )

……

< ( shit, this is Stan by the way )

< ( hope I still got the right number )

< ( this is Bri right? )

“Holy fuck,” Bri blurts out. She even blinks twice, fixing her glasses on the bridge of her nose as she stares stunned at the notification on her phone screen. Disbelief eases into utter delight before ebbing into mild panic.

Her charcoal sketch ruined from her idle movement of her hands, Bri quickly sets her stuff aside to wash before touching her phone. As she lathers up, she’s almost giddy at the thought that he’s reached out again; much longer and she would have contacted him herself.

Truth be told, it hadn’t been that long since they’d gone back and forth a bit with messages and a phone call here and there. But anyone that knew Bri was aware of the fact that she could certainly be stubborn when rubbed the wrong way, and he’d stopped contacting her completely around the year mark of their meeting. After months of consistent pictures and video calls, they simply slowly fizzled out, and while Bri isn’t petty, she doesn’t care to wait around without promise.

Hands dried and thoughts (mostly) in order, she heads back to the living room and starts typing her response.

( Hi Stan. Yes, this is still Bri! ) >

( Nice to hear you’re not dead! ) >

( …You’re not dead, right? I’m not texting a resurrected zombie? ) >

< ( Ha ha nope, not dead yet anyway. You up for a call? )

Bri’s heart skips a beat.

( Of course ) >

Seconds later, the phone starts to play its standard jingle, vibrating with Stan’s name and picture across the screen. Thank God he’s not video calling this time—the bags under her eyes aren’t the ideal reunion look.

“Reeeddd, how are ya, gorgeous?” Stan drawls the nickname out, sounding genuinely delighted.

“Hey,” is all she can think to say, smiling to herself at the comfortable familiarity they slip into.

His excitement is contagious and his rough voice inescapably gives Bri goosebumps. “Where ya been, Pines?”

“’Pines?’ Aw Red, don’t be that way! I didn’t mean t’leave ya hangin’—honest!” The connection on his end is a bit crusty with what sounds like gusts of wind hitting the receiver.

“Yeah I know, I’m just giving you a hard time. I’m sure the reception inside the Bermuda Triangle is complete shit,” she chuckles.

Stan laughs along with her. “Well, yer not wrong. Hey, funny story ‘bout that place—s’not the water suckin’ all those ships up! But I’ll have to tell ya ‘bout that later.” His tone straightens out just a tad in preparation of something.

“So, uh, Ford and I are comin’ back through the pacific northwest coast—we’re at the top of Canada right now, where I’m freezin’ my ass off even though Ford says s’not nearly as cold as it should be—”

“Stan..”

Normally Bri would enjoy his tangents, but she wanted to make sure he was getting at what she thought he was getting at.

“Right, right,” he clears his throat before continuing. “Well, we’re gonna make a stop in Gravity Falls to visit the Shack before seein’ the kids down in California. Before we head inland, Ford needs t’collect more samples y’know, update some data from around the coast, so he’s gonna be goin’ off all around.”

“Sounds fun…”

“Well uh, so, I was wonderin’… if you’re not busy this week, and you’d be up for it, maybe… we could get together? I mean, I could hang back at the boat, or come t’you in Salem, I wouldn’t mind drivin’ and I wouldn’t wanna make ya come out here when I invited ya an’ yer actually on the way anyway. I just thought it might be fun since ya didn’t get t’see the Stan O’ War b’fore and Ford’d be off diggin’ up dirt somewhere so we’d be on our own this time.”

“Stan, tha—”

He seems to backtrack, words hurried and suddenly unsure.

“I know it’s kinda outta the blue and y’got yer job an’ shit, y’got kids, s’not like you can just drop everythin’ when I haven’t even talked t’ya lately— we can do a rain check—”

“Stanley!! I’d love to come!”

“Really??”

“Yes, really! A getaway trip to the beach with an old friend? I’m in.”

“Hot pumpkin pie! Sure you don’t mind the commute, Red?”

“’Course not! I have a day off from the hospital coming up, so we could make it a long weekend. Besides, since the grandkid started school again last month, it’ll just be me all by my lonesome for a while. A short road trip to the sea will do me good.”

“Red, that’s great! Ah man, I’ll get t’give you the grand tour, show ya all the spooky junk we’ve been collectin’…”

“It’ll be great to pick up where we left off,” Bri teased, echoing their parting words from that faithful June.

“Y-yeah—long overdue,” Stan laughs. “Well, I gotta go help Ford lift some cargo. Send ya the info later?”

“Definitely! See you soon, Stan.”

“See ya, Red.”

________________________________________________________________

It’s Thursday evening, and Bri is now only an hour away or so from the docks down by the Oregon bay. Smooth sailing so far, with only a couple of stops for food and gas, as she thankfully has her audiobook to keep her company.

It’s funny, being out on a road trip again so soon, under drastically different circumstances. Not only is it the opposite direction, but meeting Stan Pines and his brother wouldn’t be at the expense of her car and weeks of her life.

The entire thing really is serious déjà vu. As she packed her weekend bags, Bri found herself fretting about what to wear, much like before her and Stan’s big diner date. She even packed the same red jumpsuit she wore that night before realizing and replacing it with a newer dress he wouldn’t have seen yet.

She didn’t really know what to properly expect from this weekend… she knew deeply what she wanted, and had an inkling that Stan very likely wanted the same on at least some level… I mean, c’mon… he wants to ‘show her his boat’? ‘Give her the tour’? He definitely wants to fuck.

And, while she may be too mature for booty calls, it’s clear this isn’t the case with… whatever it is Bri and Stan are. Frankly, she doesn’t care all that much about that now—she just wants to see him again and have a good time, which should be no problem.

She makes great time, in no small part thanks to being an Oregon native who knows her way around, and before long she’s pulling up into the tolled parking area near the port. With her duffel bag in one hand and her phone in the other, she confirms the location before proceeding to the docks.

She finds the dock number easily (number 618), and right there in its spot is a big grey trawler with all kinds of antenna and scientific odds and ends along the mast. There’s no mistaking the vessel—Stan’s name is right there in red paint along the bottom.

Bri sets her duffel down and cups her hands around her mouth, hoping her voice carries.

“HEY, 618! BOAT POLICE, OPEN UP!!”

It’s a beat before a gruff voice replies and the man pops into view.

“My life of crime, it haunts me both on land and at sea! Will I ever find peace in this world?!” Stan pops into view dramatically over the boat’s edge, a hand pressed to his forehead in mock dismay.

Bri smiles, always glad when he plays along. She makes a fake pistol with her hands, pointing it right at him. “That’s right, Pines! Your only option is to sprout gills, or get your ass down here.”

The sailor laughs as he releases the boarding ladder and makes his way down. “Well officer, when you ask so nicely…”

And just like that, he’s right there in front of her, looking so right in his Hawaiian button up and suede jacket; with the boat as the backdrop of her view, it’s like one couldn’t possibly picture him anywhere else. It was like a postcard, the perfect snapshot to a reunion she wasn’t so sure would ever come… but far from another dream, this was as real as it was the first time she saw him like this, waiting for her on the porch of The Mystery Shack.

“Hey, Red…” Stan says softly, finally, gaze fond and full of something she recognizes, but can’t bring herself to find the name of.

“C’mere, you,” Bri laughs, closing the space between them in a tight embrace. “Don’t be a stranger”.

He gives a breathy laugh, sighing in relief and returning the hug with gusto. “Missed ya, Bri. I’m glad you could make it.”

Her eyes close, savoring the warm reunion to his comfy chest as she replies, “Glad to be here.” She finally lifts her head, their eyes meeting. That same familiarity takes over, joy filling her chest.

Stan, ever smooth, coughs into his hand to cloak a nervous smile. Bri picks up on his jitters, sliding out of his embrace slowly.

“You look great”, she compliments. “The salty air really does wonders, huh?”

Stan snorts, scratching the back of his head and shoving his hands back into his pockets.

“Me? Nah nah, it’s all the fish I’m eatin’. Gives me this ‘mercurial glow’”, he chuckles, rubbing at the back of his neck. “But you—y’look good!”

“Just good?”

He rolls his eyes. “Stunning, gorgeous, ethereal! Out of this world!” He throws his arms in emphasis.

“That’s the right answer,” Bri nods, patting Stan on the shoulder approvingly. “So, what’s the plan big guy?”

“Well, of course I wanna show you all the bells and whistles on this beaut,” Stan pats the side of his boat, “But honestly, I’ve been on this puppy for nearly a week straight, so uh, if y’wanna get a drink or somethin’ to eat, I’m buyin’.”

“I thought you’d never ask! Oh—wait, uh, can I change first?” She asks, gesturing to herself in her casual outfit of flannel and high-waisted, literal mom jeans.

“What for? I told ya, y’look radiant,” he playfully runs his eyes up and down her body.

“I know, and acknowledge that truth, but I’ve also been stewing in a car for hours and would love to freshen up,” she laughs.

“Ah—right, o’ course,” Stan smiles apologetically, swinging her duffel bag over his shoulder and gesturing to Stan O’ War. “Right this way, ma’am.”

He holds the ladder for her as she boards, then follows suit. Bri takes a look around the deck as Stan steps over, then leads her inside.

“Well—here she is! The Stan O’ War II. Not too shabby, right?” Stan stands tall, clearly proud of this vessel he now calls home. Not too shabby at all…

Cozy is the perfect way to describe it. Though probably not for the claustrophobic, it’s spacious enough to live comfortably. From this level, she can see all the amenities—a kitchen, dining area, even a sort of mini-lounge complete with seating and entertainment, right there by the lower hull.

“It’s lovely, Stan. Better than I pictured,” she smiles, running her hands across a banister and admiring the dark finish of the wood. “It definitely suits you—and I can definitely tell Ford lives here, too,” Bri chuckles, taking in the various maps along one wall and the built-in shelves of samples and do-dads that she’s sure are carefully cataloged, but seem miscellaneous to the casual viewer. There’s even various artifacts decorating the main room—wait, does that fish in the fish tank have three eyes?!

Before she can ask about it, Stan starts heading into the leftmost cabin down below.

“This is me an’ Sixer’s room,” he explains when you’re both safely down the ladder.

It’s larger than you’d think from above, with two full mattresses on opposite ends. Bri doesn’t even have to wonder whose side is whose, as the leftmost wall boasts scientific diagrams and notebooks on the bedside table, while the right has a framed photo of Stan and the twins, a monster movie poster, and a baseball bat leaned against the wall. Bri’s guessing Stan cleaned up for her, the sweetheart.

“I don’t know why, but I pictured you two in bunk beds,” she giggles.

“You joke, but we thought about it,” Stan smiles, handing Bri her duffel bag.

“Anyways, there’s a bathroom right here. You can lay yer stuff out too if y’want. Take yer time,” he says, and she thanks him before heading back up to give her some privacy.

Bri wastes no time in changing and primping, settling for a simple blue maxi dress and a classy wedge sandal to match Stan’s elevated-casual vibe. Plus, going pantsless after an entire day of tight jeans was just lovely. A final brush of the hair and shift of the glasses and she’s ready to go, grabbing her denim jacket and heading upwards.

Stan’s attention quickly shifts from the seaside view to her, eyebrows shooting up his forehead as he whistles. “Well, hellooooo, nurse!”

“Oh hush,” she slaps his arm playfully, blush on her cheeks not lost on him. “C’mon, take me to dinner already, I’m starving.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

________________________________________________________________

“Dinner” turned out to be a couple glasses of sangria for Bri , and four Mai Tais for Stan; with the impulse addition of the shrimp kababs, it was turning out to be pretty great.

“So let me get this shit straight, Pines,” Bri manages through a fit of giggles. “You avoided the Banshee by—”

“Pretendin’ to be her lost baby while Ford got back to the ship for the iron horseshoe gun,” he confirms, taking another swig of his drink. “I’m a genius, I know, hold your applause for next Oscar season.”

Bri wipes a tear from her eye, still trying to compose herself, “Stan—oh god! I would’ve paid to see that.. but oh, that poor, poor woman… you’re so mean!”

“Look, she’s a specter of death, alright—I’d be wailin’ for eternity if we hadn’t knocked her around a lil’.”

“Oh, I know, I know. Guess I just tend to root for the mother, y’know?” Bri sighs.

Stan finishes his kebab, going in for yet another swig of sweet fruity goodness as he slings his arm over the back of his chair, settling in. “How uh— is that, by the way? Havin’ lil’ human copies of ya runnin’ around?”

“Having kids? Oh, it’s fuckin’ terrible.” They both burst into laughter, snickering into their glasses.

“No, but really, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. A gift, a privilege, no other feeling like a mother’s love, all that mushy shit you’ve heard a million times,” she swirls her sangria, plucking the orange slice from the rim and taking a bite. “But it’s not for everyone, of course.”

Stan shakes his head, lips pursed in thought, “Yeah no kiddin’. One copy of me’s enough.”

“Oh, give yourself some credit,” Bri says sweetly, bringing a hand to his arm. “You’re a great guy—and an awesome uncle.”

Stan’s glances down at the contact approvingly, making no move to break away. Instead,

Bri feels his foot tap hers under the table (mindful of her open-toed shoes), making her snicker.

“Yeah, bein’ an uncle’s pretty fuckin’ great,” he confirms. “Get t’have all the fun, none of the college tuition outta my pocket.”

“Bastard,” she jokes, getting a light kick to his ankle in for good measure. “But really—you give those kids a hoot and a holler, and from what I can tell, last Summer wasn’t even the half of it.”

Stan brightens. “You’ve only heard the kid versions of the stories, too. Wait’ll you get the real deal—it’ll knock your socks off.”

At the mention of last June, Bri’s mind hones in on those same memories from before, enhanced by the man himself being right there in front of her. And damn, he looks cute too, all red-faced and smarmy.

Bri’s foot moves from the floor ever so slightly to run up past Stan’s ankle, circling it playfully. “I’m not wearing socks, is the thing…” It gets the reaction she wants, because he clears his throat, grinning despite the blush to his ears.

When she moves back down, then up again—higher this time, up to his calf—Stan leans in closer to her over the table, smile smug and eyes dark behind his thick-rimmed glasses. Looks like some footsie under the table was finally the sign he needed to quit the cutesy shit, as endearing as it is.

“So, Red,” he says, gaze darting down to the cleavage at the top of her dress.

“Yes?” She places her hand on his and he licks absently before his eyes move back up to her pink lips, finally meeting her chocolate eyes.

“The other day, when y’said ‘pick up where we left off’… you did mean—”

“You know what I meant, Stan,” Bri says shortly, taking another sip of her drink.

“Jesus—sure hope I do,” he cackles.

“I want you to fuck me, Stan,” she states, amazingly straight-faced. Stan sits straight up at that, tugging on his collar and giving a quick glance around with a nervous chuckle.

“W-well! I wouldn’t wanna disappoint,” he grins like a maniac as he clears his throat, shifting back into confidence. Suddenly, the table between them seemed like it could disintegrate at any moment.

“You want that boat tour now, Red?”

She simply nods, beginning to put on her jacket. Stan throws back the last bit of liquor in his tumbler and slams a handful of bills on the table.

________________________________________________________________

Once safely aboard, Stan wastes no time getting on with the “tour”, pouring a couple glasses of champagne as Bri looks around some more, making her way to the pilothouse window.

“The sunset is gorgeous—you get this view every day?” She laughs, shrugging off her jacket. Stan’s made his way to her, champagne in hand and one less button of his shirt buttoned.

“Nah, not in Alaska. The Northern Lights are pretty nice, though,” he says matter-of-factly, offering her a glass.

There’s a moment then that Bri looks between the horizon, the bubbling glass, then the man holding it. And it’s then that she realizes she’s painted dozens of sunsets like this before, but there’s someone in front of her right now that outshines even the real thing.

She takes the glass, silently placing it on the table next to her, hands settling instead on Stan’s exposed, hair-covered chest. She raises to the tips of her toes, bringing her lips effortlessly upon his in a tender, cathartic action that’s absolutely fantastic.

Stan hums, haphazardly placing his own glass on the counter, not sparing the alcohol that spilt a single glance as his eyes flutter close, deepening the kiss with fervor. Bri nearly whimpers, a shock of desire and adrenaline shooting through her body when his tongue plays at her lips— he tastes like cherry and rum, her like citrus and mint, and the kiss is a delicious sensation cocktail all its own.

Bri breaks the kiss to loop her arms around Stan’s neck, but as she goes back in, the glasses on their faces knock together, each pair skewing on its owners’ respective noses. They break out into laughter, the moment eased of its urgency and Stan going a bit red now, embarrassed when not caught up in the rush.

“Bedroom,” Bri says simply, removing her glasses with one hand and taking Stan’s wrist by the other, leading the way to the cabin ladder. He goes down first, admittedly sloppy in his hurried descent, but nonetheless well enough to hold Bri steady as she follows. When she turns around he’s still here, leaning his weight against the ladder with her caught between his arms; he goes for her neck with a playful nip of his teeth, and Bri nearly feels dizzy from his stubble on her skin.

“Fuck,” is all she can say, gripping his shirt tight into fists. “Stan…”

“Ah, yep. Right there,” he whispers, pulling away and looking down at her with a cheeky grin.

“W-what?” She searches his face for a clue as to what he means exactly. Her head’s not exactly clear at the moment, and it didn’t really—

“Right there,” he repeats, shit-eating grin full of pure delight. He mimics her then, saying his own name in a breathy sigh as she just had when he sucked at her neck. “That’s where we left off last time.”

Bri’s indignant for a beat, cheeks as red as the hair on her head before shoves Stan back, freeing herself from his trap and grabbing him by his shirt collar, kissing him hard.

“I can hit you across the top of your head,” she teases against his lips, urging him to walk backwards with her assertive grip, “if you wanna be where we really left off.”

“’M good,” he laughs, knees hitting the back of the bed and falling back onto it, taking Bri with him. She makes herself comfortable in his lap, placing her glasses on the night stand and taking a second to turn the family photograph with the twins face-down to spare their pure, innocent eyes.

It’s a good thing she did too, as it gets hot and heavy pretty fast cuz fuck is Stan good at foreplay. Though some may think making out childish, those kisses and pets in the El Diablo were crumbs compared to this, compared to the thrill of his fingers slipping the thin straps of her dress and her bra off her shoulders, the trail he blazes as his mouth moves to the valley of her breasts, one hand deftly massaging her upper thigh underneath the pooled fabric, other expertly undoing her bra and flinging it away. Bri giggles as he nuzzles her soft flesh, kissing a freckle here and there before making her gasp as he takes her pert nipple into his hot, wet mouth. She coos his name approvingly, lovingly, running her hands through his gray hair as he sucks and licks her, hand at her thigh slipping between her legs and to her clit, rubbing through the fabric of her panties.

Need ravaging her body, Bri grinds down on Stan’s lap, earning a growl and lustful glare from the man below her. She draws away from him after a moment, setting to work on ridding him of his pants.

“So, Stan… you know I take health very seriously,” she muses, hands undoing his belt, button, and zipper as she speaks.

“Y-yeah, ooh,” the old man groans as she pulls back the elastic of his boxers, arousal free and sensitive to the cool air.

“And safe sex is an absolute must…”

“O-oh,” Stan starts to sit up, reaching for his nightstand drawer and rummaging through it frantically before Bri stops him.

“Have you been sticking your dick in any sea monsters lately?

“W-what? No--” Stan blanches, definitely caught off guard by the question.

“Lizard people? Mysterious ectoplasm?”

“Not exactly my type, so no,” he finally rolls his eyes playfully and returning his hands to her body as she pushes him back to the bed.

“Then we’re good. Unless… you like accessories?” She says simply, slipping out of her underwear and dress completely before re-mounting him.

“Sweet Moses,” is all he can articulate upon seeing her nude in her entirety. Stan’s hands unsure of where to go first before settling on her ass and drawing her towards him as she feels up his broad chest then down his torso, stomach, and finally to his hard cock under her.

He slides in, perfectly, sinfully, and they both groan at the pleasure-filled sensation, cursing under their breaths. Bri leans back, head rolling on her shoulders as she’s enraptured by the way he stretches her, how she can grind down on him just right.

And Stan— he’s absolutely breathless, in heaven at the sight of this sexy woman, whose mouth’s agape in pleasure and breasts bounce as she rides him, red hair falling into her face and across her dark, alluring eyes. He tells her so, showering her with verbal praise and affection and suddenly Bri believes his nickname for her is the most erotic, loving sound in the world, falling from his lips in such sweet tones.

It’s more than he can stand after a while, and in one fell swoop he flips them both, pinning Bri against the downy sheets of the bed with a growl, set to make good on his promise at dinner to fuck her so right that she sees stars.

Bri can only cling to him as he moves, arms hooked around his shoulders and nails digging into his flesh, her desperate moans and loud profanity even rivaling Stan’s, sprinkled among the sweet nothings he pants in her ear, forehead pressed against hers.

“Fuckin’ Christ, Red, yer so gorgeous, so goddamn good— been wantin’ this for so fuckin’ long—"

The fiery coil in Bri’s belly grows tighter, molten hot as they go at each other, needy and passionate, over a year’s worth of sexual tension boiling through their veins and radiating out of their very bodies. It’s once his thrusts become erratic that he beckons her to come for him, slamming his hips into her and reaching between her legs, making her entire body tense and quake as she comes with a cry of his name and to the powers that be, Stan dragged with her over the edge with a rumbling groan.

His thrusts slow to a stop as they both try to catch their breaths, Stan settling on top of the redhead for a moment, careful not to crush her under his full weight. They share a smile, Bri running her hands through Stan’s hair fondly, earning an appreciative hum.

“That- shit, that was…”

“Fucking incredible,” Bri finishes, pulling his chin to her for another sultry kiss.

“Careful now,” he warns, shifting to her side and up to his feet, “you’ll get me started again.”

“You think you’re up for that? ‘Cuz I’d be up for that,” she says, catching the towel Stan tosses her way and cleaning up a bit.

Stan returns back to her side on the bed, pulling back the sheets. “Shit I’d love to—maybe you can sit on my face ‘er somethin’ while I catch up,” he laughs.

“Fuck yes,” she laughs, letting her excitement at the idea show, “God, this weekend is going to be great.”

“I was thinkin’, actually,” Stan says, finally settling in under the covers with Bri against his chest. “How ‘bout you come with us on our way back to Gravity Falls? You could stay here a little longer and when Sixer gets back, we can head over and drop you off in Salem.”

Bri purses her lips, thinking it over as she plays with the gold chain around Stan’s neck.

“You… want to escort me?”

He chuckles, taking off his own glasses and placing them next to hers on the nightstand. “Sure, you could put it that way.”

She smiles, kissing him sweetly on the cheek. “I think that sounds like a wonderful idea.”

Stan grins, wrapping his big, burly arms around her before he yawns, sleep catching up to them both.

Bri’s eyes fall closed. She feels safe, warm, and oh-so happy in this man’s embrace.

“Goodnight, Stan.”

“G’night, Red.”

Her dreams that night are filled with Stan— but rather than those same memories that’ve swirled in her head for months and months, it’s of this night, and of the potential the coming days hold for them together.

#stan pines x reader #gfdatingsim #swooning over stans #stanley pines x reader #grunkle stan x reader #cottoncandy-lion #lemon #commission #my writing

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stormtrprinstilettos · 5 years

Text

Chameleon - Ch. 5

Summary: Reader (that’s you!) moves to London, hoping to leave her past behind and find happiness. She makes friends with her new neighbors. (Guess who?) - So far we’ve established that Reader & Freddie are BFF, Reader & Brian are absolutely into each other (but he has a GF) and Reader & Roger have a bit of sexual tension (that they seem to have remedied in the last chapter).

18+ please

Words: ~5.5k+ || AO3 | Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3(1)(2), Ch 4

[A/N: This chapter starts from Brian’s POV, after leaving Roger & Y/N (same night). After the first jump, we get back to Y/N’s POV the morning after that woohoo with Roger. Then after the 3rd jump we time warp a few weeks down the road. Hope this doesn’t confuse anyone! No smut this week – sorry! Need to do a bit of other stuff first! This may seem like a filler chapter, but it’s relevant. I hope everyone’s been picking up on a couple of other things, like the colors (and Andromeda). As always, I apparently I enjoy messing with your feels. I’m sorry.]

Tagging: @chocolatealmondmilkshake & @thisjustfantasy (let me know if you want to be tagged)

******* (can’t find a gif that would fit here 💜) *******

Every time he saw you, all Brian could think about was the kisses you shared. He ached for more. He needed more. The attraction was almost intolerable – and he knew it was mutual. To him, you were so much more than just a fun time between the sheets, which is what he thought that’s all Roger saw you as. You were beautiful, funny, smart, caring... in other words, perfect. He thought he was never going to be enough for you because of all you experienced in life. He was boring, he thought, and he thought you needed much more excitement than he felt he could bring, which is why he tried to step back before his emotions got too deep. You didn’t act with him the way you acted with Roger, so he just assumed you wanted to be friends, nothing more. He guarded his heart instead of speaking up.

You didn't know it, but he had seen you sitting outside at the pub down the road from his university that day you were having a pint with the guy who caught you sketching him. From his point of view, you seemed interested in that person, smiling and laughing and doing that thing where you play with your hair and nibble on your nails when you’re really listening to someone when they talk to you. It killed him inside to watch. He remembered the day he met you and you did that with him, and how you did that every time the two of you would have a conversation.

He saw you that day outside of the post office, when you were biting the bottom left corner of your lip when you handed that man a folded piece of paper. He thought you were giving that guy your number when you were writing down the name of a restaurant in New York he thought that guy would like to take his wife to when they visited. You were only biting your lip because it itched. He saw you the day you were standing outside of the bookstore, touching that other guy’s arm, pushing your hair behind your ear while you looked up at him and smiled. He didn’t know you had tripped and dropped your bag and this guy stopped you from falling and picked up the bag for you. All you were doing was telling him thank you.

If he was honest with himself, he would admit that the things you told him about your past escapades nagged at him a little bit. Not that he thought you were a bad person for it – far from it – but knowing that you had that freedom intimidated him. He was intimidated by your experience, and he didn’t think he lived up to this expectation he imagined you had. So when he saw you dolled up and looking more irresistible than he had ever seen tonight for Roger, the way you flirted with Roger, and the way you danced with Roger as he left, he just knew any chance he may have had to create anything with you was gone. He was never going to be enough for you, he thought, so he needed to get you out of his head.

He wandered around the neighborhood, alone for hours after bringing Jane home. He wanted to stay with her, but she wouldn’t let him, because she was angry. She noticed every single time Brian looked at you, and she wished he would look at her the same way. They didn’t fight about it. She kept her thoughts to herself, but she didn’t invite him in, and he didn’t put up an argument. As he walked around, he tried to clear his head of everything relating to you, but he couldn't. He kept remembering the first time he saw you, the first time he heard your voice, the first time he looked into your eyes that looked so broken but had grown over these past months to smile all on their own. He remembered every single little thing he adored about you. Your hair, your perfume, the softness of your skin, the way you snorted when you laughed hard, the way your nose would crinkle when he’d touch it.

When he got home, Freddie was there, which confused him since Freddie had moved out and was supposed to be staying the night at his parents’ house. But then it dawned on him – you and Roger must have been inside, and Freddie didn’t want to disturb. Freddie tried to talk to him, but he just wanted to be alone, left to deal with his sadness by himself. Just as Brian was walking into his room, Roger ran inside, wearing only his pants, and started hurrying to his room. Brian turned around, anger filling his face as he looked at his friend standing in front of him. "What? Done with her already? Didn't even give her enough respect to stay with her until the morning?" he yelled as he got in his face.

"No! I just need to get something..." Roger tried to explain, but Brian wouldn’t let him.

"Oh, so she’s just another one of your conquests?" Brian interrupted. "You’re going to use her for the rest of the night and then..."

"Fuck you, Brian!" Roger yelled, cutting him off and pushing him hard against the wall. "You're the most brilliant person I know but sometimes you're a complete idiot, you know that?"

Freddie heard the commotion and came running over. "What's the problem?"

"The problem is," Brian started, "Roger here decided he conquered all of the women in London except for the one he should have never even thought about, and..."

Freddie rolled his eyes. "Stop being so fucking daft, Bri.”

“What’s daft,” Brian started, “is that you’re standing there completely fine with this, Fred. You know how Roger is.”

“Is it so hard for you to even think that maybe I look at her more than just some quick shag?” Roger yelled.

Brian calmed down his tone, getting quieter with a hint of sarcasm. “Of course you do. Of course.”

“Maybe if you’d stop being such an idiot you would be over there with her right now and not standing here being a complete dick!” Roger yelled before going into his room.

“She’s not yours to protect,” Freddie whispered. Brian glared at him with a look of disbelief, unable to understand why Freddie, of all people, was letting you fall right into Roger’s grasp. “You have your lady, remember? The lady you didn’t tell Y/N about.”

“Well someone has to protect her, Fred,” he whispers back with anger in his tone. “You clearly aren’t doing a good job at it.”

“She’s not mine to protect either,” Freddie pops back, his tone also turning angry. “I can’t stop her from…”

Freddie paused as Roger came walking back out of his room, glaring at Brian. “Just so you know, I don’t think she’s just some conquest. She’s an amazing girl.” He started to walk away before turning back around. “But you know that already, don’t you?” He turned and walked out the door.

Brian leaned back and knocked his head against the wall, sighing. “Let it go,” Freddie told him. “She’ll be okay. And did he just walk out with…?”

“Why are you here?” Brian asked Freddie, interrupting his question, giving him a side eye glare.

“You know, family bickering. Didn’t want to be around them for a minute longer.”

“Ahh,” Brian acknowledged before pointing out that Freddie wasn’t at his own place. “But why are you here?”

“Really? It was loud enough to wake the dead over there,” Freddie said amidst laughter. “No one was over here so I thought I’d be able to get some sleep.”

Brian grunted as he walked to the door. “I’m going to Jane’s. Maybe she’ll let me in,” he mumbled to Freddie. “Don’t break anything.” ⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰ You feel Roger move and you wake up, snuggled up against him. “Good morning, sunshine,” he says once your eyes open, sounding ever so chipper.

“Good morning, indeed,” you reply, with a wide smile, as you nuzzle back into him. “Sleep well?”

“I had no choice. I couldn’t do anything but sleep well.” He squeezes you into a tight hug before reaching over to grab his cigarettes. “Before we start the day, I need to warn you. Last night when I went home to get your book I ran into Freddie and Brian.”

You cover your face with your hand, not sure how you’re going to handle this one. “Ugh… so they know?” You were more worried about having to deal with Freddie. You didn’t know how he was going to react to this, especially given how he’s been trying to keep you from becoming too involved with Roger. He meant well, and you understood that.

“Well, Brian had an idea, but I didn’t say anything. For all they know we were just in here talking,” he tried to calm your nerves.

You started laughing. “You went in there with just your pants on. How many times have we hung around talking and you just took your shirt off? And what was Freddie even doing there?”

“Hey!” He feigned surprise. “We were absolutely in here talking.” He pointed to your copy of “On the Road” sitting on the nightstand. You had to laugh. You had never gone from sex to an actual cerebral conversation without clothes on before last night when the two of you started talking about Jack Kerouac. You actually forgot about the lack of clothing between the two of you. “I’m going to need a new book, by the way.”

“Honey, I’m home!” you hear Freddie yell from outside your room. “I know you’re in there!”

You and Roger both cringe. You sit up and wrap yourself in the sheet, leaving Roger laying there, completely naked. “Where are you going?” he asks as he pulls you back down to the bed.

“If I don’t go out there now, he’s going to try to make himself something to eat and that would just be a complete disaster.” You stand up from the bed and gawk at him lying there, not even trying to cover himself up. As you’re opening your mouth to make a comment, you hear yelling coming from the kitchen.

“I can’t even boil water! How the hell am I supposed to toast bread without burning everything down?”

“Go,” Roger tells you with a laugh. Before you walk out the door, he stops you. “Umm, Y/N? Aren’t you going to get dressed first?”

“You don’t understand. There’s no time for that. I have to stop him.” You’re cracking up laughing. “I’ll be back.”

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Freddie starts in a rather derisive manner. “Anything interesting happen last night?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer. He turns around and sees you wrapped in the sheet. “If you need to get dressed, your clothes are still thrown all over out there,” he says with a cheeky smirk as he points out into the other room.

You accept the fact that you won’t wiggle your way out of this one, so you don’t even try to put up a fight, instead deciding to ignore the whole comment. “How was your night?”

“Oh, it was terrible. I had to leave because of the fussing. I slept next door.” He quickly changed the subject. “So, where’s our Roger? Still sleeping? Exhausted?” Freddie starts teasing. “You didn’t fuck him to death, did you?”

“What’s for breakfast?” You turn and see Roger standing in the doorway, leaning against the wall, wearing only his pants, hair all a mess, with a big smile on his face.

“I knew it. I fucking knew it,” Freddie flippantly comments. “Look at you two.”

“I’m going home,” Roger mumbles in your ear. He’s not sure if Freddie is angry or indifferent, but he doesn’t want to stick around to find out. “You can handle this?” You nod and Roger quickly leaves.

“And I’m going put some clothes on,” you tell Freddie. “Do not touch anything. I’ll be right back.”

“Wait! Y/N!” Freddie grabs you before you walk out. The look on his face is full of concern. You can tell it has to do with more than just Roger, but you don’t want to hear it.

You put a finger up to his lips, telling him to be quiet. “We were drunk, and it happened. Can’t change anything.” You hope that is enough reassurance for him, but he still has more to say. You keep your finger where it is. “We spent most of the night discussing books, Freddie.”

You moved your finger from his lips, but not until he relaxed. He still couldn’t help but blurt out, “Brian knows.”

You knew he did. There was no way he didn’t know. He saw how you were acting last night, and he saw Roger go home then leave again. Of course Brian knows. “What difference does it make? I’m sure he had his time with Jane last night.”

“He didn’t. He was home,” Freddie corrected you. “He did go back over there after Roger left but he didn’t stay. He came back not too long after.”

“Oh well,” you said in an uncaring tone, mainly because you were trying to convince yourself that you didn’t care, but you did. ⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

{A/N: Pretend you’re a time traveler – we’ve just moved forward a few weeks!}

Freddie looks over to you and watches you cry as you’re staring at the television. He wants to laugh, but he knows it’ll just interrupt your trance and he’s enjoying the show. You start to feel around you on the sofa, trying to find your napkin to wipe your eyes, but you’re too interested in the movie to pay attention to what you’re doing. That is, until you start to feel the food from the bowl you’re holding start to dribble on your lap. “Shit!” you yell, quickly standing up to clean up the mess.

Freddie is in hysterics, eyes tearing up from laughing so hard. “You numpty,” is all he can get out as he runs into the kitchen to grab a towel. You can’t help but start laughing, too. “You were so involved I couldn’t stop you,” he said through tearful laughter. “It was like you were standing right there in the movie,” he paused to catch his breath, “and I couldn’t ruin it for you.”

“It’s a great movie!” you yell at Freddie while throwing the towel at him as you sit back down on the sofa. You sigh. “Oh, to be loved like that…” your voice drifts off. You never thought of yourself as someone who longed for romance, but lately you’ve found yourself craving it. Needing it.

Freddie is still laughing. “You’re such a soppy mess. This movie is shit.”

“Do not ever blaspheme ‘Dr. Zhivago’ ever again!” you jokingly fuss. You sigh again, your mind wandering off into fantasyland. “Love like that doesn’t exist. No one could possibly ever love someone that deeply.”

“Well, I know that I would never, ever cross Siberia for anyone,” Freddie joked.

You roll your eyes. “Clearly you aren’t even paying attention to the movie. Yuri didn’t cross Siberia for Lara. He found her again after he crossed Siberia.”

“You take this too seriously. I can’t pay attention to the movie because it’s dreadful.” He looks over at you and sees you staring at the television again.

“He would have crossed Siberia for her though… That’s the kind of love I want.” Your eyes start to fill up with tears again. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re really into the movie or if it’s because you’re getting emotional because of your own feelings. The only thing you knew is that you could always count on Freddie to snap you out of it.

“The kind of love where he will risk having his dick freeze off for you? That kind of defeats the purpose.” The two of you start laughing, you shove him on the arm and lounge back, resting your legs on the sofa. “You’ll get it one day,” Freddie tells you. “But hopefully he’ll still have everything in tact when you do.” He pauses for a few minutes before he brings up the question that has been nagging him for the past few weeks since the night you spent with Roger. “What’s going on with you and Rog?”

You glare at Freddie, wanting to stop this conversation, but you know he’s not going to let it happen. “We hang out and nothing more. We’re friends. That’s all.”

You can tell by the look on Freddie’s face that he started to understand why you were getting emotional about the whole topic of love while watching the movie. Everything was starting to sink in. “Do you think love is immediately felt when you meet the one?” he asked.

“I think it’s possible, but I don’t know for sure.”

He sighs. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in love. I wonder what it feels like.”

“I have,” you tell him. “Twice. If my theory on love is correct.” He turns his body to face you, interested in hearing what you have to say, and you take the hint and continue. “Well, there’s the first love, usually when you’re a kid. You know, that first person who consumed your entire life that you just knew you’d be with forever, only to drift apart or break up over something so silly. It may not have been equal to what you think love is now, but it was. Then there’s the second love. That’s the one that completely breaks you, but it’s also the most important one. That’s the one where you learn how you’re supposed to love and how to be loved. That one is so messed up it causes you to build up the wall that your third love will tear down.”

“And how does that third love feel?” he asks, completely ensnared by your words.

“Oh, that one sneaks up on you. That one is hard to avoid. You know when you find that one because they’re nothing like the image you had drawn in your head about who your perfect person is, but you find yourself completely and unequivocally drawn to every single aspect of their being. Everything they say, everything they do – you’re just in awe of it all. Every time they look at you, you feel that spark. That connection…”

“That jolt,” he adds before giving you a questioning look. “Have you ever felt that?”

You have, but you’ve been spending a lot of time denying it, so you continue to deny it. “No. I haven’t.”

“From what I saw, the second you looked at…” You quickly cut him off.

“Look!” you raised your voice, annoyed and frustrated that everyone – Freddie, Roger and now even John sometimes, kept bringing Brian up to you. “Brian and me? It’s not going to happen. So just stop it, please.”

“You and your attitude going to listen to what I have to say,” Freddie snapped back. “I’m tired of seeing you mope around here like some rain cloud. There is no way you can sit here and tell me that you don’t have feelings for Brian.”

“I don’t, Freddie. I don’t. I did, and now I don’t. That simple. He made me feel like he did, too. But he doesn’t. If he did, Jane wouldn’t be over there right now. But she is. And that’s that.”

“Listen to me, Y/N...” He was leaning over you now, holding your shoulders, trying to get you to hear him out, but you weren’t going to.

“No. That’s that.” You tried to get your point across in your voice. “I appreciate you, and your concern, but I’m okay. I’m happy where I am. Promise.” He’s still holding your shoulders, still leaning over you. “Freddie, if you don’t move, I may have to start kissing you, and I definitely don’t want to add a third person into my comedic tragedy,” you joke, causing him to give a feverish laugh and move away.

He leans in and gives you a quick peck on your nose. “Love you, Princess.”

“Love you, Freddie,” you say as you lean up and give him a quick peck in response.

Roger comes walking in just as Freddie is moving away to go back to the other side of the sofa. “What the hell?” He pretends to be shocked. “Freddie, too, Y/N? Am I not enough?” He comes and sits between you and Freddie, propping your legs up on his lap. “That bitch is over there since her place is being fumigated because of a rat problem. Can you believe that? She should have stayed there so they made sure to get all of the vermin.” He leans back on the sofa, making himself comfortable. “John’s coming over to work on some stuff. Is that okay? If not, I’ll kick Brian and the Rat Queen out.”

“It’s fine. Because if you kick them out, they’ll probably end up over here, and I don’t feel like dealing with it today.”

After lecturing Freddie, Roger and John for not telling you the beer supply was running low, you’re heading out to the store to pick some up. You see Brian sitting at the bottom of the steps outside of the building looking up at the sky and pause. He doesn’t notice you standing there, and you start to turn back because you didn’t know what to say. Things were becoming more and more tense between you and Brian after your night with Roger. You still looked at each other the same, and you still had that little stomach quiver whenever he would appear, but neither one of you knew what to say to each other anymore. As you held the door handle in your hand, you decided that you weren’t going to avoid him. You missed your talks, his corny jokes, his voice… “What’s going on out here?” you ask him, but he didn’t turn to look at you.

“Just waiting for Jane. She went to the shop,” he replied, not taking his eyes off the sky.

“That’s where I’m headed. Roger and John depleted my beer supply.” You sit next to him, hoping he would acknowledge you, but he didn’t. “So, what’s going on up there?” You look up and see it. Andromeda. He finally looks down and diverts his attention to you.

“Just admiring the princess,” he smiles at you like he hasn’t seen you in a long time. It was hard not to get lost in his eyes, like you had done so many times before. Even with just the street lights shining, you can still pick up on the small flecks of gold in them. He was equally as lost in yours. The world completely stopped, as it always did when you were with him, and no words needed to be spoken. Your eyes told each other all that needed to be said. You missed him, as he missed you, and there was nothing that should have been stopping you both from being together.

“Hey, Y/N! How are you?” It was Jane, and her voice immediately snapped the two of you back to reality.

“Hey, Jane. Nice to see you again,” you tell her, trying not to sound annoyed that she interrupted your moment. As she walks over, you try your hardest to smile, which you eventually manage to do as you stand up and head to the store to buy more beer. You know the smile was fake, but you hoped she wouldn’t pick up on it.

Before going inside, Brian called out to you. “Hey, Y/N, is it okay if we come over so I can work with the guys?”

“Of course. It’ll give Jane and I a chance to do that girly bonding I haven’t done since I’ve been here.” Your smile was growing more fake, as was the tone of your voice, but you couldn’t control it.

Brian and Jane started to walk inside before he abruptly turned around. “Just out of curiosity... what color?” he asked.

Feeling the clean slate, there is, of course, only one color you could be feeling right now. “White.” ⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Seeing the annoyance on Roger’s face when you walk in with Jane, you decide it’s best to hurry and get her out of the way. “I need a female opinion of a dress I bought today. Can you help?” You grab her hand and walk her into your room.

“Ugh, thank you for taking me out of there,” she said as you closed the door. “I hate sitting around during their little meetings. Her voice is full of annoyance. You’re trying your best not to let her bother you, but you’re starting to understand why Freddie and Roger don’t like her much.

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” you try to convince her as you’re digging through the bags of everything you bought earlier in the day. “Now that they have John the whole sound is coming together. They’re really good.”

“It’s just that, when I’m with Brian, I want to be with Brian, not everyone else,” she explains.

“Well that’s not offensive,” you reply with a lot of sarcasm, but you put on a smile trying to come across like you’re joking.

Her smile fades from her face and she turns serious, almost stoic. “Look, I’m sure you’re a nice person, but I’m going to be honest with you, Y/N. I don’t like you very much.”

You’re relieved. You couldn’t stand putting up this fake façade whenever you were around her, so knowing that she felt like she had to do the same with you brought you an odd comfort. “I think we need to try…”

“Try to get along? I can’t keep up this charade for much longer.” Her facial expression changed from pleasant to hardened quite swiftly.

You match her expression, finally feeling like you didn’t have to hide your true feelings. “Trust me, I would rather you didn’t have to, but it looks like we’re stuck with each other.”

“You mean because of this band thing?” She gives an almost poisonous crow. “It won’t last long. Brian will come to his senses soon.”

“They’re all really serious about this,” you try to convince her. “They’re going record their demos in a few days.”

“Yeah, yeah and when they don’t go any further than playing their little shows for more than 50 people for a while, it’ll be over with. Then Brian will see how silly all of this really is.” She stands up from the bed where she was sitting and walks to your dresser, her back turned to you, and starts fiddling with your things. “He has no future with this and the sooner he realizes it, the better.”

“He’s lucky to have someone as supportive as you.” The sarcasm in your voice can’t be hidden even if you tried.

“I do support him – with his studies. I don’t want to be some band girlfriend. I want to be the girlfriend of a future scientist.” She turns back to face you, holding up your red lace bra, looking at it with a repulsed face. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” She then turns her attention to you. “You’re accustomed to this… this wild life. You wouldn’t possibly understand what it’s like to be…” She pauses, her muddled look turning almost vindictive. “Let’s face it, Y/N. You’re not exactly a nice, proper girl.” She tosses your bra back onto the dresser.

You didn’t want to fight with her. Not here, not now. You were never one who enjoyed confrontation, even when someone was trying to provoke you, like Jane was. Instead of biting as she wanted you to, you try to steer the conversation in another direction. “Do you love him, Jane?”

“That’s a stupid question,” she replies, almost offended that you’d dare ask her something like that.

“No, it’s not. It’s a yes or no answer. Do you love him?”

“Why are you asking me that? Are you hoping I say ‘no’ so you can swoop in and take him from me?” She looks at you, quite amused, and gives another one of those cynical chuckles. “You’re not the kind of girl he wants. He wants someone smart, proper, and stable. Not some tart with no direction in life who will just run away when things get a little tough.”

“Excuse me?” You start to seethe with rage inside of you. Not because of what she said. Her opinion of you mattered none. But that last line – she could have only gotten that from things Brian told her, and the fact that he told her about things you shared with him privately hurt you like a quick punch to the gut.

“He told me all about you. How you’re here because you were so unhappy at home. How you made a mess out of your life. How you’re just a mess in general.” She starts to walk closer to you, her tone growing cold. “You may have messed up your life, Y/N, but you’re not going to mess up Brian’s and you’re not going to mess up mine.” She stands next to you. “Leave Brian alone,” she seethes.

“Brian is left alone,” you say back to her, matching her tonality.

“Then why can’t he ever stop talking about you?” She turns around and walks away, the anger in her voice raising. “I know everything about you. I know your favorite song. I know your favorite color. I know your favorite food. I know your favorite fucking constellation.” She walks back over to you and hovers. “Leave. Him. Alone.” She pokes your shoulder, hard.

You slap her hand away. “I am leaving him alone, Jane!” you yell.

“Does it make you feel good?” she asks. “Having two guys pining after you? Is this some part of a sick game? You have Roger. Why do you need to have Brian, too?”

You no longer try to hide your anger. “Maybe if you’d be a little less of a bitch then maybe he could stand to be around you more.”

“Maybe if you were less of a whore you would know when to keep your hands away from where they don’t belong!” she screams at you.

You give an vengeful smirk, lower your voice and get in her face. “And maybe if you’d know how to satisfy him, he would have told me about you instead of trying to hide your existence from me.” Her face falls, completely shocked. “That’s right, Jane. This whore could have had your man from day one. And now? Well, all I need to do is walk out there, say the word, and he’s mine.” You stand up and speak into her ear, your voice turning falsely sweet. “Tell me, Jane. Does he say my name when you’re in bed?” Her eyes start to fill up with tears. You know you’re being brutal, but you don’t care. “Yeah, I bet he does,” you chuckle and walk away.

She’s standing in the middle of the room, crying. You can see that she feels like everything has just been ripped from her body. She glares at you. “You are a terrible person.”

“Maybe I am,” you reply matter-of-factly with a shrug, “but at least I don’t hide it.”

You calmly walk out of the room to where the guys are and dart your eyes straight to Brian. You’re angry with Jane, but most of all, you’re hurt. You feel like he betrayed your trust and that hurt worse than anything right now.

“Get her out of here, Brian.” You try to stay calm, but your anger is seeping through your eyes.

He stands up and walks over to you, his words stuttering. “What… what happened?”

“I want her out. And I want you out.” He doesn’t know how to react. He sees your expression and the words he wanted to say were stuck in his throat. “I fucked up my life so I came running here?” You shove him away from you. “I’m just a fuck up in general? Is that what you said about me?” You’re fuming, and when he tries to get close to you, you shove him away again.

“No… Y/N, no that isn’t…” He’s trying to get you to listen to him, but you walk away.

“Just get out, Brian,” you murmur. “…and take your trash with you.” You walk into your room and slam the door.

#brian may #roger taylor #brian may fic #queen fic #roger taylor fic #brian may fanfiction #brian may fanfic #roger taylor fanfiction #roger taylor fanfic #roger taylor x reader #brian may x reader #chameleon story #queen fanfiction #queen fanfic

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mysticsparklewings · 5 years

Photo

Fly By Moon

I guess I'm a painter now? I've been kind of on a roll with the painting stuff in general lately, but in particular diligent Sparklers of mine may remember I recently posted Starfall Mountains, where I tried out some super cheap acrylic paints after the "Acrylic Paint Itch" started up in my brain. After that experience, I was pretty eager to find some better quality paints and hopefully have a much better time with it. I ultimately ended up with a set of Liquitex Basics paints, after having an internal turmoil between getting those or the Arteza Acrylic paints. (Since for my purposes and circumstances both sets would've worked out to about the same price.) Ultimately, I went with Liquitex because I've seen a lot of people say that the Arteza acrylics dry really quickly, even for acrylic paint which is known for drying fast anyway. So in order to use them, I would've most likely needed to also purchase a blending medium to mix with them so I'd have more time to blend things properly, and at the time I was making the paint purchase I didn't really feel like making the additional investment when I could just get another set of paints that I could, in theory, use straight out of the tube. And admittedly when going to purchase a set of "beginner" but since nice quality acrylics, I was already a little biased towards the Liquitex Basics line because I've heard it recommended by a couple of art Youtubers that I follow that have greater knowledge of acrylic painting than I. Either way, I may still end up with the Arteza acrylics at some point yet since I unexpectedly ended up getting both a bottle of blending medium and an airtight/keep-your-paints-wet-longer palette anyway so them drying quickly now wouldn't be the problem it originally would've been. (And if my experiences with their products have taught me anything it's that sometimes you just have to test them out yourself to see if they're going to work for you or not, regardless of what everyone else is saying) But we'll see. But back to the here and now. Shortly after I got the paints, we were visited by a Luna Moth, and overnight she attracted a mate. They stayed together for a day, and then the next morning he was gone but she was not. Another night and she had laid her eggs, and then she was gone. It is a simple story, but I thought it was cute. And it gave me some references photos to use for my first painting! I've had some 8"x10" canvases laying around waiting to be used for the last half of forever, and so I grabbed one of those and got to work. Originally I had to figure out what I was going to do as far as a few logistics go; For one thing, acrylics are much easier to work with if you do the background first and work your way forward so that you can blend the bigger areas without having to work around your subject. So I had to figure out what I was going to do for transfer paper to get my sketch of Mrs. Luna Moth on top of A. Canvas and B. mostly Black paint. In the end, I ended up using some graph paper with a pale green Faber Castell gelato scribbled on the back of it, which actually worked really well, so if you have some gelatos and thin paper but not proper transfer paper, that might be something worth trying sometime. I did the background with a mixture of the two blacks in the set (Mars black which is more opaque and Lamp black which is more transparent), a light purple color, and a muted yellow kind of color. I was trying to go for the illusion of texture without having to actually commit to painting out individual sections of the black tarp the moth was sitting on in my reference photo. I wanted to get to the fun part of painting the moth, not spend an eternity trying to get a semi-realistic tarp background texture when it's not even the main focus. And to some extent, I think that's one of my bigger problems with acrylics paints, in general, is that you often have to commit way more time to small details or normally less important features like the background and textures and stuff because at this point it's more or less expected of the medium. And it's just that it's highly uncommon to do a subject on canvas and leave the background largely blank, unlike more traditional paper or digital drawings. Acrylic painting, by comparison, is a much bigger commitment as to how far you're willing to go to flesh out the piece and bring up to "acrylic painting standards." And I'm usually really not into that idea. But I can ponder with myself on that issue and potential ways to remedy it later. Anyway, once I was mostly satisfied with what I'd accomplished with the background, which consisted of a lot of "put paint on, cover it up, blend it out," repeated several times over (and yes I know this is not a very tarp-like end result but I was tired of messing with it), I used my faux-transfer paper to get my moth lines up there and then began the more satisfying part of the painting. In this instance, I was able to use the more transparent qualities of certain colors to my advantage, since when you really study the reference photo I was using, it's clear that the Luna Moth's wings aren't fully opaque, especially over the black. So I went in with varying mixtures of this pale bright green color, white, and using some of the light purple I'd used in the background to make a very pale gray color for some dimension on the wings. I also used some water to keep the paint fluid and to thin it out to be more transparent on occasion when I needed to. My process for most areas was to decide on what the base color seemed to be in the photo, get that down and some of the larger/more notable areas of shading, and then go back and start to fill in the shading on top. Which I feel like is the standard way of working with acrylics, but I could be wrong. The hardest part (minus the background, which I did end up touching up a bit after the moth herself was finished) was actually the little eyelets on her wings, mostly just because of how much tiny detail there is to them in comparison to the rest of the painting. But with a very thin paintbrush, much patience, and a few back-and-forth layers of certain colors, I did mostly manage it. The shapes for the top wing eyelets are a little wonky, though even in my reference photo (because of the angle) they are noticeably asymmetrical from each other. Also, the partial eyelet on the bottom I tried to add a bit of shading to, but it's such a small space I'm sure it's still not quite right. I blocked out her top wings and did them and her body peaking between the wings first, then waited for that to dry down some before moving to her bottom wings, then went back to do some details and shading on the top. While they were drying, I did her head and that rust-colored bar along the top of her wings. Then I did the shading and details on her bottom wings, then shading and details on the wing bar & head. I saved the eyelets for last and mostly covered up their original placement markings in the process since I knew that was going to be a lot of tiny detail I didn't want to have to try and work around so I wouldn't mess them up. And at the very end, I added the faint yellowish lines near the edges of her wings with the metallic gold that came in the set, as the metallics are all a little on the transparent side and that seemed like a better, more subtle choice than trying layer on or mix exactly the right color with the non-metallic paints. Plus, it adds a nice little bit of interest when you move the painting in the light; and I added a thin layer to her antennae since they're roughly the same color as the pure gold anyway. I tried my best in both sketch and paint to stay true to my little moth friend's form, but her bottom wings did come out a little short both times and some details either had to be adjusted or lost due to my inexperience with acrylics (for example, I did the best I could with the shape of her antennae since I only had a paintbrush so small to work with and it still wasn't quite small enough for the teeny tiny fluffy bits). Despite that, I still think she came out really nicely. She's not super realistic, but she's not super cartoony either, and I think I like that look. Also if you decide to look really closely there may be spots of not-great canvas coverage of places where the canvas texture sticks out too much or something; This would be because I couldn't find it in me to wait until I could get a bottle of gesso (especially because gesso is often some expensive stuff), I couldn't find my bigger bottle of cheap white acrylic to do a stand-in base coat with that, and my internet research turned up no good alternatives I already had on hand. So I just forgoed the priming and went right to painting, which allegedly from what I've seen is a viable option, at least for acrylics and better quality level paints. It seems to be the priming is more "necessary" for oils and/or really cheap paints that may not have great consistency in the first place. (Although I've mentioned before that even then I've seen a lot of stuff that presents the idea of priming with gesso as more optional when you're working on canvas anyway, so...) I will also say that these Liquitex paints seemed to dry slower than I expected on the canvas; I didn't have to use one single drop of that blending medium I mentioned earlier, or spray the canvas with water to slow it down. I actually spent more time than I thought I would waiting around for layers to dry because I've been too chicken to bother with a hairdryer or heat gun to speed these or my watercolor paints up just yet. I don't know if I've had a skewed perception of acrylics all this time or the drying time is similar to cheap watercolors so I'm used to it already or if these particular paints just dry a little more slowly or what, but I'm beginning to regret one of my counts against acrylics having perpetually been that they dry too quickly. So far at least, that's seeming to not be that big of a deal. (Also, if oils dry as infinitely more slowly as I've been led to believe then I need to never oil paint because I will be so ridiculously impatient by the end of it from waiting for things to dry!) I'm not terribly sure how often I'm going to be acrylic painting from now on or even what my next one is going to be, but I have the supplies and intend on getting my money's worth out of them, and I definitely want to experience more with acrylics in general after these new experiences and realizations I've had with them. So we'll see how that turns out in the long-run for me in due time, I suppose. ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble | Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

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